A/N: so, after a long hiatus, and without any good excuse, I return with another short story. Depending on the response (C'mon Korea, we're counting on you here) I might update it, I might not. If you like it, please, as a personal favor to me, review. If you hate it, review it anyway, and tell me what sucks.
Disclamer: Although in this story I say explicitly that J.K. Rowling is the sole creator of Harry Potter and associates, and that she whores them out to Warner Bros., I felt that I should have a disclamer, all the same.
There was a ring. It was the sort of ring that is usually attached to an old fashioned phone. There was another ring. One more started, but was sharply cut off by an irate black-haired teenager grasping the phone by his bedside and yanking it up to his ear, with a sleepy glance at the caller I.D.
"Mrs. Rowling? It's two in the morning. Can it wait?"
"No, I need you to come over here, now." She sounded hysterical, something she usually avoided. "This is big; bigger than you or me."
Daniel Radcliffe wiped a hand across his faceāthe same face that got him a multi-million dollar contract. "I thought I was done with acting. I don't have to deal with this kind of randomness anymore."
He swore he heard a whine on the other end of the telephone. "Just-Please, Dan. Just this once. For me."
He hung up the phone. With a sigh, he swung his legs out of his very comfortable mattress, onto his very expensive rug, slipped on a pair of trousers and a jacket from his large and expensive closet, and got into his piece of shit car, in which he drove up to J.K. Rowling's estate.
On the ride there he sat uncomfortably in his car. It was the only part of his life that wasn't perfect. He liked it that way. He had worked for this car. (That janitorial job had been the best of his life, marred only by the fact that the female janitor was constantly asking for autographs)
It was the only thing that hadn't been handed to him on Rowling's fictional character's platter. Some days he wondered if his life would amount to anything other than his face. He would always be Harry Potter. He would never be Daniel Radcliffe, teenager who strongly disliked red-haired underage girls but seriously enjoyed black-haired, big breasted older women. He could never be Daniel Radcliffe, who thought the idea of riding on brooms was not only ridiculous, but had numerous problems in the urology department. He would always be Harry Potter, possibly the only character able to wave a twig about and look mildly heroic doing it.
Somehow, that irked him.
He shrugged. Whatever. He had millions in the bank, and when he felt like it, he could go out, smile charmingly at a random female, and pray that she had seen at least one of the movies and enjoyed it. That's all that counted nowadays, right?
He pulled up to Rowling's house and parked in her huge driveway. With a bit of effort, he wrestled open the door of his car open, exited, then shut it with a little more than necessary force. He rang the doorbell.
He waited.
There was a series of thumps, followed by two voices talking furiously. Daniel couldn't see anything beyond the stained glass surrounding the doors.
The door opened, and before it could open completely Daniel heard his voice ask "do you think it's the same size-"
"Oh," The voice said. "This is him?"
It was not uncommon to see stunt doubles on sets of movies, Daniel himself had an in-depth discussion about Large-breasted women with his double when Emma was doing her scenes. They never looked quite right. There was always something off about their face; a freckle or nineteen there, awkward bone structure here, always minor but severely off-putting. His double (for the goblet of fire) had sported a badly healed broken nose.
The man standing in front of him could be Daniel's double. He could have been pulled right out of Rowling's books. Tall, dark-haired, insane looking eyes. Skinny, and very pale. He was cloaked, and the jeans and black tee under it looked like they belonged.
For some reason, every inch of him bulldozed the message "DANGER!" into Radcliffe's soul.
Daniel heard Rowling squeak an affirmative in the background.
Eyes the color of death pierced Radcliffe's. He stood still in sheer terror. Never before had he been so scared of someone leaner than a twig.
The man in front of him (no one was that scary and an adolescent) smiled. It was worse than him simply staring. "Come in, won't you? I understand you're the representative of me on this plane."
Daniel was understandably confused.
"What?"
The man in the doorway spared a glance back into the house. He raised an eyebrow. "She didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
Green eyes sparkled with mirth. "Why, Daniel, I'm you." He put a finger to his lips. "Or you're me. I think that's it."
His eyes met Daniel's again, and his smile managed to get bigger. "I'm Harry Potter."
A/N: so there it was- there's many minor plot details that are obviously confusing (such as Radcliffe's odd depression) that I will explain, not all right away. Right now Daniel Radcliffe, J.K. Rowling and any other actors will be my characters. They will not be real people, however much they are based off of real people.
If you like it, again, please review. Even if you didn't, tell me what sucked. I can't make it better if I can't figure out what doesn't work.
