Inspired by the Harry Potter fandom recently breaking the 400,000 fanfiction-count barrier (seriously? Do we have nothing better to do with our time than this?), I wrote this.
As the first alternate title suggests, do not expect a masterpiece from me here. Said masterpieces are devoted to other things, like the third chapter of A Moment of Mercy, posted today, or the third chapter of The Falcon Cannot Hear, which is not going to be posted today (despite my promise of doing so), shunted to the side for this fic as it was.
I can almost hear the outraged cries from the three or so fans of TFCH.
Angry fan(s) aside, sit back and get your barf bags out; Ariaeris is back trying to write humor.
Enjoy~
Mwahahaha...
It's Over 400,000!!
Chapter 1: Congratulations, Harry Potter Fandom!
Or
I Wrote So Many Fanfics, and All I Got Was This Lousy Fanfiction
Or
Gratuitous Use of the F-word; Too Much for a T Rating, Not Enough for an M, so I Rounded Down
Real success is finding your lifework in the work that you love.
- David McCullough
It was a relatively normal day a few months past when Sirius decided that invading Harry's personal privacy was a swell idea.
He rationalized that if someone was stalking his beloved godson (other than him of course – and he wasn't doing that at all, he was protecting him by following him secretly wherever he went) he would be able to protect him from those who wished to tarnish Harry's oh so alluring innocence.
And who knows, maybe if he found secret lusty notes written about him in Harry's not-diary then he would be able to confront Harry about it. And then have sex with him. Because that's how things worked in epic romances like theirs.
Unfortunately for him, Harry's not-diary was not the most cooperative of things (his hand still hurt from where it had bit him, the blasted thing), and so the completely sane Black decided that he would have to up the ante if he wanted to win Harry's heart.
Which he didn't, because that would be wrong.
He was just protecting him from everyone else who wanted to screw his godson into the next century.
Really.
It was a relatively normal day that found Sirius hiding in one of the bushes dotting the sides of Diagon Alley, a pair of Muggle binoculars clutched in his hands. Supposedly the contraption was supposed to let him see things far away, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out how the thing worked.
He tossed the still covered binoculars aside with a frustrated huff; these kinds of things were more Arthur's expertise than his.
Still, his failed plan A aside, Sirius found himself at a serious disadvantage in not-stalking his godson. Apparently, Harry had been invited to some random café that supposedly existed in Fanon!Diagon Alley by none other than Ferret Malfoy, and, after taking his anti-heart attack medication upon hearing that Harry had actually agreed to meet him, Sirius had immediately begun following them secretively.
It wasn't stalking, just him being a wee bit overprotective of Harry. Who could blame him though, when everyone wanted a piece of the only remaining Potter's luscious tush?
Sirius glared at a gaggle of giggling goblins standing just outside of Gringotts. They might deny it now, but Sirius was watching them for any unwanted actions against Harry from them. You could never be too careful after all.
Without binoculars though, how was he supposed to make sure that his godson was alright? Who knows what the filthy, ferret-y Malfoy was doing to him right this second? Why, he might be touching him, kissing him, raping him, talking about interspecies politics, and/or assaulting him for all he knew!
Successfully working himself up into a dither, Sirius immediately went to plan WiD of the 'How To Protect Harry's Chastity' plan.
"…and that is why House Elves should receive at least a minimum wage from their masters," Harry finished with a satisfied flourish, leaning back in his comfortable chic chair and sipping at his Venti Frappawhatevachino from Starbucks. Because apparently they existed both in the Magical Realm and in 1999.
They are just that awesome.
"While you do raise some interesting points, I find…" Draco trailed off, glancing at Harry's side curiously. Harry, used to the constant insanity that seemed to follow him everywhere he went, dutifully ignored the rustling presence. "Harry, why is there a moving shrub beside you?"
"What moving shrub?" Harry asked, not acknowledging its presence in the slightest.
"That one," Draco said, pointing with one long, elegant, glamored so as not to reveal that Draco had a horrible habit of picking his nails off, hand at the incongruous piece of horticulture.
Harry glanced directly at it, and he could almost hear the warning bells go off in Sirius' mind about being caught. "I don't see what you are talking about, Draco."
"But it's-"
"I don't see what you are talking about, Draco," Harry repeated calmly, gracefully dumping his steaming hot drink onto the bush. Sirius' screams were just as easily ignored, as was the plant's rapid retreat from the café.
"What?" Draco asked, his face scrunched up in confusion.
"Pretend it never happened," Harry suggested, calling over one of the waiters that the Starbucks of his time apparently employed.
"But-"
"Pretend it never happened," Harry repeated, not even trying to hold in his annoyed groan. God, if he wanted to be a preschool teacher he would have left the Wizarding world already.
"Why were you stalking Draco and me?"
"I was not stalking you or Malfoy."
"Liar."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Are too."
"I'm glad we are in agreement."
"…What?'
"Idiot."
Harry's diary was still being annoyingly uncooperative, and it had taken a trip to St. Mungo's to have his pinkie sown back on.
He would have to speak with Hagrid later on why he should not be giving tips to people on where they can find carnivorous books.
Sirius glumly rattled his almost empty bottle of anti-heart attack medication; he would have to go get some more soon, but at the pace he was going through them, he suspected that his local CVS (which really wasn't that local per se, considering he had to go to the States to get to one) suspected him of being a drug dealer.
Which was a ridiculous accusation; he might have been not-stalking a barely legal boy who happened to have been entrusted to his care by his parents in order to start a not-relationship of a not-sexual nature with him and have not-steamy, not-sweaty, not-sexy man-on-man not-sex with him, but he was not a drug dealer.
The reason for the fragile state of the cardio- part of his cardiovascular system though?
Harry was sitting in yet another café, laughing his pretty little head off.
With Snape.
Snape.
Severus Snape.
Sirius popped one of his last remaining pills, the very thought of their potentially friendly relationship sending him into fits.
It was true though; Snape in all his greasy-haired, hook-nosed, child-scaring glory sat across from the epitome of beauty (in Sirius', and too many others', eyes), a slight smile twisting his face horrifically into something that might some day, with years of reconstructive surgery, resemble something pleasant.
It was sickening to watch.
Time to go into upsilon mode.
"…and that is why House Elves should receive at least a minimum wage from their masters," Harry finished with a satisfied flourish, leaning back in his comfortable chic chair and sipping at his calming draught. God knows he would be freaking out about Snape being personable without it.
"While you do raise some interesting points, I find…" Snape trailed off, and Harry managed to take a long gulp of calming draught in those brief moments, Snape's compliment not fitting well with his view on reality. "Potter, why is there a moving shrub beside you?"
"What moving shrub?" Harry asked tiredly, wondering if he would be able to kill himself in he managed to slam his head hard enough on the table they were sitting at.
"That one," Snape said, pointing with one pale, grotesque, spindly, potion-stained hand at the incongruous piece of horticulture.
Harry glanced directly at it, and he could almost hear the warning bells go off in Sirius' mind about being caught. "I don't see what you are talking about, Snape."
"But it's-"
"SUBVERSION!!" Sirius screamed, startling the occupants of the trendy café as he jumped through the window, stunned Snape (magically, considering he had done well enough stunning everyone else with his little self-defenestrating-esque act), bound him rapidly (though the knots took a bit of time, more than enough for Harry to shake his head and plot his unseen exit), and then throw himself back out the window, carrying Snape with him as he ran into the distance.
"Fucking moron," Harry muttered after a long beat, and throwing some random change at a random unnamed waiter he rushed off before the vultures from the Daily Prophet could swoop down in at the scent of a new, juicy story.
"Why were you stalking Snape and me?"
"I thought you knew better than to ever mention that man's name in front of me! And I was not stalking you or Snape."
"Liar."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Are too."
"I'm glad we are in agreement."
"…What?'
"Idiot. Please tell me he is still alive."
"…Maybe?"
"Fucking idiot."
Sirius sat in Harry's room, not watching Harry sleep (it was daytime – there would be eight hours for that later), but staring at the not-diary with a careful eye.
"Surely you can sympathize with me a little bit, can't you?" Sirius asked it.
"Not at all, you insane little fucker," the not-diary answered back.
Even Remus was betraying him these days.
Sirius, perched precariously on top of one of the mass-produced table-umbrellas given to every café this side of forever, listened in on his oldest friend's conversation with his not-love interest.
"While you do raise some interesting points, I find…" Remus trailed off, and Harry stood up suddenly, his comfortable chic chair falling to his ground as he slammed his hands on to the table they were sitting at.
"What is with you fucking wizards and not being able to complete these fucking sentences!?" Harry shouted, and Sirius agreed with his not-not-yet lover. Some people just really had to go back to Wizarding grammar school.
"If you would give me a second," Remus ground out, and Sirius could almost imagine the vein pulsing over his ex-friend's eye. "I was just taking in a refreshing breath of air. It is a rather pleasant day, and I was enjoying the atmosphere."
"Oh," Harry oh-ed, sitting back down and falling over once he realized (quite painfully) that his chair had tipped over. Righting himself and the chair, Harry sat quietly as Remus grinned at him sunnily.
Sirius, who could see none of this, was wondering what the hell was going on below him.
"As I was saying, while you do raise some interesting points, I find that you notion on Sirius' lack of sanity to be as farfetched as your idea on providing house elves with salaries. Seriously, what were you thinking?"
"Well, it began with Hermione mentioning that house elves are seriously underappreciated members of today's society, and it kind of snow-balled from there," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "And besides, house elves like clothes (or at least Dobby, our token-different minority character for the Harry Potter series, does), just not from their masters, which is a rectifiable problem; give house elves money and they will be able to shop for themselves!"
"Wouldn't house elves buying clothes from themselves with their master's money, given to them or not, be tantamount to those master's giving them clothes?" Remus asked, and Harry nodded slowly, upset to see his non-tangible plan bursting into metaphorical flames. "After all, the house elf would not be able to buy themselves things without their master's charity, totally defeating the purpose of them getting salaries."
"I suppose you are right," Harry sighed despondently.
"Of course I am," Remus sniffed, and Harry would have been offended if the werewolf did not sneeze a moment later.
Sirius, wondering what the fuck was going on, hoped that they would be getting back to the infinitely more interesting topic of his debated sanity.
"Back to your issues with Sirius' sanity, or lack there of, Harry," Remus said, and Sirius would have danced over fate actually following his whims for once if he wasn't perched precariously on top of one of the mass-produced table-umbrellas given to every café this side of forever. Instead, he settled for quivering around for a few seconds, letting out strangled little cheers ever once in awhile. "I know he was in Azkaban for quite some time, but the last time I saw him he seemed to be quite sane."
"Your definition of sane aside," Harry snarked. "You haven't been the one being stalked by him."
Remus managed to let out a quiet 'stalked?' before Sirius tore through the mass-produced table-umbrella given to every café this side of forever, screaming his head off.
"IT WAS NOT-STAL-" was all he was able to get out before he slammed rather painfully into the table Harry and Remus had been sitting at.
And then all went black.
Seriously black.
Sirius woke to beeps and boops and all sort of sounds you only expect to hear in a hospital room or in a game of Pong. He groaned, whined, complained, and generally acted like he should belong more in the Incubation ward then in a hospital bed for a few moments before he froze up at the sound of a very familiar voice.
"Why were you stalking Remus and me?" Harry asked quietly, just out of his range of view, and Sirius could guess that he was sitting in one of those incredibly not-comfortable, not-chic chairs normally found in hospital rooms.
"I was not stalking you or Remus," Sirius croaked weakly, and he frantically wondered if his deep, sexy voice was irrevocably damaged in his fall.
"Liar," Harry sighed, and Sirius jolted at the teary sound of the other man's voice.
"Am not," he argued, struggling to turn to face his not-love.
"Are too," Harry said softly, and Sirius could hear him getting out of his chair.
"Am not," Sirius said urgently, willing his body to just move, because he knew Harry would never want to see him again after this and he wanted to just get one more glimpse of the man he loved, God, the man he loved, before he left forever.
"Are too," Harry whispered, and it almost sounded like he was walking away.
"Are too!" Sirius shouted, wondering if Harry would stay with him if he confessed his transgressions loud enough
"I'm glad we are in agreement," And there was Harry, leaning over him, rivulets of tears dripping down pale cheeks, retracing angry red lines that looked like they had been carved onto them days ago.
"…What?' Sirius asked, stunned by the state his love was in. Harry smiled frailly and leaned down to press his forehead against Sirius'.
"Idiot," Harry murmured brokenly and kissed him.
Undoubtedly so, but as his bandaged hands rose to wrap awkwardly around Harry's neck (and various mummy jokes flittered about in the back of his mind before he was able to squash them in order to focus on more important things), Sirius knew that he was more than content to be Harry's idiot.
I honestly didn't intend for this to be so fluffy. This was supposed to be a parody. A joke. I gave up the next chapter of a serious (no bad jokes! I already made one on his name!) fic for this, and I ended this with Sirius, stalker-extraordinaire, getting his man?
What the hell me? Where did the plan of Harry shutting off Sirius' life support and walking away calling him an idiot go?
Oh yeah; it went to development hell once I realized that I could never really kill Sirius (nor could I ever deny myself, and the world at large, more Sirry. Whether that world wants said Sirry is not important).
So just enjoy this mildly humorous fic and then get out your brain bleach so that you can forget you ever read this shit.
Oh yeah; you can review if you like, but if I manage to get a flame for this giant pile of idiocy, I am just going to laugh at you for wasting so much effort.
Ariaeris~
Ps: The Great Otherwiki in the Sky has informed me that Starbucks did exist in 1999. Who'd a thunk it?