a_writer_bro

I own nothing.

Author note-

I've been toying with this new idea for HP fanfiction for a while but it has so many problems that the first chapter I posted was so messed up that before I could post the second I had to go back and delete the first because it had so many inconsistencies with the second chapters. Sigh. Hope you like it.

Dogmatic Pigs

Chapter 1: Tunnel

Present

"Look at the arse on that one," rumbled a grizzled old man as a young waitress walked

away. His grandson nodded in affirmation, "She's fit alright."

The two relatives sat in uncomfortable silence, the grandfather absently playing with the tassels of his old fashioned waist coat while nursing his Firewhiskey. His grandson sat impatiently across the table with his hands twisting relentlessly in his lap.

"Can I go yet?" asked the Grandson rudely. The old man looked up from the depths of his drink and fixed his grandson with sad expression. The young man immediately regretted his choice of words, remembering that as boring as his grandfather was, he was family. His father had told him as much. As much as he wanted to leave the musty old pub-The Hog's Head- that Grampa seemed to love, he didn't want to upset his grandfather.

"Sorry Grampa-it's just that- uh…" the young lad trailed off after seeing the blazing look he was getting. His grandfather's face look carved from stone. His face wrinkled and defeated, his mouth shrouded in an unkempt mess of a beard, but his eyes held an intense glow.

"Let me tell you a story, Norman," started the old man. Norman grimaced openly at his name and the mention of one of his grandfather's long, droning stories.

"For the thousandth time Grampa, it's Norm," said the Norm in his best exasperated voice. Grampa nodded absently and continued on with his mission. "Anyway, the story is about," he paused for dramatic emphasis, "Harry Potter." The grandfather waited for a reaction from his grandson but Norm didn't seem to be sparing any excitement, so he tried again. "Harry Potter!" he shouted again, waiving his fingers in an enthusiastic manner.

The young lad did not look impressed, "Who's that?"

The Grandfather opened and closed his mouth several times unable to form a proper response to convey just how shocked he was. He paused and gathered up his wits by taking a long draught of his firewhiskey, finishing it. He took a deep breath and pulled off his worn bowler hat. "Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived; everyone knows him!" blurted the old man. Norm shook his head, "Never heard of the bloke." His grandfather scoffed and shook his head, "Unbelievable," he mumbled under his breath.

"What do they teach you at the bloody school of yours," demanded Gramps while clutching the empty mug tightly. Norm looked affronted at the unexpected jab at Hogwarts.

"They teach us a lot!" Norm shot back testily, "Well just yesterday we learned all about Kingsley Shacklebolt, the greatest Minister of Magic we've ever had, and his triumph over Lord Voldemort." After finishing his tirade Norm looked uncertainly at his grandfather whose eyes were dangerously close to popping out if his head.

Silence descend over the table with the exception of Grampa's occasional muttering of, "Nutters, the whole lot of em," and "bleeding Kingsley Shacklebolt." Finally the old man looked up from his mug and stared his grandson in the eyes; he nodded to himself and seemed to decide something. "What year are you in lad?" asked the grandfather.

"O.W.L. year," responded Norm with a dismal expression, his grandfather nodded and let out a positive grunt.

"Abby!" Grampa shouted gruffly in the direction of the bar. The old man got a disgruntled look on his face as he watched someone move in his direction, "Not you Aberforth, you ancient goat!" An extremely wrinkled old man hunched over a cane glared at Grampa before retreating back into the storage room. A significantly more attractive bartender emerged from the shadows of the musty Hogs Head with a reproachful look on her face.

"Ya should lay off on ol' Aberforth," she chided while shaking her pretty blonde curls, "now 'ow can I please ya?" She took out an ugly yellow notepad and turned towards Norm, "What ya need sweetie, can I get ya a cuppa?" Norm was about to respond but his grandfather interrupted, "Two firewhiskeys," said Grampa in a no-nonsense tone of voice. Abby raised her eyebrows in surprise but didn't say anything before turning and leaving to get the drinks. Nothing was said during the retrieving of the firewhiskey as Norm was trying to look as nonchalant as possible. Internally, he was dying to get back and brag to his friends about drinking the firewhiskey he hadn't even had yet. When the drinks arrived Norm eagerly grabbed his mug and took a hearty gulp. He let out a strangled cough at the heat and bitterness overwhelming his senses causing a predictable chuckle from the patrons that were watching the novice drinker.

"You have to let it cool off a bit laddy, it ain't a butterbeer," chuckled Grampa with a humorous glint in his eye. Norm scowled at him, his face flushed red with adolescent shame. "Just tell your bleeding story Grampa," snapped Norm, tired of his grandfather's antics. Grampa didn't look put out in any sense.

"Okay, I'll start, but before I start you need to know that what I'm about to tell you goes against most of what you've learned but it's 100 percent true," said the old man firmly. Norman looked curious despite himself.

Grampa drained the remainder of his firewhiskey and took off his hat placing it in front of him, "Well this story starts on Halloween, in a muggle bar not unlike the one we're in right now."

October 31st, 1999

Ben O'Connell had been bartending at the same pub in central London for 31 years, and liked to think he'd seen it all: gay German tumblers asking his advice on sex change doctors, autistic giraffe trainers, midget sailors, but he'd never run into an alcoholic-self proclaimed- wizard; at least not until last week. Last Saturday night a fairly handsome man of about 20 years old with a gruesome scar on his head, and going by the name of Harry, had come in and drank an astounding amount of whiskey. He spun an incredible tale of magic and good versus evil; so sure of his words, Ben found it hard to remind himself that the young man was obviously a raving loony. Regardless, Ben found himself eagerly awaiting the next installment in this man's story.

And so Ben O'Connell found himself with three shots of Locke's Single Malt Irish Whiskey lined up and waiting for Harry. At promptly 11:30 pm the young 'wizard' in question strolled in casually and seated himself on the dusty stool in front of Ben. "'Lo Ben," he greeted before easily tossing back the three shots without so much as a grimace. Harry sat for a full 10 minutes without saying a word. Ben, obviously impatient with the silence, spoke up, "So last time you had just broke the last Horcrux thingy and were about to get in a ruck with that bloke- what's his name- Voldy something or other."

Harry looked up from his empty shot glass with surprise written on his face. He had known that Ben had been listening but he hadn't known just how intently, perhaps he should obliviate the bartender. "Been listening to my barmy tale of dragons and magic, eh Ben?" said Harry cynically. Ben reddened at the truth in accusation, "Ya, what of it?" he challenged. Harry shrugged in return, "It's just refreshing, it's been a while since anyone has listened to me."

Ben was unsure of what to make of this cryptic answer but thankfully he was spared a response because Harry started where he left off with his story. "Alright so last time I was here I was talking about the Battle of Hogwarts and how I had just broken the Diadem, come back from the dead, and was in the Great Hall verbally going tit-for-tat with Voldemort," Ben nodded in affirmation so Harry continued, "okay so let's see.."

"Don't you see Tom, I'm the true master of the Elder Wand," I stated calmly. Voldemort looked stricken, but did not stop his stride as we circled each other. Suspense flooded the room as silence descended. "Enough!" Voldemort spat, his face disfigured with a sort of vile hatred, "it ends now!" As we raised are wands to fight, before I fired a scream was heard followed by a flash of green light that struck the unsuspecting and now horcruxless Tom Riddle in the side. His eyes rolled upwards as he crumpled choppily to the ground. Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt had just saved my life by killing Voldemort while he wasn't looking. A profound sense of emptiness washed over me inexplicably mingled with a small dab of relief. Then the cheers started, followed shortly by tears at our losses.

"And that's how Kingsley Shacklebolt became the most popular Minister of Magic ever and 'The Vanquisher'," said Harry darkly; using Minister Shacklebolt's given name by the Daily Prophet. Ben looked completely aghast, "After all that and you didn't even get to off that Voldy fellow, what a right disappointment that was," said Ben sourly, obviously feeling cheated somehow. Harry laughed, morbidly amused by Ben's behavior. "Well at least I didn't have to deal with all that publicity and what not," said Harry sincerely, waiving away the issue with his hand. Ben looked surprised by the lack of bitterness in his voice, since most people would appreciate the fame.

They spent a good 20 minutes following discussing finer parts of the story that Harry embellished slightly because he hadn't told them in ages. No one believed that 'Horcrux bull' as reporters had called it, believing instead that The-Boy-Who-Lived was looking for more credit than he deserved. Ben however believed him, because… well a week ago he didn't think magic existed so he took everything Harry said at face value. Finally after a silence Ben spoke up with a strange concern in his voice, "What I don't get 'bout you mate is you come in here at lock-in, get arse-over-tits and spill your guts to me. But it seems to me that you should be happy, you got everything you wanted, and didn't even have to get your hands dirty." Harry let out a long, drawn out sigh at the hidden question. Indeed he had been asked this many times before, why wasn't he happy? After the war ended instead of going back to Hogwarts Harry had taken Kingley's offer to join the Auror Academy with minimal training and a fantastic starting salary. He had taken it, claiming to his friends that he felt an obligation to all that died to help out, but that was lie. Sure he felt that, but it was the emptiness after Tom Riddle had died that drove him to kill 23 remaining death eaters before he noticed that killing couldn't fill that void.

This caused his friends to regard him warily, his ejection from the Auror force, and, naturally, more slanderous articles from the Daily Prophet. Harry remained at an impasse. Why was he sad? Was his void spawned from not killing Voldemort? These are the questions that kept Harry up at night; that sent him to this tiny pub in London to piss away his meager earning. All the galleons that Harry frivolously spent on whiskey were earned working for Colin Creevey, developing his wizarding photos. Harry let out a dry chuckle at the irony of his situation.

"Well mate, I hope things work out for the best," remarked Ben, being unsure of how to comfort such an obviously broken man. Harry opened his mouth to give a predictably cynical retort when a blazing violet tunnel burst open directly behind him. The neon purple flames ripped desperately through the air, marring the floor and the counter that shielded Ben from the inexplicable vortex. Harry felt what could only be described as a delicate yet invasive anal probe as he felt himself being lightly pulled backwards with his bum leading the way into the tunnel. While screaming desperately for help the only thing Harry could think of was how this was hands down the most violating form of wizarding travel to date.

A short silence followed the sudden snapping shut of the tunnel. After a short pause Ben raised his head from beneath the counter, "What in the bloody hell was that!" cried Ben as his head pivoted right and left taking in the full destruction of his pub. While taking notice of the irreparable damage Ben noticed that his favorite wizard was missing. Mixed feeling followed the revelation.

"Good riddance! Hmph, comes in here with his dodgy wizard stories, dragging tunnels along with him!" muttered the bartender under his breath as he cleaned up a broken glass.

? ?

"Wake up mate," demanded a foreign, yet friendly voice.

Encouraged by the stranger's pleas Harry opened his eyes and tried to remember what happened. He seemed to be in some sort of waiting room: two ferns, cheap wallpaper, an uncomfortable straight-backed chair, and a plain brown desk. Behind said desk was a stout blonde boy with backwards baseball cap that Harry had seen some Americans wearing on the telly. Suddenly remembering that he wasn't supposed to be there, Harry unknowingly asked a very popular question for the realm he was in, "Where am I?"

The small boy behind the plain desk gave Harry the broadest of smiles, "This my friend, is The Lobby."

Harry dropped his head in defeat, "Why can't I have a normal Halloween for once in my bloody short life."

Authors note

If anyone read the story the first time, I had to tweak it a little because I had to change some details around. Inconsistencies kill me. Hope you like the story.

A_writer_bro