Authors Note- I figure, why not? I don't really think this will be a too serious story because my Harry is going to be seriously punk and living the childhood she always wanted in a very misguided sense. But, while I'm at it I might as well have fun.
Chapter Warnings- Fem!Harry, BAMF!Harry but in her own way...yeah.
Chapter One: Just Some Things a Witch Shouldn't Do
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There were just some things a witch shouldn't do.
Especially one who could make a single comment about a nice new breakfast cereal she ate the previous morning in public and suddenly it was all the rage to eat it. Why? Because didn't you hear Sarah, the Lady Harriet Lily James Potter is endorsing it now, they say it's how she gets such smooth skin.
For the record, that was pure genes, artistically combined to create the genetic structure that was me, Harry. And yes, I had abused the power once or twice when I casually commented on how pleasant it would be to have the latest nimbus or how indebted I would be if some one were to provide me with some shiny dragon hide boots. Somehow I would always turn a corner and, what do you know, there was the latest nimbus and Merlin's balls I looked fabulous in the black leather of a dead dragon. To be fair though, just being seen with a product often had their sales skyrocketing. It was a win-win for both sides.
I had no problem affording any of the things I wanted, haven't had a problem affording anything since I was eleven. I had even less of a problem affording anything I wanted when I became of age and therefore old enough to access the Potter family vault. Said vault was full of generation after generation of shrewd money makers gold just sitting in piles all about the place. Galleons upon galleons, enough to make me a rich person three times over. It was hard to think that while the Potters were a rich family, they weren't the wealthiest.
No, that was the Blacks and who had access to the Black vault?
Yes, tis I.
It shouldn't really be surprising I was the closest thing to a legitimate heir to the Blacks as you could get in the inbred cesspool that was the modern wizarding world. Through an ancient ancestor of mine, a certain Peverell brother-with-a-cloak-that-made-you-invisible's son had a pretty dark haired daughter who married a Potter, who together had another daughter who married a Black who had many, many, many other children. That was centuries ago, and I was still a legitimate heir. I really don't understand wizarding law.
Of course, there was Andromeda Tonks nee Black and her grandson, my god child, Edward Remus Theodore Lupin, my Teddy bear, but Andy had been excommunicated from the Black family tree when she married a non-pureblood. According to wizarding law- which had yet to be smoothed out- didn't make her or Teddy, a viable heir. So, they settled for the closest thing; a Potter. The last Potter in fact, it helped that the last real heir before being shunned from the family had been my god father.
What did I do with my abundant fortune? Gave it all to Andy and my gorgeous blue haired darling who on occasion would change looks completely. Special boy, him. They weren't considered Blacks by the remaining snobs of society but the fortune was theirs.
But like I said, there were just some things a witch shouldn't do.
For example, one should never nonchalantly ask the sky for eighteen bottles of Blishen's firewhisky while in public. Never. One should never turn up to a friend's- notorious for their drinking abilities- house with eighteen bottles of Blishen's firewhisky. Never. One should never get into an argument with said friend and then demand a drinking competition to determine who was right. Never. But most of all, one should never get so drunk as to wake up and not remember a single thing from the night before.
In case you were wondering, yes, I did all those things.
Which was why I now sat- or slumped- on a large chair made of what looks to be skulls and leather, it was real hardcore. My dragon hide boot clad legs dangled over the surprisingly comfortable arm rest comprised of a few decidedly not human arm bones and my black leather Auror jacket crumpled- why was it singed at the edges?- and wrinkled served as a makeshift blanket. I was still in my Auror uniform, which explained why I was so comfortable. I had taken to wearing it often, not only was it efficient, it made me look like a gorgeous badass and that's all a woman wants to be, yes? Yes.
It was the standard black that helped us blend into the night, an obviously charmed for a million things military jacket underneath the standard one. Shining black material clung to my legs tightly, leaving no room for water to get in between and causing sickness and embezzled- yes, embezzled, I was Harry bloody Potter- on the collar of my long jacket was the letter M, the symbol of the Ministry of Magic. A silver pocket watch hung from my front pocket, etched on the front a curled A, a sign to all those who saw it that I was a part of the magic worlds military force. And, of course, a black wand holster buckled nice and snug on my right arm, wand safe and sound within it, allowing me a moment of relief.
So aside from me looking fabulous, I was hungover, in what looked to be an abandoned mine, on a pile of long dead...things, strung together to fashion a huge arse chair, something was jabbing into my skull and I was surrounded by the tallest and ugliest looking house elves I had ever seen, all clad with shittily made weapons and all silent and staring at me.
Yep, last night was a good one.
I made an uncomfortable noise at the back of my throat, the sound causing an explosion of pain in my head. "Bollocks!"
"O' darkest one?" Called one of the smallest but certainly not prettier elves in a fearful tone, like saying anything was a offence punishable by death. He- it was a he right?- didn't speak English. No, far from it, the sound of it grated against my ears like the darkest of magic against my soul but to my surprise I understood what he said. Perfectly, which was probably a cause to worry about, but I was hungover and at this point didn't give a flying snitch.
I ignored the cringing house elves in favor of flicking my wrist, an action that summoned forth my wand from it's holster and into my hand. Immediately the elves roared and jumped about, some looked like excited dogs while others looked as if their deaths had finally come for them, causing me to narrow my eyes at them. House elves may have enjoyed work but punishing them physically was now a breach of the law, thanks to a certain bushy haired friend and judging by their reaction to my wand, someone had done just that.
"Relax, I wont harm any of you." I attempted to placate the fearful looking ones while sending a stern look to the others which had them silent in moments. The smaller ones relaxed somewhat but still looked at me as if I were both Jesus and Satan, at the same time.
Muttering a quick spell to rid myself of my hangover, I took in my surroundings. We were definitely in an abandoned mine. Mine carts full of swords and other weaponry were scattered about the place and half made scaffolds leaned against cavern walls. It was huge with torches lit everywhere for light, tunnels stretched in every direction and on many different levels which made me realize I was at the highest point, looking down at what could have been hundreds upon hundreds of uglier than usual house elves.
"Where in Merlin's name am I?" I rasped, mild dread pooling in my stomach. It was Monday and I was obviously late to work, to a job where I was a potential candidate for captain of the Aurors. I could now kiss that position goodbye, didn't matter if I was the savior of the wizarding world. I had gotten drunk off my arse and partied with house elves in a mine, doesn't look so good on the resume.
Another stepped forth to answer my question, "We are in the caverns of the Misty Mountains, south of the Mountains of Angmar, my Queen." He paused, his green skin paling in a most unflattering way before continuing, "Though, you have recently renamed it...Goblin Town."
My silence rung through the mines louder than any noise could have, but my mind remained blank in wake of his words.
Misty Mountains?
Mountains of Angmar?
My Queen? Me?
Goblin Town?
The one who had answered my question- which just brought up even more- fidgeted in place, fear in his eyes and spluttered, "Forgive me, magical one. I recall you saying that we goblins should name our dwelling. You also offered up Potterville, Harrytown and Camelot before settling on Goblin Town." He inhaled, seemingly gathering his courage. "You sung a song, it was to be our anthem?" He ended in a squeak.
Merlin's crystal balls I was off my rocker and from this moment forth I was never drinking again, ever. "Where am I?" I asked again and upon seeing their confused faces I was quick to clarify myself, "I mean what country am I in?"
Because British Goblins did not look and act like these ones did; less sneering and more please-don't-kill-me.
This time it was the so called goblins turn to stay their tongues as they looked at each other, eyes darting around to see if anyone understood and more than a little panic buzzed about me. "Okay, England? Scotland? Europe? Bloody hell, the Pacific ocean? The Bermuda triangle? Flippen 'ell McDonald's? Ring a bell?"
The goblin wrung his hands together in a nervous fashion, "We have no bells My Lady." Then glared at the next goblin over as if it was his fault that they didn't have any bells and that if he didn't have bells in the next minute he would be tasting his rusted sword in the back of his throat or maybe not because he'd be dead before he could. It was almost amusing to see him go from guilty child to absolute psychopath in under a second.
It was at this point I knew something was very, very, wrong but in a desperate attempt I spoke a name I hadn't spoken since I learned his true name, "Voldemort?"
There was confusion again as they stared at me, the foreign name obviously meaning nothing to them. It didn't matter if these goblins had lived under the smallest rock in the most desolate of deserts, every magical creature knew that name, Merlin, some still recoiled in fear when it was said aloud.
"Planet? What planet?" I ask, agitation now settling in.
The goblins seem to notice this as they all squirmed in their spots, though it was easy to notice the group of goblins standing together on a balcony stayed still, their eyes following my every facial twitch making me want to throw a stinging hex at them while simultaneously reminding me of my days as a teenager under the fierce glare of my potions professor, it was not a nice reminder. Baring my teeth at them much like a rabid wolf to show my annoyance it was a show of bravery when they simply gave a respectful bow of their heads, some shooting others smug smirks while they were at it.
Irritation was welling up in me in face of all the unknowns. It was now well known that Harriet J. Potter did not like not knowing things and right now I knew absolute jack. "World. What world is this?" I snarl, dragon hide boots hitting the floor of the rickety scaffolding with a thud, hands gripping the arms of my bone chair, ready to spring up.
"Middle-Earth, though the first born call it Arda." One of the goblins from the balcony called calmly. His skin was paler than the most of the others, more grey than green, as were all who stood on the balcony. They wore skulls around their necks and judging by their sparse silver ear hair and wrinkles, had obviously lived a long, long, long time.
That answered one question of my one thousand while introducing several more. Who the were the first born? What language did he switch to at the end of his sentence because his words went from grating to song like. Why could I understand them when they were obviously not speaking English? How could they understand me when speaking English but could not speak English themselves because if they could there would be no need for...whatever they were speaking.
Morgana's lady parts, it had lasted a whole three minutes but some things just weren't meant to be, "Balls, I need some alcohol. There's only one way to sort his out and it isn't by being sober."