Author's Note: What can I say? I was actually going to pay respectful homage to a tragic narrative, but then my fingers began typing something else.
Lord Voldemort regarded with vast satisfaction Harry Potter's corpse lying on the mansion's marble floor. At long last, that Halloween debacle of so many years ago was avenged…and all it'd taken was for Dobby the house-elf to betray someone who'd trusted this little magical creature only to be delivered into the murderous hands of Harry's worse enemy waiting at a Death Eater's house.
It would be best in the future to keep a wary eye upon Gwendolyn Post should she soon return to Britain. Anyone patient enough and sufficiently subtle to play such a long game as to encourage her house-elf's plan to be Potter's loyal helper without immediately acting against that young wizard was somebody not to be underestimated. But that was for later. In the meantime, he needed to contact his Death Eaters and direct them in the final conquest of the Ministry of Magic—
Behind the Dark Lord, someone cleared their throat.
Instantly whirling around, wand out and ready to cast the Killing Curse upon the fool who'd dared to intrude upon Lord Voldemort without being summoned, this monster stopped short in his absolute shock at what was now before him. Even more incredible was what happened next.
Dobby, previously stone-cold dead from Bellatrix's dagger in his chest, presently stood there quite hale and hearty. The solemn-faced house-elf then spoke in Harry Potter's voice: "Hullo, Tom. You just lost again."
A casual wave of Dobby's hand then rendered Voldemort unconscious with a tremendous blast of magical energy. Beginning to slump forwards, the Dark Lord's insensible body was held in place with another wave of the house-elf's hand. Right afterwards, the two vanished into thin air.
In what the house-elves called 'the stretched-time place', another dimension where days, months, or even years could pass while only a moment occurred in their human masters' original dimension, Harry grieved for Dobby's sacrifice. Even if it'd been completely insane and buggered up Harry's existence nearly beyond belief.
No, wait. On second thought, it was beyond belief.
People like Voldemort and the Post women were obviously familiar with treachery and unfaithfulness when carrying out their plots, but it seemingly never occurred to these villains that they could be betrayed just as well as any of their enemies. Or to put it more simply, people could change their minds anytime for any reason. Dobby began pretending to be devoted to Harry Potter, only for this attachment to become truly legitimate. Caught between his oath of magical allegiance to Ms. Post who thought of her house-elf as nothing more than a tool to be used and then discarded if necessary and Harry's genuine friendship offered without any expectations, Dobby tried for years to break free of these conflicting obligations.
Even if he'd started out as acting the scatter-brained house-elf, Dobby's mental instability probably became real later on due to the immense strain he'd been under. Harry couldn't imagine any other reason as to why a teenage human wizard had just become a small house-elf of an entirely different species. Or, at least those reasons he tried very hard to avoid thinking about…
The memories, along with the experience in using his newly-granted elf powers, were there to be scanned whenever Harry wished. A frantic Dobby knowing his mistress would soon order him to bring Master Harry to Bad Snake-Face impulsively came up with his lunatic plan on the spur of the moment. To be precise, when he saw Missy Bella's hurled dagger coming right at him.
Virtually every single other house-elf could've popped away before being hit with that knife. Instead, Dobby let it sink fatally in his chest, all while using the magic of this sacrifice to set up a new life for Harry when he in turn would be executed by Bad Snake-Face.
The parallels were all too obvious and definitely uncomfortable for Harry. Someone who cared for him got killed but their magic saved the last Potter just before he downright died who then got installed inside a completely different person's head—
Wonderful. He was a horcrux now.
Glaring at the still-unconscious Voldemort floating in mid-air, Harry left him in the other dimension, popping away. It wasn't like that bastard would wake up soon, so he could afford to finally take care of some unfinished business.
Very much not in the mood to put up with any nonsense whatsoever, a certain house-elf now ran roughshod over the entire British wizarding world. Storming his way through various magical locations without care or heed to plotlines, canon, and fanfiction, the only precaution Harry took right from the start was to stay invisible to anyone throughout his zealousness.
There was good cause for that extreme fervor, seeing how the first thing Harry did after returning to the humans' dimension was to check on the whereabouts and well-being of Hermione and Ron. It transpired that Dobby's memories of transporting these two safe and sound to the Grimmauld Place house were indeed correct, but this was just as far as it went. Apparently sometime soon afterwards in the Black family residence, his friends had turned to each other for comfort in their worry about Harry.
Translation: these teenagers started shagging like bunnies.
Harry could've gratefully lived without ever seeing what Hermione's O-face looked like. Much less listening to her yelling at Ron that this time he'd better keep his mouth full…
Maybe there was actually something as to why house-elves punished themselves. After his frantic escape from Grimmauld Place to the Chamber of Secrets under Hogwarts, pounding his head extremely hard a dozen times in a row against the nearest wall definitely helped.
Once things stopped spinning, Harry collected the necessary materials and then he went horcrux hunting. It didn't take all that long to achieve complete success. Then, Harry went back to the other dimension.
Lord Voldemort was roused from his enchanted kip by the soothing sounds of "WAKEY, WAKEY, YOU 'ORRIBLE MAN! DROP YOUR COCKS AND GRAB YOUR SOCKS!"
Opening his eyes to then try and fail in recoiling from the unlovely features of a bellowing house-elf almost nose to…um…whatever with him, Voldemort found his whole body frozen solid save for his eyelids and these orbs moving themselves in their sockets. Desperately trying to understand what'd just happened, the Dark Lord was abruptly distracted by realizing they were down the shoreline of Black Lake in Scotland atop a little headland rather than in one of his supporters' mansion where both Harry Potter and Dobby had recently died. In fact, Hogwarts Castle loomed up in the distance perhaps a mile or so further away.
Voldemort stared in disbelief at that same house-elf now smirking at him. It wasn't a reassuring expression…
Cracking his knuckles, Dobby then grandly gestured. Out from nowhere, three objects popped into existence and continued to hover in the air in front of an abruptly alarmed Voldemort. From left to right, they were: an ornate golden cup, a gem-studded silver diadem, and most upsetting of all, a very unhappy serpent.
Clicking his tongue to return Voldemort's appalled attention to him, Dobby held up his right hand and slowly closed it into a fist. When this finished, a set of three identically large and sharp teeth shimmered into existence seemingly protruding from the back of Dobby's fist and pointing out past the clenched fingers.
A horrified Voldemort recognized these teeth right away. They were from a basilisk! Not just any other specimen of that extremely dangerous snake, but the very one which he'd commanded years before to slay Potter in the Chamber of Secrets, only for that brat to defeat his beast with Godric Gryffindor's sword!
Unable to utter a single syllable, the Dark Lord's eyes bulged in a vain attempt to threaten that little fiend…who just nodded enthusiastically about what was to take place.
Mere minutes later, only the spell holding him in place kept Lord Voldemort from fatalistically sagging at being stood upright. For the first time in years, this evil wizard was mortal again. None of his horcruxes now survived anywhere in the world, not even the one in Harry Potter's head. Perhaps he'd been a trifle hasty in killing that infuriating boy.
Snapping his fingers in front of Voldemort's dull eyes, Dobby saw him reluctantly take notice of his situation. Time for the big finale:
Now showing off a truly vicious smile, Dobby opened wide his arms. As if this action had been a signal, at least twenty basilisk teeth then appeared all over the front of the house-elf's body. Every tooth's base was firmly connected to Dobby's greyish skin, making these poisonous fangs sticking out like they were flesh-ripping spikes on a medieval mace.
Lord Voldemort then heard the very last words to ever be spoken to him in the living world:
"Tom, based on the kind of day you've been having, I think you need a really good hug."
Crouching down, the house-elf keep poking and prying in a vain attempt to give Harry Potter's face a final heroic expression of unyielding determination. Alas, whenever Dobby took away his pressing fingers from this corpse's slack face, it slumped back into the blankness of true death.
Straightening up from the body lying on the headland ground, Harry idly wondered if he'd finally gone as bonkers as Dobby-that-was had been just before the little idiot got six inches of razor-sharp steel right in the heart. Hmmm…probably, Harry decided. It was actually kind of liberating, simply not giving a damn anymore.
Still, his permanent farewell to the British wizarding world deserved something more than a mere parting two-finger salute to all those morons with their wands. A few loose-ends needed to be tied up, even though Harry grimaced at how much it annoyed him at leaving the job unfinished by having his last enemy escape scot-free from any punishment.
The house-elf's grouchy expression darkened further at this reminder that Gwendolyn Post, the woman who'd conspired with Tom Riddle (aka the other corpse over there) to kill Harry couldn't be touched by him. It all had to do with the vast amount of magic granted to Harry by Dobby which was barely comprehended by the wizards and witches who mostly used their diminutive servants to run errands and do the household chores. Unfortunately, this immense power came with a very big weakness: a house-elf couldn't directly attack their owner. Magic itself forbade this.
Oh, a house-elf could disobey orders or imaginatively interpret them by finding the loopholes in these commands given by their masters and mistresses, but physically striking back at them in any way, even by second-hand attempts? Not a chance.
Worse of all, Dobby was still Ms. Post's house-elf, bound to her service forever unless she freed him. Considering that this Englishwoman knew her magical slave was dead, it was likely she'd never bother to summon Dobby ever again. If it still happened, though…Harry would have no choice but to appear wherever Ms. Post was and do what he was told by that bitch!
Harry shuddered at the very thought. It'd be more awful than the Dursleys a dozen times over. However bad his life had been with those unpleasant relatives, it'd never approach the sheer evil Ms. Post could force him to commit with Harry's house-elf powers.
That was why Harry had decided to die.
It wasn't something he looked forward to all that much, but frankly there weren't any decent alternatives aside from committing a drawn-out suicide. Should Harry reveal himself to anybody in the wizarding world from Hermione and Ron down, sooner or later the word would get out to Ms. Post about that Potter bloke recently turning into a house-elf and then killing Lord Voldemort. She wouldn't need very many guesses as to which house-elf this was. Bingo, a new lifetime of unceasing slavery would start for him right afterwards.
Bugger that, even if it now meant he was going to off himself in a short while by staying as far away from magic as he could reasonably get. Dobby's memories confirmed that house-elves needed to be around wizards and witches in order to absorb their magic for survival. Working at a centuries-old castle which was full to the brim with Hogwarts students practicing with their wands every day was another possibility for cast-off elves such as Winky after Crouch Jr. dismissed her with a present of clothes.
Harry couldn't do either option, not when it'd ultimately led to him magically hearing "Dobby!" from a deeply-loathed female voice and then obliged to go to where that damn woman might be. So…after finishing here, he'd leave for someplace really remote with no people of any kind. Which meant no magic, too. And then, he'd slowly starve to death from magical malnutrition.
How long it'd take, Harry wasn't sure. Kreacher lasted for years in the abandoned Grimmauld Place house, but this Black residence was a wizard's dwelling, so this forgotten house-elf could take magic from there. A completely magic-free island, in say, the Orkneys? Maybe not all that long.
Well, he'd known hunger before, back in the Dursleys' cupboard. At least this time, it'd be out in the open, with the wind blowing in his face and being able to look up at the stars…
Harry brought himself back to the present. Later for all that; right now, it was time to tell everybody in the British wizarding world the terrifying wizard known as Lord Voldemort was now – ahem – 'undeniably and reliably dead.' And our hero Harry Potter was the young man who brought down this monster for once and all.
Cynically wondering just how big the statue of him was going to be built here and how many pigeons it'd attract to unceasingly shit all over this, Harry waved a house-elf hand and produced a basilisk tooth in his palm. Gripping the tooth, Harry strolled over to a very deceased Voldemort with multiple perforations all over him and then knelt alongside by the prone corpse a little further down the headland. Savoring the moment, Harry then fiercely stabbed with the tooth right into the portion of Tom's face where his nose should've been.
Next came the pouring of all the house-elf magic Harry could summon through the basilisk's tooth right into Voldemort's body…and through this, into all of the Dark Marks magically branded upon Tom's accomplices. Nobody received this vile tattoo unless they belonged to Voldemort body and soul and proved it by performing at minimum a combined atrocity of rape, torture, and murder against some muggle, mudblood, or blood-traitor.
Harry displayed a really maniacal grin on his face when Voldemort's corpse began to slowly dissolve into ashes. Hey, house-elves were expected to work their fingers to the bone to tidy up after wizards and witches. What kind of servant would Dobby be if he didn't clean up his mess…everywhere?
Not to mention nobody particularly cared to inquire if the wizarding world's filth would be eradicated painlessly.
As it happened, they weren't. All over the British Isles, assorted men and women in robes grabbed their upper arms, shrieked with indescribable agony, and then evaporated into black powder gently drifting towards the ground at their various locations.
One such location was Hogwart's Main Hall where a subdued lunch meal among the four houses was occurring until several teachers, staff and pupils for some reason died right in the middle of their dining. Especially vivid had been Severus Snape's passing at the head table with his piercing screams hurting everyone's ears.
Looking around the large room in disbelief, the luncheon crowd soon realized that none of the Dark Lord's active supporters had survived there…but the Slytherins now rather reduced in numbers at their table were right on hand for some serious payback by the rest of the school.
McGonagall and Flitwick managed to keep anyone from actually being fatally cursed in the next few minutes, but Draco Malfoy might've still not been all that grateful for those teachers' valiant efforts. Neither were Crabbe and Goyle, his usual bodyguards, but since all of them were now conjoined triplets by their mouths glued to each other's buttocks due to some very imaginative wandwork, they were unable to express any verbal criticisms about the whole humiliating situation. Hand gestures didn't work either, considering all three males' fingers were also presently attached to a certain discrete part of their erstwhile brand-new extremely close acquaintances.
Back on the headland, Harry finished his permanent obliteration of Voldemort with a massive flare of light which changed into firework-like sparkles continuing to glitter in a large half-bubble the size of a house surrounding his location. Letting go of the basilisk tooth which dropped onto a scorched blot resembling Tom's distinctive shadow stretched out upon the ground, Harry watched with satisfaction while the tooth vanished, along with every other trace of house-elf magic cast in the last few minutes.
Once someone finally looked from the castle to here and came to investigate the strange occurrence taking place at the headland, they'd cause the sparkles to turn off after coming sufficiently near. That'd reveal an extraordinary scene of Harry Potter's dead body lying on the ground, right arm pointing at a mysteriously burned area several yards further on. Another seared section running from Harry's fingertips, eleven inches long and ruler-straight, would obviously be that teenager's now-destroyed wand.
It should be obvious to any stunned and sorrowful witness what'd happened. Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, had met his prophesied adversary in magical single combat, and won. Sadly, before Lord Voldemort was utterly defeated, that villain still managed to dispatch that young hero with a final Avada Kedavra curse. The odd lights attracting the attention of the Hogwarts residents were obviously a by-product of the final battle.
Harry/Dobby went over the whole fabricated story one last time in his mind. Yeah, it should work. The only person who might be suspicious, Gwendolyn Post who'd departed from the Death Eater mansion after seeing her house-elf dead and the Potter heir about to die too any second now, couldn't help but soon be of the same opinion as the rest of the mournful British wizarding world. To her, apparently Harry somehow managed to turn the tables and triumph against Voldemort anyway, but the younger wizard still got killed during that shining example of final bravery. That meant she'd be totally in the clear with nobody else aware of Dobby's betrayal.
A quite different house-elf standing on the headland grumpily shrugged once. Fine, if there was no other recourse, he'd settle for that. In the meantime…Harry took the opportunity for one last look towards Hogwarts Castle.
Then, a house-elf teleported away with a pop!, off to meet his fate.
Time passed. On the whole, Harry didn't bother keeping track of how long it'd been on the tiny, bare island which had been completely uninhabited until he'd appeared there. The sun rose and sank, the moon did the same, the ocean waves ceaselessly rolled upon the rocky shores surrounding the skerry somewhere in the North Atlantic.
Aside from the house-elf, the only living creatures on the little islet were several hundred seabirds. Harry had no idea what they were called, but these large white birds with yellowish heads, long bills, and black-tipped wings quickly became accustomed to their newest visitor. Going about their daily business of nesting together, flying off to dive out of the air into the ocean for food, and otherwise existing without a care for humans, Harry found them to be quite good company.
In turn, he left them alone in his brief strolls around the skerry whenever he felt like taking these. Otherwise Harry perched upon a handy rock shaped like a chair and just waited for death. His increasing lassitude indicated to the house-elf he was indeed exhausting his magic. Soon enough, it'd be over.
Once in a while, Harry contemplated ending it much more quickly. Carrying out some immense and totally pointless spell would burn him out completely and that'd be that. Such as shaping the entire skerry into a representative carving of Dobby's head. Now this would be a real big surprise for the next small plane which flew over here, Harry chuckled to himself.
But…no. Why disturb the seabirds, who didn't deserve it at all? Harry went back to waiting, appreciating the total peace around him after a very painful life.
Unfortunately for Harry James Potter, he wasn't destined for tranquility.
One day, it was the same as ever, but in the next instant, a house-elf shot up onto his feet from the stone seat, staring out incredulously at the ocean. He'd just felt through his magic Gwendolyn Post dying!
Collapsing back against the rock, Harry tried to comprehend this unexpected turn of events. Did it mean he was free now? Able to put off his suicide and go back to the wizarding world? Frantically skimming through Dobby's memories about other occasions when house-elf owners suddenly died, Harry slumped in disappointment at eventually learning the bad news.
Even if Ms. Post was now dead (and Harry nastily hoped it'd hurt a lot), she hadn't freed him before this surprising development. That meant he was now an unclaimed elf, with any wizard and witch coming across him able to declare themselves his new owner. Harry wouldn't have any choice in the matter. Like it or not, he'd be their slave for the rest of his own life.
Looks like it's back to the slow suicide thing, Harry glumly thought to himself. Except…he wasn't in the mood for this any longer. Tilting his head, Harry reached out with his house-elf powers and used these to tell exactly where the Post woman had come to a sticky end—
California? What was she doing there?!
He was genuinely intrigued now, casting aside the lethargy of the last few weeks or months or whatever. That was a long way from here, but…yes, Harry did have about enough remaining magic to travel all the distance from the skerry to some place in California. Mind you, his lifespan would be no more than a couple of hours at the most once this was done.
Well, why not? Might as well as die finding out who'd scuppered that damn bitch and possibly thank them for it. Maybe there'd also be a chance for a good, long piss on dear Gwennie's grave, Harry smirked.
Straightening up in his newfound resolution, Harry called out to the nearby seabirds, "So long, and thanks for all the fish!"
A chorus of replying squawks came in response from the gannet colony, who then watched uncomprehendingly how a diminutive being vanished into thin air with a pop! sound.
"Unnggghhh," Harry groaned, sinking to his knees. That felt really strange, nearly wiping himself out with his magic…which was coming back! Scrambling back up onto his feet, Harry stared around in bewilderment at the place he'd just appeared inside.
It was some kind of crypt, but one where a sort of fight had recently taken place. There was smashed stonework throughout, scorch marks all over the walls and floor, and a ceiling skylight was missing most of its glass panels. Nobody was here now, though, save for Harry trying to come to grips with the fact that he was once again absorbing magic.
Compared to British magical places, though, this new enchantment being soaked up by the house-elf felt different. Much darker, if he had to put it in actual words. Not entirely bad, just…distinctive. The closest thing Harry had ever encountered like it as a house-elf before was the Chamber of Secrets, but surely that couldn't explain everything…
Frowning, Harry went invisible. He needed to get to the bottom of this, and it wasn't a good idea to stand here in full view of whoever might come along. Harry concentrated, calling up his magic to show what'd occurred here during Gwendolyn Post's death, starting a few minutes earlier than that happy event.
Images shimmered into existence in the crypt. There was…let's see…Post herself wearing one weird glove, three teenage girls, another teenage male their age, and finally one older man who was a…vampire?!
Harry watched and listened in growing confusion to such names as 'Faith', 'Buffy', 'Xander', 'Willow', and 'Angel' for the vampire (which seemed damned off). There was then a big fight between two of the girls moving faster and hitting harder than Harry had ever seen an ordinary human do before, until Ms. Post started blasting everywhere lightning bolts from her glove, including at the other people there. Harry whooped with abrupt glee at seeing one of the unusual girls throw a sharp piece of glass which amputated Post's gloved hand. Also enjoyed hugely by Harry was how the ensuing electrical backblast from the glove next fried Gwendolyn Post into cinders.
"Yeah!" Harry shouted, "This one's for you, Dobby!"
A wave of the house-elf's hand ended the scene before Harry. He needed time to think now, so a quick pop was done into the stretched-time dimension.
So, what was he going to do? The magic absorbed by the house-elf from this place had just renewed Harry's powers, so if he still wanted to commit suicide again, it'd have to be done all over at the far-away skerry. Frankly, it seemed pretty futile, except there was nonetheless the point that any local witch or wizard could easily claim a stray house-elf whenever they wished.
Given that there were vampires around, people accustomed to them, and those odd abilities shown by those girls, it was more than likely there were indeed wizards and witches here, too. Brooding about this, Harry was distracted by remembering one specific girl. Not the one who'd chopped off a betrayer's arm, but the other one. Faith, that was her name.
From what Harry managed to get from the assorted conversations, Ms. Post had earlier won Faith's trust, and then skillfully manipulated the younger woman to set her against those other people who were the brunette's…friends? Allies? Partners?
Harry now knew about that kind of thing, of course. The house-elf sighed in regret, until he remembered how the scene he'd just witnessed had ended. The vampire removed Ms. Post's body and the others left in a group, leaving Faith to go off on her own.
That…didn't seem right. After what Faith had been through, she should be with her friends with it then a decidedly good idea being reassured by them it wasn't any of her fault. Impulsively opting to check on Faith, Harry transported himself to where that girl was…in a hotel bedroom?
The house-elf looked around in disgust at the shabby interior. This place was a bloody blot on the landscape, deserving nothing less than a quick match and watching it burn down to cinders. Shaking his head with disapproval, the magical creature concealed from Faith Lehane by both the invisibility Harry had never turned off and also his presence in the stretched-time dimension from which he was observing the girl huddled in the room's bed peered closer at her.
Oh, bollocks. She was crying, the tears frozen rolling down her cheeks in the single moment at which Faith was currently existing from Harry's viewpoint.
Harry uncomfortably glanced away, wishing he could help her. It didn't seem possible, however. Coming to California to make sure that damn Post woman was dead was one thing; actively interfering in things he didn't understand was entirely something else. Besides, Dobby's memories were firmly informing Harry that a house-elf couldn't belong to a muggle.
Hold on, now, nobody said anything about becoming anyone's property- Wait a second!
The way this Faith girl had gone up against in single combat with the other one, what was her name…Buffy, right. Neither of them moved like normal people, doing their punches, kicks, and dodging a lot faster than he'd thought possible outside action movies. Not that Harry had managed to see all that many of these pictures, what with Dudley hogging the television at the Privet Drive house all the time…
Harry examined the girl again, this time more closely with his magic. Bloody hell! She had her own magic- Um, no, that wasn't it. She was part magic, the part which gave her those peculiar abilities. Now really impressed, Harry went over Dobby's memories again, only to find nothing which covered this specific situation.
Which meant there wasn't anything against it, either.
The house-elf cautioned himself to slow down a little. Why was he so eager to help that girl, up to volunteering to become her own personal servant? Besides, for all Harry knew, Faith enjoyed kicking puppies and spitting on the sidewalk.
He looked at the girl's face again. Yes, still crying…
Bugger, bugger, bugger. All right, put it this way. He either did something or went back to the North Atlantic island and did nothing. Well, when you phrased it like that, the choice was clear.
However, Harry still didn't want to be made a slave…but why would Faith know she could do this in the first place? Extending his magic as far as possible in the strange-feeling city around himself, Harry couldn't sense any other house-elf within range, about a dozen miles or so. Good, what Faith didn't know couldn't hurt Harry. Now all he needed was to figure out a way to talk her into taking him on as nothing more than a magical employee. As long as the subject of just how far she could order him around never came up, Harry figured things would stay fairly satisfactory for both of them.
In any case, it'd be a lot more interesting than watching a bunch of seagulls crapping on the next rock over.
Sooooo…start off by appearing out of this dimension and just say hullo to her? Harry didn't think it'd go all that well, having a short, pop-eyed, pointy-eared, grey-skinned, loinclothed midget dropping into Faith's bedroom without the slightest advance warning. He better work more on it- Oh-ho.
Harry's new life forced him to be a house-elf, but nothing said he had to look like one. Excitedly waving his hands, Harry conjured up a full-length mirror in the other dimension. Watching his reflection in the mirror, Harry concentrated…
After a few more minutes of admiring how he now resembled a young Sean Connery, Harry reluctantly decided maybe that was overdoing it a little. All right, then, no celebrities or even anyone Harry directly knew from his past. Even if the possibility seemed very remote, he couldn't risk his new appearance ever being connected to Harry Potter from the British wizarding world.
A childhood memory materialized in Harry's mind. The local Little Whinging library was one of the few places away from the Dursley house where Dudley and his pals couldn't torment him, so Harry liked reading there in peace and quiet. He still couldn't take home any books lest Dudley rip them up, though. At the library wall by the return/checkout desk, there was a large photograph of a young uniformed man with an extremely distinctive facial feature which always fascinated Harry. Eventually, a shy question from Harry had the librarian explain to the little boy that man was a Royal Air Force pilot who'd died in action during World War II and had the library named after him in his honor.
Grinning at the mirror, Harry brushed with the back of one finger his magnificent hairbrush mustache and then adjusted his RAF cap. Damn, but he looked good in the blue tailored uniform from decades ago. It'd even explain his English accent…
The instant after some dude with a humongous 'stache interrupted her pity party just when she'd been about to tell the Scooby Gang to go fuck themselves and hitch up with someone properly appreciative of her talents, Faith whipped out a favorite knife from under her pillow and threw it at the guy's head. From across the room where he'd just appeared out of nowhere, this guy in his blue duds casually snatched the knife out of mid-air when it got within reach.
Dropping the knife to the motel floor, this unknown intruder looked over at a gaping Faith and then calmly stated, "Look, miss, shouldn't you at least hear first my request for employment before saying no? That was a no, by the by?"
"Wha'?" Faith managed, hastily wiping away the dampness on her cheeks.
Mr. Knife-Grabber seemed sheepish for a moment. He tried again, "I need a job. Do you want to hire me?"
Okay, Faith mentally reminded herself, this was fuckin' weird Sunnyhell. Wasn't the queerest thing she'd seen yet in this place, but it was pretty damn close. Putting on the bitchiest attitude she could affect on a moment's notice, Faith sneered, "Yeah, I'll just get out the ol' checkbook and write ya a million bucks fer bein' at my beck and call. Yer blind or somethin'? I ain't living in this shithole 'cause I wanna!"
The guy who sounded enough like fuckin' Gwendolyn Post to set her internal alarm bells ringing glanced around at the derelict motel room in the worse part of Sunnydale which was all Faith could afford. He then frowned at her, "Don't you have any money at all?"
Now really beginning to lose her temper, Faith reached out at the rickety side table next to her bed and picked up a quarter from the pitiful amount of change resting there. She next threw it at the guy's head with all her Slayer strength just like before, and exactly as before, this stranger caught it without any trouble.
This was accompanied by Faith's growled, "That's the best I can do! Ya don't think it's enough, then goddamn fuck off the same way you got here!"
That didn't seem to faze him. Instead, the guy just stared with obvious fascination at the small coin in the palm of his hand. It was almost like he'd never seen a quarter before…
At the point when Faith was about to get off the bed, march over there, and kick his ass outta the room, this man in his for-sure first-rate uniform looked up to grin at the Slayer. He then came out with a pleased, "No, this will do quite well! Consider me taken into your service. What would you like me to start off with?"
If this was someone's idea of an exceedingly stupid practical joke, Faith was gonna spread the pain around far and wide. She icily told bigmouth, "Oh, yeah? Well, in that case, spruce up the place an' don't spare the elbow grease—"
Before Faith could even finish, the guy just snapped his fingers. In the blink of an eye, the entire motel room – all of the furnishings, the floor, walls, ceiling, windows, and everything else – now became completely spotless and in perfect repair. It hadn't looked this good since the day after the completion of this motel's construction decades ago.
Harry beamed at an open-mouthed Faith. No wonder house-elves enjoyed cleaning so much, if this was the usual stunned reaction to all their hard work. He waited with interest at what his new mistress would say or do next.
Faith merely closed her eyes, gave a little shake of this young woman's body, and then glanced around the bedroom made afresh to make sure it was still the same. She next thoughtfully said, "Awright, ya better tell me the whole story 'fore things turn ugly. Don't spare the details- Hey, what's yer name, anyways?"
"James," promptly replied Harry, who'd carefully planned for this. He certainly couldn't use his first name, but he needed something familiar so as not to ignore it by accident when called that.
Shrugging, Faith pointed at the single chair at the bedroom's far corner. "'Kay, Jim, plant yer ass an'—What the hell's the matter with ya?"
That last exasperated question was due to the expression of evident distaste suddenly appearing on the guy's face, who repeated, "Jim? I said, my name is James!"
Faith fired back, "Well, yer look more like a Jim, so that's what yer gonna be!"
"Absolutely not!" snapped the guy.
An evil smile spread over Faith's features. "Well, if yer so down 'bout it, guess I could use Jimmy, Jim-boy, Jimbo—"
Harry hastily interrupted, "No, no! Jim is fine!"
Faith's wicked grin lightened up into a more radiant smile which only showed how young and pretty she was over her latest victory.
At that point, a house-elf realized he'd just began the latest part of Harry James Potter's tumultuous life…and he was actually looking forward to it.