Young Harry tries to find his father (like the baby bird in "Are You My Mother" which I've read aloud about a million times this summer alone... I work with preschoolers). Some affectionate mocking of the various HP fandom cliches that I've seen, but mostly randomness. So much randomness. Hopefully, you'll find Harry's "father," when he finds him, to be original, as I'm using the same basic idea in one of my multi-chapter fics I uploaded that's in progress and a oneshot that I haven't finished yet but will upload soon. Enjoy!
One morning, five year-old Harry Potter woke up to discover that he was sharing his cupboard with two luminous beings, a man and woman who were standing hand-in-hand, smiling down at him. The man was wearing glasses and had Harry's untidy black hair. The woman had long red hair and green, almond-shaped eyes that were just like Harry's. Harry gazed at the man; it was like looking like an older version of himself, except this man's eyes were hazel rather than green.
"Are you my father?" Harry asked the man.
"Well, yeah, sure," The man replied. "But your mother and I are dead. Can you imagine two dead people raising a kid?" The man adopted a high-pitched, whiny voice of a pimply teenager in the throes of a temper tantrum "'You don't understand me! Nobody understands me! My own parents don't even remember what it's like to be bound by the laws of physics and logic. Woe is me!'"
Harry, being an intelligent lad, asked, "Since you guys aren't bound by the laws of physics and logic, couldn't you send me back in time to when you were both alive and have the younger versions of yourselves raise me?"
"Let's not go there," Said the man, whose face bore a bemused expression.
"But it makes sense," Harry insisted. "I mean, I would be able to keep you alive, since I already know about the car crash."
"What car crash?" the red-headed woman who Harry assumed was his mother asked, puzzled.
"Aunt Petunia told me that my parents died in a car crash," Harry responded. "Didn't you know that? I mean,you were there."
"That BITCH," roared the normally sweet and gentle woman. "C'mon, James, we need to kick some arse!"
They both disappeared with a loud "CRACK!"
As the ghosts? Spirits? Memories? of Harry's dead parents haunted the Dursleys' living room, Harry slowly exited his cupboard under the stairs, wondering if he could find someone who wanted to be his father. Meanwhile, Aunt Petunia's blond, carefully maintained hair turned green and stringy. The strands gradually thickened, morphing into dozens of hissing, unfriendly serpents. Dudley, who still hadn't noticed anything unusual going on even as the sofa he was sitting on was zooming around the living room, didn't look up from his video game. Harry wandered over to the kitchen and saw Uncle Vernon stuffing his face with a large plateful of sausages, completely oblivious to the fact that his mustache had turned purple and his face now sported bright orange spots.
While watching Vernon attempt to stuff as many sausages in his mouth as he possibly could so as to get as much meat in his mouth as possible without having to go through the laborious effort of returning his fork to his plate and carrying the food up to his mouth again, Harry experienced a sudden epiphany. Sometimes, the best father doesn't have to be related to you. He could be the man that, while by no means perfect, really does care about those around him and can offer valuable insight into the workings of the human mind. Harry gazed at his uncle, the man he had shared a house with for as long as he could remember. Throughout those long, sometimes difficult years, Harry felt he had the measure of Uncle Vernon and could now understand how the man would react in any situation. Truly, he understood the heart and mind of Vernon Dursley. Watching Uncle Vernon stuff sausages into his mouth made him see the kind of man his father should be, the man who would raise him and help him make sense of this confusing world.
"Uncle Vernon?"
His uncle grunted in what Harry supposed was a questioning way.
"May I use the computer for a second? I need to do a little bit of research."
"Whatever," grunted Vernon, anxious to get back to his first breakfast of the day. "Just get out of my face."
So, Harry ran upstairs to his cousin's bedroom, bypassing the commotion in the living room as the serpent's in Petunia's hair grew long enough to reach the floor and nip at her heels. Dudley and Vernon still hadn't noticed anything amiss. He hurried to Dudley's computer and hooked up to the internet.
He typed the words "Sigmund Freud" in the search engine and excitedly began to read all of the information that popped up. It didn't take long for Harry, along with learning many interesting things about subconscious desires and repression (from which he deduced that he was lucky that his mother wasn't around when he first learned about the anatomical differences between men and women), the id, ego, and superego, to discover that Freud had died in 1939.
"Why are all the good ones DEAD?" Harry wept. In tears, he ran downstairs, past the chaotic living room, where Petunia's snakes had grown to the extent that they now covered the entire living room carpet. Unseen by everyone except Harry, his ghostly parents were standing on the coffee table, their arms around each others shoulders, laughing their heads off. Nobody noticed Harry run out the back door and into the garden.
In the garden, Harry started to throw together a funeral for the late, great Sigmund Freud, the father he never knew. However, he realized he didn't have the man's body, which to him seemed sort of important. I mean, he came out here to bury the body, right? So where the Hell was it? He remembered reading that Freud was buried in Golders Green Crematorium Cemetery, which was in London. He knew it wasn't very close by, but at least he was in the right country, right? It was important to look at the positives.
It was clear what he had to do now: steal Freud's body from its final resting place and bury it here in the Dursleys' garden, among the begonias and the zinnias. But he couldn't do it alone. He needed someone to help him, to support him, to comfort him as he wept for the dad he would never had, those moments they had never shared. So back to his quest to find his father!
(A/N: This paragraph was taken directly out of the book Are You My Mother with only a few things changed to fit the context of the story. For those who care.) Harry didn't walk; he ran. He ran all around the neighborhood, not even knowing what direction he was going in. He saw an old drunk sitting on a bench, drinking a can of beer. Could that old guy be his father? No, he could not. Harry did not stop; he ran on and on. After a while, he paused momentarily to catch his breath. He looked way, way down. He saw a man working in the sewers. "There he is!" Said Harry. He called to the sewer-guy, but SewerDude did not stop. SewerDude went on. Harry looked way, way up. He saw a window-washer cleaning the windows of a tall building. "Here I am, Father!" He called out to the window-washer. But the window-washer did not stop. The window-washer went on.
With all of his heart, Harry wished that he could find his father. He closed his eyes, imagining his ideal father: warm, kind, understanding, intelligent. He heard a loud "Pop!" and opened his eyes. Instead of standing on the sidewalk of suburbia, Harry found himself standing in a chilly dark room that resembled a dungeon. A man with greasy black hair was stirring a cauldron of something that was emitting clouds of green vapor.
"Are you my father?" Harry asked the man.
The man looked up to find a child with eyes that were the same color and shape as the late Lily... Lily Potter to the rest of the world; Lily Evans in his cold, blackened heart. He said nothing for a moment, gazing into this strange child's eyes, a part of his mind that he will forever deny the existence of wishing with all its might.
"No," Said the greasy-haired man quietly. The man spoke too quietly for Harry to hear the answer, but the boy could read it on the man's face. The man's expression was a grimace of regret and sadness. Though no tears fell from the man's perpetually cold black eyes, they held the grief of someone who had loved and lost.
The look lasted only an instant, however. The man's cold, angry mask slipped back into place. "Out!" He roared, brandishing the knife he had been using moments before to skin shrivelfigs. "OUT!"
The child was out the door quickly and quietly enough for Snape to convince himself that he had been hallucinating. It was known to happen when brewing this potion. Unbidden, an image of a lovely red-haired girl with sparkling green eyes swam into his mind. This picture were replaced by images of the girl blossoming into a gorgeous teenager, then finally as an adult, looking radiant in a shimmering wedding gown, being given away by her father to the most worthless scum to have ever crawled across the Earth.
Shaking his head to clear away the bittersweet memories, he threw himself back into his brewing, although the potion had reached a stage where not as much work was required. He was determined, however, to distract himself from the images of... her.
Unbeknownst to Snape, the memory of Lily Evans-Potter stood behind him, watching with a sad smile on her pretty face. She wanted to reach out, to comfort Snape, to tell him all was forgiven, but she knew that he would only close his mind to her, brush her off as a hallucination. He was a bitter man now, hardened by years of having to fight for everything he had and losing the only thing that mattered. He would not be like her son, open, innocent, and trusting, allowing himself to see the ghostly images of his biological parents.
Harry ran up several flights of stairs, stopping only when he ran into someone and fell to the floor. The man he had run into had a long mane of silver hair and a beard to match. He was dressed in navy blue robes with yellow stars and moons. He did not seem the least bit surprised to have a young child crash into him. He merely smiled and pulled Harry to his feet.
"Are you my father?" Harry asked the first thing he could think of.
"No. Sorry. I'm gay," Said the man breezily. "However, I think you'll find that family can be found in the places where you would last think to look. Shall we get you back home, Harry?"
"How did you know my name?" Harry asked puzzled. The old man didn't answer. He merely pulled a rubber duck out of his pocket, tapped it with a stick and muttered "Portus." He then handed the duck to Harry.
As soon as Harry took the duck, he felt a jerk around his navel and the sensation of his feet being lifted off the ground. Before he could open his mouth to scream, he found himself standing on the front porch of Number 4 Privet Drive. Tentatively, he opened the door and walked in. The living room was back to normal. Harry's dead parents were gone, and Aunt Petunia's hair was blond and perfect again. She and Dudley were sitting on the now stationary sofa, staring at the telly. Neither gave a sign that they saw Harry enter the room.
Harry walked into Uncle Vernon's study, where he was working on paperwork for Grunnings. His face was now back to normal. "Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked after Vernon had finished filling out one form and before he could move onto another.
Uncle Vernon merely grunted.
"Are you my father?"
For possibly the first time in Harry's entire life, Uncle Vernon looked into his nephew's brilliant green eyes. A spasm seemed to pass across the man's face. After farting loudly, Vernon heaved a deep sigh of relief and relaxed in his office chair.
"What did you say boy?" Uncle Vernon asked in a tone that was as close to polite as he ever got. And why shouldn't he be in a good mood? He still had no idea of the chaos that had reigned in the living room that morning and he had just relieved a lot of pressure in his intestinal area.
"Are you my father?" Harry repeated nervously, trying not to inhale too much, as the room now smelled like rotten eggs.
"NO! NO! A THOUSAND TIMES NO! NOW GET OUT OF MY STUDY! GET OUT AND STAY OUT! I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN FOR THE REST OF YOUR MISERABLE LIFE!"
"But you're raising me!" Harry protested. "I've lived in your house for years! Didn't you at least grow to love me at all? Even a little?"
Uncle Vernon snorted. Unlike normal people, who made a noise that SOUNDED like a snort by laughing derisively through their noses, running the risk of spraying the person they're laughing at with snot, Vernon actually said "Snort!" This ruined the effect somewhat. Instead of sounding like a sarcastic person laughing contemptuously at somebody else, Vernon sounded like the Snort in Are You My Mother, which said "Snort!" when it snorted, probably because it was a Snort.
When his nephew didn't move fast enough, Vernon lifted him up by the scruff of his neck, carried him over to the front door, and, with another angry "Snort!" punted him out of the house. Vernon's kick was stronger than his sense of sarcasm, sending Harry a distance of about 500 feet and making about as much sense as anything else that had happened to Harry today.
Harry landed on his bottom and got up with no injury other than a pain in his rear. If he was a cartoon character, he would have stars coming out of his bum.
Gloomily, Harry wandered about the street. He had given up finding a father. Right now, he had other things to worry about. He had no food, no money. How was he to survive? Harry wandered around aimlessly until nightfall. By this point, he was starving and the night had brought with it a harsh chill that sent him, shivering, onto the doorstep of the only house that was nearby. It was late at night and the house's lights were off. However, Harry could hear the shouts and cheers of a large crowd of people coming from inside the house. He knocked at the door timidly. Nobody answered; the shouting continued uninterrupted.
The front door was unlocked. Harry slowly opened it and slipped inside. He followed the voices downstairs to a large basement. When he entered the room, he saw a huge ring of men gathered around something Harry couldn't see. Now and then, someone would cheer or jeer loudly. Harry edged his way through the crowd, his small frame working to his advantage, as none of the men even noticed the boy moving among them. When Harry reached the front of the crowd, he saw what the men were acting so excited over: two men beating the crap out of each other.
However, this wasn't quite the same as Dudley beating up Harry. For one thing, the men were actually evenly matched in size, as opposed to Harry being thoroughly squashed by Dudley, who was about four times bigger than he was. The guys seemed to be having fun, too. This wasn't an aggressor going after somebody for lunch money and the victim trying to fight him off while keeping all his limbs intact. This looked like a game, a sport. This looked like fun.
In the end, the smaller guy won the fight. Harry took heart from this and cheered louder than anyone else as the victor pulled the other man to his feet, all animosity forgotten. Perhaps Harry should not have cheered quite so loudly. His outburst brought the eyes of the room upon room. The crowd quickly fell silent as a muscular man with spiky blond hair stepped forward. The man, obviously the group's leader said, "The eighth rule is if this is your first night at Fight Club, you HAVE to fight." The man put a hand on Harry's shoulder and gave him a gentle push into the center of the ring. "All right, who wants to take him?"
None of the men met their leader's eyes. Nobody wanted to be the one to beat up a skinny little boy. Harry was shocked that they weren't rushing to the center, eager for an easy victory. The people here were so different from the ones he was used to encountering. When no volunteer stepped forward, the man scanned the room and spotted a pretty blond boy who looked no older than sixteen. "Mister Angel-Face," the leader said, beckoning the teenager forward. "You're up next. Ricky, you're fighting the winner."
Angelface obediently stepped forward, pulling off his shirt and kicking off his shoes as he walked. There was no way he could disobey an order from the leader of Fight Club, Tyler Durden. He planned to just knock the kid over as gently as possible, then take him back home. He figured that Tyler was trying to teach this kid a lesson. He wasn't ready to play with the grown-ups yet. Tyler had tried to teach him that same lesson when he first joined up, but had gotten a shock. Angel had beaten every single one of his opponents. He had been going to Fight Club for two weeks now, and he had never lost a fight.
The boy imitated Angel, pulling off his baggy shirt and kicking off his trainers. "Fight! Fight! Fight!" The crowd began to shout. Angel gave the boy a gentle shove, wanting it to be just hard enough to knock him down. However, the push barely caused the boy to stumble. Apparently, the kid was stronger than he looked. The kid returned the shove with a kick to Angel's shins. It hurt more than Angel expected, but by now he was used to much stronger people trying to kick his ass. Angel decided to end this farce of a fight quickly by picking the boy up and tossing him as gently as possible to the ground. However, as soon as he had the boy in his arms, the kid grabbed onto Angel's hair and swung forwards, kicking Angel in the stomach. Angel doubled over in pain from the unexpectedly hard kick; the boy had put all of his weight into it. While Angel was momentarily doubled over, the kid took the opportunity to lean forward and sink his teeth into Angel's neck. Angel yelped, trying to pull the kid off; he was always so good at preventing fighters from getting a blow in anywhere near his handsome face. The boy's bite was so strong that Angel could not pull the kid off. He tried sticking his hands in the boy's mouth to unclamp his extra-strength jaws. As Angel's hands were occupied, now hanging freely by his jaw's grip on Angel's neck, used his own hands to repeatedly punch both of Angel's eyes. The punches were swifter than they were strong, but they kept coming, effectively blinding Angel. The boy used his freely swinging feet to continue kicking Angel in the stomach, and, fuck, this kid could kick like a mule. Angel gave up trying to wrench open the boy's jaw and simply pushed at the kid's face with both hands as hard as he could. He was certain that this would cause the kid to go flying off him and onto the floor. This would have happened if there were not strange forces at work tonight. Angel felt a powerful force push him back, causing Angel to fall backwards. The back of his head hit the stone floor of the basement, causing him to black out for a second. That second counted. Inexplicably, the small boy became the very first person to ever beat Angelface in a fight. There were some good-natured chuckles at the irony of this from the men who had been beaten soundly by the unexpectedly strong Angelface.
"Ricky, you're up next," Tyler ordered. Ricky stepped forward, convinced that Angel's defeat was a fluke and determined to keep away from the little bugger's teeth. However, Ricky was soon knocked out by that unexplainable force that sent him sprawling to the ground. After three more Fight Club regulars were similarly defeated, the group began to take the kid seriously. Now that he had proven himself, Harry was allowed to remain in the audience and watch the others fight.
The leader made his way over to Harry, who was watching, fascinated, as one man punched another with enough force to send him flying. Harry didn't notice the spiky-haired man until he put a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry jumped and turned around, putting his fists up, ready to defend himself. But the man did not attack, merely asked "Who told you about us?"
"Nobody," Said Harry. "My uncle kicked me out. I've been wandering around all day. I was hungry, cold, and tired, and I didn't have anywhere I could stay. I heard people still awake in this house, so I knocked on the door to ask for something to eat. Nobody answered, but the door was unlocked. I walked in, followed the voices, and here I am."
The man considered him for a moment. While the blond man was thinking, Harry saw a brunette man with a bruised face appear at the blond man's shoulder. The brunette didn't seem happy about Harry's very existence, much less his presence in Fight Club. He looked like he was about to say something, but the blond merely put a hand on his shoulder.
"Why don't I take you up to the kitchen?" Asked the blonde. "You can have a bite and we'll talk." Harry nodded in agreement. All the fighting he had been doing had made him even hungrier. These fights were strange. Generally, the only way he could win a fight with Dudley would be to run fast enough that he could escape long enough for his cousin to lose interest. Now, when fighting against much larger, stronger men, something was on his side. He didn't know what, but his interest was piqued. He resolved to test this power further as soon as he possibly could. But first, food.
After exchanging a long look with the brunette, the blond man took Harry by the hand and led him up the basement stairs to the house's kitchen. The single light bulb hanging from the ceiling did little to illuminate the room, but it shed enough light to reveal the shapes of a refrigerator, a stove, and a small wooden table with two wooden chairs. The blond motioned for Harry to sit, and Harry obediently climbed into one of the wooden chairs and watched the man fry some eggs. He got one plate for himself and another plate for Harry, then sat down at the table across from Harry.
"First things first," Said the blond man around a mouthful of egg. "I'm Tyler Durden. Who the Hell are you?"
"Harry Potter," Harry replied. "Nice to meet you." And he meant it. Harry couldn't remember anyone being as nice to him as Tyler was, cooking him a meal after he walked into his house uninvited.
There was a short moment of silence before Harry asked, "What's Fight Club?"
"Pretty much self-explanatory," Tyler replied. "Men get together and fight each other. But you need to follow the rules; otherwise you're out for good. The first rule of Fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is you DO NOT talk about Fight Club. Third rule is if somebody goes says 'stop,' goes limp, or taps out, the fight is over. The fourth rule is only two guys to a fight. The fifth rule of Fight Club is only one fight at a time. Sixth rule is no shirts, no shoes when fighting. The seventh rule is fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth rule is if this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight. You've already done that, of course. Nice job, by the way."
"Thanks," Harry said blushing, unused to compliments. "Who was that brown-haired man standing next to you downstairs?"
"What brown-haired man?" Tyler asked, puzzled.
"The one who was looking at me like he didn't like me. You patted his shoulder before we went upstairs."
Tyler was now staring at Harry as though he had never seen anyone like him before. "Did we look like two different people to you?" He asked.
"Yes," Said Harry. "I mean, you two don't look anything alike. He's skinny and pale with brown hair, and you're all blond and muscular."
"Interesting," Tyler said quietly, still staring at Harry. Then he seemed to snap out of it. "Right, I decided. You can stay here."
"Really," Said Harry happily. "You don't mind?"
"Wouldn't be letting you stay here if I minded," Tyler replied. "Now, there's a room upstairs nobody's using, second door on your right. It's right next to my room, and Jack- he's the brown-haired man you saw earlier- has a room down the hall. Jack's kind of the face of Fight Club, but my name's all over, so what I say goes. Just do me a favor and don't talk about Jack to other people, OK?"
"OK," Said Harry.
"Promise me," Said Tyler.
"I promise."
"Promise me," Tyler repeated.
"I promise," Harry replied.
"Promise me," Tyler said again.
"I promise I won't talk about Jack to other people," Said Harry.
"That's three times you promised me," Said Tyler, giving Harry an oddly intense look. Harry shifted uncomfortably under his gaze before Tyler said, "You must be tired. You go up to bed, and I'll wrap up Fight Club."
His meal finished, Harry obediently went upstairs to his room. The room was plain, just a bed, a small table, and a dusty, old fashioned wardrobe, but it was loads better than the Dursleys' cupboard under the stairs. Exhausted, Harry climbed into the bed and fell asleep before his head hit the lumpy pillow.
He stirred a little and opened his eyes slightly a few minutes later when he heard Tyler enter the room. "Good night, son," Tyler said, gently ruffling Harry's hair and momentarily revealing a scar shaped like a lightning bolt on Harry's forehead.
Harry managed a sleepy "G'nite, dad." By the time he realized what he had said, Tyler had left the room. Harry sat straight up in bed, his newfound family making him hyper with happiness. He had a father now. (A/N: Another section inspired by the book Are You My Mother?) He is not the ghost of a dead man. He is not the dead body of a groundbreaking psychologist, buried in a London cementary. He isnot a drunk hanging out on a park bench or a window washer, or a sewage worker. He is not a depressed potion-maker hanging out in a dungeon. He is not- is probably not- gay, although sometimes it's hard to tell. However, Harry was certain Tyler isn't a fairy dressed in a fancy outfit, waving a wand around or a sausage-eating Snort. No, he is Tyler Durden, and he is Harry's father.
Epilogue: Nineteen days later
And they all lived happily ever after.
Harry was able to put his nonexistent memories of Sigmund Freud, the father who died long before he was conceived, to rest when he, Tyler, and a few other guys from Fight Club robbed Freud's grave and gave the decomposing body a proper burial in a vat of green Jello that was to be served in the Smeltings' school cafeteria. Smeltings, being a school for stupid rich kids who were too dumb to get into any other school but whose parents wanted to tell people that their little darling got accepted into an exclusive private school, had its share of burnt-out employees, especially since the headmaster himself was a proud Smeltings graduate. So, the cafeteria ladies, realizing that the stupid little pigs (which somebody with a theatrical flair dressed up in human clothing and insisted were children) would eat anything, decided to serve it anyway, rather than go through the trouble of making a new vat. The new recipe was an instant success. Previously, many a Smeltings employee had put plans to assassinate the moronic headmaster on hold because they couldn't think of a way to conceal the body without being found out by the police. The new culinary delight inspired them to make their sweetest dreams come true.
Harry, Tyler, and the Fight Club guys who were in on the prank had so much fun that they wanted to pull more zany practical jokes. Thus, Project Mayhem was born. Currently, the group was researching the effects of castration, or threatened castration, of influential civil servants on political decision making. The findings were fascinating, but kept secret. Remember, the first rule of Project Mayhem is you do not ask questions. The second rule of Project Mayhem is you DO NOT ask questions.
The drunk on the bench turned his life around. He gave up drinking, showered, shaved, and got a job. He slowly but surely worked his way up the corporate ladder until he became CEO of a major car company. His business was eventually vandalized by Project Mayhem in a fit of high spirits. They had broken the windows in strategic places on the building and set fire to a couple of the rooms. From the outside, the fire took the shape of a smiley face. Even the formerly alcoholic CEO had to chuckle. I mean, come on! It looked like a freakin' Jack-O-Lantern!
Both the window washer and the sewage worker looked at their lives, looked at their choices, and realized that their loneliness stemmed from the fact that they spent too much time working. So, they cut back their hours and took less jobs, hoping that the decrease in their paycheck would be compensated by the addition of somebody to share their life and their hearts with. At first, their quest for love appeared hopeless. But, one fateful night, they met in a local singles bar, and they've been together ever since.
Severus Snape eventually finished the potion he was working on, a dreamless sleep potion. He took it that night and slept peacefully for the first time in years.
Albus Dumbledore took up knitting.
Vernon Dursley continued to eat sausages in his perfectly normal house on Privet Drive. He did like his sausages. During a Grunnings company party, he struck up a friendship with the sassy, gay window washer, whose name, he learned, was Terry. They met for drinks that evening, when Terry introduced him to the "Love of his life," Bobby, who worked at a sewage treatment plant. Occasionally, the three would meet at Vernon's house for brunch, during which many varieties of sausage would, of course, be served. The hours they spent together passed quickly. Oh, how Vernon grew to love his two new sassy gay friends. The way they talked had him constantly "Snort"-ing with laughter. Petunia Dursley was pleased to see that her husband was so happy, but was a little annoyed that her husband still thought he had to actually say the word "Snort!" whenever he snorted with laughter. It didn't matter so much before, but now that he was laughing more often, it was really beginning to be noticeable. She just hoped the neighbors didn't find out.
A/N: So, in case you didn't know, the guy who ended up being Harry's "father" was Tyler Durden from the book/movie Fight Club. For those who don't know, at the end of Fight Club, Tyler is revealed to be Jack's schizophrenic hallucination, so everybody SEES Jack's face when Tyler Durden is talking to them, but it's Tyler's words that come out of his mouth. Hence Tyler's comment that Jack is the "face" of Fight Club, but Fight Club has Tyler's name all over it and what Tyler says goes. Harry is special, so he sees both Jack and Tyler.
Of all the fics I've written, this one is my favorite. I turned out exactly the way I wanted it to, even if it took longer than I expected. Worth it!
Currently, I'm obsessed with the idea of Harry Potter and Tyler Durden meeting. I'm working on a oneshot (not published yet) where six year-old Harry, obsessed with stories of fighting and adventure and with a mysterious knack for fixing things, runs away from the abusive Dursleys and joins Project Mayhem.
I have in progress (three chapters published) a multi-chapter saga where one year-old Harry wanders off the Dursleys' doorstep and is found and raised by Tyler Durden. It isn't as goofy as the rest of my stories and I'm a little slow on updating, but imagine runaway zoo animals, a baby with mysterious healing powers, a pet tiger cub, suspence, drama, bromances, and a different (dare I say, decent) Vernon Dursley. And that's just what I came up with so far. Don't trust your imagination to any other author.
Am also hoping to start writing a Harry Potter/Tyler Durden slash in which an older Harry has been betrayed by the Wizarding world (been done to death, I know), runs away, discovers Fight Club, and meets Tyler Durden. Slash ensues, but in a hopefully non-cheesy way.