Disclaimer: Don't Own it.
Harry's Pub
As Harry Potter sat in his incredibly large hot tub, in the company of his greatest friend, he finally talked about love and how he lost everything the day his first love died… Or so it may seem..
"I don't know, I think love is something one can't describe. Not an emotion that you can just calculate and understand… And I know you don't care much Mr. Rubber Ducky Man, and I know I don't care very much, but everyone thinks I'm crazy, so I figured that while I can get away with it, I would talk to my real best friend, and that's you, Mr. Rubber Ducky Man," Harry, quite sanely I may add, said to his Mr. Rubber Ducky Man, while they both lounged in his Olympic swimming pool sized hot tub. Harry had built the biggest hot tub in the world after he had killed Voldemort, lost the girl he loved, murdered 21 convicted Death Eaters at large, opened a hot dog stand in Diagon Alley, dyed his hair blue, became an Auror, quit being an Auror, banged Miss July through Miss March of PlayWizard magazine, pushed his hot dog stand off a bridge, and alienated himself from everyone he once considered a friend.
It wasn't that he didn't love his old friends from school, it was just that they bored him. And for the girl he loved, Ginny Weasley, he figured that probably wouldn't have worked out anyways. Thinking back he really didn't miss her that much, but her death did give him the distance he needed from Ron and Hermione. They were really weird people.
So Harry Potter found himself at the age of only 18 with no prospects of a quality life in front of him. Sure he could be a professional quidditch player, sure he could be an Auror and sit on his ass all day in a cubicle, sure he could find a girl and have babies and everything, but he was only 18, so he did the only logical thing he could think of and he bought a bar.
A real shitty bar by the looks of it. Nestled in the shadiest part of Knockturn Alley between a brothel who's main selling point was women over 80 and another brothel who's "claim to fame" was dude's who look like ladies. Harry thought the location was just perfect to start a thriving business.
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Harry being slightly crazy from the amount of trauma in his life, plus the fact that he had mercilessly killed over 15 Death Eaters just for shits and gigs in the past year, was just a little bit crazier than the normal bird. This is his story.
"I'm gonna buy a bar!" Harry yelled at the top of his lungs.
"YEAHHHHHHHH!!!" Everyone in the Hog's Head cheered as loud as they could. The noise was almost deafening, what with this being a Tuesday morning around 9:45 AM and all, the bar was filled with over 4 people. There was Harry Potter, millionaire, crazy person, and banger of PlayWizard models. There was Scrappy Kelly, an old drunken Irish sailor with 2 legs, one arm, and 3 teeth. The rest of the population of the bar was made up of Aberforth Dumbledore, or Mr. Goat Banger, to Harry. And 3 homeless bums to be named later, the deafening noise came from these three as they had overdosed on all the ecstasy pills that Harry had given them an hour ago. They never should have believed him when he told them if they took those pills they would be partying like it was 1969.
"You can't open a bar! I have a bar!" Aberforth Dumbledore said, trying to talk some sense into the misguided youth.
"I know," Harry muttered, "but you like to bang goats and transsexuals, and dudes, and you have a glory hole in the men's bathroom here, and you never wear pants behind the bar and everyone knows it. You're a sick fuck, but just having this bar scores you all the goats and trannies you could ever want to bang, and I believe it is my god given right to open up a god damn bar, get some strange ass, and drink constantly. Do you have a problem with that, Mr. Goat Fucker, I mean Banger, sorry," Harry finished, feeling bad about butchering Aberforth's beloved nickname given to him by his brother Albus.
"If you run me out of business I will come to your bar every night and take a dump on the floor," Aberforth threatened.
"That sounds fair," Harry agreed.
So off Harry went to Knockturn Alley with quite the mangy crew consisting of Scrappy Kelly and the three tripping homeless bums who Harry considered family. The fabulous five-some skipped through the streets of Knockturn Alley hand in hand singing the entire way.
"We're off to buy a bar a wonderful, wonderful bar. Oh how I love bars, because I can drink and drink and drink and drink…." Harry sang.
"mmmhhh ummm mmmmhhh uuuuhhh mmmmiiimmmmummm," one of the homeless bums joined in, creating a beautiful rhythm.
"STOP!" Screamed Scappy, "this is it! It's beautiful and gorgeous!"
Harry felt bad, but he had to intercede, "Scrappy, my loyal friend, that is a whore house that only stocks women who are over 80..."
"I know lad! Did you see that pin-up poster of Minerva the Sex Goddess on the wall?" Scrappy was almost drooling, he was so happy. "Yarg, what I would do to put my weiner between those buns…. Mmmmhmmm all that cellulite. I'll have a boner for the next month!"
Harry immediately vomited, but laughed when he saw the 3 homeless bums start to eat the vomit that had just come out of his mouth. "Ewwwwwwwwwy," he said.
"Shmee schmans schmooks shmucksman," Harry's favorite tripping bum said, with his mouth full of vomit.
"I know!" Harry agreed, "I know Scrappy is a disgusting man with a perverted mind, and yes we will see what all the rackets about in there. But just for research, if I'm gonna be buying a bar around here, I'm gonna need to make good with the local businesses, good point homeless bum."
So the 4, one of the bums had passed out after eating his fill of Harry's vomit, walked inside the establishment entitled "Witches Over 80- A Unique Whorehouse, Cash Only."
Immediately upon walking in Harry walked out, one of the bums gouged his eyes out with his fingers, the other banged his head against the closed door as hard as he could to knock himself out, and Harry never saw Scrappy Kelly again…
And then he saw it. A real hole in the wall, piece of shit, never take your mother to it, bar. Nestled between two of the grossest whorehouses in existence today. The bar's sign was decaying and it looked like it hadn't been occupied in over 100 years. The sign said, "Bar." Harry hated the name, but walked over to "Bar" anyways. Upon entering Harry felt a million butterflies fluttering in his stomach, it might have been the smell of dead bodies and shit on the ground, but Harry had never seen anything more beautiful in his life and he immediately set to work. Twelve minutes later, "Harry's Pub" was opened.
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So that's how Harry found himself in his Olympic swimming pool sized hot tub this afternoon with a new bar named "Harry's Pub."
Harry had already received owls from Ron and Hermione Weasley in the morning, apparently he was so excited about his new bar that he had decided to tell the two weirdos he still, kind of, considered friends. It must have been because the disappearance of his 3 bum friends and Scrappy Kelly, he thought.
Anyways, they had both informed him that they would be coming to his bar that night to see it and have a few cocktails. They also warned him not to get as drunk as their wedding night, where he, as best man, gave a speech that consisted of 78 sexual innuendos, 31 F bombs, and 12 inappropriate comments concerning Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Weasley's crazy sex life. Harry was too drunk to remember that particular evening and therefore had no recollection of it ever occurring, no matter how many times Hermione offered to show him the Pensieve memory.
Harry Apparated to the bar and took in the beautiful ambiance that was "Harry's Pub." A long cherry wooden bar that stretched around the entire room, a few ragged booths along the walls, a jukebox in the corner, and multiple posters of topless women which copiously decorated every wall of the establishment. It really did have a nice homey feel to him. Happy with his beautiful bar, Harry went over to the jukebox and turned on "Ice Ice Baby," by Vanilla Ice and danced behind the bar quickly making himself a very thick Jack and Coke to sip on while he waited for Ron and Hermione.
After 10 minutes Harry had consumed 3 Jack and Coke's and was found singing karaoke to "Faithfully" by Journey when Ron and Hermione finally arrived.
"Harry Potter what have you done this time? Seriously a bar? You could be out helping people as an Auror like Ron and I, but instead you're in a bar, by yourself on a Wednesday afternoon singing a Journey song and drunk!" Hermione exclaimed, but Harry wasn't really listening anyways.
"This place is sweet, mate! Can you get me a drink?" Ron said, maybe Harry kinda did like Ron after all.
"One Long Island, extra strong comin' right up," Harry told Ron as he poured an obscene amount of tequila, vodka, rum, brandy, whisky, and schnapps into a 44 ounce Big Gulp cup from the local convenience store. He really had no idea how to make a Long Island Iced Tea, but it was his bar, so he decided to just go for it.
"I'll have a white wine, Harry, if you will."
"Sure Hermione, do you want some lipstick do go with that girly drink?"
"I'm a girl, Harry," Hermione was obviously flustered.
"Ewwwwwy," was all Harry said and he scrunched his face up, bulged his eyes, and stuck out his tongue.
"Ronald are you going to let Harry speak to me like this?" Ron apparently was on a very short leash, but he was also about a quarter of the way through the drink Harry had made him, and insto-facto, he was also hammered drunk.
"I dunno why you never let me do anything fun, Hermy-own-ninny" Ron said.
"What? Ronald are you drunk already, Harry what did you put in this drink?"
"You're drunk!" Ron slurred to Hermione, "no sex for you tonight Herm-man-titties."
"You guys are weird," was all Harry could say.
"Well Harry, like every other time I have seen you in the last 6 months you have managed to get Ron drunk, congratulations."
"Thank you, Hermione," Harry muttered, barely listening.
Hermione put her head down on the bar and tried to talk to Harry. "Harry, is it because of Ginny? I know you miss her, but you have to move on, we all do. I know her death was tragic, her tripping off the top of the castle and all, but it really could have happened to anyone, are you listening to me Harry?"
Harry, in fact, was not listening, because him and Ron had just walked over to the jukebox and were singing "Time After Time" by Cyndi Lauper together. Harry knew it was one of Ron's favorites, and he had a soft spot for the big idiot in his heart.
"Lying in bed I hear the clock tick and think of you…"
"Ronald! Is that Cyndi Lauper again? I told you no more Cyndi Lauper!" Hermione yelled at the top her lungs.
"Caught up in circle's confusion is nothing new," Harry joined in.
"Harry, no!" Hermione was relentless, she hated Cyndi Lauper.
Ron and Harry then came together in a beautiful symphony, "If your lost you can look and you will find me, time after time, if you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting, time after time…"
"Time after time," Ron finished down on one knee as if praying to the rock gods themselves.
"Well Harry thanks for another wonderful evening , we've been here 20 minutes and you've managed to ignore me, get Ron piss-ass drunk, sing a Cyndi Lauper song, and persuade me into leaving. Goodnight Harry, I hope whatever's troubling you doesn't consume your life." Hermione finished lamely.
"What was that, Hermione? I wasn't really listening." Harry apologized, but he really didn't mean it, it made him feel bad.
"Urgh. Let's go Ronald!" Hermione actually growled.
"Bye Harry," was all Ron could say before he was unceremoniously whisked out of the bar.
"Finally, now I can tie in a serious buzz." Harry was excited, tonight was the night he was going to find some new friends, friends who didn't mind sitting at a bar all day and doing nothing to improve society. So Harry helped himself to a couple pitchers, a couple rounds of tequila shots, a Washington Apple, a couple Kamikaze's, and a Vodka Cranberry for the road. He loved his new bar.
Harry had no idea how to go about finding new friends so he walked to Diagon Alley and into the popular district of bars that Hermione and Ron said they usually went on the weekends.
"The Dragon Snout" looked like a gay bar to Harry, but what did he know, he usually found girls by sending them a letter and asking them if they wanted to bang him, to which they always replied yes. When he walked into the club everyone flocked around him, hot models started trying to dance with him, guys started handing him drinks, and everyone starting clapping for him.
"God dammit," Harry muttered under his breath, he didn't want admirers.
"Oh my god it's Harry Potter!"
"The things I would eat out of his ass…" said one guy.
"Ewwww," Harry said back to him.
He did not want to be friends with him. He could not come to "Harry's Pub." It wasn't until the 4th club that Harry had gone to that night did he see any sort of potential. That was when he spied his old friend Neville Longbottom sitting at the bar throwing back more Red Headed Sluts than Harry had ever seen, and he had seen his fair share of drinking.
"Neville? What's up, my man?" Harry said trying to give Neville a gangsta handshake that he had seen in the latest Lil' Wayne music video on his 126' inch screen TV, in his Olympic sized pool hot tub while getting a full service check-up from Miss March.
"What the hell are you trying to do, Harry?" He didn't even seem drunk.
"Neville I just saw you pound 4 shots in a row, aren't you even a little drunk?" Harry asked, confused but very excited at the prospect of Neville joining his crew.
"Harry, I drink every night. You know I married Luna Lovegood, right?" Harry nodded, "yeah well she's a crazy bitch, I had no idea she was so crazy. She runs around town banging dudes left and right and wakes up in the morning with no recollection of it, but every time I try to leave her she shows me all the new skills she's learned from all the other dude's she's banged lately and I can't refuse her, ya know?"
"No, Neville, I don't know," Harry was very confused, "you know I've banged almost every PlayWizard model from the last year, right?"
"Yeah," Neville said, "and?"
"Oh, nothing, just wanted to remind you," Harry loved rubbing this fact in everyone's face.
"You're an asshole, but I like you. So what can I do with this whore wife of mine?" Neville pleaded for help.
"Well," Harry said thoughtfully, "in my eyes you have 3 options. You can kill her, kill yourself, or hang out at my bar everyday and get drunk with me. I suggest number 3, because I need me somebody who can get drunk and cause chaos."
"Harry, I have a job and my whore wife is pregnant."
"Is the kid yours, Neville?"
"Hell no, and it's probably very defected by now, considering Luna chain smokes, drinks constantly, and takes it from any wizard with a condom or a hotel room."
"A condom or a hotel room? Don't you mean a condom and a hotel room?" Harry asked.
"No, she isn't that picky. One or the other works for her. Total whore." Neville said, with no anger on his face.
"Neville, I opened a bar last night. I'm thinking we get a nice little crew together and we start turning the wizarding world into a better place… By getting good and drunk and solving mysteries and stuff." Harry finished, he needed Neville in his gang, he would make a perfect lieutenant.
"Harry, my wife is a whore, my parents are brain dead, and I have a defective bastard child on the way, I think I will join your crew. Can you pay for these drinks by the way?"
"I don't pay for drinks, these clubs pay me to drink at them. Watch this," Harry said and he turned towards the bartender. "Hey Scotty, can I get 2 rounds of Red Headed Sluts, 2 shots of tequila, a beer, and 20 galleons from the register?"
"Of course, Mr. Potter. Comin' right up!" The excited barman couldn't control his incredible excitement.
"Harry, that bartenders name is Marv. You weren't even close," Neville corrected Harry.
"Who gives a shit," was all Harry said, he really had turned into an asshole.
So off Harry and Neville went. It was the start of a wonderful crew, but they still needed to find a couple more people to complete the team that Harry had in mind. So they ventured off into the next club.
"Yep, "said Neville, "there she is. My whore of a wife grinding on 3 dudes at one time."
Harry saw Luna and the pronounced bump in the front of her stomach. "That can't be good for the baby," Harry watched as one man was grinding hard right into the baby while another man was grinding hard into the back of her.
"I can see that thing just poppin' out right now in the middle of the dance floor. I mean she's had so many foreign objects into that vagina of hers, I'm sure she could squeeze the Hogwart's Express through that black hole of death," Neville added.
"Ewwwwy," Harry almost vomited for the second time in as many nights.
"Ohhh, here we go Harry. She needs to be in the crew. Millicent Bulstrode! She could be our muscle!" Neville excitedly proclaimed.
"Ewwwwy," Harry said again.
"C'mon, Harry, we need some muscle. What about this smelly old guy?" Neville asked.
"No, I don't want any smelly old guys, I got ditched by 4 of them last night and I'm still a little cross about the whole situation. And besides Neville, I'm obviously the muscle and the looks and the brains. You can be the idea man." Harry said to Neville, who had no idea what Harry was talking about.
"Look Neville," Harry explained, "the idea man is one of the top 4 most important people in any crew. You come up with the ideas and then I take them and say they're my ideas, it's really pretty simple, big guy."
"Ohhh what about this guy, Harry?" Neville pointed to a clearly inebriated man with a very bushy mustache.
"Sorry Neville, I hate his mustache."
"Dammit, Harry," Neville swore, "how are we going to put together a life changing crew when you're pickier than Picky Pickenstein when it comes to picking people perfect for our crew?"
Harry was very intrigued by Neville's alliteration, but decided not to comment on it. He needed a crew, and he needed a crew right this instant! So he sauntered across the room over to the bar using his incredible dance moves to impress everyone that was around him. It was then that he locked eyes with the 3rd member of the crew that would be whispered about in every history book ever to be written in the next thousand years.
"Fuck me sideways, Neville. I found one piece of the link" Harry whispered in utter bewilderment.
"Harry, are you sure? Are you thinking who I think you're thinking?" Neville was pleading for Harry not to be serious.
"Yes, Longbottomy idiot, I am thinking who you think I'm thinking."
"I don't know, Harry. You wanna let Dennis Creevey into our gang?" Neville couldn't believe it.
"Crew, Neville. And yes I do."
"But Harry, he's a convicted pedophile.. If you look up his house on the muggle intranetty it shows a big red dot, meaning don't leave this creep anywhere near your children. I mean I'm not that picky, but I think we'll be sending out the wrong vibe if we pick up a guy who likes to look at kids in pirate costumes, just throwing it out there, Harry."
"I get what you're saying, Neville, but I have to respectfully disagree, don't you see how he's rocking back and forth holding that glass of whiskey to his heart like its his only friend in the world?" Harry asked Neville, trying to provide some incite into his selection.
"Yes, so?" Neville intelligently asked.
"So what? He loves whiskey and so do I… Have you ever heard of match made in heaven? I'm gonna see if he's interested." As Harry skipped towards the obvious child molester Neville began to question his decision to ever join the crew.
"Dennis, My man! What's up partner? How's the old child molesting goin?" Harry was a real idiot.
"Harry Potter? Is that you?" Dennis was confused because no one ever talked to him due to his molesting status.
"Yeah and my bro Neville "the Long Bottom" Longbottom. . . Sorry Nev, but you have a really long ass."
"I know," Neville agreed, "quite the coincidence, don't ya think?"
Harry then explained his new ideology and his purchase of the best bar in all of London town, but Dennis was not impressed, claiming that he could not stay and get drunk at a bar all day because you had to be 16 to get into bars and that was much to old for his picky tastes. So the two man crew was forced to move on…
"This is hard! All I want is one lousy crew! What the fuck does a hero have to do to put together a decent looking crew around here… I mean c'mon" a frustrated Harry told Neville.
"Maybe we're going about this the wrong way, Harry. How do you feel about having a talent competition at "Harry's Pub" and whoever is the most talented and the person that we feel will bring the most to the crew, that's the person we'll let into the crew."
Harry looked deep in thought, rubbing his chain and tilting his head to look smarter when he really wasn't thinking about anything except the incredible set of ass on the girl that was standing next to him, but then inspiration struck!
"Neville! I have a great idea! We'll have a talent competition at my bar and whoever we want in the crew we'll pick them and they'll be in the crew! Holy shit I am smart as fuck!"
And so it went. Harry and Neville went back to the pub and began drafting an add for the Daily Prophet. Harry then acquired a two person plane that he insisted on flying over Diagon Alley with a sign reading "Tryouts for the Crew! Harry's Pub! Hot chicks welcome! Ugly ones are not!"
With the talent competition taking place in just under 2 days Harry and Neville began to prepare by drinking heavily… I mean why not? They were in a bar for god's sake.
Author's note: Strictly humor... Don't know if it's funny, but it makes me laugh.