Summary: What if Voldemort hadn't hit Harry with the Avada Kedavra curse in the Forbiddon Forest that fateful night? Would the future have been altered, or does fate have a way of coming true no matter the complications? Set in Deathly Hallows.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Harry Potter. (Everybody go: AAAWWWW). If I did, I would be living on an island that I own, tanned and rested and alone … surrounded by enormous piles of money! (anyone get the Tangled reference there?)

A/N: This is my first fanfic so please be nice! Just a funny drabble thing … CONTAINS SPOILERS. Reviews would be much appreciated

BRING IT ON

Harry's heart was thumping so loud in his ears he was surprised the Death Eaters couldn't hear it. He took a deep breath and stepped into the clearing of the Forbidden Forest, one phrase repeating itself over and over in his head. I am about to die.

Damn.

It really was a shame, he reflected, as he was such a very talented wizard; he'd heard it time and time again. And really, it was always the same story, wasn't it? A wonderful wizard with a wonderful future, then suddenly Voldemort decides that, no, he's going to kill him – just for kicks.

Heads turned towards Harry and he was aware of a loud splintering sound. He looked over to his right and saw Hagrid – my big-boned friend – tied to a tree, kicking and struggling with all his might to free himself of the ropes that bound him magically. Splinters lodged themselves into his skin and Harry winced, despite himself. That was going to leave a mark.

Voldemort turned slowly towards Harry, who gasped when he saw what Voldemort was holding in his hands. He'd brought his wand! Bugger!

Harry had been clinging to the hope that the wand would be forgotten and they'd have to fist-fight or something. While he was quite slim, Harry had no doubt that he could take Voldemort in a 'tussle'. The guy was skin and bones. And blood. His blood. Couldn't he copyright that or something? It was really unfair that Voldemort got to reap the benefits of Harry's blood. He should totally get him to pay royalties every time his heart beat.

Harry was brought back to reality as the Avada Kedavra curse shot through the air towards him. He'd been so busy devising evil money-making schemes that he'd missed all the cool dialogue!

Harry was peeved about that, and so instead of staying put and getting murdered which had been the plan, his instincts kicked in and he swung to the side, the curse zooming past his ear and hitting instead Bellatrix Lestrange. She fell with a shriek and a thud to the ground, but nobody really cared. She'd been a pain in the –

'What?' Voldemort cried in fury. Harry was dismayed for one moment that he'd lived, but then the bright side became apparent. He'd lived! Harry Potter would live another day! He would wake to see the sun rise, sleep with the moon in the sky – he would live!

Harry was so overjoyed that he didn't care what he did! He started prancing around the forest, dodging the roots sticking up from the ground.

'You missed me; you missed me, now you gotta kiss me!' He chanted, laughing light heartedly as Death Eaters lunged for him and missed, falling behind him like dominoes and then lying still on the ground as if in some kind of eccentric dance.

But then, all of a sudden: there was an almighty bang and everything went black.

Harry opened his eyes. He was lying on some sort of brick ground … naked! Eeeewies! He looked desperately around him and was relieved to spot a robe lying on a bench. He lunged for it and threw it over himself before anyone could perchance upon Harry Potter: stark naked at … where was he, actually? A quick inspection revealed a sort of parallel-world version of Kings Cross, which was kinda cool, he guessed.

He became aware of a strangled crying from underneath another bench. He kneeled down and blanched at the sight of what certainly looked like a baby Voldemort from where he was crouching. His hand flew to his wand but he hadn't cursed the baby into oblivion before a hand landed on his shoulder.

'Harry.' Harry swung around and was shocked and relieved to see Professor Dumbledore standing behind him.

'Professor Dumbledore!' He cried gleefully, before pausing, confused. 'Aren't you dead?' Dumbledore smiled patiently at the boy before him.

'That depends on what you call death, my dear child.'

Harry nodded seriously at the wise statement, secretly wondering what the hell the crazy duffer was on about.

'Now Harry, you have a difficult choice to make. You are, for lack of a better term, yes, dead.'

Harry felt tears prick his eyes, and turned away from his Professor. 'But what happened? I lived! I was dancing –' He couldn't for the life of him figure out why he had died. He had dodged the killing curse! Unless …

'My boy,' Dumbledore began sadly, 'you ran into a tree.'

Understanding suddenly bloomed and Harry's face flushed with embarrassment.

'I'm sorry, sensei. I have failed you.'

Now it was Dumbledore's turn to frown. 'It's Professor, Harry.'

Harry grinned. 'Oh! Sorry, Professor: Kung Fu Panda moment … never mind.' He added at the sight of Dumbledore's confusion. It felt good to finally be able to show off to Dumbledore. He'd had it coming for years.

Dumbledore shrugged, reached inside his robe and retrieved a handful of small yellow sweets, offering one to Harry.

'Lemon Sherbet?' Harry politely declined, and Dumbledore continued after popping one of the candies into his mouth.

'As I say, you have a difficult decision to make. You can either stay here with me at King's Cross: eating Lemon Sherbets, nurturing baby Voldemorts with love and compassion and discussing and analysing each other's life stories for all eternity …' he trailed off, gazing contentedly into the distance. Harry, meanwhile, gagged. He would never survive!

'What's the other option?' He interrupted the Professor's thoughts desperately. Dumbledore seemed startled for a moment, but then remembered what was going on.

'Ah yes, Harry! You can either stay here with me, or go back to your life to finish what you've started. Obviously, either way doesn't bother me …' Harry could see the hope in his old principal's eyes, but couldn't really give a damn – more or less.

'I'll take the second one. When can I go?'

Dumbledore looked quite insulted as everything disappeared and Harry suddenly felt his heart beating in his chest again. He'd returned to the present, lying under the foot of the tree that he'd run into, with a splitting headache – but otherwise alive! He resisted the urge to sing as silence told him that Voldemort was still struggling to get over his shock from outside Harry's eyelids.

Harry didn't care.

He'd probably be humiliated for a bit, gloated over, scorned, have some weird chick dig her nails into his flesh and interrogate him as to the whereabouts of her Devil-spawn son … but it didn't matter. He'd finish what he'd started. He'd make Chi Fu proud. Wait – Dumbledore! He'd make Dumbledore proud. That was right. And basically, he thought; basically:

Bring It On.

Basically.