Author's Note: I'm writing this story in honor of the late Mr. George Macdonald Fraser, a favorite author of mine, as well as to prove to a friend that a crossover between the Flashman series, (my favorite) and the Harry Potter series, (her favorite) could, in fact, be written.
(story and A/N's edited for clarity, 9/23/2009)
I have edited slightly for minor errors and some dialogue. (It's tough editing your own work without minor slipups.)Hope I got the characters of the Dursleys and any British terms correct. I'm an American, and Harry Potter isn't exactly my bailiwick.
You do not need to have read the Flashman Series to understand this story-I will be providing backstory, though I'd recommend reading the series anyway, purely for its literary excellence.
Permit me make this clear right now:
There are no perfect people in this story, no paragons of light and justice. They are self-interested people living in a screwed-up world, and human beings, plain and simple.
That means everyone has their own agenda-usually what is best for them at any given moment. They have their own reasons for behaving the way they do, and their own agenda which I will attempt to depict from Harry's limited perspective.
The Story:
If you are looking for easily likeable Protagonists, easily bashable Antagonists, and some sort of Abused/Badass/Super Harry who knows exactly what he's doing all the time, by all means, don't look here.
The Harry of this story was rescued from a poor, neglectful family situation, is a fairly cynical about human nature, and is primarily interested in what is best for him. He's no genius but has a decent head on his shoulders, and just wants to survive- hopefully with his reputation intact, and grab some cash if the opportunity arises.
Updates and Feedback:
This story will be updated as soon as I can think up new material for it, and when I am satisfied with the additions. No sooner, and no later. As always, reviews are welcomed, constructive criticism is encouraged, and anonymous flamers cheerfully invited to bugger off.
Standard disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or universes written about by Mr. Fraser or Ms. Rowling. Mixing them, however, was my idea.
Without further ado, I present:
Flash Harry
(All papers published with the permission of the Potter-Paget family, Copyright Quibbler Press, 2127)
To whom it may concern:
Before you begin prying into my affairs, (of which there were many,) you should know that I am writing about them for several reasons: to continue a family tradition, as a way to sort out my rather chaotic life before I shuffle off, and to shock the underthings off of any adoring fans or clean-living, overly virtuous offspring who read this. Which is precisely why I have requested it be published-unaltered–mind, by the Quibbler press.
Methodical consideration of all the angles is one of the many ways to extricate oneself from sticky situations. Other options are luck, pluck, superior firepower- or the learned family traits of charm, sycophancy, and rapid reaction to sheer blind panic. Any of these will (and have) worked for me in a pinch. But that's a story for another day.
I suppose that just as another Harry in my family said, usually after the port has had its way with him, the best place to begin a story is not in the boring old set-up of who went where when and with whose enchanted shoe buckle with its unique and special history (I suppose the old man had been at the Tolkien again in addition to the liquor cabinet…)
Rather, according to him, the best place to start a story is when the circumstances around the "Hero" are drastically and irrevocably altered. I shall attempt to oblige.
Scientists, vicars, and politicians catering to special interests can argue about when a life "actually" begins 'till the cows come home to roost. Unlike many, I have the benefit of knowing exactly when my life really began- and it wasn't when my Mummy and Daddy danced the mattress quadrille, nor was it when the example of male perfection that is me was delivered in late June.
The interesting, bloody, and salacious bits of my life began on a Wednesday in June during my seventh year of existence on this planet. That would be the day I left the tender care of my utter bastard of an uncle, frigid bitch of a blood-related aunt, and my brutish lout of a cousin for the dubious improvement of being looked after by a proliferate gambler, a self-proclaimed coward and a shameless lecher, all in the singular person of my great, great, great grandfather.
His usurious interests in pleasures of the flesh aside, the role he played as my parent and mentor made me capable of surviving- and even thriving in a role I was forced into by others before even being born.
But I shall relate the specifics in time.
-Harry James Potter-Paget,
Gandamack Lodge, Berkeley Square,
April 5, 2121