The Last Dinosaur
Written by Sawn-Off GlitterBoy
Disclaimer: You've seen it in Chapter 1, so why bother replacing it? Its just going to say the same thing: I don't own HP, JKR does, and I will mention what is my intellectual property at the end of each chapter…crap…anywho, on with the fic!
Chapter 2: "That's a long and complicated story involving the Pillsbury Doughboy, a nuclear bomb, and lots and lots of explosions"
Harry was on full alert when the Portkey took him to where his destination was, no doubt the Old Man's office. As soon as the spell wore off and his new destination was reached, he was already surveying his options and calculating how best to subdue the people in the room to secure his escape without endangering himself. Unfortunately, this was not to be, as he was subdued as soon as his feet hit the carpeted floor of the Headmaster's office. Harry cursed every deity that was involved with his life and wished them a sever headache for all the interference that they had deemed fit to throw in his life. His though process was immediately derailed when the Old Man came into view, white hair, sad grandpa look, the whole works. "Yup," Harry muttered under his breath, "I KNEW that today was going to be a bad day. I need to listen to Hanna-baba more often."
Albus Dumbledore was many things, but he wasn't a complete idiot, though many people (Harry) would disagree with that statement. He knew that Harry wanted nothing to do with the wizarding world, but these circumstances were strenuous, and he had no choice but to resort to extreme measures to get Harry to even listen to him. As such, the well-tanned man in front of him was the end result of many months of hard work and exhaustive research. Harry had obviously taken care of himself quite nicely during his self-imposed exile; he was healthy looking, with a full head of long black hair that was white in some places. He had several tattoos; easily visible because of the wife-beater he was wearing. He thankfully was wearing pants, as Albus knew that Harry checked his mail at uneven intervals, he was hoping that Harry wouldn't Portkey in wearing a pair of boxers and not much else. All in all, he looked physically fine, if a bit annoyed.
Albus figured that now was as good a time as any to start the proceedings, but Hermoine beat him to the punch, "Where have you been, Harry Potter!" After Ron and Hermoine were married, it seemed that the Weasely temper was contagious, and Professor Granger was turning it on full blast. Even Molly bowed in deference to her mightiest of rages, but Harry was, unimpressed, to say the least. He merely gave a small smile and replied with the tone that one might use to report the weather, "That's a long and complicated story involving the Pillsbury Doughboy, a nuclear bomb, and lots and lots of explosions." That one simple response was enough to stop the woman mid-rant, and merely look at him as if he had lost his mind. This is where Dumbledore saw fit to enter the conversation.
"While I'm sure that it is quite the rousing and entertaining story, that will have to wait for another time. I'm afraid, Mr. Potter, that the world needs your help again." Harry gave him a look that would have made even Tom Riddle flinch, but continued as if he hadn't noticed, which he hadn't. "There have been a rash of recent murders and thefts that are decidedly Riddle-esque, but we know that he his dead. We believe that someone is trying to take his place and revive the Death Eaters once more, to continue the work that Tom started." Dumbledore turned to gauge Harry's response, and was slightly disturbed at what he saw.
Harry had fallen asleep with his eyes wide open, having a glazed look that suggested that he had lost interest shortly after he had intervened in the conversation. He said quietly, "Mr. Potter, have you been so numbed by your regular binge drinking sessions that the real world holds no appeal to you?" Harry blinked, looked at Dumbledore cock-eyed, and responded, "Still haven't had your fill of spying on me? I really would have thought that you would have had better things to do than fuck my life up even worse than it already is. I liked where I was until you so rudely interrupted my routine, and frankly, I don't care about the victims of those pathetic little wannabe's. He moved his right hand forward enough through the magical ropes to make a gesture combined with the comment; "This is a thousand tiny violins, playing the world's saddest song just for them. Move on, I'm not your toy soldier anymore. I REFUSE to be pushed, prodded, coerced, or manipulated into fighting for you cretins again. No one cared that I gave up so much, just to save them. No one cared that I became a mass murderer, to do what? Save their pathetic cowardly asses. The only thing that those ignorant whelps care about is the completely moronic notion that I'm going to become the next Dark Lord, or that I would make a useful campaign tool. Piss off, before I get the British Ministry, the American law division, and the Jamaican authorities involved for kidnap and blackmail." The crowd in the office looked on as he continued in his rant, and when he was finished, Albus merely sighed and asked, "Are you done, Mr. Potter?"
Harry didn't fucking believe it, the man was clinically insane. And here, most of the wizarding world though HE had problems, the Old Man really had lost it in his absence. Harry hated to sound childish but replied, "You can't make me, and you know it. There isn't anything in this world that would make me become your disposable hero again." Albus gave him a stern look, usually reserved for the extremely moronic or people that had gotten on his bad side. "Mr. Potter, you never have been and never were a disposable asset. I fully expected you to win the war, and I think it is a very grave mistake to pass judgment on the wizarding world so soon."
Harry merely snorted, "I'M not expendable, everyone else is. Wow, what a moronic statement to say in front of people who that applied to. What else you'd you like to do to restart my nightmares Mr. Dumbledore?" His head dropped to his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing most of his power back into the cage he built for it. He forced some of it through his eyes, looking at Dumbledore again, blue plasma cracking and sparking from the corners as the main part was colored all the same color blue. "What gives you the right, Mr. Dumbledore? Where in the infinite capacity that is your wisdom did you equate me doing my job with a lifetime guarantee on my services? Fuck. You. Try and bring me back again and I WILL burn this school down with everyone inside. I've had enough of being your pawn, stand on your own two for once, instead of dumping all of it on a person who still hasn't moved on! I'VE HAD ENOUGH!"
With that statement, the magical ropes holding him burst into flame, but that wasn't the frosting on this cake by any means.
Firstly, the fire was plasma-fueled, meaning that magical attempts to put it out would be totally and completely useless. It was a useful little discovery, kept secret from everyone, including Harry's allies. Plasma shields were effective against any form of magical or physical assaults, including the ever-so-popular Avada Kedavra. The only problem was that they were very difficult to keep up without extensive training and reserves of willpower. Second, they were plasma; meaning things that you may not want to get destroyed will probably be reduced to molecules.
Second, Harry was nearing the end of his rather large reserves of patience he had for the morons in front of him, and that was never a good thing, feeding even more fuel to the fire, no pun intended.
Thirdly, because of the amount of training and experience he had with the technique, Harry was invulnerable to the affects of plasma on his person. His clothes were left untouched, along with his hair and tattoos. Due to the heat-intensive nature of plasma, Harry was automatically extended the same protection from fire of all kinds, perhaps except for the hottest of flames, like the sun or a nuclear reactor.
Lastly, no one in the office was aware of the fact that Harry could manipulate plasma, or what it was capable of. They had all seen it at one time or another, and often assumed it was some sort of shield, as that was its oft-used function. However, the members of the Order of the Phoenix were about to be schooled in how effective plasma in the hands of Harry Potter could really be.
So, waddaya think? I was trying to find Harry a slight more unique power than just regular pyrokinesis or control over the fire element, or making him the magical equivalent of Superman. I like a powerful Harry, but not one that defies all known laws of physics and realism.
By the way, on to the things that I own out of this whole shtick. Firstly, I will probably be borrowing heavily from several sources with the whole plasma thing coughHalocough. I really don't want to infringe on any copyrights, but I will probably borrow several elements from the game, but the way it is used and its origins ARE ALL MINE! YOU'LL GET NOTHING, AND LIKE IT!
Anything that you recognize either from mass media or other fics that I didn't cite, PLEASE, drop me a line in the review to let me know! I hate the though of theft of others' ideas and creations without permission. Seriously, I don't mean to step on anyone's toes or rip them off. I just get a little carried away sometimes, that's all.
Anyway, next chapter should be up sometime by the end of the week (hopefully), so stay tuned.