Hey - will you look at that... It appears to be an update... hmmm...
It was a universally known fact that showers were the number one place for thinking things through, second only to baths, which were the females' version… or perhaps just the better option for people with a lot of time.
At any rate, with the water beating down upon his aching back, Harry found himself in a good position for thinking. Not that his thoughts were bringing him to any good conclusion… all things considered it was fairly obvious Fawkes had done something, but the thought that the actions of a pheasant stuck on permanent roast had changed the entire makeup of the world… well… they'd bypassed logic and turned left at highly unlikely.
Was he still a muggle, which perhaps he was depending on the level of his hallucinogenic ability, then he could perhaps consider that he'd imagined everything that had happened in his life before now… It was possible but it couldn't explain his magical ability, the talking portrait, or why Fawkes' smell never reminded him of Nando's chicken. Of course he supposed they could have been part of his imagination too but then why hadn't he come to this realisation before now – he was 18 for crying out loud!
Unless he had come to this realisation before… and he just didn't remember it – but no, his memory wasn't the thing in question, there was nothing wrong with his recall… it was just, something else… Anyway, if he was just hallucinating, why would Phineaus deny knowing him?
"It's your fucking subconscious, who the hell else knows?" Harry growled at himself, fisting his hands frustratedly in his hair. Harry Potter was synonymous with wizardry… which just happened to be widely recognised as a thing of fantasy… but he was so sure that he was a wizard, he had apparated to the apartment for goodness' sake, even if it wasn't real, it remained the only reality he knew.
It was very odd though, the way things were so different and yet so the same, he knew nothing of Phoenixes or of even magic in general for that matter, that could make such changes. His ego had managed to work itself up again in that he refused to further question his own sanity, he was sure of his life, and if he wasn't … well… it didn't matter, because there wasn't anything else to be sure of anyway.
So that left magic, as it usually did, to be the culprit of a gigantically unlikely change in his life, hardly the sort of thing he should be getting worked up about then.
Giving up for the moment, Harry shut off the shower and roughly towelled himself dry before wrapping the fluffy bath sheet tightly around his hips and walking back out to the lounge room.
"Did you perhaps want to put on some clothes" chided Phineaus disdainfully.
"I did actually" Harry remarked cheerfully "and so I have to do the wards"
He began marking things on the floor with his wand, after a few minutes he deemed it done and throwing his towel onto the couch he sat in the middle of his markings.
"Oh for- Have you no modesty" the ruffled portrait exclaimed. Harry just smirked.
"If you've got it flaunt it" he laughed "besides, I can't have any interference so hush – and stop acting like you don't love it anyway"
Phineaus looked set to continue but Harry just pointed his wand at him threateningly and so he shut up and sat back to watch.
Being as he was the 'boy-who-lived' and not the 'boy-who-did-things-by-halves', the warding process on his house was very long, extensive, complicated and … arduous. All the important ones to stop intruders, block tracing and tracking and deter unwanted visitors, aka Mormon and girl guides, had to be carefully constructed. Harry set to work at about 5pm in the afternoon, and fell into an unconscious stupor after finishing with the magic around 11pm that night. He had no real intentions of waking up anytime before 11am the next morning but we have established – things never really go the way Harry wants them too.
At around 6am the next morning, dull thudding vibrations eventually urged him to open his eyes, noticing nothing, he closed them again. Still the noises and vibrations continued. Feeling steamrolled and far worse then merely hung-over, Harry dragged his compressed from sleep ribs into an upright position, whole body wincing in pain… which caused it only more pain. Eventually he managed to get his legs underneath him and he rose like an invertebrate worm to the window.
The light glared in his eyes as he tried to get a good look at the streets below him causing his head to thud painfully.
'God help the bastard doing road works at this hour' he thought ominously to himself, but looking down revealed no road works, instead he saw a line of black emitting colourful flashes of light.
'Oh ho ho! Never mind God I have so got this covered' his cheerful insanity creeping its way into his mental voice. Then, however, front and centre of the line, he saw, impossibly… well you know who and he was oh so cranky about it! Yet still slightly disbelieving of the likelihood.
"Phineaus" he questioned curiously, "If I told you I could see Voldemort downstairs… do you think that would be odd?"
"In what sense" Phineaus replied carefully.
"Well I mean, like, you've heard of him? He's still around, famous maybe?" Harry asked.
"Hmm, famous… maybe… liked sliced bread" quipped Phineaus sarcastically, "evil sliced bread of course, good for teens not for ducks"
"What?" asked Harry with a raised brow.
"Pop-culture reference, never mind" replied Phineaus nonchalant, "If you can see Voldemort downstairs I would recommend you get away from the window, cast an unbreakable spell on the building, and go and hide under something solid."
"Don't be ridiculous" scoffed Harry as he lent back besides the window, "We're ten stories up, there's no spell that can touch this apartment from that distance, otherwise I would have warded for i-"
It was more of a crack really, than a bang, as the wall on the east of the building crumbled to the ground, somewhat like the sound of realigning ones cartilage. Harry of course, being the lucky soul he was, fell straight out after it, which should have killed him for certain, but no, because back in the day when he had to live until Voldemort was dead, he had taken out a few insurance policies, which was metaphorical for he had gotten enough anti-crush, anti-fall, anti-get-hit-by-a-bus-and-die tattoos, that his butt cheeks resembled the confederation flag – just with funny little emblems instead of stars.
The long and the short of which meant, that no, he did not die, he bounced, he hit the ground damn hard with his arse, like a kid bouncing on a trampoline, except a) it friggin' hurt and b) Harry had never had a trampoline. So after being propelled 3ft back in the air he came flailing down again with no eloquence what so ever and face planted into the ground.
He was going to kill Voldemort, he was going to absolutely, really, really… really kill him. He was going to rip his bleeding heart out through his anus and then use it to choke him to death, no he would poison the heart first and then use it to choke him with and then-
Harry only realised he was mumbling incoherently when he heard another's voice aside from his own and it was Sirius… which must have meant the order had arrived
"Honest little bugger isn't he" he joked quietly to James, who could only nod numbly in response, as he stared in awe at the boy-who-fell… a lot.
Surely Harry shouldn't have been able to hear such a quite remark in a raging battle though… unless… oh. Slowly he managed to raise his head and then torso out of the ground and sit back to look at the people around him. Just as he had suspected, the fighting had stopped, and everyone was staring at him because he just loved to be the centre of attention.
Nobody moved as Harry curiously surveyed them all. Voldemort's supporters because with a motion of his hand he ceased them fighting, he just had that sort of control. Dumbledore's because, well, they were just a little dumb like that.
"I assume you are the one that claims to be the reincarnation of Harry Potter, the child prophesied to be my downfall" Voldemort stated dramatically, ever the showman. "and yet here you sit crying in front of me like so many before you" he gave a harsh chuckle "so, Harry Potter, I will simply kill you again, and again, and if needs must again until you cease to be an inconvenience in my life"
Crying?
CRYING?
Oh, there goes the testosterone safety switch…
"First of all, I would love to smash your nose into the ground from ten stories and see if you come out of it smiling, but I want to rip you apart with my bare hands so badly right now I couldn't possibly contemplate taking the time to get you even a foot off the ground. Secondly I would never claim to be a reincarnation - that fucking poofter shit is your arena and finally I would like to add that the feeling is so totally sodding mutual I will print your quote on every sympathy card I send your sock eaters, every time I have to kill you again. Oh and yes I meant the innuendo you fucking great dyke" Harry added as he leapt from the ground, entrancing himself completely in the grace that was his 'fight mode', and set Voldemort's robes on fire.
Sure, it was childish but he was really, really cranky.
Just because I thought it was time again to point out that I'm not dead... oh and because it's uni holidays and I told myself I'd try and finish this and do a 2500 word assignment on ... well I don't know, I haven't looked properly, I'm just that good at procrastinating.
I hope you liked it, and I hope it's getting back on its non existent plot resembling track... but umm seeing as it was just supposed to be a oneshot... I doubt that...
Katty xx