This story was one that I thought might be told one day. I dunno whether it will get turned into a full story. Blame Clell65619 and their one-shot The World of Tomorrow for this.
Futurama is one of the few actual American science fiction shows I enjoy. Sad but true. This was my attempt at doing a crossover, though it's somewhat more somber than Futurama is normally. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, regardless.
FUTURE IMPERFECT
CHAPTER 1:
DEFROSTED
The young man with the dark hair and green eyes looked out across at the city landscape, the mountain range-like skyscrapers of New York, on New Year's Eve, 1999. "Is there nobody else?" he asked, seemingly to himself: the room was mostly empty, bar for a desk, a chair, and a bunch of cryogenic tubes, a few with occupants.
"No. What your mother granted you is a great power, and one day, your kind will be all but extinct, at least on Earth." The voice that had answered him, seemingly out of the air, was deep and resonant.
The young man scoffed sadly. "No big loss. My friends are almost all dead, while I live on. All because of their petty prejudices."
A shape leapt up onto his shoulder, a squat, black-furred animal with two eyes in its face, and one on a stalk coming from the top of its head, a pair of fangs jutting from its lips. The effect of it was rather endearing rather than sinister, especially as it seemed to be wearing a uniform. It placed a consoling hand on the young man's head. "I'm sorry. If we had time travel, we would have helped. And we would have prevented our own chosen one's death. Philip J Fry may not have been the hero we wanted, but his lack of a delta brainwave would be the boon we need. Your magic can fulfil a similar function, preventing you from falling prey to the Brainspawn."
The young man sighed. "Well, at least you're up front about it, unlike a certain old goat."
"Thank you. We can see into the future but dimly, but we hope you can find happiness there."
"Merlin knows I won't find it here. Not anymore." The young man sighed again, before heading to an open cryogenics tube, the creature hopping down as he did so. "You're not coming with me?"
"I have to fight off the Brainspawn where they attack. I also have other duties to attend to. Rest assured, when you wake up next, you will be in the right time. We have more of a hand in human affairs than you realise."
The young man clambered into the cryogenics tube. "Well…see you in a thousand years."
"Good luck, Harry Potter," said the creature, before it pushed the door of the cryogenics tube closed, and then scrambled up to set the dial. After doing so, the creature watched, and smiled reassuringly as Harry Potter smiled wearily back…and then, snap-froze in a strobe of blue light…
The cheery ding of the 'timer' for the cryogenic tube was the first thing Harry heard as he woke. With a groan of weariness, he staggered out of the tube. Had he imagined it? Had he imagined that last conversation with the creature who called himself 'Lord Nibbler'?
Still, he supposed things couldn't be any worse than they already were. The final battle had come and gone, but at such a high cost. Few of his friends survived. Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville, Ginny…they had all died because of Dumbledore's thing for giving forgiveness to those who had squandered their chances for redemption a thousand times over. It was why Harry fled Britain, as the rumours started spreading that he was going to become another Dark Lord, not helped when Harry had slaughtered all those Death Eaters who had survived.
It was while he was in New York for New Year's Eve, 1999 that he ran into Nibbler. Which was a weird conversation, considering he was talking to a small, black-furred glutton of an alien with three eyes and a surprisingly deep voice when he spoke English. Harry had wanted to reject Nibbler's offer, until he realised, there was nothing left for him here. And at least Nibbler had been more honest than Dumbledore about what he wanted him to do. Save the world, although at least Nibbler had said he wouldn't need to do so for a while.
His staggering carried him over to a window, and he glanced out of it…only for his glance to become a stare. He stared out at a magnificent array of buildings, strange shapes jutting into the sky, while vast tubes sent people through the city at speed, and cars and spaceships flew around the city. It still had the feel of New York, but…well, unless he was in some weird movie or virtual reality…it seemed that Nibbler was right. He was in the future.
The distance in time, however, hadn't done much to lessen the survivor's guilt Harry felt. But perhaps it didn't make it worse. Still, at least the world wasn't a wreck due to him not being there for it.
"WELCOME, TO THE WORLD OF TOMORROW!" declared a voice from behind him. Harry whirled, on the verge of hexing the man, who turned out to be a weedy-looking man in a labcoat and glasses.
Another one, with dark skin, said wearily, "Why do you have to say that?"
The glasses-wearing man said petulantly, "It's called showmanship." To Harry, he said, "COME, YOUR DESTINY AWAITS!"
"I didn't order a large ham, guys," Harry snarked as he followed them.
The pair led him to a door, which slid open like the ones on Star Trek, complete with the noise. "Have a nice future," the dark-skinned one said, as Harry shuffled through, narrowly avoiding the door slamming shut on him.
There was an office behind it with what seemed like an examination room attached, with a rather shapely-looking woman in black trousers and a green jacket with her back to him. Purple hair was tied in a pigtail. On his entering, she turned, revealing a rather beautiful face…albeit with a single eye in the middle rather than the customary two. Harry blinked, before shrugging mentally. He had seen weirder in his time. "Good afternoon, sir. What's your name?" she asked.
"Harry Potter. Yours?"
"I'm Leela," the woman said. "I'm the Fate Assignment Officer assigned to you. Now, it's New Year's Eve, so I would like to decide your fate quickly and leave."
"Knowing my luck, that's not going to happen," Harry muttered. "Incidentally, can I ask you a question?"
Leela sighed. "Is it about the eye?"
"Related. I wanted to know, are you an alien? I mean, sorry if I'm being rude, I'm just curious."
Leela nodded resignedly. "Are you happy?"
"With your answer? Yeah. I'm sorry for that, I'm sure you get asked that all the time."
"Too often, anyway." Her eye flickered out the window, distracted by something, and Harry followed her gaze to see a blimp, declaring it to be Happy New Year 3000. She noticed his expression, and asked, "How long?"
"A thousand years."
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "You must be upset."
"Not really, not about that. Most of my friends were already dead when I got frozen. I was in a war, you see. I'm still getting over it."
Leela, after a moment, smiled, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Then you have my condolences Mr Potter. Now, strip naked and get on that Probulator."
A battery of medical tests later, and Harry was dressing as Leela told him he had a distant relative, apparently descended from Dudley, albeit through the thousand years he had been frozen, that didn't mean much. And the picture she showed was of an ancient-looking man wearing thick glasses who was called Professor Hubert Farnsworth.
Shortly afterwards, Leela was typing something at her computer. "So, what are you doing, exactly?" Harry asked.
"Cross-matching known records as well as physical and mental assessments to give you a permanent career assignment." Leela blinked. "It seems that you're something of a legend in certain circles, Mr Potter. We'll probably have to pass you off as a descendant who got into the tube later."
"Wait, wait, wait. Did you say permanent career assignment?" That concept alone rankled Harry. After all, he had spent his childhood having fate (or at least Dumbledore) map it out for him to be sodomised for.
After a moment, Leela said resignedly, "Look, it's part of society." She indicated a poster on the wall, which had the motto, You Gotta Do What You Gotta Do. "Those who disagree tend to get fired from a cannon into the Sun. That being said, certain skillsets mean a certain flexibility. I'm a qualified pilot, for example, so I could be reassigned to another position in theory. And there's always the possibility of promotion, obviously." There was a noise from the computer. "Hmm. This is interesting. Your permanent career assignment is 'Troubleshooter'. That's actually quite a vague career, given that there's lots of jobs you could take. You're pretty lucky."
"Depends on what you mean by luck." Harry then saw her bringing out a rather large and sinister-looking clamp-like thing with pointy bits. "Okay, what is that thing, and why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like the answer?"
"It'll implant the career chip in you, marking you as a troubleshooter," Leela said. "Hold out your hand."
"It's not going to brainwash me? Poison me? Make me a target for wannabe Dark Lords?"
"No, no, and what are you smoking?"
Harry scowled, but held out his hand resignedly. At least it wasn't some stupid crap like 'hero' or 'Boy Who Lived', or Merlin forfend, 'Delivery Boy'. Troubleshooter at least sounded interesting. And if push came to shove, he'd use magic to alter it or get rid of it. Better to get it over and done with for the moment. He yelped as the thing bit into the palm of his hand, implanting the chip. "Gah!"
Leela chuckled softly, but not cruelly. "It's okay. I didn't like it either. Nobody does…unless they're masochists."
"Okay, so, what the hell am I supposed to do now?"
"Well, it's New Year's Eve, so jobs are thin on the ground. That being said, if you have any funds left over, you can access them. The computer listed a British-based bank called Gringotts, which has a branch here in the city."
"Huh. I'll think about that." A morose expression came over his face. Nibbler had said wizards and witches would be mostly extinct by now.
Seeing his expression, Leela said, quietly, "If it makes you feel any better, I know a little of what you're going through. The file said you were an orphan from a young age. I never even knew my parents. I don't even know what species I am, and not for want of looking. When I was a baby, they left me at an Orphanarium with a note."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry said. Shades of his own abandonment at the Dursleys'.
"Thank you," Leela said.
"Though that does sort of answer my question, whether you were named after that character from Doctor Who(1)."
"Huh? Oh, you mean that old show from the Stupid Ages?"
"Stupid Ages?" Harry asked incredulously, before he thought about what even the Muggles were doing. "Anyway, thanks for trying to reassure me. So, looking forward to tonight?" On Leela's morose look, Harry said, "Sorry."
"No, no, it's not your fault. I'm just not sure what party to go to." Harry knew she was lying. She didn't look particularly good at it. But he didn't press.
"What about an office party?"
Leela scoffed. "Not much of one. You've met Terry and Lou. Terry's the hammy one. They usually hold one in here, but my boss Ipji goes home, and, well, Terry and Lou aren't much in the way of party people. Poker night's another matter."
"That's a pity. Hey, does your job also include reorientation? I mean, this is the future, after all," Harry asked.
Leela pursed her lips. "It can. Why do you ask?"
"I just thought, when you have a spare moment, you could show me where the most essential places in this New York is."
"Technically, it's New New York. And I'll think about it, though it's technically not part of my job. That being said, maybe you want to contact Professor Farnsworth to help with your reorientation. He's a noted inventor, and I believe he runs an interstellar delivery service called Planet Express." She handed him the printout with Farnsworth's details. "Hopefully, he'll give you accommodation until you can find somewhere. If not, contact me here. I know a few good apartments with cheap rent."
"Okay," Harry said, standing. But as he made to leave, he asked, "Do you like your job? I mean, sorry if it's an odd question, but…I don't like people being forced to do these things because of someone else's say-so."
Leela looked at him in surprise, before she shrugged. "It pays well."
Harry noted the evasion, but he nodded. "Hope you have a good time tonight."
Leaving the building, Harry stared at the various sights, of the flying cars, people wearing strange clothes, robots, and those things like pneumatic tubes for people. He found one, where someone stood in the entrance, and spoke their destination, before being whisked away. Like the Floo, he supposed. Stepping into one, he opted for the Crosstown Express, and was promptly whisked away at high speed. He nearly lost himself to the joys of moving at high speed, and only remembered his predicament at the last moment, as he came up to the exit. Thankfully, he managed to roll as he shot out, leaping to his feet with a flourish.
"Tourist," one man remarked disdainfully.
Harry flipped him the bird, before heading off. He realised he had been distracted from his need to contact Farnsworth, so he headed for a cubicle that he thought, at first, was a phone booth. The line was odd, and the fact that nobody went out, only went in, was odder still. On an impulse, he peeked at the side, and blinked. "Suicide booth?" he muttered.
"What's the matter, pal? Haven't you ever seen one of those before?" rasped a belligerent, irritable voice. Harry blinked, and turned to find what could only be a robot.
The robot had a cylindrical body with a hatch built in, its arms and legs articulated, its hands and feet very simple. The head had an antenna, two eyes in a visor glaring at him in annoyance, and a mouth that seemed to be a screen with grid patterns on them. "No I haven't, rustbucket."
"Bite my shiny metal ass," the robot retorted, the grid pattern distorting like a mouth as he spoke.
"It doesn't look so shiny to me," Harry snarked back.
"Shinier than yours, meatbag," the robot retorted.
"I'd show you otherwise, but I don't want to get arrested for public indecency," Harry snapped back. "Why do you want to use a suicide booth?"
"Why would a human care?" the robot asked.
Harry shook his head, before he saw the booth open up, ready to accept its next occupant. Harry, covertly, sent a small Blasting Hex at the booth before the next person could step inside. Not enough to destroy the booth, but certainly enough to damage it so that it couldn't be used. "Dammit," the man in front of him snarled. "It's broken." He stormed away, and Harry wondered whether the time it took for him, and the other would-be suicides, to find another booth would give them enough time to reconsider it. After all, these seemed like healthy people lining up to commit suicide.
"Lousy piece of junk," the robot growled. After a moment, he remarked, "Welp, I didn't have any other plans for the day. Let's go get drunk. I'm Bender, by the way."
"Harry. And I think I could do with some drink anyway…"
CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:
So, there you have it. Harry's met Leela and Bender. This will be somewhat less whacky and more sombre in tone than Futurama usually is, but the jokes are there.
Now, this story won't be a full adaptation of every Futurama episode, just a number of key ones. Unlike with Fry, Harry and Leela will have a more stronger relationship initially, if only because Harry's far less frivolous than Fry, and they have some shared experiences (like being orphaned, feeling isolated in the world, etc).
1. Apparently in one of the DVD commentaries, Matt Groening confirms this, though Leela is also named for the Turangalîla-Symphonie by Olivier Messiaen.
