The last chapter was a prologue. This is Chapter 2, which means it's not a prologue. And it's also not a recap or preview, so you have to go to Chapter 1 and read it again and remember it or take notes, I don't care. I'm not your mother, I'm the author, and you're the reader, and that means you have to do the work, not me. Anyways, where did we leave off? Oh, right, I was eavesdropping on some bad guys in a room in the Three Broomsticks, and I decided to do something that would change the course of history.
I opened the door with my gun in one hand and my wand in the other, and I shouted "hands up!" in a very manly and confident voice. But instead of finding the bad guys, I found a bunch of naked women, and not the hot kind, but the old and wrinkly kind, and they were not happy to see me. The feeling was mutual. They screamed and threw things at me, and I screamed and ran away, but not before grabbing a piece of paper that was on the table next to them. It looked important, or maybe it was just a grocery list, but I took it anyway. Then I slammed the door and locked it with a spell, and they were trapped inside, which was probably a good thing for everyone.
I ran down the stairs and bumped into Madam Rosmerta, who was carrying a tray of drinks. She spilled them all over me, and I got wet and sticky, and she got mad and horny, and I got embarrassed and horny, but I didn't have time for that. I had to get out of there, before those old wrinkly bitches broke out and tried to seduce me again. I didn't want to make that choice, or pay for the damages. So I said sorry and ran out of the pub, and into the street, where I saw another problem, or maybe another opportunity, depending on how you look at it. I saw Hermione, or someone who looked like her, or maybe a clone or a robot or something, walking by with a guy who was not Ron, or me, but some other guy who had no taste in clothes. He was wearing a suit and a tie and a smile, and she was wearing a dress and a blush and a smile, and they were holding hands, and I hated it. I didn't know who he was, or why he was with her, or where they were going, but I didn't like it. I didn't like him, or his smile, or his tie, or his hand in hers. I'm pretty sure he's evil, actually.
So I did what any normal, sane, and rational person would do in my situation. I followed them, not too close, I didn't want them to think I was interested in their asses, or anything, but close enough to see where they were going. They went to the Shrieking Shack, which was supposed to be haunted, and abandoned, unless you had a dark mark, or a wand, which made me even more curious and suspicious since I had both. I was Harry Potter, after all, and I could go wherever I wanted, except for a few places, but don't worry about that.
I waited for them to enter the Shack, and then I crept up to the door, and pressed my ear against it, hoping to hear something, anything, that would make me less jealous and angry, or maybe more. I heard voices, voices that sounded familiar, voices that said things that made me even more jealous and angry. They said things like:
"Hermione, you look beautiful tonight."
"Thank you, Draco. You look handsome too."
"Call me Malfoy. Draco was my father's name."
"Okay, Malfoy. But don't call me Granger. It sounds like the model name of a Jeep."
"Jeep?"
"Just call me Hermione."
I found this all very circumspect because I'm pretty sure Draco had met her before, and also he was in Slytherin so that would mean that he was evil, but I just couldn't be sure. I needed to gather all the evidence, and I was going to get it, even if it killed him.
He was gay, or so I thought, but now I wasn't so sure. Because if he was really gay, why was Hermione going on a date with him? And why hadn't Dumbledore or Ron contacted me? And why was I itching? There could be many reasons, but my gut, and my eczema, which was flaring up, told me that he was involved. And that meant trouble, big trouble.
I went to the Three Broomsticks to get wasted and forget about my problems, or maybe to get more problems, it didn't matter, as long as I didn't have to think about Hermione and Draco. I ordered a firewhiskey from Madam Rosmerta, the busty and cheerful barmaid who always flirted with me, even though she was old enough to be my aunt. I was too drunk to flirt back, though, despite being a gentleman, and also because I had vomit on my shirt. She gave me a dirty look and a strong drink, and I gave her a groan and a burp. I think she was impressed. Then I stumbled to the back of the pub and sat at a table that looked like it had seen better days, or maybe worse. I drank my whiskey and stared at the wall, trying to ignore the noise and the people and the pain in my chest, which was not from the alcohol, but from the betrayal, or maybe the heartburn. I wasn't sure which was worse.
I don't know how long I was sitting there, or how much I drank, but at some point I realized that someone was standing in front of me. Someone with a bald head, a nose ring, and a robe that made him look like a fortune cookie. He had a wand, and a smirk, and he reminded me of Chinese food, so I kind of liked him.
"Hey," I said, "do I know you?"
"No," he replied, "but I know you. You're Harry Potter, the best detective in the wizarding world."
"I was," I muttered, "until I got drunk and depressed."
"You're not alone," he said, "we've all been there."
"Who are you?" I asked, "and why do you care?"
"I'm a friend," he said, "and I care because I have a case for you."
"A case?"
"A case that involves the Deathly Hallows."
"The what?"
"The Deathly Hallows."
"Never heard of him."
"Not him, them. Three powerful magical objects that can grant wishes, or destroy the world, or both."
"Oh!" I exclaimed in part because I remembered the dragon balls, and in part because the table stopped holding my weight. As my face hit the ground, I had a revelation. I needed a wish. I needed to make things right. I needed to find Hermione and Ron and Dumbledore, and maybe get them back, or at least make them pay. And I needed to know more about these Deathly Hallows, and how to use them, and if there were any side effects that I wouldn't like. But most importantly, I needed to find out who this Chinese guy was, and what he wanted from me. So I did what any normal, sane, and rational person would do in my situation. I looked up from the floor and said, "Are you part of the Fortune Cookie Gang? Because I've been looking for a gang, and yours sounds delicious."
I woke up in a bed that was not mine, and a room that was not mine, and a place that was not mine, unless you count the wizarding world as mine, but I don't because I'm humble. I didn't remember how I got there, but I didn't panic, because that's not what cool guys do. Cool guys assess the situation, and plan their next move, and maybe check out the hot girl sleeping next to them, or at least that's what I do. She had brown hair and a bushy tail and a wand under her pillow, which was either cute or creepy, depending on your taste. She was also snoring like a hippogriff, and drooling like a troll, but I didn't mind. She had a nice face, and a nice body, and a nice pair of underwear that matched her wand, and I liked that. So I decided to wake her up with a kiss, because that's what princes do in fairy tales, and I was feeling princely, or at least noble.
"Good morning," I said, "I'm Harry Potter. And who might you be?"
I said it very charmingly but I don't think she heard it over her scream. Or maybe she didn't like being woken up by a stranger, who was also a kind of wizard prince, or at least high nobility. Either way, she ran out of the room and slammed the door and locked it, and I was alone again. But not for long, because someone else came in, someone who looked like a fortune cookie, and I remembered him, or at least his nose ring. He was the guy who told me about the Deathly Hallows, and who gave me a case, and who might roofied my firewhiskey. I didn't know his name, or his motives, or his favorite color, but I knew that I was craving Chow Mein, or maybe Lo Mein, or maybe him. Because he was a hot Chinese guy, and I was a hot British guy, and we had a thing going on, or at least a case, but I'm not gay! Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I just like girls more than guys. Unless they're really hot and have a nice pair of underwear that matches their wand, and that's hard to find in a guy, unless you look really hard.
"Good morning," I said, "I'm Harry Potter. And who might you be?" I said it very charmingly, but I don't think he heard it over his laugh. Or maybe he did hear it, but he didn't care, because he was a hot Chinese guy, and hot Chinese guys don't care about British guys when they're in bed and hungover and wearing a nice pair of underwear that doesn't match their wand, but does match their eyes. Either way, he was still laughing, and I was getting annoyed, or maybe aroused.
"I'm sorry," he said, "but you have to be kidding me."
"About what?"
"Your situation."
"What situation?"
"This situation."
"Care to elaborate?"
"Sure. You're a detective, right?"
"Right."
"And you're looking for your friends, right?"
"Right."
"And you're in bed with a girl who's not your friend, right?"
"Right... wait, what?"
"You're in bed with a girl who's not your friend, right?"
"No, I mean, I was, but not anymore."
"Why not?"
"Because she left."
"Why did she leave?"
"Because I woke her up."
"Why did you wake her up?"
"Because I'm a prince."
"What?"
"I'm kind of like a prince, a wizard prince, you know?"
"No, I don't know."
"Okay, let me explain. I'm Harry Potter, the chosen one, the boy who lived, the hero of the wizarding world, or whatever's left of it after the war against Voldemort, the dark lord, who's also my uncle, or something."
"I see."
"And I have a reputation, a reputation for being awesome, and famous, and handsome, and also for solving cases that would stump the greats, Sherlock Holmes, Sam Spade, Batman."
"Batman is not a detective."
"Fuck off, he is. He has a utility belt, and a bat signal, and bat ears, and he fights crime, solves riddles from the Riddler, and sometimes even investigates murders, like in Batman Forever, which is not as bad as people say it is."
"Okay, fine, he's a detective. But you're not."
"What?"
"You're not. You're a loser. A drunk. A failure. A fuck up. A fraud. A fake."
"Wow, that's hurtful. And rude. And untrue. And frankly very offensive to wizards everywhere."
"I don't care. I'm not here to flatter you. I'm here to give you a reality check."
"Why? Who are you?"
"I'm your client. I'm your case. I'm your only hope of finding your friends."
"Really? How?"
"Because I know where they are. Or at least where one of them is."
"Which one?"
"Dumbledore"
I tisked, "Not really my favorite of the lot, but I'll take it."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, he owes me money."
"You're not serious."
"Serious as a heart attack, which is probably what your girlfriend gave me when she screamed, by the way I think you should know, as a friend, that your girlfriend was sleeping with me just now, it happens all the time I wouldn't take it personally."
"She's not my girlfriend."
"Oh, really? Then what was she doing here?"
"She lives here."
"Here? As in this house? Or here as in this bed?"
"Both."
"So you're telling me she's single and a homeowner?"
"I'm not telling you anything, I'm just saying that she lives here, and that she's not my girlfriend, and that you're still a loser, a drunk, a failure, a fuck up, a fraud, a fake, and possibly a rapist, but that's a separate"
"Excuse me? I am not a rapist, and I'm not any of those other things, either. I'm Harry Potter, and I'm the best detective in the wizarding world, and I'm going to prove it to you, and to her, and to everyone else, and also to myself, because sometimes I forget how awesome I am. And if you know where Dumbledore is, or where any of my friends are, then you better tell me, or else."
"Or else what?"
"Or else... I'll have to use my wand on you."
I wasn't sure if it was a threat or an invitation, but I didn't care. I was pissed off, and aroused, and hungover, and hungry, and I wanted answers, and breakfast, and maybe another kiss from the hot furry girl. The one who was single and also a homeowner, in this economy, which is very impressive, and very sexy. And I wanted to find Dumbledore. Well, I wanted to find Dumbledore's money. And I wanted to find Ron and Hermione. Well, I wanted to find Ron's money, too, except he's poor, so Hermione. And I wanted to find the Deathly Hallows. Well, I wanted to find my wish for more wishes. And I wanted to find myself, eat pray love style, but with less yoga.
"Are you done?" The hot Chinese guy asked. "Can I talk now?"
"Sure, go ahead. But make it quick. I have to pee."
"Okay, here's the deal. I know where Dumbledore is. He's in the Department of Mysteries. He's been there for months. He's working on something big. Something secret. Something dangerous. He's using the Deathly Hallows. He's trying to bring back Voldemort, or at least his soul, or maybe his body, or maybe both. He's trying to create a horcrux which is kind of like a Tamagotchi except it's not cute, you don't have to feed it, and it can't die unless you stab it with a basilisk fang or something. And I can help you get in. I can help you find him. I can help you stop him. But you have to help me too."
"Look I know Dumbledore is old, and a drunk and not very good at paying back debts but he's not senile enough to bring back Voldemort, yet."
"I can't believe you're still talking about him. It's like you're obsessed with him or something."
"What? You're the one who brought him up."
"Yes, because I'm trying to tell you something important, something urgent, something that could change everything, something that could save your life, and the lives of your friends, and the lives of everyone in the wizarding world, or whatever's left of it after the war against Voldemort, the dark lord, who's also your uncle, or something. But you're not listening. You're not interested. You're not taking me seriously. You're not respecting me, and you keep looking at me in ways that are making me honestly very uncomfortable." The hot Chinese guy sounded annoyed. And offended. And flattered. And aroused. I couldn't blame him. I was looking at him in ways that were quite intense, and suggestive. But I didn't care. I was tired of talking. I was tired of listening. I was tired of trying to figure out what the hell was going on. I was tired of trying to remember what I was supposed to remember. I was tired of being Harry Potter. I was tired of being a detective. A good one. A great one. The best in the wizarding world. I was tired of being me. I wanted to be someone else, maybe an ice cream truck driver or a professional bowler or a hot Chinese guy. I wanted to be him. I wanted to be him. I wanted him. I wanted to fuck him. Or her. Or anyone. I wanted to get laid. I needed to get laid. I hadn't gotten laid in a long time. A long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, time.
"Listen," the hot Chinese guy said, "I don't have time for this. I have a case for you. A case that involves the Deathly Hallows. Three powerful magical objects that can grant wishes, or destroy the world, or both."
"Wishes plural?" I asked.
"Yes," he said, "wishes plural. As many as you want."
"Okay," I said, "I'm listening."
"Good," he said, "then shut up."
I shut up. I crossed my arms and legs and stared at him. He was still hot. He was still Chinese. He was still wearing a robe that made him look like a fortune cookie. And he was still talking. He was still talking about the Deathly Hallows, and Dumbledore, and Voldemort, and something about a horcrux, which is kind of like a Tamagotchi. Honestly I tuned most of it out but apparently Dumbledore is doing bad guy stuff for some reason and also the Chinese guy wants me to gather these Deathly Hallows and use them to stop him, or.. save him? He didn't really explain very well. I think he might be stupid, but you know how it is with hot Chinese guys. They don't have to be smart to be hot, or Chinese. And I was willing to overlook his stupidity. I was willing to overlook his robe. Actually, I liked the robe, it was like a kink I was discovering. And I was willing to overlook his nose ring, too. I didn't know why he had it, but I didn't care. I thought it made him look mysterious and exotic. And I was willing to overlook his wand, too. I had a wand fetish, I admit it, but only for wands that were long and thin and made of wood and had a core of unicorn hair or dragon heartstring or phoenix feather. His wand was not one of those. His wand was... well, let's just say it was not a wand I would use to cast spells, unless they were dirty spells, or poor people spells. But he was hot, and he had a nice ass, and he was giving me a case, and he was saying something about wishes and danger and secrets. So I was going to take it, I was going to solve it, I was going to use my magic powers of deduction, and seduction, and also my wand, to find the Deathly Hallows, and the horcrux, and Dumbledore, and Ron, and Hermione, and maybe also Draco Malfoy, just to punch him in his Hitler's Youth fucking face. And then I was going to get my wish, which as it turns out doesn't require wishing for more wishes since you get as many as you want. So I could wish for anything I wanted. Anything. And I knew what I wanted. I wanted to be someone else, someone who didn't have to solve cases, or save the world, or deal with Voldemort, or deal with Dumbledore, or his strangely attractive cat lady GILF ex lover. Someone who didn't have to be Harry Potter, the best detective in the wizarding world. Someone who didn't have to be Harry Potter, period. I wanted to be me. The real me. The me that wasn't Harry Potter. The me that was... me. And I wanted to be him. I wanted to be him. I wanted him.
I looked at the hot Chinese guy. He was still talking. I interrupted him. "Hey," I said, "what's your name?"
He looked at me, annoyed, "I told you already."
"No, you didn't."
"Yes, I did."
"No, you didn't."
"Yes, I did."
"Fine, but tell me again, I forgot."
"Harry Potter."
"I'm Harry Potter."
"No, I mean, my name is Harry Potter."
"I'm confused, and also I'm still very aroused, but mostly confused. Are you telling me your name is Harry Potter?"
"Yes."
"But that's my name."
"It's mine, too."
"How is that possible? Are your parents.. fans? or something?"
"No, I'm you, from the future."
I blinked. "What?"
"I'm you, from the future. I'm Harry Potter, but from the year 2040. I'm here to give you a case to save the wizarding world. And to stop Dumbledore from destroying it with a horcrux. And to help you find the Deathly Hallows, and the real culprit behind everything, the mastermind, the puppet master, the puppeteer, the chess master, the queen of hearts, the ace of spades, the-"
"Wait so all those mean things you were saying about me, you were saying about yourself?"
"Yes, but I didn't mean it, I was just trying to motivate you, to make you see how much you've changed, how much you've grown, how much more awesome you've become."
"Oh, okay, that makes sense. And what about the girl, the hot furry girl?"
"She's a friend, well, a friend of a friend, or a friend of a friend of a friend. She's not important."
"Wait so you're not Chinese?"
"Well, I'm Chinese-American. I'm from San Francisco."
"San Francisco?"
"Yeah, it's a city in California. It's very diverse, very liberal, very tolerant, very-"
"I know where San Francisco is! What I meant is, why are you from San Francisco? Why aren't you from London? Or at least somewhere in England? Or even Ire- wait, no, not there. Never there. Fuck Ireland. But seriously, why San Fran? Why did I move there? Did I get tired of solving cases in the wizarding world and decide to become a detective in the muggle world and solve cases there instead? Because that's a great idea. A brilliant idea. An idea that would make me even more famous and awesome. And also an idea that would make me very rich, because muggles have money, real money, not galleons or sickles or knuts or whatever, but pounds, cash money, the green stuff, the folding kind, the kind that doesn't clink when you drop it, unless you're paying with quarters. Quarters are cool, they have a nice heft to th-"
"Harry! Shut the fuck up!" Harry said. I shut the fuck up. I didn't want to, but I did. Because I'm polite, and also because I'm kind of turned on by being bossed around by a hot Chinese guy who's also me from the future. This did explain why I found him so hot when normally I'm not into guys. I'm pretty sure. Or maybe I'm bi and just never realized it, or maybe I'm just bi for myself. Which, honestly, same.
"Listen to me moron" Harry said. I'm not sure how to react to my future self being so mean to me. On the one hand, I'm a little offended, because I'm not a moron, I'm a genius, and a great detective, and also Harry Potter, and also very sexy. On the other hand, I was still turned on, and also a little curious about what he had to say. So I listened.
"Are you listening?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now, as I was saying, I'm you from the future, and I'm here to help you solve the case of the Deathly Hallows. It's a big case, a complex case, a dangerous case, a case that will test your skills, wits, courage, sanity, sexuality and yes, even your already impeccable fashion sense."
"Wait, my fashion sense is going to be tested?"
"Yes, you're going to have to wear a lot of different outfits, some of them very revealing."
"Like what?"
"Like a speedo, or a leather harness, or a top hat and a cane."
"A top hat and a cane?"
"Yeah, you'll have to sing and dance and do a softshoe routine. It's part of the investigation."
I was not expecting this. I was expecting a case that involved murder, or robbery, or kidnapping, or maybe even some light treason, or heavy treason. But then again, I was Harry Potter, and I was the best damn dancer slash detective in the wizarding world. Or at least in England. London? The Greater London area, perhaps, there are a lot of talented dancers in London I'm told. So if my future self was asking me to sing and dance and do a softshoe routine, then I would. Me and future me were going to sing and dance and do a softshoe routine like we've never sang and danced and softshoed before. And we were going to look damn good doing it, too All while saving the wizarding world in a way that only a pair of sexy, bi-curious, half-Chinese detectives could. I think I can say that, since the other me can.