When Harry met Harry 2/3
~*~
“What the fuck?” The Harry-Impostor demanded, drawing his wand and pointing it at Harry’s face. “What are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same thing!” Harry snarled, his head throbbing as his brain reluctantly accepted this latest instalment. “What’s going on? Am I hallucinating?” Harry actually sounded hopeful at the idea. “Oh God, please let me be hallucinating,” Harry pleaded to no one in particular. “That would explain everything, the twins, Ron and Malfoy, fucking Snape doing Lucius Malfoy…”
“Snape’s doing Lucius?” To Harry’s outrage, the Impostor looked gleeful at the idea as he positively skipped to the door of the potions classroom.
“Nice…” the Impostor purred, reaching between his legs and rubbing languidly.
Harry spluttered. “It most certainly isn’t nice! I’m probably going to need therapy for the rest of my life! If I didn’t need it to begin with, which I most certainly do if this is the kind of stuff my horrid mind hallucinates…”
Impostor-Harry paused in palming his crotch to cock his head curiously at Harry. Harry noted that this Impostor, while identical to him in pretty much every way, carried subtle differences. First of all, his posture was most certainly not one that Harry would ever affect; he would never jut out his hip provocatively, or pout his lips like that, and he would never, ever, in a million years voluntarily watch Snape fucking Lucius Malfoy and deem it nice.
The Impostors eyes widened as though realization had suddenly struck him. “You’re not from around here are you?”
Harry glared. “This is my school. That’s my teacher and arch-nemesis’ father, and that’s my body.”
The Impostor shook his head, apparently not listening. “Oh boy. How did you get here?”
Harry was about to answer when a guttural “Gods, YES!” emitted from the closed door, and Harry sank against the wall, moaning in agony, before finally turning on his side and emptying his stomach all over the stone floor.
The Impostor smirked and hauled Harry to his feet. “Come on, you. Lets get you back to where you came from.”
Harry, too sick to argue, allowed himself to be carried away by his doppleganger. “If I’m not from here, where am I from?” he gurgled, stomach churning again as Snape’s christian name was shrieked in an unnaturally high tone.
The Impostor patted Harry sympathetically and led him away from the dungeons and out into the crisp night air before answering. “You, Harry, are from the Cannonverse. How you got here is beyond me, but it is essential we get you back.”
“From where? Where am I?” Harry stopped to lean against a tree, leaping away from it in abject horror as he registered the wet sounds that emitted from the other side.
“Mmm, that’s it Neville…” an all to familiar Irish accent made Harry want to run away again, possibly blubbering in shock. The Impostor redoubled his hold on Harry and lead him away, towards the Quidditch pitch.
“This is The Fandomverse.” Impostor explained, “You see Harry, you exist as the creation of an exceptionally talented author. I, on the other hand, exist as a result of what hordes of slightly-disturbed but impressively perverse fangirls have done with your character, as does everyone in Fandomverse.”
“Are you seriously telling me that everyone in this universe exists for the sole purpose of… of…”
As if to answer Harry’s question, the figures of Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood could suddenly be seen making out across the pitch.
“Mmm, Oliver Wood...” Marcus growled, thrusting against his arch nemesis.
“I’ll-have-a-wood too if you keep that up…” Oliver grinned, sucking a patch of exposed neck.
The Impostor groaned, slapping his face against his palm audibly. “Please!” he exclaimed loudly. “Like we all haven’t heard that one, Oliver!”
“You’ve had sex with Oliver?” Harry demanded, his cheeks flaming. The Impostor blinked as though Harry were a bit thick.
“Of course.”
“Who else?” Harry demanded, crossing his arms indignantly. The Impostor had to have a bit of a think about that one.
“Er, well there was Ron, Dean, Charlie, Seamus, Lucius, Severus, Draco, Bill, Fred and George, Oliver, Percy, Marcus, Blaise, Albus-”
“Albus?” Harry shrieked, his ears burning with shame. “You fucked Dumbledore?!
“No, no!” The Impostor laughed, waving away Harry’s relieved sigh.
“Albus is my son.” The Impostor informed a horrified Harry proudly.
“That’s it!” Harry shouted, scrunching his eyes and covering his ears. “No more! Get me the hell out of here! This place is weird and sick and… and just tell me how to get back to my own universe!”
The Impostor put his hands on Harry’s shoulders and rubbed them soothingly. “Calm down,” he murmured, still rubbing in smooth circles.
“Fuck, that’s hot.” Flint’s voice cut through the air. Harry yelped and leapt away from The Impostor.
“Fine.” The Impostor huffed, throwing Flint a dirty look. “What was the last thing you did before you came here?”
Harry thought - and then it came to him. “I was burning one of these stories! Some weirdo sent me a story, about me and Snape-”
“What were you doing?” The Impostor asked, far too excitedly in Harry’s opinion.
Harry fixed the Impostor with an icy glare. “What do you think? Anyway, once I’d finished burning it, I turned around, and Fred and George were on the couch-”
“What were they doing?” Oliver called, looking far too excited judging by the blood-red erection straining against Flint’s…
“Gah! GAH!” Harry scratched uselessly at his eyes, hoping that image would wash out along with the blood and eye-goo.
“Well, that’s it, obviously.” The Impostor clapped his hands in an entirely feminine fashion that Harry never wanted to see his likeness do ever again. “We just burn that story again, in the same fireplace, and whatever spell bought you here should reverse itself and send you back!”
Harry glared. “That makes little to no sense whatsoever.”
The Impostor waved his hand airily. “This is fannon, sweetheart. Logical scenarios here are about as rare as straight men.”
“So I’ve seen.” Harry shuddered as a howling Oliver emptied himself inside Flint.
~*~
Third and final part *cackle*
“What the fuck?” The Harry-Impostor demanded, drawing his wand and pointing it at Harry’s face. “What are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same thing!” Harry snarled, his head throbbing as his brain reluctantly accepted this latest instalment. “What’s going on? Am I hallucinating?” Harry actually sounded hopeful at the idea. “Oh God, please let me be hallucinating,” Harry pleaded to no one in particular. “That would explain everything, the twins, Ron and Malfoy, fucking Snape doing Lucius Malfoy…”
“Snape’s doing Lucius?” To Harry’s outrage, the Impostor looked gleeful at the idea as he positively skipped to the door of the potions classroom.
“Nice…” the Impostor purred, reaching between his legs and rubbing languidly.
Harry spluttered. “It most certainly isn’t nice! I’m probably going to need therapy for the rest of my life! If I didn’t need it to begin with, which I most certainly do if this is the kind of stuff my horrid mind hallucinates…”
Impostor-Harry paused in palming his crotch to cock his head curiously at Harry. Harry noted that this Impostor, while identical to him in pretty much every way, carried subtle differences. First of all, his posture was most certainly not one that Harry would ever affect; he would never jut out his hip provocatively, or pout his lips like that, and he would never, ever, in a million years voluntarily watch Snape fucking Lucius Malfoy and deem it nice.
The Impostors eyes widened as though realization had suddenly struck him. “You’re not from around here are you?”
Harry glared. “This is my school. That’s my teacher and arch-nemesis’ father, and that’s my body.”
The Impostor shook his head, apparently not listening. “Oh boy. How did you get here?”
Harry was about to answer when a guttural “Gods, YES!” emitted from the closed door, and Harry sank against the wall, moaning in agony, before finally turning on his side and emptying his stomach all over the stone floor.
The Impostor smirked and hauled Harry to his feet. “Come on, you. Lets get you back to where you came from.”
Harry, too sick to argue, allowed himself to be carried away by his doppleganger. “If I’m not from here, where am I from?” he gurgled, stomach churning again as Snape’s christian name was shrieked in an unnaturally high tone.
The Impostor patted Harry sympathetically and led him away from the dungeons and out into the crisp night air before answering. “You, Harry, are from the Cannonverse. How you got here is beyond me, but it is essential we get you back.”
“From where? Where am I?” Harry stopped to lean against a tree, leaping away from it in abject horror as he registered the wet sounds that emitted from the other side.
“Mmm, that’s it Neville…” an all to familiar Irish accent made Harry want to run away again, possibly blubbering in shock. The Impostor redoubled his hold on Harry and lead him away, towards the Quidditch pitch.
“This is The Fandomverse.” Impostor explained, “You see Harry, you exist as the creation of an exceptionally talented author. I, on the other hand, exist as a result of what hordes of slightly-disturbed but impressively perverse fangirls have done with your character, as does everyone in Fandomverse.”
“Are you seriously telling me that everyone in this universe exists for the sole purpose of… of…”
As if to answer Harry’s question, the figures of Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood could suddenly be seen making out across the pitch.
“Mmm, Oliver Wood...” Marcus growled, thrusting against his arch nemesis.
“I’ll-have-a-wood too if you keep that up…” Oliver grinned, sucking a patch of exposed neck.
The Impostor groaned, slapping his face against his palm audibly. “Please!” he exclaimed loudly. “Like we all haven’t heard that one, Oliver!”
“You’ve had sex with Oliver?” Harry demanded, his cheeks flaming. The Impostor blinked as though Harry were a bit thick.
“Of course.”
“Who else?” Harry demanded, crossing his arms indignantly. The Impostor had to have a bit of a think about that one.
“Er, well there was Ron, Dean, Charlie, Seamus, Lucius, Severus, Draco, Bill, Fred and George, Oliver, Percy, Marcus, Blaise, Albus-”
“Albus?” Harry shrieked, his ears burning with shame. “You fucked Dumbledore?!
“No, no!” The Impostor laughed, waving away Harry’s relieved sigh.
“Albus is my son.” The Impostor informed a horrified Harry proudly.
“That’s it!” Harry shouted, scrunching his eyes and covering his ears. “No more! Get me the hell out of here! This place is weird and sick and… and just tell me how to get back to my own universe!”
The Impostor put his hands on Harry’s shoulders and rubbed them soothingly. “Calm down,” he murmured, still rubbing in smooth circles.
“Fuck, that’s hot.” Flint’s voice cut through the air. Harry yelped and leapt away from The Impostor.
“Fine.” The Impostor huffed, throwing Flint a dirty look. “What was the last thing you did before you came here?”
Harry thought - and then it came to him. “I was burning one of these stories! Some weirdo sent me a story, about me and Snape-”
“What were you doing?” The Impostor asked, far too excitedly in Harry’s opinion.
Harry fixed the Impostor with an icy glare. “What do you think? Anyway, once I’d finished burning it, I turned around, and Fred and George were on the couch-”
“What were they doing?” Oliver called, looking far too excited judging by the blood-red erection straining against Flint’s…
“Gah! GAH!” Harry scratched uselessly at his eyes, hoping that image would wash out along with the blood and eye-goo.
“Well, that’s it, obviously.” The Impostor clapped his hands in an entirely feminine fashion that Harry never wanted to see his likeness do ever again. “We just burn that story again, in the same fireplace, and whatever spell bought you here should reverse itself and send you back!”
Harry glared. “That makes little to no sense whatsoever.”
The Impostor waved his hand airily. “This is fannon, sweetheart. Logical scenarios here are about as rare as straight men.”
“So I’ve seen.” Harry shuddered as a howling Oliver emptied himself inside Flint.
~*~
Third and final part *cackle*