|I Wrote Harry Potter
Author: Not Bingo PM
Is the title not enough? ....what would you do if you went back in time?Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Humor/Adventure - Chapters: 10 - Words: 43,241 - Reviews: 43 - Favs: 13 - Follows: 10 - Updated: 09-01-09 - Published: 01-14-09 - id: 4791535
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's Note: First of all, a little disclaimer to stop any confusion over the title. i did not write Harry Potter, and i am not JK Rowling (obviously!) so all credits go to her. However, this is not exactly a typical fanfic. It is an original story with an original plot and original characters. The reason it is on FanFiction is because i do not have JKR's permission to write a story about her story, and since it is very involved with her own i dont think it would be appropriate to put it on FictionPress. However, it has little or no manipulation of her actual story itself, so glad we got that clear :] Hope everyone enjoys it anyway! A little light'n easy story for everyone that will hopefully make you laugh. Dont forget to review! Thanks.
I Wrote Harry Potter
I am not a very nice person.
I know, you're probably thinking, like, what a way to introduce myself and all that, but it's true. I'm not. I mean, I'd like to be, honest, but I just … can't.
And I can prove I'm not nice too. As you delve further into this story, you will see me lying, cheating, even stealing, with no qualms or troubles about it.
Just so we're clear.
I mean, if there's one thing I pride myself on it's how to-the-point I am. I freely admit my faults. Probably because all I've got are faults, but still.
Anyway, moving on, now that we've gone past the whole attitude thing …
My name is Lara.
I'm about fourteen. I say 'about' because I'm honestly not sure anymore, what with my little adventure you're about to hear about.
And that's about all you need to know. For now.
So anyway, here I was, at my brother's football ( soccer if you're American, although I still say football makes much more sense as the name of the game, to be honest ) game, dressed in jeans and a baggy jacket with my pyjama top underneath ( oh, another thing about me: I'm really, really lazy. And in case you're thinking throughout the story I'll change and become a nice, energetic person you might as well stop reading now. You're going to be stuck with me like this for a lo-oo-ong time—well, depending on how long I feel like writing this, anyway ), and listening to my iPod.
My brother's a really big football person. He's about as nice as I am, but just because he can kick a ball, he's got like a zillion more friends than I do, and no-one says a thing when he acts stupid or annoying like I do. Just because he scored a few goals at a couple of games. He's so 'good' at kicking the dang ball he's actually got a nickname.
They call him '' Champ.'' As in, like, Champion.
And you know what's really sad?
I'm the only one who makes fun of it and calls him Chump.
So sad, really.
Chump is my twin, but we're not identical. He's about an inch shorter than me and he's got big brown eyes and black hair. Whereas I've got dark-grey eyes and brown hair. And yeah, I got the clumsy gene. I'm officially the clumsiest person on earth. I could trip and bang my head reading a book. In bed!
Seriously, life is so unfair.
'' Hey, Lara!'' yelled one of Chump's friends as the ball they were using for their practice game rolled off the field and came to a stop in front of me. It was covered in mud and icky grass.
'' What?'' I yelled back.
'' Get the ball!''
I scowled. Get the ball, get the ball. That's all I ever do. And with my luck, something inevitably happens to me while I'm getting the ball.
'' Get the ball what?'' I said in that irritating way I had.
'' Lara!'' groaned Chump. His friend glared at me.
'' I didn't hear the magic word ... ''
Chump's friend looked like he'd rather swallow the ball, but he glared daggers at me some more and growled,'' Get the ball, Lara, please.''
I sighed.'' Now that wasn't so hard, was it?''
'' Lara ...'' whined half the team impatiently, as if the world could not go round without a ball.
'' Fine!'' I snapped and bent down to get the stupid, muddy ball. I had just grabbed it and was about to throw it back to the team when, believe it or not, disaster struck. The muddy thing slipped out between my fingers and plopped back into the mud. So, naturally, I lost my patience and prepared to kick it back to them instead, and just as I straightened up and raised my foot to kick—
Some complete idiot playing around with a Pepsi can aimed it at his friend, missed, and the next thing I knew I was staring at the sky, flat on my back, with a crumpled metal can next to me and a lump the size of Mt. Everest on my forehead.
See? See what I mean about my luck?
Chump came to fetch the ball himself, laughing so hard he couldn't walk straight, and then he took his ball and tossed it back to his friends, still chortling.
'' Man, Lara,'' he snorted between giggles.'' Talk about karma!''
'' Shut up,'' I hissed as I scrambled upwards to stand up. And you know what? I slipped and fell back onto the ground. Chump burst into more laughter and helped me up, then he went back to his friends. I sat once more on the wooden bench, fuming as I watched.
I was thinking as I watched Chump kick the sacred ball. I was thinking, as one does, how, if I could go back in time, I'd stop myself from straightening up to kick the ball, so the can wouldn't hit me, and then I wouldn't have been on the ground …
The funny thing was, when I did go back in time, that was the last thing on my mind.
The idea of going back in time stayed stuck in my brain, for some reason. Whenever I watched TV, I would think, '' If I went back in time, I'd audition for this show and be rich,'' or if I listened to a song, I'd think,'' If I went back in time, I'd write this song before anyone else and be a superstar.'' Stuff like that.
You cant really blame me. I'm so untalented and helpless, the only way I'm ever going to make it big in life is if I cheat.
Now if only I could find a UFO and visit a planet that has never heard of pizza, or Rihanna, I could introduce them to it and take the credit for it! I'd be like—legendary.
The pizza part, I mean. Not Rihanna. Although if they hadn't heard of the umbrella either …
Oops. Ranting. So anyway, back to my so-far-pathetic story.
I was having dinner, later that day, when my mother reminded me to take out the trash.
'' What?'' I demanded, my voice rising several octaves in my indignance.
'' You heard me,'' my mother sounded bored. She's a lawyer, so reasoning with her is like asking a rock to break. And she doesn't like lawyer jokes, either. She's a very no-nonsense woman, actually. And she looks it, too. She's always wearing black, grey, or navy blue, and her hair is always scraped back into a bun. And she rarely smiles. She smiles on three occasions: When Chump wins a game, when she wins a case and when my dad gives her her newest credit card.
You notice who she never smiles at?
'' Ma,'' I said, choosing my words carefully.'' I'm afraid I misheard. It seems to me you just asked your crippled, injured daughter to go out, in the bitter cold, carrying massively heavy, germ-infested smelly black bags and then lift the lid off huge, rusty, ice-cold metal containers and then in a magnificent, incredible show of strength toss the massively heavy germ-infested smelly black bags into them so that the garbage people can pick them up tomorrow and throw them somewhere and contribute to the pollution of our environment?''
'' Oh, so you did hear,'' said my mother dryly, raising an eyebrow at me and putting Chump some spaghetti.
'' But I'm injured!'' I gestured to the lump on my forehead with my spoon, splattering sauce everywhere.'' I cant go out there! Or exert effort in … any way …''
My voice trailed off as my mother gave me a stern, no-nonsense look. The look she gave the criminals she cross-examined sometimes.
'' Lara, it's your turn to take out the trash and that's my final word on the subject.''
Chump gave me a gleeful, smug look. My dad was at work, so he wasn't there to grunt and say nothing the way he usually did. I glared at him.
So once dinner was over, I picked up the first two of our enormous black garbage bags and began dragging them out the back door gloomily, wishing I could go back in time and avoid taking a second helping so mom wouldn't have had a chance to order me to take out the trash. I sighed. Consequences, consequences.
I reached the end of our backyard, where the big, metal cans awaited me, and started hauling the garbage into the first can.
And that was when I saw the strange little ant.
Normally I wouldn't notice an ant, but this one was just crying for attention. For one thing, it was crawling up my index finger.
For another, it was bright blue.
Fortunately, when I am dazed and confused, I do not look too deeply into the science of things and wonder how on earth the ant is bright blue and so on. I just take it in stride and remind myself to freak out later. So I just started shaking the ant off my finger.
It wouldn't come off!
I shook, I flicked, I waved, I blew. The ant remained stubbornly stuck to my finger, even though I shook my hand so rapidly it got numb.
I blew harder at it, blowing up my cheeks until they ached and letting it all out in a huff worthy of the Big Bad Wolf.
And then the ant squeaked,'' Hey! Don't spit on me!''
'' Sorry,'' I said automatically.
I was hauling the second bag into the can when it hit me.
'' Oh my God!'' I yelped in surprise, peering at the blue ant still stuck to my finger.'' Oh, my God, did you just talk?''
'' Took you long enough,'' said the ant sarcastically and my eyes widened at it.
The ant suddenly started moving, crawling off my finger and onto the silver garbage can as I watched, open-mouthed, and seriously doubting my own sanity.
The ant was now crawling down the side of the can, defying gravity as ants do. Finally, when it reached the ground, it said,'' Please look away.''
'' Why?'' I asked, still stunned.
'' Because I don't like talking as an ant, you're far too big that way, so I'm going to need to shape-shift so we can have a proper conversation. And shape-shifting usually makes humans nauseous, so I'd rather avoid a situation where you could possibly barf on me.''
'' Unnnhhh … '' I said dazedly, but obeyed. It occurred to me as I did it I was taking orders from an ant.
There was a bright glow behind me, and then the ant's voice said,'' You can look now.''
I spun around and stared. Now I wasn't just doubting my sanity, I was wondering where the heck it was.
The ant had turned into a bright blue little girl. To be fair, her skin was a regular colour. But her eyes, hair and clothes were entirely blue. She looked about six or seven years old.
'' Hello, Lara!'' she said brightly, but her expression was bored, as though she was just going through the motions.
'' Hi … er. Blue girl,'' I muttered confusedly.
'' Oh, right. My name's Jeanie,'' she told me after a pause.
'' Well, that did come from my name, but no, Jeanie. With a J.''
'' Oh. Okay.''
Like I cared how she spelled her name. Honestly.
'' Let's stop beating around the bush,'' began Jeanie with a frown, her tone business-like.'' We haven't got all day. But anyway, Lara, you need to listen, and listen well.''
I hadn't even known we were beating about the bush. Whatever that meant. And I hoped she wasn't going to get all business-like just yet, because I honestly wasn't absorbing much yet.
'' You have been chosen,'' she announced gravely, like I knew what she was talking about.
'' Huh?'' I said blankly. She looked exasperated.
Well, one thing I do say about myself is that I'm pretty good at exasperating people.
'' You have been chosen to go back in time.''
Ooh, now this was interesting, if completely unbelievable.
'' Excuse me?''
Jeanie looked bored. Oh, wait, that means her expression didn't change.
'' You have been chosen to go back in time,'' she repeated, slowly, as if she were talking to a three-year-old. Which was actually fine for me.'' Every generation, we in charge of the timeline grant people a single opportunity to go back in time for a month. You have been chosen for this generation.''
'' Why me?''
'' Why not you?''
'' Because it's like way too coincidential that the very same day I'd been thinking of time travel I get to actually do it?''
'' It's not coincidential if you look at it the other way around,'' said Jeanie impatiently.'' The person chosen thinks of time travel occasionally. Big deal.''
I frowned but let it go, because Jeanie kind of intimidated me. Add coward to my list of not-so-great qualities.
'' Why do you let us go back?''
'' Because. For reasons of our own. Call it research.''
I frowned again. The blue brat was about as specific as a needle in a haystack. Whatever that means.
'' When do I go back in time to?''
'' Whenever you wish.''
Ooh, this is interesting too. I could go back to like, ten thousand BC. Then I'd be in the movie!
Okay, that was an errant and stupid thought that is better left unvoiced. Good thing I didn't say that aloud. Jeanie dearest would have eaten me alive.
'' Do I go alone?''
'' Obviously, that is what ' single opportunity' seems to imply.''
'' Uh. Right. So anyway, I can do whatever I want for a month in the past?''
'' Short of killing yourself, yes.''
'' And when I come back here, will the time have passed for a month with me disappeared, or does time seem to freeze—?''
'' You'll see.''
'' What kind of an answer is that?'' I cried indignantly. Jeanie ignored me. She bent down and picked up something from the ground: a stick.
'' This is your time-traveling device,'' she said quickly.'' I haven't got much time, so I'm going to make it brief. To go back in time, you must grab this stick and wish for yourself to be in the desired time. You must also say the words,' Agrabadacabra' for the journey to pass safely back and in a month's time, home again. Now—''
I wasn't really listening. I was thinking of my luck again. A stick. Some people would get a glamorous time-traveling diamond to go back in time. Some would get a big, fancy machine.
I got a stick.
Jeanie seemed to be shaking me. Hard. Her eyes were wide and panicked, and she was saying,'' No! I need more time! Not yeeeeeeee—''
I blinked, and very strangely, when my eyes opened again I was lying on my back, being shaken roughly and staring at the sky. Chump was leaning over me, looking concerned.
'' Are you okay, Lara?'' he asked anxiously and I frowned, utterly confused.
'' Where am I ?'' I demanded.'' Where's Jeanie?''
'' What genie?'' Chump panicked slightly.'' Oh, darn, don't tell me the fall affected your mind! Mom's gonna kill me!''
Fall? What fall?
'' What fall?'' I squeaked.
'' You were getting us the ball,'' blurted Chump worriedly.'' And a can hit you in the forehead, so you fell, and when you were getting up you slipped again and bumped your head and you've been out ever since, for about five minutes. Are you sure you're okay?''
A dream. It had all been a dream.
Just my luck to dream about stupid blue ants!
'' I'm fine,'' I said wearily, struggling to sit up. I was still dressed in jeans, a baggy jacket and my pyjama top, so I guessed I really had been dreaming about it all. Unless I'd gone back in time to now! The thought hit me and my eyes widened, then I remembered I hadn't grabbed any stick or even wanted to come back to this time, so the possibility of this being my back-in-time deal, if it had even existed, were very small.
'' Are you really sure you're fine?'' said Chump again and I scowled as I finally sat up and nodded.
'' Yes, already!''
'' Okay then,'' Chump sounded relieved, and a second later he was back on the field, kicking his stupid ball.
And I was wondering what on earth I'd eaten to have such a weird dream.
I completely forgot about the incident in a few days. For a few weeks, my life went back to it's normal, boring, pathetic state. I went to school, had a few tests, had a few fights, fell a few falls, lost a few pens.
You know. Just the regular stuff. All's well in Lara Land.
And then, fast forward to three weeks later, when it all began to go wrong – or should I say, right – again.
I was in my room, sitting on the bed, flat on my stomach and reading an Artemis Fowl book. Mostly to distract myself from the unpleasant confrontation I was about to have at dinnertime. I was going to tell my mother I'd scored a twelve out of thirty in my geometry test. And knowing my mom, unpleasant would be an understatement.
So instead of getting it over with, as a brave person would do, straight away, I did the cowardly thing and buried myself in my books until dinnertime. I'd like to say I was working up the courage to go and tell her, or feeling ashamed of myself. But I was actually kind of wondering if I could put it off until tomorrow. Or just … never tell her. Or something.
I'm sorry. I'm a terrible moral role model. Aesop could write a story about me with me getting struck by lightening in the end, and then say, '' The moral of this fable was: Don't be like her!''.
Thank God he's dead.
Oops. Ranting again. I apologize.
So where was I ?
Oh, yes. Reading. Reading is one of the few things I excel at. It requires no energy, not too many brains, and it makes me feel smart. I can read pretty well, actually.
There! I can do something!
But as Bella from Twilight wisely says, they don't give medals for reading books. They should though. I bet I'd win a bronze (I like to aim low).
I've read a lot. My favourite series is the Harry Potter series, predictably. Mostly because I share a lot of qualities with Voldemort. I've read them all so many times I don't even bother rereading them anymore. What I do is I just open the page of the part I want to reread, usually Voldemort's rebirth, and what I'm really proud of is I can actually remember the exact chapter and page I'm looking for.
You don't get a better reader than that!
But no one appreciates my reading skills at all. I can read five hundred pages in an hour and a half, but does anyone applaud like they do when Chump kicks a ball? Noooo.
I read until dinnertime. And then I had no other choice.
I told her. Right as we sat at the table, stuffing our faces with grilled chicken. I opened my mouth, looked straight into those strict, forbidding eyes and told her:
'' I got twelve out of thirty in geometry.''
'' What?'' her voice chilled me to the bone. She spoke so coldly. You'd think I'd admitted to a murder.
'' I got …'' now I was mumbling.'' Twelve.''
'' I think I am mistaken,'' said my mother, with a mirthless laugh.'' I thought you said twelve—surely even you cant be that stupid! To get a twelve …''
'' I did,'' I squeaked.
'' Twelve out of fifteen?'' she inquired politely, but I knew the politer she sounded, the more dangerous she was. I felt sorry for everyone she had ever cross-examined.
'' No,'' I whispered dismally.'' Out of …''
Oh, I was so, so dead.
'' Out of thirty,'' I finally choked out.
'' What?'' she demanded again, and now she sounded furious.'' What do you mean, twelve out of thirty? What kind of idiot scores twelve out of thirty in a geometry test?''
I fell silent. I couldn't actually think of anything to say.
'' Leave the table, Lara,'' she finally snapped. She glared at me, her eyes stern and—scary.'' I don't want to talk to you now, I'm too disappointed. Take your food and leave.''
I swallowed, holding back humiliated, annoyed tears, then I left the table without a word, scraping my chair backwards loudly and stomping out without any food. Which I fully well knew I would regret later, let me tell you. I get hungry very quickly.
I didn't go to my room. I was too upset. Instead, I went out to the back garden and sat on a dusty plastic chair and reflected on how unfair the world was and why on earth we took geometry and so on.
And then, God forbid I be able to sulk and grumble in peace, of course, something had to happen to me. The plastic chair cracked and the plastic bent and collapsed, and I fell onto the ground. As if that wasn't enough, the stupid crack closed as the chair broke and went down, pinching the back of my thigh. I groaned loudly and started to untangle myself from the painful chair, and ended up covered in dust and grass and bits of twig.
But I'm used to this sort of thing by now.
Although I kind of reached my limit when, after getting up and abandoning the evil, broken chair, as I walked back towards the house, I tripped and fell.
There is not a word to describe my frustration at that moment. I swallowed again, hard, but this time out of anger, and stood up carefully, glaring at the object which had tripped me.
And I stared at what had tripped me. Oh, the irony.
I'd tripped on a very familiar-looking stick. Which I had last seen when I was unconscious, held by a little blue girl.
Feeling curious, and being too thick to stop and wonder how a stick I'd seen in a dream could possibly exist, and what were the odds, I bent down and picked it up.
And – this is actually pretty surprising, especially to me – there was this bright, bright glow, and I disappeared.