It was one of those reoccurring days for one Harry James Potter where bored people would laugh at how boring his life had become in the past few weeks.
Number 4 Privet Drive sucked at the best of times; so, at the worst of those times Harry felt like a little murder couldn't hurt anyone. Well it would hurt his arsehole Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin, but they were deadbeat pricks so that didn't count.
Harry rubbed his brow as thinking seemed to hurt more than usual. And that was made worse that he couldn't think more on that. He had been through so much in the past that it was easier not to think. Not really. Or maybe something was just messed up inside his head.
Shouldn't he feel something more than the tedious boredom of lying back on his shitty camp bed in his tiny, dark, drab box room that the Dursley's – his bastard relations and guardians "graciously" allowed him.
Harry had watched that greasy bastard. That incompetent teacher. That. Severus Snape killed the Great White Wizard, Albus Dumbledore. Though, Harry felt that he cared. Harry was almost certain he didn't.
"Maybe I've hit my head one too many times?" Harry asked himself while groaning through his teeth as his head throbbed a little more and rubbing his brow did nothing.
He couldn't even make sense to himself. Harry was sure that if he told anyone – or spoke that he would be carted off to the nuthouse. Hopefully the muggle nuthouse as he was certain the magical equivalent were still a bunch of idiotic nut-bars – worse than the nut-bars. Harry had seen what little help Lockhart was getting, but then Harry realised the arsehole was an arsehole so why should anyone care!?
Harry couldn't even get a headache potion as his school of magic forbid him – or anyone living with non-magical people from using magic outside of school until they reached the age of majority in the Magical World.
You see, Harry Potter was a wizard. He had gone to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for six years now. It would be his seventh and final year come September first. However, Harry had never been that lucky or hopeful. He had a mission to complete and yet he wasn't sure how to do it or whether he cared all that much – caring hurt his head too much.
He wouldn't be seventeen for another two weeks, which was when Harry would hit the age of adulthood to the Magical World and he already felt like he had done more than any adult should have to.
It all started with Voldemort. That was Harry's arch-enemy. He had an arch-enemy. How crazy was that? It was made crazier that Voldemort became Harry's arch-enemy when he tried to kill him many years ago when Harry was just an infant unable to even pick up a wand – let alone defend himself.
Voldemort was obviously a mentally deranged fucking prick. Like what kind of mental disorder do you have to have to hear some fortune-reading loons propecy and be like:
"YES! I know how to live! Bwaaahaaahaaahaaa! I'll murder me some babies!"
Harry couldn't hold in the chuckle at the lunacy of his thoughts, but winced as his head throbbed with the rumble of his chest as he laughed, but it still took him a few laughing moments to calm down as he pictured the scene. In Harry's imagination all his Death Eaters were eagerly offering up their children as sacrifices and a couple were slaughtered before Voldemort thought about asking whether they were born at the end of July.
"That could be why there are so many birthdays during the winter," Harry suggested with a crazed grin as he lifted his glasses and wiped sweat from his eyes with his left sleeve before sliding his glasses back on his face.
But whatever happened, Harry didn't really know; he could only guess some crazy nonsense. All Harry did know was that, Voldemort's spell rebound and instead of killing Harry; it ripped Voldemort from his body where he would spend the next fourteen years trying to return. Unfortunately, the bastard snake-fetish "Dark Lord" of wizard kind was back, which put a target on Harry's back.
Harry had mildly considered putting out a HIT on Voldemort and all of his Death Eaters. Unfortunately, those kinds of thoughts seemed to... Harry wasn't really sure. Amuse him? Well, of course. That was it. They slipped eagerly out of his head and kind of hurt to try and keep hold of.
That was strange. Harry frowned. Those slippery thoughts weren't so slippery any more, but his head felt like it had a herd of elephants trespassing on zombie grounds.
What Harry planned on doing about it was – Voldemort? His headache? The fact his throat might as well be on fire? Well damn if he knew. He would do what he always did. Which was wing it and hope for the best, and that was just for Voldemort. It had worked out quite well so far. Well, Harry was still alive, so that was something, even though some of his mistakes had cost lives.
Were they Harry's mistakes? He wasn't sure. The more Harry thought about it the more his head felt like it was splitting open. But now. This was different. He didn't think there was a magic that could help Harry through this.
Harry remembered feeling this before – many times. He usually shook it off because it hurt so much, but now. Harry didn't care about the pain. He didn't want to let it win; even though the couple of paracetamol he took weren't working. Before he would have forgotten until that moment happened where he thought things through.
This was Harry's life. Uncertainty. But he had always been certain that he was in control of his own existence.
"Lies!" Harry whispered the word while gritting his teeth and crying out in pain; burning tears steaming down his cheeks.
Harry's breathing became hard and painful. It was like Harry had fire clogging his lungs. Harry was finding it hard to catch his breath. His rounded glasses shattered over his eyes with the pieces of glass flying away.
The temperature of the room wavered with heat. The paint started peeling from the walls, searing and tearing at the plaster underneath.
Harry sat up fast as the bedding under him, and the cheap thin mattress exploded into flames. Harry cried out in a panic as his clothes went up next, but something was wrong.
Apart from the flames?
His skin wasn't cooking.
Harry jumped and turned as the bedroom window exploded open with the pressure of the heat. It sent shattered glass all over the room. He could only be thankful that his owl, Hedwig was out hunting as the flames of reds, yellows, and oranges blazed up around the room, melting her cage to a slag of old metal.
Holding his hands out in front of his face Harry stared in awe. His eyesight no longer a problem as the frames of his glasses melted down his face, dripping off his brow and nose.
Harry quickly wiped away the dripping metal as he moved, sitting up on his knees on the bed while it was slowly sinking as the metal liquefied and the wooden floorboards burned to charcoal.
Standing up in a panic, Harry almost fell as one end of the bed sank into the floor. However, he regained his balance and looked around for something to help him. But he could barely see through the flames consuming his room – and maybe consuming the house.
The flames were getting hotter. Harry could feel the warmth. It was making him sweat even though it was not burning him the way it should. The rush and roar of the flames reached Harry's ears while he watched the fire flickering into an azure blue and white.
Looking down at himself, Harry was completely nude. He expected to see blistering, burning flesh and hair. But no. Harry was fine. It didn't dawn on him that the flames weren't sticking to him like they were everything else, which was why he could see himself.
Harry looked around frantically. He had to find his wand. Where was it? Harry didn't look long. He knew that it was nothing but kindling at this point.
Startling as he heard a loud bang, Harry turned to see the tiny wooden wardrobe collapse. It had a mirror on the inside of the door. The mirror was scratched and covered in stickers from when it belonged to Harry's arsehole Cousin, but there was enough reflective surface to just see a glimpse through the blue-white flames.
Harry staggered back as he saw himself clearly. The fire seemed to part for that moment.
Grabbing the wall for support, Harry almost fell through the crumbling brick. His eyes. His emerald green eyes. They were different. Now they were like blue flames with a light burning behind them, lit up with power. He even looked a little taller, and he was no longer scrawny.
Harry had somehow gained some muscle girth. He was lean and strong looking. His raven black hair had streaks of live-cobalt through it. Short and neat waves, quaffing to the front and shorter at the backs and sides.
Everything of Harry seemed to have increased. He grabbed at his head and cried as it throbbed again once the mirror had finally melted into a puddle of glass and metal.
The flames only burst out, pushing against the walls with burning forced while Harry cried. Withering, Harry fell to his knees when one side of the floor crumbled and collapsed.
Harry dropped through with all his burning possessions. But he couldn't think about them as the flames ate the whole house. He could hear the faint screams and cries, but he couldn't have cared less. At least Harry knew they weren't the screams of the innocent. Harry could live with having killed the Dursley's.
Struggling to his feet, Harry was feeling sick and dizzy; his head hurt like he had a band playing heavy metal in his skull. Harry coughed up some dust and struggled to find a way out.
Harry didn't plan on ever accidentality killing himself. Harry stumbled and staggered while he could feel tears evaporating before they could even form in his eyes. His bare feet stumbling for a microsecond on small objects before his flames disintegrated or melted obstacles.
"Where the hell am I!?" Harry demanded as he pulled a door open.
Harry could barely see but he was sure that was the kitchen door. But no. Harry opened the door that led to the cupboard under the stairs. He hated that cupboard. It brought him so much pain.
Memories he could do without.
The whole house shook as something exploded. Harry was thrown to the rubble strewn floor, just catching himself before he smacked his head on the charred and burning coffee table.
Harry watched from the floor as the flames blazed from blue back to yellows, oranges, and reds.
Harry felt exhaustion suddenly overwhelm him. Harry felt the need to close his eyes. But he shook that off as he pushed himself up to his knees, panting for breath that was hard to get as the fire tore away Harry's much needed oxygen.
Harry was startled as he drifted again. Only this time he heard a cold commanding voice from all around him. That voice echoed in his ears. But he was alone apart from the fire.
He knew he needed to leave – before his magic gave out on him and he was burned alive.
But Harry only managed to lean up against a broken wall. Harry felt like sound had disappeared to the background of reality. He couldn't go on. Maybe he should die. But. He didn't want to die. Harry was too stubborn to die.
Harry's head pounded as he thought and fought. He grabbed at his head feeling like he was going crazy – fighting a lost battle.
"Don't give up!"
It was that voice again. Cold. This time it was angry too. Harry knew he must have lost his mind. He was going to die, and he was going to die, crazy.
"Don't let them win! Never surrender. Never bow. Never die. We are more."
Those bold powerful words swept over Harry and he forgot about the pain in his head as he looked up. Blue embers of flames lashed up in front of him flashing and sparking like a multitude of tiny fairies building the azure shape of a reflection of Harry in the flames.
"You gave up the girl," the flames spoke angrily.
Harry flinched as his mind thought about her. His girlfriend – his ex-girlfriend. Ginny. Harry's head throbbed slightly while thinking about her as his chest squeezed and contracted. He felt sick. He regretted breaking up with her. They hadn't even done "it" before and he was going to probably die soon.
How sad was that?
"Shouldn't I have…?"
The flames startled Harry as they roared out laughing. "That is more like us. The us we should have been. Dumbledore died. He is finally gone. We were set free to be who we choose to be.
"You are breaking this bastard's spells!" The flames roared. "We shall awaken. We shall destroy Voldemort. We shall fuck Ginny… make love to her for hours on end," it said laughingly before it paused. "And maybe some of her friends…" it added as an afterthought in such a nonchalant and less impressive voice Harry had to hold back his laugh.
"W-what the hell are you?" Harry demanded shakily as he ignored the perverseness of his flames, and his sense of humour.
He didn't know how he knew. But Harry did. The blue flame thing.
"You're my Fire." Harry answered his own question as his head cleared in an instant – no longer aching or throbbing.
Harry's head was no longer hurting. His mind had never felt so clear before. Harry could see clearly through the fire as it froze in place while the blue form melted away. After all the blue flaming thing was only an aspect of Harry's subconscious.
"I guess I should go," Harry said to himself.
He wiped sweat from his brow and walked through the frozen flames to a door the other side of a toasted couch. The flames still felt hot but they just – they didn't burn any more as they licked at him and everything around him.
Harry pulled on the door to the kitchen, and it burst into dust and splinters. Harry staggered with the weight and then loss of weight while trying to keep from passing out. Harry wasn't sure how long he could keep himself awake for, but he knew the fire would kill him if he lost consciousness.
The kitchen was a mess and one wall was blown out letting in a refreshing breeze. Harry chuckled slightly as he managed with great effort to slip through a gap in the wall and drag himself into the garden.
It took Harry collapsing to the grass to signal the fire to continue eating the house while the sun was setting overhead.
Harry lay naked on his back and laughed. He had never felt so exhausted in his life.
But, Harry had never known how much he used to sleep. He had never felt so free.
"Harry Potter, Sir!"
Harry had been drifting off to sleep when he was startled back to full wakefulness. He looked to his left.
"Dobby?" Harry croaked out tiredly and surprised. The House-elf looked at Harry in worry as he studied him.
The Elf didn't look very clean. He was wearing a Hogwarts tea towel like a toga. It was a little dirty but presentable. Harry hadn't seen the small creature in a few years so this came as a surprise to Harry.
Dobby was squeezing his long flappy ears while huge tears ran down his dark eyes, dripping off his long thin nose.
"Where are your hats?" Harry found himself asking. Harry couldn't think of anything else right then, so that would have to do. He was curious, as Dobby loved to make clothes and he was quite good with knitting hats and socks and normally wore a stack of them.
"D-Dobby was tricked," Dobby said quietly. "Dobby found terrible secret," the elf whispered while tugging his ears further. "Tried to tell Harry Potter, Sir… forced to be Hogwarts Elf and ordered never to see the Great Harry Potter, Sir again. But magic has broken – he is dead."
Harry chuckled humourlessly. "You want to work for me?" he asked breathlessly. "You can do whatever you want, clothes lore, forget about it, all of those stupid lore's; I'll let you be free of them all... you know... as long as you're not an arsehole, I'll be golden."
"Oh yes, Harry Potter, Sir! I is not being arsehole!" The Elf sobbed as he threw himself on Harry's chest causing Harry to wince in pain rather than chuckle at hearing the elf cuss. "You are Greater than Dobby could have ever known."
"Yep, but you're hurting me," Harry winged out.
Dobby quickly got up to his long feet looking terribly guilty. "I'm sorry, Great Harry Pot-."
Harry sat up and put up a hand to signal silence. "Don't worry about it, buddy," Harry said breathlessly. "Just – can you get me out of here – and what about Winky. I know you wont want to leave her. Does she want a job too?"
"Oh yes, thank you, Great Harry Potter, Sir," Dobby said quickly nodding with his ears flopping on his head.
"And you can apparate me out of here?" Harry asked. "I'm much exhausted to apparate without risking losing a limb or too. And I need some clothes – and somewhere to stay – but I think somewhere away from people right now would be best – I think I know where we could go – if we can find them."
"Yes, Sir!" Dobby said seriously as he carefully took Harry's arm and hand and in a crack of sound they disappeared before Harry had a chance to tell Dobby where he wanted to go.
It was quick thinking for Dobby that he chose to wait for a destination elsewhere and take Harry straight-away as he sensed them coming. Dobby didn't want them to bother his knew master, so took the initiative.
"Oh Merlin…?" Hermione Granger gasped out as she apparated into the backyard of Harry Potter's house with several members of the Order of the Phoenix as the wards had collapsed – allowing them to get there – so close – fast.
"Shit, Hermione…" The lanky ginger boy (Ronald Weasley – her boyfriend) next to her decided that the burning house deserved some sturdier language.
"There's magic in the flames." Mad-Eye Moody growled out coldly as he clomped a little closer on his peg-leg. He was dressed in a large brown leather coat while the others wore their everyday robes like normal people – well, normal witches and wizards.
Moody's right eyes was attached to straps and span around crazily in his eye socket. He looked every which way; even through the back of his own skull.
"Potter's not here," Moody growled out.
"T-the Death Eaters?" Nymphadora Tonks said from behind. She sounded subdued and though she still looked nice her normally vibrant and bright hair was a dull and normal brown, and short, looking much too normal for a shape shifting young woman with her previous fun spirit.
"No Dark Mark," Moody said pointing to the sky. "But I suppose it still could have been. Potter's a sneaky one. Could have gotten away, so they wouldn't throw it without being certain they got him. Voldemort would have their heads for that with Potter."
"Or... maybe Potter could have caused this." They were interrupted by a large British-Jamaican Auror who also worked for the Order of the Phoenix. Kingsley Shacklebolt. Or what was left of the Order since Dumbledore's death.
"Harry doesn't know fire magic," Hermione said while scowling. "He barely knows how to conjure water."
"Well something happened to him, right?" Ron said. They all stared at him. "Well he's not here lying on the grass waiting for us to help him out," he added with an uncomfortable shrug.
"And the Muggles have started putting out the fire," Moody said as he used his magical eye to see the Fire Fighters with huge hoses the other side of the house. "We should get out of here before they see us."
"B-but we have to find Harry," Hermione said. This time she sounded a little concerned. "What if he was dazed and wandered off. He could be curled up battered and bleeding in a ditch somewhere? Harry is accident prone. He gets hurt so much that I don't think he's fought anyone without injury before."
"We should hurry so we can look for him," Tonks said quickly before looking up at the burning house, but Moody interrupted before she could ask.
"Only three bodies," Moody said quietly. "None of them him. If they burned any longer I wouldn't be able to tell."
"Let's go," Kingsley said.
The others nodded and a moment later they were gone.
At the Burrow the following day; the home of the Weasley's: a cute and slender crimson haired girl was moping around the house still wearing the clothes from the day before when she heard about Harry disappearing.
Ginny was worried sick and was paler than she ever had been. Her eyes were red from crying. She knew she should have fought him about his stupid noble breaking up with her to protect her bull-shit. Like any of the Death Eaters would care that they broke up?
Harry already didn't seem alright sometimes. He could sometimes do some neat magic and then he caouldn't get so many simple spells right. But she trusted to know that he could find his way; and if he didn't she would have to snog him onto the right path – or she could think of something else.
Ginny smiled a little and felt her cheeks light up.
"Please be okay," Ginny muttered under her breath.
Entering her private sanctum away from all the chaos of Harry going missing and Fleur and Bill's wedding. In other words, her bedroom, she felt a bit of relief.
However, Ginny was startled as something seemed off. She looked around in confusion. She couldn't quite put her mind on what felt off.
Ginny's bed was unmade and a mess. She had clothes on the floor. Gabrielle, Fleur's little sisters camp bed was to the other side neatly made except for the dirty laundry as Ginny found a fellow mess-maker. Ginny was pleased that she and Gabby got along so well and could have some fun together.
Ginny was thankful that Gabby roomed with her rather than Hermione. It was bad enough that the nagging nerd would have to stay the day and night before the wedding. Gabby was a great comfort to Ginny that night when she was so upset over Harry while Hermione would have been annoying.
Looking at her desk Ginny finally saw what was missing. Or she should say what shouldn't have been there.
Ginny closed and locked the door behind her as she sat at the chair by her desk and picked up the white piece of card with caution. The back was engraved with waved flames.
Flipping the post card, it was almost blank, except for a few words in azure blue ink: addressed to Ginny.
I am The Impossible.
You are My Improbable.
Ginny felt tears prickling at her brown eyes as a wide grin spread to her lips and she laughed.
"My Impossible," Ginny whispered while holding the card close to her chest as her heart pounded against the inside of her ribs with a pain she loved to stomach.
For her Impossible.
Note: This is an alternate version of the start of the previous story. I kind of like it quite a bit better. I hope you've all enjoyed it. Remember to subscribe, fave, follow, review; all of that jazz, and have a lovely day... or night... or evening... or summer... or... I could go on, but I sharn't.