Harry Potter and the Old Fraud
Summary: What if Sybil Trelawney had lied to Dumbledore and made up the Prophesy just so she could get a cushy job at Hogwarts? And how would this affect Harry and Voldemort during the final confrontation.
Author's Notes: Thanks to my beta sasqch.
Rated PG-13 for harsh language and sexual innuendo.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. It belongs to some woman in Scotland.
Carnies had to be the bastard offspring of Trolls and Goblins, there was no other explanation. She knew this was true because she had worked with them for over ten years. There was no other way Sybil Trelawney could think of that would explain their appearance, mannerisms, and intelligence. Oh, all of the happy memories.
"You read palms?" One of the less washed ones would dare ask her. "Can you read my lifeline?" And the hooligan would promptly whip out his wily and guffaw. This little joke lost all of its humor after the twentieth time.
She suffered a number of great indignities at the hands of Carnies, indignities and groping. And now, after ten years of being forced to live in condition that Muggles would refuse to live in, she had found of the perfect job. A job in which she could use her talents and gifts to better the lives of students at Hogwarts, and, more importantly, her own. That, and not really have to work, either.
But, no! That barmy old coot who sat across from her said that he was dropping Divination as a course.
"I am sorry, Sybil." He said with his damn eyes twinkling away. "But Divination is a field that cannot really be taught. If one does not have the gift, if the gift actually exists, one cannot be taught it."
No, he can't do this to me! Her mind screamed I can't go back to living like a squib with those things! Those Carnies!
Sybil's mind raced to come up with a plan, and like it normally did, thinking gave her a headache. She rubbed her temples and groaned.
"Sybil, my dear." Dumbledore asked. "Are you all right? Are you having a vision?"
That's it! A vision. I need to think up a vision! Her mind blurted out.
She thought of current events and the only thing every witch and wizard was talking about these days was that silly dark lord and his silly war. What was his name? Vader-mort… or something. Remember, she thought to herself; be vague.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... "
Sybil said with a husky voice. Dumbledore leaned forward and steeped his fingers under his chin. That got his attention.
"Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies."
Sybil saw that the old coot was deep in thought. Apparently not too many people have faced this Vader-mort and lived to tell about it.
" ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... "
Alright Sybil, she congratulated herself, now to make it REALY confusing, like a proper prophesy should be.
"And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... "
And now for the recap:
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
She paused and regained her composure.
"Well it seems that Hogwarts has a new Divination teacher, Professor Trelawney." Dumbledore said with a smile.
YES! FUCK YOU CARNIES! Her mind screamed in triumph.
She needed to keep up appearances, making the students think she was a Seer. Sybil would make vague silly predictions at random like "Your old friend isn't doing well" or one of her favorites: "That thing you've been dreading…"
Added on top of her vague predictions, at the beginning of the school year, she would pick a student at random and predict his or her terrible death every class; her own little "Death Pool" if you will. Sybil took perverse pleasure at the squirming the student would do when she told them that "A hippogriff will bite off your foot and gnaw on the stump."
But every once in a while, Sybil would pull out the stops and spring a full-fledge "vision" on some poor sap. Why, just last year she cornered that silly Huffelpuff boy, Diggory, in the empty classroom. Her eyes rolled up and she started with her "deep" voice.
"You shall touch glory and fame. Honor shall touch your house, and you shall get the girl. But before you can reap the benefits, a rat shall cut you down. You shall touch glory…"
Now that Potter boy, the one she had picked for her "Death Pool" for this year had entered the class for his one-on-one exam. This was too good for Sybil to pass up.
The best "visions" always has a hint of truth in them. As Potter rambled through his exam, Sybil went over what she knew of him. The boy had some history with that Vader-mort fellow and that loon Black was rumored to be lurking around the school trying to kill the boy.
She grabbed the boy's arm, and with her eyes rolled up into her head she said with a deep menacing voice:
"It will happen tonight."
The panicked look on his face was priceless.
"The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight… the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was."
Ah, the ever-loving recap, oh, how she loved the recap:
"Tonight… before midnight… the servant… will set out… to rejoin… his master."
She laughed to herself as they boy scampered out of the class. This would keep Sybil entertained for weeks to come. She may even let the boy "live."
Eighteen years after that old cow gave that dammed prophesy to the old man I find myself locked in mortal combat with Ol' Snake-Eyes outside the doors to the main entrance of the castle.
Bodies of friends and enemies are strewn around us. It was amazing how short the first part of the battle was. The DA, Order of the Phoenix, and Aurors vs. the Deatheaters. I took pride at how well my DA fought, that is except for Lavender and Pavarti. They were hit with a simple Head Shaving Hex and both girls went running and screaming into the castle clutching their bald domes. Hermione was hit with the same hex and did she run off screaming like a banshee? No! Of course, her bushy mane was surprisingly resilient to that hex and just seemed to aggravate the witch. And it didn't help Hermione's mood when the foolish Deatheater heckled her about her hair. That particular Deatheater was taught a lesson that I learned years ago (I still scratch my nu… er… self from time to time due to that lesson.): Never-Mock-Hermione's-Hair.
Fifteen minutes after the battle started it was over. Of course the Deatheater that hexed Hermione's hair was still bouncing violently twenty feet into the air. Thankfully for my pounding headache, he had stopped screaming ten minutes ago. Although the sickening thud noise his body made whenever it hit the ground made me wince.
I surveyed the battleground with satisfaction; the members of the DA were just knocked unconscious. The Order members were a little worse off. Moody looked like he lost his other leg and was grumbling about being fitted for another peg leg. Tonks was laying over Lupin and they were both groaning in pain… at least I hope for the sake of my sanity it was painful groaning! I mean, I love them like family, but who wants to see family members shagging. As I used my highly advanced Occlumency skills to block out mental images of a werewolf and a metamorphmagus doing a "naked celebratory mambo" out of my head, I look at the black-clad forms of my enemies. The Deatheaters did not fair as well as us good guys. Little bits and pieces of Deatheaters were littering the grounds. Deatheater Bits, sounds like a sweet.
There were only four of us left standing: Dumbledore, Hermione, Ron, and myself. We were battered and bruised, but nothing serious. Ron, Hermione, and I hugged and started to hoop and holler when Voldemort had to rain on my parade.
Git.
My two best friends flanked me within a second of Voldemort's appearance. I felt good. For the first time in my life, the odds were on my side. Voldemort was outnumbered four to one. And one of the four was Dumbledore! The only person Tommy feared.
Then Dumbledore did the oddest thing. He conjured a cushy armchair, put a Full Body Bind on both Hermione and Ron and then sat down.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?" I asked.
"I am sorry Harry." Dumbledore said calmly as he straightened a pleat in his robes. "But the prophesy clearly states that you are the only One able to defeat Voldemort."
"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort shouted as he pointed his wand at me.
Oh, bullocks.
I shout the first spell that came to mind:
The canary transfiguration hex.
Yes, when faced with the world's most powerful wizard who is trying to kill me and take over the word (not necessarily in that order), I try to turn him into a little yellow bird. Don't worry people of earth; I've got your back!
Of course it doesn't matter what type of spell we used against each other, seeing that we have brother wands. Priori Incantatem is such a pain in the arse.
A golden cage enveloped us and the phoenix song filled the air. A golden thread connected our wands. What came next was a battle of wills. I'm glad to say that I still had a stronger will than Tommy. Take that you arrogant arse!
Shortly after, ghostly representations of Voldemort's previous spells popped out of his wand. The first "ghost" that popped out was an unknown Deatheater who trying to make redemptions for his past transgressions and said that if he knew of the pain he inflicted on others blah, blah, blah. Little late now, dead boy!
Another dead guy popped out followed by another one, and followed by… Draco Malfoy! Malfoy, dead! YES! Er… I meant how sad. Wait a tick. This "ghost' isn't acting like the others who were trying to interact with me. "Ghost Draco" was more of a recording and as I gaped in horror at what I saw. His eyes were closed and a goofy grin spread across his face. Every couple of seconds his body would tremble and his grin disappeared replaced by an "o." I quickly severed the connection as I realized what this "ghost image" was.
"You put Malfoy under the Orgasmus Curse?" I shouted in disbelief. An Orgasmus Curse is very similar to the Cruciatus Curse except for the fact they were completely different. The Cruciatus would make the target suffer utter pain, whereas the Orgasmus Curse would make the target "suffer" orgasms. Loads of them. It was an intimate "curse" used usually by a husband and a wife. Or at least lovers.
"Is Draco your bitch?" I asked.
"WHAT? NO!" Voldemort shouted quickly, a little too quickly, I thought unkindly. "No! It was his birthday."
Alright, if I survive this I going to stick the tip of my wand up my nose and Scourgify my frontal lobe.
I turned and faced Dumbledore who was casually sucking on a lemon drop.
"A little help?" I practically begged. "The stupid prophesy doesn't say anything about me getting help!"
"That is correct Harry." He replied with a wry smile. "And since it does not say 'The One and his helpers' I cannot interfere. Sorry."
Pillock.
"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort was nothing if not consistent.
I launched a Bat-Boogey Hex or some crap at him. Doesn't matter, still had that STUPID golden cage. Battle of wills, ghost images, you know the drill.
After a few seconds I broke the connection and was almost completely drained. I may have had a stronger will then Vodie-Putz, but he was fresh whereas I had just come from a battle. The berk probably planned it that way.
"I have waited a very long time for this Potter!" He hissed in his high-pitch girly-man voice. "I suffered for 13 years without a proper body. You foiled my plans time and time again. It ends today, boy! I shall have my revenge!"
Did I say "almost completely drained"? What I meant to say is "totally drained." As Voldemort raised his wand at me I found I could barely hold onto my wand much less raise it to defend myself.
"Avada Ked…" Voldemort started but was rudely interrupted by Neville Longbottom.
I did not see Neville run up, well, actually trot up behind Voldemort and swing a canvas sack at Voldemort's face.
"You leave Harry alone!" Neville shouted as the bag hit Voldemort squarely in the nose and mouth. A cloud of orangeish dust erupted from the bag and covered the Dark Lord's face. He spun on Neville with a curse on his lips.
"Avada Ked…" He started again and promptly coughed. He turned back to look at me and I saw that his tongue had literally swollen in his mouth. So much so that it looked like a purple tennis ball was stuck in his mouth.
Voldemort put his right hand to his throat and frantically pointed to himself with his free hand. The international sign for "I am choking, help me you fuck!"
He fell to his knees as his face got all puffy and blue. I watched gob-smacked as my mortal enemy thrashed in vain. Within seconds, Voldemort dropped to the ground twitched twice and it was finished.
"What the hell is in that bag, Neville?" Ron asked as he and Hermione broke out of the Full Body Bind and stood up.
"Flower pollen." Neville stated. "I was collecting some on the edge of the Forrest for Professor Sprout when I saw the battle…"
"POLLEN?" Hermione shouted in disbelief.
"Ah, yes," Dumbledore interrupted. "Tom Riddle was deathly allergic to pollen. So much so that he had to drop his Herbology course his first year. I had completely forgotten."
"My entire life has been a nightmare! And all I had to do was make him walk through a field of dandelions?" Someone was shouting at Dumbledore. Surprisingly enough it was me doing the shouting.
"Actually, Harry, it's daisy pollen." Neville interjected nervously.
Ron had walked up to Voldemort's body and was "confirming" that he was indeed dead by kicking the fiend's corpse. Roughly.
THUD
"Shut it, Neville!" I snapped as Ron "checked" again.
THUD
"My whole family was murdered," I continued my rant at Dumbledore who was fidgeting, actually fidgeting, in his chair, "my friends tortured, and you could have stopped it all by sending him a happy-face bouquet?"
THUD
"I am sorry Harry. Consequences of old age, I suppose." Dumbledore shrugged.
THUD
"Dammit!" I growl and turn to stomp away.
THUD
"Yep, he's dead." Ron said now satisfied in his findings
Unfortunately, my body had other plans than to stomp away. I passed out. Before I lost consciousness I felt Hermione rush to my side.
"Harry!" She cried.
THUD
"RON!" Hermione yelled at our Red-haired friend. "Stop kicking Harry! He is not dead."
"I'm just checking." Ron replied.
A few days after I woke up, I found myself in Diagon Alley watching the parade of the century. A parade for The-Boy-Who-Lived; Neville Longbottom, that's right, Neville. Not me.
I was so freakin' mad I could see steam actually rising from my body.
There were hundreds of witches and wizards packed into the Alley to watch Neville "The-Boy-Who-Took-My-Dammed-Title-Away-From-Me" Longbottom ride by on a Thestralsdrawn carriage. Raining down from the windows was the wizards' idea of ticker-tape; actual live fairies. Well, actual dead fairies.
You see, on special occasions like, oh, I don't know, some guy swinging a sack of pollen at another guy, wizards hunt down poor defenseless fairies and kill them. Then after they have thousands upon thousands of these poor critters, they dye them all the colors of the rainbow. Just so they can chuck the bodies out of windows at some hack in a carriage.
Ha, Neville is going to be picking dead multi-colored fairies out of his hair for weeks.
Of course, Hermione was throwing a temper tantrum at the mere idea of the injustice done to the fairies. She was talking about forming a new social-political movement called "Fairies Are Not Confetti" (FANC). I know it wasn't as "cool" a name as SPEW, but few things were.
And what about the injustices to me? I personally took out two-dozen Deatheaters in the Final Battle. I also fought Voldemort to a stand-still, well actually he was standing and I was more falling over. But HE gets all the credit. What about me? What about Harry Effing Potter!?!
"Excuse me?" A twenty-something witch tapped me on the shoulder.
"What?" I snapped at her. How dare she interrupt my internal ranting?
"Um, are you…" She stammered. Oh, great here it comes; Are you Harry Potter? "Are you a friend of Neville?"
What? I'm Harry Potter! Not Neville's friend. Wait, she wasn't looking at my scar, she was actually looking me in the eye.
"Do you know who I am?" I asked.
"You go to school with Neville, right?"
She doesn't know me?
"Ah, yeah," I scratched my head in bewilderment. I saw Ron and Hermione shoot the woman looks like she had two heads or something. "Yeah, we're dorm mates."
"OOOh!" She squealed. "Do you know what kind of girl he likes?"
"Um, I reckon red-heads."
She thunked herself on the head with her wand and her dirty blond hair turned to a crimson red. She turned to a group of women behind her and shouted:
"The Boy-Who-Lived likes red-heads!"
Wands were whipping out everywhere and dozens of women throughout the Alley started to turn themselves into red-heads.
Wait, I like red-heads but I don't like red-heads.
And what the hell was wrong with people lately? When people had greeted me over the past few days all they say is "Hello" or "Nice day, isn't it?" It was never "Hello" before, it's always "Crickie, you're 'arry Potter!" And they have been looking me in the eye. Nobody ever looks me in the eye. NOBODY!
It was like they were treating me like a normal, average bloke. No one had yet offered a job to "The Boy-Who-Lived." Not one person had tried to buy me a drink anymore, well except for that old wizard in drag. But I didn't think "she" wanted to be friends. But I digress…
It was like everyone was treating me not as "The Boy-Who-Lived" but as a normal wizard!
How is that a bad thing? A voice that sounded like Hermione rang in my head.
Normal.
I felt the anger in my body disappear. Also the grimace that had been plastered on face grew into a silly, nay, idiotic grin. Turning to my two best friends, the first two people to know me and not the scarred boy wizard, I saw that Ron had his typical puzzled look, whereas Hermione had a goofy/idiotic grin that mirrored my own.
Leave it to Hermione to know exactly what I was thinking. My 'Mione could read me like a customized "Hogwarts: a History."
"Oi!" Ron called out to the now red-haired woman as she darted towards the carriage. "He's not The-Boy-Who-Lived, Harry is!
"No, Ron," I said as I felt a huge amount of relief flow over me. "That's Neville's job now."
"But… what?" Ron asked clueless.
"I'm just Harry now." I explained to him and somehow his clueless expression changed into complete and utter bewilderment. I could actually hear the gears slipping in his mind as he tried to puzzle out what I had just said.
"Come on, I'll explain it to you later." Hermione said as she hooked her arms through Ron's and mine. "Let's join the party."