The Life of Brian: A Super Harry Parody

by Perspicacity (Brian)

Harry looked out the window of his cottage a last time, seeing an idyllic landscape of rolling hills and meadows dotted with sheep. The birds were chattering and the sky was clear and blue. Sun, brilliant and golden, beamed into his room.

He smiled as he felt a chill touch on his shoulder and turned to see the ghost of his fair wife, Ginevra Potter. Despite his unnaturally long life of three hundred twelve years, she had refused to leave his side even as her body failed her, instead showing in death the companionship that had marked her life.

"It's time," Harry said wearily, his ancient body feeling his end nearing.

"Yes, love. I feel it too," Ginny said, smiling in ethereal grace.

Harry felt a moment of immense satisfaction. Their time together, after the turbulence and nail-biting heroics of youth, had been a modest existence of peace and love, Harry's idea of perfection. After the Order of Merlin ceremonies and banquets, Harry had left the public eye to become "Just Harry" and start the family he had always dreamed of. He and Ginny had had children--seventeen in all--and grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and enough great-great-grandchildren to populate a small country with ginger-haired witches and wizards with vibrant green eyes. His family had paid their last respects to him the day prior, granting their wish of solitude and opportunity for reflection in his final moments.

Harry was a good man, a devoted husband, a doting father, a wizard of somewhat above-average skill and modest means. To the amusement of all, it was whispered in family circles that aside from his defeat of You-Know-Who, his only striking skill was that he was purportedly a demon in the sack. That his faithful wife was doing the whispering and that their wedding was heralded by a unicorn was lost on nobody. Still, his family indulged them and regarded his innate kindness and Order-of-Merlin-First-Class-calibre libido with the respect and honor it deserved.

Harry lay onto his bed, placed his glasses upon the bedside stand, and closed his eyes. He felt coldness on his lips as Ginny's ghost gave him a lingering kiss.

"I love you, my Ginny," he said, his eyes still closed.

"As I love you, my Harry. My time here is at a close." A ghostly tear rolled from Ginny's eye as she faded into oblivion.

Harry presented a matching smile and took a last, long breath as he waited for his heart to still.

And then he screamed. Magic erupted from his body as tendrils of raw power flailed from his chest, scoring black rents into the walls of the cottage and shattering stonework centuries old. He screamed some more. The roof of the cottage exploded, opening to the heavens above. Massive banks of black clouds amassed and spun in a mighty vortex above the house. Lightning split a nearby oak. Icy winds gusted and screamed as the air crackled with latent power.

The heavens split in a blaze of golden light that shone down upon Harry's bed. Phoenix song burst from above and Harry screamed yet again as the raw power of the cosmos drained into him, filling him beyond human limits. His body began to distort, much like the monthly transformations of his late honorary Godfather, Remus Lupin. His bones straightened and his wrinkles smoothed as youth returned. Beneath his skin, muscles bulged as he became hale and strong, his slight, five-foot-seven-with-shoes stretching to a mighty seven-foot-six, with the type of build that would send a bodybuilder into depression. His eyes, shielded for centuries by too-thick glasses, glowed, becoming twinkling orbs of green with super-human vision spreading over all spectra, magical and mundane. His mind expanded to absorb the knowledge and wisdom of the ages, his IQ leaping to over 9000, with eidetic memory.

After an eternity of pain, a mighty, slightly gravelly voice rang out from above. "Godling." It had an American accent.

Harry goggled at the sound.

"Godling formerly known as Harry?"

"Sir?" Harry asked, sitting up in his bed, his mighty abdominal muscles rippling powerfully as he did. They were much more impressive than a mere six-pack--a twelve-pack at least.

"Get your ass up, Godling. Don't lie there like a weakling."

"Sir?"

"You're practically dripping with perspicacity, yet you cling to the idiocy of your mortal self. I'll make this simple for you: Get. Your. Pasty. Butt. Out. Of. Bed."

Harry stood quickly, naked as the day he was born, his sudden growth having shredded his clothing into rags. He looked at his hands; they, like the rest of his body, were bathed in an aura of white gold. He held up a palm and raw power flowed into it, forming a glob of magical potential. Phoenix song rang in his ears.

"What has happened to me?" he asked.

"You have become what you were fated to become. You are a Godling now, though you need a proper name. Harry was a mortal, a strikingly average one at that. You shall be known henceforth throught the cosmos as... Captain Awesome."

Harry coughed. "Captain Awesome? Okay... So what should I call you?"

"General Awesome."

"Right. Please don't take this the wrong way, but I think I'll find it hard to relate to others with the name 'Captain Awesome.'"

"True, if you would walk among mortals, as even I have been wont to do, you need another identity."

"How about 'Harry?'" Harry asked, hopefully.

"Stupid name. Let me see... I believe you shall be known as Brian."

"I like Harry better," Harry muttered.

"Nonsense, Brian. Now if you would walk among the lesser beings, you'll need a disguise." There was a blinding flash of light and a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles appeared, replacing his own. "Now I must leave you for awhile. Take this time to explore your powers."

"My powers..." Harry's voice trailed off as he became aware of the raw, universe-bending energy coursing through his body. A fanfare of phoenix song blared in his mind and he suddenly felt an acute sense of duty. "What am I to do with this power?"

The voice sounded amused. "Anything you like. Just be awesome, that's all I ask."

"Right, then. Awesome. I can't wait to tell Ginny... Ginny?"

He heard nothing but silence. Even the phoenix song quieted. Since her death, her spirit had never failed to come when he'd called for her.

"Ginny?"

Harry's mega-brain, with the processing power of a planet-sized supercomputer, parsed the silence. She was truly gone; his beloved has passed on and he remained in the world, utterly alone--well, aside from his thousands of offspring. But, for the first time in nearly three centuries, he was without the companionship of the one whom he truly needed.

Harry's heart broke and outside, meteors crashed down, streaking the sky with streamers of fire and pocking the landscape in smoldering craters. Somehow he sensed that a million had died in that first moment. Tens of millions more in the time it took to realize the first.

He shook his head to clear it and phoenix song blared in his ears. He realized the folly of losing control of his emotions.

"Craptastic," he said, surprised at his American accent, and he waved his hand. Power flowed from his fingertips and the landscape was restored and the dead returned to life no worse for wear, save for a somewhat more philosophical outlook on matters of life, death, and automobile insurance.

"I don't want this power!" he screamed to the heavens, triggering an earthquake off the North Sea, but he could sense, though he knew not how, that General Awesome had left him. "I just wanted to die, to be with my Ginny forever... Why me? Why did this have to happen to me?"

He wept.

Rain fell into his cottage, soaking him.

In time, he tired of being wet and decided to experiment with his spellcasting. Harry raised his hand and, as was his habit, willed his wand into it, a bit of wandless summoning magic that he was rather proud to have mastered. It slammed into his hand at Mach nine and he gripped it firmly, shattering it with his immense strength into sawdust.

"Crud," he muttered in a decidedly American way, then blinked. "I mean, bloody hell." He sighed, realizing just how lame he sounded trying to fake a British accent.

He concentrated on the need for a wand and a white and gold phoenix appeared before him. It dropped into his hand a thick, nine-foot-long staff that he somehow knew was carved from the Tree of Life that grows at the heart of Avalon. At its head was a ruby the size of an ostrich egg and the entire length of the shaft was covered in runes of platinum.

He began to blink.

His ultra-powerful brain quickly came up with the answer to "why him?" It had to do with magical maturity. Magical puberty normally strikes wizards around age eleven, which is why Hogwarts would not permit early admittance. His friends had spoken of it growing up and he'd witnessed it in his own children, yet Harry—Brian now—knew that he had never experienced the signs, including the sharp growth in magical power, that his friends had. Sure, his magic had grown and he had been able to do some remarkable things when suitably motivated, like when he had fought Voldemort, but only because he'd channelled powerful emotions into his spells. Afterward, he'd soldiered on with his average, if occasionally unpredictable, magic, chalking it up as a side effect of the abuse and neglect he'd suffered as a child. And to his odd ancestry.

His mother, as he knew from a lineage potion taken long ago, was half-Elven, her auburn locks and eyes the verdant color--er, colour--of life itself, a hallmark of the fair people's sylvan graces. His birth, he'd learned, was a minor miracle, since magic and extra-normal genetics generally prevented the half-Elven from conceiving with mortals. Though technically "Muggleborn," Lily Evans had a remarkable ancestry, including familiar ties to Merlin, Circe, Godric Gryffindor, and Atilla the Hun (from whom, supposedly, she had inherited her trademark fiery temper).

Oddly enough, the same potion had left his father's lineage a mystery: all he had gotten was the cryptic, "Someone totally awesome." From what he'd heard of his dad and his skills on the Quidditch pitch, it was probably an apt description. Still, he was somewhat troubled that he could not get into the Potter family vault.

Harry completed his blink.

"I know what I'll do--I'll go back in time. I'll craft a broom capable of super-luminal travel and fly circles around the earth, causing it to spin backwards and revert to the past. I'll return to the Department of Mysteries and save Sirius and my friends and defeat Voldemort. Then I'll see Ginny again and I'll be sure to ask her out before she hooks up with Dean. All will be right in the world. I just know it."

He closed his eyes and his staff morphed into a broom, the likes of which the world had never seen. Fashioned from titanium and diamond, it resembled a cross between a flying broom and a space ship, with ramrod-straight bristles, each ending in a tiny jet pack. As he mounted, ready to rocket into the past, he heard a familiar voice.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He turned and saw himself (though it took him a moment to recognize himself in the beastly looking hulk) peering back at him.

"Why ever not?"

"Because I'm going to tell you how to do it easier."

"You are?" This question earned present-Harry an eye-roll from future-Harry. Present-Harry wished that he'd kept his mouth shut.

"Gods, am I always this stupid? I'll use tiny words to get through to me: Yes, I am." When he was satisfied that present-Harry wasn't going to interrupt, future-Harry said, "Right, then. We're gods, right?"

Present-Harry nodded dimly.

"Then we can just 'make it so.' No need for the broom dross."

"Ah. Just make it so." Present-Harry readied himself for the jump.

"Wait! Don't go just yet—you should test it first on a small jump, say one of a minute ago?"

"Great idea. Thanks!"

"Before you go, don't forget to tell yourself how, okay?" Future-Harry winked at present-Harry, who disappeared in a flash of light to the past.

Future-Harry, who was the new present-Harry, heard a cough and looked up to see a note on the table written in familiar handwriting. He read it.

"Ah, good point. To go back that far, I'll need a focus, something ancient with ties to my own ancestry... Aha!" He impressed himself with his own powerful acumen.

In his left hand, Godric Gryffindor's sword appeared, its egg-sized rubies glittering in the light. Through the broken window, he heard a curious "voom" sound outside.

"Damn, I'm good," he said in an American drawl. "Though I sure hope I remember to remember this. I know! I'll just leave myself this note." He slipped back in time and left the note back on the table, giving a slight cough, and Apparating away silently before his other self noticed.

Outside the ruined cottage, Harry willed into existence robes of samite and gold and slipped his glasses into the breastpocket. He held aloft the sword and it glowed bright blue and started to hum. He swished it a few times, enjoying the pleasant "voom" sound it made, and then disappeared into the past in a flash of pure white.

Harry appeared in the Department of Mysteries just in time to see Bellatrix Lestrange fire a stunning spell--the first she'd cast in over a decade--at his Godfather, propelling him toward the Veil.

"No." Harry said, holding his hand palm-forward before him and Sirius's body changed course, landing gently at Harry's feet.

He turned to his friends and Order of Phoenix allies and looked down to see Alastor Moody's magical eye trained upon him.

"Who are you?" Moody said in a distrusting way to the burly, seven-foot-six warrior before him.

"Oops--forgot!" Harry placed the spectacles on his face.

"Ah, Harry Potter. Carry on, lad."

Harry saw to his chagrin that his friends were battling Death Eaters. And getting beaten rather handily.

"Get behind me! I can protect you from all the Death Eaters!" Harry bellowed and there was a great grinding noise as the room expanded to several times its normal size. Strangely enough, all of the Order members, including those engaged in battle, did, in fact, find themselves behind Harry fighting nobody. Facing them were not only the dozen Death Eater elites that they were fighting, but also another thousand Death Eaters in black robes and masks.

Harry swallowed as he turned to face them, one man against the entire army of Voldemort. To an outsider, the odds didn't look terribly good in his favor--er, favour.

He cleared his throat and cracked his neck, then placed his staff upon the ground. He held Gryffindor's light saber in a two-handed grip.

"Harry, dear boy!" Dumbledore shouted and tried to move forward, but was held back by an unseen force. Or, perhaps, Force. It was hard to tell.

"Bring it, bitches," Harry grumbled and phoenix song sounding vaguely like the theme song to "Walker, Texas Ranger" blared throughout the chamber. As one, the Death Eater army winced at the song. And then they opened fire with Killing Curses, Cruciatus curses, Sectumsempra, bone-breakers, organ pulverizers, and any other nasty, dark, embarrassing, or otherwise unpleasant spell they could think of. Lucius Malfoy even flung a poisoned dagger at Harry. McNair hurled his great axe. Bellatrix, after firing her own Killing Curse, dropped her wand and pulled out twin Uzi machine pistols and emptied the clips. Peter Pettigrew broke wind.

Harry braced himself, then slashed the air with a single, mighty "VOOM" that crackled defiantly and deflected each spell, curse, jinx, bullet, weapon, and wiff of tainted air back at his foes, killing all, save for Severus Snape, who was secretly spying for the Order. Said spy was merely incapacitated by Pettigrew's fart, though he'd later say of the ordeal that he wished he were slain with the rest.

Harry cracked his neck again and turned around to a gobsmacked Order and his friends.

"It's all in the wrist," he said, scuffing his feet on the ground nervously and making a few more "voom" sounds for good measure.

"Harry!" Ginny shouted, hobbling forward courageously on her bad ankle.

Harry gazed down into her loving, chocolate-brown orbs and for a moment, time stopped as he lost himself in her gaze. His heart beat ferociously in his chest, as if trying to escape and race across the veldt with his lioness, her fiery mane, fierce disposition, and leonine grace broadcasting to all what her future Animagus form would be. He'd memorized every aspect of her perfect face, yet the reality was infinitely more awe-inspiring. He saw in her a power and a strength complementing his own and in that moment, he again pledged eternal allegiance to his love.

She hugged him and he delighted at feeling her perfect body pressed against his. In his bliss, he couldn't help but look forward to remaking their family.

To cap the moment, he opened his mouth and said the most idiotic thing that came to mind. "Actually, it's Brian now."

"What happened to you?" she gasped, wrinkling her nose cutely, tears welling in her perfect, chocolate orbs.

Harry held out his Heraclean arms and then flexed, bulging the powerful cords of muscle in his forearms. "It's a long story, Love."

Recognizing the term of endearment he had used, the Order chorused, "Aw..." while his friend, Ron, made retching noises.

"No," she said, "I mean your voice--why do you speak with that dreadful American accent?"

Harry shrugged, his hulking trapezius and deltoid muscles making the gesture a veritable force of nature. He was about to explain when a shriek rent the air.

"Potter!"

"Tom."

The Dark Lord hyperventilated at the destruction of his army, then willed himself to regain his composure. "No matter, I shall overcome. Surrender now, Potter. Swear fealty to me, and I'll make you my trusted lieutenant. It's folly to oppose me, you know, for I am invincible!"

"Right. Just like your legion of henchmen, whose aim was so bad, they couldn't hit the ground if they threw themselves off a building." Harry laughed at his own joke; hyper-intelligence has its perks. Then he felt a little silly at being the only one laughing.

Voldemort grumbled. "You and your droll American wit. So you will not join me? Then tell me, have you any last words before I destroy you?"

Harry removed his spectacles and leveled an intense, green-eyed stare at his nemesis. "One word: Pain."

The temperature in the Hall seemed to drop twenty degrees and even Voldemort was taken aback. He hissed, "You may have destroyed my army, but I'll take from you what you value most!" And with that, he spat a Killing Curse at Ginny.

Harry's face drained of colour--color, rather--as he watched the sickly green bolt writhe toward his love.

"Lovus Shieldum," he shouted in desperation. A crystalline dome materialized around Ginny and the curse splashed harmlessly upon it.

Harry sighed in relief, then turned toward his enemy and extended his thumb and forefinger, as if to pinch someone. He closed his right eye and centered the sibilant being between his fingers. Imagining Voldemort to really be as tiny as he appeared, Harry pinched his thumb and finger together and Voldemort screamed in agony as Harry's godlike power crushed him into nonexistence.

It was over. Time to live.

The Minister droned on, "Sadly, for reasons we still do not understand, the charms associated with the Order have indicated that Harry Potter, or Brian, as his friends call him, has already received an Order of Merlin, First Class, so I'm afraid it's quite impossible for him to receive another one..."

At this, there was an uproar from those assembled, which included most of the Wizarding community in Britain.

"Please, if you would just let me continue," he shouted and waited for the cries to subside. "As I was saying, because we could not award Brian with an Order of Merlin, First Class, we've opted to make a special honor instead to recognize his heroics. Let me present to you the first ever winner of the Medal of Awesome. Brian?"

Harry stepped to the podium, which only came up to his mid-thigh, and cleared his throat. "Thank you all for coming this evening. Indeed, it's fortunate that we can finally put these terrible times behind us..."

As he said his prepared speech, his heart ached. Apparently, Ginny, the love of his life, could accept many things--that he was no longer human, that his mother was half-elven, that he still couldn't get into the Potter vaults, and that, despite his bulging muscles and larger-than-life frame, other aspects of his anatomy were somewhat less than gifted. However, one thing she couldn't reconcile was his "ugly" American accent, the one that, for all his newfound powers, Harry found impossible to change.

Fighting back tears, he finished his speech to polite applause.

An hour later, as the well-wishers finally departed, Harry felt a presence behind him.

"Brian, or should I say, Captain Awesome."

"General Awesome?" Harry sputtered, seeing a six-foot-tall man (though he seemed much larger), fifty-ish, with reddish blonde hair and beard. He had the exceptionally intense stare of someone truly remarkable.

"You can call me Chuck. I go by Chuck Norris when I walk among the mortals."

"Nice to meet you, Chuck."

"Congratulations on the medal. You deserve it."

"Thanks," Harry said, not bothering to hide his despondence.

"Hey, kid, don't look so down. I know it hurts, losing her like that, but some things just aren't meant to be."

Harry was quiet for a moment. "I know, but I only wanted her--I never wanted any of this."

Chuck nodded. "It's the price people like us have to pay. It's a tall order, but someone's got to step up and be awesome. May as well be us."

Harry mulled over the man's words. "May I ask you a question, Chuck?"

Chuck nodded.

"How did you know that I'd be a Godling?"

"Let's just say that it runs in the family." He smirked as Harry's eyes widened. "Yeah, kid, James wasn't your father."

Harry stopped and stared at the man--his father--who walked ahead. Chuck turned back to him.

"Come on, son, let's go kick hobos or something."

Fin.

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter; Chuck Norris owns, full stop.

Those who have read Mark E. Rogers's literary masterpiece, Samurai Cat Goes To Hell, will recognize how the Death Eaters were dispatched. Those who haven't need to get a bit more awesome into their lives. (Any story with Nazi Tyrannosaurs as villains is full of win).

This idea was inspired by a plot bunny of nonjon's; I also shamelessly lifted "Lovus Shieldum" from a scene in his excellent A Black Comedy (a story that's made of awesome). As always, I'm grateful to the folks over at Alpha Fight Club (darklordmike, BennyS, japanese_jew, Garrett PI, and jbern) for all their help. Also, thanks to the readers at DLP for their comments on an early draft.