A Story of No Consequence

Author's Note: I know I should be working on The Ties that Bind and not writing more Harry Potter. However, this idea got stuck in my head half way through classes yesterday and wouldn't let me go. I've learned, when the muse calls, that I've just got to run with it. This will be multi-chaptered and focus heavily on Harry/Pansy. Mentions of Hermione/Draco and Ron with some girl (she can pretty much be whoever you want her to be). I am in love with both Kurt Vonnegut and Chuch Palahniuk, so, the style is definitely a representation of that.

Warnings: There's lots of swearing, sometimes for no reason at all. There are also mentions of Catholicism (Christianity in general), God, Jesus, and the Virgin Mary in a less than reverent attitude; actually, there may be plenty of picking at several world religions as a whole before this is all over. Sex (nothing too graphic), drinking, smoking, and drug use will figure their way somewhere into the story at one point or another. If any of this is going to offend you or bum you out in any way, please don't read. This is post-war Potter, I claim no ownership, and you're not getting anymore disclaimers or warnings. Constructive criticism is always appreciated and flames will be ignored.

This is a new style and a new tone for me, bear with me while I adjust myself to it. Also, I do all the proofing myself; I try to do my best to edit everything, but there will be the occasional stylistic/grammatical/spelling errors. If I catch them, I'll make sure to go back and edit through.

Thank you for reading; I hope you enjoy the ride.

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Say it with me, Harry James Potter.

If you say it fast enough, it almost sounds like Jesus. Okay, that's a lie, it sounds nothing like Jesus. Not even Hey-suez. That's how they say it in Mexico. But that's not the point. The point is that this kid, he's the fucking savior of the universe. Sort of like Jesus.

Wasn't there a James, half brother of Jesus? Half brother because, no matter what you Catholics say, Mary got it on with Joseph after her whole nine months of the virgin birthing. Or something like that. Yeah, my dad's a carpenter and yours? Oh, He's just God, you know? Big guy, lightning bolts, floods, and plagues. Yup, my dad totally kicks your dad's ass.

I'll bet James hated Jesus for a long time. And then felt really bad about it after he died for all our sins. But that's not the point of this story. Mostly because the point is Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived.

And he did live.

See, Harry'll always have one thing over you pathetic snots. No one, and I mean no one, can tell him that his mother didn't love him. Maybe when you meet up in a bar and you're drunk off your ass and you're pissed because he's the Golden Boy Wonder, you'll tell him that his father didn't love him. Enough, that is. And it could be the truth. After all, maybe James wasn't fighting off Lord Snake Snogger because he cared so much for his son. Maybe it was because he loved Lily so much that the very thought made his heart want to burst out of his chest.

Lily says "He wants to kill our baby. James, you can't tell him kill our baby. You can't, James." Then James, cocky and carefree, looks up and says "No, he's not going to kill Harry. He'll have to come through me first." It's funny because that's exactly what Voldemort does. Blasts James with an Unforgiveable and then marches up the stairs.

But you can't ever tell Harry that his mother didn't love him. Because Lily Evans Potter loved her son so much that it caused some crazy ancient magic to seep into his body and send the Killing Curse back upside overconfident Tom Riddle's head. And the bastard would have died had he not been so damn smart and hid pieces of his soul all around the world.

So, next time you want to wound the savior of the world, go for the gold. Tell him that Sirius Black, his pseudo-father figure of two years, loved Lily Evans more than he loved tormenting Severus Snape or ducking under bushes with Remus Lupin. Tell him that Sirius, because he was James' bestest best best friend, let James have at it without saying a word. Of course, he backtracks, and tells Lily all about his deep feelings after the honeymoon. She's pregnant by then with Harry but doesn't know it yet. Better yet, Lily Evans Potter doesn't know what to say. And then he made them make Peter Pettigrew, traitor extraordinaire, be the fucking secret keeper because he was afraid that something would happen and leave James bitter and heart broken.

You know that old assume joke. Make an ass out of you and me. Black's assumptions got him a prison stint, a dead best friend, and a dead woman, whom he loved, who would have never left her husband.

Now that'll make Harry cry like a little girl. Because it's not enough that he was orphaned, left with shit-for-brains relatives, and then expected to fulfill his destiny all the while being half lied to. No, you've got to let him know that through all the St. Potter martyrdom, YOU are better than him. Better because the man he though was going to be the father he never had turned out to want to make it James and Sirius all over again while worshipping those brilliant green eyes. The only part of him that was ever Lily's.

Then maybe you should go throw yourself under a train because you're that much of a worthless waste of space. Taking up my oxygen. My future child's oxygen. Bastard. Really. Your mom was cheating on your dad with so many men that she hasn't a god damn clue who your real father is. Chew on that amid shitty gin and tonics and stale peanuts.

This isn't an end, it's a beginning. To an end, of course. There's always an end somewhere, otherwise, the little fuckers would get depressed and cut themselves. That's not the point.

The point is that Harry Potter won the war. A bunch of people died. These people did not include Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. God, the New Testament one of course, wouldn't have been that cruel. He took a couple of Longbottoms (there were only two left, think about it) and Bill-Fleur-Percy-and-Ginny Weasley. There are more, but, they're not too important to the story. Harry Potter won the war after four years and a bunch of dead people. Both sides. Trust me on this, I know.

Draco Malfoy didn't die. Which, surprisingly enough, figures into the story quite nicely.

Anyway. Harry Potter pulls off the savior thing better than Jesus could have ever hoped for. There's no crucifixion. No coming back only to ascend back into Heaven only to promise to come back if we've all been good boys and girls. No. Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort, Premire Snake Snogger, was Avada Kedavra'd upside the head and then Harry Potter made him explode into a puddle of goo.

Sue the man. He was aiming for daffodils but no one likes setting fire to pretty yellow flowers and pissing on them. Hermione would complain about hurting the environment. Instead, she turned away, crying too hard to complain, while Ron unzipped his pants. His own pants, not Harry's, and Hermione was crying too hard from joy. You know because He Who Shall Not Be Named was finally dead dead deeeeeeeeaaaaad in the ground. But, Harry unzipped his own pants too and they pissed on the fire together. It was a manly thing. You won't find it in the history books.

Don't even try.

Just like that, there's lots of drinking. Because that's what people do when they celebrate the demise of the Wizarding world's Hitler. Which he was, except for the concentration camps and, let me tell you, those were in the making. Ask Bellatrix Black Lestrange. Oh, that's right, you can't, because she's dead. Ha!

But, after the drinking, there was need for order. Which is how Harry James Potter got stuck kissing babies and shaking hands and listening, eyes glazed over, while Hermione bickered with the new minister about his inane politics. He knew, Harry, not the minister, that if he didn't there was only one other alternative. Drink until he died from liver failure at age 29. Squirming, crying babies trump all. This is because liver failure sucks hard. And not the pleasant kind of hard either, perverts.

Like I said, this is the beginning. To the end...of the end. Of something. Not time. But to the wedding. And not Hermione and Draco's wedding because they never get married. Not that they don't fuck like bunnies and have a million children. Okay, just two. Because, they do. But they don't get married because Hermione thinks that marriage will make her something less and Draco still gets nagging thoughts about Mudbloods and bloodtraitors. So, in the end, it's better that they co-habitate and are married in every way except for the rings and the pieces of paper.

Ron does not have sex with his sister. Or Luna Lovegood for that matter because, in his mind, it's about equally disgusting. And because Ginny is dead. Instead he finds this nice girl who doesn't mind going down on him in semi-public places. They hit it off, marry after his mom catches them making stains on the couch, and do jolly well just fine-no he doesn't miss Hermione all right.

But we're not talking about them.

This is Harry's story. Harry and Pansy's story. As in Parkinson. Parkinson. Supposed future Pansy Parkinson Malfoy. Only, Pansy Potter has better ring to it. Pansy Parkinson Potter. Only, it surprises everyone. Except, they pretty much half expected it.

After all. This is the guy who wants to go down in History for turning Voldemort into goo, not daffodils Hermione, and pissing on said goo with his best friend. Harry's, not the goo's. Got it?

They meet because Harry hates interviews and hates hates hates Rita Skeeter and Pansy has a problem with heels and hose. And they get all tangled up and flustered because Pansy's not used to having someone say I'm sorry and Harry's not used to peopling telling him to Go fuck yourself, hard, Potter. Not after the war, of course; people don't tell saviors of the world to go do stuff like that. Mostly, anyway.

But, like I said, that isn't here or now. What is here and now is that you're oriented. You've got the basic information to keep reading without being too confused. It's Friday, three o'clock P dot M dot...on the dot. And Harry feels like taking his wand and uttering some wicked cool spell to splatter his brains out all over the backdrop of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. There. Scene set and run with it.