Ramblings of a Cynical Brat

Disclaimer: I think it's about time I do a proper disclaimer. I did not, do not and never will own Harry Potter, Warner Brothers, Bloomsburg, or any other companies associated with Harry Potter. I also do not own any movies I briefly mention.

Summary: Harry Potter dies, aged 203. Quite willingly so, too. But then he meets Death, who makes him do it all over again - not that he wants to. Second chance story with a twist. Humor, loads of non-graphic slash, sarcastic!powerful!Harry.

Short AN: Apologies guys, didn't realise how much I was mentioning 'FF writers' etc in my last chapter. Will rectify that in the following ones. Thanks for the reviews, they mean a lot. More reviews = faster updates! Allons-y!

Chapter Five - Enigmas and Euphemisms

I woke up the next morning - or maybe afternoon - groaning. I felt like I'd just been pulled apart, put back together again backwards, then flipped on my head twice, swallowed a small porcupine and then vomited it up.

And after the first time, I can tell you, it is not a pleasurable experience. Needles everywhere.

"OY! APOLLO! THINGY - Y'KNOW, WHATSISFACE, THAT GUY, UM, JIMMY, THAT'S IT - HE'S AWAKE! FINA-" He hiccuped violently - "-FINALLY!" Artemis shouted, swaying on his feet. Apollo came tumbling round the corner, pouring a sobering potion into his mouth as he went.

"Sh-shut up and hand me either some more alcohol or sobering potion." Apollo threw me a vial of what looked like potion. I swallowed it, and all traces of porcupine-y-ness were gone. I turned to look at Artemis and realised that he had not slept a wink that night and was covered in tattoos, ranging from statements such as 'Yeah, I'm an efl, keep moving' (Yes, 'elf' was spelt wrong) to a drawing of Dumbledore and Grindlewald in a... compromising position.

Apollo bit his tongue, realising just what his counterpart looked like. I ignored them and closed my eyes.

"What the fuck happened last night?"

"Drunken debauchery, Harry. Drunken debauchery." Apollo said, in the process of forcing a vial of sobering potion down Artemis' throat. I rolled my eyes.

"I gathered that much." I gestured towards the dozens upon dozens of alcohol bottles that were littering the floor. "What happened during the drunken debauchery? I don't remember anything after 'Never have I ever been touched up by a ghost while I was naked in a bath holding a golden egg'. That was when I finished the forty-somethingth bottle."

Suddenly, Artemis, yawning tiredly yet admittedly sober, muttered drowsily, "I remember from 'Never have I ever dreamed about having sex with a goblin while wearing nineteenth century French muggle clothing'."

Apollo nodded, whistling. "That was a good one."

"Um... Right. You awake then, Art?" I nudged the elfy mass with my toe and he slapped it away.

"So, wha's on the agenda today?"

Rubbing my head with my irritatingly small hand, I yawned and realised I had to make some healing and nutrition potions for my height. I also needed to sunbathe. And-

"Hey! I don't need glasses any more!" I realised.

"No shit."

"I grew up my whole life needing either glasses or contact lenses, and now I can stop myself from ever needing either! Awesome!"

"Fan-fucking-tastic." Apollo said, rolling his eyes.

He grabbed my wrist - his hand was bloody bigger than mine! - and pulled me to my bedroom. He reached into his pocket and pulled out six vials - two full of lime green potion, two of flourescent pink and two of a poisonous, inky black.

"This one-" he held up the disgustingly green one - "is Skele-Gro. You've had that before, right? It's a special version for special little you - it'll fix all your bones. This pinky one is a nutrient potion, which tastes like shit, but will fix all of your muscles, and make you lovely and tall. The inky black one is a full-body healing potion - oddly convenient, that - and will fix the bruises and bumps you've got. Savvy?"

"How long is this going to take?"

"Hours, days, maybe even weeks, I don't know. Just take them, lie down, and let us get smashed in peace, alright?"

"You- wh- holy fuck, you're impossible."

Apollo bowed deeply, his nose grazing the floor. "I lives to serves our Master Harry Potter sir, no matter how much of a pillock master is."

"Bastard."

"Midget."

"Fuck you." I grabbed the vials out of his hand.

"Which one do I take first?"

"Greens, pinks, blacks, quickly." I shrugged and leapt on the awesomely big canopy bed - Star Wars sheets, beat that, bitches - and swallowed the vials. The last thing I saw before everything went an oddly familiar black was Apollo saluting me before pulling out another bottle of firewhiskey.

Only I would bond with two alcoholic house elves with a tendency to render me unconscious.

I woke up... some measurable amount of time... later, groaning. Owchie ow ow. I felt like I'd been put on one of those stretcher-y things used for torture ages ago.

"Artemis, get here, I need a hand. And Merlin help you if you're smashed!" I yelled, my throat cracking.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey. You- you know what? You're no... you're no fun. But- but, but, ha! I beat you, Pottery!" Why he called me Pottery, I had no idea, but apparently he found it hilarious, as he burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles a few seconds later. He recovered after about five minutes.

"I'm not... I'm not smashed! I'm not, super seriously! I'm... I'm... what's it called? You, know, thing, when you've..." He clicked his fingers a few times, trying to remember what it was called.

"High! Yeah, high! That's it. I'm high. I have had... a lot... of pot."

"For fuck's sake. You are of no use at all, are you? Though," I added, watching him accidentally conjure a beaver and proceed to try and tap-dance with it, "You are good for comic relief. Ah, well, Apollo?"

"I warn you, I am also rather stoned." Apollo said, stumbling in and pulling me to my feet. "I told you not to knock yourself out with us, alcohol, TV and drugs on the loose!" I wisely ignored this comment.

"How long have I - ow - been out of it?"

"A week and a bit. It's the... erm... the second of October, I think."

"A whole fucking week?"

"No, a regular week, you knob. So, you feeling alright?"

Noticing my surroundings, I was pleasantly surprised to note that the floor was further away from me than before, and I felt stronger. Not oh-my-gods-I-can-carry-a-hippogriff stronger, just stronger.

"How tall am I now?" Artemis - sober once more - measured me with a cool magic measuring tape.

"Well, you were three foot one, now you're three seven. Grown six inches. Cool. You'll be a tall adult, now." Artemis shrugged and walked away.

Apollo sniffed dramatically and rubbed his eyes.

"My baby's all grown up..."

"Well, you're not getting any bigger, so you can stop making fun of me." I scowled. He laughed and walked out, only to pop his head back in.

"Oh, yeah. Griphook floo'd - you said something about reading y'parent's wills again? Some lady died, you got her slot - it's tomorrow at two, they've sent a portkey." He pulled out a Sickle - the portkey, I guessed - and flipped it to me before disappearing again. Leaving me on my own, recovering from a week and a half of being comatose.

What excellent friends I have.

"Accio Muscle Relaxant." I said, thanking wizard god that I had spent a hundred galleons on many, many, many potions in the Alleys.

"Hey, Griphook."

"Harry."

"You alright? What'ya been up to?"

"Not much, really." He paused. "Did you know that mermaids have a cross-dressing fetish?" I grimaced.

"Yup. Found out when I was, oh, fourteen? Not a pretty sight."

"Poor you."

"Yes."

There was a pause, during which neither of us could really come up with something to add to the short conversation.

I leant back on my chair, then had that 'holy-shit-I'm-going-to-die-again' moment when you lean too far back and nearly fall over and your stomach goes 'floop' and your life flashes before your eyes.

I tilted forward again.

"You've gotten taller." Griphook finally noted.

"And you haven't."

"Astute observation."

"Yeah."

Another pause.

"So..." I finally said. "Let's see these wills, then."

"What? Oh, yeah." He pulled out a piece of paper from his Drawer of Many Things - I refrained from making a comment about Narnia - and handed it to me. Already knowing what was in it - and what to do - I cut my finger and added a drop of blood to the page. Words instantly appeared. From what I gathered last time, the pretty writing was my mother's and the rather scrawled was my father's.

Dear Harry,

If you are reading this, it means we're dead. James! What? ...Never mind. Yes, honey, we've passed on. Hopefully heroically, kicking Death Eaters in the nuts and yelling 'For Sparta!' as we go. ...Yes. Anyway, we are sorry we couldn't be there for you, baby, and we just want to help you now we're gone.

Now, you should be living with Sirius and Remus. Tell them to get married, already. If you're not, I hope you're with Severus. Lily, why would he be with Snivellus (it was crossed out) Severus? You know why. If not, you'll be with either the Longbottoms or the McGonagalls. Ooh, Minnie? Yes, James. If not, and Merlin help Dumbledore if it's true, you've been placed with someone we don't want you to be with. If it's Petunia and her b- (the next sentence was scribbled out feverishly.) -rather unpleasant husband, then kick Dumbledore where it hurts, will you? I actually can't disagree with that. If you're with them, then something has gone horribly wrong and I need to haunt some people.

Baby, How do you know he's a baby? Baby, mummy and daddy love you very much. We give you everything we have - knowledge, books, money, everything - other than a couple thousand for Moony and Pads - and our blessing. Please do well in life. Fall in love... kill some Death Eaters... have children... prank Sniv-Severus... make friends... get a Marauder name... do well in school... prank Sn-Severus... get a job... and prank Severus.

We love you, kiddo. Don't hate us for leaving you.

Mum and Dad.

I grinned. Go figure my mother'd be the voice of reason. I then noticed a couple post-scripts that would have been oh-so-very-helpful had I bloody read them in my other life.

PS: Kiddo, Mum doesn't know I've added this. I've had my doubts about Moon, Pads and Wormie recently. i don't know if it's just me being paranoid or what... but I need to tell you this. Peter Pettigrew is the Secret Keeper to Godric's Hollow. Can't lie in a will, right? Well, he is, and we switched.

PPS: Dumbledore's evil.

...Well. That slightly changed things.

"Griphook?"

"Yup?"

"You know I said I'd show you indisputable proof?"

"Uhuh?"

"Look there. No- there, right there." Griphook read it with wide eyes.

"You mean- you mean that-"

"Yup yuppity yup."

"We need to get Sirius Black out of there!"

"Yeeees, you do."

"And capture Peter Pettigrew!"

"No shit."

"And give them both a trial!"

"I actually inferred that, surprisingly."

"And the Wizarding World needs to find out the truth!"

"...Now you're just annoying me."

"And-"

"Can I visit the Potter vault now?" I interrupted. "I got me some books to get."

I arrived back at my house with an armful of books. Annoyingly, there were no paintings of my parents in the vaults - Dumbledore'd stolen them or something, probably.

"Haaaaaarry's hooooome!" Artemis sang as he jumped onto the sofa.

"And you are drunk. Or high."

"Or both." He said wisely and philosophically. "Do you know what?" I sighed wearily.

"What?"

"That's what. No, but seriously, I think-"

"Yes?"

"-that if all of the funny people in Lord of the Rings just flew there on those giant birds that they used to get back, the movies would have been a lot shorter and that guy wouldn't have died."

"Relevant. And you do realise the movies haven't come out yet?"

"Well... yes... but that's your fault for being the King of the Underworld or whatever the fuck it is." Artemis yawned and sat up. "Got any chips? I really fancy chips." He walked away.

I was seriously reconsidering making my house elves clever.

Artemis mentioning my brush with Death (Who looked like he should be called Charlie, or maybe Leonard From Work) reminded me to get in touch with him, using my awesomely powerful super-ninja-Necromancy skills. It was of vital importance I communicate with him; without him and the twins to rely on, I had no help, no contact, and no communication. Death was the one person who could help me through this mess triumphant, and I needed to talk to him.

Eh. I'd do it tomorrow.

AN: I'd like to formally apologise to Fanfiction Readers of the Internet for my incredibly insane lack of posting recently. I have literally just finished this chapter and haven't even begun the next. Although, in it, there will be the dreaded news articles that people skim over even though they may contain vital information. And he meets Death again. And Death's family.

Again, houses:

Gryffindor: 2

Ravenclaw: 6

Hufflepuff: 5

Slytherin: (wow-that's-a-lot) 17

Other: 1 (The House of The Hat, aka Unsortable)

As you can see, Slytherin's where people want him to go. However, if you still really think he belongs in other houses, review or you'll be of no help and probably ruin the story for yourself. And I'll get Voldemort to kill you. Y'know, motivation.

Evelyn out, bitches.

E