Chapter Text
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Dungeons and Dragons or a cat.
Fear. It is what Harry Potter might have felt in an alternate reality, one in which he was not an archmage-level spellcaster who could utterly annihilate any threat the muggle world was able to throw at him. As he was all of that and more, he only felt mild frustration.
Marge Dursley was not the thousandth most pleasant person to interact with. She was always a bit of a massive bitch, both in the meaning of being an overweight nuisance and a nuisance of great intensity. And she was coming to visit… worse than that, to stay for a week. To make things even worse, Harry's connection to the Internet was bad enough that he couldn't do much actual gaming.
I fish you not, this is the most boring holiday ever. He thought to himself, sitting down in front of the Muggle IQ-Destroyer superweapon commonly known as the television. It was off, so he could look at it safely.
He sat in silence, contemplating the best way to kill a house elf, when the front doorbell rang. He did not need to be Force-sensitive to sense a disturbance, and I don't mean the based kind of disturbance that comes with a 20th-level Sith Lord that can teach you new Force powers.
His Redditor cousin Dudley rushed to the door to open it, greeting aunt Marge and her annoying dog Ripper. Ripper started shitting violently on the Dursleys' porch, because reasons.
"Well, fuck my life." Harry sighed, cringing as the Mutt of Infinite Stupidity slobbered all over the place.
Marge exchanged loud and meaningless pleasantries with Vernon and Petunia, discussing the weather on her way to Little Whinging and some other things like that.
"Oh, it was raining for thirty minutes..."
It's still raining, who cares.
"Is that useless nephew of yours still living here?"
My manul contributes more to society than your fucking bloodline.
"Well, I hope you beat him frequently..."
I have 24 fucking Armor Class and your shitty ass would get default killed by my sheer presence.
This went on for a rather long time, before the Dursleys invited Marge in – an unnecessary practice, as she thankfully did not stain the dignity of the undead nobility of the night.
"There you are, boy." she barked in what could be assumed to be some form of greeting. "Move, I want to sit down."
"There are several other seats in this room which don't happen to be mine." Harry shrugged.
"Get your cousin out of my seat, Dudley." Marge demanded.
Harry simply glared at both of them. Dudley took a step forward, then a step back. Harry continued to glare, practically daring him to pick a fight. Eventually, Marge gave up and decided to take another seat, huffing angrily.
"Disrespectful little shit." she scoffed.
"Annoying massive turd." he replied calmly.
Ripper stared at him angrily. He stared back at Ripper with the emotionless eyes of a war criminal. The stupid dog acted stupid and started gnawing a table leg. A random spooder spoodered quietly along the ceiling and was noticed by exactly zero people.
Marge and Petunia started yapping about something utterly insignificant, so Harry just stopped giving a shit and started mentally calculating average DPR for various builds.
"Gloom 5/Fighter 2..." he thought. "Vs AC 15, 69.75% hit chance. Three attacks, four on round 1, one short rest per two encounters, Action Surge on round 1. Four rounds per combat on average. 29 attacks in 8 rounds. Pass without Trace is up, effectively a free extra turn for the entire party. Just counting my own DPR, 35 attacks in 8 rounds. Two extra instances of d8 damage. 51 DPR. Incredible. Martials could never."
He could now hear Marge whining about how the taste of dog food was getting worse. He decided to continue ignoring her.
"20th-level Battle Master Fighter." he thought. "Vs AC 19, 50% hit chance. Five attacks, 48 per two short rests. 24 misses… 1.2 misses by 1, 1.2 misses by 2, 1.2 misses by 3 and so on. Six superiority dice. Assume pessimistically 1-1-1-1-2, 12/12 11/12 10/12 9/12 2x 8/12 = around five additional hits per short rest with Precision Attack. 29 hits per short rest, 67 DPR."
Marge was now talking about how the Dursleys should enforce discipline at their home by beating Harry with a chainsaw and Vernon was spinning some made-up story about Harry going to a school for underage criminals (not of the war variety).
"20th-level Fiend Warlock." he snorted slightly. "65% hit chance. Default action is EBARB, 27.3 damage. Danse Macabre with three magic stones and two shortbow shots while skeletons camp in a bag of holding to avoid retaliation, 39.9 DPR. Three other slots to use Synaptic Static against four targets, 70% chance to fail Int save – 95.2 damage. We use Synaptic on round 1 of each encounter in order to have Magic Stone precast. This means on one round skeletons have no stone, 28.9 instead of 39.9. Hurl Through Hell once in an 8-encounter day, 55 damage. Familiar is true polymorphed into a stone and then back into a young silver dragon. 40% save fail chance vs breath weapon assumed to be used 2/encounter against three targets, 226.8 damage per encounter or 56.7 DPR. Both of us have a pact with a Daemogoth Titan obtained via true polymorphing another player's simulacrum – I have 8th-level Create Undead (2 wights, 24 skeletons), familiar has Horrid Wilting (DC 14, 25% save fail chance). Assume 4 targets, 135 damage. 24 skeletons assumed to have nondescript magic weapons for the purpose of overcoming resistances because this is level 20 and I can afford to buy or conquer any place that sells 1 shortbows. 30% hit chance, 39.6 damage also from inside the bag of holding. Total DPR: Undead 73.1, warlock 54.5, imp/dragon 60.9, total = 188.5 DPR. Plus whatever my potentially infinite supply of planar bound minions deals, plus whatever I use my actual 6th, 7th, 8th and 9th level slots on that day which will probably mean TPing someone into a really silly CR20 form, dropping a Maddening Darkness, locking a thing in a Forcecage and casting Conjure Fey. But I'm too tired to calculate that."
He was interrupted by the sound of the TV being turned on. Tragically, it was the news – aka the Propaganda Channel. Which one? He had no idea, they were all the same anyway. Whatever story they would come up with, the real explanation would probably be "a wizard did it". Unless maybe this day would be different for whatever reason…
"Citizens should be aware of the escape of two dangerous fugitives." the television televisioned stupidly, showing the faces of a man and woman who looked like they hadn't showered in months. "They are presumed to be armed and are most definitely dangerous."
Just an ordinary announcement. Yet another situation where criminals commit crime, how shocking. Then he looked at the names under the photographs. Sirius Black. Bellatrix Lestrange.
"Massive W." he said, stifling a grin.
"You think it's funny that two criminals escaped?" Marge barked.
"Criminals?" he raised an eyebrow. "They're based! I hope they overthrow the government."
"You're as hopeless as your parents." Marge shook her head.
"I'm way more based than my parents." he replied.
"Your parents were hopeless drunks." she snorted.
"You suck even more than the average muggle." Harry replied.
"Maul him, Ripper." Marge ordered.
The mad dog stopped attacking the table legs and charged at Harry with intent to kill. Harry pulled out his wand. But that was not needed. In a blur of fur and claws, Harry's pet manul manifested by his side, ripping through Ripper's hide and maiming him at the speed of flop. The silly cat unleashed a battle-meow, boosting his offensive capabilities and continuing the massacre. Ripper did not survive.
"Your cat killed my dog!" Marge yelled, pulling out a chainsaw. "I'll fucking kill you, boy!"
Harry gave her a look of absolute pity, then aimed his wand at her.
"Avada kedavra." he cast, and a flash of green light ended her misery. "It's morbin' time."
Ignoring the annoying cries of Petunia and Vernon until they were too retarded and had to be Obliviated, he grabbed the trunk in which he had all his school stuff and walked out to get some fresh air. His manul followed him into the night, shaking the blood out of his fur.
He stared at the moon, wondering for the thousandth time if it was populated by Moon Knights. It was pretty obvious, but you could never be sure enough until you met one yourself. He hoped to meet a Moon Knight one day. His good friend Marc Glugknight knew all about Moon Knights.
There was a big black dog in the park not far from him. Dogs were not cats. Harry Potter was disappointed. He raised his wand absentmindedly, and suddenly there was a bus next to him.
"Based." he thought, getting on board for shits and giggles.
"Welcome aboard the Knight Bus!" the driver hollered. "Where to?"
"The moon?" Harry asked.
"Can't go there." the driver replied.
"Diagon Alley?" he suggested.
"Sure." the driver nodded. "Name?"
"Uh..." Harry wondered whether he ought to provide his actual name. Privacy was important, after all, and this was an unfamiliar vehicle.
"Forgot your name, kid?" the driver asked impatiently.
"Karsus Telamont Valkorion Riddle von Zarovich." Harry introduced himself.
He didn't know how clean the seats on the bus were, so he just conjured a sofa for himself at the back and sat down. His manul flopped on the sofa next to him. There was no WiFi on the bus because they were in 1993, so Harry just waved his wand and conjured some Internet, hoping that the connection here would be better than at the Dursleys'. As it turned out, it was.
He made a throwaway alt account on Wizcord and joined the official Hogwarts server. It was time to do some trolling.
Slytherin's Strongest Spooder just joined.
Slytherin's Strongest Spooder [19:24]: Spood evening.
Percival Weasley (ADMIN) [19:24]: Good evening, new user! Please select the appropriate roles in #role-selection
Slytherin's Strongest Spooder [19:25]: (selects roles Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, First Year, Second Year, Third Year, Fourth Year, Fifth Year, Sixth Year, Seventh Year)
#ravenclaw-year7-chat
Just a Random Nerd [19:26]: Has anyone managed to complete the reading assignments for Potions yet?
Slytherin's Smartest Spooder [19:26]: I finished most of it last year and will complete the rest yesterday.
#gryffindor-year3-chat
Ron [19:30]: Did you guys hear about the escapes from Azkaban? I nearly shat myself when I found out.
Slytherin's Bravest Spooder [19:31]: I also shat yourself when you found out.
#hufflepuff-year6-chat
Cedric [19:40]: Yo guys I forgot the password to my old account so this is my new one. What do we do with the first one?
Slytherin's Most Loyal Spooder [19:40]: ADMIN, kill the spare.
#hogwarts-book-club
UnironicBinnsFan81 [19:52]: I recently finished reading The War of Purity and the Defeat of You-Know-Who. Has anyone else read it?
Slytherin's Pureblood Spooder [19:52]: Yes, it's a pretty solid book but the ending is very sad. I hope we get a sequel with full-color pictures.
UnironicBinnsFan81 [19:53]: Yes, it is quite the sad event in wizarding history. So many casualties…
Slytherin's Pureblood Spooder [19:54]: Indeed. RIP to all the Death Eaters who fell defending common sense, your sacrifice will be remembered.
[You have been banned from Official Hogwarts Wizcord for TOS violations]
Harry put his phone away and looked around. Most people were reading the Daily Prophet, the primary propaganda element in the country. He borrowed a copy from someone who was asleep.
"Dangerous criminals escape from Azkaban." he read the headline. "Based and voldpilled. Aurors complain about wage cuts. Good thing I'm not an Auror. Crossword. Boring. Boring, boring, boring."
He put the glorified toilet paper back and twiddled his thumbs, waiting for the bus to reach its destination. His manul flopped onto his lap and activated maximum eepy. It appeared that Harry Potter was, for the time being, immobilized.
After roughly thirty minutes, the bus arrived in London, right outside the Leaky Cauldron. Harry got off, waking his manul in the process, and walked over to the entrance of the inn. It was quite crowded, but he managed to get himself a room. He set up a few dozen wards that would deal damage comparable to a grenade explosion to any uninvited guests, sealed the door with several more wards and went to sleep with one eye open.
When he woke up the next morning and went downstairs, he heard some familiar voices. This did not surprise him, as this was a fairly common meeting place.
"What a based myowwa!"
"Indeed. Such a massive, pettable surface."
"Meow."
He went down the stairs and joined his friends – Draco, Hermione, Marc and Ginny were all there, as was Marc's feline companion His Royal Floppiness Big Floppa the Minus First (commonly known simply as Floppa). Hermione was holding a rather large cat in her arms, which looked based and otherworldly.
"Hello, myowwas." Harry waved.
"Hi!" they all called out in unison.
"Based cat." Harry commented.
"Thanks." Hermione grinned. "He's half-moorbounder, half-gremishka. I just got him recently and I'm thinking of a good name to give him."
"You should call him Mudblood-Man." Ginny suggested.
Mudblood-Man meowed in appreciation. He liked the name, it was funny.
"All right, Mudblood-Man." Hermione laughed. "Find some rats in the walls."
"So, did you guys hear the news?" Draco asked. "The Azkaban thing?"
"Yeah, sounds pretty based." Harry nodded. "My godfather and your aunt broke free."
"I hope they're still sane after all those years in prison." Ginny said. "Azkaban is a rather brain-damaging place."
"Indeed." Draco agreed. "All we can do is hope."