Potter Fortress - In Snippets

[Akuma-sama]

Born from the demented minds of #Fukufics chatroom. I blame you, Hotaru.
This is the first One-shot, first snippet.

Disclaimer: Tomorrow, you will eat gravy on your pancakes.

----------------

“So, Potter. Any last words?” Lord Voldemort, the most powerful wizard of this century, Dark Lord and Master of the wizarding world's Best, Finest and Purest (as they liked to think of themselves), hissed in dark pleasure at the boy kneeling in front of him, disarmed, wounded and helpless. Looking at the scene, Lucius Malfoy shared his master's roaring triumph, even as his heart soared from seeing his dread master alive and well. Finally, the pure of blood would be raised to their rightful place while the mudblood filth and the blood traitors would be brought to their knees, much like this filthy half-blooded boy!

This filthy, half-blooded, helpless, disarmed, kneeling and... smiling... boy?

“I do have last words to tell you,” said Harry Potter, as he got up from his knees, an arrogant grin on his face.

Hm, Draco had been right; he was a pretty big boy, wasn't he?

“Oh?” Voldemort didn't seem impressed, and a dark chuckle ran among the assembled Death Eaters. “Please, do share. Make it quick, however. We don't have all night.”

“Oh, this will be over real quick.” his lips stretched a grin across his square jaw. “Real quick.”

--------

If one were to ask the inhabitants of Privet Drive how many houses lined their street, the answer would actually vary. Most of the residents would immediately answer eight, but a handful would instead answer nine. That was because, although technically on the street, almost no one wanted to admit that the resident of Number Nine, Privet Drive didn't actually live on the other street it bordered. This had very little to do with the house itself and everything to do with the man who inhabited it, by all evidence, by himself.

Vernon Dursley's opinion of him had been cemented at first sight as a “great bloody foreign oaf” by the man's thick russian accent (or any one of the bloody bomb-happy wannabe-decent ex-soviet sinkholes in that area), but more secretly by the man's sheer size. Vernon was a big man, and he wasn't used to meeting people who towered over him by a foot, or had arms the size of his head.

Petunia Dursley had been simply revolted to hear (from the gossip of his neighbor's wife in number seven) that that big scary brute actually had a weapon collection! What half-decent person would keep those? NO ONE, as far as she was concerned, and although she was one of the most vocal proponents for his immediate expulsion off the street (before something happened to her precious Dudders), she'd been repeatedly thwarted by the fact that he'd never actually been caught doing anything illegal, and had thus resigned herself to warning her boy as far away from the house as possible.

As far as Dudley Dursley was concerned, the house was just any other house in the block. The big guy who lived there was scary, but he wasn't outside often enough for him to actually avoid going that way.

And in Harry Potter's opinion, the man was even scarier than Dudley and Vernon. Combined. This was why he'd vowed to never approach that house, given a choice.

That is, until one fateful day.

--------

Eight years old Harry Potter was exhausted. Once again, Dudley and his gang of thugs had decided to enjoy some Harry hunting after class—by no means an unusual event—and while he was usually quite good at evading them, his rotten luck had had him fleeing right into where Piers had been looking for him before he could get some decent rest. Even now, as his mad dash took him toward Privet Drive, he knew it wouldn't be much longer before his legs would give out, and the other boys would catch him and start beating him up again.

He turned the corner running, sobbing and crying miserably, his chest heaving in mad gasps, and he finally collapsed. Within seconds, Dudley and his gang caught up to him, and Harry curled up defensively as he waited for the beating...

“What the—GACK!”
“Big D—oh bloody—”
The third reaction was less enunciate, just a whimper of absolute terror.

Harry hesitated for several seconds, until he finally dared look up... right into the comically small, square head of The Man Who Lived In Number Nine, Privet Drive. Who was holding Dudley's collar in his left hand, and Piers and Travers' with his right.

It bore mention that all three kids were lifted to twice their usual height.

“L-Let me go you big—er...” Dudley suddenly stopped fighting when the titan's beady eyes turned angrily toward him.

“You a bully?” the bear in man clothing asked. His voice sounded like a moving mountain.

Dudley's answer came in the form of a strangled squeak.

“Sasha and I don't like bullies.” he grunted, his small-eyed glare growing steely.

Once again, Dudley demonstrated his mastery in the tongue of mice.

With a disgusted grunt, the man let them fall from his grasp. The three boys wasted no time and, after picking themselves up, ran away screaming, leaving Harry alone with the huge man. Their eyes met, and Harry froze, suddenly realizing that he could very well be next. The next thing he knew, a huge hand reached down for him, closed around his upper arm and pulled him up with impossible ease, leaving him on his feet.

He was... fine?

“Boy. See them?” A finger about half the size of his fist pointed behind Harry, where the three boys had just reached number four and were running in, crying and screaming all the way.

After Harry nodded hesitantly, he continued, his voice surprisingly gentle, “They be babies. Ittsy teeny babies. Not strong. Not really. They act like not scared because you small, let push around. If push back strong enough, they run like the cowards they are.” his accent was thick, but Harry could follow clearly.

“But they're a lot stronger than me,” Harry frowned. “I'm an even smaller baby than they are.”

“Baby no realize he baby. Man realize he weak. Baby stay weak. Man becomes strong.” A small, but toothy smile cracked his granit-like face. “You become strong, da?”

“H...How? How can I be strong?”

The smile grew into a full grin. “You just got started.”

It was at that moment that Harry Potter, eight years old, decided the man living in Number Nine, Privet Drive, was the coolest man on the planet.

“W...what is your name?” remembering his manners, Harry corrected himself, “I mean, I'm Harry Potter.”

“I am Heavy Weapons Guy.”

[DCG]

Wow, Can't wait to see where you would take something like this.

[Sunshine Temple]

“You a bully?” the bear in man clothing asked. His voice sounded like a moving mountain.

[bear in man's clothing



“Baby no realize he baby. Man realize he weak. Baby stay weak. Man becomes strong.” A small, but toothy smile cracked his granit-like face. “You become strong, da?”

“H...How? How can I be strong?”

The smile grew into a full grin. “You just got started.”

It was at that moment that Harry Potter, eight years old, decided the man living in Number Nine, Privet Drive, was the coolest man on the planet.

[Oh my.

[Yes this is definitely worth watching.

[Though the mention of Sasha seems odd if he didn't have his gun out with him. Or did he?

[Té Rowan]

For a moment I was expecting "flames of youth" and green spandex.

[Pusakuronu]

And here I was expecting a different game, Dwarf Fortress.

[Akuma-sama]

@Sunny: He didn't have Sasha out with him; obviously, a gun THAT big can't really be hidden on one's body, unless First Person Shooter physics are involved. :p

Snippet hoy.

---------

The next day, Harry met Heavy again, and was invited indoors. The houses of Privet Drive were all identical, but Heavy kept the blinds shut around where the living room was in Number Four. Harry was quite surprised to discover why; the room was packed with firearms, from shotguns to pistols to rifles to sub-machine guns, all lined up like fishing trophies along the walls. He had never seen a real weapon up close and personal, and the sight of all this left him gaping in the doorway.

“These not for babies,” Heavy noted seriously. “Until you man, you no touch anything in this room. When man, then we talk. Still want be strong?”

“Ah... yeah, but I don't want to just sh—shoot Dudley or...” well, the thought did seem at least a little attractive...

Heavy sniffed. “Should not shoot for no reason. Restraint good,” was accompanied by a grunt and an approving nod. “Fists enough for little babies. Or will be, when I'm done.”

Heavy walked toward the couch, removed the cushions from on it, then moved aside a heavy wooden plate hidden under to reveal—

Oh Jesus Christ.

“This is Sasha.” Heavy declared, lifting the biggest motherfucking gun Harry had ever seen, even in fiction. That thing was about as tall as Heavy was! Harry's head fit in the barrel! Lifting it one-handed by the handle, Heavy put it down on the discarded cushion with a dulled thud. The ground shook a bit.

“She weights one hundred and fifty kilograms,” Heavy informed Harry, running his hand across the barrels lovingly. “This weapon is not for babies. She is not for cowards. She is for men. Men who can lift her and use her as she's meant to, for mowing down cowards. Still want to be man?”

“Yes.” Harry answered immediately, mesmerized by the massive weapon. It couldn't be real, right? That thing couldn't really shoot, could it?

“Then lift her.” was Heavy's challenge.

That day, Harry tried, and he failed.

------

A full year went by, then another, and another. Following Heavy's advice, Harry trained, and trained, and trained. Push-ups, sit-ups, weightlifting (Heavy let him practice on an empty gun, a heavy caliber pistol he'd never been able to use as his fingers couldn't fit through the trigger guard); running from Dudley became exercise.
Every now and then, he let himself get caught, so he could fight them, and after a bit less than a year, he finally managed to land a good shot on Dudley's nose. Petunia and Vernon both became incensed when they'd learned he'd hit their precious Dudders instead of allowing his worthless self to get beaten up, and he'd gone by in his cupboard without eating for a whole day as punishment, but it became worth it: from that day forward, Dudley never dared do anything to him. But he didn't stop there; Heavy had given him a challenge, and for the first time in his life, he felt like he really wanted to do it. He wanted to lift Sasha. He needed to. He wanted to prove Heavy that he wasn't a Baby, or a Coward; that he was a man!

And so he continued.

On his tenth birthday, Heavy let him try firing the pistol; the basement, which in Number Four was mostly a storage room for all the stuff the family gathered, discarded, forgot about and never used again, had been converted into an improvised firing range, complete with through soundproofing.

The first time he had tried, the recoil sent him flat on his ass, and his aim was so lousy the giant man had burst out laughing, dragging Harry with him in hilarity. A few magazines later, Harry could at least stay standing, though his aim still needed serious work.

That day, Heavy demonstrated Sasha. He fired a short burst, less than a second of fire and incredible thunder, and yet the target was... annihilated. Along with a good portion of the wall. (“Oops,” the heavyset man noted afterward, eloquently.)
More than ever before, Harry decided he wanted to lift her.

Soon afterward, though, Heavy refused to let him touch her.

“You not baby anymore,” he said. “But you not man. She is my weapon.”

“But—I mean... you wanted me to lift her!”

“No. I said until you can lift her, you are not man. You will have to get your own.”

“...right. Like I'll ever get the kind of money I need to buy a gun like that. Or like they'll let me. Can't you just—”

“Would you let another man touch your woman?”

Harry crunched his face. “Girls are icky.”

Heavy burst out laughing, and a hand the size of a frying pan knocked Harry to the ground. “Still baby where it counts!”

But still, Heavy refused to let Harry touch Sasha anymore. For some reason, however, it felt a little gratifying, as if, for the first time, he was being taken seriously.

Then, his eleventh birthday happened.

------

[Sunshine Temple]

On his tenth birthday, Heavy let him try firing the pistol; the basement, which in Number Four was mostly a storage room for all the stuff the family gathered, discarded, forgot about and never used again, had been converted into an improvised firing range, complete with through soundproofing.

[thorough soundproofing.

The first time he had tried, the recoil sent him flat on his ass, and his aim was so lousy the giant man had burst out laughing, dragging Harry with him in hilarity. A few magazines later, Harry could at least stay standing, though his aim still needed serious work.

[Even a very large handgun won't knock a kid down with recoil. It would hurt, especially if the grips are too large, and the muzzle flip could cause it to hit himself in the head.

[And if he were holding one handed (which is rather insane for a young boy, but not too insane for Heavy to instruct) it could put on a bit of spin and make Harry stumble.

[What I'm saying is depending on how cartoonish you want to be, it could knock him over, a bit more realism would have him stumble and then trip over.

[Still very funny



But still, Heavy refused to let Harry touch Sasha anymore. For some reason, however, it felt a little gratifying, as if, for the first time, he was being taken seriously.

Then, his eleventh birthday happened

[Ominous.

[Hmm I realized this should be moved to the non-anime C&C section.

[Still looking forward to more.

[Ellen Kuhfeld]

This is looking like fun. I don't recognize the (anime?) Harry is crossing with, but as long as you're not using that whole world, that'll be no problem.

[Akuma-sama]

It's not an anime. Heavy is this guy (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mY5qJHZCz2I), from Team Fortress 2.

[Ellen Kuhfeld]

It's not an anime. Heavy is this guy (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mY5qJHZCz2I), from Team Fortress 2.

Well! That was interesting - a flashback to my RPG days. Can't say Heavy Weapons Guy was my style, though. I was more in the Engineer line of work. And a fair bit of Spy.

[Trscroggs]

I've been meaning to play this game for ages, but have never gotten around to owning my own copy. Sadly, the local video stores do not rent the counsoul version I can actually play.

[Akuma-sama]

I've been meaning to play this game for ages, but have never gotten around to owning my own copy. Sadly, the local video stores do not rent the counsoul version I can actually play.

Don't bother with the console versions. PC is where its at. The console versions aren't even being updated anymore, I think.

Final snippet. Blame riddle for its shortness.
(Really, I didn't want this to spread on too long.)


------

Then, just a few days before his eleventh birthday, he received a letter in the mail. (retconned last line for last snippet)

------

“Hogwarts?” Harry read in disbelief within the cramped confines of his cupboard under the stairs. It wasn't so much the name of the school with drew his befuddlement, but rather its claim of providing education in witchcraft and wizardry, of all things.

With an amused grunt, Harry dismissed the letter as a scam and crushed it in his fist.

The next morning, there were two letters, both identical, and both announcing he had been accepted at this 'Hogwarts'; both suffered the same fate.

The third day, however, Petunia was the one who picked up the mail. Her reaction to the four Hogwarts letters she found there was... unexpected.

“VERNOOOOON!!” she shrieked, her face white as a sheet.

Apparently, the Dursleys believed in witchcraft and wizardry?

Interesting.

Unfortunately, he didn't have the occasion to consult Heavy for advice; Vernon's reaction was to pick up the whole family, Harry included, and drive them off to some island somewhere. And that's how Harry met Hagrid, a man even bigger than Heavy—but nowhere near as awesome—who took him to London and introduced him to the wizarding world. There, Harry learned that the letter he'd initially disregarded as a joke was all-too-real, and that he was a wizard.
More importantly, however, he discovered his Gringot's vault.

“I am going to buy a very, very big gun,” Harry announced, his eyes glinting in undiluted joy.


Heavy was actually surprised when he told of his latest adventure the next time they met. At first he remained disbelieving, but a few flicks of his brand new magic wand and a handful of gold galleons later, the heavyset man was starting to believe.

“I am sorry,” Heavy said, finally admitting defeat, “I have seen things that came close to magic in the past; there was that man's never-ending ammunition dispenser, or that backstabbing scumbag's invisibility watch... but every time, it was science. Technology. This seems to be the real thing, though.”

“It is, it is!” Harry assured, still grinning; he hadn't stopped grinning since the minute he'd set foot in Diagon Alley. “Can you tell me where you bought Sasha? I've got enough now that I probably can—”

“Probably can buy. Maybe. But can you keep her? Will Uncle let you hide her in your room? Can you carry it anywhere?”

“Ah...” Harry frowned. “I... guess not.”

Heavy smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “Become stronger. Then get gun.”

Harry nodded purposefully.

------

“This is all very touching,” Voldemort noted a little impatiently, “but I'm afraid if this goes on much longer, I will have to interrupt you. Are you going somewhere with this?”

Harry grinned a bit. “Yeah, but I guess I can speed up a little. Let's see. We both remember how things went in my first year, with me kicking your sorry arse across the castle—”

“Quirrell's, not mine,” Voldemort interrupted. “The fool let himself get beaten up by an eleven years old, for shame.”

“Then a year after, you failed to grab hold of Ginny—”

“Who? Oh, never mind. Just hurry.”

“—thank you, because she found her courage and dropped your diary on Professor Dumbledore's lap.”

Voldemort shot a murderous look at Malfoy, who cowered.

“Then the year after, there was that whole mess with Sirius Black, and Pettigrew,” Harry turned to stare at the ratty man, whose nose was notably crooked. “Didn't heal right, did it?”

Pettigrew squeaked.

“Well, after that, Heavy and I decided I was strong enough, and with his help I finally ended up buying my gun. Let me show you...”

Harry reached into robe pocket. And out came...

...well, it was probably a good thing the Death Eaters were all pureblooded elitists who had never as much as heard of guns in the past, because the massive Gatling gun he pulled out of his dimensionally enlarged pocket would have caused an outbreak of incontinence.

“This is Lily. She weighs one-hundred and thirty kilograms, three hundred and seventy without her lightning charm, and fires four hundred galleons custom-tooled self-reloading cartridges at twenty thousand rounds per minute. And she has something to tell you all.”

Harry pointed the cannon at the death eaters, who suddenly seemed to realize they were in deep, deep trouble.
The gun started spinning—

“CRY SOME MORE!!!”



Half a minute later, the once again disembodied soul of Voldemort stared down in disbelief at the disassembled, bleeding, shattered, annihilated and very, very dead remains of his most loyal followers. If he could have sighed, he would have.

'Back to the drawing board, I guess...'

------
Author's notes: If I can be bothered, I might do one of these for the other classes too. So far I've got some inspiration for Scout, Spy and Medic, but nothing all that definite.
Canonically, Team Fortress happens in 1968 (if TF2Wiki can be believed). Assuming Heavy to be thirty during the game, that brings his age to 53 in 1991.

[Sunshine Temple]

More importantly, however, he discovered his Gringot's vault.

“I am going to buy a very, very big gun,” Harry announced, his eyes glinting in undiluted joy.

[Hehehe



“I am sorry,” Heavy said, finally admitting defeat, “I have seen things that came close to magic in the past; there was that man's never-ending ammunition dispenser, or that backstabbing scumbag's invisibility watch... but every time, it was science. Technology. This seems to be the real thing, though.”

["That man" is a bit bland. May want to have a bit more description for engineer.
[Maybe "there was that clever man's" or "there was that goggled-man's"

[And for technology? Well the gunboats work by the technology of magic ;p



[Fun ending though a bit choppy, given the rapid shift away.
[Though givin the length and scope you were working in, that's expected.

[also Lightning charm should be "lightening charm"

[ckosacranoid]

magic...hahha..meet minigun........hahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahhaa

[borgrabbit]

the bear in man clothing asked.

I think that this is equally valid as the following (think "The Man Show")

the bear in man's clothing asked.

Dark lords must retire
When mini-guns begin to fire.
Voldemort's head did swell
With a fell projectile to tell...
Moldy go straight to hell!
Burma Shave
└☺┘