Author’s Notes: I totally forgot about this until like 3 hours after IF had started.
Disclaimer: I don’t own whatever series I’m writing about.
Harry Potter and the Perfect Impersonation
The smallest of things can have the largest effects on the world. A baby had toppled the reign of an unimaginably powerful Dark Lord. A small piece of wood, imbued with the power of Death, had driven numerous wizards to murder and worse. It was even true during play: the golden Snitch, the smallest of the Quidditch balls, was the one that ended the game.
However, the events of that night were not shaped by deep magic, or the fear of death, or the adrenaline thrill of Quidditch. Those things, Harry was prepared for. He was the baby, he held the Elder Wand, and he was a damn good Seeker.
What he was not prepared for was a 35mL shot glass.
For the Americans in our audience, that’s about 1.18oz. You’re welcome.
The glass was filled to the brim with an amber liquid, and the meter-tall pillar of flame burning atop it gave off an almost unbearable heat.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,†said Harry. He nervously ran his hands through his hair, fingers briefly tracing the lightning bolt scar on his forehead.
The bartender, an enormous man with flaming red hair and arms as big around as Harry’s chest, smirked. “Do I look like a man who kids about his drinks, lad?â€
It took Harry a moment to decipher the impossibly thick Scottish accent, but when he did he grimaced. “No.â€
Well, there was no sense being hesitant about this. The longer he waited, the more likely it was that Ron would notice and call him out on it, and then he’d have to take a penalty drink. It wasn’t particularly likely, seeing as Ron had already collapsed into the bar, drool slowly pooling around his face, but it was possible.
Also the place might catch on fire, but that was a secondary concern. Tertiary, even.
He lunged for the glass with the trained speed of a Seeker, and immediately upended the entire glass into his mouth, taking care to keep his hand from getting above the glass and into the flames.
Half a liter of potent liquor poured into his throat, and Harry nearly choked. Well, that explained the meter of flames – there was a lot more than a single shot in the glass.
Sometimes, magic was not any fun at all.
“You’ll be feeling the fire, now,†the bartender commented, snatching the glass out of Harry’s hand and beginning to clean it off.
The liquor burned as it went down his throat, and Harry’s eyes bulged when the fire chased the liquor down his throat. Then he learned what a burning throat really felt like.
“And now it’ll be pooling in yer stomach.â€
The burn of the fire pooled in his stomach, along with the nausea from consuming so much liquor in one drink.
“Careful now, you’re going to feel the fire start going back up towards yer mouth.â€
The sensation slowly began to spread throughout Harry’ body, in particular straight back up his throat, where it formed a burning knot right behind his tongue. He swallowed convulsively.
“That’s a good lad. Don’t let that feeling out into your mouth; there’s vomit right behind it.â€
Harry leaned forward and gripped the bar tightly, trying to hold it down.
“You can ignore the heartburn; the alcohol’s got some stuff in it’ll cure the internal charring.â€
Harry felt his chest begin to ache, looked up at the bartender in horror, and then shut his eyes and stopped listening.
Why did he agree to this again? Oh, right, because they’d had the same deal at Ron’s birthday a few months ago. Well, he was definitely never doing this again. Especially not at any bar recommended to them by Ron’s brother Charlie.
He’d said the same thing at Ron’s birthday party, but this time he really meant it. Really.
When he finally felt like the urge to vomit had faded, and the impossible burning had diffused throughout his entire being rather than being concentrated on any particular vital organ, he opened his eyes and collapsed back into the bar stool, hands still locked on the bar for stability.
The bartender was up to his arm in the shot glass, still wiping it down with a rag of dubious cleanliness. Harry stared at the top of the glass, which was a few centimeters in diameter, and was somehow swallowing the bartender’s arm.
Man, fuck magic.
“Takes some getting’ used to, lady,†the bartender commented.
Oh. Apparently he’d said that out loud.
“You still are.â€
Huh. Well shit. That was probably bad. He might blurt out something that would get him in a lot of trouble, like embarrassing personal details. Like his Voldemort impersonation.
The bartender paused momentarily in his scrubbing. “You do an impersonation of the old Dark Lord?â€
Well, Harry had been the one to kill him, so mocking him posthumously was only fair.
“One moment, laddie.†The bartender disappeared into a back room, then returned a few minutes later with a wizarding camera. “This I’ve got to see.â€
Harry blinked in confusion. The floor had turned to an ocean, and he was having difficulty thinking and surfing at the same time.
“The impression, lad. C’mon, there’s nobody else here but you and the other young’un.â€
Harry resented the implication that he too was a “young’un,†but the suggestion seemed like a decent idea. He certainly couldn’t come up with a reason to not do it.
He straightened his robes and slicked back his hair a bit. All of the villains needed greasy, slicked back hair, in Harry’s experience. He had to use his wand to make it sufficiently oily, but it was a necessary effect.
Standing proved to be more difficult. Well, no matter. Flight was part of the effect. Shame the roof was in the way. Harry glared at it.
The bartender blinked, then opened his mouth, looking as if to object. Which was convenient, because Harry was aiming a blasting curse at the roof and not looking at all in that direction.
The roof exploded off the bar in a shower of splinters and broken beams.
Harry floated up past the wreckage, fully into character now and ignoring the startled shouts of the bartender and a freshly-awakened Ron.
He stopped thirty feet above the bartender, a malicious green glow enveloping him. Modified Lumos, but very atmospheric.
His voice, amplified by Sonorous, boomed out into the bustling darkness of Diagon Alley, “I am Lord Voldemort, and you will kneel before me!â€
Lightning cracked dramatically.
Then the screaming started.
Disclaimer: I don’t own whatever series I’m writing about.
Harry Potter and the Perfect Impersonation
The smallest of things can have the largest effects on the world. A baby had toppled the reign of an unimaginably powerful Dark Lord. A small piece of wood, imbued with the power of Death, had driven numerous wizards to murder and worse. It was even true during play: the golden Snitch, the smallest of the Quidditch balls, was the one that ended the game.
However, the events of that night were not shaped by deep magic, or the fear of death, or the adrenaline thrill of Quidditch. Those things, Harry was prepared for. He was the baby, he held the Elder Wand, and he was a damn good Seeker.
What he was not prepared for was a 35mL shot glass.
For the Americans in our audience, that’s about 1.18oz. You’re welcome.
The glass was filled to the brim with an amber liquid, and the meter-tall pillar of flame burning atop it gave off an almost unbearable heat.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,†said Harry. He nervously ran his hands through his hair, fingers briefly tracing the lightning bolt scar on his forehead.
The bartender, an enormous man with flaming red hair and arms as big around as Harry’s chest, smirked. “Do I look like a man who kids about his drinks, lad?â€
It took Harry a moment to decipher the impossibly thick Scottish accent, but when he did he grimaced. “No.â€
Well, there was no sense being hesitant about this. The longer he waited, the more likely it was that Ron would notice and call him out on it, and then he’d have to take a penalty drink. It wasn’t particularly likely, seeing as Ron had already collapsed into the bar, drool slowly pooling around his face, but it was possible.
Also the place might catch on fire, but that was a secondary concern. Tertiary, even.
He lunged for the glass with the trained speed of a Seeker, and immediately upended the entire glass into his mouth, taking care to keep his hand from getting above the glass and into the flames.
Half a liter of potent liquor poured into his throat, and Harry nearly choked. Well, that explained the meter of flames – there was a lot more than a single shot in the glass.
Sometimes, magic was not any fun at all.
“You’ll be feeling the fire, now,†the bartender commented, snatching the glass out of Harry’s hand and beginning to clean it off.
The liquor burned as it went down his throat, and Harry’s eyes bulged when the fire chased the liquor down his throat. Then he learned what a burning throat really felt like.
“And now it’ll be pooling in yer stomach.â€
The burn of the fire pooled in his stomach, along with the nausea from consuming so much liquor in one drink.
“Careful now, you’re going to feel the fire start going back up towards yer mouth.â€
The sensation slowly began to spread throughout Harry’ body, in particular straight back up his throat, where it formed a burning knot right behind his tongue. He swallowed convulsively.
“That’s a good lad. Don’t let that feeling out into your mouth; there’s vomit right behind it.â€
Harry leaned forward and gripped the bar tightly, trying to hold it down.
“You can ignore the heartburn; the alcohol’s got some stuff in it’ll cure the internal charring.â€
Harry felt his chest begin to ache, looked up at the bartender in horror, and then shut his eyes and stopped listening.
Why did he agree to this again? Oh, right, because they’d had the same deal at Ron’s birthday a few months ago. Well, he was definitely never doing this again. Especially not at any bar recommended to them by Ron’s brother Charlie.
He’d said the same thing at Ron’s birthday party, but this time he really meant it. Really.
When he finally felt like the urge to vomit had faded, and the impossible burning had diffused throughout his entire being rather than being concentrated on any particular vital organ, he opened his eyes and collapsed back into the bar stool, hands still locked on the bar for stability.
The bartender was up to his arm in the shot glass, still wiping it down with a rag of dubious cleanliness. Harry stared at the top of the glass, which was a few centimeters in diameter, and was somehow swallowing the bartender’s arm.
Man, fuck magic.
“Takes some getting’ used to, lady,†the bartender commented.
Oh. Apparently he’d said that out loud.
“You still are.â€
Huh. Well shit. That was probably bad. He might blurt out something that would get him in a lot of trouble, like embarrassing personal details. Like his Voldemort impersonation.
The bartender paused momentarily in his scrubbing. “You do an impersonation of the old Dark Lord?â€
Well, Harry had been the one to kill him, so mocking him posthumously was only fair.
“One moment, laddie.†The bartender disappeared into a back room, then returned a few minutes later with a wizarding camera. “This I’ve got to see.â€
Harry blinked in confusion. The floor had turned to an ocean, and he was having difficulty thinking and surfing at the same time.
“The impression, lad. C’mon, there’s nobody else here but you and the other young’un.â€
Harry resented the implication that he too was a “young’un,†but the suggestion seemed like a decent idea. He certainly couldn’t come up with a reason to not do it.
He straightened his robes and slicked back his hair a bit. All of the villains needed greasy, slicked back hair, in Harry’s experience. He had to use his wand to make it sufficiently oily, but it was a necessary effect.
Standing proved to be more difficult. Well, no matter. Flight was part of the effect. Shame the roof was in the way. Harry glared at it.
The bartender blinked, then opened his mouth, looking as if to object. Which was convenient, because Harry was aiming a blasting curse at the roof and not looking at all in that direction.
The roof exploded off the bar in a shower of splinters and broken beams.
Harry floated up past the wreckage, fully into character now and ignoring the startled shouts of the bartender and a freshly-awakened Ron.
He stopped thirty feet above the bartender, a malicious green glow enveloping him. Modified Lumos, but very atmospheric.
His voice, amplified by Sonorous, boomed out into the bustling darkness of Diagon Alley, “I am Lord Voldemort, and you will kneel before me!â€
Lightning cracked dramatically.
Then the screaming started.
