Disclaimer: I'm J.K Rowling.
Believe me?
I don't think so.
Damn Car
Warning: Be prepared for my randomness. Again, no offense to any blondes, homosexuals, and well…no offense to anyone who reads this. Keep in mind, this is a humor fic, but it doesn't necessarily reflect my opinions. Materials used in this is just be for comedic effect.
Though...I don't think this chapter will be THAT funny...I'll let you guys be the judge.
The guard patrolling Cells D-J walked with booming authority as he called out, "Alright, get up!"
Groans and swears called out in response. Ben smiled. This was a typical morning at London's penitentiary for the 25 year-old. Dad was wrong. This is the best job. Of course his father thought the opposite. As it is the same with every parent, James Cordon wanted his son to follow in his footsteps to become a chemical engineer. But truth was, Ben wasn't smart enough. Cs and Ds all through high school.
One day, while Ben was waiting for the tube to transport him to Wendy's, the place where he worked as a cashier, he spotted a lone rock next to his left foot. Feeling oddly curious, he bent down and examined it for a few minutes. Doing this had suddenly encouraged Ben to reflect on his life. What am I doing with my life? Do I want to count change forever? Do I want to ask "How may I help you" or "Want fries with that?" every single day of my life?
"No," he yelled out loud, causing a nun nearby to look at him alarmingly. With indomitable courage, he retraced his steps into the town, yelled for a taxi, and told the driver to escort him to the local police department.
And here he is today, acting as the babysitter of 20 grown men. God I love this job. Smiling to every convict he saw (which earned him a few birdies), he stopped at a cell with no letter. Reflecting on what his boss said to him yesterday, he remembered. This was the cell of that new smart-ass. Harry Popper? Porter? Ah, well. He seemed to cause a lot of uproar in the detectives' room.
Putting on a smile, he unlocked the cell with his keys. It was dark; no light is provided in the cell because of a suicide attempt involving electrocution that happened a long time ago. Ben had to squint just to see an outline. Suddenly he felt himself being pushed backwards. His back hit the cold, hard steel metal bars that separated the men from their freedom. He groaned from its impact.
"Get away from me!" His unknown pusher growled.
"Calm down, sir. I'm only here to take you down for breakfast."
"Should we trust him?" Popper/Porter/whatever whispered, though Ben wondered to whom. Unsurprisingly, no one answered.
"No, he might try to kill me!"
"No! No sir, I'm only escorting you," Ben tried to reason. "My name is Ben Cordon. I'm a security guard and I'm assigned to your cell."
A warm hand covered his mouth, preventing him from speaking. "Shut up! He's trying to speak." Ben's eyes widened, swiveling from left to right. What is he on? Who's speaking?
"So I should kill him." A muffle scream came from Ben.
"Really?"
The man seemed to be unsure of the speaker, wherever he/she was. Then, apparently deciding Ben was trustworthy, the man released him. He took a hold of Ben's hand and shook it profusely. And he smiled.
"Hello. My name is Harry. Nice to meet you. I'm going down to breakfast now."
"U-ugh…uhh…."
"Bye!" Harry gave Ben a cheerful wave and quickly left his cell. He smiled to himself, actually enjoying the act of schizophrenia. Now, to full his "neighbors"…
All Ben Cordon could do was run.
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"Greg…" Patricia called nervously, as she knocked on his office door. His voice called out in return. Taking a deep breath, Patricia stepped in, holding a manila folder with the name HARRY POTTER on it.
"Greg, I thought you should know something about this Harry Potter kid we're taking care of."
Greg briefly looked up from a report he was writing and then glanced back down. Harry Potter was a mystery alright. A kid, who seemingly has been missing for the past five years, a thief, and possibly a murderer, ends up in his jail. How convenient since this was the most important time in Greg's police career. He has been well aware that Arnold McDonald was retiring from his position as the Chief. The only good candidates were him and his arch-nemesis.
Bradley Feruton. Bastard. Indisputable arrogant, self-centered, boastful, all around jack ass-
"Greg!"
"You've been scowling at that paper for minutes! Is something up?"
"Nah, nothing. So, what about Potter?"
"It seems like he's schizophrenic."
WHAT? But he seemed perfectly fine yesterday! This news was unbelievable. He voiced his opinion.
"I know, I know. That's why I'm scheduling him for an appointment with Dr. Kern."
His ears perked. Dr. Kern…whoo, she's hot! Patricia could just read his mind and was unable to fight the monster of jealousy creeping below. She tried to deny magnetism to her closest partner for 7 years. For some reason, she found herself attracted to Greg's dry humor, his passion for fighting crime, and the adorable way his eyes twitch when he gets angry. But no. Greg was attracted to the blondes and sadly, she was a brunette.
"Greg."
"Erm…yeah! What?"
Patricia sighed, "Nothing." Throwing the files onto his desk (with a little more ferocity than intended), she turned and left his office.
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Harry grabbed a rotten apple as he moved down the breakfast line. He added a convulsing twitch just for an effect. His fellow jail mates distinctly slid down the line, making sure to get away from Harry. He stopped in front of a large lunch lady with 2 faces. Her first face was, to say in the kindest words, the cousin of Hephaestus. Her black eyes appeared crooked and were the color of a possessed human (think Supernatural). The lady was growing a mustache. Oh how nice.
Her second face was located at the corner of her lips. It had brown hair and was very large.
And she smiled. Got teeth?
"Here you go, sweeties," she said in a raspy tone.
Harry smiled and twitched again. He began to walk away. Making sure he was whispering loud enough, he began his act.
"Get a knife? Why?"
"To kill her?" The lunch lady looked up in alarm. The spoon that she was holding dripped of something that looked oddly like vomit. Harry also caught the attention of the man she was serving to.
"No, no, no, she's too pretty."
"Yes, sir. How about the man in front of her?"
Harry made a point of by staring intently at-he supposed- Fred. Fred jumped when he saw him.
"You're right. I'll kill him at night." Harry shrugged and grabbed the knife.
He felt like Kreacher.
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"Oh look who it is. The schizophrenic kid."
Harry glanced up from his lunch tray when he noticed the person's shadow. The man (Brett?) was bald and appeared to be about 6 feet, a few inches taller than Harry. On his left arm, he had a tattoo of a bloody sword. He reminded him of that steroid induced mini me. All he needed was a sailor's suit.
"I didn't know you knew such vocabulary. You could have been an English teacher," Harry said in a bored tone, forgetting about his schizophrenia. Being a person with impairments in the perception or expression of reality and social or occupational dysfunction is really really hard.
"Oh, he talks. Thought the only thing you could do was twitch."
"Well no. In order to twitch, I must breathe, and in order to breathe, my lungs and heart have to work. In order for my lungs and heart to work, my brain has to work. In order for my brain-"
A fat hand slammed in front of Harry's lunch tray. His rotten apple was thrown to the ground and a meaty boot squashed it to apple sauce. Harry looked up innocently,
"Yes?"
"Shut it!" Brett growled in Harry's ear.
"Shut what? My eyes? Are we playing 'Hide and Go seek'," He covered his eyes. "One, two, three…"
He felt himself being lifted from his chair. A hand was around his throat, and it doesn't take a genius to figure that Brett was trying to choke him.
"I said shut it. Now if you don't then I will kill you."
And I thought he'd play nice.
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Another guard was reading the newspaper when a shout was heard from the room next door. He immediately called for back up and ran to see the situation. A holoi polloi of men circled the new boy, Harry Potter and one of their old catches, Brett Johansen. The doors automatically locked themselves, holing all of the men inside the cafeteria.
Men yelled and shouted such things like "Go kill him, Brett!" or "He's gonna die!" It was becoming obvious that the guards would never be able to get through the crowd. No matter how much they pushed and yelled, their bats were useless against the murderers and robbers locked inside.
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"This isn't necessary, Brett!" Harry managed to say, his voice choked and sore.
"This isn't necessary," Brett mocked. "You sound like a nun. Innocent little boy. I wonder why you're in jail. What did you do? Steal candy from a baby?"
"Well, yessss...except I stole a car instead. Plus the murder charge..."
Not believing a word Harry said, Brett continued to laugh. Harry was getting a bit angsty. Without a word, he delivered a swift kick to his attacker's crotch. As expected, the man went down, releasing him.
Harry massaged his throat, glad to have his breathing ability back. But the "fun" wasn't over yet. Cronies, most of them reminding him of Malfoy's playmates, closed around him with menacing looks. Aw fuck.
"You're gonna pay, Potter." said the nearest (and ugliest, Harry thought) goon.
Harry smiled. "Sorry, don't have any money on me." And he leapt from his crouched position and swung his right leg around in a semicircular motion, striking with the front of his foot. Hephaestus collapsed to his knees, holding his face with both hands. Sensing he was at an advantage, Harry swung his left fist into the opponent's stomach, temporarily knocking the wind out of him.
Huh. I have to thank Remus for that. During the summer, since he was the "Chosen One', Remus Lupin decided to train Harry in defense and magic. Obviously, the five hour work-outs and intense dueling without wands had paid off. At first, Harry was as clumsy as Hephaestus; he ended up with bruises all over. Sadly, a majority was from Hermione. But after a few months, he got the hang of it.
On instinct, Harry turned around only to find himself face to face with a horde of men. And they looked pissed.
Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit. SHIT!
Like a regiment in the Revolutionary War, all of them charged at Harry, intending to give the teenager what he deserves. Harry was afraid that he would meet the same fate as his apple.
Now, Harry was exactly smart in this situation. Instead of apparating, like a usual wizard would do, he decided running on top of the tables was his safest bet. After all, when you're about to be killed you wouldn't just take a seat and ponder the elaborate escape plans.
So there he went, jumping and leaping across this table and then that table. But the men just ran through like Macks on a highway. Harry was cornered, literally having his back against the wall and waiting for his death. He closed his eyes, wondering how the bloody hell he ended up here.
Then suddenly, he had a revelation. He was bloody Harry Potter. Huh. Who would have thought that? He was the one who fought Voldemort at the age of one. He was the one who retrieved the Sorcerer's Stone after nearly being killed by his twitchy professor. He battled against a diary version (as ridiculous as it sounds) of Voldemort at 12 years of age. And he---
Aw, hell. Time to meet your maker.
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"Holy shit, look at him go."
"Ouch, that's gotta hurt."
"Hehe, man that's gonna show tomorrow."
The captain of the guards walked out from his office, his gaze fixated on his clipboard. He didn't notice his workers until he heard them cheer. Bewildered, he looked around for a small television. Usually his employees cheered only when a football game or a wrestling match was on. However, there was neither in sight. The captain stood there staring until he finally looked past his buffoons and saw a fight currently in session. A teenager, it seems, was beating the shit out of the other convicts...and the guards are doing nothing about it.
His face turned a deep shade of purple as he marched behind his nearest officer. He hit the guy with his clipboard and that got his attention.
"Git yo ass in there!"
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Bodies of unconscious fools were scattered around the room. Many were sporting bruises. Some were starting to wake. The rest…out cold. Harry stood with the one who started all, planning to knock the daylight out of him.
"Stop!!!"
Shit. Harry released his hold on Brett and loosened his grip on the plastic knife. Greg Sanders was holding a gun in his hands and looked ready to shoot.
"You're in deep shit."
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Greg watched in confusion as the boy dropped his knife, but still had a firm grip on Brett.
"I can't stop. He made me!"
Now Greg really believed Harry was schizophrenic.
"Let him go, Potter."
"No...He says to hurt Brett and that's what I'm doing."
"Hey let go of me man!" Brett pleaded. "No!" Harry answered back, aiming a punch right to his nose. Brett learned never to mess with a schizophrenic kid.
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Harry sat in front of the two-way mirror, occasionally twitching and looking over his shoulders. He was aware of the two officers watching from behind the mirror but they weren't.
Greg stood with his arms crossed over his chest. The psychologist was expected to appear some time tomorrow, but right now, it was the police departments turn to "analyze" the "patient".
However, the two found out their task would not be that easy. After every question asked, Harry would either a)twitch, b)Say "He made me.", or c) stare as if Greg was the most fascinating creature (which he was not) in the whole world.
Damnit, Sanders thought with a slight edge of bitterness.
"Watch it boy. If I was alone with you, I would have had my way with you."
"Have his way with me? Preposterous, what is wrong with him?" Harry hissed out loud. Greg looked at his mates with a confused expression. None of them had ever dealt with a schizophrenic person; therefore it was alittle uncomfortable.
"Ah yes, another gay bastard. Yes, yes, I'll kill him tonight."
"And how will you do that? You'll be in your cell." His officer smirked.
Harry let out his best crazy cackle. Greg stumbled back in surprise.
"Lock your doors tonight, Sanders. We're coming." he sang.
Alrighty then. All I could say is review if you have time.
And...be prepared for Dramatic!Harry...hehehe this is gonna be fun.