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Thinking in Little Green Boxes

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Summary: The ever friendly and cuddly Merc with a Mouth discovers a baby named Harry on his doorstep.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Harry Potter > Non-BtVS/AtS Stories > Theme: Comedy
Marvel Universe > X-Men > Non-BtVS/AtS Stories
DireSquirrelFR154985,87746596458,40115 Dec 093 Sep 12No

It can't be true! It just can't be! Harry won?

“Tommy, before we begin, there’s something I need to tell you,” Harry said before the duel began. “What did Dumbledore tell you about your father?”

“My father is dead and it no longer matters,” snarled the dark wizard.

“But it does,” Harry said ominously holding out a dramatic hand as lightning struck behind him, silhouetting him amongst the gravestones. “You see Tommy, I am your father!”


That was pretty much the last thing they expected to come out of James Potter’s son’s mouth. The Death Eaters looked at Harry and then they looked at Voldemort and then they looked at each other. It was pretty much general confusion. Voldemort looked at the boy with an equally incredulous look.

“That’s not true,” Voldemort said. “That’s impossible.”

“Ah, but it is true,” Harry said, still posing dramatically. “Due to a massive crossover event involving all the X-Books, the Avengers and the Fantastic Four, oh, and a time turner; I was thrust back in time to assist the Invaders in defeating Hitler and the Third Reich. There on shore leave I made sweet, sweet love to your mother before I returned to my time. ‘Thrust’ is such a cool word. It always sounds dirty, but most of the time it isn’t. Funny, huh? Search your feelings, you know this to be true.”

“How can this be?” asked Voldemort, even more confused by the sincerity in the teen’s voice.

“And Lucy is your sister!” Harry said before pointing an ominous finger in Malfoy’s direction. Harry shrugged. “I wanted to name her Geraldine so we could have Tom and Jerry, but your mother vetoed it. She was a very forceful woman.”

Voldemort shared a long look with Malfoy, as if to search for common features. This was rather impossible considering Tommy’s current serpentine appearance. But the statement finally processed.

“Wait a minute,” said Voldemort in a moment of sudden realization. “I was born before the Second World War!”

He looked back, but Harry was already running away.

“After him you fools!”

Tommy and a couple of friends stalked off in the direction that Potter had escaped. A few others tried to follow, but ‘Goyle’s’ big hand stopped them short.

“You heard the Dark Lord! It’s time to kill!”

Still in his mask, ‘Goyle’ shook his head. “Nope, not time for that.”

“Then what time is it?” the Death Eater asked incredulously. ‘Goyle’ threw off his outfit to reveal an orange, stony Thing. Ben Grimm pounded one stone fist into his palm with a big wide grin.

“Clobberin’ time.”

The Death Eaters that managed to escape would never really know what happened. All they knew was that one guy was made of stone, another guy started on fire, trapping them in a ring of flames. They tried to apparate out, but found their wands broken by a person in an invisibility cloak (or at least that’s what they thought) while another wrapped them up with elasticity charms (or at least that’s what they thought).

“Aveda Kadavra!” one of them screamed, sending out a green bolt that impacted on the Thing’s chest. He looked down at it, rubbed where it hit and then punched the offending minion.

“Holy $#!T!” bellowed the Death Eater a moment before his face met fist.

Flying above them, Johnny Storm scratched his head.

“This is a little anticlimactic isn’t it?”

On the other side of the graveyard, Harry was running for his life, reloading his doorknobs and looking for a phonebooth. No one would ever be able to explain why he was looking for a phonebooth. Instead he found himself trapped between a rock and a hard cider place with nowhere to run.

“Foolish prat! Did you really think you could escape me?” Voldemort demanded.

“Do you expect me to talk?” asked Harry with an obviously fake Scottish accent.

“NO! Mister Potter, I expect you to die!” he cackled a moment before cutting himself off. “Wait, why did I say that?”

And that was when Harry kicked him in the crotch. Ends up the pain isn’t that bad if you don’t have anything down there, and considering Tommy was mostly snake now, those organs were internal.

Harry was cuffed upside the head.

“Throw him to the ground!” commanded Tommy. His death eater minion didn’t exactly throw Harry, so much as drop him gently. Tommy was not amused. “Honestly! You can’t even throw someone to the ground correctly! Let me show you how to do it.”

Harry was picked up and quickly, and forcefully, thrown down to the ground. “Next time do it like that, you idiot!”

“Uh, sure thing My Lord,” the incompetent death eater agreed.

“So hard to find good help these days,” Harry said.

“You have no idea,” bemoaned Voldemort. He was about to finish the boy, but he was interrupted by an earthy voice from the shadows.

“Never fear!” the voice said a moment before a blue and red Deadpool stepped out of the shadows. “Wonder-Mutant-Dad is here!”

“Golly! Wonder-Mutant-Dad, I just knew you’d save me! Gee Whiz!” Harry said, putting on his best Jimmy Olson impression. Pixie, having just landed, simply shook her head.

“He isn’t really a mutant,” she said sadly. With a protracted sigh, she waved her hand and suddenly everything changed.

Voldemort found himself surrounded by plasticene porters with looking glass ties. Newspaper taxies appeared on the shore (which also appeared) and seemed to be waiting to take him away. Wordlessly, Voldemort staggered off after a girl with kaleidoscope eyes.

“Aren’t you gonna shoot him?” Pixie asked Wonder-Mutant-Dad. The paternal “superhero” wasn’t paying attention, but muttered something about techno-organic viruses, suntan lotion, skimpy underwear and someone named “dayspring.” She shook her head again. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

That would later prove to be a wise choice.

By the time Pixie’s dust had worn off, Voldemort was nowhere to be seen. Harry looked at Pixie, who shrugged. Harry looked at Wonder-Mutant-Dad, who grinned, pulled up his mask and ate a pancake that he had stashed…somewhere before the fight. Harry shrugged and started walking back to the abandoned portkey.

On their way, they found about thirty unconscious death eaters and the Fantastic Four. “Hey Harry,” Johnny Storm greeted. “Just give us a sec and we’ll hand over these guys to SHIELD.”

“Thanks!” Harry said.

“Don’t forget to take their wands this time,” Pixie put in. “And you might want to strip them too, just to be on the safe side.”

“…why would we want to do that?” Susan Storm-Richards asked hesitantly.

“It might be gross, but it’ll keep ‘em from porting away,” Pixie said with a perky grin.

“Fair enough,” Sue said. She looked at her husband. “Go ahead.”

He wore a look that shifted between disgust for the deed and marital duty. A sharp look from his wife won out and the Unfortunate Mr. Fantastic was responsible for stripping all the prisoners.

Harry and Pixie were hailed as co-champions of the tri-quad-multi-Wizard tournament. Pixie gave a rousing speech that was oddly moving and overly political. This was probably responsible for her being elected as the next Minister of Magic, which was weird, because the Wizarding World didn’t have elections.

Harry, on the other hand, just bowed and thanked the Academy. The majority of people there didn’t get the joke and just assumed it was the name of his magic school. He took a bow and started wandering off stage before he remembered something.

“Oh, and there was this guy named Tommy there,” he mentioned with a snap of his fingers. “Called himself something else, dork lard, or Rodent of Death. Tried to kill me and Pixie and Wonder-Mutant-Dad.”

“Rodent of death?” Dumbledore asked with pure, unadulterated, unabridged confusion.

“De-Mort—isn’t that French for ‘of death?’ and voles are rodents, aren’t they?” Harry asked. “I could be wrong. Science is changing so much these days.”

He shrugged, walked off stage, found a dark corner for him and Pixie to celebrate by snogging each other’s faces off. Not literally mind you, only in the metaphorical, slang, proverbial sense. That is, of course, assuming there’s an appropriate proverb about snogging.

It took the rest of the viewers a long moment to decipher the cryptic statement.

“Voles, death,” pondered the headmaster. Suddenly his eyes grew wide. “VOLDEMORT IS BACK?”


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