Batch

06-25-2014 -- Am in a weird Harry Potter world that I think is based on a fan-fic I rather disagreed with right before I went to bed. Sort of fan-fic by message board, with multiple people posting the story, and each chapter not only advancing the story, but changing things from earlier in the story, rewriting it on the fly. Friends are now enemies, are now friends again. Then Dumbledore sets in motion a ritual which is supposed to cause Harry to be married in x years and y hours, but he messes something up. Harry is immediately plunged underwater, and is now scheduled to be married in x hours and y minutes. Harry will be married tonight at something like 11:20. And instead of a bond between two people, it is a sort of odd loyalty bond between up to 20 people, depending on how many of the 20 are able to reach the location on time, as they are compelled to. Nice job, Dumbles!

So far the gold and red counter floating in the upper corner stands at four, for the four Weasley children that were already here with their parents, but more will likely be arriving shortly. Then suddenly a new writer takes over, and I am Harry Potter, in a different universe, while the author is paraphrasing Jo's text, but subtly (or not so subtly) changing it so that the Dursleys move from being quite mean and slightly physically abusive, to horribly mean and horribly abusive, physically. I have run away from the Dursleys and am hiding in the muggle world. Soon I am a 20-year-old Harry Potter pulling a security shift at a weird cross between a British Heritage site and an Orlando Paving plant. It is the middle of the night on a holiday along the lines of Memorial day, and I am somehow asleep on the floor of the control tower.

I am clad in only a pair of tighty whities, as I wake suddenly and am trying to scramble into clothes as I discover there are people wandering around the grounds. I am soon dressed and interacting with them, explain how there is only security here on holiday weekends, and how we help to preserve and protect the heritage of the Boy-Who-Lived, without ever letting it slip that I AM the Boy-Who-Lived. Strange, fun stuff.