Now I'm imagining a GO/HP crossover, where Adam and Harry meet and commiserate over their respective burdens of being so shockingly powerful.
"Erm, so if you don't believe in something, it doesn't exist anymore? said Harry to the blond guy who looked like a much more butch version of Draco Malfoy.
"That's the way it generally works," averred the Antichrist after taking a swing of bitters. "'Cept not with the Inland Revenue. Or Benny Hill."
"Nothing works against the Inland Revenue," Harry agreed gloomily. "No use my telling them I'm a wizard; I have to fork it up same as everyone else."
A speculative look suddenly came and went over Harry's face. An idea had just come to him, quite possibly the result of overwork, but more likely the result of three straight ciders in rapid succession. (Adam was privately amazed at Harry's ability to consume Woodpecker cider as if it were lemonade. Adam's own personal cider limit was five and a half, as he'd discovered one rainy afternoon a few months earlier.)
Anyway, Harry had this idea, but he knew he'd have to be careful about how he expressed it. He'd just have to hope that Adam was more pissed on bitters than he'd been letting on. (Luckily for Harry, he was. But that's another story.)
"I'll bet even Voldemort has trouble with the Inland Revenue," Harry said, as casually as if he hadn't just spent several agonizing microseconds debating exactly what he would say.
"Voldemort? Who's that?"
Harry pushed the fringe away from his face. "Bastard who gave me this," he replied, letting Adam see his scar. "I was a baby at the time. He'd killed Mum and Dad, then came after me."
"Fucking bastard would kill a family?!" Adam said, scandalized. "Fucker doesn't deserve to exist, he doesn't."
And suddenly, Harry no longer had a scar on his forehead...
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"Erm, so if you don't believe in something, it doesn't exist anymore? said Harry to the blond guy who looked like a much more butch version of Draco Malfoy.
"That's the way it generally works," averred the Antichrist after taking a swing of bitters. "'Cept not with the Inland Revenue. Or Benny Hill."
"Nothing works against the Inland Revenue," Harry agreed gloomily. "No use my telling them I'm a wizard; I have to fork it up same as everyone else."
A speculative look suddenly came and went over Harry's face. An idea had just come to him, quite possibly the result of overwork, but more likely the result of three straight ciders in rapid succession. (Adam was privately amazed at Harry's ability to consume Woodpecker cider as if it were lemonade. Adam's own personal cider limit was five and a half, as he'd discovered one rainy afternoon a few months earlier.)
Anyway, Harry had this idea, but he knew he'd have to be careful about how he expressed it. He'd just have to hope that Adam was more pissed on bitters than he'd been letting on. (Luckily for Harry, he was. But that's another story.)
"I'll bet even Voldemort has trouble with the Inland Revenue," Harry said, as casually as if he hadn't just spent several agonizing microseconds debating exactly what he would say.
"Voldemort? Who's that?"
Harry pushed the fringe away from his face. "Bastard who gave me this," he replied, letting Adam see his scar. "I was a baby at the time. He'd killed Mum and Dad, then came after me."
"Fucking bastard would kill a family?!" Adam said, scandalized. "Fucker doesn't deserve to exist, he doesn't."
And suddenly, Harry no longer had a scar on his forehead...