Harry Potter And The Half Blood Pimp

Meanwhile in a Castle far far away-



“Perhaps we should send someone to see why he has not replied to our owls Dumbledore.” A stern looking woman with glasses inquired, a look of concern fleeting within her eyes.

“I will send Hagrid then, Professor McGonagall.” Dumbledore nodded sagely.

“Is that wise Albus?” McGonagall question, her stern look melting away into outright fear.

“I would trust Hagrid with my life.” Dumbledore only twinkled.



Back at the hotel



Harry out right kicked the door to room 301, peeling it off its hinges; Harry stepped into the room, dirty, tired, angry, and slightly psychotic. “Cynthia, we’re going, you’re finished.” Harry yelled before he realized there was a crumpled mass on the bed.

“OHHHH Hell fuckin no!Fat mutha’fucka don’ fucked the fuck up!” Harry screamed as he walked over to Cynthia, her face looking something like ground beef. “Shit shit shit.” Harry exclaimed as he checked her pulse, finding a faint one, he grabbed the phone, dialed 911, and walked out of the room in a hurry, rushing back to their car he jumped in and hauled ass home.



At a normal looking house on a very normal street



“So yu’r sayin that there were never a Harry Potter living here huh?” A gigantic man inquired as he stared down at a horse faced woman.

“That’s right, now leave.” She replied, trying to slam the door shut on the rather large man unsuccesfuly as he currently had his finger planted firmly against the door.

“This is the Dursley residence, right?” the giant asked again.

“Yes… now LEAVE before my husband gets home from work.” The horse-faced women implored. As if on queue, a rather normal looking automobile pulled into the driveway, piloted by a purple-faced man wearing a Grunning’s over coat.

“And who are you?” The purple-faced man growled as he excavated himself from his to small car.

“Hagrid, keeper of keys at Hogwarts, I’m here to pick up little Harry. You are Vernon Dursley, and you have Harry. At least, you had better.” Hagrid growled, trying to be as intimidating as possible.

“No idea what you are talking about. Be gone freak.” Vernon grumbled as he pushed his massive frame past Hagrid, a scowl on his face.

Hagrid could only glare as he stepped back from the door. He knew they had Harry; they must be trying to hide him. He would report to Dumbledore immediately, in the hopes that he could help. “If only I could just burst through this door, but the Ministry would have a field day with it.” Hagrid thought as he gripped the portkey Dumbledore had created for him.



In a normal looking apartment in the heart of London



Harry sat at the kitchen table of the apartment he had shared with SM, his elbows against the wood; his fingers slowly massaged his temples, but today was different, as tears streamed from his eyes freely. He had lost the only real father he had ever had, and his only true motherly figure lay in a hospital somewhere.

“Mutha fucka.” Harry whimpered, as he wiped at his eyes. “What the fuck am I gonna do? Why God?” He pleaded to the heavens, before spluttering, his mouth filled with a coppery taste.

Harry had never really prayed before, Silver had never really gone to church, but Harry had a pretty good hunch that whatever spirits out there watching him were currently reveling in the pain they had created.

Harry spent the rest of the night waiting at the kitchen table, calling the rest of the harem to attention when they all returned home. He had a lot of explaining to do, and he wanted to do it all at once.

“Girls, I gots us some bad news.” His lips twitched, as he bit back tears. “Silvers… hes… hes done got killed.” Harry breathed as tears slipped from his eyes. “Cynthia ain’t much better either. She’s in the hospital.”

The resounding gasp from the three women in attendance only solidified the harsh truth, Silver was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. His reverie interrupted by Macey, with dark skin and pink lips, she had always been one of the most popular girls in the stable, “So what we go’ina do?” fear obvious in her eyes.

“I’ma kill the mutha fucka’s who did Silver, and the fat fuck who took out Cynthia is gonna get a real nice surprise visit from me.” Harry growled, steeling his resolve to become the new Pimp King.

“Harry, you don’t even have a name yet, this isn’t going to work.” Victoria, was a blonde with a vocabulary as large as her chest, Harry never knew why she didn’t get a regular job.

“I got’s my name trick!” Harry shouted, “I ain’t gonna take no mo’ shit. The street’s are gonna damn well know, King Magick done come to claim his throne, im the heir to Silver’s dynasty, and I’m gonna lay down a new law.” His voice strong, steely, and filled with malice, he was truly an intimidating sight at the moment, for a boy so young.

That was the day Harry Potter died, and King Magick was borne. No longer was he Silvers sidekick, he ran the streets now, and he wasn’t going to take what happened lying down. He knew, if someone didn’t pay for what happened to Silver and Cynthia, he wouldn’t be accepted as the new King, as he would be viewed weak, so he began with the bottom, and started searching for the ones who caused him so much grief.

The general population of thugs who didn’t take King Magick seriously, found he was a force to be reckoned with on a stormy night only a week from after SM had passed away. As Harry sat in the Cadillac, only a few feet away from his harem as they huddled under an umbrella in skimpy out fits, he noticed a small red sports car pull up.

Taking note that Macey had approached the car, he abstained from counting his money, and watched in fascination as she began the verbal dance to finalize a deal. He couldn’t hear here, but he knew all the same, it was nothing but innuendo, double speak, and prices.

Then it happened, the stupid bastard in the little red sports car tried to yank her in through the window, and Harry was out of the Cadillac in a flash. The flash couldn’t have moved faster then Harry at that moment. His hand intertwining with the brass knuckles he used as a belt buckle, he was at the drivers side door of the car within moments, smashing his hand in-between Macey and into the face of her assailant.

Macey staggered back, a small cut over her cheek where the man had cut her with a razor blade, fear in her eyes. “Oh hell mutha fucken no!” Harry screeched as he yanked the man out of the car window, pummeling him repeatedly in the head with the brass knuckles clutched firmly in his grip. “No Mutha Fucka! It don’t be workin like that!” The man was dazed and on the floor, blood pouring from the wounds on his head, but Harry wouldn’t stop. He began stomping the man repeatedly, kicking, and punching him as he lay on the ground. He couldn’t even cuss coherently any more, it sounded something like “Mutha; fish; dick suckin; mutha trick;”

After Harry finally got his frustrations out on the man, he backed off, taking a moment to wipe the blood off of his hands on a clean piece of cloth on the John’s shirt. “Now then mutha fucka.” Harry spat, as he tried to straighten his suit. “Get back in this mutha fucken car.” He growled as he yanked the man up by his collar and threw him in sports car. The man tried struggling a bit, but Harry slapped him, ending his revolt. “Give me this mutha fuckin wallet.” Harry continued, yanking the mans wallet out of the passenger seat, “Now don’t let me see you round these parts no more, or next time, I will kill ya. Bitch ass mutha fucka.” Harry then slammed the door shut, and watched as the man peeled out of there swerving down the road.

“God damn mutha fuckin weirdos, how come these bitches can’t just pay they money, get they dick sucked, and get the fuck outa here.” Harry muttered to himself as he walked over to Macey, inspected her wounds, and then sent her back to work, after reassuring her that he was there to take care of her.

Harry could only smile as he walked past the cop car he had ran past when the John had attacked Macey, the cop only nodded as Harry gave him a curt wave, and then motioned for Victoria to give the officer a freebie. Harry knew, to really run the streets, he had to not only keep the John’s, gangstas, and other pimps happy, he had to keep the cops happy to, and with Harry starting to make waves in the way things are done, keeping the cops happy was going to be a big part of his plan.

(AN: In that scene, even though it’s raining, the weather is quite warm, think of it like a summer shower. Harry takes care of his girls, and isn’t going to make them work like that in cold weather.)







Albus Dumbledore was mad, madder then he had ever been before. “So Mr. Dursley, you are telling me, you have no idea what I am talking about when I speak of a Mr. Potter…?”

“That’s right, never heard of him.” Vernon Dursley replied, blissfully unaware that as he spoke to this barmey old man, the most powerful wizard alive was probing his mind.

“Mr. Dursley.” Dumbledore took a breath to gather his thoughts before he killed this man, “I know what you did. As it is, I am currently unable to kill you.”

Mr. Dursley visibly stiffened, as the old man sighed.

“As much pleasure as I would get out of it, I have nothing left to do but to find Harry, as I would do much less good for him if I were in Azkaban.” Dumbledore continued, ignoring the look of fear and puzzlement on Vernon’s face.

“How do you know he is even alive then, huh?” Vernon ventured, courage bolstered by the news that Dumbledore couldn’t kill him.

“You sir, are to stupid to understand.” Dumbledore spat as he stood up, a slightly surprised look on his face as the door to the Dursley residence flew open, a very flustered looking women with bubblegum pink hair stood in the doorway, he mouth gaping like a fish.

“SIR! Professor Dumbledore!” She breathed; her lungs gasping for air, as she must have ran a very long way, because the apparation wards were still intact around the house.

“Yes my dear Nymphadora?” Dumbledore serenely inquired?

Nymphadora Tonks visibly scowled at the use of her first name, before straightening herself, drawing in a large breath of air, and then blurting out, “Sir. I think we found him.”

“Really?” Dumbledore and Vernon inquired in unison. Vernon received a scowl from both Nyphadora and Albus for his troubles. “Where is he?” Albus questioned, anxiety filling his voice.

“That’s the bad news.” Tonks continued, “See, he had a run in with some dark wizards, we don’t know what happened.” Her face visibly fell as she informed Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard of all time, that his charge might well be dead.

“Take me to the scene.” Dumbledore pressed.

“Port key.” Tonks confirmed as Dumbledore reached out testily to the small shoe, anger evident on his features.

As they arrived inside a small hotel room, Dumbledore immediately noticed the white chalk marks visible in the bathroom. “Harry?” He asked, pointing in the room.

“No, just some panderer.” Tonks eased Dumbledore temporarily, “Harry was right here, but let me show you.” Tonks immediately reached into her pocket pulling a small pink stone, placing it into the middle of the room, she stepped back against the wall, allowing Albus room to accompany her.

Albus Dumbledore had been to many crime scenes in his day, but very few were ever high profile enough to use the recall stones. The recall stones channeled the aura’s of all individuals in the room from a certain point forward, allowing you to watch a “ghost” type creature reenact every thing that happened from the last point of high magickal use.

Albus knew a true dark wizard would cast wards to prevent the stones from tracking them, so it came as no surprise as he saw two hollow silhouettes, one with a knife sticking out of its leg, while another cast a spell on a ghostly visage of a young man with a rather lightning bolt shaped energy rift on his forehead.

“See Albus?” Tonks whispered, as she pointed at the boy. “I do believe that would be Harry, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, but…” Albus gasped as he watched the young boy leap out the window, then the energy faded, obviously the attackers had apparated.

“Don’t worry.” Tonks placed a hand on Albus’ shoulder, “No body was found, and we believe he landed on the awning just outside the window.”

“Well, that is definitely news, though whether this is good or bad, I cannot say yet.” Albus sighed as his mind churned over what little information he had.

“Well, at least he is alive, right?” Tonks offered, confused at Dumbledores reaction.

“Perhaps, but it leaves many questions unanswered, most importantly, why is he still alive?” at the incredulous look coming from Tonks he continued, “He is the boy who lived, and he just had a brush in with two very powerful dark wizards, yet, he made it out again.”

“I guess I see your point.” Tonks nodded.

Dumbledore felt at least 100 years older as he began to walk out of the room, his left hand occasionally rumored, the affects of stress beginning to take its toll on his aging body.



Another year passed, with no sign of the boy-who-lived, the magickal world was in chaos. There were many questions, and few answers on why the child was not at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore was under pressure to find Harry. Little did he know that Harry was currently cavorting with a member of the magickal community at the very moment Dumbledore was attempting to explain to the Wizengamot why Harry was not present at Hogwarts.



It was rare that Harry laughed, since he had transformed himself into “King Magick”, but he felt particularly comfortable around the odd man who showed up every Wednesday. He always smelled like whisky and cigarettes, but he always paid cash and had a new joke for Harry.

Though Harry thought he had a strange name, Ol’ Fletch as Harry had come to call him was nonetheless, a wonderful customer. He showed up, paid Harry in full up front, spent his 35 minutes with Macey, and then told a quick joke and was gone until the next Wednesday. It was like clockwork, and Ol Fletch always kept King Magick’s palms greased with crisp new pound notes.

That was all that ruled Harry’s life, the mighty pound note. He was raking in the money, and with Cynthia back in the stable and out of the hospital, Harry felt like his life was fairly complete. He had a little revenge to get on with, but at that point in his life, he was fairly content with his new title.



At the ministry of magick



“Prostitution is illegal Fletch.” Tonks chastised the old wizard as he sat in her cubicle in enchanted handcuffs. “We can’t keep bailing you out, the only way we can get you off, is if you turn in your panderer.”

“Now, I can’t be doing that.” Fletch grumbled.

“If you DON’T do that Fletch, they are gonna put your ass in Azkaban!” Tonks yelped as she slammer her hands onto her desk.

“They can just put me there then, I ain’t putting old KM in the slammer just because of the Minister.” Fletch hissed defiantly.

“Then we have no choice, you will be forced to help us.” Tonks lamented as she called in two other guards to administer a potion to fletch. She had always hated this part of the job, but if she didn’t sacrifice Fletchs panderer, she could truly ruin her ability to function as an agent of the Order of the Phoenix, where her true heart lay.