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SIYE Time:4:14 on 19th March 2024
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Speculations: What Every Wizard Wants
By Spenser Hemmingway

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Category: Alternate Universe, Potter’s Affairs Challenge 2008-4
Characters:All, All
Genres: Comedy, Humor, Romance
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG
Reviews: 23
Summary: ** Winner of Best Overall in the “Potter’s Affairs” Challenge **
Thornton Wilder utilized the line in his The Matchmaker (aka Hello Dolly!): "Money is like manure; it's not worth a thing unless it's spread around encouraging young things to grow." Harry and Ginny think it is indeed just like the cow pies, but for entirely different reasons. Everyone else has great ideas for applying the fertilizer--but who's right?
Hitcount: Story Total: 9327



Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work.



Author's Notes:
At the time of Deathly Hallows publication I had written and posted perhaps two dozen short stories and three book-lengths. Naturally they were my guess as to what would occur. Overnight though (the night I stayed up to first buy and then read that seventh volume) they all became Alternative Universe works. Nowhere is this more apparent than in my softhearted refusal to kill anyone off.

Also very obvious was my creation of the character Spenser, the American exchange student at Hogwarts. He has provided perspective, an outlet for missing moments, an excuse for my non-British writing style and a good opportunity for some more amusing dialogue—especially with Luna. Please forgive me where sentimentality and mischief overrules canon. I’ve dug myself a deep hole…but hope to be in China for the Olympics.

The Ballad of Jed Clampett was written by Paul Henning in 1962. Jerry Scoggins performed The Beverley Hillbillies theme, accompanied by bluegrass artists Flatt and Scruggs. You knew I had to slip in a song parody.




ChapterPrinter


Speculations: What Every Wizard Wants

By Spenser Hemmingway


“Money often costs too much.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Wit beyond measure is Man’s greatest treasure.” Rowena Ravenclaw



The Daily Prophet
Retractions
(page sixteen)



The Daily Prophet is one of Europe’s oldest and most prestigious publications. We pride ourselves upon the reliability of our news sources, the exhaustive, thorough methodology of our writers, and the consistent, almost phenomenal accuracy of our stories. Sometimes, however, slight irregularities are inadvertently published, and we feel it is our duty to clarify matters:

The entire student body of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has not been slaughtered with their entrails spread over the Firth of Clyde while being cursed by a roving band of Tasmanian pastry chefs. The actual casualty count from the Battle of Hogwarts is substantially less, and the confirmation of exact numbers from the Ministry is pending.

Reports of the government’s bestowing monetary compensation, special privileges, and various awards upon Harry Potter, to include the Order of Merlin, the Order of the Garter from Her Majesty, and the S.I.Y.E. Challenge Trophy cannot be confirmed though the Daily Prophet’s independent Ministerial source. Said janitor has, in fact, been discharged for mopping under the influence.

The recently reported arranged marriage between the Chosen One, Harry Potter, and Princess Leslie of Freedonia has proven to be false. That country’s London embassy, in fact, explains how at the completion of certain medical procedures, currently taking place in Croatia, their palace will announce Prince Leslie’s engagement to American movie starlet Brittany Syllicone.

Author and contributing columnist Rita Skeeter apologizes for mistakes made in her recently published The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. A semicolon was erroneously omitted in the third sentence, fifth paragraph of chapter twelve. Also, the late Professor Dumbledore’s goldfish’s name was Mortimer not Manfred. Miss Skeeter regrets these small slips in an otherwise stellar book. On a side note; the author has announced the onset of work with the much-anticipated Harry Potter: The Sunset Years. Publication of the multivolume expos is expected to be completed by next Tuesday (see complete story page three).

Enrico Caruso’s ghost’s performance of The Flying Dutchman at Cushworm Hall will take place at 8:00 PM Saturday not Friday as originally posted.

*****



Come and listen to my story ‘bout a boy named Harry.
Brave young Wizard and his best girl Ginny.
Tangles one day with an evil Dark lord,
Then the country jumps up and slaps down some reward.

Galleons that is…
Silver Sickles…
Chocolate frogs…



The war had ended less than forty-eight hours before. Celebrations throughout the British Isles, all Europe in fact, had ignited nearly the moment Snakepuss hit the dirt. The funerals–the memorial services–had been initiated almost as quickly as the revelry, and not a few people had complained of this rush to set aside the fallen before they were barely cold. Security concerns were cited however, and these were legitimate. Residual Death Eater activity remained, usually coming from those who didn’t accept Voldemort’s passing (he had supposedly bitten the dust once before). It would take time before large gatherings could be deemed safe. Naturally, this wisdom didn’t seem to apply to the enormous impromptu shindigs erupting springing up everywhere.

The precautions were taken seriously at Hogwarts though. Both the Ministry of Magic and the Board of Governors recommended (which meant insisted) that the students be kept there for an additional few weeks after the battle to ensure safe transport to their respective homes. A number of concerned parents objected to this, as you would expect, but most seemed to understand it.

After a forced confinement at school during the past year’s holidays, all of us students were really the least happy with the whole situation. We were, if truth be told, almost rebellious when told that, to keep idle hands occupied, the entire student body would be enlisted to help with repairs to the castle and, incredibly enough, some classes would resume. Not surprisingly, many of us young scholars found excellent reasons not to appear in the various classrooms, the most prominent of which was the need to sleep in every morning.

Now sometimes a nice bed will feel even more wonderful than could ever possibly be expressed with a good ballpoint quill. That was exactly what Harry was experiencing. It was as if he had been enveloped in the perfect mattress and bedding. Both really were the same ones that he had drawn so many years before inside his Gryffindor dormitory room. That morning, however, the sun beams shining upon his bed brought with them a big, bright, wonderful world. It was one of the first new days in recent memory without the threat of Voldemort and his merry band of mutant stamp collectors.

Considering the exhaustion that permeated his body–no doubt the match of everyone involved in the fight–Harry was slightly amazed that he was actually awake. Even so, he smiled slightly, shifted his weight just a tad, and decided it was most definitely a moment to be relished.

“Now that’s what I call a pillow,” Ginny whispered as she nuzzled into his shoulder a bit more. She kept her eyes closed, appreciating all of it as much as Harry was.

“I’m so glad to be of service Miss. Has your mum been in to check on us again, or do you think she’ll keep sending the house-elves around every hour?”

“It’s hard to say Harry. I’ve been asleep too. She trusts us though, and we are fully dressed. I haven’t worn pajamas in days. Hmm…I wonder who got our shoes off.”

Harry gave the girl a soft kiss on the forehead, closed his eyes again and released a quiet, contented sigh. All was right with the world finally he decided. It was over. No more hiding his feelings for Ginny. No more Dark Wizards trying to wreck his day. There was just, without a doubt, a fantastic future ahead for the two to discover. Harry also knew he was in no hurry to find out where it would lead them.

“Are you going to bother going to Professor Flitwick’s lecture on horseshoe charms Ginny? I understand he pre-assigned a three-parchment-roll essay to be turned in before the class.” Harry was only half serious.

“Mmm…this bed feels too nice. ‘I’m sorry Professor. I was locked in a broom closet by some mischievous pixies. Really…a Slytherin ate my homework.’ Think Mum and Dad will let me camp out here again tonight?”

Crack! Crack! Before Ginny could get a response, two house-elves, whom Harry and she knew to personally work for Professor McGonagall, appeared at the foot of the bed.

“Beanie and Cecil most embarrassed to be intruding on private moment for great Harry Potter and pretty Wheezy.”

“I wish they would stop calling me that. Dobby got them started.” Regardless, Ginny giggled and blushed at the compliment, but not as red as Harry was just then.

“No, it’s not what you think!” Harry stammered as he sat bolt upright and pulled the thin quilt off them both. “Uhm…what do you think? We were just tired and wanted some… Hold on. Did Molly–did Ginny’s mum send you here?” Their puzzled looks told Harry that the house-elves didn’t even know the woman.

“Good Auror…new Minister Shacklebolt asked us to bring message,” the one on the left explained. “Strange little man barrister must speak with Harry Potter immediately.”

Harry rubbed his face, unsuccessfully trying to dispel the remaining fatigue and rising frustration. Ginny and he sat up straighter, moving their legs off the bed, and she handed him his glasses from the nightstand.

“Wonderful! Lovely! I’m no doubt being sued by the families of those Death Eaters. Does the Wizarding world have ambulance chasers?” The joke was lost on the house-elves.

“Cecil is confused,” the same elf continued. “The man downstairs is here to give Harry Potter his inheritance and estates.”

*****


“ Good morning Luni!” I called out to her in as pleasant a voice as two sleepless nights permitted. Despite her heroic role in the final battle, she once again sat alone at one of the end tables to the rear of the Great Hall. The rest of her house still seemed to be holding the girl at a cautious distance. “How’s my favorite Ravenclaw this morning?”

“Brandon was transferred to St. Mungo’s last night, and Kitty went with him Spenser.”

“Hey there girl, I was talking about… Ah wait. You got me again, didn’t you?” Luna and I had been best friends since about two minutes after we’d met, and yes, she most certainly does have a sense of humor. “Luna, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask… Whoa Mr. Weasley! What’s going on?”

“Sorry! Can’t talk now!”

He was moving past us almost as fast as one of his sons might at the sound of a dinner bell. I literally had to jump out of his way. Close behind him was Percy Weasley and two extremely tall men with black hair and Vandyke beards.

“Now what do you suppose that was about?” I asked no one in particular. Wait for it. Wait for it.

“Oh, it’s so obvious Spenser. They’re here for an emergency meeting of the Society to Prevent Cruelty to Purple-Beaked Slabstouts. I’m worried that some may have been injured with the attack.”

“Now you’re being silly Luna. You know Hagrid evacuated the rest of those critters to the Dutch Alps the Wednesday before last.”

“Then all of them must be meeting about the flock of flying butter clams we… Good morning Professor McGonagall.”

“Good morning, good morning, good morning!” The headmistress was walking past as quickly as the first group had. Close behind her came two more men (I think they were men) who could easily be described as being the exact opposites of Mr. Weasley’s shadows. These were tiny, bald, clean-shaven and as close to toads as anyone I’d ever seen. Both seemed to be balancing steaming mugs of what appeared to be strong coffee as they trotted along.

The Royal Stained Glass Preservation Association?” I asked without thinking.

“Naturally Spenser,” Luna softly…hesitantly replied. She was as curious as I was.

Abandoning her untouched breakfast for the time being, Luna stood then and motioned for me to follow her through the large open doors. One hung there by just a single hinge, no doubt blown in by a strong spell bolt. The entourage had moved on, but we did see another gentleman in a fuchsia suit and matching bowler propped under his arm pass us by. He couldn’t wear the hat with the bloody bandage in place on the side of his head. The man was obviously not happy.

Several paces back however, with a big smile on his face, stood Britain’s new acting Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt. Beside him were the requisite government cronies, as well as a pair of somewhat familiar house-elves. Only Shacklebolt seemed to be in a good mood. He spotted Luna and me, nodded in a friendly manner, and then turned and headed back up the stairs.

“What do you think that was all about?” Luna asked this time and without her characteristic follow-up suggestion.

“It seems that Harry has suddenly become far, far wealthier than anyone could possibly have imagined before now. I would wager it has something to do with that.”

We turned to see Seamus, Ron, Hermione and Remus Lupin who had been the one speaking to us. All four had expressions somewhere between amusement and sincere concern. The latter was especially evident on Hermione’s face.

“Uhm, good morning Professor (he continued to deserve the title in my books). Say, aren’t you supposed to be…”

“Dead Mr. Hemmingway? I’ve heard the joke more than a few times now, and quite frankly I’m exceptionally tired of these literary agents suggesting we embellish our version of the final battle–the war in fact. The first funeral was almost for the Tonks family’s elderly aunt when she came to attend Dora’s service yesterday, and she found my wife very much alive as well. I would appreciate it if you would refrain from…”

“I was asking–aren’t you supposed to be having little Theodore’s christening tonight? Harry’s the godfather, although he looks absolutely nothing at all like Brando.” I smiled then to help make certain he wouldn’t feel embarrassed about his jumping to conclusions. Remus grinned as well, and then started laughing at the mistake. “By the way, I’ve always wondered something. Sirius Black was cast as Harry’s own godfather, but who’s his godmother?”

Remus took a few more seconds to finish his laugh. “She’s…she’s a very nice Muggle woman named Joanne something-rather. She was a great friend to both James and Lily and is in point of fact herself an aspiring writer. Maybe we should encourage her to produce Harry’s biography and…employ that very embellishment I mentioned. The Muggles might enjoy the ending a bit more, and we, the dead, could acquire a little privacy.”

Everyone’s chuckling said we approved of the idea if Remus was serious. No not everyone. All at once, Hermione was being distant and displayed a troubled face that went beyond our continued exhaustion. Ron noticed it at the same moment I did.

“Hey uhm…is anyone up for some breakfast?” he suddenly asked. “Spenser, we’ll explain everything that’s happening upstairs–-at least what we know. I reckon the rest is just pure speculation.”

Ron was willing to bring me into the story? I would have thought he’d want to change the subject, if that was what was bothering Hermione.

*****


& #9835; Well the first thing you know the kid’s a zillionaire.
The bean-counters say “Son, put your money there.”
They say, “That there Burrow ain’t where you want to be!
Live the high life Harry, sans Ginny Weasley!”

Solid gold toilet seats …
Chauffeured broomsticks…
No red hair or freckles…



“Harry, you shouldn’t have done that to the lawyer,” Percy told him in a barely restrained voice.

“He had it coming! Suggesting I find a girlfriend from a more socially prominent family? Then demanding that Ginny sign a prenuptial agreement? She’s sixteen-years-old still, and three days ago our relationship was a secret!”

“A very open secret by now Harry,” Arthur Weasley told him with a sympathetic tone.

Looking about the Gryffindor Common Room, memories flashed into Arthur’s head of when he, in fact, was courting Molly there. He glanced over at Ginny and offered her a slight smile as a reminder that her mother and he had long before approved of the match. When Harry had trouble sleeping following the battle, Molly’s objections to Ginny joining him in his room had been just the expected show. Besides having the roommates as chaperones (she hadn’t known, at first, how they had opted to give the couple their privacy), Harry was such a gentleman that it was comical.

“Harry this is serious,” Percy continued. “You are within ninety days of your eighteenth birthday, where you will be Muggle legal as well as Wizard. The remainder of your inheritance has begun to be transferred to you. As I understand, it’s considerable. Decisions must be made. Financial management must be obtained.”

“Ginny can administer my affairs. She’s brilliant with all that. Remember the joke shop’s first summer? Fred and George are incredible businessmen, inventors and salesmen, but Ginny did the books and was the only thing that kept them from going under. Have you forgotten those twelve pallets of pink wrapping paper George almost purchased? Neither knew a ledger from a Quidditch mitt.”

“I can’t do it Harry. There’s school, and Gringotts probably won’t deal with such a young Witch, especially with your incredibly vast holdings. I’m certain the Muggles involved would have a fit at the sight of me. You need some professional help.”

“Ginny is absolutely right Harry,” Percy said then. “There is also no way the Ministry will accept a Hogwarts student, capable as she may be, overseeing all the awards and financial recompense to which you’re entitled and will soon be made to accept–spoils of war so to speak.”

“What? They expect me to accept war booty?

“Compensation Harry…just compensation, although a very…an incredibly generous amount. Professor McGonagall has the government representatives in her office now, and they will need to speak with you as well this morning,” Percy continued. “You should also meet with the two financial advisors Dad and I brought here. They are associated with, and highly recommended by, your legal representatives.”

“My legal representatives?” Harry almost screamed in a higher-pitched voice than he intended.

“Harry the firm of Axlepuff, Butternult, Crayfish, Doubledare, Ernstwyle, Fingersnap, Guldern, Hopperclod, Ingerthud, Jumpclaim, Kleptoe, Lumpenthroat, Miserluver, Numchuck, Overunder, Poopermill, Quitpushin, Raisonberry, Soapblower, Tangotoot, Underover, Vortextile, Xasparater, Yukyuk and Zookisser–Wizards at Law, Limited, is a very old and very honest partnership, and it does have your best interests at heart.”

“What…what? Mr. Weasley, please don’t ever try to repeat that list again sir. You’ll hurt yourself,” Harry told him. “I also doubt any of those people really have hearts–they’re lawyers.”

“Potter…Harry that is…I’ll have you know, I intend to study law now that I’ve resigned from the Ministry.”

“Percy, you’re on probation in the heart department yourself. You may need to dress like a tin man if you hope to follow on in the legal profession.” Ginny smiled brightly at her big brother though, and saw Percy returned it in kind. All had been forgiven if not forgotten between him and the rest of the family. “Now if you will excuse us; Harry promised me a morning walk by the lake. The number-crunchers, legal-eagles, and shylocks will have to wait.”

Harry gave Ginny a kiss on the cheek to press their case, took her hand and, without another word, led the girl out through the portal. A few seconds later, an again exasperated Percy threw his hands into the air and stormed out the door himself.

Now, alone in the Common Room, a weary Arthur Weasley moved to sit by the fire in an old, fondly-remembered chair (he was amazed it was still there after so many years). Staring into the flames, the man began to allow his mind to wander off, half daydreaming and half musing over the discussion he would soon have to have with Harry.

*****


“So, you see, Harry won’t just have the gold his parents and Sirius left him, there are also a number of houses besides Grimmauld Place, including his grandparents’ manor in Yorkshire, a Spanish castle, and a ski chalet in Austria. There’s a private Caribbean Island as well, a very nice two-mast yacht, and interests in Muggle factories, mines, commercial shipping, tattoo parlors and a chain of frozen yogurt stores.” Remus paused here to gauge everyone’s reactions before continuing. “Now I’ve been told the Ministry is going to award Harry an amount in Galleons almost matching his personal fortune. Is there something wrong Hermione?”

Both she and Ron stiffened at the question that someone had finally decided to ask. The girl had barely touched her breakfast, and she hadn’t said a word as our group moved off to talk in the empty Transfiguration classroom. Only three students had bothered to appear for Professor McGonagall’s morning lecture, and, as expected, the room now afforded us the privacy we desired just then.

“I’m…fine. No, I’m not. I’m very troubled about Harry,” she admitted. We could see, in turn, that Ron was concerned about her. “It’s just…all that wealth will surely have an effect on him. It will suddenly be an enormous source of power thrust into his hands, and it may change him dramatically.”

“He handled the matter of the Elder Wand very well though, didn’t he?” Luna rightly pointed out. “Think what he could have done with that instead of returning it to Dumbledore’s tomb.”

“It’s just…”

“It’s just what Hermione?” Ron interjected. He was worried for her, but also curious. “What do you think will happen?”

“I’ll tell you exactly what will occur. Oh, very well Spenser–if you must. You may pull out your quill and notebook.”

*****


“Good morning Undersecretary Granger. I have your schedule for today, and I’m afraid that it will be a rather busy one. Let me see… You have a meeting with the Slovakian ambassador at eight–he wants to present you with the Golden Borsch Award for your brilliant work in eradicating his country’s troll problem; at nine-thirty the Free Elfin Guild would like to update you on the wonderful dental program you initiated for them; at eleven there is the signing ceremony for the legislation you drafted for nationwide mandatory summer school; at two you are off to your seminar on creative rune translation; and finally at three-thirty you receive the delegation from the Anti-Quidditch Society. I take it you plan to work through lunch and supper again.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so Mildred. Could you bring me the latest research on our hippogriff restoration efforts please?”

After the undersecretary’s secretary had gone, Hermione took a moment to sip her now lukewarm tea. So obsessed with her duties had she become over the years that the woman could not recall the last time she had finished a hot cup of her favorite pekoe while still at her crowded desk. Hermione gave her office a quick scan. Did she really spend too much time there? It was small, but it was extremely practical–exactly what she wanted. Perhaps a new coat of paint might be in order.

Hermione did need a vacation. She knew she wouldn’t take one however. It would have been alone. Most of her friends were gone now, and her work as head of The Office for Nice Things to Do for Witches and Wizards had to fill the void in her life. Ron had been decapitated by a Bludger during a championship game, Neville devoured by a man-eating skunk fern, Luna trampled to death by a herd of meerkats while on photo safari, Seamus…well there wasn’t enough left after the explosion to determine what had caused it. Then there was Spenser–a quill driven through his heart, and the body thrown onto a blazing pile of his fan fiction stories.

“Excuse me Undersecretary, there is a man here who insists on speaking with you. He doesn’t have an appointment. I…I believe that it’s Harry Potter. Isn’t he a friend of yours ma’am?”

“No, not anymore he isn’t.” Was it a coincidence that she had just been thinking about her old classmates? “I will see him though.”

Harry came through the door before Hermione had even finished speaking. Gone were the glasses, replaced now with contacts which accentuated the green of his eyes. His robes were the finest that money could buy, and in his hands was an ivory handled walking stick that reminded Hermione of the one Lucius Malfoy would carry. In fact, she saw a great deal about Harry that reminded her of that other man. There was even that strut in his walk and pompous sneer that was aimed at everyone Harry thought below him now–which meant everyone period.

“Good morning Harry. How can I help you today?”

“By withdrawing that ridiculous decree, you are proposing, against lethal dueling!” he yelled back. “You have greatly cut into one of my favorite pastimes!”

“You mean after spending money on yourself, throwing drunken parties aboard one of your boats, womanizing… I cannot believe you did that to Ginny.”

“Pshaw! Ginny was four trophy wives ago. I did enjoy foreclosing on the Burrow, leveling the place and then building the skateboard park there. As for my money–it is exactly that. It’s my money and I have tall stacks of it to expend as I see fit.”

“Fit for what Harry? Heartless extravagance? You squander countless Galleons on yourself and not a Knut for the benefit of Magic-kind! There are people starving out there!”

“Then let them die and decrease the surplus population. Hmm…I like that. Maybe I should write it down.”

“Charles Dickens already used it I’m afraid, but you seem to be cut from some of the same cloth as Ebenezer Scrooge. Did you really hire twenty bikini-clad bimbos to play an exhibition water polo game in a pool filled with imported champagne? Blimp races in the south of Italy? The Prophet also reported how you’re building a new mansion in Chelsea just because the windows were dirty in your old home.”

“Spending money is a favorite diversion of mine, just as dueling has been. Allowances must be made for the Chosen One.”

“Harry Potter! You’ve killed forty-seven people with your little diversion.”

“Fastest wand this side of Frostbite Falls, Minnesota!”

“The Ministry also suspects that you had something to do with the mob that killed Spenser.” Hermione finally stood up and forced herself to stare the Wizard down.

“I didn’t need to be involved! Did you actually read that story he wrote about the cross-dressing anvil salesman? Now I insist you withdraw that decree immediately!”

“Or you’ll do what–set your lawyers on us?”

“I cannot abide lawyers. Hocus Pocus!” Harry stepped behind the desk then, picked up the small white rabbit and placed it inside the pocket of his robes. “Hmm…I wonder if it’s too late to have Jacque prepare that one French recipe for my lunch today.”

*****


I could just stare open-jawed at Hermione as she delivered that load of jackelope poo doo. Had she been hanging around me too much? Everyone else wore pretty much the same expression as I had–shocked disbelief. There was absolutely no way Harry could ever become any of that. Suddenly a shy smile appeared on Hermione’s face. She had vented and felt much better for it. We knew then the girl didn’t believe it either.

“Hermione, I love you, but that was pure mental. You knew none of those things could happen,” Ron said quite unnecessarily. Hermione raised her eyebrows and returned an evil grin in his direction.

“Oh, I see. What precisely do you think Harry will do with his war spoils?” Hermione had thrown down the gauntlet.

“Funny thing you should ask,” Ron told her. “I’ll tell you exactly what’s going to happen with all his money. Jot this down will you Spense.”

*****


It was a beautiful day at the new Quidditch pitch. The enormous facility had attracted thousands of Magics from all over the planet for the inaugural event. It was warm, but not hot; cloudless and not overly humid; a slight breeze carried the smell of freshly-mowed hay from the surrounding farmland, but the gentle whiff was not enough to influence or interfere with the game. They were as perfect of conditions as if someone was making them up for a story.

Potter-Weasley…excuse me…Weasley-Potter Stadium had taken a full year to construct and was the envy of the Wizarding world. Several hundred people had been put to work with the project, and they, in turn, poured their wages into a blossoming regional economy. Even with its completion, there remained jobs for maintenance crews, venders, trainers, transportation, restaurants, inns, and other supporting services. Harry had even insisted that a small new medical facility be built in the local North Umbrian village to care for, among other things, various Quidditch injuries. The friends had voted to name it the Hemmingway Memorial Clinic in honor of their friend Spenser who had been killed by an irate cross-dressing anvil salesman.

The game began at exactly four o’clock in the afternoon with the release of the first Golden Snitch. It had been engraved with a commemorative speech and would later be placed on display in the new clubhouse but, at that time, it was simply serving the purpose for which it had been designed. Harry had immediately been on the tiny orb like a Weasley brother on a beefsteak. If anything, he was actually holding back to help ensure a worthwhile premiere game.

Ginny performed brilliantly, scoring seventeen times in the first five minutes. Conversely, Ron wouldn’t allow the Quaffle within a mile of their goals. Their highly-trained British team, on their new custom-made broomsticks was embarrassing the Bulgarians to the point where Viktor Krum was on the verge of violent sobbing. Goal after goal Ginny and her fellow Chasers made, and within half an hour they had broken the all-time scoring record.

“Now just a behind the back, eyes closed, hanging from my broom by one leg, curved lob shot for extra zest! We wouldn’t want the crowd to lose interest, would we?” Ginny shouted as she carried out the maneuver perfectly, bringing the score to seven hundred to nothing.

Harry rolled his broom and waved at Ginny to show his support and acknowledge how proud he was of her. Back on task, he then brought himself in tight to his Firebolt XLW and pulled it into a rapid climb his counterpart couldn’t dream of matching. Up, up Harry went, closing on the Snitch that the Bulgarian Seeker hadn’t even seen yet. Carefully Harry reached out…closer…closer… Finally, he threw himself at the ball, wrapping his fingers around it, ending the match, but in the process separating himself from his broom.

Down he came then–faster and faster. Children screamed. Their mothers fainted. Brave men averted their eyes at the sight of Harry’s impending doom; eight hundred feet–five hundred–two hundred. At the last possible moment, a strange hand wrapped around Harry’s wrist, slowing his decent and with a swing of his leg he returned to the safety of Ron’s broom. His best friend and team captain had saved him! The crowd went wild. The ensuing parade stretched for miles. The celebration lasted for days. Ron finally had to hide from the countless beautiful women who kept throwing themselves at him.

*****


“You’v e certainly done some…remarkable imagining Ron,” I slowly told him. “Why wouldn’t Harry just use his fancy Accio Broom trick? Ginny and he certainly have it down pat by now.”

“Ginny would have been the one to rescue him you’d think. Can you imagine her holding back that long if Harry was in trouble?” Seamus rightly asked.

“Countless beautiful women throwing themselves at you?” Hermione had an angry scowl on her face, which everyone other than Ron knew was fake.

Ron looked absolutely crestfallen at our reaction to his version–-at least until Hermione gave him a quick kiss and an accompanying smile. In any case he had included how Harry could more-or-less benefit Wizardry with his spending.

“I wonder if Harry would listen to my suggestion for spending his war booty. Why do they call it that? Does it have something to do with a shoe?”

“What did you have in mind Luni?” I asked, using my affectionate nickname for her. Only I was allowed the privilege and then usually in private. Regardless of the context, Seamus didn’t seem to like it.”

“Spense you shouldn’t call…” he began. Luna cut him off.

“Thank you, Seamus. Now please shut up and mind your own business.” She wasn’t smiling until she turned back to us. “Would you like to hear my idea?”

*****


“The Welsh split-winged humdinger is as fascinating as it is rare. Here in its natural environment, the Lincolnshire Fens, we can understand why this magnificent creature truly is the master of its domain. As my new partner Rolf Scamander attempts to attach the magical tracking tags, we must point out that he is indeed a professional, and that you, our radio audience, should not attempt this at home–provided you have your own humdinger in the first place. In fact, my previous associate Spenser was eaten by a similar beast last week.” Luna paused there while the Wizard Wireless’ boom microphone was repositioned closer to the exhibition. “It is truly regrettable that you are unable to see this firsthand, my friends. The way Rolf skillfully handles the…”

“Growl!”

“Uhm, Rolf are you quite all right there? You will be able to tag it, won’t you?” she asked her tall, handsome, muscular associate.

“Or die trying!” he called back in a literally constricted voice.

“Exactly what I’m worried about. Oh…my!”

“Burp!”

“Not again! I do beg your pardon ladies and gentlemen. I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut our program a bit short today while I arrange to take on another partner. For Mutual of Manchester’s Feral Kingdom, I’m Luna Lovegood wishing you a wonderful day…unless of course you’re not having a very nice one the way Rolf didn’t, and then I’m very sorry. Perhaps you’ll feel better after a nice cup of tea. I don’t suppose we could find a hose and get some down the animal’s throat to... No, I didn’t think so.”

The microphone handler indicated that they were now off the air and then, for some strange reason, took off at a dead run. Luna cocked her head, a bit bewildered at the man’s actions, and turned to wave at the humdinger who bowed in reply. She then retrieved her daypack and Apparated back to the Kent nature conservancy, wondering how quickly the employment agency could find her another replacement.

As she arrived at the compound, Luna was more than a bit surprised to see Harry and Ginny standing there waiting for her. The girls rushed up to each other and exchanged a quick hug while Harry looked about expecting her colleague to arrive close behind. Suddenly it dawned on him.

“Not another one Luna,” Harry moaned. “That’s seven in all–-two with the humdingers, three with the Transylvanian lip-cruncher dragon, one each with the mundark and the fire weevils. Marlin Perkins didn’t go through so many partners.”

“Who? No never mind. Harry, it is absolutely wonderful what you’ve done for all of us here–all of Great Britain in fact–and I promise we’ll be much more careful with our hired help in the future. Would you and Ginny like to see the new pterodactyl pens?”

“Uhm…sure Luna,” Ginny answered for both of them.

As they walked through the vast complex, Luna explained all of the programs Harry had financed for them. Dozens of species, Muggle as well as magical had been brought back from the verge of extinction. The information added to the textbooks boggled the mind–ideas and concepts once carved in stone were being replaced almost daily with the preserve’s research. Luna elaborated on how her upcoming expedition to the top of Mount Everest would prove conclusively, once and for all, that Himalayan yetis did indeed wear wool long underwear beneath their fur suits.

The projects had been successful beyond anyone’s wildest dreams, and Luna the explorer/naturalist could not hold in her enthusiasm as she alternated between explaining their work and continuing to thank Harry for his support. One point, however, kept arising–-the fact that it was all incredibly labor intensive. Even allowing for the employees who were occasionally being consumed by the research subjects, they just didn’t have enough help and Luna told them so.

“Harry has taken care of the problem for a while Luna, and you won’t believe how he did it.” He pulled a small sheet of paper from his vest pocket and handed it to their friend, whose eyes actually revealed her surprise. “Would you believe that they came to Harry?”

“Under a flag of truce…or the equivalent. Those eighteen Slytherins have agreed to help here in exchange for your establishing a snake research program–studying, breeding, and so on,” Harry explained. “It’s a bit of an uneasy understanding between us, but as they say, any storm in a port.”

“To be honest Harry, we’ve already begun work on the snake facility. It’s the green building down by the stream. We’re calling it the Doctor Henry Jones Junior Slimy Reptile Facility. That nice archeologist refuses to come and visit it for some reason though. I’ll set the Slytherins to some shovel and fertilizer work when they arrive. I hope they’re not overqualified.”

“Miss Lovegood! Miss Lovegood come quickly!” a portly little man called out as he ran…waddled toward them. “The three-horned Peruvian land shark is trying to eat our new nargle handler!”

*****


“ So, my boyfriend is so rich he can pass himself off as Swiss swirled chocolate fudge. How hard is that going to be?”

“I’m not entirely sure Ginny. I’m sorry.”

“For what Harry?”

“For putting you through all that back in the Common Room with your dad and brother…the crazy shouting match with those Ministry representatives in Professor McGonagall’s office. For the stress and the bigger spotlight we’ll be under from now on. I didn’t want any of it. I don’t want any of it. They wouldn’t allow me to refuse their blood money or those honors. What kind of country are we living in that treats you that way? Don’t they understand what they’re doing to us?”

“I know Harry. You’ve never flaunted your wealth, and that’s meant a great deal to my entire family. You just have a lot more of it now. Besides, some of your ideas for spending it are incredible. You’ll help so many people; the orphanages, the parks and public works projects…Hermione’s library.”

Harry grew quiet and more thoughtful as they walked through the castle corridors, not bothering to pay attention to their route, but pleased at how the students and faculty they passed were leaving them alone finally. Ginny was right. The new wealth could be properly applied to help the Wizarding world, but it would be done quietly. He was already tired of the attention the war’s end was bringing to him. The Ministry underlings long-winded droning at the presentation almost drew curses from both Ginny and him. Kingsley’s unexpected arrival was all that had quieted his subordinates finally (the man was sensitive to Harry’s plight, albeit powerless to stop an overly appreciative nation). Now, if it became known that Harry was engaging in such widespread philanthropy, the publicity would without a doubt bury him.

“Ginny, I want to get rid of most of my properties, including my grandparents’ home. I would like to see it first though. Anyway, liquid cash is much easier to dispose of. I do intend to retain Grimmauld Place and maybe live there part of the year, but…”

“…but you have someplace else in mind for a home. Can you tell me where?”

“Let’s keep it a surprise for now why don’t we.”

Harry needed to find a way to slip away from the supposed safety of the castle to visit Mr. Dunhickey’s Hogsmeade farm. He had fallen in love with the place but had no idea if the man would even consider selling the property. Granted, it would require some work to remodel and restore the structures, but he was much, much more confident around power tools than he was when we had to rebuild the Burrow after the flying bathtub incident.

“Harry…do you still want to be an Auror?”

“No!” he replied so quickly that he more than made his point to the girl. “I’m done playing everyone’s hero, especially if doing so effectively means all this. A quiet life will be extremely welcome now.” Harry stopped walking and took a small breath before continuing. “I’m going to build brooms Ginny. They’ll be the finest anywhere, and you and I will fly each and every one–test ride them essentially.”

“Wonderful Harry! So, I get to stick around for a while?” Harry simply tucked his chin and gave her a sly grin. Ginny got the message. “You’ve given this a lot of thought…done the research?”

“You know I have Ginny. We learned so much building the racing broom. There is a huge market for good ones made to match their owners the way wands do. I don’t need to describe the incredible feeling that comes with breaking through the clouds or racing the wind Ginny. No one else I know appreciates it the way you do. It will be a good, solid, totally enthralling business, and I’m certain our future will be a secure one.”

Ginny hadn’t missed how Harry had said our future and gave his hand another small squeeze. That drew a smile, but only for a second or two. They had been found. The flash blinded them both for two or three seconds.

“Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter! Is it true you’ve signed a three-film contract with a certain Muggle studio?”

“Mr. Potter, can you confirm or deny the rumor that you’ve accepted the new position of Undersecretary for Auror Affairs?”

“Do you have any comment on the multiple paternity suits filed this afternoon by the women of a New Guinea tribe of headhunters?”

“Mr. Potter–Maurice Dirtsifter from Double, Double, Toil and Trouble-Day Publishing. We would very much like to discuss turning out your memoirs, provided you wouldn’t mind a little bit of creative editing–- maybe a few more dead bodies. Miss Weasley would you mind sacrificing a brother or two for the book?”

“Oh, blast Harry! Reporters and literary agents!” Ginny softly moaned as Harry pushed her protectively behind himself. “One woman from Spells and Souffls Quarterly tried to follow me into my shower this morning for an interview.”

“If the Death Eaters could have entered Hogwarts so easily we would have been dead last September Ginny.”

Harry held his arm up then, but he was again hit in the eyes by a news photographer’s camera flash. He tightened his grip on Ginny’s hand, but could see how the media had wisely selected a dead-end hallway to make their assault. Harry pulled his wand and saw Ginny follow his lead. Regardless of the consequences and the ensuing bad press he would receive, he was determined to hex the whole group if needed in order to make Ginny’s and his escape.

Crack!

“Run! Harry Potter and pretty Wheezy must run now!” the house-elf shouted as he placed himself between his friends and the press corps.

“Dobby? How did you know?” Ginny quickly asked.

“Dobby? Dobby? Excuse me Mr. Elf…could you tell us how it felt to be stabbed to death by Bellatrix Lestrange?” the foremost Daily Prophet reporter asked.

“Did you have great difficulty digging yourself out of the ground after Harry buried you there, and do you hold a grudge against him for doing so?”

“Dobby–Millicent Mudraker with Teen Witch Magazine. Is it true that you will appear in Wizardmart’s summer catalog for their new line of swimsuits?”

“Run Harry Potter…Run!” Dobby called out to them again. Harry and Ginny already were.

*****


It was late August and the time was quickly approaching when the Weasley family would again make their annual pilgrimage to Kings Cross Station and Platform 9 to meet the Hogwarts Express. It was a magnificently sunny day at the Burrow with the wildflowers in bloom, the apple trees and moonberry bushes full of their fruit, and the sounds of birds filling the summer air. Only the dour task Arthur Weasley had to perform darkened his mood and the otherwise perfect day.

He had been trying to speak with Harry about his inheritance and Ministry awards for weeks…for months if the truth be told. There were always excuses–reasons to do something else everyday–places to go, people to see, important duties to ignore. Arthur almost resorted to force; holding Harry at wand-point to force him outside for that discussion. In the end, what worked best was simple old fashioned blackmail.

“I can’t talk right now sir. I promised Mrs. Weasley I’d give your rooster his daily backrub this afternoon.”

“Must you Harry? Well maybe I’ll just let you tell her what you did to her favorite cauldron. Ron’s and your attempt to brew homemade butterbeer last weekend–Molly would surely like to know the truth. She continues to believe that earth shattering explosion was related to young Seamus Finnigan’s visit Saturday.”

“Poor Spenser…it was a nice funeral service though. Very well sir,” Harry conceded with a deep sigh. “Perhaps out by your non-whomping willow tree there.” It was a five minute walk across the field and Harry took the time to collect his thoughts. “I know what you’re going to ask me Mr. Weasley.”

“Do you Harry?”

“Yes sir. You don’t need to worry about my inheritance any longer. I gambled all of it away last week during Ginny’s and my trip to Monte Carlo.”

“You what?” Arthur stepped back as if physically hit with this revelation. “You lost well over five million Galleons in just three days? Why were the two of you even allowed inside a Muggle casino? No wait…you didn’t squander the Ministry’s war compensation as well, did you?”

“No sir. Mrs. Weasley’s second cousin, the squib you both recommended to manage my finances–-he embezzled all of it and ran off to Argentina with the barmaid from Duncannon’s Pub. Oh, and my Order of Merlin…”

“Harry, you didn’t.”

“It’s been taken back because of my recent conviction for ghost baiting.”

“You can’t be serious! We…I need to speak to Ginny.”

“About Ginny…she immediately dumped me once I was poor again. She eloped with Neville last night. I’m surprised you didn’t hear when he fell off the ladder.”

Arthur couldn’t believe his ears. How had all of this happened and why hadn’t he known? He was shocked to the core of his being and felt completely responsible for Harry’s sudden downfall. What had they done to this young man?

“Arthur…Arthur…oh there you both are. Hello Harry.”

“Molly, I’m afraid I have something important to tell you,” Mr. Weasley began.

“No, I have astonishing news myself first Arthur. I’ve just come from the village Healer. I haven’t been feeling well lately, and now I know why. Arthur, I’m pregnant…and the monitoring mist revealed that we’re expecting quadruplets–all girls. Isn’t it wonderful? We get to start a family all over again.”

“Arghh!!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

“Arthur? Arthur?”

*****


“A rthur? Arthur? Wake up dear. You’re dreaming…and shouting quite loudly as well I might add. My, my, my I remember that chair you’re in from when we lived here in Gryffindor. Imagine it being in the Common Room after all this time.”

“Molly?”

“I’ve brought you something to eat luv. We missed you at the noon meal. I hope you don’t mind brazed rabbit in a garlic cream sauce. It’s some sort of French recipe I believe.”

Ignoring the food platter his wife held, Arthur Weasley jumped to his feet and began to pace about the otherwise empty room. After a minute Molly was beginning to grow concerned for him.

“Molly,” he finally said, grabbing her shoulders to guarantee the woman’s attention, “I need you to find Harry and Ginny and then bring them to Minerva’s office please. I have to contact an old friend at the Ministry. Hopefully he can come immediately. I’m very fond of the boy, but my daughter is not going to marry Neville Longbottom.”

*****


So our Harry’s no fool; sees right between their lies.
Ain’t no way he’ll give up those brown eyes.
Says “Keep your bloody gold–got the girl of my dreams!
The wealthiest Wizard’s not always what he seems!”

He’ll take those freckles and all.
Her mom can cook some too.
Loves Molly’s pies.



“I’m sorry Seamus, but your version of what is going to happen to Harry and Ginny is even more ludicrous than my own,” Hermione admitted. She was making a valiant effort to hold back her condescending giggles. “I’m extremely certain Harry would not consider the amusement park you suggested a major boon to the Wizarding world.”

“The one rollercoaster-thingy you mentioned Seamus…that sounded brilliant,” Ron conceded. Hermione swatted him, but she finally gave in to her laughing fit.

“I still think it would be a great idea,” Seamus pressed. “Think of all the foreign tourist money that could be taken in, especially during the annual Miss Magic beauty pageant. Hermione, do you own a one-piece?” The Witch’s eyes got wide, and her hand went to her wand, but only until Ron stepped between the two.

“What I want to know is why all of you kept insisting on killing me off in the most repugnant ways possible today,” I grumbled. A series of embarrassed faces did little to placate my fragile, delicate ego. Even Luna looked away.

Well…the grumbling part was probably just our stomachs. The sandwiches the house-elves brought to our impromptu meeting of the Potter’s Affairs Speculation Society had long before worn off. Ron was leading the procession though the castle then, back to the Great Hall where our beloved supper awaited, and the Weasley-bird was setting a rapid pace. We didn’t mind–at least until we had to throw on the brakes to keep from mowing down Ginny and Molly.

“Hello, Ginny. We’ve been expecting Harry and you to join us since this morning. Did you have a splendid day?” Luna asked for our entire group. I for one was too tired and weak from hunger to intervene (if that was possible with Luna).

“No, not really. No, it wasn’t a good day in the least,” Ginny conceded. “What have you been doing all afternoon?”

“Just talking…relaxing… You know Sis,” Ron told her. He was staring into her eyes trying to read something, but not having any luck.

“A little while ago I was getting stomped into the ground by a stampeding herd of magical carousel horses…among other things.” I was smiling though because Luni was, and that was always infectious.

“Ginny, we must be going. They’re waiting for us,” Molly Weasley told her daughter in a quiet voice, which, ironically, shouted private matter.

“I’d like all of them to hear what we have to say up there Mum. You don’t mind waiting to eat, do you? Tonks will have food after the christening tonight anyway.” Only Ron hesitated a moment before agreeing to hold off with the roast beast.

Ginny was immediately gone, and Mrs. Weasley only took the time for a quick, puzzled glance before falling in behind her daughter. I suppose the rest of us could have claimed the perplexed trophy since we were the ones remaining in the dark. I guessed I could substitute befuddled there (oh I love that word) as we started to chase the girl. Ron only hesitated for a heartbeat; probably having lingering thoughts of the shepherd’s pie and barbequed haggis waiting in the Great Hall.

Up two flights of stairs we went, catching up with her mother, but losing Ginny who had rushed ahead. The famous enchanted spiral staircase was already down, and I barely spied Ginny’s retreating shoes as she flew off the top step. Molly Weasley paused at the bottom of the office stairwell just long enough to confirm in her mind that we should join in and then, without looking back, was climbing them at least as fast as Ginny had.

Our group followed at a more cautious gait into the headmistress’ office, and then we held up at the sight of Ginny once more in Harry’s arms. Her parents were to one side, again with approving looks at the embrace. Percy, across the room had an extremely uncertain yet pretentious expression. Ron was used to Harry and Ginny by then but was apparently enjoying how his older brother was reacting that way.

“Harry, what is happening here?” Hermione almost demanded, but concern surpassed insistent curiosity.

“Hello everyone! Thank you! Thank you!” he pretty much yelled. Ginny most likely didn’t know what was happening, but she was extremely happy regardless. “I’d like all of you to meet a most excellent gentleman; Mr. Rudolph Periwinkle Tabsticker from the Inter-Wizard Revenue Service.

“Who?” most everyone asked at once.

“He’s our tax man. Here you go Spenser–the list for the story you’ll no doubt write someday,” Harry said.

I looked at the paper he handed me and proceeded to be exceptionally impressed. Harry passed out copies of it to the others, the next one going to Ginny, and, except for his best girl, he had raised the equivalent of unbridled astonishment in everyone with the document. In Ginny there was pure glee.

“Let’s see here,” I began. “Death Eater tax, inheritance tax, house-elf utilization tax, pancake tax, dead snake disposal fees, wartime Apparation fees, environmental disposal penalties associated with Horcrux elimination, Hogwarts back tuition, Quidditch team registration fees, S.I.Y.E. Challenge bribes, kissing a beautiful redheaded girl without a permit penalty, property taxes, owl licensing, filing fees, staff cappuccinos and lattes, legal expenses, barrister assault fine, overdue library books…”

“That one was supposed to be waived,” Harry quickly interjected in a loud voice.

“Okay with that then. Uhm, birth tax, Muggle relatives tax, broom registration fees, damages to London Zoo for releasing large snake, egg timer tax, penalty for associating with American writer…? Harry what is all of this?” I managed to mumble. All at once I knew. “Harry, they’ve taken away all your money!”

“Exactly!” he yelled. “All the so-called Ministry compensation went right back to them as taxes and fees thanks to Mr. Weasley’s calling Mr. Periwinkle in and then setting the man loose.” The auditor was in fact smiling as brightly as Harry and Ginny were for obvious reasons. “I still have my parents’ and Sirius’ estates. I’m financially secure, and I can live my life now by my terms…my terms.”

“Harry has opted to establish a charity group with a good portion of what he retains. He’ll call it the Snitch Foundation, which will distribute money where it is most needed, but very quietly…almost silently,” Mr. Weasley explained. “Help can be distributed to even the most obvious recipients, and there will be no way to trace it back to Harry. Privacy will be maintained, at least provided none of you say anything.” He knew we wouldn’t. “We’ve also found an excellent accountant to manage the foundation for the time being–-a distant relative of Molly’s named Mafalda Prewitt. We had considered her father, but he seems to have left the country suddenly for some mysterious reason.”

Everyone began to talk at once, and seeing Harry and Ginny’s faces we knew there were other subjects besides the day’s activities that interested them both. The talk quickly shifted to Baby Theodore and the upcoming gathering. Explanations and clarifications about what had just happened during the day could wait. The point was, all our hypotheses back in the classroom had been shot down…for the most part.

“Harry, may I have word with you about the Welsh split-winged humdinger?”

I was extremely proud of Luni but determined as well to find out who the feldercarb that Rolf Scamander guy was.

*****


The Daily Prophet
Retractions
(page twelve)



The Daily Prophet is one of Europe’s oldest and most prestigious publications. We pride ourselves upon… Okay, we make mistakes sometimes and here are the corrections:

Author Rita Skeeter has contacted the Daily Prophet to explain that the proclamation about her Harry Potter biography was extremely premature. There are no plans at this time for a series let alone a single volume, at least not from Miss Skeeter.

The anonymous author who contributed the well-read article on unregistered Animagi has quietly contacted our paper to retract comments regarding certain undisclosed individuals associated with this serious crime.

The Malfoy family has vehemently denied reports that they were responsible for the enormous charitable contributions to the newly formed Free Elfin Guild or the British Society to Prevent Cruelty to Purple-Beaked Slabstouts.

Reports on the vicious killing of an American exchange student by a deranged cross-dressing anvil salesman have been proven to be false.

American bluegrass artists Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs have magnanimously agreed to one more performance, this time at the Palladium, not at Albert Hall as was originally posted here.


Now the time has come to say goodbye to Harry and his girl.
They both would like to thank you folks who gave this yarn a whirl.
You’re all invited back again–our stories…take advantage!
‘Til that time…y’all take care! Good luck! Mischief managed!

Wizard mischief that is.
Few house-elves with banjos thrown in.
Y’all come back now, hear!


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