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SIYE Time:18:42 on 28th March 2024
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Off With His Head!
By Spenser Hemmingway

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Category: Alternate Universe, The Sting Challenge (2011-2), SIYE Challenges new, The Sting Challenge (2011-2)
Characters:All
Genres: Drama, Humor
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG
Reviews: 7
Summary: What is the fine line between malicious speech and writing and a Wizard's right to pure mischief. In the end Harry and Ginny discover just what it is.
Hitcount: Story Total: 3555



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:
Best if read with the Perry Mason theme played in the background.




ChapterPrinter


Off With His Head!

By Spenser Hemmingway


“To succeed in the other trades, capacity must be shown; in the law, concealment of it will do.”–Mark Twain



“You are hereby directed to be taken from this place to the Wizarding alcove at the Tower of London, and there to be put to death by beheading; your entrails to be torn from your body, burned to fine ashes, and those to be scattered over unhallowed ground. Your remaining torso is to be hung from meat hooks, on public display, for a period of no less than thirty days–a reminder to all the Magic World of what becomes those who carry out such hideous crimes as you have. At the end of that time, the carcass is to be transported to the Romanian dragon preserve, to be served to aforementioned beasties in a sauce of rosemary, horseradish, and sharp cheese.”

“What?” Harry and Hermione shouted together. Ron could just stand there with his mouth hanging open with pure shock. It reminded Ginny of the one and only time Molly Weasley had ventured to serve their family tofu for supper.

“Sir, this is an extraordinary penalty…” Hermione continued, “…even for him,” she added in a quieter voice at the end.

“This was not the intent of the laws our friends helped to get passed. We only wanted to end the malicious, false writing,” Harry tried to assert, but there was a hint of surrender in his voice. There was no arguing with City Hall, or rather with the Ministry in this case.

“That is exactly the point of this court’s decision young man. We cannot have the Chosen One defamed in such a manner. You asked for protection from such writing, and we have gladly obliged all of you.”

“He’s…he’s not even a reporter sir, just a really, really bad writer,” Ron was finally able to say.

“Hey!”

“Sorry mate. The other people were only fined, given probation, or, at worst, jailed for a week or so.” You had to hand it to Ron. He could always draw on some inner reserve of courage whenever the chips were down (and therefore the buffalo empty). “What is so different here?”

“Have you read any of his stories Mr. Weasley? This fellow has written well over a hundred objectionable stories about young Mr. Potter–all of you in fact–even inventing a romance between your own sister and him.”

“You can’t count you big… There are no more than thirty or forty stories, and most of them won’t be published! Another thing–Harry and I have been engaged to be married since June!”

“Ginny…shut up…please!” Ron quietly begged the girl. She just stood there with a defiant look on her face, which caused Harry to smile with pride despite the circumstances.

The magistrate was quiet for several seconds, but then snorted back at all of them, clearly stating, without words, that the matter was closed. Hermione was close to tears then, and no one was as surprised as she was about being so. Harry, if his expression betrayed him, had to be considering the consequences of drawing his wand just then. The Ministry official must have read him correctly, and the older, grizzle-haired man stood up from behind his bench to once again assert his authority. The murmuring inside the crowded Wizengamot chamber abruptly stopped in anticipation of his closing words.

“For outrageous storylines, horrible puns, diverging from canon, refusing to kill off beloved story characters such as Hedwig and Mr. and Mrs. Remus Lupin, the mispairing of story couples in the horrible little alternative universe genre you seem to prefer, and, most of all, for what the court clearly perceives to be malicious and defamatory stories about Mr. Harry Potter…Spenser Robert Hemmingway, you are sentenced to be chopped into little pieces until you are dead, dead…dead!”

Now it was my turn to start whimpering.


*****



Okay, I think we need to go back in time a little while to fill in all three of you lovely readers about how we got into this mess. It was early August, shortly after our small group of friends had returned from an extended trip outside of England. We had snuck off just days after the final battle, hoping to spare Harry from the stifling adoration of the Britain’s Wizarding population. That vacation is another long story, but the part that is relevant here is that once again a number of bogus stories were published about what we were doing en route.

It didn’t matter that Luna and I were producing our own series, relating our many adventures during the tour, posted to her dad’s magazine and the Wizarding Wire Service. Article after article kept appearing, utilizing blatant lies about Harry, with the sole intention of making money for the papers. On a daily basis, the public got to read about how Harry had been seriously wounded during a duel with a Freedonian bagel merchant, how Ginny had been eaten by a French espresso ogre, how Harry was actually now engaged to an exiled Russian countess, and they were expecting their first child in the late fall, how our group had escaped from a Turkish prison after being arrested for felony hippopotamus tipping, oh…and the worst…the announcement that Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had quietly been married while on a stopover in Eggstoch, Austria. That part was actually mostly true, but Molly Weasley didn’t need to find out about it from the Daily Prophet, and the girl certainly did not have to force Ron to the altar at wandpoint. The lies had really gotten out of hand, and we weren’t the only ones who noticed.

“Thanks for coming on such short notice Harry…all of you.”

“No problem Dean, but why did you want to meet out here at the Shrieking Shack? Could we get some light in here?”

“Sure Harry, no problem, but not too much. Neville could you light the candle please,” Dean asked. I hadn’t known our favorite herbologist was in the room with us; I wondered how many others were there in the dark.

“Right…Incendio.”

“Yo w! Aiyee Neville! That’s not a candle! That’s my bloody…literally bloody thumb man!” Ron was not a happy camper for the moment, but the second attempt did find its way to a wick and beeswax.

As the light came up, I could see our two old friends, and there were three others whose names I didn’t know (or at least remember), but I suspected they had also once been a part of the old Dumbledore’s Army. For some strange reason, a memory clicked in my head that the one short, chubby guy was the son of some Ministry high muckity-muck. I was at a loss–we all seemed to be–as to why we’d been summoned there. Their expressions were grim however, and maybe there was a touch of surprise that I had tagged along (at Harry and Ginny’s insistence), and that Luna had been holding my hand in the dark. Sorry true believers; Rolf doesn’t get the girl here, despite what the nice Muggle lady wrote in her unknown, unpublished eighth volume Harry Potter and the Cross-dressing Matadors. Great book, but they misspelled our barista’s last name.

“Harry, I’m sorry about all the secrecy, but if those blasted reporters got wind of this before we present our rough draft to the Ministry, the papers would be full of stories against the proposed new laws. We’re sick of them too Harry.” Dean paused here, locking eyes with Harry who was slowly nodding now in understanding. I think we all were then, and Ginny moved in closer to him. Harry put his arm around her. Dean offered them a sincere smile. “By the way, congratulations on the engagement. I’ll owl Fred and George about the bachelor party when you’re ready for one. Act surprised when Cho pops out of the cake.” Ginny’s eyebrows went up, and Dean grinned all the more at the couple, but only for a moment. “Anyway, we want to…we need to…”

“We need to put an end to all those lies they’re publishing every day,” Ginny finished for him. “That’s why you wanted to meet with us. They had one article in Witches Weekly yesterday saying that Harry had signed a Muggle movie deal with someone named the Warner Brothers, and he was also in discussions about a theme park in Florida. Can you believe such drivel?”

Harry pulled the girl in tighter, each drawing strength from the other, and both demonstrating how the two were in this together. I couldn’t believe that anyone seeing them this way could ever have a doubt. The stories were affecting them in ways only a few of us could completely understand–if that was possible. Harry tilted his head then, just a tad, and wordlessly indicated that Dean should continue. His old roommate instead turned to a side table and drew out a thin document from an old valise sitting there. Without a word, he handed it to Harry, and he and Ginny moved closer to the lone candle to read it. Ron had his wand out then, perhaps ready to assist with a Lumos Spell, but Hermione took his arm to stop him. Too much light there might be seen from a distance even through the curtains. Secrecy was imperative at this point.

“It’s fairly straightforward Harry,” the chubby one began. My dad wrote it up for us. It mirrors the Muggle definitions of slander and libel, requires the Ministry to actively pursue violations, and gives them new powers to prosecute those who violate the law–dramatic new powers.” He was looking at me as he spoke, and I had no idea then why a cold shiver went up my back. “We intentionally kept it simple for you. We thought it…would be what you would want Harry.”

No one made a sound as Harry and Ginny read the draft paperwork over once…twice…a third time. Finally, and simultaneously, the couple turned to face each other. I knew there was a silent conversation occurring there. At times like this, they didn’t need the words–they were already inside each other’s heads.

“How long will it take to enact?” he asked. “What do we need to do next?”

“You don’t need to do anything Harry except agree to it,” another taller boy said. He was staring at me now as well, and I didn’t like it. “In fact, it would look better if you just let us take it from here. With old Shacklebolt at the helm now, it should fly through in a wink. It will just be a matter then of the Wizengamut appointing some task-specific counsels, special judges and such.”

“But…” Harry began, but Chubby cut him off before he could finish.

“You can trust us Harry. We’re all D.A. alumnae.”

They continued to face each other down for more than a minute. Looking back, I would like to think that Harry was feeling the same angst I was experiencing just then, and maybe understanding the why of it more than I was. If so, it suddenly didn’t matter in the long run.

“All right. Let’s make it happen,” Harry told him. “Let’s stop these people from hurting all of us further.”


*****



“Yes, my friends, the research for The Rise and Tragic Fall of the Boy Who Lived was as exhaustive as any I’ve ever undertaken. Rest assured, however, that the thorough process left no stone unturned…no source unutilized.”

“Miss Skeeter, what sources were used exactly?” came a voice from the back of the small group. The author was actually a bit disappointed that Flourish and Blotts couldn’t accommodate a larger gathering of readers…paying readers.

“Oh, the most reliable ones imaginable. Naturally, I can’t reveal their names in order to protect their privacy, and, in some cases, their very lives, but you would be astounded with who they are if I could do so.” The woman had a smile like a Burundian kowtowing toady, and, from what I had been told, she probably shared a common ancestor. “Are there any other questions?”

“Uhm, in Chapter Three you write that, contrary to popular belief, Harry Potter is actually the secret offspring of Madonna and Sean Connery, kidnapped at birth and sold to gypsy used car dealers. Doesn’t that strongly conflict with the account of the deaths of James and Lily Potter?”

“Ah, an American…how pleasant!”

If it was, she was doing a nasty job of appreciating my presence there. Luna’s dad had begged us a ride-along to Diagon Alley to watch and report on the day’s festivities for The Quibbler. I probably should have just stood by quietly, writing down everything that was happening for our article, but the trashy book she was hocking just begged questions such as mine. Her eyes narrowed, looking my way, but just for a heartbeat before she decided the best course was to simply ignore me.

“Excuse me ma’am. Why did you include a story about Harry having a torrid romance with Chelsea Clinton? It was Luna’s turn to draw attention to the woman’s nonsense. “Does her father, their President, know?”

Skeeter dearly wanted to overlook Luna as well, but the store crowd was starting to talk amongst themselves, and that could cost her sales. Instead, she picked up one of the volumes there, and began to autograph it for the man immediately in front of her, no doubt wracking her feeble brain for a suitable response to the question.

“Young lady… My, my, aren’t you Xeno Lovegood’s daughter? Why yes you are. Excuse me good sir; to whom should I make this out? Miss Lovegood, if you must know, I was told about your friend’s romance by the ghost of Ronald Reagan. You know, of course, that he still haunts their White House. Excuse me sir, what did you just say?”

“I said, Miss Skeeter, that you can dedicate your book to Cecil Stuffenflutter, Wizengamut special agent for the new Office of Malicious Writing Investigation. You’re under arrest for libel and slander. Your verbal promotion of this piece of literature, as only you call it, qualifies you for the second charge as well.”

“What? This is an outrage! I’ll have you know that every word in my book is one hundred percent true and accurate! Harry Potter and I happen to be the closest of friends, as is the Minister of Magic! Heads will roll for this affront!”

“Really?” Harry asked, stepping out from behind a bookshelf with Ginny right beside him.

Skeeter’s face just fell, and, as if a rehearsed act, the entire group there dropped their purchases to the floor and slowly backed away as if afraid of guilt by association. Stuffenflutter took the opportunity then to apply magical manacles to the woman’s wrists, and I stepped forward with Luna to produce a big finish for our article.

“You really crossed the line lady when you wrote that Ginny was Harry’s long lost sister. That would really complicate things I think.”

“You…I know you! You’re that Yankee writer Hemmingway–the exchange student at Hogwarts!” she screamed. If looks could kill, I’d be playing gin rummy with Albus Dumbledore within seconds.

“No, I can’t stand the New York Yankees, but I’d love to do something on the Seattle Mariners or the California Angels.” Skeeter didn’t appreciate my baseball commentary for some reason.

“You…you… Officer, if you truly believe my writing is somehow objectionable, then perhaps you should examine his! It is my understanding that what Mr. Hemmingway produces is drivel of the highest…no, the lowest caliber. Arrest me? Arrest him then. At least I will be vindicated! I will be vindicated!”

Two more constables appeared from nowhere then to escort the struggling, still shouting journalist out of the store. One last kick upended a magazine stand by the front door. The scene of this first arrest was so comical; I had to will myself not to laugh out loud. It wasn’t hard when I noticed how Cecil buddy was staring at me now. If I had been smart, I wouldn’t have waited to be scared.

At least Harry and Ginny were enjoying the festivities still. It might have been my imagination, but it almost looked as if a small piece of a massive weight had been lifted from their shoulders. It wasn’t a good time to voice my strange apprehensions yet, I decided.


*****



It was the evening of the fourth day following Skeeter’s arrest. When Arthur showed their guests into the Burrow’s parlor, Ginny was still enjoying a welcome neck rub at Harry’s hands after a long day of chores. She rose to meet them, curious about the contrast of smiles between Neville and Dean’s hesitant ones, and the chubby boy’s (his name was Jeeves Rosethud it turned out–a Hufflepuff) beaming face. He was the first to speak after greetings had been exchanged.

“Potter, we had to tell you in person how successful the new laws are. Would you believe the Ministry has detained a full two score of malicious writers?”

“Forty? You can’t be serious,” Ginny said before Harry could, misbelieve intoned in each word. “There couldn’t possibly be that many people spreading malicious lies about Harry and me.”

“Oh, there are, there are!” Rosethud continued. “And we’re just getting started. You would not believe what our special prosecutors are finding out there. We’re leaving no stone unturned in our investigations. Libelous authors will not be tolerated in the Wizarding World I assure you.”

“You said we…and our. How are you involved personally?” Harry asked then.

“I’ve been brought into the Ministry as an investigative intern in the new Office. My father arranged it.” Rosethud straightened his back a bit and threw back his shoulders with this announcement. He reminded Harry and Ginny of the old Percy when he had still been employed with the government.

“Uhm, right…Jeeves; would you mind excusing us,” Harry began again in a slow voice. “We have some important family business to discuss with Dean and Neville if you don’t mind.”

Rosethud’s face tightened just a bit, but he forced himself to keep smiling. There was no doubt that he had just been dismissed by Harry Potter, and it irked him more than a little. After all, wasn’t he an important Ministry official now…or at least well on the road to becoming one? Without a word, he produced a pocket watch, feigned surprise at the time, offered a quick salute, and then rushed from the room and house. Harry waited for a muffled, distant crack before approaching Dean. Neville spoke first though.

“Harry…Ginny…it’s gotten…it’s gotten completely out of hand. It’s turned into a Ministry witch hunt–it a literal sense.”

“Harry, it was great at first,” Dean continued. “Writer after writer has been forced to clean up their stories. The Prophet has published dozens of retractions. It was forced to.”

“But…” Ginny immediately added.

“The new judiciary has gone a little mad with their new powers. Neville and I aren’t really involved with the whole thing any longer, but Jeeves brags enough to where we know what they’re doing. Anyone…anyone who has ever written anything about you is being examined with a jeweler’s lens. The Libel Court has even gone after the comic books they’re selling in the Alley with you in them. They had a fit when they found out they couldn’t interview the woman up in Scotland writing your biography series.”

“She’s a Muggle!” Harry almost shouted. “Ginny and I have met with her a few times now, and she’s wonderful.”

“They don’t care,” Neville clarified then. “The new court and investigative office need to justify their existence. The Wizengamut gave them too much power, and Kingsley Shacklebolt can only do so much. Even his Ministerial pardons are under severe scrutiny. The government likes their checks and balances now. They remember how Fudge abused the office back then.”

“So instead in going after the slander and libel, they’re abridging our freedoms of speech and of the press completely.” Ginny’s jaw went tight when she had finished speaking. Harry had seen the look far too many times; they all had. “Harry might I borrow Hedwig? Errol has misplaced his eyeglasses again.” Without waiting for an answer, Ginny kissed her fiancé on the cheek and ran from the room, leaving the three confused down to their socks.

“Now what do you suppose…?” Dean began to ask.

“Dean you may have dated Ginny a while back, and there are no hard feelings for those wild kisses,” Harry offered his friend a crooked, sideways grin, and the tall boy felt himself blushing, “but you never did learn, did you? When Ginny sets her mind to do something, whatever it is, tall mountains step aside for her.”


*****



“Well now, it isn’t often that we see such a finely dressed gentleman here at my manor house. I’m not going to ask how you found me, but to what do I owe such a wonderful honor?”

In contrast to his visitor, the thin man inside the cheap rented cottage had made no efforts to groom himself in the least. His tattered clothes reeked of his unwashed body; his hair hadn’t known a comb for well over a month; his pockmarked face was buried under a scraggly, untrimmed beard. When he smiled with contempt for his guest, his now yellowing teeth could very well have still held the remains of his last several meals there.

“Jamison White is it? Late Assistant Editor to Xenophilius Lovegood’s Quibbler? Accused of numerous crimes against Harry Potter and his associates, including kidnapping and attempted murder?”

“You know who I am.” It wasn’t a question. White moved to retrieve a bottle from the room’s broken table, ignoring the glass beside it, and the official looking man before him, he emptied half of it before again speaking. “Here to arrest me, are you?”

“As a matter of fact, no, and I intend to give you a ten minute head start if the information you possess is valuable enough to me.” White choked on his fire whisky in mid-gulp. “I am obligated to inform you that, in accordance with Ministry decrees, and, in addition to all else, you will eventually be tried for libel for the bogus stories you’ve produced. That said, however, right now I am more interested in a number of other writers that you might help us prosecute.”

Jamison White studied the man, not exactly an Auror, but certainly some manner of law. He desperately wanted to touch his wand under his filthy waistcoat, and, in the corner of his vision, he could see the Muggle shotgun he had found, now in the corner draped with an old bed sheet. The time for utilizing them was passed though. White couldn’t hope to reach either before himself being struck down by this stranger. Besides which, the man was beginning to interest him.

“What would be in it for me…I mean besides the running start?”

As an immediate answer, the official tossed down a small bag that sounded of gold coins when it struck the floor. “There might also be certain…considerations made by the magistrate who sent me when you are finally brought before him for your crimes–that is, if you can forget all about this meeting once we are done talking.”

“Go on,” White finally said, after almost a full minute’s consideration. He had nothing to lose. “What do you want to know?”

“Names…details…specific details about what they have falsely written concerning young Mr. Potter. We are especially interested in one associate of his in particular.”

“What…who?” White’s eyes narrowed with a moment’s confusion, but only a moment’s. “Ah, I think I know exactly who you mean.”


*****



They came for me in the middle of the night, which, in a way, I greatly appreciated. It makes for a neat literary twist in this story. I had been invited by Mr. Lovegood, at Luna’s insistence, to stay with them at their castle-like home until she returned to school that September. Unlike in Book Seven, or in the film version, our reality’s Lovegood home was a very beautiful, if not a little eccentric, country house. It did need a new front door, however, after the way those dozen black uniformed thugs blew it in.

They did give me the courtesy of a robe, but that was undoubtedly because of the really loud pajamas I was wearing (purple with Snoopy riding a surfboard imprinted on them). The trunk with those of my stories I had with me was seized as well. Good fortune and common sense had long before induced me to secure the more private works in a vault back home in Oregon. When Luna was permitted to hug me goodbye, she whispered in my ear that the transcript and notes for the book we were writing about our wild summer trip, Nelly Bly, were safely hidden in her father’s snuff box closet. I, in turn, told her to keep absolutely quiet about being my coauthor.

My trial lasted all of five minutes, sandwiched in between one for an elderly greeting card writer (who had the utter nerve to misquote Harry in a Valentine’s Day card), and a street mime busted for mimicking Harry’s final confrontation with old snake face. Yes, he did evoke his right to remain silent. I’ve already described to you my final sentencing appearance. From there it was to a holding cell for a final meal and to await my pending doom. I was more than a little stunned when I was permitted a visit from Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

“You know you’re not supposed to eat the napkin there, don’t you?” Ron immediately pointed out.

“Ron, old buddy, it’s the only thing edible on this tray. Even a Weasley wouldn’t eat this jail slop. I don’t suppose you brought me a cake with a file in it did you?”

“Nah, too cliché Spense.” Harry tried to smile, but I could tell that he was again taking yet another poor turn of events personally. I had to speak up and reassure him before the misplaced guilt overcame him.

“Harry, calm down. They can’t execute me. Sorry Hermione–the world is stuck with me. My Uncle Theodosius heads the American Bureau of Magic, remember. He arranged for me to come to Hogwarts…to Great Britain on an embassy passport. I’ve got diplomatic immunity here.”

“What?” Hermione naturally screamed first.

“Why didn’t you tell the magistrate that at trial?” Ron quickly added.

“Because they can still deport me. I’m just getting used to being around Luni now. I like it, and in our universe here, she could still get stuck with Rolf Scamander if I’m gone. Ours is not as nice of a catch as the canon version.”

“You also want to help us clean up the mess we helped create, don’t you?” Harry accurately ventured. “We wanted to stop malicious writing and talk about me, but now we’re stopping all of it, even the good. I don’t suppose you have an inkling of an idea, do you?”

“Not a clue. I’m making this up as I go. It will make one whiz-bang story when I put it down on paper.” This just made Hermione shake her head.

“You really do need to take a writing class someday…for you own good…as well as ours.”

“Why bother? Everything I need to know about writing I learned from the Acme Correspondence School of Writing; Akron, Ohio; established 1995. I found the advertisement for the place on the back of a matchbox one day.” I winked at her then, and it did get a smile.

The clanging of a distant door being opened and then closed broke the momentary good mood. A guard appeared, and I knew that it was time to lay down my trump card. My mind was racing–all of ours were. There had to be some legal means to put an end to this reign of literary terror Harry had inadvertently sanctioned. The trouble was, none of us were lawyers. We couldn’t even portray one on television.

“Mr. Hemmingway, the charges against you are being dropped,” the guard coldly droned.

“Ah, Uncle Theo must be upstairs. Drat, I wanted to do the dramatic last minute scene with the passport. I suppose you’re still kicking me out of the country.”

“No…I’m afraid not. Your uncle threatened to cut off all American exports of Elvis Presley memorabilia if all charges weren’t dropped.” The guard grunted at me then, clearly not happy with this sharp turn of events. “You’re lucky…this time.”

“So, he’s free to go now?” Harry asked. The large man slowly turned toward him, looked Harry up and down, but waited to speak for several seconds.

“Not exactly. He’s required to appear in court now as a material witness.”

“What? Against who?” Harry almost stammered. He was clearly unhappy about yet another misguided arrest.

“Miss Ginny Weasley–your fiancée I understand. The girl just posted a seriously defamatory story about you to the Wizarding Wire Service.”


*****



“Spenser, this is all your fault!” Hermione shouted back over her shoulder as we rushed through the Ministry corridor.

“Thank you,” I called back. “This wouldn’t be a proper story if you didn’t deliver that line at least once–-accurate or not.”

Harry was the first to reach the chamber doors, and a wave of his hand threw them open. He didn’t even bother with a wand. The small crowd of spectators, officials, and other hardened literary criminals came to their feet at the interruption. The judge hardly seemed to notice. He was too busy delivering a sentence on Ginny.

“Miss Ginevra Molly Weasley, for libelous crimes against the Wizarding public, and Mr. Harry Potter specifically, you are sentenced to a term of no less than three years at hard labor…”

“Ginny! What did you do?” Harry called out to her as he ran toward the docket. Two Wizard bailiffs took his arms, stopping him just a few feet short. Ginny turned to him then, and she was actually smiling.

“Hello Harry. I’m afraid that I wrote a horrible tell-all article about how you constantly beat me, cheat on me with every barmaid in greater London, and have a criminal record for plagiarizing toothpaste commercial jiggles.”

“You can’t be serious! No one would believe… Oh no…you clever, clever girl!” Harry was smiling now. He understood what was going on, even if the rest of us didn’t.

On cue, the doors were thrown open again, and in marched Ginny’s brother Percy brandishing the largest briefcase I had ever seen. The magistrate was seriously trying to break either the bench or his gavel while attempting to restore some order.

“Your honor, my name is Percy Weasley from 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, Weasley, Xasparater, Yukyuk, and Zookisser–Wizards at Law, Ltd. I’m here to represent my sister.”

“They took you on as a full partner Percy,” Ginny whispered to him. “Mum and Dad will be so proud.”

“Well they did need a ‘W’ in the lineup. The poor sign painter almost had a stroke making the alterations. The court reporter’s quill over there is smoking as it is. Your honor, the defense requests a dismissal of all charges against Miss Weasley at this time.”

“On what grounds?” The man demanded in return.

“On the ground that, as Harry Potter has been accepted into the Weasley household as a de facto member of our family, even before proposing to my sister…”

“Actually Percy, I proposed to him…atop the Eiffel Tower.”

“Really…hmm? As I was saying, with such a relationship in place, there can no intentional malice demonstrated toward Mr. Potter.”

“Motion denied. They’re not married yet.”

“Further your honor, the law clearly states that satire, spoof, and parody must be given much greater leeway when examined for malicious intent.”

“Motion again denied. I see nothing tongue-in-cheek about the article she somehow managed to get published.”

“You’ve got to be joking! No one would believe such drivel!” Harry screamed back at the man.

“Order! Order I say!” The judge once again tried to punch a hole in the bench top. “Mr. Potter you are extremely close to being held in contempt. I’m giving you great latitude here as it is, given what you’ve done for all of us, but I do have a limit to my patience!”

“Please fine me sir…please. Put me in jail. Now there is a story for the Wizarding press. The Chosen One…the Boy Who Lived, as well as that hero’s fiancée, placed in jail for trying to defend their rights to free speech. I would love to see the Ministry squelch that story.”

The judge actually stood up at Harry’s words, shaking in anger, but sweating profusely as well. Now I understood. Ginny had intentionally placed herself in this position in order to force the court’s hand. Whether he backed down or threw the book at her, her relationship with Harry would cause enough of an outcry to require change to the overly harsh new law. Just then, the chamber doors were yet again thrown open. I had to wonder if they would soon be knocked from their hinges. In through them marched Kingsley Shacklebolt with my Uncle Theo at his side and what I assumed to be the entire Wizengamut.

“Judge Hamilton Burger,” Kingsley shouted out as he approached the man, “you are relieved of all judicial duties pending an investigation of libelous writing on your part against members of the Wizarding population.”

“What? You can’t be serious! What writing?”

“I have here a number of legal opinions that you’ve produced,” he continued, holding up a large handful of documents. “I’m sure that we can find something false and/or malicious in here.”

“No! Judicial writing is exempt from such review!” Now the man was really scared.

“Not under our law it isn’t.” Kingsley was definitely enjoying himself now. “Of course, if you want to offer a court ruling indicating that the new statutes are in violation of our Wizarding constitution, and to set aside the harsher of your earlier rulings…I believe we can uphold the worst ones still…then I believe we can overlook your own misstep. The Wizengamut, in closed session, has just amended the law for future cases. Are we agreed?”

The judge sat back down again at the man’s words. He wouldn’t look at anyone else, and he seemed to be deep in thought. They had treed him, and he knew it.

“What about those who…” he began in the quietest of voices.

“I said the law was amended, not repealed. Libel and slander will not be tolerated, but neither will thoughtless persecution without regard for our rights. Now, are we agreed?” he repeated.

“So…moved. Case dismissed. Court adjourned.”

With a final rap of the gavel, the courtroom exploded with cheers. The magistrate did nothing to interfere. He merely stood then, and slowly retreated out a side door. The rest of us finally joined Harry and Ginny at the docket as he lifted her into the air and over the rail.

“So, I’ve been cheating on you have I Ginny?”

“Horribly shameful of you Mr. Potter. I also wrote that you cheat at Wizarding Chess, continually leave the toilet seat up, and have been known to drink milk straight from the bottle.”

“How did you manage to do it Gin?” Ron asked.

“I contacted Dad’s friend in the Ministry Press Office. He’s a good man and was happy to help us.”

“Well, I will make a concerted effort in the future to put that seat down,” Harry laughed. “The only thing I don’t understand is how you could be so certain that the article wouldn’t be taken for the truth.”

“Oh, that was easy.” Ginny was biting her tongue now as we waited for the other shoe to fall. “Most people don’t believe all of what Spenser writes, so I ended my story the same way he does all of his.”

“Huh?” Harry and I said together.

“Mischief managed!”


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