Hobgoblins: an Expended Plot Bunny (Due to popular demand... yeah, sure... who am I kidding?)
By: stealacandy
Summary: The wizarding world and its supreme ruler, the Minister of Magic, made Harry into a goblin. Harry embraces that fate, and it does him a world of good. Once again I took a good story and made an harem! fic. I should hospitalize myself.
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In a post by: Robert Knighton to CaerAzkaban Yahoo! groups, he finished with a quote, (one of those things people put in their signature that annoy you greatly after the sixtieth or so time you read it,) that said:
"The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed (and hence clamorous to be lead to safety) by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary."
H.L. Mencken (1880-1956)
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Disclaimer: I don't own any hobgoblins, but I do have a few demons in my closet. And one beneath my sink. And that one eats all the money you pay me, so I myself don't get any. Which is a good thing, since I don't own anything in this story (characters, backstory, etc.) except the story itself which is entirely mine and I spend a whole night thinking about, which is why I'm gonna fall of my feet at work tonight… which is not good, as I'm not getting paid for writing, but my day job, okay, night job, (I work the night-shift) does. If only a little.
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A/N: I wrote the original skit a while ago, and forgot about it. Then I got a privet message from one Nym Potter asking for more of "Hobgoblins". To say the truth, I had no idea what she was talking about. As it came from a bot, I searched my stories there, but there was nothing about hobgoblins! So I checked my story archive on my laptop, where I type most of my stories, and there was nothing there either! Then it finally hit me, it was a little something I put on a couple of Yahoo! Groups, so I searched for it there till I find it. Added a couple of scenes (Okay, a little more then a couple), thought to add Nym in it, but I can't very well use someone who named herself after Nymphador Tonks and gave herself the surname of potter. Well, I could, but it would cause a lot of complications, and in the point of the HP time-line this story takes place, it would be a lot to early anyway.
Anyway, people, do you see what writing reviews gets you? If you ask for a story,, you might actually get it! If you don't ask, well, no venture, no gain.
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Hobgoblins
"Mr. Potter, what do you have to say about Minister Fudge's conduct in the last year?"
"Well, H.L. Menecken once said 'The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed (and hence clamorous to be lead to safety) by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary.' Fudge realised that, and spent a decade persecuting werewolves, centaurs, and even real goblins.
"Now, on the other hand, the menace is real. Voldemort is back, has been for the past year, more powerful then ever before, according to prophecy. Cornelius Fudge knew it from the start. He also knew that while before that all he had to do was sit on his fat behind in his office and do nothing, as the menace he supposedly was protecting us from was a figment of his imagination (well, Dolores Umbridge may have actually believed it, but she's so deranged, putting her in Azkaban with the dementors would actually doa world of good for her health, and in any case, do the world some good), but now he actually had to do something, and his life, his experience and his mediocre talents left him completely unprepared to do so. Instead, he chose to hide behind new perceived menaces, making myself the goblin. He is a sick person, and should be pitied - on his way to the long term permanent mental damage ward.
"Well, seeing as I was made to be a goblin, I joined Gringots Bank, and got the responsibility of managing Death Eater money. I tracked three point seven galleons of it in Fudge's accounts, by the way, and there was a lot more before. Anyway, I came to a reasonable settlement with myself to compensate me for my clients prosecuting me this past year, and am still discussing compensations prior years of prosecution. Anyway, I got some moneys and assets that previously belonged to Death Eaters, and I am proud to announce I now own the Daily Prophet..."
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"I would like to take this opportunity to promise the readers of the "Daily Prophet" that unlike until recently, when Death Eaters controlled the paper, from now on the paper and its reporters would dedicate themselves to the pursuit of the truth. The practice of hiring fantasy-writers instead of news-reporters would end. The slanderous sensationalism that had long plagued this publication , and has often been even more detached from reality then our esteemed Minister, would be replaced by responsible journalism. The goblin feminist movement might disagree with me on this, but in my opinion, we should probably leave creating goblins to young goblin mothers.
"Now, in my capacity as manager of Death-Eater funds, I would like to take the opportunity to use some free advertisement - if your publisher would allow it? To say that anyone who had been hurt or slandered by the Daily Prophet and its previous administration in the past should call on me for a financial settlement. Both my clients and I would rather not bother the busy court system with this matter, and I can assure you, we will generously compensate you for your pains. Everyone, please send your goblin representative to: 'Harry Potter, head goblin, at the Death-Eater funds and estates division.' Anyone who does not have a goblin representative already, as a privet citizen, I would like to recommend to you the goblin that represented me against me in this case: from the new "Death-Eater activity compensation subdivision", me! Please write me for details about how to reach me. For a modest fee, I can practically assure you my goblin, that is to say, I, would garner you a favourable conclusion for the negotiations with myself.
"Similar arrangements can be reached for anyone who had been hurt by the Death Eaters in any other way, by the way, simply contact me or my staff about it.
"In my capacity as the new publisher of the Daily Prophet, I would also like to promise you that should your claims to have been wrongfully slandered by my paper, and have reached a settlement with the previous Death-Eater owners, the paper would be glad to publish a retraction, complete with the details of how the slanderous lies that were published came to be in the first place. We will make our own arrangements with the Death-Eater owners and their goblin representative, that is to say, myself, about covering the expanses for that.
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"On to the next subject, I approached the new Death-Eater activity compensation subdivision is currently to negotiate with Minister Fudge's goblin manager on my behalf for compensation for all the slander he had asked his Death-Eater friends to put in the paper about me. As the money comes from multiple bribes from Death-Eaters in the first place, it falls onto me to see that I am properly compensated. I have brought it to my notice, however, that Cornelius Fudge has done the same to many others, and I suppose they would all want to sue for compensation, as well. As such, Me, myself and I, as well as a couple of other goblins, have reached an agreement and froze all of Minister Fudge's assets. We, the goblins of Gringots, are negotiating with the Daily Prophet the terms under which we would release to the public the complete account reports in order to make it easy for his victims to pursue justice and fiscal compensation.
"I myself have also been bodily assaulted numerous times by Minister fudge and his people, as well as wrongfully tried and prosecuted. For that, too, my goblin is discussing compensation with his goblin, and I urge any other of his victims to do the same. At this time, Cornelius Fudge's goblin, trying to prevent the embarrassment, is willing to go a great deal your way. That situation may change at any given moment, so I suggest you act fast. Also, as someone who had a lot of experience in such dealings with the goblins of Gringots, I would like to suggest that you back your claims with criminal charges against the Minister. So anyone who has been persecuted by Minister Fudge and his regime should turn to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement post haste and file their complaints with the Aurors.
"Thank you for your time."
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"Mr. Potter"!, "Mr. Potter!" came the calls from all around Harry. "Mr. Potter, can you tell us how…"
Harry tuned them out, as he made his way outside. 'Boy, I feel like Gilderoy Lockhart!' he thought to himself.
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At the Witch-Weekly headquarters, the editors and the senior reporters and columnists convened together.
"If the Daily Prophet is starting to tell the truth," said one, "they are bound to steal some of our readers from us. We could boasted that even if what we wrote smelled fishy, at least the recipes smelled good. Now Potter's gone and made the Prophet, who wasn't even fit to wrap fish before, smell as clean and as fresh as new laundry adorned with a banquet of roses. What should we do?"
"Bah," said another, Kate Eentry from delivery. "all the readers who want fantasy and rumour mongering would move on to read us instead."
"Don't get too cocky, Kate," said the first editor. "We only publish once a week, and anyone looking for fantasy could buy the Quibbler instead. They have become much better, lately, and I hear they hired Rita Skeeter on retainer. No, we are in trouble, We need to do something. We need to do something drastic. We need to change, and we need to do it now!" he bellowed.
"Err, sir," quipped the young fashion editor, Joyce Swanky. "May I suggest something?"
"Yes, sure." said the senior editor.
"I was thinking, sir," she said, "we need a new face. Gilderoy Lockhart hasn't saved the world from evil pixies in over two years, and he's not even signing his books! We realy should find someone else to replace him as the face of the paper! Not to mention, those pink robes he's wearing in all the photos are so… 1993! If we continue with that, we might as well put Minister Fudge's lime-green on Dolores Umbridge toad-like figure and post her face on our front page. It would be just as revolting, sir." She shivered. 'Pink robes, hmpff! With lace!' Really, what was the man thinking?
"Good idea, Joyce. But don't go and talk about our owner like that, where everyone can hear you, we wouldn't want to use your services. Now, do you have anyone in mind?"
"Well sir, we did a pole recently, and a lot of witches, they all seem to be very interested in Harry Potter. Especially the younger ones, those below seventy. So…" she shrugged.
"Great idea, Joyce." said the editor. "Erheart, I want you to get me some good photos of Potter. Smollar, he has a girlfriend, right? Grinch or something? Sleeps around with Victor Krum? Erheart, see if you can get a few of his as well. Speak with Putsh in graphics to see if they can do a poster of them - two in the price of one!"
"Er.. Sir, I think Potter merit's a mid-section poster on his own. Right now, sir, less is more."
"Right, right, you are right of course. Erherat, forget about it, just get some good pictures of Potter. Buzz, can you write a piece about the girlfriend?"
"Sure thing, sir." said Chidshet.
"Am, sir," said Swanky. "Sir, I ate lunch with Rita some time ago, and she told me when she interviewed Potter he just came back from a date, and-"
"Ah, an inside view on a date with Harry Potter!" cried the editor-in-chief. "Fantastic! Good work, Joyce, we'll make a news reporter out of you yet!"
"No sir," said the fashion editor. "That is not what I meant to say, I-"
"It isn't?" asked the bewildered editor.
"No, sir. What I wanted to say is that Mr. Potter isn't dating that one anymore. Rita told me when she spoke with Potter, he just came back from a Valentine Day date with another girl, Cho something, I think.' said Joyce.
"Wonderful!" exclaimed the editor. "I can see the headline: 'New love interest in the Chosen One's life. Would you stand a chance?'they will love it. A Cho, you say, Joyce? Is she, like ,from another race? It doesn't sound English to me. Erheart!" he called.
"Sir!" said the photographer.
"See if you and Putch can do a racial thing?" said the editor. "You know, do it like the fountain at the Ministry, the one that got destroyed. Scanty clad women of all races worship the Boy-Who-Lived and lay by his feet. Maybe we'd widen our reader pool."
"I think we should go with the goblin angle." quipped someone.
"Fabulous!" cried the editor. "Earheart! Put some goblins in, too. With drawn spears and clad in leather. Make it black! And paint them in green!"
'The man has lost it.' thought the photographer. 'Now, where do I find goblins willing to participate in such a shoot? I wonder if I can get some dwarves to pretend, like that cupid special they did with Gilderoy back in 89? Or the Leprechaun and Veela thing we did for the World Cup… Hmm, that might work.' he thought as he made his way out of the staffroom.
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In the Permanent Mental Damage Ward in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies Gilderoy Lockhart shifted in unease. Something was very wrong with the world, he just didn't know what. 'Oh, well,' he thought, 'nothing I can do about it, anyway.' and went back to practicing signing autographs with his left foot pinky.
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"What?" shouted the minister as he put the Daily Prophet down. How could they do that? He went over to the kitchen to grab a cuppa to settle down his senses, but as he reached the teakettle, it vanished in a little cloud of purplish smoke with a small pop. Another pop, and it was replaced with a note saying "Appropriated by Gringots to pay for debt. On order of Hairyshaft, Compensation for Cornylies Fudge's Victims office, Gringots Bank, UK." Fudge was enraged. He turned to the sink, to get a glass of water, but the sunk was gone the same way. A gash of water came out and hit Fudge in the face. Recoiling back, Fudge went to sit down, but the chair he picked vanished from underneath him. Then the table. Then the walls. Then the entire house. Including the fireplace. 'Now how am I supposed to go to work?' he wondered. Soon, where his proud home, bought and paid for with the best bribe-money he had ever taken, was only a sea of little paper notes proclaiming this and that was confiscated, and Fudge was left alone to wander through it. All he had left was the robes on his back. A little poof of smoke later, and that was gone as well, replaced with a note informing him his lime-green bowler hat was deemed worthless and the robes he wore were seized instead. He could get his hat back at the bank as soon as he presented himself and pay the processing fee, as well for all the paper they wasted on sending him notes. Oh, and he still owes quite a lot to some people.
'How do I get money to pay for it?' the Minister asked himself. 'I'm not going to pay for that, the goblins can eat themselves. But I have to buy some new cloths. How do I pay for them? I can't embezzle Ministry funds - I already stole most of these, there's not much left. I know!' he jumped to his feet, but, as he was sitting on a heap of paper notes, he stumbled and fell backward and was immediately covered with paper.
"I know!" he said, getting up, trying to look dignified, at least, with as much dignity as he could master dressed as he was in his small-cloths. "I would ask Lucius for a loan!"
New plan in mind, Minister Fudge went in search for his owl, only to realize, belatedly, that it was seized by the goblins as well, when he finally stumbled across the right note.
'No matter,' thought the minister. 'I am not a wizard for nothing. I can transfigure an owl for the short trip that is needed.'
A short while later, and a lot of tiring wandwork, Fudge gave up and transfigured the note into a grasshopper, tied his letter to its - mid section, I should say - and sent it on its way to Lucius Malfoy, forgetting the man was incarcerated in Azkaban Prison, and that grasshoppers don't swim.
Luckily, the grasshopper, being encumbered by a big letter, was spotted by an owl passing by, and provided the owl with a nice snack. By the time the owl realized the letter was from a wizard and the grasshopper was a "messenger owl" on his own accord, it was too late, the grasshopper was already chewed, swallowed, and was beginning to be digested. So the owl made the best of it, and decided to deliver the letter himself. That's the least he could do, he surmised.
He picked the letter, that dealt with some financial matter or another with a Death Eater, and his magic told him where it should go.
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In his Gringots Bank office, Harry sat, signing his name on the last documents awaiting his signature. He did an admirable job at solving the situation with Fudge quickly and efficiently, and everyone would be happy. Although, some people complained when they were told that their payments would be postponed due to lack of funds on Fudge's part. The man seemed to spend a lot of the money that passed under his fingers. And some complained that he, Harry Potter, didn't have to wait through the delay, and got his compensation on time. Really, was it his fault he sued Fudge first?
A ticking noise from the window behind him alerted Harry to the arrival of an owl. Harry opened the window, snatched the owl in, and closed it back again. Wizards may not have cared about such things, but goblins took good care of themselves. Goblins had air-condition. No sense in letting all that good, cool air get out.
"You have a letter? For me? Another? I thought I dealt with them all! Oh, well." Harry sighed, and reached to take the letter from the owl. "Water and food over there," he pointed to a small owl post in the corner of his office. "and if I catch you littering, you would be sitting when you piss for the rest of your life, cher-amy."
Harry looked at the letter. To Lucius Malfoy? "Interesting." he said. Turning it over, he read the return address, one Cornelius Fudge. Shrugging, he opened it. (After checking it in the goblin "Nasty Mail-Jinxes Detector" device thingy.) He read it over. It seemed Fudge was in a need of funds, and asked Malfoy for a loan. As Malfoy's financial manager, it was up to Harry to approve it. He decided to approve it. Of course, Fudge would have to pay back. 'He always worked for Luciuc,' thought Harry, 'may as well continue.' "Note to self:" he told the dictate-o-pen (no such nonsense as quills with the goblins, other then for show for the wizards upstairs.) "make sure fudge is locked in with Lucius and his friends when the Aurors finally come for him. This way he could work off his debt."
Signing the approval, Harry turned to allocate the funds. "Footjob!" he called. A young goblin stepped in.
"Footjob," said Harry. 'please go and find out exactly how much does fudge own, then get it from Lucius Malfoy's vault - here's the permit," he handed over a sheet of paper, "and the details of the loan, file that one with Blowstick," he ordered, handing the goblin another document, "and the loan contract, there's one copy to put in Malfoy's vault, here it is," he handed him a parchment, "and another to mail fudge, no, I'll do it myself. Yoo! Yoo-hoo! Owl! You stupid mongrel." Harry stood up and walked towards the owl, and tied the parchment to its leg. "There you go." he said. "Take this back to Cornelius Fudge, please."
The owl hooted in disdain. He didn't sign for that. All he did was a favour to the grasshopper he ate. So instead of flying all the way to fudge's distant home, he took the quick route and deposited the letter in Fudge's office in the Ministry of magic - right on Percy Weasley's desk.
Percy sighed. He had been getting letters, complaints, howlers, bobby-traps-in-an-envelopes, and even WWW Strike-a-Note or two all morning. He looked at the envelope. It bore the seal of Gringgots Bank. 'Great,' he sighed again. 'another demand Fudge pay some stupid debt.' And there was no sign to Fudge himself.
Percy opened the envelope and read the contents of the letter. He paled. "What?" he exclaimed. "A loan from Malfoy? Even now, when the man is in Azkaban, the Minister still takes his money? And a clause specifying he'd have to work for it?" 'Fudge better not be thinking about releasing the Death Eater from prison.' He sighed a third time.
'Well,' he thought, 'might as well go out with a bang.' And who knows, if he was the one to blow the whistle, they might let him keep his job in the Ministry - somewhere - in the ministry - at least.
Percy took the contract and went to see someone in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
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Back in his Gringots Office, all problems solved, Harry turned to the next issue: Dolores Umbridge. "I wonder if she has anything worth appropriating,' he thought. 'let's see.' and he started going over the ledger of her possessions. "Hmmm…" he mused. "Thirty twopercent of witch Weekly? I see now where all those horrible ribbons she wore came from. Interesting."
'I wonder if she is a marked Death Eater as well.' Harry wondered. He'd have to ask later. In the meanwhile, he had a magazine to take over. "Five percent from Parkinson - who calls his kid a Pansy, anyway? - twelve percent from Snape - Snape? Invested in Witch Weekly? I never would have guessed, he should pay better attention to their hair-care advertisements and articles - that puts us up to - twelve, thirty, that's forty two, add another two, that's forty four, and five makes it up to forty nine. Damn! Foiled again. Lets see who else owns shares in the paper. Hmmm… Laetus Lovegood? Investing in the competition? That explains how he doesn't go down. Suzan Bones? Interesting. And Marcus Abbot, too. Well, maybe I can come to some arrangement with one of them? Or two? Or all three?
Harry rubbed his hands happily and went back to work.
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In the Witch Weekly staffroom, the senior members of the staff sat to discuss the results of their new marketing scam.
"I am afraid Harry Potter wasn't very pleased with our last issue." said Larry Burg, from accounting and finances.
"Oh, woo-hoo-hoo." said the editor in chief, Jerry Purr. "What's he gonna do about it?"
"Well," said the man from accounting, "Mr. Potter just recently announced his engagement to three witches, Hannah Abbot, Luna Lovegood and Suzan Bones."
"Three witches?" cried the editor. "The boy is building an harem! Oh, that is fantastic! The scandal! We would have record sales!"
"That's a little complicated, you see, sir." said Larry. "You see, sir, between them, Suzane Bones, Hannah Abbot's father Marcus and Luna Lovegood's fater Laetus, -"
"What?" cried the editor. "Laetus Lovegood? From the Quibbler? Oh, that's fantastic, we could milk it till they are dry! Harry Potter marrying a madman's daughter! Wonderful!"
"As I said before I was interrupted," said the man from accounting, "Between them, those three control over forty percent of Witch Weekly."
"Oh," said the editor, a little miffed. "Still, the holders of the other sixty percent would want to capitulate on it, wouldn't they?
"Mr. Potter holds another forty nine percent of our paper." said Larry.
"Oh." said Jerry, weakly.
"Mr. Potter asked to convey his assurance that he is not going to make any changes in the paper's personnel - " (the editor breathed in relief) "at this time. That, however, may change, should his ideas about responsible journalism would not be upheld. He also suggested, that since we are looking for an image of manlihood, instead of going with the green-goblin angle, we should do a green-hulk thing."
"Huh?" asked a dumbfounded editor.
"don't worry, Mr. Potter arranged for it all already."
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Rubeus finished reading the letter Harry's owl, Hedwig, had just delivered. Then he rushed off into the forbidden Forest. He had to tell Gwarp the good news.
"Gwarp! Gwarpy! The newspaper wants to do a special about us! Gwarpy! Where are you?"
Deep inside the forest, Bane was having a headache.
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"Manager Poopsitckle, you called?" asked Harry, as he walked into his superior's office, wondering what this was about.
"Sit, Hairyshaft." ordered the senior goblin, indicating a chair with his claw. Harry sat down.
"I just heard you are get married." said the goblin sternly.
"Er… yeah?" said Harry dumbly.
"Damn it, Harryshaft." cried the goblin angrily. "You are a goblin, damn it! Don't you know what it entails?"
"Er… no?" answered Harry honestly. Seriously, he was beginning to sound like Ron.
"We gave you a lot of leeway in the way you conduct business, but we expect you to follow our rules, and our laws and our traditions. Which means, the head of your tribe," he paused, baring his teeth, "and that would be me," he said, "decides who you marry and arrange for it to happen. Which, as you are in such a hurry to get married, I am going to do. Now!"
"Err…" said Harry, dumbfounded.
"And as punishment," said the goblin, "I arranged for two goblins to marry you, rather then one. They will make you pay for your transgression, Hairyshaft, be sure of that. Pe'or only knows my Boobtrap will be the death of me yet."
Harry paled. "Goblins, sir? I'm not sure if this even works, and-"
"I know, I know. Which is why we made two of our human employees honorary goblins, for the time being."
Harry sighed in relief. Two human girls, even if they were Millicent Bulstrude and Gregory Goyle's ugly twin sister, were still better then a goblin. At least the height is right.
"We don't have many human employees, here in the bank." continued Poopsitckle. "One of our curse-breakers, a Billiusred, quite the bright lad," said the goblin, "he arranged for his sister, Ginrummy, to take a summer association apprenticeship with the bank, and when she overheard me talking with Smooxhnit about assigning you a wife, she volunteered for it. Quite insistent, the young lass, and persuasive. She promised to make sure you learn proper respect for our ways, Hairyshaft." said Harry's boss. Harry shifted nervously. 'Oh dear,' he thought. 'What did I get myself into?'
The goblin didn't finish. "The other one is one of our new employees in foreign banking services, Flowerbird. Now, they're both waiting for you, take the rest of the day off, I expect to hear you consummated the marriage before I retire this night. Is that clear?" asked the goblin, dangerously.
"Q-quite clear, sir." answered Harry in a shaky voice. Well, a man's got to do what a man's got to do, and he'll bite the bullet and suck it up.
He made his way to the door.
"Good lad," said Poopsitckle. "Room 29,314. Have a nice day."
Harry took a ride down with a heavy heart. He made his way to the room, opened the door, and -
"Haaarrryyy!" came the shout, as Harry was engulfed in a hug by a little flame ball. "Ginny?" he asked, recognition dawning upon him. "Arry!" came another voice, sultry somewhat, and Harry turned to see - "Fleur? What are you doing here?" he took in her provocative cloths. 'Fleur and Ginny?' he wondered, amazed. 'No way!' He'd never would have guessed these two were lesbians. 'No wonder Ginny gave up on Corner,' he thought, sniggering. 'bloc wasn't equipped the right way…'
"Oh, I'm so sorry for barging in on you," said Harry. "terribly sorry. Sorry. So sorry. Must have gotten the wrong room. I'll be going now." he said, and struggled to get loose out of Ginny's tight hug. He stepped outside, and checked the room number. Nope, it was 29,314. 'The old man must be getting on with the years.' thought Harry. 'For shame, a goblin confusing his numbers. Or maybe I just misheard him?' Harry's train of thought wondered off when Fleur caught him by the scarf and dragged him back inside.
"And vere thoo you zink you're going, Arry?" she asked.
"Mumble." said Harry, as Ginny chose that moment to lay a kiss on his lips.
'Oh lord in haven!' he thought, comprehension dawning at last in all its horror.
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Harry stepped onto the Hogwarts Express on the first of September. It took a lot of manuvering on his part to even get here, but he finally convinced his superiors that with one goblin-wife with him at school he could handle a lot of his work load, what with most of the compensation claimants behind him, dealt for rapidly in order to allow him the freedom to go to school, and his other goblin-wife, left behind in the bank to mind the shop in his absence, could take care of the rest. So now he was in King's Cross Railway Station in London, past the barrier into Platform 9 ¾, and aboard the Hogwarts Express itself. He went inside and started looking for an empty compartment when he ran into Lavender Brown. Luckily for him, he bumped into something soft, but the poor girl hit on something quite hard, on the other hand.
"Oh, so sorry, Lavender, I wasn't looking," he apologised. "Here, let me help you." he said, trying to catch her hand and pull her onto her feet, but unfortunately, he grabbed the wrong place, and stumbled over.
"Oh, you two." groaned Parvati Patil, ever present by her best friend's side, and pulled them both up.
"Thanks, Parvati." said Harry.
"Thanks, Parv." said Lavender. Turning on Harry, she said. "Wow, Harry, look at you, looking good! How was your summer?"
"Oh, fine, I guess. And you don't look half bad yourself." said Harry, trying to return the compliment.
"You think so?" asked Lavender, looking at herself critically, going over each part in turn, putting it up for inspection for everyone (that is to say, Harry) to see.
"Yes, quite." said Harry.
"So, what did you do?" asked Lavender.
"Well," said Harry, "I started a career in banking, then branched into publishing, and finally got-"
But Lavender cut him off. "Oooh! I hear you now own witch Weekly? And Teen Witch Weekly too?"
"Erm, yes." said Harry.
"Wow! Oooh, Harry, marry me!" she cried.
"Harry! Marry me!" cried Parvati from her other side.
At this point, Harry already knew how far resisting determined witches would get him. Which was nowhere. So he said "Okay." in a small voice.
"Oh, Harry!" they both screeched, and enveloped him in a tight group hug. Harry wasn't sure how that happened, but somehow his behind was punched no less then a dozen times, and they never let of the fierce hug.
'Oh dear,' thought Harry. 'If that's how they react to that, wait till Hermione finds out I now own the largest library of old, forgotten and forbidden knowledge in Europe, privately or publicly owned.'
"What?" shrieked Padma Patil, who was standing a few feet behind, not far from her sister, and has just been practicing her legilmancy skills. "You own the biggest magical library in Europe?" asked the Ravenclaw softly. "Oh, Harry, Marry me!" she cried, with real tears in her eyes, and jumped on top of her twin and Lavender to join in on the hug. Harry mumbled something that sounded like "mmrf."
Later, Harry would have Padma teach him Occlumancy. He would find it however extremely hard to concentrate and clear his mind when she did. So she taught him some eastern doctrines instead. Something lotus and stuff. Harry found it worked perfectly for him.
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In his Azkaban cell, Lucius Malfoy tossed the last issue of Witch Weekly away. He sighed.
"Cornelius," he said, "McNair over there got urges again, and he just read that damn article about the Hulk for the hundredth time. Go to him and deal with it."
"But, but," stammered the former minister.
"Cornelius!" bellowed Lucius. "Go!"
And the minister went.
xxxx xxxx xxxx xxxx
Harry and some friends were gathered together.
"Well, Harry," asked one. "You got a future career in banking and negotiating, own four magazines, and are married, several times over. What are you going to do next?"
"Well, there's always the Wizarding Wireless Network." said Harry.
"Oooh!" said one of his "friends". "Daphne's father owns a large part!"
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Epilogue:
xxxx
Dear Lord Voldemort.
I am writing to inform you that your possessions have been appropriated to pay your victims in compensation for your crimes and transgressions against them. It has come to Gringots' attention you are not very wealthy, and yet your crimes are enormous. We have tracked several artefacts with historical value you have acquired, and, legal issues aside, had collected them. We were disconcerted to discover those artefacts all contained bits and pieces of your very soul. People often would say we goblins would sell our soul for gold, but in all my life I have never seen such an appalling practice carried out. Our curse breakers removed those part of your soul that occupied the artefacts and banished them to the netherworld. Since you value your soul in gold, we lay claim on what remains behind. Please present yourself at Gringots new branch at Godric's Hollow for collection no later then the thirtieth.
Sincerely,
Fleur "Flowerbird" Potter
Deputy-Head,
Financial Claims Against Stuffy Dark-Lords with Little Pricks office
Gringots Bank
United Kingdom of Great Britain
P.S. Snake skin is quite valuable. We want yours. Nagini: Hissy hissy.
(That was a portkey, if you haven't keyed in onto the truth yet)
xxxx
Hissy hissy
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Lord Voldemort was furious, as his snake familiar and horcrux, the last of those, it seemed, disappeared in a little poof of purplish smoke.
Half an hour later he couldn't feel his connection to his familiar. He knew she was dead, soon, he realized, it was a lot worse. He realized he, too, was dead, dead these past fifteen years, and it was only on will alone he continued living.
Now, he was defeated, his will gone. Still, he had an appointment to uphold. And he'll make sure they will pay damn well for what they've done. With interest!
Goblins love interest, so long as it's the wizards who are paying, and they're the ones who are collecting.
As soon as Voldemort showed his face in Diagon Alley they were notified, as the shopping street soon was overrun by terror filled screams and yells. They called Hairyshaft over.
"Sorry, professor McGonagall," said Harry. "But a financial situation had arised that demands the attention of a senior goblin."
"Mr. Potter, you can't leave in the middle of the class!"
"Oh, sorry Professor." said Harry. "But I can, I hammered it in contract with Dumbledore when we made arrangements for Snape to keep his hair jell. And now I really must beg leave, I must depart, I'm really cutting it short."
And with a flourish, and a small pop, he disappeared, only a whiff of purplish smoke lingering behind.
"But you can't apparate in Hogwarts!" bellowed Hermione. It says so in-"
"Hogwart: A History", finished the rest of the class.
"Hmpff." harrumphed Hermione.
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Harry appeared behind Voldemort, who was sending curses right and left on the people in Diagon Alley, having failed to break the magical shields protecting Gringots Bank. Harry quickly placed his wand at the small of Voldemort's neck.
"Potter!" shouted the Dark Lord. "Too afraid to face me like a man?"
"No, Tom." said Harry. "I invited you to discuss collecting your soul like a civilized banker, but instead of coming to my office at out new branch of Gringots, you decided to barge in here on Diagon Alley and start killing innocents for fun, like the bug bully you are. There is nothing to face, Tom. From either side, you're an arsehole. Now, you just incurred even more future claims and lawsuits against your extremely depleted estate. So I'll have to collect what I can. Tartei Rifta Reish Korey! Goodbye, Tom, and good luck."
The spell Harry cast was used by goblins to separate ore from stone. Harry came up with an original use for it. He used it to separate the iron in Lord Voldemort's haemoglobin and collect it. With no haemoglobin to carry oxygen, Lord Voldemort's brain soon died. 'Funny,' he thought, as he watched Voldemort die from lack of oxygen. "I finally got my blood back. Which reminds me…"
Harry walked past the fallen form of the dreaded former Dark Lord, and into Gringots Bank proper, where the shields were finally let down. He made his way to his office, past the congratulations of his fellow goblins, their cheers and salutations, and went in. Giving a quick kiss and a hug to his wife Fleur - well, he intended for it to be brief, she had other ideas - haven't seen him in a while, him being the conquering hero, her being French, you know how it's like - and sat down to write a letter.
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Peter Pettigrew sat in a small cave somewhere off the something of somewhere, doing something with something about somewhat, somehow. Then he heard a hoot.
An angry looking eagle owl descended upon him, dropped a letter on his head, then cuffed him with his wing, gave him a peak on the nose, drawing blood, then used his shoulder to propel itself into the air again, its talons digging deep into Peter's flash.
'Boy,' thought Peter. 'Somebody is angry. Good thing I wasn't a rat at the time, that monster might have tried to eat me if I were!' he paused. "Hmmm…" he said. "it looked like one of Lucius's owls. I wonder what the old boy wants?" he opened the letter and started to read.
xxxx
With the blessing of Pe'or
Dear Peter Pettigrew.
You owe a lot to many, and can never pay for your crimes. Especially as you are legally declared dead by the British Ministry if Magic and cannot own a thing anyway, unless you appear in front of the Dipartment of Magical Law Enforcement and appeal to change your situation.
This is why we, at Gringots Bank, have decided to cut our losses short, and collect wherever we can. It has come to our attention that the only thing of any value you have in your possession is a large chunk of high-quality pure silver ore imbued with magic which you carry attached to your right arm. We are appropriating it now. It should vanish from your side any second now.
Thank you,
Harry Potter,
Head of Department
Compensation for Death Eater Activity Victims
Gringots Bank
United Kingdom of Great Britain
xxxx
A soft "pop" sound could be heard by anyone eavesdropping on Pettigrew's cave, followed by a great wail. Peter's silver arm vanished in a small cloud of purplish smoke, and he fell to his knees in pain as all the nerve ends that have been sheltered for the past two years now were exposed one more. In nauseating pain, it didn't even register with Pettigrew that all the blood vessels were cut open as well, and so he bleed to death. Harry Potter got his pound of flesh, and it was pure gold. Erm silver, pure silver, that's it.
Harry placed the silver arm on an ornate mahogany stand and stuck it on a shelf in his office as a trophy - and a warning for visitors - this is one goblin you don't want to fool around.
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"Tell me, Daphne," said Harry, as he kissed the witches neck, in the gap he opened in her hair. "Who else owns shares in the WWN?"
"Well," said Daphne, "it was a joint venture, you know. Some mugglebirn wizard called Ted Tonks came up with the idea, and he and your mother worked closely together to develop the technology to make it work. You grand-parents also provided most of the capita, my father the rest. So you should own some of it, at least. Oh, and when your mother and this Tonks guy ran into some trouble, they turned to the famous Bell family. They had a couple of muggleborns in the line, and knew about the magical world, and I'm told that if there was something to know about radishes, the Bells know it."
"Radishes?" asked Harry, confounded.
"You know," said Daphne, as she moved his left hand upwards. "like the wireless."
"Oh, you mean radios." said Harry.
"If you say so." she shrugged.
"So," asked Harry. "do these Bell family people have anything to do with Katie?"
"Katie Bell? Seventh year Gryffindor?" asked Daphne. "Of course, silly, they're her parents, what'dya think?" She sighed and turned in his arms.
"So, Katie Bell. Hmmm."
"I hear she just broke it with George Weazley, wasn't very nice about it, either." said the witch.
"Poor girl." said Harry. "I should probably go over and offer her my condolences."
"Probably." said Daphne.
"...Try to comfort her a little." continued Harry.
Daphne sighed. "You do that, Harry. You do that."
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"Tonks, I have a very sensitive question for you. A little embarrassing, too, so I'll appreciate if you don't poke fun at me, and if you don't agree to what I have to say, don't go spreading it around, okay?"
"Come on, Harry, would I do that to you?" asked the hyper witch.
"Yes, probably." said Harry.
"Hmmm, you're probably right." said the witch. "Alright, I promise."
"Okay, here goes nothing." said Harry. "Say, Tonks, how would you like to be called Nym Potter?"
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Author's note:
See that? I did mannage to write Nym Potter into this in the end. Even if it meant I somehow turned this into yet another damned harem! fic. I'm writing way to much of those lately.
Although, Drake (see his story - which is an harem! fic, of course - on Potter Place 3) assures me there is never such a thing as too many harem! fics… so at least he'll stay happy.
Anyway, I put Daphne Greengrass in solely to appease Vellouette, who asked me to push Daphne, by hook or by crook, into Harry's arms (and bedroom) in Electrifying Epiphany. So you see? Reviewing pays back!
Vellouette, this one is for you, you know you want it. And no Cho, too. Now, the question is, what about Narcissi Malfoy? Now, if I was chauvinistic, I'd say she was Lucius's property, and as such falls under Harry's authority to distribute her as he sees fit. Which would undoubtedly leave you very happy. However, I am not, and so she isn't. So if you want to see anything with her, you'd have to urge me on to write a sequel. Although I really don't know what there is left to write of this. Maybe some closure on the Dumbledore front? And the Dursleys? And something has to happen to all the Death Eaters, not to mention Umbridge, some bodily harm, or at least some horrible mental damage, just going bankrupt is not enough. Maybe they try to pull their funds out of Gringots and put them in a muggle bank, which just so happen to be the one Vernon Dursley uses? Where Piers Polkiss's father works? So the Goblins start a revolt, and make it clear to the public (through every media channel available to them, which, with Harry's help, is all of them) that they only revolt against the Death Eaters, and the public, instead of rising against them, in spite of attempts from a few hot heads in the ministry, just spur and urge them on. Then the goblins become real Death Eaters… (now I'm infringing on "Kuru" territory) and have their little belly tummies full, then go on to take over the human bank, and, not knowing what to do with it, seeing as they can't really work in there, what with all the non-magical humans coming and going all around, they give it to the "human goblins" to do with as they wish. Enter: "Harry Potter and the Accountant of Doom". Or so, at least, uncle Vernon views him…
And we never did find out what happened with Hermione, did we? I know several Harmonians who would be very upset with me for leaving her out of this one. (shivers in fright, goes to hide in a dark hole.)
Back to Dolores Umbridge, in St. Mungo's, what would happen to her there? Sure you want to know?
So yes, I may visit this one again. No promises, though. In the meanwhile, I'll leave this as a work-in-progress, and I urge you, my dear readers and (dearer) reviewers to post your reviews and tell me what you would like to see happen in a sequel, as I have no idea, really, so far.
Pe'or is some pagan god whose worship entailed having sex with multiple people. God Almighty really hated him, the prude. Or something like that. Thought to make him the goblin's god, or at least Harry's personal patron…
The spell I did, let's say it's in Goblygook, Okay? both because Harry is a goblin, thus is using goblin magic, and it is, by the description of it, goblin magic, and the goblins are unlikely to create spells in Latin-Greek-Italian-Spanish like the human Wizards in Britain use, aren't they? And, of course, it is always fun to come up with Giberish words, and I don't have to think to much about it in order to try and coin up a sentence or a word in a foreign language and try to have it still make sense.
Actually, I considered making the spell Harry used to vanquish Voldemort in Arameic, as it is an ancient language the Goblins might have known somewhere across the globe at some point in time, and as I appropriated an Arameic dictionary from a friend of mine a couple of days ago. However, it is an Arameic-English dictionary, not the other way around, so I couldn't just look for the word I wanted. At best I could have searched for cool sounding words, so I opened a page in random and got "Tartei Rifta" and "Reish Korey". "Tartei Rifta" means two loaves in Arameic, while "Reish Korey" means head miner (who inspects the measures) which was a stroke of luck, even if it doesn't make any sense.
Enjoy,
stealacandy