Harry Potter's Second Life
A Harry Potter adventure
"So," the goblin said, both hands palm down on the table top, his piles of Royals, Merinos, and Shraps between his hands, ever ready for violence, "Who the hell is Harry Potter?"
Harry's response was delayed by the arrival of the barmaid with a tray full of drinks. The Wizard lifted a pair of golden Royals from his own pile and smiled at the woman while adding a wink. "Ta, love," he said putting the coins into her hand before returning his attention to the rest of the table and his cards. "I believe it is my round."
"It is," Jason Bledsoe agreed as he raised the bet. The hotelier was also the mayor of the township of Dingobeer, and their host for the evening. "If you keep tipping like that, no one else in the place will be getting any service. I can't help but notice that you didn't answer Buckie's question."
"My name," the goblin hissed dangerously, tossing coins into the pot, "is not 'Buckie'. Call."
"Get over yourself, mate," the only woman at the table laughed. "You should have known that living around humans with a name like Buck-knife would earn you nicknames." She added her own wager. "Raise Five Royals."
"A goblin's public name comes from the first weapon he wields in battle," the goblin snarled. "You know that Drusilla. None of this is explaining who Harry Potter is."
Harry examined his hole cards. A four of clubs and a nine of diamonds. He tossed them toward the center of the table. "Fold," he said with a sigh. "Lousy cards tonight. To answer your question, Buck-knife, Harry Potter is no one of any importance…"
"No one with as much money as you've thrown around is a 'no one',Harry," Drusilla Mayweather snarked before matching the bet.
"Be nice to the child, Drusilla," Thomas Murphy admonished. "He isn't in your Arithmancy class, and he brings all this lovely money to the table every Thursday night. I see your raise and raise you another five Royals."
"He's also straight, Tom," Harry interjected, "and if that isn't enough, he's also not interested in Weres."
"Both are easily corrected conditions," the Care of Magical Creatures professor leered.
"Pathetic, posturing posers," Bunji Bonner said as he folded his hand. "Why the sudden interest in our newest member, Buckie?"
Buck-knife waited until the pot was right and the flop was dealt before continuing. "Bet 10 Royals. My interest in Mr. Potter comes from an odd experience. I noticed that a Hogwarts educated English wizard had come to town, spent a fair bit of coin in buying and stocking his Sweet Shop, and that he was doing business with the Gnomes. So, I reached out to the London Office to find out what was what."
"Call," Bledsoe said. "And?"
"And I was told, 'don't ask about Harry Potter, don't approach Harry Potter, don't attempt to do business with Harry Potter, and under no circumstances should I ever annoy Harry Potter," the goblin explained.
There was a pause as all five of his competitors turned to stare at the young wizard.
"I see your ten and raise 20 Royals," Drusilla Hardy said breaking the silence. "That is an odd reaction to a wizard from Gringotts, Harry."
"Not really," Harry disagreed. "The Goblins of Gringotts have a perfectly good reason for their attitude. A sensible no-nonsense people, the goblins. I've always liked them."
"That hardly answers the questions, Harry," Thomas Murphy pointed out. "Fold," he concluded tossing his hole cards in.
"Oh," Harry laughed, "was I supposed to be answering questions?"
"Smart arse," Buck-knife growled.
"Fine," Potter sighed. "If you must pry…"
"Oh, we must, we must," Tom Murphy said, demonstrating more familiarity with Muggle Cinema that Harry was used to from Wizards.
"I am persona non grata with Gringotts," Harry said, drawing it out, "because I robbed them."
-oooOOOooo-
The players all stopped their game and stared at Potter. After a five count, Drusilla asked, "Is this your idea of a joke?"
"Nope," Harry responded, shaking his head. "I robbed them."
"They found you in the act and you were banished from Britain for your crime?" Bledsoe asked.
"Nope again," Harry grinned. "I broke into a high security vault, took what I was after, and fought my way out of the caverns. I ended up having to steal one of the security Dragons to make my escape."
"Why are you still alive?" Buck-knife asked.
"Dragons aren't really all that frightening," Harry shrugged. "Just press yourself against her bare back, whisper sweet nothings in her ear, and you can ride her until dawn."
"You know what I mean," the goblin hissed.
"I got away," Harry explained. "And I arranged so that should I die, the details of how I infiltrated the bank under the goblin's noses, entered the supposedly secure vault, and how I got away would be released to the world should anything happen to me, and I made sure the goblins knew it. As you well know Buck-knife, the Goblin Nation, as a group, aren't huge fans of theft, but they have a deep, burning, respect for blackmail. So, my money, minus the cost of a replacement Security Dragon, was transferred to the Gnomes of Zurich, where I got a toaster for opening a new account, I swore to leave Europe as soon as it was convenient, and never set foot in a Gringotts bank again."
"You're serious." Drusilla said quietly.
"As a heart attack," Harry grinned. "It's a really nice toaster. 4 slices, and it does bagels."
The Arithmancy instructor shook her head. "Of all the things you could have said, that was about the last thing I would ever imagine. Given your age, I suspected that the only reasonable explanation for a young man your age showing up alone in our little village would be a girl."
"Or a boy," Murphy snarked. "You shouldn't assume that someone as lovely as our Harry would be one of you breeders."
"Oh, there's a girl in the story," Harry sighed. "And she's where the story gets a little odd."
"A little odd?" Bonner asked. "How could the inclusion of a young woman to your story possibly be odder than robbing the Goblin Bank?"
"Well, she left me," Harry recalled.
"What is odd about that?" Drusilla demanded.
"She left me for me," Harry explained.
"I think you're going to need to explain that, Potter," Buck-knife interjected.
"Truth be told, she didn't leave me for ME," Harry admitted. "She left me for a dimensional traveler. A version of Me from another plane of existence, one where his Ginny had died and he dedicated his life to finding her again. She found that level of devotion to be 'romantic' for some reason."
"Oh, Harry," the older witch sighed, reaching across the table to take hold of his hand.
"I think I first realized our relationship was in danger when she suggested that he come to bed with us."
"Seriously?" Bledsoe asked, clearly shocked.
"Yeah," Harry nodded, "I don't care what anyone says, it wouldn't have been 'really advanced masturbation'."
"Okay," Bledsoe said, gathering his coins. "I'm out. New table rule for next week and every week thereafter, no one askes Harry anything about his life."
With agreements all around, the players gathered their chips and rose to leave the table.
Harry just looked around the table as each of his friends started to leave. "What?"
-oooOOOooo-
Several drinks later, at a much smaller table, Harry sat with Drusilla and Buck-knife discussing the news of the world. It was only when the conversation lulled that Harry brought up a topic that had been bothering him most of the night.
"I can't help but notice that you didn't show the indignation I've come to expect from Goblins when they learn that I'd robbed the bank."
"I'd wondered about that as well," Mayweather nodded.
"Well," Buck-knife answered, reaching for another handful of the squirming maggot-like insect larva that Jason Bledsoe appeared to stock only for him, "If I were to tell the truth, I'm not much of a goblin."
"It's better for me than it was for my Da'," Buck-knife continued after swallowing his snack. "His dam is a," the goblin paused and looked about to make sure no one was listening in before continuing, "human."
"I had a professor at Hogwarts who had a goblin grandparent, and he faced a certain amount of prejudice, the same for you?"
"Ah, the famous Flitwick," Buck-knife nodded. "I've heard of what he had to do to gain respect among the humans. My own life was similar, but different. I had the intelligence and drive to rise in the bank, and the backing of a powerful clan. This meant that I couldn't be ignored. Instead, after I'd proven myself, I was given the management position of the Dingobeer branch."
"An opportunity?" Drusilla asked.
"A prison," the goblin sighed. "This branch offers no advancement opportunity. If I fail, I shame my clan, if I succeed, I can never escape this tiny town," Buck-knife took a long pull on his drink. "So, Harry, no, I don't share my people's problems with you. I don't hate you any more than I hate any other wizard."
"Good to know," Harry laughed.
"Good evening," a new voice broke into the conversation as a wizard took the sole remaining seat at the table.
"Headmaster," Drusilla nodded.
"Nothing better to do tonight, Jones?" Buck-knife growled.
"Nothing comes to mind, Bank Manager," the bearded man said, settling into the fourth chair at the table. "That I find you sitting with the person I was seeking out is but a fortunate coincidence."
"Oh, for goodness sake, Jacob," Drusilla sighed. "I told you I'd have my syllabus ready for your review by the end of the week."
"You certainly did, Drusilla," the Headmaster of the Dingomange Academy for Magical Studies nodded. "However, you are not the person I want to speak with either."
Drusilla looked between her tablemates. "I can't imagine why you'd want to speak with Buckie,"
"Buck-knife," the Goblin growled.
"So, you must want to speak with Harry." She concluded as if Buck-knife hadn't spoken.
"Me?" Harry asked. "Don't let my youthful appearance fool you Headmaster, I am not of school age."
"In deed you are not, Mr. Potter," the older man agreed. "I bring, depending upon your point of view, bad news."
Harry's only response was raising his eyebrows.
"Yes," Jones continued, seemingly slightly alarmed at Harry's unwillingness to play his games. "The bad news is that Bertram Bledsoe has come down with Dragon Pox."
Harry reached out to lift his drink from the table, and took a long pull.
"The good news is that you get to replace him."
"Oh, Jacob," Drusilla said with a shake of her head. "Harry is far too young to have to deal with the curse."
Harry put his beer down. "Curse?"
"Dingomange has a class that is widely believed to be cursed," the Headmaster explained. "No one has completed a full year as it's instructor since 1926.
"Ah," Harry nodded. "And how does this cursed class involve me?"
"Well, it's your turn of course," Jones answered.
"My turn?" Harry asked. "How could 'my turn' to teach a cursed class ever be?"
Jones blinked. "It's part of the Dingobeer covenant, all property owners take their turn."
Harry resisted the urge to face palm. So that was what that odd bit of legalese in his deed paperwork had meant. He honestly hadn't paid much attention to it. Oh, well how bad could teaching Defense be? He'd had fun doing it for the DA.
"So, after living here for two months, it's suddenly my turn?" he sighed in defeat. "Aren't you worried that I'm awfully close to the age of your older students and that I might use that to have my way with some of the girls?"
"I will tell you the same thing I tell all the staff," Jones said sternly. "No public displays of affection in the halls. Keep it in your quarters."
"It's not that bad, Harry," Drusilla said soothingly. "The Wicked Witches' curse usually doesn't kill the teacher. Usually it just results in debilitating injuries."
"Wicked Witch?" Harry asked with a smirk. "Did she forget to send her flying monkeys?"
Suddenly Jacob Jones was standing, leaning across the table to grip Harry's shoulders, forcing the younger man to look him in the eye. "Who," he rasped, "told you about the flying monkeys?"
-oooOOOooo-
Harry pointedly looked down at Jones' hand on his left shoulder and then to the one on his right.
"With all due respect, Headmaster," he said quietly, "Get your hands off me, and if you ever touch me again without my permission, you and I will end up in a fight."
The older man looked down in surprise, taking in his hands on Harry's shoulders before pulling away as if experiencing an electrical shock. "My apologies, Mr. Potter, your comment took me by surprise, and I reacted in an unfortunate manner."
"Unfortunate is somewhat of an understatement," Harry noted dryly.
"But I must know, where did you learn of the Wicked Witch's flying monkeys?"
Harry sat back in his chair, wondering if Jones was joking. The expression on Buck-knife and Dursilla's faces suggested that he might not be.
"Well, I read it in a book," he finally admitted. "There's a movie too, but I've never seen it."
"A movie?" Jones asked, "the Muggles know?"
"Well, yeah, the book came out in the early part of the last century and it's fairly popular," Harry explained, trying not to laugh.
"The Muggles know of the Wicked Witch Dorothy Gale?" Drusilla asked incredulously.
"Dorothy Gale?" Harry asked. "Seriously? That's what she calls herself? You're not messing with me?"
"Very seriously, Mr. Potter," Jones said sternly. "The Wicked Witch is hardly a laughing manner."
"What's her real name?" Harry asked, before brightening and digging in his pockets for a pen and paper. "No, no, don't tell me, I'll figure it out. A hint though, is any of her names 'Ima'?"
"No, Mr. Potter," Jones shook his head while trying to see what Harry was doing.
"Darn," the dark-haired wizard scratched out the first three lines of his notes. "Ooh, how about Matilda?"
"No, not Matilda, Mathilda" Jones confirmed, too curious as to the boy's actions to worry about security. "What are you doing?"
"I've seen this movie before," Harry laughed, "so I know this part. Okay, Mathilda, it is… Reoyog? Greyoo? Yeogro? Grooye?"
"How are you doing this?" Jones demanded.
"So, it's Grooye is it? Mathilda Grooye is the Wicked Witch Dorothy Gale," Harry looked up from his notes with a wide grin. "Is there a child of prophecy? A 'boy who lived'?"
Both of Harry's tablemates looked to the Headmaster of Dingobeer expectantly while Harry grinned at the older man.
"Mr. Potter, please, we can discuss how you know these things later." The older man stood up and stepped away from the table. "Your orientation is at 10 am in the morning, please be there. Drucilla will show you around and get you settled in."
"I'll be there after I waste some time with my lawyer," Harry agreed happily. "It won't do any good, of course, but I'm going to go through the motions and see if she can get me out of it."
-oooOOOooo-
"You've got no choice," Honesty Brown said.
"It's 8 a.m.," Harry noted before taking a long pull from his cup of coffee.
"It is," Honesty agreed from her place across from her client in the kitchen of his apartment over his newly opened sweetshop.
"I found out about supposedly having to teach the class last night just before last call at the Three Sheets," Harry noted. "And I made mention of wanting to speak with you about getting me out of it. So, you show up at my door this morning without my having to call."
"When you put it like that, it sounds a bit suspicious," Honesty admitted.
"I'm failing to come up with anyway of putting it that wouldn't sound suspicious. What time did Jones contact you?"
"12:30," Brown admitted, blushing prettily.
"So, can I really not get out of it, or do you work for Jones before you work for me?"
"You really can't get out of it, and I work for you," she protested. "The Headmaster is well known for his thoroughness, as soon as you mentioned contacting your lawyer, he found out I was the one representing you, and informed me that you needed my services."
"So, you did 7 hours of research and showed up at this ungodly hour looking fresh as a daisy, how?" Harry asked.
"I didn't need to do any research," she corrected him. "This has been litigated several times in the past when someone wanted out of teaching the Cursed Course. Since the inclusion of the Covenant into all property contracts for Dingobeer, there have been seven separate challenges, and all seven lost. You took on the responsibility when you signed the contract to buy this place, and you never asked me about the inclusion of the Covenant."
Harry was about to respond when a loud crash followed by a woman's shriek came from the floor below.
"Oh, what now?" he asked as he wordlessly summoned a large hand mirror. He looked into its face for a moment, confusion clear in his expression. "Any idea who these idiots are?"
Accepting the mirror, Honesty was too shocked by what she saw to even think about asking how the mirror worked. It took but a single glance at the outlandish outfits the trio making a mess of the store below for her to identify them. "Bloody Winkies!"
"Winkies?" Harry asked. "As in the Wicked Witch's foot soldiers?"
"What?" she asked.
"Never mind," Harry stood up and summoned his wand to his hand. "Do me a favor, call the Aurors, would you?"
"Aurors?" Honesty asked, confused that anyone would confront the Bloody Winkies.
"Yeah, Aurors," Harry responded. "You know, police? The Bill? The Cops?"
"Oh, you want the Blues!"
"The Blues. Sure," Harry agreed. "Why not?"
Honesty blinked as her client disappeared with a crack.
-oooOOOooo-
A/N: This is a story of a version of Harry who won his fight with Voldemort, and believed he was going to settle down with Ginny and raise children with funny names. Then a Dimensional Traveller Harry who lost his Ginny and who had dedicated his life to finding her again appeared. New Harry is, in many ways, Better Harry. Ron thinks he's great, Hermione loves to share theories about magic with him, and Ginny wants his body. So Harry sets out to find someplace where no one knows him and succeeds at Australia's version of Hogwarts: Dingomange. He buys and opens a sweets shop in the neighboring town of Dingobeer.
There he meets friends and learns he must teach the local 'Cursed Class' because it is 'his turn'.
Harry learns the class was cursed by the 'Wicked Witch' and from this, he learns about 'The Girl Who Survived' who apparently ended the Wicked Witch's last rampage as a toddler who is seemingly living a life very similar to his own.
Harry finds that watching his life play out as a spectator to be much more fun than actually living it had been. There will be a whole lot of Oz jokes and bad naming puns for the Aussie magical locations.
Oh, the 'Cursed Class': despite Harry's expectation, it ISN'T Defense.
I play with this one when I can't get other stories to work.