This is for a sentence prompt - "the paint's supposed to go WHERE?" - and I can only apologise for where my mind went.

From the moment he stepped over the threshold of his house, Harry Potter had a sense that something was wrong. He was, of course, an excellent Auror - but, admittedly, it had slightly more to do with the fact that his oddly flustered wife was waiting for him in the hallway, gasping, "oh, thank goodness!" at soon as he came through the door.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked urgently, taking in her flushed face, over-bright eyes and dishevelled hair, which looked as if she'd been running her hands through it repeatedly. "Is it the kids? Your parents? What's happened?"

"No, no, nothing's happened!" Ginny assured him immediately. "Everyone's fine, the boys are at Mum and Dad's. It's just - well, we've had a - a - delivery."

"A delivery?" Harry frowned, shrugging off his cloak and bag and stuffing them in the cupboard under the stairs. "What kind of delivery?"

"I think you'd better come and see for yourself."

Deeply confused - she was not usually this cryptic - Harry followed Ginny into the kitchen.
He could see what she was referring to at once. The kitchen table was barely visible: it was strewn with the debris of a very well - and very garishly - packaged parcel (Ginny could never manage to unwrap anything tidily; she made more of a mess at Christmas than their young sons), which seemed to be a large cardboard box, pride of place in the middle of the sea of violet and magenta ribbon and tissue paper.

"What is it?"

"It's from Madam Freya's Love Emporium," said Ginny, her lips twitching.

"… Madam who's what?"

Ginny plucked a beribboned label from the mess and showed him. It read, in flowing calligraphic script:

Madam Freya's Love Emporium
Supplier of exotic aids
to the art of love

"'Exotic aids to the art of love'?" Harry looked at his wife, unable to keep the horror from his expression. "That can't mean …"

"Oh, but it does," said Ginny. She pointed at the box. "Madam Freya herself sent us a whole range. She enclosed a note. Where is it … oh, here. 'A little something to put the spice back in your marriage, darlings. No need to thank me - just enjoy.' And then there's a postscript: 'Of course, if either of you were to mention it to the press, darlings, I would not object at all'."

"What makes her think the spice has gone from our marriage?" Harry demanded. "We had curry just the other week."

Ginny snorted. "Wait til you see what's actually in here," she advised. The colour flooded to her face again: through her hair, Harry could see that her ears had gone scarlet, too. "It's - er - it's something."

Curious, he moved over to the box and peered inside. It was filled with an assortment of containers: glass jars, bottles, tubs …

"There's an instruction booklet," Ginny said rather worryingly, tossing it to him. He pulled up a chair and flipped through the strangely scented pages, throwing uneasy glances at the contents of the box as names like 'Exceedingly Erotic Foot Cream' jumped out at him. Everything seemed to have an alarmingly graphic description of its use.

"This is ridiculous," said Harry, feeling faintly scandalised. "Have you seen all this stuff? Potions, lotions, paint -" He broke off as he read the instructions, and his head shot up in abject horror. "Hang on. The paint's supposed to go WHERE?"

"I think it's … edible paint," said Ginny, blushing harder still.

"Edible paint?" Harry stared at her. "Edible paint. Edible … and she wants us to endorse this stuff? In public?"

"Oh my goodness, can you imagine if Rita found out?" Ginny giggled. "I can see the headline now: 'Potter Pair Put Porny Products to Practice'."

Harry laughed so hard his sides ached.

"There'd probably be little stickers on every product - "'The Chosen One's Choice'."

"With a picture of you giving the thumbs up." They were both in fits in laughter now, clutching at each other, until the instruction booklet slipped from Harry's lap to hit the floor with a thwack that brought them back to sobriety.

There was a lengthy silence, broken only by Ginny's hiccups.

"We should send it back," she said eventually. "Shouldn't we?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely."

"I mean, I'm sure they're very, um, good -"

"Right, right - but we don't need them. And we certainly couldn't endorse them."

"Of course not."

"That's settled, then," said Harry. He got to his feet and pulled his wand from his pocket to rewrap the package. As garish as the wrappings were, the contents were actually rather nice-looking; the glass jars were gleaming in the sunlight pouring through the kitchen window. Exotic aids.

"You know," he began, "I'm thinking. Maybe it would be - er - rude, to send it back."

Ginny shot him a quizzical look. "Well, we can't just have it all lying around, what if the boys fou- oh." Her eyes widened as the penny dropped. "You mean …?"

"I dunno. Maybe. What do you think?"

They regarded each other seriously.

"OK," said Ginny, after a moment's hesitation, making a grab for the box. "But we're never, ever telling anyone about this, and we're definitely not writing back."

Later …

"Perhaps we should send a thank you note, though."

… and nine months after that

The birth of a child is always a joyful occasion, and people all across the country were delighted last week when we revealed, exclusively, that Harry Potter and wife Ginevra had welcomed their third. (The gender, name and precise birthday of the child is as yet unknown as all family and friends of the Potters have refused to comment, with the exception of joke shop mogul George Weasley, who told Witch Weekly on Tuesday: "it's at least half human, and almost definitely Harry's".

But since then, new information has come to light which may put a different slant on the circumstances. Was the Potters' third child, as they will claim, a planned addition to their wholesome family? Or - as now seems the case - was it in fact the result of the obscene acts that clearly go on behind closed doors?

Days after we reported news of the birth, we were contacted by entrepreneur Madam Freya, founder of Madam Freya's Love Emporium (premises as yet unsecured).

"Nine months ago exactly, I sent the Potters a selection of my finest products," she revealed. "I knew they already had two young children, and they're both busy people, and these things do take the spark out of a marriage. Well, that's what I'm here for, and I was happy to supply them with aids free of charge, asking nothing in return."

And fortunately so, for she received nothing in return - until now. Madam Freya considers helping to bring a new child into the world perfect repayment for her services.

"

I knew at once it wasn't a coincidence. How could it be, darling? My products work one hundred percent of the time, guaranteed. Part of what makes them so special is that most of the ingredients used are fertility aids. No, that child is a child of the Love Emporium, make no mistake."

No doubt readers will be shocked at the revelation that such prominent social figures - often considered to be role models - are engaging in what some might call disgusting and debauched behaviour. Some might even ask the question of how we can trust such people to contribute to our society - or even raise children - when they clearly have questionable morals. Perhaps, though, this is only to be expected from a couple who are both known to come from troubled backgrounds - not to mention the fact that Ginevra's parents, Arthur and Molly Weasley, had seven children themselves. It is surely not unreasonable, given the evidence, to suggest that sex addiction may run in the family - but it certainly does not bode well for the three Potter children, who, it seems now, may have no role models of their own in life.

(We do, of course, offer our sincerest congratulations to Harry and Ginevra.)

By Rita Skeeter