Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor - Chapters: 75 - Words: 74,437 - Reviews: 125 - Favs: 81 - Follows: 79 - Updated: Dec 16 - Published: Jan 18, 2016 - id: 11739934
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"And her parents didn't want her body to be disfigured by the autospy." –stn-sadness, "Pretty Little Purebloods"
"But Mum, Professor Dumbledore needs me!" Daphne pleaded.
Mrs Greengrass was firm. "I'm sorry, darling," she said, "but I'll not have you sticking wires into your temples and causing permanent scarring. Professor Dumbledore has a whole school of young witches and wizards to choose from; he can find someone else to operate his robot replica of Professor Snape."
"It won't be the same, though," Daphne protested. "Nobody else at Hogwarts has my familiarity with Professor Snape combined with my knack for machines; unless I'm the one operating the Autospy, something's bound to go wrong and rouse You-Know-Who's suspicions. Anyway, my hair's long enough to hide the marks of the electrodes; if I start wearing it loose, nobody will ever…"
"Forget it, Daphne."
"It seemed that Muggles had seen any difference as a threat, and tried to irradiate it." –jodylayheehoo, "Unexpected"
"What?" said Victoire Weasley.
"Oh, yes," said her Aunt Hermione. "It was all over the Muggle world when I was your age: there was supposedly some sort of malevolent infection that was spontaneously generated by subtraction problems, and, if you calculated any kind of difference on your homework sheet, you were in danger of instant death unless you immediately irradiated the paper with a little handheld X-ray device."
"But… but that's absurd," said Victoire. "Why would anyone believe it?"
"Oh, because the doctors said so," said Hermione. "Not all the doctors, of course, but all the ones you ever saw on the news. Personally, I've always suspected that the press was in league with the manufacturers of the X-ray devices, though your Uncle Harry insists it was a plot to get maths education dumbed down a little more."
Victoire gaped wordlessly at her, and she smiled and ruffled her niece's scarlet hair. "Don't worry about it, darling," she said. "It was a long time ago; I'm sure people would never be so silly nowadays. Let's talk about something nicer. What New Year's resolutions are you making for 2020?"
"I'm sorry[,] Harry, but there is a reason you'll have to go back to your family for at least the begging of the summer." –mellra, "Harry the Changeling"*
Harry's heart sank at these words from the Headmaster. He loved his mother and father, of course, and ordinarily he didn't really mind the life of a wizarding beggar-boy, but one's Hogwarts years were supposed to be special; one wasn't supposed, during those magical seven years, to have to deal with lice and sore feet and the sneers of respectable tradesmen.
"What reason is that?" he said dully.
"Ah." Professor Dumbledore reached into his desk, and withdrew a map of southern England. "Well, as you know, Harry, your family is part of the Chief Odo band of beggars, whose summer route takes them directly through Somerset Plain, right past a certain manor house in which, I have reason to believe, a key portion of Lord Voldemort's soul lies concealed. Ordinarily, the warding charms upon this house are too powerful to circumvent without its master's knowledge; if, however, a certain beggar family, taking advantage of their ancient right, were to knock on its door and call for baksheesh – and if their slender, inconspicuous son were to slip inside while the master was thus distracted… you see?"
Harry's heart leapt back up again. "Well, why didn't you say so sooner, Professor?" he said. "Of course I'll give up my summer hols for a piece of that action. What self-respecting street rat wouldn't?"
"I can't imagine," said Dumbledore.
"For the next week, Hermione continued to taunt her boss with her ever[-]reveling outfits." –MynameisInu, "In the Office"
"All right, Miss Granger," said Mr Waddington, and Hermione knew from his voice that she had broken him at last. "Take a memo. 'Whereas, for the past eight days, a number of robes, gowns, and business suits belonging to Miss Hermione Granger have been continuously and furiously partying in the executive washroom of Waddington Enterprises; whereas, moreover, all attempts by professional curse-breakers to expel these garments have categorically failed, the last going so far as to declare that even Mors Jaculatoris would be of dubious value; whereas, finally, the said Miss Granger has been admirably clear throughout as to the terms under which she would consent to lift the spell; therefore, Waddington Enterprises will, during the course of the next 24 hours, be passing out ties to all house-elves in its possession, and enrolling them as employees at a salary not to exceed the current legal minimum wage.'"
Hermione beamed as she transcribed all this. "You see, sir, this is why I work for you," she said. "Deep underneath all those layers of padding, I know there really does beat a heart for the disenfranchised."
"Charming, Miss Granger," Waddington grunted. "Now call off your ever-reveling outfits and let a man take a leak, can't you?"
*Crossover with My Little Pony.
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