J K Rowling - [Harry Potter 0X]

by Harry Potter

  After much, much, study with his wife, this reporter can’t tell the reader if the spells are effective. But I can tell you that they are a hell of a lot of fun to perform! Our favorite is the “Degnoming Ritual.”

  Mrs. Asgre reported that the wards are simple to cast and are highly effective; “I couldn’t do ‘em better myself. Some of the wards that are in this book would take months to cast, if done conventionally. But I was able to erect a near perfect Anti-Harm ward in a matter of an hour. I’m thinking about using the rituals in Books of Love Magic: Volume One to reinforce a number of the wards around the Ministry building.” She also went on to add that the actual rituals are fun to perform and that she’d perform them time and time again, much like this reporter had. “Me and my hubby performed the Anti-Apparation Ward twice yesterday, just for the fun of it. And we’ve performed the one which dusts and straightens pictures more times than I can count. I tell you, we haven’t had this much fun in months!”

  “Every time someone has sex for purposes other than propagating children, they are befouling themselves!” Miss Swan-Cummings-Smith-Marshal-McGuffin, who proudly boasts to have never been married, states.

  When this reporter pointed out the benefits of the rituals listed in the book and how it could possibly save a family from a Death Eater attack, Miss Swan-Cummings-Smith-Marshal-McGuffin boldly declared, “I’d rather have my entire family - if I had one - slowly killed right in front of me than to lower myself by performing these foul so-called rituals.”

  Miss Swan-Cummings-Smith-Marshal-McGuffin and her group, Proper Behavior Now! - which is fifty witches and wizards strong, plan on holding a protest outside of Franklin’s of Cardiff in Diagon Alley this Saturday when Books of Love Magic: Volume One will be available for sale to the public.”

  The next article’s headline of “Eccentric Collector Loses Everything in Fire” seem even more depressing, so Harry placed the paper back on the table.

  Hermione sighed and said, “Well, at least the reporter and the Ward Builder approve of our book.”

  “Is there anything else in the paper about the book?” Harry asked. “Any advertisements or other articles?”

  “Not a one,” Luna answered.

  “What the hell? Fred and George are supposed to be promoting it,” Harry said bitterly. “They haven’t done a thing and now we’ve got a group who wants to boycott it.”

  “Well, they better do something good to counter Proper Behavior Now,” added Hermione, clearly upset over this development.

  “I wonder how much this will hurt the book’s sales,” pondered Ron aloud. “It would’ve been nice to see some gold from it.”

  “I really don’t care about the money,” interjected Harry. “We made it so that people wouldn’t live in fear and have a spot of fun. And now this bint with the multiple names-”

  “Swan-Cummings-Smith-Marshal-McGuffin,” offered Luna.

  “Yeah, her. She’s trying her best to make sure people won’t buy it, much less read it,” concluded Harry.

  SoG SoG SoG

  After lessons were over for the day, Hermione headed off to the library alone.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with?” asked Harry. He was concerned; Hermione was still upset over the Prophet article. He was upset as well; the young wizard had hoped that the book could help people not live in fear. But that damn group was boycotting it!

  “You know how studying helps me out,” she had answered. “I’m just going to browse the stacks to keep my mind off of that dreadful woman Swan.”

  “Swan-Cummings-Smith-Marshal-McGuffin,” corrected Harry in his best Luna impression.

  “Let’s just call her ‘Prudish Bitch’ for short,” said Hermione. The brunette gave Harry a quick kiss and said, “Why don’t you hang out with Ron for a bit. Or maybe go to the Quidditch pitch and take your Firebolt for a spin. You haven’t done that for a while.”

  “That’d be brilliant,” Harry said, earnestly. Out of the two suggestions, flying sounded best to the young wizard. Not only would it be relaxing, but the other option - spending time with Ron - was moot. Knowing the red haired wizard and his wife, the couple was probably busy shagging like a pair of hyperactive rabbits after winning a raw oyster eating contest.

  So the two lovers parted: Hermione went to her beloved library and Harry went to their room to fetch his equally cherished Firebolt. Within minutes, Harry was soaring through the air above the Quidditch Pitch.

  The air whipped through his black hair and Harry’s worries were left on the ground. That foul witch, Swan-Cummings-Smith-Marshal-McGuffin, and her activist group were all but forgotten. The stress and pressure of locating Voldemort’s last Horcrux was a distant worry. Flying was the second best thing Harry liked doing; the first being Hermione of course. The Firebolt was neat and all, but it was lousy at giving hummers. Not that Harry ever tried... okay, it was just once and it had been during one of Wood’s grueling day-long training session. The vibration of the broomstick between his legs caused nature to take over - well - let’s just say Hermione’s version of a hummer is far more entertaining - and less bruising.

  An hour or so later, as Harry circled the tallest goal post, he saw Hermione walking toward the pitch. Even from this height, he could see the happy smile, glowing on her face. Learning really did make her happy. Perhaps he’d go down on her while she read a book again. That way, she’d be pleased on two levels.

  Harry touched down lightly next to his lover and said “Are you feeling any better?”

  “Yes, it helped keep my mind off of that dreadful woman,” she replied.

  “You mean Swan-Cummings-Smith-Marshal-McGuffin?”

  “I thought we agreed to call her Prudish Bitch from now on.”

  “Oh, right, I forgot,” Harry said, smiling.

  “Are you going to ask me what I read up on?” Hermione asked, with a smile of her own.

  “That would be pointless, wouldn’t it? I know by that look you’re about to tell me whether I ask or not,” he pointed out playfully.

  “Yes, I am,” Hermione said, unabashedly. “I read up on Light Magic Charms.”

  “You mean charms that make things weigh less or ones that illuminate a dark room?” he asked, knowing full well that wasn’t the case.

  Ignoring Harry’s attempt at making the subject light - err, humorous, Hermione explained; “The Patronus Charm needs completely pure emotions to fuel it. The caster must feel pure happiness or pure love, not a corruption of such emotions. In other words, if the caster was a sadist and was focusing on his victim’s pain for his happiness - basically the definition of a sadist - the charm wouldn’t work. Even though the thought of another person’s pain would give the sadist a thrill, the emotion is tainted and isn’t pure.”

  “So that means whoever cast the doe Patronus wasn’t evil,” he summarized.

  “More than likely, yes,” Hermione stated. “With that in mind, I did some more research on Dark and Light magics.

  “Basically, much like the Patronus needs pure, positive emotions, the Unforgivables, in particular the Cruciatus and the Killing Curse, need pure hate to cast,” Hermione explained. “What Bellatrix told you when you tried to cast the Cruciatus was true. You have to want it, deep down.

  “Walden Smith, in his book ‘Dark Arts: Friend or Fiend,’ stated that sadists have an easier time casting the Unforgivables,” she continued. “They enjoy others’ suffering and the thought of this pain helps to fuel the curse.”

  “That makes sense,” Harry said. “But haven’t we discussed this before?”

  “Yes, and we’re discussing it more,” the brunette said. “And now I’d like to tie this discussion in with the prophesy.”

  “Um, how can you draw a connection between the two?”

  “Easy; ‘the power he knows not,’” stated Hermione.

  “Is love,” Harry offered.

  “True, but since you and Voldemort are equals but opposite, we can also assume that the power you know n
ot is hate while it’s Voldemort’s power core. Much like yours is love,” Hermione speculated.

  “Oh, I know hate,” Harry said with a less than bemused chuckle, thinking about the Dursleys, Umbridge, Bellatrix, and Voldemort. Just the mere thought of these people made they young wizard angry.

  “But not pure hate, not like Voldemort,” Hermione returned. “You know compassion, an alien concept to Voldemort. And this compassion is always there, even when you hate someone. Unlike Voldemort whose hate and anger is completely encompassing.”

  “Okay, what’s your point?”

  “I’m getting to it,” she said with a huff. “Remember the time Voldemort possessed you in the Ministry building? You said that he felt unbearable pain when you had loving memories about Sirius. That sense of love actually hurt him so much that it drove him out. If you think about it, the exact same thing happened to you when you see into Voldemort’s mind. You felt unbearable pain whenever he cast the Cruciatus and Killing Curses while you were connected to him. I believe what really hurt you was the pure hate that Voldemort tapped into in order to cast those curses. He focused on his hate and that hurt you, much like your love hurt him.”

  “How does this help me, really?” he asked. “Am I to follow Ron’s joking suggestion of hugging Voldemort to death?”

  “No, cast a Patronus at him,” she said as if the answer was painfully obvious.

  “Hermione, you do know he’s not a Dementor, right?” he asked with just a hint, a tiny suggestion, of sarcasm. “Because if you don’t, I can draw you a picture of Voldemort and Dementor and show you the differences between the two.”

  “Ha ha, very funny,” she return with her own heaping teaspoon of sarcasm. Adopting a more serious tone, Hermione forged ahead; “The Patronus Charm is pure happiness. And, in your case, can be pure love. If you hit Voldemort with your Patronus, it will do damage simply because it is the embodiment of the power he knows not.”

  “Are you sure?” Harry asked as a silly image of his Patronus stag charging at the most feared wizard of their time played out in his head.

  “It’ll have to be more powerful than anything you’ve done before,” she said. “You’ll have to tap further into your love core than you ever have.”

  “I’d much rather drop a very large rock on his head.”

  “I’m certain my theory is correct,” she reinforced.

  “Yes, but a very large rock crushing his skull isn’t a theory that would need to be tested,” argued Harry.

  “I’m serious, Harry,” the brunette protested.

  “So am I,” he said calmly. “You said it yourself; it’s a theory. The only way to test this theory is to cast a super-Patronus at Voldemort. And he isn’t a sporting fellow; he won’t just stand still while we put your theory to test. He’ll be throwing Killing Curses at us.”

  “My logic and reasoning is sound,” she pressed.

  “I’m sure it is,” he said. “But there is a chance that it might not work. And that chance could get someone hurt. I’d much rather use a proven method of killing Voldemort. Like, for example, a very large rock colliding with his skull at high speeds.”

  Hermione hung her head and said, “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Hey, at least your suggestion how to kill Voldemort made more sense than Ron’s,” offered Harry. “And not just the hugging one, but the time he went on and on about the Expelliarmus and the fictitious super-wand.”

  A smile grace Hermione as she added; “Who in the world would come up with such an implausible attack like Expelliarmus to defeat Voldemort, super-wand or not?”

  “You see, yours was based on logic, not some wild flight of fancy from the ethers of illogical so-called reasoning,” said Harry. He wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her against his body. While rubbing the small of her back, he whispered in her ear, “How about you fetch one of your favorite books, or even a book you’d like to read but haven’t.”

  “Why?” she asked. Clearly recognizing the lustful look in his eyes, she inquired; “What do you have in mind?”

  “Oh, I just want to combine two of your loves,” he answered, “reading and cunnilingus.”

  “I have the perfect book in mind!” she cheered.

  “You do? Is it a favorite or something?”

  “No, but if you’re licking my bits, I’ll find ‘Ministry Regulations and Codes for Cauldron Bottoms, Vol. 171-A by Percy Ignatius Weasley’ absolutely fascinating!”

  “Orgasms make everything more enjoyable?”

  “Oh, yes, definitely!” she said, smiling.

  SoG SoG SoG

  The day finally arrived; today was the day Books of Love Magic: Volume One would go on sale to the public. Harry, Hermione, Ron and Luna assembled outside the Headmistress’ office.

  “You ready?” Harry asked Ron and Luna.

  “I don’t see why we’re bothering to go,” the gangly wizard replied. “That crazy bird with the long name has frightened everyone away.”

  “If it helps, Hermione and I refer to her as the Prudish Bitch,” offered Harry.

  “Oh, that’s easier to say than Swan-Cummings-Smith-Marshal-McGuffin,” Luna said in her sing-song voice, “much more efficient use of time.”

  “Let’s just hope a few people will be brave enough to push through the Prudish Bitch’s picket line,” Hermione said, disappointed over the predicament.

  The four marched into McGonagall’s office and took the floo to the Leaky Cauldron. With their heads hanging low in defeat already, the two couples walked to Franklin’s of Cardiff. What they found there surprised them.

  The Prudish Bitch, wearing the same disapproving frown she had for the photo on the front page, was there with her group of protesters, but they were not fifty strong as the Prophet article has said - there were a little over twenty witches and wizards holding signs that renounced the book and its depravity. But the truly shocking sight was the line of people waiting to get into Franklin’s. It was so long that it wrapped around the corner, down the block, and around the other corner.

  “Blimey, that’s a lot of people,” Ron exclaimed.

  “One hundred and eighty seven people!” announced Hermione excitedly.

  “You counted?” Harry asked and then promptly answered his own question. “Of course you did. You’re Hermione after all.”

  “I counted as well and Hermione’s number is correct, in case you were curious,” offered Luna.

  As they approached the front door of the lingerie and sex shop, the cries and shouts of the protesters filled Harry’s ears.

  “Degenerates!”

  “You’re supporting foul behavior!”

  “Nasty, disreputable acts of depravity!”

  Harry took in the signs the protesters held.

  “Your Flith!”

  “Nastie Bugers!”

  “Propor Behaveor NOW!”

  “Is it me, or do all protest signs have to be misspelled?” Harry asked rhetorically.

  “And don’t forget about the bad grammar,” Luna added. “‘Your’ is possessive which makes that sign mean something completely different. It’s like they’re offering to give you back ‘Your Flith’ because they’ve been holding onto it for you. Whatever ‘flith’ is.”

  Hermione, who would normally have been the one to point out the assault against the English language, was far too overjoyed by the turnout to have cared. The brunette was making high pitched squealing sounds, ones that would conceivably make dogs bark up to a mile away.

  “I thought for sure no one would show up thanks to the Prudish Bitch,” Ron stated.

  Then, the witch Harry recognized as the Prudish Bitch in question broke off from the group and in a limping lumber, staggered to Harry and his friends.

  “Saying such nasty things about people behind their backs will get you warts,” the old and haggard witch warned Ron. The witch turned and looked at Harry with her milky-blue eyes and pointed one of her boney fingers at him, saying “So, how do you like the
turn out? Does it meet your expectations?”

  Before Harry could ask the witch what she was on about, a wizard of around thirty trotted up and, looking at the line of people waiting to go into Franklin’s, asked “What’s this all about?”

  “We’re protesting filth and immoral actions!” the elderly witch announced angrily. “That filthy book will be the downfall of this noble nation! The downfall, I tell you! DOWNFALL!” she screamed.

  “Wait, that book on sex magic that was in the Prophet the other day is on sale? Brilliant!” the wizard said with a cheer. “I have to get one! Where’s the end of the queue?”

  “‘Round that corner, down a bit, and ‘round another corner,” the elderly witch answered in an oddly helpful and sweet manner. “There’s a downright handsome bloke with red hair who’s selling refreshments to the people already waiting.”

  “Cheers,” the wizard said and trotted off to join the queue.

  The old witch turned back to Harry and said with a happy lilt to her cracking voice, “There’s no press like bad press. Controversies always draw a crowd.”

  “Excuse me?” Hermione asked.

  “It’s the best and cheapest advertising you can get. The newspapers are more than happy to write stories dealing with controversies, because it gets the attention of the public. And the public, being the curious buggers they are, are drawn to the controversy like moths to a flame,” the witch continued. “And best of all, we didn’t have to spend a knut. All of this,” she said, gesturing to the long queue of people, “was for free.”

  “Wait... Fred?” Harry asked, staring in disbelief at the old witch.

  “George actually, Fred’s the one selling refreshments to the people waiting in the queue,” she, or rather he answered. “I’m wearing an improved version of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes ‘Hag in a Bag.’”

  “You’re the Prudish Bitch?” Hermione asked in shock.

  “Funny; Fred and I were thinking about naming her that, but we didn’t think the Prophet would print it,” George said in the old witch’s voice. “So we settled on Mary Swan-Cummings-Smith-Marshal-McGuffin. Nothing sounds more frigid than an overly hyphenated name.”