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Author Notes:

I always wanted to write a completely over-the-top Twi-Wizard Tournament story.  And this is certainly that.  

So you're aware, this has all the flaws that all my writing does, so if you're expecting something deep or meaningful, please go read something else.

This is filed under Harry/Other, but there is no set pairing.  Harry doesn't find true-luv in this, but that doesn't mean that romance isn't part of the story.

“Guys,” Harry called, as he spotted Fred and George ahead of him.  He hurried toward the twins.

“Ahh, it’s our wonderful Tri-Wizard champion,” Fred said dryly.  “How did you get past the charms?”

“I didn’t,” Harry almost screamed, before he caught himself. “What would I have to do to prove to you that I didn’t do it?”

“Run around Hogwarts, naked,” George replied instantly.

Harry sighed.  “If that’s what it takes for someone to believe me.” He undid his robe and dropped it to the floor and went for his shirt.

“Whoa,” Fred called, “we don't swing that way, no matter how cute you are.”

Harry and George both looked at Fred.

“Seriously,” Fred continued, “if we couldn't get past it, then you couldn't, which means someone else did, and knowing your history, the purpose is nefarious.”

“Good word,” George praised.

“I’d be insulted, but damn right.”  Harry was more than happy to do his shirt back up.

“Yeah,” George added.  “Besides, unlike some idiots in this school, we’re quite capable of thinking for ourselves.”

“And for others, if asked,” Fred said.  “So, my dear boy, what can we do for you?”

“Look, you guys lost your money, right?  On that bet you made at the World Cup?”

They both frowned and nodded.

“I’ll pay you a hundred galleons to get me through this thing alive.”

“Let me be blunt, my young friend,” Fred replied. "We need a bit more than that, and well, you're a Potter, and Potters have more money than “Croesus.”

“We do?”

“Of course you do,” George said. “So, here's the deal, you hire us to sort your life out, for the princely sum of ten thousand galleons, and if you win, fifty percent of the winnings.  Oh, and you pay expenses.”

“Define ‘Sort my life out’,” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Simple,” Fred replied. “The patent-pending deluxe Life Style Refresher course covers all bases.”

“Education,” George said, his manner like a game show presenter announcing prizes.

“The lucky client will get access to all our secret information, our guide to becoming an Animagus, and some very nasty things that you can do to your enemy.”

“Security,” George announced.

“Our client will get the full range of Weasley protections, from anti-eaves-dropping charms, to whoops-my-enemies-have-just-fallen-down-three-flights-of-stairs accidents.”

“Finance,” George intoned.

“The client is not just hiring us; he is buying a share of our business, on which his already considerable fortune can be increased exponentially.  Not only that, we’ll teach him all the things we didn't know three months ago, about how not to throw all your money down the drain, and how to manage it responsibly.”

“Health,” George’s voice rang down the corridor.

“We’ve noticed that the prospective client is a skinny runt, while on the Fred and George diet, your runtiness will soon be a thing of the past, and witches of all ages will be dreaming nightly of you.”

“Romance,” George continued.

“As part of the service, not only will we arrange etiquette and how-to guides with a series of attractive and competent witches, we'll also provide a high-class girlfriend for all your teenage needs.”

“This is a once in a life time opportunity,” George said, losing the game-show personality. “You’ve come to us at just the right time.”

“Is cash acceptable?” Harry asked.

Fred and George looked at each other, and then hugged him, jumping around. “You’re serious?” Fred asked.

“I trust you guys. If you'd said anything even remotely sane, I’d’ve been worried, but you were so far out there, I have no doubt that you can do exactly what you said.”

Fred playacted a sniff as he released Harry. “You say the nicest things.”

“Fred,” George whispered, “stop hitting on our employer.”

Fred winked at him.  “We are going to need authorisation to access your accounts.  We’ll bring some paper work to you tomorrow.”

George smiled.  “Right, you go to bed, we've got something to take care of for you.  Make sure you’re at breakfast first thing tomorrow.  After breakfast, you’re ours.”

“Oh, Harry,” Fred called, as Harry turned.  “Our brother is an idiot - you might want to have a look at your friends. Loyalty is the most important thing in life, and he showed a distinct lack of it.”

“He is our brother, and we love him,” George continued, “but if Lee had treated us like that, we would have him seeing if he can breathe underwater.”

Harry nodded and walked back toward the Gryffindor Tower, feeling a lot better about things than he had a few minutes before.


“So,” Fred said.  “Can we pull off what we just said?”

“The Weasley twins, with money?  I don’t see why not.  The only thing that has stopped us before is the fear of being thrown out of school.  With money, we technically don’t need school; we can open our shop any time we want.”

“Very true,” Fred agreed.  “So, in to the Slytherin dorm to sabotage the badges?”

“Absolutely.  We’ll also want to start hiring some sub-contractors.”

“And talk to the house-elves about changing his diet.”

“And get him some exercise.  Wood would be good for that.”

“The guy is insane.” Fred agreed.  “Shall we?”


As Harry arrived in the Gryffindor Common Room, he found it was deserted, with just one familiar person sat near the fire.

He walked over to her slowly.  “Hi.”

“Harry,” she said, looking slightly distracted, as she had books around her, and one on her lap.

“Researching?”

“Uh-huh,” she agreed.  “Age line wards,” She added after a moment.  “Someone is out to get you.”

Harry blinked.  “Huh?”

“Harry, you’ve hardly touched a book in weeks.  You’re also a teenage boy: lazy, unmotivated to learn, and would rather spend your time playing Quidditch.”

“Hey,” Harry protested weakly.

“Therefore,” Hermione continued, her concentration still on the book, “there is no way that you could have got past these wards.”

“Exactly,” Harry agreed.  “And, erm, still, ‘hey’.”

Hermione looked up and smiled at him.  “Go to bed, Harry.  You look tired.  You’re going to have to work hard over the next few months to survive.”

“I’ve already taken some steps to help with that,” he confessed.

“Good,” Hermione agreed.  “Now shoot, I want to finish this book before I go to bed.”

“Night, Hermione.”

“Night, Harry.”

Harry walked up to his room, feeling even better.  Not only did Fred and George believe in him, Hermione had proved to herself that he couldn’t have got in to the tournament on his own.  And things were back to being fine between them!


Harry walked to breakfast, a small smile on his face. 

As he got out of the Common Room, he was surprised to see two burly Durmstrang students standing around.  He blinked at them, and reached for his wand.

“We’re your new bodyguards,” the first one announced.

“Yeah,” the second agreed.  “For the rest of the year, we’re to make sure that nothing happens to you.”

“And if it does,” the first said, before crashing his large fist into his palm.  “It’s smashing time.”

“Well,” Harry said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The Weasleys came along just at the right time,” the first said.  “We’d been looking at getting out of extortion, and moving on to protection.  And protecting you will be good for our future careers.”

Harry nodded.  “It’s always good to have motivated employees.  What are your names?”

“I’m Crusher, this is Smasher.”

“Delighted to meet you, I’m Harry.”

“No, you’re ‘sir’, or ‘boss’” Smasher informed him.  “That’s how it works.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed, more than a little intimidated. 

“So boss, ya want breakfast?”

“I think that would be good for all of us.”

Smasher looked pleased.  “Follow me, boss; Crusher will bring up the rear.”

Harry nodded, and found his path to the Great Hall was the smoothest he could remember.  Students moved out of the way of the huge Durmstrang students without even a squeak of protest.

Rather than go to the Gryffindor table, Harry was directed to his own smaller table, with space for around eight people.  “Crowds make us uncomfortable,” Crusher grumbled.

“And we wouldn’t want that,” Harry agreed, as he took a seat.  As soon as he sat, three giant plates appeared each one with what looked like a pound of semi-cooked steak, topped with four fried eggs.

“I’m gonna like working for you, boss,” Smasher said, “you get great grub.”

“Harry Potter is to be eating all!” Dobby announced as he popped in.  He put his hands on his hips.  “Great wizards should be being people sized, not house elf sized.”

“Dobby?” Harry said in surprise.  “What are you doing here?”

“Dobby is hearing that Tricksey Weazies are asking for helps for Harry Potter, so I is applying for job and gettings it!”

Harry grinned.  “I’m very pleased.”

Dobby’s eyes started to water, as he popped away, leaving behind the mountain of food.

He started to eat, wondering how on earth he was going to finish this.

“Get your ‘Support Cedric’ badges,” Draco Malfoy shouted, from the doorway.  “And show Potter who the real champions is.”  As students entered, most of them took the badges. 

Smasher and Crusher growled, but didn’t do anything.  “The Weasley’s have got this one,” Crushed muttered.

Harry watched closely, trying to remember all the students who did take one.  Some of the students looked over at him, but quickly looked away after meeting the eyes of his bodyguards.

He was a little surprised to see the Beauxbatons students completely ignore Malfoy.

“Greetings, beloved patron,” Fred said as he sat down next to George, opposite him.  “We see you’ve found your bodyguards.”

“And very good they are as well,” Harry said.  “I’m impressed so far.”

Smasher and Crusher smiled cheerfully.

“When Malfoy presses the button, those badges will really live up to their name,” Fred said with a wink.  “So we’ll just stay over here.  Anyway, we have your new timetable for out-of-class work.”

Harry looked at the piece of paper that had been handed out.  All his free time had been taken up, but there were only locations on the timetable, not any indication of what he was actually going to be doing there.

As the Great Hall filled up, Malfoy wandered in, his nose in the air, and a smirk on his lips.  “Look, Potter,” he called, and pressed a button on his badge. 

Through out the Great Hall, every button emitted a hissing noise.  Before long, students started to gag and retch.  The smell that permeated the room was incredible.  Every student without a badge moved away from the badge wearers.

Fred waved his wand, and the smell vanished from around them.

“Potter!” Snape yelled, storming over to the table.

“Is there a problem, Snape?” Crusher asked, standing and looming over the Professor.

“Yeah?” Smasher agreed; a Beaters bat that he’d pulled out from under the table in his hand. 

Snape gulped, and went a peculiar shade of red.

“We don’t like your attitude,” Crusher announced.  “And when we don’t like things, accidents happen.  Especially to Death Eaters.”

“Yeah,” Smasher agreed.  “Painful accidents.  ‘Specially to Death Eaters.”

“You can’t threaten me,” Snape hissed.

Smasher smirked.  “Sure we can, we just did.  We’re in the protection business now, and Potter’s the boss, and that’s how it stays, right?”

Snape growled and turned on his heel, storming off.  The rest of the school was too busy trying to escape the stink to notice.  Fred smiled, and casually summoned a badge, and then banished it to hit Snape in the back.  Green gas emanated from it as soon as it hit him.

“Gentlemen,” Harry said to Smasher and Crusher, “let’s talk incentive deals.”

The two huge Durmstrang students turned to look at him.

“Every time you get Snape or Malfoy to that colour of red, you get a twenty galleon bonus,” Harry offered.  “One hundred for every accidental broken bone that happens to any of them.”

“Cor,” Smasher said.  “That’s a great bonus scheme, boss.  You sure you can afford it?”

“There are 206 bones in an adult,” Fred advised.  “You could earn over twenty thousand galleons.”

“Say, boss,” Crusher said, “you gonna be looking at making this a longer term deal?”

Harry thought for a second.  “We could make it until all the Death Eaters are dead,” he offered. 

The two bodyguards looked at each other and nodded.  “So, you’ve fought the Dark Lord before, right, because Malfoy’s been claiming he’s coming back?”

Harry nodded, not bothering to explain that he had only been a baby at the time.

“And he’s going to be busy making sure he can kick his arse again,” Fred added.  “It’s all part of the plan we’ve been hired for.”

“So we get to smash and crush Death Eaters, and you take care of the big one when he comes?” Crusher asked.

“There’s a ten thousand Galleon bonus,” Harry added, wondering if he really had enough money to cover all of this.  The complete lack of worry on Fred and George’s face reassured him.

“Eat up, boss,” Crusher said.

“Yeah,” Smasher agreed.  “You’re alright, for a Gryff.”

“For students from Durmstrang, you two aren’t bad either.”

“Can we sit over ‘ere?” a new voice interrupted them.  A Beauxbatons boy was standing near them.

“Of course,” Harry agreed politely.  “You are guests after all.  Dobby?”

The hyper-active house-elf appeared.  “Would you fetch more seats for our guests?  And send an elf to France and get them something nice for breakfast.”

Dobby bounced happily, and clapped his hands.  More elves appeared, and the table expanded.

“Thank you,” the boy said.  “I am Christophe.”

“Harry,” Harry replied.  “Crusher and Smasher,” he introduced his bodyguards.  “And the Weasley twins, Fred and George, my advisors.”

“Why do you ‘ave bodyguards?” a dark haired female student asked.

“Some tosspot puts a fourteen year old boy’s name in the Goblet?” Fred asked.  “It sounds like someone is out to get him.  Being a smart lad, he immediately acquired expert help to deal with his problems.”

“Yeah,” Crusher agreed.

“Please,” Harry said, as plates of Croissants appeared.  “Make yourselves at home, I know Hogwarts hasn’t been very welcoming recently, but some of us are nice people.”

“Yeah,” Smasher agreed.

Harry wondered if he’d be able to train them out of that habit, he wasn’t Malfoy, he was confident enough to make his own statements without a chorus of echoes.  The Beauxbatons students sat down and started to converse in French.

“Hmm,” Harry said, “do I have enough time for French lessons?”

“Your first lesson is tonight at six,” George replied.

“Oh, good.” 

He looked up, and continued to eat his breakfast, amusingly watching the chaos that was the Great Hall, very pleased with what looked like a small bubble keeping the stench away from their table.

“One of our better pranks,” Fred said cheerfully, as his vastly smaller breakfast arrived.  “And don’t stop eating.  You’re only a third of the way there.”

Harry nodded and went back to eating; he was long past being stuffed now.  Eventually, the Professors managed to remove the fog, Dumbledore blowing it out the door.  The badges were summoned, and Malfoy lost some House Points.

All in all, it was about as good a breakfast as he could remember.

When he had finally finished the massive meal, Fred and George gave him papers to sign, giving them access to his vault.  They nodded to the bodyguards, who guided him to his first lesson of the day.

“Why don’t we wait here,” Smasher suggested.  “Let Crusher have a quiet word with Snape.”

“Sure,” Harry agreed.  “Bruises are worth five galleons.”

Crusher grinned and entered the Potions dungeon.  There were a few muffled sounds, followed by a silence.

“So where do you two come from?” Harry asked.

“Luton,” Smasher said.  “Our parents thought we’d get a better education abroad.  They don’t like Death Eaters either.”

Crusher walked out of the Dungeon, a pleased look on his face.  “Snape has agreed to follow the rules.

“If Snape’s not his normal polite self, or Malfoy makes a fuss, let us know.  We’ll be here to pick you up for your next class.”

“I’ll wait for you,” he agreed, and entered the Potions classroom.  Snape had a wild look on his face, and was sporting a black eye.  Rather than smirk, Harry decided to just sit at the back and get on with the lesson.  He had no reason to antagonise Snape now, as the man had been neutralised.

The rest of the students turned up much later, they avoided looking at Harry.  Hermione slid next to him.  “We need to talk,” she hissed.

“Sure,” Harry agreed.  “We can walk to class together.”

Hermione nodded, and concentrated on the instructions.  It was possibly the best lesson he’d ever had.  Snape kept well away from him, and Malfoy was at the other side of the room.  If it wasn’t for the fact that most of the students were still pretty rank, it would have been perfect.

He was pulled out halfway through for something to do with the Tournament.

As his bodyguards weren’t outside, he paused, unsure what to do.  He really didn’t want to do anything on his own.

There was a regular thumping noise, as Smasher and Crusher ran around the corner.  “They just grabbed Krum,” Smasher said.  “So we knew they’d want you as well.”

Harry smiled.  “Excellent work.”

The two beamed.  “Let’s go,” Crusher said, ignoring Colin Creevey, who looked highly intimidated.  They walked from the dungeon up to a small class room.  Harry didn’t bother knocking as he entered the room.

Cedric and Fleur were having a conversation in one corner; Fleur was playing with her hair in a distracted fashion.

Krum gave him a small smile.  Bagman was talking to a witch on the far side of the room, next to a table that had been covered by a length of fabric.

“That’s Skeeter,” Crusher sneered.  “She’s a gossip columnist.  Made some stuff up about my dad, she did.”

“Really?” Harry asked slowly.  “Why don’t you guys have a quiet word with her now, see if you can get an apology?  Maybe convince her to mend her ways?”

“And not print crap about you?”

“Exactly.”

Smasher and Crusher marched straight over to Skeeter, who squeaked in fear.  They lifted her bodily up, ignoring Bagman’s protests, and walked out, snagging a photographer on the way.

“Hi Vik,” Harry said cheerfully.

“Harry,” Viktor rumbled.  “You not like journalists?”

Harry thought for a second.  “I don’t like many people,” he admitted.

Viktor laughed.  “Me neither,” he agreed.  “I like to be alone.”

“Although you’d make an exception for my friend?” Harry suggested.  “I’ve noticed the occasional sly glance...”

Viktor gave him a shy smile as he blushed.  The door opened and Dumbledore, Karkaroff and Maxime all entered, they were accompanied by Ollivander, the man who sold him his first wand.

“Where is Miss Skeeter?” Albus asked in surprise.

“Learning some life lessons,” Harry answered quietly, causing Cedric to snigger.

Harry looked at him for a few moments, and then shrugged.

“Well, let’s get on with it,” Albus said cheerfully.  “Mr Ollivander?”

Fleur was called up first, and she swept to Ollivander gracefully, throwing a small look of disdain at Harry.

He rolled his eyes, barely paying attention.  As Ollivander finished and called Cedric forward, he realised that he hadn’t exactly polished his wand recently.  Some surreptitious polishing had Fleur looking pitifully at him.  He ignored her, wondering exactly why just rubbing a wand was producing magic. 

“Leetle boy,” Fleur muttered dismissively.  It didn’t really register, he was to busy playing with his wand.

Ignoring the way the rubbing was almost blatantly phallic, he wasn’t asking his wand to do anything, yet it was creating magic.

“Mr Potter?”

“Hmm?” Harry asked, holding his wand by the tip, and seeing if he could cast spells backwards.

The stunner he threw at the door was mistimed, as Skeeter had just opened the door, and was hit by it.

“Whoops,” Harry said.  He looked up to see everyone looking at him.  “Problem?” he asked.

“Wand,” Albus said, his eyes twinkling, “your turn.”

“Oh, right,” Harry said.  He wandered over to Ollivander.  “Twelve inches, phoenix feather, brother wand to Voldemort,” he said cheerily, ignoring the gasps that came from the associated people.

“Quite,” Ollivander said sourly.  He made a few brief waves, before creating a fountain of wine.  He handed Harry his wand back.

Harry pointed his wand at the table, and said the same thing that Ollivander had whispered under his breath.  Another wine fountain appeared.

He grinned.  “Smasher, Crusher, remind me that selling alcohol is wrong later.”

“Yes, boss,” Crusher agreed.

Harry dipped his finger in the wine and tasted it thoughtfully.  It didn’t taste bad, but nor did it taste good.  “Is that it?” he asked, ignoring the looks he was getting from the others.

“Yes,” Albus said slowly.

“Wait,” Bagman cried.  “We need photos.”

“What do I get out of it?” Harry asked.

“Your picture in the press,” Bagman replied.  “The glory and the honour.”

“Not interested,” Harry decided.  “I’m only here because some tosspot shoved my name in the stupid cup.  Frankly, you can take your glory and honour and shove it somewhere unpleasant.”  He walked out, ignoring the spluttering behind him and returned to potions.

After the lesson had ended, Smasher and Crusher were still waiting for him.  “Smasher, Crusher, this is my good friend Hermione.”

“Hi,” Hermione half-whimpered.

“Lady,” they said in unison.  “Charms next.  Let’s get going.”

“So what did you want to talk about?” Harry asked.

“This,” Hermione hissed.  “You can’t hire students to be your bodyguards.”

“Of course I can,” Harry replied.  “I’m happy, they’re happy, they’ve got a steady source of income, I have protection, and we just had a great Potions lesson, what’s the problem?”

“They’re scaring the other students!”

“The students who wore ‘Potter Stinks’ buttons this morning?” Harry asked.  “Good.”

“Yeah,” Crusher muttered.

“But…” Hermione started.

“I realised last night that I have very few friends in this school, and frankly, I don’t care for it.  What I want is to be left alone, to get through school without having to fight for my life, be able to study to learn, not to keep myself alive.  As I don’t seem to be able to do that, I’m going to make sure that I’m as safe as I can be.

“Now, let’s talk about you.”

“Me?” Hermione asked in surprise.

“We’re best friends,” Harry continued.  “And I was wondering if you wanted a job?”

“A job?” Hermione asked faintly.

“Chief researcher,” Harry continued.  “I don’t expect you to do my homework, just help research things that interest me.  I’ll pay you the same as my bodyguards; just imagine the books you could buy.”

“Yes, books,” Hermione said faintly.  “Lots of books.”

“First editions, even,” Harry added.

“Oh, yes,” Hermione giggled.

“Excellent,” Harry said.  “Now, let’s enjoy Charms.”

Smasher and Crusher, who both had poorly concealed grins on their faces, escorted them to the door.

After Charms, Smasher and Crusher were waiting, which was expected.  The surprise was the looming forms of Crabbe and Goyle.

“This is Nasher and Thrasher,” Smasher said.  “They’ve decided to become our apprentices.”

“Yeah,” Goyle agreed.  “Pays much better.”

“Right,” Crabbe added.  “We’ll be your in-class body guards.”

“Welcome to the team,” Harry said cheerfully.  “You’ve heard of the bonus scheme?”

“That applies to us?” Crabbe asked.

“Of course, this is on the side; it applies to anyone who wants to take part.”

“Just think of the brooms we could buy if Malfoy fell down the stairs a few times,” Crabbe whispered.

“Yeah,” Goyle agreed.

The formation this time was different, with Crabbe (Nasher) in the front with Smasher, and Goyle (Thrasher) at the back with Crusher.  As before, their journey through out the school was care-free.

The table was still available for them, and they were being glared at by a lot of students.  The Beauxbatons students walked over and asked to join again – Harry immediately saying yes.  Some of the other Durmstrang students came over, including Viktor Krum, who spent a lot of time staring at Hermione, who was peeking back.

Harry leant to the left, and whispered, “Remind me to check that Krum has the best intentions.”

“Righty-ho, Boss,” Crusher agreed.

Harry looked down at his plate in surprise.  He was still stuffed from lunch, and this looked like a giant steak pie.  Next to it, was a tall glass of something black with a white top.

“Steak and Guinness,” Fred announced as he arrived in front of them.  “We had a chat with the Goblins on your behalf,” he continued.  “For a fee, they’re willing to allow you access to all the family vaults.  Turns out that you don’t have any guardians that they acknowledge, so with a bit of administration, they’ll do what is needed.  And by the way, Croesus is now spinning in his grave in envy.”

Harry blinked.  “Oh.”  He thought for a few seconds.  “Offer them double if it’s done by tomorrow,” he decided.

“We thought you’d say that, so we did,” Fred agreed.  “We also hired one of the account experts for you; he’s your Friday at nine pm.”

“Good work.”

“So,” George said, looking at Smasher.  “Expanding?”

“Yeah,” Smasher agreed.  “With us allowed to hurt Death Eaters, we got to thinking.  Protection is the way to go, and working for Death Scum doesn’t pay well, they seem to think that violence is its own reward.  And it is, but it doesn’t pay the bills.  Besides, Harry’s a good guy, and he’s been great to work for.”

“Yeah.” Nasher agreed.  “And his incentive scheme rocks!”

“Guys,” Harry interrupted.  “I’ve hired Hermione as my chief researcher.  Anything we need to know, she’s the go-to witch.”

“Good plan,” George agreed. 

“Now, I was thinking, Smasher and Crusher here have pointed out that they don’t like Death Eaters.”

“Bad for business,” Smasher agreed.

“And you’ve just pointed out that I’m not poor.”

“And the winner of the understatement of the year, that guy,” Fred said, pointing at Harry.

“So, why don’t we let it be known that I’ll offer five thousand Galleons for any arm with the Dark Mark on it – preferably not attached to the body?”

Fred and George looked at each other.

“Cor, Boss,” Thrasher said, “that would make it open season on Death Eaters.”

Harry climbed up from his seat.  “Excuse me,” he said loudly.

Everyone turned to stare at him.

“Please pass this message on to everyone you know.  I will pay five thousand galleons for every arm with the Dark Mark sent to me.  Thank you.”  He sat back down.  “That should be in the press tomorrow.”

“Harry,” Professor Dumbledore said.

Smasher and Crusher stood, followed by Nasher and Thrasher.  “Is there a problem?” Smasher growled.

Dumbledore blinked.  “I was wondering if I might have a talk with Harry.”

“An official talk, headmaster?” Harry asked respectfully.

“Oh, no, just a friendly chat,” Dumbledore replied.

“What’s his timetable like?” Crusher demanded.

“Busy,” Fred said, looking at some paper.  “However I’m sure he’s willing to postpone something to talk to you.”

Albus frowned, and then nodded.  “Do you know what you are doing?”

“Nope,” Harry said cheerfully.  “This is why I’ve hired expert assistance.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly.  “In that case, please do feel free to use me as a sounding board as well.  Good luck with your endeavour.”  To Harry’s surprise, he turned and walked away.

“Fred,” Harry said, as he took a long drink of the Guinness.  “We’re going to have to have a chat soon.”

“Of course, Harry.  Now finish your pie; you have some exercises before your next class.”

Harry nodded, and wondered why he was the one being ordered around when he was paying the bills.  The answer soon came to him – he was paying them to look after him.


“Fred, George,” a female voice called.

“Melissa, our favourite Head Girl,” George said, as they turned.

“And only,” Melissa added dryly.  “So, how many of the rumours are true?”

“All of them,” George admitted.

“Dumbledore really does cross-dress at weekends,” Fred agreed.

Melissa rolled her eyes.  “Did Potter really hire you for protection?”

“No,” Fred replied. 

“Hey,” George protested.

Fred blinked, “Oh, I’m sorry, my mistake.”

“I’ll let you off, this time.”

“Thank you.” 

George turned to Melissa.  “No,” he said, “he hired us to make sure he survives the tournament.”

“Right,” Melissa said.  “Is he really rich?”

“There’s a king who once came close to ruling the world who’s green with envy,” Fred replied.

“Good.  And he’s hired those two brutes to be his bodyguards?”

“No, we hired them for him.  Sub-contracting.”

“You’ve put five hundred galleons on Harry to win the Tournament at a hundred to one?”

“Correct.”

Melissa reached up and absently ran her fingers through her hair.  “Can I get a job?”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to move home after I leave here, and I could get a deposit for a flat with the money.”

Fred and George looked at each other.  “Do we need anyone else?” Fred asked.

“We’ve got everything in hand,” George agreed.  “What can you do?”

Melissa frowned, and looked up and down herself.  “Teach him about girls?”

“That’s his daily ten o’clock lessons, from tomorrow,” Fred replied. 

The Head girl blinked at them, before a grudging smile of respect crossed her face.

“You have to understand that our little Harry isn’t like you and me,” George explained.  “He’s a boy with destiny, and with the right trusted advisors –”

“Namely us,” Fred interrupted.

“He’ll go places, many places.  Our little brother screwed up, lazy, that one, and Harry came to us, so we grabbed the opportunity.”

“Politics,” Melissa suddenly blurted.  “I can teach him politics.”

Fred pulled out a list from his pocket.  “How is today for you, at five, it’s the only spot we have left?  We pay thirty galleons a session, we will be randomly spot-checking the lessons, and any attempt to lead him down a wrong path will be dealt with by our associates.”

“And for a good report at the end of your lessons, you will receive as a lump sum, an extra thirty galleons per lesson held.  So if you do thirty lessons, you could earn close to two thousand galleons.”

Melissa gaped for a second, before her head went up.

“Oh, and no attempting to seduce our little Harry,” George added seriously.  “You minx; we’ve got his first girlfriend lined up.”

“Ginevra?”

“Hell no,” Fred replied.  “We said girlfriend, not psycho-stalker from hell!  You should have seen what she did to our puppy.”

“It’s a pain that never ends,” George agreed.

“Who, then?”

Fred and George just smiled.  “You’ll see.” Fred said.  “Oh, relax with him, as the lessons go on; start putting on tight t-shirts and the like.”

“Why?”

“Because by then, he should be able to handle it, and it will be a test.”

“Thanks, guys.”

“No, Melissa, thank you.”

Melissa turned, and then turned back.  “If you’re getting Harry to learn all this stuff, why aren’t you learning yourselves?”

“Do we look like heroes?”

“Well, no.”

“Exactly,” Fred said.  “We get to have fun, grow up, and make mistakes.  We screw up, and we accidentally make some Slytherins hate us ever more, Harry screws up and the world goes tits up.”

Melissa nodded slowly.  She smiled.  “Tonight at five.”  She nodded at them and walked away.

“Tell me, Melissa,” George said, as soon as she was out of ear shot.  “What attracted you to our rich and famous client?”

Fred sniggered.  “You think we should try and get some vaguely parental authority for this?”

“Lupin?”

“Nah, he’s a bit responsible, I was thinking more about Padfoot.”

“But then we’d have to admit that we know who the Marauders were.”

“True, but this is for a good cause, and while pretending we don’t know who our heroes actually are, and who Prongs’ son is fun, I think we’d feel better with at least a godfather’s approval.”

“You’re right.  Let’s go Floo him.”

“You do realise that we’ll have to admit we know where he lives.”

“If he didn’t want people to know, he shouldn’t have asked for it to be hooked up to the Floo.”

“True.”

The twins looked at each other, and rushed to an abandoned class room.  Through a door at the back, they entered a small living room with a fireplace in the corner.

“12 Grimmauld Place,” They called.

“Who is it?”

“Padfoot,” Fred said cheerfully.  “We need a chat regarding our client, one Harry James Potter.”

“Come through,” the voice ordered.

They smirked at each other and jumped through the fireplace.

“Sirius Black!” George screamed as he jumped into Fred’s waiting arms in mock-fear.

“Eeek,” Fred added.

Sirius blinked at them owlishly.

“Hey, he’s one hot hunk of wizard,” Fred pointed out.

“Maybe we should take him back to our lair,” George agreed.

“Heel,” Fred tried, pointing down.

“Wait a second!” Sirius yelled.

“There’s no time to wait!” George yelled back.  “We have fantasies that need fulfilling.  And that ten gallons of warm chocolate sauce isn’t going to spread itself.”

Sirius raised his hand.  “You win,” he said dryly.

“Messrs Fred and George Weasley, at your service, oh venerable Padfoot.”

“I didn’t know you knew that nickname.”

“Most people don’t, but really, you weren’t exactly subtle about who you were,” George said.  “Anyway, now that we’ve had some fun, let’s talk about our little Harry.”

“What about him?”

“You’ve heard that someone entered him into the Tri-Wizard Tournament?” Fred inquired.

“What!”

“Clearly not,” George muttered.  “Well, someone did.  And being as smart as his dear father, he came to the experts.”

“Us.”

“To ensure that he gets through the tournament alive.  We’ve agreed a fee, and we’re helping sort his life out as well.”

“How?” Sirius asked, leaning forward.

“We’ve got lessons lined up to teach him to do everything he needs to do, we’ve got a girlfriend lined up for around Christmas – she doesn’t know yet – and we’re going to teach him how to be Lord Potter.”

Sirius nodded slowly.  “This all sounds good so far.”

“It is.  His bodyguards are making sure he’s unmolested at school.  He’s taken to using his resources like a duck to water – you should hear what he’s done to Death Eaters?”

“You could tell me now,” Sirius suggested.

“Offered five thousand galleons for every arm with the Dark Mark on it.”

Sirius roared with laughter, before he sobered.  “He shouldn’t be using his money for this,” he muttered.

“He’s a Potter,” George pointed out.  “And as such, loaded.”

“But he can’t access most of that yet,” Sirius pointed out.

“Oh, we had a chat with the Goblins, a bit of bribery and corruption goes a long way.”  Fred blew on his nails and buffed the front of his shirt.

“I’ll talk to them tomorrow; I’ll make sure he doesn’t suffer from this.  I prefer the idea of funding a Death Eater bounty with Black family money.”

“There’s the Padfoot we know and love,” George said.

“Don’t think I’ve not heard about you two, either,” Sirius said.

“Our life’s work, validated,” Fred grinned, wiping away a tear.  “Anyway, to the point.”

“Which point?” George asked.

“The one we came for, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.  So, about this chocolate spread.”

“Not that one, the other one.”

“Oh, right.”

“We wanted some form of parental approval.”

“What for?” Sirius asked, his head moving from left to right as he tried to follow the rapid-fire conversation.

“Young Harry is, like most boys his age, clueless about girls.  So we came up with a solution.”

“Which is?” Sirius asked warily.

“An escort,” Fred replied promptly.

“Wait,” Sirius said.  “You want to teach Harry about girls, so you’re hiring a high class prostitute?”

“Exactly.”

“That,” Sirius said slowly, “is brilliant!  Why, with that sort of knowledge, he’d be able to cut a swathe through most of the girls at school.”

“Or a certain French Part Veela.”

Sirius’ eyes went wide.  “That’s who you’re lining up?”

“Of course,” George said.  “We asked ourselves, when we were his age, what did we want most in the world?”

“And the answer was a drop-dead gorgeous Veela as a girlfriend,” Fred responded.  “And the fact that she’s French as well, well, that’s just the icing on the cake.”

“I agree,” Sirius said.  “So, how can I help?”

“You want to help?” George asked in surprise.

“Of course.  Albus has me doing pointless busy work for him, and telling me that he’s taking care of Harry.  Clearly that’s a lie, entering the Tournament my arse!”

“And a cute one it is as well,” Fred agreed.  “His schedule’s pretty full.”

“Ahh,” Sirius said with a large smirk.  “You’re forgetting something.”

“We are?  I’ve got underwear on,” George replied.

“I am a Black, and with being a Black, there are all sorts of things laying around that the Ministry would go insane about.”

“Like what?” Fred asked curiously.

“Follow me, gentlemen.”

“With an arse like that, we’d follow you anywhere,” George purred.

“You two are making me uncomfortable,” Sirius said as he preceded them down a corridor.

“That’s the plan,” Fred agreed.

Sirius threw it open with a flourish and entered.  “Now,” he muttered to himself, “where is it.”

He threw several large objects to one side, then starting chucking things over his shoulder, including a small rubber chicken, a cup proclaiming Sirius the world’s greatest lover, a pair of spectacles, and a gramophone.

“Here we are,” he announced.  “A time dilator.”

“Which dilates time?” Fred asked.

“Exactly.”

“Wonderful,” George said.  “What does that mean?”

“I have no idea,” Sirius said.  “But I think it does something with time.”

“Dilates it?” Fred suggested.

“Precisely.”  He looked at it.  “Set the dial and press the button, time will speed up in the room to the time set, so if you set it to two, you can spend an hour in the room, for only thirty minutes to have passed outside.”

“Outstanding!” George said.  “We can double, triple, quadruple his work load.  Our Harry’s a teenage boy, given the choice, he’ll do little, but when pressed, the boy can work miracles.”

“Sounds like me,” Sirius said.

“Or James,” Fred agreed.  “You do know that he’s not James, right?”

“He looks like him,” Sirius protested.

George reached out and slapped him on the nose – hard.  “Bad Padfoot!”

Sirius blinked, as his eyes started to water.

“He needs a godfather, not a playmate,” Fred pointed out.  “He certainly doesn’t need some lunatic pretending he’s someone else.”

“He has us for that,” George added.

“Right,” Sirius agreed.  “This has been strange.  Let’s get drunk.”

“A man after our own heart.”


At five o’clock, Harry’s bodyguards delivered him to a class room on the second floor.  Inside, a witch was reading, while sitting comfortably in an arm chair.

“Hi,” he said.

“Harry,” She greeted him.  “I’m Melissa, I’m here to sort out your knowledge of politics.”

Harry nodded.

“But before we get to that, we need to see what we can do about a few of your other problems.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, you’re a fourteen year old boy.”

“Last time I checked,” Harry agreed.

“The problem with teenage boys, apart from the arrogance and the petty sarcasm, is that they don’t realise that they are teenage boys.”

“I’m not that bad,” Harry protested. 

Melissa rolled her eyes.  “So we’re going to start working on stopping that.  Take a seat.”

Harry sat obediently.

“Now, we’re going to play some role playing.  I’m going to play different roles, you’re going to react, and then we’ll go through what you did wrong.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed, wondering what would happen when he didn’t do anything wrong.

Melissa walked out the door, and through another door, Snape walked in.

“Without your bodyguards, Potter?” he sneered.  “Well, now we can have a little talk.”

Harry gulped.

“Stand, you arrogant idiot.”

Harry jumped to his feet.

“You are pathetic, Potter, just like your whore of a mother.”

“Say that again,” Harry said, his wand in his hand.

“Detention,” Snape sneered.  “You’re as arrogant as your father, pulling a wand on a Professor.”

Harry shook with rage, before Snape said, “Finite Incantatem.”  He slowly changed into the attractive form of Melissa.

Harry collapsed down.  “I think,” he said softly, “that I’m ready to listen now.”

Melissa smiled.  “The first thing you need to learn is that if you lose your temper, Snape, or anyone else, has won.”

That evening, Harry was exhausted, completely, and was barely awake.  He was on the Durmstrang ship.  Smasher and Crusher had insisted that they couldn’t protect him in Gryffindor Tower.  Karkaroff was lodging elsewhere, as really didn’t want anyone collecting the bounty on his right arm.

Harry posed a few questions to Viktor, who turned out to be quite loquacious – well, as soon as Smasher and Crusher held him upside down over the edge of the ship by his ankles.

There was now an agreement in place.  Viktor would treat Hermione correctly, and Harry would let Viktor keep his fingers.

It was the sort of deal where everyone was happy.


Harry woke and stretched.  It didn’t take him long to shower and get dressed.  He ached in places he didn’t know could ache, but it was at least a good ache, one earned honourably. 

And later, he’d punch Wood for putting him through it.

He opened his door, to find Smasher and Crusher waiting for him.

“Morning,” He greeted them.

“Morning, boss,” Smasher said.  “Your paper.”

Harry took it, and started to read as they guided him to Breakfast.  On the front page was a banner headline, declaring how much he was offering for the arms of Death Eaters.

The Ministry was roundly condemning him, the paper, on the other hand, seemed to be all in favour of it.

He smiled and tucked the paper under his arm.  “Good morning, Hermione,” he greeted his friend, as she met him on the path between the ship and the school.

“Did you really offer that bounty?” she asked him urgently.

“Yes, I did.”

“Oh,” She said, looking surprised.  “Why?”

“Because I figured that the Death Eaters were only getting away with it because people were afraid of them, and now they have an incentive not to be afraid.”

“Oh,” Hermione said again.  “That might actually work.”

Harry grinned at her.  “Welcome to the Dark Side.”

She poked him. 

“Potter!”

Harry looked up as Malfoy stormed toward him.  “What have you done to Crabbe and Goyle?”

Harry lightly put a hand on his two bodyguards, stopping them from interfering.   “Hired them?” he asked, spotting the pair in question following Malfoy.

“What!”

“Gave them a job,” Harry said. “I’ll try and keep all my words small for you.”

“They belong to me!  Give them back.”

“We don’t belong to anyone, and it’s Nasher and Thrasher,” Nasher growled.

“Get back to where you belong, or I’ll tell your parents!” Malfoy said.

Thrasher laughed at him.  “Go crying to daddy,” he advised.

Malfoy went for his wand.  Thrasher went for Malfoy’s jaw.  Thrasher won.

“That’s a hundred galleons bonus,” Harry noted, having heard the jaw break.

Thrasher smiled as Malfoy tried to get to his feet, trying to point his wand.  A sharp movement from Nasher, and Malfoy’s wand was on the floor, his arm broken.

“Two hundred.”

“That’s a good morning’s work,” Smasher said.

“Yeah,” Thrasher agreed. 

“Bonuses?” Hermione asked weakly. 

“For broken bones, bruises, and temper tantrums from Malfoy or Snape with their faces changing colour.”

“Harry, you can’t do that?”

“Tell me something, Hermione, why is it all right for Snape to abuse us?”

“It’s not,” Hermione said softly, “but he is a professor.”

Harry smiled beatifically at her, “so if you have the position, or the power, you’re allowed to use it?”

Hermione pouted at him.  “Don’t say it,” she sighed.

“I promise that I will only use my position to punish Death Eaters and scum like Malfoy – and if you ever think I’ve crossed the line, I swear I will pay everyone off, and stop immediately.”

“Really?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t want to end up like Malfoy,” Harry said seriously.  “All I want to do is enjoy school, and get through this tournament safely.”  He paused, “and get a girlfriend.”

Hermione hugged him quickly.  “You have it all in hand?”

“Fred and George do,” he said.

“Okay, what do you want me to research?”

“I’ll tell you later, oh, I had a chat with Viktor last night, he’s a nice bloke.”

“He is?” Hermione asked.

Harry pointed behind her.  “He’s looking lonely, why not have a chat with him.  He’s been taking Ancient Runes for years, and is the best in Durmstrang at them.”

Hermione gasped in excitement and dashed over to him.

“Nicely done, boss,” Smasher said with a grin.  “Now let’s get to the grub.”

“Full steam ahead gentlemen, there’s large steak and eggs waiting for us.”

“We should have switched years ago,” Nasher said to Thrasher.

The five of them headed straight for the Great Hall, leaving Malfoy unconscious on the ground.

As before, the path to the Great Hall cleared for them, allowing them to steam through. 

“Hey,” a Slytherin protested.

Smasher reached out and grabbed his robes, lifting him a foot of the floor.  “Potter doesn’t like you,” he said loudly.  “He doesn’t like most of this school, and I can see why.  So here’s the deal.  You stay out of our way, and you don’t get smashed.”  He dropped him, and they continued through to their table.

The Beauxbatons students were milling around.  “Bonjour, Christophe,” he said, remembering his lesson the previous evening.  “As-tu bien dormi?”

Christophe looked extremely surprised.

“I’ve started some French lessons,” he explained in English a little ruefully.  “I’m still appalling at it, but it’s kinda fun.”

Christophe grinned at him, and for the first time, it wasn’t an arrogant grin.  “That is good to hear.”

“Give me a few more weeks, and we’ll make French the language of the table,” Harry offered.  “My teacher said that I’d find it easier the more I hear it and am exposed to it.”

Christophe nodded and said something in French to the others that went straight over Harry’s head, something he was quite happy to admit.

“Anyway, I wanted to ask you a question.  How well do you know wine?”

“Extremely well,” Christophe said.

“Dobby,” Harry called, “can you get me a jug.”  One appeared, and Harry cast the wine-making spell into it.  “This is probably vinegar,” Harry explained, “but as what I know about wine can be written on the back of a quill, I figured I’d get an expert’s opinion.”

Christophe took a deep breath and poured a small amount into a glass.  He examined it with the light, took several deep sniffs, before drinking a tiny amount, then spitting it out into a napkin.

“That bad?” Harry asked.

“Your education is appalling,” Christophe sighed.  “I shall have to teach you appreciate wine.  Now, can you do that spell one more time, but this time, concentrate on making it older.”

Harry nodded, and as another jug appeared, he did as he asked.

Christophe repeated his routine, before smiling happily.  “Adrienne,” he called.  “Try this.”  He handed her a glass, and after a few sniffs, she took a small sip.

“Wow,” she whispered.  “This is really good.”

Harry smiled.  “I’ll create some more for each of our meals,” he offered.

“Thank you,” Christophe said.  “We asked for some wine at our table, but our request was denied.”

“Harry,” Crusher called.  “Breakfast.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” he said, as he took a seat.

“That you will,” Christophe agreed.

“Look at the size of that meal,” Nasher said excitedly.  “Crusher and Smasher were right!”

Harry laughed as he took his seat.  Fred and George stumbled in a few minutes later, looking distinctly worse for wear.

“Dobby,” Harry called.  The elf appeared in a flash.  “You have anything for a hangover?”

Dobby nodded eagerly.

“Please help my friends here.”

Dobby clapped his hands, and the two vanished.  There was a shriek from outside, before a loud splash.

Harry looked at Dobby in disbelief.  “Cold water is being bestest cure ever.”

“Dobby,” Harry said slowly, “I think I love you.”

Dobby grinned and clapped his hands again.  A very wet couple of Gryffindors appeared.

“Hangover?”

“G-g-gone,” George stuttered.

Harry pulled out his wand and cast a drying spell on them, then a warming spell.  “Two large breakfasts, please.”

“Thanks,” Fred said, and shook himself.

“Harry,” George said, “that elf of yours, he appears to have a sense of humour.”

“Good man, too,” Harry agreed.

“But he’s a house-elf,” Smasher said, looking confused.

“So?”

Crusher and Smasher both opened their mouths, but then shut them again.  “Most of the time,” Crusher said, “they’re just well, servants.”

“Lesson number one,” Harry said.  “Never judge an individual by his species, and never judge a species by an individual.  Judge people on how they act, not how others act.

“Take my friend Dobby, he’s loyal, can be amusing, and has risked his life to protect me.  All he asks from me is my friendship.  And if there is one elf like Dobby, there are probably hundreds.  And just imagine what your bodyguard business would be like with a few house elves able to pop around and keep your clients safe.”

Smasher and Crusher looked at each other, before the light came on in their eyes.  Smasher took out a small notebook and wrote the advice down carefully.  “Thanks, boss.”

Harry nodded and delved into his steak.

After breakfast, there was the normal flurry of owls, with two of them bearing a large package deviating toward him.

Smasher intercepted the parcel.

“Dear Mr Potter,” he read out loud.  “I’d like to claim me reward now.  Me Gringotts account details are inside.  Sincerely, Christian Blake.”

“Open the package,” Harry suggested.

“It’s an arm,” Crusher agreed.  He reached in and held out a ring.  “Anyone recognise this?”

“Gibbon,” Nasher said.  “That’s ‘is ring.”

“Good work,” Harry praised.  “Fred, George, make sure the man is paid, and take out an advert in the press telling them that we’ve paid him.”

“Will do,” Fred agreed.

“Harry,” Professor Dumbledore called.  “We really need to talk!”

“Fred, George, swing to the side,” Harry ordered.  “Take a seat Professor,” he offered.  “We can talk now,” he said.  “I’m going to tell them everything anyway.”

Dumbledore frowned.  “Harry, my office, please.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise this was a disciplinary event.  May I please request my Head of House accompany us?  I believe that is in the school rules.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore said.  “Shall we?”

Harry took the last bite of his food, and as he stood, Crusher, Smasher, Nasher and Thrasher stood with him.

“You may stay here,” Dumbledore said.

“Thank you,” Crusher agreed.  “But we’ll wait with Harry.”

“Don’t you have classes?”

“We arranged a more vocational time table for them with Professor Karkaroff,” Fred said cheerfully.  “You do think that it’s important for students to study their future careers, don’t you professor?”

Albus nodded curtly.  Harry followed him to his office, feeling a little nervous.

Smasher nudged him and gave him an encouraging smile.  “Say the word, boss,” he mouthed, a teasing smile on his face.

The idea of four students assaulting Dumbledore was so amusing, that he couldn’t help laugh.  “Thanks,” Harry mouthed back.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk, and Harry sat opposite, waiting for Professor McGonagall.

“How are you?” Dumbledore tried.

“Fine,” Harry responded, not wanting to say anything until his Head of House arrived.  A minute later, Professor McGonagall arrived.

“My apologies,” she said, as she took a seat to the side.  “What are we here for?”

“We are here to discuss exactly where Mr Potter was last night.”

“The Durmstrang ship, I feel safer there.”

“Safer?” McGonagall asked in surprise.

“Yes, my bodyguards are very comforting.  And as someone is clearly out to get me at Hogwarts, the less time I spend here, the better.”

McGonagall looked bewildered.

Harry looked at her, “You don’t think that someone putting my name in a competition like the Tri-Wizard Tournament isn’t a sign that someone is out to get me.”

“Well,” McGonagall admitted, “I did think you had done it yourself.”

Harry looked disappointedly at her.  “So, as someone is out to get me, I’ve hired some consultants to ensure that I get through this whole thing alive.  I’m fed up of having to worry about whether or not I’ll live to take my OWLs.”

“Oh,” McGonagall said slowly.

“You can’t stay on the ship, Harry,” Dumbledore said.

“Why not?” Harry asked.

“You’d need your guardian’s permission.”

“I hereby give myself permission,” Harry said cheerfully.  “Now that’s out of the way, is there anything else?”

“You can’t give yourself permission.  The Dursleys would have to do that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but the Dursleys are not recognised as my family by me, or by the Goblins.  As such, their opinions don’t count.  The only persons whose opinion could possibly count would be Padfoot.”

“That’s a good point,” Dumbledore said, smiling genially.  “Why don’t we involve him?  Professor McGonagall, you do remember that Sirius Black is innocent.”

“Of course,” Minerva agreed as Albus moved to the Floo.  A minute later, Sirius appeared.  He was dressed in clean and smart clothes, had cut his hair, and shaved.

“Sirius,” Harry greeted him cheerfully.

“Heya, kiddo,” Sirius said.  “So, what’s up?”

“I invited you in, Sirius, to talk about some of the rules Harry has been breaking recently.”  Albus looked over his glasses at Sirius, his expression emphasising the seriousness he felt.

“Rules?” Sirius asked.  “Please explain.”

“Well, last night, Harry spent the night, without permission, on the Durmstrang ship.”

“Bad Harry,” Sirius said dryly.  “While we’re telling you off, let’s have a talk about your Death Eater bounty,” Sirius cried, “how could you use your money on that?  I can’t believe it.  Disgusting, that’s what it is.  Now, I want you to promise me that in future you’ll use my money for this sort of endeavour!”

The complete lack of surprise was the biggest give away to Harry that Sirius already knew what was going on.  “How about we say that, in an attempt to clear your name that you will offer the same?” Harry suggested.  “That will get the public suspicious, and then we can start to manipulate the press until the Ministry has no option but to give you a fair trial.”

“Good plan,” Sirius agreed.

“I had my first politics lesson last night.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, “we’re here to talk about your sleeping arrangements!”

Sirius turned suddenly, slamming his hands down on the desk.  “Explain to me why my godson is in the Tri-Wizard Tournament,” he snarled.

“Sirius…”

“Harry,” Sirius said, without looking at him.  “Lift you wand in your right hand.”

Harry did as he was told.

“Say these words:  I swear on my mother’s love that I did not enter the Tournament.”

Harry repeated the words verbatim.  There was a flash of light, and Minerva gasped.

“Harry,” Sirius continued, “get to class.  I’ll see you this evening at seven.”

“Okay, Sirius.”

He walked out, and as he shut the door, he could hear the start of a shouting match.  He smiled, clearly the twins plan involved getting him a happy home life as well.

He met up with his bodyguards, and headed toward class. 

At Ten that evening, he was taken to yet another classroom and shoved through the door.  He looked around in surprise; the room was lit by several dozen candles.  There was a noise, and through a door, a woman entered.

Later, he would wonder how he avoided a heart attack, as all the blood in his body rushed to two separate places at once. 

“Hello,” the woman said with a faint Eastern Europe accent.  “I am Kate.”

“Hi,” Harry squeaked.

She smiled warmly, her dark eyes locked on him, as she prowled over.  She was wearing  black lingerie and matching high heels.  He fought to keep his eyes on her face, and not her chest.

She took his hand, and pulled him down to a couple of chairs.  “I’ve never been with a boy your age,” she explained as she sat opposite him gracefully.  “And I’m not going to start now.

“Fred and George have hired me to help you become a man.  I have chosen to take that literally.  As such, I will be teaching you how to dance, how to act in social situations, how to be comfortable with woman, and how to seduce.

“I hope I can teach you without the mess that teenagers normally go through.”

“Right,” Harry agreed as he tried to regain his breath.

“So the first thing we’ll do is make sure you’re comfortable with a woman.”  With a few short movements, Kate removed her lingerie, leaving her only in thigh high stockings.

Harry felt his breath go again.

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Author Notes:

Thanks to Kokopelli, because I would not be posting anything without him.

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