Harry Potter and the Year of Highly Improbable Deeds

Harry Potter and the Year of Highly Improbable Deeds

Chapter 1 - Paperwork and Bubbling Liquors

It had been raining incessantly for over a week and there seemed to be no immediate perspectives of change whatsoever. For Harry Potter, ex-Hogwarts student, former Gryffindor seeker, Lord Voldemort's prophesised defeater, proud owner of a MAAD (Magically Acknowledged Auror Diploma) and current Ministry of Magic employee, at the sweet age of twenty-one, it was just another a miserable, miserable day. Although his bad mood had very little to do with the horrid weather, the two had one thing in common. The Ministry of Magic was responsible for both.

Harry was literally sprawled over his desk along with a gigantic heap of parchments, some used quills and a general mess consisting mostly of multicoloured candy wraps. The young man's eyes were staring intently at the wall opposite to him, a fact which could have misled a neutral observer to believe, quite understandably, that our hero had positively lost his mind. As to that, suffice to say that the fore-mentioned wall's most worthy of interest feature was a large crack spreading from the ceiling to the floor. Harry, however, appeared to find it highly fascinating, because his eyes lingered upon it for more than ten minutes without showing any signs of weariness. He wouldn't have noticed the passing of time, if not for his left arm resting under his head and consequently beginning to feel numb.

Slowly and unenthusiastically, Harry lifted his head from the messy desk. Rubbing his left hand, he eyed the gigantic heap of parchments with something dangerously akin to disgust. He reached for a nearby quill, reluctantly, and was preparing to select a parchment from the heap, when his face suddenly lit. He had a better idea! Dropping the quill, he leaned forward, took his wand and began to mutter a Vanishing Charm to get rid of the multicoloured candy wraps spread all over his desk. Though he tried to make this welcomed distraction last as long as he could, he eventually ran out of candy wraps to vanish. For a moment, he glanced at the heap of parchments with a malicious sparkle in his eyes, seriously considering using the Vanishing Charm on it as well. Too bad it couldn't be done! Merlin, how he hated paperwork!

Not finding another excuse to prevent him from resuming his work, Harry sighed, grabbed a quill and slowly extended his hand in the direction of the heap of parchments. It was no more than five inches away... Harry sighed again. What had he ever done to deserve... this? Four inches... Beside the silly idea of becoming an Auror! Three... Becoming an Auror, after Voldemort and his Death Eaters were gone, mind you! Two... And all that was left was... paperwork. One-

"POTTER!"

Harry promptly grabbed a parchment at random and did his best to look busy, very, very busy indeed. The door of his office was busted open and hit the wall with a loud thud, causing the familiar crack to widen just a bit. Harry sighed, thinking he would have to magically fix it again at the end of the week, before the whole thing would start over next Monday. Meanwhile, a short, plump, hairless man in purple robes was standing in the door frame, looking altogether like his shoes had caught fire seconds ago, he was currently experiencing the Furunculus Charm and, on top of it, he had had live Skrewts for dinner. Of course, none of this had happened, to Harry's well-concealed disappointment. The latter display had been merely a sample of Mr. Friggis' everyday temper. Gregorius Friggis was Chief of the Auror Department at the Ministry of Magic and, consequently, Harry's boss.

"POTTER!"

Mr. Friggis seemed to harbour the belief that everybody beside himself had a hearing problem, so he kindly yelled every single word. Harry, who had ceased being impressed at some point during his second week on the job, remained unperturbed. He patiently waited to find out what had caused Mr. Friggis to grace the messy hole that Harry still called 'office' with his presence.

"POTTER!"

Mr. Friggis was also used to repeat himself, which was, of course, another very considerate gesture towards the co-talker, just in case the latter didn't grasp the message properly the very first time. Or the second. Or the third.

"Yes, boss?" Harry finally decided to raise his eyes from the parchment he had pretended to study all the time with extreme interest.

"HOW'S IT GOING, POTTER?" Mr. Friggis advanced to Harry's desk, causing the floor to crack in a slightly disturbing fashion. Harry's heart sank a bit and his mind registered something distantly related to panic, as the young man thought that maybe his boss was going to check on his work. Well, at least it was half way done, thanks to those several hours of unexpected élan in the morning!

But Mr. Friggis didn't seem interested in Harry's progress with the papers. Instead of reaching the young man's desk, he stopped midway and assumed his standard intimidating pose. Of course, Harry was not intimidated, but he knew better than to show it.

"TIRED OF PAPERWORK, POTTER?"

Harry's heart positively leapt this time, almost shooting from his chest and taking a chance at ceiling. Could it be, at last... He barely dared to finish the thought. ...a mission? A real mission! Harry felt so happy that he thought he could hug and kiss Friggis right then and there on the spot. Okay, better forget the kssing part! Ugh... And on a second thought... Hugging? Yewks! But still, a mission, a real mission! Harry hadn't been aware that he was practically bouncing right under the big, flat and highly unattractive nose of his boss.

"GET A GRIP, POTTER, GOT FLOBBERWORMS UP YOUR ARSE?"

"Uh, sorry, boss! What was that you wanted to tell me?" Harry had to struggle very hard to keep control and not go leaping around the room like a small child who had just been given candies. Finally a mission! It had to be a mission! It simply had to!

"IF YOU'RE TIRED OF PAPER WORK, I HAVE A LITTLE JOB FOR YOU, POTTER!"

"I am ready any time, boss!" Harry was very aware that he was grinning in a completely idiotic manner, but couldn't care less at the moment.

"HOW ABOUT NOW, POTTER?"

"Now, sir? Wow, great, I mean, no, I mean, yeah, tell me what's the mission!"

"YOU'RE BABBLING, POTTER!" Mr. Friggis noted matter-of-factly. "THE 'MISSION' IS TO MOVE YOUR LAZY ARSE TO THE DEPOSITING ROOM AND GET RID OF THE PIXIES THAT IDIOT OF FLETCHER'S SET FREE BY MISTAKE EARLIER!"

"Huh?" Harry's jaw dropped. Surely, he had misunderstood.

"THEY'RE DEVASTATING EVERYTHING, SO I SUGGEST YOU HURRY, POTTER!"

"You - want - me - to - get - rid - of - some - pathetic - pixies?"

"ALWAYS A SMART LAD, POTTER! NOW, GO!"

"I don't think so!"

"WHAT?"

"I said, I don't think so!" Harry raised his voice, like talking to a deaf person.

"YOU ARE OUT OF YOUR MIND, BOY!"

"Yeah, well, I'm also quitting this lousy job! You heard me, I quit!" Harry adopted his rebellious smirk. Wait a minute, since when did he have a rebellious smirk?

"DEFINITELY MAD, OU ARE, POTTER! NOBODY EXCEPT THE MINISTRY HIRES AURORS ANYMORE!"

"I'll take re-qualification classes!" he sulked.

And with what he thought to be a very intelligent final line, Harry Potter stormed through the door, leaving Mr. Gregorius Friggis completely at a loss of words, probably for the first time in his tumultuous existence.

***

The Bouncing Broom, Goblinbuck's Alley, no.13 was a gloomy, shabby looking and completely uninviting pub if one was to judge the whole solely by the exterior appearance. Either day or night, the sun-blinds were being put at good use without discrimination, and no living person (or ghost, for the matter) could remember ever seeing them lifted. The front door was so narrow that a normal person had to walk through it sideways. A dirty, old sign was still clinging onto it: 'You're too fat if you don't fit, come back when you've leaned a bit! Welcome to the Bouncing Broom!' Once inside, however, the first-time-ever-there-customer was in for a big surprise. The pub was hardly spacious and it was dark, but not as dark as one might have expected. Magical ever-lasting flames had been charmed to float serenely above the customers' heads, giving a dim, but bizarrely pleasant, bluish light. Tables were reasonably clean, but not very large and the biggest could have hardly accommodated four persons. That, however, hardly constituted a problem because, small as it was, the pub was never crowded. The chairs were very comfortable and, moreover, plump cushions in all sizes and colours had been sprawled around randomly. All over the walls, the owner, apparently a fiery fan, had hung pictures of famous Quidditch teams and players. A pretty, black haired witch was in charge of the tiny bar situated on the eastern wall of the room. The stock of beverages was quite impressive, ranging from the popular butterbeer to more obscure liquors for the customers with tastes more refined.

Fifteen minutes after the previously accounted events, Harry Potter was comfortably sited at a table inside the Bouncing Broom, contemplating his life so far, his only companion a glass filled with some ginger coloured, bubbling liquid. It was Harry's first time at the Broom, and the pretty witch at the bar had talked him into buying the liquor, and he simply hadn't been able to say no. Apparently, it was called Magic Mist and was a Bouncing Broom's 'special'. Harry took a sip with an Auror's (well, technically ex-Auror's) cautiousness in front of the unknown, and decided it was a good drink.

Then he sighed. Probably for the twentieth time that day, which was definitely not a good sign, Harry had to admit to himself. Old men sigh. People in their early twenties are supposed to... What are they supposed to do, anyway? Find someone to shag senseless in a broom cupboard, a tiny voice in his head suggested. Huh, why a broom cupboard- Oh, shut up! Harry sulked at the little voice and tried to usher it away. But you know that I'm right! The little voice seemed very determined to have the last word. Harry let it have its way, like a gentleman he was.

Yet, what was he supposed to do? Surely, not to quit a job that was every Hogwarts' graduate dream, as far as Harry was concerned. After all, he had wanted, no, he had dreamed to become an Auror ever since he had heard the word for the first time back in his forth year. But why, in the name of Merlin b-, ahem, private body parts, hadn't anyone warned him about the - paperwork? Dark-areas-decontamination reports, checked! Dark-artefacts-stored-at-the-Ministry reports, done, sir, yes, sir, Mr. Friggis! Wizards-suspicious-of-dark-activities reports, dark-arts-illegal-printing-houses reports! Merlin, probably dark-wizard's-socks-and-where-they-stuff-'em reports had been on their way! Harry took a deep breath and emptied the whole remaining Magic Mist in his glass to calm down. Paperwork. A vile word indeed!

However, after some solitary bickering and a couple more Magic Mists, Harry's mood was beginning to lighten up. He suddenly felt like stretching. Looking back on it later, Harry concluded that the tiny second when he felt like stretching had triggered a succession of events that otherwise could have been avoided. If he had believed in destiny, which he didn't (yes, yes, the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Defeated-Voldemort-Because-A-Prophecy-Said-He-Should, surprisingly, didn't believe in destiny- okay, okay, not so surprisingly, there was an explanation for it, which was the bare fact he felt like going against fashion, as a matter of principle, and, right then, the Weekly Witch proclaimed the destiny-thingy to be the latest fashion, and who was he to contradict the Weekly Witch? so, anyway, you got the general idea...) To resume, if he had believed in destiny, he would have concluded that every single event which followed his urge to stretch was bound to happen anyway. Of course, that insightful analysis upon how the ways of the world worked came a lot later.

Right then, Harry felt like stretching and did what any normal, not gifted with foresight, person would have done. He stretched. In doing so, he disturbed the fragile equilibrium of his chair. Or, it was that, perhaps, he had overestimated his own capacity for equilibrium and underestimated the combined effect of three Magic Mists. Either the case, the next thing that happened was Harry stumbling over the nearby table and hitting the hard floor with an impressive thud.

When he came back to his senses, Harry had no idea about how long he had been lying there on the floor. It appeared that dropping on the floor without warng was a regular routine at the Bouncing Broom, as neither the bar girl, nor any of the few customers had bothered to check on him. Harry decided it was time to stand up. Something slipped from his chest. It was a copy of the Daily Prophet and it had probably dropped from the table he had, um, destabilised, earlier. Rubbing his head and cursing the floor, for lack of any better idea, Harry threw a glance at the paper now lying open in his lap. It was just the Adds page. He was about to fold the paper and place it back on the table, when something caught his eye. A job offer? Well, it was never too early to start looking!

Timberball's Advanced Investigations, P.M.A.A., no. 1, Hazard Alley, London. Seeking fully-trained wizards and witches to work as private MTI (Magically Trained Investigators) at Timberball's. Potentially dangerous job. Excellent skills required in at least three of the following areas: Defence Against Dark Arts, Potions, Transfiguration, Charms. Also seeking Divination experts (don't even bother if you are not a real Seer). Good physical condition is desirable, if not expressly required. Age limitations: 18-30. If you meet the requirements, send your letter of application and your CV by owl. If not, save yourself the trouble and put your time at a better use.

"Nice," Harry thought, excited to some extent and almost jumping on his feet. He hurried back to his table and conjured a roll of parchment and a quill from his office, which was only several streets away. He didn't care about what Mr. Friggis might think. Still, it would take them a couple of minutes to arrive.

Feeling his head much more clear now (could have been the falling...), Harry re-read the job offer. "Charming fellow, this Timberball guy," he mused, "'potentially dangerous job', oh, I like this part, guess it means no paperwork!" On of the customers was staring at Harry and only then the young man realised he had been chuckling in a little evil voice, face buried into the newspaper. "Uh, sorry, didn't mean to disturb!" he offered his excuses tentatively.

Luckily, precisely then, the summoned parchment and quill were squeezing through a narrow opening between the door and its frame, and zooming to Harry's table. With a wide grin on his face, Harry Potter settled to write his letter of application for Timberball's Advanced Investigations, Private Magically-Acknowledged Agency.

***

Just like Harry, Ron Weasley had used to work for the Ministry of Magic. Unlike Harry, he had lasted only one week on the job. To be utterly, completely and undeniably fair (but promise you won't tell Mrs. Weasley!), his job at the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had definitely not been Ron's supreme goal in life (what, had somebody mistaken him for Percy, for Merlin's sake?) However, after his fifth year at Hogwarts and what became known as the 'twins' rebellion', Ron had found it unwise (read 'utterly suicidal' here) to contradict Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and mostly Mrs. Weasley, for the matter. Mrs. Weasley had incidentally mentioned during a meal that she would love to see her younger son in a safe position at the Ministry, like his father. Mr. Weasley had shrugged helplessly (when his wife hadn't been looking, busy with some pot-charming). When she had been looking, he'd simply nodded. And thus Ron's fate had been settled. But nothing's set to stone...

Ron's 'departure' from the Ministry was something that no sane person would have brought about in the presence of Mrs. Weasley, so very few knew the real story behind the 'Myth'. The 'Myth' was, naturally, the twins' creation. They never got tired of telling anyone willing/crazy enough to listen, how their little brother had transfigured his boss' head into a fluffy bunny tail, had blown several windows to pieces and had flown out of the Ministry on a magic carpet. The story gained new, spectacular details on every recounting and Ginny had even managed once to embarrass them by spotting a logical discontiny, but this didn't stop Fred and George. Harry was one of the few privileged persons in the world who knew the unaltered version of the events, from the main character himself, and it was not nearly as extraordinary as the 'Myth'. Apparently, one day Ron had decided he had had enough of his Ministry job and politely presented his resignation.

It had been of little consolation to Mrs. Weasley that her son found, almost immediately, a new job to replace the lost one. A perceptive bystander could have probably pointed out that this had something to do with the nature of the new job. It was a night shift at Ollie Luftwel's Deposits and Stocks for Quality Quidditch Supplies, a chain that dealt with the wholesale distribution of, well, Quidditch supplies. Needless to say, the pay wasn't quite a dream one, but Ron was happy with it for the moment. Nonetheless, he hadn't given up the idea of finding a place of his own and move from the Burrow, an idea that had haunted him ever since he had left Hogwarts. In fact, the only moments when Harry saw his friend unhappy were those when Ron realised that his plans weren't to be accomplished any time soon. "But I'll get there one day, Harry, mate, even if I have to work like... well, like a Weasley!" he laughed sometimes with his best friend. They met almost on a daily basis, Harry on his way home from work, Ron on his way to work.

That's why Harry, after finishing a very impressive letter of application and hurrying to the nearest owl post office to send it right way, came very close to having a panic attack. He suddenly realised that he had completely forgotten about his appointment with Ron and was running terribly late at it. Fortunately, it took him only a couple of seconds to pull his heart back in his chest where it belonged and laugh at himself for being so stupid. After all, he was a fully-trained wizard who could apparate wherever he needed. And it wasn't like Ron wouldn't wait for him some lousy tens of minutes, because, Merlin, Harry had once waited his friend a whole hour to show up!

It was more to it, though, than just the daily encounter with Ron. Today was a special day because Hermione was coming back, after two long years of absence from England. Hermione, begin the smartest witch in their year at Hogwarts, had been offered a scholarship by one of the most renowned Research Institutes in the wizarding world. It was named the Rosebeak Institute for Advanced Magical Development and Research, more commonly know by its initials (which were hard enough to remember by themselves), and it was located in Australia. It had come quite as a shock for both Harry and Ron when their friend announced them she was leaving.

During those two years, they had exchanged letters on a regular basis, of course, but Harry still missed Hermione a lot and was anxious to see his friend again. They had arranged to meet at his and Ron's regular place, the Hippogriff, which was a sort of a wizard club, way more populated than the Bouncing Broom, but not half as interesting, and therefore unworthy of an accurate description. Suffice to say that Harry apparated in front of the Hippogriff's entrance, which was neat and large enough to allow two, even three slimmer persons in at a time (just in case anyone was wondering...)

Harry entered and immediately spotted Ron sitting in their usual corner. Hermione appeared to be running a little late. Our hero hurried to the table and greeted Ron in a very cheerful manner, which took the redhead by surprise, as he was used to the lately more frequent 'my-life's-a-boring-mess' kind of greeting from Harry.

"What's up, mate? Haven't seen such a wide grin on your face since our last year at Hogwarts, y'know, when Professor Snape 'accidentally' took some Enlargement Powder along with his tea. Wonder who put it there?" Ron blinked innocently.

Harry's grin widened even more, if that was possible. He had to admit, Ron did have a point! The Enlargement Powder had been one of the twins' numerous inventions and had the effect of enlarging body parts at random. What wicked hand had poured the Powder into the Potion Master's tea, remained, until the day, one of the many unsolved mysteries of the wizarding world...

"I've quitted," Harry announced with extreme delight.

"YOU WHAT?!" Ron stared at his friend in disbelief. "But Harry, you've wanted to be an Auror your whole life!"

"Oh, not my whole life, only the last seven or eight years of it, and nobody bothered to warn me about the cursed -' Harry gritted his teeth, "- paperwork! So I'm done with it! For ever and for good!" he explained in a merry voice and assumed his usual place at the table.

"Wow, that was radical!" Ron was still eying his friend in disbelief.

"Said the Weasley who couldn't last more than a week at the Ministry!" Harry laughed.

"Now, you do have a point, mate!" Ron agreed, nodding in a pensive manner that totally unsuited him and made Harry laugh some more.

"Well, if it's of any consolation, I've already sent a letter of application for another job." Harry took out the job offer, which he had ripped off from the newspaper, figuring nobody would miss it, and handed it to his friend.

"Timberball's Advanced Investigation... Private MTI... Sounds promising! Do you think it's as dangerous as they make it out to be?"

"That's what I'm counting on!" Harry grinned.

"And there is no way they could refuse you! I mean, you're both an Auror and Harry Potter!"

Harry shook his head. "C'mon, Ron, I don't think people should give me jobs just because of who I am."

"But they will, no matter what you think, Harry!" Harry shifted in his chair, feeling uncomfortable.

"Hey, got an idea!" he almost leapt with enthusiasm when the thought stroke him. "Say, why don't you give it a try as well?"

"What, apply for a job at this... ahm, Timberball's thingy?"

"Yeah, sure, you've got Transfiguration, Charms and Defence Against Dark Arts pretty well covered, haven't you? It won't hurt trying. Plus, you're always complaining about the lousy pay at Ollie's. Think about it, this could be your chance to leave the Burrow and get a place of your own!"

Seeing things from Harry's perspective, everything looked nice and sunny, so there was no way Ron could argue. Harry handed him a spare piece of parchment, a leftover from his own writing of the letter, and the quill he had summoned earlier from his former office. The redhead proceeded at writing.

"It'd be so great if they hired both of us," Harry meanwhile found the time to reflect. "I've always thought the best job is the one where you're with your friends and have lots of fun!"

"Just dream on, mate! Highly improbable, like Hermione would say, were she here."

"Yeah, but not as improbable as, let's say, you becoming a Hogwarts teacher!" Harry chuckled.

"Or, or us working for, for, for bloody Draco Malfoy!" Ron burst, making his friend snort at the sheer improbability of it.

"Or... or Neville winning a beauty contest!" Harry continued the game.

"Or.. or... Herm stripping on a table!"

"That was a good one, Ron!" Harry had grabbed the table's margin in order to prevent himself from falling on the floor with laughter. "Or -"

And the two young men kept coming up with more 'highly improbable' situations which made it impossible for them to stop laughing for several good minutes.

Harry was the first to straighten his face, as he remembered something. "Uh, Ron, speaking of Hermione, shouldn't she be here already? Are you sure you've given her the right address?"

"Of course I did. Here, it's finished!" Ron pocketed his now finished letter of application, vry proud of the job he had done with it.

"Great, don't forget to owl it later! But, still, I'm beginning to get worried for Hermione."

"Maybe she's got a problem with punctuality," Ron suggested. "We've never got the chance to hang out with her after Hogwarts so you can't know-"

"Ron! Harry! Oh, I can't believe you're really here! I can't believe I'm really here!"

"Huh?" The two friends stared in confusion at a young, pretty, tanned witch, with short, golden, straight hair, wearing blue travel robes and who was, strangely enough, beaming at them.

"I can't believe you two big oafs!" The witch affectionately ruffled Harry's hair and opened her arms to pull both of them into a tight hug. "I's me, Hermione!"

***

Some hours later, after several glasses of various bubbling liquors and lots, lots of counting and recounting of the past events of last two years, the three friends realised that time had flown by unnoticed.

"I think- hi hi hi- I missed- hi hi- work!" Ron was laughing as if he had just come up with an outrageously hilarious joke.

Apparently, none of his friends noticed that it hadn't been in fact a joke, as they joined him almost instantly. Hermione, who managed to remain the most sober of the trio, decided that they had been overdoing it with drinking and took attitude. Sort of.

"I think, boys," she began, unable to stop giggling, "that is time for us to go home!"

"Uh, Hermy, you're such a spoil-party!" Harry complained.

"Don't call me Her- Hermy, it's silly!" Hermione burst into laughter, which spoiled any trace of authority her voice might have hold.

"Hermy," Ron uttered, looking like he had made a deep and insightful comment, before dispersing into another fit of unstoppable laughter. 'Hermy' took a shot at him with a purple olive (Olive Colour-Changing Charm, the Magical Bartender's Handbook, page 11) and, to nobody's surprise, hopelessly missed the target.

"Come on, we're out of here," she raised on her feet, surprisingly stable considering the amount of Charmed Hazes and Hinkypunk Folies she'd had that evening, and grabbed a reluctant Harry and a protesting Ron by their hands.

Once outside, the fresh night air cleared their minds a bit, and Hermione even managed to utter the words of the Sobering Charm and successfully cast it upon herself. The 'boys', however refused to be deprived of the 'wonderfu-fu-ful sensation of fl-fl-floating', and their 'immaturity' caused the young witch to sulk a bit. Ron was the merriest of the three and even began to sing a song apparently entitled 'I'm a Weasley and I'm Proud', which- both Harry and Hermione agreed- their not-so-awake friend must have come up with on the spot. After hearing it for the third time in a row, Hermione finally lost her patience and placed a Silencing Charm on the redhead, who didn't in the less stop, but continued the singing with all the might of his lungs, the notable difference being that now, however, the few late-night passers weren't staring at them anymore.

Given the circumstances, none of the young men were quite capable of apparating, so the trio had to walk on their way home. As Ron was in a far worst state than Harry, Hermione offered to see him Floo-ing safely at the Burrow. So Harry, though a bit reluctant to part from his friends, wished them 'good night', and also 'good luck' to Hermione, then he headed for his own house.

His own house. Harry still had to fight the urge of grinning like a maniac every time these three words came by. His own house, number twelve, Grimmauld Place. His godfather, Sirius Black, had left it to him and Harry wouldn't have traded it for the most luxurious of palaces.

Finally reaching his destination, the not-so-awake-Harry managed to extract his wand from his pocket and cast the unlocking charm upon the door. Entering the hall, he took a few wrong steps and knocked down a vase, which was very unfortunate, not because the former vase had been much of a collection item, but because the crashing noise succeeded to wake up old Mrs. Black in the painting. Naturally, she began throwing insults at Harry, but Harry was both too dizzy and too happy to retort with anything other than an innocent, almost sweet, "Good night to you too, then, Mrs. Black!" before finding his way to the bedroom, collapsing onto the bed and falling asleep instantly.

~TBC~