Harry Potter and the Arses of Fire

Rain was sprinkling the cobblestone roads in Diagon Alley as Harry Potter walked toward the Hog's Head. It was Autumn, and Harry was in a dark mood as he made his way through the crowd. At 35 years old, Harry did not look much like the boy who lived - he looked more like a washed out has been with a slightly protuberant belly and a receding hairline. Of course, this was exactly what he was.

Since his days at Hogwarts, Harry had received accolades for finally defeating the Dark Lord at the age of 17. As the years went by, however, the magical community had finally grown tired of his constant presence, and the fact that he appeared (and gave speeches) at nearly every public event. The press, who once went to great pains to print lengthy columns that either praised or defamed him, now tried to keep him out of the papers as much as possible just to shut him up.

Today he was to meet his old friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, at the Hog's Head for a drink. Harry went to the Hog's Head every day, and this is why they chose this venue for their meeting. Both Ron and Hermione had gone on to have successful careers as an auror and an intelligence analyst, respectively, and they had lost the close friendship they had once shared with Harry Potter. They still saw him a great deal, but it was usually at Weasley family gatherings, where Harry would appear, quite drunk, and would tell anyone who would listen to him how fame was indeed a fickle friend. Harry would also say things like, "You'd think after defeating the darkest wizard of all time the government could give me a pension" or "I could have played professional Quidditch, you know, but I was too busy trying to recover after defeating the Dark Lord. Not that anyone cares."

Harry entered the bar and sat down at the nearest table. He was half an hour early so that he could get a little hair of the dog before his friends arrived. After signaling the waitress to bring him some fire whiskey, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes (Lucky Leprechaun lights, the official cigarette of the Irish Quidditch team) and put one in his mouth. The cigarette lit instantly, and he gave it a thoughtful puff. What is life? he asked himself. This, like drinking, was a ritual with him. Another voice in his head said, Life? Don't talk to me about life.

After a few moments the door opened and two figures emerged from the rain. Ron and Hermione walked to Harry's table and eased into the booth across from him. They both looked a little anxious as they looked at Harry. Ron spoke first.

"Harry, mate, how's it goin'?"

"Me? Oh, fine, just fine. How's your job? I suppose you're here to tell me to get one of those, aren't you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Harry didn't see her. "Well, Harry, now that you mention it, it might do you good to do something, er, constructive - with your time."

"Why should I bother? I've got loads of money, I've invested wisely, and besides, you'd think after defeating old Tom I'd be excused from joining the bleeding work force." Harry had lately begun to speak of Lord Voldemort in an almost affectionate manner.

"Yes Harry, but sitting around here," Hermione gestured to the grimy bar and the shifty looking clientele, "everyday can't be..." she searched for the right word. "Fulfilling?"

Harry chose that moment to emit a very wet, very satisfying sort of belch. Both Hermione and Ron looked disgusted while Harry seemed not to notice anything at all. "I'm technically not doing nothing, I'm taking the Prophet every day."

"I've heard you were," Ron said. He looked pityingly at his old friend. "You know, instead of reading about life, you could actually participate in it. I'm sure the Ministry would love to hire you -"

Hermione looked suspiciously at Harry. Something seemed amiss. "Harry, why do you take the Prophet every day?"

Harry glanced around the room to see if anyone was listening. When he assured himself that they were, he said, "I'm waiting for that wanker Malfoy to become evil so I can vanquish him. It's not exactly like a day job, it's more like a 10 year plan."

Ron, for once, seemed impressed. Hermione, on the other hand was about to lose control and begin shouting at him in a manner that was most unbecoming to a ministry intelligence analyst. "You know he's running a hospital now."

"Yes."

"Which he pays for out of his inheritance?"

"Yes."

"And which he says he does in order to compensate for the evil deeds his father did before he got sent to Azkaban?"

"So?" Harry and Ron said this together.

Hermione sighed deeply. "At any rate, Malfoy is not the reason we're here. We've come to make you an offer."

It was Harry's turn to look suspicious. "What sort of offer?"

"Just listen to us before you say anything. We know you've been out of the loop for a while."

Harry gestured toward the newspaper in front of him.

"That's not the same thing. Ron and I have heard of a job opening at the ministry for someone with, um, your particular skills."

"What skills, exactly."

"Well, um, actually, remember how you got powers from Voldemort when he attacked you as a baby?"

Harry considered this. "Well, I don't know, are you asking if I remember actually acquiring these powers, or do you mean-"

"No Harry, I mean do you remember it as fact. OK, never mind, I'll assume you remember being, well, Harry Potter. The fact is, the one thing you're best equipped to do is to defeat Lord Voldemort, correct?"

"Yes, and that has, for better or worse, already been accomplished. In case you forgot."

Hermione sighed. She had been so happy after graduating school. She, along with everyone else, didn't mind when Harry decided to just hang out for a while. He had had a lot to deal with, after all. When he started drinking, it was more of a social thing. She had even gotten drunk with him on several occasions, one of which ended with her waking up in his flat with a hangover and a grinning Harry, scrambling eggs in the kitchen. She first knew something was terribly wrong with Harry a month later, when she was fighting a very stubborn rash he had obviously given her.

She chose to ignore his last statement. Friendship aside, she and the rest of the ministry needed his expertise, and she would do whatever she could to get him on board. "And since you are equipped to defeat the Dark Lord, you may be the only person who can help us at present."

Harry sat up quickly. Or as quickly as you can when your hangover is fighting against the fresh, new alcohol that is being introduced to your brain. In other words, not quickly at all. "Is he back? I knew I should have burned his ashes after I burned his body. And Neville made me promise to bring him one of his toes for a potion he was making, I should have known better!" He began to hit himself over the head with the nearest thing at hand. That happened to be his newspaper, which didn't produce the effect he was striving for, but hurt less than, say, his fire whiskey glass, which was good. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He punctuated each word with a strike to his head.

Ron and Hermione let him get on with it. They didn't think he was hurting himself, and they had to prepare what they were about to say. They were about to shatter the stagnant lifestyle to which Harry had become accustomed. Then again, maybe it was for the best.

"Harry?" It was Ron. When Harry ignored him, Ron grabbed both of his arms and took away his newspaper. Before Harry could reach for the whiskey bottle, Ron said, "Voldemort isn't back. It's his heir."

Harry blinked furiously at Ron. Heir? What was he talking about? Who would procreate with that, that, thing? Never mind the fact that he was a cold blooded killer. Harry was certain this would not deter the more bacchanalian females he had met before. No, it wasn't his personality that went against him. Evil could be sexy, right? But that pale, slimy body of his, his cold red eyes, his slightly protuberant nose, not to mention his snake fetish and his high pitched voice...

Harry now felt sure of himself. "There is no way on earth anyone would ever sleep with him. Besides, are we even sure he had working genitalia? Because I think..."

"No Harry. You don't understand. He didn't knock anyone up."

"Then what on earth do you mean? He didn't just clone himself, did he?"

"Not quite," Hermione said. She grimaced inwardly at the absurd thing she was about to say. "Voldemort laid an egg."