"Hey Bruce," a man walked into the office of the Head of Australian Law Enforcement. "Got some news for you."
"What is it Bruce?" The Chief raised an eyebrow.
"Turns out that Mr. Black was here," Bruce scratched his chin. "Got into a fist fight with a roo and won."
"Anything else?" The Chief yawned.
"Found a few mil in opals," Bruce shrugged. "And the bushmen have been seeing dingos chewing on some strange white masks around the area that Mr. Black was thought to have been."
"Right, no worries." The chief shrugged, "let's go get a beer."
"Good idea," Bruce nodded. "I'll ask Bruce and Bruce if they can come along, I think Bruce might be off too."
"See if Bruce is out of the hospital," the Chief nodded. "Might as well have the whole department come along."
IIIIIIIIII
"We're here," Henchgirl stuck her head through Harry's door.
"How'd you do that?" Harry blinked.
"It's a new spell I'm working on," Henchgirl smiled. "Think how fun and useful it will be to be able to walk through walls."
"I guess," Harry put down his book and put on his coat. "Let's go."
"Ok," Henchgirl pulled her head out of the door to allow Harry to exit his room.
"What's all this?" Harry walked out of his room and into a pile of luggage.
"We're showing a lot of things at the convention," Henchgirl smiled.
"Cool," Harry nodded. "Sounds interesting."
"You've already seen it all," Henchgirl grinned.
"Do you need my help to carry it all?" Harry looked around.
"No need," Henchgirl shook her head. "We're testing out a new delivery system so we don't have to carry any of this down . . . and we hope to sell most of it so we don't have to carry it back up."
"Well," the Professor was getting a bit annoyed at being ignored. "Let's all get down then."
"Don't we need to leave someone behind to raise and lower the wards?" Harry smiled.
"We fixed that," Henchgirl smiled. "Now your cell floo sends up an encrypted signal that trips the wards and allows us to pass."
"Cool," Harry shrugged. "Let's go."
The three friends appeared in the lobby of a casino in front of a large bank of slot machines.
"Hold on a sec," Harry smiled. "I want to try this."
"You do know that the odds of winning are slim to nil?" The Professor smiled.
"Yup," Harry gave a cheerful nod.
"Ok then," the Professor shrugged.
Harry walked up to one of the machines and slipped a coin into the slot. The machine clicked whirred and blinked and then sirens went off and lights began blinking.
"Congratulations sir," one of the casino employees walked up. "You've just won our motorcycle in our motorcycle slot madness."
"That's nice," Harry smiled. "Is it ok if I try this again?"
"Whatever you like sir," the man nodded.
Harry placed another coin in the slot and pulled the handle, the machine lit up and sirens began sounding . . . again.
"What the hell?" Harry's eyes narrowed.
"Congratulations again sir," the casino employee smiled. "I've never seen a person make two big wins in a row on the slots."
"It was supposed to go click whirr and take my money," Harry frowned. "That's the experience I wanted, why the hell won't it do that?"
"Just lucky I guess," the casino employee had dealt with people stranger than this and kept his composure. "Perhaps if you try again?"
"One more time," Harry nodded, placing another coin in the machine and pulling the arm. "Finally," Harry smiled. "I thought it would take forever to lose."
"Yes sir," the employee nodded. "What would you like me to do with your winnings?"
"Can we play with the motorcycle?" Henchgirl perked up. "I've got some ideas to . . . improve it."
"Sure whatever," Harry shrugged. "I'm gonna want to ride it later though . . . make sure it can fly."
"Ok," Henchgirl nodded.
"And the money?" The employee asked quickly.
Harry sighed, "the Professor can give you the number of my bank account . . . still don't know how he got it but he'll give it to you."
"Right," the employee nodded. "Then enjoy your stay with us."
"Thanks," Harry nodded. "I guess I'll be in the convention if anyone needs me."
"I'm coming too," Henchgirl nodded. "Let the Professor deal with the money problems."
"And Happy to do it," the Professor smiled.
Henchgirl and Harry wandered towards the defense convention and the casino employee turned to the Professor. "May I ask why he was disappointed that he won twice in a row?"
"He just wanted a normal gambling experience," the Professor smiled. "Who wins at slots?"
"I . . . see," the employee blinked. "Who do I put down as the winner?"
"Mr. Black," the Professor grinned. "I'll give you the information needed to deposit it into his account in just a minute."
"Ah," the employee nodded . . . that explained everything.
IIIIIIIIII
"The master has ordered us to go after Black again," Wormtail sagged. "He says that if we stop trying to kill Black we'll be seen as weak."
The assorted death eaters shared worried glances and several made plans to turn themselves in.
"You three," Peter gave a disinterested wave. "Come with me."
IIIIIIIIII
Harry and Henchgirl spent several minutes looking through the assorted booths and networking before it all became a bit tedious.
"I'm going to go get something to drink," Harry smiled. "Want to come?"
"Sure," Henchgirl nodded. "Let's go."
Harry and Henchgirl made their way to one of the casino's bars and Harry ordered himself a drink.
"And for you?" The bartender turned to Henchgirl.
"Give me a soda water," Henchgirl nodded. "And a teaspoon of salt, half a tablespoon of brown sugar, a shot glass full of lime juice, and three grams of lemon zest."
"Right away," the confused bartender wandered off to procure Henchgirl's order.
"I prefer to make my own drinks," Henchgirl shrugged. "They taste better than anything he could make."
"Well," Harry blinked. "You are a potions mistress."
"That's right," Henchgirl nodded. "I am . . . do you have any plans for the convention?"
"I was just planning to wander around and see what I could see," Harry smiled. "Maybe check out one of the other conventions in the hotel."
"Sounds like fun," Henchgirl nodded. "There are some interesting conventions in the casino and I'm sure there are a few parties to go to."
"Here you are," the bartender brought over a large tray covered in Henchgirl's orders. "And it's on the house if you'll allow me to watch you make . . . whatever it is you're going to make."
"Ok," Henchgirl nodded. "But don't steal my recipe, I'd be happy to sell it to the casino but I don't want it used without my permission."
"Of course not," the bartender nodded. "I just had to know what you were going to do."
"Ok," Henchgirl spent several minutes mixing her drink. "And you end up with a citrus soda that's much better than anything on the market."
"Wonderful," the bartender nodded. "I think I might be able to convince my boss to buy this from you, what was your name again?"
"Henchgirl," Henchgirl smiled.
"I definitely think I can convince my boss to buy this then," the bartender's smile widened. "The marketing aspect alone is astronomical."
"Ok," Henchgirl smiled. "Do you want a sip Mr. Black?"
"Sure," Harry shrugged. Grabbing the glass, Harry took a short sip. "It's good, thanks for letting me try it."
"No problem," Henchgirl smiled.
"Hmm," Harry glanced in the mirror. "We might want to get back to the convention."
"Why?" Henchgirl blinked.
"Because I think I recognise one of the people at that table," Harry smirked. "And I want to mess with his head . . . might be best if we leave the bar after I set things into motion."
"Ok," Henchgirl nodded.
Harry raised a finger to signal the bartender.
"Yes sir?" The bartender asked politely.
"Is that 'Mad Eye' Moody at that table over there?" Harry asked with a grin.
"I believe it is sir, why do you ask?"
"Just wanted to make sure," Harry gave a sadistic grin and tossed a bag of coins on the table. "Buy the table a round of drinks and give Moody a message from me would you?"
"Of course sir," the bartender made the bag disappear. "And who may I say the message is from?"
Harry gave an evil grin, "Mr. Black."
"I understand sir." The bartender nodded, "what was the message you wanted to send?"
IIIIIIIIII
"And get this," the Italian drained half his glass. "He was carrying a dagger that was over two thousand years old, 's no wonder he spotted all our tails. We were following the man that taught Flamel how to make his bloody stone."
"S' nothing," one of the Japanese shook his head. "I saw Black . . ."
"I'm sorry to interrupt you gentlemen," the bartender placed a tray with several glasses and one bottle on the table. "But someone has bought you all a round of drinks."
"Who?" Moody (and half the table) eyed the bartender suspiciously.
"Look at the label on the bottle."
Moody squinted at the offending object and began to read aloud, "Johnny Walker . . . . Black."
"He also wanted me to give you a message sir."
"What's that," Moody's eye was spinning as he attempted to find one of the most feared man in the world.
"Constant Vigilance."
IIIIIIIIII
Harry and Henchgirl giggled as the walked out of the bar, imagining the expression on Moody's face when he got the message.
"Sorry to interrupt," a man walked up with a smile. "But you wouldn't happen to be Mr. Black and Henchgirl would you?"
"Yes, why?" Harry nodded.
"Because you're scheduled to speak in about three minutes," the man waved Harry towards a raised platform with a podium.
"What do you want me to say?" Harry asked nervously as he followed the man to the stage.
"Just tell them what your favorite spell is and why," the man shrugged. "And then step off the stage so that the Professor and Henchgirl can present their products."
"I can do that," Harry nodded.
"Then do it," the man smiled.
"And now on behalf of Black Ink, we have Mr. Black who will give us a few words before we bring out his colleagues." The man gave Harry a short introduction.
Harry walked up to the podium and cleared his throat.
"In my opinion," Harry began. "The purpose of Law Enforcement is to defend the public from every dangerous and psychotic idiot that would do them harm. My favorite spell for this is . . ."
A group of death eaters appearing on the raised platform next to Harry caused him to lose his train of thought.
The thousands of Magical Law Enforcement, Military, Defence Contractors, and armed civilians watching Harry's speech blinked in surprise.
"Prepare to die," one of the dumber death eaters threatened.
"These are those idiots that I've been telling you about," Harry couldn't believe what was happening. "Notice the dark robes and white masks."
"Flee before the might of the dark lord," another dim death eater tried.
"I didn't call them here," Harry looked around the room. "Is this anyone else's demonstration?"
The convention goers eyed each other and drew their wands.
"Well . . ." Harry looked around, "I guess the only thing to say here is fire when ready."
The room lit up as nearly every spell known to wizard kind was flung at the death eaters, their hastily erected shields might as well have been made out of tissue paper for all the good they did. The death eaters all expired within the first minute of what would end up being twenty minutes of constant spells.
"Well . . . " Harry's eyes focused on a small rat limping off the stage. "Wormtail," in a flash Harry's scythe was in his hand.
Peter screamed as his death loomed closer and closer. At the last minute, Peter man managed to activate his portkey and escape.
"Damn," Harry sighed. "He's always getting away from me . . . sorry about that folks." The assorted convention goers stared at Harry's scythe in shock, "as I was saying . . . I've found the most useful spell for every day dueling to be the Reductor curse. It is easy and quick to cast, it is legal in every country, and it will put a man down quickly. Not many people can move with a large chunk missing from their chest . . . thank you."
The audience applauded enthusiastically and Harry took a bow before he stepped off the stage.
"With the tough job of following Mr. Black's rather . . . impressive performance," the announcer paused to let the laughter die down. "Is the Professor and Henchgirl, the head Researcher and head Potions Mistress of Black Ink."
IIIIIIIIII
Seconds after Harry left the stage, dozens of operatives for dozens of agencies rushed to find semi private locations to make their reports.
"This is secret agent eighty six calling control, come in control." A man whispered into his cell floo.
"This is headquarters," a female voice replied. "And I've told you to stop reporting in like that . . . it stopped being funny after the third time."
"Still amuses me so I'm still going to use it," the Man smirked.
"What was so important that you ducked out early to report it?" The woman's voice sounded bored.
"Our information that Mr. Black would speak was correct," the man whispered. "And our speculation that he'd provide a bit of entertainment was also correct . . . I've never seen so many spells cast at once."
"I'm still failing to understand what was so important that you had to report in now?" The female voice was starting to sound annoyed.
"After the battle, Mr. Black focused on a small rat and attempted to kill it with a large scythe," the man's tone turned smug. "The rat escaped by activating a portkey. Mr. Black then apologized and mentioned that he'd been after that rat for quite some time and that it was always getting away. It is pure speculation on my part but I know of only one figure that is said to use a scythe to reap his victims."
"I see," the female voice paused. "Return to the convention and report any other items of interest . . . you also have permission to buy anything you desire from Mr. Black's company . . . control out."
"I knew I'd be able to get her to do that if I kept pestering her," the man gave a satisfied grin. "I'll be placing myself in terrible danger if I continue my attempts to get her to make more references like that . . . and loving it, heh."
AN: The Bruce thing is from an old skit, if you know it, cool.