Harry's plan Part 1 of 879456423154687954632164
“This year we will be hosting the Tri-Wizard Tournament,” Dumbledore said, with Crouch at his side. “All three magical schools will be participating.”
“Hey Jessica!” Harry asked. “What about Xavier’s?”
“What about what?”
“The Xavier institute for Higher Learning and Gifted Youngesters, or whatever the Prof’s calling it these days,” Harry said. “They should play as well.”
“Uh, Harry, it’s traditional for-“
“I’ll leave the school and go play in traffic if they aren’t allowed to participate,” Harry said. “I’m serious, suicide-boy here.”
Albus “Jessica” Dumbledore wanted to bang his head against the wall.
“It’s a magical tournament,” he said as an explanation.
“Hey! We’ve got magical people,” Harry protested. “There’s me, there’s Illyana Rasputin (depending on what age she is at the time and if she’s alive right now, it’s so hard to tell some times), there’s that girl with the wings (I think she’s Welsh, or Belsh or something, which one is right? If someone from Wales is Welsh, someone from Belgium should be Belsh, right? But she, Pixie, right that’s her name, she’s from Wales, so it’s a moot point), there’s the Scarlet Witch (depending on which side of the sanity line she’s on that day) and there’s me.”
“You counted yourself twice,” Hermione pointed out.
“Well, yeah,” Harry said. “I’m a student there too.”
“No, Harry, you’re a student here,” Dumbledore corrected as if he were talking to a very small child. The Ministry official looked embarrassed by the scene and rather impatient. Percy Weasley looked like he was about to comment that it WAS included, but shut up at a dark look thrown his way by ole Bartimus Crouch Sr.
“And depending on what writer you want to favor my Dad’s got a magic origin,” Harry continued. “Kurt’s a semi-magical being depending on which writer is at the helm and an awesome guy. And he’s blue, which makes him more awesome ‘cuz blue is cool. There’s Jubilee, she doesn’t have magical powers, but she’s frikken hot. Just so you know and you all really should, since she’s pretty much a goddess walking around in a yellow raincoat, and those glasses? Wow! but I digress. And there’s Juggernaut, he’s mystically powered and sometimes a hero, and I’m real sorry for almost paralyzing him last summer, since I really thought he was a bad guy again. And-“
“Harry, Xavier’s isn’t a school for magic, it’s a school for mutants,” Dumbledore corrected. There was a gasp from more than a few of the muggle born/raised students. Harry ignored their scandalized faces and snorted derisively at Jessica Dumbledore’s statement. This time Bartimus Crouch Sr. was about to comment, but was cut off by a certain brunette witch.
“Harry! You’re a mutant?” Hermione asked.
“Yep, I can talk to snakes,” Harry said, not noticing the other gasp from the non-muggle students. “It’s more useful than you think. Great for asking directions when you’re stuck in Antarctica running from dinosaurs.”
Hermione made an incredible impression of a fish opening and closing her mouth in silence as she tried to process his words. The others were stunned for completely different reasons.
“You’re a Parsletongue?” interrogated Ron in a voice that echoed throughout the suddenly still room.
“It’s a wizard who can talk to snakes,” Draco explained from the next table. “They are generally considered to be a sign of a dark wizard.”
“Huh, I guess it’s good that mine’s a mutant power,” Harry mused. Several of the professors started inflicting pain upon themselves. Snape, McGonagall and Fitch turned their gazes at the young wizard and stood up in unison.
“FOR THE LAST TIME! YOU’RE NOT A MUTANT!”
“Well not anymore…” Harry said as if he were talking to very young and very retarded children. “M Day took care of that.” He looked up at the readers. “Please let me keep my self delusion for just a little while longer, please?”
Some time later, the debate was brought back up in Jessica’s office.
“No, we will not be allowing Xavier’s to take part,” Dumbledore said.
“Do it or I’ll take all my money out of the Wizarding world,” Harry said.
“What kind of threat is that?” the Headmaster jerk asked in an overly superior tone.
“Go ask the goblins,” Harry commanded with an evil grin.
One Gringott’s conversation later…
“Xavier’s Institute for Higher Learning will be taking part in the Tri-Wizard tournament,” Dumbledore announced, suddenly very worried about what the goblins had revealed. Beside him, Minister Fudge was about as pale as a glacier and his blood ran twice as cold.
There was a dramatic instance as the Weasley Twins gave themselves aging potions and a got really long beards as a result. Harry just walked right up and threw his in.
“Harry!” Ron and Hermione practically screamed in surprise.
“How’d you manage that?” the girl asked.
“Humph,” Harry said haughtily in his best Admiral Akbar, and pointed a thumb at his chest. “Those shields can’t repel power of this magnitude!”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but Ron just stared blankly.
“I don’t get it,” he said quietly. The more educated students (primarily those who knew what a television was or how to use a telephone), just shook their heads sadly. It might have been a bad joke, but at least they got it.
“I’ve got a great idea,” Harry said to Minister Fudge. The portly older man (who looked distinctly like a veterinarian from All Creatures Great and Small
who wasn’t James Herriot) smiled and pretended to listen indulgently. “Well, since not everybody can visit the events, maybe we could bring the events to them?”
“Oh?” Fudge asked. “And how would you do that?”
Harry went into a long, in depth discussion of the magical properties of the enchanted box that showed people moving from far away. Basically, he described how a television worked. They weren’t really enchanted and most of them didn’t really work, but one of Harry’s schemes hadn’t panned out, so he found himself stuck with about 14 thousand TVs from the 1950s, most of which were used to watch Queen Bet 2 get her crown. It only made sense to force the ignorant dumbasses to buy the things and make him richer and the Wizarding World poorer.
Fudge however, was amazed at the idea, not realizing Muggles came up with it sixty years prior. “Why, how would you arrange such a thing?”
“Well,” Harry said. “I devised these magical wires that send the magical video to the magic box.”
“What would you call these wondrous inventions?” Fudge asked, now honestly enthused.
“I thought of picture box, but I think I’m going to go with ‘Television’, but we could call it a telly for short,” Harry said.
“I like it!” Fudge, this way he could watch his Quidditch games without having to use that blasted sock portkey. And getting the sore neck seats right in the front. “But how would you get people to buy these things?”
“Oh, easy, I’d just charge admission to the games,” Harry said.
“Bloody hell! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you’re a self important, self-indulgent, semi-incompetent, pure-blood obsessed, money blinded, overly politicized, overly officious ignoramus,” Harry said simply and honestly. Harry jumped at the man’s insulted look. “Oh, wait, this is one of those times that Gramma Jean tells me to lie and say every thing’s alright.”
He reached up and patted the Minister on the head like one would treat a child. “It’s okay, Corny,” Harry said, having decided Corny would be the diminutive of Cornelius. “Everything’s gonna go away and be perfectly fine.”
When that didn’t mollify the politician, Harry waved a galleon in front of his face. “You’re getting sleepy, everything is going to be alright.”
“Everything is going to be alright,” intoned the hypnotized Minister.
“You’re going to deposit all your money in my account,” Harry said.
“I’m going to deposit all my money in your account,” the Minister intoned. Harry grinned and stopped waving the corn.
“Great!” Harry said. “I’ll put that in my 401K!”
Looking on, Hermione Granger started beating her head into the wall.
“My fellow Wizarians,” Harry said in his best JFK. “We find our selfs in a time of change as we rebuild from the past and look to the future.” Harry gestured to the television beside him. “This is the future.”
Harry waved his magic wand (the stick, not the euphemism) at the TV and changed the channel. “Behold, the Television! Ever want to take time off to see those matches you miss while at work or somewhere else? Ever want to hear the day’s news live and not rely on the slow pace of owls? Buy a Television! It will bring you kicking and screaming into the 20th Century.”
Hermione scowled at the enterprising young boy. "It's already the 21st Century."
"Yeah, but I figure the best I'll do is get them to the 1970s before I die of old age," Harry said. "But I have it on good authority that polyester jumpsuits are the best thing ever.
They sold like hot cakes, especially since Fudge suggested the 50 galleon-per-person price tag per day of the event. Soon enough, Harry was almost in need of getting more.