Author's Note:

Hi, hello. If you're reading this, it means I've been killed.

Nah, I'm just messing around. XD

Welcome to "Expectation Reversal", my second Harry Potter fic. I would like to start off by saying that, yes, this story has the exact same base premise of "Harry Potter, The Orphan Who Survived". Meerlinda's there, James Evans' there, the chantry's still there, all that good stuff. This story will have a Harry that is focused on other things, however. Rather than using his c. 200 years of study to learn fighting, magic, assassination, the "good stuff", he used them to learn economics, entrepreneurship, politics, law, and a lot of other "good stuff". You could say that this is like an RPG's branching plotlines; a bunch of different "what ifs" than HP:TOWS.

It might be slower, it might be boring, who knows. What I do know is that I will try my hardest to make it just as spicy, if not moreso, than HP:TOWS.

With all that out of the way, let's go on, shall we?

A Fantastically Mundane Surprise June 17th, 1994 London, England

Harry Potter, thirteen years of age, sat in a large boardroom. He was wearing a black suit with a black vest, black shirt and black tie, and his hair was neatly kempt at short on the sides and slightly longer at the top, and his expression showed that he was bored. Sitting at the head of a long table where a few adults sat and talked and argued with each other, all of them wearing professional suits, he finally had enough.

"Quiet!" he called out with exasperation, and the room instantly fell silent. "Thank you."

He stood up and leant over the table, his knuckles resting on the surface. His face was serious, and even though he was only a young boy, no one dared speak against him when he ordered silence.

"Here's what's going to happen," he calmly began. "Beatrice, you will make preparations for the arrival of our esteemed guest, Mr Yakamura. I'm talking limousine, champagne, a suite at the Four Seasons, go round up high–class escort girls if you have to. Make sure he has everything he wants. Clyde," he looked towards a man as the woman nodded with a grim expression, "you make sure that the area is ready for his inspection. Make sure that the sound equipment and bar have been set up, and take a look at the employee list, as well. Make sure everyone is ready to get to work at the drop of a fucking hat."

"Yes, sir," Clyde said and nodded.

"Good," Harry said with a small sigh. "Was that so difficult? You're all dismissed."

Everyone in the room with the boy quickly and quietly got up and left the room. Said boy sighed and sat back in the large chair, and rubbed his face.

"Incompetent fucking imbeciles," he muttered and looked out of the window. "'But you're just a kid!' Kiss my ass, Beatrice."

He sat and stared out the window for what seemed like hours until he stood from the chair and left the room as well. He made his way through a floor occupied with offices and some cubicles, and then entered a large office with the name tag 'Harry J. Potter, CEO' written on it. There was a large desk, a few file cabinets, and a bookshelf. Very bare, quite minimalistic, but perfectly useful and elegant. He walked over and stood by the window where he stared out over the city of London.

"And now I have to write a briefing for the shareholder's meeting next week," he muttered. "Damnit."

Just as he was about to turn to his desk chair, something caught his eye. A rather large bird of some kind flying directly towards him. Harry narrowed his eyes, and they glowed pale red. Suddenly, he could see much more clearly, and focusing on the bird, he saw that it was an owl. A primarily nocturnal bird of prey, which did confound Harry. He checked his watch quite briefly, to see that it was barely past one in the afternoon. He looked back, and the owl seemed to come ever and ever closer, never altering its path from flying directly at him. Harry, curious as to what might be going on, opened a window wide. The bird soon flew straight through the open window and landed on the desk. It sat there and hooted a few times. Harry merely walked around the desk, his eyes never leaving the bird.

"Hmm," he muttered. "Interesting."

He stood and silently observed the bird. The bird seemed to grow irritated, and started trudging on his desk. It was only then that he noticed the letter tied to its leg by a leather strap. Harry cautiously moved closer and untied the letter from the creature's leg. The owl then barked again and took flight back out the window after taking a lap around his office. Harry stared after the bird with wide eyes, not truly believing what had just happened. He stared for minutes until he remembered the letter in his hands, and he quickly looked at the envelope's front.

"To Harry James Potter, at The Potter Group, London," he read aloud. "Hmm."

He opened the letter and started reading the first page.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump… you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry… all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July? Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress."

Harry stared at the first page for quite a while, considering whether to burn it, throw it away, or keep reading. To humour himself, he chose the latter.

"Three sets of plain work robes, dragon hide, name tags, dress robes, Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, hmm. Curious. Quite curious. Meerlinda might know more about this nonsense."

All of a sudden, a few knocks came from the door to his office. Harry placed the letter pages face–down on the desk top and called for the person to come in. As the door opened, it revealed his secretary, Jaquelin Luças, and a man of short stature, almost as short as Harry himself, holding a lime–green bowler and wearing a suit that seemed to have been influenced both by modern fashion and formal attire from the 19th century.

"Mr Potter, there's a Cornelius Fudge here to see you," the French woman said.

"Let him in, Jaquelin," Harry said with a disarming smile.

Jaquelin stepped aside and allowed the man to enter. The older man did so with a bright smile on his face, and Jaquelin closed the door as she turned to leave.

"Mr Potter, such a pleasure to meet you!" the man said and reached out his hand, which Harry took. Harry was a little put off by the very enthusiastic shake. "My name is Cornelius Oswald Fudge, and I am the sitting Minister for Magic."

Harry raised a brow questioningly.

"Magic?" he asked.

"Yes, m'boy, magic!" Fudge exclaimed. "Don't you know anything?"

"I would appreciate it, Mr Fudge, that you not question my intelligence. As you should be acutely aware of, standing in my office and all, I am known as the most intelligent minor to have ever lived."

"Yes, yes," Fudge waved his hand. "Muggles. They think every person with a little common sense is a genius."

Harry's left eye twitched, but his neutral mask remained unbroken.

"What can I do for you, Mr Fudge?"

"Oh, I merely came to inquire as to whether you intend on breaking the Statute of Secrecy with this…" he looked around the office, "game of yours."

Harry took a deep breath, acutely aware that his eye was twitching once again.

"Let me explain something to you, Mr Fudge, while you stand in my office; I am the youngest Chief Executive Officer the world has ever seen. My firm deals with politicians, celebrities, and entrepreneurs the world over, from Shanghai and Bangkok to New York and Washington. We fund nightclubs, opera houses, hotels, restaurants, and cinematic motion picture associations and producers. In two years, I have built up a Fortune 500 company that has contracts on the global scale, starting when I was twelve years of age. Please do not insult an achievement that has never been seen before, anywhere in the world, or I may decide to call security and have you removed from my office. Now, let us try this again: What. Can. I. Do. For. You?"

It seemed that, after the short monologue, the boisterous man in front of him seemed to realise that the thirteen–year–old was not joking around.

"I came to see if you were breaking the Statute of Secrecy," Fudge said, slightly subdued.

"And what is this statute?" Harry inquired.

Fudge looked strangely at Harry, with an expression Harry had seen all too often on people's faces.

"You really have no clue, do you?"

"About what, Mr Fudge?"

"M'boy, you're famous!" the man exclaimed.

Harry snorted and walked over to a small table next to an armchair and picked up the day's newspaper and tossed it at Fudge.

"Of course I have a clue."

Fudge seemed surprised, and then unfolded the paper and looked at the front page, which held a picture of Harry standing cross–armed, looking serious, and dressed in his signature all–black suit. The headline read 'Boy Genius Strikes Again! Expands To Nightclubs!' The man kept reading, his eyes widening more and more as he read on. Soon, his head whipped up to look at the boy.

"So you're famous to Muggles as well!?"

"Muggles?" Harry asked.

"Non–magicals," Fudge explained. "Non–wizards."

Harry sighed.

"Alright, say this magic thing is real… do something magical."

"You can't be serious, dear bo–"

"And stop calling me 'dear boy' and 'm'boy', Mr Fudge. It's 'Mr Potter' to you."

Now it was Fudge's turn to sigh.

"Very well… Mr Potter."

With that, he reached his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a wooden stick. He waved it, and a comfortable–looking chair shimmered into existence. He then sat down in it, and Harry looked on merely with raised brows for a few seconds before he lightly shrugged to himself and took a seat in his own chair behind his desk.

"Alright. I believe you. Now, the statute?"

"It is the law that says that we wizards are forbidden from revealing our natures and powers to Muggles who aren't closely related. It is impossible for a child to conceal their accidental magic from their parents and siblings, we know that. But when they gain control of it, they are prohibited from performing magic outside of school until they reach the age of seventeen, when they complete their education. They are also prohibited from telling those who don't need to know about magic."

"I see. And I would presume this to be in response to… the Inquisition of the Middle Ages, no?"

Fudge's eyes widened.

"So you do know!?"

"No, I do not," Harry shook his head. "Muggles, as you call them, teach about the Inquisition in history classes. They talk about how the catholic church burned, beheaded, and drowned thousands of innocent humans because they were superstitious and believed in witches and warlocks. I suppose they were right, then?"

Fudge looked slightly stunned, but then nodded.

"Yes. At least, for most of Europe. We have generally kept to ourselves and kept a low profile for as long as we have existed, but it wasn't until they Inquisition came after us that we made it a law to hide from them."

"I understand," Harry nodded. "Explains why people believe you to be fictitious."

"But you believe me?"

"I've always been of an open mind," Harry shrugged. "I may never have believed anything very strongly, but I am not opposed to have my views proven wrong."

"I see," Fudge nodded. "Well, since you didn't know about our society, I suppose you couldn't have broken the Statute of Secrecy."

"Indeed," Harry shrugged.

Fudge nodded slightly and stood up, and with another wave of his wand, the chair he had used disappeared, drawing a raised brow from Harry.

That… seems really convenient.

As Fudge was about to leave the office, Harry remembered something.

"Mr Fudge, you couldn't tell me how to get to 'Diagon Alley' from here, could you?" Harry inquired.

Fudge looked at the young man with a smile.

"Come with me, and I can show you the way."

Harry considered it for a moment, and then he stood, walked over to his coat hanger and grabbed his long, black coat. He then followed Fudge out of the office, though not before grabbing the letter that had been sent to him and stuffing it in a pocket.

•••

Harry and Fudge casually walked down the streets of London, and Fudge was more than happy to explain the various things that Harry asked about the world of the wizards and witches. Fudge was a little surprised by the fact that Harry mostly wanted to know about the government, banking system, and various news outlets. Fudge slowly began to realise that the boy was clearly no idiot, and was clearly far more intelligent that he had assumed at first, not to mention far more intelligent that most people. The way he spoke, carried himself, even how he seemed to listen… they all spoke of confidence, experience, superiority, and of age far more advanced than what his age and appearance would suggest. The boy was barely beginning to grow the start of a beard, for Merlin's sake! Soon, however, they reached the Leaky Cauldron, and Fudge held the door open to the boy. Harry nodded curtly and entered.

Inside, Harry thought it looked like a slightly dirty pub, but it was still somewhat classy… if only somewhat. It was built in a clearly Victorian style, that was certain… and given what he had recently learned, Harry wasn't even certain that it wasn't built in the Victorian era.

Then again, it might be even older than that.

The first thing he noticed besides the structure was the fact that all chatter had fallen silent, and everyone stared at him and Fudge. It was then that Harry remembered Fudge mentioning that he was famous in their society as well, though he hadn't actually asked as to why. And, Fudge was the Minister for Magic. He presumed that the older politician would draw a few eyes wherever he went.

Harry put on a charming smile as he looked around, though he wasn't actually happy or joyed. It was merely a force of habit.

"Good afternoon, fellow wizards. And witches," he called out, which earned him a few raised drinks in greeting. He then looked at Fudge. "Shall we?"

"Most certainly," Fudge said and guided the boy through the main room towards a back exit.

Harry stared at a wall when they came out the back, and then looked at Fudge with anticipation.

"I was expecting Diagon Alley to look more like, you know, an alley," he jabbed in amusement.

"Ah, do not fret, Mr Potter," Fudge smiled and drew his wand. "Watch closely."

Harry did so and instantly memorised the pattern in which the politician tapped the bricks, and which bricks they were. As soon as he tapped the last one, the bricks started folding away, and revealed a brightly coloured street filled with people in cloaks, robes, and other very strange clothes. Harry smiled a small smile as he observed the street. He had to admit to himself, it was pretty damned wicked. He fell in step with Fudge as he started walking down the street, and Harry's head was swivelling like crazy, trying to take in as much as he could. The various shops had various displays as strange as the people surrounding them, showing brooms in a very stylish fashion, strange clothes, owls, cats, and toads, as well as cauldrons, more exotic animals, and other strange knickknacks. What took his breath more than anything else (though nothing was particularly breath–taking to him) was the white, marble building at the end of the street which Fudge was leading him to.

"This is Gringotts Wizarding Bank," Fudge proclaimed, "the only bank in the Wizarding World."

"The only bank!?" Harry exclaimed.

"Yes, Mr Potter, the only bank. We don't need others, and it isn't like anyone can compete with Gringotts."

Harry nodded slightly, and then they reached two men dressed as what Harry could only presume to be security uniforms. They held very thin rods (not sticks, Harry reminded himself) and looked slightly flustered as the two people approached. When the pair reached the security people, they stopped, and each of the men started padding the rod down their forms, most likely like metal detectors Harry assumed. When they were both cleared, Harry and Fudge walked inside through the entry hall, and before them stretched a marvel of a hall, filled with teller desks, short, stubby creatures sitting behind them, and a few groups or individuals talking to them. Fudge led Harry through the hall and up to the main teller at the far end, situated right in the centre. Fudge cleared his throat, and another of the stubby creatures with long noses and fingers seemed to appear from beneath the teller stand.

"Yes?" the creature drawled with some amount of disdain.

"Young Mr Harry Potter would like to access his vault, and receive the key, please," Fudge said.

The goblin immediately perked up at the mention of Harry's name and looked at the boy standing next to Fudge.

"Harry James Potter?" the creature asked at the boy, suddenly alert.

"Yes," Harry said with a small nod. "And as the Minster mentioned, I would like access to my vault. I don't have the key, though. Until just half an hour ago, I wasn't even aware of the existence of wizards or… I'm terribly sorry; what sort of creature would you and these other esteemed bankers be referred as?"

Fudge looked at Harry with an impressed expression. The boy certainly was a smooth talker for a, well, boy. The goblin seemed very satisfied with the response.

"We are goblins, Mr Potter, and we have been in charge of Gringotts since Gringott founded this bank in 1474."

"Ah, I see," Harry smiled. "Well, I wouldn't really trust a human with my own money, either, if it weren't for the fact that I only had human bankers before."

"Hmm, I like you already, young man," the goblin said. "Griphook!"

Suddenly, another goblin came running from behind a nearby desk.

"Yes?"

"Please escort Mr Potter down to his family's vault," the head goblin said, and then turned to Harry. "I apologise, Mr Potter, but as your magical guardian, it is Albus Dumbledore who possesses your key at the moment. Rest assured, however; I will personally see to it that your key is retrieved, and we will keep it here until you visit us again."

"Thank you very much, my good sir," Harry said and bowed slightly. "I shall look forward to seeing you again."

The head goblin nodded in approval as Harry and Fudge followed the newly summoned goblin through some corridors.

•••

Harry stepped off the cart that drove them through caverns at high speeds. He wore a wide, gleeful smile, seeing as he loved driving fast things.

"That was fun," he commented as Fudge stepped out as well, slightly disoriented by the quick nature of the cart's path.

"You are the only one to think so, Harry," Fudge said, breathing heavily.

Harry just smiled and followed Griphook towards a specific vault door. The goblin pulled out a temporary replacement key that would soon disappear into nothingness, and inserted it into the keyhole. He twisted, and Harry heard what must have been dozens of locks disengaging. The doors soon swung open, and Harry was astonished at the amount of gold, silver and bronze coins in the confines of the vault. He stepped inside with slow, cautious steps.

"This is all mine?" Harry asked the goblin.

"It is a portion of your fortune," Griphook explained. "A trust fund, of about 10.000 galleons. It should reach for whatever you may desire for your time in school."

"This is a trust fund!?" Harry exclaimed. "Well, how much do I have in total?"

"I should say… a few million galleons," Griphook seemed to try to recall an exact number. "Around… 7.540.200 galleons, counting the sickles and knuts."

Gold, silver and bronze, hmm?

Harry whistled in amazement and took another look around, and wandered deeper into the vault. In the back, he found a few old trunks, chests, and other forms of containers. Most interesting to him, however, was a file cabinet. He opened it and ruffled through it, until he found a file labelled 'Sleekeazy's Hair Potion'. He pulled out the file and opened it, and was marvelled to discover that it was a contract signing the company that held the trademark on it away from a 'Fleamont Potter'. Harry replaced the file in the cabinet and looked around some more. He found a strange purse, looking like a woman's handbag. He grabbed it, opened it, and placed his hand inside, only to find that it had no bottom. He turned it over and looked, but his hand simply vanished, as there was no hole in the bottom.

Undetectable magical expansion. Interesting.

Harry then grabbed quite a few handfuls of gold, silver, and bronze coins and placed them in separate sections of the bag. He then went to place it in his pocket, only to have it suddenly shrink in his hand and falling in on its own. He couldn't help the slight grunt of excitement that escaped him.

"Marvellous!" he commented.

"Yes, you will find quite a few trinkets like that in here," Griphook stated. "The Potter family was never as rich as when your grandfather, Fleamont Potter, made a fortune on a hair potion and then selling the firm when he was too old to work. Before that, though, your family was quite involved with politics, though never in the limelight. You had quite clever and intelligent ancestors, Mr Potter."

"So it would seem," Harry said and looked around some more.

He found several books on various subjects, all written by a Potter, and all seemingly quite advanced, though Harry really had no clue as to how advanced. When he felt he was done looking, he stumbled over a pouch, similar to the one he had in his pocket, but with only one compartment. Harry quickly snatched it up and placed it in another pocket, and to his delight, it too shrunk to easily fit. He then nodded at the two others and stepped out of the vault.

•••

"Well, I shall bid you a fair day, Harry," Fudge said as they left the bank. "I have to get back to my office at the Ministry. Should you ever feel the need, or just want, you can always come by."

"I appreciate the offer, Minister Fudge," Harry smiled and extended his hand, which Fudge merrily shook. "Have a lovely afternoon."

With a tip of the minister's bowler, and a 'crack', the man disappeared, leaving Harry standing there, in awe at the sudden disappearance of the man.

"Wow," he muttered to himself. "I need to learn that."

Harry then shook himself out of his stupor and pulled the curled–up letter out of his pocket. He read the lists a few times, making sure to memorise each item perfectly, and every description of them. He then curled the letter back up and looked around. He quickly found a shop that clearly sold books, called Flourish & Blotts. Harry took off and went inside. When he did, he noticed a girl with bushy, brown hair and a boy with flaming red. They were talking about books… or, more accurately, she was talking about books, and the boy was half–asleep on his feet. Nearby was a rather rotund woman, clearly the redhead's mother by the looks of it.

Not only was Harry adept at reading social circumstances, but he was also very well–studied in biology, and did have basic understanding of genetics. Not that it all mattered, the relation was obvious. Age–difference, similar shades of hair, it all just fit perfectly.

"Really, Ronald!?" the bushy–haired girl exclaimed. "You should really take your studies seriously!"

"Oh, come on, 'Mione!" the boy, Ronald, returned. "We just keep going the same we always have!"

"Quiet, children!" the mother of the redhead shushed them. "We're in a bookstore."

Harry released the conversation from his focus and went about the store, looking for the titles that were listed in his letter, though he did find several interesting books that he also purchased, many pertaining to the history of the magical world, the various countries, creatures, and branches of magic, as well as some books on what could only be described as advanced magic, though once again, he had no actual clue. Harry went up to the till and placed them all on the counter. The teller glanced over the books, noted the prices down, and then calculated the total price.

"That will be 21 galleons and seven knuts," the teller said.

Harry quickly fished out his purse, counted the right amount, and then placed it all on the counter.

"Thank you very much for your patronage, sir," the teller said.

Harry then placed all the books in the one–compartment–pouch and replaced said pouch in his pocket. However, just as he was about to leave, he heard something behind him.

"Hermione, dear, you don't have to," he heard the voice of the mother say. "We'll just have to try another place."

Harry instantly realised what the situation was about, and he internally sighed. He did want to fall in good graces with the public, though. He turned around and walked up to the register once more, surprising the group of three when he glanced at the teller's tally of the price, fished out his purse, and paid the full sum. Without another word, he turned and left the store before anyone could question him, though he swore he heard the girl mutter "That was Harry Potter!". Then again, he had easily scraped a few hundred galleons, sickles and knuts into his purse, and their purchase was a measly 32 sickles. Barely anything at all. Harry spent the rest of the day getting his things scratched off the list he had mentalised, and when he was done, he left the same way he entered; through the Leaky Cauldron.

When he came inside and passed the bar, however, he stopped for a brief moment, and then looked at the barkeep.

"One round of anything the patrons want," he said and placed 15 galleons on the counter top. "On me."

There were cheers from the pub, and Harry smiled and waved as he left the inn, though he quickly dropped the smile once he left.

A whole new society to play with… hmm, this is going to be interesting. Very interesting.

•••

Harry returned to his office and sat down in his chair. He started mulling things over, until he remembered that he had bought several books specifically about the history, politics and social customs of the world he had just been introduced to. He pulled out the pouch from his pocket and reached inside. He then pulled out book after book and placed them all on the desk. There was a total of 38 books, including his school textbooks and other books on various kinds of magic. He counted a rough average of 350 pages per book, spread over 38 books, with 17 of them being about magic…

"13.300 pages total, 7.350 of which are presently relevant," he muttered to himself. Crunching numbers was a big part of finances and economics… and something he was more than adequate at. "Best get to it."

•••

June 24th, 1994 London, England

Harry closed the gigantic book and sighed. He had done little else than read for a week, and he was only through his second book. The boy pushed the book away and looked out of the window of his office. It was nice to have a view of late–evening London from the 17th floor. It looked quiet. Not particularly peaceful, but then again, he didn't really care of the city was peaceful. Quiet was a blessing to him, and he embraced it whenever he got it. Suddenly, the phone on his desk rang, and before it rang a second time, he put the speaker to his ear and spoke.

"Yes?"

"Mr Potter, I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but there's something I need to discuss with you," came a male voice, clearly an older man, from the other end. "Can you meet me at the usual place?"

Harry put the receiver against his shoulder and rubbed his eyes with a sigh, before he put it back.

"Be there in 15 minutes, or I go home."

With that, Harry hung up and stood from his chair. He grabbed his coat and left the office, but not before letting Jaquelin know that he took the following day off.

•••

Harry sat on a bench in a park close to his office building, waiting for someone to appear. He held a newspaper in his hands and read the news as he waited, only to see that the paper had done another piece on him, this time detailing his take–over of a restaurant in the fanciest part of the city. He couldn't help the smirk when the article detailed that the guests had found the quality of the food to go up, and that the restaurant's reviews had bettered significantly over just the few weeks since he had purchased it. He was brought out of his musings when a senior man, also clad in a tailored suit, though his in pinstripe, sat down next to him. Harry folded up the newspaper and dropped it in his lap.

"What is it now, Frank?" Harry asked with slight annoyance.

Frank merely dropped an unremarkable A4 envelope in the boy's lap, and the boy picked it up. When he pulled out the contents, he noticed that there were some pictures of another senior man, some of them slightly incriminating for potentially disastrous use.

"Jonathan McIrvin?" Harry asked. "He's the whip for the Conservative Party. What about him?"

"He happens to have something that I can't allow anyone to see, and he keeps it on him at all times," Frank said. "I need you to silence him."

Harry sighed.

"God damnit, Frank! If you don't want dirt on you, don't do shit that can be used against you! And if you absolutely have to, make sure no one finds out about it! What is it?"

"A disk, containing… less–than–nice pictures of me and a young woman I met at a pub."

"I don't care, Frank. You got caught, deal with it."

"He is also rounding up his party to ensure a bill that disallows individuals under the age of 21, specifically you, to start and run businesses. So far, he almost has his entire party on the vote, and he's making deals with other parties' whips to get them to do the same. If it continues like this, you'll be deposed as CEO of The Potter Group until you turn 21, and they'll likely try to weasel in one of their own leaders to take over. No doubt they'll try to make a clause like: "In such a case, as a minor is holding an official position in a firm at the time of the passing of this bill, a responsible and effective leader will be chosen by parliament vote to lead the firm until such a time as the minor reaches adulthood."

Harry glared at the senior man who merely stood and left, trudging slowly down a path along the small pond. Harry then pulled out more of the contents of the envelope to see a medical journal. Something did jump out at him, though, and forced him to sigh. He then looked behind him at a corner shop he frequented to get lunch.

"Wonder if they've any peanuts left."