PLAUSIBLE POTTER

By all accounts, the Harry Potter books ended with a very satisfying culmination. Voldemort vanquished, the shadow of tyranny lifted from the wizarding world and our heroes married and nestling happily in the bower of middle class prosperity. J.K. Rowling did something rare in the scribbling realm: She created a world and characters that captured the imagination of much of the world and that mattered deeply to her readers.

And she tried to convince us that Harry, Ron and Hermione were able to live happily ever after ... as government workers.

There's a lot that's plausible about the Potter universe -- flying cars, dragons, talking portraits, running desks and so on. Anybody who rightly spent his or her teenage years going to the wrong sort of parties is no stranger to such odd visions.

But there's just no way the mind wrap itself around any notion that Harry Potter and his friends find happily-ever-after through mid-level toil in a bureaucracy. Most of them spent their formative years fraught with danger and excitement and at 17 earned great acclaim as heroes of the wizarding world. (The recent past tells us that it is quite likely that Harry, Ron and Hermione would find their celebrity a little slippery and wind up crashing into rehab.) Yet they appear in the epilogue of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows to be perfectly content in their mid-30s, living lives of suburban anti-climax complete with 9-to-5 jobs, TPS reports and water cooler gossip. But that just doesn't add up; it's like trying to imagine James Bond merrily assuming the role of a school crossing guard.

But reason doesn't have to run off screaming into the night at the mention of the Potter epilogue. A few changes here and there, a touch of the disillusionment and regret that comes with adulthood, might render things a little more realistic for those of us of a certain age.

Try this on for size.

Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first of September was crisp and golden as an apple, and as the little family bobbed across the rumbling road toward the great sooty station, the fumes of car exhausts and the breath of pedestrians sparkled like cobwebs in the cold air. Two large cages rattled on top of the laden trolleys the parents were pushing; the owls inside them hooted indignantly. Except one wasn't an owl -- it was a pigeon in an amateurishly fashioned owl disguise. Two boys and a red-haired girl shuffled behind their parents, and the younger of the two boys was making low whimpering sounds.

"Albus, for the last time, we will buy you a proper owl the first chance we get," Harry hissed at the boy. "But until then, you'll have to make do with Bertie. So why don't you just shut the @#%& up, OK?"

"But the other kids will laugh at me for not having a proper owl," Albus whined plaintively.

"Oh, the other kids are definitely going to laugh at you, you little nancy boy," Harry sneered, "but not because of Bertie."

James Potter chuckled at the insult his father had dumped on his younger brother, but his father's glare silenced him quickly.

"Daddy doesn't mean that," Ginny said to the whimpering Albus. "He's always been very impressed with your sewing ability and taste in fabrics. Haven't you, Harry?"

"Oh, yes. Very," Harry said curtly. "Maybe you can design the Quidditch uniforms for whichever house you're sorted into." But the sarcasm was lost on Albus, and he began to brighten up at that thought.

"Oh, he'll definitely be sorted into Slytherin," James jeered. "Slytherin without a --"

"SHUT THE @#%& UP, JAMES!" Harry roared at his son. He was sick of the cycle of baiting and blubbering that encompassed his sons. Ginny stopped her trolley and glared at him reproachfully as she put put her arms around Albus, who had taken James' bait and was crying that he wanted to be in Gryffindor. Lily just stared at her brother. She was almost habitually silent.

"C'mon," Harry said to his wife, "let's just get to platform. The sooner we get these two on the train to Hogwarts, the sooner we can have some peace."

As they approached the barrier between platforms nine and ten, Harry felt the sinking mix of dread and disappointment that always gripped him when he was in a throng of wizards and witches. He could always feel their stares and whispers.

At 36, he was no longer the youthful hero celebrated in the stories, cereal boxes and computer games. He still had all of his hair and his work as an auror had kept him reasonably fit. But his green eyes had become clouded with suspicion and cynicism, and he had acquired the air of someone who felt perpetually cheated. Ginny was still beautiful, but her former radiance had been replaced by a weariness whose outward signs were the dark semicircles that never seemed to leave her eyes.


It was supposed to have been a little sunnier. The days after Voldemort's downfall had held such promise. Harry was a hero who never had to worry about buying his own dinner or drinks, and the endorsement offers came pouring in. Furthermore, Harry seemed a shoo-in to play seeker for England's Quidditch World Cup team. It was pretty heady stuff for a teenager, and Harry soon began to bask in a sense of entitlement. As far as he was concerned, he more than deserved his free ride, after having been hunted most of his life by an evil maniac and then saving the Wizarding World. He began to see his future as an uninterrupted gravy train of fast and expensive living, lucrative endorsements, Quidditch and shagging Ginny Weasely.

But Harry was too young to appreciate the fickleness of people's hearts and fate. The more people celebrated Harry's heroism, the more they felt their faint-heartedness, which nobody enjoys much at all. In time, people found Harry's story about How I Kicked Voldemort's Sorry Ass a little tiresome, and they began to think that Harry was being a bit tasteless in the way he was cashing in on his fame. The free dinners and drinks began to grow scarcer, and Harry's endorsement deals began to dry up.

One thing that didn't dry up was his taste for the high life. This in time put a strain on his finances, yet Harry was unwilling to slow down and get a steady job. He looked around for an investment that would allow him to live comfortably off its return. Unfortunately, he decided to sink all his money into a chain of Asian massage parlors for wizards that Cho Chang was trying to open. ("If you think my story had a happy ending, then you'll love a relaxing visit to one of Cho Chang's Love-You-Longtime Spas," the tacky billboards said.) But wizards did not need to relax as much as Harry and Cho had assumed, and the venture went bust. A freak groin injury ended Harry's chances of earning a living at Quidditch, and at 23, Harry found himself broke and Ginny pregnant. There was nothing left to do but shuffle off to the Ministry of Magic and take a job. He also had to take a new moniker: The Boy Who Lived ... and Lost a Gob of Dough.

He reflected on all this as the barrier grew closer. With a cocky look over his shoulder at his younger brother, James took the trolley from his mother and broke into a run. A moment later, he vanished.

Young Albus looked at the barrier and hesitated. Harry rolled his eyes and said, "Al, either you run through that barrier, or I kick you through it. Understand?" Albus nodded fearfully and broke into an uncertain trot. Ginny ran forward to help him, and the two quickly vanished into the barrier. Harry took his silent daughter's hand and they followed. Her silence always unnerved Harry, but at least she wasn't conjuring up roses and other flowers like she would do when he and Ginny were having a huge row.

They emerged into the thick white mist of the Hogwart's Express. Ginny and Albus were apologizing profusely to an elderly witch whom they had run over with the trolley, and James was nowhere to be seen. Harry handed off Lily to his wife, and began scanning the crowd. It didn't take long to find them.

"There they are," he said to Ginny, pointing toward a family walking toward them -- a slightly swaying husband, a scolding wife and two children who were casting furtive jinxes on each other.

"Ronald Weasely, I know that demonstrating an ability to drive drunk is NOT part of the Muggle driving test!" Hermione hissed. "And if you ever, pull this stunt again I will take you wand and shove it so far up your --"

"Aww, chill out, honey," Ron said with a slight slur. "Maybe later I can show you what else Muggles do in their cars."

He began groping her there on the platform and trying to French kiss her, but Hermione was clearly not in the mood. She broke away from his embrace, pulled out her wand and hit him with her own special disarming spell.

"Flaccidio!" she shouted, and the amorous look in Ron's eyes was replaced by a crestfallen look. Behind the bickering couple, their daughter had won her battle with her brother. She had pulled out her new wand and used it to lift the young boy by his underpants and hang him from a nail in a crossbeam seven feet off the platform. The child's wails distracted the parents from their argument.

"Good one, Rose," Ron said to his daughter in between guffaws at his son's plight. "Hugo, you just enjoy the view up there until Daddy gets you down."

Harry, Ginny, Albus and Lily greeted them. Ginny and Hermione were talking with each other, and it wasn't hard to guess what they were taling about, with all the head-shaking and eye-rolling. Albus and Rose began talking about what houses they wanted to be sorted into. Lily just stared up at the caterwauling Hugo.

"So, mate, Hermione still serving it up with a teaspoon?" Harry said quietly to Ron.

"Yeah, mate, and it's getting old. I haven't had any for months."

"Have you thought of using the Hornificus charm?"

"Hell, no! That won't mean that she'll do me," Ron said. "She just might wind up shagging half the ministry and then move on to the house elves."

"Yeah, I see what you mean," Harry said as he pondered Hermione's past idealism. "You know, I could give you Cho's number."

"Really, mate? Maybe I should call her, and then ..."

"And then?" Harry asked.

"And then accio sex!" Ron said as he and Harry laughed and high-fived like teenagers watching porn for the first time.

"Say, look who it is," Ron said quietly with a glance at a spot about fifty feet away. The mist thinned somewhat, and Draco Malfoy and his family stood out for a second in sharp relief. Malfoy's son resembled him as much as Albus looked like Harry, and as soon as he saw Harry he tugged at his father's long black robe. Draco looked down at his son who was pointing at Harry and then looked at Harry. He smirked, and then looked back at his son and formed and L with his index finger and thumb and placed it against his forehead. The younger Malfoy laughed maliciously.

Harry and Ron watched with seething indignation.

"Whaddya say we plant evidence that Malfoy is a dark wizard," Ron suggested eagerly. "He's more than overdue to be taken down a notch."

"Not yet," Harry said. "We've been a little careless about that, lately, and it would look too obvious. But soon ... soon."

It was getting close to 11 and time to board the train. Hermione and Ginny broke off their conversation and turned to take care of their families. Hermione made Rose get Hugo down from the beam and gave him some Polyjuice Potion so he didn't have everyone staring at him as the Boy Who Got the Atomic Wedgie In Front oF Everybody. Ginny was quietly assisting Albus through his latest crisis about sorting.

"Green and silver are perfectly fine colors," Ginny said. "Accessorizing should be no --"

"Well, time to go," said James as he dashed back for goodbyes he clearly wished to keep short. "Write me every so often, Mum and Dad. And you, Albus, stay away from me at school, OK, snake boy?"

"But I won't let myself get sorted into Slytherin, I won't!" Albus said. "There's so much more I can do with the vivid red and gold of Gryff--"

"SHUT YOUR GOB NOW!" Harry shouted. He had never been comfortable with his younger son's effeminate interests. "Whichever house you get sorted into is going to get the butt of many jokes if you keep that talk up. Now get on the train! Geez, I need a drink at the Leaky Cauldron."

Albus gave one last hug to his mother and boarded the last car with Rose. As the train sounded the final boarding call, a mother of another first-year student approached Harry and Ginny.

"Excuse me," she said. "But aren't you Harry Kotter?"

"KOTTER?! KOTTER?!" Harry roared. "Who the hell do I look like, Gabe Kaplan?! Now piss off!"

Harry turned to Ginny. "They've forgotten who I am. They've forgotten what I did for them. Let's face it, ever since that piece of Voldemort was blasted out of me, I haven't been as cool as I was. No, no, Ginny. Don't try to tell me I'm wrong. But I'll show these @$%#& right now that I still have some of that danger in me.

"Hey, everybody!" Harry shouted as Ginny began to look panicked behind him. 'You think Harry Potter can't be cool without a little of Voldemort with him? Well, check this out! I still got some of the bad man's mojo!"

And with that, Harry started doing an odd, snakelike dance on the platform in front of the gawking parents and departing children. The train began to leave the station, and Ginny changed herself into a mouse that scurried under a nearby bench. Mercifully, Harry's performance was cut short by a cascade roses that appeared from nowhere.