Harry Potter and the Dovahkiin

Christmas morning was quiet in a way only heavy snow could manage.

Everything outside had vanished under a thick blanket of snow.

By the time he made it downstairs, everyone was already up.

"Merry Christmas," Ben said, rubbing his eyes.

"Merry Christmas, love," Dorothea replied, sliding a mug toward him.

"Merry Christmas, son," Nigel called from outside, busy clearing snow.

While he could have cleared it easily with a flick of his wand, Nigel had spent the whole morning shovelling it by hand.

It was likely just an adult's excuse to play in the snow.

Dobby bounced over, barely containing himself. "Mewwy Christmas, Master Ben!"

He held out a poorly wrapped gift, tied together with an old shoelace.

Ben smiled and untied it.

Inside was a colourful wizard's hat.

It was uneven. A bit lopsided. And clearly handmade.

Dobby had likely crafted it from the felt created after collecting fallen hair from all the rabbits on the farm. Hence the… interesting colour.

Ben put it on, and it was surprisingly warm.

"Thanks, Dobby," he said.

Then, from inside that very hat, he pulled out another.

It was a simple round winter hat, bought from his shop.

In fact, most of his Christmas shopping this year had come from there.

Which meant there were now several confused witches and wizards across Britain, staring at Skyrim-style cloaks and boots and wondering when wizard fashion had changed.

Dobby hugged his new hat tightly and put it on at once, not even questioning where it had come from.

Ben looked to Dorothea for appreciation.

She was already absorbed in reading Christmas cards.

'Nobody in this house appreciates real magic.'

He sighed quietly and turned to the pile of presents under the tree.

There were… a lot this year.

Scarves, books, and chocolate from friends, dormmates, and teammates. A broom-care kit from Marianne. A Tutshill Tornados hat from Cho. An anti-nargle amulet from Luna.

Even Flitwick and Dumbledore had sent gifts.

Someone, somewhere, clearly thought he needed more socks.

Ben silently thanked the Transmutation spell for existing and saving him from getting broke.

He had not just received a mountain of presents. He had sent just as many as well.

Having connections, it turned out, was expensive.

By the time he finished opening everything, the last being a pair of dragon-skin boots from Aunt Maeve, the door flew open.

Nigel rushed in, covered in snow.

"I won!" he shouted. "Thea, I won!"

Dorothea looked up and noticed the snow he'd brought in with himself. "Won what? And how many times..."

Nigel waved a parchment, stopping her right on her tracks before she went on a rant about his dirty shoes. "The crossword! A thousand Galleons!"

"A thousand what?" she said. "Nigel, don't joke."

"I'm serious! Look!"

He handed her the letter.

She read it from top to bottom with her eyes widening with every sentence.

Then read it again.

"Oh Merlin," she said quietly.

Dobby looked at everyone, "Dobby thinks this is… a very good Christmas," he said quietly.

Everyone looked shocked.

Everyone except Ben.

Well, he looked shocked too, but he wasn't really.

After all, it was his newspaper. If his father hadn't won, that would have been... embarrassing.

Nigel laughed. "I told you I had a feeling!"

Dorothea sat down slowly. "We can pay off the feed contract. And fix the extension charms on the barn."

"And finally get that old Holyhead Harpies banner from Diagon—"

Dorothea looked at him.

"Yeah, the extension charms sound great, I was thinking the same," Nigel added quickly.

Thea narrowed her eyes, and Nigel quickly ran out the door.

"I'll go collect the prize money—"

"Immobulus," Nigel froze with one foot out the door. "You think I trust you with it? I'm coming along."

Ben leaned back in his chair, pretending to focus on his boots.

Nigel's transfer had come with a "temporary" pay cut that didn't seem very temporary now.

Money had been a bit tight, so it only felt right that Ben chipped in.

Especially since he had just unlocked a high-level skill—

Money laundering.

There were two challenging requirements to use it: a ton of money and a "legitimate" business. The second of which he had only recently met.

Officially, The Magical Voice was jointly owned by Rita Skeeter and Gilderoy Lockhart.

Gilderoy, in particular, had been stoked beyond measure when Rita pitched the idea. After all, he could now be on the front page every single day.

Rita was also the editor-in-chief and handled all the day-to-day workings of the paper. Well, she didn't do it all personally. She'd hired plenty of people for that. For the most part, she enjoyed sitting in her cushy chair and bossing everyone around.

And then there was Ben. Or rather, Ben/Arthur.

Now that he thought about it, he did most of the work.

Ben had to procure iron ore, transmute it into silver and then gold ore, and then figure out how to sell it.

Because he couldn't just dump it into the wizarding world.

The news of a missing Philosopher's Stone was still the talk of wizarding pubs.

Luckily, it wasn't much of a problem anymore. He could just sell it to his shop and buy Galleons instead.

Buy Galleons, you ask? Yes, that was something he could do after disposing of the Resurrection Stone.

In fact, he could buy everything he'd ever sold to the shop, including the iron ores, too, just at three times the original cost.

But since Galleons were valued at about 0.3 septims, even at triple the price, he could still exchange a Galleon for a septim.

He bought iron ore for six septims, transmuted it into silver worth twenty-five, and then into gold worth fifty.

It did drain half his Magika, but he walked away with a profit of forty-four Septims or Galleons.

Now, was this something that could break the wizarding economy? Probably.

Did Ben give a shit? Not even a little.

Well, he could sell the gold directly to goblins and probably get a better deal, while also making sure the magical economy didn't collapse.

But that would take time and effort, and between cleaning rabbit poo and feeding Hissy, he already had his hands full.

And honestly, it wasn't that big a deal.

Was flooding the wizarding economy with more gold going to devalue the currency? Definitely.

But that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.

As far as he was concerned, this money was going to pay the employees of The Magical Voice and the winners of the Weekly Magical Lottery and Quiz.

Those people were going to spend that money in wizarding markets, and soon everyone would have more money in circulation.

The only real losers would be people with no new source of income, like the Malfoys and the other old noble families. Their vast generational wealth would slowly shrink under inflation.

And Ben didn't particularly care about that.

Anyway, he wouldn't need to do this forever. Just until The Magical Voice could stand on its own two quills.

Generating profit? That had never been the goal.

The real goal was to replace the Daily Prophet in every wizarding home.

And both of those depended on how well Rita Skeeter performed.

For now, he'd left her on her own, giving her the illusion of freedom.

All she had to do was write the truth and follow a few instructions he sent through a notepad with a Protean Charm.

And in return, she got wealth and power.

Ben had no doubt she was plotting her revenge, but what did he care? He wasn't Arthur Brown.

While she definitely needed to be kept on a tight leash to rein in some of her less-than-desirable tendencies, the leash couldn't be too tight either.

Otherwise, he might as well be doing everything himself.

Ben could have forced her into an Unbreakable Vow, but that needed a very capable witch or wizard to witness it.

And he wasn't particularly keen on having matching tattoos with Skeeter either.

So, for now, he just kept an eye on her with Clairvoyance, using some of her hair as a medium.

He wasn't worried about her doing anything stupid like going against him.

Hissy was always hungry.

And with troubled times ahead, nobody would even bat an eye if Rita ever needed replacing.

-To be Continued...