Disclaimer: 'Freedom means responsibility and that is why most men shun it.'
-George Bernard Shaw


Harry returned to the bar five days later with a couple new scars and a sour disposition. "Scotch, single malt with a splash of water."

"Ow'd it go?" The bartender asked.

"Terrible," Harry groaned. "I got to the village and hired a tracker no problem."

"And then?"

"Then he starts moaning about how it'd be nice to get some meat so I says to myself, better to see if he knows his stuff now then when I'm ten days into the bush. Sides, the bugger had a point and extra biltong never hurt anyone."


"So we go out and right off my new man spots a track, spent four hours following it and another two on the stalk."


"Nah, good sized Dagga Boy. So I put one into his shoulder, honesty compels me to admit that I flubbed the shot. It was fatal but not right away if you catch my drift."


"Drooled blood on my boots," Harry laughed. "So I turn to my tracker . . . then I figure, maybe he was on my left and I turn to my left . . ."

"Ran off did he?"

"And left me to deal with everything on my own," Harry agreed. "So I head back to the village to hire a new tracker and I picked one up easy. Not so good as my first but I had high hopes . . ." Harry trailed off.

"Didn't work out then?"

"Just don't understand why everyone's so bloody frightened of snakes," Harry sighed. "So I go back to try to hire a fourth tracker . . . nothing, go on to the next village . . . nothing. To hear these guys tell it, none of them know the difference between a train track and a Ndlovo. Porters I can find, as many as I want. Cooks, skinners, sure. But to listen to these guys, not a tracker to be found."

"Gonna giv up th'show then?"

"Nah," Harry laughed. "Jus gonna give up the trackers. They're impossible to find and flighty besides."

"So what're ya'gonna do?"

"You know where I can find a blacksmith?" Harry asked with a cheeky grin.


"You need what?" Fred asked dully.

"A name plate that says 'Iron Headmaster' and make it tasteful," Minerva said. "I'll also need it to be indestructible and be charmed to return to a set location . . . be sure to use top quality spellwork, I don't want it to be broken easily."

"That'll be expensive," George demurred. "But why don't you just tell us the effect you want and we'll see if we can't give you the same effect for less work."

"We are professionals Professor," Fred said with a smug grin. "Trust us."

"I'd like to put it on the Headmaster's desk," Minerva said slowly. "And I'd like it to stay there."

"We can't do spellwork on something good enough so that the Headmaster won't be able to change it," George said reluctantly.

"Maybe if we got Bill's help," Fred mused.

"So you can't do it," Minerva sighed.

"We never said that," George said slyly.

"Then how?"

"If you can't out spell them-"

"- out think them."

"Don't worry Professor-"

"- we've got you covered."


Harry bought a horseshoe nail from the village blacksmith and set to work. The spell work wasn't that difficult, theoretically well within Harry's abilities. After a few minutes of thinking and several hours of trial and error, Harry had what he needed. Tired of unreliable trackers who ran in terror from the slightest difficulty such as a rampaging Nundu, or something as harmless as a black mamba. Harry set about finding a way to avoid having anything to do with such fragile people, and since he didn't have twenty spare years to learn how to be a competent tracker . . .

"Point me to the nearest source of water," Harry said. He gave a satisfied grin as the nail spun on his palm until it was pointed at the village well. "Point me to the trading post . . . point me to the nearest bongo . . . the nearest dik dik." Satisfied that everything seemed to be in order, Harry got up and returned to his camp.

"We gonna do more hunting today baas?" One of the skinners asked.

"Maybe for a bit of camp meat," Harry said. "How are we doing on that," he directed his question to the cook.

"We're good for now baas."

"Then I guess I'm not going out again," Harry replied. "Have a good night."


"Here we are," Dumbledore said with a satisfied smile. "Hedwig, I'd like you to meet my owl . . . Schultz."

The owl in question opened one eye and gave a weak 'hoot.' The fact that Dumbledore normally used his phoenix or one of the school owls to deliver his mail made Schultz the fattest owl in the owlery.

"Why don't I just leave things in your capable . . . uh . . . feathers," Dumbledore suggested.

'Hoot?' Hedwig gave the other owl a questioning look.

'Hoot,' Schultz replied. The owl closed his eyes, turned around, and stuck his head under his wing as if to indicate that he saw nothing, heard nothing, and above all knew nothing. No way was he going to stop living his nice quiet night just because some bearded fool wanted him to do something.


Harry rode into town a few weeks later on the back of a zebra and made a beeline for the bar past a number of shocked idlers.

"S'not something you see everyday," one of the men said calmly. "Didna think a bloody Z'bra uld let someone on 'is back."

"Gotta expect this sort of thing when Snake's involved," the other replied. "Weird bastard probly dinna know any better."

"What'll it be Snake?" The Bartender asked.

"Scotch," Harry said. "Single malt, with a splash of water."

"If you don't mind my asking," he began. "Ow'd ya get that zebra to allow ya ta ride it?"

"Charm," Harry said with a shrug. "Just had to get into town to have a drink after the day I just had and I didn't feel like walking so what else was I supposed to do?"

"I see . . . that bad then?"

"Not bad per say," Harry demurred. "More annoying then anything else."


"Yea, does anyone have a smaller gun? these rifles don't work too well in a cave, barrels are too long."

". . ."

"Wh . . . what do you mean cave?"

"S'where the nundu's live isn't it? In a small cave you cant really set your sights to get a clear shot at its head, plus the way it curls up . . ."

"So, how did you kill it?"

"Well, the only thing i could think of that i had on hand was my knife."

"You stabbed a nundu to death? No, wait, you got close enough to it without suffocating?"

"Stabbed?" Harry laughed. "What would I do with a straight blade, no i slit its throat. Everyone here should know that the knife to carry is a knife made for slicing."

Several of the man nodded in agreement, choosing for the sake of their sanity to set the rest of the conversation aside for now.

"Then what happened?" The bartender prompted.

"Dragged the bugger out and handed it off to the men," Harry replied. "Tracked down a zebra since all we had in camp were pack donkeys, and here I am."

"Dey prolly got an' old Web for sale in the general store," one of the other men offered. "Not sure if dat's wha yer lookin fer."

"But it might be," Harry said. His arm lifted up and he downed the rest of his drink. "Thanks, guess I'll mosy on over there with dinner and head back to camp."


"The zebra," Harry explained. "Thought I'd give him a descriptive name."

"Charming him into your pot then?"

"You got it," Harry agreed. He dropped a bag of gold dust on the table. "Next rounds on me. Later all."

"Charmed a bloody zebra," the bartender laughed. "Gotta give him credit, Snake's visits are never boring."

The bar was relatively quiet for the next few weeks, well . . . relatively is a relative term since they had suffered an attack by a wounded rhino that had had the audacity to chase out all but the most serious drinkers and drink one of the whiskey barrels dry. Current thought was that it was either a very impolite animagus, or all Snakebite's fault. The current attention was devoted to a strenuous argument between two of the old timers on the merits of a pith helmet verses a fedora.

"A pith helmet is for the Purebloods and new-folk. They think it keeps them safe. The old timers know that your head is the last thing to get torn up. You either get poisoned or torn apart, either way, your head is fine. Stick with a fedora and you wont get ripped off as badly."

"I disagree," the geezer replied. "A pith has style, a pith has class, and best of all a pith feels really good if you haven't had one for a long while." The bar collectively groaned and despaired for their sanity if the other old bastard should fight his dementia long enough to muster a reply, that's why it was with mixed feelings when they saw Snake stroll through the doors with what appeared to be a nundu kitten dogging his heels.

"Scotch," The bartender said as he placed a glass in front of Harry's favorite spot.

"So, I thought nundus were supposed to be tough?" Harry frowned at the other prospector in the bar. "Ya know, hundreds of wizards working together to take it down? Ferocious killing machine that kills

everything and anything it can?"

The old timers nodded, their faces ashen pale.

"So tell me, why is this damn kitten gnawing on my foot and has decided to adopt me as it's parent? And the parent, they are supposed to be dangerous. A ton and a half of big-cat, magically enhanced and

full of mean, a single bullet kills it? The damn thing almost landed on me. It's breath? Don't get me started, sure, I got a good lungful, but after throwing up a few times, I was fine? Isn't it supposed to be


The old timers nodded in agreement.

Harry sighed. "Bugger, well, it wasn't as dangerous as the Basilisk I killed when I was 12." He paused in thought. "Basilisks sell for a fair penny don't they? I think I may have to harvest the corpse if it hasn't decayed too badly. Even the skeleton and skin should be worth something I suppose."

The old timer nodded and then quietly toppled over backwards in a faint.

Harry shrugged and signaled for another round. "Put it on my friend here's tab."

Word soon got out. Snakebite the un-killable and his pet Nundu. Amazingly, the prices he paid for equipment took a tumble after that. After all, noone wanted to mess with a man who domesticated a Nundu and killed a Basilisk when he was 12. It just wasn't worth your life. They'd been willing to believe that the first time was a freak accident . . . well, assuming that it had happened in the first place. People had been known to . . . embellish their accounts of what had happened for free drinks, but when the bastard had the audacity to bring proof? Well, that was something else now wasn't it?


"Ah, Severus. What news have you for me?" asked Voldemort.

Severus Snape bowed respectfully and said, "My lord, I have heard of a supplier who can provide the basilisk, nundu, and chimaera parts you require. His name is 'Snakebite' and he's in Africa."

"Excellent, begin negotiations at once," purred the dark lord.

"Of course, master. Do you wish me to abandon Hogwarts? Term starts in a week." Snape's reply was in a carefully neutral tone.

"WORMTAIL!" Voldemort hissed out. "Go to Africa, find the man called Snakebite that Severous talked about. He should be able to find the ingredients I need for this ritual and be on your best behavior. A man like him, even I respect his power."

"Yes master," Peter simpered.

Snape was quick to report back to the Order that Snakebite, one of the three most powerful wizards in the world was going to be hired by Voldemort unless the Order got to him first.

A couple days later, Harry was shaking down one of his local 'informants' for information pertaining to his next hunt.

"What are you looking for today?"

"Loud mouthed snook," Harry said to his . . . informant.

"Whatsss in it for me?"

"Nice fat juicy rat," Harry replied.

"Five ratssss."

"Two," Harry replied.

"Three," the snake said firmly. "Final offer."

"Deal," Harry agreed. "Accio rat, accio rat, accio rat."

"Ssssaw a loud mouthed ssssnook on the river two daysss ago, sssouth of here."

"How far?"

"Jussst passsed the lightning sssstruck tree."

"Pleasure doing business with you," Harry said with a grin.

"Plesssure wasss all mine," the snake replied as it turned to its meal.

Two days later, Peter stumbled back to the Dark Headquarters looking much worse for wear.

"How did your meeting go Wormtail?"Voldemort demanded.

"He fed me to a poison snake master," Peter simpered. "I barely got away with my life."

"That just shows him to be a man of good taste," Voldemort growled. "CRUCIO."


"Have you seen Harry Ron?" Hermione asked as the redhead stepped into the compartment. "I didn't see him on the platform earlier and I was the first one on the train."

"Haven't seen him," Ron replied. "I wouldn't worry, they would have told us if there was something wrong."

"Yeah," Hermione agreed reluctantly. "I guess . . . did you do anything interesting this summer?"

"Nah," Ron said with a shrug. "You?"

"Nothing much," Hermione sighed. After a couple more aborted attempts to start a conversation, the two shrugged at each other and Hermione turned back to her book while Ron choose to close his eyes and drift off to sleep.

"Ron wake up," Hermione's scream dragged Ron back to wakefulness.


"The train is moving," Hermione said with a worried frown.


"So Harry's not on it," Hermione explained.

"Probably went to school with the Order," Ron yawned. "For security reasons or something."

"I guess . . ." Hermione said slowly. "Sorry for waking you Ron."

"Don't worry about it," Ron said as he closed his eyes. "Wake me when the snack cart comes by."

"M'ok," Hermione agreed.

The train rolled into Hogwarts' station and the two friends made their way to the castle. They hadn't been at their table more then two minutes before being confronted by their worried Head of House.

"And where is Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked with a stern frown.

"We haven't seen him since last year Professor," Hermione replied. "He's not here?"

"No . . . he's not," Minerva said with a pinched frown. "I'm going to go see if I can't find out what's going on." Contrary to what she'd said, Minerva didn't manage to have a quiet talk with the Headmaster until after the students had been sent to their beds.

"Albus," Minerva called as she rushed into his office. "Mr. Potter was not on the Express."

"That explains the note I just got," Dumbledore mumbled.

To whom it may concern,

Not gonna come back any time soon, find a new hobby.

H.J. Potter

"What can you tell us about this Severus?"

"Paper was made roughly out of the skin of a muggle animal called a bongo," Snape began. "The ink . . . now the ink is interesting."

"How so?"

"Because it proves that dunder head never had any talent in potions," Snape replied. "Any second year student could have recognized the plant this came from as being a valuable potions ingredient. Potter wasted a rare and valuable root to write his little note."

"Also from Africa I presume?"

"Correct Albus."

"So Harry's in Africa?" Minerva asked, her face tightening in worry.

"That remains to be seen," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "It's equally likely that this is a ruse to throw us off track."

"What do you suggest?"

"I suggest that we release his owl," Dumbledore said with a smile, "then we can follow her to the poor lost and above all misguided young boy."

With nods all around, they set off to the owlery.

Hedwig was not having a good month, her vacation had been ruined by the selfish long bearded bastard. Sure she'd spent most of the summer escaping her cage and causing all sorts of mayhem around the school along with an assortment of odd characters including a fast talking owl from the east end, a sleezy looking French owl that belonged Fleur, and even an owl from America. But it wasn't the same as what she'd had planned.

"Are you sure this will work Albus?" Minerva asked for the hundredth time as they walked into the owlery.

"Positive," Dumbledore answered for the hundredth time. "Now we just have to wait until Moody and Nymphadora get here and . . ."

"Don't call me that," Tonks growled as she walked in.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said as he threw open Hedwig's prison. "Follow that bird."

Hedwig led them on a merry chase, seeming to delight in putting as many swamps and patches of brambles in their path as she possibly could. So it was with a very deep sense of satisfaction that they saw the owl end her journey by flying into Harry's open bedroom window on number four Privvy drive.

They burst into the house and stormed up the stairs, sure that they were rescuing the poor boy from durance vile. Tonks almost gagged at the smell of owl droppings and partially decayed rodents after she burst through the door.


"He isn't here lass," Moody said in a gravely voice. "And judging from the number of pellets on the ground, he left a day or so after he got here."

"What do you mean?"

"About a weeks worth of pellets," Moody explained. "And Albus grabbed that bird of his a week and a half after the school year ended. Not sure about you but I'd bet Galleons to gold that the boy would have cleaned that up if he were here." Tails between their legs, they returned to Hogwarts to share the bad news.

"You mean to tell me that Harry has been gone the entire summer and no one noticed?" Minerva thundered. She was less then amused when she heard the news. "You told me he was safe Albus." It came out like an accusation.

"The Order . . ."

"Is evidently filled with a lot of layabouts," Minerva sniffed. "How could you Albus? I trusted you with Harry's safety and this is what you do."

"We can still follow that lead to Africa," Albus tried to mollify the irate woman.

"Fine," Minerva agreed. "Let's go."


"If I know Harry Potter," Minerva growled. "Every second we waste puts him deeper and deeper in mortal peril. Unless you want me to put you in mortal peril, you will assemble the Order and we will go to Africa to look for him as soon as possible."

"Do what you can to narrow the search area Severus," Dumbledore said unhappily.

"Hmph," Minerva said as she stormed off.

As it so happened, down in the deepest heart of Africa, Harry Potter was in mortal peril.

"Come on," Harry waved his hand at the growling Hyena. "You want some of this?" He'd commited one of the mortal sins of traveling in dangerous country, he'd gone out late at night to answer the call of nature and he'd neglected to bring a weapon. Harry dodged the animal's clumsy leap and planted his boot in the beast's testicles. The Hyena seemed to shift in mid air and what landed was a human in a loincloth clutching a spear. The man dropped his spear as he leapt to his feet and began running away. "Lesson learned," Harry mumbled as he snatched up the abandoned spear. "Never leave camp without a rifle." A scream and a gurgle rewarded his efforts and after buttoning up, he returned to camp to resume his rest.


The Order arrived in the small trading post late the next day and Minerva grabbed the first local she found and put him to the question.

"Excuse me young man," McGonagall said. "But I was hoping you could help us find someone?"


"A boy named Harry Potter," Minerva said. "Green eyes, messy black hair?"

"Never heard of 'im," the man replied. "But you should probably ask Snakebite, he knows most people out here."

"Well, where can I find this Mister . . . Snakebite?" Minerva asked slowly, remembering the name from an Order meeting a week before.

"Eh? E's probably out in the bush, might be back in a week or a month. Less of course he buys it fore then."

"Spread out," Minerva ordered. "Find out whatever you can about this Mister Snakebite."

"Minerva I'm in charge of the . . ." Albus cut off when the aforementioned woman hissed at him and bared her fangs like she would have in her animagus form. "On second thought, why don't you take it from here," he finished weakly.

"Hestia check out that bar, Tonks go talk to those disreputable looking men . . . show them a bit of cleavage if you think it'll loosen their tongues."

"Yes Professor," the two woman agreed quickly.

"You," Minerva turned to Dumbledore with a scowl. "You get the rest of the Order here right bloody now or I'll find out if the phrase 'pull your head out of your ass' is just an expression or if it's anatomically possible."

"Yes Minerva."

"Move Albus," Minerva barked. She'd show that old fool that Minerva McGonagall was not to be messed with when the safety of one of her children was on the line.

Hestia walked into the bar and asked the bartender to share everything he knew about the mysterious man known only as . . . Snakebite. Really, she thought the dramatic pause was a bit much but it was so fun to do.

"Snakebite?" The bartender asked. "Don't know much about him and since union regs prevent me from sharing what I know without a hefty bribe . . . ahem . . . without a hefty bribe . . ."

"Oh for heavens sake," Hestia sighed. "Is this enough?"

"Well, I think he's muggleborn. Not sure really, but he doesn't hold himself like a pureblood. He doesn't say much about himself but you don't just pick up the reflexes he has overnight," the bartender mused. "He grew up dealing with dangerous situations and he's comfortable in the bush, probably comes from RSA or Zim . . . might have a PH or two in his family. Other then that, well . . . your guess is as good as mine . . ."

"That's it?"

"Oh . . . right, he prefers dark beer and he always has a scotch with a splash of water in it after he gets in. Hope that might be of some help."

"Lots," Hestia said sarcastically. "Thanks."

"No problem lass," he said with a grin. She really should have took more notice of the word 'hefty' if she wanted more information.

Across the street, Tonks was doing the same thing except she'd taken the time to unbutton the top few buttons of her shirt and arch her back a bit before she asked.

"They say he cant be killed" One of the collectors nodded to Tonks, his eyes fixed on her cleavage, which was lightly coated with sweat due to the heat. "He's got a tame Nundu, has faced down Basilisks and angry tribesman. Word has it that he's the grandson of Alan Quartermain, or maybe his son. Africa wont let him die. But don't believe that superstitious claptrap. He's just too mean to die. I went out with him once, only a short trip, a week to gather some Demiguise shedding. We'd had horrible luck with gear breaking and equipment going missing. Not to mention the guides getting spooked, till he walked up to this clump of bushes and punched out the Demiguise we never even knew was there. One punch and knocked it cold. He shaved the beast and then told us we were leaving. Well, I wasn't going to argue with someone who has a necklace made from the teeth of snakes that have bitten him. Got a lot of teeth on it he does."

AN: Scenes by Pelel, Finbar, and ubereng were included in this chapter. Hope I didn't miss anyone. Been getting a lot of requests for more of this lately, thought I'd throw something together and post it.

Omake: Why?

"What brought you out here Snake?" One of the other hunters asked. "Fame, fortune?"

"Freedom," Harry replied immediately. "The more 'civilization' a place has, the less freedom you'll find. Here I've got the freedom to come and go as I wish, the freedom to shoot game, the freedom to live . . . and for some, freedom is the choice of how they die. . What more could a man ask for?"

Omake: Just Because . . .

"You thought I left because of the prophecy?" Harry asked incredulously. "Something that came from that fraud, it never occurred to you that it might just be a little bit too convenient that she gave it during a job interview to become the Divinations Professor? Soon as I found out who made it I realized that my chances of having to deal with Voldemort myself ranked up there with the Cannons taking the title."

"If not that then . . . the death of Sirius?" Dumbledore ventured.

"While regrettable," Harry sighed. "I never really got to know the man. I feel bad about his death but I'm not about to sink into a deep depression because of it."

Omake by Sergey Tsvetkov

"Have you ever tasted a ferret?"

"Ferrrettss... Halfs of Afffricass for a ferret..." Mamba's eyes looked like glass.

"Well, I think I could try to import one. Good looking - for a ferret, properly inbred."

"Wasss it fed properssslly?.."

"Of course, I wouldn't offer you underfed animal".

Half an hour later Harry was writing a letter to twins:

"...Sorry that I didn't tell you earlier, but you weren't at the school and then... But now I have thought of it and started to worry. You know, Malfoy looked at Ginny all the time and things he had said to her... If I was not distracted at the moment, I'd killed him myself...

...And after you take the photos send the ferret to me - alive..."

Omake by Fenris

In a town filled with Wizarding iconoclasts it was pretty much an iron-clad guarantee that every kind of Character found in the Magical world was in residence at one time or another, leading the local population to developing a reputation for Sang-Froid that was the envy of the most jaded Libertines ever to sip Absinthe in the Folies- Bergere. And if the general population was inured to the occasionally strange and unusual behavior of their Magical brethren, the denizens of the Safari Club were known to possess an elan several orders of magnitude greater than the town's less fractious residents.

That all being said, the fact that the person who stepped through the Club's batwing doors brought the taproom to a complete standstill should say something profound about the impact of his...personality.

Afterwards, some would claim it was his crushed velvet, fluorescent purple Bush jacket and shorts that grabbed their attention. Others claimed it was his scarlet Stovepipe hat, made from the finest beaver (granted, Beaver hats had been quite popular during the early days of Queen Victoria's reign, but most haberdashers removed the beaver when they made the hat). Still others claimed their reactions were due to the brace of pistols carried in the gentleman's shiny black vinyl Sam Browne holster rig; very few people had the chutzpah (or the wrists) to carry Howdah pistols, whatever their stopping power.

Ultimately, the truth of the matter had very little to do with how the stranger looked, and everything to do with what he said the moment the batwings stopped flapping behind him. "I'm told that a gentleman who goes by the name 'Mr. Bite' claims to be the greatest hunter the Dark Continent has ever seen. If Mr. Bite would meet me out in the street, I'd like to give him the chance to prove that claim!" And without another word the (as far as the Safari Club members were concerned) suicidal stranger turned around and left.

A few minutes later Harry paused in the shadows just inside the doors to allow his eyes to adjust to the brighter light before stepping outside, his hand resting comfortably on the grips of the .455 Webley revolver that rode loosely in its unsnapped holster. The first things he saw were the yellowed incisors of the beaver that glared at him from atop the stranger's head. The next things he noticed were the knobby knees and pale shanks of his erstwhile challenger, especially where they disappeared into the leopard print Doc Martens that protected the stranger's feet. The beaver moved and Harry found himself staring at a smiling face with vaguely familiar, protuberant eyes. "Mr. Bite?"

"Just 'Snake' will do," Harry replied with a small smirk. "I'm only Mr. Bite to my enemies...the dead ones, that is."

The stranger shook his head vigorously, earning an angry chatter from his hat. "Dear me, that wouldn't do at all; we can hardly do business if I'm dead, and it would distress my daughter terribly."

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Are we going to be doing business together, Mr...?"

"Didn't I introduce myself? Dear me, I'm afraid I'm getting so forgetful these days...yes, I hope we'll be doing business together, especially if you live up to your reputation. My name is Lovegood, Odd Lovegood, and I'd like to to track down and bring back specimens of several extremely rare magical species that most people believe have become extinct if they ever existed at all. The first one I want you ti find is the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. I'll pay 10,000 galleons for a complete skin and horn, 25,000 for a complete specimen, and 100,000 for a live Snorkack."

"It's a tempting offer," Harry admitted, attempting to humor the apparent madman, "but I'm afraid I wouldn't have the first idea where to look for a Snorkack. If I know an animal's territory I can track it down, but even I need a starting point."

"Oh, that's no problem," Lovegood replied airily, waving to someone behind him on the veranda.

A slender figure with dirty blond hair, dressed in a sapphire blue bush jacket and jodhpurs clumped towards them in a pair of metallic grey Doc Martens that laced up to her knees. Atop her head rested a familiar roaring lion's head, though now it was part of a traditional Australian Bush hat. "Hello, Snake," Luna said in her usual dreamy tone.

That's as far as I felt like taking it. Seems to me the Quibbler would have an endless use for Snake's gift for tracking down the exceedingly rare and mythical fauna...

Omake by meteoricshipyards

"You can talk to the Perfesser. He's just back from the velt with Snakebite."

McGonagall walked over to the able with the old Muggle wearing an eyepatch. He had to be 90 if he was a day.

"You're the one known as the Professor?"

His face scrunched up. "To be totally accurate, sister, they call me the 'Perfesser'. Name's Jones. My friends call me Indiana." He moved a fedora from in front of the other chair at his table.
(add adventure story)

As they were talking a woman dressed in kaki shorts and a leather vest over two huge, er, tracks of land, burst into the bar.

"Where's Snakebite!" she asked with a British accent.

"Last I heard he was live capturing Erumpets for the San Diego zoo," Jones offered helpfully. "Pull up a chair, Laura."

"No time. Got to get to the Torch of Souls before some rich blighter gets a hold of it and uses it to take over the bloody world. Catch you next time, Indiana."

And another Omake by meteoricshipyards

"Potter! I've been searching for you for a week! Time to die!"

"Yes, yes, Malfoy. I know you've been around all week. I've been busy leaving clues to get you here on time."

"What are you talking about Potter! Why would you leave clues...AAAAAGGGGGGG!!!!!"

"Because, Lucy, while it's busy tearing you apart, I have the time for a nice, carefully aimed shot." BLAM!

Small Omake by meteoricshipyards

"Luna! What are you doing in Africa?"

"Looking for kodachromes."

"I hate to tell you, but you're in the wrong continent. They live in the Amazon."

Another OMAKE by: meteoricshipyards

The crowd at the bar were shocked. Snake had been bringing back (alive or dead, depending on the contract) things that normally killed the most experienced hunter. But here he was, bleeding from dozen of wounds, torn up, mostly dead.

After patching him up, and giving the shaky man a good stiff drink, he said the one word that would explained everything. The one beast that even Snakebite Evans couldn't capture.


AN: For those too young to remember, the bassalope was a character on the Bloom County comic strip, half antilope and half basset hound. She had a fling with the jackrabit and had a litter of jackabassalopes, too, but they never showed up after leaving home at one day old, which is what jackabassilopes do.

Omake for Elementary by meteoricshipyards

And, along with being The Boy-Who-Detects' assistant, Dudley has

gotten the literature bug, and has published a few of Harry's cases in

Teen Witch.

"Dudley, I do wish you wouldn't embellish the cases when you publish

our little exploits. You hide information and the endings are never

that dramatic."

"Yes, Harry, but it's what the public wants."

"At least you haven't published that episode with the Sumatran rat."

"Even if I did, no one would believe me."