Disclaimer: Not Mine. I just make them sad, then happy again...sometimes. ;)

Author's notes: Written for inspiredlife for her wonderful donation to haiti relief. Thanks to groolover and ali_wilde for the beta. Hope you all like this morally ambiguous Harry.

Enjoy

jamiexxx

Being a sixty-something year old wizard wasn't really all that bad, Belvedere Smythe thought as he stretched out in bed. He'd had a good night's sleep and his body was pleasantly refreshed. Surprisingly, there was no dull throb in his head making him want to close his eyes and go back to an alcohol-induced coma. He didn't understand what all these other old codgers were talking about when they whined that they were slowing down. He felt fabulous; perhaps he'd purchased some of that young Malfoy's new hangover cure and taken it last night before he went to bed. Funny, he couldn't remember even going to bed. He was so used to drinking himself into a haze that alcohol never made him forget his actions. True, it made him miss more work than he cared to remember, but today was not going to be one of those days, apparently.

When he arrived at the Ministry of Magic with a smile on his face, ready to pass judgement on the latest proposal before the Magical Creatures Commission, his staff looked like all their Christmases had come at once. He rather liked seeing their reactions; he smiled wider. Today was going to be a good day.

On his way from the office to the meeting room, he passed young Harry Potter in the hall, and smiled at him like a long-lost friend. Harry looked worried for a second, but Belvedere ignored it and went about his business.

After an extremely productive day setting out agreements that would ensure sentient magical creatures the same rights as wizards, he headed home, feeling tired but satisfied. He ate a well-cooked meal that his house-elf prepared for him, worked on some papers for the next day, and then retired to his bed for the night. He was surprised that not once during the day had he felt the need for a drink.

He didn't touch another drop for the rest of his days and went on to become the fairest and most loved Magical Creatures minister in wizarding history.

~hphphphp~

The hospital cafeteria was a busy place, and Agatha Boothe-Jones felt rather smug that she was sitting in public eating lunch with Harry Potter. He was way too young for her, of course, but she felt the looks of all the other women in the room and knew they were wondering why someone like Harry Potter was having lunch with a thirty-five year old, obese mediwitch.

'I'm not sure why people ruin perfectly good toasted muesli with yoghurt. Can't stand the stuff myself,' she said, tucking into the large pile of sausages and mash on the plate in front of her. 'Warm creamy milk and a pile of sugar are a much better topping if you're forced to eat that healthy stuff.' She grimaced. There was nothing she disliked more in the world than people telling her what was healthy to eat and what was not. It was nobody's business what she ate. Harry was not like that, of course, he was a dear man. She smiled fully at him; forgetting her mouth was full of food.

Harry, being the gentleman he was, though, merely laughed and patted her arm in a friendly manner. 'I usually forget to eat breakfast altogether,' he said.

'Oh you,' she chided. 'Life is too short to be denying yourself something you love. You should at least remember to eat, Harry, you're all skin and bone,' she said, which was not entirely true; she thought Harry a fine figure of a man and had she been ten years younger would have fancied him herself.

'I eat enough, but I have to say it's so refreshing to see a woman with a healthy appetite,' he said.

All Harry was eating for lunch was a sandwich filled with green things and some cheese, by the look of it. Agatha disapproved; that was not enough for a grown man to be going on with.

'These young girls today, they don't know they've been born,' she agreed.

When they'd finished eating, Harry offered to see her home, as her shift on St. Mungo's children's ward was over for the day. She agreed and grinned widely as she walked out of the cafeteria, head held high. She deftly stepped through the narrow spaces between the chairs or loudly moved offending chairs out of her way if there was not enough room.

The next morning, Agatha rummaged through the fridge, annoyed because there was no yoghurt for her muesli. She settled for eating one of the bananas she'd been keeping for the chocolate banana cream cheese muffins she had planned on baking that afternoon.

Six months later, Agatha was a different person; a healthy weight and with a glow about her person. She'd lost thirty kilograms and there was a spring in her step. Her patients adored her even more than they had before, and St. Mungo's management was more than pleased with her success on the children's ward.

In later years Agatha went on to save the life of Rose Lupin, nee Weasley, while she was giving birth to her son, David, who would grow up to be the most widely- respected Minister for Magic the wizarding world had ever had.

~hphphphp~

Joseph Keyton arrived home from where he worked as Undersecretary to Harry Potter and placed his bag full of galleons in wages on the table before his wife. She was shocked that, for once, she'd have money to feed their eight children and not have to sell off more of her family treasures for a pittance of what they were worth. Joseph normally gambled his wage away, always losing, but unable to beat the addiction.

He never gambled again and continued to be an invaluable employee until he died of a heart attack two years later.

~hphphphp~

Romilda Vane walked out of the grotty brothel she had been working in, vowing never to return. When she was at school, she'd had some aptitude for potions; she remembered that she'd tried to give Harry Potter a love potion at one point. Not that she'd made that one herself. She determined that she would find a job in an apothecary somewhere, making potions, even if she had to study them all over again.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if she met up with Harry again; he was such a lovely man…but she found it hard to remember the last time she had seen him. Although, as she spent so much of her time high on drugs just to get through the countless hands groping her and stinking dicks being shoved into every orifice, he could have been a customer for all she knew. She shook herself. No, the Harry Potter she remembered would never dream of lowering himself to fuck whores.

Romilda never did return to the brothel; instead she found work with the man who was to become the greatest potion master since Severus Snape and was instrumental in the invention of several new potions that changed the lives of many wizards for the better.