One day Harry was sitting in his garden, trying to do The Sun crossword, then gave up and decided to fill in his weekly government expenses form.
'Essential expenses only', he thought, 'that means taking the bus, occasional sandwiches for lunch, lightbulbs for my study, etc., etc.', when all of a sudden there was a huge puff of smoke on the lawn, and an evil wizard with hideous skin and a long dirty cloak appeared.
'By the Great Accountants of Rowling!', Harry gasped, but before he could so much as reach for his magic CGI machine the wizard pointed his wand at Harry's pile of expenses forms, and cackling hideously like an MP on a fact-finding trip in the Bahamas, he cast a spell on the forms.
'Now they shall have a life of their own!', he sneered, 'you shall have no power over them!', and still cackling like a cackler with an overdose of the cackles, the wizard soared up into the air, to be promptly crushed to death by a passing Jumbo Jet.
And before Harry's very eyes the forms began to fill themselves in with ridiculous and crazy claims, ones that got more and more outrageous until there were even claims for horse manure and toilet seats, and of course for endless holidays and taxis and restaurant meals.
'There's only one person who can defeat this accursed spell', Harry muttered to himself, 'and that's Hermione!', and so he ran into his house and called her up. 'Stop running up the phone bill!', his mother shouted to him, 'if you can do magic then just contact her for nothing over the ether!', but Harry had already finished the call, and soon Hermione was knocking at the front door.
'Come out to the garden, quick!', Harry said, trying not to notice that she'd grown a 36DD chest since the last time he'd seen her a year ago, 'you must help me with my expenses forms, a wizard has cast an evil spell on them!', and sure enough the forms were still filling themselves in, with claims for new greenhouses and third mortgages and weekends in Monte Carlo. 'Please help me, or it may look like I've been stealing and lying to the government!'
Hermione thought for a moment, then from nowhere produced her own wand, the Sacred Wand of the Pretty Maiden of Dunedin, and said the holy words 'Non Tax-Deductible Expenses For Legitimate Purposes Only!', and immediately her spell worked, and the forms stopped filling themselves in.
'Oh, Hermione!', Harry shouted in relief, 'how can I ever thank you for saving me from the shame of looking like a cheap liar and a feeble crook?' 'How about a dirty weekend in Paris?', she answered, 'I've got some new lingerie from Ann Summers', but Harry pretended he didn't understand what she meant by that, and that he hadn't heard all the wolf whistles coming at her from the men resurfacing the tarmac at the end of the road.
'No', he said, 'our task may be over with the expense forms, but it has only just begun with our income and capital gains tax returns. We must seek help from the Wise Ones of Dunedin', he continued, 'for only they and their legendary assistants, the men of the Land d'Inn Revenui, can fight what I have a suspicion may be another follow-up to this tale of the forms of expense.'
'Please yourself', Hermione shrugged, 'I'm off to do what any teenage girl does in Britain, and get ratarsed on alcopops and maybe drop an eccy or two, then off for a hop. Byeeeeee!', and left Harry to his own thoughts.
'Get in here now!', his mother shouted to him from the kitchen window, 'your tea's getting cold!', and pausing briefly to avoid bumping into the Laargal Flargs of Shambalaarg, or the Graavelschting Metagargoylics of the Western Outskirts of the South-Eastern Region, both of which were lurking in his garden, Harry went into the house and caught swine 'flu from the bacon and eggs that his mother had made for him, and dropped dead before he'd even got on to his second egg.
'Oh well', his mother said, 'hope he made a will. Wonder if that egg is getting cold?'