Soul of Evil
Disclaimers: All characters, spells, place, etc. found in the HP books belong to JKR.
The code used in the story is from a WWII book I read when I was ten.
Soul of Evil
Chapter 1
-Belfry of the Lost-
The cobbled street rang with each desperate step Harry made as he ran. His destination lay ahead in view: an attractive, old-fashioned wedding chapel overlooking the seaside. On any other day he might have admired the scenery, perhaps even extract a feeling of comfort from the exquisite landscape but as he entered the gates of the chapel all he could feel was stomach-churning dread.
He paused, briefly looking at his shaking hands, willing them to stay still and failing miserably. With one big breath he steeled himself and urged his legs to carry him forward. As he entered, guests, some muggles, began eyeing his appearance starting a wave of murmurs at the back. After all, who in their right mind would show up in an unkempt state to attend a wedding? But Harry paid no attention to them. All that occupied his mind was the sight of his two best friends in front, now sharing their first kiss as husband and wife. The hall erupted with applause welcoming the newlyweds. Bells from outside began to chime. He was too late.
He felt like crying. No tears ever came out to ease his pain. His knees buckled and gave way but he did not crumple to the floor. A firm hand was on his shoulder, rousing him from his despair.
"Harry." The voice was female. Familiar.
"Harry," the voice called again.
He gave a `m' as reply. He looked up bleary-eyed, blinking once, twice. "'Zat you Tonks?"
"Harry, wake up. You've got to stop doing this." Tonks pried an emptied bottle of whiskey from Harry's hand, the latter refusing to cooperate.
"Why?" Harry slurred. "Helps me sleep."
Tonks stared at him with eyes slanted into slits. "You mean `forget.'"
"Same thing." Harry stood up from his perch at the bar counter, arching his back and stretching his arms, chasing away the last remnants of slumber. "Thanks for letting me stay the night, Tim. Put it on my tab, won't you?" Tim, the barman, nodded but otherwise kept his lips sealed, opting to continue polishing a glass mug he'd been cleaning for the last half hour. "Heh. You're the most quiet barman I've ever met, Tim." The barman nodded for the second time.
Tonks had her arms crossed and was tapping her foot irritably on the floor. "Are you done?"
"Yup."
She turned around, heading for the door. "C'mon. The chief's been blowing his top at everyone and anyone."
"That's nothing new. He was born that way."
"Be serious, will you. There's been another one and the chief isn't happy."
Hearing this, his demeanor changed instantly - his expression was grim. This would make three murders in the span of two weeks. The killer was becoming bolder and that was never a good thing. To top it off, the two previous victims were well known, leaders in their area, prominent members of the society. The Prophet's going to have a field day if this gets out, he thought.
Harry took his coat, searched a pocket, and drew out a cigarette. "Where?"
Tonks watched Harry light the cigarette with the tip of his wand, and then helping himself to a long drag; all effects of liquor seemed to fade away. "Kensington mews, apartment nine."
Harry grabbed Tonks' arm and both disappeared with a pop. Tim strode to where Harry sat, cleaning up the three bottles of whiskey Harry had last night.
*****
Harry arrived at the crime scene followed by a grumbling Tonks. He had apparated two blocks away rather than coming directly to the apartment. There was a slight chance the killer was still around admiring his handiwork. Only when he was sure no one suspicious was about did he make his way into the building.
Three people were in the room: Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror office, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and a blonde young man an inch shorter than him.
"About time you got here, Potter," Robards' deep voice boomed. "Where've you been?"
Gawain was a class act of a common ministry official, perennially feeding off the palms of the minister. All knew that his earning the position of Head Auror had more to do with his tenure alongside the minister than his sterling talent or skill. Harry could swear he saw steam coming out from Robards' nose and ears. He gave his superior a wide grin and answered, "The crapper." The moment the words left his mouth he heard Tonks smack her forehead with her palm. Shacklebolt was sporting a smirk while the young man was looking at Robards with uncertainty.
The Head Auror muttered something unintelligible. His face resembled someone who had just swallowed something unpleasant. "You better put your act together, Potter. Else I swear it'll be your head. And the same goes to the three of you," he pointed at the others then looked Harry straight in the eyes, a vain at the right side of his temples was twitching. "I expect a full report on this by tomorrow morning and I'm holding you entirely responsible. You got me, Potter?"
An elbow struck Harry's ribs as Tonks nudged him. "Yes, sir. A full report tomorrow morning." He watched Robards take one last, long good look at them before leaving. Harry felt very pleased with himself. "Now that the old bat's gone, on to business."
"Maid found the body sprawled on the kitchen floor and alerted the muggle authorities. All have been obliviated including the other tenants in the area," Shacklebolt informed, already heading towards the kitchen. Tonks had gone to the other rooms, occasionally waving her wand to check for magical residue.
"Mister Potter, sir?" The young man said, stopping Harry from joining Kingsley.
"Hm?"
"I don't know if you know me but you were three years my senior at Hogwarts, Sir. My name is Stewart Ackerley and I was assigned to your team this morning. I just want to say it's such an honor - "
"Don't sweat it, Stew. Welcome to the club." Harry had no desire in hearing another `an honor' speech from anyone; he already had enough of that from Creevey who now works for the Daily Prophet. "Coming?" He waited for Stewart to follow and then resumed his trek to the kitchen.
"So what house were you in?"
"Ravenclaw, sir."
Harry gave a small chuckle. "Finally, some brains for our group. You don't know the things I've got to go through with Tonks."
"I heard that," Tonks yelled from the next room.
"Sir?"
"Hm?"
"If you don't mind me asking, h-how is Ms. Hermione?"
Harry stopped in his tracks and faced Stewart. For a second Harry thought the greenhorn knew the sore spot he had every time Hermione's name came up but that line of thought was erased when he saw how Stewart's cheeks were slightly flushed. He wouldn't be surprised if half of the male population of Ravenclaw worshiped the ground Hermione walked on… even to this day! "If you've got the hots for her, Stew, you're too late." Too late like he was. "She's a Weasley now."
They entered the kitchen. You couldn't tell there had been a murder here if it weren't for the body. The room was immaculate; everything appeared to be untouched. Harry knelt beside Shacklebolt who was examining the body. The wound was what made this case peculiar. The victims were always found lying on their stomach. An incision was made at the lower back with the base of the spine removed, all done with surgical precision. Another thing was that the wounds were cauterized so no blood was spilled. But what really annoyed Harry was the coded message the killer always left, daring them to catch him. "What have you got?"
"Damocles Belby, 80, inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion. Last seen coming out of the Ministry of Magic two days ago," Stewart volunteered.
"The apartment's been swept clean. We found no evidence whatsoever. The killer used the same M.O.," Shacklebolt added. "And he left us another calling card."
"Guess what?" Tonks had just entered, holding a few items and a photo album in her hands. "He," motioning at the body, "doesn't live here. Just like the other two."
In other words they had nothing to go on. Zero. Except for the blasted cards the bastard left. "Alright. Tonks, you're on crowd control. I don't want the Prophet getting a whiff of anything more than they need to know. Shacklebolt, you finish up here. Stew, find out anything worthwhile concerning Belby. I'll start on that report. Meet me back at headquarters, 3p.m."
Harry took another glance at Damocles. The dead man's eyes were as wide open as was his mouth, a scream frozen for eternity. It gave the impression that Belby was alive when his spine was ripped off him. Harry had a gut feeling things were about to get worse.
*****
Harry sat in a chair with his feet propped on the desk. He held the third card left by the killer over him and was staring at it for the last few minutes, not making head or tail with it. Maybe it was written in some alien language.
The entire team was in the office with him, trying to finish the report he was supposed to finish, albeit grudgingly. He was all set in doing the report when he came, however the letter on his desk drained him of all the enthusiasm he had. It was a letter from Bill. He and Fleur had just arrived from Paris and were holding a sort of reunion at the Burrow tonight. Everyone will be there. Tonks received a similar invitation for her and Remus. It wasn't that he didn't want to come. He'd missed Bill and Fleur too since they moved to France three years ago. Truth was, he missed everyone now that he distanced himself from most contact. He wanted to see all of them, especially Hermione. Yet it was because of her that he didn't want to go. Unwanted memories he longed to forget would only resurface.
And so he just sat there looking at the coded clues the madman left behind, attempting to cipher it all without much luck. He'd employed every code breaking technique the Auror Department knew. From numbers to charts, patterns to muggle decoder rings, none yielded any results. After all he'd done the card still looked the same:
CVX/001/SSS/31000/Z
IFEIN/MTROS/EVIFE/HEDMT/AEIRO/NTRER/ETETT/RREIO.
The task was starting to infuriate him. In an act of pure insanity (or maybe he was just tired and wanted some distraction), he began assigning the alphabet to the first sentence of Bill's letter, I = A, H = B, A = C and so on. In the end looked like this:
I have just returned from a visit to Ron and Hermi…
A BCDE FGHI JKLMNOPQ RSTU V WXYZ
He spelled out his name using the code. It read: SIFFS. What was there to lose? Harry thought. He took the code and applied it to the killer's message, leaving allowances for double letters and representations. The result, once collated, was unbelievable.
IFEIN/MTROS/EVIFE/HEDMT/AEIRO/NTRER/ETETT/RREIO.
AREYO/UINTH/EDARK/BEQUI/CKANT/OINES/PIELI/SNEXT.
Decoded, it read: Are you in the dark? Be quick. Antoine Spiel is next. It was unthinkable. Surely the killer hadn't been using Bill's letter, did he? Harry applied the code to the top part of the card. Nothing. He tried the same technique on the other cards. The meaningless remained meaningless. Was it just luck then? Is this even right? He reread Bill's letter. This was just impossible. Wait. No. He was wrong. Bill's letter had nothing to do with this. All he needed was the first 26 letters. Therein lay the means to crack this puzzle wide open.
He lit another cigarette and blew a few puffs of smoke at the ceiling. He had to make sure before acting. There was no point jumping the gun too early… extraordinary as it was.
A stack of case files on his desk caught his attention. They had labels, serial numbers on them. What if the top part of the message worked on a similar principle? As a tracking system or perhaps a pointer. He checked the two previous cards. It always began with CVX and ended with Z. The only difference was the numbers separated by the triple s'. The one he had solved had 001/SSS/31000. The other two had 018/SSS/27000 and 010/SSS/23000. There was no pattern. Even if there was it wasn't anything obvious. The numbers weren't in sequence meaning it had to be a pointer. Like coordinates, like pages in a book or… Harry fell off his seat. He heard Tonks giggle behind him. A book! It was possible. Sure I have just returned from a visit was something anyone would write in a letter. Why not write it in a book? He examined the cards again. The lowest value was one and the highest was 31 discounting the zeroes. 31. That was roughly the number of chapters in a book. It would make more sense if one number pointed to a chapter and the other to a line in the book. Only one more thing… "Guys?"
"What now, Harry?" asked a very amused Tonks. Harry was still lying flat on the floor and was now looking up at them.
"Who's Antoine Spiel?"
Kingsley shrugged while Tonks shook her head. That only left Stewart. "Uhm… Hogwarts class 1987. Educated in both muggle and wizarding institutions. He is considered a genius concerning his research on plants, magical and non-magical."
Harry was quickly on his feet and leaning over Stewart's desk. "He's real?"
"Y- yes," answered a startled Stewart.
"Damn it," Harry whispered under his breath. "Tonks, get some people to tail Spiel. Find anything we have on him. I want full surveillance. But don't alert him. Take Stew with you and when you're done, find us. Kingsley and I'll be at the Ministry Library."
"Harry?"
"Hurry. We don't have much time. I'll explain later." He was already halfway through the door with Shacklebolt rushing to keep up with him.
Tonks looked as confused as Stewart. "Well? You heard the man. Let's go."
*****
Three hours into their search in the library and the magnitude of what they had to accomplish was beginning to set in. Harry reckoned he had piled through more books he ever did prior to this day. Looking for an obscure piece of text was proving to be hopeless. With millions of books in print, the killer could have chosen any one of them.
Harry heard the librarian pass by, bemoaning the desecration of her library. Mountains of books were everywhere. Tables were cleared to make room for more space and the air was thick with cigarette smoke. He felt weary from looking at so many books and his stomach was grumbling. He needed a drink.
A primal cry interrupted Harry's scrutiny of `Erson Mel and the Cup of Water.' "This is bloody ridiculous," Tonks screamed.
Harry craned his neck to her side of the library. She was glaring death and walking straight for him. A yawning Stewart was also heading to where he was.
"Sir, maybe we should call it a night," Stewart said. "And I think Mrs. Lupin feels the same way."
"Harry, if you think I'm going to stay here another hour -" Tonks began to launch into her tirade. Thankfully it was at that moment that Kingsley chose to interrupt.
"I agree with them, Harry. We're all tired. A little rest will help," The dark-skinned auror advised.
Harry felt a bit miffed but had to admit they were right. "Alright. You three go home. I'll -"
Kingsley took a firm grasp of Harry's shoulder and spoke, acting every bit the senior of the team. "No, Harry. You need to take a break."
"But-"
"No buts."
"Sir, if you'd like, I can come in extra early," Stewart piped in.
Harry sighed. He was defeated, though he could hardly fault the others. He sat down on a chair and picked up another book. "Okay. Just let me stay for a bit more." The look on Kingsley's face was that of a father reproving a disobedient son. "Really," Harry said. "I won't take long."
"I'll take care of this," Tonks told the two. "Leave him to me."
Kingsley nodded. He had an idea on what they were going to talk about and didn't want to stay for a possible blow up. He dragged the young Ackerley away before he can have the chance to hear anything. Tonks waited until the two were gone and took a seat opposite Harry. "I know what you're doing."
Harry raised an eyebrow at her but otherwise resumed scanning the pages of `Mary Cotter and the Half Pint Pauper.' "Yes. I'm trying to catch a madman who has a knack for killing important people."
Tonks snatched the book from Harry's hands and threw it behind her. "No. What you're doing is shirking from going to the Burrow." She waited for him to answer. He only turned his head away. "You can't run forever, Harry."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"It's been three years. You have to move on."
"No," Harry said. "We're not having this conversation." He was about to stand up and leave if not for Tonks restraining him with a hand on his arm.
"Look," Tonks said, adopting a softer tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. It's almost eight and Remus is waiting for me. At least come with us, even for just a few minutes. I'm sure Molly would like to see you. Bill and Fleur would certainly appreciate you being there. What do you say?"
Harry's face was unreadable and Tonks wasn't sure if he'd even heard a word she said until he gave a rather dejected answer. "I might," he finally said.
Tonks broke into a warm smile, gave him a peck on the cheek and patted Harry's hand. "We'll meet you at the Burrow then?"
Harry grunted. He immediately wiped a hanky over his cheek, much like children would do when kissed by their grandparents.
"And Harry."
"Yeah."
"Take a bath."
*****
How often he'd find himself looking in from the outside. That happened more and more these past months. Harry had been standing outside the Burrow for ten minutes. He simply couldn't bring himself to knock.
The Burrow had drastically changed. With all the Weasley children having jobs, it was only a matter of time when they'd pitch in and improve the house. Of course, it still felt warm and homely as it did when he first came here. So why was he having problems knocking on the damn door? And the fact he was hungry and the smell of Molly's cooking was making a strong point of case. He raised a hand to knock for the umpteenth time when the door opened and out flew an enormous ginger cat, the owner soon followed suit.
Harry froze when he realized he was now face to face with Hermione, who looked equally surprised to see him. He was sorely aware of the lump that seemed to form in his throat. He felt a chill come over him though he wasn't sure if it was the cool night air or if it was the presence of Hermione. His heart was pumping twice faster than normal. She looked a bit frayed possibly due to lack of sleep. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun and she also seemed to have lost weight. However, none of these detracted to how he saw her, he found her unquestionably attractive. She offered him a small unsure smile, shaking him from the drunken stupor. "H-hi," Harry croaked out.
"Hi," she replied, her voice having a tinge of shyness to it. She gently pushed the door close behind her. "It's been a long time."
"I've… I've been busy… with work." He watched her sit on the first step of the new porch, taking Crookshanks into her arms. Harry remained standing beside her, both having an excellent view of the garden.
They stayed that way for a couple of minutes, neither saying anything for fear of breaking the serenity. To Harry, this was the first time in a long while he ever felt at peace. He was glad he came, even just for this.
Crookshanks purred as his master caressed the side of his belly. "We've missed you, Harry," she said, the sound of her voice drifting along the wind, having an ethereal quality. It was a heavenly medley, something to be savored.
"I came by last Christmas didn't I?"
"That was more than two years ago." She spoke so lightly. It was clear she wasn't holding anything against him, merely stating fact.
"Like I said, I've been-"
"Busy," she finished for him.
Harry hung his head, slightly ashamed. "Yeah."
Again there was silence between them. Harry had no idea what he was supposed to say. A part of him wanted to take a chance, to tell her everything. Everything. But how could he? You can't go about telling you just woke up from a dream, a dream that was your life.
It was a cruel hand fate had dealt out. And that hand produced changes. In general, change can be either good or bad depending on where you are when it happens. For Harry, that change came three years ago on a Wednesday that otherwise would have been perfect: the day of his best friends' wedding.
He'd been handed his first assignment a few months earlier and deeply entrenched in the case. He didn't know if he'd be back on time so he begged off being Ron's best man, much to the disappointment of the Weasleys.
The wedding was inadvertently the source of his current predicament. In his haste to solve the case early he made a rash decision, hit with a curse that knocked him out cold, nothing serious as to warrant a visit to St. Mungoes. The auror medical ward served as his home for a couple of days, tended by a witch who reminded him, scarily, of Madam Pomfrey. He had joked to Tonks that the incident was a blessing. He was looking forward to attending the wedding the next day, how surprised Ron and Hermione would be, he thought then.
On the day of his discharge from the clinic, Remus, Tonks, and Kinsley were with him. He was planning a stop by Grimmauld Place for a quick change then head to the ceremony. The medi-witch came in riffling through some papers, saying she'd done a thorough check on him. Something was troubling her. What followed next devastated Harry. He'd made a full recovery but they found an `anomaly' in his system, a rare condition but not unheard off, his aura showed the prolonged effects of Amortentia. It was difficult to say how long he'd been like this or when he first managed to ingest the potion. It could have been days, months, years even. And finding the culprit would be next to impossible. His head was spinning. He vaguely thought of Ginny. Was it all a lie then?
The medi-witch gave him a potion, the antidote to his dream-state. She asked him to think about it because once taken, his life might never be the same again. She had wisdom beyond his years, but what was he to do? He'd rather die than live a lie. Harry looked at the cup and the liquid that was its content. He drank the potion in one swig.
Something swirled inside, a gradual heat steadily growing. He found himself writhing on the floor, needles pricking every pore of his skin. A fire inside raged like a monster being slain from within. And when he thought he could not endure the pain any longer - it was over. He was covered in sweat. His breathing slowly returned to normal. For the mess he looked on the outside, his mind was clear on one thing: that if he didn't move now he would lose her forever. He staggered, raising himself, clawing his way to the door. Someone tried to help him, but he didn't care for any help. He wanted to see her, to talk to her. She was everything to him… "Hermione."
"Yes, Harry?"
He wasn't aware he had spoken her name. She was looking at him, a ghost of a smile gracing her features.
"Hermione? You there?" Harry heard Ron's voice as the door opened once more. "Blimey! Harry! Good to see you, mate. What are you doing out here?" Ron took a few steps and shook Harry's hand. "Really good to see you."
"We were just catching up on old times," Hermione answered as she stood up. She walked past them and entered the house, not sparing another glance.
"Well, come in. Mum's been wanting to see you for ages and wait `til you hear Charlie's adventure…" Harry let himself be ushered in with Ron droning on. His eyes were glued at Hermione's retreating form.
*****
For Kingsley Shacklebolt, life used to revolve around two things: work and more work. That changed six months ago when he met Lissa. He had taken a rare walk to think and relax and soon found his way to the National Museum, staring at a painting of an impaled angel with black wings. He hadn't noticed he wasn't alone in admiring the picture; a good-looking woman in her twenties was with him. He'd liked her the moment she talked to him. `The Angel of Pain,' she'd told him. `Said to have been made by a seer in the 16th century. People believe it has magical properties. But who believes magic in this day and age?' When later she found out that the painting was indeed magical, her eyes widened so much he was afraid they'd pop out. From then on they'd always meet by the angel every weekend. At the beginning he was hesitant to pursue a relationship with her, considering they lived in different worlds, her, a muggle, and he, a wizard. Eventually it was Lissa who made the first step, commenting on small things about him - his appearance, how he talked - making sure he got the idea she was interested in him. Soon after, he told her he was a wizard. He was quite relieved when she accepted him, saying that it didn't matter even if he came from another planet.
He'd since moved into her place, the most blissful two months he'd ever had. She was wearing his robe watching television when he arrived. He sank down on the couch next to her.
"Have you been smoking?" she complained, nuzzling into him.
"Nah, that's Harry."
"Just checking." She was planting kisses on his neck with building eagerness.
"Want me to take a shower?"
She shifted her position and was now straddling his hips. "Don't tease. I've been wanting for you all day and tonight, you're mine." When she kissed him he could sense something feral spring forth from her. Kingsley let her undress him while he slipped the robe off her.
Light fingers traced his spine. Another hand held his half-hard member, comfortably trapped. When she released her hold, he was fully erect. He trailed kisses down the nape of her neck and was making his way to her breasts when she stopped him. "No. Not yet," she said. Her hand was again on his phallus, rubbing the underside; it responded in spasms of pleasure.
Lissa pushed him down the couch. Kingsley could see her intent gaze on his erection. She put a finger in her mouth and transferred a thin film of saliva to the tip of his cock where she began weaving slow, lazy patterns that made him gasp. He felt her lips envelop him up to the base and her tongue dancing magnificently inside her mouth. She was making a noisy meal out of him.
He was flushed and breathing rapidly. He closed his eyes. He felt his muscles tightening as she quickened her pace, bringing him closer and closer to climax. Then - she was gone, ending the sensations immediately. When he opened his eyes she was running to the bedroom, giggling all the way. "You're going to pay for that," he called after her and gave chase.
They continued on in the bedroom up until the fires within were sated, both lying together entangled with each other. Lissa was breathing contentedly in his arms.
Whether Kingsley knew it or not, he really had a lot on his mind. And even though they both came in a shuddering, fully satisfied manner, it wasn't one of his best performances. The code still nagged at him. I have just returned from a visit… He ran the infernal sentence over and over his head. He was vaguely aware that Lissa was telling him something. "What was that?"
"I said, `I have just returned from a visit to my Landlord.'"
He was bewildered. "What Landlord?"
"No, silly. I was finishing your sentence."
"What sentence?"
She looked at him puzzled. "You were saying it over and over: `I have just returned from a visit…' God knows I've read the book a thousand times."
Kingsley's mind was working in overdrive. Talk about a lucky break! And two in one day! He gripped her shoulders like a maniac. "You know the book?" he asked, excitement brimming forth.
"Yes. Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte."
How stupid they were, he thought. Of course the killer would choose a book unfamiliar to wizards. "Where do those lines come in the book?"
"The opening. Why? What's going on?"
He kissed her full on the mouth. "I swear I'd marry you if I didn't have to go right now." Kingsley got up and began putting his clothes on.
*****
Dinner at the Burrow was very pleasant… for everyone else. Harry sat in his chair, trying not to draw any attention to him. He made it a point not to talk to Hermione, who, it seemed, was doing the same. That didn't stop him from stealing glances at her though. Remus and Tonks provided clever interference whenever he was about to be caught.
It was pretty awkward for him from the get go. Ron had pushed him directly toward the dinner table where the entire Weasley clan was. Molly greeted him with her usual bone-cracking hug and kept asking why he was so thin. He had a fleeting suspicion Tonks had again been telling stories about his eating habits (or rather, his drinking habit).
He cursed his luck when he was seated across Ron and Hermione. As if that wasn't enough he was flanked by his ex-fiancée, Ginny, with her new beau, and the Weasley twins, which wasn't so bad since they promised not to pull any pranks on him.
Fleur had taken to retelling their life in Paris, with Bill providing occasional bits of information. He would have listened more if he weren't shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He limited his vision to his plate and the twins, his only source of conversation other than Ron with his Cannon games. Ginny and her boyfriend were also giving him an anvil-sized headache, they certainly wasn't shy in showing their affection for one another. Sometimes he can feel her glaring at the back of his head. They didn't really part on friendly terms. Maybe she was doing this to spite him, Harry thought.
It also bothered him that Hermione remained quiet throughout dinner. She was somber and had a distant look in her eyes. Ron scowled a few times at her inattention but she didn't seem to mind. Harry wondered if they had a quarrel, not meaning he was happy with how they were acting.
He was blissfully enjoying the fact he was being, almost, ignored. The key word being `almost.' The moment Fleur asked Harry a question the table suddenly became quiet. "Could you repeat that?" he asked Fleur, all eyes were on him.
"Are you seeing anyone?" Fleur repeated.
Harry wished he could use the `langlock' jinx on her but that wouldn't be nice. Keep calm, Potter, he thought. It wasn't the first time someone had asked him that question. He took a quick scan around the table. Remus had a hand covering his mouth. Tonks was busy forking her peas. Hermione wore an expression he only saw whenever she wanted to find something out - that of extreme curiosity. And he knew Ginny had just stamped her foot, accidentally, on her lover's. Fleur was still waiting for his reply. "N-no. No one." This can't be good.
"Gud. Zen per'aps you'd conseeder going out wit' my seester."
A mantra of `Think, Potter, think' was running in his head. "I- I can't. There's this… uhm… case… I'm working on. I'm…ahh…busy." At least he didn't lie; a consolation he thought didn't matter and had no bearing on the situation. Harry pulled at his collar, hoping Fleur would buy the explanation, lame as it was.
The willowy blonde pouted. "Peety. Gabrielle never stops talking about `Arry Potter. Maybe next time."
He couldn't believe how easy that turned out. He took a sip of pumpkin juice to celebrate the small victory. However, the twins had other plans.
Fred slung an arm over Harry's shoulders. "Nonsense. All work and no play makes for a dull Harry."
"If Gabrielle isn't your type, you can always take Ginny back," George followed.
Harry almost choked when he heard this. He was coughing and wheezing, and he spilled juice on his shirt. He mentally swore to kill the twins when he got the chance.
"Easy, Harry. Breathe. We were just kidding," Fred said while rubbing Harry's back. "As peace offering, we'll fix you up with Verity. How's that sound?"
"Oh no you don't. If anyone here's going to set a date for Harry, it'll be me," Ron announced. Harry cringed and sunk deeper in his chair. "There's this cheerleader I'm sure you'll like…"
"And you call yourself his best friend? What Harry needs is a woman with a sense of adventure," Charlie butted in. "Visit Romania some time…"
Much to Harry's chagrin, the conversation centered on his non-existent love life. With Molly, Bill, and even Arthur putting in their two knuts worth. He was grasping at straws looking for a way out. Only a miracle would save him.
As if to answer his silent plea, the fire in the hearth flared up and turned green. Out came Kingsley carrying a book, slightly flushed and out of breath. "We've got it, Harry. The book. We have it."
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