Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall
Author's Note: The muse demanded more humor/parody than action/adventure, so no big confrontation at Carlisle within this update. Consider it light, fluffy prelude, and click on the "kabouter" link within the text if you dare see what happens to Scrimmie, Percy and Umbridge.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.
oo00OO00oo
Chapter 43: And Now for Something Completely Different
Friday, July 13, 3:30pm Gringott's Bank
The true power and specificity of the Fidelius Charms cast by the Dutch Charms Master were on display when he activated a portkey that sent him from Percy Weasley's office to the steps of Gringott's in Diagon Alley…while he had no trouble realizing that he was using magical transportation to leave the Ministry, the magic now kept him from knowing that those same methods could be used to return.
Not that the young wizard had any desire to go back, or to spend any more time than necessary within Britain…which was why he was so intent on converting the Ministry's final payment from galleons to Euros, and catching the next Chunnel train to the Continent.
The Dutch charms master groaned at the sight of an extremely long line of account holders that had snaked outside of the bank's front doors. He queued up, and waited for a few minutes to see how fast the line was moving. Listening in on the wild rumors being passed was amusing but tedious (someone was actually claiming that the imaginary Muggle gas attack on the Ministry involved poisonous fart bombs). So once the young wizard determined that it would take hours to reach the front of the queue, he walked up to the front and paid a matronly witch fifty galleons cash to take her place in line. The goblin guards, thinking the transaction to be a shrewd bit of business, ignored the complaints of those behind him, and ushered the Dutchman to the first available teller.
"Key please," intoned the bored goblin.
"Don't have one, actually," the young wizard replied, as he handed over the Ministry's draft. "Just want to redeem that check and convert galleons to Euros."
The diminutive bank teller looked carefully at the document.
"One moment," he stated, before he hopped off of his high stool and scurried away with the signed check in hand.
A few minutes later, a much taller goblin appeared in front of the Dutchman, standing on the back of the original bank teller (who was now serving as a sentient stepstool). He passed the Ministry's draft back to the wizard and curtly stated, "There are insufficient funds available within the vault against which that draft is drawn."
"That's impossible!" declared the dreadlocked wizard.
"What makes you think that?"
"We had…we had a binding magical contract," replied the Charms Master. "It would have been obvious if the Minister knew that he was passing a bad check."
"Then perhaps the Minister was unaware of recent changes to the Ministry's tax base?" the goblin replied with a toothy grin.
"So why can't you just take the funds from a different Ministry account?"
"We would need Ministry authorization," the goblin replied.
"In person?"
"Yes, although they could just as easily write a new draft against holdings within a different vault."
"Don't really want to take the time, but….oh, bugger!"
"Is something wrong?" asked the toothy Goblin.
The Dutch wizard sighed, desperately trying to determine how he'd get back to the Ministry. Once he decided that his charms work was too good for his own good, he shook his head and chuckled.
"What's so funny, wizard?"
"If I can't cash this check, and the Ministry is keeping me from returning for a new one, then they've just breached the binding contract."
"And you find the loss of payment amusing?"
"Not really," replied the young Charms Master. "But the consequences of that loss of payment are downright hilarious."
"How so?"
"You'll see for yourself, if they show up and make inquiries face-to-face," the wizard replied, cryptically adding, "Won't even need a stepstool."
The goblin arched an eyebrow. "Do you wish to leave a forwarding address, in case the Ministry desires to make you whole with respect to the contract?"
The Dutchman shook his head.
"Percy will know where to find me," he said, before taking back the rubber check and heading towards the front doors.
There was a part of him that wanted to hang around, just to see how the three buffoons who ran the British Ministry of Magic would react to their cursed transformations. But there were significant risks to staying, and he'd sufficiently front-loaded his overpriced fees in anticipation that something like this might occur. So as soon as he cleared the bank's wards, he apparated to the muggle hotel where he'd spent the previous two nights. From there he hailed a taxi for Waterloo Station, whilst softly singing the Kabouterdans…
Make a turn in a circle.
Stamp with your feet on the ground.
Wave your hands in the air.
Sit with a sigh.
Stamp around like a goose.
That is how the gnome dance goes!
oo00OO00oo
In the Minister of Magic's office, no one can hear you scream…at least not after all of the support staff had been tricked into leaving.
The commanding height, chiseled chin and leonine features that had served Rufus Scrimgeour so well when it came to browbeating suspected criminals and pompous Wizengamot members were gone…gone in a bright flash of light that had left him half as tall and far less intimidating.
"Minister Scrimgeour! Minister Scrimgeour!" two voices cried out in dismay.
No longer tall enough to see over the edge of his desk, Rufus slipped down from a now-oversized chair, drew his now-oversized wand, and scampered around the side, causing the bells that hung on his coxcomb hat to jingle.
"Well, at least I'm in good company," the wizard mused, as he took in the appearance of his underlings.
Percy and Umbridge had each lost half their height, and made up a fair bit of the difference in grossly expanded waistlines. Percy was dressed in a brightly-colored shirt and red muggle overalls, oversized clown shoes, and a green coxcomb hat with silver bells on the tips. Dolores sported a long purple skirt, canary-yellow blouse, and a frilly green apron. Her coxcomb hat was red, with a large flower in it.
The Director of Knowns had grown a red beard that mirrored Scrimgeour's white beard in length and style (in that both lacked mustaches). While Umbridge had managed to avoid a facial hair curse, her hair had turned bright yellow, and now hung in thick braided pigtails. Her nose, like Percy's and Scrimgeour's, was proportionately grossly oversized, and sloped like a ski-jump.
"What in Merlin's name?"
"It's the kind of prank my twin brothers would pull," Percy stated.
"Let's hope that it's just a prank," Scrimgeour replied, as he tried to transfigure his current costume back into proper robes.
The spell didn't work, and a follow-up tickling hex successfully applied to Percy proved that it wasn't because Scrimgeour had lost his magic, or lost compatibility with his oversized wand.
Percy and Umbridge drew their own wands, and the three proceeded to cast every spell cancelling charm that they knew on themselves.
Nothing worked.
"We haven't eaten or drank anything," Scrimgeour mused.
"The Fidelius charm contract, Minister!" Percy whimpered. "It's the only reasonable explanation…unless everyone else in the Ministry has been similarly pranked."
"Why don't you go and find out?" huffed Umbridge.
"Easier to check on that contract," Percy countered. "I still have it in my office."
The red-bearded midget waddled out of the Minister's office, and returned a few moments later holding a smoking piece of parchment by one corner. He rolled it out on the floor, revealing a message with flashing red letters that was superposed over the original black-inked script.
"CONTRACT BREACHED BY MINISTRY OF MAGIC!"
"Oh, bugger," Percy muttered.
oo00OO00oo
4:00pm Dyrrheim Station, Oslo, Norway
The look of wonder on Harry's face belied the fatigue as he strolled down the main concourse of Dyrrheim Station. He knew that he should have been using the precious down time to rest…that was, after all, why Hermione had insisted on them booking a room at the station's inn while she was back in London for consultations. But there was too much to see…too much to take in, on what was, after all, Harry's first trip away from Britain's shores.
The Queen's Wizard had met witches and wizards from different countries and traditions at Quidditch World Cup, so it wasn't the many languages being spoken, or difference in clothing that caught his attention. And while he'd been impressed by the station workings, and the magic behind it, Dyrrheim wasn't any more awe-inspiring than his first trip to Diagon, or first sight of Hogwarts.
It was the conflation of Muggle and magical that caught Harry so off-guard. While there was no doubt that Dyrrheim was part of the wizarding world, the influence of non-magical society was everywhere. The station's newsstand (which stood next to a Starbucks) offered the Muggle Aftenposten and International Herald Tribune, as well as The Daily Prophet and Le Monde Magique. Travelers passed Harry wearing black tie-ups or trainers as often as dragonhide boots. Within a small magical toy shop Harry discovered scale-model airplanes that had been charmed to fly just as well as plushie dragons and hippogriffs in the next bin.
The true scale of muddling between magical and mundane really struck home when Harry came upon Dyrrheim Station's entertainment concourse. Along the margins of a small-scale magical amusement park filled with screaming children were themed restaurants/bars that had been lifted straight out of the Muggle world…
To his immediate left was "Ten Forward," with windows filled with stars and entrance doors that automatically slid open with a distinct pneumatic-sounding "ping."
On Harry's right was "Rick's Café American"…a facility that glamour-charmed its staff and patrons in grayscale tones to match its black and white décor.
And on the far end of the concourse…well, there was no doubt where he was heading once Harry read the advert for the adobe-walled structure, and spied its rather furry bouncer.
A wide grin grew on the Queen's Wizard's face while he made his way past the carnival rides and games, and began to hear the melody of an iconic ragtime jazz tune. Wondering just (or what) might be playing the clarinet (or its Tatooine equivalent), Harry gave a nod towards the Wookie that sat just outside the door, and walked with confidence into the "Mos Eisley Cantina."
The room was just as dark and dank as its cinematic analogue, which suited Harry just fine as his eyes adjusted…this made it easier for him to gawk anonymously at the other patrons. At least he assumed that they were patrons…that more than a few "people" resembled aliens, or were dressed in Jedi robes, led Harry to suspect that there were a few house actors in the mix.
The Queen's Wizard stepped up to the bar and ordered a butterbeer with a pepper-up chaser from a gruff bartender. While waiting for his drink, someone brushed against his left side. He turned, and locked eyes with a dark-haired beauty with three breasts.
"Erm..hello," he squawked, trying desperately not to allow his eyes to drift down towards the woman's diaphanous top.
"I like your robes," the woman said seductively, and with only a trace of Scandinavian accent to her English.
"Thanks…I…like yours too," he stammered, as the woman ran a finger down his sleeve.
The woman smiled as she pulled the sheer front to the side and exposed her tri-peaked chest to Harry.
"Want to play with them, Mr. Wizard?"
"Erm…aren't you in the wrong movie?" he asked.
"Is that a complaint?"
"No, not really."
The witch smiled, and leaned forward.
"You look like the kind of wizard who could use a good wand polishing."
Harry chuckled. "Thanks, but I've got that covered."
The witch smiled, and reached for Harry's crotch.
"Well, then we'll just have to uncover it, won't we?"
Harry grabbed the woman's hand and shook his head.
"Thanks, but I'm waiting for my girlfriend," he replied firmly.
The witch pouted.
"Earth slime," she muttered, as she drifted towards a pair of wide-eyed potential customers that had just entered the bar.
The vibration of Harry's Art Club badge kept him from tracking the success of her sales pitch too closely.
"Go ahead, Roger," he muttered into his chest.
"Have need to weigh anchors, Milord Admiral."
Harry rolled his eyes and said, "Give us a sec, then."
Wishing to keep their badge-jumping abilities quiet, Harry slipped into a loo that was far more sanitary than authenticity might have otherwise demanded and waited for a Han Solo-wannabe to wash up and leave.
"Welcome to magical Norway," he said, after anchoring Roger Granger's badge-jump.
Hermione's father snorted as he glanced at the tile and chrome trim.
"Looks rather like Muggle Norway to me," he stated.
"Tell me that once we're outside," Harry replied, as he cast a `cone of silence' charm. He then asked, "So what's going on back home?"
"Hermione is still with COBRA…have you heard anything from her?" When Harry shook his head he continued on.
"Ron's out of surgery, but Remus says that it'll be a couple days until he comes around?"
Harry nodded. "Draught of the Living Dead doesn't have a counter…in for a penny, knocked out for forty-eight hours."
Roger nodded with understanding. "So the three Internationals are back at the Institute…classes have been cancelled, and Rongo has all of the students out on the pitch dancing up a storm."
This garnered a raised eyebrow. "Literally dancing up a storm?" asked Harry.
Roger shrugged. "We sent all of the others that you rescued there as well…convinced them that it would be easier for their families to be gathered if the Ministry still thought they were on that island."
An Imperial Storm Trooper entered the loo just then, and disappeared into a stall. Roger asked a loud question with his arched eyebrows.
"Star Wars theme bar," Harry said with a grin.
"But how would witches or wizards know about…"
"Industrial Light and Magic," Harry replied.
"So the line between magical and mundane is a little less rigid outside of Britain?"
"So it would seem," said Harry. "But I should get going…there was a reason for you to swap places with me, right?"
Roger smiled grimly. "Powers that be want you to escort some live eyes into your Rookery flat."
"Live eyes?" asked Harry. "Live ammo as well?"
Hermione's dad shrugged. "Imagine that you'll find out soon enough. Wally is set to anchor you."
Harry sighed. "Right, then we'll need to get you up to my room, where you're out of the way."
"What?" asked Roger. "And miss my chance to use the Force?"
"It's their chance to use wands that worries me," Harry replied, gesturing towards the door. "Most of those surly blokes look to be playing parts, but if any of them aren't…"
"Then I've got a badge-full of back-up," Roger replied. "Not to mention a few tricks up my sleeve."
"I don't know…"
"Aw, come on, Harry…please?"
Against his better judgment, the Queen's Wizard acquiesced.
oo00OO00oo
MI-5 Headquarters, Thames Bank, London
It would have been easier for Harry to regain equilibrium after badge-jumping from Norway to London had he actually arrived at the anticipated destination.
"Wally?" he asked, looking around at an empty conference room. "Why are we at Headquarters, rather than the Rookery?"
The well-dressed secret agent waggled his eyebrows. "Because your guests are being picked up here, Lord G…why do you smell like a well-used ashtray?"
Harry glanced down at his attire.
"Erm…guess the cantina was a little smoky."
"What were you doing in a cantina?"
Harry chuckled as he pulled out his wand to cast a cleaning charm, and replied, "Turning down the advances of a working girl with three baps."
Wally arched an eyebrow as he grabbed Harry's arm. "Don't bother with those…you'll need to switch out to your dapper muggle kit."
"What for?"
"Because you will look rather silly otherwise, when you step out of the stretch limo."
Harry silently stared at Wally for a beat, then shrugged his shoulders and began to unbutton his robes.
"So," Wally asked, "this woman with three breasts…don't imagine that her name was Eccentrica Gallumbits?"
The Queen's Wizard frowned.
"No, reckon she fancied that Schwarzenegger sci-fi movie…who is this Gallumbits?"
Wally rolled his eyes and let out a deep sigh. "Hitchhiker's Guide, Lord G…you know, I'm going to have to have a word with Roger about your Muggle cultural immersion classes."
"Hey, I rather like his syllabus," Harry said with a grin, as he pulled a Kevlar-reinforced suit jacket out from his bottomless rucksack. "What's wrong with his movie list?"
"It doesn't involve any reading," Wally replied with a frown, as he pressed down Harry's lapels. "How is it that this jacket isn't wrinkled beyond repair each time you ball it up and stuff it in your pack?"
"Magic," Harry replied with a snort.
"Just as well," said Wally. "Wouldn't do for you to be all frumpy and rumpled after I played up your rugged good looks to the girls."
"What girls?"
"The girls that you'll be putting up in your bachelor pad, Lord G."
"Thought that I was helping forward observers and a sniper team or two to set up in my Rookery flat?"
"You are."
"And they're all female?"
"Yes."
"And this is part of some plan from higher ups?"
"Indeed."
"So why am I putting an all-girl team up in my flat?"
"Plausibility, Lord G," he replied with a smile. "You did say that some of the Patriarchs use their flats to house their mistresses, right?"
"Yeah."
"And, though it breaks my heart to say so, you do fancy girls more than blokes?"
Harry snorted, and in a gesture of mock-comfort, placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Oh, Ralph…you know that you'd be on the top of my dance card if I didn't."
"By still, by beating heart," the secret agent replied, as he rapidly fluttered his eyelids. He then added, "Time to meet your harem, Conan."
The Queen's Wizard rolled his eyes, and followed Wally out the door.
The walk from conference room to lift allowed Harry to mull over the situation, and to have a question ready once they were alone in a descending car.
"So Wally…these are Muggle Jane Bonds, right?"
"Yes."
"But they're going to be setting up in a magical flat?"
Wally nodded. "That's why we've recruited two of your Brigadiddies to help them out."
"Two of my what?"
Two of your Peanut Butter Babes."
"Babes, huh?" Harry asked with a wink. "Thinking of batting from the other side of the wicket, now?"
Wally chuckled and shook his head. Lift doors opening to the ground level lobby gave him an excuse not to banter back.
"So…who is it?" Harry hissed.
Wally smiled. "You'll see."
Harry scowled. "So now you're a comedian as well?"
All he got in response was more chuckling, as Wally led him past the guard desk and out the front doors, where three sexily dressed women were waiting for them with their luggage. In short order, Harry was introduced to a blonde beauty with a big chest and bigger hair, a taller, intelligent-looking woman with shorter, straighter black hair, and a gorgeous brunette with high cheek bones and a brilliant white smile.
As Roger Granger's crash course in Muggle entertainment had inexplicably not yet covered an iconic 1970's American television show (or a much more recent big-screen cover), the names Kelly Garrett, Sabrina Duncan, and Jill Munroe meant nothing to Harry.
Wally, however, thought the aliases were hilarious, and entirely appropriate.
If the three women were surprised at their fellow secret agent's young age, they didn't show it…instead, he saw in their eyes cool professionalism, and a hint of danger. And since he was working diligently to keep his eyes from drifting down towards plunging necklines and thigh-baring hemlines, there was more than enough time for Harry to make that assessment.
The arrival of the longest motor vehicle that the Queen's Wizard had ever seen kept them from going much beyond introductions.
"Is this a company car, Wally?" he asked, gaping at the white stretch Hummer.
"All part of the role-play, stud," the secret agent replied, as the hired car stopped and his partner popped out dressed in a tuxedo.
"Good afternoon, Guv'nor," the driver said with a salute.
"Oh, cut it out, Steve," Harry whined. "Queen let you out of bed, then?"
"Something like that," the agent quipped. He then turned towards the female agents and tipped his hat. "May I take your bags, ladies?"
As the three female secret agents rolled their bags towards the oversized boot, Harry pulled Wally aside.
"So where are the witches?"
The dapper Muggle winked, opened the limousine's rear door, and waved an arm towards the leather-trimmed, LCD-lit interior.
"Hey Harry!" a voice called from inside. The Queen's Wizard ducked his head, and caught his breath at the sight of a whole lot of Lavender Brown's and Lisa Turpin's legs. The two were sitting on a side-mounted bench, facing him, with glasses of champagne in their hands. Each was wearing a pink sequined micro-mini dress with a plunging neckline and knee-high white leather boots.
"Erm…Hi, Lavender...Lisa."
His blonde-haired house mate smiled and uncrossed her legs. A flash of red knickers hit Harry in the face as Lavender slowly straightened her leg out towards him.
"You know," she cooed seductively, "after that crowded flying trip in the Muggle helio-chopper, it's so nice to now have this much leg room…don't you think?"
"Ahhhh…yes, well…I'm glad that you're comfortable," Harry stammered.
Lisa smiled, and flashed white knickers (unintentionally, in contrast to Lavender) as she uncrossed her legs and shifted down the bench to create some space between herself and the other witch.
"So come have a seat, Milord," she said, patting the bit of upholstery next to her hip. "And tell us about your lovers hideaway."
"Erm…no need to crowd, given all of the available seating, is there?"
"Just climb in, Stud," one of the female agents said from behind, as she gave Harry's bum a slap. Lavender added to his forward momentum by leaning forward and grabbing an arm (showing him her ample cleavage in the process). Harry lost his balance, tumbled forward, ending up with his head in the blonde witch's lap.
"Oh, my," Lavender hissed, as she ran her fingers through Harry's hair. "It's just like my dreams…except that you're still wearing clothes."
"With these tinted windows, don't let that stop you," quipped `Kelly' as she ducked her head and slipped onto the rear-facing leather bench.
"No thanks, I'm good," Harry said quickly, as he scrambled up onto the empty bench facing Kelly.
"Yes, that's what we've heard," Lisa said, as she waggled her eyebrows.
The other two "Angels" climbed into the seating area, and Wally poked his head inside the vehicle.
"I'd tell you not to do anything that I wouldn't do, Lord Gryffindor, but…"
"You wouldn't do buts, Wally?" Harry replied with a grin.
The secret agent's eyes lit up and he blew Harry a kiss.
"Of course not, Milord…you know that I'm saving myself for you."
"Scamp!"
"Scoundrel!"
"Would you want me any other way?"
"I want you in the worst way, luv!"
"In your dreams!"
"Don't think I can wait that long, Milord."
"Too Much Information!"
Wally smiled, and dramatically held the back of his hand to his forehead.
"And too little time for a tug."
"Not from what I've heard."
"Oh! You wound me, Sir!"
Harry chuckled. "And I suppose you want me to kiss it all better?"
"Yes, well…a bloke can dream, right?" Wally said with a laugh, as he finally closed the door and sent the car off.
As Harry's eyes readjusted to the interior lighting, he spied smiles on the faces of the three secret agents. Lisa and Lavender, however, had far more contemplative looks.
"So, Harry?"
"Yeah, Lavender?"
"Something going on between you and your male friend?"
Harry snorted. "No, no…just a bit of flirty banter."
"So…you were flirting with him?"
"Not for real, Lavender," Harry replied, adding, "Not that there's anything wrong with that."
His housemate frowned a bit, then leaned forward and balanced her weight with a hand placed high on Harry's thigh. She placed her lips next to his ear, squeezed his leg, and mock-whispered, "So if you fancy witches, why can't we get a rise out of you when we're dressed this way?"
Harry took in a deep breath, then expelled it as he took Lavender's hand from his leg and scooted away from her.
"Because I've got good Occlumency skills, and a very hot girlfriend."
Lavender cocked her head to one side for a moment of thought. She then gave him a sly smile, dragged a finger down the length of her plunging neckline, and said, "So maybe your very hot girlfriend shares?"
Harry snorted softly. "You'll have to ask herself."
A vibrating ray on his Art Club badge kept Harry from hearing Lavender's retort. He held out his hand, brought a single finger to his lips asking for quiet, and activated his badge.
"Something wrong, Roger?" he asked.
oo00OO00oo
Roger Granger had been sitting at the Mos Eisley Cantina's bar trying to decide whether he'd rather be a Jedi or Han Solo when someone pulled on the sleeve of his Clan Potter robes. He turned and reflexively jerked back from the onslaught of bad-breath coming from a dark-robed wizard who owned more fingers than teeth.
"Hey! I don't like you!" the man declared with a slurred voice.
Roger frowned…the drunk was dressed in wizard's robes, discounting the possibility that it was a hired actor doing a bit of role-play.
"Sorry to hear that," he muttered, as he turned away from the wizard and looked down at his drink.
A few seconds later, Roger felt a more insistent tapping on his shoulder.
"I said that I don't like you!" the foul-smelling wizard insisted.
Roger swore under his breath, and "called" Harry with an activation phrase whispered into a hunched shoulder.
Harry's response was intentionally muffled with a robe sleeve.
"Look, mate," Roger said clearly. "I'm just minding my own business…not looking for a wand fight."
The foul-smelling wizard sneered, and casually pulled a twelve-inch long dagger from his sleeve.
"Who said anything about fightin' with wands?" he asked, as he pretended to clean his grungy black fingernails.
Roger could feel the attention of the bar shift towards the confrontation. A hand that had reflexively slipped inside his robes and reached for a hand gun stopped when he remembered where he was, and how much trouble he might get into by drawing a muggle firearm within a room filled with wizards. So instead, he drew that hand back and snaked it up into his sleeves, where Weasley Wheezes were strapped to his forearm.
"Well, that's an interesting knife," Roger declared.
This observation was all that a certain wizard listening in from the back of a London limousine needed to decide that his potential father-in-law could use back-up. Harry immediately badge-jumped to Roger's side in the quietest "apparition" that the cantina's patrons had ever seen. Getting a quick visual confirmation of the scene that he'd pieced together over the open badge line, Harry smoothly pulled the Sword of Gryffindor from its back-mounted scabbard.
Shaking his head dismissively, the Queen's Wizard unbuttoned his suit jacket, and swung the blade in a chest-high sweep that ended with its tip pointing towards the heckler's hands.
Harry then smiled, and using his best Aussie accent drawled, "That's not a knife…This is a knife."
After a moment of near-silence, the nearly-toothless wizard correctly read the situation and scowled. A knife was sheathed, a few coins thrown down at the bar, and he was ushered out the front doors by jeers and derisive laughter.
As Harry sheathed his own "knife" the other bar patrons lost interest and went back to their own hushed conversations. Roger returned the "portable swamp" and "instant darkness" balls that he'd been gripping to their respective slots on his arm pack and shook his head.
"Thanks for the help, Harry," he said. "Though I was expecting more Obi-Wan and less Crocodile Dundee."
"Couldn't be helped, Bruce," Harry quipped, trying to hold the accent in place. "Left my light saber back in London."
Roger snorted, and joined in with his own drawling accent. "Fancy a drink, then, Bruce?"
Harry chuckled. "Wish I could, Bruce, but I've got to get the Sheilas settled in."
The banter was interrupted by a much thicker (and far more authentic) butchering of the Queen's English.
"Beaut showing there, mate…that sword draw was flat out like a lizard drinking!"
The Queen's Wizard turned towards the newcomer, who was dressed in khaki-colored robes similar to those worn by a half-dozen similarly dressed men who were crowded into a corner booth.
"Erm, thanks," he replied.
"Mind you, the Aussie accents are all dunny dangles."
Roger laughed at the negative assessment (even if he didn't know its exact provenance).
"Yes, well…not everyone is fortunate enough to have been born on God's own Earth."
"Too right, there," the wizard grinned. He stuck out his hand and said, "Name's Bruce."
Roger snorted, shook the wizard's hand, and replied, "Michael Baldwin."
The Australian squinted at Roger for a moment, then broke out into a roar.
"Right, then…that might get a bit confusing…mind if we call you New-Bruce?"
"Wouldn't want it any other way, Bruce," Roger replied.
The Aussie nodded and turned towards the Queen's Wizard, who stuck out his own hand and said, "I'm Harry."
The wizard in khakis caught sight of the lightning bolt-shaped scar and drew in a breath.
"Bloody hell…what do you think this is, bush week?"
The Queen's Wizard frowned. "Fine then…call me Bruce."
The khaki-robed wizard nodded. "Don't mean to be rude…it's just that I've had to deal with two other Boy-Who-Lived ring-ins, just in the last few months…and we aren't supposed to hook up to the real one `til Pommyland."
Roger let out a snort as Harry's eyes went wide at the thought of possible impersonators Down Under.
"So what business do you have with the real Harry Potter?" he asked.
"Why would you need to know, mate?"
"Because he really is Harry Potter, Bruce," replied Roger.
"For real?"
Roger nodded. "Unless it's one of your Queen's Wizard-wannabes who is sleeping with my daughter."
"Hey!"
The Australian Auror's eyes went wide. He ignored Harry's protests and said, "Cris'sake…what the bloody hell you doing here?"
Harry cocked his head to one side.
"Having a drink?"
The Australian wizard looked down at Harry's butterbeer with a sniff.
"That's not a drink!" he declared. "Oy! Bartender! Throw two more tinnies on the tab!"
Harry used this distraction to activate his Art Club badge.
"Wally?"
"Go ahead, Lord G?"
"Am I supposed to be meeting with a group of Australian wizards?"
"No, you're supposed to be in a limo with Charlie's Angels…what's going on?"
"Nothing much…had to make a quick trip back to Oslo to back-up Roger."
"Everything okay, then?"
"Yeah, no worries…except for meeting the Aussies."
"Oh, well, yeah…that was supposed to happen later on tonight …they're already in Oslo?"
"I guess so."
"How did they get there so fast?"
"Magic, I reckon," Harry said snidely. "So what's the story?"
The Australian turned back towards Harry levitating a platter of beer cans in front of him.
"Story on what, mate?"
"Oh, sorry," said Harry. "I was just checking in with my headquarters."
"Using that fancy bit of jewelry?" the wizard asked.
"Not that you know," Harry replied.
"Well come on, then, and meet the boys," replied the Australian, as he headed towards a booth filled with similarly-dressed wizards. Harry ended his call to Wally with a quick request for Steve to call back once he'd arrived at the Rookery, then followed along with Roger.
"Took you long enough, Bruce!" whined one of the men sitting within the booth.
"Sod off, Bruce." The wizard replied, as he slipped the tray filled with beer cans onto the table, pointed towards Roger, and added, "Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to a man from Pommeyland named Bruce."
"G'day Bruce," the wizards all replied.
The wizard then turned towards the Boy-Who-Lived and said, "And this here, mates, is none other than Harry Potter."
"Go on! Give us the good oil!"
"Yes, yes, it's true, or else he wouldn't be rooting New-Bruce's shiralee."
"Hey! Who said that I'm…rooting?"
"Harry Potter, Bruce. Harry Potter, Bruce. Harry Potter, Bruce…that fella's my best mate Bruce, and that daggy bastard over there…his name is Bruce."
"G'day."
"Is your name not Bruce, then?" one of them asked Harry.
The Queen's Wizard shook his head as Roger broke out into a wide grin.
"Yes, yes…I know, that's going to cause a little confusion."
"Good that you see it…mind if we call you Bruce to keep it clear?"
Harry smiled and nodded his head. "No worries."
"Right then," stated one of the boothed Bruces. "Have a seat and we'll start the faculty meeting."
Roger smiled. "Of the philosophy department at the University of Walamaloo?"
"How'd you guess, New-Bruce?" the Aussie asked. "But first I'd like to ask the padre for a prayer."
A different Bruce held a hand over the tray of beer cans and said, "Oh Lord, we beseech Thee, Amen!!"
"Amen!"
Somebody named Bruce called out, "Crack tubes!" and everyone opened a can.
Harry was in the middle of a long draw on his beer when his Art Club badge vibrated. He quickly pulled his lips away from the can when he glanced down…then relaxed a bit when he realized that it was Steve who was calling, rather than the Queen (whose "ray" was right next door).
"Alright, there, New-Bruce-too?" asked one of the Australians.
"No worries," Harry replied. "Just a bit of business to attend to. So are you lot really are heading towards Britain?"
"That's the plan, New-Bruce-too," replied Head-Bruce. "Her Majesty the Queen asked the Prime Minister for some assistance…we here are going to be `Advisors,' while you sort out your squabbles."
"She asked your Muggle Prime Minister to send Magical Advisors?"
Bruce shrugged. "A bit more casual about secrecy issues Down Under."
All of the Bruces nodded, and intoned, "Australia, Australia, Australia, we love you, Amen!"
"Crack tubes!"
"But they're already cracked, Bruce."
"Oh, bugger, so they are. Drink up then, and Bruce…your shout, mate."
"Is not…I bought the round before you…it's Bruce's shout."
"I'll buy," Roger offered.
"Oh, no, New-Bruce, can't have that…not allowed in the Rules."
"What Rules?"
"Rule Six."
"But Bruce, there is no rule six!"
Roger snorted. "Rule seven then?"
One of the Bruces automatically called back, "No Poofters!…oh, blast!"
All of the other Aussie Aurors laughed, and pulled the Bruce who had responded to his feet.
"Cultural sensitivity training," Head-Bruce explained, as the respondent headed towards the bar. "Not allowed to call the natives and homosexuals like we used to."
"So how is that training?" Roger asked.
"Well, it's positive reinforcement, you see," Head-Bruce replied. "Every time one of the boys calls a homosexual a `hoofter-with-a-p', he has to buy the next round."
Roger laughed. "Wouldn't that be negative reinforcement?"
New-Bruce shook his head. "Nothing negative about getting a beer out of it, is there?"
Harry smiled and added, "Sounds like a good excuse to drink."
"Now, New-Bruce-too…are you implying that we need a good excuse to drink?"
Harry snorted. "No, never…especially since it's…what time is it back in Australia right now?"
Head-Bruce shrugged and smiled. "It's always tinny time, mate." Something then caught his eye and he looked passed Roger's shoulder.
"Aw, Cris'sake…there goes the bloody neighborhood."
Harry turned his head, and spied six bare-chested warrior-sorcerers enter the bar.
"You got a problem with Maori, Bruce?"
"No, no…just a bit of friendly rivalry with our Kiwi colleagues."
"Hey Bruce," one of the others called out. "Isn't it time for something completely different?"
"Why so it is," Head-Bruce stated.
"So what's something completely different?" Roger asked with a grin of anticipation.
"A man with a tape recorder up his nose," replied Head-Bruce.
The Aussie proceeded to tilt his head to one side and stick an index finger up his left nostril. Whatever magic that was hidden within his nose started to broadcast a recording of a brass band playing the Australian national anthem, and all of the Bruces began to sing along…with gusto and raised tins.
But as Harry didn't know the words to "Waltzing Matilda," he used this distraction to pop back to London.
oo00OO00oo
Steve was sitting in the back of the stretch Hummer when he anchored Harry's return jump, and the same magic that had parked him outside Hermione's bedcurtains (rather than inside) took hold once more.
Lavender's eyes shifted skyward from the wizard who had just appeared on her lap and she cried out, "Thank you, Morgana!"
"Erm, sorry about that," Harry said, as he pulled his house mate's hugging arms away from his waist and shifted over onto a seat.
"Don't be, I'm not sorry," she replied.
Steve snickered and shook his head in disbelief.
"So, Harry, we're double-parked in front of the Rookery, and I've just gone back over their briefing."
The Queen's Wizard nodded. "So you all know about the memory erasing magic that will affect you once you leave the building?"
Secret Agent Jill nodded. "Everything that happens inside the building stays in the building."
"And all of you are okay with that? I mean, it's not something that we've been able to fix."
"Oh, we'll muddle through somehow, Harry," Lavender purred. "Consider it our sacrifice for the war effort."
Harry stared at the blonde witch for a moment, then let out a deep breath.
"Right then, I'll have to escort you in two at a time, just to drag you through the magical wards…we'll split the witches in the first two shifts, just to keep the others from freaking out from the magic inside."
The Queen's Wizard ignored Lavender's comment that he could split her anytime he wanted, and addressed Agent Kelly's question.
"There might be a house-elf concierge inside," he explained. "You certainly won't be the first lovely Muggle ladies to visit, but partnering with a magical will help with any questions you might have."
With plans thus made, Steve stepped outside and began transferring luggage from boot to curb. Lisa Turpin and Agent Sabrina followed Harry out to the sidewalk and clutched his arms tightly as he pulled them into the ground floor lobby. A house elf was indeed there to greet them.
"Good afternoon, Patriarch Potter," the diminutive sentient said with a low bow.
"Good day to you, Gilbert," Harry replied with a smile. "I'd like to introduce you to Lisa and Sabrina. They're my…well, let's just say that I'll be hosting them in my flat for a period of time."
A nearly-imperceptible glimmer shined in the House Elf's eyes. He bowed once more and said, "Very Good, Sir…and ladies, welcome to the Rookery. If there is anything that the two of you need during your stay, please do not hesitate to call for me."
"Thank you, Gilbert," Lisa replied. Sabrina only nodded, but the fact that she hadn't blown her cover upon first sight of a non-human sentient was, in Harry's opinion, impressive.
"If that is all of your luggage, ladies, I'll bring it up to the flat presently."
"Well, actually, Gilbert," Harry replied. "I've got more luggage…and three more ladies waiting outside."
The House Elf's eyes went just a little wider with surprise, as he began to make favorable comparisons between this Patriarch and his grandfather, who had been secretly referred to by all of the Rookery staff as "Randy Andy" Potter.
He bowed a third time and replied, "I would be most pleased to attend to Miss Lisa and Miss Sabrina while you complete your party."
"Thank you, Gilbert," Harry said with a smile.
Before he could turn towards the entrance, Lisa Turpin took some initiative and pulled Harry into a tight embrace.
"Don't be too long, lover," she cooed.
Harry choked on some spittle and whispered his questioned response into her ear. Lisa kissed his cheek, gave his bum a squeeze, and whispered back that she was just staying "in character."
Wondering just how he was going to explain this to Hermione, the Queen's Wizard sighed, and headed back outside, where Lavender Brown insisted that only one more shuttle was needed. When Harry pointed out that he only had two arms, the witch smiled, and asked for a piggy-back ride.
She was most disappointed when Harry offered only his left arm, with Secret Agent Jill taking hold of his right. He quickly and efficiently returned for Secret Agent Kelly, and accepted Steve's wishes for good luck.
Of course, both understood that those wishes were offered more for his next visit with Hermione, rather than for anything associated with the group that was waiting for Harry inside the lobby.
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