Muggle Summer by canoncansodoff

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 25/05/2006
Last Updated: 04/12/2009
Status: In Progress

A seventh-year saga that begins one hour after Dumbledore's funeral. Harry gets some
unexpected and unexpectedly useful help from the Muggle World...so much that he wonders whether the
power he knows not is actually Her Royal Majesty and her government! HHr, RWLL




1. Back Before He Left
----------------------



**A/N:** Time to roll out the semi-obligatory seventh-year saga. As the title indicates,
I'm going to limit the story to the first three months. Why? Well, the first six chapters are
in the can: roughly 18,000 words to describe the first 18 hours after Dumbledore's funeral. At
that rate I'd have to donate an extra server to our web hosts to support a year's worth of
story.

This is one is canon-plausible, gentle readers, and begins about an hour after Harry sees
Ron's arm wrapped around Hermione's shoulders. There's harmony in every chapter if you
squint hard enough, but those impatient for the apple pie payoff might better check out my
one-shots (listed below). It'll take a while in this one.

Thanks for reading, and please review.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, no familiars harmed during the
production of this text.

++++++++++++++

**Chapter 1 - Back before he left**

“Wotcher, Harry. Headmistress McGonagall needs to see you in her office.”

Harry reluctantly opened his eyes. He didn't bother asking Tonks how she had found him. She
was an Auror; she was used to finding wizards who didn't want to be found.

So much for the avoidance planning.

Jump the queue and pre-board the train using your quidditch team captain's badge. Split off
from Ron and Hermione when they head to the prefect's car and find an empty compartment. Cast
*Silencio* spells on both the outside and inside of the compartment door. Top it off by
charming the door window with the illusion of a student-filled compartment.

It had bought him five minutes of quiet.

“Argh,” muttered Harry. “The train will leave before I even make it back to the castle!”

“Imagine so,” she replied. “But I'm sure the Headmistress will get you to London
somehow.”

He didn't really want to meet with anyone, but he lacked the energy to argue about it.

Tonks wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “I'll let your friends know what happened, and see
to it that your trunk makes it to your Aunt and Uncle's house.”

“That's okay, Tonks” replied Harry, as he reluctantly pulled out his wand and released
Hedwig from her cage. “I'll just shrink my trunk and Hedwig's cage and carry them with
me.”

“And do what once you do make it to the Dursleys?” asked Tonks, as she turned him around to face
her. “Still an underage wizard, you know.”

Harry looked at her with a tinge of annoyance. She was right; Harry couldn't legally do
magic outside of Hogwarts for another eight weeks. In spite of his destination he packed his school
robes into the trunk, and shoved the invisibility cloak into his sweatshirt pocket. With Hedwig on
his shoulder for company, he stepped back onto the platform and started the long walk back towards
the castle.

++++++++++++++

Dumbledore's password still worked.

The Headmistress of Hogwarts was sitting behind the large wooden desk, lost in thought and
gazing out the window. She looked like a balloon whose air had been released.

Without turning towards Harry, she conjured a comfortable chair and asked “Tea?”

“Yes, please,” Harry said, as he fully entered the room. “Erm…I'm sorry, but I wasn't
quite sure what to do with Hedwig.”

“No matter,” replied the Headmistress. “Fawkes's roost is empty.”

Harry tried to shoo Hedwig towards Fawkes's perch, but she wanted no part of it, and flew
instead to the window sill. Harry looked around the office as the Headmistress poured two cups of
tea. On the whole, it still appeared as if Dumbledore should be behind the desk, rather than
hanging on the wall.

He looked over the Headmistress's shoulder at the portrait of the former Headmaster.

She noticed his gaze. “He hasn't woken yet,” McGonagall said. “The other portraits tell me
that it might take weeks.”

Harry sighed and sat down. There were so many questions, so many needs, and so little hope….

McGonagall interrupted his thoughts. “That said, he's apparently still found a way to reach
out to us.”

She picked up a piece of parchment and passed it across the desk. Harry immediately recognized
the neat handwriting of his former mentor:

*Dear Harry,*

*Please forgive the brevity of this message. There is someone you should meet prior to your
return to the Dursleys. The sword will come in handy. More to say once I get used to this
portraiture.*

*Regards,*

*Albus Dumbledore*

*Former Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry*

“When I returned from the memorial service I found that note stuck on the portrait frame,” the
Headmistress said.

Harry frowned. “Do you think it could be a trap?”

“That was my initial thought,” McGonagall replied, “but even with Dumbledore gone I can not
imagine how Voldemort could arrange to have a note written in Albus' hand placed within this
office.”

Harry thought about that for a second. “Can't imagine Voldemort asking me to bring the Sword
of Gryffindor to our next get together either.”

He rose from his chair and began to pace in front of the desk.

Headmistress McGonagall chewed on her lower lip. “Harry,” she asked, “will you sit and talk with
me for a few minutes?”

He furrowed his eyebrows as he sat back down. Harry had never seen her so tentative before.

The Headmistress turned away from Harry as she conjured a handkerchief and rubbed the corners of
her eyes. She turned back towards him and took a few moments to compose her thoughts.

“They say that if you want to truly know a wizard you need to fly a mile on his broomstick,” she
began. “While I've always thought myself highly sympathetic to your situation, it's only
been in the past few days that I've truly come to appreciate the burden that you carry.”

“How is that, ma'am?” Harry asked.

“Well, it's just that…. Dumbledore's dead, Snape's betrayed us, Voldemort's
chasing after my students and Hogwarts could well close its doors for the first time in over 700
years,” she replied. “And in an emergency meeting earlier today, the Hogwarts trustees removed the
“Interim” portion from my title. Apparently, I am now their own “Chosen One,” - the person who is
supposed to prevail against all that.”

The Headmistress looked down at her desk. “Frankly, Harry, I don't feel prepared to meet
their expectations. And yet I don't feel I have any other choice but to try. Does that sound
familiar?”

Harry could see the vulnerability, and accepted it for what it was. A very small voice in his
head told him to resent the fact that she was asking for his compassion, given all that he'd
been through himself (it was, he noted, a voice that sounded a lot like Draco Malfoy's.) It
wasn't hard to ignore it.

“Yes ma'am,” he said with his own eyes moistening. “That does sound very familiar.”

A second handkerchief was conjured for Harry's benefit.

McGonagall let him blow his nose before continuing. “Harry,” she said, “over the past six years
I doubt that anyone would characterize my interactions with you as maternal.”

“Oh don't say that, ma'am,” replied Harry, “unless you've bought a new broomstick
for every new seeker on your house quidditch team.”

“Yes, well, that was a happier time for all of us, wasn't it,” she said. “A time when taking
the House Cup from Snape's office was more important than…”

“Than taking his head from his shoulders?”

“Quite,” she agreed simply.

“What I'm trying to say is that just as I was Deputy Headmistress, I always found myself
also being deputy surrogate parent.”

Harry looked at her quizzically. “Ma'am, I'm not sure I understand.”

A fresh handkerchief was conjured and used.

“I always let Albus make the important decisions about your care, even when I strongly disagreed
with him,” she replied. “Did you know that I was perched on their fence the day before Albus placed
you on the Dursley's doorstep? I watched them…dreadful people…I did not want you in their
care.”

“No, I didn't know that,” Harry said. “Don't suppose Professor Dumbledore ever admitted
you were right?”

“Well, yes,” she replied, “Albus was trusting to a fault, and it took him a long time to accept
the possibility that blood relatives would treat you so badly. Though once I learned of the
protections that your mother's sacrifice provided I understood there was incentive to hope for
the best.”

“But now that he's passed on,” she continued, “there are things you should know.”

McGonagall shuffled through the parchment on her desk, and pulled out a single piece from the
pile. She looked down at it, then looked up at Harry.

“Before their deaths, your parents made arrangements for your care in case…well, they knew they
were in great danger. Their wills designated your Aunt Petunia as your legal guardian and Professor
Dumbledore as the trustee of your estate. It was fortunate that they structured things that way;
had they not, your Aunt and Uncle would have been given their Gringott's key when your parents
were killed.”

Harry's face turned pale. “They would've cleaned out the vault in a minute, if they
could have gotten past working with the goblins.”

“Yes, I imagine so,” she said. “Now, as legal guardians the Dursleys *should* have been
making decisions on your behalf not just in the muggle world, but in the wizarding community, as
well. Luckily for you, they renounced that control during your first year at Hogwarts.”

“They did?” Harry asked.

“Yes, they made it quite clear that they wanted to know nothing about your well being during the
school year. Didn't want to see an owl from us unless it notified them of your death.”

“I'm not surprised,” Harry said. “They've never been too keen on owls.”

“Hmmph,” was the Headmistress's reply. “In any event, their request effectively made the
Headmaster of Hogwarts your legal guardian while you were within the wizarding community.”

Harry thought about this. “So that means that right now, while I'm still at Hogwarts…”

“…and while you are still under seventeen years of age…yes, Harry, I am your legal guardian in
the wizarding world.” She paused for a moment. “I hope that isn't too upsetting an idea for
you.”

“No ma'am,” Harry softly replied. “It isn't.” He looked up at her. “Not upsetting at
all.”

“Well then,” she said,“that brings us back to my maternal instincts, doesn't it?”

“Don't start, ma'am,” Harry replied. “You've been far more of a mother to me that
Aunt Petunia ever has.”

“But not as much as Molly Weasley, I'm certain of that. Or Miss Granger, for that
matter.”

“Mrs. Weasley, I'll grant,” said Harry, with a pause. “But Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry,” said McGonagall, “Hermione. Or have I been wrong all these years in assuming that
she's done a great deal to keep you on the straight and narrow?”

Harry thought back to all of the times that Hermione had made sure his homework was done, all of
the times that she kept him from making rash moves, and all of the time she spent with him during
his frequent trips to Madame Ponfrey's infirmary. Even with everything that happened the past
year, with their arguments over the Half Blood Prince's potion book, and Malfoy, and Ginny….and
Ron…

“Well, she's tried to keep me out of trouble, at least,” Harry finally said. “Can't say
that she's always been successful.”

That drew a smile from the Headmistress's face. “No, I couldn't either,” she replied.
“But I daresay that neither of you would be alive today were it not for the other. And it's
been a long time since I've ever seen two people in my House that cared more about each
other.”

She was about to tell Harry that the last two were his parents, but thought better of it. Which
was a good thing, because Harry was wondering why she said what she did. Surely she knew that he
had been dating Ginny, and that Ron and Hermione had feelings for each other?

“Ah, but forgive me, I've gotten us off track again,” the Headmistress said. “With your
trustee…gone...” She used the handkerchief again. “When your parents designated Albus as the
trustee of your estate, they also designated a rather lengthy list of alternates in the event of
his passing. Again, this was prescient. Had they not designated alternates your Aunt would be
trustee by default.”

“So if my Aunt isn't legally in control of my vault right now, who is?” asked Harry.

“Your parent's will designated Sirius as the first alternate. Some might have thought it
surprising, given his somewhat wild character, but for the few months he was with you I certainly
saw a level of parental responsibility I thought I'd never see in him. I'm sure that your
parents saw that as well.”

Harry thought about how much he missed his godfather and showed the Headmistress that he could
conjure a hankie just as easily as she could.

“Had it not been for Remus's condition your parents no doubt would have made him an
alternate as well. The Ministry's position on the legal status of werewolves is indefensible.
But as it stands, your parents listed as second alternate...me.”

Harry considered this for a moment. “So that means that you are both my wizard legal guardian
and the trustee of my estate?”.

“Yes, Harry, although again, for not that long,” she replied. “Once you turn seventeen you will
gain control of the remainder of both your parent's estate and your inheritance from Sirius. I
was told by one of the goblins attending the service this morning that you are also mentioned in
Albus's will.”

“I'd rather have Dumbledore alive than any of his gold,” said Harry.

“Wouldn't we all,” the Headmistress replied. “Wouldn't we all.”

“Now, after all this, to my point,” she continued. “I had a chance to talk with some members of
the Order this morning. Amazingly, some still think that even with Albus dead and your seventeenth
birthday approaching that you should leave fighting Voldemort and the Death Eaters to the so-called
adults.”

The Headmistress leaned forward, as if to share a secret. “You should know that I no longer live
in that camp.”

“Ma'am?” Harry asked, uncertain what he had heard.

“What I'm trying to say is that…well…” She paused and gathered her thoughts. “I'm
telling you, Harry, that while I may now have a good deal of legal control over your life that I
have no intentions of exerting it. Unless, of course, you ask me to. What I'm trying to say is
that I trust you…your ability to tell me what I can do for you, rather than expect you to trust me
to decide on your behalf.”

“Wow,” was all that Harry could say. “Erm, thank you, ma'am. I don't know what to
say.”

The Headmistress stood and walked to the front of her desk. She leaned back and sat on the front
edge, so that her knees were almost touching Harry's as he sat in the chair.

“What I hope you'll say is that you forgive me for not treating you this way sooner. What I
hope you'll say is that you'll be willing to accept any maternal advice I might offer as
freely given, and free to ignore. What I hope you say is that you won't mind if I give you a
hug that would make Molly Weasley proud.”

Harry looked up at her with tears running down his cheek. He stood, rather awkwardly, given how
little space there was between them.

“Okay,” Harry said. “First, I forgive you, even though I don't think you should apologize
for doing what you thought was best. Second, I can't imagine how I'll defeat Voldemort
without the benefit of your advice and support, so I am thrilled to hear you say you'll offer
it. And, third….” Harry finished his answer by wrapping his arms around his Headmistress.

“Thank you, Harry,” she said, after breaking the embrace. “You…….you should get going now on
whatever adventure Albus has planned for you. But before that…some advice?”

“Of course,” said Harry with a smile.

“Thank you,” she replied. “First, I'm afraid that you can't count on the Order's
help right now.”

“Why not?” Harry asked.

“The Order was created by Dumbledore,” she replied. “All of the loyalty oaths were predicated on
Dumbledore's leadership, and, unfortunately, we never created any bylaws or contingencies for
its continuation if he died. And even if we did, there's Snape's membership, and whatever
knowledge he brought to the Dark Lord.”

“So what does that mean?”

“Well,” she replied, “in the short term that means you shouldn't expect to have someone from
the Order watching over you at the Dursleys. Not that it always made a difference…still think we
should've fed Dung's guts to goblins after that dementor attack…”

Harry smiled again.

“Now, that doesn't mean that someone *won't* be there but…well, I talked with Miss
Granger this morning and she told me that she and Ronald Weasley intend to stay with you at the
Dursleys. I hope you let them. You might be underage, but they aren't, and I'd feel more
comfortable knowing that they were watching your back even with the blood protections in
place.”

Harry nodded.

“Oh,” she continued, “and don't be surprised if you see a tabby cat perched on their fence
now and again. The Board is going to wait until August to decide on whether Hogwarts will open this
fall, so I might have some time even with my new responsibilities.”

“I'd like that, ma'am,” Harry replied. “Am I'm sure that Crookshanks would enjoy the
company.”

“Now, Mr. Potter!” she said with a sly grin. “Second thing - based on how Scrimgour and his
flunkies treated me this morning, you should worry about the Ministry.”

Harry thought for a moment. “Was there anything in particular that he said?”

“Nothing officially,” she said, “but it's clear that they think they can roll over me in
ways they never would have dreamed to attempt when Albus was Headmaster. Dolores Umbridge and
Percey Weasley acting so smug - they probably see as much opportunity to grab power now as
Voldemort does.”

Harry nodded. “This morning Scrimgour asked me again to join forces with the Ministry. He
wasn't too happy when I brushed him off saying I was still Dumbledore's man.”

“Oh, Harry,” she replied. “While I am proud of you, I'm afraid what that will mean…you see,
there are some in the Ministry that believe that you are as much of a threat to the wizarding
community as Voldemort.”

“I'm not surprised,” Harry said, “but what can they do?”

“They can track your use of the floo network and owl post, and also come down hard on any legal
missteps,” she replied. “You haven't forgotten your visit with the Wizengamut, have you?
Without Dumbledore's help, they may make another run to break your wand.”

“No magic use until I'm seventeen,” Harry said. “I'll try.”

“Well,” said the Headmistress, “I wouldn't go that far. You are not allowed to use your wand
to cast spells outside of these grounds until you are seventeen. I emphasize the phrase `use your
wand;' I do not think that those who fashioned the law ever imagined an underage wizard capable
of performing wandless magic…occlumency, for example. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, Headmistress, I understand exactly what you mean,” said Harry, arching one eyebrow.

“Also, do not forget that there are very few restrictions on the underage use of magical
items.”

“Oh,” said Harry, “guess I never really thought about that being raised by the Dursleys.”

Headmistress McGonagall's eyes suddenly lit up with inspiration. With a smile, she pointed
her wand across the room and an unmarked door opened. “Harry,” said asked, “would you mind helping
me clean out the closets of my new office?”

When Harry turned towards where her wand had pointed he smiled.

“Why yes, I'd be happy to help out, ma'am,” he said.

The Headmistress reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a rucksack. “Well then,” she said,
“you might find this useful.”

Harry took the offered rucksack and walked over to the closet filled with items he guessed Filch
had confiscated from Hogwarts students. As he began sorting through the stockpile, McGonagall
excused herself from the office, saying that she had just thought of a few other places in the
castle that needed some cleaning.

With the office to himself, Harry did a careful inventory of the closet's contents. He was
delighted to find a pen knife similar to the one Sirius had given him (and he had lost at the
Department of Mysteries); that went straight into his jeans pocket. Harry sorted the other items
into two piles; things that might be useful in a fight, and things best used to annoy his cousin
Dudley. As he began to fill the pack with portable swamps and nice assortment of whiz-bangs he
realized that the rucksack McGonagall had given him had a charmed interior; no matter how much he
loaded into the pack there was room for more. A quick check of the three exterior pockets showed
that they were similarly charmed. With that knowledge in hand, Harry filled the pack
indiscriminately with everything from belching powder to a magical tent.

The Headmistress returned to her office with a trunk filled with items that she told Harry had
come from Snape's former office. He initially recoiled at the idea of touching anything that
Snape had previously handled, but found that many of the items predated his tenure as the Defense
Against the Dark Arts professor. He saw the broken foe-glass, some secrecy sensors, and the
extra-sensitive sneakoscope that Mad Eye Moody's imposter had played with. He also noticed
several books that the Headmistress had pulled from Snape's private library. She told Harry
that while the aurors investigating Dumbledore's death had taken Snape's notebooks and
other writings, Madam Pince had successfully argued that all of the other texts in his office had
been on loan from her library.

The Headmistress shrank and lightened the trunk, and gave it to Harry with a strict reminder to
have someone of legal age restore it to size. Once Harry packed the trunk away, he hoisted the
rucksack onto his shoulder; as he expected, it weighed no more than an ordinary rucksack.

With a flick of her wand McGonagall opened the glass case that protected Godric Gryffindor's
jewel-encrusted sword. The Headmistress then turned towards Harry.

“While Albus's note doesn't mention it, I suspect that transportation has been
pre-arranged.”

“I image you're right,” replied Harry with a smile. “But do you think it's safe? I mean,
not so much where I'm going, but how…like you said, the last thing I need right now is some
harassment from the Ministry.”

“Well,” she replied. “I believe that the crime lies in the unauthorized making, rather than in
the using, particularly if it was an unexpected journey, so…”

“So they'd have to ship the portrait off to Azkaban?” Harry asked.

The Headmistress glanced over at Dumbledore's portrait with a terse grin. “I dare say that
the Ministry would find it easier to remove Mrs. Black's portrait from the wall.”

Harry swung his rucksack onto his shoulder, drew out his wand, and walked over to the
sword's case.

“Be careful, Harry,” the Headmistress said.

Harry nodded. When Hedwig added her hoots of concern, Harry laughed, and asked the Headmistress
to send his familiar to the Burrow with a quick note telling them of his plans. He then grabbed the
sword's hilt, and felt the all-too familiar hook in his gut sensation produced by an activated
port key.

-->



2. Chapter 2
------------



**A/N:** A gentle reminder…In my playland, Harry turns 17 in 2006, rather than 1997. Thanks
for reading, and please review.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no profit being made, objects viewed may be closer then
they appear.

**Chapter 2 - An** **U****nexpected** **M****eeting**

The port key dropped Harry Potter onto the pine-needle covered ground of a small glade. He
immediately crouched into a defensive posture, but saw no threats and sensed no magic. The only
movement Harry noticed was a small van driving along a paved road some 50 meters away. Taking in
the sights, smells the weather, he guessed that he wasn't very far from Hogwarts.

Harry looked down at the sword he still held in his left hand. He swung his rucksack off his
shoulder and sheathed the blade in one of the expandable pockets, leaving the ruby-encrusted hilt
out for quick retrieval. With his rucksack re-shouldered and wand still in hand, Harry cautiously
walked towards the road. Looking in the direction the delivery van had traveled, he saw the road
disappear around a curve. Looking up the road, Harry saw a wrought-iron gate and guardhouse about
100 meters distant. Two men dressed in dark suits and sunglasses stood on either side of the
gate.

They appeared far too well-dressed to be wizards in muggle clothing, and rather than wands,
Harry saw one man using a hand-held radio; the other held a clipboard. Taking a leap of faith in
Dumbledore's plans, Harry left his cloak pocketed and carefully walked out onto the road.

The men watched him silently as he approached the gate. When he got within a few meters, one of
the men called out, “You wouldn't happen to be Harry Potter, would you?”

Harry nodded. The man talked into his radio, and the gate slowly opened. Gesturing towards a
white Land-Rover parked on the inside of the gate, he said, “This way, sir. They are expected you
up at the castle.”

+++++++++++++

It was a quiet ten minutes drive up to the building that the guard had called “The Castle.”
Frankly, it didn't look like much of a castle to Harry, at least when compared to Hogwarts. It
was big, and built of stone, but only one tower rose from the main building, and its ramparts were
only a few stories taller than the building itself.

Based on their approach, Harry guessed that the port key had delivered him to a side entrance of
the estate. A much larger road approached the building from its front, and Harry could see many
parked vehicles there. There were people milling about, and it almost looked like they were
standing in line to board some type of tractor-pulled tram. The only other time Harry had seen
anything like this was when his Aunt and Uncle took him to the zoo with Dudley. He smiled to
himself when he thought about that day, when he learned that he could talk with snakes and when
Dudley learned that he should have brought a change of pants.

The Land-Rover pulled up to the side of the building, away from the crowds, and Harry was shown
inside. The entry hall was bright and cheery. Large landscape paintings set in heavy wood frames
hung on walls dressed in gold wallpaper and trimmed in white wood. The furniture had overstuffed
cushions upholstered in pastel floral prints, and flower arrangements were strewn about.

Although he had never been there, Harry imagined that Hufflepuff's common room could look
like this, except for the fact that this was obviously a muggle residence. No creatures were
bounding across the oil paintings of wooded landscapes, no fire was lit in the fireplace for floo
travel, and the heads mounted on the walls of the staircase landing belonged to antelopes, rather
than to retired house elves.

Harry was led up the stairs and down the landing to another set of stairs that hugged the walls
of what must have been the tower he'd earlier seen. The stairway ended in a room that looked
much more Gryffindorish than Hufflepuffian. Pieces of walnut and leather furniture were grouped
about the room. A large stone fireplace set within one wall contained a modest fire that looked
more ornamental than functional. The unlit torches held in sconces along the stone walls also
appeared decorative, given the brass floor lamps that were scattered about, and a large, ornate
chandelier overhead.

Long narrow windows set within the opposite wall allowed the sun to cast bright rectangular
patches of light onto the ornate Oriental rug that covered the stone floor. A tallish man wearing a
brown tweed jacket was looking out one of these windows, with his back turned to Harry. Harry
noticed that the window the man stood in front of provided a glimpse of heath-strewn hills.

Harry tried, but failed, to detect any sense of magic within the room. The man who had escorted
Harry into the entrance way cleared his throat and announced, just before leaving, “Your Highness,
may I present to you Mister Harry Potter.”

The man in the tweed jacket turned towards Harry and strode across the room with his hand
outstretched.

“Mister Potter, welcome to Balmoral.”

Harry instantly recognized the man's face from a certain portrait that had hung on the wall
of his primary school classroom. From all appearances, Harry had just been introduced to the future
King of England.

He cautiously held out his right hand and gave the man a handshake that was somewhere between
firm and tentative in strength. “It's a pleasure to you,…your… your Highness.”

The middle-aged man took a step back, as if to allow Harry the chance to take some measure of
the person he had just met.

“Mister Potter, you likely have a million questions running through your mind, right now, am I
right?”

Harry, who in fact had only time to process a few hundred questions since his introduction,
could do little more than nod.

“Well, my young man, given what I understand you recently been through, I'm not surprised,
and not in the least offended by your caution. Allow me to suggest we have a seat by the fire.”

Harry was guided towards two high-backed chairs near the fireplace. The man that had shown Harry
into the room reappeared with a tray that held a silver pitcher and two glasses of iced pumpkin
juice.

“Pumpkin juice?” - that silent two-worded question jumped to the front of the line of the
questions currently dancing in Harry's head.

“Thank you, Hawksworth, you may go,” said Harry's companion, and the two were soon left
alone before the fire.

“Please Mr. Potter, have something to drink. I can't promise you that it will taste as good
as what they serve at Hogwarts, but I've been told that my cook's recipe is fairly
close.”

Mention of the word “Hogwarts” put Harry immediately back on the defensive…just how would the
Prince of Wales know anything about Hogwarts? Harry refocused his senses on the man and
surroundings, but still could not detect the presence of magic.

Harry cautiously chose a glass, but made no effort to raise it to his lips. The man reached down
and picked up the other glass and took a long drink. “Please, Mr. Potter, I'm not trying to
poison you.”

Harry nodded slightly as he watched the man take another drink from his glass.

“If I were in your shoes, Mr. Potter, I would be desperately looking for the answers to a few
key questions. Namely, `Am I really the Prince of Wales and if I am how do I know about
Hogwarts?' Not to mention the question of why you are here and whether or not you can trust me.
How am I doing?”

Harry maintained his gaze. “Pretty well on the mark on all four, I think.”

“I see.” The man finished his drink and set the glass on the tray in front of him. “Mr. Potter,
I wish I had more time to gain your confidence, but we have some critical issues to discuss before
your departure for London. Allow me, then, to try to allay whatever fears you might have of my
intentions.”

The man opened the left side of his jacket and very slowly reached into an interior pocket,
allowing Harry to see him retrieve a brown leather billfold. He pulled out what appeared to be
small, dog-eared photograph. As he passed it to Harry, he said two simple words in a
near-whisper.

“Acid pops.”

Shocked, Harry looked down to see a magical image of the Prince with his arm around the shoulder
of Albus Dumbledore, who appeared to be laughing.

“Yes, Harry, I knew Albus Dumbledore. He has been a friend of my family for as long as I can
remember, and I was proud to call him a personal friend to the handful of people in both our worlds
that I could trust with that secret.”

The Prince shifted in his seat as he pulled on the front seams of his trouser legs. He gazed
into the fire for a few quiet seconds before reaching over and refilling his glass. He then stood
up and looked straight at Harry.

“Mr. Potter, it is a tradition in my family that any glass used to make an important toast never
be used again.” Harry realized what was being said, rose from his chair, and raised his glass.

“To Albus Dumbledore,” said the Prince. “If his presence enriches the next world even half as
much as his life enriched our own, then it truly deserves to be called Heaven.”

“To Albus Dumbledore,” Harry whispered.

The thrown crystal shattered against the back of the hearth, and Harry began to sob.

And the man thought by most royal watchers to have all the warmth and compassion of your average
puddle of mud stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the teen. “I know, Harry” he said softly.
“I know.”

++++++++++++++++

After a few minutes, the Prince led Harry back down to the main floor and out into a garden
located at the rear of the building. The fresh air and bright sunlight helped the men regain most
of their composure. They walked down a limestone-block pathway, each with arms held behind
them.

“Harry,” the Prince asked, “over the years Albus has told me much about you, and your progress
at Hogwarts. Did you know that he considered you to be the son he never had?”

Harry's mind raced, as he thought back to that awful night, as he stood immobilized and
watched his mentor's body tumble over the Astronomy Tower's restraining wall.

Harry reached into his pocket and tightly grasped the fake locket for which Dumbledore had
sacrificed his strength and his life. Once again he felt a sense of great failure, hopelessness,
and all-consuming fear of facing Voldemort without Dumbledore there to guide him.

“Harry, you know I too am trying to come to grips with Dumbledore's death. I wish I had been
able to attend his funeral, but you can imagine the…the logistics… that would have been
involved.”

Harry nodded. “How did you know about the funeral…how did you know that Dumbledore had
died?”

Without looking, the Prince reached into a coat pocket and pulled out a phoenix feather that he
slowly twisted in his fingers. “I've been up from London for the past week doing some fly
fishing and planning for mum's summer residency. Four nights ago I heard the cry of a phoenix,
and then Fawkes appeared at my bedroom window. And I knew. As for the funeral, well, Harry…let me
just say that many in your world would be shocked at just how much a few of us muggles know about
them.”

Harry's eyes went wide as the Prince tossed out the word “muggle” as if they were conversing
at Hogwarts Castle, rather than Balmoral Castle. How much did he really know?

“Muggle, sir?” he asked.

The Prince looked at Harry with a crooked smile. “Yes, I know about your world, and I know just
what some in your world think of us non-magical folks….”

“And what is that, sir?”

The Prince paused for a moment. “Harry, have you any idea how many titles I currently hold?”

Harry looked up and shook his head.

“Wouldn't imagine you would. Frankly, I have problems remembering all myself… Let's see.
I am the Prince of Wales, the Prince and Great Steward of Scotland, the Duke of Cornwall, Duke of
Rothesay, Earl of Carrick, Earl of Chester, Lord of Renfrew, and…” The Prince look down at his
fingers and counted as he mouthed through the list again, “Oh yes, Lord of the Isles…although I
sometimes also fancy myself the Lord of the Dance, but only when I'm not in public.”

Harry laughed out loud as the Prince did a little jig.

“Ah, that's more like it, son,” the Prince said. “But, I am also painfully aware of the fact
that I am heir to the muggle throne, and future King of muggle England. You have to admit, the word
“muggle”does trip off the tongue a whole lot easier than “non-magical” or “non-wizard.”

The Prince glanced down at his watch. “Oh, look at the time. Harry, you do need to be in London
tonight. Will you let me to ramble a bit upon why you are here?”

Harry nodded.

“Right. Well, then. Harry, I know that you are fighting against a dark wizard. I know that if
this dark wizard…Voldemort, correct?…that if this dark wizard and his forces win that the results
would be disastrous not only in your world, but in mine. I know that this war has already resulted
in the deaths of many muggles by events that have been mistakenly labeled as natural disasters, or
accidents, or terrorist acts.

Harry, I'm not sure if you are aware of the fact, but the British Prime Minister has been in
consultation with Scrimgeour, your Minister of Magic, concerning this situation. However, from what
Dumbledore had shared with me, I suspect that your Ministry has severely underrepresented how dire
things really are. Frankly, Albus didn't have much faith in your Ministry as a whole, and in
this Scrimgeour chap in particular. I believe that this is an attitude that you share, am I
right?”

Harry smiled with agreement.

“Well… Albus was convinced that the best hope for both our worlds lay not within the Ministry of
Magic, but within the hands of you and your young friends. In fact, he had great confidence in your
ability to rise to this challenge.”

Harry once again cringed with self-doubt and guilt.

“You must realize, Harry, that Dumbledore shared all this with me for a reason…he was convinced
that some key part of your success in the battle with Voldemort would come not by what you have
learned at Hogwarts, but from what you might learn in the muggle world.”

Harry pondered over what within the muggle world could possibly help him battle Voldemort.

The Prince broke Harry's thoughts. “Harry, Dumbledore asked that I help you during your stay
on our side of the fence. I am not certain how I can help you, although I have a few ideas.
Ultimately, though, that will be for you to decide. Also, Albus wanted any knowledge of my help be
kept closely held. You see, our Prime Minister doesn't know about my family's connection to
Dumbledore, and I'm not sure that he knows anything about you. Unless, of course, your Minister
of Magic has mentioned your heroic efforts during their meetings?”

“Oh, I doubt that very much, your Highness.”

“Right, then. I'll leave it for you to decide whom within the wizarding community you can
trust. On my end, I have asked a few close friends to provide their assistance on my behalf;
you'll know them as you learned to trust me. Rest assured they will do whatever they can to
provide you with whatever you need. And if they can't help you for some reason, these might
come in handy.”

The Prince handed Harry a small wireless telephone and a folded piece of parchment. “The note
informs the reader that you are on Queen's business, and are to be provided whatever assistance
might be available. Comes in handy if you want to skiv out of a traffic infraction, amongst other
things. Just keep it safe in your wallet.”

“Um…I'm sorry, your Highness, but I don't have a wallet.”

“What? Well, then,” said the Prince, “take mine.” He handed Harry the brown leather
billfold.

“Oh, sir, that's quite alright, I can get one…”

“Really, Harry, just take it. It's not like you have lots of free time to go shopping, and
Lord knows I seldom have the chance to use it myself…hard for me to just pop down to the pub to buy
a few pints.”

Harried thanked the prince and placed the note inside the wallet.

“You'll notice,” said the Prince, “that I only have a few hundred pounds in there…but the
charge cards might come in handy. I'll have you authorized before you leave today.”

“Thank you, sir, but money is the one thing I don't really think I need help with.”

“Ah, Dumbledore mentioned that. But he also said something about the advantages of not having to
run down to your bank whenever you needed a spot of cash. He also feared that there may come the
day when you were blocked from gaining access to your wizard money.”

Harry thought about the goblins, about whether they would ever be tempted to join
Voldemort's side, and nodded.

“The telephone has an untraceable number. Don't worry about going over on minutes, and if
you need to contact me directly just hit Speed Dial 1 or text me.”

“I'm sorry, sir, but what is speed dial? And how exactly would I `text' you?”

The Prince laughed.

“Oh my goodness…a teenager that doesn't know how to text message?” he asked.

“Harry Potter, you truly do live in a different world.”

-->



3. Chapter 3
------------

**A/N:** As the title suggests, this is a transition chapter. On the bright side, Hermione
finally joins my cast of characters (then again, so do the Dursleys). Thanks to all who have
reviewed, and to those who have been graciously patient as my story (slowly) unfolds.

**Disclaimer:** The characters are not mine; neither is the money (only fair, I guess).

**Chapter 3: Planes, trains and automobiles**

Harry gripped the armrests of his seat as the small jet taxied down the runway of the Castle’s
private airport. Of course he’d seen airplanes flying over the Dursleys’s house, and he knew that
airplanes could fly…it was just that, like Arthur Weasley, he didn’t have the foggiest idea
*how* they did so without using magic. Harry wondered if his magical powers were strong enough
to levitate the entire jet, if need be, and wished that his Firebolt was with him, rather than
packed in his trunk aboard the Hogwarts Express.

The Prince had arranged for the London-bound flight and told Harry that the Durlsleys would be
made aware of Harry’s travel plans. Actually, what he said was that he would "take care"
of them, but only smiled when Harry asked what that meant. He did tell Harry that he had arranged
ground transport and dinner once he arrived in London.

Looking around, Harry noted that the airplane’s interior was just as luxurious as some of the
rooms in Balmoral. There were a dozen comfortable leather seats, and the cabin interior was trimmed
in mahogany with a plush crimson carpet. Although the cockpit door was closed, Harry had been
promised a full tour by the flight captain once they were in the air.

One of the plane’s uniformed stewards stopped next to Harry’s seat and showed him how to fasten
his seatbelt. "Is this your first flight, then?" he asked.

"No…but it’s the first time I’ve flown in an airplane."

The steward smiled, somewhat quizzically. "Well, then, just sit back and relax, Mister
Potter, there’s nothing to worry about."

Harry was tempted to ask the steward just how worried he would be if he were about to make his
first flight on the back of a thestral, but thought better of it.

The plane lifted smoothly off the ground and banked into a gentle curve. It felt strange to be
flying through the air without the wind in his face and his feet dangling off of a broomstick.
After a few minutes, Harry raised enough courage to look out the window at the ground below.

The view looked amazingly similar to what he’d seen perched high above Hogwart’s quidditch pitch
- the green hills and valleys, the lochs and the forests. Harry wondered whether Hogwarts might
somewhere down there within his view.

He recalled Hermione quoting from *Hogwarts, A History*, a few years back. The location of
Hogwarts was unplottable – a wizard couldn’t mark it on any map. It was also supposed to be hiding
in plain sight from the views of any muggles that happened to stumble upon it. Instead of seeing
the castle, a muggle would see a hovel with a sign saying "Danger – Do Not Enter," or
something like that.

Except Harry was a wizard; while a muggle airplane pilot flying over Hogwarts might not see the
castle, a wizard passenger just might…

But then again, the converse should be just as true. If wizards riding in muggle airplanes could
see Hogwarts, could wizards at Hogwarts see muggle airplanes?

Harry couldn’t remember ever seeing an airplane fly over Hogwarts. The airplane he was aboard
was flying much higher than he ever dared fly on his broom; he could see for dozens, maybe even
hundreds of miles. If Harry could see the tiny outlines of houses and communities, then why
wouldn’t, by corollary, somebody at Hogwarts be able to see an airplane? Sure, there were probably
established flight corridors for air traffic, but never a plane within sight of the castle?

He considered the possibility that wards had been established not only to keep muggles from
seeing the magical world within Hogwarts, but to keep wizards from seeing the muggle world outside.
Sort of like muggle repelling charms in reverse. Harry decided to add that to the list of things he
needed to discuss with Hermione.

Harry stopped looking for castles and started to look for train tracks. Somewhere, down there,
Ron and Hermione were aboard the Hogwarts Express. He wondered what they were doing right now, and
if they knew that he wasn’t on board. He hadn’t failed to notice Ron’s arm around Hermione after
the service, and he wondered whether they were using the time to sort out where they stood with
each other. Harry knew that they had promised to stay with him at the Dursleys, but he really
didn’t imagine how his Aunt and Uncle would allow that, and seriously wondered how Ron would
survive more than a day or two in a non-magical household.

Wishing to drift away from that topic, he turned away from the window, leaned back into the
seat, and drifted off to sleep.

+++++++++++++

A few hundred kilometers ahead, the Hogwarts Express was snaking through the green hills of the
Lake District and Hermione Granger was snaking through the aisle of one of its carriages. It was a
far different experience than when she first conducted patrols as a prefect.

The previous Fall, the train was filled with the typical assortment of animated and excited
students (except for the first years, who were, of course, terrified). Most of her time had been
spent confiscating forbidden items that students were trying to smuggle into Hogwarts (by the end
of the trip her bag of goodies would have done a fair job of stocking a branch location of
*Weasley's Wizard Wheezes*).

This trip was, in contrast, quiet. Extremely quiet. All of the students on board seemed to be
aware that Hogwarts might not reopen that Fall, aware that they might not see their friends and
classmates for a very long period of time, and (except for a few Slytherins) aware that
Dumbledore’s death made their world a far more dangerous place. Once the train pulled out of
Hogwarts Station it became readily apparent how this awareness was going to manifest itself.

One of the other muggle-born students had nicely summed it up.

Terror-snogging.

On past trips home Hermione had seen (and been disgusted by) the frantic tonsil-tickling of
soon-to-be-separated-for-the-summer couples. But this went well beyond that, both in terms of
frequency and intensity. Nearly half of the upper-year students, and far too many of the younger
ones seemed to be searching for comfort in the arms of another. Couples who had been together all
year, couples she had never seen together before, even couples Hermione would never have paired in
a million years. She was glad to have been assigned a car mostly filled with younger-year students
– it would have been dreadful for her to have to get in between, say, Lavender Brown’s lips and
those of Merlin knows who (or how many).

From an intellectual perspective, it was easy for Hermione to see why this was happening. She
had scandalized some of the other prefects when she argued, during a hastily called meeting at the
start of the trip, that the snogging was actually therapeutic (up to a point). From an emotional
perspective, Hermione could see the need as well, and a small part of her longed for a bit of
therapy herself.

*"But there are limits to enforce,"* she thought to herself, *"and
‘snog-free’ zones to maintain, and Ron’s patrolling a different car, and Harry isn’t even on the
train….."*

Hermione let out a small gasp when that last thought passed her mind. *"Harry? Why did I
even think of him? He’s my best friend, he’s Ginny’s boyfriend. Okay, so he did break up with her
this morning, but it was Ron who had his arm around me after the service, it was Ron I was so
jealous over when he was snogging Lavender Brown, it was Ron, right?*

It took her more than ten minutes to formulate a rationalization that could stand on its own
legs.

Why are the other students snogging? Because they are scared, and they need to feel safe, and
the easiest way to feel safe and secure is in another person’s arms. But in her case, it was Harry
that always made her feel safe and secure, even without the snogging. Harry – the eleven-year-old
boy that saved her life before they were even friends. So, when in her mind Harry showed up in the
same train of thought as snogging, it really didn’t mean that she wanted to snog her best
friend.

Terror-snogging is to other students as Harry is to Hermione.

Yes. Of course. That had to be it.

Hermione leaned up against a compartment door. She was scared about what might happen that
summer. She was terrified about what needed to happen that summer. She wanted Harry on that
train.

+++++++++++++

It was raining in Little Whinging. Hard. The rain beat down with an intensity that betrayed the
new neighbors who had failed to properly clear their gutters. Vernon Dursley noted with smug
satisfaction the ponding along the house foundation directly across the street, and wondered
whether the two men who had scandalized the neighborhood when they had moved in the previous month
were getting water in their basement. "Would serve those poofters right," he muttered, to
nobody in particular.

And it was that lack of audience, rather than the weather, that was souring Vernon’s
disposition.. For once he wanted to bask, to bathe, *to wallow* in the rare differentness of
Number 4 Privet Drive. Oh sure, there had been the odd wedding party or two that had hired a fancy
car to show off around the neighborhood. But nothing close to the 1937 Rolls Royce Phantom III
whose sideboards Vernon had one foot up upon, in what he imagined to be a dashing pose.

A white-gloved driver held a large black umbrella over Dursley’s head. Given the umbrella’s
limited size and the awkward pose that Vernon insisted on striking whilst next to the car, one
white glove and a bit of sleeve were the only parts of the tuxedoed driver that weren’t getting
soaked. "All part of his job," Vernon rationalized to himself.

The front door of the house opened tentatively as a second well-dressed man attempted to protect
both Petunia Dursley and her son Dudley from the elements. As there wasn’t an umbrella in all of
England big enough to cover both of them, the man shuttled Mrs. Dursley to the car first, then
returned to keep any rain from striking Dudley, his clip-on tie, or his soon-to-be-autographed
boxing gloves.

The invitation to join the current European Heavyweight Boxing Champion for lunch had arrived
two weeks ago. Vernon had been forced to call most of his chits in at work to get the day off on
such short notice, and Petunia had given up her weekly bridge club meeting, but that was no matter.
Their son, the current All-Schools Boxing champion, was to be personally congratulated and
recognized for his success. The car and driver were all part of the package. The only bad part was
the fact that they would have to swing by King’s Cross station after the event to pick up his
cursed nephew Harry.

The thought of his nephew caused Vernon to scowl. Just a few short weeks and they’d be forever
done with the boy, done with his type, done with the owls. But not before, of course, he earned his
keep. Vernon noted with some satisfaction that Harry’s list of summer chores was just as long as
ever. Every weirdo cloud has that silver lining…he looked despondently up at the clouds that were
presently shedding rain, then up and down the street, searching for anyone who might be positioned
to glimpse their due.

An admonishing voice called out from inside the car. "Oh for goodness sake, Vernon, get in
the car or we’ll be late."

Dursley reluctantly ducked into the rear of the car. The car’s two attendants climbed into the
front; a moment later, the car pulled away from the curb and started towards Central London.



4. Chapter 4
------------

**A/N:** Ever hear of the theory of punctuated equilibrium? The idea is that
species don’t evolve at a gradual rate; rather, they stay about the same for millions and millions
of years before some great asteroid hits and creates havoc and upheaval and then all sorts of
things happen rather quickly. That’s how my plot seems to be playing out…Dumbledore’s death is the
asteroid, and things are really wild and wooly for a while until the characters evolve and a new
sort of equilibrium reestablishes itself. And of course all those wild and wacky events need to be
described, right?

That’s my excuse for what will be a seven-chapter day, and I’m sticking with it. Here’s the hump
chapter.

**Disclaimer**: These are not my characters. I’m not making any money out of this. Usual
Stuff.

**Chapter 4 – More Travel (at least it’s within London)**

Platform 9 ¾ was quiet when the Hogwarts Express pulled into King’s Cross Station. For security
reasons, parents had been kept on the muggle side of the brick-walled entrance. Once the all-clear
was given, prefects allowed small groups of students off the train one at a time, and teams of
aurors quickly shepherded each group across the barrier and into the arms of their parents. The
process was streamlined through Ministry of Magic arranged "Closed for Repair" signs,
floor-to-ceiling tarps and some well-placed muggle repelling charms.

Hermione, Ron and Ginny were in one of the last groups to leave the train. Siblings were grouped
together, and prefects had to ensure that all within their houses were accounted for.

Neither Ginny nor Hermione were all that happy Ron at that moment. Ginny’s ears still stung from
his scolding; although Ron hadn’t actually caught her snogging, it didn’t escape him that she spent
most of the trip thigh-against-thigh with Dean Thomas. Worse, she apparently hadn’t even looked for
Harry, or realized that he had left the train back at Hogwarts.

Hermione was ill at ease for a different reason. Ron had gotten upset when she suggested that
the prefects split up one per carriage to facilitate continuous monitoring; he had apparently
expected to patrol hand-in-hand. Hermione had thought this to be a tad presumptuous. Sure, he had
been there for her during the funeral, and hadn’t left her side from there to the tower and back to
the train. There had been, however, no discussion about how things stood between them…whether they
were finally looking at themselves as a couple. It was as if Lavender had set the standard for warp
speed relationship progression.

"So what are you going to do now that Harry’s gone missing?" asked Ron, as another
batch of students left the train.

"Besides sending my otter out to chew on his leg until he lets us know he’s safe? I don’t
know," she replied.

"Could always stay with us," Ron said hopefully.

"No," said Hermione, as she sized up his intentions. "I might as well use the
time to be with my parents. I’m still underage on the other side, and I’m going to have to coax a
permission out of them to stay with Harry this summer."

"Yeah, well," replied Ron, "don’t think that being of age is going to make it any
easier for me to tell Mum I’m not staying at the Burrow this summer, much less skiv out on seventh
year."

Tonks stepped into the car. "Your turn, guys."

"Heard from Harry?" asked Hermione.

"Nothing yet," Tonks replied with a slight smile. That had been the eighth time
Hermione had asked. "I’m going to get his trunk to his relatives, then pop back to Hogwarts to
check with McGonagall."

Hermione nodded, as she checked off the last three names on the Gryffindor roster, shooed
Crookshanks into his travel box, and began to drag her trunk towards the head of the car.

"What are you doing?" ask Ron. "Forget your age already?" Ron pointed his
wand at his trunk and levitated it towards the car door.

"No worries you haven’t," Hermione replied as she dropped her hold on her trunk handle
and levitated both her trunk and Ginny’s. "You plan on grabbing anything other than your wand
this summer?"

"Won’t need to with you around, I image," Ron said, waggling his eyebrows.

Ginny’s trunk lost altitude and hit Ron behind his knees. He tumbled backward and ended up flat
on his back on the trunk’s lid.

"But he’s so used to grabbing his own wand," Ginny giggled. "Why should he stop
now?"

Hermione’s smile at Ginny’s comment turned into a scowl as she turned towards Ron. She raised
her wand towards him, ignoring Ron’s look of uncertainty, and cast a shrinking spell on Ginny’s
trunk. It shrank to the size of a paperback, which caused Ron to again fall, this time back flat on
the floor. Ginny and Tonks laughed as Hermione performed the same spell on her own trunk and placed
it in the pocket of her jacket.

"Oy, Hermione, what about mine?" Ron asked as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Oh," Hermione said with a smile, "I’ll leave that to you. Wouldn’t want you to
lose your touch."

Ron let out an exasperated groan. He didn’t even try to shrink his trunk – he had yet to master
that transfiguration charm and didn’t dare practice on something that contained most of his worldly
possessions. He levitated his trunk again and guided it out onto a waiting cart on the
platform.

An auror led the three through the brick wall as Tonks, wand drawn, looked up and down the
platform. Hermione swore she could hear a loud maternal shriek even before she passed through the
wall.

"Ron! Ginny! Come here you two!"

As Hermione walked through the wall she saw Mrs. Weasley smother her two youngest children using
arms that looked as if they had been extended by one of the twin’s products.

"Oh, and Hermione, give me a hug, too" Mrs. Weasley said. "I am so glad that
you’re all safe and sound."

"Not like you didn’t just see us this morning, mum," Ginny said.

"Yes, well, I wish you could have floo’d home with us, but what with the security and the
lines at Hogsmeade…where’s Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked, suddenly realizing his absence.

"Erm, we don’t really know," replied Ron. "Tonks said he was pulled off the train
to meet with the Headmistress just before we left."

"Headmistress? Well, yes, I suppose so," said Mrs. Weasley stiffly. She grabbed Ron
and Ginny’s chins and asked, "How are you two doing?"

"Fine," Ron and Ginny replied, in a tone of voice that suggested otherwise.

"Yes, well, nothing some home cooking can’t improve upon," said Mrs. Weasley,
"once we get home, that is."

"Mom, don’t tease me, you know the train doesn’t have a dining car," Ron whined.

"We have to stop by St. Mungo’s," said Mrs. Weasley. "Your father is trying to
sort things out about Bill. Besides, once we use their floo connection we’ll be home quicker than
if we had taken a car."

"Why is Bill at St. Mungo’s?" asked Hermione. "We saw him at the funeral – Madame
Pomfrey released him from the infirmary didn’t she?"

"Yes she did," said Mrs. Weasley, with a sharp edge in her voice. "But it seems
that some busybodies from the Department of Magical Creatures have suddenly lost faith in her
professional judgement. They’ve insisted he stay at St. Mungo’s until the next full moon."

"Oh, no," said Hermione, "Fleur must be so upset…that’s what, ten days away? What
about the wedding plans?"

"So did they decide to call it off?" Ginny asked, full of hope.

"Certainly not, dear," said Molly with an air of certainty. "Nothing is going to
stop their happiness…not that vile Greyback, or Scrimgeour, or anyone. Besides," she said
trying to lighten her mood, "it’s not as if the groom does a lot of the planning,
right?"

A call came from across the hall. "Hermione! Over here!" Hermione looked up to see her
parents waving at her.

"Excuse, me, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said with a happy but puzzled look on her
face.

"Yes, of course, dear," Molly replied. "Do say hello to your parents for me, and
don’t be a stranger to the Burrow this summer, promise?"

Hermione nodded as she turned to Ron. "I’ll let you know if I hear anything," she
said. She gave him an awkward hug then ran towards her parents. For some reason, they were wearing
ridiculously oversized red-rimmed spectacles and were terribly overdressed; her mother was wearing
an evening gown, while her father was dressed in a tuxedo.

"Mum, Dad, it’s so good to see you," Hermione said, after a few necessary moments of
smothering. "But really, you didn’t have to get all dressed up just for me."

"And why not," asked her mother, with spring in her voice. "Like the latest trend
in fashion eyewear?"

"Let me guess," said Hermione. "They’ve got muggle repellents set up and those
glasses are what got you by them."

"Right in one, sweetie," said Mr. Granger. "It really is too bad that they’re
collecting them at the exit. We’ve got tickets to see Sir Elton at the Palladium next month, and
these are *so* Yellow Brick Roadish."

"Oh, Daddy*, really*," said Hermione. "So you’ve explained the glasses, now,
about the formal wear?"

"You’ll see," said her father, with a grin plastered across his face, "you’ll
see."

+++++++++

Hermione’s confusion was compounded once they left the station. Rather than cross the street to
the car park, they steered her towards the taxi rank.

"Where’s the car, Dad?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, it’s at home in the garage," her father replied with a mischievous smile. Just
then a black Bentley limousine splashed through the puddled remnants of a rain shower and pulled in
front of the queue. The car’s boot door popped open as the uniformed driver got out and tipped his
hat.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," the man said to Hermione. "Do you have any trunks
to stow?"

Hermione looked at both of her parents, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

"What?" Mr. Granger asked. "Can’t we spoil the greatest wit….greatest student of
her generation once in a while?"

Mrs. Granger chimed in. "Erm…we should keep Crookshanks with us, dear… where’s your
trunk?"

Too surprised to be thinking properly, she reflexively reached into her coat pocket and pulled
out the paperback-sized trunk. She caught her breath when she realized what she had done, but, on a
whim, handed the box to the driver with a smile. "*They want to be cheeky, then so will
I,"* she thought to herself.

The unflappable driver didn’t miss a beat. "Very good, Miss Granger," he said, as he
took the box from Hermione and placed it in the boot. The evil grin she gave her parents produced
some chuckles.

"Touché, Hermione," said her mother, as the driver held open the rear door and the
Granger family climbed into the back seat. Crookshanks whined, but Hermione didn’t let him out of
his box.

As the Bentley pulled out into traffic Hermione decided to give up trying to pry any more
information from her parents; words would have had a tough time getting past their Cheshire Cat
grins. A small part of Hermione was bothered by how her parents were acting. Owls had been sent to
all Hogwarts parents informing them of Dumbledore’s death, and they knew she had attended the
memorial service just that morning. Yet they hadn’t mentioned it at all. But she certainly wasn’t
going to say anything about it – too easy to give them the benefit of the doubt.

She knew that their antics were due in part to her long absence. Hermione also knew that she
wasn’t the typical boarding-school student home on break; it felt more like a respite from a tour
of duty, and they were no doubt ecstatic just to see her alive.

Despite all of her grief and fear she was happy to be back with her parents, though - just not
goofy-happy. But if they wanted to be goofy-happy, she had no problem compartmentalizing her
worries for a while. It was something she had learned to do very well whilst standing by Harry’s
side.

They tried to find things to talk about, but the conversation soon faltered. On other trips from
King’s Cross the Granger family sedan was filled with stories about Hogwarts and Hermione’s world,
but their muggle driver put a damper on that type of talk.

Hermione’s mother doled out bits and pieces of news about her cousins, the neighbors, and the
school-aged children of their coworkers at the clinic. It was the same thing every year – cousin
Barry just graduated and was going to uni at Bristol, only one of the Thompson twins passed their
driver’s examination on first go, her neighbor Lizzie just got her braces removed, and so on.

Her mother always hoped that these updates would strengthen the tenuous string that kept
Hermione attached to the muggle world. Hermione had long ago realized, though, that they only
produced the opposite effect. Hers was, quite simply, a world turned upside down, and the stories
only emphasized that fact. Her "normal" was a world in which ghosts and goblins and Dark
Lords ran about; it was the world of computers, and dental floss, and angst-filled pimply-faced
teens that was unreal.

*"Well,"* Hermione confessed to herself as the car continued to move through
traffic, *"maybe the teenage angst part is the same."*

++++++++++++

In a different part of London the occupants of another car were anything but goofy-happy.

The Dursleys had spent two hours waiting in a hotel meeting room for Dudley’s hero. At first
they were elated – they’d been taken to a ballroom at the Savoy, and it had all seemed so
*posh*, so *West End* – Petunia had already exposed two rolls of film for bragging
material with the neighbors. The elation had turned to frustration as the hours dragged on,
however, with the men who’d brought them there constantly apologizing for the delays. They hadn’t
even been fed.

And then came word that the meeting place had been changed, and that they needed to be driven to
a different location. Vernon’s face had turned crimson, and his neck bulged out against his shirt
collar, but Dudley’s pleas to do whatever was needed for him to collect his autograph put a cap on
his father’s temper.

It took about a half-hour for Vernon to realize that the car they had been riding in had been
driving in circles.

"Alright," he bellowed, with face turned puce, "I’ve had enough of this. Take us
back home."

"But father," Dudley lamented.

"But father nothing," Vernon replied. "It’s clear to me that someone has played a
nasty joke on us…Oy! Did you hear me up there, bring us back home."

The man in the car’s passenger seat turned around to face Vernon. "I’m afraid that’s not
possible, sir. Just sit back, and you’ll be at your meeting in a few minutes."

"Meeting with whom?" Vernon shouted. "I said, take us home…or are you holding us
against our will?"

"Sorry, sir," the man replied, "it will all be made clear at your
meeting."

"Meeting with whom, I ask you again!" Vernon cried out. He stopped for a moment to
wrap himself around a thought that turned his puce-colored face a bit pale. "You….you aren’t
one of *those* kind of people are you?"

The man looked at him questioningly. "What kind of *those* people are you talking
about?"

"You know," Vernon replied, "one of those… *people*…like Dumbledore…. you
know, *wizards*."

"Wizards?" the man said incredulously. "You’re asking me if I’m a
wizard?"

"Yeah, that’s right."

The man broke out into a laugh and turned towards the driver. "Hey Gerry, did you here
that? This bloke thinks we’re bleeding wizards!"

He turned back to face Vernon with a sneer. "That’s right, sir, you found us out, …caught
us with our wizard’s robes down, you did. My name is Merlin and my friend over there is
Tinkerbell."

"Clap if you believe in fairies," the driver said with a laugh.

Vernon turned red again. "I demand you return us to our home!"

"Alright, tubby, I’ve had enough of you," the man said. "Sit back, and shut yer
trap." He reached into his coat and withdrew a handgun. "Or I might have to use my
wand."

Vernon quickly sat back in his seat.

"That’s better," the man said as he holstered his firearm. "Oy!" the man
said as he nodded towards a suddenly nauseous Dudley. "Don’t go making a mess, we just got the
upholstery redone."

Dudley whimpered, but managed to keep his stomach from rejecting his lunch.

The Dursleys didn’t say a word for the rest of their trip. They were too scared to see much
either, else they might have noticed the black Beefeaters hats worn by red-uniformed guards, as the
car pulled off the road and through the gates of a military barracks.



5. Chapter 5
------------

**Chapter 5 – Dinner with the Grangers**

**A/N:** Sorry, but pumpkin pie is not being served just yet (you know it’s on the menu,
though).

**Disclaimer:** *These are not my characters, they belong to the extremely talented JKR,
her publishers, Warner Bros, etc, etc.*

Hermione didn’t fail to recognize her location as saluting members of the Queen’s Guard allowed
access through the main gates of Buckingham Palace. From that point on she was in fairytale
land.

Doormen rushed to open the door of their car and beefeaters sprung to attention as they walked
up the Palace steps. Someone from the Palace staff introduced herself as Crookshank’s hostess for
the evening, and took him off for some feline pampering. A separate escort led them through the
obscenely ornate main entrance and up the red-carpeted main staircase. Opulence was everywhere she
looked.

"This is unreal," she told her parents.

"Well," said her father, "for a girl that has flown on a hippo-giraffe that is
saying something, isn’t it?"

Hermione giggled. "They’re called hippogriffs, Daddy."

But even her parents took a moment to take in their surroundings. The room they’d been shown
into had gold-trimmed walls and was furnished with eighteenth-century antique chaises and ottomans
trimmed in gold. Two chandeliers, each at least ten feet long and ten feet wide, hung from a
gold-trimmed recessed ceiling. The floors were carpeted in an antique Oriental rug large enough to
cover the King’s Cross meeting hall. And the artwork was stunning even if it was static; life-sized
portraits of kings and queens throughout the ages, along with what Hermione recognized were works
by Rembrandt, VerMeer, and Reubens.

Their escort left them with word that someone else would be with them shortly. Hermione walked
into the room, expecting at any moment to have museum guards materialize and scold her for touching
the furniture. There was a fire within a marble-tiled fireplace set against the far wall. Sitting
on a gold high-back chair reading a book was someone who at first glance didn’t appear out of
place, given his formal attire.

It was the unruly mop of raven hair that shook her out of her every-girl-wants-to-be-a-princess
mindset.

Hermione tore across the room with a shout and tackled Harry, who had stood to greet them. The
force of her hug knocked him back down on the chair. Harry smiled; he’d been in worst places
recently than lost in Hermione’s hair.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said into his shoulder, "Where have you been? I was so
worried about you when Tonks told us you weren’t on the train."

Harry tilted his head sideways to get a partial view of Hermione’s parents through her hair.
With his arms wrapped around Hermione, he had to blow a sizeable chunk of her hair away from his
face in order to clear his throat. "It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Granger," he
said with a smile.

Hermione jerked her head off of Harry’s shoulder and looked at him crossly.

"Oh….nice to see you too, Hermione," he said. The mock sincerity earned him a punch in
the arm.

"Now Hermionikins," her father laughed, as he walked towards the pair. "How am I
going to be able to shake his hand if you break the arm that’s attached?"

"Shake it nice and hard, please," she replied. "And maybe squeeze some sense into
him before he tries to take off again without his friends."

"How did you get here, Harry?" Mr. Granger asked as he shook Harry’s hand.
"Hermione told us you weren’t on the train."

"I flew," Harry replied.

"Flew?" Hermione asked incredulously. "In broad daylight?"

"Yeah, it was brilliant," Harry said.

"On a broom?" Hermione asked.

"No, on a Gulfstream, silly."

Hermione frowned. "A jet? How did you arrange that?"

"Erm, a friend of Dumbledore’s," Harry said. "All in all much more comfortable
than the Firebolt…pleasant meal, comfy nap, and I didn’t have to land every time I needed to use
the loo. They even let me fly it for a bit."

"They did?" asked Mrs. Granger.

"Yeah, well, once we were in the air and cruising. Funny, the pilot told me that I was a
natural at flying."

"Imagine that," said Mr. Granger with a laugh.

Harry laughed as well. "I wasn’t too sure at first. Couldn’t even think about magic, or
else I’d have probably fried all of the electronics. But they let me dive, and move the rudders,
and they explained all of the instruments for me…Mr. Weasley would have thought he had died and
gone to muggle Heaven."

"Harry," said Hermione, "this is just too weird. Mom and Dad all dressed up with
a car that takes us to Buckingham Palace, only to find you here in black tie after using an
airplane to get home from Hogwarts? Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?"

"You’ll see," said Harry with a grin.

"Now that’s just what we keep telling her, but will she listen?" asked Mr.
Granger.

The French doors opened at the end of the room and a well-dress man approached them.

"Oh, Brian," said Harry. "I’d like you to meet my friend Hermione Granger and her
parents."

He turned and grinned at Hermione. "*Yes*," he teased wordlessly, *"I’m on
a first name basis with the Palace staff as well*."

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione’s mother said, "but we’ve already met Mr.
Willox."

It was her parent’s turn to get Hermione’s evil eye treatment.

"Good evening, Miss Granger, and welcome." the man said to Hermione. "Your mother
thought that after your travel you might want to freshen up a bit, and perhaps - well, she gave us
a few things this morning in case you might like to change..."

Hermione tried to articulate something but couldn’t manage anything more than an open-mouthed
"Huh?"

"It’s okay, Hermione," said Harry. "just go with the flow…they did the same for
me."

Hermione’s mother grabbed her hand and led her out of the room. "Listen to your friend,
dear, and flow with me towards the Palace powder room."

Harry and Mr. Granger spent a moment walking around the room examining the artwork. Harry felt
more than a little awkward being alone with Hermione’s father.

It was Mr. Granger that broke the ice.

"So how long have you known?" he asked.

"Erm, I don’t really know what I know, sir." Harry replied. "For all of the
teasing I was giving your daughter, I don’t really have an idea what’s going to happen much past
dinner. How long have you known?"

"We got the invitation about two weeks ago, and Brian visited this morning with some more
details," Mr. Granger replied.

"Two weeks?" Harry asked.

"Yes, does that mean anything to you?"

Harry paused for a moment. "Only that this visit was likely arranged by Dumbledore before
he…" Harry couldn’t bring himself to finish his sentence.

"Oh, Harry," Mr. Granger said, "I’m so sorry for your loss. Hermione’s told us
how close you were to your Headmaster."

"Thank you," Harry replied softly.

"Harry…there’s so much I’d like to ask you, but now is certainly…"

"No, that’s alright, sir," Harry said. "As much as Hermione’s done for me, as much
as she’s risked…you’ve risked….well, it’s the least I can do."

"Thank you, Harry," Mr. Granger replied. "I hope you don’t think I’m trying to go
behind Hermione’s back, but she’s told us that owl mail can’t be trusted anymore, and she’s no
doubt afraid we’d refuse to let her return to Hogwarts if she tells us too much."

"I understand, sir. She’s very lucky to have two parents that care so much for
her."

Mr. Granger thought for a moment. "We were told that Dumbledore died during an attack on
the castle by the Death Eaters…is it true that he was murdered by one of your
instructors?"

"Yes," said Harry, "Our former potions instructor, Snape. Dumbledore trusted him,
even though he used to be a Death Eater. He’d been acting as a double agent– spying for us as he
was pretending to spy for Voldemort….only he wasn’t pretending."

"Was Hermione involved…in the fighting….was he there?"

"Not really," Harry said. "She was guarding a part of the castle away from the
fight…stunned by Snape before she knew that he’d turned…and as far as we know, Voldemort wasn’t
directly involved."

"No, I’m sorry, I meant the one that tried to…well, the one that attacked
Hermione."

Harry winced as he realized that Mr. Granger was asking about the previous years’ attack at the
Department of Mysteries – the night Sirius died and Hermione was almost killed by one of
Voldemort’s Death Eaters.

"Dolohov wasn’t there," were the only words that Harry could push past his tongue.

"Harry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean too, well I guess I should have expected that and you
should be proud tonight rather than despondent."

"I don’t feel very proud right now, sir."

"Well you should, you know," Mr. Granger replied. "Hermione’s proud of you, and
we’re proud of the way that you’ve shouldered what life’s thrown at the both of you…"

"It’s not fair that she has that burden. I….I was marked for this mission as a baby…it’s a
destiny I can’t shake. But she doesn’t have to…"

"Oh yes, Harry, she does. Hermione has made that quite clear to her mother and myself.
Frankly, from all that I’ve learned about your world she’s always going to be safer by your side…
if you hadn’t rescued her she’d have been a troll’s Halloween snack, right?"

"Well that was Ron who clubbed the troll on the head…"

"Only after a very brave eleven year-old boy jumped on his back and stuffed his wand up his
nose, right?"

"Yes, but…"

"Enough with the ‘yes-buts,’ Harry," Mr. Granger replied. "Hermione’s told us
Voldemort would kill all of the muggle-born witches and wizards if he could…was she
right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then Hermione would be at risk even if she did nothing."

Harry thought about what Mr. Granger said.

"The girls will be back soon…let me just say that I hope that we get to see a lot of you
this summer. And I hope that if there’s any way that Emily and I can help that you’ll let us. Fair
enough?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you again, sir."

They returned to their artwork inspections as Harry thought about what Hermione’s father had
said. It wasn’t as if Hermione hadn’t told him that she was proud of him before, but what did it
mean for her to tell that to her parents?

+++++++++++++++

Harry’s jaw dropped when Hermione returned to the room with her mother.

Mr. Granger whistled softly. "Emily, where did my little girl go, and who is this Velo on
your arm?"

"They’re called Veelas, daddy," Hermione, said as she walked up and kissed him on the
cheek. "But thank you, anyway."

It was déjà vu all over again for Harry…they were the same dress robes that she had worn at the
Yule Ball. Except they couldn’t be the same…*that was two years ago,* Harry thought, *and
she’s grown taller since then, and…and filled out in ways school robes don’t show...*

Hermione bore in on Harry’s reaction.

"So you remember?"

"How could I ever forget," Harry replied. All of the discomfort built up during his
talk with her father melted away at his feet, and was replaced by a warm glow in his core and a
lightness in his head.

"Erm…Mr. and Mrs. Granger, may I steal your daughter away for a minute?" Harry
asked.

"You’ve had her for the past nine months and still need more time?" Mr. Granger asked
with a smile. "Okay, you got a minute…just know that I’ll be looking at the most beautiful
witch of her generation the whole time."

"Oh Daddy, stop," Hermione said, as Harry led her to a different part of the room.

"How did your mother, I mean, they shouldn’t have fit you, I mean…not that you’re bigger
now, well you are…but in a nice way, but…."

Hermione put one hand on her hip, raised an eyebrow at Harry and smiled as he desperately tried
to talk himself out of his mess. She finally came to his rescue.

"They’re the same robes, Harry…mom sent them to Madam Malkin’s last week hoping to find the
same style in a different size, but they only needed a resizing spell."

"Of, course," Harry said. "I’m sorry, Hermione – I guess it’s hard…hard to talk
when your breath’s been… erm, speaking as a friend…of course…did I ever tell you that night that
you looked beautiful?"

"You didn’t have to," Hermione said sweetly. "Your eyes said it for you, just as
they are now…as a friend of course. And thanks, Harry."

"I’m just worried that Krum’s going to pop out of the fireplace and spirit you
away…"

"Or that Ginny would show up?" Hermione asked.

Harry frowned, and Hermione kicked herself. She had only been trying to play along, and let
Harry know that he looked handsome in his evening wear as well, but *Merlin!* How stupid and
insensitive could she be?

"Or Ron?" Harry asked. "Maybe he should be here meeting your parents instead of
me?"

Hermione sighed. "I’m sorry, Harry, I was stupid to say that."

"No," said Harry, "you weren’t, especially now that you and Ron…"

"…you and Ron what, Harry?"

"Well, just that…"

Hermione grabbed both of Harry’s hands. "Harry, you and I need to sit down and have a long
chat about things. But not now…Mom and Dad are looking at us, and there’s some flow we have to go
with, right?"

"Yeah, guess you’re right."

Hermione surprised Harry by kissing him on his cheek. "If whoever set this up had wanted
Ron here tonight he’d have been here. But he’s not, and that’s fine, because there’s no boy I’d
rather my parents get to know more than you."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Now let’s head back over there and let Dad dote on me some more."

Hermione grabbed Harry’s hand as they walked back to her parents, who were trying (but failing)
to act as if they wouldn’t have paid anything for a pair of extendable ears.

+++++++++++

When dinner was announced they were led into a small but lavishly appointed room with a dinner
table set for four. Atop the table were the finest crystal, china and silverware that any of them
had ever seen. The meal that was subsequently served on this dinnerware was equal in sumptuousness,
with main courses of roast pheasant, braised lamb chops and poached salmon.

Harry told them about his day in between the fork selection lessons that Hermione discretely
provided. Not really knowing how much Hermione had told her parents about Hogwarts and the Second
War, he spoke in general terms. He did say that had arrived at the Palace about an hour before they
had met. Hermione talked about the train trip, and updated Harry about Ron, Bill and St.
Mungo’s.

Once they had finished eating, the staff silently poured them tea.

"I have to admit," Harry said with a chuckle, "that this was a far better meal
with far better company than what I had a right to expect for tonight."

"No, Harry," Hermione replied, "you had every right to expect more than the
horrible treatment you’ve been given all of these years."

"Speaking of horrible," Roger Granger said, "we didn’t see the Dursleys at the
platform this evening."

"Our hosts took care of them," replied Harry. "You’ll see them in a bit, I
imagine."

"They’re here?" asked Hermione.

"Um, somewhere near here, I think," said Harry. "Brian asked me if I wanted them
to join us for dinner, but I suggested that my Aunt and Uncle might prefer their own
company."

"That’s too bad," said Mrs. Granger. "Hermione’s spoke of them…I would have liked
to have seen if they really did sport cloven hooves and horns."

"Don’t give your daughter any ideas," Harry replied with a laugh.

"Now, son," said Mr. Granger, "…erm, you don’t mind if I call you that, do
you?"

Hermione looked at her dad with saucer eyes. "Dad!"

"No, Mr. Granger, I don’t." replied Harry, smiling at Hermione’s embarrassment as much
as to cover his own. "Although, it’s a bit of a surprise given how little you know
me."

"How little we know you?" asked Mrs. Granger. She chuckled. "Harry, some day
you’ll have to read the owl posts Hermione sent us during her first few years at Hogwarts. I’ve got
them stored back home."

"Mom!" said Hermione, turning a shade of red that Harry thought complemented her
periwinkle robes quite nicely. "You didn’t! You can’t!"

"Emily’s right, young man" Hermione’s father chimed in. "Took me three months
into the first term before I realized that there were students at her school that weren’t named
Harry Potter."

"Uggh…" Hermione exclaimed with exasperation. "What’s next…the photo
albums?"

"Oh, no" Mr. Granger replied, "we’ve got those saved for when Harry comes to
visit us."

Hermione scowled.

Mr. Granger continued with gleam in his eyes. "As I said before, Harry, I hope we have the
opportunity to get to know you better this summer. Hermione’s never had any Hogwarts friends visit
her at home, and I’d love to get the *real* story about what she’s been up to the past six
years."

"Dad!" Hermione exclaimed.

Given the conversation pattern, Harry expected Hermione to follow up with some cut about her
father’s jokes scaring all of her friends away. But Hermione didn’t; instead, she looked at Harry
with some seriousness. He couldn’t tell why, and before he had the opportunity to probe Brian
entered the room to announce that it was time for the evening’s entertainment.

As they left the table, Harry stepped back so as to give Hermione the chance to walk next to her
parents. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, however, had different plans; they shooed him towards Hermione and
let the two of them take the lead. Hermione leaned towards them and raised her eyebrows, giving her
parents the universal teenager sign for *"Mom, Dad, stop embarrassing me!"* That
didn’t prevent her, though, from turning towards Harry and grabbing his arm with a sly smile.

"Harry Potter," she said, "if you aren’t going to tell me where we’re going or
what’s happening next, then I’m going to insist that you lend me an arm for comfort."

He laughed. "Hermione," he replied, "you know you never need a reason to ask for
my arm."

Hermione looked into Harry’s eyes as if to divine some meaning. This kept her from seeing the
smiles on the faces of each of her parents, as they joined hands and gave each other knowing
looks.



6. Chapter 6
------------

**A/N:** You know, I really should be spreading these updates out a bit more, so that you
don’t get mad at me when the backlog is cleared. But as this is a little shorter than the
rest….just remember that you’ve been warned.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 6 – Knight Protectors of the Realm**

Harry and the Grangers were led through a football pitch-sized ballroom and into a lavishly
intimate drawing room. A dozen chairs trimmed in gold satin were set in two rows facing the far end
of the room, and Brian directed Hermione’s parents towards the first row. He then led Hermione and
Harry to spots facing the far wall a few feet in front of the Grangers. He smiled, wished them
luck, then took a seat in the row behind Hermione’s parents.

A door opened in the wall in front of Hermione and Harry and several men dressed in ornate
crimson and gold suits entered the room. One of the men offered Harry his rucksack with a bit of
flourish. Shocked that he had left it behind at dinner, and not knowing exactly what to do with it,
Harry dropped it on the floor next to his side. Another man stood in front of them, surveying the
room as if to see that everything was properly placed. The man then looked at Harry and Hermione
and smiled.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, let me again welcome you and your guests to Buckingham Palace.
We should be ready to start in a moment."

"Excuse me, sir, but start what?" asked Hermione.

"Why, the ceremony, of course," replied the man. "Ah…but you still don’t know, do
you?"

"We’re afraid not, sir," said Harry.

"Well, apologies are in order, then. The Prince thought it might be a rather nice surprise
for you. I’m sure Her Majesty would have talked about it at dinner had it been possible. She also
offers her apologies, by the way…you see, there was a state dinner with the King of Norway that had
been planned for months, and the Prince thought it best if we proceeded directly upon your return
to London."

Harry and Hermione shared saucer eyes as another member of the palace staff strode through the
doorway and whispered into the man’s ear.

"Right, then, here we go," he told Hermione and Harry.

"But what are we supposed to do?" asked Harry.

"Don’t worry, Mr. Potter," the man replied. "Just follow the Queen’s lead. She’s
done these things hundreds of times, you know."

The Queen of England strode into the room followed by a rather large retinue of staff. She wore
a long navy blue evening gown, white long-sleeved gloves and a brilliantly sparkling tiara made of
platinum and diamonds.

Hermione looked like she was about to faint. Harry, having already met the Queen’s son that
morning, found it a bit easier to go with what was now a very Royal flow.

The Queen stepped towards Harry and Hermione and offered them a welcome, and a personal apology
for having missed the opportunity to dine with them. She then took a few steps back onto a small
platform that four members of the Palace staff had placed down on the floor while the Queen was
chatting with her teen-aged guests.

"Well," the Queen announced, "shall we begin?"

The Queen looked at Harry. "Mr. Potter, tradition holds that a knight candidate may choose
the sword by which his or her titled is conferred."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other with shock, having finally realized what was about to
happen. Hermione turned to her parents to find them beaming smiles back at her.

An attendant approached the Queen’s side, holding a sheathed sword. "We use my father’s
sword quite often," she continued, one hand gesturing to her side, "It’s a very nice
sword…perfectly adequate…but, perhaps, Mr. Potter, you might prefer a different
instrument?"

Harry’s head snapped up slightly; the Queen was looking at him with the kind of sparkle in her
eyes that he often saw in Dumbledore’s. He stole a peek at Hermione; there was nothing stolen about
the wide-eyed stare that bounced back. She looked like she was going to kill him, just as soon as
the Queen was out of blood splatter range.

He looked back at the Queen and smiled. "Thank you, your Majesty. With no disrespect meant
towards your father or his sword, I believe I do."

Harry swung his rucksack in front of him and loosened the straps. He flipped the cover back to
reveal the jewel-encrusted hilt of a golden sword. He looked at Hermione with another smile; she
was silently mouthing the words "*You don’t – You aren’t! – You can’t*!" in
rapid-fire repetition. His smile widened as he reached forward and unsheathed the Sword of
Gryffindor. He took a step forward and offered the sword to the Queen.

The Queen grabbed hold of the sword’s hilt and gracefully swung the blade to one side in small
waist-level arcs.

"Ah," she softly cooed. "It’s magnificent. We have heard legends about this
sword," the Queen said. She looked down at Harry. "Should we, then, be addressing you as
Lord Gryffindor?"

Harry looked at the Queen, gobsmacked by her question.

"Harry Potter is fine, your majesty," he stammered.

"Very well, then," she said with a smile. "We believe it is time for the
witnesses to be brought forth."

Harry and Hermione heard doors opening behind them and turned to watch the Dursleys as they were
escorted into the room. They didn’t look very happy. Two large men prodded them towards the second
row of chairs; one of the men had what appeared to be a chopstick in his hand, and was waving it
around with a grin on his face. Vernon eyes narrowed into tiny slits and his teeth clenched when he
saw Harry standing with the Queen. The condition of Petunia’s teeth was indeterminable, as they
were presently covered by lips fixed in an oval-shaped open-mouthed silent scream.

The Queen smiled and announced, "We welcome all of you Buckingham Palace, and to this
ceremony. We are most pleased that while this is event is necessarily a non-public occasion that
these two young people are still able to celebrate with those closest to them."

Hermione gave Harry a disapproving glance as he looked back at his Aunt and Uncle and stifled a
snort.

Still smiling, the Queen continued. "Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, will you kneel."

Hermione and Harry followed the command as a herald unrolled a lambskin parchment and read
out:

*"Oye, Oye, Oye. Be it made known amongst here present, and be it made known throughout
the land at such time deemed prudent, that Harry James Potter, son of James and Lily Potter, and
Hermione Jane Granger, daughter of Roger and Emily Granger, have performed unspecified heroic acts
in the defense of the Realm, and demonstrated loyalty, bravery and strength of spirit worthy of
emulation for all across our lands. To honor these actions and their strength of character, Her
Royal Highness, the Queen, hereby invites them to join the Most Royal Order of Arthur as Knight
Protectors of the Realm.*

The herald rolled up the parchment as two members of the palace staff lifted red silk hoods over
Hermione and Harry’s heads. Sewn on the outside of each elongate hood was a gold lion reared on
hind legs.

As the hoods were being placed around their necks they heard a not so quiet
*"No!"* shouted behind them. They turned to see Harry’s Aunt and Uncle’s beet-red
faces trembling with anger and confusion. The two men that had escorted them into the room clamped
down upon Vernon and Petunia’s shoulders with their ham-fists. In addition, the man behind Vernon
placed one end of his chopstick into the entrance of Vernon’s left ear. It was the last they heard
from the Harry’s Aunt and Uncle during the ceremony.

Dudley was, frankly, too ill educated and oblivious to realize what was happening. His little
brain was, in fact, wondering when the Queen was going to introduce him to his boxing hero.

"Today you are invited to join the Most Royal Order of Arthur. This is the oldest Royal
Order within our Empire," said the Queen, in a clear voice that filled the room. "It is
also the least well known. The Order was established in the earliest days of our Kingdom by those
pledged to battle Evil as members of King Arthur’s Round Table. Over the centuries, members of the
Order of Arthur have fought in the greatest battles never described by any historian."

"At least," the Queen said as she looked down at Harry and Hermione with a smile,
"not in any muggle history books."

The staff members who had given Hermione and Harry their hoods returned to the Queen’s side with
two boxes. They opened each box to reveal identical jewel-encrusted medallions fashioned in gold
and platinum. Each starburst-shaped medallion bore a crossed sword and wand within its centre.

"Of the many that sat with Arthur at his Round Table, twelve were both warrior and wizard.
It is said that King Arthur created the Order as a tribute to these twelve and their loyal service,
and that Merlin himself created the twelve emblems of the Order. Unlike the badges of other Orders,
these emblems were returned to the Order once a Knight Protector passed on, so that they in turn
could be passed onto a worthy successor.

"Begging your pardon, Your majesty," said Hermione, "but does that mean that
these are two of the original twelve?"

"Yes, Miss Granger," said the Queen, "these badges are more than 1,200 years
old."

Hermione looked at the relics fashioned by Merlin himself with awe.

The Queen continued. "All who are here today should understand that given the nature of the
service performed by those within the Order of Merlin it is necessarily a secret society. We note
with sadness that with Sir Albus’s passing, there is only one other living member. Were he in
better health, Sir Evan would have been here today to celebrate with you and your family. We hope
that you will both have the opportunity to meet him soon."

Hermione and Harry looked at each other with astonishment, each wondering who this Sir Evan
could be and what he had done to join an Order that included Albus Dumbledore.

The Queen raised Godric’s sword into the air. "Now for the fun part," she said.

She tapped the flat edge of the sword on Harry’s shoulders and said "Harry James Potter, I
dub thee Sir Harry, Knight Protector, Order of Arthur."

She then moved to face Hermione and placed three similar taps on her shoulders. "Hermione
Jane Granger, I dub thee Dame Hermione, Knight Protector, Order of Arthur."

The Queen took a step back. "Arise, Sir Harry and Dame Hermione, and go forth into the
Realm with certain knowledge of the Crown’s support."

The Queen stepped towards Harry and returned the sword. She then shook their hands and said,
"We understand that you have had a long day, and we shan’t keep you any longer. Know that you
will find welcome in our presence wherever that might be."

"Thank you, your Highness," said Harry.

One of the Queen’s assistants gave her a box that matched the last two she had presented. As the
Queen passed this box to Hermione she said, "We are also aware that there is a third who
deserves our royal recognition, and who will no doubt be at your sides as you face the challenges
that lie before you. Were he here today, we would be bestowing upon him similar honors. We hope
that Mr. Ronald Weasley and those others who are, shall we say…fully vested in the wizarding
world…might some day be publicly recognized by us without fear of repercussions. In the interim,
should you think it safe, we ask that you convey to Mr. Weasley our thanks, and on behalf of the
Crown and Her Majesty’s Government provide him with this token of gratitude."

"Thank you, your Highness," Hermione said. "We will."

Mr. and Mrs. Granger were directed by the Palace staff towards the Queen. She shook their hand
and congratulated them on their daughter’s accomplishments. A photographer stepped up to take a few
pictures of the Queen, Harry and the Grangers.

Petunia Dursley, totally forgetting that it was because of Harry that she was even in the same
room as the Queen, rushed towards her for picture proof. The Queen glanced up at Petunia’s
direction, but seemed to stare right through her as she turned and left the room. Petunia’s view
was blocked by several members of the Queen’s staff before her camera’s flash was fully
charged.

Noticing that Petunia’s efforts had failed, Hermione broke away from her parents and walked
straight up to Harry’s aunt. "I’m sorry, but were you hoping to bring home a souvenir?"
she asked cloyingly. "Here, let me help you."

Hermione reached into her dress robes and discretely pulled out her wand. She quietly murmured
something, and flicked her wand towards Petunia.

Harry look over to see what trouble Hermione might be getting into and broke out into a laugh.
His aunt was throwing the quietest fit he’d ever seen from her, apparently thanks to a
*Silencio* spell. Hermione had also managed to transfigure his aunt’s dress into a long white
shift with flashing red letters on the front that read:

**"My nephew was knighted by the Queen and all I got was this lousy t-shirt."**

Harry walked over to Hermione and gave her a hug. Turning to his Aunt Petunia with a grin, he
took great pride in introducing her to the brightest witch of his generation.



7. Chapter 7
------------

**Chapter 7 – Karma’s Little Helpers**

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

The Palace had made arrangements for Hermione’s parents to spend the night at the Savoy. Mr. and
Mrs. Granger had amazed their daughter with their willingness to let her spend the night at the
Dursleys. It had, in fact, been harder to convince Harry; he had argued quite strongly that she
should be with her family. He only relented after Hermione promised that she would spend the
following day with her parents.

The Dursleys were not at all thrilled at the prospect of Hermione’s stay, but it was impressed
upon them that they had no say in the matter. Vernon nearly popped the collar button of his dress
shirt when he learned that Brian Willox, the Palace staff member that had coordinated the knighting
ceremony, was also going to be staying with them. Brian noted that "the Queen wished to ensure
that Sir Harry’s stay wasn’t an inconvenience."

When it became clear that the Queen’s wishes alone weren’t going to hold sway, Brian gave Vernon
a list of twenty people with connections to the Royal family of some sort. Four had been knighted,
twelve had dined with a member of the Royal Family in the previous two years, eighteen belonged to
the same club as a Royal, three had children with royal godparents; one of them was even
two-hundred thirty seventh on the royal succession list. These people all had one more thing in
common, however.

Each and every one of them had the power to ruin Vernon’s career at Grunnings -his supervising
director, three members of the Grunnings corporate board, a half dozen board members from
Grunnings’s corporate parent, key decision makers from their eight largest accounts. Any of them
could put Vernon on the curb.
Vernon Dursley was too stupid to be afraid of magical threats, but he was plenty smart enough to
recognize why the list was provided for his review. It was blackmail; pure, simple and effective.
Familiar as well; Vernon had been no stranger to similar tactics as he had climbed up the Grunnings
corporate ladder.

He returned the sheet of paper to Brian very quietly.

With an eye towards getting the blood protections back in place as soon as possible, Aunt
Petunia was asked to join Harry, Hermione and Brian for the trip to Number 4 Privet Drive. Vernon
and Dudley rode home in the back of a trailing van. Hermione had thought to pop over to The Burrow
to update Ron until Harry told her about the Headmistress’s concerns about apparations. As an
alternative, they had the driver take them to the Leaky Cauldron, where they used the floo
connection to call the Burrow.

Molly almost hugged Harry’s purple-flamed face; they hadn’t gotten his note until they had
returned from St. Mungo’s. Ron had already gone to bed, and she didn’t want to wake him. Deciding
then to wait until morning to update Ron, Harry asked her to send Hedwig on to the Dursleys.

Though neither of them mentioned it to the other, both Harry and Hermione had concluded that
Ginny had said nothing to her mother about the break up. There was, in fact, so much they wanted to
share with each other, but with Aunt Petunia sitting across from them once they returned to the car
they chose instead to learn more about Brian Willox, their new companion.

He answered their questions in a straightforward, but slightly reticent manner, acting as if the
details of his life should be unimportant to those he’d been assigned to serve. At the age of 38,
Brian Willox had just recently been awarded his twenty year’s service pin as a member of the royal
staff. He was the latest in a long line of Willoxes to work at the Palace; his great-great
grandfather Edwin had been a groomsman in the early years of Victoria’s reign. Brian had started as
a cook’s assistant in the kitchens, and after ten years had worked his way up to the position of
associate chef. In what he considered a beneficent stroke of luck, one of the Queen’s grandchildren
had made it a habit to sneak into the kitchens, and over time had taken a liking to Brian. That
relationship led to a position on the personal staff of the Prince’s family, where he had worked
ever since. While Brian had no immediate family, he did have a family member whose occupation no
doubt had something to do with his new assignment.

His younger sister, Christina, was a muggle-born witch that ran a Wizard’s Bed and Breakfast in
Coventry.

"Oh my," Hermione exclaimed, when she learned this news, "so that means you’re a
card-carrying muggle?"

"Yes indeed, Dame Hermione," Brian said, as he fished a small card from his billfold
and handed it to her.

Harry leaned over to get a glimpse. At first glance it appeared to be a "Loyal
Customer" discount card for a chain of muggle home electronic stores. With a tap of Hermione’s
wand, however, the card morphed into a parchment containing magical images of Brian and his sister,
their names and addresses, and the following text:

*The muggle bearer of this parchment is an immediate family member of a witch or wizard
citizen of the United Kingdom of Magical Great Britain. As such, they may lawfully retain knowledge
of the wizarding world and possess magical items in quantities up to those limits established by
Exemption 13.B subpart (f) of Protection of Muggles Act and the International Confederation of
Wizards' Statute of Secrecy.*

*Amelia Bones, Head*

*Department of Magical Law Enforcement*

*The United Kingdom of Magical Great Britain*

"Wow," said Harry, "I’ve never seen one of these before."

"Really?" asked Hermione. "That’s a bit odd. My parents got their cards the day
after I accepted my invitation to attend Hogwarts."

They looked up at Petunia, who was trying desperately to feign ignorance of their conversation
and its content. "Yes, we received those cards as well," she finally replied. "About
as easy to ignore as those blasted invitations."

Harry wanted to ask Brian more about what he knew, and who else at the Palace was in the know,
but hesitated with Petunia sitting across from him. When Brian finished describing his background
Hermione urged Harry to close his eyes for a few minutes’ rest. Without asking, Brian took
Crookshanks out of his travel box, placed the box on the floor and lifted Crookshanks onto his lap.
This freed up the bench space between Harry and Hermione, so that when Harry did close his eyes,
and his head dropped to the side, it landed on her shoulder. Hermione looked at Brian and quietly
offered him her thanks. He smiled and nodded his head slightly. Crookshanks, happily getting the
spot under his left ear scratched, looked up at Brian and purred his thanks as well.

It only took Petunia a few seconds to destroy the "one big happy back seat" vibe.
Demonstrating that she lacked any of Brian’s reserve, she hissed out at Hermione.

"Are you Harry’s girlfriend?" she demanded. "Because if you are, or if you think
that even with the Queen’s favor I will allow you two to sleep together under my roof, then you are
sorely mistaken."

Hermione sat quietly for a few seconds, until she was reasonably certain that she could put
Harry’s aunt in her place without waking him. When she turned towards Petunia, Harry’s head swung
off her shoulder and into her lap. Without thinking, she removed Harry’s eyeglasses and cradled his
head with her left hand as she launched into a response.

"Petunia, If I share a bed with Harry tonight it will be because somebody needs to be
within arms reach to get him through the nightmares and night terrors that he has suffered all of
these years. Merlin knows he can’t count on you to do that."

Petunia’s indignant reply of "Well I’ve never…" was immediately cut off by "and
that’s half the problem!."

"If I sleep next to Harry tonight it will be because somebody needs to watch his back.
Somebody he can trust to be there. To be there if or when the evil that killed your sister, and his
father… and the evil that killed Albus Dumbledore last week decides to come knocking on your
door."

Petunia gasped at the news of Dumbledore’s death. Brian felt the air temperature drop
precipitously and asked the driver to turn off the air conditioning.

"No, Petunia," Hermione continued, "I am not Harry’s girlfriend. But I am
everything else. I am Harry’s Guardian Angel, I am his comrade in arms and I am his devoted
friend."

Brian felt air moving against his face and was alarmed to see that Hermione’s hair begin to sway
out as a breeze began to circulate around the cabin in a clockwise direction. Something was
definitely wrong with the car’s ventilation system.

"I am his rock just as he is my shield. Get between us and you will get squished."

Brain noticed that her eyes were on fire and there was a silvery glow building behind her
wind-swept hair.

"I am the mother bear protective of her cub. Try to separate me from him and you will get
mauled."

Brian began to compare his present experience against select scenes from various horror
movies.

"From everything Harry has told me you and your family have made Harry’s life a living hell
for the past sixteen years. Well, not this summer, Petunia…not this summer. Because I am Lily Evans
Potter back from the dead and your day of reckoning has arrived!"

Unsure if that kind of channeling was actually possible in the wizarding world, Petunia slid as
far away as she could and still be riding in the car. Hermione took a deep breath and paused. The
storm that had literally been brewing in the back seat passed, and Brian noticed that the electric
tension in the air had somehow been drained. Deciding to punctuate her remarks, Hermione pulled out
her wand and casually rested it on Harry’s side, and adopted a sweet, conversational voice that
seemed all the more sinister when juxtaposed against the tone of her previous comments.

"Oh, and Petunia, dear," she said, "in case you didn’t clue into the fact that we
weren’t pestered by Ministry owls when I transfigured your dress, I am seventeen and an adult in
Harry’s world. I am sure you realize what that means."

Petunia’s eyes went wide and she tried to swallow the sanctimonious retort that she had been
mentally rehearsing during Hermione’s scolding. Crookshanks relaxed and pushed his ear against
Brian’s hand. He got his wish, as Brian silently tried to gauge whether Hermione was going to make
his job easier or harder.

Hermione’s eyes moved towards the side window and out into the night, as she tried to figure out
where the uncharacteristic passion and fury had come from and where it went during Petunia’s
dressing down.

Harry’s eyes stayed firmly shut. He had heard it all, but understood far less.

Harry had felt the magic straining to burst out from Hermione, and had feared what might happen
if it went unchecked. With all of the concentration he could muster, he had tried to absorb that
magic like a lightening rod. He had no idea how he had done it, but he was certain that he had
succeeded.

How else could he explain the elation that was burning within him? It was if he had swallowed a
river of Fawkes’s tears….his mind was racing, there was energy surging from the top of his scalp
down to the tips of his toes. There was warmth within him that was as extreme in its extent as the
grief that had gripped him at the beginning of the day.

It was Hermione’s magic that made him feel that way – that, or her fingers running through his
hair as his head rested in her lap.

Harry felt guilty about maintaining the ruse, but was in too good of a mood to test the
alternative hypothesis.

He kept his eyes shut.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was half eleven by the time they pulled up to Number 4 Privet Drive. Harry reluctantly sat up
and looked out at the house. He fully expected that the structural evidence of his childhood abuse
would still be visible; as a precaution, he made Hermione promise to wait until morning before
hexing anyone into the next century.

Once Vernon opened the front door they almost tripped over Harry’s trunk which had been placed
in the front entranceway. Harry pocketed a small piece of parchment attached to the trunk and
proceeded to give Brian and Hermione a quick tour of the house. Meanwhile, the Dursleys searched in
the kitchen for some normalcy and a bite to eat.

Harry had expected Hermione to rage at the sight of the cupboard and his bedroom door, so he was
surprised by her tears. She sobbed quietly as she poked her head under the stairs and tried to
imagine spending a childhood there. Tears filled her eyes as she opened and closed each of the four
separate locks that could keep someone inside Harry’s bedroom but not keep anyone out. The tears
trailed down her cheeks when she pushed the cat flap in and out and tried to imagine how anyone
could be cruel enough to use it to feed their sister’s son.

It was Brian that provided the outrage. Terms like child abuse and parental negligence were
quietly hurled about amongst a heaping handful of invective. That people could treat any child that
poorly was criminal; that they did it to someone in the Queen’s favor was worse. He was halfway to
ringing the police before Harry took him aside and explained a few things.

Brian didn’t understand why Harry needed to stay with people who had treated him so badly; they
could have been back to the Palace for a good night’s rest within the hour. But Brian accepted
Harry’s decision to stay without question. They were staying, most likely for two weeks, and he
would simply make sure that over that fortnight Harry would be treated far better than what he’d
ever experienced under his Aunt and Uncle’s care. And if that meant that over that same period of
time the Dursleys had it worse than ever before – well, he had no problem being karma’s little
helper.

Brian had the opportunity to quickly discuss his plan with Hermione when Harry opened his
bedroom window to let in a slightly flustered Hedwig. It didn’t take Hermione any time at all to
warm to either Brian or his ideas.

When Harry returned they walked back down to the kitchen and announced a house meeting. Vernon
and Petunia sat at the kitchen table silent and ashen-faced. Dudley was oblivious to the fact that
there was a new sheriff in town, and was whining about his desire to go to bed. Hermione changed
his complexion to match that of his parents with the simple phrase "oink-oink."

With the defenses of each of the Dursleys suitably softened, Harry witnessed Hermione and Brian
deliver a withering shock and awe attack.

There were no survivors.

When the meeting ended, Brian positioned himself at the base of the stairs and adjusted his
watch to timer mode. On his mark, Dudley dragged Harry’s trunk into his own room and then scavenged
from his closet some clothes and as many potentially incriminating objects he could find. Petunia
jumped up the stairs and rushed to the master bedroom to empty (as best she could) their closet’s
contents into two trunks. Vernon ran out to the car to get Brian’s trunk, which he then dragged up
into Harry’s old bedroom. Hermione and Harry watched the flurry of events from the living room sofa
with bemused expressions.

Brian’s signal after three minutes time brought everyone together again. On a request from
Petunia, an extra fifteen seconds time was allowed to retrieve some bedclothes and blankets from
the upstairs linen closet, which she used to make up the living room couch. There had been some
thought to storing the Dursley’s trunks under the stairs before it was made clear that they might
make Dudley’s fit even tighter.

Brian, Hermione and Harry left the Dursleys to fend for themselves and retreated to the
upstairs.

Brian took the guest bedroom for the night; neither Harry nor Hermione wanted him to sleep in
Harry’s old bedroom room until Vernon had replaced the door. Dudley had left his bedroom a
shambles, but Harry had no plans on sleeping anyway; he was still too jazzed from the day’s events
and the ride home from the Palace.

Hermione and Brian protested against Harry’s plans to stand watch for the night, but he said it
was the least that he could do after what they had just done for him. He expressed amazement that
the Dursleys had surrendered so quickly and completely, and feared that there might be a reprisal.
Brian told Harry that he thought that possibility was remote; the Dursleys were bullies, and
bullies became cowards when faced with the righteous use of power. But Harry insisted, and backed
his intentions by dragging the chair from Dudley’s seldom-used desk into the hallway and taking a
seat.

After Hermione told Harry that she’d take his place early in the morning, she went into the
master bedroom, enlarged her trunk and unpacked her night clothes. When she looked more closely at
the bedroom furniture she noticed with amusement that the bed and dressers were knockoffs in the
same style as the antique furniture she had seen and sat on at Buckingham Palace.

Hermione walked towards the bed but her hand recoiled when she reached to turn down the bed
cover. There was a whiff of bleach in the air that matched the stringent, aseptic appearance of the
room. Did she really want to sleep in Vernon and Petunia’s bed? Not really, but if it kept them
from being comfortable tonight then she would. Any chance that Petunia had changed the bed clothes
when she was up here earlier? Shuttering at the thought, she raised her wand and cast a
*Scourgify* spell on the sheets before she tucked in for the night.

She was asleep almost before her head hit the newly cleaned pillowcase.



8. Chapter 8
------------

Chapter 8 – Late night visitors

**A/N:** With this chapter, the backlog is officially cleared. You’ve been warned. ;-)

On the bright side, it’s extra-long. Don’t know if it’s extra-better…it’s the first chapter to
justify the Action/Adventure part of the story’s descriptor, and I’ve found it much easier to write
romantic comedy. Oh, well. Thanks in advance for the reviews, and if you tried to leave a review
for the previous chapter but were blocked by the site, I’d love to hear your thoughts on chapter 7
as well.

Finally, sorry for the haphazard italics (particularly with spells)…had trouble getting them
uploaded for some reason.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

Harry had anticipated a Dursley counteroffensive that night; he was surprised, therefore, when
the first thing up the stairs wasn’t his uncle, but a screech owl. The bird dropped a familiar
looking envelope at Harry’s feet not fifteen minutes after his watch began and flew off before he
had the chance to stop it.

The message was all too familiar.

*Dear Mr. Potter:*

*We have received intelligence that Finite Encantatem and Scourgify spells were used at
twenty-three and twenty-four minutes past midnight within your Muggle-inhabited household.*

Your wanton disregard for the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has gone
unchecked far too long. Ministry representatives will call on your residence shortly to destroy
your wand. Any attempt to evade their administration of justice will be dealt with most
severely.

*Given your repeated violation of this Decree you should consider yourself expelled from
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the unlikely event that it opens this Fall.
Furthermore, you are required to attend a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9am on
July 30, where additional disciplinary actions will no doubt be levied.*

*Enjoy the rest of your evening.*

*Dolores Umbridge*

*Office of the Minister of Magic*

Harry exhaled a scatological request, then reluctantly woke Hermione.

“Oh Merlin,” she said. “I cast those spells on my trunk and your Aunt and Uncle’s bed
clothes.”

“Thought as much,” Harry replied. “They detected magic use in the house and assumed that I was
the only one here that could have cast that spell.”

“Couldn’t they just check our wands?” Hermione asked.

“Doubt that the echoes would be strong enough to show up resolved with Priori Incantatum…not
that I expect they’ll take time to look. It’ll be Stupefy first and ask questions later.”

They quickly identified their responses, both written and practical. Hermione scrawled a quick
reply to send off with Hedwig while Harry roused his relatives.

“What the blazes?” said Vernon, “It wasn’t enough for you to claim our bedrooms so now you claim
our sleep?”

“Sorry,” Harry replied, “but there a strong possibility that we may be under attack in a few
minutes and I thought you might prefer the relative safety of the upstairs lavatory.”

Petunia’s face went white. “But I thought Lord Voldemort couldn’t hurt you while you stayed in
our house.”

“That’s right,” said Harry. “You know that, I know that, but there’s no guarantee that the bad
guys know that. And even if they did, I doubt that my mother’s protection extends over your heads
as well.”

The Dursleys didn’t wait to argue with Harry’s logic.

Brian, who had been awoken by Vernon’s shouts, wanted to call the local police for help; Harry
refused, saying that giving the nature of the visit Hermione and he needed to handle things
themselves. He then suggested that Brian slip out of the house in order to keep the Royal
connection quiet. Brian reluctantly agreed, but said that he’d be watching from a safe distance
with cell phone in hand.

Harry took the rucksack that McGonagall had given him into the dining room and dumped its
contents out; the contraband covered the table and spilt over onto the floor. He was tempted to
grab the Sword of Gryffindor, but decided to try to keep the bloodshed to a minimum. Instead, three
balls and a saucer-shaped item were tucked into his pockets. On a bit of inspiration, Harry
activated the two pair of omnioculars and propped them up on a hallway shelf and the kitchen
counter, so that they faced the front and rear entrances to the house respectively.

Harry looked up as Hermione entered the kitchen. She had changed into a dark sweater and black
pants, with hair up in a loose ponytail and her wand out and ready.

“What happened to my little princess?” he asked.

“Laura Croft kicked her bum out of bed,” she replied with determination.

“Time for a good luck bear hug, Dame Hermione?”


“’Fraid not, Sir Harry.” She leaned forward and laid a quick kiss on his lips. “That will have
to do.”

Hermione ran down the hallway to take up a defensive position a few feet away from the front
door. It took Harry a few seconds to shake off the shock of her kiss before he turned off the
kitchen lights, and walked out to the rear steps. Turning back towards the kitchen, he reached into
a pocket, and threw a ball marked “Swamp Surprise” onto the floor. Harry watched with no small
amount of satisfaction as the thrown ball turned Aunt Petunia’s spotless kitchen floor into muck.
The “surprise” came two seconds later, when a concealment charm covered the swamp’s surface with a
perfect imitation of the original patterned linoleum.

Harry heard five distinct cracks as he circled around towards the front of the house. He
groaned; it was two more than they had expected. Harry took up a position near the front corner of
the house, hidden by invisibility cloak and shrub, and spotted a silvery otter as it scampered out
the front door and sped off into the night.

It took a full minute for his guests to arrive; Harry noted with some satisfaction that the
protective wards in place had forced them to apparate a good two blocks down the street. There were
six in the party. Five moved with a purpose that screamed out “auror in action,” while the sixth
(who must have side-armed) lagged behind with a waddling gait. As they approached the house two of
the black robed figures silently split off to the rear of the house. The other three waited for the
laggard, who chose a position on the street curb, well away from the house.

They didn’t bother to knock, unless you counted the Evansco incantation that made the front door
disappear. Two of the men leapt into the doorframe and fired off stunning spells without any word
or warning. Harry thought he heard a Protego called out, but wasn’t sure it was done in time.

Harry reacted as soon as the stunners were released. The first ball he threw burst into a cloud
of dust that enveloped the three men into pitch-black darkness. The three figures turned and fired
spells in Harry’s direction, but the Peruvian Instant Blackness Powder and Harry’s cloak kept them
from aiming with accuracy. When the second thrown ball broke, the men found themselves not only
enveloped in darkness, but shoulder deep in the muck of a portable swamp. From the tenor of their
voices they were not very pleased.

Harry yelled towards the front entrance. “Hermione, are you okay?”

Panicked by the lack of a reply, Harry grabbed the disc from his pocket and flung it against the
house. He then dove through the hole that the portable door had created and tumbled into the living
room. His heart sank when he saw Hermione crumpled up against the coat closet’s door. When Harry
called out to Hermione a second time her eyes opened. She immediately rolled over onto her stomach
and dove behind the closet door as a red beam shot out through the blackened front entrance.

“I’m fine, Harry,” she said, as she tried to loosen the bruised shoulder that was attached to
her wand hand.

The crash of a Reducto spell against the back door kept Harry from asking a second question. He
pulled the cloak back over his head and ran towards the kitchen. Harry heard someone yell “Clear!”
and reached the doorway connecting the dining room to kitchen just as a robed figure cautiously
entered the house. The man’s first step sent him tumbling face-first into the faux linoleum.

His partner, who’d stayed at the threshold to cover his back, swore as he tried to both
counteract the trap and guard against attack. With his attention focused in front of him, the
attacker was surprised by the kick from behind that connected with his behind and sent him
sprawling into the swamp. Harry saw the foot, but couldn’t identify the supporter attached to it;
the black-clothed figure disappeared without identifying himself.

Harry quickly refocused his attention on the two men in front of him, and their comic attempts
to find solid ground. He threw the last ball in his pocket at the two men; the belching powder that
enveloped them made saying anything coherent (like a counterspell) problematic. With the immediate
threat neutralized, Harry squatted down under his cloak, wand now in hand, and waited.

Meanwhile, Hermione had cast a Levicorpus spell at the first sight of fingers reaching out from
the darkness in search of solid ground. The attacker that was sent head under heels cast the
counterspell before remembering where he would land. Upon hearing the splash Hermione realized what
had happened and modified her defense by casting a freezing charm at the swamp’s surface. The water
froze fast enough that two of the three attackers were caught with ice-encased wand hands. The
third was so busy trying to thaw his partners free that he caught the full force of the third
Silencio spell that Hermione had cast blindly into the darkness.

With the threat of attack considerably lessened, Hermione cast a proprietary counterspell to the
Peruvian Instant Blackness Powder that she’d helped the Weasley twins develop just two days prior
(and two days after its lethal use during the attack on Hogwarts). Three quick Stupefy spells found
their marks, as did the follow-up Accio wand spells. With three wands pocketed she ran towards the
back of the house.

A disembodied arm caught Hermione before she went for a swim, which caused her to cast an
off-balanced Protego as the two assailants tried to fire off curses at her. The combination of
burped incantations and mud-covered wandtips, however, rendered this defense unnecessary; the
spells fizzled and dribbled out through the wand tips. Hermione nailed the two men with Stupefy
spells before they had the chance to clean their wands.

It wasn’t until Hermione had Accio’d their two mucked-up wands that Harry remembered about
Umbridge. They both vaulted back to the front entrance and aimed their wands out towards the street
in search of a target.

What they found were two wizards sitting on a bench eating popcorn.

“Fred…George?” Hermione called out.

“Nope, just the cavalry,” said Fred.

“Nice show,” added George, as he threw a few kernels into his mouth. “We give it two thumbs
up.”

“You really should have sprung for the Deluxe version of the swamp, though,” said Fred. “The
crocodiles are worth every extra galleon.”

“We’re fine, thank you very much,” Hermione said sarcastically as she and Harry lowered their
wands and carefully skated across the icy surface towards the twins.

“Didn’t happen to run into Dolores Umbridge on the way in, did you?” Harry asked.

“Oh, we’re on top of that situation,” replied George.

“Yeah,” added Fred with a grin, “wouldn’t want to be accused of sitting down on the job.”

As Hermione and Harry reached the street curb they saw that the twins were speaking with
characteristic literalism. The “bench” they were sitting on was, in fact, the rigid frame of the
former Hogwarts High Inquisitor, levitated two feet off the ground.

“You two are too cruel,” Hermione said with a laugh, “but probably not too comfortable.”

“It’s not so bad,” said Fred, as he shifted on his seat.

“Just have to wiggle a bit to get around the lumpy bits,” added George. “Popcorn?”

“Erm, no thanks,” said Harry. “So did she put up a fight?”

“Dunno,” said Fred. “She was standing stunned when we got here.”

“Must have caught a stray spell,” Hermione surmised, as she looked back at other three rigid
bodies.

George tilted his popcorn bag out in a futile hunt for popped kernels amongst the duds. Giving
up, he looked up at Hermione. “So can we play with your swampcycles?”

“No,” said Hermione impatiently, “playtime is over. Don’t need the muggle neighbors seeing any
more than they need to.”

“Yes, mum,” was the sing-songed reply, as the twins rose to help Harry and Hermione clean up. It
only took a minute to banish the swamps, repair the windows and doors, and levitate the six rigid
assailments into the living room.

“How did you guys get here,” asked Harry, as they regrouped inside. “How did you know we were
even here?”

“Didn’t you read the note on your trunk?” Fred asked.

“Erm, no,” Harry replied, fingering the unread parchment in his jeans pocket with some
embarrassment.

“We drew short straws at dinner.”

“This was a Weasley operation?” asked Harry.

“Still think Charlie enlarged his straw,” Fred muttered to his twin.

“Yeah, not like he hasn’t had years of practice.”

“Anyway,” continued Fred, “we got here and place was quiet, so we left the note saying we were
at Arabella’s and to ring her on the jelly-phone when you arrived.”

“But I didn’t,” Harry said.

“No, but I did,” Hermione interjected.

“When?”

“When I heard all of the apparations…thought it was time to ring Mrs. Figg’s for some help.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you were one smart witch?” asked Harry.

“Oh,” said Hermione with a grin, “I’ve heard that once or twice.”

Their banter was interrupted McGonagall’s patronus, who leapt into the living room and curled up
around Hermione’s leg.

“Oh foo, playtime’s over,” said Fred.

“Yeah, the adults have arrived,” added George.

“Hey Harry,” Fred asked, “can we take a look at your toys?”

“Sure,” said Harry. “Probably a good idea to put them away for the night.”

“We can take care of that,” George replied.

As Fred and George excused themselves to sort out the dining room mess Harry pulled the hoods
back from the heads of their captives. He immediately recognized two; Dolores Umbridge and a
tough-looking, wiry-haired wizard that he’d had run-ins with before.

“Good evening, Dawlish,” said Harry. “Assuming, of course, you are Dawlish and not some
polyjuiced Death Eater.”

The auror rigidly raged.

“Oops,” said Hermione. She cast binding charms on the immobilized figures, then counteracted the
Silencio and Stupefy spells. Dawlish’s mouth was mobilized in mid-rant.

“..care if you think you’re the greatest thing since butterbeer you’re going to Azkaban for this
one, boy!”

“Over a simple Scourgify spell?” asked Harry, with a grin on his face.

“No,” Dawlish replied, “for attacking an auror and resisting arrest.”

“Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves?” asked Hermione from across the room. “Expect
Headmistress to be here shortly.”

“To do what,” asked Harry, “laugh at their ineptitude? An entire auror team, brought down by two
Hogwarts students using nothing more than a few second year spells and pranks from a joke
shop?”

“You knew why we were here,” Umbridge spat out. “You got the owl…underage magic use…you resisted
arrest.”

“No,” said Hermione. “Well, actually, yes – we did get the owl message, but you should have
gotten our reply, and in any event you can hardly claim that we resisting arrest when they made no
effort to identify themselves as aurors in the first place.”

A flash of twirling light appeared behind them, out from which strode Headmistress McGonagall
and Gawain Robards, the current Head of the Auror Department.

“Was her orders,” mumbled one of the other glum-looking men, before he realized that there were
more ears listening.

“Really?” asked the tall, badged wizard who had just portkeyed alongside Headmistress
McGonagall. “And what exactly were those orders?”

“To collect and break the wand of this underage liar,” exclaimed Umbridge, as she pointed her
triple chin towards Harry. “And to defend themselves if need be from any illegal and foolish
attempts to resist enforcement of the rule of law.”

“Oh, shove it, Dolores,” said McGonagall, with uncharacteristic fervor. “Hermione, will you
please explain to everyone what happened here tonight?”

Hermione quickly summarized the events of the previous hour; her Finite and Scourgify spells,
the Ministry’s owl post, and subsequent attack. Both she and Harry handed their wands over to the
Head Auror for his review. As Harry had predicted, however, the spells that had last been cast
hadn’t been dark enough or strong enough to leave discernible residue.

When Umbridge shrieked about the spells Harry had no doubt used that evening Harry denied using
his wand while Hermione tried to force Dawlish to admit that the aurors hadn’t identified
themselves before they attacked. Instead, Dawlish claimed just the opposite, and accused Harry and
Hermione of opening fire first. The other aurors remained silent – they were in enough trouble as
it was for their incompetence; they didn’t want to add insubordination to the list.

When Harry and Hermione accused Dawlish of lying, Umbridge told them in no uncertain terms to
prove it…and if they didn’t want time added to their stay at Azkaban to immediately remove their
bindings. Harry decided at that point that enough was enough. He retrieved the two pair of
omnioculars and handed them to the Headmistress and Head Auror.

Hermione smile when she realized what Harry had done. “You are so...”

“Busted.” Harry said simply.

The Headmistress and Head Auror took the omnioculars, then rewound and replayed what had
previously been recorded. Auror Robards looked over at Harry during his review.

“Where were the muggles that live in this house during the attack?”

“Upstairs in the loo,” Harry replied. “They’re still up there.”

The Auror nodded and traded omnioculars with McGonagall to gain the other perspective. When he
was finished reviewing the two recordings, the Head Auror walked over to Harry and Hermione and
returned their wands.

“On behalf of at least my little portion of the Ministry of Magic,” he said, “I wish to extend a
sincere apology for the abhorrent behavior displayed here tonight. There was no excuse for it.”

“Erm, thank you sir.” Harry replied.

The Head Auror took a small card from a pocket in his robes, touched it with his wand, and
handed it to Hermione. “Miss Granger, here is the contact information in case you wish to press
charges against these men. I’ve added my secured floo location information on the back if you have
any problems with the paperwork. Our internal investigation on tonight’s activity will be completed
within the next few days, and I’ll make sure that you have a copy of the final report.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hermione replied.

The auror then turned to Harry. “Your Headmistress informs me that Miss Granger intends to stay
here through the summer. Rest assured, the detection of anything short of an unforgivable within
these walls will be interpreted as having come from her wand.” He jerked his head towards Umbridge.
“You will not be bothered by the likes of her again, if I have anything to say about it.”

He then turned towards the team of hit wizards with their wands bundled in his outstretched
hand.

“If we weren’t so short-handed I’d snap these wands myself. Right here. Right now.”

The five muddy and bound Aurors looked up with shock.

“As it is, we need every wand we can get, even when they are so poorly and unlawfully wielded…
Dawlish!”

“Yes, sir.”

“As of now, you and your team are suspended from active operations. It’ll be desk duties for the
lot of you while the investigation takes place. But don’t wait for the investigation’s end to start
packing your bags; whether it be as guest or guard, you’re heading to Azkaban.”

The hit wizards’s shock was redoubled.

“And as for you, Dolores,” he said icily, as he turned towards her, “I have, unfortunately, no
direct control over you. Merlin knows what keeps you in power at the Ministry…however, on the way
here the Headmistress described some allegations of unforgivable use and other illegal acts during
your tenure at Hogwarts. I will be investigating these allegations myself. If they bear out you may
plan on feeling the full fury of the Auror Department raining down upon your toady-little
head.”

Umbridge’s retort was silenced by McGonagall’s wand.

“Thank you, Minerva,” the Auror said. “Now, I believe that your students have been bothered
enough for one night.”

He placed his wandtip on his Auror’s badge and muttered an incantation. The badge started to
flash on and off as he placed it down on the living room’s coffee table. He then banished the ropes
that bound the hit wizards and Umbridge. The aurors morosely reached down to touch the badge as
their Head grabbed Dolores’s elbow roughly and did the same. A second later, they vanished as the
portkey was activated.

“I think it time for me to take my leave as well,” Headmistress McGonagall said. She handed the
omnioculars to Harry. “A very creative, if unorthodox, defense Mr. Potter.” She then turned towards
Hermione. “As for you Miss Granger, some fine spellcasting. I have to ask, however, where you
learned to cast a Levicorpus spell. I don’t recall it being on the Hogwarts standard list of
spells.”

“Erm…Professor Lupin taught it to me, Headmistress.”

“I see,” McGonagall said, with her eyes narrowing just a bit. “Please take care, Miss Granger,
when casting spells not found on the standard list. Mr. Potter might share with you the
consequences that sometimes arise out of freelance spellcasting.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hermione said rather contritely.

“Headmistress,” Harry cut in, “how did you get Head Auror Robards to come with you…do you think
he’s trustworthy?”

“Well,” said McGonagall, “let’s just say that Gawain is a friend of the family. And yes, I
believe that you can trust his intentions. Whether he actually has the political capital to boot
Umbridge from the Ministry is a different question, though.”

At the sound of a soft knock on the new front door, Headmistress McGonagall morphed into her
animagus form and took her leave out the back. Hermione and Harry heard a distinct hiss from the
dining room as they opened the front door and let a relieved Queen’s man back into the house.
Brian’s reappearance reminded Harry that his relatives were still up in the loo; he went upstairs
to give them the all-clear as well.

“We repacked your goody bag,” Fred said, as he handed Harry the rucksack.

“But not before we labeled everything that was ours or that we knew about, though,” added
George. “Hope you don’t mind, but there were a couple of items we didn’t recognize…wondered if
maybe we could bring them back to the lab for a look-see.”

“Sure,” said Harry, “no problem. While you’re at it, can you send me a few more swamps? I kind
of liked playing with those tonight.”

“Consider it done,” said George, just as the Dursleys crept back down the stairs.

“Hello, there,” the twins said in unison.

At the sight of Fred and George all three of the Dursleys recoiled, and Dudley broke out into a
whimper.

“Nice to see you again, Dudley,” said Fred.

Dudley jumped back up a few stairs and whimpered some more.

“What’s a matter, Dudley, cat got your tongue?” asked George.

“Or maybe you’re just a bit tongue-tied?” added Fred.

“Now boys,” said Hermione, “don’t scare our hosts. They need to come down the stairs so that we
can go back up the stairs and to bed.”

“Okay,” said Fred. “We’ll just have a sit on the front steps, then. Don’t mind us.”

“They’re staying too?” asked Petunia anxiously.

“Erm, just for the night, as a watch,” said Harry. “Unless, of course, you’d like to see them
more often?”

Three heads shook sideways with great vigor.

“Right then,” said Brian, “shall we try this once again?”


As the Dursleys set up again in the living room and Brian repaired to the guest bedroom, Harry
walked Hermione to the master bedroom’s door.

“With Fred and George here you are going to try and get some sleep, right?” Hermione asked.

“I guess so,” Harry replied.

“Erm, do you want me to Scourgify Dudley’s sheets?” she asked.

“No thanks,” Harry replied. Not that I don’t trust Auror Robards’s word, but why test things so
soon?”

“Good point,” Hermione said, with a bit of nervous laughter in her voice. “So…your Aunt and
Uncle’s sheets are clean…”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry quickly interrupted, “but I’ll be fine in Dudley’s room.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, “Sure. No problem…So….good night, Sir Harry.”

Harry took her hands in his and grinned. “Sweet dreams, princess.”

Harry gave each of her hands a gentle squeeze, then let go as he headed into Dudley’s room. It
wasn’t until he closed the door that he let out a deep breath. Scowling at Dudley’s sheets, he
ripped them off the bed and flipped the mattress for good measure. He thought about heading back
downstairs to give Fred and George the “reading material” that he found stashed beneath Dudley’s
mattress, but didn’t dare head back out to the hallway.

Had he done so, he would have found Hermione still there, standing at the threshold with the
fingertips of one hand touching the door and whispered words touching her lips.

“Sweet dreams, my handsome prince.”



9. Chapter 9
------------

**Chapter 9 Sorting Things Out**

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed my previous chapters.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

+++++++++++++++++

Harry woke to the sound of Dudley pushing a lawnmower. It was going to be a good day.

He got up out of bed and rummaged through the closet for an empty coat hanger, upon which he
hung the black tuxedo and white shirt that he’d slept in. He opened his school trunk, threw on some
of the less heinous hand-me-downs, and headed out into the hall. Harry had to step over his Uncle
Vernon, who was struggling to remove the lowermost hinge pin from his old bedroom’s doorframe.

"Good Morning, Uncle Vernon," he said. "Sleep well?"

If looks could kill Harry would have had to dodge a curse.

He took the stairs two at a time and headed towards the kitchen, where he found Brian cleaning
some dishes in the sink. Brian turned towards him and asked "Feeling alright this morning, Sir
Harry?"

Harry looked past Brian out through the basin window to see his Aunt Petunia fighting a losing
battle against the hedgerow.

"Brilliant, Brian. Just brilliant."

The Queen’s man filled a mug and pushed it across the counter as Harry took a seat. "
‘Coffee as black as his hair’ is how Dame Hermione described it," he said.

"She knows me too well," Harry said as he took a sip. "Speaking of
which…"

"She popped over for Saturday brunch with her parents," Brian replied. "Asked me
to have you call her when you woke up. Oh, and she left you the paper."

Harry nodded as he glanced over at the Daily Prophet’s headline, **"Ministry Thwarts
Crazed Centaur Attack at Hogwarts!"** Brian placed a plate in front of him laden with fresh
fruit, a warm bran muffin, and granola-topped yogurt.

"Pardon my initiative," Brian said, "but after taking a look at your Aunt’s
pantry this morning I ran over to the market for a few things that weren’t so…shall we
say…processed."

"Erm, no, no problem," Harry replied, eyeing the yogurt with suspicion. "Looks
fabulous."

"Eat up, then, Sir Harry – from the looks of your clothing they must have been starving you
at school."

Harry looked at Brian with a bit of confusion. "Just the opposite, actually," he
replied, "Foods great at school…a little more traditional (that yogurt wasn’t looking any
better), but always plenty to eat."

"So this stapled-stomach look is fashionable in the wizarding world?"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, wondering why muggles would want to have a staple gun anywhere near
a stomach. He looked down, saw his clothes, and realized Brian’s mistaken assumption.

"No, no…these clothes are Dudley’s hand-me-downs. Pretty much all my muggle clothes used to
be his, except for what I wore yesterday...that was from Hermione."

"Well," Brian intoned, "to borrow a phrase from your friend, not this summer. Sir
Harry, not this summer…we’ll visit a clothier’s this afternoon.

"Oh, speaking of clothes," Harry said, "I’ve got the suit and shirt hanging
upstairs in the closet whenever you want to take it back to the Palace."

"Want it back?" Brian asked, with incredulity in his voice. "I’m terribly sorry,
I should have been clearer yesterday afternoon. The suit and shirt are yours, Sir Harry. You’re
going to need them."

Harry chuckled to himself. "I really appreciate that, Brian, but I can’t imagine needing
that tuxedo any time soon."

"Only because we haven’t had time to discuss your engagement calendar, Sir Harry,"
Brian replied. "Of course, since your knighthood is secret and won’t appear on the Registry it
won’t be as busy as it might be, but…you and Dame Hermione will have opportunities…I know for a
fact that you’re going to be invited for a small reception at Windsor next week, and there’s to be
a post-concert party with Sir Elton next month…"

"Hmmph," Harry said with a tinge of chagrin. "I don’t know why anyone would want
to invite me to anyplace fancy. Beside, Hermione and I need to do a lot of…studying…this summer,
and a fair bit of travel." He looked back out the window as his Aunt wiped sweat from her
brow, hedge shears in hand. "But then again, we might be able to attend a few
events…particularly if it gives a few people I know some twisted knickers."

Brian checked where Harry’s gaze was and smiled. "I see, Sir Harry. So instead of a single
swift blow from your magnificent sword it will be death by a thousand paper cuts?"

"Oh, no," replied Harry. "I’ve no plans to kill them….I’ll probably stop
somewhere in the high eight-hundreds."

The front doorbell rang, and Harry looked towards Brian.

"Sorry, Sir Harry, but I believe that is a friend of yours…a Miss Tonks? Dame Hermione and
the Weasley brothers vouched for her before they left…she’s been here most of the
morning."

The doorbell rang again. Then again.

Harry thanked Brian for breakfast as he grabbed his coffee and headed towards the front
entrance. The already open door provided a partial view of Tonks, who was standing on the front
steps, eye-level with the door bell.

"Wotcher, Harry." She pressed the doorbell again. "These
push-the-button-hear-some-bells things are funny aren’t they…wonder what’d it would be like to have
one hooked up to the floo connection."

"Careful, Tonks." he replied, "You’re starting to channel Arthur
Weasley."

Tonks looked up, then turned her hair Weasley red. "Not a bad idea, Harry…maybe if there
were two Arthurs running about one of them would occasionally get a word in edgewise with
Molly."

Harry laughed. "So what brings you to the Dursley residence?"

"Business," Tonks replied, as she restored her hair color.

"Erm…what kind of business?" Harry asked warily.

Tonks gave Harry a grin. "Head Auror Robards ordered me to do the follow-up field
investigation to the pantsing you gave Umbridge and Dawlish last night. Figured you’d be less
likely to slime an Auror that you already knew."

Harry nodded, a twinkle in his eye. "So does this take you off the security detail at
Hogwarts?"

"Only temporarily," she replied. "With luck and a little cooperation from
The-Boy-Who-Swamped I’ll be back there tonight."

"The-Boy-Who-Swamped?" Harry asked. "Don’t tell me that they are really calling
me that at MLE."

"Just the ones that either really hate Dawlish or really love him," Tonks said with a
grin. "Of course, that’s just about everybody - he has a rather polarizing
personality."

Harry shook his head and sighed. "So tell me, Tonks, which camp is Head Auror Robards
in?"

"Don’t really know," she replied, as she entered the house and began to examine a small
scorch mark in the closet door. "He plays things close to his robes."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"Not too much, really," said Tonks. "He’s a behind-the-scenes quiet type. Never
flashy, rose through the ranks based on his management skills…makes sense, really, since he sorted
Hufflepuff."

"Really?" asked Harry. "I can’t picture too many Hufflepuffs becoming Hit
Wizards."

"Well, Harry," Tonks replied, "you need more than bravery and cunning to be a
good Auror…or a good leader, for that matter."

"Doesn’t sound at all like someone Scrimgeour would pick as his replacement."

"Depends on what Rufus thought he needed, don’t you think?" Tonks asked. "Talk to
the rank-and-file aurors and most will say that Scrimgeour picked him exactly because Robards
didn’t seem that ambitious, or power hungry. Gives him more of a shot of staying in control at MLE
as well as at the Minister’s office."

"Never thought of it in that sort of way, I guess," said Harry. "Sounds like more
of that political glad-handing back-stabbing manipulative garbage that Umbridge seems to excel
at."

"I agree," said Tonks, "that Umbridge has gotten where she has because of her
political skills. But that’s exactly why those skills aren’t garbage, Harry. Without political
savvy, the best-intentioned and brightest wizard will always get cut down at the knees."

"Doesn’t seem very fair."

"I agree, but that’s the way things are. You know, it might be useful for you to learn more
about that political garbage, Harry…worked for Dumbledore."

Tonks finished her inspection of the closet door and wrote a few things down on some
parchment.

"Okay, Harry, I’ve finished in Hermione’s room and downstairs…just need to check your wand
and those omnioculars that came in so handy last night."

"Sure thing," said Harry, handing her his wand. "Be right back."

As Harry walked upstairs he passed his Uncle, who had finally removed the door from its frame
and was dragging it out as trash. He quickly retrieved the two pair of omnioculars he’d stored in
his trunk, and returned downstairs.

"Here, Tonks," Harry said. "Erm, can I get these back sometime soon? They proved
to be rather useful."

"Oh, I don’t need to take them, Harry…just need to download the recorded images. Got a
spell that preserves them in my wand. Just take a few minutes."

Tonks placed the devices on the living room coffee table, flicked her wrist in a complex pattern
and said an incantation that Harry didn’t catch. She then placed the tip of her wand onto the lens
of first one, then the other pair of omnioculars.

"So are these the ones you had around your neck at the last World Cup?"

"Erm, no," Harry replied. "McGonagall let me raid Filch’s stash of contraband
yesterday morning."

"That’s strange," Tonks replied, "I’ve never seen omnioculars on any list of
banned items…unless…"

Tonks grabbed one of the omnioculars, put it up to her eyes, and pointed it towards Harry. She
turned various knobs and pushed different buttons, until one such adjustment produced a very
un-Auror-ish giggle.

"Unless they’ve had some after-market…erm...capabilities added," she concluded.

"Like what?" Harry asked.

Tonks lowered the omnioculars.

"Hang on a second," she said. She looked away from Harry, as if in thought, then
morphed into a frighteningly accurate image of Dolores Umbridge. Once the transformation was
complete she handed Harry the viewing device.

"Aim it at me, then hit that red button by your left index finger three times."

Harry followed her instructions, then let out a small scream as he dropped the device back onto
the table as if it were on fire.

Tonks let out a good laugh. "What’s the matter, Harry? Was what you saw too…hot?"

"That’s not funny, Tonks…I almost cast my patronus."

"Makes sense to me…if dementors suck out your soul, then a naked Umbridge could suck out
all of your libido… Oh, and by the way…nice wand."

Harry’s face turned a deep crimson as he realized what Tonks had seen before giving the
omnioculars to him.

"I’m sorry, Harry, couldn’t resist pulling your….your chain a bit. Here, let me make it up
to you."

Tonks changed her appearance back to her normal, bubble-gum-haired form.

"Fair is fair."

Harry became even more embarrassed when he realized what Tonks was offering.

"No thanks, Tonks. I’ve no desire to have Remus kick my arse from here to Argyle."

"And what are you implying, Mr. Potter?" Tonks shot back, with a twinkle in her
eye.

"Erm, nothing…just that yesterday morning it looked like Remus had finally realized how
much of a daft git he’s been when it comes to your feelings for him."

"Oh," Tonks said a bit sheepishly, as it became her time to blush. "Well, if you
saw that, then it must have been *really* obvious," she said with a smile. "Or else
it takes one daft git to know another."

"Hey, who are you calling a daft git?" Harry asked playfully.

"Know thyself, Harry Potter," she replied, as she morphed once again, this time taking
the form of the newest lady knight in England. She picked up the omnioculars and handed them back
to a confused-looking young man.

"Safe to look now…unless you’re flexible enough to kick your own arse."

Harry was trying to decide between a witty retort and an angsty self-evaluation when the
doorbell chimed once again. This time, Brian came in from the kitchen to answer the door.

"Oh, Dame Hermione," he said as he glanced at Tonks and Harry. "I didn’t realize
you’d returned. Good that you’re here, actually."

As Brian opened the door Harry whispered into Tonks’s ear. "So what are we going to do now,
"Hermione"?"

"Have to play along," she replied. "He might be card-carrying, but that doesn’t
mean he should know what I can do."

"Great."

"So why is he calling you Sir Harry?" Tonks asked. "And why is he calling me
*damn* Hermione?"

"Erm, just an inside joke…tell you later."

Brian brought two men dressed in business suits into the living room. "Sir Harry, Dame
Hermione, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Jackson and Mr. Wall. They work Palace security, and
they have some rather urgent business."

"Good morning," said one of the men, "We’re sorry to disturb you, but we need
your help." The other man opened a small black bag and placed a laptop computer onto the
coffee table. He opened the screen and pushed a few buttons, before swearing.

"What’s this then, Steve…blasted thing was working just before we crossed the
street."

The man’s older partner hunched over the computer keyboard and frowned. "That’s what modern
technology does for you, Wally…told you once, told you a million times, it’s the tried and true
that you need to do."

Harry noticed that the computer screen was only a few inches away from the activated
omnioculars. He quietly reached down and pocketed the device.

The older man straightened up and turned towards Tonks and Harry. "Dame Hermione, Sir
Harry, my young technogeek partner and I are part of a security team established by the Prince to
keep an eye on your respective residences."

"You mean you’ve been watching this house?" asked Harry, with a bit of alarm.

"Yes, Sir Harry," the man replied. "As well as the Granger residence. And it’s
about that…" The man reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a photograph, which he
handed to Tonks.

"Dame Hermione, do you recognize either of the two men in this picture?"

Tonks and Harry looked at the static image of two wizards poorly disguised in muggle clothing.
One man had matched top hat and tails with speedos and flip-flops; the other (whose attire was at
least internally consistent) was wearing leather lederhosen.

"Erm, no, afraid not," Tonks replied cautiously. "Where was this image taken, and
when?"

"The picture was obtained about one hour ago. Surprised you didn’t recognize where it was
taken…the two men were standing across the street from your parent’s house."

Harry and Tonks shot looks of concern at each other before she replied. "Well, I’ve been
away at school for so long, of course…guess they must have repainted the house, or
something."

"Brian," asked Harry, "we need to talk to Hermione…I mean her parents…straight
away."

"Certainly, Sir Harry," Brian replied, wondering why the Hermione in front of him
couldn’t do that herself. He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and pushed a few buttons on
its keypad.

"Hullo, Mr. and Mrs. Granger? Brian Willox here…sorry to bother you but Sir Harry and your
daughter need to talk with you…she’s what?" He looked at Tonks rather strangely. "Oh, I
understand. Yes, well, one moment please."

He handed the cell phone to Harry cautiously.

"Thanks, Brian," Harry said, we’ll just be a minute. He grabbed Tonks’s hand and ran
up the stairs to Dudley’s room. Having closed the door, Tonks cast a *Silencio* spell as Harry
put the phone up against his ear."

"Hullo? Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry, it’s me. Can you explain why Tonks is with you looking like me?"

"Erm, long story…that’s got to wait though. We’ve got problems."

"What’s wrong?" Hermione asked.

"There’s a couple of Death Eaters staking out your parent’s house."

There was a loud gasp for reply.

"Merlin, Harry…my parent’s house. So they plan on…but how did they find out where I
live…How did you find out that they’re there?"

"The Prince has security people watching both our houses, and the ones apparently minding this
house showed me a photograph of them across the street from yours. But what’s important now…are you
still with your parents?"

"Yes, we just got back to their room after brunch."

"Good. Stay there, I’m coming to get you."

Tonks interrupted the conversation. "Harry, you shouldn’t go anywhere…you won’t be
protected yet."

"Is that Tonks, there?" Hermione asked. "Harry, give her the phone."

Harry reluctantly gave the cell phone to Tonks.

"Hermione," Tonks said. "I’ll have an auror team there as soon as possible…wait,
where are you? No, don’t answer that, who knows who might be listening in. Okay, send me your
patronus, no wait, don’t do that, they’ll catch that at the Ministry…"

Harry grabbed the cell phone as if it were a snitch. "Hermione, we’re going to find a way
to get you guys back here safe…I want your parents here, where we can protect them…wards are
up…might be best to use muggle transport…yeah, I’ll make arrangements…call you right
back."

Harry looked down at the phone keypad until he finally found the "end" button.
"Tonks, don’t even start about using magical transport for them. Hermione’s parents are
muggles, and they’re probably less likely noticed if they’re using muggle transportation.

"Yeah, you’re right I guess. Still think she could use an extra wand there just in
case."

"Fine, then, we’ll go downstairs and have them take you to Hermione. And don’t forget
you’re still Hermione for now."

"Don’t worry, I won’t." As she cancelled the silencing charm and opened the door she
planted a kiss on Harry’s lips.

"What was that for?" Harry asked.

"Thought you might like to kiss Hermione for good luck," she replied.

"I’ve already done that once this morning, thank you very much."

"Really?" asked Tonks. "Well what do you know…maybe you’re not such a daft git
after all."



10. Chapter 10
--------------



**Chapter 10:** **Waiting in Wally****world**

**A/N:** Thanks for all who have posted reviews…they really do motivate me to keep this story
moving along (vanity thy name is fanfict author).

**Disclaimer:** Not my story, no money being made, not responsible for the language I used
whilst watching USA's 1-1 draw with Italy.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Harry and Tonks opened the door to Dudley's bedroom, only to find the way blocked by one
very hacked-off familiar.

“Hey Crookshanks,” Harry said as he reached down to scratch an ear. The half-kneazle ducked his
head away from Harry's hand and hissed at Tonks.

“Wotcher, Crookshanks,” she said. “Oh, I see.” Tonks said, as she realized what skin she was
wearing, “You're probably wondering why…” She quickly morphed back into her baseline bubble-gum
colored hair form. “See, it really is me.”

The half-kneazle glared at Harry, then back at Tonks, and hissed again.

“Erm, Crookshanks,” Harry said, “there is a perfectly good explanation why Tonks looks like
Hermione, and why she and I were in…erm, in my bedroom…but we don't have time to explain right
now, ok?”

Crookshanks stared at Harry unconvinced.

“Look, Crookshanks, we really don't have time…Hermione's parents may be in danger, and
Tonks and I have to go check things out....Hermione's with them, though, ok?” Harry said, a bit
nervously. “Now, while we're gone we'll need somebody to watch the Dursleys to make sure
that they don't do anything stupid…will you do that for me?”

Hermione's familiar stared over at Tonks, who'd changed back to Hermione's form. He
then looked back at Harry with disapproving eyes and slowly walked back into the master
bedroom.

“Geezsh,” Tonks said as they headed towards the stairs, “Didn't expect to have a chaperone
around here.”

“Oh,” said Harry, “he's just looking out for his best girl,” Harry replied. “Speaking of
which…”

Harry ran back into Dudley's bedroom and poked his head out the window. A quick scan
revealed his cousin watering the backyard with his sweat, but no signs of Hedwig.

Guessing that she could do a better job of taking care of herself than the Granger's, he
pushed finding Hedwig to the back burner and ran downstairs with Tonks.

They found Brian, the two security men and his Uncle Vernon in the dining room, gathered at an
object newly hung on the wall across from where his Uncle usually sat for meals.

“Vernon,” the younger security man said, with a newly displayed lisp, “you've been holding
out on us, haven't you dear?”

Harry could tell that his Uncle's anger was simmering just under the boil.

“Here we were,” Wally continued, “imagining that we'd just moved into a typical suburban
neighborhood, with typical suburban neighbors, and then…well, there you are with this most amazing
piece of art.”

Wally walked over to his partner and put his arm around his shoulder. “It's brilliant, luv,
don't you think?”

Harry couldn't decide what was more interesting: the strain with which the older security
man was playing the role of gay neighbor, or the “artwork” that they were all staring at.

Somebody had nailed the door to Harry' old bedroom had been up onto the wall, with the locks
facing out and the cat-flap hanging out on its hinges.

Frankly, the only thing Harry thought was brilliant at that moment was the gleam in Brian's
eye.

“It's just so powerful…” Wally romped on, “such a strong statement…were it hung in a gallery
I might think the artist was commenting on the human condition, and how much we cruelly bar the
love of those around us from reaching us. But here, hung within the context of prototypical
suburban kitsch, it says something quite different to me.”

The young security man gave Harry a wink as he walked over to Vernon and grabbed one of his
hands with both of his.

“Oh, Vernon, my dear man,” Wally said in a soothing tone, “we understand…it must have been so
painful, to have locked away your feelings for so long, in such a desperate attempt to conform
within this suburban hell…. How brave you are, Vernon, to have bared your tortured soul with this
piece of art…such a desperate cry for help to those who of us who have walked in your shoes and
struggled with our own closeted thoughts and feelings.”

Harry had never seen his Uncle look so nervous and agitated. His attempts to keep from bursting
out in laughter at his Uncle's situation weren't helped when he looked over and saw Brian
biting his tongue in an attempt to do the same.

“Vernon,” Wally said sweetly, and he lifted up the hand he held and lightly kissed it,
“We're here for you.”

Vernon, whose head was about to burst, looked over at Brian, who'd cocked his head at an
angle and raised his eyebrows in an expression that clearly implied that he'd best be polite to
his neighbor. Or else.

“Erm…thank you,” Vernon stammered. “I'll…I'll remember that.”

The older security agent walked over to his partner and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Wally,” he said, “I think Vernon could use some alone time. Shall we make good on our
invitation for his nephew and friend to cross the street for some tea?”

“Good idea, luv,” Wally said, remembering that torturing the Dursleys was only a secondary
assignment. “Vernon, are you going to be okay? Can we steal your nephew and his guest away for a
while?”

“Erm, sure,” Vernon quickly replied. “Be my guest….steal them away for as long as you want.”

“Okay, then,” Wally said as he grabbed Vernon's hands. “But you know where to go if you ever
need a shoulder to cry on, don't you?”

“Uhhh, right,” Vernon replied, with gritted teeth.

++++++++++++++++

Harry's glee at the Queen's men's ability to get so deeply under his Uncle's
skin was quickly replaced with guilt and concern when he realized that those three minutes might
have been better spent helping the Grangers. As they left the house and crossed the street Harry
called Hermione on his cell phone to update her and get assurances that they were still safe. Once
told where the Grangers were located, Tonks set off on her own to join them, telling an
understanding Brian that she could get there quicker than any muggle transport.

The security men showed Harry inside the house that they'd been living in for all of a
month. The downstairs rooms seemed normal enough, from what Harry saw. The living room showed
definite signs of having been lived in (as opposed to, say, his Aunt's aseptic aesthetic);
throw pillows were laying haphazardly on the leather sofa and a matching club chair; magazines and
a remote were spread out over the coffee table.

Once inside the house Brian and Steve, the older security guard, bounded up the stairs, leaving
Harry alone with Wally in the front entranceway.

“So you guys really have been living here for the past month?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” Wally said. “Not such a bad assignment, although Steve is a bit of a pig around the
house.”

“And you guys aren't really….erm, are you?”

Wally laughed. “No, we aren't a couple. Steve's not my type, and while I might bat from the
opposite side he's as painfully straight as they come. We're just partners on the job.”

Harry nodded, realizing that by answering a question Harry hadn't asked Wally had answered
the original as well.

“Nice job needling my Uncle,” Harry said. “You knew just what buttons to push.”

“Oh, thanks,” Wally replied. “Amazing how nervous folks get when I feed their stereotypical
fears and play the swishy hand routine.” For emphasis, Wally waved a limp wrist towards Harry. “Of
course, it also gives me a chance to make Steve squirm, so it's always a good time for me.”

Harry grinned. “So why are you pretending to be, erm…a couple?” he asked. “I mean, if you're
trying to lay low and stay undercover…it's not like you two blend in very well around
here.”

Wally grinned back at Harry. “No….you think? It might be counterintuitive, but acting as a gay
couple in this neighborhood actually helps us do our job.”

“How is that?”

“Well,” said Wally with a smirk, “we've got a job to do minding you, and some equipment to
do it with that we wouldn't want the neighbors to catch on to, right? This way, we haven't
had neighbors pounding on our door wondering when we're handing out invitations for a
housewarming party.”

“That makes sense,” Harry said as he nodded. “And given the prejudice around here, they probably
expect you having men running in and out of here all the time, and imagine you two spending all day
lounging about snogging each other, so…”

“Yeah, so they haven't caught on and wondered why we don't leave home for day jobs, or
why other agents come and go.” Wally grinned at Harry. “Not bad, kid…makes me think that it
wasn't a fluke how well you handled your guests last night.”

“You mean you saw?” Harry asked with alarm.

“Yeah,” Wally replied, “where did you think Brian went while you and Dame Hermione were
busy?”

“Wait,” Harry said, “if Brian told you about us, and our, erm…skills, then…”

“No worries, Sir Harry,” Wally grinned, as he produced the same kind of identification card from
his billfold that Brian had shown him the night before. “My brother's a wizard, and Steve's
mum and sister are witches.”

“Merlin,” Harry exclaimed as he looked at Wally's card, “does everyone at the Palace have
one of these things?”

Wally laughed. “No, Sir Harry, it just seems that way. There's really only a few of us in
the know…we're kind of a team, I guess you could say, that handles situations involving both
our worlds.

“Wow,” Harry exclaimed, “guess I never realized that there were muggles out there that
didn't always try to pretend that magic didn't exist even when they knew better.”

“Yeah,” said Wally, “there are a few of us that aren't really bothered by the thought…sort
of like there are some witches and wizards that don't have problems living in the muggle world,
huh?”

Harry's reply was interrupted when Brian and Steve bounded back down the stairs.

“Here's the situation, Sir Harry, best we know it.” Brian said. “Remote surveillance
indicates that those two badly-dressed blokes are the only threats within a two block radius of the
Granger residence. We've got people both inside and outside the Savoy, and they haven't
seen anything…our perimeter here is also clean. We'll have on-the-ground confirmation of all
this within the next ten minutes.”

“Merlin, Brian,” Harry said as he shook his head with slight amazement, “you sure that all you
did at the Palace was cook?”

Brian nodded his head and blinked in acknowledgement of Harry's insight. “Another time, Sir
Harry. Right now we need to make some decisions about the Grangers.”

“Right,” said Harry, as he gathered his thoughts about the information he'd just been given.
How much information should he provide or did he need to provide to help the muggle security men do
their job? “We do need to compare notes sometime soon on what each knows, and what we think it safe
for the other to know. As for now…”

Harry thought for a moment, then reached a decision. “The woman that visited earlier today,
Tonks? She's someone Hermione and I can trust with our lives. She's also an Auror….mean
anything to you guys?”

All three men nodded their heads.

“Right then,” Harry continued, “in a perfect world we'd be able to trust every Auror with
our lives, but the fact that our guests last night were also Aurors should dispel that idealistic
notion fairly well for you.”

Again, the three men listening to Harry nodded their heads.

“Erm,” Harry said, choosing his path and words carefully, “you guys know about Death
Eaters?”

The nods from all three men were accentuated with eyes that narrowed and backs that
stiffened.

“The two blokes in front of the Granger house are probably Death Eaters, or their stooges…no
other reasons for wizards that we don't know to be hanging around their house. Pretty
surprising that they've discovered where Hermione's parents lived…we've got some hard
work to do following up on that question, but I'm thinking that they're just a couple of
low-level scouts waiting for the Grangers to return from picking up Hermione at the station.”

“We were thinking the same thing,” Brian replied.

“If the Grangers hadn't visited the Palace and stayed in town last night, I'm sure the
plan was for those two to go get help once they'd returned…they probably could have attacked at
the train station, but I imagine that it was pretty heavily guarded, and that the house would be a
much softer target. Much more of a statement, as well, if they were able to raise the Dark Mark
there.”

“Dark Mark, Sir Harry?” Wally asked.

“Oh, sorry, keep forgetting that you guys might not have what's common knowledge in our
world. Anyway, important thing is that they are still waiting to ambush the Grangers at their
house. Means, I think, that the Grangers haven't somehow been tracked to their current
location….you guys certain that there's nothing unusual down where the Grangers are
staying?”

Brian nodded. “Given what you've just told us, and what we've already pieced together,
we think that the safest thing to do is to move the Grangers from the Savoy to a safe house…might
not take long for the bad guys to figure out what's happened and retrace their steps.”

“Agreed,” Harry said. “Is there any way that you guys can quietly bring Hermione and her parents
here?”

“Here, Sir Harry?” Steve asked. “Not to discount the defensive skills you put on display last
night, but if they know where the Grangers live shouldn't you also expect them to know where
you are right now? Might just be placing the Grangers out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

Harry thought for a moment. “Normally, I'd agree, but let's just say that there are some
extra security measures in place around my Aunt and Uncle's house…for the next eight weeks, at
least…anti-apparation wards, for example.”

Harry recoiled when he realized that he might have broken some rules talking about apparation
with muggles, but the fact that nobody blinked, or asked for an explanation, suggested that he
hadn't revealed information that wasn't already known.

The three men silently looked at each other; after getting two curt nods from the security men
Brian turned towards Harry.

“We can have them here safely within the hour, Sir Harry,” he said. “Will there be others there
to transport?”

“Just Tonks and Hermione, for now,” Harry replied. “I ought to be there as well, but for reasons
I can explain later I'm rather constrained when it comes to defending myself…or others, for
that matter. Tonks should be there though, and I imagine she and Hermione aren't going to be
shy about having their wands at the ready, so….”

“Not a problem,” Brian said. “I'll knock on their door myself. It'll add an hour or so
to the arrival time, but it does sound like a prudent course of action.”

“Right, then,” Harry said. “Sounds like a plan.”

“What about those Death Eaters?” Steve asked.

“First things first,” Harry replied. “I want to make sure the Grangers are safe before we figure
out that problem.” Harry paused for a beat. “So Brian, you're going to join Tonks and Hermione,
while I probably should wait across the street, so…”

“Want some company while you wait, Sir Harry?” Wally asked.

Harry, who been a bit worried about what the Dursleys might try if he were alone with them,
nodded his head. “Thanks, I'd enjoy that.”

“No problem,” Wally said with a wink. “Gives me a chance to dress down your Aunt for her heinous
window treatments.”

++++++++++++++++

It was a painful two hour wait for Harry, even with the amusing entertainment provided by Wally
and his Aunt Petunia. Had he been a normal muggle teenager, he'd have probably spent the entire
time on the telephone with Hermione, ensuring that things were still okay. But Harry wasn't
used to the concept of accessible methods of communication that didn't involve fireplaces, so
his contact with Hermione had been limited to a single call after the strategy session had broken
up.

The fact that Wally wasn't showing a lot of concern was comforting for Harry, up until the
point when Wally's cell phone went off. After a brief conversation, he informed Harry that the
Grangers would soon be there; he then left to work out some security arrangements with Steve. Harry
made his own welcome plans by grabbing his invisibility cloak and heading for the concealment
provided by the shrubbery in front of the house.

It was typical weekend afternoon on Privet Drive; the only real difference Harry could detect
was that the neighbors all seemed to have the same televised football match blaring out their
windows that he'd been watching with Wally. It was supposedly a big deal, this muggle game of
football; preliminary matches for their own version of the Quidditch world cup. Wally had tried to
explain the game, but Harry frankly found it a bit boring and two-dimensional.

With seemingly the entire neighborhood glued to their tellies it wasn't hard to notice when
a large Land Rover with black-tinted windows rumbled down Privet Drive. It slowly passed by,
stopping only after it had reached the next intersection and turned around to face back towards
Harry. Harry then spotted a rather large truck as it turned the corner and headed towards him, with
an identical black SUV just behind. The second Land Rover stopped short as the lorry stopped in
front of him. Two men dressed in gray overalls jumped out of the cab and quickly looked up and down
the street. The insignia embroidered on the backs of their coveralls matched the large
advertisement painted on the side of the truck.

From all appearances, the Dursleys were about to get some furniture delivered from Harrods.

After about fifteen seconds, one of the men walked behind the container and opened the doors,
while the second watched with one hand inside his jacket. A metal ramp was extended from the
trailer down to the street, and several people emerged from the back of the truck carrying pieces
of bedroom furniture. They all wore the same overalls, but had matching caps that were pulled down
low on their heads.

The man who'd open the back door of the trailer walked up to the front door of the Dursleys
and rang the bell. A somewhat wary Vernon opened the door then stepped to one side, having been
made aware of what was expected of him. The mattress-carrying workers marched them right into the
house. Had anyone been watching the work rather than the match, they may have thought it strange
that four of the overall-clad workers who'd brought in the first pieces of furniture never came
back out.

It took all of ten minutes for the truck's contents to be emptied, and for the trailer to be
filled with what they were replacing. Harry, who had been watching all the time from under the
front window, could hear his aunt sob a bit as her faux-French colonial bedroom set was marched
unceremoniously out to the truck.

The swap-out completed, those men who'd finished the job packed up the van and drove off,
accompanied by the two SUVs. Harry, wand in hand, shed his cloak and stood out from the bushes. He
found Wally and Steve, who both gave thumbs-ups from their locations, and returned their gesture.
He then turned to enter the house, relieved to know that those whom he now considered to be his
real family were safe and sound within his Aunt and Uncle's house.

-->



11. Chapter 11
--------------



**Chapter 11: Nexus**

**A/N**: Two chapters without Hermione/Harry banter? Need to fix that right away. And so my
hopes for a four-chapter second day are dashed. Oh well…gotta have that pumpkin pie.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, and I'm reconsidering my position
that Ginny is not a major character in canon so long as JKR has her in the running for getting
knocked off in Book 7.

+++++++++++++++

Harry was lying on his new bed, flipping through the channels on his new plasma screen
television when the cell phone rang.

“Hey, what's up Hermione?”

“Oooh, I'm impressed, Harry. You've figured out caller id.”

“Erm, no,” Harry replied. “Just figured that you'd be the only one calling me.…so
what'cha doing?”

“Nothing. What are you doing?”

“Nothing much…watching some muggle telly.”

“Merlin, Harry, listen to us; we sound like a couple of teenagers.”

“Maybe that's because we are teenagers, Hermione.”

“I know, but you know...it's just that you don't sound like the weight of the wizarding
world is on your shoulders right now.”

“That's only because I got all this extra support from my new mattress,” Harry replied. “But
yeah, I know…feeling comes and goes, but…it's nice.…erm, so how are your folks doing?”

“Amazingly well,” Hermione said. “I mean, here they are, in hiding, sort-of, with Death Eaters
staking out their house, and they're acting like it's a walk in the park.”

“So what's so bad about that?” Harry asked. “It's not like they're the Dursleys,
with their heads up a blast-ended screwt.”

“Umm…I guess.” Hermione replied. “It's just too weird and scary, though, having my parents
suddenly involved in the fight with Voldemort, and seeing them take it all in stride. You should
have seen them at the hotel, Harry…they were trying to calm *me* down. Not that I'm upset
they aren't cowering in fear, but…”

“But you don't know whether it's the parents that should be taking care of their little
girl or the other way around.”

“Yeah, that…that actually makes sense….it's like there's this nexus between our world
and theirs.”

“Erm, yeah…nexus.” Harry said. “That was the exact word I was going to use.”

“Oh stop it, you prat.” Hermione said tongue-in-cheek admonishment. “So…I was wondering…would
you like to join us for dinner tonight?”

“Hmmm, sounds tempting…let me check my engagement calendar…Saturday…Saturday…Saturday…looks
good…not scheduled to rescue the damsel in distress until Tuesday.”

“Damsel in distress?” Hermione asked. “So who is the damsel, Harry?”

“Erm, usual story. Really pretty, lives in a tower, needs a brave knight to come rescue her from
eternal boredom…”

“Don't suppose I'm that damsel?”

“Oh…no,” Harry said. “You're a Dame, not a damsel.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, “so what's the difference?”

“The difference is,” Harry stammered. “Erm….

“Yes, Harry?”

“Difference is…damsels are pretty but helpless…they have to be rescued because they can't
save themselves.”

“And a Dame?”

“Dames? Well, I've only met one, mind you, but if she's representative, then Dames are
pretty and anything but helpless…more likely to save the knight's sorry arse than him save her
cute one.”

“So, Dames are pretty useful around the house, huh?”

“More like pretty protective of the house - got the video to prove it.”

“Oh, that's right,” Hermione said, “Tonks was talking about your little toy…”

“My little toy?” Harry asked, thinking back to what Tonks had seen that morning. “You *do*
mean my omnioculars… right?”

“Maybe….so do you think my bum is cute, Harry?”

“What?”

“You said knights have sorry arses and Dames have cute ones.”

“Oh….Merlin, I'm going to get hexed either way I answer.”

“Why would I hex you if you did think my bum was cute?”

“Erm…because that would mean I'd been looking at it close enough to tell.”

“I see….so have you, Harry?”

“Have I what, Hermione?”

“Looked closely enough to tell.”

“Erm……right…so…what time is dinner?”

“Seven, and check your closet. I picked out something for you to wear before I left.”

“Seven it is, then,” Harry said.

“Oh, and Harry?”

“Yes, Hermione?”

“I won't hex you if you notice.”

++++++++++++

An hour later, Harry left his Aunt and Uncle's house to meet up with the Grangers. It was a
quick trip; Harry waved to Mrs. Number Seven as he crossed Privet Drive. She looked just as shocked
as his Aunt Petunia did when he came out of his room. To be fair, though, it wasn't every day
you saw a teenager coming out of Number Four dressed in Armani.

Although it had been great sport to shock the Dursleys into thinking that their house was going
to get even more crowded, there was never any intention for Hermione's parents to stay at
Number Four. Once they'd shed their disguises and showed their disgust at the physical signs of
Harry's previous care, the Grangers family had crossed the street.

Dinner was served in the backyard, on the patio. Standard security procedures frowned upon those
facing death threats dining *al fresco*, but given the unprecedented combination of magical
wards and muggle electronic surveillance devices, the only thing threatening them that evening were
a few fluffy storm clouds.

The patio table was dressed in white linen. So was Harry (although his unlined linen suit was
actually more of a taupe that complemented his white silk t-shirt rather nicely).

“So tell me,” Harry asked, in between bites of seared tuna, “how you managed to select an entire
summer wardrobe for me without leaving that hotel room.”

“Well, it was pretty straightforward,” replied Hermione, who was no less nicely dressed. “Once
it became clear that we weren't going to be taking you to the nearest shopping centre tonight,
Brian suggested that we pick up a few things while we were still in the City.”

“You went out to clothing stores with Death Eaters on the hunt?” Harry asked.

“No, dear,” Emily Granger replied, “the clothier came to us.”

“The concierges were wonderfully helpful,” Hermione added.

“I'm sure that they would been just as helpful had they not gotten a call from Windsor
telling them to bill the Royal account,” Roger deadpanned.

“And they just showed up at your hotel room door with a rack of clothes?”

“Pretty much…yeah,” Hermione said. “Of course, we did have to give them a rough idea of your
size, so that I didn't have to do a lot of magical alterations once the fittings were
done…”

“ Fittings?” Harry asked, raising and eyebrow. “You know, I was about to ask how you'd done
such a great job sizing me up blind.”

“Oh we didn't do it blind, dear,” Mrs. Granger said with a smile.

“Yes, Harry,” her husband said, “I'd say that their eyes went quite wide open once Tonks
provided them a dummy that was….how should I say it….fully representational.”

“She didn't,” Harry said.

“She most certainly did,” Mr. Granger said.

“You mean Tonks morphed into me just to try on clothes?”

“Oh, yes, dear,” Mrs. Granger said, “It so much easier to see what colors looked good on
you.”

“I can't believe that you guys did that,” Harry said, with a hint of a smile and a resigned
shake of his head.

“You've got a problem with Tonks pretending to be someone else?” Hermione asked. “Hey
kettle, what color is the pot?”

“Yeah, yeah…least I didn't ask her to...so about being fully representational…”

“Well,” Hermione replied with a smirk, “how else would we know whether the trousers would
fit?”

“You know it was the strangest thing, though,” Emily recalled. “You might have thought that
Tonks would have to guess on the..erm…dimensions, but she didn't have to think twice about
yours, Harry.”

Hermione's father choked on some wilted spinach.

“So tell me, Harry,” Hermione ask, “ did I make your crotch tight?”

Hermione's mother chimed in right behind. “Or do you have more room than you
need?”

Harry looked at Hermione and her mother, wondering how in the world he was supposed to respond
to their questions.

“Erm, they're fine thanks.”

The conversation went dead for a few seconds before Hermione and her parents burst out
laughing.

And it was at that point, the point where Harry realized that the Grangers was comfortable
enough to tease him the same way they did Hermione, that he knew for certain that he'd been
accepted as part of a very loving family.

It felt good.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Once they'd finished off one of Brian's signature desserts (Pumpkin Bread Pudding with
Candied Ginger and Hot Buttered Rum Sauce), Hermione's dad pushed back a bit from the table,
took a deep breath, and smiled.

“You know, a bloke could get used to this.”

“I'm pretty impressed,” said Harry. “If it had been the Dursleys in your shoes they'd
all be looking for a change of pants about now.”

“Well it's a pretty low bar you're setting if you're comparing us with the
Dursleys,” Mr. Granger said.

“Sure, but even against normal people…I mean, people staked out in front of your house, waiting
to kill you?”

“Balanced against a fine dinner on a beautiful summer's night with our daughter and her best
friend…I'm thinking that it's a great day.”

“Really?” Harry asked. “Not to take anything away from Brian's seared tuna and
Hermione's company, but…”

“Guess we see the glass more than half-full,” Hermione's mom said. “Play the hand that's
dealt you, make lemonade from lemons, *Carpe diem*…that sort of thing.”

“Alright, who polyjuiced my parents?” Hermione asked, “and where did you hide them and their
middle-of-the-road, can't-be-any-more-conventional-than-dentists attitude?”

Her parents laughed.

“Sweetheart, it's all a matter of figuring out what is most important our lives,” Roger
said. “When was the last time you ate two dinners in a row with us? And what were the chances that
we'd be doing it any time this summer before fate dumped us all on the Dursley's door
stoop?”

“It's not that we aren't worried,” Mrs. Granger added. “Of course we're concerned;
but why let that fear rule us?”

“The only thing I really fear,” Roger said, “is that they torch our house before we get a chance
to rescue your baby photos.”

“Oh, Dad, don't start that again.”

Roger laughed. “Frankly, as well as our protection has been, I'm a bit surprised we
haven't heard back from Tonks.”

“Well,” Hermione replied, “she did say it'd be hard to arrest them as it stood…the only
rules they're breaking right now are fashion-related.”

“Might be best to leave them alone, unless you desperately need something from your house” Harry
said. “So long as they're looking for you there, they won't go looking for you here.”

“Ah, yes good point, Harry,” Roger said. “That brings us around to a question that Emily and I
have for the two of you. It's pretty clear that we can't stay at the house, at least until
Voldemort's gone and probably even after that...”

“Oh, I feel so terrible, that house has always meant so much to you,” Hermione said.

“It's just wood and brick, dear,” her mother replied, “and not at all important when it
comes to our lives and yours.”

“And that goes for the dental practice, as well,” her father added. “If they know where we live
we have to assume that they know where we work.”

Harry started to count on his fingers. “So, we've got to find you a new place to live, and a
new place to work, and provide security…”

“Hold on, son,” Roger said. “You're getting ahead of yourself. Emily and I have been
thinking about this, and talked with Wally and Steve…and, well…”

“Hermione, dear,” Emily asked, “how long do you and Harry plan on staying here in Little
Whinging?”

“Why do you think that…”

“Hermione,” her father interrupted, “you were going to tell us that you would be staying with
Harry this summer, right?”

“Not that we hadn't expected you to,” her mother added.

“Well,” Hermione admitted, “I was going to tell you yesterday, but then we got diverted by the
Palace, and then today, but then the whole Death Eater thing sprang up”

“I see,” her father said. “So, about how long are you two staying here?”

“If you'd asked me two days ago, I'd say for as little time as possible,” Harry said.
“That would have been two weeks, to ensure that my mother's protections were up until I turn
seventeen on July 31.”

“But now…” Roger said, “Harry, you do understand that whatever it is that you two have to do to
defeat Voldemort is far more important then worrying about Emily and myself, right?”

“If you fed me veritaserum,” Harry replied, “I'd probably be forced to agree…but that
doesn't mean that we can't do both at the same time.”

“Dad, why are your plans contingent on ours?”

“Because, dear,” he replied, “we don't want to hamper your fight, but if given a choice
we'd rather be with you then holed up in some governmental safe house under assumed names.”

“And not just with you,” her mother added, “But doing everything we can to help you.”

“So, you want to know if it would be okay for you two to stay here with us?” Hermione asked.

“Well, not with you per se,” Roger said, “but we've been invited to stay here at Number Five
for as long as we like.”

“And not that your neighbors aren't, erm, lovely, Harry,” Emily added, “but `as long as we
like' is only going to be only so as long as you and Hermione are here.”

“Sounds brilliant,” Harry said immediately.

“You and Dad, staying here?” Hermione asked. “Not that I don't love you both, but what would
you do?”

“Oh,” her Father said, “probably drive our teen-aged daughter and her boyfriend crazy…”

“Dad!”

Harry noted with interest that Hermione's admonishment was delivered with a slight grin.
Hermione noted Harry's interest…and didn't stop smiling.


The patio door opened and Steve joined them.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we've got company.”

Hermione reached for her wand. “Friendly or not so friendly?”

“Well, the old woman and her cats seem harmless enough, but if looks could kill then the sweaty
red-haired kid lugging a trunk…”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other before reaching the same conclusion.

“Ron.”

They held each other's gaze, as if neither wanted to break the spell that had enchanted the
last couple of days. It was Hermione who finally broke eye contact and left the table to meet their
friend.

Harry looked down at his plate; dessert was long gone. He looked around the table, at the
Grangers, at the sky…trying to savor, for one more fleeting moment, the feeling of being part of
one big happy Granger family before joining Ron and Hermione out front.

Nexus, indeed.

-->



12. Chapter 12
--------------



**Chapter 12:** **Love Shack**

**A/N****:** Lest I be accused of pandering to my wonderful (and concerned) reviewers,
I'd like to point out in advance that the object mentioned in the chapter title appeared way
back in the first chapter.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

+++++

Ron had lived through a terribly rotten, no good, horrible day.

It started that morning, with a proper row between him and his mum about where he was going and
how much he was needed at home. That argument made use of the Burrow's floo connection out of
the question. Planning on trying to hail down the Knight Bus, he had therefore levitated his trunk
out to the road and stuck out his wand. And waited.

And waited some more.

It was only until he started to think desperate thoughts about facing his mum again that the bus
appeared. With Stan still in Azkaban, Ron had to deal with the replacement conductor, who was
anything but friendly. When forced to explain his need for “emergency” transport, Ron was
threatened with a citation and hefty fine for a frivolous call. As it was, he was given a stern
warning and left alone (again) in the dust.

With no better alternative in hand, Ron made the three mile long walk into town. With the
nearest muggle household only a half-mile down the road from the Burrow, he had to hand carry his
trunk for most of the trip. Dusty, sweaty, and extremely irritated, he arrived at Luna's
doorstep and prayed that she was home. In his first bit of good luck that day, she was.

Luna almost seemed disappointed when he explained why he'd shown up at her house with his
trunk. Her mood brightened a bit, though, when Ron accepted her invitation to stay for dinner. Her
father was gone on a special assignment, so they ate a simple meal with only each other's
company. Ron had been forced to admit that it had been a lot easier for him to find things to talk
about with Luna than he'd ever imagined possible.

Once dinner had ended, his nightmarish journey continued. Knowing that the twins had stood watch
on Privet Drive the night before, he used the Lovegood's floo connection to get to his
brothers' shop in Diagon Alley. Fred and George had made it clear to Ron that given how well
Harry and Hermione had dealt with Dawlish and Umbridge that he'd just be getting in the way.
But on Ron's insistence, they'd pointed their floo connection towards Arabella Figg's
fireplace and kicked him through the grate.

The argument between Ron and Hermione had reached Harry's ears well before he reached them.
It wasn't a pretty sight. Ron was upset that Hermione hadn't contacted him sooner, she was
upset that he was being so presumptuous, that he hadn't bothered to announce that he was coming
to Little Whinging, and that he was an overall git.

Once they started talking about the Hogwarts Express and levitation spells Mrs. Figg tactfully
suggested that they find someplace a little less public to sort things out. Harry agreed,
suggesting that Hermione go talk to her parents while he took Ron into Number Four.

Introductions went about as well as could be expected. Uncle Vernon grouched about running in a
boarding house, but made sure it was said softly enough not to reach Brian's ears. Ron was
quite impressed with Harry's new bedroom, and appreciated the fact that there were two twin
beds already in place. The wide-screen plasma telly was fairly mesmerizing, but with the promise of
a pitcher of iced pumpkin juice Harry was able to lure Ron out onto the backyard patio, where Harry
had told Hermione to meet them.

Ron and Hermione's second attempt at civility went much more smoothly. Harry didn't know
if it was the pumpkin juice, or that the initial shock of Ron on their doorstep had lessened, but
really didn't care. Despite how incredibly well things had been with just Hermione and himself
in muggleland, he had to admit that he was glad to see Ron. They talked well into the night about
their experiences over the past two days.

For their part, Harry and Hermione gave a fairly accurate description of what they'd been
through. Little things like kisses for good luck were omitted to protect the not-so-innocent, and
neither of them was all that forthcoming about the extent of their new relationship with the Royal
household. Harry said that he'd gotten some help from a friend of Dumbledore's, and that
Brian and the guys across the street were part of that assistance. They said nothing about their
knighthoods, or about their Order of Merlin badges...which, they decided, had been a very good idea
when they realized that a certain tabby cat sitting on the side yard fence was paying close
attention to their conversation.

The Headmistress's arrival completed the transitioning in Harry's mind to the challenges
that he faced within the wizarding world. It was probably for the best, given the enormity of their
task, but Harry was very reluctant to let go of what he and Hermione had shared the past two days.
He suggested that they call it a night and convene their own little war council in the morning.

Harry had been to afraid to ask whether Hermione was going to return to Number Five to stay with
her parents, so he was pleasantly surprised when she led the way upstairs. Harry noted that Brian
had already tucked in behind the new six-paneled door to his old bedroom. Hermione stopped at the
top of the landing, gave Ron and Harry hugs that were exacting in their sameness, and retired to
the master bedroom. And as the two boys went to their new bedroom, they passed by the open doorway
of the guest bedroom, which, despite the Dursley's protests, had been left vacant. After all,
they never knew when Harry's Aunt Marge might stop by for a visit.

Karma's little helpers had done good that day.

+++++

The following morning was blissfully uneventful on Privet Drive. Brian and Hermione decided to
ease up on the Dursleys (it was Sunday, after all), allowing Vernon to take Dudley to the gym for a
workout. Harry and Hermione took Ron across the street to meet her parents, Wally and Steve. Harry
insisted that he cook breakfast, so that Brian could take the car into London to pick up a few
things from an organic farmer's market. It was the one sure way Harry knew that he and Ron
wouldn't go hungry.

While discussing where the best place would be for Harry, Ron and Hermione to hold their
mini-summit, Harry remembered that there was a magical tent inside his bag of tricks. After
retrieving his knapsack from upstairs, they rolled out the tarp in Number Four's backyard and
staked down corner poles that magically telescoped out from their grommets. When fully erect, the
tent was about the same size as the ones they'd used at World Cup.

“Harry,” Hermione asked, “you said you got this tent from Filch's stash of confiscated
items?”

“Yeah, seems kind of strange for something so innocent looking to be on the banned list,
doesn't it?”

Hermione's eyes brightened up a bit. “Not if it's the tent that I heard about at one of
the Prefect's meetings last year.”

“Nothing dangerous, was it?” Ron asked warily.

“Only if you're worried about your morals,” Hermione replied. She looked around the fence
line, and not seeing any neighbor's noses, drew her wand. “One way to find out,” she said, and
dove into the tent flap before either Ron or Harry could stop her. “Hermione!” Harry exclaimed, as
he grabbed his wand from his back pocket and followed right behind.

That it was a magical tent, there was no doubt. The interior space was much larger than its
footprint. Harry couldn't immediately tell whether there was more than one room, since his
brain was too busy processing what was immediately before him.

Hermione was sitting on the edge of a large king-sized bed that was covered with a red, pink and
white checked duvet. A very large mirror stood in lieu of a headboard; the ceiling itself was also
mirrored. These mirrors reflected red and white blobs which were forming, growing and combining on
the walls as if they were covered in magical lava lamp patterned wallpaper. The floor was carpeted
in red shag; the room was lit by candlelight and smelled of jasmine and sandalwood.

“Hermione…where are we…why did you do that?” Harry asked.

“Because I knew you'd be right behind me,” Hermione said with an amazed look on her
face.

“Well, sure, I was going to be right behind,” Harry said. “but what was so important to find out
that it was worth scaring me to death?”

“Whether you'd be able….erm, Harry, where's Ron?”

“Probably right behind me…” He turned to look back at the flap. Puzzled that Ron hadn't
already burst through, Harry poked his head out of the tent flap. His Aunt and Uncle's backyard
was still there, but Ron had gone missing.

Harry popped his head back inside and turned back towards Hermione, whose look of minor shock
had been replaced by bright eyes and a smile.

“Hermione,” Harry said, “why do I think you know what's going on?”

“Erm…because I'm the smartest witch in my generation?”

“Well, yeah,” said Harry, as he walked up towards a nightstand and spied a toy not typically
left by Father Christmas under the tree. “I just wouldn't have expected you to be in the know
about this, erm…this kind of magic.”

Hermione laughed, a bit nervously. “Well, there's always the possibility that you don't
know everything about me,” she cooed, as she patted the bed with her hand. “Have a seat, Harry?”
she asked

Harry looked at Hermione within the context of her surroundings and suddenly decided that
sitting might be a very useful thing to do. Declining her invitation, though, Harry instead took a
seat on the ground with his knees up in front of him.

“So where did Ron go?” he asked.

“Probably wherever the distraction spell that we activated sent him.”

“We activated a distraction spell?”

“Yes, and a silencing spell as well, if this is the tent that I'm thinking of,” said
Hermione.

“And what kind of tent is that?” Harry asked.

“It's called a Love Shack,” she said. “Japanese magical import, designed for couples that
don't have a place to, erm…to be together when they want to be alone. You know…get away from
your parents…or friends…Japanese muggles have something similar…they're called Love
Hotels.”

“Oh,” Harry said, “well I guess that makes sense, given the dÃ©cor.” Harry looked at her with
some concern. “So you've been in one of these before?”

“No,” Hermione said quickly. “I just heard about it after it'd been confiscated from a
couple of Hufflepuffs.”

That's good,” Harry said, almost to himself. “So…they wanted something a little less crowded
than the Astronomy Tower?”

Hemione returned the look of concern. “Yes they did…and just how do you know about the crowd of
couples at the Astronomy Tower?”

“Erm…so I've heard…” Harry replied, with a guilty-looking smile. Changing the subject, he
asked, “So, with the distraction charms in place, how did the owner get caught?”

“With his pants down,” Hermione said with a grin. “Oh, you mean…well, Hagrid spotted it on the
Forest's edge…they must have forgotten that giants are immune to most charms.”

It was then that Hermione and Harry decided to check out the rest of the tent.

A sliding door along one of the sidewalls revealed a room nearly as large as the first,
decorated and furnished to resemble a Japanese bath house. A wall of large stone boulders dominated
the left side of the room, with water cascading down from the top of the wall in a waterfall that
emptied into a recessed pool. Steam rose from the water's surface and spilled over a short
stone wall that divided the pool from the central tiled section of the room, which held two wooden
benches laden with scrub brushes, buckets and hand-held shower heads. On the right-hand side of the
room an elevated floor was covered with tatami mats made of woven straw. Large throw pillows and
cushions were strewn around the floor mats; beyond that a large charmed window showed a blossoming
cherry tree with boughs that framed a mountain vista.

Two pair of thonged wooden sandals bounced up and down off the floor in front of Harry and
Hermione like excited puppies. Harry and Hermione took the hint, and slipped on the sandals before
clip-clopping over the tile floor to shoji screens on the far wall. When pulled to the side, the
screens revealed two separate changing rooms (complete with shower, toilet and sink), and a small,
but functional kitchen furnished with a table set for two.

Harry had a mind to inspect the charmed window more closely. Hermione, unfortunately, was too
late in warning him not to step onto the tatami with clad feet. As soon as Harry stepped on the mat
he was unceremoniously hurled up into the air and thrown head-first into the pool. He surfaced to
the sounds of Hermione's laughter and the tatami mat's scolding (its voice that of an
elderly Japanese woman).

“Harry, you do know that you're supposed to scrub yourself clean before you enter the bath,
don't you?” Hermione asked, as she walked towards the pool. Shethen made the classic mistake of
offering Harry a hand out of the tub. Whether it was that she trusted Harry too much, or had not
seen enough romantic comedies, the result was the same; Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her into
the water with him.

“Harry Potter, you are incorrigible!” Hermione stated, after she surfaced.

“Yeah, well, Hermione Granger, you are very wet,” he replied, with a grin and two eyes fixated
on her t-shirt.

Hermione realized immediately what Harry was intimating, and dove back down to neck height. Her
embarrassment was quickly tempered by agitation as Harry broke out into laughter.

“Oh, Harry…you are terrible. Just you wait.”

“Wait for what, Hermione?” Harry playfully responded.

Hermione's eyes narrowed a bit, a clear sign to Harry that she was working something out.
She then simply said “Evan*es*co!”

The look of surprise on Harry's face told Hermione that her little experiment had been
successful.

“Wait,” she said, “until I determine whether I could cast underwater spells too.”

“But I liked those new trousers!” Harry exclaimed.

“Mutual Assured Embarrassment,” Hermione said with a smile. “Still eager to get out of the
pool?”

Harry looked at her for a second, before smiling. “Your mistake, my dear, is assuming that I
would be embarrassed.” He grabbed his wand, which had tumbled out of his back pocket when Hermione
had made his trousers disappear, and stood up on one of the underwater benches that lined the pool
walls. This move gave Hermione a close-up view of dripping-wet pants as they clung to his upper
thighs. The boxer shorts were a present from the Weasley twins; crimson in color, they sported a
golden snitch which fluttered around the button fly.

“Fancy a game of Quidditch, Hermione?”

Hermione looked up at Harry with a bit of awe, then realized that he was challenging her to
display the same kind of Gryffindor courage. She stood up on the bench, just a few inches away from
Harry, thrust her chest out with her hands on her hips, and looked straight into Harry's
eyes.

“Sure, Harry,” she replied, “just so long as it's my snitches that you're grabbing
for.”

Harry smiled, straining to maintain eye contact. He pointed his wand towards the wall and
Accio'ed a kimono that was hanging on a hook. He then wrapped the kimono around Hermione,
grabbed the two ends of the sash, and used them to pull her wet body up against his. Hermione's
breath hitched as he tied the knot.

Harry smiled. “Another time,” he said.

With a tinge of regret, Hermione nodded her head and summoned a second kimono, which she wrapped
around Harry. The robes had drying charms within their lining, so that they (and their clothes)
were dry before their feet hit the floor. She then hung her robe back on a hook and transfigured
Harry's into a new pair of trousers.

“Think it's time we go find Ron?” he asked.

Hermione sighed. “Suppose so,” she replied.

Together they walked back into the bedroom and towards the tent flap. Just before the door,
Harry grabbed both of Hermione's hands and faced her.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said. “I never could have imagined two more magical days, especially
here in Little Whinging.”

A tinge of disappointment crept over Hermione's face. “You make it sound like the magic is
over.”

“Merlin, I hope not,” Harry replied.

And then he kissed her.

His two hands releasing hers to reach up and cradle her cheeks as he turned his head slightly
leaning forward kissed her. It only lasted a few seconds. When he pulled back to break it off, her
lips followed his, stealing a second peck before retreating in support of Hermione's attempts
to avoid swooning.

There was a look of wonder on her face…an “I can't believe I kissed Harry” kind of look. She
smiled and said sweetly (and somewhat cryptically), “Tin roof….rusty!”

Harry started to say something but she stopped him with a shake of her head and an index finger
pressed up to his lips.

Harry smiled in understanding.

She grabbed Harry's outstretched hand and they walked back outside, loosened the lines and
stakes, and took down the tent. Harry then tucked their Love Shack under his arm and they walked
back inside the house in search of Ron.

-->



13. chapter 13
--------------



**Chapter 13:** The First Mini-Summit

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

++++++++++

They found Ron inside Harry's bedroom, his eyes glued to the telly. “Oh, there you two
are…decided on a place to talk yet?”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other and smiled in the midst of Ron's blissful ignorance.
Hermione had her wand out and was about to transform one of the twin beds into a meeting table
before Harry gave a yell to mind his telly. Scowling a bit at how quickly Harry and Ron had fallen
in love with their new electronic toys, Hermione led them next door.

It was the first Harry had seen the room since its redesignation and refurbishment. Harry noted
that there'd already been two transformations; one that had replaced Petunia's
psuedo-Provincial dreck with the sleek Scandinavian design furniture from Harrods, and the second
that had transfigured the modern style pieces into something Hermione called “contemporary castle.”
There was a four-poster bed that dominated the room, but it was built of light maple, rather than
dark walnut and the curtains were white and gauzy rather than burgundy-colored and thick. She had
added a fireplace, but it was trimmed with marble tiles rather than heavy stone. A comfortable
reading chair and floor lamp, large maple desk and banks of maple bookcases completed the bedroom
set.

Hermione shrank the bed down to doll-house dimensions and elongated the desk's writing
surface to form a table about which she conjured three chairs. Pulling the one nearest her back and
taking a seat, she whipped out a blank scroll, quill and ink well and looked up at her boys.

“Well, come on, take a seat.” She conjured some quills and parchment for their use.

“Right, then, first things first,” Hermione said. “Harry, as much as I hate to see you tempted
into becoming a couch potato, you did have a good point about not using my wand in your room. We
should designate your room as the muggle room and mine as the magic room, and try to keep the two
separate so as not to fry your new toys.”

“Erm, thanks…I guess,” Harry replied with a smile.

“Well, even with Auror Robard's assurances, it would be best not to have too many spells
going off in an under-aged wizard's room,” she replied.

“Good point,” Ron said. “Guess that means the Xbox stays in our room, right?”

“Merlin,” Hermione exclaimed, “boys and their toys.”

Harry tried to steer the agenda back on track.

“Right, well…there's all kinds of things I think the three of us need to discuss, but…”
Harry looked at Hermione, who was wearing a bit of fear on her face, and decided that now was not
the best time to tell one mate that he'd kissed his other mate. “I think for now we should
focus on three issues…schedule, money, and Hermione's house.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ron said, “sooner we can get back to the wizarding world the better, as far
as I'm concerned.”

“Oh, Ron,” Hermione lamented, “you've been here all of what, half a day and you're
complaining?”

“Yes, but..”

“Like I was saying,” Harry interrupted, “When Dumbledore made me promise to return here this summer
he never really said just how long I'd have to stay to extend my mum's protections up to my
birthday.”

“Well it shouldn't be any longer than the shortest amount of time you've ever spent
here, right?” asked Ron.

“Actually, Harry,” Hermione said, “I anticipated this question when you said that you wanted to
go to Godric's Hollow just as soon as possible.” She unrolled a parchment, enlarged it, and
stuck it against the wall with a post-it charm. Upon the parchment was a chart with points and a
line marked upon it.

“You'll never change, will you?” Ron asked.

Hermione ignored him. “This chart plots the amount of time you've spent with your Aunt and
Uncle for the past six years. After First Year, you were here most of the summer…Ron rescued you
about a week before term, right? Before Third Year you stayed at the Leaky Cauldron better part of
a month. Summer before Fourth Year, you were here a total of six weeks before the Quidditch World
Cup. The Dementor attacks before Fifth Year limited your stay to four weeks, and then last year it
was all of two, right?”

Harry nodded.

“Now you'll notice that I've connected the points with a line that has a surprisingly
constant negative slope. Projecting that line out to this year would suggest that in order to keep
your mother's protection you'll have to stay under your Aunt's control…”

“Up until lunchtime?” Harry said with a smile.

“Excellent,” Ron said, “so you can tell them to piss off and we can all find someplace magical
to live, right?”

“And where do you propose that to be?” Hermione asked.

“No shortage of food at The Burrow,” Ron replied.

“No shortage of stress, either,” said Hermione. “No thanks.”

“Well,” Ron replied, “what about Grimmauld Place? Food isn't as good, but we could always
get take-out from the Leaky Cauldron, right?”

“That's great, Ron,” Hermione said. “Good to know we'd be AK'ed on full stomachs at
least.”

“Huh?”

“Ron, get a clue,” Hermione said. “We lost our secret keeper, so it's not a secret location
anymore.”

“Why not?” Ron asked. “Are you sure that the Fidelius Charm stops working once the Secret Keeper
dies?”

“Honestly, Ron…” Hermione fumed. She got up, walked out the door, and returned a minute later
with a rather frightened Dudley. “Now, quit the wimpering,” Hermione told him, “I don't want
any stains on my new carpet.” She then turned to Ron. “Ron, would you be so kind as to tell Dudley
where the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is?”

“Are you out of your mind?” asked Ron.

“Just do it, Ron,” Harry said, as he nodded his head and palmed his wand.

“Fine, but don't blame me, Ron replied. “Oy, Dudley…the headquarters of the Order of the
Phoenix is Number Twelve Grimmau….”

“*Obliviate*!”

Harry and Hermione's stereo simulcast knocked Dudley right between the eyes.

“Erm…how did I get here?” he asked, immediately afterwards, looking very worried.

“You walked,” Hermione replied, as she twirled her wand in one hand like a snare drum performer.
“Now run along, Duddikins, before we decide to do some target practice.”

Dudley didn't need to be told twice.

“Fine,” Ron said, “so it's no longer a secret location. All we need to do is cast a new
*Fidelius* Charm that protects the location of the home of the smartest smart-alec witch in
all of England.”

“Be my guest, Ron,” Hermione said in a huff.

“What,” Ron said with some degree of confusion, “you mean that you can't?”

“Ron,” Harry said, “there's a reason why Dumbledore was Secret Keeper. He was about the only
wizard powerful enough to cast the spell.”

“That difficult, eh?”

“Think about it, Ron,” Hermione said. “If the charm was any easier to perform then Fred and
George would have made themselves the secret keepers for Slytherin's toilets years ago.”

“Oh, good point.”

“Which,” Harry said, “brings us to my second agenda item - money. As nice as we've been set
up by, erm, Dumbledore's friend, I don't want to rely on his generosity forever. And when
we do move on, we'll need money to find a new place to stay. I was hoping to ask Bill to help
me with the money issues, but…”

“But there's no telling when the Ministry will let him out of the restricted ward at St.
Mungo's,” Ron agreed.

“Right,” Harry said. “Frankly, I don't have a clue how much I have in my vault. Dumbledore
told me last year that Sirius had left me 12 Grimmauld Place in his will, and that a “reasonable”
amount of gold had been transferred into my vault, but who knows how Albus defined
`reasonable'?”

“How did you get money for books last year?” asked Ron.

“Bill got it for me, remember?” Harry replied. “Breakfast table…day we went to Diagon
Alley…visited the twin's shop and drew wands on Malfoy's mom…”

“Oh yeah, how could I forget” said Ron. “Oh, if only Hermione had kept that time turner...”

“Malfoy's mom would well down on my “To Do” list if I had one of those,” said Harry. “About
eight feet of parchment below “Take out trash - kill Snape.”

“But the point is,” interrupted Hermione, “You don't know how long your gold will last if
your full-time job for the next year or so is chasing Tom.”

“Exactly. I know that my parents had put enough gold into my vault to get me through school
rather comfortably,” said Harry, “but from what I know some of what I inherited from my parents
doesn't get released to my control until I turn seventeen.”

“So you've got `before' gold and `after' gold?” asked Ron.

“Yup,” said Harry. “Knowing how much of both I have would help a lot right now. It would be nice
for me to know what I could spend, if I wanted to, right now, both in the wizard and muggle worlds.
If I had enough money now to rent my own apartment, say, then I wouldn't have to live here any
longer than I needed to renew my mother's protective charms until August. But if I have to
wait,”

“You always can come to the Burrow,” said Ron.”

“Yeah, I know that,” said Harry. “But with Bill and Fleur's wedding and all of the planning
I don't want to give your mum something else to worry about.”

“Wouldn't be a problem at all,” said Ron. “Look, for once you are getting enough food to eat
at the Dursley's, so you won't be showing up as the summertime skinny you've been in
the past. Mum's not going to have to take any time to put meat back on your bones. Second, you
being there might actually help with the wedding. Even though mum's warmed up to the idea of
having Fleur as a daughter-in-law, they've still been knocking heads over flowers and
decorations and punch flavors. Enough to keep me out of the house and on our quidditch pitch all
day long. I could use the company, and Ginny could too.”

“Ron,” said Harry, “you know how things stand between Ginny and me...we've broken up, and
that isn't a situation that is going to change. Period.” He looked at Hermione, who was looking
down at the table, trying to hide a smile. “I don't think that spending time in the same house
will help things any.”

“Well you never know,” replied Ron.

“Let's get back on track, shall we?” interjected Hermione. “Harry needs to find out what is
in his vault, and what will be there once he turns seventeen. We all agree that Harry should avoid
Diagon Alley right now, so he can't 'go to the vault himself. Bill can't find out for
him right now, and it might be difficult to sneak a goblin out of Gringott's to visit Harry
here.”

“So one of us can go for him,” replied Ron. “That is, if you trust us mate.”

Harry reached under his shirt collar and pulled out the necklace that held his bank vault key.
He looked at both of his friends, thought for a moment, then handed it to Ron. “Will you go for
me?” asked Harry. “I'd ask both of you to go, but with Hermione's parents here in
hiding…”

Ron straightened his back a bit as he reached out for the key. “I'd be happy to help, Harry.
You can count on me.”

“I know I can, Ron,” Harry said. He tried to gauge Hermione's reaction, but his peripheral
vision was wretched without corrective side lenses. “Now, Gringott's won't be open until
tomorrow, and there's probably extra security measures and long lines…any chance you could stay
with Fred and George tonight and get there first thing in the morning?”

“Depends,” Ron said, only half-seriously, “what does that Brian chap have planned for
dinner?”

“Didn't you hear him talk about that organic farmer's market?” Hermione asked. “He was
planning on cooking up some bean curd and lentils, I think.” She flashed Harry a quick wink.

“Erm, right…I'll be at my brother's presently.”

Harry looked at Hermione and wondered if she'd wanted to have Ron out of the house as much
as Harry did right about then. “Finally, last agenda item,” he said. “We need to take down the
Death Eaters parked in front of Hermione's house.”

“And who is we, Harry?” Hermione asked. “It's one thing to defend a house with only your bag
of tricks, but to attack without a wand?”

“There has to be a way,” Ron said.

“Even if there was, we'd have to wait until Harry's protections are renewed in a couple
of weeks.”

“I don't want to wait that long,” Harry said. “Maybe…” he thought, “you know, I think that
it's time for Aunt Petunia to take me on a little car trip. As long as I'm under her
so-called care, I should be covered.”

“What,” Ron said, “she's just going to wait in the car while you take care of the Death
Eaters?”

“Why not?” Harry replied. “It might do her some good to realize what they'll be up against
once we've left Little Whinging for good.”

“But like Tonks said,” Hermione reminded him, “the spotters aren't breaking any laws…last
thing we need are charges of vigilantism.”

“It's against the law to wear the Dark Mark, right?”

“Yes, but they were wearing long sleeves in the photograph, right?” Hermione said. “We can't
go after them on the assumption that they might be tattooed.”

“Well, you got to admit, Hermione, long sleeves in the heat of summer is a little suspicious,
right?”

“It still doesn't give us just cause…it wouldn't give the Aurors probable cause to make
them roll up their sleeves.”

“What if we could prove they had the Mark?” Harry asked.

“Then, sure, they are fair game,” Hermione replied. “But how?”

“Tonks did tell you about her discovery, right?”

“What, that you have a cute little birthmark just below your left…”

“No, you know….”

“Ok, fine,” Hermione replied. “Still we would want to decide whether to take those two alone, or
set up a sting to get their support crew as well, though.”

“Sting?” Ron asked. “Shouldn't we be planning on using something stronger than a stinging
hex?”

Harry and Hermione looked at Ron and shook their heads.

“Pure-bloods,” Hermione said with exasperation and a smile.

“Hey!” said Ron.

“So should I go round up Aunt Petunia and the omnioculars?” Harry asked.

“Harry, did you hear what you just said?”

“Oh, Merlin…right up there with Umbridge…sorry about that.”

“It's alright,” Hermione replied. “So do you want to hassle with your Aunt, or get a quick
answer?”

Harry's eyes narrowed a bit in concern. “Yes, okay, but only if you take Tonks with you and
promise not to do anything more than peep.”

“What are you talking about, Harry?” Ron asked.

“Hermione and Tonks are going to do a little scouting for us,” Harry replied.

“Oy, what am I,” Ron asked, “a potted plant?”

“No,” Hermione replied, “you are a wizard without a license to apparate.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ron said, “rub it in. So what will Harry and I do while you're
gone?”

“Sounds like you've already got your assignment,” Hermione replied. “And Harry's got
some of Snape's private library waiting for his review next door.”

“Lucky you, mate,” Ron said with a laugh.

“Oh, don't worry about me,” Harry replied, as he stole a glance at Hermione. “I'll find
a way to keep occupied.”

Harry then nonchalantly turned to Hermione. “Erm…I'm going over to Number Five to ask Wally
something. Do you want me to say anything to your parents?”

Hermione looked at Harry with one slightly raised eyebrow, then turned to Ron. “I probably
should tell my parents that I'll be gone for a couple of hours. Why don't we meet in your
room in fifteen minutes, then I can walk with you to Arabella's?”

Ron thought for a second before saying sure, then made a beeline for the video game console next
door. Harry grabbed the omnioculars and his invisibility cloak from their room, handed them to
Hermione, and joined her as she went downstairs.

“So what do you need to ask Wally?” Hermione asked, once they were outside.

“Erm, to be honest, I was more interested in asking you something without Ron being there,”
Harry replied.

“Thought so,” Hermione replied with a smile. “Not sure it's much better talking right under
my parent's noses, but…”

Steve had the door open for them even before they rang the bell. They asked for a quiet place to
talk for two minutes. Looking around, the only semi-private area they could find was the hall
closet. Worried that being found there by her parents would be even more of a problem, they for a
settled for an empty living room with their eyes peeled for company.

Harry sat on the couch first; Hermione slid in facing him, with one leg tucked underneath, so
that she could cover both of his legs with her other leg. She then leaned her side against the back
of the couch, and wrapped her arm around Harry's shoulder and started to play with his hair.
Harry recalled having lots of Common Room discussions with Hermione in this exact position, but
never remembered the body contact to be so electrifying. He leaned his head back against her arm
and smiled.

“Hermione,” he said, “We keep saying that we need to talk, but we haven't…and I know that
I've been reluctant to for fear of screwing up this wonderful thing that we've had going
the past couple of days and so I haven't pushed it, but maybe now…”

Hermione smiled back at him. “Things have been rather special, haven't they?”

Harry nodded. “You know, as we were taking down the tent I was half afraid that what we did was
more of a reaction to our surroundings, but…”

The fingers that had been running through Harry's hair froze into a claw position.

“But,” he continued, “sitting here in this living room doesn't make you any less
fanciable…and doesn't make me any less needy when it comes to wanting to snog you silly.”

Her fingers flattened against the side of Harry's head and pulled it roughly towards hers as
their lips connected in a brief but steamy kiss. Hermione pulled her head back and opened her
eyes.

“Amazing how we think alike, isn't it?” Their discovery was then bluntly interrupted by
Wally clearing his throat and announcing that Mr. and Mrs. Granger were coming downstairs.

Harry pulled back a bit and expected Hermione to do the same, but she merely relaxed her grip on
his head and returned to her hair play, while her other hand dropped down and rested on his upper
thigh. She responded to Harry's nervous glance towards the doorway with a smile, only turning
towards the door when it was obvious that her parents had entered.

“Hi Mom. Hi Dad,” she said, with what Harry thought was an amazing amount of confidence.

“Well,” Mr. Granger said with a broad smile, “hello there you two…I do hope that we weren't
interrupting anything.”

“You were,” Hermione said, “but that's okay…I've got to go out and do something with
Tonks for a little bit anyway…you two mind keeping Harry company while I'm away?”

Harry looked at her with a bit of shock. “Erm, thanks but I really should be getting back to the
house…don't think my Aunt knows where I am right now.”

“So whatever it was you wanted to talk about?” Hermione asked sweetly.

“Erm,” Harry replied, a bit sheepishly, “I think that I got an answer to my question.”

Hermione's eyes shone brightly. “Good,” she said. “I think that I did too.”

She stood up, and grabbed Harry's hand to pull him up off the couch. She didn't let go
as she walked towards her parents and gave each of them a quick peck on the cheeks. Harry looked a
bit flustered by everything, but not enough to let go of Hermione's hand as her parents parted
and let them pass.

“See you both for dinner tonight, right?” Roger asked.

“Erm, sure,” Harry replied, after getting a confirmatory nod from Hermione.

Hermione's dad smiled. “Off you go, then, dinner's at seven.”

Roger had enough courtesy to wait until Harry and Hermione were half-way across the street
before coughing the word “*Whipped!**”* into his hand. The coughs generated when his wife
responded with an elbow to his ribs were far less intelligible.

-->



14. Chapter 14
--------------

Chapter 14: Memories and Muggle Hunts

**A/N:** I posted Chapter 13 over the weekend; some of you might not have seen it. At least I
hope that’s the case…for some reason my chapter hits dropped by 50% for the past two chapters. Any
and all review comments on why interest might be waning are welcome (pacing too slow, not enough
steamy romance, etc.) Thanks.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

++++++++++++++

Harry wasn’t in the mood for researching while Hermione was potentially in harm’s way, so when
Brian returned from his trip to the market he was more than willing to help put away groceries. He
used the opportunity to thank Brian again for helping secure the safety of Hermione’s parents, and
for making his stay with his Aunt and Uncle the best ever (though truth be told, that was a very,
very low bar to hurdle).

The two talked a bit about schedules and safety. Brian being a card-carrying muggle gave Harry
some latitude when it came to describing anti-apparation wards and his mother’s protections. When
Brian pointed out that with those wards in place there’d be advantages for Harry to stay at Number
Four even after two weeks time, Harry noted that the house was rather crowded. And as much fun as
it was to put his Aunt and Uncle in their places, having them camp out in the living room wasn’t
going to be fun for anyone for more than a couple of days. Brian said that there might be a win-win
scenario for all involved, if they looked hard enough.

Harry also expressed concern about now having two houses to potentially defend, and limited
options for safe havens if they came under attack. Harry hadn’t minded putting his relatives in the
bathtub during the Auror incident, but didn’t care for the idea of forcing the Grangers to do the
same. Again, Brian thought that there might be a solution to that problem, and when asked, Harry
agreed that he’d be more likely to stay at Number Four through the summer if that problem was
addressed.

Fifteen minutes after she’d left Hermione rang Harry on his cell phone. He went up to his room
to take the call.

“Hermione…please tell me you’re safe.”


“Harry, I’m safe…please tell me you’re breathing.”

“Yeah, yeah, can’t a guy worry about the safety of his girl…erm,”

“What was that Harry? Did you call me a girlerm?” Hermione asked. “Gee, must of missed that
Magical Creatures class.”

“Very funny, Hermione,” Harry replied. “So did you get a look at them?”

‘Yes,” Hermione replied. “Yes we did.”

“And?”


“And,” Hermione whispered conspiratorially, “underneath their clothes they were
*naked*!”

“Hermione,” Harry said with some degree of exasperation, “did they have the Dark Mark?”

“Yes, Harry, they did.” Hermione replied. “Tonks downloaded the images from the omniocular to
her wand and returned back to the Auror Department to show it to her boss. She’s going to get back
to me once they’ve decided what to do.”

“Good,” Harry said. “So where are you now?”

“At a coffee shop a couple of blocks away from my parents house,” Hermione replied. “Just
thought I’d call before I apparate so you don’t worry when you hear my arrival.”

“That was thoughtful,” Harry said. “Say, speaking by the way, did you have your cell phone on
when you left here?”

“Erm, I guess I did,” Hermione replied. “Forgot to turn it off…funny, it seems to have survived the
jump.”

“That is strange,” Harry said, “but useful to know….wonder if you could use it within a magical
area like Diagon Alley.”

“That I’d doubt,” Hermione said, “but we could always try.”

“Maybe so,” Harry said, “but rather than Diagon, maybe you could swing by St. Mungo’s? I’m
feeling pretty bad that I can’t visit Bill right now.”

“Why Harry, that’s so thoughtful,” Hermione replied. “But what if Ginny or Molly are there…what
should I say?”


“Erm, I don’t know,” Harry said. “How about, ‘Nice to see you Molly and back off Ginny he’s all
mine?”

“So you’d want me to lie?” Hermione asked with a touch of tease.

“What part would be lying?” Harry asked. “It wouldn’t be nice to see Molly there?”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said. “I wish I could reach through the phone and hug you right now...but
that’s a conversation for you to have with Ginny, not me.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Harry replied. “But back to that hug…not like there’s going to be anyone
stopping us when you do return.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Hermione said with a smile that Harry couldn’t see. “Have you started a
list of overnight errands for Ron to run for us?”

“Hermione, you are terrible,” Harry replied. “Brilliant, but terrible…now go say hi to Bill while I
start on that list.”


Harry played with the Xbox for a few minutes before losing all patience and heading downstairs
to wait for Hermione on the front steps. He found the Grangers doing the exact same thing across
the street, having received a call from their daughter right after she’d talked with Harry. Their
invitation to wait with them on the back patio with a pitcher of pumpkin juice was to tempting to
pass up, even with the potential for embarrassing questions. After securing his Aunt’s begrudged
“permission,” Harry crossed the street and had an amazingly relaxed visit with Hermione’s parents,
taking the opportunity to fill them in on the neighbors, the neighborhood, and his life before
Hogwarts.

The patio conversation was starting to show inflections of anxiety when, after thirty minutes
time Hermione still hadn’t appeared. It was terribly difficult for Harry to maintain his wits; he
was still getting used to the idea of Hermione off on her own, without his help and protection. The
wonderful way she’d handled herself with the Aurors had been reassuring, yet he still felt
incredibly responsible for her well-being.

The crack of an arrival by apparation was music to their ears, once Harry told Mr. and Mrs.
Granger what that sound meant. They were heading through the house to the street when Steve
barreled down the stairs with the news that someone had apparently apparated. A quick call to
Hermione confirmed that she’d made her arrival, and was only a block away from the house. When
Harry and the Grangers walked out to the front curb, they spotted Hermione walking down the street
dragging a wheeled carry-on suitcase. It was all Harry could do not to charge down the street to
snog her senseless.

“Hey, Hermione, how did your ‘errands’ go?” her father asked, once she’d reached the front of
Number Five.

“Fine, Dad,” she replied, “back safe and sound.”

Harry looked at the small trunk rather suspiciously. Grabbing the handle while she still had
hold gave him the chance to give Hermione a small welcoming squeeze.”

“Welcome back,” he said. “Want me to take that?” he told Hermione.

“No thanks,” Hermione said with a smile, as she wheeled it up towards Number Five.

“Did you get to see Bill?” he asked.

“Yes, Harry,” she replied. “He and Fleur said hello, and thanks for thinking of them.”

“Just Fleur was there?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Just them,” Hermione said with a smile. By then they’d all reached the living room, where Harry
and the Grangers sat on the couch and Hermione placed the carry-on on the table and unzipped it.
She reached inside and retrieved the omnioculars and invisibility cloak, which she tossed to
Harry.

“Thanks for letting me borrow the cloak,” she replied, “Came in real handy when I slipped
inside.”

“Hermione!” Harry exclaimed, “you promised that you’d stay safe!”

“I was safe,” Hermione replied, “Tonks had a wand pointed at the two the whole time I was
inside.”

“Do I dare ask where inside was?” her mother asked.

“Well,” Hermione said, “I couldn’t resist picking up a few things as long as I was at the
house.” She reached into the piece of luggage and retrieved two large photo albums.

“Oh Hermione, you shouldn’t have,” her mother said quietly. “You know that your safety was more
important than these.” The tears in her eyes, however, strongly tempered the admonishment.

“Well, with all of the teasing…” Hermione replied. She gave her parents their wedding photo
album, then sat on Harry’s lap. Leaning back, she placed her head on Harry’s shoulder, opened the
front cover of the second album, and showed Harry the still image of a two-year old child sitting
on the floor, wearing a pink frilly dress and an opened book for a hat.

“Once upon a time,” she said, “there was a little girl that didn’t know that she was a
witch…”

+++++++++++++

The conversation over dinner that night was focused on two main topics: how silly it had been
for Hermione to have snuck into her parent’s house to retrieve the photo albums, and how cute
Hermione had been as a child. Hermione was thankful that most of the conversation dwelt on the
latter topic. It had only taken a few pages of photos for Harry to forget how angry he was at the
risk she took and to marvel that Hermione was sharing with him a large part of her life that he
knew next to nothing about.

When the conversation did drift back to the Granger residence the talk was centered around how
the Death Eaters might have found out where Hermione lived. It wasn’t as if there was a directory
of witches and wizards, and even if there was it wouldn’t have included muggle addresses that
lacked floo connections. And while Harry suspected that Snape had, at some point in time, been part
of the Order’s rotation keeping watch over Number Four, neither he nor Hermione had been aware of
any similar protection for her or her parents.

Harry and Hermione started to fret when they realized that the Death Eaters might know not just
her home address, but the addresses of other muggle-borns as well. They decided that Headmistress
McGonagall would be the best person to ask about home addresses and who might have them, but didn’t
want to discuss the issue with her over the floo. Harry would have owled, save for the fact that
Hedwig hadn’t returned from her trip to the Ministry very early the previous morning. That, Harry
realized, was a separate problem.

Mr. Granger suggested that a roundabout way of determining whether other muggle-born houses were
being watched would be to ring them up directly and ask. Harry and Hermione thought that was a
smashing idea, and decided that Dean Thomas would be a good test, until they realized just how many
Thomases there were in the London telephone directory. Mrs. Granger then suggested that Wally and
Steve might be able to help, given the fact that they had somehow figured out how to contact them
two weeks past. And so it was that while Roger and Emily stayed on the patio to drink some tea,
Harry and Hermione had a little chat with Wally. They found him in the kitchen of Number Five.

“Wally,” Harry asked, “I was wondering if you guys could help us find a friend.”

“Sure, I can try, is this person muggle or magical?

”Magical,” Hermione replied, “but his parents are muggles and he’s probably staying with them
right now.”

“And I’m guessing you’ll need more than a phone directory?”

“Probably so.”

“Okay,” Wally said, “hold on while I get my laptop.”

Wally went upstairs and returned a few seconds later with his portable computer.

“It’ll just take a few seconds to start up. I was trying to troubleshoot why it wasn’t working
across the street.”

“Oh, I could have told you that,” Harry replied, “once I found out you were a card-carrying
muggle…you had it set up next to an activated magical device.”

Wally thought for a second. “The binoculars?”

Harry nodded as he fished the omnioculars out of his pocket. “Don’t worry,” he said, “it’s
deactivated right now.”

“I’d like to talk with you about that interference, some time…it might help our security,” said
Wally. “And by the way, we call ourselves ‘c-mugs.’”

“Huh?”

“Card-carrying muggles.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “What is it with muggles and their love of acronyms?”

Wally flashed Harry as smile that would have been emoticon’ed in text. When the image he was
waiting for appeared on his monitor he typed a few keystrokes and moved the arrow around the screen
with a trackball at the keyboard’s base. Harry thought Wally’s hand movements weren’t any less
intricate than those used to cast an average-level spell, particularly when he quickly keystroked
in the answers to his questions.

“Right, then,” Wally asked. “Does your friend have a name?”

“Dean Thomas.”

“Thomas..Thomas…Thomas. Right. Not on the list. No worries.”

He opened a new window on the screen and did more data entry.

“Do you know his parent’s names?”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other then jointly answered “No.”

“Age and birthdate?”

“Erm…same year in school as me, birthday’s March the 24th,” Harry replied.

“Do you know roughly where he lives?”

“Pretty sure it’s London.”

“Blast it. It would have to be London, wouldn’t it….bloody fools couldn’t compile records if
they collated themselves…so, do you know what part of London?”

“No.”

“Do you know if his parents both living?”

“Pretty sure that they are.”

“Still living in the same place as when he started at your school?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

After a few more keystrokes Wally looked up at Harry.

“So tell me everything you can remember about his muggle life.”

“Like what?”

“Anything…brothers and sisters, any schools he talked about, places he visited, names of
relatives, old girlfriends…”

“Well, he loves football…still has a West Ham poster above his bed at school.”

“Oh, an East Ender, most likely…that helps. Anything else?”

“Erm, sorry…that’s about it.”

Wally’s fingers flew over the keyboard he was hunched over as his eyes scanned window after
window as they popped up on the screen. Thirty seconds later, he rolled his shoulders, drew his
hands back from the keyboard and sighed. “All that information, and I can’t pin him down,” he said.
“I should be embarrassed, even working with such a common name.”

“So,” Hermione said, “it was a little easier to track down a girl named Hermione?”

Wally grinned at her. “Once we figured out how to spell your name, yeah…you were pretty
unique.”

Harry wondered how Wally had gotten Hermione’s name in the first place, but held that thought.
“Hold on,” he said. “Why are you trying to apologize for not finding his address, when all we gave
you was a name, birth date and favorite football team? Pretty hard on yourself, aren’t you?”

“I need to be, Sir Harry,” Wally said, “if I’m to be of any help to you and to the Crown,
right?” Wally hunched back down over the keyboard, looking at the different windows opened on his
laptop’s LCD. “Let me take a look back…you are certain of his birthday?”

“Yes,” replied Harry, “we threw him a party this past spring when he turned seventeen…woke up a bit
tender then next morning.”

“Right, then,” Wally said. “And that his parents are both living?”

“He’s talked about his mom and dad at school,” Harry said.

“And I’ve met his parents at the train platform on the way to school,” Hermione added. “Why do
you ask?”

“Well,” Wally replied, “there’s a Dean Thomas that looks like a good match, except that he was
born Dean Radcliffe.”

“Why would that be a good match?” Harry asked.

“Because,” Wally explained, “this boy’s father died when he was only a year old. His surname was
changed to Thomas when his mother remarried.”

“Oh,” Harry replied, “he’s never said anything about a stepfather.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know,” Hermione said.

“Didn’t know that his real father died when he was a baby?” Harry asked, knowing what that might
have felt like.

“You never know,” Wally said. “One quick way to find out, though.”

“How is that?” Harry asked.

Wally took his cell phone out and dialed a number that he read off of his screen. When it began
to ring he handed the phone to Harry. When it was answered, Harry introduced himself and asked for
Dean. A few seconds latter, an incredulous voice was asking questions.

“Harry??” he asked. “Harry Potter ringing me on a muggle telephone? What’s going on?”

“Well, hello, Dean…erm…”


Hermione grabbed the phone from Harry’s hand.

“Hi, Dean, this is Hermione. We’re just making sure that all of the DA members got back safe
from school and that things are alright at your house.”

“Things are fine, here, though they’d be a lot better if the boys were playing better over in
Germany…are you and Harry, erm, together right now?”

“Obviously, Dean, since we’re in on the same telephone conversation,” Hermione replied. “Ron and
I are staying with Harry at his Aunt and Uncles to make sure things are safe for him there.”

“Oh…of course, that makes sense,” Dean replied.

“So Dean, we’re trying to limit communications by owl and floo, for security reasons…is this
telephone number going to be a good way to reach you?”

“Sure,” Dean replied. “I’m amazed you were able to get it, but I guess you are the brightest witch,
right?”

“Something like that,” Hermione replied with a smile. “We’ll talk to you soon, Dean.” As she ended
the call Harry looked at Hermione closely, trying to figure out just what Dean had said to make her
smile.


Wally had been quietly typing information into the computer screen during the conversation.
Harry turned to him and asked, “So, I don’t know much about computers….how easy would it be for a
Death Eater to do that?”

“It’d be bloody impossible, Sir Harry,” Wally said, “unless he had the same security clearances
and the same knowledge of on-line databases that I have.”

“Don’t pay any attention to him, Wally,” Hermione said. “Google searching isn’t high on the list
of Harry’s lovable traits.”

“Hey!” Harry said. “Erm, well, fair enough, so long as there’s plenty of other reasons to love
me.”

“Oh, there are, Harry, there are…” Hermione said with a smile. “So Wally, would you mind sharing
with us how you worked your on-line magic?”

Wally looked at her and thought for a moment. “I’d love too,” he said, “but….hold on a minute.
Why don’t you guys grab something to drink from the kitchen and I’ll see what I can do.”

Wally locked his screen and went upstairs. When he returned to the living room he found Harry
and Hermione sipping cold butterbeers.

“I’m impressed,” Harry said, as he raised his bottle in Wally’s direction. “Who’s your
supplier?”

“The Palace sent over a case this morning,” Wally replied. “they have a few connections.”

“I’m beginning to appreciate that fact,” Hermione said. “So what did you find out?”

Wally grinned sheepishly. “I found out that when it comes to magical issues you have higher
security clearances than I do. Who would’ve known?”

“Erm, certainly not us,” Hermione replied. “That’s wild…I wonder why ever that is?”

“Perhaps it comes with the badge and hood?” Harry asked.

“Maybe,” Wally replied. “What it certainly does mean, though, is that I can tell you exactly how
I found your friend’s potential home address.”

“You were cross-referencing existing electronic databases?” Hermione asked.

“Yes,” Wally said, “Although truth be told, I was working primarily with a highly classified
database we just finished compiling a couple of months ago.”

“So what does this classified database identify?” Hermione asked.

“Muggle-born students at Hogwarts.”

“Excuse me?” Harry asked. “You’ve figured out a way of identifying magical children?”

“No,” said Wally, “just those who lived in muggle society at some point in time, so no
pure-bloods.”

“How did you figure out how to identify muggle-borns?” Hermione asked.

“Well,” Wally replied, “it all started with Sir Harry.”

“And exactly how did I start you off?”

“Well, we reverse engineered you.”

“You did what to me?” Harry asked.

“We used you as a confirmed data point, Sir Harry, and worked our way backwards to find out how
we might identify you and others like you with the information at hand.”

“And when did you find out about me…that I was a wizard?” Harry asked.

“Last August, in a meeting with our P.M., your former Minister of Magic…Fudge, right?...anyway,
he told our Prime Minister about a “boy-who-lived.”

“Merlin, no,” Harry replied. “I’m never going to live down that nickname, am I?”

“Go on, please,” Hermione asked.

“Right then,” Wally replied. “In this meeting, your Minister talked about the battle against Mr.
You-know-who and his Death Eaters, and the role that Sir Harry has in that battle. Well, the P.M.
decided that our government that we should learn everything we could about this Harry Potter
person.”

“Why would your Minister want to know about me?” Harry asked.

“I’ve never been told explicitly,” Wally said, “but I suspect that our government was keen on
finding you, so that we could offer our assistance.”

“And just why would the muggle government want to help me?” Harry asked.

“Because muggles are dying in your war, Sir Harry, and should, Heaven and Merlin forbid, the
dark side prevail, many more muggles will die.”

“Oh,” Harry said quietly. “That makes sense, I guess.”

“So what governmental databases did Harry turn up on?”

“Quite a few, actually,” Wally said. “The most telling one was the list of children under
guardianship due to deceased parents. You, Sir Harry, are the only Harry Potter on that list plus
or minus three year’s age.”

“Fudge told your P.M. that my parents were killed?”

“Erm, yes, I guess so,” Wally replied. “We didn’t have a transcript to work off of…just got a
summary based on what the P.M. could recall once he had the courage to admit to his Intelligence
chief that he’d been visited by wizards.”

“So what else did you figure out about me?” Harry asked.

“Well, from the guardianship records we learned that your parents were both killed on the same
day when you were a baby, that you were being raised by your muggle aunt and uncle, and that you
left the public school system at age 11 but still had residence in Surrey. That’s actually far more
then we needed, of course, but the extra information did provide some nice confirmation.”

“So you found Harry…how did you extrapolate from him to other Hogwarts students?” Hermione
asked.

“Ah, there’s the deductive reasoning part.” Wally said. “Harry left public schools at age 11 to
attend Hogwarts, and he didn’t take any GCSE’s. So we compiled a list of all the students that were
enrolled in the public schools at some point over the past twenty years, but didn’t sit for those
examinations.”

“GCSE’s..those are the muggle versions of our O.W.L’s right?” Harry asked.

“Pretty much,” Hermione confirmed.

“Why was sitting for these examinations important?” Harry asked.

“Because,” said Hermione, “there are quite a few students who first attend local primary
schools, then public secondary schools. [ed. note…in Britain, private high schools are called
‘public’…don’t ask me why] But unlike Hogwarts students, almost all of these public school students
still sit for the GCSE’s, right?”

“Correct, Dame Hermione,” Wally said. “Even home-schooled muggle children sit for the exams. And
since school attendance is compulsory until age 16, we reasoned that the only students that left
public school at age 11 but didn’t take GCSEs were those that moved out of the country, or died.
And that information is compiled in databases as well. It wasn’t a perfect screening process; mind
you; we got false positives for students at a few public schools that use the IB examination
program, and those that attended boarding schools outside of Britain.”

“That’s the excuse my parents used!” said Hermione.

“Yes, we’ve run into that a fair bit. But the c-mugs in our group were able to validate the
model using their magical sibling’s names.”

“Not to be rude, or anything,” Harry asked, “but why was it so important for you to identify
muggle-born students at Hogwarts?”

“Because we have reason to believe that they and their families are at greatest risk for any
non-random attack by the Death Eaters,” replied Wally. “Should the worst occur, we have contingency
plans in place to relocate any who are willing to locations outside of the country.”

“Wow,” Harry wisecracked, “a government that is actually trying to protect its citizenry. What a
novel idea.”

Hermione’s eyes brightened as she raised her eyebrows a bit and leaned forward. “So why don’t
you back up a bit, now and tell us more about that list you first mentioned.”

“Oh,” said Wally, “that’s just our list of all known wizards and witches, including the Hogwarts
students.”

“You’ve got a list of known wizards?” Harry said excitedly. “How in Merlin’s name did you
compile that list, and how many names are on it?”

“Well, to answer the second question first, we’ve got…” Brian scrolled down to the end of a
screen window. “Five-hundred forty-seven, of which three-hundred eight are confirmed. Tip of the
iceberg, for sure, but one does have to start someplace.”

“Well how long have you been looking?” Harry asked.

“About nine months,” Wally said. “Your name was first on the list, once we got it from the
P.M.”

“And who are ‘we’, Wally?” Hermione asked.

“Erm, let’s just say a very select group within Her Majesty’s Secret Service.”

“So that means that you’re more than just a Palace security person, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Dame Hermione, it does.”


“And Steve, and Brian as well?”

“Yes,” Wally replied.

“You mean that you’re all spies?” Harry asked with concern.

“No, Sir Harry, it does not,” Wally replied. “We gather information on magical threats to our
country and its citizens.”

“So you belong to MI-5, the Security Service?” Hermione guessed.

“Not quite, Dame Hermione,” Wally said. “Our small group worries about both internal and
external magical threats, so it includes people from both MI-5 and MI-6, the Secret Intelligence
Service.”

Hermione let out a small laugh. “Don’t tell me…you officially don’t exist, but your work
involves magic and is somewhere between that of MI-5 and MI-6. So logically, if anyone in
government has a sense of humor, you should call yourselves…”

“Well I can’t speak for the rest of the government, Dame Hermione,” Wally said with a smile,
“but we certainly do.”

“You do what, Wally,” Harry asked.

“Have a rather twisted sense of humor,” Wally replied.

“Oh,” Harry said. “So who exactly do you work for?”

Hermione answered for Wally.

“Wally works for MI-5 ¾.”



15. Chapter 15
--------------

Chapter 15: The Royal Historian

**A/N**: Thanks to all who answered my request for input on where the story is going. I
appreciated all of them (even the cool flames), and I’ve incorporated some of these comments into
this chapter. Can’t do everything at once; those of you looking for how Ginny goes ballistic in my
little world have a bit more time to wait. Caution: this is a banter-free snog-free plot-driven
chapter. Also, the two links within the chapter do a better job showing the chapter’s setting than
my descriptions.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

+++++

**Day 4, Monday 8:15 am**

The black Bentley had leather bench seats, tinted glass, and a black soundproof divide between
the front and back seats. You couldn’t have asked for a more private place for a relaxing
snog…which was why Harry Potter was so irritated that he was sitting alone in the back seat.

Hermione had left Number Four early that morning to catch Arthur Weasley before he left for his
job at the Ministry. She then planned on meeting up with Ron in Diagon Alley, and join Harry once
they’d visited the bank on his behalf. Brian was presently driving Harry to the British Museum; a
meeting had been pre-arranged with a muggle historian that reportedly specialized in muggle/wizard
interactions.

Harry wasn’t certain how much snogging would have taken place even had Hermione been riding with
him. They had experienced their first quarrel as a semi-official couple the night previous, over
Wally’s revelations about just how much the muggle government knew about the wizarding world.

The list of identified muggle-born Hogwarts students that they’d been shown was disturbingly
accurate, save for the omission of those born and raised in the Irish Republic. Wally was
pleasantly surprised when Harry told him this; MI-5 ¾ hadn’t realized that Hogwarts drew students
from beyond the borders of Great Britain. He had, in fact, been poised to confirm Wally’s list
right then and there before Hermione stopped him.

Later that night Hermione laced into Harry for his willingness to divulge wizarding world
secrets to Wally and the muggle government that he worked for. She reminded Harry about his
obligation not to reveal, to the extent practicable, any information about the magical realm to
muggles. When Harry responded with disparaging comments about the wizard governments that made the
non-disclosure laws, she reminded him that running afoul of the Ministry put him at risk for
sanctions and/or jail time in Azkaban that would hamper his horcrux hunt.

The one good thing that came out of that discussion was their willingness to find common ground
once the two had staked out their initial positions. Harry had seen Ron and Hermione have similar
arguments many times before, but rarely were they able reach consensus. But last night, Harry had
been willing to accept that he’d been a little too loose with information, and Hermione was willing
to accept the idea that there were extenuating circumstances that clouded what would otherwise have
been a black and white issue (like the fact that without Wally’s list there wouldn’t have been the
surveillance in place to warn her parents away from their house). They finally resolved to obtain
some wizard’s world legal advice from someone they could trust.

Wally had provided them with the list of suspected Hogwarts students, and they’d spent a good
deal of time figuring out how to enter the contact information onto the laptop computer that had
been included in Harry’s refurbished bedroom. While they’d been encouraged by the fact that Dean
Thomas’s house hadn’t been hit by Death Eaters, they wanted to confirm that observation with the
other muggle-borns. By the time they decided to call it a night neither was much in the mood to
deal with the possibilities afforded by unchaperoned adjacent bedrooms; that would have brought on
an entirely new discussion and some probing self-evaluation. So they parted not that much
differently than if Ron or her parents were right there with them - a hug and quick peck on the
lips before retiring to their separate rooms.

It had been too late to call the other students to confirm their phone numbers and addresses the
night previous, so Harry was using his time in transit to call on some of his classmates, spreading
word of the Death Eater sightings at Hermione’s house, and gathering additional contact
information. As Hermione had pointed out, it was unlikely that the Ministry of Magic was currently
monitoring e-mail traffic.

A call rang in from Hermione’s cell phone when Harry was about five minutes away from his
destination. It was Ron, amazingly enough; Hermione and he had already been to the bank and
Hermione was giving Ron a lesson on muggle technology as they rode towards the Museum in a
taxicab.

The trip to Gringott’s had been very short; the goblins had ratcheted their security procedures
up to 11 on a scale of 10. Only the vault owners were allowed access, even if they’d authorized
another person to use their key. Had Harry shown up in person there still would have been a
day-long queue to get though their verifications. When Harry observed that he would have to make a
trip himself, Ron told him that the goblin they had spoken with was most apologetic, and seemed to
understand why Harry couldn’t be there. Arrangements had therefore been made for Harry to meet with
a Gringott’s representative at a muggle bank in The City the following morning. Harry wondered just
how the goblins would swing that one off once Ron confirmed that his brother was the only human
that worked for the bank.

Ron then handed the phone to Hermione, who told Harry that she’d had a little more success in
her mission. She’d explained to Arthur that her parents were in hiding from the death eaters, and
that she was considering arming her parents with some knowledge about wizard attacks as well as a
few of the toys that proved useful against the Aurors. Arthur appreciated her situation, but said
that she was within the gray zone of wizard’s law and that he didn’t feel qualified to give
rock-solid legal advice. He did, however, give her the name of a wizard friend whose legal counsel
he trusted. This barrister had an office in Diagon Alley, and Hermione had taken the initiative of
setting up an appointment with him for the following afternoon at the Leaky Cauldron.

They ended their conversation just as the Bentley pulled up at a side entrance to the British
Museum. As it was a good two hours before its scheduled opening there wasn’t much of a crowd. Harry
jumped out of the back seat and, practicing constant vigilance, scanned the street for potential
threats, as did Brian when he left the driver’s seat. His Aunt Petunia, forced to come along to
provide Harry the required nominal oversight, got out of the front passenger seat paying attention
to little more than her own indignation.

Once Ron and Hermione arrived and the taxicab was paid off two well-dressed men wearing
micro-headsets ushered the small group through the main entrance. Brian steered Petunia towards the
museum’s coffee shop while the Trio were led into the Museum’s central court.

Hermione gasped when the entered the courtyard. Harry looked around and wondered what had caused
that reaction; the architecture was strange, but not really startling. The space was bordered by
four neo-classical buildings that stood in stark contrast to a futuristic cylindrical building that
sat in the middle of the court. The central building had wide winding staircases rising up on
either side, long rectangular windows, and a string of bright lights that rimmed the roofline.
Harry noted that “roofline” was a relative term, since the entire courtyard was covered by a huge
glass and metal roof.

“I’d forgotten it’s gone,” Hermione said quietly. “I mean, I knew it was gone…my parents brought
me to the Millennium Celebration, after all, but still...”

“What’s gone?” Harry asked.

“The British Library,” she replied quietly. She spoke as if a close relative had died, but given
Hermione’s love of books and libraries Harry figured that wasn’t far off the mark.

Hermione explained that the British Library used to sit in the area now occupied by the
cylindrical building, and that the Library had a special reading room that only researchers (over
the age of 18, of course) were allowed to use. Many famous writers had worked there, including Karl
Marx, Kipling, and Oscar Wilde. Once, when she was nine years old, a college professor who was a
friend of her parents had smuggled her inside for a quick visit. The way Hermione described the
visit was reverential, like the way an Elvis fan might describe Graceland, or the way a shoe lover
might describe Imelda Marcos’s closets.

Hermione scoffed when Ron read a descriptive plaque that stated that the Reading Room had been
preserved, with the cylindrical building constructed around it. It wasn’t nearly the same, she
said, if for no other reason than the fact that anyone off the street could use the new building.
Harry laughed at her viewpoint; if his Hermione was going to be snobbish about anything in the
world, it would have to be having access to restricted library collections.

Their escorts led the Trio past statues set within the courtyard’s concourse, up the stairs and
into the new Reading Room itself. Harry, at least, was impressed. The circular room had a glass onion dome
that poked up through the contemporary glass and steel flat roof that connected it to the
surrounding buildings. The perimeter of the room was covered floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves, and
the center was occupied by a luxurious librarian’s reference desk area that Madame Pince would have
died for.

A young woman in dreadlocks that was working in the reference area gave their escorts a friendly
wave and pointed them towards a table, where a wizened old man sat with a short stack of books. The
man introduced himself as Robert Baxter, the Royal Historian appointed by the Queen to maintain the
Court’s knowledge of the wizarding world. In what was fast becoming a routine means of
introduction, he offered them his muggle identification card. He then stated that the Prince had
asked him to provide some information and answer questions they might have about the extent of
muggle knowledge of the wizarding world.

Ron looked rather skeptical. “I didn’t know muggles knew anything about the wizarding
world.”

“Mr. Weasley,” Baxter replied, “royal families have long been aware the world of magic, and for
good reason.”

Harry asked a more probing question. “So who do you work for…the Prince or MI 5 ¾?”

“Both, actually,” the historian replied.

“Well can you explain something then?” Harry asked. “When I talked with the Prince he made it
sound like he was operating independently of the Prime Minister’s office…and that he knew much more
than the P.M did about the wizarding world. Yet now we’re being told that the P.M. created MI-5 ¾
and has been getting information independent of the Royal household. And we’ve got people like
yourself that say they work for both…so what’s going on?”

The historian looked at Harry appraisingly. “It is a rather complicated situation,” he finally
admitted. “The Royal household has always been aware of the wizarding world, to some extent. I’ve
held my position as the Royal Historian for twenty-three years, for example. In contrast, up until
the past year the civilian muggle government knew very little about the wizarding world. That all
changed when your Ministers of Magic told our P.M. about your troubles; there has been a massive
ramp-up in information gathering by the civilian government since that time, led by MI-5 ¾. This
effort necessarily involved the recruiting of new agents, and focus was made on enlisting the help
of c-mugs and others already aware of the wizarding world. Brian Willox and I were part of that
recruitment class. But since we kept our jobs with the Royal Household, we’re currently working
undercover, so to speak.

“So the Royal Household doesn’t know about MI-5 ¾?” Hermione asked.

“No,” Baxter replied, “and the Prime Minister, in turn, doesn’t know that the Royal family knows
about the wizarding world.”

“Why all the secrecy?” Harry asked.

“Plausible deniability,” the historian replied.

“Plausible what?” Ron asked.

“Plausible deniability,” Hermione explained, “is when people that work for a political leader
keep sensitive information from him or her, so that the leader can truthfully deny any knowledge of
that information if things go wrong.”

“Well put, Dame Hermione,” Baxter said, “although in this case the knowledge is withheld so as
to protect it.”

“What,” Harry asked, “you can’t trust the Royals or P.M.?”

“On the contrary, Sir Harry,” Baxter replied. “It’s that we don’t trust their occlumency skills.
Since they have direct contact with wizards as part of their duties, it’s important that their
knowledge of the wizarding world be kept to more or less what the wizards think they should know.
And it’s all the more important for the P.M to keep clear of our work, given the fact that he’s got
one of your wizard policemen sitting outside his office door.”

“An Auror working at Number 10 Downing?” Harry marveled. “Wonder if Tonks knows who that
is.”

“Speaking of withholding knowledge, *Sir Harry*,” Hermione chided. The historian chuckled
as she turned towards him. “No offense, Mr. Baxter.”

“None taken,” he replied. “I rather like the current contents of my brain, and don’t fancy the
thought of getting obliviated needlessly.”

“Perhaps, then” Hermione said, “we should focus on what you can tell us what you do know about
wizards and muggles.”

“Right then,” the historian replied. “Perhaps you can tell me how much history they teach at
Hogwarts?”

Hermione was fairly forthcoming. “Every Hogwarts student studies the history of our school, and
that necessarily spills over into more general wizard history. But while I’ve always been
fascinated by the subject,” she continued, making a pointed glance towards Ron and Harry, “some
others find it hard to apply themselves.”

Ron smirked, “Well, Hermione, you have to admit that the instructor wasn’t the *liveliest*
on staff.

“Ah, I see,” said the historian, “and how much do you know about the history of Great Britain,
or the muggle world in general?”

“There is a muggle studies class, but from what I hear the textbook’s more than a century old ,”
replied Harry. “But Hermione and I attended muggle primary schools, so I guess we know the
basics.”

Harry was amazed to see Hermione shake her head in agreement. An admission that she had only a
rudimentary understanding of anything under the sun was a rare event.

The historian nodded, and began his story with the days of Camelot, when the realms of magic and
monarchy openly coexisted. Merlin served as King Arthur’s closest advisor and sat at the Round
Table amongst other wizards, knights and paladins. Subsequent kings and queens had a Royal Wizard
on staff to advise them as well. This situation wasn’t unique to England; kings and queens on the
Continent had their own wizards as well. As a result, when one king warred with another, the
wizards on each side joined the battle.

He then jumped a few centuries to 1066, when William the Conqueror and the Normans invaded
England. The Normans brought their wizards with them, and they fought the English wizards in a
battle separate from the defeat at the Battle of Hastings. The historian noted that in contrast to
the muggle armies, the English wizards actually defeated their Norman counterparts, under the
inspired leadership of the King’s wizard Gryffindor.

“So Godric Gryffindor was the English King’s wizard?” Hermione asked. “That’s not something
that’s well known in our world.”

“Wait a minute,” Ron said, as he worked out the math. “Isn’t Hogwarts supposed to be more than a
thousand years old? Godric would have had to been at least 150 years old by 1066.”

“Ron,” Hermione said, “maybe you want to recall how old our last Headmaster was?”

“Oh yeah,” he replied. “Never mind.”

“Now when the Norman King William took control of England,” Baxter continued, “he demanded that
Lord Gryffindor swear fealty to him. But Gryffindor was tired of battle, and tired of being
intertwined in muggle politics. And so he quite simply vanished, and took the wizarding world with
him.”

“He went back to Hogwarts,” said Harry. “That makes sense, since it is in Scotland, which wasn’t
under Norman rule at the time, right?”

“Correct, Sir Harry,” the historian said. “Legend has it that he had joined forces with the
great wizards of Wales, Ireland and Scotland and formed a magical United Kingdom long before the
muggle version came into being.”

“So the other founders were also king’s wizards?” Hermione asked.

“That, Dame Hermione,” he replied, “we do not know.”

Ron looked at Hermione and Harry with no small amount of confusion over why the historian was
calling her “Damn Hermione.” Harry looked at Ron, and acknowledged his confusion with the one word
promise of “Later.”

“Yes,” the historian continued, “as you no doubt know, ever since that time wizards and witches
have lived amongst us but apart from us for the past thousand years. Given things like the Hundred
Year’s War and Spanish Inquisition I can’t say I blame them. But over that time, there have been
times when our worlds have collided, or at least overlapped a bit more than either side likes. And
so, there has always been a need to keep muggle leaders in the know about the wizard’s world. These
days, it is your Minister of Magic and our Prime Minister that meet from time to time, but back in
the old days, when the House of Windsor had a bit more power than it now enjoys, it was the Queen
or King of England that was kept in the loop.”

“Interesting,” Hermione said. “But why does the Queen’s family still know about the wizarding
world now that they don’t actually control the government?”

The historian smiled and stated that given the frequency of changes in muggle civilian
government that there were no doubt advantages in maintaining long-term contact with the Royal
family. He also noted that since members of the Royal family almost always married members of other
European royal families, that there weren’t that many people that had to be trusted with the truth.
He then said, somewhat cryptically, that there was a much more compelling reason for the Queen to
know about the wizarding world, but stated that the Prince had asked to explain that to them
himself.

Out of curiosity, Hermione asked the historian about the books that were on the table. He
explained that he had brought a few ancient texts with him from the new British Library in case
there was some question about his story.

Hermione’s eyes grew wide at that comment, and asked whether the Library had within its
collections any depictions of Godric Gryffindor. Baxter nodded, and carefully opened one of the
vellum-paged tomes in front of him. After flipping through a few of the yellowed pages of
handwritten text he found the image he was looking for.

“Here is a depiction of his investiture as Lord Gryffindor, ten years before the Battle of
Hastings,” he said. “From what I understand, Sir Harry, it’s not very different from what your
investiture would be, should you wish to claim your birthright.”

The historian then turned the book around for the three to see. Under other circumstances, they
would have been peppering the man with questions about Harry’s birthright. As it was, however, all
of their focus was upon the image itself.

It appeared to be a knighting ceremony, with a man kneeling before a king. There were several
clues that suggested that it was indeed Gryffindor that was kneeling. That he was an English wizard
was indicated by the badge that he wore; it was the very same starburst-patterned emblem that Harry
and Hermione had been presented when the joined the Order of Arthur. That it was Godric Gryffindor
was indicated by the sword shown held by the king; it was Godric’s sword, and Harry and Hermione
both recalled the Queen’s comment that the knight could choose the sword used for the investiture
service.

But the one feature within the image that the Trio immediately focused on wasn’t what was in the
king’s hand, but rather, what was in Godric’s; a shield that bore the Gryffindor crest.

“Well boys,” Hermione said rather quietly, “We might just have another artifact to find.”



16. Chapter 16
--------------



**Chapter 16** **: Rethinking the Three D's**

**A/N:** Needed a bit of naughty banter, so this didn't go as far as I wanted it to
(I'm sure some of you would want to see things go farther too, but I need to be mindful of my
ratings). Oh, what to do with those wicked thoughts now that *Portrait* is on hiatus? Thanks
to all who have reviewed, and especially to those whose reviews I can count on (and eagerly wait
for) after posting each new chapter.****

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

Ron's questions started in not five seconds after the Trio had piled into the Bentley's
rear seat for the ride back to Little Whinging from the Museum.

“Right then,” he began, “Who is this Prince that you were talking about, why was that guy
calling you Sir Harry and Dame Hermione, and when did you plan on telling me that there were
muggles that aren't as stupid as they're made out to be?”

“All that's more important then the fact that we've got a solid lead on a possible
horcux?” Hermione asked, as she waved the DVD disc that the historian had given them.

“Right now,” Ron replied, “yes…I think so.”

“And here I was thinking your first question would be when's lunch,” Harry quipped.

“Oh Ron, you are….you want to talk about stupidity?” Hermione asked. “How long did you stand in
front of the toilet the other night waiting for the seat to magically pop up for you?”

“Oy, you muggles do nearly everything different…how do you expect me to absorb it all at
once…I'm not some bloody sponge, after all.”

“That might be her point,” Harry tried to gently interject. “We did tell you about the Prince
the other night, just not by name…we thought, particularly after your rough time getting here, that
it'd be best if you eased into your new world.”

“Would've been nice if you'd given me the choice,” Ron said.

“Yeah, well, it wasn't like we got to pick and choose how we learned about the magical
world, was it?” Harry replied. “Look, mate, all of this came out of the blue, what…three days ago
now? Hermione and I are still trying to sort most of it out ourselves.”

“Fine,” Ron muttered. “So now's your chance to bring me up to speed.”

Harry and Hermione then proceeded to fill in some of the gaps to the story Ron had been told two
nights previous. They found it hard to explain the concepts of landed gentry and peerage, since
there was no historical equivalent within the magical realm. Certainly there were some magical
families that acted as if the were better than others by birthright, but they'd had never been
in a position to divvy up wizard England into fiefdoms, baronies or dukedoms. They explained their
knighthoods as ceremonial recognitions…the equivalent of being awarded the Order of Merlin, First
Class, and made sure they conveyed to Ron the Queen's message about his involvement within the
Order of Arthur. They promised to give him his emblem when the returned to Number Four, explaining
that they'd not really had time to anything more than look at them.

Ron's fears about being excluded from Harry and Hermione's activities were placated by
their explanations, and by reassurances that neither of them planned on pretentiously throwing
their titles around any time soon. Somewhat surprisingly, he spent more time dwelling over the fact
that he'd distinguished himself in a way that none of his brothers had before. He also worried
about them accepting too much help and becoming too dependent on muggles. Harry suggested that if
Ron wanted to start down that path that he would return the plasma screen telly and videogames when
they returned to his Aunt and Uncle's. Ron thought that a tad extreme.

They then launched into a discussion about the potential horcrux. Had Dumbledore had known about
it? The former Headmaster hadn't described it to Harry; as far as they knew the only two
surviving relics had been the sword and Sorting Hat. But had Dumbledore done any research at the
British Library? It would have been nice if he'd kept some sort of log of his research efforts
so they know where he's already looked, but they doubted that he would have risked writing
anything down. Harry recalled that there were many bottled memories in Dumbledore's office that
he hadn't shared, and thought it possible that there would be potential information there. That
question got added to the list of things to ask the Headmistress the next time that they saw
her.

The conversation then drifted towards Godric. The historian had told them that unlike Voldemort,
Gryffindor's Lordship was real; he had inherited the title, a castle and a modest fiefdom even
before he'd been appointed the King's wizard. Gryffindor's lands and wealth had
expanded when he became the King's most trusted confident, but all had been forfeited to the
Crown when he refused to swear fealty to the conquering Norman king.

They had no idea what being the King's wizard (or, for that matter, Queen's wizard)
would entail in modern-day England. Ron thought it funny that should Harry accept the title that it
would be one Lord versus another in the final battle. Harry, however, was more worried about having
even more responsibilities added upon his shoulders, and Hermione was worried about what kind of
trouble Harry would get into were to do magic on behalf of the Crown.

And Ron was worried about…well, actually, he finally did start to worry about lunch. He shared
Harry's skepticism over the tins of tofu and other healthy organic foods in Brian's pantry,
and wondered out loud whether they ought to stop by the Leaky Cauldron for take away. Hermione,
predictably, scowled a bit as Ron's unhealthy eating habits, but not enough not to knock on the
glass partition and ask Brian to stop someplace for fish and chips.

As luck would have it (at least from Hermione's viewpoint), Brian selected a restaurant that
was directly across the street from an athletic shoe store. None of them owned trainers suitable
for running, and even Ron reluctantly agreed that adopting a fitness regimen would be one useful
way to bide their time at Number Four. So while Brian waited on the food, they dragged Petunia with
them, and returned with new trainers all around.

Harry had used the Prince's charge card to pay for the purchases, hoping that it would be
the last time he'd need to do so. The sales clerk almost fell over when he saw the name
imprinted on the card, but said nothing as the charge was electronically processed. Ron might have
made a sharp comment about the deferential treatment that they subsequently received, had he not
made the mistake of asking a question about credit cards that prompted an impromptu lecture from
Hermione on muggle monetary systems. Harry grinned at Hermione's level of detail, and wondered
whether it was meant to discourage future inquiries on all things muggle.

+++++

The Trio found a slightly flustered owl waiting for them at Number Four. Harry had left the
bedroom window open in the hope that she'd return; the bowl of water and food he'd laid out
for her seemed to have dampened any anger the bird might have harbored for not being missed the
past couple of days. Hedwig had a think envelope for Hermione and a letter for Harry, both bearing
the Auror Department's seal. Harry quickly opened his letter:

*Dear Mr. Potter,*

*Please forgive the unfortunate delay in your owl's return from the Ministry. My
investigation has revealed that your name and address was placed on a Level III watch list just
prior to her arrival here early Saturday morning - the work of someone from the Minister's
office, apparently.* *All* *l**etters and packages sent to the Ministry by persons
on this* *watch* *list are considered high risk for hexes and/or curses**, and
s**tandard procedures for handling this type of post include owl isolation and containment
within a high-security stasis field until the safety of their delivery can be determined. Current
backlog for this type of post is about three weeks.*

*Placing your name on this list (which includes, by the way, Tom Riddle, Severus Snape and
Lucious Malfoy) ensured that any reply that you provided to Umbridge's letter Friday night
would not* *have been* *received* *and read**.* *Which was entirely the
point, I imagine. Rest* *assured that* *your owl was unharmed by the stasis
field.*

*I wish I could say that the person who did this would be held accountable,* *or that I
have the power to immediately remove your name from this watch list,* *but I can not. Your owl
now knows a* *reliable* *alternative* *delivery* *address**, should you or
anyone* *that* *you* *trust care to contact me directly.* *Since all of your
owl post communication is subject to isolation, please feel free to route posts addressed to other
ministry addresses through me**;* *I will see that they are delivered without
delay.*

*Again, my apologies to you and to your familiar.*

*Gawain* *Robards**,* *Head*

*Auror Division*

*Magical Law Enforcement Office*

*Ministry of Magic*

Harry traded letters with Hermione. Her package, also from the Head Auror, included the incident
report that she'd been promised. The investigation had confirmed their version of events last
Friday, and that the disciplinary action promised that night had, in fact, been metered out. The
Head Auror also indicated that plans were in place to arrest the two Death Eater look-outs on her
parents's doorstep. He asked that they allow the MLE to handle the situation from here on out,
and expressed his hope that Harry, Hermione and her parents would trust his department to perform
better than they had at Number Four. As an aside, he also stated that the Ministry had placed a
rather large requisition with the Weasley Twins for their after-market omnioculars.

Harry asked Hermione what she thought about letting the Aurors handle that operation. She said
that she would have to check with her parents, but that she was inclined to let it go - the three
of them certainly had more pressing issues to attend to. Still, she made a note to track down Tonks
to find out when the arrests were to be performed.

The first use of their running shoes suggested that the need for a fitness regimen was more
pressing than initially thought. None of them handled the exercise pain-free, and Ron had a rather
difficult time keeping up with Hermione's pace. They squabbled most of the distance, to the
point where Harry suggested that they might need a neutral third party to lead their workouts. Mr.
Granger, who found them on the front lawn winded and aching after their run, thought that was an
excellent idea, and promised to make arrangements for some coaching.

Harry let the other two shower first, which created yet another teachable moment for Ron (red is
hot, blue is cold, and don't flush when someone is in the shower). The hot water was gone by
the time Ron was done, but that was just as well, since Harry needed to cool down after spending
some quality time watching Hermione run. Once done, he wrapped himself in a towel and made his way
to his new bedroom, where he changed into a new summer outfit and headed next door to
Hermione's room.

Hermione was sitting on the four poster looking through one of the books from Snape's
personal library. “Where's Ron?” she asked.

“Erm, next door,” Harry replied with a grin, “He said he wanted to learn more about muggle
technology.”

“So he's playing with the Xbox?”

“Right in one,” he said, as he crossed the room, sat down next to her, and nuzzled her ear with
his nose. “Missed you,” he told her.

“Hey, that tickles,” she replied with a giggle, “and I was only gone for an hour or so.”

“Okay then,” Harry said, “Missed being able to do this.” He then put an arm around her shoulders
and kissed her on the cheek.

Hermione turned so that she could kiss him properly on the lips. “I missed this too, but we
really shouldn't be doing this so long as there's a chance for Ron to walk in, right?”

Harry tilted his head and began to nibble on her ear. “Want to pitch the tent?” he asked.

“Looks like you already have,” Hermione snickered, as her eyes traveled down his torso.
“Besides, I think we should spend some time working on nonverbal spells instead.”

“Oh, you're no fun,” Harry replied with a sigh, “but you also are right…I can still hear
Snape's taunts about that.”

“Well, maybe, then” Hermione mused, “we can make practice fun?” She walked over to her desk,
turned the chair around and sat down. “Or at least get you properly motivated.”

She pointed her wand towards the bedroom door and locked it. After casting a series of silencing
spells on the door, windows and walls, she turned towards Harry and with a single motion flipped
her t-shirt up over her head. Harry drew in a sharp breath - all she was wearing were jeans and a
black lace bra. With a smile and fire in her eyes, Hermione then reached in between the cups and
unclasped the front of her bra. Making no effort to remove the undergarment, the bra cups fell only
slightly towards the sides, and remained draped over her skin.

“Remember the first spell we learned at Hogwarts?” she asked. “I doubt either of these scraps of
fabric weighs much more than a feather.”

Harry shook his head. “Hermione, you are going to be the death of me,” he chuckled, as he
nevertheless withdrew his wand from his pocket and aimed it towards Hermione's chest.

He never realized how loudly he could shout “*Wingardium Leviosa*” inside his head…or how
many times he could do so. The only thing moving Hermione's undergarment, however, was her
slightly ragged breathing.

“Harry,” she finally asked, “exactly how are you trying to do it?”

“Saying the spell in my head,” he replied.

“Erm, maybe another approach?” she asked. “Think about apparition…that's a nonverbal spell,
but there's no associated incantation. Just the…”

“Three D's,” Harry nodded, “destination, determination, and deliberation. Of course,
destination doesn't really apply in this case….maybe D-cup?”

Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest. “That's not funny, Harry…and they're
B's not D's.”

“Look good to me,” Harry replied with a grin. “Let's see…the three B's….how about
breasts, breasts and breasts?”

Hermione moved to fasted her front clasp. “Are we done here, then?”

“No, wait…” Harry said quickly. “Let me try again.”

Hermione dropped her arms back down to her sides, while Harry thought about his determination,
his deliberation, and his….*desire*.

The fabric stirred, then lifted straight up into the air.

Harry couldn't remember ever being happier over a successful spell cast.

Hermione, forgetting her new state of undress, leapt up and gave Harry a bear hug. “Harry,
that's wonderful, you really did it!” she exclaimed, giving him a big kiss.

“Like you said, Hermione, I just need the proper motivation,” he replied. He then let out an
evil-sounding laugh. “So how much do you think your knickers weigh?”

Hermione punched him in the shoulder…not that he minded, given the view that procedure provided.
“Perv,” she replied with a smile. “Besides, I'd imagine you'd want my knickers to drop
down, rather than rise up.”

“Imagine I would,” Harry replied with a smile.

+++++

It was movie night at the Granger's. Well, actually it was at Number Five, and it was the
Granger residence that they were actually watching, but there was popcorn, at least.

A quick chat with Tonks had confirmed that the Auror's operation was planned for that night,
and the Trio had decided to honor Auror Robard's request to stay away from the area. It was
Hermione's parents that had suggested that it still might be possible to see what happened, so
after dinner (and with Petunia's permission, of course) the Trio had crossed the street and
were finally given a full tour of Number Five.

They hadn't been shown the upstairs bedrooms before, and when they were led into the largest
bedroom they understood why Wally had asked them to check their wands at the door. The room had
been transformed into a command and control center/surveillance post, with banks of flat-panel
screens displaying live video feeds from not only Harry's neighborhood, but within Number Four
itself. Wally had three of the largest monitors set up side-by-side on a table pushed up against
the wall, and once they were shown in he switched the video feeds so that the left monitor showed
the two Death Eaters standing on the street corner down from the Granger's house and the right
monitor showed a wide angle view of their entire street. With little activity shown on either
screen Wally popped a DVD into the desktop computer that sat beneath the central monitor, and they
all sat back and watched a movie while they waited.

There wasn't much room to sit in front of the screen…a couch and two sturdy chairs. Wally
and Steve sat in the chairs, while Mr. and Mrs. Granger sat on the couch. At their insistence (and
to her father's great amusement) Hermione and Harry insisted that Ron take the other spot on
the couch (given his long legs, of course). That left Harry and Hermione sitting on the floor
together, in front of her parents.

Given Wally's sense of humor (and personal preferences), Hermione wasn't at all
surprised by the selection.

“Friend of Dorothy's, eh Wally?” she asked.

Wally laughed. “A flaming fan,” he replied. “Watch it, though, or I'll ask Harry in front of
your parents whether you are a good witch, or a bad witch.”

“Oy, quiet down,” Ron said in between handfuls of popcorn. “I want to hear those munch-people
sing.”

Dorothy and company had made just made it to the Emerald City when Steve jumped up to the table,
minimized the movie's window, and opened up a new feed. When Harry looked at the right monitor
he understood why.

A black sedan had pulled into the Granger residence's drive.

The new video feed that Steve had opened was from inside the Granger residence. Wally had
already repositioned himself in front of a separate computer, and was typing at a furious pace. Ten
seconds later, an emerald-tinted image appeared on a monitor directly above the center screen.

“Satellite infra-red,” Wally said simply.

“You've got a spy satellite taking pictures of our house?” Emily Granger asked
incredulously.

“Not all of the time,” Wally admitted. “I just repositioned it now.”

Hermione looked at Wally in sheer wonder. So did Ron, although his was wonder as in “I wonder
what in Merlin's name he's talking about.”

Hermione didn't have time to explain, so she couched it in terms Ron could assimilate.
“It's muggle magic, Ron…it lets you see things in the dark, based on the heat that different
objects produce.” She then got up and traced the outlines of streets and houses on the display
screen for his benefit.

They all watched as a young woman that looked remarkably like Hermione and a man and woman got
out of the car and walked inside the house.

“Tonks,” Harry said in recognition.

Once inside Tonks and her Auror pretend parents shed their muggle jackets, drew their wands, and
took up a defensive position around a shoe that one of them had taken out of a coat pocket. Moments
later, the two Death Eaters crossed the street and approached the Granger residence. A large crack
was heard from the inside feed just before the screen went black. Harry looked up and counted eight
newly formed black spots within the infrared screen that were within the Granger residence
footprint. Then, almost as suddenly, a large black spot that included the entire Granger property
appeared on the satellite feed.

“They used magic of some sort,” Wally said. “That black spots is magical interference with the
infrared waves, and something fried the camera inside the house.”

“A group must have apparated inside the house just before an anti-apparition ward was
established,” Harry reasoned.

“But were they good guys or bad guys, and who set the ward?” Ron asked.

“Good or Bad…can't tell based on their infrared profiles,” Wally replied.

“Oh, I hope that Tonks isn't trapped,” Emily Granger exclaimed.

“They're fine, I bet,” Hermione said. “that shoe was most likely a port key.”

Sure enough, just as the left monitor went to black the long-range street view on the right-side
monitor showed three figures appearing across the street holding a shoe in their hand. They dropped
the shoe and immediately fired spells towards the two Death Eaters on the Granger's doorstep.
The next thing they new, there was an even larger black spot centered on the infrared view of the
house.

“So,” Ron decided, “the Aurors just overlapped their own anti-ap ward on top of the Death
Eater's…and now that Tonks is out it is just Death Eaters that are trapped inside.”

“Smooth,” commented Steve.

Perhaps realizing their predicament, the Death Eaters blasted a huge hole out of the back of the
house and tried to fight their way out. Several Aurors, however, were able to cut them down easily
from well-fortified and hidden locations around the house perimeter.

The fight lasted all of three minutes from that point. In the end, two Aurors were down and
being tended to while all of the Death Eaters were immobilized, bound, and spirited away. A second
group of Aurors appeared on site; one group ran into the house while the second fanned out looking
for muggles to obliviate, and setting up repellent charms up and down the block. Not five minutes
later, the men that had been inside the house reappeared with bags over their shoulders and then
disappeared once they'd cleared the wards. The Aurors that had been covering this movement
themselves disappeared, until only the Obliviators were left. Two started to mend the gaping hole
in the house wall, while the others stood guard. Once repairs were complete, someone cancelled the
wards and then they themselves disappeared.

Ten minutes, two causalities, ten Death Eaters in custody. It seemed like a good day's work,
even to Harry.

-->



17. Chapter 17
--------------

Chapter 17: Clan Chief

**A/N:** Just a note that I posted the previous chapter late last Friday afternoon…many of
you might not have seen it before it got quickly bumped from the site’s homepage. **
**

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.


+++++

**Tuesday June 5 (Day 5)**

The following morning’s trip to the bank provided Harry, Hermione and Ron with one more
opportunity to plot and strategize from the backseat of the Bentley.

They started with a discussion on the previous night’s battle between Aurors and Death Eaters.
Tonks had visited Privet Drive about an hour after the attack; having decided it best to stay
silent on muggle surveillance capabilities, they had to feign ignorance of the operation and its
results. She did have some information that they hadn’t gleaned from the video feeds. It turned out
that Death Eater assault on the Granger household had been something of a father/son affair, with
Crabbe, Goyle and their fathers comprising half of the raiding party. While the interrogations
hadn’t yet been completed, Harry and Ron were quite certain what the two Slytherin students would
have done to Hermione had they been successful in capturing her and their parents. Hermione seemed
rather calm over that point, commenting that it was too bad that the Malfoys hadn’t been there as
well.

Tonks had informed them that the Aurors that had entered the house immediately after the battle
were a moving company of sorts; they’d shrunk and lightened as much of the furniture, wardrobes and
other household items as they could in the limited time they had and hauled it away in large bags.
Not knowing where Hermione’s parents were now staying, the Auror Department was storing what they’d
recovered until Hermione could give them a forwarding address. Tonks agreed with Hermione and Harry
when they decided it best if the Granger’s location was kept from the Ministry – there was no way
to know who might pass that information along to the wrong people.

Wally’s wizardry then became the topic of discussion. The fact that he had the ability to direct
the location of a spy satellite’s cameras had been nothing short of amazing to Hermione, even in
the face of Wally’s self-deprecating modesty. It turned out that one of the few surveillance
satellites owned and operated by the British Secret Service had been dedicated to combating
terrorism and terrorist threats. It had been previously deployed over Afghanistan, but the London
tube bombings the year before (not to mention Voldemort’s attacks) had forced the government to
rethink its view on potential threats to its citizenry. The satellite was now at MI-5 and MI-5 ¾’s
command pretty much whenever they needed it.

The post-battle video analysis had forced them to disclose Tonks’s metamorph skills; there was
no other way for them to reconcile the screen capture of Hermione’s face at the battlescene with
her contemporaneous presence at Number Five. They weren’t surprised to learn that Brian had already
guessed as much, after Tonks had mimicked Hermione at Number Four a few days past.

Wally had spent a bit of time right after the battle digitally manipulating and enhancing the
images of both the Aurors and the Death Eaters. The three had been amazed at how well the computer
software was able to create headshots of the wizards, both good and bad. They had been even more
amazed when Wally then matched the mugshots against those stored in his database. It turned out
that three of the Death Eaters had profiles that matched those taken by security videos and other
recording devices present during previous attacks on muggles. Wally also identified four of the
Aurors involved in the attack as having been present at King’s Cross the previous Friday. He
laughed when Ron had asked how they’d manage to take pictures at the train station; the Ministry of
Magic’s request for the muggles to close off the entrance to Platform 9 ¾ to outside eyes all but
announced the fact that there’d be a high proportion of wizards and witches amongst the faces
captured by the Station’s security cameras.

The fact that they’d been allowed to see Wally work his computer magic was something they all
had noted. Ron’s suggestion that the muggle security men had been too dense to realize what they
were revealing was shot down fairly quickly by Hermione. She said it was much more likely that MI-5
¾ wanted the Trio to know what they were capable of doing, and what they knew of the magical world.
Whether this was to advertise how they might help the Trio, or assure them that the knowledge was
gained independently of anything the three might have let slip was unknown.

Hermione stated that the muggle satellite images might have helped them more than Wally might
have imagined. She reviewed what they saw on the satellite feed, and did a backseat physics lesson
on electro-magnetic radiation (her knowledge bolstered by a quick read of one of Dudley’s unused
textbooks the night before). She expected Ron to have been completely befuddled by the notion that
heat was related to colors, and that muggle technology existed that could translate infrared
radiation into something within the visible spectrum. He displayed, however, a surprisingly good
level of understanding that (much to Hermione’s chagrin) he attributed to his time spent on the
Xbox (specifically, the night vision goggles used by his terrorist-hunting Special Forces alter
ego).

The fact that anti-apparition wards had created dark spots on the infrared image was most
intriguing to Hermione, and something she (rather sheepishly) noted she didn’t fully understand. It
might have been that the magic within the ward had disrupted the ability of the satellite to image
that portion of its field of view. But if the attack had been in day time, they should have been
able to see “through” the magic, given the fact that anti-apparition wards are transparent within
the visible range of light.

Harry wondered about his invisibility cloak, and whether its properties would help Hermione’s
problem solving. He noted that there were two ways of the magic working…it could either change the
person wearing it, or change the way that people looking at the cloaked person perceived it.
Hermione rather excitedly mentioned the goofy glasses that her parents wore at the train
station…that was a clear case of magic that affected the viewer, rather than the object being
viewed.

Harry said that his cloak had to work the same way…it wasn’t as if his body shifted to a
different plane of existence when he wore the cloak (they all brought up instances over the years
when they’d been bumped into while cloaked). He then wondered whether the cloak worked just with
visible light, or whether it affected the infrared as well. Ron stated that the easiest way to find
out was to get their hands on some night-vision goggles and do the experiment themselves. When
Hermione asked where they’d be able to find that kind of equipment Ron replied that if Brian and
MI-5 ¾ weren’t able or willing to provide them that they could just buy some on the internet. Much
to Harry’s amusement, Ron was rather evasive when Hermione asked Ron pointedly how he knew about
the internet, and what websites he might have visited during this “research.”

Ron tried to get out of providing an answer by asking Hermione what difference it made whether
night vision goggles would reveal invisible objects. He guessed that the goggles would go haywire
as soon as it got anywhere close to the cloak, just like the cameras that had been set up in the
Granger’s house. Hermione responded with a scenario that left Ron and Harry rather dumbstruck. If
anti-apparition wards consistently created black circles on infrared satellite images, then the
muggle government, if it chose to, might be able to identify the exact location of every single
magical structure or area protected by those kinds of wards. Harry was quick to catch on how that
could help them find Voldemort (anti apparition wards set up at the Riddle mansion, perhaps?), but
he voiced that idea just as they pulled up to Prescott’s, so the point was left for later.

Brian was once again tasked with babysitting Petunia; a colleague was there to mind the car
while the five of them walked up the wide marble stairs and into the bank. As instructed, they told
a receptionist that they had a meeting with a Mr. Nigel Nilbog; the Trio was promptly led by a
guard towards an elevator bank while Brian and Petunia took seats within the lobby.

After a short trip several floors down beneath the main level they were shown to a rather
austere conference room and introduced to a Mr. Jenkins, whose business card indicated was the
Bank’s president. Mr. Jenkins showed them a side table with tea and coffee service; they’d just
returned to their seats when a rather small door opened from the wall opposite and Headmistress
McGonagall entered the room, followed by three goblins. They’d half-expected to see the
Headmistress; Tonks had conveyed for them word of the meeting time and place (although they
imagined she would have met them on their side of that door). Harry recognized one of the goblins
as Griphook, who’d taken him on his very first roller-coaster ride to his Gringott’s vault. His
eyes went wide when they were introduced to the other two goblins; Griphook was accompanied by no
less than Ragnok, Goblin Clan Chief, and Earchewer, his clan champion.

Given the amount of material covered, the first part of their meeting went surprisingly fast.
The human bank president did most of the talking, explaining that Prescott’s had been a
goblin-owned muggle bank for over two centuries (the Trio didn’t bother asking him for his muggle
identification card, considering the fact that he didn’t bat an eye when the goblins showed up as
proof enough). The bank was the main conduit for money exchanges between pounds sterling and
galleons; whether they knew it or not, most Gringott’s patrons also had accounts at Prescott’s.
Griphook then passed out six rather thick portfolios; four to Harry, and one each to Ron and
Hermione. Each portfolio contained an inventory of a vault, any associated muggle bank accounts,
and investments both (muggle and wizard-related).

Ron and Hermione were rather shocked when they looked at their individual net worths. Griphook
explained that their vault contents reflected the disposition of Albus Dumbledore’s estate. Their
former Headmaster had, as a result of his partnership with Nicolas Flamel and other shrewd
investments, been one of the richest wizards in Britain. Not wishing that the use of Harry’s money
(or their willingness to accept it) become an issue for either Ron or Hermione, Albus had
bequeathed to each of them the sum of one hundred thousand galleons, as well as a few personal
mementos; Hermione had been given all of Dumbledore’s books, research notes and journals, while Ron
had been given the former Headmaster’s entire collection of chocolate frog cards. Each, of course,
thought themselves the richer.

As might be expected, Harry’s finances were a little more complex. Each of the four portfolios
were associated with a specific vault within Gringott’s. The first covered the vault he’d had
access to since his First Year at Hogwarts; Harry was rather surprised to see just how much money
was within it. Griphook noted that the balance reflected not just the remainder of the “school”
money left by his parents, but the money that had been bequeathed by Sirius. All of those funds
were available for his immediate use. The second portfolio described the contents of the Potter
family vault, which he’d gain access to upon his seventeenth birthday. The vault contained not only
a large amount of gold, but two pages worth of itemized magical items, which McGonagall explained
were either Potter family heirlooms or the salvageable contents from their house at Godric’s
Hollow. The Headmistress then added that while Dumbledore hadn’t left Harry any money, he had been
bequeathed the pensieve, as well as all of the Headmaster’s bottled memories. She passed them to
Harry in two small boxes, which he handled as if they were the most priceless artifacts
imaginable.

When Harry opened the third and forth portfolios he found single pieces of parchment within each
that didn’t provide an inventory, but rather noted that Harry held a disputed or unresolved
interest in the vault contents. One was associated with the Black family estate; apparently there
were investments and other financial holdings that weren’t directly owned by Sirius, but rather, by
the Estate. While Sirius had been the last Black by name, there were still a few surviving members
of the Black family through maternal bloodlines (including, McGonagall noted, Nymphadora Tonks and
Draco Malfoy), and the disposition of this portion of the Black family fortune was currently under
review by the Wizengamot. A resolution was expected sometime in the next decade. Harry found the
last portfolio by far the most interesting and terrifying; the vault was described as belonging to
Lord Gryffindor. When Harry asked the goblins how they knew he might have an interest in Godric
Gryffindor’s estate, Griphook smiled, and suggested the sword that Harry had stashed in the
rucksack by his side was proof enough.

The Headmistress then identified a final sum to be under Harry’s limited control. Dumbledore had
specific that the bulk of his estate (more than thirty million galleons) be placed in a trust for
the defense and support of Hogwarts. The trust, which had been established prior to his death,
identified Harry as its executor, with the power to spend any or all of the funds for that
purpose.

When Hermione asked about establishing pound sterling accounts at Prescott’s, the bank president
handed each of them an envelope that contained account information and debit cards, which they
could use to draw against their accounts. Griphook further explained that each of the portfolios
were charmed to facilitate transfers between their Prescott and Gringott accounts; they merely
needed to touch their balance sheets with their wands and drag numbers from one account to the
other. Similarly, their wands could be used to write down a new location on the ledger, and funds
(or items) could be dragged with their wands from their vault to that spot. If that new location
was, say, their residence, said cash (or item) would be delivered directly to them.

Harry, who was looking over the inventory of his personal vault, asked if he could do a test
run. The Headmistress objected to his underage wand use, which made the goblins all laugh; the use
of their magical items were untraceable by any Ministry magic. Harry then used his wand to write
“Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging” on his balance sheet, and dragged a single item from
his vault to that written address.

At that point Clan Chief Ragnok spoke his first words of the meeting, stating that with the
financial issues dealt with that it was time for important issues to be discussed.

“Issues more important than finances?” Harry asked with a slight grin.

“Indeed,” Ragnok replied. “We wish to speak with you alone, Harry Potter.”

The bank president was already gathering his things, and the Headmistress stood and asked if he
would show her to a secure apparition point. Harry, however, blanched at the idea of asking Ron and
Hermione to leave.

“I do not wish to offend, Clan Chief Ragnok,” he replied, “but you should know that anything you
say to me in private I would share with them later. I trust them with my life.”

“Then they are of your Clan?” Ragnok asked.

Harry turned towards Ron and Hermione and got the answer he was looking for just from their
eyes. “Yes,” he said, “Ron is my champion, while Hermione is, erm…”

“I am Clan Chief Potter’s consort,” Hermione said with authority.

That comment earned her some sharp glances and intakes of breath from both Ron and the
Headmistress (who had almost been out the door). From Harry she got eyes full of wonder and breath
that was a tad ragged.

“*Hell of a way for Ron to find out*,” Harry thought to himself.

“Very well, then, Clan Chief Potter,” Ragnok said. “I wish to speak with you of alliances and
the future of our Clans.”

“I would be honored to hear your thoughts on these matters, Clan Chief Ragnok.,” Harry replied,
with all of the diplomacy he could muster.

“As you are no doubt aware,” Ragnok began, “your champion’s older brother has spent a fair bit
of time trying to convince me to side with those who fight Voldemort. It is only because Bill
Weasley has been such a trustworthy Gringott’s employee, and that he spoke on behalf of Albus
Dumbledore, that he didn’t suffer the fate of the Ministry representative that made that very same
request.”

“What happened to the Ministry’s representative?” Ron asked.

“My champion lived up to his name.”

“Oh.”

“With Dumbledore’s passing to the next plane of existence, we asked Bill Weasley for whom he now
spoke on behalf of…and he chose you,” Ragnok said, “thereby reconfirming our opinion of the
soundness of his judgement.”

“Your words are too kind, Clan Chief,” Harry said.

“But not too overblown,” the goblin replied. “We have no faith in the ability of the Ministry of
Magic to protect its own, much less the rest of the magical realm. You, on the other hand…well,
let’s just say that the goblins see their interests and their future closely tied to yours and your
Clan.”

“I am honored, Clan Chief,” Harry replied. “I would value your counsel on how I might act to
preserve those interests.”

“A wizard asking for a goblin’s advice?” the Clan Chief’s champion blurted out. “It must be some
trick.”

“Hold your tongue, Earchewer,” the goblin chief said sharply. “His humility only supports our
assessment, and planned course of action.”

The goblin then turned towards the Trio. “You have entered into an alliance with the muggles in
your battle against the Dark Wizard,” he simply said. “Now, no need to deny this fact,” he said, as
Harry’s face turned a bit white, “it was strategically a wise move. Had you not done so I may have
been courting favor with the Prince myself.”

“I am sorry, Ragnok,” Harry said, “but we had hoped to keep my relationship with the muggles
quiet, for now. Might I ask how you knew?”

Griphook smiled. “Last Friday you were authorized to use the bank card owned by the Prince of
Wales…did you notice the name of the bank that issued that card?”

“Prescott’s,” Harry said, with a nod of comprehension.

“The Royal family has one of the larger vaults beneath Gringott’s,” the goblin said. “Not as big
as yours, of course, but most of their wealth is managed by the Bank of England.”

“Why would you consider a muggle-goblin alliance?” Ron asked.

“Self-preservation,” the Chief replied simply. “Voldemort…the Ministry of Magic and their
kind…they all underestimate the powers of the muggle clans even more than they underestimate
goblins. We have envisioned a future under the Dark Mark and it is, quite simply, disastrous.”

“Haven’t Voldemort and his kind have be courting goblin favor, promising power and playing on
injustices both past and present?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, Consort Granger, they have,” Ragnok replied. “But the Death Eaters foolishly believe that
should they gain power that the muggles would leave them alone, or perhaps be too ignorant to even
notice the difference. Do you believe that likely?”

“No,” Hermione replied. “They will not stand for the killing of muggle-born wizards and the
muggle hunting that no doubt would follow Voldemort’s success…and if they don’t already have the
means to destroy Voldemort, they certainly have the will and resources to acquire those means in
short order.”

“We agree,” Ragnok said, “and fear greatly the consequences of that battle. At best it would
destroy much of the wizarding economy, and at worst…well, at this point in time goblins enjoy a
certain amount of economic leverage over wizard humans. We have nothing close to that leverage and
control over muggle humans, and expect that the war against Voldemort would also bring an attack
against our clans and other magical sentients.”

“That is a dark vision of our futures, Clan Chief Ragnok, and one that I would like to prevent,”
said Harry. He thought for a moment. “Your decision to even consider a goblin-human alliance must
have been controversial within the Goblin Nation.”

“That, Clan Chief Potter, is a slight understatement,” Ragnok replied with a chuckle. There are
some who can not see beyond the dishonorable actions of the Ministry, and their continued
protection of Bagman the Thief.”

“Would your position be strengthened if the money he stole from the Goblins was repaid?” Harry
asked. “Depending on the actual amount, I might be in a position to help.”

“While you do have funds sufficient to cover our losses,” Ragnok replied, “this has grown to
much more than a simple reconciling of bank accounts. Any government that harbors a known thief can
not be trusted…even if you brought me Bagman’s head on a spike that would not change.”

“I understand, Clan Chief,” Harry said. “Perhaps, then, we will look at ways of changing the
Ministry’s position on this matter.”

“That would be most helpful, Clan Chief Potter.” He stood up. “We have given you much to
consider, I am afraid. Perhaps we should meet again soon?”

“We would enjoy just such a meeting,” Harry said, as he stood and shook each of the goblin’s
hands. Earchewer then went to Ron and (after a close physical appraisal) shook the hand of his
counterpart. Griphook in turn approached Hermione.

“I believe that congratulations are in order, Consort Granger,” he said quietly, and with a
slight smile. “We were unaware of your position within Clan Potter…you have chosen wisely.”

“Thank you, Griphook,” Hermione replied, “and yes, I believe I have.”

She glanced over at Ron, who was watching her with a frighteningly cool expression.

Hermione did not look forward to their next conversation within the back of the Bentley.



18. Chapter 18
--------------

Chapter 18: A Simple Trip from Point A to Point B

**A/N:** I felt a little bad about ending the last chapter just before the obligatory “Ron
figures it out” point in the story, so I made some time to plot out the “Talk” before delving into
their meeting with the wizard barrister (every time I try to limit myself to 2 chapters/plot day…).
It’s been done so, so many times, and quite often much better than how I’ve done it, but humor me.
We’ll get this out of the way, and then you can start worrying about how Ginny will take the
news.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.


+++++

Harry’s queasiness about discussing Hermione’s status as his “consort” was replaced by a
different kind of stomach distress when the doors of their elevator opened to the main lobby.

Their exit was blocked by a rather stern looking Headmistress.

“Follow me, the three of you.”

With nothing short of complete expectation that they’d follow, McGonagall turned and walked into
a rather large conference room set against the back wall of the lobby. Not that far gone from
school, the Trio quietly did as they were told. Once inside the door slammed behind them,
accompanied by loud clicks and clanks within the walls and windows that left little doubt that
their conversation would be private.

All but four chairs surrounding the conference table disappeared; with three of the four on the
side closest to them the Trio didn’t wait for orders to sit down. The Headmistress started to pull
the fourth chair away from the opposite side of the table, but changed her mind and launched into
her tirade whilst pacing back and forth in front of them.

“In all my years at Hogwarts,” she began, “in all my years as Head of Gryffindor House…never
have I seen students act with more rashness and presumption than the three of you just displayed.
Mr. Potter, do you have any sense of what you just did in that meeting…do you have any sense?
Proclaiming the existence of your Clan…negotiating directly with the Goblin Clan Chief…you might
just as well announce your open sedition against the Ministry of Magic.”

Harry was too stunned to reply.

“And you, Miss Granger…let’s just gloss over the “consort” business and focus on the fact that
you are very likely the only female that has dared speak to Ragnok before being spoken too and
lived to tell the tale. Surely you know something about the patriarchal clan system within the
Goblin Nation?”

“But…”

“As for you, Mr. Weasley,” the Headmistress continued, as she ignored Hermione’s protest, “Harry
proclaims that you are his Clan Champion and you just sit there like a fish out of water? After the
meeting you shook hands with Ragnok’s champion, right? Do you know why he’s called Earchewer? Let
me tell you…he wasn’t given that name, he earned it.”

Ron let out one-half of an “Eek” before swallowing the remainder.

“And here we are, barely a week after Dumbledore’s passing…what do you think your former
Headmaster would say if you were in his office right now?”

Harry thought for a moment before replying. “Care for a lemon drop?”

A slight smile erupted on the Headmistress’s otherwise stern face. “Yes, Harry, I imagine you’re
right.” She transfigured the conference table into a couch that faced just in front of the three
and took a seat.

“So,” she said, “perhaps you’d consider telling me what happened after I left?”

Harry smiled and proceeded to give her an abbreviated summary of the discussion (leaving out the
bit about his relationship with the Prince). The Headmistress was initially amazed at the prospect
of a muggle-goblin alliance, and seemed a bit skeptical of the goblin’s assessment of muggle
capabilities. Nevertheless, she was understandably quite pleased that the goblins had finally
gotten off the fence and decided not to join Voldemort’s forces.

Headmistress McGonagall’s tone of voice and demeanor grew progressively warmer as they talked,
and Harry picked up on the fact that much of her warmth was directed towards Ron. She mentioned
that she visited The Burrow the day before, and told Molly in no uncertain terms that Ron’s efforts
that summer would be vital to the Order’s mission She said that she was inclined to return that
afternoon to share the additional good new, certain that Ron’s parents would be immensely proud of
what he’d done. She noted that while Bill had certainly laid the foundation it was Ron that had
helped cement the ties between the goblins and wizards…that while Percy had been a Weasley Head Boy
that there’d never been a Weasley named Clan Champion…and that Dumbledore no doubt thought Ron’s
efforts valuable, or else he wouldn’t have made him wealthier than either of the Twins.

It was a pretty blatant attempt to boost Ron’s ego, and Harry was more than grateful to see it
working. With every comment Ron’s back grew a little straighter, and his eyes a little brighter.
Harry thought those eyes actually sparked a bit when the Headmistress casually mentioned that while
she was at The Burrow that Luna Lovegood had visited hoping to hear news about Ron.

Hermione chose that moment to announce their need to take their leave for lunch. When the
Headmistress asked how well they were eating at the Dursleys, she received some muttered “It’s
alright’s,” prompting her to call out for Dobby the house elf. He instantly appeared with a rather
large picnic basket filled with the staples of a Great Hall feast. Ron eagerly grabbed the basket
and spent a few seconds with his nose over it, savoring the smells of all his favorite comfort
foods. Wondering out loud whether they’d be allowed to eat in the back of the limousine, Ron headed
out into the main lobby to find Brian.

Harry and Hermione couldn’t help but laugh as they watch Ron leave. Their eyes met, and they
turned to offer the Headmistress their thanks.

“You really knew how to punch all of his buttons,” Harry said with some wonder.

“I should,” the Headmistress replied, “I have been his Head of House for the past six
years.”

“And you’ve been ours, as well, haven’t you?” Hermione asked rhetorically.

McGonagall smiled and nodded. “I trust,” she asked, “that your self-identification as Harry’s
consort doesn’t have any legal underpinnings…at least for now?”

The two blushed a bit as they looked at each other. “No,” Hermione replied, to which Harry added
in his thoughts “*Not just yet*.”

“Yet I sense the two of you have taken a few steps down that path together?” she replied with a
small grin.

“Is it that obvious?” Harry asked, as he tentatively grabbed Hermione’s hand.

McGonagall chuckled, “It has been, for quite some time. Care to share when the two of you
realized it yourselves?”

Harry said “Friday” at the same time Hermione said “Sunday.” Hermione looked at Harry with an
arched eyebrow as he shrugged his shoulders. “At the Palace, seeing you in the periwinkle blue
dress,” he said simply. She nodded. “And seeing you in the tuxedo...” She turned to the
Headmistress. “Harry’s right…it was Friday.”

McGonagall nodded with a terse smile of recognition. “Like the phoenix, rising from its ashes…so
that would be June 1…ah, I believe Poppy will be delighted to hear the news.”

“Why is that?” Harry asked.

“Because she won the betting pool, of course.”

+++++

“So your Harry’s consort?” Ron asked, in between mouthfuls of Yorkshire pudding. “What’s that
mean exactly?”

They were on their way back to Little Whinging, having cancelled their afternoon meeting with
the wizard barrister in order to sort out their meeting with the Goblins. They were also well on
their way to finishing their feast.

“Well,” Hermione replied, “in the context of that conversation, it meant that I’d be allowed to
stay for the rest of the meeting…Ragnok expected some level of authority, after all.”

“Yeah, but what’s it mean?” he asked, rather coolly.

“Erm….in the muggle world, a consort is the husband or wife of a king or queen.”

“Brilliant,” Ron replied, “much better I be the champion and you the consort, then.”

“Yes,” Harry said with a nervous laugh and a glance towards Hermione. “I agree.”

“So, the goblins, they have clans, and each clan has a Chief, who has a champion fighter and a
wife?”

“Erm, pretty much,” Hermione replied, “except that from what I’ve read, goblins chiefs don’t
necessarily have to be married to their consort.”

“Oh,” said Ron, who’d moved on to tackling a ham shank. “So you wouldn’t have been lying to the
goblins if you were Harry’s girlfriend.”

“Erm…yes, you’re right.”

Ron thought for a few seconds. “Goblins are sticklers when it comes to the truth, you know…liars
are just one step below thieves in their eyes.”

“Yes,” Hermione said with a slight pause. “I think I read that someplace once.”

“Of course you did,” Ron replied. He pointed the shank of ham towards Hermione. “So were you
lying?”

Hermione looked at Harry, who took the initiative to answer. “No Ron, she wasn’t.”

Ron dropped the shank on his plate and fished through the basket, looking for some dessert.
After picking out three different types of pastries, he looked straight at Harry.

“So were you cheating on Ginny, then?”

“No, Ron, I wasn’t,” Harry replied. “What Hermione and I have…it’s just at the start, except of
course it isn’t since we’ve known each other so long, but…it happened after I broke up with
Ginny.”

“I see,” Ron said quietly. He then turned to Hermione.

“Tart.”

“Excuse me?”

Ron clarified by pointing towards the pastries. “Fancy a tart, Hermione?”

“No thank you, Ron.”

Ron nodded as he grabbed a drink from his goblet of pumpkin juice.

“You know, Hermione, I fancied you for the longest time.”

“Yes,” Hermione replied, “I know.”

“Snogging Lavender Brown wasn’t exactly the best way to show it,” Ron continued, “But I
did.”

“Past tense, mate?” Harry asked with some degree of hope.

Ron looked closely at Harry. “Yeah, past tense.”

“As of when?” Hermione asked.

“Dinner Saturday night, Luna’s house.”

“Oh,” Hermione replied.

“She likes me,” Ron said simply. “She likes me as Ron Weasley, and not just the package deal of
Harry and Ron…or worse, as Harry’s mate.”

“She’s a sweet girl,” Harry said. “Brave too…showed that at the Department of Mysteries.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, “but so did Ginny.”

“Yeah, she did…but that’s over, Ron…we broke up and it’s over.”

“Sure, Harry, I know it is.” Ron said. “Plan on telling her anytime soon?”

“Erm, well, don’t know when I’ll see her…got to stay at the Dursleys, after all.”

“Yeah, guess that makes sense,” Ron replied. “We could have visitors, though, right?”

“Sure,” Harry replied somewhat tentatively. “Thinking of inviting Ginny to dinner?”


“No, of course not,” Ron replied. “You think I have problems in muggle land, can’t imagine what
she’d do without a magic mirror telling her how pretty she is every morning...actually, I was
thinking of Luna.”

“We’d love to have Luna visit,” Hermione said.

Ron looked at her cross-eyed as he hunted for any missing treats in the basket. “Nice pronoun,
Hermione.”

“Oh…yeah, sorry about that,” she said.

“It’s alright,” Ron replied. “I can deal with plurals…just promise not to snog under my nose,
okay?”


“Sure, Ron,” Harry said with some relief. “We can work with you on that one.”

Ron shook his head. “So about that lying to goblins thing…were you serious when you told them I
was your champion?”

“Of course I was, mate,” Harry replied.

“Good,” he said, “wouldn’t want it any other way.”



19. Chapter 19
--------------

**Chapter 19: Normality**

**A/N:** As a portkey public service, I’m rushing to post this chapter next to "Circle’s End," in the hope that a bit of my
fluffy fluff and a joke or two might ease the sting of madscientist’s brilliant, but tear-jerking
update. So go read that first (if you haven’t already), and then come back here with some tissues…I
need some right about now.****

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

The Trio arrived at Number Four to find that the goblins had already completed Harry’s portfolio
transaction. They also discovered that Harry’s delivery instructions should have been much more
specific - the coffee table in his Aunt and Uncle’s living room had been replaced by Sirius’s
motorcycle.

Harry couldn’t decide what was funnier; his Aunt Petunia’s shock over the new piece of
furniture, or the fact that the goblin who had made the delivery had forced her to sign for it.
With more empathy than she knew she possessed, Hermione shrank the motorcycle just enough for Ron
and Harry to roll it out the door and onto the drive.

The arrival of the classic motorbike brought Wally, Steve and Roger out from Number Five for
some fawning. Harry, who had only half-believed that the motorcycle would really materialize,
balked when they encouraged him to go for a spin. Hermione saw his hesitancy and had grabbed his
hand in support.

"You know, guys," she told the men, "there’s a good chance that the previous
owner installed some rather nasty theft deterrence charms." Her warning caused the men to back
up and give the motorcycle some space.

"Thinking about Sirius?" she asked Harry, rather quietly.

"No," he replied, "well, yes, but more than that…I was thinking about the last
time this motorcycle was in front of this house."

Hermione realized what he was alluding to. "Hagrid used this bike to bring you to the
Dursley’s all those years ago, the day after your parents…."

"Yeah," Harry said, cutting her off before she could complete that sentence.

Hermione let go of Harry’s hand and pulled him close, reaching under his arm to grab his waist.
Harry responded by wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

"You need to learn how to ride this, and quick," Hermione said.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because this is how you got to your Aunt and Uncle’s, and by Merlin, this is going to be
how you are going to leave it….how *we* are going to leave it…when the time comes."

Harry looked at her and kissed the top of her head.

And Hermione’s father, who had seen and heard all and was always quick with a snarky quip, for
once held his tongue.

+++++

Neither Harry nor Hermione were surprised when Ron later announced that he wanted to pay Luna a
visit that night. They all agreed it was a good time for him to do so…it gave Ron a chance to
process both what he’d heard at the bank and in the Bentley. Hermione suggested that it’d also be a
good time for him to patch things up with his mum. Ron, however, seemed hesitant to lose his excuse
for needing to use the Lovegood’s floo connection.

Ron had the bright idea of using his wand and portfolio to transfer fifty galleons from his
vault to his school trunk. He had originally wanted to write down "left front pant
pocket" as the delivery address, until Hermione suggested that a less than accurate delivery
might be rather painful. With more than enough "date money" for the first time in his
life, Ron whistled a happy tune all the way to Arabella’s house. Had it been more on-key, Harry and
Hermione would have recognized it as "Weasley is our King."

With Ron gone Harry and Hermione were faced with a number of competing uses for their time.
Tempted to either set up the tent or dive into Dumbledore’s pensieve, they instead chose to take
advantage of the sunny weather and walk hand-in-hand about the neighborhood. Of course, Hermione
thought of a way to justify their choice. She wasn’t entirely happy with the apparition spot she’d
been using, so they walked the neighborhood scouting potential alternatives, using a spell that
Tonks had shown her that identified the limits of an anti-appartion ward. They then marked this
boundary on a neighborhood street map that also showed Wally’s camera locations within his
monitoring network.

The charm that Hermione used turned her wand into a sort of dousing rod that twitched whenever
it encountered an anti-app ward. This allowed her not only to hold Harry’s hand, but to hold a
conversation with Harry while the charm was working.

"So I hope that you didn’t mind too much that I proclaimed myself your consort," she
said with a smile.

"I’d be a daft git if I did," Harry replied. "Besides, I was the one that decided
I was a Clan Chief in the first place."

"You had to do that, you know," Hermione said. "Ragnok wouldn’t pledge
cooperation with anyone that he didn’t consider his equal in rank."

"Yes, I know," Harry said, "I just don’t like it very much…makes it sound as if I
buy into this ‘Chosen One’ business."

"Well, with Dumbledore gone…" Hermione said relatively tentatively, "Look, I know
you don’t feel worthy to lead the forces of Light, but it’s not as if the Ministry is instilling
confidence in too many people. And besides, there’s a lot of people that do think you’re worthy,
and would support you in a heartbeat."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, sweetheart," Harry said, as he gave her hand a
small squeeze. He got a bit nervous when his endearment caused Hermione to blush. "I hope you
don’t mind that I, erm…well, Hermione do you think things are going too fast between us?"

She stopped and turned towards him with a smile. "Too fast? It’s only been, what, six years
now that we’ve been nearly inseparable."

"Yeah, but, you know what I mean," Harry replied. "It’s because of that that I
want to make sure that I don’t muck anything up…I feel like such a git sometimes, not knowing what
to do or say around you, and I’m terrified that if I screw this up that we’d lose our friendship as
well."

Hermione gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and backed that up with a tender, if brief, kiss.
"So long as you’re my ‘just Harry,’ you don’t have anything to worry about," she said.
"It *is* a bit backwards, I suppose."

"How’s that?"

"Well, think about how a lot of relationships begin," she explained. "Couples
swapping spit in the Common Room before they bother to find out if they’re compatible over the long
term…not to mention the ‘three date rule.’"

"What’s that?" Harry asked.

"Something I read about," Hermione said., "Supposedly, when you are young,
single, and sexually active, if you don’t shag a person by your third date then the relationship
isn’t going anywhere."

"Oh," Harry said, "so remind me how many dates we’ve had?"

Hermione gave his shoulder a punch. "Officially, none, you prat…my point is, instead of
shagging then finding out if you could live with the other person’s faults over the years, we’ve
already gotten the second part out of the way. Our level of compatibility is, well, off the charts,
in my opinion."

"I agree," Harry said. "Which bring us back around to the original
question...what do we do now, and when do we do it?"

"I don’t know," Hermione said. "I love where we’re at right now, and I love the
thought of where this is going. But most of all, I love the idea that I can trust you utterly and
completely."

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said. "Not to test that level of trust, but does it
bother you that we’ve started something so soon after I broke up with Ginny?"

"Didn’t I just say I trusted you utterly and completely?" Hermione asked. "Would
you like the aid of a *Sonorus* charm?"

"No, it’s just…well I just wanted you to know how incredibly different I feel with
you," Harry replied. "I mean, Ginny’s a sweet girl, but my time with her was just an
escape I’m afraid. I feel bad for her, actually…she wanted a lot more than I felt comfortable
giving her."

"How was it an escape?" Hermione asked.

"Well, I’ve been trying to figure that out," Harry replied. "The time I spent
with Ginny…it was like I was a normal teenager, with normal worries…that sense of normality that
I’ve always yearned for. But my time with her…I couldn’t integrate that with my real
world."

"So Ginny is normal, and I’m abnormal?" Hermione asked.

"No, silly," Harry smirked. "I’m talking about what I’ve wanted, what I thought
I’ve wanted…when I was with her, I felt normal…But we were both deluding ourselves, I
think."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because when it comes down to it," Harry said, "I’m not normal, and Ginny
wouldn’t have wanted to date me if I really was."

"You think so? Even if Voldemort hadn’t marked you you’d have been captain of the Quidditch
team."

"Nah, I’m pretty sure Ginny would be looking for a knight in shining armor, and I’d…I’d
still rather be out the spotlight."

Hermione thought for a moment. "So if she made you feel normal, then I make you feel
how?"

"You mean besides the warm fuzzy-butterflies in my stomach-luckiest bloke in the world
feeling?"

"Sorry, guess I was fishing for a complement."

"You shouldn’t have to fish," Harry replied. "This might sound strange, but you
make me feel capable…like I can love someone and kick Voldemort’s bum at the same time…like I have
a fighting chance to survive…like I have the motivation to survive."

Hermione’s eyes narrowed a bit as her heart skipped. "And when Voldemort is gone, won’t you
want to go back to normal?"

It was Harry’s turn to punch Hermione’s shoulder. "Will you stop, already? Why would I want
to settle for normal, now that I’m feeling the way I am right now?"

Hermione cocked her head sideways a bit with a smile. "Flattery will get you everywhere,
Sir Clan Chief."

"Will it get me past the third official date?" Harry asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"Let’s work on the first one, sweetheart," Hermione replied.

+++++

They completed their neighborhood tour without finding any better spots to apparate than the
small copse of trees Hermione had used near the playground. There was, however, a rather nice
vacant home for sale just beyond the wards, a few houses down from Arabella’s (which, not
surprisingly, was just inside the wards). Hermione suggested that they could apparate inside the
home to contain the noise, but worried about spooking the neighbors. Harry, recalling the newfound
extent of his wealth, suggested the simple solution of buying the house. Hermione thought that a
tad extravagant, given how long they planned on staying in Little Whinging, but Harry thought it
worth checking, and asked her to start looking into what it would take to maintain the wards beyond
his birthday.

Having already promised to eat dinner that evening with her parents, Hermione sent Hedwig to
Tonks and Remus with a request to meet later that night. They wanted to talk about their goblin
meeting with magical people they trusted, and thought that Remus might be able to show Harry how to
use the charmed motorcycle.

They enjoyed another fine meal on the backyard patio of Number Five that evening, with Harry and
Hermione’s visit with the goblins the main dinner table topic. Until, of course, Hermione’s parents
decided it was time to drop their own bombshell.

"So, Hermione," her father started out, "your mum and I have had a few days to
sort things out."

"The past few days have been exciting," Emily Granger added, "and we’re a little
reluctant to pick up our dental drills and go back to our old lives."

"Wouldn’t being hounded by Death Eaters wear thin after a while?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, I’m sure it would," her father replied. "Not that we aren’t confident that
the two of you will take care of that problem in the very near future. We’re talking about what to
do right now, though…about starting our new lives."

"You thinking about new identities…moving to the States…something like that?" Hermione
asked.

"Well, not quite," her dad replied. "The government has offered to put us into a
long-term protection program…new house, new identities, new jobs…it’s very generous, but they’ve
also given us a much more appealing alternative."

"What’s that?"

"They’ve made us a job offer," her mum replied.

"Work for the government?" Hermione asked, a little nervously. "What…the Queen’s
men need some dental work?"

A light bulb flipped on above Harry’s head . "You are going to help Wally and Steve, aren’t
you?"

"That’s the idea," Roger admitted.

"Oh my…erm…just what….MI-5 ¾?" Hermione stammered. "No offense, but you two will
need more then dental drills to fight Death Eaters."

"That’s what we tried to tell them when they made the offer," her mom said with a
smile. "But they said that we possessed a few key qualities that made us perfect for what they
had in mind."

"What’s that?"

"Well, for one thing, the perfect cover..."

"Cover?" Hermione asked with alarm. "My parents, the dentists, working
undercover?"

"Well, not exactly undercover…" her father replied. "We are your parents, after
all, it’s nothing we aren’t already doing now."

"But you don’t know the first thing about security, or defending yourself against attack,
or any number of things."

"True enough," Mr. Granger said, "but we do have eyes, ears, and a strong incentive
to pick up the rest as soon as possible."

"So what will you need to do," Hermione asked, "attend some training
academy?"

"Ordinarily, yes, we would," Roger replied. "But given the circumstances, they’re
going to bring the trainers to us, so that we’d be able to stay with you."

"So what kind of training would you receive?" asked Hermione. "I can’t believe
it’d be enough to keep you out of harm’s way."

"Don’t know exactly what kind of training," Roger admitted. "Imagine we’ll find
out soon enough. Look…we know you’d be worried, and we thought about not telling you, but…well,
your mum and I have no intention of being helpless muggles, and I was serious the other night when
I said that we wanted to do whatever we could to help you two."

"It’s our fight too, now." Emily said. "It has always been so…ever since you and
Harry were targeted for attack."

"You’ve been pretty quiet about all this, Harry," Roger noted. "What do you
think?"

With all three Grangers looking for his response, and one in particular looking for some
support, Harry decided to tread carefully.

"Well," he began, "you might think that you have limited job opportunities given
present circumstances, so I was thinking that I’d like to offer you both an employment
alternative."

"My parents working for you?" Hermione asked. "Don’t you think that’d be a
little…weird?"

"No, Hermione," Harry replied, "I don’t. Look, it’s because of me that they’ve lost
their house and employment, it’s the least I can do, and you know I have the means to
offer."

"Harry," Emily said, "we appreciate your offer, but it really isn’t
necessary."

"Why don’t you hear what I’m offering first?" Harry said. "Look, it seems like
every day there are at least two or three ‘top priority’ things added to our ‘To Do’ list. Hermione
and I could really use your help."

"Harry, I thought the idea was keeping them safe?" Hermione stated, with a bit of
exasperation.

"They could work within the wards, or otherwise be with one of us," Harry explained.

"What sort of work do you have in mind?" Hermione’s father asked.

"Well, Mr. Granger," Harry replied, "I learned this morning that I’m even
wealthier than I imagined, but I really have more important things to do than manage that money. I
could use a financial manager to keep track of things for me. And you also saw yourself that we
could use some sort of personal trainer for physical fitness…we also need to learn how to drive,
and to do so just a little better than the average teenagers that don’t have bad guys chasing after
them."

"So I’d be your personal assistant?" Roger asked.

"No, more like my Dad, only you’d get paid for it," Harry replied with a smile.

"Any specific ideas on who’d be providing this training?" Roger asked with the
beginning of some understanding.

"Mr. Granger, have you ever heard of the term ‘plausible deniability’?" Harry asked.
When Roger nodded his head Harry continued. "I don’t think I really need to know where the
trainers come from, though it sounds like you’ve already got a good handle on where to look…and
maybe you could even get a group discount, so that you and your wife could join us as
well."

Hermione looked at Harry a little crossly. "Harry, I don’t think this is helping…"

"Hermione," Harry said with some seriousness, "your parents want to help, and
since they’re your parents I’m guessing that I’ll have as much luck pushing them away as I had
leaving you behind last week."

Hermione signed, seeing the logic in Harry’s argument and silently cheering that he’d taken one
more step away from his misguide notion of meeting his fate alone.

"Mum, Dad, are you sure about this?" she asked.

They both nodded.

"Well, then, mum, unless Harry has a better idea…we need your help organizing all of the
muggle-born Hogwarts students and their families into a support group/network. Set up e-mail lists,
arrange for computers for those that need them, maybe even a secure web site."

"Sounds like a plan, dear," her Mom said with a smile, "although you know that
computers aren’t my strong point."

"Yes, I know," Hermione replied. "But I imagine you might be able to find someone
in the neighborhood that could give you some pointers." She looked at Harry and grabbed his
hand tightly. "Not that Harry and I need to know who that person is, or whom he might work
for."

"Great," Roger said with a smile. "Now, there’s just one more thing that your mum
and I would like to ask you and Harry."

"Oh, Merlin, what now?" Hermione asked with a chuckle.

"Are the parents of the Clan Chief’s Consort automatically members of the Clan, or do we
have to fill out an application form?"

Hermione did a "fish out of water" routine while Harry gave her hand a reassuring
squeeze.

"I don’t think we need to mess with paperwork," he told them. "Speaking as Chief
and on behalf of my Consort…welcome to Clan Potter."



20. Chapter 20
--------------



**Chapter 20**: TGIF

**A/N**: Thanks to all who have reviewed and who will review at the end of this chapter.

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

+++

Friday, June 8

*As a charmed boombox belted out encouragement to “Fly into the danger zone,” two wizards
engaged in a mock dogfight above an open meadow on a hot summer's day.*

*The charmed broomsticks roared like the afterburners on a muggle fighter jet, and had wands
strapped to their handles facing the direction of flight. The two wizards used* Sonorus
*spells to communicate with each other, combining clips of borrowed movie dialogue with
disparaging comments about the other's sagging Quidditch skills.. Whenever one thought that
they had the other in his “sights” he'd reach down to the wand and fire off a series of white
projectiles, which splattered paint whenever they made contact with a solid object.*

*It was only after each was nearly completely covered with paint that the two wizards,*
*wearing goofy grins and* *helmets bore the monitors “Prongs” and “Padfoot,” responded to
the beckoning of a very-pregnant witch and a wizened old wizard and landed for a picnic
lunch*.

It was the fourth time that Harry had poured this memory into the pensieve, and for the fourth
time he failed to hear or see anything that he thought shed light on horcruxes and the battle
against Voldemort. Not that that was the point of this trip into the mist; this particular memory
had almost reached Mirror of Erised status as something he wanted to experience over and over
again.

*The most pressing topic of conversation during the picnic lunch was potential baby names.
Harry's given name was apparently a fused compromise between his father's first choice
(Horatio) and his mother's (Charlie). Sirius fought hard for the name “Regulus,” noting that
the firstborn son of Lily and James was destined to be a “Little King,” as well as the brightest
star in the Lion's House at Hogwarts. Lily, however, expressed some understandable reservations
about naming her child after Sirius's Death Eater brother. On that note the three wizards
changed the conversation topic; they were trying to keep the conversation light. His mum wasn't
very comfortable physically, and was concerned about giving birth to a magical child with a
mediwitch on hand rather than an obstetrician. The memory ended with Dumbledore reassuring his Mum
that Poppy would be there when it came time his delivery.*

Harry scribbled down a reminder to ask Madame Ponfrey if his first visit to her infirmary (and
to the bed he knew far to well) had been made while still inside his mum. He then scooped the
memory out of the pensieve, and set the stoppered vial back into the tray that Dumbledore had
conveniently labeled “Happy Memories for Harry.”

Fancying a break from his study, he placed the pensieve and vials back into Hermione's
trunk, and restored the security wards that guarded it. Harry then walked next door, where Hermione
was reviewing the information provided by the Royal Historian on a DVD disk. A nuzzle, a kiss, and
a whisper provided all the incentive she needed to join Harry for a brief respite.

They walked hand-in-hand downstairs and out to the garage, where Ron and Steve were doing a
collaborative study on the magical/muggle interface within Sirius's motorcycle. They were quite
pleased with themselves, having just discovered that the motorbike's alternator had been
encased in a thin layer of dragon hide. Ron needed no convincing when it was suggested they break
open some butterbeers on the backyard patio.

“Hard to believe that we've only been here a week,” said Harry, as the three plopped down on
comfy deck chairs. He gave a wave to the next-door neighbor, whose attitude towards him, likely
nearly everything else in Little Whinging, had changed markedly from the previous year.

“Yes we have been rather busy, haven't we?” Hermione said with a smile, as she reached for
Harry's hand.

Harry waggled his eyebrows and started to sing in a low voice. “*I'm heading down the
Atlanta highway*…”

“Not right now you're not, sweetheart,” Hermione said with a chuckle.

“Cor, Hermione, what have you done to my best mate…he's singing?”

“*Lookin' for a love getaway*.”

Ron winced. “Erm, too much information, Harry.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, with a goofy grin. “probably too knackered after this morning's
workout, anyway.”

Ron took a swig from his bottle. “With you there on that point…at this rate that slave-driver
will have us outrunning hexes by end of summer."

The physical training regimen that Roger Granger had set up for them was breathtaking in an
entirely literal sense. The three had been roused early on the morning following Harry's job
offer by a retired SAS drill sergeant, who led them on a three-mile run, which they then unhappily
learned was just the warm up. Calisthenics, push-ups, crunches and a second, even longer, run
followed. Any resentment the three might have held towards Roger for finding such a sadistic
taskmaster to train them was countered by the fact that he and his wife were suffering right along
with them. It also helped that Roger had arranged for a full-time massage therapist to set up shop
across the street to work out at least some of their aches and pains.

“Well, you better hope you can run faster than a hex,” Hermione replied, “because you certainly
can't drive faster than one.”

“Why would he bother driving away from a hex?” Harry asked. “With all his experience he'd be
better off crashing into it.”

“Oy, don't start that again,” Ron complained. “It's not my fault muggles put curves in
their roads.”

Hermione sprayed her butterbeer as Harry broke out into a hearty laugh.

The driving lessons had been less stressful physically, if not mentally. A private driving
instructor took the three out in the Bentley each afternoon. This gave each of them a turn behind
the wheel, and gave Hermione ample opportunity to practice her obliviation and magical dent removal
skills.

“Well then, Ron” Hermione said, “why don't you show us what you've learned in your
muggle studies field course and fetch us another round from the muggle refrigerator.”

“Very funny, Hermione,” Ron replied as he headed towards the kitchen.

Roger had also arranged for tutors to provide instruction on individualized topics. Hermione was
taking lessons on the muggle sciences of physics and chemistry from a local college professor, a
London-based martial arts instructor was instructing Harry on the basics of swordplay, and Ron was
learning how to make toast.

Ron really didn't mind the chiding he took from the other two; that his field-based muggle
studies program began with Brian working in a muggle kitchen meant that he was always close to a
hearty snack. Having grabbed three more bottles of butterbeer he tucked a bag of crisps under his
arm and headed back to the patio, where he found Harry's chair shoved next to Hermione's
and her head resting on his shoulder.

“Oy, find a room, you two,” he chided.

Harry broke out the falsetto:*“Love Shack, baby Love Shack… Love Shack, baby Love
Shack”*

Hermione sat up and punched Harry's shoulder. “Save it for karaoke night, Potter,”

“Yes, dear,” Harry replied with a grin.

Ron chose to ignore their intimacy. “So Hermione, remind me again who these chems are and why
you're learning about their history.”

Hermione scowled. “That's chemistry, Ron, not “chem history.”

“Alright,” said Ron, “same question.”

“Thought we went through this after our meeting with Professor Lupin the other night,” said
Harry. “Muggle chemistry is sort of like potions class, except without the greasy git
instructor.”

Tonks and Remus has visited Number Four the same night Harry had made job offers to
Hermione's parents. Even though Tonks had told them earlier that week that she and Remus had
finally connected, it had been great to see them stroll up Privet Drive holding hands. In fact,
between the two of them, Harry and Hermione, and Ron having returned from his date with Luna with a
grin on his face and a small bite mark on his neck, it had been hard to get beyond the gossip.

Harry had asked Remus what he was doing for work as he showed Harry how to control Sirius's
motorbike. Remus had replied that his job prospects were now especially limited, given that Snape
was his wolvesbane supplier and Slughorn had resigned his post on the day of Dumbledore's
funeral. Since wolvesbane had a short shelf-life, he'd been forced to ask Headmistress
McGonagall if she'd allow him to spend the next full moon in the dungeons of Hogwarts, under
guard of the House Elves and some of their unique confinement wards.

Hermione's suggestion that they could try to brew the potion themselves was appreciated, but
not very helpful given the fact that the recipe required the fresh flowers of some particularly
rare magical plants. It turned out that Snape's value as a potions master wasn't just due
to his skill…it was in no small part due to his private contacts and network of suppliers.
Dumbledore's death and Snape's disappearance had, in fact, dried up the supply of standard
potion ingredients, as wizards and witches began hoarding and stockpiling for what looked like dark
days ahead.

The chemistry class that Hermione was taking was providing the background she needed to discern
whether a solution to this problem could be found in the muggle world. She was hoping that at least
some of the standard potion ingredients were needed for their chemical, rather than magical,
compositions. In the interim, she had added “Potions Laboratory” to the list of things for Clan
Potter to acquire.

Having polished off the bag of crisps, Ron went back into the house for another bag. He returned
to find Hermione and Harry swapping stories about their independent studies that afternoon.

In Hermione's opinion, the medieval text that provided the image of Lord Gryffindor and his
shield contained enough new information by itself to warrant a revised edition of *Hogwarts, A
History*. The book was a biography of Godwin, Earl of Sussex, and his son Harold Godwinson (also
known as Harold II), who was the last of the Anglo-Saxon kings that Gryffindor had served. It was
Harold Godwinson who'd lost his crown (and his life) to the Norman invaders in 1066 during the
battle of Hastings. Godric Gryffindor's exploits were featured prominently within this work;
dragon management, the magical transport of various royal mistresses, and production of healing
potions all seemed to be the order of the day for the Royal wizard. The Order of Merlin was
mentioned as a working body of wizard warriors, active not only against the Normans but against the
occasional Scandinavian attack (the Norse were, at the time, still in control of good chunks of the
northern coastline at the time).

Apart from the pleasure of learning more about the everyday life of their house namesake,
Hermione was enthralled by two different facts. The first was that none of the dozen or so
depictions of Lord Gryffindor showed a wand in his hand. It was always his sword (and, on occasion,
the shield as well) that he held; in contrast, all of the five other wizards shown wearing Order of
Merlin badges were wand wielders. The second fact concerned Godwinson more than Godric…he was
reportedly killed when an arrow pierced his eye. Harry thought the fact unremarkable (there being
all sorts of gruesome ways to be killed back then) until Hermione reminded him that one of the
Hogwarts ghosts they'd seen at Nearly Headless Nick's Death Day party was dressed in armor
and had an arrow coming out of his forehead. The possibility that this ghost was none other than
Godwinson himself made finding and interviewing this ghost close a top priority on their Hogwarts
“To Do” list.

Harry reluctantly reported on his afternoon's work; he knew he should have been reviewing
the stored memories that were more likely to have information about the horcruxes. He was, in fact,
trying to formulate an apology at the same time he was joking about almost being named after a
Death Eater when Hermione's eyes went wide and she attacked Harry with a huge bear hug.
Ron's restatement of the need to find a room was ignored, as Hermione exclaimed that with
Harry's description of the memory she knew not only who R.A.B. was, but where Slytherin's
locket might be located.

But before she could explain herself, they heard the squeal of brakes, the slam of a car door
and the roar of a very irate uncle. Curious as to what the fuss was all about, they headed inside,
where they found Vernon Dursley displaying a deep shade of red.

“You,” he hissed, as he pointed at Brian, “this was you're doing, wasn't it?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Brian asked with a slight grin.

Petunia rushed to her husband's side. “Vernon, what's wrong?”

“They've transferred me at work,” he replied.

“Transferred?” Petunia asked nervously. “You mean to a different division of the company?”

“No,” Vernon scowled “To a different country.”

Dudley, who'd been doing his best to stay away not just from the Trio but from Brian and his
list of jobs, entered the kitchen and the conversation. “Where we moving to, Dad?” he asked.

“Romania…our new plant opened there this past spring.”

Petunia felt faint, as she grabbed the back of a kitchen chair.

“Could be worse,” Dudley said. “Heard there's plenty of pretty girls in Rome.”

“Rome is in Italy, you dolt,” Vernon replied.

“Oy, Vernon, my brother the dragon tamer lives in Romania,” said Ron. “I'm sure he'd be
happy to help you get settled.”

“Say, there's an idea,” Hermione chimed in. “Charlie might even be able to introduce you to
some friendly vampires.”

Harry found it hard to do anything more than smile and repeat the word “Brilliant” as a
mantra.

“So Vernon, when do you start your new position?” asked Brian.

“Week from Monday, as if you didn't already know,” Vernon replied as he stared at Harry.
“Least you'll lose your precious protection without us around.”

Harry thought for a second. “Suppose you'll be leaving next weekend?” When Vernon nodded,
Harry nodded back as he looked to Brian and said “Two weeks.” Brian returned the smile as Harry
turned back to his Aunt and Uncle. “Suppose we'll muddle through somehow…imagine you'll be
looking for a housesitter?”

Vernon renewed the lustrous shade of red around his collar. “I'll burn the house down myself
before I let you…”

“Say Vernon,” interjected Brian, “is it true that your company has a distribution center in
Nigeria?”

Vernon held his tongue as his brain wrapped around that threat. “I imagine we can work out a
rental agreement.”

“Rent your house to your own flesh and blood?” Brian asked, as he reached for his cell
phone.

“Fine!” shouted Vernon, who stormed out of the house and into his car, followed by a worried
looking wife and child.

The Trio had the decency to wait until the door slammed behind Dudley before breaking out in
laughter, and congratulatory handshakes for Brian.

Brian asked Harry “You did say that two weeks was all you needed to spend tethered to your Aunt,
right?”

“Yes, I did,” said Harry. “Merlin, Brian you've outdone yourself with this one.”

“Now wait,” said Brian, “you really ought to hear about some remodeling ideas that Roger and I
have been kicking around before saying that.” He then reached into a kitchen cabinet drawer and
pulled out a roll of blueprints.

-->



21. Chapter 21
--------------

**Chapter 21: Games and Fools**

**A/N**: Some folks picked up on the fact that the Top Gun reference in the previous chapter
conflicts with the canon’s timeline. I should have repeated the following disclaimer in the last
chapter’s A/N…This story is canon-plausible with one major exception: all of my stories are set
with a pushed-forward timeline that has Harry celebrating his seventeenth birthday in 2006, rather
than 1997. There are a couple of reasons for this. First, I’m too lazy to go back and check whether
a piece of muggle technology or cultural reference is "period." Second, some of my
stories are beta’d by my kids, and they like stories where Harry and Hermione could be singing the
same songs or wearing the same styles as they are. Third, I just think it reads better. There is
precedent…Ian Fleming’s first Bond novel was published in 1953. His 007 backstory had Bond joining
British Intelligence in the late 1930’s. That would put his birth year sometime around 1910. Think
we’ll see a 96-year old secret agent in the upcoming remake of *Casino Royale*? I think not.
Thanks for reading, and please review.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

Sunday, June 10

Four days of intense physical training had brought the Trio’s bodies close to the point of
breakdown, and well past the point where sore muscles were adversely affecting their research.
Sunday was therefore declared a day of rest.

Rest, that is, from physical exertion…which is why Hermione was more than a little peeved to
find her boys in the muggle room with wireless game controllers in hand.

“Hey, mind your hit points, that orc is slaughtering you,” shouted Ron.

“Well, Mr. Wizard,” Harry retorted, “he wouldn’t be if your firestorm spell had actually
worked.”

“Oh, and how I was supposed to know they were fire resistant?”

“Gee, Ron, maybe by reading the bloody player’s guide?”

Hermione walked right in front of the plasma screen and gave them the evil eye. “Aren’t you two
supposed to be working on your charms research?”

“We are, Hermione,” Ron explained, as he struggled to look over her shoulder. “Learning how to
kill orcs and goblins with these controllers will make us very charming…now get out of the
way!”

With no small amount of frustration Hermione whipped out her wand and pointed it at the game
console. Ron and Harry immediately dropped their controllers on the floor.

“Okay, okay, we get the idea,” said Harry. “We were working on that research…just taking a break
is all.”

“Merlin,” Hermione exclaimed, “you boys and your toys.”

“Now, Hermione,” Ron patiently explained, “we are doing some serious research with this game
playing. My wizard is learning all kinds of things as he gains levels.”

“Oh, so now you’re going to learn how to do magic with a muggle video game for a tutor?” she
replied. “Honestly…why go to Hogwarts?”

“Well, I have to admit,” Harry said, “whoever made this game has some funny ideas about wizardry
and magical monsters. Ron and I could make a fortune as consultants to the muggle gaming
industry.”

“And do what,” Hermione asked, “teach muggle children how to cast spells and defend
castles?”

Ron squinted a bit at Hermione. “Say that again, would you?”

Hermione frowned. “All I did was ask if you and Harry were planning on teaching muggles the
right way to cast spells and defend castles.”

“Yeah…that’s what I thought you said,” Ron replied. “Not a bad idea, actually, though I wouldn’t
be surprised if they could even teach us a few things.”

“What are you on about?” Hermione asked.

Ron got up and rummaged though a pile of jewel box cases and picked one out. “This game is
called *Siege Lords*…we’ve only played this one a bit, but…it’s a game where one army defends
a castle from attack by a second army. A player picks one side or the other and commands the troops
against either a friend or the computer. You can even go onto the Internet and fight against real
people who live in other cities, or even countries.”

“And….” Hermione said impatiently, rotating her hand in the international signal for “get to the
point, you git.”

“And before the game starts you get to choose the type of castle you want to lay siege to, or
defend, and what kind of weapons and troops you command. They’ve got all kinds of castles and forts
to choose from…everything from medieval moat-protected castles to wooden forts out on the
nineteenth century American frontier.”

“So how would this help?” Hermione asked. “It’s not like you could choose to defend Hogwarts
Castle from the Death Eaters, right?”

Harry was nodding his head up and down slightly, with the hint of grin on his face. “Right, but
maybe it could be…Ron, you’re bloody brilliant. Knew there’s a reason why I put up with you and
your snoring.”

“I’m not following,” Hermione said, with some degree of frustration.

“That’s okay, dear,” Harry said with a smirk, “you still get to be the smartest witch of your
generation.”

“Harry Potter…”

“Only teasing, ‘Mione, you know that,” Harry said with a smile. “Let Ron and me work on this for
a bit, alright? It’s probably a dead end, but hey…if it gets us away from the Xbox it can’t be all
bad, right?”

Hermione looked at Harry, who was giving her the puppy dog-eyed look that he knew she couldn’t
resist. “Fine,” she finally said, “just so long as I get to motivate you to be quick about it.” And
with that she grabbed the controllers out of Ron and Harry’s hands, and confiscated the game
console’s power cord. That brought a whimper out of Ron.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said, as he turned towards Ron. “Properly motivated, then?”

Ron gave Harry a healthy scowl as he grabbed the *Siege Lord* jewel case and followed him
out the door.

+++++++

“So you think a bunch of nine-year old kids playing a video game will help you win your war,
huh?” asked Wally. “Well it works for the Yanks,” he mused, “so I don’t see why it couldn’t help
you too.”

As MI-5 ¾’s resident computer geek, Harry and Ron had figured that Wally might know a thing or
two about video game design. They were right.

“Erm…we don’t want them to actually fight,” Harry replied. “We could actually just work with the
simulation ourselves. Just thought that letting the gamers hack on it might reveal some strategy or
tactic we aren’t thinking of right now.”

“Yeah, I know what you meant,” Wally said, “although I was serious about kids going to war with
joysticks. Maybe not nine-year olds, but they’ve got kids your age controlling real-live
remote-control airplanes and dropping bombs using computers and controllers thousands of miles away
from the battlefield.”

“Well, that’s a separate thought,” Ron said. “Right now we’re interested in how we could create
a game that simulates real-life wizard fights.”

Wally nodded. “Well, first thing you need to do is decide whether you’d want to create a
simulation or a game.”

“What’s the difference?” Harry asked.

“A computer simulation tries to recreate or simulate real conditions in the real world, then
makes predictions on outcomes based on a certain situation and how the people within the situation
react.” Wally explained. “A computer game creates fictional conditions and balanced player
abilities then lets players try to overcome certain situations. So the question is whether you want
to learn something or have fun.”

“Can’t do both, huh?” Ron asked.

“There are games that do both,” Wally replied, “but most commercial games like the ones up in
your bedroom are sold as entertainment. Sounds to me like you need more of a simulation.”

“Is that something that could be done rather quickly?” Harry asked.

“That depends,” Wally replied, “on how realistic you want the simulation to be and what kind of
resources you devote to the project. A lot of game design involves writing computer code, so the
more programmers you have working on the project the quicker it progresses.”

“Well, I certainly have the resources available to me, but I don’t have the foggiest idea of how
to program.”

“You wouldn’t have to,” Wally replied. “My advice, if you want to pursue this, would be to find
a game that has a similar basic concept, then have the game developer adapt it to your
specifications.”

“Ever play *Siege Lord*?” Harry asked.

Wally laughed. “Sure, but it’s been a while. My mates and I played it for about 40 hours
straight the week it came out. Good AI, killer graphics, but the music blew.”

Harry showed Wally the game’s jewel case. “The case says that the game creator is based in
London…any suggestions on how we could meet with them?”

“Sure,” Wally said with a smile. “Just give me a few days.”

+++++++

Ron and Harry returned to Number Four with hope that they might retrieve the game controllers,
but Hermione held firm and forced them to complete a discussion they’d had the day previous about
R.A.B. and his locket.

Once the previous Friday’s excitement over the Dursley’s imminent departure had passed, Hermione
had pulled Ron and Harry aside and reminded them that they’d seen a locket similar to the fake that
Harry still carried in his pocket back at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. She then linked the initials
to Sirius’s brother, and theorized that Regulus had hidden the horcrux at the Black mansion for
safekeeping. Harry then reminded Hermione that even if the real locket was at Number 12 that they
couldn’t risk trying to retrieve it, given the broken *Fidelius* charm.

They’d almost decided to file that potential horcrux information away for later consideration
when Ron got the bright idea of getting Kreacher to retrieve it for them. Before Hermione thought
to object, Harry had summoned both Kreacher and Dobby to Number Four. While Hermione spent a few
minutes coming up with specific instructions that Kreacher couldn’t twist to his own ends, Ron and
Harry enjoyed some semi-obligatory terrorizing of Vernon and Petunia (with instructions for the
elves to enjoy muggle piggy-back rides).

Even with some air-tight legal language, it was all Dobby could do to drag Kreacher out to the
mansion and bring him back, with the disappointing news that the locket was no longer where
Kreacher had stashed it two years previous.

Harry’s recollection that he’d caught Mundungus Fletcher trying to pawn some pilfered Black
family silver had led to what was, at present, unsuccessful manhunts in both the muggle and
wizarding worlds. Hermione had cashed in one of the favors Head Auror Robards has promised in lieu
of pressed charges and asked him to find the erstwhile Order member, while MI-5 ¾ was conducting a
correlative search in muggle London (on the theory that Fletcher wouldn’t be above selling magical
contraband if he could find a willing muggle buyer).

Discussion on this day drifted towards the topic of what to do once they recovered the locket.
Ron’s simplistic notion of “We destroy it, of course,” was dismissed by Hermione’s reference to
Dumbledore’s right hand. Though any of them might have made the same sacrifice, if pressed, it was
thought best to explore alternative options prior to going down that path.

“Hold on,” thought Ron, “you destroyed a horcrux without losing an arm, didn’t you Harry?”

“Well, yes,” replied Harry.

“So why don’t you do the same thing over again?”

“If only it were that simple,” interjected Hermione. “There are probably far too many variables
to control.”

“Like what?” asked Ron.

“Well,” thought Hermione, “you get the parchment and start taking notes, then.” She turned to
Harry. “Let’s play newspaper.”

“Hold on,” said Ron, “this isn’t some kinky role-playing thing is it?”

“You wish,” replied Hermione. “I was suggesting that we use the same techniques that responsible
journalists use when they write stories to describe how Harry destroyed the diary…who, what, where,
when, why and how. You wouldn’t know about this, of course, since you’ve only been exposed to the
*Quibbler* and *Daily Prophet.*”

“Oh, yeah,” replied Ron, “see your point.”

“We start with the who, then….obviously, that’s Harry.”

“Right,” replied Ron, as he chewed on his quill tip. “So tell me something we don’t already
know.”

“Cor, Ron, sometimes….” Hermione took a deep breath. “The relevant point is that Harry, unlike
Dumbledore, was able to destroy a horcrux without getting injured.”

“So there might be a reason for that…my connection or something?” asked Harry.

“Exactly,” Hermione replied with a smile. “Now, doesn’t mean that Harry has to be the one to do
the job, but it might be. Let’s move on to ‘what.’”

“It was a diary, while Dumbledore destroyed a ring,” replied Harry. “Though he didn’t actually
burn a hole in the ring, did he?”


“Maybe because there was already one there?” asked Ron, earning a reproachful look from
Hermione.

“Harry’s got a point,” said Hermione. “Harry destroyed the diary’s utility…couldn’t write in
that diary afterwards could you?”

“But Dumbledore didn’t crack the ring into two or melt it down,” Ron added. “When he was done it
was still a ring, just without the trapped soul fragment inside of it.”

“No, that’s not entirely true,” said Harry. “The gold ring wasn’t broken, but the stone mounted
within it was cracked.”

“That’s right,” thought Hermione. “So there might be something said for extreme violence. Let’s
move on, though, so we can take a look at the entire picture …who, what, now *where*.”

“Where was the Chamber of Secrets,” replied Harry. “Don’t know, really, where Dumbledore
destroyed the ring…suppose we could ask his portrait if and when it wakes up.”

“Why would the Chamber be someplace special?” asked Ron.

“Besides the fact that it was built by Salazar Slytherin, was home to a basilisk, and was only
accessible to someone who, like Voldemort, could speak Parseltongue?”

“Fine,” snapped Ron, “besides all that then….”

“So what you’re suggesting, then,” asked Harry, “is that all things being equal it’d be safer to
try and destroy the Horcrux within the Chamber than someplace else?”

“Exactly, Harry,” replied Hermione, with a beaming smile that threw Ron into a slight funk.
“Which brings us to ‘When’ and ‘Why.’”

“Pretty obvious why we want to do it,” groused Ron, “and Harry and Dumbledore had the same
motivation, didn’t they?”

“Not exactly,” Hermione said, “Harry didn’t know it was a horcrux when he destroyed it, while
Dumbledore did…although I doubt it’s a huge difference. Same thing with when he did it…it could be
something like a full moon having an effect, like lycantrophy, but it doesn’t seem like something
Voldemort would get hung up on.”

“So then we’re left with how to do it, aren’t we?” asked Harry. When the other two nodded
agreement he began thinking out loud. “Let’s see, I was in the Chamber, and just pulled the
poisonous basilisk fang out of my arm, and I was a bit angry at Tom’s echo so I speared the diary
with the fang, and then the book caught on fire and I heard a loud scream. Don’t remember if it was
the echo screaming, or the soul fragment.”

“How did the book catch fire?” asked Ron.

“Dunno,” replied Harry, the burnt hole just sort of grew away from the fang. By the time it was
done the hole was a lot wider than the puncture mark.”

“So it could have been the use of the fang, the poison in the fang or both that destroyed the
horcrux,” said Ron.

“Yeah, sounds about right,” said Harry. “We left the dead basilisk down there, so it’s possible
we could find a fang…maybe even the one I used. But I imagine that the venom would have dried up by
now.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hermione concluded. “Either the fang would work or it wouldn’t…remember what
we did trying to open the locket in the first place? Ron, I think you were banging it against a
table.”

“Merlin, you’re right,” said a Weasley Gone White.

“So,” said Harry, “when we find the locket, or the cup, or some other horcrux, we’ll just go to
Hogwarts, use Parseltongue to enter the Chamber of Secrets, slide down the chute, clear out the
caved-in passageway, nick a fang from the basilisk’s skeletal frame and then I’ll use it to poke
Tom’s soul fragment. No problem.”

“And even if it didn’t work,” said Hermione with a smile, “I’ll get to see the Chamber and we
can collect some basilisk bones and fangs to barter for potion ingredients.”

“Great,” said Ron, rather weakly. “Day in the park, stroll by the lake…let’s bring a picnic
lunch and spread it out inside Salazar’s statue mouth. And now that’s settled, can we have the game
controller’s back?”

Hermione shook her head as she allowed her boys to go back to their games.

+++++++++

Wednesday, June 13

The sound of steel striking steel provided a rather incongruous overlay to the staccato
*chug-chug-chug* of the neighborhood hosepipes. Nobody within earshot of Harry’s sword
fighting lessons in Number Four’s backyard paid any attention, however; they were either in the
know, or had been gullible enough to accept a rather implausible explanation (namely, that he was
training for the Olympic longsword event).

After a full week of lessons Harry felt as if he’d progressed from totally awful to merely
dreadful. His muscles burned from the workouts; one hour each day spent hacking at a stout wooden
post, followed by a second hour of sparring with the master swordsman. Those parts that didn’t burn
were battered and bruised from the hits he took from his instructor’s dulled edge. Fortunately, the
instructor seemed to think that things weren’t all that bad.

“You know you’re a natural at this,” the swordsman said, as he picked Harry up off the ground
for the tenth time that afternoon. “I’d almost say it’s in your blood.”

“Must have been a vampire hunter in a past life,” Harry joked.

“Well you certainly have the sword for it,” the instructor replied. Harry looked down at
Godric’s sword and cursed himself for slipping. Even with the leather straps that covered the
sword’s blade it was easy to tell that it was pure silver.

He tried to laugh it off. “Too bad, then, that the prospects for that line of work are
slim.”

The master swordsman gave him a careful look. “That’s only because English vampires are so
docile,” he replied. “Now, down in the Baltics, that’s a different story.”

“Ha ha, that’s a good one,” Harry replied nervously, wondering just how much his instructor knew
about vampire hunts.

The man nodded with a glint in his eye. “Yes, well, Mr. Potter, we’ll take it as that.” The
instructor began unwrapping his sword so that it could be sheathed for transport. “So,” he asked
Harry, “have you decided whether you’ll be using the left or right hand yet?”


“Right, I hope,” Harry replied, “but as I’m not completely certain I’ll still need work with
both.” Sword hand was an issue he’d been grappling with all week. He’d been working on simple
spells using his left hand, but hadn’t progressed to the point where he felt he could imagine
fighting with sword in one hand and wand in the other. Of course the ability to do wandless magic
would solve the problem, but he was still working on nonverbal spells that didn’t involve removing
bits of his girlfriend’s clothing.

With the day’s lesson’s over Harry went upstairs to take a shower. As he entered the muggle room
to store his sword he marveled at the latest phase of remodeling. Brian hadn’t waited for the
Dursley’s departure; taking a cue from the control room across the street, they’d replaced the
single desk and chair with smart looking modular workstations that took now took up one entire wall
of the room. Four separate computer systems were set up, with large flat-screen monitors, scanners,
and color laser printers. Their 48-inch plasma screen telly had been remounted on the wall above
the workstations, end-to-end with two new identical screens, creating a seamless video display
roughly two-feet high and nine-feet long.

Ron was presently standing behind Fred and George as they hunched over laptop computers on an
L-shaped extension that jutted out from the wall.

“Oy, George, how many times do I have to tell you?” Ron asked, peering over his older brother’s
shoulder. “It’s swish and *click*, not swish and *flick*.”

“Worse than McGonagall, you are,” George lamented. “Why couldn’t the muggles have invented a
wand-shaped mouse?”

“Hey, be thankful for small favors,” Ron replied. “I could have forced you to use the
trackball.”

“Oy, Ron,” Harry interrupted, “Not showing them sites your mum wouldn’t approve of, are you?” he
asked.

“Now, Harry, you know Hermione’s installed *NetNanny*,” Ron replied. “Of course, she only
did that on the old desktop,” he said with a smirk. “And now that I’ve got administrator-level
authorization for the new network…”

“Thank Merlin you’ve taken to your muggle studies, little brother,” Fred said with a smile.

“So, really, what are your big brothers doing in the Internet?” Harry asked.

“Oh, a little market research, some new product development, a healthy bit of industrial
espionage…” George said.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Harry replied, “how is your net surfing helping the shop?”

“Simple, really,” Fred said, “We’re looking at how muggles compensate for their non-magical
limitations, then borrowing their ideas to make magical versions of their inventions.”

“Got the idea from Ron,” George admitted, as he held up one of the pairs of night vision goggles
that Ron had bought on-line. “Any wizard worth their salt wouldn’t need these spectacles to see in
the dark…they’d simply cast the right charm. But same thing could be said of shield charms, and
look at all the money we’ve made selling shield-charmed clothing to the Ministry of Magic.”

“So you’re going to make magical night vision goggles?” Harry asked.

“That’s right,” said Fred, “ones that’d work not only in areas where magical interference would
trash the muggle goggles, but ones strong enough to work inside areas affected by Peruvian Instant
Blackness Powder.”

“I thought you guys and Hermione developed the counterspell against that powder.”

“Sure,” Fred agreed, “but why banish the powder that blinds your enemies if you can still
see?”

“Makes sense to me,” Harry said. “So what else are you into?”

“Working with Hermione to look for raw materials,” Fred said. “Stuff we need for our potions and
powders.”

“You expect to find potion ingredients on the Internet?” Harry asked. “How many wizards you
think are e-Bay power users?”

“There’s the beauty, Harry,” George replied. “We’ve found muggles selling ingredients that they
don’t even know have magical properties. One place ships out salamander’s by the dozen, another
sells valerian root and astragulus. There’s a site that sells Chinese herbs that’s going to be
practically a one stop shop for us.”

“What about delivery, though,” Harry asked. “It’s not like FedEx ships to Diagon Alley.”

“Ah, yeah, we thought about that,” Fred replied. “Had a talk with Wally and Brian, and they
suggested a way around that.”

“You’re going to smuggle your supplies in?” Harry asked.

“No,” said George, “although that’s not a bad idea. Fred and I figured it’d be easier if we just
had a muggle shipping address. Now, don’t worry,” he said, noting Harry’s arched eyebrows, “we
aren’t planning on setting up shop here at Number Four.”

“But Number Seven, on the other hand,” George said with a gleam in his eye.

“Prefer Number Twelve myself,” said Fred. “although any house with a backyard free of gnomes
works with me.”

“You two are thinking of moving to Little Whinging?” Harry asked. “Aren’t you a bit afraid the
Death Eaters will recognize the new address?”

“It’s not like they don’t know where to find us in Diagon Alley, right?” Fred replied. “Besides,
from what we’ve seen, there’s a rather attractive combination of protections available here on this
street.”

“Not to mention the fact that it’d be an honor to live so close to the Great Clan Chief
Potter.”

“And his Consort, don’t forget,” said Fred with a wink and a nudge.

“Yeah, ‘bout time on that one, Harry,” said George. “Wish you’d have smartened up a few months
ago, though…had the month of March all to myself.”

“Oy, will you give the Clan Chief business a rest?” asked Ron. “It wasn’t Harry’s idea in the
first place.”

“Works for us, though,” replied Fred. “Which reminds me…we want in.”

“In where?” asked Harry.


“Into the Clan, of course,” said George. “Oh, and if it’s not too much trouble, we’d like to
have Clan titles, just like little brother here.”

“Can’t you prats let me enjoy something on my own?” whined Ron.

The twins looked at each other, then dead-panned back to Ron.

“No.”

“So what were you thinking,” asked Harry, more bemused than bothered by the idea.

“Well, ‘Clan Beaters’ would be nice, if you decided to field a quidditch team, but…”

“What about Clan idiots?” suggested Ron.

“Not a bad idea, actually,” thought Harry, “assuming that we tweek it a bit….I could use a
jester or two.”

“Erm…maybe ‘Clan Fools?” suggested Fred.

Harry thought for a few seconds. “Fine, on condition that you both wear foolscaps at all
official Clan functions.”

The twins looked at each other with a gleem in their eyes and replied in unison.

“Consider it done.”



22. Chapter 22
--------------

**Chapter 22: Ding Dong, Dursley’s Almost Gone**

**A/N:** I see that the last posted chapter was relatively uninspiring with respect to
reviews. Guess I wasn’t thrilled with it either… I’d blame the muse if I wasn’t so self-aware of my
limitations as a writer. Or the fact that a new job, a new school year with homework to help with,
and a new soccer team to coach has kept my mind otherwise occupied.

Okay, I’ll stop whining. Thanks for sticking with me. I hope this chapter reads better, and that
(good or bad) you’ll write a short review at the end. Oh, and feel free to click on the hyperlinks
to check out Ron and Hermione’s new wheels.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc. etc.

++++++++++++

**Friday, June 15**

The day the Dursleys moved out would have been bright in the bleakest of weather; that it was
sunny and warm seemed downright decadent as Harry Potter rolled his motorcycle out of the
garage.

The morning’s driving lesson had been cancelled in lieu of driver’s examinations for Ron and
Hermione; given circumstances and status, the examiner had been brought to them. Harry had promised
Hermione that he’d stay out of trouble, but there was only so much driving to be done within the
wards, and he intended to keep a watch out for them as they drove out into Little Whinging
proper.

Harry rolled the motorcycle around the loading ramp of the lorry that was hauling the Dursley’s
belongings off to the Balkans and gave a wave to Roger, who was standing on the curb with a
cellphone to his ear. With a look up and down the street to confirm that no other eyes would be
watching him, he kick started the bike and sped off down the street.

Though Harry was some six weeks away from eligibility to take his license examination, he
figured that his "Doing Queen’s Business" card would get him out of any trouble with the
authorities. Besides, he only needed to break the law for a half-block, at which point he had
enough speed to lift off and engage the cloaking device.

Shivers traveled up and down Harry’s spine as he flew up and through the anti-apparation
barrier. Hermione had warned him that he might notice a surge of magical energy at the ward
boundary; Ragnok had sent Bill Weasley and the Gringott’s ward master to them the night previous to
overlap goblin anti-apparation wards on top of his mother’s protection. Though Harry had been quite
confident that he’d been under Petunia’s care long enough to maintain those wards until his
birthday, he was more than happy to have an extra layer of protection that would last beyond July
31. The goblin’s wards also provided a bonus that he’d wished he had years before; the Ministry’s
remote magical detection devices were useless within the protected area.

Harry leveled off at about five hundred feet and looked down upon the neighborhood, which his
Fools had recently renamed "Little Wizarding" ( or "Little Wiz", for short).
They hadn’t been jesting about their choice in accommodations; over the past week Roger Granger had
arranged for Harry’s new holding company to purchase fifteen of the seventy-five houses located
within the two block radius of Number Four. Offers that were well above market value had been made,
in fact, to every owner of a house within the zone. There were reasons both practical and moral;
fewer muggles around the neighborhood meant less worry about secrecy laws, and less worry about
collateral damage when the Death Eaters decided to attack.

Three other moving vans could be seen on neighborhood streets, as families took advantage of
financial incentives to leave as soon as possible. Whether the empty homes would be filled, and by
whom, was open to debate. The Twins were talking openly of bringing in other Order members and
members of the DA into the neighborhood for some on-site security. Plans were also afoot for MI 5 ¾
to grow right along with their little community; he’d caught Wally and Brian with blueprints and
construction talk over the past week, but gotten nothing more than smiles when Harry asked what
they were scheming.

It didn’t take long for Harry to spot the black Bentley that Ron and Hermione were using for the
exam; it was currently negotiating a parallel parking attempt (that it was faring poorly led Harry
to suspect that Ron was presently behind the wheel). With his focus on the car he didn’t notice
Hedwig’s arrival until her silent wings had delivered her to his shoulder.

"Hey, girl, I’m supposed to be invisible," he admonished with a grin, as he reached
into his pocket for an owl treat. Hedgwig’s hoot in response sounded not the least bit remorseful.
Harry decided to tease her by asking, "How’s Pounce and the boys?" That earned him a nip
on his ear.

With his newfound wealth Ron had decided it was finally time to get a familiar that he could be
proud of, and had purchased a male Great Horned Owl that he’d named "Pounce" (after the
way he snatched his meals). With Charlie’s help, they’d also imported a half-dozen owls from the
Continent to become Clan Potter’s Mail Service. Harry had spent a lot of time with his familiar
reassuring her that she was his first and favorite, and she’d responded by organizing the new
arrivals into an ersatz air force. These days, there was always at least two owls flying over
Little Wiz on a surveillance mission, and if they happened to pounce upon a gangly rat with a
silver paw sneaking amongst the shadows, so much the better.

Harry watched as the Bentley pulled to the curb and Ron and Hermione traded seats. After a few
more minutes he started to search for two other vehicles that were supposed to be making their way
towards Number Four. It didn’t take to spot long the convertibles, driving down the arterial with
identical mops of red hair in the front passenger seats. He grinned and swooped down towards
them.

He pulled out of his silent dive fifteen feet above the two cars and followed them until they
reached Privet Drive. Once he caught sight of the straight patch of empty street in front of him,
Harry flipped off the cloaking device and silencer, and inverted his motorcycle. With toes gripping
under the seat and a roar of his engine he buzzed the two cars upside down with a modified sloth
move.

It said something about Wally and Brian’s comfort level with magic that they didn’t crash the
two cars as Harry flew over their heads. At the end of Privet Drive Harry flipped the bike back
upright, nudged it down to the ground and pulled it back around in front of Number Five. He got a
look of admonishment from Hermione’s mother, who’d been chatting with her husband the front
yard.

"Harry Potter," she said, "if you think that your antics will make me more likely
to allow Hermione to ride on the bike with you…"

Harry replied with a grin, "Yes, mum."

"Give him a break, dear," Roger said, "were I in the same situation I’d be doing
cartwheels over the Dursleys departure."

The two vehicles that Harry had been chasing finally pulled up next to Harry and the
Grangers.

"Oh my goodness, Harry," Roger said. "What have we here?"

"What we have here, Mr. Granger," replied whichever twin was in the lead car,
"are two certified wizard-friendly automobiles….tested them out ourselves, we did."

"Is that true?" asked Emily Granger.

"Yeah, it is," Harry confirmed. "Took a bit of work to find cars old enough to
have computer-free engines and the bare minimum of electronics."

"Doesn’t hurt that they are both classics either, eh Harry?" Brian asked.

"Well then, go on," Roger said with impatience, "pop the bonnet and let’s have a
look."

"Which one?"

Roger snorted. "Like you even have to ask."

"It can wait, can’t it?" Emily asked. "Harry did say these were going to be
presents, and they’ll be around presently?"

"Yeah, I guess," Roger mumbled. "Hey Harry," he asked, "who gets the
red one?"

Harry broke out into a deep laugh.

"Like you even have to ask."

Just then the door to Number Five open and Steve yelled out. "They’re coming around the
corner." That gave the Twins just enough time to conjure tarps that covered the two cars
before Hermione carefully pulled the Bentley up and into the driveway of Number Four. After putting
the car in park she and Ron bounded out of the vehicle and ran across the street.

Harry asked, "Hey, how’d it go?"

Hermione, who had reached him first, grabbed his arms and gave him a quick kiss and a smile.
"It went great. I think Ron did well enough."

"No question that Hermione passed, of course," said Ron with a bit of whine in his
voice. They looked back over at the examiner, who at that moment handed some papers to Brian and
shook his hand. Steve crossed the street to drive the man back to the examination station, passing
Brian as he approached the Trio with a smile on his face and valid licenses in each hand.

Hermione squealed and gave Ron a bear hug. "We did it…we did it both!" she
exclaimed.

"Do you have to sound so surprised?" Ron asked, as Harry shook his hand with
congratulations.

"Well, we didn’t know you could stop a car without the Womping Willow’s help,"
explained Fred.

"Sod off, Fred."

"Hey now, mind the language," Harry said. "lest I reconsider your
rewards."

"And what might that be?" Hermione asked, as she appraised the two covered cars with
interest.

"What, my kiss isn’t reward enough?" Harry asked in mock pain.

"Not when you’re teasing, it isn’t"

"Fair enough," said Harry, as he threw two sets of car keys at his friends. "One
for you, and another for you."

With the sound that was the Hermione had ever come to a squeal she pulled the tarp from first
one car, then the other. She and Ron then both stepped back and gawked.

"Merlin, Harry, they’re beauties," Ron exclaimed.

"Oh Harry," Hermione said, "they’re wonderful…which one’s for me?"

"Like you even have to ask," said Ron, as he walked towards the second car.

Roger look towards Ron with a tinge of sympathy. "You know, Ron," he said, "the
Morris Minor is probably the most beloved classic car in all of Britain, and it’s pretty rare to
see a convertible like this
one these days."

"No, it’s great," said Ron, as he opened the door and sat behind the wheel. He gave
the horn a good honk, then looked down with some confusion at the floorboard. "What’s this
other brake pedal for?"

"Oh, that’s the clutch," said Harry. "We were only able to find one
magic-friendly car with automatic transmission…sorry, mate, but you’ll have to learn to drive
stick."

"And that car with automatic transmission would be this one?" Hermione asked, as she
ran her hand along the side of her shiny red car.

"Yes," said Roger with no little amount of awe.

"It’s a Bentley, like the one across the street, isn’t it?" she asked.

Harry opened the door for her and she sat down on the white leather seat. "1962 Bentley
S3," he said, more for Hermione’s father’s benefit than for her. "6.2 litre eight
cylinder engine, duel carburetors." He leaned over the car door, reached around Hermione’s
shoulder, and pointed towards the steering column "and four-speed automatic
transmission."

Hermione turned and kissed Harry’s cheek then whispered into his ear. "Thank you Harry…it’s
beautiful."

"Not even close as beautiful as you are, sweetheart," he replied.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, you know."

"I’m counting on it," Harry replied with no small amount of cheek.

"Why don’t you kids go for a ride?" asked Emily.

"Good idea," chimed in Brian. "we cancelled your afternoon classes."

"But what about the Dursleys?" Fred asked. "They ought to hang around to give
them a proper hexing at their sendoff."

"What do you think, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry looked at her, then stood and looked around at Fred and George, the Grangers, Brian and
Wally. He then looked back over his shoulders at Number Four, where he spied his aunt, uncle and
cousin looking out from the living room window in utter disbelief.

"You know," he said, "with all of the changes, all of the good that’s happened
these past two weeks, it’s like they’re already gone. The Number Four and its neighborhood that I
knew and dreaded returning to each summer…they’re gone too." He walked around to the front
passenger side and climbed in. "I think I’ve got better things to do and better company to
keep then to dwell in the past just to wait to see them leave."

Hermione’s eyes glistened as she leaned over and kissed Harry again, this time on the lips.
"Oh Harry, I’m so proud of you."

Harry looked over at Ron. "So are you coming, or not?"

Ron jumped into the back seat. "I’m in, but where to?"

"I’m thinking we should take a nice ride out to Devonshire," Harry replied with a
wink.

"Excellent idea," beamed Ron, as he leaned back and imagined Luna by his side on the
rear bench.

"Have a nice time kids," Emily said, "but remember that we’ve got a little
celebratory dinner planned, so be back by seven."

"Yes, mum," Hermione said excitedly, as she turned the ignition and revved the engine.
Harry reached into the glove box and pulled out three pair of Oakleys and a white silk scarf.
"Have to be properly attired to drive this vehicle, my dear," he grinned, as Hermione
wrapped the scarf around her hair and all three of them donned their new black sunglasses.

"Hey Fred and George," Harry said, "just because we won’t be around doesn’t mean
my Clan Fools can’t give my Aunt and Uncle a proper send off, right?"

"You can depend on us, Chief" the Twins replied, as they clicked their heels together
and gave salutes.

Hermione put the car into gear, and the three headed out towards a future that, given the
present state of the wizarding world, seemed just then to be unnaturally bright.



23. Chapter 23
--------------

**Chapter 23: Sir Evan of Eastleigh**

**A/N:** Sorry again that it’s been two weeks between updates. Promise the next one won’t
take as long, and hope that it’s worth the wait. Have to admit I’m feeling completely amateurish
after reading the works of some of the real writers at this site. Inspiring, no doubt, but they
also make the task at hand seem so daunting.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc. etc.

++++++++++++

Friday, June 15, 11:30am

Hermione shouted over the wind as the Trio sped down the road. "So when do we pull off the
motorway?"

Harry reached into the pocket and pulled out his MI-5 standard issue mobile
telephone/computer/global positioning system. After a few screen touches and pips he shouted back,
"Just past Basingstoke. It’s the A303."

Ron leaned forward to be heard from the back seat "How long will it take to get Luna’s
house?"

"Projected time is two hours and thirty seven minutes," Harry said, "and that’s
without stopping for lunch."

"Blimey, that’s five hours, there and back," shouted Ron. "How do muggles stand
all the time it takes to travel?"

"Well, we find ways of passing the time," said Hermione. "Like listening to the
radio." She frowned when all that she heard was click when she twisted the radio knob.

"Erm, sorry," said Harry, "that was apparently the one part of the car that
didn’t survive Fred and George’s road test."

"Oh, makes sense," said Hermione. "So what kind of magic *were* they able to
do with the engine running?"

Harry grinned. "They claimed to have *Reducto*’d a pillar box at 100 kph."

Ron’s eyes lit up as he leaned forward in his seat. "So can we try?"

"No," was the unified response from the front seat.

"You’re not even driving," said Hermione, "why don’t you sit back, relax, and
enjoy the ride?"

Ron did as he was told…for all of five minutes.

"Are we there yet?"

Hermione shook her head as she scanned the horizon ahead of her. "Well, it does look like
rain," she replied.

Fifteen minutes later they’d pulled off the M3, attached the car’s protective soft-top, and used
their mobile’s wireless internet service to locate a muggle restaurant with positive on-line
reviews. As Hermione expertly parallel parked her vehicle Harry caught sight of a dark green park a
discrete distance away. He smiled and pointed their tail out to Ron and Hermione as they entered
the traditional-looking pub.

The three found an empty table amongst the lunchtime crowd. "Order us a round of
butterbeers, will you Ron?" Hermione asked.

Harry looked quizzically at Hermione as Ron headed up to the bar to speak with the publican.
"They won’t have butterbeer in a muggle pub, will they?"

Hermione just winked, and watched as Ron returned empty-handed.

"They don’t have butterbeer," he said.

"Sure they do," Hermione deadpanned, as she pointed behind the bar. "Tell him
that it’s right next to the butterscotch."

As Ron returned to the rail for additional embarrassment Harry leaned over to Hermione.

"You are a *wicked* witch," he told her with a smile

+++

It was raining heavily when they’d finished their meal and fizzy drinks (the most potent brews
Ron could garner from the ill-humored licensee) and discovered that they had time on their hands.
Hermione had called home to confirm that the following car’s occupants were friendly (they were),
and in the process learned that they weren’t particularly wanted back in Little Wizarding (at least
until that evening).

"What’s that about, then?" Ron asked.

"Mum was rather evasive," Hermione replied. "Your brothers are no doubt planning
something."

"Are the Dursleys still there?" Harry asked.

"Yes," she replied, "though I wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to leave for
the airport early…George apparently decided that your Aunt and Uncle would blend in better with the
locals if he lengthened their canines."

"Brilliant," Ron said. "Hope they took pictures."

"Any ideas on what we can do this afternoon, then?" Harry asked.

"Mum chatted with Brian while I was still on the telephone, and he suggested that it might
be a good day to visit Sir Evan."

"Who?" Ron asked.

"The only other living member of the Order of Arthur," Harry said. "So does he
live anywhere near here?"

"Turns out he does," Hermione replied, "at a nursing home in Eastleigh, down by
Southampton. Mum’s e-mailing directions."

+++

"Did you say *Sir* Evan, luv?" the nurse asked incredulously when they asked for
him at the front desk. "You mean he actually is a knight? Next thing you’ll be telling me that
there are witches and wizards running about as well."

The three laughed nervously before Harry leaned forward with some disarming candor. "Well
of course there’s witches and wizards" he said with a wink. "What do you think we
are?"

The nurse chuckled. "Really?"

"Swear on Merlin’s beard," Harry replied. "Of course, that’s top secret
information…Sir Evan will have to answer to the Queen for that one, he will."

The terribly anxious moment that followed was punctured by a roar of laughter that would have
given Hagrid’s bellowing a run for its money. "Well don’t worry about me, lad," she
smiled, as she led them down the hall to the elderly knight’s room. "I won’t tell a
soul." She knocked on a door then opened it just a bit to shout inside. "Oi, Sir Evan,
got some witches and wizards that are wanting to talk with you."

"About bloody time," came a strong voice in reply. "Show them in."

Sir Evan Turnbill was the kind of sprightly old man who wore his eighty-eight years quite well,
thank you very much. He credited his vigor to a daily regimen of five walked miles and four gin and
tonics, and had been rather put off that a broken hip had confined him to the bed of a nursing
home.

"Good afternoon, Sir Evan," Hermione said as the three approached his bedside.
"I’m…"

"Dame Hermione Granger, here with Sir Harry and Mr. Weasley, I presume?" the old man
interrupted. "So, tell me how I know you lot aren’t Death Eaters."

The three looked at each other, slightly taken aback, before Hermione reached into her purse and
retrieved her Order of Arthur badge. With their identities thus confirmed, the three were treated
to the very same stories that the nurses had proclaimed so fantastical; which they were, of course,
unless you happened to have lived in both the muggle and magical worlds.

Evan Turnbill was card-carrying muggle (younger brother a Hufflepuff, Class of ’47) who joined
the Royal Air Force at the onset of the Second World War. He had spent the first few years as a
Spitfire mechanic, with an excellent service record that was nonetheless rather ordinary. That all
changed, however, when he was ordered to report to an airbase in East Anglia, along with five other
men from different service branches and fronts. A sonarman whose submarine had been ordered home
just to deliver him to shore, an army attaché based in India, a tank driver, a codebreaker, and a
cook...they thought that they had absolutely nothing in common until Albus Dumbledore strode into
the room in full wizarding regalia. It was then that they realized they all were muggle soldiers
with magical siblings.

The muggle government’s war against the Germans and Dumbledore’s battle against Grindelwald

had reached a point where collaborative efforts had been deemed necessary. Dumbledore had
learned that Grindelwald, a Dark Wizard based in Bavaria, had begun to work openly with the Nazi
government. Unlike Voldemort, Grindelwald didn’t despise muggles; in fact, he hid from wizarding
world by living with the muggles, and helped Hitler with things like the initiation of a nuclear
program (theoretical physics not all that different from the study of arithmancy). Deciding to
fight fire with fire, the muggle and magical governments of Britain had allied to develop a small,
integrated team of wizard and muggles in the know to defeat Grindelwald and thwart Hitler’s plans
for world domination.

Each of the muggle servicemen was paired with a hit wizard save for Sir Evan, who was paired
with Dumbledore himself. The reason for this pairing became clear rather quickly; muggle skills
were critical to the team’s success (much to the consternation of the Aurors). Most of their
initial missions involved information gathering; since Grindelwald was living and dressing like a
muggle in the muggle world, English muggles were needed to do things like drive vehicles,
coordinate clothing, and spot things that just seemed out of place.

The first attempts to side-arm apparate Evan and the other muggles behind enemy lines had been
near-fatal; it was only after the King had knighted the six muggles and six wizards and invited
them to join the Order of Arthur that they were able to get around this transportation problem.

"How did knighthood make side-arming any easier?" Harry asked Sir Evan, as he,
Hermione and Ron stood around his bedside to hear his story.

"The badge" replied Sir Evan, "is a instantaneous transportation
device."

"Really?" asked Harry.

"Yes," Sir Evan said. "A very convenient way to travel. Safe for muggles,
too."

"I’ve never come across this in *Hogwarts, A History*," frowned Hermione.

"Oh, well then it’s not possible, right?" Ron chided.

"Dumbledore had said that there had been rumors of the badge’s powers, but with no living
member of the Order there wasn’t anyone to pass that information on. Took him almost two years to
find Merlin’s research journal."

He pointed towards his badge, noting that it was shaped like the sun, with twelve golden rays
pointing out from an amber core (each representing a member of the Order). "The magical
properties of each badge are activated when the user calls out the war cry used by Arthur and his
round table knights," said Evan.

"What was that?"

"Well," said the elderly man, "for some reason, the cry was ‘Clarence!’…now, you
see, when I used the war cry my badge was activated." He held his badge up to reveal four of
the twelve sun rays lit, one at each compass point. "My ray is the East," Sir Evan said.
"You can tell it is the only one activated because it’s brighter than the rest."

Sir Evan urged the Trio to try out their own badges, only to be disappointed by the fact that
Hermione was the only one that had hers on her person. When Hermione used the rallying cry her
badge lit, with both East and South rays glowing brightly and the North and West faintly. "Ah,
Dame Hermione, so you are the South….or would you prefer six o’clock?"

"I think ‘South’ has a better ring to it," she said in reply.

"Now that the badge is activated you can transport to my position merely by saying the word
*Socioarus*."

"And I’m transported exactly to your position?" she asked with a tinge of concern.

"Well, actually, you’d end up in a safe piece of unoccupied airspace a few feet
away."

"So does it work like a portkey?" asked Harry.

"I’m not sure," Sir Evan said. "Never used a port key."

"What does it feel like when you are transported?" asked Hermione.

"Well," said Sir Evan, "it feels like you’ve got a fishhook in your stomach that
somebody is trying pull out through your navel."

"Portkey," said all three in near unison.

"Is it traceable? Does it work in places that are warded? Does it have a range
limitation?"

"I’m not sure. You folks are the wizards, imagine you’d know better than me. I can tell you
that back during the war we used it to travel between England and Germany, so it works that
distance at least. Beyond that, I’m not sure." He went on to explain that when a muggle-wizard
team went on a mission the wizard would apparate to a target area, then the muggle would use the
badge to catch up with his partner. He then added that the badges also acted as a communication
device.

"Like a two-way radio?" asked Hermione.

"More like a twelve-way radio, if you wanted to talk to everyone in the Order at the same
time," said Sir Evan. "To talk with a specific person, you touch a specific ray and say
"*Confabulus*."

"What if you want to talk with more than one person?"

"Then you simply press a finger on each of the target rays as you say the activation word.
If you are in a hurry, or wanted to create a conference call, you can press your palm against the
badge centre and contact everyone in the Order.

"Does the person you want to speak with have to have their badge activated to talk with
them?"

"Yes they do. If you try to call someone whose badge is turned off, that person’s badge
would vibrate and warm to the touch, so they’d know to turn it on. The connection would be
established once they say the war cry; you don’t have to say *Confabulu*s to receive a
call."

"So it’s a medieval cell phone?" asked Harry.

"Yes, I imagine you could think of it that way," said Sir Evan. "Of course, fifty
years ago we didn’t have cell phones to compare it with. Even so, there are some advantages today
to using your badge…you don’t need to be near a transmitting tower to talk, they work inside caves
and underground, and you don’t need to recharge a battery."

"Or worry about going over minutes," mumbled Hermione, speaking from experience.

The Trio chatted with Sir Evan for a few more minutes about his wartime experiences. Harry
wanted to learn more about the missions Sir Evan undertook by Dumbledore’s side, but the elderly
knight suggested that those stories could wait for another day….particularly since they had some
new toys to play with when they returned home.

And so the three bade Sir Evan goodbye with promises to make a return visit soon.

+++

The conversation was rather animated on the return journey to Little Wizarding.

"Do you believe the stories the old muggle told?" asked Ron.

"Why shouldn’t we?" Hermione replied. "because he’s a muggle?"

"’Course not," Ron replied rather defensively. "Just the idea of powerful magical
devices being held in the hands of muggles, and worse still, them knowing about it."

"He’s a c-mug, remember?" Harry replied. "And if being around Brian and Wally
these past couple of weeks have taught me anything, it’s that there’s a lot more of them and they
know a lot more then I ever imagined…and that’s not a bad thing."

"Why do you say that?" asked Ron. "Keeping our magical existence quiet from the
muggles has been the key to our world’s existence, hasn’t it?"

"To what end, though?" Harry said. "Our Ministry seems much more interested in
keeping its secrets than defeating Voldemort, and muggle lives are being lost as a result. It’d be
different if we could handle our internal battles, well, internally, but that’s not how it’s
working out is it?"

Ron thought about that for a second. "So if defeating Voldemort requires breaking our secrecy
laws…"

"Then I’ll break them," Harry replied firmly, "And anyone who wants to be a part
of Clan Potter should be willing to do the same."

Ron leaned back a bit in his seat, wondering if Harry was issuing a defining challenge.
"I’m with you, Harry, no worries there," he replied quickly. "I’m just worried about
having to fight Voldemort and the Ministry at the same time, especially with dad being on the other
side."

"Don’t sell your dad short before he’s asked to make that choice," Hermione replied.
She tried to defuse the situation by changing the subject. "So do you think Sir Evan will be
able to help us?"

"Don’t see how, given his bad hip," Ron replied.

"Think about how the badge operates, though" Hermione said. "If they work like he
says, then we could always transport to his location if we ever got into trouble, or stuck within
an anti-apparition field. Assuming," she added, "that we all have our apparition licenses
sometime in the next decade or so."

"Yeah, yeah," Ron replied. "Kind of limited use, though, if it means we’d always
end up in Eastleigh…without someone being badged inside Little Wizarding…too bad we can’t get our
hands on more of those things."

"Well," said Harry, "I can always talk to the Prince about getting more badges,
though I think we’d have to think hard about who they’d go to. And as for having a badge in
Eastleigh but not one in Little Whinging, there’s a solution to that, isn’t there?"

"Think he’d want to move?" Ron asked.

"In a heartbeat, if it meant spending some time with Hermione," Harry replied with a
grin.

"Oh stop," Hermione said. "He’s a very nice man, and if he flirts a bit, well, at
eighty-eight he can get away with it." She took a hand off the steering wheel and, after
activating the badge she was wearing over her summer jumper, touched Sir Evan’s ray.

"Oh, Sir Evan?"

"Yes, Dame Hermione, brightest ray of the sun, what can I do for you?"

Ron grinned while Hermione shook her head at him. "We were just wondering if you’d like to
stay with us for a while up in Surrey."

They heard something mumbled on the other side, and a moment later Ron had company in the back
seat.

"Thought you’d never ask," Sir Evan said with a frail smile, as he leaned back on the
rear bench of the Bentley.



24. Chapter 24
--------------

**Chapter 24:** **Queen’s Wizard**

**Disclaimer:** Not my character, no money being made, etc.

+++

"The wards are still up," Harry said, as the tingling sensation traveled down his
spine even before Hermione had turned onto Privet Drive. "I do hope that isn’t because Aunt
Petunia is still here."

The chances that the Dursleys were still in Little Whinging, and any thoughts that there would
be anything "small" about the dinner celebration that evening were quickly dispelled by
the sight of the circus tent that covered a good portion of Privet Drive. Hermione parked the car
just outside of a barricade set up at the end of the street. Wally and Brian were waiting for them
with umbrellas and a wheelchair.

"Good evening, Sir Evan," Brian said as he opened the rear door. "Sir Harry’s
mobile call gave us the opportunity to ready a place for you to stay. Would you like me to take you
there?"

"Not unless it has a stocked wet bar, thank you very much," Sir Evan replied. Ron
rolled his eyes; the elderly knight had been badgering them to stop at a pub for a few drinks ever
since he had popped out of thin air and onto the Bentley’s rear bench.

Brian smiled as he helped Sir Evan into the chair and handed him an umbrella. "I believe we
will be able to accommodate your request under the tent."

As Brian pushed Sir Evan past four parked motorcoaches Wally hung back to chat with the other
three.

"I hope you don’t mind our initiative," he said, "but we’re going to make Number
Twelve wheelchair accessible and convert its living room for Sir Evan’s use."

That’s fine, Wally," Harry replied. "We had been talking about turning one of the
houses into an infirmary...this just moves that construction schedule up a bit." Harry
crunched his eyebrows as he thought of something. "Do we have anyone lined up to take care of
him?"

Wally nodded. "We had the same concern…there aren’t any c-mug geriatric nurses on MI-5 ¾’s
payroll. But in a rather happy coincidence, one of your guests this evening is a card-carrying
registered nurse."

"And who would that be?" Harry asked.

"A Mrs. Janet Miller," Wally replied, "the muggle mum of a Hogwarts student from
Chelsea."

"Oh great," groaned Hermione, "she must be Amy Miller’s mum."

"Who’s that?" Harry asked.

"Third-year Ravenclaw," she replied, "and one of the more ardent members of the
Harry Potter fan club."

Ron chuckled. "And how would know about the membership rolls of just such a club?"

Hermione blushed. "Well, I thought it my duty as Harry’s friend to keep tabs on what his
groupies were up to."

Harry grabbed Hermione’s and pulled her close. "And I suppose that was the only reason for
joining my fan club, huh?"

"Maybe," she replied, before sticking out her tongue.

Harry tried to catch her tongue with a kiss, then laughed. "Well I suppose it’s time I
break little Amy’s heart, along with any of the other witches in that club that are here
tonight."

Hermione’s eyes sparkled. "Who said it was only witches that fancied you?"

"Too much information," Ron yelled, covering his ears with his hands.

"Speaking of guest lists," Harry said quickly, as he turned to Wally, "I thought
we agreed that tonight’s dinner party was going to be small."

"Well it is, actually," Wally said with a smile, "when you compare it with the
Solstice Celebration that Fred and George have planned for next week..."

"So what about the muggle neighbors?"

"We put them on a bus and sent them to the West End for the night…they’ve got tickets for
the revival of *Camelot*."

That wasn’t the only clue that someone from the muggle world had sprung the surprise, rather
than the Weasley Twins; a yellow-brick road lay along the street, leading to a tent decorated like
Munchkinland. Young children in brightly-colored costumes were running around with huge lollypops
in their hands, or waiting in line for pony rides and candy floss. Their parents and older siblings
were mingling under the tent and in front of a stage set with musical instruments and loudspeakers;
Harry recognized the faces of several muggle-born Hogwarts students sprinkled within this
crowd.

"Looks like Mum put her mailing list to good use," Hermione said with a smile, as they
were approached by a blond wand-bearing teen that wore white silk, corkbottle caps, and a goofy
smile.

"Erm, I’m supposed to ask whether you are you a good witch, or a bad witch."

Hermione and Harry laughed, while Ron stood gobsmacked.

"Merlin, Luna, you look…you look beautiful."

"Thank you Ronald," she replied sweetly, as she walked up to him and gave him a kiss
that turned Ron’s face beet-red instantaneously.

Harry reached his arm around Hermione’s shoulder and hugged her close. "Oi, Weasley,"
he said, "save the bashful bit for the Snow White party."

Ron overlaid befuddlement on embarrassment as Luna took his arm and led him towards the tent. A
great cheer arose when the four were spotted, and Harry, Ron and Hermione were quickly enveloped
within a sea of handshakes and backslaps as thirty-seven muggle-born Hogwarts students angled for a
chance to introduce Harry to his or her family. It took the better part of an hour for Harry to
meet everyone; he managed only through the support of Hermione by his side and the butterbeers that
kept getting placed in his hand.

Harry might have spent the entire night within that crowd had Brian not saved him with word that
he had another guest waiting to meet him. He led Harry, Hermione, Ron and Luna inside Number Five,
where they found the Prince of Wales and his Royal Historian chatting with Hermione’s parents.

"Oh, there you are, Sir Harry…come in, come in," the Prince said. "And this must
be Dame Hermione," he said, as he kissed the back of her hand. "It is a true honor to
finally meet you, my lady."

Hermione blushed, not knowing whether she should pull her hand back, or curtsy, or give some
sort of formal response. "Pleased to meet you, Your Highness," she finally replied. Harry
then introduced the Prince to Ron and Luna, and started to introduce Luna to Hermione’s parents
before they stopped him with word that they had met before the party started.

"So what brings you to Little Whinging, your Highness?" Harry asked.

"Well, I did hear that there was cause to celebrate your freedom," the Prince replied.
"And I as I already had a few things that I wanted to discuss with you I thought I’d come out
and do it in person."

"How can I help you, your Highness?"

"Now you see…there you go again," the Prince replied. "Please remember that I am the
one that is supposed to be asking how I can help you."

"Erm, yes, your Highness."

The Prince suggested that they all sit down. "Firstly," he began, "Mum and I were
wondering if you would join us for lunch on Tuesday. We’re having a little get together out at
Windsor, before taking in a bit of racing."

"Racing…on Tuesday?" Hermione asked. "Isn’t that the day that the Queen reopens
the Royal Ascot?"

"Why, yes," he replied, "yes it is. Don’t worry…lunch won’t be anything too
large, and it’s quite a short ride from the castle down onto the course. Supposed to be nice
weather, I hear."

"You…you aren’t asking us to ride in the Queen’s procession, are you?" Hermione asked
incredulously, looking from the Prince over to her parents and then back.

"Erm, yes, I am," the Prince replied. "I know that it’s rather last minute,
but…"

"But we aren’t royalty," stated Harry.

"Is that so, Sir Harry?" the Prince replied with a smile. "Well, perhaps we can
decide that part later, then? Good. Onto the second point. I understand that you’ve met with Mr.
Baxter already? He’s been doing a little research for me, and we’ve come upon something that you
might wish to consider. Mr. Baxter?"

"Erm, thank you, Your Highness," the Royal Historian replied, and he turned towards
the teens. "Over the past week I have been reviewing some of the treaties signed between the
leadership of the muggle and wizarding worlds, with particular interest on the position of Royal
Wizard."

"You mean like Godric Gryffindor, when he was King’s Wizard?"

"Exactly," the historian replied. "You see, there hasn’t been a Royal Wizard for
quite some time, and we weren’t quite sure whether the position had been eliminated by treaty, but
it turns out that it hasn’t been."

"So the Queen, if she wanted to, could appoint a Royal Wizard even today?" Harry
asked.

"Yes," Baxter replied.

"What does a Royal Wizard do?" Ron asked.

"Well, back in the old days, the Royal Wizard was the sovereign’s representative in the
wizarding world…an ambassador of sorts. They also led the wizarding forces loyal to that king or
queen, in the days when the two world hadn’t completely separated, and advised the ruler on magical
issues."

"But there aren’t any wizard forces under control of the Queen, are there?"

"No, and neither under the civilian government," said the historian. "That right was
ceded by treaty in the Sixteenth Century…but the position of Royal Wizard wasn’t ceded…it was kept
for ceremonial purposes, much like the Swiss Guards that work for the Pope."

"Which brings us around to a question for you, Sir Harry," the Prince interjected.
"Her Royal Highness would be pleased that you would consider serving her in that
capacity."

"You see there might be some advantage for you to hold that post," the historian said.
"We understand that you have to worry about just how much information about the wizarding
world you can legally share with Her Majesty and her government. As Queen’s Wizard, we do not
believe that would be an issue…there is no treaty limitation on the advisory role of the
position."

"So there’s an exception to the secrecy regulations for Royal Wizards, so long as it’s the
Queen he’s talking to?" Harry asked.

"Again, that is our interpretation," the historian said. "The Royal Wizard is
also allowed to use magic to support and defend the Crown, and there is no limitation made based on
the age of the wizard."

"So you think that if I were Queen’s wizard I wouldn’t have to wait six more weeks to use a
wand legally," Harry said. "Sounds like an attractive offer…Hermione, any drawbacks that
you can see?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Besides the obvious political fallout?" she asked.
"Can’t imagine Scrimgeour will be too happy about you working for the Queen instead of him. It
would also probably limit your future career options...forget working for the Ministry, or as an
Auror."

"The pay is pretty good, if that is an issue," the Prince said with a smile.
"Although we were also considering combining the ceremony with an investiture for the new Lord
Gryffindor, and that would certainly involve some additional financial resources…."

"I’m not worried about money," Harry said, "I would like to do something
interesting after all of this, though…and I imagine that I could always track down Dark Wizards in
defense of the British Empire, right?"

Hermione turned to the historian. "Was Albus Dumbledore asked to be King’s Wizard during
the war?"

"As a matter of fact he was," the Prince replied. "Unfortunately, he felt that his
first loyalty had to be to Hogwarts. Of course, that didn’t stop him from acting as a de facto
advisor," he said with a smile, "or from leading the Order of Arthur….oh, that’s right. I
almost forgot. As Queen’s Wizard you would have control of the remaining eight badges…I understand
that they might be useful when placed in the right hands."

"Yes, I imagine that they would," said Harry, thinking furiously. "I hope this
doesn’t offend you, Your Highness, but it sounds like some of this is based on treaty
interpretations by your staff. Not that I doubt your skills, Mr. Baxter, but I might want to get a
second opinion from a wizard barrister."

"No offense taken, my boy," the historian said. "That does sound like a prudent
idea."

"I’ll take that as a provisional yes, then," the Prince said, "and trust that
you’ll be able to establish a legal opinion from your side in the near future?"

"Sounds like a plan, Your Highness," Harry said.

"Excellent. I suggest that it’s time to head out to the tent, then. The Grangers have
arranged for a splendid band to play tonight."

As the group headed back to the tent Harry grabbed Hermione’s hand and asked to speak privately
for a minute.

"Hermione," he asked, "you know how I talked about breaking some Fan Club hearts
tonight?"

"Yes," she replied with a slight smile.

"Well, I’ve been having second thoughts."

"What about, Mr. Potter?" she said with a tinge of concern.

Harry quickly realized the multiple meanings of his last comment. "Not about you, or about
us," he quickly reassured her. "About whether we should keep our relationship a secret.
And no, it’s not because I’m not proud to be your boyfriend, or afraid of Ginny, but…."

"But what, Harry?"

"Well, I’m afraid that it would be too dangerous for you if word got out that you were
close to me."

"You mean closer than I already was, or in more danger than I already was?" Hermione
asked incredulously. "Harry, I’m already marked, probably number two on their hit list, since
I’m a muggle-born, and our friendship’s been no secret. And I mean, really, they’ve already tried
to kill my parents and take me out, how much worse could it get?"

"Are you sure?" Harry asked skeptically.

"Are you sure you don’t want to see who else is enrolled in your Fan Club?"

"Yes, I’m sure," Harry said with a bright smile and a quick kiss. "Have it your
way, then….just don’t say I didn’t warn you."

"Whatever do you mean, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, nothing," Harry replied with a smirk.

They got to the tent just as Hermione’s mum had stepped up to the microphone at the front of the
stage.

"Good evening, everyone," she began, "my name is Emily Granger, Chief Information
Officer for the Fawkes Foundation, and, more importantly, Hermione Granger’s mum." (cheers and
laughs from the crowd). "I hope that everyone got enough to eat…the band will be starting up
in a few minutes, but before that I’ve got a few announcements to make."

"Those families that that requested mobile telephones or laptop computers can pick them up
at the back of the tent before boarding the bus. There will also be sign up sheets there for anyone
who needs high-speed internet connections installed, or computer lessons."

"Secondly, the summer lecture series ‘Muggles ‘R Us’ will kick off next Thursday, with a
presentation by Robert Baxter from the British Museum titled ‘Merlin’s Legacy.’ Place and time will
be posted this weekend on the muggleborn.com website. Which reminds me…anyone who hasn’t gotten
their secure login codes yet should see me before the end of night."

"And last, all of the families here tonight should have met their club leads by now. Each
club of families should make plans to meet sometime in the next week or two. Now we’ve already
heard from a few students that wish to be in the same group with best friends or housemates, but we
really hope you try the assignments that we’ve made. Groupings were based on geography, but we also
made it a point to see that each club has different houses and years represented. Remember kids, on
this side of Platform 9 ¾ you’ve all been sorted into the same house."

"And now, I’d like to turn the microphone over to a very special guest. Please give a warm
Little Wizarding welcome to His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales."

The Prince strode up onto the stage, producing a raucous round of cheering. While Harry looked
on with no small amount of apprehension, the Prince began to speak.

"On behalf of Her Majesty’s Government and the residents of Little Wizarding I’d like to
thank all of you for coming out to this event. We are here to celebrate a liberation of sorts…not
just Harry’s liberation from his tyrannical relatives, but the liberation of all of us from the
tyranny of isolation and fear."

After the cheers and clapping subsided he continued. "But perhaps I should step back and
explain why I am here. Two weeks ago, when I first met an amazing young man named Harry Potter, I
was reminded that I am heir to the throne of all of Great Britain, and not just its muggle
bits."

That comment drew laughs from the crowd. "Her majesty’s government has the obligation to
protect *all* of its citizens. Now there are some who believe that the government has no
interest in protecting British witches and wizards from magical threats, but I think that this is
rubbish. Young witches and wizards do not forfeit their rights as a citizens of the Empire upon
their entry to Hogwarts, and the most basic of those rights is the expectation that their
government will protect them from all threats, be they external, internal, or magical.

Now there are some who argue that the wizarding community has the resources to handle magical
threats on its own, and that the muggle government of Great Britain should mind its own business.
Well, it is the unfortunate truth that over the past year the wizarding community has been unable
to thwart the Dark Wizard and his minions. The evil one who fancies himself Lord Voldemort has even
purposely attacked muggles in an attempt to reach his intended goals. While we have no intention of
getting in the way of the Ministry of Magic’s efforts, neither will Her Majesty’s government stand
idly by in the hope that things will get better on their own.

And this is where all of you, this young man, and this community enter into the story. I’m sure
that most of you have heard the story of Harry Potter, of how he has seemingly been destined since
birth to face Lord Voldemort. In the short time that I have known him, he has done nothing to
diminish my confidence that he is up to this task, but he can not do it alone. Her Majesty’s
government has made certain resources available to him for this fight, but this help alone is not
sufficient. It is up to all of us, and all of you, to do whatever you can to help him in this
fight. It is my hope that you will consider any help you give him to be as if you were giving it to
the Crown itself. And it is my expectation that even in the darkest of days, you will all display
the stoic resolve and strength that is at the very heart of what it means to be British."

The Prince then decided that it was time for Harry to make a few remarks. Saying that while he
wasn’t used to being a warm-up act but that in this case it was entirely appropriate he pulled
Harry up onto the stage and pushed him in front of the microphone. Harry looked as if he’d rather
face Voldemort than a live microphone.

"Well, erm…look, I’m pants at giving speeches," he began, "so I hope you’re not
expecting anything fancy coming out of my mouth." Sprinkles of laughter arose from the crowd.
"It’s great seeing so many of my schoolmates here. Looks like we have a few Gryffindors here
tonight (cheer), not to mention Ravenclaws (cheer) and Hufflepuffs (cheer)…if anyone out there is
from Slytherin House (jeers and catcalls), the Death Eater’s Friday-night Fish Fry is next street
over (big laugh)."

"I love seeing all of you with your families, because that’s what this is all about…what
the work of the Fawkes Foundation is all about. I want all of the Hogwarts students out there to
thing about your parents, and brothers and sisters. If you think we live our lives in the Twilight
Zone, what about them? When they’re at work and a co-worker starts bragging about their son’s play
on the soccer pitch what can they say…yeah, but you should see what my kid can do with a
broom?" (laugh). When the neighbors bring around pictures of their children dressed for school
balls can ours show off us in our dress robes? (someone shouted "No great loss for
Weasley," to the crowd’s amusement). While we’re away at school its the parents that have to
always watch what they say, or do, to keep our world secret, and up to now they’ve had to shoulder
that responsibility pretty much on their own. If the Fawkes Foundation can do anything to help
support our families, to ease the burden they carry…through a network of other families with
muggle-borns, then it will be an investment well made."

"The Prince talked about the challenge we face tonight. In a perfect world Voldemort would
have no power. In a slightly less perfect world, the Ministry of Magic would be powerful enough to
handle him. But we all know the reality….and we also know that on its own the muggle government
would find it hard to defeat a dark wizard. This is why a third way is so necessary…a path along
which muggles and wizards march side by side, and with those will stand with us against the Dark
forces."

"I’ve seen some amazing things these past weeks, and imagined amazing possibilities….ways
for muggles and wizards to collaborate in ways unthinkable for those blinded by narrow minds and
racist attitudes. It’s enough to give a skinny young kid with hopeless hair some hope. And I can’t
begin to say how much I appreciate all of the help and support I’ve received….from the Prince to
the Grangers to all of you. It’s been…well, it’s been brilliant."

"There’s lots more we could talk about, but that’s what IM’ing is for, isn’t it? (laughs)…I
just want to end by saying one thing more…Hermione, will you come up here?"

The crowd cheered and whistled while Harry held his hand out to a very embarrassed looking
witch. He pulled her up on stage and spun around to face the crowd, wrapping an arm around her
shoulder.

"You know," Harry said, "there’s a prediction out there that Lord Voldemort will
be defeated by a power he knows not. Headmaster Dumbledore thought it was love, but it’s also
entirely possible that it is the power of muggles. That was a bit of a riddle for me, as I look for
all of the advantages I can get to defeat Old Tom; what should I look for….love, or a
muggle?"

Harry looked at Hermione, who was giving him a very high eyebrow. "Well," he
continued, " I’d like to announce tonight that I’ve found an answer to that riddle. Killing
two birds with one stone, I’ve fallen in love with the smartest and prettiest muggle-born witch
that I know – Hermione Jane Granger."

At that very moment, while the crowd went wild with applause and wolf whistles and cries
("About time, Potter" being quite popular) Harry pulled Hermione towards him and planted
a long, full kiss on her lips. That only incited the crowd to louder cheering. When they broke the
lip lock, Hermione, her cheeks bright red, leaned over and whispered into his ear.

"You are so going to get lucky tonight, Potter," she said with a smile.



25. Chapter 25
--------------

**Chapter 25: Back Watching**

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

+++

“Ouch!…erm, morning Luna,” Harry stammered, as he blotted spilt coffee, “did we miss giving you
the belt?”

The blonde-haired teen entered Number Four’s kitchen wearing the same red “Clan-Potter” dressing
gown that Harry was wearing. Except that hers was hanging open over a skimpy mid-drift baring
camisole and bright-red knickers.

She reached into the robe’s pockets and pulled out the ends of the belt. “No…is that a problem?”
she asked with a bit of concern. “I like to air out my navel in the morning…keeps the nargle larvae
from nesting, you know.”

“Erm, no…that’s fine,” Harry said. “I’m glad to see that you feel comfortable here…it’s just
that in the muggle world, erm, well…we usually wear something over our knickers when we’re in mixed
company…unless we’re more than just good friends.”

“Oh….sorry,” Luna replied as she quickly tied her robe closed. “I thought that it wasn’t any
different than muggle swimming costumes.”

“You’re right,” Harry replied, trying not to make his houseguest feel bad. “Guess that it’s one
of those muggle customs…location is everying, I guess….Say, our morning run is at six…maybe you
brought some shorts and you could join us?”

Luna’s eyes brightened back up. “I didn’t, but I can transfigure some…be right back.” Harry
poured a cup of coffee for Luna while she ran back upstairs to change. She returned with a bounce
in her step and ever bigger bounce in a skin-tight t-shirt, forcing Harry to very carefully place
his coffee mug on the countertop. Choosing to say nothing, he wondered just how many other
surprises were in store with Luna visits to Little Wizarding.

“You’re up early…weren’t able to sleep?” he asked.

“Ronnie sure snores a lot, doesn’t he?” Luna replied. “I could hear them clear across the
hall…how do you get any sleep at all in the same room?”

“Six years of practice,” Harry replied with a grin. “It’s actually gotten better, if you can
believe that. Hermione convinced him to start wearing a muggle breathing strip across his nose at
night.”

“Maybe it will get better once we start sleeping together,” Luna said.

“Erm, yes…well, perhaps it will,” Harry said, forcing something out of his mouth besides sprayed
liquids.

Luna plopped down on a kitchen table chair. “Unless, of course, you and Ron prefer sleeping
together.”

Harry’s head snapped back a bit in shock. “Luna, Ron and I sleep in the same room, but we’re not
sleeping together.”

“Oh…what’s the difference?”

“Well…wait, you really don’t know, do you?” he asked.

“Don’t know what?” Luna replied, confusion clearly displayed on her face.

“When muggles talk about two people sleeping together, they really mean that they are
shagging.”

“Oh…well if that’s the case why don’t they just say shag instead of sleep?”

“Erm…good question…usually if two people share a bed they’re also shagging…unless you listen to
Uncle Vernon, of course,” Harry replied with a grin.

“So muggles only shag when they’re asleep? Where’s the fun in that?”

“Erm, no I guess it’s just the most private place to, erm…” Harry caught sight of somebody
walking down the hall. “Good morning, Hermione.”

“Most private place to do what?” Hermione asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“Oh, Harry and I were just talking about sleeping together,” Luna said matter-of-factly.

“Excuse me?”

“We were talking about the phrase ‘sleeping together’ and how it means more than just sharing a
kip,” Harry replied quickly.

“Oh,” Hermione said, as she looked at Luna and Harry with furrowed brow. “And exactly how did
this topic of conversation take place?”

“I told Harry that Ron’s snoring might get better if he slept with me.”

Wondering whether it really was that innocent, Hermione decided to change topics. “So what got
you out of bed so early, Harry?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said wearily. “A bit excited after all of last night’s fun, and I knew I
had a stack of papers to go through.” He had in fact been reviewing an emancipation document that
legally severed his Aunt and Uncle’s custodial rights over him.

Harry’s mobile chirped.

“Good morning, Sir Harry, sorry that it’s so early.”

“That’s fine, Wally, we were already up,” Harry replied. “What’s going on?”

“There was an accident in London last night that might be of interest to you. A man was struck
by a lorry and taken to hospital. The report caught the eye of one of my colleagues when it was
noted that the victim was wearing some sort of purse tied to his belt.”

“A wizard, eh?” Harry asked.

“Well, I wasn’t sure until they e-mailed me some pictures of the crime scene. After all, I’ve
been known to carry a purse around myself now and then. But the style it was so…erm, medieval…it
just simply screamed wizard…no offense,” Wally added quickly.

“None taken,” Harry replied with a smile. “How is this bloke doing right now.”

“Just came out of surgery about two hours ago…still in a bad way, though,” Wally said. “It
happens now and again that a John Doe is really a Merlin Doe, and there are protocols in place for
notifying your wizard hospital, but…I thought I’d forward a head shot to you first, since the man
is the same height and weight you gave us for that Mundungus chap.”

Harry’s heart jumped a beat. “Sure…send me the photo and I’ll take a look.”

“It’s already been sent…remember how to check your e-mail using the mobile?”

“Yeah, hang on.” Harry pushed a button to place Wally’s call on “hold,” then changed screens and
punched a few more buttons to get to his in-box, where the message was waiting. He opened the
attached jpeg, and squinted when the upper torso of the accident victim filled the mobile’s display
screen.

“What do you think, Hermione?” Harry asked, handing her the device.

“Hard to tell with all that blood splatter,” she replied, “but it could be him.”

“Let’s check it out then,” Harry replied.

Hermione nodded and toggled back to the call, letting Wally know that Harry and she wanted to
make an identification in person.

“He’s bringing the black Bentley around,” she said, after ending the call and returning Harry’s
mobile.

Harry nodded and turned towards Luna, “Would it be alright if we left you here with Ron for a
few hours?” he asked.

“Fine with me,” Luna replied with a dreamy looking look. “Gives me the chance to work on his
snoring problem.”

+++

Hermione leaned forward over the rear-facing bench. “Wally, I’m sorry but would you mind
terribly if we rolled the divider up?”


“That’s why it’s there, Dame Hermione” Wally replied with a smile. “We’ll be at hospital in
about thirty minutes.” He then saved her the trouble and raised the opaque divider between front
and rear seats. Hermione leaned back, then stretched out on the bench facing Harry.

She turned a wide yawn into a smile. “Merlin, I’m still sleepy...I could use a kip.”

Harry chuckled. “Gee, I wonder why,” he replied with a bit of cheek. He then surprised Hermione
by pouncing on top of her. “Need a blanket?”

“Got your hopes up about practicing after Luna’s comments, Harry?”

Harry reached down and pulled an errant strand of her hair back from her face.

“No,” he replied, “I’ve had those hopes for a little while now.”

“Since when?” Hermione asked.

“Since the last time I was stretched out in this motorcar.”

Hermione paused for a second to process, then squinted a bit when she arrived at an answer.
After squinting she gave Harry a good sock in the arm.

“I thought you were sleeping when I was dressing down your Aunt!”

Harry grinned. “Kind of hard to sleep through the thunderstorm you were brewing.”

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Guess I did get a little worked up.”

“So do you think we could do it?” Harry asked.

“Do what?”


“Watch each other’s backs through the night.”

“Depends on whether you sleep on your side,” Hermione replied.

“What about your parents?”

“I’m more worried about Ron,” she said.

“Looks like Luna might be a help there,” Harry said. “So when do you want to try?”

“Think you can behave yourself until third date?”

“Does last night count?”

“Erm…yes, I think so,” Hermione said with a smile. “But that’s only one, and next time I’m
expecting you to do the planning, not Mum.”

“Fair enough, I guess,” Harry said, mustering all of the sincerity he could gather at that
moment, “I think that I can…that is, if you think you can keep your hands off of me.”

“My hands?” Hermione asked, with a sparkle in her eye. She shoved her two hands down the rear
pockets of Harry’s trousers and gave a firm squeeze. “After last night…you’re the one worrying
about my hands?”

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

Hermione raised her head up and gave Harry’s nose a quick peck. “No, I didn’t, did I?”

+++

Mundungus Fletcher had never smelled a room as sterile as the one within which he regained
consciousness. It was quite unnerving…almost as unnerving as the fact that his eyes were almost
completely wrapped in white gauze and that he was breathing through a tube that was shoved down his
throat.

“Why Dung, you are alive…so nice to see you again, though I dare say I’ve never seen you quite
so….clean.”

Dung tried, but failed, to turn his head towards the voice.

“Whoa, watch it there, Dung…the doctors have your necked braced for a reason…what… what’s that?
Oh yes, and the tube is there because you weren’t breathing too well without it. You see, for some
reason, these muggle doctors actually think your sorry excuse for a life is worth saving.”

Dung’s eyes were able to move, and once they regained their ability to resolve the image that
was presently hovering above his face the result wasn’t very encouraging.

“Yes, Dung, it’s me, Harry…you know, the kid you left to Dementors while you were off pawning
stolen goods…the kid whose mansion you stole from…and before you try to apparate, don’t
bother…you’ve been ankled with an anti-app bracelet.”

Dung could barely feel something around one of his legs, but was in no position to see what it
was.

“So here’s the situation. The muggles found you left for dead after being struck by a lorry
outside of a pawn shop. Your head’s a right mess, and your brain is still so swollen that the
doctors think they’ll have to operate again….yes, Dung…again. They’ve already drilled a few holes
into your skull to reduce the swelling.”

Mung didn’t think that doctor’s trying to save his life could have anything to do with drills
and his skull.

“Nurse tells me that if they have to go back in it won’t be drills, this time but a saw.”

Dung’s eyes narrowed in fright.

“Oh, now Dung, I knew you’d be worrying about that, so I thought I help ease your concerns.
Nurse let me borrow one of the tools they’d be using.” Harry held a small battery-operated rotary
saw over Dung’s head that was about the size of an electric toothbrush, with a 5cm diameter
circular saw blade held perpendicular to the grip.

“See these muggles, they use technology to make things so much smaller, and quieter,” Harry
explained. “Would you like a demonstration?” Harry pressed a button on the handle and the circular
blade began to twirl with a soft, but high-pitched whine that had Dung’s full attention.

“Of course, you wouldn’t need all of the knives and drills and saws cutting into your body if
you were at St. Mungo’s, now would you? So I have a simple proposition…I’m going have the doctors
take that tube out of your mouth, and you’re going to tell me where I can find a locket that you
took from the Black mansion. Then we’re going to get it, and when we do, I’ll see to it that the
healers at St. Mungo’s fix you up.”

“Deal…or no deal?”

Three hours later, Harry returned to Dung’s hospital room with Hermione and Wally by his side
and the real Slytherin’s locket in the front pants pocket opposite the one which contained the
fake.

“Well, wonders never cease, it was right where you told me it was…and I only had to pay two
hundred quid to get it back.”

“I may be a thief,” Mundungus said weakly, “but I’m no liar.”

Harry walked over to the bed and pulled the tape off of the magazine that had been wrapped
around Dung’s led. Dung’s eyes went wide as Harry showed it to him and Wally began to wheel the
hospital bed out to a waiting ambulance for the ride to St. Mungo’s.

“Well I’m no thief,” Harry said, “but I have been known to stretch the truth some times myself.
Guess we’ll have to call it even.”

+++

Harry and Hermione had hoped to test their badge’s ability to transport them across Little Wiz’s
goblin wards, but Ron wasn’t answering their call. Sir Evan, of course, had his badge operant for
what turned out to be a successful test. The return trip to Number Four wasn’t quite as successful,
from a time efficiency standpoint. First was the fifteen minute chat with Sir Evan, who was
thrilled with his new accommodations now that his things had been packed up and delivered from the
nursing home in Eastleigh. Then there was the meeting with Nurse Miller and her entire family, who
had returned to Little Whiz that morning to look at the possibility of moving into Number Twelve,
at least for the summer. Once they got out to the street, they were met by Hermione’s parents, who
wanted to talk about how well the party had gone, and give word that three additional muggle-born
families had already expressed interest in moving to Little Wiz.

It was some sixty minutes after their “instantaneous” arrival on Privet Drive that Harry and
Hermione entered the front door of Number Four. They found the house empty, save for Ron and the
Xbox. He informed them that Luna had floo’d back to her house to pack her things, having secured
her father’s permission to accept Harry’s offer for her to stay with them in Little Wiz. Brian had
driven out to the Lovegood residence to pick up Luna and her things, having decided that it be
safer if the Luna’s move was muggled. This rather conveniently allowed the Trio to talk about
horcrux disposal.

Harry was inclined to immediately make the trip to Hogwarts and the Chamber of Secrets to find a
loose basilisk fang lying about to smash upon the horcrux. Hermione, after scolding Harry a bit for
his typical impetuousness, suggested that it would be prudent to wait until the Twins were able to
furnish them with the protective dragon hide body suits that they’d ordered. She also pointed out
that Harry still couldn’t legally use magic (at least where it could be detected), and that there
wasn’t much downside if they waited until things were properly prepared…except, of course, for the
fact that waiting would mean that they’d have a little piece of Lord Voldemort’s soul to constantly
safeguard.

The three spent some time balancing the pros and cons of waiting to attempt to destroy the
horcrux before Harry struck upon the idea of asking MI-5 ¾ to hide the locket until they were ready
to dispose of it. Ron initially scoffed at the idea of muggles having a place secure enough, but
Hermione came to Harry’s aid, pointing out that it would be hard to find a place less secure than
when the locket was in Mundungus’s possession.

And so, after transfiguring a breakfast cereal box into a wooden chest and securing the locket
with Hermione’s most intricate charm work, Harry tucked the horcrux under his arm and they walked
across the street to Number Five, where Wally promised to “Indiana Jones” the container (until such
time as Harry wanted it back). Wally subsequently promised to deliver a DVD of “Raiders of the Lost
Ark” so that Ron would understand the movie reference.

Harry told Ron and Hermione that he had some business stuff that he needed to discuss with her
Dad, and suggested that he’d catch up with them in a bit. He then walked up to Number Five’s
operations center, where Mr. Granger was taking his turn monitoring the neighborhood’s surveillance
system.

Harry knocked on the open door. “Mr. Granger, do you have a few minutes?” he asked.

Roger Granger swiveled around on his chair and gave Harry a smile. “Of course, Harry, have a
seat.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied, as he sat down and focused on the questions and statements that he’d
been rehearsing in his mind for most of the day. “Erm, wanted to say thanks again for the party
last night…it was brilliant.”

“It was nothing, Harry….and everything that you deserved to celebrate,” Bill said.

Harry took a breath. “Mr. Granger, I’d like to…erm…wanted you to know…well, I’m hoping that you
aren’t too concerned about the feelings I expressed last night about your daughter.”

Mr. Granger smiled. “Why would Emily and I be concerned…we already knew how you two felt about
each other, and what you said was…well Emily for one thought it was sweet.”

“Erm, thanks,” Harry replied. “I guess I just wanted to reassure you that, even with the
Dursleys gone that you can trust me with your daughter and her, erm…virtue.”

Roger squinted just a bit and nodded almost imperceptivity, finally understanding the reason for
Harry’s visit.

“Worrying what we might think now that you two almost have the run of the house?” he asked.

Harry nodded.

“Harry,” Mr. Granger replied, “what I said two weeks ago still holds true. We trust you with
Hermione’s life, and everything that goes with it. We’ve trusted Hermione to make wise decisions
for longer than that. Nothing you two have done since that time has shaken that trust.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Granger, it’s just that you might think that…especially know that Ron
and Luna there, well…”

Roger chuckled. “Harry, I appreciate the fact that you were concerned enough to come talk to me.
Not too many teenage boys would do that. But we trust you two to do what you think is right for the
both of you. Fact is that both of you are full of virtue, and that’s not going to change regardless
of whatever happens in your relationship.”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing and his faced showed as much.

“Harry, Roger continued, “you and Hermione live in a dangerous world at a particularly dangerous
time. Emily and I have already talked about this, and given a choice, we’d frankly feel better
knowing you two were watching each other’s back night and day…and I do mean *night* and day.
Am I making myself clear?”

Harry stood, and nodded as he reached out his hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Granger, I promise not to let you down.”

Roger shook Harry’s hand, placing his other on Harry’s shoulder. “I know, Harry…I know.”

++++

Hours later, a waning moon cast light onto four intertwined feet at the base of Hermione’s four
poster bed.

“Harry,” Hermione said looking back over her shoulder, “don’t you want to snuggle some
more?”

“I promised your dad I’d watch your back,” Harry replied, as he traced his fingertips over
Hermione’s gown-covered shoulder blade.

Hermione turned so quickly that Harry didn’t have time to move his hand away as it was dragged
onto her chest. “Harry Potter, you didn’t tell my dad that we were thinking about this, did
you?”

“Of course not,” Harry replied had a smile. “he was too busy talking about something called
‘plausible deniability.’”

Hermione slapped at Harry’s chest. “Merlin, he did what? And you really were talking about this
weren’t you?”

“I’m sorry, Hermione, but I just had to,” Harry replied.

Hermione smiled, then pulled Harry’s head in for a languid kiss. “Well whatever you said must
have been reassuring, else we’d have seen Dad camped outside our door.”

“Of course it was,” Harry replied, “it wasn’t like I was asking for permission to ask you to
marry me.”

Hermione giggled. “Well that’s good to know.”

Harry gave her an evil grin. “Saving that question for next week.”



26. Chapter 26
--------------

**Chapter 26: Field Appointment**

**A/N:** Sorry for the cliffie, but I’ve decided to break up this set piece into two
chapters. There’s a lot to digest here, and I’d really like to get some feedback on what I’ve laid
out here before diving into the battle (yes, battle).

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

+++

**Little Wizarding, Surrey**

**Sunday, June 17, 7:02pm**

Nymphadora Tonks took delight in showing her boss how to use a doorbell.

“Head Auror Robards, thank you for coming on such short notice,” Harry said, after he opened the
front door. He shook the man’s hand, and led the two into the living room. “Let’s see…you know the
Headmistress, of course, and you have met Hermione. This is my good friend Ron Weasley and this
is…”

“Remus, good to see you again,” the Head Auror interrupted, as he nodded towards Lupin.

“Would you like something to drink, Head Auror?” Hermione asked. “We have pumpkin juice,
butterbeer, some muggle iced tea…”

“No thank you, Miss Granger,” the man replied.

“Let me start by apologizing for the bounce and subsequent walk that you just took,” Harry said.
“We didn’t know that our new security wards would keep you from using your personal portkey until
you just tried.”

The Head Auror nodded curtly. “I have to admit that I was rather surprised…the only other place
that I’m aware of with that kind of warding is Gringott’s.”

“Yes, well…we just consulted with the…erm, security advisors…who helped install the wards.
Apparently I can authorize portkey use by members of the Clan and Clan Friends. We can put you on
this list…assuming, of course, that you would want to be one or the other.”

The Head Auror gave Harry a confused stare, then turned to Headmistress McGonagall. “Minerva,
what’s going on?”

The Headmistress smiled, “Gawain, while I am his wizard guardian for a few more weeks, we are on
muggle territory, and it is my understanding that under muggle laws Clan Chief Potter is an
emancipated minor. In any event he can speak for himself.”

“Clan Chief?” the Head Auror asked.

“My barrister filed the papers at the Ministry last week,” Harry replied nonchalantly. “Guess
with all of the bureaucracy word hadn’t gotten around yet…but if it’s alright with you, Head Auror,
I’d like to defer further talk on this issue and get to the matter that led to our request for this
meeting?”

The Auror nodded, as Harry got down to business.

“This afternoon, at approximately 4:15pm, we caught Peter Pettigrew scouting around the backyard
of this house in his animagus form. Twenty minutes later we obliviated and released him.”

“You did what?” the Head Auror asked. “You do realize that it was at your insistence that
Pettigrew had been placed on the ‘Most Wanted Wizards’ list, don’t you?”

“Mr. Potter likely had very good reasons for doing what he did,” Headmistress McGonagall
interjected. “And I’m sure that he will be happy to share them with us.”

“In a manner, yes,” Harry replied. “But if it’s all the same I’d rather show you what happened,
so that you can offer your own opinions on what was said and done.” He drew his wand from his back
pocket as Ron brought the pensieve out from behind a chair.

“Mr. Potter, I assume you’ve placed the muggles in this house out of earshot?” the Head Auror
asked.

Harry smirked at the Head Auror as he placed his wand tip on his temple. “Rest assured, they are
well out of earshot...now close your eyes for a second will you? I wouldn’t want to get into
trouble for underage wand use.”

Robards responded with a gruff “Just get on with it,” as Harry pulled a silvery wisp of a memory
from his head and placed it into the pensieve.

“Is it safe to jump in,” McGonagall asked, “or should we just look?”

“It would be a bit crowded if you didn’t jump,” Ron replied. “I’ll hang back to keep a watch
while Harry and Hermione join you to answer your questions.”

Twenty minutes later six witches and wizards returned from their journey into the recent past.
Ron greeted them with butterbeers. “So what did you think?” he asked.

The Head Auror took a healthy swig from his bottle. “I think that we have a lot to think
about.”

“Were we wrong to assume that in exchange for canceling the life debt Wormtail’s word was good?”
Hermione asked.

“No, I think that you worded the agreement quite carefully,” Remus replied. “I might have held
on to that debt for a better deal, but…”

“It was worth it if what he told us was true,” Harry replied. “Besides, he merely exchanged one
debt for another owed to Hermione…without her intervention I would have killed him on the
spot.”

“Pettigrew might have thought he was telling the truth about this plan…” Remus mused.

“We’ve considered the possibility that he’d been intentionally fed misinformation,” Hermione
replied. “And we’ve sketched out a plan that we think will keep us and the Ministry safe, even if
it is a ruse.”

Head Auror Robards stepped into the discussion. “I find it difficult to believe that the Death
Eaters have cells within any Ministry department, much less the Auror corps. I devised the constant
vigilance program myself.”

“Gawain,” McGonagall replied gently, “nobody in this room questions your skills, but remember
whom we are dealing with. After all, they were able to hide a polyjuiced Death Eater under
Dumbledore’s nose for almost a year.”

The Auror paused in thought for a minute. “So, Mr. Potter, what are your plans?”

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione before giving the Head Auror a grim looking smile. “Well for
starters, I plan on accepting an invitation from the Queen…”

**Monday, June 18, 4:00pm**

“Mum, I have absolutely nothing to wear for tomorrow!”

Emily Granger couldn’t choke off a laugh as Luna Lovegood helped her daughter rummage furiously
through her bedroom closet. “Hermione, I never thought I’d ever hear you say something so
charmingly teenagerish, particularly given circumstances.”

Hermione talked over her shoulder. “Well it’s not everyday that you’re invited to dine with the
Queen and sit in the Royal Enclosure on the opening day of horseracing at Ascot, is it?”

Emily nodded sympathetically as Luna pulled the blue evening gown out that Hermione had worn at
her knighting ceremony. “Maybe you could transfigure this one?”

“Thought of that,” Hermione said, “but I’m pants at altering, and even if I weren’t, I don’t
have a clue what I should be wearing…besides a hat, of course. At least you’ve got that one
covered, Luna.”

“Oh, I’m not sure about that,” Luna said. “Ron made me promise to keep it quiet amongst the
muggles, and it does have a mind of its own.”

Hermione berated herself for not knowing exactly what to wear to the event. There had to be a
book on the subject, but she’d been too busy worrying about defeating Voldemort to read
*Vogue*. With all of the humility she could muster, she finally decided to take her mother’s
suggestion and ask for some outside help.

Exactly seventy-two minutes later, Wally whisked Luna and Hermione into a small dress shop on a
fashionable street in London’s West End. He introduced them to the shop’s owner, an old friend he
worked with at the Royal Household. “Do their beauty justice, Helen,” Wally instructed, “they’ll be
in the Royal Box, so they’ll have to look good on camera.”

“Cameras?” Hermione asked.

“Of course,” the seamstress replied. “The Royal Ascot’s always televised, and there’s a lot of
interest this year with the new grandstand opening up. It’ll be something like 60 different
countries, 25 million viewers, if you can believe the newspapers.”

Hermione looked nervously over at Luna. “If anybody asks,” she warned, “your lion runs on
batteries.”

**Tuesday, June 19, 10:30am**

Roger adjusted the knot in Ron’s tie as they waited for the girls to emerge from Hermione’s
bedroom. “Funny you don’t know how to tie one of these,” he told Ron. “It is part of your school
uniform, isn’t it?”

Harry laughed as stood before a mirror and tucked some unruly strands of hair under his black
top hat. “Little muggle boys have clip-ons, little wizards have self-knotting ties.”

“Sod off,” Ron said, just as Emily and Wally walked down the stairs.

“Oh don’t you two look handsome,” said Wally, who, as part of their security detail, was also
dressed in a morning suit. “They’re coming right down, and Hermione’s a little self-conscious, so
help out, will you?” Harry didn’t have time to reassure Wally on that point, as Luna had just
turned the corner of the stairs. She wore a tan short-sleeved silk jacket over a full length
strapless navy blue silk dress, accessorized by her cork-bottle necklace and lion hat.

Ron exclaimed, “Luna…you look erm…really, really nice.”

“Thank you, Ronald,” Luna replied breezily as she twirled around once before him and gave him a
quick peck on the cheek. “And you look rather handsome, in a muggle sort of way, yourself.”

It was Harry’s turn to gaze with amazement as Hermione somewhat nervously walked down the
stairs. She wore a dark green full-length dress that matched Harry’s eyes. The dress was
sleeveless, with a pleasing (at least to Harry) display of décolletage that was partially concealed
by her Order of Arthur badge, which hung loosely the end of a thick platinum link chain. Covering
the dress was a sheer long-sleeved overlay that buttoned closed at the neck and flared out towards
the floor, floating out behind her like a gossamer cape. In deference to her profession, she wore a
pointed witch hat that had been transfigured to match her dress color. The brim had been enlarged a
bit, so that it flopped down rather stylishly in the front. Large flowers were arranged about her
hat, held in place by a familiar looking green vine.

“Devil’s Snare?” Harry asked.

Hermione smiled as she ran her hands down Harry’s lapels and rubbed Harry’s badge, which (like
Ron’s) was pinned to his suit jacket. “Thank you, Sir Harry, you look handsome too.” She then waved
off Harry’s apology with the comment that his eyes had, once again, betrayed his thoughts. As it
was raining lightly outside, Emily Granger shooed the four teenagers into the living room for
pictures using both muggle and magical cameras.

“So are we all armed and dangerous?” asked Ron afterwards, as he pulled his wand and a shrunken
down broom out of his suit jacket. Harry tilted his head back until he felt the tip of his sword
hilt, then reached under his shirt collar and carefully pulled his sword out and over his head.
“I’m so glad Fred and George found this magical scabbard for me,” he said, as he used his other
hand to open his jacket and reveal both his wand and shrunken-down Firebolt. He then tipped his
head forward and caught the brim of his top hat as it flipped off of his head. He looked down at
all of the objects stored within it. “Same with McGonagall’s work on this hat…can’t imagine my
rucksack being considered an appropriate accessory for the day.”

“At least you three have solid concealment,” said Hermione, as Luna pulled her wand out from a
sheath concealed by one of her sleeves. Lacking similar opacity about her upper torso, Hermione
tucked two fingers into a hidden seam on the side of her dress and pulled down. The sound of
ripping Velcro was heard as she exposed her right thigh and a garter belt that secured her
wand.

“Say,” said Harry with a grin, as he reached towards the opened seam. “What else do you have
hidden in there?”

“Never you mind,” Hermione said as she slapped his hand away. “C’mon, we don’t want to be late
for the Queen.”

A cheer rang out as the four stepped out onto the front porch. Lining the path to the waiting
vehicles were friends, both old and new...Fred and George next to Brian and Sir Evan, who were
across from Remus and Tonks. Further down stood some of the latest initiates into the Clan Potter
family…Dean Thomas, Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, Lee Jordan, Seamus Finnegan, and Neville
Longbottom.

Hermione walked up to Sir Evan, who was sitting upright with a Bluetooth-enabled headset in one
ear and a handgun holstered on the side of his wheelchair. “Now you promise to call us the second
you realize that you need back-up here?”

“Don’t worry about us, Dame Hermione,” the knight replied. “Between Wally’s men and your young
wizard friends we’ll be in fine shape.”

Harry walked up to Tonks and Remus, who were also dressed for Ascot. Lupin looked rather
uncomfortable in his suit coat.

“Remus, you clean up good,” Harry said. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were ready to see
Tonks walking down the aisle.”

Remus laughed as Tonks’s cheeks turned a shade that clashed with her hair.

“You just watch yourselves along the way, and we’ll see you there.”

Harry then walked over his fellow Gryffindors. “Want to say again how grateful we are that you
all have helped keep watch these past few days.”

“We’d have been hurt if you hadn’t asked us,” Lee replied.

“Well, with any luck things will continue to be quiet here, but if it does get hairy…stick with
Fred and George, they know the neighborhood, and trust the muggle support…they’re not as helpless
as you may have been led to believe.”

Neville clicked his heals at attention and gave a smiling salute. “Aye aye, Clan Chief.”

“Oh, stop that,” Harry scolded.

Wally approached Harry’s side. “Neighborhood evac starts in five minutes, Sir Harry, we should
go.”

“What?” Seamus said with amazement, “First it’s Clan Chief, then it’s Sir Harry…when do we start
saying ‘Your Lordship?’”

Harry shook his head and snorted out a rueful grin. “Oh, about an hour from now.”

+++

They made the trip in two cars; Harry and Hermione rode in the back of her Bentley, driven by
Wally, while Ron and Luna rode in the back of the black Bentley with Steve up front. There’d been
some talk about the four riding together, but their security detail insisted on driving, saying
that even it were perfectly safe that as guests of the Queen they should arrive in style.

“It’s not fair,” Harry mock-whined, as he reached an arm around Hermione’s shoulder and pulled
her close. “Their Bentley has blackened windows and that screen between the seats.”

Hermione jabbed an elbow into his side. “Harry, honestly…at a time like this.” She paused, then
waggled her eyebrows. “Then again, what better time than this?” She then grabbed his chin and
kissed him full on the lips.

“A bit of an exhibitionist, are we?” Harry asked, when their lips finally parted.

“Nothing wrong with a bit of snogging is there?” Hermione replied. “Besides,” she said in a
raised voice as she turned towards the front seat, “the Royal Household’s staff is famous for its
discretion, right?”

“My apologies, Dame Hermione, did you say something?” Wally replied, with a grin that was
reflected in the rear view mirror. “My eyes and ears were focused on the road.”

“There you go,” Harry said with a Cheshire Cat’s grin.

“Just keep it PG13, Potter,” Hermione replied, as she leaned forward and wrapped both hands
around Harry’s neck. “Wouldn’t want to corrupt the morals of any kiddies looking in.”

++++

As Little Wizarding was located in the western suburbs of London, very near Windsor, (and Ascot,
for that matter), it took all of thirty minutes for the two cars to arrive at the Castle. After
passing through the main gates the cars bypassed the front entrance and drove around the perimeter
of the grounds, finally stopping outside a large wooden outbuilding. Wally and Steve ducked into
the building, only to return a few moments later carrying several pairs of Wellington boots.

“You’ll be more comfortable wearing these,” Wally said, as he opened the rear door. Hermione
stepped out of the car whilst making some adjustments to her dress, then slipped out of her fancy
new low-heeled shoes. She looked over at the other car and noticed that Luna was pulling up on the
front of her sleeveless dress.

Hermione decided to tease. “Wardrobe malfunction, Luna?”

Luna looked a little puzzled. “No, I don’t think so,” she replied. “The fabric went exactly
where Ronald’s hands wanted it to go.”

Harry and Hermione laughed as Ron tried to stammer out an explanation. With raised dress hems
the four were led through puddles of water and mud and into the royal stables, where they came upon
the Queen of England, who was presently nuzzling a thoroughbred’s nose with her own.

Wally cleared his throat and introduced the four to the Queen, whose own pair of Wellies
contrasted with her blue hat and dress just as sharply as Hermione and Luna’s.

“We are pleased to see you again, Sir Harry and Dame Hermione,” she said, with both hands still
grasping the horse’s bridle, “and delighted to meet you, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Lovegood.”

“Is that really a horse?” Luna asked incredulously. “I’ve never seen one before.”

The queen laughed. “Yes my dear, this is a real live horse. Perhaps not as colorful as some of
your more magical creatures, but the way she runs is magical in and of itself.” She patted the side
of the horse’s head and turned back towards the four. “One of mine,” she said proudly, “and odds-on
favorite for tomorrow’s last race.” Raising her hand towards the far side of the stable she said,
“You should meet my grandson…he is around here someplace with his young lady friend.”

The four followed her as she walked down the stable pathway. “We do hope that Brian has made
your summer a little more comfortable than in year’s past, Sir Harry?”

“He’s been absolutely brilliant,” Harry replied, “I can’t thank you enough for what you
did.”

“We have no doubt that we will be the one thanking you for what you’ve done in far too soon a
time,” the Queen replied. “By the way, we will be spending all of next month at Balmoral, and would
be pleased if you and your friends could visit for at least a portion of that time.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged quick looks of concern and calculation. “We are honored by your
invitation, Your Majesty,” Hermione replied, “and would very much enjoy just such a visit.”

“Excellent,” the Queen replied. She stopped in front of a seemingly empty stall and, in a voice
eerily similar to Dolores Umbridge’s, cleared her throat.

“Hem, hem.”

After a moment, the stall door opened and a handsome young man in his early twenties appeared.
He wore a top hat, tails, and a guilty-looking grin as he led a demure young lady dressed in pink
out of the stall.

The Queen said, “May I present my grandson, Prince Harold, and his friend, Lady Penelope.”

“Good morning, grandmum,” the young prince replied. “I was just showing Penny around the
stables.”

“Yes, that is quite evident,” the Queen replied, as she pulled a piece of straw away from the
back of the young woman’s dress.

The young prince smirked as he looked towards the four. “Ah, you must be the bright young
students from up North that father’s been talking about.”

“I imagine so, Prince Harold,” Hermione replied with the kind of saucer eyes she last wore at
Buckingham Palace. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Please, call me Harry,” the young prince said, “although that might get confusing, right Sir
Harry?”

Harry frowned a bit at the star-struck attention Hermione was paying to the most eligible
bachelor in Britain (well, muggle Britain, at least).

“Yes, well that little problem will be resolvable soon enough, won’t it?” suggested the
Queen.

“Erm, yes, Your Highness,” Harry replied modestly.

The Queen looked out the stable’s doorway. “It is nearly time for lunch. Would you go find your
father, dear…tell him that we need his presence here in the stable house?”

“Sure, grandmum,” Prince Harry replied. He led his girlfriend out of the stable.

The Queen sighed. “So spirited…just like his mother. Has us wrapped around his little finger, he
does.”

A few minutes later a Rolls Royce pulled up outside the stable and discharged the Prince of
Wales. “Hullo, Sir Harry, so good to see you again,” he said. “And this must be Dame Hermione, Mr.
Weasley and Ms. Lovegood.”

“Your hats are quite amazing,” the Prince continued, “and a most fashionable placement of your
badge, Dame Hermione. I understand you had the opportunity to test drive them over the
weekend.”

“We did indeed,” Hermione replied.

“Did you bring the necessary instruments, Charles?” the Queen asked.

“Yes, mum,” the Prince replied. He then opened his coat jacket and pulled out a piece of
parchment and a large round object that was hidden under red silk.

“Sir Harry,” the Queen said, “in the interest of time and secrecy we thought it best to take
care of this here. However, we must insist that this be considered a field appointment, and that
there will be a time to do this properly at Westminster.”

“Understood, Your Majesty.” Harry said, as he pulled Gryffindor’s sword from its hidden scabbard
and placed it in the Queen’s gloved hand. He then took a knee in front of her.

“Oh, Sir Harry that really wasn’t necessary,” the Queen said, “now you’ve gone and got some mud
on your trouser leg. Remind us to have that cleaned up at the Castle…can’t have the Royal Wizard
looking off when he’s presented to the Commonwealth, can we?”

Harry smiled. “No, Your Majesty, certainly not.”

The Queen nodded. “Dame Hermione, I believe that there was need of an official witness?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Hermione replied. She slipped behind a stall door and disappeared with a
small “pop.” Fifteen seconds later, she returned in a bright display of light accompanied by the
Head Auror.

“Your Majesty,” Hermione said, “may I present to you Gawain Robards, Head of Magical Law
Enforcement’s Auror Department, and a member of the Minister of Magic’s cabinet.”

“It is our understanding that you are aware of these proceedings and have the authority to act
as official witness for the wizarding world?”

The Head Auror bowed stiffly. “I do indeed.”

The Queen then began to read from the parchment, with the Prince and Head Auror by her sides,
and Hermione, Ron and Luna standing behind Harry.

“Sir Harry Potter, do you swear fealty to the Crown and promise to use all of your powers, be
they physical, mental or magical, to defend it and its citizenry, both muggle and wizard, against
all enemies?”

“I do.”

“Then let it be known that under terms agreed upon in the Treaty of Carlisle that I, Elizabeth,
Monarch of the British Isles, do hereby claim the right to appoint a Royal Wizard, and do bestow
that title upon Sir Harry Potter, along with all associated rights and responsibilities.”

She nodded towards the Prince, who unwrapped the silk-covered object, revealing a heavy
gold-chained necklace that he hung on Harry’s bowed head. Hanging at the end of this chain was a
fist-sized pearl, guarded on each side of its mount by golden upright lions. When the Queen placed
the tip of Harry’s sword against the pearl it lit up with an amber glow that filled the entire
stable with warm light. As she drew the sword tip away, arcs of fairy lightning briefly held the
connection between sword and emblem.

The Queen seemed nonplussed as she continued. “At this time we also proclaim restoration of the
honor and position of the House of Gryffindor within our Royal Court, and do confer upon he who
leads that house by birthright the honor and title of Lord.”

The Queen then touched Harry’s shoulders three times with the sword’s blade.

“Rise, Lord Gryffindor.”

Harry looked rather embarrassed by all of the pomp as he stood and sheathed his sword. That
didn’t keep him from smiling widely as he accepted the handshakes, hugs and backslaps from those
few witnesses to the event. He was rather pleasantly surprised by the vigor of the Head Auror’s
handshake.

“Is everything set on your end?” Harry asked quietly.

“It is indeed, Lord Gryffindor,” the Auror replied with a smile.

“Please, you don’t need to use that title.”

“So how should I address you, my Clan Chief?” Robards asked with a wink.

Harry shook his head with resignation. “Harry…just Harry is fine.”



27. Chapter 27
--------------



**Chapter 27: The Royal Ascot**

**A/N:** Oops, poor planning on my part (or is it that I just like having the Queen
interacting with the kids so much?). The two-part set piece is now three chapters long, and the
battle is yet to come. But since this is the third update in five days I'm not going to feel
*too* guilty. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter…I look forward to your thoughts
on this one as well.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

+++

Tuesday, June 19, 11:45am

Windsor Castle

Harry Potter made the short walk from stable house to Castle flanked by Queen and Consort, while
the Prince and Ron lagged behind to allow Luna a few more minutes with the horses.

“We will honor your request not to be addressed as Lord Gryffindor,” the Queen said, “unless, of
course, it is necessary…we are curious, though, about the reason behind the reticence.”

“Well, Your Majesty, I can't pretend that I'm just a normal bloke, as much as I want to
be,” Harry replied. “Fate marked me different at an early age…and it's not that that I'm
not honored by your recognition, because I am. I'll even admit that I've gotten used to
having Brian and Wally call me Sir Harry, and it does allow me to address a certain someone as
`Dame.'”

Harry earned a poke in the ribs for that comment.

“But I'm no use without my friends, and I'm not going to succeed without them, and
it's hard for me to accept a title that makes it sound like I am better than them.”

The Queen thought for a moment. “As we have said, we are prepared to confer knightship upon Mr.
Weasley…anyone who wears the badge of the Order of Arthur deserves that recognition…and if he had
difficulty with the oath of fealty we could make the title ceremonial…would that be of some
help?”

“Thank you, your Highness,” Harry replied, “We'll ask him, though I have to say that
he's accepted our titles with good humor.” He then stole a glance at Hermione. “But I guess I
was thinking about being addressed as Lord while Hermione is still a Dame.”

The Queen smiled. “Well, Sir Harry, I'm afraid that the solution to that problem is out of
my hands.”

Harry gave the Queen a confused look, while Hermione inspected the cobblestone path with a hint
of smile and blush in her cheek.

“Why is that, Your Majesty?”

“Because, Harry,” Hermione said softly, “You are the only one that can give me the title of Lady
Gryffindor.”

“And how would I do that?” he asked.

Hermione's blush grew a bit deeper. “By having another chat with my father.”

“Oh,” Harry said, without really understanding what she meant.

“Ohhhhhhh” he added (a few moments later), when he finally did.

+++

When the three reached one of the rear entrances to the Castle grounds they turned back to see
that Ron, Luna and the Prince had just starting down the path. Suggesting that they wait for them,
the Queen led Hermione and Harry to a bench that provided a stunning view of the immediate Castle
grounds, and the Windsor Great Park beyond.

“First visit to Windsor, Sir Harry?” the Queen asked. Harry nodded as he looked around at the
wide expanses of green land, dotted with copses of ancient hardwoods and manicured gardens. “I
think that it's lovely, Your Majesty.”

“We're not surprised,” the Queen replied with a smile. “After all, it has changed little
over the years, and some of those trees are old enough to have been planted by Godric's
gardeners.”

Harry chuckled softly, having reached the point where these revelations could be taken in
stride. He nodded his head towards the building behind them. “So I imagine that means this was
Gryffindor's castle?”

“No, Sir Harry,” the Queen replied, “Windsor Castle was built by William the Conqueror…after he
seized the land from Godric and knocked down the keep that was already standing there.”

“Please excuse me, Your Majesty,” Hermione interjected, “but we had been led to believe that
Gryffindor's lands were up in the Midlands, where Harry was born.”

“They were indeed, Dame Hermione,” the Queen replied. “or perhaps more correctly, now that we
once again enjoy Lord Gryffindor's presence, they *are* indeed. These five thousand or so
acres of land, however, were presented to Godric when he became King's Wizard…and became part
of the seized lands when he subsequently refused to serve the conquering Norman king.”

“I'm a bit afraid to ask,” Harry said, “but when you said that Gryffindor's lands
*are* located in the Midlands…”

“You do realize, Sir Harry, that Godric's seized properties were only conditionally
incorporated into the Royal land holdings?” the Queen asked. “William decreed that should Lord
Gryffindor ever return to England and swear fealty to the Crown, that he'd regain his
honorific, his lands…even his seat in the House of Lords…and now that Lord Gryffindor is once again
the Royal Wizard…”

“House of Lords?” Harry asked weakly.

“Yes, *Lord* Gryffindor,” the Queen replied, “though we regret to inform you that as a
result of recent government reforms that your hereditary seat is no longer available.”

Harry's face gained back a bit of the color that had been lost at the thought of having to
sit as a Member of Parliament. “That's quite all right, Your Majesty,” he said.

The Queen nodded, having expected that reply. “There will have to be some accommodation reached
regarding your land holdings, though.” She then waved her arm towards the Castle. “Over the years,
a portion of your real estate portfolio has been developed to the point of making the return of
title rather…impractical.”

“No need to do that, Your Majesty,” Harry quickly replied.

The Queen smiled and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. “No, Sir Harry,” she said, “we will
be quite insistent on this point. Which is why we are pleased that you will be joining us in
Balmoral…there is some land near there that you might consider suitable as exchange.” The Queen
allowed Harry and Hermione to silently ponder that statement as the Prince, Ron and Luna finally
joined them.

The small party entered the Castle's State Apartments where members of the Royal staff were
waiting to lead them into a large room with luncheon seating for a hundred. Harry quickly scanned
the tables and determined that they were the youngest there, by far; even the wait staff looked
like they had at least thirty years of experience under their belts. The only people close to their
age were Prince Harry and Lady Penelope, who were seated at the end of the head table with her
parents. Perhaps realizing their potential discomfort, the young prince excused himself with a few
words to his girlfriend and strode over towards them.

“Grandmum, perhaps you'll allow me to make introductions about the room?” he asked. To
Harry's great concern the young prince took Hermione's hand and proceeded to introduce the
four teens to the other tables of guests.

Hermione had never had the back of her hand kissed so many times. It seemed that every elderly
Duke, Lord, and Viscount considered it obligatory to take her hand upon introductions. Some
eyebrows were raised as the young prince introduced Harry and Hermione as Sir Harry and Dame
Hermione, given that their knighthoods were not only recent but secret, but nothing was said.

When introductions were completed Harry politely but resolutely took Hermione's hand from
Prince Harry's and made his way to an empty table, where they were confronted with plates of
bright red whole lobster. While Hermione was no stranger to seafood, and Harry had boiled a few
lobsters for his Aunt and Uncle over the years, Ron and Luna needed to be told that they hadn't
just been presented with play toys.

“Well what are they suppose to do, then?” Ron asked, while putting back onto his plate the
lobster that had just finished boxing with Luna's.

Hermione gave a small sigh of exasperation as she picked up a small fork, pulled some flesh out
from the split tail of her crustacean, and dipped it into drawn butter. “They're supposed to
sit there while we eat them.”

1:00pm, Windsor Castle

“That's a lovely motorcar,” the Queen said, looking fondly over at Hermione's Bentley.
They had finished lunch and gathered at the front entrance of the Castle, where a small fleet of
black limousines was waiting to ferry them to Ascot. The Queen, however, was looking past these
motorcars to the Little Wiz Bentleys parked on one side. The Queen turned towards Hermione and
asked, “It's an S3, isn't it?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Much more dashing than the stuffy motorcars decorum dictates we ride in,” the Queen said.
“Would you mind terribly if we used it to get down to the course?”

“Certainly not, Your Majesty,” Hermione said, with a small amount of fluster.

The Queen directed her staff to have Hermione's vehicle added to the queue of motorcars,
and, once Wally had it in place, shooed Harry and Hermione into the back seat with her. Ron gave
Harry a questioning look (to which Harry replied with shrugged shoulders), then joined Luna and
Steve in a car farther down the queue.

Once the motorcade started along its way, the Queen stated, “Sir Harry, Dame Hermione, we have
just a few minutes's drive, far too little time to spend worrying about proper titles and royal
`we's.' In present company, a simple ma'am will do, understood?”

“Yes Your…erm, yes ma'am,” Harry replied.

“I just wanted to let you know that Wally has provided me a thorough overview of your rat
catching efforts over the weekend, and subsequent plans for the day…a most ingenious scheme, by the
way…”

“Thank you, ma'am,” Hermione replied. “Given the probable risks, though, are you certain
that you should be there today?”

“Of course I am,” the Queen replied. “I've attended every opening day at Ascot since 1945,
and have no intention of stopping now.”

“But we're not certain that we'll be able to protect you if they throw everything that
they've got at us,” Harry worried.

“Comes with the job, my boy…it's expected that I be there, and it's my duty to be there.
It won't be the first time that there have been terrorist threats made against us…you are aware
of the Troubles we've had over the years, aren't you?”

“Yes ma'am,” Harry replied, thinking not only of the recent subway bombings but of attacks
by militant separatists.

“We can not let the terrorists change the way we go about our business…can't allow them to
keep us from living and loving, or they will have already won.”

Harry looked passed the Queen, caught Hermione's eyes and shared with her a small smile, in
recognition of the fact that they were living in agreement with the Queen's words.

1:25pm, Ascot Racecourse, Windsor Great Park

The Royal motorcade pulled up just outside of the Ascot grounds, where five horse-drawn open
carriages were waiting to transfer the Queen and Royal Family to the Royal Box. The motorcars of
those not fortunate to enter Ascot in such style went on to the grandstand, leaving the four teens,
the Queen, and fifteen members of the Royal Family behind.

“Hermione, are you certain that this kind of entrance is necessary?” Harry asked, with no small
amount of resignation.

“Harry, we've been through this before,” she replied. “It's essential that everyone in
the stands and in front of their tellies gets a good look at the Royal Wizard before anything else
happens, and now that you are the Royal Wizard you need to be close enough to protect her.” She
then followed the Queen and gave her hand to a groomsman who helped her step up into the first
landau. The Prince of Wales smiled as he held an arm out for Harry to follow behind.

“I've learned over the years that on occasions such as these the correct response is, `Yes,
dear,'” he said.

Harry muttered something to himself and took a seat next to Hermione on the rear-facing bench,
as the Prince took his place next to the Queen. From his vantage point he could see Ron and Luna as
they joined Prince Harry and his great-grandmother, the Queen Mum, in the next carriage. When all
of the carriages were full, members of the Queen's guard galloped up the line wearing smart red
dress uniforms and holding drawn sabers. Harry was wondering just how useful these swords would be
in a fight until he caught a glimpse of automatic weaponry partially hidden within the tacking.

The carriages began their short trip at a saunter. “If it weren't for the fact that everyone
expects me to face forward I'd have offered you my spot,” the Queen said to Harry. “Better view
of potential threats.”

“No worries, Your Majesty,” Harry responded. “If our intelligence information is correct,
Hermione and I will feel the danger before anyone else sees it.”

The carriages traveled a fairly short distance between two stables before reaching their entry
point out onto the grass-covered track. Upon sight of the lead carriage thousands of spectators
crowded into both the Royal Enclosure and the less fashionable seating stood and cheered. Harry
spotted many hats within the crowd that were just as elaborate as Hermione's.

The Queen smiled and waved to the crowd as their entrance (and the occupants of each successive
carriage) was announced on the racecourse's public address system. Harry winced as he was
presented to the crowd as **“The Queen's Wizard, Gryffindor - Lord of the Illusion!”** The
crowd took pause as well, having never heard his name and title before, but acting on the
assumption that anyone important enough to bump young Prince Harry and the Queen Mum down the line
and into the second carriage had to rank favor, gave him polite applause.

Harry was grateful to see the attention of the crowd and the cameras quickly shift from him to
Luna, who was laughing and waving wildly to the crowd from the next carriage. The roar of the crowd
was matched by the roar of her lion hat, which had suddenly decided to spring to life.

“Batteries,” Luna explained brightly after every roar of her hat and every flash of a
camera.

The single lap around the course gave Harry the opportunity to examine the infield and note that
the props that they had designed for this event were all in place. Five large wooden boxes, each
six feet square, were spaced evenly in a single line that bisected the oval infield. Each was
propped up on a set of legs, some twenty-feet high, which made peering into each box next to
impossible, even from the highest part of the stands. Banners were draped down the sides of each
box, with decorative designs that matched similar banners placed elsewhere within the park.

Harry checked that a small earpiece was firmly in place and reached into a coat pocket, pushing
the button on a small transceiver which activated his wireless communications device. He had meant
to do a radio check, only to discover that it would have interrupted a rather colorful running
commentary being transmitted over the airwaves.

“Merlin's Beard, the boy fancies himself Lord of the Illusion?…all dressed up, he must think
that these muggle electronics interfere with my eye enough that I can't see through these
wooden walls…Just wait until I get down out of this box and I'll show him a magic trick or
two…”

“Pipe down, Mad-Eye,” said another, in a matronly Scottish brogue, “I didn't hear you come
up with any better ideas at the meeting.”

“Hear me?….Hear me?” Mad-eye retorted, “Surprised we can hear anything with these muggle
contraptions stuck up into our ears….”

An over the shoulder smirk from Ron and a chuckle coming from Hermione led Harry to believe that
they had their communicators working as well.

“Hey Mad-Eye, when this is all over I'll be happy to replace that earpiece with a wet sloppy
kiss,” Harry said quietly into his hidden microphone.

“Oh, nice that you could join us, *Lord of the* *Illusion*,” Mad-eye responded. “Save
your kisses for the lovely lass next to you.”

Ron cut into the conversation, “Excuse me, but can we do the radio check? Just like we practiced
last night, okay Professors?”

“Box 1, Moody, check.”

“Box 2, McGonagall, check.”

“Box 3, Vector, check.”

“Box 4, Flitwick, check.”

“Box 5, Sprout, check.”

“Lupin, check.”

“Tonks, check.”

“Why aren't you two holed up in boxes?” asked Mad-Eye.

“Helping the kids guard the point of attack, remember?”

“Well if anyone cared a lick about me they'd have remembered that I'd spent enough time
being boxed up at Hogwarts…”

The four teens, Wally and Steve ignored Mad-Eye's complaints as they added their radio
checks and Ron, who was taking his role as Clan Champion quite seriously, proceeded to remind
everyone that their muggle transmitters would die the first time they used magic, and that nobody
should do any magic until Harry did. The four teens were pleasantly surprised by how well these
directions were taken; it was truly an upside down world in which Ron was doling out commands to
his Hogwarts professors.

Once the carriages reached the Royal box the Queen's guard escorted all of the ladies to
their seats, with the men following close behind. Harry gave a slight nod to Tonks and Lupin, who
were positioned a few rows back within the crowd.

The first race was announced after a rousing chorus of “God Save Our Queen,” and Harry was
finally starting to believe things had settled down a bit when the Prince turned and announced that
the Prime Minister would soon join them. Not a minute later the head of the muggle British
government entered the box, accompanied by a rather large and rather cross-looking appointments
secretary.

The Prince introduced the four to the P.M, taking care to identify Harry as “the Queen's
Wizard, Gryffindor.” The Prime Minister in turn introduced them to Kinglsey Shacklebolt.

“It's a very unexpected pleasure to see you again,” Kingsley said to Harry and Hermione.

“Oh, you know each other then?” the P.M. asked.

“Our paths have crossed now and then,” Hermione said, “though Mr. Shacklebolt has never been so
handsomely dressed on those occasions.”

“Nor has your attire come so close to matching your beauty, *Dame* Hermione,” the Auror
replied. He turned towards Harry. “Staying out of trouble this summer, *Gryffindor*?”

Harry laughed. “Oh, you know me Kingsley, trouble has a way of finding me even when I'm not
looking.”

The Auror nodded, then took a step back as the others in the box took note of their
conversation. “I do hope you have a pleasant afternoon,” he said, with a look on his face that
suggested he was expecting otherwise, “and I can't wait to see what sort of show you are
planning, *Gryffindor*.”

“And I'm looking forward to your support, during the show, Mr. Kingsley,” Harry replied.

“I will try, though we all do have our priorities, don't we?” Kingsley asked. He nodded
towards the Prime Minister, who'd just completed a perfunctory conversation with the queen. The
P.M. once again said how glad he was to have met Harry and left the box.

After the excitement of the royal procession and meeting with the P.M. the races themselves
seemed rather anticlimactic. When the third of seven races was complete a late luncheon break was
announced, to Ron's great pleasure. Wally led them out of the Royal box and into the
sod-covered area where umbrella-wielding spectators from the Royal Enclosure were queuing before
tables piled high with smoked salmon and strawberries in cream. They had just managed to fill their
plates with food and grab flutes of champagne when a chill filled the air, and the hairs on the
back of Harry's neck stood straight out.

The four teens quietly put their plates down on a table, then quickly made their way towards the
front of the stands, as murmurs of ill-ease and discomfort spread amongst the muggle crowd.

“Feels like company has arrived,” Harry said over the transmitter.

“You think so?” Mad-Eye replied sarcastically, as his magical eye whirled around in its socket.
“They're gathering out above those woods to the North.

The four teens, whose wands had been out and down at their sides from the first indication,
looked out at the swirling cloud of evil that was coming their way.

“Looks like Wormtail got this part right, at least,” Harry said. He nodded to Hermione, who
discretely placed her wand tip to a newly minted medallion and sent out the alarm. At the same time
Ron activated his badge and sent word to Sir Evan and Little Wizarding.

“Okay, Wally, everyone…looks like it's showtime.”

Ron and Luna nodded to Harry and Hermione as they left to take their positions with Wally up in
the grandstand's control center. Harry walked Hermione back to the Royal Box, where Tonks and
Lupin had their wands drawn out and eyes drawn to the gathering storm.

Harry squeezed Hermione's hand. “You take care of yourself first, promise?”

“We should be fine Harry…it's Shacklebolt that they're expecting a response from,
remember?”

“Yeah, well, best laid plans of mice and men…” Harry replied nervously, as he glanced over
towards the Auror, who nodded in acknowledgement.

Hermione turned to face Harry, and to his chagrin used her cleavage to hold her wand while her
hands straightened out his tie.

“Wish I was that wand right now.”

“Hush, Harry,” Hermione sweetly admonished, “and take care to remember you still have a live
microphone.”

“Give her a kiss and get on with it,” they heard Moody growl into his microphone.

“Yes, dear,” Harry replied cheekily, as he gave Hermione a quick kiss.

“Knock `em dead, Harry,” Hermione said.

“I certainly intend to try,” he replied, as he ducked under the track railing and strode toward
his place on the infield's center stage.

-->



28. Chapter 28
--------------



**Chapter 28:** In Defense of the Realms

**A/N:** In order to keep my promise, this chapter weighs in at twice the normal size. Hope
that you enjoy it (and that it doesn't play out as too implausible). Thanks to everyone who
reviewed the last chapter, including a special thanks to the many first-timers.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

Tuesday, June 19, 2:45pm

Little Wizarding, Surrey

The rotten-egg smell of mercaptan lingered in the air as the ersatz Little Wiz Defense Force
mustered in front of Number Four. Brian Willox, Fred Weasley and Sir Evan reviewed the fourteen
wizards, witches and muggles in front of them.

They'd been paired off into “Phoenix Teams,” each consisting of a wizard or witch matched
with a muggle member of MI 5 Â¾. Brian and Fred were “Phoenix One,” while Roger Granger was paired
with George, Emily with Dean Thomas, and five muggle marksmen paired with the remaining
Gryffindors. Everyone wore boots, black pants, and jumpers that bore the newly fashioned crest of
Clan Potter: the shield of St. George behind a phoenix with outstretched wings, flanked by two
upright Gryffindor lions. The wizards carried wands and brooms; the muggles, automatic weapons. All
wore belts bearing pockets filled with goodies from Fred and George's shop and MI-5 Â¾'s
research laboratories.

“Alright,” Brian said, “we've got warm medallions and verbal confirmation from Ascot that
they've got nasties about. If our intelligence is right, we'll have company here soon
enough. You all know the plan…just remember that no house, no street…nothing is more important than
everyone getting home safe tonight.”

“Excepting the bad guys, of course,” Fred added, which earned a laugh from the ranks.

“Weapons checks, then move out,” Brian commanded, dismissing his troops. While the witches and
wizards retightened their wand holsters and fine-tuned their brooms, Fred renewed the area
silencing charm that had been placed around a wall of sand bags propped up against a side fence.
The MI 5 Â¾ agents proceeded to silently test fire their Sterling automatic rifles and sub-machine
guns, until each was convinced that their weapons would work within a magical field of at least
modest strength. The agents then holstered their weapons and mounted brooms behind their respective
magical partners (each much more at ease with the idea of flying on broomsticks than when
they'd begun practicing two nights before). The teams then flew out to their assigned posts
along streets evacuated some two hours earlier by a false threat of a broken gas main.

While Fred cleaned up the shooting range, Brian shared a few words with Sir Evan.

“Are you certain that you don't want some on-the-ground backup, Sir Evan?”

“Heavens, no, Brian,” replied the elderly knight, who was wearing a World War II RAF uniform
that still fit. He touched the sunburst badge pinned to his olive drab jumper. “I've got all
the backup I need right here…and if that's not enough…” He reached to the side of his
wheelchair and pulled his old service revolver out of its holster.

“Even broke out the silver bullets from my old kit,” he said with a smile. “Never know if one of
them's going to be a werewolf.”

Brian laughed as he handed Sir Evan a bullhorn. “Good luck, then, and good hunting, Sir Evan,”
he said. He then turned and hopped onto Fred's broom. And with a wave, the last of the eight
Phoenix Teams flew off to their appointed post.

2:50pm, Ascot Racecourse, Great Windsor Park

**“Ladies and Gentleman, as part of the Grand Reopening festivities, the Royal Ascot is pleased
to present the magical debut of the Queen's Wizard, Gryffindor, in `Lord of the
Illusion.'”**

Harry nervously waved to the crowd from the infield stage as Wally and Ron tried to reassure him
through his earpiece.

“Blimey, Harry,” Ron said, “you've got Dementors gathering behind you and you're nervous
about facing a crowd of muggles?”

“Dementors, I've faced before,” Harry quipped back.

“Well, you needn't worry about the television cameras, at least,” Wally added, “They've
all gone to news updates during the break.”

“Right, so I've only got a few thousand to convince that I'm not using real magic, then.
Brilliant.”

“Quit whining and get on with it,” chirped in Mad-Eye.

Responding to that cue, Harry tipped his hat to the crowd as the music that Wally had loaded
into the Racecourse's sound system began to play. Wally then started in on their script.

**“Don't let his youth mislead you folks,”** Wally announced, **“Gryffindor was born
with magic in his blood, and has made magic the center of his life ever since he received his first
wand at age eleven.”**

Harry withdrew his wand from an inside coat pocket and sent a shower of red sparks out its
end.

“Status, report, Ron,” Harry said into his microphone. Upon realizing that his wand sparks had
fried his transmitter, he activated his Order of Arthur badge and restated his request.

“The black cloud's right behind you,” Ron replied from this grandstand vantage point.
“It's stopped growing, but I can't make out individuals yet…look like they're holding
back.”

“Great,” Harry replied, “They're going to make me go through my entire bag of tricks.”

**“It took no time for Gryffindor to master the spellwork of ordinary magicians,”** Wally
continued to read.

Down on the stage, Harry took a white feather out of his pocket, pointed his wand at it, and
caused it to float six inches up into the air. There was the smallest smattering of applause from
the crowd. Harry then moved on, casting *Orchideous* to produce bouquets of flowers from the
end of his wand. He then set his top hat upside down on a table, reached into it, and pulled out a
wine glass. Putting his hat back onto his head, he cast a fountain of wine spell to fill this glass
with merlot, which he then drank.

**“Careful there Gryffindor,”** Wally announced, **“We might have to check your ID if you
want to drink your magic.”**

There was some nervous laughter from the crowd as Harry put his hands on his hip in an
exaggerated pout.

“Merlin, I'm bombing,” Harry muttered into his badge.

“You're doing fine, Harry,” Hermione said in reassurance, as she shared some dark chocolate
with the Queen. “It's the Dementors - they're making everyone ill and ill at ease…keep
going.”

Harry plowed on, reaching into his hat and pulling out twenty more wine glasses, which he placed
side-by-side on the square table. When he ran out of room he cast an enlargement spell that
lengthened the table, and recast the wine-making spell which sent spurts of fluid into the glasses.
Harry then looked up towards the announcer and stuck out his tongue.

Despite its discomfort, the muggle crowd applauded a trick that they'd never seen
before.

“Status, Ron?”

“Keep going, Harry,” Ron replied, “I'll let you know when to duck.”

**“Moving right along,”** Wally continued, **“Gryffindor then began working more complex
magic, to the point where he's capable of conjuring a menagerie of magical beasts.”**

On that cue, the music grew much louder, and fog machines began billowing smoke along the track.
Harry doffed his hat and touched the brim with his wand, firing off Weasley fireworks from inside.
At first, brightly-colored muggle-style salvos were shot off, but that quickly changed as one of
their more elaborate firework creations took form….a large silvery pegasus that launched out of his
hat and began to fly around the track. The audience ooohed and aaahed.

Harry then turned and pointed his wand towards each of the professor-filled boxes. Fog began
billowing out of each box, and on Ron's cue, each of the Hogwarts professors lit off more of
Fred and George's magic. The pegasus was soon joined by firework versions of a tiger, unicorn,
gazelle, elephant and flying pig, all in a romp around the smoke-filled infield.

The distraction provided by these fireworks allowed Harry to turn towards the Dementor cloud. As
if recognizing an old friend, a few individual Dementors immediately took form and began flying
straight towards him.

“Dementors on the attack!” Ron bellowed into his microphone.

Harry smiled to himself as he stretched out his arm and thought about how happy his life had
been the past two weeks.

*“Expecto Patronum!”*

Ron cried out, “*Patronuses* away!”

The stag that sprung forth from Harry's wand was at least three times the size of any
he'd produced before.

It leapt up and over the five boxes, as if to assist in Ron's appeal, then flew straight
towards the leading Dementors with head down. The corporeal Patronus of each professor sprang from
each of the boxes and followed hotly in pursuit. Ron and Luna joined Remus and Tonks on the
Grandstand's rooftop, and four more Patronuses came down onto the field from above. One animal
not joining in attack was an otter; Hermione stood alone guarding the Queen, and was too close to
the muggle crowd to spell cast, unless it was an emergency.

Many muggles never had the chance to try to make sense of the display, their ill ease morphing
into acute nausea once the Dementors dropped down fully within the grounds. Those lucky muggles
with sunny dispositions and a slight resistance to the malaise thought they were seeing the best
magic show of their lives, with the Patronuses blending in almost perfectly with the firework
animals and Harry's presentation.

The first two Dementors took it on the chin (or whatever they had that passed for a chin);
Harry's Patronus flat-out destroyed them, sending the black corpses down to the ground. The
second wave was beaten back by the other Patronuses, with the silvery pack breaking off in pursuit
of those Dementors who chose to scatter. The collective mass of evil that hadn't rushed down to
attack Harry took note and fled.

Not in fear, but in satisfaction, knowing that after achieving their primary objective the Dark
Lord would see them well-fed that night.

2:56pm, Ministry of Magic

Percy Weasley blew by the Head Auror's appointments secretary with all of the bluster and
authority that he carried within his own mind. The Head Auror, whose medallion was still lukewarm
in his pocket, was ready and waiting for the Special Assistant to the Minister of Magic.

“We've just been informed that somebody cast a *Patronus* spell in full view of
thousands of muggles,” he exclaimed breathlessly.

“I know,” the Head Auror replied, “Whose department do you think it was that issued the
alert?”

Percy huffed. “Obviously, this is a huge concern for the Minister…what are you doing about
it?”

Head Auror Robards sat calmly and slowly counted to three before responding.

“Actually, there have been several different *Patronus* spells cast. We're fabricating
portkeys right now that will send *Patronus*-qualified emergency response teams to the
site.”

“Whatever for?” Percy demanded. “Any wizard brazen enough to defy International Laws on Magical
Secrecy doesn't deserve the Ministry's aid.”

“Shouldn't we be more worried about the reason why a *Patronus* spell was cast?”

Percy looked at the Head Auror with unqualified contempt. “By order of the Ministry of Magic,
you will immediately initiate `Operation Wipe-out'.”

The Head Auror shook his head. “And send everyone and their secretary into harm's way, just
so long as they can obliviate a muggle?”

“You will follow the Minister's order, Head Auror Robards, or we will find someone else who
will.”

The Auror bit the inside of his cheeks to stave off a smirk. “As you wish, Special Assistant to
the Minister,” he replied. He fished a finger-sized crystal out from a hidden pocket inside his
robes and set it into one of a series of keyed holes that were inset on the top of his desk. He
then touched his wand tip to the crystal key and uttered an authorization incantation. Loud klaxons
immediately began to shout out across every floor of the Ministry of Magic.

“You'll be joining us, then, Special Assistant to the Minister?” the Head Auror asked with a
smile.

“Certainly…I can obliviate as well as anyone,” Percy spit back in reply. “And I'll be using
the Minister's portkey, of course.” And with that the young wizard turned on his heel and
stormed out of the office.

Once Percy turned the corner the Head Auror retrieved a silver mirror from his desk drawer and
tapped it with his wand. He smiled grimly when the face of his closest friend and classmate
appeared.

“And so it begins, David,” Robards told the Head of the Portkey Control Office. “Break out the
special shoes.”

+++

*Magical Secrets Emergency…Magical Secrets Emergency…This is not a drill !…All
Obliviate-Qualified Ministry staff and visitors report to the Atrium!*

*Magical Secrets Emergency…Magical Secrets Emergency…This is not a drill!…All
Obliviate-Qualified Ministry staff and visitors report to the Atrium!*

*Magical Secrets Emergency…Magical Secrets Emergency…This is not a drill!…All
Obliviate-Qualified Ministry staff and visitors report to the Atrium!*

On every floor and in every Department of the Ministry, wizards and witches dropped what they
were doing and obeyed the klaxon's commands. Their movements were calm and well rehearsed. Some
would say (in trusted company) that they were *too* well rehearsed, and indicative of the
misguided priorities of a Ministry more worried about keeping their world secret from muggles than
keeping their world safe from Lord Voldemort.

A few witches and wizards who'd be happy to tell just about anyone that the Ministry's
priorities were off were presently ignoring the klaxon's commands and gathering in Arthur
Weasley's office. Many were, like Arthur, Ministry employees; the others had all found reason
(or excuse) to visit the Ministry of Magic that afternoon. When the office became quite crowded and
the stream of visitors trickled out, Arthur stood on his desk, cast a *Silencio* spell on his
door, and counted heads. Accounting for those deployed elsewhere, Arthur concluded that the
trustworthy balance of the membership of the disbanded Order of the Phoenix was present. He tried
to give a reassuring smile to his wife, who was looking very nervous, and addressed the group.

“Well,” he began, “it's good to see that I'm not the only one risking a hundred galleon
fine by ignoring the alarm.” That got the smattering of chuckles that he'd been looking for.
“Look, if a much lighter purse is all we have to worry about today then I'll be a happy wizard
indeed…but as you know, those alarm bells wouldn't be ringing if the first attacks hadn't
already occurred.”

“We should be out there protecting those kids,” Molly lamented. “Heaven knows what Ron's
*Patronus* spell is capable of producing these days.”

“Molly, the kids have half of Hogwarts's staff out there helping them,” Arthur replied. “And
we've got a job to do ourselves here at the Ministry.” He looked back at the rest of the group,
“And to that end…good luck, and let's go.”

Arthur stepped down from his desk, while his son countered a Gringott's-quality locking
charm that had been placed on an office closet. The uniforms, weapons and special equipment that
had been stored within this cache were quickly and efficiently distributed.

+++

The Order members were not amongst the crowd of hundreds of witches and wizards that were
crammed into the central atrium of the Ministry of Magic when the Head Auror appeared with the
Portkey Control Office Head and three of his lieutenants. Each of these men carried a box of muggle
trainers, which they began to distribute amongst the crowd.

Failing to spot a suitable vantage point from which everyone could see him (and the fine set of
office robes he was now wearing), Percy Weasley used a hovering charm to lift himself up to the top
of the fountain statue, where he found stable footing atop the goblin's head.

“Attention,” he called out, in a magically-aided voice, “Your attention please…I am Percy
Weasley, Special Assistant to Minister Scrimgeour, I am Percy Weasley, Special Assistant to
Minister Scrimgeour...”

The fact that a fair portion of the crowd was ignoring him led Percy to the false conclusion
that his *Sonorus* spell wasn't working, so he zapped his throat again. “YOUR ATTENTION
PLEASE!” he boomed out, at a volume that cause the Minister of Magic below to duck and wince at the
same time. Satisfied, Percy continued.

“We have learned that magical spells have been cast within the presence of thousands of muggles
at a place called…(he looked down at a hand-written note) *Ascot*. Scouting parties from
Magical Law Enforcement have identified a large area enclosed area near this site to which we can
safely and surreptitiously travel, and the Portkey Control Office is presently distributing
portkeys for that location's coordinates. Once the portkeys have been activated and we have
arrived at our location the plan is simple…. the Auror Department will establish a perimeter, and
everyone else is to spread out and obliviate anyone not carrying a wand. Do whatever you must to
keep any muggle from leaving the area before their memory can be erased….up to and including the
use of stunning and binding hexes. Now then, grab onto a portkey…you all should know your shoe
buddies by now…should be room enough for everyone…right, then…listen for the count.”

Percy quickly dropped back down to the ground lest somebody shoulder him out from using the same
portkey as Minister Scrimgeour.

Head Auror Robards levitated himself up a few feet off the ground, checking to see that everyone
had gathered around a shoe (excepting, of course, those that he spotted partially hidden along the
perimeter). With an almost imperceptible nod to the latter, he then dropped back down and gave a
much more deliberate nod to his friend, whose wand was ready to activate the countdown on his mark.
Robards then annoyed Percy by commanding the full attention of the crowd without magical aid.

“Here we go everyone,” he resolutely stated to the hushed and attentive crowd. “Portkey
activation in five, four, three, two, one!”

Two things happened as the portkeys were activated:


Dozens of witches and wizards purposely removed their hands from the portkey just before they
were spirited away from the Ministry; and,


These witches and wizards were immediately shrouded both in darkness and mire, as Peruvian
Instant Darkness balls, Portable Swamp disks and bags of belching powder were thrown down upon them
from the Atrium's perimeter.


+++

The witches and wizards who did hold onto their shoes were transported to a large empty
warehouse on the outskirts of Norwich, some two hundred and fifty kilometers northeast of Ascot
Racecourse. Each portkey dropped its riders onto a square within a pitch-sized checkerboard pattern
that someone had thoughtfully painted onto the concrete floor.

The Head Auror immediately amplified his voice. “Hold your positions, everyone…this is Head
Auror Robards, nobody move from your landing points.”

A buzz of confusion traveled across the room as the Head Auror, his friend and three lieutenants
strode over to a table, where five brooms and a mobile phone were waiting for them. Robards grabbed
the mobile and one of the brooms, then zoomed up above the crowd with the others. As the other four
were quickly making head counts, the Head Auror addressed the crowd.

“I need everyone's full and complete attention,” he loudly commanded. “At this very moment
the Ministry of Magic is under attack. I repeat, the Ministry is under attack by Death Eaters,
aided from within by their undercover operatives.”

After a moment of stunned silence, a voice cried out.

“Well, what are we doing here, then?”

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sent Dementors to attack and harass muggles gathered at Ascot,”
Robards quickly explained, “knowing full well that there'd be at least one wizard there who
would respond by casting a *Patronus* spell. That, then, would cause the Ministry to overreact
by activating Operation Wipe-Out, causing those who should be guarding the Ministry to leave it in
the hands of those who just took their hands off of the same portkeys that sent the rest of us
here.”

As the crowd tried to process that backstory, and look around to see if anyone they knew had
gone missing, the same person who had yelled out the previous question asked a logical
follow-up.

“Well, what are we doing here, then?”

“We, sir, are quickly taking stock of how deeply our ranks have been compromised, and preparing
ourselves for a fight. Having been tipped off on the Death Eater's scheme, I made arrangements
for a small but capable force to stay behind and deal with the traitors…specially authorized
portkeys will be activated in ninety seconds to send anyone who cares to join that fight back to
the Ministry.”

As the Head Auror finished issuing instructions, one his lieutenants flew over to him and passed
along a piece of parchment with a hand-written head count. He blanched at the numbers…three-hundred
seventy present, sixty-seven missing. They'd also compiled a list of Ministry staff who should
have answered the klaxon's call but didn't; Robards counted nine on this list (including
four from his own department) that he didn't recognize as members of the Order.

He took a second look, hoping to see one specific name. Not finding it, he asked,
“Umbridge?”

His lieutenant pointed towards a corner of the room, where the toadish (but apparently loyal)
witch was trying to stay as far away from the return trip portkeys as possible.

“Pity,” he thought to himself, as he circled down to where his lieutenants were distributing
supplies from cached boxes. Minister Scrimgeour and an animated Special Assistant to the Minister
were waiting for him.

“Robards, on whose authority did you develop and authorize this plan?” Percy demanded.

“My own,” the Head Auror replied.

“Didn't see fit to trust the Minister?” Percy bellowed with indignation.

“No offense, Special Assistant to the Minister,” the Head Auror replied, “but we had to act fast
on our information, and given how sensitive it was, there were obvious concerns over how just how
far it should be spread.”

“And you thought the Minister of Magic couldn't be trusted?”

“Obviously not,” Robards replied, “but I apparently had good reason to worry about his staff.”
He handed the parchment to Scrimgeour, who quickly confirmed his own head count; almost a third of
his people had failed to travel with him. He silently passed the list over to Percy.

“What will we find upon our return to the Atrium?” Scrimgeour asked the Head Auror.

“With luck, something similar to what Umbridge and her Aurors encountered during their visit to
Surrey two weeks past,” Robards replied.

“And what else don't I know about this attack?”

Before the Head Auror could reply, the mobile phone that he'd pocketed upon his arrival
rang. Looking down at the Caller ID, he smiled.

“Excuse me, Minister,” he said, “But this is an important call.”

“Robards here…situation?….good….sixty-seven, at least…yes, I know…no, the toad came with us…no,
should be fine, need you in reserve in case he improvises…what?…oh, well that makes sense…thanks,
Clan Chief, you too…right.”

Percy and Scrimgeour looked at the Head Auror with shock and confusion as he closed the flip-top
on his mobile and returned it to a pocket.

“That was Potter, if you didn't guess,” Robards said. “He has Ascot secure, and his cover
for their magic use is holding. They're working with the muggle authorities to obliviate a
handful of folks that still need it…he's lending us Mad-Eye Moody and Professor Flitwick…says
that they aren't blending in as well as the others.” His eyes sparkled with bemusement.
“Imagine that…well, we've got twenty seconds before return…any questions?”

The Special Assistant to the Minister of Magic was about to say something before seeing his boss
shake his head with resignation and silently turn towards one of the waiting portkeys. Biting his
tongue (hard), Percy turned his tail and followed the Minister of Magic.

3:05pm, Little Wizarding, Surrey

“Break your wands in half and throw the pieces on the ground!”

The group of thirty Death Eaters broke out into raucous laughter. It was good to see that they
would have at least one muggle to play with.

After mass apparating into the Park just outside of Little Wiz's protective wards, the Death
Eater party had strolled down to Arabella Figg's house. They were disappointed to find nobody
home within the empty house, as her possessions (and the contents of several other houses in the
neighborhood) had been shrunken down and transported out of harm's way the night previous.
Frustrated, the Death Eaters followed through on orders to destroy the only floo connection within
the area, and torched the house with a round of incendiary spells.

They had then made their way towards Number Four, with strict orders to rape, pillage and
destroy only *after* they'd taken Harry Potter prisoner. The Death Eaters therefore took
pause when they came upon the muggle who dared address them from a wheelchair parked in the middle
of the street.

The masked leader cast a *Sonorous* spell on himself and fired back, “Aren't you
muggles taught to say please?”

Sir Evan raised his bullhorn back to his face. “Doesn't apply to Lord Moldyshorts and Death
Idiots like yourselves,” he replied. “This is your last warning…snap your wands, remove your masks,
and put your hands on top of your head.”

Ever mindful of what happens to those who go against the Dark Lord's orders, the lead Death
Eater nevertheless decided that anyone brazen enough to make fun of their leader's name had to
be dealt with immediately. He snarled and raised his wand towards Sir Evan's head.

“*Avada Kedavra*!”

But given that the killing curse requires a two word incantation, and that transport via Sir
Evan's Order of Arthur badge required only one (which was uttered just as soon as he saw the
wand pointed towards him), the lethal green beam found as its mark the back of an empty
wheelchair.

“Where'd he go?” asked one Death Eater. “Sure you didn't *Reducto* him?” asked
another. “Sure he was a muggle?” asked a third.

“Doesn't matter,” replied the frustrated leader, as he pointed his wand up towards the sky.
“Finally got enough of a reason to conjur the Dark Mark.” The group then continued the short walk
towards the Dursley's.

+++

Having witnessed the exchange from a rooftop perch a block away, Brian Willox decided it was
time to break radio silence.

“Sir Harry, have you got Sir Evan?” Brian asked.

“I've got him,” replied Ron, speaking on his mobile from an empty box near the top of the
Royal Enclosure. “He nearly plopped down right onto my lap.”

“How are things at Ascot?” Brian asked.

Having retrieved a fresh earpiece and microphone Harry broke into the conversation. “We just
finished out here. All safe and accounted for, unless you're counting Dementors…what's your
situation now, Brian?”

“We've got thirty-three, I repeat thirty-three Death Eaters about to turn the corner onto
Privet Drive. They've set fire to Mrs. Figg's house, ignored our commands, tried the
killing curse on Sir Evan, and just cast the Dark Mark,” he replied, as he peered into his
binoculars. “It's floating up over the corner of Privet Lane and Persimmon Path ...Phoenix
Four, looks like you've got the safest approach to fuel that fire.”

“Copy that, Phoenix One,” came the reply, “we see it, and we're on it.”

“Good,” replied Brian. “Sir Harry, when might we expect the cavalry?”

“From what we've heard,” Harry replied, “there won't be any help from the Ministry any
time soon...they've got a fight on their hands…but we'll be there, just as soon as we
can.”

“Hold your position, Sir Harry…you do still have the Queen there don't you?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“But there's a backup plan in place that doesn't require you presence here, Sir Harry.
Stay put and let us do our part.”

“He's right Harry,” Ron interjected. “Still don't know if they were planning a second
wave here at the racecourse.”

It took nearly all of Harry's powers to overcome his “saving people thing” and listen to
logic.

“Fine,” he finally said. “Just keep yourself and my future in-laws safe, would you Brian?”

Several different voices talked over each other on the radio, each trying to ask, “What was
that, Harry?”

But Emily Granger, as the muggle member of Phoenix Team Four, was too busy to hear Harry's
reply. She was presently undoing the covers on two leather pouches strapped to her belt while her
wizard partner, Dean Thomas, got his broom up to a hover. After checking that the safety was turned
off on her holstered Sterling, she gingerly swung a leg over the broom behind Dean and wrapped both
arms securely around his waist. They then swooped down off of their rooftop perch and started to
slowly and carefully make their way towards Mrs. Figg's.

Mrs. Granger and Dean Thomas had been assigned to monitor/guard the northeast street access to
the warded zone. Like the other seven wizard-muggle pairs, they hadn't been tasked with trying
to keep the Death Eaters from getting inside the warded zone. Instead, their mission was to keep
the Death Eaters within the wards, blocking their escape until help arrived. Their secondary
mission was to clamp down on any evidence of magic use observable from beyond the evacuation
zone.

Dean carefully inched the broom forward between houses, dropping down into successive backyards
after clearing each fence. When they reached Mrs. Figg's backyard, they activated the timers on
three smoke bombs that Mrs. Granger had been carrying and quietly tossed them towards the rear of
the house.

By the time each exploded with a small “pop” Phoenix Four was safely perched on a new rooftop
with a good view of the fire. Dean then cast a blowing breeze charm towards the plumes, which
pushed the columns of thick black smoke towards (and around) the Dark Mark, effectively screening
it from distant muggle eyes. Their secondary mission completed, they flew back to their original
position.

“Phoenix Four returned to roost,” Mrs. Granger called out.

“Roger that,” said Brian, as he reached into a sleeve pocket and withdrew an eight-inch long
laser device. “Phoenix teams, bug out…I repeat, all phoenix teams, bug out….phoenix fire's on
the way.”

“Roger that,” came the reply, as seven pairs of wizards and muggles packed their brooms for
flight.

Brian looked over at Fred (his “Phoenix One” wizard buddy), who already had one hand on his
broom.

“Coming?” Fred asked.

Brian shook his head as he turned the laser pointer on. “With all the smoke…now shoo…you'll
be in charge at the rendezvous point.”

Fred nodded and patted Brian's shoulder. “Keep your head low,” he said, before jumping onto
his broom. He then swooped down to the South, away from the Death Eaters and over the backyards of
Little Wiz towards the prearranged meeting point.

Meanwhile, Brian looked down the street towards the pack of Death Eaters that was too arrogant
(or too stupid) to spread out. He aimed his laser beam at a pointy hat within the crowd and voiced
an authorization code into his transmitter.

One-hundred and thirty kilometers away, within an unmarked warehouse on a nearly abandoned
airbase, an RAF pilot on loan to MI-5 Â¾ toggled cross-hairs over a bright red spot and pushed a
button on his computer joystick. He watched his LCD display with satisfaction as a five-hundred
pound laser-guided bomb cleared the struts of a remote-controlled drone aircraft that had been
circling Little Whinging and started it's fifty-thousand foot descent.

Following a long-standing tradition of aircraft bombers and artillery men, the bomb casing
exterior had short, hand-written messages for the intended targets. One side said
*“Don**'t Mess with Muggles,**”* while the other was a tad blunter:

*“Hocus Poke This Up Your Arse!**”*

“Target acquired, feather's away,” the remote pilot called out. “Smoke's pretty think,
Phoenix One…we'll need constant sparkle.”

“Roger that.”

Predictions by MI-5 Â¾ weapons laboratory engineers that strong magical fields would wreak havoc
on the internal guidance systems of so-called “smart” munitions had been confirmed by Wally the
week previous, when he had driven across Little Wiz's ward boundaries with a dud bomb in the
boot of his Bentley. But as the hemispherical wards that protected Number Four extended up no more
than 400 feet above the ground, 99% of the pathway of a bomb dropped from 50,000 feet was free of
magical interference, and the ability to self-correct course was magically lost for only the last
few seconds of descent.

Much more worrisome were the mundane factors that had, for the most part, always limited the
idea of “window-point” accuracy for laser-guided weapons to the minds (and presentations) of
defense company marketing departments. “Smart weapons” rely upon clear and constant “sight” of a
laser beam's reflection to adjust tail rudder angles and make in-flight course corrections.
Smoke commonly interferes with this sight, even when the forward observer who has identified the
target maintains a continuous laser beam spot. And the ability of the forward observer to maintain
a constant “sparkle” of laser light on a target is always far from certain; even at a terminal
velocity of more than six hundred miles per hour, a bomb dropped from 50,000 feet takes almost a
minute to reach ground. And a lot can happen during that minute.

The clear view that Brian initially enjoyed allowed him to target his laser beam device from a
well-hidden vantage point. Fifteen seconds after the bomb was released, however, the group of Death
Eaters turned the corner onto Privet Drive, where a tall tree blocked Brian's view. Brian
scrambled along the rooftop hoping for a better angle, and discovered that the only clear sight
line required him to stand straight up on the roof crest. Which is what he did, without thought of
personal safety.

The Death Eaters had just gathered in front of Number Four when one of them spotted someone
standing on a rooftop pointing a wand down towards them.

*“Expelliarmus!”*

The force of the spell blew Brian backwards, while his “wand” was flung violently out of his
hand. Both were thrown to the ground.

The Death Eater who had cast the disarming spell used an “*Accio*” to take a closer look at
the wand that had been raised against them. He then pushed the button located on one end of the
metallic rod, thereby proving two separate facts:


Battery-powered laser pointers aren't damaged by *Accio* spells; and,


Curiosity can kill more than just cats.


The ten seconds of time during which the Death Eater played with his new toy was just enough for
the bomb's sensors to reacquire its target and trim its tail in course correction. The bomb hit
the ward boundary only twenty feet off course, and hit the ground a second later, thirty feet
off-target into Number Five's front yard.

Given the specified accuracy and precision of the weapon, it was a direct hit.

Fred Weasley had ignored Brian's direct orders and, rather than land at the prearranged
meeting point, had ducked behind a tree to a spot where he could keep an eye on his partner. Having
witnessed Brian being thrown from the roof, Fred was flying at top speed towards him when the smart
bomb detonated. The blast knocked him off Fred broom, his body landing fifteen feet away from
Brian's.

George Weasley, who had seen Fred fly back to rescue Brian, was on route to rescue his brother
when the bomb went off. Having been partially shielded from the bombblast by a house, he managed to
stay on his broom (later claiming that the force was no greater than a typical bludger). After
using words Mrs. Weasley would have conjured soap over, he quickly landed his broom in between
Brian and his brother.

“Two down,” he cried into his microphone, “Brian Willox and my fool brother down…I need medics
now!”

++++

Wednesday, June 20, 4:00am

10 Downing Street, London

The muggle Prime Minister had learned the hard way to treat the assurances of newspaper
publishers with a large dose of skepticism. He also considered the British public's faith in
the electronic news media to be quite secondary to the trust that they put into their morning
newspapers…which is why he had waited until the wee hours of the morning before addressing the
small painting in the corner of his office.

“You there,” he said to the small portraiture, “I want a meeting with the Ministry of Magic
immediately.”

The rather ugly looking man within the frame, his eyes closed tightly, ignored him.

“Wake up you little gnome,” the Prime Minister said in raised voice. “Fetch me Scrimgeour or
I'll bring the Queen's Royal Wizard around and have him give you a good hexing.”

The portraiture opened one eye and grimaced.

“The muggle Prime Minister's `request' has been conveyed to the Office of the Ministry
of Magic,” the painting replied tersely.

“Good,” the P.M. said with no small amount of authority. He then returned to his desk and
waited, while reading the front page of the last of the major dailies to have been rushed to his
office.

*****************************

**The Scot's Daily Journal**

Wednesday, June 20, 2006

*****************************

**Salmon Spoils Royal Ascot Reopening**

Windsor Great Park (RPI) - Thousands of spectators took ill during the opening day of racing at
the Royal Ascot, forcing authorities to cancel the last four races of the day. Ministry health
officials later attributed the mass outbreak of upset stomachs, ill ease and general despondency to
a massive case of food poisoning.

“It was the salmon mousse,” said Ministry Health Department spokesperson T. Gilliam.

More than six hundred individuals were taken to area hospitals, with one hundred thirty admitted
for overnight observation. The Queen and members of the Royal Family in attendance were reportedly
not among the victims. The symptoms surfaced immediately after the third race, and put a damper on
a spectacular display of magic performed during the debut of “Gryffindor,” a highly talented
teen-aged illusionist who, according to Palace insiders, recently received a royal appointment as
the “Queen's Wizard.”

*see “Queen's Wizard,” page 8*

*=======*

**Gas Main Explosion Rocks North Surrey Neighborhood**

Little Whinging, Surrey (RPI) - Two men were seriously injured and several homes destroyed when
a ruptured gas main exploded Tuesday in the suburban London community of Little Whinging. Local
officials, noting that the neighborhood had been evacuated some two hours previous when the leak
was first detected, expressed relief that the injury toll wasn't higher. More than two hundred
residents spent the night in shelters while gas company workers and emergency responders worked to
determine the extent of the pipeline breach and evaluate the structural safety of lesser-damaged
residences. The underlying cause of the rupture is still under investigation.

*************************

Before the P.M. had time to turn the page to learn more about Sir Harry the small portrait
raised its tinny voice.

“The Office of the Ministry of Magic regrets that its representative is not able to consult with
you at this time,” it said.

The Prime Minister looked up at the portrait. He'd been informed that the Ministry of Magic
had been secured hours ago, so they couldn't blame this avoidance on the fighting.

“Minister Scrimgeour sends his regrets?” he asked in clarification.

After a few seconds silence, the painting responded. “The Office of the Ministry of Magic
regrets that its representative is not able to consult with you at this time.”

“Wonder if he's been sacked,” the P.M. thought to himself. He stood and headed over to his
leather-bound office couch, where he sat and addressed the portrait a final time. “Well, whomever
the Ministry's representative turns out to be knows where to find me.”

Looking down at his watch, the P.M. decided it was time to end a very long day by stretching out
for a very short kip. What magic lay beyond the sun's rise was something he could certainly
wait to see.

+++++++++++++

A/N: The plural form of “patronus” should be *patroni*, but I've stayed with what's
used in canon (despite my *nom de plume*)

-->



29. Chapter 29
--------------

**Chapter 29:** The Round Tower

**A/N:** Happy Holloween, and thanks for all of the thoughtful reviews.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

Wednesday, June 20, 11:00am

Round Tower, Windsor Castle

The Queen’s Wizard and Queen’s grandson climbed the last few stone steps to reach the highest
point within Windsor Castle. The journey had taken them to the rooftop of the Round Tower, where
cannons still guarded the Royal Standard that flew whenever the British Monarch was in
residence.

“Well, Prince Harry,” Harry concluded as he looked out past the battlements, “this must rank as
the nicest and most elaborate play fort in the world.”

The Young Prince chuckled. “Only second best, I’m afraid…there’s a Sultan down in the Emirates
that had a half-scale replica of the Fortress of Fao built for his boys.”

“Still…”

“Yes, you’re right,” the Young Prince agreed. “When we were younger, my brother and I spent as
much time as we could up here, playing knights and artillerymen…had these cannons carried live
powder we would have flattened most of Berkshire several times over.”

The panoramic view was spectacular, and the Young Prince was all too happy to point out various
landmarks and the vestiges of English countryside. To the South, within the Windsor Great Park,
were hunting lodges turned Royal residences and the stables where he’d been presented the Royal
Wizard’s orb. Turning west, they looked down upon the rooftops of Windsor Town; beyond the town was
Ascot Racecourse, nestled into a bend of the Thames.

“Surprised that they’re racing today?” Harry asked.

“No,” replied the Young Prince. “The show must go on, stiff upper lip, and all that…sure that
you don’t want to give a repeat performance?”

Harry shook his head. “I think they’ve seen enough Dementors over there for now, and I seem to
attract them like flies.”

The Young Prince nodded as he grappled with his latest c-mug lesson on magical beasts and
beings. “It was quite strange watching you and your comrades fighting something that I couldn’t
see…whatever happened to the two Dementors you downed?”

“Don’t know,” Harry replied. “The corpses dissolved away before we could poke at them.”

“How does that work…killing something that wasn’t alive in the first place?”

“I’m not quite sure…they don’t teach necromancy at school.”

“Necromancy?” the Young Prince asked, as he began to walk stiffly with his arms out. “You mean
like zombies?”

“Yes,” Harry replied quietly. “Except that in our world they’re called *Inferi*, not
zombies.”

The Young Prince took notice of the slight change in Harry’s complexion, and hollow look in his
eyes.

“Don’t tell me that you’ve run up against those things as well?” he asked.

When Harry nodded, Prince Harry shook his head and whistled a low note as they continued their
walk along the parapet.

“When I was your age, the scariest thing I had to face was my chemistry professor.” He stopped
Harry and pointed north towards a campus of buildings and playing fields. “Speaking of which,
there’s my old school.”

Harry looked out over the tower’s edge.

“Eton?”

The Young Prince nodded, as he patted the barrel butt of one of the eighteenth-century cannons.
“Father says that it’s no coincidence that this one’s aimed straight at the faculty’s
residence.”

“He went there too?” Harry asked.

“Sure,” the Young Prince replied. “The English Crown has been sending its boys there for
centuries.”

“Would of thought the instructors too afraid to treat you with anything less than respect,”
Harry replied.

“Oh, no,” the Young Prince replied with a rueful grin. “The staff takes great pride on living up
to the House of Windsor’s insistence that its young men not be treated differently.”

“So let me guess,” said Harry. “The chemistry professor assumed you were full of yourself based
on who you were, instead of how you acted, and took every opportunity to knock you down to what he
thought should be your proper size.”

“Yeah,” the Young Prince said with surprise. “How’d you know?”

“Been there, been subjected to that.”

They continued their clockwise stroll, stopping to look east down the length of Heathrow’s two
main runways as a passenger jet completed its landing. Twenty miles beyond the airport were the
skyscrapers of Central London. Using the airport and various motorways as guide points, the two
were able to distinguish Little Whinging from the similarly nondescript communities that surrounded
it.

“Stopped by the hospital on the way out this morning and visited Brian,” the Young Prince
said.

“That was nice,” Harry replied. “Hermione and I plan on returning there this afternoon…still
unconscious?”

“Yes,” the Young Prince said. “His sister arrived this morning, you know.”

“No, I didn’t” replied Harry, already feeling guilty at the thought of meeting Brian’s
family.

“I was quite close to him growing up,” sad Prince Harry softly, “used to sneak into the palace
kitchens at night and he’d cook all my favorite greasy foods.”

“He told us that…he’s done so much for me as well,” Harry replied glumly.

“Chin up, Sir Harry,” the Young Prince said, as he straightened his own back. “He’s not
dead.”

“Close to it,” Harry replied, “and I wasn’t there to help him.”

“Even wizards can’t be in two places at the same time…or can they?”

That comment brought a tight grin to Harry’s face as he thought about Hermione’s time turner.
“Erm, no…at least not anymore.”

“So how’s your mate’s brother doing?”


“Fred?” Harry asked. “Broken arm, three cracked ribs, ruptured spleen, nasty concussion…he’ll be
fine.”

“They must work wonders at your wizard hospital.”

“Yeah,” replied Harry, as a germ of a thought crept into his head. “They can.”

The Young Prince paused for a moment, then tried to change topics. “So have they let your
neighbors back into their homes yet?”

“Should have by now,” Harry replied. “When I talked to Wally this morning they were close to
done.”

“Wow,” replied the Young Prince. “Heard about the damage…suppose you had some magic brooms and
dustpans for the clean-up?”

Harry chuckled. “No, we fly on our brooms, and the neighborhood’s still a mess. Most of the
houses still have broken glass, and there’s rubble and debris everywhere…guess I was talking more
about cover-up than clean-up; we spent most of the night moving dirt and dressing up the impact
crater just enough to make it look like a gas line explosion.”

“Imagine then that they’ve finished the body count?”


“Mostly,” Harry replied grimly. “Twenty-two dead, four wounded, and a lot of unidentified bits
of bodies …took muggle search dogs and lots of “*Accio* body parts” spells to find it
all.”

“Harsh,” was the Young Prince’s assessment.

“You could say that,” Harry agreed.

“So how long before you can move back?”

“Dunno,” Harry replied. “Wouldn’t do to use magic for the home repair, and my Aunt and Uncle’s
house was flattened. I could move into one of the other houses I now own, but the magical
protections that were in place are in poor shape. But even if they weren’t, I’m not sure I could
return.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because despite our success yesterday,” Harry explained, “there’s still Death Eaters out there
looking to get to me. I’m certain we’ll have to defend ourselves again, and, well…how many gas main
explosions can you have in one neighborhood before somebody gets suspicious?”

The Young Prince laughed. “Yes, well, I can see your predicament…which is why I’m pleased
grandmum’s given you some options.”

Harry nodded. “You certain you wouldn’t mind lending me your play fort for a little while?”

The Young prince smiled. “No worries, Sir Harry. It was indeed a fabulous play fort, and this
rooftop was a brilliant place to bring my teen-aged dates, but…well, we all move on, don’t we?
Besides, it’s the Queen’s decision, and the offer’s already been made.”

The flag turret’s door swung out as the Prince of Wales led Hermione to the rooftop for her
first views from the top of the Tower.

“So what do you think, Hermione?” Harry asked, as she approached and took his hand.

“Harry, can you feel it,” she replied excitedly. “I think I’ve already found a couple of dormant
protection wards but there’s older magic than that at work here, I just know it. Pretty sure I can
work out the equations needed to attenuate anti-app wards into something more elliptical...we
should be able to cover the Upper Ward, at a minimum…maybe the entire castle with a little help
from our security consultants.”

Harry smiled. “That’s great, Hermione, but what do you think of the inside?”

“Oh, well, there is a lot of space to work with, don’t you think, Harry?” she quickly replied.
“Hedwig would love the huge area just below, and with the stone walls and fireplaces, and the
apartment’s main room’s almost like Gryffindor Tower’s, isn’t it? And that one room that used to be
a library, and the…”

“And the one bedroom?” Harry asked, with one eyebrow raised.

Hermione blushed just a bit. “Oh, well, there is that second apartment…Ron and Luna would have
room when they visit, and the Prince was saying that the ground floor apartment used to house
guards…it’d be perfect for mum and dad…” Realizing that she was babbling a bit and making more than
a few assumptions, she tried to self-correct. “or any other MI-5 ¾ staff, of course.” She caught
her breath, then asked, “So…what do you think, Harry?”

Harry smiled. “Well…”

The Prince of Wales, sensing that he was witnessing something akin to a young couple buying
their first house, took on the role of real estate agent and tried to close the deal.

“I will admit, it is a bit…rustic,” he said. “But your quarters in Buckingham might compensate,
and we aren’t without the means to make it at least a little more comfortable for you here.” He
paused, then added, “It wouldn’t be the first time a Royal Wizard took up residence within the
Round Tower…and I’d wager those stone steps would create a healthy sense of space, should
Hermione’s parents be assigned to work or live down at the base.”

It was Harry’s turn to blush, with the realization that there were lots of things he’d like to
do with Hermione that he wouldn’t want her parents to walk in on. Seeing an anticipatory look in
her eyes, he turned back towards the Prince.

“But what would happen if the Death Eaters track me down again?” Harry asked. “Wouldn’t do to
repeat yesterday’s tactics, would it? Hermione and I could get away easy enough, but how would the
Queen or anyone else escape if need be?”

The Prince glanced over to his son who was smiling broadly. “Sir Harry,” the Prince said in
reply, “the Queen usually only spends weekends here at the Castle; it’s Ascot that has her here for
the week. And if she were to be in residence…well, this castle is nearly a thousand years old, and
contains more than a few secret tunnels and passageways…isn’t that right, Prince Harry?”

“Erm, quite right, father,” the Young Prince said, with an unapologetic smirk still on his
face.

Harry smiled at the give and take between father and son. He turned to Hermione, who said, “It’s
up to you, Harry.”

Harry turned back to the Prince. “We would be honored, then, to accept the Queen’s generous
offer of shelter.”

Hermione let out a little squeal (“squee” was what it actually sounded like), and hugged Harry
tightly.

The Prince of Wales turned towards his son with and offered some fatherly advice. “You should
take notice,” he gently chided his son, “of the benefits of cluing into your girlfriend’s
opinions.”

When the two broke apart the Prince asked, “Will you two be joining us for lunch?”

Harry shook his head. “Thank you for offering, Your Highness, but we’re meeting Ron at noon down
in London.”

The Prince nodded as looked at his watch. “Well then,” he said, “You should get going. Even with
the morning rush over the roads will be busy.”

Hermione and Harry looked at each other and smiled.

“Oh, that’s right,” the Prince said, “you two don’t have to worry about paying road congestion
fees, do you?”

+++

Harry and Hermione used the thirty minutes not spent on the expressway to meet with the Castle’s
superintendent, who promised to have the Tower cleared and cleaned by the end of the day. They then
called Wally to get a Little Wiz update, and to let him know that the lorry holding their personal
possessions could be dispatched to Windsor.

At five before noon, Hermione apparated to a secured travel point in London’s West End, then
walked two blocks to the trendy muggle restaurant that Wally had recommended. It took her a few
minutes to find a suitably secluded site within the busy bistro.

“Hermione!” Ron whined, as she pulled down the “closed for cleaning” sign that she’d been forced
to conjur. “Why’d it have to be the women’s loo?”

Hermione frowned as she shooed her two boys out into the main eating area. “Don’t like it, pass
your apparition test and you can pop up wherever you want.”

Head Auror Robard’s greetings and the prompt attention of the wait staff forced Ron to put his
rant on hold. After ordering their food they took turn providing updates on their latest
activities.

Ron began with word from St. Mungo’s. He had been one of the many relatives of injured patients
who had stood overnight guard at the wizard hospital (with so many of the injured Aurors, those
normally on guard had been redeployed to the Ministry). Ron said that a rumor was spreading within
this voluntary cadre that the Ministry was going to draft all seventeen and eighteen year old
witches and wizards into Ministry service. A second fast-spreading rumor clarified the first,
stating that the draft would be restricted to pure-blooded witches and wizards. He then reported
the senior healer’s latest estimate, that half of those injured during the battle would be released
within forty-eight hours, and that half of those remaining would be cured within a week’s time. He
ended on a personal note, conveying word that Fred was healing nicely, and that the lingering
effects of the *Cruciatus* spell that had struck his mum were fading. Her healers were now
predicting a slow, painful, but ultimately complete recovery.

Harry and Hermione followed with news on Little Wiz and the muggle world. Three of the four
Death Eaters that had survived the blast still lay unconscious within a military hospital. The
fourth had been brought back within Little Wiz’s weak, but operant anti-apparition wards and was
under heavy sedation. The Phoenix Teams were still on site, guarding the prisoner and working hard
to maintain the official story on what had happened the previous day. As far as Harry and Hermione
knew, the cover stories for both Little Wiz and Ascot were holding in the muggle press.

They asked Ron and Robards whether word of the attack on Little Wiz had spread within the
wizarding world, and were told that secret was holding as well. They agreed that this was a good
thing, once the Head Auror passed along news from the Ministry of Magic.

Rufus Scrimgeour had avoided an immediate sacking through the skillful deployment of deceit and
misdirection. The subterfuge had been straightforward and effective. Head Auror Robards had advance
knowledge of the attack plans and coordinated the successful response. Head Auror Robards was a
member of the Minister’s cabinet. Therefore, using the transitive power of mathematics and sleazy
politicians, it was the Minister’s Office that had valiantly saved the wizarding world from
You-Know-Who. It had become the big victory that had proven so elusive for Scrimgeour’s office. Any
questions on why there were so many Death Eaters working for the Ministry had been explained away
with the simple observation that Scrimgeour had only been in power for a year, and that the vast
majority of insurgents had been hired by previous administrations. In other words, “Blame
Fudge.”

The misdirection was far more insidious. Plans to arrest Harry for underage magic use had been
reluctantly cancelled after Robards reported that he’d witnessed Harry’s investiture as Queen’s
Wizard. A quick trip to the Book of Wizarding Records confirmed this event, as well as its
legality. The furor that the Minister and his staff hurled upon the Head Author for witnessing and
giving legitimacy to Harry’s position was intense, but quiet. After all, Scrimgeour had just
identified the Head Auror as a hero, and announced his intention to award him the Order of Merlin,
Second Class. There weren’t, unfortunately, as many constraints when it came to attacking
Harry.

The wireless was already reporting that Harry Potter had betrayed the wizarding world by
accepting the position of Queen’s Wizard, and that he’d shamelessly used his magical powers before
thousands of muggles in a self-aggrandizing attempt to gain fame and celebrity. A “senior Ministry
official” had told the WWW that Harry was now a far graver threat than Voldemort, stating that his
actions threatened the shroud of secrecy that protected the entire wizarding world from muggle
interference. Word was also going around that Rita Skeeter would be reporting on this story in the
next day’s *Prophet*.

The Head Auror apologized to Harry for the Ministry’s actions, and asked if he should go public
with the truth. Harry and Hermione convinced him to stay quiet and keep his head low, arguing that
the Ministry’s lies might lead Voldemort away from how his battle plans had actually been betrayed.
They also argued that the battle against Voldemort needed the Head Auror to keep his job, and to
stay on top of the Ministry’s machinations. And since it wouldn’t do for a Ministry war hero to be
seen in public with a pariah, they suggested that the Head Auror return to his office, and limit
communications until the dust settled and a proper response had been formulated.

Before leaving, Robards jotted down a spell equation and wand movement diagram on the back of a
serviette. As he handed it to Hermione, he suggested that it might come in hand in the days
ahead.

“What is it?” Ron asked, as Hermione worked through the arithmancy.

After miming the wand directions with an index finger, Hermione shook her head and sighed.

“It’s the counterjinx for *Howlers*.”

+++

8:00pm, The Round Tower, Windsor Castle

Hermione Granger had severely underestimated the amount of time and physical exertion Harry
would need to process the Head Auror’s news. She’d called their personal trainer and Harry’s
longsword instructor from the restaurant to set up late-afternoon training sessions at Windsor
Castle. While waiting for the instructors to arrive, they had helped Palace staff empty out the
Round Tower’s storage area, not bothering with shrinking and lightening spells. They then used that
empty space for an exhausting series of practice duels. The physical trainer had taken them on an
hour-long run within the Park and followed that with an hour of calisthenics. Harry then returned
to the Tower with his instructor for an hour of sword training.

It had been two hours since that lesson ended, and Hermione could still hear Harry hacking away
at conjured wooden posts. She decided that it was time to take action. Putting her unpacking on
hold, she grabbed Harry’s backpack and climbed the stairs that led from their new mid-tower
apartment to where Harry was slicing and dicing.

The Round Tower’s dimensions and layout had changed many times over the centuries. The last
major modifications had been in the 1820’s, when Windsor Castle’s transformation from fortress to
palace was completed under George IV. In order to maintain its position as the highest and most
visible structure within the Castle, the Round Tower’s height was increased some thirty-three feet.
Despite the inclusion of window wells in the new stone walls, the new interior space within the
addition was left unfinished, creating a huge enclosed area within this false upper story.

It was within this space that Hermione found a sweaty and slightly bloodied Harry. Three calls
were needed before she caught his attention.

“Enough, Harry.”

It was enough to make him stop.

She approached and took his hand, using the other to pull at a wooden splinter that had found
its mark on Harry’s neck. A kiss staunched the wound and slowed down his heart rate.

“Come,” she commanded quietly. “You stink.”

He looked at her oddly as he leaned down on his sword. “Come where?” he asked. “I didn’t see any
indoor plumbing within the Tower…did you?”

As Hermione shook her head she reached into Harry’s backpack and pulled out the magical tent.
With a few quick wand strokes she raised it and staked it down.

“Come,” she commanded, as she pulled him towards the tent’s entrance. “You stink.”

Harry obeyed, and soon found the peace he’d been seeking at the end of Hermione’s scrub
brush.



30. Chapter 30
--------------

**Chapter 30:** Extreme Make Over: Castle Edition

**A/N:** First off, now that I’ve hit the 30 chapter/100k word mark, I actually took the time
to lay out a timeline for the rest of the summer. Looks like it will take another 25 chapters
before the Hogwarts Express leaves Platform 9 ¾ on 1 September, but at least I now have the route
to the station mapped out. I hope that the story stays interesting enough for my faithful readers
to join me on that ride. Second, a few reviewers have asked for more details about Windsor Castle and the surrounding area. I’ve
decided to accommodate that request by using a bit more description, combined with selective hot
links that connect with some of the web sites that I’ve used in my research. Please let me know if
this helps, or distracts.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

Thursday, June 21, 7:35am

Round Tower, Windsor Castle

It took Harry Potter a few seconds to realize that it was his badge that had woken him, and not
his alarm clock. A charitable observer might forgive this disorientation, noting that he was in a
darkened room, on a new bed, and wearing a short kimono instead of pajamas. And a discreet observer
might overlook the sweet confusion that came with him waking up tightly spooned against Hermione.
But Harry was too frightened at that moment to think about either charity or discretion. He groped
for his glasses, and with newly focused vision made a snitch-worthy lunge towards the Order of
Arthur badge that was flashing on the floor.

“Sir Evan,” he exclaimed, “what’s wrong?”

“Erm, nothing, Sir Harry,” the elderly night replied via badge phone. “I was checking to see if
you and Dame Hermione were safe…her parents are having trouble finding you.”

Harry’s movement had woken Hermione, who had found the magical light switch. “What?” she asked,
as she turned towards Harry, “where are they now?”

“Erm, one second,” was the reply, “got them on my mobile…ah, they are the base of the Round
Tower, and they say that they couldn’t find you in your new quarters. Your mobile wasn’t working
either.”

Hermione grabbed her mobile from her nightstand and double-checked the charge. When she looked
back up Harry guessed that she had made a realization similar to his.

“Erm, Sir Evan,” Harry asked (rather sheepishly), “will you tell them that we’re fine and that
we’ll meet them at the base of the tower in ten minutes?”

“Consider it done,” Sir Evan replied.

“How are things on Privet Drive, by the way?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, bit of a mess still, but Number 12 is in fine shape…your friends are pretty handy with
their repairing spells...looking forward to your return, though.”

“Oh..well, yes,” stammered Harry. “We’ll talk about that with you soon. Thanks again for your
help, Sir Evan.”

“Your very welcome, Sir Harry…Evan out.”

“Arrgh,” Harry lamented, once he “hung up” his badge, “He thinks we’re moving back still…and I
can’t believe we forgot about the *Confundus* spell on the tent flap…good thing that it wasn’t
an emergency.”

“Yes,” agreed Hermione as she wiped sleep from her eyes. “No worries at all, other than what mum
and dad will say when we explain why they couldn’t find us and give them a tour of the tent.”

“What?” Harry asked with alarm, as he looked around at the room. “Oh Merlin, that would look
bad...do we have to?” He quickly stood and pulled at the *obi* that was tied around the waist
of his short robe.

“Yes, we probably do” Hermione replied with a smile, as she watched Harry retrieve his boxer
shorts from his clothes pile. “But don’t pull those up into a twist just yet.”

“Hermione,” Harry said reprovingly, “your parents have been amazingly accepting of our
relationship and current living arrangements, but really…do you want to push our luck?”

To emphasize his point, he opened his nightstand drawer, pulled out a pair of velvet-lined
handcuffs, and started swinging them around on one finger.

Hermione crawled over to Harry’s side of the bed on all fours. Tracking how poorly her kimono
kept up with her thighs as she moved, Harry failed to notice as Hermione caught the swinging
handcuffs with one hand, quickly wrapped her arms around him and used the cuffs to drag him down on
top of her.

“If this is all that you worry about today,” she told him in an unusually husky voice, “then
I’ll take my chances.”

Harry gulped as Hermione raked the handcuffs up the length of his back and pinned the back of
his legs down with the heels of her feet.

“Erm, Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“Would you like to go out a second date with me tomorrow night?”

“Thought that you’d never ask.”

+++

It only took Harry and Hermione a few minutes to resist temptation, change into trainers, and
run down to meet her parents. After apologizing for the *Confundus* charm (which Hermione
claimed she now used almost reflexively after sharing a house with Dudley Dursley), Harry and
Hermione led her parents out of the Castle and along the running route that they’d used the night
before. From the Castle it was exactly three miles down The Long Walk to The Copper Horse and three
miles back, with a four-mile long loop in between that took them past Cranbourne Tower, Cumberland Lodge, and Frogmore. Hermione was amazed at how well her
parents kept up, despite knowing that they had started their training at the same time that Harry
and she had. She said as much as they cooled down with a walk around the outer perimeter of the
castle walls.

“Well somebody has to keep up with you two,” Roger Granger explained with a smile, “or else
there’s no telling what sorts of mischief you two could get into.”

Harry and Hermione responded with nervous laughter. “So was everything alright last night
downstairs?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Emily said, “it was like we were camping, what with the army cots and kerosene
lanterns…though I’ll admit that the chamber pots were a bit off-putting,”

“Which reminds me, young lady,” Roger said, “We didn’t hear you two come down last night to use
the facilities across the way. Please tell me you have some sort of magical water-free
toothbrush.”

“Erm, something like that, daddy.”

“Well good,” Roger replied with a smile. “Just because your mum and I aren’t practicing dentists
anymore doesn’t get you off the hook when it comes to proper oral hygiene.”

“Speaking of your new jobs,” Harry said quickly, trying to change the topic, “I don’t think I
ever told you both how amazed I was whilst watching you train this past week.”

“Thank you Harry,” Roger said. “I was a little amazed myself at how easily Emily took to
flying…she usually leaves her lunch behind when she hops down off of carnival rides.”

“Well,” Emily replied in mock indignation, “maybe that was only because I had somebody so big
and so strong to hold on tight to during that ride.”

“Oh, mum,” Hermione said with a bit of exasperation while Harry laughed.

“Seriously, though,” Roger said, “I’d have to say that even with all of the scary bits that I
couldn’t think of a better way to have spent the past few weeks.”

“So even when the bits get scarier?” Harry asked, “because you know that they will.”

“Hermione Jane,” Emily said with a smile, “it sounds as if your boyfriend is trying to get rid
of us.”

“Oh, no” Hermione replied, “it’s just his saving-people-thing kicking in.”

“Well that’s good,” Roger replied, as they signed back in at the guardhouse in front of the

George IV Gateway and walked into the Upper Ward’s courtyard, “because we’ve got business to
discuss this morning.”

“Erm, that might have to wait,” Harry said, as he spied a flock of owls perched patiently on the
Round Tower’s battlements. “Looks like Hermione and I have some mail to defuse first.”

With promises to meet the Grangers in a half-hour’s time for breakfast, Harry and Hermione
climbed up to the tower’s addition to take on the assault of mail. Having made it a point not to
have *The Daily Prophet* delivered to Windsor, they relied upon the breath of commentary to
gauge just how caustic Rita Skeeter’s hack-job had been. From the looks of things, it was every bit
as bad as what they’d expected, but not more so.

Hermione expressed encouragement at seeing some supportive letters from Ministry workers who had
experienced the truth first hand. A few had even chosen to sprinkle their remarks with disparaging
comments about the Minister of Magic and his staff (using personal parchment, of course).

“Could have been worse,” Harry opined, “looks like only seventy percent is negative, and only
half of that lot are howlers.”

“Well hello, Mister Optimism,” Hermione replied. “Certainly a welcome change from how surly you
were last night.”

“Well what can I say,” Harry replied as he gazed fondly towards the Love Shack, “you just washed
all of that anger off of me.”

“Right,” Hermione replied, “best you find another way of calming down …I’m not about to carry
that scrub brush around with me.”

“That’s too bad,” Harry said, “because it was my focus on those bristles on my back that helped
me clear my mind. I was quite serene there, for a moment.”

“Only for a moment?”

“Well, the cold bucket of water over my head was rather harsh for my concentration.”

Hermione laughed. “If that’s the case maybe some scrubbing would help with your occlumancy
skills.”

Harry thought about that off-hand remark more seriously than Hermione expected.

“Yes, I think you are right… certainly bound to be more effective than anything Snape taught
me.”

Hermione stared up and off to one side in what Harry recognized as one of her classic thinking
poses.

“So a single-point focus….like a labyrinth almost, or a rosary…makes sense, actually…don’t know
why I didn’t think of it sooner.”

“Think about what?” Harry asked.

Hermione cast an *Accio* spell, and a few moments later handed Harry the Love Shack’s scrub
brush.

“Think that it’s time for you to take a *Zen* shower,” she replied. “By yourself,” she
added, quickly shooting down Harry’s expectant look.

+++

As the loser of a game of rock-paper-scissors, Harry reluctantly grabbed some fresh clothes and
made the short hike to the castle guard’s changing room. Harry was happy to see that Mr. Granger
was still there to document his propriety…it was even worth the good-natured ribbing that he took
(e.g. “So Harry, I imagine you use magic to keep from having to shave each morning, right?”). Harry
showered and dressed in a white shirt, Gryffindor rep tie, mauve linen suit, and loafers. They then
made their way to the Royal Mess, where they joined Emily and Hermione for breakfast.

The “Royal Mess” was, for all intents, a company cafeteria – a place where Castle employees
could grab a free meal without having to navigate through crowds of tourists and security
checkpoints. But this was Windsor Castle, and the Queen took care of her staff,, so it was as much
a company cafeteria as a Rolls Royce was a commuter car. The hall was large and ornate, with
hardwood floors, oriental carpeting and walls covered with paintings not of monarchs, but of those
who served monarchs over the centuries. The tables were covered in linen, set with real silver, and
dressed with fresh flowers.

The Mess manager greeted Roger and Harry at the door as if he were welcoming guests into his own
house, and led them to a table where Hermione and Emily were already scanning a menu whose entrees
ranged from haute cuisine to comfort foods.

“So, Harry,” Emily said after the two men were seated, “It seems that you are already turning
heads and making friends within the Castle.”

“How’s that?”

“The manager mentioned your insistence on taking meals here, instead of within one of the
private state rooms…said it was ‘refreshingly humble for a member of the peerage’.”

“Well…it wasn’t just my decision,” Harry replied, as he took note of Hermione’s glowing smile.
“And I don’t see why anyone should make a big deal…after all, I am a employee of the Crown, right?”
To emphasize that point, Harry grabbed the Staff ID that hung from his jacket lapel.

“And walking into the kitchens to thank the staff?”

“Seemed the right thing to do…and Hermione’s got me well trained not to take Hogwart’s house
elves for granted.” That comment earned a laugh from the table, as a waiter arrived to take their
order. “I also wanted to give them an update on Brian’s condition…a lot of his old co-workers were
there and word had gotten around that he’d been injured.”

Emily nodded. “I called the hospital while we were waiting…he’s been moved out of the Intensive
Care Unit.”

“That’s great…has he regained consciousness?”

Mrs. Granger shook her head. “They think it still may take a few days…it was a rather nasty
concussion that he suffered.”

“And they won’t know until he wakes just how bad the spinal cord injury was?”

After Emily nodded the conversation dropped for a few seconds as they all thought about (and
silently prayed for) Brian’s prospects for a full recovery.

Roger broke the silence by providing Harry with an initial cost estimate from Privet Drive. Had
there really been a gas main explosion, the utility company would have been liable, but given the
circumstances, it was understandably reluctant to accept responsibility. MI-5 ¾ did have a secret
fund for these sorts of things, but Harry had insisted that he cover the costs, arguing that the
attack involved wizard terrorists. As a handshake compromise, the charges were to be split down the
middle, with Harry providing payment in kind; rather than directly repay the Crown he would use his
funds to support wizard forces fighting against Voldemort. With an estimate now in hand, Harry told
Roger that he would create a “war funds” account within his Gringott’s portfolio, and transfer a
galleon-equivalent amount.

Emily then raised a Clan Potter issue. Plans had been made for a summer solstice party that
weekend, with an expanded guest list that included every muggle-born Hogwarts student and their
family. She had made arrangements to cover travel expenses for those students that lived outside of
Greater London, but was uncertain what to do now that Privet Drive was a construction zone. Harry
replied that bringing all of the muggle-borns together was more important than ever, given the
Ministry’s actions. Hermione pointed out that there was plenty of room within the Castle, but that
it might not be prudent to flaunt his position as Queen’s Wizard. Harry agreed, and mentioned sight
of some sort of amusement park when he was up on the Round Tower’s roof. Emily promised to look
into that possibility and to have a list of potential alternatives ready for Harry by dinner.

Harry had just poured a second cup of tea for Hermione when Wally entered the hall and
approached their table. He asked, “Lord Gryffindor, Dame Hermione, would you allow me to interrupt
your breakfast?”

Harry smirked at Wally’s formality as he nodded in response. Wally explained that the Prince had
instructed the Household Staff to fast-track the renovation and refurbishment of the Round Tower.
To that end, there was a delegation of people that wanted to meet with Harry and Hermione for a
tour. They immediately agreed, on condition that the Granger’s come along as well (as they might
have an interest on the ground floor living quarters). And so it was that fifteen minutes later
Harry, Hermione and her parents were introduced to the Castle Superintendent, the Royal Architect,
the Castle’s Maintenance Chief and the Royal Curator of Art. The Royal Historian, whom they’d
already met, was there as well.

It took almost an hour to complete the tour. As they made their way up through the various
floors it became clear to Harry that there were competing interests within the group. The
Maintenance Chief was almost embarrassed that the Queen had offered such spartan quarters to her
guests, and took every opportunity to suggest how the floor plans could be changed, elevators
installed, and modern conveniences provided. In contrast, the Royal Architect wanted to leave the
tower the way it was, in the name of historic preservation. Whenever his colleague started to
discuss knocking down walls, or adding an HVAC system, the Architect would argue (politely, of
course) that the Queen’s guests would be much more comfortable elsewhere within the castle. The
Curator took a middle course, asking that the changes be kept to what was absolutely necessary, and
that they be done with an eye towards historic accuracy. And while the other staff members were
trying to make their points, the Royal Historian provided more information about the tower’s
history.

Windsor Caste was one of a series of fortifications built within a day’s march of London, and
the Round Tower was one of the first structures built within the Castle. Its foundation stones were
placed on top of an artificial hill that was constructed using the rubble from a previous
structure.

“Who lived in the Tower besides the occasional Royal Wizard?” Harry asked.

The historian replied, “When there wasn’t a wizard in residence the tower belonged to the
Superintendent’s predecessor.”

“His title was Castellan,” the Superintendent added, “though he was also identified as a
governor. He lived in the upper apartment, while his lieutenant-governor had the ground floor
quarters.”

“So this Castellan…was it a military or a civil post?” Hermione asked.

“Both,” the historian replied. “He was the local judge, chief forester and warden of the Windsor
forest…at the same time, he was in charge of the castle’s defense, and of any prisoners kept within
the tower’s cells.”

The tower’s detention area was sandwiched in between the upper and lower living quarters, with
confinement space allotted based on the prisoner’s rank and gentry status. The first level had
twelve small cells; the second level, four. The third level had only a single cell; this “King’s
Suite,” was the historic home of jailed monarchs and regents.

Each of the two separate living areas had three rooms spread over two levels. The first floor of
each apartment was a large open common room, with fireplaces spaced evenly along the circular
walls. This was the main living area, and was also used as a dining room. The floor above was
divided into bed chamber and dressing room. Since the ground level also had a guard house and
storage room for weaponry, the lower apartment’s rooms were necessarily smaller.

In keeping with its main purpose, the tower’s living quarters were all opened to the circular
staircase, providing easy access to its narrow windows for the Castle’s archers, and (later on),
musket men. In fact, the only interior doors within the Tower were attached to the jail cells. This
openness became an issue when the group discussion hit upon privacy concerns; anyone climbing the
tower’s stairs to raise and lower the Royal Standard had to walk through each of the living
quarters.

Harry’s worry about explaining away the Love Shack once the tour reached the addition proved
baseless; Hermione had taken it down after her morning shower. The posts Harry had used for sword
practice were still there, though, prompting him to provide cryptic comments about their use in a
new illusion that he was developing.

After finishing their tour the group moved to a castle conference room to hammer out a
renovation plan. Harry and Hermione scored points with the Architect and Historian by severely
limiting the scope of work. Walls would be built to separate stairwells from living quarters, a
stone-encased pipe chase would provide water and sewer service throughout the tower and electrical
service to the lower apartment. Small W.C.s would also be built within each dressing room. Plans to
build modern kitchens and install centralized heating were shelved; they would take their meals in
the Royal Mess, and rely upon the fireplaces to provide heat in the winter.

When asked about potential reuse of the detention levels, Harry decided to leave it in its
present condition; his only request being that the cell doors have modern locks installed. The
Superintendent jokingly asked whether Harry had plans on housing any prisoners; when Harry smiled
and replied “That’s exactly what I’m planning to do,” Hermione was the only one to realize that he
just might be serious.

Once plans were finalized the meeting broke up with the Castle’s superintendent and art curator
asking for separate meetings with Harry and Hermione. Wally tagged along as the Superintendent gave
Harry and Hermione an overview of the Castle’s security systems.

The bulk of the Castle’s defenses were arrayed to defend against tourists, rather than
terrorists. The Castle was one of Britian’s most popular tourist attractions, particularly after
the devastating fire of 1992,
when the Queen opened for public display many of the rooms that had been restored at taxpayer
expense. As the Superintendent led them through Castle grounds he pointed out various checkpoints
and queues, where Castle visitors were checked to ensure that nothing dangerous was brought in, and
nothing valuable taken out. He further noted that, after an embarrassing series of incidents, great
care had been taken to keep uninvited guests from gaining access to the private portions of the
Castle. Most of that effort was done remotely, as he demonstrated by walking them through a
monitor-filled control room similar to what had been housed upstairs at Number Five Privet
Drive.

The Superintendent’s tour ended just before lunch, leaving time for Harry and Hermione to
privately discuss their security concerns with Wally. Hermione stated her intent to develop an
anti-apparation field large enough to encompass the Castle, but noted that public access within
parts of the Castle would still be an issue. Harry agreed, pointing out that a Death Eater’s wand
wouldn’t trip a metal detector, and that wacky clothing couldn’t be trusted as a tell-tale
indicator of magical ability. Wally asked if there was some sort of magical equivalent of a metal
detector to identify magical devices. Harry mentioned the Sneakoscope, but said that it probably
wouldn’t be focused enough to pick one wizard out of a crowd. He promised Wally that he’d have Fred
and George look into the matter.

Wally then asked about protection wards for the Round Tower itself. He recognized the need to
keep the general muggle population out of the tower, but worried that muggle repellent charms would
be too obvious, and keep c-mugs like him from entering. He suggested that a muggle electronic entry
system might work, but Harry, recalling Slughorn’s pre-Hogwarts accommodations, thought that they
might be too easy for a wizard to disarm. As usual, it was Hermione that thought of a practical
solution…a security ward that was keyed for only certain individuals to pass, combined with a dummy
key card device that an authorized visitor would go through the motions of activating.

Harry and Hermione next told Wally about the *Daily Prophet* article that had identified
him as Queen’s Wizard. Now that this knowledge was out within the wizarding world, Harry was afraid
that the Castle would become a Death Eater target. He mentioned that the Prince had described some
secret escape routes within the castle, and asked him to find out more about these passageways.
They then discussed how the Castle should be defended from physical attack. Wally noted that there
was an army barracks a mile away from the castle with troops nominally designated for castle
defense, but noted that there weren’t any c-mugs within those ranks. While MI-5 ¾ could easily
plant a few of its agents within the Castle’s security team, they agreed that the Castle defenses
should be no less robust than Privet Drive’s. Harry and Hermione decided to raise this issue the
next time that they met with the Prince or Queen.

After lunch Harry and Hermione met with the Royal Art Curator to discuss Round Tower interior
design. The Curator told them that the Castle had a large supply of antique furniture, carpeting
and wall hangings that they could pick and choose from, and led them to a basement-level storage
area underneath the State Apartments. Along the way, the curator tried to manage expectations,
noting that within their inventories “modern” was used to describe anything made after the
eighteenth century. Hermione surprised the curator when she replied that Harry and she had lived in
a castle that lacked electrical service for most of the past six years, and would therefore be
quite comfortable with even the simplest of accommodations. Encouraged by this response, the
curator helped Harry and Hermione select several pieces of antique furniture and oriental rugs that
would have been right at home within the Gryffindor common room. They also picked out large
armoires and cabinets for the dressing room, and a four-poster bed, two desks and matching chairs
for their bed chamber. Harry and Hermione then asked that her parents be allowed to similarly
furnish the ground level living quarters.

With furniture and floors covered, the Curator took them to a fireproof climate-controlled
storage room that housed a small portion of the royal art collection. Hermione was thrilled when
told that they could decorate the Round Tower’s walls with any of the stored works. Again, the
curator tried to manage expectations by noting that all of the Rembrandt’s were already hanging on
royal walls. With more than a thousand pieces to choose from, Hermione asked to use the
Collection’s e-gallery to narrow the
field, while Harry asked if artwork had historically hung on the Round Tower’s walls. While the
Curator excused herself to research that question, Harry and Hermione clicked through the
e-gallery, cross-referencing possibilities against a list of works currently on display.

“So what are we looking for?” Harry asked.

“Wizards,” Hermione replied, “or, at least, something that might have been painted by a
wizard.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m curious,” Hermione replied with a tad of defensiveness. “And because you never know
what a magical painting might be able to tell you.”

“Oh….erm…Hermione, wouldn’t you think one of the muggles around here would have noticed a
magical painting?”

“Not if it was dormant,” Hermione replied.

Harry confessed his ignorance on the topic of sleeping magical paintings, which prompted
Hermione to dive into a lecture based, of course, on the material that Harry should have known had
he ever bothered to read *Hogwarts, A History*. Had he been taking notes, Harry’s short
version of the presentation would have read: *“Paintings need magic to stay alive. Wizard artists
paint magical pictures of food, and the portraits “eat” this magical food. No magical food = no
energy = paintings become dormant.”*

“How will we know if a painting is magical if it’s dormant?” Harry asked.

“Well, without a magical still life to offer as a meal, we have to make some educated guesses,
then zap each potential painting with a magical spell. That would probably provide enough energy
for a portrait to at least stretch its legs.”

“But why would a wizard artist paint pictures for a muggle king or queen?” Harry asked.

“Because they were the ones with the money,” Hermione simply replied. “And it’s always possible
that the Royal Family purchased a magical painting that had long gone dormant.”

It took Hermione just a few minutes to search through the computer database, arriving at a list
of twenty different paintings similar in style to those hanging in Hogwarts. With Harry keeping
watch for the Curator, Hermione retrieved these works using several variations of “*Accio

Portrait of Burkhard von Speyer*”. She was disappointed that after magical transport none of
the paintings gave signs of being magical, though they were all marvelous to look at. With the
Curator still out of the room, Hermione decided to goose the paintings with some additional magic,
and cast levitation spells. Again, none of the portraits moved, though Hermione though she might
have seen an eyelash flutter in 
Portrait of a Young Man by Giovanni
Bellini. She set that work aside, along with a similarly titled work called 
Portrait of a Man, (not because it appeared magical, but just because she liked it.)

Harry helped Hermione return the other paintings to their cubby holes, finishing just before the
curator returned the room. She first complemented Hermione on her selections, and promised to have
them brought to the tower along with the furniture. The Curator then told Harry that she had
located a journal account that described Round Tower wall hangings during the Eighteenth Century,
but that none of these works were within the collection’s database. She thought it possible that
this artwork had remained in the tower, and had been stored with the other material that Harry and
Hermione had helped remove from the Tower’s addition. They asked for and received permission to
poke though these storage boxes.

Harry and Hermione spent a half-hour opening boxes and banishing dust-bunnies as they rummaged
through the Tower’s past. They found swords and halberds and battle-axes, copper plates and
goblets, moldy bedding and, finally, a box of unframed art. Having been trusted to work alone
within the storage room, Harry unrolled each piece and used sticking charms to hang them up against
a wall for closer display.

There were eleven different works, covering a variety of styles, media, and (frankly) skill
levels. They ranged in size from an eight-by-twelve-inch piece of paper to a wall-sized tapestry
eight feet long and ten-feet wide.

“Interesting,” Harry said with a wide grin, “Now this…this lot I could see hanging on our
walls…what do you think, *dear*?”

It took Hermione all of three seconds to determine the unifying theme that had turned Harry into
an art lover. Whether woven or painted, Baroque or Byzantine, intimate in detail or grand in scale,
they all had one thing in common:

Naked ladies.

All artfully posed, mind you, but naked nonetheless.

“Oh, honestly, Harry!” Hermione said with a bit of disgust. “I’d have expected that response
from any one of the Weasley boys, but from you?”


Harry looked at her with mock indignation. “Ah, the perils of being a patron of the arts.”

He laughed as Hermione scowled. “Ah, come on, Hermione, don’t you get it? This stuff was hanging
in a guard house full of soldiers…not much different than some bloke having a page from a girly
magazine hanging in his locker.”

“And your point is?”

“Erm, don’t have one, I guess,” Harry replied with a grin. “Just thought we ought to check if
any of these were magical…since there have been wizards in the tower, you never know….”

“You never know how in touch they were with their inner perv?”

“Now Hermione, you were the one that said a magical painting might tell us something
valuable.”

“Yes, yes, I get the point,” Hermione replied with exasperation. “But your sticking charms were
magical and nothing happened.”

“Well your painting needed an extra boost before you thought you saw fluttering eyelashes,
right?”

Hermione reluctantly agreed and cancelled all of the sticking charms. The artwork fell to the
floor in a heap. She then used the same levitation spell that had been placed on the other
artwork.

“Hey, I saw that,” Harry exclaimed excitedly, “that one there…she wiggled her bum a bit…you saw
that, didn’t you?”

It took most of Hermione’s willpower to reply truthfully.

“Yeah, yeah, I did,” she muttered, pointing towards a painting depicting a group frolicking nude
within a mountain spring. “Would have to be the one with the most women in it, wouldn’t it?”

Harry grinned. “Why don’t we goose them with some more magic…we want to be sure, right?”

Hermione shook her head with resignation, and then joined Harry in shooting a variety of
harmless magical spells at the painting. After a thirty second barrage the painting’s spring began
to flow and all nine of the bathers began to move in a series of wiggles, winks and grins. One
figure, wearing a crown of roses in her hair, fixed her eyes on Harry and began to bend and stretch
in ways that rendered useless the tree branches and leaves that had been strategically placed by
the artist for modesty purposes.

Hermione put hands on hips and scowled a bit at the figures within the painting. “You do know
that you’re all pushing your luck, don’t you?” Focusing on the one that had taken interest in Harry
she said, “Let me guess, your name is Erato, right?” When the figure nodded her head regally Harry
asked how she knew the figure’s name. Hermione pointed towards a pile of clothing and objects by
the water’s edge.

“Those robes are Ancient Greek in design,” she replied, “as are the lyre, the flute, and the
masks used by actors in Greek tragedies and comedies. Each of those objects are historically
associated with one of the Nine Muses, and, well,
there’s nine women there, isn’t there?”


Harry replied, “So how did you guess this muse was named Erato?”

“She’s the muse that inspires poets to write erotica.”

“Oh…well I certainly see how she could be inspirational.”

“Get your mind out of the painting, Potter,” Hermione chided.

“Erm, yes…dear?” Harry replied, with a somewhat guilty-looking expression.

Hermione sighed as she stepped towards the canvas and address the figures. “Alright, ladies,
bath time is over, if you have any interest in hanging within a magical household again.”

Though the muses lacked enough magical energy to verbalize a reply, the fact all stepped out of
the water and started to get dressed indicated that Hermione had gotten her point across.

“Right then,” Hermione said. “You’ll need to strike a pose…we’re going to have to show you to
muggles. Behave, and I might just might arrange a magical meal for you…understand?”

The Muses nodded in agreement as they each grabbed their distinctive prop and arranged
themselves in the poses and positions originally given by their creator. Just to be safe, Hermione
case a *Finite Incantatum* spell on the canvas before rolling it up.

The Curator was understandably excited about Harry and Hermione’s discovery. As one of the
foremost art experts in Europe, she was able to identify the artists for almost all of the works.
That she knew nothing about the bathing muse painting beyond it’s Italian Renaissance style didn’t
dampen her enthusiasm; she labeled it a masterpiece upon inspection. A bit embarrassed that such a
magnificent work had been allowed to fester in non-archival quality storage under her watch, she
was amazed that her careful inspection found no evidence of damage. Harry and Hermione told her
that her secret was safe with them, and that they’d take good care of the painting while she looked
into the painting’s provenance. With that convenient arrangement reached, the grateful Curator told
Harry and Hermione that after obtaining an electronic image of the painting she would frame it
herself and deliver it to the Round Tower.

As they walked back towards the Round Tower, Harry apologized for acting his age in front of
Erato. Hermione cocked her head slightly, and then took his arm and smiled. “You’re forgiven, but
only because I’ve seen that lustful look on your face before.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. “You mean some time that Fleur was around?”

“No, silly,” Hermione replied demurely, “I mean last night.”

+++++++++++++

**References**

Charles Knight’s “Guide to Windsor” provides a detailed description of the
Round Tower circa 1811 (i.e. before Wyatville’s comprehensive castle makeover in the 1820’s).

The Nine Muses painting I describe is fictional, so don’t go looking for it in the e-gallery. My
ideas on the magic behind magical paintings are explored in more detail in a separate fanfic,
“Portrait of a Wizard as a Young Man.” Young
readers should mind the rating difference.



31. Chapter 31
--------------

**Chapter 31:** **A Quick Visit to the Wizarding World**

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

Friday, June 22, 7:30am

Ottery St. Catchpole

Harry and Hermione had taken advantage of the early solstice sunrise and left Windsor Castle at
5:00am, hoping to catch Mr. Weasley before he floo’ed to work. Motoring was a decadent waste of
time, but with little traffic on the road and the wind in their hair, they had both relished every
moment. Right up to the point where they spotted the road sign for Ottery St. Catchpole.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, noticing Harry’s sudden mood change. “Disappointed that we had
to postpone our date tonight?”

“No,” Harry replied. “I mean…yes, I’m disappointed, of course…but everything is moving so fast,
on so many fronts, and now I’ve got the other badges…”

“And it isn’t letting up any, is it?” Hermione added. “You know, Harry, this ‘three date’ thing
was a cute idea, but under the circumstances…”

“Stop right there, Hermione,” Harry said. “If you aren’t going to hold me to it, then I am.
Saving the world is no excuse for not treating you right.”

“Oh, Harry…” Hermione sighed. “You treat me right with every breath you take…except, of course,
when you’re panting over the Muses.”

“Hush,” Harry chided. “And take care to recall that it was your idea to hang it in the Tower
last night….”

The banter lagged as Hermione navigated onto the path that so rarely doubled as The Burrow’s
driveway. She thanked Merlin that they were driving Ron’s motorcar, rather than hers, then noticed
another change in Harry’s demeanor that mirrored the transition from smooth asphalt to rough
dirt.

“So Harry, really, why the sudden sullenness?”

“Erm, guess I was wondering how long it would take for life to imitate art.”

“How so?”

Harry turned and gave a rueful smile. “Remember that racy muggle movie we watched last
week?”

Hermione blushed a bit. “You mean *The Unbearable Lightness of Being*?”

“Yeah, that one…guess I was thinking about the ending.”

Hermione nodded. Though she had fallen asleep before the movie’s end, she had read the
novel.

“Harry, it has been magical morning…a magical month for that matter. But that doesn’t mean that
there’s a lorry just around the bend that going’s to end it all with a fatal head-on collision.” As
she drove through the Burrow’s protective wards she added, “Particularly on this path.”

Harry shook his head and smiled a bit as he looked down towards his feet. “Ginny’s reaction to
our news might have the same force as a head-on collision.”

Hermione nodded as she matched Harry’s smile. “Which is why,” she replied, “I owled Luna
yesterday asking her to invite Ginny to spend the night at her house…we’ve got enough to do here
before tackling that distraction.”

Harry jerked his head around towards Hermione and let out a quiet snort of bemusement. “Anyone
tell you that you are one smart witch?”

“Oh, once or twice.”

By that point Hermione had pulled up in front of Mr. Weasley, who had heard the motorcar’s
engines and was anxiously waiting to greet them. She allowed Arthur the opportunity to work the car
door’s handle.

“Hermione, Harry, what a pleasant surprise,” he said as he opened her car door. “It’s so good to
see you again!”

That Mr. Weasley took the time for hugs and handshakes before touching more than the Morris’s
car door was clear indication that this greeting was genuine (though his patience seemed a bit
tested as Fleur and Bill came out to add their welcomes).

“Hermione, you have a lovely motorcar,” he exclaimed.

“Oh, it’s not my car, Mr. Weasley, it’s Ron’s.”

“Ron’s?” Bill asked, “You mean my little brother actually knows how to work one of those
things?”

Hermione nodded. “Didn’t even have to obliviate the muggle examiner for him to get his license,”
she noted, which caused Arthur to puff out a bit in pride.

“Chip off the old block,” he said, as Hermione offered him the car keys and a chance behind the
wheel. Once seated, he looked at the front dash, then down at the floor boards. “So where is the
drain?”

“What drain?”

“The drain to take away the rain water.”

It took Harry only a few seconds to understand Arthur’s bewilderment. He then made Mr. Weasley’s
day by showing him how the convertible’s cloth-topped roof could be extended up and over the
interior. Hermione made Mr. Weasley’s week by asking if they could leave the motorcar there at the
Burrow. That gave Fleur the chance to tactfully suggest there’d be time for Arthur to spend with
the vehicle later in the day. Mr. Weasley agreed with a hint of chagrin, and invited Harry and
Hermione into the Burrow’s kitchen for some coffee.

“You should have told us you were going to visit,” he chided. “We’d have had a big breakfast
waiting.”

“Erm, that’s exactly why we didn’t call ahead,” Hermione said. “Didn’t want anyone to make a
fuss, particularly Molly.”

Arthur nodded, “Well, if you come around to see Ron and Ginny, I’m afraid, there not here.”

Harry replied, “We know, we talked with Ron on the way out this morning…he’s off the graveyard
shift in a few minutes, though, right?”

“Yes, off of work and ready for bed, just as soon as he tumbles through the floo. But Ginny
should be up over at Luna’s, so it’d be easy to visit her.”

“We’re planning on visiting Luna’s later,” Hermione replied, “but we really hoped to have a
chance to visit with you and Mrs. Weasley.”

“Oh,” Mr. Weasley said with a bit of surprise, “Well Molly’s still resting…hasn’t done much else
since she came home yesterday…I’ll go and wake her.”

“Please don’t do that, Mr. Weasley,” Harry quickly said, “I know all too well what she’s going
through. Maybe you could just tell her we stopped by, and we’ll try again later?”

“I vill be sure to do zat for you,” Fleur interjected, as she levitated the kettle over to fill
their mugs. Her comment brought Harry’s focus out of the conversation and onto his surroundings for
a moment. It had been a year since he’d last visited the Weasley’s, but something had still seemed
a bit off when he had first entered the kitchen. It took Fleur’s hospitality, and the kitchen apron
that she was wearing, for him to figure it all out.

For the moment, at least, they were in Fleur’s kitchen, not Molly’s.

The differences were minor, but all added up….a vase of fresh flowers on the table, a bowl of
fresh fruit on the counter, and (most tellingly) a kitchen wall clock that now sported two
additional hands: one labeled “Fleur” that hovered over “Home,” and a second marked “Molly” that
pointed towards “Mortal Peril.”

Hermione’s voice brought Harry back from his quiet thoughts of guilt. “Ron said that the
Ministry won’t let you take time off of work to be with Molly,” Hermione said. “That’s
terrible.”

“Yes, well, we are very short-handed now, aren’t we?” Mr. Weasley replied. “And with Fleur
here…she’s been a godsend, she has…Thank Merlin the Ministry’s wizard draft won’t affect her.”

“So they’re really going to go forward with that?” Harry asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Arthur replied. “Of course, they’re not calling it a draft…it’s been euphemized
a Ministry intern program.”

“On a massive and involuntary scale, of course,” Bill added.

Arthur shook his head. “And since the Minister put Umbridge in charge, needless to say it only
applies to purebloods.”

“That stupid cow wants another crack at what she failed to do at Hogwarts,” Harry stated.

“I’m afraid you are right,” Arthur said sadly. “That Hogwarts might not open this fall is going
to be presented as their rationale for including Ginny and all of the other sixth years in the
program.”

“What? That’s outrageous.” Hermione said. “They’re not old enough to do magic on they’re own,
but they’re old enough to be drummed into Ministry service?”

Arthur nodded. “Minister’s office thought of that, sad to say…since Hogwarts is officially
closed they’re transferring the ‘instructional exception’ authority to the Ministry.”

“So instead of Headmistress McGonagall and our professors teaching students how to responsibly
use magic it will be Umbridge and her stooges?” Harry scowled. “It’s disgusting…you’d think they
might be humbled by the level of treason we found within their ranks, but they’re turning around
and using this treason as an excuse to grab even more power!”

“A very cogent analysis, Harry,” Bill said. “Question is, what are we going to do about it?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know…I really don’t know. Bad enough we have to fight off
Voldemort…but the Ministry as well?”

“You’ve got the ear of Head Auror Robards, Harry,” Mr. Weasley. He then gave a weak smile. “As
well a few other ministry officials…”

“Thank you , Mr. Weasley…you don’t know how much that means to me,” Harry replied. “When does
this ‘intern’ program start?”

“Owls are being sent out today, with assignments starting a week from Monday.”

Harry took note of the time. “We’re going have to spend some time working out a response,” he
concluded, “but in the meantime you need to get to the Ministry on time…can’t give them an excuse
to hassle our supporters, can we?”

Arthur smiled and said “I’ve still got a few minutes…floo traffic to the Ministry has been
lighter than normal these past few days… can’t imagine why.”

Harry reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small electronic device. “We brought something
that we thought you might want to see. Mrs. Weasley too, as soon as she’s up to it.” He opened the
top up to reveal the small LCD display of a portable DVD player. “It’s not going to work inside the
house, but maybe out in the yard?”

He went on to explain that it was a muggle version of omnioculars, with a recording of the
Dementor attack on Ascot. Arthur’s eyes lit up as he calculated just how late he could be getting
to work. With a laugh and wave, Bill and Fleur pushed Arthur out the door and towards the backyard
Quidditch pitch with Harry and Hermione.

Once they were far enough away from the concentration of magic that was centered on the house,
Harry turned on the player and showed Arthur how to work the controls. He then popped open the
drive to reveal the DVD disk on which the recording was housed. Hermione explained that muggle
movies could be played on the machine as well, and handed Arthur a small case filled with some of
her favorite films.

When the DVD recording of the Ascot magic show began to play Arthur quickly forgot about the
technology and focused in on the Dementor attack. Ron had given him a cursory description of what
had transpired, but it was nowhere near as riveting as seeing it replayed for himself. Harry
provided a running commentary, and made sure to freeze the frame when Ron’s fully formed patronus
came into view.

“That’s…that’s Ron’s?” Arthur asked with wonder, as he watched a tenacious terrier nip at a
Dementor’s heels. “Oh my, Molly is going to be beside herself with pride when she sees this.”

“That was our hope,” Hermione replied, “because that ties into why we wanted to talk with you
before Ron got home.” She then handed Arthur an engraved invitation, printed on Royal
stationary.

Five minutes later, with DVD player, invitation and explanation in hand, Arthur led Hermione and
Harry back inside the house. After checking in on Molly, he floo’ed off to the Ministry. A few
minutes later, Ron popped out of the fireplace, tired and a bit worse for wear. He wasn’t too
tired, though, to proudly take his big brother out for a ride in his convertible, which left Harry
and Hermione alone for a few minutes with Fleur.

Hermione wanted an update on the wedding. Fleur, in turn, wanted an update on Hermione’s love
life. At Harry’s embarrassed blush Fleur explained that it was her Veela blood that had betrayed
their quasi-secret, rather than any loose words from those Weasley boys that were in the know. She
cautioned, though, that Harry’s love-smitten face could be read by anyone who had a vested interest
in looking, which made him blush even more. Hermione grabbed Harry’s hand in reassurance, and told
Fleur that they were going to break the news to Ginny that afternoon at Luna’s house. Fleur agreed
with that plan, noting with a smile that Ginny’s shrieking might interfere with Molly’s rest.

And on that reassuring note Hermione and Harry walked out beyond the Burrow’s protective wards.
Along the way they waved goodbye to Ron and Bill as they drove back down the dirt path in the
Morris. Once clear of the wards, Hermione gave Harry a quick kiss and disapparated to Diagon
Alley.

Given that the ethereal plane was considerably less congested than either muggle motorways or
the floo network, the trip went very fast. The glamour charm that Hermione applied upon arrival
facilitated anonymous entry into The Leaky Cauldron, but didn’t fool the observant eye of its
bartender.

“They’re already upstairs, miss,” Tom quietly told her as she approached the bar. “Second
door

on the right.”

Hermione nodded her thanks, and was soon in the company of Tonks and Remus.

“Thanks for meeting on such short notice,” she said, as she cancelled the glamour and layered
her silencing charms on top of those already lain.

“Are my eyes getting to old to spot an invisibility cloak’s use, or did you make the trip
alone?” Lupin asked.

“I’m sure your eyesight is fine, Professor,” said a voice projected from inside Hermione’s
sweatshirt.

“What did you do, Hermione,” Tonks asked with surprise, “shrink Harry down and stuff him in your
pocket?”

Hermione smiled and shook her head as she unzipped her hooded sweatshirt to reveal her Order of
Arthur badge. “All clear, Harry,”

Two seconds later, Harry Potter followed a flash of light into the room.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Fashioning illegal portkeys these days, Harry?”

The Queen’s Wizard smirked as he pointed towards his badge. “Guess we weren’t exhaustive in our
descriptions of how these things work.”

Tonks and Lupin looked at each other with befuddlement until Hermione explained the
transportation charms that Merlin had fashioned into the badges. Tonks wistfully lamented that with
a pair of those Remus would have to work much harder to avoid lunch dates with her.

Harry smiled and fished two badges and two invitations out of his rucksack. “Then it looks like
you’re out of luck, Remus.”

After a few minutes of discussion, Tonks and Remus agreed to the terms that came with the
badges, and became seven and eight o-clock, respectively. Harry gave brief instructions on how to
use the badge while Hermione gave a brief lecture on the Order of Arthur itself. Then, with
promises made to meet at the Burrow later that evening, Hermione and Harry made their way towards
Fred and George’s with two additional badges in hand.

+++

Two hours later, Harry and Hermione were performing pre-run stretching exercises with her
parents back at Windsor. The Grangers initially seemed far more interested in the side-trip Harry
and Hermione had made to Gringott’s than in any one of the morning meetings.

“So the goblins jumped your seventeenth birthday by a few weeks?” Emily asked Harry.

Harry nodded. “I wouldn’t call it goblin logic for fear of a nose chewing, but it seems that
way. Griphook told me that wizard world adulthood is defined not by age, but by the ability to
legally use magic. Since the legal age to cast spells outside of school is seventeen, that’s also
the age of adulthood…for most witches and wizards,” he added, with a tinge of embarrassment.

Hermione jumped in. “In Harry’s case, the legal use of magic is predicated not on age, but on
his position as Queen’s Wizard. Since under the terms of the governing treaty Harry can legally use
magic, the goblin have decided that by treaty Harry is also an adult in the wizarding world.”

Roger Granger frowned in thought. “Does this mean that your mother’s protections are no longer
in place?”

“I really don’t know,” Harry replied. “Guess the only way to test it would be to allow Voldemort
to try and kill me between now and the end of July.”

“Let’s hold off on that experiment, then,” Roger said with a grin. “So I guess this answers my
question on why your vault portfolios changed over the past couple of days.”

Harry nodded. “It did seem abstract until Hermione and I took a ride down to the Potter family
vault.”

“Mum you should have seen it,” Hermione said with excitement, before realizing that Harry was
embarrassed by his wealth. “I mean, well…like Harry said, it’s one thing to see a list of magical
objects that he owns, but quite another to see them all in one place.”

Harry tried to change the topic. “Wish I had a camera to capture the look on Hermione’s face
when she opened her vault for the first time.” Hermione blushed as her parents laughed at Harry’s
teasing.

“So did you bring anything back with you?” Roger asked.

Harry shook his head. “Just a few things…did make arrangements for a delivery later today,
though.”

“What kind of things?” Emily asked.

Harry only gave a “wait-and-see” smile in reply as he led the way out of the Castle and into the
start of their late-morning run.

As they had made plans to meet Sir Evan for lunch at the Royal Mess, the pace was necessarily
quicker than normal. When they’d finished, Harry and Hermione surprised her parents by leading them
not to the changing rooms, but back to the Round Tower.

“I don’t know about you kids,” Emily said, “but Roger definitely needs a shower after that
run.”

Hermione laughed. “You’ve got running water in your apartment now.”

“What?” Roger asked. “We were told that it’d take at least a week for the plumbing to be
done.”

Harry lowered the ward that guarded the tower and opened the door. “We were told that too, so we
thought we’d take matters into our own magical hands.” He led them inside, grabbing an oblong
canvas bag on the way up to the second level of the ground level apartment.

Harry stepped into the dressing room and started to gauge ceiling heights and floor space,
taking into consideration the antique furniture that had been moved there the night previous. He
turned to Hermione, who had stopped at the room entry with her parents and pointed towards one
corner of the room, “Should fit over there, don’t you think?” Hermione nodded and, ignoring her
parents questioning looks, helped Harry empty out the canvas bag’s contents. It only took a couple
of minutes to pitch the tent that they’d removed from the Potter family vault.

Roger’s comment upon entering the magical tent’s living room was amazingly similar to what Harry
had said back at the Quidditch World Cup.

“I *love* magic.”

Hermione used freshening charms to take care of the mustiness as Harry led her parents from room
to room. It was larger than the Love Shack, with two bedrooms and a full kitchen. The tent was also
built with family more in mind than naughty fun. The furnishings were comfortable, (as much as
nineteenth-century style furniture could be comfortable). More importantly, the bathroom was only
thirty years out of date, with a bathtub, separate shower, and controls that (thankfully) didn’t
require use of a wand.

Hermione cut into her parent’s sense of awe with a reminder that they had a lunch date with Sir
Evan. When Emily asked if Harry or Hermione wanted to use the shower first they were forced to
admit that they had their own tent upstairs. With promises to give that tour sometime later, Harry
and Hermione left her parent’s new tent for their own.

+++

Sir Evan was thrilled to have been invited to Windsor Castle for lunch; despite his knighthood
it was the first time he’d ever been inside. His reaction, then, when Harry and Hermione asked if
he wanted to live within the castle, was understandably favorable. There were two issues that
needed resolution prior to his move, however: his hip, and the Death Eater prisoners that were
still being held underneath Privet Drive’s wards.

Sir Evan’s envisioned mission as part of the newly reconstituted Order of Arthur was twofold.
First, a centralized anchor point was needed for the Order; a safe meeting place within the muggle
world where all of the Order members could meet in an emergency. That anchor required someone to
stay at the Castle at all times. Since Sir Evan was already serving as an anchor for Privet Drive,
it would be a change in location more than a change in mission. But as the captured Death Eaters
were now all under combined muggle/wizard guard on Privet Drive, Sir Evan was still needed there
(in case other Order Members were needed there in a hurry). Harry stated his intention to resurrect
the Round Tower’s role as a jailhouse of sorts, but said that any decision to do so required active
Castle wards and permission from both Queen and Prime Minister. Hermione was working on the former,
while a meeting on 10 Downing had been arranged for the following week to discuss the latter.

The possibility of Round Tower as jail tied into Sir Evan’s second role at Windsor Castle. If
there were wizard prisoners to be kept within the tower, there would be need of an on-site jailor.
A c-mug was also now needed to raise and lower the Round Tower’s flagging whenever the Queen was in
residence. Sir Evan could fill both roles, but only if he could get up and down the Tower’s stone
stairs. The broken hip and wheelchair use were therefore an issue. When this point was brought up
over lunch Sir Evan gave a guilty smile, and confessed that over the past week he had been able to
sweet talk two very nice young witches (Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet, specifically) into casting
some low-powered healing charms on his leg. To prove the point, he rose from his wheel chair and
performed a little jig.

Sir Evan had maintained the ruse in order to shield Katie and Alicia from any troubles about
spell casting on a muggle. Harry and Hermione were more amused than alarmed, however. Harry told
Sir Evan that a spell cast within Privet Drive’s wards couldn’t be tracked, and Hermione told him
that any residual magic within the restored hip bone would dissipate within a few weeks. With that
information in hand, Sir Evan stood and asked to take a walk up the Round Tower’s steps.

That Sir Evan had no problem walking up and down the stairs allowed Harry and Hermione to show
him where they thought he might take up residence.

“Don’t mind the bars, Sir Evan,” Harry said as he led them into the jail’s “King’s Suite.”
“We’ve already asked for a replacement door.”

The single room that covered this level of the tower was exactly the same as it was during the
previous day’s tour, with three exceptions: one tent, and two paintings. As the tent appeared on
the outside to be perfectly normal, Sir Evan’s attention was immediately drawn to the larger of the
two paintings. Of course, the fact that there were nine beautiful women moving about within the
frame might have had something to do with it as well.

“Sir Harry, how did you know my taste in art?” Sir Evan asked with a roguish grin.

Roger Granger and Harry joined Sir Evan for a closer look at the Muses. “Hey Harry, was there
more where this one came from?” he asked with a laugh. Meanwhile, Hermione and her mom stood with
arms crossed, sharing a look of bemusement.

“At least they have clothes on now, mum,” Hermione said.

They watched with fascination as the nine figures took turns reaching through the edge of their
painting and into the smaller work that hung right next to it. It was a still life of a bowl of
fruit, and the Muses were grabbing apples and bunches of grapes. In between bites the figures
flirted with the three men and spoke endearments in French.

“They look hungry,” Emily said.

“You would be too, if you hadn’t eaten in five hundred years,” her daughter replied. Hermione
then told her mum the fascinating story that the painting’s figures had told in between their first
bites of magical energy.

The nine women who had posed for the portrait weren’t really muses, of course…the witches that
had served as inspiration for ancient muggle mythology had lived some two thousand years prior to
the painting’s execution. A sixteenth-century French wizard artist had created the painting, and
the figures were echoes of young French witches that had lived at that time. They had told Hermione
that the rich mistress of a French king had commissioned the painting. The King, who had been
imprisoned within the Round Tower, had written to this mistress of his loneliness, and she had
conspired with the French king’s wizard to give him some company.

There was a reason behind the painting’s topic. Wanting to give his king something more than
just eye candy, the French wizard had scoured the French wizarding world for not just beautiful
witches, but smart and artistic ones as well. One was versed in poetry, another in the Classics, a
third had a voice of gold, and so on. By choosing to paint them as Muses, the wizard artist was
able to give them the instruments and texts that the echoes needed to entertain the French king in
private. Apparently, the English king and castellan that held the French king were ignorant of the
wizarding world, and thought nothing of allowing the painting to be hung in the jailed king’s cell
(his confinement having certain advantages due to his rank). The jailors were similarly ignorant of
the reason why several paintings of food accompanied the larger work.

Emily asked why, if the figures were now clothed, they had been found bathing nude, and why they
hadn’t eaten for five hundred years. Hermione explained the mechanics of magical paintings, stating
that the figures eventually ran out of painted food, and had been unable to scavenge for more. The
story for their state of dress was a bit darker. After the French king died in captivity his jailor
discovered the magic behind the paintings and decided to satiate his more prurient interests. He
removed the magical food paintings from the castle, and forced the echoes to shed their clothing
and perform for him in exchange for a few pieces of magical food, brought back to the castle one
grape at a time.

“So this castellan forced them to become sex slaves of a sort?” Emily asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Hermione replied. “They had no rights, of course…magical world has problems
granting equal status to sentient magical beings, much less paintings…really horrible, when you
think of it…”

“Well at least they’re in a better place and better situation now,” Emily replied.

Hermione nodded. “They’re still a little too flirty for me, but at least it’s in French…Harry’s
not exactly a master of languages.”

That earned a laugh from Emily. “Well unfortunately for me, our family vacations across the
Channel have given your father more than enough understanding. Speaking of which…” She called out
to her husband, “Think we have some duties at the control room, Roger.”

“Yes dear,” her husband replied with feigned grumpiness.

As the Granger’s headed off to their MI-5 ¾ responsibilities, Harry and Hermione showed Sir Evan
his future magical home. With need to stay for that night’s meeting, Sir Evan suggested that he
could use a kip inside the tent before teatime. Looking at their day schedule, Harry and Hermione
realized that they themselves had ninety minutes of free time before they were to meet with Ron
back at the Burrow. Rationalizing that their day had started early, and promised to end late, Harry
and Hermione left Sir Evan for the friendly confines of their own magical tent and an afternoon nap
of their own.

++++++++++

A/N: This busy day has been split into two chapters. Took me long enough, but we will see Ginny
next time around. Grrrowwlll!



32. Chapter 32
--------------

**Chapter 32:** **Org Chart**

**A/N:** Sorry, but my muse is going on Thanksgiving holiday, so it was update now, or wait
until next week. A poor excuse for pushing back Ginny once again, but I’m really working hard on
writing a scene that hasn’t already been done a thousand times (and at least a few hundred times
better than me). Hope that serving up a large fluffy dish of pumpkin pie is adequate
compensation.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

Bliss lost out to worry as Harry rose from the failed kip. Untangling his limbs, he sighed as
Hermione reached out in her sleep for the warmth he’d stolen from her, then turned and headed down
to their common room.

Harry walked up to the borrowed white board, grabbed a dry erase marker, and checked off the
last four names on their list. There’d been little doubt that they’d accept the offer to join the
Order of Arthur. Fred and George, who had seen the badges in action, said yes even before Harry
could completely verbalize the invitation. Tonks and Remus had been almost as quick; their brief
discussion at The Leaky Cauldron involved far more explanation of purpose than arm-twisting.

It was the rest of the list that had caused Harry’s stomach to flip in fear - Wally, Steve, and
Hermione’s parents. The guilt felt over Brian’s condition had initially blinded Harry to the notion
that the new Order members were all wizards, and capable of bouncing back from injury as easily as
Fred had. With second thoughts, however, he decided that his responsibility to the Queen required
quick access if need be. Sir Evan, of course, could anchor her location when she was at Windsor,
but Ascot Week was an aberration; weekend visits were more often the norm, and even with her
advanced age she got around the country quite a bit. With input from Wally and Steve they’d decided
that the best approach to this problem would be for Steve to be reassigned to the Queen’s personal
guard. In that way, all of the Order of Arthur members could rally to his position should the Queen
ever again come under attack.

This idea of rally points had also been used to flesh out the roles of Tonks and Lupin. Tonks
and all of the other Aurors that had been guarding the grounds of Hogwarts had been recalled to the
home office after the attack, so she would be well placed to allow immediate access to the Ministry
of Magic. Lupin, on the other hand, had no official ties to the Ministry, making him an ideal
candidate for anchoring Hogwarts. Of course the Headmistress would have as well, but after some
thought (and a bit of guilt) they’d decided that Remus would be more nimble on a broom and in
battle.

Which left five badges, and the realization that the wizard-muggle teams that had been used on
Privet Drive had worked for a reason. Wally was a natural selection, but they’d agonized over
whether or not to include Mr. and Mrs. Granger. On the one hand it seemed like a selfish move; with
the badges her parents would be able to escape any dangerous situation better than any other muggle
could. But on the other hand the badges would put them at greater danger than any other muggles,
because of the responsibility that came with it. Roger and Emily had proven their mettle at Privet
Drive, and were constantly surprising them with new skills and capabilities. They also were c-mugs
with motivation to fight and the knowledge to support that fight, but still…they were her parents.
In the end, they had decided to lay out their concerns to her parents and ask their opinion. Roger
and Emily had said that the choice was Harry’s, but they’d be honored to serve if asked. Harry,
very reluctantly, gave them that honor.

Harry had plenty of ideas to explore with the assembled Order. He also, however, had plenty of
self-doubt. Was he really a leader? It had been one thing to head up the DA, but as Harry looked
once more at the list of names he came to the startling realization that he was the youngest person
on the list!

And if that wasn’t enough to worry about there were all of his other responsibilities. Harry
started to draw, following some of the diagram and flow charting tricks Hermione had taught him. A
big box labeled “Clan Potter” was drawn on the board’s edge, with an arrow connecting it to his
name on the Order list. A second box, marked “Fawkes Foundation” was similarly tied to his name.
And then the dam burst, and all kinds of worries were linked to his name (e.g. Hogwarts, his
finances, MI-5 ¾, member of the Queen’s staff). By the time he’d finished the white board resembled
a giant web, with Harry the spider in the middle of it all.

He stepped back, then made the startling realization that he’d forgotten something. He reached
out and wrote “VOLDEMORT/YOU-KNOW-WHAT HUNT” within a box that he linked to his name. Thinking that
the omission perfectly symbolized his current state, he hurled the dry erase marker towards the
white board. It bounced off the surface without satisfaction.

A call on his badge brought him out of his funk.

“Wally, what’s up?”

“Nothing bad, Sir Harry…just wanted to let you know that there are some boxes waiting for you
down at the loading docks.”

Harry assumed that the goblins had made their delivery from his vault and told Wally that he was
on his way. He then walked down the stairs and out of the tower. The loading docks were located
within the Lower Ward, away from the State Apartments. As Harry’s path took him past a perpetual
queue of tourists, he steeled himself for some public recognition.

The possibility that he might become just as famous within the muggle world was a frightening
prospect. Being “The-Boy-Who-Lived” had forced him to accept the stares, smiles and waves from
strangers for years, so he’d reasoned that he’d be able to adjust. He tried to limit his movement
around the Castle to times outside of public hours, but there were times (such as this one) where
he knew he just had to grin a bear it.

A teenage girl recognized him as he walked down the path and yelped out an autograph request.
It’d happened twice the day previous, and he obligingly walked over. This time, however, there was
more than a Castle Tour ticket stub to sign; the preteen handed Harry the latest issue of a muggle
magazine called *TRW* (short for *“Teen Royal Watch”*). The cover startled him; it was a
picture of him in top hat and tails, taken at Ascot. The teaser headline read **“Wizar-Delicious!
Palace Serves Up New Magical Hearthrob.”**

As he finished writing the magazine cover, things began to spiral out of control. Another
magazine was thrust in front of him, and then another, as the queue developed a bulbous growth of
star-struck girls on its side. Hands not holding pens aimed camera phones, and picture flashes
began to flare as the autograph requests became much more direct and provocative; one
twenty-something blonde asked if he’d sign her knickers (while they were still worn, mind you).

A hand grasped his shoulder and pulled Harry back as the mob tried to crush its way into
singularity. “Right then, that’s enough, ladies and gents. Please return to your queue, as the
Queen’s Wizard has some meetings to attend to…back in queue, please….”

Harry turned and gave Roger Granger a slightly embarrassed look as Emily placed herself between
Harry and the tourist pack desperate for some body contact. Once Harry cleared the crowd by a few
meters those still in pursuit realized its futility, and quickly turned to secure their places in
line.

“Thanks for the help,” Harry told the Grangers, as they walked away from the crowd. “Almost
apparated out that situation.”

“Tsk, tsk, Harry,” Roger said with a smile. “You’ll be needing to be more mindful of visitor’s
hours, now that Fleet Street’s proclaiming you ‘Queen’s Hottie.’”

“Arrggh,” Harry replied, “That’s exactly what I didn’t want happening…hope you two didn’t think
I was courting any of that.”

“No worries, Harry,” Emily replied. “We had video on you from the start…came when we realized
you’d be needing some help.”

The Grangers walked Harry down to the dock, where two burly Castle staff members were already
loading large boxes onto two utility carts. He signed some papers, then took an offered seat next
to one of the men as they drove out onto the path back towards the tower. He yelled out more thanks
to the Grangers as he passed them on their walk back to their post, then turned and waved again to
the crowd as they caught sight of him.

“Become a Castle attraction yourself, you have,” the driver dryly said.

“Yeah, I guess it comes with the job,” Harry said with resignation.

When they arrived at the tower Harry got out to open the door, then walked back to help the two
men unload. One of the men practically slapped his hand away. “What do you think you’re doing,
there, lad?”

“Just lending a hand…it’s my things, after all.”

The man shook his head. “See that the kitchen staff were right about you…Sir Harry, is it? Yes,
well, Sir Harry, have you ever heard the ditty about Sir Reggie?”

Harry shook his head.

“Ah, well it goes something like this…

*Sir Reggie went to change a light,*

*Fell off the ladder, serves him right!*

*He should have stayed where he did best,*

*And paid those skilled to do the rest.*

Harry took a few seconds to work out the poem’s purpose. When he failed to wipe the daft look
off his face the man continued. “You and I, we both work for the Queen, right? To do what…I’m a
mover, and you’re a magician. If you spend time doing what I can do to serve the Crown, then who is
going to do the wizarding? Not me.”

Harry nodded. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t want you to think that I think I’m better than…

“Look Sir Harry,” the man said, “It touches my heart to see your feet on the ground, and lacking
airs…but you need not prove that every day by washing dishes and mowing the lawn. By letting those
around you do what they do best…that’s what allows you to do your magic…to do what you do
best.”

Harry broke into a smile, and reached out his hand. “Thank you for the advice…I can’t tell you
how much your wisdom is going to help me.”

The mover shook Harry’s hand, and then raised his fingers up in a military salute. “Happy to
help, Sir Harry.”

Harry asked the two men to wait just a few seconds before bringing the boxes upstairs, which
gave him time to shrink down and pocket the white board. He then left instructions to leave the
boxes within the common room while he went upstairs to “work on his magic.” Once in the dressing
room he resized the white board and used a sticking charm to place it on a wall. With the mover’s
sage advice still ringing in his ears, Harry started to quickly sketch out a revised organizational
chart.

Thirty minutes later Hermione found Harry sitting cross-legged on the floor looking up at his
work. She smiled as she sat down behind him and scooted up with her legs outside his. With two arms
wrapped around his chest she pulled Harry back until he was leaning on her with his head rested on
her shoulder. After a little ear nibbling she asked, “Couldn’t sleep?”


Harry smiled as he closed his eyes and shook his head. “Things on my mind.”

“So it seems,” Hermione replied. “Looks like you’ve taken my flow charting lessons to
heart.”

Harry nodded. “Along with the rest of you…and sorry, no give backs.”

Hermione responded with a squeeze. “Guess I’ll muddle through somehow.” She released a hand to
wave towards the board. “So what brought this on?”

“I was worrying about things getting lost in all of the shuffle…decided I needed to clarify and
quantify my life.” He turned his head towards hers. “So what do you think?”

Hermione let out a “Well…” that for all the world sounded like purring.

“I think it’s brilliant, and smart, and bound to be wildly effective.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Hermione.”

“I certainly hope so, Harry.”

“It’s only a rough draft, though,” he replied. “Any changes before I spring this on Wally and
Ron and your parents?”

Hermione stood, grabbed a marker, and began chewing on its end as she examined the board. In the
center, Harry had written his name next to Hermione’s with Ron’s right below to form a triangle.
All three names were within a box labeled “Treasure Hunt,” representing, (Hermione guessed), the
Trio’s horcrux search. Outside this box, Harry had drawn more boxes, each representing a group or
organization that he was linked to. Within each box was a membership roster of sorts, with the top
name in all-caps and underlined. Hermione noted that Harry had, on paper at least, accepted the
need to delegate power and authority. The box labeled “Fawkes Foundation” had her mum’s name on
top, her dad’s name was linked to Harry’s finances, and her name…well, her name was in quite a few
boxes, but it was given top-billing within Clan Potter.

“Harry,” she asked, “Don’t you think that the Clan Chief should be head of Clan Potter?”

“Only when I have to,” Harry replied with a smile, “Thought I’d ask the powers behind the throne
to run things otherwise.”

Hermione silently nodded, noting that Ron’s name was also prominent within the Clan box, as
Champion and head of something labeled “CAF.”

“Stands for ‘Clan Air Force’,” Harry replied sheepishly when she asked about it. “Wanted to make
sure that Dean, Neville and the rest know how important they are in all this.”

“Because you ran out of Order of Arthur badges?”


“Yeah, something like that.”

Hermione nodded and moved on to the other side of the board. The names of the twelve Order of
Arthur members were boxed, with Harry’s name underlined (but not all-capped). MI-5 ¾ had a box with
Wally’s name on top (and Harry and Hermione’s absent). Windsor Castle had a box as well, as did
Hogwarts, the muggle government and a small box with the word “Peanut Butter Brigade.” When asked,
Harry said that it was a place-holder of sorts, representing his relationship to those within the
magical world that supported him (with “Peanut Butter” standing for “Pure-Blood”)

Hermine took two steps back from the board. “I think that *Harry Potter, Inc*. has become a
multi-national corporation,” she said.

“Well, not quite,” Harry replied. He looked up at the board and realized that something was
missing. Standing, he took the pen from Hermione and drew a box around their names, then drew a
line connecting the two names. Above the box he wrote *“House of Lord Gryffindor.”* He then
walked back behind Hermione and wrapped his arms around her in embrace.

“Erm…Harry?”

“Yes, Hermione.”

“I assume you added the Lord to distinguish that box from the Gryffindor House at Hogwarts?”

“That’s right.”

“So shouldn’t Lord Gryffindor’s name be underlined as the head of that little group?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh….so Harry?”

“Yes, Hermione.”

“We’re the only two people in that box?”

“For now, yes.”

Hermione turned with a look of scrutiny on her face. “Planning on a harem?”

“No,” Harry said with a smile. “Planning on in-laws.”

Hermione went wide-eyed. “You know, Harry, that’s the second time I’ve heard you talk about
in-laws this week…just how definite are those plans of yours?”

Harry’s face dropped into a serious expression. “You’re right, Hermione, I shouldn’t be joking
about something that’s so important.”

“Erm Harry…that’s nice, but it didn’t really answer the question?”

“Guess you’re right…it’s just that…well, I can’t imagine living without you in my life. That’s
nothing new…I would have said the same thing two months ago…but now it’s, erm, so much better.”

“How?”


“Well…the snogging, of course, is brilliant, and you wield a mean scrub brush, and…and I used to
be afraid that if we became more than friends that we’d lose that friendship.”

“Imagine your Aunt and Uncle weren’t the best role models there.”

“For certain,” Harry replied. But it has worked, hasn’t it? We’ve gone beyond just spending all
of our waking hours together to adding in the sleep time as well…and we’re not at each others
throats, or arguing, or thinking less of each other…”

“Oh sure, say that now…but what happens the first time you hear me pass gas?”

“Who says I haven’t already?”


“Harry James Potter!”

“Ah, come on, Hermione, with all of the time we’ve been together…I mean Ron’s blasts are
legendary, but you can’t blame it on him all the time, can you?”

“That’s what a polite boyfriend would do.”

“Well…I guess I could blame him, even though I’d know better…”

“And how is that?”


“Erm…you have to admit, Hermione, while Ron’s display an amazing two octave range, the
associated smell is far more consistent. Well, consistent enough to notice a difference….”

Hermione sighed. “Merlin, it’s like having Ron around…one minute we’re talking about marriage
plans and the next thing you know we’re comparing farts.” She laughed nervously. “I can’t believe I
just said that.”

Harry laughed with her. “You can say anything around me Hermione, and I’m not going to think
less of you…you know that.”

Hermione’s eyes were getting moist as she nodded in agreement. “I know…I’ve known that for a
long time. Brings us back to that backwards approach we’re taking to our relationship.”

“You mean determine over a number of years that we’re compatible and then go out on a second
date?”

“Exactly.” She placed a tender kiss on his lips then took a step back.

“You know, Harry, if you’d have been sorted Slytherin I might have thought your comments about
in-laws were a sneaky way of testing the waters before risking a plunge.”

“Really?” Harry smirked. “You do know the Sorting Hat wanted to put me there.”

She gave him another kiss. “Yes, I do.”

“Sure, you say that now, but will you say ‘Yes’ or ‘I do’ when it really matters?”

Hermione smiled, “Guess you’ll have to risk jumping off into the deep end to find out.”

“You know I’m not a very good swimmer.”

Hermione kissed his nose in benediction. “So bring some gillyweed.”



33. Chapter 33
--------------

Chapter 33: Muggle Summer II: The Wrath of Ginny?

**A/N**: Back again. Thanks for your patience…it’s been a while now since last post on this
story. Hope that those of you who followed “Gladiator” over that time period considered it time
well spent. I’m thinking of this as a “second season,” with plans of working hard to get the next
dozen or so chapters out. Have to say that the announcement of Book 7’s publishing date is a strong
motivator (I’d rather have readers compare her version against mine rather than the other way
around). And now, with that pretentiousness out of the way….

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

Friday, June 22, 3:15pm

Ottery St. Catchpole

Harry and Hermione had to take an indirect route from Windsor Castle to Luna Lovegood’s house,
as Hermione had never been there before. They apparated/ badge-traveled to just outside The
Burrow’s wards, where Ron was waiting for them in his car. From there it only took a few minutes to
drive into town.

Harry had floo-called Luna’s father from the Leaky Cauldron earlier that morning with a request
to meet with him at his home that afternoon. While Harry didn’t want to explain the meeting
purpose, it was easy enough for the *Quibbler*’s editor to assume that next issue’s cover
story on the secret influence of vampires *(“Vlad and Rufus: Separated at Birth?”)* might be
bumped.

Luna had already promised Harry and Hermione to keep Ginny at her house until dinner, allowing
plans for Harry to meet with Ginny there as well, effectively killing two birds with one stone.
Harry hoped that was all the killing that would occur during those meetings.

They spied Luna and Ginny reading on the front porch steps of the Lovegood residence; Luna was
deep into the Sixth-year Ancient Runes text she’d borrowed from Hermione, while Ginny was hunched
over the latest “*Teen Witch Weekly*.”

The skies were overcast, but not yet wet, so the car’s roof was down. This allowed Ginny to
practically fall into Harry’s lap after she ran to the stopped car in a blur of red hair and
wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck. She pulled his head towards her in a tight embrace, oblivious
to Hermione’s scowling in the rear seat and Harry’s deft avoidance of her lips.

“Harry,” she exclaimed, “it’s so wonderful to see you…it seems like ages.”

“Nice to see you too, Ginny,” Harry replied with a bit of stiffness. With gentle insistence he
snaked his upper torso out from her embrace. “Erm. Ginny, we should talk later, but right now we’ve
got to meet with Mr. Lovegood inside.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” Ginny replied with saccharin-levels of breathiness. Hermione, who was
half-way out of the car, turned and stared, but said nothing; it was enough for her to see Harry
scoot over the stick shift so that he could exit the car from the side opposite of Ginny.

“I’ll be waiting right here,” Ginny called out. She didn’t see Harry roll his eyes as he strode
up the steps with a small stack of portfolios under his arm.

“Father is in his study,” Luna said, as she opened the front door for Harry and Hermione. “First
door on the right.”

“Thanks, Luna,” Harry replied, as he grabbed Hermione’s hand and led her inside. Ron, now in
Clan Champion mode, drew his wand out and turned his back to the front door, on guard against the
advances of Death Eaters and ex-girlfriends. Harry heard him say, “No, Ginny, you’ll just have to
wait,” before the door closed behind them.

Harry spared a second to take in his surroundings. It wasn’t a fancy house, but it was
comfortable and inviting. The furnishings weren’t that much different than the Burrow’s; a bit less
worn, without seven children in the house, but also less tidy (he thought that perhaps Luna’s
breezy nonchalance ran in the family). Double stacked bookshelves, piles of yellowing newspapers
and the bric-a-brac of world travelers also distinguished the decor.

His observations were interrupted by Lawrence Lovegood’s hearty greeting.

“Mr. Harry Potter, and Ms. Hermione Granger, it is rather thrilling to finally be able to meet
you in the flesh.”

Harry turned and gave Luna’s father a firm handshake. “Pleased to meet you as well, Mr.
Lovegood. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us at your house and on such short notice.”

Lovegood nodded as he closed the door behind the two teens and cast a series of silencing and
privacy wards about the room.

“Thank you for the privacy,” Hermione said. “That was quite an impressive array.”

Mr. Lovegood shrugged his shoulders. “I’m the one that should be conveying thanks…I’ve wanted to
express my sincere gratitude to Mr. Potter for some time.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Harry replied, “We both benefited from those *Quibbler* stories.”

Mr. Lovegood looked at him strangely. “Stories? You misunderstand me, young man. It is my
gratitude as a father that I wish to convey. It is as if I could characterize Luna’s happiness and
general outlook on life in terms of ‘*Before She Met Harry at the start of Fourth Year*,’ and
‘*After She Met Harry*.’”

Harry’s ears turned a bit red. “Thank you, sir,” he replied, “but I don’t think anything I did
could have made that much of a change. If anything, I would say that Ron Weasley would have the
lion’s share of any credit to be given.”

Lawrence Lovegood looked at Harry for a moment, then nodded as if he’d reached some internal
conclusion. “Well perhaps we can discuss that another day. I imagine that you have other
things…?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied. “I imagine that you’ve been following the reporting on my exploits
over the past week in *The Daily Prophet*?”

Luna’s father nodded. “Always make it a point to scout out the competition, even when its
accuracy and objectivity is worth little more than a slightly used chamber pot…so are you here to
discuss opportunities to tell your side of the story?”

“Not right now,” Harry replied. “I mean, it did work rather brilliantly last time we did that,
but Hermione and I think that we need a more…well, Slytherin…response to the way the *Prophet*
is slandering us, and working as the Ministry’s mouthpiece.”

Hermione said, “Here’s the problem …the *Daily Prophet* has worked with the Ministry to lay
out just enough facts to make it difficult to rebut. I mean, we could…but any accurate description
of what’s happened this past week would put certain…intelligence assets…at risk.”

“It also might bring certain events to light that we’d rather stay out of the papers right now,”
added Harry.

“I see,” Mr. Lovegood replied. “So you’re thinking of another approach?”

Harry nodded. “I’ve recently gained full control of the Potter Clan’s financial interests, as
well as some additional monies from the Black estate. We want to use part of those resources to
help you, and *The Quibbler*, get the truth out about the battle against Voldemort.”

Luna’s father looked at the two teens a bit cautiously. “Are you asking to buy the
*Quibbler*?”

“Oh, no, sir, not at all,” Harry quickly said in reassurance. “If we were to buy any paper
outright it’d be the *Prophet* itself…I apparently already own about 5% of its stock.”

“The problem is that Harry doesn’t want to give even the appearance of using his money to buy
power and influence,” said Hermione. “If he did buy that rag, the Ministry would probably just
start up its own newspaper, claiming that the wizarding world couldn’t trust what the
*Prophet* would print with Harry as publisher.”

“Like it has a reason now,” Harry muttered.

Lovegood nodded, rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “So a more indirect approach
that wouldn’t allow the Ministry to argue that Harry’s controlling either the *Prophet* or the
*Quibbler*?”

“Exactly,” Hermione replied with a smile. She then reached into her rucksack and retrieved a
portfolio of parchment papers. With Lovegood’s encouragement, she started down her list.

“First, we’ve been asked by an independent foundation to make arrangements with the Quibbler to
start some new subscriptions.”

“Really?” asked Lovegood, wondering how this piece of information fit in. “How many new
subscribers are we talking about?”

“We don’t have the full count right now, but at least six hundred to start.”

Lovegood took a step back in shock.

Harry explained, “The Foundation is looking for a way to get accurate and timely information
about the wizarding world into the hands of every single muggle-born Hogwarts student and their
families. Giving them a copy of the each issue of the *Quibbler* seemed a logical
approach.”

Hermione had to bite her tongue just a bit when Harry said “accuracy” and “Quibbler” in the same
sentence, but nevertheless continued. “The Foundation also expressed interest in getting this news
spread more than once a week…might be a stretch to immediately jump to a daily paper, but maybe
three times a week would be possible?”

“Three times a week?” asked Lovegood. “That’s a lot of copy to produce…I’m afraid that our staff
would not be up to the task, and I’m very sure our old presses wouldn’t be able to take that kind
of production rate for very long.”

Harry smiled. “We brought those potential issues to the Foundation’s attention. Their Board of
Directors have authorized me to offer an immediate no-interest loan for you to purchase new
printing equipment and hire new staff. They also thought you might want to consider moving to a
newer, more secure location.” Harry smiled when he added, “Of course, the Board expects that the
per issue purchase price will have to be raised a bit to cover these costs, and is prepared to
pre-pay its subscriptions at twice the current rate.”

“Don’t forget the advertising,” Hermione said. “That might take up some space in the new
editions as well.”

“Oh yes, thank you, Hermione,” said Harry, as she passed a piece of parchment over to Mr.
Lovegood. “It turns out that over the years most of the Potter finances have been invested in
wizarding businesses, rather sitting in piles of galleons at Gringott’s. That list you have are the
businesses and enterprises that I presently either own outright or own majority interest in. I
think that you’ll recognize at least a few of them as *Quibbler* advertisers.

“And a few more that advertise only in the *Prophet*,” Lawrence added as he quickly scanned
the list.

“Up until now,” replied Harry with a grin. “I’m afraid that the *Prophet* is about to
experience a rather shocking drop in advertising revenue.”

Hermione added her smile and comment. “Much better to be in the *Quibbler*’s position…why
with its sudden jump in circulation, I’m sure, Mr. Lovegood, that you’ll be able to increase your
advertisement rates quite nicely.”

“And I’m sure that the companies on that list will be willing to pay those new charges,” Harry
said with a twinkle in his eye.

Lovegood stood gobsmacked in front of the two teens, then turned to levitate a pile of books off
of his desk chair so that he could take a seat.

“This is all so overwhelming,” he finally said. “And what do you, or this foundation expect in
return?”

“Nothing,” Harry said in reassurance. “Nothing more than what you are already doing.”

“Well…” said Hermione with a small smile, “It might be nice to know that at least some of those
new reporters you hire focus on the Ministry and current events, and that Scrimgeour’s hijinks
share the lead with Snorkack sightings now and again.”

Lovegood chuckled at that response. “Fair enough.”

“I couldn’t say for sure,” Harry said with a smile, “but you might find that in the future there
will be a few more Ministry insiders willing to speak to *Quibbler* reporters off the
record.”

“As well as the occasional anonymous tip from those most definitely outside of the Ministry,
Harry?” the editor asked with an upraised eyebrow.

They all laughed at that observation. Hermione then provided Lovegood with some papers to sign
from both the Fawkes Foundation and Gringott’s. The *Quibbler*’s editor didn’t fail to notice
the unmarked envelope that was also within this pile of parchment. Harry and Hermione were forced
to decline Lovegood’s invitation to stay for dinner with assurances to meet again in the near
future, Luna’s father then led Harry and Hermione back out to the front steps of his house.

Upon his return to his office Lovegood opened the unmarked envelope. A few pieces of parchment
and two wizarding photographs spilled out. Quickly scanning the first document, he found a list
naming all of the Death Eater insiders that had tried to take control of Ministry that past week,
sorted by department. “Little wonder they didn’t name names and departments in the *Prophet*,”
he mused, as he realized just how many spies were within the Minister’s office itself.

He then laid the two photographs side-by-side on his desk. The first photograph was a headshot
of Rita Skeeter, winking at the camera while her Quick Quotes Quill scribbled furiously over her
shoulder. The second image was a close-up shot of a black beetle that appeared to be trapped in a
glass jar. A comparison of these two pictures revealed markings on the beetle that looked amazingly
similar to the gaudy glasses that Rita was wearing. Apparently, Lovegood’s anonymous source was
thinking along those same lines, for attached to the second photograph was a Ministry list of all
registered animagi (Skeeter’s name was absent), a copy of the law requiring anamagi to register,
and contact information for the Ministry personnel responsible for enforcing that law.

Lovegood shook his head and laughed, thinking, “A most Slytherin response, indeed.”

+++

When Harry and Hermione returned to the front steps of the house they found Ginny anxiously
waiting for them. Bowing to the inevitable, Harry asked Ginny to take a walk with him. Ginny
squeeled in delight as she grabbed his arm and they began a slow walk around the streets of Ottery
St. Catchpole.

“Harry,” said Ginny, once she thought they were out of earshot of the others, “it’s been so
awful reading those lies about you in the *Daily Prophet*.”

“Yeah, well what do you expect?”

“I mean, the idea that you’d even think about working for a muggle instead of for the Ministry.
Even if she is some kind of Queen…”

Well, actually,” Harry said somewhat bemusedly, “they got that part right.”

Ginny stopped in her tracks and asked, “What?”

Harry snorted, then looked around for someplace to sit. He led Ginny to a bench placed within a
small municipal park and took a seat, making sure that Hermione, Ron and Luna (who had been
trailing the two at a discreet distance) were still within eyesight.

“The part about me working for the muggle Queen of England is what the *Prophet* got
right.”

“But why?” asked Ginny, shock etched on her face, “What business does this muggle queen have
meddling with the wizarding world?”

Harry looked at Ginny rather crossly, then said, “Ginny, it’s the business of the muggle Queen
and the muggle Ministry to protect its citizens. When our Ministry and the Aurors can’t keep Dark
Lords and Dementors from killing innocent muggles, then they do have the right to get
involved.”

“But wouldn’t you be more effective working for the Ministry rather than this queen?”

Harry shook his head and sighed. “Ginny, you read the *Prophet*…the part about the Minister
of Magic believing that I’m a serious threat is for the most part true as well.”

“You, Harry…a threat?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied. “Not to the wizarding world, mind you, but a threat to them…Scrimgeour,
Umbridge…even your brother Percy. And the feeling is mutual, frankly.”

“How so, Harry?”

Harry snorted. “Hermione and I had to fend off an attack by *Umbitch* and her lackey aurors
the first night I was back at my Aunt and Uncle’s.”

“Oh,” said Ginny. She ignored the idea that the Ministry had it in for Harry and then asked what
she thought was a much more pertinent question.

“So why was Hermione at your Aunt and Uncle’s house?”

Harry looked at Ginny with disbelief. He counted to five, then calmly replied, “Because I needed
her there.”

“What? You needed Hermione’s help?”

Harry sighed. “Yes, Ginny, as much as it pains me to have her in harm’s way, I don’t think I
could live without Hermione by my side.”

Ginny’s face started to turn beet red. “So you distance yourself from me, saying that I can’t be
put in harm’s way, but it’s okay for Hermione to be with you night and day?”

“No, Ginny,” Harry replied. “it’s not like that…I also told Hermione that I didn’t want her near
me the same day I told you.”

“So what made you change your mind…what did she do to make you change your mind?” Ginny huffed.
“Why her and not me?”

Harry took a moment, then replied softly. “Because Hermione refused to allow me to push her
away, Ginny….and you didn’t.”

“Oh,” Ginny replied, looking as if Harry had just punched her in the gut. After a few quiet
moments spent staring at the ground she looked at Harry with steely resolve and said, “Well now I’m
refusing too.”

Harry shook his head. “That can’t happen, Ginny.”

“And why not?”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Well, for a number of reasons. First,
because you’re underage.”

“But so are you, Harry.”

“Yeah, well as Queen’s Wizard that underage restriction doesn’t apply to me anymore…that was one
of the reasons why I agreed to the job.”

“Oh, well…when have we worried about those restrictions, Harry?” Ginny asked. “Never been a
problem at the Burrow, right?”

“Exactly my point,” Harry replied. “Students that grow up in wizarding homes don’t have to worry
about getting caught doing underage magic when they’re home on break, because the Ministry simply
assumes the magic is being done by the parents.”

“Really? I thought that they had some sort of tracking spell on our wands.”

Harry shook his head. “The Ministry has sensors that detect when and where magic is used…they
can’t tell who is actually doing the spell. That’s why they need to do *Priori Incantatum* to
detect the use of Dark spells using a particular wand. That’s the reason why I got in trouble back
in Second Year when Dobby did magic at my Aunt and Uncle’s house…the Ministry assumed that if magic
was done in that muggle household that I must have been the one to do it.”

“Huh…I didn’t know that.”

Harry nodded. “That was the same excuse Umbitch used to attack us three weeks ago when Hermione
cast a cleaning spell on some bed clothes.”

Ginny paused, then brightened her expression when an idea came to mind. “Then you can simply
move to The Burrow…Ron’s back now, after all.”

Harry shook his head. “Ginny, being Queen’s Wizard makes me responsible for certain things…I
need to stay within the muggle world this summer. Just like you and all of the other pureblood
students will be forced to stay in the wizarding world.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry looked at her and decided that Ginny really didn’t know about the draft. “Talk to your
dad, Ginny…the Ministry is going to force all of the Sixth and Seventh Year pureblood students to
work at the Ministry as interns.”

“Oh.” Ginny replied. “So that’s the reason for Hermione being with you….because she’s
muggleborn?”

Harry nodded. “That’s just one of the reasons.”

Ginny sighed, then tried to pull Harry into an embrace. “Oh, Harry,” she said, “I just can’t
wait until you kill Voldemort so that all of this will be behind us and you can move back to the
wizarding world and we can go back to the way things were…”

Harry carefully pulled Ginny’s arms away from his neck and shook his head as he held her hands.
“That’s not going to happen, Ginny.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Harry…of course you’re going to defeat Voldemort.”

“Well, that part, okay,” Harry said with a slight grin. “But if and when that happens, things
will never be the same.”

“What do you mean? You’ve still got Seventh Year, and N.E.W.T.’s, and a Quidditch team to
captain, and a girlfriend to snuggle up with in front of the Common Room fireplace…”

“No Ginny,” Harry said firmly. “We can’t go back. I don’t think I’m even going back to Hogwarts
as a student, and I have more important things than Quidditch to worry about, and….well, there’s
one more very important reason why things can’t go back to the way that they were.”

“Why is that?”

Harry let Ginny’s hands go, pushed his own into his pockets, and summoned the courage to reply
while looking at her eyes.

“Because Hermione and I have fallen in love with each other.”

Ginny’s eyes went wide, then she began shaking her head almost violently.

“**No!”**

Harry looked back across the street and saw that Ginny’s response had drawn the interest of
Hermione and Ron (both had wands drawn discretely to their sides).

“I’m sorry, Ginny, but it’s true.”

“No, no, no,…that’s not possible, Harry, no, it simply can’t be.”

“Ginny…”

Ginny stood up and started to walk back and forth in front of the bench, with her head down and
arms wrapped around herself.

“No…no…no…not possible….not the way it’s supposed to be…not the way it’s meant to be…”

“Ginny, stop, please, and listen to me.”

Ginny shook her head and muttered. “Nope, can’t listen to what can’t be happening…no….Mrs. Ginny
Potter…it’s the way it’s supposed to be…”

Harry stood and grabbed Ginny’s arms, forcing her to stand still. “Ginny, are you going to stop
and listen to me, or am I going to have to petrify you?”

“No, Harry,” Ginny replied, “you wouldn’t do that to me…we were meant to be together…”

**“Oy! Ginny!”** Ron shouted from across the way. “If Harry doesn’t, then I will.”

Ginny turned her head to look at her brother, then shook her head once more. “Nope, can’t be
happening…must be a dream, or some delusion, or else Ron would be hexing Harry right now…can’t be
real…Mrs. Potter…meant to be…”

Hermione decided that enough was enough and crossed the street. Ron and Luna were close behind,
each worried that hexes would be flying in the very near future.

Hermione went to Harry’s side, and grabbed hold of his hand in support. She turned to Ron and
nodded, in a silent request for help.

“Ginny, this is not a dream,” Ron said, as he walked up to his sister. “Harry and Hermione are
together, I’m okay with it, and that’s as it should be.”

Ron’s comment broke Ginny out of her quasi-catatonic state. She waved her arm towards Harry and
Hermione and asked, “What? You’re okay with this?”

Ron reached out for Luna’s hand, which she gave him with a smile. Ron then turned back to his
sister and said, “Yes, Ginny…I’m more that okay with it.”

Ginny looked at Ron and Luna holding hands and put a rational thought together. “So you..and
Luna?” Ginny asked sarcastically. “Oh, now it makes *so much* sense….Harry and Hermione, Ron
and Luna….well where in Merlin’s name does that leave me….with *Draco Malfoy*?”

Ron shuddered. “Don’t need to go down that road, Ginny, do you?” he asked.

“We’re sorry that your upset about this,” Hermione said, “But it is what it is…it is what it has
been for some time now. We just didn’t realize it, and I think that you know that’s the case.”

Ginny turned towards Hermione and her eyes narrowed. “You!” she cried. “You knew I’ve fancied
Harry for the longest time…you knew and you betrayed me!”

“No, Ginny,” Harry said, his fingers now on his wand, “You didn’t fancy me, you fancied The
Boy-Who-Lived.”

“What?” Ginny asked. “But you are the Boy-Who-Lived?”

Hermione made an attempt to reach out but Ginny turned her back. Harry motioned to the others to
take a few steps back.

“Ginny, walk with me some more?” he asked.

Ginny didn’t look up at Harry, but did nod her head slightly and reached out her left hand.
Harry let out his deep breath, then looked over to Hermione. When she nodded her acceptance, Harry
took Ginny’s hand, and began to walk with her down a park path.

“You had a crush on me even before you met me, didn’t you?” he asked.

Ginny quietly stole a glance at Harry, before softly replying, “Maybe.”

“But you didn’t know what I was like, really…all you knew of me was that I somehow saved the
wizarding world, right?”

“But then I did meet you, Harry,” Ginny said, “and I did get the chance to know the real
you.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, Ginny, you had the chance, but did you really take it?”

“Of course I did,” Ginny replied a bit sharply. “Or did I miss something in between all of the
snogging last month?”

“I think maybe you did,” Harry replied sadly. “If you really did know me then you wouldn’t have
said what you did on the day of Dumbledore’s funeral.”

“What?” Ginny asked, in a tone that suggested she really didn’t know. “What do you mean?”

Harry sighed. “You said that I wouldn’t be happy unless I was fighting Voldemort.”

“Um, yeah?” Ginny replied. “You’d rather somebody else was doing it? I mean, really…it’s who you
are.”

Harry stopped and had to count to ten to stave off an outburst. “Ginny….you still don’t get it,
do you?” He sighed. “If somebody has to face Voldemort, I guess it has to be me if you take stock
in the prophecy, but….fighting Dark Lords is not who I am….Your heroic Boy-Who-Lived might get off
on being a superhero, but Harry Potter would wish nothing better than to have a quiet life with a
wife, family, and bit of garden to tend to.”

Ginny shook her head. “Oh, that’s just the stress talking, Harry.”

“No Ginny,” Harry replied sharply. “It’s always been that way….you know, Ron used to think the
same way, and if he’s gotten it through his thick skull then I would hope you could too. I’d trade
all of the fame and all of my fortune for a simple life of anonymity.”

Ginny shook her head. “No…even when you do kill Voldemort, you’ll still want to be the good guy,
the hero…it’s the “people saving thing,” like Hermione says.”

Harry stopped and forced Ginny to look at him. “Yes, Hermione’s said that…but she also knows
just how reluctant I am when it comes to dealing with all of the publicity and fame and
adoration.”

Ginny tried to make a joke of that, saying, “Well you will really need to work on that then,
because if you think you’re popular in the wizarding world now, just wait until Voldemort’s
gone.”

Harry shook his head. “I’m not going to change, Ginny, and I don’t think I’ll care a rat’s arse
what the wizarding world thinks of me, because I’m not sure I’m ever coming back.”

“What do you mean?” Ginny asked. “Of course you’ll be part of the wizarding world, how could one
of the most powerful wizards in the world not be?”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Harry asked quietly. “I don’t want to be part of a wizarding
world that doesn’t care if a Dark Lord pops up every fifty years…I mean, look at this pure-blood
nonsense that is still out and about.”

“Well you certainly could change that as Minister of Magic,” Ginny replied brightly.

“No, I don’t think I could,” Harry replied, “even if I were offered the job. Which I won’t,
because Queen’s Wizard is not a job to walk away from….not a job I want to walk away from.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ginny, by accepting the job as Queen’s Wizard I’ve given up any chance of working for the
Ministry of Magic…at least in its current form. In a way I actually have added fuel to the fire of
all of those pureblooded bigots who claim that muggle-borns can’t be trusted in the wizarding
world.”

“But you’re not a muggle-born, Harry…your dad was pure-blooded.”

“I was muggle-raised, though….I don’t see the difference, and the bigots don’t either.”

“So that means…”

“So that means that I’ll never be able to live completely within the wizarding world, even if I
wanted to.”

“But there’s no reason why I couldn’t chuck it all to be with you, right?”

“Ginny, let’s be honest,” Harry replied. “You’ve been raised in the wizarding world…been a part
of it all your life. I can’t imagine you trying to live even partway in the muggle world.”

“But I could try.”

“Yes, Ginny, you could try….but you wouldn’t truly be happy in the muggle world.”

“So you and Hermione…it’s just because she’s muggle-born, then, eh?”

Harry shook his head. “Not at all, Ginny…unless being muggle-born is the only way someone
couldn’t be so captivated by the Boy-Who-Lived image that she couldn’t see the real me…see me as I
want to be.”

The walked silently for a few moments, giving Harry the chance to confirm that the other three
were still a respectful pace behind.

“Listen, Ginny, I don’t know if what I’ve said makes any sense, but it is the way it is, and I
need you to accept Hermione and me being together.”

Ginny snorted. “Why do you need my acceptance?”

“Because, Ginny, I don’t want to lose you as a friend…just like I didn’t want to lose Ron’s
friendship.”

“You still want to be friends?”

Harry pulled Ginny into an awkward hug. “Of course I do.”

“So just friends, then?”

Harry looked at Ginny for a moment, then added, “Well, friends and comrade-in-arms too.”

Ginny looked at Harry quizzically. “But I thought you didn’t want me fighting by your side?”

Harry nodded. “That’s right, Ginny…but with the way things are I still need your help…maybe even
in ways more important than being with me.”

“How’s that?”

Harry paused, then looked over his shoulder back at Ron, Luna and Hermione.

“Well, Ginny…I need to form another army, kind of like the DA.”

“Something like the DA but not the DA?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah…right now I’m calling it the Peanut Butter Brigade.”

Ginny looked at Harry strangely. “What’s peanut butter, and how would you use it to fight?”

Harry laughed, and motioned for the others to join in the scheming.

+++

A/N: Yes I know a few of you are still patiently waiting for the last chapter of
*Gladiator*…it’s getting there, really. Give me another week or so.



34. Chapter 34
--------------

**Muggle Summer**

A/N: *Stupid Author Trick #12*: Lose the flash drive that held all of your "in
progress" files. *Stupid Author Trick #13*: Back up your flash drive on an occasional and
irregular basis. Didn’t affect this story that much, but I’m going to have to start the last
chapter of Gladiator Sweat over from scratch. Sorry folks.

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 34 – Down on the Farm**

Friday, June 22, 6:00pm
Ottery St. Catchpole

Ginny Weasley considered it a ridiculously implausible situation.

Four weeks ago she was well on her way to showing Harry Potter the insides of every broom closet
in Hogwarts. And today….today, Harry showed her the inside a muggle automobile. Which wouldn’t have
been so bad, had it not been for the fact that she was in the front passenger seat next to her
brother, while Harry was snuggling up against her former friend in the backseat.

The news that Ron not only could drive the car but owned it would have be shocking in its own
right, had it not been revealed on the heels of Harry and Hermione’s little surprise. She snorted
as Ron struggled to push pedals and move the metal stick in between them to keep the automobile
moving forward. It seemed that Harry had no trouble with Ron trying to learn to live as a
muggle.

Go figure.

They were making the short trip from Luna’s back to the Burrow, and the Golden Trio were kind
enough to leave her alone with her thoughts. She found herself thinking not so much about what went
wrong with her and Harry, as what went wrong when Harry broke the news.

You see, Ginny was rather disgusted with her own performance. She had a good idea what was going
to happen…how could she not have, given the dragon-sized hints that Ron and Luna had been dropping
the past week or two? And still, when Harry told her that he was with Hermione she hadn’t been
strong…she’d *gone* *mental*. Near-catatonic. In a daze. Mumbling incoherently. All in
all far too much like how Michael Corner and Dean Thomas had acted when she had broken up with
them. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Harry had gone on to explain why he couldn’t be with Ginny
with arguments that *actually made sense*.

It was a very bitter potion to swallow.

At least she’d recovered some of her dignity in the aftermath. He still wanted to be friends,
which meant that she might have the chance to learn about "the real Harry" that she
apparently new nothing about. And it was actually rather exciting to have had Harry ask her to do
something that was not just important and potentially dangerous, but something that *Hermione
couldn’t do*.

A long-term approach to the problem was indicated….this could just be a little detour along
their pre-ordained path. Harry would beat Voldemort…how could he not? The idea that he wouldn’t be
welcomed in the wizarding world after that was silly. And while Hermione certainly would have no
problems living in the wizarding world with Harry, there were no guarantees that when that time
came Hermione would be living, were there?

You didn’t have to get an O on your divination O.W.L to see how the stars were lining up. They
were fighting a war. People close to Harry were dying in that war, and the closer Harry got to
killing Voldemort, *the closer those dying were to Harry*.

Two years ago it was Cedric Diggory, whom Harry had considered a friend. He’d been killed while
Harry looked on helplessly in the Riddle graveyard. Last year it was Sirius Black, Harry’s
godfather, killed while Harry looked on helplessly at the Department of Mysteries. And last month
it was Headmaster Dumbledore, Harry’s mentor, who was killed as Harry looked on helplessly at the
top of the Astronomy Tower.

Ginny looked over at her brother and worried. Because if the pattern held, the next person in
Harry’s life to die while he watched helplessly would be either Ron or Hermione. Maybe both.

Not that she’d wish too much harm on her head, but what if it was Hermione…who’d be there to
help Harry get through things then? The night Dumbledore was killed Ginny had been the one to
comfort Harry, while Hermione was conveniently petrified and out of the picture.

Ginny looked out the rolled-down door window and smiled. She could bide her time, play nice and
pretend to be happy for Harry. She could also make sure that the next time he needed that kind of
comfort…the next time someone dear to him was killed while he looked on helplessly…that she was in
a position to provide it.

And that the boyfriend-stealing bitch was either once again out of the picture, *or the one
that was down on the ground.*

+++

They arrived at the Burrow to find official-looking letters waiting for Ron and Ginny on the
kitchen table. Fleur and Bill were explaining that Arthur had brought them home from the Ministry
just as their father came down the stairs and joined them.

"Well go on, open them," Arthur said, "Let’s see where they the powers that be
decided to sort you."

"You mean you don’t know?" Hermione asked, as the two tore into the envelopes.

Arthur Weasley replied with a thin smile, "Can’t say that I’m currently in the loop when it
comes to the Minister’s office these days….Ron, care to share with us? Imagine the two letters are
practically the same."

"Um, sure, dad," Ron replied:

*===*

*June 22, 2006*

*Ronald Weasley
The Burrow*

*Greetings:*

*In accord with Emergency Decree Number(EDN) 124, approved by the June 18, 2006 special
session of the Wizengamot, you will report to the* Goblin Liaison Office, Being Division,
Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures *at 8:00am Monday, July 1, 2006 to
begin your internship position within the Ministry of Magic. Specific work hours, duties and
expectations are provided on the attached parchment. You might be pleased to note that all required
fees associated with your participation in this educational program have been waived by Minister
Scrimgeour’s Office.*

*As per EDN124, failure to appear at the appointed point in time, or to participate in this
program, will result in a fine of 100 galleons per day and/or imprisonment on a two days per day
missed basis.*

*We are certain that you will find this unpaid internship to be an enriching
experience.*

*Sincerely,*

*Dolores Umbridge, Director
Ministry Internship Program
Office of the Minister of Magic*

*Cc: Percey Weasley, Assistant Director, Ministry Intership Program; Goblin Liaison
Office*

*===*

"Bloody Hell," swore Ron, "the git fancies himself an Assistant
Director."

"Language, Ron," Ginny said in admonishment.

"Goblin Liaison Office, eh?" asked Bill. "Ginny, what’s your’s say?"

Ginny frowned. "Same thing, except I’ve been assigned to the Werewolf Registry Desk in the
Beasts Division.

Ron snorted. "Are any new werewolves bothering to register these days?"

Bill shook his head. "Nope…that position was vacant even before the Ministry purge…had to
get somebody from Centaurs to sign off on my discharge papers from St. Mungo’s."

"So what’s the point of forcing me to work in an office that doesn’t have any work to
do?" asked Ginny. "Seems like a big waste of time."

"Not much more to learn in the Goblin office," Ron added.

Harry frowned. "That’s the point, I imagine."

Hermione nodded. "Rather ingenious, actually."

"How’s that?" asked Ginny.

"The Ministry lost a lot a good part of their workforce when they were exposed as
spies," Hermione replied. "Some of those people were assigned to key positions that
really are important."

Arthur nodded. "So they fill the critical positions by transferring current Ministry
personnel, then backfill their less critical posts with unpaid interns."

"But they’re calling this an educational internship," Ginny whined. "Without work
to do I won’t learn a thing."

Arthur sighed. "Maybe Percy and the Minster’s office trusts you two about as much as me
right now, so they want you out of the way."

Harry nodded. "Look on the bright side, Ginny, at least you’ll have time to
revise."

Ginny scowled a bit. "Revise for what? Without test results don’t know what I’ll be taking
this fall even if Hogwarts opens."

Arthur shook his head. "Plenty of time to worry about things like that later," he
said. "Why don’t you two run up and visit your mother…she’ll want to hear about your
letters."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "She’s awake? Might Hermione and I visit as well?"

Arthur looked appraisingly at Harry and shook his head. "She’s still rather weak…better to
limit the excitement." As if to punctuate that assessment, they heard wailing coming from
upstairs about a lost son named Percy.

Arthur left the kitchen intent on settling his wife’s frayed nerves, allowing Fleur to quietly
ask if Harry and Hermione had broken the news to Ginny. The reply of "Yes and no" didn’t
make much sense, until the two swore Bill and Fleur to secrecy and quickly let them in on their
plans.

They fended off another dinner invitation from Fleur with the excuse that they’d soon be off to
another meeting. When the badges worn under their robes began to vibrate, Ron came down the stairs
at a pace just under barreling and gave Harry and Hermione a questioning look. The two looked at
each other in silent communication, before Harry smiled and turned to Bill and Fleur.

"Do you two want to add on to that oath of secrecy?"

Bill and Fleur both shrugged shoulders and nodded as the three teens pulled their robes open
enough to expose their Order of Arthur badges.

"So Big Brother," Ron said as he winked at Harry and Hermione, "You think the
protective wards are strong enough around this house?"

"Of course," said Bill, a bit put off. "Did them myself…just as strong as any
guarding any of the Ministry’s buildings."

"Oh, okay," Ron said with a sly smile. "Just checking….I’ll be back in a couple
of hours to ask again." He then touched his badge, said a few quiet words, and disappeared
with nary a pop.

Bill and Fleur both looked at where Ron should have been, then turned to face Harry and Hermione
with a mixture of wonder and fear in their eyes.

"He doesn’t even have an apparition license," Bill said.

Harry smiled. "Didn’t need one," he explained. "He didn’t apparate."

"Should I worry about the wards?" Bill asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Your wards are fine, Bill…they just don’t work for what Ron just
did…we’ll explain later." And with a touch and spoken word Hermione disappeared too.

Fleur turned to Harry with a look of shock on her face and asked, "How did they do
zat?"

Harry smiled and answered (rather cheekily) just before he joined his friends.

"Honorary house-elves."

+++

Harry had reason to hold that smile when he reappeared, for Ron had already found the drink
table.

"Butterbear, Harry?" Ron asked.

"Thanks, mate," Harry said, as he took the offered bottle and took in his immediate
surroundings.

They were standing in the middle of good-sized drawing room. The rear-projection television,
electric lamps and wall-to-wall carpeting immediately betrayed the area’s muggleness. The room was
naturally lit from large windows set in three of the four walls, as well as a sliding glass door. A
buffet table, set up against the fourth wall, held trays and chafing dishes filled with food. The
furniture was informal and comfortable, adding to the rather rustic atmosphere. Hermione was
standing to the side with her mum, huddled over a clipboard.

"Nice place they’ve found for us, ain’t it?" Ron asked.

Harry turned to him and nodded. "It certainly is….are the others here yet?"

Ron shrugged his shoulders as he nodded towards the two Granger women. "Haven’t had time to
ask…barely had time to say hello to Hermione’s mum before she arrived and started talking about
schedules and meeting stuff."

Harry nodded as the patio door slid open and Mr. Granger, Wally and Steve entered the room with
attractive-looking woman that appeared to be in her mid-thirties.

Steve said, "Allow me to introduce you three. Sir Harry, Dame Hermione, Ron, this is my
mum, Helen Wall."

Harry and Ron both did doubletakes when Steve made his introduction, as the woman he identified
as his mother looked far too young for the job. Hermione, however, had apparently already figured
things out.

"Mrs. Wall, it’s a pleasure to meet you," she said as she walked up to shake her hand.
"We can’t thank you enough for volunteering to help our cause."

"I’m the one that should be saying thanks," the woman replied with a smile.
"Steve has always been far too tight-lipped about what he’s done with his life. It’s amazing
what I’ve learned about him, just in the past couple of days."

Ron looked on with a screwed-up expression on his face. "Erm…somebody want to explain why
Steve’s mum looks more like his sister?"

"Oh Ron," Hermione scowled, "I’d have expected that from Harry, not you…she’s a
witch, remember?"

Harry snorted. "Of course," he said, "As a witch she ages much more slowly than
her, erm…non-magical son."

"Oh, don’t be afraid to call me a squib," Sir Harry. "No skin off my
nose."

The Queen’s Wizard shook his head. "I’d rather not…it’s the pure-bloods that only see shame
in normality."

"Who is calling my big oaf of a son normal?" Mrs. Wall asked with a smile. "Why
the stories I could tell you about my little Stevie…"

"Yes, well, that won’t be necessary right now, mum," Steve said, his ears getting a
bit red. "Better to talk about why you’re with us, eh?"

Mrs. Granger chimed in. "And it’d be better to tell that story once everyone is
here."

Harry nodded. "Anything needing our attention before that happens?"

"No, Clan Chief," Emily replied.

"Please, Mrs. Granger," Harry asked, "this isn’t a Clan function…no need for the
formality."

"What should we call you then?" Ron asked. "Chief Mugwump of the Order of
Arthur?"

Harry shook his head with small grin. "Just Harry is fine…we could all use last names, but
with two Walls, three Grangers and three Weasleys that might get a bit confusing."

Wally nodded. "A pre-meeting tour of the grounds, then Harry?"

"No, we can do that as a group…unless there’s a reason not to, let’s get the rest here
before dinner gets cold."

And with that decision the first meeting of the Order of Arthur in more than sixty years was
begun. The Weasley twins, Tonks and Remus were called and arrived by badge (Sir Even remained at
Windsor Castle as a rally point should the Queen come under magical attack). The group made its way
past the buffet table, and as the clouds had decided to part for a spell they took their plates and
drinks outside and dined out on the wood-planked porch.

Harry found the informality comforting. As he’d been rather nervous about his leadership role in
the Order of Arthur, he was quite certain that Hermione and her mum had arranged to have this first
meeting take place outside of the formality of Windsor Castle. It was almost like a small cocktail
party, with clusters of two and three people forming and reforming as they got to know more about
each other and their meeting locale.

They were eating on the front porch of a comfortable four-bedroom modern country home set upon
thirty acres of land. "The Farm," (as it was soon dubbed by the group), had been
available for purchase on the real estate market for some time (as the absentee owner refused to
reduce the price beyond what he had overpaid for it). MI-5 3/4 had made arrangements for a holding
company to obtain a short term lease, with an eye towards purchase if it ultimately met the needs
of the Order of Arthur as a operational base.

The primary advantage of the property could be readily seen from the front porch. The homestead
was set on a western hillside of a prominent slope, and enjoyed an expansive view of the
countryside. And it wasn’t just some random piece of English countryside, mind you…the River Otter
meandered through the vista, and the quaint town of Ottery St. Catchpole hugged its banks in the
foreground. The Farm was, in fact, a scant four miles away from The Burrow as the crow (or broom)
flies. One couldn’t quite see the Burrow, of course; it was located within a small wooded vale
south of town.

The proximity of the Farm to the Burrow was quite intentional. There was every expectation that
the Weasley residence was a Death Eater target, and Ron would be staying there during his
"internship" at the Ministry. MI-5 3/4 wanted to watch over the Burrow as well as they
could.

While Harry and Hermione made an effort to chat with everyone there, they focused in on the
person they knew the least about. Helen Wall was a pureblood that married for love rather than
honor an arranged marriage contract. Subsequently disowned and scorned within wizard society, she
had nevertheless done quite nicely for herself and her family with a greenhouse business that
operated in the grey zone of the mixed muggle/wizard economy. She had successfully raised two
children (one magical and one not), and would have been quite happy to continue down the course she
had plotted for herself had it not been for two events; the untimely death of her beloved husband
Reggie, and a call to service from Her Majesty’s Government.

When most of the dinner plates were clean (allowances being made for Ron’s third helpings), the
group returned inside for tea. Hermione levitated the buffet table over to one side of the room
while Tonks and Remus conjured the few extra chairs needed for everyone to have a seat. Harry stood
in front of the other twelve and rather nervously "called" his meeting to order.

"Erm, guess we’ll begin," he said. "I should start by thanking Mrs. Granger and
Wally for setting this whole thing up on the fly, and for arranging the location." Emily and
Wally waved off the polite round of applause and motioned for Harry to continue.

"Before we get too far along I’d like to introduce Steve’s mum…hope you all had the chance
to meet during dinner…while Mrs. Wall isn’t badged, she will be a very important part of how we go
about our business."

The group then spent a few minutes talking about Helen Wall’s new mission. Mrs. Wall had been
recruited as a MI-5 3/4 agent by her son, soon after he had been himself recruited. Since then,
she’d provided the agency a good deal of valuable information from her business dealings with
wizard apothecaries. Now she would be more on the operational side of things than intelligence
gathering. Agent Wall would be the nominal resident of the "Farm;" under cover as a
retiree that had a desire to dabble in her own greenhouse and "reconnect with the wizarding
world." To that end, she had made application to have a floo connection established and
registered the Farm as a magical household. While the backlog of floo service applications was at
least a few months long, this would provide an explanation for any detection of magical use on the
property.

Once they talked about what Steve’s mum would be doing she excused herself from the meeting.
Harry didn’t want to ask her to leave, but relented after Steve talked about security clearances
and plausible deniability. But before Harry could say too much more, Wally moved to the front of
the small gathering and asked to speak a few words. Harry was more than happy to yield the
floor.

"Three weeks ago today," Wally began, "Her Majesty the Queen and Her Majesty’s
government pledged to do whatever it could to help three teen-aged kids vanquish what is currently
the greatest threat to British citizenry. And not just the wizarding part of it, either…you are all
aware of just how successful this collaborative effort has been, as you have all, in various ways,
been in the thick of the fight.

"And then some," Fred Weasley added.

Wally smiled. "This past week, Sir Harry was invested as the Queen’s Wizard, and provided
the opportunity to select those who would join them in the Most Royal Order of Arthur. Looking
around, I’m very happy to see the results of that selection process. Happy because…well, Sir Harry
will no doubt emphasize the Order’s charge to save the Queen from all magical threats."

"Well," Harry interrupted, "that is why the Order was started, wasn’t
it?"

"True enough, Sir Harry," Wally replied, "But I have it on good authority that
Her Royal Highness considers her safety to be best ensured when the Order is helping Sir Harry do
all that he can do in his battle against Voldemort. In fact, the Queen herself asked that I convey
her hope that Sir Harry would consider members of the Order to be his own council, his support
network, and the ones to rely upon whenever he is need."

"She didn’t need to do that," Harry said with a bit of embarrassment.

"Perhaps not, but that is exactly what Her Majesty did," Wally noted.

"Don’t worry, Wally," Hermione said, "I think you’ll find that Harry managed to
reach that same conclusion on his own."

"Did he now?" asked Ron.

Hermione nodded and said, "Harry, why don’t you show them your white board?"

Harry looked at Hermione a bit sheepishly, but did as he was told and pulled the shrunken board
from his pocket. When he attached it to the wall Harry blanched, and quickly banished the
diagramming before anyone could ask smart questions about the "House of Lord Gryffindor."
He then took a dry-erase marker from his pocket and drew a line down the center of the board. He
wrote "Wizarding" at the top of one side and "Muggle" on the other.

"Right then, the Order of Arthur *was* established centuries ago with a single goal in
mind…to protect the Crown from magical threats. Today that means keeping Moldishorts away from the
Queen." To illustrate this point he drew (on their respective sides) a happy face wearing a
crown and a cartoonish skull sporting a forked tongue.

Harry’s artwork drew a laugh as he erased the center portion of the dividing line and replaced
it with a rectangular box labeled "Order of Arthur" with his name inside and at the top.
He then noted,"The Queen and her muggle citizenry are at risk because Tom hasn’t limited his
terror to the wizarding world, and the Ministry of Magic hasn’t been able to prevent him from
killing innocent muggles who are unable to defend themselves from magical attacks. That’s where we
come in."

"Our little group will straddle the bright line between the Wizarding and Muggle worlds. We
have muggles with knowledge of the wizarding world and wizards and witches who are comfortable on
the muggle side. Each brings strengths and areas of expertise, and I’m hoping that we’ll be able to
use these strengths to help achieve our objectives. And while some of you may be involved in
multiple overlapping areas, each will be asked to take a leadership role within the
group."

Harry then started adding names to the box, linking each name to a new box located (as
appropriate) within the wizarding or muggle world.

"Last week, Clan Potter came into existence in order to forge an alliance with the Goblin
Nation. I couldn’t get out of being Clan Chief, but for purposes of leading the Clan and managing
its alliances I’ve asked Hermione Granger to take charge."

"And what exactly," George Weasley asked with a smile, "is Hermione’s position
within the Clan?"

"You would ask, wouldn’t you Fool?" Hermione replied with a smile. "If anyone
doesn’t know, I’m Harry’s girlfriend and Clan Chief Consort."

"Erm, moving right along," Harry said quickly, "Besides being Clan Champion, Ron
Weasley is going to take the lead in our efforts to organize purebloods at the Ministry into our
Peanut Butter Brigade"

"Peanut Butter Brigade? Asked Wally. "Care to say anything more?"

Harry, Hermione and Ron took a few minutes to elaborate. More than half of the members of the DA
had been raised in pureblood families, and were therefore subject to the Ministry’s forced
internship program. The plan was for Ron to establish a network of these students and like-minded
others, collecting information and forming a coherent cadre with those Ministry officials already
sympathetic to Harry’s cause. Ron would be working closely with Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom
and his sister Ginny.

"What’s little sister going to be doing?" asked Fred.

"Well, we’ll have to wait and see," Harry replied cryptically. "She’s going to
try and get an internship working for her brother in the Minister’s office."

"What are the odds they’d let your ex-girlfriend anywhere near Scrimgeour?" asked
Tonks.

Harry smiled. "Depends on how convincing an actress she can be."

"No worries there, then," said George. "Ginny’s nothing if not the little drama
queen."

Hermione nodded. "We let Bill and Fleur in on it, but it wouldn’t hurt to have you two
reassuring your parents when Ginny appears to abandon the family and pull a Percy."

"Right-o, Clan Chief."

Harry shook his head with a bit of exasperation. "Moving right along, Hermione’s parents,
Roger and Emily Granger….Roger is managing my business empire and looking for creative ways to wage
economic warfare against the enemy."

"Which enemy?"

Harry snorted. "Voldemort, you Fool, although anything that could make Umbitch’s life more
difficult would be welcomed as well. Roger is also arranging the muggle-side of our training this
summer…physical training, swords and other weapons. Anyone that wants to join us in our early
morning runs inside Windsor Park is more than welcome."

"Emily Granger has the lead role in organizing all of the muggle-born students and their
families into a support group and making sure that they have all of the information they need as
things progress. She’s done a fabulous job already, and with the Ministry pulling the bigot card we
really need to make sure that the communication lines are kept open.

"And we can’t forget," Harry added with a smirk, "that Mrs. Granger has already
flown a combat mission on the back of a broomstick."

Hermione sighed at this comment…it was hard for her to imagine anyone describing her parents
without using the word "dentist." How quickly things had changed.

"Say Harry," Fred asked, "what’s the nickname for the muggleborns that you’re
organizing?"

"Nicknames?"

"Yeah," replied George. "Like the Peanut Butter Brigade."

"Erm…hadn’t thought about that," Harry admitted. "Wally?"

"Yes, Sir Harry?"

"You muggles are the smart ones when it comes to acronyms…work your magic will
you?"

Wally nodded, and began playing with words with pen and paper.

Harry continued on to the other Order members and their roles. The Weasley twins were the
suppliers of magical equipment and devices, with a particular emphasis on ways for muggles to
protect themselves from magical attacks. Their shop would also serve as a rally point as the
quickest way for anyone in the Order to get to Diagon Alley. Similarly, Tonks would anchor the
Ministry of Magic, and Remus Lupin the anchor for Hogwarts. Both would also be the contact for what
was left of the Order of the Phoenix.

"Hey Harry," Ron asked, "shouldn’t we find a way to distinguish between the other
Order and this one?"

"Yeah, might be a good idea," Harry said. "Anyone?"

After a few minutes thought Emily Granger suggested that the Order of Arthur could be informally
known as "The Art Club." Everyone liked that idea.

"The Art Club it is, then," Harry proclaimed.

Remus then shook his head and said, "I still don’t understand how I’ll be an anchor for
Hogwarts…it’s not like I have a position there."

"Not just yet," Harry replied with a twinkle in his eye, "but I’m working on
that."

Steve was then recognized as the rally point for the Queen as a member of her security detail,
and Wally was linked on the whiteboard to a box labeled "Muggle Gov’t."

"Excuse me, Sir Harry, but I’ve got something," said Wally.

"What’s that?"

"The acronym for muggle-borns…might I suggest ‘COMB’? It would be short for ‘Coalition of
Muggle-Borns’?"

"Hmmm," said Harry, "not quite as cheeky as MI-5 3/4, but…"

"Sorry, but that ‘MB’ letter combination is tough." Wally explained. "Didn’t
think you’d want TOMB…Give me some time and I might work out something else out."

"Fair enough," said Harry with a grin. He then drew a cartoon castle on the muggle
side of the board similar to the one labeled "Hogwarts" and linked it to Sir Evan’s name
with the explanation that he would be the anchor for the Round Tower and Windsor Castle.

With the group all finally introduced, Harry opened the floor up for any bits of information
that anyone wanted to share. That led to updates on the medical conditions of Brian Willox (still
in a coma) and Molly Weasley (recovering, but still in bed). Wally stated that the four Death Eater
prisoners were all conscious and still at Privet Drive, thanks to the anti-apparition leg-bands
that had been anonymously provided from the Auror Department (thank you, Tonks). There was a brief
debate about what to do with the prisoners…they were low-level recruits that wouldn’t have much
information to provide, and Harry really didn’t want to tie up resources guarding them. It was
therefore decided to turn the prisoners over to the Aurors (once their memories had been suitably
modified). The mark that all four bore on their forearm was evidence enough to have them
confined.

With Ron scheduled to work another graveyard shift at Midnight and planning still to be done for
the next day’s muggle-born get-together the meeting broke up a little after 9:30. Hermione told
everyone to plan on meeting at the Farm until wards were up and running at Windsor, and everyone
agreed to keep in touch with their badge communicators.

Wally brought a seven-passenger Land Rover around the front of the house to take the three
Weasleys, Tonks and Lupin back to the Burrow. While there was nothing physically keeping people
from apparating out, it was thought best not to show too much magic flashing about the Farm until
some proper warding was established. Steve volunteered to take first watch on the Farm (providing
him with some quality time with his mum), leaving Harry, Hermione and her parents to watch the
high-summer sun set from side-by-side porch swings.

"Well that could have gone better," Harry said with a sigh.

"What do you mean, Harry," Emily replied, as she passed glasses of wine all around and
took a sip. "I thought you did a great job."

"But we barely did more than introduce ourselves….wasn’t any planning or collaboration or
trap setting…"

"Going to be a bit of a problem if you use the battle planning with Head Auror Robards as
your standard for meeting accomplishments," Roger pointed out.

"Yes, but…"

"Harry this was the very first meeting," replied Roger. "Can’t expect to do much
until everyone gets used to the idea of working together…give it some time."

Harry shook his head. "I just worry over whether we have that time available."

Hermione scooted over closer to Harry and wrapped her arm around his shoulder.
"Hey…remember three days ago? All of those Death Eaters that were splattered on Privet Drive
or uncovered at the Ministry? Can’t see Voldemort recovering too quickly from that kind of
pantsing, do you?"

"Dunno," Harry replied.

"Has been quiet since then, hasn’t it son?" Roger asked.

"Yes, but…"

Emily walked behind the swing that Harry and Hermione were sitting on and gave his shoulders a
good squeeze. "But nothing, Harry. You’ve done some great things over the past three weeks,
and I think you don’t just deserve a bit of rest, you absolutely need some rest. So take it, or
else."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Or else what, Mrs. Granger?"

"Or else we’ll force you to explain a rather curious comment you made over the radio during
the heat of battle the other day," threatened Roger with a smile.

Harry looked at Roger with mock shock (as he wasn’t all that upset over the possibility of
discussing the idea of in-laws right then). "Oh…no, anything but that!" he exclaimed.

"Well then, sit there and watch the sunset, son."

Harry raised his hands in surrender and released some of the tension in his shoulders. As
Hermione leaned her head against his, he wondered if he would ever get used to this kind of love
and attention.

He fervently hoped not.

+++

A/N: The "Farm" is based on "Ware Farm" a real live property currently
available for purchase just outside of Ottery St. Mary, Devonshire. Anyone got a spare million
pounds? It’ll get you some very Nice
views.



35. Chapter 35
--------------



**Muggle Summer**

**A/N:** I've been reading a lot of Independent!Harry/Manipulative!Dumbledore fics
lately, and some of that has bled into this chapter. Not too much, mind you, but there had to be a
reason why Remus Lupin hadn't figured much in Harry's life since PoA, right?

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 35 - On Lounging and Lupin**

Saturday, June 23
Windsor Castle

The next morning Harry found Hermione still wearing the top half of his pajamas. Unfortunately,
rather than modeling them in bed (where he wanted her), she was wearing them whilst sprawled out on
the tatami-atted side of the Love Shack's bathing area. She was scribbling furiously on some
parchment next to a detailed half-metre tall scale model of Windsor Castle.

“Thought we had a `no work' agreement, Miss Granger,” Harry deadpanned, as he struggled to
hide a grin behind the stern countenance of an authority figure.

Hermione dropped her quill and gave Harry a “hand in the cookie jar” look of guilt. “Oh, that
was `no physical work,' wasn't it?”

“Nice try,” Harry replied. “You'd have been better off claiming that the castle was a toy
that you were playing with.”

“Well I am playing with it, in a way,” Hermione replied. “Here…watch.”

She then touched her wand to five small stones that lay on a circle around the castle and said
an incantation that created a translucent purplish dome that completely enclosed the scale
model.

“Brilliant,” Harry said. “When I get back from the loo you can explain what you just did.”

Hermione nodded in agreement, then returned her gaze to the arithmancy equations she'd been
working on. When Harry returned, she told him that an owl from Gringott's had made an overnight
delivery.

“Miniaturized rune stones,” Hermione explained. “They work exactly the same way as the
full-sized ones, only on a much smaller scale.”

“And they're good for what…” Harry asked, “creating protective fields around a little
witch's doll house?”

Hermione slugged his arm. “No, silly…they're used to help design protective fields using a
bench-scale model.”

Harry nodded. “So this bit of `I'm not working' is working on your asymmetrical warding
plans for the castle?”

“Exactly,” Hermione replied with a smile. “It really is more fun than work, though…hard to
believe that ward designers actually get paid for this type of thing.”

When Harry looked over at the equations Hermione had scrawled out he shook his head in
disagreement. “Well, it looks like work to me.”

“But it's rather exciting, Harry,” admitted Hermione. “The goblins were rather taken with
the idea when I wrote to them…they want to meet with me on Monday to discuss it, and, well…I just
wanted to be prepared for that meeting.”

Harry reached over and pulled her up to her feet and up against his bare chest. “Well, I'm
rather taken with the idea of you following through on plans to lie about on the rooftop in your
swimming costume.”

Hermione gave Harry a devilish look in response. “Who said anything about wearing costumes while
we sun ourselves?”

Harry gave her a gobsmacked look. “You can't be serious…we're directly under
Heathrow's flight lanes. Fancy on giving the pilots a show?”

“Oh Harry,” she replied with a smile, “am I not a witch?” She then took a step back and cast a
disillusionment spell upon herself. A few seconds later, Harry's pajama top appeared out of
thin air and landed on his head.

“They won't be able to see me,” Hermione explained, “but the sun's rays will.”

“Rather ingenious, there, sweetheart…but what if someone were to call out a *Finite
Incantatum* spell?”

“Harry Potter, you wouldn't dare!”

“Aaaah, you're probably right,” he admitted. “But it would make it rather difficult to tell
if you're getting a sun burn, wouldn't it?”

“Hmmm….hadn't thought about that,” she admitted.

“Suppose I could always poke about at intervals to see if any parts were hot to the touch?”

“You would be so lucky…I'll just make sure I've got plenty of sunblock applied.”

“And you think that the lotion would disappear on skin contact?”

“Don't imagine why not.”

“Think we ought to find that out before we hit the roof, don't you?”

“Well, suppose you're right. And I imagine you'll volunteer to be the applicator?”

“No, got a better idea,” Harry replied. He then made a sudden lunge towards Hermione. Having
gauged her position by the sound of her voice, he quickly scooped her up, carried her over to the
hot tub and threw her in (completely ignoring her protests). Harry was rewarded with an
anatomically correct depression in the water's surface once Hermione surfaced.

“Always wondered what would happen if you were caught in the rain wearing an invisibility
cloak,” he replied dryly, as Hermione splashed and sputtered her objections.

“Harry Potter, you are incorrigible!”

“Yeah, well, Hermione Granger, you are very wet,” he replied, with a grin and two eyes that were
fixated on her aqueous outline.

Hermione was about to issue a retort when she experienced *deja vu*. Laughing, she asked,
“Isn't this the point where I banished your trousers?”

Harry paused, then smiled as he caught on to just how much the conversation was mirroring their
first visit to the Love Shack. He pulled on the drawstring of his pajama bottoms, and launched
himself into the tub almost before those bottoms hit the stone floor. When he resurfaced and pulled
Hermione into a wet embrace he simply noted,

“Beat you to it.”

+++

After a half-hour or so of what Harry had cheekily described as “snagging” (i.e. intimate acts
intermediate to snogging and shagging), they called Hermione's parents and arranged to meet for
a late breakfast. Emily Granger only ordered tea and biscuits, as she had a very busy schedule
ahead of her. Almost all of Hogwarts's muggle-born students and families were converging in
London that morning for what would have been a spectacular Summer Solstice Party on Privet Drive.
As that location was no longer available to them, Emily had followed through on Harry's mention
that he had seen some kind of amusement park from the Round Tower's roof. It had turned out to
be a theme park named “Legoland,” based around a muggle play toy involving plastic building blocks.
And while the theme park was geared towards younger children, there were roller coasters and rides
available for the older siblings. The park normally closed at six, but Mrs. Granger had made
arrangements to rent out the entire park just for the muggleborns and their families for an
additional four hours. The band and caterers that had been contracted for the party would also move
to the new venue.

Mr. Granger got some quality time with the kids once his wife left to double check on the
day's transportation. Harry and Hermione filled Roger in on their previous day's discussion
with Luna's father, and that led to a discussion concerning the wizarding world's portion
of Harry's investment portfolios. Roger expressed some concern about his ability to manage the
wizard business side of Harry's portfolios. He didn't have the kind of access to
information that existed on the muggle side, and obviously knew very little about the business
plans of cauldron makers and broomstick manufacturers. This led Hermione to remind Harry that they
had failed to reschedule their appointment with the wizard barrister that Mr. Weasley had
recommended, and Harry agreed that it would be worthwhile to see if this person could help not just
with legal advice, but business as well.

A light rain was falling from plump low-hanging clouds as they left the Mess, dashing any
immediate plans for roof-top lounging. Roger returned to his ground level living quarters to gather
a few things before taking over Steve's watch on The Farm. Harry and Hermione walked up to
their quarters and lit a fire in one of their first floor fireplaces to battle the damp chilly air
within the stone tower.

“Any ideas on how we can productively rest?” asked Harry, as he joined Hermione on a sofa placed
in front of the fire.

Hermione shook her head “no” as she looked around the large open room. Castle staff had moved
the furniture they had selected into the Tower, and done some cursory placements and groupings, but
not exactly to her liking. Then there was the issue of the boxes delivered by the goblins the day
before. Within those boxes were almost all of the shrunken furnishings that had survived
Voldemort's attack on Godric's Hollow the night Harry's parents were killed. Someone
had made arrangements to move them into the Potter family vault, and they'd been front and
center when she and Harry had visited it the day before.

It had been the most emotional part of the trip…direct links between Harry and his murdered
parents were few and far between, so the chance to sit at his parent's kitchen table, or rock
in rocking chair his mum might have used to sit with him was quite something. The furniture itself
might not have been as ornate or lavish as the Castle's, but there was no way Hermione could
refuse Harry's request to bring all of the furniture back to the Tower. The only suggestion she
had made was that they leave Harry's crib in the vault. He had spent a good five minutes
sobbing and clutching the rails (as if it were a lifeline), and she feared that the raw power of
those emotions would be ever present if the crib were brought back with them.

Not that she told Harry that reason, mind you….Hermione got in touch with her inner Slytherin
and had suggested that with the limited amount of room they had in the Round Tower that it might be
better to store the crib “until they had need for it.”

Hermione chuckled to herself as she recalled the resultant look on Harry's face. Talk about
emotions turning about on the head of a pin…

“What's so funny?” Harry asked.

“Oh…nothing,” Hermione replied, trying her best to keep a grin from breaking out. “Just
wondering how we're going to fit all of the new furniture inside the tower walls.

Harry nodded. “Well, with Sir Evan taking up residence downstairs we could move some of it to
his quarters.” He then added with a smile, “Not that I'd consider it a legitimate way of
resting.”

“We could always levitate the pieces…wouldn't even break a sweat.”

Harry shook his head. “Yes, but that'd be quite a bit of expended magical power,
wouldn't it? We need to keep our heads low until the anti-magical detection wards are up.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “Which is why I really should take another look at my equations
and ward model…I'm so glad that you agree.” And before Harry could object she placed a peck on
his cheek and bolted upstairs to continue her project work in the tatami room. He snorted, quite
certain that Hermione had expertly steered the conversation in that direction from the very start.
But he let her go…it *was* important work, and asking Hermione to leave that bench model for a
day would be like asking her to forego breathing.

He thought about visiting with Sir Evan, but the old man was busy trying to remember his wartime
French in his efforts to interact with the Muses. Ron would still be sleeping after his shift at
St. Mungo's…Harry wondered just how early he could call and see if Ron and Luna wanted to join
them at the theme park that evening. And then he remembered that there were others he could call
using his badge, and he gave Remus's badge a tickle.

“Erm…hullo?” Remus answered, after a few moments time.

“Hey, Remus, it's Harry…hope I'm not interrupting anything.”

“No, no…not at all…Tonks is working day shift at the Ministry right now.”

“Oh,” replied Harry with interest. “Does that mean I would have been interrupting something if
she were there with you right now?”

Harry heard something close to a growl, before Remus answered. “Are you looking to talk about
witches, or something? Because I've got a few questions about you and Hermione….”

“No, no, Remus, just joking,” Harry quickly countered. “Actually, I was wondering if you'd
like to pop over for a visit. You haven't had a tour of our new digs yet, and I'm looking
for some company now that Hermione's abandoned me for her arithmancy.”

“Sure, cub, just give me a few minutes to clean up.”

And so it was that Harry found the second best way to spend a rainy day of rest within the Round
Tower (he thought Remus would have understood coming in second to “Hermione in the hot tub”). After
the tour (and raised lupine eyebrows over the Love Shack), the two spent time catching up with each
other's activities. Both felt a bit of remorse for not having kept in better touch. Harry
thought running with the werewolf pack as an important enough reason to be away the previous year,
but Remus disagreed, and got Harry a bit riled up once he explained why.

It turned out that Remus had considered almost all of the time he'd spent on his “mission”
for the Order of the Phoenix to have been a waste of time. Moony had long known enough about
werewolf subculture and wizarding world bigotry to accurately predict how the pack would react to
Greyback's alpha leadership and Voldemort's promises. He had told Dumbledore at the
outset…and still was ordered to go and “gather intelligence,” and disappear from the wizarding
world for the better part of a year. Moony initially resisted Harry's questioning about why he
thought Dumbledore had done so, but finally gave in and voiced suspicions that the mission was a
part of the former Headmaster's efforts to limit his contact with Harry and Hogwarts over the
past three years.

When Harry (quite predictably) insisted that the former DADA professor explain, Remus recounted
a confrontation with the Headmaster after Snape had outed him as a werewolf. Remus had insisted
that Snape was a direct threat to Harry, and that if he had to go that the potions master did as
well. Dumbledore, however, claimed that he would not be able to overrule the Board of Governors on
Remus's termination, and that Severus Snape had to remain at Hogwarts for security reasons (and
this was even after Remus had shown the Headmaster a pensieved memory of Snape's actions within
the Shrieking Shack). Ever since that argument, Remus had thought Dumbledore had made it a point to
find ways of keeping Remus away from Hogwarts and Harry, and only asked for Remus's involvement
as a last option.

After hearing Remus's explanation, Harry became angry to the point of almost letting off
some accidental magic. The way that Dumbledore appeared to have kept Remus out of his life and out
of the picture seemed too much like the way he forced Sirius into quasi-house arrest at Grimmauld
Place. There were only two possible explanations in Harry's mind, and neither were charitable…
the Headmaster had either justified his actions with his (ultimately) deadly zeal to insulate and
protect Snape, or worse, had purposely manipulated Harry's childhood to remove anyone who might
challenge Dumbledore's self-appointed position as a trustworthy father figure.

They'd been sitting in front of the fire during the discussion. After silently fuming (and
running his hands through his unruly hair), Harry stood and pulled his white board out from a
pocket. After enlarging it and placing it upon a wall, he took a marker and vented some energy with
a few lines:

*“I will not speak ill of the dead.”*

*“I will not speak ill of the dead.”*

*“I will not speak ill of the dead.”*

Remus looked on at this exercise with a bit of wonder at Harry's maturity and control. When
he complimented Harry on this, the teen responded with a statement that the white board could have
come in handy the night he'd been told the full prophecy. When Remus asked what Harry was
talking about, the Queen's Wizard's anger redoubled.

“You mean Dumbledore never told you about the prophecy?” Harry yelled. “It wasn't just me he
was keeping it from?”

More lines were written when Remus confirmed that was indeed the case. The former DADA professor
asked if Harry wanted to put off continuing the conversation, Harry shook his head, firm with the
conviction that Remus deserved to know the full story about Harry's life, from the earliest
point that he could remember it.

It only took a few descriptions of the abuse Harry had suffered at the Dursley's for Remus
to grab a marker and write a few lines of his own. However, curiosity proved far stronger an
emotion than outrage, and the two soon were swapping stories and filling in missing pieces. Harry
was amazed at the number of things that Remus didn't know about him…from the little things
(e.g. the Sorting Hat had suggested Slytherin), to the big (e.g. everything that had happened
within the Chamber of Secrets, and his first year's adventures with Norbert, Fluffy, and the
Philospher's Stone). Remus, in turn, gave Harry full descriptions of what the Order of the
Phoenix had (and hadn't) done over the years, and told a few stories about Hogwarts faculty
meetings that had ended up with wands drawn. Those stories provided just enough comic relief for
the two wizards to begin to look forward at what could be, rather than back at what should have
been.

The “So now what?” moment came a bit after two in the afternoon, a fact that Harry only realized
once his stomach began grumbling. The two fetched Hermione (who had also been expertly ignoring her
own stomach's empty protests) and made their way to the Mess for a late lunch. The late hour at
least provided the three an empty room and the ability to continue their Round Tower
conversations.

After getting an abridged (and less emotional) description of Harry and Remus's revelations,
Hermione noted that the Headmaster, for all of his faults, had at least made the current situation
possible by arranging for Harry's introduction to the Prince of Wales. Harry then added that
the provisions made in Dumbledore's will could also bring forth a positive legacy, providing a
segue way for a discussion on Harry's plans for the defense of Hogwarts.

They spent more than a few minutes brainstorming on ways to defend Hogwarts from what they all
saw as an inevitable attack (whether or not students were in residence). Remus was fascinated by
what Hermione called “Harry's Hair-brained Scheme” to create a video game simulation based on
attacking and defending Hogwarts Castle. Without knowing very much at all about muggle electronic
or strategy games Lupin shared Hermione's skepticism, but did add that so long as it didn't
take to much time in Harry's schedule that it was worth the shot in the dark.

The mention of Harry's schedule led to discussion on the types of training that Harry and
Hermione were undertaking. Remus was very impressed with the physical training and sword play, but
added that while the two had done well in the muggle world that they still needed to keep their
magical skills sharp. The two agreed, with Harry noting that it was only with his appointment as
Queen's Wizard the week previous that he'd been able to get around the underage magic laws.
Remus offered to help them now that the restrictions had been cleared, and the three decided that
the Room of Requirement would be the best place to train. Harry was leary of spending more time
than was needed within the wizarding world (given the Ministry's and *Prophet*'s
attacks), but Hermione noted that if Remus was already within the castle that their badges could
provide a “quick in/quick out” form of transport.

Remus asked if the badges would work within the grounds of Hogwarts, as it was only the
Headmaster (or Headmistress) who had the authority to create portkeys for travel to and from the
school. Hermione replied that while badge-travel felt like portkey use that they worked differently
enough from portkeys to be potentially excluded from this restriction. They therefore reached a
“only one way to find out” conclusion, and Harry and Hermione asked Lupin to set up a meeting with
Headmistress McGonagall early in the next week.

The discussion about Hogwarts, and Harry's earlier stories about the Chamber of Secrets led
Harry to gently ask Remus about the full moon two weeks past. Lupin's wince made Harry regret
that he had done so, but Remus went on to say that the use of Hogwart's dungeons as a secure
place to transform had proven effective, and as he'd only had opportunity to use the wolvesbane
potion two out of the past twelve months that the change hadn't been that traumatic. This led
to Hermione picking up their previous discussion about brewing the wolvesbane potion. She informed
Remus that they had plans to harvest the basilisk's remains for potion ingredients, and that
she thought they'd fetch a fair value trade for what they would need. Remus nodded and
expressed thanks, but noted that they'd still need the services of a master potions brewer who
had the right contacts to make the trade.

When Hermione asked if Slughorn could fill that role Lupin said yes, but added that he was a
hard wizard to find when he didn't want to be found. Harry agreed, but thought that even when
in hiding that the man would probably still keep in touch with his network of carefully-selected
friends and former students. Remus laughed at that comment, and said that the Slug Club was a
well-entrenched institution even back in his days as a student. Hermione then suggested that the
network might be used to their advantage, and that if word got out that someone had a basilisk
corpse on their hands that he'd find them in a heartbeat. Harry agreed, recounting the zeal
with which Slughorn had collected arachnid venom and unicorn hairs on the night of Aragog's
funeral, and Remus offered to set the wheels in motion by contacting a few members of the Slug Club
that he still knew.

Remus parted company with Harry and Hermione after finishing their late lunch, promising to keep
the two informed as he worked the various tasks that he had agreed to tackle. The hug that Moony
gave Harry before badge-jumping to Diagon Alley via Fred and George's shop was almost as
bone-crushing as Hermione's best.

Harry didn't mind one bit.

-->



36. Chapter 36
--------------



**Muggle Summer**

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 36: The Rookery**

Sunday, June 24, 10:00am
Windsor Castle

The morning sun mocked Harry as he gazed over the Tower's parapets and sipped his tea. The
sun had stayed hidden behind rain clouds the entire day previous…the petulant and absent
guest-of-honor at their Legoland solstice party. *“No problems shining down upon the Ferris wheel
and roller coasters today, though”,* he noted, as he looked out towards the theme park's
grounds and recalled the previous night's activities.

The persistently heavy rain had prevented any of the theme park's rides from operating for
the three-hundred or so muggle-born students and their families. Harry thought the gathering
doomed, only to discover that contingencies had been made for the English weather. Theme park staff
boarded the group's tour buses at the front entrance and directed them to a large building on
the edge of the park grounds. Inside they found half-built large-scale Lego constructions
surrounded by workbenches and piles of brightly-colored building blocks. Mrs. Granger used a
loudspeaker to announce that they were in the place where all of the theme park's scale model
replicas were designed and built, and that they had been invited to do some creative construction
on their own.

Shouts of joy came from different parts of the room, as children dived head-long into the
opportunity to build with out material limits. The activity quickly turned into a competition, with
teams of students building plastic replicas of their magical world for their muggle parents and
siblings. “Magical creatures” was decided upon as the main theme, and after a hour's worth of
work (and with a seemingly unending supply of building materials), a small menagerie of half-metre
tall hippogriffs, centaurs, unicorns and the like were on proud display. Of course, some of the
students were more creative than others; Dean Thomas's group built a snarling potion master
hovering over a cauldron and identified it as a “Hooked-nosed Snape.” None of the magical children
disputed its characterization as the scariest creature within the wizarding world.

The park staff was amazed at the breath of creativity on display (nobody chose to tell them that
all of the creatures were inspired by real-life interactions). They also were impressed with the
speed and efficiency with which the models had been built (not having seen some of the older
students use liberal amounts of magic to replicate pieces, change their colors, and securely stick
them together). The park workers went so far as to invite the entire group to create a much larger
model of one of the figures for permanent display within the park. Strength of applause was used to
select the Creevy brother's diorama (“Harry and the Horned-tail”) as the winning model (much to
his chagrin). Pallets of blocks were brought in, and for the balance of the evening food and music
were afterthoughts to the construction project. For much of that time, Harry served as a
fairly-good humored live model, with a muggle push broom held between his legs.

It turned out to be an enormously successful event, and something that Mrs. Granger had the
right to be proud of. Not that her work was done, mind you. Due to the inclement weather, vouchers
had been provided to gain following-day readmission, and many of the families had plans to do just
that. Emily had been up and out of the castle by seven that morning to coordinate the
logistics.

Clan Chief and Consort had other plans for the day. They had risen early, splashed through an
early morning run, and taken breakfast before the tourist queues had chance to take form. Hermione
had disappeared into the Love Shack for more work with her own scale model constructions, leaving
Harry just outside the tent to whack away at a wooden post. That he was drinking his tea alone
following that work-out bore witness to Hermione's attention to task. That he couldn't
prevent his teacup from trembling in either hand bore witness to his need to increase sword-arm
strength.

Wally interrupted the post-workout cool-down with a badge-call request for Harry to meet him in
the MI-5 3/4 field office. After determining that it wasn't an emergency, Harry promised to
meet with him after taking a shower. He then walked down to their bed chambers, pulled some fresh
clothes from his wardrobe, and ducked into the Love Shack. A comfortably-dressed Hermione was
hovering over her model wards on the tatami mats across from the hot tub.

“Hey Hermione, will you be a dear and press my suit while I'm in the showers?” asked Harry.
“I'm pants at that ironing charm, and Wally needs to meet with me downstairs.”

Hermione looked up at Harry and snorted. “Getting a bit dressed up for a weekend morning,
aren't you?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders and smiled as he looked at the suit held in one hand and Italian
loafers held in the other. “Well…Queen's Wizard and Lord…I do have a certain image to maintain,
don't I?”

That earned a snicker. “When have you ever worried about your attire, Harry?”

“Erm…not worrying…just working with what you and your mum picked out for me.”

“Sure, Harry…that wardrobe did include some jeans and polo shirts, did it not?”

“Well…I guess so.”

Hermione smiled as she “tsk'ed tsk'ed” him. “Don't suppose it's because it's
Wally you're meeting?”

“And just what are you suggesting?”

Hermione stood up and walked over to Harry wearing a bright smile. “That you're either a
closet clothes-hound,” she replied with a smile, “or that all of that witty banter with Wally means
you're a closeted something else.”

“Hermione!”

“Yes?”

“I'm surprised at your intimations….just because I'm secure enough in my own skin not to
wither when he gets a bit catty?”

Hermione grabbed Harry's waist with both hands and pulled him close. “Perhaps I *am*
reading too much into this.”

With a frown of mock indignation Harry held the suit and shoes out from the embrace. “Mind the
clothes!”

“There you go again, Harry….now I think you'll just have to prove yourself.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “What…prove I don't care about clothes by tossing them?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I'd rather prove to you that my friendship with Wally is completely platonic.”

Hermione smiled. “And just how do you propose to do that?”

The linen suit and loafers fell to the floor as Harry grabbed Hermione and tossed her over his
shoulder. She let out a “Squee!” as he carried her into the Love Shack's main room and tossed
her down on the bed. Something more like a growl came out of her mouth as Harry stripped down to
his boxers and pounced on her.

As he began nibbling on her earlobe, Hermione coyly noted, “You do realize that your suit is now
completely wrinkled, right?”

Harry stopped nibbling long enough to murmur, “Would you worry if I cared?”

Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head as she pulled Harry's sweaty chest down to hers.
“As long…*ooh!…*as long as you keep doing that……*never*!”

+++

Harry arrived at MI-5 3/4's field office a little later and a lot more rumpled then he had
initially planned. He found Wally sitting alone in-front of three large computer screens.

“Well don't we look dashing,” said Wally. “The wizard wears Armani...yet again.”

Harry laughed. “Is that a complaint?”

“No, it's a critique. Bad form to be caught on a magazine cover twice…or ten times…in the
same outfit.”

“Perhaps I should let you lay out clothes for me rather than Hermione, then?”

“Erm…no thank you. First c-mug secret agent rule is `Never get in between a witch and her wand,
no matter how gorgeous it is'.”

“But Hermione always has her wand with her.”

Wally made a show of fluttering his eye-lashes. “I was talking about a different wand, Sir
Harry.”

Harry winked at Wally. “Flirt”

“Tease.”

Harry chuckled. “What have you got for me, Wally?”

Wally bit his lip before rifling back a scandalously funny retort, and waved Harry over.

“We've been working on improving surveillance capabilities for your Diagon Alley area, and
have run across something you might want to see.”

Harry leaned over Wally's shoulder and took a closer look a digital aerial photograph of an
urban area. “That's Charing Cross in London, then?” he asked.

Wally nodded as he pulled up a correlative street map on one of the side displays. While Harry
matched up the two images using street patterns, Wally pulled up a picture on the third screen.

“Look familiar, Harry?”

Harry looked across and nodded. “That's the muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron.” He then
looked back at the air photo and pointed. “That's right about there, right?” he asked.

Wally nodded. “Exactly….which would mean that this cluster of small buildings behind it is
Diagon Alley, right?”

Harry paused to match the bird's eye view of the area to a mental image of a street level
view of the Alley. “Yes, it must be,” he concluded. “That big building is Gringott's, and
there's Madam Malkin's, and the Weasley Twins's store is right there.” He then squinted
and frowned.

“Something look a bit off, Sir Harry?”

Harry nodded as he pointed to a spot just one block away from the Cauldron. “That building just
south of there is casting a rather long shadow…just how tall is it?”

Wally smiled at how quickly Harry was on the uptake. “Tall enough to look down upon you
wizarding folk, or so we think, at least.”

“So you think?” asked Harry with one eyebrow raised. “Are you not a secret agent?”

After chuckling, Wally noted, “It's listed as a residential building, but we sent four
different people there yesterday for a look see and they all came back a bit dazed and
confused.”

Harry smiled. “Don't suppose you sent along a wizard, eh?”

Wally let out another small laugh. “Actually, I asked Fred and George to visit, but they came
back just as befuddled as the others.”

Harry thought, “So maybe it's a wizard residence with ward's tied to ownership…”

“There's an idea,” said Wally. He quickly searched for (and found) building ownership
records on an internet database. This search revealed that the building was built in the late
1890's, and currently owned by a rather nebulous corporate entity with a non-descript name.
During this search, Harry focused not so much on what Wally was doing but rather on the street
address he typed into the various search engines.

“Eight-seven Shaftesbury Avenue…you know, Wally, I've seen that address somewhere before,”
he said. After a minute or so of rather intense concentration it came to him. Harry pulled a
miniaturized ledger from an inside coat pocket and stepped into an adjacent empty room (so as not
to fry the electronics). A quick search of holdings provided the information he needed, and he
returned to Wally's side with a lopsided grin on his face.

“So why exactly are we interested in this building, Wally?”

“Erm…because we'd like to be able to keep an eye on the Weasley shop,” Wally replied. “They
are out in a rather exposed location.”

Harry nodded. “And we watch over our own.”

+++

Thirty minutes later Harry and Hermione were in downtown London, standing across the street from
the building that had piqued Wally's interest. Hermione looked skeptical

“Remind me why this was worth changing into a dress and leaving my ward models, Harry?”

Harry smiled as he grabbed her hand. “Potter estate management, my dear.”

They noticed small brass plaques on either side of the front entrance that provided a street
address and building name. It was called, “The Rookery.” The entrance itself had a neo-gothic
archway, and was guarded by stone gargoyles. Harry felt a magical tingle on the back of his neck as
the two stepped onto the building's front steps. Hermione felt a strong urge to back away, and
this urge to flee remained until Harry literally dragged her by the arm through the front door.
Once inside, they found an elegantly appointed lobby of what looked to be a small hotel. They
walked towards the back of the room, where a smartly dressed house-elf greeted them from behind a
mahogany desk.

“Good day, Clan Chief Potter,” he said. “The goblins informed us that we might be see your
return sometime soon.”

Harry adopted a look of confusion on his face. “Good day, erm…I'm sorry but what's your
name?”

“Forgive me, Clan Chief. My name is Gilbert, and I am The Rookery's chief concierge.”

The house elf looked surprised when Harry reached out to shake his hand. “Please to meet you,
Gilbert. This is Hermione Granger, my, erm…”

Hermione giggled a bit at Harry's hesitance. “Nice to meet you, Gilbert. I am the Clan
Chief's Consort.”

Gilbert gave her a wide-eyed nod. “It is an honor, Consort Hermione.”

Harry gave her a fish-eye, then turned to the house-elf. “Gilbert, it is my understanding that I
own an apartment in this building.”

“Yes indeed, Clan Chief Potter…would you like to see it now?”

At Harry's nod, Gilbert led them into a magical lift, and asked Harry to place his hand and
wand tip onto a metal plate where floor buttons might otherwise be. The plate gave off a glow and
the lift began to move. After a few moments the lift door opened and Gilbert announced, “Twenty-
third floor, otherwise known as `Potter's Playpen'.”

+++

That night Clan Chief Potter and his Consort invited most of the Art Club over to The Rookery
for a small housewarming party (Sir Evan and Steve remained at Windsor to serve as anchor and Royal
bodyguard respectively). While everyone one thought the apartment (which actually took up the
entire 23rd floor) was lovely, they were far more interested in the large balcony and the differing
views it provided.

Witches and wizards that looked down from the balcony saw the Leaky Cauldron's rooftop, and,
beyond that, a breathtaking view down the full length of Diagon Alley. Muggle Art Club members,
however, could look in the exact same direction and see only warehouses, similar to the two-story
structures that everyone agreed could be found in the adjacent city blocks. Evidently, the same
kind of magic that protected Hogwarts from the prying eyes of muggles was at work in Central
London.

Conjured telescopes, binoculars and window panes were used to work out just how that magic was
working. Hermione had hypothesized that muggles might see through the magic if they weren't
seeing it with their bare eyes, based on the fact that Colin Creevy hadn't been killed when he
viewed the basilisk through his camera lens. Unfortunately, muggle eyes were still fooled, even
when looking through glass. It was only when Wally set up a digital camera and Harry aimed it
towards Diagon Alley that the Grangers and he could see in the camera's image display what they
should have been seeing with their bare eyes.

The house-elf that Gilbert had assigned to serve them for the night had been thrilled when Harry
and Hermione asked him to decide on food and beverages for the small get-together. He was flat-out
gobsmacked when they asked him to place an additional setting on the dinner table for himself. The
house-elf, who was named Dalton and spoke the Queen's english, demurred, until Harry pointed
out that it would be the most efficient way for everyone to learn more about the building's
history. The house-elf told an amazingly interesting story.

Diagon Alley had hidden in plain sight for hundreds of years, with walls and street-level
notice-me-not charms all that was needed to remain in the shadows. That changed, however, in the
early 1800's, when muggles invented balloons and ways to build taller buildings. In response,
wards were constructed to provide a hemispherical illusion for any muggle who might spy down upon
the magical enclave. This allowed unabated development of the surrounding muggle neighborhoods,
including residential buildings similar to The Rookery.

The Rookery distinguished itself from these other buildings not just with its wards and magical
conveniences, but with its somewhat colorful origins. It took a bit of prodding, but Dalton finally
admitted that the Rookery had been built by a small, elite social club of pure-blooded wizards for
randy rendezvous. Some patriarchs kept their mistresses there, while others used their apartments
to entertain muggle prostitutes. The building's location was perfect for these purposes;
conveniently close enough to Diagon for them to slip away, but on the muggle side of the Leaky
Cauldron (where no proper pure-blooded witch might care to follow). The club itself held nominal
ownership of the building, and arranged for maintenance and upkeep through discrete and automatic
withdrawals from Gringott's accounts.

Remus noted that the information Dalton provided was amazingly candid. The house elf shrugged
his shoulders and stated that it didn't really matter how candid he was, since nobody other
than Harry would remember what he said once they left the property. Immediately pressed for
details, Dalton explain that the entire building was charmed so that anyone other than the flat
owners would magically forget about the building (and everything that occurred within its walls)
once they crossed back over the wards. This automatic obliviation process was created and
maintained not just for privacy but for discretion; with the charm in place philandering wizards
didn't have to worry about remembering to obtaining consent from the women they brought
there.

The implications of the house elf's information cast a shadow on the evening, particularly
when they realized that at least a few of the original patriarchs were probably alive and actively
using the rest of the building. The group decided to call it a night and either badge-jumped or
apparated back to their homes. Wally held back to talk about setting up long-range cameras on the
balcony, until Harry reminded him that he would forget everything they talked about as soon as he
left. With that conversation thus deferred, Harry and Hermione were soon the only two
remaining.

Harry refilled their wineglasses with the last of the open bottles and joined Hermione on the
balcony. It was nearly eleven and just barely twilight, as the summer sun dipped behind the western
suburbs. They watched quietly as Diagon Alley's street lamps were lit. Hermione broke the
silence, noting, “The more I think about why this building was built and what it's used for the
less I appreciate this view.”

Harry agreed. “Also a waste of tasteful interior design, if you ask me…I was planning on
ravishing you in the boudoir until I realized that you wouldn't remember any of my kisses.”

Hermione grinned. “So you think your kisses are worth remembering, Potter?”

“You'd be the one to know, sweetheart.”

Hermione's eyes lit up a bit. “Oh there may have been one or two that stood out.”

“Only one or two?”

Hermione nodded. “Of course, it wouldn't hurt to reinforce those memories by recreating the
scene of the crime.”

Harry smiled and began to quietly sing. *“I'm headin' down the Atlanta
highway…”*

“I'd rather you be quietly heading to Windsor.”

“Hey Hermione, do you think you'd like my singing any better during the trip?”

“Don't think I'd be able to notice, with all of the flashing lights and sounds.”

“Guess I'll just have to sing louder, then.”

Harry called Sir Even and they said the badge-jumping magic words. Hermione imagined that it was
the first time a B-52's song had been sung on the astral plane.

*“Love Shack, baby Love Shack!…Love Shack, baby Love Shack!…Love Shack….”*

-->



37. chapter 37
--------------



**Muggle Summer**

**A/N:** A previous version of this chapter was posted for about 90 minutes last Friday,
before a spot-on review from Particle Accelerator bothered me enough to pull the chapter back.
After axing large portions of Clancyish techno-prose and off-track plot meanders, 4000 words were
cut down to 2,100. So then, rather than immediately put it back up, I took the time to write in the
lunch scene, thereby tempering the plot twisting narrative with some HHr fluffiness. I think the
end results reads better, but perhaps the few that read the original post will be better positioned
to comment.

Sorry to everyone who got a chapter posting alert, only to find the chapter gone. I'm
working on curbing my narrative enthusiasm.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 37: Double-Oh-Patriarch**

Monday, June 25
The Rookery, London

The next morning, Harry Potter apparated to the Rookery with a case of electronics and some
unanswered questions for the house-elves that worked there. Figuring that he ought to find out if
he could trust the elves before he broke out the cameras, he called out for Gilbert. The house-elf
appeared in an instant.

“Good morning, Patriarch Potter,” said Gilbert. “How might I be of assistance?”

Harry frowned at his latest honorific. Bad enough being called the “Boy-Who-Lived,” or “The
Chosen One”, but in just the past four weeks he'd been pronounced to be “Sir Harry,” “Clan
Chief Potter,” “Queen's Wizard,” “Lord Gryffindor,” and now “Patriarch Potter.” He counted the
titles on his fingers, and snorted when he realized that he only needed one more to match the
Prince.

“*Wonder how one goes about becoming `Grand Poobah Potter'*?” he thought to
himself.

Shaking himself from this thought, he asked the house-elf if what he did or said within the Flat
would be held in confidence.

The house-elf looked shocked at the question. “Of course, Patriarch. The first rule of the
building is, “What happens at the Rookery, stays at the Rookery.”

Harry nodded, and then asked, “Does that kind of discretion include the patriarchs
themselves?”

Gilbert nodded. “The Rookery's house elves must never speak about the other Patriarchs and
their activities with anyone…even another Patriarch.”

“So is there any way any of the other Patriarchs would know I was here, either yesterday or
today?”

Gilbert paused, then replied. “It is doubtful, Patriarch Potter. No records are kept or
notifications made of when or how the Patriarchs use their flats. House elves and goblins manage
the building and all of its finances for the benefit of the Patriarchs. So unless you were seen
walking into the building by another Patriarch…”

“I see,” said Harry. “Well, Gilbert, you have been most helpful. Thank you for your time and
assistance.”

Gilbert bowed, but before he disappeared Harry asked, “And just to be certain, what we just
discussed will not be shared with any of the other Patriarchs?”

The house elf nodded, then said with a slight smile, “Death before indiscretion, Patriarch
Potter. It will be as if I was never here.”

Once the house-elf disappeared Harry unpacked the case and set up the cameras and other sensors
that could be controlled with telemetry. He'd been given a crash course on what cords went
where and the right buttons to push before the trip, but still found it necessary to call Wally for
some troubleshooting tips.

Meanwhile, MI-5 agents were busy setting up cameras and a concealed observation post in front of
the building. Agents stationed at the site were to call MI-5 3/4's Windsor field office with
physical descriptions of anyone entering or leaving the building. By comparing these “eye-witness”
descriptions with live camera images, they hoped to be able to account for the potential use of
glamour charms. With luck they would catch the faces of at least a few of the patriarchs that chose
to walk into the building rather than directly apparate inside.

There were plans for more comprehensive monitoring of the building, but Harry left the details
to Wally and Steve. He admired just how quickly the hastily assembled monitoring plan was being
implemented, but wasn't big on the “wait and see” approach.. He was (and figured he always
would be) a man of action…someone who wanted to bash doors down rather than watch who used them.
But as he already had plenty of other things on his plate at the moment, he was content to let this
pot simmer, so that he could focus on tasks that hadn't been delegated to others. There were,
in fact, six different things he had wanted to do that day in Central London, and he was already
behind schedule. And so it was with some relief that he finally got confirmation from Wally back at
Windsor that the cameras he set up were working properly. He packed up his things, badge-traveled
to the back room of the Weasley's shop, and prepared for his next meeting.

+++

Harry walked confidently down High Street and into the main lobby of Gringott's wearing a
blond curly wig and a black eye-patch. The only thing funnier than his appearance was the fact that
nobody blinked an eye (hiding in plain sight was easy when everyone expected a powerful wizard like
Harry to use magical disguises). He ignored the disgusted looks and protests of bank patrons who
thought he was jumping the queue and strode confidently towards a desk located near the back of the
lobby.

“Good day, Griphook,” he said to the goblin seated behind the desk.

The goblin looked up and said, “Good day, Clan Chief.”

Harry took a seat in front of Griphook and pouted. “Aaah, you saw through my disguise. What was
it, you read my magical aura? Maybe I tripped some `clan-chief detection wards' on the way
in?”

Griphook gave Harry a toothy smile as he stood from his desk, pulled two thick ledgers under his
arms, and directed Harry towards a private conference room, “Something far more mundane,” he
explained. “You are the only wizard to have ever recognized me and called me by name.”

As soon as the conference room's door closed Harry pulled off the itchy wig and annoying
eye-patch. “Much better,” he said to himself. He then asked, “Griphook, what can you tell me about
the a flat I now own in a building called `The Rookery'?”

Griphook hummed quietly as he opened up one of ledgers and began to search. Finding the page he
was looking for, he said, “One flat, located at 87 Shaftesbury Avenue, Soho, London. Four bedrooms,
3,900 square feet, occupies entire twenty-third floor of building known as `The Rookery.'
Acquired by the Potter Estate in 1892 at time of construction. Original purchase price 87,000
galleons. Current estimated value 3.3 million galleons, although restrictive magical covenants bar
you from placing it on the open market.”

Harry nodded, then asked, “I understand that the building is actually owned by some type of
club. Are there annual billings or fees to cover my share of the building maintenance costs and
other services?”

The goblin nodded hummed some more as he checked a different section of the same ledger. He then
replied, “This past year the sum of 13,000 galleons was withdrawn from the Potter vault.
Authorization for these automatic withdrawals was made by your grandfather on behalf of himself and
his future heirs. As the Potter Patriarch you may stop these withdrawals, but this action would
result in forfeiting your ownership of the property to the organization that holds nominal
ownership of the entire building.” Griphook looked up from the ledger and asked, :Do you wish me to
stop these withdrawals?”

“Erm, no…not just yet,” Harry replied. He then noted, “When I visited the property yesterday a
house-elf informed me that Gringott's gave notice that I was the new Potter Patriarch and might
be soon visiting.”

Griphook gave Harry a cautious look, and then replied, “Under the terms of your
grandfather's authorization, Gringott's was required to notify The Rookery as soon as the
Potter family had a Patriarch. You became the Potter Patriarch last week when you became
Queen's Wizard …a letter was sent by secure bank owl and received by a house-elf named
Gilbert.”

Harry paused, then said, “Please Griphook, don't be nervous…you were only doing your job and
fulfilling the bank's obligations, right?”

“Yes, Clan Chief, thank you.”

“Please Griphook, it's Harry…especially when it is just the two of us in private,
alright?”

Griphook gave Harry a second cautious look, then smiled once more. “As you wish…Harry.”

The young wizard then asked, “Did you contact any of the wizards that live there, or belong to
the club that runs the place?”

Griphook shook his head. “We deal only with the house-elves. Privacy issues.”

Harry smiled when he realized it likely that none of Patriarchs knew he had access to his
Rookery flat. Wondering if somebody like the senior Malfoy would know through other means, he
asked, “Was anyone else notified when I gained my majority and full control of the Potter
estate?”

Griphook sighed, then answered, “A required notification was sent to the Wizengamot.”

“Why the Wizengamot?”

The goblin gave Harry a tight-lipped smile. “Most likely because the Potter Patriarch has held a
permanent seat on that body for more than 900 years.”

Harry accepted this reason, and then sighed. “Any chance that they haven't gotten that
message yet, Griphook?”

Griphook paused, then asked, “Would you wish that the Ministry not know?”

When Harry nodded, Griphook's toothy grin returned. “I sent out the required notification to
the Wizengamot's office on the day it was attacked. While I have a return receipt that proves
the message was delivered, I also know that the magical seal on that envelope was never
opened.”

Harry cocked his head. “Why do you imagine that is, Griphook?”

The goblin pressed his fingertips together and replied. “I understand that the Wizengamot office
was one of more damaged portions of the Ministry. It is possible that the letter was destroyed
before anyone could read it.”

Harry nodded, and then asked, “Are you going to send another notification?”

Griphook smiled. “Gringott's was obligated to send notification. Gringott's is not
obligated to determine whether the notification that was sent was actually read.” He then added,
“At your instruction we could send a second owl.”

Harry thought about the benefits of his voting authority in the Wizengamot secret and realized
he knew little about how that body worked. *“Not that I would sway anybody's vote right
now,”* he thought to himself.

“I think one notification was sufficient,” he decided out loud. “Any one else, then?”

Griphook looked down at the ledger, and then said, “There are a number of individuals and
organizations that might be notified whenever an heir reaches his majority. Members of the family
are notified, but we have no records of others in the Potter line. Any wizard family that has
entered into a betrothal contract with your parents would be notified…”

Harry interrupted. “*Would be*….not *was*…right?”

Griphook delayed his response just long enough to see Harry squirm (who said goblins can't
have a bit of fun?). “No, Harry, your parents did not obligate you to honor a betrothal
contract.”

After Harry let out a sigh of relief, Griphook added, “That being said, there are presently
forty-seven open betrothal offers to from other Families or Clans.”

“Forty-seven different marriage proposals?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“That's simply…hard to believe.”

Griphook raised what could pass for eyebrows on a goblin's face. “I have the names of the
witches right here if you'd like to take a look.”

Harry chuckled, then noted, “Well, I couldn't get into too much trouble if all I did was
look, right?”

Griphook thought for a moment, then replied tactfully. “It might be argued that a wise and
responsible Patriarch should take at least a cursory glance at the list, if only to consider the
value of any potential clan alliances.”

Harry grinned at Griphook, and asked, “Let's hope that wise and responsible consorts would
think the same way if they found out.”

A wheezy cough erupted out of Harry's throat when he looked down at the ledger.

“Oh. My. Sweet. Merlin,” he exclaimed.

After working through the list he asked, “Is there a reason why so many families would be
willing to offer one of their daughters to me?”

The goblin chuckled to himself. “Besides the fact that you are famous, wealthy, and the scion of
one of the oldest wizarding families in Britain?”

“Yes, besides that.”

After they shared a few more chuckles (who knew that goblins liked a good joke just as much as
any other sentient?) Harry asked for a copy of the list, as well as all of the correspondence and
documentation associated with each offer. Griphook called another goblin into the room and sent him
scurrying with orders to honor this request.

“The records will be available in a few minutes time,” said Griphook. The goblin then asked, “Is
there anything else, then Clan Chief?”

Harry scowled a bit. “I'm sure that there is, let me take a look at the list Hermione made
out for me.” He then glanced down at the piece of parchment pulled from his pocket. After a quick
glance at his muggle wristwatch, he said, “Merlin, I'm supposed to be over at the Palace in a
few minutes. But I also wanted to eat lunch with Hermione.”

Harry looked over at Griphook and asked, “What do you think, my friend…Queen or Consort?”

The goblin squinted a bit and pursed his lips, before asking, “Do they serve food at this muggle
Palace?”

Harry smiled at the goblin's question. He then stood, shook Griphook's hand, and said
that his wisdom went far beyond the world of finance.

+++

Thirty minutes later, Harry answered a badge-call from Hermione.

“Hello, Hermione…how is your meeting going with the goblin ward masters?” he asked.

“Erm, fine…well, better than fine, actually,” she replied. “But we're on break…they all just
got called away to check on some warding down within the vaults.”

“Really?” asked Harry. “Does that mean you have a bit of time for lunch?”

“Imagine so,” Hermione replied. “Have a place in mind?”

“Actually, I do…why don't you jump over.”

Hermione paused. “Will I remember where I ate afterwards?”

She couldn't see the grin on Harry's face when he replied, “Yes, I think you just
might.”

The jump took Hermione to an elegantly-decorated room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on three
sides and large windows within the fourth. A gentle breeze passed through these windows, bringing
the scent of freshly-mown grass into the room where it mixed and mingled with the scent of
century-old books and Beef Burgundy (the later coming from a table within the room's center,
elegantly set for lunch). The intoxicating combination of aromas nearly made Hermione's knees
buckle.

“Little woozy from the jump?” Harry asked cheekily.

Hermione shook her head as she turned to the sound of Harry's voice. She startled at just
how handsome he looked in his dark-olive two-piece suit, shirt and tie. She looked down at the
workday robe she was wearing and frowned.

“Wish you had told me that lunch was a formal affair, Harry.”

“You've got a wardrobe full of new clothes here, if you like,” he replied with a grin. “But
it is just the two of us here, and I think you look beautiful just as you are.”

She nodded as she took a second look at her surroundings. “We're at the Palace, then?”

Harry nodded. “Welcome to the Royal Wizard's Suite….would you rather take a tour or eat
lunch?”

Hermione looked towards the room's closed door, then over at the table of food. Focusing
beyond the table towards one of the bookcases, she resisted the urge to add browsing as a third
option, and suggested that they eat while the food was still hot.

Harry nodded as he pulled out a chair for her.

“Quite the gentleman, Harry,” she said.

“Well, comes with the territory, I imagine,” Harry replied, as he took his own seat and lifted
up his already-filled wine glass. “A toast?” he asked.

Hermione's thoughts drifted back towards Gringott's and her unfinished work. But the
label on the open wine bottle was just to intriguing, and Harry just too handsome, for her to care.
She raised her glass towards Harry.

He smiled and proposed, “To fairy tales with happy endings.”

The breath that got caught in her throat kept Hermione from replying. With moisture gathering in
the corners of her eyes she clinked her glass against Harry's.

“To our happy endings,” she replied.

It took a few minutes for either to be inclined to start up a conversation.

Harry finally asked about Hermione's meeting with the ward masters. She happily reported
that the goblins were thrilled with her successful bench-scale demonstration of attenuated
anti-apparition fields. There was a lot of work left to do with power boosting and spell focusing
before they could recreate this success on a full-scale model, but these were already-established
processes, and the ward masters were confident that they'd have a marketable process by
week's end.

Harry smiled and congratulated Hermione on her success. “So do you think this means we'll
have wards up at Windsor by week's end?” he asked.

Hermione nodded. “I might know for sure later today. They're bringing the Director of
Warding Services in this afternoon to start negotiating a licensing agreement.”

“Wow, that's great Hermione…do you have any ideas on how much your ideas are worth?”

Hermione hemmed and hawed a bit, before Harry encouraged her to not be so modest.

“The ward masters think that by reducing the boundaries down to the exact footprint of the
warded area they'll reduce their power requirements by an average of 25%. But they also think
that they can charge at least 10% more for “custom-tailored” wards.”

“So they can charge more for something that will cost them less to build?”

Hermione nodded. “They started talking about either selling the idea to them outright, or
granting them an exclusive license to use it.”

“Wonderful,” said Harry. “I'm so proud of you…so which way are you thinking?”

“Not sure,” Hermione replied. “I'm thinking of offering a trade instead…I let them use my
attenuation mods, and they teach me how to build wards that block magical detection.”

Harry thought about Hermione's statement, before his eyes lit up. “With those kind of wards
up over a building, underage wizards could practice their magic!”

Hermione smiled. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

Harry couldn't contain his enthusiasm, and almost jumped across the table to give Hermione a
hug. “Oh, that's simply brilliant, Hermione.”

Before Harry could turn his admiration into a snogfest Hermione asked how his morning had gone.
Harry sighed, then sat back down and recounted his adventures within the Rookery flat. He then
jumped over his meeting with Griphook to describe his introduction to staff at Buckingham Palace.
Harry had met most of the Queen's Palace security detail, as well as the chief of Palace
security, whom he described as a bit “Snape-ish.”

“How so?” Hermione asked.

“Well, he was a bit put-off that he had to give me a tour of their command center…thought that
the `Queen's little magician' didn't have a good enough reason to know.”

“So what happened?”

“Steve sat him down for a little chat,” he replied. “And he gave you and me some new
identification badges to deal with the bureaucratic git.” Harry then reached into his pocket,
pulled out a plastic ID card, and passed it across the table.

Hermione's eyes widened, and she gave Harry a questioning look. He responded by flipping his
own palace staff ID around to show an identical badge.

“So is this just a fake ID for cover?” she asked.

Harry shook his head. “Afraid not,” he replied. “They don't want there to be any questions
about our authority to lead others in the defense of the Royal Family.” He then stood up straight
and extended his hand. “Agent Granger, welcome to Her Majesty's Secret Service.”

Hermione shook her head, not sure that she liked the idea.

Harry noticed her concern, and said, “Look on the bright side, Hermione. They're starting us
with mid-grade commissions.”

“So?”

Harry smiled. “So how many other teenagers do you know that outrank their parents?”

Hermione broke out into a small smile, and then asked, “Well that's all fine and good, but
the real question is whether or not I outrank my boyfriend.”

Harry grinned, and then replied, “They initially wanted to put me a couple of grades higher than
you, but then I asked if that would prevent me from snogging a junior officer.”

“So what happened?”

“I made them demote me down to your rank.”

Hermione laughed, then walked over and gave him a hug. “Oh, Secret Agent Potter, how
romantic.”

Harry paused, then chuckled at her response. “Merlin, there's another one.”

“Another what, Harry?”

“Another title…ties me up with the Prince.”

“Really?” Hermione asked. “I didn't know it was a competition.”

Harry shook his head. “It isn't really. There's only one title that I really care
about…and chuck the rest.”

“And what title would that me?”

Harry placed a kiss on her forehead and replied, “Hermione's boyfriend.”

Hermione looked into Harry's eyes before snorting and pulling him into a hug.

“Oh, Harry,” she cooed. “I wish that I didn't have to go back to that meeting right
now.”

Harry looked at his wristwatch and said, “You don't need to be back for another forty-five
minutes.”

“Really?” asked Hermione. “And just how might you know that, Mr. Potter?”

Harry smiled and said, “Griphook assured me that the ward inspections would take at least an
hour-and-a-half to complete.”

Hermione shook her head, deciding whether to admonish Harry for his scheming, or praise him for
his ingenuity. Some ear nibbling forced the issue.

“So Harry,” she said, “you promised to give me a tour of the Royal Wizard's suite?”

Harry stopped chewing on an earlobe so that he could whisper in her ear. “Any particular room
you might be interested in, Hermione?”

She pulled him into an even-tighter embrace and nodded. “Don't suppose they gave you a broom
closet?”

Harry smiled as he shook his head. “Sorry,” he whispered, “No broom closets. I do have a rather
large master bedroom at my disposal, though.”

It was Hermione's turn to smile as she broke the embrace, grabbed his hand, and started
pulling him towards the door.

“Guess that will have to do.”

-->



38. Chapter 38
--------------



**Muggle Summer**

Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 38****:** **The** **Birth of a Jr. Marauder**

*1:30pm,* *Monday, June 26
Queen's Wizard's Quarters
Buckingham Palace*

Harry Potter felt rather guilty that he hadn't told Hermione about the marriage contracts.
He had planned on doing so during lunch, but the romantic atmosphere engineered to soften the blow
of that revelation had gotten the best of them. Next thing he knew, they were snogging in his newly
assigned bedroom at Buckingham (and he didn't want to ruin any of that). She had then dashed
back Gringott's to continue her work with the goblins, making him feel even more guilty about
stealing her away from her ward work.

Harry suspected that things would be worse, now that the first chance to tell her had come and
gone. Best he could do was rationalize the need to find out more about these contracts before the
next chance came at dinnertime. But who to talk to? It was the kind of problem that he'd bring
to Hermione first, but that wouldn't do. Ron was clearly out…Harry loved him like a brother,
but this was another one of those times when his Champion's jump to jealousy might get the best
of him. The ideal candidate would be a married wizard that Harry trusted, but the only one to fit
that bill was Arthur Weasley, and he was clearly out given that Ginny's name was on the
list.

And so it was that Harry reluctantly sat up in his new bed and decided to call Remus Lupin
(whose conflict of interest was almost as bad as Arthur's). With assurances that Harry
wasn't interrupting his afternoon, Remus badge-jumped and immediately dropped to one knee.

“My liege,” he intoned.

“Oh knock it off, Remus,” Harry scolded, as he rose from his seat on the mattress edge.
“It's either `Just Harry' or a hex for you.”

The former DADA professor broke out into a grin as he stood. That grin grew wider as he took in
his surroundings.

“So Harry,” Remus asked, “did I ever tell you about my nights on patrol as Gryffindor
Prefect?”

Wondering why his former professor was raising this topic, Harry shook his head.

“Quite something,” Remus continued. “With my were-enhanced sense of smell I always knew when
pheromones and bra hooks were being released behind closed broom closet doors.”

It only took Harry a few moments to catch on, and to realize that his recently used bedroom
might not have been the best place to receive a guest. Waffling between acute embarrassment and
roguish camaraderie, Harry decided to put on the brave front.

“Down, boy,” he replied, “or do I need to mark my new territory?”

Remus broke out into a hearty laugh. “No worries, Alpha,” he said in reassurance. “Although it
would be great fun to watch you pee around the perimeter of the Palace.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he grabbed Remus's elbow and showed him around the new apartment.
Of particular note were two large walk-in closets. Harry guided his mentor to a section that bore
his name and handed him a clothes hanger.

“Thought we'd grab a cup of tea in the Mess,” he explained.

Remus nodded as he shed his robe and hung it on the bar next to a bespoke shirt and tailored
suit. Hanging next to the suit were black combat fatigues, and two wizard's robes (one plain
and one formal). Looking down his black trousers and lightweight sweater, he snorted and asked, “Do
I need to change into that fancy muggle wear?”

Harry gave Remus the once-over and smiled. “Good enough to throw on just the jacket…it'll
give you someplace to hang your credentials.” As he handed over both the jacket and a security
badge, Harry explained that each member of the Order of Arthur had his or her own sets of clothing
to facilitate travel between the muggle and wizarding worlds. Similar mini-staging areas were
planned for Hogwarts, the back of Fred and George's shop, the Round Tower, and the Farm.

“Five sets of clothing?” Remus asked. “Harry, you don't need to do that. I mean, at the very
least I can transfigure my clothing whenever there's a need.”

Harry shook his head. “Not happening, my friend,” he replied. “The Queen insists that her Order
be properly uniformed at her expense. Some of us could transfigure, sure, but Wally, Steve and the
Granger's can't.” He then added, “And in any event these outfits are more than they might
seem.”

Remus cocked his head as he slipped on the jacket and took a closer look. It was slightly
heavier than he expected, and hung a bit stiffly, as if there were something between the wool
fabric and silk lining.

“An inch-and-a-half of steel-reinforced Kevlar, magically thinned and lightened,” Harry said. He
then explained what Kevlar was, and noted that MI-5 Â¾ testing had proven that the material's
stopping power hadn't been compromised by the magical alterations.

“So this would protect me from what, exactly?” Remus asked.

Harry grinned. “Oh, not much…knives, swords, bullets...”

“Expecting to fight against muggles, are we?” Remus asked with a confused smile.

“Not really,” Harry explained. He then surprised Remus by withdrawing the Sword of Gryffindor
from its hidden scabbard and whacking it against the werewolf's wand arm. “But I imagine any
magical opponents I face might wish they were muggles if I catch them without something similar
on.”

Remus winced from the sword's impact. While the Kevlar had completely stopped the blade from
slicing through his arm, it hadn't cushioned against the blunt force behind the sword stroke.
Embarrassed by his failure to maintain his guard, Remus gritted his teeth and struggled not to rub
the area bruised by the attack. As he sheathed his sword Harry noted that Fred and George had also
added the same shield charms used on the robes they had sold to the Ministry.

As the two left the apartment, Harry told Remus that the muggle identification badges would be
needed whenever they ventured beyond his quarters (the same held for trips outside of the Round
Tower at Windsor). He also informed Remus that his badge identified him as a member of Palace
security, and that he'd need to wear an earpiece similar to the one worn during the Battle of
Ascot, if for nothing else than show.

Harry's functional earpiece and transmitter came in handy when he got turned around on his
way to the Mess. He could, of course, have used his badge to get directions from Steve, but there
were muggles about in the hallways. With Steve's aid it only took them a few minutes to reach a
mess hall strikingly similar to the one Harry visited so often at Windsor. As it was between
lunchtime and teatime, the two found it easy to find a table where they could chat without need of
privacy charms. Five minutes later, they were settled in with tea and fresh-baked scones.

After complimenting the service, Remus asked, “So I imagine you wanted me here to do more than
dress me and show off your bachelor pad?”

The Queen's Wizard snorted. “Most definitely, Remus.” After the few seconds of silence that
accompanied a bite of biscuit, he off-handedly said, “I had an interesting chat with my
Gringott's advisor this morning.”

“About your financial situation?”

“Amongst other things,” Harry replied with a smile. He took a moment to pique some interest,
then asked, “So what can you tell me about wizard world marriage contracts?”

Remus choked a bit on his tea, just barely managing to avoid a spray. “Have the goblins added
matchmaking to their portfolio of services?”

Harry chuckled as he shook his head and began to recount his conversation with Griphook. Lupin
was pleased to learn that Lily and James hadn't agreed to any binding betrothal agreements, but
lost it at the idea of Harry having to deal with open-ended marriage contracts.

“So did Griphook tell you how many open offers there were?”

Harry nodded, and told him. Remus couldn't help but spray upon hearing the number.

“Forty-seven?” he exclaimed, loud enough to catch the attention of staff standing on the other
side of the room.

Harry shushed his friend, and nodded.

Remus stated, “As a muggle-born witch I take it Hermione's parents weren't
involved?”

Harry nodded in confirmation.

“So what did she think about all this?” Remus asked.

“That's the thing,” Harry replied sheepishly. “I had the chance to tell her during lunch,
but couldn't bring myself to do it.”

Lupin squinted at Harry. “But you both found time enough to work up a sweat, eh?”

Harry nodded. “Well, yes…I was going to tell her, but we just got carried away a bit, and…”

“And now you're worried about what she'll say not just about the offers, but the fact
that you didn't immediately tell her.”

Harry sighed. “Right in one.”

Remus scratched his head. “Don't know quite what to say, cub. I mean…my experience with
witches isn't any longer than yours….So what made you hesitate?”

“Besides the fact that she was making doe eyes at me all during lunch?”

“Erm…yes.”

“Oh…well….”

“Do you know which witches we're talking about?”

Harry nodded. “Only a few,” he noted. “It seems like just about every pure-blood family with an
unattached female under the age of sixty has made an offer.

Remus nodded in understanding as he mentally reviewed his class lists.

“I mean, really,” Harry spouted. “what were my parents thinking?”

Remus paused before replying. “Your mum and dad never mentioned anything about marriage
contracts for you, cub…besides the fact that they had rejected binding offers from the Malfoy and
Nott families.

With a questioning look, Harry said, “Well if that's the case then why is there a Malfoy on
the list?”

Remus shook his head. “Dunno, Harry. It could be that those open offers were extended after your
parents's deaths.” He then snorted. “Didn't realize the Malfoys had a daughter to marry
off, although I wouldn't put it past them to offer up Draco for the right amount of money and
power.”

Harry shuddered at the thought. “I asked Griphook about that…apparently there's a line of
Malfoys still in France.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Remus replied. He then said, “If it helps any, I do know that your
father fought tooth and nail to avoid one of these contracts so that he could marry your mum.”

“He did?”

Remus nodded. “It was a right mess. Words were spoken between James and your grandfather that
never had opportunity to be taken back before either of them…well…”

After trailing off, Remus's eyes lit up. “But that would matter, here, right? As Head of
Family, you could reject all of these open offers out of hand.”

When Harry nodded, Remus asked a logical follow-up. “So what's the problem? Is there
somebody on the list that you fancy?”

Harry shook his head forcefully. “Of course not.”

“So what's the problem telling Hermione? It's not as if you asked for these contracts,
right?”

Harry shook his head once more. “Guess I'm worried that Hermione would insist I consider the
potential benefits of family alliances.”

Remus waved his hand dismissively. “Please, Harry…have a little faith in Hermione. And if not
faith, at least a sense of humor…I mean, what other teen-aged wizard has that many offers?”

“Haven't a clue,” Harry replied. He paused, then gave Remus a evil look. “Think I should
have a sense of humor about all this, eh?”

“Most definitely.”

Harry chuckled as he retrieved a small parchment scroll from an inside coat pocket. As he handed
it across the table he snarked, “Let me see your sense of humor after read through the list.”

Remus nodded and began to scan down the scroll. Harry was dead on with respect to
comprehensiveness. All the big family names were there, including more than a few aligned with
Voldemort. “Cornelius Fudge's daughter, now there's a match,” he thought to himself. Most
of the specific witch's names were unfamiliar to him; Remus guessed they might be older sisters
(or the spinster aunts) of Harry's classmates.

Two names caught his eye. “So you've been offered your choice of the Patil girls?” he
asked.

Harry shook his head and sighed. “Not just my choice of one, but under the laws of magical India
their parents offered me *both*.”

Remus chuckled. “Now you see Harry? Plenty of humor right there.”

“Yeah, right Moony,” Harry snarked. “Just scroll down to the end of the list.”

Remus nodded as he let the bottom end of the scroll fall. The first thing to catch his eye was
Ginerva Weasley's name at the bottom of the list. “That could be awkward,” he thought to
himself. But then he glanced up a couple of lines and blanched.

He looked up at Harry and noticed that his eyes were twinkling like Dumbledore's used to. He
looked back down and confirmed that the name he thought he saw was really there.

“Apparently,” Harry dryly noted, “open-ended offers can come from more than just pure-blooded
families.”

Remus nodded, and said nothing for ten full seconds before breaking out into a series of
gut-wrenching guffaws. Harry couldn't help but join in, earning them scolding looks from the
mess hall manager. They got the non-verbal cue and quickly returned to Harry's quarters to
begin their scheming.

In the end, they decided that there was little need to embellish what was, all by itself, a
rather wonderful opportunity to prank. Harry found the nerve to spill the news to Hermione, and was
pleased to be on the receiving end of her empathy. She even agreed to help with their plans.

And so it was Ted and Andromeda Tonks were invited to dine that night with Harry Potter at
Buckingham Palace. Their daughter Nymphadora (who had been invited separately along with Remus) had
no idea why Harry and Hermione wanted to meet her parents (though she suspected it was
Hermione's way of forcing Remus to met her parents). Her parents, in turn, suspected that Harry
wanted to discuss the issues surrounding Sirius Black's disputed will.

Mr. and Mrs. Tonks were given the full treatment, with a car picking them up and delivering them
at the Palace steps with Beefeaters saluting at the gates. Harry, Hermione, Tonks and Remus met
them at the front entrance, and showed them to the Queen's Wizard's Quarters, where dinner
was served. Harry and Hermione, dressed in formal evening wear, perfectly played the role of
gracious host and hostess. Dinner conversation was light and centered around Tonks's childhood
adventures as a metamorph and Harry's adventures at Hogwarts. While a few questions were asked
about Harry's new role as Queen's Wizard, care was taken by all not to discuss Sirius's
will or Voldemort's war.

Once dessert and tea was served, Harry made the bold suggestion that the bag the traditional
post-dinner segregation of the sexes and that everyone repair to the library for after-dinner
drinks. Once there, Hermione calmly announced that as Potter Clan Consort she would take the lead
on negotiating the terms of the open-ended marriage contract in advance of Nymphadora's
marriage to Harry.

As the one with the least experience in the fine art of pranking, it was all Hermione could do
not to burst out laughing at the look on the Tonks family's faces. She held on just long enough
for Remus to take a wizard photograph that documented the only time in his future wife's life
that she was able to display a beet-red hair color that so completely matched her facial skin
tone.

Remus considered the many future nights spent of the couch to be more than worth that photo.
Harry and Hermione agreed, right up to the point where Tonks so brilliantly pranked them back.

But that's another story.

-->



39. Chapter 39
--------------



**Muggle Summer**

**A/N:** I've decided to skip a 38 as a chapter number, so that the author's post
numbers match chapter numbers. Doesn't affect the story…just didn't want folks looking for
missing text.

This chapter is a bit short, but it is nicely self-contained and I did try to keep the
techno-plot meanders to a minimum.

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 39: Percy's Problems**

Thursday, June 28
Ministry of Magic

Special Assistant Weasley strode into his Special Assistant's office and barked at the small
wizard painting mounted behind his desk.

“Tell the muggle Prime Minister that he should make himself immediately available for Minister
Scrimgeour's arrival.”

The echo wizard scowled at the live wizard's arrogance and stomped out of his frame in a
huff. The portrait had never heard so much as a “please” or “thank you” since it had been moved to
Percy's office two months previous. Special Assistant Weasley was oblivious to this reaction,
as he was busy arranging parchments in his portfolio. It was the first time the Minister had
invited him along to one of these meetings, and Percy didn't want to give him any reason to
make it the last time he did so.

He was all packed-up and halfway to the Minister's office when the portrait returned to its
frame with some disturbing news. “I was unable to determine whether the muggle minister heard my
announcement.”

Percy frowned. “What do you mean, you were unable to determined if he heard you? Did you make
the announcement?”

“Yes.”

“Did the muggle minister notice you were speaking to him, or say anything in reply?”

“I was unable to determine that.”

“Why not?”

“Because my other portrait is covered with some sort of black cloth and no sound is coming from
the muggle minister's office.”

“What?” Percy yelled. “Since when?”

The wizened old wizard echo snorted, then replied, “Two days ago.”

Percy's face turned pale. He then shouted, “Two days ago? Why didn't you report this to
me?”

The echo smiled as Percy's knickers twisted. “You ordered me to spy on the muggle minister
and report back if I saw any wizard in the office besides Auror Shacklebolt or heard any discussion
of the wizarding world,” the painting explained. “I have neither heard nor seen anything that
required me to interrupt your *busy* day doing *very important things*.”

Shocked at this response, Percy sat down on his desk, put his head in his hands and fretted.
This was bad. Very bad. Minister Scrimgeour was expecting to floo straight away to the muggle
Minister's office once he returned from lunch, and Percy didn't even know whether the
muggle Minister was in his office.

“Well if the portrait can't deliver the message, I'll have to do it myself,” he
muttered. Percy rushed down the hall to the Minister of Magic's office. Brushing aside
questions from the receptionist and Aurors that stood guard, he burst into the empty executive
office and grabbed a pinch of floo powder. Kneeling in front of the hearth, he threw the powder
into the fire, confidently yelled out “muggle minister's office,” and stuck his head into the
blue flames.

A few seconds latter Percy's head was forcefully cast out the flames with enough momentum to
throw his entire body ten feet back from the floo. As he painfully pulled himself up from the floor
he heard a tinny female voice announce, *“The floo destination you have requested is no longer in
service, or has been disconnected. Please check your address and try again.”*

Special Assistant Percy closed his eyes and sighed. It wasn't as if the muggle
minister's floo was paid on subscription, so somebody must have magically shut down the floo
connection from the other side.

*“The muggle Minister's office has been attacked,”* Percy immediately thought. *“Or
worse, Potter shut it down.”* With second thoughts, Percy discounted the former, as they would
have heard from the Auror stationed there. *“Unless the Aurors are betraying the Ministry as
well,”* he worried. That there might be some disloyal Aurors wouldn't have surprised Percy
one bit, given just how unhelpful Head Auror Robards had been the past couple of weeks. The chances
that he would be given an Auror team to check in on the muggle minister's office were nil
(especially after Auror Dawlish's team performed so dreadfully for Madame Umbridge).

Percy thought of a way to potentially circumvent the Auror department, and scurried towards the
Magical Surveillance Office, where records could be checked for magic use anywhere within the
British Isles. While the MSE was part of the MLE and worked closely with the Aurors, Percy knew
that he could trust at least a few of its staff. After all, they had been hand-picked by the
Minister's office just last week to replace the Fudge-hired traitors that used to work
there.

As he impatiently waited for a lift, Percy's thoughts drifted to the other replacements the
Ministry had been forced to place. He'd been shocked to find that so many of the covert Death
Eaters had been seemingly high-performing loyal Ministry employees. They were, of course,
Fudge-hires and not at all Minister Scrimgeour's responsibility, but still….a rather radical
shake-up, and not just in the MSE. Lots of new hires taking over the running of the magical
transportation network, too. As he entered the lift he realized that this was probably the reason
why the Minister's Office wasn't notified about the shut-down floo connection.

Percy reached the desired floor and stormed the surveillance office with an expectation of
immediate respect and immediate answers. What he received was grudging confusion. As best as they
knew, no magic had been used within the muggle minister's office for the past week. Which
didn't make any sense, since magic would be needed to shut down the floo connection and
(possibly) shroud the portrait with magical silence.

Special Assistant Weasley returned to his little office and ordered the portrait to check again
for the muggle minister. While the echo was gone he leaned against his desk and tried to catch his
breath. The dashing about had tired him, and he was very much looking forward to having interns do
the running for him.

The thought of Ginny doing some of that running brought a small smile to her older brother's
face. Receiving her tear-stained owl-post that practically denounced her former boyfriend and
begged for Percy's forgiveness was, without a doubt, the highlight of his past week. Minister
Scrimgeour had been most pleased with the development, and Madame Umbridge had been more than happy
to have Ginny's internship switched from Centaurs to the Minister's office. Percy himself
would manage his sister's development as a loyal Ministry employee.

The portrait returned with nothing new to report, forcing Percy to take drastic and decisive
action (mainly because he was too afraid to reveal his mistakes by asking the Minister for
direction). He walked over to the corner of his office that had been specially cleared for
outbound-only apparition, drew his wand, and disappeared with a loud crack.

Percy had planned on apparating directly into the muggle minister's office (having
previously scouted out the street location for just that purpose). He was therefore quite surprised
when he bounced off of anti-apparation wards and landed with a crack some 200 meters east of his
target…particularly as this displacement put him a few meters above the Thames River. Once there,
the non-magical forces of gravity came to bear, and he fell feet-first into the murky waters.

Shouts from muggle bystanders who had heard the crack and splash greeted Percy's ears when
he resurfaced. He cursed, transfigured his wizard robes into muggle clothing, and swam to shore. He
had just found a relatively quiet spot to magically dry himself when an all-too familiar voice
addressed him from behind his back.

“Oi Percy…nice day for a swim, eh?”

Special Assistant Weasley immediately thought to grab his wand, but realized that Harry Potter
would have stunned him by now if that was his intention. He slowly turned and found the Queen's
Wizard standing a few yards away, dressed in a muggle suit.

“Queen's Wizard Potter, I figured that you must have been involved in this outrageous and
wanton disregard for magical secrecy.”

Harry snorted. “In my opinion, your little tour of the Thames was more obliviator-worthy.” He
crossed his arms in front of his chest and asked, “I suppose you have a legitimate reason for
trying to gain entry into the Prime Minister's Office?”

Percy frowned at the thought that Harry knew his intentions. “You're clearly out of bounds,
Potter. Whatever schemes you have as Queen's Wizard have no relevance to official matters
between the two Ministries.”

“Ah, but I must disagree, Special Assistant Weasley,” Harry said with a grin. “By right of
treaty, the Queen's Wizard is allowed to defend the Crown and all members of Parliament from
magical attack…used to just be the monarch but apparently some guy named Cromwell saw fit to work
out an add-on.”

“So?”

Harry smirked. “Percy, Percy, Percy…I would think that the Ministry employee in charge of spying
on the Prime Minister's Office would at least know something about his subject. The Prime
Minister is a member of Parliament.”

Percy sputtered. “But, but this is an outrage…you're meddling with official means of
communication…”

“Nothing of the sort,” Harry replied. “The muggle Prime Minister requested that I evaluate some
rather specific security issues, and asked me to shut down the floo connection. You see, he
doesn't know a lot about our world, and is afraid that if the Minister of Magic can floo into
his office than any old wizard might.”

“But that's rubbish!” Percy exclaimed. “It's a secured floo-connection that only
connects the two Minister's offices.”

“Oh is that so?” Harry asked. “And has anyone bothered to explain that to the Prime Minister?”
When Percy didn't respond Harry added, “Thought as much. Don't worry, though, I made sure
that the Prime Minister has a thorough understanding of *all* of the magical objects that have
been placed in his office.”

Breath caught in Percy's throat. “*All* of the objects?”

Harry smiled. “Yes, Percy, that includes the magical portrait that has been spying on the muggle
Prime Minister for who knows how many years.” He then shook his head, adding, “Have to say that he
was a bit peeved to learn that the painting was more than just an ugly magical doorbell.”

Percy sputtered again, then tried to recover whatever dignity he could muster. “Well, I'll
have you know that I was trying to conduct official Ministry business. The Minister of Magic has
urgent business with the muggle Minister.”

Harry straightened his own back and replied, “And the British Prime Minister is not at
Scrimgeour's beck and call. If the Minister of Magic wants a meeting, he'll have to do what
everybody else has to do.”

“What's that?”

“Make an appointment.”

Percy turned beet red at Harry's insolence. “And just how is the Minister's Office
supposed to do that without use of the floo or portrait?”

Harry paused, and then fished his mobile out of a trouser pocket. Hitting the right speed-dial
combination, he put the phone to his ear and soon said, “Good afternoon, Auror Shacklebolt, this is
Queen's Wizard Potter, how are you?….oh, fine thanks…say, just needed to let you know that
somebody tried to apparate into 10 Downing Street a few minutes ago…yeah, wards worked like a
charm…who?…oh, Percy Weasley of all people…said he was trying to set up a meeting between the two
Ministers….yeah, I'll tell him. Thanks.”

Harry pocketed his mobile then looked over at a puce-colored Percy. “Auror Shacklebolt has been
in Glasgow the past few days with the Prime Minister. They're expected back tonight, and he
suggested that you provide Head Auror Robards with a meeting request and proposed agenda. He'll
make sure that Auror Shacklebolt gets it to the Prime Minister.”

“That's hardly an appropriate protocol chain,” Percy sputtered.

“Maybe so,” Harry replied, “but it's the best you'll get until the two Ministers can get
together to agree on methods of communication that don't involve espionage and trespass.”

Percy shook his head at the thought of just how much shouting he'd hear when he returned to
the Ministry. Resigned to his fate, he couldn't resist asking Harry an additional question.

“So just how did you construct anti-apparation wards and shut down the floo without tripping the
Ministry's magical-detection devices?”

Harry beamed a wide smile back at Percy and replied, “Magic.”

The Queen's Wizard then escorted Special Assistant Weasley down the street to a location
just outside 10 Downing Street's wards. He magically opened a pretend public loo and pointed
Percy inside.

“Why do you want me to go in there?” Percy asked.

“Because you apparate too loud,” Harry replied simply. “It got both magical and muggle
soundproofing on it. After all, we do want to keep our secrets, right?”

“I most certainly do not apparate too loudly.”

The teen-aged wizard snorted. “How would you know?” he asked. “You don't stick around long
enough to hear.”

Percy scowled in response, but did take care to close the door as he stepped inside. It took the
Special Assistant longer than usual to focus on his destination, as he was distracted by the
nagging suspicion that crossing Harry Potter would ultimately prove *not* to be a savvy career
move.

-->



40. Chapter 40
--------------



**Muggle Summer**

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 40: Mucking About**

10:00am, Saturday, June 30
Mucking Marshes, Essex

Ronald Weasley found it hard to believe his first full day in official service to the British
Monarchy would involve dressing up in white muggle jumpsuits and poking through heaps of muggle
garbage with a willow branch.

“Cor, Hermione, can't you just give us bubble heads?” he whined, as he caught a whiff of
waste. “I'm this close to adding my breakfast to the rubbish pile.”

Hermione looked up from her own heap and shot him a look of disgust that had little to do with
the soiled disposable nappies that were underneath her Wellies. “Save it for someone who's got
nothing better to do than to care, Sir Ronald.”

“I mean, really,” Ron continued, “didn't expect being a knight would always be a walk in the
park, but this is just *foul*.”

“Suck it up and take the good with the bad, mate,” Harry called out from his position a few feet
away. “Didn't see you complaining about your duties last night when you were mucking about with
the Queen.”

The grin on Harry's face conveyed more amusement than anger; even he had to admit that their
present situation was quite a step down from the previous night's ceremony at Buckingham
Palace. Not that it mattered to him, mind you…they were horcrux hunting, and when compared to an
*inferi*-infested cave this *was* a walk in the park.

Mucking Landfill was the kind of appropriately descriptive name that authors love to give to
their characters and places. Only this place was far from fictional. A waste disposal facility
located in Essex, Mucking Landfill was the current recipient of nearly all of the rubbish produced
by the City of London. Had been, actually, since it was commissioned in 1994, which is why the Trio
were busying themselves dumpster diving on a grand and magical scale.

Like seemingly everything else that had supported their campaign against Voldemort, the lead had
come from the muggle world. One of Wally's colleagues had suggested that preparing a background
profile of Voldemort's personality might help predict his future actions. As part of that
effort, Harry and Hermione had reviewed the pensieved memory of Dumbledore's first encounter
with young Tom Riddle. The memory began with a curbside view of the orphanage where he was raised,
which caused Hermione to pull Harry out of the pensieve even before they saw Tom Riddle. She
excitedly explained that the orphanage might be a potential horcrux repository, given its
significance as the place where Tom first learned he was a wizard. Harry agreed, but told her that
Dumbledore had shared her suspicions, but had been unable to find the orphanage's real world
location (despite a thorough search of school and ministry records).

To the surprise of no one, Dumbledore's failed search efforts did little to deter
Hermione.

*“Albus Dumbledore,*” she simply stated, *“didn't do Google.”*

With Wally's help, Hermione used the internet to locate the names and addresses of seven
different orphanages that had operated within the City of London during Tom Riddle's childhood.
Internet map sites then provided not just the locations of these addresses, but point-to-point
driving instructions and route maps.

Harry, Ron and Hermione then visited all seven sites during a afternoon's drive in her
Bentley. Unfortunately, only two of the seven street addresses were attached to buildings of
appropriate age, and neither of these buildings had an exterior that matched what they had seen in
the memory. Seemingly at a dead-end, they had returned to Windsor only to have Wally take renewed
interest in one of the street addresses. A check on his laptop subsequently revealed that one of
the street addresses with newer construction had been the site of a seemingly random Death Eater
attack on muggles.

“That's it, then,” Harry decided, once he heard the news. “Voldemort hid a horcrux at the
orphanage, then sent his toadies around to check on it once he returned.”

“Are you sure?” asked Hermione. “Why would he risk storing something so important in a building
that could be torn down so readily?”

“Because he was thinking like a wizard,” Ron explained.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Harry asked.

“Ever notice that there aren't many new magical buildings?” said Ron, answering a question
with a question. “Wizards never tear down old buildings…reshape them, resize them, add on to them,
sure, but never tear them down…think Burrow.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“Because you'd lose the magical energy that was poured into the original construction,” said
Hermione, with a nod of comprehension.

“So Voldemort didn't plan on urban renewal?” Harry concluded.

“Exactly.”

“So if there was a horcrux hidden there, where would it have gone?” asked Harry.

Ron paused, and then said, “Either somebody removed it from the building before it was torn
down, or it went wherever the building rubble went when it was torn down.”

“Could one of his supporters have taken it before the tear down?” asked Harry.

“Doubtful,” surmised Hermione. “Those buildings are more than a few years old, and Voldemort
wasn't around to let anyone know.”

“That makes sense,” Harry concluded. “Now, I wonder where the construction debris could have
gone?”

Wally's inquires had provided the answer that placed them where they were today, with their
rubber boots ankle-deep in the detritus of a disposable society. From the street address they got a
building permit, which led to the demolition permit, which identified the general contractor, whose
records provided both the date of building demolition and the where the debris was sent. The
landfill that had accepted the waste kept rather meticulous records themselves, and could identify,
within a quarter-acre area and twenty-foot depth interval, where the debris had been placed within
the facility.

They'd arrived on site at 8am that morning, only to find that the Queen's men had once
again done some excellent advance work. Two large backhoes had stripped off the protective soil cap
and the waste that overlay the layer of interest. The muggle backhoe operators weren't
surprised by the fact that there were government officials conducting this type of search; Scotland
Yard investigators were out there on a near-monthly basis looking for this or that piece of
evidence. They would have been very surprised by the search equipment, though, had they hung around
after they had completed their work. But as it was time for morning tea, the two men cleared out of
the search area before they could spy the forked pieces of wood that the three visitors had pulled
out of their kits.

The search wasn't to involve active magic, as Harry had no desire to reveal their interest
in the site to either Voldemort or the Ministry of Magic (explaining why Ron's desire for a
bubble of fresh air went unmet). The forked willow branches were magical dousing rods, charmed by
the Weasley Twins to point towards magical objects (MI-5 3/4 had already deployed prototypes of
these rods to security checkpoints at Windsor, Buckingham Palace and 10 Downing Street). The rods
were another reason why they weren't using magical spells…at the beginning of their search the
only magic that the dousing rods would point to were their wands and Art Club badges. So, until
Fred and George found a way to modify the charm to screen out known magical objects, the three were
forced to take turns searching; two would douse while the third stood just outside the detection
range with their own wand in one hand and the other two wands in the other.

The work was hot, sweaty and exhaustive. In the first hour of searching they had uncovered a
small bag of gobstones, the tip of a forever-inked quill and a broken shard from a magical mirror.
Each time they got a tip of the rod they had to stop and dig down through the waste by hand until
they uncovered the object. Fortunately, the objects that they'd found were only buried a few
feet beneath the surface; without the ability to adjust the range and sensitivity of the rod they
could have been forced to dig as much as ten feet down with shovel and pick. Ron quipped that with
all of this valuable field testing that they ought to get a share of brother's profits from
developing the rod.

Given their search results, the three greeted the fourth time one of their divining rods gave a
sharp jerk downwards with as much resignation as excitement.

“Any guesses on what it will be this time?” Ron asked, as they swapped out their dousing rod for
shovels and began to dig into the waste.

“I'm actually surprised we've found anything,” Hermione replied. “I wouldn't have
expected to have wizard waste mixed in with the muggle trash.”

“Well I still can't get over just how much muggle trash there is in the first place,” Ron
replied.

“What, you think the wizarding world is any more environmentally responsible?” asked Harry.

“Of course,” said Ron. “You don't see wizards heaping their trash out over the
countryside.”

“So exactly where do they put their rubbish?” Harry asked.

“Haven't a clue,” Ron replied. “Back home, Mum and Dad just banish the garbage with the bin
is full.”

Hermione shook her head. “Typical…out of sight, out of mind.”

“Oh, so like you know?” Ron quipped.

“Yes, and you would too if you ever…”

“*Bothered to read Hogwarts, a History,*” Ron and Harry finished for her in unison.

Hermione frowned a bit. “Well it's true, you know…the standard banishment spells were
developed at Hogwarts in the Eleventh Century, with all banished material magically transported to
the Waste Plane.

“Waste Plane?” asked Harry.

“Yes,” Hermione replied. “It's an off-shoot of the small bit of ethereal plane used by the
floo network.”

“You mean the floo connections transport people through heaps of garbage?” asked Ron
incredulously.

Harry snorted. “Always knew there was a reason I didn't like floo travel.”

Hermione sighed (as much as she could sigh without breathing in too much stench). “I did say
off-shoot, Ron,” she explained.

Ron's retort was cut off by Harry's cry of discovery. During the conversation they had
dug through a layer of household garbage and uncovered a separate layer of rough-hewn wood and
plaster. Harry stepped down and began to push and pull at the timber. Ron eventually jumped in to
help, and with shoulders underneath the end of one length of wood the two were able to pry up on a
large piece of plaster.

“See anything?” Harry asked Hermione, as he and Ron struggled to keep the section of wall
elevated off of the base of the pit.

Hermione jumped into the pit with her rod (which now pointed sideways rather than straight
down). Following down the length of willow branch with her eyes, she quietly replied, “Yes, Harry,
I do,”

She then stood and added, “Give me a second and I'll crawl under to get it.”

“Don't you dare, Hermione,” Harry replied. “Don't know how long Ron and I can hold this
piece up.

Hermione looked at Harry and nodded as she swapped out the dousing rod for her wand. Deciding
that just a small bit of active magic could be justified, she then pointed her wand underneath the
wall fragment, and uttered an incantation that brought a grim smile of satisfaction to Harry's
face.

*“Accio Helga Hufflepuff's Cup.”*

+++

The discovery of another horcrux rekindled the destruction debate on the way back to Windsor.
They just so happened to have planned on visiting Hogwarts the following day, as the network of
Slug Club alumni had finally gotten word to Horace Slughorn that there was a fortune in potion
supplies sitting underneath the castle. Ron thought that they ought to bring the cup down with them
into the Chamber and try and destroy it straight away, until Hermione cautioned that it would be
difficult to explain to their former Potions Professor why they were trying to ruin a priceless
Founders artifact. And so, after returning to the Round Tower and cleaning off the filth and grime,
they met with Wally and asked to “Indiana Jones” the cup to wherever the locket was presently
stored.

Talking with Wally about the need to destroy these objects then brought out all types of
creative contingency plans. It was understood that if the three teens were killed or captured
before they could do the job that the muggles would have to try and do it themselves. Steel factory
blast furnaces and other industrial sources of amazingly high temperatures had been discounted as
possibilities, for fear that there might be a destructive explosion associated with the release of
the soul fragments. The best two ideas so far were either blasting the objects during an
underground nuclear bomb test, or sending the objects out into space, in a low-altitude orbit that
would force the horcruxes back down to the Earth (when they would presumably be destroyed by the
heat of reentry).

After completing their afternoon meeting with Wally, the three teens were delighted to find
themselves unscheduled for the balance of the day. Ron decided to head back to the Burrow for a
kip, as he was still getting used to a normal sleeping schedule (his overnight guard duty at St.
Mungo's now at an end). He badge-jumped from the Round Tower to the Twins's shop so that he
could use their floo; now that the anti-apparation/portkey wards were in place over the castle,
this was the only way a wizard could magically leave Windsor Castle.

Harry plopped down the sofa that sat in front of their main fireplace, cracked opened a
butterbeer, and arched an eyebrow towards Hermione.

“So,” he said off-handedly, “I imagine there's at least a dozen reasons why we can't
spend the rest of the day snagging?”

Hermione smiled as she spread out on the rest of the sofa and placed her head in his lap. She
fluttered her eyebrows up at him and said, “Funny, but I can't think of any at the moment.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Harry tried not to get his hopes up as he began to mentally review his “To Do” list. “Warding
all done?”

Hermione nodded. “The goblin warders are done down here and have moved up to Balmoral in advance
of the Queen's vacation.”

“The Queen?”

“Down in her State Apartments, I imagine…she heads back to Buckingham tomorrow night.”

“Prime Minister?”

“That meeting is Wednesday, in advance of Thursday's mini-summit with Scrimgeour.”

“Fawkes Foundation?”

“Mum's over at Cumberland Lodge today, doing the advance planning for the Summer Institute.
We'll be chatting with the Headmistress about that tomorrow.”

Harry nodded, thinking that they did have a lot planned for their return to Hogwarts. He then
continued down his list.

“Peanut Butter Brigade?”

“Ron and Neville have got their cells in place, Ginny's practically moved in with Percy and
Penelope, and the Goblins have promised that Ron's first day in the Liaison Office would be
rather productive.”

“Well that sounds dangerous,” Harry replied with a grin. “How about MI-stuff?”

“We're meeting with the Twins on Tuesday and touring headquarters, wherever that is.”

“How about the Rookery?”

“Only seen run-of-the-mill patriarchal perverts so far. Oh, you will have to swap out the
camera's battery packs next week, though.”

“The Farm?”

Hermione let out a big sigh. “Really Harry, it comes down to worrying about The Farm? If you
don't want to snag you could just say so.”

Harry looked down at Hermione with a look of horror on his face. He took her into his arms and
said, “Oh Hermione, of course I want to…it's just that we need to stay on top of things,
right?”

Hermione lifted her head up so that her lips met his in a quick kiss. Leaning her head back down
onto his lap she replied, “Harry, you are on top of things. Why don't you just move `Act like a
normal horny teen-aged male' to the top of your `To Do' list?”

Harry cocked his head and waggled his eyebrows. Trailing a hand down Hermione's torso, he
grabbed a soft mound of flesh and said, “Wouldn't it be easier just to put you on top of my `To
Do' list?” He then punctuated this question with a pinch.

Hermione let out a soft moan as she ground the back of her head into Harry's lap. Quickly
getting the desired response, she smiled and cooed, “Looks like I'm the one that's on top
of things now.”

And with that statement, Harry decided to trust in the power of delegated authority.

There was no further talk of “To Do” lists that night.

-->



41. Chapter 41
--------------



**Muggle Summer**

A/N: I felt so bad about wasting the Chapter 38 chapter alert with an Author's Note that I
went back and replaced that note with a real chapter. It describes how Harry deals with the 47
open-ended marriage contracts that Griphook told him about. You don't need to read the new Ch
38 to follow the main story line, but it is kind of fun (in this author's humble opinion).

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 41: Hairnets and Headmasters**

5:00am, Sunday, July 1
Windsor Castle

Harry Potter looked out over the gray horizon and scowled. The storm clouds that had brought
high winds and three inches of rain to Windsor had lingered long enough to ruin what would have
likely been a very pretty sunrise…as if they already hadn't annoyed him enough for the lost
sleep. About the only good thing he could say about the weather was that it had given him an excuse
to break out his Firebolt.

Without shifting his gaze from the clouds Harry said, “We need to be finishing up,
Hermione…sun's rising, my arm's getting tired holding this “notice-me-not” screen, and the
tourists will be out and about soon enough.”

Hermione glanced up at Harry, who was hovering a few feet above her position on the roofline,
and nodded. “Think I've almost got this last set lined up again.” She then tilted her head
towards her badge and asked, “How is it looking down there, Dad?”

Some hundred yards away (and twenty yards beneath her) Roger Granger scanned down the length of
the castle's western wall with the lens of his digital camcorder.

“I still see some hairnet about fifteen feet in front of you, Hermione,” he replied.

“Well, bugger this, then,” she said as she crouched back down to check her crystal
alignments.

“Hermione,” Harry admonished lightly, “with your dad listening in?”

“Where do you think I learned that kind of language?” she replied tersely. “And for the last
time, father, my wards are *not* hairnets.”

In the time it took for the laughter and banter between her father and boyfriend to settle down,
Hermione managed to finally get her crystal sets realigned. With her dad's confirmation that
his daughter's protective wards were once again invisible to both the naked and digital eye,
Hermione badge-jumped down to his ground level vantage. Harry rolled up his distraction shielding
and (rather reluctantly) then flew down and joined them.

They had discovered that Hermione's attenuated anti-apparation wards were visible to
electronic sensors earlier in the week. She had been monitoring the master rune stone set during
start-up of the wards around Buckingham when Wally called and asked if she knew why the Palace was
covered in a black hairnet. Hermione had immediately dropped the supposedly invisible wards and
badge-jumped to Wally's location, where she reviewed videotape of the Palace shrouded in a
black hemispherical lattice of magical energy. This had been a source of great embarrassment for
Hermione… not just that she hadn't accounted for this phenomenon in her modeling, but the fact
that Wally's “hairnet” nickname for her wards had somehow stuck. To liken her protective
warding to the mundane devices that protected cafeteria food from unwanted strands of hair?
Humiliating.

It had taken her an entire day to diagnose the problem. Hermione's working hypothesis was
that the black strands of magical energy that were woven into a standard anti-apparition net had
very localized notice-me-not charms. As a result, when a person (whether muggle or wizard) looked
towards the wards, their brains would ignore the black net and only “see” what was on the other
side (Mrs. Granger had suggested window screening as an appropriate muggle analogy). This
effectively made the wards invisible to the naked eye, but not to digital eyes (akin to what they
had already seen at The Rookery).

The goblins working with Hermione had suggested “notice-me-not” charms on the structures
themselves, but it was rather impractical to ask muggles to ignore some of the most famous
architecture in Great Britain. Hermione's solution was a second rune line that shifted the
“color” of the netting from visible black to “invisible” far ultra-violet (a spectrum that was
outside of the sensor range of nearly every digital camera and camcorder). This add-on required the
placement of optically perfect quartz crystals set at ten-foot (or less) intervals along the ward
perimeter. The exact placement of these crystals was critical, since each piece of quartz needed to
be in the line of sight of the crystals on either side of it. Alignment was relatively easy for
rectilinear structures like 10 Downing Street, but more difficult for castles with irregular
footprints (and turrets and parapets). As a result, the wards around 10 Downing Street that had
bounced Percy into the Thames were in place two days before similar warding could be raised around
Windsor.

Windsor's wards had only been up and running for thirty-six hours when high winds associated
with the nighttime storm blew away three of Windsor Castle's crystals and shifted the alignment
of ten others. Part of the problem was the fact that they couldn't use magic to stick the
crystals to the rooflines and walls. Finding a more durable muggle adhesive had therefore been
mentally placed high on their “To-Do” list in the midst of their early morning's repair.

+++

Later that morning, when Harry and Hermione met her parents for breakfast in the Royal Mess her
mum quipped, “Well from the looks of you two I'd never have known you'd been up half the
night.”

Harry gave Hermione's mum a guilty-looking smile and replied, “Amazing what a little
pepper-up potion can do.”

“And this potion explains why you two are dressed so nicely?” Emily asked. “I thought you had
plans on butchering a basilisk today.”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other. She arched an eyebrow, and when Harry replied with a
shoulder shrug she turned back towards her mum.

“We aren't going to Hogwarts until eleven,” Hermione said. “We're meeting with the Dean
at eight.”

Emily furrowed her eyebrows a bit in confusion. “You're meeting Dean Thomas, my
broom-buddy?”

Hermione shook her head as she reached under the table and grabbed Harry's hand. “Erm,
no…we're meeting with the David Conner, the Dean of Windsor.”

It was Mr. Granger's turn to be confused. “Dean of Windsor? That's not a royal title
I'm familiar with.”

Hermione giggled. “That's because it isn't, daddy. Dean Conner is the vicar in charge of
St. George's Chapel, here at Windsor.”

Roger's eyes brightened. “Is he now?” He looked over at a suddenly nervous-looking wizard.
“I didn't realize that you were much of a church-goer, Harry.”

Harry fidgeted a bit in his seat and replied, “Guess I haven't been, actually. The
Dursley's were the Christmas and Easter kind of church people, but they never brought me along.
Then at school, well…can't say that I've seen much of an active Christian community within
the wizarding world.”

“Can't imagine why, given all of the burning's and inquisitions,” Mrs. Granger said. “So
now that you are your own man, you've become interested?”

“More like now that he's Hermione's man, dear,” Roger quipped.

“Hush,” Emily scolded, with a swat on her husband's arm for emphasis. “I think it's
wonderful, whatever the reason.”

As Roger rubbed his sore arm he turned and asked brightly, “So just why would you two be needing
to meet with the vicar, Harry?”

“Dad!” Hermione scolded, as she whacked Roger's other shoulder. “Be nice…there's all
kinds of reasons why Harry and I would want to meet with Dean Conner. St. George's is, after
all, the home of the Order of the Garter.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Roger replied. With a wink he added, “They also do an occasional wedding
over there as well, right?”

Hermione squeezed Harry's hand a little harder as her eyes narrowed. “Yes, weddings,” she
said evenly, “but don't forget baptisms too.”

Roger choked on his juice, and quickly sought reassurance. “Please don't tell me that you
two will be looking for that kind of service any time soon.”

Harry and Hermione turned to each other, and held serious expressions for all of five seconds
before Hermione broke, and broke into a grin.

“No worries, there, Dad,” she replied.

As Mr. Granger let out a sigh she explained Dean Conner had requested an informal meeting with
the Queen's Wizard, and that he might be a good resource for meditation skills that would
bolster their occlumency techniques.

“So,” Roger mused, “meditation is all you'll be talking about, then?”

“Well,” Harry replied, “we won't have that much time…there's a Communion service at
eight-thirty.”

“You two are welcome to join us, of course,” Hermione said brightly.

“We'd love to, dear,” Emily replied. “Thank you for asking.”

With Roger's hopes to gain back some of the sleep he had lost whilst helping repair the
wards dashed, he turned to his daughter and asked, “Any chance I can get a jigger of that pepper-up
stuff in my juice?”

Hermione chucked as she passed the carafe of coffee across the table. “Sorry, dad, but muggle
ears aren't built to spout steam.”

11:00am, Sunday, July 1
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

With a change of clothing more appropriate for combat than church, Harry and Hermione keyed into
Tonks and Remus's badges and jumped directly into the Headmistress's Office. Minerva
didn't know what was more disconcerting…visual reconfirmation that badge-jumps ignored the
castle's wards, or the fact that her two favorite students were dressed in muggle military
issue. She furrowed her eyebrows as she gave their goggle-covered wool caps, equipment-laden belts
and thigh-packs the once-over. “I thought that this was mostly a social call, Mr. Potter,” she
said.

Harry grinned as he walked up and offered his hand. “Our apologies, Headmistress…we were asked
us to field test some of our new gear for comfort and ease of movement.”

“I see,” Minerva replied, as she shook Harry's hand. She was about to compliment Harry on
just how much straighter he was standing when compared to his last visit to her office exactly one
month previous when she noticed his eyes dart up to a spot over her right shoulder.

“See something that interests you?” she asked.

Harry nodded as he considered the fact that a black cloth that was presently draped over
Dumbledore's portrait (eerily similar to his handiwork within the Prime Minister's office).
“How long has he been awake?” he asked.

“Five days, now,” the Headmistress said with a smile.

Hermione frowned. “Excuse me, Headmistress, but if Professor Dumbledore's portrait is awake
then why do you have it covered?”

The question drew some interest (as well as some cat calls) from the other Headmaster portraits
that hung on the office walls. After Minerva properly shushed the paintings she replied,
“Albus's echo is in training, Miss Granger.”

“Training?”

“Yes, dear,” Minerva replied. “I have learned and come to appreciate the fact that there is an
adjustment period for every newly animated portrait.”

Hermione's eyebrows were raised in interest. “Adjustment?” she asked. “I thought that the
echo's service to the current Head of School could begin just as soon as it woke up.”

“Theoretically, yes,” the Headmistress replied. “The compulsion for a headmaster's portrait
to faithfully serve is magically bound to the paint itself. Unfortunately, it takes a bit of time
for each new headmaster to…erm, appreciate…how to best provide that service.”

“I don't understand,” said Hermione.

The portrait of Phineas Black could stay silent no longer. “Stupid witch, she's trying to
tell you that Dumbledore's echo is trying to be just as bossy and manipulative as the
original.”

“That will be quite enough, Headmaster Black,” McGonagall scolded. She then looked back towards
Hermione and said, “while his analysis is a bit caustic, it is also fairly accurate….apparently
every Headmaster echo comes out chomping at the bit to offer unsolicited advice to their
successor.”

“He should have known that well-enough,” another portrait quipped. “It's not like Dumbledore
could forget that he had me under wraps for a full year and a half.”

Harry and Hermione swung their heads around and took in the portrait that had made this
comment.

“Headmaster Dippet, at your service,” the bald echo said. “Well, at the Headmistress's
service, actually.”

Hermione nodded. “You were Headmaster before Dumbledore,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Indeed,” added McGonagall, “and Headmaster back in the day that I was a student.”

“I always knew that you were destined for great things, Minerva,” the echo replied.

That comment brought out some coughing and throat clearing from the other portraits. Harry
thought that Phineas's cough sounded more like an accusation (specifically, a rather
rough-voiced accusation that sounded like *“Suck-up!”*) He tried to get the conversation back
on track. “So what does the portrait's training regimen involve, Headmistress?”

McGonagall smiled as she waved towards the walls. “Well, there has been no shortage of suggested
techniques,” she said. “Right now I take off the wrap and silencing spells at the start of each
morning, with a warning that they go back right on after the first piece of unsolicited
advice.”

“Oh, so how long did he last today, then?” asked Harry.

The Headmistress smiled, “A little less than three minutes.” She then gave Harry a more somber
look. “I imagine that you might have questions for the Headmaster…I can unwrap him if you
want.”

Harry held the Headmistress's gaze and thought quietly. While there were a hundred different
questions he wished to ask the echo, they also had a busy day and were already a bit behind
schedule. He also wondered whether this might be some sort of test. Looking around at the others he
replied, “Maybe another time, Headmistress…I think that I already have people here in the flesh
that I trust and can turn to for advice.”

The radiant smile that burst upon Hermione's face (and the no-less-warm look in
McGonagall's eyes) told Harry that he had passed whatever test might just have been
administered.

“Well, then,” the Headmistress asked, “How might I help you navigate through Hermione's “To
Do” list?”

Tonks snorted as Harry pulled a piece of parchment out of a pocket.

“Nothing wrong with a little delegated authority,” Harry said with a smile. “Right, then, first
things first…Remus told you that we've enticed Horace Slughorn to come out of hiding to brew
some wolvesbane?”

“Nothing like a bit of basilisk bait to bring out his nobler instincts,” Tonks quipped.

“Whatever it takes,” Harry replied. “Next full moon is a week from today, and it wouldn't do
to have Hogwarts's Castellan out of sorts too much, right?”

Remus shook his head at the title. “Harry, I've asked you before not to call me that…I'm
nothing but an invited guest around here until the Board of Governors approves your proposal.”

“Okay, fine,” Harry shot back, “*Acting* Castellan Lupin.” He glanced at his watch.
“We've arrangements to meet Slughorn in Hogsmeade at one o'clock. We had originally thought
to have him oversee the potion ingredient harvesting, but after taking a good look at the memory of
my last trip down to the Chamber we thinking about a new plan.”

“Oh?” asked the Headmistress. “So what caused your change of heart?”

“Couple of things,” Harry said. “First, the goblins expressed some concern about the stability
of the tunnels when we showed my memory of the cave-in.”

“Really?” asked McGonagall. “You've decided to have goblins involved here?”

Hermione nodded and explained. “They are, after all, experts at caverns and tunnels, what with
their underground vault system.”

Harry added, “They also have the best curse-breakers in the world, which will be handy to have
in our pocket.”

“You're expecting to encounter curses that you didn't trip before?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “We might…after all, I really didn't have time to properly
explore the Chamber, and there could be secret rooms and doors.”

The Headmistress thought for a moment. “Harry, I know you've gotten along very well for the
goblins, but they don't do these sorts of things for free.”

Harry smiled. “No, they certainly don't, which is why I'm raising the issue with you.”
He pulled a scroll from his rucksack and placed it in front of the Headmistress. “We did a bit of
hard bargaining, but nothing will happen without your blessing.”

“And just what kind of bargain did you get, Harry?”

Harry replied, “The goblins will give us one of their best engineering teams, a half-dozen curse
breakers, and adequate security during the exploration. They'll clear out and stabilize the
tunnel, remove any curses they encounter, and provide a safe work environment while we harvest the
basilisk carcass. They also have agreed to give us a full three-dimensional rendering of the
Chamber of Secrets and all of the associated tunnels, piping and caves. In exchange, they get to
keep any treasure we find.”

“Less the fifteen percent finder's fee to Harry,” Hermione added.

“Which I plan to add in full to the castle's defense funds,” Harry quickly stated. “I also
should note that we get to keep the basilisk carcass, which will be worth far more than its weight
in galleons, as well as any books, documents, and relics attributable to any of the Founders.”

Hermione nodded. She had made sure that that last provision was in place on the odd chance that
a Riddle had hidden a horcrux other than the diary down there.

The Headmistress rubbed her chin with one hand and thought. “What makes them think that there is
anything worth anything down there besides the basilisk?” she asked.

Harry grinned. “They consider it to be a bankable hunch,” he replied. “At the very least they
will be able to pry out four rather large emeralds from the Chamber's door.

Minerva gave Harry a tight-lipped grin. “I must say, Harry, that it is refreshing to see you
adopt a more cautious attitude, and that you are not afraid to ask for the help of experts.”

Harry chuckled. “Like I said earlier, Headmistress…I'm learning to appreciate the benefits
of delegated authority and subcontractors…were it not for Hermione's desire to learn first-hand
about harvesting potion ingredients, I might have had the goblins do that as well.”

McGonagall nodded, then asked, “Do you have an idea on how long your subcontractors will
take?”

Harry nodded. “If you agree to it, I'll return tonight with the goblin teams and open the
entrance for them. Barring discovery of some major secret tunnels or passageways, they'll be in
and out within the week.”

As the Headmistress looked over the contractual details, the echo of Phineas Black asked, “So
how will this little adventure benefit the school, young man? The Chamber of Secrets is, after all,
part of Hogwarts itself.”

McGonagall's gaze snapped up from the parchment and she glared at the portrait. “Perhaps
Dumbledore's portrait isn't the only one lacking in training?” she asked.

Hary chuckled. “No, he's right, Headmistress, I image that you might need to defend your
decision before the Board of Governors, particularly if we find lots of valuables down there.” He
then stood and paced a bit as he thought back to his second year.

“This `little adventure' as Phineas puts it, is directly related to an adequate defense of
the school. We currently have a very poor understanding of the tunneling and piping down there, and
it could well be the case that there is more than one entrance to the chamber. Having an accurate
map of where all of the pipes lead to, for example, will help Remus decide which areas to block,
which to monitor, and which to leave alone.”

“I agree, Minerva,” Remus added. “We don't think there's a separate way out from the
Chamber…if there was then Voldemort wouldn't have had Draco Malfoy spend most of last year
looking for a different way inside the castle.”

“But at the same time we don't want to bank the school's safety on assumption of Lord
Thingy's rational thought processes,” added Tonks.

“Lord Thingy?” asked the Headmistress.

Tonks shrugged her shoulders. “I've got other nicknames, but they're not for polite
company.”

“Then we must find time to be impolite, my dear,” Minerva replied with a smile. She then turned
back to Harry. “If the goblins don't start their work until tonight then why are you still
meeting with Horace?”

Harry replied with a smile. “If you allow me, I'll show you something he'll surely
consider to be worth at least a few month's dosing of wolvesbane.” He then led the group out of
the office and down the moving stairway.

Along the path to Moaning Myrtle's haunt, the Headmistress decided to broach a different
topic.

“Miss Granger,” she said, “I've made arrangements for you to meet our entire school staff,
as you requested.”

Hermione nodded. “Thank you Headmistress, I'm looking forward to doing a little
brainstorming with them on lesson planning.”

“And if a few of them volunteer to teach at your so-called Summer Institute, so much the better,
eh?”

Hermione smiled. “We're offering paid teaching positions to every staff member, including
yourself, Headmistress.”

“So you noted in your owl post,” McGonagall replied. “While I doubt that I could leave the
Castle as Headmistress, I would enjoy learning a bit more about your plans.”

Hermione agreed, and gave an impromptu preview of her recruitment presentation for the Hogwarts
faculty. But before she could get too far into explaining how their summer school would work around
the Ministry's underage magic laws they arrived at the porcelain entrance to the Chamber of
Secrets.

Myrtle, unfortunately, wasn't there to flirt with Harry and provide comic relief.

As the group gathered behind Harry he rather unceremoniously opened the Chamber with the
appropriate Parseltongue command. The small gust of air that burst up out of the piping was fresh,
and carried no stench of decay. Harry couldn't decide whether this was a good or bad sign.

“So this is the piping that you slid down on using your bum?” asked Tonks.

“The very same,” Harry said.

“Salazar didn't think to add some stairs, then?” Tonks replied.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Guess it couldn't help to ask.” He turned back towards the
open entrance and tried unsuccessfully to order stairs to appear using Parseltongue.

“So what now?” asked Remus.

“Well,” said Harry, “Tonight the goblins will be bringing modified magical carpets that act sort
of like an elevator. But it really doesn't matter right now.”

“Why is that, Harry?” McGonagall asked. “How do you plan on getting to the basilisk?”

Harry smiled. “Magic.”

“Magic to get to it, then?”

“Oh, I'm not going to it,” Harry replied. “It will come to me.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

Harry waggled his eyebrows at the Headmistress. “The same way I completed the first task.” After
warning the group to step away from the entrance, he pulled his wand out, pointed it down the pipe,
and yelled out *“Accio Basilisk Skin.”*

It took fifteen seconds for the scaly skin that Harry had encountered during his second year to
make its way up the pipe, which was more than enough time for him to conjure the shield that kept
the dark green skin from slapping him the face.

“Did you leave the inner door opened?” asked McGonagall.

Harry shook his head. “This was lying in the tunnel before we even got to the Chamber,” he
replied, adding that the pensieve review had shown the shed skin to have been on the near side of
the cave-in. As he ran a hand down the length of it he noted, “Shed Basilisk skin isn't as
magically resistant as the bit that's still attached, but it's still worth a thousand
galleons an ounce.”

“So how many ounces of skin is there in a twenty foot length, Harry?” Remus asked.

Harry smiled as he held out the skin for Remus's examination. “More than enough to keep
Slughorn happy, and for you to keep your wits about you next Sunday night.”

And with that analysis, Harry spoke the words that closed the entrance until he returned later
that night with the goblins.

-->



42. Chapter 42
--------------



**Muggle Summer**

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 42: Queer Eye for the Mad-Eye**

5:45pm, Monday, July 2
15, Bressenden Place, London

“Wally!”

Special Agent Jackson smiled as he crossed the threshold of one of his favorite London pubs. The
fact that he looked nothing like the overweight actor that portrayed Norm on the Yank television
show was annoying, but not enough for him to not play along with the running gag.

The publican drew a pint of ale as Wally walked towards his usual seat, and asked, “What's
up, Mr. Jackson?”

Wally looked over the crowd of mostly middle-aged men and let out an overly dramatic sigh.
“Certain not my interest, given the ugly mugs sported by you lot.”

The other pub patrons laughed, and responded with their own blunt assessments of Wally's
fashion sense as he took a seat at the bar. He bantered back and forth with a few as he scanned the
room for potential threats. The only thing that looked out of place was a handsome blonde-haired
man that was nursing a beer and scowling at anyone and everyone who made the mistake of getting
within five feet from his position in a corner booth.

On a hunch, Wally took out his mobile phone and casually pointed it towards the man as he
punched buttons on the keypad. While it looked like Wally was placing a call, he had in fact
activated the device's digital camera. A thin smile crossed his lips as he captured the image
of a man that looked very different within the camera's viewfinder. He e-mailed the image to
Harry, and then followed up with a phone call.

“Good afternoon, Lord G,” Wally quietly said, once Harry had answered the call. “It appears that
your guest has arrived early and is sporting one of those glamour charms.”

“I expected as much,” Harry replied. “So is Mad-Eye any better looking in disguise?”

Wally replied, “Perhaps better looking than he wishes, at the moment.”

Harry chuckled dismissively. “Please, Wally, don't tell me that your favorite pub is the
kind of place where Mad-Eye looks fetching enough to flirt with.”

“Now, hush,” said Wally. “I'll have you know that `The Stag' is a fine upstanding
establishment.”

“Not to mention the only gay bar within walking distance of Buckingham Palace,” Harry snarked
back. He then asked, “So should I wait until our prearranged meeting time, or do I need to rush
over before he hooks up with someone?”

Wally smiled as a patron walked up to Mad-Eye's table and asked if he was looking for some
company. As Moody barked out notice that he was waiting for someone, Wally replied, “No, take your
time, Harry. I can always jump in if things start getting desperate.”

“More like the other guys are getting desperate if they're hitting on Mad-Eye,” Harry
replied. “So any fashion requests, Wally?”

Wally snorted, and then said, “Oh, that Paul Smith jacket you had on today is fine. Just change
into the white trousers, lose the tie, and wet down your hair.”

“Anything for you Wally,” Harry replied cheekily, “but no promises on the hair…see you in
fifteen.”

Secret Agent Jackson acknowledged Harry's promise, pocketed his mobile, and wondered whether
he could expense report a second pint of ale as necessary for his undercover guise.

Meanwhile, back at Buckingham Palace's Queen's Wizard's residence, Harry closed the
book he was reading and walked from the library into his bedroom. After rummaging through his
closet he swapped gray trousers for white, black wingtips for black dragonhide boots, and a tie for
an open collar. Knowing that it wouldn't make a bit of difference, Harry did nothing to his
hair.

The ten-minute walk from palace to pub placed him in front of the meeting place just as Big Ben
began tolling the hour. The pub's exterior was unassuming, and nothing at all like the kitschy
seventeenth century dressings worn by other pubs in the area (who relied much more upon the
patronage of tourbook-wielding tourists). If fact, given its flat face, red paint and large square
windows, Harry thought it resembled the exterior of a muggle double-decker bus.

As Harry entered the pub he caught the eye of more than the two people inside that he knew. He
would, if asked, have blamed it on his designer clothes (despite Hermione and Wally's
frequently-offered assessments that he was easy on the eyes of either sex). But Harry was too busy
following Wally's eyes towards the retired-Auror's location to notice that others were in
the room. Wally remained at the bar as Harry walked confidently up to the Moody's table and
asked, “Looking for some company, handsome?”

Mad-eye scowled and replied. “More like I'm looking to hex the boy who arranged for this
meeting place.”

Harry laughed as he slid into the booth. “Then it appears we've both found what we're
looking for.”

A waitress came by and took Harry's drink order, which gave Mad-Eye a chance to order his
fourth pint of the afternoon.

“Careful, there, Mad-Eye,” Harry said once the waitress disappeared. “You wouldn't want to
get too tipsy to apparate.”

The retired Auror scowled. “Never been a problem before.” After finishing off the pint he had
been nursing he asked, “Mind telling me how you saw through my glamour, milord?”

It was Harry's turn to scowl. “Lay off the lordship, Moody. It's just me.”

“Aye,” Mad-Eye replied, “but the you that you appear to be has never been quick enough before to
see through my glamours.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders as he took out his mobile, pointed its camera lens across the
table, and captured an image. He then passed the mobile to Mad-Eye and said, “Digital eyes
can't be tricked by magic.”

Moody held the mobile just long enough to look at the screen, then dropped it as if the muggle
device would give him a rash. “So you're too good and too smart for magic now that you're
the Queen's favorite wizard, eh?”

Harry shook his head as he retrieved the mobile from the table top. “Of course not,” he said.
“Just trying to be smart enough to find any advantage I can when it comes to fighting Dork
Lords.”

Mad-Eye nodded as he jerked his head Wally at the bar. “He's your man, then?” he asked.

The Queen's Wizard nodded. “Yeah, that's Wally…he was the one doing the commentary
during my magic show at Ascot.”

The retired Auror acknowledged the response with a grunt, then looked around and said, “You
know, this lot look dodgier than what you'd find at the Hogshead.”

“Hush, now, Moody,” Harry replied. “How could you go wrong with a pub that shares the name of my
patronus?”

“How about a pub where the patrons don't all share the same kind of plumbing?”

Harry laughed at Mad-Eye's whining. “You do have to admit that this is the last place
you'd expect to find a pure-blooded homophobic Death Eater….and it's even karaoke night if
we stay long enough.”

When Moody failed to banter back Harry changed topics. “So how have you been doing as an
de-retired Auror?”

The previously retired Auror looked around the pub, and decided that for all of it's
shortcomings that it was loud enough to ensure some privacy. “It's been a right pain in the
arse,” he then replied. “Nothing but twelve-hour shifts since Ascot, training wet-behind-the-ears
cadets and auror-wannabe's…and it only got worse today.”

“How's that?” Harry asked.

Moody replied with a question of his own. “Imagine that you've heard about the
Ministry's so-called intern program?”

Harry nodded. “Hermione's meeting with Ron and some of the other indentured students as we
speak.” He then said, “I imagine that they've asked you to train some of these pure-blood
students to become Aurors?”

“More like `ordered,' rather than asked,” Moody replied. “The lot of them so young and raw I
half-expected them to be storing their wands in their nappies.”

Harry smiled. “So you plan on whipping them into shape?”

“Whipping them is what I wish I could do,” Mad-Eye replied. “With what that Umbridge woman has
assigned me…if they weren't so lazy and incompetent I'd be worrying over the fact that half
of them will likely be taking the Mark.” In support of his assessment he handed Harry a list of
names.

Harry let out a low whistle as he scanned the list of Auror Department interns. “I see what you
mean,” he replied. “Guess it would make too much sense to assign students that are actually good in
DADA.”

Moody snorted. “From what Lupin's told me, that'd be hard to do, given the fact that the
only pure-bloods that were any good in defense were part of your little club.”

“And therefore completely uncontrollable and unreliable from Umbitch's standpoint,” Harry
concluded. He then added, “Which is part of the reason why I wanted to meet with you.”

Harry then gave Mad-Eye an abridged version of the presentation/sales-pitch that Hermione had
made the day previous at Hogwarts.

Muggle-born students had been asking for defensive training from the earliest days of Emily
Granger's organizational efforts. There was understandable (and in Harry's mind
justifiable) fears that the Ministry of Magic would provide an inadequate response to any Death
Eater attacks on muggle-borns and their families. The fact that the Ministry's compulsive
“internship” program was restricted to pure-bloods only bolstered these fears. Harry's
willingness and desire to help had been initially thwarted by the underage magic laws. That all
changed when the goblins taught Hermione how to set up wards that shielded an area from the
Ministry's magical sensors.

The Royal Family had offered the Queen's Wizard the use of one of their properties for
establishment of a magical summer school for muggle-borns. Cumberland Lodge was former Royal
residence located in Great Windsor Park, just a few miles from Windsor Castle (Harry and
Hermione's morning running route, in fact, passed by it). Since it belonged to the Queen, it
was easy for Harry to justify protective warding, and if the Ministry of Magic didn't notice
the extra bit of warding Hermione added to shield their magical probing then it was their loss,
right?

Once the idea of a magical summer school became feasible, the scope had (predictably) expanded
beyond defense against the dark arts. They hoped to offer some kind of instruction in all of the
magical arts, save for divination (at Hermione's insistence). And even that would be
reconsidered should they be able to convince Firenze to join them. They planned on a six-week
session, from the middle of July right up to the departure of the Hogwarts Express on September 1
(should the school reopen that fall).

“And you're telling me about this for a reason, I imagine?” Mad-Eye asked.

Harry nodded. “We're recruiting potential staff, and there's a few of us who
wouldn't mind learning from the real Alastor Moody.”

Mad-Eye grinned. “What, that Barty Crouch Jr. didn't channel my thoughts well enough for
you?”

Harry shook his head and smiled. His retort was interrupted by the waitress, who had been
thoughtful enough to bring the two a second (and fifth, in Moody's case) round. During that
time, Harry heard a soft whirring coming across the table and assumed that the retired auror's
glamoured magical eye was giving him a thorough inspection. The frown that Mad-Eye sported as that
eye focused on Harry's jacket suggested that he saw something rather disagreeable.

Moody then quietly asked, “And will this school of yours be teaching kiddies how to use muggle
weapons like that toy that you're hiding under your jacket?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “First off, the answer is no on firearms training. But more
importantly, are you thinking that my Browning 9mm doesn't have enough stopping power?”

“What I think is that you're daft to be carrying a muggle firearm in the first place,”
Mad-Eye replied tersely. “Do you even know what happens to wizards that use guns instead of their
wands?”

Harry gave a slight nod as he closed his eyes for a half-second. “Yes, Hermione has made me
fully aware that the wizard who uses a gun against another wizard is signing his own death
warrant…even if it's in self-defense.”

“And so she's told you that even carrying a weapon like that sets a wizard up for treatment
as a pariah?”

“Yes, Mother,” Harry replied with a rueful grin. “Though I dare say the wizarding world already
thinks of me in those terms.”

Moody shook his head back and forth as he took a long draw from his glass. “That's not
something to be glib about, laddie…for all of their depravity even the Death Eaters refuse to use
those things.”

“Probably because the pure-blooded bigots couldn't imagine it'd do them any good to use
a muggle weapon,” Harry replied.

“And they'd be wrong?” asked the retired Auror.

“Alastor, Alastor, Alastor,” Harry replied. “You sound like Molly Weasley on polyjuice…surely
over the course of your career you've seen what a modern firearm can do in a fight?”

“Aye, nothing that well-placed hex couldn't,” the retired Auror replied.

Harry snorted. “So you can teach me a hex that would fill Fenir Grayback full of silver slugs
the next time I meet him?”

Moody cocked his head and closed his good eye as he thought for a moment. He then replied, “So
you think the Ministry's own laws can be used against them?”

Harry shrugged. “I'm not looking to find out, but if it comes to it, then yes.” He took a
sip of his own beverage and then added, “They can't have it both ways, Mad-eye…if they want to
discriminate against lycanthropes and consider them to be beasts rather than humans…”

“Then you can't be charged with using a muggle weapon against a wizard,” Mad-Eye replied.
“Makes sense, though I don't like it one bit.”

“Why is that?”

Mad-Eye shook his head. “I suppose you've spent some time learning how to use that
thing?”

Harry nodded. “About an hour of training every day for the past couple of weeks.”

“So have you spent the same amount of time working on your spell casting?” Mad-Eye asked.

Harry shook his head. “No, can't say that I have…Hermione and I have been rather busy.”

“Busy doing something more important than readying yourself to fight Voldemort?”

“Maybe not more important,” Harry admitted. “But I'd wager you'd consider it nearly
so.”

The retired Auror shook his head dismissively and rolled his non-magical eye. “I'm
listening, then,” he said.

“Well,” Harry began, “aside from creating and executing the plan that resulted in the death or
capture of more than a hundred Death Eaters…”

Mad-Eye brushed the quip away with a wave of a hand. “That was two weeks ago,” he said. “Been
busy resting on your laurels?”

“No, not at all,” Harry said defensively. “Though it'd be fair to point out that we
haven't heard word of any Death Eater attack anywhere in Britain since then.”

When Mad-Eye rolled his hand around in a “get-to-the-point” gesture, Harry added, “Well, aside
from learning how to mask our magic use underneath protective warding, setting up various types of
surveillance systems, and setting up defensive perimeters for Hogwarts, we've been working with
the muggles on some protective equipment.”

“Too lazy to duck when a spell's thrown your way, then?”

“No,” Harry replied, “just trying to protect ourselves from the killing curse.”

“What?” Mad-Eye asked incredulously.

“The killing curse,” Harry repeated. “You know, *Avada Kadavra*, nasty green beam that
kills on contact unless you're a boy-who-lived…”

“I know the curse, boy,” Mad-Eye growled. “I was asking what makes you think that muggles can
produce a defense against a curse that can't be defended against.”

Harry smiled. “But Mad-Eye, you know that's not really the case, right?” he asked. “Besides
from ducking, there's always hiding behind something solid.”

“Or summoning something solid in the curse's path,” Mad-Eye said with an approving nod.

“And that's the rub,” Harry replied. “I've seen the spell stopped by a brass statue, and
I've seen it swallowed up whole by a phoenix. But I've also seen it set a wooden desk
aflame, and we all know that the curse isn't stopped by normal clothing.”

Mad-Eye nodded. “I could add a few items to that list, you know.”

“We were hoping you would say that,” Harry replied. “Muggles have protective armor that will
stop a bullet, but we haven't a clue if it is solid enough to stop the curse.”

“So what do you want from me, then?” Mad-Eye asked.

“Well, that list of things solid enough to stop an AK,” Harry replied. “Or better you're
your pensieved memories of battles where the killing curse has been tossed about.”

The retired Auror thought for a few moments. “Can't say I like the idea of giving this kind
of information to the muggles…never know when they might turn on the wizarding world.”

Harry shook his head. “And on the other side I've got muggles worried about letting wizards
know they aren't as helpless as they're thought to be…c'mon Mad-Eye, work with me
here.”

Moody frowned, finished off the contents of his pint glass, then said, “I'll get you the
memories if you promise me that it'll just be you and your lassie taking a peak.”

Harry nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “Oh, and there's one more thing I need to ask.”

“What's that then.”

“Erm…we were wondering if you'd be willing to help us test prototypes.”

Moody raised an eyebrow. “What, you want me to wear this muggle armor and bait a Death Eater
into cursing me?”

“No, no…other way around,” Harry replied. “The thing is, I don't know too many people who
have ever cast the killing curse before, so I was wondering…”

“Yes, laddie, I've used that spell once or twice in my day,” Moody admitted. “So you want me
to curse somebody while they're wearing your contraption?”

“If it wouldn't be too much to ask,” Harry said quietly.

Mad-Eye snorted. “And who would be dressed to be killed?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Still working on that one…we're thinking maybe of
transfiguring some pigs.”

“You want me to do a pig?” Mad-Eye barked, loud enough to catch the attention of some of the
pub's other patrons. The wizard then sat befuddled as laughs and catcalls were thrown back at
him.

“What'd I say?” he asked Harry.

“Erm, must have been a punchline to a joke,” Harry said, trying to suppress his own
laughter.

Mad-Eye sighed, then said, “I should be the one laughing at you.”

“Why's that?”

The retired Auror shook his head. “Did that Death Eater teach you nothing about Unforgivables?”
he asked rhetorically. “Can you even tell me how the killing curse kills?”

“Erm, sure,” Harry replied. “The *Avada Kadavra* curse kills by separating the soul from
the target's body.”

“Exactly,” Mad-Eye replied. “So can you tell me why that spell might not work on a pig?”

Harry paused, then turned a bit red with embarrassment. “Because pigs don't have souls to
separate from bodies.”

Mad-Eye nodded. “Now, you go find me a nasty enough Death Eater, and we'd be talking.”

“Really?” Harry asked.

Mad-Eye shrugged. “It's war,” he explained, “and I'm tired of capturing Death Eaters
just so they can be sent to Azkaban and escape.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “Well, we had a few low-level recruits for a while, but we gave them
back to the MLE…I'll put you down for some provisional target practice, then.”

Mad-Eye nodded, and was about to catch the waitress's attention for another round when Wally
left the bar and joined-in on their conversation.

“Hate to interrupt, Lord G” Wally said with a grin, “but Dame Hermione did ask that I ensure you
return to the Palace with your wits about you.”

Harry rolled his eyes as Mad-Eye let out a hearty laugh. “Mothers…surrounded by mothers, I am,”
Harry lamented.

Wally smirked as he put his arm around Harry's shoulder and brought him into a loose
embrace.

“Now, now, Harry,” he chided as he fluttered his eyebrows. “You wouldn't want me any other
way…or would you?”

Harry grinned. “Sorry, Wally, but you know that I'm taken.” He then pointed his thumb
towards Mad-Eye and added, “but this handsome man might appreciate your charms.”

Wally chuckled as he waved his mobile phone towards the retired Auror for another look
underneath the glamour.

“Your friend might better appreciate some fashion tips,” he quipped.

AlastorMoody sat gobsmacked, trying to figure out not just if he had been insulted, but whether
or not he should care.

Wally then said, “So Mr. Moody, be a love and tell me more about this glamour charm.”

Mad-Eye hesitantly asked, “What you want to know?”

“Well,” Wally replied, “I was wondering what would happen if I tried to give you a kiss…would my
lips touch the handsome prince's or those of the frog that lies underneath?”

When Mad-Eye let out a growl Harry figured that it was a good time to demonstrate that he was
still a wizard. The sticking charm (cast under-the-table) that kept Moody in place while he and
Wally made their escape worked like…well, it worked like a charm.

+++

**A/N:** In case anyone is making travel plans, there actually is a gay bar near Buckingham
Palace that is called, 
“The Stag” (or so I've read, on the internet). Amazing how these things sort of fall into
place…

-->



43. Chapter 43
--------------



**Muggle Summer**

Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 43: The Breakfast Club**

Monday, July 2, 10:30pm
Queen's Wizard's Quarters
Buckingham Palace, London

Harry Potter was so caught up in the moment that it took Hermione three tries to contact him
using their Art Club badges. When he finally noticed that one of the sun rays that decorated his
badge was lit, he activated it and said, “Hey, Hermione, what's up?”

“I've finished with Ron and Neville, so I'm looking for a ride home,” Hermione replied
through the badge. “Where are you?”

Harry took in his surroundings and replied, “Within one of Mad-Eye's more gruesome
battlefield memories…Outer Hebrides, I think, but I'm not positive.”

“You are inside a pensieved memory and we can still communicate?” Hermione asked incredulously.
“When did you discover that we could do that?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders as he watched a much younger Mad-Eye curse out the lifeless body of
colleague that hadn't ducked a curse in time. “Just now, when I answered your call….so do you
want to join me?”

There was a pause, then Hermione replied, “No thank you, I can wait until rejoin our
reality.”

Harry nodded to himself. “Shouldn't be that much longer...I'll call when I'm
back.”

The Queen's Wizard's prediction quickly found confirmation as memory-Mad-Eye banished
the unresponsive cadaver into the approaching path of a deadly green curse. Harry watched with
fascination as the body burst into flames. That fascination turned bitter when the smell of seared
human flesh flooded his olfactory nerves. Harry briefly pocketed his muggle pen and notebook so
that he could cast a bubblehead charm. He then retrieved his journal and began to document the
successful block of a killing curse (with a note in the margins to add spellcasting to the growing
list of things one could do within a pensieved memory).

The end of the memory caught Harry by surprise and within mid-sentence, causing ink to smear
across page as his body was swept back into the library of the Queen's Wizard's Quarters.
After taking a moment to gather his wits, he returned Hermione's call and gave her the
all-clear to badge-jump to his location. He then lost some of those regained wits as Hermione
pulled him into a bear-quality embrace.

“Thanks,” Harry said, once they pulled back a bit from each other. “After fifteen different
battles I needed that.”

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. “You can *finite* the bubblehead, Harry,” she then
said. “Unless you think I need a shower of something.”

Harry chuckled as he drew his wand and he canceled the spell. “You, my dear, are a scent for
sore nose. Not that I wouldn't mind joining you in the shower.”

Hermione tsked-tsked him. “Later, lover-boy, and only if you promise not to try and transfigure
yourself into a sponge again.”

“Hey,” Harry objected, “I thought you'd like me being a loofa.”

“Oh sure,” Hermione snarked back, “Being reminded of that creepy-old blow-hard American news
telly commentator always gets me excited.” She then took a seat on one of the room's
wing-backed chairs and asked, “So your meeting with Mad-Eye went well, then?”

“Why do you ask?” said Harry. “Recon that a recap of my visit to a gay bar would get you more
excited than Bill O'Reilly?”

Hermione snorted. “Just about anything would get me more excited than that oaf…I can't
imagine why the Palace has him and that horrid station on its satellite reception.”

Harry laughed. “They probably added it when the American President paid a visit and forgot to
take it off when he left.” He then pulled her back into an embrace and said, “And speaking of
taking it off…”

Hermione looked down at his journal notes, then gave him a smack on the shoulder. “Not until
you've finished your homework, young man,” she admonished.

When Harry gave her his best puppy-dog eyes look she softened a bit and said, “Right then, clean
up out here then you can finish up in the bedroom while I get set for bed.”

“So we're spending the night here, then?”

“I think so,” Hermione replied. “It's a bit past Sir Evan's bedtime…wouldn't want to
wake him for a badge-ride to Windsor…Wally's here with Steve, the Queen is here for the balance
of the week, and mum and dad have the night watch at the Rookery.”

“Ah,” Harry said suggestively, “so it's just you and me.”

“You, me, and that data you promised to send to headquarters tonight,” Hermione replied. She
then pulled him close by grabbing the front of his shirt and gave him a rather intense kiss. “So
finish up and send it out,” she said, “because I don't do threesomes.”

Harry was too shocked to snark back a witty response, but not too shocked to know what Hermione
was suggesting. As she turned and headed towards the bedroom he mad a mad grab for the open vial
that was sitting next to his pensieve. He quickly coaxed the smoky strands out of the bowl and into
the vial, stoppered it shut with the cork, and then set the vial on a shelf next to all of the
others that he had reviewed. After grabbing his notebook and the laptop computer on which he had
been transcribing his notes, he made a mad dash to the master bedroom, where he found Hermione
inside the walk-in-closet…wearing only her knickers (*Yes!,* thought Harry)…but with her back
turned to the door (*Rats!*, thought Harry).

As she reached into a built-in chest of drawers for a cotton nightgown Harry said, “Don't
feel as if you have to get all dressed up on my account.”

Hermione startled, and reflexively dropped the nightgown so that she could cover her chest with
her arms. She looked over her shoulder at Harry and said, “I'll be dressing in the other
bedroom if you don't finish up your work.”

Harry raised his arms up in surrender, and said “Okay, okay, I get your point…no playing with
your points until I've finished up.”

Hermione pulled the nightgown over her head, then turned and exited the closet (giving Harry a
sharp smack on his other shoulder as she passed), and walked into the attached bath. In the time it
took her to wash her face, braid her hair and brush her teeth Harry had finished his hand-written
notes, fully-transcribed them into a MS-word document, and attached that file to an e-mail to be
sent to MI-5 3/4's version of Q Branch. Taking advantage of the Palace's secure wireless
network, he was polishing off this last task whilst in bed, wearing only some pajama bottoms.

When Hermione re-entered the bedroom Harry looked up and asked, “What's with the
ponytails?”

Hermione smiled demurely and said, “I didn't want my hair to get in the way tonight.” And to
emphasize her intentions, she flipped the cotton nightgown that she was wearing over her head and
tossed it down to the floor.

Harry gulped as he looked down at his laptop screen. “You're making it awfully hard for me
to balance this laptop on my lap, you know.”

Hermione chuckled as a bit of silk joined the cotton nightie on the bedroom floor. “Am I making
it hard for you to send that e-mail, or just making you hard?”

“Both,” Harry replied.

With a rather feral growl, Hermione crawled across the king-sized mattress and grabbed the
computer from Harry's lap. The click of the “Send” button was quickly followed by the snap of
the laptop cover as she rather carelessly dropped the computer onto the nightstand.

“Well, now that I've taking care of one of those problems, perhaps it's time I tackled
the other one.”

Harry gave her a saucy grin as he flicked the sheets off of his lower body and said, “You know
that you have delegated authority to deal with that kind of problem any day…or night.”

And as Hermione pounced on him, Harry wondered why all of his other problems couldn't be
solved in such a satisfying manner.

+++

The next morning Hermione woke up (as she usually did) just a few seconds before the alarm clock
was set to ring. When she reached across Harry's torso to turn it off before it chimed, he
surprised her with an arm that wrapped tightly around her back and a nose that nuzzled tightly
against her chest.

“Guess you're up already,” she said.

“You could say that, then say it again,” he replied impishly.

Hermione shifted her weight back off of Harry's chest so that their eyes could meet.
“Let's go, Lord Loofa…PT with the Palace Guard in fifteen.”

Harry frowned as he plopped his head back against his pillow. “Can't we sleep in and run
later in the morning?”

Hermione shook her head. “We've got Breakfast Club at eight, remember?”

“Well, we could always do that in bed, like yesterday's conference call.”

Hermione smirked. “This is a big bed, Harry, but not big enough for all twelve of us…remember
we're doing it live today.”

“Oh…right,” Harry replied with no small amount of disappointment. He then joined Hermione for
another trip to their closet, where they dressed in trainers and work-out clothes.

It was the fourth time that Harry and Hermione had joined the muggle Guard for their morning
regimen. Fifteen minutes of stretching was followed by a short three-mile run along the
Palace's garden paths (with two-and-a-half miles of walkways, they didn't see too many
flowers twice). From there it was straight inside the Palace and downstairs to the underground
firing range, where Harry and Hermione worked on handgun accuracy under elevated heart rates. They
then moved on to an exercise room, where a twenty-minute circuit of weight machines focused on the
development of upper-body strength.

During the hour-long program they took every opportunity to meet and chat with the other
participants. The group was a mixture of Foot Guard Regiment soldiers (active military that
provided photo-ops for tourists and a perimeter guard for Buckingham Palace), Metropolitan Police,
and MI-5 security personnel. After the initially cool reception that Harry received from Palace
security forces, they had decided that the path to their acceptance as members of the Queen's
security detail was from the ground up. And so Harry and Hermione did their best to blend
in…joining in training exercises and eating in the Palace Mess as much as their schedules would
allow.

Acceptance at Buckingham Palace was slower than what they'd faced at Windsor Castle.
Hermione thought it had something to do with their status…not as Lord Gryffindor and Dame Hermione,
necessarily, but rather as credentialed teen-aged MI-5 agents that barely knew how to shoot (a gun)
straight (since MI-5 3/4 and their status as witch and wizard were state secrets, Harry and
Hermione's official “cover” was as members of MI-5). While the two had shown no signs of “airs”
or pretense, their living arrangements within the Palace had only accentuated their unique
status…few members of the Royal staff actually lived at Buckingham Palace, and none of them had
accommodations like the Queen's Wizard's Quarters.

It was to these Quarters that Harry and Hermione returned after their work-out, with barely
enough time for (necessarily separate) showers before breakfast. Staff from the Palace kitchens
arrived precisely five minutes before eight bearing carts and trays filled with a variety of
breakfast dishes (ranging from heavy traditional English fare to lighter, healthier dishes). With
swift efficiency, they set up the food buffet-style on the dining room's side table, After
thanking them for their assistance, Harry showed the staff out with all of thirty seconds to spare
before the appointed meeting time.

Not that this punctuality turned out to be necessary, mind you…while most of the Art Club
arrived by badge-jumping spot-on eight, Fred and George had to be called more than a few times
before one of them was roused from their beds. With a tight-schedule for many of the other Art
Clubbers, Harry insisted that the Twins join the group in their bathrobes, if need be. His
decisiveness was rewarded by a glaring vision of twin brothers dressed in garishly charmed pajamas
that would have made Dumbledore proud. Except, maybe for the animated characterizations…Fred's
hot pink pajamas sported a dirty-old-wizard who was creating wind gusts to lift the robes of
unsuspecting witches, while George's lime-green outfit hosted a herd of satyrs on the
prowl.

“Oi, you two…since when am I the responsible one?” demanded Ron, who was busy balancing a plate
full of food on the way from buffet-line to table.

“Since your promotion, little brother,” replied Fred.

“Promotion?” asked Emily Granger with a yawn (as she had just come off of working the night
shift). “But didn't you just start your job yesterday?”

“That he did,” Harry interjected. “But perhaps he can talk about that during his two
minutes.”

And with that gentle prod, Harry moved the Art Club through the buffet line and to their seats
around the dining room table. Hermione gave Harry an approving nod when he sat at the head of the
table; not so much because he was entitled to be there, as the fact that Harry recognized that he
needed to be there (despite his reticence).

“Alright folks,” he said, trying to quiet the group down, “thanks to Fred and George's late
arrival we're already a bit behind schedule.” He nodded towards the twins and added, “You two
will be sharing time as a result.”

“If that's our punishment we'll make it a point to be late more often,” Fred
quipped.

Over top of the chuckling that Fred's comment provoked Harry said, “So just to
review…yesterday's conference call went a bit long, so we're limiting everybody's oral
reports to two minutes or less, and Hermione's got something to help keep to schedule.”

When Harry gave her a nod, Hermione cast a mist-producing spell down the length of the table.
When the smoke cleared, everyone found that they had an egg suspended eighteen inches above their
heads.

“These are egg timers,” Hermione explained. “If you don't finish your report in time then
your egg will drop, thereby making you aware of the fact.”

The announcement brought a mixture of laughter and mild protests (that would have been far
stronger had each and everyone in the room known that magical cleaning spells were available to
take care of any inadvertent mess). It turned out to be incentive enough, though, for everyone to
provide timely and concise reports. It was during these updates that several bits of interesting
and important information was shared.

Lupin informed the group that the goblin engineers were still hard at work shoring up the
tunnels that surrounded the Chamber of Secrets. They estimated two more days time before it would
be safe to enter the Chamber, which actually worked well given everyone's schedule. Meanwhile,
Slughorn was back inside Hogwarts brewing the wolvesbane potion that was needed by week's
end.

Tonks gave a brief report…things were relatively quiet within the MLE. There still hadn't
been any detected Death Eater activity since Ascot, and Mad-Eye Moody had been a right pain in the
arse whining about the new interns that he'd been forced to train.

Roger Granger reported no unusual activity at the Rookery, with only the usual patriarchal
perverts making use of the facility. The only patron to have used the building's street
entrance hadn't been under a glamour, but would have been easy enough to track had they wanted
to based on his rather flamboyant attire.

Emily Granger used her time to report on the Summer Institute at Cumberland Lodge. The teaching
area was nearly ready, and class lists finalized. With Mad-Eye Moody agreeing to help with DADA
instruction, their staffing was complete, so long as they could find a way to ferry Firenze the
centaur back and forth between Hogwarts. The most pressing issue was getting the names of incoming
muggle-born students, and she enlisted Remus's help in working the Headmistress McGonagall to
work out those details.

Sir Evan informed the group that he had spent the most delightful day with his Muses, and that
hadn't much to do otherwise with the Queen back at the Palace.

When the elderly muggle failed to speak much past thirty seconds, Ron asked if he could have the
extra time (he was refused). He then proceeded in turn, with news that upon his first day as an
intern within the Goblin Liaison Office that Ragnock himself had sent word that they would only
deal with the Potter Clan Champion. As a result, he'd been made active Head of the office,
effectively re-retiring Cuthbert Mockridge, who had been asked to step into that role when Dirk
Cresswell (the well-liked and respected muggleborn who had held that position) had been killed
during the battle inside the Ministry. Mindful of the egg, he failed to mention anything about the
Peanut Butter Brigade.

Which left it to Hermione to fill in the details on the first day of the Ministry of Magic's
intern program. Based on the reports of their network of friends and sympathetic Ministry
employees, nothing much happened beyond the goblin ultimatum. There was a fair bit of “orientation”
(which, from the sounds of things, consisted of boring speeches and propaganda from the likes of
Umbridge and Percy). The network had been given orders to lay low, for at least the first few
weeks, and to do nothing more than to blend in and observe how things played out.

Fred and George next used twin-speak to describe their day within MI-5 3/4's Q Branch as
“guest researchers.” While much of their day had been spent dancing around the Magical Secrecy Laws
(under Harry and Hermione's stern supervision), there had been a few opportunities to meet and
get to know some R & D-wonky kindred spirits. They had hammered out an agreement to jointly
develop AK-resistant body armor, and had also started talking about supply chains and
mass-production for some of their product line.

Wally and Steve followed with a joint report of their own, passing out the Royal Family's
schedule for the day. They mentioned that the Queen and Prince Phillip had plans to visit Canada
and a few of the Caribbean Commonwealth countries in two-weeks time, and asked whether something
should be done in terms of magical security. When asked, Tonks told the group that the MLE only
watched over the PM, and not the Royal Family. She said that other muggle sovereigns and leaders
weren't normally provided magical security coverage while in Britain, but that they suspected
many brought magical security on their own (either knowingly or unknowingly). She didn't know
if this was always the case, or due to the fact that Voldemort was running rampant within Magical
Britain.

Feeling some responsibility for the safety of the Royal Family as Queen's Wizard, Harry
stated that he would discuss the matter with Head Auror Robards at their next meeting. He then used
this decision to transition into his own report. He described (in very circumspect terms) his
meeting with Mad-Eye at The Stag, and noted that he had already catalogued fifteen different
objects that the retired Auror had used to block the killing curse. He ended by noting that
Hermione and he were meeting with the Prime Minister later in the day, in advance of the next
day's meeting with Scrimgeour.

And with that, the Breakfast Club concluded. Cars were waiting to ferry individual Art Club
members out beyond the protective wards. Ron and Tonks were driven directly to the Ministry of
Magic, while Fred, George and Remus were delivered to the Leaky Cauldron (where the Hogwarts
Castellan floo'ed to Hogsmeade and the Twins walked into the Alley and their shop). Sir Evan
and Wally shared a ride out to Windsor Castle, while Steve walked from Queen's Wizard Quarters
to the Palace's Security Command Center.

This left Harry and Hermione in their quarters with two very tired parents. While Hermione and
Harry had been switching back and forth between living in the Round Tower and the Palace, Mr. And
Mrs. Granger had become quite settled within their Windsor apartment. But with the prospect of an
hour's commute out to the Castle they were happy to accept Harry and Hermione's offer for
them to use their guest bedroom. So grateful, in fact, that Hermione's parents either
didn't recognize or didn't care about the fact that their daughter referred to it as the
“guest” bedroom, rather than hers.

+++

A/N: I caught some flak last chapter for implying that spiders have souls, but pigs don't. I
could honestly say that this is my mistake, or cover my butt with use of a suggestion by Ishtar, who suggested
that a spider could have been both magical and sentient (and perhaps bearing some sort of
life-force or soul). Pigs, on the other hand…..

Not that it will be important to the rest of the story, mind you.

-->



44. chapter 44
--------------



**Muggle Summer**

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**A/N:** A reminder on my contemporary timeline...this chapter takes place in the summer of
2006, rather than 199x, so Tony Blair is Prime Minister (and has been for more than half of
Hermione's lifetime).

**Chapter 44: 10 Downing Street**

*Tuesday, July 3, 11:30am
Buckingham Palace, London*

Hermione startled when she heard a soft knock on the library's door. She tried to close the
open window on her laptop display, but missed and clicked on the "minimize" button
instead. She silently cursed as Harry entered the room before she could fix her mistake.

"Lunch is here," Harry announced, as he crossed the room with a neck nuzzle in
mind.

Hermione tried to casually shut her laptop screen down before he could look over her shoulder at
her display.

"Still working on your presentation?" Harry asked, as he gave her a hug from
behind

She nodded and leaned her head back into the hug. "There's no such thing as perfect
when you're presenting to the Prime Minister."

Harry chuckled into her ear. "But they already have the summary version of the brief you
wrote for the Queen, right?" he asked. "They'll only need more in case your report
wasn't comprehensive enough, and what are the odds of that?"

Hermione sighed. "Comprehensive would have meant giving them the latest edition of
*Hogwarts, A History*...how could anyone expect us to brief muggles on Voldemort and the
current state of the wizarding world in two-thousand words or less?"

Harry opened both hands in front of Hermione. Counting off, he asked, "How about
'Voldemort sucks and the Ministry of Magic isn't much better'?...that's only
ten."

"Bah!" exclaimed Hermione. "No time for cute banter."

"Agreed," said Harry. He then impishly added, "Which makes me wonder why you are
taking a "virtual tour" of 10 Downing Street on the internet."

Hermione blushed, and stammered a bit. "Well, I...guess I was just wondering what the
inside looks like, and, erm..."

Harry smiled as he pulled Hermione up from her chair and led her by hand out to the dining room,
where plates of food were waiting. "You could have just asked me," he noted, as he took a
seat, "I was there a few times last week, after all."

"Well, you were busy in the bedroom practicing wandless magic," Hermione explained.
"Didn't want to disturb you."

"It's alright," said Harry.

"What's alright?" Hermione asked, as she sat and started to tuck in. "My
explanation, or 10 Downing Street?"

"Both," Harry quipped, with an intentional air of indifference. "The
building's a lot smaller than Windsor or Buck, of course, but the upstairs flat was kind of
cozy."

"What?" Hermione exclaimed. "You didn't tell me you were inside the
P.M.'s living quarters as well."

"You didn't ask, and I didn't think it was important," Harry explained.
"Besides, I was only up there long enough to check all of the fireplaces for hidden floo
connects."

"What's it like?"

Harry paused, and then said, "Erm, cozy, like I said." He then shook his head and
asked, "You aren't a little starstruck at the idea meeting the P.M. at his place, are
you?"

"No," Hermione quickly replied.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Well, maybe...a little," Hermione admitted.

Harry smiled. "I'm a bit surprised," he admitted. "I mean...you didn't
get this wiggy when we met the Queen, or Royal Family, or visit Windsor, or Buckingham."

"Well, that's different," said Hermione. "I didn't have time to get
nervous before meeting the Queen, or before arriving here at the Palace...somebody thought it best
to keep the whole thing a surprise."

"I'll only take partial blame on that point," said Harry. "I was mostly
clueless for most of that day as well." He then asked, "But why be nervous now? I mean,
Tony's a nice guy, and he..."

"First-name basis, Harry?" Hermione asked in almost a shriek.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "He kept wanting to call me Lord Gryffindor, so I had to
strike a deal in order for him to call me Harry."

Hermione sighed deeply while her head shook back and forth in amazement.

Harry squinted a bit, as if trying to solve a puzzle. He had seen this look on Hermione's
face before, but couldn't quite place it...*Lockhart!*

"School-girl crush on the Prime Minister?" he asked nonchalantly.

Hermione's cheeks flushed red. "No, of course not," she quickly replied.

Harry smiled, and used the conversational pause to finish off his bowl of soup. And to force
Hermione's hand, because there was something behind that reply...

"Well, not any more, at least," she sheepishly admitted. "Half the girls in my
primary school class had crushes on him...I mean, he was young, and handsome, and
articulate..."

Harry patted her arm. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Prat!"

Harry snorted, then noted, "Funny that you didn't seem all that giddy when we were
introduced at Ascot."

"Probably a bit too nervous about riding in the Queen's landau, your show and the
Dementors," Hermione explained. She then looked at her watch and stood, throwing her serviette
on the table. "Not much time...my hair's still a mess, I need to change, and brush my
teeth, and..."

Harry followed her into their bedroom's walk-in-closet for a look into the full-length
mirror. He grabbed her from behind and looked over her shoulder as Hermione flattened the front of
her skirt with her hands. "It's so much easier in the wizarding world when robes cover
everything...are you sure that I look good in this outfit?" she asked

Harry smiled as he angled around her shoulder for a kiss.

"I'd rather that you were wearing only a smile and your Art Club badge."

Hermione shusshed him and pushed him away. He stumbled a bit and fell against the closet wall
with a "thump."

"Quiet, Harry" Hermione admonished. "You'll wake up mum and dad next
door."

Harry grinned and asked, "Who says that they're still sleeping?"

"Why do you say that?" Hermione replied. "Did they leave while I was in the
library?"

"Erm, no," said Harry. "I'm quite sure that they're still in
there."

"But I haven't heard them," Hermione noted.

As if on cue, they heard a mumbled comment and a short giggle coming through the wall that
separated the two bedrooms.

Hermione's look of shock reflected well in the full-length mirror. "Did I just hear my
mum giggle?" she whispered.

Harry snorted, and then said, "Guess I should been more thorough and cast a silencing spell
on all of the guest bedroom's walls."

"You mean you heard more than...more than that?"

With arched eyebrows, Harry asked, "Do you really want me to answer that
question?"

"Erm, no,..not really."

Harry nodded as he grabbed Hermione's hand and led her out of the master bedroom.

"You know, your mum and dad have been brilliant this past month. We're lucky to have
them around."

"Yes, I know that, it's just that sometimes they seem to forget that we are
around."

"Well old habits might be hard to break...it's not like you've been home much the
past six years."

"Old habits?" Hermione said. "Too much information, I think."

"Speaking of too much information," Harry said, changing the subject, "are you
still fretting about the magical secrecy laws?"

"Shouldn't I be?"

Harry shook his head. "Relax, Hermione, we've got things all lined up...you wrote the
report for me, I gave the report to the Queen, and then she decided to give it to the Prime
Minister. I was technically the only person that broke the secrecy laws, except that I didn't
because that's my job as Queen's Wizard."

“You know, we never did get around to meeting with a wizard barrister to discuss all of
this."

Harry nodded. "You're right, we haven't, and we probably should...have a meeting
time in mind?"

"Sure," Hermione replied with a bit of sarcasm, "I'll just shoe-horn it in
between meeting the Ministers, harvesting the basilisk, setting up the Summer Institute and horcrux
hunting."

Harry smiled as he reached over and grabbed Hermione's hand. "Hey, I'm supposed to
be the one overwhelmed with the enormity of my task, not you," he noted. "Buck up,
Hermione...it certainly could be a lot worse."

"You think so?"

"I'm certain of it," Harry replied. "Without the Prince's help and
everything since, I might still have been alone on Privet Drive with my Aunt and Uncle, with
another month's time ahead before I could legally do magic."

Hermione smiled. "It does sound like a rather bleak alternative universe, doesn't
it?"

Harry looked around the suite, gave Hermione's hand another squeeze, and said, "All in
all, I'm becoming very fond of present circumstances." He then noted, "We still have
the name of the barrister that Mr. Weasley recommended...maybe we can owl and see if he'd
consider making housecalls?"

Hermione nodded as she returned the squeeze. "Sounds like a plan...so long as he
doesn't come calling while my parents are..."

"Hey!" Harry interrupted, "were you just about to make smutty comment?"

Hermione smirked. "Maybe."

Harry smiled as he leaned back in his chair. "Amazing," he concluded. "This
universe is getting better by the minute."

+++

Harry and Hermione only had a few minutes to talk with the Prince of Wales during the drive from
the Palace to 10 Downing Street. The Prince was along as the Crown's representative, and to
facilitate any discussion on the role of Queen's Wizard.

The Prince handed each of them a two-page document and said, "Here's a brief work-up on
meeting participants. Besides the P.M. there will be the Home Secretary Michael Duluth, Sir Walter
Hibbing from MI-5 and Sir David Eveleth, who heads MI-6."

Harry looked down at the page, which had small head shots and brief biographies of the three
men. "They're all card-carrying muggles, right?"

"Erm...as far as you know," the Prince replied. “Mind the Home Secretary...he's a
bit mugglish, and a rather outspoken critic of the Royal Family."

"Really?"

The Prince nodded. "Hates the peerage in general...grew up in one of the rougher parts of
Manchester, and rails against anything that smacks of privilege."

Harry nodded, then noted, "So he's the reason why you've suggested we avoid using
our titles, and play down my financial resources?"

"Exactly," the Prince replied. "We need to give him every reason to listen to
what you have to say."

Harry frowned. "And just what will we be discussing that would make it so vitally important
that they listen to us?"

The Prince paused, before giving Harry a rather rueful grin. "Life, The Universe, and
Everything."

This response didn't do much to ease the two teen-ager's nerves, despite its
cheekiness.

Upon their arrival, the Palace's car drove through the opened wrought-iron gate that blocked
off the small cul-de-sac. Tourists clamored to see who might be stepping through what the
P.M.'s very own web site calls "the most famous door in the world." They weren't
disappointed when the Prince of Wales exited the vehicle. A cheer rang out and camera shutters
clicked as the Prince turned, took a few steps towards the crowd, and waved. He had hoped that this
gesture might focus attention away from Harry and Hermione as they quietly stepped out and made
straight for the building's entrance. These hopes were quickly dashed, however, as squeals of
recognition rang out.

"It's the Queen's Wizard!"

"Oh, my he's so dashing in that suit!"

"And even more handsome, in person!"

Fleet Street photographers and television cameramen on permanent stake-out for these sorts of
arrivals called out for Harry to stop long enough for a proper photograph. Harry rolled his eyes,
but figured that it would be best to comply. He winked at Hermione as he grabbed her hand and spun
around for a joint wave.

"There's that bird he was with at Ascot!"

"She's so lucky!"

"Oi, Mr. Wizard, leave her and marry me!" shouted one teen-aged girl, to the delight
of the assembled crowd.

"Forget that," a male voice cried out. "Leave him and I'll show you some real
magic, miss!"

The fake grin that Harry had plastered onto his face for the cameras turned real with that
response. Luckily, the door opened and they were shown through the front entrance without hearing
any more competition for Hermione's heart.

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione exclaimed as they settled themselves in the front entryway.
"How much did you pay that bloke to say that, Harry?"

Harry snorted. "Pish-posh, Hermione," he replied in a singsong voice. "Your
beauty provides every reason for equal-opportunity ogling." He then turned and addressed a
rather bemused-looking Royal. "No disrespect intended, Your Highness."

"None taken, Harry," the Prince replied. "I can assure you that I am quite used
to be upstaged when traveling in the company of a beautiful woman."

Hermione blushed at the comparison as they were shown through a pair of not-quite-as-famous
white French doors and into the ground floor proper.

"Looks bigger than what I expected from the web site," she admitted.

Harry smiled as they were shown to small reception room adjacent to the P.M.'s office.
Kingsley Shacklebolt was there, dressed in a three-piece muggle suit and openly flirting with a
pretty aide who sat behind a desk.

“Looking good, Mr. Shacklebolt,” Harry called out.

Kingsley reluctantly turned his attention away from the Minister's aide. “You look almost as
snappy yourself, Harry…or are we Lord Gryffindor today?”

Harry grinned. "Just Harry, thanks."

Shacklebolt nodded as he shook Harry's hand, and greeted Hermione and the Prince. That the
Prince responded by calling the Auror by name suggested that it wasn't the first time the two
had met.

“Do try and stay out of trouble in there,” Kingsley asked.

“Don't I always?” Harry replied a smile. “Oh, and Shack, let's not have any Weasley
products extending underneath the doorway, right?”

“Of course, Harry,” the Auror replied, with a shocked “who me?” expression on his face.

Just then the room door opened and the Prime Minister himself welcomed the Prince, Harry and
Hermione into his office. He gave both the Prince and Harry a firm handshake, quietly welcoming
Harry by first name. The Queen's Wizard wished he had better peripheral vision when the P.M.
added an elbow grab to the handshake he gave Hermione.

Two members of the house staff followed behind the three in order to clear away the remnants of
a working lunch. The P.M. waited for these staffers to clear out before introducing the two teens
as "Agents Granger and Potter."

The MI-5 and MI-6 chiefs smiled in recognition; while neither had met Harry and Hermione
face-to-face, their photographs had been included in the dossiers built in advance of their
appointment as MI agents. Both men stood and gave warm handshakes. In contrast, the Home
Secretary's tepid handshake seemed designed to minimize (to the greatest extent possible) the
amount of skin contact.

“Thank you for joining us this afternoon,” the Prime Minister said, as he walked behind his dest
and took a seat.

“Erm, thank you for the invitation, Prime Minister,” Harry replied. “If I might ask, would you
mind if we magically secure the room?”

“You, secure the room?” asked the Home Secretary incredulously. “Where do you think you are,
boy?”

“I suspect, Mr. Duluth,” said the Prince, “that *Agent* Potter is talking about ensuring
that the magical protections he set in place last week are still functioning.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Harry quickly added, “although our scans will also detect
mug-...erm...mundane eavesdropping devices.”

“Oh, well…” the P.M. replied, “Mr. Shacklebolt swept the room an hour ago, but please, feel
free.”

“Thank you, Prime Minister,” Hermione replied, as she and Harry removed both wands and mobiles
from their pockets. “Would everyone please power down their mobiles, laptops and other electrical
devices?” she asked.

There was only a little bit of grumbling as the shut down chimes of computers and mobiles
sounded out. Once getting nods from everyone in the room, and ascertaining that nobody was wearing
a pacemaker, Harry and Hermione cast a series of heavy-duty silencing spells on every wall, the
ceiling and floor. They also checked the shrouding of the magical portrait, as well as the
de-activated floo connection. After giving everyone the “all-clear” to power-up their various
electronics, Harry and Hermione took a seat in front of the P.M.'s desk.

"That looked like a rather thorough sweep," the MI-5 Chief noted. "But was it
completely necessary? It was my understanding that the protective walls..erm...wards?...yes, the
protective wards you set up last week kept magic out."

Hermione nodded. "The anti-apparation wards are still in place, as are the magical sensor
barriers and the block against floo travel put on the fireplace." She then added a caveat.
"But that doesn't mean that a wizard couldn't have walked through the barriers, and
then found a way inside the building so that they could eavesdrop."

The P.M. frowned. "Do you two have reason to doubt Mr. Shacklebolt's discretion?"
he asked.

Harry shook his head. "I've known Auror Shacklebolt for a couple of years, now.
Although he is a Ministry employee, he's also been invoved with the Order for some time, and I
have no reason not to trust him."

The P.M. nodded, as the Home Secretary flipped through a stack of papers in front of him.
"Order?" he finally asked with a scowl. "Are you talking about your so-called Order
of Arthur, or that vigilante group mentioned in your briefing documents?"

It was Hermione's turn to frown as she replied, "He was a member of The Order of the
Phoenix, Mr. Home Secretary, and I'd like to think of them more as an NGO than a vigilante
group."

"Ah yes," the MI-6 Chief interrupted. "That brings up a question raised when I
read your brief...which, by the way, was quite brilliant, Agent Granger...I'm glad to have you
aboard."

"Don't get too territorial, there, Sir David," the MI-5 Chief chided.
"She's just as much an MI-5 asset as yours."

As Hermione blushed at the compliment, Harry politely noted that correct chain-of-command for
the briefing documents, saying that for their purposes Hermione was working for him.

"And that technicality is necessary to keep your noses clean with respect to magical
secrecy laws?" the P.M. asked.

"Yes, Prime Minister."

"No need to worry," the MI-6 chief noted, "All of this is covered under the
Official Secrets Act, and none of us are about to reveal your actions to the wizard
police."

Harry nodded and gave the chief a grim smile. "Unfortunately, Sir David, good intentions
aren't always good enough when you want to keep secrets from the wizarding world."

Both security chiefs frowned. "And why is that, Agent Potter?" the MI-5 Chief
asked.

"Some wizards can read minds, Sir Walter," Harry explained, "and there is a
effective magical truth serum called veritaserum."

"Mind readers?" the Home Secretary asked with alarm. "Should we be worrying that
you are reading our minds right now?" he asked. Then, not quite under his breath, he muttered,
"Not that we'd be able to trust that you'd tell us the truth."

Harry took in a sharp breath, and Hermione thought it prudent to reach over and grab hold of his
hand while he silently counted to ten.

"Sir," Hermione replied, "You needn't worry that either of us are traipsing
through your mind right now. Legimency is a difficult art to master. I can't do it, and even if
I could there are ethical issues involved with invading someone else's mind without
permission."

The Home Secretary nodded, then turned his gaze towards Harry. "Do you have the
ability?"

Harry nodded. "I have been studying the technique for the past month. As Hermione
indicated, it is a difficult subject, and so far the best I can do is read some hidden emotions and
the occasional surface thought."

The Home Secretary sat back in his chair and asked, "For what purposes are you attempting
to become a mind reader?"

Harry replied coolly, "So that the mental defenses of Hermione and my colleagues can be
tested and improved upon."

The MI-6 chief asked what type of mental defenses existed, and whether it would be possible for
non-magical people to learn them. Harry and Hermione then spent a few minutes describing mediation
as a useful technique for anyone, with the caveat that it would be hard for a muggle to completely
occlude his or her mind from even a moderately competent legimens. The Home Secretary then tried to
steer the conversation back towards his concerns.

"In the section describing the different political and military groupings within your
world, this Order of the Phoenix was identified as having an 'unknown status'...why
can't you tell us what this group is doing at present time?"

Hermione paused for a moment, then turned to Harry and offered him the chance to respond. He
replied, "Neither Hermione or I were part of that organization. They have likely gone to
ground, as their organization was probably compromised by the same spy that murdered Headmaster
Dumbledore."

"Yes," said the Home Secretary, rather cooly, "There was mention of more than one
case of divided loyalties in the briefing document." He then stared directly at Harry and
said, "It gave me pause to wonder exactly where your loyalties lie."

Harry's brow furrowed. He once again silently counted to ten as static electricity seemed to
build within the room. Finally, he said, "With all due respect, sir, I take my sworn fealty to
Her Royal Majesty quite seriously."

"It is one thing to say you are loyal to the Queen, young man..." the Home Secretary
countered.

"On that point you are wrong, sir," Harry coolly exclaimed. "When it comes to a
sworn oath, a wizard's word is *everything*."

The Prime Minister tried to wrestle back control of the meeting. "I believe that any
questions of where Agent Potter's loyalties lie were put to rest at Ascot," he concluded.
"Wonderful job there, by the way," he noted as an aside to Harry. "Most spectacular
battle that I never saw."

"That's my point exactly," the Home Secretary said, "We don't know that
he was fighting against anything real...it could have been a complete fabrication."

"That's quite enough, Duluth," the P.M. said firmly. "I'll tolerate no
more of this tripe from you."

"It's not tripe, it's the truth, and if you're too blinded by whiz-bangs and
Royals to see it, then Lord God help us all." He then stood and announced, "I, for one,
have heard all I need to hear."

As the Home Secretary reached down to retrieve his briefcase the P.M. turned towards the Prince
and pointedly asked, "Your Highness, given present circumstances have you an opinion on how
Her Royal Majesty might view my use of royal prerogative?"

The Prince smiled. "In this situation, I am quite confident that your powers of patronage
would not be challenged by the Queen."

"Very well, then," the P.M. replied. He then turned back towards the Home Secretary
and said, "Duluth, I can no longer afford your narrow-mindedness within my Cabinet. Consider
yourself sacked."

The Home Secretary's face turned a brilliant shade of red (Harry couldn't decide if it
was due to anger, embarrassment, or the fact that the man was holding his breath). As he stormed
out the office door, Harry could see the edges of the Prime Minister's lips curl up
slightly.

There was nothing "slight" about the grins on the faces of the two intelligence
chiefs.

"Splendid play, old man," the MI-6 chief told the P.M.

"Well done indeed, Prime Minister," the MI-5 chief added.

The P.M. nodded gravely. "I'm sorry that you had to see that," he said to Harry
and Hermione. "He was a right pain even before he was briefed in on the wizarding world, and
it's only gotten worse since then. Coming face-to-face with a witch and wizard obviously sent
him over the edge."

Harry nodded. "I'm sorry, sir, for causing such a mess for you."

The Prime Minister smiled. "No worries, Harry...he'll go sulking back to Parliament and
whine behind my back during the Labor conferences, but he was already doing that."

"At least he can't go to the papers," the Prince noted.

The MI-6 chief nodded in agreement. "Not without violating the Official Secrets Act, and
even then he runs the risk of looking the fool for taking a principled stand against the
Queen's Wizard and magic use."

"Almost worth using one of those memory charms on him," the MI-5 chief noted.

"Almost, but not nearly close enough," the P.M. concluded. "That was, after all,
one of the chief complaints to be lodged during my meeting with the Minister of Magic."

The MI-5 chief nodded, and then tapped his knuckles down on his copy of Hermione's briefing
document. "So based on this report, do you think it's time to convene a War Cabinet, Prime
Minister?"

The P.M. thought for a moment. "Not right now, Sir Walter," he replied. "That
would mean bringing in the opposition leader, and briefing in a few others on the wizarding world.
I'm leaning towards a crisis committee...at least until we've cleared up some issues with
the Ministry of Magic." His eyes then narrowed a bit, and he said, "We'll have to
reschedule that meeting, however...I suddenly have a Home Secretary to replace." He then rang
up his Chief of Staff and instructed him to have a press release worked up, and to set up an
emergency Cabinet meeting for later that day.

After ending the call, the P.M. turned his attentions back to his guests. "I am afraid that
we no longer have time to fully address our meeting agenda, other than to say that the report was
top-notch."

"Thank you, Prime Minister," Hermione replied with a blush.

"I have to say, though, that I was a bit disappointed that you didn't make any
recommendations on how the Ministry of Magic could be changed for the better...for example, whether
we should work to have Scrimgeour sacked."

Harry nodded. "The Queen didn't give us that particular charge, and neither Hermione
nor I thought it to be our place to offer unsolicited advice to Her Royal Majesty and her
government."

The P.M. nodded. "Well, then, perhaps I'll have to tweak your charges," the Prime
Minister replied. He then turned towards the intelligence chiefs and added, "Unless either of
two have any objections."

The heads of MI-5 and MI-6 shook their heads. "You are obviously in their chain of command,
Prime Minister," the MI-6 chief explained.

The P.M.'s eyes lit up. "I am, aren't I," he replied.

The Prince cleared his throat. "Her Royal Highness might take issue should you lay claim to
too much of Her Royal Wizard's time."

The P.M. nodded. "What if I arranged to have Agent Granger reassigned to my
office?"

Hermione let out an audible "eep!" as the Prince smiled. "Her Royal Highness is
quite fond of Dame Hermione, but has no formal claim on her time. That said, I think that the
question should be posed to Agent Granger and the Queen's Wizard."

The MI-5 chief concurred. "Their primary assignment as MI-5 3/4 agents is to continue what
they were doing to battle Voldemort and protect the Realm and its citizenry."

The P.M. nodded. He then asked, "Agent Granger, I have need of a Senior Advisor for all
issues involving magic and the wizarding world. I also am keenly interested in how other muggle
governments interact with their magical communities, and would like to appoint a Special Envoy to
the greater wizarding world. Would you be interested in either or both of these posts, so long as
they didn't interfere with your primary mission?"

Hermione sat gobsmacked, doing the fish-out-of-water thing with her lips, before replying.
"I'm honored that you'd consider me, but I'm not sure that I'm the best
candidate, and not sure about how we could work the secrecy laws, for that matter."

"Don't be so modest, Agent Granger," the P.M. replied. "Can you think of any
other person in the realm that knows the muggle and wizarding worlds as well as you do?"

"I'm sure that there's somebody older that does..."

"And would you imagine that this hypothetical person would hold top-secret security
clearances, a close working and personal relationship with the Queen's Wizard, and the
resources available to you as a member of the Order of Arthur?"

Hermione snorted at the rhetorical question. "No, I imagine not." She then asked Harry
what he thought.

Harry gave her a bright smile, and said, "I think it's a brilliant idea." He then
turned to the P.M. and asked, "As a Senior Advisor and Special Envoy, would she have a desk
here at 10 Downing Street?"

As Hermione gasped and swatted Harry on the arm for his presumption, the P.M. smiled.
"We're a bit cramped for space, but I think that I might be able to pull a few
strings."

He then stood up from his desk, causing everyone else to do the same. He then asked, "Agent
Granger, have you had a proper tour of the building yet?"

"Erm, no Prime Minister, not that I..."

The P.M. walked around the desk and grabbed Hermione lightly by the elbow as he gestured towards
the door. "No, no, I think a bit of a look about would be appropriate...you and I can scout
out suitable desk space for my newest Senior Advisor."

"Erm..um...whatever you say, Prime Minister,"

The P.M. turned to Harry and the Prince. "Would you two like to join us? I'll have at
least a few minutes before all Hell breaks loose with the Home Secretary situation."

Harry smiled as the Prince gave him a hand gesture indicating that it was his decision to
make.

"No, that's quite alright, Prime Minister," Harry replied. He then turned to
Hermione. "Why don't you go along and just pop back to the Palace when you're done?
I'll go and get an owl off to that barrister."

Hermione smiled brilliantly. She wanted to give him a proper snog, but decided in present
company to limit her affections to a gentle hand squeeze. "Okay, Harry, just call if you need
me."

And with that, the meeting concluded. The Prince asked the P.M. if they might linger in his
office long enough to sample his collection of single malts. The P.M. readily agreed, then escorted
Hermione out for her tour and introductions to his staff. Once the door closed, the Prince walked
over to a sideboard and poured out four glasses of scotch. As he distributed them he said,
"Well, that went better than expected." He then raised his glass and offered a toast.

"Gentlemen, to Dame Hermione's bright future within these walls, and to the former Home
Secretary's less-than-luminous future outside of them."

"Hear, Hear," the MI-6 chief said, as they each sipped from their tumblers. Harry
thought about tossing his glass into the fireplace, but thought better of it.

+++

In bed that night, Hermione finally remembered to ask what was discussed whilst she was on her
tour.

"Well," Harry said with a smile, "we shared a toast to your potential posting,
and then Sir Walter asked Sir David whether he thought they had just lost a future MI-5 3/4 Chief
to the Prime Minister's Staff."

"No, he didn't!"

"He most certainly did."

"So what did Sir David say?"

Harry's smile grew. "He said it was more likely that they lost a future Prime Minister,
rather than a P.M.'s staffer."

"No, he didn't!"

"Really he did...and then the Prince asked whether he was thinking muggle Prime Minister,
or Minister of Magic."

Hermione pulled the top sheet over her head in embarrassment. "Oh, Merlin!"

"Yeah, and they asked me what I thought."

"Oh, Harry," she cried out, still covered, "Don't tell me you went along with
that nonsense."

"Okay, I won't tell you then," Harry replied brightly.

After a moment's silence, Hermione pulled the sheet down in frustration. "So tell me
what you said."

Harry pulled Hermione into a comforting embrace. "I told them that I'd be proud of you
whatever your career path was, and that it wouldn't matter to me if you were one or the other
or both, so long as it didn't require you to leave behind what I thought was an even more
important posting."

"What?" Hermione asked with surprise. "What are you on about, Harry?...what
position would be more important that Prime Minister or Minister of Magic?"

Harry grinned

"Lady Gryffindor."

Hermione gave Harry a look of shock. "Please don't tell me that they asked you that
same question, or that you gave them that same answer."

"Okay, I won't tell you that they asked me that very same question, or that I gave them
that very same answer."

Hermione tried (and almost succeeded) to push Harry off of the bed. "Oh, you prat...tell
me!"

"Why Hermione?" Harry asked innocently, "Would you have been embarrassed if I
really did say that?"

She was about to answer when she remembered being in a very similar situation.

"Why Harry, are you back on your Slytherin passive-aggressive path of finding out the
answer to a question that you don't dare ask outright?"

Harry smiled as he crawled back towards Hermione. "Maybe," he said, as he ran a hand
up her leg.

Hermione swatted Harry's hand away before stating her opinion on Harry's tactics.

"Gillyweed, Mr. Potter…gillyweed."

-->



45. chapter 45
--------------

Muggle Summer

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

Chapter 45: Openings and Closings

Wednesday, July 4, 7:35am
Buckingham Palace, London

The fact that Harry Potter was dressed and ready before Hermione was spoke volumes about just
how nervous she was about her first official day on the job at 10 Downing Street.

“Can I do anything to help?” he asked as he walked into the walk-in closet of their Buck Master
Bedroom. He found her facing the full-length mirror, dressed in a tailored two-piece suit, black
hold-ups, and low-heeled pumps.

Hermione used her hands to pull her hair away from each side of her face. A moment later, she
turned and asked, “Which earrings, Harry?”

Harry cocked his head to one side and squinted, first at the gold hoop in her left ear, then the
pearl that dangled from her right. After a moment of consideration, he replied, “Erm..they both
look nice.”

“I said, *which* earrings, Harry.”

Harry smiled as he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Hermione’s
waist. She tried to push him away with the admonishment, “Wrinkles!”

Harry snorted, and only pulled her closer as he placed his nose within nuzzling distance of the
pearl and softly replied, “Ironing Charm.”

While Hermione was protesting that there wasn’t time to recharm her clothes, Harry stepped back,
gently held each of her ear lobes in his hands, and asked, “Perhaps you might want to consider
‘none of the above’?”

He then answered Hermione’s confused expression by retrieving a small box from his trouser
pocket. Inside was a pair of flawless three-quarter carat diamond earrings.

Hermione’s eyes lit up as she quelled a frown of frustration by biting on her bottom lip. “Oh,
Harry,” she said as she pulled him into a hug. “Thank you…you shouldn’t have.”

“Why not?” he replied. “It’s only fitting that you look your best on your first day.”

A chuckle came from her lips as Hermione quickly swapped out her mismatched pair of earrings for
the diamonds and placed the rejects back into her jewelry box with their mates. She turned back
towards the mirror and let out a sigh.

“Harry, they’re brilliant, but I’m working undercover,” she noted.“Not too many interns could
afford to be wearing earrings as nice as these.”

“Oh, sorry,” Harry said, as he wrapped his arms her and pulled her back into a firm embrace.
“Maybe I can chew them down in size?” he asked, as he tried to determine whether diamonds have any
taste.

Hermione swatted his hands away from her waist and craned her neck away from Harry’s kisses.
“Stop, Harry…this is exactly why I blocked out extra snagging time in our schedules last
night.”

When a wand snapped out from Hermione’s arm holster Harry thought she might be trying to back
her brush-off with a hexing. He quickly backed away, which gave her plenty of room to cast a weak
reducing spell that shrank the gemstones down to a much more modest size.

“You know,” Harry said, “I also bought a smaller pair if you wanted the stones to be that
size.”

Hermione smiled through the mirror. “Oh, no, these are fine,” she replied, as she viewed her
handiwork. “I rather like knowing that they are larger in real life.”

“Even if they look the same?”

Hermione nodded. “It’s like wearing expensive lingerie,” she explained. “They’re just as
functional as plain-Jane knickers, but a girl just feels better knowing that she’s hiding something
luxurious under her outfit.”

“Is that so?” Harry replied with a smirk. “Anything like a bloke getting excited at the thought
of his girl going commando’, even if he can’t see it for himself?”

Hermione smiled, having discovered a way to thank Harry for his thoughtful gift. After making
one final check in the mirror, she *accio*’ed her briefcase, then used her free hand to pull
Harry’s head into a crushing kiss. Tearing her lips away from his, she bit down lightly on his left
ear lobe, and then whispered sweetly into his ear.

“I don’t know if it’s the same thing,” she replied. “But maybe you can tell me when I get home
tonight.”

Harry was too shocked to provide a witty retort, and by the time that his tongue had regained
functionality Hermione had reached inside her jacket to activate her badge. With her mum “on the
phone,” he didn’t dare say anything as she made a silent adjustment to her wardrobe. Mother and
daughter chatted just long enough for Hermione to get the all-clear to badge-jump.

She disappeared. Her knickers didn’t.

+++

Hermione reappeared in Windsor Castle, inside the ground floor Round Tower apartment that her
parents now called home. A few minutes later, she got a call from Harry on her mobile while she was
walking with her parents to the Royal Mess.

“Hi, Harry.”

“Erm, Hermione…did you forget something that you’ll need for the day?”

Hermione smiled coyly. “No, I don’t think so…oh, and I just wanted to say thanks again for your
thoughtful gift this morning.”

“Erm…you’re welcome,” Harry replied. “I have to say that your thank-you gift has wreaked havoc
with my thoughts.”

“That was my intention,” Hermione said.

“Want to hear just what kind of thoughts I’ve been having?”

“Maybe later,” Hermione replied. “I’m with mum and dad right now.”

“Really?” Harry asked. “Well, if that’s the case, then I’ll let you go. Good luck, sweetheart…I
know you’ll knock them dead.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

“Oh, and just so you know, I’ve got your little gift in my coat pocket, in case you need them
back sometime during the day.”

“Erm, no…Harry…that’s quite alright.”

“Hey, no problem, Hermione,” Harry replied. “I never realized it, but if you fold them just
right they make a rather dashing pocket square….the red silk even matches my tie.”

“Harry…don’t you even think….wait, don’t tell me that you’re serious.”

“Maybe,” said Harry, rather cheekily. “Are you going to tell me that you’re seriously
considering not wearing knickers to work today?”

“Maybe.”

“Merlin, Hermione…I mean…not even going to fire a ‘notice-me-not’ charm up your skirt?”

“Oh! Harry…you are quite the perver…erm, perfect boyfriend.”

Harry laughed. “Didn’t want to say ‘pervert’ within earshot of your parents, Hermione?”

“No, not really.”

“Well fortunately, I don’t have that problem…nobody here to hear me go on and on about exactly
where the skinny part of this thong was just a few minutes ago.”

Hermione mouthed a silent curse as she pocketed her mobile.

“Something wrong?” Emily Granger asked.

“No,” Hermione replied, “Harry’s just providing some therapeutic distraction….aren’t you
Harry.”

“Only looking out for you, my dear.”

“Yeah, right, Harry…talk to you later.”

Once she pocketed her mobile her father asked, “A distraction from this big surprise you want to
tell us about?”

“Erm…maybe,” Hermione said with a grin. She waited until they had been seated for breakfast and
had their orders taken before elaborating.

Roger and Emily Granger had worked a second shift from 3pm until 11pm on the day previous, so
there hadn’t been a chance for Hermione to tell them about her visit to 10 Downing Street. They
were thrilled when she stated that she had provisionally accepted both postings as Senior Advisor
and Special Envoy. One of the first questions they asked was about her age…while Roger and Emily
were quite certain that she would be up for the job, they wondered what the muggle public, the
press, or her co-workers would think about a teen-ager advising the Prime Minister. Hermione
assured her parents that they had already thought of that issue, and come up with a
work-around.

Hermione’s working relationship with the Prime Minister was to be a tightly-held secret, and
revealed only on a need-to-know basis. Roger and Emily were on the “need-to-know” list as Art Club
members, as there might come a time when they’d be called on to badge-jump to the Prime Minister’s
defense using Hermione’s badge as an anchor. She would be working undercover as a summer intern,
and assigned to the office of the Prime Minister’s Chief of Staff. Hermione would still be a bit
young for the job, as almost every intern came to the Prime Minister’s office after university. But
the age difference wasn’t that great, and MI 5 ¾ had worked up a plausible backstory.

“So what kind of intriguing history have they manufactured for you, sweetheart?” her father
asked.

“Oh, nothing too sexy,” Hermione replied. “My mum and dad are expats working in the States, and
I did all my schooling over there. Apparently, I was some sort of child prodigy that entered uni at
thirteen.”

“Well that part’s not far off the mark,” Roger proudly boasted.

“Daddy!” Hermione exclaimed. She then went on to note that she supposedly just graduated from
Duke University with a degree in political science, and will doing the internship while she decides
whether to study law at Oxford or Cambridge.

“Duke?” Emily asked. “Any particular reason why they chose that school for you?”

“It’s the best known American university that wasn’t attended by anyone presently working in the
Prime Minister’s office,” Hermione explained. “That reduces the risk of me getting tripped up by
somebody who actually studied at that school.”

Emily nodded in understanding. “So, then, how is it that our college graduate suddenly found
herself working for the Prime Minister?”

“Oh, in the usual manner,” Hermione replied. “Personal connections.”

“Really?” Roger asked. “Of what sort?”

Hermione smiled. “Why, didn’t you know that the Prime Minister is a close friend of the
family?”

“Erm…no.”

“Oh, yes,” said Hermione. “We see him nearly every time he visits the States. So I have to
remember to call the Prime Minister T-t-t-Tony once in a while.”

Roger shook his head. “Afraid to call your childhood crush by his first name, sweetie?”

“Dad, no!” Hermione shot back. “It’s just that, well..to call the Prime Minister by his given
name...”

“It’s just a name, dear,” her mum replied. “Just like Voldemort, right?”

“Erm…right…just like Voldemort,” said Hermione. “So, if you ever visit the office you’ll have to
call him T-Tony as well.”

“Right.”

“And I no longer have a schoolgirl crush on him, I’ll have you know,” Hermione noted. “In fact,
it was Tony that introduced me to the Queen’s Wizard,”

“Really? Then let me guess,” said Emily. “Since you’re so close to the Prime Minister…”

“It’s *Tony*, mum…*Tony*.”

“Erm..right…since your on a first name basis with the P.M. you won’t have to do all of the
menial tasks that interns are assigned to complete?”

“Right in one, mum,” Hermione replied. “Probably won’t make me any friends amongst the other
interns, but there had to be a reason for an irregular work schedule, and independent research
projects that involve a lot of travel.”

Roger snorted, then asked, “So are you going to be spoiled by a nice office with a view,
then?”

Hermione shook her head. “That would be a bit too much,” she explained. “There’s only a couple
of offices besides the P.M.’s…erm…Tony’s that have windows, and the interns are assigned tiny
workstations down in the basement.”

“Oh, I see,” said Roger. “So how do you plan on maintaining your cover with so little
privacy?”

Hermione smiled. “They also assigned me a broom closet.”

“A broom closet?”

“Yes, a broom closet. It’s a bit cramped, but it’s on the main level and has four hard walls and
a door.”

“And just what do you plan on accomplishing within a broom closet, dear?” her mum asked.

“Oh, nothing too naughty,” Hermione replied with a smile. “Fred and George are going to stop by
for a visit sometime today and help me do a little interior decorating.”

“Fred and George?” asked Roger. “Oh…imagine that they might know a few room expansion
charms?”

Hermione gave her dad a wink. “Don’t tell Tony, but I think that by the time they’re through
I’ll have a bigger office than he does.”

The Grangers laughed at Hermione’s joke, and added their own comments about taking care not to
be seen entering or leaving her broom closet with the Prime Minister.

“So what else are you planning on doing today, dear?” her mum asked.

“Well,” Hermione replied, “I may be asked to brief in the new Home Secretary on the wizarding
world. I gather you heard about Duluth being sacked?”

Roger gave his daughter a knowing grin. “Yes, the story was in all of the papers this morning,”
he replied. “Although I have to say that my eye was drawn more towards the other headline story of
the day.”

“Oh, no…don’t tell me…”

Roger nodded as he rose from their table and walked over towards a stack of the morning dailies.
Pulling four different ones from the pile, he returned to his wife and daughter and spread them out
on the table.

Hermione pulled a tabloid towards her and grimaced at a page-covering photograph of Harry and
her standing in front of 10 Downing Street. The headline over their heads read,
*“**Abracadabra!**”* with the underlying subtitle *“P.M. Seeks Magical Cure for Sagging
Poll Numbers.”*

“Oh, Merlin,” Hermione lamented. “Did *The Sun* have to put me on the front page?”

“Would you rather they made you a Page Three Girl?” Emily asked.

“Erm, no,” Hermione replied with a blush in her cheeks. She looked over the other dailies and
asked, “The *Mirror*, the *Times*, even the *Guardian*? Is there a newspaper that
didn’t publish a picture of Harry and me on the front page?”

Emily patted her daughter’s arm. “I’m sure that there were a few on the Continent that didn’t
dear.”

“Oh, Merlin help me!”

Roger Granger shook his head in amazement. “You know, it is amazing…the publicity you and Harry
get, the company you keep, and the ease at which you move within the circles of power and
privilege…”

Hermione gave her father a rather cross look, then let out a sigh. “Guess I never really thought
about it before,” she admitted. “After all, the wizarding community is rather small, so it never
seemed all that strange to be rubbing elbows with the Minister of Magic and other top officials at
the Ministry. Especially being Harry’s friend and all…he’s the one that’s had a rough go of
it.”

“What about that awful story during fourth year?” her mum asked.

Hermione snorted. “Well, that one turned out to be almost accurate, in the end, didn’t it?” she
asked. “But I never had it as bad as Harry…he’s always struggled with the unwanted fame and
notoriety.”

Mrs. Granger smiled, “So now you can better empathize with Harry?”

“More like commiserate,” said Hermione. After a moment, though her expression brightened, and
she asked “Can I have that copy of the *Times*, Dad? I want to clip out that photograph.”

Roger looked over his shoulder at the unread stacks of newspapers. “Erm…don’t see why not,
sweetheart,” Roger replied. “Starting a scrapbook, then?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m afraid that some Royal staffers have already been assigned that
task. I have a simpler plan in mind for that picture.”

“What’s that, dear?”

Hermione gave her parents a conspiratorial smile.

“Posting it off to the Dursleys in Romania.”

+++

8:40am
Prescott’s Bank, London

Had he been given a choice, Harry Potter would have rather gone on with the meeting of the Prime
Minister and Minister of Magic, just to get it off of his planner “To Do” list. Not that the
replacement of a major cabinet minister wasn’t a good enough reason mind you…and he had to admit
that upsetting Scrimgeour and his lackeys with the delay was a nice consolation prize. It also
opened up a large block of time in his schedule, and allowed him to book a meeting with the wizard
barrister who had come so highly recommended.

The early hour appointment reflected the barrister’s busy schedule, while the meeting location
reflected an agenda that went beyond magical secrecy laws. It also gave Harry an excuse to dig
Sirius’s spell-shrunk motorbike out of his rucksack and take it for a spin.

He had arrived at Prescott’s a good twenty minutes before his scheduled appointment…had the
morning traffic been any less congested he might have considered riding around the City for a few
more minutes. As the bank didn’t open to the public until nine, he had been directed to a side
door, where a uniform guard was waiting to greet him. Less than a minute later, Harry found himself
downstairs within the expansive office of the bank’s president.

“Good morning, Lord Gryffindor, please have a seat,” said the president.

“Thank you, Mr. Jenkins, but please, call me Harry.”

The elderly bank executive smiled. “As you wish, Harry. Would you like some tea?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

It didn’t escape Harry’s attention that the bank president knew exactly how he took his tea
without asking. As Jenkins handed Harry his cup and saucer he asked, “So how is the weather
upstairs…rain still holding off?”

“Erm, yes,” Harry replied, as he took in the obvious fact that a basement-level room wouldn’t
have windows (at least within a muggle building). “Pardon me for asking, but I’m surprised that
your office isn’t up on the bank’s top floor.”

Jenkins smiled as he returned to his seat behind his desk. “In any other muggle bank I dare say
you’d be right. But given our bank’s ownership, well….a basement-level location makes it easier for
some of our Directors to pop in and out without bringing attention to themselves.”

Harry nodded. “Makes sense,” he replied. “I’m sorry that I’m a bit early for the meeting…I could
wait upstairs in the lobby so as not to inconvenience you.”

“Not a problem at all, Lord, erm…Harry,” the bank president replied. “Your request for meeting
space yesterday reminded me to review our commitment to provide you with our highest levels of
service. As such, I was just going over your accounts.”

Harry sighed. “You know, I really should object to all of the special treatment, but as I’m sure
that you’re acting on Ragnok’s instructions, I’ll just have to accept it and offer my thanks.”

The bank director gave Harry a warm smile. “You are welcome, Harry. I hope you realize, though,
that given the extent of your holdings that you would still be receiving this level of
service.”

“By the bank’s president, himself, Mr. Jenkins?”

“Actually, that could have been the case,” Jenkins replied. “There are only a handful of senior
account managers that are both aware of the wizarding world *and* capable enough to handle
active portfolios as large as yours. As a result, I’m much more involved in client services than
the president of a typical muggle bank.”

“So you manage the accounts of other wealthy wizards, then?” Harry asked.

Jenkins nodded.

“Anyone that I know?” Harry asked with a grin.

The bank president chuckled. “Confidentiality rules prevent me from answering that question,
Harry. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, I understand,” Harry replied. He paused for a moment to flesh out a thought that had
popped into his head, and then asked, “Is it hard to keep track of the rules and regulations of
both the muggle and wizarding worlds, Mr. Jenkins?”

The bank president shook his head. “Despite the fact that Prescott’s is goblin-owned, it is
chartered under the Bank of England, and operates completely under the muggle government’s rules
and regulations.”

“So my money in this bank is managed separately from the galleons in my Gringott’s vaults?”

The bank president nodded as he took a sip of his tea.

Harry then said, “So if I got into trouble with the Ministry of Magic, and it ordered my
accounts frozen or tried to confiscate them…”

“We would not be bound by that order,” the president replied. He added, “I daresay that
Gringott’s would also take a dim view of complying with that order under present
circumstances.”

Harry frowned. “So, if a convicted Death Eater had his accounts frozen or confiscated by the
Ministry of Magic, and the goblins did comply with that order, then he or she could still get money
from accounts they may have in your bank?”

The bank president coughed a bit, then confirmed for Harry that was indeed the case.

“So, Mr. Jenkins, what would it take to have a Death Eater’s muggle accounts frozen?” Harry
asked.

“The order would have to come from Her Majesty’s Government,” the president replied.

Harry nodded. “Is there any sort of cooperation between governments, so that the Ministry of
Magic could ask the muggle government for its help in this kind of situation?”

Jenkins nodded as he finished off his tea. “The possibility exists, but I’m not aware of that
kind of request ever having been made. Frankly, I doubt that the Ministry would ever dream of a
pure-blooded Death Eater sullying himself enough to use the muggle banking system.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “But without violating your confidentiality rules, would it be fair to
say that the Ministry ought to be having those kinds of dreams?”

The bank president thought for a moment, then smiled. “Yes, Harry, I think I can say that the
Ministry’s dreams have always been a bit too unimaginative.”

Harry nodded as a clock chime struck the hour. A few seconds later, the bank president’s
telephone rang, and he informed Harry that a Mr. Abrams had arrived and asked for him.

As Jenkins walked Harry upstairs to an empty conference room, he said, “I understand that Mr.
Abrams is one of the very best barristers in the wizarding world.”

Harry replied, “He came highly recommended, but I’m glad to hear you say that as well.”

The bank president then said, “Forgive me if it is not my place to ask, but have you set your
affairs in order in case, well…”

Harry gave his host a rueful grin. “No worries, Mr. Jenkins. Given your advisory status it
wasn’t out of place.” He added, “Making sure I have a ironclad will is actually high up on the list
of services I’m hoping to have a barrister provide.”

Jenkins nodded as he guided Harry to the doorway of his meeting room. “Well, if there is
anything else I can do either during or after your meeting, please let me know.”

Harry shook the bank president’s hand, and replied, “Thank you, Mr. Jenkins. I can assure you
that you have already been a big help this morning.”

The bank executive nodded, as Harry turned and introduced himself to the wizard who, within a
few minute’s time, would become the head of Clan Potter’s legal staff.

+++

11:40am
10 Downing Street, London

Hermione Granger was in the middle of a transfiguration spell when her Art Club badge lit up
with a call from Harry. She abandoned the effort mid-incantation and immediately activated her
badge.

“Harry, is something wrong?”

“Erm, everything’s fine…sorry Hermione,” Harry repled. “I know we said mobiles for non-emergency
calls but I haven’t been able to reach you that way for some time.”

“Oh, guess I have been doing a fair bit of active magic,” she replied.

“Where?”

“I’m in a broom closet with Fred and George.”

“The Weasley Twins, eh?” Harry asked. “Do I need to send a prefect patrol over there?”

“Very funny, Harry,” Hermione replied. “I do believe that I told you they had volunteered to
help set up my new office.”

“Yes, yes…just messing with a bit,” Harry replied. “So how has the first few hours gone,
then?”

“Brilliant, for the most part,” Hermione replied. “Bit of resentment from the other interns,
like I feared.”

“Well that’s too bad…any chance that you can join me for lunch?”

“Well, erm, I’m sorry, Harry, but my new boss already asked me,” Hermione replied. “And then
I’ve got meetings all afternoon.”

“Oh, well, that’s alright,” Harry replied. “Just thought I’d check.”

“I’m sorry, Harry, really.”

“No, Hermione, it’s fine,” Harry insisted. “I’ve still got you for dinners and late-night
snacks, right?”

“Absolutely.”

Harry smiled into his badge, wondering if Hermione knew what he wanted to see on his menu that
night. But he put those randy thoughts aside and focused on business.

“So the new barrister is going to work out rather nicely, I think.”

“Really? In all of the ways that you were hoping?”

“Uh-huh,” Harry replied. “I told him to make his legal research on the secrecy laws his top
priority, by the way…he thinks he might have an answer by tomorrow.”

“That soon?” asked Hermione. “That seems awfully fast if he plans on doing a thorough job of
it.”

“I thought so too,” said Harry, “but he assured me that he had a bit of magic up his
sleeve.”

“Well, he is a wizard barrister, I guess.”

“Oh, and another thing,” said Harry. “Right before that meeting I had the chance to talk with
Prescott’s president.”

“Mr. Jenkins?”

“That’s the one,” Harry replied. “It was a very interesting conversation…he danced around his
confidentiality requirements well enough to let me know that there are Death Eaters withdrawing
funds from their muggle bank accounts.”

“Rather ironic, isn’t it?” said Hermione.

“Yes, indeed,” said Harry. “Anyway, the point is that while the Ministry of Magic has frozen the
Gringott’s accounts of all of the Death Eaters who escaped from Azkaban, those orders don’t affect
any money they might have in muggle banks.”

“And the Ministry hasn’t asked the muggle government to follow their lead?”

“Not according to Mr. Jenkins,” Harry replied. “So, I was wondering if…”

Hermione quickly agreed. ““I’ll ask about it during lunch.”

+++

9:30pm
567 Fulham Road
Fulham, London SW7

It was all Lucius Malfoy could do *not* to hex the muggle bird that was ahead of him in
line to use the ATM machine. Humiliating enough to have to dirty his hands with the muggle bank
cards and confounding money boxes, but to have to wait for the privilege?

The money run had been nasty part of his daily routine ever since the Ministry of Magic had
frozen his Gringott’s accounts. The Dark Lord hadn’t cared much for his excuses for the first
missed “donation” to their cause, and shown his displeasure quite emphatically. His initial
response was to rob a muggle bank, but those prats had put some sort of exploding blue ink bomb in
the bag of pounds that they’d made off with, and the black-market money changers had refused to
convert the notes into galleons. And that brought about the next round of expressed displeasure
from his master…after their devastating defeat at the Ministry of Magic, Voldemort had ordered his
remaining forces to go to ground, and to not draw attention to themselves.

Apparently, robbing a muggle bank at wand point whilst wearing their Death Eater costumes was
considered attention-getting.

And so, the elder Malfoy was forced to tap into his own muggle accounts. He knew that Prescott’s
was goblin-owned, and hadn’t been willing to risk walking into the bank and withdrawing funds in
person. ATM machines were the only reasonable recourse. He could have given his bank card to
someone else to get the funds, but there were trust issues, not to mention his reluctance to reveal
to anyone his dependence on a muggle machine.

The woman in front of him finally completed her button pushing and walked away with her cash in
hand. Lucius approached the machine (confidently leaving his crib sheet of written instructions in
his pocket), pushed his card into the slot, and punched in his secret code. When he got to the
withdrawal screen he hit “other,” then punched in a request for 350 pounds (a daily withdrawal
limit that forced him to repeat this process all too frequently).

Malfoy then stood impatiently while the ATM informed him that it was “completing the requested
transaction.” He had done this enough times to know what came next…the “thump-thump-thump” sound of
notes being counted out, just before the little door opened out and gave him his money.

“I wonder how spitefully low the exchange rate will be tonight,” he thought to himself.
Suddenly, he heard a low growling, grinding noise coming from a different part of the machine. He
looked up and read *“We are unable to release funds from your account at this time. Please
contact your bank for more information.”*

“What!” he shouted, pounding on the side of the machine.

His raised voice and actions drew the attention of a bobby who just happened to be driving down
the street in his squad car. The Metropolitan Police officer stopped, rolled down his window, and
asked the predictable question.

“Well, well, well, what’s all this then?”

Malfoy whipped around, ready to raise his wand, before realizing just who he would be aiming
it.

“My apologies, officer,” he finally drawled. “There seems to be a problem with this machine…it
won’t give me my money.”

“Really?” the bobby asked. “Well, that happens sometimes when you don’t have the funds to draw
against.”

“But you don’t understand, officer, I have more than a million quid in that account.”

The bobby squinted at Malfoy.. “Is that so, sir?” he asked. Recalling his pre-shift notice that
arrest warrants had been issued and bank accounts frozen for a number of suspected terrorists, he
added, “Perhaps if you give me your name and account information, we can clear this matter up?”

Malfoy startled a bit at the suggestion. “Erm, no officer, that won’t be necessary. I’ll visit
the bank in the morning. Must be some sort of clerical issue.”

The police officer nodded as he looked the Death Eater over quite carefully. Malfoy was dressed
in a tailored suit and tie, but was under a glamour spell that made him look nothing like the
photographs that had been circulated around with the notice.

A radio call came into his squad car, announcing that a group of hooligans was pestering some
tourists just down the road. The bobby decided that there wasn’t enough in front of him to justify
not responding to that call.

“Take care, then sir,” he said, just before driving off.

Malfoy let out a deep breath, realizing just how close he had come to creating a little more
attention to himself. With a string of curse words seldom heard in the wizarding world (much less
muggle London), he turned back to the machine, hoping to at least retrieve his bank card.

The machine had no intentions of giving it back.



46. Chapter 46
--------------

Muggle Summer

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

Chapter 46: Another Bad Day for Lucius Malfoy

*Thursday, July 5, 10:15am
Hampstead Gardens, London*

Harry Potter cursed his poor planning at the sound of multiple arrivals

“Merlin’s balls! Multiple pops in an alley-way half-block down the street…knew we should have
taken time to set up the anti-app wards!”

“Language, Harry and save it for the after-action,” Hermione advised through her muggle com
gear. As she was inside the building that Harry had been guarding, she asked, “Are they inside or
outside the perimeter?”

“Outside.”

“Enough time to clear the street and call for help, then.”

“Agreed.”

Harry looked about at the half-dozen muggle police officers that were milling about and ordered,
“Get off the street and inside, the lot of you!”

“What for, Guv’nor?” asked one of the older constables (who was clearly not used to taking
orders from a teenager).

Harry let out breath in frustration as he ran up to the officer and shoved his semi-authentic
MI-5 identification badge up into his face.

“Because I’m the ranking officer on the scene and I bloody-well say so, you git!”

The police officer took a step back, quickly apologized, and then took it upon himself to ensure
that Harry’s orders were carried out. Harry then took cover behind a post box, and looked across
the street towards Hermione’s father. Despite the situation, he couldn’t help but smile at what he
saw.

Roger Granger had already established a defensive position behind a police car and donned his
dragonhide vest, shield-charmed headgear and “wizardvision” goggles. His mini-Uzi rested on his
thigh (shoulder stock open and finger on trigger) while he carefully arranged a small collection of
Weasley products in a line down beside his feet.

“Roger, Emily...are you with me?” Harry asked into his radio.

Roger looked up and smiled. “Locked and loaded, Harry,” he replied.

“My husband, Secret Agent Rambo,” lamented Emily, as she took in the scene from her perch. “All
set here, Harry,” she added.

“Good…switching over to badge-phone now,” Harry replied. He quickly activated his Art Club
badge’s “party line” and announced, “Listen up, folks…Harry here with an update…we’ve got nine…no,
ten unidentified wizards in muggle clothing that just apparated outside our notice-me-not line.
Prepare to back-up.”

Too many people replying at once made it impossible for Harry to make anything out.

“One at a time,” said Harry. “Remus, you first.”

“Are they friendlies?”

“Probably not,” snarked Harry, “but that doesn’t mean they aren’t from the Ministry.”

“Where did they arrive, and what are they doing right now?” asked Tonks.

Harry looked down the street and announced, “The apparated into an alleyway, and tried to make
their way towards our position before they hit our defensive perimeter. Right now they’re…they’re
talking with the muggle police who’ve got the street blocked off on their side.

“Talking?” asked Tonks. “Harry, what kind of magic have you guys used in the last few
minutes?”

“I used a detection spell and *Finite Encantatum* five minutes ago,” Hermione replied.

“Doesn’t sound like it would warrant sending out an Oblviator squad,” Tonks replied. “Harry do
you want me with you, or should I go to the Ministry and see what they’re up to?”

Harry paused and said, “Well, since they haven’t drawn wands yet…go to the Ministry, Tonks.”

“Will do, boss.” Tonks replied.

“Ron…found out anything yet?”

“Erm, hold on, Harry,” Ron replied, from his office within the Ministry of Magic. In the
intervening seconds Harry ordered Fred and George to badge-jump to Emily Granger’s roof-top
position with a bag full of their toys.

“Harry,” said Ron, once he got back on, “Neville’s here with word that MSO detected use of an
*Imperious* curse forty-five minutes ago, about a mile from your location.

“Well that makes sense, given what I’ve found here,” said Hermione.

“MLE dispatched Mad-Eye and an Auror team to investigate,” Ron added.

“Mad-Eye?” asked Harry. He quickly looked back down the street and asked, “Roger, is there more
there than what meets the eye?”

Hermione’s dad peeked around the corner of the police car and compared what he could see with
his bare eyes against the view fed to his goggles from a helmet-mounted camera.

“Same-same,” he announced (using the code phrase that indicated that he didn’t electronically
“see” any disguised, disillusioned, or invisible wizards).

“Same here,” said Emily.

“Auror teams have five, not nine or ten, and Moody’s not one of them,” Harry reasoned. He was
just about to order a nasty welcome for their guests when another series of pops was heard coming
from the opposite direction.

“More muggle-dressed company,” Harry announced, as a second group of wizards appeared from an
alleyway.

“Five of them,” called out Fred from the rooftop. “And…the blond hair bloke with a limp is
one-eyed and uglier than he seems.”

“Really?” asked Harry. “How do you think we should greet him, Fred?”

“Harry…play nice,” warned Hermione.

The Queen’s Wizard sighed. “Yes, dear…Roger, stand down, pick up, and move to Emily’s
position.”

Harry joined the other Art Clubbers on the roof, scribbled out a quick note, and called for
Hedwig (who had been perched on a nearby lamppost). With the message attached to her leg, Harry
gave her a quick pet and soft-spoken command.

Fifteen seconds later, a rather distinctive owl swooped down and landed on a newspaper box right
next to where Mad-Eye Moody was standing. The retired Auror turned towards her (while his magical
eye remained locked onto the building’s entrance) and took the offered message.

+-+-+-

*Dear Moody,*

*CONSTANT VIGILENCE!*

*We had the situation under control before you guys showed up.*

*We also have the drop on you and your men.*

*Meet me in two minutes inside the donut shop just to your right if you want an
explanation.*

*If you want a live-fire training exercise, walk through the notice-me-not charms and climb up
onto one of the parked cars…you’ll have a better view of Fred and George’s inventory in
action.*

*Hugs and kisses,*

*The-Boy-Who-Swamped*

*+-+-+-*

The retired Auror looked up along the rooflines on each side of the street and let out a deep
laugh that carried down the street. He really wanted to see Harry in action, but as he glanced down
both ends of the street he saw at least fifty different muggles that would need to be obliviated if
he pushed for a fight.

“Another day,” he thought to himself. He turned and began barking at the other Aurors, berating
them for not immediately recognizing the perimeter warding. Sending both teams of Ministry
personnel back to the office with a cryptic comment about an ongoing Unspeakable operation, he
stepped inside the restaurant.

After a quick threat assessment he sat down at the counter and asked a waitress for a cup of
tea.

“*Well*,” he said to himself, “*At least this time the Boy picked a meeting place that
has both types of plumbing*.”

+++

Later that afternoon, Hermione Granger attended a meeting in the Prime Minister’s office, along
with the new Home Secretary, both the MI-5 and MI-6 Chiefs, and a recording secretary. The only
agenda item was that morning’s action.

The MI-5 Chief began by reciting known facts. At 9:30am that morning, a Mrs. Evelyn Hawthorne, a
thirty-four year old mother of three from Hampstead Garden, calmly walked into a NatWest branch on
Golders Green Road and, after patiently waiting her turn at a teller’s window, attempted to rob the
bank at gun point. The bank teller, after wetting his trousers, made the startling observation that
the gun being held to his face had a plug solid barrel. He alertly called for help, and bank
security apprehended the woman before she could exit the building.

The Yard investigators that arrived at the scene were puzzled by the fact that the suspect made
no attempt to hide her face, or wear a disguise. While there had been other criminals that had
displayed this kind of brazenness/stupidity, none that they could recall had done so *and*
chosen to rob their own personal bank. In addition, the “gun” she had used turned out to be a solid
piece of metal, with no working parts (much less bullets).

But perhaps most puzzling was her freely offered (and unique) motive:

“Because a very nice man asked me to.”

Mrs. Hawthorne had no criminal record, and was described by her neighbors as an intelligent,
polite and outgoing person who frequently volunteered her time at church. She had no apparent
financial issues, and obviously didn’t fit any of the standard profiles.

On the day previous, MI-5 ¾ had made arrangements with Scotland Yard to be immediately notified
of any bank robbery attempts, particularly those involving criminals dressed in odd clothing or
black robes and white masks. While the woman’s clothing was relatively normal (if a bit dated), the
other facts in the case warranted a phone call, and within thirty minutes of the attempt MI-5 ¾
arrived on scene and took command of the scene.

When the MI-5 Chief reached this point in the story, he asked Hermione to pick it up from there.
With both her original and revised notes in front of her, she stood and said,

“The facts as they were first relayed to us suggested the possibility that Mrs. Hawthorne had
been magically coerced into the attempt. This, by the way, has been confirmed by sources within the
Ministry of Magic. On the chance that the wizard or witch responsible might still be at or near the
scene I immediately apparated to the site.”

“Apparated?” asked the new Home Secretary.

“Erm…I used magic to travel near-instantaneously from my office here at 10 Downing Street to the
crime scene. Once there I anchored the badge-jump of Agent Potter and two other MI-5 ¾ agents.”

“Badge-jump?”

“A different means of magical transportation that allows the twelve Order of Arthur members to
come to the aid of each other.”

“Were you in need of aid?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “Had there been Death Eaters in the area, then yes. But as a
practical matter, it’s much easier to badge travel to a location that you’ve never been to before,
and the two agents were muggles, and therefore unable to apparate.”

“But you didn’t badge-travel, right?” asked the Home Secretary.

“Erm, no, I apparated. It’s not impossible to apparate using only a coordinate set, just more
difficult.”

“Let her get on with the story, Mr. Chisholm,” asked the MI-6 chief.

Hermione waited for an exchange of stares between the two men before continuing. “My three
colleagues immediately established a perimeter around and above the bank entrance while I entered
to examine Mrs. Hawthorne’s weapon. Diagnostic spells indicated that there was magical residue on
the object, so I used *Finite Encantatum* and discovered that the gun was, in fact, a
transfigured stainless steel fork.”

“What did you say you did?” the Home Secretary asked.

Hermione smiled. “I cast *Finite Encantatum*…it’s a magical spell that stops currently
operating spell effects. For example, I used it during yesterday’s briefing to end the
demonstration you demanded as proof that magic exists.”

“Pity, that,” the Prime Minister interjected (rather jovially). “I thought that flying pig of
yours was doing a rather nice job singing Gilbert and Sullivan.”

“Thank you,” Hermione replied with a smile.

“Would you be able to do the same sort of trick with a fork?” asked a skeptical Home
Secretary.

Hermione looked towards the Prime Minister for guidance. After getting a nod of approval she
drew her wand. Not seeing a fork in the immediate area, she looked down at the Prime Minister’s
desk and asked, “Would that stapler do?”

When the Home Secretary gave a noncommittal shrug Hermione gathered her thoughts and then cast
her spell. The others in the room marveled as the stapler slowly melted, morphed and reformed into
a handgun. Once Hermione lowered her wand and gave an all-clear, the MI-5 Chief reached over for a
closer look.

“A P226?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Finding what appeared to be the magazine release, he popped open the box and examined the
individual bullets as he handed the gun over to his colleague. Letting out a low whistle he then
asked, “And .357 cartridges, as well?”

“Erm…that was what I was aiming for, sir.”

The MI-5 Chief passed the cartridge over to his colleague, who reloaded it and began playing
with the release.

“Will this handgun fire, Agent Granger?” he asked.

Hermione chewed on her lower lip. “I’m not sure, sir, and quite frankly wouldn’t want to be the
one to find out.”

The MI-6 Chief looked up and smiled as he carefully placed the handgun back onto the desk.
“Perhaps, then, it might be more useful in its original state?”

Hermione nodded as she raised her wand and cancelled out the transfiguration.

The Prime Minister, who had been almost beaming with enthusiasm at this display, asked, “Dame
Hermione, why is it that your transfigured handgun was so much more realistic than the one used at
the crime scene?”

Hermione’s ears turned a bit red, and she paused before responding. “There are probably a couple
of different reasons why, sir. First, it’s easier to transfigure objects that are similar in size,
weight and material.”

“And the stapler was closer in weight and size to a handgun?”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione replied. “Second, it’s much easier to get a realistic transfiguration if
you are familiar with the target object.”

The Home Secretary smiled. “And just how would a pretty young lady such as yourself be familiar
with a gun like that?”

This time, it was towards the MI Chiefs that Hermione turned for a visual cue. When they both
smiled and nodded, she slowly reached inside her jacket, carefully pulled out a weapon, and said,
“I am authorized to carry the exact same handgun.”

Surprised, the Home Secretary asked, “Mind if I take a look?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, then checked the safety, popped open the cartridge, and handed
both pieces across the desk. The Home Secretary, who was well versed in military weaponry, took
particular interest in the bullets.

“These aren’t standard issue, are they Miss Granger?”

“Erm, no sir,” Hermione replied. “Custom-made silver points.”

The Home Secretary frowned. “That’s quite a weapon, why not something smaller?”

“Because, sir, lycanthropes have thick hides.”

“Lycanthropes?” asked the Home Secretary.

“Werewolves, you idio…erm, Mr. Chisholm,” said the MI-5 Chief (remembering that he did, in fact,
report to the Home Secretary). He then turned to Hermione and asked, “Agent Granger, what
inferences can be made if firearm familiarity was the main factor for Mrs. Hawthorne’s play
gun?”

Hermione nodded. “That would suggest that the wizard who transfigured the fork didn’t know much
about muggle firearms.”

“Should we be surprised?”

“Not really, sir, unless it was a muggle-born witch or wizard who cast the spell.”

“And Death Eaters tend not to be muggle-borns, correct?”

“That would be an understatement, sir,” Hermione replied.

The Home Secretary returned the gun and magazine box to Hermione. After reloading the magazine,
she slipped the gun back inside her jacket. This action caught the Home Secretary’s attention (if
forced to confess, he would have admitted that his eyes had been drawn to a hint of Hermione’s
cleavage).

“Agent Granger, how is it that you can carry that hefty gun under your jacket without giving
your tailor fits?”

Hermione (after once again gaining silent permission) opened up her jacket. As if there was a
gun-sized cavity within her chest, she reached into the one eighth-inch thick magical holster that
lay flat against her shirt and smoothly pulled her weapon.

“Magic,” she replied with a smile.

The Prime Minister once again berated the Home Secretary for getting Hermione’s story off-track,
and asked her to continue. Hermione told them that a few minutes after she examined the toy weapon
the first team of Aurors arrived at the scene. It only took a few more minutes for her to summarize
their actions from that point up to Harry’s meeting with Mad-Eye.

“Once Agent Potter explained what had happened to Retired Auror Moody, the three of us made a
visual and magical sweep of the area for potential magical threats. Finding none, we returned
situational control to the Yard and left to write-up our reports.”

The Prime Minister thanked Hermione, then asked for her opinion on what had happened. She told
them that, based on the gathered evidence, she believed that a Death Eater cast an *Imperious*
spell on Mrs. Hawthorne, gave her the fake weapon, and then ordered her to rob the bank, with
intentions to have her turn the money over to him. She then linked this to that morning’s report
that three separate attempts had been made to access frozen Death Eater bank accounts using ATM
machines. Finally, she concluded that the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort were low on funds and
needed some cash.

“Why didn’t they try to rob a wizard bank?” the Prime Minister asked.

Hermione smiled. “They probably thought their chances were better on our side, as there has
never been a successful theft from a wizard bank,” she replied.

“Why is that?”

Hermione paused, and decided to risk a little cheekiness. “Probably has something to do with the
guard trolls and dragons.”

When the Prime Minister wondered out loud why more wizards hadn’t tried to steal from muggle
banks, Hermione noted that there had been one successful attempt (that, unfortunately, they only
had learned about that morning). She also added that Agent Potter was presently meeting with his
contacts within the Ministry of Magic, as he had voiced the exact same question.

The new Home Secretary, who had been aware of the wizarding world for all of a day, asked
Hermione, “Why do wizards need money in the first place? Can’t they conjure up their own food,
clothes and lodging?”

Hermione nodded, and replied, “Magic does go a long way, Mr. Home Secretary.” She used utility
bills as the prime example, with wizard households using magic to replace electricity, magic to
heat and cool their homes…even for water and sewer service. She told them that transportation costs
were minimal; most wizard buildings were connected to the floo network, which only has a small
monthly subscription fee, and floo powder was pretty cheap.

“Just how cheap?” asked the Home Secretary.

“Erm…don’t know actual costs, since I’m not a homeowner, but I do know that it only costs five
sickles to use a public floo.”

“Five sickles? How much is that?”

Hermione paused. “Well, the current exchange rate is about five pounds to the galleon, and there
are seventeen sickles to a galleon and twenty-nine knuts to a sickle, but then there are also
conversion fees based on transaction amounts, and other factors…”

“Maybe it would be easier to compare it to something used in both worlds?” suggested the Prime
Minister

“Oh, well, that makes sense,” Hermione replied. “Let’s see…with five sickles you could either
buy a pint of ale at the Leaky Cauldron, or a triple-scoop ice cream cone at Fortescue’s.”

“Ah, beer,” the MI-6 Chief noted, “the universal currency.”

“And just how far can you travel for the price of a pint?” asked the Prime Minister.

“It’s a flat fee,” Hermione replied. “You can travel anywhere within the domestic floo
network”

“So you could commute to work from Edinburgh to London for just a few quid?”

Hermione nodded. “Less, actually, if you were using your private connection rather than a public
one.”

“Amazing,” said the Home Secretary.

“So I’ve found most of what I’ve learned of the wizarding world to be,” noted the Prime
Minister. He then said, “Which brings us back to the original question…why do wizards need to work,
and why would Death Eaters need to rob banks?”

Hermione paused, then cast her eyes downward as she admitted, “I’m sorry, Mr. Home Secretary,
but I’ll need to get back to you if you want a definitive answer. Economics isn’t an elective at
Hogwarts, and not a subject that I have studied.”

The Home Secretary frowned. “Seems like a relatively simple question, Agent Granger.”

The Prime Minister scowled a bit at his newest Minister before turning to give Hermione a
reassuring smile. “My apologies, Dame Hermione. I’m afraid that Sir Edmund and the rest of us must
take care to remember that you are not just a teen-aged student, but one that has only been part of
the wizarding world for, what…five years?”

“Six, Mr. Prime Minister.” Hermione replied quietly.

“Right, then,” the Prime Minister said. “Perhaps you can tell us something about what wizards do
spend their money on, besides ice cream and beer.”

Hermione looked up and nodded, as she paused just long enough to put together what she hoped was
a coherent response. “The shops in Diagon Ally generally sell books, robes, magical objects and
animals, and potions ingredients. Only the most powerful witches and wizards can conjur meals that
has any nutritional content, so I guess that they also have to buy their own food.”

“Let’s start with that list, then,” the MI-6 Chief said. “What sorts of magical objects would
these terrorists be interested in buying?”

Hermione was starting to respond when an idea struck. “Excuse, me gentlemen, but I just realized
that I know a few people who are much better positioned to answer that question. Would you like me
to see if they are available?”

“Who are they, and how long would it take for them to join us?”

“They are rather successful businessmen with a shop in Diagon Alley.” Hermione turned to the MI
chiefs and added, “It’s the Weasley twins…you might have heard about their visit to
headquarters?”

Four eyebrows arched up as the MI-5 and MI-6 Chiefs sat back a bit in their chairs. The MI-6
Chief then replied, “So long as they promise not to blow anything up or turn us into canaries…”

The MI-5 Chief added, and turned towards the Prime Minister. “Fred and George Weasley are
wizards and Order of Arthur members that have been collaborating with MI- 5¾’s Q Branch…quite
brilliant, and relatively harmless, so long as Dame Hermione keeps them on a short leash.”

Hermione smiled. “That I will. They also can be with us presently, if you wished.”

The Home Secretary sported a puzzled look. “I thought I read somewhere that this building was
protected from wizards popping up out of nowhere.”

Hermione nodded, then replied, “Mr. Home Secretary, I designed, installed and control the
protective wards. I can change them to allow certain people to apparate in and out.” She then
unbuttoned her suit jacket to reveal the badge that was fixed to the inside lining. “But to answer
more directly, as members of the Order of Arthur, Fred and George can by-pass anti-apparition wards
by badge-jumping.”

The Prime Minister looked around the table, and seeing no objections gave Hermione a curt nod.
After a brief badge-call and assurances that he’d play nice, Fred Weasley badge-jumped into the
meeting, wearing dragonhide gloves and an apron that were both covered in a thick green fluid. The
noxious clouds of gas coming off of this liquid was sufficient to set off the room’s smoke
detectors and automatic sprinklers.

“Fred!” Hermione exclaimed as she quickly pulled out her wand. “Get rid of that goo!”

As he was protected by a bubblehead charm, the look of shock on the Weasley Twin’s face was
readily visible. He immediately badge-jumped back to the shop, leaving Hermione behind to deal with
the mess. She cast a bubble-head charm on herself, then banished the visible cloud of gas that was
left behind. She then turned to cast bubble-heads on the Prime Minister and others, only to
discover that they had taken matters into their own muggle hands and were all wearing emergency
full-face respirators.

At that moment Kingsley Shacklebolt and two muggle security agents burst into the room with
weapons drawn. The Auror quickly assessed the situation, then used a freezing-spell to ice over the
sprinkler system’s output. He then told the muggle agents to see that the sprinkers were shut-down;
once they left, he helped Hermione magically dry out the office and its occupants.

After many apologies and assurances that Fred really was on their side (Auror Shacklebolt
offered his recommendation somewhat tentatively), Hermione asked a contrite Order of Arthur member
to return to the meeting room, this time wearing regular robes (as much as lime green and yellow
checkered robes could be considered “regular). When the MI-5 Chief asked for an explanation, Fred
said that he had been working on an experimental potion that would allow someone to see through
glamour charms and disillusionment spells.

The MI-6 Chief thought for a moment, and then asked, “So you are trying to create a magical
potion to do what we non-magicals can already do with our camera equipment?”

“Erm, yes, I guess so,” said a rather bemused wizard. Fred in turn, asked what the gas masks
were for, and was impressed with the their utility as “replacements” for magic.

“I dare say this shows just how much there is to know about each other worlds,” commented the
Prime Minister.

Giving Fred a curt expression, the Home Secretary added, “As well as the dangers involved in
moving from one world to the other.”

Hermione took this comment as a stinging rebuke and looked down at her folded hands. “Once
again, I apologize, Mr. Home Secretary,” she said. “But please don’t blame Fred for the accident. I
was the one who asked him here to help me.”

“Dame Hermione, again, you are too self-critical,” the Prime Minister gently chided. “I for one,
recognize and appreciate the willingness of you and your magical colleagues to provide assistance
to Her Majesty’s Government. You are trying to chart an unknown course between our two worlds, and
there are bound to be bumps along the way.”

“Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister,” Hermione replied.

“It’s Tony, right?” he asked, using some of the charm that helped make him such a brilliant
politician.

“Yes, Mr., erm…Tony.”

Fred then was asked to give an off-the-cuff lesson not just on wizard world economics, but on
the very nature of magic itself. He explained that potion ingredients couldn’t be magically
created, and needed to be either grown, caught or gathered. Similarly, most magical objects like
wands and brooms could only be created by skilled craftsmen, using proprietary or complex spells
developed over lengthy apprenticeships. This dove-tailed into a description of the Weasley’s
business ventures, and in particular their now booming business selling shield-charmed cloaks and
hats. Hermione explained that there were large variations in magical skill and power with the
wizard population, and that the reasons for the Weasley Twins’ financial success lie more in their
wizarding skills than their business acumen.

The Home Secretary took all this in, and then asked, “So, Agent Granger, in terms of power and
ability, just how would you rank yourself and the other magicals working for us?”

As Hermione stuttered, Fred answered for her. “Hermione here would be way too modest to answer
properly, so let me say that she is, far and away, the brightest witch in our generation.”

“Oh, Fred, stop it,” Hermione chided.

“It’s true, and you know it, Hermione,” Fred replied. He then turned to the others and asked,
“Do any of you have any idea on just how unique the warding is for this building?”

When nobody chose to respond, Fred continued, “They are without a doubt the best you can buy
right now, and I should know because we just paid a cauldron full of galleons to have them
installed on our shop.”

“Fred?” Hermione asked. “Why did you pay the goblins to…”

“Because we needed to pay them so that they could pay you,” Fred replied with a smile. For the
others’ benefits he explained that Hermione had invented attenuated wards, and had licensed the
goblins to sell and install them within the wizarding world. He then asked,

“Just how much did you charge to ward this building and the Queen’s property?”

Hermione shrugged. “Nothing…just part of our jobs.”

Fred nodded. “Thought so,” he said.

The MI-6 Chief asked what the cost would have been.

Fred did some mental math, then replied, “Well, I only know about this building, Windsor,
Buckingham and Cumberland. Assuming the goblins gave you the preferred customer discount, roughly
two-hundred and fifty thousand Galleons.”

“More than a million pounds sterling?” asked a skeptical Home Secretary.

Hermione chewed on her lip for a moment, and then reluctantly nodded.

“And that’s just a bit of her brilliance,” Fred claimed. “Let’s see, who else…of course there’s
Harry.”

“You mean the Queen’s Wizard?” asked the Home Secretary.

“Yes, as well Lord Gryffindor,” added the MI-6 chief.

“And an MI agent,” said the MI-5 chief.

“Not to mention Clan Chief, Patriarch, Tri-Wizard Champion and *Teen Witches Weekly*’s
‘Most Snoggable Wizard’ three years running,” said Fred (causing Hermione to blush a bit).

“So he has a lot of titles,” said the Home Secretary. “Is he a leader? Can he fight?”

Hermione’s firm grip on Fred’s elbow was needed to keep the rather irate Weasley from drawing
his wand. “Can he fight?” Fred bellowed. “Can he fight?” he said again, this time with more
amazement in his voice.

“Harry successfully fought and rescued Hermione from a troll his first year of school. At the
time, he was eleven years old, four-foot nothing and five stone only if he was wearing really wet
robes. Second year he saved my sister’s life by killing a forty-foot basilisk with a sword. Third
year he was casting a Patronus spell, fourth year he fought a dragon, dueled the Dark Lord to a
draw, fifth year he led Hermione, my brother and sister, and three other teens in a successful
fight against a dozen of the most powerful Death Eaters alive, and then Voldemort again,
and….Hermione have I missed any Dark Creatures?”

Hermione smiled. “You mean besides Umbridge?”

Fred and Hermione shared a laugh (in spite of themselves), as the Prime Minister spoke up.

“Mr. Chisholm,” he said with a clipped tone of voice. “You should know that this issue was
raised by the previous Home Secretary, just a few moments before he was sacked. Both Her Majesty
and I have every confidence in Dame Hermione, Lord Gryffindor and their colleagues.” He paused for
effect, then snarked, “Although we might have cause to reconsider Mr. Weasley and his green
goo.”

As Hermione snorted quietly to herself, the Prime Minister continued. “You have been briefed on
the Battle of Ascot, as well as the actions by Treasury yesterday that no doubt led to this
morning’s events. They have earned their titles and our trust, and if you aren’t on board then let
me know now so that I can go shopping for another Home Secretary.”

Home Secretary Chisholm sat back and sucked in a breath. “No need, Mr. Prime Minister, and I
apologize…I was only looking for information.” He then apologized to Fred and Hermione and
contritely added, “I guess the notion that we have teenagers running this operation shouldn’t be
any more surprising than the finding out about the wizarding world itself.”

Hermione replied with a nod and slight smile. “No worries, sir.”

“Right, we’ve beaten this dead horse enough,” said the Prime Minister. “Dame Hermione, would it
be possible for you to look into possible motives for these robberies and report back? I’m also
interested in any protective measures that we can use to guard muggle financial institutions from
magical attack”

“Of course, Mr. Prime Minister,” Hermione replied. “Should I start right away, or am I needed
for the balance of the meeting?”

The Prime Minister looked down at his agenda. “No, I think that we’ve got things covered here.”
He then looked up and gave Hermione a warm smile. “And if something does come up, I do have your
mobile number on speed dial.”

Hermione choked down an “eep!” and reminded the Prime Minister to call Wally or Steve is she was
“out of range.”

Deciding that Gringott’s might be the best place to conduct her research, she called Harry,
asked him to meet her at the Twins’s shop, then badge-jumped with Fred back to Diagon Ally. As soon
as they arrived, Fred asked why the Prime Minister rode horses, and what was to be gained by
beating dead ones.

*5:00pm
Gringott’s, Diagon Ally*

After listening to Clan Chief Potter and his Consort describe the day’s events, Ragnok the
Goblin sat back in his office chair and placed his fingertips together in thought.

“These are troubling events,” he decided, “with implications for both of your enemies.”

“Both, Clan Chief?” Harry asked.

The Goblin Chief smiled a toothy smile. “Well, perhaps it is more appropriate to identify the
current wizard government as your adversary.”

Harry nodded, and then said, “As I consider Head Auror Robards more friend than enemy, I was
surprised to find him so reluctant to discuss this morning’s attempted bank robbery.”

“As well he should, my friend,” Ragnok replied. “It might have led to a discussion on why the
Ministry of Magic failed to report the somewhat more successful robbery two weeks ago.”

Having gone far past the point where Hermione had to worry about directly addressing the Goblin
chief, she asked, “May I ask how you know about that robbery, as well as why and to whom the
Ministry needed to report?”

The Goblin replied, “We have learned that on the day following that bank robbery, an attempt was
made to exchange the stolen and soiled pound notes for Galleons at a money changers in Knockturn
Ally.”

“Soiled?” asked Harry.

The Goblin nodded. “The bag of money that was handed over to the thieves had an exploding pack
of blue ink within it.”

Harry asked, “Why didn’t the Death Eater just *Scourgify* the money?”

Ragnok smiled an even larger and toothier smile. “They no doubt tried, but the ink is derived
from a goblin dye that is magically resistant.”

Hermione nodded. “So the Goblin nation helps the muggle financial industry to protect their
assets.”

Nodding, the Goblin replied, “We help them protect not only their assets, but also our own. We
are heavily invested in the muggle world, as the Ministry of Magic bars goblins from investing in
wizard business.”

“That makes sense,” Harry replied. “If I might ask, did you act on this information?”

“Indirectly,” Ragnok replied. “Voldemort was sent a message warning him not to make future
attempts against muggle banks.”

“Might I ask what type of message?”

“A goblin howler, delivered inside the mouth of the severed head of the money changer that the
Death Eaters tried to do business with.”

While Hermione was taken aback, Harry whistled, and had to confess just a bit of admiration for
the directness of approach. Neither asked how the Goblins delivered the message, respecting their
ally’s need to keep certain secrets to himself.

“Guess this morning shows he didn’t think too much about the warning,” Harry noted.

“Indeed,” Ragnok replied. “The Grand Goblin Council currently debating how to develop a warning
that he will be forced to heed.”

Harry nodded, then asked, “And you said that the Ministry is required to report this type of
theft?”

Ragnok nodded. “By treaty they must report any attempt by a wizard to steal from a muggle bank
within their borders. It must be made less than three days of its occurrence, whether it is
successful or not.”

“Whom do they report to?”

“The International Confederation of Wizards,” Ragnok replied.

“Because of secrecy concerns?” Hermione asked.

“Exactly,” said the goblin. “It is one of the key indicators that a wizard government is failing
to police its own citizenry, and to uphold their joint obligation to preserve the magical world’s
secrets.”

Harry thought for a moment, and then asked, “That’s because the muggles would be keen to figure
out just how their banks were being robbed, right?”

Hermione nodded. “And there would be enough c-mugs out there to provide answers.” She then asked
Ragnok, “Are there sanctions involved?”

Ragnok nodded. “More than three attempts within a one-year period is cause for international
intervention.”

“You mean other wizard governments would take control of the Ministry?” asked Harry.

“Not necessarily,” Ragnok replied. “First would come a intensive audit of Ministry practices and
personnel. Only if that audit showed more than a tolerable amount of corruption, or if the robbery
attempts continued, would the Ministry lose its authority to rule.”

“I can see why the Ministry might be tempted to underreport, then,” said Harry. He then asked,
“How often does this sort of intervention happen?”

“Rarely” said the Goblin. “We goblins have Gringott’s branches in nearly every wizard country,
and our warnings are usually enough to keep the criminal elements in line.”

Harry nodded, and then asked “So what do you suggest we do?”

Ragnok paused for a moment, and then replied, “Tell the muggle Prime Minister that the goblins
are working on the problem, and warn them that there may be some changes at the Ministry of Magic
in the near future.”

Harry and Hermione stood and offered their thanks for Ragnok’s valuable time. Just before they
left his office, Hermione remembered her assignment from the Prime Minister.

“One last question, Clan Chief?”

“Of course.”

“Do you have any idea why Voldemort is so desperate for cash?”

Ragnok smiled. “We understand that since the attack on the Ministry there has been a run on, and
resulting extreme shortage of, certain types of potion ingredients.”

“Which types of potion ingredients?” Harry asked.

The goblin replied with a toothy grin.

“Those typically required for the healing of battlefield wounds.”

+++

*10:30pm
Soho, London*

If glamour charms could accurately reflect the underlying condition of the wizard that wore
them, then Lucius Malfoy would have looked like a mess as he walked the streets of muggle
London.

The failed robbery attempt was a complete and utter disaster. He thought that he had covered all
contingencies, having used a generic black-market wand to ensnare his muggle accomplice, then sped
off in a muggle taxi before the Ministry could track down his use of the Unforgivable. He knew that
muggles like to rob their own banks, so what was the risk that his involvement would be detected?
Apparently more than he had anticipated, as he watched the foiled attempt from a safe distance.

Now, a charitable man might have forgiven Lucius, and blamed his poorly thought-out plans on the
lingering effects of too many *Cruciatus*.curses, held too long.

But his Lord was neither a man, nor forgiving.

The best he could hope for was that the Ministry’s self-protection skills would kick in, and
that it would once again fail to report the robbery attempt. It was too much to hope that the
Goblins wouldn’t find out, though, which is why he now found need to provide ransom not just for
his life, but for those of his wife and son.

In retrospect, he should have raided his emergency funds from the start, and depleted the cache
before attempting more risky means of satisfying his Master. But emergency funds were just that…for
emergencies, and so long as that infernal money machine was spitting out pound notes he had been
fine.

A hundred thousand galleons in gold, fifty thousand pounds sterling, two dozen large uncut
diamonds and an assortment of precious jewelry were waiting for him in a place that only he could
recall visiting once he left. Lucius sighed, and once more wished that he could have escaped his
Master’s reach, and that he could hide in the safety of his Patriarchal suite. But the Dark Lord’s
reach was far, and his mark most insistent when it burned in need of his attendance.

As he approached The Rookery, the elder Malfoy recalled far happier visits, when the streets of
Soho were filled with muggle wenches, and those he could make so against their will. He briefly
considered seeking more of that kind of company, before realizing that he would be too tired to
enjoy a warmer bed. Malfoy was, in fact, too tired to notice that he was being watched as he
entered the building and took the lift up to his private floor. Not that he would have cared,
having come to rely upon the anonymity of his glamour charm.

A quick lift trip was followed by a quick meal and reassuring check that his stash was still
there for the taking. Deciding that a good night’s sleep in a warm bed was worth the risk of
delaying his return to Voldemort, he shed his clothes and crawled under the silk sheets of his
four-poster bed.

His sleep was more fitful than good.

His dreams would have been worse, though, had he been aware of the calls that had gone out and
the plans that were being made on the city streets below.



47. Chapter 47
--------------



**Muggle Summer**

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 47: Muggle v. Malfoy**

*Friday , July 6, 5:45am
87 Shaftesbury Avenue
Soho, London*

It was with great reluctance that Lucius Malfoy rose from bed and prepared for the day. He
bathed, shaved, then dressed in his finest robes (still confident that his glamour charm would hide
his attire under the image of a muggle business suit). The Malfoy Patriarch then emptied his
emergency cache of money into an ever-expandable bag (that had been left in his safe for just that
purpose) and tied it to his belt.

Lucius called for a house-elf to fill the dining room table with a rich assortment of breakfast
foods. As he sat there, eating what he hoped was not a last meal, he considered his muggle
transportation options for the trip to Salisbury. It would have been so much easier (and quicker)
to apparate, but after the disaster at the Ministry, he could no longer trust that the records of
his magical transit would be ignored or lost before acted upon.

The thought of that debacle and its aftermath gave Lucius one more opportunity to curse
Mulciber's parents for foregoing the contraceptive charm on the night that the idiot Death
Eater was conceived. Couldn't have thought to suggest that the Dark Lord order a few of their
spies to maintain cover, just in case his plan to take over the Ministry failed, could he?
Mulciber, the smart guy from Ravenclaw, with his brilliant scheme that would have vaulted him to
the front of the Inner Circle's pecking order had it succeeded. Of course, the Slytherins he
was trying to climb over on the way up the corporate ladder would have been cunning enough to plan
for a worst case. Unfortunately, though, those same Slytherins were too busy angling amongst
themselves for post-victory power…because there was no reason why their undercover operatives
shouldn't have been able to hand them the keys to the Ministry of Magic.

But now they were all gone…Edgecombe at Floo, Richards and his crew at MSO, Reg in the
Minister's office….all of them. For more than two years Death Eaters had apparated, floo'ed
and hurled Unforgivables with the confidence that (so long as they weren't too blatant) their
undercover colleagues would watch their backs and cover their tracks at the Ministry. But now, the
Dark Lord and those who had escaped the battle had to assume that almost every swish of their wands
could be detected and tracked down by those who wished them harm.

This was the reason why Voldemort had ordered his minions to go to ground, and to avoid the use
of magic at all costs (at least until they could determine just how vulnerable they really were).
This was also the reason why so many survivors of the battle were still injured and in pain; as the
“no-magic” order included healing spells, magical potions were the only safe recourse. This had
made Snape even more pompous and insufferable, and forced the Death Eaters to forage for potion
supplies and gather the funds to pay for them.

And sent Malfoy down the path that had led to where he was presently.

Lucius longed for the good old days (i.e. six weeks previous), when healing spells would have
been hidden by the unplottable location of their hide-out. But the goblins had (amazingly) decided
to cooperate with the Ministry of Magic and their “seized assets” orders. Reasoning that the
Ministry couldn't seize Death Eater assets that they couldn't find, Gringott's had gone
to great lengths (and great expense) to collapse the wards that made any piece of real estate owned
by a sanctioned land owner unplottable. Fortunately, the crash of these wards was a spectacularly
loud event, and Voldemort and his followers had been given enough warning time to leave their
suddenly plottable location before the MLE came snooping about.

Efforts to find a suitable hideaway owned by an unsanctioned and unmarked pure-blood sympathizer
had been unsuccessful; Malfoy was certain that at least one such place existed, but suspected that
knowledge of just who owned that place and where it was located was a secret guarded by a
*Fidelius* charm. As a result, they had been forced to scatter about the countryside, and to
stay in locations where their use of magic could be tracked.

About the only silver lining to the sharp downgrade in living conditions was that Voldemort also
had to abide by the “no-magic” rule (as best as his own temper would allow). There had only been an
occasional lapse into application of the *Cruciatus*, and each time this happened they'd
been forced to quickly move their base of operations to less pleasant locations. Given the
conditions of the basement Voldemort now inhabited, Malfoy doubted that he'd be cursed again
for his failure, or summoned to that cursing by the Dark Mark's burn….not that there
weren't mundane ways for Voldemort to show his displeasure (particularly with MacNair and his
axe still around).

Feeling the heft of the money bag tied to his belt, Malfoy decided that he could afford to hire
a taxi for the two-hour trip to his Master's lair. He rose from the table, used the loo and
combed his hair one last time before taking the lift down to the lobby. He brushed by the house-elf
concierge and his wishes that Lucius “have a nice day,” and strode out onto the street with a
swaggering demeanor that was bolstered (at least for the moment) by the cash that he now
carried.

The sidewalk and street were relatively deserted, but not oddly so given the hour and location.
He took note of his surroundings only long enough to determine that there wasn't a taxi cab
within hailing distance, then turned towards Piccadilly Circus, where he no doubt would have better
success. As luck would have it (or so he thought), a car for hire turned onto the street and made
it's way towards him not fifteen seconds into his brisk walk. When he hailed it down, the
elderly male driver rolled down his window, tipped his hat, and asked,

“Where to, Guv'nor?”

“Salisbury.”

“Salisbury as in Salisbury Avenue, Guv'nor?”

“No, you fool…Salisbury as in Wiltshire.”

“Oh, well, where do you want to go in Salisbury?”

“I'll have more than enough time to tell you along the way.”

“Fair enough, Guv'nor…you do know it will be a steep fare…sure you wouldn't rather I
take you to Waterloo Station?”

“Yes, I am aware of the cost, and no, I'd rather enjoy my own company, thank you.”

The driver paused as “he” made use of her peripheral vision. She then smiled, and said, “Well if
it's solitude you want, Guv'nor, we can help.”

Malfoy had just enough time to wonder about the driver's choice of pronouns before he was
struck in the back by two darts attached to fifteen feet of wire. A split second later, 50,000
volts of electrical energy traveled down that wire and overwhelmed Malfoy's central nervous
system. Dazed, confused, and stripped of all neuro-muscular control, Lucius dropped to the pavement
in a heap.

Secret Agent Wally shouted the all-clear once his TASER gun had fully discharged. By that point,
Ron and Harry had already leapt from their hiding places and made their way to the taxi. The two
teen-aged wizards quickly opened the car's rear door and stuffed the still-trembling body into
the back seat. They then climbed inside and sat on top of Malfoy's body as a still-disguised
Tonks slid over to the passenger seat. Wally jumped behind the wheel and sped away, leaving
Hermione and her parents behind to explain away the questions of potential eyewitnesses.
Fortunately, their governmental ID's were enough to avoid the need for memory charms.

As soon as Wally turned the corner, Tonks reached into the glovebox and handed Harry a syringe
full of muggle sedative (which stopped Lucius's squirming just as well as any magical stunner).
She then crouched down in her seat and covered herself with Harry's invisibility cloak. Five
minutes later, Wally pulled the taxi into the delivery bay of an unused warehouse.

Once the garage doors closed, Harry and Ron quickly dragged their prisoner's body out of the
taxi and into the back of a waiting lorry. They stripped Malfoy's body bare, bound him in
muggle handcuffs and ankle chains and had Tonks cover his body with the invisibility cloak. Ron
then stuffed the clothes, the money bag, and Malfoy's wand into Harry's expandable rucksack
and badge-jumped to Windsor Castle. Meanwhile, Wally and Steve had used their Art Club badges to
trade places (Steve had remained at the Palace with the Queen), and Tonks changed her physical
appearance from an elderly taxi driver to a gangly teenaged boy. Steve and Tonks then jumped into
the lorry's cab, and drove back out onto the street as Harry held the bay doors open. Harry
then closed the garage doors, drew his wand, and shrank the taxicab down to the size of a
child's toy.

Other than the badge-jumps, it was the first bit of detectible magic that they had used all
morning.

Harry pocketed the car and, after double-checking the area, used Sir Evan's anchor point to
join Ron within the Round Tower. Thirty minutes later, Steve and Tonks arrived at Windsor Castle in
the lorry, carrying with them the first prisoner to be held in the Castle for more than three
hundred years.

+++

Thirty minutes later, Emily Granger was washing up after her all-night vigil when she heard her
husband enter their ground-floor apartment.

“Honey,” Roger called out, “do you know where my surgery kit is?”

“Erm, it's in one of those boxes we've got stored in the tent, dear, why?”

A minute later Roger entered the bathroom holding his kit in one hand and a large pair of dental
pliers in the other. “Thanks dear…the kids need some help with the prisoner.”

“Really?” his wife asked. “What kind of help?”

“They just found another portkey.”

“But I thought the plan was for them to do the strip search in town?” Emily asked.

“They did,” Roger replied. “But then they decided to get out their magical dowsing rods to do a
body cavity search.”

Emily squirmed at the thought. “And they needed to use those rods instead of their wands?”

Roger snorted. “Yeah, Harry said he draws the line at sticking his wand up troll nostrils.”

Emily squirmed some more and asked, “So they found something that requires dental tools to
extract?”

“Erm, well, actually yes,” Roger replied.

“So how would an evil wizard keep a portkey stuck up his...?”

“Relax, Emily…wrong body cavity.”

“What?”

“Hermione says Mr. Evil Wizard had one of his molars charmed as a voice-activated portkey.”

“Oh, well, then…I guess your kit would come in handy.” Emily then glanced into her husband's
bag and noticed something missing. “Not planning on using Novocain, Dear?”

Roger gave Emily a hard look. “This Malfoy is good friends with the wizard that tried to cut
Hermione down in the Department of Mysteries.”

Mrs. Granger nodded. “I didn't think so.”

+++

*11:30am
Somewhere Hidden in Wiltshire*

Voldemort knew better than to ignore the latest message from Gringott's. Not willing to risk
another semi-public dressing down, he ordered his followers (save for Nagini) to leave him alone in
his ersatz basement-level chamber.

This new message was wrapped in a manner more boring, but less bloody, than the last. Within the
cardboard box was a small red gemstone. Having seen these types of missives before, Voldemort
placed the stone down on top of a low table and touched the top facet with his wand tip. A
translucent purplish beam of light sprung from the crystal and resolved into a pensieve-like
monochromatic image of a dozen goblins, facing him from behind a wide table.

“Hear now, Voldemort, nee Riddle, the recorded words and the ruling of the Grand Goblin
Council!” cried out the image sitting at the table's center.

Voldemort scowled at the cheek of these goblins to order him around. Unfortunately, having
recently lost three-fourths of his wizard minions to death, injury or capture, scowling was about
all that he could do to them.

“You and yours have ignored our previous warning, and dared destruction of the veil of secrecy
that protects the magical world,” said the goblin. “Your minion Lucius Malfoy attempted another
robbery of a muggle bank, this time through use of an Imperious Curse.”

“Bugger!” Voldemort muttered to himself, “That insolent idiot!”

“We await word on the extent of damage before passing final judgment,” the goblin continued. “In
the interim, we require Lucius Malfoy's head on a stake, to be placed in front of
Gringott's Diagon Ally branch as warning to those whose actions risk ruin for our world. Do
this before the sun rises on the morrow, or your warning will be made much worse.”

The image sputtered out, leaving the Dark Lord alone with his thoughts.

“Rookwood!” he shouted.

The sound of clumping footsteps traveled through the basement as the former Unspeakable climbed
down the stairs to attend his Master.

“Yes, My Lord.”

“I have need to summon Malfoy.”

“Yes, My Lord, you wish me to bring the car around, then?”

Voldemort scowled at the inconvenience.

“Yes, Rookwood.”

+++

The area around the village of Avebury had one of the highest ambient magical energy levels
within all of Britain. The stone circle, of course, had something to do with this; back in its
heyday the ancient megalith was almost as effective as a wizard's wand when it came to focus.
Avebury's megalith was neither as large nor as powerful as Stonehenge, of course, but it also
wasn't as popular with tourists (both muggle and magical). This made it an ideal location
(particularly when the weather was dark and stormy) for the discrete wizard who wished their spell
use to be lost in the background.

Augustus Rookwood had been an Auror before being recruited by the Department of Mysteries, and
had been trained to drive muggle automobiles. As one of the few Death Eaters with this skill (and
the only one within Voldemort's Inner Circle) he had been pressed into service as the Dark
Lord's personal driver once apparition became traceable. It was therefore his job to ferry his
Master from their current hide-out to Avebury. It would have been a better job if he'd been
able to find a magically-resistant car with more headroom, but such was his current lot in
life.

The Death Eater parallel-parked his Cooper Mini after a twenty-minute drive, and then scouted
the area on foot whilst wearing a “notice-me-not” charmed cloak. Not finding any security threats,
he returned to the car and gave his similarly-dressed Master the all-clear. After Voldemort climbed
out of the passenger seat of the automobile the two wizards walked thorough the driving rain into
the center of the circle, where Rookwood bared his left arm for the Dark Lord's use. As
Voldemort dug the tip of his wand into the Dark Mark, he cast the summoning spell that focused on a
single Death Eater, rather a blanket summons that called all who were marked.

Rookwood could tell by the scowl in his Master's voice that Lucius Malfoy wasn't going
to be making a social call.

+++

*1:00pm
Round Tower, Windsor Castle*

Malfoy's Dark Mark had been burning for more than hour by the time the sedative that Harry
had injected wore off. It was by no means a nice way to regain consciousness.

Metal manacles stopped Lucius's attempt to grab his Mark with his right hand, and leg irons
kept him from running to find relief. He cried out from the pain that came from both arm and mouth,
only to find his cries muffled by bloody cotton gauzing. After another painful cry (this time it
was more a cry of alarm), Lucius used his tongue to confirm that his mouth was short a few molars;
a quick failed apparition attempt then confirmed his fears that his escape routes were rather
limited.

Malfoy collapsed back down to the ground, and fought through the painful throbbing in his arm
and lower jaw to assess his surroundings. He was dressed in muggle clothing and held in a
windowless stone-walled cell. His muggle arm and leg manacles were chained to the wall, and a
tunic-clad house-elf was carefully watching him with arms crossed over his chest.

“Dobby!” Malfoy mumbled through the gauzing. “Get me out of here.”

“Bad Wizard forgets he gave Dobby clothes. Dobby is Free Elf, now,” the house-elf replied. Dobby
then popped out of the cell, leaving Lucius to consider just how much more pain he could take from
his Dark Mark.

A minute later Malfoy heard the jingling of keys, and the door to his cell opened. Harry Potter
then confirmed Malfoy's worst fears by entering the cell with a wand in his hand and evil smile
on his face.

“Good afternoon, Lucius, did you have a nice little kip?”

Malfoy's cursing was muffled by the cotton.

“Oh, sorry,” said Harry, “Let's see if the bleeding has stopped.” He aimed his wand at
Malfoy's mouth and banished the bloodied gauze. “It that better?”

Lucius decided on the silent treatment, so that he could focus all of what energy he had on pain
management.

Harry snorted, then asked. “Say, is there a reason why your Dark Mark is all splotchy and
purplish?”

Malfoy said nothing in response, other than “I want to see my solicitor.”

“Oh really?” Harry asked. “Do you have a muggle solicitor?”

“Why would I need one of those?” Malfoy spat out.

“Because you were captured by muggles, using muggle means,” replied Harry. “And despite the fact
that you're being watched over by a house-elf and prevented by wards from apparating away, you
are being detained at the muggle Queen's Pleasure.”

Malfoy's attempt at witty repartee was hampered by the need to spit out the mouthful of
blood that had gathered.

“Oh, sorry about the dentistry,” Harry replied. “Wouldn't do any good for you to use that
portkey, would it?”

“That would depend on your perspective, Potter.”

Harry smiled and gave Malfoy a polite round of applause. “Oh, well done, Lucius, that was almost
as snarky as Snape.”

Malfoy instinctively knew it would be pointless to try and take a swing at Harry, but made the
attempt anyway. He quickly wished that he hadn't moved his left arm.

Harry's smile grew even more evil as he noticed Malfoy's pain. “Quite a predicament you
appear to be in, Lucius…your Master wants you to visit him, doesn't he?”

“Of course, you insolent brat,” Malfoy spat back.

“How much longer before the burning drives you mad?”

Malfoy stayed silent.

“Oh come, now, Lucius…I might be able to help if you were a little more candid.”

Malfoy glared at Harry. “You'll get nothing from me, and the Mark will kill me before I
talk.”

Harry chuckled. “Oh, that's nothing we didn't already know. Based on what Dobby has told
us, we're quite certain that you are resistant to *Veritaserum*, and that we couldn't
trust a word that you said.” He then cocked his head and asked, “But are you that willing to die
for your Master?”

“Doesn't look like you are going to give a choice,” Malfoy shot back.

“Ah, but there's where you are wrong,” Harry replied. He then reached into his pocket and
pulled out a long strip of fabric, and, after a *Petrificus Totalus* spell ensured
Malfoy's cooperation, wrapped the fabric around his upper left arm. A second reach into
Harry's rucksack produced a foot-long piece of wooden dowel, the end of which Harry tied into
the knot of fabric.

“I know you don't think too much of muggles,” Harry said during this process, “but I think
you would be amazed at just how smart they are. For instance, did you know that muggles have
discovered a way to remove a Death Eater's dark mark?”

Harry stepped back once he finished wrapping what was now a loose tourniquet and admired his
handiwork. He then cancelled the petrification spell, and reached into his rucksack for a
hacksaw.

Malfoy drew in his breath at the sight.

“It'rather brutal, I'll admit,” said Harry, “but if the choice is death or the sound of
one hand clapping….”

“What!” Malfoy shouted. “You're really going to cut my arm off?”

“Oh, no, no, no, Lucius,” Harry replied (his smile never having left his face). “You should
remember that you are in muggle custody….muggles don't do that sort of thing to their
prisoners…it would be cruel and unusual punishment.”

As a fresh wave of pain shot up from his Dark Mark, Malfoy spat out, “Then what are you going to
do with that saw?”

Harry smiled. “Why, give it to you, of course.”

He made good on his word and levitated the hacksaw into Malfoy's grip.

Harry then noted, “Just because I can't lop off your arm to save your life doesn't mean
that you can't help yourself.”

As he used his wand to magically lengthen the chain that held Malfoy's right arm, Harry
said, “So what do you think, Malfoy, do you have what it takes? Do you have the same kind of
courage that a muggle would display in your situation?”

“That's ridiculous,” Malfoy stammered. “No muggle would be strong enough to cut off his own
arm.”

“Ah, but there's where you are wrong,” Harry replied with a smile. “A couple of years ago
over in the States, a muggle hiker out on his own in the wilderness got his arm trapped between
some rock. Waited days for help, but nobody came. So rather than die of dehydration, the muggle cut
off his own arm.”

“Preposterous.”

“No, it's the truth,” Harry replied. “Of course, all he had was a pocket knife for the
job…that hacksaw should cut through bone way faster.”

Malfoy looked down at his throbbing Dark Mark, and then over at the saw held in his right
hand.

Harry interrupted his decision-making process. “But maybe you need a role-model closer to home?”
he asked.

When he caught Malfoy's eye again, Harry simply said, “Pettigrew.”

Lucius's eyes went wide at the thought. He asked, “Not planning on giving me any pain
potion?”

Harry shook his head and clucked. “Sorry, Lucius, but you might have heard…there's a run on
healing potions these days.”

He then made his way to the door. Just before leaving, he turned and said slyly, “Besides,
Lucius…Wormtail didn't need any pain potion when he cut off his hand in order to summon his
Master. Do you really need any to avoid your Master's summons?”

The jail door slammed shut, leaving Malfoy alone with his choices.

Outside, Harry let out a deep sigh and cast a reinforcing *Silencio* on the cell door and
walls. He said a silent prayer that Hermione wasn't there to hear his little speech, afraid
that she might think he was turning too Slytherin.

Sir Evan came up to the door and asked, “So how long do you think he'll last?”

“I don't know,” Harry replied. “Depends on how much pain he's learned to tolerate under
his Master's care.”

When Harry shuttered at more thought of what he'd just done, a small set of arms appeared
and wrapped themselves around his leg. “No worries, Harry Potter, sir,” said Dobby. “You are a
great wizard. Bad Master doesn't deserve your help keeping him alive.”

“Yes, I know, Dobby, but thanks,” Harry replied. He then paused, and asked, “Dobby, thank you so
much for coming to help me today.”

“Dobby is honored to help the great Harry Potter, sir” the house-elf replied.

Harry smiled and asked, “Dobby, my friend, would you be willing to help me with another
task?”

Dobby's eye's went wide. “The great wizard Harry Potter calls Dobby, friend?”

“Oh, of course, Dobby…because you are.”

Dobby's eyes watered and he burst out into tears as he once again hugged Harry's leg.
“Dobby would do anything for his great friend Harry Potter, sir.”

Harry smiled as he crouched down to Dobby's eye-level. “Dobby, there's a couple of very
good reasons why we need your former master alive, and that means that somebody has to watch over
him to make sure he doesn't bleed to death. I don't think that I'm strong enough to
watch him cut off his own arm…would you be willing?”

While Dobby's command of the Queen's English was limited, his sense of poetic justice
was anything but… as a Malfoy house-elf, Dobby had lost count of the number of times he had been
forced to physically punish himself. The house-elf gave Harry a face-splitting smile and nodded his
head vigorously. “Dobby would like to help.”

Harry smiled and patted Dobby's arm. “I thought you might be willing.” He then reached into
his rucksack and produced a pair of omnioculars.

“And while you're there, would you also be willing to record the event?” Harry asked as he
handed the glasses to the house-elf. “We should make sure that Malfoy's master knows just how
truly loyal he is.”

Dobby smiled, nodded his head, and then popped away to his vigil.

+++

*1:30pm
10 Downing Street, London*

Having spent his lunch hour practicing the use of quill and ink, the Prime Minister was able to
manufacture a splotch-free signature upon the official letter that Hermione had prepared. As she
dusted the page and rolled up it up for a wax seal, he asked, “Are we prepared for the consequences
should the Ministry not act upon this notification?”

Hermione nodded. “I believe so, sir. The goblins are confident that any intervening
international body would be better than what's there now, and we do have the support of quite a
few junior staff at the Ministry.”

“Are we prepared, then, if the Ministry does act in self-preservation?”

Hermione smiled. “As I noted in my briefing document, Harry and I believe there to be
significant gains for the muggle world in either event.”

It was the Prime Minister's turn to smile. “Well let's send this off straight away,
then.”

Hermione nodded, wrote an address on the outside of the message, then turned her attention to
the newest full-time resident at 10 Downing Street.

“Beckham, we've got some work for you.”

A large male Great Horned Owl swooped down from his perch in the corner of the Prime
Minister's office and silently landed on his desk. Hermione showed the Prime Minister how to
attach his message to the owl's outstretched leg, then opened the window.

“We're not expecting an immediate response, Beckham,” Hermione said, “so you can fly back
straight away from your delivery.”

The owl bobbed its head up and down, and then gracefully flew out the window.

+++

*3:30pm
The Round Tower
Windsor Castle*

Harry was up in his Round Tower quarters reading an advanced charms textbook when Dobby suddenly
appeared with a pop.

“Come quick, Mr. Harry Potter, sir. The Bad Master is all bloody and has fainted dead away.”

Harry quickly called for Roger Granger's help. Harry ran down the stairs as Roger ran up,
and they met in the middle in front of Malfoy's cell. They entered a blood-splattered cell and
found Lucius's severed arm on the floor, while blood spurted through an opened artery where
that arm used to be attached.

“Bloody fool didn't tighten the tourniquet!” Roger yelled, as he ran to tighten the knot
with the wooden rod. Harry, thinking that he may have forgotten to show Malfoy how the muggle first
aid device worked, used a freezing spell on the stump to staunch the flow of blood. He then took in
the Death Eater's deathly pail complexion, and asked Dobby to retrieve some blood replenishing
potions. The house-elf immediately popped away to an adjacent cell, which had been converted into a
magical dispensary of sorts. He returned with three bottles of potion, which Harry quickly forced
down the Death Eater's throat.

Not sure whether he had reacted correctly, or in enough time, Harry badge-called for Tonk's
help. The young Auror jumped to Harry's location, and after a quick assessment cast a spell
that fully cauterized Malfoy's wound.

After ensuring that their prisoner would survive, Tonks asked Harry what had happened. He
quickly recapped his conversation with Lucius, then reached down to the floor and retrieved the
omnioculars from where Dobby had dropped them.

“Bloody harsh,” Tonks said, after she reviewed the recorded images. “He was using the saw to try
and cut through his manacles, and didn't switch over until the Dark Mark was all bloody and
oozing…want to look?”

Harry and Roger both politely declined. Harry did, however, suggest the name of someone who
might be interested in the images, and asked if Tonks would deliver a recording of the image. The
metamorph smiled as she used her wand to get an image dump.

“Harry, I can't decide whether this is the greatest prank you've ever pulled, or your
most Slytherin stunt.”

Harry gave her his best “sweet and innocent” look. “What?” he asked. “Don't you think that
the public has a right to know?”

Tonks shook her head. “Don't ever let me get on your bad side, Harry,” she said. She then
used a quick party-line badge-call to find an Art Clubber not currently located within an
anti-apparition zone. The best she could find was the back of the Weasley Twins's joke shop.
She jumped, then slipped out the back door just far enough to apparate away to her final
destination.

-->



48. Chapter 48
--------------

Muggle Summer

**A/N:** Well, the last chapter certainly was the most controversial to date. On the one
hand, some folks thought Harry was turning Dark (or at least Dark Gray) with his “Jigsaw” homage
(it really was Max Max that inspired me, by the way), while others complained that I had
emasculated Voldemort and the DE’s. Detailed responses to these topics will probably play out in
the next few chapters. Like this one.

Finally, while there *are* song lyrics in this chapter, they’re lifted from a poem written
in 1804 that is clearly in the public domain

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

Chapter 48: Golden Bows and Silver Platters

Friday , July 6, 4:30pm
St. George’s Chapel
Windsor Castle

With forty-five minutes to go before Evening Service, the Dean of St. George’s Chapel made his
way out beyond the choir screen for a brief scan of the neve. The last of the afternoon public
tours had made their way through the area, and he often made it a point to ensure that the worship
area wasn’t too heavily trodden upon. There were, of course, chapel staff with these
responsibilities, and he did trust them, but…the afternoon sun was lovely this time of year, when
its rays filtered through the stained-glass windows above the chapel entrance, and it was a good
excuse to escape (if but for a moment) the ever-present financial concerns that came with the
upkeep and use of a six-hundred year old building.

As he made his way up the central aisle he spotted a familiar face that was obviously out of
sorts. After a glance at his watch let him know that he had a few minutes to spare, the clergyman
strode down to the last pew, and slid over to take a seat next to the Queen’s Wizard.

“I would ask how you were this fine afternoon, Lord Gryffindor,” the Dean said, “but I’m afraid
that the answer to that question is readily apparent.”

Harry snorted. “It has been a rather bad day at the office, Dean Conner, and please, just Harry,
alright?”

The vicar nodded. “You seem to be carrying a heavy burden…is there anything you want to share
with me, Harry?”

The Queen’s Wizard shook his head. “Thanks for asking, Dean, but I really can’t talk about
it.”

The vicar paused for a few moments before replying. “You know, Harry, anything we discussed
would be just between us.”

“I know, sir, but there are, erm…official reasons why I can’t say anything.”

The clergyman nodded. “Perhaps there is somebody else, then, with the proper clearances…Dame
Hermione, perhaps?”

Harry shook his head. “No…I mean yes, she is somebody I could talk with, but I’m afraid that it
wouldn’t help.”

“Why is that, son?”

“Because I already know what she would say.”

“But she seems so…how can you know for certain what she would say?”

Harry snorted. “Do you know that saying about letting your conscious be your guide?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, when my conscious talks inside my head, it sounds more like Hermione than Jiminy
Cricket.”

“I see,” the Dean replied. “So something has happened, something that you obviously feel bad
about, and you don’t think that she would approve.”

Harry nodded.

The clergyman sighed. “Harry, when you and Dame Hermione first came to me a few weeks ago, I was
struck by just how responsible you both were. Focused and mature beyond your years…when combined
with the Queen’s confidence I was intrigued enough to make a few polite inquiries.”

Harry swiveled his around to give the vicar a look of concern.

“Nothing too insistent, mind you,” the dean said, as he placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You
see, a good shepherd must know his flock.”

“Erm…sure,” Harry replied. “And what did you discover from your inquiries?”

“Besides the fact that you and Dame Hermione are deeply committed to both each other and to the
Queen’s service?”

When Harry smiled, the vicar patted his thigh.

“I learned that you both ride in chariots of fire.”

When Harry’s blank expression told Dean Conner that he didn’t understand the reference, a
thought sprung to mind. He stood and said, “Harry, you are welcomed to stay here and reflect, but
you should know that our evening service starts in a few minutes.”

Harry stood. “Oh, well…don’t want to cause a disturbance.”

“No worries, Harry,” the clergyman said. “I know of a place with a bit more privacy.” Looking
down the side aisle, he called over one of his acolytes.

“Paul,” he asked, “would you please bring my young friend here to the Royal Closet?”

Once the white robed assistant had led Harry off towards the front of the Chapel the vicar moved
to an anteroom and made two mobile calls.

The first was to a Castle resident who knew a few things about warrior’s guilt.

The second was to his choral director, with a last-minute music request.

+++

A few minutes later, Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by a question.

“Mind if we join you, Harry?”

Harry looked up and gave Sir Evan and Roger Granger a feint smile as they quietly sat on the
ends of the low bench that Harry had been using.

“So you two know the Dean, then?” Harry asked.

Sir Evan nodded. “We’ve crossed paths a few times…imagine it comes with living and working here
now.” He then took a look at the immediate surroundings and said, “This has to be the fanciest
closet in the world.”

Harry nodded once more, as organ music began to play from below.

The “Royal Closet” was a private, inward-facing enclosed balcony that sat just above the
Chapel’s choir. Built by Henry VIII so that his first wife, Catherine of Aragon, could watch the
Order of the Garter ceremonies, its stained glass windows were set in dark wooden frames, and
displayed heraldic motifs and coats of arms. The private viewing area provided the three men the
opportunity to talk quietly without bothering other worshipers.

Harry asked about their prisoner’s condition as the organist began the introit. Roger told Harry
that Malfoy’s condition was stable, and that he was still unconscious. Dobby was keeping watch.
They then sat quietly, until the chapel choir filed in and the organ began to play a familiar
hymn….familiar to Harry not because his Aunt and Uncle had taken him to church, but due to the fact
that Hermione’s dad had shared with Harry his love for classic muggle comedy.

“Mr. Granger,” Harry asked, “why are they playing a *Monty Python* song in church?”

Roger chuckled as Sir Evan looked at Harry with confusion.

“I think the question should be why they played a church song on *Monty Python*.”

Harry’s follow-up question got nipped by Roger’s hand signal, allowing the first lines of the
hymn to be heard clearly:

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England’s mountains green?

Sir Even found a hymnal and flipped to the right page as Harry head the choristers sing about
building the city of Jerusalem in England (which Harry considered strange, because knew for certain
that that city was located in Israel). But then he heard calls for golden bows and arrows and
spears, and then something about a chariot of fire…

And that caught Harry’s attention fully for the last verse:

*I will not cease from Mental Fight
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England’s green and pleasant Land.*

Harry looked down into the chapel as Dean Conner broke away from the processional and took his
seat across from their vantage point. The vicar quite clearly looked up towards the Royal Closet
gave the three men a small smile and nod of recognition.

“So he knows?” Harry asked quietly.

Roger evenly replied, “In general terms, yes.”

“Sending me a message, then?”

“Perhaps,” Sir Evan replied.

“And what do you think that message is?”

The eldest Art Clubber paused for a moment before replying.

“Probably that war is hell, and that a just war sometimes forces good men to do bad things, and
that they aren’t any less worthy of being loved for it.”

Harry processed the response before chuckling. “Is that today’s lesson, then?”

Sir Evan shook his head. “No, Sir Harry, it’s what Albus Dumbledore told me some sixty years
ago.”

“Dumbledore told you that?” Harry asked with surprise.

Sir Evan shrugged his shoulders. “We were behind enemy lines, no real options for taking
prisoners…”

“Albus ‘Always-give-them-another-chance’ Dumbledore didn’t give quarter?” Harry asked
incredulously.

When Sir Evan shrugged his shoulders again and nodded, Harry pressed for details. He got none,
with the war veteren explaining that his exploits with Dumbledore were either too painful to talk
about, or something he had promised never to talk about.

Or both.

A few minutes of silence passed while Harry tried to process this new information. He had just
started to wonder whether Dumbledore had considered his horrible childhood at the Dursley’s one of
those “bad things” that he had been forced to do whilst fighting a just war when Hermione’s dad
tried a different tack.

“You know, you weren’t the only one there at the time, Harry,” he noted.

“Yes, but it was mostly my idea and I was the ranking officer,” Harry replied. “The blood’s on
my hands.”

Sir Even then said, “After you left Tonks came back with the Ministry’s file on Lucius
Malfoy.”

“Why did she do that?” Harry asked.

“So that we could better understand that Malfoy deserved worse than what you offered him.”

Harry shook his head. “The ends don’t justify the means.”

Sir Evan waited a few seconds before repeating. “War is hell, and a just war sometimes forces
good men to do bad things…Harry you gave the man an option to live…that’s far more than he would
have done if roles had been reversed.”

Harry shook his head. “But we’re supposed to be better than they are.”

Sir Evan shook his head. “But Harry, war is hell, and a just war…”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Harry said.

Roger then asked, “So looking back, what would you have done differently? What could you have
done differently?”

Having thought about these questions for more than hour, Harry had a quick response.

“We could have given him an anesthetic…we could have had his arm surgically removed...I could
have done less taunting, and enjoyed the taunting less…”

“Did you enjoy it, Harry? It doesn’t look like you’re happy about that now.”

Harry thought for a moment, and then replied, “I enjoyed having the upper hand, for once…but I
didn’t enjoy all that blood.”

“And you cared enough to take the quick actions necessary to save his life, correct?”

“Yes but for our own purposes,” Harry shot back. “If we didn’t need him alive I might have just
let him bleed out.”

“Really?”

“Well, I…I don’t know.”

Sir Evan nodded. “Let’s say you decided to lop off his arm before the pain got too intense. How
exactly would you explain that to a muggle board of inquiry investigating maltreatment of a
prisoner?”

Harry hemmed and hawed. “Well, I guess we didn’t have proof that the summons would kill him,
even knowing that Voldemort would call for him after the goblins delivered their ultimatum.”

“So you gave the prisoner a choice. Could have been a little less painful for him, and a cleaner
cut made, but we certainly couldn’t provide him with a sharper weapon, could we?”

“Suppose not.”

“So then, quit beating yourself up, young man,” Sir Evan ordered. “You gave the prisoner the
chance to make his own choices. You could have done better with the tourniquet, but you saved his
life and now you learn from your mistakes. Carry on, boy.”

“Not so simple, I think,” Harry replied. “We still have the guinea pig armor issue to deal
with.”

Roger sighed and nodded his head. “You know, Harry, there was a day when common criminals could
reduce their prison sentences by voluntarily serving as test subjects for experimental
medicines.”

Harry thought for a moment, and then said, “I’m sure that your daughter would tell us that given
their status those prisoners couldn’t do anything on a truly voluntary basis.”

“Rubbish,” Sir Evan replied. “Give him a range of options, and so long as not volunteering
doesn’t make his punishment any more severe than it would have been…”

“And that just gets us to a different problem,” Harry replied. “There’s no capital punishment in
muggle Britain, and we don’t trust the Ministry to keep him locked up if we turned him over.”

Sir Evan thought for a moment, and then asked, “Do your goblin friends have any qualms about
offing their prisoners?”

Harry’s eyes brightened at the thought. “I don’t think that they’re shy at all about that sort
of thing.”

Roger then asked, “Is there any way to strip Malfoy of his magic?”

Harry frowned. “I don’t think so, at least not with any spell or ritual I’m aware of.”

“Okay, so you can’t take his magic…can’t you make him forget how to use it?”

Harry gave Hermione’s dad a wide-eyed look, wondering if he would have been sorted into
Slytherin had he been born with magic.

“I never thought of that before,” Harry replied. “Sounds brilliant, but I’ll have to ask
Hermione.”

With a nod the two older men stood, and as Roger patted Harry on the shoulder he said, “You do
that, then, Harry…but not before you ask her for a good hug, okay?”

Harry nodded. The two older men then told him that they were returning to the Tower. Harry said
that he would be along in a bit, as he wanted to wait and ask Dean Conner a question after the
service. Roger and Sir Evan nodded, then walked out of the small alcove.

Not five seconds later, Harry felt another familiar presence enter the room, and a moment later
the familiar presence was replaced by a familiar set of arms that wrapped themselves tightly around
Harry’s chest.

“Your dad just give you a call?”

Hermione’s vocal confirmation was lost as her lips pressed up against the nape of Harry’s neck.
Rather than ask again, he reached around and guided her down towards a seat next to him. Harry then
wrapped his arm tightly around Hermione’s waist. As she rested her head on his shoulder, the two
quietly sat for the balance of the service.

Once the service ended, they made their way downstairs, and asked for a few minutes of Dean
Conner’s time. He quickly agreed, and led him to his office. Once there confessions were made,
loving affirmations were provided, and the details of “just war” doctrine were discussed.
Particular attention was paid to Augustine directives on the treatment of prisoners and the
administration of mercy, especially when the vanquished were no longer a threat to peace.

Harry and Hermione returned to the Round Tower hand in hand, with borrowed treatises by St.
Augustine and Thomas Aquinas, and homework assignments to be completed before a scheduled follow-up
meeting.

+++

6:30pm, Round Tower

As Fred and George Weasley helped engineers from MI- 5 ¾’s Q Branch set up a test fire range in
the false-story just below the Round Tower’s roof, Harry and Hermione reviewed contract language
with their vanquished prisoner.

“So, let’s review then, Lucius,” said Harry.

“Your first option is a life-sentence to be served in a muggle detention facility. We’d have to
help them keep you incarcerated, so we would necessarily obliviate every single memory you have
about the wizarding world, and how to perform magic…including apparition. The muggles will then
send you to a secret military prison on the island of Diego Garcia…it’s in the middle of the Indian
Ocean, and more than a thousand miles away from land, so you’d have problems leaving even if you
did remember how to apparate.”

Hermione jumped in, adding, “There would be opportunities for a reduced sentence…down to only
ten-years if you voluntarily drop your mental shields and allow us unfettered access to your
memories. We also would guarantee you reasonably pleasant living conditions.”

“At least when compared to Azkaban,” said Harry. “But mind the fact that you would be released
from prison into the muggle world, and without your memories of magic, you’d be somewhere in
between an ignorant squib and a muggle.”

Taking note of the prisoner’s scowls, Hermione decided keep things moving.

“Under the second option, you start by publicly denouncing Voldemort…we’re thinking a press
conference on the front steps of Gringott’s. We’d announce it in the papers to make sure you get a
good-sized crowd to talk to. Several hours before that, though, we’d break your wand and you would
swear a wizard’s oath to answer any question that we ask of you truthfully, completely, and without
intent to deceive. And then you’d talk. After the press conference, we’d turn you over to the
Ministry of Magic.”

“Without a knut to my name, one-armed and with a death sentence hanging over my head?” asked
Malfoy rhetorically.

“Well, the first two for sure, but we wouldn’t have any say in how the Ministry dealt with you,”
Hermione replied.

“Moving on,” said Harry, “Option three is simple…we hand you over to the goblins.”

“Again,” said Malfoy, “I would be without a knut to my name, one-armed and have a death sentence
hanging over my head.”

“With goblins, I’d have to agree with you on all three points,” Harry admitted.

“Let’s get to the last option, then,” Malfoy snarled.

“Ah, yes, Option four,” Harry replied. “You agree to be a test subject for body armor that we
believe may be resistant to the killing curse. We get three shots, and will try not to kill you
outright. If the armor works, you will be released from our custody tonight and dropped off exactly
where we picked you up this morning. Your memories of the entire day’s events would be erased by
magical means. Your wand stays with us, but you’d get your money bag back, and we’d make no effort
to capture you for three days.”

“And if the armor doesn’t protect me, you’ll swear a wizard’s oath to send Draco the money bag,
along with an extra million galleons thrown into it?”

“Erm, yes…maybe you could give us his delivery address in advance?” Harry asked.

“Not on your life, Potter.”

“Ah. Oh well, can’t blame me for trying, can you?” Harry asked. “So, what do you think,
Lucius?”

Malfoy squinted hard at Harry, but bit off a retort so that he could focus on the options as
they were presented to him. Betraying his Master then living as a muggle for the rest of his life
was right out. Under the second option he would likely be AK’ed on the steps of Gringott’s before
he had the chance to complete his first sentence. Or, if the Ministry did protect him long enough
to take him into custody, he probably would be summarily thrown through the Veil.

The third option was right out as well. A painful, humiliating death was a certainty, and the
best he could hope was they he’d become a martyr in the next Goblin War.

And martyrdom wasn’t something that the Malfoy Family cared to be remembered for.

The final option was the only one that gave him a chance of survival, and it was obvious that
his captors wanted him to choose it so as to test their bloody armor. As if anything could block
the killing curse. But he had to admit that the muggles had proven themselves resourceful, at least
with the Boy’s help…they obviously thought themselves above testing on their own muggle
prisoners.

Then there was the question on whether the boy could even cast the killing curse successfully.
He had seen Bellatrix’s memories of the night they were captured in the Department of Mysteries,
and knew that Potter didn’t have it in him to successfully cast a *Cruciatus,* much less an
AK. But assuming he did, or they found somebody else…what if their armor worked? He could sit out
the rest of the war in his Rookery flat, beyond the reach of the Dark Lord, the Ministry, and
Potter. And if the armor didn’t work…well he’d be dead, but it would be painless, the Malfoy name
wouldn’t be tarnished, and his incompetent son stood a chance of living long enough to sire a
worthier heir.

He looked up at Harry and Hermione with disgust, and said, “The last option.” He then spent ten
minutes signing a stack of release forms and “hold harmless” agreements.

“Well, then,” Harry said, “anything else we could do to help you enjoy your stay?”

Lucius sent his “scowl scale” to eleven and let loose. “Would it be too much to ask for a decent
last meal?” he asked.

Harry smiled as he conjured a table and chair. “Dobby?” he asked.

A moment later his friend arrived.

“Yes, Harry Potter, sir, what can I do to help?”

“Would you please prepare your former Master’s favorite meal for him?”

Dobby didn’t look too happy about the request, but trusted Harry enough to pop away, only to
return a few moments later with a bottle of wine and a steak dinner.

“Good-looking filet, there, Dobby,” Harry said. As the house-elf swelled with pride, Harry
turned towards their prisoner and decided to test-drive a bit of mercy.

“Sorry about the emergency dental work, Lucius,” Harry said. “Couldn’t have you slip away from
us, but given things…sure you don’t want something softer to eat?”

“I’ll manage,” Malfoy shot back.

“You know,” Harry said, “with a bit of help we could probably transfigure a partial set of
muggle dentures for you.”

“Muggle replacement teeth?” Malfoy asked.

“Erm..yes.”

“I’d rather eat soup the rest of my life.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t say we didn’t offer.” He then turned and asked Dobby for
one final favor.

“Of course, Harry Potter, sir, what can Dobby do?”

Harry let one of his slightly evil smiles slip out.

“Grab a knife…Lefty is going to need some help cutting his meat.”

+++

*11:30pm
Soho, London*

They waited until the theater crowds had left the street to push Lucius Malfoy out of the back
of an unmarked van right in front of the Rookery. Had his memories not been swiped of the day’s
events, he would have been wondering how in Merlin’s name muggles had invented body armor that had
saved him from Alistair Moody’s killing curses.

In between wondering just how he had lost both an arm and a wand.

He realized that he had been memory charmed, and had lost knowledge of what had happened that
day. The knowledge of just how dire his predicament had been the night previous had been retained,
however. So it was all he could do not to immediately rush inside the Rookery. Instead, Malfoy took
a walk, and used the cover of darkness to get lost within the crowds of Piccadilly Circus, before
doubling back to his Rookery flat.

His movements were stealthy enough to have shaken off anyone who might have been following him.
The walk did nothing, however, to stop digital and magical cameras from recording his return from
their fixed vantage points right across the street.

+++

Saturday, July 7, 7:30am
Somewhere Hidden in Wiltshire

Voldemort thought that the goblin council’s latest demands were outrageous, but realized that
they could have been worse:

“For failure to properly restrain your minions, and to provide us with Lucius Malfoy’s head, the
Grand Goblin Council has served notice to the leaders of every non-human sentient species that any
assistance they or their own provide you and your Death Eaters will be considered an act of war
against the Goblin Nation. In addition, with this message we serve notice that you and your minions
are prohibited from use of the Morsmorde spell, or the casting of the Dark Mark, within the visible
range of muggles. Should you ignore this edict, the Goblin Nation will openly declare war against
you. And yes, we know that this will likely spark another all-out war between goblins and
wizards.”

Attached to this notice was a second note, informing Voldemort that Malfoy’s head might cause
the council to rethink their decisions. The goblins were then kind enough to provide Voldemort with
the most likely location of Malfoy’s head.

The crystal that had encased the holographic goblin edict disintegrated before Voldemort had the
opportunity to show it to anyone else. He was therefore forced to give a summary when he called in
a few of his inner circle for their opinions on the matter.

The Death Eaters had been much more willing to offer candid assessments now that their Master
couldn’t hurl unforgivables willy-nilly. Rookwood started by giving the goblins credit for their
cunning, noting their actions could be considered justifiable by those worried about preserving the
secrets of the wizarding world. Bellatrix disagreed, arguing that the Morsmorde spell was the only
way that the Ministry idiots knew they had a mess to clean up after some muggle hunting. Rookwood
then suggested that was the whole point, and that the goblins wanted to halt all wizard attacks
against muggles. When Wormtail asked why goblins would want to protect muggles, the elder Nott
explained that goblins were barred from investing in the wizarding world, so they had to invest in
muggle banks and businesses. Unexplained magical attacks on muggles provoked panic, and panic was
bad for business.

They then spent a few minutes arguing over how the Ministry of Magic would respond if the
goblins did attack them. The consensus was that the Ministry would reluctantly agree to a temporary
truce with the Death Eaters, so that a united wizard front could be presented against the enemy.
Nearly all of the Death Eaters had attended Hogwarts, and been taught History of Magic by Binns (in
both living and ghostly forms). And if Binns taught you anything, he taught you about the Goblin
Wars. There was ample historical precedent for warring wizard factions to cooperate just long
enough to beat back assaults by other sentient species.

Finally, MacNair asked how the werewolves would react to the goblin council’s edict, and whether
it would affect their plans for that night’s full moon. Voldemort expressed his confidence that the
werewolves would be loyal to him, and would be furious at the thought of being ordered around by
the goblins. The Death Eaters actually chuckled when their Master joked about needing to make sure
that Greyback and his pack didn’t change their minds, and attack Gringott’s rather than their
primary targets.

Voldemort then dismissed everyone but Rookwood with orders to proceed with their established
plans for that night. The Dark Lord then told him what he had withheld from the others…that the
goblins still wanted Malfoy dead, and had been kind enough to tell them where he was hiding.

The former Unspeakable wasn’t very surprised when his Master gave him the street address of the
Rookery. He knew about the building, and knew the names of some of the Patriarchs who owned flats
there. The Rookwood Patriarch was one of those owners, and the whispered stories about the games
Grandfather played there were closely kept family secrets.

He already knew that Malfoy was a Rookery Patriarch. It also didn’t surprise him when his Master
changed his assignment for the night’s attacks. There’d be one less wizard creating illegal
portkeys while the diversions were taking place, but Voldemort had made Karkaroff’s capture,
torture, and death a warning to all - nobody can ignore their Master’s summons.

And with Malfoy dead….Rookwood pondered the new Inner Circle pecking order as he packed the boot
of his Cooper. But as Legimens was one of the very few spells that could be cast without being
detected, he waited until he was on the road and well away from his Master before daring to ponder
far more dangerous thoughts…thoughts about surviving in a world without Voldemort.



49. chapter 49
--------------



**Muggle Summer**

**A/N**: This chapter starts us down what will be another very long day (both to describe and
to live through). It's a little short, but I wanted to keep the updates going on this story
even as I try to finish up Gladiator. This break also keeps the fluffy/funny parts separate from
the action/adventure parts to come. A special thanks to **chemprof** for offering his opinions
and reassurances on the first part of this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 49: Pensieved Longings and Plugged-up Loos**

*Saturday , July 7, 6:00am
Queen's Wizard's Quarters
Buckingham Palace, London*

Harry Potter's internal alarm clock ignored the previous night's decision to turn off
its electronic counterpart and pulled the Queen's Wizard into consciousness a good three hours
before he wanted. Harry sighed as he glanced at the electronic alarm, careful not to disturb
Hermione from her present position (head on his chest, arm and leg draped over his torso). He
smiled as she snuggled against him, and pulled the covers up just enough to make the warm cocoon
complete.

Harry knew that he ought to try to go back to sleep; they had pulled an all-nighter preparing
for Malfoy's capture and relied too much on caffeine and pepper-up the day before. But with
Hermione cuddled up against him in their warm safe bed, he found it impossible to push away all of
the memories, thoughts and fears that came with having Hermione as his girlfriend/consort. Most of
those thoughts were the type that old men cling to and cherish as they look back upon their
lives…their first “more-than-just-friends” kiss, their first shared bath, their first snag…

Harry chuckled at the term he had invented. It was wonderfully ambiguous term that aptly
described their current physical relationship. Hermione and he still joked about the “three date
rule,” but neither of them had felt ready to take that final step. At least not just yet. They had
tried to talk about “it” and when “it” should occur, but never really reached any conclusions.
While neither had any serious moral objections to premarital shagging, they both thought there was
something romantic and special about saving that act for a wedding night. Which brought out
thoughts of weddings and engagements, and whether they were too young and had been a couple for too
short a time to be even thinking about it. That was a related, and no less important, can of
worms.

And then there were the Grangers. Living under the same roof as your girlfriend's parents
could have been very intimidating, but they had been amazingly supportive and trusting, right from
the start. Almost too trusting, Harry thought…her dad had essentially given him permission to share
a bed with his daughter on Privet Drive (almost asked Harry to, if you interpreted that
conversation a certain way). And once they moved to the Round Tower and stayed either there or at
Buckingham? Complete acceptance.

Last night had been a good example. The four of them had ridden in the van that had dumped
Malfoy in front of the Rookery just before midnight. After hanging around for an hour to make sure
Lucius did not do something unexpected, they called it a night. Rather than drive back to Windsor,
or wake Sir Evan for a badge-jump, Hermione's parents asked if they could crash at “his” place
at the Palace. It was taken “as read” that the Granger's would stay in the guest bedroom while
Hermione and he shared the master. Mrs. Granger even gave them a goodnight kiss and orders to
“sleep tight” before they turned in for the night.

Harry sighed, realizing that with Mr. And Mrs. Granger sleeping next door that Hermione would
want to be cautious that morning, which was too bad, since he was definitely in the mood for some
fun. Not fair really, since her parents didn't seem to always share that concern. He smiled as
he recalled the “bedroom wall” incident, and that got him thinking about silencing spells, and
their walk-in closet, and Hermione's knickers, and the time she left them behind…

He snorted at the thought of what Ron and his friends would think if he were the type to kiss
and tell (or given that he was a teen-aged male, “shag and brag”). Harry doubted that anyone would
be surprised that Hermione was still a virgin, but if they knew just how comfortable she'd
become around him without clothing, or how randy she romped within her comfort zone, their toes
would probably curl.

The day she went commando was a prime example. First day on the job working for the Prime
Minister at 10 Downing Street and she does that? Worse still, she let Harry know she was doing it?
It was all he could do not to jump her as soon as she got back from work. But she resisted, and
told him that he needed to wait until after they watched a memory of her first day.

Since that was the day she had arranged for the Death Eater bank accounts to be frozen, Harry
had expected that she'd be showing him the pensieved memory of her meeting with the Chief
Cashier of the Bank of England. But instead, she surprised him with a string of seemingly random
events (for example, her introduction to another staff member, a walk up the stairs, her first sit
behind her new desk, and a shared lunch with the Chief-of-Staff). Harry wasn't able to piece
together the puzzle once they'd been pulled out of the pensieve, so it was up to Hermione to
explain. Each of the scenes were situations where visual proof of her commando status was
available, if only somebody had been properly positioned and had known to look. She then gave Harry
a wide smile and asked if he wanted to review the memory again.

Harry never would have thought that almost-shagging could be so much fun. And hot. And
satisfying.

The memory of reviewing that memory was enough to distract his full bladder and give him a
different reason to be aroused. It was while he was trying to quietly take care of this “problem”
that Hermione woke up.

“What are you doing, Harry?” she asked, using her very best sleepy-sexy-coy voice.

He froze.

“Erm…thinking of you,” Harry replied with embarrassment. He then recovered quickly enough to
ask, “Want to help?”

Hermione groaned. “Oh, I'm sorry, Harry, but now's not…I'm feeling a bit off.”

Harry thought for a moment and then nodded. “Sorry, I should have remembered that it wasn't
a good time of the month.”

That comment caused Hermione to wake up in a hurry. “What?” she asked. “How did you know…I
mean…we weren't that intimate a month ago, were we?”

Harry chuckled. “No we weren't.”

“Then how?”

“Well, I *could* say it was the only logical reason why you wore a nightgown and the most
conservative pair of knickers to bed last night.”

“You could, but that's not it, huh?”

Harry shook his head. “The fact is, I've, erm…I've known the timing of your monthly
cycles for a couple of years now.”

“What?”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Looking somewhat aghast, Hermione replied, “What reason would you have had for knowing that sort
of thing about me…before now?”

Harry chuckled. “Hermione, it wasn't information that I went out searching for, it's
just something I came to know over time.” He pulled her into a hug, kissed her temple, and added,
“Might have something to do with the fact that for the past six years I've shared most of my
classes, all of my meals and most of my free time with you.”

“And just what did you do with this knowledge, Mr. Potter?”

“Besides knowing when to make extra efforts to keep Ron from annoying you?”

Hermione scowled playfully as she pushed his shoulder away. “Yes, you git.”

Harry shook his head and smiled. “Dunno…don't think I ever made a point of it…maybe gave you
a bit more room, and bit my tongue a bit more…”

With her face covered with her hands, she sighed, “Merlin, Harry…we are such the old
couple.”

“Don't say that, Hermione,” Harry asked. “It'll mean we can't enjoy our youthful
wild sides.”

“Why?” Hermione asked. “Can't you have wild sides when you get older?”

Harry snickered. “Well I suppose so, if we use your parents as example.” He then made it a point
to look towards the guest bedroom. “Which reminds me, did you cast a silencing spell on their walls
last night?”

Hermione threw her pillow at Harry's head. “Oh, you are terrible.” She then grabbed her wand
from the nightstand, threw off the covers and said, “I'm going to take a shower.”

Harry gave her a pained look. “What, and leave me here all excited?”

Hermione snorted. “I thought you were supposed to be the understanding boyfriend sensitive to
his girlfriend's condition?”

“I am,” Harry protested. “But as you can see, my, erm…“condition” here…”

Hermione laughed …he really was cute, and thoughtful, and amazing. But that didn't change
just how icky she felt right then.

An idea sprung to mind.

“Hold that thought, but don't hold anything else just yet,” she ordered.

Not waiting for a response, she left the bedroom, only to return a half-minute later with the
pensieve.

“I've got another memory for you,” she coyly said, as she set the rune-covered bowl onto the
bed.

Harry gave her a confused look.

Hermione smiled and explained, “It's something I didn't show you from commando day.”

“Really?” Harry said with interest. “And just what will I see?”

She smiled. “Me, alone in my new office, while I…what were you doing just now, when I woke
up?”

“Erm… thinking of you?”

“Ah, yes. I was in my office, thinking of you.”

Harry's eyes lit up as he rushed to the bathroom for some necessary business. He returned
with a rather wanton look of anticipation on his face as Hermione placed the memory thread into the
bowl.

Harry was about to dive in when he reached over and grabbed her hand.

“Would you like to join me?”

Hermione tilted her head in thought. “You want me to watch myself?”

Harry shrugged. “You could always watch me while I watch the memory of you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And just what will I see while I watch you?”

Harry grinned. “More thinking, I imagine.”

Hermione frowned a bit. “I'm still feeling off, Harry.”

Harry nodded. “I know, but maybe…maybe when you leave your body behind and mentally jump into
the pensieve, you might not feel so bad?”

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. “I've never thought about that before…are you suggesting
that I could project an avatar that would feel different from how I'm feeling right now?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “One way to find out…why don't you idealize how you would like
to be feeling right before you jump?”

“Okay,” Hermione replied.

“Oh, and maybe your avatar wouldn't have to be wearing the same clothes?”

Hermione smiled as she raised her night-gown high enough to expose her knickers. “What, you
don't like my mollypants?”

Harry's face pruned up and he shivered. “Oi, Hermione, that's not an image I want in my
head right now.”

“Well, then,” she replied. “we best be making sure something better is in its place.” And after
a clearly formed thought was in her head, she dived into the pensieve.

They emerged fifteen minutes later with proof that avatars didn't need clothing and
didn't get cramps.

+++

*9:30am
19 Pennywell Road, Bristol*

As he navigated a roundabout a few blocks away from the Bristol safe house, Augustus Rookwood
let out a sigh of relief.. The fuel indicator needle had been hovering dangerously over “E” for the
past thirty kilometers, and he'd not had enough muggle cash to stop for a refill. Now that he
had made it that far, the Death Eaters at the safe house would have more than enough muggle funds
to fill his Cooper's petrol tank (so long as they hadn't wasted it on take-away meals and
muggle beer).

The thought of what he would find at the safe house on Pennywell Road was enough to raise his
stress levels all on its own. The somewhat shabby row house was one of the four Death Eater
hide-outs within the muggle world that was under his control and command. While Rookwood would have
liked to think that this responsibility was a reflection of the Dark Lord's trust, he was smart
enough to know that it had more to do with his automobile, and the fact that he understood the
muggle world better than any other Death Eater.

Few knew his dirty little secret, and fewer still could reconcile that knowledge with his
pure-blooded bigotry and disdain for the muggle world. As an Auror during the start of the First
War, he had volunteered for “muggle training” at his Master's command, and quickly moved up the
ranks within the Oblivator Squads responsible for mopping-up after Death Eater attacks.
Rookwood's cunning and expertise when it came to sanitizing muggle incidents led to his
recruitment by the Unspeakable Department. They had their own ideas on muggle training, and it
involved throwing its recruits off the deep end and seeing if they could swim.

For the first six months as an Unspeakable he lived without using his wand. He held a job as a
low-level bureaucrat within the muggle government, inhabited a muggle flat, and lived as muggles
lived. It was horrible, but instructive, and good preparation for his Unspeakable Department
assignment as an intelligence agent, responsible for following the actions of the muggle government
and its military. He held this post through the end of the First War, and even managed to hold on
to it when it became necessary to use the *Imperius* Curse defense to keep him from Azkaban
Prison.

Rookwood's relative ease within the muggle world had proven itself vital to Voldemort in the
days immediately after their defeat that previous month. It was his knowledge that kept the four
muggle safe houses secret, and at least semi-inhabitable. This was no small feat, given that the
thirty to forty Death Eaters that were hiding in these locations started with almost no clues on
how muggle things worked. He had been forced to become an instructor of “Remedial Muggle Studies,”
with practical lessons on everything from train schedules to the proper use of soap. Learn quick or
starve was proper motivation for most, and three of the four safe houses were now able to operate
mostly on their own. But then there was Bristol…the house where all of the stupid ones stayed.

It seemed like he was there every other day fixing one crisis or another. And still they
hadn't learned. It was that very reason why he was driving there that day…while the other Death
Eaters could be trusted to use muggle trains and buses to get to their assigned posts by nightfall,
Rookwood would be ferrying this crew to their spots by himself, traveling three at a time in his
Cooper.

The former Unspeakable got his hopes up as he drove past the safe house, for its exterior
displayed no obvious signs of something being off. But then he turned into the alleyway behind the
house, and came upon a wizard in Death Eater robes who was relieving himself against the back of
the building.

He swore, quickly parked the car, and looked up and down the street to see if there was any
immediate threats. Seeing none, he leapt out and began to berate *He-who-Had-no-Brains*.

“Oy, Carrow, what in Merlin's name are you doing?”

Amycus Carrow jerked his head in surprise, throwing his aim off enough to get his left shoe wet.
“Sorry, guv'nor,” the Death Eater replied, “I'll be right there.”

“Put it away, you idiot, and get inside!”

“Right, guv'nor, almost done, guv'nor.”

Rookwood grabbed Amycus by the hood (at least the fool had left his mask inside), and pulled him
up the back stairs as he tried to fasten his fly. A slight, but noticeable odor of excrement
greeted him as he crossed the threshold into the house's kitchen. He slammed the younger Carrow
down onto a kitchen chair and continued his dressing down.

“You sorry excuse for a wizard, what made you think it was okay to empty your bladder in a
public alleyway?”

“I checked nobody was looking first,” Amycus explained.

“And the chance that somebody would come upon you with your wand out…somebody, like say,
erm…me?”

“Didn't have a choice, guv'nor,” the Death Eater explained. “That muggle toilet
isn't working.”

Rookwood rolled his eyes and let out a deep sigh. Two minutes and he already had a headache on
his hands. Reflexively, he opened a kitchen cabinet door and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. It was
his own special stash, protected by the “childproof” cap that worked just as well against wizards.
After popping a couple of pills into his hand, he pulled the least-dirty glass off of the shelf and
filled it with water. The hand-written signs that he had posted on the sink and basin stood as
silent testament to his plight…one sign distinguished between hot and cold faucets, a second sign
gave instructions on how to turn each faucet on and off, and a third stated “*To get water that
is neither hot nor cold, open both faucets at the same time*.”

Rookwood swallowed the muggle medicine, turned back to Amycus Carrow, and asked, “So what is
wrong with the toilet?”

“Dunno', guv'nor,” the Death Eater replied. “We push the handle, just like you showed
us, but the water just overflows and the turds don't disappear.”

Augustus shook his head, and wondered whether there was time enough to hold a lesson on the
proper use of a muggle plunger.

“And just what did you try and flush down the toilet, then?”

“Dunno, guv'nor,” Carrow replied. “Nobody will admit to having stuffed it up.”

“Of course not,” Rookwood replied. He wondered whether this was the sort of thing that would
justify a *Cruciatus* had they not been so easily tracked.

“And wearing your robes, what's that about?”

“Erm…only thing I've got that has cleaning charms applied to `em. Me sis says me muggle
clothes are a bit too ripe to be worn in public.”

“So you figured that you'd draw less attention to yourself by wearing your Death Eater
robes?” Rookwood shouted. “Didn't I show you how to use the washing machine?”

“Erm, yeah, you did, gov'nor, but that stopped working a couple of days ago as well.”

The former Unspeakable rubbed his temples, trying to ease the throbbing pain within his head. He
then said (almost too quiet for Carrow's liking, “Gather up the others, I've come to take
you to your posts for tonight's attacks.”

Amycus nodded. “Erm, any chance you can look to the toilet, guv'nor?”

Rookwood shook his head. “We'll have to leave it. It'll take me all morning to make the
rounds, and then I have my own places to be.”

“Right, guv'nor.”

“Oh, and Amycus,” the former Unspeakable said, “Slight change of plans. You and your dear sister
will be with me tonight.”

“Why's that, guv'nor?” Carrow asked.

“Because,” Rookwood replied coldly, “we need to be making a social call in London.”

+++

**A/N (postscript):** Lady Starlight has already pointed out in a review of “Sweat of a
Gladiator” that you bring your body with you when you jump into a canon pensieve. I much prefer my
AU pensieve, and the idea that there's some type of mental projection involved in which a
viewer leaves their unconscious body behind (easier to explain things like the ability to breathe
while inside the memory).

-->



50. Chapter 50
--------------



**Muggle Summer**

**A/N:** Sorry for the break. With summer over and my post-DH depression at least partially
overcome, I am happy to announce that I'm writing again.

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 50: The Basilisk Harvest**

*Saturday , July 7, 10:00am
Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade*

Ron's anchor point caught Harry and Hermione by surprise. Hermione badge-called Remus to
inform him that they had arrived safely while Harry caught Ron's attention.

“Ron?”

“Yes Harry.”

“Any particular reason why you picked this spot for our jump?”

“Oh, well…it was empty, and I, erm… I wanted to prank Hermione for anchoring that jump into the
women's lav at that muggle restaurant a few weeks back.”

“Erm…okay,” Harry replied tentatively.

“Ron?”

“Yes Hermione.”

“Wouldn't the prank have been more effective if this were the Wizard's lav, rather than
the Witch's?”

“Well…sure,” Ron replied. “It's just that the men's loo was a little smelly, and
so…”

“Ron?”

“Yes Harry.”

“When have you *ever* worried about smells in a loo?”

A toilet flushed before Ron could reply. A stall door opened and Luna walked out with a smile on
her face.

“Good morning, Harry, Hermione,” she said brightly. She then leaned over and gave Ron a peck on
the cheek as she made her way to the wash basin.

“Thanks for waiting, Ronnikins,” she chirped. “Anyone else need to go?”

“Erm, I'm good,” Harry said with a smirk and a sidelong glance towards Ron.

“Me too,” added Hermione, with a shake of her head.

“Right, then…we're off?” Ron asked, hoping to get out of this embarrassing situation as
quickly as possible.

“Sure,” Harry said. “Oh…wait.” He reached into his knapsack and retrieved two packages. Handing
one to both Ron and Luna he explained that they were the latest style of Clan Potter robes.

Luna smiled as she opened the package and held the dark maroon robe out in front of her.
“They're lovely,” she said, as she unfastened her old robes and let them drop to the ground.
This left Luna clad in nothing more than sandals and a pair of bright red knickers, emblazoned in
front with a gold crown, below which in big gold letters and all-caps was “WEASLEY.”

“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed, as he stepped forward to cover his girlfriend in an embrace.

Harry dropped his eyes and began to inspect the lavatory floor. “Hey Ron, looks like you picked
the right place to anchor our jump after all,” he snarked.

“Erm, Luna…you do know that you can apply cooling charms to your robes, right?” Hermione
asked.

Luna shrugged her shoulders as she pushed Ron away and casually pulled the new robes over her
head. “Of course,” she replied, as she ran her hands down the front of her new outfit. When her
fingers got caught within a hidden seam Luna squealed in delight.

“You remembered!” she exclaimed. Luna ripped open the Velcro fastenings of a horizontal flap,
exposing both her belly button and a fair bit of surrounding skin.

Harry looked up at the blonde-haired witch and smiled. “Well, we can't allow for any nargle
nesting within Clan Potter, can we?”

Luna shook her head and turned to her boyfriend, who had just pulled his new robe over his
muggle t-shirt and jeans.

“Oh, good, you did the same bit of tailoring for Ronald,” she observed. Luna then reached out
and ripped open his robe's stomach flap. Without warning she pulled out her wand and exposed
his belly with a bit of magical cropping.

“What'cha do that for, Luna?” Ron asked.

Luna paid no mind as she bent down and stuck her tongue into Ron's navel. She twirled it
around for a few seconds (causing Ron to flinch and complain about being ticklish), then announced
that she had completed her nargle inspection.

“Are we good to go, then?” Hermione asked.

Luna nodded. “Unless we have time for me to manually check for ants in Ronny's pants.”

“Erm, how about later, luv?” Ron asked meekly.

His girlfriend looked up at him and smiled. “Okay, but only if you promise to inspect me as
well.”

Ron's face grew even redder as Harry declared, “To much information!” He then showed Ron and
Luna how to activate the mild notice-me-not charms that had been applied to the new robes. This
allowed Ron to exit the woman's lavatory without becoming any more embarrassed than he already
was.

+++

Luna had expressed an interest in the basilisk harvest, so they had met at the Three Broomsticks
so that she (and Ron) could use the floo connection. Harry and Hermione could have just jumped
directly into Hogwarts using Remus as an anchor, but there was safety in numbers, and the fifteen
minute walk gave the two couples time to catch up. Luna spent most of that time talking about her
Ministry internship. Her reward for being Harry's friend (and Slug Club party date) had been a
menial posting within the centralized mailroom.

For ten hours a day, five days a week, Luna's job was to date spell incoming mail and route
it to the correct Ministry department. The only spell she was permitted to use was the flying memo
incantation. Over the past few days, she had been successfully exploring just how much intent could
influence this charm. As a result, rather than sending out simple airplanes, Luna was now creating
flying origami swans, owls, and hippogriffs. Harry suggested that she turn the messages into paper
thestrals, which would only be visible if the recipient had seen someone using common sense.

They found Horace Slughorn waiting for them at the gates of Hogwarts, intent on maximizing
opportunities for fawning and face time with the Queen's Wizard and Potter Clan Chief. While
Harry really wanted to turn the “notice-me-not” charm on high, he followed Hermione's lead and
deactivated his robe warding. The Potions professor greeted everyone warmly, then proceeded to
virtually ignore the others as he bent Harry's ear on the way to the second floor lavatory.

Remus was waiting for them with a small wooden cage in his hand and a large snake coiled at his
feet.

“Good morning, Remus,” Harry said cheerfully as he shook the werewolf's hand. “How are you
feeling?”

“A bit wolfish around the edges,” Remus admitted.

“I take it that the potion will be ready by tonight?” Harry asked, as he turned an eye towards
Slughorn.

“Oh, of course, Clan Chief Potter,” the potions master replied quickly. “I've got the
cauldron on its final simmer.”

“Good,” Harry replied. He then squatted down and hissed a Parseltongue greeting towards the
snake.

While the two were conversing, Ron asked Hermione why there was a large snake in the
lavatory.

“Harry got tired of jumping back and forth just to open the Chamber for them,” Hermione
explained. “So he summoned the snake and struck a deal for its services.”

“What kind of services?”

Harry looked back over his shoulders towards Ron. “Horace and his buddy on the other side of the
entrance can use snake speak to open and close the Chamber when I'm not here.”

“How does the snake know when to open the door?”

Remus held up the small cage, displaying a unusually large rat inside the bars.

“The toll is one rodent per entrance.”

Ron frowned. “Isn't that a bit too easy for just anyone who wants to go in?”

Harry chuckled. “It's only easy if the bad guys know Horace's unusual tastes.” He nodded
towards the cage that Remus was holding and explained, “We imported prairie dogs from Latin
America…turns out Horace and his mate have a thing for Mexican food.”

The snake bobbed its head up and down, flicked his forked tongue towards the cage and announced,
“I'ssss likesss itsss sss-spicy.”

Harry laughed as he translated the snake's comments to the others. He then politely asked
Horace to open the Chamber entrance. The snake complied, then coiled under one of the adjacent wash
basins with his early lunch.

The goblins had modified the sloped pipe that connected the lavatory to the Chamber with an eye
towards comfort. The pipe interior was charmed to glow luminescent green, and alcoves had been dug
into either side of the pipehead. Small carpets were piled on one side of the pipe, facing an
ersatz toll booth from which a now sleeping snake could be enticed to open the entrance from the
inside.

Remus showed the others how to lie down on one of the carpets and gave them the code phrase to
start the ride. He said that the carpets were linked somehow, so as to avoid head-on collisions.
Hermione smiled, and commented just how much it resembled a muggle water park's tube slide.
Remus then excused himself, citing the need to rest before nightfall.

The trip down the pipe was uneventful, save for Luna's impromptu decision to jump on top of
her boyfriend and demonstrate that two could ride at the same time. The carpets took them well
beyond the base of the pipe and ferried them laterally through the tunnels. They cruised past the
cleared rock slide and stopped directly in front of the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. The
head of the goblin engineering team was there waiting to give them a tour.

“Irongrip,” Harry said, as he reached for the goblin's hand. “Thank you for agreeing to meet
with us this morning.”

“No thanks are necessary, Clan Chief Potter,” the goblin replied, “as we have business to
complete now that our exploration efforts are complete.”

Harry shook his head. “You know that I trust you to equitably divide the findings,
Irongrip.”

The goblin smiled. “Yes, Clan Chief, yet we must still pay respect to certain protocols,
true?”

Harry nodded. “If you say so.”

The goblin engineer smiled, and then led the small group into the Chamber proper. The cavernous
area looked the same to Harry as it had during his first trip, save for a ladder propped up against
the statue's opened mouth and the wire fencing that surrounded the basilisk carcass.
Slughorn's eyes fell immediately upon the dead basilisk, while the others took just a few
moments to admire the architecture.

“Blimey, Harry,” Ron exclaimed, as he walked up towards the fence. “This is what I missed
tangling with Second Year?”

Harry snorted. “Doesn't look as big now that I've grown a bit myself.”

The others chided Harry for his modesty as they marveled at the size of the giant serpent.
Hermione buried her face into Harry's chest, expressing words of wonder and regret that she
hadn't been by his side during that fight. Harry reassured Hermione that he wouldn't have
had any idea what he was up against had it not been for the parchment message in her petrified
hand.

When Ron commented that the basilisk didn't smell, and was amazingly well-preserved given
the amount of time since its death, Slughorn informed them that basilisk flesh was so poisonous
that maggots and other microscopic carrion wouldn't go near it. Hermione then noted that the
basilisk flesh should have dried out even if nothing chose to eat it. When Slughorn nodded in
agreement, the goblin jumped in and told Hermione that they had found some magic that might explain
the preservation. Hermione and Slughorn acknowledged Irongrip somewhat absently, their minds
distracted by the potential price and horcrux-killing potency of fresh basilisk venom.

Harry suggested that they continue the tour and begin the harvest after lunch. The goblin
engineer then led the group to one side of the statue, where a secret door had been discovered and
unsealed. This doorway led into a small apartment that housed a small library filled with ancient
works on Dark Magic. Hermione let out a predictable squee as she ran to the bookshelves and began
reading the titles. When Harry warned her to be careful, Irongrip reassured them that each book had
been checked for wards and curses. The only charm that they had found on the books was one that
prevented them from being taken from the room. The goblin told Harry that there a chance that this
charm could be removed, but at serious risk to destroying the books in the process. Hermione's
head jerked back towards Harry when she heard this, and gave him a look that reinforced his opinion
that the books could be left well enough alone until Hermione had taken a closer look.

Once the living area was fully explored the goblin took them up the ladder, through the
statue's mouth, and into the basilisk's lair. The rough-hewn area was surprisingly clean
and sparsely appointed. As the witches and wizards lit their wand tips they spied two large
bowls…one filled with water, the other filled with bleached animal skeletons.

Hermione smiled. “I wondered how a sixty-foot basilisk could survive for a thousand years with
only a few mice to eat.” Irongrip nodded, not surprised that the Clan Chief's Consort had
identified the bowls' purposes.

“These bowls have strong ever-full charms applied to them so that Slytherin's pet would
always have something to eat and drink.

Ron furrowed his eyebrows as he looked more closely at the skeletons. “What are those,
dogs?”

“We believe that they are non-magical deer,” the goblin replied.

“So whenever the basilisk pulled some dinner out of this bowl another deer was magically
summoned?”

“Correct, Clan Champion.”

“Would love to have a smaller one of these filled with mum's cooking,” he replied with
awe.

Slughorn asked about the ever-full bowl of water, speculating that it could have provided enough
water in the Chamber's air to keep the basilisk carcass fresh. The goblin agreed with that
idea.

At that point Ron took another look around the lair and asked, “So if the basilisk ate deer for
dinner, where are all of the table scraps?”

The goblin gestured towards a small pit in a corner of the room. “That hole in the floor has a
banishing charm applied to its base.”

“Really?” Ron asked. “I suppose that the basilisk was potty-trained as well, and used that pit
as a loo?”

The goblin showed his teeth in a broad smile when Hermione snarked, “Ronald, not all sentients
are slobs.”

Taking a glance down at his watch, Harry politely asked Irongrip if this was the extent of the
tour. The goblin nodded, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the two large gemstones that they
had pried from the Chamber's door.

“The two bowls and these two stones are all of the treasure that we found, Clan Chief, unless
you care to argue that the bowls are Slytherin relics.”

Harry snorted in response. “Unless they're autographed by the wizard himself, their yours
for the taking, Irongrip, and I'm sorry that your efforts failed to yield more than this.”

It was the goblin's turn to snort. “Do not worry, Clan Chief…these bowls are rare, and more
valuable than you might think.”

“What, somebody has another basilisk that they need to feed?” Ron asked.

The goblin shook his head. “No, but Gringott's does employ protective devices with rather
large appetites.”

“The dragons down in the caverns,” Harry concluded.

Irongrip nodded. “Right now they dine from ever-full bowls of beef and mutton…they will be very
happy to have an expanded menu.”

After agreeing to a fair-market value to the gemstones and bowls for the purposes of Harry's
finder's fee, the goblin led them back down to the hidden quarters where they ate a picnic
lunch prepared by the Palace. Irongrip then gathered the bowls and left for Gringott's while
the others headed back towards the basilisk. After donning protective clothing from head to toe and
getting a stern safety lecture from Slughorn, the five witches and wizards got on with the messy
task at hand.

*1:30pm, The Rookery, London*

Augustus Rookwood turned onto Shaftesbury Avenue and smiled. He could finally give a different
answer to the one of the two questions that had been asked a dozen different times from the back
seat.

“Are we there, yet?”

The former Unspeakable sighed. “Yes, Amycus, we are here.”

“Can we eat, now?”

“No, business first,” the Death Eater said firmly.

“But there's a pub right over there…take but a minute to pop in for a pint and some
pie…”

“He said shut it!” his sister screeched from the front passenger seat.

“Fine,” the younger Carrow sibling mumbled.

Rookwood slowed down just a bit as they passed the front entrance to The Rookery. There
wasn't anyone in front of the building. The blare of a car horn from behind encouraged the
Death Eater to move on. It then took him close to thirty minutes to find a parking space within a
mile of their target.

Rookwood sported a near-continuous scowl as they made their way back towards The Rookery by
foot. The younger Carrow's hunger complaints were building on what had already been a horrid
day. It had taken all morning to shuttle the safe house's other occupants to their assigned
starting points for the night's attack, followed by a long drive into London with the Carrows.
The only stop they had made was at a discount clothing store to replace Amycus and Alecto's
muggle clothing. Their mismatched outfits had reeked to the point of gagging (which was saying
something given the noisome tortures that Rookwood had participated in over the years). Without
sufficient time or funds to dress them properly, Rookwood had been forced to purchase brightly
colored casual wear for the two. They were quite a contrast to Rookwood's smartly tailored
three-piece suit, but at least they were clean and internally consistent.

The former Unspeakable finally gave in to his companion's badgering and found a place to eat
lunch. He wasn't surprised when the Carrows confidently stepped up to the counter and rattled
off their orders; given the amount of fast-food wrappings that had littered the Bristol safe house
it was clearly one part of the muggle world that the two had embraced. The only hurdle to overcome
was Amycus's outrage at finding the same toy in his Happy Meal that he'd collected the week
before.

The restaurant was only a few minutes walk from the Rookery. As soon as they were within sight
of the building, Rookwood pulled the other two to the side of the walkway, surreptitiously removed
a rune stone from his pocket, and traced the runic character with his wand tip. He gripped the
stone tightly and whispered an incantation. A sharp pain erupted inside Rookwood's head that
spread out like twin daggers cutting out towards his eyes. He silently endured a few moments of
excruciating torture before the pain subsided and he reopened his eyes.

The vision stone was one of the artifacts that Rookwood had managed to liberate from the
Department of Mysteries before being outed as a Death Eater. It provided a limited form of mage
sight that revealed and identified the more common types of protective wards. While Rookwood knew
several diagnostic spells that could provide the same kind of information far less painfully, the
stone's magic didn't trip the Ministry's magical sensors, and was therefore much more
useful when one wanted to do a bit of quiet surveillance.

With this rune sight active the former Unspeakable paid close notice as they walked towards the
Rookery. The anti-apparition charm was slightly off color, indicating that it was the variant that
allowed certain people keyed into the ward to bypass it. There was a portkey suppression ward in
place that appeared to be similarly modified, as well as standard muggle repelling charms. Within
the repelling ward, though, was something that Rookwood had never seen before.

His curiosity piqued, he stopped a half-block short of the front entrance and ordered Amycus to
walk inside. It took a bit of arm-twisting from his sister, but the Death Eater finally agreed and
made his way up to the front steps of the building. With Rookwood's rune sight active he
watched as a separate repelling ward that he had earlier missed enveloped Amycus, only to magically
push him away from the entranceway. The Death Eater spun on his heals, and with a look of confusion
on his face started to walk down the street away from the other two.

Rookwood swore quietly, then sent Carrow's sister off to retrieve him. He followed behind at
a slower pace. As he passed by a building that was under reconstruction Rookwood stopped by a bin
of construction debris and picked up a hand-sized fragment of brick. He held the stone close to his
side, trying to draw as little attention as possible as he tossed it up the stairs and into
Rookery's front entrance.

The wards didn't bother to spit the brick fragment back out.

With a nod of recognition and an idea formed in his head, the former Unspeakable continued his
stroll down the street. While it wouldn't have taken much effort to catch the Carrows, Rookwood
maintained his rather sedate pace. So long as he could keep the other two Death Eaters within his
sight, he was going to enjoy this bit of idiot-free solitude.

+++

Harry Potter was busy magically scraping off bits of flesh from the underside of the basilisk
hide when he felt his Art Club badge vibrate. Not wanting to say too much in front of Slughorn, he
turned towards Hermione, who was elbow deep in basilisk gizzard, and gave her a questioning look
with a finger pointed towards his chest. She shook her head, indicating that her badge hadn't
been activated. Harry nodded, and announced that he needed to take a break. It took a good five
minutes for his protective clothing to be scourgified and decontaminated to the point where he
could strip down and gain access to his badge. Making his way to the hidden living area, Harry took
note that it was Mrs. Granger calling him.

“Harry,” she said after their greetings, “we've got something you should take a look at down
here at the Rookery.”

“Lucius decide to go on a walk-about?” Harry asked.

“No, we had somebody trying to make an unauthorized entrance into the building, and then a
minute later somebody decided to throw a brick up the stairs as they walked by.”

“Really?” Harry asked. “Were they glamoured?”

“No, but the first bloke was wearing a cap low on his face, and the second one was sporting a
rather nasty hairpiece.”

“So maybe muggle disguises…anything else you notice about them?”

“Just that a woman went chasing after the first guy once he left the front entrance, yelling out
the name Amycus.”

Harry covered his badge so that his swearing wouldn't reach Mrs. Granger's ears. He then
told Emily that he'd join her in a few minutes, and made his way back into the Chamber.

“Got some Queen's Wizardry to attend to, I'm afraid,” he announced. Ron and Hermione
looked up with alarm. “Nothing immediate…just checking up on a few new visitors on
Shaftesbury.”

“Sure you don't need our help?” Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. “Not right now…how much longer before we're done here?”

Slughorn looked up from his work and said that it would only be a few more hours. Harry nodded,
and asked Hermione to ring him up once they were finished. Giving wide berth to the basilisk body
hot zone, Harry made his way out of the Chamber and badge-jumped to London.

*3:30pm, Smithfield Market, Central London*

Severus Snape stepped onto the curb with a thin wallet and thick scowl. Hiring the taxi had been
an expensive but necessary luxury, given the lack of meeting place directions and his unfamiliarity
with the area. His Death Eater comrades hadn't been any help, not that he was surprised…whether
Light or Dark, wizards and witches had avoided this part of Central London for centuries. This was
perhaps due to the fact that Smithfield had been, over the years, a favorite spot for muggles to
burn witches, behead heretics, and boil counterfeiters in oil.

The Potions Master looked up and down the street for before walking into the “Stake and Ale,” a
working-man's pub whose signage played up its name and the local history with an image of a
pointy-hat witch within flames. The strong contrast between sunny street and darkened interior
forced Snape to squint. As his eyes adjusted his nose took in strong scents of tobacco, beer, and
raw meat, which he soon attributed to the burly patrons…meatpackers and butchers whose clothing
still bore the stains and smells that came from working just down the street within the largest
wholesale meat market in the world.

Snape scanned the room, then walked up to the bar in front of a portly, ham-fisted barmaid who
was filling stout into a marginally clean glass.

“Right with you, love,” she said with a smile.

The barmaid dropped the full pint glass in front of a patron and deflected a ribald comment as
she took a few coins from the pile in front of him. After ringing up the sale, she returned to the
wizard and asked, “What can I get you, luv?”

Calling upon the self-restraint typically reserved for Dark Lords and First Years, Severus
grimaced as he stated the pre-arranged recognition code.

“Do you serve warm milk?”

The request brought jeers from up and down the bar. The barmaid waited for the crowd to settle
down before leaning over the bar towards Snape. Almost nose-to-nose with him she reached up and
cupped her ample bosom with both hands.

“Aye, I do…will it be the left teat, or right?”

The approving roar of laughter from the other patrons drowned out Snape's response, so that
only the barmaid heard his reply.

“Madame,” he drawled, “won't there be more of a selection tonight?”

The cheeky reply caught the barmaid by surprise. She couldn't help but laugh as she nodded
towards a small table at the back of the pub, then told her co-worker that she was going on break
for a bit. There being little concern for hired help drinking on the job, the woman brought two
pints of ale with her as she walked out from behind the bar and took a seat across from the Potions
Master.

“Sorry for the bit of fun…this one's on the house,” she said, placing the two glasses
side-by-side in the center of the table. Snape looked at the glasses with suspicion, selected one,
and placed his nose to the thin head.

“A bit cautious, eh wizard?” the woman asked, as she grabbed the other pint glass and brought it
to her lips.

“Madame, it is the only way to live these days,” Snape replied, before taking a draw from his
own glass.

“The name's Maggie,” the woman replied. “Though most around here call me Mother.”

“I see little need for informality,” the Potions Master stated. He looked back towards the bar
and asked, “Are you certain this is a secure location?”

“Of course,” the barmaid replied. “You're likely the only wizard within a mile of this
place, and a few of those blokes at the bar are my boys.”

Snape stared at the woman for a minute, before gazing back towards the bar. “Will they be in any
condition to run with you tonight?”

Mother Maggie chuckled. “They'd need to be swimming in beer for them to notice once they
transform. No worries, wizard…they'll follow the Pack's Alpha bitch.”

Severus frowned as he pulled a stoppered vial out from an inside coat pocket. “And with this
wolfsbane, there'll be no reason for you not to follow our Lord's, lead, correct?”

The barmaid snorted as she pocketed the vial. “I'd follow my Pack-leader to my death, if he
asked me. So long as Fenrir follows your wizard master, you can count on me.”

Snape sneered. “Were it my decision all of your Pack would be on wolfsbane and keeping their
wits about them.”

“What makes you think they'd be so willing to kill were that the case?” Maggie asked. “Few
within the Pack are as aggressive during the rest of the month.”

The Potions Master cast an appraising eye across the table. The woman before him struck him as
closer in kind to Molly Weasley than Greyback. “I take it that you lack that…reticence?”

Maggie leered. “Wouldn't be Fenrir's Alpha if I didn't.”

“And just how was it that Greyback chose a muggle for his Alpha?”

The barmaid laughed. “Made the choice easy for him, wizard. I either killed or covered every
other witch and bitch in the Pack.”

“Indeed?”

“Wasn't all that hard,” Maggie said sarcastically. “Their magic's no help when the moon
is full…it's the muscle that carries over into the night, and the lot of `em are weak-kneed
daisies when their wolf isn't with `em.”

Snape paused, then retorted, “Yes, well…just remember that others and I will be in the Alley as
well...we won't hesitate to cut you down if you or yours stray from your assigned tasks.”

The woman gave a Snape-worthy scowl as she rose from the table. “Don't tempt me,
wizard.”

Snape snarled. “You are certain of your target, then?”

Maggie snorted. “Yes, yes…look for the Diagon Alley shop with three big W's over the
entrance...”

“…and focus on anyone with red hair,” Snape added. “You have a secure entry point, I
assume?”

Fenrir's Alpha nodded. “We'll be there,” she replied. “Did you drop enough breadcrumbs
to ensure you'll find the way back yourself, wizard?”

Snape nodded. Considering his mission accomplished, and the need to continue the banter
diminished, he took a long sip from his glass. “The potion must be consumed no more than thirty
minutes before tonight's sunset.” He left before allowing the werewolf to reply.

It took a minute for his eyes to readjust to the daylight, and for him to get his bearings. Not
that he really needed to…he'd be apparting into Diagon Alley that night. And if the werewolves
did their jobs right, the Ministry would be too busy to care.

-->



51. Chapter 51
--------------

**Muggle Summer**

**A/N:** A gentle reminder that this story takes place in the year 2006. Thanks to chemprof
for his professional opinions on silver chemistry.

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 51: Bad Moon Rising**

*Saturday , July 7, 4:00pm
Thames House, Millbank, London*

Harry Potter badge-jumped from a hastily arranged meeting at Gringott’s to a hastily arranged
meeting at MI-5 headquarters. Having arrived in an otherwise empty conference room, he pulled his
anchor point into an embrace.

“Time and place, Mr. Potter,” Hermione chided, as she grabbed the front of his Clan Potter robe.
“We need to get you changed and through the checkpoint.”

“What, this isn’t where we’re meeting?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, we’re just outside the first security point.”

Harry muttered to himself as shed his wizard attire and rummaged through his rucksack for his
suit jacket.

“And don’t forget your muggle holster,” said Hermione. “We’ll have to show them our
handguns.”

Harry nodded. “So why couldn’t I just jump into the meeting room?”

“The Home Secretary claimed it might mess with the electronics.”

Harry sighed as he looped his arms through his leather shoulder harness and switched his pistol
from its magical holster to its muggle counterpart. “More like the time-wasting idiot doesn’t like
the idea of us popping past all of his security layers.”

“Harry, you can’t call the Home Secretary an idiot.”

“How about ‘Right Honorable Idiot,’ then?”

“Stop it,” Hermione chided. She then noticed Harry’s rucksack and said, “Merlin, your bag is
going to raise havoc with the x-ray machine.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, we can’t have that….Dobby?”

The house elf appeared near-instantly. “Yes, Harry Potter, sir?”

“Will you hold my rucksack for a few minutes?”

Dobby nodded vigorously. “Of course Dobby can do that for the great Harry Potter, sir.”

Harry and Hermione emptied their pockets of magical metallic objects and placed them into
Harry’s sack, along with his sword and their wands (just to be safe). Dobby popped away as Harry
buttoned his coat.

“I hate these muggle holsters,” Harry commented, as he fiddled with the straps. “They break the
line of this jacket something terrible.”

Hermione chuckled and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go, Agent Clotheshound.”

One of the Home Secretary’s aides was waiting for them on the other side of the security
barrier, which kept Harry from immediately retrieving his rucksack.

Hermione whispered as they walked down the hall behind the aide, “Don't you need to use the
Men’s before we get there?”

Harry shook his head.

“Are you sure?” Hermione asked, as she mimed some wand movement.

Harry’s eyes lit up, then narrowed as a devious-looking expression came over his face.

“We don’t want to keep the Home Secretary waiting, do we?”

His girlfriend’s eyes grew wide as she quietly said, “But I really think….”

The off-key tune that Harry began to softly whistle made it clear that Harry had other thoughts
in mind.

Harry and Hermione were shown into a conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows on one wall,
a bank of video displays on the other, and laptops stationed in front of each conference room
chair. The MI-5 chief and Home Secretary were there, while the Prime Minister and MI-6 chief were
patched in from remote locations.

Hermione gave Harry a quick primer as he took a seat. “There’s cameras built into the top of
each computer screen,” she said quietly. “Just talk to the laptop as if you were talking to the
P.M. and MI-6 chief.”

Harry nodded, then stood back up. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

“What is it?” the irritated Home Secretary asked.

“Just need to retrieve our…..”

“Harry, no!” Hermione exclaimed, but not before he had called for his favorite House-Elf.

Dobby popped onto the conference room table directly in front of Harry. The Home Secretary cried
out in shock at his first sight of a non-human sentient.

“Yes, Harry Potter, sir?” the House-Elf asked timidly, as he looked around the room.

“Don’t worry, Dobby, they all know about magic,” Harry said with reassurance.

“Oh, Dobby knows all about that, Harry Potter, sir,” the House-Elf replied. “They wouldn’t be
able to see me if they didn’t….I have your bag right here, Harry Potter, sir.”

“Thanks, Dobby, you’re the best,” Harry replied with a smile.

“Agent Potter, exactly what is going on?” the Home Secretary demanded.

Harry gave Hermione a wink as he looked up and smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry, where are my manners?” He
reached out and said, “Here, Dobby, have a seat.”

Harry lifted the House-Elf off the table and set him down onto a chair. With Harry’s
encouragement, Dobby sat up on his knees so that he could peer over the table’s edge and into the
laptop’s camera. Harry grinned as the image of his wide-eyed, pointy-eared devotee joined the Prime
Minister’s on the video display. Dobby ducked down at the sight of his own face.

“Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to my good friend Dobby,” Harry announced, as he pulled the
House-Elf back up. “Dobby, this is the muggle Prime Minister, Home Secretary Chisholm, and Director
Generals Hibbing and Eveleth.”

“Harry,” Hermione said, with a bit of admonishment in her voice. She grabbed the House-Elf’s arm
in reassurance. “Don’t worry, Dobby,” she said, “you’re safe here.”

“Oh, I’m always safe next to the great wizard Harry Potter, Miss ‘Mione,” Dobby replied. Having
noticed that his chair moved when he shifted his weight, he spun his char around in a circle and
cried out in delight.

“Harry Potter, sir, the moving portraits, and this chair… I can’t see the magic within it?”

Harry laughed at the comparison between portraits and video displays and leaned down to whisper
into Dobby’s ear. “It’s hard for me to see muggle magic too.”

Hermione gave an impromptu primer on House-Elves and their role within wizarding society whilst
Harry retrieved their wands and other objects from his rucksack. The Home Secretary and MI-5 chief
found it difficult to divide their attention between Dobby and the seemingly bottomless pack,
particularly when Harry withdrew his sword.

The Q&A on House-Elf slavery was interrupted when Hermione caught Harry pulling a candy out
of his bag.

“Fancy a toffee, Mr. Home Secretary?”

“Harry…behave.”

“Yes, dear, erm…I mean…yes, Agent Granger,” Harry replied. Taking this cue, Harry thanked Dobby
for his help and the House-Elf popped away.

Hermione had already briefed the Prime Minister on the Death Eater sighting in front of the
Rookery, as well as Lucius Malfoy and the nature of The Rookery itself. Harry’s job, then, was to
report on his just completed meeting with Ragnok. The goblin told Harry that the Grand Council had
told Voldemort where Malfoy was hiding. This had come as a surprise to Harry, although it explained
why Rookwood and the Carrows had been seen scouting out the site.

“Sending messages to the enemy,” the Home Secretary muttered. “Making unilateral decisions
without bothering to consult…are you sure that these goblins are your allies Potter?”

Harry tried to hide his contempt as Hermione diplomatically asked, “Mr. Home Secretary, is Her
Majesty’s government unfamiliar with close allies that act unilaterally, or are less than
forthright on certain matters that affect key bilateral relationships?”

The Prime Minister chuckled. “She’s got you there, Chisholm…Agent Potter, if you would
continue?”

Harry nodded, then noted that Ragnok was convinced that no harm could come to muggles, as the
building was warded against magical attack or entry, and had fire suppression charms applied to the
exterior. When he mentioned that Rookwood had thrown a rock through the front entrance, Ragnok had
replied that the wards protected any magically-aided physical attacks.

Harry spent fifteen minutes answering questions following his report. They were split between
clarifications and confrontations; most of the rancor would have gone away had the Home Secretary
bothered to read the reports provided to him.

With the Prime Minister insisting that proactive actions were more important than after action
assessments, they moved on to their options.

“Just because we spied three of these wizard terrorists walking down the street…where’s the need
to do anything, particularly if they’re hell-bent on killing one of their own?” asked the Home
Secretary.

“With due respect, Home Secretary,” answered the MI-5 Chief, “they may have been a scouting
party for a much larger force, and there’s more than a half-dozen theatres on Shaftesbury alone.
With Piccadilly just down the road, and it being a Saturday night…”

“Exactly my point,” argued the Home Secretary. “They’ll have to cancel performances if we clear
out the area. Think of the revenue they’ll lose.”

“They’d lose far more if Sir Harry is right and there’s an attack that kills off a few dozen
tourists,” argued the MI-6 Chief.

“And what if he’s wrong?”

The Prime Minister stated, “Chisholm, after Ascot the Queen’s Wizard could issue a dozen false
alarms and still be on the positive side of the ledger.”

“So you say.”

“Exactly,” the Prime Minister replied. “And as I’m the one spending my weekend at Chequers and
not you, I dare say that’s good enough.”

With that decision quite emphatically made, a plausible mechanism was quickly developed to
evacuate the area surrounding the Rookery, both to limit injuries and minimize the need for
obliviator squads. They then argued over cooperating with the Auror Department. The initial
position was for no Ministry of Magic involvement, before Harry and Hermione convinced the others
that going it alone would likely reveal the extent of MI-5 ¾’s knowledge and operations both to the
Death Eaters and the Ministry of Magic.

“You trust the Head Auror, don’t you Harry?” the Prime Minister asked. “Why don’t you arrange
for a meeting, and set something up with him?”

“Yes sir,” Harry replied. He scribbled out a quick message, then turned to the tinted exterior
windows and scowled.

“Don’t suppose you can open these?” he asked.

When the MI-5 chief shook his head, Harry sighed and rummaged through his rucksack. Finding his
portable hole, he tossed it up against the floor-to-ceiling windows. A rush of air came through the
opening, upsetting the piles of paper stacked on the table.

“Now see here, Agent Potter!” the Home Secretary yelled.

Harry ignored him as he called out for his familiar. A few seconds later Hedwig glided
gracefully through the hole and took a perch on top of Harry’s laptop display.

“What in blazes?” the Home Secretary demanded.

No mind was paid to this ranting as Harry ran his fingers through Hedwig’s feathers, then
carefully tied his message to her leg.

“Another good friend of yours?” the MI-5 chief asked.

Harry nodded. “Hedwig was my first real friend, weren’t you girl?”

His familiar bobbed her head up and down.

“Take this to Head Auror Robards straight away,” he instructed. “You know the safe place,
right?”

Hedwig bobbed her head again, then turned and launched herself back through the window hole. As
Harry walked over to retrieve his portable hole with a touch of his wand, the Home Secretary
snarked, “So do you have any other creatures at your beck and call, Potter?”

Harry fumed, wanting desperately to hex the nitwit politician, but managed to hold his tongue
with the support of Hermione’s comforting grasp of his arm. Unfortunately, he didn’t think to
return the favor.

“Dobby is a sentient magical being, and no more of a creature than you are…sir,” Hermione
scolded.

“Agent Granger, I’ll have you mind your impertinence!” he yelled.

“And I’ll have you mind your boorish bigotry, Chisholm,” the Prime Minister demanded. He then
calmly added, “Agent Potter, once this immediate crisis is past I think we would all enjoy an
opportunity to spend some more time with your magical friends…wouldn’t we Chisholm?”

The Home Secretary managed a curt nod in reply.

Harry smiled. “Dobby will be thrilled, though we’ll be hard pressed not to have him cook for the
occasion.”

“Wonderful,” the Prime Minister replied. “I’ll be returning presently to 10 Downing Street.
Agent Potter, would it be possible to secure the services of one of your Order of Arthur members
this evening? I dare say that we would benefit from Dame Hermione’s input as a member of my crisis
committee.”

Harry smiled as Hermione let out a surprised “Eeep!”

“Hermione need not gain my permission, sir,” Harry replied. “And as our employer and Prime
Minister, we are all at your command.”

“Brilliant,” the Prime Minister replied.

“But Harry…who will be watching your back?” Hermione whispered.

“No worries, Hermione, you and all the others are just a badge-jump away.”

“Are you sure?”

Harry forgot where he was and kissed Hermione’s forehead.

“Absolutely.”

**+++**

**5:30pm, Soho, London**

Rookwood had run out of ways to unobtrusively kill time before the attack. It had to be fate’s
payback for not doing his pure-blooded duty to procreate.

Riding up the escalators at Marks and Spencers had held the siblings’ interest before Amycus got
caught trying to peek up of the skirt of a woman riding down. Lasted almost an hour at Trafalgar
Square feeding pigeons, before Alecto caused a stir arguing with a birdseed-selling hag. And then
there was the cinema, where he had failed miserably in his attempts to keep the Carrows from
yelling at the screen as if the characters could hear them. Running out of options and money, the
senior Death Eater had resorted to driving around London; while it didn’t make his colleagues any
less annoying, it minimized the amount of attention that they drew to themselves.

Traffic was rather heavy as the former Unspeakable made his way back towards the Rookery, and
came to a complete stop about a quarter-mile away from the spot he’d selected as a staging ground
for their assault. Rookwood began to worry when he heard sirens up ahead, and reached over to
change the radio station for the news.

“Oy, I was listening to that show,” Alecto complained.

“Like you plan on gardening any time soon,” her brother snapped.

Just then Rookwood dialed into an ongoing radio newscast.

“…*details provided as soon as practical. To repeat the hour’s top story, Metropolitan Police
have evacuated a portion of London’s West End after an unattended motorcar was discovered loaded
with cans of petrol. The shut down of Shaftesbury Avenue from Piccadilly Circus to Charing Cross
Road has led to the cancellation of the night’s theatrical performances at venues within the
affected area...”*

The former Unspeakable swore loudly.

“What’s the matter, Rookwood?” Amycus asked from the back seat. “You were planning on taking us
to a show as well?”

“No, fool,” Rookwood snarled. “The muggles have blocked off the streets around Malfoy’s
building… somebody might have tipped off the Aurors.” He didn’t vocalize his opinion that the
goblins were no doubt playing both sides.

“So what do we do now?” Alecto demanded.

Augustus let out a deep sigh as he pulled his small vehicle in a tight U-turn. Pulling away from
the stalled traffic, he replied, “We move on to Plan B.”

“What’s Plan B?”

“The other plan, of course.”

“Oh. So what does ‘B’ stand for?”

Rookwood sighed. He was tempted to say “Im-B-cile”, but doubted that the idiots would get the
joke. And so he went with a coincidental truth.

“B stands for broomsticks.”

**+++**

While Augustus Rookwood searched for a parking garage, Harry and Wally walked into the muggle
street entrance of the Leaky Cauldron with a wheeled trunk in tow. An Auror was stationed just
inside the door next to a sign announcing that the street entrance was closed until further notice.
The Queen’s Wizard gave the Auror the proper password, then walked up to the bar.

“Afternoon, Tom, I’d like to introduce you to Wally. He’s a friend of mine.”

“Nice to meet you, Tom.”

“Nice to meet you Wally,” the bartender replied. “You two share muggle tailors or
something?”

Harry snorted as he looked down at his bright yellow jacket, bullet-proof vest (the AK-resistant
variety was still in its production stage), and dark combat fatigues.

“It’s all part of the problems that the Muggles are having down the street…sorry that we had to
shut down that entrance.”

“No matter, Harry… hardly anyone’s come through that side all summer.”

Harry nodded as he placed a small bag of galleons onto the bar. “Well, here’s enough to cover
any business that you might be losing.” When Tom raised an eyebrow and tried to push the pile back
he added, “Consider it an advance on food and drink for the Aurors who might pass by here
tonight.”

“Might not be enough, then, if you want to give Mad-Eye an open tab,” the toothless bartender
replied. “Speakin’ of which…he’s waiting for you in the back room.”

“Thanks Tom,” Harry replied. He shook the bartender’s hand and wheeled his trunk to one of the
Leaky Cauldron’s private rooms. The door opened just as Harry tried to knock, and a wand tip was
jammed up close to his face.

“Where were you when I was stuffed inside a box?”

“Which time?” Harry asked with smirk. “My fourth year, when Barty Crouch Jr. passed as your
double, or last month, when we fought Dementors on the infield of Ascot?”

Mad-Eye squinted at Harry with his one good eye, then turned his attention to Wally.

“You!” he exclaimed. “What in Merlin’s name can I ask you?”

Wally looked at the reinstated Auror and winked. "Well, you could ask me out for a
drink…The Stag’s got two-for-one appetizers after nine tonight.”

Mad-Eye sputtered and took a couple of steps back, allowing Harry and Wally to enter the
room.

“Don’t think you need to challenge me, Potter?” Moody asked.

Harry shook his head and quipped, “Only the real Mad-Eye Moody would get all flustered at the
thought of drinks with Wally at The Stag.”

The reinstated Auror accepted Harry’s logic with a scowl, then introduced his four-person Auror
team, who were sitting around a table dressed in battle robes.

“Potter?” one asked incredulously. “And a muggle? What are they doing here?”

“Pipe down,” Mad-Eye barked, as he added a couple more layers of sound-proof spell work to the
door and walls. “He’s here because the Head Auror asked him. The muggles have spotted some Death
Eaters, and Wally, here…for better or worse…is their go-between with the Auror Department.”

“Erm…thanks for that kind introduction,” said Wally. He opened the trunk and helped Harry pass
out briefing documents and maps.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Wally said, as he fished a card from his wallet. “My name is Agent
Wall, and I am a card-carrying muggle employed by Her Majesty’s Government. At approximately 1:45pm
this afternoon, muggle police officers used these pictures to identify Augustus Rookwood, Alecto
Carrow and her brother Amycus on a street located a few blocks away from here.”

“Really?” someone asked. “And how would muggles know what they looked like?”

Harry replied, “One of things I’ve done as Queen’s Wizard is make sure that the muggle police
have photographs of all wanted Death Eaters.” He then added, “It’s not the first time that the
muggles have been asked to help the Auror Department.”

“Sure it’s them, then?”

Harry nodded. “You can see in the muggle photographs that they tried to disguise themselves a
bit, but the witch called out to her brother, and Amycus is a pretty rare given name in the muggle
world.”

“So they were spotted walking down the street,” said another Auror. “Are they still there?”

Harry shook his head. “They seemed to be paying attention to one of the addresses on this
street. It’s a wizard building with active wards, so the muggles don’t know anything about what’s
inside.”

Mad-Eye jumped in. “Those three will be back sometime, and they’ve spooked the muggles enough
for them to create a fake emergency and clear out all of the muggle neighbors.”

Wally nodded, and pointed out the established perimeter on the map. He told the group that the
only people that should be within the zone were muggle security forces. He then passed out some
garishly-colored clothing that would paradoxically allow the wizards to blend in.

“Might as well paint a target on your back,” Mad-Eye muttered, as he held a neon-yellow
sleeveless jacket up for closer inspection.

“These tabards will identify you as authorized private security personnel,” Wally explained.
“Your presence within the secured zone won’t be questioned with these on.”

“What do you mean private security forces?” an Auror asked.

“Certain shops and buildings have their own security forces independent of the government,”
Wally explained.

“Like the trolls inside Gringott’s?”

Mad-Eye said, “That’s right, you lot are trolls tonight…explains why I picked you ugly
bastards.”

Harry thought the laughter that followed this slur was a good sign that these Aurors had worked
together before, and trusted Moody to lead them.

“What’s with the heraldry?” another Auror asked, as he inspected the Queen’s arms emblazoned on
one breast and a red griffon on the other.

Wally pointed to the griffin on one of the vests and replied, “The muggle governmental program
that has private security forces supporting the Yard during terrorist events is called Project
Griffin.”

“Muggles know about griffin, then?”

Harry shook his head. “Just as imaginary story tale creatures. As for the other side, well
that’s where each of private businesses puts their logo.”

“And since nobody knows any better, you gentlemen will be inserted within the evacuated area as
security guards for the target building, saying that it belongs to the muggle Queen.”

One of the Aurors nodded, then asked, “Rules of engagement?”

“Kill’em before they kill you,” Moody replied simply.

Wally added, “We’ll do our best to keep the area free of muggle spectators. The streets are
barricaded, and we’ve even built three-story tall screens to keep the gawkers from getting an
eyeful. That said, the less fireworks you cause, and the less you wave your wands about, the easier
it will be for us to preserve the wizarding world’s secrets.”

“Speaking of which,” Harry said, “I understand that there might be other card-carrying muggles
working in the area, so I don’t want anyone to be obliviated without first asking for
identification and clearing it with Mad-Eye or me, understood?”

There were head nods all around. Harry inspected the jackets and Wally offered fashion tips as
the Aurors transfigured their robes. The combined group then left the pub to scout out observation
posts with views of the Rookery. They didn’t notice (or at least didn’t make mention of) the
Armored Personnel Vehicle that pulled up behind them as they turned onto Shaftesbury Avenue, or the
MI-5 ¾ agents that piled out to establish an armed guard post directly across from the entrance to
the wizarding world.

**+++**

**10:00pm
Broadstreet Pedestrian Mall
Reading, Berkshire**

Marcus Flint let out a little cheer when he heard Big Ben chime the hour on the radio station.
That he heard the bells rather than a BBC report that the clock had been damaged meant that the
attack was still on. It also meant that he could take the annoyingly uncomfortable ear buds out and
ditch the muggle electronic device.

Flint pulled out his wand and with little concern for witnesses yelled *“Imperio!”* The
curse hit an attractive muggle woman in the back, and she fell completely under his control. At
Marcus’s suggestion, she pulled her wallet out her purse and handed it over with a smile, a grope,
and an open-mouthed kiss.

Cursing the fact that he didn’t have time to offer her more “suggestions,” the Death Eater
direct-sight apparated down the street to an outdoor restaurant. His “*Accio* billfolds” and
“*Accio* wallets” spells were powerful enough to rip through the trouser pockets and handbags
of the bistro’s dinner patrons; a quickly conjured shield kept Marcus from being pelted by the
leather goods. He gathered the wallets and billfolds into an empty rucksack, then fired a
*Reducto* at an enraged diner. Flint apparated away before the dead man’s body hit the
ground.

The Death Eater reappeared two blocks further down the street, where moviegoers were exiting a
cinema and flooding into the sidewalk. He cast repeated clothes banishing and knee-reversal hexes
at them, thinking it quite funny when the same muggle was afflicted by both spells. Wishing to
leave the scene with a bang, *Incendio* spells were sent towards two different parked cars,
setting them aflame.

Two and one-half minutes after hurling his first spell, the Death Eater left the chaos he had
created and disapparated to a preplanned rally point.

**+++**

News of the attacks in Reading and several other cities reached Harry and Mad-Eye at the same
time (by mobile phone and Patronus respectively).

“We’ve been called back to base,” Mad-Eye told Harry, as they conferred within their observation
post. “Expect we’ll be chasing down Death Eaters and their damage all night.”

Harry nodded. “You realize that it could just be a diversion.”

The reinstated Auror replied, “Aye, but I also realize that you’ve got armed muggles watching us
watch that building…expect you can handle yourselves if Rookwood does show?”

Harry nodded, thinking about where the other Art Club members were and whether they could be
called on in a pitch.

“Take care, then, Mad-Eye, and…”

“Constant Vigilance!” they shouted at each other, before Moody disappeared.

Harry called for his MI-5 ¾ colleagues to return to the forward locations that they’d vacated in
advance of the Aurors. He then badge-called Hermione, who was with the Prime Minister, and asked
her to mobilize the Clan Air Force. Checking in with the other Art Clubbers, he worried about
Hermione’s mum and dad, who were guarding the Leaky Cauldron exit. He then looked towards the
Rookery, and the setting sun behind it. All too soon he’d need to break out his night vision
goggles, and worry about those creatures that roamed only at night.

**+++**

Men and women entered the small blind alleyway within Knockturn Alley in ones and twos, all
linked by fate and choice to the Pack, and to the Alpha bitch that emerged from a hidden passageway
to the muggle world.

Maggie smiled as she surveyed the small crowd. The wolf within each person was strong enough to
acknowledge her dominance, and their eyes were all cast downward. The Alpha took particular joy at
the sight of the former Alpha, whose neck still bore the scratch marks from her previous efforts to
regain dominance.

Maggie lifted the witch’s chin with her hand and said, “Hello there, luv, fancy another go?”

The Beta shook her head.

“Sure, then?” Maggie asked. “You see, it’s just that we’ve a busy night…no time for me to cover
you.” A nasty idea came into Molly’s head, and she added, “Unless we do it now?”

The Alpha suddenly twisted the Beta’s head around and violently threw her down onto all fours.
Molly then jumped down onto the witch’s back and ground her skirt-covered hips into the witch’s
backside. The others joined her in a bit of raucus laughter, but Molly didn’t belabor the point.
After only a few seconds she stood and pulled the other woman back up to her feet.

“Tonight,” Molly announced, “we run in two packs. Our Alpha is in Devonshire with the others.
You will be following my lead. As you can see from our starting point, we have a rather target-rich
environment.”

Maggie waited for a few laughs and comments to pass before continuing. “Our Alpha and I have
wolfsbane in our blood, so that our Pack can run where the Dark Lord wishes us to roam. Don’t even
think of straying from my tail, or I’ll hamstring you myself. Any questions?”

When nobody replied, Maggie nodded and began to unbutton her blouse. “Right then, time for
‘Kibbles ‘n Bits’.”

The others followed her lead and stripped off their clothing, showing little concern for
modesty. The clothes, wands, and other possessions were stuffed into satchels and quietly gathered
by a few unafflicted friends and spouses…a Pack auxiliary, of sorts, that would watch over these
personal effects and redistribute them in the morning.

The sight of a dozen naked men and women casually chatting and comparing scars and body art was
unnerving to the witches and wizards that passed by the darkened side-alley. Smart enough to put
two and two together, they quickly spread the word and cleared off the streets. While a few trusted
the security of spell-reinforced doorways, the vast majority of Knockturn Alley’s residents decided
that there were better places to be that night, and utilized the floo network for an uncoordinated
mass exodus. In doing so, they unwittingly aided the coordinated efforts of dozens of Death Eater
sympathizers, who began flooing *en masse* from one location to another just as the sun
set.

**+++**

Rookwood welcomed nightfall on the top level of a South Bank car park. The former Unspeakable
grinned as he drew his wand and casually cast a stinging hex towards Amycus Carrow.

“Bloody Hell!” the Death Eater cried. “What was that for?”

“Been wanting to do that all day,” Rookwood said with a smile. “Now draw your wands and get to
work.”

They used shrinking and featherlight charms to convert their Mini and three other parked cars
into pocket-sized miniatures. Each grabbed a miniature car (with Rookwood also grabbing the Cooper)
and disapparated.

The three Death Eaters reappeared in Diagon Alley, just outside of Quality Quidditch Supplies.
The scene was chaotic…people were running about, stray spells were flying, and the air was thick
with smoke. Looking down the street, Rookwood could just barely make out the Apothecary and Potions
Supply where Snape’s team of Death Eaters were busy looting and terrorizing. They walked inside the
shop, where a team of Death Eaters was busy bundling brooms while the shop owner was held at wand
point.

The former Unspeakable was forced to duck as a green-colored spell shot towards him. “Hold your
fire, you muggle-loving fools!” he cried out.

“Rookwood?” the crew chief asked.

“Of course I’m Rookwood.”

“Sorry,” the Death Eater said. “I didn’t recognize you without your mask on.”

Augustus began wondering whether it was his lot in life to babysit all of the stupid Dark
Wizards as he approached the crew chief.

“Report!”

“Mission going according to plan,” the Death Eater said. “Except that the owner here won’t
deactivate the anti-theft wards on his brooms.”

Rookwood rolled his eyes. “And so, what’s the Death Eater standard operating procedure for this
situation?”

“Erm…”

“Merlin, are you a Dark wizard or not?” Rookwood walked up to the shop owner, pointed his wand
and said *Imperio*!

“Oh, right, forgot we could do that now.”

Rookwood didn’t have time to snark back at the idiot. He commanded the shop owner to remove the
anti-theft charms on three of his fastest brooms while he gave further instructions to his
colleagues.

“You’ve got your portkey maker working?”

The crew chief nodded and pointed towards a corner of the store where a single wizard was busy
creating portkeys to various destinations from a stack of quidditch gloves.

“Don’t bother bringing the shop owner along if you need to leave before he’s finished,” Augustus
said. “We can’t have him casting his spells once we’ve arrived at the safe houses.”

The crew chief nodded. “Where are you off to then?”

Rookwood lost his patience and cast a *Crucio* on the crew chief. He only held it for a few
seconds before encouraging the Death Eater to remember his place and worry about his own mission.
He then took the three brooms and looked for his colleagues.

“Amycus, what in Merlin’s name are you doing?”

“Always wanted some of these,” the Death Eater replied sheepishly, a box of snitches in his
hand.

“Leave the bloody things, take these brooms, grab your useless sister, and follow my lead…we’ve
got to move on.”

The younger Carrow reluctantly dropped the box, picked up the brooms and threw one towards his
sister. The three then flew out of the front entrance and up into the night.

**+++**

Fred and George were watching the Death Eater attacks from the rooftop of their shop when their
Art Club badges lit up.

“Emergency Alert,” Wally cried out. “Visual contact with werewolves running in Diagon Alley,
heading towards the Twin’s Shop…Fred, George, do you copy?”

The Twins froze, and briefly traded looks of panic before their training kicked in. Fred ran
towards the stairs while George leaned out over the roof and replied, “Copy that Wally, we’ve got
ten or twelve heading up the street.”

“What’s your status?” Wally asked.

“I’m on the rooftop. George just ran downstairs to set out our welcome mat. Katie and Alicia
have been trying to get mobilize with the CAF, but someone’s cast an anti-app ward and the floo
network is down.”

“Understood,” said Harry. “Fred, get everybody up on the roof, and don’t be afraid to call for
help.”

George cut in. “Roger that, Clan Chief, we’re…”

The rest of her response was lost as the building shook with a loud “BANG!”

“Upstairs, now!” George cried out to the girls, as he barreled up the stairs and into the first
floor apartment.

Fred called down from the roof hatch, “Oi…grab the brooms on the way up.”

George yelled back his acknowledgement as he pointed his wand towards the apartment door. With
the sound of howls and crashes traveling up the stairwell, he quickly threw up a few sealing wards,
then ran down the hallway and into the apartment’s two bedrooms.

“So, brother, where’s your broomstick?” George yelled.

“Check under my bed,” Fred yelled back.

“Found it,” George replied, as he stepped back into the hallway. He ran towards the base of the
stairs, then noticed that it had gone quiet below him.

“Reckon our traps got them all?” he asked, as he walked up the stairs.

“Would be nice to think so,” Fred replied. They then heard a series of loud howls.

“Then again….” George yelled, as he rushed up towards his twin and helped him secure the roof
hatch.

“I guess it’s too much to hope that they stay down there and finish off our dinner?” Fred
asked.

George nodded. “Don’t think we cooked the steaks rare enough.”

**+++**

The Beta had hung well back within the pack as the Alpha led them down the Alley and into
Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. She had watched with reluctant admiration as the Alpha broke down the
doorway, only to turn on a sickle and gloat when some sort of trap was sprung and the floors
transformed into alligator-infested swamps. She and three others stopped short of the entrance and
watched as their brothers and sisters battled the muddy reptiles, and was beginning to think about
jumping into the fray for her share when a silvery mist appeared within the shop that caused her to
cough violently and back away from the door.

The werewolf’s nostrils burned from inhaling the colloidal silver solution that had been sprayed
from ceiling-mounted sprinkler heads as a light mist... to the point where she could no longer pick
up the Alpha’s scent. Sensing her chance, she turned to the other three pack-members and quickly
asserted her dominance (as they too had experienced an impaired sense of smell). Deciding that
there were better places to hunt, the Beta led the other three werewolves on a dead run down Diagon
Alley.

The Auror that had been guarding the muggle entrance to the Leaky Cauldron chose a particularly
bad time to poke his head into the Alley. The Beta werewolf smelled him through the thick clouds of
smoke and struck with a leap of more than twenty feet. She viciously ripped out the Auror’s throat,
then scampered inside the abandoned pub.

The Beta ferreted out the muggle exit by the faint smell of prey and she crashed the door with
her Pack mates close behind. Her momentum carried the werewolf not just through the door, but
across the sidewalk and into the street, where she slid into the side of a vehicle. Almost
instantly the werewolf felt the sting of a bullet as it struck her thigh. With a snarl and surge of
energy she bolted down the street, somehow managing to avoid a hail of bullets.

Her Pack-mates weren’t as lucky. Roger and Emma Granger’s high-velocity silver bullets struck
their canine skulls in precise groups of three, and they fell before they could cross the
street.

Hermione’s parents kept their semi-automatic rifles trained on the carcasses, though if truth be
told it was due more to their shock than training. A cry from the site commander shook them out of
the moment, and they followed his orders to climb into the car and chase after the escaped
werewolf.

**+++**

Harry Potter struggled to maintain his composure as the reports of Death Eater attacks came in
from both his Art Club badge and MI –5 ¾ earpiece. It seemed as if the only place that had yet to
be hit was the Rookery – the one location where they had anticipated a strike that evening.

Tonks had reported that the Death Eaters were busy in Hogsmeade, St. Mungo’s and at least three
different places within Diagon Alley. She had been ordered by the Auror Department to hold at
Hogwarts in case the Hogsmeade attack was expanded. Fred and George were, at the moment, trapped
within their shop with Katie and Alicia. Ron and his family had used his mum’s medical emergency
portkey to escape from the Burrow just before it was overrun by werewolves.

Like Fred and George, Ron had chosen not to badge-jump and leave behind those with less viable
means of escape. Not that his wand wasn’t needed where he was now…the portkey had dumped Ron,
Ginny, their parents, Bill and Fleur right into the middle of a fire fight at the wizarding
hospital’s admittance desk. Harry hadn’t heard from them in the last couple of minutes, and was
beginning to worry.

Hermione rang his badge-phone. “Harry,” she said, ”we’ve got a report of possible Dementor
activity in Inverness from one of our muggle-borns,” she said.

“Blast!” he exclaimed. They got hold of Tonks, who reported that the Aurors had gotten a similar
report, but were stretched too thinly to respond.

“Stretched too thinly?” Harry snorted. “Let me guess, half the force is out obliviating muggles
while the other half is guarding the Ministry, which is presently *not* under attack.”

“Actually, it sounds like a bit more than half are still at the Ministry,” Tonks replied.

“Right, I’ve got to go,” Harry concluded. He called Wally, arranged to have Sir Evan badge-jump
to the Rookery as a potential anchor, then apparated up to the Scottish Highlands (ignoring his
lack of licensure and conventional wisdom on distance limitations for wizard apparition).

**+++**

In the stairwell below the Twins’ defensive positions, Fenrir’s Alpha gathered what strength she
had left, and considered her options, and her sorry state.

The alligators had been an annoyance. While not a threat, these reptiles did take time to
dispatch, and then to digest (as her Pack found them to be rather tasty). But then the room began
to fill with a cloud of poisonous gas. She had managed to hold her breath long enough to find a
stairwell filled with sweet air. The werewolf then vomited up a bit of alligator meat.

Once she was done retching, she look back into the room and howled in dismay. Those that had
followed her into the shop had all fallen prey to the gas cloud.

The Alpha’s lament was quickly followed by an angry howl for revenge, and she bounded up the
stairs. The door at the head of the stairs resisted her initial attack, but splintered on the
second and smashed opened on the third. She leapt into the apartment above the shop and took a
moment to seek out her prey. The werewolf reflexively sniffed for human scents, only to wince as
air rushed into her silver-damaged nasal passages. Although the apartment was empty, there were
recent scent trails everywhere, with one leading up another set of stairs.

The werewolf howled in recognition, leapt up the stairs and slammed into the closed roof hatch.
The hatch held, and she bounced backwards halfway down the stairs. She gathered herself, and
prepared for a second assault.

On the other side, Fred and George looked at each other with alarm.

“Think it’s time to ask for help?” asked George.

“I think it’s time we learn how to create portkeys,” Fred replied.

George nodded, activated his badge, and yelled the Order of Arthur’s ancient rallying cry.

“CLARENCE!”

**+++**

Hermione Granger heard the cry from her station within the Emergency Command Centre deep
underneath 10 Downing Street. The Prime Minister and his senior security ministers heard it as
well, as she was presently huddled with them in front of video displays showing the carnage at
different attack points.

“Mr. Prime Minister?” she said anxiously as she drew both pistol and wand.

The leader of Great Britain turned to towards her and gave a curt nod.

“Go Hermione.”

She disappeared almost before the permission had left the Prime Minister’s lips.

She reappeared just in time to fire her service revolver towards a werewolf.

**+++**

The Alpha fell into a pool of her own blood. Lacking the strength to raise her head, the last
blurry images registered by her lupine brain came through cockeyed:

A woman holding a smoking gun in her trembling hand…

Four others trying to console the woman….

An old man who appeared out of thin air and cautiously walked towards the Alpha with a gun in
his hand…

That gun being raised towards her head….

A trigger being pulled.

**+++**

Sir Evan of Eastleigh didn’t need to look down as he reloaded his service revolver with silver
slugs. This allowed him to keep his eyes on the beast as he cautiously walked backwards towards
Hermione and the others.

“Alright, there Dame Hermione?” he asked.

Hermione only sniffed as she followed Sir Evan’s lead and loaded a full clip into her
handgun.

“How many shots?” he asked.

Hermione dumped the old clip out into her hand.

“Five left, seven fired,” she replied, half wondering why he had asked.

“Hermione?” Fred asked. “What do we do now?”

The Weasley Twin’s question brought Hermione back to reality.

“One of you should badge-jump to Tonks…she’s still at Hogwarts. Sir Evan and I will stay back in
case…”

“Is Hogwarts under attack?” Fred asked.

Hermione shook her head. “Ask the Headmistress to make a portkey. Once you get one, use us as an
anchor and return. Then Alicia and Katie can portkey to Hogwarts and apparate out from there.”

“What about us, then?” asked George.

Hermione softy replied. “Harry is off hunting Dementors by himself in Inverness.”

“Right, then, Fred you get the portkey and I’ll go help Harry now.”

Fred disagreed, which forced a quick game of rock-parchment-wand. George got his way, so it was
Fred that called Tonks to arrange badge-transit to Hogwarts.

Sir Evan wrapped an arm around Hermione’s shoulder as the Twins kissed the girls and disappeared
into the night.

“Sir Evan,” she said, “thanks for finishing the job.”

The elderly knight nodded. “We’ll have a talk over tea when this is done, right?”

Hermione looked at Sir Evan with an empty stare and nodded.

“You should get back to Prime Minister,” Sir Evan said.

Hermione looked around.

“Sure you’d be okay here by yourself?”

Sir Even grinned as he nodded his head towards Alicia and Katie and waggled his eyebrows. “But I
wouldn’t be by myself, would I? Me and two lovely ladies, up on a roof…”

Hermione snorted. “Always the frisky one, aren’t you Sir Evan?”

The elderly knight smiled “’Tis the secret to a long and happy life.”

Hermione pursed her lips into an almost-smile as she thought about Harry’s morning trip into her
naughty memories. “Well if that’s the case, then Harry will live to be 300.”

“There you go,” Sir Evan said, glad to see that she had begun to break out of her shock. “Now go
give the Prime Minister my regards.”

Hermione nodded, thanked him again for his help, then badge-jumped away.

As soon as he was gone, Sir Evan turned serious. “We need to clean up the site,” he told Katie
and Alicia. “Eight shell casings and eight slugs. I don’t want any evidence lying about that anyone
used a gun here tonight, right?”

The two witches nodded, understanding the implications of Hermione firing a muggle gun, even if
it was against a werewolf. They used *Accio* spells to retrieve the bullet fragments, going so
far as to magically extract the bloody slugs from the werewolf’s body. Katie then lightened the
corpse and transfigured it into a small book, which Sir Evan placed inside his coat pocket. Alicia
then followed up by banishing the blood and repairing the roof hatch.

**+++**

Sir Evan’s actions within Diagon Alley kept him from spotting broomstick-riding Death Eaters as
they hovered in a small group above The Rookery.

“So what floor is it, Guv’nor?” Amycus called out.

Rookwood replied. “I don’t know, but I’d guess it’s one of the two apartments that are still lit
up.”

“So which one do we hit?” Alecto cackled.

Rookwood paused, then said, “We go after the top one first. If Malfoy’s not there, we’ll just
use *Reducto*’s to smash our way through the floors, layer by layer.”

That decision made, the three enacted the next stage of Plan B. The Death Eaters flew at top
speed towards the target apartment’s balcony, threw the miniaturized cars towards it, then canceled
the shrinking and featherlight charms. Tightly banked turns kept the three out of harm’s way, as
the full-sized vehicles, now propelled only by inertia and gravity, struck the building at close to
150 km/hr.

Were it not for the fact that they were muggle-hating wizards, Harry would later imagine they
had been inspired by Arnold Schwarzenegger and *Terminator 1*.

The impacts blew large portions of the structure inward, and left the three cars with their
boots hanging free and unsupported. Rookwood circled back around, then led the other two through
the widest opening and into the flat. They dismounted their brooms and picked their way through the
apartment, looking to see if they’d gotten lucky and killed Malfoy in the crash. The only sign of
life (or former life) was in a bedroom, where the ceiling had collapsed and buried someone in their
bed. As only a foot was visible underneath the pile of rubble, the former Unspeakable ordered the
other two to help him levitate debris off of the pile.

**+++**

“I don’t care what you think about what you are seeing,” Wally barked into the radio. “Just tell
me, in plain terms, what’s happening inside that building.”

The spotter shook his head as he lifted his binoculars back up to his eyes.

“The three people who were flying around on…well they look like old broomsticks…anyway they are
now inside the apartment, pointing sticks at a pile of rubble. Big chunks are floating up off to
the side. It’s like the people are telling the debris where to go with their sticks.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Wally calmly replied. “Do the three people match our profiles?”

Both the spotter and his gun-wielding partner looked down at the photographs fixed to the wall
of their rooftop perch. They checked their glasses and scope and nodded.

“Affirmative,” the spotter announced.

“Target acquisition?”

This time it was the sniper that replied. “Spotty…I’ve got clear head shots at two hundred
metres, except the bits and pieces of building floating about.”

“Roger that,” Wally replied. “Hold for instructions.”

The MI-5 ¾ agent pulled out his earpiece and activated his Art Club badge.

“Hermione…you back there with the Prime Minister yet?”

“Yes Wally, go ahead.”

“It looks like Rookwood and the others flew to the Rookery on broomsticks and hurled three cars
into the side of the building. They’re presently within the twentieth floor apartment, moving
debris from a pile. I’ve got a sniper team in position with an occasional clear shot. What do we
do?”

“Hold on, Wally.”

Agent Granger turned off her Art Club badge and looked around the table.

“Are you even contemplating assassination?” the Home Secretary asked.

“No,” the Prime Minister calmly replied, “but only because authorizing lethal force is anything
but an assassination in this instance.” He turned towards his MI-5 Chief and asked, “What’s the
latest casualty estimate?”

“Still coming in, sir…attacks in a dozen locations across the country, at least eighty-seven
dead, more than four-hundred wounded…”

The Prime Minister turned to Hermione.

“Death Eater attacks for certain, based on the reports. No robes, no Death Marks, but there’s
magic involved. Also attacks within the wizarding community as well.”

“Any of our wizards on the scene?”

Hermione shook her head.

The Prime Minister nodded. “Get Agent Wall back on the phone, erm…badge.”

Hermione opened a line, then placed her badge on the table in front of the Prime Minister.

“Agent Wall,” he said, “Take out anything in that apartment that’s wielding a wand.”

As Wally acknowledged the order the Prime Minister called his personal secretary into the
room.

“Shacklebolt, I assume that you can send confidential messages to the Minister of Magic?”

Kingsley nodded, as he took in the sight of Hermione Granger sitting at the muggle Prime
Minister’s side.

“Then Auror Shacklebolt, would you please inform the Minister Scrimgeour that Her Majesty’s
Government will have a card-carrying incident commander in charge of each of the areas where
muggles were attacked tonight?” the Prime Minister asked. “And that a State of Emergency exists,
such that any witch or wizard caught using a magical wand on our side of the fence will be
arrested? You also might want to mention that those who resist arrest or point a wand towards a
police officer will be shot.”

Shacklebolt grew as pale as his skin tone allowed. “Erm, does that include the Aurors, sir? I
mean…some of the muggle casualties will likely involve hexes that need reversing.”

The Prime Minister pursed his lips and nodded. “Tell them, then, that their Aurors will be
expected to work under our site commanders. They’ll get to keep their wands and can help out if
they present their badges and use the proper recognition phrase.”

“Yes sir…and what should I tell them the recognition phrase is?”

The Prime Minister snorted. “Any suggestions, Agent Granger?”

Hermione bit her lower lip. “How about ‘I love muggles’?”

The Prime Minister smiled. “Yes…that will do nicely.”

**+++**

Rookwood had just determined that the wizard that had been crushed to death in his bed was not
Lucius Malfoy when he heard a loud “CRACK!” and was splattered with Alecto Carrows’ blood and
brains. He immediately fell to the floor and scanned the area for threats. A second shot that would
have pierced Amycus’ forehead instead smashed into a piece of plaster that he’d been. A cloud of
white dust settled down upon the two Death Eaters, creating a pinkish paste where it mixed with the
blood.

Alecto’s brother cried out her name as Rookwood crawled over to inspect her body. There was a
quarter-inch diameter hole just above her right eye and a six-inch diameter crater on the back of
her skull.

“Muggles!” the former Unspeakable hissed, as if it were a curse word.

This changed everything, in his opinion. Not just that they had killed a Death Eather, but that
they set the trap themselves or collaborated with the Aurors. He didn’t know which was worse, but
did know that this vital information had to be shared with his Master. He shouted to Amycus. “We’ve
got to get to the rally point now!”

“But my sister!”

“I’ve got hold of Alecto…I’ll side-along her.”

But nothing happened when they tried to disapparate.

“Wards against that,” Augustus stated. He looked around and decided that they’d need to fly out
of the anti-apparition zone. Figuring that the shot had been fired through the broken windows, he
crawled out of the room with a distraught Carrow right behind.

“What about my sister, though?”

Rookwood shouted, “We can’t carry her out on our brooms…we’ll come back full force and get our
revenge then.”

The former Unspeakable dragged the other Death Eater along the ground to a window on the far
side of the apartment. An *Evansco* spell took care of the glass and their broomsticks carried
them out into the night…and into the sightlines of a second muggle sniper.

The shock of the Rookery’s wards stripping Amycus Carrow’s memory of where he had just been and
what he had just done was shocking enough for him to lose his balance and fall from his broomstick.
Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, as a rifle bullet passed through the air space formally
occupied by his left temple.

Amycus’s cries as he fell from the sky were enough to clear Rookwood’s mind, and to focus on the
immediate situation. He had no idea where he was, or why he was on a broomstick, but he did know
that if he didn’t help Amycus that he’d be dead very soon. He pulled the broom into a steep dive
and an intercepting course. But Amycus didn’t realize that help was on the way and decided to risk
an emergency apparition just as Rookwood reached out from his broom and grabbed his shoulder.

There was a loud crack and most of Amycus Carrow disappeared, along with Rookwood’s left hand.
The former Unspeakable howled in pain and at the stupidity of his underling, whose splinched right
buttock was still free-falling towards the ground.

Rookwood pulled out of his dive, struggling to maintain control of the broom with one hand, and
quickly considered where Amycus might have gone off too. Expecting the worst and hoping for the
least worst, Rookwood concentrated on a destination and disapparated.

He reappeared in the still-smelly living room of the Bristol safe house.

“Amycus?” he bellowed.

While there was no verbal reply, the sound of moaning from upstairs suggested that he had
guessed right. He ran up the stairs, pushed open a bedroom door and threw a whimpering Death Eater
off of a bed.

“Where’s my bloody hand, you fool?” he demanded.

Amycus sobbed loudly as he pointed towards the bed.

Rookwood scowled as he spotted his splinched appendage within the soiled sheets. He grabbed it
with his good hand and carried it over to a chest of drawers that was merely dusty. After placing
it on the top of the chest and positioning his stump, he drew his wand and began to swish its tip
over the breach. After a complex incantation and a bit of time, his hand was unsplinched.

The former Unspeakable strode back to the bed and yelled, “Get up you whimpering fool, we need
to go now.”

“But why?” Amycus asked. “This is the safe house.”

“It’s no longer a safe house now that you’ve splinched yourself trying to apparate here.”

“But my bum!”

“You left it behind for the muggless to munch on, and there’s no going back.”

“But my sister!”

“Dunno where’s she’s gone to.”

Carrow paused, then lamented once more, “But my bum!”

“Oh, quit whining,” said Rookwood, as he turned a muggle alarm clock into a portkey. He grabbed
Amycus’s hand and placed it on the clock, adding, “Maybe if you ask nicely the Dark Lord will
fashion you a new bum made of silver.”

**+++**

**Sunday, July 8, 2:30am
33 Sq. Briefing Room
RAF Benson, Oxfordshire**

Harry, Fred and George badge-jumped from the battlefield directly into Hermione’s arms. It was
rather crowded, but there were no admonishments about time or place. Hermione mentioned that Katie
and Alicia were in the next room, then buried her face into Harry’s chest as the Twins dashed off
to their own reunion.

After furtive physical reassurances that each was alive (if not completely well), Hermione
pushed some Belgian chocolate into his hands and helped him slip off his fatigues.

“What’s with the beret and these insignias?” Harry asked, as he fingered the patches on his new
clothing.

“The Clan Air Force was drummed into the British Army a few hours ago,” Hermione explained. “The
P.M. was initially thinking RAF, but then somebody pulled rank and had you placed within The
Parachute Regiment. This is their uniform.”

“Who could pull rank on the Prime Minister?” Harry asked.

“That would be my mum,” said a voice from behind Harry. He turned to see a smiling Prince of
Wales, who was standing in the doorway and dressed in a drab olive military uniform. He entered the
room and extended his hand to Harry.

“Glad to see you that you pulled through tonight, Lord Gryffindor,” he said warmly.

“Thank you, Your Royal Highness.”

“In this case, I think that ‘sir’ would be more appropriate.”

“Why is that…sir?”

“Ah, you see…Her Royal Majesty asked that your group be assigned to The Parachute Regiment as a
favor to me, as I am its Colonel-in-Chief.”

Harry nodded, then asked, “Does that mean I now have a military commission?”

The Prince nodded. “Consider it a field appointment until the paper work comes through, Major
Potter.”

“Major Potter?” Harry asked, as he inspected the rank slide affixed to his jacket. “Merlin,
that’s another title.”

“You do seem to be outpacing me, don’t you,” the Prince replied with a smirk. “In this case,
though, it is entirely appropriate for the leader of the Queen’s magical forces to hold that
rank.”

“But there’s no need, is there…”

“Perhaps not for you,” the Prince stated, “but some within your group don’t have any formal ties
to either government, correct? A military enlistment protects them from charges of vigilantism, and
provides Her Majesty’s Government with the opportunity to sanction your efforts.”

Before Harry could protest any further Ron walked into the room, snapped to attention and gave a
crisp military salute.

“Squadron’s assembled and ready for mission brief, sir,” he said sharply.

The Prince chuckled. “Well done, Captain Weasley…wherever did a wizard such as yourself learn
about muggle military traditions?”

Ron shifted his eyes towards Hermione, then returned his eyes forward and replied, “Muggle video
games, sir!”

Hermione snorted as Harry walked over and gave Ron a manly hug.

“Geroff,” Ron whined. “My ribs are still knitting back together.”

“Good to see you too, mate…everyone else alright, then?”

“Yeah, everyone pulled through somehow.”

“Sorry about your house,” said Harry.

“Yes, well, bricks and magic mortar can be replaced, right?” Ron asked.

“That’s for certain,” Hermione said, as she gave Ron’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Yes, well…shall we?” the Prince asked, as he held his arm out towards the door. Ron led them
out into a small hallway, then into a briefing room filled men and women dressed in combat fatigues
and red berets. At his call for attention everyone stood and saluted (some displaying that skill
better than others).

“I don’t think I’m up for giving any speeches,” Harry quietly admitted to the Prince.

“Allow me, then, Major Potter,” the Prince replied. He then strode up to the podium and said,
“Take your seats, Phoenix Teams…I dare say that after tonight’s action many of you deserve to be
off your feet.”

As the audience sat Harry got a clear look at who was there. He was thrilled to see that every
Phoenix Team member from Privet Drive was present (except, of course, for Brian, who was still
convalescing).

“Just a quick word, as I know you have a hunt to attend to,” the Prince said. “Earlier tonight
Tom Riddle and his Death Eater terrorists launched a well-coordinated and widespread attack against
muggle Britain. For reasons that we will surely learn of in the days ahead, the Ministry of Magic
provided a pitifully inadequate defense for our people, and in many ways acted counterproductively.
We now know that hundreds have died or been kissed.”

“You are all well aware that Her Majesty’s Government has become increasingly active in the
defense of its peoples from magical attacks, but after tonight it is clear that we need to step up
to a whole new level. And any part of any good defense is a good offense. I therefore wish The
Prince’s Own First Magical Squadron of The Parachute Regiment Godspeed on striking a blow against
the Dark Lord and his minions.”

“And with that, I’ll turn it over to Captain Weasley.”

The Prince stepped to the side as Ron walked up to the podium and began to outline their
mission.



52. Chapter 52
--------------

**Muggle Summer**

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 52: Cabinet Office Briefing Room A**

**Sunday, July 8, 3:00am
Brixton Metropolitan Police Station
Brixton Hill, London**

Having yet again reached the bottom of her coffee cup, Police Inspector Kathryn Miller decided
that it was time to stretch her legs and visit the station’s lunch room. The Community Support
Officer who had been assigned the task of keeping water on the boil greeted her with a smile and a
full pot of coffee.

“What’s this, then, Kate…number four?” she asked, as she filled the officer’s mug.

“It’s five, Helen…but on a night like this who’s counting?” she replied. “Cheers.”

The CSO nodded. “Heard rumors of terrible things...makes me wish I had something more useful to
do.”

Inspector Miller smiled as she gave the elderly woman’s elbow a light squeeze. “With a full
house of constables and the rest of the night ahead, I dare say you’ve got the most vital task in
the station.”

Just then one of the inspector’s colleagues entered the room.

“Excuse me, Kathryn, but the Super wants to see you.”

Kate acknowledged the message, offered her thanks to the CSO, and walked down the hall to her
boss’s office. She found him at his desk, reading an e-mail message on his computer display.

“You wished to see me, sir?”

Superintendent Dale Cartwright glanced up and nodded. “Close the door behind you and have a
seat, Kate.”

“Yes, sir.”

The superintendent grabbed some output from a laser printer and pushed it across the desk for
the Kathryn’s review.

“New orders, Inspector,” the station chief stated simply. “Or should I say, Chief
Inspector?”

Kate looked down at the message and was shocked to see that she’d been given a full grade
promotion and posted to the Home Secretary’s Office.

“Know of any reasons why my most junior police inspector has been promoted and ordered to
immediately report to 10 Downing Street?”

There was a likely reason, based on the reports and notices that had crossed her desk that
evening, but Kate chose not to share it.

“No logical reason, Sir,” she replied. “This is to take effect immediately, then?”

“Apparently so, Chief Inspector,” he replied sardonically. “Have one of your former staffers
drive you …you’ve got a meeting to attend to, and I need all of my cars down here where the little
people still work and live.”

“Yes, sir,” Kate replied. “Sir…I hope you don’t think that I’ve done something untoward
to….”

The Superintendent shook his head. “No, no, Kate…I’ve got no reasons at all to think that.
You’re a fine officer. It’s just rather…unprecedented.” He paused then added, “Although…after
tonight what’s topsy and what’s turvey is anyone’s guess, eh?”

“Erm…yes, Sir.”

“Right…off you go, then, Chief Inspector...the Commissioner is expecting you."

"Right, Sir."

"Oh, and Kate," her former chief said with a smile. "Do let me know when the
promotion ceremony is to be held.”

“Of course, sir, thank you, sir,” Kate said absently, as she reread her orders. With her
dismissal in hand, she grabbed her suit jacket from the back of her office chair and called out to
one of her former staffers for a ride across the Thames.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

**3:30am, RAF Benson
Oxfordshire**

Once Captain Ron Weasley had completed his mission brief and dismissed the Phoenix Teams,
Hermione and the Prince announced their need to return to London and Windsor, respectively. A RAF
officer attached to the Prince led him towards his waiting helicopter, while Hermione gave Harry
another strong hug and some tender kisses before disapparating back to 10 Downing Street.

Not having any other immediate battles to fight, Harry climbed into a transport vehicle that was
to carry the others out to the two SA 330 Puma helicopters primed to carry them into battle. He
made a point of sitting next to Hermione’s parents, whom he noted had carried rather grim
expressions during the meeting.

“Alright, there, Mr. and Mrs. Granger?”

Emily, who was sitting to Harry’s left, started to put her arm around his shoulder. She stopped
short, though, and asked, “Will I get in trouble if I give my commanding officer a hug?”

Harry shook his head dismissively and wrapped his own arm around her waist. “I’ll hex the person
that tells me you would, Mrs. Granger.” He gave her a squeeze and said, “I heard about the werewolf
attacks, and…I’m sorry that you’ve both been brought into all of this.”

Roger Granger, who was on his wife’s other side, leaned over and said, “Don’t worry about us,
son…we were just glad we were in the right place at the right time with that silver
ammunition.”

“Still,” Harry said, “I know how hard it is to deal with the first time you…”

“And we are sorry that someone as young as you has necessarily faced that situation as well,”
said Emily. "How are you holding up, Harry?”

The Queen's Wizard shrugged. “So far all I’ve tangled with tonight is Dementors, and there’s
no bad feelings watching my Patronus take them on. Quite the opposite, actually. Now Hermione, on
the other hand…”

Roger nodded. “We know…we had a chance to talk with her before you arrived. Afraid that she’s on
automatic pilot, and that it might all fall apart once she has a chance to catch her breath.”

“At least she didn’t see her werewolf transform back to human form,” added Emily, as she
shuddered. “Makes me think about Remus, and how it could have been him.”

Harry nodded in understanding, even as he disagreed with her fears. “You two both need to
realize that even though those werewolves weren’t in their right mind at the time…they did have a
choice. Remus made sure he was tucked away safe before the sun set tonight, and so could have
they.”

Roger and Emily replied with silence, as they thought about Harry’s words.

“Not that it makes it any easier,” Harry added.

By that time their transport vehicle had come to a full stop, and the Phoenix Team members
jumped out of the back of the truck. The two helicopters were parked next to a hanger, within which
were tables stacked with personal gear and various mission supplies. Harry shook his head in
disbelief at the sight of his own pile of goodies, topped off with a aviator’s flight helmet with
the nickname “*Seeker*” scripted across the top. As he swapped out his beret for the helmet, a
muggle supply sergeant handed him a helmet customized for Hermione. Thanking the corpsman, Harry
stuffed it into his never-full rucksack.

As the rest of the group donned their own flight helmets and stocked up on ammunition, Seamus
Finnigan pulled Harry aside and asked for a moment of his time.

“What’s up, mate?” Harry asked

Seamus looked down at the insignias on his flight suit, then back to Harry. “Why did it have to
be the bloody First Paras?” he asked quietly.

“What?”

“This army unit, Harry,” Seamus explained, waving towards the others. “Why did they put us in
the First Battalion of The Parachute Regiment?”

“Erm, because the Prince is the Colonel-in-Chief of the regiment and I’m Queen’s Wizard, I
suppose… what’s the problem?”

“Bloody Sunday,” Seamus said quietly. “They were the ones that killed the thirteen unarmed
protesters in Derry on Bloody Sunday.”

“Northern Ireland?”

“Yeah…my Republican muggle dad would think it the same as me signing up with the Death
Eaters.”

Harry nodded, finally understanding Seamus’s concerns. “Look,” he said quietly, “I don’t know
much at all about muggle politics, but I don’t want to force anyone to do something they’re
uncomfortable doing. Right now, I’m worried about getting to the werewolf pack that tried to kill
the Weasleys tonight, and we could really use your wand out there.”

“Yeah, I know that Harry, it’s just…”

“They didn’t swear you into the Army while you were waiting for me, did they?”

Finnigan shook his head. “They said it was a field appointment, and that all the other official
stuff would come later.”

“So you aren’t too far gone just yet,” Harry concluded. “Would it help if, before we go to much
further down this road, I arranged a little chat with you and the Prince? Or maybe we all sit down
with your mum and dad and explain things?”

Seamus looked appraisingly at Harry. “You could arrange a visit between the Prince of Wales and
my parents?”

Harry shook his shoulders. “Don’t see why not, particularly if that’s what it would take to keep
you with us.”

The Irish-born half-blood sighed, looked down again at the First Battalion insignia on his
jacket, and nodded. “Thanks, Harry…dunno if it will help, but it means the world to me that you are
making the effort.” He then pressed his hands down the length of his jacket, stood up straight, and
gave the hanging edge of his beret a tug. “Let’s do this, then.”

Harry smiled and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Thanks, mate, and be careful.”

“Be careful about what?”

“About showing your mature side too often. You’re scaring me.”

Finnigan laughed, and gave Harry a cheeky salute. “Yes sir, Major Queen’s Wizard, sir!”

The Queen’s Wizard mobile phone chirped, interrupting the retort that had been gelling in
Harry’s mind. With a nod towards Seamus, he stepped away and took the call. After a terse
conversation, he turned and scanned the group with a concerned expression.

“Ron and Fred, front and center,” he called out.

The two Weasley brothers broke off a conversation with George and his muggle co-pilot and strode
with a purpose towards Harry. They shouted out “Sir!” and snapped their fingers in salute against
their helmets (labeled “*Keeper*” and “*Freater*”.)

“Knock it off, you two,” Harry admonished. “A few stray Dementors are causing trouble again up
North. Fred, you and I are off to Fort George.”

“Sure you wouldn’t rather have George go to Fort Fred?” Ron snarked.

“Very funny, '*Keeper'*…just for that, you’re in charge.”

Ron nodded, then asked, “I’ll be flying solo, then?”

“Yeah,” replied Harry. He paused for a moment, then added, “You might want to go with one attack
squadron of five, and put PT2 and PT3 in a scouting role. ‘*Driller’* and ‘*Painless’*
are still a little shaken, and they have had the least time to train with the rest.”

“Makes sense,” said Ron. “Might take a bit longer, but that would allow me to fly topside and
keep track of things.”

After exchanges hugs and crisp salutes made only partly in jest, Fred and Harry disapparated
into the night, while Ron let the others in on the change in battle plans.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

**10 Downing Street, London**

Scotland Yard’s newest Chief Inspector was having a devil of a time getting past what were
obviously SAS troopers guarding the Prime Minister’s residence.

“Yes, I know my badge says that I’m only an Inspector, but I assure you that I am the very same
Kathryn Miller whose name is on your admittance list.”

“Sorry, ma’am, but you need to step away from the gate…”

“It’s alright boys, she’s with us,” said a voice from over the guards’ shoulders. The harried
looking constable who made that statement pushed her way through the line of troops waving a
plastic identification card in front of her. Once explanations were made about the very recent
promotion, and the Prime Minister’s need to meet with the Chief Inspector straight away, Kathryn
was allowed to pass through the gate.

“Constable Jenkins, mum…please to meet you.”

“Kate Miller, and thanks for the help…it’s been a nightmare getting through all of the
security.”

“No worries, Chief Inspector,” the aide explained, as she handed Kate the identification card
that bore her image and new rank. “I’ll need your old ID, ma’am.”

Kate nodded as she unclipped her old badge and offered it to the aide. She was then led
unchallenged into the Prime Minister’s residence, nodding at the Met Police guards who saluted as
she walked past them and down into the bowels of the building. Sir Robin Babbitt, the head of the
Metropolitan Police Department, was waiting for her outside of a conference room whose opened doors
were labeled “Cabinet Office Briefing Room A.”

“Ah, there you are Chief Inspector,” the man said. “Thank you for joining us on such short
notice.”

“It is an honor, Commissioner Babbitt,” Kate replied, as she shook the offered hand. “I must
say, a bit of a surprise, though.”

“That’s understandable, Chief Inspector,” the man replied with a smile. He waved inside the room
and noted, “The meeting will start in a few minutes…you'll be sitting between the Home
Secretary and myself.”

“Thank you...Sir,” Kate replied absently, as she gaped at the jaw-dropping array of titles
printed on the name cards scattered around the table.

The Commissioner took note of the CI's expression. "They're all just like you and
me, CI Miller...trousers and legs one at a time, and all that." Retrieving a small box from
his pocket, he added, “Before I forget…”

Inside this box were two diamond-shaped pins, which he fixed to the shoulder straps on
Kate's jacket. He gave her a salute, shook her hand, and said, "Congratulations, Chief
Inspector."

"Thank you sir," Kate replied, as she turned her head to look at the sets of three
diamonds on each shoulder that indicated her new rank. "Don't know that I deserve the
honor..."

"Oh, you do," Sir Robin replied. "And you will by the time we've sorted
through this mess, I'm sure of it."

Kate nodded stiffly as her stomach decided to twist another know. “Is there time for me to
straighten my tie?”

The Met Commissioner smiled. “Down the hall, second door on the left, I think.”

“Thank you, sir.”

0o0o0o0o0o

The Chief Inspector was in front of a washbasin splashing cold water on her face when she heard
a loo flush behind her. A few moments later a stall door opened and someone stepped out wearing a
black jump suit and a gun strapped to her hip. The young woman. (still a teenager, perhaps?) was
struggling a bit as she adjusted her black leather equipment belt and thigh packs. She was armed to
the hilt, and would have fit right in with the SAS guards on the fence line. Except, the Chief
Inspector noted, for a few accessories that were decidedly not standard military issue – a wooden
wand strapped to a black leather arm holster, a silver dagger strapped to her leg, and a
starbust-shaped brooch fixed above her left breast.

The woman looked up, and after a moment’s pause said, “Chief Inspector Miller, I presume?” She
started to extend a hand, but thought better of it and made her way to the washbasin. “My name is
Hermione Granger...I’m a Senior Advisor to the Prime Minister.”

The police inspector nodded. “Kate Miller,” she replied, as Hermione washed her hands.
“Metropolitan Police Force, and now, apparently, the Home Office.”

“Yes, I know,” Hermione replied, as she dried her hands with a towel. “I’m looking forward to
working with you.”

Kate nodded. The teenager was so serious, with her hair tied back severely and her eyes red and
tired-looking. “You’re friends with Harry Potter, the Queen’s Wizard, right?” she blurted out.

When Hermione squinted her eyes Kate added, “Sorry for asking, but my daughter subscribes to a
few magazines and, well…I’m trying to make sense out of my sudden promotion and summons to this
meeting.”

Hermione seemed to accept the explanation. “No worries…and to answer your questions, Harry
Potter is my boyfriend, and the fact that you are the Met’s senior-most card-carrying muggle
officer did have much to do with your summons. Not so much with the promotion, mind you…from what
Sir Robin says, he’s had his eye on you as you’ve moved up the ranks for some time.”

“Thank you, erm…Senior Advisor Granger.”

“Oh, please call me Hermione…at least in private,” the Senior Advisor asked. “Or Agent Granger,
if need be…that’s what I’ve been using with this crowd.”

The Chief Inspector caught Hermione in a quick yawn.

“It’s been a very long night, hasn’t it?” she asked.

Hermione nodded, looking rather blankly at the mirror in front of her. Kate took in that
expression combined it with a sidearm that was sitting a bit off in its holster, and reached a
conclusion.

“You’ve been in the thick of it tonight, haven’t you?” she ventured.

Hermione’s eyes darted towards Kate’s. “Do I look that bad, or have you been chatting with
someone?”

Kate snorted. “Sorry, you don’t look bad at all, it’s just…well, I thought I recognized the look
of someone who has just come under fire.”

Hermione let out a small sigh. “I had the chance to skim through your resume, Chief
Inspector…you’ve been there as well, right?”

Kate nodded. “Six years ago.” She took a step closer to Hermione and said, “If you need someone
to talk to about, you know…unless you’ve already made arrangements...”

Hermione’s lips pursed into a tight smile. “Thanks for the offer…right now, it’s all I can do to
keep things straight that are straight ahead of me, but maybe we can sit down for tea later
on?”

The Chief Inspector smiled. “I’d like that, Agent Granger.” She then turned back towards the
mirror and as she straightened her tie, asked, “As for what’s straight ahead, any hints on what
I’ll be doing?”

Hermione snorted as she looked the Chief Inspector’s holster. “Let’s just say that we’ll need to
check on our stock of nine-millimeter silver bullets before you go back out into the night.”

0o0o0o0o0o0o

**Fort George, Moray Firth
Ardersier, Scotland**

Harry and Fred apparated into a casement-turned-command post within what had, up until a few
hours previous, been the mightiest stone fortification in the world never to have come under
attack. Ernie MacMillian was there doling out broomsticks and assignments to a small queue of
witches and wizards.

“Can’t cast a Patronus, eh?” they heard him ask a elderly wizard at the front of the line. He
looked down at his map and said, “Well then, take a broom and cross the firth, aiming for the
muggle lighthouse. Just past there are two campgrounds. Make sure they’re still clear of muggles,
and check on the repelling wards set along the road to Fortrose. You see any Dementors, use your
wand to cast red sparks up into the sky, then fly away from’em.”

“But what if the muggles see it?” the wizard asked.

“That’s the idea,” Ernie barked with annoyance. “The muggle Aurors will be looking to see where
they need to evacuate. Now off with you!”

As the wizard headed towards an open window the soon-to-be Seventh Year Hufflepuff spied Fred
and Harry.

“Found time to visit a tailors, eh?” he asked.

Harry looked down at his military fatigues and shook his head. “We got drafted into the British
Army.”

“Well good,” Ernie replied. “Might make it easier for us to deal with the muggle soldiers
upstairs.”

“So where’s the fire, Ernie?” Fred asked.

The Hufflepuff pointed at a spot on the map in front of him. “The town’s called
Cromarty…northside of Black Isle, about seven miles north of here.”

“And there were three, you said?” asked Harry.

Ernie looked down at his wrist watch. “Yeah, as of ten minutes ago…there’s two ‘silver-misters’
keeping them at bay, but…”

“Understood,” Harry replied. He reached into a jacket pocket and retrieved a miniaturized
Firebolt. Fred was just a heartbeat behind as he enlarged his own broom and yelled, “Up!”

“Rank before beauty, Lord G,” Fred said with a grin.

Harry snorted as he mounted his broom and flew out a window. Fred followed close behind, as they
took a moment to orient themselves over the open water.

Fort George was a massive 18th Century fort built on a spit of land about eleven miles up the
coast from the city of Inverness. The fort had been built on the east side of Moray Firth, at the
point where the inlet opened up into what was essentially open sea.

Harry and George flew their broomsticks across the firth then turned north, following the cliff
edges that formed the southern shore of a peninsula known as “Black Isle” After a few minutes of 80
mph flying they climbed up above the cliff face and turned west. As this part of the “isle” was
less than two miles wide, it took almost no time for them to reach the opposite shoreline of
Cromarty Firth. A cold sense of despair beckoning to the north was clear sign that they were on the
right track.

They came upon two broom-riding wizards who were nervously patrolling the coast just north of
the town of Cromarty. These two “silver-misters,” as Ernie had called them, had been able to cast
weak Patronus spells, generating just enough silver mist to keep the small group of Dementors away
from the inhabited parts of the Isle. The wizards directed Harry and Fred farther north towards the
Isle’s end.

A mess was waiting for them.

The group of three Dementors had come upon a merchant oil tanker that had been bound for
Inverness with a half-million barrels of fuel oil. Five minutes and a kissed-crew later, the now
unmanned single-hulled ship had run aground and ruptured, spilling its cargo out into the sea.

A large oil slick was threatening the coastline by the time Fred and Harry had arrived on scene.
The Dementors were still there, perhaps waiting for fresh souls to arrive on salvage and rescue
ships. The two wizards cast *Patronus* spells on the fly, with Harry’s stag and Fred’s hawk
using the brooms’ forward momentum to fly towards their targets at unheard of rates of speed.

Harry and Fred pulled up short of the ship with wands drawn, ready to conjur additional
Patronuses as need be. But there was no need …after a brief battle the stag and hawk returned to
the spell casters, with Prongs seemingly prancing atop the thick mat of oil. The conjurations bowed
to the two wizards before dissolving into the darkness.

As they cautiously approached the ship, Fred asked, “So what’s all this then?”

“Oil,” Harry replied. “It’s what the muggle burn to heat their homes, and as fuel for their cars
and airplanes.”

“Nasty black mess, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded as he looked down towards the see. “Strange thing, though…it’s as if you can see
Prong’s hoof prints on top of the slick.”

Fred took a look and said, “Kind of a strange orange color, isn’t it?”

“Yeah…I’ll have to ask Hermione about it when we get back.”

A quick inspection of the ship revealed the smoking black cloaks of three “dead” Dementors and
the soul-less shells of the entire ship’s crew. They tried to magically seal the breeched hull,
only to watch it rupture again as the tide carried the ship back against the rocks. Without the
magical strength required to push the tanker off of the rocks and back out to sea, the two found
that the best they could do was banish the oil as it leaked from the ship. They called for both
muggle and magical help managing the situation, then went back to the task of keeping the potential
environmental threat from getting any worse.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

**Cabinet Office Briefing Room A
10 Downing Street, London**

The Prime Minister of Great Britain reconvened the latest incarnation of the civil contingencies
committee (better know the British public as COBRA) and made introductions for the few who, like
Chief Inspector Miller, had just joined the group. The principal parties included the Home
Secretary, the Defense Minister, both intelligence department chiefs, the Met Commissioner, Kate
Miller and Secret Agents Wally and Hermione. Various aides and secretaries were seated behind their
bosses, which made the fact that she was sitting at the big boys’ table seem all the more surreal
for Kate. Both Kate and Wally were introduced as lead Investigators for the terrorist activity that
had caused so much chaos across the country.

The Prime Minister then said, “I’m afraid that we’ve put Chief Inspector Miller at a severe
disadvantage, as she has no doubt had little opportunity to review the tasks ahead of her. Am I
right?”

“Yes, Prime Minister,” Kate replied.

“Right, so perhaps a quick review is in order,” he replied. “Chief Inspector Miller you should
know two things. First, everything discussed here in this room is covered under the Official
Secrets Act.”

“I understand, Mr. Prime Minister.”

“Yes, well as for the second key point…that fact that everyone in this room is cognizant of the
existence of magic and the wizarding world. is, in and of itself, covered under the Act.”

Chief Inspector Miller sucked in a shallow breath as she glanced around the room. “Yes, sir,
understood, sir,” she replied.

“Wonderful,” said the Prime Minister. “Now, Wally, if you would…”

“Yes, sir,” Wally replied, as he stood up and walked towards a large video display screen that
displayed relevant graphics and photographic images as he provided his report.

“Early yesterday afternoon three Inner-Circle members of the Death Eater wizard terrorist
organization, or WTO, were spotted milling about an apartment building on Shaftesbury Avenue in the
West End. Intelligence reports indicated that the three were likely looking for a rogue Death Eater
named Lucius Malfoy, who has taken up residence inside the building. Given the likelihood for a
magical attack upon Mr. Malfoy a decision was made to evacuate the area under pretense of a fake
car bomb. This extreme measure was undertaken in a desire to limit both civilian casualties and the
need for wizarding police forces to attempt memory erasures on a massive scale.”

“Excuse me, Agent Wall..am I to understand that Aurors were notified and were on the scene?”
Kate asked.

“Yes, Chief Inspector Miller,” Wally replied. “Unfortunately, the team of five Aurors were
ordered away from the evacuation zone in response to the coordinated attacks at 2000 hours across
the country.”

“They were all magical attacks, then?” Kate asked.

Wally nodded, showing a map with dots over the affected cities. “Twelve separate cities,
including Glasgow, Edinburgh, Reading, Bath, Southampton and Norwich. All of these incidents now
appear to have been the work of lone attackers.” He then proceeded to provide updated causality
statistics, and noted that Aurors at each of the scenes had completed their work reversing the
magical injuries and repairing, to the extent practicable, the associated property damage.

“Has the issue of memory modification been resolved?” the Home Secretary asked.

Wally turned to Hermione, who replied, “Not as such, Mr. Home Secretary. Our incident commanders
are still negotiating with the Obliviator Squads on the necessity and feasibility of preserving
wizarding world secrets through mass memory erasures.”

“Do these oblivatiors have any authority to mess with the minds of the injured parties?” the
Defense Minister asked.

“As a matter of practice, I’d have to say yes, sir,” Hermione replied. “It has been standard
practice for hundreds of years, and justified under the home-rule authority provided the wizarding
world by treaty.”

“But aside from the questionable ethics involved, does this memory erasure work?”

“If you’re asking whether memories can be magically erased or modified, the answer is yes,”
Hermione replied. “As for whether the process is effective in keeping knowledge of the wizarding
world away from the non-magical citizenry…well, that’s clearly a separate issue.”

“I’d say that based on the video coverage these events have already received the answer to that
question is an emphatic no,” stated the MI-6 chief.

“It is doubtful that we’ll successfully resolve the issue until our wizarding world counterparts
are engaged,” stated the Prime Minister. He turned to Hermione and asked, “Still no word from the
Ministry of Magic?”

“None officially, Prime Minister,” Hermione replied. “We have, though, heard from reliable
source inside the Minster’s office that they plan on stalling for as much time as possible before
they reply to your inquiries.”

“For what purpose, do you think?”

“So that can make up a story, and endeavor to get said story straight,” the Home Secretary
opined.

“Moving on, then., any new attacks or counterattacks to report on, Agent Granger?”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione replied. “TPOMS-1 is in transit to Dartmoor to address the Devonshire
werewolf attacks, and there are still sporadic Dementor attacks outside of Inverness.”

“Which the Queen’s Wizard is handling in his elegantly efficient manner, I presume?” the Prime
Minister asked with a smile.

“Yes, Prime Minister,” Hermione replied. “Agent Weasley and he are presently on Black Isle,
containing a oil spill associated with an oil tanker that ran aground after an attack incapacitated
its crew.”

“Which Weasley, Agent Granger…the one that tried to gas us?”

Hermione shared a smile with the MI-5 and MI-6 chiefs, despite the pressures they were all
facing. “The very one, Mr. Home Secretary.”

“Better there than here, then,” the Home Secretary grumbled.

“Moving right along,” interrupted the Prime Minister, “what’s the latest on the flying
cars?”

“I can answer that, Prime Minister,” the Met Commissioner replied. “Over the last hour we have
learned that the three motor vehicles involved in the Shaftesbury building assault were stolen from
a South London parking garage at 2005 hours. We have secured the CCTV images from the facility, and
I have the relevant few seconds available for your review.”

The Met Commissioner nodded to Wally, who opened up a new MS-Powerpoint presentation on the
laptop computer linked to the display. While Wally was doing this, the head of Scotland Yard
stated, “Interviews with the vehicle owners established that they had parked adjacent to each other
on the uppermost level of the facility. The last of the three vehicle owners to enter the garage
positively identified the three Death Eaters suspects, placing them loitering on the rooftop at
approximately 2018 hours. Here’s a rather grainy CCTV clip with that date stamp.”

Wally clicked on the flash presentation embedded within the MS-Powerpoint slide, showing
Rookwood and the two Carrows leaning on the rooftop railing of the garage, looking north towards
Big Ben and Westminster. Once that clip ended, he moved on to a second bit of video.

“This next clip comes from a few minutes past ten. From what Agent Granger tells me, it is
somewhat miraculous that the camera remained operative with all of the magic being cast about.”

The next video clip played out, showing (from a distance) Rookwood hexing Amycus, then all three
of them shrinking down four vehicles and pocketing them before disappearing from the rooftop.

“So they did that disappearing trick that Agent Granger’s been doing all night?” the Home
Secretary asked.

Hermione sighed almost inaudibly then answered affirmatively.

“So four cars were stolen, but only three were used in the assault?”

“Yes Prime Minister,” the Met Commissioner replied. “The fourth vehicle appears to have owned by
the suspects.” Wall clicked on the next slide, showing a static image of the Cooper Mini as it
entered the garage. “The suspects drove the vehicle into the facility at 1745 hours.”

“It was a getaway car that they kept shrunk in their pockets, then?”

“That scenario is consistent with available facts, sir. We’ve running the license plate number
now.”

“Good work, Sir Robin,” the Prime Minister stated. “Do keep us updated.”

“Yes sir,” he replied.

“On to the werewolf investigation, and Chief Inspector Miller’s assignment?”

“Yes, Prime Minister,” Hermione said. She stood, gave Kate a reassuring glance, than dove
in.

“Apart from the already discussed attacks there were multiple incidents involving two small
packs of werewolves. The timing is synchronous with the others, suggesting that they were linked in
some way. One group of approximately fifteen werewolves attacked a wizarding household in
Devonshire, just outside of Ottery St. Catchpole.”

“It was the family home of Sir Ronald and the Weasley Twins, correct?” asked the Prime
Minister.

“Yes, sir,” Hermione replied. “Ron and five family members were successfully evacuated from the
home before it was overrun by the pack. The werewolf pack then appears to have run towards Dartmoor
National Park, stopping along the way to attack two muggle households. Three muggle civilians were
killed in these two attacks.”

“So they are in Dartmoor’s woods, Agent Granger?”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione replied. “But perhaps the Defense Minister should…”

“Quite right, Agent Granger,” the Defense Minister replied. “A MI-5 ¾’s agent apparently tracked
the progress of the werewolf pack from the Weasley residence to the forest.”

“Excuse my interruption, sir,” said Hermione, “but we should note that Luna Lovegood, the witch
who tracked the werewolf pack by broomstick, is not employed by the government in any capacity that
I am aware of.”

“At least not until we can get our hands on her,” the MI-5 chief noted, as he shared a wink with
his MI-6 counterpart and Hermione.

“Merlin help Her Majesty’s Government,” Hermione muttered under her breath.

“Yes, well, as I was saying, this Ms. Lovegood reported the position of the pack to Agent
Granger, who passed it along to the Defense forces. Surveillance and Apache attack helicopters were
deployed to the area, and have managed to constrain the pack’s location to a one-square kilometer
area. It is to this location that TPOMS-1 is transiting, via 33 Squadron Puma helicopters.” He
looked at his watch, then added, “Their ETA is approximately fifteen minutes from now.”

CI Miller had worked hard at keeping quiet, but couldn’t help but ask, “I’m sorry, sir but what
is TPOMS-1?”

“The Prince’s Own First Magical Squadron,” the Defense Minister said with a smile. “A mixed
wizard-muggle broomstick-flying cavalry unit attached to The Parachute Regiment.”

Kate shook her head slightly as she tried to contain the chagrin on her face.

“You find that funny, Chief Inspector Miller?” the Home Secretary asked.

“No sir,” Kate quickly replied. “It’s just that…well, as you all seem to know, I’ve known about
the wizarding world almost all of my life, but thought that I had to guard that secret *with*
my life for fear of hurting my muggle-born wizard brother. Now, I find out that this wall of
secrecy between the muggle and wizard worlds isn’t as strong as I’ve been told.”

“Quite all right,” the Prime Minister replied. “Many of us have had to deal with drastically
changed perceptions of our world as well…Hermione, we need to move on to CI Miller’s
assignment.”

“Right, sir,” Hermione replied, not as confident as she otherwise had been. “The second werewolf
attack originated in Diagon Alley, the wizard quarter of London hidden behind Charing Cross Road.
The primary target again appears to have been wizard-related, but sometime during the attack four
of the werewolves split off and made it out onto Charing Cross Road. Security forces guarding the
muggle side of this exit killed three of the werewolves and injured the fourth. They then proceeded
to track down the fourth werewolf to a location four blocks away, and killed it before it could
escape into the muggle population. Fortunately, and perhaps not coincidentally, the werewolf attack
occurred within the evacuation zone created in response to the Shaftesbury Death Eater
sightings.”

There was a pause, and then Kate asked, “How were our muggle security forces able to kill these
werewolves?”

“Silver bullets,” Hermione replied. “Two of the agents involved in the incident were
card-carrying muggles who knew that it was a full moon.”

Kate nodded. “So we have four dead werewolves…transformed back into human form, I presume?”

“Five actually,” Hermione said softly. “One of the werewolves that remained within Diagon Alley
was felled and its body recovered as well.”

MI-6 Chief piped in, “Agent Granger, you are far too modest.” He turned to Chief Inspector
Miller and proudly stated, “She put five slugs into the creature’s skull as it approached her at a
dead run.”

Hermione looked down at her briefing papers. “Yes, sir…thank you sir.”

Sensing Hermione’s discomfort, the Met Commissioner said, “Chief Inspector, we’ve brought you on
as lead investigator into the werewolf attacks both in London and Devon. We want to know who these
people were, why they attacked, and who ordered them to do so. Your status as a card-carrying
muggle will make it possible for you to liaison with the wizarding police forces that will no doubt
also be involved.”

“Yes sir,” Kate replied. “I should say straight out, sir, that I know nothing about werewolves,
other than that they really exist.”

“Quite all right, Chief Inspector,” her boss replied. “I’m told that we have some excellent
tutors available to get you up to speed, and you’ll be working with someone that has, shall we say,
first hand knowledge of the condition?”

Kate’s eyes went wide at the implications of this statement.

“No worries,” Wally quickly said, having taken in her concerns. “Remus Lupin might be a tad
furry, but he’s on our side.”

“Time for a break, I think,” the Prime Minister concluded. “Some of us have another oversight
meeting to attend to…we’ll reconvene in one hour.”

The committee members and their support staff all stood, with many scurrying off to get updates
from their own departments. This gave Wally an opportunity to wrap Hermione into a one-armed hug,
and offer words of support. It also gave the Prime Minister the opportunity to walk halfway around
the table and quietly cut into his MI-6 Chief.

“Rather bad form calling attention to Agent Granger’s first kill, don’t you think?” he
whispered.

The Director General cast a nervous glance towards Wally and Hermione before replying, “Yes,
sir…sorry, sir.”

“I don’t think that I’m the one you should be apologizing to,” the Prime Minister said. “You
seem to forget that for all of her brilliance and competence, Agent Granger is still a seventeen
year old school girl whose parents are about to be sent into battle.”

The MI-6 chief nodded and let out a deep sigh.

“I do hope that you have counselors on hand that can offer her more than a teaspoon’s worth of
empathy,” the Prime Minister stated.

“Yes, sir…should I bring them in now?”

The Prime Minister let out his own sigh as he shook his head. “Unfortunately, Agent Wall’s
sympathetic shoulder will have to do until we’ve got Dartmoor and Inverness…”

The sudden and unexpected appearance of a broom-borne Queen’s Wizard above the conference room
table kept the Prime Minister from finishing his statement.

“Bloody Hell,” the Home Secretary shouted,” as Harry inched the broom forward and down, so that
he could pull Hermione into an embrace.

“Ah, I see Wally has called in reinforcements,” said the Prime Minister. He paused, and then
added, “Not that it should keep you from begging forgiveness in the meantime.”

“I’ll get right on it, sir.”

The Prime Minister nodded, as Hermione whispered something into Harry’s ear. The Queen’s Wizard
smiled, looked over his shoulder, and said, “Sorry for the interruption, Prime Minister.”

“Not a problem, Major,” the Prime Minister replied. “Here to offer an update on the Dementor
situation, then?”

“Erm, yes sir,” Harry replied, a bit sheepishly. “No contact in the past few minutes, and my old
Quidditch captain has shown up with his teammates from Puddlemere United with their brooms. So
we’ve got broom patrols covering eighty miles of coastline…and Fred’s still up there in case we
need to tangle with them again.”

“Good show, Major Potter,” the Defense Chief said.

“Yes indeed, *Agent* Potter,” chimed in the MI-5 chief, not wishing to be left out of the
loop.

“Thank you, Sirs,” Harry replied.

“Harry, you can get off of your broomstick, now,” Hermione chided gently.

“Well, actually…” Harry replied. He turned back towards the Prime Minister and asked. “Would you
mind if I borrow your Senior Advisor for a few minutes?”

The Prime Minister smiled. “Not at all, Harry.”

“Are you sure, sir?” Hermione asked, shifted glances between Harry and her boss.

“Get some fresh air, Hermione,” the Prime Minister said. “With Agent Wall here, we can contact
you directly and there’s a secure travel link, right?”

Hermione was still hesitant, prompting Harry to ask, “You’re not afraid of the broom, are you
Hermione? Because if you are, I’ve got just the thing…” He then opened his magical rucksack, and
retrieved her personalized flight helmet.

Hermione frowned when she took the helmet into her hands. “And just who was it that decided on
my nickname?”

Harry turned sheepishly towards the Prime Minister, who smiled and said, “It was a group
decision, although I must confess to having originally suggested it.”

A curl came to Hermione’s lips as she loosened the ponytail holder just enough to allow the
personalized helmet to fit on her head. “Well, I guess I can’t complain too much, then,” she said.
“Thank you for the compliment.”

And with that issue decided upon, “Seeker” pulled “Chequers” up onto his broom, and the two
badge-jumped into thin air.



53. Chapter 53
--------------

Muggle Summer

**A/N**: While this story may have broken new fanfic ground when the Royals got involved in
Chapter 2, there have been a few stories that have had Harry and friends join the muggle military.
My favorite, by far, is Old
Soldiers Never Die, by Rorschach’s Blot, and I’d like to acknowledge that story as inspiration
for some of this chapter and others to follow. That said, some of the spotted similarities will
have more to do with logic than plagiarism (e.g. Harry and Neville’s commissioned ranks).

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 53: Wolf hunt**

*Sunday, July 8, 4:30am
Moray Firth, Scotland*

Harry and Hermione badge-jumped to the Scottish coastline, where Fred was still busy banishing
crude oil as it flowed from the wrecked tanker’s hold. Hermione used a satellite phone to confirm
that muggle salvage and clean-up vessels were on their way. Knowing that there’d be little that the
muggles could do to quickly contain the oil slick, she suggested that they disillusion themselves
and remain on clean-up duty even after the muggle ships arrived. Harry agreed in part, noting that
they still had a few minutes until the Phoenix Teams would arrive at Dartmoor. But he also observed
that Fred was managing well enough on his own, and told Hermione that there were a couple of other
reasons why he had rescued her from the Prime Minister’s war room.

Harry’s first stop was a few hundred yards off the tanker’s port bow, where a bit of crude oil
had escaped Fred’s notice. After hearing a description of the mysterious glowing footprints that
had been left upon the petroleum, Hermione suggested an experimental reenactment. Sure enough, the
Patronus that sprang from Harry’s wand left dull-orange marks behind as it pranced along the
slickened surf.

As Harry swooped down for a closer look, Hermione lifted up her legs and cried, “Mind the boots,
Harry, it’s not like we’re wearing surfsocks!”

Harry looked over his shoulder and smiled. “As Ron might ask,” he replied, “are you not a
witch?” He then pointed his wand towards his passenger and cast a head-to-toe *Impervious*
charm.

Hermione let out a deep sigh as she leaned down to get a closer look at the orange goo that was
drifting along with the waves. “Look Harry,” she said. “The color is fading once Prongs moves
on.”

Harry looked farther up the trail and agreed. “The footprints also look to be bigger than his
actual hooves,” he added.

Drawing her wand out from a rubber sleeve, Hermione reached down and poked the glowing
material.

“Doesn’t physically act any different than the other oil,” she noted. “We should grab samples
and let Q-branch take a look.”

Conjuring a couple of capped plastic bottles, Harry made the gallant gesture of getting his own
hands dirty and skimmed both orange and black versions of the oil slick. He loaded the containers
into his rucksack (which Harry always transfigured into a saddle bag when he flew), and asked, “So
we’re good to go, then?”

“I think so,” Hermione replied.

“Good,” said Harry. “Because we’ve got one more spot to visit.”

“Where’s that, Harry?”

The Queen’s Wizard smiled. “To a place where moonlight is still a good thing.”

+++

The pod of Atlantic bottlenose dolphins were only a mile or so from where Harry had first come
upon them earlier in the night. They weren’t at all difficult to spot as they jumped into the air
under the full moon, and slapped their tail fins down on the sea’s surface. It was as if they were
unaware (or, if Douglas Adams was correct, uncaring) of the night’s troubles for their land-bound
mammalian cousins.

“They’re beautiful,” Hermione sighed, as Harry marked the pod’s speed and bearing from a
respectful height.

“Want to join them?” Harry asked with a grin.

Hermione shook her head. “Oh, we can’t…it’s against the law.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…funny bit of law…it’s illegal to approach wild dolphins by boat, but it’s not illegal for
them to approach you.”

“Don’t imagine the dolphins would care too much even if it were,” Harry replied. “Like a boat,
eh?” he added, as he drew his wand and cast a shield spell against his lower legs.

“Harry?” Hermione asked. “What are you doing?”

“No worries,” he replied. A slight shift of his weight altered their position, until they were
about thirty feet to the right of the lead dolphin.

“Far enough distance?” Harry asked, as he once again matched the pod’s speed and bearing. When
Hermione nodded, Harry dropped the broom tip down until he could drag his toes in the water. The
magical shield of air anchored to his legs cut through the water, creating a noticeable wake and no
small amount of spray.

“What are you doing?” Hermione cried out, as she squinted over Harry’s shoulder.

“Pretending to be a boat,” Harry replied, as he conjured two pair of swim goggles.

With a burst of acceleration Harry raced ahead of the lead dolphin, as if they were riding a
magical jet ski. The dolphin didn’t fail to notice. Thrilled to find a new way to play, she changed
course and led the pod into the wake formed on either side of Harry’s feet.

Hermione let out an unabashed cry of glee. “I’ve seen this on vacation!” she shouted. “They can
swim faster when the wake helps carry them along.”

Harry shared Hermione’s delight. He really hadn’t expected the dolphin’s reactions (as the
Dursleys left him at home whenever they made their day trips to the shore). He got even more
excited as some of the dolphins began to leap into the air as they followed along.

“Wow, look at that, Hermione!” he exclaimed. They’re almost jumping high enough for me to…”

“Harry, don’t you….aaahhh!”

A sudden burst of speed ate the balance of Hermione’s warning, as Harry timed a nearby dolphin’s
jump and zig-zagged straight under it. As a different dolphin jumped to their left Harry veered
course and shot the gap under that one as well.

Hermione’s anger over Harry’s recklessness was quickly squashed by her respect for cetacean
intelligence (not to mention her own unabashed pleasure). The dolphins weren’t afraid of Harry’s
flying…in fact, they seemed to encourage it, with five or six offering him multiple targets as they
played a form of leap-frog along the Scottish coastline.

“If they’re having fun,” she thought to herself, “then why can’t I?”

Harry had hoped that this brief escape from the night’s stress and strife might boost Hermione’s
spirits. He worried when it seemed as though he was enjoying things more than she was, and didn’t
relax until he felt her squeeze tight up against his back, reach her hands down between his legs to
grab the broomstick, and begin to nibble on his left ear.

“Am I distracting you, Harry?” she shouted into his ear.

He laughed as he leaned into a corkscrew roll.

“Harr-eeee!”

+++

*
Aboard “Phoenix 2”
En route to Dartmoor National Park*

The “thump-thump-thump” of the rotors rang in Lee Jordan’s ears as he made the return trip from
the helicopter’s loo. A bit of turbulence caused the aircraft to lurch and he fell into Katie
Bell’s lap.

“Sorry about that *Cupid*,” he said with a weak smile.

“No worries, *Rasta*,” she replied.

The dreadlocked wizard righted himself and headed back towards his seat, not catching the glare
that Katie sent across the cabin towards her friend. Alicia responded with a “Who, me?” grin that
might have provoked a minor jinxing, had there not been the risk of frying their tranport’s
electronics.

When the Clan Air Force’s muggle co-pilots had announced that all of the squadron’s witches and
wizards needed proper nicknames, Alicia claimed “Comet” before anyone else could, using her first
broom for inspiration. Once Seamus’s Phoenix Team partner “Blade” heard that, Katie’s nickname was
set in stone.

Her only consolation was that the nickname “Prancer” had been reserved for Angelina, should she
ever join the squadron.

Lee’s broom-buddy, “Stout” Downey, offered up an opened barf bag as the queasy-looking wizard
strapped himself back into his seat.

“Here you go, Rasta…wouldn’t do to get puke on any of that lovely hair of yours.”

Lee scowled at Stout. “That’s Rasta, *Sir*, now isn’t it?”

“Oh yes, *Sir*, sorry, *Sir*, won’t happen again, *Sir*!” the muggle replied with
a smile.

That all of the teen-aged Phoenix Team witches and wizards now outranked their muggle
counterparts had been something they all laughed about when the announcement was made. It was
established tradition that only commissioned officers could pilot British military aircraft, and
the Clan Air Force’s brooms were obviously aircraft. Fortunately there were no hard feelings; they
had already flown and trained together, and come to respect each other’s skills and
capabilities.

“You do realize, *Sir*, that now that you’re official Army you’ll need a proper
haircut?”

Lee smiled. “Got that cleared up straightaway, Stout,” he replied. “Since my work with you
muggles is classified, I’m a secret agent wizard, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So if I followed your example and shaved my head to look just like my arse, everyone would want
to know why and I’d blow my cover!”

Neville laughed at the banter, appreciating the joke a bit more than the others. The boys had
been especially proud of selecting “Buzz” as his nickname, playing on the irony so often used in
these situations. Just as a short soldier was nicknamed “Legs,” or a bald airman, “Curly,” someone
with the surname “Longbottom,” needed to be called some variant of “Short-top.” The consensus
choice, “Buzz,” reflected not only the preferred military hairstyle (short back and sides), but
also Neville’s job as a pilot. And that “Buzz Longbottom,” wasn’t all that far off from the *Toy
Story* character’s name….well, that put the nickname in the running for “moniker of the
year.”

“Alright there, Rasta?” Neville asked.

“Been better,” Lee muttered. “Blasted bouncing about.”

Neville tried to lighten the mood with a self-deprecating story.

“Hey Lee, I’d ever tell you how we got from Hogwarts to the Department of Mysteries?”

Lee shrugged as he leaned back into his seat. “You flew, right?”

Neville nodded. “That’s right, but not on a broom.”

“What did you use, then?” asked Scott “Andy” Anderson, Neville’s partner.

“Thestrals.”

Lee’s eyes went wide. “No bloody way…thestrals?”

Neville nodded as his partner asked, “What’s a thestral?”

“It’s a kind of flying horse,” he replied. “Ugly as sin…skin feels like a snake’s…I couldn’t
see’em, but Harry says they look like a ‘goth pegasus,’ if that makes any sense to you.”

“What, they pull a carriage, or something?” Lee asked.

Neville shook his head. ““No, we flew bareback.…so anyway, I don’t know if was the flying bit or
the fact that we knew we might be heading straight into a trap, but I was sicker than a kneazle the
whole trip.” Nodding towards the barf bag that Lee still held, he added, “Those things would have
been right handy that night.”

“Why is that? Couldn’t you just lean over to the side and let the puke fall to the ground?”

“Yeah, I tried that…but half ended up on Ginny flying next to me and the other half hit my
thestral’s wing and snapped back to hit me in the face.”

Lee laughed at the image. “Clumsy git…no wonder you never had a chance chasing that witch last
year!”

Neville got a bit chuffed. “Hey, I’d like to see how much control you’d have when you’re hurling
vomit off a thestral’s back at ninety miles an hour.”

Andy jumped in. “Wait a minute…I’d like to think I’ve gotten used to the idea of your world,
but….you’re saying that you rode on the back of an invisible flying snake-skinned horse from
Scotland all the way to London?”

“Yeah.”

“And that once you got there you still had enough in you to knock off a pack of Death
Eaters?”

“Well,” Neville replied modestly, “it wouldn’t have turned out nearly as well if we hadn’t
gotten some help once there.”

The muggle warrior shook his head in disbelief, and chided himself once again for forgetting
that at least some of the kids he’d been assigned to work with were battle-hardened veterans.

Momentarily forgetting his ill-ease, Lee looked over at Katie’s snoring broom-buddy.

“Oy, Stout,” he asked, “How in Merlin’s name can ‘New Six’ fall asleep with all the noise?”

His partner wryly replied, “Better now than in the middle of it, eh?”

“Rather noisy, though, isn’t it?”

The muggle shrugged his shoulders. “Me, Andy and New Six have had a few years of practice.”

Neville squinted at his partner; for all of the training that they’d undertaken over the past
few weeks, he knew precious little about Sergeant Major Anderson’s background.

“So, Andy, that’s why your maroon caps don’t look like they came right out the box like the rest
of ours?”

The wizened warrior grinned. “Noticed that, did you?” he asked. “Good spot, lad…we were Paras
before The Regiment came calling…still are, depending on who is asking.”

Having received a crash course on muggle military and counter-terrorist unit organizations,
Neville was able to make sense of this response.

“So you three were in The Parachute Regiment when the SAS recruited you, which was where MI-5 ¾
found you and asked you to join the Clan Air Force, but now that the Phoenix Teams are regular army
attached to The Parachute Regiment, you’re back where you started?”

“Bit of a boondoggle, eh, Buzz?” his partner asked. “When ‘Sport and Social’ invites you to
visit Hell and back, it’s all Official Secrets-like, so on the books it’s like you never left your
old unit.”

“That means…your undercover assignment is to act like you’re assigned to your official
unit?”

The army man laughed. “Gotta give the REMFs some paperwork to push across their desks, now,
don’t we?”

The helicopter started to drop and banked to starboard. Katie’s Phoenix Team partner woke
instantly, as if the directional change was an alarm clock. He immediately checked his gear and
began searching his jumpsuit for more places to stuff silver bullets.

“Oy, New Six, sure you’ve got enough spares?” asked Katie.

Sergeant Beemer looked up at his partner and smiled. “You know what they say, Cupid…you can
never have enough ammo, beer or sex.”

“Hey, New Six,” Andy called out, “Mind their tender ears.”

“Oh, sorry, forgot,” the Para replied with a grin. “Never have enough ammo, fizzy drinks and
feel-ups.”

In response to his partner’s fish-eyed glare, New Six muttered an unapologetic apology. “Sorry,
Cupid.”

Katie chuckled. “No worries, New Six…just take care to remember what my boyfriend can do with
his wand.”

“Didn’t think you the type to kiss and tell, luv…erm, sorry…Ma’am,” her partner replied
sheepishly.

As Katie and her muggle partner were bantering, Sergeant Major Anderson looked out the cabin
window and spotted a green flare shoot sparks up into the darkened sky. A quick radio exchange with
Ron, who was in the other helicopter, confirmed that they’d arrived at their destination. He stood
up in the aisle and grabbed a chair back for balance.

“Alright Ladies and…Ladies,” he yelled (acknowledging Katie and Alicia’s presence within the
cabin), “we’ve got the go to land…make sure your food trays are up and seats locked in an upright
position.”

Three Apache attack helicopters hovered as protective guards as the two 33 Sq transport
helicopters discharged its passengers onto the top of a large hill that overlooked the hamlet of
Bellever. As the rock outcrops that sat atop this tor were too uneven for a hard landing, the
Phoenix Team members had to load all of their gear onto their backs and jump down a few feet whilst
their helicopters hovered just above the surface.

Sergeant Major Anderson took point and headed for the hilltop, with Ron and the others close
behind with wands and rifles drawn. They were met by Luna and the squadron leader of a Royal Marine
commando unit (deployed from their nearby barracks in Plymouth). Captain Ronald Weasley found it
hard to salute to the marine commando and hug his girlfriend at the same time. That he chose to
kiss Luna before acknowledging the squadron leader didn’t do much to improve on the muggle military
man’s first impressions of the teen-aged Deputy Commanding Officer.

“Suh!” he shouted. “Lieutenant Nightsong, Four Two Commandos, Suh!”

Ron shrunk back a bit from the shouted greeting, then recovered just well enough to approximate
a responding salute.

“Erm…Ron… Captain Ron Weasley, First Paras…nice to meet you.”

“Suh, the landing zone perimeter is secure…ready for your additional orders, Suh!”

Ron thought for a moment as he scanned the horizon and took in the positions of the helicopter
gunships. “Are the tangos still down there in the woods?”

“Suh, yes suh!”

Luna interrupted while Ron was looking over the potential field of battle. “Danny, why don’t you
be a good little color and go back inside your tent before the pixies come back?”

The burly Royal Marine gave the witch a frightened look. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. He then
turned towards Ron.

“Dismissed, Lieutenant,” said Neville’s broom-buddy.

Too scared at the thought another “pixie attack,” the commando ran off without realizing that an
NCO had dismissed him.

Sergeant Major Anderson, who had come to enjoy Luna’s eccentricities over the few times that
they’d met, turned to her and asked “Good little colour?”

The witch nodded. “He did say he was a royal marine, didn’t he?” she asked. “Although I can’t
see how a muggle could be two shades of blue at the same time.”

“Where did you send him off to, then?” Ron asked.

“Oh, he has a tent set up on the other side of the hill,” Luna replied. “He called it an
‘empty-tent,’ which was weird since there seemed to be plenty of things inside of it.”

Anderson grinned at the reference to the “EMP-tent,” a mobile structure designed to protect
electronic communication equipment against pulses of strong electro-magnetic radiation. Whilst
originally designed for the nuclear battlefield, the same principles were involved when it came to
screening sensitive electronic gear from disabling magical energy fields.

“The tent’s where they’ve got the muggle communication gear set up,” he explained to the witches
and wizards. He then asked, “Is there a reason why he’s worried about the pixies?”

Luna smiled, “Not really…the werewolves have scared them off of the moors, at least for
tonight.”

Ron nodded as he activated his Art Club badge. “Time to bring in the others,” he said. Fred,
Harry and Hermione popped in a few moments later. Once Hermione arrived she immediately sought out
her parents for a group hug.

“So what have you got for us?” Harry asked.

Luna smiled as she led them to a large wooden box. “Your goblin friend dropped this off about a
half-hour ago…it was the funniest thing when Danny the muggle thought the goblin was a Cornish
pixie.” She then added, “Well, I thought it funny, even if Earchewer didn’t.”

Ron laughed as he opened the lid of the container. “Okay the goodie bags are here, one per
team,” he announced.

The muggle members of each Phoenix Team stepped up to the box, swapped out their cow-leather
gloves for dragonhide, and threw a dragonhide bag over their shoulder. Within each bag were
quaffle-sized silver balls, each covered with sharp barbed hooks.

“What do you think, Andy…something you guys can work with?” asked Harry, as Neville’s partner
hefted one of the balls in his hand.

“Bit heavier than our silver frags, but we should be able to manage…any flash when these go
off?”

“Don’t think so,” Harry replied. “They activate on contact, but there’s no explosion.”

“Well that’s good,” Andy replied. “Won’t have to worry about the thermal’s blinding us.”

“Don’t have to worry about the shrapnel this way, either,” Ron added. He then turned towards
Fred, who was still flying solo with Brian in hospital.

“Think you can fly and bomb at the same time, Lieutenant?”

Fred snorted at his younger brother’s cheek. Fishing out a beater’s bat from the equipment
cache, he replied, “Like a day on the pitch, Captain Ickle Ronnikins.”

Harry smiled as he looked towards the lightening eastern horizon and then down to his watch.
“Right, we’ve got forty minutes at best before daybreak. Hermione…any chance we can get anti-app
wards over the forest in time?”

Hermione looked over towards the woods and shook her head. “Need a good hour and a half, and
that’s with us getting some help from the goblins.”

“Fair enough,” said Harry. He turned towards Ron, and gave him a tight-lipped grin. “Let’s go,
Captain.”

Ron returned the smile and saluted. “Yes, sir!” He then turned towards the others. “Oy, you
heard the Major, grab your brooms and mount up!”

The Phoenix Team pilots, who had already spread their gear out in preparation for this order,
all stepped over to their modified Bluebottles and yelled, “Up!”

The brooms that would carry them into battle that night were a bit different from the Firebolts
that Harry had provided the Phoenix Teams for their first mission. While the racing brooms could
accommodate two riders, they were really designed for solo flights above a Quidditch pitch. Having
found it difficult to maintain turns and near impossible to provide the co-pilots the space needed
to perform their tasks, the Clan Air Force had switched over to Bluebottle Nines soon after the
Battle of Little Wizarding.

The Bluebottle family of broomsticks were something like the minivans of the wizarding world. At
close to seven and one half feet in length, they weren’t pretty and couldn’t travel half as fast or
maneuver a third as well as a racing broom. Bluebottles were, however, just the thing for the
magical family intent on safety and comfort. Standard features in the Nine line included three rows
of bench-style cushioning charms, never-full saddle bags, semi-permeable windshields,
surround-sound WWN, and six-different cup-holders (ever-full pumpkin juice cups optional). Given
the intended customers, these brooms were also incredibly durable and reliable, with intensive
internal shielding in place to ward off accidental magic (something not uncommonly discharged from
infant witches and wizards when they’re flying about with mum and dad).

The Weasley Twins had been scheming big schemes on how to adapt these brooms for military use,
but with only a few weeks of time (and AK-resistant armor a more pressing priority) they had only
been able to make a few simple mods to the seating and steering.

The front bench of each Bluebottle broom was replaced by a single pilot’s seat, and pushed back
a good two feet down the handle (almost to where the ripped-out middle bench use to be). The
steering zone was then expanded significantly, so that the pilot could fly the broom with hands
positioned anywhere along the first three feet of broom handle. This allowed the broomstick pilot
to fly either sitting upright mid-handle, or to lie down in an aerodynamic prone position (with
chests magically cushioned along the top of the handle).

While the upright flying position was more comfortable, once the enemy was engaged the pilot
leaned forward and flew by their bellies. This not only gave their co-pilots a clear forward field
of fire from the rear bench, but got their trigger fingers within reach of the belt-fed M240B
machine gun that was fix-mounted just off the handle. Each of these machine guns was fed from a
never-full saddlebag stuffed with an obscenely long split-link belt of 7.62 mm bullets that offered
more than twenty minutes of sustained rapid-rate fire. The broom’s gun mount also had a dragonhide
scabbard attached to it, from which the wizard or witch could safely store (and quickly retrieve)
their wand.

As the pilots and co-pilots of each broomstick swung their legs over and belted into their
cushions, Ron gave Luna a flight helmet (with the moniker “*Radish”*). With a smile and kiss
she grabbed her own bag of equipment and hopped behind Ron. After a muggle and magical
communication check, The Prince’s Own First Magical Squadron lifted off the ground.

They were barely ten feet off the ground when the muggle soldiers began humming a tune over the radios. Hermione couldn’t help
but laugh when some of the witches and wizards joined in.

“So I take it that viewing *Apocalypse Now* was part of Phoenix Team training?”

Sergeant Major Anderson replied. “Yes, Ma’am…just a bit of introduction to muggle arts &
entertainment.”

“Dare I ask what other bits of muggle culture you’ve exposed them to?”

Roger Granger laughed at his daughter’s question. “Of course you should dare, you are a
Gryffindor, aren’t you?”

“Don’t *you* dare, Roger,” Emily chided.

“Yes dear,” he replied. “Guess it’s up to you, then, Dean.”

“You got it, Doc!” replied his wife’s broom-buddy, using a voice that, to Hermione, sounded a
bit cartoonish. She soon found out why, as her fellow muggle-born led the squadron in singing Elmer
Fudd’s adaptation of the Wagnerian aria.

“*Kill da wee-wolf! Kill da wee-wolf! Kill da wee-wolf!”*

+++

The mission was vitally important, but also relatively simple, which suited the Phoenix Teams
just fine.

Ron had given Luna a warning just before bugging out to St. Mungo’s, and she had responded by
grabbing her broomstick and flying over to the Burrow. From there she was able to track the
werewolf pack on broomstick to Dartmoor, which was the largest and wildest expanse of open land
within all of Southern England. Fenrir Greyback had planned on waiting out the night with his pack
in the Park’s moorlands. But as it happened, Luna shared message mirrors with Ron, whose Art Club
badge connected him to Hermione, who had spent most of evening under 10 Downing Street
elbow-to-elbow Britain’s Minister of Defense, who had his own ways of communicating with those
under his command. And so it came to pass that several hundred soldiers and marines who were
presently training at Dartmoor’s commando training center, wilderness survival school, and
artillery training grounds were hastily mobilized for an unplanned live-fire exercise.

As Her Majesty’s Armed Forces were a bit short on silver ammunition, the immediate orders for
these ground and air forces were to guard the inhabited areas that bordered the Park until wizards
could arrive. Helicopter gunships were sent aloft, and tasked with keeping visual contact with the
pack (using thermal imaging video equipment), as well as encouraging the werewolves to stay
together within an uninhabited portion of the Park.

There had been a brief, but spirited debate on whether silver weapons were really needed when an
Apache helicopter pilot was armed with twin machine guns that delivered 30-mm bullets at a rate of
10 rounds per second. There was little research on the regenerative rates of werewolves, and an
overwhelming desire to keep the werewolves from scattering (the last thing anyone wanted was
werewolves running off in fifteen different directions), The question was therefore tabled for
future examination, and the helicopters were ordered not to fire directly on the Pack.

The Apache gunship pilots quickly learned that the werewolves paid no heed to warning shots, and
could only be shepherded away from inhabited areas with strafing fire that drew blood. The
werewolves, in turn, learned that 30-mm bullets stung like hell.

Fenrir took two bullets in the shoulder the first time he ran into a spray of canon fire, and a
third to his thigh a few moments later. Without an obvious way to retaliate against an unseen
opponent, he quickly decided to run for forest cover. The gunships followed along, using their guns
as airborne sheep dogs. By the time the Phoenix Teams arrived on the scene, nearly every Pack
member was licking a bullet wound or two within an isolated area of plantation woodlands (which, by
strange coincidence, was owned by the Prince of Wales and the Duchy of Cornwall).

Had this been a natural woodlands, Fenrir’s pack would have been safe even from magical attack.
For despite aspirations and comparisons with Luke and Leia’s Speeder chases through Endor’s
forests, TPOMS’ broomsticks and their pilots weren’t nimble enough to bob and weave around trees
haphazardly growing within a “normal” woodland…especially at night.

But this wasn’t a wild woodlands…it was a managed tree farm, with conifers that were planted in
straight rows and trimmed of all branches less than ten feet from the ground. In addition, each
Phoenix Team member was wearing the same kind of thermal imaging eyewear that the gunship pilots
had used to find and track the pack. As so it was quite manageable to have one-half of the Prince’s
Own broomstick cavalry enter one end of the woods and to act as muggle “beaters” by driving the
pack out to the other side, where the balance of the squadron would wait with silver weaponry.

George, Katie, Alicia and Lee peeled off from the squadron and formed a four-abreast line that
swung gracefully around and down towards the ground surface just south of the woods. Neville,
Seamus, Fred and Dean continued on and swung down into a four-abreast position on the opposite side
of the plantation. Ron and Luna hovered above the “beaters” while Harry and Hermione stood sentinel
above and slightly behind the “catchers.”

Harry counted out thirty-five rows of trees that formed thirty-four different corridors. “Oy,
Keeper, any intel on which of these rows the tangos are holed up in?” he asked.

“Negative, Seeker.” Ron replied. “We’ll need to scout ‘em out.”

He then ordered Katie and Alicia to fly into the woods, just far enough to determine how well
their thermal imagers could spot targets in adjacent rows. Two minutes later, Ron announced that
the heat signals of adjacent broom pilots could be spotted six rows apart.

“Roger that, Keeper,” said Harry. He then ordered Neville and Dean to fly down the east and west
forest margins, checking for tangos along the plantation’s edges. When they reported that no heat
signals could be spotted from the sides, Hermione did the math.

“Ron, line the beaters up five rows apart, starting from the tenth row.”

“Tenth row from which side, Hermione?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she replied, swallowing her annoyance at Ron’s inability to logic out the
answer himself.”

“Copy that.”

As the beaters spread out and started to fly down the rows of evergreens, the squadron heard
Lee’s partner call out a warning.

“Be vewy, vewy, qwuiet…..we’re hunting wee-wolfs. eh-eh-eh-eh!”

“Pipe down, Stout,” admonished Seamus’s partner, “or you’ll be hunting fwoaters on watrine
duty.”

“Woger, that, Bwade,” the muggle warrior replied cheekily.

Katie Bell announced contact before the dialogue could deteriorate any further.

“Got two piles of tangos, three rows to my right and about two hundred feet ahead.”

“Targets confirmed,” announced Alicia, who, being on Katie’s right wing, spotted the werewolves
a few rows to her left.

“What’s the count?”

“Can’t tell for sure,” Alicia replied. “They’re in two dog piles…I’d say at least ten
total.”

“Comments?” Harry asked over the radio.

Sergeant Major Anderson took this as a request for advice and replied. “Have the flanking
beaters continue down their rows to check for strays or sentinels. Then have them pull back and
take attack positions in rows between Comet and Cupid.”

“With the catchers all waiting on one end,” Sergeant Beemer added, “might also want to have the
gunships cover the east and west flanks, in case they run sideways.”

“Number One?” Harry asked.

Radio silence indicated to Hermione that the squadron’s muggle cultural training hadn’t included
*Star Trek, The Next Generation.*

“He means you, Ron,” she stated.

“Oh.” The wizard strategist paused for a moment. “Sounds like a plan to me, Major.”

“Well, then Number One,” Harry quipped. “*Engage*.”

+++

When military historians were finally allowed, several decades later, to compile an official
history of The Prince’s Own First Magical Squadron, great care would be taken to accurately and
honestly portray the group’s exploits. As a result, there would never be references made to a
“Battle of Dartmoor,” as that would imply having an enemy that actually fought back, or having
injuries sustained.

In reality, there was neither.

George and Lee’s reconnaissance of the enemy’s flanks confirmed that Fenrir and his pack were
huddled within adjacent open paths in the near center of the plantation. They pulled back to the
south and, with Katie and Alicia on their wings, reentered the forest along the target rows.
Without any real need for fancy acrobatics Lee and George were able to steer one-handed, such that
they could wield barbed silver portkeys along with their co-pilots.

The werewolf pack was quite literally in the dark, and licking their wounds gained from the
Apache’s gunfire. The magical energy that usually powered their were-enhanced senses was instead
being used to heal non-lethal bullet wounds and manage the associated pain. When coupled with the
beater’s silent, above-ground approach from the downwind direction, the werewolves never saw, nor
smelled, nor heard the attack coming.

The four Gryffindor pilots pulled their brooms up to a full stop about a hundred feet away from
and ten feet above the two groupings. The high-tech muggle thermal imaging equipment that was
strapped onto their helmets fed high-definition false-color images of not only the targets, but
each other. It was therefore easy for all eight members of the four attacking broom teams to follow
Stout’s hand signals, as he silently counted down from three, to two, to one.

George and Lee watched the signals from prone positions that gave their broom buddies a
wide-opened field of fire. When the count went to zero they tossed their spherical portkeys
underhanded towards the targets. Not waiting to see whether they were on target, the two
immediately urged the brooms forward, closing the distance to the packs in order to make any
follow-up shots easier to complete.

Grenade training ensured that the portkeys lobbed by the SAS-trained co-pilots sailed true, with
each striking the flank of a resting werewolf. The silver barbs drew blood that immediately
activated the portkeys, and sent the target off towards Gringott’s. But as the targets were part of
a pile, and in direct contact with several others in the pack, these initial two portkeys bagged a
total of seven targets.

The remaining pack jumped up off the ground and separated. Half of the werewolves turned tail
and ran in the opposite direction, where they were met by the catcher’s hurled portkeys. The other
half decided to stand and fight, and leapt towards the attacking beaters. This, however, placed
them within the sights of the broom-mounted automatic rifles, which, unlike the helicopter’s guns,
were loaded with silver bullets.

In the end, none of the werewolves managed to get within twenty feet of a broomstick. Four were
instantly killed by gunfire; two more died from silver bullet wounds after they were transported to
the secured vault beneath the goblin’s bank. The balance, including Fenrir Greyback, were tagged by
silver balls and swept from the field of battle.

Not wishing to drag the werewolf carcasses out of the words, or to risk a surprise regeneration,
the Phoenix Team sent the now-transformed bullet-ridden were-cadavers off to the goblins with
portkeys tossed towards them from point-blank range. The squadron reassembled atop the tor, where
Danny the Royal Marine informed them that their transport was waiting for them at Camp Okehampton,
some five miles west.

The eastern horizon was a mixture of greys and light blues as the squadron left the field of
battle. Calls to London established that there were no ongoing battles, or need for the Phoenix
Teams to immediately deploy elsewhere. Harry, acting as the squadron’s Commanding Officer,
therefore ordered the squadron to report to Windsor Castle for some much needed breakfast and
rest.

+++

As the others loaded their equipment and flew off to meet their helicopters, Hermione asked
Harry, “Think we have enough room in the Round Tower to house all of the troops?”

Harry smiled. “Oh, I imagine the Queen might have a few spare bedrooms, if need be.” He then
added, “Pity you weren’t offered a commission, or I’d order you straight to bed.”

“So you’re assuming,” Hermione replied, “that they’d have offered me a lower-ranking commission
than yours?”

Harry snorted. “Well, I am the commanding officer.”

Hermione stepped forward and pulled Harry into a hug. “What you seemed to be forgetting, Major
Potter, is that the Britsh military serves the Queen under the direction of her civilian
government.”

“So? You aren’t Prime Minister yet,” Harry teased.

Hermione reached down and gave Harry’s bum a squeeze. “No, but I am the Prime Minister’s Senior
Advisor…shall I put in a call and ask him to order you into my bed?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I wouldn’t? After all, Tony is a close friend of the family.”

“True…but wait…this is the same bed we’re talking about, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Hermione teased.

Harry looked off over the moors. “So how long will it take for the Pumas to get the Squadron
back to Windsor?”

“Forty minutes, or so…why?”

“Oh,” said Harry, “I was just thinking about having a bit of fun in the water.”

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. “Haven’t we played with the dolphins long enough for one
night?”

Harry looked down, shook his head, and waggled his eyebrows. “Sounds kinky, but I don’t think
that they’d all fit.”

And before she could banter back, he pulled Hermione close and side-along apparated her directly
into the Love Shack’s hot tub.



54. Chapter 54
--------------

**Muggle Summer**

**A/N:** An alert reader caught a nasty continuity error in the last chapter, wondering when
Hermione had changed from the fatigues described in Ch. 52 into a designer business suit described
in Ch.53. It was fixed about 18 hours after first post, but those who read the earlier version
should be aware that this is why Hermione begins this chapter wearing *Impervious*-protected
military fatigues.

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 54: A Castle Comes Alive**

**Sunday, July 8, 5:30am
Round Tower, Windsor Castle**

It didn’t take Hermione Granger very long to determine that Harry had side-along apparated her
directly into the Love Shack’s hot tub. It also didn’t take her very long to express her
displeasure over the fact.

“Harry James Potter,” she shouted, “if you think that you can just side-along me wherever you
want whenever you want…”

“What, don’t you like surprises?”

“Not when they get my spare ammo all soggy.”

“Well, we can take care of that presently,” Harry quipped, as he reached to undo her equipment
belt.

Slapping his hand away, Hermione stepped out of the tub and pulled her flight helmet off of her
head. “Don’t even think about it,” she replied. Cocking her head towards the front of the tent, she
added, “Besides, we’ve got company.”

“What?” Harry yelled, unable to hear her clearly now that she’d removed her charmed helmet.

Hermione looked towards Harry, shook her head, and put her helmet up against her mouth. “WE’VE
GOT COMPANY!”

Harry winced as his hands flew to his helmet and pulled it off.

“Didn’t have to shout,” he muttered. “Besides, not for another forty minutes, right?”

“Clean the hormones out of your ears and have a listen, Major Potter.”

Harry followed her orders. He then shut his eyes, shook his head, and reached for his Art Club
badge.

“Steve?”

“Yes, Major Potter.”

“Hermione and I have redeployed to our Round Tower apartment…any particular reason why it sounds
as if we’re billeting an army battalion?”

The MI-5 ¾ agent chuckled. “Actually, now that the House Cav’s Scimitars are in place, it’s more
like two battalions.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…might be worth a look from your roof. I understand that the Prince is up there right
now.”

“Right then, Potter out.”

“Makes sense,” Hermione said, as Harry stepped out of the tub. “This is, after all, part of the
Castle’s defenses.”

Harry shook his head in disappointment. “Promise to hop back into the tub with me just as soon
as we get back?”

“With or without our ammo belts?”

“Without, as in ‘without wearing anything’,” Harry quipped.

“Middle of a war,” muttered Hermione, “and he’s got a one-track mind.”

“Would you want me any other way, sweetheart?”

Hermione smiled, grabbed Harry’s hand, and reluctantly shook his head.

“I thought not,” said a grinning Harry, as they walked out of the tent.

Even with Steve’s warning, they were surprised by the armed challenge as they made their way up
the Round Tower’s spiral stairway. The situation was rather tense, as the troopers weren’t part of
the Windsor’s normal security detail, and didn’t recognize the two teens. It took a call into
“Castle Command” to sort things out.

The soldier who made that call soon regretted the decision, as the doors behind him opened and
His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales stepped forward still dressed in his Parachute Regiment
combat fatigues.

“Is there a problem here, Lance Corporal?”

The soldier looked over his shoulder and nearly wet his fatigues.

“No Sir…sorry sir, I mean…colonel, erm..Your Royal Highness…it’s just that…well, this man’s
maroon beret and uniform scream out ‘British Army’ but his security badge reads “MI-5.”

The Prince chuckled. “You might consider a situation where one man wears more than one hat…like
me, perhaps?” He then stepped past the sentinel, extended his hand, and said, “Or seven or eight,
for that matter…welcome back, Major Potter, Dame Hermione.”

“Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” Harry replied.

“I trust your latest foray was a success?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Harry replied. “At least that little part of the problem has been taken
care of.”

“Excellent,” the Prince replied, as he escorted Harry and Hermione towards the roof. “On such a
horrible night, every bit of good news helps.”

The guard stationed at the rooftop exit saluted smartly and opened the door, allowing the
early-morning sun to spill in with the sounds of a castle’s defenses coming alive.

The rooftop was buzzing with activity. Two-man sniper teams armed with binoculars and 50mm
Barrett rifles shared space along the ramparts with artillery scouts and anti-aircraft batteries
armed with surface-to-air missiles. A staging area had been established away from the roofline,
where men were busy offloading a palette of supplies that had just been delivered by
helicopter.

Harry and Hermione were introduced to the Prince’s military aide-de-camp and three other smartly
dressed officers who were liaisons between the Royals and the troops currently protecting them. As
they were given a tour of the ramparts the Prince pointed out units and recounted their overnight
deployments.

“These men on the roof and those below guarding the Upper Ward and the gates are with the Foot
Calvary battalion based in Victoria Barracks,” he noted. “We had the snipers in place early
yesterday evening, when the West End was evacuated. Once all hell broke loose at ten the balance of
the battalion was mobilized.”

Taking in all of the heavy equipment now positioned on the Round Tower’s rooftop, Harry asked,
“How did they get all of this equipment up here?”

“Helicopter transport,” the Prince replied. “Wally thought it’d be best to wait for Dame
Hermione to adjust the Tower’s protections before we started running troops through the front
doors.”

“Make sense,” Hermione replied. “Is there still public access to the Castle?”

The Prince shook his head. “Authorized personnel only.”

“Good idea,” said Harry, “although I bet Dean Conner’s not going to be pleased about Sunday
services.”

“Oh, he assured me that they’ll still be held,” the Prince replied. “And that he’s expecting to
see you in the pews if at all possible.”

“That….actually sounds like a good idea,” said Harry, thinking that the vicar might offer some
additional support for Hermione’s post-battle stress. He then pointed towards the missile batteries
stationed along the ramparts, and asked, “What type of weapons are these?”

“The platform-mounted systems are Starstreak HVM’s, Major Potter,” one of the liaisons replied.
“Primarily used for short range surface-to-air attacks.”

“And those bigger missile tubes on the ground?”

“Short-range, fire-and-forget light anti-tank missiles,” the liaison replied.

“Thinking of certain targets, Your Highness?”

The Prince nodded, and noted, “You did have giants and dragons on the list of possible
adversaries.”

“Then we might want to look at punching power, sir,” Harry replied, as he looked closely at the
SAM battery launch tubes. “Dragonhide might be a little tougher than metallic fuselages.”

Smiling, the Prince asked, “Don’t suppose you have a dragon laying about that we could use for
target practice?” Without waiting for a response he then turned towards his aide and instructed him
to look into the installation of heavy-duty wire-guided TOW missiles.

Looking out beyond the castle’s walls, the Prince then picked out roadblocks associated with an
outer perimeter. “Those boys are with the armoured reconnaissance squadron out of Combermere
Barracks. Up above, of course, we’ve got Joint Helicopter Command keeping watch.”

Hermione and Harry were pleased to see that the checkpoints at each of the Castle’s main
entrances were just inside her attenuated wards. “How tight are they monitoring the authorized
personnel that are coming into the castle?”

“Complete lockdown,” the Prince replied. “We’re taking your warning about Imperius curses
seriously…the only way into the castle right now is by helicopter transits flying out of RAF
Northolt.”

“Excellent,” Harry replied. The mention of helicopter transit prompted him ask about the Phoenix
Team helicopters. The RAF officer representing the Joint Helicopter Command informed Harry that the
two Pumas had already been cleared to land on the helicopter pad that had established in the Lower
Ward’s courtyard.

“Hope you don’t mind, Your Highness,” said Harry, “but I thought it best to bring the Phoenix
Teams here for the time being.”

“Quite all right, Major Potter,” the Prince replied. “We hadn’t gotten to a discussion of where
exactly TPOMS would be stationed, and the extra wands will be welcomed….which reminds me that we
need to consider augmenting the magical side of the Queen’s security.”

“You mean beyond the Queen’s Wizard?” asked Hermione.

“Precisely,” the Prince replied. “While having a Order of Arthur member permanently assigned to
her security detail means that you two are only a badge-call away, Agent Jackson can’t be expected
to work 24/7, and there are situations where he can’t be expected to be by her side.”

“Like where?”

“Harry,” Hermione chided gently, “Start with the Royal dressing rooms and use your imagination
from there.”

“Oh, yeah, guess you’re right,” Harry replied. “So we’re talking about a witch, and preferably
one that can more or less move into the Castle and travel with the Queen at all times?”

“That’s one possibility,” the Prince replied. “Were it not for the fact that Dame Hermione’s
talents were currently being so brilliantly exploited by the Prime Minister’s office and his
Intelligence Ministers, we’d ask her.”

Hermione blushed. “You are too kind, Your Highness.”

“Not at all, Dame Hermione,” the Prince replied. “He said as much himself just an hour ago when
Her Royal Majesty broached the topic.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really, Dame Hermione…from the way he was zealously guarding your time and talent I half
expected him to announce intentions to adopt you and offer the spare bedroom above Number 10.”

“Oh my,” the red-faced witch replied. “I’m afraid that my parents might object to the
adoption.”

“And I’d object to the spare bedroom,” Harry whispered, earning himself an elbow to the
ribs.

**+++**

Harry, Hermione and the Prince of Wales were at the helicopter-landing pad to personally greet
the Phoenix Teams as they arrived. They even helped off-load their equipment. And if anyone
wondered why the Prince of Wales was walking within the castle grounds carrying a seven-and-a-half
foot long broom, they kept it to themselves.

There was more than enough magically-supplied hot water between the Round Tower’s three magical
tents to offer each of the Phoenix Teams members the chance to clean up. Sir Evan, who was now back
from his Rookery deployment, was happy to host Andy and the other muggle military men. They, in
turn, were more than happy to closely examine Sir Evan’s artwork as they waited their turn to
shower and shave.

The Grangers offered up their magical lavatory to Fred, George, Katie, Alicia and Lee, which
allowed Harry and Hermione to show off the Love Shack to Luna and Harry’s four Gryffindor dormitory
mates. Needless to say, the tacky-romantic décor created quite an impression, and no small amount
of grief to be delivered onto Harry’s shoulders by his male friends.

“Bloody hell, Harry,” said Dean, “this is the same tent you had pitched on Privet Drive, isn’t
it?”

“Erm, yeah, it is.”

“Did it come this way, or did you and Hermione doll it up this way to suit your moods?” asked a
smirking Seamus.

“It came this way, thank you very much,” said Harry.

“Where did you get it?” asked Dean.

“Headmistress gave it to me,” Harry replied.

“Really?” asked a smirking Neville. “Reckon I might like the way the new Headmistress will run
Hogwarts when we return, then.”

With all of their teasing, the boys failed to notice Hermione as she slipped into the back room
with Luna. By the time that Harry tried to show them in the door was locked, and it was only after
a five-minute wait that the locking charm was removed and they were allowed inside.

Harry Potter was used to seeing two trails of clothing leading from the bath house door towards
the hot tub. That said, he was not used to seeing bras and knickers included within *both*
sets of discarded garments.

Ron and Harry took in the sight of their girlfriends’ heads floating just above the water’s
surface and simultaneously uttered their first names in disbelief.

“Hermione?”

“Luna?”

“Hop in, Ronnikins,” the Ravenclaw witch replied.

“Just make sure you wash first,” added Hermione with a smile.

“Erm you want us to strip down and wash first?” asked Harry.

“That is how we generally do it, isn’t it Harry?”

“Erm yeah, but…not when we’ve got company.”

“Oh pish posh, Harry…weren’t you the one that made me promise to jump in with you just as soon
as we got back?”

“Erm yeah, but…but…”

“Luna, I should know better than to ask what you’re wearing, right?” asked Ron.

“Yes,” Luna replied matter-of-factly.

“Sweet Merlin’s shorts,” uttered Dean Thomas.

“Wait a minute…you two girls expect us to strip down starkers and jump in with you?”

“No,” Hermione replied patiently. “We also expect you to scrub yourself clean somewhere in
between stripping and jumping.”

“Bloody Hell!” Ron exclaimed.

“Oh, you…boys,” Hermione sighed, as she reached for her wand. The bit of naked shoulder exposed
by this movement drew in more breaths as she turned and fired *Obscuro* charms on each of the
five young wizards. This spell played with the light rays as they reflected off of each wizard and
his clothes, so that they, or anyone looking at them, could only see a blurred image.

Harry thought it similar to the pixilated soft-core porn that he’d once caught Dudley trying to
make sense of on a partially-blocked telly channel.

“There, happy now?” asked Hermione. “Luna and I can’t see your bits as you wash….oh, and Harry,
be sure to show them how to use the scrub brush.”

“Erm…yes dear,” he replied, just managing to remember the proper response to that situation.

As Luna and Hermione watched the five blurry Gryffindors strip down and wash up they decided
that the blurry images were highly entertaining. The obscuring charms affected the wizards
themselves, so scrub brushes didn’t always land where they were supposed to. The spells also played
havoc with depth perception, and made it hard for each of the boys to keep to their own spaces.
Combine these vision problems with soap suds and a slickened floor (which may or may not have been
made more slippery by a discrete spell cast from the peanut gallery), and the boys found themselves
falling all over themselves. (to their embarrassment and to the Hermione and Luna’s amusement).

Finally, after five minutes of slipping and sliding the boys were allowed to join the witches in
the now-expanded hot tub. Ron and Harry made sure that Luna and Hermione were sitting next to each
other and that they were by their respective girlfriend’s sides.

As the group finally began to settle down, Hermione leaned towards Harry and whispered into his
ear.

“So, is this as fun as you thought?”

“Not as such.”

“Planning on surprising me again with a side-along apparition into the tub?”

“Not anytime soon.”

“Good,” Hermione replied, squeezing his upper thigh for emphasis.

Harry slumped down into the water and considered the possibility that Hermione’s Slytherin
streak was just as strong as his.

Especially when Hermione scooted next to him and he felt the fabric of her strapless bikini top
scrape against his chest.

+++

By the time that they had finished their soak, reapplied obscuration charms, and gotten dressed,
a House Calvary Unit’s quartermaster had arranged for muggle tents, cots and other supplies to be
set up in the Round Tower’s upper floor. They had decided to convert this upper story into a
barracks, with facilities not only for the Phoenix Teams but for the muggle military troops that
would now be stationed on the Round Tower’s roof. Harry had been all set to tuck into some serious
conjuring and transfiguration remodeling work, before Hermione quietly reminded him that the
expended magical energy might negatively interfere with the laser-guided target acquisition systems
and other sensitive electronics now positioned on the roof.

The Prince had arranged for a fresh set of uniforms to be left on each cot, not realizing that
the magical hampers installed within each of the three tents had cleaned and pressed the uniforms
that had been worn into the field. Luna was surprised to find that a fresh set of black fatigues
had been discretely set out for her use inside the Deputy Commanding Officer’s tent. On top of this
clothes pile was a plastic identification card attached to a lanyard necklace.

Ron snickered when Luna brought this to his attention.

“M…I….5,” Luna sounded out, as she looked at the badge. “What does that mean, Ronny?”

“Ask Hermione,” he replied brightly. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to tell you.”

Once they’d reassembled, Harry asked for a show of hands on the issue of rest vs. rations. Ron
was ready to argue that his growling stomach deserved its own vote, but this wasn’t necessary, as
the post-combat high was still in place and food won out.

Given the Castle’s augmented security forces, the mess had geared up in its own way and changed
over from menu service to a buffet line, and from individual tables to long, Great-Hall style
seating. Fortunately, the quality of food didn’t diminish, as Ron was all too eager to state as
heaped food on his plate.

Neville Longbottom ended up sitting across from Harry and Hermione, which gave opportunity to
address something that had been nagging him all night. Gesturing at his uniform, and down the table
towards the Phoenix Teams, he asked Harry, “So…what’s all this mean now, after last night?”

Harry shared a look with Hermione, then replied. “Don’t really know myself, Nev…was there
something specific?”

“Well, lots of things,” Neville replied. “But maybe I should start with asking what it means to
be Lieutenant Longbottom, and a wizard within the muggle army.”

Harry sighed. “When I talked with The Prince last night, he said that the muggles wanted to be
sure that the Phoenix Teams couldn’t get into trouble for what happened in the woods with the
werewolves.”

“What kind of trouble…and from whom…the muggles or the Ministry?”

“Both, I think,” Hermione replied. In the muggle world, people can’t just go out and kill
werewolves, or wizards, or each other, unless it’s a clear case of self-defense. Even then, very
few muggles are allowed to carry the kinds of weapons we have to defend ourselves.”

“What, you mean those guns?”

Hermione nodded. “That’s a huge difference between the muggle and wizard worlds, Neville…in the
wizarding world, everyone can legally carry a concealed, lethal weapon.”

“You mean our wands?”

“Exactly,” Hermione replied. “Muggles who don’t have permission to carry a gun can be sent off
to muggle prison if they get caught. And muggles who don’t have permission to use guns against
criminals or terrorists can get into even more trouble.”

“So….if you’re in the Army you’ve got permission to carry and use weapons?”

Hermione nodded. “To a limited extent, yes….so long as you are doing your job and follow
orders.”

“Oh,” Neville replied. He then asked, “So what happens if the muggles say our job is to kill
wizards?”

“It won’t happen, Nev, unless it’s fighting Death Eaters who are trying to kill us,” Harry
replied. “But if it did happen….well, muggles have a different set of laws to cover those
cases.”

“What do you mean?”

“Moral laws,” Harry replied. “Killing innocent people is morally wrong, and if a soldier is
ordered to do that he can say no and refuse to carry out those orders.”

“But won’t he get in trouble?”

Hermione shook his head. “The soldier would only get in trouble if they obeyed.”

“So how do we learn when it’s okay to follow these types of orders and when we have to
refuse?”

Harry thought for a moment. “My first thought is that you don’t have to learn that kind of
thing, Neville….because you already know the answer. You know what’s right and wrong, you fight for
the light….you just know.”

Neville responded with a contemplative nod. “And second thoughts?”

Harry turned to Hermione, who replied, “Neville, the muggle army has Code of Conduct that it has
to teach you before it can expect you to follow the rules. And as for what’s moral during wartime,
well…Harry and I are actually working with someone on that.”

“In fact,” Harry added, “if we’re not too terribly busy later this morning we’ll introduce you
to Dean Conner.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Neville replied. “I think I’d like that.” After a moment’s pause and another
bite of food he asked a related question. “But what about the Ministry?”

Harry chuckled. “Well, I think that the Prince and Prime Minister will be keeping the Ministry
occupied for the next few days…why?”

“The internships,” Neville replied. “Today’s Sunday, but tomorrow it’s the start of another work
week for all of the pure-bloods that were drafted into becoming the Ministry’s house elves.”

“Ah, I hadn’t thought about that,” Harry replied. “Well, my first response is to tell the
Ministry to sod off.”

“Harry!” Hermione chided.

“Probably my second response as well,” said Harry with a grin. “What’s the penalty for calling
in sick?”

“Hmm, there’s a fine and if you skiv off long enough they say they’ll arrest you.”

Harry nodded. “Well, we can cover any fines, if need be, and if the Aurors think they’ve got
enough time on their hands to play truant officers, well….”

“What Harry is trying to say is that we’ll raise the issue with our bosses,” interrupted
Hermione. “For now, consider TPOMS to be the same kind of part-time job as the Clan Air Force.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Neville replied. “Not that I wouldn’t miss the grunge work, but there have
been one or two good things about that internship program.”

“Oh, what’s that?”

“Lunch dates with Susan,” chimed in an eavesdropping Seamus.

As Neville blushed, Harry raised an eyebrow, “Really, Nev?”

Hermione swatted her boyfriend’s arm. “Oh, shush, Harry. You’re the Queen’s Wizard, not the
Queen’s Gossip…it’s Neville’s business, not yours.”

“Yes, dear,” Harry replied with a smirk.

Mention of the Queen brought Harry’s mind back to an earlier conversation, and the need to
expand and rearrange his white board.

“So, Neville, you’ve been talking with Susan last couple of weeks?”

When Neville smiled and nodded, Harry followed up. “Do you think she likes being an intern, or
that she only likes it for the same reasons you do?”

Neville sighed, then admitted that Susan hated her job, but seemed to enjoy her lunches.

“So,” Harry reasoned, “if TPOMS were based here, at the Castle, and you were living in the Tower
and taking your meals here in the Queen’s Mess, and we found a way to offer Susan a job that would
do the same…”

“Oh, Harry, quit playing yenta,” Hermione said. “Although….it’s not a bad idea…haven’t got Susan
on your org chart yet, have you?”

Harry shook his head. “Nope, not her, or Padma, or Parvati, or Hannah Abbot…”

“Thinking about more than one magical bodyguard, Harry?” Hermione asked.

Nodding, Harry explained, “Well, if the whole point is to find a way to get Neville and Susan
some quality time together, then it’d hardly do to have her spending all her time with the Queen,
right?”

“Harry,” Hermione replied, “Are you planning on bringing the entire Peanut Butter Brigade onto
the Royal payroll?”

The Queen’s Wizard shook his head. “No, not at all, just minding my responsibilities.”

“Responsibilities to the Queen?”

“No, silly,” Harry replied. Giving Neville a wink he said, “To my troops.”

“Planning on housing these witches-in-waiting in the Tower as well?” Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll see…it would be up to the Queen. Although…we do have that
spare bed in the Love Shack to offer. What do you think, Nev?”

Hermione thought to kick Harry’s shin, as Lieutenant Longbottom choked on his Cheerios. The call
out of “Attention!” and the scrape of chair legs as the mess hall sprang to its feet saved Neville
from further teasing.

“As you were,” the Prince called out, as he entered the room and strode towards Harry. The Royal
Historian trailed closely behind, looking extremely worried and wringing his hands together as he
muttered to himself. When he caught sight of Ron dressed in his captain’s uniform the man let out a
sharp cry.

“Hush, Mr. Baxter,” said the Prince, “We’ll soon get to the bottom of this.”

“Is something wrong, Your Highness?” Harry asked.

The Prince nodded. “There may be…I’m afraid that I gave our Royal Historian quite a shock when I
saw him in the hall just now and mentioned your commissions.”

“The orb, Your Highness,” the historian begged.

“Ah, yes,” the Prince replied. He turned towards Harry and said, “Mr. Baxter is afraid that
certain actions taken on our part may have caused some difficulties with treaty obligations.”

“How is that, Your Highness?”

“Well…we are not quite certain, but it has to do with your Queen’s Wizard’s necklace. You don’t
happen to have it with you, do you?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Harry replied. “It’s here in my rucksack…would you like to see it?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble, Major.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders as he set his rucksack on the table, opened the top flap, and
rummaged through the expanded interior. After a few moments he muttered, “There it is!” and fished
out the symbol of his station.

“Put it on, Sir Harry, please?” begged the Historian.

“Erm, sure,” Harry replied. He held the huge pearl in one had as he slipped the heavy gold chain
over his head with the other. Once he let the orb dangle against his uniformed chest it began to
glow with the same amber light displayed when the Queen elevated him to the position of Royal
Wizard.

“Oh, thank goodness,” the Royal Historian cried, as he held a hand to his heart. “I was so
certain that…can’t imagine why it wouldn’t….”

Harry shifted his confused gaze between the Prince and the Royal Historian.

“Major Potter, there is an explanation, but perhaps it best be provided elsewhere?” asked the
Prince.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Harry replied, as he closed his rucksack back up. “Might Ron and
Hermione join us?”

“Oh, certainly,” the Prince replied.

Harry turned to Neville and said, “Lieutenant, once everyone’s eaten the squadron can stand down
in the Tower Barracks.”

“Yes, Sir, Major Potter,” Neville replied with a smirking salute.

The Prince led the three teens and the historian out of the mess hall and down the walkway
towards the State Apartments that housed the Royal Family. Finding an empty sitting room just
inside the entrance, he asked an assistant for tea and bade the others to sit.

“Mr. Baxter, has your heart rate slowed to the point where you can talk again?” the Prince asked
with a smile.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the historian replied. After a moment he said, “Sir Harry, your right to
wield magic as the Queen’s Wizard was established by the Treaty of Carlisle signed in the year 1567
by Queen Elizabeth I.”

“Yes I remember…you mentioned this back when we met on Privet Drive,” Harry replied.

“Yes, well you might also remember me saying that this was a negotiated treaty, with terms and
conditions that each of the signature parties, or their successors, were obligated to fulfill,”
said the historian. “One of those conditions was that the muggle monarchy would disband her wizard
military forces, and authorize the Ministry of Magic’s Aurors and Hit Wizards to work in their
stead.”

“And so,” offered Hermione, “you thought that the creation of The Prince’s Own Magical Squadron
violated that condition?”

“Exactly, Dame Hermione,” the historian replied.

“What’s that got to do with Harry’s gaudy jewelry?” Ron asked.

“Ron!” Hermione chided.

“Quite alright, Dame Hermione,” the historian quickly said. “The question was one of treaty
enforcement,” he stated. “Since the magical and mundane worlds were to be separated, there were
concerns at the time of signing about how each side could verify that the other side was honoring
its obligations.”

“So?” asked Ron.

“So, according to what I’ve read within the treaty’s ancillary documents, a magical way was
created to ensure compliance.”

“And that has to do with the necklace?” asked Harry.

“Yes, Sir Harry,” the historian replied. “That necklace and one other was created with magic
linked to the treaty. Based on what I’ve read, so long as the orb on the Queen’s Wizard’s necklace
glows, he has the right and authority to do magic for the Queen.”

“So if the Queen or her Wizard violated the treaty’s terms or conditions, his necklace would
stop glowing?”

“Yes.”

“So…what does that mean?” Harry asked. “Based on what you’ve said, it should have stopped
glowing, right?”

“Not necessarily,” the historian replied. “It’s possible that there’s some sort of loophole
about the military commissions that you’ve been offered. But…”

The historian paused to sip some tea. “It’s more likely that this is the result of other
concerns at the time of signing…fears that one side or the other would at some point knowingly
abrogate the treaty in order to make it unenforceable.”

“Why was that a concern?”

“This was the treaty that basically created the Ministry of Magic,” the historian explained.
“Before this treaty, all British wizards and witches were subject to direct rule by the muggle
monarch, just like their muggle counterparts.”

“So,” Hermione reasoned. “The wizards were afraid that some future king or queen might want to
go back on the agreement, disassemble the Ministry of Magic, and bring the worlds back together
again?”

“Exactly,” said Baxter. “So the solution was this. If one side violated the treaty, it lost the
rights they gained by treaty, but the other side got to keep their own treaty rights, as well as
any rights they had previously given up.”

“Oh, my,” muttered Hermione.

“What?” Harry asked.

“I don’t think you want to know, Harry.”

“Why is that?”

The Prince, who had followed the conversation closely, suddenly reached the same disturbing
conclusion.

“Because Sir Harry,” he explained, “there is the distinct possibility that you have just gained
yet another title.”

“Let me guess,” snarked Ron. “Harry is now the Minister of Magic.”

“Oh no,” the historian replied. “As the Queen’s proxy ruler over the wizarding world, I believe
that his correct title would be Duke.”

Harry choked on his tea.

Hermione jumped to help.

Ron learned the Heimlich maneuver.



55. Expository Interlude
------------------------

**Muggle Summer**

**A/N:** The chapter title is self-explanatory. Anyone not interested in backstory can skip
ahead to the next chapter without losing too much of the story. My apologies in advance to those
who take offense at the bit of butchery I performed to make English history fit with a wizarding
world.

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 55: Royal Expository**

**Sunday, July 8, 7:30am
State Apartments, Windsor Castle**

Once it was determined that the Queen’s Wizard would not choke on his latest potential title,
the Prince quietly conferred with the Royal Historian, who then made a quick telephone call. He was
pocketing his mobile just as the Queen’s Wizard regained the ability to not only breathe, but also
talk.

“Ruler of the wizarding world?” asked Harry. “Duke?”

The historian cast a nervous look towards the Prince and replied. “Pardon me, Sir Harry, but I
may have gotten ahead of myself. My first thoughts were that by governing the magical world in the
Queen’s stead you would be the Duke of Cornwall.”

“Duke of What?” asked Harry sharply.

“The Duke of Cornwall.”

“I’m sorry,” said Hermione, as she glanced towards the Prince, “but isn’t that title already
taken?”

The Prince chuckled. “Yes, it is, which is why we’ve asked our local expert to join us.”

As of on cue, a matronly woman was shown into the room.

“Come in, Madame Secretary, come in,” welcomed the Prince. “So sorry for asking for your help on
an early Sunday morning.”

“Quite all right, Your Highness,” she replied. “I was staying over with the lockdown in
place.”

“Madame Secretary,” the Prince said with a smile, “may I introduce you to the subjects of your
latest research project?” He held an arm out towards the teens.

“Hi, I’m Harry Potter,” the Queen’s Wizard said, as he reached out his hand.

“It’s an honor, milord,” the Secretary primly replied. “I’m Purity Exposition, Secretary to the
Central Chancery of the Orders of Knighthood.”

The Queen’s Wizard blushed and said, “Just Harry is fine, Madame Secretary.” He then introduced
her to Ron and Hermione, who had a slight curl to her lips.

“You wouldn’t happen to be related to Basil Exposition over at MI-5?” she asked.

The woman smiled. “He’s mMy younger brother.”

Hermione nodded, as the Prince explained that Purity’s job involved heraldic research and the
administration of the various Orders of Chivalry.

“And you’ve been doing research on me?” Harry asked.

The Secretary replied. “Yes, milord, I’ve had a very busy time keeping track of the honours
you’ve accumulated over the past several weeks.”

“You’re not the only one,” Harry muttered.

Taking note of Harry’s uniform, the Secretary said, “Added a military commission, milord?”

“Erm, well, yes,” Harry stammered, as he glanced towards the Prince.

The Secretary smiled as she turned towards the Historian. “No wonder you called for help. His
military rank needs to be placed in between ‘Earl Gryffindor’ and ‘Sir’.”

Harry choked on some residuum within the back of his throat.

“What’s all this about Earl Gryffindor?” asked Ron. “Thought he was Lord Gryffindor?”

The Secretary explained, “Well, Sir Ronald, within the British Peerage the title ‘Lord’ refers
to any member of the ranks. When Her Royal Majesty restored the House of Gryffindor and created
your friend Lord Gryffindor, his title-behind-the-title was Earl, just like Godric, the last Earl
Gryffindor.”

“Oh, Merlin, so I’m an Earl, too?” asked Harry.

“It’s not so much a new title, but a different way of noting an existing title,” the Prince said
with a smile. “So that one doesn’t really count.”

Nodding, the Secretary said, “While you can be addressed as Lord in conversation, your title on
paper must include Earl.”

Ron asked, “So what is Harry’s paper title, then?”

The Secretary replied, “Well, with the new addition of his military rank the Queen’s Wizard
should now be addressed on an envelope as “Her Royal Majesty’s Wizard, the Right Honorable The Earl
Gryffindor, Major Sir Harry Potter.”

“Merlin, how would you ever fit that on parchment?” Ron asked.

The Prince chuckled, and replied, “With very compact handwriting.”

“So where can be addressed as ‘Just Harry’?” the Queen’s Wizard asked.

The Secretary replied only with a knowing smile.

“Where does this Duke part fit in?” Ron asked.

The Secretary raised an eyebrow towards the Prince. “Giving me some more work to do, Your
Highness?”

“Perhaps, Madame Secretary,” the Prince replied. “We were considering the possibilities should
Her Royal Majesty once again exert direct rule over the wizarding world of Great Britain.”

“Oh, my,” the Secretary replied, with almost feral gleam in her eyes. “That would change things,
wouldn’t it?” She then added, “It’s been some time since we’ve had need of a Lord High
Steward.”

“Actually, I was thinking about the Duchy of Cornwall,” the historian replied.

“Oh, pish posh, Baxtor,” the Secretary said. “That wouldn’t apply in Lord Gryffindor’s case…you
should know better.”

“So I won’t be a Duke?” Harry asked hopefully.

“At least not under those circumstances,” the Secretary replied. “Allow me to explain.”

As the Queen’s Wizard let out an audible sigh, Purity Exposition began to pace back and forth in
front of the others as she adopted a lecturer’s tone of voice.

“The Duchy of Cornwall is a kingdom-within-a-kingdom established in 1336 by King Edward III, who
named his son Edward the first Duke of Cornwall.”

“Edward, the Black Prince?” asked Harry, who had received a smattering of English history at his
muggle primary school.

“The very same,” Purity replied. “Famous for his nickname, not so famous as the last wizard in
direct line for the English throne.”

“Really? Well…there’s a story behind that I imagine,” said Hermione.

“Quite a story,” the Prince agreed.

Ron, whose interest level was holding just above those reserved for Binns’s lectures, stifled a
yawn. “Erm, no offense, Your Highness, but…” He then turned towards Harry and asked, “Would it be
alright if I read Hermione’s lecture notes later on? I’d like to check in with Mum, and see what’s
left of The Burrow.”

Harry nodded. “Of course,” he replied. “She’s still at St. Mungo’s right?”

“Yeah, with Dad and Ginny…probably Bill and Fleur still too.”

Realizing that transportation might be an issue, Hermione suggested that Ron badge-jump to
Wally’s location at 10 Downing Street, and get a ride from there to the wizarding hospital. Harry
mentioned that if The Burrow’s fireplace had been destroyed that Ron’s family could use The Farm’s
floo connection. Ron liked that idea, adding that from there he could drive his family to The
Burrow using one of the Farm’s vehicles.

With the audience head count down, but the average attention level up, Hermione asked more about
the Black Prince.

The Royal Historian replied, “Yes, well, as you probably know, by the Fourteenth Century there
was a rather strained relationship between the muggle and magical populations. The arranged
marriage between King Edward III and Phillippa of Hainault was designed to fix this situation.

“She was a witch, then?”

“Yes,” interrupted the historian, “Witch and princess from the Flemish royal family.”

“So Edward III was a muggle and they were hoping that their first-born son was a wizard that
would rule with support from both worlds?” asked Harry.

“Exactly,” the historian replied. “And it actually worked, at least at the start. The crown
prince displayed accidental magic at the age of six, and his father celebrated by creating the
Duchy of Cornwall out of all of magical lands within the Royal real estate portfolio.”

“So,” Hermione reasoned, “as the Duke of Cornwall, Prince Edward held dominion over parts of the
wizarding world even without becoming king?”

“That’s right,” the Prince replied. “The idea was to get The Black Prince immersed into the
wizarding world, and to get the wizarding world more interested in the idea of being loyal subjects
of the Crown.”

“So did he go to Hogwarts, then?”

The Royal Historian nodded. “Slytherin, Class of 1347.”

“So what went wrong?” Harry asked.

“Well, nothing, other than the fact that Edward was a loyal son whose father lived too bloody
long,” the Prince said with a smile.

The historian picked up the narrative. “This was at the start of The Hundred Years’ War between
England and France,” he explained. “Edward shared the aspirations of his father to fully conquer
both muggle and wizard France, and as a result spent much of his adult years in military
encampments on the Continent while his father ruled from home.”

“Did he fight against both muggle and wizard France?” asked Harry.

The historian nodded. “He was supposedly equally versed in sword and wand, and rather successful
on both battlefields.”

“Making him rather popular, right?” asked Hermione.

“Certainly within muggle England,” the historian replied. “But much less so amongst English
wizards.”

“Why?”

“He was allegedly very ruthless, particularly against wizard warriors,” the historian replied.
“But perhaps more importantly, his success threatened the magical power bases of pure-blood
families in England.”

“How so?”

“The plan was working too well,” the Prince answered. “The largest and wealthiest pure-blood
families stood to lose much of their power if the muggle monarchy could rule from a strong position
over not only muggle and magical England, but France as well.

“So let me guess, they offed him?” asked Harry.

The historian nodded. “The muggle history books say that he contracted a nasty illness in Spain,
but in reality Edward was hit with a painfully slow-acting curse that killed him before he could be
crowned King.”

“At the same time a separate, much more powerful curse was placed against the English throne,”
the Prince added. “As a result, no child in direct line of succession has been born with magical
abilities for over six hundred years.”

“Wow,” Hermione replied. “I wonder how this curse would have worked when there were disputed
successions.”

“Actually, Dame Hermione, there is reason to believe that the curse might have actually
influenced the outcome of the War of the Roses.”

“Really?”

The historian nodded. “Richard III’s son, Edward of Middleham, was born a wizard. But this
didn’t go against the curse, since neither Edward nor his father were in direct line for the throne
at the time.”

“Richard’s older brother, King Edward IV, already had a son,” the Secretary added.

“Let me guess, Edward V?” asked Harry.

Sensing the slightest edge of sarcasm in Harry’s voice, Hermione reached over and slugged his
shoulder. “Stop it, Harry, this is interesting.”

“Yes, dear,” Harry replied.

“Erm, yes, Sir Harry, it was Edward V,” the historian said. “King Edward V, actually, for all of
two months once his father died in 1483.”

“His uncle usurped the throne,” said Hermione, “and declared himself King Richard III.”

“Indeed,” said The Prince. “Richard threw his two nephews into the Tower of London, and after an
Act of Parliament was crowned king in July of 1483.” He then added, “Richard’s magical son, Crown
Prince Edward, died under mysterious circumstances at the age of eleven the following April.”

“Probably a few months short of getting his Hogwarts letter,” Harry mused.

“And Richard himself died without an heir one year later at Brixton,” Hermione concluded, “which
ended the War of the Roses, and started the Tudor Dynasty.”

“Exactly, Dame Hermione,” the historian beamed. “I thought they didn’t teach English history at
your school?”

“Oh,” Hermione replied, “I may have read a book or two on the subject.”

Harry’s snort earned him a second punch to his shoulder.

“Can we return to the Duke of Cornwall situation?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” said the historian. “Well, not much to say after that…when the Black Prince died in
1376 his squib son Richard was first in line for the throne, he became Prince of Wales, and the
Dukedom was recreated for him.”

The Secretary added, “A charter was eventually signed in 1421 that automatically passes the
dukedom on to the Sovereign’s oldest son and heir, and it’s been that way ever since.”

“So, I can’t be the Duke of Cornwall because we’ve already got one.”

“Yes,” the Prince replied. “And by secret codecil it was declared that in the absence of magical
abilities, the Duke of Cornwall yields dominion over wizarding Britain to the existing
sovereign.”

“Who, by convention,” added the Secretary, “governed magical Britain on the advice of the Royal
Wizard and *Magnum Concilium*.”

Translating the Latin, Harry asked, “Where did this Great Council come into play?”

“Ahh,” said Mr. Baxter. “Separate bit of history…we’ll need to jump back a few centuries.”

Harry stiffled a sigh, looked to Hermione, and yielded to her enthusiasm.

“Well, if there are no other pressing issues…” he said slowly.

“I think we have a few minutes, right?” asked Hermione. “Now, from what I remember, wasn’t the
Great Council sort of a proto-Parliament?”

“That’s a separate Great Council,” Baxter replied. “That council has origins back to the Magna
Carta, and is now known as the Privy Council…which, now that I think of it, might also hold
relevence to the question of magical rule.”

“How is that?”

“Well, as you probably already know, King John II was forced to signed the Magna Carta in 1215
by a group of barons who had revolted under his rule. The most powerful magical Patriarchs were
invited to sign the Charter as well, but they declined.”

“Does that mean that the Queen’s dominion over the magical world was never constrained by the
Magna Carta?”

The historian nodded. “I think it was the first clear break by the wizarding world as a
whole.”

“But moving on,” the Secretary interupted, “King John II’s son, Henry III got along better with
these barons, who had grown to distrust their magical counterparts, and had insisted on some say
over how wizard England was ruled. Henry III therefore created a *Magnum Concilium*, or Great
Council of peers of the realm to advise him on wizarding world issues.”

“So, if I may summarize,” asked Harry. “The Prince of Wales is the Duke of Cornwall, and the
Duchy of Cornwall includes some amount of magical properties across England. When the Duke isn’t a
wizard, control of the wizarding world resides with the sovereign, as advised by the Queen’s Wizard
and this Magnum Concilium, except there wouldn’t be much advice to offer, because Queen Elizabeth
gave the wizarding world Home Rule back in the Sixteenth Century based on the Treaty of
Carlisle.”

Baxter the historian nodded. “In fact, the Magnum Concilium hasn’t even be convened since
1630.”

“So,” Harry continued, “Let’s say that the Ministry of Magic screwed up their end of the treaty,
and have lost their right to home rule…doesn’t the power to rule fall back to the Queen?”

“Yes.”

Hermione had been processing the conversation to the point where she could ask, “Could the Queen
reconvene the Magnum Concilium?”

“Of course,” Baxter replied. “And as Queen’s Wizard, it would be Sir Harry’s job to lead that
council.”

“Not necessarily,” the Secretary stated, “although I agree that the Queen’s Wizard is by
convention Lord High Steward of the Magnum Concilium.”

“Just as the Privy Council is led by the Lord President of the Council,” said the Prince.

As much as she enjoyed seeing Harry get teased, Hermione thought it might be productive to
address a related issue.

“This conversation is predicated on the idea that the wizarding world has lost its right to Home
Rule,” she noted. “How do we determine not only if this has happened, but how it happened and what
needs to be done about it?”

The Prince looked towards the Secretary to the Central Chancery and decided that “Need to Know”
issues were about to be addressed.

“Thank you for your time and assistance, Madame Secretary.”

Knowing a dismissal when she heard it, the Secretary took her leave.

“Excellent questions, Dame Hermione,” said the Prince, once the Secretary had left.
“Particularly as we try to work through the question of jurisdiction over last night’s magical
attacks.”

“You said that my glowing orb signaled my right to be Queen’s Wizard,” said Harry. “I assume
that there’s a similar signet for either the Minister of Magic or the Chief Warlock of the
Wizengamot?”

The historian agreed. “The Minister of Magic holds it in his or her capacity as the Queen’s
Magical Justice of the Peace…it’s a necklace quite similar to yours, except that the pearl is
mounted with dragons guarding either side.”

“Mmmm,” said Harry, “Don’t think I’ve seen Fudge or Scrimgeour wearing anything like that.”

“I doubt that it’s something that they would want to show off,” Hermione noted. “It would be a
reminder that their power to rule over the wizarding rule was derived from the muggle
monarchy.”

“Good point,” said Harry. “So how do we force him to let us see whether his orb is glowing or
not?”

“There is a formal process outlined within the treaty,” the historian replied. “Any of the
parties can summon the others.”

“Others?” asked Harry. “Isn’t there only two signatories?”

“No, Sir Harry, there were three signatories,” the historian replied. “At the time of the treaty
signing, Scotland was a sovereign kingdom.”

“So that explains the location of the signing,” reasoned Hermione.

“Scotland had its own Royal Wizard and orb, then?” Harry asked.

“It did, right up to the union of England and Scotland,” said the historian. “So, back on point,
when a summons is issued, the instruments of power must be displayed during the resulting
meeting.”

The Prince looked at his watch. “Well, we should present this to Her Royal Majesty later today,
then.”

The historian asked, “Forgive me, your Highness, but the sooner we issue the summons….”

The Prince shook his head. “Issuing that summons might set in course a chain of events that we
should consider most carefully.”

Looking down at the tea leaves at the bottom of his cup, he then added, “We’ve already had one
Civil War in this country, and we would do well to take steps to avoid a second.”



56. Chapter 56
--------------

**Muggle Summer**

**A/N:** It’s time for me to issue another periodic notice that this story operates with a
pushed-forward timeline. It is the Summer of 2006, and Harry et. al have finished their sixth year.
So…Tony Blair is Prime Minister, devolution is old news, and the HVAC System-Gone-Wild (aka the
Scottish Parliament building) stands in stark contrast to the Palace at Holyroodhouse.

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 55: Hooray for Holyrood**

**Sunday, July 8, 7:00am
Chamber of Secrets, Hogwarts**

Remus Lupin woke from his post-transformation nap and took stock of his situation. Not finding
any immediate issues beyond the usual aches and pains, he left the lair of the recently butchered
basilisk and walked into Slytherin’s Apartment, where he had placed his Art Club badge for safe
keeping. After activating the badge he asked, "Tonks?"

"Good morning, Remus."

"Is it?"

"Depends on your perspective. How do you feel?"

"Sore, as usual, but the wolvesbane worked, the Chamber had room to run, and the goblin
snacks hit the spot."

"Great...any venison steaks left for me?"

"Sure, if you don’t mind meat lathered in werewolf spit."

"Well, I have swapped spit with a werewolf before."

"Yeah, but did you mind?"

Tonks laughed into her badge. "Jump upstairs and I’ll show you."

"Thanks, but I’m still feeling rather wolfish."

"And that’s a problem because….?"

"Right. Are you in bed, or do I need to get dressed?"

"No on both questions…I’m in our suite, but you’ve got work to do, and the clothes you’ll
need are up here."

Remus replied by badge-jumping to the Auror’s position. After a hug, he asked, "So what did
I miss?"

"A lot," replied Tonks. She pointed towards a muggle shirt, tie and suit that she’d
laid out for him. "So get dressed…Wally will fill in some of the details when you get to 10
Downing Street."

"The muggle Prime Minister’s?" Remus asked. "What in Merlin’s name will I be
doing there?"

Tonks smiled as she handed him his muggle identification badge. "Discovering that your MI-5
credentials are no longer fake, I imagine."

**7:00am, The Rookery, London**

Lucius Malfoy woke from his miserable bit of rest and took stock of *his* situation. He
then sat up within the only windowless room of his Rookery flat and called for the concierge.

"Gilbert?"

The house-elf popped into the lavatory and looked down upon the one-armed wizard, who lay
fully-clothed within an empty bathtub.

"You called, Patriarch Malfoy?"

"Yes, Gilbert…what has happened over the past few hours?"

The house-elf replied, "We have finished repairing the building’s structural damage, as
well as the interior damage done to the dead patriarch’s apartment. The patriarch’s body has been
taken away, according to the rules. We also delivered the body of the dead witch."

Malfoy nodded. Over the years three other patriarchs and more than thirty of their
"guests" had died within the Rookery’s walls. Procedures were in place to move bodies out
of the building in order to preserve secrets held by both the deceased and the other
patriarchs.

"So how did this happen, Gilbert?" Malfoy demanded.

"We are…not certain," the house-elf replied carefully. "The Club is consulting
with the goblins that designed the protective wards."

Malfoy shook his head. The house-elf had been tight-lipped about the attack, and refused to
identify who had died, or even which floor of the building had been affected. That said, that same
level of reticence was something he was counting on to keep his own presence there a secret.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Patriarch Malfoy?"

The elder Malfoy nodded as he sat up in the tub. Deciding that he’d be able to manage most
morning foods without need of a knife, he ordered breakfast-in-bath and spent the balance of the
morning considering if there was a safer place to hide.

**10:30am, Salisbury, Wiltshire**

Lord Voldemort left his recently upgraded living quarters to join the Death Eaters that had
portkeyed back with him to his hideout.

"What is the latest news?" he demanded, as the flaps of the stolen magical tent closed
behind him.

"Still no sign of Rookwood and the Carrows, my lord," Bellatrix replied. She then
added, "And we have still to hear from Fenrir, although…."

"Yes, Bella?"

Taking comfort in the belief that her master still couldn’t hurl unforgivables with impunity,
she replied, "The Daily Prophet reports that the werewolf attacks failed."

Had the snake-skinned wizard actually had eyebrows, they would have risen towards his hairline
(had the wizard actually had hair).

How so?"

"Well, several werewolves were found dead in the blood-traitor's Diagon Alley shop, but
the blood-traitors still live." She then added, "And while the *Prophet* reports
that their hovel of an ancestral home in Devonshire was destroyed, their family still
lives."

"So what of Greyback and the others?"

"The pack apparently attacked two muggle farms, but there have been no other
sightings."

Voldemort fingered his wand, but took no action. He turned his back to Bella and walked over
towards the tables filled with the previous night’s plunder and stated, "No matter, the
werewolves will soon be all dead."

"Why is that, my lord?"

The Dark Lord winced at the impudence of the Death Eater who had just questioned his
assessment.

"Bedford, come here."

"Yes, my lord."

As the Death Eater approached the Dark Lord grabbed a beater bat taken from the Quidditch supply
shop, turned, and clubbed the man in the face. Blood spurted out of the minion’s nose as he
crumpled to the ground unconscious.

Voldemort set the bat down and reached into a robe pocket for a deck of cards that he himself
had charmed the night previous.

"Is he still alive?" he asked.

One of his other Death Eaters nervously squatted down and felt for a pulse.

"Yes, my lord."

"Good…then strip him."

As the other Death Eaters rushed to obey their leader Voldemort pulled a specific card from the
pack. Once the prone Death Eater was down to only his pants, the Dark Lord placed the playing card
on wizard’s bare chest and touched it with his wand. The body disappeared as the code word
activated the portkey.

"I wonder if he knows how to swim?" mused Voldemort.

"You sent him to the bottom of the sea, my Lord?" asked Bella.

"No, just the opposite," he replied. "A mile or so above it."

"Now...to answer the recently departed’s question," Voldemort said, "All magical
beasts and beings were warned that the goblins would go to war with any that dared attack muggles.
Now that the werewolves are at war with the Goblin Nation, I expect that the packs will be culled
most severely."

Bella choked down a question that would have asked if that was a good thing.

Not really wishing to kill somebody else just to reestablish his authority, Voldemort answered
what Bella didn’t voice.

"How many werewolf packs are there in Britain?"

The Death Eaters looked at each other. MacNair finally answered for them. "Besides Fenrir’s
pack, there are at least a half-dozen packs of muggle werewolves."

Voldemort nodded. "And do you think that the muggles will know that they have werewolves
within their filthy populations?"

"No," said the Dark Lord, answering his own question. "So let us assume that the
goblins will be smart enough to attack the muggle werewolf packs on any night other than the night
of the full moon."

Bella’s eyes lit up in understanding. "The muggles, and probably the Ministry as well, will
think that the goblins are killing muggle humans."

"And so their impudence is rewarded," Voldemort concluded. "The Ministry will go
to war with the goblins if for no other reason than to keep the wizarding world’s secrets safe from
the muggles."

"Which takes their eyes off of us, and lets the muggles think that any of our attacks or
raids were done by the goblins," added Bella.

The Dark Lord nodded as he pocketed the deck of portkeys, grabbed the bat and asked, "So,
does anyone else have a question?"

When (predictably) nobody responded, he began issuing orders.

"Nott, take the train back up to London and find out what is happening around the
Rookery."

"Yes, my lord."

"Snape, you’ve got the potion ingredients you said you needed, so why aren’t you
brewing?"

"I have three pots on the simmer now, my lord."

"Then go…as for the rest of you…I have some research that needs to be
performed….MacNair?"

‘Yes, my lord."

"Take a group of four and five up to the Ministry and start scouting for polyjuice
targets."

"As you wish, my lord."

"Bella, take the rest and figure out how to make a house unplottable….these dispersed
accommodations and the inability to use magic freely is starting to annoy me."

**1:45pm, Round Castle, Windsor Castle**

Ron Weasley’s voice boomed through Hermione’s Art Club badge just as soon it was activated.

"Oy, Hermione, are they still serving lunch down in the Mess Hall?"

"Ssshhh!" she whispered into the badge. "I already woke Harry up once
today!"

"Oh, sorry," Ron whispered back. "So…about lunch?"

Hermione shook her head as she folded and placed the last piece of packed clothing into her
trunk. It wasn’t until she left their bed chambers that she replied to Ron’s question, and allowed
him to badge-jump back from his quick trip to the wizarding world.

"Dobby left some food under stasis charms down in our common room," she told Ron.

"Thanks, Hermione," he replied, as he walked down the stairs to the apartment’s main
floor.

"Good to see you too, Ron," Hermione replied.

Ron’s apology was muffled by his wizard robes as he pulled them over his head and threw them on
the back of a chair.

"Make yourself at home, Ron."

"Oh, thanks, Hermione," he replied, missing the slight edge of sarcasm.

In between mouthfuls of shepherd’s pie, Ron told Hermione that his family was doing as best as
could be expected. Headmistress McGonagall had opened up Hogwarts and placed them in guest
quarters. Madame Pomfrey was now keeping an eye on both Molly and Fleur (whose shoulder had been
struck by a cutting curse inside St. Mungo’s). Ginny had floo’ed to Fred and George’s shop to help
them try to reopen for business, while Arthur and Bill were busy salvaging what could be saved from
the Burrow.

"So how’d the rest of the meeting go?" Ron asked.

"Oh, I thought that it was very interesting," Hermione replied. "Still want to
look at my notes?"

"Erm, sure…might help me shake off that last bit of pepper-up."

"You are such a git sometimes, you know?" Hermione said.

"Yeah, hear that a lot," Ron replied, as he wiped his face with his sleeve.

"Well mind the journal pages," admonished Hermione, as she disarmed her privacy spells
and handed him her notebook.

"Let’s see what we’ve got," Ron said to himself. "King Edward I-I-I?" He
looked up towards Hermione, who had taken out a laptop and was waiting for a Powerpoint
presentation to load.

"Oy, Hermione, what kind of surname is spelled ‘I-I-I’?"

Hermione let out a sigh. "That’s Edward the Third," she replied. "I-I-I is the
number three in Roman numerals."

"Roman numerals?" Ron asked. "What are those?"

"It’s the numeric system used by the Ancient Romans," she replied with exasperation.
"I can’t believe…simply ridiculous…"

"What’s ridiculous?"

"That English wizards use Latin for incantations, but are completely ignorant of Roman
numerals."

"Oh, well, it could just be me, couldn’t it?"

"Yes, that is a distinct possibility," Hermione admitted.

Ron went back to his reading, and did a fair job of distracting Hermione from her lecture review
with his muttered commentary.

"Edward…Black Prince…Wars Over Roses…boring…even more boring…beyond boring…hold on, what’s
this about a Scottish Royal Wizard?"

"What, aren’t my notes clear enough?"

"Well, yes, but…what does it mean?"

"Probably not too much," Hermione replied. "Scotland was a separate country at
the time that the Treaty of Carlisle was signed, so they had to agree to having a wizard government
that included Scotland as well as the rest of Great Britain. That meant that the Scottish sovereign
also had the right by treaty to have a Royal Witch or Wizard."

"So that could be important right?" Ron asked. "What if there’s some other
glowing orb out there, or a rogue royal wizard?"

"Relax, Ron," Hermione replied. "Though we don’t have all the facts, it’s
unlikely that there ever was a Scottish Royal Wizard."

"Why is that?"

Hermione chuckled. "It’s a long story, but for most of the 140 years between the treaty
signing and the formal Union of Scotland and England the two countries shared the same king or
queen….and when Scotland did have a separate king, well…let’s just say that he made Harry’s Uncle
Vernon look like a wizard-lover."

"Really?" Ron asked. "So who was that?"

"King James VI and I," Hermione replied. "As in *King James Bible* King
James."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"Oh, probably not," noted Hermione. "But this is also the King James that ruled
during the peak of the Scottish witch-hunts, and who wrote a treatise called
*"Demonology"* that became the witch-hunter’s textbook over for the next
century."

"So there can’t be two Royal Wizards now?" Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head. "The treaty obligations of the two countries were combined at the
time of union," she explained. "Now, there could have been a new Royal Wizard when most
of Ireland gained independence, but you can’t have a royal wizard without royalty, and the Irish
were keen on forming a Republic."

Ron nodded…although he really didn’t understand the muggle politics involved, he didn’t care to
give Hermione an opportunity to ride him about that fact. So rather than continue down that
conversational path he finished the notes associated with the Royal Historian’s expository. Ron
then came upon notes from a completely separate meeting.

"Hermione," Ron asked, "What was this After-Action Report about?"

"Right…forgot that you missed that meeting as well," Hermione replied. "The Queen
asked the Prime Minister to prepare a summary of last night’s attacks, and outline what the muggle
government is doing in response."

"Oh," said Ron. "What's all this?"

Hermione stood and walked over to Ron. "That’s who was at the meeting," she replied,
looking over his shoulder. "Lot easier to use initials than to write out full names."

"So who are all these people?"

"Well, HRM is the Queen, of course," Hermione replied. "Then there’s the PoW
Prince, P.M. for Prime Minister, Minister of Defense, Home and Foreign Secretaries, the heads of
MI-5 and MI-6, the Metropolitan Police Commissioner, Harry and myself."

"Really?" asked Ron. He looked down at the list and added, "I get the HG, but
which one is Harry?"

Hermione blushed a bit. "Erm, Harry is *QWEGHBMSHP*."

"So…QW is Queen’s Wizard…what’s the rest of them?"

Hermione laughed (a bit nervously). "Well, I was just making a joke to myself, you see, so
the whole string stands for ‘Queen’s Wizard, the Earl Gryffindor, Hermione’s Boyfriend, Major Sir
Harry Potter."

Ron’s eyes narrowed slightly as he snorted. "So now we can start calling him
‘Queeg-him’?"

"Don’t you dare!"

"Didn’t realize that ‘Hermione’s Boyfriend’ was an official title."

"Oh sure it is," Hermione replied. Trying to make light, she added, "There was an
investiture and everything."

"Must have missed it," Ron replied. "Not that I would want to watch the
initiation ceremony."

"Stop it…any other questions?"

Ron scanned down the next bit, and smiled.

"So when did you start doodling hearts on the margins of your notes?"

Hermione looked at him cross-eyed. "Do you have any *substantive* questions?"

Ron smiled as pointed towards a line of notes and asked, "How do you even pronounce a word
that starts with a number?"

Hermione smiled. "The chemical is called ‘3-quinuclidinyl benzilate,’ but don’t feel too
bad…most of the muggles in the room didn’t know how to pronounce it either." She then added,
"That’s why it’s called ‘BZ’ for short."

"And this is that gas that is being used to explain away the magic done in front of muggles
last night?"

"Q Branch’s bright idea," Hermione replied with a nod. "The muggles are saying
that it was the work of muggle terrorists using a mild type of nerve gas…something that makes you
loopy when you breathe it."

"Oh yeah, I was going to asked what ‘confabulation’ and ‘phantom behaviors’ were."

Hermione said, "Basically, it means you start seeing strange things, and doing strange
things…rather perfect for the situation, since it can explain almost all of the hexes and
jinxes."

"Including the running around starkers bit?"

Hermione nodded.

"So what’s this part about muggles buying the cover story?" asked Ron. "They need
to pay for something?"

Sighing, Hermione replied. "Buying is another term for accepting the story," she
replied.

"Couldn’t you have just said that?"

"Sorry, Ron, didn’t realize that I’d have an audience for these notes."

"Right, well…you’re saying that there’s seventy-nine muggles who were told about magic
because they couldn’t be convinced otherwise?"

"Right."

"Why not just obliviate them?"

"Because that’s seen as a rather serious invasion of a person’s individual rights and
liberties," she replied.

"But wouldn’t it be for their own good, not remembering running around with their bits on
display, or having backwards knees?"

With a heavy sigh, Hermione strove for the perfect analogy. "Image that during a detention
Snape forced you to kiss his bare bum."

"Ohhhh! Why’d you have to make me imagine that?"

"Because it’s relevant," Hermione replied. "Now, would you want that memory
kicking around inside your head?"

"Of course not…except maybe for the fact that if Snape erased the memory before the
detention ended, he’d be able to get away with what he did."

"Exactly," said Hermione. "Now, can you imagine that the muggles who were
attacked last night might feel the same way?"

"Erm…you mean that…but it’s not the same," Ron replied. "The obliviation isn’t to
allow the Death Eater’s to get away with what they did…it’s to keep the wizarding world
secret."

"But why would muggles make that distinction?" Hermione asked. "Why would they
care one bit about whether the wizard world stays secret?" She then added, "When you
really think about it, having obliviator squads cleaning up after a muggle attack keeps the Aurors
from having to do anything….it *is* part of the problem."

"So, what’s this about getting paid to have memories erased."

"It’s compensation…the muggles have already been victimized, why should they be forced to
get attacked again with a obliviation spell without getting something in return."

"Makes sense," Ron agreed. "Although 10,000 galleons for every minute of erased
memory sounds rather steep…can’t see the Ministry wanting to pay those kind of rates."

"That’s the idea," Hermione replied.

Ron moved on to the next section of notes.

A few minutes later, he looked up from the notes and asked, "You really like using
initials, don’t you?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

"So ‘H’ stands for Harry, right?" Ron asked. When Hermione nodded, he asked, "So
who is HHr?"

Only slightly embarrassed at the question, Hermione replied, "HHr stands for Harry and
Hermione together."

Ron snorted. "Very cute, Hermione…next thing you know you two will be sitting on pink
cushions drinking tea at Puddlefoot's…so this bit about rental flats….we might have a lead on
where the Death Eaters are hiding?"

Hermione nodded. "Rookwood registered the car they were using in his own name, and also
used his name to sign rental agreements for muggle flats in four different cities."

"And all we’re going to do right now is watch?"

Hermione nodded. "Want to make sure what’s inside before we knock on the doors."

Ron moved on to the "Analysis" and "Action Items" portions of the
presentation and faltered. "Oy, Hermione, these notes make my eyes hurt…tell me what I need to
know, please."

Hermione sighed, "Oh, well, first off, the Queen couldn’t be convinced to cancel her trip
to Scotland."

"But wasn’t Edinburgh one of the ten o’clock cities?" Ron asked. "Is she stubborn
or just daft?"

"I wouldn’t dare characterize the Queen as either," Hermione replied with a smile.
"You’d be on safer grounds calling her an honorary Gryffindor…someone not about to hide when
the going gets tough." She then added, "This ‘Holyrood Week’ is an annual event…it’d be a
big deal if she cancelled it."

"Guess she did sit there in the front row during the Dementor attack at Ascot," Ron
admitted. "So the whole operation is packing up to go with her?"

"Pretty much," Hermione replied. "We did decide it best to keep the peanut butter
brigade at their internship positions, at least for another week."

"Don’t want to tip your hand before the big confrontation?" Ron asked.

"Exactly…so that means business as usual for you and Neville starting tomorrow. My mum will
also hang back to make sure that the Summer Institute gets off as scheduled."

"Another bit of Gryffindor courage?" Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Actually, given the attacks, having the students board at
Cumberland Lodge while they go to school might be the safest place for them to be…and mum’s
checking on whether we can expand some of the living quarters so that we can house the students’
families as well."

Ron nodded. "What’s all this about a clamp-down on the wizarding world?"

Hermione replied, ""Just what it says, Ron…if the Ministry won’t enforce wizarding
secrecy laws about using magic around muggles, then we will. Anyone caught by muggle police using
their wands in public will have the wands broken on-the-spot."

"A bit harsh, isn’t it?"

"And just how are muggles supposed to tell between good wizards and bad wizards?"
Hermione replied. "It’s tough even for wizards to tell, especially if the Death Eaters are
going to start attacking wearing muggle clothing."

Ron shook his head. "Sounds like we’re going back to the days of witch hunts."

"No, I don’t think so," said Hermione. "More like we’re trying to prevent muggle
hunting."

"So how does this delusional gas fit into the picture?"

"BZ is a deliriant, Ron, not a delusion…ant?…that is to say, it makes you delirious, not
delusional."

"What’s the difference?"

"Well…delirious means you act loopy…delusional means you look at a situation and make a
loopy conclusion."

"So, that’s the same thing, right?"

Hermione sighed. "No Ron…look, if I inhaled BZ right now and the delirium caused me to
strip down starkers, you would be delusional to think that it was some anvil-sized hint that I
fancied you."

"Oh, well…if you say so," Ron concluded. "So back to the BZ excuse."

"Sure," said Hermione, "Wally’s idea was to use the BZ terrorist gas attack story
to our advantage when we’re looking for Death Eaters in muggle disguises."

"How would that work?"

"Word has gone out that these imaginary muggle terrorists made the BZ gas themselves, and
some of them breathed too many fumes while it was brewing. As a result, they now exhibit the same
symptoms of delirium as their victims."

"So?"

"So?" Hermione replied. "Think back to the Death Eaters parked in front of my
parent’s house. How did we spot them?"

"Their clothing was a bit off, wasn’t it?"

"Exactly," said Hermione. "Acting or dressing strange, and appearing to suffer
from severe memory loss are symptoms of BZ exposure."

"So whenever a wizard gets caught without a clue in a situation muggles take for granted,
like waiting for a toilet seat to rise on its own …"

Hermione smiled. "Or getting spooked by automatic doors at the grocers, or not knowing how
to make change using muggle money…"

Ron’s ears turned red. "Okay, okay, so I was a clueless wizard my first few weeks in the
muggle world…I’ve gotten better, haven’t I?"

"Yes, you have," Hermione admitted. "But we’re thinking that the Death Eater’s
won’t be as clever. The muggle authorities have used the telly and newspapers to ask that anyone
spotting a person acting strange that way to call the muggle police."

"But then what?" Ron asked. "What if they’re wizards, but not Death Eaters? Do
they go to jail just for that?"

"Of course not, Ron," Hermione replied. "The police would just ask a few simple
questions, and if the wizard cooperates they’ll be sent on their way."

"And if they don’t cooperate?"

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. "Well, presumption of innocence still holds true. But if the
witch or wizard thinks they can get out of the situation by drawing their wands it’ll be a taser
and then we’ll get called in."

"We, like you and me?"

Hermione nodded. "All of the Art Club witches and wizards will be on call to help sort out
these incidents."

Ron shook his head. "I don’t think that the wizarding world is going to be to happy with
this."

Snorting, Hermione replied, "Just like muggles aren’t too happy being hexed while the
Ministry keeps all of their Aurors at home to defend the wizarding world….if Scrimgeour won’t
defend us, then he can take his complaints on how we choose to defend ourselves and jump in the
lake."

Ron’s eyes narrowed. "Not that I’m disagreeing, Hermione, but did you just hear what you
said? You’re throwing out words like *us* and *we* as if you’re a muggle."

Hermione paused to consider Ron’s insight. "Well, do you remember back when Harry said that
if protecting muggle lives means violating magical secrecy laws then sod the laws?"

"Yeah, so…no different here?"

Hermione nodded. If sides needed to be drawn, then she had definitely jumped off of the
centerline.

**2:30pm Royal Mewes, Windsor Castle**

Harry Potter woke from his kip with just enough time to apparate the short distance from the
Round Tower to the stables that stood outside the castle’s walls. The secret meeting’s other
attendee was waiting inside a designated empty stall.

The Queen’s Wizard spotted footprint-shaped depressions in the strewn hay and smiled. "I’d
be careful about using disillusionment spells this close to the castle," he said as he reached
out to shake the invisible Auror’s hand. "A roving muggle army patrol might take a dim view of
things if they spotted you."

"Even with my near-authentic identification?" the Head Auror asked, as he cancelled
the spell and held out the plastic badge at the end of his lanyard.

Harry snorted as grabbed hold of the badge. "Need to work on your transfiguration
skills," he replied. "Plastic laminate doesn’t weigh the same as stone." He then
added, "But to answer your question…even with authentic security clearances I’m not risking
any magic use near the muggle military after last night’s attacks."

"Can’t say I blame them for being on edge," the Head Auror admitted. "So, I need
to emphasize that this unofficial meeting will involve an unofficial exchange of
information."

Harry nodded. "I understand completely, and appreciate the risk you’ve taken just to meet
under those terms…especially after what you did at the ten-o’clock attack sites last
night."

"Yes, well, I understand that you did more than your fair share of avoiding open warfare
between the magical and muggle worlds yourself, Harry."

"Okay, enough of the mutual admiration," Harry grinned. "Some decisions have been
made by the muggle higher-ups that could well affect your Department."

"What about the rest of the Ministry?"

"Oh, well it will definitely affect them, but I don’t care nearly as much about the
consequences," Harry admitted.

"So how can I help, Lord Gryffindor?"

Harry shook his head, but let the title pass by without comment. "First off, the muggle
Queen’s trip to Scotland is still on…her flight’s leaving in just a few hours."

"Even with Edinburgh one of the attack sites?"

Harry nodded. "Stiff upper lip, and all that…I wouldn’t put it past her to visit the attack
site on her way in from the airport."

The Head Auror nodded. "We’ve got the muggles sorted out on that one, haven’t we?"

The Queen’s Wizard replied, "Yes, but you’ve also got an Auror group there that’s doing a
piss-poor job of hiding themselves."

The Head Auror shut his eyes and sighed. "Dawlish?"

Harry nodded. "Thought about throwing a swamp at him for old-time’s sake…suppose he was
reinstated after he proved that he was more incompetent than disloyal?"

The Head Auror simply nodded.

"So," Harry continued, "I probably can’t get you to pull your boys out of the
city entirely, but could you at least get somebody up there that I can work with?"

Robards nodded. "I assume that Auror Moody fits that description?"

Harry smiled. "That would be lovely." He then passed a piece of parchment to the Head
Auror. "Here’s the coordinates of a safe meeting place. We’ll arrange the cover story and
uniforms, just like last night."

Gawain pocketed the parchment and nodded. "Patrols in the Edinburgh wizard’s quarter
alright with you?"

Nodding, Harry replied, "That would be useful, so long as Mad-Eye holds them on a short
leash."

"What else, Harry?"

"Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes," the teen-aged wizard replied. "Fred and George
have sent along word that their attempts to clean-up enough to open for business tomorrow are being
forcefully impeded."

The Head Auror shrugged his shoulders. "Well, Harry, it *is* a crime scene that needs
to be investigated."

"True enough," the Queen’s Wizard replied. "But from what I hear, your
investigators seem to be spending more time trying to figure out how the Twins took down the
werewolves than investigating how and why the attack occurred in the first place."

"But Harry," the Head Auror replied, "the fact that they were able kill the
werewolves without even being there…you’ve got to understand how exciting that is from a law
enforcement perspective."

"I do," said Harry. "But you’ve got to understand that it wouldn’t be the first
time that the Ministry tried to convict someone for trying to defend themselves against an attack
by a magical creature."

"Good point."

"Tell you what," said Harry. "You find a way to get the Ministry out of the shop
and I’ll talk with the Twins about sharing one or two of the relevant secrets with you."

"Deal," the Head Auror replied. "Anything else?"

Harry nodded. "Just one tiny thing."

The Head Auror squinted at the young wizard. "Why do I get the feeling that it isn’t going
to be so tiny?"

Harry snorted. "It’s only the possibility of eliminating a few layers of middle management
at the Ministry"

"And what, exactly, would these management layers be?" the Head Auror replied
cautiously.

Harry grinned. "Oh, just the ones between you and Her Royal Majesty."

And with that cryptic comment he passed along copies of a treaty and an official Summons, whose
original would soon be nailed to a tree on the grounds of Carlisle Castle.

**3:00pm, Outside the Leaky Cauldron**

Secret Agent Lupin and Chief Inspector Miller approached the street entrance of the Leaky
Cauldron with wizard robes draped over their arms in a manner that hid their drawn weapons.

"First trip to Diagon Alley?" Remus asked.

Kate shook her head. "When my brother got his Hogwarts letter we turned his first trip into
a family outing."

"So what did you think?"

"Thought it was scary enough for me never to want to go back," she replied.

Remus nodded as he noticed the scaffolding and barriers that had been erected on the sidewalk
right in front of the pub.

"So this makes it look like the building is under construction?" he asked.

It was Kate’s turn to nod. "Sandblasting requires those protective tarps," she
explained. "They also do a good job of screening the entrance from the rest of the street and
justifying the closed sidewalk."

The two ducked under the tarps with their free hands holding their identification out for
inspection by the well-armed and wary guards that were stationed just inside. Once they’d cleared
this hurdle, they approached the repaired door, and Remus introduced his partner to the utility of
extendable ears. Not hearing anything of concern, Remus opened the locked door with some spell
work. The interior was empty. After donning the robes they were carrying, Kate hid her revolver up
a sleeve while Remus made short work of opening the hidden entrance to Diagon Alley.

The Chief Inspector’s second ever visit to London’s wizarding quarter started off a bit tense,
as they were greeted by another set of stern-looking guards (this time armed with wands rather than
automatic rifles). After Remus cautiously offered the Aurors an owl-delivered pass signed by Head
Auror Robards, they were allowed on their way.

The goblins didn’t look any less scarier than they had years earlier, but Kate managed to make
it inside the bank and through their introductions with Gringott’s bank personnel without wincing
or wetting.

Clan Chief Ragnok was waiting for them in a conference room.

"No need to worry, Chief Inspector," the goblin grinned, after he had shaken her hand.
"No goblin would think of harming anyone who is under the protection of Clan Chief
Potter."

The policewoman gave Ragnok a confused look, prompting Remus to explain that the robes she was
wearing identified her as Clanfriend to the Queen’s Wizard’s House.

Seeing the muggle woman release a small bit of tension in her shoulders, the goblin Chief
discussed the status of the werewolf "guests" who were being held beneath the bank. The
bodies of the six werewolves who had either arrived DOA or died soon after had been segregated from
the others, and were available for inspection. Fenrir and the other survivors had, of course,
transformed back into human form, and were being kept naked and wandless in a rather cold
vault.

Remus cautiously asked about the goblins' intentions with respect to their
"guests." Ragnok replied that they were at Clan Chief Potter’s disposal, and that the
goblins would be happy to do the disposal work. Remus thanked the Clan Chief for the offer, but
conveyed Harry’s wishes that no harm immediately come to the prisoners. The goblin somewhat
reluctantly agreed, and offered to extend hospitality to their "guests" for an indefinite
period of time.

Ragnok then moved on to the Malfoy question. Remus and Kate told the goblin chief everything
that they had learned about the Rookery attack. Ragnok, in turn, informed the two that goblins had
been hired to examine the building’s wards, and to assist the house elves with heavy construction
and body disposal. He then placed a small block of wood on the table.

"We customarily dump the Rookery corpses in Knockturn Alley," Ragnok stated. "But
given the apparent cause of the Death Eater’s death…well, we think it best that wizards don’t get a
chance to example the corpse."

Remus nodded as he pocketed the block. "Thank you, Ragnok, your discretion is much
appreciated."

The goblin nodded, and replied, "As for the Malfoy patriarch himself, please let your Clan
Chief know that we received his proposal and agree with his plan. The Goblin Nation will make no
further attempts to convince Voldemort to kill Lucius Malfoy."

"Excellent," Chief Inspector Miller replied.

"Wait, I didn’t hear about this one…can you fill me in?" asked Remus.

"Rookwood entered the Rookery in an attempt to kill Malfoy," replied the goblin.
"Because the of building wards, he can’t tell whether or not he succeeded."

"But if the goblins stop demanding that Voldemort kill Malfoy, then the Death Eaters will
assume that Rookwood and the Carrows did get to Malfoy," added Kate.

Remus thought for a moment, and then smiled. "But Malfoy won’t know that, will
he?"

The goblin shook his head and gave the werewolf a wide toothy grin.

Sensing that their meeting was drawing to a close, Remus asked one final, pressing question.

"Clan Chief, I heard that one of the messages sent by the Grand Council to Voldemort
informed him that the Goblins would go to war with any magical beings or beasts that attacked
muggles. Is that true?"

Ragnok nodded his head, his smile less toothy, but still present.

"So, with Fenrir’s attacks last night, do I need to worry, about..well…erm…."

"Mr. Lupin, I’m disappointed," said Ragnok. "Why would you think that goblins
would adopt the same racist attitudes adopted by the Ministry of Magic?"

"How’s that?" asked Kate. "Sorry, my turn to not understand."

"That is itself understandable, Chief Inspector," Ragnok replied. "The Ministry
of Magic has in place rules and restrictions on werewolves that are based on the belief that once a
wizard or witch is attacked by a werewolf and turned that they are no longer human, and instead a
magical beast."

"Really? Oh, that’s horrible."

Remus sighed in relief. "So werewolves as a group aren't covered under the Grand
Council’s threat, because they consider me to be a wizard with a medical condition, rather than a
magical beast."

"Exactly," replied Ragnok.

"So," Remus mused, "do you think that Voldemort would see it that way?"

The goblin chief shrugged his shoulders. "Would you think it more likely that the Death
Eaters take the Ministry’s position or ours on this matter?"

It didn’t take long for Remus to reach the obvious conclusion.

**5:15pm, Palace at Holyroodhouse, Edinburgh, Scotland**

Having made one final sweep of the castle grounds and buildings, the Queen’s Wizard and Wally
walked out into the inner courtyard of the Queen’s official Scottish residence. Swapping normal
glasses for prescription sunglasses, Harry asked, "Think we’re ready for this?"

"No, but what does that have to do with anything?" the agent replied. Wally then
added, "You do know that those sunglasses don’t work at all with those robes, right?"

Harry looked down at his brightly colored garment, which was covered from hood to hem with the
checkerboarded crests of the Queen, Scotland, and Clan Potter.

"Yeah, well at least I won’t be the only one dressed funny," Harry replied. The two
secret agents then walked through the main gates of the castle, where local politicians and civic
officials were gathered to officially greet the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh. Surrounding these men
and women were super-sized contingents of police and military, including a mounted detachment of
Household Calvary, a drum and bagpipe band, and one hundred members of the Highlanders First
Battalion (dressed with full colours). Two hundred more infantrymen were in the surrounding area
(dressed more for combat than for review), with an additional five-hundred troops stationed along
the eight mile route from the castle out to the airport. This surface force was augmented by a full
squadron of helicopters that patrolled the city’s skies, and a much-less noticeable cadre of SAS
and MI-5 ¾ snipers positioned on rooftops surrounding the castle.

Harry and Wally headed towards a small group of men dressed in green tunics and Balmoral
bonnets. Wally smiled as he reached out towards the group’s leader.

"Why Mad-Eye, don’t you look dashing?" he asked, as adjusted the angle of the retired
Auror’s cap. "You do know that The Stag offers discounts to men in uniform, right?"

"Gerroff, me, you," growled Moody dangerously.

"Hey Mad-Eye, nice pom-pom," grinned Harry.

The retired Auror’s magical eye gave Harry’s robes a full look over. "You should talk, Lord
Major Fancy-Pants."

"Hey, I resemble that remark!" Harry complained.

"Now, now, Captain Moody," said Wally. "I was so certain that and your men would
appreciate a muggle disguise that wasn’t quite as garish as last night’s reflective
vests."

"Not quite as garish, he says," Moody whined. "Bloody outfit has a sash and
shoulder boards and feathered cap, but it’s ‘not quite as garish’…and don’t even get me started on
these ridiculous bows and arrows."

Harry chuckled as he looked over the dress uniform of the Royal Company of Archers. "Would
you rather be honorary Highlanders?" he asked, pointing towards the active infantrymen whose
dress uniform included kilts, sporrans, and garters.

"At least those costumes let your bits breathe," Mad-Eye replied.

Harry shrugged. "Figured you and your men would be more comfortable holding long bows
rather than rifles with attached bayonets."

"Well you got that right, at least."

Harry then asked about Gilmerton Cove, the small wizard’s quarter hidden within Edinburgh’s Old
City. Moody’s response was only partially discernible to Harry, as an in-bound report from his ear
piece competed for the Queen’s Wizard’s attention.

A few moments later he said "Roger, that," into his shoulder. With a nod towards
Wally, Harry turned to Mad-Eye and said, "The Queen’s plane has been cleared for landing, and
I need to head out to the airport. Promise me that you lot will follow the rules-of-engagement that
I worked out with Head Auror Robards earlier today?"

"Yes, yes, we get to stand still and look pretty with these useless sticks in our hands
unless all hell breaks loose."

Harry nodded, "And even then, you’d do best to sit on your wands…the muggle police are on
the lookout for weird looking men with small wooden sticks in their hands. And for Merlin’s sake
don’t cast any concealment charms…while our sharpshooters have been briefed on what you look like
now, they’ve also been ordered to shoot anyone they spot in their thermal imagers using magic to
hide."

"Still can’t get over the fact that you lot can see through glamour and disillusionment
charms," Mad-Eye muttered.

Harry smiled. "Yes, well let’s hope that you don’t find out the hard way what else muggles
can do." And with that he headed to the street, where an small gaggle of men were fawning over
his motorcycle.

"Yes, it’s a ’69 Bonny," he said, as he stuffed his robe into a saddlebag and took his
"Seeker" helmet off the handlebar.

"I inherited it," he stated, as he strapped on the helmet on and kick-started the
engine.

"No, barely any modifications at all," he claimed with a straight face, as he revved
the engine. TPOMS muggles Stout and Blade rolled up on matching Yamaha FJR1300 motorcycles.

Nodding to the two men, Harry took advantage of their helmets’ charmed comm gear and asked,
"What happened to New Six?"

A belly laugh rang in Harry’s ears. "Still out looking for what he calls a ‘real’
bike," replied Blade. "Didn’t think it’d be right for anyone named ‘Beemer’ to be caught
riding a crotch rocket."

Harry shook his head as he looked down the Royal Mile and the start of an unbroken stretch of
cordoned-off streets and motorways. "His loss, as far as I’m concerned."

"Couldn’t agree with you more, sir," replied Stout.

And with sirens blaring the three men covered the eight mile distance between Palace and Airport
in well less than eight minutes.

**5:30pm, Edinburgh International Airport**

The Queen’s flight landed at Edinburgh International Airport without incident and taxied to a
bit of tarmac that connected the main airport with RAF Turnbill, a former military air base used
presently for cargo operations. Harry (who had pocketed his shrunken motorbike and thrown on his
robes) was waiting along with a large police and military escort.

"Steve, the tarmac is clear of magic and magicals," Harry announced into his badge.
"Excepting me, of course."

"Roger that, Harry," Steve replied. "How about the route?"

"Looked clean when I flew up from the Palace a few minutes ago," Harry replied.

"Flew as in ‘in-the-air-flying’ flew?"

"Nah, stayed on the ground the whole time," replied Harry with a grin. "Speaking
of flying," he added, "how did Comet and Cupid enjoy the trip?"

"They were fine, once they were introduced to the Queen and Dramamine."

"Looking for my head on a platter, then?" Harry asked.

"Oh no, I took pains to caution them on the downsides of fragging," Steve replied
smartly. "Of course, I wouldn’t rule out a good hexing from either of them."

"I’ll take that under advisement," replied Harry.

By this point in the conversation the jet doors had opened and a cadre of security men had
spilled out with trigger fingers and steely gazes. As they walked down the mobile stairway three
black limousines pulled up, sandwiched in between open-cab Land Rover Rapid Deployment
Vehicles.

"We’re ready to go here," said Steve.

"Roger that," said Harry, as he stepped inside a small storage shed that he’d parked
next to. Fifteen seconds later, he stepped back outside, accompanied by most of the Order of Arthur
dressed in the same brightly-colored robes that Harry was wearing. The Queen’s Wizard then dashed
up the mobile stairway as Hermione and Ron led the others to the open backs of the Land Rovers.

Harry found Steve waiting for him just inside the airplane’s opened door and shook his hand.
Katie and Alicia were standing right behind the MI-5 ¾ agent; they, too were now wearing the same
robes as Harry.

"So tell us again, Mr. Queen’s Wizard, why he have to wear these robes?" asked
Katie.

"Because if you try and hex me whilst wearing anything else the snipers will shoot
you?" replied Harry.

The young witch paused, and then replied, "So I can hex you now, then?"

Somebody behind Katie interrupted. "We would rather you wait until later in this evening to
hex my Wizard, Lieutenant Bell."

Katie blanched as she looked over her shoulder and curtsied. "Yes, Your Majesty." She
then turned back towards Harry, gave him a scowl, and whispered, "You best be getting your
witches-in-waiting lined up soon, Potter." In a louder voice, she asked, "After you then,
Major?"

Harry smiled, and fought back the urge to note that, given their respective ranks, he should be
the one to issue orders. He turned and led the Queen and her entourage out of the plane and into
the waiting limousines.

**6:00pm, Holyrood Palace, Edinburgh, Scotland**

The Queen and Duke of Edinburgh arrived at the Palace at Holyroodhouse on-time and unhindered by
terrorists and nationalists. Harry and the other witches and wizards stayed in the background as
the Royal couple walked from their car to the forecourt of the Palace, where the Lord Provost and
other local officials were waiting to presents the keys to the city. The Queen smiled as she
accepted the ceremonial keys, only to hand them back with words that she had memorized decades
earlier.

" I return these keys, being perfectly convinced that they cannot be placed in better hands
than those of the Lord Provost and Councilors of my good City of Edinburgh."

And with that 700-year old tradition dispensed with, the Queen and Duke reviewed the contingent
of Highlanders as an artillery battery fired off a 21-gun salute. Hermione was able to quickly
reach Moody’s side and reassure him that the muggle weapons were not actually aimed at him.

The Queen finished her review and then engaged in conversation with Scotland’s First Minister
(who, after devolution, was nominally Scotland’s chief executive). Harry didn’t need an extendable
ear to pick out the politician’s strained politeness, particularly when the man expressed his
"disappointment" over not being able to personally welcome the Queen to "his"
country at the airport. Needless to say, the Queen was not amused. Taking in the sight of a busload
of reporters and camera men that had just arrived from the airport terminal, she boldly suggested
that the First Minister join her on a tour of the previous night’s attack site.

"But…but, Your Majesty," the politician stammered. "I am not certain that the
area has been reopened, for fear of remnant pockets of poison gas."

The Queen lips pursed into a tight smile as she turned towards Harry and asked,
"Gryffindor, what say you on the threat of poison gas at Grassmarket?"

Harry paused for a moment, then smiled in recognition. "Your Majesty, I can assure you that
you will not be threatened by a release of BZ at the site."

With that reassurance, the Queen turned back towards the First Minister, who offered additional
protests. "But…but Your Majesty, can your….your wizard…speak with authority on this
issue?"

The Queen smiled. "We have every confidence that Lord Gryffindor is well positioned to
offer counsel on this matter." She then added, "Come now, First Minister, you did wish a
photo-op, did you not?"

"Erm, well…actually…"

The Queen didn’t wait for a coherent sentence to emerge from the man’s lips. She summoned the
commander of the troops that she had just finished inspecting and asked, "Colonel Cartwright,
are my Highlanders up for a short march?"

The Colonel lost his eyebrows underneath his cap, but had the presence of mind to salute and
reply, "Your Majesty, Your Highlanders are always at your disposal."

"Very good, then," she replied resolutely. "We shall leave in ten minutes time
for Grassmarket Square." Turning towards the Scottish Minister, she said, "We assume that
is sufficient time for you to acquire any protective equipment you deem necessary for your
person."

"Erm, yes, Your Majesty," the First Minister replied quietly.

Cries went out for troops to form ranks and prepare to march on the Queen’s orders, as the
gathering of politicians and soldiers scrambled to follow her lead. Harry discretely activated his
Art Club badge and let the others (who were positioned around the perimeter of the forecourt) know
what was taking place. After quick consultations with the MI-5 Agent and Defense Ministry Official
in charge of the scene he walked back towards Mad-Eye and his men.

"What kind of madness is this, Potter?" the Auror asked.

"Easy, Mad-Eye," Harry replied. "There are far too many armed muggles within
earshot who wouldn’t take kindly to your opinions of their Queen."

"So what are we doing, then?"

"We’re visiting the attack scene about an hour later than I expected," Harry replied
with a smile. "Later than *we* expected, actually."

"What’s that mean?"

"It means that that those employed to protect the Queen anticipated her desire to stand
with her subjects in the face of terrorism," Harry replied. "We’ve already got boots on
the ground, laid down television camera platforms, and cleared the site of all but a few carefully
screened loyal subjects who are ready and waiting to be inspired."

Mad-Eye thought about what Harry said for a few moments. "So this really is a publicity
stunt, then?"

Harry shook his head. "There’s a difference between planning and anticipating." He
then added, "And given the breath of last night’s attacks, it’s no stunt for the leader of
Great Britain to offer words of reassurance at this time of crisis."

The Auror let out a "Harrumph!", then added, "And she expects that the loyal
subjects will listen?"

Harry nodded. "You should come along, Mad-Eye, and find out what it’s like to have a real
leader rise to the occasion."

"I should, should I?"

"Of course," Harry replied. "You are, after all, part of the Queen’s
security."

Mad-Eye scowled. "Expect you’ll want us to ride in the back of those metal
beasts?"

The Queen’s Wizard shook his head. "Wouldn’t think of it," he replied. "As the
Queen’s Guard, you’ll get to run along side her motorcar."

"Run?"

Harry nodded as he looked down at his watch. "We leave in three minutes, if you need to pop
off in search of a stamina potion."

The Queen’s Wizard didn’t see the wooden bow raised as if to strike him, as he had already
turned back towards his motorbike for a scouting trip in advance of the impromptu parade.

**Monday, July 9, 6:00am,
Palace at Holyroodhouse**

The Queen’s Wizard woke at his customary hour within an uncustomary bed. It took him a few
moments to realize that he was in guest quarters at the Queen’s palace in Edinburgh (a clearing
process that was hindered, mind you, by his body’s insistence on spooning even more closely than he
already was with his girlfriend). He stretched out his arms and smiled; the Queen had turned in for
the night right after her speech and suggested that all those who’d been up the night previous do
the same.

He finally swung his legs over the side of the bed and headed towards the three owls that were
perched on the opened windowsill, patiently waiting for the bowls of water and owl treats to be
refilled. One of the three birds pecked at his hand sharply, and refused to let him untie the
message fixed to its leg.

"Fine, fly over there, then," Harry said to the owl, as he pointed towards the bed.
The owl took his advice.

"Harry!"

"Morning, sweetheart," he said with a smile. "Apparently that message is for
you."

Hermione quickly cleared the cobwebs with that comment, and tore open the message.

"Anything you care to share, there?" Harry asked.

Hermione pursed her lips and shook her head. "Oh, nothing worth twisting knickers
over."

"But worth my finger when I tried to open it?"

"Maybe," Hermione replied with an enigmatic smile. Noticing the suspicious look on
Harry’s face, she added, "Can’t a witch keep a few secrets to herself, especially around her
boyfriend’s birthday?"

Harry relaxed his shoulders and smiled. "I suppose so."

"So what was in the fancy envelope you opened, Harry?"

Looking down at the official message in his hand, he replied, "Formal response to the
summons I nailed to the Carlisle tree."

"Oooh, did Umbitch seal it with a kiss?"

Harry winced. "Erm, no…that would have been a C.O.D. Howler."

"C.O.D.?’

"Yeah, the kind of message that makes the recipient howl when he opens it."

"Very cute…so who did send it?"

"Somebody from the Department of Mysteries, confirming next week's meeting."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Really? Well that’s interesting."

"Yeah," said Harry, "and it fits in with the Head Auror’s surprise when I gave
him a copy of the Treaty yesterday afternoon."

"Well, I suppose that the agreement is something that nobody would want to speak about
within the Ministry."

Harry nodded. "So now I’m wondering if Scrimgeour even knows that he was supposed to be
keeping the Queen’s Peace."

"Well, if the Head Auror didn’t realize he was acting on the Queen’s behalf…"

Harry nodded. "So do you think that the Minister of Magic could be held accountable for
violating a treaty that he might not have even known about?"

Thinking for a moment, Hermione nodded. "The Treaty was a magically binding contract. If
that kind of magic forced you to compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament when you didn’t even enter
your name into the cup…."

Harry smiled. "It’s that’s the case, well…about time that kind of magic bit somebody else
in the arse."

Realizing that there was limited amount of time to prepare for the day, the two deferred further
discussions on that topic and continued to plow through their odd assortment of magical and mundane
correspondence. Owl posts were read and responded to while laptop computers were accessed for
e-mails. Magical mirrors, Art Club badges, mobile phones and MI-5 comm gear was tossed about as
Harry and Hermione checked in with those they were in charge of, and those they answered to.
Hermione typed the results of these messages and inquiries into the laptop, forming the guts of a
daily brief that they would eventually submit to Queen and COBRA.

It was only after they determined that the world hadn’t gone too far to hell while they were
sleeping that they had enough confidence to sit down for a private breakfast and read the muggle
and wizard newspapers.

"Looks like last night was a hit," said Harry, as he reviewed the coverage of the
Queen’s ad-libbed address to the nation.

Hermione nodded as she sipped her tea. "Completely ignored by the *Prophet*, although
that’s probably a good thing," she replied.

Harry set down his paper and picked up his PDA and the day’s schedule. "What time are you
popping down to the Institute, then?"

Checking her own appointments calendar, she replied, "Eight-thirty, or so, unless I’m
needed here…still think you’ll have time to speak at the assembly?"

Harry nodded. "The Duke’s pretty much out flying solo today," he replied. "Visits
the University of Edinburgh in the morning, then the Royal Scottish Academy and Royal College of
Surgeons in the afternoon."

"Queen’s staying in, then?"

"Yeah…private meetings with me and the First Minister, so that I can let him in on our
world and run roughshod over the magical secrecy laws." He then sighed. "Merlin, I don’t
care much for politicians."

Hermione smiled. "Hey!"

"Present company excepted, of course," Harry added.

"No worries, Harry," Hermione replied. "It’s just as clear that some politicians
don’t care much for the peerage, or for Royal Wizards."

"And when you’re both?"

Hermione chuckled. "I still love you, Harry."

"Well that’s something, isn’t it?" he replied with a grin.



57. Chapter 57
--------------

**Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall**

**A/N:** Yes, I’m back, after a brief (if a 50k word story can be considered “brief”)
exploration of the defenses about Privet Drive. Thanks for your patience. Now that my muse has
feasted on fluff, this story is back with a 9k word update and what should be a fairly regular
schedule.

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 57: The Ministry of Meetings**

*Monday, July 9, 7:00am
Ministry of Magic*

Having recently celebrated his one hundred and twenty-third birthday, Archibald Oswald
considered himself too damn old to be sleeping on the office couch. But as the freshly-minted
Director of Magical Law Enforcement, he thought it important to lead by example, and if not being
able to trust the floo network meant that most of his staff had to stay holed up inside the
Ministry, then so would he.

On his return from a bland but filling cafeteria breakfast, Oswald found a half-dozen new memos
flying in a circular holding pattern in front of his door. He sighed, then ducked his head as he
opened his door and the memos buzzed by, joining a queue that was lined up for an in-basket
landing.

Oswald poured himself a cup of tea from service that had been set on a side table by one of the
Ministry’s house-elves. Ignoring for a moment the sheer volume of memos waiting his attention, he
sat down and watched as the Ministry’s pecking order played out in spelled parchment.
Correspondence from the Minister’s office and from other Directors were particularly vicious as
they slapped lower status memos down within the stack.

What the Director wanted to see first that morning were memos that summarized troop strengths,
analyzed the recent attacks, updated injury reports and detailed funeral arrangements for his
fallen Aurors. But as these reports would be prepared by his staff, rather than from the Minister’s
office or by the other Directors, they were buried in the stack, underneath “highest priority”
memos, like the one written by Percy Weasley that proposed changes in the number of blueberry
scones to be set out during Cabinet Meetings.

Director Oswald plowed through the stack of “highest priority” memos. There was, of course,
nothing of significance within these documents…none of the Directors liked to tip their hands too
far in advance of the meeting if there were power plays to be made, or blame to be assigned. But
with decades of bureaucratic diligence drilled into his soul, the elderly wizard paid no mind as he
initialed his receipt and scribbled a short notes where needed.

Once the drivel was disposed of, Oswald fished out the reports prepared by his unit managers and
reviewed them with a fine-toothed comb. He muttered during most of this process…there were still
many unanswered questions about the weekend attacks…questions that he would need answers for.

The elderly wizard sighed, then fired off three quick memos requesting his direct reports's
immediate presence. Based on past experience, he expected the three to trickle in over the next
half-hour or so. Such was the level of respect he’d managed to garner during his short tenure as
Director of the reorganized (and severely downsized) MLE Department.

Under the Ministerial reorganization, much of the power that formerly resided within the MLE was
transferred to other Departments. Dolores Umbridge took control of the Department of Magical
Accidents and Catastrophes and renamed it the “Secret Security Office,” with broad authority to
protect the secrets of the magical world from muggles. In the process, more than half of the Auror
Department was transferred, and assigned to either the SSO’s “Compliance Office” or to a “Rapid
Response Squadron” of obliviators and magical reversal specialists. More staff were lost when the
Magical Surveillance Office was taken from MLE and elevated to a Cabinet-level Department, and when
Arthur Weasley’s office was transferred to his son’s control as part of the regulation of magical
commerce.

Minister Scrimgeour had claimed that these changes were necessary, given that the Department of
Magical Beasts and Creatures was to be folded into MLE, but the mass balance didn’t work. Many of
the B&C personnel had already been transferred out of the department to take positions formerly
held by exposed Death Eaters, and the Minister’s Office had either left these positions vacant or
backfilled them with school-aged interns. Some of these teen-aged students were even acting as
section leads.

Two of the direct reports surprised him by appearing several minutes earlier than Oswald had
expected.

“Wanted to see us boss?” asked Head Auror Gawain Robards, as he entered the Director’s
glass-walled office.

“Yes, come in gentlemen, come in.”

“Should I get the door?” asked Hit Wizard #1.

“Still waiting for…ah, perhaps this is her now,” said the Director. With a beckoning wave he
ushered the last meeting participant into the office.

With a surreptitious glance down at his org chart, he said, “So, it you’re turn to play acting
MB&C Director this week, Miss…Turpin?”

Sixth Year Ravenclaw and current Ministry intern Lisa Turpin looked at the three wizards rather
nervously and said, “Yes sir, Director Oswald.”

“So, how are things in the Spirits Division?”

“Well, rather busy, once I was informed that the Minister’s Office considers Dementors to be
Spirits,” Lisa replied.

“Yes, well…I imagine that the Ministry wasn’t too particular about their classification when
they were under our employ, eh ?”

Head Auror and Hit Wizard #1 snorted in unison.

“Right then, might as well start,” said the Director. “H.W., you can get the door, now.”

The Hit Wizard closed the door behind him as the Head Auror and that week’s Acting Director of
Magical Beasts and Creatures took seats in front of their Director’s desk.

“I’ve read your reports on this weekend’s attacks, and need some additional information and,
erm…clarifications so that I’m better prepared for this afternoon’s Cabinet Meeting.”

“*Better prepared to save his own arse*,” the Head Auror thought to himself.

Director Oswald then turned to Lisa and said, “Let’s start with the Dementor and werewolf
attacks, then.”

Lisa nodded. “You should have both my report and the report prepared by the Werewolf Restraint
Office."

“Yes, I read them this morning,” the MLE Director replied. “I’m a bit disappointed that we had
to rely upon civilians to fight the Dementors in Inverness.”

“Didn’t have any choice, boss,” said Head Auror Robards, jumping to the young witch’s defense.
“All of the Patronus-qualified Aurors were commandeered for obliviation duty.”

“Yes, well….these citizens have not yet been interviewed?”

“No, sir,” Auror Robards replied. “Won’t be able to until I get my witches and wizards back into
the fold.”

“That will be discussed this afternoon, I assure you,” Oswald replied. He then added, “At least
there weren’t any casualties in those attacks.”

“What do you mean, sir?” asked Lisa.

“Exactly what I said,” Oswald replied. “It’s from your own report, Miss Turpin…no witches or
wizards were kissed during the attack.”

“No, but more than two-hundred muggles were, and that’s in the report as well,” Lisa
retorted.

“Yes, well…I guess if you want to expand your casualty count that way…”

Lisa bit her tongue. She was rather incensed at the Director’s cavalier attitude towards muggle
deaths, but didn’t want to say anything that would get her booted from the balance of the
meeting.

“Moving on, then…quite hard to believe that werewolves were immobilized and killed by muggle
chemicals.”

“I don’t think you need to call them muggle, necessarily,” said Gawain Robards. “Colloidal
silver is, I’m told, and ingredient in certain potions, and the spray was used in conjunction with
magical, erm…swamps.”

Oswald snorted. “Silver-flavored water and swamps…any progress on tracking down the missing
werewolves?”

“No, sir,” Lisa replied. “But perhaps the Head Auror….”

Gawain nodded. “As you know, Director, we never did catch up with the pack that destroyed Arthur
Weasley’s house out in Devon. As for the Diagon Alley pack, it appears that the four who peeled off
from the attack and killed one of my men inside the Leaky Cauldron escaped into the muggle
world.”

“What of the other missing werewolf, then?”

Gawain shook is head. “We found no evidence within the joke shop of more than the seven
carcasses that we recovered. There must have been eleven total, rather than the twelve that was
originally reported.”

“And the muggles…still no reports of werewolf attacks by the ones that escaped?”

“No, sir,” Gawain replied truthfully.

“Well maybe that part of the night actually worked out,” Oswald replied. “Moving on…H.W.?”

“Yes, boss?”

“Your Department was notified that at least three of the fugitive wizards on your Hit List were
involved in the Diagon Alley, St. Mungo’s and Hogsmeade attacks on Saturday night. None of them
were apprehended, yet you place the blame for this failure on other departments rather than on your
own.”

“Yes, Director.”

“These other departments are under the control of Directors Weasley and Umbridge.”

“Erm, yes…and your point is?”

“My point is that I need to be certain that this is that truly the case before I present that to
the Minister this morning.”

“Director,” the lead Hit Wizard said, “One of my witches has a friend that was working in the
Surveillance Office that night. She says that it took more than six minutes to notify the MLE from
the time that each of those Death Eaters cast their first detected spells. Six minutes!”

“Oh,” replied the Director. “I see.” He paused for a moment and then asked, “This anecdotal
account, then…it involves some sort of whistle blower who spoke out of turn…presumably without
authorization?”

“Hard to be a whistle blower if your information has been authorized for release,” quipped
Director Robards.

“Gawain…”

“What, are you going to kill the messenger?”

”I imagine that I’d be standing in that line behind Madame Umbridge, if I disclosed that one of
her people had talked out of turn.”

Oswald looked down at the Hit Wizard’s report. “Your teams also took more than eight minutes to
mobilize from the time that you were notified.”

“Yeah,” spat the indignant Hit Wizard. “By the time we were notified, anti-apparition wards had
gone up over the targets, so my team needed portkeys. But could we make them ourselves? No-o-o-o,
of course not. Only authorized ministry personnel in the Portkey Office can make portkeys, and that
ponce Weasley had understaffed the office Saturday night, because he didn’t want to pay the
overtime! It ended up being quicker to ask Head Auror Robards for rides using his badge, and by the
time our teams arrived on scene the targets were long gone.”

“Yes, well, I don’t think Head Auror Robards wants to be dragged into your mess…he’s got his own
to worry about, eh Gawain?”

“Excuse me?” asked the Head Auror.

“Your own mess, well, it’ll be mine, actually….two dead and three wounded Aurors in Diagon Ally,
delayed responses to the attacks at St. Mungo’s and Hogsmeade, no Death Eaters caught or
killed…”

“And all of my pre-positioned Auror teams in those locations pulled away by Umbridge five
minutes before the attacks occurred and ordered to join Oblivator Squads at the muggle attack
sites,” added the Head Auror. “Because Merlin knows that the wizarding world’s secrets are more
important than the lives of the witches and wizards that live within it.”

“Well, yes, they are, aren’t they?” asked the MLE Director. “But frankly, I’m more worried about
your actions after the attacks, Head Auror.” He pointed towards a stack of spent Howlers and
stated, “Six different complaints from Madame Umbridge, stating that you overstepped your authority
at the muggle attack sites.”

“And she’d be wrong,” Robards retorted. “Those twelve attacks were obviously coordinated Death
Eater diversions that worked. And last time I checked, the Auror Department still has the authority
to investigate Death Eater attacks.”

“Death Eaters?” asked Oswald. “What evidence do you have that the muggles were attacked by Death
Eaters? I see no reports of Dark Marks, or wizards dressed in Death Eater robes.”

“What evidence?” asked an incredulous Auror. “Twelve attacks all at the same precise time across
the bloody country…what do you think it was, a massive coincidental dose of accidental magic?”

“Circumstantial, at best,” Oswald replied. “Since none of these twelve so-called Death Eaters
were captured…”

“Not surprising, since it was Umbridge’s goons that were first notified by the MSO,”

“Head Auror Robards!” admonished his boss. “I’ll not have you talking that way about our
colleagues in the Secret Security Office. You might think that your Order of Merlin is enough to
carry you through this mess, but you’ll be lucky if I can save your badge." The Director then
added, “Why should I try to keep what’s left of this department together? Merlin knows I didn’t get
my hundred-year service pin by sticking my neck out.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Gawain quipped. “You regulated dragons.”

“Yes, well I haven’t found Umbridge and Weasley to be any less vicious,” Oswald observed. He
gave the three subordinates a calculated glare, then said, “Look, I am well aware of why I was put
in this position…they wanted to set someone like me up for failure, just so it’d be easier to gut
what’s left of this Department and divvy up the spoils amongst the other Directors.”

“I wouldn’t go that far…” said Hit Wizard One.

“Why not, I do,” Oswald replied. “More I think about it, the more I want to just wash my hands
of all this and return to my old job and pay grade.”

“But you can’t, sir…”

“Why not?” asked Oswald. “Dragons are far easier to work with than politicians. They’re both
wily, calculating, deadly beasts, but at least when a dragon dies you get some new boots out of the
deal…think there’d be much of a market for tanning Umbridge’s hide once she bites it?”

Robards snorted. “Well, toad skin is one of the more popular potion ingredients, isn’t it?”

The MLE Director shook his head dismissively. “Laugh now, but she might be your Director if I
can’t hold my own this afternoon.”

That statement got the three subordinate wizards’s attention.

“So, Chief,” Gawain said rather contritely, “what can we do to help?”

**oo00OO00oo**

Once the brainstorming session ended, Peanut Butter Brigader Lisa Turpin used the lift to return
to the Fourth Level offices of Magical Beasts and Creatures. Along the way she stopped to use the
witch’s lavatory, where, after determining that she was alone, she entered a lavatory stall, closed
the door and pulled a single unstoppered glass vial from her purse.

Lisa sat down and concentrated on the complete memory of that morning’s meeting and the
documents that she had read. Once she was certain that she had the memory properly segregated, she
drew her wand and placed it against her temple. A very long silvery thread was drawn out of her
head, and guided into the vial, which the young witch then corked. Lisa then used a sticking charm
to hide the small vial behind the toilet tank, flushed the unused toilet, then made her way out to
the washbasins. Thankful that she was the only witch using the lavatory, she straightened her hair,
took a deep breath, and walked back out into the hallway.

Once Lisa returned to her desk she wrote a short memo to another Ravenclaw witch, suggesting
that they meet for lunch. After folding the memo into a distinctive origami swan, she sent it
flying off to its destination.

Five minutes later, a mailroom intern got her own piece of mail. After reading the memo Luna
Lovegood penned an affirmative reply and sent it back off. Luna then let her supervisor know that
she was going to make her morning nargle inspection, and made her way to a pre-arranged dead drop
location.

Luna had made it known within her office group that she preferred to inspect her navel and other
body cavities within the Fourth Level Witch’s Lavatory. Her boss and coworkers accepted this excuse
as a way for the young witch to steal a few minutes time visiting her boyfriend in the Goblin
Liaison Office. The Magical Surveillance Office personnel who were in charge of monitoring the
movements of known associates of Harry Potter did as well, so no alarms were raised when Luna took
a detour after using the lavatory and knocked on Ron Weasley’s office door.

“Come in,” called out Ron.

Luna walked into the office closed the door, then ripped open the Velcro-fixed flap in her robes
and smiled.

“Want to check for ants in my pants, Ronnie?”

Ron smiled and nodded as he rose from his chair, walked around to the front of his desk, and
dropped to his knees. As he reached inside her robes, Luna shook her head.

“I think that they’ll be easier to taste them than to feel them.”

Ron snorted as Luna reached out and pulled her boyfriend’s head towards her bared midriff.

“There’s one particular spot,” Luna said, as she encouraged him to search lower and lower. A few
moments later, Luna pulled the wizard’s head away from her belly and began to rearrange her
clothing.

“Well. Ronnikins, did you find any?” she asked with a smile.

Ron shook his head and replied, “Mmm-mmm.”

“Oh, I could have sworn…perhaps you should check later this afternoon?”

Ron nodded and gave Luna a thumbs-up.

Once Luna left the office, the tight-lipped Ron reached for his teacup, took a sip, then spit
the contents of his mouth back into the cup.

“Smiley!” he called out.

A Ministry house-elf instantly popped into his office.

“This tea is cold,” said the wizard. “Take it away and bring me back something that’s at the
right temperature.”

The house-elf’s eyes went wide as it took the teacup and plate. ‘Yes, Mr. Weasley, sir…right
away, Mr. Weasley, sir.”

The house-elf popped away to the Ministry of Magic’s kitchens, where she reappeared within a
small supply closet.

“Dobby!” the house-elf called out.

Harry Potter’s favorite house-elf popped into the closet.

“Yes, Smiley?” he asked.

“Mr. Ron Weasley’s tea was cold,” she replied.

Dobby started to fidget rather nervously. “I will be taking care of that for you, Smiley.” He
took the cup and saucer from the other house-elf and popped to the Hogwarts kitchens. It took just
a moment for him to seek out and find his target. With another pop he disappeared, and reappeared
within the walls of a different castle located a few hundred miles to the south.

“Mr. Harry Potter, sir?”

The Queen’s Wizard looked up from an intelligence report that he was reading in his guest
bedroom at Holyrood House.

“Hey Dobby, what’s up?”

“Mr. Clan Champion’s tea was being cold.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Was it now? Well, perhaps I should see.”

“Yes, Mr. Harry Potter, sir,” Dobby replied, as he held out the teacup.

Harry looked inside the teacup and fished out the stoppered vial that had traveled from London
to Edinburgh via a lavatory dead drop, Luna’s knickers, Ron’s mouth, a teacup, and two house-elves.
He held the vial up to the light, noted the silvery string trapped inside, and nodded.

“Thank you Dobby, and please thank the other house-elf for me as well.”

“Yes, Mr. Harry Potter, sir,” Dobby beamed, then popped away.

Harry shook his head as he considered all of the cloak and dagger that had gone into that
morning’s intelligence transfer. It would have been so much easier to have just badge-jumped into
Ron’s office to get the memory, but there were some concerns that all of the interns, and Ron
especially, were being watched.

Fortunately, there were far fewer concerns about monitored badge travel within the muggle world.
After a quick call to let Steve know that he had to be away from the Queen for a few hours, Harry
badge-jumped to Windsor, retrieved his pensieve, and then jumped to 10 Downing Street, where he
planned on sharing Lisa’s memory with Hermione.

Meanwhile, Smiley had returned to the Goblin Liaison Office with a replacement cup of tea.

“Thank you, Smiley,” said Ron. He took a sip, and then let a very satisfied smile creep onto his
face as he thought about his little scene with Luna. While they had received some rudimentary
training in dead-drops and other espionage techniques from their muggle MI-5 ¾ colleagues, there
had been no mention of passing off information via simulated oral sex.

That, of course, was Luna’s idea.

Ron thought it was rather brilliant.

**oo00OO00oo**

Having finished preparations for his Cabinet Meeting, Special Assistant to the Minister Percy
Weasley sat back in his office chair with the Ministry’s latest organizational chart in hand and
assessed the latest threats to his upwardly mobile career. The floo shutdown happened on his watch,
and there were bound to be complaints about the Portkey Office, but given all of the weekend issues
associated with departments run by other cabinet ministers, Percey thought that there were
opportunities to add to his square footage.

There had been a time, early on in his career at the Ministry, when Percy considered this type
of exercise to be unnecessary…a time when he naively thought it was enough to work hard and play by
the rules. But the fates of Barty Crouch, and Cornelius Fudge had disabused him of that kind of
idealism, and none too soon; had his ability to cover his bureaucratic bits not been well developed
by the time he started to work with Madame Umbridge, she would have gnawed on them most
severely.

Like Dolores Umbridge, Percy still clung to the Special Assistant title that made it clear to
everyone that he was tight with the Minister of Magic. Clung to it so much, in fact, that he
favored it over his official cabinet position, which was “Director of Magical Education,
Transportation, Commerce and International Relations.” Of course, this preference was much more
understandable given some of the contempt within the Ministry for his position…since his box on the
org chart sat right next to the Department of Mysteries, more than a few of his colleagues and
subordinates had come to call Percy’s domain the “Department of Knowns”.

Despite the nickname, Percy felt quite satisfied with his present position within the Ministry.
Aside from the Unspeakables, he was in charge of everyone and every office within the Ministry not
associated with the defense of the wizarding world. This included two of the original seven
Ministry departments (Transportation and International Relations), as well as two new
subdepartments that gave him supervisory or regulatory control over Hogwarts, his father, and twin
brothers. With all that in hand, losing control of magical surveillance had been rather easy to
swallow.

Percy stared hard at the organizational chart, looking for openings. The werewolf attacks fell
under Magical Beasts and Creatures, which had been folded under Magical Law Enforcement, but it
would be hard to argue that that division would be better off under his umbrella…it was far more
likely that the MLE would be added to Madame Umbridge’s portfolio as part of an expanded Secret
Security Office. But then most of the incidents that past Saturday had involved muggles, and were
under her purview, so she would be hard-pressed to claim that she was capable of taking even more
on. A more reasonable scenario would be that the MLE Director would be sacked, and if that
happened…..

Special Assistant Weasley counted boxes. While he held sway over far more ministry personnel
than the MLE Director, the Ministry’s org chart didn’t reflect that fact; Director Oswald still had
as many boxes linked to his name as Percy did. Which Percy thought was ridiculous…the Centaur
Liaison Office, for example, still had a place on the chart, even though that office was vacant!
Maybe, just maybe…Percy gathered his papers and made his way towards the MLE for some tactful
negotiations.

**10:30 Thames House, Millbank, London**

After pulling into an open space within the car park underneath MI-5 Headquarters, Chief
Inspector Kate Miller shifted her new “company car” into neutral and slammed her foot on the
accelerator. The responding roar of the BMW’s 3.2 litre, 333 horsepower engine brought a satisfied
smile to her face...nothing in Brixton Station’s motor pool could come close to making a sound like
that.

Unfortunately, her passenger was more confused than enthused.

“Is that a required action whenever a muggle car is parked?” Remus asked.

Kate turned and replied, “It is when you finally get to drive one of these lovelies.” She then
killed the engine, unbuckled her seat belt and added, “Come on, Remy, we’re running a tad
late.”

The former DADA professor rolled his eyes as he followed suit and got out of the car. CI Miller
had given him the new nickname after deciding that “Remus” wasn’t sexy enough for a secret
agent…and stuck with it, despite his protests.

“Hard to believe we’re late, given how fast you drove here,” he said.

“Yes, well, we did make a few wrong turns…figured you would have known how to get to your
headquarters.”

Remus shook his head. “First time here…I’ve been swept up into this just as much as you
have.”

Kate nodded as she pushed the remote door lock button on her key chain. She snorted as her
partner flinched at the car’s chirped response.

“Getting better, Remy…didn’t draw your wand this time.”

Remus just shook his head, and mentally reviewed the list of pranks he intended to play on his
partner once there was time for him to enjoy them.

The two made their way through automatic glass doors to a security checkpoint. Remus was amused
by the fact that, as a credentialed MI-5 agent, he was given the responsibility of minding his
partner during the Metropolitan Police officer’s visit to “his” headquarters.

“That necklace looks good on you, Kate,” he quipped, as they waited for an opened lift

The Chief Inspector looked down at red laminated badge that yelled out “GUEST” in big block
letters and frowned.

“Would have thought the silver chain would have put you off,” she replied.

Remus smiled. “No worries…it’s muggle made, so the chances of that being real silver are slim
and none.”

Kate and Remus returned to business banter once the lift dropped them off at the appropriate
floor. An escort was waiting there to take them through a second security check, and from there to
a forensic pathology laboratory. Remus’s senses were assaulted by the combination of strong
iridescent lighting and chemical odors, so much that he didn’t even notice the sharp drop in
temperature as they entered the room. A white lab-coat wearing muggle was there to greet them.

“Ah-hah, here we are, here we are,” the muggle announced, as he strode towards the entrance.
“I’m Dr. Samsky, resident c-mug pathologist and xenobiologist.”

“Chief Inspector Miller,” Kate replied, as she shook hands, with the man. “And this is my
partner, Agent Lupin.”

The scientist’s eyebrows arched slightly as he shook the werewolf’s hand. “I’m thrilled to
finally meet you, Agent Lupin.”

Remus eyed the muggle warily…the glint in the c-mug’s eyes looked slightly predatory.

“Now, Agent Lupin, I was told that you have something of interest for us?”

Remus nodded as he pulled the small block of wood from his coat pocket and handed it to the
pathologist. Samsky examined the block and marveled. “So, there really is a full-sized body inside
here?”

“No, Dr. Samsky, the box is the body.”

“Amazing, simply amazing,” the pathologist replied, as he walked over to the center of the room
and placed the block on one of two gurneys. Remus noticed that another small rectangular object was
resting on the other bed.

“So, Agent Lupin, if you could work your magic, we could get started then,” the doctor said.

Remus nodded as he drew his wand, then took a look around. “Might want to move all this back,”
he noted, as he waved his arms towards the electronic equipment that surrounded the beds.

Having seen some rather expensive machines fried by stray magnetic fields, the MI-5 ¾
pathologist didn’t need to be told twice, and pushed the wheeled equipment off to the side. Remus
then cast *Finite Encantatum* spells on the two small objects, returning them to original
form.

“Fascinating,” the pathologist said, as two female bodies (one nude, the other clothed) appeared
before him. He approached the gurneys and placed latex gloved fingers on the neck of each
cadaver.

“Good heavens this one is still warm!” he exclaimed, as he turned towards the Alpha Bitch’s
reverted form. “What time was this one shot?”

“Approximately 2010 last night,” stated Kate.

“Truly remarkable,” the c-mug exclaimed. “It is one thing to know that magic exists…quite
another to see it in action like this.” He took a closer look at the bullet-riddled skull and
stated, “These entry points look altered…different than the others.”

CI Miller nodded. “She was shot within a magical jurisdiction. Wizards don’t like the idea of
guns being used around them, so the slugs were removed in the field.”

Wilson nodded. “That’ll make facial reconstruction a tad more difficult.”

“We could probably get you the original slugs, if that would help,” offered Remus.

“Thanks, but I think that we’ll be able to work with what we have.”

“No need to reconstruct this face,” Remus said, as he looked down at the other cadaver. “This is
Alecto Carrow.”

“And she was a werewolf too?” Wilson asked.

Lupin shook his head. “No, she was born that ugly.”

The pathologist snorted as he walked over to the side of the room and began wheeling the
equipment back towards the bodies.

“We’ll get started straight away on this facial reconstruction, then,” he said. “Now that the
hocus pocus is done, I can bring in my MI-5 colleagues and get their help…should have a head shot
and preliminary autopsy results for you in a few hours.”

Kate and Remus left the pathologist to his work and made their way to their second scheduled
meeting within MI-5’s biometric laboratory. Once there, their retinal patterns and other body parts
were scanned and saved into a top-secret database for future access to high-security areas, such as
MI-5 ¾’s headquarters. The wizard was amazed by the muggle technology, and said so. He didn’t,
however, have the heart to tell the scientists and technicians who were gathering the data that a
simple polyjuice potion would likely fool the machines.

After being poked and prodded, Kate and Remus made their way to the Ministry’s cafeteria for
lunch. Dr. Samsky sent Kate a text message during their meal, indicating that he already had some
results to report, so the two made their way back to his workspace. Classical music was playing in
the background as the two entered the pathology lab, but it was the smell of death that caught
their attention; Dr. Samsky and a colleague were wrist deep into the opened chest cavity of the
female werewolf.

“Ah, welcome back, Chief Insector, Agent Lupin,” the pathologist said, as he pulled bloodied
gloves off of his hands and tossed them into a red biohazard bag. He then led them to a computer
workstation and sat in front of two large monitors. With a few deft keystrokes, passwords were
entered and photographic images appeared on screen.

“We’ve had some initial success identifying “Werewolf Doe,” Samsky quipped. He pointed towards
the screens. “The first photo on the left should look familiar…that’s how she looked before we
started poking around in her skull. This second photo is a computerized reconstruction of what she
probably looked like before she was shot seven times in the head.”

“How did you do that?” asked Remus.

“With the right equipment,” Samsky replied. “We used lasers to obtain a detailed
three-dimensional model of the subject’s head, including all of the bullet holes. Then, based on
bullet trajectories and depths, the computer pieced back together the broken bones and filled in
the bullet holes, to show us what the subject looked like before she was shot.”

Remus nodded as he compared the computer rendering to an actual photographic image on the other
screen. “And this third photograph, then?”

“It’s a potential match for the subject,” Dr. Samsky said proudly. “Once we had the rendering we
searched our database of criminal records.”

Chief Inspector Miller nodded, looking at the text that accompanied the mug shot. “Maggie
Stevens, age thirty-one, arrested and convicted of violating the Queen’s Peace three different
times.”

“What did she do?” asked Remus.

Kate leaned over Dr. Samsky’s shoulders and used the computer keyboard to link to additional
data. “Two minor assaults, involveing pub brawls, and the third…public indecency.”

“Public indecency?”

Kate frowned. “According to the records, she was found passed out drunk and naked in the street
back in 1996.”

“Really?” asked Remus. “What time of day was this?”

“Six-thirty in the morning…surprised she didn’t freeze to death, given the time of year.”

“When?”

“January sixth,” Kate replied.

Agent Lupin thought for a moment, and then asked, “Can you look up historic lunar phases with
that computer?”

Kate raised and eyebrow, then turned to Dr. Samsky.

“Suppose we could search the Internet,” he replied. The pathologist opened his browser and tried
to Google search “lunar cycle 1996.” When the first couple of pages of results failed to turn up
anything more interesting than how to do tarot readings, Kate suggested the search terms “full
moon,” and “1996.” The second hit on that search produced a web page that listed the date of every
full moon since 1940. Dr. Samsky scrolled down the page for the right year and said, “There you
go.”

Remus looked over the pathologist’s shoulder and smiled. “First full moon that year was the
fifth of January.”

Chief Inspector Miller turned towards her partner and grinned. “Hey, I’m supposed to be the
detective here, not you, Remy.”

“What did I just miss?” asked Dr. Samsky.

Remus smiled. “Werewolves have a nasty habit of waking up naked and disorientated on the morning
after a full moon.”

Kate chuckled as she printed out the mug shot and arrest records.

**3:00pm, Ministry of Magic**

After two straight hours of watching his Cabinet Officers bicker and posture, Rufus Scrimgeour
decided that enough was enough.

“That’s it,” he declared. “I’ll take all of the recommendations on revisions to the
organizational charts under advisement.”

“But, Minister….”

“But nothing, Madame Umbridge, I’ve had enough of the blame game. You will return all of the
Aurors and Hit Wizards that you borrowed Saturday night to Oswald’s Department.

The former High Inquisitor narrowed her eyes, but gave an affirmatory nod. “And about the
muggle’s threat to break wands?”

The Minister of Magic stared at the toadish woman, then reached a decision. “We allow it for
now.”

“But Minister.”

“But nothing, Dolores. We aren’t in a position to fight the muggles on this so soon after they
lost a few hundred of their own to magical attacks…at least not until we understand the Death
Eater’s new tactics better. Work with the newspapers to get the word out to the public...we'll
revisit this later on in the week.”

“Yes, Minister.”

“Weasley!”

“Yes, Minister Scrimgeour?”

“You will provide me with options that will ensure that the floo network does not go
pear-shaped, at least for prioritized use by Ministry officials.”

“Yes, Minister Scrimgeour.”

“And Oswald, you will keep the Head Auror on a short leash, and immediately post a
*Portus*-authorized Auror team within Magical Surveillance.”

“Yes, Minister.”

“Speaking of Magical Surveillance, Hopkirk…you will make arrangements for this Auror team to be
immediately notified whenever a *Portus* spell is detected.”

The MSO Director nodded her head. “I’ll make it so, Minister Scrimgeour.”

“It goes without saying that your muggle surveillance team will inform us if the secrecy
situation deteriorates any further.”

“Yes, Minister.”

“Let’s see,” said Scrimgeour, “who’s left?”

“The Department of Mysteries?” asked its Director.

“Ah, yes…is your Department in position to help the others with these tasks?”

“Not really, Minister."

"Well, the continue to do whatever it is that you folks do down there.”

The Head Unspeakable smiled. “As you wish, Minister Scrimgeour.”

There was a few moments of silence, as everyone waited for the next decision from the Minister.
Rufus finally asked, “Are there any other issues not related to org charts that need to be
discussed this afternoon?”

Percy let out a small sigh and said, “Minister Scrimgeour, we need to decide what to do about
the muggle Prime Minister’s notice…the three day grace period ends tonight.”

Umbridge frowned. “Why didn’t you dispose of the issue like we did the last time?”

“That avenue is no longer available,” Percy replied. “As I noted in my memos, our ICW branch
office was officially disbanded when the new Chief Mugwump was sworn in last week in Kyoto.”

The Department of Mysteries Director frowned. “I’m sorry, but is this something that we should
have known about?”

“You didn’t know that the new Chief Mugwump was Japanese?”

“No, I knew that,” the Unspeakable replied. “I was asking about the muggle Prime Minister’s
note.”

Minister Scrimgeour looked at the Unspeakable, then turned towards Percy and nodded.

“Last Friday, at a Cabinet meeting that you failed to attend, I reported that Lucius Malfoy
allegedly tried to rob a muggle bank. According to existing treaty obligations, the Ministry is
required to send notice of this attempt to the International Confederation of Wizards.”

The Unspeakable nodded. “And how is the muggle Prime Minister involved?”

“The muggle Prime Minister sent an official notification of this alleged attempt by owl last
Friday afternoon.”

“By owl?” asked the Unspeakable.

Scrimgeour nodded. “More of Potter’s handiwork, no doubt.”

“So what’s this about a last time?” asked Department of Mysteries Director.

Percy nervously looked towards his boss, and once again got a confirmatory nod.

“On the day after the attack on the Ministry,” he noted, “there was a separate incident
involving a muggle bank. The Ministry made the required notifications by hand delivering a notice
to the Chief Mugwump’s office down on the Fifth Level.”

“You mean Dumbledore’s old office?”

“Yes.”

“But he’d been dead for some three weeks, right?”

Percy nodded. “Nevertheless, his office was still officially opened, as our certified
date-stamped receipt proves.”

The Unspeakable scowled. “You didn’t want the ICW to know about the attempt, did you?”

“Whether we wished it or not, we complied with our obligations,” Percy noted.

“I see,” said the Unspeakable. “So what happened to that notification, then?”

Percy allowed himself to grin slightly. “We made arrangements for the former Chief Mugwump’s
office to be packed up and shipped off to Japan. Given all of the piles of parchment accumulated by
Dumbledore over the years, one or two pieces of parchment *may* have been lost during this
process.”

The Unspeakable rolled his eyes. “Fine, so we dodged an Unforgivable that time…but now?”

“Now that the office is closed, we need to find an alternative approach,” Percy replied.

“Why don’t we simply do the required notification?” asked the Unspeakable.

“Because we don’t need any of those foreign busybodies poking their noses into our business,”
Umbridge declared.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re still on administrative probation from the Quidditch World Cup attack,” Percy explained.
“If we notify the ICW that a British wizard tried to rob a muggle bank, they’ll bring in a full
audit team to review our records and procedures.”

“And that’s a problem?” asked the Unspeakable.

Umbridge and Percy spoke in unison. “Yes!”

“Why?”

“The answer is kept on a need-to-know basis, I’m afraid,” Scrimgeour replied wearily. “Suffice
to say there were certain advantages to having a British wizard installed as Chief Mugwump.”

The Unspeakable sighed, and rubbed his forehead with his fingers.

“So, what if we simply ignore the incident?”

Scrimgeour nodded. “That would be the best of a series of bad alternatives. It certainly has
worked in the past.”

“But the fact that the muggle Prime Minister sent some sort of official notification?”

“Exactly,” spat out Umbridge. “That treasonous whelp and his mudblood whore are pinning us into
a corner.”

“So, if they know enough about treaty obligations to pen the parchment for the muggle Prime
Minister, then they probably know enough to check whether we did the proper notification.”

“Exactly,” Percy replied.

“I wish I knew what games they’re playing,” the Minister said. He pursed his lips, and then
said, “Percy, arrange an immediate meeting between Potter and myself…we need to get to the bottom
of this.”

“Erm, yes, Minister,” Percy replied. “But how?”

“Use your goblin-loving brother,” Umbridge spat out.

Percy shook his head in disgust. “Fine.”

The Minister looked down at his watch. “Unless there’s anything else, then…”

“Well, actually, there is,” the Unspeakable replied.

Scrimgeour scowled. “Can it wait a day?”

The Department of Mysteries Director thought for a moment. “That would depend, Minister
Scrimgeour.”

“Depend on what?”

“On the status of one of your badges of office.”

The Minister furrowed his eyebrows.

“Which one?”

“It’s a large pearl, set on the end of a silver necklace, set within a mount trimmed with
dragons.”

The Minister frowned. “Percy?”

“I believe that you placed it within one of your lower desk drawers,” his Special Assistant
replied.

Scrimgeour was muttering to himself as he ducked down and began to rummage through his drawers.
A few moments later, he pulled out the thick chain necklace.

“Is this what you’re looking for?”

The Unspeakable nodded as he looked closely at the orb that dangled from the chain. He then drew
his wand and cast a few diagnostic charms.

“So can it wait, or not?” demanded Umbridge.

The Unspeakable drew in a breath, exhaled, and then replied, “No, I am afraid that it can
not.”

**4:00pm Smithfield Market, London**

Secret Agent Remus Lupin walked out of the meat market with a fresh lead on their case and a
desire for raw steak. In contrast, his partner was presently entertaining an upset stomach and
thoughts of turning vegan.

Remus pointed down the street and said, “*Stake and Ale*’s down that way, I think.” Kate
nodded and they made their way to the pub where two of the meat market’s butchers had placed
“Mother” Maggy Stevens as a barmaid.

“So,” asked Kate along the way, “all of those burly men with excess body hair in there
were,….erm…”

“Let’s call them kin, given where we are,” Remus replied. “And yes, I’d say there were a good
fifty or so at least in there.”

Kate shook her head. “It made sense when you explained it on the way over, but it really hit
home when I saw all the blood and guts…”

“Yeah, makes you hungry, doesn’t it?” Remus said with a grin. “It is a rather ideal job for the
typical London werewolf…not just access to the raw meat, but to the tunnels as well.”

The Chief Inspector nodded. Remus had told her that as London outgrew its walls in the
Eighteenth Century cow paths were converted into city streets, and city dwellers within the
neighborhoods that surrounded Smithfield Market began to object to having cattle driven to market
under their noses. In response, the cattle drives were driven underground, within newly constructed
tunnels that connected the market to the outer edges of the city. Years later, once cattle were
trucked in on lorries, the tunnels were sealed off. Parts of the tunnel system were converted into
underground storage, but much of the network was commandeered by the werewolf community, for use as
a safe, anonymous area to run when full moons that shined aboveground.

When Kate and Remus entered the *Stake and Ale*, they encountered a scene quite similar to
what Severus Snape found when he had visited three days earlier.

Kate took in the rough-and-tumble crowd, their blood-stained boots, and hairier than average
faces and quietly asked, “Are we okay here, Remy?”

Remus took a careful look about the room, let his were-enhanced senses kick in, and nodded.
“More than one pack, no Alphas, mixed company…should be safe.”

“Should we talk directly to the publican?” Kate quietly asked.

Remus shook his head. “Let’s just take a seat, and get a measure of the place.”

Kate nodded, deferring to her partner’s instincts in that situation. She made her way to a high
table off to the side of the bar, where she and Remus made small talk while they waited in vain for
a server to take their orders.

“I do believe that they’re blowing us off, Remy,” Kate noted.

Remus nodded. “Watch my back.”

The lycanthrope walked up to the counter and tried to get the publican’s attention. He was
blatantly ignored by the barkeep, but not by a few of the patrons sitting alongside the rail.

“Oh look, it’s a West End Wolfie,” sneered one of the burly men, after taking in Remus’s
attire.

“Slumming a bit, ain’t ya guv’nor?” quipped another.

Remus turned towards the two men and took their measure. They were both were-turned muggles,
probably mid- to lower-pack, and ran together. Not wishing to make a scene, he ignored them.

“Bartender?” he called out.

“Hey Mike,” one of the two men called in follow-up. “Make a run to the dairy…looks like we got
ourselves another milk drinker.”

Amidst the laughter, the man’s buddy nodded towards Kate and said, “Nah, take a look-see, the
bloke brought his own cow.”

Remus turned towards the heckler and scowled as the wolf boiled up inside of him. His eyes
dilated with fury as adrenaline pumped into his veins and a musky scent poured out of his sweat
glands in an almost tangible cloud. He reached out, grabbed the lycan who had insulted his partner
by the scruff of his neck, and bashed his face down onto the bar.

Bar stools scraped back and voices were raised as blood started to flow freely from a cut over
the now-woozy heckler’s right eye. Several of the pub patrons made a move towards Remus only to
stop dead in their tracks.

Chief Inspector Miller was about to draw her badge and her gun to control the situation when she
suddenly realized that her partner had, in his own way, somehow taken charge. All eyes were now
drawn to Remus stern gaze, and all noses now drawn to his scent. After a few tense seconds, a
murmur of voices was heard as the patrons all cast their eyes down towards the floor and backed
away.

The original heckler grabbed his pint glass in one hand and his mate’s shoulder with the other.
“Sorry, Guv’nor,” he said to Remus, as he pulled his bleeding mate away. “Just havin’ a bit o’ fun.
Didn’t mean to offend.”

Remus nodded in response, as he let out a deep exhale.

The publican was suddenly more than hospitable. While he wasn’t a werewolf, enough of his
patrons and staff were for him to recognize pack behavior.

“This here’s neutral ground, Guv’nor,” he said apologetically. “Nobody’s looking for a
fight.”

Remus nodded. “My apologies…I don’t take kindly to having my partner insulted.”

The publican nodded. “So would you and your bird care for a drink on the house?”

“He said partner, not bird,” Kate announced, as she joined Remus at the bard. She flashed her
badge and added, “As in ‘my partner, *'Metropolitan Police Chief Inspector Kathryn
Miller’*.”

A sharp silence followed this announcement, before the pub’s chairs and bar stools again scraped
against the wooden floor, and the pub’s patrons suddenly all had better places to be.

“Well that was subtle,” Remus snarked, as the room cleared out.

“No more than the bloody nose,” Kate replied.

“Actually, that was a rather normal form of communication for this crowd,” the pub owner said
warily. He then added, “So, what can I do for you, Chief Inspector?”

Kate looked at Remus, who shook his head in frustration, and pulled a photograph from his coat
pocket. He placed it on the bar and asked, “Do you know this woman?”

The publican looked down, and replied, “She looks…vaguely familiar.”

“We have good reason to believe that she was employed here,” Remus growled.

“You must be mistaken, Guv’nor…I don’t have anyone looking like that on my payroll.”

Remus rolled his eyes and leaned forward. “But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t working for you on
the sly, does it?”

Chief Inspector Miller’s eyes narrowed as she reached into her pocket for a business card. She
slid the card across the table towards the bar man and said, “We’re not here to close down your
business for hiring undocumented workers, or to get you in trouble with your customers. We do,
however, need to find out where this woman lived and who here friends are. You help us with that,
and the rest will go away.”

The publican looked at the card, then looked up at Remus.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what in the bloody hell is going on?”

Lupin glanced over at Kate, who shrugged her shoulders.

“Your world, you’re call, partner.”

Remus snorted, then turned back towards the barman. “Just how hooked into the community are
you?”

The barman glanced around his now-empty pub and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m guessing you know
well enough that I’m not turned?” When Remus nodded, the publican continued. “This pub’s been a
favorite of the local meat packers since when my grandfather owned it. And since a few of those lot
are, well…your kind…this pub’s always been friendly to them.”

“Friendly enough to hire one?” asked Kate.

The publican nodded towards the photograph. “What’s Maggie gone and done now?”

Remus replied, “She led at least part of her pack on an attack Saturday night.”

“Really?” asked the man. “Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“Didn’t say that you did,” replied Lupin. “How long has she been working here?”

“Off and on, six years,” said the publican.

“You know where she lives?” asked Kate.

The publican looked nervously towards Remus. “What’s a were doing cooperating with the
Police?”

Remus snarled just a bit. “Trying to keep from seeing every police officer in the nation filling
their guns with silver bullets next full moon.”

This comment drew the barman’s attention. “How bad?” he asked.

Remus shared another look with his partner, and with her agreement replied, “Ever hear of a
bloke named Greyback?”

The barman nodded. “Aye, never seen him, but I’ve heard he’s a right nasty bastard.”

Nodding, Lupin said, “Well, he set his pack loose on Saturday…killed eight people, including
seven….seven that are under the protection of the Metropolitan Police.”

“So they killed a wizard as well?” asked the publican.

Taking the question as confirmation that the man knew something about the wizarding world, Remus
nodded. “Did you know that your barmaid ran with Greyback?”

The publican shook his head. “Like I said, I try to stay out of their politics…much healthier
for business that way.”

Kate nodded. “We need to find her friends, and search where she lived.”

“Lived?” asked the publican. “You mean she’s….”

Remus nodded.

The barman’s face turned pale.

“Maggie she….I knew she changed packs a year ago or so, but not which pack.”

“Who did she used to run with?”

“Don’t know pack names…I told you that I try to stay out of it.”

“But did she have any friends here…people she might have run with before?”

The barman thought about the question carefully. “Can you keep my name out of this?”

The Chief Inspector replied, “Completely confidential…we recognize your situation.”

The publican reached a decision and nodded. “There’s a couple of blokes…names are Johnnie
Hancock and Ben Pinckney. They’re regulars, come in right after morning shift over at the
market…they might know where she lived.”

Kate smiled. “There, now…that wasn’t too bad, was it?”

The barman snorted loudly as he glanced towards Remus. “Yeah, not bit yet.”

“We’ll do our best to keep your involvement quiet,” the Chief Inspector replied.

As Kate and Remus turned to leave, the barman asked, “So the government, it knows
about…everything?”

Remus glanced back towards the bar and nodded.

“At least the muggle government does.”

Once the two left the pub, Kate said, “You do know that you violated a half-dozen police
regulations in there, don’t you?”

Remush shrugged his shoulders. “Good thing I’m not a muggle policeman, then.”

Kate shook her head in frustration. “Mind explaining why they all backed off once you bashed
that bloke’s face?”

Remus smiled. “Guess I unconsciously established dominance,”

“Thought you said you weren’t affiliated with a pack.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh, so you just naturally radiate a bad-arse Alpha aura?” quipped Kate.

Remus nodded. “In a way, yes.”

**4:50pm, Ministry of Magic**

As Percy Weasley made his way towards the Goblin Liaison Office, he was too worried about what
the Head Unspeakable had revealed about the Treaty of Carlisle and the upcoming meeting to care
that he needed to ask his younger misguided brother a favor.

“Come in,” Ron called out, when his brother knocked on the door.

Percy walked into the office.

“The Minister needs to speak with Harry immediately,” he declared.

Ron looked at his older brother and snorted. “What do I look like, an owl?”

Percy scowled. “He needs to speak with Potter straight away…don’t tell me you can’t get in
contact with him.”

“Okay, so I won’t,” Ron quipped. “Still think it’d be faster to owl.”

“Yes, well…” Percy reached into his pocket and withdrew an envelope. “It’s all explained in this
letter…there’s also a two-way portkey for his use.”

Ron shook his head dismissively. “After all of the tripe you’ve shoveled his way, why should he
do you any favors? Why should he trust you?”

“Because he’s still a wizard, and still a part of our world,” Percy snapped back.

“Funny, you claimed that he wasn’t in the papers.”

“I did not.”

“Really?” asked Ron. “I could have sworn that the ‘Anonymous senior Ministry official” was
you….sounded like you talking out of your arse, at least.”

Percy, in a rather angry tone of voice, said, “Just get this letter to him.”

“Sorry, brother, but you’ll have to make arrangements with my supervisor.”

“What are you on about?”

“What I’m ‘on about’ are the rules and regulations, dear brother,” Ron said with a grin.
“Courier duty is not part of my official job description, and any assigned task that deviates from
my official duties must be approved in advance by both my supervisor and Department Head.”

“But…”

“Surely you aren’t asking me to go against the regulations that you yourself helped draft?”

Percy started to say something, then thought better of it. “Fine, who is the acting Department
Head this week?”

“Lisa Turpin, I believe.”

Just as Percy began to storm out of the office a loud “gong” was heard.

“Yes!” Ron exclaimed, as he began to pack his bag.

“Where are you going?” Percy demanded.

“Five o’clock is official quitting time for all Ministry Interns,” Ron replied. “Unless you want
to force me to work more than the normal eight hours.”

“Fine, so I’ll authorize…”

“Of course, then you’d be violating the work hour limitations established by the educational
internship program guidelines…which would mean that you’d have to hire me on as a full time
Ministry Employee, with back pay, and forward pay, and…oh yes, with full exemption from the
underage magic laws.”

Percy stared at his brother with an open mouth and shocked expression.

Ron smiled as he walked out from behind his desk, and patted his brother on the shoulder. With a
wide smile, he pronounced, “He who lives by bureaucratic dragon dung, dies by bureaucratic dragon
dung.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m a Senior Advisor, Ronald.”

Ron nodded. “Yes…a Senior Advisor that better be making a trip to the owlry, from the looks of
it.”

And with a whistled rendition of “Weasley is Our King,” Ron made his way towards the outbound
floo.



58. Chapter 58
--------------

**Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall**

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 58: Politics and Portkeys**

**Monday, July 9, 6:30pm
Gilmerton Close, Edinburgh**

As Harry Potter watched Minerva McGonagall gracefully step out of the floo grate and dust the
ashes from her cloak he once again thanked Merlin (literally) for his ability to badge-jump.

"Good Evening, Headmistress, and welcome to Edinburgh," Harry said, as he offered her
his elbow.

Minerva nodded. "Thank you for inviting me, Harry." As she grabbed the Queen’s
Wizard’s arm she noticed his Clan Potter robe and quietly asked, "The invitation said that I
was to wear muggle evening wear, right?"

Harry nodded as he took in the Headmistress’s black tea-length dress, and the tartan sash that
was worn over her right shoulder and pinned with a gold brooch.

"You look fine, Headmistress…I’m wearing the robe for a lower profile within the
Close."

Minerva chuckled as she glanced at the lightning bolt-shaped scar on Harry’s forehead. "As
if a low profile was possible for you, Mr. Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes as he led his Headmistress through the main room of the "Thistle and
Toad," the pub that guarded the entrance to Edinburgh’s small Wizard’s Quarter. He nodded at
the barman as he passed by.

"I think we’re done for now, Kirk," Harry said. "Thanks again for your
help."

"No trouble at all, Clan Chief, we thank you for the business," the squib replied.

As Harry and the Headmistress stepped through the muggle entrance of the pub and into the
daylight, she asked, "You’ve made some new friends whilst in town, Mr. Potter?"

Harry smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Never hurts to be friendly with the gatekeepers
to the wizarding world." He then added, "And the Queen does like to use local caterers
during her visits to Holyrood."

It was only a few steps from the pub entrance out to Lawnmarket, one of the four streets that
make up the Royal Mile between Edinburgh Castle and Holyrood Palace. A black sedan sat
double-parked waiting for them, with a driver who immediately opened the back door once he spied
Harry walking out of the narrow alleyway.

McGonagall looked nervously at the muggle automobile, and then up the street towards the
Palace.

"Can’t be more than a half-mile walk," she noted.

Harry laughed. "That it is, Headmistress, but we don’t want to keep the Queen waiting, now,
do we?"

"No, I imagine not," Minerva replied, as she reluctantly ducked into the vehicle.

Once Harry joined her in the back seat, the Headmistress looked warily at the driver. Realizing
that she likely had some questions to ask, Harry raised the glass divider between the front and
back benches.

"Muggle equivalent of a silencing charm," he explained. "We have a few minutes,
if there’s something…"

Minerva shook her head. "Some background to this rather impromptu gathering, if you
please?"

Harry nodded. "I’m sorry for the short notice." As he continued to talk he began to
unfasten the front of his robes, revealing a white dress shirt, black tie, and bright scarlet
jacket.

"Right, so there’s a few things going on tonight. First involves the muggle
government," Harry began. "I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but the muggle Scots were
granted some type of limited home-rule…they’ve got their own Parliament now, and a leader called
the ‘First Minister’ that’s like the muggle Prime Minister, only smaller."

Minerva nodded, prompting Harry to continue.

"So this First Minister, even though he’s the head of Scotland’s muggle government, he
wasn’t told about the wizarding world like the British Prime Minister was…at least until last
night."

"Should he have been told?" asked the Headmistress.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "From a legal standpoint, we think so…Great Britain is a
United Kingdom of countries, and Scotland is one of those countries. But from a practical
standpoint, I definitely think so…after all, the Dementors struck a Scottish city Saturday
night."

"So the muggle Scots weren’t told by the muggle English why more than two hundred of our
kith and kin were killed?" asked Minerva. "Ach, I don’t imagine the Scottish minister was
too happy about that."

Harry frowned. "No, he wasn’t happy at all, even less so because he was told after the fact
by me, rather than by the British Prime Minister."

"So how does this all relate to meeting the muggle Queen?" the Headmistress asked.

"The muggles call it ‘damage control’," Harry replied. "The Queen thought that if
this First Minister were to meet more people from the wizarding world, including the headmistress
of Britain’s finest school of witchcraft and wizardry…"

"Who just happens to be a Scot herself?" the Headmistress asked wryly.

Harry smiled. "You got to the heart of the matter much sooner than I did, I’m
afraid."

"Yes, well, age and years of experience jockeying within staff meetings and with the Board
of Governors will do that for you," Minerva replied.

Snorting, Harry noted, "There will also be a short award ceremony tonight. Ernie MacMillian
and, erm…I…will be getting medals for bravery in Inverness, and all of the others that helped fight
back the Dementors will be publicly thanked."

"Not that you don’t deserve it, Harry, but why would the Queen want to do that?" asked
McGonagall.

Harry replied, "Her Majesty thought it important to let the wizarding world know that she
appreciates the efforts of her magical subjects, even if the Ministry chooses to ignore
them."

Minerva’s eyes narrowed. "That seems like a far more riskier bit of politics,
Harry."

The Queen’s Wizard agreed with a nod. "That it is, Headmistress…that it is."

"Which brings us to your choice of attire tonight," said McGonagall, as she took in
what Harry had been wearing underneath his robes.

The commander of Her Majesty’s only magical squadron glanced down at his "mess dress"
uniform, worn by officers within The Parachute Regiment.

"Ah, you noticed," Harry replied with a weak smile. As the car passed through the
gates of the Palace, he then said, "So, a funny thing happened after I was done with the
Dementors Saturday night…"

There was scant time to explain the purpose of The Prince’s Own Magical Squadron before the car
stopped and a liveryman opened the car door.

A young wizard was waiting for them, dressed just like Harry; a bright scarlet jacket trimmed
with cuffs, epaulets and lapels trimmed in Regimental maroon, worn over a navy blue waistcoat,
white shirt and black tie. The high-waisted navy trousers had cuffs that were buckled under
black-heeled boots (known as "mess wellies").

The wizard saluted smartly, and then asked, "Major Potter?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Longbottom?"

"Your aide-de-camp has a message for you."

Harry’s eyes lit up. "Ah, so the Ministry’s owl finally found me?"

Neville nodded. "Yes, sir, just as Captain Weasley predicted."

"Captain Weasley?" asked Minerva. "Which one?"

"Ron," Harry replied with a smile. "Fred and George are Lieutenants."

Neville held out his elbow for the Headmistress and said, "If you would allow me the honor
to escort you inside, ma’am?"

Minerva shook her head in disbelief. Between the Queen’s invitation, the idea of her students
commissioned within the muggle army, and Neville’s display of impeccable manners, she didn’t know
what to think.

"Thank You," Minerva finally replied, as she accepted Neville’s arm. "You look
rather dashing tonight Mr….or should I say Lieutenant Longbottom?"

"Yes, ma’am. Thank You, ma’am."

Your grandmother would approve, I think."

"Erm, thank you for thinking that," Neville replied. "She does, by the way….and
she’s already inside, if you wanted to discuss it with her."

"Really?" asked McGonagall.

With a nod from Harry, Neville began to walk towards the front entrance. "Yes, there are
actually quite a few parents here tonight…the Grangers, and Spinnets, and Bells…"

**oo00OO00oo**

Harry followed behind until he could slip into an unoccupied room off the front entrance of the
Palace.

"Dobby?" he called out.

The only house-elf in unofficial service to Her Majesty the Queen popped into the room wearing
an elf-sized version of Harry’s outfit, with the addition of the small maroon beret.

"Yes, Major Harry Potter, sir, ADC Dobby is here," the house-elf replied, as he held
out an embossed envelope.

"Thank you Dobby," Harry replied. "You’ve checked that the portkey is inside the
envelope, rather than the envelope itself?"

"Yes, Major Harry Potter, sir. It is safe for you to handle."

Harry nodded as he opened the envelope and spilled the contents out onto a side table. Leaving
untouched a large black button, Harry picked up a piece of parchment and quickly scanned the
letter.

"Just as Ron said," he said mainly to himself. He then looked down at the button and
asked, "Dobby, is that portkey touch activated?"

The house-elf looked closely at the object. "No, Major Potter, sir. It be needing your
wandtip touched to it."

Harry nodded. "So we can grant that they’re acting as they claim, at least for
now."

Dobby nodded. "Will Major Harry Potter, sir, be needing to send a response?"

Harry nodded as he retrieved a prewritten response from an inside coat pocket. "Was the
ministry’s owl waiting at the remote drop?"

Dobby nodded.

Harry reached back into a pocket for some owl treats, then handed them and the letter to the
house-elf.

"Will you please give these to the owl, then?"

"Dobby can do that, Major Harry Potter, sir."

Harry smiled. "And then would you come back? If you don’t mind, there are a few more
muggles that I’d like to introduce you too."

Dobby nodded. "Would Major Potter sir like the portkey returned as well?"

Harry looked down at the button, and after a moment shook his head. Stuffing the portkey into a
trouser pocket, he said, "Thanks, Dobby, but you never know when one of these might come in
handy."

**7:00pm, Ministry of Magic**

After meeting with his brother Percy, Ron Weasley had floo’ed from the Ministry to Hogsmeade;
with his family temporarily staying at Hogwarts, he would have walked from The Three Broomsticks up
to the Castle, had it not been for his badge. From an empty alleyway he badge-called Harry and
Hermione, they used Hermione as an anchor point to badge-jump back to London for a debriefing with
the muggle Prime Minister. Harry’s prewritten response to the Minister of Magic’s request was
developed during that meeting.

Needless to say, Harry’s response was not well received when the Ministry’s owl delivered it to
Minister Scrimgeour.

"He has a previous engagement?" Rufus snarled. "Can’t meet until tomorrow
afternoon, and then only at a neutral site?"

"Who does he think he is?" added Dolores Umbridge.

"The-Boy-Who-Betrayed Us," said Percy.

The three Ministry officials had been waiting for Harry’s arrival within the Minister of Magic’s
Office.

Scrimgeour passed the letter off to Umbridge, then turned the now emptied envelope upside
down.

"Didn’t bother to return the unused portkey, I see," he noted. He then turned to Percy
and added, "That did have a limited time use window, right?"

Percy struggled to maintain a calm facade, despite the fact that he was screaming
"Bollocks!" inside.

"Of course, Minister Scrimgeour," he lied smoothly. "I built it myself."
(That part was true, at least).

Umbridge threw the response down onto the table and used her wand to reduce it to ashes.

Percy immediately whined. "Hey, I didn’t get a chance to read it…."

"Save it, Wetherby," she snarled back She then turned to the Minister. "He
clearly is trying to force our hand on ICW notification."

Rufus nodded. "Whether it was intentional or not, the effect is the same." He then
looked at his two assistants and asked for suggestions.

"I say we obliviate them," Umbridge stated. "Just give me the world, and I’ll
have one of my teams so deep inside their heads they won’t remember their own names."

Percy rolled his eyebrows. "And just whom do you plan on obliviating?"

"Potter and his mudblood whore, for starters…and then their silly queen, and the muggle
minister…"

Percy snorted. "Yeah, sure…send one of your teams out to attack Potter and Granger… Because
that worked so well the last time, and that was before Potter could legally do magic, and before
they took control of their own wards."

Scrimgeour shook his head. "They’ll see it as an act of aggression if we’re caught going
after the muggle leaders."

"So?"

"So that wouldn’t help move the conversation along, now would it?" jumped in Percy.
"Whether that conversation takes place tomorrow at that neutral location, or at Carlisle
Castle at the end of the week."

"I suppose, then, that you’ve a better idea?" Umbridge snapped back.

Scrimgeour turned towards his younger Special Assistant, as if he was waiting for a response as
well.

Percy swallowed, and then asked, "What if we were to do nothing?"

"What?" demanded Umbridge.

"We do nothing," Percy replied, repeating the words with more certainty. "We
don’t notify the ICW, we don’t respond to the Prime Minister’s notification, and we don’t meet with
Potter tomorrow."

Scrimgeour squinted at Percy. "Where are you going with this, Weasley?"

"I think we should stall," the Director of Knowns replied. "Let’s say we ignore
this attempted robbery, and the prime minister’s notification. They will probably ignore protocols
and contact the ICW directly. But with the new Chief Mugwump in Japan how long would that
take?"

"At least a couple of days, assuming they have access to an international delivery
owl," the Minister replied.

"So, two days to get there. Then, even if the ICW decides to immediately investigate, which
is a big assumption since the letter is from a muggle government, it would take them at least two
days to look into the issue, right?"

Scrimgour agreed. "And another two days or so to draft a letter to us, demanding an
explanation."

"And then we ignore that," Percy concluded. "Or we don’t, depending on how things
turn out at Carlisle. The beautiful thing is that if they then wanted to sanction us, it would take
a decision by the full assembly, and they aren’t scheduled to meet again until August."

Rufus smiled for the first time that day. "And what wizard would want to side with the
muggle government if they are threatening to violate the international secrecy acts?"

Umbridge shook her head. "I don’t like it…it leaves too many things in the hands of
others."

Percy, reading the expression on his boss’s face, chose to say nothing in response. After a
moment of silence, the Minister reached a decision.

"We go with Weasley’s plan," he stated. "We’ve already assumed the worst will
happen at Carlisle, based on what the Unspeakables have told us. So even if the Internationals try
to intervene on their behalf…"

"You know," interrupted Umbridge, trying to save face, "if we decided to lie
about the ICW notification we’d likely gain even more time."

The Minister of Magic tilted his head in thought, and then shook it. "It wouldn’t gain us
that much, and would trip us up if we wanted to claim that the muggles were lying. No…we stay
silent, and keep them guessing."

And with a nod filled with gravitas, Scrimgeour ordered his subordinates to devote their full
attention to the upcoming meeting at Carlisle…and to the planned response tentatively labeled
"Project Arcanum."

**8:00pm Palace at Holyrood House, Edinburgh**

Once the last of the invited guests passed through a reception line that included the Queen, the
Scottish First Minister, the Queen’s Wizard, and Ernie Macmillan, Harry finally got his chance to
congratulate his classmate.

"Well done, Ernie," the Queen’s Wizard said with a smile. "And thank you, I
really appreciate the fact that you’re here with your parents."

"Not a problem, Harry," Ernie replied, as he looked once more at the "Queen’s
Gallantry Medal" that had been pinned to the chest of his muggle tuxedo jacket. "Not all
pureblood families are intolerant of the muggle world, and my folks were absolutely incensed at the
lack of help from the Ministry during the attack."

Harry nodded. "Thanks for reminding me…they asked to meet with me as they passed through
the line."

The Hufflepuff nodded. "And I promised to search out Hannah to find out more about this
‘witch-in-waiting’ job you just lined up for her." He then added, "Congratulations on
your George Medal, Harry."

The Queen’s Wizard looked down at the silver medal that hung from a red and blue striped ribbon
and nodded. "Not that I’d argue against the Queen, but I still think that you should have
gotten the higher honor."

Ernie snorted. "Oh, please, Potter…I called for help and saved my family from the
Dementors. You answered the call and saved an entire city from the Dementors."

Harry shook his head. "Agree to disagree, then," he replied. He shook the Hufflepuff’s
hand once more, then turned towards the large gathering to prioritize his obligations. Between his
MI-5 ¾ colleagues, his TPOMS squadron, and the families of nearly all of the friends and classmates
that he had recruited that summer, there were a lot of people that he had promised to catch up with
after the ceremony.

The Queen’s Wizard thought about coming to his liege’s rescue when he noticed that Luna’s father
was peppering her with questions, but the Queen seemed to be holding her own. The First Minister,
in turn, was chatting up Headmistress McGonagall about Hogwarts and historical influence of magic
within the different clans. This allowed Harry to not feel too guilty about seeking out the company
of his favorite witch.

Hermione was in a corner of the room with a colleague from MI-5 ¾’s Q Branch, discussing
something that had her very excited.

"Harry!" Hermione said brightly, as he caught her eye. She pulled him into a kiss, and
then introduced him to their fellow secret agent.

"This is Dr. Wembley," she said. "He’s the chemist that’s been examining the oil
samples that we collected from the firth."

"Nice to meet you," said Harry, as he shook the muggle’s hand. "I assume that you
discovered something of interest, since my girlfriend looks like she’s about to pee her
pants."

"Harry!" Hermione chided, as she slapped his shoulder.

"That might actually help confirm my hypothesis," the chemist said with a sardonic
grin. "Being that urine is also fluorescent."

Hermione snapped her head back towards the chemist, but then grinned and nodded her head.
"You are rather clever, aren’t you?"

"Will someone explain this cleverness to an ignorant wizard?" asked Harry.

The Q Branch chemist turned towards Harry and smiled. "The two crude oil samples were
chemically identical, but then I considered their physical properties."

"One was orange and one wasn’t when we collected them," noted Harry.

"But when we submitted them to the lab they were both black, remember?" asked
Hermione.

"So how does this relate to your pee?" asked Harry.

Hermione shook her head dismissively. "Both crude oil and urine, I presume, fluoresce, or
glow in the dark, when exposed to ultraviolet radiation."

Harry squinted at Hermione, then turned to their colleague for confirmation.

"Except that urine fluoresces purple," the chemist said with a smirk. He then added,
"But I digress…once I thought to check it was a simple matter to verify in the
laboratory."

"You examined your pee in your laboratory?" asked Harry.

"No, Major Potter, the crude oil samples," the chemist replied. "Both of them
glowed orange when exposed to short-wavelength ultraviolet radiation."

Harry paused, waiting for something more. When nothing came, he asked, "And so…"

"And so, Harry, your Patronus may have produced the same glow because it is comprised, at
least in part, of short-wave ultraviolet light."

Harry nodded. "And so….."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said with a sigh. "Muggles can’t cast Patronus charms, but
they can create ultraviolet light."

"So you think that the ultraviolet radiation is the secret ingredient within a Patronus
that scares off the Dementors?"

Hermione nodded and shrugged her shoulders. "We’d have to test the idea, of course, but
just think if that’s the case!"

It was Harry’s turn to nod. "It’d be nice if it were true." He then turned towards the
chemist. "Suppose you want me to catch a Dementor for you to do tests on?"

The chemist shook his head. "No, if it’s all the same, I’d rather the test be performed in
the field, if necessary."

"How so?"

"We’re working on that," said Hermione. "Maybe we arm all of the Dementor patrols
along the coastline with ultraviolet light torches, and have them try to scare them off with
torchlight before casting a Patronus charm?"

Harry thought for a moment, and then shrugged his shoulders. "Can’t hurt, I guess, although
I’d rather see something with a greater range than a torch."

"Some sort of flare?" asked the chemist.

Hermione got that certain look again. "Thanks, Harry, you’re brilliant," she said,
then shoo’ed him off with another kiss, so that she could brainstorm with the chemist about
different lighting sources.

Harry was on his way to the open bar, looking to refill his butterbeer, when he ran into two of
the muggle TPOMS members. They, like all of squadron members in attendance, were dressed in
Parachute Regiment "mess dress."

"Excuse me, Sir," said Sergeant Beemer, as he drew himself close to attention.

"At ease, New Six, Coley," Harry replied with a smile and dismissive wave.

"Blimey Major," said Coley, "You never told us that you been that much in the
thick of it before you decided to join our little dance out on the moors."

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Just doing my job," he replied.

"Yes, well…any man that says it’s not right for someone your age to hold that
rank…"

"Man or woman, for that matter," added New Six as he nodded towards their magical
partners. "Didn’t realize that Comet and Cupid cleaned up that well before tonight."

The other muggle commando nodded. "We might just have to get to know our squad mates a
little better."

The Queen’s Wizard followed New Six’s line of sight and chuckled. Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet
were also turned out in mess dress, wearing ankle-length navy skirts in place of trousers, and
low-heeled pumps instead of dress boots.

"You do realize that Lieutenant’s Bell and Spinnet are dating the Weasley Twins,
right?" asked Harry.

New Six shrugged. "Perhaps they just needed to get to know the right men."

Harry laughed. "I would advise against the attempt, gentlemen…the Twins are rather
brilliant when it comes to pranks."

Coley scoffed. "No offense, Major, but New Six and I have always managed to overcome what’s
been thrown our way."

"Really?" asked Harry. "And has anyone ever thrown a gender-reversing potion into
your beer?"

The two commandos looked at Harry with a mixture of circumspection and shock.

"You’re not serious, are you Sir?"

Harry nodded. "Back in school their enemies had an alarming habit of growing tits and
losing bits for a day or three."

New Six snorted. "Might actually improve Coley’s looks."

"Why New Six," said Coley, as he grabbed his mate’s arm. "I never knew that you
noticed."

With newfound interest in getting to know Fred and George (and their pranking skills) better,
the two muggle commandos took their leave.

"Just remember to hang around," said Harry. "The Prince wants formal squadron
pictures."

"Right, sir," the two replied.

The Queen’s Wizard started to make his way towards Katie Bell to give her some grief about no
longer being a temporary witch-in-waiting, but was intercepted by Padma and Parvati’s parents.

"There you are, Major Potter," said Mr. Patil, with a melodic South Asian accent.
"I was wondering if you could spare us a few minutes of your time."

Harry nodded warily. "Of course, Mr. Patil," he replied. Harry then turned towards
Mrs. Patil, who was dressed in an elegant sari, and added, "I can see were Padma and Parvati
got their beauty."

Mrs. Patil smiled. "So you are not only brave, but charming."

"Your daughters are no less brave and charming," Harry replied. "I was thrilled
when they accepted the Queen’s offer to serve her as witches-in-waiting."

Mr. Patil waved off the compliment. "They were the ones that were thrilled, Major Potter…to
have the opportunity to do something of consequence this summer."

Harry nodded. "I assure you both that they will get the best training that can be
offered…training that will no doubt serve them well during NEWT DADA examinations."

The twin’s father shook his head. "If indeed it is the case that Hogwarts opens this
autumn," he replied. "I fear that the Ministry will be reluctant to give up their interns
and lose so much of its present workforce." The diminutive man then added with a scowl,
"Not that their needs were so great that they bothered to include my girls."

Harry nodded. "Yes, it seemed strange that Padma and Parvati weren’t forced to intern…I
understand that your family’s pureblood ancestry goes back quite a ways."

"Nine generations," Mr. Patil said proudly. "But when inquiries were made we were
told that the Ministry was interested only in British pureblood students."

Harry shook his head in sympathy. "I wish I could say that I was surprised, but given the
Ministry’s record of bigotry…."

"Yes, yes, but perhaps we could move on to a more pleasant topic of conversation,"
said Mr. Patil. "Is it the case that you will turn seventeen later this month?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

"And that you will upon reaching your majority become Patriarch of the Potter
family?"

"Erm…yes, sir," said Harry, thinking it best not to disclose full truth.

Padma and Parvati’s father’s eyes lit up, and he grew visibly more animated.

"I am certain that you will have many issues to address at that time," he stated.
"But I would encourage you to consider an alliance between our two families."

"An alliance?" asked Harry.

Mrs. Patil shook her head and let out a small sigh. "What my husband is dancing about is an
open betrothal contract that he has offered your family."

Harry fought back the urge to wince, thinking that the smartest (if not bravest) thing to do in
this situation was to play dumb.

"I’m sorry," Harry said, "but I’m not sure that I understand."

"An open betrothal contract," Mrs. Patil explained, "is an offer for an arranged
marriage between yourself and either of my precious daughters."

"Or both of them, for that matter," Mr. Patil chimed in. "I understand that it is
unusual, but still legal for multiple marriages within the British wizarding world."

Harry coughed, and then stammered a bit. "Erm, well…I am honored that you have even
considered this…I don’t know what to say, though."

"But my daughters are truly beautiful, as you just noted?" asked Mr. Patil.

"Yes, they are," said Harry, chancing a glance towards the twins. Padma and Parvati
were across the room, whispering furiously to each other.. They both blushed and turned away when
he caught them taking interest in their parent’s conversation with him.

"And you have already asked one of them to a formal ball at your school?"

"Erm, yes, sir."

"Then, my boy, you are already ahead of the game. I did not even see my beautiful wife
Rashmi’s face until our wedding day."

Mrs. Patil, sensing Harry’s discomfort, tried to intervene.

"Perhaps we should give Mr. Potter some space to think, Tarak."

Mr. Patil gave his wife a pained look…he did not know when he would have the opportunity to make
his sales pitch in person again.

"Very well, Major Potter…just let me assure you that dowry is not an issue. I am a
successful businessman, and I am well-prepared to ensure my daughter’s happiness."

"Then perhaps we should let the boy go, Tarak, before your not-so-happy daughters hex
you," Mrs. Patil said with a smile.

Harry saw the opportunity and took it. Giving Mrs. Patil a small nod of thanks, he made his way
back towards the bar for something stronger than butterbeer. Thinking single-malt scotch to be an
acceptable compromise, he asked for Talisker over ice.

"Don’t be letting your troops see you watering down your scotch," said a voice to his
left. "They’ll think you’re soft."

Harry turned and snorted at the First Minister’s comment.

"Have you had the opportunity to sample what wizards like to drink?" he asked.

"Can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure."

A thin smile crept onto Harry’s lips as he turned and asked the bartender for two shot glasses
of fire-whiskey. He handed one to the First Minister and raised the other up.

"To your health," he said with a smile.

The muggle politician nodded as he matched Harry’s one-shot downing.

"It’ll need all the help it can get right about now," Harry then added with a
grin.

The First Minister’s face turned beet-red and eyes bulged as he tried desperately not to cough.
Harry thought he even saw a bit of steam come out of the man’s nostrils, but couldn’t be
certain.

"Care for another?" Harry asked, as he casually placed his glass back down onto the
bar.

"No…I’m good," the First Minister stammered.

Harry had to give the man credit; there was no complaining about the challenge, and it only took
a minute or two for a more normal color to return to his face. The First Minister quickly begged
off further conversation, citing the need to return to his office.

A smartly-dressed Remus Lupin approached Harry with a glimmer in his eyes as the First Minister
took his leave.

"Don’t suppose you told that muggle that a wizard’s magic dampens the effect of
fire-whiskey?" he asked.

Harry smiled. "What, and spoil the surprise?"

Remus laughed. "Speaking of surprises, dare I ask what the Patils were talking with you
about?"

Harry shook his head. "If I said no would you do it anyway?"

"Probably," Remus replied with a nod. Turning his back to the bar rail, the lycantrope
scanned the crowd. "Let’s see, we’ve got the Abbots’, and Susan Bones’ parents…I’m sure they’d
love the chance to talk about open contracts as well."

"No thanks," Harry replied. He then asked, "So how is it going with the Chief
Inspector?"

Remus smiled. "It’s going just fine, other than the fact that she drives like a banshee on
a broomstick."

Harry laughed. "Any progress?"

Nodding, Remus replied, "We id’ed the Alpha bitch, and tracked down where she worked. We’ve
also got a lead on some potential friends…we’ll track those down tomorrow."

"Great," Harry replied. He then grabbed the lapel of Remus’s black dinner jacket.
"So is this a different suit than what you wore at the track, or a transfiguration?"

"New suit," Remus replied. "Kate said you can’t be a proper British secret agent
without a proper tuxedo, so she and Tonks teamed up…"

"Your partner and Tonks double-teamed you?" asked Harry with a smile. "Letting
your inner Alpha hang out?"

Remus scowled at his former student. "Would you like to see that inner Alpha now,
Harry?"

The Queen’s Wizard laughed. "Nah, save it for tonight, Remy…Tonks might want to play Little
Red Riding Hood."

Ron, Luna and her father approached the two before Remus could fire back a witty response.

"Hello, Major Potter," Mr. Lovegood said, "and once again,
congratulations."

"Thank you sir," Harry replied. "Have you gotten everything you need for the news
article?"

The Quibbler’s publisher nodded. "Between the press release that your Miss Granger
provided, and my exclusive interview with the Queen, I’m seeing another sold-out edition."

"That’s great," Harry replied.

"So you got the special delivery today, Harry?" asked Luna.

Harry thought for a moment, and then realized what she was talking about. "Yes, actually I
did. Thanks for your help, Luna."

The young witch smiled as she snaked an arm around Ron’s waist. "No problem, Harry…I just
wanted to make sure that my ants hadn’t gotten a free ride on the vial."

"Your ants?" asked Harry.

"Erm, Luna…" said Ron, trying to shut down the conversation.

"Yes, my ants," Luna replied, blithely ignoring her boyfriend. "Ronnie usually
swallows them when he goes exploring down my pants, but a few of them might have hung on to the
vial."

Harry would have been abashed at Luna’s comment, if he wasn’t so busy enjoying the look of
embarrassed terror on Ron’s face.

"Luna," he said quietly, "I don’t think that your father, or Ron, or Professor
Lupin need to know the details…"

"But it’s important for Harry to know," Luna insisted. "You wouldn’t want him to
give my ants to Hermione would you?" She then gave a glance towards the corner where Hermione
was still brainstorming and serenely added, "Suppose that’s why she decided not to wear any
pants tonight, eh Harry?"

It was Ron’s turn to snicker at his friend’s embarrassment.

Harry turned towards the others…Remus was thoroughly enjoying the conversation, while Mr.
Lovegood was following it as if it were the most mundane subject of conversation in the world. The
Queen’s Wizard shook his head, and then replied, "I have absolutely no idea what Hermione is
or isn’t wearing aside from that evening gown."

Luna nodded. "Well, when you do stick your head down there tonight, you might want to
check."

Harry looked at Luna, then over towards Hermione. Wishing to end Remus’s entertainment for the
evening, he nodded quite seriously.

"I’ll be sure to do that, Luna," he replied.

**9:45pm, Somewhere in Salisbury**

Augustus Rookwood finally reported to his lord, almost two full days after he was assigned to
kill Lucius Malfoy. As he strode into the ersatz basement throne room and bent on one knee before
Voldemort, the other Death Eaters gave him wide berth (not wishing to become collateral
damage).

"Ah, Rookwood," Voldemort said quietly. "So nice of you to finally join
us."

"My humblest apologies, my lord," Rookwood said. "I dared not report any sooner,
for fear that I might be tracked."

The Dark Lord frowned (as much as a lipless magically-restored construct could frown). "And
why would you have reason to fear that you would be tracked, Augustus?"

Rookwood proceeded to explain the events, as best as he could recall, starting with the sudden
realization that he and Amycus Carrow were flying on broomsticks in muggle London. He then
described Amycus’s fall, his subsequent mid-air apparition attempt and the resulting splinches.

"So Amycus apparated to his safe house?" Voldemort asked angrily.

"Yes, my Lord," Rookwood replied. "I followed, guessing correctly that it would
be his destination, and was able to reattached the splinched hand that he had taken with
him."

"But Carrow was splinched as well?"

Rookwood nodded. "Yes, my Lord, he left behind a buttock."

Voldemort snorted, finding some humor amongst the dangerous screw-up. "So then what
happened?"

"Thinking it not safe to return to retrieve Carrow’s butt, or even knowing for sure where
he had left it, I applied a magical suppression charm on what was left of his arse and fled the
house for fear that the apparitions would be tracked by the Ministry."

"Don’t forget the spell that you used to reattach your hand."

"Yes, my Lord," Augustus replied, wishing that Voldemort had indeed forgotten that
fact. "Fearing that the splinching would serve as a beacon for the Accidental Magic Reversal
Squads, even with my suppression charm, I drove to Bath, and rented a room in a small muggle motel.
We have been there ever since. I have reapplied the charm several times, apparently with some
success, since we have yet to attract visitors from the Ministry."

"So now you are here alone?"

"Yes, my Lord…I left Amycus in Bath, and spent twice the normal time to drive here, so that
I could ensure that I was not being followed."

"But the suppression charm is not a permanent solution, is it?"

"No, my Lord, which is why I thought it worth the small risk to report back and receive
your orders."

Volemort shook his head in frustration. "Tell me, Rookwood, did you successfully follow my
previous orders?"

"My Lord, I am…I am sorry to report that I do not know if I did."

"And why is that?"

"Because, my Lord, I was attacked by some sort of powerful memory charm. Over the past two
days I’ve been trying to recover, and piece together what might have happened, but it is powerful
magic."

"I see…so what do you remember?" asked Voldemort.

"I remember that Amycus and Alecto Carrow and I were tasked with bringing you Lucius
Malfoy’s head on a plate," Rookwood replied. "I remember knowing where Malfoy was
located, and that we had a plan to attack him, but…no more from that to where I found myself flying
on a broomstick."

Voldemort thought for a moment. "You don’t remember that Malfoy was within a building known
as the Rookery?"

"No, my Lord."

"You don’t remember what happened to Alecto?"

"No, my Lord."

"Or that you and the Carrows traveled to Diagon Alley during the attack and appropriated
three broomsticks from the Quidditch supply store?"

"No, my Lord, although that would explain why we were riding broomsticks later that
night."

Voldemort let out a deep sigh. It seemed as if the memory charm had been applied either by
someone within the building, or by the building wards. If it were the latter, Rookwood and the
Carrows could have killed Malfoy but then had their memory swiped. The fact that the goblins hadn’t
sent another demand to kill Lucius would be consistent with that possibility.

The Dark Lord thought about casting a Legimens spell on Rookwood, before remembering where he
was. With need to do that kind of spell work away from their hide-out, he reached inside his robes
and pulled out his card deck of portkeys. Selecting one from the pack, he returned the others to
his pocket, pulled out his wand, and said, "Come Rookwood, we will investigate this."

"Yes, my Lord," August replied, as he nervously grabbed hold of a corner of the
playing card.

The portkey that Voldemort activated with his wand tip took them out into the cool night, and to
a small, uninhabited valley within the Welsh countryside.

"My lord?" asked Rookwood.

The Dark Lord pulled out a new deck of cards from his robes, and handed a joker to his
minion.

"Use this card to fashion a portkey that will take us to Amycus," he ordered.

Rookwood took the card, and asked, "And the Ministry’s sensors, my Lord?"

"They will no doubt detect our spell use, but we’ll be long gone from here before they send
anyone out to investigate."

"Yes, my Lord," said Rookwood, giving himself a mental kick for challenging his
master’s orders.

As the former Unspeakable turned the joker into a portkey, Voldemort used the opportunity to
fashion a replacement portkey for the one used to get them away from their hide-out.

Once the spells were finished, Voldemort pocketed his card and reached out for Rookwood’s
portkey. Hoping to make up for his prior stupidity, Rookwood said, "My Lord, if we think that
the Ministry will send Aurors to this place because of the Portus spells, perhaps we could arrange
for some sort of destructive welcome?"

Voldemort thought the idea over. "The suggestion has merit…for the next time. For now,
though, let us visit your buttless sidekick."

"Yes, my Lord," Rookwood replied, as he activated the portkey with his wand.

The portkey deposited the former Unspeakable and his Lord into a dingy, dumpy motel room outside
the city of Bath. A blanket-covered lump on one of the two beds suggested where the "buttless
sidekick" was located.

Augustus scowled as he stepped up kicked the lump off the bed with the heel of his boot.

"Get up, fool, and bow before our Lord!" he barked.

Amycus’s head popped up from under the blankets, and he quickly crawled over to where Voldemort
was standing.

"Thank you, my Lord," he whimpered, as he kissed the Dark Lord’s boots. "I knew
that you would come."

"Of course, Amycus," Voldemort replied sweetly. "I am here for you." He then
drew his wand out and said, "Look up, Amycus."

As soon as the Death Eater followed his master’s orders, Voldemort hit him with a massively
overpowered Legimens spell. Carrow cried out in pain, but had no defenses against the attack.
Voldemort ripped through Alecto’s mind with little care for delicacy; having cast another spell,
they were on potentially borrowed time.

It took no time at all for Voldemort to discover the massive memory block. It was definitely
ward-base, and extremely strong, as it was drawing power directly from Carrow’s magical core. The
blocks themselves were also integrated into the protected memories, and woven so tightly in and
around that Voldemort could only get fleeting glimpses of what he sought.

The harder Voldemort pushed against the charm, the more power it drew from Alecto’s core, until
the breaking point was reached…the breaking point of the host’s brain, that is, rather than of the
defenses. Large portions of Carrow’s brain began to shut down, forcing Voldemort to withdraw lest
he become trapped inside his minion’s ravaged mind.

The Dark Lord staggered backwards, causing Rookwood to jump out and catch Voldemort before he
fell over. A sheen of cold, clammy sweat covered the Dark Lord’s reptilian face, as he wheezed and
coughed in a fight for air.

"My lord?" Rookwood asked.

"Alecto’s dead," Voldemort declared. "I saw you leaning beside her body, with a
large hole in her head. You were in a flat, and there was a wizard’s dead body under a pile of
rubble."

"Malfoy, my Lord?"

Voldemort shook his head. "I couldn’t tell."

Rookwood turned his attention to the other Death Eater.

"The memory block shut down his brain…he’s a vegetable…no use to us anymore."

"Yes, my Lord," Augustus replied.

"Unless…." said the Dark Lord. He drew his wand and cast a diagnostic charm on the
body that now lay on the floor. "There’s enough core there to hot-wire a connection."

"My Lord?" asked Rookwood.

"You spoke of booby-traps earlier tonight," replied Voldemort. He then took Carrow’s
wand from the side table and placed it in the vegetable’s hand. After wrapping the fingers around
the wand, Voldemort cast an obscure and extremely dark spell on the wand.

"What is that, my Lord?" Rookwood asked.

"I’ve linked the wand core directly to what’s left of Carrow’s core," Voldemort
explained, as he placed the wand and hand against Amycus’s chest. "Help me to carefully roll
him over."

"Yes, my Lord," said Rookwood, as he helped trap the wand underneath the Death Eater’s
shell of a body.

The two wizards then stood, and Voldemort retrieved the portkey that would return them to their
hide-out.

"Now," he said, "we just have to bait the hook to make sure that the Ministry
comes to investigate."

"More Portus spells, my Lord?"

The Dark Lord shook his head, then quickly pointed his wand towards the former Unspeakable.

"Crucio!"

Rookwood dropped to his knees in agonizing pain as the Unforgivable set his nervous system on
fire.

Voldemort held the spell long enough to express his displeasure, but not so long as to do much
permanent damage.

As Rookwood whimpered in residual pain, Voldemort held out the playing card.

"The hook has now been properly baited. Come worm, I might need you on other fishing
trips."

"Yes…my…Lord," Rookwood said softly. He grabbed hold of a corner of the playing card,
and was swept away to Salisbury.

**oo00OO00oo**

Five minutes later, the Auror team that had been dispatched to Wales to investigate two Portus
spells cast in the countryside was redeployed to the location of a detected Unforgivable curse. The
sensors could only pinpoint spell use down to a twenty meter area, so the Aurors apparated to a
spot behind the motel that sat outside of Bath. While the recon expert cast out detection charms to
pin down locations of magical activity, the team lead did his own search. It only took a few
moments for the leader to bark out orders to follow his lead.

"Thought your eye can’t detect residual magical energy," whined the recon expert.

"It can’t," replied Mad-Eye Moody. "It can, however, see well enough through
walls and clothing to find people missing body parts."

"Sir?" asked one of the junior Aurors assigned to learn under the retired Auror’s
wing.

"Three doors down from the first automobile," Mad-Eye growled, as he led them around
front of the motel. "There’s a man lying on the floor of his room who is missing a
buttock."

"A missing buttock?"

"Like the one that the muggles found in the West End Sunday morning, you idiot,"
Mad-Eye barked.

With wands drawn, they approached the door to the room in question. It was locked, but yielded
to a simple Alohamora spell. On Mad-Eye’s word they burst through the door and into the room.

A quick search revealed pretty much what Mad-Eye said that they’d find…a Death Eater lying face
down near the bed, with his robes drooped down over where a rather large butt cheek should have
been.

"Is he dead?" asked Mad-Eye, as he team performed different diagnostic spells.

"He’s alive," reported one of the Aurors, "but his mind is gone."

"What, he’s missing his brains as well as his arse?"

"No, sir," the Auror replied. "No signs of brain activity, and his magical
core….mostly gone as well. What’s left is acting rather chaotic."

"So," Mad-Eye said, slipping into lecture mode, "We know that there were at least
two spells cast in this room…an overpowered Legimens and a Cruciatus.

"The mind probe could have destroyed the Death Eater’s brain, and maybe caused the erratic
core readings," one Auror offered.

"But the second spell?"

The Auror shook his head. "No residual signs of that curse on the body."

Mad-Eye then noted, "Two portkeys were made in Wales, and a few minutes later a Death
Eater’s mind was raped in Bath, and left for dead. Scenarios?"

"Somebody portkeyed to Wales…"

"Just one?" asked Mad-Eye.

"Two, at least…the portkeys were made at the same time," the Auror replied. "One
of the portkeys was used to transport them here, while the second was used to whisk them away just
before we arrived."

"And ‘who’ are we thinking was here tonight?" asked Mad-Eye.

"Well…the Carrows were with Rookwood, and if this is the male Carrow than one of the two
would have been Rookwood."

Mad-Eye nodded. "Rookwood saw Amycus splinch himself, figured he had tried to apparate to
that house in Bristol, then followed. They then drove from Bristol here, and waited to make sure
they couldn’t be tracked."

"So Rookwood then goes and gets help?" asked one of the Aurors.

Mad-Eye nodded. "Probably Voldemort himself…not too many wizards alive with that much skill
and power, if the detectors are to be believed."

"Voldemort and Rookwood were just here a few minutes ago, then?" asked the most junior
Auror. He didn’t like the idea of that kind of proximity, even if it was temporal.

Mad-Eye nodded. "Looks like it. Rookwood brings him here, Voldemort casts the mind
probe."

"And the Cruciatus as well?" asked the Junior Auror.

Moody rolled his eyes. "What’s the alternative…that Rookwood cast the Unforgivable on his
master?"

"Wonder what they were looking for in Carrow’s head," wondered one of the Aurors.

Mad-Eye had a pretty good idea, but since that idea was formed in part by information passed
along by Harry he stayed quiet.

"Maybe Prior Encantatum will tell us something," said the most junior Auror, as he
kicked at the prone body to roll it over.

Mad-Eye would have barked at the Auror for altering a crime scene, were it not for the fact that
he was thinking about why Voldemort had left the body behind…Death Eaters almost always tried to
take their casualties with them as they left a battle.

As the body was rolled over Mad-Eye noticed the arm that was trapped underneath, with wand in
hand. As Carrow’s frame was set on his back the arm fell away from the body. It would have fallen
all the way to the floor and released the wand, were it not for the fact that the bed was in the
way.

Something then clicked in Moody’s brain…a memory of a muggle training film that he had once
viewed…a film that warned of unpinned hand grenades that the enemy would prop underneath the bodies
of their fallen comrades. There wasn’t a hand grenade under the death eater, but a wand where one
might have been…

Moody quickly cast a diagnostic charm on the wand. The results prompted him to yell out a
warning just as the Junior Auror pulled the wand from Carrows propped-up hand.

"Shields!" Mad-Eye shouted, as Voldemort’s constructed connection between wand core
and magical core was broken. This caused all of the magical potential energy remaining within these
cores to be released.

Violently.

The two-second delay between the broken connection and explosion was just enough time for
everyone but the junior Auror to throw up a shield. Even so, strength was necessarily sacrificed
for speed, and the shields that were hastily conjured were able to absorb only part of the
explosion. The rest of the released energy threw the Aurors about the room and against the walls
like rag-dolls.

Moody's resulting internal injuries, broken pelvis, and shattered ribs earned him a
week-long stay in St. Mungo’s.

And he was the lucky one.

**A/N:** (1)The identification of Edinburgh’s Wizard’s Quarter as "Gilmerton’s
Cove" in Chapter 56 will be edited for consistency. (2) While I’ve seen the idea of
ultraviolet radiation as a defense against Dementors, the first place I read it was in "The
Granger Defense," by Aaron St. Vines. It was too elegant of a muggle-based solution to pass up
borrowing. (3) In Britain, the word "pants" is synonymous with "knickers,"
rather than with "trousers." In other words, Hermione was going commando (again).



59. Chapter 59
--------------

**Muggle Summer, Wizard’s Fall**

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 59: Potter Plaid**

**Tuesday, July 10, 8:00am
Palace at Holyrood, Edinburgh**

On the morning after the incident at Bath, Harry Potter struggled not to yawn as he left the
morning Palace security brief for a summons by the Queen. A quick badge-call to Steve placed the
monarch in a sitting room within the State Apartments.

Once announced and ushered into the room, he found the Queen standing on a small raised
platform, wearing a heavy green robe, and a floppy black velvet hat decorated with a plumage of
large white feathers. Seamstresses and other household staff were flittering about, taking tassles,
chains, and other adornments from a velvet-trimmed chest and adding them here and there to the
outfit.

“Good morning, Gryffindor,” the Queen said, as Harry walked towards her. “This shan’t be more
than a minute.”

“I am at your disposal, Your Majesty,” Harry said, as he bowed low and swept an imaginary hat
off of his head. The others in the room thought the affected response and his rakish grin to be
slightly scandalous, but not unexpected…the Queen enjoyed Harry’s playful approach towards
formalities and protocols. In fact, the Prince had even playfully complained that the Queen made
more allowances for Harry’s behavior than those she provided her own children.

The Queen’s Wizard moved to one side of the room, joining Steve and Susan Bones, the Queen’s
muggle and magical guards for the morning.

“Merlin, Harry,” Susan whispered. “You really do have her wrapped around your little
finger.”

Harry chuckled. “Jealous, much?”

“Hell, yes,” Susan replied with a playful slap on his arm. “Spent the last few days doing
nothing but studying and practicing the proper way to act in the Royal presence.”

With a nod back towards the Queen, Harry asked, “So what’s all this, then?”

“Her costume for the Order of the Thistle,” Steve replied.

“She’s going to wear all that until the service?” asked Harry.

Steve shook his head. “They’re just making sure they’ve got all the bells and baubles in place,
and that alternations aren’t needed before it’s all sent over to the Signet Library.”

The three watched as the last bit of Royal bling was retrieved from the storage container and
arranged on the Queen’s robes. The attendants then stepped back, and after a few whispered
discussions, announced that everything was good to go for later that day.

The Queen sighed happily as the rather heavy costume was removed piece by piece, revealing a
tea-length cream-colored dress underneath. She dismissed all of the costume evaluators save for her
personal seamstress, who withdrew to a position next to a second unopened chest. The monarch then
sat down in a leather winged-back chair and summoned her Wizard. Susan and Steve remained watching
from a discrete distance.

As Harry approached, the Queen stated, “We have read your brief on last evening’s events and a
few questions, Lord Gryffindor.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” replied Harry, coming to a stop a few feet in front of the chair.

The Queen asked, “Has there been any change on the casualty count at Bath?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Harry replied. “The two dead and four injured still appear to be
wizards.”

“So the Ministry of Magic will claim no harm, no foul, and that the memory charms used on the
constable and fifteen civilians were standard operating procedures?”

“That’s right, Your Majesty,” said Harry. “The Oblivator Squads have been doing this sort of
clean-up operation for years.”

“And there is nothing to stop them from doing this same sort of cover-up on incidents that do
involve attacks on muggles? Incidents that we might not even know about?”

Harry replied, “Yes, Your Majesty…we were rather fortunate last night. Had that constable not
been near the scene and able to report the arrival of the Obliviator Squadron before he himself was
obliviated, we wouldn’t have been able to get the helicopter to the scene.”

“That was useful…how was it that the helicopter pilot and cameraman wasn’t affected by these
muggle-repellents?”

With a small smile, Harry replied, “The wizards only applied the repelling wards on the
ground…they didn’t think to ward over their heads.”

The Queen paused, and then asked, “So what led to the explosion?”

“We don’t know just yet,” said Harry. “The wizards had repaired the building damage and left the
scene before Hermione and I arrived. Our people inside the Ministry are aware of our interest, and
we may learn more over the course of the day.”

With a sigh, the Queen then stated, “It would seem that we are still forced into a mostly
reactive position, so long as the Ministry refuses to share its intelligence with us.”

“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty,” Harry admitted. “We have tried to make inroads within their
Magical Surveillance Office, but they’ve so far done a good job of keeping our people away, and
have staffed that office with witches and wizards loyal to the Minister’s office.”

“Yes, well, perhaps all that will change after Carlisle,” the Queen replied. She then shifted
topics. “What of the search in Salisbury, and the two suspected safe-houses?”

Harry nodded. “Hermione was hoping to see an update about those issues at their morning COBRA
meeting at 10 Downing Street. As far as I know, nothing has changed at the suspected safe
houses…we’re waiting to see if Rookwood or one of the other high-level Death Eaters shows up at
either location before acting. And the lead we had on the Death Eater wishing to take a taxi to
Salisbury hasn’t produced anything actionable…but then again, we haven’t shared that bit of
intelligence with the Ministry, and the focus of our magical resources have been on your safety
here in Scotland this week.”

The Queen smiled. “Ah, yes, that you for reminding us….Lucinda, if you would?”

The seamstress who had been quietly standing to one side retrieved a tape measure and small
notebook from her pocket and replied, “Yes, Your Majesty.” She then gestured towards the platform
that the Queen had been standing on and asked, “Lord Gryffindor, if you please?”

“Your Majesty?” Harry asked.

“We understand that there are some ongoing security issues that my seamstress will be able to
address,” the Queen replied with a smile.

“I’m…I’m afraid that I don’t understand,” Harry replied.

At this point Steve and Susan came forward.

“Just get up on the box, Harry,” said Susan. “It’s your turn to be kitted out.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, but followed the Hufflepuff’s orders. As the seamstress wrapped the
tape measure around his waist, Steve offered up an explanation.

“You know that there’s been concern about friendly fire, especially tomorrow during the party,
right Harry?”

“Yes, we hit on topic this morning,” Harry replied. “The best we’ve come up with is for our
Order of Arthur witches and wizards to be wearing MI-5 jackets if they’re called on to draw their
wands during an attack.”

“But the problem is that your Magical Squadron and Order of Arthur members won’t be the only
ones on our side with wands,” Susan replied. “Take me, for example…you aren’t thinking that I’ll
wear that jacket over a dress during the party, do you?”

“Well, no, but you four should be well-enough known to our muggle security forces.”

“In ideal circumstances, perhaps,” Steve countered. “But if there is an attack, there will be
chaos, and I wouldn’t put it past our snipers to get nervous and start shooting at anyone with a
wand in their hand.”

“Okay, so…what’s this about then?” Harry asked, as he nodded towards the seamstress as she
measured his left arm’s sleeve length.

“We would be pleased to provide you and all of the other witches and wizards within our service
with a highly visible outfit suitable for the occasion,” the Queen said.

Harry nodded. “An outfit more visible than my Queen’s Wizard’s robes, Your Majesty?”

“No, not quite,” the Queen replied with a smile. “But one that could be worn by more than just
the Queen’s Wizard.” She then waved towards the unopened chest and asked, “Agent Jackson?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Steve replied, as he walked over and opened up the trunk. Inside were
several bolts of a bright red and gold wool fabric.

“Tartan?” asked Harry.

The Queen nodded. “As our historians were unable to find historical precedent, we would be
pleased to offer the Potter Clan one of our reserved tartans for its own use.”

“Oh, my,” Harry replied, as he looked at the fabric’s bright pattern. “Well, there won’t be any
mistaking anyone wearing a jacket made of that cloth.”

“It’s not intended for a jacket, Lord Gryffindor,” the seamstress replied with a smile. She then
ran her tape from his waist down to one knee.

“You don’t mean a kilt, do you?” asked Harry.

Susan nodded as she walked up to Harry and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, Harry, you’ve got great
looking legs.”

“But a kilt?”

“Suck it up, Harry,” Steve admonished with a grin. “And look at the bright side.”

“And what would that be?”

“You’ll have plenty of room underneath for an extra wand.”

**oo00OO00oo**

**9:00am Somewhere in Salisbury**

The Dark Lord Voldemort sat rather restlessly as those members of his inner circle still with
him in his Wiltshire hideaway reviewed readiness reports and minion deployments. The extracted
memory of the apparent bullet hole in Alecto Carrow’s head worried him.

“What cells are ready and capable of another offensive?” he asked.

The inner circle Death Eaters looked at each other, hoping that someone else would risk
replying. When nobody did, the Dark Lord sneered, “Lestrange?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Rodolphus replied. “All of your forces are ready and eager to follow your
commands instantly. That said, we have Nott and his group out at the Rookery, MacNair and five more
scouting the Ministry, and Bella took Rabastan and six others with her to flush out unplottable
locations for your use.”

“What of the safe-houses under your command, Rodolphus?” Voldemort demanded.

“My Lord, as you know I have most of our injured comrades in Severus’s care in Knockturn Alley,”
the Death Eater replied. “But I have at least fifteen that are capable of joining me in executing
whatever plans you may have for us.”

“How about you, Rookwood?” the Dark Lord demanded.

“I have twelve within my two remaining safe-houses,” Rookwood replied. “All are eager to serve
as their Lord sees fit.”

Voldemort considered his options. There were another thirty or so he could call upon, but
thought it best to keep the male Lestrange occupied…he got antsy whenever his wife was deployed out
into the field.

“Rodolphus,” he said, “I want you to lead your fifteen into the biggest, baddest, deadliest
attack you can devise against the muggles.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Rudolphus said proudly. “Have you any particular target or town in mind?”

The Dark Lord nodded. “Something spectacular…something that would force them to consider
attacking the wizarding world as a whole.”

“My Lord?” asked Rodolphus.

“While your sick and injured heal,” Voldemort explained, “I want the Ministry’s forces more
worried about the muggles, than us.”

He then turned and said, “Rookwood, you’re the closest thing we have to a muggle, I’ll leave it
to you to decide the target, and to develop a plan of attack with Lestrange for his teams to
execute.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the former Unspeakable immediately replied. He didn’t care to be verbally abused
by his master, but it was better than getting *Crucio*’ed any day of the week.

“Within the next 48 hours,” Voldemort stated. “And Rookwood?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Take care that you return with memories of a successful attack.”

“As you wish, my Lord.”

**oo00OO00oo**

**11:30am, Palace at Holyrood, Edinburgh**

Harry’s hopes that the custom tailored kilt would take some time to fashion were dashed when the
Queen’s seamstress arrived at his Palace office with a large box.

“We’ve got your outfit ready, Lord Gryffindor.”

“So soon?” asked Harry.

Lucinda nodded. “The Queen said that she would be pleased to see you wearing it at the Order of
the Thistle service, so my staff and I dropped everything else.”

“Wonderful,” Harry replied, with a tone of voice that suggested otherwise.

“If you would try it on, please, Lord Gryffindor?” the seamstress asked. “I’ll just step outside
for a few minutes.”

Harry sighed, but nodded his head in acceptance and removed his suit jacket. Once the seamstress
left he closed the window blinds, opened the box, removed its contents, and stripped down to his
t-shirt and boxer shorts. The white silk tuxedo shirt and black bow tie were by now familiar to
Harry, and near identical to what he wore in his mess dress uniform. There was also a black Argyle
suit jacket and matching vest that were similar enough to “normal” clothing. But then there was the
worsted wool kilt…

Without a manufacturer’s label sewn into the back of the waistline, Harry struggled to recall
that the other kilts he’d seen worn had the flat aprons in the front. Once that decision was made,
there were leather straps and buckles to secure on each hip, and two wide belt loops in the back to
accommodate a large black belt, whose huge silver buckle bore the royal crest. Once the kilt was in
place, Harry donned the long cream-colored wool socks, held up by special tartan garters known as
“flashers.” Black tongue-less leather shoes know as “Ghillie Brogues” completed the basic
outfit.

Leaving the silver kilt pin and the waistpack-like sporran in the box, Harry called the
seamstress back into his office. She entered and immediately began to inspect her handiwork,
pulling at this and that piece of fabric.

“Not bad for a first go, Lord Gryffindor,” she said with a smile. She grabbed the kilt pin from
the box and dropped to her knees in front of Harry. “This pin keeps the apron in place,” she noted,
as she put the pin in place. Dragging her hand across the kilt's apron, presumably to flatten
it, she added, “And your socks should have a wider cuff.” She then reached out to fix the offending
hosiery. It was then that she noted a horizontal line across the pleat of his kilt.

“That’s strange...the interior lining shouldn’t show that way, unless….” She got up from the
floor and announced. “I’m expecting that Her Majesty would expect the Queen's Wizard to wear
his kilt in the traditional manner, Lord Gryffindor.”

“What’s that mean?”

The seamstress smirked and replied, “It means that you’ll need to remove your boxer shorts.”

Harry’s head jerked back with a startle. “Really?”

“Yes, Lord Gryffindor…come now, I haven’t all day.”

“You mean I need to remove them now?”

“Unless you’d wish me to do it for you,” the seamstress said with a waggle of her eyebrows.
“Here, I’ll turn my back, for you.”

Once she turned, Harry rather sheepishly reached up under the kilt’s hemline and removed his
underwear. After wadding it up into a ball and hiding it inside his trousers, he said, “Right,
then, I’m set.”

The seamstress turned back around, looked down at Harry’s waist, and smiled. “Much, much
better,” she decided. She then reached for the sporran and the chain that held it up.

“Almost a shame to cover up the lovely way you dress left,” she quipped, as she wrapped her arms
around Harry’s waist and fixed the sporran to its chain.

Harry had spent enough time around Wally the clothes hound to know what the seamstress meant by
“dress left,” but didn’t allow her the pleasure of knowing that he knew.

“Are we done then?” he asked.

The seamstress nodded. “The Queen suggests that your badge be fixed to the front of the sporran.
Other than that, you’re good to go for this afternoon.”

“Are you certain that I’m supposed to wear this today?”

The seamstress nodded. “We’re rushing to finish the skirts and shawls for the ladies, and if
they’re to wear them today, then you should too.”

Just then, Harry’s mobile chirped. He reached over to his trousers, which were draped over his
desk chair, and fished the device from the front pocket. Noting the caller ID, he apologized to the
seamstress for needing to take the call and answered.

“Yes, Steve?” he asked. “She does?….When?….You mean Right now, Right now?….Right, then.”

Harry shook his head as he ended the mobile call. He looked at the phone, then down at his
outfit, and frowned.

“You’ll find the sporran has more than enough room for your mobile,” the seamstress said with a
smile.

Harry snorted. “If you’ll excuse me, the Queen requires my presence.”

“What a surprise,” the seamstress said with an impish grin. “I’ll be seeing you then, Lord
Gryffindor,” she added, before leaving the office.

Realizing that the Queen had set him up for a fashion show, Harry shook his head and sighed as
he slipped his wand up the sleeve of his new jacket, and made his way back to the State
Apartments.

**oo00OO00oo**

Once the Queen and her witches-in-waiting gave their stamps of approval on Harry’s attire, the
Queen indirectly asked, “We were wondering if there was any change in the bank robbery notification
issue.”

Harry shook his head. “No, ma’am, still no contact from the Ministry.”

The Queen nodded. “We have been considering the potential next step this morning,” she
announced. “We understand that the magical U.N. is now located in Japan?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty. There isn’t a permanent base, but there is an official office
kept by the magical ministry of the Chief Mugwump’s home country or region, and the new Chief is
Japanese.”

“And are you aware of the state of relations between the Japanese muggle and magical
governments?”

“Not specifically, ma’am,” Harry admitted. “I understand that was a wide range of responses when
the Prime Minister’s Office and MI-6 informed their counterparts that Saturday’s attack involved
magic, rather than WMDs…some of the other muggle leaders had already figured it out on their own,
some had been told by their own wizard leaders, and others didn’t know what the heck we were
talking about.”

The Queen smiled. “So we learned from the Prime Minister, Gryffindor. The reason that we ask is
that we are well acquainted with most of the world’s monarchs, and good friends with more than a
few. The muggle Emperor of Japan is one of these friends, and a Stranger Knight of the Order of the
Garter. We would consider asking for the Emperor’s assistance, were it though advisable by my
Wizard and his Consort.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at the Consort reference, but held his tongue on that point.

“I think that it would be a great idea…would you like me to check with Dame Hermione?”

The Queen nodded, swatting away the recognition of Harry’s lapse of protocol with a mental
shrug. She expected Harry to ask for her leave, but was only mildly surprised when he activated his
Art Club badge and immediately rang-up Hermione.

“Harry?” asked Hermione once she answered. “What’s wrong?”

“I had a question for you.”

“Can it wait? Because I’m in the middle of a COBRA meeting…”

“So are all of the big wigs there?”

“Yes,” Hermione hissed. “Except, of course, for your boss…”

“Well, that’s okay, because I’m with her right now, and she was wondering if her giving her good
friend the Emperor of Japan a call might help things with the new Chief Mugwump.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Hermione said, “Merlin, why didn’t we think of
that?”

“It is pleasing to know that we are of some utility on occasion, Dame Hermione,” chimed in the
Queen.

“Eep!” said Hermione over the badge. “My apologies, Your Majesty, I wasn’t aware that you were
actually there, erm… I mean, within hearing range.”

“Not a problem, Dame Hermione,” the Queen replied warmly. “We trust that your somewhat casual
demeanor was influenced by Lord Gryffindor's rather cavalier attitude towards a fuller
description of your audience.”

“Oops,” Harry said with a grin.

“Oops is right, mister,” said Hermione. “If it were to please Your Majesty, I could step back
into the meeting and query the Prime Minister?”

“Please do, Dame Hermione,” the Queen said.

While Hermione went off-line to pose the question to the COBRA members, the Queen instructed
Harry to inform her staff if the couch in his guest suite required bed linens that evening. Susan
and Steve were delighted with the Queen’s sense of humor.

Harry…less so.

**oo00OO00oo**

**1:30pm, 10 Downing Street, London**

The Prime Minister of Great Britain was sorting through his messages whilst half-listening to a
conference call with his political party’s leaders when an new e-mail message popped into his
in-box. Given the sender’s address, he immediately read it, typed in a curt reply, then begged off
the balance of the conference call citing need to take care of an urgent issue.

“I’ll be out for a few minutes, Millie,” he said, as he walked out of his office and past his
administrative aide.

“Yes, sir,” his aide replied.

The Prime Minister walked half-way down the hall that approached his office, checked that no one
else was in the corridor, then open a coat closet door, pushed a aside a few jackets hung on
hangers, and stepped inside. An overhead lamp fixture turned on, shedding just enough light for him
to find the umbrella that needed to be pulled from its stand before he could walk through the false
back wall. Behind this charmed wall was the magically-expanded, brightly lit office of his Senior
Advisor and Special Ambassador to the Wizarding World.

Hermione was sitting behind her large oak desk, talking on the telephone.

“So you think you’ll have how many of those UV lamps ready by tonight? Twelve?” she asked.
“Well, that’s a start, I guess….call Wally or Harry when they’re ready and they’ll see that they
make it up North for evening patrol.” She then looked up, realized that she had a guest in her
office, and suddenly said, “Sorry, I’ve got to go, call me back if there’s anything else.”

Hermione hung up the telephone, and said, “I’m sorry Prime Minister, I didn’t hear the bell when
you entered the closet.”

“No worries, Hermione,” the Prime Minister replied.

“That was Q-branch,” she noted. "They’ll have a dozen high-intensity ultraviolet lights
ready to test out tonight on the Dementor patrols."

“Excellent,” he said. “Hermione, The Lord Chamberlain just sent me an e-mail, requesting that I
was to release you from work in order to attend the Order of the Thistle service up in
Edinburgh.”

Hermione looked down at her watch, and frowned.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “I just need to finish revising my brief for this afternoon’s COBRA
meeting….”

“No, Hermione, you don’t understand,” the Prime Minister said with a smile. “That was a tactful
way for Her Majesty to order me to kick you out of your office and up to Scotland.”

“But…”

“I’m sure that your brief is fine the way it is, Hermione.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” said the Prime Minister. “The Lord Chamberlain thought it important for
me to mention that you should use Wally as an anchor point, and that Sir Harry is presently wearing
a kilt.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose up towards her forehead.

“He is, is he?” she asked. She quickly stood and reached for her bag. Gathering it to her chest,
she looked at her boss, who was still standing in front of her desk.

“Oh, by all means, go,” he said with a smile. “I can find my way back to my office.”

Hermione smiled. “Thank you sir.” She then activated her badge, called Wally, and jumped to
Scotland.

**oo00OO00oo**

“It’s about time, love,” Wally said, once Hermione had materialized in Holyrood and caught her
bearings. “Sir Harry is already at the Signet Library with the Queen.”

“Yes, well, duty does call on occasion,” she replied.

Wally had stepped out of the control room that monitored the Palace’s CCTV network, so that
Hermione’s arrival was discreet. Noticing the empty room, Hermione drew her wand and began thinking
about transfiguring her outfit into something appropriate.

“Oh, don’t’ worry about your clothing, Dame Hermione,” Wally said with a smile. “I left
something out for you to wear on your bed.”

Hermione smiled as she shook her head in disbelief. “So it’s not enough to play dress-up with
Harry?”

Wally chuckled. “Let’s go…I don’t want to be gone long from the control room.”

“I can dress myself, you know,” Hermione stated.

“Yes, yes, now let’s get you upstairs and get you out of that boring gray,” Wally replied.

Five minutes later Hermione stepped out of her bedroom and into the sitting room that made up
part of their guest suite. She was now dressed in a plain white long-sleeved blouse with lace
ruffled cuffs, and a calf-length knife-pleated red and gold tartan skirt. A black bonnet was on her
head, and a tartan shawl was draped over her right shoulder and pinned into place with her Order of
Arthur badge.

“I’m amazed that it fits,” she noted, as Wally looked her over.

“We took the liberty of borrowing from your wardrobe to get an idea on sizing,” Wally explained.
“You look very nice,” he added, “Except that the shawl should be worn on the left shoulder.”

“Really?” asked Hermione. “But last night the Headmistress wore hers on the right side.”

Wally shook his head, and tsk-tsk’ed her. “Sure, go ahead, make that mistake, I’m just the one
that’s worked in the Royal Household for years and years.”

“Okay, okay,” said Hermione, as she switched the shawl around.

**oo00OO00oo**

With a whispered warning that he was in the presence of unaware muggles, Harry asked Hermione to
wait until he called her back before she used him as a anchor. A few seconds later he gave her the
all-clear, and she badge-jumped into a rather lavish water closet.

The first thing that blurted out of her mouth when she saw Harry’s outfit was, “Oh, how cute, we
match.”

Harry laughed. “No we don’t,” he replied, after pulling her into a welcoming kiss, “my skirt is
a lot shorter than yours.”

Hermione smiled. “You know, if you had told me that you were wearing a kilt I would have been
here hours ago.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” Harry replied with a grin. “Your work is far more important that
the opportunity to view my knobby knees.”

Hermione reached down and cupped Harry’s bare leg just above one of those knees. “I’ll be the
judge of that, Lord Gryffindor,” she said.

As she slowly dragged her hand up Harry’s leg she saucily asked, “So tell me, what’s worn
underneath a wizard’s kilt?”

Harry’s eyes sparkled. “You should know better than anyone, Hermione."

"Is that so?"

Harry nodded. "Yes...nothing is worn underneath…everything is in perfect working
order.”

A pout flashed over Hermione’s lips as she pinched some flesh on his thigh. “Oh, that’s a
terrible pun, Mr. Potter.”

The Queen’s Wizard leaned forward and nuzzled his nose against Hermione’s. “So tell me that I’m
not the only one going commando today.”

Hermione chuckled as she moved her hand out from underneath Harry’s kilt and used it to press
down on the lapel of his jacket. “Let’s go, Romeo, before more than my hand dives under that
kilt.”

“Promises, promises,” Harry replied, as he walked over to the water closet door. After making
sure that the coast was clear, he shoo’ed his girlfriend out into the hallway.

Hermione noticed some strange reactions from women that they passed in the hallway, but
attributed it the “his and hers” matching tartans. This thought was challenged when they entered
the antechamber to the Queen’s dressing room, and found Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot wearing
outfits identical to her own...save that their shawls were hung from their right shoulders.

“Hi, Hermione,” Susan said brightly, as she rushed forward and gave an unexpected hug. “I’m so
happy that you decided to join Harry’s harem.”

Harry snorted, but wiped the smirk off his face when Hermione looked at him crossly.

“She’s joking, aren’t you Susan?” he asked.

“Sure, Harry, whatever you say,” said Hannah, as she walked up, kissed his cheek, then grabbed
his other arm. She leaned towards Hermione and said, “No worries, Hermione, all of us expect you to
be the primary wife.”

Harry chuckled, despite himself.

“Relax, Hermione,” he said. “This tartan is the new uniform for the witches and wizards in
service to the Queen.”

“How so?” she demanded.

“Swatches of this fabric have been distributed to every muggle sniper looking over Parliament
Square, this afternoon,” he explained. It’s a “don’t shoot me if I draw a wand” signal.”

“What was wrong with the robes we wore when we arrived?” Hermione demanded.

“Not enough of them,” Harry replied. “Head of security wants everyone on our side to wear the
same colors…I expect the Headmistress to be wearing the Potter tartan at the Garden Party
tomorrow.”

“Headmistress McGonagall?” asked Hannah. “It’s your harem, Harry, but don’t you think she’s a
bit old for you?”

“Stop it, Hannah,” Harry admonished.

The Hufflepuff witch dropped her eyes demurely and curtsied. “Yes, Master.”

“Hannah!” he whined.

The doors to the dressing room opened at that point, saving Harry from additional teasing.

Or so he thought.

“Oh, there you are, Lord Gryffindor…we’re ready,” said the attendant. The matronly woman then
looked at Hermione with the same sort of look that they’d received in the hallway. Except that
those other women didn’t say, “Forgive me, Lady Gryffindor, but I was unaware of your blessed
elevation. My heartiest congratulations.”

Thinking that the attendant was in on the harem joke, Hermione quipped. “Thank you, ma’am, but
if my Lord is to have a harem, then I insist on being his first wife.”

The muggle women pursed her lips, then turned them into a tight-lipped smile. “Yes, my Lady. If
you please, Her Royal Majesty requests her Wizard’s presence.”

“Okay, sure,” Harry replied with a nod. “Shall we, ladies?”

“Oh, yes, Master,” said Hermione, with mock devotion.

As Harry led her inside, she didn’t see Hannah and Susan giving each other puzzled looks. What
she couldn’t help but see, though, was the Queen dressed in full Order of the Thistle attire,
laughing heartily as they entered the room.

“Oh, my,” the Queen said in between chortles. “We are so pleased that you could attend us, Dame
Hermione…or should we say Lady Gryffindor?”

Hermione smiled politely and moved her lips just enough to whisper to Susan Bones.

“So the Queen is in on your harem joke too, Susan?”

The witch-in-waiting snorted. “Actually she wasn’t, and neither was her attendant.”

Hermione began to panic. “My apologies, Your Majesty, but I am not yet Lady Gryffindor…was there
reason to suspect otherwise?”

The Queen raised an eyebrow that disappeared underneath her foppish black hat. “Your sash, Dame
Hermione…only the wife of a clan chief wears her tartan sash over the left shoulder.”

Hermione gave the other two witches a curt look. Susan shrugged her shoulders. “We just followed
how the Headmistress wore it last night. If we had known, we would have put them on the left side
just to add to the harem prank.”

The Queen smiled. “What of this so-called ‘harem prank’, Gryffindor?”

Harry smiled. “Your witches-in-waiting thought it would be funny to pretend that wearing the
Clan Potter tartan signified membership within my harem.”

“Really?” asked the Queen. “Well, we are not certain what your Weasley Twins will make of their
kilts, then.”

Harry laughed and nodded. He then turned towards his girlfriend, who had a calculating looking
in her eyes.

“Hermione?” he asked.

After a moment, his Consort shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I was just sifting through a variety
of potential pranks for the person who insisted that I wear the shawl this way.”

“Wally?” Susan asked.

The brightest witch of her generation nodded, and then said, “It’ll be easy enough to hex
Wally’s skin scarlet red…it’s adding the gold tartan pattern that will be the tricky part.”

**oo00OO00oo**

**5:00pm, 10 Downing Street, London**

The sides of the gray business suit jacket that Hermione had changed back into upon her return
from Edinburgh fluttered in the headwind as she briskly strode out the afternoon COBRA meeting and
made her way to her office. She dumped her leather portfolio onto her desk, and replaced the
meeting briefs with an expanding folder marked “EVIDENCE.” Grabbing hold of a parchment letter that
she’d written just before the meeting, she checked her office for anything she might need, then
locked the door and walked down the hall to the Prime Minister’s Office.

“You can go right in,” his administrative aide said from behind her desk. “He’s waiting for
you.”

“Thank you, Millie,” the young witch said, as she walked past the aide’s desk, knocked twice
(despite the clearance to barge right in), and politely waited for an invitation before she opened
the door and stepped inside.

“I’ve got the ICW notification that needs your signature, sir,” she said, as she approached the
Prime Minister’s desk.

“Oh goody, I get to practice my calligraphy,” the Prime Minister replied, as he pulled open a
desk drawer and retrieved a quill and ink pot.

A Great Horned owl caught sight of the pen and parchment from his corner roost and began to bob
and stretch out his wings.

Catching this motion in the corner of his eye, the Prime Minister turned and apologized to his
owl. “Sorry, Beckham, but I've asked Ambassador Granger to deliver this letter to Japan.”

The owl stared at both Hermione and the Prime Minister. Having years of practice reading
Hedwig’s body language, Hermione knew that Beckham’s feelings were hurt. As the Prime Minister
carefully signed his name to the bottom of the letter, she walked over to the roost and petted his
feathered back.

“Beckham, you are such a strong and reliable owl…we know that you could deliver the letter for
us,” she said with reassurance. “But it would take you at least two days to get there, and two days
back, and the Prime Minister needs you here…in case he needs to contact the Minister of Magic.
You’re the only one he’d trust to deliver such important letters.”

Hermione then leaned forward and spoke softly into the owl’s ear.

“Now I’m going to be away for a little while,” she noted, “and I need someone that I can rely
upon to look after the Prime Minister and his family. Would you do that for me?”

The owl turned his head to look at Hermione, rotated it 180 degrees to stare at the Prime
Minister, then returned its gaze and bobbed its head up and down.

“Thank you, Beckham,” Hermione cooed. “If there’s any trouble, you fly straight to my Harry for
help, okay?”

Again the owl nodded, and leaned into the scratch that the young witch was giving behind his
ear.

There was a knock on the door, and the administrative aide stepped inside with a large thick
envelope.

“Ambassador Granger’s travel documents have arrived, sir,” she said, as she set the envelope
down on the desk next to the parchment. Whatever interest she had in the fact that her boss had an
eagle feather quill in his hand was kept to herself.

“Thank you,” said the Prime Minister.

“Let’s make sure that my Special Ambassador is sent out into the world properly,” he said, as he
opened the envelope and dumped out the contents.

“Do you give this level of attention to all of your ambassadors, sir?” asked Hermione.

The Prime Minister looked up, smiled, and shook his head. “No…but then again you are my only
teen-aged envoy, this is your first diplomatic mission, and the Queen’s Wizard would hex me if I
allowed you to get hurt.”

Hermione sighed. “Has he said anything to you specifically?”

The Prime Minister shook his head. “Doesn’t need too…I feel like I’m sending my own daughter out
into harm’s way.”

“No worries, Prime Minister,” she replied. “And, thanks…I’m..erm…honored that you think of me
that way.”

The Prime Minister waved off the comment as he looked down at the envelope’s contents. “So, a
plane ticket to Oslo…good, they’ve put you in Club Class…your diplomatic passport…a stack of Krone,
two stacks of Yen…” He looked up at Hermione and asked, “What about wizard money?”

His Senior Advisor shook her head as she approached the desk and slipped the bank notes into the
inside pocket of her jacket. “I’ve already got a bag full of galleons, sir, and a Gringott’s draft
drawn on the Queen’s account in case I need extra.”

“Good, good,” the Prime Minister said. “Are you all set then?”

“Yes, sir, I think so,” Hermione replied. “I packed an overnight bag, just in case, and the
evidence and supporting documentation are in my portfolio.”

“And you aren’t going to carry your sidearm, right?”

Hermione nodded. “It would cause too many problems if it was discovered. Not too worry,
though…I’ve still got my wand, and I’ll swing by Q Branch before I leave to load up on toys.”

As the Prime Minister nodded in understanding, Hermione picked up the soft burgundy-colored
passport, noting that it differed from her old passport only in that the word “DIPLOMAT” was
embossed in gold on the cover.

“I do hope that the lack of travel documents from the Ministry of Magic won’t be an issue,” the
Prime Minister said.

Hermione shook her head. “We should be fine there,” she replied with a smile. “Amazing what kind
of doors are opened when Her Majesty rings up a few of her colleagues and asks for help.”

“Yes, indeed,” the Prime Minister replied. “I’ve met the Norwegian king and Japanese emperor
myself, and it’s only because of the assurances that they’ll look after you that I’m letting you
go.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hermione replied. “It’s actually rather exciting…the thought of traveling
halfway around the world in a few minutes's time.”

The Prime Minister nodded as he stood and took hold of the signed parchment. “Well, I see that
your flight leaves in a few hours, and if you’re stopping by MI-5 ¾, then I should let you go.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Travel out to the airport arranged?”

Hermione nodded. “I can arrange for a car at Windsor.”

“And you do have a satellite phone, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” said the Prime Minister. “Then I’ll be expecting calls from both Oslo and Kyoto.”

Hermione nodded.. She was certain that the Prime Minister wouldn’t be the only one to insist on
that level of communication. Fortunately, she would be able to talk to her parents and Harry at the
same time using their badges.

Holding out his hand, the Prime Minister said, “Good luck, Ambassador,”

“Thank you, Prime Minister,” Hermione replied, as she traded a firm handshake. “I won’t let you
down.”

**oo00OO00oo**

Later that evening, Harry Potter insisted on escorting his girlfriend to Heathrow.

“I don’t want you to go,” he stated, as an armored car whisked them the short distance from
Windsor Castle to Heathrow.

“Harry,” Hermione said, “Let’s not start this again, okay? If anything, I’m more worried about
your guest appearances with the SAS tonight.”

“We’ll be fine,” Harry replied. “Twenty commandos, plus most of TPOMS, against a dozen junior
Death Eaters spread out between two houses…”

“Yes, well, I’ll be fine as well,” Hermione replied. “I’ll only be on my own for the first leg
to Oslo, and with luck I’ll be back in Britain before the morning.”

Shaking his head, Harry said, “I still don’t like it.”

Hermione turned and pulled Harry into a hug. “I know you don’t, Harry,” she said. “But you’ve
got your job, I've got mine, and we both need to let the other do what they can do to make the
best of all this.”

“Yes, dear,” Harry said with a smirk.

“Hey!” he yelled, as the previous quip earned him a punch in the arm.

“I love you, Harry,” said Hermione with a warm smile.

The Queen’s Wizard eyes went wide, and then he leaned forward to deliver a tender kiss.

“I love you, too.”



60. Chapter 60
--------------

**Muggle Summer**

**A/N:**I started writing this story almost exactly two years ago. I had no idea at the time
that I’d still be at it, 60 chapters, 250,000 words, and 2,000 reviews later. A huge thanks to
everyone who has provided the encouragement to keep the narrative going. My apologies in advance if
I’ve celebrated these milestones with a supersized update that is borderline self-indulgent.

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**oo00OO00oo**

**Chapter 60: The Norsca Network**

**Tuesday, July 10, 2000 GMT (8:00pm local time)
15 Dingle Grove, Liverpool, England**

The Domino’s pizza guy walked up to the door of the nondescript terrace house with cautious
optimism. He’d delivered pizzas to that particular address three times over the past week; each
experience had been bizarrely unique, but also highly profitable.

A curtain parted on a side window when he rang the bell…a few seconds later, a lock was
unlatched and the door slowly opened.

"What do you have there?" demanded the fat-faced man who stuck his head out of the
door.

"Erm…pizza, sir…you ordered two exta-large Onion and Meat Pies and a large
Americano?"

"How much this time?"

"Sixty pounds, ten, sir."

"Right, then…come on in."

The pizza guy nodded as the fat-faced man held the door open to let him in. Neither noticed the
stifled snort of laughter as Harry Potter slipped out the open door under cover of his invisibility
cloak.

The Queen’s Wizard walked down to the end of the street at a brisk pace, towards a small van
that advertised plumbing repair services. A knock on the rear door gained him entry; inside he
found two men and the cover needed to discretely remove his invisibility cloak.

A masked man dressed in black showed little care to hide his scorn when he asked, "Your
report, *sir*?"

Harry looked at the SAS team lead, then turned towards a far friendlier (and less covered) face
and rolled his eyes.

"Anything new during your look-see, Major Potter?" asked New Six.

The Queen’s Wizard shook his head. "Still the same crew of Death Eaters, and the pizza guy
is still robbing them blind."

"You failed to notice *anything* new?" asked the SAS man.

Harry turned back to the soldier and frowned. "Well, as a matter of fact, I did. The pile
of dirty dishes in the sink is six inches higher, there’s a hole smashed into the upstairs telly
screen, and they’ve finally figured out how to replace empty bog rolls."

"I meant anything of consequence to the assault, sir."

Harry scowled. "Well, I wouldn’t know about that would I? Seeing as how I still haven’t
been told how we’re going in and when."

The SAS soldier snorted. "Right, then…I think it’s time for you to hocus-pocus off to
Cardiff…Team A is expecting you."

When the soldier’s dismissal was capped off by a sarcastically crisp salute, Harry replied in
kind, and bolted out of the van with New Six close behind. As soon as their boots hit the ground
the van sped off.

As Harry watched the vehicle disappear with a hard left turn, he said, "Let me guess, New
Six…you were taught manners somewhere other than Sport and Social’s finishing school?"

The TPOMS member who had stepped up to serve as the Queen’s Wizard’s liaison to the SAS team in
Liverpool smiled.

"Oh, don’t mind Roberts, Major," he replied. "He treats every officer in the
British Army that way."

"Nah, you’ve seen them New Six," Harry replied. "They all have that crappy
attitude towards me."

"Comes with the territory, Major," New Six replied. "SAS is the best of the
best…they think everybody in the regular army are useless gits."

"Right, then, I'm off," Harry said, expecting no better treatment from the
counter-terrorism team staked out at the Death Eater safe house in Wales.

**Tuesday, July 10, 2030 GMT (9:30pm local time)
Oslo Airport, Gardermoen, Norway**

When the pilot of the Oslo-bound British Airways flight announced that it had been cleared for
landing, Hermione Granger slipped the briefing documents that she’d been reviewing into her brief
case.
The Club Class flight attended approached the young witch and asked, "Can I stow that for you
again, Ambassador?"

Hermione smiled thinly and nodded; as she had been assigned the front row aisle seat, there was
no seat in front of her under which a carry-on bag could be tucked. With hands now free to clutch
the arm rests, Hermione closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths (for she liked flying in airplanes
only slightly better than flying on broomsticks), and mentally reviewed her mission.

Her primary goal was simple…deliver the Prime Minister’s letter and supporting evidence to the
Supreme Mugwump and return home as quickly as possible. There was to be no lengthy discussions or
negotiations, or direct requests for aid from the ICW; things were too fluid in Britain and their
knowledge of how the international wizard community worked too uncertain to risk overplaying their
hand.

The Queen’s assistance had done much to facilitate this mission. That afternoon, Hermione had
received telephone calls and offers of aid from both the Norwegian King’s and Japanese Emperor’s
personal wizards. That Hermione was now on a flight to Norway reflected the fact that the Norwegian
King’s Wizard had suggested viable methods of transportation, and offered to escort Hermione during
her trip.

This first leg of that trip to Japan would be both the shortest in distance, and the longest in
time length. While it would have taken no more effort to apparate from Edinburgh to Oslo then to
London, the international boundaries between magical sovereign states were highly warded, and there
was simply no way one could apparate or use a portkey across the frontier without the Ministry of
Magic being made aware of the fact. Once Hermione was outside of Britain, however, the British
Ministry of Magic could no longer track her movement.

As the plane touched ground and began to taxi towards the terminal, the flight attendant
returned with both Hermione’s portfolio and a message.

"The cockpit’s received word from the tower that your escort will meet you within the
jetway."

"Thank you," Hermione replied, slightly embarrassed for all of the personal attention.
That embarrassment only grew when the captain purposely kept the "fasten seat-belt"
lights on after the airplane came to a full stop, just so the flight attendants could escort her to
the front of the plane even before the cabin door was opened.

A tall man smartly dressed in a grey suit, open-collared dress shirt and a well-trimmed white
goatee was waiting on the other side of the cabin door. A look of surprise washed over his face
when she stepped out of the airplane, but he quickly recovered, held out his hand and greeted
Hermione using fluent English.

"Welcome to Norway, Ambassador Granger. My name is Ole Thorson…we chatted on the telephone
this afternoon."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you," she replied, as she warily shook his hand. "How is
your Uncle Olav?"

The man smiled as he opened up his suit jacket and revealed the Grand Cross Badge and Star, a
medal that signified membership within the Royal Norwegian Order of St. Olav.

"And you have some rather remarkable jewelry as well, Dame Hermione?" he asked.

The young Ambassador returned the smile as she opened up her own suit jacket to reveal her Order
of Arthur badge. With identities thus confirmed, the man led Hermione up the ramp towards the
terminal building.

Along the way, Hermione’s escort asked, "How is it that the Prime Minister of Great
Britain’s Special Ambassador to the Wizarding World is so young, and so beautiful?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow, wondering if she had another flirty Sir Evan on her hands.

"And how is it," she asked in reply, "that the Norwegian King’s Wizard speaks the
Queen’s English with a Midwestern American accent?"

The King’s Wizard looked at his young charge and chuckled. "It appears that we both have
stories to share along the way."

Hermione nodded. "I’m looking forward to it."

By this point they had reached the immigration control station, where two uniformed men waved
them by at the sight of her diplomatic passport.

"They don’t need to mark my passport?" Hermione asked.

Thorson shook his head. "Even muggle diplomats get waved through on occasion…plenty of
times when you don’t want your travel to sensitive meeting locations documented within your
papers."

Hermione nodded, noting that her escort was leading her down an empty hallway.

"Seems rather empty," she noted.

"Your flight was diverted to a special gate," the elderly wizard replied. And as they
turned the corner and entered a much larger concourse Hermione did indeed see the typical patrons
of a busy international airport.

Her escort led her to a door marked as a family lavatory.

"Don’t mind the subterfuge," Thorson said, as he gestured towards the door.

"Oh," said Hermione, "if you’d excuse me, I promised the Prime Minister that I’d
call…probably should do that when a satellite phone still works."

The elderly man nodded in understanding as Hermione stepped a few paces back up the hallway to
make the calls. She then joined the Norwegian escort inside the empty loo, where he drew his wand
and walked over to a drop-down baby’s changing table. When he tapped the picture of a koala in a
five point sequence, the table folded into the wall, revealing a fireplace floo connection.

"Direct link to Dyrrheim," explained Thorson, as he lit the fire with his wand and
gestured towards a pot of floo powder. "So don’t worry about tripping your tongue over the Old
Norse."

Hermione nodded as she threw the powder into the fire and, once the color changed, stepped into
the flames. It only took a few seconds for her to be dumped out into a cavernous underground
complex that resembled a Victorian-era train station. Except, of course, for the clear signs that
this was a magical transportation hub…robes instead of jackets, levitation charms instead of
luggage carts, and goblins instead of ATMs or electronic currency exchangers. And above it all was
a free-floating sign that announced she was now within "Dyrrheim Station."

The Special Ambassador to the Wizarding World stepped to one side of the fireplace and pulled a
miniature piece of luggage from a pocket. When her escort stepped through the flames she asked for
someplace to switch into robes, and was led to an area with individual changing rooms. Once inside,
she swapped out her two-piece suit for silk Clan Potter robes, and replaced low-healed pumps with
soft leather boots. Hermione smiled when she checked her appearance in a magical mirror…it was a
lot easier to ignore its disparaging comments about her bushy hair when they were made in a
language that she didn’t understand.

During this time Hermione prioritized questions to be asked of the King’s Wizard. Many of those
questions had to do with the two huge wall maps that hung above the ticket counters. Once she
stepped out of the changing room she reexamined those maps.

On one side was a geopolitical map of the muggle world, while on the other was a corresponding
projection of the wizarding realm. There were relatively few differences within Europe… the most
obvious, based on the maps’ projection, was that Scandinavia was united under the name
"Norseland." Meanwhile, the other continents were a wash of different colors and
rearranged boundaries. The Incas, Mayas and other ancient empires and long lost civilizations lived
on this foreign map, along side major continent-wide confederations; Sub-Saharan Africa was mostly
one color, as was that portion of North America north of muggle Mexico.

Population centers on these maps were linked by an interconnected series of lines that formed an
expansive hub-and-spoke network centered on stations in Oslo, Stockholm, and Copenhagen. Hermione
noticed that almost all of the line segments on these maps were the same length.

Hermione's escort stepped out of his changing room wearing navy blue robes trimmed with red
and asked, "Have you figured out those maps yet."

"A magical transportation network," Hermione decided. "Each of those small
segments must be about two-hundred and fifty miles apart?"

The King’s Wizard nodded. "Closer to three hundred, actually."

"And that’s the practical distance limit for single apparition jumps," Hermione
noted.

"It is indeed," the wizard said with a smile. "Welcome to the central hub of the
Norsca Network…from here it’s literally a hop and a jump to just about anyplace in the
world."

Hermione nodded as she dropped her gaze back down to the people walking about the station. The
mixture of robes, skin tones, and languages reminded her of the tent camp established outside the
Quidditch World Cup stadium.

Her escort looked down at his muggle watch. "It’s 2100 GMT, and Japan is plus nine hours…we
are to meet the Emperor’s Wizard at Kyoto Station in exactly two hours and forty five minutes.
Would you’d like to take a few minutes to look around, or get a cup of tea?"

The young witch snorted. "I think that I could spend hours just in front of those
maps," she replied.

"Then I know just the place."

As the wizard led Hermione towards a coffee shop, he couldn’t help but notice Hermione’s
continued interest in the map of the wizarding world.

"I gather that they don’t teach geography at Hogwarts, then?" he finally asked.

Hermione shifted her gaze from the map back to her escort and laughed. "No, the only time
that the British wizarding world ever seems to be interested in what lies beyond our shores is
during Quidditch World Cup."

Thorson nodded in acknowledgement. As they passed by a small bookshop he suddenly decided to
pull Hermione inside.

"How did you know I was a book-lover?" she said.

The wizard only smiled in reply as he spoke a few words of Norwegian to the bookseller. The
witch nodded, and pointed towards a specific bookshelf, from which a specific book was selected and
paid for.

"A present in honor of your first diplomatic mission," Thorson said, as he handed
Hermione the book.

*"A Concise History of the World of Witches and Wizards,"* Hermione read.
"By…." She then looked up with a raised eyebrow.

"You wrote this?" she asked.

The wizard nodded. "I teach Magical History at the University of Oslo," he noted.
"I turned my lecture notes into a textbook thirty years ago…some folks think that it is pretty
good."

Hermione’s eyes let up as she skimmed over the table of contents.

"Thank you Dr. Thorson," she replied. "Our history classes at Hogwarts rarely go
beyond the Goblin Wars."

The kindly wizard nodded and smiled, as if he were well aware of his ghostly colleague’s
syllabus. He then led her to a coffee shop whose round tabletops were each charmed to provide a
view of the Norsca network overlain on a polar projection of the world. With a swish or flick of a
wand, a witch or wizard could zoom the view in or out, and change the view to hover over anyplace
in the world.

Hermione was torn between diving into the book and playing with the tabletop. Finally deciding
that it would be harder to take the table home with her, Hermione chose to examine the map

She pointed down at the table and asked, "So we’re taking the long way to Japan?"

The wizard nodded. "We’d have to break up the trip either way…portkeys aren’t very reliable
beyond 6,000 miles."

"We’re traveling by portkey rather than apparition?"

Thorson nodded. "We’d run out of magical reserves over Greenland if we tried to make that
many jumps in a row."

Counting up line segments between Norway and North America, she asked, "Ten apparition
jumps from here to North America?"

"That’s right," the wizard replied. "From Dyrrheim to Bergen on the Atlantic
coast, and from there to the Shetland Islands…from the Shetlands to the Faroe Islands, then to
Iceland, and Greenland…around the coast of Greenland and over to Baffin Island, and finally to
North America proper. Six jumps from Baffin Island and you could be eating my mother’s hot dish
back home on the shores of Lake Wobegon."

Hermione’s eyes sparkled. "That brings us back to how an American became a Norwegian King’s
Wizard."

Thorson nodded. "I was born and raised in Elgurland…that’s the northern two-thirds of
muggle Minnesota and Wisconsin," he replied.

"Were your parents both magical?"

"No, only my father was," the wizard replied. "It’s hard for Norwegian wizard
farmers to find witches willing to live on the edge of the prairie, don’t you know?"

"A wizard farmer?" asked Hermione.

Dr. Thorson nodded. "We grew magical herbs that could be sown in the fields, and collected
what only grew wild in the Big Woods."

"So did you study magic at Salem?" asked Hermione.

The wizard shook his head. "Salem’s a fine school, but it was founded by Hogwarts alumni,
and follows the British system," he replied. "I attended a muggle primary school, then
learned magic at the Elgurland Academy, where the Norse methods are emphasized."

"How did you end up living in Norway?"

"After the Academy, I traveled back to the Old World for an apprenticeship…earned a Mastery
in Magical History. Got a job in 1938 as a Lecturer at the University of Oslo’s wizard’s campus,
and was there when both the muggle and magical Germans invaded in 1940."

Hermione’s eyes lit in recognition. "So you were part of the Resistance?"

Thorson nodded. "It was a nasty bit of business back then. The Norseland Ministry was
officially neutral during the war, but it looked the other way when Grindelwald’s forces
collaborated with the Nazis. A few of us at the University decided to level the playing field, and
that eventually put me in the right place and time to help the Norwegian Royal Family escape to
England."

"So that’s when you were made King’s Wizard?"

Thorson nodded.

"But you’re still teaching at the University?" Hermione asked.

The King’s Wizard nodded once more. "It’s not as much of a full-time job as your Lord
Gryffindor’s current duties," he explained. "I’m more or less on call when the need
arises."

"Like it did today," Hermione said.

"Indeed," agreed Thorson. He then glanced back down at his watch, finished his coffee,
and placed the cup back down onto the table.

"But enough about me…you’ve got more questions about the Network, right?"

When Hermione nodded, the elderly wizard stood.

"Always easier to show, then to tell," he said. "Come, I’ll give you a tour on
the way to the jump point."

**oo00OO00oo**

The first stop on Thorson’s station tour was the ticket counter. After learning that Hermione
was muggle-born, he felt free to lecture using muggle world metaphors.

"Think of portkeys as airplane flights, and apparition jumps as train trips. Portkeys are
much faster, cover far more distance, don’t run the risk of splinching, and don’t drain the
passenger’s magical reserves. But they are also much more expensive, and can only take you to
designated international arrival points. So it’s often the case that an international traveler
might combine both methods…use a portkey to get them to the right general area, and then apparate
to their specific destination."

"Just like someone wishing to travel from Oslo to England might fly to London, and take a
train from there to, say, Brighton?"

"Exactly," Dr. Thorson replied.

"But how does your floo network fit into the mix?"

"To a very limited extent," the wizard replied. "There are local floo networks in
the major cities and surrounding areas here in Norseland, but the distances across Scandinavia are
far too great to support an integrated floo system."

"So…for a muggle comparison, it’s used like a subway?"

Thorson nodded.

"But why would somebody pay to apparate?" Hermione asked.

"You don’t pay for the right to use an apparition spell," the wizard noted. "You
pay for the magic that puts the target into your head, and reduces the risk of
splinching."

When Hermione bit her lip in apparent confusion, the wizard guided her past the ticket counter
and into a departure hall. In many ways, it resembled an airport concourse with multiple gates.
Every twenty feet on either side of the hall were jump points…scribed circles each with five tall
rune stones along the edges. The two stopped to watch one such circle in operation. A half-dozen
witches and wizards were waiting in a line as a ticket agent called out, "Final jump call for
Gothenberg...all passengers wishing to apparate to Gothenberg must present their tickets at this
time."

When nobody stepped forward, the agent pulled out her wand, pointed towards the stones, and
muttered an incantation. The spell that was cast moved the position of three of the five stones to
different parts of the circle. Once the stones finished moving, a sign against the wall changed
from "Gothenberg" to "Soderham".

"Soderham," the agent called out, "Now taking priority passengers to
Soderham."

One wizard who had stood apart from the other five approached the agent with ticket in hand. The
witch smiled and wished the wizard a good trip as she ripped off half and returned the stub. The
wizard then walked into the middle of the circle, and, ten seconds later, disapparated.

"Last call for priority to Soderham?" the agent then stated. When nobody else
approached she nodded to the first person in the remaining line and the process was repeated.

"First class passengers on apparition jumps?" Hermione asked.

Dr. Thorson nodded and gestured down the hallway. "As one of the largest stations on the
network, Dyrrheim has ten jump platforms. Each can only point towards one destination at a time.
Now, as you can imagine, there are lots of destinations within a three-hundred mile radius of Oslo,
so there has to be some prioritization." He then led Hermione a little farther down the
hall.

"Given traffic volumes, and the fact that circles with fixed stones are easier to create
and operate, four of the ten circles are dedicated to single destinations…each north, east, south,
or west from here." The King’s Wizard then pointing towards different areas of the hall,
noting the circles dedicated to travel to Stockholm, Copenhagen, Bergen and Trondheim.

Nodding back towards the first circle, Thorson said, "Now another four of the circles cycle
on a schedule of different destinations, almost exactly like different muggle airplanes using the
same gate at an airport. But since there’s only a fixed window of time scheduled for each target
locality, there may be cases where not everyone who wants to travel to a place can do so during the
allotted slot."

"So a first-class ticket allows you to jump the queue," Hermione reasoned.

"Exactly," Thorson replied.

"What about the last two circles?" Hermione asked.

"Those are for the least-requested destinations," Thorson replied. "Once you
reach the front of the queue, the agent will move the stones to put you exactly where you want to
be, give or take ten miles…that line moves a lot slower, for obvious reasons."

"But I still don’t understand what the rune stones do," said Hermione.

"Ah, well, let’s show you, then," the wizard replied. He then led the young witch up
to "Trondheim" circle, which wasn’t currently being used. After the flash of an
identification badge and a few words, the agent smiled and gestured towards the circle.

"Have you ever visited Trondheim, Ambassador Granger?" Thorson asked.

Hermione shook her head.

"Would you consider a blind apparition there?"

Again Hermione shook her head.

"Well, step inside, relax your mind, and see if that changes."

With a shrug of her shoulders, Hermione stepped within the rune circle, closed her eyes, and
tried to clear her mind of the hundreds of thoughts that were competing for her attention. After a
few moments, she felt a warm, safe presence almost ask for permission to enter her mind. When she
mentally nodded her head, imported thoughts immediately began to fill her consciousness.

"This is strange," she said out loud. "I can now clearly picture a different
stone circle…I know that it’s in a city called Trondheim, and I have all the confidence in the
world that I could apparate there right now if I wanted to."

"Wonderful," Dr. Thorson replied. "Now if you’d open your eyes and leave the
circle, we’ve got a different destination to travel to."

**oo00OO00oo**

As the two made their way to the portkey departure zone, Hermione asked, "I see on the maps
that we’re within both Norway and Norseland, and that the latter includes most of
Scandinavia."

The King’s Wizard nodded. "Most magical governments gave up trying to mirror their muggle
counterparts centuries ago…the boundaries of Norseland were established more than a thousand years
ago, and haven’t changed even as the number of muggle countries and their borders have changed
within that same area."

Hermione nodded. "Ah, so it’s like the British Ministry of Magic…it rules over magical
Ireland even though the muggle Republic of Ireland has gained independence?"

"That’s right," Thorson agreed.

"So are you the King’s Wizard in Sweden, or Denmark as well?"

The King’s Wizard shook his head. "Each of the muggle monarch has its own liaison with the
Norseland Ministry."

"So the Swedish king has his own wizard?"

Thorson nodded. "Witch, actually. Same with the Danish Queen and her witch. The Finns gave
up on their monarchy a century ago, so they’re on their own."

Hermione snorted. "So how many Royal Witches and Wizards are there in the world?"

"Twenty-one, if you add Sultans and Emirs to the list," Thorson replied.

"Wow," Hermione said. "And here we thought Harry was balancing in this unique
position between muggle and magical worlds."

"Not at all, Ambassador," the King’s Wizard said with a smile. "We actually all
get together a few times each year to compare notes. Next meeting is in Swaziland this November…Sir
Harry should be expecting an invite."

As the two approached a short queue to gain entry to the portkey departure area, they switched
over to a less sensitive conversation topic.

"Could you talk more about North America and Elgurland?" Hermione asked. "Was it
a Viking colony, and how does it fit in with the United States, or the Confederation?"

The King’s Wizard smiled. "Elgurland’…elgur is ‘moose’ in Old Norse by the way…was
originally just a Norsca Network station on the northern shore of Lake Superior…near the
present-day muggle city of Duluth. When it was built in AD667 it was the end of the line…ambient
magic levels on the prairies of Iowa, or Illinois, or the Dakotas were far too low to power stones
carved with the rune sets that were available at the time."

"So it was a frontier outpost that developed into something more?"

The professor nodded. "It was originally meant to be only a trading post…a place where
wizards within the Native communities could interact with and barter with their European
counterparts. But when the Scandinavian muggles and Christianity began making life difficult for
the homeland’s wizarding populations, many decided to immigrate to North America, and made the area
around Elgurland Station their home."

"So it became a Norse colony, then?"

The professor shook his head. "The witches and wizards that came from Europe to North
America did so as immigrants, rather than conquerors. Colonialism never happened on a major scale
within the wizarding world."

"Why was that?" asked Hermione.

"Well, I’d like to say that it was because the wizarding world is more egalitarian and
tolerant of other peoples and cultures, but I can’t," the wizard admitted.

"No, you certainly couldn’t," Hermione murmured to herself.

"The real reason had more to do with the timing of first contact," continued the
King’s Wizard. "When the muggle European powers colonized the rest of the world, there was a
huge disparity in technology between themselves and the native peoples they subjugated…guns and
metal plate armor against spears and bows and arrows. But in 634, when the first Norse arrived in
North America, the witches and wizards that they encountered were roughly equivalent in
power."

"The Natives had wands too?"

"No, they didn’t…but neither did Norse witches and wizards until the Ninth Century,"
replied the Professor. "It took a few bloody encounters, but after neither side was able to
dominate the other the first immigrants joined the Confederation of Native wizard communities,
rather than try to defeat it."

"It wasn’t just Scandinavian witches and wizards that moved, though, was it?"

"Indeed not," replied the Professor. "The Norsca Line was used to relocate entire
wizarding communities from across Northern Europe. For example, many Druidic Old Believers settled
in what is now muggle New England, French wizarding communities formed along the St. Lawrence
River, while witches and wizards from the Germanic tribes struck out west from Elgurland and formed
their own communities in the Rocky Mountains."

"So this Confederation is the wizard equivalent of the United States?" asked
Hermione.

"In style, it is similar, but in terms of territory it is much larger…it also is much more
of a collective, with devolved powers residing within Elgurland and the other provinces."

Hermione nodded, then started to focus more on the purpose of her trip as they entered the
restricted area marked "Portkey Departure and Arrival Zone." This smaller concourse
consisted of a half-dozen departure platforms on one side, and a series of duty-free magical shops
on the other.

"Dyrrheim is one of four designated international portkey access points within
Norseland," Dr. Thorson explained. "Trying to use an international portkey outside of one
of these areas would trigger an alarm within our Ministry and earn you a hefty fine, or maybe even
jail time."

Hermione nodded. "You said that we needed to take two portkeys to reach Japan…I assume that
the midpoint is another station like this one?"

The King’s Wizard nodded. "Ice Station Alaska," he stated, as he pointed to the spot
on a nearby wall map. "We’ll have to layover there for an hour or so, in order to avoid
portkey lag…not that a layover is a bad thing when the salmon are running."

"Salmon?"

The King’s Wizard smiled. "It’s always good to bring gifts when you visit someone in
Japan."

Thinking the idea strange, Hermione asked, "Wouldn’t flowers, or a bottle of wine be more
appropriate gifts than raw fish?"

The elderly wizard squinted a bit at Hermione, and then shook his head as he removed a piece of
rope from his pocket.

"Think sushi."

**oo00OO00oo**

**2130 GMT (9:30pm local time)
Plasnewydd Square, Cardiff, Wales**

The Queen’s Wizard knocked on the back door of an unmarked lorry, and once the door was opened
for him stepped up and inside the container.

This vehicle was far more high-tech then the one used by the Team A lead in Liverpool. It took a
few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim red running lights that cast a eerie glow over the
banks of electronic surveillance equipment. Meanwhile, he had to listen to a talking head within
one of monitors scold him for his tardiness.

"My apologies, Mr. Home Secretary," said Harry, as he sat down in front of a camera
and a full bank of monitors filled with the faces of COBRA team members down in London. "The
Team B lead here in Cardiff took just a little longer than I expected to debrief me."

"Find anything surprising, Agent Potter?" asked the MI-5 Director.

Harry shook his head. "Just that the table manners of some of my former classmates have
only gotten worse now that they’re Death Eaters."

"No higher level targets of interest at either location, then?"

"No sir," Harry replied.

"But you are certain that they are all terrorists?"

Harry took a deep breath, held it for a second, then exhaled as he nodded.

"Yes sir. Confirmed the tattoos with my omnioculars."

"Right, then," said the Defense Minister, as he joined in the teleconference
conversation. "Major Potter, you and all of your magical "advisors" are to return to
base immediately."

Harry’s eyes narrowed. "Sir?"

"Fall back, Major," the Defense Minister said. "You’ve read in the two SAS teams
on what they’ll face, done the final reconnaissance for them, and now its their turn."

"You don’t want my witches and wizards and me to swoop in at the same time?"

"That’s the last thing we want," said the Home Secretary. "None of our magicals
are to be anywhere near those two safe-houses when the attacks commence."

"But I don’t understand," Harry lamented.

"Yours is not to reason why, Major," the Defense Minister said sharply. "You have
your orders."

Harry stared at the bank of monitors for a few seconds, with an intensity that caused the hairs
to stand on end on the neck of the surveillance technician that was sitting next to him. The
flickering electronic images on the displays indicated that the communication equipment was bathed
in just as much magical tension as it rolled off of Harry in waves.

Channeling the most stereotypically exuberant attitude that Harry ever witnessed within the
British military, he fired off a crisp salute and yelled out, "Sir, Yes Sir!"

"Calm down, Harry," the Prime Minister said. "This isn’t an ideal solution, but
it’s the best we’ve got right now. We need to move on these houses before we risk their involvement
in another attack, particularly with the Garden Party tomorrow afternoon. And with our relationship
with the Ministry of Magic tenuous at best, and with Ambassador Granger on her way to meet with
this Supreme Mugwump, we want to make sure that there isn’t even the appearance of impropriety in
how Her Majesty’s Government relies upon magical assistance from you and your people….And that
being said, it really would be ideal if you were to be seen in a public place over the next few
hours…even a magical public place, if possible."

"Plausible deniability, sir?"

"Exactly, Lord Gryffindor," the Prime Minister replied. "Let’s have you keep your
nose clean, especially when it doesn’t directly involve the Queen’s safety."

"Yes, sir…anything else sir?"

The Prime Minister shook his head.

"Just let us know when you’ve cleared out your troops," the Defense Minister said.

Harry scowled, then gave another sarcastically rousing "Sir, Yes Sir!"

**oo00OO00oo**

**2200 GMT (1:00pm local time)
Ice Station Alaska, Nome**

The international portkey deposited Hermione and her Norwegian escort within an area similar to
(but smaller than) the portkey concourse in Oslo. The two stepped off of one of the arrival pads
and walked up to an immigration control checkpoint, set up underneath a sign that said,
"Welcome to the North American Confederation of Magical States."

"So, here’s Alaska," Thorson said flippantly, as the joined the end of a short queue.
"It’s GMT –9 here, so it’s still this afternoon."

"And the next jump will take us into tomorrow morning," added Hermione.

"Exactly," the professor replied. He then added, "Now if all we were going to do
is wait to use that second portkey, we wouldn’t have to clear customs."

"But we’re not, because we’re going to go fishing?"

The professor nodded. "Won’t take more than the hour’s time, and there still twice that to
kill before the Japanese Ministry of Magic opens for business…unless you’d rather just sit and wait
it out."

Hermione thought for a few moments. "No, let’s go…it’d be hard for me to claim I visited
Alaska if all I did was sit inside this terminal."

"That’s the spirit," Thorson replied.

Once more, all it took was the wave of two muggle diplomatic passports to get past immigration.
As they entered a brightly-lit room with a high domed ceiling, Hermione asked, "This is still
a wizard-run facility, right?"

When her escort nodded, she followed up with, "So why aren’t they bothered by muggle
passports, much less diplomatic passports?"

Thorson somewhat cryptically replied, "As you gain more international experience,
Ambassador Granger, you’ll discover many countries and regions whose magical and muggle governments
aren’t as separate as yours."

The King’s Wizard appeared well acquainted with the facility as he led his young charge to a
magical shopping mall within the terminal. At the far end of this area was a small shop whose sign
read, "Ellsworth’s Adventures – Guided Tours for the Discerning Wizard Since 1423." The
ringing bell attached to the doorway announced their presence to a wizened old man, who looked up
and said, "Ah, Ole, what an unexpected pleasure… good to see you again."

"You too, Alex," the King’s Wizard replied. "How’s business been?"

"Excellent, excellent…just sent a dozen Aussies on a Yeti expedition this morning, and I’ve
got six different ice dragon reserve visits scheduled over the next month. But I bet you’re not
looking for that sort of thing are you, Ole? And who his your lovely companion? And does your wife
Lena know about her?"

The King’s Wizard laughed as Hermione’s eyes narrowed. "My name is Hermione Granger,
Mr…Ellsworth, I presume."

"Yes you may presume, my dear," the outfitter said with a large smile.

"We’re just traveling on business, Alex," Dr. Thorson said. "Ambassador Granger
has an appointment with the Supreme Mugwump in a few hours, so I thought I’d let you give her a
chance to catch some omiyagi."

"Supreme Mugwump, you say?" asked the old man. "Well, them Japanese are crazy
about their fish, that’s true enough. Pity you weren’t here a month ago, the Copper River run was
the best in fifty years."

"Yes, Alex, I know, I was here, remember?"

"What?" asked the old man. "Oh, so you were, my mind these days….how much time do
you have, you say?"

"Only an hour, sir," Hermione insisted.

"Ah, well then, that rules out the halibut and king crab trips…not that it’s any fun to
travel with those buggers in your bag"

"I was thinking King salmon, down on Cook Inlet," Thorson suggested.

The wizard nodded. "Just had a client catch an eighty-pounder down there, if it’s size
you’re looking for…but they aren’t the quickest fish to find…come on into the back room and we’ll
take a look."

Hermione and Thorson followed the wizard’s instructions, and walked into what appeared to be a
dimly-lit office. The outfitter grabbed a clear crystal bowl and placed it on his desk surface.
After an Aguamenti spell filled the bowl with water, he reached into a pocket and withdrew a large
silver fishhook that dangled from the end of a thin silver chain. The wizard looped one end of the
chain over his wand tip, then lowered the fishhook into the bowl of water.

As the outfitter stared into the water and entered into a trance, the King’s Wizard whispered to
Hermione that the wizard was using a method of divination known as scrying to determine where the
fish were biting.

A few moments later, the outfitter broke the trance, turned towards the other two, and
announced, "There’s going to be a tidal blast of sockeye on the Lower Kenai ten minutes from
now."

The King’s Wizard’s eyes went wide with excitement. "What are we waiting for,
then?"

Hermione looked at the two wizards, then down to her robes, and asked, "How about a change
in clothing?"

**oo00OO00oo**

With the charter fee negotiated and Hermione’s robes now tucked inside chest waders, the
outfitter closed up his shop and held out a fishing rod that had been charmed as a two-way portkey.
It deposited the three onto the grassy banks of a large, shallow river, about four hundred miles
south of the portkey station. While Thorson’s eyes were immediately drawn to the water, Hermione’s
took in the breathtaking beauty of the rugged Alaskan coastline. There was a cool wind in the air
that made her glad for the jumper she was wearing, but the sun was shining and American bald eagles
were coasting on thermals overhead.

The two wizards allowed Hermione the time to take in the scenery as they walked fifty yards down
the shoreline in opposite directions in order to cast muggle-repelling charms. The tranquility was
broken by the chirp of her satellite phone. She activated it and asked, "Hello?"

"Hey, Hermione, this is Wally," said the voice on the other line.

"Anything wrong? How’s Harry?"

"Nothing’s wrong and he’s fine," the MI-5 ¾ agent replied. "I was just calling to
find out why your GPS tracking receiver says you’re currently sixty miles southwest of Anchorage,
Alaska."

"Because that’s where I am, Wally," Hermione replied glibly.

"Care to share?"

"Have an hour to kill in between long-distance portkeys," Hermione explained.
"And apparently, my escort is an avid fisherman."

Wally laughed on the other end of the line.

"Have you ever fished before, Dame Hermione?"

"No," she replied. "I’ve read about it in books, of course, but…"

"Well, that’s more than enough reason to have chose me as your guide," the outfitter
said loudly, as he returned to Hermione’s location. As she ended the call and pocketed her phone,
he reached into a bottomless bag and pulled a number of different rods and reels. After choosing
one for the King’s Wizard, the outfitter selected a slightly smaller rod for Hermione.

"Got a few minutes to practice casting," he said, as he showed the young witch the
proper way to cast out hook and line. It was slow going, and Hermione had yet to get her hook wet
on her own when the divined run of large red sockeye salmon began charging upstream.

Hermione was almost too mesmerized to fish, as the surge of fish darted up along the banks in
response to their relentless drive to spawn. Her travel companion didn’t have this problem,
though…with a whoop and holler he cast out his line, and within a minute landed his first fish.

Their guide had been working on detangling Hermione’s line when the King Wizard’s catch was
landed, but she encouraged him to help Thorson. The outfitter happily abandoned Hermione in favor
of the sockeye salmon, taking it off the hook and carrying it be the gills as he walked back to a
staging area away from the river bank.

After successfully landing his third fish in ten minutes, the King’s Wizard turned towards
Hermione, noted her struggles, and shouted, "Think of the rod as your wand, and cast a flame
whip spell."

Hermione looked at the wizard, then down at the bird’s nest of fishing line that had clogged her
reel, and cursed.

"Think I’m going to think of my wand as a wand," she decided, as she threw the fishing
rod down onto the ground in frustration. Looking down into the water, she pointed her wand towards
the largest flash of red she could find and shouted "Accio Sockeye!"

A look of satisfaction came upon her face as a fifteen-pound hooked-jaw fish flew up out of the
water and dropped down onto the shore by her feet.

"That’s not very sporting," said the King’s Wizard with a disappointed tone of
voice.

"But it is much more efficient," Hermione countered. As the fish that she had
"caught" flopped around she asked, "Now what?"

"Levitate it back towards Alex, and he’ll take care of it from there," the elderly
wizard said with a sigh.

Hermione followed these directions and brought the fish back to where Alex had conjured two
waterproof rectangular boxes.

"Oh, that’s a nice one, miss," the wizard said. "Let’s get him
comfortable."

She watched as the outfitter grabbed the floating fish, cancelled the levitation charm, and
dropped it gently into one of the boxes. He then cast a spell Hermione had never seen before…some
conjuration that produced s a globe of water around the salmon’s head and gills.

"It’s a bubblehead charm, only reversed," the old man explained. "Gives the fish
an hour’s worth of water."

"Ingenious," said Hermione. "But why are you casting it?"

"The key to great sushi is fresh fish," the King’s Wizard declared, as he walked back
from the bank with both his rod and Hermione’s. "Can’t get any fresher if it’s still flopping
about when the knives come out."

Hermione watched as the guide packed up the gear and covered the boxed fish with fresh
seaweed.

"An awful lot of work just to give somebody a present."

The King’s Wizard looked around at the scenery, took in a deep breath of fresh air and said,
"Hard for me to think of this as work."

As Hermione watched the bald eagle swoop down and grab a fish out of the water with its talons,
she was forced to agree.

Thrity minutes later, Hermione was back at the transit station with a long fidgety box under her
arm (she had been warned that there was flavor loss if the fish was magically stunned). The
outfitter was keeping one of the other three fish for Thorson until they could be picked up on the
return trip to Norway. The other two were presently boxed under his own arm, just in case (he had
told Hermione that based on his experiences visiting Japan that it was best to bring two more gifts
than you expected to give).

On the way back to the portkey departure area, Hermione spied a small market with a sign in its
window announcing the availability of live fish.

"Don’t tell me that I could have just bought one of these over at the shop," she
said.

The King’s Wizard looked over at the storefront window and smiled.

"Okay, I won’t tell you."

Hermione pouted. "I thought that you were supposed to be helping me in my
mission?"

"But I am," Thorson replied. "How much more appreciative will the receiver of the
gift be when he learns that you caught the gift yourself?"

The fish under Hermione’s arm swatted its tail hard against the side of the box, causing her to
almost lose her balance.

"For your sake," she warned, "it better be a lot."

**oo00OO00oo**

**2330 GMT (11:30pm. local time)
Thistle and Toad Pub, Gilmerton Close, Edinburgh**

The Queen’s Wizard had followed orders and pulled his troops out of the areas where the two
Death Eater safe houses were located, and taken the extra step of ordering them to make sure they
had ironclad alibis for the evening. Not wishing to leave apparition traces near the safe-houses,
the Art Clubers badge-jumped to Holyrood using Wally as an anchor point, then apparated from there.
The others flew back to Edinburgh aboard separate RAF transport helicopters.

It had only been a short walk from the helicopter landing pad next to the Palace down to the pub
that served as the gateway to Edinburgh’s small magical quarter. Katie, Alicia, and Lee used the
floo to meet Fred and George at the Leaky Cauldron for a very late dinner, leaving Harry and his
Gryffindor dorm mates behind to sample the Thistle and Toad’s pub grub and butterbeer.

They had only been there a little while when Ron tried to get his mate’s attention.

"Harry?"

"Erm….what?"

"He asked if you wanted to call it a night," said Seamus, who was sitting at the table
along with Neville and Dean.

"No," replied Harry. "Wally was going to call with the all-clear, but hasn’t
yet."

"Oh," said Ron. "So…fancy a game of exploding snap?"

Harry gave Ron an incredulous look. "With all of the things that are….don’t you think we’re
a little to old for that game?"

Ron looked over towards the other three Gryffindors; in unison they all turned towards Harry and
replied, "No."

"Okay, then," said the Queen’s Wizard, deciding that there was nothing better to do.
"First charred face buys the next round."

Ron smiled as he pulled a deck of cards out from a pocket. Between his mate’s worries over his
globe-trotting girlfriend, and the fears over the purely muggle military operation against the
safe-houses, there was little doubt who would be distracted enough to be buying.

**oo00OO00oo**

**2345 GMT (8:45am. local time)
Kyoto Station, Kyoto, Japan**

The King’s Wizard, Hermione, and their three fish arrived at the international portkey station
in Kyoto at precisely the agreed-upon time.

The first thing Hermione saw once her eyes adjusted were two men standing in front of her. One
was a short and bald (shorter than even she was), wearing a tall black brimless hat and dressed in
a formal male kimono that didn’t look all that different from wizarding robes. The other man was
slightly taller, much skinnier, and dressed in a western-style day suit (complete with tails). Both
bowed low towards Hermione and her escort as they stepped off of the platform. She followed her
escort’s lead and returned the bow.

The King’s Wizard said something to the men in Japanese and gestured towards Hermione. The two
men bowed once more, which Hermione parroted. The gesturing and bowing were then repeated as the
shorter man said something to the King’s Wizard in Japanese. Finally, after a very frustrating few
seconds, this shorter man switched to English and said, "His Majesty the Emperor welcomes
Ambassador Granger to Japan, and offers his apologies that he could not be here this morning to
greet you personally. I am what you would call the Emperor’s Wizard, Matsuhisa Yukihiro."

Hermione bowed (didn’t know if was needed, but figured it was better to bow too low and too
often, rather than not). She then responded with a greeting that had been suggested by the Foreign
Secretary earlier that day.

"I am Her Majesty’s Government’s Envoy to the Wizarding World, Hermione Granger. I wish to
apologize for imposing on you and His Majesty the Emperor with this visit, and to express our
gratitude that His Majesty the Emperor has offered aid in the United Kingdom’s time of
need."

The bald man nodded slightly, then frowned when his companion whispered something in
Japanese.

"This is Mr. Erizawa," Emperor’s Wizard said with a rough wave of his hand. "He
is my muggle minder, tasked with ensuring that I embarrass neither His Majesty the Emperor, the
Imperial Household, or myself when I make my forays into the muggle world."

The thin muggle grimaced slightly, but quickly returned his face to a neutral position and said
in heavily accented English, "Welcome to Japan, Ambassador Granger. The Imperial Household
will do its best to ensure that the goals of your visit to our country are smoothly met without
incident."

"So are you going to follow her into the muggle loo to make sure she flushes, like you do
me?" the Emperor’s Wizard asked gruffly (in Japanese).

Thorson snorted as the question caused the muggle man’s face to turn beet red.

The two Japaenese engaged in a terse exchange of words, while Thorson turned towards Hermione
and whispered, "Matsuhisa-sensei loves yanking the chain of this minder almost as much as he
loves sushi…if you don’t mind, I suggest you give the minder your fish to give to the Emperor, then
use one of mine for the Supreme Mugwump."

Hermione nodded, happy at the thought of getting the squirming box out from under her arm. The
man accepted the gift with a bow of respect

"Only about forty minutes left on that fish-bowl charm," Thorson noted to the
Emperor’s Wizard. When the wizard raised an eyebrow, the King’s Wizard smiled. "Sockeye
salmon, and yes, one of these are for you, sensei."

"Sugoi!" the wizard exclaimed with delight. "Then let us meet presently with the
Supreme Mugwump, so that this wonderful present might soon meet with my knife."

The Japanese wizard and muggle led Hermione and Thorson through the transit station, which from
an architectural standpoint looked rather modern and muggle. When Hermione asked about this, the
Emperor’s Wizard explained that they were presently underneath Kyoto’s JR train station, and that
the magical transportation hub had been moved there so as to facilitate transfers between muggle
and magical modes of travel.

The small group once again breezed through customs, with the diplomatic passports and Erizawa’s
comments drawing deep bows from checkpoint officials who were dressed more like samurai than
security agents.

Two young women were waiting for the party just beyond the barrier. Each was dressed in a
high-waisted ankle-length red split skirt worn over a white kimono with long, wide sleeves. Each
also had a large flat box in their hands, which they offered to Hermione and Thorson with
deferential bows.

The Imperial Household Agency’s muggle stepped up to explain.

"Ambassador Granger, as we will be traveling in and out of muggle areas of the city, we are
happy to offer you attire that will be less…. conspicuous."

Hermione looked inside her box and found an outfit somewhat similar to what both of the young
women were wearing. With a nod in understanding, she said, "If it’s my robes that stick out, I
can just switch back to my muggle business suit."

The muggle bowed and replied, "We are pleased to offer the Ambassador the attire that is
traditionally worn by those that the gods have blessed with magic."

Hermione thought for a moment, then drew her wand. "Thank you, but it would be a lot
quicker and easier for me to transfigure my robes into something similar."

The muggle minder winced slightly. "The young women would be pleased to help you quickly
and easily change, Ambassador."

Hermione frowned, then turned to the Norwegian King’s Wizard, who was watching the exchange with
a bemused expression on his face.

"You will find, Ambassador Granger, that there is a certain flow to doing things within
this country. In most cases, it is easier to go with the flow than to swim against it."

The confirmatory nod and chuckle from the Emperor’s Wizard convinced Hermione of the correct
path through this minor impasse. She nodded with a small bit of resignation, and allowed herself to
be led into a private changing room by the two young women.

The fact that Hermione’s two young assistants didn’t speak of word of English didn’t keep them
from engaging in a running commentary as they helped her out of her Clan Potter robe and the muggle
clothing that she wore underneath. The Japanese women actually tittered when Hermione’s crimson
thong was revealed underneath her skirt; she needed to use some rather forthright hand gestures to
indicate that she wasn’t about to take it off so that they could get a closer look.

Once down to her bra and knickers, Hermione’s new outfit was built up piece by piece. At first
she thought that she'd look identical to her attendants. But after donning white tabi socks, a
white kimono, and the high-waisted pleated red split skirt (that could almost be thought of as
wide-legged trousers), the attendants wrapped a white wide belt around her waist, and pulled a
white wide-sleeved jacket out of the box.

One of the two women said something to the other about this jacket, and pointed towards the Clan
Potter crest on the robe that now lay folded on a chair. The second woman nodded, took the jacket
and robe, and excused herself with a deep bow. When she returned two minutes later, the jacket that
she presented to Hermione now had the Clan Potter crest woven into the silk fabric in five
different places…on the back in between the shoulders, and on the front and back of each
sleeve.

"It’s beautiful," Hermione said in admiration, as she slipped her arms into each
jacket sleeve. She was, however, decidedly less enthusiastic about the final piece of her new
outfit.

"Absolutely not," she declared, when she was offered a gold headband that held a
bouquet of long-stemmed flowers against the front.

The women frowned, said something to each other, then offered the headpiece a second time. When
Hermione shook her head and folded her arms in front of her, one of the women left the room in
order to fetch the Emperor’s Wizard. The short bald man entered the private changing room and
smiled.

"You are a vision of beauty, Ambassador Granger."

"There’s no way I’m wearing that bouquet of flowers on my head," Hermione stated.

The Emperor’s Wizard snorted.

"Am I to understand that all Japanese witches walk around wearing flowers on their
forehead?"

"Only when they allow my minder to dress them," the wizard said with a laugh. "It
is what you call in English a prank."

"Thank Merlin," Hermione exclaimed.

The wizard exchanged some words with the two women (although much of what the wizard appeared to
be saying in Japanese sounded to her more like grunts and groans). After reaching some sort of
decision, the Emperor’s Wizard asked, "Would it be acceptable, Ambassador Granger, for your
hair to be worn braided down the back, and tied with a white sash?"

Hermione looked at the wizard and arched an eyebrow. "Do you happen to know a spell that
would straighten my hair?"

The wizard chuckled. "Japanese women do not usually have that type of problem, but I will
ask the miko." He then translated Hermione’s question into Japanese, causing the two young
women to look at Hermione and shake their heads. Their comments caused the wizard to laugh out
loud.

"What’s so funny?" Hermione asked.

The Emperor’s Wizard replied, "It is their opinion that the devils that possess your curls
are too strong for their magic, and asked if I would aid them with an exorcism."

Hermione looked at the wizard with disbelief, then allowed her own chuckles to escape past her
lips.

"Well," she replied, "if this exorcism works any better and faster than
Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, then be my guest."

**oo00OO00oo**

Hermione hobbled out of the dressing room atop a pair of very uncomfortable wooden sandals. She
found the wizard from Lake Wobegon dressed as a male Shinto priest, with a dark green jacket over
his white kimono, and a eight-inch tall brimless black hat capping his six-foot two inch tall
frame.

"Think you’ll be ducking much?" Hermione asked with a smile.

"No more than usual when I visit here," the King’s Wizard replied. "I must agree
with my colleague, Ambassador…the kimono only enhances your natural beauty."

"Thank you, Thorson-sensei," Hermione replied. "I rather like the outfit,
although these wooden sandals are…now, what would the diplomatic term be?"

"A pain in the arse?" asked the Emperor’s Wizard.

"Thank you, Matsuhisa-sensei," said Hermione. "I couldn’t agree more."

A red-faced protocol officer led the small group to a bank of lifts. When one of these lifts
opened its doors, another young girl dressed in white kimono and red skirt emerged. She gestured
towards the lift interior with white-gloved hands, and bowed politely.

Once they stepped inside, the muggle minder withdrew a white silk scarf from his coat pocket and
used it to cover his eyes.

"He can’t deal with actually experiencing magic," Matsuhisa explained with a
smile.

When the young girl touched part of the lift compartment’s wall with a very short wand the doors
closed and the lift slowly began to rise. After a short trip that Hermione guessed traversed only a
few stories, the doors opened to reveal a solid wall.

"Chotto matte kudasai," the girl said in a lilting voice.

"It’s an illusion," Thorson explained to Hermione. "Just need to wait for the
all-clear before we can leave."

When a three-note chime sounded, the girl bowed and gestured towards the wall. The Emperor’s
Wizard winked at Thorson and Hermione before gruffly pushing the blindfolded muggle through the
faux wall. They then followed the muggle’s path, exiting into an empty hallway. Once the muggle
minder removed his blindfold he took on an air of authority and barked out a order to the Emperor’s
Wizard.

"Let me guess," Hermione whispered to Norwegian wizard. "We’re now in muggle
territory, so he gets to take charge."

Thorson smiled and nodded in reply as they were led into a very busy corridor of a very busy
train station. As they walked, Hermione remembered her promise to phone home and pulled out the
satellite phone from a pocket sewn into the lining of her kimono jacket. After waiting only a few
rings, the Prime Minister picked up on the other side.

"Hello, Prime Minister, this is Hermione…I’m sorry for calling so late at night."

"That’s quite alright, Ambassador…I did ask you to call once you arrived in Kyoto…you are
in Japan, then?"

"Yes, sir," she said. "We’re in transit to the meeting place."

"Good, good…so who are you with right now?"

"Erm…the Norwegian King’s Wizard, the Japanese Emperor’s Wizard, and someone else from the
Imperial Household."

"Excellent," the Prime Minister replied. "And you’ll be in their company for the
next thirty minutes, at least?"

"I believe so, Prime Minister," said Hermione. "Is there a reason why that’s
important?"

"Yes, actually, there is," the Prime Minister replied. "We’ll talk later about
it."

"Erm…okay," said Hermione. "Anything else, sir?"

"No, no…I should let you go, Ambassador. Stay safe over there."

"Yes, sir, I will…good night, sir."

"Good night, Ambassador Granger."

When she heard the click on the other end, Hermione ended the call from her side and pocketed
the sat phone. The call had left her a bit frustrated…it was clear that the Prime Minister was
keeping something from her, but she couldn’t think what that might be.

It wasn’t until later that Hermione learned that two SAS counter-terrorism teams had been
waiting on her call, as the Prime Minister had refused to authorize the assaults against the Death
Eater until he was certain that his Special Ambassador had an iron-clad alibi, half-way around the
world.

**oo00OO00oo**

A uniformed driver was waiting for Hermione and her three escorts next to a black luxury sedan.
He bowed, then gathered the three boxed fish and deposited them in the boot. Meanwhile, the muggle
minder got into the front passenger seat, and the other three slipped into the back. The Emperor’s
Wizard leaned forward to give instructions to the driver, then sat back and engaged the glass
divider between front and back. Once the barrier was in place he sat back and smiled.

"Ah, finally I can relax a little," he said. He then turned to Hermione and asked,
"Is this your first visit to Japan, Ambassador?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione replied.

"Then you must promise to return when there is better weather," the wizard replied, as
the driver pulled the car out from under a protective canopy and into a misty gray morning.
"Monsoon season will be with us for at least another week."

"Did I hear you say that we were heading to Kami-Gamo Jinja rather than the Ministry?"
asked Thorson.

The Japanese wizard nodded. "The kappas have been acting up again at Tadasu no Mori,"
he explained. "They’re giving the muggle golfers more of a water hazard that they’ve wished
for…and since the Supreme Mugwump is still the High Priest at that shrine, he’s handling the
situation himself."

Thorson nodded as the car splashed through puddles on its way north from the station. "Hard
to believe that golfers would be out in this weather."

The Emperor’s Wizard laughed. "Thorson-san, how many times have you visited Japan…and still
you know nothing of our culture?"

The Norwegian King’s Wizard caught Hermione fidgeting in his peripheral vision.
"Matsuhisa-sensei, Ambassador Granger wishes to display both her keen mind and the ill-effects
of an appallingly myopic curriculum at Hogwarts. Would you be willing to answer a few questions for
her?"

"Of course, Thorson-san," the wizard said. He caught Hermione’s attention, and then
asked, "How might I help, Ambassador?"

The frown on Hermione’s face that had been generated by her escort’s low opinion of Hogwarts was
overcome by curiosity.

"My apologizes, sir, but it does seem that this trip has revealed my ignorance of the
wizarding world beyond Europe."

"It is the fault of the sensei, and not the student," the Japanese wizard replied.
"What has piqued your interest?"

"Well, the idea of kappas attacking muggle golfers, for sure, but a more basic question
involves the relationship between magic and religion in your country...is the Supreme Mugwump
really a high priest?"

The Emperor’s Wizard nodded. "He is indeed, Ambassador, as am I. Nearly every Japanese
witch and wizard is involved in some way with Shintoism."

"But…isn’t Shinto also a religion within the muggle world?"

"Yes."

"Isn’t that a problem in terms of protecting secrets?"

The Japanese wizard smiled, shook his head, and once more dove into the brief lesson that was
always necessary when a Western wizard first visited Japan.

"The magic native to Japan is very different than what is taught in your schools. Shinto
magic is closer in style to what your Druids practiced, before the Roman wand wavers imposed their
type of magic across Europe and Northern Africa."

The wizard paused for Hermione to process that statement, then moved on. "Shinto magic is
used by the Japanese mage…or miko if they are female…to maintain the harmony of nature. It is power
given by the kami…you call them spirits…to restore imbalances."

"So what type of imbalances are you asked to fix?" Hermione asked.

"Mainly those between the muggle and magical worlds," the wizard replied. "For
example, the kami recognize the right of even non-magical people to live and thrive…but it is hard
for the people of Japan to coexist with our magical beasts…there is so little flat, arable land. So
the kami allow balance…we use magic to strengthen buildings against earthquakes, and magic to boost
rice harvests, but only in areas outside of where the tengu and other magical beasts run
free."

"Don’t forget about keeping the devils in bounds as well," Thorson replied with a
smile. "Remember that one time you and I chased that oni up and down that mountain
side?"

"Yes, Thorson-san, they were good times," the wizard replied warmly.

Hermione then asked, "So you don’t live separated from the muggle world, then?"

"Yes and no," the wizard replied. "We do live amongst the muggles, but are
schooled separately within the shrines. The Shinto mage has a public face that muggles see when
they visit the shrines, but also the private face that we use for magically restoring the
balances."

"Sort of being a secret agent," said Thorson with a smile. "Not that you’d know
anything about that, right Ambassador?"

"Erm, right," said Hermione. "So do the muggles know that some or most of the
Shinto priests and priestesses are really witches and wizards?"

"There are many who have faith in the powers of Shinto priests and priestesses," the
wizard replied. "But faith isn’t the same as certain knowledge, and there are many more whose
faith extends only far enough to justify the purchase of good-luck charms and protective talismans
at our shrines."

Hermione nodded. "So I’m interested in this golf course, and the kappas…."

The Emperor’s Wizard smiled. "Kamigamo Jinja and Shimogamo Jinja are shrines built on the
edge of a magical forest known as Tadasu no Mori, which is home to many magical beasts. The shrines
are staffed by Shinto mages and mika charged with keeping a harmonious boundary between the two
worlds. Many years ago, when the game of golf became popular, the muggles asked if a golf course
could be constructed on the edge of the forest. They asked the High Priests, because it was the
shrine that owned the forest lands. After much consultation with the kami, this golf course was
allowed to be built…although it forced us to relocate some of the magical creatures that called the
area home, it provides enough income for the Shrines to support more than two hundred mages and
mikos. And if the mages and mikos don’t need to use magic to put a roof over their heads or food on
the table, there is more time and opportunity for them to maintain the balance elsewhere."

Hermione nodded. "So I gather that the kappas weren’t necessarily in agreement with this
arrangement?"

The Japanese wizard nodded. "That is a worthy understatement, Ambassador."

**oo00OO00oo**

**Wednesday, July 11, 0030 GMT (12:30am. local time)
Thistle and Toad Pub, Gilmerton Close, Edinburgh**

The vibration of the Art Club badge caught Harry by surprise, even though he was hoping or
expecting calls from at least two different people. He begged off the current hand of cards,
getting by the protests with the promise that he would yet again buy the next round, and stepped
out into the night.

Although he probably shouldn’t have done it for security reasons, he eyes immediately shifted to
a window across the street where he knew MI-5 ¾ had established a surveillance station. Checking up
and down the street, he found a quiet corner and pulled out his mobile.

"Wally?"

"Hey, Harry, I just tried to call you on your badge."

"I know…I’m out where it’s less conspicuous to use my mobile…what’s going on?"

"Just wanted to let you know that it’s over at Cardiff and Leeds."

"Over? As in 'they’ve gone in and gotten back out' over?"

"Yeah."

"Oh…so have you been authorized to tell me what the hell happened and why I couldn’t be
trusted to be there?"

"Harry…calm down," Wally pleaded. "You still at the pub?"

"What was the body count, Wally?" Harry asked pointedly.

"Four dead DE’s, eight gone missing…all safe and accounted for on our side."

"Bollocks!" Harry swore. "I told them that the Death Eaters would apparate out if
given a half-second’s chance."

"And they believed you, Harry…turns out that the gas they pumped into the houses didn’t
knock them out like it should have."

Harry shook his head. "Wouldn't be surprised if witches or wizards weren't
affected...we're immune to most muggle diseases...so I imagine the houses are crawling with
Ministry types by now?"

‘Not that I’ve heard," Wally replied. "They pulled out the bodies and sanitized the
sites as quick as they could, but so far, no Aurors or other magicals have come snooping."

"So all that concern about keeping me and the others from going in with the SAS…didn’t
matter if alibis were the reason, huh?"

"As far as we know now, no."

"But if there was some other reason, like the government not trusting who’s side we would
be on, or not wanting us to see how the boys in black go about their business…"

"Harry, I think you’re overreacting," Wally replied. "Those "boys" as
you call them aren’t used to going in with anyone they haven’t trained with…Say, I’ve sent a car
along…why don’t you pay your tab and head back here to wait for Hermione?"

The Queen’s Wizard’s eyes narrowed as he spied the black sedan parked with its engine running a
few yards down the street.

Thinking that he’d been ordered about and led around by the hand far too much for his liking
that evening, he informed Wally that he’d just as soon walk back to the Palace alone.

**oo00OO00oo**

**0100 GMT (10:00am local time)
Kamigamo Jinja, Kyoto, Japan**

When the car carrying Hermione and her escorts arrived at the main gate of the shrine complex,
the driver was redirected to a location further down the road. The Emperor’s Wizard rolled down the
divider, and asked something in Japanese. He then leaned back onto the seat and announced,
"The Supreme Mugwump is still on the golf course."

After a short drive, the sedan pulled up to the fanciest looking club house that Hermione had
ever seen. The driver grabbed three umbrellas, and opened one for each of the rear seat passengers
as they climbed out of the car. Hermione struggled to keep up on her platform sandals as the
Emperor’s Wizard led them to the golf course’s first tee, where nearly sixty golfers were standing
underneath large bright umbrellas, waiting for the chance to tee off. The Japanese wizard once
again asked for directions from a groundskeeper, then returned to the group.

"The Supreme Mugwump is out on the fourth hole, and the course is closed until he gives the
all-clear," he stated. "I said that we have come to help. Follow me."

Hermione looked at a wooden sign next to the tee box that showed the course layout. "Oh,
no," she said quietly. "No way I’m going to walk that far in these sandals." She
then turned to the Norwegian wizard and asked, "So how come you don’t have a problem wearing
these geta?"

"Lots of practice," the wizard replied. "Oh, and I guess there’s always that
charm I use to make them feel like a pair of trainers."

Hermione’s eyes went wide. "Oh, you….." She grabbed the green-kimono wearing wizard
behind a large bush and said, "Fix…mine…now."

"Yes, Ambassador Granger," the older man said with a smile.

With the charm thus cast, they returned to the first tee, where a brisk pace down the fairway
allowed them to quickly catch up with the other two. Ten minutes later, they discovered the Supreme
Mugwump standing fifty yards away from a large pond, dressed in formal High Priest robes. There was
a golf club in his hand and a caddy by his side.

"Let me approach him first," the Emperor’s Wizard said. He then walked the last few
yards up to the other wizard and politely announced his presence. After formal greetings were
exchanged, the Emperor’s Wizard asked,

"What are you doing, Aoki-sensei?"

"Testing my efforts to calm the water spirits," the elderly Supreme Mugwump replied.
"They have been quick to anger these past few days, rising up whenever they are showered by
golf balls."

The wizard tossed a golf ball onto the ground and, without much thought, lined up his shot and
swung. He scowled as the ball sailed over the water.

"It appears that the kami are insistent on helping me lower my handicap," he
lamented.

"Sensei?"

The Supreme Mugwump turned towards the Emperor’s Wizard. "You don’t golf, do you
Matsuhisa-san?"

"No sensei…but perhaps one of my companions does?"

The gray-haired wizard looked over his colleagues shoulder.

"Who are they, Matsuhisa-san?"

"The King’s Wizard from Norway, and an emissary from the muggle government of the United
Kingdom."

"Muggle government?" asked the Supreme Mugwump. "Is she magical?"

"Yes, sensei…Ambassador Granger speaks on behalf of the British Prime Minister, and is the
consort of their Queen’s wizard."

"Is that so?" the Supreme Mugwump asked. "Well, this is her nation’s
sport…perhaps the young witch could aid us?"

The Emperor’s Wizard bowed. "I will ask, sensei."

The short bald wizard walked back to Hermione and her escort.

"The Supreme Mugwump wishes to know if you golf, Ambassador Granger."

"Really?" asked Hermione. She watched as the Supreme Mugwump swung his sand wedge and
lofted yet another golf ball straight towards the pond. As the ball reached the apex of its flight
path, a strong gust of wind carried the ball forward, where it landed forty yards beyond the water
hazard.

"I’ve played a few times with my father," she replied. "Why?"

"The Supreme Mugwump spoke with the kappa that live in that pond this morning, and they
promised to behave," said the Emperor’s Wizard. "He is now trying, rather unsuccessfully,
to test the strength of that agreement, but the wind is lifting every ball he hits over the
hazard."

"And he’s asking if I can shank a golf ball into the water?" Hermione asked.

When the Emperor’s Wizard nodded, the young witch thought about the situation.

"It is true that I am better at hitting water than fairways," she noted. But then she
remembered reading about the web-fingered monkey-like beasts in question, and nodded.

"I think that I might be able to help," Hermione told the Emperor’s Wizard.

As the others followed behind, Hermione approached the head of the ICW and bowed towards him and
his acolyte caddy. When the caddy bowed and held the golf clubs out for her inspection, she reached
not for a short iron, but for the Supreme Mugwump’s telescoping ball retriever.

Once a spell pinned the hem of her garments up against her bared knees, Hermione slipped off her
socks and sandals, then walked barefoot up to the bank of the pond. Once she spotted a white golf
ball she waded into the water and scooped the ball out of the mud. Hermione then spied a second
ball a few feet further down the shoreline, and waded towards it, splashing water in the
process.

After making a complete circuit of the pond’s perimeter, the young witch returned to a bemused
Supreme Mugwump with a dozen balls cradled in the folds of her robes. She conjured a small wicker
basket, then dumped the balls into it and offered them to the elderly wizard.

"It appears, at least to my untrained eye, that the Supreme Mugwump has indeed restored
balance and brought peace to these links."

The old man smiled and nodded in appreciation of Hermione’s ingenuity. As kappa tended to attack
those humans who waded along a water body’s shoreline, she had tested the passivity of the kappa
better than any golf shot could have done.

Once Hermione unpinned her robes, fetched her socks and sandles, and returned the ball retriever
to the caddy, she bowed again to the Supreme Mugwump and introduced herself.

"It is rare these days to get magical visitors for Britain," the wizard noted.
"What brings you half-way around the world, my child?"

"I bring greetings from Her Majesty’s Government, and congratulations on your election to
the vaulted position of Supreme Mugwump." She then looked back towards the protocol officer,
who had been tasked with holding one of the boxed fish. When he stepped forward she added, "I
also have a small gift to offer…omiyagi, I think it’s called?"

"Thank you," the wizard replied, as he took the long rectangular box from the muggle’s
hands. Once he opened it up and spied the still-flapping fish, he arched one eyebrow and asked,
"Is this salmon native to Britain?"

"I am not certain about salmon in general," Hermione replied. "This fish, though,
was caught in Alaska, in between portkey jumps."

"A witch with many talents…you catch fish in Alaska, and golf balls in Japan," the old
man quipped.

Hermione waited until she heard the Emperor’s Wizard’s laugh from behind before she allowed
herself to smile and nod in recognition of the Supreme Mugwump’s joke.

"Come, Ambassador," the elderly wizard said. "Walk with me to the clubhouse. The
sushi chef there will do honor to your gift, and you can tell me the real reasons behind your
visit."

**oo00OO00oo**

Thirty minutes later, a kneeling Hermione Granger squirmed in pain as the Supreme Mugwump
silently reviewed the evidence that she had placed before him. They had been shown to a private
tatami-matted room within the golf course’s clubhouse, and the thin cushions that served in lieu of
chairs were meant to cushion knees, rather than bums. Seeing the tell-tale signs of legs falling
asleep, the Norwegian King’s Wizard took pity on her and caught her attention . Drawing his wand
from his sleeve, Thorson pointed it towards his knees and silently jerked his head her way.
Hermione raised her eyebrows, and nodded as she mouthed the words, "Yes, please."

The limbering charm that was wordlessly cast instantly soothed the pain in Hermione’s legs, and
earned the elderly wizard a smile and a mouthed "Thank You!"

Having finished his careful review of the documents and photographs that detailed both the
successful and unsuccessful bank robberies, the Supreme Mugwump turned his attention to two
stoppered vials.

"These vials…they hold memories, to be viewed in a…you call them pensieves, no?"

"Yes, Supreme Mugwump."

The ancient wizard frowned. "We do not use this type of magic in Japan…did you bring the
viewing device with you?"

Hermione’s eyes darkened with worry. "No, sir, I am sorry…I did not."

Waving off her concern, the wizard replied. "Do not worry, child…it is my opinion that the
documents and affidavit from your goblins is sufficient to begin an official inquiry."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione replied. "May I arrange for a pensieve to be delivered
here for your use?"

The Supreme Mugwump shook his head. "These memories…they may be reviewed in your country by
the team sent to investigate." The elderly wizard then turned towards the other three in the
room and began speaking in Japanese.

"Matsuhisa-san?"

"Yes, Sensei?"

"I would be pleased to see you released from your duties within the Imperial Household for
a few days, so that you might lead this inquiry."

The Emperor’s Wizard looked towards his minder. Though he would have ignored the muggle’s
protests had they been expressed, he was pleased to see the man give him a curt nod. The wizard
then bowed towards the Supreme Mugwump and asked, "When do you wish me to leave for Britain,
Sensei?"

"As soon as possible, Matsuhisa-san," the ancient wizard replied. "I leave
selection of the other investigators to you."

"I am honored by your confidence in me, Sensei," the Emperor’s Wizard stated. He then
added, "Are our eyes to be focused only on the issue before you?"

The Supreme Mugwump sighed, and then replied, "The eyes of the wizarding world have been
diverted from Britain for far too long, Matsuhisa-san…go there with sharpened sword blades and eyes
wide open."

"As you wish, Sensei."

The Supreme Mugwump then switched back to English and turned to Hermione. "I have asked the
Emperor’s Wizard to assemble a team to investigate this issue for me. May I count on the
cooperation of your country’s muggle government?"

"Thank you Sir," Hermione replied. "I will do all that I can to ensure that the
Emperor’s Wizard’s team has a pleasant and productive stay."

With a nod of his head, the Supreme Mugwump clapped his hands together. A rice-papered door slid
to one side of the wall, and two beautiful kimono-clad woman bowed low as they placed a huge
boat-shaped platter in the room. The women then climbed up onto the raised platform floor, and
carried the tray over to the table.

Hermione’s eyes were immediately drawn to the tray, where the head of the fish that she had
given to the Supreme Mugwump sat as the centerpiece to an ornate display of sushi and sashimi.
Thick slices of dark red salmon were arranged in small fans of flesh, while other pieces of salmon
meat sat on small beds of rice as pieces of sushi. There were also seaweed-wrapped pieces of sushi
topped with raw red red eggs, leading Hermione to suspect that her catch had been female.

When she heard the men and the room grunt and groan with excitement she thought that they were
ogling the two women, but when Hermione looked up she realized that her companion’s eyes were
zeroed in on the tray of food.

Looking at the eating utensils set on the sides of the tray Hermione became nervous. Though her
parents were well-off dentists and she had eaten out quite often as a child, she had never taken to
chopsticks, and always insisted on eating Chinese food the way that "normal" English
restaurant patrons did.

"We hope that it is not too early for your lunch, Ambassador," the Emperor’s Wizard
said, as he handed her a table setting.

"It’s actually closer to a midnight snack, given the time difference," she replied.
She then took hold of the wooden utensils and looked at the King’s Wizard with slightly pleading
eyes.

"Sorry, Ambassador," he said. "I don’t know any chopsticks charms."

**oo00OO00oo**

**Wednesday, July 11, 0315 GMT
Palace at Holyrood House, Edinburgh**

Harry Potter’s vibrating Art Club badge woke him from the restless sleep that had claimed his
consciousness. He sat up, lifting his head off the opened page of a briefing book, and activated
his badge.

"Erm…hullo?" he asked groggily.

"Hey, Harry, it’s me…Hermione."

"Hermione? Where are you?"

"I’m back in Oslo."

"Oslo?" Why didn’t you call sooner?"

"I’ve been trying, but you fell asleep, silly," Hermione replied.

"Oh," Harry replied. "So when do you think you’ll be back home…I mean here at
Holyrood?"

"Oh, Harry…you know that home is wherever you are…and I’ll be there in a few seconds if you
let me use you as an anchor point for a badge jump."

"Oh yeah, that’s right…go ahea…."

Hermione suddenly appeared in their guest quarters, still dressed in kimono, and carrying a
large bag.

"Hey, honey, I’m home," she said, dropping the bag and holding her arms out towards
her boyfriend.

Startled at the sight of the wide white sleeves that hung like wings from her arms, Harry asked,
"Hermione, why do you look like an angel?"

"Oh, Harry, you say the sweetest things," his Consort replied, as she wrapped those
wings around him. She then added, "These are the robes that witches wear in Japan."

Nodding, Harry sleepily asked, "So how did it go?"

"It went great," Hermione replied. "I did a little fishing, played a little
golf…"

"Huh?"

"Ssshh," Hermione replied, as she kissed him on the cheek. "We can talk in the
morning. Right now we should try to sleep…busy day coming up."

"Okay," Harry replied, as he pulled back from Hermione and plopped down on the bed. He
looked once more at Hermione’s outfit through heavy eyelids and asked, "So that’s what you
wear when you’re a witch in Japan?"

Hermione nodded.

"How about changing into…what you wear…when you’re a witch…in our bedroom?" he asked,
yawning in between words.

The Special Ambassador the Wizarding World cocked her head to one side, then smiled. Not even
trying to undo all of the knots to her outfit by hand, she banished her Japanese attire into her
wardrobe.

"Yea!" Harry said with a sleepy smile, as Hermione walked over to the bed dressed only
in her red thong.

"You are too cute when you’re half-asleep," she noted, as she pulled down the
covers.

"I’m sorry," Harry said softly. "Too…too…too tired to catch the snitch
tonight."

Hermione smiled as she banished Harry’s clothes to a hamper and pulled him into bed.

"That’s okay," she replied, as she pulled his head to her chest. "Just catch some
sleep instead."

**oo00OO00oo**

**A/N:**The Old Believers and North American Confederation were borrowed from Dr. T’s body of
work. Lake Wobegon was borrowed from Garrison Keillor and Google Earth is an awesome resource.



61. Chapter 61
--------------

**Muggle Summer**

A/N: I’m starting to post files that support this story as Google Docs. The first file is an
org chart
that displays all of the named characters working with or for Her Majesty’s Government. Let me know
if you liked what I’ve posted and want to see more… I’ve got at least 2 other org charts I could
develop (Ministry of Magic after its reorganization, and the Harry-centered chart with HHr within
“House of Gryffindor”).

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 61: Going to Ground**

oo00OO00oo

It's 3 a.m. and your Death Eaters are safe and asleep.
But there's a phone in the Dark Lord’s lair and it's ringing.
Something's happening in the world.
Who answers that call?
Someone who already knows the muggle's leaders, knows the military -- someone tested and ready
to lead in a dangerous world?
It's 3 a.m. and your Death Eaters are safe and asleep.
Who do you want answering the phone?

**oo00OO00oo**

Wednesday, July 11, 3:00am
Somewhere Hidden in Salisbury

Augustus Rookwood had just entered REM sleep when the mobile sitting on his nightstand chirped.
It took some non-electronic encouragement for him to answer the phone.

“Stuff that bloody bird!” yelled Dolohov, as he threw his pillow at the former Unspeakable from
across the bedroom.

“Huh?” Rookwood replied.

The answer to this one word question came from the still-ringing mobile. A glance at the Caller
ID number cleared his head far more effectively than his bunk-mate’s curses. He pushed a button,
held the receiver to his ear, and barked, “Report.”

“This is Marcus Flint…here at our Recovery Point,” replied a weak voice on the other end of the
call. “Seven others…Cardiff, Liverpool got visited.”

The former Unspeakable cursed.

“What’s your current situation?”

“Hit with some sort of gas attack,” Flint replied. “Took us a while to move from Rally point to
here…doesn’t look like we’ve been tracked or followed.”

“When did the attacks occur?”

“Not sure…two, maybe three hours ago….”

Rookwood cursed again, then ordered Flint to lay low until help arrived.

Once he pocketed the mobile, a now much more awake Dolohov asked, “Problems?”

The former Unspeakable nodded as he quickly dressed himself and grabbed his rucksack. “My two
remaining safe houses were attacked…I need to find out how and why.”

“Bugger.”

“You’ve got that right…I’m heading out to assess the situation. You should wake our Lord and
tell him the news.”

“Yeah, right,” replied the Death Eater. “It’s your problem…why don’t you tell him?”

Rookwood sighed deeply. “You idiot…there’s no time…”

But Dolohov was rather insistent on not being the bearer of bad news. Realizing that he needed
to gain more facts before facing Voldemort, the former Unspeakable activated a portkey and
disappeared.

oo00OO00oo

3:10am, Nottingham Caves, Nottingham

It was thought by Albus Dumbledore that almost all of the Dark Lord’s focus during Harry
Potter’s fifth year at Hogwarts had been on retrieving the prophecy from the Department of
Mysteries. This was a mistaken belief…while there was a concerted effort to gain the prophecy, even
more attention was paid to laying the groundwork for success during the upcoming Second War.

No small part of this groundwork involved work underground. With Ministry spies and sympathizers
in place that could either ignore or bury evidence of magical activity in non-magical areas,
Voldemort’s Inner Circle had developed a network of hideouts, safe-houses, and re-supply posts. For
security purposes, each of the senior Death Eaters worked independently, and kept a portion of the
network secret from the others. And a portion of these secret sites were made even more secure when
Voldemort memory charmed his subordinates, so that he alone was aware of these locations.

This level of paranoia paid off when Rookwood and other Inner Circle members were captured in
the Department of Mysteries, and subsequently interrogated with Veritaserum. All of the commonly
known locations were compromised, along with those locations known only to the captured Death
Eaters. It was only the sites known solely to Voldemort, and to those (like Bellatrix) who evaded
capture that remained secure.

The ability to develop a new network of magically-enhanced hideouts was hampered during Harry’s
sixth year, and destroyed during the failed attack on the Ministry, when all of Voldemort’s
operatives within the Magical Surveillance Office were exposed. The Dark Lord was therefore rather
stingy when it came to sharing the locations of the older hideaways, and had relied upon newer
safe-house locations in the aftermath of Ascot. Only three of the old sites were released by
Voldemort for minion use, and designated as Emergency Recovery Points. Each Death Eater was
provided a portkey to a rally point near one of these locations. Were their primary safe house
compromised, a Death Eater was told to portkey to the rally point, wait there for others who might
have escaped, and then travel on foot to the Recovery Point. A pay-as-you-go mobile was hidden at
each recovery point entrance; it was this mobile that Marcus Flint had used to contact Rookwood
with the bad news.

The former Unspeakable’s portkey delivered him straight to the entrance to Recovery Point Gamma,
located on a hill slope just above the city of Nottingham. It took a few seconds for him to get his
bearings…he was in an abandoned quarry, next to a hanging wall of soft sandstone. A cool breeze
struck him from behind. When Rookwood turned towards this breeze, he spied a wand pointed at his
heart, held by a wizard standing at the mouth of a hand-dug tunnel.

Once passwords were exchanged, the younger wizard dropped his wand, and led Rookwood past
muggle-repelling charms and into the tunnel.

“Mind your step, it’s bloody dark in here,” Flint said. “One of the Cardiff blokes broke his leg
when he fell into the shaft.”

The former Unspeakable shook his head in resignation as he reached into his sack and retrieved
two muggle torches. He flipped them both on, then handed one to his companion.

The former Quidditch captain nodded his thanks, then headed deeper into the tunnel, to a spot
where the end of a long wooden ladder jutted out from a hole in the ground. Flint pointing out the
ladder, swung his arm out and said, “After you.”

oo00OO00oo

The system of hand-dug caves and tunnels underneath the City of Nottingham was the most
extensive in all of Britain, with some excavations dating back thousands of years. During the
Eighteenth Century, these caves were used by the city’s poor as dark, fetid rental housing.
Conditions were so horrific for both the indigent cave dwellers and tannery employees that the
muggle Parliament passed an Act in 1845 banning the use of subsurface structures as rental housing
for the poor. Almost all Nottingham’s caves were abandoned at that time…with only a few kept open
for use as a modern-day tourist attraction, a rifle range, pub cellars, and (during the Second
World War) air raid shelters.

Oh, and for a Death Eater hide-out as well, but this was something that the muggles didn’t know
about.

The wooden ladder that Rookwood descended was propped up against the wall of a vertical shaft
that opened up into a chamber that was roughly thirty feet long, twenty feet wide, and ten feet
high. Charmed wooden torches lit the room, revealing two six-foot high doorways within opposite
walls, and a handful of drowsy Death Eaters sprawled out on the cave floor in their nightclothes.
It appeared to Rookwood that it was only the pained cries of the injured Death Eater that was
keeping these others awake.

The former Unspeakable ignored the pleas for help from the injured wizard as he tried to quickly
assess what had happened. The stories were notably identical, regardless of which safe-house the
Death Eater had been in.

Thinking with a sense of urgency, Rookwood ordered the men to move farther into the cave network
in case room was needed for more arrivals. The best he could do for the injured wizard was splint
the leg and dispense a vial of pain-relief potion… Skelre-gro was a proprietary potion that was in
short supply within their ranks, and one of potions that Snape was trying to create on his own
using materials gathered during the attack on Diagon Alley.

After promising that the group would not be forgotten, Rookwood touched a reusable portkey and
returned to Voldemort’s lair.

oo00OO00oo

The Dark Lord was not a happy camper when he was woken in the middle of the night.

“My apologies, My Lord,” Rookwood said, with eyes cast down to the floor at Voldemort’s bedside.
“But I must report that the safe-houses at Cardiff and Liverpool were attacked tonight, and I fear
that this location may have been compromised as well.”

“What?” Voldemort demanded. “Who attacked, and how…and how were you made aware of this?”

Rookwood swallowed down some bile, and tried to answer the questions in order.

“It was most likely muggles, who used some sort of poison gas. Eight of the twelve within these
two houses managed to portkey to their rally point, and make their way to Rally Point Gamma. The
used the muggle communication device hidden there to call me, and I just returned from interviewing
them.”

Voldemort frowned as he thought over the response. Some occlumancy was needed to quiet all of
the voices within his head offering suggestions on how best to torture the minion before him.

“Why do you think that this location may be at risk?” he demanded.

Rookwood paused. He really didn’t want to answer the question, but figured that it would be less
painful then having the answer ripped from his mind by a Legimens attack.

“My Lord,” said Rookwood, “You and I were the only ones that knew where all of the safe-houses
under my control were located. We know that my memory was modified when I flew out of the Rookery
on Saturday night. We also know that muggles may have been involved there. If these muggles, or the
goblins, or Potter…if somebody was able to capture the memories that were scanned by the building’s
wards…”

“Yes, Rookwood…that does seem to be the only possible explanation….other than the possibility
that you have betrayed me.”

The former Unspeakable very nervously tried to speak in his own defense. “My Lord…were any of
your Inner Circle to betray you, would it not make sense that this location would be a
higher-priority target than safe-houses filled with low-level supporters?”

“Indeed,” Voldemort replied. “”That is a conundrum.”

The former Unspeakable bowed his head down. “Which is why I believe we must consider abandoning
this position.”

Voldemort stared at Rookwood for a few seconds, until he was able to bring the urge to hex under
control. He then nodded, reached into his pocket, and removed his pack of portkeys. He scanned the
deck of playing cards until the King of Hearts came up. Holding this card out to the former
Unspeakable, he ordered him to take hold, then activated it.

The portkey deposited to two wizards into the alleyway near the Avebury stone circle. Rookwood
followed his master out of the alleyway, and into the center of the magical megalith.

“Give me your arm,” Voldemort quietly demanded.

Rookwood knew well enough what his master wanted, and braced for pain as he rolled up his sleeve
and offered his left arm. Voldemort jabbed his wand tip into the black tattoo and summoned his
Inner Circle. They arrived by portkey within moments, in various states of dress and with varying
degrees of alertness.

“The locations of Rookwood’s safe-house locations have been compromised and subsequently
attacked,” Voldemort stated matter-of-factly. “We are going to ground. Make arrangements for
everyone to abandon their current positions and to fall back to their respective Recovery
Points.”

“Are we to abandon our provisions in these safe-houses, My Lord?” asked Nott.

Voldemort thought for a moment. “Take what you can. Have your charges use minimizing spells, but
only at the last moment before you portkey out.”

Snape stepped forward. “My Lord, the potions that I am brewing will not travel well, and many of
the cursed and injured under my care won’t survive a portkey trip.”

“Good point, Severus,” the Dark Lord replied. “Yaxley…travel with Snape back to his safe-house.
Collect the emergency portkeys of anyone too ill to travel, and obliviate their memories of any of
our rally or recovery points.”

“As you wish, My Lord,” the Death Eater replied. “Does that include Severus?”

The Dark Lord nodded. “Memory charm everyone who stays behind.”

Severus Snape didn’t like that response one bit, but was smart enough to keep his comments and
his thoughts to himself.

“My Lord,” said Rodolphus Lestrange, “I have moved my men into position for today’s muggle
hunt…should they be pulled back as well?”

“Hmmm….who has portkeys to travel to Salisbury?” Voldemort asked.

Nearly everyone there raised their hands.

“Give them to Rodolphus,” the Dark Lord ordered. “Bella, my dear?”

“Yes, My Lord,” the female Dark Eater cooed.

“Travel with your husband to Edinburgh. Collect all of the emergency portkeys, and obliviate the
lot of all knowledge of our safe-houses and fall-back positions…and yes, that includes your
husband.”

“As you wish, My Lord.”

“Rodolphus,” Voldemort stated, “Monitor your muggle radio for the signal to abort…it will mean
that Salisbury is no longer a safe haven. Otherwise, once you have successfully completed your
task, portkey with your men to Salisbury and wait there for further instructions.”

“Other issues?” the Dark Lord asked.

“My Lord,” said Nott tentatively, “Were any of our troops killed or captured during these
attacks?”

Voldemort turned to Rookwood and signaled for him to answer.

“Four didn’t make it to the Rally Point,” the former Unspeakable said. “We don’t know what their
status is.”

The elder Nott nodded. “These four…they would have had their emergency portkeys with them?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t that put Recovery Point Gamma at equal risk of detection, then?”

Rookwood looked nervously at his master, who didn’t look very pleased that he hadn’t raised this
issue beforehand.

“The portkeys were well disguised, and might be overlooked if their pockets were emptied out,”
Rookwood replied. “But even if the portkeys are discovered, there’s no way for anyone else to know
their destinations, and only a fool would blindly take a Death Eater’s portkey to an unknown
location.”

“You speak as if there are no fools within the Ministry,” Nott replied, earning a nervous laugh
from his audience.

Rookwood replied, “The portkeys take you to the Rally Point, not the Recovery Point itself. Each
of my wizards knew how to get from one point to the other, but didn’t know exactly where they’d
be…and the Rally Point was selected to be easily defended. Perhaps…”

The Death Eater looked back towards his master for input.

“Nott,” Voldemort said, “Your cadre is assigned to Gamma…set up a small welcoming committee at
the Rally Point to deal with any uninvited guests.”

“As you command, My Lord.”

There were no other immediate questions, so Voldemort dismissed all but Pettigrew and
Rookwood.

“Wormtail,” he said, once the three were alone. “You will travel we me to Salisbury, and will
remain behind to monitor the location in your animagus form. Should it be attacked, it will be up
to you to send the signal to abort Lestrange’s mission.”

Peter, eyes firmly on the ground in front of him, acknowledged his master’s orders. The Dark
Lord then turned to the former Unspeakable.

“I am very disappointed in you, Augustus, but I sense more incompetence than disloyalty.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“The idea of muggles attacking our forces is as intolerable as it is unfathomable,” said
Voldemort, as he handed the other Death Eater a portkey.

“You are to observe the attack this afternoon. Do not participate. Take note of all defenses and
responses, then use this portkey and wait at its destination for further orders…understood?”

“Yes, My Lord,” replied Rookwood. “I do not deserve your generous trust in my abilities.”

The Dark Lord smiled thinly. “No, you don’t.” He then held out his wand and cast a memory charm
on the former Unspeakable that was much more painful than necessary.

Once his follow-up mental probe determined that he had wiped out all of Rookwood’s knowledge of
Death Eater hide-aways, he sent his minion along on his appointed task, then used his own portkey
to travel with Pettigrew back to Salisbury…there was no way that he was going to leave behind his
magical tent when he relocated to a well-equipped location known to no one but himself.

oo00OO00oo

6:30am, Palace at Holyrood House, Edinburgh

Hermione Granger walked over to the large guest-bedroom window while her draft report was
printing and watched as an army of caterers placed row after row of crystal and china on white
linen-covered tables underneath long white tents. When her badge chirped she turned her attention
to a much smaller, fully enclosed white tent.

“Yes, Harry?” she asked, after activating the badge.

“We’re done here,” the Queen’s Wizard replied. “I’m coming up.”

“Too tired to walk?” Hermione asked.

Harry waited until the badge jump into the guest bedroom was completed before he answered.

“Too busy to walk,” he said.

Hermione nodded. “Construction all set, then?”

“Queen’s Tent tube is finished,” Harry replied. “Irongrip and his crew think that they’ll have
two others ready by noon…would have already been done if they didn’t have to avoid contact with the
caterers.”

“They are setting up the tea tent rather early aren’t they?”

Harry snorted as he walked to the window and watched uniformed wait staff stack teacups and
plates on tables underneath the tents. “Well, service for 8,000 takes a while to prepare if you
aren’t using magic.”

“Are we really expecting that many, given the Ten o’clock Attacks?” asked Hermione.

With a nod, Harry replied, “Stiff upper lip, and all that…the Buckingham Palace garden parties
were well-attended after the terrorist attacks last year, and there’s no way in hell that the Scots
will allow themselves to be viewed as any less brave than the English.”

Hermione shook her head. “Still wish there had been more time to expand out the ward lines.”

A sigh escaped from Harry’s lips as he pulled Hermione into a hug. “You’ve done the best you
could do, given all of your other time commitments.”

“Still….”

“We can’t do everything, and even if we could it’s starting to look like they wouldn’t want us
to.”

It was Hermione’s turn to sigh.

“You’re starting to use that tone of voice again.”

“What?”

“That disdainful ‘they’…it’s the same way you talk about the Ministry of Magic.”

“Well if the shoe fits on the Home Secretary’s foot…”

“Harry, I’m on the COBRA team as well…have I become part of the problem?”

Shaking his head, the Queen’s Wizard replied. “Of course not…it’s just that…well, they took you
for a ride as well last night.”

“Yes, they did,” Hermione replied. “But from their perspective, I can understand why…doesn’t
mean that I have to like it.”

“Or stand for it, either.”

“Now, Harry,” Hermione replied. “Look…we’ve got another insanely busy day today. You’ve got the
Garden Party to protect, and I’ve got the Emperor’s Wizard and friends showing up in London this
morning…”

“So when do we take a good hard look at whether the muggle government is using us?” asked Harry
sharply. “Before or after we help them take back control of wizarding Britain?”

“Harry….you need to calm down,” Hermione replied. “That’s one of the reasons why I’m so happy
that ICW is paying us a visit today…he’s had his job for sixty years. That’s got to give him some
perspective on how to balance between the worlds, right?”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, alright…you will have time this afternoon to join me, right?”

Hermione smiled. “If the alternative is leaving you to free to roam about the garden with your
harem…”

“Hey,” Harry chided. “Just because Susan and Hannah decided to prank you doesn’t mean that I’m
interested in either one of them.’

“Or both,” Hermione added.

“Yes, or both,” Harry said with a sigh. “As much as I look forward to my birthday this year, all
of those contracts to deal with…”

“You could always tell Mr. Patil and all the other patriarchs that you’ve got a Consort,”
Hermione said with a grin.

“I’d be better off simply saying that I was already engaged,” Harry muttered, as he pulled her
close to him from behind.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, turned her head, and kissed Harry’s cheek

“Yes, I think that you would too,” she replied. “But only if it were true.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, but saved the witty response for fear of being accused of some more
passive-aggressive behavior.

oo00OO00oo

7:50am, Ministry of Magic, London

Susan Bones stepped out of the floo connection and into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic,
trying to mask her nervousness as she started her day as a pure-blooded intern within the
Ministry’s Department of Transportation. She joined the flow of other interns and employees making
their way from the inbound floos towards the Security Gate. Neville Longbottom was waiting for her
on the other side.

“How are you, Nev?” she asked, as if she hadn’t just seen him fifteen minutes ago at a meeting
with Harry and Hermione up in Edinburgh.

“I should be asking you that, Sue,” he replied with a smirk, as they began walking towards the
bank of lifts. More quietly, he added, “After all, you were the one that called in sick yesterday,
right?”

Susan snorted. “Sounds like I might need to suffer a relapse, depending on how things turn
out.”

Neville nodded seriously, then tried to lighten the mood. “So is it safe to kiss you or
not?”

The Queen’s witch-in-waiting waggled her eyebrows as she pulled him into a crowded lift and
pressed her ample chest tight against his side.

“Guess you’ll just have to risk it to find out, Buzz,” she replied coyly, almost purring as she
voiced his TPOMS nickname.

Neville’s embarrassment and the throat clearing of some of the older ministry workers within the
lift car kept the banter from going any further. The car made the short trip up to Level Seven,
where Neville “worked” within the offices of the Official Gobstones Club. Just before he stepped
off, Neville turned towards the Hufflepuff and hugged her close.

“Take care, okay?”

Susan nodded. “Thanks, Neville,” she said, as she gave his hand a squeeze. “See you at lunch
either way.”

The lift continued its upward path, stopping at the Fifth Level for Special Assistant to the
Minister Percy Weasley. He quickly glanced around to see if there was anyone on board that he
should either suck-up to or talk down to. Susan Bones fit into the latter category.

“Feeling well enough to work today, Miss Bones?” he asked, as the doors closed and the car began
to move.

Susan bit her lip in an effort to remain civil. “Yes sir, Director Weasley…thank you for
asking.”

“Not a problem, Miss Bones,” he replied haughtily. “I make it a point to take interest in
everyone that works for me.”

“Yes, sir, erm…thank you, sir.”

Percy’s eyes narrowed. “You are aware, I’m sure, of the requirement to document all illnesses
resulting in lost time at work?”

“Erm…yes, sir,” Susan replied, pulling out a piece of parchment from her pocket.

The Special Assistant snatched the parchment from Susan’s fingers, looking for potential
irregularities. The note stated that Susan was ill the day previous and treated by her family
healer for “feminine issues.” This caused Percy’s face to flush with embarrassment. He returned the
note too quickly to realize that Susan’s note was signed by “H. Abbot”.

“Yes, well, erm….everything appears to be in order,” he stammered. “Take care that you give that
note to your supervisor.”

“Yes, Director,” Susan said with a sly grin.

Susan and Percy were the only two within the lift traveling up to Level One, as long as you
didn’t count the airborne memos hovering overhead. When the doors opened Percy followed the flock
as it darted towards the Offices of the Minister of Magic, while Susan headed off to the much
smaller area that was home to the rarely used International Portkey Terminal.

Back in the days of relative peace and tranquility, between the fall of Grindelwold and the
first rise of Voldemort, the Ministry of Magic’s gateway terminal was, if not flourishing, at least
used on a fairly regular basis. But after Voldemort’s two reins of terror, and the Ministry’s
belligerent attitude towards foreigners, the terminal was now about as busy as the Centaur Liaison
Office. The size of the facility matched the infrequency of its use…while it once occupied the
entire first level of the Ministry, it now had a footprint only slightly larger than the
average-sized Hogwarts broom closet (with Cornelius Fudge having commandeered the balance of the
space to accommodate expansive chief executive offices whose square footage more closely matched
the size of his ego).

At present, Susan’s official workplace consisted of a ten-foot diameter target platform and two
wooden desks. She shared the immigration control desk with a sixth-year Ravenclaw (who typically
worked second shift). The other was used by Susan’s supervisor…an elderly wizard who doubled as the
overnight watch. It was his shift that was coming to an end with the Hufflepuff’s arrival.

“Good Morning, Mr. Jarvis,” Susan said as she approached the first desk.

“Morning, Miss Susan,” her supervisor replied, as he placed a slip of parchment into the muggle
novel that he was reading. “Good to see you today.”

“Thanks, and sorry for needing to call in like I did yesterday.”

“No matter,” the wizard replied, as he pointed towards a short stack of paperbacks on the
opposite desk. “Gave me the chance to finish off that ‘Gunslinger’ series.”

Susan smiled. Her supervisor loved to read serialized muggle novels about the American Wild
West, but could only do so at work, as his snooty witch of a wife forbade him to keep the “filthy”
books at their house.

“Oh, that reminds me,” she said, as she pulled a slightly dog-eared paperback out of her bag and
slipped her excuse in between the pages. “Here’s my medical excuse.”

The supervisor’s eyes lit up at the sight of the Zane Gray novel. “Susan, you know me too well,”
he said, as he took the book in hand. “Just to be sure…this isn’t an attempt to curry favor with
your boss, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Susan replied with a straight face. “Just think of it as a very thick envelope
for my parchment.”

The wizard smiled at the unspoken quid pro quo. That smile turned into a frown when a bell
clanged, indicating that his shift had officially ended. He looked at the wall clock, then down at
the book, and finally back up to Susan.

“Are you sure that you’re feeling well enough to work today?” he asked. “I really wouldn’t mind
covering for you, if you needed to rest….”

The young witch quickly replied, “I’m feeling fine right now sir, but I won’t hesitate to call
you back if I suffer some sort of relapse.”

‘I’ll hold you to that, Miss Bones,” the wizard said, as he reluctantly slipped the new book
into his desk drawer and collected his cloak.

As her boss left the room, Susan sat down at the desk with her own bit of private (and
anticipatory) muggle reading laid out on the desk…the August issue of “Modern Bride.” She flipped
through pages with one hand, while her wand was clasped firmly with the other…just as one eye was
trained on the clock even as the other scanned the pages.

Susan had just started in on “100 Romantic Honeymoon Hideaways” when a cascade of bright lights
signaled multiple portkey arrivals.

The sight of the five persons appearing suddenly on the platform startled Susan…not having
attended the Quidditch World Cup, she had never been exposed to the faces and clothing styles of
the wizards and witches now standing before her.

A short bald man dressed in a forest green kimono stepped forward and ran head-first into an
invisible barrier before Susan could warn him about the magical restraining field. Three of the
other four immediately raised their wands towards Susan, while the other raised his right hand in
an open-fingered claw, as if he was about to deliver a slashing strike.

“We are here on official ICW business,” the kimono-wearing wizard said loudly as he held out an
embossed scroll. “You are obligated to release us immediately.”

Susan gave the group a furtive nod, then held her opened hand out in a “wait” signal and looked
nervously over her shoulder. When there was no immediate response to the alarm, she turned back and
asked, “So why were the salmon running?”

The group relaxed visibly as the Emperor’s wizard raised an eyebrow.

“To avoid the water hazard on the fourth hole.”

Having received the correct answer to Hermione’s unique challenge question, Susan nodded. “Give
me a few seconds.” She then made her way over to her supervisor’s desk, where a set of
magically-charged crystals were glowing. She wasn’t supposed to know the authorization sequence,
but her boss had been just a little too trusting of his favorite supplier of illicit muggle
fiction.

The correct sequence of wand tip touches to the set of crystals caused the barrier to come down.
The five immediately stepped off of the platform, with the tall blonde witch and tall white-haired
wizard in the group stepping out into a defensive position that covered both Susan and the doorway
that led out into the Ministry.

A slight South Asian wizard, and a large heavily tattooed Maori sorcerer who had held a claw
fist stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the bald Asian wizard.

“I’m Susan Bones, one of the Queen’s Wizard’s crew, and I just broke enough rules to land me in
Azkaban for a few years,” the witch said nervously. “They’ll be Aurors here soon responding to a
silent alarm, so welcome to Britain, and I’m out of here.”

The Emperor’s Wizard bowed. “I understand. Thank you for your assistance Miss Bones.”

Susan ran over to her desk, where she shouldered her bag and ripped the last page out of her
magazine. Wand in hand, she activated this hidden portkey just as Percy Weasley and a group of
Aurors rushed into the room.

“What is the meaning of this?” Percy bellowed. “You are supposed to be on the other side of the
barrier! What have you done with Susan Bones!”

“Is that how the Ministry of Magic treats every official delegation from the ICW?” asked the
Emperor’s Wizard. He stepped forward and held the Supreme Mugwump’s writ in front of a suddenly
paled-face wizard.

“I am Matsuhisa Yukihiro, charged by the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of
Wizards to investigate an alleged serious breach in secrecy,” the wizard stated. “Where can we find
the official named Percy Weasley?”

The red-headed wizard was too shocked to stammer out a response, leaving it to the Aurors to
give him up with pointed fingers.

“Not yet…not supposed to….” he stammered. But then the bureaucratic git within him took hold and
demanded that the Special Assistant grow a pair. Percy stiffened both his back and his resolve, and
declared, “According to ICW protocols, the Ministry has 48 hours at the start of any inquiry period
to review the warrant and assemble relevant documentation.”

The Emperor’s Wizard turned to his South Asian colleague. “Jay?”

The tan-skinned wizard nodded. “What he says is true, but only so long as the Ministry
officially accepts notice of the inquiry.”

The Japanese wizard turned back to Percy. “You don’t look like someone important enough to have
that kind of authority…fetch us someone who does.”

The Special Assistant to the Minister frowned at the insult. “I’ll have you know that I am a
member of the Minister’s Cabinet, and most certainly do have that level of authority.”

“Prove it,” snarled the Swedish witch from across the room.

Percy scowled at the King’s Witch as he indignantly held his wand tip to the writ.

“I, Percy Weasley, Special Assistant to the Minister of Magic, do hereby accept possession of
this writ of inquiry.”

The parchment glowed in response.

Sanjay “Jay” Tiwari smiled. “The waiting period has now begun,” he intoned. “You must, of
course, inform your staff of the magical penalties that will automatically fall upon any Ministry
employee that knowingly destroys, hides, or alters any evidence associated with the inquiry?”

Percy took in a deep breath, and let a silent string of curse words worthy of his mum’s soap
spells play out inside his head.

“Of course,” he replied. He looked up at the wall clock and said, “You will be welcomed back to
the Ministry on Friday, at 8:26am.” Percy then gestured towards the platform. “Until that time,
then?”

The Emperor’s Wizard shrugged off the attempt to get rid of them. “We will, of course, stay
within the country during the waiting period,” he declared. “Just to ensure that there aren’t any
barriers to our return.

Percy gave a curt nod in reply, knowing full well that he couldn’t legally force the delegation
to leave.

“Would you like the Ministry to make arrangements for your stay?”

The heavily tattooed Maori sorcerer snorted once more, causing Percy to jump.

“Thank you, Special Assistant to the Minister,” Matsuhisa said with a shallow bow. “We will
arrange our own accommodations.”

The red-headed wizard nodded. “Aurors,” he said loudly, “take these people directly to the
outbound Floos. Make sure that they each throw enough powder into the fire.”

“Yes, Sir,” said one of the Aurors. The group formed ranks around the foreign witch and wizards
and led them out of the Terminal.

Percy followed close behind, veering off towards the Minister of Magic’s office when the party
reached the lifts. He then barged brazenly into his boss’s office, ignoring the complaints of
Scrimgeour’s administrative assistant that her boss was in the middle of a floo call.

The former Auror was rather angry when he pulled his head out of the fireplace.

“This had better be important, Wetherbee.”

“I’m afraid that it is, Minister,” Percy said with resignation.

Taking the writ that Percy held out, the Minister of Magic quickly scanned its contents.

“How were they able to serve you these papers?” Rufus asked pointedly.

“I don’t know sir,” Percy replied. “The barrier was down when we arrived, and none of our people
were in the room.”

“Who was on duty there?”

“Susan Bones.”

“Damn…one of Potter’s spies, no doubt,” Scrimgeour swore. “And you actually accepted it?”

“Didn’t see that I had a choice,” Weasley replied defensively. “It was the only way to buy us
some time.”

Rufus growled, but reluctantly agreed with the assessment.

“Forty-eight hours, right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And there’s nasty magic ahead if we try to bury the evidence against us?”

Percy nodded. “What are we going to do, Sir?”

Scrimgeour scowled. “Gather the evidence, for now…meanwhile, Project Arcanum’s implementation
date just got pushed forward.”

“But sir…we’ve been having problems finding a vetted wizard that’s both powerful enough and
willing to do the charm.”

Rufus snorted. “Then look harder, and sod the vetting.”

Percy nodded nervously. “Knockturn Alley, then?”

Scrimgeour rolled his eyes. “No, you fool…do you actually think you’d be able to find a powerful
enough witch or wizard there that wasn’t already a Death Eater?”

“Erm….”

“Overseas, Percy…overseas.”

“Yes, sir,” the Special Assistant replied. Taking the lack of any follow-up statements as a
dismissal, Percy left the Minister’s office with a worried expression on his face.

oo00OO00oo

8:50am, Cabinet Office Briefing Room A, 10 Downing Street, London

Senior Advisor/Special Ambassador/Secret Agent/Order of Arthur Member Hermione Granger struggled
to stay awake as the muggle Defense Minister finish his presentation on the previous night’s SAS
missions. She found the most effective stimulant to be reconsideration on whether her defense of
her colleague’s competencies had been premature.

The meeting had started with her report on her trip to Japan, the meeting with the Supreme
Mugwump, and the inquiry that was to take place when the Emperor’s Wizard and his colleagues
portkeyed from Oslo to London. Then, she commented on the MI-5 forensic review of the four Death
Eaters who had been killed in the SAS attacks on the two safe-houses, and was asked to explain why
portkey destinations couldn’t be unraveled without actually using them, and why using a dead Death
Eater’s escape portkey wasn’t a very smart idea. And that discussion led into the Defense
Minister’s droning, half-hour long recap on the SAS’s Counter Revolutionary Warfare mission
itself.

“To sum up,” the Defense Minister stated, “The CRW teams successfully engaged the enemy, killing
four of the terrorists without taking any casualties on our side. That more of the terrorists
weren’t apprehended is regrettable, but no fault of the troops who acted on inadequate
intelligence.”

Hermione’s ears perked up at the accusation. “Excuse me, Minister,” she stated, “but are you
suggesting that Agent Potter gave you bad intel?”

“Not as such,” the politician replied. “It wasn’t that he provided bad information so much as he
failed to provide enough good information.”

“How so?” asked the MI-5 Director.

“Agent Potter stressed the need to incapacitate the targets before they could magically escape,”
the Minister replied. “But he failed to inform us that the incapacitating agents used during covert
entries would be ineffective against magical people.”

Hermione sighed. “And why was he expected anticipate you needing to know that fact? You never
told him that you were going to try and anesthetize the targets…I mean, it’s not like he’s a mind
reader.”

“Really?” asked the Home Secretary.

“Okay,” Hermione admitted, “maybe he is, but he didn’t.”

“The SAS doesn’t care to share its tactics with just anyone, Miss Granger, and we had no reason
to expect that the physiology of magical humans was any different than ours.”

“Doesn’t seem possible that it would be,” muttered the Home Secretary.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione reached into a pocket, retrieved a stoppered vial of pepper-up
potion, and swallowed its contents. The standard side-effects took hold after a few seconds,
sending long plumes of hot steam out of her ears.

“Don’t try that at home,” the young witch said dryly.

“We could have used that information in advance,” the Defense Minister stated.

“And you would have had it, had you enough sense to trust us,” Hermione retorted sharply.

“When have we not asked for your views or not trusted your advice?” asked the Foreign
Secretary.

“When you played Harry and myself last night,” Hermione replied. “When Harry was told that
‘yours is not to reason why’.”

“But that was the military mission…you had no part of that…” objected the Defense Minister.

“But Harry did,” Hermione replied. “And if you didn’t already realize it, we came into
governmental service packaged together.”

“And you don’t see any need for maintaining an effective chain of command, Dame Hermione?” asked
the MI-6 Chief.

“Oh I do see such a need,” the young witch replied. “But only when those making ‘need to know’
decisions are in the know in the first place. And only when you trust us just as much as we’re
expected to trust you.”

“Now there’s some cheek,” the Home Secretary whined.

“Would you please explain that statement, Agent Granger?” the Met Commissioner asked.

Hermione shook her head. “I’m sorry…perhaps I should just leave and try to get back some of the
sleep I lost last night.”

“No, please, Hermione,” the Prime Minister asked. “Have we….have I done something to cause you
to lose some trust in us?”

Biting her lip, Hermione thought about her response. She really didn’t want to cause more of a
scene that she had already, but then again, she was a Gryff for a reason.

“Excluding our magical forces from the attack last night, sir,” she finally replied. She raised
her hands, anticipating the justifications from those that had made that decision, and added, “I
appreciate the reasons behind the decision, but springing the news on Harry at the last minute,
then expecting him to blindly obey orders…well, that’s a problem.”

“How so?”

“Harry’s got some bad history with boneheaded politicians and authority figures who thought
nothing of using him like a pawn on a chessboard in the name of the greater good,” Hermione
explained. “He’s been treated like a child, and told what to do and when to do it by his so-called
‘betters,’ even as these betters place the burden of saving the world on his shoulders….what
happened last night…it just played into the same kind of manipulative control that he’s faced for
years.”

“And that’s affected your ability to trust as well, Agent Granger?”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione replied. “It was the first time…up to now, we’ve had nothing but unwavering
support from the Queen and her government…we’ve been treated like the responsible adults that this
war has forced us to become...and it’s been brilliant.”

“So if you don’t get to always play the game by your rules, you complain and want to take your
ball home with you?” quipped the Home Secretary.

“Oh, pipe down, Chisholm,” said the Prime Minister. “The fact is…Sir Harry, Dame Hermione and
all of the other magicals on our side do have their own set of rules that they have to mind…isn’t
that right, Hermione?”

“You mean the magical secrecy laws, sir?”

“Exactly,” the Prime Minister replied. “Chisholm, you might not appreciate the balancing act
that we’ve forced Hermione and Harry make, but it’s there nonetheless. What I’m interested in is
ways to raise the level of familiarity and trust all around.”

“You know,” the Defense Minister said, “it would have helped if our CRW lads had been able to
see more of what they were up against, rather than just be told.”

“But the magical detection and surveillance issues would be a problem, wouldn’t they?” asked the
MI-5 chief.

Hermione nodded in agreement. “We could set up some demonstrations at Windsor, where the shields
are in play, but that’s a rather high profile area…”

“What about Camp One?” asked the Prime Minister.

”Sir?”

“The SAS’s main training base,” the Prime Minister explained. “If you were to erect your shields
over a remote training area, the troops could experience coming under spell fire without ‘mom’
finding out.”

“That sounds like a great idea, sir,” Hermione replied, smiling at the feminization of the
Ministry of Magic’s acronym. “I’m sure that TPOMS would benefit from that kind of facility as
well.”

A vibrating Art Club badge inside Hermione’s jacket pocket caught her attention.

“Excuse me, sir, but this might be the call we’ve been expecting…”

When the Prime Minister nodded, she opened her jacket and activated her badge.

“Go ahead Dad, erm…I mean Agent Granger.”

“Your guests have arrived at the Leaky Cauldron checkpoint, Hermione.”

“Thanks, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The Special Ambassador looked to her boss as she deactivated the badge.

The Prime Minister nodded. “I think that we’re done here,” he declared. “We’ll pick up the issue
of Camp One this afternoon. Until then, ladies and gentlemen….”

The meeting thus adjourned, Hermione walked up to ground level, and out onto the street. Two
Land Rovers were waiting there, ready to make the short trip down Charing Cross Road.

oo00OO00oo

The MI-5 ¾ agents stationed outside of the muggle entrance to the Leaky Cauldron informed
Hermione that her father had secured one of Tom’s private rooms for her guests. She walked inside,
and not finding anyone in the bar called out the publican’s name. The bald-headed owner answered
back, and came out from the kitchen wiping his hands on his apron.

“How are you today, Tom?” she asked.

“Busy, thank Merlin and thanks to you and your Mr. Potter,” he replied. “Don’t know how I’d been
able to stay in business were it not for the take away business that your people have been
providing …can I get you some breakfast? Tea?”

“No thanks, Tom,” Hermione. “I was looking for my dad, actually.”

“Room 1, right around back,” the publican replied.

Hermione thanked the bar man and made her way back to the largest of Tom’s private rooms, where
the five foreign magicals were extolling the quality of English tea as readily as they were dissing
the quality of English cuisine.

The King’s Wizard rose from the table when he spotted her and moved to shake Hermione’s
hand.

“Well, you’re looking far more chipper than I feel, Ambassador…sure you and I were on the same
trip?”

Hermione nodded. “The power of pepper-up, I’m afraid…I’ll be paying for it later tonight.”

The elderly wizard smiled. “Wish these old bones could handle that kind of jolt to the
system.”

“So how was the trip?” she asked.

“Uneventful,” Thorson replied. “Matsuhisa-san and I got a few hours sleep at Dyrrheim while we
waited for our companions…which I should introduce you to.”

The King’s Wizard introduced Hermione to Anna Glantz, who was the King’s Witch from Sweden,
Sanjay Tiwari, a senior bureaucrat from the Indian Ministry of Magic, and Rongo, the Maori
Sorcerer.

Hermione’s attention (like her father’s) was inexorably drawn to the quiet New Zealander, who at
6 foot 4 inches height and nineteen stone would have been an imposing presence even without the
geometric tattoos that covered his face like a mask. And then there was his attire…an All Blacks
rugby jersey over a beaded flax skirt (called a piupiu) and plastic flip-flops.

“Welcome to Britain,” she said, “and thank you for coming to our assistance on such short
notice.”

“It is we that should thank you, Ambassador Granger,” replied the Indian wizard. “There are many
who have worried for years about the situation in Britain, but always without the means to do
anything about it. You may have provided just such an opportunity.”

Hermione blushed a bit. “Well, I was really just the messenger.”

“But a messenger that knew, or knew where to find out about ICW regulations, yes?” asked the
Swede. “And the courage to seek out an inquiry despite the risk that some of her own actions may be
at odds with certain secrecy statutes?”

“Now, we’ve been very careful about maintaining secrecy,” Hermione replied defensively. “It’s
been a rather tall order to keep a lid on things, given how the Death Eaters have attacked the
muggle world.”

“Relax, child,” the witch replied. “We are well aware of just how narrowly we dodged an
Unforgivable this past week with those multiple attacks…and we certainly don’t think that it was
your Ministry of Magic that had the level-headedness and creativity needed to come up with the idea
of nerve gas as a cover story.”

Hermione didn’t much care for the idea of being called a child, but not enough to risk offending
her guests. The King’s Wizard helped by stepping into the conversation.

“Well, we ought to have enough time over the next two days to explore that…no need to get into
the specifics right now.”

“Two days?” asked Hermione.

“Your Ministry has invoked the right to collect inquiry-related documents over a two day
period,” Tiwari stated. “We can not start an investigation into the specific charges until this
time period has ended.”

Hermione looked to Thorson and Matsuhisa for confirmation.

“Sorry, Ambassador, but I’m afraid that he’s right,” said the Emperor’s Wizard. “I forgot about
that aspect of the writ when I explained the process earlier this morning….or last night, depending
on your time zone.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Hermione replied. “I know that things have to work at their own pace.” She
paused, and then asked, “Have you made any specific plans for the next 48 hours?”

“Not really,” the Japanese wizard admitted. “We might use the time to gather general
observations about conditions within the British wizarding world.”

“Perhaps you have suggestions on constructive uses of our time?” the King’s Wizard asked.

“Well…” Hermione replied, “this might be foolish on my part, but we’ve started a kind of summer
school for Hogwarts students that were excluded from the Ministry’s internship program because of
blood status.”

“Your Summer Institute, yes?” asked the Emperor’s Wizard.

Hermione nodded. “I’ll admit up front that it doesn’t have official Ministry authorization, but
all of our instructors are current or former Hogwarts staff…and given the possibilities that
Hogwarts might not open in the fall, it would be the only way these students would get to practice
defensive spells, because we know that the Death Eaters are going after them and their
families…”

“Excuse me, Ambassador,” the Indian wizard said. “You are concerned with possible violations of
law regarding underage magic use?”

Hermione reluctantly nodded.

“Then your concerns may be unwarranted,” the wizard opined.

“But,” noted Hermione, “the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery…”

Is a bylaw of the British Ministry, not the ICW,” Tiwari noted. “It is how your Ministry has
decided to enforce the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, which is an ICW law.”

“Each magical government is allowed to set its own path to ensuring our secrets,” Matsuhisa
added. “We are not here to enforce Ministry laws…in fact, the ICW can only intervene if the
Ministry’s bylaws and decrees fail to hide our presence from the world at large.”

“So tell me, Ambassador,” said Thorson. “Is the use of magic at your Summer Institute making the
existence of magic known to the muggle world?”

“No,” Hermione said, relieved that the discussion was going in a safe direction. “The Summer
Institute is hidden so well that even the Ministry doesn’t know about it.”

“There you go,” the King’s Wizard concluded with a warm smile. “No harm, no foul.”

“Is there a reason why you raised the issue, Miss Granger?” asked the Swedish witch.

Hermione nodded.

“We learn so little about the outside wizarding world at Hogwarts…Professor Thorson has written
a book on the history of magic, and one of the DADA instructors we had lined up is still hurt and
in St. Mungo’s…”

“I think that my daughter is wondering if any of you would be willing to give a guest lecture or
two,” interrupted Roger Granger.

Hermione bit her lip as she nodded. “We would be happy to offer honorariums, and could offer you
room and board there…I’m sure that our students and staff would be more than willing to talk about
their experiences if you wanted to learn more about conditions here in Britain…”

“That sounds like a marvelous opportunity all around,” suggested the Indian wizard.

The Emperor’s Wizard looked around the table, and after getting affirmative responses (three
head nods and a grunt from the Maori who still hadn’t spoke a word since his arrival), accepted
Hermione’s proposal.

“Is there a way to reach this Summer Institute without magical travel?” asked the King’s witch.
“I’m certain that our magical signatures were scanned when we floo’ed out of the Ministry this
morning, and I’d like to be able to travel without being tracked.”

“I’ve got muggle vehicles waiting outside,” Hermione replied. “Going against the rush, we’d be
at Cumberland Lodge inside of forty minutes.”

“We?” asked the King’s Wizard. “I thought that you had plans to be in Scotland with the Queen
this afternoon?”

“I do,” Hermione admitted, “but I can get up there quick enough on my own.”

The Japanese Wizard then said, “The Emperor asked that I convey his regards to Her Majesty the
Queen, and I would enjoy the opportunity to meet the newest royal wizard.”

The Norwegian King’s Wizard grinned. “Same here, and I’d love to take a look at the rune sets
that you’re using on those attenuated wards.”

“I bet you would,” Hermione said with a smile. She looked down at her watch. “What do you think,
Dad?” she asked. “Flight times to Edinburgh?”

“Hour and fifteen…hour and a half,” Roger replied. “RAF Northrup is not that far from Windsor…we
could see if air transport could arranged during the ride out.”

“Excellent,” replied the Japanese wizard. He stood back from the table and added, “Are we done
here?”

Mr. Granger looked at the half-eaten plates of food and asked, “We could box up your breakfast,
if you wanted.”

The Emperor’s Wizard looked down at the table, then at the others, and shook his head.

“This food is certainly filling, but….”

“But he wishes we that the three of us did some more fishing on the return trip,” the Norwegian
said with a smile.

Hermione snorted. “We do have fresh fish here too, you know.”

The Emperor’s Wizard smiled and bowed towards Hermione. “I would be grateful to experience that
fact, Ambassador.”

oo00OO00oo

9:20am, Haven’s Head, Milford Haven, Wales

The portkey magically attached to the three of clubs deposited Voldemort into a rusted-out
shipping container perched on top of a pile of construction debris. He squatted down, with wand
outstretched, listening for any sounds of activity outside of the steel box. Hearing none, he
carefully pushed the container door open and stepped out into the sunshine of a fine summer’s
morning.

Fine, that is, unless you were a Dark Lord on the lamb.

This was the second time that morning he had tried to go to ground. His first choice had been a
remote cave on the northern coast of Scotland…which would have been a fine place to hide, had it
not been for the presence of a man-eating squatter who apparently hadn’t gotten the memo that said
that man-eating quintapeds only lived on the unplottable Isle of Drear. It was the thought of a
much more mugglish, more hospitable hideaway that caused the Dark Lord to hastily retreat to his
present locale…a rogue waste dump located on a bluff known as “Haven’s Head,” above the coastal
town of Milford Haven.

From his vantage point, Voldemort could look down onto the coastal community known as the best
deepwater port in Britain. But the Dark Lord wasn’t there for the views of the docks…he had arrived
to make use of a facility that had been created because of those docks.

In the 1930’s, the muggle military had exploited the port’s ability to host large oil tankers
and built a system of underground storage tanks within the bluffs that overlooked the bay. The
tankers could off-load refined heating oil and aviation fuel directly into these tanks through
pipelines that connected bluff to bay. While the advantages of underground fuel storage were
obvious during German bombing raids during the Second World War, the RAF continued to use these
tanks after the war ended to fuel a Cold War-era bomber base. But when this base closed down in the
1970’s the tank farm and pipeline were abandoned, and became one of the more larger examples of the
coastal structures built to defend Fortress Britain.

It was a ten-yard walk from the container to a concrete blockhouse, and a tunnel that hosted
four 12 inch diameter pipelines. The locked steel gate that protected this tunnel entrance had been
replaced with repelling and tripwire wards keyed to anyone who wasn’t a Death Eater. Beyond this
opening, a rectangular, concrete-walled tunnel sloped steeply upwards for fifty yards before
leveling off…while stairs had been cut into the floor, a magic carpet (stolen from a Light family
manor) provided alternative transport for those who knew how to use it.

A wand touch to a particular rock wall activated a set of charmed, flame-free lights (the first
Death Eaters to have explored this tunnel had learned the hard way that blue bell flames weren’t
good ideas when there was a smell of aviation fuel in the air). Voldemort climbed aboard the carpet
(stashed behind a low cinder block wall) and compelled the carpet to climb up the tunnel.

The smell of petroleum grew stronger as the tunnel leveled off to a horizontal drift some
hundred yards long. Five different alcoves led to individual storage tanks. The Dark Lord turned
off at the second alcove and leaned down close to the carpet so that he could pass through the
opened inspection hatch and into the tank proper.

The air began to freshen within the 100-foot diameter, 27-foot high tank just as soon as
Volemort closed the hatch behind him…when the site had been converted for Death Eater use
ventilation holes had been blasted into the tank roof. These holes also let in rain and
groundwater, and caused the tank to fill a foot deep with water. But the Death Eaters had
anticipated this, and built an island of rock and debris in the center of the tank, creating a
twenty-foot diameter patch of ground dry enough to pitch a tent.

Voldemort floated over to the island and stepped off the carpet. The magical tent that was
strapped to his back pitched itself, once he set the corners down, and he walked inside, eager to
wash off the filth and sweat he’d collected along the way. Once he emerged from the shower he
toweled off, threw on a lightweight robe, and checked the kitchen pantry. Voldemort pulled out a
meat pie, warmed it up on a charmed hot plate, and sat down to a late breakfast.

He figured that there was about three weeks worth of provisions stocked in the tent…five weeks,
or so, if he rationed.

As the Dark Lord sat there, alone at the table eating his pie, he wondered if that would be
enough time for him to figure out just what in Merlin’s name the muggles were capable of.



62. Chapter 62
--------------

**Muggle Summer**

Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 62: Garden Party**

**Wednesday, July 11, 9:30am
Official Gobstones Club, Level Seven, Ministry of Magic**

Neville Longbottom was “working” at his desk and worrying about his girlfriend when a certain
blonde-haired mailroom clerk arrived to hand deliver an All-Ministry memo.

“Hey, Luna, what do you have there?” he asked.

“A memo announcing that an intern up on Level One is a wanted criminal,” the witch replied.
“Thought I better deliver your copy by hand.”

“What? Why?”

Luna smiled serenely. “So you would stop worrying, of course. By the way, I just heard that your
Crumple-Horned Hufflepuff was just spotted at Hogwarts.”

“My Crumple-Horned Hufflepuff?” he asked. Neville’s eyes went wide when he realized what Luna’s
coded message meant. “Oh…thank Merlin…and thanks for letting me know.”

“No problem, Neville.”

The Longbottom scion opened his desk drawer and retrieved a Skiving Snackbox. Upon opening the
container he carefully selected an individual confection.

“Excuse me, Luna, but I have a sudden need to vomit on my boss’s desk.”

The Ravenclaw smiled and nodded her head. “Will I see anything colorful if I tag along?”

Neville frowned. “Not particularly….just some partially-digested porridge.”

“Darn,” Luna replied. “Oh well, say hi to your girlfriend for me then.”

Neville smiled. “Aren’t you skiving off as well?”

Luna shook her head as she absently-mindedly opened the Velcro’ed flap on the front of her robes
and scratched her bared midriff. “The Art Club needs Ron as a anchor within the Ministry, and I
need Ron as an ant inspector within my pants.”

The young Gryffindor blushed, wondering just how well his candy’s magically-induced nausea would
work in conjunction with Luna-induced racy thoughts.

**oo00OO00oo**

**Portkey Control Office, Department of Transportation, Ministry of Magic**

Percy Weasley stepped off the lift with a scowl on his face. Lacking a worldwide directory of
Charms Masters, he had needed to barter away a “favor to be named later” to a DoM researcher in
exchange for the name of a Dutch mage with the skills necessary to implement Project Arcanum.

A magical door chime sounded as he entered the office and brushed by the receptionist.

“I need a portkey to Amsterdam, straight away,” he called out to the first wizard he saw.

The older balding man squinted at Percy and sighed.

“You have the proper parchment forms completed, Director Weasley?”

“Of course I do,” Percy huffed, as he threw a scroll onto the wizard’s desk.

The portkey maker looked the authorization form over, noting that Percy had not only signed it,
but gotten the Minister of Magic’s countersignature as well.

“Amsterdam, you said?” he asked.

“Yes, yes…it’s clearly laid out for you right there on the parchment.”

The wizard snorted. “You do know that the Dutch have banned all direct in-bound portkeys
originating from Britain, right?”

“No, when did they do that?”

“Two days after we banned in-bound portkeys from the Netherlands,” snarked the wizard.

“So how am I supposed to get there?” asked Percy. “It is, after all, critical Ministry
business.”

“I’m sure it is,” replied the portkey maker dryly. “As I see it, you’ve got two options….use
muggle transportation, or make a connecting trip to one of the portkey terminals that still accept
in-bounds from Britain.”

“Well, that’s an easy choice…I’ll just make the connecting portkey flight,” replied Percy. “It
would take forever to get to Holland by muggle car.”

The portkey maker was almost certain that Percy thought it possible for cars to traverse the
Channel without a ferry, but rather than give him grief over it, decided to cover his
posterior.

“I wouldn’t be too sure that muggle methods would be slower,” the wizard offered.

“How could they not be?” Percy demanded. “What are my terminal options?”

“Oslo or Albania.”

“That’s it?”

“No, but those are the only two places where it’d theoretically be possible to get same day
connecting portkeys fashioned.”

“Can’t you just make me the two portkeys?”

“Of course I can’t,” the wizard replied with a huff. “We’re only licensed to make international
portkeys that originate within Britain.”

“Fine,” Percy replied. “Just give me a portkey to Dyrrheim Station, then.”

“Are you certain, Assistant Director?”

“Yes, I don’t have any more time to waste.”

“As you wish, sir,” the wizard replied. “But I really think you should consider muggle….”

“Can you make me a portkey to Oslo or not?”

“Harrumph!” the wizard huffed indignantly. He reached into his desk drawer for a length of rope,
concentrated for a few moments, then cast a Portus spell that created a brief bluish glow around
the rope.

“Here you go,” the portkey maker said as he handed Percy the portkey. “Have a nice trip.”

The Director of Knowns snatched the bit of rope from the man’s hand and turned on his heel,
whining about how much time it had taken to get a simple portkey made.

“What a git,” muttered the portkey maker to himself. “He deservers whatever awaits him in
Oslo.”

**oo00OO00oo**

**Longbottom Manor, Oxfordshire**

Neville fingers were working his mobile just as soon as he tumbled out of the floo
connection.

“Come on…come on, Susan…pick up…”

“Neville?”

“Susan? Thank goodness you’re safe….you are safe, right?”

“I’m fine Nev…everything went more or less to plan.”

“So where are you now?”

“McGonagall made me a portkey to Edinburgh,” the witch-in-waiting replied. “Where are you?”

“Back home…just long enough to find a ride up there.”

A different voice called out Neville’s name. Having heard the chime that announced an imminent
resident floo arrival, his grandmother had joined him in the entryway.

“Neville?” she asked, “Why are you home?”

“Just a minute, Grandmum,” he replied, placing the telephone against his ear. “Susan, I have to
go…talk to you in a bit, okay?”

“Can’t understand why a floo connection isn’t good enough for your wooing efforts, young man,”
Augusta stated, adding, “So what are you doing here in the middle of the day?”

“Sorry, Grandmum, just one more call…promise,” Neville replied, as he pressed a different speed
dial number.

“Harry?…this is Neville.”

“Hey, Neville, how are you doing?”

“Much better after talking with Susan.”

“So you’re out of the Ministry?”

“Yeah…just got to the Manor.”

“What flavor this time?”

“Puking Pastille,” Neville replied. “So, Harry, as long as I’m available…”

“There’s a helicopter ready and waiting for you next door.”

“Thanks, Harry,” said Neville. “Be there as soon as I can.”

“I’m sure you will,” Harry said with a chuckle.

As he pocketed his mobile, Neville noticed that his grandmother wasn’t very happy with what she
had heard.

“What are you scheming, Neville?” she demanded.

“Can’t tell you,…you know that, Grandmum,” he replied. “Enough to say that Harry Potter needs my
help.”

Mrs. Longbottom shook her head and sighed. Having reached the age of majority there was little
she could do to tie down her grandson, and she was not-so-secretly thrilled that he was following
in his parent’s footsteps as a fighter for the Light. But that didn’t mean that she wasn’t worried
about losing him like she had her Frank.

“When do you think you’ll be back?” she asked.

“Should be tonight,” Neville replied. “I’ll owl if it’s any different.”

“You take care of yourself,” his grandmother replied, as she pulled him into a hug.

“I will,” he replied. Having grown tall enough to look over his grandmother’s shoulders when
embracing her, he snuck a peek at his wristwatch while he hugged.

“I have to change,” he said. “My ride is waiting for me.”

“Flying aboard one of those muggle contraptions again, I suppose?”

Neville smiled. “Wouldn’t do to have my floo travel traced if I’m supposed to be home in bed,
right?”

He ran upstairs to his bedroom, thankful that he was a wizard…without magic, there was no way he
could have changed into his TPOMS fatigues so quickly.

Dressed to kill, from his maroon beret down to his polished black leather boots, Neville grabbed
his charm-protected never-full rucksack. After making certain that his unconventional (for a
wizard) weaponry was all there, he pulled out a single-seated racing broomstick, closed the bag up,
and raced downstairs and out the front door of the manor (making sure that he gave his grandmother
a kiss on the way out.). Within seconds, Neville was racing west towards the manor’s wards.

**oo00OO00oo**

That Longbottom Manor shared a property line with an Royal Air Force base was more than simple
coincidence.

As the Royal Historian had explained to Harry and Hermione earlier that week, the Duchy of
Cornwall was formed in the Fourteenth Century by separating out all of the English royal lands that
were magical in nature. While the removal of these properties from muggle eyes and tax rolls helped
preserve the wizarding world’s secrets, this royal protection came at a price. When a wizarding
family accepted the Duchy’s protection, they retained control over most of their property…but a
negotiated portion of their lands were handed over in more than name only, for use as the Duke of
Cornwall saw fit.

For centuries, the Duchy saw fit to work the lands ceded by the Longbottom family with
agricultural leases to muggle farmers. But when the Royal Air Force began to build airbases in the
1930’s in advance of World War II, the Duchy donated land to the cause, and RAF Benson was
constructed next door to Longbottom Manor.

This proximity was put to good use sixty years later when the Clan Air Force became more than a
one-time gathering in the defense of Little Wizarding. Neville’s estate gave the Phoenix Teams a
place to train where flying broomstick formations wouldn’t be noticed (by either muggles or the
MoM). RAF Benson, in turn, provided a home base for those Phoenix Team muggles who weren’t Art
Clubbers. The few miles distance between the airfield’s housing complex and the Manor was an easy
commute for the muggle commandos, who typically jogged from one place to the other wearing goggles
that cancelled out the repelling wards.

Of course, the TPOMS squadron had faster ways to traverse that distance when necessary. It took
Neville about a minute to weave through the trees that stood on the western part of the Manor and
to reach the wardline. He pulled up at the end of the forested area, dismounted, and walked
straight through the barbed-wire fence (or more precisely, through the illusion that had been set
up similar to the barrier at King’s Cross). Neville’s Phoenix Team partner was waiting for him on
the other side.

“Morning, Lieutenant,” the muggle said with a grin, as his partner climbed into the passenger
seat of the jeep.

“Morning, Andy,” Neville replied. “Surprised to see you ready to go so soon.”

“It’s the Major’s doing,” the muggle replied, as he turned the vehicle around and sped back
towards the tarmac. “Once your little witch turned up in Edinbugh, he reckoned that you’d be
wanting to head that way soon enough, and passed word along.”

“He knows me too well,” said Neville.

“No, he just cares about his troops,” Andy said, as he pulled up short of a helicopter that was
fueled up and ready to go. “Wish there were more of his kind in the officer corps.”

Neville nodded as he pulled his flight helmet out of his bag, opened the vehicle door, and
followed his partner in a crouched dash against a rotor-generated wash of air.

**oo00OO00oo**

**Dyrrheim Station, Oslo, Norway**

Assistant Minister Weasley was rather excited about his trip to the Norseland, despite the
hassles involved with getting the international portkey fashioned. He had visited Oslo once before,
for an international conference on uniform cauldron thickness standards, but that was as Barty
Crouch’s assistant. This time he was traveling alone, as the Minister’s personal representative, on
a mission vital to the Ministry’s very existence. That he had been given this responsibility became
more of an honor each time that Percy thought about it.

Percy’s pride and determination were immediately put to the test when he stepped out of the
portkey’s array of colors and onto solid ground. Rather than arrive at the main international
portkey platform that Hermione had used the previous night, the former Head Boy was shunted to a
secured area that looked more like a jail cell than an arrival area.

The frown on Percy’s face had only halfway formed when a full-body bind froze it in place.
Unable to voice his indignation with unmoving lips, it was only through his darkened eyes that his
anger could be displayed as two huge hobgoblins walked through the shimmering wards that spanned
across the cell entrance. Each held the sharp tips of their halberds underneath his chin. Following
behind the hobgoblins was a stern looking heavy-set witch, dressed in the uniform robes of an
immigration and control officer.

“Passport, please?” she asked using the Queen’s English.

Percy, of course, was in no condition to satisfy the request.

The witch’s eyes twinkled and her lips pursed into a tight-lipped grin.

“It seems like our visitor needs some assistance …do find his travel papers for me, won’t you,
boys?”

The hobgoblins howled and nodded vigorously as they rough handled Percy and stripped him down to
his tighty whities.

Percy’s Ministry of Magic-issued diplomatic passport was discovered within the never-full money
belt that he had been wearing underneath his robes, along with a little more than twenty thousand
galleons of Ministry funds (to be used to secure the services of the targeted Dutch mage). The
passport, money belt and Percy’s wand were handed to the witch, who furrowed her eyebrows as she
inspected the passport.

“I’ll be back shortly,” she said, more for the hobgoblin’s benefit than Percy’s.

Once the witch left the room Percy considered his limited options. Apparition was a wandless,
silent spell that he could cast despite the full-body bind, and he was within range of the Scottish
coastline. But he would lose not only his wand, but the twenty thousand galleons as well, and that
wasn’t a viable option (even if there weren’t anti-apparition wards in place, which there were). So
the Assistant Director decided it best to wait for this mess to be sorted out properly.

Ten minutes after she left the holding cell, the Norse official returned to the cell with her
wand in one hand and a fist-sized rock in the other.

“I’m about to partially remove the full-body bind, so that you can answer a few questions,” she
said. Tossing the rock up in her hand, she added, “Choose your responses wisely, or I’ll let the
hobgoblins stuff this return-trip portkey into the body cavity of their choice.“

Percy’s eyes dilated at the thought, and tried (but failed) to nod in understanding, as the
immigration official’s spell only allowed his jaw, tongue and lips to move. The first words out of
his lips, however, didn’t help his situation much.

“I am Percy Weasley, a Senior Cabinet Member of the British Minister of Magic who is traveling
under a diplomatic passport. Your treatment of me is abominable, completely unacceptable, and
worthy of a strongest possible protest filed with the ICW.”

The witch’s eyes narrowed. “Your claim of identity will only bear out once there’s time for any
Polyjuice potion you may have taken to wear off. As for your reception…if you are, in fact, Percy
Weasley, and currently in charge of the British Department of Transportation, you’ll surely realize
that it is no different than how all Norseland witches and wizards have been received into your
country for the past two years.”

“I assure you that I am Senior Undersecretary Percy Weasley, and that we treat foreign diplomats
far better than you are presently treating me.”

The official snorted. “We’ve got pensieved memories that show otherwise, so by all means, file
that protest with the Supreme Mugwump…I’ll bet that the new one won’t be nearly as sympathetic to
your cause as the old one was.”

Percy scowled, but knew that his situation was dire enough to justify an alternative
approach.

“Madame, I am on a mission that is vital to Britain’s ability to preserve the wizarding world’s
secrets. Surely you don’t want to hinder my government’s ability to comply with ICW statutes?”

“You’re having problems keeping our world’s secrets?” asked the witch. “Even more reason why
your threats to protest to the ICW are toothless. What exactly is your mission?”

“I am not at liberty to say,” Percy replied, looking nervously towards the hobgoblins.

The witch followed Percy’s eyes and smiled.

“Boys, give us a few minutes, will you?”

The hobgoblins cackled as they nodded their heads vigorously.

Percy winced as the head shaking caused the halberds to jiggle just enough to draw blood
underneath his chin.

Once the witch and Percy were alone in the cell, she asked, “What is your purpose to
travel?”

“I just told you that I am not at liberty to say, nor am I obligated to do so.”

The witch sighed. “What are your plans within the Norseland?”

“I plan on staying only long enough to secure an international portkey to Amsterdam.”

“Why not travel direct?” the witch asked with a smirk.

“I’m sure you know why,” Percy responded.

The immigration official gave Percy a calculating look.

“I have a strong sense that it will take a week or three for your application for an
international portkey to be processed. During that time you’ll remain here in this holding cell as
a potential terrorist threat.”

“A week or three?” Percy asked. “That’s outrag….I mean, I really don’t have that much time.”

“Yes, that’s what you said.”

Percy tried to slump his shoulders, and had to settle for a sigh. He knew what was going to be
necessary.

“Isn’t there some way,” he asked, “for the process to be…expedited?”

The witch smiled at Percy.

“I may be in a position to help you,” she replied. “Of course, there would be certain fees
charged to expedite your transit.”

“What kind of fees?” Percy asked.

The witch smiled as she fingered Percy’s money belt. “Nothing that you can’t afford, given the
undeclared funds that you tried to smuggle into our country.”

“Undeclared?” asked Percy, “You didn’t give me any opportunity to declare how much money I was
bringing into the country.”

“That’s your story,” the witch replied with a nod. “You would be within your rights to submit a
complaint to my supervisor, and to get a hearing before our Wizengamot on the matter…their next
scheduled meeting is in September.”

Percy scowled, knowing that his negotiating position was weak.

“So…what will it take to get a portkey to Amsterdam today?”

“Hmmm…..a ten-percent penalty on undeclared funds is about right.”

“That’s more than two thousand galleons?”

“Yes, I think that’s correct,” the witch replied with a grin. “Don’t worry…with that charmed
money belt you won’t even feel the loss in weight.”

“Fine,” said Percy, seeing no choice but to give into the bribe.

“Excellent,” the official said.

Percy almost cried as the witch cast a transfer spell that sent more than two thousand gold
coins flying up out of his money belt and into a charmed never-full pocket on her robes. Once the
arc of gold ended, the witch gave the wizard a smile as she buttoned the pocket shut and pointed
her wand towards his briefs.

“Portus,” she intoned, causing Percy’s underwear to glow bright blue.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Gave you what you wanted,” the corrupt official replied. “Your shorts are now a time-activated
one-way portkey to Amsterdam.”

“My shorts?”

“Yes,” said the witch, as she fully released the body-bind on Percy and tossed his passport,
money belt and wand down towards his feet. “You’ve got five minutes to get to the International
Portkey Departure Area, or else your undies will leave without you.”

“Five minutes?” Percy cried out. “How long will it take to get there?”

The witch laughed as she took down the ward guarding the cell entrance. “A minute and a half if
you run, but that’s just to the immigration desk. Once there, you’ll have to present your passport
and portkey to the officials at the gate..”

“Present them my underwear?” cried Percy.

The witch nodded. “Hope for your sake that there isn’t too much of a queue…and hope for their
sake that your shorts are relatively clean.”

Realizing that he’d already lost twenty seconds time and guessing that the witch was just evil
enough to have done what she claimed, a nearly naked British Undersecretary quickly gathered his
possessions into his arms and ran barefoot out of the cell and across the busy station.

**oo00OO00oo**

**37 Royal Park Terrace, Edinburgh**

A smartly-dressed thirty-something mother scolded her three young children to stop short of the
street curb as an armored Land Rover passed by. The soldier riding shotgun in the front seat looked
out his window at waved at the family.

“Let’s all be friendly to the brave army man, children,” the mother said quietly, as she smiled
at the soldier.

The two boys and one girl nodded heads and returned the hand wave as the army jeep passed
by.

“Now hold hands while we cross the street, children,” the mother said.

“Yes, mum,” the three replied in unison.

As they made their way across the crosswalk, one of the boys watched the Land Rover turn the
corner and exclaimed, “Merlin, that was close!”

“Charles!” the mother hissed. “Muggles don’t start sentences with the name Merlin! Now let’s
go…we’ve got but a few minutes remaining.”

“Yes, mum,” the boy replied.

The four covered the last two hundred meters of their walk as fast as the children’s little legs
could take them, and walked up the front steps of a lavish red-bricked row house that backed-up to
Holyrood Park. The mother fished her housekeys out of her purse, opened the door, and urged the
children to quickly enter the building.

After closing the door behind her, the young woman cuffed the ears of little Charles and hurled
out a string of curse words that would have made a Royal Marine blush.

“Oh, lay off, you ugly cow!” the boy sneered.

“Idiots…the lot of them,” the woman fumed, as the three made their way to the telly. She walked
through the foyer to the kitchen area that sat at the back of the house. A man dressed in black
robes was there, looking out a kitchen window with a pair of high-powered omnioculars.

“Have a nice walk, dear?” he asked.

“No, dear” replied the young mother, “those three almost got us….”

Rodolphus Lestrange turned away from the window and watched as a reverse transformation kicked
in and the muggle woman morphed mid-sentence.

“You were saying, Rookwood?”

The former Unspeakable shuttered, glad to be back within a male body. “It went fine until your
idiots almost got run over by an army vehicle.”

“But you were nice enough to return them to me safe and sound, yes? I do hope it was worth using
up the last of our polyjuice potion.”

Rockwood nodded. “It was. The entire route was crawling with muggle police and army.”

“And did you show them where they need to apparate?”

“Yes, as well as the guard post they’ll need to take out.” Rookwood paused, then added, “Those
three can apparate, right?”

Lestrange snorted. “You let me be the one to worry about my men…your job is done here.”

The former Unspeakable shook his head. “Not until you brief your group…who knows what kind of
stupid questions they might ask about the muggles.

Bellatrix’s husband scowled. He didn’t like having Rookwood around messing with the operation
that was on his head, and couldn’t wait to get rid of him.

“Fine, then, let’s get it over with,” he said. He called out for everyone to gather in the
sitting room. Lestrange then opened the basement door and called down to the guard who was minding
the shackled homeowner and the real mother and children that had just been doppelgangered.

“Wilson, get your arse up here,” he called out. “You can play with that bint later.”

The Death Eaterguard reluctantly walked up the stairs and joined the seventeen other Death
Eaters who had been cramped into this row house for the past day and a half.

“Right then,” said Lestrange, as he rolled out a parchment that contained a hand-drawn map.
“Time to fill you in on our plans for the day.”

“Our objective is quite simple…kill the muggle queen and as many of her party guests as we
can.”

Rookwood thought that there should have been a surprised gasp from the audience at this
announcement, then decided that the group was too ignorant as a whole to know that that meant.

Lestrange held up the morning newspaper that had been delivered to their door and pointed to a
front page picture of the taken during the Order of the Thistle ceremony.

“This is the Queen,” he stated, pointing to her picture. “This afternoon, she’s going to have a
little party, and has invited thousands of muggles to join her for tea and scones just down the
street.”

The Death Eater pointed towards the map and identified the Palace, its grounds, and the
surrounding area.

“We’ll be splitting into three groups, all dressed up like Ministry Aurors,” he stated. “I’ll
take six of you and portkey straight into the tented area. We’ll find the Queen, kill her, then
start creating chaos…we’ll get the muggle crowd good and panicked, and they’ll go screaming for the
exits….and that’s where the rest of you fit in.”

Rodolphus turned towards Terrance Hicks, an up-and-coming Death Eater.

“Hicks!”

“Yes, sir?”

“You’ll be in charge of six others in the second group,” he stated. Pointing towards the line of
trees that bordered the eastern edge of the party area, he added, “You’ll wait until I send up a
stream of red sparks into the sky, then direct-line apparate to these trees and massacre the
muggles as they try to escape towards the open lawn.”

“Where will we be to see your signal?”

“In the kitchen, fool,” replied Lestrange. “Why do you think I’ve been spending all of this time
looking out the back window with my omnioculars? You can see the tree line from here.”

“Right,” Terrance replied. “So what if something happens and you don’t give us the signal?”

Lestrange paused, then said, “In that very unlikely event, wait five minutes, then apparate to
the tree line and start hurling hexes…our Master wanted massive numbers of dead…one dead Queen is
just the pudding.”

“Hex until when?”

“Until there aren’t any more muggles to kill, idiot,” Lestrange replied. “That, or green
sparks…that’ll be the signal to use the portkeys that we handed out this morning. Oh, and you lot
will be wearing our concealment cloaks…try not to soil the insides.”

“No worries there, sir,” Hicks replied bravely.

“Right,” Rodolphus replied skeptically. He then pointed to the main entrance to the Garden Party
along the southern margin.

“The other escape route the muggles will try to use is the front entrance to the grounds. The
last three will ambush this area…they just come back from a little tour, and now know where they
need to go and what they need to do…right?”

The three Death Eaters who had been forced to impersonate muggle toddlers all nodded.

“So…any questions?”

“Yes…what about the muggle guards and their weapons?”

Rodolphus scowled. “You afraid of a muggle or something?”

“No, but….”

“Look, the muggle guards will have their fire sticks, but they won’t fire into a crowd of
muggles and they can’t fire at something they can’t see. Stay hidden and you’ll be fine.”

There were a few muttered comments, but until one of the wizards asked, “So why are we going to
wear Auror robes instead of our normal get-up?”

Rodolphus stared at the questioner. “Because I say so isn’t good enough for you?” He raised his
wand and had a curse on his lips before remembering he needed to limit magic use before the
attack.

“The purpose of wearing Auror Robes is to confuse the enemy.”

“The Ministry Aurors will be there?”

“No, idiot, but the Potter boy probably will be there,” Lestrange replied. “He’ll think twice
before ordering the muggle soldiers to mess with Aurors, and once we start killing them he’ll think
that it’s the Ministry that’s attacked, instead of us.”

“But won’t we cast the Dark Mark?”

“No, we won’t cast the Dark Mark,” Rodolphus mimicked with a sneer. “Any other stupid
questions?”

When met with silence, Lestrange nodded. “First wave will leave just as soon as we hear Big Ben
chime two…and we won’t be coming back here, so if you need to play with our muggle hosts, do it
now.”

Rodolphus shook his head as a line quickly formed down the basement stairs. He had nothing
against debauchery, and recognized it as a necessary component of his carrot-and-stick leadership
style, but wished sometimes that his men would be more interested in evil activity performed on a
grander scale. He looked up at Rookwood and asked, “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Rookwood shook his head dismissively. “Good luck, Lestrange….I think that you’ll need it.”

The former Unspeakable then removed a portkey from his pocket and activated it.

**oo00OO00oo**

**MLE Director’s Office, Ministry of Magic**

A little more than two hours after Susan Bones escaped from her Ministry internship, Head Auror
Gawain Robards was called into his boss’s office to provide an update on his investigation. The MLE
Director chose not to offer Robards a seat during their meeting...after the painful negotiations
conducted on behalf of his subordinate, Oswald wasn’t very happy the Head Auror.

“Robards,” he said, “I’ve just spent the past hour and a half trying to get you the Magical
Surveillance Office records that you’ve requested.”

“How did it go, sir?”

“Better than I expected, actually,” the Director replied. “It will be an independent review of
spell use over the past few months.”

“Independent of the Auror Department?”

Oswald nodded. “And that was only after I leaned on my nephew Rufus and offered a wizard’s oath
that none of my people would be provided direct access to the parchments.”

“So when do we get the results?” Robards asked excitedly. “And what kind of results can we
get?”

The Director rolled his eyes as he stood away from his desk.

“Follow me, young man,” he said, leading the Head Auror out of the door.

Oswald walked down the length of cubicles to a hard-walled office that had stood empty since its
last occupant had revealed himself as one of Voldemort’s Ministry spies. Pulling out his wand, he
touched its tip against the door handle. The restrictive wards recognized the authorized wand
signature, and allowed the door to swing open.

“Don’t lean into the doorway,” the MLE Director warned. “That ward line will give a nasty shock
to anyone not authorized entry.

The Head Auror nodded as he took note of both the magically expanded walls and the mountains of
parchment scrolls piled high behind a row of small desks. Sitting behind these desks were a
half-dozen Ministry house elves, each reviewing a scroll that provided the “what,” “where,” and
“when” of every magical spell detected by the Ministry over the past two months.

“They dumped everything on us, didn’t they…tried to bury us in data?” the Head Auror asked.

“It looks that way,” Oswald replied. “And these six house elves are all I could get assigned to
the task of finding portkey makers in amongst the food warming charms and hair grooming
spells.”

“Can we narrow the search down to certain weeks, or certain regions of the country?” asked the
Head Auror.

Oswald shook his head. “I don’t think so…the scrolls were dumped helter-skelter, and have been
charmed to be spell resistant.”

“So we can’t use indexing and data gathering spells?”

Agreeing with a head nod, Oswald said, “A fine example of how to comply with Minister
Scrimgeour’s direct orders without making our task any easier.”

Robards snorted. “So have the house elves found anything yet?”

The MLE Director looked expectantly at one of the house elves, who looked up and said, “No
Portus spells yet, Mister Head Auror, Sir.”

“How many scrolls have you reviewed so far?” Gawain asked.

“Twenty-nine, Sir.”

“And do we know how many total scrolls there are?”

“Two hundred sixty-three thousand and forty six, Mister Head Auror, Sir.”

Robards swore under his breath.

“You’ll be getting interim reports on the research results,” the MLE Director stated.

“Directly, or after they’ve been filtered through the Minister’s office?”

“Does it matter if you still get the data you need to complete your investigation?” Oswald
asked.

The Head Auror thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Not so long as I can get some
assurances that none of the relevant data will be edited out for….political purposes.”

The MLE Director nodded in understanding as he shut the. “I’ll make sure that your concerns
reach my nephew’s ears, Mr. Robards…now, you do have other things to do while you wait for the
results, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” the Head Auror replied. “Thank you for your help, sir.”

“You’re welcome, young man,” Oswald replied, pleased that he had once again been able to defuse
a politically challenging situation.

The Head Auror considered his next steps as he watched the satisfied wizard walk back towards
his office.

Once Oswald turned the corner and disappeared, Robards developed a sudden urge to get an update
on the Dementors situation from that week’s Acting Director of Magical Beasts and Beings.

And if, during the course of that conversation with Lisa Turpin, the Head Auror were to share a
memory or two, and lament about being that close to full access to MSO archives, well…one was
allowed to commiserate with colleagues, right?

**oo00OO00oo**

**11:15am, Palace at Holyroodhouse, Edinburgh**

As Neville’s helicopter approached Holyrood he was provided an excellent overview of the
defensive positions established in advance of the Garden Party. The party tents were pitched on the
grounds immediately south of the Palace, with SO14 Royal Protection Group Units stationed at the
Palace entrance (along side a British Army tank), the separate street entrance to the party, and up
on the Palace rooftop. Regular army positions were established all along the perimeter of the
Palace grounds, and were also dug into the high ground of Salisbury Craggs and Arthur’s Seat to the
South. The local constabulary formed the outermost defensive shell, and were deployed on
checkpoints along the city streets that approached the Palace from the West. During the Party,
these police would shut down all vehicular and pedestrian traffic within one-quarter mile of the
event.

A temporary heliport had been established on the far end of the Parade Grounds (a wide expanse
of lush green lawn behind the Palace), and it was here that Neville and his muggle Phoenix Team
partner were dropped off. The Gryffindor was pleased to discover that both Harry and Susan were
waiting for their arrival with a Land Rover and driver. After a smart salute to Harry and a hug for
Susan, Neville took aim at the bright red kilts that both his girlfriend and Harry were
wearing.

“Should I be worrying over the fact that you two are color coordinated, Major?” he teased.

“I’ve got one with your name on it, if you want, Lieutenant,” Harry replied with a smirk.

“Thanks but no thanks, Harry,” said Neville, as they all piled into the vehicle. “So how did you
manage to get away from the Palace…would have thought you’d be far too busy right now to take the
time.”

“Time to brief the troops,” Harry replied. “This was on the way, and I figured you’d appreciate
the company during a ride up to your posting.”

Neville grinned as Susan squeezed his hand and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“We’re already deployed, then?” asked Andy.

Harry nodded. “It’ll take a few minutes to get there, given the terrain.” He then turned towards
his friends and added, “A few minutes, at least, for you two to catch up.”

Neville took the hint, and spent the balance of the trip up Whinny Hill chatting with his
girlfriend.

**oo00OO00oo**

When the jeep reached the top of the hill, Harry and Andy piled out, giving Neville and Susan
enough privacy for a good-bye kiss before she made the return trip with the driver to the Palace.
It took a few minutes to pick their way down the steep north-facing slope to where Lee Jordan’s
muggle partner had set up a sentry.

“Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?” Stout Downey demanded.

Harry smiled and turned to Neville.

“You’ve got honors here, Lieutenant.”

“Do I have to sing it?”

“You bet your arse you do!” replied Stout with a grin.

Nevil sighed, then sang out the correct answer in a childish falsetto.

“Sponge Bob, Squarepants!”

As the muggle Phoenix Team member saluted and allowed them to pass Neville asked, “What happened
to all of the Monty Python challenges? I liked those a lot better than these Yank muggle cartoon
references.”

Harry laughed. “These are a lot safer, Nev….there’s always the chance that a Death Eater would
actually know the airspeed velocity of an unladed swallow.”

“I suppose,” Neville groused, as they reached the rest of the squadron.

The magical paratroop squadron had deployed to Whinny Hill, which looked down upon St.
Margaret’s Loch and the Parade Grounds immediately behind the Palace. There were better views of
the Garden Party tents, and shorter sniping distances from the Army’s positions, but the TPOMS
position provided cover for their brooms, and the best spot to deal with any magical party crashers
that tried to drop in.

Neville and Andy’s arrival made for five complete Phoenix Teams…an all-Gryffindor line-up of
pilots that included Katie, Alicia, Lee Jordan and Seamus. Harry’s arrival gave Fred Weasley and
anchor point, and he badge-jumped to the TPOMS position from Diagon Alley so that there’d be at
least one Art Club badge on the hill. Fred left his brother behind as an anchor point for Diagon in
case of an attack there. As for the others

…Ron was at the Ministry, Dean Thomas was at Windsor (as an enrolled Summer Institute student
who was also helping his Phoenix Team partner Emily Granger with security), and Roger Granger was
on guard duty at Charing Cross. In a pinch, though, all but Dean could be summoned in a
near-instant through their badges.

“Right,” said Harry, once they arrived. “So, the new arrivals should talk with the others after
the briefing…they can fill you in on what happened this morning when I tested the ward shunt.”

“Still think you should have gone all out and taken the dive, Sir,” quipped New Six.

“Yes, well, the water isn’t that warm, and a seventy foot drop into the lake is still a seventy
foot drop,” Harry replied.

The Gryffindor pilots all nodded. The anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards that enveloped the
Palace and its immediate surroundings included a shunt that would cause any would-be intruders to
materialize over the loch, some 500 yards southeast of the Palace.

“So, just to be clear,” Harry added. “Wands and stunners only if the wards trip and uninvited
guests show up over the water, unless you’re ordered otherwise.”

“Aww…can’t the gunnies pick off the bad wizard birdies as well, sir?” asked New Six.

Harry shook his head. “Not unless ordered to do so, sergeant…. we can’t discount the possibility
that some idiots at the Ministry might try to crash the party.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier said.

“And take care of your aim…we will have wands on the ground down there.”

Alicia Spinnet led the other squadron members in a good laugh. “No chance of mistaking you for a
Death Eater in that outfit, Major Potter.”

Harry scowled at Alicia for a second, then joined in on the laughter. She and Katie had
transfigured the squadron’s camouflage outfits to match the colors of the weathered rocks that
surrounded him. The Queen’s Wizard’s crimson and gold tartan kilt stood in stark (and literal)
contrast.

“I’m sorry,” Alicia said, “You look very handsome in that skirt.”

“Would look better flying overhead on a broom, though,” Katie added. “We’d get to see whether
Harry was going traditional, or not.”

“Now Lieutenants,” said New Six with mock seriousness. “Within the British Army it is considered
bad form to cause your commanding officer to blush.”

“But on the Gryffindor Quidditch team it was par for the course,” Harry replied with a grin. He
then added, “Just be sure to switch over to tartan if you go airborne.”

Harry then looked around and then asked, “Are you set for lunch?”

Sergeant Beemer nodded. “We can wait until after the party is over, sir.”

“Nonsense,” Harry replied. “You’ve got some time now...Dobby?”

Harry’s ADC popped up a few feet away from them, wearing a pair of omnioculars around his neck
and full elf-sized kilt that matched Harry’s tartan.

With an exaggerated salute, the house-elf announced, “ADC Dobby is here, Major Harry Potter,
sir.”

Major Potter returned the salute. “Everything set at the gate, Dobby?”

“Yes sir, Major Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby replied. “Dobby has the perfect place to check for
Dark Marks.”

“Great,” Harry replied. “I’ll swing by later…but in the meantime, would you please bring the
squadron some of those box lunches that are set out under the tent?”

When his ADC’s eyes bulged out a bit, and he bit his lip, Harry knew that something was up.
“What’s wrong, Dobby?” he asked.

“Sorry, Major Harry Potter, sir, but…but does Major Potter sir know what is in those white
boxes?”

“Erm, not really,” Harry replied. “Please tell me.”

“Yes, Major Potter, sir…those boxes be containing white bread and cucumber sandwiches.” Dobby
then leaned even closer to Harry and loudly whispered, “Dobby does not want to say bad things about
Major Potter’s Queen’s muggle cooks, but they forgot to put the crust on the bread!”

“Hmmm,” said Harry, “Not very filling, I agree…then Private Dobby, will you see to it that my
squadron is fed a proper lunch?”

The ADC jumped up and down as he nodded, giving the pom-pom on his knit cap quite a workout.
“Yes, sir, Major Harry Potter, sir.”

“Oh, and bring an extra box, for me, will you?” asked Harry. “I’d take a ploughman’s lunch over
cucumber sandwiches any day of the week.”

**oo00OO00oo**

The TPOMS squadron was halfway through their lunch when Alica’s Phoenix Team partner thought to
ask about something about Harry’s ADC.

“Major Potter?”

“Yes, Coley?”

“What kind of binoculars did your aide-de-camp have around his neck?”

“Magical ones,” Harry replied. “They’re called omnioculars.”

“And the marks that he’ll be looking for, they’re tattoos on the left forearm, right?”

When Harry nodded, the sergeant added, “So those omni-whatevers give you x-ray vision?”

“That’s right,” replied Harry. “They’re specially modified…normal omnioculars don’t allow you to
see through clothing.”

“Hold on, Harry,” said Fred. “So Dobby is going to be able to see every guest like they were
walking around starkers?”

“More or less,” the Queen’s Wizard replied.

“Harry!” Katie exclaimed. “You can’t be serious!”

“I’m deadly serious when it comes to the Queen’s protection…I’ll not have marked Death Eaters
crashing the party if I can help it.”

Shaking her head, Alicia said, “So it was considered too invasive to have guests scanned by
soldiers using thermal imagers, but it’s not too invasive to have Dobby getting a naked
eyeful?”

Harry sighed. “That’s exactly why Dobby’s the right man, erm….right house-elf for the job….do
you think he’ll care about seeing 8,000 naked human bodies?”

“No, but…”

“He’s a house-elf, Alicia…he won’t make a big deal of it.”

“But that doesn’t mean….”

“Look,” Harry said with a bit of exasperation. “Would you get all hot and bothered if you were
asked to look at 8,000 naked house elf bodies? Could you even tell the difference between the males
and females?”

“Erm, probably not…”

“How about 8,000 nude goblins?”

“Now, that’s downright unsettling.”

Harry grinned. “I’m sure that they’d think the same were the roles reversed.”

After a pause, Neville asked, “But what about the playback feature?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Harry said, “Oh, yeah…didn’t think of that.”

“Sure you didn’t,” New Six said with a grin. “So by the end of the day, you’ll have naked
pictures of everyone with an invite….got a guest list handy?”

“Dare I ask why you ask?”

“Well,” the muggle warrior replied, “I’m wondering whether it’d be worth my time to volunteer to
review the tape afterwards…just in case the little guy missed something.”

“Oh, you are a perv, aren’t you New Six?” stated Katie.

Harry chuckled. “Not that you’d have any interest in monitoring Full Monty’s, eh Katie?”

“Harry!”

“You did know that Sean Connery is on the guest list, right?”

Alicia laughed. “The old James Bond bloke? What’s he…a hundred and two?”

“Watch it, erm…Lieutenant,” said Sergeant Colbert. “There’s only one Bond…all the others that
came afterwards are pale imitations.”

“Nothing pale about that new one in the chair scene, except maybe his hair color,” quipped
Katie. “So is he coming, Harry?”

“Who?”

“Daniel Craig,” said “Blade”Easton.

Harry frowned. “Don’t think so…he’s English. But Obi-Wan will be there.”

“Ooooh, baby!” said Katie. “I’ll volunteer to examine his light saber for dark marks!”

“Star Wars fan, Katie?” asked Harry.

“Of course,” she replied. “Just because I’m a witch doesn’t mean I’ve stopped going to the
muggle cinema.”

“Thought Sir Alec was dead?” said New Six, shaking his head in disgust.

“The younger Obi-Wan,” Harry replied. “Ewan McGregor.”

New Six rolled his eyes. “You kids…turning your backs on the great actors of the day.”

“Great in your day, maybe,” Alicia replied. “And shouldn’t it be ‘You higher-ranking kids’?”

“Ma’am, yes, Ma’am,” the muggle replied with a rakish salute.

“She does have a point, though,” said Blade.

“How’s that?”

“Well, if you got some x-ray glasses on your hands, who’d you rather ogle…Princess Leia or
Padme?”

“But….in that slave outfit, with the ear-muff hair…Princess Leia was hot!” protested New
Six.

“Yeah, she was hot…twenty-five years ago,” Blade noted. “But we’re talking today…a fifty-year
old Carrie Fisher or a twenty-something Natalie Portman?”

“Hmmmmm…”

“Well, don’t get your hopes up,” said Harry, as he reviewed the short-list of VIPs that were to
be admitted to the Queen’s private tent. “Neither of them got an invitation that I can see.”

Katie made a reach for the list. “Oooh, can I see that, Harry?”

The Queen’s Wizard smiled as he snatched it away from Katie’s grasp. “Need to know, Lieutenant
Bell,” he said with a grin.

“Yes, Sir.”

Harry’s badge flashed with a call from Hermione that kept him from sinking any further down into
flirty trouble with his troops.

“We just deplaned, Harry,” she stated.

“Great…our cars are waiting for you?”

“Right in front of us,” Hermione replied. “Got a few minutes to ride in with us?”

Harry looked at his troops and smiled. “Let me know when you’ve reached the shed.”

After deactivating the badge, he said, “I’m heading out…I’m going to do my best not to do any
magic, just so my muggle comm. gear keeps working. But if all hell does break loose, well, that’s
why Fred is here. I want him to be the squadron’s comm. specialist…with his Art Club badge, he’ll
be able to contact me and the others even if magic fries all of the electronics.”

“Right,” Fred replied. “So they answer to me, then?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “No Fred, they’ll talk to you if their comm. gear fails.”

The Queen’s Wizard’s badge then lit up with word that it was safe for him to badge-jump.

“Stay safe, you guys.”

“Sir, Yes Sir!” replied the Phoenix Teamers.

**oo00OO00oo**

Harry badge-jumped to Hermione’s anchored position within an airport shed. Not wishing to keep
their guests waiting, they kept the welcome snog modest, and were soon on their way with the ICW
delegation towards the Palace.

The short trip gave both Harry and the group of foreign magicals scarce time to size each other
up, but first impressions were positive all around. Along the route, Harry pointed out the
different layers of security that were in place, along with the location of Gilmerton Close and the
MI-5 ¾ observation post that sat opposite.

Once the group arrived at the Palace, Harry passed out lanyards and security credentials to the
guest witch and wizards, then led them straight to the State Apartments, where the Queen was
preparing for the Party. She seemed genuinely pleased to meet the foreign witch and wizards, and to
have the opportunity to personally thank both the Emperor’s Wizard and King’s Wizard for responding
to her request for aid. The Queen wasn’t startled at all by the imposing presence of the Maori
sorcerer, and greeted him with a few words in his native language. This struck Harry as odd, until
Hermione reminded him that his boss was still the Queen of New Zealand and its Head of State.

When the group of foreign magicals accepted the Queen’s invitation to stay for the Party, she
called on one of her muggle retainers to provide them with appropriate “Potter Plaid.” Neither the
Emperor’s Wizard nor the Maori sorcerer were all that interested in changing out of their native
garb, and expressed those sentiments once their audience with the Queen had ended. Harry was
sympathetic.

“Look,” he said, “I’m not thrilled with wearing this costume either, but it’s a security
issue…I’ll be more than happy to take you up to the roof and point out for you all of the snipers
who have standing orders to shoot anyone wielding a wand that’s not wearing our tartan.”

The Emperor’s Wizard smiled. “So it’s the use of a wand that is objectionable, rather than using
magic itself?”

Harry nodded. “We want to make it as easy as possible to identify the magicals on our side.”

“But what if my Maori friend and I don’t use wands?”

Harry pursed his lips, and turned to Hermione.

“Sounds like a viable exception to me,” she replied.

“Excellent,” replied the Emperor’s Wizard.

“So if I learn how to do wandless magic, I can get out of wearing kilts?” asked Harry.

Hermione smiled. “Did you really need that kind of incentive?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “No, but every little bit helps.”

**oo00OO00oo**

While the King’s Wizard, the Swedish witch, and Bengali wizard were being kitted out in tartan,
Harry briefed the ICW on the Order of Arthur, and Hermione badge-jumped to the Round Tower to
retrieve copies of the Official Secrets Act and the Treaty of Carlisle. She considered these
documents to be a good place to start if the ICW had questions about how Harry and Hermione had
handled the wizarding world’s secrecy statutes.

When Hermione returned to Scotland there was still a bit of time before the gates opened for the
invited Garden Party guests. The group therefore decided to split up. The King’s Witch and Bengali
wizard were given use of a meeting room to begin their document review, Hermione took Thorson on an
inspection of her wards, and the Queen’s Wizard led the other the Japanese and Maori wizards to the
Palace’s rooftop for a bird’s eye view of the grounds and their established defenses.

Harry’s tour started with the muggle sniper and SO14 observation posts established along the
roofline. Matsuhisa and Rongo both raised an eyebrow at the level of interaction between the
Queen’s Wizard and the muggle security men, but held off asking questions until the three were
standing apart from the muggles.

“Are all of these muggles card-carriers, Sir Harry?” Matsuhisa asked.

“Please, it’s Harry,” the Queen’s Wizard asked. “And the only one that’s aware of the wizarding
world, as far as I know, is that spotter over there with the thermal imaging equipment attached to
his helmet.”

“But they were all addressing you as the Queen’s Wizard?”

“Yes they were,” Harry explained. “But they think that means that I’m a muggle magician, rather
than an actual wizard.”

“Why, then, did they act so deferential?”

“Because it’s….well, it’s rather complicated,” Harry replied. “The muggles that are part of the
Royal Protection Unit have all been think that I am an undercover MI-5 agent, posing as the Queen’s
Wizard.”

“So you’re pretending to be a muggle secret agent who is posing as a muggle magician?”

Harry replied, “No, I really am a MI-5 agent…at least on paper. Haven’t gone through their
secret spy school or anything, but the position is the only way a scrawny teenager like me can get
any respect from this crowd.”

“And why, exactly, do you need their respect, if I might ask?”

Harry paused, then replied, “Because I’m in charge of the protection of the Queen against
magical attack, and since we can’t expect the Ministry of Magic to come to our aid, I can’t do that
job without the help of muggles.”

“So…I’m sorry Harry, but I am just trying to understand,” the Japanese wizard said. “You are
using muggles to fight against magical threats that they know nothing about?”

“Not quite,” Harry replied. “I’m using muggles to help fight against magical threats that
they’ve been told are muggle threats.”

“But how?”

Harry began to explain about thermal imaging equipment, electronic sensors, and the muggle
terrorist threats within Britain that existed independent of Voldemort, when he felt a tug on his
kilt.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Harry said, as he took a piece of parchment from an invisible hand.
“Thank you, Private.”

“Yes, Sir, Major Harry Potter, Sir!” whispered the invisible house elf before disappearing.

The Queen’s Wizard opened up the parchment and learned, via a chain that included the Head
Auror, Lisa Turpin and Luna’s knickers, that a half-dozen house elves within the MLE now had access
to the records of the Magical Surveillance Office within the Ministry. Thinking it best not to
discuss the message with his guests at that time, Harry decided to raise the issue with Hermione
after the Party and pocketed the memo.

“Are we keeping you from something, Harry?” asked the Emperor’s Wizard.

“No, no…just a message delivered by my Aide-de-Camp.”

While Matsuhisa’s magic had enabled him to detect the Dobby’s presence, he chose not to ask why
a house-elf was working for Harry as a military aide.

“So,” the Emperor’s Wizard said, as he turned back to a view of the tents below, “you really
expect to fit thousands of muggles within that small area without magic?”

Harry smiled. “Well, to be honest, there will be a few witches and wizards within that number,
but yes, that’s the general idea. They won’t be down there all at once, though…we convinced the
Queen to open up portions of the Palace that aren’t normally available to the general public. We’ve
also had a military band set up within the Palace courtyard…between that and the tours, we hope to
have a fair number of guests protected by the Palace walls at any point in time.”

Matsuhisa frowned as he looked down at the Palace’s stone walls. “Do you expect the structure to
protect them from magical attacks?”

“No…more like I hope that they’ll be protected from being seen and targeted using magical
attacks,” Harry replied. “And if there there are party crashers, and magic starts flying about,
there will be that many less people in need of a potential memory charm.”

The Emperor’s Wizard nodded, impressed with Harry’s planning. “The tents are within Ambassador
Granger’s wards, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Harry replied. “So that should keep the bad guys from popping directly into the
crowds…but that said, we don’t have any “Lines of Death” set up to keep a Death Eater from
apparating just outside of the ward line and either casting spells through the wards, or walking
through them and getting to the crowd that way.”

The Japanese and Maori wizards considered Harry’s words as he pointed out the perimeter of the
wards. There were already foot patrols in place along these boundaries, involving both thermal
imagery device-wearing army troops and police K-9 patrols.

The Emperor’s Wizard then asked, “Is there anything we can do to help, Harry?”

The Queen’s Wizard thought for a moment, then nodded. “If any of you would be willing to mingle
down there during the Party, we could always use a few more defensive shields in case of an attack.
Other than that……”

Harry looked up at the sky and frowned. The afternoon rain showers that the muggle
meteorologists had predicted hadn’t materialized yet, and he had thought that a good downpour might
keep the guest numbers down, or at least more inclined to take cover under the tents or inside the
Palace.

“Either of you two happen to know a good rain charm?” he asked.

The Shinto shaman looked over at the Maori sorcerer and they both smiled.

“Rongo should be able to help you there, Harry,” Matsuhisa replied.

**oo00OO00oo**

A dispirited cheer rose from the long queue of guests when the wrought-iron gates to the Palace
grounds swung open at precisely one o’clock that afternoon. A heavy rainstorm had come almost out
of nowhere to soak the crowd as they huddled beneath umbrellas. No one in line picked up on the
fact that the most intense rainfall came from a low-hanging black cloud that (unlike all of the
other clouds) inexplicably stayed firmly in place over their heads.

The rain had caused only a few of the guests to abandon the line…if the threat of terrorist
attack wasn’t enough to frighten them away from the event, then a little inclement weather
certainly couldn’t. Those that did pass through the gates, however, found that the rain decided to
follow them, and (exactly as Harry had hoped) did make it a point to cram into the tents, and to
linger during the Palace tours.

The Palace staff positioned at the head of the line was protected by their own small white tent,
under which each guest was required to produce their official invitation and picture identification
card. Once past that checkpoint, the guests were escorted past the watchful eyes of the Royal
Protection Unit, as well as a small, waist-high metal box and a heavy black curtain. Behind the
curtain stood MI- 5 ¾ agent Helen Wall, brought in for the day to hold the same dowsing rod that
had been used to locate Hufflepuff’s Cup within the muggle landfill. Within the metal box that was
warded with a weak notice-me-not charm stood Dobby, who was getting an eyeful of human flesh as he
held the special omnioculars to his eyes.

These magical sensors provided overlapping coverage…the omnioculars were great for spotting
certain tattoos, but couldn’t be set to detect magical objects at the same time. In turn, the
dowsing rod that Steve’s mum held was great at catching magical objects blindly from beneath the
curtain.

There were more than a few people with magical objects on their person that gave Agent Wall’s
dowsing rod a sharp jerk as they passed by the curtain. Whenever this happened, Helen gave a signal
to a card-carrying colleague, who isolated the targeted guest from the others and politely escorted
them to a separate, closed wall tent for a little chat with the Headmistress of Hogwarts, who
greeted those who were recognized as Hogwarts alumni and quizzed the rest.

Remus Lupin was stationed within this separate tent to cover Minerva’s back, and provided Harry
an anchor point when the Queen’s Wizard badge-jumped to the gate just a few minutes before the
Queen officially arrived at the Party. He appeared within a small curtain-walled changing room.

“Bit of a tight fit, isn’t it?” asked Harry.

The lycanthrope shrugged his shoulders as he led his former student out into the tent proper.
“It’s beyond prying eyes.”

Harry nodded as he looked around. They were standing at the back of the tent, about twenty feet
behind Headmistress McGonagall, who was seated at a table in front of the tent entrance. She was
presently explaining to a witch and wizard who were on the guest list why they needed to either
change into Potter Plaid or check their wands at the gate for the duration of the Party.

“So, have there been any muggles here yet?”

“Yes, one,” Remus replied. “A muggle man came through wearing a charmed signet ring that he
didn’t know was magical.”

“What kind of magic?”

Remus smiled. “Fertility and sex selection charms…poor man probably hasn’t a clue why all of his
children are boys and why condoms break every time he tries to use one.”

“The kind of ring a wizard Head of House wears to ensure an heir, then?”

“Minerva thinks so,” Lupin replied.

“So what was the muggle doing with that ring, and why would it work on him?”

“We think he’s part of a clan whose magical line died out a few centuries back,” explained
Remus. “And the man was probably born with just enough magical core to unknowingly charge the
ring.”

“Sort of a muggle-born squib?”

Lupin thought for a moment. “Something like that.”

“So what did you do?” asked Harry.

“We let him pass,” replied Remus. “The ring was relatively benign…at least to us…and not really
a security threat.”

As Harry and Remus were talking, a mousy-looking middle-aged witch emerged from a changing room
wearing horned-rimmed glasses and a Potter Plaid ankle-length skirt and shawl. The scowl on her
face disappeared just as soon as she spotted Harry wearing the same tartan.

“Oh, my word, it’s Harry Potter!” she exclaimed, as she walked towards him.

“Erm…yes?” asked Harry.

“How exciting,” the witch exclaimed. “I thought that this was just a rude prank, but to see the
Boy-Who-Lived in the same plaid….is it really the Potter Clan tartan?”

Harry sighed…fan girls were bad enough, but fan spinsters?. “Yes, it is…Ms…?”

“Litella,” the witch replied. “Emily Litella.”

“So what brings you to the Garden Party, Mrs. Litella?”

The witch grabbed Harry’s arm. “It’s Miss, but you can call me Emily.”

Harry nodded. “I apologize for the necessary change in wardrobe, Miss…erm, Emily, but we must
not have recognized your name on the guest list as someone who was magical.”

“I’m not surprised, Harry….oh, I’m sorry, is it okay for me to call you Harry?”

Sporting a tight-lipped grin, Harry nodded.

“Well, you see, Harry,” the witch continued, “I was raised in London as a half-blood, but Papa
was French, and simply insisted that I attend Beauxbaton instead of Hogwarts.”

“How interesting,” Harry responded politely. “And now, you’ve become involved in the muggle
world?”

“Oh, yes,” the witch replied. “As a child I became enthralled with muggle literature…loved it so
much that after Beauxbatons I received a muggle University degree in English at Aberdeen, then
became a writer of children’s stories.”

“I see…and it’s your work as a Scottish author of muggle children’s books that brought you
here?”

“Why I imagine that it is,” the witch replied. “This is my third invitation, but the first, of
course, with you as Queen’s Wizard. I was so excited, but also a little afraid given the attacks,
so I brought my wand along, just in case.”

Harry followed the witch’s hand as she pointed towards her hair, which was rolled up in a tight
bun and pinned in place with a wand. Realizing that it was almost time for the Queen and Prince to
appear, he then said. “Well, it was very interesting to meet you, Miss Litella, and I appreciate
your cooperation with our security.”

The witch’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you, Harry. Would you….could I get your autograph?”

Remus was failing miserably in his attempt to contain his giggles. Harry did his best to ignore
his former DADA Professor and remember that this sort of thing was now part of his job as Queen’s
Wizard. He pulled a ball-point pen out from the inside pocket of his Argyle suit jacket and signed
the witch’s invitation. But then the witch opened her purse and pulled out a black Sharpie marker
and asked, “And the shawl, as well?”

Harry grimaced, but took the marker from her and reached towards the loose end of the
garment.

“Oh, Harry….if you don’t mind….could you sign where all of my friends could see?” the witch
asked.

“And where would that be?”

The witch smiled as she pointed to the patch of tartan that covered her chest. “Front and
center, if I could be so bold?”

Remus had to turn his back and cast a silencing spell on himself. Figuring it was the only way
to get rid of the spinster, Harry took a deep breath, lightly grabbed the length of shawl that
draped across the witch’s breasts and held it taut, so that the pen could mark the wool cloth
without pressing down against the witch’s bits.

“There you go,” said Harry, noticing that Miss Litella had closed her eyes and held her breath
in anticipation of physical contact.

The woman opened her eyes, looked down at her shawl, and sighed. It wasn’t exactly what she
wanted, but it would do.

“Thank you, Harry,” the witch said, much too breathlessly for his liking. Too flustered to ask
for her marker back, the woman turned and walked out of the tent with a Cheshire Cat-sized grin on
her face.

Remus Lupin wordlessly cancelled the self-applied silencing charm and asked, “Oh, Harry, will
you autograph my kilt too?”

Harry switched the grip on the marker to something more like a knife grip and gave his friend
and mentor a murderous look. Acting as if the Headmistress (who was within earshot) could still
give him detention for foul language, Harry bit his tongue, and promised that he’d be more than
willing to give Remus his autograph “at a later time and place of my choosing.”

As the Queen’s Wizard stepped back inside a changing room to badge-jump back to the Palace,
Remus wondered whether he had just asked to be pranked in a very big way.

**oo00OO00oo**

At precisely 1:30 pm, a military band played “God Save the Queen” and the monarch and her
consort stepped out of a side door along the south wall of the Palace. More than a few guests
noticed that the heavy rains stopped just as soon as the Queen appeared and considered it a
fortuitous coincidence. The Queen’s Wizard, who stepped out right behind the Queen, knew
better.

The Royal Company of Archers, acting as the Queen’s ceremonial bodyguard whist at the Palace,
formed two separate corridors in front of the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh by linking arms and long
bows together. These corridors formed a “meet and greet” line for each of the Royals, so that they
could say a few words to a very small number of preselected invited guests.

The corridors formed separate circuitous routes around the tented area, ending up at the small
enclosure known as the Queen’s Tent, where the Royals would spend almost all of their time during
the event with the First Minister, the First 007, and forty or fifty other VIP’s. Harry and the
Japanese wizard followed behind the Queen at a polite distance, while Hermione and the Norwegian
wizard did the same within the Duke’s route. Despite the different routes, and the seemingly
variable amounts of time spent by the Queen talking with her selected subjects, both she and the
Duke arrived at the Queen’s Tent at precisely the same time. Once inside, Harry made note of this
synchronization, to which the Queen simply replied, “Years of practice, Lord Gryffindor.”

Rongo, the rugby shirt-wearing sorcerer, watched this process from the roofline. Once the Royals
were safely under roof, he got back in touch with the clouds, and encouraged them to give the
Palace grounds a good soaking that forced almost all of the guests to run for cover.

While the Queen and Duke made the rounds inside the tent, the Japanese wizard pulled Harry aside
and pointed to the tent walls.

“This material is canvas, isn’t it?”

“I think so,” Harry replied.

“Has it been charmed?”

The Queen’s Wizard nodded. “Beefed up shields and fire suppression charms.”

“Good,” Matsuhisa replied. “I was going to offer to work with the material myself, but it’s
always more difficult for me to commune with dead plant matter.”

Harry nodded. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know much about your style of magic…it sounds a bit like
what our druids used to use.”

The Japanese wizard nodded. “Very much so, Harry…both Rongo and I work with the elements as well
as the spirits within plants and animals.”

Harry might have been as enthusiastically interested in learning more as Hermione would have
been, but did wonder if there was something there that might constitute “The power the Dark Lord
knows not.” But that conversation was for another, less stressful time, and Harry excused himself
to scan the crowd of VIPs and do a radio check with his forces, both muggle and magical.

**oo00OO00oo**

Rodolphus and his crew were huddled around the radio within the kitchen of their uninvited guest
house, when the top of the hour was reached and the BBC announced the time with the toll of Big
Ben’s bells. “That’s it, then,” he said firmly. “The attack is on.”

Turning to his troops, he promised to kill anyone who didn’t follow their orders, grabbed hold
of a small wooden hoop along with the six in the primary attack team, and activated the
portkey.

**oo00OO00oo**

Hermione and Harry were within the Queen’s Tent, engaged in a rather playful conversation with
Prince Harry and his girlfriend Penelope (who had traveled up for the party) when two loud gonging
noises sounded, one after the other.

“Bollocks!” Harry quietly swore, as he drew his wand from his jacket sleeve.

“I’ll check the wards,” Hermione announced. Harry nodded as she crouched down to lower her
visibility as she popped away. He then looked for the Queen. She was hard to find, given that
Secret Agent Steve and five other burly security men had drawn their guns out and surrounded the
monarch and her four witches-in-waiting, who had woven their strongest shield spells together into
a protective shell that enveloped the Queen.

This sudden reaction to the loud noise created panic within the rest of the tent. Steve tried to
calm them down when he loudly announced that there had been a possible breach in security, and that
given recent events they were being overprotective of the Queen and other members of the Royal
Family. He then asked everyone to stay put, and wait to be escorted out of the tent.

As Steve was making his announcement, Harry calmly hit the “all call” button on his badge, put
his hand up to his muggle earpiece and barked out, “All right people, what have we got?”

“Harry, this is TPOMS,” Fred replied over his badge. “We’ve got…five…make that six splash-downs,
I repeat, six splash-downs…I think that one more disappeared on the way down…and they’re wearing
Auror robes.”

“Auror robes?” asked Harry. “Merlin…are they all stunned, then?”

“I think that we got them all but the one who disappeared mid-air,” the former Gryffindor
replied.

“Roger that,” said Harry. “Wally?”

“Yes Harry…confirm seven arrivals and six splash-downs from CCTV.”

“Local radar?”

“Checking….air space is clear, Major.”

“Hermione?”

“Looks like they all used a single portkey…shields are holding and not under present
attack.”

“What about inside the ward line?”

“Give me a second,” Hermione said. “I’ll go to the roof and see.”

“There nothing except a lot of nervous guests,” Wally chimed in, based on the video
coverage.

“Get them under cover,” Harry yelled. “Either to the Palace or inside the tents!”

“The Royal Archers have already reformed ranks and cordoned off the evac route,” Wally
reported.

“What about the Queen, Harry?” asked Hermione.

The Queen’s Wizard looked over at Steve. Without spell fire, and with the Auror Robes, this
could be a false alarm.

“We need a positive identification on the party crashers,” Harry decided. He then called Ron on
his Art Club Badge.

“Hey Ron, we just had a half-dozen wizards bounce against the Holyrood wards dressed in Auror
robes,” he said. “Can you run up to the MLE and ask Robards if he sent them?”

“You got it, Harry.”

Not wishing to wait very long for an answer, Harry then got another bright idea.

“Dobby?” he asked.

His aide-de-camp immediately arrived at his side.

“Yes, Major Harry Potter, sir?”

“There are some wizards floating in the lake. I need you to take the omnioculars and see if you
can tell if they’re Death Eaters in disguise.”

The house-elf’s eyes went wide at the thought of the responsibility that he’d just been given.
He was so excited that he forgot to salute as he disappeared with a pop.

Harry quickly spread the word that the kilt-wearing house elf that just popped over to the loch
was friendly. He theny looked up, heard some of the shocked comments from the Queen’s guests, and
realized that he had just jumped all over the magical secrecy laws.

It was a quickly passing thought, all things considered.

Ten seconds later, a dripping-wet house elf popped back inside the tent.

“They all be having the bad mark on their left arms, Major Harry Potter, sir,” he replied.

Harry swore, then conveyed the message using both his badge and muggle communication gear.

“We’re evacuating the Queen’s tent now,” he announced.

“Roger that,” said Wally.

“Remus, Tonks…get to the front gate with McGonagall,” Harry ordered. “Everyone else…watch for
others that may have arrived outside the ward lines.”

“You got it, Harry,” replied Remus over his Art Club badge.

“Fred!”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Pass word along to the TPOMS gunnies that they’re authorized to shoot anything in that lake
that does anything more than float.“

“Copy that, Major.”

Harry looked around the tent, and almost cursed at the fact that the magically strengthened tent
walls kept him from surveying the scene.

“Hermione, are you on the roof yet?” he asked.

“Just,” she replied over the badge.

“I can’t tell what’s going on so long as I’ve got the Queen’s back…need you to be our eyes and
ears.”

“Understood, Harry,” she replied. “The Royal Archers are moving people into the Palace’s through
the back door.”

“How long do you think it’ll take to clear the grounds?”

“I’d say five minutes, not counting anyone presently under a tent, unless some curses start to
light fires under their bums.”

“Well let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Harry replied.

**oo00OO00oo**

As the evacuation got underway outside of the tents, Harry and volunteer witches and wizards who
had been posted in the other tents initiated the evacuation process there. Harry turned towards a
long buffet table and pushed it back with a mild banishing charm. Tea cups and saucers crashed to
the ground as a large, goblin-excavated sloped tunnel was revealed. When a second spell magically
pushed another nearby table backwards, a stack of carpets came into view. Harry grabbed the carpet
at the top of the stack, and threw it down on the lip of the opening,

The Queen’s Wizard was about to call for Steve when Prince Harry got in his face.

“What can I do to help?” asked the Prince.

“Are you armed?” Harry asked.

Prince Harry nodded, and opened his jacket to reveal a full shoulder holster.

“Great,” Harry replied. He then motioned towards the carpet and added, “Climb aboard, Cornet
Windsor, you’ve got the point.”

The young prince nodded. “C’mon, Penelope,” he said, as he dragged her towards the open hole. He
sat down on the carpet, leaned back, and said, “On you go.”

“How?”

Harry didn’t give the Prince time to explain, choosing instead to pick the young muggle woman up
and dump her into her boyfriend’s arms.

“Mind your head,” he ordered, as he pointed his wand at the couple and magically nudged them.
Given the mirror-smooth polished surface of the goblin-excavated tube and the liberal use of
lubricating charms, the mild banishment charm was enough to send Prince Harry and his girlfriend
flying down the hole and out of view.

“Where…where did they go?” asked the Emperor’s Wizard, who was now by Harry’s side.

“Down a slide and into an old air raid shelter underneath the Palace,” Harry replied, as he
grabbed another carpet and threw it down onto the edge of the hole.

“Steve!” he yelled.

“I’m there, Harry,” the MI-5 ¾ agent replied. The tight circle of guards surrounding the Queen
opened up as Agent Wall dashed towards Harry and dove head first onto the waiting carpet. His
inertia was enough to power the carpet ride without magical aid.

“We’ve got rug duty,” two of the other guards said, as they took up Harry’s position next to the
pile. A few moments later Steve called up using his badge.

“Shelter is secured and the landing zone cleared,” he said.

“Right then,” said Harry. He turned towards the witches-in-waiting. “Hannah, you’re up.”

The Hufflepuff nodded as she ran over and dropped down on the carpet in a prone position. Padma
Patil was right behind her, replacing Harry as the magical mobilizer. Her banishment spell caused
Hannah to scream as she rocketed out of sight.

“Calm down, Padma,” Harry said, as he shot a spell down the hole that slowed down Hannah’s
speed. “We don’t have crash helmets to dish out.”

“Sorry, Harry,” she replied, trying to center herself with a deep breath.

By this point the next carpet was already ready to go, and with three armed guards securing the
landing zone it was time for the Queen to evacuate.

“Your Majesty?” Harry called out.

The monarch nodded as she strode over to the hole and allowed the two muggle guards to help her
sit down onto the carpet. She leaned back, then turned and looked up towards her Wizard who was
squatting down by her side. Despite the tense situation, she gave Harry a smile.

“Lord Gryffidor,” she said with a wink. “We are pleased to note your adherence to Regimental
standards.”

“Erm…what?” he asked, crouching down to her side.

The Queen chuckled to herself and shook her head. “God bless and protect you, Sir Harry.”

The Queen’s Wizard nodded, and sent the Queen on her way down the chute. It wasn’t until later
that he realized that by squatting down next to her, he had provided an upskirt view underneath his
kilt.

**oo00OO00oo**

Terrance Hicks had assigned one of his crew to call out the time as he kept Lestrange’s
omnioculars to his eyes and waited for Rodolphus’s signal.

“Four minutes,” the wizard called out.

“Damn,” Hicks swore. “Looks like the boss has buggered things up…second and third groups,
prepare to jump.”

“You sure?” asked the timekeeper.

“Of course I am,” Terrance replied. “Unless you want to be the one to explain to our Lord why we
ran away without trying to kill a few muggles.”

“There’s always the five downstairs,” somebody suggested.

Hicks scowled at the coward. “Everyone apparates to their assigned positions at five minutes or
I’ll come after you myself, got it?”

“Yes, sir,” the Death Eaters replied.

“Make ready, then.”

The others followed Hicks’s lead as he checked his gear. He had few more toys than the average
Death Eater…a spare wand, a shield amulet, foe glass, and a length of charmed climing rope (all
graduation gifts from proud parents when he took the Dark Mark). The young Death Eater smiled as he
folded up the omnioculars and placed them in a robe pocket…if Lestrange had fallen they would make
a fine addition to his kit.

Pulling the hood of his concealment cloak over his head, Hicks drew his wand and started to
focus on his destination…last thing he wanted to do was splinch. When the timekeeper called out
five minutes time since the first group left, Terrance and the other nine wizards disappeared from
the kitchen.

**oo00OO00oo**

Hicks’s group apparated in a spread-out line parallel to the trees. His arrival point was the
furthest north (and closest to the Palace). As soon as they hit their arrival points each crouched
down into a ball, hoping to maximize their level of concealment as they assessed the scene
presented to them.

Instead of the chaos and panic that Lestrange had promised, Hicks spied almost completed, calm
and orderly evacuation of muggles out of exposed positions and into the stone-walled building. With
no sign of the first team of Death Eaters, it was supposed to be up to Terrance to decide whether
or not to open fire on the crowd. But a muggle K-9 unit patrolling the ward line down from his
position caught scent of one of his wizards, and started to bark aggressively. The nearest Death
Eater got spooked and fired a silencing spell at the dog.

That his canine partner’s bark had been quieted even as he was straining against the leash was
all that the muggle needed to call in the contact as he unleashed his partner. The dog closed the
few meters’ distance between himself and his target and leapt into the air.

A Reducto spell hit the German Shepherd, leaving little more than bits of bone and fur. A second
curse felled the dog’s partner just as the Death Eater was spotted by soldiers using thermal
imagery equipment, and struck down by muggle snipers using electronic sighting scopes.

The combination of dog barks, Death Eater’s death cries, and gunfire was enough for Terrance to
realize that his cover was blown. Looking for any available protection, he was bright enough to
cast his eyes upwards. As another of his men fell to gunfire, Hicks quickly pulled his rope from
his belt and tossed it up towards an overhanging tree branch. The rope animated and wrapped itself
securely around the branch, then pulled the young Death Eater up into the foliage.

As a third not-quite-concealed-enough Death Eater fell to sniper fire, Hicks climbed further up
into the tree. That he himself wasn’t hit by a high caliber head shot was due lucky coincidence…he
disappeared into the branches and foliage at roughly the same time that the three surviving members
of his team activated their emergency portkeys and bugged-out. The muggle spotters who were
tracking the group assumed that Hicks had also retreated, and the fog of battle conspired to keep
the former Slytherin safe for the moment.

When the young Death Eater found a tree branch that overlooked the Garden Party grounds he was
dismayed to see just how few muggles there were left to shoot at. His clearest shot was at a
half-dozen Royal Archers, who were holding the evacuation route open next to the Queen’s Tent (not
that the Death Eater recognized it as such).

With no better target available, and a strong desire to prove himself worthy of stepping into
Rodolphus’s potentially vacant shoes, Hicks let loose an *Incendio* spell.

**oo00OO00oo**

Inside the tent, Harry heard a loud “whoosh” as a fireball smashed against the eastern exterior
wall. He could feel the heat on the side of his face as he turned and took note that the
fire-suppression charms had worked.

“Queen’s Tent under attack from the East,” Harry yelled into his microphone.

“Copy that, Harry,” replied Hermione from the roof. “I think that the spell originated from the
trees, where those other tangos popped up, but I can’t see for sure.”

“Great…tree-climbing Death Eaters,” said Harry. Wondering if the leaf canopy could mask body
heat, he asked if anyone visuals on the spell source. Nobody responded with a positive spot. Not
that that kept the Royal Archers from returning fire as they covered their dead and wounded. Four
men demonstrated that their longbows were more than just window-dressing as they notched arrows
aimed in the general direction of the attack.

Within the tree, Hicks scrambled to cast a protective shield to stop the projectiles. He had
been smart enough to use a defensive spell developed in direct response to the use of muggle
longbows in the Middle Ages. The Death Eater was amazed at just how accurate these muggles were,
despite the visual cover, and was forced to maintain his shields under the onslaught. As he looked
for an opening to switch over to offensive magic, he pulled his emergency portkey out just in
case.

Meanwhile, Harry turned back towards the huddled mass of V.I.P.’s. He had planned on moving most
of them above ground, using the Royal Archers route, but that option was now cut off. Figuring that
the crowd stack up in the shelter as easily as within the tent, he called out, “Everyone queue up
on me…we’ve got an escape route here.”

As the muggles complied with the Queen’s Wizard’s orders, he asked, “What’s going on with our
tree climber?”

“The Archers are firing into the tree with bow and arrow,” Hermione replied. She cast a
detection spell, then added, “Looks like it’s one wizard, presently using a projectile shield.”

“Can’t we get something a little more powerful heading his way?” asked Harry.

“To much of a chance of collateral damage without a firm visual,” Wally replied. “And it looks
like we’ve got a developing situation at the front entrance.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Harry replied.

There was a light tap on his shoulder. “Perhaps I can help?”

Harry turned to the Japanese Emperor’s Wizard and thought. As much as he wanted to jump out of
the tent and attack the Death Eater positions, he had to guard the tunnel’s surface opening from
attack (as it led directly to the Queen’s present position).

“If you’re willing, that’d be great,” Harry replied. “Just remember…no invisibility or
concealment spells….the snipers are keyed into that sort of thing.”

The Emperor’s Wizard smiled. “I may not have to leave the tent.”

Harry squinted at the Japanese priest, wondering how he would pull that trick off. He then
focused his attention back onto the tunnel mouth, where a Baroness was trying to maintain her
modesty as she sat down on a carpet.

“Oh Merlin,” he yelled. “You didn’t see the Queen grabbing hold of her hemline, did you? Move
it!”

**oo00OO00oo**

While Harry was herding gentry, the Emperor’s Wizard was looking for a patch of bare ground.
Seeing nothing but plush red carpet inside the tent walls, he ran to an edge and pulled back the
rug to reveal a section of yellowed (but still living) lawn. Placing both hands on the bared
ground, he concentrated on all of the living things below. Ignoring the nematodes and insects,
Matsuhisa pushed his senses farther out, until they met tree roots. Quickly calling out to the
spirits within the trees through their roots, he asked for aid in dealing with the evil perched
within the tree branches.

He got a favorable responses from the tree spirits, especially when Matsuhisa promised to stop
the arrows from flying after the threat was neutralized.

A thick branch next to Terrance Hick’s hidden perch suddenly animated, sweeping sideways and
striking the wizard in the back of the head. The Death Eater lost the grip on both wand and portkey
as he tried to hang on to a branch, but fell towards the ground anyway. Not content to strike once,
the tree’s lower branches came to life and caught the wizard in their grip. The tree spirit then
asked the Japanese wizard what he wished to do with the captured evil doer. Matsuhisa thanked the
tree spirit and asked the spirit to reach its own judgment.

The Japanese wizard pulled back from his connection with the tree spirit before learning of the
Death Eater’s fate. Hermione, however, was able to watch with morbid fascination as the tree limbs
folded back on themselves and crushed the doomed Death Eater in a lethally smothering hug.

“I think that tree just ate the Death Eater,” she reported to Harry.

“Well I hope it chews its food,” he thought to himself.

**oo00OO00oo**

By this point in the attack all of the sloping tunnel slides that connected the large white
tents to the bomb shelter underneath the Palace were seeing heavy use. Harry had gotten the idea of
escape chutes from the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, right down to the use of sliding
carpets. The initial stacks of pre-positioned carpets within each tent were quickly exhausted. With
no time to get carpets back up the tunnels for reuse, Potter Plaid-wearing witches and wizards
within each tent were transfiguring table linens into rugs. With all of the panic and confusion
within each of the tents, none of the muggle guests noticed the difference.

**oo00OO00oo**

The “developing situation” that Wally had reported involved the remaining three Death Eaters in
Rodolphus’s crew, who had decided that Hicks’s spell fire was their signal to let loose. They did a
direct line-of-sight apparition from a hiding place underneath the Craggs to a sandbagged British
Army machine gun emplacement directly across from the south entrance to the grounds. The four
regular army soldiers who were stationed there didn’t know what hit them as they fell to severing
curses and bone-crushing hexes aimed at their necks and heads respectively. With all of the
activity on the other side of the fence, nobody noticed as the Death Eaters transfigured their
robes into rough approximations of muggle army uniforms and took the places of the fallen muggle
soldiers. From their new vantage points they were but twenty meters away from the tent that stood
at the gated entrance to the Garden Party.

Despite orders to wait until their surprise attack could cause the most damage, one of the Death
Eaters got nervous and fired at two muggles who had run out of the entrance despite warnings from
the palace security agents to stay inside the fenceline. While the Death Eater’s flame spell turned
the couple into burning lumps of flesh, it also revealed their location. Remus and Minerva
McGongall, who had moved from their initial postings to a defensive position within the tented
entrance, saw the spell and fired off curses at the Death Eater position. They were forced to
shield, and the magical battle in this part of the site was now on.

MI-5 ¾ agent Helen Wall had also been at the front gates, and used her muggle comm. gear to call
in for magical reinforcements. Within moments, the ICW witch and wizards had made their way towards
this entrance (excepting Rongo), and were standing shoulder to shoulder with Minerva and Remus as
they erected defensive shields in front of the gates.

The three Death Eaters were casting wide-area effect spells, hoping for multiple casualties with
single casts. But once they discovered that this muggle gathering was actually being defended by
more than one witch or wizard, they switched over to point curses that stood a better chance at
breeching the magical shields.

At the first sight of a sickly green *Avada Kedavra* spell, the defending witches and
wizards dove for cover, and yelled for everyone else to do the same. The King’s Wizard and Swedish
Witch then began conjuring granite slabs, while McGonagall reached the same endpoint by
transfiguring tables and chairs into stone.

Steve’s mum had the presence of mind to act as a forward observer and call in the location of
the Death Eater’s position. There was some confusion when it was realized that the spot was
supposed to be a British Army position, but after a call to Remus confirmed Helen Wall’s report,
the order was given out for the Army to retake its lost ground.

The Challenger 2 Main Battle Tank that was parked in front of the main Palace gates responded to
the order, and fired up its 12-cylinder, 1,200hp engine. By the time the tank had pivoted and
started south down Queen’s Drive, the coordinates of the Death Eater’s position had been downloaded
into the digital firing control computer that targeted its 120mm rifled main gun. With an
armor-piercing projectile preloaded, all the muggle gunner needed to do was wait a few seconds
until the tank could cover the distance between Palace and point of fire.

**oo00OO00oo**

As the tank lumbered down the street it approached a natural history museum whose striking
profile was dominated by a football-pitch sized oblong white tent roof. Clinging to the top of one
of the huge poles that supported this structure was a concealed Death Eater who had been instructed
to observe, rather than fight.

Voldemort’s orders for Augustus Rookwood were tested as he spied the muggle tank approaching the
Death Eater’s position. He suspected it very capable of blowing this last group of Death Eaters to
pieces, and had a clear shot at the tank…but that shot would likely reveal his position, and what
he had seen and needed to report to his lord was far more important than the lives of three Death
Eaters.

He held his wand and watched as the tank recoiled from the blast of its main gun and the last
attackers were all killed within a blast of fire and smoke.

Rookwood held his breath, not in hope of survivors, but to avoid breathing in the thick black
smoke that rose from the blast zone. This smoke provided him cover, but also kept him from
gathering any more information from the field of battle…not that there was any more battle to see.
Deciding it time to make his escape, the former Unspeakable drew the portkey to Salisbury from his
pocket and thought about taking a parting shot.

The Dark Lord had told him to not to be involved in the attack…but what if there was a target of
opportunity destroyed just before he portkeyed to safety?

Hoping to add a little more to the positive side of the ledger when he made his report to
Voldemort, Rookwood turned to the north and raised his wand against the building that was supposed
to be the new shining symbol of muggle Scotland. It only took a short series of blasting and
incendiary spells to set the unwarded Parliament building into flames.

Rookwood activated the portkey and disappeared from the rooftop before anyone realized where the
spell fire had come from.

**oo00OO00oo**

With the last of the Queen’s Tent occupants evacuated and the tunnel sealed, Harry Potter had
left the protective cover and was tending to injured Archers when word came from Wally that the
Scottish Parliament building was on fire. He got confirmation from Steve that the Queen was safe,
and from Hermione that there was no immediate battles being fought. So, as soon muggle medics
arrived to take Harry’s place he decided to see for himself and badge-jump to the rooftop.

By the time he got there, Rongo had made arrangements for a cloud to move over the Parliament
building and release a smothering deluge of rainwater

“Wow,” said Harry. “It’s wonderful to see you take that kind of initiative.”

The heavily tattooed sorcerer turned to Harry and smiled.

Thinking of possibilities, and the fact that the fire had only lasted a few minutes, he asked,
“Is there any chance you could arrange for a thick fog cloud to envelop that building?”

When the Maori turned to Harry and silently arched an eyebrow, the Queen’s Wizard decided to
elaborate.

“If there’s fog too thick to see through, we could go in and magically repair the building and
the muggles would be none the wiser.”

The sorcerer tilted his head in thought, then nodded his head and smiled. Raising his hands
towards the rain cloud, he then silently asked it to extend down towards the ground.

Harry and Hermione watched with fascination as the cloud complied.

“Thanks, that’ll be a great help,” said Harry.

The Queen’s Wizard then turned his attention to the south, and to the field of battle below. He
winced at the sight of bodies being covered in sheets by Palace security as medical personnel
evacuated the wounded, and his grief was only partially countered by calls to Steve and the other
Art Clubbers to gain assurances that the Royal Family and all of his witches and wizards had
escaped harm.

As that call took place, Harry spied Army lorries as they rumbled up the road that ran in
between the Parade Grounds and the lake. Once the lorries parked next to the Loch Margaret, Remus,
Tonks, and a large group of masked muggle troopers spilled out and made their way to the shoreline.
Under the cover of the TPOMS squadron from above, and from a perimeter of SAS sentinels on the
ground, the two Art Clubbers cast another series of stunning spells on the six Death Eaters who
were presently floating in the water. No account was made for the fact that three of these six
bodies had been floating face down.

Gaffes were used to fish the bodies out of the water. Regardless of whether the Death Eaters
were alive or dead, Remus and Tonks *Accio*’d clothes, wands and anything else the Death
Eaters had been carrying until they were stark naked. The troopers then threw the bodies into the
back of the lorries and climbed in themselves. The vehicles barreled down towards the helipad,
where they threw the marked Death Eaters into a cargo helicopter that immediately lifted away from
the Palace grounds.

Harry ordered the Phoenix Teams to evacuate their positions and return to the Palace…while there
was always the chance that somebody else would bounce against the wards, there was a chance that
the stunning spells that they had used in that area would attract the Ministry’s attention.

Worrying that there could be Obliviator squads stupid enough to try and apparate within the
Palace grounds, Harry got on his badge and had Ron give the Head Auror’s office a set of apparition
coordinates within a Palace outbuilding located beyond Hermione’s wards. The Ministry personnel who
were stupid enough to recklessly leap onto the scene found themselves surrounded by a group of
heavily armed MI-5 ¾ c-mugs, alongside the five international witches and wizards. This mixed
escort guided the Ministry people at gun and wand point across the street to help undertake repair
work within the fogbank.

The Obliviators were taken aback by the fact that the ICW Delegation was working in conjunction
with Harry and the muggles, and made sure to report that fact when they later returned to the
Ministry.

Perhaps to no one’s surprise, the Minister of Magic’s office considered this information far
more worrisome than the fact that there had been another massive Death Eater attack that day.



63. Chapter 63
--------------

**Muggle Summer, Wizard’s Fall**

**Author’s Note**: So it’s back to this story, then. I’m holding the muse hostage, and
forcing her to help me finish off this story. This 12,000 word update is slow-moving, but if you
remember there was a bit of excitement in the previous chapter.

And if you don’t remember? Well, one of the things that I did during the hiatus is reread the
story three times. Did a bit of a rewrite along the way. Reorganized, combined, edited…lost 30,000
words in the process. I’ve published the rewrite using Google docs, and if anyone wants to take a
look, here’s a Muggle Summer
Portal link. Along with the rewrite is a new org chart that shows how the Ministry of Magic was
reorganized after Ascot and the Ministry Intern Program.

Those readers not familiar with the real life Scottish Parliament complex might want to look at
on-line pictures of
the structure before reading the first section of this chapter.

A gentle reminder about the pushed-up timeline…this story takes place in the summer of 2006,
after Harry’s Sixth Year. So the references to Basra and the Iraq War are at least internally
consistent with the timeline.

Thanks to clell, FenrisWolf, grenouille, for their beta work on this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Warning:** There is brief mention of off-camera rape/sexual assault in this chapter.

**Chapter 63: The Home Guard, Holland, and Hogsmeade**

*Wednesday, July 11, 3:00pm
Palace at Holyroodhouse, Edinburgh, Scotland*

That Rongo the Maori Sorcerer wasn't much of atalker didn't mean that Harry Potter
suffered for lack of conversation asthe twomonitored the aftermath of the Garden Party assault from
the Palace rooftop.

Hermione had returned to London to brief the Prime Minister, and was using her Art Club badge to
ask for updates as she presented a hastily assembled brief. Wally used Harry’s MI-5 ¾ issued
earpiece to ask for advice as he led the Muggle incident commanders who were minding the Ministry
Obliviators and sanitizing the field of battle. Chatter over the handset of anEMP-hardened
walkie-talkie that hung around Harry’s neck tracked the Army’s evacuation of the Queen to Balmoral
Castle via helicopter gunship. And the mobile phone with “push-to-talk” capabilities that was
clipped to Harry’s sporran was constantly going off, as the TPOMS squadron and thosewho were
repairing the Parliament building phoned in.

Rongo found the cross talk across different platforms amusing, and took pity on the Queen’s
Wizard by pointing towards whichever device was screaming for Harry’s attention at any point in
time.

*Chirp-chirp*

“Harry?”

The distracted wizard followed Rongo’s finger pointing, and pulled his mobile from his belt.

“Potter here...go ahead Fred.”

“We think that we're done repairing the party-mint building, but...can you get the fog
lifted so that we can check our work?”

Harry turned towards Rongo, and got a head nod confirmation that he had heard the request.

“Copy that…should have what you need in a few seconds.”

As Rongo communed with the clouds and arranged for the fog to lift, Harry looked across the
street to where Rookwood’s *Reductos* had done damage. The revealed structure appeared to be
whole, but did not look quite right. All of the odd angles and “organic” asymmetrical elements of
the complex that had been compared to “a scattered heap of leaves and twigs” were gone, and
replaced by rectilinear lines and boxy shapes.

Harry swore under his breath. Or at least he thought it was under his breath, until Hermione
frantically asked over thethe open line on his Art Club badge, "What's wrong,
Harry?"

"They've fixed the Parliament building a little too well, I'm afraid."

"What do you mean?"

"Hold on, Hermione...Fred?"

"Yeah, Lord G?"

"What in Merlin's name are you doing over there...it doesn't at all look like
it's supposed to."

"It isn't?"

"No, it isn't...weren't you using *Reparo*s?"

"Erm...yeah, we were, but we thought they weren't working right, because there were all
of these curves, and odd angles andoose ends."

"Fred?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"There were supposed to be curves, odd-looking angles and pieces hanging out in strange
places."

"Really?"

Harry sighed, and called Wally with a request to have somebody who knew how the Parliament
building was supposed to look like sent across the street. He thenturned towards Rongo, only to
find that he was already bringing the clouds back down.

“Thanks,” said Harry. At the sight of the Maori’s head shaking, he added, “Yeah, I thought it
looked better after Fred’s improvements as well.”

“Lord G?”

“Go ahead, Wally.”

“The Japanese Wizard that’s been fixing up the trees has something he wants you to look at.”

“Roger that, Wally,” he replied, as he reached for his rucksack. “Alert air control that I’m
going to fly down.”

“Going to ride side-saddle on your broom?”

Harry snorted as he looked down at his bright red kilt. There was ample opportunity to tease
Wally, but it wasn’t the right place or time.

“Just do it, Wally.”

The Queen’s Wizard ignored the witty retort as he pulled a full-sized broomstick from his
never-full rucksack, shouldered the pack, and swung a leg over the broom handle.

It was a more of a controlled fall than flight as Harry swooped down to the Emperor’s Wizard’s
position in front of the man-eating tree. As he jumped to the ground, he asked, “What’s up,
Sensei?”

Matsuhisa chuckled at the younger wizard’s salutation and pointed towards a wand that lay at the
base of the tree.

“I was repairing the arrow damage when I spotted that.”

Harry nodded.

“Wonder if it was dropped by our tree climber?”

“Would you like to find out?”

“Erm, sure…do you have a way to determine spell usage from a wand?”

“No,” the Shinto priest replied, “But I can ask the tree to spit out its food.”

Harry looking up at the tree’s limbs and decided, “Let’s make sure that the ground is cleared of
evidence first.”

A sweep of the area revealed nothing of interest, other then a Muggle candy bar wrapper that,
according to Matsuhisa, displayed a weak magical aura. Thinking that rather odd, Harry -called
Tonks, who had been sorting through the personal effects of the dead and captured Death Eaters at
Edinburgh Castle. She badge-jumped to Harry’s location and confirmed that the attackers also had
charmed candy wrappers in the pockets of their robes. Afraid that it might be a touch-activated
portkey to the bottom of the sea; Tonks levitated the wrapper into an Auror-issue evidence bag.

“Are you ready for the…how do you say that which a cow chews on?” asked the Japanese wizard.

Harry snorted as he and Tonks took more than a few steps away from the tree trunk.

“Cud,” he then replied.

Not wishing to be in the splatter range himself, the Emperor’s Wizard moved to the back side of
the tree to avoid the mass of pulpy flesh and shattered bone that fell to the ground.

“Thanks,” said Harry, as he tried not to flinch at the smell. He picked up a stick and started
to poke at the body, before realizing where that stick likely came from. Harry paused, and nodding
up towards the tree asked, “Would it be upset that I’m using this branch?”

The Japanese wizard smiled thinly and shook his head. “It is polite of you to ask, but the
spirit within the tree has no sense of ownership or connection to its severed parts.”

“Good,” replied Harry, as he poked into the collapsed chest and fished out a pair of
omnioculars.

“Looks like the protective charms on the object worked a little too well for this bloke,” Tonks
noted. She then used *Scourgify* on the omnioculars before lifting them up to her eyes.

“Are they still operable?”

“I think so,” Tonks replied, after twisting the various knobs and levers. She then added, “It
would have been nice if they’d been….yes!”

Tonks passed the viewing device over to Harry and said, “There’s recorded playback…shows what
the DEs were looking at before they attacked.”

The Queen’s Wizard immediately put the viewing device from his eyes.

“Palace in the background…Parade Grounds in between….”

Harry lowered the omnioculars and looked to the East.

“From one of those houses beyond the grounds, I’d wager,” he announced. The charmed field
glasses were then raised once more, and Harry fiddled with the adjustments until the omnioculars
offered a magnified field of view.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Some of those houses have swing sets in their rear gardens.”

The Queen’s Wizard threw the omniocular’s carrying strap over his head and yelled “Up!” at his
broomstick. One leg was over the handle before Tonks had the chance to grab his arm.

“Where do you think you’re going, Harry?”

“Need to find out which house, Tonks…Death Eaters and children’s toys aren’t a good
combination.”

“But it could be a trap!”

“You think that they’d use a nearby location for a safe house to escape to?”

“Erm….”

“That’s what I thought.”

“But…it could be a booby-trap. Don’t go half-cocked on your own…you’ve got people.”

“And they’re all busy…well, most of them are.”

Tonks rolled her eyes and hiked her Potter plaid skirt up to her thighs.

“Scoot up, then, and at least pull-up short so that I can check for trip-wire wards,” she
demanded, as she jumped onto the broom behind Harry.

Expecting the need to also placate the Emperor’s Wizard, Harry turned…and spied a snow monkey
standing where Matsuhisa had been.

Too anxious not to take the transformation and the monkey’s jump onto his shoulder in stride,
Harry shook his head and warned Wally that he was making another flight. He then told both Tonks
and the monkey to hold on tight as he sped across the Parade Grounds.

With the wind rushing past his ears, the Queen’s Wizard didn’t hear Wally’s frantic calls out to
the Muggle defensive units not to fire as he buzzed by their heads.

oo00OO00oo

*3:30pm, Amsterdam Central Station, Amsterdam, Netherlands*

Percy Weasley’s treatment in the hands of Dutch immigration officials had less to do with where
he was from than how he arrived…wearing only in Y-fronts.

More than a few foreign wizards had heard wild stories about beautiful Dutch Muggle women with
loose morals, and traveled to the Netherlands in search of a good time. Having arrived at the
portkey terminal dressed only in his shorts, Percy just seemed more eager than most.

Much of the Dutch magical community didn’t care for the stereotypical stories…it led to Dutch
witches being harassed almost as much as their Muggle counterparts, and created all sorts of breach
of secrecy issues within Amsterdam’s Red Light District. But there were many within the country who
profited from this type of “vacation travel,” so the Dutch Ministry of Magic had long ago come upon
a practical compromise. Sex-starved foreign wizards were allowed into the country, but only if they
paid a dear price.

There were port arrival tariffs, visa processing fees, costly medical examinations, mandatory
tuition payments for a “Muggle sex world orientation” class, required currency exchanges as
horrific exchange rates…the list went on and on. Sex-junket wizards had to wear a magical tracking
bracelet, so that they would be linked to any attempts to magically coerce Muggle women, or to
memory charm prostitutes into thinking that they’d already been paid. And most dear, from a
financial standpoint, was a 5,000 galleon “departure deposit,” refunded only if a wizard left the
country within the visa-permitted time window and through a sanctioned immigration station.

The Special Assistant to the Minister’s Diplomatic Passport only helped so far…he would have
been able to avoid almost all of this hassle, but only if he had voluntarily answered questions
about his reasons for travel whilst under Veritaserum. That wasn’t an option for him, so three
hours and several thousands of galleons later, Percy was escorted out into the Muggle part of
Amsterdam’s Central Station, dressed in an ill-fitting (and terribly overpriced) tracksuit and
trainers.

Percy headed straight towards the head of a rank of cars for hire, handed a written street
address to the driver, and climbed into the rear bench. The focus he gave towards the Muggle
buskers and bicyclists that he spied out the side window was lost when the red-haired wizard
realized that the car was heading towards the Red Light District, despite his written requests. He
complained loudly, only to be told that the street address that he’d given was in the very heart of
the Gedoogzone. That shut Percy up, enough that he didn’t bother to argue when the driver demanded
twice what was recorded on the fare box.

The small row house looked like most of the others on that street…except, of course, for those
buildings that had large street-level windows framed with red neon, and scantily-dressed women
trying to entice customers from the other side. A man on a mission, the Special Assistant to the
Minister resolutely ignored the ample display of Muggle flesh and focused instead on the small sign
that was placed in the house’s window:

*Vanderwood and Son, Charms Masters
Fine Hiders of Infidelity Since 1325*

Wondering what exactly the sign meant, but taking note of the name and words “Charms Masters,”
Percy knocked on the door, and was quickly shown into the study of the a white-bearded wizard who
looked almost as old as Dumbledore.

The Dutchman quickly sized up Percy and asked, “Muggle vows or magical?”

“What?”

“Was your marriage ceremony Muggle or magical, son?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Percy huffed. “I am not married.”

“Then why in Merlin’s name are you trying to keep your whoring secret?”

“Who said that I…there must be some misunderstanding, sir, I am Percy Weasley, Senior Assistant
to the British Minister of Magic. I am here on official business…and certainly not here to do any
sort of *whoring*.”

“What business is that, then?”

“The Ministry has need of someone who can cast the *Fidelius* Charm.”

“So it’s the Minister of Magic who has been cheating on his wife, then?”

“No, no, no…the Ministry has need, not the Minister.”

“Well, why didn’t you say that, then?”

“I thought that I just did.”

The old wizard rolled his eyes.

“Not that it matters,” said Percy, “but why did you begin this conversation by asking how I
might have been married?”

“Because there’s a price difference, my boy.”

“How is that?”

The wizard snorted. “Do you know anything about how the *Fidelius* Charm works?”

“Of course I do,” Percy snapped back. “It keeps something secret within the body of a Secret
Keeper.”

“So you can cast it, then?”

“If I could, then I wouldn’t have needed to travel this far, would I have?”

“So why can’t you, boy?”

“Because….well, it doesn’t matter, really.”

“Don’t they have Charms Masters in Britain? Flitwick is still alive and kicking, isn’t he?”

“Erm, yes…the Ministry needs to keep its need to protect a secret…well, secret.”

“Right, well…let me give you a free tutorial, then,” huffed the wizard. “The main reason why any
old ‘Joe the Wizard’ can’t cast the *Fidelius* is that it requires a tremendous amount of
effort and intent to pulled the secret away from the rest of the world, and to bury it within a
single person. The more people that know what’s to be kept secret, and the more magic there is that
would resist it, the harder it gets.”

“So…if I wanted to keep secret the fact that I’ve cheated on my wife, it’d be more difficult to
do so if there were magical marriage vows getting in the way? Or cost more if I told my friends
first?”

The wizard let out a deep sigh. “Finally, I thought I’d have to write off all of Britain as
hopeless idiots.”

“Here, now,” huffed Percy. “There are many, many brilliant people working at the British
Ministry of Magic.”

“I see, so you’re not representative, then?”

“Erm, right.”

“Thought not,” the wizard said with a smile. He took a moment to write something down on a slip
of paper and handed it to Percy.

“I’m too old and set in my ways to travel with you for this job. Go to this address and ask for
Peter, my son”

“Your son?” Percy asked dubiously. “Your son can help us with a complex *Fidelius*?”

“Ask for a demonstration, if you don’t believe me,” snapped the old man. “Have him protect the
secret that you’re in control of your own bowel movements, and see what happens.”

“Erm…right…your word is good enough for me.”

“Good day then, sir.”

The old charms master shook his head in disgust as the British wizard left the room, and pulled
out his mobile phone to inform his son that he was expecting a 30% referral fee for the easy mark
that he’d sent the boy’s way.

oo00OO00oo

*4:00pm, Scottish Parliament Grounds, Edinburgh, Scotland*

As the Headmistress of Hogwarts didn’t have an Art Club badge, or MI-5 ¾ -issued comm. gear, or
a mobile phone, it took a few minutes for the Queen’s Wizard to find her within the cloud-encased
Parliament grounds.

It was the distinct sound of her voice dressing down a former student that guided Harry to her
position.

“I will not have my reasons for being here questioned, Mr. Conners,”

“But Ma’am, it does seem strange for you to have been invited to a Muggle party…”

“No stranger than me finding you in a broom closet with Dicky Knowles in your Seventh Year,”
countered Minerva. “But maybe my comparison is off…perhaps we should ask a few of your colleagues
for their opinions…or perhaps your wife?”

“Now that’s just uncalled for…”

“Then let’s ask Mr. Potter,” Minerva said with a smile, as the Queen’s Wizard appeared from the
mist.

“Ask me what, Headmistress?”

The Ministry official who had been standing almost toe-to-toe with McGonagall turned away, and
shook his head.

“Nothing that matters,” he muttered. “Professor McGonagall and I were…”

“You mean Headmistress McGonagall?” asked Harry sharply.

“Erm, yes…Headmistress and I were just discussing the deployment of my witches and wizards,” the
man quickly replied. He then added, “So you’re the Queen’s Wizard, and in charge of this mess?”

“That’s right,” Harry replied. “And speaking of mess, I’ve got something for you.”

“You telling us what to do? Oh, that’s rich…”

“Maybe he should ask Dickie, then?” McGonagall said sweetly.

A pained look came over the Obliviator’s face. He sighed, and then asked, “What is it, boy?”

“The correct address is Sir,” Minerva stated. “Unless Mr. Potter would prefer the use of one of
his other titles?”

Harry snorted, but didn’t take the bait.

“Here’s the situation,” he stated. “We found the Muggle house that the Death Eaters used as a
staging area for this attack.”

The Ministry official’s eyes lit up. “Right, tell us where and we’ll be off.”

“Hold on,” Harry replied. “They didn’t use any spells that we can tell, and the Muggles were
kept in the basement nearly the whole time.”

“They’re still alive?” asked Minerva.

Harry nodded his head slowly, with a hard steely gaze that left no doubt about his anger. “They
left the family in real rough shape, but yeah…they’re all alive. Three toddlers and a mum and
dad.”

“We’ll still need to interview them,” the Obliviator stated.

Harry nodded. “Just as a heads up, the husband and wife thought that it was the terrorists that
did the Ten O’clock Attacks that were holding them hostage.”

“Well it was, wasn’t it?”

“No, I mean yes…well…they believe that it was the pretend Muggle terrorists that were used as a
cover story,” Harry replied.

“And they didn’t see any magic being done by the alleged Death Eaters?”

Harry shook his head. “Not that they recognized as such.”

The Obliviator sighed. “So why are you gracing us with this information?”

“Because they were able to give good physical descriptions of the Death Eaters that were holding
them,” Harry replied. “Unless you wanted to return to the Ministry without anything to say about
who was involved and how many?”

After chewing on his lip for a few moments, the Ministry official looked in the rough direction
of the fog-hidden Palace.

“And you’re certain that there’s nothing for us to do across the street?”

Harry nodded. “Just some broken dishware and tattered tents left over from when the guests all
ran away.”

“And none of these alleged Death Eaters that tried to crash this party were killed or
captured?”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Harry asked, “Were you working the other night after the Ten
O’clock Attacks?”

“Of course I was, didn’t sleep for two days.”

“And did the Muggles kill or capture any of those attackers?”

“Not that we could determine.”

“And do you really think it’s possible for Muggles to fight against wizards?” Harry asked
sharply. “I mean, c’mon…I’m only a Hogwarts student who got lucky because our wards held.”

“And what about those wards?” the official asked.

“Ask Percy Weasley,” Harry shot back. “He experienced them first-hand down in London.”

The Obliviator crew chief arched an eyebrow. He didn’t care much for working under Dolores
Umbridge, but Percy Weasley would have been even worse. Nodding to himself, he asked, “But what
about these repairs?”

“I think they’ve got them done right this time,” Harry replied. “Tell you what…I’ll have someone
bring you and your crew around to the Muggle house, and you can check on things here when you get
back.”

Deciding that it might just be the best way out of a bad situation, the crew chief accepted
Harry’s offer, and was led away to gather his witches and wizards for the short trip down Royal
Park Terrace.

“So, Harry…you actually trust them alone with that Muggle family?” asked McGonagall.

The Queen’s Wizard held up his hand, and waited until the Ministry official was out of earshot
before responding.

“Of course not…Sensei and Tonks are there to make sure the Ministry folks don’t overdo it.”

“And why aren’t you still there?”

“Because if I stayed there any longer I’d have lost my control and gone medieval on our
prisoner’s arses,” Harry said softly.

“That bad, then?”

Harry nodded. “The bastards made the little kids watch.”

“Oh, I see…perhaps, you’ll tell me where the prisoners are so that I can express my displeasure
in medieval ways?”

Harry shook his head in disgust. “We need to keep the moral high ground, as much as I’d like to
retaliate…and I need to ask you to take a walk with me.”

“Why is that?”

“I’ve got to brief the Scottish First Minister,” replied Harry, “and since the two of you got
along so famously the other night…”

Minerva snorted, “You’ll need to provide a little more incentive than that…perhaps if I get the
real story along the way?”

That snark managed to brighten Harry’s foul mood a bit, and he held his arm out for the
Headmistress.

“But everything that I said was true,” he hissed in mock protest.

“But that doesn’t mean that you said everything, does it?”

“And what makes you think that I was less than forthcoming?” Harry asked with a slight grin.

“Years of experience?”

“Yes, well…you do have me there.”

oo00OO00oo

*4:30pm, Amsterdam, Netherlands*

Percy Weasley’s new destination was one of the many “Coffee Shops” in Amsterdam that was known
far more for its hash-laced brownies than its hot drinks. Not knowing this fact, it took almost no
time at all for Wetherbey’s fears and concerns to fade into a cloudy haze, once the younger
Vanderwood insisted on sharing a few “snacks” as they discussed the Ministry’s needs. It only took
slightly more time for Percy to be enticed up the stairs to a private room by the dread locked
young Charms Master and his blond girlfriend. The British wizard was deftly stripped down naked,
relieved of his money belt, and subjected to a rather thorough *Legimens* scan that sliced
through impaired mental defenses like a knife through butter.

Armed with the knowledge of exactly what Percy wanted, and how much he’d be able to pay for it,
the young Charms Master and his girl did a quick cost-benefit analysis. They decided that a quick
trip to Britain with Percy would be worth far more than what he had on his person, so they planted
a fake memory of a very good time into Percy’s brain, returned his belt and clothing, got him to
sign a lopsided magically-binding contract, and dragged him down the stairs.

Within minutes, Percy and his new best friend Peter were in a taxi heading towards a ferry
terminal on the Dutch coastline.

oo00OO00oo

*Palace at Holyroodhouse, Edinburgh, Scotland*

Harry filled in the missing detains about the Muggle family that lived on Royal Park Terrace as
he led the Headmistress across the street and back onto the Garden Party grounds.

The involuntary hosts for Rodolphus Lestrange’s crew had been traumatized and abused over nearly
thirty hours of captivity. The victims really had initially thought that they had been held hostage
by Muggle terrorists…until Harry flew to their rescue upon a broomstick. Having the Emperor’s
Wizard reveal his animagus form by morphing back into his human form had also been a shock for the
Muggles. But these magical revelations had worked to their advantage, as they supported Tonks’
reliability when she asked the mother and father whether they wanted to have their family
Obliviated. The parents had declined, asking only that their children be made to forget the entire
experience.

Harry then went on to say that the husband and wife were able to identify some of their
assailants from pictures of the dead or captured Death Eaters, and that they picked out Rodolphus
Lestrange and Augustus Rookwood from a book of Death Eater photographs.

As the Queen’s Wizard told this story, a series of motor coaches drove up and parked along the
south edge of the Palace grounds.

“What are they here for?” asked the Headmistress.

“To carry our guests away while the Ministry folks are down the street,” Harry replied. Leading
the Headmistress into the Queen’s Tent, he then grabbed a rug and dropped it down onto the lip of
the goblin-excavated tunnel.

“And what is that?” Minerva asked.

“The fastest way down to the First Minister,” Harry replied. “Ladies first?”

McGonagall snorted, but had come to trust Harry enough to sit down onto the rug. Harry, in turn,
didn’t trust McGonagall to sneak an up-kilt peek, so he made sure to mind the hem as he squatted
down and sent her down into the bomb shelter.

There was a buzz in the basement as Harry rode down the tube on his own carpet. The Garden Party
guests who had spent more than ninety minutes below ground were queuing up to climb a stairwell
that led up to the main level of the Palace.

“How long will it take to get them all to the coaches?” Harry asked the MI-5 ¾ agent who had
been guarding the base of the slide.

“If they stay cool about it, no more than ten minutes,” replied the secret agent.

“And have they been cool about being down here?”

“Cool as cucumbers,” the man said with a smile. “The First Minister was surprisingly
brilliant…helped organize everyone into small groups, and then enlisted the pop stars and gentry
from the Queen’s Tent to help hand out bottled water and biscuits.”

“Did he really?” asked Harry. Looking around the magically-expanded area, he asked, “So where is
he now?”

“Other room,” the guard replied, pointing towards a guarded doorway on an adjacent wall. “Your
clan folk had been in there with the Royal Family, and he wanted to have a word with them.”

“Thanks,” replied Harry. He then led McGonagall over to the secured area, and walked inside
after flashing his MI 5 ¾ identification. Fifteen witches and wizards dressed in Potter plaid were
there, mixed in with a dozen c-mugs and MI-5 ¾ agents. The witches and wizards looked almost as
pleased to see the Headmistress as the First Minister was to see Harry.

“Well hello, there, Major Potter,” the First Minister said brightly. “We’ve some food left over,
if you like?”

Harry shook his head. “Wish that there were time…you requested a briefing, sir?”

The First Minister nodded, and gestured towards one corner of the room.

“So things are safe enough topside to evacuate, Major?” he asked, once they were apart from the
others.

Harry nodded. “The Parliament building has been repaired, and the obliviators have been taken
down the street and out of range of view,” he said softly.

“Obliviators?”

“The witches and wizards whose job it is to erase the memories of any Muggles that saw magic
being used. We needed to keep you all down here until they were out of the way.”

The Scot snorted. “So they’re gone for good?”

“Wish so, but probably not,” Harry replied. “Once the evac is finished we’ll bring them back for
a sanitized look-see.”

“What of the Queen?”

Harry looked at his watch and replied, “Should be landing at Balmoral in a few minutes.”

“And the latest casualty count?”

The Queen’s Wizard frowned a bit as he drew a piece of paper from a coat pocket.

“Five civilians dead, twenty-seven injured. Amongst the security forces…the Yard have three
dead, including a K-9 unit, and four injured. The three BA troopers stationed across from the front
gate are missing and presumed dead…the Army also lost a two-man sniper team when a portion of the
Parliament Building’s rooftop collapsed underneath their feet.”

“What about the Royal Archers?”

Harry looked up from his notes and nodded slightly. “Good news on that front, at least. Turns
out that our magical burn salve works on Muggles…one of the medics told me that four of the injured
wouldn’t have survived without it. So they all came through, with only eight still injured enough
after the salve to send to hospital.”

The Muggle nodded gravely. “That is good news…so what of the terrorists?”

Harry frowned. “Ten dead, three captured. At least three more got away.”

“And have the prisoners been interrogated?”

Harry shook his head. “We’ve kept them stunned and unconscious up at Edinburgh Castle. Once we
rid ourselves of the Ministry of Magic we’ll bring them back down here for questioning.”

“Why here?”

“Because the Queen isn’t here, and we’ve got wards in place that will keep the prisoners from
magically escaping.”

“And have you identified their dead?”

Harry nodded. “All were marked Death Eaters…from first looks all low-level troops. One of the
attack leaders was in the first wave, but managed to pop away before he splashed into the pond.
Don’t know about the other”

“So their leaders were the first to retreat?” asked the Scottish leader. “Rather cowardly.”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Harry replied. “Might have only postponed the inevitable…
Voldemort will probably decide that this was a failed attack.”

“Why wouldn’t he? Surely you wouldn’t consider this attack to have been successful?”

Harry stared at the Muggle, trying hard not to wear his incredulity on his sleeve. “I failed to
protect the Queen’s guests, despite our plans and preparations.”

The First Minister scowled. “Well, don’t let the Queen hear you say that…we both thought just
the opposite. You were put in an impossible situation. Eight thousand people cramped together in a
public setting, for a well-publicized event? We should have known better…and how many more would
have died had your plans not been in place? Had there not been those slides, or your wards, or your
people?” He pointed towards the door and added, “Those people out there…the people in here, for
that matter…we all owe our lives to you and your people.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So what’s Whitehall’s response to all this?”

“A work in progress, sir,” Harry replied. “Hermione’s having a devil of a time keeping COBRA
from passing out pitch forks and going on witch hunts.”

“Taking an offensive approach is wrong?” the First Minister asked.

“Not so long as we’re certain of our targets,” Harry replied, with a glance across the room.
“There are thousands of witches and wizards in Britain that have nothing to do with these attacks,
or with the stupid policies of the Ministry.” He then gestured towards the others in the room
wearing Potter plaid and added, “This lot is a prime example. Without their help during the
evacuation, things would have been far rougher.”

The Scottish leader snorted. “I’ll give you that,” he replied. “They were helpful down here as
well, and Her Royal Majesty was quick to make me aware of these same points before she left.”

“Good,” replied Harry.

“So what is the appropriate response to all this, then?”

“We’ve established a…well, call it either a full blockade, or a quarantine. All transfer points
between the Muggle and magical worlds are locked down. No witches or wizards in or out.”

“Based on what I’ve learned the past few days, that won’t keep their movements in check,
though.”

“That’s right, but it’s better than nothing,” Harry admitted.

“So why did you bring your Headmistress along?” asked the First Minister.

“To brief the Magicals the same that I’ve been briefing you,” Harry replied. “And with Gilmerton
Close shut down, she’s their ticket back into the wizarding world.”

“And we’ll let them go because we trust them?”

“Of course we trust them,” Harry replied sharply. “Well, at least I do, and they are wearing my
tartan, right?”

The First Minister snorted. “Pity that we’re letting them go, then. They could be a big help to
our side of this mess.”

Harry bit his lower lip, emulating Hermione’s favorite way to think.

“Couldn’t force them to help,” he finally said. “But that doesn’t mean that they wouldn’t
volunteer.”

Raising an eyebrow, the First Minister asked, “How so?”

“Well,” replied Harry, “we’ve already got sympathizers working on our side. There’s people
inside the Ministry keeping us in the know…and then there’s the volunteers that are still up on the
coastline doing Dementor patrols.”

“Not to mention your TPOMS squadron,” the First Minister added. “So…fancy mustering this lot
into the Paras?”

Harry turned back towards the small crowd of witches and wizards that were presently huddled
around the Headmistress. Half of them were parents of his classmates, like the Abbotts and Patils.
None of them looked like Regimental material.

As a new box took shape on Harry’s mental org chart, he shook his head and said, “Don’t think
that active military would be best, but…perhaps some sort of volunteer reserve that could be called
on to help as needed?”

The First Minister’s eyes lit up. “Like the Home Guard?”

“The Home Who?”

“The Home Guard, during the Second World War,” the First Minister explained. “A kind of civilian
defense corps.”

“That might work,” agreed Harry. “They’d need a leader, though…I’ve got enough on my plate
already.”

“Looks like they’ve already got one,” commented the Scottish politician, as he nodded towards
the Headmistress. “Of course, she’d need to coordinate with someone high on our side of the
fence.”

Harry smiled, “Volunteering for the job, sir?”

The Muggle politician snorted, then looked back towards McGonagall.

“Well it’s not like London has asked for my help otherwise, is it?” he asked. “Co-leaders of the
‘Scottish Home Guard’…nice ring to it, don’t you think? Now, how we would get hold of Minerva or my
troops if they disappear into your world, that’s a question…they know how to work mobiles?”

Harry snorted, and wondered whether the First Minister’s possessive pronouns and the use of the
Headmistress’s first name were good or bad things.

“Some of them likely do,” he replied. “Whether they’d work in high-magic areas is the
question…not too many cell towers around Hogwarts.”

“Maybe your Headmistress would have an idea, then?”

Harry smiled. “Might want to get her on-board with the idea of co-leadership first, Sir”

“Well, then, time to make my recruiting pitch, then, isn’t it?” the First Minister replied. “Can
you stay long enough to help me with questions?”

Harry nodded, and decided that he might have to radically revise his opinion on the First
Minister…and maybe even his general opinion on politicians.

*5:30pm, En Route to Balmoral Castle, Scotland*

The voice of the latest (and least wanted) member of Harry Potter’s entourage broke a few brief
seconds of radio silence.

“Major Potter, Sir?”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“We’re five minutes from landing…if you care to look out the cabin window, I can start
identifying units for you.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Harry replied with a sigh.

They’d been in transit from Edinburgh for a little over thirty minutes time. The Ministry of
Magic’s Obliviators had finally left Holyrood Park, the Garden Party guests had been evacuated, the
ICW delegation flown back to London, and the Parliament building restored to its former “glory.”
Harry had orders to join the Queen at Balmoral Castle (not that he wouldn’t have followed her
without the orders), and had planned on simply badge-jumping using Steve as an anchor. But as TPOMS
was also deploying there, it was suggested that he ride with his squadron, so that he might get an
aerial view of the Estate and its defenses.

Unfortunately, from Harry’s perspective, a tour guide came along for the ride. The pimply-faced
junior officer from the Royal Scottish Regimental HQ had been “loaned” to TPOMS, as a liaison
between Harry’s group and the regular Muggle army. This eager beaver had been briefed in on the
contingency planning for a possible Royal evacuation, and was determined to show the extent of that
knowledge from takeoff to final approach.

The similarity between this Muggle soldier and the older brother of two in his squadron wasn’t
lost upon Harry. Nor to Fred, who had coughed out the name “Percy” into their shared comm. system
more than once.

“The bulk of the Army’s deployment involves the 51st Highland Brigade, with elements
of the Black Watch thrown into the mix” the aide stated as they began their descent.

“Black Watch?”

“The Royal Highland Regiment,” chimed in New Six, from across the cabin. “Top shelf active
regiment, with troops drawn mostly from Scotland. They’ve been in Iraq for a few years now, but
they rotate units in and out to keep them fresh…must have pulled the poor bastards who were home on
hols.”

Harry nodded. “So this Highland Brigade?”

“Territorial Army,” said Stout, joining the conversation. “They’re reserves and part-timers for
the most part. Not nearly as well-armed or well-trained.”

“Sir, the 51st does have civil defense within its ORBAT, and has trained for just
this sort of thing,” the junior officer stated.

“What’s an ORBAT?”

“Erm, Order of Battle, Sir?”

“The ORBAT identifies the brigade’s standing missions,” added New Six.

“Oh, thanks,” Harry replied. He then looked down as they passed over some of the higher peaks of
the southern Cairngorms. “So what are those domes and dishes down on those hilltops?”

“That’s 2nd Signal Brigade, Sir,” replied the aide. “They’re tasked with providing emergency and
disaster recovery communications across the country.”

“Also looks like they’re sharing space with field radar units,” added Stout.

“So we’ll have to ask for permission to fly up here as well?” asked Harry.

“Yes, sir,” the aide replied, as he looked curiously around the cabin. He’d never seen such a
strange squadron…half-officers, half-enlisted, half young, half older, more than a few women. And
they were led by a boy younger than he was…a boy with the rank of Major that was asking the most
basic of questions about the armed forces. Had it not been for the pips on Harry’s uniform and the
respect shown by the older enlisted men under his command, the junior officer would have pegged
Harry to be more likely a Firstie at Sandhurst.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“If I might ask, exactly what kind of airborne unit is this?”

Harry turned away from the cabin window and shared a smile with his squadron. He then gave the
junior officer a stern-looking gaze and asked, “Lieutenant, do these patches on our sleeves mean
anything to you?”

“Yes, Sir,” the Muggle soldier replied. “You’re with the First Paras, Sir.”

“That’s right, Lieutenant…the *Parachute* Regiment. So how do you think we go
airborne…flying on broomsticks?”

“Erm, no Sir…sorry Sir.”

“Any other questions, then?”

“Erm, no sir,” the young Muggle replied sullenly. But then he quickly regained his composure,
and picked up his running commentary on the Castle’s perimeter defenses.

oo00OO00oo

A badge-call from Steve once they had landed at Balmoral informed Harry that he was to attend to
the Queen. He would have badge-jumped, were it not for the fact that Lieutenant Longbottom’s
presence was also required. Instead, he decided to get some use out of the Percy-wannabe and
ordered the aide to help the rest of his squadron find a mess tent. The junior officer resisted
Harry’s dismissal until New Six and Stout stepped up and stared down the lieutenant with
suggestions that the boy follow their commanding officer’s orders.

A Household Staff member that Harry knew from Buckingham Palace as “Brent” was waiting at the
Castle’s front. The elderly groomsman raised half an eyebrow at the slightly disheveled mishmash of
tartan and combat fatigues worn by the two young men, but held his tongue…he knew what had happened
in Edinburgh, and had become accustomed to the terribly informal relationship between the Queen and
her Wizard.

The Castle’s rooms and hallways were bustling with a thick mixture of military and civilians
that the three needed to make their way through en route to what the groomsman called “The
Bunker.”

When asked about their destination, the servant explained that Balmoral had been earmarked in
the 1960s as a royal refuge in the event of a nuclear war. A Cold War-era evacuation plan had been
dusted off and enacted that brought most of the Queen’s extended family to the Estate. He noted
further that there was a select group of Muggle Civil Servants and Members of Parliament who had
been flown up from London, and that the Household staff were having fits trying to find suitable
accommodations for them all…despite the fact that there were sixty-seven rooms in the Castle and
more than 100 outbuildings on the Estate.

Harry’s thoughts about why Civil Servants and MPs had been brought to Balmoral were put on
temporary hold when the elevator that took them several levels below ground opened its doors, and a
blur of tartan shot through to envelop him in a bone-crushing hug.

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed as she buried her face into the nook of his shoulder.

“Erm…hey, Hermione, hey Susan,” Harry replied with surprise, noting out of the corner of his eye
that Neville had been similarly attacked by Potter-Plaid and pigtails.

“What are you doing up here?” Harry asked, once he lifted Hermione off the ground and carried
her out of the elevator cab.

“Do I need a reason to be by your side, Major Potter?”

“Of course not…it’s just…you and the P.M….”

“Plans were enacted that sent some of the other COBRA members off to secured remote locations,”
Hermione replied, squeezing his arm. “The Foreign Minister is traveling up as part of that plan,
and we’ll teleconference after dinner.”

“So you’ve been posted to Balmoral instead of Number10?”

“No, I’ll just have a longer commute,” she said with a smile. “Do you mind?”

“What? I’d be daft if I did,” Harry said with a firm squeeze around Hermione’s waist.

The sound of Harry’s Muggle escort clearing his throat brought his mind back to business.

“Lord Gryffindor, if you would be so kind, then?” the groomsman asked, gesturing down the
hallway with his arm.

“Erm, right…thought we’d been through this, Brent…I’m Harry, right?”

Hermione smiled and pinched Harry’s arm.

“Given the occasion, Milord, the title fits.”

“What occasion is that, then?”

A sparkle came to Hermione’s eye as she recalled how Harry had teased her during their first
Royal audience. She gave him a sly smile and said, “You’ll see.”

oo00OO00oo

Thirty minutes later Harry Potter left his audience with the Queen with a set of keys in his
sporran and a shocked expression on his face.

“I can’t believe she just did that,” he muttered, as he rode the elevator back to ground level
with Hermione and Neville.

Hermione snorted. “Well, you have to admit…it does solve the TPOMS lodging situation rather
nicely.”

“So she could have just offered to let us sleep there for the night,” Harry countered. “Didn’t
have to give me the bloody building…or the 10,000 acres of land that goes with it!”

“Thought that this was just an exchange for the Gryffindor lands that were turned into Windsor
Park and Castle?” asked Neville.

“But I didn’t ask for it…didn’t need it…”

“But that didn’t keep you from telling thr Queen ‘Yes, Ma’am, thank you, Ma’am’, right?” asked
Neville.

“Yeah, but…10,000 acres? I don’t even know how big that is!”

“About fifteen square miles,” Hermione replied, quickly doing the math.

“It’s big, but not obscenely big,” Neville offered. “Our family lands cover 6,400 acres, for
comparison.”

“And Longbottom Manor is huge!” Harry explained. “And why did she decide to give this to me
now?”

“Have you already forgotten how the Queen answered that question, Harry?” Hermione asked with a
smile.

Harry shook his head as the elevator doors opened to the Castle’s main floor.

“Yeah, yeah…’You’ll see,’ she said…made me think that she was channeling you, Hermione.” Harry
muttered. “So how long before I see, then?”

Hermione smiled as she took hold of Harry’s hand, led him outside, and pointed to two waiting
Land Rover Rapid Deployment Vehicles.

“You’ll see just as soon as you gather your squadron, Major Potter.”

“Right, then,” Harry said firmly. “You’re in on this surprise as well?”

“You’ll see.”

The TPOMS commander sighed, allowing Hermione to have her bit of fun. Neville was dispatched to
go find the others while Sir Harry and Dame Hermione walked hand-in-hand towards the Landys.

“So who else is along for the ride?” Harry asked.

The answer came when Hermione led Harry around the back of one of the Land Rovers and gestured
towards a pair of Potter-Plaid wearing snoggers who were doing a bit of opportunistic groping.

“Oh, hi there, Harry,” called out Luna, as she nonchalantly pulled her hand out from underneath
Ron’s kilt. “Thanks for the ‘his and her’ skirts!”

“Erm…sure,” Harry stammered. “Checking for ants in Ron’s pants?”

As the youngest male Weasley blushed from embarrassment, Luna shook her head and shrugged.

“Oh, Ronnie isn’t wearing any pants right now, but you can’t be too sure, can you?”

“Erm, hello, there Harry,” Ron said, pulling his own hands free for a slipshod salute.

Harry snorted. “I’d say ‘at ease’ but that would be rather redundant, wouldn’t it?”

Ron replied with an even deeper blush, allowing Harry to add, “So when did you two arrive?”

“When Hermione did,” stated Luna. “Five o’clock is quitting time in the mail room, and she gave
me the nicest hug when we side-along apparated.”

“Did she, now?” Harry asked with a smile and a glance towards his girlfriend.

“Just close enough to get our…*cough*…fellow MI-5 agent…*cough*…here,” Hermione
muttered. “Of course, if her boyfriend knew how to apparate, he could’ve done it himself.”

“Oh, that wouldn’t have been any fun…Ronnie and I have plenty of other chances to hug,” Luna
said brightly. “You, and I on the other hand….”

“Yes, well we’re all square now, aren’t we?” Hermione said quickly. “And you might want to get
some last hugs in now, because boys and girls will have separate dorms tonight.”

“Oh, poo!”

“Oh, poo is right,” added Harry.

Hermione gave Harry a sidelong glance, smiled, and whistled a bit of “Love Shack.” It was
horribly off-tune, but he still got the idea.

“So Luna, are you going to be staying with us, then?” he asked.

Luna nodded and shrugged her shoulders. “Somebody needs to ride on Ronnie’s broomstick,
right?”

“Better her than me,” Hermione muttered under her breath.

Ron tried to change the subject, asking, “So where is this forward position that we’ve been
assigned to?”

“Ask her,” Harry replied, with a nod towards Hermione.

She gave the two-word response of the day.

“You’ll see.”

The arrival of TPOMS squadron and the pesky Muggle junior officer kept Ron from pressing the
issue.

“Which Landy will you be using, Major Potter?” asked the attaché.

“Hadn’t decided…why?”

“Because I’ll need to ride by your side, of course,” the Muggle said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary…Lieutenant,” chimed in Hermione. “I’ll be by the Major’s side.”

The junior officer gave Hermione’s civilian dress a once-over. The woven pattern of the long
skirt she was wearing matched that of the non-military issue kilt that Harry still wore, but there
were no other signs of rank.

“I am Lieutenant Bravard, Ma’am, the Major’s new attaché. You are….”

“Somebody with a security clearance much higher than yours, Lieutenant,” Hermione said with an
arched eyebrow and a flash of her laminated MI-5 credentials. “And somebody who is traveling with
Major Potter and his troops to an area that you most certainly haven’t been cleared to visit.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Lieutenant, I’m afraid that it is,” said Harry with a smile. “Now why don’t you run along
and make yourself useful someplace else? I’ll come looking for you if I need your assistance.”

“But, sir?”

“Dismissed, Lieutenant!”

“Yes, Sir,” the young man said with no small amount of dejection.

Once the Muggle soldier was out of earshot, Harry said, “Thanks for the excuse, Hermione…that
boy was starting to get on my nerves.”

“Boy, Harry?” Hermione quipped. “He’s at least a few years older than we are.”

“Doesn’t feel like it right now,” Harry said with a sigh.

“Sounds like the ants are getting to Harry, Hermione,” opined Luna. “Do you want to check, or
should I?”

Hermione smiled. “Oh, I’ll take care of that later, thanks.”

“Promise?” asked Harry with a smirk.

Hermione waggled her eyebrows, and took a step closer to Harry so that she could grab hold of
the pleated front of his kilt.

“Unless you’d rather have that inspection now?”

Wolf-whistles and catcalls from the members of TPOMS squadron kept Harry from fully considering
his options, so he gently pushed Hermione’s hand away from his kilt hem and gruffly ordered his
troops into the back of the vehicles.

It wasn’t until Hermione and he climbed into the front cab of the lead Landy that he whispered
an answer into her ear.

“Later would be brilliant, thanks.”

oo00OO00oo

There were a number of checkpoints between the Castle grounds and the highway that connected
Balmoral with Aberdeen, and once they turned onto the two-lane road Harry noticed only military
traffic.

“Blocked off civilian access, then?” he asked

Their driver nodded. “Probably only for a few more hours, Major…until all of the troops are
where they should be.”

“And where is it that we should be, Hermione?” Harry asked.

“You’ll see,” she replied with a grin.

A mile away from the Castle’s access road, the Land Rovers turned north along a secondary
unpaved path that climbed up out of the wooded valley of the River Dee and into heath-covered
moorlands. They crossed armed checkpoints at the start of this rough road, and came upon another
checkpoint at a crosspath four miles farther along.

That this latest roadblock was in a barren area of moorlands caught Harry’s eye, but not as much
as what was guarding it…two dozen members of the Black Watch, dressed in desert-pattern camouflage
and armed to the teeth with automatic weapons, two machine gun emplacements, armored vehicles, and
a tank.

“Good afternoon, *Major*,” said the soldier that popped his head into the Land Rover’s
cab.

Harry was in too pissy a mood not to respond to the sarcasm in the man’s voice, so he took note
of the man’s rank and said, “It is a good afternoon, isn’t it *Sergeant*?”

The soldier snorted, which made Hermione turn a little cross. After demonstrating her reason for
being with a flash of her MI-5 badge, she asked, “Do you have a problem, soldier?”

“No, Ma’am,” he replied. “It’s a lovely day to be sitting here out in the open, waiting to be
attacked by *witches* on *broomsticks*. Makes perfect sense that I’m here, instead of
home with my girl after eight months in Basra.”

Harry shook his head. “You’ve been told, then?”

“Yes, Major. We’re to defend the Queen against you lot.”

“You lot?”

“Well, sir, not you personally…you’re supposed to be one of the good wizards, right?”

“That’s right, Sergeant,” Harry snapped. “I’m the Queen’s Wizard, *Major* Harry Potter…do
you have a problem with that?”

“Erm, no Sir…sorry Sir,” the soldier said with his eyes cast down. “Just seems rather
ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous, you say?” roared a voice from behind the Landy.

Harry popped his head out of the opened window and spotted New Six and the other “real army”
members of his squadron bearing down.

“You miserable piece of excrement,” shouted New Six. “Did you even ask the Major for permission
to speak freely?”

The sergeant and the other members Black Watch squadron took note of the demeanor of the men
from Sport and Social, and made to back up their man. Deciding it was time to live up to his
command rank, Harry stepped out of the Landy and ordered New Six and the others to stand down.

“I think that the Sergeant and his men need a little bit of reassurance that there’s a real
reason why they are here to guard against witches and wizards,” he announced.

“Good idea, Major,” New Six said with an evil grin. “Turn him into a newt…that’ll get his
attention.”

The soldiers on both sides of this mini-confrontation laughed, with only the TPOMS members
knowing that Harry could actually fulfill that request.

“Hermione…don’t suppose we have wards established here?”

“No…can only put the ward line so far out.”

Harry nodded. “Too bad, that makes it out of bounds for me to turn the Sergeant here into a
flobberworm. So how far to my new Lodge?”

Closing one eye in a squint to aid her estimate, Hermione replied, “About four miles to the
west.”

“And does the view change between here and there?”

“Not really, why?”

“Because brooms won’t trip the Ministry’s sensors, and these men need to get an idea of what
they might be up against.”

“Oh, Harry, you aren’t thinking….”

“So what else is new?” he replied with a grin. “Captain Weasley?”

“Yes, Sir!” Ron shouted.

“Break out the brooms.”

“Yes, Sir!”

The members of the Black Watch Squadron who had been ordered to defend the crossroad filled the
valley with laughter at Harry’s orders.

Three minutes later, some of these same men were filling their pants as a full squadron of
airborne assault broomsticks buzzed two feet over their heads at one-hundred and ten miles per
hour.

“Ahh…that felt good!” announced “Seeker” as they left the checkpoint behind and headed up the
valley in a stacked V-formation.

“Harry…slow down! And the secrecy statutes…” whined Hermione.

“Won’t mean a thing if a group of Death Eaters pops in front of those boys, will it?” Harry
retorted.

“Seeker?” asked a voice coming through their charmed headgear.

“Go ahead, Lee…erm, I mean *‘Rasta’*.”

“So we’re heading to a position that is forward of those blokes?”

“Looks like it, Rasta.”

“In the direction towards where that tank’s gun was pointed?” added Stout.

“Got a problem with that?” asked Harry.

“No sir, just wondering.”

“No worries, Sergeant Stout,” chimed in Hermione. “We’ll be free to use our wands up there for
defense.”

“And where exactly is there, *Chequers*?” asked Harry.

The question had been posed enough times in front of the troops for them to all respond in
unison on Hermione’s behalf.

“You’ll see!”

oo00OO00oo

The Queen’s Wizard didn’t think there was much at all to see as they followed a one-lane cart
path up the valley. Nothing rose above the level of the heath, other than the stone walls of two
abandoned buildings passed along the way. Harry was beginning to question the Queen’s generosity,
but kept those thoughts to himself so long as he had a live mike within his flight helmet.

They followed the valley until it came to a point and started back down on the far side of a
large hill to their left. Hermione pointed towards a small monument of rocks and told him to land,
explaining that the squadron needed to be keyed into the wards that began at that point.

“What wards are you talking about, Hermione?” Harry asked, as he followed her instructions.

“Those that protect Glengairn Lodge, Harry.”

“And where is that, then?”

Hermione pointed up to the top of hill on the north slope of the valley, where a lonely looking
stone building stood sentinel.

“That’s Glengairn Lodge?” he asked.

Hermione nodded just before she hopped off the broom and removed her helmet.

Harry took a good, full-circle glance at their bleak-looking location. There was a fine view of
Ben Avon and its sister peaks to the west, but not much else. He removed his helmet, so that he
could ask in confidence, “That’s it, then?”

His girlfriend chuckled. “Oh ye of little faith…don’t you know by now that looks can be
deceiving? Come here, you.”

The Queen’s Wizards followed orders, and allowed Hermione to wave her wand over his head a few
times.

“Take a few steps up the hill, and see if your opinion still holds.”

Harry did so, and witnessed a dramatic change in landscape as he passed through the slight
shimmer of a ward line. Halfway up the hill, the heath gave way to lush green lawn, and a manicured
landscape of flowering bushes and shrubs. The forlorn-looking stone structure had morphed into an
impressive ivy-walled estate house.

“Whoa…what’s that?”

“Well it could be home, if you want,” Hermione replied brightly. “But for now, we can just call
it Glengairn.”

Harry thought that “Glengairn” had a nice ring to it, but that “home” sounded even better,
especially when Hermione said it. He began to stride up the hill, only to have her stop him.

“Hold on, Harry…let me get the others through,” she asked. “I want to see the look on your face
when we get up there.”

“Why?” he asked. “Can’t imagine that the view could be any better than this one.”

“You’ll see,” Hermione said with a wink.

Harry anxiously waited for Hermione to complete her spell work.

“So you built this illusion into the wards?” he asked.

“No, that’s beyond me, I’m afraid,” Hermione admitted. “It’s a hyped-up notice-me-not charm
built into a perimeter ward. The goblins think it’s been here for hundreds of years…all I can do is
control who is affected by it.”

“How did you manage that?”

“With the land-owner’s permission,” she replied.

“But I thought that I own all this, now?”

“Not until the papers that you signed are filed,” Hermione noted. “And you certainly didn’t own
these lands two weeks ago.”

“So you had the Queen’s help?”

“Well, she was the land owner.”

“And you kept this a secret from me?”

Hermione chuckled, and nodded. “It was supposed to be a birthday present, but given present
circumstances it couldn’t wait.”

“Wow,” said Harry, amazed at what his Queen and Consort had accomplished.

“Save the wows until we get to the top,” Hermione instructed.

“Yes, dear,” he replied with a grin.

Once everyone was inside the ward line Hermione grabbed Harry’s hand and took the lead up the
hill. They stopped twice along the way, just so that Harry could smell the flowering bushes and
touch the green grass to reassure himself that it was all real.

“So where is the front door?” he asked, taking a new look at the building.

“Around the other side,” Hermione replied. “View is better facing north.”

“How could it be any better?” Harry asked.

Hermione decided not to give her stock reply, as they had reached the building and were
following a flag stone path around to the other side. Instead, she waited until she could sweep her
arms out towards the valley below and simply say, “That’s how.”

“Holy shi…”

“Language, Harry!”

“And you didn’t swear the first time you were here?”

“Not as far as you know.”

“Sweet Merlin on a Manticore!” shouted Ron, who had been close behind Harry and Hermione.

“There, see Harry? And it was Ron, too…if he didn’t see the need to curse then surely you
shouldn’t.”

Ron was too shocked to notice the insult. Neither were the other magical members of the squadron
once they shared the vantage point.

Luna didn’t seem too concerned, though. Neither did the Muggles.

“So this is our forward position?” asked New Six.

“Yes.”

“And there’s something down there we’d need to defend against?”

Harry snorted.

“Pull your wizard glasses out and take another look.”

All of the Muggle squadron members took the hint and put digital binoculars up to their
eyes.

“Whoa…what the hell is that swimming in that lake?” asked Coley.

“Why that’s Lenny, of course,” said Luna.

“That thing has a name?”

“Doesn’t every Giant Squid?”

“So let me guess,” said New Six. “You all recognize that hamlet below us?”

“Yes,” Harry replied with a wavering voice. “It’s called Hogsmeade.”

*10:00pm, Harwich Port, Essex*

Peter Vanderwood paid no mind to Percy’s dry heaves over the port rail of the Hook to Harwich
ferry…his focus was already divided between the approaching coastline and the bottom of his beer
bottle.

“Damn,” he scowled, “I wonder if there’s still time for a final round.”

“Aren’t we there, yet?” Percy asked weakly.

“Your country, mate…you tell me,” the Dutch wizard muttered. “Stay here,” he ordered, as he
headed back below decks.

“Not going anywhere,” Percy replied, as he hung for dear life to the railing.

The North Sea hadn’t been all that rough during the six hour transit, but the Minister of Knowns
had gotten the munchies and stuffed himself full of Muggle fast food right before they had boarded
the ship. The greasy cheeseburgers and chips didn’t last long in his stomach once the anchor was
raised and the first pint of duty-free beer went down. He’d been puking at regular intervals ever
since.

There was a dark green bottle in each of the Dutch wizard’s hands when he returned a few minutes
later.

“Hey, I thought to get you a beer before I closed out your tab,” Peter announced.

“No thanks,” Percy whispered.

“Right then…I’ll have to drink twice as fast.”

“When are we getting off this cursed muggle ship?” whined Percy.

“Once we pass inside the frontier wards, or I finish my drinks…whichever comes first.”

“But the wards…I’m a high-ranking Ministry official.. Won’t be a problem if you’re with me.”

The Dutch wizard looked at the green-gilled English wizard and laughed.

“So you say…forgive me if I don’t think you look much like a high-ranking Ministry official
right now.”

“But I am!”

“So go then…I’m not keeping you.”

“Have to take you along.”

“No way in hell that I’m letting you side-along apparate me onto shore,” the young wizard
scoffed. “Although once we’re there…don’t suppose you know of any floo connections in Harwich?”

Percy frowned. “Don’t know anything about Harwich…we floo to specific places, not Muggle
cities.”

“How stupid is that?” asked Peter. “Never mind, I already know the answer.” He thought for a
moment, then said, “Taxi into London shouldn’t cost more than a couple hundred quid…I’ve got
enough, and you probably have just enough galleons to pay me back.”

“Taxi?” asked Percy.

“A Muggle car for hire, you idiot,” the Dutchman replied.

“I know what a taxi is,” Percy complained. “Just want this trip to be over.”

Peter Vanderwood ignored Percy’s whining as he took a long final draw from the second beer
bottle He then carelessly tossed the empty bottle overboard and wiped his mouth on his jacket
sleeve. Looking out towards the fast approaching shoreline, he said, “Have to be within three miles
now, let’s see…we’ll apparate inside that Muggle fort on that point of land, okay?”

Percy groaned.

“What a helpless bugger,” Peter muttered. Grabbing hold of his two bags stuffed with duty-free
whiskey, he asked, “Think you can manage to switch your grip from that handrail to my waist?”

Percy nodded and lurched towards the Dutchman’s side.

“Oi, keep your face pointing away from me,” Peter yelled. “Don’t want you spilling your guts on
the single malt.”

When Percy complied with this request, the Dutch wizard rechecked that they wouldn’t be spotted
by the other passengers, then apparated out into the night.

*10:30pm, Balmoral Castle,. Scotland*

The Queen’s Wizard had returned to Balmoral Castle, and was in SO14’s control room with Steve
when his Art Club badge began to vibrate. Not wishing to disturb those monitoring the different
video displays (or to openly advertise the capabilities of his Order’s emblem), Harry stepped into
an adjacent loo.

“Go ahead, Hermione,” he said, once he activated his badge.

“Are you ready for bed yet?”

Harry looked at his watch.

“Yeah, I guess so…not that much going on right now.”

“Good,” Hermione replied. “Are you someplace…private right now?”

“Yeah, actually, I am…why?”

“Because I’m already under the covers, I don’t fancy you using me as an anchor point with your
boots still on, and I want to see you dressed in my housewarming present.”

“Oh,” Harry replied, with some confusion. “So you’re at Glengairn?”

“That’d be a bit crowded, with your squadron quartered there, wouldn’t it?”

“The Love Shack, then?”

“Harry…I’m under the covers.”

“Yeah, but where…Balmoral? London? Windsor?”

“Does it really matter more than the fact that there’s barely anything between me and those
covers right now?”

Harry snorted. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“That’s right, so pull out that present and get cracking.”

“Right…hold on.”

Pulling his ever-present rucksack off of his shoulder, Harry opened the flap and pulled out a
small package that Hermione had given him as a “housewarming present” that afternoon. It had been
something that she hadn’t wanted him to open in front of the squadron.

When he unwrapped the small box he saw why.

“So what do you think, Harry?”

Harry frowned as he pushed past folded tissue paper and pulled out a small triangle of tartan
fabric fixed with a few pieces of string.

“Hold on, I’ll tell you once I’ve cancelled the shrinking charm.”

Hermione giggled over the Art Club badge.

“Harry, they haven’t been shrunk.”

“Really? Erm, what are they then?”

“Harry, you can’t tell me that you haven’t seen a thong before.”

“A thong? For me?”

“Why not?” Hermione asked. “You seem to like them well enough when I’m wearing them.”

“Yes, but…”

“Are you telling me that you aren’t going to make me happy and wear my gift?”

“Erm, no…of course not…wouldn’t you rather me arrive under the covers starkers, though?”

“And what if there’s an emergency and we have to badge-jump to the Queen’s defense?” Hermione
asked. “You wouldn’t want to duel naked, would you?”

“Erm maybe…but not in front of the Queen, and only if you were my naked opponent and we were
shooting chocolate sauce at each other.”

“Hmmm….hold that thought for another night, mister, and get dressed.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief, and then cast a worried glance at the door that led back into
the control room.

“Are you doing this just to get my mind off things?”

“No, I’m doing it to get your mind onto me.”

“And the pillow talk is part of the deal?”

“Is that a complaint? Because if it is, I hear that some of the other agents are sleeping out in
Balmoral’s mews tonight.”

“Erm, yes dear…I mean, no dear…I mean….hold-on,” Harry said with no small amount of
exasperation.

The Queen’s Wizard quickly stripped down. Or at least tried to…he was still getting used to
fastening and unfastening his kilt pins and straps.

Once he was down to only his dragonhide wrist holster and wand, he grabbed hold of the skimpy
shorts and managed to slip them on after a few tries getting his legs into the correct gaps.

“Hermione, this looks silly,” Harry whined, checking out his look in the mirror.

“Guess they look too silly for me to wear, then?”

“Of course not…you’ve got a cute bum.”

“And you don’t?”

“Hermione….”

“Harry, are you a Gryffindor, or not?”

Harry snorted, grabbed his rucksack in his other hand, and jumped…into something that looked
quite like a Gryffindor dormitory. Only it wasn’t.

“Harry?”

The Queen’s Wizard flinched at the sound of a feminine voice that wasn’t Hermione’s.

“Parvati?” He asked, as he quickly covered his barely-covered bits with his rucksack and spun
around.

He had it half right…both Parvati *and* her twin sister were sitting on a four-poster bed
with drawn curtains, wearing skimpy little night gowns with a tartan pattern that matched his
thong.

“Harry, what are you doing here?” Padma exclaimed. “What are you doing here dressed like
that?”

“Not that we mind, mind you,” Parvati said with a grin. “Hermione never told us how cute your
bum was.”

Motion in the corner of Harry’s eye caught his attention before he could explain. Susan Bones’s
head poked out from the curtains of a different bed and she sleepily asked, “What’s
going…Harry?”

“Hold on a second,” Harry asked, as he nudged Hermione’s “ray” on his Art Club badge.

“Harry?” came a voice over the badge. “Where are you?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” he replied. “And while you’re telling me where I am, maybe you
can talk loud enough to explain to Susan, Parvati and Padma why I am here?”

“Susan…Parvati?….oh, bugger!”

A moment later, Harry heard the silence-charmed curtains pull back from the bed behind him.

Two moments later, he found himself being dragged arse over teakettle backwards.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, as his limbs got tangled up with his girlfriend’s.

“Hang on,” his new bedmate asked. She then leaned over Harry’s body, giving him a close-up view
of the matching thong that she was wearing, and poked her own head out of the curtains.

“Sorry, girls, he was supposed to pop up under the covers, not outside of the curtains.”

“Oh we don’t mind too much, do we girls?” Parvati asked brightly. “You can make it up to us by
telling us all of the juicy details in the morning.”

“Okay…no,” Hermione replied.

“So is he spending the night, then?” Padma asked with a sly smile.

“Would you mind if he did?”

“I wouldn’t, but Hannah might be surprised when she goes off-duty in the morning.”

“Unless she is supposed to be part of the juicy details?”

“Of course she isn’t,” Hermione huffed. “Good night, ladies.”

“Good night, Harry!” Parvati shouted across the room, earning her a chorus of giggles.

Hermione swore under her breath, and pulled her head back inside the curtains. Her boyfriend was
sitting on top of the covers with a bemused expression on his face.

“Oh, Merlin, Harry, I’m so sorry…this was supposed to be a way to get your mind off things and
I’ve…”

“Succeeded beyond your wildest dreams?”

Hermione let out a deep breath. “I’m never going to hear the end of this one, am I?”

“Probably not,” Harry replied with a smile, as he unfolded his legs and stretched out on the
bed. Shifting uncomfortably, he then reached back and adjusted the string that made up the back of
his shorts. He patted the pillow next to him and asked, “So where did you bring me, anyway?”

“Still in Balmoral,” Hermione said softly, as she took the hint and stretched out next to Harry.
“In the tower…they converted the top part into a room for the witches-in-waiting to use.”

“Thought that it looked familiar…this is where I first met the Prince. Thought we were going to
use the Love Shack that we set up outside of Glengairn, though?”

“Yes, well…I decided to let Ron and Luna use it for the night.”

“Ron and Luna?” asked Harry. “What in Merlin’s name for?”

“So that Ron can do something other than get jealous of you and so that Luna can do Ron.”

“Oh,” Harry replied. “That actually makes sense, I guess…so why here, then?”

“Well, Hannah has the night shift by the Queen’s chambers, so she offered me the use of her bed,
and I thought since you’ve never been able to see the witch’s dormitory at Hogwarts, that…”

“You thought that you’d sneak your boyfriend into your pretend dorm room for a romp?” Harry
asked with a grin.

“Well, maybe not a romp so much as…a cuddle?”

Harry nodded.

“Scoot up then, and let’s get under the covers.”

Hermione smiled, and quickly complied, turning her back on Harry so that she could fall back
into a tight spoon. Once she reached for Harry’s hand and pulled it down to cover her midriff, they
lay quiet for a few moments.

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Hannah does know not to pile into bed in the morning, right?”

“Hmmm….would you be upset if I asked her to join us?”

“Is this some sort of boyfriend test, Hermione?”

“Maybe,” she said with a smiling tone of voice.

There was a second lull in the conversation.

“Harry?”

Her boyfriend’s response came in the form of deep, regular breathing.

Hermione sighed, and wiggled even closer to Harry.

“If only it had been a fiancé test,” she whispered. “You would have passed; you know…not that I
could ever say that out loud, for fear of being hypocritical about not jumping off of deep
ends.”

Hermione never saw the smile that formed on Harry’s lips in response.



64. Chapter 64
--------------

**Muggle Summer, Wizard’s Fall**

**Author’s Note:** I wanted to get farther along in the day with this chapter, but 8,000
words now is better than 16,000 words a couple of weeks from now, right?

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 64: A Busy Morning**

*Thursday, July 12, 5:00am, Haven’s Head, Milford Haven, Wales*

The Dark Lord went against his better judgment and crawled out of his hidey-hole in the
early-morning pre-dawn in search of some good news. He could have gone straight to the hippogriff’s
mouth and portkeyed to Rookwood’s or Rodolphus Lestrange’s separate hiding places, but with the way
things had been going...well, there was a reason why he hadn’t given Rookwood a portkey that
transported him to Milford Haven. And so he chose a different path (both figuratively and
literally).

Voldemort took care not to do magic or otherwise draw notice towards him during the
fifteen-minute walk from the bluff down into the nearest muggle neighborhood. That the gaunt
nose-less wraith went unnoticed had more to do with the lack of people out at that early hour than
any non-magical stealth skills he possessed. A modest bungalow with a small pile of folded
newspapers on its front steps provided exactly what he was looking for…a relatively risk-free
source of news. He cautiously approached the house and scooped up the papers under an arm. The loud
bark of a neighbor’s dog kept him from overstaying his visit. He walked briskly back to the curb
with wand and hand, then down the street and back up to the bluff, where the magic carpet waited to
ferry him back up the pipe chase and into his isolated lair.

The week’s worth of *Western Mail* that had accumulated while the muggle homeowner was on
holiday didn’t need to be sorted out by date…the one whose headlines screamed "TERRORISTS
CRASH QUEEN’S GARDEN PARTY!" was clearly the most recent. Voldemort snatched the paper up and
did a rush read of what was (for him at least) very bad news.

A second, more careful reading allowed the wizard to read between the lines.

The muggle Queen and Harry Potter lived, which meant that Lestrange had somehow failed.

The muggles believed that the attack was performed by muggle terrorists. This suggested that the
Ministry had been able to clean up or cover up after the attack. But then Voldemort remembered the
muggle bullet hole in Alecto Carrow’s head, and wondered whether it might have been Potter and the
muggles who were doing the covering up. And if it had been the muggles who had successfully
repelled the attack, and actually killed six of his men (as the paper had claimed), then it was
Potter who might have the escape portkeys that they had all carried.

And if Rookwood had been one of the wizards who had been killed or captured?

Voldemort cycled through Occlumency exercises that kept his temper (and more importantly, his
magic) under control. This gave him the time and temperament required to review the limited options
before him. Harry Potter was just brave enough and stupid enough to activate a blind portkey to see
where it led. Which meant that there had been purpose behind the paranoia that had led him to steal
newspapers from muggle stoops…the cave in Cornwall that had been Rookwood’s portkey destination
really could not be considered secure.

He had to assume the worst, and plan from there. Writing off Lestrange and his men meant that
the cursed and wounded wizards under Snape’s medicinal care now comprised the bulk of his fighting
force. The potions that were needed to bring them back to health would take at least one more week
to concoct and administer, under optimal circumstances. And if the muggles were to overreact to the
attack and lash out against the wizarding world, their targets would be those that were the most
visible…not those who had gone to ground.

There was more than enough food in the magical pantry to last the week, but Voldemort took no
chances, and prepared a meager ration of egg and bacon for breakfast.

*5:45am, Balmoral Castle. Aberdeenshire, Scotland*

Harry woke to the sensation of a hand rubbing small circles on his back.

"Hmmm…feels good."

"Ssshh...go back to sleep, Harry…we’ve still got forty-five minutes before Hannah will want
her bed back."

This response led the Queen’s Wizard to recall where he was and how he got there. With eyes now
opened and a mind now cleared, he flipped over to face his girlfriend and immediately began to
chuckle.

"What’s so funny?" Hermione asked.

Harry paused, so that he could permanently archive the memory…Hermione sitting cross-legged in
bed, dressed only in a Potter Plaid thong. The hand that hadn’t been rubbing his back had been used
to sort e-mail on a BlackBerry that sat high on her upper thigh.

Pulling her other hand to his lips, he gave it a tender kiss and asked, "Do you know just
how sexy you are when you multi-task?"

"Hush," Hermione chided, pulling her hand back. "You weren’t sleeping very well,
so I thought that…."

"Yeah, thanks."

"So go back to sleep, already."

Harry shook his head as he reached for his wand.

"No, I can’t imagine that my mailbox is any less full than my bladder." He then
transfigured his own tartan thong into less-revealing boxers and asked, "Think my
transfiguration will last long enough for me to make it to the loo?"

"I don’t think that any of the witches-in-waiting would mind if it didn’t."

"Right, so it’s the jacket too…it’s almost long enough to cover," Harry replied, as he
pulled his TPOMS field jacket out of his sack and slipped his arms into the sleeves.

"It’s the door behind Padma’s bed, next to the hearth," Hermione said with a smile.
"Don’t get lost along the way."

"Maybe I should have you lead me there and back?"

"Tempting…but that’s exactly the sort of thing that Parvati would expect of us."

"So why disappoint her?"

"Go!" ordered Hermione.

"Yes, Ma’am," Harry said with a cheeky salute, as he grabbed his bag and slipped out
through the curtains. Treading lightly across the room so as not to wake the others, he made it to
the loo without incident.

**oo00OO00oo**

The stream of hot water that beat down on the Queen’s Wizard’s shoulders was far less effective
than Hermione’s comforting hand when it came to keeping his spirits up. His nightmares had melded
the good and bad of the previous day…both the Garden Party attack, and Hermione’s unguarded
thoughts about their relationship. What came out was a replay that focused on the muggle family
that had been abused and held hostage in Edinburgh. Or to be more precise, on their situation…in
Harry’s dreams, it had been Hermione and he who had been held hostage, Hermione who had been used
and abused by the Death Eaters, and their children that had been forced to watch helpless as their
mum was violated. The despair and helplessness that he felt during these dreams began to creep back
into Harry’s thoughts, and kept him from even noticing the fact that in those dreams he was not
only married to Hermione, but the father of her children.

Any ideas he had brought into the bath about returning to Hannah’s borrowed bed and ravishing
his girlfriend flowed down the shower drain along with the gray water. Righteous anger rode in on
the back of an adrenaline rush, as he roughly toweled off and stepped into his kilt. By the time
he’d fastened his belt and slipped into his dragonskin boots, Harry had decided that some
combination of physical activity and physical violence would be needed before he either went off on
the captured Death Eaters, or activated one of the their confiscated portkeys with both wand and
gun blazing.

The solution came when Harry pulled the magical scabbard that held a third weapon from his
rucksack. With a determined grin he slipped the leather harness over his shoulders, pulled the
Sword of Gryffindor cleanly from its scabbard, grabbed his wand, and strode bare-chested back into
the witches-in-waiting’s bedchambers.

Hannah’s bed had gotten crowded in his absence, and his drawn sword and bared chest drew a
chorus of non-verbal utterances that were tinged with surprise, shock, and no small amount of
lust.

"Erm…Good Morning?" he stammered.

"Good Morning, Harry," four witches cooed in unison.

Harry tried to focus on Hermione face. It helped that she had thrown a white t-shirt on over her
thong. It didn’t help that Padma, Parvati and Susan were wearing no more than they had the night
previous.

"Erm…sorry," he said softy. "Didn’t mean to scare you…or to wake you
up."

"No worries, Harry…it was entirely intentional," Parvati quipped.

"How…."

"I cast a detection charm on your bed curtains last night," explained Padma. "It
set off an alarm when you got out of bed."

"But I didn’t hear any alarm?"

"It was a silent type," Padma stated.

"Yeah, it was set to vibrate," added Parvati cheekily. "Three guesses where it
was set to go off."

"Hush," Padma admonished.

"So why…."

"We wanted the chance to do some girl talk with Hermione," offered Parvati.

"And the chance to see you less than fully dressed was just incidental, right girls?"
asked Hermione.

"Well that part worked," said Susan, as she gazed appreciatively at the defined
muscles on Harry’s bared chest.

"In a rush to get somewhere, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Erm, no…I mean yes," he replied. "Wanted to get in a quick workout with my
sword."

Hermione cocked her head to one angle in thought.

"Bit too early to wake Sir Evan and badge-jump to Windsor, or to find a sparring partner,
don’t you think?"

"Yeah…I was just going to find a tree to hack at around here," Harry replied.

"What…and show the world your secret weapon?" Hermione asked.

"That I’ve got a sword isn’t that secret, is it?"

"No, but which sword you’ve got and the way you’ve begun to wield it is, though."

"Do you have a better idea in mind, then?"

"Yes, actually," Hermione replied with a smile. She then drew her wand and
transfigured a desk chair into a two-foot diameter wooden post that stretched from floor to
ceiling.

Harry arched an eyebrow.

"Okay, so it’s out of view, but there’s not a lot of room to move around, is
there?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, and cast spells that shrank down every piece of furniture in the room
down to miniature size, save for the bed that she and the other three witches were sitting on.

"Any other excuses, then?"

Harry snorted as some of the steam that was fueling his energy and emotions bled off. Two or
three other possible counter-arguments came to mind, but the "Hermione voice" inside of
his head parried them before the real Hermione got the chance. So he slid his rucksack to the side,
and cast a spell towards the four witches.

"A shield, to keep errant splinters from attacking you," he explained with a
smile.

"Better make it two-way, so that we don’t attack him," Parvati muttered.

"Remember the rules, ladies," Hermione said. "Look, but don’t touch."

"Aww….are you sure we can’t form a harem?" Parvati teased.

"Do you want to watch or not?" Hermione asked pointedly.

"Alright, alright…just teasing you," Parvati replied. "Not that you have anything
to worry about."

"How’s that?"

Padma shook her head in disbelief as Harry began to break into a sweat as he hacked away at the
post. She ran hand down the front of her thin tartan-patterned camisole and said, "Oh,
please…despite how little we have on, the only Potter Plaid that his eyes were glued to was the bit
that’s between your legs."

Hermione sighed, masking the glee that this assessment had produced with a neutral nod towards
Parvati.

"And the only Potter Plaid that your sister’s eyes are glued to is covering my boyfriend’s
bum."

"It's doing too good of a job," Parvati quipped. "Don’t you think he’d be
more comfortable if that kilt’s hem were a little higher?"

"No…it’s no longer than what the Highland warriors wore back in the day," Hermione
replied.

"Just a few inches, Hermione?"

"How many is ‘a few?"

"Fourteen or fifteen?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"In your dreams, Parvati."

"Well that’s going to be true enough," the light brown-skinned witch admitted with a
sigh. "Can you blame me for asking, though?"

Hermione shifted her attention from her dorm mate back out into the room, where Harry had begun
to incorporate twirls and thrusts into his routine that revealed firm thighs and teased with the
possibility of seeing more.

"No," she replied brightly. "I guess I can’t."

There was a brief lull in the conversation that Susan used to check the time.

"Oh darn, I need to get ready for my shift…Hannah’s getting off soon."

Parvati laughed. "Well, she’s not the only one."

"Parvati?" Hermione cautioned.

"Yes, Lady Gryffindor, I’ll be good, Lady Gryffindor," her dorm mate replied in a
sing-song voice.

"Hey…I don’t have that title yet," Hermione protested.

"Not *yet*?" Padma asked with an arched eyebrow. She reached out for the
Gryffindor’s hand and inspected the ring finger. "So exactly *when* will it become
applicable?"

"Come on," Hermione protested. "We’ve only been together for a few
weeks!"

"Oh please," snarked Parvati. "You two have only been sleeping together for a few
weeks, but you’ve been *together* for six years…just didn’t want to admit it."

"But…we're not sleeping together...we're just sharing a bed."

"A difference only in degree, and only if that’s true," Padma stated. "And you
did say ‘not yet,’ so don’t tell me you aren’t thinking about it."

Hermione smiled slyly. "Ok," she replied. "I won’t tell you."

"Really? So start talking!"

"Sorry, but I’ve really got to get going," Hermione replied. Waving out towards her
boyfriend, she added, "Besides, I have more important things to worry about than the color of
my bridesmaid’s gowns…like what else I can do to help Harry work out this excess energy."

The other three witches snorted.

"Do you really need suggestions?" Padma asked.

"Or do you just need some help draining Harry of his ‘energy’?" added Parvati.

"Thank you for the kind offer, ladies," Hermione replied. "But I don’t think I’ll
need any helping hands."

"How about a helping mouth, then?"

"Parvati!"

"Yes, Lady Gryffindor. Sorry, Lady Gryffindor. I’ll be good, Lady Gryffindor."

**oo00OO00oo**

*6:45am, Mayfair Hotel, London*

Special Assistant to the Minister Percy Weasley woke up far too late, and in far too comfortable
a bed for his own good. Reaching for the wand that sat on the ornate side table, he pulled himself
up and padded off to the loo in search of a headache potion.

Not that he was able to find one in the most expensive suite of one of the most expensive muggle
hotels in London.

Percy groaned as the events of the previous twenty-four hours filtered back into his memory. He
feared the worst as he threw his robes over his head and ran out into the sitting room of the
suite, and almost found it.

The worst thing would have been a missing Dutch Charms Master.

The next worst thing was a Dutch Charms Master watching pay-per-view muggle porn as he washed
down a room service breakfast with £300 per bottle champagne.

"Hey Percy, buddy…you’re alive," the Dutch wizard said with a smile. "Good thing,
that…wouldn’t fancy me being the one to pay for all this."

"What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing?"

"Waiting on you to take me to your leader, of course," Peter replied brightly.
"But so long as you’re here…pour yourself a flute and pull up a chair."

"No, I don’t think…"

"What, don’t fancy that sort of thing?" Peter asked, as he waved towards the telly.
"No matter…think I saw a gay porno offered in the listings…I can set you up in the other
room."

"No it’s not that…I’m not that way….it’s just….what I meant was…what….."

The young Dutchman grinned as Percy was taken in by the scene playing on the television.

"Yeah, it is amazing what some muggles can do…you’d think that there’d have to be an
*Engorgio* involved somehow...or maybe a magical throat expansion."

Percy responded with a weak nod.

"So what time are we meeting your boss, Percy?"

"No…scheduled time…" the red-headed wizard replied, as he sat down next to the
Dutchman.

"Excellent…there’s more movies and more on the menu once this is done."

The Special Assistant to the Minister snorted, but didn’t refuse the glass of champagne that was
thrust into his hand as he stared at the screen.

If this was the sort of thing was going to cause him to lose his job, then at least he was going
to enjoy it.

**oo00OO00oo**

*7:15am, Balmoral Castle.*

Susan Bones’s need to get ready for her day shift, the return of Hannah from her night shift,
and the influx of calls and reports at the start of another busy day all conspired to keep
Hermione’s hands from getting too naughty once Harry completed his hacking. The two settled for a
sweaty hug before he headed off for a second shower, and she decided to rearrange her early morning
schedule.

Thinking that Harry found almost as much solace in the air than in her arms, Hermione figured
out how to rationalize an early morning flight. By the time that Harry had washed up and dressed
(this time more fully), Hermione was kitted out in her combat blacks, and in the company of her
parents, who were dressed in full combat gear.

"Attention!" barked Roger, as his wife and he snapped off a crisp salute.

Harry rolled his eyes. "At ease, Mr. and Mrs. Granger…what’s wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong, Harry," Hermione quickly replied. "I thought you might want to
do some flying this morning."

"And we’re the excuse," Emily said warmly, as she stepped forward and pulled Harry
into her arms.

"How are you doing, Sir?" she asked.

"Mrs. Granger, please…."

"Yeah, Mum, aren't there rules about hugging a senior officer?"

"Well if there are, and if your boyfriend can’t call me Emily, then I might rather resign
my commission!"

"No worries, Mrs. Grang…erm, Emily," Harry replied. "Especially when it’s just
us." He then rapped his knuckles against Emily’s body armor and added, "Although it’s
hard not to think of that when this stuff gets in the way of your hugs."

Emily laughed. "Yes, well we’re still trying to get used to it as well."

"As are her students at the Summer Institute," Roger said with a smile. "Amazing
how well the kids behave when their Headmistress patrols the halls carrying an Uzi."

"Roger!"

"What…you don’t?"

"No, I do, but it’s to protect the children, not to threaten them."

"And do they know that, Dear?"

"Well…."

Harry laughed at the banter, and then asked, "Have you a way back, though?"

Roger nodded. "Sir Evan can anchor us to The Round Tower, and Cumberland Lodge is just down
the road from there."

Harry then turned to Hermione. "Not that I don’t enjoy the visit, but can you rationalize
it given all four of our schedules?"

"Absolutely," she replied. "I needed to get Mum and Dad keyed into Glengairn’s
wards, and as long as they’re right there…well, you ought to check on your squadron deployment,
Daddy ought to take a look at your new real estate holdings, and so long as they’ve come kitted
with their wizardvision goggles maybe we could give them a fly-by around Hogwarts?

Harry arched an eyebrow. "We’ve really got time for a fly-by, Hermione?"

"Are you telling me that you’re going to turn down a chance to fly?"

"Of course not," Harry replied. "So you’re going to fly too?"

"Of course not," Hermione replied with a grin, as she nodded towards a long-handled
broomstick that was propped up against the wall. "I had Fred hop back to the shop for one of
the unmodified Bluebottles."

Harry gave the slow moving "minivan" of broomsticks a frown.

"Well, I guess it’d still be flying..."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Would you rather spend the next couple of hours filling out
after-action reports?"

"No, no…this is obviously a much more important mission," Harry said quickly, as he
took hold of the broom. "Shall we open a window and head off?"

"Not just yet, Seeker," Hermione advised, as she opened the flap on his rucksack and
stuffed in the broomstick. "You’ve got a bit of fence-mending to do with the Black
Watch."

**oo00OO00oo**

Hermione’s idea of "fence-mending" involved transporting chafing dishes and coolers
from the castle’s kitchens into the back of a five-passenger Landy. The muggle driver assigned to
provide transport for the Queen’s Wizard arched an eyebrow when Harry and the three Grangers
emerged from the castle…not so much for what the four were loading than how they were dressed.

Roger and Emily Granger sported four-color camouflage patterned jackets and trousers, matching
body armor (chest plate and leg guards), sand-colored boots and gloves. It appeared to be standard
military issue, but was anything but…the boots and gloves were dragonhide, the body armor magically
thinned and lightened sheets of Kevlar and steel plating, and the uniform charmed to maintain a
comfortable temperature.

Harry was dressed similarly, save for the bright red "Potter Plaid" kilt and sporran
that substituted for trousers and thigh packs, and the rucksack on his back. Hermione, whose
battlefield "cred" came from her MI-5 commission, sported full-black commando gear and
matching black body armor underneath a tight-fitting Potter Plaid shawl. In consideration of their
eventual destination, her hand gun was hidden in one of her thigh packs and her wand was strapped
onto a black arm holster.

"Good morning, Private," Harry said cheerfully as he climbed into the front passenger
seat.

"Morning, Major," he replied, as Hermione and her parents piled into the rear
bench.

"Know where you’re going then?" Harry asked.

"Erm, yes Sir," the driver said cautiously, eyeing the tartan pattern woven into the
Queen’s Wizard’s kilt. He had heard stories in the motor pool about the people who wore that weave,
but didn’t dare ask about it…especially once Hermione answered a satellite phone call from Number
10 and began to discuss with "Tony" the need to brief in the Opposition Leader and his
shadow cabinet.

The call from the Prime Minister’s office kept other conversations from starting up as the Landy
made its way up towards the moorland valley guarded by the broom-buzzed Black Watch. As they
approached the checkpoint, Hermione finished the call, and Harry rolled down his window to address
the soldier who had waved them to a stop.

"Good Morning, Sergeant."

"Morning, Sir," the infantryman said warily, as he looked inside the vehicle. "No
broomsticks today, Sir?"

Harry’s eyes darted over towards the driver, then narrowed as they came back upon the Black
Watch sentinel.

"What are you on about, Sergeant?" he demanded. "We’ve brought breakfast, not
broomsticks."

"Erm, Yes, Sir…sorry, Sir, don’t know what I was saying."

"Obviously," said Harry, as he rolled his eyes and pulled on the flap of his maroon
beret. "So go on, then…get your men queued up behind us and we’ll set up a buffet
line."

"All the men, sir?"

"Yes, Sergeant, all of them," Harry replied, as he got out of the vehicle. "The
four of us can cover your watch for a few minutes."

"Thank you, Sir…much appreciated."

Harry nodded as he stretched his legs and stepped away from the Landy. He chuckled as he noted
the defensive upgrades…the soldiers were climbing out of foxholes, their tank was hidden behind a
wall of sandbags and earthwork, and the machine gun batteries had been augmented by an array of
surface-to-air missiles.

"Looks like we made a favorable impression yesterday," he said, as Hermione and her
parents joined him.

"If you mean that you scared the dickens out of them, then yes you did," Hermione
gently chided.

"It was worth it if it makes them take their mission a little more seriously."

"So what is their mission, then?" asked Roger. "To keep wizards from getting out
of the glen, or prevent muggles from going into it?"

"Both," Harry replied. "Although they’d be hard-pressed to stop any wizarding
force that was strong enough to get past our forward position at Glengairn."

"So is this part of your new lands, Milord?" Emily asked with some cheek.

"Hey now," complained Harry. "Hermione is the only one who gets to address me as
her lord."

"Oh, really? And when does that happen, dear?" Emily asked her daughter.

"Whenever Harry is dreaming," Hermione replied. She punctuated her response by
punching her boyfriend in the shoulder.

"Hey!" he whined. "No beating up a superior officer!"

"Doesn’t apply," Roger pointed out with a smile. "She’s not in the Squadron, and
you share the same rank in MI-5 ¾."

"Well….no cuffing the Clan Chief, then!"

"Are you saying that the Clan Chief outranks his Consort, dear?" Hermione asked
sweetly.

"Oh, I’d think for a moment before I answer that one, son," Roger advised.

"Fair enough," Harry said with a snort. "To answer your question, Emily, my new
lands start about three miles west of here…the Queen said that they could have been extended out
this far, but she advised that I’d be hard pressed to generate income sufficient to cover the tax
burden for these moorlands."

"But if you wanted a buffer zone, this would be hard to beat, wouldn’t it?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I guess, but at the time I didn’t know that there’d be
anything on the lands that *required* a buffer."

"There’d be even more of an uproar about the transfer out of the Crown Estate if the parcel
were any larger than it already is," offered Roger.

"Oh, that’s not going to be an issue," said Hermione. "Balmoral has never been
part of the Crown Estate."

"Really?"

Hermione shook her head. "Price Albert bought it for Queen Victoria with his own money…it’s
been passed on as private property through different inheritances ever since."

"It’s still going to be front page news, though," said her mum.

"We should be so lucky, given the attacks," said Harry. "That a simple real
estate transaction would be the most newsworthy item of the day."

"Nothing is simple when it comes to you or the Queen, son," Roger said as he placed
his arm around Harry’s shoulders.

"Well I can’t argue with that, can I?" the Queen’s Wizard replied ruefully.

The muggle Sergeant who had first chatted with them approached, and reported that everyone has
passed through the line.

"Right, then, you can send the driver back with the dirty dishes," Harry advised.

"Yes, Sir," the soldier replied. "And sorry about the broomstick reference, Sir…I
didn’t mean to be telling your secrets."

Harry nodded. "They’re not just my secrets to keep, Sergeant….they’re yours now,
too."

"Yes, Sir…I won’t forget. Just never thought that I’d have to sign on to the Official
Secrets Act."

"Neither did I, Sergeant…neither did I," Harry replied, as he casually reached into
his eighteen-inch long satchel and pulled out a seven-and-a-half foot long broomstick.

The muggle soldier gave the broomstick a close look as Harry placed it the ground.

"No forward guns on that one, Sir?" he asked.

Harry smiled. "Good spot, Sergeant…it’s a stock model that’s more minivan than
military."

"If you say so, Sir."

Harry waited until the Land Rover had pulled around a bend and out of sight before yelling
"Up!". The broom lifted up off the ground as the two rear "bench seats"
shimmered with yellow-tinted magical energy.

"Hop on," said Harry, as he passed out flight helmets pulled from his bag, and climbed
into the pilot’s seat.

"We’ll cover the rear," Roger announced, as he swapped out his beret for his helmet
and swung his machine gun around to a ready position against his chest. Hermione’s mum mirrored his
actions as they climbed up onto either side of the rear bench. Facing away from each other, they
hung their feet over the edges of the bench and fingered their gun triggers.

"Buckle us up, sweetheart?" Emily asked.

Hermione shook her head, still trying to wrap her mind around the idea of having parents who
were armed with more than dental drills. She touched her wand tip to "seat belts" that
wrapped around the waists of her two parents, before doing the same for herself in the middle
bench. Seeing three "thumbs-up," Harry turned forward and called into the radio channel
used by air traffic control.

"Phoenix Lead requesting permission to take-off from Black Watch Station."

"Phoenix Lead you are cleared for flight," replied a voice through the radio.
"Good Luck, Major."

Harry turned to offer the soldier a departing salute, only to take note of the soldier’s intense
interest. He looked at his watch and asked, "Think we have time to give the sergeant here a
ride up the valley and back?"

Hermione snorted, then shook her head. "Mission first, Harry…pony rides later."

"Ma’am, Yes Ma’am!" Harry said crisply.

He was started by the slap against the back of his helmet.

"You are a git sometimes, Harry," Hermione decided.

"Ah…but a lovable git, right?"

"I suppose."

The muggle solider had to settle for salutes and a handshake from Hermione before Harry sent the
broom up the valley at a steep angle of ascent.

**oo00OO00oo**

The distance between the Black Watch’s position and Glengairn’s ward line was covered in very
short order. A call out over the radio kept fingers off of triggers and hands from drawn wands once
they came in sight of Glengairn and the sentinels that were now posted on its rooftop. While
Hermione keyed her parents into the wards, Harry pulled hooded robes and tartan lap blankets from
his bag. The robes hid their muggle military apparel, while the small blankets hid Roger and
Emily’s automatic weapons…this type of concealment would be necessary just as soon as they plunged
into the valley on the other side.

Roger and Emily’s reactions to Glengairn once they passed through the wards were no less
dramatic than Harry’s the day previous.

"It’s beautiful," Emily gushed, as Harry ferried them to the top of the hill. "So
lush…and green…and it’s yours?"

The Queen’s Wizard shrugged his shoulders. "That’s what they tell me."

"But the flowers…and the shrubs…how can they thrive at this latitude…much less
altitude?"

"Magic," Harry replied glibly. "Neville reckons that the same weather moderation
spell that tempers the winters and keeps Black Lake from freezing over works up here as
well."

Roger and Emily got their first glimpse of Black Lake when Harry flew the Bluebottle up to the
roof of Glengairn Lodge, where Katie Bell and New Six were standing watch. While Hermione played
tour guide and began pointing out places that her parents had only known previously through her
letters, Harry chatted with his troops

"How are things looking?"

"A quiet night, Major," New Six replied.

"But only because there were silencing charms on the Love Shack you loaned out to Ron and
Luna," Katie snarked.

Harry snorted and looked down at the formal garden, where the Love Shack had been pitched. The
tent flaps were still drawn shut.

Looking down at his watch, he asked, "No sign of those two this morning, then?"

"No, Sir."

Harry sighed, and tried to call Ron using his Art Club badge. It took almost a minute’s time
before he got a response.

"Oh, poo!"

"Luna?"

"Sorry, Harry."

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes, Ronnie’s badge just stopped vibrating. I must have nudged it the wrong way…would you
hang up and call again?"

"Erm…Luna, why are you wearing Ron’s badge?"

"Oh, I’m not wearing it…Ronnie and I aren’t wearing anything at the moment."

"But how did you know that it was vibrating….wait, wait, don’t tell me….is Ron
there?"

"Yes."

"Can I talk with him please?"

"Erm, sorry, but Ronnie is busy checking me for overnight messages."

"Checking you for overnight…how is he doing…wait, wait, don’t tell me."

"Okay, Harry."

"Will you have him call me when he’s done…checking?"

"Sure Harry…it won’t be much longer…even quicker if you called back."

"Erm…right. Thanks, Luna." Harry said hastily.

Katie Bell gave Harry a devilish look as he touched "off" his badge.

"You know, Harry…George knows a charm that turns his voice into a dead-on imitation of
Molly’s."

The Queen’s Wizard paused for a moment to consider this statement, then matched Katie’s grin. He
called Ron’s brother, then listened in on a "three-way" call that was made to the Love
Shack.

It took almost as much time as the previous call for Luna to accidentally "lift" the
vibrating receiver with an errant touch.

"Oh, poo…it stopped again."

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!" George shouted using a a dead-on impersonation of his mum.
"GET OFF OF YOUR GIRLFRIEND, AND GET YOURSELF OUT OF THAT DEN OF FORNICATION THIS MOMENT! NO
SON OF MINE IS GOING TO….."

The volume of this faux tirade was sufficient to catch Hermione’s notice.

"Harry…what is that?"

"Ron’s alarm clock," he replied with a grin, as the Love Shack’s tent flaps were
thrown open and the Clan Champion exited whist trying to run and put on his boots at the same
time.

The laughter that rang down from the Lodge’s rooftop had to bounce around in Ron’s head for a
few moments before he realized that he’d been pranked.

"That was mean, Harry," Hermione said with a shake of her head.

"It was Katie’s idea," Harry said defensively. "And it did get him out of the
tent."

"So now we’ll have to expect Ron to plot his revenge next time we’re in that
situation?"

"And what situation is that, Dear?" her Mum teased. "Don’t tell me that Harry
checks you for overnight messages as well?"

Hermione and Harry both blushed, as he stammered, "Erm, I’m sure she meant the next time
that we slept in the tent."

"Oh, really?" asked Roger. "And when will this next time be?"

Hermione’s blush grew before she realized that her parents were only teasing her. But as she had
no interest in continuing this sort of banter with her parents, she ended the discussion with a
huff and a "Never mind."

**oo00OO00oo**

Given their proximity to Hogsmeade Village, it was decided that the easiest way for Ron and Luna
to get to the Ministry for their internships was for them to floo from The Three Broomsticks.
Hermione had suggested this, not fancying the idea more of Luna’s hugs as she side-along apparated
her back to London.

There was only incidental physical contact as Luna squeezed in next to Hermione on the middle
bench of the Bluebottle. But Hermione soon decided that the Ravenclaw’s hugs would have been
preferable, once she began to effusively (and explicitly) describe how she and Ron had made use of
all of the Love Shack’s amenities.

It was only the shortness of the trip that kept Luna from getting too far down the road towards
"Too Much Information!" A Notice-Me-Not charm applied to the broomstick kept them from
being "noticed" once Harry flew out beyond the Notice-Me-Not wards that surrounded
Glengairn. Once Ron and Luna were dropped off, Harry piloted the broom back up into the air and
down the path towards Hogwarts.

Hogsmeade and Hogwarts sat on either end of an "L"-shaped valley whose limbs pointed
east and north. The magical village anchored the east end of the closed valley, and was surrounded
by high hills and mountains on three sides. Glengairn Lodge sat south of Hogsmeade, at the top on
the only walkable pass out of the valley.

Hogsmeade Station sat just west of the village, with tracks that led north, and then along the
northern shoreline of the lake. The TPOMS squadron had followed these tracks the day before,
looking for where they led out of the valley and connected into the muggle railway system. They had
found a second pass on the north end of the valley, and were surprised to discover that the tracks
that had been used by the Express not six weeks disappeared under a thick blanket of heather and
heath.

It had taken Neville’s inspection of the foliage and a side trip to the train’s engine house
just past the Station to suss out what was a work. The heath that covered the tracks was an
"instant-growth" magical hybrid variety that could cover a bared area in seconds. The
Express’s locomotive had localized banishing charms attached to its front. This magical equivalent
of a muggle locomotive’s cow catcher cleared the heath and other obstacles as the train passed over
the tracks. Once the train passed, the thick brush immediately reestablished itself, and quite
literally covered the magical train’s tracks.

This thick mass of vegetation would make it difficult for anyone, muggle or magical, to walk
along the tracks and out of the valley using the northern pass. But as it was a "known"
route between the magical and muggle worlds, TPOMS had established a manned lookout station at the
top of the pass.

Keeping live eyes watching the magical valley from both Glengairn and the northern pass had
become the TPOMS squadron’s latest assignment. The Phoenix Teams were taking rotating eight-hour
shifts, and Harry took the opportunity to fly by the northern pass to check on the lookout
station.

Lee and Stout were disappointed when the Grangers played "I spy" and sussed out their
concealed location using muggle thermal imagery equipment. Solace was taken by the fact that Harry
and Hermione hadn’t been able to spot them with their bare eyes, as that was how a
"normal" witch or wizard would scan the hills.

Once visual contact had been made with the northern lookout station, Harry doubled back to the
station. Dropping down to low altitude and striking out over the lake, he followed the route Hagrid
took with every class of First Years, four to a boat, so that Hermione’s parents to see Hogwarts
Castle for the first time just as he had …well, almost. Harry and Hermione hadn’t needed to use
electronic "wizard glasses" to see through the illusion of a ruined hovel that disguised
Hogwarts’s location from unaware muggles. But Roger and Emily’s first sight of the castle was no
less breathtaking because of it.

Had Hagrid gotten any better at keeping secrets, Harry would have stopped by and introduced him
to Hermione’s parents. But as the half-giant wasn’t, Harry bypassed the wooden hut and (after a
single lap about the castle that allowed Hermione to play tour guide for her mum and dad), headed
back to Glengairn Lodge. Once there, the house tour focused on a three-dimensional table-top model
of Hogsmeade Valley that the magical members of the squadron had constructed in the dining
room.

Roger looked at the model not only as a freshly-minted military man, but as the Steward of Clan
Potter and the manager of Harry’s finances.

"So all of this valley is now yours, then?"

Harry nodded. "Yes and no…the Queen has given me clear title to the land, the Forbidden
Forest, and the lake, but the Hogwarts and all of the buildings in Hogsmeade Village are privately
owned."

"So the inhabitants lease the land?"

"Most of them do," Harry said with a smile. "Nobody has ever dared asked the
Centaurs to pay rent."

"Did the Queen say how much she receives in lease payments?"

"Yeah," Harry said with a snort. "She doesn’t receive a knut."

"How could that be?" asked Emily.

"A bit of coercive magic during negotiations, no doubt," Harry replied. "All of
the payments go to the Ministry…not just here, but in Diagon Alley as well."

"The Queen owns Diagon Alley, too?"

"Sort of," Hermione replied. "The Alley is actually part of the Duchy of
Cornwall…remember our discussion about Edward the Black Prince and how all of the magical lands in
England were protected by incorporation into the Duchy?"

"But Scotland was a separate nation at the time, so this valley wasn’t part of that?"
Roger asked.

"Exactly," Hermione replied. "Hogsmeade Valley was owned by the Hogwarts Board of
Governors and individual magical families up to the Treaty of Carlisle and the final separation. At
some point the land was ceded to the muggle Earl of Huntley, and then changed hands several
times…the details are still a muddle, according to the Royal Historian. The important point is that
when Balmoral was purchased by Prince Albert and Queen Victoria in the mid 1800’s, the Valley got
the same sort of royal protections that Diagon and all of the other magical lands already
had."

"But how does that relate to the lease payments going to the Ministry of Magic?"

"Discriminatory tax rates," Harry said with a rueful grin. "Witches and wizards
don’t appreciate why their tax burdens are so low."

"How is that?"

"It all goes back to the Treaty of Carlisle," Hermione replied, dropping into
"lecture mode". "The Minister of Magic is the Queen’s magical Justice of the Peace,
and the Ministry of Magic is nominally part of her government. The Treaty allows the Minister of
Magic to collect taxes from witches and wizards on the Queen’s behalf, and to use these funds to
run the "her" magical ministry. But then the Ministry building was destroyed in the
1700’s during one of the Goblin Rebellions, and there wasn’t enough tax money to rebuild it. So,
the Minister of Magic convinced King George to "redirect" the annual lease payments paid
by witches and wizards who lived on Royal lands to the Ministry, rather than to the Crown. And the
rest, as they say, is history. Nobody let the Crown know when the Ministry had been rebuilt, so the
rent money on Royal lands has been added to the Ministry’s coffers ever since."

"Hmmm," thought Roger. "So when Prince Albert bought Balmoral, that ‘redirection’
of lease payments began to apply here?"

"Exactly," Hermione replied. "Brought in so many galleons that the Minister of
Magic was able to drop income tax rates by two-thirds. And by amazing coincidence, that particular
Minister still holds the record for longest term of office."

"But now that this land is back in Harry’s private hands?"

"The Goblins figure that by giving these lands to Harry, the Queen’s cut the Ministry’s
current annual revenues in half."

"Wow," remarked Emily. "So even if things don’t change on Saturday, the Queen’s
hobbled the Ministry?"

"That’s right," Harry said brightly. "Wasn’t until I was told that point out that
I started to like the deal."

Emily looked at her watch and frowned.

"I should be getting back to Cumberland," she announced. "Dean’s doing a fine job
as its Head Boy, but with the ICW folks staying there, and the seminars that they’ve volunteered to
teach…"

"How’s that all going?" Harry asked.

"Wonderfully," Emily replied. "The King’s Wizard is doing a short course on
magical world history this morning. The Emperor’s Wizard is giving a talk on magic and muggle
mysticism this afternoon, the Swedish witch is muggleborn, and is going to work with the new
muggleborn parents, and then there’s Rongo…"

"What’s he up to?" Harry asked with a smile.

"He’s taking over part of the physical education curriculum," Roger said with a grin.
"So if you see an invoice for a hundred and fifty black rugby jerseys, you’ll know
why."

"Oh, it’s going to be more than that, Daddy," Hermione admonished. "The Maori
mages are world famous for their wandless magical rituals."

"Right," Roger said dismissively. "Next thing you’ll tell me is that the haka is
really a magic dance."

"Why yes, actually…it is," Hermione said with an arched eyebrow. "How did you
know?"

Roger snorted, but was too smart to be shocked…during his tenure as the father of a witch he had
become accustomed to such implausibility.

*9:45am, Minister of Magic's Office*

Despite the grim discussion topic, Rufus Scrimgeour found himself enjoying his morning meeting
with the Head of the Department of Mysteries. He’d leave it to others to link this positive
attitude to the fact that the meeting didn’t involve Dolores Umbridge (who was busy finalizing a
rationalization for her staff’s performance in Edinburgh) or Percy Weasley (who was still
absent).

"We need a back up plan in case this Project Arcanum doesn’t pan out," he stated.
"Anything come to mind?"

The Head Unspeakable gave his boss the kind of blank, noncommittal stare that one would expect
from a man of his position.

"And just how….defiant…of the ICW should any such back-up plan be?"

"Best not to be openly defiant at all," Rufus decided. "And if you’re right about
how bad this meeting with the muggle Queen could go, it wouldn’t have to cover that much
time."

"So you expect that if the Queen strips you of your power that the ICW will take your
side?"

"Why wouldn’t it?" asked the Minister. "It’d be muggles against magicals….the ICW
would have to take our side."

"I wouldn’t be so certain," the Unspeakable cautioned. "Still, there is merit in
distractions on a grand scale."

"Shipping them off to Azkaban would be a big distraction, wouldn’t it?" Rufus
mused.

"I was thinking about the Muggles," replied the Unspeakable. "They are taking
advantages of differences between factions in the wizarding world…yet they are no strangers to
factional strife on their side of the fence."

"Sounds like you have something in mind, then?" the Minister asked hopefully.

"Perhaps."

An airborne magical memo interrupted the conversation. Scrimgeour frowned as he snatched the
"highest priority" message from the basket and read it.

"Damn."

"What’s wrong?"

"Percy’s shown up with a Dutch charms master."

"But that’s what we wanted, isn’t it?"

"I’d rather hear your ideas without being distracted by his presence, and if I let him in
without Dolores here she’ll throw a fit."

"If that’s how you feel, why do you keep them around?"

"He knows too many Ministry secrets, and she’s too good at blackmail."

"Ah, I see," replied the Unspeakable. "So you found a way to keep him out of your
hair for a day…find a way to keep him busy for an hour more."

"Excellent idea," Rufus said with a grin. He inked a quill, jotted down a quick reply
on the parchment memo, and sent it flying out the door.

"So tell me about muggle distractions," he said.

The Head Unspeakable nodded.

"So how much do you know about muggle Ireland?"

**oo00OO00oo**

The Minister of Magic smiled as the Head of the Department of Mysteries fleshed out his idea.
Meanwhile, the Minister’s Secretary smiled as she read his reply memo. Percy Weasley had always
treated her poorly, so she was going to enjoy this.

"I’m sorry, Special Assistant Weasley," she said to Percy. "The Minister has
asked that he not be disturbed for the next hour."

"But…but…this is important!" Percy whined. "I’ve been on an important mission,
and brought back an important person that the Minister would want to meet right away."

"Minister Scrimgeour is aware of the situation," the secretary replied. "He’s
instructed me to have you complete a vital aspect of your important mission while you
wait."

"And what could that be?" Percy asked dismissively.

The secretary narrowed her eyes, but decided to let her magical command speak on her behalf. She
drew her wand and pointed towards a file cabinet.

*"Accio blank expense report form!"*

Percy winced as the magical document was levitated into his hands.

The Dutch wizard who was traveling with the Special Assistant looked over his shoulder and
whistled.

"Merlin, there’s some powerful magic laid down on that parchment."

"Compulsion and truth charms," the secretary said with a grin. "Percy came up
with that idea himself…said that the ‘junior staff’ couldn’t be trusted."

"Ah, I see," Peter replied. "Well, no worries."

"How can you say that?" Percy asked weakly.

"Look at all of the lines under ‘Miscellaneous Expenses," the Dutchman replied.
"There’s plenty of room there for all of the drugs, and the booze, and the porn."

The Minister’s secretary smiled evilly.

"Do you need a copy of the scroll that you wrote on ‘Allowable Expenses,’ Mr. Special
Assistant?"

Percy moaned, and tried to muster all of the haughty contempt that he possessed as he dismissed
the secretary’s offer.

He failed miserably.



65. Chapter 65
--------------

**Muggle Summer, Wizard’s Fall**

**Author’s Note:** This chapter introduces “Sir John,” a cricket-loving former Conservative
Party PM into the mix, and alludes to two princesses high up in the line of succession. I should
therefore reiterate that all characters in this story are fictional, although they may resemble
real life counterparts. Some real life persons who “should” have fictional counterparts in this
story don’t necessarily have them (don’t expect to see somebody named Camille, or references to
somebody named Diana, for example). Also worth repeating is that the story takes place in the
summer of 2006, rather than 1997, with a timeline pushed up nine years from canon. So, Prime
Minister “Tony” has been living at Number 10 for a while now, after chasing “Sir John” and the
Tories out of power in 1997. Oh, and The Princesses York….they are 18 and 16 years old,
respectively.

Next…stats from ffn suggest that 80-85% of my readers are from the U.S…which means that most of you
don’t have a clue about rugby, the All Blacks, and the haka. I highly recommend that you check out
this youtube video (or this one, or this one) to get a sense of
what I’m talking about.

Thanks to clell, fenriswolf, and grenouille for their beta work on this chapter.

Finally…the Python reference is pretty obvious, but how about the nod to Fawlty Towers?

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 65: Taking Offense

*

Thursday, July 12, 10:15 am, The Round Tower, Windsor Castle***

The Queen’s Wizard carried a bag of deluxe owl treats with him as he badge jumped to Windsor
Castle. It had been a few days since he had been “home” to the Round Tower, and he felt rather
guilty for it. His familiar was quick to remind Harry of that fact, and didn’t let the treats stand
in the way of nipping his ear. She also showed no inclination to let Harry out of her taloned grip,
which is why the Queen’s Wizard entered the State Apartments and was announced to The Prince with
an owl perched on his shoulder.

“Ah, Good morning, Sir Harry…come in, come in. Oh, and I see that Hedwig is joining us….welcome to
you both.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Harry replied. His familiar responded with a bob of her head that was
almost as easy to interpret.

“How are spirits holding up at Balmoral?”

“Pretty well, Sir…they flew the Queen’s corgis up from Edinburgh last night, and that’s helping
keep things lively down in the Bunker.”

“And what of the morale of my magical squadron and its commander?”

Harry snorted. “They’ve settled into the new mission. As for me, well…no shortage of surprises to
hold my attention.”

“Yes, I imagine that to be the case,” The Prince replied, as he waved Harry towards a pair of
high-backed chairs. “Shall I have someone bring in a perch for your friend?”

Harry winced as Hedwig tightened her grip on his shoulder.

“Erm, no thank you Sir, Hedwig seems to be happy right where she is.”

“I see,” The Prince said with a smile. “So…what is your opinion of the Balmoral defenses?”

“They seem impressive, Sir,” Harry replied. “I can’t imagine that it’s all that comfortable for Her
Majesty to be holed up in the Bunker, even with her pets…but I also can’t imagine a safer place
right now, unless we could put her under a *Fidelius*…makes me think that you should be there
as well, frankly.”

“Yes, well there’s still a rather robust defense here at Windsor,” The Prince replied. “And the
Lines of Succession must be preserved.”

“Sir?”

“Need to keep the Queen and those of us nearest in line to the throne apart,” The Prince explained.
“It wouldn’t do to have all of us in one place these days, in case the next attack were more
successful.”

“Which is why you weren’t in attendance at the Garden Party?”

“Exactly.”

“So Prince Harry, then?”

“He’s stationed at Buckingham, while my oldest son is out at Sandhurst. Meanwhile, my younger
brother has been dispatched to Sydney for a Commonwealth financial conference, and my two nieces
are presently on hols visiting their mum in New York…that covers the next six in line.”

Harry snorted. “Five different places on three different continents? Nothing half-done about that
level of detail, except…”

“Yes?”

“Well, Sir, we’ve only got TPOMS at Balmoral…Sir Evan being posted here gives us an anchor to your
location, but we don’t have any magical protection for the others.”

The Prince nodded. “You’ve got enough on your plate, Sir Harry.”

“But I’m to protect the Queen and her family, Sir.”

“And you’ve done a smashing job so far,” replied The Prince. “As for Andy and his Princesses…I had
opportunity to meet with some of your foreign witches and wizards when they returned to London
yesterday, and they offered to pass along word to their overseas counterparts.”

Harry nodded as he swallowed his response.

“You don’t look pleased.”

“No Sir…I mean, it’s not that I’m not pleased, but I feel responsible for….”

“Harry, you aren’t the Prince’s Wizard, are you?”

“Erm…no Sir.”

“How about the Princess’s Wizard? I understand that one of my nieces might wish it were so, but
it’s not the case, is it?”

Harry frowned, and tried not to wonder which of the Royal teen-agers The Prince might be talking
about.

“No Sir, I’m the Queen’s Wizard.”

“So let others worry about the rest of us, then…it isn’t as if you aren’t having even more dropped
into your lap.”

“Sir?”

“I was referring to our meeting this morning,” replied The Prince. “Have you been briefed
in?”

“Just from the bit that Her Majesty mentioned this morning, Sir…Hermione has been sent to Carlisle
to scout out the location for Saturday’s meeting, and I’m to take her place and help you inform the
Shadow Government about magic and recent events, in case the Prime Minister gets sacked.”

The Prince nodded. “That covers it, save for the fact that Her Majesty has called in reinforcements
for us.”

“Sir?”

“Exactly,” The Prince replied with a wink. “Sir John should be here shortly. The drive into town
should give us enough time to bring him back up to speed.”

“Back up to speed, Sir?”

A low-pitched chuckle escaped from The Prince’s lips. “Sir John was in a position to know about the
wizarding world before he retired to the cricket fields of Surrey. With any luck he’ll bring a few
bats along to keep his party’s Young Turks in line for us.”

Harry arched an eyebrow, and then smiled as he solved The Prince’s riddle. He had heard the former
Tory Prime Minister’s name disparaged dozens of time on Privet Drive…Vernon had never forgiven the
man for losing Number 10 to Hermione’s “Socialist” boss.

The Prince stood, and the Queen’s Wizard followed suit.

“Harry, you have had perfectly good reasons to be cautious when dealing with politicians, but I do
hope that you give Sir John a chance…he’s a decent chap.”

“Yes, Sir,” the young wizard replied. “My Uncle Vernon cursed the former Prime Minister almost as
often as he cursed his replacement…so that’s got to be a good sign, right?”

The Prince laughed as he led Harry out of the room and into the courtyard. Nodding towards Harry’s
familiar, he added, “Well, then, it appears that all that is left is to apologize to Miss
Hedwig.”

“Apologize, Sir?”

“We’re meeting the Shadow Cabinet in the Opposition Leader’s offices within Parliament,” The Prince
explained. “And I am afraid that there is a tradition that animals are not allowed on the grounds,
other than seeing eye dogs.”

Harry turned his head to say a few words to Hedwig, only to watch his familiar launch herself off
of his shoulder and towards the top of the Round Tower.

“Guess she likes these sorts of meetings almost as much as I do,” Harry said with a chuckle.

The Prince smiled and nodded his head. “Proving yet again just how amazingly intelligent certain
magical creatures can be.”



**oo00OO00oo
** **11:00 am, The Minister of Magic’s Office**

The meeting between Rufus Scrimgeour, his Special Assistants, and the Dutch Charms Master had gone
south rather quickly (or north, if you have an antipodean perspective).

"Refusing to provide a cost estimate up front? There is no way that we should work with this
*boy* under these conditions," spat Umbridge.

"Fine, suit yourself," replied the Dutch Wizard. "As soon as you make the transfer
into my Gringott's vault I'll be on my way."

"What transfer?"

"The one that Percy here agreed to make when he signed my consulting contract," the
Charms Master said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I don't remember singing any such contract!" Percy objected.

"I'm not surprised, given that it was after you ordered that third plate of
brownies."

"What are you....where is this contract?"

The young Charms Master smiled as he pulled a thick parchment scroll from his coat pocket.

"Give me that..."

"Ah, ah, ah!" chided Peter, as he snapped the document away from Weasley's grasp.
Drawing his wand from a sleeve, he used a duplication charm thrice over, and handed out
copies.

The Dutch wizard enjoyed watching the faces of the three Ministry officials fall as they got
further and further down the scroll.

"What? This is outrageous!" Umbridge hissed.

"This must be a forgery," whined Percy. "I would have never signed this kind of
contract."

"That is your signature down at the bottom, isn't it?"

"Well...."

"And you did say over and over again that as Special Assistant to the Minister, you had the
authority to sign on the Minister’s behalf..."

"He did, did he?" asked Rufus. "If that's the case, it won't be the case
much longer...."

"Of course I wouldn't have said that I had that kind of authority, Sir," said
Percy.

"Section 4, subpart 6 suggests otherwise," noted the Former High Inquisitor, as she
worked her way through the document.

"Must not have been in my right mind," Percy muttered (he was more right than he knew).
He then turned towards the young Charms Master and said, "You tricked me, or magically coerced
me...either you or Katja...."

"Who's Katja?" Rufus demanded.

"She's....." began Percy, who suddenly decided that he didn't want to finish.
Peter decided to do it for him.

"She listed under ‘Miscellaneous Expenses’ on Percy’s report."

"Why would a witch be itemized...," muttered Scrimgeour, as he glanced over at
Percy's financial reckoning. "The name Katja isn't written here."

"Oh, really?" asked Peter. "Maybe it's under her nickname."

"What's her nickname?"

"A good time."

"Two hundred galleons ‘for a good time’…what in Merlin's.....Percy?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Might you explain why you spent 200 galleons for 'a good time'?"

"Erm, not really, Sir...all a bit hazy."

"Just like your employment status is a little hazy, right?"

"Now Minister, don't be too hard on the boy," replied the Dutch ’consultant.’
"If he hadn't been willing to get naked in Oslo or Holland, I wouldn't be here
now."

"What's this about getting naked…there's nothing about that in your
report!"

"Erm…well…it's not something I was comfortable reporting, Sir...not that there’s room on
the expense report for it. But between the hobgoblins, and turning my shorts into a
portkey...."

The Minister of Magic reached for his wand. But rather than hex Percy, he cast a silencing spell on
Umbridge...it was the only way that was going to be able to think this situation through.

Rubbing his temples in a futile attempt to ease his burgeoning headache, he finally stated,
"There will be a full investigation...*after* our business with Mr. Vanderwood has been
completed."

Rufus then turned to address Madame Umbridge, who was turning blue in the face with frustration.
"Yes, yes, I know...we'll discuss a revised organization chart in the near future. But for
now...as one-sided as this contract appears, it does stipulate at the risk of Mr. Vanderwood's
magic that he is capable of casting a *Fidelius* Charm."

"Ah, well said, Sir...no wonder you're in charge here," Peter said with a
smile.

The Minister of Magic winced, wondering how much longer that statement might hold. "Yes,
well...perhaps Mr.Vanderwood, you might explain why we needed to pay more for your consulting
services than for your charms work."

"Oh, don't be too sure that the actual magic won't cost you more...depends on what
secret you decide to protect."

"But...more than this 15,000 galleon consulting fee? You mean that the charm is priced
separately?"

Peter shrugged. "It's all spelled out in that contract."

"But why...."

"Because there have been too many situations where either my father or I have been blamed for
failed charms that were really the client's fault."

"How could we be held at fault if you can't cast a proper charm?" demanded
Percy.

"I thought that you went through this already with my dad?" the Dutch wizard asked.
"Some secrets can't be protected by the *Fidelius* Charm, no matter how powerful the
Charms Master is."

"And why is that?"

"Because magic is a bitch that demands balance," quipped the young wizard.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Sir...there is no single, all-powerful spell, or all-powerful spell caster out there.
Every use of magic has its limitations...by design."

"Could you be a little more specific?"

"Right...we're talking about the *Fidelius* Charm, so we'll use it for an
example. Do you have any idea just how powerful I would be if there were no checks on my ability to
cast that specific charm?”

Scrimgeour rolled his eyes. "No...just how powerful would you be?"

The Dutch wizard responding by nicking a quill and piece of parchment from the Minister's desk.
He wrote a quick line of text, folded the parchment in half, and passed it across the desk.

"So let's pretend...Abracadabra-hocus-pocus-*Fidelius*....I've just pulled the
secret that I've written down on that bit of parchment out from the world and placed it inside
you, Minister. You are now the only person in the world that knows the secret."

Rufus opened the note and read, *"Lord Voldemort is a Wizard."*

"So if I am the only one that knows that fact,” he mused, “then he doesn't,
right?"

Peter nodded. "Do you know what they call a wizard that doesn't know he's a
wizard?"

"No, what?" asked Percy.

"A squib," stated Scrimgeour.

"Hey, that's pretty good," admitted the Dutch wizard. "No wonder you're the
one sitting behind that desk."

"We've not time for flattery...though at your billing rates it should be
expected."

"Fair enough...so what if I cast a new charm about the statement '*There are
British-born witches and wizards’*?" How much do you think the French Ministry would pay
for me to cast that spell?"

"Yes, yes...so you aren't omnipotent...why should we have to pay for you to reveal your
limitations?"

"Because I know them, first off," Peter replied. "Secondly, I can usually do a good
enough job of suggesting the right secret...so long, of course, as the client is
forthcoming."

"What do you mean 'right secret' or if 'the client is forthcoming’?"

"What I mean is what I said," the young wizard replied. "I know what level of
magical opposition I can overcome when I cast the charm, but I can't guarantee success if
I'm not told what kind of opposition exists."

"That's rather a cloudy answer."

"Fine, let me be specific...no extra charge for that, by the way," the Dutch wizard said
with a grin. "You want to hide the Ministry of Magic's location from others,
right?"

"How did you...I never told you that!" Percy exclaimed.

"You didn't need to," Peter quipped. "So why do you need to hide?"

"What business is that of yours?" asked Percy.

"Have you been listening at all to what I've been saying? Never mind...the answer to that
question is 'no' and the answer to my previous question is because you want to keep an ICW
delegation from gaining access to Ministry files."

"How did you...."

"Time is money...am I wrong?"

Scrimgeour cast his eyes back down onto the parchment in front of him.

"You are contractually bound to client confidentiality?"

"Magically bound, too," Peter said with a nod.

"Let us assume that you are partially correct, then," replied Rufus. "How does that
impact your work?"

"Percy here has agreed to allow this ICW delegation to visit the Ministry tomorrow morning and
gain access to your files, correct? Don't bother asking how I know, am I wrong?"

"No."

"And did he do this willingly?"

"No, I had to acknowledge the Writ of Inquiry,” Percy explained. “But it’s really not my
fault, when you think about it….”

A spell caught Percy mid-sentence, and struck him as silent as Umbridge.

The Dutch Wizard glanced at the Minister’s extended wand and smiled.

“Thanks, he was beginning to get on my nerves as well…and I’ve only been with him for a day. How do
you manage to put up with him for longer than that?”

“Practice,” Rufus said with a sigh. “Practice…and judicious use of the *Obliviate*
spell.”

He then cast two separate memory charms that sent his “Special Assistants” scurrying out of the
office in the belief that their meeting had ended and that the Minister asked for briefs outlining
their proposed changes to the Ministry’s org chart.

The Dutch wizard let out a low-pitched whistle. “Wow, I like how you operate.”

“I don’t, but I seldom have any choice in the matter,” the Minister replied gruffly. “Now where
were we?”

“The Writ of Inquiry,” Peter replied. “Do you have it?”

Scrimgeour nodded, and pulled open a desk drawer.

“Oh, and while you’re at it, you might as well show me the Orb.”

Rufus arched an eyebrow, but did as he was asked. There would be opportunity to learn how the Dutch
wizard learned about the Orb later on.

The young Charms Master dropped the necklace almost as soon as he touched it.

“Yeow….burns my hands just at the thought of it!”

“At the thought of what?”

“Trying to cast a *Fidelius* that would overpower the magic that went into the making of this
artifact, and the treaty that stands behind it,” Peter relied. “I’d die trying to protect *‘The
Ministry of Magic has lost its home rule authority over Magical Britain and Ireland’* …not that
you’d be saved from paying my fees were that to happen, mind you.”

“So…are you saying that it’s impossible to hide the secret…or just that it’s impossible for
you?”

“The former,” the young wizard said seriously. “You could bring in another Charms Master and ask
his opinion, but given all of the time and effort that it took to get me here…”

“Right…what about the ICW’s Writ of Inquiry?”

The frown that formed on the Dutchman’s face was almost as intense as the one produced by his
handling of the orb. It wasn’t until he finished reading through the document that Scrimgeour saw a
glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“Well?”

“This is a tricky one,” Peter replied. “The way that this writ is worded…I doubt that I could match
its power right now, but maybe once you’ve provided them initial access?”

“What?” asked the Minister of Magic. “I don’t understand.”

The young wizard sighed. “Most of the magic bound within this document is likely linked to allowing
the ICW delegation access to the Ministry and its records. If you asked me to protect the secret
that *‘The Ministry of Magic has documents that the ICW would want to review’* then I’d be
butting head-on with this writ.”

“But….”

“But once you meet the initial obligations, most of the power attached to this writ should
dissipate.”

“Most?”

“While it isn’t spelled out on this parchment, there is a tacit assumption that the ICW delegation
would be allowed access to the Ministry not just tomorrow morning, but any time afterwards, so long
as access was needed for their work, right?”

“Yes, I would think so.”

“So, it would be easier for me to cast a successful *Fidelius* Charm if I was only
overpowering an implicit promise, rather than an explicit one.”

“So….,” drawled the Minister, as the gears ground in his head. “We wait until tomorrow morning, let
the ICW in the door, and then kick them out just as soon as you cast the charm?”

“Charms.”

“What?”

“Charms, plural,” the Dutch wizard replied. “You are going to need two of them.”

“Why would we need that…just so you get paid twice over?”

“No….well, okay, yes…that would mean I’d get paid twice, but the fact is that you’ll need two
charms because you’ve got two separate problems.”

“Yes, but can’t you solve both problems with the protection of one secret?”

“Like what?”

“Like…I don’t know, something like, *‘The Ministry of Magic is located beneath Central
London’*.”

“That’s something that I could do, once you let the ICW in, but it wouldn’t completely solve your
problem.”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

The young wizard rolled his eyes. “I went through this with your flunky last night…how does your
floo network work?”

“What do you mean…they don’t have floo’s in Holland?”

“Of course they do…look, for all that I know, we are presently underneath High Street in Bolton,
right now, rather than Central London.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Percy and I stayed in a Muggle hotel last night. This morning, he took me to his flat, so that we
could floo here.”

“And…?”

“And what address do you think he told me to use?”

“It would have been to ‘*The Ministry of Magic*,’

“Right…not ‘*Six Stories Beneath a Telephone Box in Central London’*.”

“Why would…oh, now I see your point,” the Minister admitted. He shook his head and let out a deep
breath.

“So what bright ideas do you have, then?”

The Dutch Charms Master replied by writing two statements down on separate pieces of parchment. He
folded each slip once, and then pushed them across the desk. Scrimgeour opened each slip and held
them open for a few minutes.

When a smile crept onto his lips, the Dutch wizard asked, “So what are you thinking?”

Rufus vanished the two slips of paper with a spell, and then leaned back in his chair.

“I’m not thinking, so much as wondering,” he finally replied.

“What are you wondering, then?”

“Whether, when the time comes, these secrets have to be shared with my two Special
Assistants.”

**oo00OO00oo
** **12:30 pm, The Palace at Westminster, London**

“Right, well that was lovely, wasn’t it?” asked The Prince as they left the meeting room.

Not waiting for an answer, the man with almost as many titles as Harry turned to an attendant
stationed just outside of the door.

“Be a good chap and inform Sir John when he is finished that Lord Gryffindor and I shall be in the
Peers’ Dining Room, would you?”

“Of course, Your Highness,” the man said with a bow.

“This way, Harry,” The Prince then said, leading his young colleague by the arm. “There’s a
round-about route that will avoid most of the crowds.”

“Sounds good to me, Sir,” Harry replied.

A five-minute traverse of one of the many long corridors of the Parliament complex brought them
into a restricted area open only to the members of the House of Lords and their guests. Though it
was called “The Peers’ Dining Room,” most of the space was taken up with a long mahogany bar with
brass railings and several shelves of liquor bottles behind it.

“Good afternoon, Basil,” The Prince called out to well-dressed man who was standing behind the bar.
He then added, “It is afternoon, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the man said with a curt nod, as his arm automatically arched out towards a
bottle of The Prince’s favorite single malt whiskey.

“Doubles, if you will?”

The bar man didn’t flinch at the request for two glasses full of neat whiskey, but The Prince knew
what the yeoman was thinking well enough.

“No worries, Basil…I daresay Gryffindor needs a drink more than I do right now.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

The Prince’s assessment was true enough in Harry’s mind as the burn of alcohol hit the back of his
throat. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he placed the half-full tumbler back down onto the
bar.

“Need I concern myself with the ease with which you downed that drink, Gryffindor?” The Prince
asked.

“Erm…don’t thing so, Sir,” Harry replied with a smile. “Wizards hold their liquor better than
muggles for some reason.”

“Because of the magic?”

Harry shrugged. “Hermione thinks so, but I reckon it might have more to do with the fact that we’re
served in wizard pubs beginning in Third Year…not that this Scotch didn’t hit the spot, Sir.”

“It’s Cornwall.”

“Sir?”

“Things are slightly less formal inside this room…members refer to each other by simple
title…Cumberland, or Argyle…or Gryffindor.”

“There’s some choice in your case then, Sir?”

“It’s Cornwall, Gryffindor.”

“Erm, yes, Sir…I mean, Cornwall…why not Wales, then?”

The Prince shrugged. “Switched a few years back, when it began to remind me of my expanding
waistline.”

Harry chuckled at the first thing he’d found funny over the past few hours. Dying to talk about the
meeting they had just held with the Shadow Cabinet, he looked over his shoulder and around the
room.”

“Safe to talk, here… Cornwall?”

The Prince nodded. “In general terms, yes…peers come here when they want a bit of space.”

A shout came from across the room.

“I say! Cornwall!”

The Prince winced a bit, and then muttered, “Although there are notable exceptions to the
rule.”

Putting on a brave face, he turned to greet a white haired man who was hobbling towards them with
aid of a cane.

“How are you, Melbury?”

“Excellent, Cornwall, excellent,” the man replied. Finally noticing Harry, he asked, “Who’s your
friend, then?”

The Prince smiled thinly.

“Lord Melbury,” he replied, “May I introduce to you Her Royal Majesty’s Wizard, The Right Honorable
Earl Gryffindor, Major Sir Harry Potter.”

There was a pause as the old man looked over Harry’s mixture of military and tartan attire and
whispered the title to himself.

“Royal…no…Wizard….no, not that either…Oh! Gryffindor! Yes, yes…I remember it now,” he loudly
proclaimed, holding out his hand. “That’s quite a stylization for someone your age, isn’t
it?”

“Yes, well…” Harry replied, as he shook the man’s hand. “Had I the choice, ‘Just Harry’ would be
perfectly fine with me.”

“Figures,” the old man muttered. “Young not appreciating….I’ve heard about you, you know!”

“You have, Sir…erm, Melbury?” Harry asked.

“Of course I have!” the man shot back. “Your Letters Patent caused quite the stir…hasn’t been a
peer created that was under the age of twenty-one in centuries!”

“Wasn’t exactly by my choice, Sir,” Harry protested.

“So, how did you manage it, Gryffindor?” the old man asked. “Get cozy-rosy with one of The
Princesses?”

Harry choked in response.

“Gryffindor was reestablished when Harry here became Queen’s Wizard,” The Prince explained. “He has
neither been cozy nor rosy with any member of the Royal Family.”

“So far as you know, eh Cornwall?” the man replied. He laughed at his own wit, and then added,
“So…Her Majesty has finally gotten around to sending out the Writ of Summons? Giving Gryffindor a
tour of his new offices?”

The Prince smiled. “No writ yet, Melbury…Gryffindor and I needed a bit of respite after a meeting
with ‘The Chameleon’ and his lot.”

“Ah, that explains the doubles, then,” the old man said with a nod. “Damn Commoners, thinking they
can push the Upper House around…”

“Yes, well, Melbury…it was a pleasure seeing you again,” The Prince stated, lying through his
teeth.

“Oh, I’m sure that it was,” the old man replied. He then turned his head sharply, frowned, and
began to wander off in a rather aimless direction.

“So, Melbury is a Member of the House of Lords?” Harry hissed, once some distance was gained
between the table and the old man.”

“As far as he can recall,” The Prince replied with a smile. “Best justification I’ve ever seen for
booting twits like him and all of the remaining hereditary peers from the Upper House.”

“But…you said that I’ve got a hereditary peerage as well?”

“That’s right,” The Prince noted. “So when The Lady Gryffindor and you have a child, they’ll
inherit your title.”

“Oh, Hermione isn’t The Lady Gryffindor yet,” Harry stated.

The Prince smiled. “I’m afraid that I was speaking in general terms, Gryffindor…or is there reason
for me to expect that Dame Hermione will soon gain that title?”

Harry blushed. “How did we get on the topic of my love life?”

“I was trying to steer clear of talk on the Shadow Cabinet.”

“Oh…well it worked, then,” Harry had to admit.

“So how were your accommodations last night, Gryffindor?” The Prince asked with a slight eyebrow
waggle. “Wasn’t too much of an imposition to share a room?”

Harry shook his head in disbelief. “That story has made its way down here already?”

The Prince snorted. “I’m afraid that I know first hand just how efficient the gossip network is
within the Royal Household.”

“Erm, right…sorry, didn’t mean to offend.”

“You aren’t Gryffindor, you aren’t….I was the one trying to lighten the mood with allusions to
witches-in-waiting and potential harems.”

The self-admission that The Prince had indeed lightened the mood didn’t mean that Harry didn’t want
to change the topic.

“So what’s this Writ of Summons that Melbury was talking about?” he asked.

“A letter from the Queen, inviting someone to become a Member of the House of Lords.”

“She can do that?”

“Absolutely,” The Prince replied. “All but ninety-three hereditary peers are appointed by the
Queen, on the advice of the Prime Minister.”

“Okay, then….she *would* do that to me?”

The Prince let out a laugh. “Relax, Gryffindor…the Queen has other plans for you.”

“Other plans?” asked Harry nervously. He decided that this was a good time to finish off his
drink.

“Buck up, Harry,” The Prince chided. “It’s nothing more than the contingency plans for reconvening
the *Magnum Concilium*.

“Oh…the ones where the Queen’s Wizard plays a *very small part* in advising The Queen on the
rule of her magical subjects?”

“Yes, those plans,” The Prince replied. “And on a related note…what’s your impression of Sir
John?”

Harry arched an eyebrow. “I like him…seems far more even-tempered and reasonable than the others at
that meeting…but why is the question a related note?”

“Because the Queen has plans for him as well,” The Prince said enigmatically. “Unless you’d like to
make a pitch to become the first Lord High Steward in five hundred years?”

“Erm, thanks, but no thanks,” Harry replied quickly. Noticing some activity at the door, he added,
“Speaking of which?”

The Prince followed Harry’s glance to where someone was blocking the entrance to the room.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” he muttered, before calling out in a much louder voice, “He’s with us,
Melbury!”

“Oh, right then…carry on,” the old man said pompously, as he stepped back and allowed the former
Prime Minister of Britain to enter the room.

Sir John gave the peer a thin-lipped smile as he adjusted the placement of his glasses on the
bridge of his nose, and walked past him.

“Sorry about that,” The Prince said. “You know Melbury…”

“Far too well, I’m afraid,” Sir John replied.

Basil didn’t have to be asked whether a third glass was needed, or whether the first two should be
refilled.

Harry waited until Sir John put down a long draw on his single malt.

“So did things end any better than were they stood when we left?” he asked.

The former Tory Prime Minister nodded. “They’ve agreed not to push for a no confidence vote, and to
openly support the current Prime Minister’s efforts against the terrorists.”

“They came to reason, then?”

“No,” the retired politician admitted. “They finally came to realize just what kind of mess they’d
be getting into if they were to gain power right now.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It was as if Percy had a twin muggle brother.”

“Percy?” asked Sir John.

“Oh, just somebody within the Ministry of Magic that has far too much power for our own good,”
Harry explained.

“Yes, well…that may change, from what I understand?” asked Sir John.

“It may indeed,” replied The Prince. “Which reminds me…might we impose on you for a few more hours,
Sir John?”

“Well…of course. What do you have in mind?”

“A stop on the drive home to Surrey…there’s some people at the Cumberland Lodge that we’d like you
to meet as part of our contingency planning.”

“Planning for what, if I might ask?”

The Prince glanced around, and then lowered his voice.

“Planning that might bring you out of retirement, Sir John.”

The former Prime Minister stared at The Prince for a moment, then let out a very small (but
audible) sigh as he finished off his drink.

“As Her Majesty commands,” he finally replied.

Harry couldn’t help but smile, and reached out to offer a consoling pat on the back.

“If it helps any, Sir John,” he offered, “I know exactly how you feel.”

**oo00OO00oo
** **2:30 pm, The Summer Institute, Cumberland Lodge, Great Windsor Park**

There was nothing lovely about The Queen’s Wizard’s attitude when he bolted from his next meeting.
Hermione, who had shared a spot at the table after completing her tour of Carlisle Castle, was
right behind him, and near enough to hear as he activated his Art Club badge.

“Emily?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Is there a bar within Cumberland Lodge?”

“Erm…not that I know of…this is a school, after all…”

“Right, sorry to have bothered you.”

“Wait…Harry…is something wrong?”

“No, nothing that a stiff drink or a flash of sword might fix.”

“Harry?”

The Queen’s Wizard turned on his heel.

“They’ve got to be kidding, Hermione!”

“Harry…I know it seems like a lot, but what the Emperor’s Wizard said did make sense…”

“But why me?” he asked. “Okay fine…the ICW thinks it best if the new Lord High Steward were
magical…why can’t it be you or Tonks…or Ron? He’s short a few titles, I’m sure that he could use an
extra one.”

“Harry?”

A rather distraught young wizard let out a deep breath.

“I’m sure that Sir Evan has some gin at the Tower,” he muttered. “Although…why waste time with the
weak stuff? Dobby?”

His aide-de-camp was immediately by his side.

“Yes Sir, Major Harry Potter, Sir?”

“Can you bring me a bottle of firewhiskey? Don’t bother with a glass.”

“Don’t listen to him, Dobby,” said Hermione. “Firewhiskey is the last thing he needs right
now.”

Harry gave Hermione a sharp look that was cut short only when he heard Dobby’s nervous
whimpering.

“Oh, what to do…Private Dobby knows he must be following the Great Major Harry Potter, Sir’s
orders, but…but…the Great Harry Potter Sir should be listening to Harry Potter Sir’s Hermione’s
orders, too!”

“Thank you, Dobby…I always knew that you know what’s best for Harry,” Hermione said with a
smile.

A look halfway between a frown and snarl grew on Harry’s lips.

“Well, if that’s the last thing I need, then what’s the first thing?” he asked.

Hermione bit her lower lip in thought, then pushed Harry into an unused classroom and locked the
door.

“Get undressed,” she ordered, as she as took off her jacket and began to unbutton her blouse.

Harry lost his eyebrows to his hairline.

“Honestly, Harry,” she said dismissively, as she pulled her shirt out from her long Potter Plaid
skirt and slipped it off her shoulders. “Who taught you that a stiff drink was the best way to deal
with stress?”

The Queen’s Wizard caught his breath at the sight of his girlfriend’s black dragonhide vest that
was doing double duty as a skintight undergarment.

“Erm…The Prince?” he replied.

“Well, I’ll just have to have words with him, then,” Hermione muttered, as her skirt slipped to the
floor.

The thong, black stockings and hold-ups that Hermione wore underneath the skirt weren’t as
protective as the vest, but Harry found it difficult to find fault with how they looked.

“Words with The Prince?” he asked. “Might want to cut him some slack…it’s not like he could hold my
attention like you are right now.”

“Hold your attention?” Hermione asked with a smirk, as she slipped off her shoes and rolled down
her stockings. “Is that why you think I’m taking off my clothes?”

“Erm, finding it hard to think coherently about much of anything right now.”

Hermione shook her head and smiled.

“This isn’t going to work if I’m the only one doing this, you know.”

“Why not?” Harry said with a roguish grin. He then grabbed hold of the hem of his kilt, lifted it
several inches towards his belt and added, “Kilt-wearing commandos are always ready for
action.”

“Fine, keep your kilt on…I’m sure that some of the other boys will as well.”

“Whaa….other boys?”

Hermione waggled her eyebrows. “Why not? Potter Plaid kilts are now part of their Summer Institute
uniform, after all.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

“Probably not,” Hermione replied with a giggle. She then called out, “Dobby?”

The house elf popped back in.

“Hermione…but you’re barely dressed!”

“So? It was your idea to…tell me, Dobby, how many naked human bodies did you see yesterday at the
Garden Party?”

“Seven thousand, eight hundred and fifty two, Miss Harry Potter’s Hermione Ma’am.”

“There you go,” she stated with a declaratory hand wave.

“So what is that, then…Dobby is going to stand here and watch us?”

“That’s up to him,” Hermione decided with a grin. “Dobby…would you bring us our physical education
kits?”

The house elf bobbed his head emphatically.

“Dobby can do that!” he exclaimed, before popping away.

A moment later he returned with two separate boxes. Hermione thanked him, and opened the one on
top.

“This one’s yours,” she announced, passing Harry the box. “Another early birthday present.”

Harry arched an eyebrow, then shrugged his shoulders and pushed the tissue paper away from a
short-sleeved black rugby jersey. The number 8 was sewn on the back, below a nameplate that read
*“Just Harry.”*

“Hurry up,” Hermione ordered. Rongo’s got a class of upper years starting in a few minutes.” She
then pulled her own All Blacks jersey from the other box. It read *“Potter 7”.*

“Potter?” Harry asked.

“Always wanted to wear your Quidditch jersey,” she said with a smile, as the shirt slipped over her
head.

Harry snorted as he stripped off his shirt and tie and slipped on his own jersey.

Harry snorted much louder when Hermione pulled out a pair of Potter Plaid spandex shorts, looked
down at her thong, and banished it to her purse.

“Erm…mmmm….Hermione?”

“What?” she asked, as she wiggled her bare bum into the skin-tight pants. “I don’t care for panty
lines when I wear spandex…do you?”

Harry let out a low-pitched belly laugh and stepped up so that he could pull her into a tight hug
from behind.

“I think that Luna’s rubbing off on you,” he whispered huskily into her ear.

“Is that a complaint?” Hermione purred.

“Certainly not,” Harry replied, as he dragged his hand up her thigh. When his fingers passed over a
thin rectangular bump underneath the fabric, he asked, “What’s this?”

“My GPS beacon, hidden under a patch of dragonhide.”

“Why do you have it pasted on down there?”

“Thought I’d see if the electronics would last any longer if I kept it farther away from my
wand.”

.”Hmmm,” Harry growled. “Shall we check to see if my wand causes interference if it gets too
close?”

“I think we already know just how well you wand is working, Mister,” Hermione replied, as she
rubbed her bum against his front. She then grabbed his hands and stepped out of his embrace. “And
if you don’t get it holstered, then everyone else in class will know as well.”

Harry took a step forward and waggled his eyebrows. “Well, I think that my wand would fit quite
nicely in your holster, Hermione.”

“Come on, Harry,” Hermione said with a smile. “Rongo might have something useful to teach us, if
what I learned about Carlisle pans out.”

“Okay fine,” he replied. “Are you sure that Dean and the other guys are going to be wearing kilts
in the scrum?”

“Yeah, they’re calling it the *Highlander* Look,” Hermione said brightly. “The other girls
like the look, and the kilts aren’t that much different than what Rongo’s wears with his
jersey.”

“So what look do you prefer, then?” Harry asked.

Hermione waggled her eyebrows as she walked up to Harry, grabbed the spandex shorts that were still
in his uniform’s box, and tossed them aside.

“I can’t wait to watch you play the eight man in your kilt.”

“Eight man?” Harry asked. “Where did you learn about rugby positions?”

“A book.”

“Of course….so that explains my number. But why put me at the back of the scrum?”

“Bent over in the last row while I play the back line…where else would I want you?”

“Back in Hannah’s bed?”

“You mean Parvati’s,” Hermione replied with a smile

“What?”

“It’s Parvati’s turn for third shift tonight.”

“Wouldn’t put it past her to skive off and join us,” Harry said with a grin.

“In your dreams, Potter.”

Harry nodded. He thought to inform Hermione that it was actually their kids that joined them in his
dreams, but that just brought him back around to his nightmares.

“What’s wrong, Harry?”

“What? Erm…nothing.”

“It didn’t look like nothing.”

“Oh, well…you mentioned dreams, and that got me thinking about the nightmares…and that family in
Edinburgh…and why we can’t chase after the Death Eaters that abused them.”

“Now Harry…we’ve been through this, right? Am I going to need to gather up those captured portkeys
and hide them from you?”

“No, I suppose not,” Harry replied. A glance back towards Hermione’s sexy uniform gave him reason
to smile.

“Nice patch line, sweetheart.”

“What?”

“No panty lines…but I can see the outline of your dragonhide patch,” Harry replied, pointing
towards the front of Hermione’s shorts.

She looked down and shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, can’t be helped, unless I was going to swallow it.”

“Not a bad idea, actually.”

“What…to swallow my GPS locator?” Hermione asked with surprise. “And are you going to be the one
fishing for it in a day or two when it pops out?”

“No…I was thinking about something less messy,” Harry replied. “Like Malfoy’s portkey tooth.”

“Don’t fancy the thought of giving up one of my molars, for…..Harry? Why do you think that’s a
funny thought?”

The Queen’s Wizard shook his head. “A different idea, Hermione…I was thinking of….these
finders…they still work after a portkey is used, right?”

“Yes, we tested that the other day…why do you ask?”

“Because…Tonks is on-duty for a few more hours, still, right?”

“Yes, why?”

“Need to talk with her about our prisoners,” Harry replied. “One of them just might be lucky enough
to earn a pardon tonight.”

“Earn a pardon?” Hermione asked. “And exactly what will they need to do to earn their
release?”

“Put us on the offensive again.”

**oo00OO00oo
** **10:30 pm, The Palace at Holyrood House, Edinburgh, Scotland
** The low-level Death Eater woke up face down on a cold stone floor, with a high-level
headache, a sore arm, and a foggy memory.

“What the…where are….”

The reach for his wand came up empty.

“Looking for something, wizard?”

The Death Eater rolled over and pushed himself up into a sitting position facing the questioner,
who stood on the opposite side of jail cell bars. The man dressed in a muggle police uniform had a
smile on his face as he twirled a wand in his hands.

“Who are you?”

“I’m your worst nightmare, wizard….somebody who knows the truth about you lot.”

The Death Eater frowned…he had no memory of where he was, or how he had gotten there. The last
thing he could remember is apparating with Rodolphus LeStrange into the attack, but appearing not
in the middle of the muggle crowd, but in mid-air.

Stalling for time, he asked, “And what truth is that?”

The policeman snorted.

“That wizards are weak and pathetic creatures who hide in the shadows, waving their wands about.
And that you wizard…you tried to kill my Queen.”

“I…I did nothing of the sort.”

“Oh, so you just showed up with your friends and crashed the party because you fancy the cucumber
sandwiches?” the jailor snarked. He then looked over his shoulders, and smiled.

“But no matter…I’m so glad that you finally decided to wake up.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I dislike killing scum like you without there being a bit of sport to it,” the policeman
replied casually. To emphasize this comment, the man stopped twirling the Death Eater’s wand and
pulled his handgun from its holster.

The Death Eater’s eyes went wide. Thinking the situation desperate enough to risk a bit of magic,
he closed his eyes and focused on the “three D’s.”

He went nowhere.

“Something wrong, wizard?” the policeman asked with a smile.

“Erm…please don’t kill me…I haven’t done anything wrong…”

“Right, right…I believe you,” the muggle replied. “So we’ll just call this an experiment.”

“Experiment?”

“Yes…a test to see what is more powerful…a wizard with a wand, or a real man with a gun.”

The Death Eater raised an eyebrow as his own hopes for escape rose just a bit. If this muggle was
that stupid or that arrogant…

A list of painful hexes began to form in his head.

The wizard’s spirits rose even higher when he slipped a hand into his robes and took hold of the
candy wrapper portkey that his captors must have missed when his wand was taken from him. He now
had a clear way out, once he had that wand in hand…and made this muggle pay for his hubris.

Masking his emotions as best he could, he asked, “So some sort of duel?”

“Yeah, you against me…what do you say?”

“I’d say that you have me at a disadvantage, Sir,” the Death Eater replied, as he nodded towards
the wand in the policeman’s hand.

“Oh, right…you want your wand back, huh?” the Muggle said with a grin. He then held the wand out
perpendicular to the floor and pressed it against two of the jail cell bars.

“Oh, darn…it doesn’t fit through!”

“What?” asked the Death Eater, wondering whether this Muggle was really that stupid. “Just slip it
through the other way.”

“Oh, right,” the jailor replied. He then rotated the wand a half turn and pressed it back up
against the bars. “No, it doesn’t work when it’s pointed in that direction either.”

“Merlin,” the Death Eater muttered. “Here, I’ll take it….”

The wizard only got a step towards the front of the cell before the Muggle pushed hard enough on
the wand for it to snap in half against the bars.

“Ah…there it goes,” he said with an evil grin, tossing the two pieces through the bars. “All
yours.”

“You….”

“On the count of three, then?”

“What?”

“We’ll open fire on the count of three,” stated the Muggle. “One….”

The Death Eater swore as he scrambled to pick up the two pieces of his wand. It had broken closer
to the handle, so that there might be just enough….yes. There was faint warmth when he grabbed the
larger piece by its thicker end.

“Two…”

Thinking quickly, the Death Eater decided that he couldn’t risk a misfired hex…or risk that he
could even cast a hex. But there might be just enough magical power within the wand to make his
escape. He shoved his broken wand tip into his pocket, touched the candy wrapper portkey, and cried
out the activation word just as his opponent yelled out “Three!”

He disappeared before learning whether the Muggle had fired his weapon.

He reappeared in a place where the odds of being shot were only slightly lower.

“Stay where you are!” yelled a wizard whose wand was pointed directly at the Death Eater’s
heart.

“Wait, don’t fire…it’s me…Jacobs! I’m one of you!” he called out.

“Then why are you wearing Auror Robes, then!”

Rodolphus LeStrange entered the room that the Death Eater had portkeyed into, quickly assessed the
situation, and then cuffed the wand-holding sentry on the back of the head.

“Because we were dressed that way when we launched the attack, you dolt!”

“Oh, thank Merlin, Rodolphus…at least you believe me…”

“Don’t take a step from there, Jacobs…or whomever you are,” Lestrange shouted, as he drew his own
wand out and plopped down on a chair.

“But Rodolphus…it’s me…I escaped from the muggles…”

“Or you are Potter on Polyjuice,” Lestrange replied. “Strip down naked…let’s be sure that you
aren’t hiding anything under those robes.”

The Death Eater bit his lip, but complied with the order.

“See…Dark Mark and everything,” he said, showing the other two in the room his left forearm.

“No different than what somebody’s arm would look like if they nicked a strand of hair,” the senior
Death Eater replied. “Now…we’re just going to sit tight over the next hour, and have a little chat.
You tell us what happened, and we’ll decide whether or not we should wait for the full hour before
we AK your sorry arse.”

“But…you can’t…the Master forbade us from using magic within a safe house!”

Rodolphus arched an eyebrow. “True enough…and a bit of trivia that speaks in your favor.” He then
turned to the other Death Eater and said, “Go check downstairs and see if we’ve still got the
beater bats…just in case.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Rodolphus return his steely gaze to the naked Death Eater in the center of the room.

“It won’t be as quick as an AK,” he said with a thin smile. “But that’s okay…I could use the
exercise….now start talking.”

The Death Eater nodded grimly, and began to tell his tale.

oo00OO00oo

A far less tense atmosphere could be found back in the faux jail cell underneath the Palace at
Holyrood House.

“Outstanding acting job,” Harry said, as he slapped Roger Granger on the back. “I was hoping that
you’d slip into the Dirty Harry routine, or some Python, but….”

“I was too nervous to think of it,” Roger admitted, as he stripped off the uniform that he’d worn
as the Death Eater’s pretend jailor.

“But I was in the corner the whole time, underneath my cloak, right?”

“Yes, well…still…”

A flash of Harry’s Art Club badge interrupted the banter.

“What’s the good news, Wally?” Harry asked, after “picking up” the call.

“It’s working,” the MI-5 ¾ agent replied brightly. “Got a location lock on the bastard in
Salisbury.”

“Right where Lucius wanted to go before we nicked him,” Harry said with a nod. The excitement over
the fact that his plan had apparently worked was tempered by a sudden realization.

“So this might be headquarters,” he stated softly. “Maybe even Voldemort in residence….”

“We’ll know more when surveillance sets up, Harry,” Wally replied.

“Won’t take that long, since we’d already been looking in Wiltshire, right?”

“Yes, had that team on standby…should be at the address within ten minutes.”

“Great,” Harry said, fingering his wand. “And all they are going to do is watch, right?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“Not going to be any SAS teams barging in and mucking things up again?”

“No, Harry…not unless you want them too.”

A smile crept onto the Queen’s Wizard face. He’d sat around enough meetings that day, and was
looking forward to the possibility of some exercise of his own.



oo00OO00oo

*Friday, July 13 2:30 am, 25 Meadow Road, Salisbury, England
* Harry couldn’t decide which hat he was wearing as he surveyed the target through his
field glasses. There were elements of both the Order of Arthur and TPOMS at the scene, but as
everyone was comfortable with the idea of Harry’s leadership it didn’t really matter…at least
inside the perimeter established by a ring of heavily-armed muggle sentinels.

From a literal standpoint, the answer was obvious. Harry, along with the rest of his team, was
wearing a black balaclava that coordinated with the rest of his black commando “night operations”
kit.

The Queen’s Wizard handed his binoculars to Roger Granger, and shifted his gaze from the run-down
row house to the display of a high-tech electronic device that Hermione was monitoring.

“Looks like this one’s settled down after the trip to the loo,” she whispered, as he pointed
towards the bright false image display of a detailed thermal profile of the structure’s entire
interior.

Harry nodded. The secret agent surveillance device clearly showed four people inside the
house…three sleeping upstairs in two separate bedrooms, while the fourth watched late-night telly
in the ground floor sitting room.

“What do you think?”

“Neighbors have been evac’d,” Hermione noted. “Maybe we should send the robot in??

“Make it so, Number One,” Harry intoned, in his best Picard voice.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she called for their Muggle MI-5 ¾ colleagues who had established a
perimeter line to send in the robot. They both watched as a small, remote controlled electronic
device normally used for bomb disposal slowly made its way to the front steps of the house and then
back again. That it made this trip without having its very sensitive insides shut down by the
interference of magical wards suggested that there weren’t any.

“Right then,” Harry said, mainly to himself. He then turned to Roger and said, “Give us a shout out
on your Badge if you see anything on the display that we should know about.”

“Yes, Sir,” Roger said with a combination salute/smirk.

“Right behind you, Captain,” Hermione replied.

“Thought I was a Major?”

“Thought you were stealing bits of Trek dialogue?”

Harry shook his head, and then stabbed his face forward so that he could steal a kiss from his
heavily armed girlfriend. Hermione had just begun to whisper a protest when a flash of white
swooped down and landed on Harry’s shoulder.

“Ouch!” Harry hissed, as Hedwig’s talons dug in. “What’s that about?”

Roger smiled. “Maybe she doesn’t like the idea of my daughter being your Number One.”

“No, but what…Hedwig, why….do you have a message for me?”

His familiar looked down at her unladed legs; then back up again at Harry, and shook her
head.

“Okay, okay…stupid question,” Harry hissed. “Look, Hedwig…if it’s about me not spending enough time
with you…now isn’t the best time to be asking….”

The white owl shook her head, and then glanced over at Hermione.

“Yeah, sometimes I wonder, too,” she whispered conspiratorially to the bird.

The owl nodded once, and then launched herself up towards a perch on the highest chimney top along
the street.

“Think that’s an omen, or something?” Harry asked.

“Yes…it’s a sign that you shouldn’t take the women in your life for granted,” Hermione said with a
smile.

Roger leaned over to give his daughter a hug, then did the same to Harry.”

“Stay safe, you two,” he ordered.

“Yes, Sir,” Harry replied smartly, with a crisp salute and smile. He then gave the thermal imager
one last glance, and activated the “party line” feature of the Art Club badge.

“Okay, folks, let’s show Sport and Social how it’s done properly.”

“Sir, Yes, Sir!” Fred and George Weasley whispered back.

Harry ignored the faux respect as he double checked his goody bags and scabbard and then slipped
his invisibility cloak over his head. Hermione did the same, only with a high quality concealment
cloak. She then followed Harry as they made their way to the front of the building on
silenced-charmed boots.

The Queen’s Wizard pulled out the Portable Hole that had served him so well on Privet Drive and
pressed it against the exterior wall of the house. He flinched as the television’s sound escaped
out through the hole, but didn’t flinch enough to catch the notice of the Death Eater who was
sitting with his back to them.

It was a challenge to slip through the hole on one’s hands and knees whilst underneath an
invisibility cloak, but Harry had actually practiced this maneuver, and was able to execute it
flawlessly. Once clear of the magical entrance, he crawled over to the front corner of the room and
waited for Hermione.

Meanwhile, portable holes had been slapped against the walls of the two upstairs bedrooms, where
the assigned tasks for Fred and George on one broom, and Remus and Tonks on the other, were a bit
simpler. Placing these holes high up on the walls gave the assault teams clear shots towards the
three sleeping Death Eaters, without need of entering the building.

The operation had been necessarily stripped down to simple elements that had already been proven in
battle, in order to gain authorization from the highest of “higher-ups” (i.e. The Queen, The Prime
Minister and the COBRA team). But even the simplest of military plans rarely survives first contact
with the enemy, whether due to the quality of the plan, the cunning of the enemy, or sheer bad
luck.

It was bad luck that turned this plan pear-shaped. The telly-watching Death Eater, wondering
whether he could bully the next watch into taking his shift early, looked up at a wall clock just
as Hermione entered the hole. The clock didn’t betray her presence, but the mirror next to it
clearly showed a round hole in the wall where it shouldn’t be.

Had Harry been in position to see the Death Eater’s eyes narrow, or his hand reach for his wand, he
would have jumped and fired first. But the Queen’s Wizard was still hidden behind the wizard, so
his first indication that they’d been caught out came only once the Death Eater flipped around in
his chair and fired a blind spell towards the hole in the wall.

*“Reducto!”
* “Hermione!”

“Bollocks!” swore Remus across the badge line. “Open fire!”

While stunning spells flew upstairs, Harry Potter flew into action downstairs.

The invisibility cape sailed off of his shoulders as his left hand drew the Sword of Gryffindor
from his shoulder scabbard, matching the wand already held in the right.

“You bastard!” he shouted, closing the distance between himself and the Death Eater in a
flash.

The target turned and swept his wand arm out for the start a second blasting curse. It was met by a
slash of silver metal that caught the Death Eater’s arm in mid-air. The blade struck so sharp fast
and true that the wizard finished the wand motion and yelled out *“Reducto!”* before realizing
that the spell wouldn’t work without his wand.

Or the severed hand that had been holding his wand.

The momentum behind Harry’s sword attack, and the ease with which the blade cut through the arm
caught him off balance…literally. Thrown forward with the swing, his instinct was to follow it in a
shoulder roll that carried him past the Death Eater. But having practiced this move as well, he
came out of the roll on his feet, and immediately turned on his heels in a motion that facilitated
the start of his own spell casting.

*“Diffindo!”
* The Death Eater, who had been staring at the stump of his arm in disbelief, didn’t see
it coming. He therefore didn’t see anything ever again, as the spell struck his neck and he slumped
to the ground dead.

Harry stared at the Death Eater’s body until his brain could catch up with his body. He then turned
back towards the front wall of the house, and caught sight of a much larger and more ragged hole
than what he had used to enter.

“Hermione!” he yelled out in anguish.

“I’m here, Harry,” said a soft voice to his side.

He jerked around, in a motion that swung his sword in a dangerous arc.

“Harry!” Hermione yelled more loudly, as she ducked under the sword blade. “It’s me…it’s me!”

Harry stared at her for a moment in disbelief…there wasn’t a scratch on her.

Too relieved to wonder how that was so, he dropped his bloody sword and pulled her into a
bone-crushing hug.

“The mission,” Hermione murmured into his shoulder. “Need to secure the scene.”

“Upstairs is clear!” Remus called out on his badge.

Harry glanced down at the body near their feet.

“Downstairs clear,” he said with a shake of his head. Whatever else might have been said was lost
as he pulled Hermione’s balaclava from her head and buried his face in her bushy brown hair.

oo00OO00oo

It was the smell of too many humans out too late at night that first alerted Peter Pettigrew that
something was off as he scampered back towards the safe house in his animagus form. He had gone out
for a late night meal…something tastier and more filling than the scant rations that had been left
behind when his Master had abandoned the location a few days past.

Keeping to the shadows, he crept forward for a closer look. There were muggles surrounding the
house…muggles and their firesticks! But they weren’t doing anything more than standing guard, and
there were other smells and other voices coming from the house itself.

He caught the whiff of blood just before he smelled werewolf. A specific werewolf, to be
exact.

A rat-sized whimper escaped from Peter’s rat-sized lips and he shuddered in fright. They had been
found out….found out in the safe house that the Master had ordered him to keep under watch! This
was not good….not good at all.

He had to see what had happened, on the off chance that this information would save his life when
he reported to the Dark Lord. It was risky, but the risk paid off as he safely made it past the
Muggle sentries peered inside the large ragged hole in the house’s wall.

“I knew that these badges would come in handy,” said a red haired boy that Peter knew all too
well.

“Yes, well it worked for Sir Evan…badge-jumping was all that I could think to do when I was on my
hands and knees and heard the spell cast,” said Hermione Granger.

The other boy…Potter!…was holding the witch tightly with one arm. “Yes, well, I’m just glad you
were smart enough and far enough away to duck when I turned.”

“It is supposed to transport us to a safe location by the anchor point, right?” asked the witch.
She shook her head and smiled. “Not that it wasn’t scary enough.”

“Yeah for us both,” Harry replied.

Hermione pulled Harry into a kiss. “Speaking of which…think you can let me go long enough for me to
find a loo? I should check if my knickers need a *Scourgify* spell.”

“Thought that you weren’t wearing any today?” Harry asked with a grin.

“Too much information…la-la-la-la…” said Ron, as he covered his ears.

Peter watched as the witch separated from the two wizards and left the room. There were others
there, but they were muggles. Well, except for LeStrange, who was clearly dead on the floor. A
nearly-headless LeStrange. He could smell Lupin, and the witch that wore Lupin’s scent, but it was
feint…perhaps they were either upstairs, or down in the basement.

What to do?

Tired of worrying about the life-debt he owed to Potter or Potter’s witch (he couldn’t remember
which), and terrified of what would happen to him should he be the bearer of this bad news,
Wormtail decided to risk acting. He scurried behind the sitting room sofa that Harry was standing
in front of, transformed back into human form, and rose up to cast a non-verbal spell that he would
only dare use in Snape’s absence.

*“Sectumsempra!”* Wormtail thought, with a slash of his wand.*
* Ron was the first to make sense of what was happening, and reacted with far more
instinct than premeditation.

“Harry!” he yelled, as he dove towards the Queen’s Wizard.

The momentum carried Harry out of harm’s way, and dropped him to the ground.

Most of Ron went with him.

“Aaaaarrgh!” he yelled, as blood sprayed in an arc from his head up towards the spell-severed ear
that had been left behind.

TPOMS squadron members New Six and Coley were almost as quick to respond, and fired off a spray of
bullets towards Pettigrew’s head even before the ear hit the ground. They would have hit their
mark, had Peter’s head not already been shrinking down to rat-size.

“Where’d he go?” yelled New Six, as he pulled his combat knife and dove behind the couch. He froze
for just a fraction of a second at the sight of a silver-pawed rat running away from him. That
delay was all it took for Peter to escape out the large hole in the wall before the thrown knife
could catch up to him.

The muggle warrior was immediately on the radio relaying the news and calling for everyone to be on
the look out for either a wizard or a rat.

Wormtail had beaten the odds of being found out when he scurried into the safe house. He hadn’t
noticed the owl who had been keeping watch over the area, so he didn’t know just how incredibly
lucky he been on the first run.

He wasn’t so lucky the second time. The baffled feathers of a white owl’s wings allowed for a
silent approach as a very hacked-off familiar swooped down from the rooftop.

Hedwig and the other owls that had patrolled the skies of Little Wizarding and Windsor had been
given specific instructions concerning the capture of the silver-pawed rat…he was to be captured
alive. Harry’s familiar had followed those orders once, and where had that led? The rat was
captured, released, and allowed to attack her human again. So this time….

Had she ever been asked, Hedwig might have been forced to admit that she had swept down on Wormtail
just a little too fast, and dug her talons into her prey just a little too hard. And banging the
vermin’s head against the ground until its neck broke?

The owl shook her head, and would have smiled if she could. Her human companion was so silly, to
think that he didn’t need her around to keep him safe!

oo00OO00oo

By the time that Hedwig decided to proudly show off her catch her human was gone. Harry had
gathered Ron and his ear and used Emily Granger as an anchor point to badge-jump them to the
Hogwarts Infirmary (she had been pre-positioned there for just this kind of medical
emergency).

“Poppy!” Harry called out. “I need help now!”

“What is it…oh my,” the Hogwarts Matron said, as she ran towards the two blood-covered boys. “What
happened?”

*“Sectumsempra,* I think,*”* Harry announced, as he lifted Ron up to a bed and rolled him
onto his side.”

“Oh my! My Ron! My Ron! Not My Ron!” shouted Molly Weasley, from a bed across the way.

She fainted before a magical sedative could be administered. The results were the same…Madame
Pomfrey was able to work without interruption.

“Fetch the blood replenishing potion, Mr. Potter…over there on the shelf.”

“I’ve got it,” announced Arthur, who was in the room and closer to the medicine. “How many?”

“As many as we have,” Poppy announced, as she began to cast intricate coagulation spells towards
Ron’s head.

The situation was touch and go for a few minutes, and required the administration of *Draught of
the Living Dead* to keep Ron from bleeding out. Finally, Madame Pomfrey was able to lower her
wand, exhale deeply, and announce that she’d managed to stop the flow.

Harry smiled, and let out his own sigh of relief. He then turned to Arthur and announced, “He saved
my life tonight, Mr. Weasley…definitely need some subtraction from that list that you insist on
carrying about.”

Arthur nodded. “What happened, Harry?”

The Queen’s Wizard was about to describe the raid before a separate thought came to him.

“Madame Pomfrey…I brought the ear along for you,” he announced, grabbing the bloody bit of body
from where he’d set it next to the bed.

Poppy shook her head. “I’m afraid there’s nothing that can be done with it. That horrid spell is so
Dark…there’s no way that I’d be able to reattach it.”

“Are you sure?” asked Arthur.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” the Matron said with a sigh.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. “Madame Pomfrey…how exactly does the curse get in the way of your
healing?”

“It actively fights my healing magic,” Poppy responds. “That’s what makes the spell so much more
dangerous than a simple *Diffindo*.”

“So if we were to….” Harry mused. He then activated his badge phone.

“Hermione?”

“Go, Harry.”

“Poppy stopped Ron’s blood loss, but says the curse’s magic will fight hers if she tried to
reattach the ear…think that the MI-5 trauma team could give it a look?”

“That’s what we had them on call for,” Hermione replied. “Give me a few seconds to get
there.”

“Roger that,” he said. He then looked over towards Arthur. “Mr. Weasley…if the curse is effective
because it fights against magical healing…there’s a chance that muggle healing might not be
affected.”

Arthur’s eyes went wide, then immediately went towards his wife’s bed. Thankfully, she was still
unconscious, and couldn’t voice her opinions.

“So…they could reattach the ear?”

Harry shrugged. “I know that they’re capable of reattaching fingers, and arms…even legs sometimes,
depending on circumstances.”

“So they’d get out their sewing kits, like when I was bit by that snake?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Harry replied truthfully. “But if the sewing doesn’t take hold, he’ll be
no worse off than he is now, right?”

Arthur pursed his lips. “Poppy?”

“I don’t even want to imagine what they might try to do,” she said with a shake of her head. “The
worse that could happen would be for them to bugger up the magical blood clotting…not that I’d know
how they could manage it.”

“But if you were there, Poppy…if that were possible…then you could step in?”

The Matron turned to Harry and raised an eyebrow.

“Well?”

“I think I have enough sway to make that happen,” he said with a thin smile.

When Hermione called back with word that she was ready to receive the patient, Arthur helped Harry
pull Ron up to his feet (for fear of further injury if Ron jumped from a horizontal
position).

“We’ll get you down there as soon as possible,” Harry told Arthur.

“Thank you, Harry,” the Weasley patriarch said.

The Queen’s Wizard didn’t take time to argue over who should be thanking whom, and jumped to
London.

They arrived in a mostly empty room. The magic behind their Art Club badges didn’t play the kind of
games that had landed Harry outside of Hermione’s bed the night previous, and placed Ron stretched
out on the wheeled gurney that had been waiting for him.

Their anchor point was kitted out in medical scrubs, a mask, and a cloth cap that did a poor job of
constraining a mass of bushy-brown hair.

“Let’s go,” Hermione told Harry, as she began to push the gurney towards a pair of swinging
doors.

“Hermione? Why are you dressed like a doctor?”

“Just push…I’ll steer,” Hermione replied sharply.

“Had to keep the magic away from the electronic medical equipment,” she explained, as they wheeled
Ron down the hallway.

Ten seconds later, they were met by a pair of surgical nurses who were dressed similar to
Hermione.

“We’ve got him,” one said. “You’re to follow, then, Agent Granger?”

Hermione nodded, and then turned to Harry.

“Somebody needs to be there in case the magic interferes,” she explained. “What’s he been
given?”

“Four units of blood replenishing potion, and some *Draught of the Living Death*,” Harry
replied.

“So that solves the question of anesthesia,” Hermione announced. “How long ago?”

“Ten minutes, maybe?” Harry asked. “Poppy could tell you for sure…she and Arthur wanted to come
down to help.”

“Good idea,” Hermione replied, as she headed towards the operating room. “Have Tonks and Remus
apparate them to the front gate and meet them there to clear the checkpoint.”

“Erm..right…I’ll do that,” Harry said…mostly to himself, as Hermione had already disappeared into
the operating room.

There would be a time later on when Harry would replay events, and decide that Hermione was not
only the brightest witch in her generation, but at times the most assertive. But for present
purposes, Harry had some magical transport to arrange. He activated his Art Club badge, and called
out, “Tonks…Remus?”

oo00OO00oo

The Muggle aide assigned to lead Harry, Remus, Tonks and Arthur to a waiting area didn’t have high
enough clearance to know about magic, or the nature of MI-5 ¾’s work. Still, she was used to seeing
odd injuries and odd situations whenever “normal” secret agents were brought in for emergency
repair, and therefore paid no mind to the group’s strange attire, and even stranger
conversations.

She paid a little mind to the blonde haired girl who was waiting for the group at their
destination, but who wouldn’t notice someone who was reading an upside-down newspaper while her
MI-5 credentials hung from a butterbeer cap necklace?

“Luna!” Harry exclaimed, as he pulled her into a hug. “I’m so glad that you’re here….but...how did
you know? How did you get here?”

“The thestral knew where I was needed,” she replied simply.

The Muggle aid ignored the comment, and announced, “There’s coffee over there, and water for tea,
if anyone needs it.”

“Thank you,” Harry replied, as he glanced over towards a small kitchenette. “You’ll be back when
there’s word, then?”

“Yes, Sir,” the aide announced, as she eyed something strange over his shoulder. But she said
nothing of it, and left the room.

Harry turned to find Arthur Weasley opening and closing a refrigerator’s door.

“They have a light…a light that turns on and off whenever the door opens!” he said with amazement.
But once he noted that they were alone, he focused his interest where it was most needed.

“So, Harry…can you tell me what happened tonight?” he asked.

“Yes, Harry…I would like to hear, too,” added Luna.

Harry nodded, and gave a brief recount of their actions, up to the point where Ron stepped in front
of a curse meant for him. The story was then interrupted by a badge call from Hermione’s dad,
announcing that he had something to share with Harry, and that TPOMS was demobilizing from the
scene at Salisbury.

“Good…I was just getting to that point in the story,” Harry replied. “Can you jump in to provide an
update?”

“Is it safe?” Roger asked.

Harry looked around. “Yeah, the kitchen appliances don’t look all that high-tech.”

Roger laughed, and appeared in the surgery’s waiting area a few moments later.

“So what happened after I left?” Harry asked.

“Not much…after-action mop up,” Roger replied with a thin smile. “Although magic worked far better
than a mop against that blood on the floor. Looks like Ron was the only causality on our
side.”

“How about the DE’s?”

“Two dead, three captured,” said Roger.

“And Rookwood wasn’t one of the ones sleeping upstairs?

“No, he wasn’t there,” said Roger. “But Pettigrew was…he’s the one that shot that curse towards
you.”

“Too bad that he got away,” said Harry. “Hold on…you said two killed?”

Remus stepped up and grabbed Harry by the shoulder.

“The rat bastard is finally dead,” he announced. “Can’t decide whether I wish him to hell, or
worse.”

“Worse than hell?” asked Arthur.

“I think it would be, for him at least…if Peter ended up where Sirius could prank his sorry arse
for all eternity,” Remus said with a grim smile.

“How did we get him?” Harry asked.

“Close air support,” Roger said with a smile.

“Air support…what kind?”

“A very *familiar* kind, Harry,” Tonks quipped. “Hedwig must have been keeping watch over you
tonight…she spotted him and swooped down before he got away.”

“Yeah, she was there…and you’re sure that it’s not a regular old rat?”

“A were-enhanced sense of smell,” Lupin said sagely, tapping the side of his nose.

“Not that a regular old witch’s sight couldn’t have determined the same,” chimed in Tonks. “Unless
there are other rats out there with a silver paw?”

“Wow,” Harry said, as he slumped into a chair. “Guess I owe Hedwig a deluxe bag of owl
treats.”

“That you do.”

They sat quietly for a moment, before the stress of a very long and difficult day got to him.

“So, Roger…you sure it was Peter Pettigrew, and not just some parrot resting after a prolonged
squawk?”

Hermione’s dad arched an eyebrow, and then broke out into a brilliant smile.

“This was a dead Peter, Harry…not a dead parrot.”

“So it wasn’t just pining for the fjords?”

Roger shook his head. “Pining for the fjords? Only Norwegian Blues do that, Harry…beautiful
plumage, the Norwegian Blue.”

“So it was really a dead Peter?”

Roger winked. “If he wasn’t nailed to the perch he’d be pushing up the daisies.”

Harry and Roger broke out into loud laughter, leaving everyone else in the room very
confused.

Well…almost everyone.

Which became evident when Luna Lovegood began to sing softly to herself as she continued to read
her upside-down Quibbler.

“Spam, spam, spam, spam… Spam, spam, spam, spam…”
****





66. Chapter 66
--------------

**Muggle Summer, Wizard’s Fall**

**Author’s Note:** Thanks for grenoille and clell for comments on earlier drafts of this
chapter. And apologies to the Bard…after lifting from Python, I decided to go high-brow with my
borrowing.


**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.


**Chapter 66: Project Arcanum**

**Friday, July 13, 6:00 am, MI-5 Headquarters, Thames Bank, London**

As Ron’s surgery passed the one-third point of what would ultimately be a ten-hour procedure,
Hermione Granger let a yawn escape from underneath her surgical mask.

The vibration of her Art Club badge did much to reestablish her clarity of mind.

She moved quickly to a corner of the operating theater, touch-activated the badge which was
hidden underneath her surgical scrubs, and engaged in a brief, whispered conversation.

“Hermione?”

“Go ahead, Harry,”

“The Queen requires our presence.”

“When?”

“Right now.”

The young witch looked down at her attire.

“Do we have time to change?”

“Steve said as soon as practicable, and given the meeting location, I doubt that formal attire
is necessary.”

“Is everything okay up in Balmoral, Harry?”

“As far as I know,” he replied. “I thumbed out a quick after-action report on my BlackBerry that
she was cc’ed on…perhaps she has questions.”

“She was awake at this hour?”

“Apparently so…Steve’s the anchor point…do you want me to wait?”

“No, go ahead…I need to secure Ron’s kit before any of the magical devices walk off, or
inadvertently affect the electronics.”

“Good idea,” Harry replied. “I’ll let the Queen know.”

Once the Queen’s Wizard signed off, Hermione gave her father a badge call. She then approached
the Hogwarts Matron and pulled her away from the table.

“I’ve got to go out for a while,” Hermione whispered.

“Is it something that would warrant my return to the Infirmary?” Poppy asked.

The younger witch shook her head. “Harry and I have been summoned to Balmoral. My dad is going
to scrub in and take my place here.”

Poppy looked back towards the operating table, and then shook her head. “No need for that…things
appear to be going well here.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Madame Pomfrey, but I’m afraid that there is a need. He’ll be
able to contact us using his badge, and then there’s the fact that all visitors to Thames Bank need
an escort while they’re here.”

The Hogwarts Matron frowned. “This is more than just a medical facility, then…isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And you are far more than just a visitor here, aren’t you?”

Hermione nodded.

Madame Pomfrey snorted. She has suspected as much from the deference that the muggle medical
team and gun-carrying guards had shown the young witch.

“As if the wizarding world’s problems are enough…now you have responsibilities in the muggle
world as well?”

A gloved and scrubbed Roger Granger entered the operating room before Hermione could launch into
a lengthy response. So instead she shrugged her shoulders, smiled, and said her good-byes.

Nurse-provided directions led Hermione into a post-op ward, where Ron’s bloody clothing and
combat gear had been placed on a side table. As she sorted out what needed to be secured and what
could be safely left behind, she came across an Art Club badge that was still pinned to a
blood-stained black wool jumper.

An idle thought crossed her mind…that if there had been more than twelve badges, then Poppy
could have been given one, and wouldn’t have needed her father to convey messages from within the
operating room. This thought was immediately linked to a concern that had been nagging Hermione
since her visit to Carlisle Castle the day before. The thought and concern were then tied together
by a guess…a guess that Ron wouldn’t be in a position to use his Art Club badge for at least the
next day or two.

The young witch nodded to herself, and offered a silent apology to Ron as she unpinned the badge
from his jumper and brought it with her to Balmoral.

**oo00OO00oo**

Hermione’s arrival was greeted by more than a few howls.

“Oh, hush,” admonished the Queen, as she gathered one of her precious corgis into her arms.

Hermione’s eyes followed the Queen’s other canine companions as they scurried underneath a
bed.

*The Queen’s bed.*

*In the Queen’s bedchambers.*

“Sorry for the welcome, Ambassador Granger,” the Queen said with a smile. “They are still
getting used to all of this popping in and out.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Hermione replied, as she reflexively grabbed the ends of her hospital scrub
shirt and curtsied in front of the monarch.

The fact that the Queen had called her “Ambassador Granger” did not register in her mind. Not
much of anything could have registered in a mind that had now zoned in on the fact that the Queen
was presently sitting on an unmade bed wearing an RAF officer’s jacket over top a dressing gown and
slippers.

“Sorry for my delay, Your Majesty,” she added, trying to keep her facial expressions neutral
even as she spied Harry’s rosy cheeks from the corner of her eye.

“No worries, Ambassador,” the Queen replied. “Lord Gryffindor was just recounting the mission
for us.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Hermione nodded. She then noted that the “us” wasn’t a plural form of the “Royal
We”; Steve, Parvati Patil, and one of the Queen’s muggle handmaidens were also in the room.

“How is Sir Ronald?” the Queen asked, noticing the spare Art Club badge in Hermione’s hand.

“Still in surgery, Ma’am,” the young witch replied. “It will likely be six or seven more hours
before they’re done.”

“Then there is some other reason for you to have his Order of Arthur badge?”

Hermione was caught off guard by the question, and quickly looked down at the emblem.

“Erm, no, Ma’am, I mean...yes, this is Ron’s badge, but he isn’t using it right now, and I had
an idea…”

Parvati couldn’t keep her snark in check.

“Hermione having an idea,” she said with a snort. “What a surprise.”

The bushy-haired witch gave the witch-in-waiting a dirty look, then turned back to the
Queen.

“Begging you pardon, Ma’am, but…we haven’t yet figured out how to ensure your safety at
Carlisle, and…well, isn’t the sovereign always a member of their royal orders?”

The Queen, having at least twice as much sleep as anyone else in the room, was the first to
catch on. A smile formed on her face as she considered the possibilities.

“We would we pleased to test your hypothesis, Ambassador Granger.”

“Hermione?” Harry asked in a low voice, as his Consort offered up Ron’s badge to the Queen.

“We know that muggles can use these badges, Harry,” she replied. “If Her Majesty is a member of
the Order of Arthur by default, then….”

Harry’s eyes lit up as he finally understood her logic. He then turned and watched as the Queen
set her corgi onto the ground, then pinned the spare Art Club badge onto the lapel of her
unbuttoned wool jacket.

“It’s ‘Clarence’, is it not?” The Queen asked.

The fact that the badge lit up in response to the monarch’s use of the activation phrase was all
the confirmation that was needed.

“How delightful!” stated the Queen. She pressed against one of the badge’s rays and “called”
Harry. His Art Club badge vibrated and lit up in response.

“So if she can call, then maybe she could jump away from danger?” Harry asked.

“Perhaps we should find out, and give Sir Evan an early morning visit?” the Queen replied.

Harry couldn’t help but snort at the thought of the Queen jumping into Sir Evan’s Round Tower
magical tent wearing her dressing gown and slippers.

The Queen smiled. “Yes, we suppose you are correct, Gryffindor…wouldn’t want to stop Sir Evan’s
heart from the shock.” She then walked to the corner of the room, ’called‘ Steve, and successfully
badge-jumped to the other side of the room.

The monarch looked quite pleased with herself, and badge-jumped again, this time to Hermione’s
side.

Her corgis were not amused, though, and howled after each trip.

“Excellent,” the Queen declared. “Now Agent Wall can get some much needed rest.”

“Ma’am?” Steve asked.

“There is less of a need for a rallying point to be always by our side if we are able to
instantly rally ourselves to a different location, correct?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Steve said (a bit reluctantly).

“Excellent, then you are dismissed, Agent Wall…go to sleep.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Steve said, before leaving the room.

The Queen then turned back to Hermione.

“We presume that Sir Ronald will not have need of this badge for at least a few hours?”

“No, Ma’am,” Hermione replied.

The Queen raised an eyebrow as she turned her focus towards the young witch’s attire. “Were you
assisting in the surgery, Ambassador?”

“Erm, no Ma’am…Madame Pomfrey, our school Nurse, is there.”

“Ah, yes,” replied the Queen. “We understand that you brought more than one visitor to Thames
Bank this morning.”

Harry jumped into the conversation. “Yes, Ma’am, we brought Ron’s father in…not just to be there
for the surgery, but….we thought he was owed an explanation as to how his son was injured and what
he’s been doing for us.

“Sir Ronald’s father…he works in the Magical Ministry, correct?”

“Yes, Ma’am, but he took a Wizard’s Oath not to reveal what I said or what he saw there, so no
worries on that point.”

“And what is your opinion of his loyalties?”

“Couldn’t be any prouder of his son, Ma’am,” Harry replied. “His son Ron, that is.”

“We understand your point…there is a prodigal son, yes?”

Harry didn’t catch the Queen’s meaning, but Hermione did.

“Yes, Ma’am…Ron’s brother Percy is, well…a Ministry *functionaire* who is presently
estranged from the family.”

The Queen nodded. “Would you recommend, then, that Sir Ronald’s father be vetted for a position
on the *Magnum Concilium*?”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other and held a silent conversation. It was Harry that then
turned back and said, “Yes, Ma’am, Head Auror Robards and he are about the only ones in the
Ministry’s upper management that we know well enough to truly trust.”

“Excellent,” the Queen replied. “We will have the process begun, then.”

“Would you like us to ask Mr. Weasley, Ma’am?” Harry asked.

The Queen looked at Harry and Hermione’s tired faces and shook her head.

“There are others to whom that task can be delegated,” the Queen replied. "Which brings us
to other issues…Gryffindor, for how many hours have you gone without sleep?”

Harry caught his breath, and replied cautiously. “Not that many, Ma’am.”

“We would be pleased with more specificity.”

Harry looked at his watch. “A little over twenty-four, Ma’am.”

“And it the same for you Ambassador Granger?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

The Queen sighed. “We wish that these conditions be remedied forthwith.”

“Ma’am?”

“You both need some sleep,” the Queen replied candidly. “We need both of you at your best
tomorrow at Carlisle.”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other.

“Still a bit early for using Sir Evan at the Round Tower,” Harry thought out loud.

“And the Love….I mean, our tent is presently occupied,” Hermione added. She then looked towards
the attending witch-in-waiting, and added, “Thanks, but no thanks, Parvati.”

The Queen chuckled to herself.

“We are concerned that you both are pushing yourselves too hard,” she said. “It is rather tight
here at Balmoral…we just dismissed Agent Wall to a cot in our dressing room. Were there a way to
ensure….ah-ha!” The almost smug-looking monarch then called out, “Private Dobby?”

A kilt-wearing house elf popped into the room and bowed so low to the Queen that his nose
touched the carpeting.

“Yes, Major Harry Potter Sir’s Queenie, Ma’am?”

Harry choked on some spittle. Hermione drew pale. The Queen just smiled to herself and chuckled
as she patted the top of her bed.

“Private Dobby, we would be pleased were you to change the linens and dress this bed for Major
Potter’s and Ambassador Granger’s use.”

Harry choked on some more spittle and Hermione drew paler, causing the Queen’s grin to grow.

“Private Dobby be doing that right away!” the house elf said brightly.

After a few seconds time and a blur of activity, the large four-poster bed was made up with
Potter-Plaid linens and a crimson duvet that bore the Clan Potter crest.

“Your Majesty,” Hermione objected, “We are honored but….”

“And we, Ambassador Granger, would be pleased to have our wishes met,” The Queen replied. She
then turned to Dobby.

“Would you please ensure that these two actually use this opportunity to rest?”

“Dobby can do that!” he said with a vigorous headshake. He then turned to Harry and Hermione and
used some house elf magic to confiscate their BlackBerrys.

“But…”

“We have been frustrated with our ability to be useful down here,” The Queen said with a smile.
“Now that we have new means of shared communication we will be pleased to determine personally if
there is a situation serious enough to warrant your awakening.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Harry said reluctantly.

Parvati Patil was grinning from ear to ear as she followed the Queen and her muggle hand maiden
out the door into the adjacent dressing room.

“Remember you two…the royal command was to sleep!”

“Yes, Parvati,” Hermione chimed in reply. She then turned to Harry and gave him a tired, but
still distinctive, “Can you believe this?” look.

Harry shrugged his shoulders and yawned as he pulled down the duvet.

“I think that the ICW delegation can find its way back to the Ministry on its own, don’t
you?”

“Yes, but…eek!” Hermione chirped, as she was lifted up into the air and levitated over the
bed.

“Private Dobby does be promising Major Potter’s Queenie,” the house-elf said seriously. “Major
Potter, Sir and Mistress Consort does be needing to sleep.”

“Yes, Dobby,” Hermione sighed, as she was gently dropped down onto the mattress. She reached for
the edge of the duvet, only to be taken by surprise once more as all of her outer clothing
disappeared.

“Dobby!” she hissed, now dressed only in a Potter-plaid thong. “What are you doing?”

“Dobby be helping,” the house-elf replied. Nodding towards their matching Potter-plaid thongs,
he asked, “This not be how the Great Harry Potter Sir and Harry Potter’s Sir’s Mistress Consort be
dressing for bed?”

Hermione looked down the length of her body, then over towards Harry’s. “Erm…Dobby, you can keep
the BlackBerrys for now, but badge and weaponry?”

The house-elf nodded, and a moment later Hermione found her MI-5 badge hanging from a necklace,
her Art Club badge fixed to bare skin above her right breast, and her “flat-panel” charmed handgun
holster fixed above her left. A knife was strapped against the outside of her right leg, while her
wand and wrist holster were now tied onto her left forearm.

Noticing that Harry had been similarly equipped (with the addition of his charmed sword hilt
pasted onto the back of his neck), she shook her head, smiled, and said, “Thank you Dobby, we’ll
take it from here…okay?”

Dobby gave a deep bow, then popped away.

The snarky comment forming on the tip of her tongue was lost when Hermione turned towards her
near-naked boyfriend and was captured by the intense focus of his green eyes.

“Harry?”

“I was so afraid, Hermione,” he whispered. “I thought I had lost you.”

“Oh, Harry,” she said sympathetically, as she fell into his arms. “I love you.”

“I love you to,” he replied, as his lips searched for hers.

A few minutes after Hermione’s lips were found, Harry’s hands found the soft curve of her thigh.
Her eyes lit up with surprise, and she rolled off of his body with a giggle.

“Oh, Harry, we…we can’t!”

“We can’t what, Hermione?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“But…but this is the Queen’s bed!”

Harry shrugged. “I always thought that our first ‘first time’ would be memorable, but talk about
memorable locations!”

“You….Harry Potter, you are incorrigible!”

“And you, Hermione Granger, are very…”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence!” Hermione warned.

“Even if it’s true?”

“Especially if it is true!”

The banter was interrupted by a frowning house-elf that popped in between them.

“Does Major Potter and Mistress Consort be needing separate beds to be following Major Potter’s
Queenie’s orders?” he asked.

Harry was very close to hexing his house-elf friend before he thought better of it.

“No, Dobby…we were just about to close our eyes.”

“Does Dobby need to be staying in bed between Harry Potter Sir and Mistress ‘Mione?”

“No, we’ll be good,” Hermione said with a laugh. She kissed Harry on the tip of his nose, then
rolled onto her side facing away from him. “Good night you two.”

Dobby turned towards Harry.

“You win, Dobby,” the Queen’s Wizard said with a resigned grin on his face. Once he rolled onto
his side facing away from Hermione, Dobby the house-elf nodded his head with approval, and popped
away.

**8:28 am****, The Ministry of Magic**

The five-person ICW Delegation began to pop out of the Ministry of Magic’s inbound floos exactly
forty-eight hours, two minutes and thirty seconds after Percy Weasley had invoked the two-day
waiting period for their investigation (it would have been closer to forty-eight hours on the dot,
had the floo network not been intentionally slowed down to more closely monitor traffic). Percy was
again there to “greet” the Internationals, looking far less harried and surprised then during their
first encounter.

“Good morning, good morning to you all,” he said with false cheer, as he handed each member of
the delegation an oversized identification badge attached to a lanyard necklace. When the Emperor’s
Wizard questioned the need for nametags that read “**ICW**” in six-inch tall letters, Percy
insisted that it was only done to ensure that every Ministry worker would know to provide them with
any requested assistance.

Telling the five-member delegation that a room had been prepared for their use during their
investigation, Percy led them past the wand check and into a waiting elevator that whisked them
directly up to the first level. Thorson, the Norwegian King’s Wizard, didn’t much care for the fact
that this space was adjacent to the Minister of Magic’s office, but Percy explained that this was
only so that they’d be that much closer to his office, and that he would be at their disposal
during their review.

Silencing and eavesdrop detection charms were cast just as soon as Percy left the room. This
effort was focused enough to miss the fact that the Special Assistant to the Minister was casting
charms of his own other side of the doorway.

The sound barrier charm that Percy cast was strong enough (by design) for the international
delegation to miss the alarm that blared out ten minutes later, announcing that the Ministry of
Magic was under attack.

**8:45 am****, Azkaban Island**

The overworked, underpaid and always inebriated warden of Azkaban was sleeping off his latest
hangover on the office couch when the magical painting that hung behind his desk roared to
life.

“Open the gates!” shouted the portrait of a splendidly dressed nobleman. “Open the gates! ’Tis
Gloucester that calls!”

When this announcement went unanswered, the portrait muttered, “Where be these wardens that they
not wait here?”

After a few more calls, the portrait finally got a growling response from a just-wakened
wizard.

“What are you on about?”

“Mark me!” bellowed the painting, after spotting the horizontal source of this response. “And
haste ye to hear it, that ye, with wings as swift as meditation or the thoughts of love, may sweep
to thy Ministry’s defense!”

The noisome wizard scowled. “Whazz’at…meditation…love?” With a shake of his head he rolled over
to face the wall and added, “Bugger off!”

“Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms?” lamented the portrait. “Good God! These wizards
should such stomachs bear!”

Seeing no other recourse, the elegantly dressed nobleman unrolled a scroll and read crass words
that were strange to his oil paint ears, straight from script.

“Initiate Prison Lockdown. Ministry Defense Plan Alpha-One-Bravo.”

The clearly spoken orders from the Minister’s office caused the warden to immediately sober up.
He jumped to his feet, winced at the pain this motion caused within his head, and asked the
portrait to repeat what was said. When the magical portrait complied, the warden swore loudly, then
immediately drew his wand and turned towards the five glowing crystals were set along the side of
his desktop.

A unique sequence of five wand tip touches to these crystals, when combined with an
authorization incantation, set klaxons ringing throughout the prison. The warden then touched the
crystals in a different order, and said a second incantation that caused the frame portrait of the
Duke of Gloucester to swing away from the wall.

The warden ducked under the swinging frame, then stood and removed emergency portkeys from a
hidden cache. The wizard then ran out to the mist-shrouded prison yard, where he was soon met by
the prison’s full complement of guards and other personnel. The portkeys were distributed,
authorization codes were called out, and the island left to prisoners who were all locked within
their cells.

Thirty seconds later, automated “lock-down” wards burst up from the prison’s walls and arched
into a shimmering, menacing hemispherical dome.

Barely a minute after Azkaban was abandoned by its guardians, stunned and bound bodies began to
appear onto its bare-dirt grounds.

**oo00OO00oo**

The portkeys hidden within the Ministry-provided nametags caught the ICW delegation by
surprise.

Four of the five Internationals stepped out of the cascade of flashing lights and onto the
grounds of Azkaban with wands drawn. Those wands were quickly dropped when painful discharges of
electrical energy shot down from the thick fog and struck their wand-bearing hands.

“Damn that stung!” shouted the King’s Wizard, as crouched low to the ground and tried to shake
out the pain. He looked out into the thick mist that enveloped the group and asked, “Where did that
spell fire come from?”

“Given the poor sightlines, and that the lightning struck not the tallest of us, but those who
were holding wands, I’d say it was a passive ward boundary,” opined his Japanese colleague.

“So where are we, then?” asked the Swedish witch.

“A convenient distance away from the Ministry of Magic, no doubt,” replied the Emperor’s Wizard.
He then turned towards his Maori friend, who was already working on the visibility problem using
wandless magic.

As the dense fog began to lift, a half-dozen prone bodies came into view, scattered within the
walled grounds. Taking in the sight of guard towers and the smell of fresh sea air, the King’s
Wizard announced, “They’ve sent us to their Azkaban Prison!”

“It appears so,” replied the Japanese wizard, as he strode towards the nearest immobilized body.
Reaching down and feeling a pulse of the man dressed in blue Auror robes, he added, “Though I
suspect that these people would know with more certainty.”

Noting that an electrical penalty had not been applied to the Maori sorcerer’s wandless cloud
communing, the Emperor’s wizard crouched down next to the nearest body and cast a wandless
variation of Finite Incantatum.

“What’s going…where am…who are…oh, Merlin, they didn’t?” the revived wizard mumbled.

“It appears that somebody most certainly did,” replied Matsuhisa. Grabbing the hand that was
reaching for a wand, the Shinto priest added, “That would be unadvisable, sir, given the apparent
warding of our location.”

The downed wizard stared at the Japanese spell caster for a moment, then patted the portion of
his sleeve that covered his holster.

“The wand has gone missing, anyway,” he observed. Glancing furtively at his surroundings, the
wizard then reached for the badge that used to be pinned to his chest.

“Damn,” he swore.

“Missing something other than your wand?” Matsuhisa asked.

Head Auror Robards nodded and sighed.

“My badge.”

oo00OO00oo

**9:15 am****, Ministry of Magic**

As the smoke cleared from a diversionary false alarm that was set up to get most of the MoM
staff out of the Ministry, the mercenary Dutch Charms Master slumped down onto a chair in front of
the Minister of Magic’s desk.

“One down, one to go,” he murmured, as he pulled a stamina potion from his robe pocket.

“Well, time is wasting away, Vanderwood,” Scrimgeour snarled. “We didn’t pay you to sit on the
job.”

The young Dutch wizard rolled his eyes.

“Just need to catch my breath,” he replied. “That was by far the easier of the two.”

“So it worked, then?”

The dreadlocked wizard looked around Scrimgeour’s office. Not seeing anyone else about, he said,
“Guess you’ll have to ask me to be sure.”

“Right, then…where is the British Ministry of Magic located?”

The Dutchman furrowed his eyebrows.

“I have no idea.”

“Sure you’re not just saying that to cover your arse?”

The young wizard rolled his eyes and held his wand tip towards his heart.

“I swear on my magic that I have no idea where the British Ministry of Magic is located,” he
stated, quickly adding, “Aside from a guess that it is most likely someplace within Britain.”

The Charms Master paused for a few moments, then cast a *Lumos* spell as confirmatory
proof.

“Right then,” he declared. “As soon as you’re done shipping folks out of the Ministry and have
closed down the floo network, I can move on.”

The Minister of Magic nodded, and activated communication mirrors that linked him with Umbridge
and Percy Weasley. Once they gave an “all clear,” Peter Vanderwood cracked his fingers, rolled his
neck muscles, and stared intently at Rufus.

After thirty seconds of incredibly focused thought, the young wizard raised his wand towards the
Minister of Magic’s chest and whispered, “*Fidelius*.”

Rufus braced himself for the same kind of chest-pounding that the last spell had delivered, and
watched nervously as long wisps of magical memory were drawn out from the air and into the
Dutchman’s wand. The flow of inbound magic quickly grew…from two or three per second, then ten or
twelve, then to a continuous attack of energy from all directions. The young wizard’s eyes bulged
out and his wand arm began to tremble, but he kept his aim true…even as his wand began to overheat
and burn his hand.

As this rush of magic grew buffeted him with a loud roar, Scrimgeour tried to cover his
ears…only to find his body immobilized by both the spell’s connection and the onslaught of gathered
knowledge that was racing by his sides. He winced at the pain, and imagined that his ears were no
bleeding just like the Dutchman’s.

But still the Charms Master’s focus stayed true, and his wand held firm.

The wave of magic drawn into the office began to channel itself into a whirling vortex of
energy, as if a tub of bath water were draining into Vanderwood’s grip. Scrimgeour was now shouting
an open-mouth cry that couldn’t be heard above the roar, until the tornado of magic collapsed down
on itself, and disappeared into the butt end of the Charms Master’s wand. And with a snap, all of
that magical energy…all of the knowledge that the *Fidelius* spell had stolen from the
world…was discharged out the front end of spell caster’s wand and square onto the Minister of
Magic’s chest.

The impact sent both wizards spiraling backwards, and they fell to the ground unconscious.

oo00OO00oo

When the Minister of Magic was later revived by Percy Weasley, his ears rang so loudly with pain
that he couldn’t hear the Special Assistant’s words. Scrimgeour batted away Percy’s wand, realizing
that the younger wizard was going to attempt to heal his burst eardrums, and struggled to his feet.
Stepping over the still unconscious body of the Dutch wizard, the Minister of Magic lurched towards
a locked cabinet of healing potions that had been gathered just for this potential outcome.

“Minister, can you hear me now?” asked Percy, after two different potions had been downed.

Rufus snorted as he looked around his bruised and battered office, and nodded.

“Weasley…how….how did you get to the Ministry this morning?” he asked with a painful wheeze.

“Well I…I….I can’t recall!” Percy said with wonder.

Scrimgeour’s lips formed a thin smile. “That is something worth hearing, then.”

It was only fifteen minutes later, and with no small amount of reluctance, that the newly-formed
secret keeper passed two slips of paper to his two Special Assistants.

The first read, “*The Ministry of Magic is located beneath Central London.”*

The second stated, *“The Ministry of Magic can be reached by magical methods of
transportation*.”

**9:30 am****, Azkaban Island, North Sea**

Introductions made after all six stunned high-level Ministry personnel had been wandlessly
revived by the ICW delegation established that Azkaban Island was presently a “stooge-free” zone.
Amongst the handful of now-wandless wizards who had been ambushed, stunned and rendered from the
Ministry to Azkaban were Gawain Robard’s two most loyal lieutenants, his buddy from the Portkey
Office, and Hit Wizards Numbers 1 and 2. Robards and the other two Aurors had been meeting with MLE
Director Oswald, while the two Hit Wizards and Portkey Office head had been called into a separate
meeting by Matilda Hopkirk to review Hit Wizard team deployment procedures.

A more complete picture of who was considered loyal to the Minister’s Office (and who was not)
came when a third wave of witches and wizards arrived via three separate portkeys. Within this
group of twenty were several non-Slytherin student interns, including Peanut Butter Brigade members
Lisa Turpin, Lavender Brown, and Ernie Macmillan. The balance were either parents of non-Slytherin
students (like Hannah Abbott’s mum), or Ministry workers who had been critical of the Minister’s
office.

These witches and wizards had responded to an general alarm and gathered in the Atrium, where
they were informed that the Ministry of Magic had come under attack by muggle nerve gas. As the
space began to fill with foul-smelling smoke, they were instructed to form into pre-assigned groups
and take hold of distributed emergency portkeys.

The group assignments had struck some of these witches and wizards as suspicious, as they were
disproportionately Potter-friendly. But fears that this was some type of ruse, or that they’d be
sent into harm’s way had been dampened, by the fact that their groups also included Slytherin
students and older pure-blooded bigots. These Ministry loyalists, however, had all taken their
hands off of the portkeys just before they sent the others to Azkaban (instead of to Hogsmeade, as
they’d been told).

It didn’t take long for the entire group of witches and wizards to find commonality, once the
members of the ICW delegation introduced themselves, and explained why they had been visiting the
Ministry. The Minister’s Office had been involved, for reasons that became clear once they began to
brainstorm on not just how they’d get off of the Island, but how they might return to the
Ministry.

A quick check of the prison complex confirmed what had already been suspected…the guards had
abandoned the island to its inmates, thinking that they were needed to thwart and imaginary attack
on the Ministry. The lockdown wards that kept prisoners within their jail cells also prevented the
new arrivals from using their wands.

That Azkaban would incarcerate witches and wizards who could use wandless magic (beyond
apparition spells) was something that had not been anticipated during ward construction. Exploiting
this gap, however, still required a good deal of collective thought. The Maori and Japanese wizards
employed a very different style of magic…there was, for example, no wandless version of the
*Portus* spell in their repertoires. They did have a type of messenger spell on hand, but
these were caught up by passive outer wards that intercepted all types of magical
communication.

All types of *direct* magical communication *that was known* to the Ministry, that
is…as was demonstrated when Lisa Turpin proposed a clever use for Rongo’s cloud whispering
skills.

**9:45 am****, Orkney and Shetland Desk, Met Office, FitzRoy Road, Exeter**

The young Muggle meteorologist whose Met Office duties covered weather advisories for the Orkney
and Shetland Islands had just returned to his desk with a fresh cup of tea when he saw something
rather odd.

He stood up onto his tiptoes so that he could peer into the office cube next to his.

“Oi, Jerry…come take a look at this!”

“What’s that…another naughty web site that slipped under the Department’s filters?”

“No, nothing like that…just take a look.”

The weatherman’s cube-buddy shook his head, and reluctantly crab-walked his office chair out
into the aisle and into the next work station. He frowned when all he spied on his mate’s computer
screen was a satellite image.

“What’s caught your fancy this time?” he asked. “More clouds shaped like Posh Spice?”

The weatherman waved dismissively. “No this is for real…you know that island past Fair Isle
that’s always covered in clouds?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

The weatherman pointed to a spot on his huge display.

“What do you think this means?”

The Muggle Weatherman leaned closer to the display, then frowned.

“So they’ve changed into something resembling the letter W…is that all?”

“No…I mean yes…when have you ever seen clouds form up that way?”

“Okay, so it’s not something you see every day…what’s with all of the excitement?”

“Know how the boss is moaning over the budget cuts all the time?”

“Yeah.”

“Know how he says the public has gotten complacent, and taken weather reports for granted?”

“Where you going with this?”

“Publicity, my boy…publicity. We send pictures of this out to the press, and given them some
ideas on what it might mean. They put it on the news, attribute it to us and our department, and
we’re famous.”

“More likely infamous,” his mate replied. “What possible meaning could a W-shaped cloud
have?”

“Hmmm…let’s see,” the weatherman said. “It’s Friday the 13th, which is always an
unlucky day….the W could stand for ‘warning,’ or maybe…..win. Hey, that’s it!”

“What?”

“Not ‘what,’ you oaf…the W stands for ‘win.’ All we need know is to check the sports pages and
figure out who is playing, and suggest that it’s a sign that one team or the other is going to win
today.”

“Sure that this isn’t an excuse to web surf on company time?”

“No, no…this is all business-related. You take football and cricket, while I peruse the
*Racing Post*.”

The weatherman snorted at the suggestion, but the clear skies currently over the Highlands would
give him enough time to follow this lark for a bit.

oo00OO00oo

**10:15 am****, The Bunker, Balmoral Castle**

When a lumbering, dead-to-the-world Steve failed to respond to either mobile or badge-call,
Wally gave the Queen her first opportunity to anchor a badge jump.

“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty,” he said, after gathering his bearings (they were in a small
sitting room with the Queen’s muggle handmaiden and Padma Patil, who had taken over for her
sister). “We’ve got some problems in the wizarding world.”

The Queen was not amused by Wally’s elaboration…not by the method of delivery, mind you…it was
information itself that was so disturbing. She glanced at a wall clock and sighed.

“It is a sad state of the Realm when we can go no longer than four hour’s time without need of
Gryffindor and Ambassador Granger’s services.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Wally replied. “Shall I wake them, then?”

“No, no, we shall do that necessary task,” the Queen replied, as she activated her borrowed Art
Club badge.

Harry Potter was sleeping far more lightly than Steve was, and woke instantly when his Art Club
badge began to vibrate. He panicked when he realized that it wasn’t Ron who was trying to call him,
and made a snap decision to immediately badge-jump to the Queen’s side.

“What’s the emerg…” Harry called out, with both drawn wand and drawn sword.

“Oh, my,” said the Queen.

“Oh, baby!” hissed Padma Patil, who was the on-duty witch-in-waiting.

“Nice response time,” noted the Queen’s muggle handmaiden.

“Nicer bum,” snarked Wally.

Finally realizing that the Queen was not under attack, Harry followed Wally’s and Padma’s line
of sight down to his tartan thong and blushed a deep red that travelled halfway down his chest.
Sheathing his sword, he turned towards the Queen and asked, “You called, Your Majesty?”

The monarch tried not to smile, but failed.

“We need your attendance, and that of Ambassador Granger’s,” she replied. “Would five minutes’
time be sufficient for your needs, Gryffindor?”

Harry scowled at Padma and Wally, who were trying to ogle and stifle their giggles at the same
time. He then returned his attention to the Queen, called for Hermione on his badge, and summoned
up the shreds of his dignity.

“Thank you, Ma’am, that will be fine…and, erm…sorry about….”

Hermione’s response allowed Harry to badge-jump back to the bedroom before figuring out the
least embarrassing way to complete his sentence.

Dobby’s help with his clothing then allowed Harry to spend most of those five minutes explaining
to Hermione why he had just jumped bare-arsed to the Queen’s side.

oo00OO00oo

The news that Wally had brought to The Bunker kept the snickering to a minimum once Harry and
Hermione returned to the Queen’s location dressed in fresh combat blacks.

The Weasley Twins had provided on-the-ground confirmation of what muggle sentinels had observed
from a distance…hundreds of Ministry of Magic employees had suddenly appeared in Diagon Alley and
Hogsmeade with word that they had just escaped a muggle poison gas attack. There was a lot of
ongoing confusion about who got out in time and to where. The ICW delegation was nowhere to be
found, as were more than a few members of the Peanut Butter Brigade. Efforts to determine whether
they had been trapped inside the Ministry were thwarted by the inability of anyone to remember
where the Ministry of Magic was located, how Ministry personnel had escaped, and how they might be
able to return.

Anticipating Harry and Hermione’s immediate concerns, Wally provided a roster of known locations
for members of the Art Club, Clan Friends and the Peanut Butter Brigade. Arthur Weasley and Luna
were still at Thames Bank, waiting for Ron to come out of surgery. Remus was now minding Poppy,
having relieved Roger Granger so that he could return to Cumberland Lodge and his wife for some
much needed rest. Sir Evan was anchoring the Prime Minister’s undisclosed location, the Twins were
making repairs to their shop, and Tonks was taking a kip at Hogwarts.

Returning to the false attack problem, Harry called for Dobby, who informed Harry that the
Ministry’s house-elf staff had been evacuated, and that they had no idea of how they might return.
This additional clue was all that Hermione and Harry needed to turn to each other with the same
conclusion.

“*Fidelius* Charm.”

The Queen and Wally were not unfamiliar with this type of magic, as this type of protection had
been discussed (and eventually discarded) when wards were designed for Windsor, Number 10, and the
like. Questions on why the Ministry had taken this step, and what might be done to counteract it,
were placed on the back burner in favor of locating the ICW delegation, or any of the other Peanut
Butter Brigade members who might have gone missing.

This decision prompted Wally to bring up a second piece of potentially relevant information.
MI-5 ¾ analysts who had been tasked with continually scanning the newswires and Internet for any
bit of odd news that may have been magically related had seen the Met Office’s press release, and
forwarded to Wally a weather satellite photograph centered over an island in the North Sea.
Hermione took one look at that same image and gasped.

“Padma, take a look!” she ordered. When the witch-in-waiting looked across the conference table
at the picture, she asked, “Ehwaz?”

Hermione shook her head, and turned the photograph around so that it faced Padma.

“Ehwaz reversed,” the bushy-haired witch declared.

“How can you tell if it’s reversed or not?”

“Got to think that north was assumed to be the imaginary top of page,” Hermione replied.

“Could either of you stop and translate for the rest of us?” Harry asked.

Hermione looked up at Harry, then to the Queen.

“The magical rune *Ehwaz* is shaped similarly to the letter W,” she stated. “Except that
the outer lines are relatively longer…just like it’s shown in this image.”

“And this matters, exactly…how?” asked Wally.

“This island is almost always shrouded in clouds, right?”

“That’s what the Met Office says.”

“And now, all of a sudden, the cloud cover breaks up and forms this message?”

“What kind of message could this be, Ambassador?” asked the Queen.

Hermione placed the satellite photograph in front of the monarch, then rotated it 180
degrees.

“The rune *Ehwaz*, oriented this way, most commonly stands for transportation, Ma’am.”

“It’s a big part of the rune set equations used to make broomsticks fly, Your Majesty,” Padma
offered.

Hermione nodded, then rotated the picture back around.

“But, Your Highness, when you write a rune upside down…we call it reversed…the opposite meaning
is indicated.”

The Queen nodded. “So in this case, the opposite of transportation is…”

“Confinement, Your Majesty.”

The Queen pursed her lips in thought. “And you propose that these clouds may have been
manipulated by magical means?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Is this a traditional form of magical communication, then?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Hermione replied with a smile. “In fact, I’ve only come across one witch or
wizard who is capable of this kind of weather magic.”

“Rongo!” Harry exclaimed.

Hermione nodded. “We may have just found the location of the ICW delegation.”

“They’ve been banished to some remote island in the North Sea?” asked Wally.

Nodding in agreement, Hermione replied, “Not just any old island, Wally…they’ve been sent to
Azkaban.”

“Right then, time to organize a rescue effort,” Harry declared, as he looked down upon the
photograph. “Doesn’t look that far away from the Scottish Coast and Fort George…we can run a
squadron of brooms out from there.”

“Don’t you think the prison’s been protected against that type of assault?” asked Hermione.

Harry frowned. “Probably warded against inbound messengers spells or owls as well.”

“Need to think outside the box,” Padma declared. “Maybe use Muggle means of transportation?”

Steve followed on this suggestion with his own survey of the satellite photograph. “Could fly
Sea Kings out there…treat it as a marine rescue operation?”

Harry shook his head. “Wards might play havoc with any attempt to land on the prison
grounds….unless…”

Hermione grew instantly nervous at the gleam that developed in her boyfriend’s eye.

oo00OO00oo

Wally’s eyes narrowed when, ten minutes later, Harry presented him with his very own charmed
flight helmet.

“*Rambo*?”

Harry smiled. “I thought about nicknaming you *Dolce & Gabanna,* but it wouldn’t all
fit on one line.”

Wally rolled his eyes. “But…*Rambo*?”

“Steve’s idea, actually,” Harry quipped.

“Really?” asked Wally. “And he is the final arbiter on these types of decisions?”

“Well, I could have asked Mad-Eye Moody, couldn’t have I?”

The secret agent closed his eyes and sighed.

“So how do I go about changing my moniker?”

“Only by doing something incredibly brave, or incredibly embarrassing,” Harry replied with a
smile.

“Well if that’s the case,” said Wally.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Wally waited until Harry’s back was turned before he badge-called Hermione and made a
suggestion.

A delighted Hermione, in turn, had Dobby wait until Harry was wearing his helmet before he
secretly altered the script that ran across the Queen’s Wizard’s forehead.

Harry couldn’t get Wally to explain why he was snickering during their motorbike ride from
Balmoral to the village of Crathie, one-half mile east. The RAF had constructed a staging area
there, and one of its heavy-lift helicopters had been made available for the Queen’s Wizard’s
use.

The crew chief of that helicopter gave Harry a strange look as he backed his motorbike into its
cargo bay.

“Why a Bonny?” he asked.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I inherited it.”

The serviceman squinted, and then asked, “Why *Conan*?”

“What do you mean?” asked Harry.

The crew chief pointed towards Harry’s flight helmet.

“How’d you earn the nickname *Conan*?” he asked again.

Harry frowned, and whipped the flight helmet off of his head. He stared at the place where
“*Seeker*” had once been written, then stared sternly at Wally.

The muggle secret agent winked, drew an imaginary sword from a back-mounted scabbard, held it in
a heroic pose.

“You did say that accommodations could be made for doing something embarrassing, right?”

Harry shook his head. “This is what I get for jumping to the Queen’s defense?”

Wally laughed. “No, Conan…this is what you get for flashing the Queen your manly loincloth.”

**11:45 am****, Over the North Sea**

A very nice dream involving royal bedrooms and a skyclad girlfriend was interrupted by a gentle
shake on the shoulder.

“Five minutes to Skull Island, Conan.”

Harry opened his eyes, stared at the helicopter’s crew chief, then nodded and sat up straight.
He was only slightly surprised that he had fallen asleep during the brief flight…while it was very
loud within the cargo hold of the CH-47 Chinook helicopter, he was also very tired.

“Thanks,” he yelled back, as a smirk came to his face. It wasn’t the new nickname that amused
him, but rather the nickname given by Muggle sailors and aviators to mist-shrouded Azkaban Island.
While there weren’t any 40-foot tall apes on the island, what a Muggle would encounter were they to
visit would seem just as strange, and just as dangerous.

“Where’s Rambo?” he asked.

“Up front,” the crew chief said with a grin. “Tossed his biscuits three times already… now he’s
looking out the cockpit’s front windows trying to avoid number four.”

Harry grinned. “Cheeky bastard deserves it,” he muttered to himself, as he unbuckled his safety
restraints. He then stood and made his way towards his tail-facing motorcycle. As he double-checked
his saddle bags, he caught the Muggle crew chief giving his ride a close look. He seemed no less
interested now then when Harry had ridden the bike up the helicopter’s rear door ramp an hour
previous.

“You really going to ride that out the back, Sir?” he called out.

Harry just smiled and nodded as swung a leg over its seat. Tapping into his charmed flight
helmet’s comm system, he called out, “Hey Rambo, going to come back and send me off?”

There was a snort on the other end of the “line,” followed by, “Willing to risk me decorating
your flight suit with dry heaves, Conan?”

“Nothing a bit of magic wouldn’t clear up, Rambo.”

“So long as you do it outside,” the secret agent replied, as he walked onto the deck and made
his way to the motorbike. “Wouldn’t want any magical interference to make this ride any bumpier
than it already is.”

“Two minutes!” yelled the crew chief, as he bent down and began to release the tie-downs that
had held the motorcycle in place during the flight. As his two passengers engaged in conversation
that he wasn’t privy to, the Muggle muttered to himself about the absurdity of it all. He’d hosted
his share of special op types and their gear during “dark” flights over hostile territory…watched
boats launch off the flight deck and into the water, and Land Rovers drive off the ramp and onto
dry land. But this was just crazy…a motorcycle jump from 8,000 feet? Without a parachute strapped
onto the rider’s back?

Once the ties were unfastened and stowed away, the crew chief gave Harry a “thumbs-up” to
indicate that he was free and clear of any restraints. He then helped Wally clip into a safety
harness, before latching himself onto a separate lanyard. At sixty seconds to drop, the crew chief
stepped up to his control station and lowered the rear door until it was level with the flight
deck.

“Something wrong?” the amused airman yelled towards Wally, who was clinging with white knuckles
onto the back of a jump seat.

The MI-5 ¾ Agent shook his head tersely, not believing how nonchalantly the crew chief was
walking around the bay with the back door opened to air and sea.

The crew chief walked to Harry’s side for the final count as the helicopter cruised at 160 knots
over open water. When the young wizard kick-started the motorcycle’s engine, and kicked back the
stand with the heel of his dragon-hide boots, the normally tight-lipped crew chief couldn’t help
but ask a question.

“You some James Bond type, Sir?” he yelled, as Harry revved the engine.

Harry turned towards the man, and smiled.

“Something like that, Sergeant,” he replied with a grin.

The crew chief snorted, then counted down with his fingers from five. As soon as the last finger
dropped down to form a closed fist, Harry launched Sirius’s motorbike out the back and into the
open sky.

The crew chief watched with disbelief as Harry’s “normal” descent halted a few seconds later,
and the motorbike powered into a wide left turn.

“Better than Bond,” the crew chief muttered, as he closed the door.

The sound of some uncharacteristically coarse language over the helicopter’s internal radio
system broke the man’s musing. When he called up to the cockpit and asked what had prompted the
cursing, he was instructed to look out the aft side bubble window.

What he saw caused the crew chief to launch into his own coarse comments, more out of admiration
than of anger.

oo00OO00oo

Given the seriousness of his mission, Harry Potter probably shouldn’t have taken the time to
pull his motorcycle up next to the helicopter that had brought him to Azkaban and gestured to the
pilot as if he wanted to race. But with the weight of both the Muggle and magical worlds seemingly
on his shoulders, he thought it was the perfect time to, if only for a few minutes, act his
age.

“Erm…Lord G?” Wally asked weakly.

“Go ahead, Wally.”

“The helicopter pilot is asking if you are challenging him to a drag race.”

Harry responded with a hearty laugh, and an ersatz “wheelie.” He then snapped off a roguish
salute towards the helicopter, and shot forward as he pushed the bike’s speedometer just past 200
mph.

As soon as it was well established that his motorbike could out fly the Chinook, Harry dropped
into a dive and headed towards the island below. He pulled up a mile short and a thousand feet
above the sea, and pulled out his trusty pair of omnioculars from a saddlebag. A group of witches
and wizards were facing towards them and waving their arms from the center of the prison’s
“exercise yard” (poorly named, as Azkaban’s prisoners were never let out for exercise). All except
the tallest, who was focusing more on the peculiarly shaped clouds above the island than on
Harry.

Spotting Head Auror Robards within the crowd, Harry tried to fire off a messenger
*Patronus*, only to watch it strike up against an invisible ward and dissipate. Worried that
his charmed motorbike might stall if it hit that same boundary, Harry used additional
*Patronus* spells to scout out the hemispherical ward boundary.

A quick badge call to his wardmistress girlfriend prompted Harry to hover just above the ward
boundary, some seven hundred feet above the waiting crowd (the thinking being that if Harry or his
ride were incapacitated when he crossed the boundary that one of the wand-wielding wizards or
witches could stop his fall with a spell). He then reached into his bag, and pulled out a small
metal box that was tethered to a scale-sized parachute.

After flipping on a switch mounted on one side of the box, Harry called up towards the hovering
helicopter.

“Seeker to Ralph…Seeker to Ralph.”

“Thought my nickname was Rambo,” Wally weakly protested.

“I’m thinking you’ve earned a new name after the dry heaves.”

“Ha-ha…very funny, Conan…what can I do for you?”

“I’ve sketched out a ward boundary, and activated a canary.”

“Hold on, then,” Wally replied.

Harry dropped the “canary” a few moments later, once the slightly-green MI-5 ¾ agent announced
that the helicopter had locked onto the electronic device’s signal. The box’s parachute fluffed
full with air, slowing down the device’s descent enough so that Wally could relay altimeter
readings.

“Six hundred feet…five hundred…four hundred…”

“It’s past the ward boundary,” Harry noted. “Everything still working?”

“Affirmative,” Wally replied. “Two hundred…one…hold on, Harry…the canary died at one-hundred and
twenty feet.”

“Damn,” Harry muttered. “Must be another type of ward…I’m going in for a closer look.”

At Hermione’s instruction, he turned off the motorbike’s magical controls, and dropped unpowered
(and unharmed) down through the outer wards. Once on the other side, Harry quickly turned the
motorbike back on, and let out a sigh of relief when he regained magical flight control. From that
point it was a quick and simple descent down to the second ward boundary, which was defined by a
second canary that Harry had let hang from the end of a fifty-foot long length of rope.

The violent dismissal of a second messenger spell at this second ward boundary caught Harry’s
attention. The fiery incineration of a broomstick that he had pulled from his saddlebags and tried
to drop to the group of witches and wizards beneath him was downright scary.

Head Auror Robards looked up at the hovering Queen’s Wizard, then pointed towards the top of a
guard tower. Harry cottoned on, and flew to a spot five feet to his side of the shimmering ward
boundary that enveloped the tower’s observation deck. Fortunately, this wards didn’t intercept
sound waves, allowing Harry to shout questions across to the Head Auror, once the older wizard
climbed the tower’s stairs.

Harry took off his helmet and hung it from his handlebars. “Well, well, well…what’s all this,
then?” he glibly asked, with a wave towards the shimmering wards.

“A whole lot of trouble for witches and wizards,” Robards replied grimly. “It’ll fry anything
magical, along with anyone in contact with the magical objects.”

Harry nodded. “I take it you’re not able to bring down the wards from your end?”

Robards shook his head. “The Warden disappeared before any of us arrived, and activated a
separate ward that makes wand use impossible on this side …unless you’re wearing the right kind of
charmed pendant.”

“Which you aren’t?”

Robards snorted. “They relieved me of my portkey badge and wand when they ambushed me at the
Ministry.”

“They being Rufus and friends?”

“That would be the most obvious answer.”

Harry smiled grimly. “So they’ve decided to go nuclear.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh…muggle saying,” said Harry. “They hidden the Ministry of Magic and locked it down…nobody in
or out. Not that we’d know how to get in even if it wasn’t hidden.”

Robards thought about this information for a few minutes, then frowned. “*Fidelius*?”

“That’s our thinking.”

“So how long before your brilliant girlfriend develops a work-around?”

Harry smiled. “She’s working up some ideas even as we speak...could always use a hand, if you’ve
got the time.”

Robards shook his head as he glanced down at the spot where his badge used to be. “Well, it
appears that I’m in the job market, so….”

“Excellent,” Harry replied. “Just have to get you all off the island, then.”

The older wizard nodded, then looked up at the helicopter that was hovering a few thousand feet
above their heads.

“Got room in that beast for thirty witches and wizards?”

Harry looked up, then nodded. “I think so, although getting it down here in one piece may be an
issue…what’s set up on the outer ward boundary?”

“Normal stuff,” Robards replied. “Anti-apparition, message interception, owl redirection, muggle
repellent...”

“Not sure that the pilot will fancy the idea of flying through that, even if the canary made it
past.”

“Canary?” asked the Emperor’s Wizard.

“Muggle magic detector,” Harry replied.

Robards nodded. “The edge of the boat dock is just beyond the wards.”

“Really?” asked Harry. “Well would make things somewhat easier…let me get on the phone with
them.”

“Great,” said the older wizard. “And while you’re at it, can you ask if they’ve got extra
clothing or blankets?”

“Erm…sure…what for?”

The defrocked Head Auror smiled grimly. “We’ll need to leave wands and anything that’s imbued
with magic on this side of the barrier.”

Harry puzzled over that comment. “So…any clothing that’s got cooling charms or magical water
repellents applied?”

Robards laughed at the situation and nodded. “Figures that this would be the day that I’d wear
my magically animated boxer shorts.”

Harry’s eyes went wide at the implication, and he looked down to the prison grounds, where
Lavender, Lisa Turpin, and Mrs. Abbott were huddled with the other witches and wizards.

“Oh, Merlin… I know some of those witches!”

The Head Auror snorted. “Then here’s hoping that they are all wearing muggle knickers.”

oo00OO00oo

It took more than an hour to improvise a method to safely transfer the stranded witches and
wizards from the guard tower, across the ward boundary, and then down to the Muggle helicopter that
hovered with an opened hatch just off the end of Azkaban’s supply dock. Harry appropriated the
Chinook’s rescue basket, and tied it onto his length of rope. He then had the trapped witches and
wizard climb into the basket one at a time and tip it over the tower’s edge. RAF-issue blankets
allowed the rescued individuals some measure of modesty as they left their climate-controlled
clothing behind. Of course some of the witches didn’t mind disrobing in front of Harry…Lavender
Brown’s blanket slipped open “accidentally” a few times, and Hannah Abbot’s mother displayed no
qualms at all about showing off her matched set of black muggle undergarments.

While none of witches and wizards were happy about escaping from the prison without their wands,
charmed wedding bands, or any other magical personal items, they did take comfort when the Japanese
wizard and Rongo volunteered to protectively bury the lot using their wandless magic before they
crossed over.

Leaving the Azkaban prison population behind was an easy decision to make given how cramped the
Chinook’s cargo hold became once the stranded witches and wizards were coaxed (and occasionally
coerced) into the muggle flying machine. Harry freed up some room by shrinking down his motorbike
and transfiguring the blankets that each rescued party wore into simple robes.

The plan to transport the rescued witches and wizards to the nearest inhabited island was
rethought once the Norwegian King’s Wizard provided some surprising information on the sovereignty
of the Shetlands. While muggle control of the islands had been pawned off to the Scottish king in
1468 by King Christian I of Norway, magical control of this crucial portion of the Norsca Network
had been retained. The Norse Ministry of Magic therefore still held jurisdiction over the islands,
and while the stranded British witches and wizards would be welcomed as refugees or guests, there
wouldn’t be an easy way for any of them to return to Great Britain through magical means.

While more than a couple of witches and wizards thought that staying away from the control of
the British ministry would be a good thing (given how they’d just been treated) some had families
back home, while others were anxious to openly side with Harry and the Queen against Scrimgeour and
his lackeys. Harry tried to modestly shy away from these offers, but was smart enough to realize
that this group could serve as an excellent nucleus to the magical Home Guard that the Scottish
First Minister had seemed so eager to lead a few days back.

So the decision was made to head South, and carry the group a slightly longer distance to a
remote portion of an active airfield on the Orkney Islands. Hermione badge jumped to the landing
zone soon after they arrived, carrying a pack full of clothing, as well as portkeys to Hogwarts and
a bag filled with confiscated Death Eater wands for the group to sort through for potential
matches. After distributing these items, she asked the ICW delegation to join her for an impromptu
conference on the tarmac.

“On behalf of the Her Majesty the Queen and her Muggle government, I wish to offer our humblest
of apologies for your treatment this morning at the hands of the Ministry of Magic,” she said
formally.

The Japanese wizard waved off her concerns.

“We are well aware of the political realities you face, Ambassador,” he replied. “What is the
current state of communications between Muggle and Magical Ministries?”

“Nonexistent,” Hermione replied. “They’ve issued a press release to the *Daily Prophet* and
WWN with the bogus claim that Muggle nerve gas was used as a prelude to an attack on the Ministry.
Didn’t outright declare that it was an attack by Muggles, but the implication is there, and that’s
justified their actions.”

“Of secreting the Ministry away from both Muggle and magical worlds?” asked the King’s
Wizard.

Hermione nodded. “They claim that they’re only trying to preserve the wizarding world’s secrets,
by keeping the Muggles from gaining access to the Floo Network, or the surveillance system…even the
Department of Mysteries, although they don’t say what’s inside that’s worth protecting.”

“What’s public reaction been like?” asked the Swedish witch.

“Mixed,” Hermione replied. “The Ministry personnel who were tricked into leaving the Ministry
and haven’t been allowed back have figured out what’s going on. The ones we’ve been in contact with
are wearing the snub as a badge of honor. As for the general public…well, they’ve always been
easily influenced.”

“Great,” Harry replied. “So where do we go from here?”

“Oslo,” replied the Japanese wizard. “We’ve gathered all the information that’s needed to make a
recommendation to the Supreme Mugwump.”

Harry frowned. “And then what?”

Matsuhisa shrugged his shoulders. “That is for the diplomats and leaders to decide.” He then
turned towards Hermione and asked, “Do you speak on behalf of Her Majesty’s Muggle government?”

Hermione grimaced, and turned to Wally. He shrugged.

“Prime Minister himself named you Special Ambassador to the Wizarding World,” he replied. “So
long as you keep in contact with him and the Queen…”

“As if we don’t have enough to worry about with Carlisle tomorrow,” Harry stated. He looked over
towards a line of small aircraft sitting outside of an airport hanger.

“Think we could charter one of those to fly to Norway, Wally?” he asked.

Wally asked, “How many passengers?”

“Actually, I think you can arrange transport, Major Potter,” Thorson interjected.

“How so?”

“Take Matsuhisa-sensei and me to the Shetlands on your motorbike. We’ll all use the Norsca
Network station there to jump to Oslo, then you can…how do you call it…anchor?”

“Anchor a jump for Hermione?” Harry asked.

Thorson nodded. “Dyrrheim Station is as centrally located a place as any to convene a
meeting.”

Harry nodded, then turned towards the other Internationals. Anticipating his question, the
Swedish witch said, “If it’s just the same, I’d like to return to your Summer Institute, both to
teach the muggleborns and to help defend them and their families.”

Rongo and the Indian wizard expressed similar views, with the Maori wizard particularly
interested in doing something to make the Ministry pay for forcing him to leave his All Blacks
rugby jersey at Azkaban.

Harry then asked, “So once I ferry you to Shetland Station, I could just shrink my bike and
badge-jump back to Balmoral?”

The Japanese wizard snorted, and shook his head. “I did say that it would be left to both
diplomats and leaders, did I not? I suspect that Supreme Mugwump will wish to confer with both
Ambassador Granger and the Lord High Steward of Britain.”

Shaking his head, Harry said, “That’s one title that I’ve yet to have forced upon me.”

Matsuhisa smiled, and acknowledged Harry’s point. “Forgive me, Lord Gryffindor, but I think
there will be no less interest in a meeting with the Lord High Steward-designate.”



67. Chapter 67
--------------



**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.

-->



68. Chapter 68
--------------

**Muggle Summer, Wizard’s Fall**

**Author’s Note:** Thanks for patiently waiting for this update, and to clell and grenouille
for reading and commenting on an earlier version of this update. I promise that the next update
won’t take as long (it can’t since it’s already half-written).

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that I knew when I posted the last chapter that “Waltzing
Matilda” was not the national anthem of Australia. It was a joke, mates! Although I do note that WM
was under serious consideration when the Aussies selected a national anthem back in 1974, and that
nothing less than the National Archives of Australia recognizes the song as “the nation’s
unofficial national anthem.”

Finally, a reminder that The Muggle Summer Portal
Page hosts the revised, definitive version of this story…if anyone is new to this story, or
wants to reread it.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**oo00OO00oo**

**Chapter 68: Lord High Steward**

**Friday, July 13, 5:00pm, Knockturn Alley**

The teen-aged wizard who approached the entrance to his Knockturn Alley safe house had a spring
in his step and a smile on his face. What he had just discovered was so massive…so magnificent…that
he had almost forgotten that the information had been obtained while he’d been in the polyjuiced
form of a two-sickle whore.

The lewd suggestions and rough fondling of the guard who stood just inside the doorway served as
quick reminder. But Draco Malfoy merely slapped at the Death Eater’s groping hands as he brushed by
and burst into their hideaway’s ersatz potions laboratory.

“Godfather!”

There was a slight hitch in the counter-clockwise stirring of a foul-smelling potion, but no
other indication that he’d been heard by the dark robed wizard whose back had been to the door.

“The Ministry has gone into hiding!” announced the boy with baps.

The vocalized count shifted from baritone to hiss, but did not lag behind the stirring.

“The Alley is ours to play with!”

The Potions Master finished his count, and with back still turned to Draco, carefully wiped off
the cauldron’s contents from the two-foot long willow-wood spoon that he’d been using to stir.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” demanded the presently curvaceous wizard. “The Ministry of
Magic has disappeared! This is the perfect chance!”

Still silence…or relative silence, as one could still hear Draco’s excitedly raspy breaths and
the cauldron’s soft boil. Then an explosion of sound, fury and movement…as Snape spun on his heels
and smashed the side of his godson’s head with the stirring spoon.

The young wizard cried out in pain and crumpled to the ground.

“Perfect chance to do what?” the Potions Master demanded, as he hovered over Draco. “Openly defy
our Master?”

“But…things have changed since then,” Draco retorted, as he cautiously pulled himself off of the
ground. “There are opportunities that didn’t exist before…”

The Potions Master growled and grabbed the front of Draco’s witch’s robes with one hand while
raising the wooden stir stick with the other. The younger wizard winced and covered his head in
anticipation of a strike that never came…but only because Snape was worried about the blood spray
contaminating his brews.

The greasy-haired wizard settled for slamming his godson up against a wall.

“But nothing!” he raged. “Your persistent inability to do what you are told to do is going to be
the end of you…..and the end of me!”

A face slap that dropped the younger wizard back to the floor served as Snape’s sentence-ending
punctuation.

“Insolent whelp! *(kick to Draco’s feminine arse)*

“Stop!” the younger wizard begged.

Snape sneered. “If it weren’t for promises made to your mother *(kick to the shin)* made
necessary by your inability to finish off Dumbledore…*(**kick to the gut)…”*

“Please, stop!”

“Simple cowardice *(rib kick)*…quite understandable in your case…but this reckless
impatience? *(two more kicks to the arse)*

“Why are you…”

Snape reached down and pulled Draco up by the front of his robes, until his face was just a few
nose hairs away from the potions master’s face.

“It’s not ‘why are you,’ you ponce *(violent shake)*…the correct question is, ‘What are
you….a Bloody (*spewed spittle)* Gryffindor?”

The former head of Slytherin again hurled the Malfoy scion against the wall, then turned away in
disgust as Draco slumped to the floor and whimpered. Snape covered his face with his hands, and
rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers as he fought to regain control of his temper.
After several deep breaths, he turned back towards his godson and spoke in a tone of voice that,
while lower in volume, was no less menacing.

“Barty Crouch Junior sucked down polyjuice potion and hobbled around on a peg leg for the better
part of a year while he waited for the Master to determine the optimal time to strike. Do you think
that he ever second guessed our Lord?”

“N-N-N-No…”

“Your Auntie Bella spent fourteen years in Azkaban…when the Dark Lord opened the door to her
cell and freed her, do you think that her first words to him were, ‘*What took you so
long*?’

“Erm….”

“The correct answer is, *‘I don’t think so,’* you idiot,” hissed Snape. “And this past
year, our forces had to bide their time and keep to the shadows while you dithered for months
making repairs to that cabinet…didn’t have anyone following you around whinging *‘Can we attack
Hogwarts now? Can we attack Hogwarts now?’,* did you?*”*

Draco shook his head.

“If you have any hope of surviving the summer…much less of successfully serving our Lord, you
will learn to be obedient…and patient. Your orders are to follow my orders…and my current orders
are to lay low, and do nothing more than get our injured back to full health. Speaking of
which…where is the knotgrass?”

“Erm…didn’t make it to the Apothecary,” Draco whispered. “When I heard about the Ministry, and
saw the lack of Auror patrols…thought we could just raid the shop and cart their entire inventory
back…”

A dangerous hiss escaped from Snape’s lips. He glanced over at an hourglass and gauged how many
sand grains had yet to drop.

“You have fifteen minutes before the polyjuice wears off…I suggest that you use them to complete
your assigned task…unless you would rather put that whore’s arse of yours to work providing
some…physical comfort…to our patients?”

Draco’s eyes went wide at the threat. He shook his head violently, rose off of the floor, and
bolted towards the door.

**oo00OO00oo**

A few blocks away from the site of Draco’s beat down, Harry Potter and his five new houseguests
all crowded into the Rookery’s lift. The three Muggle secret agent “Angels” took up positions
behind and to Harry’s sides. He snorted when he spied the pouts on Lisa and Lavender’s faces, and
mouthed a silent thanks to the others as he used both palm print and wand tip to close the lift’s
doors and send it up towards his flat on the twenty-third floor.

When they passed by the fourteenth floor, Harry’s thoughts drifted towards the Malfoy patriarch,
who was still holed up in his Rookery apartment (based on continuous remote surveillance). The
one-armed wizard hadn’t left his flat since the day of his capture, but that didn’t make Harry any
less concerned about his presence now that his own flat was to be occupied.

When the lift came to a stop on the Queen Wizard’s floor, “Jill,” “Sabrina” and “Kelly” each
pulled handguns out from Morgana knows where and adopted defensive stances.

“Stand down, and holster those weapons,” Harry ordered. “The flat is secured with my own
magic.”

“Unless someone starts hurling cars towards it?” Jill asked.

Harry shrugged and pulled out his wand. “If it’ll make you feel better, let me take point while
I give you a tour.”

Jill pursed her lips, and then nodded. “Fair enough. Kelly…you hang back with the bags and the
bints.”

“Hey, who are you calling a bint?” Lavender protested.

The Muggle woman replied only with a hard stare as the lift doors opened and Harry pushed out
into the main sitting room.

“Oh, my!” hissed Sabrina, as she furtively glanced at the antique furnishings.

“Save the Roadshow for later, Sir Michael!” Jill barked.

“Yes, Mum.”

“Shall we, then, Sir?” Jill asked.

Harry shrugged, nodded, and began his whirlwind tour of the flat. As the group of three made
their way from room to room, he asked, “Can we drop the ‘Sir’ business?”

“You do outrank us, Sir,” Sabrina tersely replied.

Harry snorted. “Not by my doing…so you’re MI- 5 ¾, then?”

“On loan to MI-5…clears us to operate domestically.”

Harry nodded as he led the two women into the bedroom hallway, and wondered how expansive the
verb “operate” was with regard to their mission. His guests visibly relaxed once he walked them
through the fourth and final bedroom; Jill reached up and pulled the wig of massive brown hair off
of her head, while Sabrina sat on the bed and kicked off her high heels.

“Cor, I really hate dolling up that way,” Jill sighed, as she rubbed her fingers through her
short, spiky black hair. “Mind if we set up here, Sir?”

Secret Agent Potter shrugged. “It’s Harry, not Sir…and you five can split up the four bedrooms
however you want.” He then turned to Secret Agent Sabrina, who was staring an oak washstand that
sat opposite the large poster bed with something akin to lust in her eyes. When she jumped off of
the bed and ducked her head underneath its front ledge, Harry asked, “Looking for a listening
device?”

The attractive thirty-something Muggle pulled her head back out and shook it.

“No…I was looking for a maker’s mark.”

“A what?”

“A manufacturer’s label,” Jill explained. “Sabrina, here, has a kink for antique furniture.”

“I certainly do not!”

“Okay, fine…you have a kink for shagging on top of antique furniture.”

Sabrina rolled her eyes. “Pay no attention to my uncouth colleague.”

Harry snorted.

“You’ve got an amazing collection here, Sir,” Sabrina stated. “Assuming that everything else is
as authentic as this piece seems to be.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Harry replied. “It was all here when I discovered that I owned this
flat.”

“Really?” the brown-haired Muggle asked, as she dragged a finger along a rounded corner. “Do you
know how old the building is?”

“Erm…built in the 1890’s.”

Sabrina nodded. “Right time frame for this Arts-and-Crafts style.”

“If you say so,” Harry replied. An idea then came to mind, and he pulled a shrunken portfolio
from his ever-present, never-full knapsack. The two women startled when Harry’s spell work returned
the thick book to full size.

“Going to have to get used to all this magic,” Sabrina muttered.

“Isn’t that’s what the bints out there are for?” asked Jill.

The Queen’s Wizard was too busy scanning a “scroll-down” list of properties with his wand tip to
pick up on the exchange. Once he found the Rookery, he “expanded” its description to provide an
itemized list of rooms, and then, for each room, an inventory of his possessions.

“Let’s see…*bedrooms*….*last bedroom down the hall*…*furniture*….”

Harry looked up. “So that’s a washstand, then?”

When Sabrina nodded, Harry “clicked” on the word “washstand” with his want tip and a full
description of the piece crowded onto the page of text. He showed the book to the secret agent and
asked, “Does Charles Rennie Mackintosh mean anything to you?”

Sabrina squealed in delight.

Jill frowned. “Alright, luv…let’s get back to the others before you start rubbing off on the
woodwork.”

“Yes, Mum,” the brown-haired Muggle mumbled. “So anyone mind if I set up here in this
bedroom?”

Harry shrugged. “You can have the Master, for all I care.”

Jill snorted. “Is that an invitation to share a bed, Sir?”

Harry’s eyebrows disappeared under his hairline. “Not at all…there’s no need for me to stay
here, now that I’ve got you into the building…right?”

“Depends if you’re talking about mission needs, or what those two girls think they need.”

“Well, since what I need are my bits not being hexed off by Agent Granger…”

“Which Agent Granger?” Sabrina snarked.

Harry chuckled and replied, “Take your pick.”

**oo00OO00oo**

Sabrina’s willingness to stay with the plan was severely tested when they returned to the main
room and she took a second look at what she had originally assumed was a reproduction of one of
Pissarro’s Kew Gardens masterpieces.

Harry’s willingness to stay with the plan was severely tested when they returned to the main
room and Kelly casually asked him to help unzip her skimpy dress.

Secret Agent Potter tried to stay cool and not flinch at this request, thinking that a “real”
James Bond-like secret agent shouldn’t blush like a hormonally-charged teen-ager. Unfortunately,
the lack of an observable bra strap as he pulled down the zipper didn’t help.

Nor did the way that the dress slipped onto the floor, leaving the secret agent in only her
knickers.

“Still acting like you’re part of my harem, then?” he asked in an almost-breaking voice.

Kelly smiled as she covered her bare breasts with one arm and turned towards the young
wizard.

“Sorry…but I hate wearing dresses, and I always try to stay in character.”

“Watch it, Kelly,” Jill warned. “His girlfriend outranks you.”

“Pity, that,” the woman replied, waggling her eyebrows. She then leaned down to her opened bag,
pulled a skimpy t-shirt from the pile of packed clothes, and slipped it over her head.

As Harry’s eyes drifted down the woman’s frame, he asked, “Dare I ask where you three hide your
holsters?”

Kelly laughed, and turned around to face the Queen’s Wizard. She then lifted one leg, turned her
knee outward, and said, “Probably the same place where your girlfriend hides hers.”

Patriarch Potter risked a quick glance and was rewarded with a view of the secret agent’s
magical holster… stuck high up her inner thigh, almost touching the crotch of her blue bikini-cut
knickers.

“Wally handed them out just before we met,” Jill added from across the room. “Said that the twin
wizards who made them had wanted to see to the installation themselves.”

“Yeah, that sounds like them,” Harry replied with a smile, noting that the other two Muggle
secret agents had now opened their own bags. But the clothes that were subsequently pulled from
these cases were thrown aside in a quest to get to what was hidden underneath.

While the three Muggle agents began to assemble broken-down sniper rifles and spotting scopes,
Harry turned towards the two witches, whose dresses now also lay in a heap on the floor.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Just getting comfortable, like she was,” Lavender replied, as she waved her arm towards Kelly
in a motion that caused a fair bit of jiggling. “Not that it matters.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” Harry asked.

The blonde-haired witch smiled as she reached over and helped unhook Lisa’s bra. “It doesn’t
matter how much of me…or us…you see…or how much of *you* we see, because none of us are going
to remember any of it once we leave this flat, right?”

Harry closed his eyes, let out a deep breath, and shook his head.

“The memory charms only work on guests…since I own this flat I’ll remember everything.”

“Oh,” Lavender replied. “I must have misheard during the briefing…give us a few seconds,
then.”

Harry nodded, and waited patiently for permission to open his eyes again. But when that
permission was granted the two witches were still displaying four bared breasts.

“Lavender!” Harry growled, as he averted his eyes.

“Alright you two…you’ve had your fun,” barked Secret Agent Jill. “Go pick out your bedrooms,
cover your bits, and get back out here immediately.”

The commanding tone in the Muggle agent’s voice acted just as well as any compulsion charm, and
the two teen-agers dashed down the hallway with their bags in tow.

Harry resisted the temptation to check out his classmates’ bums, and turned back towards the
other three. As the women set their gear up on the balcony that overlooked Diagon Alley, he briefly
reviewed Lucius Malfoy’s tenancy within the building, and the remote monitoring and internal
security systems that were in place to keep him at bay.

Once that topic was covered, Harry asked, “So that’s a sniper rifle?”

Jill nodded. “It’s a L115A…the latest and greatest.”

The Queen’s Wizard stepped forward for a closer look, totally ignoring the view that a
hunched-over Kelly was offering down her shirt.

“The latest and greatest sniper rifle uses a bolt action?” he asked.

Jill snorted. “Thought you knew more about wands than rifles?”

Harry opened his suit jacket and revealed his own hand gun, resting in a magical holster that
sat flush against his chest. “Crash course in multi-tasking.”

“So it seems,” Jill replied. “As for the bolt-action…it allows us to manually control the
release of empty cases. There are times and places where the noise of an automatic case ejection
would give away our location.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” said Harry. “How big a bullet?”

“A .338,” Jill replied, as she pulled large bullets from a box and handed them over for the
wizard’s inspection. “Comes in three flavors…armor piercing, incendiary, and silver-tipped.”

“Nice…so you can set targets on fire?”

“Sets what’s left of the target on fire,” Sabrina stated, while she dropped her head to look
through tripod-mounted digital binoculars.

“Damn I hate this,” she added.

“What?”

“Not seeing with my eyes what we see through these electronic binoculars.”

“They aren’t half as bad as this new digital scope,” chimed in Kelly, as she settled in behind
the rifle’s sight. “Still having trouble adjusting for the extra weight.”

“Well that’s why they pay us all those pounds, girls,” Jill replied.

This earned the woman a derisive laugh from the other two.

“Cor, you know that we could all make more in one freelance contract than we get paid in annual
salary.”

“And miss out on the chance to serve in Her Majesty’s Secret Service?” Jill asked. She winked at
Harry and then added, “Not to mention the fact that the job lets us work with handsome young men in
fabulously furnished flats.”

“Oh, no…not you as well,” Harry replied.

“Why not?” Jill asked with a grin.

“Erm…because I outrank you, and so does my girlfriend?”

“Yes, there is that,” Jill admitted with an overly-dramatic sigh. “Of course, I could have just
been lusting over the furniture.”

“Who are you trying to kid, Jill?” asked Sabrina. “I’ve sat on your flat’s ratty sofas, and know
for a fact that you’d rather have one of those two girls sharing your bed than Harry.”

“Although both Harry and his girlfriend might be a different matter,” chimed in Kelly with a
laugh.

“Oh hush, you two,” admonished Jill. “And stay on task.”

“We’re done,” Kelly replied, as she stepped back from the rifle and grabbed her own pair of
digital binoculars. “So what do you think Sabrina…two hundred yards to the near side of the alley,
and three to that big white building at the end?”

“Sounds right to me,” the antiques-lover replied. The two passed their binoculars back to Jill
and Harry so that they could take a look.

“Almost close enough to not need a spotter,” offered Jill, as she got her first “live” view of
Diagon Alley.

“So you’re set up to target Death Eaters if they attack the Alley again?” Harry asked.

“That’s the mission at present time,” Jill replied.

“But how can you be sure?” the Queen’s Wizard asked. “There is a magic spell that could force
innocent people to dress up that way and pretend to be a bad guy.”

“Does it really matter if they’re shooting lethal spells at other innocents?” Sabrina asked.

“Well…are you three good enough shots to target a wand hand, rather than a head?”

The dismissive “Harruph!” from all three women was taken as a “Yes.”

“But we’d still need to be able to tell one way or the other,” Kelly offered.

Harry dropped the digital binoculars from his eyes and stared through the Alley’s notice-me-not
wards. He still had his modified omnioculars with him, but he really didn’t want to tie up Dobby
full-time on a Dark Mark watch, like he did during the Garden Party. Lisa and Lavender could take
turns scouting for Death Eaters in the Alley, but giving Lavender a way to peek underneath a
wizard’s robes seemed like a bad idea…until Harry realized that this was a case where the Rookery’s
wards would work in his favor.

The Queen’s Wizard turned and called for the two witches. They bounced back into the main area
wearing tight-fitting Muggle shorts and t-shirts.

“Yes, Harry?” Lavender asked.

“So, we were just talking about this mission,” Harry explained, “and I was wondering what you’ve
been tasked with.”

“We’re here to help these Muggles deal with a magical flat,” Lisa replied. “Which is about all
we can do right now, given that we left our wands behind at Azkaban, and neither of us got a really
good match from those spares that Hermione had for us to pick through.”

Harry nodded. “So what if I had an extra task for you two while you’re here?”

Lavender shrugged. “Your wish is our command, milord.”

“Oh, stop that,” Harry snapped, “and come on over here to the window.” He then passed his
omnioculars to Lisa, and explained his idea.

After he was done, Lavender excitedly asked, “So, our new job is to stare at naked bits all day
long?”

“Your job is to look for Dark Marks under robes, and to pass that information on to the other
three,” Harry corrected. “Keep to the window, so as to avoid frying their electronics on the
balcony.”

“And if we happen to see some bits…unintentionally, of course?” asked Lisa.

Harry nodded, and then smirked as Lavender fought to contain her pervy excitement.

“Don’t get too worked up, girls,” Jill offered. “You’re going to forget anything that you see
once you leave the building.”

“Oh…yeah…good thing, that,” Lavender replied flatly.

“So when do we start?” Lisa asked.

“No time like the present,” Jill replied. “The three of us will be working in pairs using
staggered shifts…sixteen hours on, eight off. Only need one of you on duty, though, so you’ll have
rotating twelve hour shifts.”

“Unless Harry can round up one or two more volunteers for this bit watch,” Kelly snarked.

“It’s up to you two,” Harry said, with a nod towards the teenaged witches. “Want to share the
watch and work shorter shifts?”

Lisa and Lavender looked at each other, then turned back towards Harry and shook their
heads.

“It might be rough, but I think we’re up for the challenge,” Lavender replied.

“Right, let me know then,” said an amused wizard. He left it to them to decide who had first
watch, and made his way to the flat’s kitchen to see how well it was stocked. While estimating how
much food was available, he heard Lavender curse out loud. He rushed back to the sitting room, and
found her looking out the window with his magical spyglasses.

“What’s that, Lavender…a Death Eater?”

“No, something worse…a hundred-year old wizard with a potbelly hiding his bits…was it too much
to hope for something more pleasant to track?”

“You’ll have to take the good with the bad, I guess,” said Harry.

“Yes, I will,” Lavender replied coyly, as she swung her magically enhanced gaze away from the
window.

Harry had barely enough time to cover the front of his robe-covered crotch with a book pulled
from a nearby shelf.

“Hey!” he protested.

“Fine,” Lavender spat, as she lowered the omnioculars. “So Harry…making any shopping trips to
the Alley any time soon?”

“Not as far as you’ll remember,” he replied nervously.

A badge call saved Harry from further embarrassment, and he jumped out of the apartment with the
book still in place as a visual shield.

Thirty seconds later, an electronic chirping noise caused Lavender to startle.

“What’s that?”

Jill rolled her eyes as she pulled out her mobile, and snorted when she read the text message
that had just been delivered to it.

“We’ve been issued plain spoken instructions by Agent Granger to keep our baps covered and our
hands off of her boyfriend.

“How plain spoken?” asked Kelly.

Jill looked back down at her mobile display and replied, “Quite plain…says that we’ll be the
test subjects of her modified ‘bit-bogey hex’ otherwise.”

Lavender shook her head dismissively. “Never heard of that one…now if she’d said bat-bogey
hex…that’s a real spell...”

“Could have been a typo?” offered Sabrina. “What’s a bat-bogey hex do?”

“It enlarges nasal discharges, and transfigures those discharges into bats that fly out of your
nostrils and attack your head,” Lisa stated.

Jill frowned. “So if her threat wasn’t mistyped, and Agent Granger has modified that spell, then
instead of having bats flying out of your nose they would be coming out of your….”

The draining of all color from Lisa’s and Lavender’s faces, and their reflexive knee clenching
were more than sufficient responses to the question.

**oo00OO00oo**

Having ventured back out into public a second time and finally completed the task that had been
assigned to him, Draco Malfoy slipped back into the Knockturn Alley safe house just a few seconds
before the polyjuice potion wore off. As he delivered the potions ingredient to his Godfather, the
blonde-again wizard tried to decide which was worse…the leers and lewd comments he’d once again
endured from the entrance guard, or the fact that the Death Eater hadn’t looked that much less
interested once Draco had reverted to male form right before his eyes.

That kind of unwanted attention from other Death Eaters had never been a problem for Draco,
given his father’s position within Voldemort’s Inner Circle. But by now it was an open secret that
Lucius Malfoy had somehow lost favor with the Dark Lord, and no longer had influence. That meant
that it was only his Godfather who stood between Draco and those Death Eaters who thought he had a
pretty mouth…and that wasn’t quite the same thing.

Draco tried to block all of this out of his mind as he escaped to his little corner of their
cramped sleeping area and plopped down onto his assigned bed. He wanted it all blocked because he
wanted to focus on the fact that he actually did have a pretty mouth…and pretty bits…at least when
he had been disguised as a female prostitute.

It gave a teen-aged boy ideas…ideas that might have been put to use behind the drawn curtains of
a poster bed, or a discrete notice-me-not charm. But Draco didn’t enjoy that kind of privacy within
the safe house…and he certainly wasn’t about to relieve his…urges…with other male Death Eaters
around.

*“No,”* the Malfoy scion thought, *“I’ll slip out tonight and let a real girl satisfy
those urges…now that there’s nobody patrolling Diagon Alley.”*

It would have to be Diagon Alley…the witches out and about in Knockturn Alley were all quite
adept at protecting themselves against any kind of magical compulsion to spread their legs. And if
he couldn’t find a pretty witch in Diagon…well, there’d be at least one or two wizards there that
he could assault.

Not to assault sexually, of course…he was no poofter. It would be just a simple theft…to get
enough galleons to return to Knockturn and properly hire a good-looking whore…a real witch with
baps at least as large as his had just been.

**5:30pm, Balta Sound, Unst, Shetland Islands**

Had the Muggle crews of the three 33rd Squadron helicopters that had scrambled from
RAF Benson not previously transported Harry Potter and his TPOMS squadron, they might have been
more curious as to why they had been ordered to fly to an abandoned air station in the Shetlands
and to wait there for passengers.

They also might have been more surprised when they spotted a motorbike flying towards them at a
high rate of speed.

Harry pulled his charmed Bonny up to a ground-level hover next to an opened hatchway.

“Evening, Conan,” one of the pilots called out.

The Queen’s Wizard smiled at the airman’s greeting, which he took to represent both the
informality and acceptance that he’d sought during his short tenure within the British
Military.

“Haven’t been waiting long, I hope?”

“Not at all, Major.”

“That’s good…ready to get going, then?”

“We’re under your wing, Conan…or handlebars, as it were.”

Harry snorted. “Right…we’ve got about five miles to cover, heading up the inlet. Think you’ll be
able to find a place to land?”

The helicopter pilot laughed. “On these treeless rocks? Yeah, we’ll manage somehow.”

“Fair enough,” Harry admitted. “Don’t follow too close behind, or you’ll hit a ward line and
develop a sudden desire to empty the trash bins back home…Oh, and don’t be thrown by the sudden
appearance of your passengers, or how they’ll be dressed.”

“How many, then?”

“Forty-one, including myself.”

“You won’t be leading us home on the Bonny, then?”

Harry shook his head. “Better I be back in one of the cabins…some of our guests have never flown
in a helicopter.”

Picking up on the glint within the pilot’s eyes, the Queen’s Wizard quickly added, “And some of
our guests are diplomatic V.I.P.’s, so ease off on the puke-producing joyrides, right?”

The pilot snorted, and replied with a reluctant nod of the head.

Five minutes later, the three helicopters touched down on a small uninhabited island that sat a
hundred meters out into an inlet. Brisk winds held the attention of the pilots as their rotors
spun, so it was up to the co-pilots and crew chiefs to gawk as Harry shrunk his motorbike, pocketed
it, then walked into an open field and opened an invisible door. Their interest in Harry’s magic
quickly shifted over to the multiethnic stream of strangely dressed people that emerged from trat
door, seemingly out of nowhere.

Aussies in slouch hats and khaki robes helped dark-skinned Swazi warriors stow their leather
shields and spears into the cabin of the first helicopter. A half-dozen bare-footed and
bare-chested Maori followed a team of blonde Norwegian wizards dressed in Muggle combat fatigues
into the second.

And the Queen’s Wizard led the Supreme Mugwump, the Emperor’s Wizard, the King’s Wizard, and a
mixed bag of magical North Americans into the third.

Coarsely-worded orders barked over comm systems brought the Muggle crews back on task as the
portal for the Norsca Network’s Shetland Station disappeared behind the group of magicals. The
three helicopters gently lifted off, and headed on a southwesterly bearing towards the
Orkneys…where their passengers could use portkeys without tripping the British Ministry of Magic’s
frontier wards.

**oo00OO00oo**

**7:00pm, Ministry of Magic, Fidelius-protected Location**

The select group of residual Ministry personnel who had been invited to dine in the Minister of
Magic’s office were disappointed with the menu…most of them had assumed that a “working dinner”
would involve better food than what was presently available within the house-elf-less cafeteria.
But it was not the case, since Scrimgeour was suffering just as much as they were from the absence
of Ministry house-elves. Of course, as secret keeper he was the one who might have been able to fix
that problem, but Rufus was in no mood to stray outside of the Ministry’s confines to track down
the house-elves until he had to…even with the amped-up glamour charm that actively hid his
contract-cursed gnomish figure.

So it was stale biscuits and spell-warmed tins of canned meat that were shared as the group
reviewed the present state of the Ministry.

The skeleton staff and those family members who had been told the secrets and brought within the
wards were focusing only on the most critical of services. Staffing within the Ministry wards was
tilted heavily towards the Magical Surveillance Office, the WWN, and guard duty. Some thought this
defensive stance was redundant, given the apparent robustness of the *Fidelius* charms that
had been cast, but neither Scrimgeour nor his Senior Lackeys fully trusted the efficacy of the
Dutch charms master’s work (especially once his contract had become void and they’d shrunk down and
ballooned out into Kabouter-scale figures).

The Head Unspeakable was no more forthcoming about the status of the Department of Mysteries
than normal…he insisted that he had sufficient staff to guard their secrets and left it at that.
Given this reticence, Croaker wasn’t surprised when Scrimgeour asked him to remain once the meeting
broke up.

“So…enough people to guard your Department, but none to spare for the common defense?” asked
Rufus.

The Unspeakable shook his head. “Not after this morning’s culling,” he replied. “Lost many of my
best witches and wizards…just because of their suddenly suspect heritage.”

“Yes, well…given Potter’s influence and power within the Muggle world…”

“Balanced against the years and years these Muggleborns and so-called half-bloods have spent
within our world?” Croaker snapped. “It’s crazy! Crazy, I tell you! It’s as if we’re doing the
Death Eater’s dirty work for them!”

“Now, now, it’s not that bad,” Scrimgeour insisted. “We haven’t hurt them…or arrested them…and
once this meeting in Carlisle is over and done with, and the ICW comes back on board, we can start
to bring them back into the fold…”

Croaker snorted. “Right…there are a lot of assumptions within that timeline.”

Scrimgeour shrugged his little shoulders, using a motion that was mirrored by his “normal”
glamour charm-aided avatar.

“Speaking of timelines…how goes it with the Irish Annex?”

The Unspeakable frowned. “Slowly, given available staff…but we should have everything ready by
tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good,” replied Rufus. He then pushed a scroll across the desk and added, “Here is the
prioritized evacuation list.”

The Head of the Department of Mysteries unrolled the scroll, scanned the order of names, and
immediately protested.

“Where are my people on this list?”

“Mostly not there, obviously…somebody has to stay back to guard all those mysterious secrets,
right?”

“And you can justify filling this list with family members…like Percy’s little
sister…because…”

“Because I’m the Minister of Magic?” Rufus calmly replied. “There is a certain logic to it, you
know…unless your people can come up with a way of moving all of your secrets with you.”

“But…”

“And there’s a certain advantage to your Unspeakable status, don’t you think?” Rufus asked. “If
the worse happens, who could know what side your people were on?”

“How about the Unspeakables that we’ve already kicked out?” Croaker scathingly replied.

Rufus frowned. “Yes, well…it would seem that the fixing of this problem is entirely in your
hands.”

“And how am I supposed to fix this?” Croaker asked, as he waved the scroll in front of the
Minister.

“Two ways come to mind,” replied Rufus. “Either work to expand Annex capacity…or make sure that
we don’t have need of it by fixing that damn Orb.”

Croaker closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then accepted Scrimgeour’s dismissal. While neither
option sounded tenable, there were more than a few hours remaining before Carlisle.

And many more than that, should his staff’s efforts to repair at least one of their broken time
turners bear fruit.

**oo00OO00oo**

**9:30pm, Buckingham Palace, London**

The black-haired teenager who wore Queen Wizard’s Robes over Parachute Regiment mess dress
startled when a gentle hand roused him from an unscheduled nap.

“Erm…what….Your Majesty?”

The Queen shushed her Wizard.

“Relax, Gryffindor…no cause for alarm.”

Harry shook the cobwebs away, and took in his surroundings. He had been waiting for Hermione and
her parents to arrive at Buckingham Palace, just as he had all those weeks before…waiting in the
very same gold-trimmed room, sitting in the very same chair by the fire…and had apparently fallen
asleep.

The Queen’s Wizard sat up, and stretched as much as he dared stretch within the Queen’s
presence.

“Is it time for dinner, then, Your Majesty?”

“Well past, actually,” the Queen replied with a smile. “But you were so tired; we thought it
best to let you rest.”

Harry frowned. “Thank you…I apparently needed it…although…”

The Queen saw through Harry’s confusion over her presence and smiled. “We decided to wake you in
person, rather than risk your sudden appearance at the reception with a drawn sword and…slightly
less clothing.”

The well-dressed wizard blushed and shook his head.

“I’m never going to be able to live that down, am I, Your Majesty?”

The monarch’s eyes sparkled. “Not a chance, *Conan*.”

Harry choked off a snort, as he stood and walked with the Queen towards the same drawing room
where Hermione and he had been created Knights Protectors of the Realm. Along the way she provided
a quick update on the negotiations between Her Government and the International Confederation of
Wizards.

Chairs were pushed back and the assembly of guests all rose to their feet when the Queen and her
Wizard were announced and entered the room. The monarch nodded her recognition as Harry quickly
scanned the crowd.

It looked to be a far friendlier audience, in his opinion. Harry’s Aunt and Uncle were nowhere
to be seen, although Hermione’s parents were there, dressed in their Order of Arthur kits. Most of
the other Order of Arthur members were there (Ron was not, as he was still out cold from the
Draught of the Living Death). The TPOMS squadron was there as well, having been relieved of
sentinel duty by the International “Advisors” that Harry had ushered in from the Shetlands.

The current Prime Minister and his wife had risked a return to London, and had been chatting
amicably with his predecessor’s wife. The lines of succession had also been risked a bit by this
gathering, with both the Prince and his younger son in the room. The latter was standing within a
small, but powerful grouping that included the cricket-loving former Prime Minister, Gawain
Robards, and the Japanese head of the ICW.

Members of the Household staff were on hand to guide those who would now serve the Queen as her
*Magnum Concilium* in front of the Monarch. The Sword of Gryffindor was once again placed in
the monarch’s gloved hand as she restored to service an advisory panel that, for now, was limited
to just three members...Harry, Robards, and the former Prime Minister.

Just how blurry the dividing line had become between the magical and mundane worlds was brought
home to Harry as the Supreme Mugwump and other foreign witches and wizard stood in silent support
while he swore the following oath:

*You do swear by Almighty God to be a true and faithful Servant unto The Queen’s Majesty as
one of Her Majesty’s* Magnum Concilium*. You will not know or understand of any manner of
thing, whether magical or mundane, to be attempted, done or spoken against Her Majesty’s Person,
Honour, Crown or Dignity Royal, but you will lett and withstand the same to the uttermost of your
power, and either cause it to be revealed to Her Majesty Herself, or to such of Her Government as
shall advertise Her Majesty of the same. You will to your uttermost bear Faith and Allegiance to
the Queen’s Majesty; and will assist and defend all civil and temporal Jurisdictions,
Pre-eminences, and Authorities, granted to Her Majesty and annexed to the Crown either by Treaty or
Acts of Parliament, or otherwise, against all Enemies, be they either Foreign or Domestic, Magical
or Mundane. And generally in all things you will do* **as a faithful and true Servant ought to
do to Her Majesty.** *SO HELP YOU GOD.*

The room burst into applause when the Queen brought Harry to her side and presented her newly
installed Lord High Steward for the first time. He accepted both the title and applause with far
more grace and poise than he might have earlier in the summer…until the Prince of Wales caught his
eye with a wide smile and nine fingers raised in the air.

“Oh, Bloody Hell!” the Queen’s Wizard whispered to himself.

Or at least tried to whisper to himself.

“Something wrong, Gryffindor?” the Queen asked.

“Erm, no…sorry, Your Majesty…The Prince was just reminding me that I now possess more titles
than he does.”

The monarch chuckled. “We believe the both of you to be too modest, if it matters…”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And we remind you that your role as Lord High Steward is mainly ceremonial…at least until our
meeting tomorrow at Carlisle?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The extent of the Queen’s Wizard’s newfound authority were tested not fifteen minutes later,
when Harry’s mobile chirped while he was glibly insisting (over drinks) that the Prince count up
his ceremonial military commissions. The young wizard excused himself, walked to a slightly quieter
corner of the room, and held a brief conversation.

The Prince watched the expression on Harry’s face turn far too serious for his liking.

The Norwegian King’s Wizard, who had spotted Harry’s movement, approached the Prince and asked,
“What’s going on, Your Highness?”

“Not quite sure,” the Prince replied. He watched the Queen’s Wizard activate every ray on his
Art Club badge, and then added, “But whatever it is warrants the involvement of the entire Order of
Arthur.”

More than just the King’s Wizard and Prince realized something was amiss when Hermione Granger
suddenly disappeared with a pop. That caught the attention of everyone in the room, and since
“everyone” all had high level security clearances, the Queen’s Wizard decided just to make a
general announcement.

“If I can have everyone’s attention, please,” he called out. “A Death Eater has just been
spotted in Diagon Alley. He hasn’t attacked anything or anyone, and there is no indication of any
other enemy activity at this time, but…to be cautious…”

The Queen’s voice carried over the responding din of noise, as whispered conversations broke out
and chairs were pushed back.

“My Lord High Steward…how may we all be of assistance?”

The room turned silent, as all eyes turned towards Harry Potter. He tried to sort out needs and
priorities on the fly.

“Well, first off…might be prudent, Your Majesty…Hermione just apparated back to the Bunker, and
could serve as an anchor for a return trip to Balmoral?”

“Makes sense, Your Majesty,” the Prince interjected, as he glanced towards his son on the other
side of the room. “Lines of succession, and all that?”

The Queen took in a deep breath, and then nodded. “We then leave the situation in your capable
hands, Gryffindor…Mr. Wall…Miss Patil, your attendance?”

Secret Agent Steve and On-duty Witch-in-Waiting Parvati Patil followed the Queen out of the room
as everyone one else bowed and curtsied. This allowed the young witch to apparate and the other two
to badge jump to Balmoral Castle without generating undue interest.

The orderly evacuation of the Queen made it easy for those remaining to sort out where they were
needed without too much prodding by her Wizard. Harry did pull aside the former Prime Minister,
Gawain Robards, and the Norwegian King’s Wizard (the designated ICW advisor to the *Magnum
Concilium*), and led them towards MI-5 ¾’s auxiliary command post in the basement of Buckingham
Palace.

“Keep your wands in your pockets, if you can,” the Queen’s Wizard asked, as they entered the
room. “The electronics are rather touchy.”

His three companions nodded in agreement (although only two actually had wands in their
possession).

Harry walked up behind a Muggle agent that was sitting in front of a bank of monitors and
clasped a hand on his shoulder.

“Good evening, Scott.”

“Good evening, Sir.”

Harry pointed towards one specific screen and asked, “That’s the Rookery2 feed, right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Can you get me an open channel to our colleagues inside, then?”

“Right away, Sir.”

The Queen’s Wizard turned and pointed out a few of the Diagon Alley landmarks on the television
monitor while the electronics operator pushed a few buttons.

“Merlin!” Robards exclaimed. “How long have the Muggles been spying down upon us?”

“Now, now, Gawain, mind the pronouns,” Harry replied with a grin. “We…and that includes you
after that oath you just swore…we have had this equipment in place for a little while now. It’s how
we spotted the werewolves running during the attack on Fred and George’s shop last week.”

“Line’s open, Sir,” the operator announced.

“Thanks, Scott,” the Queen’s Wizard replied. He then raised his voice and called out, “Hello
Rookery2…you there, Angels?”

“Hello, Charlie,” one of the Muggle secret agents quipped.

“Who’s Charlie?” asked a second female. “Could’ve sworn that was Harry’s voice.”

“Muggle joke, Lavender,” Harry replied.

“Oh…Hi Harry!”

“Hello, Lavender…and before we get too much farther, I should let you know that I’ve got a few
others here in the room listening in, including Head Auror Robards, and the former Muggle Prime
Minister.”

“Does that mean we can’t tease you…and talk dirty?” asked Lavender.

“Depends on which former Prime Minister it is,” the men heard a third female voice mutter.

“Wow, these microphones…they are *so* sensitive!” Harry quipped.

“Oops.”

“Right, then,” the Queen’s Wizard pushed on. “We’re looking at the live feeds from Diagon right
now…where’s the Death Eater?”

“Draco just slipped behind where Fortesque’s used to be,” Lavender replied.

“He just….wait…did you just say Draco, as in Draco Malfoy?”

“The one…and only, thank Morgana,” Lavender quipped. “I’d recognize that ferret’s face and
blonde hair anywhere…and if that wasn’t enough, his bits were miniscule.”

“Too much information, Lav,” Harry whinged. “Don’t want to know how you could identify him based
on bit size.”

“Oi, what do you think I am?” Lavender protested. “I wouldn’t touch that ponce’s pouch with a
two-foot telescope…which is what you’d need to see them, by the way.”

“Lavender!”

“Just saying that it’s clear that Draco has been compensating all of these years,” the witch
explained.

“More to the point…did he have a Dark Mark?” asked Harry.

“Oh yeah…that was *much* larger…easy enough to spot.”

“So now that we’ve got that squared away…can anyone tell me what he’s done so far?”

“Not much,” Jill replied. “He slipped out of Knockturn Alley about fifteen minutes ago…kept to
the shadows…looked like he was waiting for someone.”

“Has there been a lot of foot traffic?” Robards asked.

“Negative,” replied Jill. “Hasn’t been much at all since we’ve been set up here, and once the
sun set there hasn’t been anybody out.”

“Not surprised, given the absence of Auror patrols,” Gawain noted.

“Hold on…here’s someone just coming out of Gringott’s,” Jill announced.

Harry and the other men in the command post squinted at the monitor display.

“Your binoculars must be better than our cameras,” Harry announced.

“Subject is a male, dressed in a hooded robe…maybe 190 centimeters tall…”

“And six inches long…”

“Lavender!”

“Sorry.”

“Sure you are…eyes up, and tell us if he’s marked…and I’m not talking about birthmarks,
either!”

“Yes, Harry,” the witch replied. “And no Harry…he doesn’t appear to have a Dark Mark.”

“Right then…let’s see how this plays out.”

By this point the image of the hooded wizard could be tracked on the remote monitor display. The
Queen’s Wizard and his colleagues watched as the pedestrian walked at a very quick pace away from
Gringott’s and towards the camera. Harry used this time to quickly brief in the former Prime
Minister and King’s Wizard on Draco Malfoy’s rap sheet…a rap sheet that potentially grew longer
when a red beam of light dropped the unmarked Wizard in a heap onto the street.

“What happened?” the former Prime Minister asked. “Did we just witness a magical murder?”

“Wrong color beam,” Harry replied. “Killing curse is green…that was more likely a stunner.”

“To what end?”

Draco Malfoy’s motives became clear when he darted out from behind the building, ran to the
unconscious wizard’s position, and cut the victim’s money pouch off of his belt.

“So it’s a simple robbery?” asked the former Prime Minister.

“Looks that way,” the King’s Wizard announced. “Not exactly a capital offense…pity, that.”

“Might have to provide a bit of incentive, then,” Harry announced, as he activated his Art Club
badge.

“Fred?”

“Yeah, Boss?”

“You in your shop right now?”

“Yeah…trying to get all the whiz bangs ready for tomorrow.”

“That’s good….Draco Malfoy is in front of the ice cream parlour right now. You up for bringing
him down?”

“Absolutely.”

“Still got a few of those barbed balls lying about?”

“Think so.”

“Here’s what I want you to do, then…”

After giving Fred his marching orders, and imploring him to keep himself safe, Harry spoke up to
his disembodied all-female audience.

“Did you hear the plan, Rookery2?”

“Affirmative,” replied Jill.

“Got the Death Eater target in your sights?”

“For now...he’s heading towards Knockturn,” replied Secret Agent Sabrina.

“Excellent,” replied Harry. “Just take care to remember, then, that the wand in his hand is a
lethal weapon.”

“Understood,” replied Jill. “And your friend Fred….”

“Is presently working for Her Majesty, and is attempting to keep Her Peace.”

The former Prime Minister nodded, and then spoke up.

“And that means *by any means necessary*, Agent.”

You could almost hear the snap to attention in her voice as the female MI-5 sniper replied,
“Yes, Sir!”

**oo00OO00oo**

Severus Snape’s godson would have already been in the clear by now, had he been focused more on
his safety and less on whether he now had enough galleons to hire a threesome.

And thus formed his undoing.

Still thirty feet away from turning the corner, the blonde-haired wizard heard a voice shout
out.

“Draco Malfoy, you are violating The Queen’s Peace! Stop where you are, drop your wand and place
your hands on your head!”

The teen-aged wizard’s eyes went wide. “A Weasley?” he muttered. “This will be fun…”

The blonde-haired Death Eater spun on his heels, crouched down into an attack stance, and raised
his wand, all while quickly trying to decide whether to first taunt the red-haired Gryffindor, or
cut to the chase and AK his sorry arse.

The decision wasn’t quick enough.

The left side of Draco’s skull caved in, struck by a high caliber, high-velocity bullet.

He was dead before his body hit the ground.

“Sweet Merlin!” gasped Fred, as he watched the blood splatter. With a dragonhide-gloved hand
still on his Art Club badge, and ready to jump at *Avada*’s first syllable, the red-haired
wizard began to walk towards the corpse.

“Don’t dawdle, Fred,” ordered Harry, who had watched it all play out on CCTV. “Don’t want you
anywhere near that bullet wound if that other wizard wakes up, or somebody else crawls out of
Knockturn Alley to investigate.”

“Erm…Roger that, Boss,” the wizard weakly replied.

When he got to the sprawled out body, the Weasley twin kicked Draco’s wand away from his hand.
Only then did he move his own gloved-hand away from his badge…and only long enough to pull a barbed
metal ball out of a shoulder pouch, and toss it towards Draco’s head.

There was more than enough blood on the Slytherin Prince’s face to activate the goblin-fashioned
portkey, and the entire body disappeared.

And what had just happened…what he had just seen…was more than disturbing enough for Fred
Weasley *not* to make a joke about having just delivered a take-away dinner to Fenrir
Greyback.

He quickly badge-jumped away…to anyplace other than Diagon Alley.

Back in Buckingham Palace, the Queen’s Wizard announced “Good work, everyone,” with far too much
steel in his voice for the liking of the Norwegian King’s Wizard.

“Alright, there, Harry?”

The Queen’s Wizard stared at the bank of monitors for a few more seconds, and then nodded his
head and quietly replied…

“I ain’t got time to bleed.”

The former Prime Minister frowned at this bit of Muggle movie dialogue.

“Enough time for a drink, then…now that the threat has been neutralized?”

Harry sighed.

“Yeah…I’ve got a bottle of the Prince’s favorite stashed upstairs in my Quarters…and there’s a
scale model of Carlisle Castle…we could go over tomorrow’s plans over drinks. Guess we can…kill…two
birds with one stone?”

The former Prime Minister sucked in a deep breath, and then slowly let it out. Patting Harry on
the shoulder, he then declared, “We do what needs to be done, Gryffindor…only what needs to be
done.”

**11:59pm, Carlisle Castle, Carlisle**

The Treaty of Carlisle designated the grassy fields nestled within the junction of the Rivers
Eden and Caldwell as the place where signatory parties or their successors would meet, should any
of those parties see need. The choice was quite intentional, geographically speaking.

Carlisle was a Border Town, and its castle was originally a Roman fort and garrison that stood
along Hadrian’s Wall. The first “modern” stone fortifications, which dated back to the Eleventh
Century, were raised less than ten miles from the Scottish border. It was therefore considered to
be as close to “neutral ground” as one could get, especially considering the history of feuding and
attack in the first seven centuries after its construction.

If there was anything curious about the choice, it was that the Treaty’s meeting fields were
located just under the shadow of Carlisle Castle’s walls…a position of relative strength for the
English monarch. That advantage had been seized upon in the days leading up to the meeting. The
British Army had reclaimed the tourist attraction (which had served as the headquarters for an Army
regiment up to 1959), and returned the castle to its original purpose. Goblin-constructed wards now
protected a garrison of three-hundred active duty troops, armed with both high-tech weapons, and
lower-tech alternatives that were less likely to fail around magic.

The fields identified by treaty were being closely monitored by these troops, using the same
kind of digital cameras and electronic monitoring equipment that proved useful at Edinburgh and
Salisbury. They didn’t know what they were looking for in this area, which now hosted two football
fields and the local cricket pitch, but had been told that they would know once they saw it.

That prediction came true at the stroke of midnight, when a dense fog spilled up and over the
banks of the two rivers, and a powerful wave of magic washed up and over the castle walls.

The wailing of a World War II-era hand-cranked siren (pulled from the Regimental museum for just
this eventually) brought the castle to life…and interrupted a therapeutic hot-tub consoling session
inside of a magical tent that had been pitched in the Castle’s Inner Bailey.

“Damn it, what now?” Harry complained, as he reached over the wooden tub’s edge for his Art Club
badge.

“Wally?”

“Hey, Harry…looks like a pulse of magical energy just hit your location…knocked out every camera
and electronic sensor on the ground.”

“We’re under attack?” asked the Queen’s Wizard, while his girlfriend and he stepped out of the
water and dried themselves off with charmed bathrobes robes.

“No signs of one at the moment,” replied Wally. “Still have raw video footage from the
drone-mounted camera that is patrolling over your heads. “But hard to say, actually…there is a
dense fog that has formed on the meeting fields…our infrared cameras should be able to
penetrate…but can’t, for some reason.”

“Roger that, Wally…we’ll check it out.

Harry and Hermione quickly donned black fatigues trimmed with Potter plaid, which identified
them as loyal wand-wielders. Dobby popped into the tent and provided them with night-vision goggles
and digital binoculars that he had retrieved from an EMP-hardened cache inside the Round Tower. The
two teenagers ran up to the castle’s walls with that equipment, and arrived just in time to see the
fog back retreat back to the river bank…and to stare in wonder at what the fog had left behind.

A megalithic stone circle had been raised in the middle of the Treaty’s meeting fields, and, on
the far side of those fields…now stood a magical full-scale counterpart to Carlisle Castle.



69. Chapter 69
--------------



**Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall**

**Author's Note:** Thanks to clell for beta'ing this update. Other author's notes
are provided at the end of this chapter. Meanwhile, if you want to get an idea of the potential
power of a magical haka, or to get into the mood for the meeting at Carlisle, do a youtube search
for “haka all blacks.”

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**oo00OO00oo**

Book 7: Insert Title Here

**Chapter 69:** **Ringa Pakia**

**Saturday, 14 July**

When Voldemort woke up on the morning after Carlisle Castle got a twin, he looked at a calendar,
cursed…and wondered whether Severus Snape's brews were on track to heal his injured Death
Eaters in five days' time.

When Snape woke up on the morning after Carlisle Castle got a twin, he looked at an empty bed,
cursed…and wondered whether Draco Malfoy had done something truly stupid.

And Draco Malfoy was dead on the morning after Carlisle Castle got a twin, so he wouldn't be
waking, or cursing, or wondering about anything, anytime soon.

**8:00am****,** **Carlisle Castle****, Carlisle**

Under terms negotiated three days previous via an exchange of owl posts, Special Ambassador
Hermione Granger left the magical and military protections of Carlisle Castle for a pre-meeting
discussion with a designated Ministry official. Though by prior agreement she was flying solo, her
boyfriend was of no mind to leave her unescorted, and insisted that he give her a ride on his
motorbike…at least to the edge of the meeting fields.

The bushy-haired witch climbed off Harry's Bonny, and gave him a reassuring kiss that drew
some pointed comments and catcalls from those who were following along via open microphones,
activated Art Club badges, and both ground-based and airborne cameras.

No mind was paid to said comments and catcalls.

It was only after Hermione's counterpart was spotted leaving the gates of the other castle
that she left the shadow of “her” castle, and walked towards the ten-meter diameter stone circle
that now stood in between the two larger structures.

When the teen-aged witch and middle-aged wizard met within that stone circle, he extended a hand
and introduced himself.

“Algie Croaker.”

“Hermione Granger.”

“I'm surprised that they sent someone so young for this meeting,” the Unspeakable stated,
“and a witch, no less?”

Hermione snorted. “And I'm surprised that you're neither Percy Weasley nor Dolores
Umbridge.”

“Surprised?” the wizard asked. “I'm rather pleased that's the case, actually.”

“Who wouldn't be?” Hermione asked with a thin smile. She then nodded towards the structure
that stood behind Croaker.

“That's a rather impressive bit of magic.”

“It is, isn't it?” the wizard replied. “Wish that I could claim credit for it.”

“And yet you stepped out from its walls?”

Croaker shrugged. “Not intentionally…my portkey was redirected.”

“Really?” Hermione asked. “Where were you coming from?”

“I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to.”

“So you're not the Secret Keeper, then?”

The wizard chuckled.

“Perhaps they did send out the right person,” he observed. “And on that note, before the
Queen's Wizard or those Muggle snipers get itchy fingers…”

“Snipers?” Hermione asked. “Surely you don't think that lowly Muggles could do anything to
harm a powerful wizard such as yourself?”

Croaker rolled his eyes. “Don't patronize me, Miss Granger…there are a few of us in the
Ministry that aren't blinded by prejudicial hubris.”

“Far fewer now that you've locked the Ministry down behind a *Fidelius* Charm.”

“Perhaps,” the Unspeakable admitted. “So in regards to the meeting this afternoon…it will be
just the principles, right?”

Hermione nodded. “Two on each side?”

Croaker shook his head. “Three, I think.”

“Scrimgeour can't choose between his two underlings?”

“Something like that.”

“Three it is, then…approaching the circle on foot?”

The Unspeakable shook his head. “Treaty also allows for either broomstick or horse.”

“What…afraid that Umbridge can't waddle that far?”

The wizard snorted, and wondered if the young witch knew just how close she was to the
truth.

Hermione then asked, “Any idea what we should make of the Treaty phrase `enforced
parlay'?”

“Not exactly,” Croaker replied. “There are magical contracts strong enough to inflict penalties
upon any who might violate a negotiated truce…and if the Treaty is strong enough to build
castles…well, if it were me meeting up with the Queen, I wouldn't be fingering my wand.”

“That makes sense,” Hermione replied. “Can I assume that the Ministry is aware of the other
requirements for meetings governed by the Treaty?”

“Such as….”

“The Minister's Orb, signifying his stewardship of those designated powers provided to Her
Royal Majesty's Justice of the Peace for Magical Britain.”

“I'm not quite sure what you're talking about.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Now who is the one trying to patronize?”

The Head Unspeakable scowled.

“Do you have any idea just how dangerous your actions could be?”

Having gotten used to standing up to the Home Secretary and other powerful middle-aged males
within COBRA meetings, Hermione was able to calmly stand her ground.

“From my perspective, it is the Minister who needs to account for his actions. But as this is
not the actual meeting, and as we are not the principal parties, neither my perspective nor your
opinion really matters, now, does it?”

Croaker clamped down on his emotions, and bit his tongue.

“Two this afternoon, then,” he finally replied. “Three principles on each side on the field…you
have your castle, and we…apparently…have ours. Terms and conditions as set out by Treaty.”

Hermione nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

The wizard stared hard at the witch in front of him, then shook his head and muttered, “Merlin
help us all.”

Hermione snorted, and said, “On that point, we agree.”

**oo00OO00oo**

**9****:45am, Cabinet Office Briefing Room A, 10 Downing Street, London**

When Kate Miller ran to the women's lav just before the start of the morning COBRA meeting,
she spotted an equipment belt, thigh packs and comm gear stacked in a pile next to one of the wash
basins. Turning towards the stall whose door was closed, she asked, “Hermione?”

The sound of an amused snort carried over the white marble privacy walls, just before it was
drowned out by the sound of a flushing loo.

A witch-in-black emerged from the stall and made her way towards the sink.

“And how, oh how, could you tell it was me, Chief Inspector?” Hermione asked.

“Well, I am a detective, right?” the older women replied, as she faced the mirror behind an
adjacent sink and straightened her tie.

The teen-aged Secret Agent closed her eyes for a moment while she washed her hands.

“Guess there aren't that many other women kitted out like I am, eh?”

“Certainly none that have access to 10 Downing Street,” Kate replied with a grin.

As the first of her two black leather thigh packs was strapped against Hermione's leg, the
Chief Inspector asked, “Isn't there some way to magically relieve yourself without needing to
strip all of that off?”

Hermione snorted. “There is actually…magical nappies that banish the waste…used like bedpans in
magical hospitals. Unfortunately…they aren't very sexy, and not practical replacements for
knickers.”

“Why is that?”

“They chafe something horrible,” Hermione replied. “The charm that collects and gets rid of the
urine works on any fluid, so your skin dries out if you wear them for more than a few hours at a
time.”

“Sounds like you've had some personal experience.”

The young witch shook her head and sighed. “Yes, well…when I first learned about them back in
Third Year I thought they'd be great for studying…I mean…you could drink all the tea you
wanted, and never have to get up from your desk! But then one night I fell asleep wearing a pair,
and, well…if it weren't for a trip to the infirmary the next morning for an embarrassing
application of a magical salve, I wouldn't have been able to sit for days!”

Kate laughed. “So I guess that witches have to suffer through long queues at public loos like
the rest of us?”

Hermione smiled as she tightened her equipment belt. “Well, there are still *some*
advantages to being magical,” she admitted. “We have charmed chamber pots small enough to fit in
your bag, and if you go regimental underneath your robes…”

“Nice,” the Chief Inspector replied. “Although I'd still prefer to wait in line rather than
squat over a pot in public.”

“Notice-me-not charms help out there.”

“Imagine so,” Kate admitted. “But if there isn't a need to share public facilities, then
where do witches go to just talk amongst us girls and gossip?”

“My dorm mates never seemed to have a problem finding places,” Hermione muttered.

“Well…that probably is a pain…especially when you snog your boyfriend beneath castle walls?”

Hermione scowled. “Kate!”

“And I suppose that the Queen's Wizard provides more than enough motivation for you wanting
your knickers to look sexy?”

“Hmmmph!”

The older woman laughed as she patted the well-armed witch on the shoulder. “Just a bit of
teasing, love…and if you think that's bad, you should have heard Remy's snide whispering
while he listened in this morning on his sunburst badge!”

“Thought that you and…Remy…were still working on your secret project this morning?”

“We were…just a bit of multi-tasking,” Kate replied.

Hoping the change the topic, Hermione asked, “So how is your werewolf investigation coming
along? Did you lose any momentum with the reassignment?”

The Chief Inspector shrugged. “Not really…it's only been a day that we've been working
on the Ministry problem, and we'd already made good progress with the packs. Remy can be
quite…persuasive…at times. Not quite in lines with Department regulations, but…well…all sorts of
dividing lines are blurry these days, right?”

A sigh escaped from the teen-aged witch's lips as she nodded in agreement.

**oo00OO00oo**

Hermione and Kate took their “normal” places at the rectangular conference table, which meant
that the younger woman had to endure some predictable “wink wink, nudge nudge,” teasing from Wally,
who always sat to her left.

There weren't assigned seats, as such, but every member of the COBRA team had by now staked
out a permanent place at the table. The Prime Minister sat at the head, with Wally, Hermione and
Kate to his left, and the Home Secretary, Defense Minister, and Met Commissioner to his immediate
right. This arrangement was quasi-partisan, with younger, “hipper” non-politicians on one side, and
older “stuffier” Cabinet Officers on the other. The MI-5 and MI-6 Directors sat opposite the Prime
Minister, and each played true to that relative position and occasionally helped mediate between
the two sides.

Hermione took note of a new chair at the table, on the same side as the Prime Minister's.
The reason for that addition entered the room by the Prime Minister's side.

Hermione's boss flash her a smile as he took his seat. “Right, now that we are all
here…there is, as always, a lot to cover this morning. Gentlemen…Ladies… if you please?”

Those primaries and aides who hadn't already taken their seats did so at this time. The
Prime Minister opened the meeting by welcoming his predecessor to the group, and jokingly
apologized to Sir John for keeping him away from Surrey's match against Northamptonshire. The
cricket-loving retiree smiled and made some type of gentle jab at the opposing side's batting
that went completely over Hermione's head…but hit home with the scowling Home Secretary, who
(as the former Prime Minister was fully aware) supported the Steelbacks (thereby giving the young
witch one more reason to like the man who had been defeated by her schoolgirl crush).

The reason for the former Prime Minister's addition to the crisis committee was briefly
discussed during a review of overnight events. As the lone Muggle member of the newly installed
Queen's *Magnum Concilium*, he needed to be briefed in on her non-magical government's
actions with respect to both Voldemort and the current Ministry of Magic. The mention of the
installation ceremony then served as segue way to a review of how the following reception had been
cut short.

The MI-5 Director took the lead on describing Draco Malfoy's demise, since the sniper team
was presently under his purview. The surly Home Secretary had a lot of questions about the
operation, but rather than direct them towards the intelligence chief, he tossed them across the
table towards Hermione. The rather rotund Cabinet Officer focused on jurisdictional issues, but
having seen those inquiries deftly parried by Hermione moved on to more general questions regarding
intelligence gathering.

“Do we have any touts within the enemy's ranks?” he asked.

“Touts?” asked Hermione. “You mean magical black taxis?”

The question earned the young witch some chuckles from around the table.

“He is asking if we are working with any informants, Agent Granger,” the Met Chief
explained.

“Oh, well…the only Death Eater informant that I knew about was Snape, and since he was the one
who murdered his control…”

“Dumbledore?” the Prime Minister asked.

Hermione nodded. “Yes, Sir. Our working assumption is that he was a double agent whose loyalties
lie with Voldemort.”

“And that assumption is strong enough to warrant a lethal response if he is spotted out in the
open within your magical district?” the Home Secretary asked.

The young witch chewed on her lower lip. She glanced towards the respective heads of MI-5 and
MI-6 and then replied, “I believe that decision is above my pay grade.”

“But not your boyfriend's?”

“You're out of line,” the Prime Minister called out to his Home Secretary. “And if you have
to ask Agent Granger about the shoot-to-kill policy that you yourself signed off on, then…”

“Alright, alright,” the red-faced man hastily replied. “All I am trying to do is head off the
kind of embarrassing inquiries that Her Majesty's Government has faced in similar
circumstances.”

“Similar circumstances?” Hermione asked. “Have there been other covert operations against Death
Eater targets that I've not been made aware of?”

“Agent Granger, with all due respect, what makes you think that you'd have a need-to-know if
there were?” the Defense Minister challenged.

Hermione's face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation. Kate reached under
the table and gave Hermione's hand a reassuring squeeze, which caused the young witch to take a
deep breath, and revise the retort that had been forming in her head.

The slightly less caustic version was delivered in a dangerously low voice.

“This is just like the SAS safe-house operations,” she noted. “My apologies if I was once again
mistaken in the belief that such a thing would be within my portfolio as Special Ambassador to the
Wizarding World...I suppose that means that the Foreign Office was also kept in the dark about
Sport and Social's black ops within the Irish Republic during the Troubles?”

The Defense Minister growled, “As a matter of fact, young lady…”

“Enough!” barked the Prime Minister. He waited until a sufficient period of silence confirmed
that he had regained control of the meeting, and then turned towards Hermione.

“To my knowledge, you are as briefed in on the government's current response to Voldemort as
I am.” He then made a point of glancing towards both the Defense Minister and Home Secretary and
added, “Unless there has been some plausible deniability at play here?”

“No, Sir,” the three men all insisted.

“Then I am assuming that the Home Secretary was, in fact, referencing the Official Inquires that
were made into specific counterterrorism efforts within Northern Ireland?”

“Yes, Sir,” his cabinet officer replied.

“So what's your real concern, then?”

“The lack of an investigation after last night's shooting!” replied the Home Secretary. “Our
magicals removed of the body and other physical evidence from the scene!”

“Removed evidence? Have you gone mad?” asked the former Prime Minister, who could no longer hold
his tongue. “This was a covert operation, not a bloody crime scene for investigators to rope off
with yellow tape!”

“Exactly,” the current Prime Minister added.

“You know, we could head off a lot of these concerns by making this purely a military
operation…” offered the Defense Minister.

“Oh, right!” replied the Home Secretary. “Because that worked so cleanly in Belfast!”

“Moot point, actually,” opined the MI-5 Director.

“How so?” the Defense Minister asked.

“The Army doesn't have any female sniper teams.”

“And?”

“And the shot was taken from Agent Potter's flat within the Rookery,” replied the head of
MI-6. “Given the historical tenancies within that building, the assets that we've placed there
are presumed to be his…shall we say...romantic interests?”

“So you are telling me that there aren't magical poofters?” the Defense Chief asked. “That
Potter can't himself assume a gay cover identity for operational purposes?”

Eyes were invariably drawn towards Hermione, who quietly blushed. Wally snickered, and chimed
in, “Well I've gotten him to dress well enough for the role…most of the time, that is…but
otherwise…”

“Right, we have seriously moved away from our agenda here,” interjected the Prime Minister (who
was smiling, despite himself). He turned towards his predecessor and asked, “Sir John, you were
with both the magical head constable and a representative of their U.N.-equivalent when these
events unfolded, were you not?”

“That's right…and the only eyebrows that were raised were over how efficiently the situation
was resolved. They both supported our shoot-to-kill response.”

“That's good enough for now, then…let's move on to Carlisle,” the Prime Minister
decided. As committee members and their aides shuffled papers he added, “You've all read, I
hope, Agent Granger's brief on what happened there last night?”

“Rather unbelievable,” the Met Commissioner stated. “That a stone-walled castle could suddenly
appear like that, out of the ground?”

“Magic can do some amazing things,” Hermione replied.

“Are you capable of conjuring something up on that scale?”

The teen-aged witch shook her head. “Not even close. But then again I'm no Merlin, and this
could have been something other than a conjuration.”

“What do you mean?” the former Prime Minister asked.

Hermione shrugged. “That castle could have been magically hidden, and already standing there.
Something like how a *Fidelius* charm works.”

“Already have been standing there?” Sir John asked incredulously. “That's impossible!
I've actually played on the pitch where this new castle now stands.”

The teen-aged witch nodded, and replied, “Fair enough, but I've seen a house protected by a
*Fidelius* charm make room for itself by shouldering out buildings on either side, once I was
told the secret. The Muggles who were in those adjacent buildings didn't even notice.”

“That might be getting ahead of ourselves, as we've got a presentation on this secret charm
farther down the agenda,” the Prime Minister noted. He then asked his Senior Advisor, “Does how
this castle came into existence have any negative impact on the meeting this afternoon?”

The bushy-haired witch shook her head. “None that we've thought of, Sir. The Ministry
representative that I met with this morning was just as surprised as we were by the castle…and
we've actually taken it to be a positive sign, assuming that the magic behind its construction
is tied to the Treaty.”

“How so?”

“Makes it more likely that they can't attack the Queen, since the Treaty specifically bans
the drawing of any weapons during the meeting time. It also supports the idea that the Treaty
itself can magically adjudicate how the signatory parties respond to its terms. And if our
assumptions are correct about the Ministry somehow breaking the treaty, then there will be that
much more power behind Her Majesty's reassertion of direct control over her magical
subjects.”

“I don't understand why we even need a five-hundred year piece of parchment to justify our
desire to enforce the rule of law within our borders,” the Defense Minister muttered.

“Well I can think of three very good reasons, Sir,” Hermione replied. She then looked towards
her boss for fear of again moving off-topic. When the Prime Minister smiled and encouraged her with
a head nod, the teen-aged witch took a deep breath and launched into lecture mode.

“First off, the international magical community has already weighed in on the legitimacy of both
the Treaty itself, and Her Majesty's dominion over her magical subjects should the abrogation
penalties come into play. That's what the meetings in Oslo yesterday were all about, and also
the reason why the Supreme Mugwump is now in Britain.”

“So this Japanese wizard speaks for every witch or wizard in the world?” someone asked.

“Well, not literally,” Hermione replied. “But Aoki-sensei is the head of the ICW…that's
something like being Secretary General of the U.N., except that he has a lot more authority and
power.”

“And he is really going to favor a Muggle government controlling Magical Britain?” asked the
Home Secretary.

“Erm…well, actually…he has pledged his support for the Lord High Steward acting on the
Queen's behalf, should it come down to that.”

“So rather than Parliament, we'll have a sixteen-year old boy ruling over…what…25,000
British witches and wizards?”

“He'll be seventeen in two weeks,” Hermione snapped reflexively. “And it's probably
closer to 30,000 if you include those living within the Irish Republic.”

“And then what…you'll magically rip up the Magna Carta?”

“This is old business,” the Prime Minister interjected. “We've already accepted, in
principal, the establishment of a limited international magical protectorate should events play out
as expected this afternoon. Between that, and Sir John's presence on the *Magnum*
*Co**n**cili**u**m*, and Agent Potter's loyalties to the Queen, I
think that we've got our bums covered.”

The head of Her Majesty's government snorted when he spied the blush that his choice of
words had produced on his Senior Advisor's face. He shrugged off an apology, and then asked her
about the other two reasons for the Treaty's importance.

“Erm, right, so…second point is financial. The Treaty's response to our calling out of the
Ministry of Magic will be recognized not just by foreign witches and wizards, but by other magical
sentients as well.”

“You mean the goblins?” Kate Miller asked.

“Exactly,” Hermione replied. “If the Ministry is magically stripped of its authority to rule,
that will also affect their ability to collect taxes, or draw on any government-owned vaults or
other funds held at Gringotts.

“The power of the purse,” stated the former Prime Minister.

“That's right,” the teen-aged witch replied. “It would be the equivalent of freezing the
foreign assets of a rogue Muggle government, only worse because they would also lose control of
their domestic bank holdings.”

“And these goblins will, in turn, also recognize the authority of our new Lord High Steward?”
asked the Home Secretary.

“Yes, Sir,” was Hermione's simple reply. “The goblins are going to be very helpful…not only
with access, but with a full audit of all previous Ministry financial transactions.”

“And what has their support cost us?” asked the Defense Minister.

“Not much at all,” Hermione replied. “Should it come to bear, the Lord High Steward, at the
Queen's behest, has promised the negotiated return of any goblin-owned artifacts currently held
by the Ministry. He will also immediately lift the ban on goblin-backed financial investments
within the magical community. Oh, and he also plans on moving the Goblin Liaison Office into the
magical equivalent of the Foreign Office, rather than treat the Goblins like a subservient race
that needs to be controlled.”

Hermione treated the silence that followed her response as tacit acceptance by the other COBRA
members, and moved on.

“The third reason ties directly into the *Fidelius* charm or charms that are limiting
access to the Ministry of Magic,” she stated.

“I'm sorry, Agent Granger,” the Home Secretary stated (although he didn't really seem to
be). “But I'm still having a hard time understanding what this fidelity magic is all about…and
yes, Prime Minister, I say this after having read all of the relevant briefing documents.”

Kate thought for a moment, then turned to Hermione and winked. She then announced, “I think
I've got a workable analogy, Sir.”

“And that is….?”

The Chief Inspector smiled, and replied, “With all due respect, Sir….boxers or briefs?”

“I beg your pardon!”

“That's my hypothetical secret to protect, Sir,” Kate explained. “Are you wearing boxer
shorts or Y-fronts today?”

“This is a ridiculous line of…”

“No, no….I like it,” the Prime Minister interjected. “Please continue, Chief Inspector.”

“Yes, sir,” Kate happily replied. She then glanced back at the Home Secretary and asked, “So
rather than answer the question, can you tell us how many people actually know the answer to that
question?”

“What?”

“I imagine that you can remember what you are wearing, Sir,” Kate pushed on. “But are you the
only one that knows? Perhaps your wife laid out your clothes this morning? Or maybe you changed in
the locker room following a morning workout?”

Hermione considered the latter possibility improbable, given the man's girth, but thought it
might help if she jumped in.

“For discussion purposes, Sir, let's assume that it is only your wife and yourself that know
for a fact that you are presently wearing boxer shorts.”

“Does color or pattern matter, Agent Granger?” Wally teasingly asked. “What if they had a Hello
Kitty imprint on the front?”

All previous attempts by meeting participants to swallow their laughter failed with this
question.

Amidst the guffaws, and the Home Secretary's blustering, Hermione eventually replied, “What
type of boxer shorts wouldn't matter, although Hello Kitty shorts might provide more than
enough motivation for him to keep their existence a secret.”

The target for all of this teasing seethed, “This is absolutely….”

“Oh, be quiet,” the Defense Minister admonished. “So, Agent Granger, the secret to be protected
is that the Home Secretary is wearing Hello Kitty shorts, and only his wife and he are aware of
that fact…what's next?”

“Well, let's imagine that I am able to cast the *Fidelius* charm, even though I really
can't. The Home Secretary would come to me, tell me the secret that he wanted to protect,
and…”

“So then there'd be three of you that knew?”

“At that time, yes,” Hermione replied. “Then a Secret Keeper would be chosen…he or she would
become the vessel within which the secret is magically stored.” She then turned towards the Home
Secretary and asked, “So, Sir…whom is to become your Hello Kitty secret keeper?”

“But I'm not wearing Hello Kitty shorts!”

“Please, Sir…it's just for illustrative purposes…”

“Oh, Bloody Hell…..let's give the job to the Defense Minister, then.”

The cabinet officer in question channeled his inner Homer and shouted, “Doh!”

“Fair enough,” Hermione stated, as she drew her wand from her wrist holder. She waved it around
in the circle, called out *“Fidelius”* and jabbed it towards the Defense Minister.

“So now he'd be the only one to know? Even I would forget what I'm wearing?” asked the
Home Secretary.

The young witch nodded. “Unless the Defense Minister chose to share the secret with you.”

“But all I would have to do is drop my trousers and look, wouldn't I?”

“Wouldn't matter,” Hermione replied. “You could hop up onto the table and drop your trousers
for all of us to see, and none of us would be able to recognize or describe what you were wearing
underneath.”

“Even if they were clearly visible?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Sort of like you don't know where your house keys are located, even if you are looking
right at them on the coffee table?” the Prime Minister asked.

“That's right…you could stare at his little white cat all day long and not recognize them as
what they were.”

Glowering, the Home Secretary asked, “Could I still feel these shorts against my skin? Or would
I then go about the day on the mistaken assumption that I wasn't wearing any underwear?”

“That might cause an embarrassing mess in the loo,” muttered the MI-5 Director to his
counterpart.

Hermione let the resulting laughs die down before she replied, “Actually, that observation
points towards the limitations of this type of magic, as well our response to the situation at
hand.”

“How so?”

“It all comes down to the exact wording of the secret,” she explained. “I wasn't asked to
sequester the fact that the Home Secretary was wearing underwear…only the specific type of
underwear he was wearing.”

“So I would know that I was wearing shorts…know well enough to pull them down when I…erm,
well…when the situation called for it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

The Home Secretary then noted, “But I still couldn't describe them to you…or to myself, for
that matter?”

“Yes, Sir,” Kate interjected. “Just as we could state with certainty that you weren't going
commando if you dropped your trousers. We might even recognize that you were wearing boxer shorts,
as the secret specified the type of boxers worn.”

“This is all so much fun and games, Chief Inspector,” the Home Secretary then noted. “But if the
specific secret is so well guarded, how does one go about circumventing it?”

Hermione and Kate looked at each other, before the witch gave the policewoman a go-ahead
nod.

“Well, Sir…we have been able to work with these limitations, as well as the difference between
knowing and guessing, to narrow down exactly what the Ministry of Magic has done to hide
itself.”

“Knowing and guessing?” asked the Home Secretary.

“Yes, sir…just because magic might keep us from knowing a secret doesn't preclude us from
making educated guesses using the available evidence.”

When the cabinet officer in question furrowed his eyebrows, Hermione jumped in.

“If we go back to your Hello Kitty shorts, Sir…”

“But I'm not wearing Hello Kitty shorts, I tell you!”

“Yes, Sir…Of course, Sir…but if you'll indulge me for a moment?”

“Oh, alright.”

“Thank you, Sir. So let's say that I was curious about what type of underwear you were
wearing today…remember, this is only an illustration…”

“Yes, Yes, Go on…”

“So…because of the magic I couldn't know with certainty what you were wearing at that
moment, even if you showed me. But what if I was to go to your house, and picked through your pile
of soiled laundry, and discovered several pairs of Hello Kitty shorts? And then I rummaged through
your drawers and found one that held nothing but clean Hello Kitty shorts? And then I asked your
wife what you wore yesterday, and she told me that you had worn Hello Kitty shorts?”

Kate added, “Then maybe we could ask every man in this room of similar age and station to tell
me what they were wearing, and every one of them replied that they were, at that very moment,
wearing Hello Kitty shorts? That would allow us to make a very good guess, now…wouldn't it,
Sir?”

“The relevancy, Agent Granger?” the Home Secretary whined.

“As it is part of her brief, that's perhaps best answered by the Chief Inspector?” Hermione
replied.

“Let's start with location, then,” Kate stated. “Over the past day we have interviewed more
than fifty different witches and wizards. All of them informed us that they think that they used to
know where the Ministry of Magic was located, but none of them can now recall that fact. So there
has to be some geographic component to the secret.”

“Well that's not rocket science,” muttered the Home Secretary.

The Muggle police officer ignored her boss's boss and pushed on. “Working down the same
lines of asking other blokes what type of shorts they were wearing, we gathered some information on
the locations of the magical governments in other countries. Most of them turn out to be in
whatever regional city was largest, or most powerful, anywhere from five hundred or a thousand
years ago.”

“So the French magical ministry is located in Paris?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And the Italian Ministry is in Rome?”

“Venice, actually,” Hermione replied.

“That makes sense, I guess,” the Prime Minister noted with a nod. “The Venetian City State ruled
the Adriatic back then, and was far more powerful than Rome.”

“So for England…should be London, right?”

“Were it just England, that's the obvious guess,” Kate replied. “But as Agent Granger has
noted before, the Ministry of Magic has jurisdiction over Wales, most of Scotland, and all of
Ireland, including the Republic. So at first glance the Ministry might just as easily be located in
Dublin, or Edinburgh…maybe even Cardiff.”

“At first glance, but not when you look a second or third time?” asked the Prime Minister.

The Chief Inspector nodded. “It's been a challenge, as we've started eliminating other
possibilities…once you are down to just one best guess it approaches more knowing than guessing,
and the magic keeps us from knowing, so…more than once we've reached a certain point in our
analysis, and suddenly felt the need to discuss sports, or the weather.”

“So how far down the road have you gotten, then?”

“We are guessing London,” Kate replied. “The largest magical commercial district is located
here, after all. And Agent Potter's memories of the place are also useful. He has visited the
Ministry of Magic before, you see…and he recalls that trip involving a walk. Of course, he could
have been walking in any city…”

“But Harry can't ever recall visiting Ireland, and doesn't remember visiting Edinburgh
or Cardiff before this past week,” Hermione stated. “Now this could be the magic playing with our
minds, here, but if we have to make a best guess…”

“That guess is that the Ministry of Magic is located someplace in London…where to from there,
then?” Sir John asked.

Kate Miller rose from her chair and walked towards a three-dimensional rendering of the Ministry
of Magic that Wally had thoughtfully called up on his computer and projected against a wall.

“This layout is based on interviews of Ministry employees who were booted out before the
*Fidelius* charm took hold,” she explained. We also got some help by reviewing a few pensieved
memories…you know…those wisps of smoke that can be used to walk through specific
recollections?”

“Like those provided by Agents Potter and Granger that walked us through the Garden Party and
Inverness?” asked the MI-6 chief.

“Yes, Sir,” said Kate. “Based on the layout and dimensions of the different levels, it's a
good guess that the Ministry is located underground.”

“The top level apparently being larger than the bottom level?” asked the MI-5 chief?

“Yes, Sir,” replied Kate. “Now there is some counterevidence…for example, several of the
employees recall having window views in their work area. But that is also something that could be
accomplished with magic.”

The Home Secretary asked, “By punching out underground window views?”

“No…by creating the illusion of a window view,” Kate replied. “This alternative explanation is
supported by reports of seeing snow-capped mountains from one window, while the same vantage point
one floor higher looks out over green rolling hills.”

“So it's underground, someplace,” the Defense Minister concluded. “How is it accessed?”

Kate nodded. “That's also a secret…either with the same magic that protects its location,
or…more probably…a second charm.”

“There'd have to be lift shafts to access an underground location, right?”

“Not necessarily, so long as magic is involved,” Hermione replied. “Again, for comparison
purposes…the magical transportation hub in Oslo is located underground, but doesn't have a
public aboveground access point.”

“So how is that reached, then?”

“Dyrrheim Station can be accessed by floo, or apparition, or portkey,” stated Hermione. “Our Art
Club badges work as well, if one of us is already there as an anchor point.”

“So these are all magical types of transportation, right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“So wouldn't it stand to reason that these same methods could be used to gain access to our
British Ministry?”

“That would be a logical assumption,” Hermione replied. She pointed towards the
three-dimensional computer image of the Ministry and added, “In fact, that would explain a lot of
things, like the banks of fireplaces on that one level, and what looks like a portkey arrival
platform up on top…”

The young witch's mind suddenly began to drift.

**oo00OO00oo**

Ten minutes later, Agent Granger began to wonder why the COBRA team was discussing the failure
of England's side to advance through to the semi-finals of the FIFA World Cup.

Eleven minutes later, she figured it out.

Hermione caught Kate's attention and asked, “We got too close again, didn't we?”

“Looks like it,” the Chief Inspector replied.

“So what were we talking about, then?” asked the Prime Minister.

“Something about the link between the Queen's meeting at Carlisle and the Home
Secretary's shorts?” asked Wally.

“That doesn't seem likely,” the Cabinet Officer replied.

“Hold on, then,” asked Kate. “Was it the Home Secretary's Hello Kitty shorts and the
Ministry's *Fidelius* Charm?”

“For the last time, I'm not wearing Hello Kitty shorts!”

“Well, then…that leaves us talking about how the Queen's meeting could help us crack the
Ministry's concealing magic,” Hermione noted.

“Can you provide a succinct response to that question that doesn't involve my choice of
undergarments?” the Home Secretary asked.

The young witch considered what the beefy politician might look like if he went commando, and
decided that to be an excellent suggestion.

“Short of finding and killing the secret keeper, the easiest way to bypass a
*Fidelius*-protected secret is to make it irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?” the Home Secretary asked. “While my preference for boxers is hardly relevant to
this discussion…”

“Allow me to give a real life example, then,” interrupted Hermione. “When the Queen's Wizard
was just a year old, his family decided to go into hiding when they learned that they had been
targeted by Voldemort and the Death Eaters.”

“So they used a *Fidelius* charm?” the former Prime Minister asked.

“Yes, Sir,” the young witch replied. “As best we can tell, the wording of the charm was
something like, *`The Potter family is hiding in their cottage in Godric's Hollow'*.”
Might have included an actual street address, but it wouldn't have been necessary. Based on
that kind of wording, our Charms professor at Hogwarts says that Voldemort himself could have
looked into their cottage's windows and not seen any of the Potters walking about within
it.

“So long as he didn't know the secret, of course,” Kate added.

“But he did find out the secret…they were betrayed by their Secret Keeper, right?” the Prime
Minister asked.

“Yes, that's right,” Hermione stated. “But what is important to this story is the fact that
Voldemort was the only person outside of the Potter family that was actually told the secret.
Headmaster Dumbledore was specifically *not* told…and he didn't know where the family was
hiding…right up until the moment that he did know.”

“And that moment came when….what?” asked the Home Secretary.

“It came when both of Harry's parents were murdered,” Hermione replied quietly. “He was an
only child, you see…”

When the young witch couldn't find the right words to continue, Kate took up the task.

“Once Harry lost his family, the secret was no longer relevant,” she explained. “It wasn't
*`**Baby* *Harry Potter is hiding in a cottage'*, but rather, *`The Potter*
*f**amily'*.”

Most of the people within the room were smart enough to get the connection, but it was up to the
Home Secretary to state the obvious.

“So if the secret that we're up against is, *`The British Ministry of Magic is
hiding…wherever**'*,” he reasoned, “We don't need to find this Secret Keeper. All
we need to do is rid ourselves of the British Ministry of Magic...and if the Ministry's
authority is derived from the negotiated terms within this Treaty of Carlisle, then…”

Hermione nodded, and softly snorted when she glanced down at her watch.

If only the Home Secretary had needed an additional twenty minutes to catch on…then it would
have been Kate who would have been picking up the tab for lunch...whenever it was that the both of
them would actually have the time to eat out at a restaurant.

**1:45pm, Carlisle Castle**

Fifteen minutes before the schedule start of the meeting between the Queen and the Minister of
Magic, three RAF attack helicopters escorted a fourth onto a landing zone that had been temporarily
established in front of Carlisle Castle. Several well-armed SO14 agents escorted a very royal
passenger and her small retinue out of this helicopter and into a waiting armoured vehicle.
Everyone inside the castle walls sprung to attention when this vehicle drove through the main
gates, and the Queen's Royal Standard was run up the castle's flag pole.

Many were lucky enough to get a glimpse of their white-haired monarch as she exited the vehicle
and walked inside the Castle's stables. But only witches-in-waiting Padma and Hannah had the
security clearances necessary to join her in a secured room, and to watch as her hair turned pink
and her face shed decades of age.

Once Tonks completed her transformation, she anchored badge jumps for the real Queen, the Royal
Wizard, and the Royal Wizard's consort.

“So how was the trip, Tonks?” Harry asked.

“Too bloody long,” the Auror complained, as she shook out her limbs and ran her fingers through
her hair. While a slightly frumpy dress morphed into battle robes, she caught the Queen's
bemused expression, and quickly added, “Not that I'm complaining about the assignment, Your
Majesty…it was fun to be queen for a day.”

“Thank you for your assistance, Miss Tonks,” the Queen replied. “We are afraid that we might
become used to the luxuries afforded by a perfect body double and near-instantaneous badge
travel.”

The Auror curtsied, and replied, “I am happy to have been in a position to help, Your
Majesty.”

“Will you be staying within the Castle during the meeting, then?”

Tonks glanced at Harry and Hermione, looking for some guidance to her response. The bushy-haired
witch nodded, and took the initiative.

“Your Majesty, my father is already here with the students, and can serve as the Castle's
anchor point while we are outside of its walls. Tonks could do the same, but…we thought that she
might be better deployed with our Ministry liberation team, which is presently on standby in
London.”

“Ah, very good,” the Queen replied. “Godspeed, then, Auror Tonks…and stay safe. We would enjoy
the opportunity to travel in this manner again some day.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” the witch replied, with a slight blush.

Once Tonks jumped back to London, Harry led the Queen and three witches out of the small room
and into the stable area, where members of the Household Calvary were waiting with three saddled
horses.

The Queen smiled as she approached a large black gelding and patted its flank. “We are looking
forward to the opportunity to ride again,” she stated. “It's been far too many years.”

“Are you certain about riding in on horseback, Your Majesty?” Hermione asked. “Since it has
been…well…”

The monarch smiled. “No worries, Dame Hermione. We have taken council from Sir Evan, who spoke
wondrously about the ability of magic to limber up limbs and strengthen the bones of those of us
who are more…advanced in years.”

The Queen's words drew support from her actions, as she lifted a foot into a stirrup, and
almost jumped up into the saddle.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the bushy-haired witch said with a slight sigh.

When the monarch gleefully began to ride her horse down and back the stable's wide main
aisle, Hermione glanced over at Hannah and Padma. The two teen-aged witches were beating back
smiles and pointing towards each other.

Harry nudged his girlfriend's shoulder, and said, “C'mon, Hermione…it's just a
horse! Not like you're being asked to ride on a dragon's back.”

“Easy enough for you…you've ridden on broomsticks…and Buckbeak!”

“Seems to me that you've ridden on a hippogriff as well.”

“As a passenger,” Hermione protested. “And with my eyes closed the entire time, and my arms
wrapped tightly around you!”

“Now that's a story that I haven't heard before,” Hannah noted with a grin.

“Indeed, a story that we would no doubt enjoy as well…at some other time,” the Queen announced
from her saddle.

“Erm, Yes, Your Majesty,” the young witch said reluctantly, as she walked up towards a chestnut
brown mare.

“Don't forget to bow first, Hermione,” teased Harry.

“Oh, hush, you!”

The two-witches-in-waiting snickered as a soldier helped Hermione up onto her horse.

“I'm so afraid that I'm going to fall off,” she muttered.

“Need a sticking charm?” Padma teased.

“You are doing fine, Dame Hermione,” the Queen encouraged.

“You sure are, sweetheart,” Harry added, as he deftly hopped into the saddle of the third horse
and took up the slack in its reins. He glanced at his watch, opened up both magical and Muggle
communication channels, and then ordered, “Game faces, everybody.”

A last-minute flurry of activity took place around the three on horseback as witches-in-waiting
and attendants checked and rechecked tacking, equipment, and protective gear. Almost all of the
latter was being worn by the Queen, whose AK-resistant breast plate was secured outside of the red
jacket of a cavalry uniform, which itself overlaid a dragonhide unitard that stretched from neck to
toe. Hermione wore similar protective undergarments, and a riding outfit whose wool jacket was
woven in Potter plaid.

Harry, on the other hand, was brazenly unprotected, and (in the Queen's opinion), channeling
his inner Rob Roy. All he was wearing at the moment were dragon hide boots, a Potter plaid kilt,
and a white puffy-sleeved dress shirt. The reasons behind this choice of attire were sufficiently
strong enough for him to endure the teasing of the witches-in-waiting about the need to avoid
saddle sores and sudden drafts.

When the stable doors were opened, the Queen, her Wizard, and his Consort encouraged their
steeds into a slow walk. The monarch turned towards Harry and asked, “Our forces are all in
position, then?”

“As best they can be, Your Majesty,” Harry confirmed. “Just have to hope our guesses are on the
mark.”

The Queen nodded as they rode out into the Inner Bailey. She scanned both the grounds and walls,
and nodded at those who watched them pass by. Their facial expressions combined various amounts of
surprise, shock and awe…their geriatric queen hadn't ridden publically on horseback for more
than a decade, and had never been seen before dressed in armour…as if she were the Elizabeth of
centuries past.

One of the Muggle soldiers saw fit to give voice to his emotions. He lifted his rifle into the
air, and yelled out a mighty, *“HUZZAH!”* Tears formed in the corners of the Queen's eyes
as the cry was taken up by hundreds of voices.

*“Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!”*

That the horses didn't spook from all of the shouting demonstrated just how exceptionally
well-trained was they were (and how carefully they had been selected from the Household
Cavalry's stock).

A military escort that mixed both old and new elements formed around the Queen's party as
they rode out of the castle. The procession was led by two “Jackal” reconnaissance vehicles (the
biggest, meanest machines that could pass through the Castle's relatively narrow gates). These
armoured vehicles were protected by both a forward-facing light machine gun (manned by a front-seat
passenger who was doing much more than “riding shotgun”), and a turret-mounted heavy machine gun in
the back. The field of fire for the lead Jackal was slightly limited by tall wooden flag poles that
were mounted above each rear wheel-well; one flew the Queen's Royal Standard, while the other
was adorned by the Union Jack.

A contingent of twenty horse-mounted Household Calvary formed up behind these two lead vehicles,
with each soldier dressed as if they were about to lead the Queen's landaus onto the racetrack
at Ascot. Harry's preference to have had these troops dressed in battle fatigues and body
armour had been overruled by those who insisted that this kind of historic Royal procession
demanded full parade dress. He did take comfort, however, in knowing that each horseman carried
submachine guns alongside their sabers.

A symmetrical cadre of cavalry and armoured vehicles formed up behind the Queen and her
companions, creating a highly armed sandwich that paraded out the castle while its garrison
continue to cheer and a military bagpipe band struck up a tune.

The main gates of Carlisle Castle were located on the south wall and faced away from the meeting
fields and magical constructs to the north. This relative geography required the Queen's party
to follow the route that Harry had run his motorbike on earlier in the day…a route which included a
fourteenth-century stone bridge and a small portion of the A595 four-lane motorway.

It only took a few minutes for Queen and escort to make their way onto the narrow two-lane
roadway that ran along the Castle's northern ramparts. They rode silently past a row of mature
trees whose tops had been trimmed to keep sight lines and fields of fire cleared, and pulled up at
predetermined positions that had been personally marked by Hermione as being located inside her
ward lines.

Three members of the Household Calvary escort quickly dismounted and took on the roles of
squires for the Queen and her companions; each grabbed a bridle, and gently pulled their horses
around to face the North. Those soldiers who manned the vehicle-mounted machine guns similarly
swiveled their weapons, and set their sights upon the main gates of the magically constructed
castle that sat on the far side of the field.

The Queen's Wizard glanced at his watch and nodded with satisfaction; there were still two
minutes remaining before the top of the hour. He then turned to the rider next to him and asked,
“Alright there, Your Majesty?”

The monarch smiled and nodded her head.

“We didn't realize just how much we missed a good ride,” she replied. She then turned to her
right and asked, “And how are you doing, Dame Hermione?”

“Erm…just fine, Your Majesty,” the bushy-haired witch replied.

Harry leaned forward in his saddle just enough to catch his girlfriend's response. He could
hear the nervousness in her voice, but didn't know if it was due to her unease on horseback or
her unease with the situation in general. Some discretion, and the approach of two more soldiers on
foot, kept him from asking.

The men carried the standards that had been mounted on the lead vehicle. The soldier who held
the Royal Standard walked up to Harry's mount, and slipped the base of the pole into the
tacking just in front of his left knee. The other attached the official flag of Great Britain and
Northern Ireland to Hermione's mount, and discrete sticking charms were applied so that they
didn't have to worry about holding the reins and flagpole at the same time.

Harry and Hermione spent the balance of their wait communicating using both badge and radio. The
Queen listened in on some of these exchanges, and shook her head slightly while Harry discussed the
deployment of Summer Institute students to the Castle's walls.

“When we rode out and saw all the Potter Plaid…they look so young, Gryffindor!” the monarch
lamented.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Harry replied. “Although a fair number are no younger than Hermione and
myself.”

The Queen sighed. “We forget, sometimes, that you both act far older than your years…but you are
certain that it was worth the risk to bring them up from Windsor?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty. They have all been training hard, and learning the kind of
magic that might prove invaluable during the meeting.”

“We pray that bears out,” the Queen said solemnly.

The conversation was interrupted by a new burst of radio and badge chatter when the gates of the
other castle opened. A dozen witches and wizards dressed in Auror robes flew out on broomsticks and
split off, six to each side. The fact that Dawlish was spotted amongst this contingent made it easy
for the two teen-aged wizards to accept a remote assessment provided by Gawain Robards…that all
twelve were Scrimgeour or Umbridge toadies who had stayed behind when the Ministry went into
*Fidelius*-aided hiding.

The Queen's Wizard could feel the tension level rise in the air as the carillon of Carlisle
Cathedral began to ring out the hour. As soon as the last bell was struck, and the hour of two
declared, the granitic stones that made up the circle in the middle of the field began to hum and
glow blue. The intensity of both hue and hum grew, until arcs of magical energy shot out from one
stone to the next, forming a blue ring of energy that flowed clockwise on a path two meters off of
the ground.

The buzzing noise rapidly grew in volume as the flow of magical energy picked up its pace,
causing a few of the lesser-trained horses to become skittish and rear up. But before any of the
riders were thrown, or any ears began to bleed, the humming suddenly stopped and a pinpoint of
bright blue light formed in the center of the circle. This spot mushroomed out into a fast-growing
sphere…a sphere that exploded in a blinding flash of light that rushed outwards from the stone
circle and enveloped both castles in a hemispheric magical dome.

The magic that was at work within this shimmering dome was strong enough to kill any active
Muggle electronics within the protected area. The Art Club badges still worked, though, which
allowed the Queen herself to confirm that she hadn't been harmed by this magic.

The same couldn't be said for any person who had been holding a weapon at the time of dome
formation. The same kind of magic that had been at work on Azkaban took hold, and shot arcs of
lightning down upon each weapon-holding hand...whether the hand belonged to a Muggle or wizard.

The cries of pain heard as wands, and sabers, and machine guns were dropped like hot potatoes
confirmed Hermione's suspicions on just what the treaty meant by “enforced parlay.” They also
served to justify the somewhat controversial decision to fly more than a hundred teen-aged witches
and wizard up for the day from London.

**oo00OO00oo**

When the Queen, Harry and Hermione nudged their horses towards the stone circle, Scrimgeour,
Umbridge and Percy emerged from the far castle on broomstick and began their approach from the
opposite side. Attempts to activate electronic gear retrieved from EMP tents proved futile, which
forced Roger Granger to grab a standard pair of Muggle binoculars and run up to the ramparts.

Stoic stares were exchanged when the two parties reached the stone circle, before Harry took the
initiative and nudged his horse forward. When the Queen's Wizard suffered no ill effects from
crossing in between the standing stones, the Queen and Hermione brought their own mounts
forward.

But Harry didn't see the other two follow…his eyes were focused on the three Ministry
officials as they flew their brooms into the circle. Those eyes bulged when the glamour charms that
Scrimgeour and his flunkies had been hiding behind were negated by the magic within the stones.

“What the…?”

Roger Granger, who had watched the three Ministry officials lose their disguise from the
castle's ramparts, couldn't help breaking Art Club badge silence.

*“We represent…the Lollipop Guild…the Lollipop Guild…the Lollipop Guild…”*

“Dad!” Hermione hissed into her badge.

“Sorry, Ambassador,” Roger replied, not really sounding as if he was. He then asked, “So maybe
you think they're more like the Umpa-Lumpas?”

“Their skin tone would require more orange,” the Queen dryly noted, using Ron's borrowed
badge.

Hermione eyes went wide, and she turned towards the monarch in disbelief. The smirk displayed
upon the Royal countenance caused the bushy-haired witch to shake her head and sigh…if the Queen
was going to join the commentary, then how could she reprimand her father?

The Special Ambassador to the Wizarding World gathered herself and pulled a copy of the Treaty
of Carlisle out from a jacket pocket.

“In accordance with the terms negotiated between the magical and mundane, on these very grounds,
in the Year of Our Lord….”

“Hold on, Hermione…” Harry interrupted. “We're supposed to be meeting with the Minister of
Magic and his two underlings, not with some colorfully dressed dwarves.”

“Oh, Sod off, Potter!” bellowed the red-bearded broomrider. “This is Minister Scrimgeour, and
that's Madame Umbridge, and I'm Special Assistant Percy Weasley.”

“Really?” Harry asked with a smile. “So has this circle made the three of us really large, or
the three of you really, really small…and silly looking…and slope-nosed….”

“Show respect for your betters, boy!” Umbridge barked.

“Well that certainly sounds like Dolores Umbridge,” Hermione said with a smile. “But just to be
safe, perhaps a quiz?”

“Good idea!” Harry declared. He turned towards the red-bearded gnome and grinned. Then, using a
theatrically raspy voice, he demanded,

*“What…is your name?”*

Hermione's eyebrows arched, and she hissed, “Behave, Harry!”

The dwarf replied, “I already told you my name…it's Percy Weasley.”

*“What…is your quest?”*

Percy frowned. “I am here only because your Queen demanded a meeting.”

Hermione giggled. “Harr-r-r-y!”

*“What….**is Ron's favorite color?”*

“Red…no…Orange!”

Harry snickered, and then screamed, “A-a-a-a-a-a-a-h!”

The Queen smiled, and decided that she really needed to talk with her Prime Minister about
getting a few Pythons onto her Birthday Honours List.

Roger Granger's laughter was carried over the Art Badges, which made it harder for his
daughter's admonishments to be heard.

“What's that Hermione?” Harry asked.

“I said…get on with it.”

“Yes, Dear,” he replied cheekily. The Queen's Wizard then turned towards the pig-tailed
broomstick rider and asked, “So you're supposedly Dolores Umbridge…how can I verify your
identity, then?”

Harry paused, then waggled his eyebrows. “I know!”

And with that he walked his horse forward two steps, pulled hard on his horse's reins, and
goaded the animal to rear up on its hind legs.

Visions of attacking centaurs danced in front of the little witch's eyes as Harry's
steed towered over her. When the horse's front hooves pounded back down onto the ground, the
former High Inquisitor shrieked…feinted…and fell off of her broom.

“Yup, that's Umbridge,” the Queen's Wizard snarked.

“Harry!” his girlfriend whined.

“What?”

“What did you do to her, Potter?” Percy demanded.

“Nothing!” protested the messy-haired wizard. “She just fainted. Cast an *Ennervate* spell
on her if you don't believe me.”

The red-bearded gnome scowled and reached for his wand. A small bolt of lightning sprung down
from the sky and rewarded him with a nasty shock to his hand.

“Ouch! Bloody Hell!”

“Just leave her,” Rufus scowled. “You didn't want her to come in the first place.”

The Minister turned back towards the Queen and demanded, “So what do you want?”

The Queen was not amused.

“We shall not be bullied about, little one,” she declared. She then turned towards Harry and
said, “We suggest that your identity, as well as that of this other…man…who claims to be our
Justice of the Peace…would be best confirmed under the terms of the Treaty.”

The Queen's Wizard bowed his head and replied, “Yes, Your Majesty.” He then pulled his
single-pearl necklace from his sporran and slipped the chain over his head. When the orb fell to
his chest it began to glow. That glow deepened with intensity when sparks of fairy lightening arced
down from the tops of each standing stone.

Sitting tall in the saddle, Harry stared down at the two broom-mounted munchkins and reluctantly
decided it best not to declare himself (by the power of Greyskull) to be Oz, the Great and
Powerful.

Instead, he resolutely proclaimed, “I am Her Royal Majesty's Wizard, The Right Honorable
Earl Gryffindor, Major Sir Harry Potter.” He then smiled and added (almost as an aside), “I'm
also Her Royal Majesty's Lord High Steward…and last, but not least, Hermione's
boyfriend.

“Harry!” his bushy-hair companion chided.

The Queen smiled and noted, “We would not disagree with his priorities, Dame Hermione.” The
monarch then turned that smile upside down and stated, “That my Wizard's emblem of power is
alive, and charged by the power of this Circle demonstrates that Our House and Muggle government
have abided by the terms of the Treaty signed here at Carlisle some four hundred years ago. We
would be pleased to see our Magical Justice of the Peace do the same.”

The diminutive wizard scowled. “I am the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour! I hold all of the
rights and powers assigned to that post by the Wizengamot!”

Harry snorted. “Quit stalling. Where's *your* necklace, Rufus?”

The little wizard tried to give the Queen's Wizard an intimidating stare, but it was hard to
pull off that kind of look when you're cursed to look like a cartoon character.

“Right!” Rufus spat, as he pulled his own orb from a pouch tied to his belt. He began to place
its chain around his neck, but then thought better of it. He already knew that the orb wouldn't
glow, and feared that the necklace might garrote him if he tried to fake it.

So he threw the necklace to the ground, right in front of the Queen's horse.

“There's your bloody orb!” he growled.

The Queen sucked in a deep breath and turned towards Hermione. The young witch pointed towards a
highlighted paragraph of text in her version of the Treaty. The Queen reviewed the words, and shook
her head.

“There is a lengthy declaration here that we might use to announce your position forfeit, and
proclaim the reassertion of direct rule over our magical realm,” she informed the senior dwarf.
“But as we have learned that much of magic is based on intent, we believe it sufficient for us to
declare that you, Rufus Scrimgeour…are sacked!”

Harry nodded, and added, “So mote it be.”

The Queen's guess (and Harry's benediction) bore fruit when the stone circle responded
with a flash of blue light. The dragon-guarded pearl that Scrimgeour had thrown down to the ground
rose up into the air with the chain trailing behind, then moved laterally until it came to a full
stop and hovered in front of the Queen's face.

The monarch looked first at Hermione, then at Harry. They both shrugged their shoulders,
prompting the Queen to make a command decision. Dropping her horse's reins, she grasped the
necklace with both hands and placed it over her head.

Hermione gasped in shock, and didn't release that breath until the chain rested loosely
around the monarch's neck and the orb sat against her AK-resistant breast plate.

“Would have been sorted Gryffindor, for sure,” Harry whispered, as he watched the Queen's
orb begin to glow brightly.

“Well, that settles, things, doesn't it?” she announced. The Queen looked down at the two
broom-mounted wizards and stated, “We shall assume physical control of the former Ministry of Magic
presently.”

Percy snorted. “You can't control what you can't find!”

“Ha!” Harry spat, as he wondered whether the portkey that Percy had provided him would still
give him access to Scrimgeour's office. He then leaned forward in his saddle, and caught
Hermione's attention. She nodded, and they both gave the Queen a firm head nod.

“Excellent,” she declared smugly. The Queen then scowled back at Percy and said, “We do not wish
to force the issue, but are prepared to do so, if need be.”

"Your Muggles and their weapons are no match for magic," the red-bearded wizard
declared.

"So what are we, Wetherby?" Hermione shot back. "Soggy toast?"

“And who says that we stand alone in defense of the Realm?" Harry added.

Scrimgeour snorted. "Nice bluff, boy.”

"So you think that Hermione and I are only wands sworn to the Queen's
defense?"

"I don't see any others on your side," Percy shot back.

The Queen gave the Ministry officials a dismissive glare as she reached for the bridle of
Harry's horse. “My Lord High Steward, if you would kindly disabuse these people of this
opinion?"

A wide grin broke out on his face as he jumped down to the ground.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Harry intoned, while pulling his white shirt over his head. Now dressed
only in a Potter Plaid kilt and dragonhide boots, the bare-chested wizard turned his back on the
Ministry party, cupped his hands around his mouth, and loudly barked out a Maori summoning cry
towards Carlisle Castle's walls.

**“****Ahh…ooooh****!”**

The castle responded with a roar, as Dean Thomas led more than a hundred witches and wizards up
out of hiding and into view on the ramparts.

**“Au!”** they called back, with thundering voices.

Harry wanted to take a moment to relish the sight… Muggleborn Summer Institute students and
Peanut Butter Brigadiers standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Rongo and his Maori mates. But those on
the ramparts used that time to react to their first spotting of the diminutive Ministry
officials.

“Hey Harry,” Dean yelled out. “Who are you meeting with…the Minister of Magic…or
Tinky-Winky?”

Laughter and cat calls echoed down from the walls as Roger's confirmation of Rufus' and
Percy's identities spread, and Harry's comrades realized just how thoroughly the Ministry
officials had been pranked. All of the fear and uncertainties that had built up within them
dissipated, as what had been a confrontation quickly morphed into more of a spectacle.

Or a football game…as someone up on the walls began a stadium chant that was picked up in full
chorus.

**“Tele-tubbies!”** *Clap…Clap…Clap-Clap-Clap*. **“Tele-tubbies!”**
*Clap…Clap…Clap-Clap-Clap*…**“Tele-tubbies!”** *Clap…Clap…Clap-Clap-Clap*….

The Queen's Wizard let the taunting go for a bit, then instantly calmed the crowd by raising
his hands. He then took in a deep breath and yelled out a well-practiced command using the Maori
language.


**“Kia whakangawari au i a hau!”** *(Let us prepare ourselves for the fray!)
* In one voice the ramparts loudly responded, **"Au!"**

The Muggleborns followed the lead of Rongo and his Maori mates and began to slap their arms and
thighs, left bare by sleeveless white t-shirts and short Potter Plaid kilts. Deep breaths were
taken that were then forced out through puffed cheeks painted in the bold colors of the Muggle
countries of England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales. More than a few students followed Harry's
lead and bared their chests, which allowed the Queen's Wizard to pinpoint (with only a trace of
incredulity) Luna Lovegood's placement along the walls.

"What in Merlin's name is that supposed to be?" Rufus demanded.

As Harry turned back towards the miniaturized Ministry delegation, he heard the Queen say with
pride, “It is the answer to your question, Scrimgeour…they are our *loyal* magical
subjects."

"But most of them are only children...without wands," sneered Percy. "What could
they hope to do to us?"

The Queen let out a Royal snort, and turned back towards her Wizard.

"*Ringa pakia*, My Lord High Steward.”

“With pleasure, Your Majesty," Harry replied.

The Queen's Wizard once again turned his back on the magical delegation and looked up
towards the castle ramparts. The tartan-clad wizards and witches fell silent as Harry walked out
towards the castle. Suddenly, he turned on his heels, took a giant leap back towards the defrocked
mini-Minister, and landed in a crouch with arms spread, as if in flight. The Queen's Wizard
then yelled out at the top of his lungs.

**"Ringa pakia!"** *(Slap the hands against the thighs!)
* The wall of Muggleborns and their allies jumped up into the air as one, then landed in a
crouch, slapped thighs with open hands, and shouted.*
* **"He!"**

Harry glared down at mini-Percy with bulging eyes, and then stuck out his tongue at him. As the
Queen's Wizard slapped his hands against his arms and legs, Dean Thomas, the Summer
Institute's Head Boy, took up the lead from the castle walls.

**"Uma tiraha!"** *(Puff out the chest!)
* **"He!"**

Harry's efforts to appear menacing would have been severely tested at this point, had he
been facing the castle and spotted Luna puffing out *her* chest.

Dean then shouted,

**"Waewae takahia kia kino!"** *(Stamp the feet as hard as you can!)
* The sound of a two hundred pairs of boots (and a dozen Maori feet) stomping on the stone
ramparts rolled down onto the field below, carried forward on a harsh breeze that hit Percy's
and Scrimgeour's face like a hard slap.

Not realizing that this was the start of a wandless Maori magical dance which was designed to
induce insufferable fear and hopelessness in one's foes, Rufus and Percy sat there on their
broomsticks, dazed and confused, while the haka's magic was invoked by students who danced and
shouted from the castle walls.

**Ko Muggleborn e haruru nei!** *(The Muggleborn storm is about to break!)*

**Ko Muggleborn e haruru nei!** *(The Muggleborn storm waxes fiercer!)*

**Ka** **tu** **te ihiihi** *(We shall stand fearless)*

**Ka** **tu** **te wanawana** *(We shall stand exalted in spirit)*

**Ki runga ki te rangi***, (We shall climb to the heavens)*

**E** **tu** **iho nei,** **tu** **iho nei,** **hi****!** *(We shall
attain the highest of heights!)*

A roar of approval came from the Muggle soldiers who were stationed at ground level behind the
Castle's walls…the haka had boosted their spirits like a Dementor attack in reverse.

A polar opposite reaction was generated within the targeted wizards (both inside the circle and
along the magical castle's walls), who cowered in fear as they tried (and in some cases failed)
to retain control of their bowels.

“Wha….what was that?” whimpered Percy.

Harry smiled. “I call it the *`Oops, I crapped my pants,**'* dance…did it
work?”

While Percy weakly shook his head, Dean Thomas and the Muggleborns appended the Maori chant with
a rousing chorus of “God Save the Queen.” The Summer Institute's Head Boy then yelled,
*"Three cheers for Her Majesty,* *t**he Queen!"*

*"Hip, Hip....Huzzah!"*

*"Hip, Hip....Huzzah!"*

*"Hip, Hip....Huzzah!"*

Giddy over what they had just accomplished, some launched into some freelance taunting. Dean
jumped up onto a parapet, turned his back to the field below, and flipped up the hem of his
kilt.

“Hey Percy, kiss my arse…your lips are at the right height for it!”

Within moments a scene from *Braveheart* was re-enacted as nearly all of the other Summer
Institute students gleefully mooned the Ministry delegation.

"Oh, my," said the Queen, as she looked back towards the castle with eyes that were
bright and mirthful.

Once the Muggleborn witches and wizards dropped their kilt hems and righted themselves, Roger
Granger provided some additional inspiration. The students had no qualms when it came to loudly
labeling Ron's older brother an “empty headed animal food trough whopper.”

Hermione shook her head at the cinematic reference, but had been forced to watch enough Python
on videotape to realize how she could contribute. From her position inside the circle she yelled
back, **“****Fetchez la vache****!”** *(Fetch the cow!)*

Luna Lovegood considered this to be one of the funniest things that she'd ever heard. She
therefore took up the chant, which was quickly adopted up and down the line.

**"Fetchez la vache!...Fetchez la vache!... Fetchez la vache!"** *
* Down on the treaty fields, the Queen was having a very hard time maintaining her
decorum.

"What is that they're saying?" Percy asked weakly.

"We suggest that you duck if you hear something moo," replied the Queen. She then turned
towards Harry and Hermione and added, “Let us depart. We have our answers, we have made our
declarations, and we tire of these people's presence."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Harry said with a short bow. He squared off with Scrimgeour and
said, “As Her Majesty's Lord High Steward for Magical Britain, I order you to tell me the
secrets that have hidden the former Ministry of Magic, or provide the name of the secret keeper
capable of doing the same.”

Having gained back just a bit of bravado, Rufus hissed, "You think you can order us around
without a wand, boy?"

Harry shook his head. “I can order you by the Grace of Her Majesty the Queen, and all of the magic
backing the Treaty of Carlisle,” he declared. “You have forfeited your right to rule," he
added. "Either bow to the rightful ruler of Magical Britain, or slink away in
shame."

"How dare you..."

"As Lord High Steward, that's how he dares," Hermione shot back. She then turned
towards the Queen and asked, "Your Majesty, shall we detain these three for
you?"

"We think not," replied the Queen. "They arrived here under parlay, and shall be
offered opportunity to withdraw under those same terms."

Percy got a little bit of his own wits about him and demanded, "Who are you
to...."

"Enough!" snapped Scrimgeour, pulling hard on Percy's sleeve. "We will not
yield, but shall withdraw in good order."

The Queen glared. "So mote it be." She then dismounted, while Harry helped Hermione do
the same. After sending the riderless horses back towards the Castle, the Queen tapped her Art Club
badge and called out,

“Commander Wall?”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Three to beam up.”

The sudden disappearance of not just Harry and Hermione but the Muggle Queen herself left the
former Ministry officials too shocked for words. While they tried to make sense of what had just
happened, the dome of magical energy began to dissipate, and a dense fog bank began to spill over
the river banks and onto the field.

Mini-Percy reached gingerly for the wand that was holstered inside his sleeve and used it to
revive Umbridge. Not having gotten a punishing response, he conveyed this news to mini-Rufus,
nodded towards the castle walls, and then asked, “Shall I send a few *Reducto* blasts towards
those walls to put these traitors in their place?”

As Scrimgeour pondered the wisdom of this request, he noticed the fog growing thicker, and a
strange “*whap-whap-whaping*” sound coming from the castle's direction. As his eyes
followed his ears, three WAH-64D Apache attack helicopters rose from behind the castle's walls,
each armed with Hellfire missiles pointed in their direction.

“What in Merlin's name…?” hissed Percy.

A flash of light caught Scrimgeour's attention, and he looked down at five different red
spots that had suddenly appeared on the front of his robes. He didn't know what these spots
were or what they meant…but given the position of the Muggle flying machines, he was quite certain
that he didn't want to find out.

“Keep your wand hidden, Percy,” Rufus said evenly. He slowly pulled the Head Auror badge from
his robe front and held it out.

“No sudden movements,” he ordered. “Grab hold of Dolores and her broom…nice and slow…and grab
onto our ride home.”

Once Percy managed to get the groggy witch's fat fingers joined with his onto Rufus's
badge, the three disappeared in a flash. This was the signal for the Aurors who had been guarding
their backs to use their own portkeys.

The fog was now thick enough to mask the Aurors' escape, which forced the Muggle attack
helicopters to maintain their positions and provide cover for the Queen's cavalry escort to
return back inside the walls.

When the dense fog lifted, the three helicopters were ordered to make low altitude passes over
the meeting fields…just to make sure that the stone circle and magical castle that had seemingly
disappeared along with the fog were really no longer there.

**o****o00OO00oo**

**Author's Notes:**


The magical haka presented in this chapter is a slightly modified version of the "Ko Niu
Tireni" haka, which was specifically written for and first performed by the All Blacks Rugby
team during their unbeaten 1924-25 tour of England, Wales and Ireland. It is not the famous “Ka
Mate” haka, which now is the copyrighted property of the Maori people. The use of a haka in this
story is not for commercial purposes, and is presented with the greatest of respect for the All
Blacks, the Maori and their traditions.


This chapter's discussion on the *Fidelius*-charm and secret keepers is not consistent
with canon's Book 7. It is, however, internally consistent with an earlier discussion, way back
at the start of the story, which was written and posted before DH came out.


And speaking of Book 7, this update is the first chapter in my own “Book 7”…the breakdown in
chapters for the previous six “books” is provided in the revised google doc version of the story.
So we're in the home stretch, folks…story's end is less than seven chapters and 70k words
away (as far as I can tell from here). And the book 7 name isn't a placeholder, even if it
looks like one.


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