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Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall
Senior Advisor, Part 1
By canoncansodoff
Author Notes:
Chapters 21-23
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.
Chapter 21 - 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?”
“Did the Muggle notice you were speaking to him, or say anything in reply?”
“I was unable to determine that.”
“Because my other portrait is covered with some sort of black cloth and no sound is coming through from the other side.”
“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 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 MSO 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 MSO. 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 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.
“Oy Percy…nice day for a swim, eh?”
Special Assistant Weasley immediately thought to grab his wand, but realized that Harry Potter would have hexed 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. “If you ask me, 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.”
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, then 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.”
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 has 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.
10:00am, Saturday, June 30
Mucking Marshes, Essex
Ronald Weasley found it hard to believe that 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.”
The teen-aged witch 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 already thought of that possibility, and told him that he hadn’t found anything magical when he had returned to the site.
Figuring that there was no harm taking a second look (and thinking that they might find records of other orphans who lived there with Tom), Hermione went about trying to find the orphanage. With Wally’s help, she 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.”
“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.
“So why would Dumbledore tell you that he didn’t find a horcrux in a building that no longer existed?” asked Ron.
Harry thought back to his conversation with the Headmaster. He then said, “Dumbledore told be that he apparated back to the orphanage’s location, but came up empty when he cast detection spells for magical objects.”
“And he said ‘orphanage’s location,’ rather than ‘orphanage’?”
Harry nodded. “Maybe Dumbledore didn’t think it mattered if the building was gone.”
The other two agreed that explanation made the most sense.
“So if there was a horcrux hidden in the orphanage at one time, 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.”
“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 subsequently 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 location 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. With each positive response they had to stop and dig down through the waste by hand until they uncovered the object. 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 waste management spells were developed at Hogwarts in the Eleventh Century, with all banished material magically transported to the Waste Plane.
“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 given circumstances, she 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 to 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 connection.
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.”
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 Edinburgh in advance of the Queen’s stay at Holyrood Palace.”
“Down in her State Apartments, I imagine…she heads back to Buckingham tomorrow night.”
“That meeting is Wednesday, in advance of Thursday’s mini-summit with Scrimgeour.”
“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.
“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.”
“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 Clan Chief's Consort let out a big sigh. “So it comes down to worrying about The Farm? If you don’t want to snag you could just say so.”
Harry looked down at his girlfriend 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?”
The Queen's Wizard 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.
Chapter 22 - 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.”
The Consort glanced up at her Clan Chief, 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) 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 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 burnings 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, 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, 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.”
“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,” the young wizard 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 are 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?”
The black-haired wizard 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.”
The Queen's Wizard 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?”
“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.”
The Queen's Wizard 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 assumptions concerning 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?”
The bushy-haired witch 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, 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.
“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.
“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?”
“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 weekend.”
And with that analysis, Harry spoke the words that closed the entrance until he returned later that night with the goblins.
Chapter 23 - Queer Eye for the Mad-Eye
5:45pm, Monday, July 2
15 Bressenden Place, Victoria, London
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...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?”
“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?”
A patron walked up to Mad-Eye’s table and asked if he was looking for some company. As Moody barked out a warning, 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 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, Sweetheart,” 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 the palace, 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 opened 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 establishment’s exterior was unassuming, and nothing at all like the kitschy seventeenth century dressings worn by other pubs in the area (which 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 the retired Auror 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 glamour-charmed wizard 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 disguise, 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 and captured an image. He then passed the device across the table 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, he's the one that was 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. “What more could you want than 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 older wizard 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.”
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 asked, “I imagine that they’ve asked you to train some of these pureblood 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 purebloods 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.
Muggleborn students had been asking for defensive training from the earliest days of Emily Granger’s organizational efforts. There were understandable (and in Harry’s mind justifiable) fears that the Ministry of Magic would provide an inadequate response to any Death Eater attacks on Muggleborns and their families. The fact that the Ministry’s compulsive “internship” program was restricted to purebloods only bolstered these concerns. 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 the establishment of a magical summer school for Muggleborns. Cumberland Lodge was a former Royal residence located in Great Windsor Park, just a few miles from Windsor Castle (along Harry and Hermione’s morning running route). 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 Mad-Eye Moody.”
The older wizard 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 pureblooded 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...though it’d be fair to point out that we haven’t heard word of a 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,” the older wizard 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? 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 there'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 still 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, “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 DMLE…I’ll put you down for some provisional target practice, then.”
The older wizard 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,” he lamented.
Wally smirked as he put his arm around Harry’s shoulder and brought him into a loose embrace.
“Now, now, lad,” he chided as he fluttered his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t want me any other way…or would you?”
Harry grinned. “Sorry old bean, 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.
Alastor Moody 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.
oo00OO00oo
10:30pm, Queen’s Wizard’s Quarters
Buckingham Palace, London
The Queen’s Wizard’s watched with fascination as the body of an Auror who'd been felled by one killing curse was used to intercept the path of a second, and 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 noticed that his Art Club badge was vibrating and anchored his girlfriend's jump. He then lost some of those regained wits when 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...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.”
The bushy-haired witch looked down at his journal notes, then gave him a smack on the shoulder.
“Not until you’ve finished your homework, young man.”
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…with her back to the door, wearing only her knickers.
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 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 gave Harry a sharp smack on his other shoulder as she walked out of the closet and 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?”
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?”
"No...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,” the Queen's Wizard 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), SO-14 Unit 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 entrees). 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 DMLE. 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 Muggleborn 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 there 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 Ragnok 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 time 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 her Consort 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 cataloged 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.