It was dangerous thing for a Gringotts employee to let his mind wander while he was sitting in a Senior Manager’s office…especially when that Senior Manager had a wall-mounted steel-spiked mace that was within reach of his desk. But it was almost impossible for Bill to maintain a sharp mental focus when the possibilities just seemed to leap off the ledger page…

“Does one of the client’s properties catch your knife-edge, Mr. Weasley?”

Bill quickly glanced up at Chokebar and nodded.

“Yes, Senior Account Manager,” he replied in Gobbledegook (as was customary during their meetings). “There are at least three properties that appear…at least on parchment…to have the type of magical protections required given the client’s security needs. But without actually visiting these properties myself…”

“That could be arranged, you know.”

Bill’s eyebrows arched upwards. “My apologies, Senior Account Manager,” he said. “I was under the impression that it was only after the client assumed his rank and made me his liegeman that I could act in that capacity.”

Chokebar’s eyes danced with either danger or delight (Bill still couldn’t tell, which was both exasperating and unnerving).

The goblin asked, “Are you or are you not employed by the same institution that has provided property management services to this client’s House for all these years?” He nodded towards the ledger book that was opened in front of Bill and added, “Pick three and we’ll have the portkeys crafted in time for you to make your inspections this afternoon.”

The red-haired curse breaker, knowing that time was money, quickly called out his selections. He then asked, “Are there any differences in the amount of time that it would take to have these properties ready for client occupancy?”

The Potter Account Manager shook his head.

“Each property has been maintained by house-elf caretaker,” he stated. “They are all in a condition suitable for human habitation. Of course, with a day or two advanced notice a full staff could be mustered that would make the conditions even more suitable.”

Bill nodded in understanding. That the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter still owned house elves had been a revelation. It had also become a concern, given his knowledge of Hermione’s crusade.

“There is time, then,” he stated. “Still nine days until the client’s birthday. And even then, there is a possibility that he might decide to stay put for the balance of his holiday.”

Chokebar twisted his ear hairs as he considered this response.

“Have you discussed this with the client?” he asked.

“Not in any great detail,” Bill replied. “He has mentioned his belief that there are positives and negatives to both staying and going once he is positioned to make that decision.”

“Elaborate.”

Bill was nonplussed by the terse command.

“My mother is acting as Dumbledore’s surrogate,” he observed. “The Headmaster’s confidence in her ability to keep the client on a very short leash allows the old man to turn his attentions elsewhere. The client is worried that Dumbledore will try to reassert direct control just as soon as he assumes his title, and when that happens...”

Chokebar snorted, and declared, “Better the demoness that you know, then? Was this cogent analysis arrived at independently?”

Bill smiled and shook his head. “I believe he has gotten some input on the matter from his other close advisor.”

“Ah, yes…our newest vault owner,” Chokebar agreed. “I suppose that the client can’t just throw the girl into his cart and call it a honeymoon?”

Bill chuckled. “Yes, Senior Account Manager.”

“Well, then…I ask that you keep their minds at least open to the possibility of the client assuming his duties on the thirty-first. The earlier the title is taken, the greater the profit…for both Gringotts and the client.”

“Yes, Senior Account Manager.”

Chokebar leaned back on his desk chair and idly polished one of his vest buttons.

“These meetings have been satisfactory,” he stated. “I will miss them once you return to The House of Greed in September.”

Bill bowed his head in response to this complement. “I am honored, Senior Account Manager.”

The Potter Account Manager pulled out a charmed timepiece and nodded.

“In thirty minutes time you are to reward Curse Breaker Johnson’s apprentice by bringing him to the canteen for lunch,” he stated.

Bill reined in his shock at this request.

Chokebar didn’t have to explain his orders, but was in a good enough mood to do so any way.

“The apprentice kept Johnson from joining your Hall of Fame this morning.”

“Aaaaah…yes, Senior Account Manager. I understand. You said the curse-breaker’s canteen, Senior Account Manager?”

The goblin bared his teeth. “They won’t give you any trouble…if they know what’s good for them.”

Bill Weasley wasn’t to certain about this statement. But he was certain what the correct response was in this situation.

“Yes, Senior Account Manager. I’d be happy to complete the assigned task, Senior Account Manager…”

 

oo00OO00oo An Expository Interlude oo00OO00oo

The first wizard employees at Gringotts were Thirteenth-Century curse breakers, hired to be the public face of tomb-raiding expeditions within or on the fringe of the Muggle world, and to deal with those wards and traps that could only be handled with a wizard’s magic. This was long before there even was a “GringottsWizarding Bank” set up to handle the wizarding world’s finances. The curse breakers worked for a goblin-run bank run exclusively for goblin customers…a bank whose name (when faithfully translated from the original Gobbleygook) was “Gringotts House of Greed.” This small group of wizards (and their successors over the years) were a rough and rugged lot who worked and played by Goblin rules. They were all fluent in Gobbledegook, and formed friendships within their group and with their Goblin co-workers…close relationships forged with blood and trust out in the field.

When the Ministry of Magic ceded control of its monetary policy to the Goblins under The Treaty of 1865, a separate arm of the institution was established and called “GringottsWizarding Bank.” The Goblins built a gleaming white-marble above-ground building in Diagon Alley to service their human customers, and staffed that office with both goblins and new human employees. These were distasteful, but necessary, hires…there weren’t enough English-speaking Goblins (or those willing to learn), and even fewer who were willing to spend the majority of their work day aboveground. And certain jobs, like those that required face-to-face meetings with Muggles, could only be done by a witch or wizard.

The curse-breaking wizards who were still employed by the “House of Greed” division of Gringotts held just as much disdain for their new human colleagues as did their goblin colleagues. They considered the newbies that worked for the Wizarding Bank to be soft…incompetents who couldn’t be bothered to learn Gobbledegook, or to do anything more adventurous than asking their goblin managers to approve a new loan application. And while there were ward crafters and curse breakers employed by the Wizarding side of Gringotts, the range of services that they offered were just as boring and routine as their clients…little old witches who had magically locked themselves out of their homes, or businesses that needed their warding schemes tweaked.

Not that there was that much interaction between the two groups of human employees….tomb-raiding expeditions kept the “House of Greed” curse breakers out of country for weeks and months at a time. When they were back in Britain, and in between jobs, they kept to themselves, and rarely inter-acted with the human “wiz-bang” (i.e. Wizarding Bank) employees. They had their own clubhouse/canteen off in one corner of a near-surface floor of the bank, and while there weren’t any admissions restrictions, it was perfectly clear just who was and who wasn’t welcomed. And if the admissions policies weren’t clear enough, well…the canteen’s patrons weren’t at all afraid of doing a bit of educating.

Bill Weasley had accepted a temporary reassignment from the House of Greed into the Wizarding Bank at the start of the summer. This job transfer kept him in Britain, and gave him the opportunity to learn the kind of financial management and client management skills that the bank’s liaison with one of their most profitable accounts should have. His curse breaking colleagues at the House of Greed considered it a shameful demotion, and the need for discretion kept Bill from being able to explain why the temporary transfer had been necessary. Not wanting to invite trouble, he had steered clear of the curse breaker’s canteen since the reassignment…right up to the moment when he was ordered not to steer clear.

oo00OO00oo

“Right, so…just as a heads up?” Bill said, as he approached the canteen’s entrance. “This is where the House of Greed curse breakers hang out…they spend most of their time roughing it out on expeditions, so they can be a little…rough around the edges, and rather coarse in their comments.”

“I understand, Mr. Weasley,” the younger wizard replied. “So, speak only when spoken to?”

“That will do just fine,” said Bill. “And stop with the Mr. Weasley business…makes me sound like my old man!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And stop with calling me…oh, right. Having me on, then?”

The younger wizard chuckled. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said. “I’ve heard the stories, and know well enough that my hiring has more to do with who I am than what I can do…”

“No worries,” Bill replied. “Sounds like you did good today… you deserve a chance to broaden your job horizons a bit.”

“If you say so, Sir.”

Bill rolled his eyes as he ushered the apprentice inside the canteen.

It was a dimly-lit, low-ceilinged room that stank of pipe smoke and sarcophagi. A vintage Muggle jukebox was playing a harsh-sounding goblin-sung tune that a Muggleborn might have mistaken for Klingon opera. Dangerous-looking men sat at square wooden tables that were scattered around the space, carrying on boisterous and bawdy conversations as they ate dangerous-looking food. Most of these conversations died-off when Bill and the apprentice entered the room. No ill words were spoken, or challenges made to their presence, but there were one or two dangerous-sounding growls, and if looks could kill then the two would have been ducking killing curses.

“Come on, then,” Bill muttered, as he steered the younger wizard towards a dark wood bar that ran the length of one wall. The apprentice was quick to comply, and kept his eyes focused on a rough-hewn wood plank floor that was covered with empty peanut shells and blood-stained sawdust. They were greeted by a gruff-looking one-armed bartender who could have been mistaken for Mad Eye Moody’s twin brother (in appearance, if not by attitude).

“Well, Bill-o…good to see you, son!” the bartender said.

“Good to see you too, Nick,” the red-haired wizard replied. “Still serving lunch?”

“You bet…pull up a bar stool!”

“Thanks,” said Bill, as he took a seat and patted the stool next to him. The apprentice curse breaker followed this nonverbal instruction, while the three wizards who had been sitting at the bar picked up their drinks and plates and moved towards a distant table.

“Don’t mind them, lad…they’re too long gone from their finishing school,” the bartender quipped. He reached his one hand across the bar top and said, “My name’s Nick…and you are?”

“This is Reggie Smith,” Bill interjected. A sheepish grin grew on his face as he added, “Guess the same could be said about my manners…Nick is a wiz-bang summer apprentice.”

“Well, welcome aboard, son,” said Nick. “Which menu you be wanting?”

“We’ll stick to human pub grub,” Bill replied with a grin. He turned towards the young wizard and said, “Unless some of the goblin delicacies have caught your eye?”

The younger wizard looked at the slimy and (in some instances) still quivering contents on the other patron’s plates and shook his head.

“Human food sounds brilliant,” he stated.

“Washed down with a couple of ales?” Bill added.

“You got it, Bill-o,” the bartender replied.

When Nick disappeared into the kitchen to place the food order, the young wizard risked another glance around the room. It resembled the inside of the Hogshead Tavern, done up with the detritus of tomb-raiding expeditions on all seven continents. There was a strong Egyptian-style theme to the décor, given Gringott’s focus on plundering that part of the world. But you could also spot bits and pieces of Etruscan art, the odd Chinese terra cotta warrior, and Incan pottery. The only consistent theme to the decorating was a locker-room appreciation for the female form, in all of its naked (and often pornographic) glory.

“Not exactly Madam Puddifoot’s, is it?” Bill joked.

“All the better,” Reggie replied. He nodded towards the far wall and said, “Just glad to see that at least those blokes have their bits covered.”

Bill looked over his shoulder and snorted.

The younger wizard had gestured towards a group of magical photographs, stacked three rows high across one wall. They were mostly head-shot portraits, with a few full-body images sprinkled in between. One had a smiling wizard sitting on a barstool, while another showed a curse breaker casually leaning against the side of a sarcophagus. The frames for these magical photographs were all decorated the same slightly odd way…with a carved pair of human arms that had upraised hands and elbows that were bent at right angles in the lower corners (forming a “U” shape on the picture frame’s lower half).

“So who were they, then?” Reggie asked.

Bill chuckled.

“They’re all members of the Curse Breaker’s Hall of Fame.”

“Really?” asked Reggie. “Well, then, I’m going to have my picture on that wall some day!”

Barking laughter turned the young wizard’s attention away from the photographs.

Nick shook his head as he levitated plates and tankards down onto the bar and quipped, “So you think you have what it takes, son?”

“Well…something to aspire too, isn’t it?” Reggie asked. “What do you have to do to get your picture up on that wall?”

The one-armed bartender smirked. “Not much, kid…you just have to be a dumb-arse.”

“Not just any dumb-arse,” Bill added with a smile. “You got to be a dumb-arse Gringotts curse-breaker who is dumb enough to be killed on a job.”

“Oh.”

“Still anxious to have your picture hanging, kid?” Nick asked with a smile.

The embarrassed curse breaker looked down at his plate of food and shook his head.

“Not really,” he muttered with embarrassment.

Bill laughed as he slapped the younger wizard on the back. “You’re not the first newbie to make that mistake, Reggie.”

The apprentice curse breaker nodded, then looked back up towards the wall and squinted.

“What’s with the arm frames, then?” he asked.

“That’s the hieroglyph ‘ka’,” Bill replied. “Didn’t you get a NEWT in Runes?”

The apprentice curse-breaker squinted at the nearest decorated frame.

“Ah, okay,” he said. “Answer is yes, by the way…just never seen a three-dimensional version of that rune before.” The young wizard took a sip of his drink and asked, “It means ‘life-force,’ right?”

Bill nodded.

“So they’re part of a memorial, or something?”

“Exactly,” Nick said approvingly. “They help frame up a permanent resting place for the spirits of those poor bastards.”

The young wizard looked around the somewhat dodgy-looking canteen and asked, “So instead of passing on to the next world, the spirits of these dead curse breakers are stuck here…in this place?”

“Better here than in the different circles in Hell that most of these bastards were bound for!” Nick declared. He then leaned over the bar and asked, “So, Bill-o they’ve got you a new apprentice, then?”

Bill shook his head. “No, just taking out for lunch” he replied. “Reggie here is Johnson’s apprentice.”

“So where is he, then?”

“Still getting patched up, I imagine,” replied the red-haired wizard. “They were out on a simple repo job this morning, and the idiot tripped over a flesh-melting ward.”

“Is that so?”

Bill slapped the young wizard on the back and said, “Yup, you would have been hanging another picture frame on that wall if Reggie, here, hadn’t been smart enough to levitate Johnson back out of harm’s way and portkey his arse to the infirmary.”

“Good on you, then, kid,” Nick said, giving an approving nod.

The young wizard was modest enough to blush at the complement, which Nick took as a good sign. His opinion of the boy grew even more favorable when the apprentice asked Bill if it was safe for him to use the loo without an escort. The red-haired curse breaker nodded, and pointed the younger wizard in the right direction.

Once Reggie was out of earshot, the bartender leaned across the bar and quietly asked, “So how have you been, Bill?”

The red-haired wizard smiled.

“Doing okay,” he said. “Thanks for asking…didn’t know what kind of reception I’d get here.”

Nick scoffed. “So is that why we haven’t seen you around all Summer?”

“You know how it is,” said Bill, nodding towards the other curse-breakers. “The way that the wiz-bang curse breakers get treated around here.”

“Yeah, but you’re not really one of them wiz-bangers, are you?” Nick asked.

A short breath caught in Bill throat, and he gave the bartender a wary glance.

“I am, at the moment, an employee of Gringott’s Wizarding Bank.”

Nick snorted. “Yeah, right. There’s a few of us that know the real reason why your broom twigs have been clipped. No shame in minding one of the company’s biggest accounts over his school holidays.”

The red-haired wizard squinted, then gave a glance towards the canteen’s other patrons.

“So does everyone know, then?” he asked.

“Why would you think that?”

“Cause nobody’s made a run at me, telling me that I don’t belong here?”

The bartender chuckled. “Ah, that…no, I suspect that’s something different.”

“What’s that?”

“The rumor that a couple of goblin wiz-bangers got served up to the dragons over the weekend,” said Nick.

Bill rolled his eyes.

“It was only one…and I had nothing to do with that decision!”

“Yeah, that just makes you all the more toxic,” Nick said with a grin. “To have goblin managers offing their own just ‘cause your girl was mistreated…only a fool would fail to take heed.”

A booming voice called out from the entrance to the canteen.

“Aww, for Cris’sake, you leave country for a few weeks…hey, Nick when did you start serving fuckin’ wiz-bangers?”

The one-armed bartender glanced towards the doorway and shook his head.

“Speaking of fools,” he muttered.

Bill glanced over his shoulder and released an audible sigh as the other curse breaker walked up to the bar.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face around here, Weasley,” barked the new arrival. “Why don’t you go back to where you belong, and eat with the insurance salesmen?”

“Hello, Neumann…back from a job?” Bill asked.

“Just this morning,” Neumann stated. “Going to really enjoy this payout.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“Rescue any kneazles from trees lately?”

“No, actually.”

The sarcastic wizard broke off the taunts long enough down half of the pint glass that Nick had just set in front of him. When Reggie returned from the loo, Bill reluctantly introduced the apprentice to the arrogant curse breaker who had been in the same Gringott’s hiring class. The younger wizard was quick to realize that there was some history between the two curse breakers, and that the new wizard was relishing the opportunity to get under Bill’s skin.

“So, Weasley…just how bad did you fuck up your last real job?” Neumann asked. “Must have been colossal for them to clip your twigs. Or did you lose your nerve and ask to be transferred to the wiz-bangers?”

“Can’t talk about it,” Bill said.

“Oh, right…hiding behind terms of a contract,” the other curse breaker said with snort. “At least you’re not hiding behind your mummy’s skirt.”

One of the curse breakers who had been listening in on the conversation from a nearby table snorted, which led Neumann to add, “That’s right…you’re doing that now as well!”

“Give it a rest,” Nick warned.

The curse breaker shook his head, turned towards Bill and asked, “So what’s it like, moving back home with your mummy and daddy? Comforting? Soothing ?”

“Back off, Neumann,” Nick cautioned.

“Enjoying mummy’s cooking, Weasley? Is she tucking you in at night, and reading you bedtime stories?”

Bill growled, “Sod off, Neumann.”

The curse breaker sighed dramatically.

“Used to be fun, going head-to-head against you, Weasley…fighting for the best jobs. Now you’re just…fucking pathetic.”

Reggie Smith, feeling bad for being the reason why Bill was being taunted, pushed his plate away, thanked Bill for showing him the canteen, and quietly asked if it was time to return to work. The red-haired curse breaker shook his head, and whispered into the apprentice’s ear.

“Not about to turn tail from this arsehole,” he stated.

Neumann, sensing a potentially new avenue for abuse, implied that Bill was whispering “sweet nothings” into the young wizard’s ear, and asked if his girlfriend had dumped him. This insult had Bill reaching for his wand, at the same time that one of the other curse breakers made his way up to the bar and whispered a warning into Neumann’s ear about the risks of getting too aggressive in his taunts. The arrogant wizard was just cautious enough to back down a bit, and muttered a half-hearted apology.

Nick the bartender didn’t think that half-hearted was good enough, so he pumped a fresh glass of ale, set it down on the bar next to the one that the curse breaker was nursing, then addressed the teen-aged apprentice.

“You might want to spend a few minutes getting to know Mr. Neumann here, kid,” he stated. “Never know…you might just find yourself on his team some day.”

“Boy, I’d love the chance to go on a real expedition!” Reggie declared.

Neumann smiled. “Not a bad plan, kid. Sooner you get yourself transferred out of that loser customer service department and get yourself in where the real curse breakers work, the better.”

Nick smiled. “Yes, there is something special about a curse breaker’s first expedition.” He turned towards Bill and asked, “Did you know that I was on the same team as Neumann the first time he went tomb raiding?”

The red-haired wizard shook his head as he brought his beer glass to his lips.

“No, I didn’t,” he replied, with a grin. “Don’t imagine there’s a story or two worth telling about that trip?”

“Oh, there may be…there maybe, indeed!”

Neumann frowned. “No need to bore the kid with tall tales,” he muttered.

“Oh, I disagree, Mr. Neumann,” Nick quipped. He raised his voice and loudly asked, “Anyone else want to hear how Andy, here, distinguished himself on his first trip to Egypt?”

“Hell, yes!” someone called back from a distant table. Within seconds nearly every canteen patron was gathered around the one-armed storyteller…and the one person who really didn’t want to be there at that moment wasn’t given a choice, thanks to a well-placed sticking charm that fixed Neumann’s trousers to his bar stool. He could have whipped out his wand and cancelled the spell, of course, but then he would have had to push his way through the gathering, and lost even more face than he stood to lose if he just sat there and took it.

Or so he thought.

“It was an Egyptian black job,” Nick began. “We was contracted by somebody who didn’t exactly have all of the permits lined up with the locals. So we went in disguised as Muggle nomads…walked out as Muggle nomads…didn’t use any magic above ground…”

“You actually walked into the desert?” asked Reggie.

“No, we rode camels into the site,” Nick explained. “Once the job was done we had to walk home ‘cause the camels were carrying the goods.”

Bill nodded. “When it’s a black job, you can’t do magic above ground…can’t portkey, or apparate…that would have lit up the local Ministry’s sensors. He turned towards the one-armed wizard and asked, “Assume you were inside the Zone?”

“Aye, that we were.”

Reggie asked, “So no brooms or carpets either?”

“Nope,” Bill replied. “The Egyptian wizards really monitor the skies closely inside the area most likely to be….”

“Plundered?” the new curse-breaker asked.

“Erm… visited is what we prefer to call it.”

The others nodded in agreement.

The one-armed bartender said, “So we were camping out in Bedouin tents right on top of the site…and it was a bit more than fifteen miles to the nearest town. Neumann, here...he was getting rather frustrated by the fact that the team was one big fucking sausagefest, you know?

Reggie asked, “What’s a sausage fest?”

“An all-male team,” Bill explained.

“That’s right,” said Nick. “So one day…must have been two or three weeks into the job…our project manager Stonefire walks by our campfire and hears Neumann bitching about needing to get laid. So Stonefire walks up to Neumann and tells him that if he really needed to empty his balls that bad that he could use the camel that was tied out behind the mess tent.”

Everyone who was listening in on story laughed. Except for Neumann, of course.

“Yeah, we all laughed at that too,” Nick said with a grin. “But what do you know…later that night Neumann actually did sneak behind the mess tent. It was just as Stonefire said…there was this female camel tied to a palm tree. So Neumann stands there, behind this female camel, and thinks for a minute. Decides that he isn’t that desperate, and heads back to his tent for a wank.”

The young wizard asked, “How did you know he did that?”

“Well…just guessing, I guess,” Nick explained.

“Shut up and listen, kid,” one of the other listeners barked.

Nick acknowledged these instructions with a respectful head nod towards the curse breaker who had issued them. He then continued on with his story.

“A week later, we’re still up to our arses in deadfalls and other nasties, so no chance for a break. This time Neumann goes to the boss directly and complains. And again, Stonefire says that if Neumann needs to shag that badly that, well, there’s still that camel out behind the mess tent.”

“What he’d do?”

“Well, he looked Stonefire straight in the eye and asks how in the hell was he supposed to mount a beast like that? And Stonefire tells him that’s what the ladder was for.”

“Oh, shite, he didn’t!” somebody chuckled.

“Well, not quite yet,” Nick said with a leer. “Old Neumann, here…after hearing about this ladder he goes around back of the tent, and sure enough…there it is, lying on the ground a few feet away from the camel.”

“So did he actually use the ladder?” Bill asked.

“Well, he thought about it, boyo…he definitely thought about it,” said Nick. “Still, he decides that he’s not that desperate.”

“What happened, then?”

“One more week goes by. We’d been banging our heads against this tomb for a month straight, now, and Neumann not only got blue balls…he’s got a blue willie, and a blue bum. Hell his knees were starting to look a little blue. He just couldn’t take it anymore, so in the dead of night…after everyone else had turned in…he slipped around the back side of the tent, picked up that ladder and he leaned it up against the camel’s arse. Then he climbed half-way up that ladder, so that his bits were lined up with the camel’s bits. One hand lifts up the front of his robes, other hand lifts up the camel’s tail, and then once he carefully balances himself he pokes his John Thomas in between the rungs and thrusts himself home.”

“No! You gotta be pulling our leg, Nick!”

“I kid you not!” the retired curse-breaker claimed.

“How do you know it went down like that?”

“Okay, fine…we pieced that last string of events together afterwards.”

“After when?”

“After the bloody camel woke up the whole bloody camp with her bloody hissing!”

The retired curse breaker waited for the roar of laughter to quiet down a bit before continuing on with his tale.

“So everybody piles out their sleeping bags and runs behind the mess tent to see just what in Merlin’s name was going in. And there was Neumann, standing bare-arsed half-way up the ladder, pumping his hips back and forth, and banging that camel for all she was worth.”

“What did you do then?”

“We laughed our arses off, of course,” Nick replied. “Everyone but Stonefire, that is. Goblin didn’t even have a smile on his face as he walked towards the camel, looked up towards Neumann. And then he asked….”

“What…c’mon Mate…what’d he ask?”

“He asked Neumann why he didn’t just ride the camel into town to visit the Muggle whorehouse like the rest of us did!”

The story’s punch line produced a boisterous roar of laughter that was sprinkled liberally with derisive taunts. Whoever had stuck Neumann’s bum to his bar stool was kind enough to cancel the spell, which allowed the highly-embarrassed curse breaker to slip away before his cheeks could turn redder than they already were.

Bill leaned across the bar thanked Nick as the noise volume dropped and the other curse-breakers returned to their tables. The one-armed bartender said that it was Neumann who should be thanking him…for delaying the idiot’s own inductance into the Curse Breaker’s Hall of Fame.

And Reggie Smith once again proved that he actually deserved to be a Gringotts employee by realizing the likely truth behind that statement.

oo00OO00oo

The Burrow provided a far more subdued lunchtime environment than the canteen, even after that morning’s provocative question-and-answer sessions involving breast sizes and seat selections. The Praetego spells that Fleur had cast on Hermione and Harry were still active, but unnecessary, once Ron emerged from the stairwell and sat down at the table. His arrival reminded the couple what he had been doing up in his bedroom, which forced them to consider what Fleur had likely done to distract Molly while they snogged and groped in the sitting room. The thought of the Weasley matriarch dashing off to her own bedroom to relieve some allure-induced stress more than just an erection-killer…Harry figured that just being able to keep his lunch down was an accomplishment.

An afternoon rain shower kept anyone from asking if a visit could be made to Le Cote d’Weasley . With the chicken coops now cleaned, Ginny was sent to her room as punishment for her saucy test question about Fleur’s breasts. Molly paired Hermione with Ron for some stove-top brewing, and Molly strongly suggested that Fleur take a rest, since she was scheduled for second shift guard duty from four until midnight. Fleur politely suggested that she really didn’t need an afternoon nap, and instead proposed that she repay the favor and spend the afternoon teaching Harry some useful French phrases.

Harry liked the idea of learning French, but Molly wouldn’t allow it, noting that his ignorance of the language was supposed to be a critical requirement for his role as Fleur’s English-language conversation partner. Instead, the Weasley Matriarch changed her mind and put Harry on potions duty alongside Hermione. She then instructed Ron to sit across from Fleur at the kitchen table, so that he could build up his tolerance to her presence to the point where he could serve as her conversation partner. Fleur had little interest in having Ron’s help, but rather than outright refuse to comply with Molly’s orders she went along with the scheme.

The red-haired teen didn’t stand a chance.

The first time that Fleur released a burst of her male-focused allure, Ron’s eyes immediately glazed over, and he bolted from the kitchen in search of a private place to rub. Molly chased after her son and dragged him by his ear back to the kitchen table. A sticking charm was then used to keep Ron’s bum fixed to the bench.

The second time that Fleur casually released a burst of her male-focused allure, Ron wiggled and squirmed until he could no longer resist the temptation and reached down and grabbed himself through his robes. Molly chastised her son for his lack of willpower, and dragged his hands back into view. A sticking charm was then used to keep those hands fixed to the table top.

The third time that Fleur released a burst of her male-focused allure, Ron wiggled and squirmed and whined and wimpered. Molly chastised her son again, and used a silencing spell to keep Ron from using inappropriate words or from making inappropriate noises.

The fourth and final time that Fleur released a burst of her male-focused allure, she didn’t stop. Ron desperately tried to avoid an embarrassing release of his own. Hermione was unnerved by the surreal scene and lost her focus on her potions work. Harry was unnerved by the surreal way that Molly kept staring at his crotch (as she wondered why he wasn’t being affected by Fleur the same way that her Ronnie was), and lost his focus on his potions work. The result was more than one sticky mess, as Ron and the stove-heated cauldron boiled over at roughly the same time.

Molly gave up on building her son’s tolerance to Fleur’s allure and sent the teen-aged wizard off to his room, leaving the other three to deal with the spoiled potion. Once this task was completed, Hermione, Fleur and Harry were allowed to return to the living room for another English language lesson.

With Molly still within ear shot, they had no chance to deconstruct the last few hours. So they decided to play it straight…at least at the beginning...

“Ready, then?” Hermione asked, as she took the same seat that she had used that morning.

“Absolutely,” Harry replied brightly. He was sitting on one end of the living room couch, while Fleur sat on the other (with as much empty air between them as they could manage, given that Molly had already popped her head into the living room).

The part-Veela said, “Alors…”

“Fleur?”

“Oh, sorry, Hermione…Right, then.”

“There you go...let’s start with the ‘h’ sounds.”

The French witch nodded, then turned towards Harry and asked, “Hello, Harry. How are you?”

The teen-aged wizard smiled, and replied, “I’m fine, Fleur...how are you?”

“I am very happy, Harry,” she replied. “Was that Hedwig flying high in the air?”

“Erm…no, she’s upstairs having a rest, I think.”

“Oh, that ees…that is nice to ‘ear.”

Hermione shook her head. “Fleur, it’s…that is nice to hear .”

The French witch nodded. “It is nice to hear that Hedwig is having a rest in Harry’s room.”

“Great…keep going!” Hermione encouraged.

Fleur smiled. “Okay, ‘Ermione…I think that Harry would also like to sleep in his room.”

“It’s Hermione.”

“Oh, sorry…so, I should have said that I think that Hermione would also like to sleep in his room?”

The Muggleborn rolled her eyes.

“No, it’s Hedwig that shares Harry’s room. I have another roommate.”

“Yes, it is Hermione that sleeps wiz me.”

“No, I sleep with you, Fleur.”

“Really?” Harry whispered. “In her bed, or yours?”

“Will you stop it?” Hermione asked. “We’re trying to have a serious lesson here.”

“Sorry…go on, then.”

“Zanks…I mean, Thanks, Harry.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So, Harry…did you hear the howls in Hermione’s room last night?”

“Erm, no…I didn’t….were you helping her , Fleur?”

“Nobody was helping or howling, Harry,” Hermione muttered.

“Oh, right…Fleur is just making up these sentences using words that start with the letter h .”

The French witch nodded. “Exactly…I want to keep Hermione happy, Harry.”

“I like keeping Hermione happy as well,” Harry said with a rakish grin.

“That’s great, Fleur!” her tutor praised. “You just correctly pronounced another string of three consecutive “h” words! How about another one?”

Fleur rested her chin in her hand and thought for a moment.

“Ah...I have one. Harry, can I help Hermione holster your wand?”

Her conversation partner laughed. “Good one, Fleur.”

Fleur looked at him, a bit impatiently.

“Something wrong?” Harry asked.

“This ees a practice conversation,” she replied. “I was waiting for the answer to my question.”

Harry stifled a snort of amusement, then asked, “Sorry Fleur…shall we try it again?”

The part-Veela nodded. “Harry, can I help Hermione holster your wand?”

“Might better ask her,” Harry quipped.

“Of course,” Fleur replied. She turned towards her tutor and asked, “Hermione, can I help you the next time that you holster Harry’s wand?”

The Muggleborn sighed. “What makes you think that I have already done that??”

Fleur shrugged. “Eef zee shoe feets…”

“ If the shoe fits?” Harry asked.

“That is a good place to use that phrase, no?”

“Erm, yes…I guess it is,” Hermione blustered.

Fleur smiled, and asked, “So, Hermione…does Harry’s shoe fit? Or do you need to use a horn shoe?”

The Muggleborn blushed. “It’s called a shoe horn in English.”

“Thank you for correcting me.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Fleur waited patiently.

“What?” Hermione asked.

“I am now making conversation with you, Hermione,” Fleur explained.

“So…oh,” said Hermione. “Right….I don’t know if Harry would need a shoe horn.”

“You will know soon, though?”

Hermione sighed. She then tried to turn the tables by asking, “Do Bill’s shoes fit, Fleur?”

The French witch giggled. Lowering her voice, she replied, “We are not zat kinky, Hermione.”

Harry snorted. “You mean that you two are not that kinky.”

Fleur giggled. “So has my Bill been telling you stories, zen?”

“It’s then , Fleur,” Hermione whined. “Maybe we should move on to the ‘th’ sound.”

“Certainly,” the French witch replied. She quickly turned towards The-Boy-Who-Lived and asked, “Harry, did you know that Hermione’s thinks that your thicket should be thinner?”

He laughed out loud.

“So?”

“Ah, right…erm, no, Fleur. I didn’t know that she thinks that I should thin out my thicket.”

“Do you know how to thin your thicket?”

“Erm…maybe,” he replied. “Can’t say that I’ve ever thought to do that sort of thing .”

“Really?”

“Sorry, it’s…let’s just say that you don’t see that kind of horticulture in the dormitory...or at least not in the boys’s dormitory.”

“Harry, that does not matter.”

“It doesn’t?”

“It does not matter if the other boys do not care if they tickle their girlfriend’s noses.”

“Fleur!” Hermione hissed, throwing a pointed glance towards the kitchen door. “Remember the hovercraft!”

The French witch smiled and nodded. “Yes, I must remember to pronounce that word correctly. Hovercraft.”

“Very good,” Harry offered.

“So, how else can I explain?” asked Fleur. “Ah! I know!” she declared.

“What?”

The part-Veela reached out and touched the wizard’s knee.

“So let us eemagine…”

“It’s imagine.”

“Imagine that there is a very large snake zat lives een zee thicket?”

“Fleur?” asked a wary Hermione.

“Oh, sorry. I meant to say that there is a very large snake living in the thicket.”

“Really?”

“Yes, perhaps it is even dragon-sized?”

“Fleur!” Hermione whispered.

Her roommate paid no mind.

“Do you understand, Harry?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” he replied, enjoying the blush of embarrassment growing on Hermione’s face. “I’ve got a dragon-sized snake living in my thicket.”

“And so, there is someone who is very hungry. She wishes to eat the snake…to swallow it up.”

“Really? That’s very interesting,” Harry quipped.

“It is,” Fleur agreed. “But this person has…she has never swallowed a snake before.”

Hermione dropped her face into her hands and shook her head in embarrassment.

Her roommate ignored this response and pushed forward.

“And I think that it will be easier for her to swallow the snake if the thicket is thinner.”

“Oh, shoot me now and get it over with, Fleur!” Hermione whispered.

“Is something wrong, ma cherie?” the French witch asked. “Did I make a mispronouncement?”

The Muggleborn witch shook her head even as her face was still buried in her hands.

“I don’t think that ‘mispronouncement’ is a word…at least not in English,” she said through her fingers.

Harry laughed.

“I don’t suppose either of you could offer some advice on thinning your thicket?”

Fleur chuckled loudly. “Oh, Harry…you make me laugh so hard! Don’t you already know?”

“Obviously not.”

“So is this a horticulture lesson, then?” asked a playful voice from the kitchen entrance.

“Bill!” shouted Fleur. She jumped off the couch and dashed across the room to give her intended a hug.

“Hey, there,” he replied with a smile.

Fleur pulled back from her hug so that she could look into his eyes.

“You are home early, no?”

The curse breaker nodded at the same time that he yawned.

“Time off to recover from a bit of portkey lag, and I wanted the chance to say hello before you did second shift guard duty.”

“You are tired from making portkey trips?” asked Fleur.

“Just a bit,” he replied. Bill glanced over his shoulder towards the kitchen, then turned back to Fleur and whispered, “Plus tard, ma cherie.”

Hermione cleared her throat.

“Fleur was in the middle of an English language conversation,” she stated.

“So I heard ,” Bill chuckled.

“Busy day, then?” asked Harry.

Bill glanced over his shoulder towards the kitchen before he replied with a furtive head shake.

“Later,” he mouthed.

When Harry nodded, Bill vocalized, “It certainly was an interesting day.”

“Really?” asked Hermione.

“Yeah, I visited Fred and George’s on the way back,” said Bill, as he slipped a rucksack off of his shoulder. “They had a few things that they wanted us to test…”

“Oh, and what would that be?” asked Molly, as she entered the room.

Her son smiled as he opened the rucksack’s flap and pulled out a Quaffle-sized ball.

“Just some alternative ammunition for the gnome launcher,” he quipped.

Molly scowled.

“If you think that I am going to allow any of you to waste your time on such frivolities…”

“Yes, Mum,” Bill muttered, as he handed the rucksack over.

Fleur, Harry and Hermione wouldn’t have said anything about Bill’s quick capitulation so long as Molly was in the room. Their unspoken thoughts were quelled, however, by the wink that Bill gave them while his mother was rummaging through the rucksack.

“Your father and I are going to talk about this when he comes home…now, go wash up, Bill. And Fleur…your shift starts in ten minutes. I hope for our sakes that you’re as well-rested as you claim.”

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley,” Fleur said, with a singsong tone of voice that was dripping with passive aggressiveness.

oo00OO00oo

The animated after-dinner conversation between Molly and Arthur regarding the potential value of the gnome launcher within an integrated home security system lasted long enough for Bill slip outside with Harry and Hermione without anyone else noticing. The three walked briskly towards the orchard, stopping once they were just out of sight of the Burrow’s back door.

“First things first,” said Bill, as he cast a quick security ward, then reached into a pocket and retrieved four buttons.

“Damn, can’t tell which is which, now,” he muttered.

“Our own storage buttons?” Hermione whispered with excitement.

“Yeah,” said Bill, as he conjured a small table and dropped the buttons onto the surface.

He tapped one of the buttons with the tip of his wand and said, “Password.”

“Not a very secure password, is it?” Hermione asked.

“Just temporary,” Bill replied, as the button expanded in size. “You can change it later.”

As the curse breaker lifted off the button top, he caught Harry and Hermione both leaning forward to get a glimpse of the button’s contents once.

“Ah, ah, ah…no peeking,” he joked, as he lifted the secret storage device off the table and turned away from the young couple.

“Oh, Bill…”

“It’s better this way,” he explained, as he took a quick peek inside. Bill then re-secured the button top and turned back towards Harry and Hermione.

“How so?” she asked.

“Your mail-order packages arrived,” said Bill with a wide grin. He held out the enlarged button and asked, “Would you rather Harry see your new unmentionables now, or later, when you two have a little more privacy?”

“Oh…!” Hermione said with exasperation, as she grabbed the button out of Bill’s hand. “It’s not like either of you haven’t seen a pair of knickers before!”

“It’s not knickers that I saw at the top of the shipping list,” Bill quipped.

Harry chuckled. “So what was on top, then?”

Hermione’s cheeks began to flush as she considered the possibilities.

“Never you mind,” she stated, as she pulled out her own wand. “Switching passwords should be a low-enough powered spell for me to use safely, right?”

“If you’re just changing the password, then sure,” Bill replied. “Better let me do the switching spell for the buttons, though…just to be safe.”

Once the secret storage button was safely swapped out and secured to the outside of Hermione’s robe, Bill took a look inside the second button.

“Okay, this one is Hermione’s as well,” he stated.

“More unmentionables?” asked Harry.

Bill smiled and shook his head.

“You’ll want to keep track of which button is which,” he stated, as he switched it for a different button on Hermione’s robes. “This one is a charmed miniature washing machine…wouldn’t do to send a book through a spin cycle, would it?”

“The button does laundry?” asked Harry.

“Yeah, it’s dead useful when you’re out in the desert on a job,” Bill quipped. “Also comes in handy when you don’t want your mum checking out your drawers.”

“Ah…that will be useful,” said Hermione. “How does it work?”

“Fleur can show you later,” said Bill, as he took the remaining two buttons and used a switching spell that fixed them to Harry’s robes. “I’ll swing by your room tonight and do the same, Milord.”

“Oh, lay off on the milord, will you?” Harry asked.

Bill shrugged. “Seems all the more appropriate after I visited some of your estates today.”

“The portkey travel you were talking about earlier?” Hermione asked.

“That’s right,” the curse breaker said. “You’ll lord over a dozen different properties, Harry...at least once you take on the titles.”

“A dozen?” Harry asked skeptically.

“You travelled a dozen different places by portkey this afternoon?” Hermione asked skeptically.

“Yes, on the dozen, and no on all the visiting…only toured the three safest and most secure properties,” Bill replied.

“A dozen different properties?” asked Harry.

“Where did you go?” asked Hermione.

Bill glanced back over his shoulder towards the Burrow. Once he visually confirmed that they still had some privacy, he turned back towards the other two.

“First stop was the Inner Hebrides,” he stated. “A lovely thatched-roof four-bedroom cottage and acreage on the Isle of Skye, up in the Cuillin Hills…unplottable location with heavy-duty wards. Lots of privacy, some great hiking trails…”

“But it’s still in Scotland, and well-within Dumbledore’s reach if he really put his mind to it,” Hermione declared.

Bill nodded. “Ideal choice if you couldn’t or didn’t want to cross international borders…and it’s the only one of the three you could apparate to, once you got your licenses.”

“Could Gringotts help us cross international borders, if we wanted to?” Hermione asked.

“Absolutely,” said Bill. “Only took a couple of hours to secure international portkeys. You’d be able to do the same, and besides…you both want the chance to show off your new swim costumes, right?”

Harry chuckled. “So, where else, then?”

“You own a 640-acre coffee plantation in the Blue Mountains of Jamaica,” Bill replied. “There’s just a small river on the property, but I could also see the sea shore from the veranda of the manor house. Nice beaches, I hear.”

“I’ve heard that as well,” Hermione replied, as her eyes lit up at the thought of the possibilities.

“I took some pictures at each of the locations…put them in the same button as Harry’s new banana hammocks,” Bill quipped. “By the way, you’d fit right in wearing one of those down there…or so I hear.”

“So what’s the downside?” Harry asked, trying not to blush in response to the teasing.

“Besides the bloody heat and the bloody humidity that had me sweating like a pig within a minute of my arrival?”

“Yeah, besides all that.”

“August is the middle of the Atlantic hurricane season.”

“What’s a hurricane?” Harry asked.

Bill and Hermione’s both snapped their heads towards Harry’s, before they remembered his limited ranges of education and experience.

“Massive tropical storm with torrential rains and hundred-mile an hour winds,” Bill finally replied.

“Right, doesn’t sound like much of a holiday,” said Harry.

“Perfect place for Christmas hols, though,” Hermione noted with a smile.

“It’s a date, then,” her boyfriend replied. This earned him a well-deserved kiss, and a whispered description of the special swim costume that she would save for the occasion.

Bill gave the young couple a moment, before he cleared his throat and stated, “Which brings us to the place that I’d recommend you consider, milord…fancy a trip to North America?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Care to be a little more specific?”

“It’s a hidden island within a river that divides part of the Muggle United States from Muggle Canada,” said Bill.

“What’s it called?” asked Harry.

“Erm...Hidden Island?” said Bill.

“Nice and simple,at least.”

“St. LawerenceRiver,then?” Hermione asked.

“That’s right.”

“Which side?” Hermione asked.

“Canadian side,” the curse breaker replied. “Not that it matters if you’re a witch or wizard…it’s all the same North American Confederation of Magical States.”

Harry was tempted to ask for a primer on wizard world geography, but knew that they were talking on borrowed time. So instead, he asked, “How big is this island, then?”

Bill searched for that answer on a slip of parchment that he pulled out of his robe pocket. “Not that large…only three hundred and fifty-three acres.”

“Not that large?” Hermione said with an eye roll. “That’s what…150 hectares?”

“More or less.”

“How about how big it is in units of measurement that I understand?” Harry asked.

“We’ve got close to forty acres of land within the Burrow’s wards,” Bill replied.

“Okay, so it’s almost ten times bigger than big enough,” Harry observed. “And the wards are good there?”

“Yeah, the entire island is unplottable and hidden from Muggles and Magicals alike,” Bill replied. “As far as everyone else knows, there’s only 999 islands there.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

“The entire area is called ‘The Thousand Islands’,” Bill explained. “It’s got a really nice private beach, and a small castle that the Potter family has apparently used as a vacation home for more than six hundred years.”

“ More than six-hundred years?” Hermione asked skeptically.

“Wizards did their exploring and discovering before the Muggles did,” Bill replied.

“Oh.”

“Great location, actually,” the curse breaker noted. “Within apparition distance of Montreal, Salem and New York City.”

“Useful next year, then,” said Harry.

Bill shook his head. “They allow fourteen-year olds to learn over there. You both could get licenses, if you wanted.”

“Even with my injury?” asked Hermione.

“Okay, so maybe towards the end of the holiday,” Bill admitted.

“Thought it was too dangerous for kids younger than seventeen to learn how to apparate?” said Harry.

“That might have been the case two-hundred years ago,” said Bill. “Magical maturity is tied closely to physical maturity, and average age of puberty is what…twelve, thirteen these days?”

“Something like that,” said Hermione. “So if it’s safer for today’s teen-agers to learn at a younger age, why do they make us wait?”

Harry snorted. “That’s easy…because most lawmakers are also parents.”

Bill agreed wholeheartedly. “Can you imagine kids having the ability to pop off someplace all on their own, without needing their parent’s help or approval?”

Harry chuckled. “Yes, well…that is sort of what we’re talking about now, isn’t it?”

“Not an issue for the emancipated head of two major houses,” Bill noted. “And if Hermione’s parents are worried…well, Fleur and I could be there acting as chaperones, right?”

“Not acting too hard, I hope,” Harry quipped.

“Hush, now!” Hermione hissed.

“Relax, Sweetheart,” said Harry, as he reached for his girlfriend’s hand. “Your parents have passports, don’t they? If we did this…might be nice if they went along, and you finally got the chance to show off what you’ve learned in school.”

“You actually want to spend time on a small island with your girlfriend’s father?” Bill teased.

“Oh, I don’t know…how many bedrooms in that castle?”

“Erm…twelve, I think.”

“Excellent…then it’s big enough to invite Fleur’s family as well.”

“Hey, now, let’s not get too ambitious…”

Hermione snorted. “Oh, it’s a wonderful idea…watching little Gabrielle trying to bait Harry’s hook…”

“Erm…good point. Don’t want to get too ambitious,” said Harry. “And we still haven’t decided whether this is a good idea, or fleshed out the potential counter-actions.”

“Fair enough,” Hermione admitted. She turned towards Bill and asked, “And you’re certain we only need to decide a day or two in advance?”

“That’s what Chokebar has said...could be ready to go the moment Harry becomes Lord Potter-Black.”

“What about Harry’s passport, then?” the Muggleborn witch asked.

“Ah…thanks, Hermione, I knew I was forgetting something,” said Bill. “Harry, I’m supposed to ask how many you want.”

“How many what?”

“Muggle passports.”

“He has a choice?” Hermione asked.

“Erm, yes, actually,” Bill admitted. “Turns out that Harry’s father was born there.”

“In North America?” asked Harry.

The curse breaker nodded his head. “From what I was told, Harry’s grandparents were on holiday when a nasty strain Dragon Pox broke out in Britain. His grandmum was seven months pregnant at the time, and they didn’t want to risk her catching the Pox after all of the years that they’d spent trying to produce an heir.”

“So she stayed in Canada until James was born?”

“That’s right.”

“So Dad was born in North America,” said Harry. “I was still born here in Britain, right?”

“Yes,” said Bill. “But because your father was born in Canada, you can hold dual citizenship…or quadruple, if you count the magical sides as well.”

Harry shook his head and sighed. “Should this bit of information be added to the long list of ‘Shite my headmaster should have told me’ ?”

“Dunno,” said Bill. “Chokebar didn’t even know all of this until I told him this afternoon.”

“How’d you learn it, then?”

“Erm…well, each of the properties has a caretaker,” said Bill. “The one in Canada was a talkative little fellow who has served in that position for seventy some-odd years.”

“Served House Potter for all that time?” Hermione asked.

“Yes.”

"And he's a little fellow?" asked Harry.

"Erm...."

Harry muttered an expletive under his breath.

Hermione would have called him on his language, had the same thing not been resting on the tip of her tongue.

“How many?” Harry asked.

“How many years has the caretaker served there?” Bill asked.

“No…how many house elves will I own once I become Lord Potter-Black?”

Bill let out a deep sigh as he began to add up the numbers in his head.

“Depends,” he finally replied. “House elves aren’t treated as slaves in most places around the world…more like indentured servants.”

“How many would answer the call if I summoned them all at once?” asked Harry.

“Well…House Potter has twenty-four that have been loaned out on long-term contracts, but they’d still respond if it was an emergency, so…”

“Just give me a number, Bill.”

“Thirty-seven.”

“Bloody Hell!” Harry hissed.

“Bloody Hell is right, someone’s coming,” Hermione whispered, after catching some movement with the corner of her eye.

Bill quickly cancelled the security charm.

“What are you three doing out here?” Molly asked, as she strode towards them with her clock under one arm and a wrapped package under the other.

Her son turned back towards his mum and said, “Teaching these two a tripwire detection charm.”

“You know that they are not allowed to do under-aged magic.”

“No law against them watching as I do the charm, is there?” Bill asked.

“They will do well enough to worry about the spells on the official Hogwarts spell list,” Molly declared. She turned towards Harry and asked, “Would you mind if Hedwig made a quick trip to Romania, Dear?”

The-Boy-Who-Lived looked at the large package under her arm and cautiously replied. “Not at all, Mrs. Weasley…although it isn’t going to be very quick if that’s what you want to send.”

Molly looked down at the package under her arm and shook her head. “Oh, no…this just arrived here for us,” she explained. “It’s just a small letter that I need to send to Charlie.”

Hedwig startled Molly when she chose that moment to silently swoop out of nowhere and landed on Harry’s shoulder. He couldn’t help his lips curling up into a small grin as his familiar balanced her weight on one foot as she held the other out towards Bill’s mum.

“Aaah…I left the letter back inside the kitchen,” said Molly. “And as long as we’re there…Ginny needs your help in the kitchen, Harry. If you work together there’s still enough time to start on a new batch of pain relief potions before bedtime.”

Harry’s eyes darted towards Hermione’s and they shared a brief, wordless conversation. Then he looked back towards Molly and nodded.

“See you two back inside?” he asked Hermione and Bill.

Molly frowned. “Oh, yes, that’s right…I’ve…I mean, Bill’s father and I…have decided to allow some of your free time to be spent on that contraption,” she stated. “Arthur is already doing his tinkering on the other side of the house now.

Hermione and Bill recognized this statement as both an order and an opportunity.

“We’ll head that way then, Mrs. Weasley,” the Muggleborn witch replied.

While Harry followed Molly back inside the house with Hedwig still perched on his shoulder, his future liegeman and current girlfriend took the long route around the house towards the gnome launcher. Bill used that time to tell Hermione that he’d anticipated her concerns about House Potter’s house elves, and placed a rare, out-of-print book inside of her storage button. It was written in the Nineteenth-Century by a jaded Muggleborn wizard who left the wizarding world after spending forty years at a dead-end job working for the “Beasts and Beings” section of the Ministry of Magic. The Ministry of Magic and Gringotts had worked together to buy up all of the first printing and prevent any subsequent editions of this expose from being made. Both institutions were highly motivated to keep certain truths about non-human sentients from escaping into the general magical populace…the Ministry was afraid that this knowledge would make them look bad, while the goblins were afraid that this knowledge would make them look too good (as there were profits to be made out of ignorance).

Bill highly recommended that Hermione read the chapter on house elves that night when she was alone in bed. She promised to do so, and they then spent the next ninety minutes happily experimenting with the magical artillery shells that Arthur had liberated from his wife’s impoundment.

Fleur still had two hours of guard duty to complete by the time that Hermione dressed for bed. Intent on keeping her promise to Bill, she sorted through her lingerie-filled storage button and selected a silk nightgown that was designed slightly more for her comfort than for her boyfriend’s enjoyment. As she settled into bed and opened the book to right chapter, she was overwhelmed by the feelings of sexual arousal that Harry was broadcasting through her familiar. Hermione was confused…with Hedwig making a mail run Harry couldn’t be getting any indication of her own emotional state, and she didn’t think Harry was narcissistic enough to get off on modeling his own mail-order unmentionables.

But then a more likely interpretation came to mind…her boyfriend wasn’t aroused by knowing what she was presently wearing or feeling…he was getting off just by imagining what she might be wearing or might be doing at that moment.

Hermione liked this interpretation very much. So much so that she closed the book, turned down the covers and slipped out of bed (not that she would have been able to focus on the text if she hadn’t). The Muggleborn expanded her storage button, shucked off the relatively modest slip, and pulled out one of the costumes that her boyfriend had selected from the mail-order catalog. She then jumped onto her bed, pulled the curtains, and set her book against the foot board.  She then pretended the book was her boyfriend, and proceeded to give the kind of show that she imagined that Harry might be imagining…acting if she was earning the arousal that he was presently broadcasting in her direction.

She knew that he had no way of knowing what she was doing right then, but figured that it would be just as much fun to watch his face the next day when she told him what she was wearing…and what she was doing while she was wearing it.