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Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall
Knight Protectors of the Realm, Part 2
By canoncansodoff
Author Notes:
Chapters 6 - 11
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.
oo00OO00oo
Chapter 6 – Love Shack
Ron had lived through a terribly rotten, no good, horrible day.
It started that morning, with a row with his mum over whether he would stay with Harry or at home. That argument made use of the Burrow’s floo connection out of the question. Planning on trying to hail down the Knight Bus, Ron had then levitated his trunk out to the road and stuck out his wand. And waited.
It was only until he started to think desperate thoughts about facing his mum again that the bus appeared. With Stan still in Azkaban, Ron had to deal with a replacement conductor, who was anything but friendly. When forced to explain his need for “emergency” transport, Ron was threatened with a citation and hefty fine for a frivolous call. As it was, he was given a stern warning and left alone (again) in the dust.
With no better alternative in hand, Ron made the three mile long walk into town. Since the nearest Muggle household was only a half-mile down the road, he hand carried his trunk for most of the trip. Dusty, sweaty, and extremely irritated, he arrived at Luna’s doorstep and prayed that she was home. In his first bit of good luck that day, she was.
Luna almost seemed disappointed when he explained why he’d shown up at her house with his trunk. Her mood brightened a bit, though, when Ron accepted her invitation to stay for dinner. Her father was gone on a special assignment, so they ate a simple meal with only each other’s company. Ron had to admit that it had been a lot easier for him to find things to talk about with Luna than he’d ever imagined possible.
Once dinner had ended, his nightmarish journey continued. Knowing that his brothers had stood watch on Privet Drive the night before, he used the Lovegood’s floo connection to get to their shop in Diagon Alley. Fred and George had made it clear that that he’d just be getting in the way, given how well Harry and Hermione had dealt with Dawlish and Umbridge . But on Ron’s insistence, they’d pointed their floo connection towards Arabella Figg’s fireplace and kicked him through the grate. Which led him to present circumstances.
The argument between Ron and Hermione reached Harry’s ears well before he reached them. It wasn’t a pretty sight...Ron was upset that Hermione hadn’t contacted him sooner. She was upset that he was being so presumptuous, that he hadn’t bothered to announce that he was coming to Little Whinging, and that he was an overall git.
Once they started talking about the Hogwarts Express and levitation spells, Mrs. Figg tactfully suggested that they find someplace a little less public to sort things out. Harry agreed, suggesting that Hermione go talk to her parents while he took Ron into Number Four.
Introductions went about as well as could be expected. Uncle Vernon whined about running a boarding house, but made sure it was said softly enough not to reach Brian’s ears. Ron was quite impressed with Harry’s new bedroom (formerly Dudley's old first bedroom), and appreciated the fact that there were two twin beds already in place. The huge telly was fairly mesmerizing, but the promise of a pitcher of iced pumpkin juice was enough to lure Ron out onto the backyard patio, where Harry had told Hermione to meet them.
Ron and Hermione’s second attempt at civility went more smoothly. Harry didn’t know if it was the pumpkin juice, or diminished shock from Ron's arrival, but really didn’t care. Despite how incredibly well things had been with just Hermione and himself in Muggleland, he had to admit that he was glad to see Ron. They talked well into the night about their experiences over the past two days.
Harry and Hermione gave a fairly accurate description of what they’d been through. Sensitive to Ron’s periodic fits of jealousy, neither was all that forthcoming about the their new relationship with the Royal household. Harry simply stated that he’d gotten some help from a friend of Dumbledore’s, and that Brian and the guys across the street were part of that assistance. They said nothing about their knighthoods, or about their Order of Arthur badges...which, they decided, had been a very good idea when they realized that a certain tabby cat was sitting on the side yard fence.
Harry had been to afraid to ask whether Hermione was going to now stay with her parents, so he was pleasantly surprised when she led the way upstairs, where Brian had already tucked in behind the new six-paneled door to his old bedroom. Hermione stopped at the top of the landing, gave Ron and Harry hugs that were exacting in their sameness, and retired to the master bedroom. As the two boys went to their new bedroom, they passed by the open doorway of the guest bedroom, which, despite the Dursley’s protests, had been left vacant...after all, they never knew when Harry’s Aunt Marge might stop by for a visit.
Karma’s little helpers had done well that day.
The following morning was blissfully uneventful. Brian eased up on the Dursleys (it was Sunday, after all), and allowed Vernon to take Dudley to the gym for a workout while he took the car into London for a visit to his favorite organic farmer's market. This allowed Harry to cook a yogurt-free traditional breakfast for Ron, Hermione, and himself, and for the three to make plans for the day. During a discussion on where the most secure place would be to make plans, Harry remembered that there was a magical tent inside his bag of tricks. After retrieving his knapsack from upstairs, they rolled out the tarp in Number Four’s backyard and staked down corner poles that magically telescoped out from their grommets. When fully erect, the tent was about the same size as the ones they’d used at World Cup.
“Harry,” Hermione asked, “did you say that you got this tent from Filch’s stash of confiscated items?”
“Yeah, seems kind of strange for something so innocent looking to be on the banned list, doesn’t it?”
Hermione’s eyes brightened up a bit. “Not if it’s the tent that I heard about at one of the Prefect’s meetings last year.”
“Nothing dangerous, was it?” Ron asked warily.
“Only if you’re worried about your morals,” Hermione replied. She looked around the fence line, and not seeing any neighbor’s noses, drew her wand. “One way to find out,” she said, and dove into the tent flap before either Ron or Harry could stop her.
“Hermione!” Harry exclaimed. He quickly grabbed his wand from his back pocket and followed right behind.
That it was a magical tent, there was no doubt. The interior space was much larger than its footprint. Harry couldn’t immediately tell whether there was more than one room, since his brain was too busy processing what was immediately before him.
Hermione was sitting on the edge of a large king-sized bed that was covered with a red, pink and white checked duvet. A very large mirror stood in lieu of a headboard; the ceiling itself was also mirrored. These mirrors reflected red and white blobs which were forming, growing and combining on the walls as if they were wall-papered with magical lava lamps. The floor was carpeted in a thick red shag; the room was lit by candlelight and smelled of jasmine and sandalwood.
“Hermione…where are we…why did you do that?” Harry asked.
“Because I knew you’d be right behind me.”
“Well of course I was going to be right behind you,” Harry said. “But what was so important to find out that it was worth scaring me to death?”
“Whether you’d be able….erm, Harry, where’s Ron?”
“Probably right behind me…” He turned to look back at the flap. Puzzled that Ron hadn’t already burst through, Harry poked his head out of the tent flap. His Aunt and Uncle’s backyard was still there, but Ron had gone missing.
Harry popped his head back inside and turned back towards Hermione, who now sported bright eyes and a smile.
“Hermione,” Harry said, “why do I think you know what’s going on?”
“Erm…because I’m the smartest witch in my generation?”
“Well, yeah,” said Harry, as he walked up towards a nightstand and spied the kind of "adult" toy not typically left by Father Christmas. “I just wouldn’t have expected you to be in the know about this, erm…this kind of magic.”
Hermione laughed, a bit nervously. “Well, there’s always the possibility that you don’t know everything about me,” she cooed, as she patted the bed with her hand. “Have a seat, Harry?”
He looked at her within the context of their surroundings and suddenly decided that sitting might be a very useful thing to do. Declining her invitation, though, Harry instead took a seat on the ground with his knees pulled up in front of his lap.
“So where did Ron go?” he asked.
“Probably wherever the distraction spell that we activated sent him.”
“We activated a distraction spell?”
“Yes, and a silencing spell as well, if this is the tent that I’m thinking of,” said Hermione.
“And what kind of tent is that?” Harry asked.
“It’s called a ‘Love Shack’,” she explained. “Japanese magical import, designed for couples that don’t have a place to, erm…to be together when they want to be alone. You know…get away from your parents…or friends…Japanese Muggles have something similar…they’re called Love Hotels.”
“Oh,” Harry said, “well I guess that makes sense, given the décor...so you’ve been in one of these before?”
“No,” Hermione said quickly. “I heard about it only after it’d been confiscated from a couple of Hufflepuffs.”
"That’s good,” Harry said, almost to himself. “So…they wanted something a little less crowded than the Astronomy Tower?”
Hemione returned the look of concern. “Yes they did…and just how do you know about the crowd at the Astronomy Tower?”
“Erm…so I’ve heard…” Harry replied defensively. Changing the subject, he asked, “So, with the distraction charms in place, how did the owner get caught?”
“With his pants down around his ankles,” Hermione said with a grin. “Oh, you mean…well, Hagrid spotted it on the Forest’s edge…they must have forgotten that giants are immune to most charms.”
It was then that they decided to check out the rest of the tent.
A sliding door along one of the sidewalls revealed a room nearly as large as the first, decorated and furnished to resemble a Japanese bath house. A wall of large stone boulders dominated the left side of the room, with water cascading down from the top in a waterfall that emptied into a recessed pool. Steam rose from the water’s surface and spilled over a short stone wall that divided the pool from the central tiled section of the room, which held two wooden benches laden with scrub brushes, buckets and hand-held shower heads. On the right side of the room, an elevated floor was covered with tatami mats made of woven straw. Large throw pillows and cushions were strewn around the floor mats; beyond that a large charmed window showed a blossoming cherry tree with boughs that framed a mountain vista.
Two pair of wooden sandals bounced up and down off the floor in front of Harry and Hermione like excited puppies. They took the hint, and slipped on the sandals before clip-clopping over the tile floor to shoji screens on the far wall. When pulled to the side, the room dividers revealed two separate changing rooms, a full lavatory, and a small, but functional kitchen furnished with a table set for two.
Harry had a mind to inspect the charmed window more closely. Hermione, unfortunately, was too late in warning him not to step onto the tatami with clad feet. As soon as Harry stepped on the mat he was unceremoniously hurled up into the air and thrown head-first into the pool. He surfaced to the sounds of Hermione’s laughter and the tatami mat’s scolding (its charmed voice that of an elderly Japanese woman).
“Harry, you do know that you’re supposed to scrub yourself clean before you enter the bath, don’t you?” Hermione asked, as she walked towards the pool. She then made the classic mistake of offering Harry a hand out of the tub. Whether it was that she trusted him too much, or had not seen enough romantic comedies, the result was the same; Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her into the water with him.
“Harry Potter, you are incorrigible!” Hermione shrieked, after she surfaced.
“Yeah? Well, Hermione Granger, you are very wet,” he replied, with lips pulled into a grin and two eyes pulled towards the front of her now-translucent t-shirt.
Hermione realized immediately what he was intimating, and dove back down to neck height. Her embarrassment was quickly tempered by agitation as he broke out into laughter.
“Oh, Harry…you are terrible. Just you wait.”
The brown-haired witch’s eyes narrowed a bit, a clear sign to Harry that she was working something out. Vamping for time, she asked, “So why are you glad that I’ve never been in one of these tents before?”
“What? Oh...well…why did you say that there’s no other boy you’d rather your parents get to know?”
“Oh, I don’t know, why did you call me your princess?”
“Princess? Well….what am I supposed to think about you using Tonks to see how well I fill out my pants?”
Hermione let out a giggle, “What’s bothering you about the modeling…what I saw, or that I needed Tonks’s help to see it?”
Harry sighed. “What did you see anyway?”
“So, do you really think I have a cute bum?”
“Answering a question with a question?”
Hermione scowled a bit, then finally figured out how she could exact revenge for her revealing wet t-shirt. Pulling her wand out from a submerged pocket, she chanted, “Evanesco!”
The look of surprise on Harry’s face told Hermione that her little experiment had been successful.
“What did you do that for?” he demanded.
“Didn’t want you to think I needed Tonks’s help to check you out,” Hermione said with a smile. “And if I’m going to be embarrassed about giving you a show when I step out of this tub, it’s only fair that you are as well.”
Harry looked at her for a second, before smiling. “Your mistake, my dear, is assuming that I would be embarrassed.”
He grabbed his wand, which had tumbled out of his back pocket when Hermione had made his trousers disappear, and stood up.
This move gave Hermione a close-up view of his dripping-wet Christmas present from Fred and George …crimson boxer shorts that sported a fluttering golden snitch centered on the button fly.
“Fancy a game of Quidditch, Hermione?”
The teen-aged witch looked up at Harry with a bit of awe, then realized that he was challenging her to display the same kind of Gryffindor courage. She stood up on the bench, just a few inches away from him, thrust her chest out with her hands on her hips, and looked straight into her tubmate’s eyes.
“Sure, Harry,” she replied. “Just so long as it’s my snitches that you’re reaching for.”
The-Boy-Who-Lived smiled, straining to maintain eye contact. He pointed his wand towards the wall and Accio’ed a short robe that was hanging on a hook. He then wrapped the garment around Hermione, grabbed the two ends of the sash, and used them to pull her wet body up against his. Her breath hitched as he tied the knot.
With a tinge of regret, Hermione nodded her head and summoned a second robe, which she wrapped around Harry. The robes had drying charms within their lining, so that they (and their clothes) were dry before their feet hit the floor. She then hung her robe back on a hook and transfigured Harry’s robe into a new pair of trousers.
“Think it’s time we go find Ron?” he asked.
Hermione sighed. “Suppose so.”
Together they walked back into the bedroom and towards the tent flap. Just before they reached the opening, Harry grabbed both of Hermione’s hands and faced her.
“So,” he said. “Lots of questions that went unanswered.”
“Maybe…I never could have imagined two more magical days, especially here in Little Whinging.”
A tinge of disappointment crept over Hermione’s face. “You make it sound like the magic is over.”
“Merlin, I hope not,” Harry replied.
His two hands releasing hers to reach up and cradle her cheeks as he turned his head slightly leaning forward kissed her.
It only lasted a few seconds. When he pulled back to break it off, her lips followed his, stealing a second peck before retreating in support of Hermione’s attempts to avoid swooning.
There was a look of wonder on her face…an “I can’t believe I kissed Harry” kind of look. She smiled and said sweetly (and somewhat cryptically), “Tin roof….rusty!”
Harry started to say something but she stopped him with a shake of her head and an index finger pressed up to his lips. Grabbing his hand, they walked back outside to take down the tent.
Ron was inside Harry’s bedroom, his eyes glued to a screen.
“Oh, there you two are…decided on a place to talk yet?”
Harry and Hermione looked at each other and smiled in the midst of Ron’s blissful ignorance. She pulled her wand out and was about to transform one of the twin beds into a meeting table before Harry gave a yell to mind his telly. Scowling a bit at how quickly he and Ron had fallen in love with their new electronic toys, Hermione led them next door.
It was the first Harry had seen his Aunt and Uncle's bedroom since its redesignation and refurbishment. He noted that there had already been two transformations; one that had replaced Petunia’s pseudo-Provincial dreck with the sleek Scandinavian design furniture from Harrods, and the second that had transfigured the modern pieces into something Hermione called “contemporary castle.” There was a four-poster bed that dominated the room, but it was built of light maple, rather than dark walnut and the curtains were white and gauzy rather than burgundy-colored and thick. She had added a fireplace, but it was trimmed with marble tiles rather than heavy stone. A comfortable reading chair and floor lamp, large maple desk and banks of maple bookcases completed the bedroom set.
Hermione shrank the bed down to doll-house dimensions and elongated the desk’s writing surface to form a table about which she conjured three chairs. Pulling the one nearest her back and taking a seat, she whipped out a blank scroll, quill and ink pot and looked up at her boys.
“Right, then...first things first,” Hermione said, once they followed orders. “Harry, as much as I hate to see you tempted into becoming a couch potato, you did have a good point about not using my wand in your room. We should designate your room as the Muggle room and mine as the magic room, and try to keep the two separate so as not to fry your new toys.”
“Erm, thanks…I guess,” he replied with a smile.
“Well, even with Auror Robard’s assurances, it would be best not to have too many spells going off in an under-aged wizard’s room.”
“Good point,” Ron said. “Guess that means the Xbox stays, right?”
“Merlin,” Hermione exclaimed, “boys and their toys.”
Harry tried to steer the agenda back on track.
“Right, well…there’s all kinds of things to discuss, but...I think for now we should focus on three issues…schedule, money, and Hermione’s house.”
“Sounds good to me,” Ron said. “The sooner we can get back to the wizarding world, the better.”
“Oh, Ron,” Hermione lamented, “you’ve been here all of what, half a day and already you’re complaining?”
“Yes, but...”
“Like I was saying,” Harry interrupted, “When Dumbledore made me promise to return here he never really said just how long I’d have to stay to extend my mum’s protections.”
“Well it shouldn’t be any longer than the shortest amount of time you’ve ever spent here, right?” asked Ron.
“Actually, Harry,” Hermione said, “I’ve anticipated this question.” She unrolled a parchment, enlarged it, and set it against the wall with a sticking charm. Upon the parchment was a chart with points and a line marked upon it.
“You’ll never change, will you?” Ron asked.
Hermione ignored him. “Harry, this chart plots the amount of time you’ve spent at your Aunt and Uncle for the past six years. After First Year, you were here most of the summer…Ron rescued you about a week before term, right? Before Third Year you stayed at the Leaky Cauldron for the better part of a month. Summer before Fourth Year, you were here a total of six weeks before the Quidditch World Cup. The Dementor attacks before Fifth Year limited your stay to four weeks, and then last year it was all of two, right?”
“Now you’ll notice that I’ve connected the points with a line that has a surprisingly constant negative slope. Projecting that line out to this year would suggest that in order to keep your mother’s protection you’ll have to stay under your Aunt’s control…”
“Up until lunchtime?” Harry said with a smile.
“Excellent,” Ron said. “So you can tell your relatives to piss off and we can all find someplace magical to live, right?”
“And where do you propose that would be?” Hermione asked.
“No shortage of food at The Burrow,” Ron replied.
“No shortage of stress, either,” said Hermione. “No thanks.”
“Well,” Ron replied, “what about Grimmauld Place? Food isn’t as good, but we could always get take-out from the Leaky Cauldron.”
“That’s great, Ron,” Hermione said. “Good to know we’d be AK’ed on full stomachs at least.”
“Ron, get a clue,” Hermione said. “We lost our secret keeper, so it’s not a secret location anymore.”
“Why not?” Ron asked. “Are you sure that the Fidelius Charm stops working once the Secret Keeper dies?”
“Honestly, Ron…” Hermione fumed. She got up, walked out the door, and returned a minute later with a rather frightened Dudley.
“Now, quit the whimpering,” Hermione told him, “I don’t want any stains on my new carpet.” She then turned towards the other two.
“Ron, would you be so kind as to tell Dudley where the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is?”
“Just do it, Ron,” Harry said, as he nodded his head and palmed his wand.
“Fine, but don’t blame me,” Ron replied. “Oy, Dudley…the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is Number Twelve Grimmau….”
“Obliviate!”
Harry and Hermione’s stereo simulcast knocked Dudley right between the eyes.
“Erm…how did I get here?” he asked, looking very worried.
“You walked,” Hermione replied, as she twirled her wand in one hand like a snare drum performer. “Now run along, Duddikins, before we decide to do some target practice.”
Harry's cousin didn’t need to be told twice.
“Fine,” Ron said, “so it’s no longer a secret location. All we need to do is cast a new Fidelius charm that protects the location of the home of the smartest smart-alec witch in all of England.”
“Be my guest,” Hermione said in a huff.
“What...you mean that you can’t cast that spell?”
“Ron,” Harry said, “there’s a reason why it was Professor Flitwick that cast the Fidelius charm. He was probably the only wizard in Britain skilled enough to cast it.”
“Think about it, Ron,” Hermione said. “If the charm was any easier to perform then Fred and George would have made themselves the secret keepers for Slytherin’s toilets years ago.”
“Which,” Harry said, “brings us to my second agenda item – money. As nice as we’ve been set up by...Dumbledore’s friend...I don’t want to rely on his generosity forever. I was hoping for Bill's help getting access to my accounts, but..."
“But there’s no telling when the Ministry will let him out of the restricted ward at St. Mungo’s,” Ron agreed.
“Right,” Harry said. “Frankly, I don’t have a clue how much I have in my vaults. Dumbledore told me last year that Sirius had left me Headquarters in his will, and that a 'reasonable' amount of gold had been transferred into my vault, but who knows how he defined ‘reasonable’?”
“How did you get money for books last year?” asked Ron.
“Bill got it for me, remember?” Harry replied. “Breakfast table…day we went to Diagon Alley…visited the twin’s shop and drew wands on Malfoy’s mom…”
“Oh yeah, how could I forget?” said Ron. “Should have cursed her when we had the chance...”
“Malfoy’s mom would well down on my 'To Do' scroll,” said Harry. “About eight feet below 'Take out trash – kill Snape'.”
“But the point is,” interrupted Hermione, “you don’t know how long your gold will last if your full-time job for the next year or so is defeating Voldemort.”
“Exactly," Harry replied. "I know that my parents had put enough gold into my vault to get me through school rather comfortably...but what if what I inherited from my parents doesn’t get released to my control until I turn seventeen...or twenty-one...or twenty-five?”
“So you’ve got ‘before’ gold and ‘after’ gold?” asked Ron.
“Yup,” said Harry. “Knowing how much of both I have would help a lot. If I had enough money to rent my own apartment, say, then I wouldn’t have to live here any longer than I needed to renew my mother’s protective charms. But if I have to wait…”
“What about that tent that was set up out back?” Ron asked.
Harry and Hermione shared worried expressions before she cautiously replied, “Turned out it was only designed for two people.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Ron replied. “So like I said at the start, there's always the Burrow.”
“Yeah, I know that,” said Harry. “But with Bill and Fleur’s wedding and all of the planning I don’t want to give your mum something else to worry about.”
“Wouldn’t be a problem at all,” said Ron. “Look, for once you are getting enough food to eat at the Dursley’s, so you won’t be showing up as the summertime skinny you’ve been in the past. Mum’s not going to have to take any time to put meat back on your bones. Second, you being there might actually help with the wedding. Even though she’s warmed up to the idea of having Fleur as a daughter-in-law, they’ve still been knocking heads over flowers and decorations and punch flavors. Enough to keep me out of the house and on our quidditch pitch all day long. I could use the company, and Ginny could too.”
“Ron,” said Harry, “you know how things stand between Ginny and me...we’ve broken up, and that isn’t a situation that is going to change. Period.” He looked at Hermione, who was looking down at the table, trying to hide a smile. “I don’t think that spending time in the same house will help things any.”
“Well you never know,” replied Ron.
“Let’s get back on track, shall we?” interjected Hermione. “Harry needs to find out what is in his vault, and what will be there once he turns seventeen. We all agree that he should avoid Diagon Alley right now, so he can't go to the vault himself. Bill can’t find out for him right now, and it might be difficult to sneak a goblin out of Gringott’s to visit Harry here.”
“So one of us can go for him,” replied Ron. “That is, if you trust us mate.”
Harry reached under his shirt collar and pulled out the necklace that held his bank vault key. He looked at both of his friends, thought for a moment, then handed it to Ron. “Will you go for me?” asked Harry. “I’d ask both of you to go, but with Hermione’s parents here in hiding…”
Ron straightened his back a bit as he reached out for the key. “I’d be happy to help, Harry. You can count on me.”
“I know I can, Ron,” Harry said. He tried to gauge Hermione’s reaction, but his peripheral vision was wretched without corrective contact lenses. “Now, Gringott’s won’t be open until tomorrow, and there’s probably extra security measures and long lines…any chance you could stay with Fred and George tonight and get there first thing in the morning?”
“Depends,” Ron said, only half-seriously, “what does that Brian chap have planned for dinner?”
“Didn’t you hear him talk about that organic farmer’s market?” Hermione asked. “He was planning on cooking up some bean curd and lentils, I think.” She flashed Harry a quick wink.
“Erm, right…I’ll be at my brother’s presently.”
Harry looked at Hermione and wondered if she’d wanted to have Ron out of the house as much as he did right about then.
“Finally, last agenda item,” he said. “We need to take down the Death Eaters parked in front of Hermione’s house.”
“And who is we, Harry?” Hermione asked. “It’s one thing to defend a house with only your bag of tricks, but to attack without a wand?”
“There has to be a way,” Ron said.
“Even if there was, we’d have to wait until Harry’s protections are renewed in a couple of weeks.”
“I don’t want to wait that long,” Harry said. “Maybe…I think that it’s time for Aunt Petunia to take me on a little car trip. As long as I’m under her so-called care, I should be covered.”
“What,” Ron asked, “she’s just going to wait in the car while you take care of the Death Eaters?”
“Why not?” Harry replied. “It might do her some good to realize what they’ll be up against once we’ve left Little Whinging for good.”
“But like Tonks said,” Hermione reminded him, “the spotters aren’t breaking any laws…last thing we need are charges of vigilantism.”
“It’s against the law to wear the Dark Mark, right?”
“Yes, but they were wearing long sleeves in the photograph,” Hermione said. “We can’t go after them on the assumption that they might be tattooed.”
“Well, you got to admit, Hermione, long sleeves in the heat of summer is a little suspicious, right?”
“It still doesn’t give us just cause…it wouldn’t give the Aurors probable cause to make them roll up their sleeves.”
“What if we could prove they had the Mark?” Harry asked.
“Then, sure, they are fair game,” Hermione replied. “But how?”
“Tonks did tell you about her discovery, right?”
“What, that you have a cute little birthmark just below your left…”
“No, you know….”
“Ok, fine,” Hermione replied. “Still we would want to decide whether to take those two alone, or set up a sting to get their support crew as well.”
“Sting?” Ron asked. “Shouldn’t we be planning on using something stronger than a stinging hex?”
Harry and Hermione looked at Ron and shook their heads.
“Purebloods,” Hermione said with exasperation and a smile.
“So should I go round up Aunt Petunia and the omnioculars?” Harry asked.
“Harry, did you hear what you just said?”
“Oh, Merlin…right up there with a skyclad Umbridge…sorry about that.”
“It’s alright,” Hermione replied. “So do you want to hassle with your Aunt, or get a quick answer?”
Harry’s eyes narrowed a bit in concern. “Yes, okay, but only if you take Tonks with you and promise not to do anything more than peep.”
“What are you talking about, Harry?” Ron asked.
“Hermione and Tonks are going to do a little scouting for us,” Harry replied.
“Oy, what am I,” Ron asked, “a potted plant?”
“No,” Hermione replied, “you are a wizard without a license to apparate.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ron said, “rub it in.”
Harry then nonchalantly turned to Hermione. “I’m going over to Number Five to ask Wally something. Do you want me to say anything to your parents?”
Hermione looked at Harry with one slightly raised eyebrow, then turned to Ron. “I probably should tell my parents that I’ll be gone for a couple of hours. Why don’t we meet in your room in fifteen minutes, then I can walk with you to Mrs. Figg’s?”
Ron thought for a second before saying sure, then made a beeline for the video game console next door. Harry grabbed the omnioculars and his invisibility cloak from their room, handed them to Hermione, and joined her as she went downstairs.
“So what do you need to ask Wally?” Hermione asked, once they were outside.
“Well, to be honest, I was more interested in asking you something without Ron being there,” Harry replied.
“Thought so,” Hermione replied with a smile. “Not sure it’s much better talking right under my parent’s noses, but…”
Steve had the door open even before they rang the bell. They asked for a quiet place to talk for a few minutes. Looking around, the only semi-private area they could find was the hall closet. Worried that being found there by her parents would be even more of a problem, Harry and Hermione settled for an empty living room with their eyes peeled for company.
Harry sat on the couch first; Hermione slid in facing him, with one leg tucked underneath, so that she could cover both of his legs with her other leg. She then leaned her side against the back of the couch, wrapped her arm around Harry’s shoulder and started to play with his hair. Harry recalled having lots of Common Room discussions with Hermione in this exact position, but never remembered the body contact to be so electrifying. He leaned his head back against her arm and smiled.
“Hermione,” he said, “We keep asking questions, and saying that we need to talk, but we haven’t…and I know that I’ve been reluctant to for fear of screwing up this wonderful thing that we’ve had going the past couple of days and so I haven’t pushed it, but maybe now…”
Hermione smiled back at him. “Things have been rather special, haven’t they?”
Harry nodded. “You know, as we were taking down the tent I was half afraid that what we did was more of a reaction to our surroundings, but…”
The fingers that had been running through Harry’s hair froze into a claw position.
“But,” he continued, “sitting here in this living room doesn’t make you any less fanciable…and doesn’t make me any less needy when it comes to wanting to snog you silly.”
Her fingers flattened against the side of Harry’s head and pulled it roughly towards hers as their lips connected in a brief but steamy kiss. Hermione pulled her head back and opened her eyes.
“Amazing how we think alike, isn’t it?”
Their discovery was bluntly interrupted when Wally cleared his throat from the hallway and announced that Mr. and Mrs. Granger were coming downstairs.
Harry pulled back a bit and expected Hermione to do the same, but she merely relaxed her grip on his head and returned to her hair play. She responded to Harry’s nervous glance towards the doorway with a smile, only turning towards the door when it was obvious that her parents had entered.
“Hi Mum. Hi Dad,” she said, with what Harry thought was an amazing amount of confidence.
“Well,” Mr. Granger said with a broad smile, “hello there you two…I do hope that we weren’t interrupting anything.”
“You were,” Hermione said, “but that’s okay…I’ve got to go out and do something with Tonks for a little bit…you two mind keeping Harry company while I’m away?”
The Boy-Who-Lived looked at his best friend with a bit of shock. “Erm, thanks but I really should be getting back to the house…don’t think my Aunt knows where I am right now.”
“So what was it that you wanted to talk about?” Hermione asked sweetly.
“Erm...,” Harry replied, a bit sheepishly, “I think that I got an answer to my question.”
Hermione’s eyes shone brightly. “Good,” she said. “I think that I did too.”
She stood and pulled Harry up off the couch. She didn’t let go of his hand as she walked towards her parents and gave each of them a quick peck on the cheeks. Harry looked a bit flustered by everything, but not enough to pull his hand back as her parents parted and let them pass.
“See you both for dinner tonight, right?” Roger asked.
“Erm, sure,” Harry replied, after getting a confirmatory nod from Hermione.
Hermione’s dad smiled. “Off you go, then, dinner’s at seven.”
Roger had enough courtesy to wait until Harry and Hermione were half-way across the street before coughing the word “Whipped!” into his hand. The coughs generated when his wife responded with an elbow to his ribs were far less intelligible.
Chapter 7 – Dealing with the Death Eaters
Harry wasn’t in the mood for studying or researching while Hermione was in harm’s way, so when Brian returned from the market he was more than willing to help put away groceries. That presented the young wizard with the opportunity to thank the Queen's man again for helping secure the safety of Hermione’s parents, and for making his stay with his Aunt and Uncle enjoyable for once.
The two talked a bit more about schedules and safety. It helped that Brian was a card-carrying Muggle; it gave Harry latitude when it came to discussing the anti-apparation wards and his mother’s protective charm. When The Queen's man pointed out that with those wards in place there would be advantages for staying on at Number Four even after two weeks time, Harry noted that the house was rather crowded. And as much fun as it was to put his Aunt and Uncle in their places, having them camp out in the living room wasn’t going to be fun for anyone for more than a couple of days. Brian said that there might be a win-win scenario for all involved, if they looked hard enough.
Harry also expressed concern about now having two houses to potentially defend, and limited options for safe havens if they came under attack. Harry hadn’t minded putting his relatives in the bathtub during the Auror incident, but didn’t care for the idea of forcing the Grangers to do the same. Again, Brian thought that there might be a solution to that problem, and when asked, Harry agreed that he’d be more likely to stay at Number Four through the summer if that problem was addressed.
Fifteen minutes after she’d left Hermione rang Harry on his mobile phone. He went up to his room to take the call.
“Hermione…please tell me you’re safe.”
“Harry, I’m safe…please tell me you’re breathing.”
“Yeah, yeah, can’t a guy worry about the safety of his girl…erm,”
“What was that Harry? Did you call me a girlerm? Gee, must of missed that Magical Creatures class.”
“Very funny, Hermione,” Harry replied. “So did you get a look at them?”
“And,” Hermione whispered conspiratorially, “underneath their clothes they were naked!”
“Hermione,” Harry said with some degree of exasperation, “did they have the Dark Mark?”
“Yes, Harry, they did. Tonks downloaded the images from the omnioculars to her wand and returned back to the Auror Department to show it to her boss. She’s going to get back to me once they’ve decided what to do.”
“At a coffee shop a couple of blocks away from my parents house,” Hermione replied. “Just thought I’d call before I apparate so you don’t worry when you hear my arrival.”
“Good idea. Say, speaking of mobiles and apparation, did you have your phone on when you left here?”
“Erm, I guess I did,” Hermione replied. “Forgot to turn it off…funny, it seems to have survived the jump.”
“That is strange,” Harry said, “but useful to know….wonder if you could use it within a magical area like Diagon Alley.”
“That I’d doubt,...but we could always try.”
“Maybe so,” Harry said, “but rather than Diagon, maybe you could swing by St. Mungo’s? I feel so bad that I can’t visit Bill right now.”
“Why Harry, that’s so thoughtful. But what if Ginny or Molly are there, what should I say?”
“Dunno...How about, ‘Nice to see you Molly and back off Ginny he’s all mine?”
“So you’d want me to lie?” Hermione asked with a touch of tease.
“What would be the lie? It wouldn’t be nice to see Molly there?”
“Oh, Harry, I wish I could reach through the mobile and hug you right now.”
“Me too. But that’s okay…not like there’s going to be anyone stopping us when you do return.”
“Yeah, I noticed that,” Hermione said with a smile that he couldn't see. “Have you started a list of overnight errands for Ron to run?”
“Hermione, you are terrible...Brilliant, but terrible. Now go say hello to Bill while I start on that list.”
Harry played with the Xbox for a few minutes before losing all patience and heading downstairs to wait for Hermione on the front steps. He found the Grangers doing the exact same thing across the street, having received a call from their daughter right after she’d talked with Harry. The invitation to wait with them on the back patio with a pitcher of pumpkin juice was too tempting to pass up, even with the potential for embarrassing questions. After securing his Aunt’s begrudged “permission,” Harry crossed the street and had an amazingly relaxed visit with Hermione’s parents, taking the opportunity to fill them in on the neighbors, the neighborhood, and his life before Hogwarts.
The patio conversation was starting to show inflections of anxiety when, after thirty minutes' time, Hermione still hadn’t appeared. It was terribly difficult for Harry to maintain his wits; he was still getting used to the idea of Hermione off on her own, without his help and protection. The wonderful way she’d handled herself with the Aurors had been reassuring, yet he still felt incredibly responsible for her well-being.
The crack of an arrival by apparation was music to their ears, once Harry told Mr. and Mrs. Granger what that sound meant. They were heading through the house to the street when Steve barreled down the stairs with the news that someone had apparently apparated. A quick call to Hermione confirmed that she’d made her arrival, and was only a block away from the house. When Harry and the Grangers walked out to the front curb, they spotted Hermione walking down the street. It was all Harry could do not to charge down the street to snog her senseless.
“Hey, Hermione, how did your ‘errands’ go?” her father asked, once she’d reached the front of Number Five.
“Fine, Dad,” she replied, “back safe and sound.”
“Did you get to see Bill?” Harry asked.
“Yes, Harry. He and Fleur said hello, and thanks for thinking of them.”
“Just Fleur,” the Muggleborn said with a smile. By then they’d all reached the living room, where Harry and the Grangers sat on the couch. Hermione reached inside her jacket pocket and retrieved the omnioculars and invisibility cloak, which she tossed to Harry.
“Thanks for letting me borrow the cloak,” she said. “Came in real handy when I slipped by the scouts.”
“Hermione!” Harry exclaimed. “You promised that you’d stay safe!”
“I was safe! Tonks had a wand pointed at the two the whole time I was inside.”
“Do I dare ask where inside was?” her mother asked.
“Well,” Hermione said, “I couldn’t resist picking up a few things as long as I was at the house.” She reached into her jacket once more and retrieved two match-box sized objects that she expanded into two large photo albums.
“Oh Hermione, you shouldn’t have,” her mother said quietly. “You know that your safety was more important than these.” The tears in her eyes, however, strongly tempered the admonishment.
“Well, with all of the teasing…” Hermione replied. She gave her parents their wedding photo album, then sat on Harry’s lap.
Leaning back, she placed her head on Harry’s shoulder, opened the front cover of the second album, and showed him the still image of a two-year old child sitting on the floor, wearing a pink frilly dress and an opened book for a hat.
“Once upon a time,” she said using a storytelling voice, “there was a little girl that didn’t know that she was a witch…”
That night's dinner conversation focused on two main topics: how silly it had been for Hermione to have snuck into her parent’s house to retrieve the photo albums, and how cute Hermione had been as a child. She was thankful that most of the conversation dwelt on the latter topic. It had only taken a few pages of photos for Harry to forget how angry he was at the risk she had taken, and instead marvel that Hermione was sharing that part of her life with him.
When the conversation did drift back to the Granger residence the talk was centered around how the Death Eaters might have found out where Hermione lived. It wasn’t as if there was a directory of witches and wizards, and even if there was it wouldn’t have included Muggle addresses that lacked floo connections. And while Harry suspected that Snape had, at some point in time, been part of the Order’s rotation keeping watch over Number Four, neither he nor Hermione had been aware of any similar protection for her or her parents.
Harry and Hermione started to fret when they realized that the Death Eaters might know not just her home address, but the addresses of other Muggleborns as well. They decided that Headmistress McGonagall would be the best person to ask about home addresses and who might have them, but didn’t want to discuss the issue with her over the floo. Harry would have owled, save for the fact that Hedwig still hadn’t returned from her trip to the Ministry. That, he realized, was a separate problem.
Mr. Granger suggested that they could tell if Muggleborn houses were being watched by ringing them up directly and asking. Harry and Hermione thought that was a smashing idea, and decided that Dean Thomas would be a good test, until they realized just how many Thomases there were in the London telephone directory. Mrs. Granger then suggested that Wally and Steve might be able to help, given the fact that they had somehow figured out how to contact them two weeks past. And so it was that while Roger and Emily stayed on the patio to drink some tea, Harry and Hermione had a little chat with Wally.
They found him in the kitchen of Number Five.
“Wally,” Harry asked, “I was wondering if you guys could help us find a friend?”
“Sure, I can try, is this person Muggle or magical?"
"Magical,” Hermione replied, “but his parents are card-carrying Muggles and he’s probably staying with them right now.”
“And I’m guessing you’ll need more than a phone directory?”
“Okay,” Wally said, “hold on while I get my laptop.”
The security man went upstairs and returned a few seconds later with his portable computer.
“It’ll just take a few seconds to start up. I was trying to troubleshoot why it wasn’t working across the street.”
“Oh, I could have told you that,” Harry replied. “You had it set up next to an activated magical device.”
Wally thought for a second. “The binoculars?”
Harry nodded as he fished the omnioculars out of his pocket. “Don’t worry,” he said, “They're deactivated right now.”
“I’d like to talk with you about that interference, some time…it might help our security,” said Wally. “And by the way, we call ourselves ‘c-mugs.’”
“Oh,” Harry said. “What is it with Muggles and their love of acronyms?”
Wally flashed a smile that would have been emoticon’ed in text. When the image he was waiting for appeared on his monitor he typed a few keystrokes and moved the arrow around the screen with a trackball at the keyboard’s base. Harry thought Wally’s hand movements weren’t any less intricate than those used to cast an average-level spell, particularly when he quickly keystroked in the answers to his questions.
“Right, then,” Wally began. “Does your friend have a name?”
“Dean Thomas.”
“Thomas..Thomas…Thomas. Right. Not on the list. No worries.”
He opened a new window on the screen and did more data entry.
“Do you know his parent’s names?”
Harry and Hermione looked at each other then jointly answered “No.”
“Erm…same year in school as me, birthday’s March the 24th,” Harry replied.
“Do you know roughly where he lives?”
“Blast it. It would have to be London, wouldn’t it….bloody fools couldn’t compile records if they collated themselves…so, do you know what part of London?”
“Do you know if his parents both living?”
“Still living in the same place as when he started at your school?”
After a few more keystrokes Wally looked up at Harry.
“So tell me everything you can remember about his Muggle life.”
“Anything…brothers and sisters, any schools he talked about, places he visited, names of relatives, old girlfriends…”
“Well, he loves football…still has a West Ham poster above his bed at school.”
“Oh, an East Ender, most likely…that helps. Anything else?”
Wally’s fingers flew over the keyboard he was hunched over as his eyes scanned window after window as they popped up on the screen. Thirty seconds later, he rolled his shoulders, drew his hands back from the keyboard and sighed. “All that information, and I can’t pin him down,” he said. “I should be embarrassed, even working with such a common name.”
“So,” Hermione said, “it was a little easier to track down a girl named Hermione?”
Wally grinned at her. “Once we figured out how to spell your name, yeah…you were pretty unique.”
Harry wondered how Wally had gotten Hermione’s name in the first place, but held that thought. “Hold on,” he said. “Why are you trying to apologize for not finding his address, when all we gave you was a name, birth date and favorite football team? Pretty hard on yourself, aren’t you?”
“I need to be, Sir Harry,” Wally said, “if I’m to be of any help to you and to the Crown, right?” Wally hunched back down over the keyboard, looking at the different windows opened on his laptop’s LCD. “Let me take a look back…you are certain of his birthday?”
“Yes,” replied Harry, “we threw him a party this past spring when he turned seventeen…woke up a bit tender the next morning.”
“And his parents are both living?”
“He’s talked about his mum and dad at school,” Harry said.
“I’ve met his parents at the train platform,” Hermione added. “Why do you ask?”
“Well,” Wally replied, “there’s a Dean Thomas that looks like a good match, except that he was born Dean Wardlow.”
“Why would that be a good match?” Harry asked.
“Because,” Wally explained, “this boy’s father died when he was only a year old. His surname was changed to Thomas when his mother remarried.”
“Oh,” Harry replied, “he’s never said anything about a stepfather.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know,” Hermione said.
“Didn’t know that his real father died when he was a baby?” Harry asked, knowing what that might have felt like.
“You never know,” Wally said. “One quick way to find out, though.”
Wally took his mobile phone out and dialed a number that he read off of his screen. When it began to ring he handed the phone to Harry. When it was answered, Harry introduced himself and asked for Dean. A few seconds latter, an incredulous Muggleborn began to ask questions.
“Harry?” Dean asked. “Harry Potter ringing me on a Muggle telephone? What’s going on?”
Hermione grabbed the phone from Harry’s hand.
“Hi, Dean, this is Hermione. We’re just making sure that all of the DA members got back safe from school and that things are alright at your house.”
“Things are fine, here, though they’d be a lot better if the boys were playing better over in Germany…are you and Harry, erm...together right now?”
“Obviously, Dean, since we’re in on the same telephone conversation,” Hermione replied. “Ron and I are staying with Harry at his Aunt and Uncle's to make sure things are safe for him there.”
“Oh…of course, that makes sense,” Dean replied.
“So Dean, we’re trying to limit communications by owl and floo, for security reasons…is this telephone number going to be a good way to reach you?”
“Sure,” Dean replied. “I’m amazed you were able to get it, but I guess you are the brightest witch, right?”
“Something like that,” Hermione replied with a smile. “We’ll talk to you soon, Dean.” As she ended the call Harry looked at Hermione closely, trying to figure out just what his dorm mate had said to make her smile.
Wally had been quietly typing information into the computer screen during the conversation. Harry turned to him and asked, “So, I don’t know much about computers….how easy would it be for a Death Eater to do that?”
“It’d be bloody impossible, Sir Harry,” Wally said, “unless he had the same security clearances and the same knowledge of on-line databases that I have.”
“Don’t pay any attention to him, Wally,” Hermione said. “Google searching isn’t high on the list of Harry’s lovable traits.”
“Hey!” Harry said. “Erm, well, fair enough, so long as there’s plenty of other reasons to love me.”
“Oh, there are, Harry, there are,” Hermione said with a smile. “So Wally, would you mind sharing with us how you worked your on-line magic?”
Wally looked at her and thought for a moment. “I’d love too, but….hold on a minute. Why don’t you guys grab something to drink from the kitchen and I’ll see what I can do?”
The c-mug locked his screen and went upstairs. When he returned to the living room he found Harry and Hermione sipping cold butterbeers.
“I’m impressed,” Harry said, as he raised his bottle in Wally’s direction. “Who’s your supplier?”
“The Palace sent over a case this morning,” Wally replied. “They have a few connections.”
“I’m beginning to appreciate that fact,” Hermione said. “So what did you find out?”
Wally grinned sheepishly. “I found out that when it comes to magical issues you have higher security clearances than I do. Who would’ve known?”
“Erm, certainly not us,” Hermione replied. “That’s wild…I wonder why ever that is?”
“Perhaps it comes with the badge and hood?” Harry asked.
“Maybe,” Wally replied. “What it certainly does mean, though, is that I can tell you exactly how I found your friend’s potential home address.”
“You were cross-referencing existing electronic databases?” Hermione asked.
“Yes,” Wally said. “Although truth be told, I was working primarily with a highly classified database we just finished compiling a couple of months ago.”
“So what does this classified database identify?” Hermione asked.
“Muggleborn students at Hogwarts.”
“Excuse me?” Harry asked. “You’ve figured out a way of identifying magical children?”
“No,” said Wally, “just those who lived in Muggle society at some point in time, so no purebloods.”
“How did you figure out how to identify Muggleborns?” Hermione asked.
“Well,” Wally replied, “it all started with Sir Harry.”
“And exactly how did I start you off?”
“You did what to me?” Harry asked.
“We used you as a confirmed data point, Sir Harry, and worked our way backwards to find out how we might identify you and others like you with the information at hand.”
“And when did you find out about me…that I was a wizard?” Harry asked.
“Last August, in a meeting with our P.M., your former Minister of Magic…Fudge, right?...anyway, he told our Prime Minister about a 'boy-who-lived'.”
“Merlin, no,” Harry replied. “I’m never going to live down that nickname, am I?”
“Go on, please,” Hermione asked.
“Right then,” Wally replied. “In this meeting, your Minister talked about the battle against Mr. You-know-who and his Death Eaters, and the role that Sir Harry has in that battle. Well, the P.M. decided that our government should learn everything we could about this Harry Potter person.”
“Why would your Minister want to know about me?” Harry asked.
“I’ve never been told explicitly,” Wally said, “but I suspect that our government was keen on finding you, so that we could offer our assistance.”
“And just why would the Muggle government want to help me?” Harry asked.
“Because Muggles are dying in your war, Sir Harry, and should, Heaven and Merlin forbid, the dark side prevail, many more Muggles will die.”
“Oh,” Harry said quietly. “That makes sense, I guess.”
“So what governmental databases did Harry turn up on?”
“Quite a few, actually,” Wally replied. “The most telling one was the list of children under guardianship due to deceased parents. You, Sir Harry, are the only Harry Potter on that list plus or minus three year’s age.”
“Fudge told your P.M. that my parents were killed?”
“Erm, yes, I guess so,” Wally replied. “We didn’t have a transcript to work off of…just got a summary based on what the Prime Minister could recall once he had the courage to admit to our Director General that he’d been visited by wizards.”
“So what else did you figure out about me?” Harry asked.
“Well, from the guardianship records we learned that your parents were both killed on the same day when you were a baby, that you were being raised by your Muggle aunt and uncle, and that you left the public school system at age eleven but still had residence in Surrey. That’s actually far more then we needed, of course, but the extra information did provide some nice confirmation.”
“So you found Harry…how did you extrapolate from him to other Hogwarts students?” Hermione asked.
“Ah, there’s the deductive reasoning part.” Wally said. “Harry left the school system at age eleven to attend Hogwarts, and he didn’t take any GCSE’s. So we compiled a list of all the students that were enrolled in community schools at some point over the past twenty years, but didn’t sit for those examinations.”
“GCSE’s...those are the Muggle versions of our O.W.L’s right?” Harry asked.
“Pretty much,” Hermione confirmed.
“Why was sitting for these examinations important?” Harry asked.
“Because,” said Hermione, “there are quite a few students who first attend local primary schools, then public secondary schools. But unlike Hogwarts students, almost all of these public school students still sit for the GCSE’s, right?”
“Correct, Dame Hermione,” Wally said. “Even home-schooled Muggle children sit for the exams. And since school attendance is compulsory until age 16, we reasoned that the only students that left a Muggle school at age eleven and didn’t take GCSEs were those that moved out of the country, or died. And that information is compiled in databases as well. It wasn’t a perfect screening process; mind you; we got false positives for students at a few public schools that use the IB examination program, and those that attended boarding schools outside of Britain.”
“That’s the excuse my parents used!” said Hermione.
“Yes, we’ve run into that a fair bit. But the c-mugs in our group were able to validate the model using their magical sibling’s names.”
“Not to be rude, or anything,” Harry asked, “but why was it so important for you to identify Muggleborn students at Hogwarts?”
“Because we have reason to believe that they and their families are at greatest risk for any non-random attack by the Death Eaters,” replied Wally. “Should the worst occur, we have contingency plans in place to relocate any who are willing to locations outside of the country.”
“Wow,” Harry wisecracked, “a government that is actually trying to protect its citizenry. What a novel idea.”
Hermione’s eyes brightened as she raised her eyebrows a bit and leaned forward. “So why don’t you back up a bit, now and tell us more about that list you first mentioned.”
“Oh,” said Wally, “that’s just our list of all known wizards and witches, including the Hogwarts students.”
“You’ve got a list of known wizards?” Harry said excitedly. “How in Merlin’s name did you compile that list, and how many names are on it?”
“Well, to answer the second question first, we’ve got…” Brian scrolled down to the end of a screen window. “Five-hundred forty-seven, of which three-hundred eight are confirmed. Tip of the iceberg, for sure, but one does have to start someplace.”
“Well how long have you been looking?” Harry asked.
“About nine months,” Wally said. “Your name was first on the list, once we got it from the P.M.”
“And who are ‘we’, Wally?” Hermione asked. "You said something about 'our' Direct General."
“Erm, let’s just say a very select group within Her Majesty’s Secret Service.”
“So that means that you’re more than just a Palace security person, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, Dame Hermione, it does.”
“And Steve, and Brian as well?”
“You mean that you’re all spies?” Harry asked with concern.
“No, Sir Harry, it does not,” Wally replied. “We gather information on magical threats to our country and its citizens.”
“So you belong to MI-5, the Security Service?” Hermione guessed.
“Not quite, Dame Hermione,” Wally said. “Our small group worries about both internal and external magical threats, so it includes people from both MI-5 and MI-6, the Secret Intelligence Service.”
Hermione let out a small laugh. “Don’t tell me…you officially don’t exist, but your work involves magic and holds jurisdiction that is between that of MI-5 and MI-6. So logically, if anyone in your group has a sense of humor, you would have called yourselves…”
“We do.” Wally interrupted with a smile.
“Have a rather twisted sense of humor.”
“Oh,” Harry said. “So who exactly do you work for?”
Hermione answered for the Muggle secret agent.
The next morning found Harry and Hermione both thinking about the previous night, and their first quarrel as a semi-official couple (over Wally’s revelations about just how much the Muggle government knew about the wizarding world).
The list of identified Muggleborn Hogwarts students that they’d been shown was disturbingly accurate, save for the omission of those born and raised in the Irish Republic. Wally was pleasantly surprised when Harry told him this; MI-5 ¾ hadn’t realized that Hogwarts drew students from beyond the borders of the United Kingdom. He had, in fact, been poised to confirm Wally’s list right then and there before Hermione stopped him.
Later that night she laced into Harry for his willingness to divulge wizarding world secrets to Wally and the Muggle government that he worked for. Hermione reminded Harry about his obligation not to reveal, to the extent practicable, any information about the magical realm to Muggles. When Harry responded with disparaging comments about the wizard governments that enforced these non-disclosure laws, she reminded him that running afoul of the Ministry put him at risk for sanctions and/or jail time in Azkaban that would hamper his horcrux hunt.
The one good thing that came out of that discussion was their willingness to find common ground. Harry had seen Ron and Hermione have similar arguments many times before, but they rarely were able reach consensus. But last night, Harry had been willing to accept that he’d been a little too loose with information, and Hermione was willing to accept the idea that there were extenuating circumstances that clouded what would otherwise have been a black and white issue (like the fact that without Wally’s list there wouldn’t have been the surveillance in place to warn her parents away from their house). They finally resolved to obtain some wizarding world legal advice from someone they could trust.
Wally had provided them with the list of suspected Hogwarts students, and they’d spent a good deal of time figuring out how to enter the contact information onto the laptop computer that had been included in Harry’s refurbished bedroom. While they’d been encouraged by the fact that Dean Thomas’s house hadn’t been hit by Death Eaters, they wanted to confirm that observation with the other Muggleborns. By the time they decided to call it a night neither was much in the mood to deal with the possibilities afforded by unchaperoned adjacent bedrooms; that would have brought on an entirely new discussion and some probing self-evaluation. So they parted not that much differently than if Ron or her parents were right there with them - a hug and quick peck on the lips before retiring to their separate rooms.
It had been too late to contact the other students to confirm their phone numbers and addresses the night previous, so Harry and Hermione were now calling on some of their classmates as they waited for Ron to return from the bank. In doing so they spread word of the Death Eater sightings at Hermione’s house, and gathered additional contact information. As Hermione had pointed out, it was unlikely that the Ministry of Magic was currently monitoring instant messaging or e-mail traffic.
Ron returned to Privet Drive much sooner than expected. The trip to Gringott’s had been very short; the goblins had ratcheted their security procedures up to 11 on a scale of 10. Only the vault owners were allowed access, even if they’d authorized another person to use their key. Had Harry shown up in person there still would have been a day-long queue to get though their verifications. When Harry observed that he would have to make a trip himself, Ron told him that the goblin they had spoken with was most apologetic, and seemed to understand why Harry couldn’t be there. Arrangements had therefore been made for Harry to meet with a Gringott’s representative at a Muggle bank in The City the following morning. Harry wondered just how the goblins would swing that one off once Ron confirmed that his brother was the only human that worked directly for Gringott's.
They ended their conversation just as the doorbell rang. The man at the door introduced himself as Robert Baxter, and while his business card read “Royal Historian,” his laminated identification card credentialed him as a member of MI-5.
Harry showed him into the kitchen, where Brian had a fresh pot of coffee waiting. The historian stated that the Prince had asked him to visit Privet Drive and answer any questions they might have about the extent of Muggle knowledge of the wizarding world.
Ron looked rather skeptical. “I didn’t know Muggles knew anything about the wizarding world.”
“Mr. Weasley,” Baxter replied, “royal families have long been aware the world of magic, and for good reason.”
Harry asked a more probing question. “So who do you work for…the Prince, or for MI-5 ¾?”
“Both, actually,” the historian replied.
“Well can you explain something then?” Harry asked. “When I talked with the Prince he made it sound like he was operating independently of the Prime Minister’s office…and that he knew much more than the P.M did about the wizarding world. Yet now we’re being told that the P.M. created MI-5 ¾ and has been getting information independent of the Royal household. And we’ve got people like yourself that say they work for both…so what’s going on?”
The historian looked at Harry appraisingly. “It is a rather complicated situation,” he finally admitted. “The Royal household has always been aware of the wizarding world, to some extent. In contrast, up until the past year the civilian Muggle government knew very little about the wizarding world. That all changed when your Minister of Magic told our P.M. about your troubles; there has been a massive ramp-up in information gathering by the civilian government since that time, led by MI-5 ¾. This effort necessarily involved the recruiting of new agents, and focus was made on enlisting the help of c-mugs and others already aware of the wizarding world. Brian Willox and I were part of that first recruitment class. But since we kept our jobs with the Royal Household, we’re currently working undercover, so to speak.
“So the Royal Household doesn’t know about MI-5 ¾?” Hermione asked.
“No,” Baxter replied, “well, to be precise, not the Prince or the Queen. And the Prime Minister, in turn, doesn’t know that the Royal family knows about the wizarding world.”
“Why all the secrecy?” Harry asked.
“Plausible deniability,” the historian replied.
“Plausible deniability,” Hermione explained, “is when people that work for a political leader keep sensitive information from him or her, so that the leader can truthfully deny any knowledge of that information if things go wrong.”
“Well put, Dame Hermione,” Baxter said, “although in this case the knowledge is withheld so as to protect it.”
“What,” Harry asked, “you can’t trust the Royals or P.M.?”
“On the contrary, Sir Harry,” Baxter replied. “It’s that we don’t trust their occlumency skills. Since they come in contact with wizards as part of their duties, it’s important that their knowledge of the wizarding world be kept to more or less what the wizards think they should know. And it’s all the more important for the P.M to keep clear of our work, given the fact that he’s got one of your wizard policemen sitting outside his office door.”
“An Auror working at Number 10?” Harry marveled. “Wonder if Tonks knows who that is.”
“Speaking of withholding knowledge, Sir Harry,” Hermione chided. The historian chuckled as she turned towards him. “No offense, Mr. Baxter.”
“None taken,” he replied. “I rather like the current contents of my brain, and don’t fancy the thought of it getting erased.”
“Then perhaps we should focus on what you already know about wizards and Muggles.”
“A captial idea,” the historian replied. “Perhaps you can tell me how much history they teach at Hogwarts?”
Hermione was fairly forthcoming. “Every Hogwarts student studies the history of our school, and that necessarily spills over into more general wizard world history. But while I’ve always been fascinated by the subject,” she continued, making a pointed glance towards Ron and Harry, “some others find it hard to apply themselves.”
Ron smirked, “Well, Hermione, you have to admit that the instructor wasn’t the liveliest on staff."
“Ah, I see,” said the historian, “and how much do you know about the history of Great Britain, or the Muggle world in general?”
“There is a Muggle studies class, but from what I hear the textbooks are more than a century old ,” replied Harry. “Hermione and I attended Muggle primary schools, so I guess we know the basics.”
Harry was amazed to see Hermione shake her head in agreement. An admission that she had only a rudimentary understanding of anything under the sun was a rare event.
The historian nodded, and began his story with the days of Camelot, when the realms of magic and monarchy openly coexisted.
Merlin served as King Arthur’s closest advisor and sat at the Round Table amongst other wizards, knights and paladins. Subsequent kings and queens had a Royal Wizard on staff to advise them as well. This situation wasn’t unique to England; kings and queens on the Continent had their own wizards as well. As a result, when one king warred with another, the wizards on each side joined the battle.
He then jumped a few centuries to 1066, when William the Conqueror and the Normans invaded England. The Normans brought their wizards with them, and they fought the English wizards in a battle separate from the defeat at the Battle of Hastings. The historian noted that in contrast to the Muggle armies, the English wizards actually defeated their Norman counterparts, under the inspired leadership of the King’s Wizard Gryffindor.
“So Godric Gryffindor was the English King’s wizard?” Hermione asked. “That’s not something that’s well known in our world.”
“Wait a minute,” Ron said, as he worked out the math. “Isn’t Hogwarts supposed to be more than a thousand years old? Godric would have had to been at least 150 years old by 1066.”
“Ron,” Hermione said, “maybe you want to recall how old our last Headmaster was?”
“Oh yeah,” he replied. “Never mind.”
“Now when the Norman King William took control of England,” Baxter continued, “he demanded that Lord Gryffindor swear fealty to him. But Gryffindor was tired of battle, and tired of being intertwined in Muggle politics. And so he quite simply vanished, and took the wizarding world with him.”
“He went back to Hogwarts,” said Harry. “That makes sense, since it is in Scotland, which wasn’t under Norman rule at the time, right?”
“Correct, Sir Harry,” the historian said. “Legend has it that he had joined forces with the great wizards of Wales, Ireland and Scotland and formed a magical United Kingdom long before the Muggle version came into being.”
“So the other founders were also king’s wizards?” Hermione asked.
“That, Dame Hermione,” he replied, “we do not know.”
Ron looked at Hermione and Harry with no small amount of confusion over why the historian was calling her “Damn Hermione.” Harry looked at Ron, and acknowledged his confusion with the one word promise of “Later.”
“So,” the historian continued, “wizards and witches have lived amongst us but apart from us for the past thousand years. Given things like the Spanish Inquisition, I can’t say I blame them. But there have been times when our worlds have collided, or at least overlapped a bit more than either side might have liked. There has therefore always been a need to keep Muggle leaders in the know about the wizarding world. These days, it is your Minister of Magic and our Prime Minister that meet from time to time, but back in the old days, when the monarchy had a bit more power than it now enjoys, it was the Queens or Kings of England and Scotland that were kept in the loop.”
“Interesting,” Hermione said. “But why does the Queen’s family still know about the wizarding world now that they don’t actually run the government?”
The historian smiled and gave a partial answer. Given the frequency of changes in Muggle civilian government, there were probably advantages in maintaining long-term contact with the Royal family. He also noted that since members of the Royal family almost always married members of other European royal families, that there weren’t that many people that had to be trusted with the truth.
The next hour was spent talking about intertwined histories since Godric’s time, and the interactions between wizards and kings over the centuries. The three teens were shocked to learn that some prominent wizarding families had rather close relationships with the Crown before the division between the two worlds was made permanent by a secret treaty. Before he left, Baxter gave Hermione a DVD that contained scanned images of a few centuries-old historical texts that could provide additional information.
Ron's questions started in not five seconds after the historian had left.
“Right then,” he began, “Who is this Prince that you were talking about, why was that guy calling you Sir Harry and Dame Hermione, and when did you plan on telling me that there were Muggles that aren't as stupid as they're made out to be?”
“Oh Ron, you are….you want to talk about stupidity?” Hermione asked. “How long did you stand in front of the toilet the other night waiting for the seat to magically pop up for you?”
“Oy, Muggles do nearly everything different…how do you expect me to absorb it all at once…I'm not some bloody sponge, after all.”
“That might be her point,” Harry tried to gently interject. “We did tell you about the Prince the other night, just not by name…we thought, particularly after your rough time getting here, that it'd be best if you eased into your new world.”
“Would've been nice if you'd given me the choice,” Ron said.
“Yeah, well, it wasn't like we got to pick and choose how we learned about the magical world, was it?” Harry replied. “Look, mate, all of this came out of the blue, what…three days ago now? Hermione and I are still trying to sort most of it out ourselves.”
“Fine,” Ron muttered. “So now's your chance to bring me up to speed.”
Harry and Hermione then proceeded to fill in some of the gaps to the story Ron had been told two nights previous. They explained their knighthoods as ceremonial recognitions…the equivalent of being awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, and conveyed to Ron the Queen's message about his involvement within the Order of Arthur.
They then backed that message up by giving him his own Order of Arthur badge.
Ron's fears about being excluded from Harry and Hermione's activities were placated by their explanations, and by reassurances that neither of them planned on pretentiously throwing their titles around any time soon. Somewhat surprisingly, he spent more time dwelling over the fact that he'd distinguished himself in a way that none of his brothers had before. He also worried about them accepting too much help and becoming too dependent on Muggles. Harry suggested that if Ron wanted to start down that path that he would return the telly and videogames.
Ron thought that a tad extreme.
A flustered familiar joined the Trio after lunch, bearing a letter for Harry and a thick envelope for Hermione. After giving Hedgwig some much-needed attention, Harry opened his letter:
Dear Mr. Potter,
Please forgive the unfortunate delay in your owl's return from the Ministry. My investigation has revealed that your name and address was placed on a Level III watch list just prior to her arrival here early Saturday morning - the work of someone from the Minister's office, apparently. All letters and packages sent to the Ministry by persons on this watch list are considered high risk for hexes and/or curses, and standard procedures for handling this type of post include owl isolation and containment within a high-security stasis field until the safety of their delivery can be determined. Current backlog for this type of post is about three weeks.
Placing your name on this list (which includes, by the way, Tom Riddle, Severus Snape and Lucious Malfoy) ensured that any reply that you provided to Umbridge's letter Friday night would not have been received and read. Which was entirely the point, I imagine. Rest assured that your owl was unharmed by the stasis field.I wish I could say that the person who did this would be held accountable, or that I have the power to immediately remove your name from this watch list, but I can not. Your owl now knows a reliable alternative delivery address, should you or anyone that you trust care to contact me directly. Since all of your owl post communication is subject to isolation, please feel free to route posts addressed to other ministry addresses through me; I will see that they are delivered without delay.
Again, my apologies to you and to your familiar.
Gawain Robards, Head
Auror Division, Magical Law Enforcement Office
Ministry of Magic
Harry traded letters with Hermione. Her package, also from the Head Auror, included the incident report that she'd been promised. The investigation had confirmed their version of events last Friday, and that the disciplinary action promised that night had, in fact, been metered out. The Head Auror also indicated that plans were in place to arrest the two Death Eater look-outs on her parents's doorstep. He asked that they allow the MLE to handle the situation from here on out, and expressed his hope that Harry, Hermione and her parents would trust his department to perform better than they had at Number Four. As an aside, he also stated that the MLE had placed a rather large requisition with the Weasley Twins for their after-market omnioculars.
Harry asked Hermione what she thought about letting the Aurors handle that operation. She said that she would have to check with her parents, but that she was inclined to let it go - the three of them certainly had more pressing issues to attend to. Still, she made a note to track down Tonks to find out when the arrests were to be performed.
Later that afternoon the three decided to undertake a fitness regimen, and ran a few laps around the neighborhood. None of them handled the exercise pain-free, and Ron had a rather difficult time keeping up with Hermione's pace. They squabbled most of the distance, to the point where Harry suggested that they might need a neutral third party to lead their workouts. Mr. Granger, who found them on the front lawn winded and aching after their run, thought that was an excellent idea, and promised to make arrangements for some coaching.
It was movie night at the Granger's.
Well, actually it was at Number Five, and it was the Granger residence that they were actually watching, but there was popcorn, at least.
A quick chat with Tonks had confirmed that the Auror's operation was planned for that night, and the Trio had decided to honor Auror Robard's request to stay away from the area. Hermione's parents had suggested a movie, so after dinner (and with Petunia's permission, of course) the Trio had crossed the street and were finally given a full tour of Number Five.
They hadn't been shown the upstairs bedrooms before, and when they were led into the largest bedroom they understood why Wally had asked them to check their wands at the door. The room had been transformed into a command and control center/surveillance post, with banks of flat-panel screens displaying live video feeds from not only Harry's neighborhood, but within Number Four itself. Wally had three of the largest monitors set up side-by-side on a table pushed up against the wall, and once they were shown in he switched the video feeds so that the left monitor showed the two Death Eaters standing on the street corner down from the Granger's house and the right monitor showed a wide angle view of their entire street. With little activity shown on either screen Wally popped a DVD into the desktop computer that sat beneath the central monitor.
There wasn't much room to sit in front of the screen…a couch and two sturdy chairs. Wally and Steve sat in the chairs, while Mr. and Mrs. Granger sat on the couch. At their insistence (and to her father's great amusement) Hermione and Harry gave Ron the other spot on the couch. That left Harry and Hermione sitting on the floor together, in front of her parents.
Given Wally's sense of humor (and personal preferences), Hermione wasn't at all surprised by the cinematic selection.
“Friend of Dorothy's, eh Wally?” she asked.
Wally laughed. “A flaming fan,” he replied. “Watch it, though, or I'll ask Harry in front of your parents whether you are a good witch, or a bad witch.”
“Oy, quiet down,” Ron said in between handfuls of popcorn. “I want to hear those munch-people sing.”
Dorothy and company had made just made it to the Emerald City when Steve jumped up to the table, minimized the movie's window, and opened up a new feed. When Harry looked at the right monitor he understood why.
A black sedan had pulled into the Granger residence's drive.
The new video image that Steve had opened was from inside the Granger's house. Wally had already repositioned himself in front of a separate computer, and was typing at a furious pace. Ten seconds later, an emerald-tinted image appeared on a monitor directly above the center screen.
“High altitude infra-red,” Wally said simply.
“You've got a spy satellite taking pictures of our house?” Emily Granger asked incredulously.
Wally shook his head. “Unmanned aircraft,” he replied. “Our spy satellite passed over a couple of hours ago…it can’t hover over a target like this.”
Hermione looked at Wally in wonder. So did Ron, although his was wonder “I wonder what in Merlin's name he's talking about?”
They all watched as a young woman that looked remarkably like Hermione and a man and woman got out of the car and walked inside the house.
“Tonks,” Harry said in recognition.
Once inside Tonks and her Auror pretend parents shed their Muggle jackets, drew their wands, and took up a defensive position around a shoe that one of them had taken out of a coat pocket. Moments later, the two Death Eaters crossed the street and approached the Granger residence. A large crack was heard from the inside feed just before the screen went black. Harry looked up and counted eight newly formed black spots within the infrared screen that were within the Granger residence footprint. Then, almost as suddenly, a large black spot that included the entire Granger property appeared on the satellite feed.
“They used magic of some sort,” Wally said. “That black spot is magical interference with the infrared waves, and something fried the camera inside the house.”
“A group must have apparated inside the house just before an anti-apparition ward was established,” Harry reasoned.
“But were they good guys or bad guys, and who set the ward?” Ron asked.
“Good or Bad…can't tell based on their infrared profiles,” Wally replied.
“Oh, I hope that Tonks isn't trapped,” Emily Granger exclaimed.
“They're fine, I bet,” Hermione said. “that shoe was most likely a portkey.”
Sure enough, just as the left monitor went to black the long-range street view on the right-side monitor showed three figures appearing across the street holding a shoe in their hand. They dropped the shoe and immediately fired spells towards the two Death Eaters on the Granger's doorstep. The next thing they knew, there was an even larger black spot centered on the infrared view of the house.
“So,” Ron decided, “the Aurors just overlapped their own anti-ap ward on top of the Death Eater's…and now that Tonks is out it is just Death Eaters that are trapped inside.”
Perhaps realizing their predicament, the Death Eaters blasted a huge hole out of the back of the house and tried to fight their way out. Several Aurors, however, were able to cut them down easily from well-fortified and hidden locations around the house perimeter.
The fight lasted all of three minutes. In the end, two Aurors were down and being tended to while all of the Death Eaters were immobilized, bound, and spirited away. A second group of Aurors appeared on site; one group ran into the house while the second fanned out and established Muggle-repelling wards as they looked for Muggles to obliviate. Not five minutes later, the men that had been inside the house reappeared with bags over their shoulders and then disappeared once they'd cleared the wards. The Aurors that had been covering this movement themselves disappeared, until only the Obliviators were left. Two started to mend the gaping hole in the house wall, while the others stood guard. Once repairs were complete, someone canceled the wards and then they themselves disappeared.
Ten minutes, two casualties, ten Death Eaters in custody. It seemed like a good day's work, even to Harry.
Chapter 8 – Clan Chief’s Consort
Tuesday, June 5, London
The following morning’s trip to the bank provided Harry, Hermione and Ron with an opportunity to plot and strategize from the backseat of the Bentley.
They started with a discussion on the previous night’s battle between Aurors and Death Eaters. Tonks had visited Privet Drive about an hour after the attack; having decided it best to stay silent on Muggle surveillance capabilities, they had to feign ignorance of the operation and its results. She did have some information that they hadn’t gleaned from the video feeds. It turned out that Death Eater assault on the Granger household had been something of a father/son affair, with Crabbe, Goyle and their fathers comprising half of the raiding party. While the interrogations hadn’t yet been completed, Harry and Ron were quite certain what the two Slytherin students would have done to Hermione had they been successful in capturing her and their parents. Hermione seemed rather calm over that point, commenting that it was too bad that the Malfoys hadn’t been there as well.
Tonks had informed them that the Aurors that had entered the house immediately after the battle were a moving company of sorts; they’d shrunk and lightened as much of the furniture, wardrobes and other household items as they could in the time available and hauled it away in large bags. Not knowing where Hermione’s parents were now staying, the Auror Department was storing what they’d recovered until she could provide a delivery address. Tonks agreed with Hermione and Harry when they decided it best if the Granger’s location was kept from the Ministry – there was no way to know who might pass that information along to the wrong people.
Wally had spent a bit of time right after the battle digitally manipulating and enhancing the images of both the Aurors and the Death Eaters. The three had been amazed at how well the computer software was able to create headshots of the wizards, both good and bad. They had been even more amazed when Wally then matched the mugshots against those stored in his database. It turned out that three of the Death Eaters had profiles that matched those taken by CCTV security videos and other recording devices present during previous attacks on Muggles. Wally also identified four of the Aurors involved in the attack as having been present at King’s Cross the previous Friday. He laughed when Ron had asked how they’d manage to take pictures at the train station; the Ministry of Magic’s request for the Muggles to close off the entrance to Platform 9 ¾ to outside eyes all but announced the fact that there’d be a high proportion of wizards and witches amongst the faces captured by the Station’s security cameras.
The fact that they’d been allowed to see Wally work his computer magic was something they all had noted. Ron’s suggestion that the Muggle security men had been too dense to realize what they were revealing was shot down fairly quickly by Hermione. She said it was much more likely that MI-5 ¾ wanted the Trio to know what they were capable of doing, and what they knew of the magical world. Whether this was to advertise how they might help the Trio, or assure them that the knowledge was gained independently of anything the three might have let slip, was unknown.
Hermione stated that the Muggle video images might have helped them more than Wally might have imagined. She reviewed what they saw on the video feed provided by the high-altitude drone-mounted camera, and did a backseat physics lesson on electro-magnetic radiation (her knowledge bolstered by a quick read of one of Dudley’s unused textbooks the night before). She expected Ron to have been completely befuddled by the notion that heat was related to colors, and that Muggle technology existed that could translate infrared radiation into something within the visible spectrum. He displayed, however, a surprisingly good level of understanding that (much to Hermione’s chagrin) he attributed to his time spent on the Xbox (specifically, the night vision goggles used by his terrorist-hunting SAS alter ego).
The fact that anti-apparition wards had created dark spots on the infrared image was most intriguing to Hermione, and something she (rather sheepishly) noted she didn’t fully understand. It might have been that the magic within the ward had disrupted the ability of the satellite to image that portion of its field of view. But if the attack had been in day time, they should have been able to see “through” the magic, given the fact that anti-apparition wards are transparent within the visible range of light.
Hermione then described a possible scenario that left Ron and Harry rather dumbstruck. If anti-apparition wards consistently created black circles on infrared satellite images, then the Muggle government, if it chose to, might be able to identify the exact location of every single magical structure or area protected by those kinds of wards. Harry was quick to catch on how that could help them find Voldemort (anti apparition wards set up at the Riddle mansion, perhaps?), but he voiced that idea just as they pulled up to their meeting location, so the point was left for later.
They’d been told to travel to Prescott’s, which was one of the older and more reputable banks in Britain. Brian babysat Petunia in the car while the three teens walked up the wide marble stairs and into the sturdy, stone-walled building. As instructed, they told a receptionist that they had a meeting with a Mr. Nigel Nilbog; the Trio was promptly led by a guard towards an elevator bank.
After a short trip several floors downwards they were shown to a rather austere conference room and introduced to a Mr. Jenkins, whose business card indicated was the Bank’s president. Mr. Jenkins showed them a side table with tea and coffee service; they’d just returned to their seats when a rather small door opened from the wall opposite and Headmistress McGonagall entered the room, followed by three goblins. They’d half-expected to see the Headmistress; Tonks had conveyed for them word of the meeting time and place (although they imagined she would have met them on their side of that door). Harry recognized one of the goblins as Griphook, who’d taken him on his very first roller-coaster ride to his Gringott’s vault. His eyes went wide when they were introduced to the other two goblins; Griphook was accompanied by no less than Ragnok, Goblin Clan Chief, and Earchewer, his Clan Champion.
Given the amount of material covered, the first part of their meeting went surprisingly fast. The human bank president did most of the talking, explaining that Prescott’s had been a goblin-owned Muggle bank for over two centuries (the Trio didn’t bother asking him for his Muggle identification card, considering the fact that he didn’t bat an eye when the goblins showed up as proof enough). The bank was the main conduit for money exchanges between pounds sterling and galleons; whether they knew it or not, most Gringott’s patrons also had accounts at Prescott’s. Griphook then passed out six rather thick portfolios; four to Harry, and one each to Ron and Hermione. Each portfolio contained an inventory of a vault, any associated Muggle bank accounts, and investments both (Muggle and wizard-related).
Ron and Hermione were rather shocked when they looked at their individual net worths. Griphook explained that their vault contents reflected the disposition of Albus Dumbledore’s estate. Their former Headmaster had, as a result of his partnership with Nicolas Flamel and other shrewd investments, been one of the richest wizards in Britain. Not wishing that the use of Harry’s money (or their willingness to accept it) become an issue for either Ron or Hermione, Albus had bequeathed to each of them the sum of one hundred thousand galleons, as well as a few personal mementos; Hermione had been given all of Dumbledore’s books, research notes and journals, while Ron had been given the former Headmaster’s entire collection of chocolate frog cards. Each, of course, thought themselves the richer.
As might be expected, Harry’s finances were a little more complex. Each of the four portfolios was associated with a specific vault within Gringott’s. The first covered the vault he’d had access to since his First Year at Hogwarts; Harry was rather surprised to see just how much money was within it. Griphook noted that the balance reflected not just the remainder of the “school” money left by his parents, but the money that had been bequeathed by Sirius. All of those funds were available for his immediate use. The second portfolio described the contents of the Potter family vault, which he’d gain access to upon his seventeenth birthday. The vault contained not only a large amount of gold, but two pages worth of itemized magical items, which McGonagall explained were either Potter family heirlooms or the salvageable contents from their house at Godric’s Hollow. The Headmistress then added that while Dumbledore hadn’t left Harry any money, he had been bequeathed the pensieve, as well as all of the Headmaster’s bottled memories. She passed them to Harry in two small boxes, which he handled as if they were the most priceless artifacts imaginable.
When Harry opened the third and forth portfolios he found single pieces of parchment within each that didn’t provide an inventory, but rather noted that Harry held a disputed or unresolved interest in the vault contents. One was associated with the Black family estate; apparently there were investments and other financial holdings that weren’t directly owned by Sirius, but rather, by the Estate. While Sirius had been the last Black by name, there were still a few surviving members of the Black family through maternal bloodlines (including, McGonagall noted, Nymphadora Tonks and Draco Malfoy), and the disposition of this portion of the Black family fortune was currently under review by the Wizengamot. A resolution was expected sometime in the next decade.
Harry found the last portfolio by far the most interesting and terrifying; the vault was described as belonging to Lord Gryffindor. When he asked the goblins how they knew he might have an interest in Godric Gryffindor’s estate, Griphook smiled, and suggested the sword that Harry had stashed in his rucksack was proof enough.
The Headmistress then identified a final sum to be under Harry’s limited control. Dumbledore had specified that the bulk of his estate (more than thirty million galleons) be placed in a trust for the defense and support of Hogwarts. The trust, which had been established prior to his death, identified Harry as its executor, with the power to spend any or all of the funds for that purpose.
When Hermione asked about establishing pound sterling accounts at Prescott’s, the bank president handed each of them an envelope that contained account information and debit cards, which they could use to draw against their accounts. Griphook further explained that each of the portfolios were charmed to facilitate transfers between their Prescott and Gringott accounts; they merely needed to touch their balance sheets with their wands and drag numbers from one account to the other. Similarly, their wands could be used to write down a new location on the ledger, and funds (or items) could be dragged with their wands from their vault to that spot. If that new location was, for example, their residence, said cash (or item) would be delivered directly to them.
Harry, who was looking over the inventory of his personal vault, asked if he could do a test run. The Headmistress objected to his underage wand use, which made the goblins all laugh; the use of their magical items was untraceable by any Ministry magic. Harry then used his wand to write “Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging” on his balance sheet, and dragged a single item from his vault to that written address.
At that point Clan Chief Ragnok spoke his first words of the meeting, stating that with the financial issues dealt with that it was time for important issues to be discussed.
“Issues more important than finances?” Harry asked with a slight grin.
“Indeed,” Ragnok replied. “We wish to speak with you alone, Harry Potter.”
The bank president was already gathering his things, and the Headmistress stood and asked if he would show her to a secure apparition point. Harry, however, blanched at the idea of asking Ron and Hermione to leave.
“I do not wish to offend, Clan Chief Ragnok,” he replied, “but you should know that anything you say to me in private I would share with them later. I trust them with my life.”
“Then they are of your Clan?” Ragnok asked.
Harry turned towards Ron and Hermione and got the answer he was looking for just from their eyes. “Yes,” he said, “Ron is my champion, while Hermione is, erm…”
“I am Clan Chief Potter’s Consort,” Hermione said with authority.
That comment earned her some sharp glances and intakes of breath from both Ron and the Headmistress (who had almost been out the door). From Harry she got eyes full of wonder and breath that was a tad ragged.
“Hell of a way for Ron to find out,” Harry thought to himself.
“Very well, then, Clan Chief Potter,” Ragnok replied. Once the bank manager and Headmistress had left, he added, “I wish to speak with you of alliances and the future of our Clans.”
“I would be honored to hear your thoughts on these matters, Clan Chief Ragnok.,” Harry replied, with all of the diplomacy he could muster.
“As you are no doubt aware,” Ragnok began, “your champion’s older brother has spent a fair bit of time trying to convince me to side with those who fight Voldemort. It is only because Bill Weasley has been such a trustworthy Gringott’s employee, and that he spoke on behalf of Albus Dumbledore, that he didn’t suffer the fate of the Ministry representative that made that very same request.”
“What happened to the Ministry’s representative?” Ron asked.
“My Champion lived up to his name.”
“With Dumbledore’s passing to the next plane of existence, we asked Bill Weasley for whom he now spoke on behalf of…and he chose you,” Ragnok said, “thereby reconfirming our opinion of the soundness of his judgement.”
“Your words are too kind, Clan Chief,” Harry said.
“But not too overblown,” the goblin replied. “We have no faith in the ability of the Ministry of Magic to protect its own, much less the rest of the magical realm. You, on the other hand…well, let’s just say that the goblins see their interests and their futures closely tied to yours and your Clan.”
“I am honored, Clan Chief,” Harry replied. “I would value your counsel on how I might act to preserve those interests.”
“A wizard asking for a goblin’s advice?” the Clan Chief’s champion blurted out in Gobblygook. “It must be some trick.”
“Hold your tongue, Earchewer,” the goblin chief said sharply. “His humility only supports our assessment, and planned course of action.”
The goblin then turned towards the Trio. “You have entered into an alliance with the Muggles against the Dark Wizard,” he simply said. “Now, no need to deny this fact,” he said, as Harry’s face turned a bit white, “it was strategically a wise move. Had you not done so I may have been courting favor with the Prince myself.”
“I am sorry, Ragnok,” Harry said, “but we had hoped to keep my relationship with the Muggles quiet. Might I ask how you knew?”
Griphook smiled. “Last Friday you were authorized to use the bank card owned by the Prince of Wales…did you notice the name of the bank that issued that card?”
“Prescott’s,” Harry said, with a nod of comprehension.
“The Royal family has one of the larger vaults beneath Gringott’s,” the goblin said. “Not as big as yours, of course, but then most of their wealth is managed by the Bank of England.”
“Why would you consider a Muggle-goblin alliance?” Ron asked.
“Self-preservation,” the Chief replied simply. “Voldemort…the Ministry of Magic and their kind…they all underestimate the powers of the Muggle clans even more than they underestimate goblins. We have envisioned a future under the Dark Mark and it is, quite simply, disastrous.”
“Haven’t Voldemort and his kind been courting goblin favor, promising power and playing on injustices both past and present?” Hermione asked.
“Yes, Consort, they have,” Ragnok replied. “But the Death Eaters foolishly believe that should they gain power that the Muggles would leave them alone, or would perhaps be too ignorant to even notice the difference. Do you believe that likely?”
“No,” Hermione replied. “They will not stand for the killing of Muggleborn wizards and the Muggle hunting that no doubt would follow Voldemort’s success…and if they don’t already have the means to destroy Voldemort, they certainly have the will and resources to acquire those means in short order.”
“We agree,” Ragnok said, “and fear greatly the consequences of that battle. At best it would destroy much of the wizarding economy, and at worst…well, at this point in time goblins enjoy a certain amount of economic leverage over wizard humans. We have nothing close to that leverage and control over Muggle humans, and expect that the war against Voldemort would also bring an attack against our clans and other magical sentients.”
“That is a dark vision of our futures, Clan Chief Ragnok, and one that I would like to prevent,” said Harry. He thought for a moment. “Your decision to even consider a goblin-human alliance must have been controversial within the Goblin Nation.”
“That, Clan Chief Potter, is a slight understatement,” Ragnok replied with a chuckle. "There are some who can not see beyond the dishonorable actions of the Ministry, and their continued protection of Bagman the Thief.”
“Would your position be strengthened if the money he stole from the Goblins was repaid?” Harry asked. “Depending on the actual amount, I might be in a position to help.”
“While you do have funds sufficient to cover our losses,” Ragnok replied, “this has grown to much more than a simple reconciling of bank accounts. Any government that harbors a known thief can not be trusted…and even if you brought me Bagman’s head on a spike that would not change.”
“I understand, Clan Chief,” Harry said. “Perhaps, then, we will look at ways of changing the Ministry’s position on this matter.”
“That would be most helpful, Clan Chief Potter.” He stood up. “We have given you much to consider, I am afraid. Perhaps we should meet again soon?”
“We would enjoy just such a meeting,” Harry said, as he stood and shook each of the goblin’s hands. Earchewer then went to Ron and (after a close physical appraisal) shook the hand of his counterpart. Griphook in turn approached Hermione.
“I believe that congratulations are in order, Consort,” he said quietly, and with a slight smile. “We were unaware of your position within Clan Potter…you have chosen wisely.”
“Thank you, Griphook,” Hermione replied, “and yes, I believe that I have.”
She glanced over at Ron, who was watching her with a frighteningly cool expression.
Hermione did not look forward to their next conversation within the back of the Bentley.
oo00OO00oo
Harry’s queasiness about discussing Hermione’s status as his “consort” was replaced by a different kind of stomach distress when the lift opened to the main lobby.
Their exit was blocked by a rather stern looking Headmistress.
“Follow me, the three of you.”
With nothing short of complete expectation that they’d follow, McGonagall turned and walked into a rather large conference room set against the back wall of the lobby.
Not that far gone from school, the three teens did as they were told. Once inside, the door slammed behind them, accompanied by loud clicks and clanks within the walls and windows that left little doubt that their conversation would be private.
All but four chairs surrounding the conference table disappeared; with three of the four on the side closest to them the three didn’t wait for orders to sit down. The Headmistress started to pull the fourth chair away from the opposite side of the table, but changed her mind and launched into her tirade whilst pacing back and forth in front of them.
“In all my years at Hogwarts,” she began, “in all my years as Head of Gryffindor House…never have I seen students act with more rashness and presumption than the three of you just displayed. Mr. Potter, do you have any sense of what you just did in that meeting…do you have any sense? Proclaiming the existence of your Clan…bypassing the delegate authority of the Ministry and negotiating directly with the Goblin Clan Chief…you might just as well announce open sedition!”
Harry was too stunned to reply.
“And you, Miss Granger…let’s just gloss over the “consort” business and focus on the fact that you are very likely the only female that has dared speak to Ragnok before being spoken too and lived to tell the tale. Surely you know something about the patriarchal clan system within the Goblin Nation?”
“As for you, Mr. Weasley,” the Headmistress continued, as she ignored Hermione’s protest, “Harry proclaims that you are his Clan Champion and you just sit there like a fish out of water? After the meeting you shook hands with Ragnok’s champion, right? Do you know why he’s called Earchewer? Let me tell you…he wasn’t given that name, he earned it.”
Ron let out one-half of an “Eek” before swallowing the remainder.
“And here we are, barely a week after Dumbledore’s passing…what do you think your former Headmaster would say if you were in his office right now?”
Harry thought for a moment before replying.
A slight smile erupted on the Headmistress’s otherwise stern face. “Yes, Harry, I imagine you’re right.” She transfigured the conference table into a couch that faced the other three and took a seat.
“So,” she said, “perhaps you’d consider telling me what happened after I left?”
Harry smiled and proceeded to give her an abbreviated summary of the discussion (leaving out the bit about his relationship with the Prince). The Headmistress was initially amazed at the prospect of a Muggle-goblin alliance, and seemed a bit skeptical of the goblin’s assessment of Muggle capabilities. Nevertheless, she was understandably quite pleased that the goblins had finally gotten off the fence and decided not to join Voldemort’s forces.
Headmistress McGonagall’s tone of voice and demeanor grew progressively warmer as they talked, and Harry picked up on the fact that much of her warmth was directed towards Ron. She mentioned that she visited The Burrow the day before, and told Molly in no uncertain terms that Ron’s efforts that summer would be vital to the Order’s mission. She said that she was inclined to return that afternoon to share the additional good news, certain that Ron’s parents would be immensely proud of what he’d done. She then noted that while Bill had certainly laid the foundation it was Ron that had helped cement the ties between the goblins and wizards, and that while Percy had been a Head Boy that there’d never been a Weasley named Clan Champion…and that Dumbledore no doubt thought Ron’s efforts valuable, or else he wouldn’t have made him wealthier than either of the Twins.
It was a pretty blatant attempt to boost Ron’s ego, and Harry was more than grateful to see that it worked. With every comment Ron’s back grew a little straighter, and his eyes a little brighter. Harry thought those eyes actually sparked a bit when the Headmistress casually mentioned that while she was at The Burrow that Luna Lovegood had stopped by, hoping to hear news about Ron.
Hermione chose that moment to announce their need to take their leave for lunch. When the Headmistress asked how well they were eating at the Dursleys, she received some muttered “It’s alright’s,” prompting her to call out for Dobby the house elf. He instantly appeared with a rather large picnic basket filled with the staples of a Great Hall feast. Ron eagerly grabbed the basket and spent a few seconds with his nose hovering over the top, savoring the smells of all his favorite comfort foods. Wondering out loud whether they’d be allowed to eat in the back of the limousine, Ron headed out into the main lobby to find Brian.
Harry and Hermione couldn’t help but laugh as they watched Ron leave. Their eyes met, and they turned to offer the Headmistress their thanks.
“You really knew how to punch all of his buttons,” Harry said with some wonder.
“I should,” the Headmistress replied, “I have been his Head of House for the past six years.”
“And you’ve been ours as well, haven’t you?” Hermione asked rhetorically.
McGonagall smiled and nodded. “I trust,” she asked, “that your self-identification as Harry’s consort doesn’t have any legal underpinnings…at least for now?”
The two blushed a bit as they looked at each other. “No,” Hermione replied, to which Harry added in his thoughts “Not just yet.”
“Yet I sense the two of you have taken a few steps down that path together?” she replied with a small grin.
“Is it that obvious?” Harry asked, as he tentatively grabbed Hermione’s hand.
McGonagall chuckled, “It has been, for quite some time. Care to share when the two of you realized it yourselves?”
Harry said “Friday” at the same time Hermione said “Sunday.” Hermione looked at Harry with an arched eyebrow as he shrugged his shoulders. “At the Palace, seeing you in the periwinkle blue dress,” he said simply. She nodded. “And seeing you in the tuxedo...” She turned to the Headmistress. “Harry’s right…it was Friday.”
McGonagall nodded with a terse smile of recognition. “Like the phoenix, rising from its ashes…so that would be June 1…ah, I believe Poppy will be delighted to hear the news.”
“Because she won the betting pool, of course.”
“So you are Harry’s consort?” Ron asked, in between mouthfuls of Yorkshire pudding. “What’s that mean exactly?”
They were being driven back to Little Whinging, and well on their way to finishing their back-bench feast.
“Well,” Hermione replied, “in the context of that conversation, it meant that I’d be allowed to stay for the rest of the meeting…Ragnok expected some level of authority, after all.”
“Yeah, but what’s it mean?” he asked, rather coolly.
“Erm….in the Muggle world, a consort is the husband or wife of a king or queen.”
“Brilliant,” Ron replied, “much better I be the champion and you the consort, then.”
“Yes,” Harry said with a nervous laugh and a glance towards Hermione. “I agree.”
“So, the goblins, they have clans, and each clan has a Chief, who has a champion fighter and a wife?”
“Erm, pretty much,” Hermione replied, “except that from what I’ve read, goblins chiefs don’t necessarily have to be married to their consort.”
“Oh,” said Ron, who’d moved on to tackling a ham shank. “So you wouldn’t have been lying to the goblins if you were Harry’s girlfriend.”
Ron thought for a few seconds. “Goblins are sticklers when it comes to the truth, you know…liars are just one step below thieves in their eyes.”
“Yes,” Hermione said with a slight pause. “I think I read that someplace once.”
“Of course you did,” Ron replied. He pointed the shank of ham towards Hermione. “So were you lying?”
Hermione looked at Harry, who took the initiative to answer. “No Ron, she wasn’t.”
Ron dropped the shank on his plate and fished through the basket, looking for some dessert. After picking out three different types of pastries, he looked straight at Harry.
“So were you cheating on Ginny, then?”
“No, Ron, I wasn’t,” Harry replied. “What Hermione and I have…it’s just at the start, except of course it isn’t since we’ve known each other so long, but…it happened after I broke up with Ginny.”
“I see,” Ron said quietly. He then turned to Hermione.
Ron clarified by pointing towards the pastries.
Ron nodded as he sipped from his goblet of pumpkin juice.
“You know, Hermione, I fancied you for the longest time.”
“Snogging Lavender Brown wasn’t exactly the best way to show it,” Ron continued, “But I did.”
“Past tense, mate?” Harry asked with some degree of hope.
“Yeah, past tense.”
“Dinner Saturday night, Luna’s house.”
“She likes me,” Ron said simply. “She likes me as Ron Weasley, and not just the package deal of Harry and Ron…or worse, as Harry’s mate.”
“She’s a sweet girl,” Harry said. “Brave too…showed that at the Department of Mysteries.”
“Yeah,” Ron agreed, “but so did Ginny.”
“Yeah, she did…but that’s over, Ron…we broke up and it’s over.”
“Sure, Harry, I know it is.” Ron said. “Plan on telling her anytime soon?”
“Erm, well, don’t know when I’ll see her…got to stay at the Dursleys, after all.”
“Yeah, guess that makes sense,” Ron replied. “We could have visitors, though, right?”
“Sure,” Harry replied somewhat tentatively. “Thinking of inviting Ginny to dinner?”
“No, of course not,” Ron replied. “You think I have problems in Muggleland, can’t imagine what she’d do without a magic mirror telling her how pretty she is every morning...actually, I was thinking of Luna.”
“We’d love to have Luna visit,” Hermione said.
Ron looked at her cross-eyed as he hunted for any missing treats in the basket. “Nice pronoun, Hermione.”
“Oh…yeah, sorry about that,” she said.
“It’s alright,” Ron replied. “I can deal with plurals…just promise not to snog under my nose, okay?”
“Sure, Ron,” Harry said with some relief. “We can work with you on that one.”
Ron shook his head. “So about that lying to goblins thing…were you serious when you told them I was your champion?”
“Of course I was, mate,” Harry replied.
“Good,” he said, “wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Chapter 9: Normality
The Trio arrived at Number Four to find that the goblins had already completed Harry’s portfolio transaction. They also discovered that Harry’s delivery instructions should have been much more specific, as the coffee table in his Aunt and Uncle’s living room had been replaced by Sirius’s motorcycle.
Harry couldn’t decide what was funnier; his Aunt Petunia’s shock over the new piece of furniture, or the fact that the goblin who had made the delivery had forced her to sign for it. With more empathy than she knew she possessed, Hermione shrank the motorcycle just enough for Ron and Harry to roll it out the door and onto the drive.
The arrival of the classic motorbike brought Wally, Steve and Roger out from Number Five for some fawning. Harry, who had only half-believed that the motorcycle would really materialize, balked when they encouraged him to go for a spin. Hermione saw his hesitancy and had grabbed his hand in support.
"You know, guys," she told the men, "there’s a good chance that the previous owner installed some rather nasty theft deterrence charms." Her warning caused the men to back up and give the motorcycle some space.
"Thinking about Sirius?" she asked Harry, rather quietly.
"No," he replied, "well, yes, but more than that…I was thinking about the last time this motorcycle was in front of this house."
Hermione realized what he was alluding to. "Hagrid used this bike to bring you to the Dursley’s all those years ago, the day after your parents…."
"Yeah," Harry said, cutting her off before she could complete that sentence.
Hermione let go of Harry’s hand and pulled him close, reaching under his arm to grab his waist. Harry responded by wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
"You need to learn how to ride this, and quick," Hermione said.
"Because this is how you got to your Aunt and Uncle’s, and by Merlin, this is going to be how you are going to leave it….how we are going to leave it…when the time comes."
Harry looked at her and kissed the top of her head.
And Hermione’s father, who had seen and heard all and was always quick with a snarky quip, for once held his tongue.
Neither Harry nor Hermione was surprised when Ron later announced that he wanted to pay Luna a visit. They all agreed it was a good time for him to do so…it gave Ron a chance to process both what he’d heard at the bank and in the Bentley. Hermione suggested that it’d also be a good time for him to patch things up with his mum. The newly announced Champion, however, seemed hesitant to lose his excuse for needing to use the Lovegood’s floo connection.
Ron had the bright idea of using his wand and portfolio to transfer fifty galleons from his vault to his school trunk. He had originally wanted to write down "left front trouser pocket" as the delivery address, until Hermione suggested that a less than accurate delivery might be rather painful. With more than enough "date money" for the first time in his life, Ron whistled a happy tune all the way to Arabella’s house. Had it been more on-key, Harry and Hermione would have recognized it as the melody from "Weasley is our King."
With Ron gone, Harry and Hermione were faced with a number of competing uses for their time. Tempted to either set up the tent or dive into Dumbledore’s pensieve, they instead chose to take advantage of the sunny weather and walk hand-in-hand about the neighborhood. Of course, Hermione thought of a way to justify their decision. She wasn’t entirely happy with the apparition spot she’d been using, so they walked the neighborhood scouting potential alternatives, using a spell that Tonks had shown her that identified the limits of an anti-appartion ward. They then marked this boundary on a neighborhood street map that also showed Wally’s camera locations within his monitoring network.
The charm that Hermione used turned her wand into a sort of dousing rod that twitched whenever it encountered an anti-app ward. This allowed her not only to hold Harry’s hand, but to hold a conversation with Harry while the charm was working.
"So I hope that you didn’t mind too much that I proclaimed myself your consort," she said with a smile.
"I’d be a daft git if I did," Harry replied. "Besides, I was the one that decided I was a Clan Chief in the first place."
"You had to do that, you know," Hermione said. "Ragnok wouldn’t pledge cooperation with anyone that he didn’t consider his equal in rank."
"Yes, I know," Harry said, "I just don’t like it very much…makes it sound as if I buy into this ‘Chosen One’ business."
"Well, with Dumbledore gone…" Hermione said relatively tentatively, "Look, I know you don’t feel worthy to lead the forces of Light, but it’s not as if the Ministry has taking the lead. And besides, there’s a lot of people that do think you’re worthy, and would support you in a heartbeat."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sweetheart," Harry said, as he gave her hand a small squeeze. He got a bit nervous when his endearment caused Hermione to blush. "I hope you don’t mind that I, erm…well, Hermione do you think things are going too fast between us?"
She stopped and turned towards him with a smile. "Too fast? It’s only been, what, six years now that we’ve been nearly inseparable?"
"Yeah, but, you know what I mean," Harry replied. "It’s because of that that I want to make sure that I don’t muck anything up…I feel like such a git sometimes, not knowing what to do or say around you, and I’m terrified that if I screw this up that we’d lose our friendship as well."
Hermione gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and backed that up with a tender, if brief, kiss. "So long as you’re my ‘just Harry,’ you don’t have anything to worry about," she said. "It is a bit backwards, I suppose."
"Well, think about how a lot of relationships begin," she explained. "Couples swapping spit in the Common Room before they bother to find out if they’re compatible over the long term…not to mention the ‘three date rule.’"
"Something I read about," Hermione said., "Supposedly, when you are young, single, and sexually active, if you don’t shag a person by your third date then the relationship isn’t going anywhere."
"Oh...so remind me how many dates we’ve had?"
Hermione gave his shoulder a punch. "Officially, none, you prat…my point is, instead of shagging then finding out if you could live with the other person’s faults over the years, we’ve already gotten the second part out of the way. Our level of compatibility is, well, off the charts, in my opinion."
"I agree," said Harry. "Which bring us back around to the original question...what do we do now, and when do we do it?"
"I don’t know. I love where we’re at right now, and I love the thought of where this is going. But most of all, I love the idea that I can trust you utterly and completely."
"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said. "Not to test that level of trust, but does it bother you that we’ve started something so soon after I broke up with Ginny?"
"Didn’t I just say I trusted you utterly and completely? Would you like the aid of a Sonorus charm?"
"No, it’s just…well I just wanted you to know how incredibly different I feel with you," Harry replied. "I mean, Ginny’s a sweet girl, but my time with her was just an escape, I’m afraid. I feel bad for her, actually…she wanted a lot more than I felt comfortable giving her."
"Well, I’ve been trying to figure that out," Harry replied. "The time I spent with Ginny…it was like I was a normal teenager, with normal worries…that sense of normality that I’ve always yearned for. But my time with her…I couldn’t integrate that with my real world."
"So Ginny is normal, and I’m abnormal?"
"No, silly," Harry smirked. "I’m talking about what I’ve wanted, what I thought I’ve wanted…when I was with her, I felt normal…But we were both deluding ourselves, I think."
"Because when it comes down to it," Harry said, "I’m not normal, and Ginny wouldn’t have wanted to date me if I really was."
"You think so? Even if Voldemort hadn’t marked you you’d have been captain of the Quidditch team."
"Nah, I’m pretty sure Ginny would be looking for a knight in shining armor, and I’d…I’d still rather be out the spotlight."
Hermione thought for a moment. "So if she made you feel normal, then I make you feel how?"
"You mean besides the warm fuzzy-butterflies in my stomach-luckiest bloke in the world feeling?"
"Sorry, guess I was fishing for a complement."
"You shouldn’t have to fish," Harry replied. "This might sound strange, but you make me feel capable…like I can love someone and kick Voldemort’s bum at the same time…like I have a fighting chance to survive…like I have the motivation to survive."
Hermione’s eyes narrowed a bit as her heart skipped. "And when Voldemort is gone, won’t you want to go back to normal?"
It was Harry’s turn to punch Hermione’s shoulder. "Will you stop, already? Why would I want to settle for normal, now that I’m feeling the way I am right now?"
Hermione cocked her head sideways a bit with a smile. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Sir Clan Chief."
"Will it get me a third date?"
"Let’s work on the first one, sweetheart."
They completed their neighborhood tour without finding any better spots to apparate than the small copse of trees Hermione had used near the playground. There was, however, a rather nice vacant home for sale just beyond the wards, a few houses down from Arabella’s (which, not surprisingly, was just inside the wards). Hermione suggested that they could apparate inside the home to contain the noise, but worried about spooking the neighbors. Harry, recalling the new found extent of his wealth, suggested the simple solution of buying the house. Hermione thought that a tad extravagant, given how long they planned on staying in Little Whinging, but Harry thought it worth checking, and asked her to start looking into what it would take to maintain the wards beyond his birthday.
Having already promised to eat dinner that evening with her parents, Hermione sent Hedwig to Tonks and Remus with a request to meet later that night. They wanted to talk about their goblin meeting with magical people they trusted, and thought that Remus might be able to show Harry how to use the charmed motorcycle.
They enjoyed another fine meal on the backyard patio of Number Five that evening, with Harry and Hermione’s bank visit the main dinner table topic. Until, of course, Hermione’s parents decided it was time to drop their own bombshell.
"So, Hermione," her father started out, "your mum and I have had a few days to sort things out."
"The past few days have been exciting," Emily added, "and we’re a little reluctant to pick up our dental drills and go back to our old lives."
"Wouldn’t being hounded by Death Eaters wear thin after a while?" Hermione asked.
"Yes, I’m sure it would," her father replied. "Not that we aren’t confident that the two of you will take care of that problem in the very near future. We’re talking about what to do right now, though…about starting our new lives."
"You're thinking about new identities…moving to the States…something like that?" Hermione asked.
"Well, not quite," her dad replied. "The government has offered to put us into a long-term protection program…new house, new identities, new jobs…it’s very generous, but they’ve also given us a much more appealing alternative."
"They’ve made us a job offer," her mum replied.
"Work for the government?" Hermione asked, a little nervously. "What…the Queen’s men need some dental work?"
A light bulb flipped on above Harry’s head . "You are going to help Wally and Steve, aren’t you?"
"That’s the idea," Roger admitted.
"Oh my…erm…just what….MI-5 ¾?" Hermione stammered. "No offense, but you two will need more then dental drills to fight Death Eaters."
"That’s what we tried to tell them when they made the offer," her mum said with a smile. "But they said that we possessed a few key qualities that made us perfect for what they had in mind."
"Well, for one thing, the perfect cover..."
"Cover?" Hermione asked with alarm. "My parents, the dentists, working undercover?"
"Well, not exactly undercover," her father replied. "We are your parents, after all, it’s nothing we aren’t already doing now."
"But you don’t know the first thing about security, or defending yourself against attack, or any number of things."
"True enough," Mr. Granger said, "but we do have eyes, ears, and a strong incentive to pick up the rest as soon as possible."
"So what will you need to do," Hermione asked, "attend some sort of training academy?"
"Ordinarily, yes, we would," Roger replied. "But given the circumstances, they’re going to bring the trainers to us, so that we’d be able to stay with you."
"And what kind of training would you receive?" asked Hermione. "I can’t believe it’d be enough to keep you out of harm’s way."
"Don’t know exactly what kind of training," Roger admitted. "Imagine we’ll find out soon enough. Look…we know you’d be worried, and we thought about not telling you, but…well, your mum and I have no intention of being helpless Muggles, and I was serious the other night when I said that we wanted to do whatever we could to help you two."
"It’s our fight too, now," Emily declared. "It has always been so…ever since you and Harry were targeted for attack."
"You’ve been pretty quiet about all this, Harry," Roger noted. "What do you think?"
With all three Grangers looking for his response, and one in particular looking for some support, Harry decided to tread carefully.
"Well," he began, "you might think that you have limited job opportunities given present circumstances, so I was thinking that I’d like to offer you both an employment alternative."
"My parents working for you?" Hermione asked. "Don’t you think that’d be a little…weird?"
"No, Hermione," Harry replied, "I don’t. Look, it’s because of me that they’ve lost their house and surgery, it’s the least I can do, and you know I have the means to offer."
"Harry," Emily said, "we appreciate your offer, but it really isn’t necessary."
"Why don’t you hear what I’m offering first?" Harry said. "Look, it seems like every day there are at least two or three ‘top priority’ things added to our ‘To Do’ list. Hermione and I could really use your help."
"Harry, I thought the idea was keeping them safe?" Hermione stated, with a bit of exasperation.
"They could work within the wards, or otherwise be with one of us," Harry explained.
"What sort of work do you have in mind?" Hermione’s father asked.
"Well, Mr. Granger," Harry replied, "I learned this morning that I’m even wealthier than I imagined, but I really have more important things to do than keep track of that money. I could use a financial manager to do that for me. And you also saw for yourself that we could use some sort of personal trainer for physical fitness…we also need to learn how to drive, and to do so just a little better than the average teenagers that don’t have bad guys chasing after them."
"So I’d be your personal assistant?" Roger asked.
"No, more like my Dad, only you’d get paid for it," Harry replied with a smile.
"Any specific ideas on who’d be providing this training?" Roger asked with the beginning of some understanding.
"Mr. Granger, have you ever heard of the term ‘plausible deniability’?" Harry asked. When Roger nodded his head Harry continued. "I don’t think I really need to know where the trainers come from, though it sounds like you’ve already got a good handle on where to look…and maybe you could even get a group discount, so that you and your wife could join us as well?"
Hermione looked at Harry a little crossly. "Harry, I don’t think this is helping…"
"Hermione...your parents want to help, and since they’re your parents I’m guessing that I’ll have as much luck pushing them away as I had leaving you behind last week."
His Consort sighed, seeing the logic in Harry’s argument and silently cheering that he’d taken one more step away from his misguided notion of meeting his fate alone.
"Mum, Dad, are you sure about this?" she asked.
"Well, then, Mum, unless Harry has a better idea…we need your help organizing all of the Muggleborn Hogwarts students and their families into a support group or network...set up e-mail lists, arrange for computers for those that need them, maybe even a secure web site."
"Sounds like a plan, Dear," her Mom said with a smile, "although you know that computers aren’t my strong point."
"Yes, I know," Hermione replied. "But I imagine you might be able to find someone in the neighborhood that could give you some pointers." She looked at Harry and grabbed his hand tightly. "Not that Harry and I need to know who that person is, or whom he might work for."
"Great," Roger said with a smile. "Now, there’s just one more thing that your mum and I would like to ask you and Harry."
"Oh, Merlin, what now?" Hermione asked with a chuckle.
"Are the parents of the Clan Chief’s Consort automatically members of the Clan, or do we have to fill out an application form?"
Hermione did a "fish out of water" routine while Harry gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
"I don’t think we need to mess with the paperwork," he told them. "Speaking as Chief and on behalf of my Consort…welcome to Clan Potter."
Chapter 10 – Life on Privet Drive
Friday, June 8, Little Whinging, Surrey
As a charmed boombox belted out encouragement to “Fly into the danger zone,” two wizards engaged in a mock dogfight above an open meadow on a hot summer's day.
Broomsticks roared like the afterburners on a Muggle fighter jet, and had wands strapped to their handles facing the direction of flight. The two wizards used Sonorus spells to communicate with each other, combining clips of borrowed movie dialogue with disparaging comments about the other's sagging Quidditch skills.. Whenever one thought that they had the other in his “sights” he'd reach down to the wand and fire off a series of white projectiles, which splattered paint whenever they made contact with a solid object.
It was only after each was nearly completely covered with paint that the two wizards, wearing goofy grins and helmets bore the monitors “Prongs” and “Padfoot,” responded to the beckoning of a very-pregnant witch and a wizened old wizard and landed for a picnic lunch.
It was the fourth time that Harry had poured this memory into the pensieve, and for the fourth time he failed to hear or see anything that he thought shed light on horcruxes and the battle against Voldemort. Not that that was the point of this trip into the mist; this particular memory had almost reached Mirror of Erised status as something he wanted to experience over and over again.
The most pressing topic of conversation during the picnic lunch was potential baby names. Harry's given name was apparently a fused compromise between his father's first choice (Horatio) and his mother's (Charlie). Sirius fought hard for the name “Regulus,” noting that the firstborn son of Lily and James was destined to be a “Little King,” as well as the brightest star in the Lion's House at Hogwarts. Lily, however, expressed some understandable reservations about naming her child after Sirius's Death Eater brother. On that note the three wizards changed the conversation topic; they were trying to keep the conversation light. His mum wasn't very comfortable physically, and was concerned about giving birth to a magical child with a mediwitch on hand rather than an obstetrician. The memory ended with Dumbledore reassuring his mum that Poppy would be there when it came time for the delivery.
Harry scribbled down a reminder to ask Madame Pomfrey if his first visit to her infirmary (and to the bed he knew far to well) had been made while still inside his mum. He then scooped the memory out of the pensieve, and set the stoppered vial back into the tray that Dumbledore had conveniently labeled “Happy Memories for Harry.”
Fancying a break from his study, he placed the pensieve and vials back into Hermione's trunk, and restored the security wards that guarded it. Harry then walked next door, where Hermione was reviewing the information provided by the Royal Historian on a DVD disk. A nuzzle, a kiss, and a whisper provided all the incentive she needed to join Harry for a brief respite.
They walked hand-in-hand downstairs and out to the garage, where Ron and Steve were doing a collaborative study on the magical/Muggle interface within Sirius's motorcycle. They were quite pleased with themselves, having just discovered that the motorbike's alternator had been encased in a thin layer of dragon hide. Ron needed no convincing when it was suggested they break open some butterbeers on the backyard patio.
“Hard to believe that we've only been here a week,” said Harry, as the three plopped down on comfy deck chairs. He gave a wave to the next-door neighbor, whose attitude towards him, likely nearly everything else in Little Whinging, had changed markedly from the previous year.
“Yes we have been rather busy, haven't we?” Hermione said with a smile, as she reached for her boyfriend's hand.
Harry waggled his eyebrows and started to sing in a low voice. “I'm heading down the Atlanta highway…”
“Not right now you're not, Sweetheart,” the teen-aged witch said with a chuckle.
“Cor, Hermione, what have you done to my best mate…he's singing?”
Ron winced. “Erm, too much information, Harry.”
“Sorry,” Harry said, with a goofy grin. “probably too knackered after this morning's workout, anyway.”
Ron took a swig from his bottle. “With you there on that point…at this rate that slave-driver will have us outrunning hexes by end of Summer."
The physical training regimen that Roger Granger had set up was breathtaking in an entirely literal sense. The three had been roused early that morning by a retired SAS drill sergeant, who led them on a three-mile run, which they then unhappily learned was just the warm up. Calisthenics, push-ups, crunches and a second, even longer, run followed. Any resentment the three might have held towards Roger for finding such a sadistic taskmaster to train them was countered by the fact that he and his wife were suffering right along with them. It also helped that Hermione's dad had arranged for a full-time massage therapist to set up shop across the street to work out at least some of their aches and pains.
“Well, you better hope you can run faster than a hex,” Hermione replied, “because you certainly can't drive faster than one.”
“Why would he bother driving away from a hex?” Harry asked. “With all his experience he'd be better off crashing into it.”
“Oy, don't start that again,” Ron complained. “It's not my fault Muggles put curves in their roads.”
Hermione sprayed her butterbeer as Harry broke out into a hearty laugh.
The driving lessons had been less stressful physically, if not mentally. A private driving instructor took the three out in the Bentley in the afternoons. This gave each of them a turn behind the wheel, and gave Hermione ample opportunity to practice her obliviation and magical dent removal skills.
“Well then, Ron” Hermione said, “why don't you show us what you've learned in your Muggle studies field course and fetch us another round from the Muggle refrigerator.”
“Very funny, Hermione,” Ron replied as he headed towards the kitchen.
Roger had also arranged for tutors to provide instruction on individualized topics. Hermione was taking lessons on the Muggle sciences of physics and chemistry from a local college professor, a London-based martial arts instructor was instructing Harry on the basics of swordplay, and Ron was learning how to make toast.
Ron really didn't mind the chiding he took from the other two; that his field-based Muggle studies program began with Brian working in a Muggle kitchen meant that he was always close to a hearty snack. Having grabbed three more bottles of butterbeer he tucked a bag of crisps under his arm and headed back to the patio, where he found Harry's chair shoved next to Hermione's and her head resting on his shoulder.
“Oy, find a room, you two,” he chided.
“Love Shack, baby Love Shack… Love Shack, baby Love Shack...”
Hermione sat up and punched Harry's shoulder. “Save it for karaoke night, Potter,”
“Yes, dear,” Harry he replied with a grin.
Ron chose to ignore their intimacy. “So Hermione....who these chems are and why you're learning about their history?”
Hermione scowled. “That's chemistry, Ron, not 'chem history'.”
“Alright,” said Ron, “same question.”
“Thought we went through this after our meeting with Professor Lupin the other night?” asked Harry. “Muggle chemistry is sort of like potions class, except without the greasy git instructor.”
Tonks and Remus has visited Number Four the same night Harry had made job offers to Hermione's parents. Even though Tonks had told them earlier that week that she and Remus had finally connected, it had been great to see them stroll up Privet Drive holding hands. In fact, between the two of them, Harry and Hermione, and Ron having returned from his date with Luna with a grin on his face and a small bite mark on his neck, it had been hard to get beyond the gossip.
Harry had asked Remus what he was doing for work as he showed Harry how to control Sirius's motorbike. Remus had replied that his job prospects were now especially limited, given that Snape was his wolvesbane supplier and Slughorn had resigned his post on the day of Dumbledore's funeral. Since wolvesbane had a short shelf-life, he'd been forced to ask Headmistress McGonagall if she'd allow him to spend the next full moon in the dungeons of Hogwarts, under guard of the House Elves and some of their unique confinement wards.
Hermione's suggestion that they could try to brew the potion themselves was appreciated, but not very helpful given the fact that the recipe required the fresh flowers of some particularly rare magical plants. It turned out that Snape's value as a potions master wasn't just due to his skill…it was in no small part derived from his private contacts and network of suppliers. Dumbledore's death and Snape's disappearance had dried up the supply of standard potion ingredients, as wizards and witches began hoarding and stockpiling for what looked like dark days ahead.
The chemistry class that Hermione was taking was providing the background she needed to discern whether a solution to this problem could be found in the Muggle world. She was hoping that at least some of the standard potion ingredients were needed for their chemical, rather than magical, compositions. In the interim, she had added “Potions Laboratory” to the list of things for Clan Potter to acquire.
Having polished off the bag of crisps, Ron went back into the house for another. He returned to find Hermione and Harry swapping stories about their independent studies. Harry reluctantly reported on his afternoon's work. He knew he should have been reviewing stored memories that were more likely related to the horcrux hunt, and was joking about almost being named after a Death Eater when Hermione's eyes went wide and she attacked Harry with a huge bear hug.
Ron's restatement of the need to find a room was ignored, as Hermione exclaimed that with Harry's description of the memory she knew not only who R.A.B. was, but where Slytherin's locket might be located. But before she could explain herself, they heard the squeal of brakes, the slam of a car door, and the roar of a very irate uncle. Curious as to what the fuss was all about, they headed inside, where they found Vernon Dursley displaying a deep shade of red.
“You,” he hissed, as he pointed at Brian, “this was you're doing, wasn't it?”
“Whatever do you mean?” the Queen's man asked with a slight grin.
Petunia rushed to her husband's side. “Vernon, what's wrong?”
“They've transferred me at work,” he replied.
“Transferred?” Petunia asked nervously. “You mean to a different division of the company?”
“No,” Vernon scowled “To a different country.”
Dudley, who'd been doing his best to stay away not just from the Trio but from Brian and his list of jobs, entered the kitchen and the conversation. “Where we moving to, Dad?” he asked.
“Romania…we opened a new plant there this past spring.”
Petunia felt faint, as she grabbed the back of a kitchen chair.
“Could be worse,” Dudley said. “Heard there's plenty of pretty girls in Rome.”
“Rome is in Italy, you dolt,” Vernon replied.
“Oy, Vernon, my brother the dragon tamer lives in Romania,” said Ron. “I'm sure he'd be happy to help you get settled.”
“Say, there's an idea,” Hermione chimed in. “Charlie might even be able to introduce you to some friendly vampires.”
Harry found it hard to do anything more than smile and repeat the word “Brilliant” as a mantra.
“So Vernon, when do you start your new position?” asked Brian.
“Week from Monday, as if you didn't already know,” Vernon replied as he stared at Harry. “Least you'll lose your precious protection without us around.”
Harry thought for a second. “Suppose you'll be leaving next weekend?” When Vernon nodded, Harry nodded back as he looked to Brian and said “Two weeks.” Brian returned the smile as Harry turned back to his Aunt and Uncle. “Suppose we'll muddle through somehow…imagine you'll be looking for a housesitter?”
Vernon renewed the lustrous shade of red around his collar. “I'll burn the house down myself before I let you…”
“Say Vernon,” interjected Brian, “is it true that your company has a distribution center in Nigeria?”
Vernon held his tongue as his brain wrapped around that threat. “I imagine we can work out a rental agreement.”
“Rent your house to your own flesh and blood?” Brian asked, as he reached for his mobile phone.
“Fine!” shouted Vernon, who stormed out of the house and into his car, followed by a worried looking wife and child.
The Trio had the decency to wait until the door slammed behind Dudley before breaking out in laughter, and congratulatory handshakes for Brian, who then asked, “You did say that two weeks was all you needed to spend tethered to your Aunt, right?”
“Yes, I did,” said Harry. “Merlin,you've outdone yourself with this one.”
“Now wait,” said Brian, “you really ought to hear about some remodeling ideas that Roger and I have been kicking around before saying that.” He then reached into a kitchen cabinet drawer and pulled out a roll of blueprints.
Later, once the excitement over the Dursley’s imminent departure passed, Hermione pulled Ron and Harry aside and reminded them that they’d seen a locket similar to the fake that Harry still carried in his pocket back at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. She then linked the initials to Sirius’s brother, and theorized that Regulus had hidden the horcrux at the Black mansion for safekeeping. Harry then reminded Hermione that even if the real locket was at Number 12 that they couldn’t risk trying to retrieve it, given the broken Fidelius charm.
They’d almost decided to file that potential horcrux information away for later consideration when Ron got the bright idea of getting Kreacher to retrieve it for them. Before Hermione thought to object, Harry had summoned both Kreacher and Dobby to Number Four. While Hermione spent a few minutes coming up with specific instructions that Kreacher couldn’t twist to his own ends, Ron and Harry enjoyed some semi-obligatory terrorizing of Vernon and Petunia (with instructions for the elves to enjoy Muggle piggy-back rides).
Even with some air-tight legal language, it was all Dobby could do to drag Kreacher out to the mansion and bring him back, with the disappointing news that the locket was no longer where Kreacher had stashed it two years previous.
Discussion drifted towards the topic of what to do if and when they did recover the locket. Ron’s simplistic notion of “We destroy it, of course,” was dismissed by Hermione’s reference to Dumbledore’s right hand. Though any of them might have made the same sacrifice, if pressed, it was thought best to explore alternative options prior to going down that path.
“Hold on,” thought Ron, “you destroyed a horcrux without losing an arm, didn’t you Harry?”
“So why don’t you do the same thing over again?”
“If only it were that simple,” interjected Hermione. “There are probably far too many variables to control.”
“Well,” thought Hermione, “you get the parchment and start taking notes, then.” She turned to Harry. “Let’s play newspaper.”
“Hold on,” said Ron, “this isn’t some kinky role-playing thing is it?”
“You wish,” replied Hermione. “I was suggesting that we use the same techniques that responsible journalists use when they write stories to describe how Harry destroyed the diary…who, what, where, when, why and how. You wouldn’t know about this, of course, since you’ve only been exposed to the Quibbler and Daily Prophet.”
“Oh, yeah,” replied Ron, “see your point.”
“We start with the who, then….obviously, that’s Harry.”
“Right,” replied Ron, as he chewed on his quill tip. “So tell me something we don’t already know.”
“Cor, Ron, sometimes….” Hermione took a deep breath. “The relevant point is that Harry, unlike Dumbledore, was able to destroy a horcrux without getting injured.”
“So there might be a reason for that…my connection or something?” asked Harry.
“Exactly,” Hermione replied with a smile. “Now, doesn’t mean that Harry has to be the one to do the job, but it might be. Let’s move on to ‘what.’”
“It was a diary, while Dumbledore destroyed a ring,” replied Harry. “Though he didn’t actually burn a hole in the ring, did he?”
“Maybe because there was already one there?” asked Ron, earning a reproachful look from Hermione.
“Harry’s got a point,” said Hermione. “Harry destroyed the diary’s utility…couldn’t write in that diary afterwards could you?”
“But Dumbledore didn’t crack the ring into two or melt it down,” Ron added. “When he was done it was still a ring, just without the trapped soul fragment inside of it.”
“No, that’s not entirely true,” said Harry. “The gold ring wasn’t broken, but the stone mounted within it was cracked.”
“That’s right,” thought Hermione. “So there might be something said for extreme violence. Let’s move on, though, so we can take a look at the entire picture …who, what, now where.”
“Where was the Chamber of Secrets,” replied Harry. “Don’t know, really, where Dumbledore destroyed the ring…suppose we could ask his portrait if and when it wakes up.”
“Why would the Chamber be someplace special?” asked Ron.
“Besides the fact that it was built by Salazar Slytherin, was home to a basilisk, and was only accessible to someone who, like Voldemort, could speak Parseltongue?”
“Fine,” snapped Ron, “besides all that then….”
“So what you’re suggesting, then,” asked Harry, “is that all things being equal it’d be safer to try and destroy the Horcrux within the Chamber than someplace else?”
“Exactly, Harry,” replied Hermione, with a beaming smile that threw Ron into a slight funk. “Which brings us to ‘When’ and ‘Why.’”
“Pretty obvious why we want to do it,” groused Ron, “and Harry and Dumbledore had the same motivation, didn’t they?”
“Not exactly,” Hermione said, “Harry didn’t know it was a horcrux when he destroyed it, while Dumbledore did…although I doubt it’s a huge difference. Same thing with when he did it…it could be something like a full moon having an effect, like lycantrophy, but it doesn’t seem like something Voldemort would get hung up on.”
“So then we’re left with how to do it, aren’t we?” asked Harry. When the other two nodded agreement he began thinking out loud. “Let’s see, I was in the Chamber, and just pulled the poisonous basilisk fang out of my arm, and I was a bit angry at Tom’s echo so I speared the diary with the fang, and then the book caught on fire and I heard a loud scream. Don’t remember if it was the echo screaming, or the soul fragment.”
“How did the book catch fire?” asked Ron.
“Dunno,” replied Harry. "The burnt hole just sort of grew away from the fang. By the time it was done the hole was a lot wider than the puncture mark.”
“So it could have been the use of the fang, the poison in the fang or both that destroyed the horcrux,” said Ron.
“Yeah, sounds about right,” said Harry. “We left the dead basilisk down there, so it’s possible we could find a fang…maybe even the one I used. But I imagine that the venom would have dried up by now.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Hermione concluded. “Either the fang would work or it wouldn’t…remember what we did trying to open the locket in the first place? Ron, I think you were banging it against a table.”
“Merlin, you’re right,” said a Weasley Gone White.
“So,” said Harry, “when we find the locket, or the cup, or some other horcrux, we’ll just go to Hogwarts, use Parseltongue to enter the Chamber of Secrets, slide down the chute, clear out the caved-in passageway, nick a fang from the basilisk’s skeletal frame and then I’ll use it to poke Tom’s soul fragment. No problem.”
“And even if it didn’t work,” said Hermione with a smile, “I’ll get to see the Chamber and we can collect some basilisk bones and fangs to barter for potion ingredients.”
“Great,” said Ron, rather weakly. “Day in the park, stroll by the lake…let’s bring a picnic lunch and spread it out inside Salazar’s statue mouth. And now that’s settled, can we get back to the Xbox?”
Hermione shook her head as she allowed her boys to return to their games.
The sound of steel striking steel provided a rather incongruous overlay to the staccato chug-chug-chug of the neighborhood hosepipes. Nobody within earshot of Harry’s sword fighting lessons in Number Four’s backyard paid any attention, however; they were either in the know, or had been gullible enough to accept a rather implausible explanation (namely, that he was training for the Olympic longsword event).
After a full week of lessons Harry felt as if he’d progressed from totally awful to merely dreadful. His muscles burned from the workouts; one hour each day spent hacking at a stout wooden post, followed by a second hour of sparring with the master swordsman. Those parts that didn’t burn were battered and bruised from the hits he took from his instructor’s dulled edge. Fortunately, the instructor seemed to think that things weren’t all that bad.
“You know you’re a natural at this,” the swordsman said, as he picked Harry up off the ground for the tenth time that afternoon. “I’d almost say it’s in your blood.”
“Must have been a vampire hunter in a past life,” Harry joked.
“Well you certainly have the sword for it,” the instructor replied. Harry looked down at Godric’s sword and cursed himself for slipping. Even with the leather straps that covered the sword’s blade it was easy to tell that it was pure silver.
He tried to laugh it off. “Too bad, then, that the prospects for that line of work are slim.”
The master swordsman gave him a careful look. “That’s only because English vampires are so docile,” he replied. “Now, down in the Baltics, that’s a different story.”
“Ha ha, that’s a good one,” Harry replied nervously, wondering just how much his instructor knew about vampire hunts.
The man nodded with a glint in his eye. “Yes, well, Mr. Potter, we’ll take it as that.” The instructor began unwrapping his sword so that it could be sheathed for transport.
“So,” he asked Harry, “have you decided whether you’ll be using the left or right hand yet?”
“Right, I hope,” Harry replied, “but as I’m not completely certain I’ll still need work with both.” Sword hand was an issue he’d been grappling with all week. He’d been working on simple spells using his left hand, but hadn’t progressed to the point where he felt he could imagine fighting with sword in one hand and wand in the other. Of course the ability to do wandless magic would solve the problem, but that was something currently beyond his reach.
With the day’s lesson’s over Harry went upstairs to take a shower. As he entered the Muggle room to store his sword he marveled at the latest phase of remodeling. Brian hadn’t waited for the Dursley’s departure; taking a cue from the control room across the street. They’d replaced the single desk and chair with smart looking modular workstations that took now took up one entire wall of the room. Four separate computer systems were set up, with large flat-screen monitors, scanners, and color laser printers. Their telly had been remounted on the wall above the workstations, end-to-end with two new identical screens, creating a seamless video display roughly two-feet high and nine-feet long.
Ron was presently standing behind Fred and George as they hunched over laptop computers on an L-shaped extension that jutted out from the wall.
“Oy, George, how many times do I have to tell you?” Ron asked, peering over his older brother’s shoulder. “It’s swish and click, not swish and flick.”
“Worse than McGonagall, you are,” George lamented. “Why couldn’t the Muggles have invented a wand-shaped mouse?”
“Hey, be thankful for small favors. I could have forced you to use the trackball.”
“Oy, Ron,” Harry interrupted, “Not showing them sites your mum wouldn’t approve of, are you?”
“Now, Harry, you know Hermione’s installed NetNanny,” Ron replied. “Of course, she only did that on the old desktop,” he said with a smirk. “And now that I’ve got administrator-level authorization for the new network…”
“Thank Merlin you’ve taken to your Muggle studies, little brother,” Fred said with a smile.
“So, really, what are your big brothers doing in the Internet?” Harry asked.
“Oh, a little market research, some new product development, a healthy bit of industrial espionage…” George said.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” Harry replied, “how is your net surfing helping the shop?”
“Simple, really. We’re looking at how Muggles compensate for their non-magical limitations, then borrowing their ideas to make magical versions of their inventions.”
“Got the idea from Ron,” George admitted, as he held up one of the pairs of night vision goggles that Ron had bought on-line. “Any wizard worth their salt wouldn’t need these spectacles to see in the dark…they’d simply cast the right charm. But same thing could be said of shield charms, and look at all the money we’ve made selling shield-charmed clothing to the Ministry of Magic.”
“So you’re going to make magical night vision goggles?” Harry asked.
“That’s right...ones that’d work not only in areas where magical interference would trash the Muggle goggles, but ones strong enough to work inside areas affected by Peruvian Instant Blackness Powder.”
“I thought you guys and Hermione developed the counterspell against that powder.”
“Sure,” Fred agreed, “but why banish the powder that blinds your enemies if you can still see?”
“Makes sense to me,” Harry said. “So what else are you into?”
“Working with Hermione to look for raw materials. Stuff we need for our potions and powders.”
“You expect to find potion ingredients on the Internet?” Harry asked. “How many wizards you think are e-Bay power users?”
“There’s the beauty, Harry,” George replied. “We’ve found Muggles selling ingredients that they don’t even know have magical properties. One place ships out salamanders by the dozen, another sells valerian root and astragulus. There’s a site that sells Chinese herbs that’s going to be practically a one stop shop for us.”
“What about delivery, though?” Harry asked. “It’s not like FedEx ships to Diagon Alley.”
“Ah, yeah, we thought about that,” Fred replied. “Had a talk with Wally and Brian, and they suggested a work around.”
“You’re going to smuggle your supplies in?” Harry asked.
“No,” said George, “although that’s not a bad idea. Fred and I figured it’d be easier if we just had a Muggle shipping address. Now, don’t worry,” he said, noting Harry’s arched eyebrows, “we aren’t planning on setting up shop here at Number Four.”
“But Number Seven, on the other hand,” George said with a gleam in his eye.
“Prefer Number Twelve myself,” said Fred. “although any house with a backyard free of gnomes works with me.”
“You two are thinking of moving to Little Whinging?” Harry asked. “Aren’t you a bit afraid the Death Eaters will recognize the new address?”
“It’s not like they don’t know where to find us in Diagon Alley, right?” Fred replied. “Besides, from what we’ve seen, there’s a rather attractive combination of protections available here on this street.”
“Not to mention the fact that it’d be an honor to live so close to the Great Clan Chief Potter.”
“And his Consort, don’t forget,” said Fred with a wink and a nudge.
“Yeah, ‘bout time on that one, Harry,” said George. “Wish you’d have smartened up a few months ago, though…had the month of March all to myself.”
“Oy, will you give the Clan Chief business a rest?” asked Ron. “It wasn’t Harry’s idea in the first place.”
“Works for us, though,” replied Fred. “Which reminds me…we want in.”
“In where?” asked Harry.
“Into the Clan, of course,” said George. “Oh, and if it’s not too much trouble, we’d like to have Clan titles, just like little brother here.”
“Can’t you prats let me enjoy something on my own?” whined Ron.
The twins looked at each other, then dead-panned back to their brother.
“So what were you thinking?” asked Harry, more bemused than bothered by the idea.
“Well, ‘Clan Beaters’ would be nice, if you decided to field a quidditch team, but…”
“What about Clan idiots?” suggested Ron.
“Not a bad idea, actually,” thought Harry, “assuming that we tweek it a bit….I could use a jester or two.”
“Erm…maybe ‘Clan Fools?” suggested Fred.
Harry thought for a few seconds. “Fine, on condition that you both wear foolscaps at all official Clan functions.”
The twins looked at each other with a gleem in their eyes and replied in unison.
Chapter 11 - Sir Evan of Eastleigh
Friday, June 15
Little Whinging, Surrey
The day the Dursleys moved out would have been bright in the bleakest of weather; that it was sunny and warm seemed downright decadent as Harry Potter rolled his motorcycle out of the garage.
The morning’s driving lesson had been canceled in lieu of driver’s examinations for Ron and Hermione; given circumstances and status, the examiner had been brought to them. Harry had promised Hermione that he’d stay out of trouble, but there was only so much driving to be done within the wards, and he intended to keep a watch out for them as they drove out into Little Whinging proper.
Harry rolled the motorcycle around the loading ramp of the lorry that was hauling the Dursley’s belongings off to the Balkans and gave a wave to Roger, who was standing on the curb with a mobile phone to his ear. With a look up and down the street to confirm that no other eyes would be watching him, he kick started the bike and sped off down the street.
Though Harry was some six weeks away from eligibility to take his license examination, he figured that his "Doing Queen’s Business" card would get him out of any trouble with the authorities. Besides, he only needed to break the law for a half-block, at which point he had enough speed to lift off and engage the cloaking device.
Shivers traveled up and down Harry’s spine as he flew up and through the anti-apparation barrier. Hermione had warned him that he might notice a surge of magical energy at the ward boundary; Ragnok had sent the Gringott’s ward master the night previous to overlap goblin anti-apparation wards on top of his mother’s protections. Though Harry had been quite confident that he’d been under Petunia’s care long enough to maintain those wards until his birthday, he was more than happy to have an extra layer of protection that would last beyond July 31. The goblin’s wards also provided a bonus that he’d wished he had years before; the Ministry’s remote sensors that monitored magic use were useless within the protected area.
Harry leveled off at about five hundred feet and looked down upon the neighborhood that his Fools had recently renamed "Little Wizarding" ( or "Little Wiz", for short). They hadn’t been jesting about their choice in accommodations; over the past week Roger Granger had arranged for Harry’s new holding company to purchase fifteen of the seventy-five houses located within the two block radius of Number Four. Offers that were well above market value had been made, in fact, to every owner of a house within the zone. There were reasons both practical and moral; fewer Muggles around the neighborhood meant less worry about secrecy laws, and less worry about collateral damage when the Death Eaters decided to attack.
Three other moving vans could be seen on neighborhood streets, as families took advantage of financial incentives to leave as soon as possible. Whether the empty homes would be filled, and by whom, was open to debate. The Twins were talking openly of bringing in other Order members and members of the DA into the neighborhood for some on-site security. Plans were also afoot for MI 5 ¾ to grow right along with their little community; he’d caught Wally and Brian with blueprints and construction talk over the past week, but gotten nothing more than smiles when Harry asked what they were scheming.
It didn’t take long for Harry to spot the black Bentley that Ron and Hermione were using for the exam; it was currently negotiating a parallel parking attempt (that it was faring poorly led Harry to suspect that Ron was presently behind the wheel). With his focus on the car he didn’t notice Hedwig’s arrival until silent wings had delivered her to his shoulder.
"Hey, girl, I’m supposed to be invisible," he admonished with a grin, as he reached into his pocket for an owl treat. Hedgwig’s hoot in response sounded not the least bit remorseful. Harry decided to tease her by asking, "How’s Pounce and the boys?" That earned him a nip on his ear.
With his newfound wealth Ron had decided it was finally time to get a familiar that he could be proud of, and had purchased a male Great Horned Owl that he’d named "Pounce" (after the way he snatched his meals). With Charlie’s help, they’d also imported a half-dozen owls from the Continent to become Clan Potter’s Mail Service. Harry had spent a lot of time with his familiar reassuring her that she was his first and favorite, and she’d responded by organizing the new arrivals into an ersatz air force. These days, there was always at least two owls flying over Little Wiz on surveillance missions, and if they happened to pounce upon a gangly rat with a silver paw sneaking amongst the shadows, so much the better.
Harry watched as the Bentley pulled to the curb and Ron and Hermione traded seats. After a few more minutes he started to search for two other vehicles that were supposed to be making their way towards Number Four. It didn’t take to spot long the convertibles driving down the arterial with identical mops of red hair in the front passenger seats. Harry grinned and swooped down towards them.
He pulled out of his silent dive fifteen feet above the two cars and followed them until they reached Privet Drive. Once he caught sight of the straight patch of empty street in front of him, Harry flipped off the cloaking device and silencer, and inverted his motorcycle. With toes gripping under the seat and a roar of his engine he buzzed the two cars upside down with a modified sloth move.
It said something about Wally and Brian’s comfort level with magic that they didn’t crash the two cars as Harry flew over their heads. At the end of Privet Drive Harry flipped the bike back upright, nudged it down to the ground and pulled it back around in front of Number Five. He got a look of admonishment from Hermione’s mother, who’d been chatting with her husband in the front yard.
"Harry Potter," she said, "if you think that your antics will make me more likely to allow Hermione to ride on that bike with you…"
Harry replied with a grin, "Yes, mum."
"Give him a break, dear," Roger said, "were I in the same situation I’d be doing cartwheels over the Dursleys departure."
The two vehicles that Harry had been chasing finally pulled up next to Harry and the Grangers.
"Oh my goodness, Harry," Roger said. "What have we here?"
"What we have here, Mr. Granger," replied whichever twin was in the lead car, "are two certified wizard-friendly automobiles….tested them out ourselves, we did."
"Is that true?" asked Emily Granger.
"Yeah, it is," Harry confirmed. "Took a bit of work to find cars old enough to have computer-free engines and the bare minimum of electronics."
"Doesn’t hurt that they are both classics either, eh Harry?" Brian asked.
"Well then, go on," Roger said with impatience, "pop the bonnet and let’s have a look."
Roger snorted. "Like you even have to ask."
"It can wait, can’t it?" Emily asked. "Harry did say these were going to be presents, and they’ll be around presently?"
"Yeah, I guess," Roger mumbled. "Hey Harry," he asked, "who gets the red one?"
Harry broke out into a deep laugh.
Just then the door to Number Five open and Steve yelled out. "They’re coming around the corner." That gave the Twins just enough time to conjure tarps that covered the two cars before Hermione carefully pulled the Bentley up and into the driveway of Number Four. After putting the car in park she and Ron bounded out of the vehicle and ran across the street.
Harry asked, "Hey, how did it go?"
Hermione, who had reached him first, grabbed his arms and gave him a quick kiss and a smile. "It went great. I think Ron did well enough."
"No question that Hermione passed, of course," said Ron with a bit of whine in his voice. They looked back over at the examiner, who at that moment handed some papers to Brian and shook his hand. Steve crossed the street to drive the man back to the examination station, passing Brian as he approached the Trio with a smile on his face and valid licenses in each hand.
Hermione squealed and gave Ron a bear hug. "We did it…we did it both!" she exclaimed.
"Do you have to sound so surprised?" Ron asked, as Harry shook his hand with congratulations.
"Well, we didn’t know you could stop a car without the Womping Willow’s help," explained Fred.
"Hey now, mind the language," Harry said, "lest I reconsider your rewards."
"And what might they be?" Hermione asked, as she appraised the two covered cars with interest.
"What, my kiss isn’t reward enough?" Harry asked in mock pain.
"Not when you’re teasing, it isn’t."
"Fair enough," said Harry, as he threw two sets of car keys at his friends. "One for you, and another for you."
With the sound that was the closest that Hermione had ever come to a squeal, she pulled the tarp from first one car, then the other. She and Ron then both stepped back and gawked.
"Merlin, Harry, they’re beauties," Ron exclaimed.
"Oh Harry," Hermione said, "they’re wonderful…which one’s for me?"
"Like you even have to ask," said Ron, as he walked towards the second car.
Roger look towards Ron with a tinge of sympathy. "You know, Ron," he said, "the Morris Minor is probably the most beloved classic car in all of Britain, and it’s pretty rare to see a convertible like this one these days."
"No, it’s great," said Ron, as he opened the door and sat behind the wheel. He gave the horn a good honk, then looked down with some confusion at the floorboard.
"What’s this other brake pedal for?"
"Oh, that’s the clutch," said Harry. "We were only able to find one magic-friendly car with automatic transmission…sorry, mate, but you’ll have to learn to drive stick."
"And that car with automatic transmission would be this one?" Hermione asked, as she ran her hand along the side of her shiny red car.
"Yes," said Roger with no little amount of awe.
"It’s a Bentley, isn’t it?" she asked.
Harry opened the door and she sat down on the white leather seat. "1962 Bentley S3," he said, more for Hermione’s father’s benefit than for hers. "With a 6.2 litre eight cylinder engine, duel carburetors, and...." He leaned over the car door, reached around Hermione’s shoulder, and pointed towards the steering column. "Four-speed automatic transmission."
Hermione turned and kissed Harry’s cheek then whispered into his ear. "Thank you Harry…it’s beautiful."
"Not even close as beautiful as you are, Sweetheart," he replied.
"Flattery will get you everywhere, you know."
"I’m counting on it," Harry replied with no small amount of cheek.
"Why don’t you kids go for a ride?" asked Emily.
"Good idea," chimed in Brian. "we canceled your afternoon classes."
"But what about the Dursleys?" Fred asked. "They ought to hang around to give them a proper hexing at their send off."
"What do you think, Harry?" Hermione asked.
Harry looked at her, then stood and looked around at Fred and George, the Grangers, Brian and Wally. He then turned towards Number Four, where he spied his aunt, uncle and cousin looking out from the living room window in utter disbelief.
"You know," he said, "with all of the changes, all of the good that’s happened these past two weeks, it’s like they’re already gone. The Number Four and its neighborhood that I knew and dreaded returning to each summer…they’re gone too." He walked around to the front passenger side and climbed in. "I think I’ve got better things to do and better company to keep then to dwell in the past just to wait to see them leave."
Hermione’s eyes glistened as she leaned over and kissed Harry again, this time on the lips. "Oh Harry, I’m so proud of you."
Harry looked over at Ron. "So are you coming, or not?"
Ron jumped into the back seat. "I’m in, but where to?"
"I’m thinking we should take a nice ride out to Devon," Harry replied with a wink.
"Excellent idea," beamed Ron, as he leaned back and imagined Luna by his side on the rear bench.
"Have a nice time kids," Emily said, "but remember that we’ve got a little celebratory dinner planned, so be back by seven."
"Yes, mum," Hermione said excitedly, as she turned the ignition and revved the engine. Harry reached into the glove box and pulled out three pair of Oakleys and a white silk scarf. "Have to be properly attired to drive this vehicle, my dear," he grinned, as Hermione wrapped the scarf around her hair and all three of them donned their new black sunglasses.
"Hey Fred and George," Harry said, "just because we won’t be around doesn’t mean my Clan Fools can’t give my Aunt and Uncle a proper send off, right?"
"You can depend on us, Chief" the Twins replied, as they clicked their heels together and gave salutes.
Hermione put the car into gear, and the Trio sped away.
A few minutes later, as she found the entrance to the motorway, Hermione asked, "So when do we pull off?"
Harry reached into the pocket and pulled out his MI-5 standard issue mobile telephone/ computer/global positioning system. After a few screen touches and pips he shouted back, "Just past Basingstoke. It’s the A303."
Ron leaned forward to be heard from the back seat "How long will it take to get Luna’s house?"
"Projected time is two hours and thirty seven minutes," Harry said, "and that’s without stopping for lunch."
"Blimey, that’s five hours, there and back," shouted Ron. "How do Muggles stand all the time it takes to travel?"
"Well, we find ways of passing the time," said Hermione. "Like listening to the radio." She frowned when all that she heard was click when she twisted the radio knob.
"Erm, sorry," said Harry, "that was apparently the one part of the car that didn’t survive Fred and George’s road test."
"Oh, makes sense," said Hermione. "So what kind of magic were they able to do with the engine running?"
Harry grinned. "They claimed to have Reducto’d a pillar box at 100 kph."
Ron’s eyes lit up as he leaned forward in his seat. "So can we try?"
"No," was the unified response from the front seat.
"You’re not even driving," said Hermione. "Why don’t you sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride?"
Ron did as he was told…for all of five minutes.
Hermione shook her head as she scanned the horizon ahead of her. "Well, it does look like rain," she replied.
Fifteen minutes later they’d pulled off the M3, attached the car’s protective soft-top, and used their mobile’s wireless internet service to locate a Muggle restaurant with positive on-line reviews. As Hermione expertly parallel parked her vehicle Harry caught sight of a dark green car parked a discrete distance away. He smiled and pointed their tail to Ron and Hermione as they entered a traditional-looking pub.
The three found an empty table amongst the lunchtime crowd. "Order us a round of butterbeers, will you Ron?" Hermione asked.
Harry looked quizzically at Hermione as Ron headed up to the bar to speak with the publican.
Hermione just winked, and watched as Ron returned empty-handed.
"They don’t have butterbeer," he said.
"Sure they do," Hermione deadpanned, as she pointed behind the bar. "Tell him that it’s right next to the butterscotch."
As Ron returned to the rail for additional embarrassment, Harry leaned over to Hermione.
"You are a wicked witch," he told her with a smile.
It was raining heavily by the time that they’d finished their meal and fizzy drinks (the most potent brews Ron could garner from the ill-humored licensee). Hermione had called home to confirm that the following car’s occupants were friendly (they were), and in the process learned that they weren’t particularly wanted back in Little Wizarding (at least not until that evening).
"What’s that about, then?" Ron asked.
"Mum was rather evasive," Hermione replied. "Your brothers are no doubt planning something."
"Are the Dursleys still there?" Harry asked.
"Yes," she replied, "though I wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to leave for the airport early…George apparently decided that your Aunt and Uncle would blend in better with the locals if he lengthened their canines."
"Brilliant," Ron said. "Hope they took pictures."
"Any ideas on what we can do this afternoon, then?" Harry asked.
"Mum chatted with Brian while I was still on the telephone, and he suggested that it might be a good day to visit Sir Evan."
"The only other living member of the Order of Arthur," Harry said. "So does he live anywhere near here?"
"Turns out he does," Hermione replied. "Nursing home in Eastleigh, down by Southampton…Mum’s e-mailing directions."
"Did you say Sir Evan, luv?" the nurse asked incredulously when they asked for him at the front desk. "You mean he actually is a knight? Next thing you’ll be telling me that there are witches and wizards running about as well."
The three laughed nervously before Harry leaned forward with some disarming candor. "Well of course there’s witches and wizards," he said with a wink. "What do you think we are?"
"Swear on Merlin’s beard," Harry replied. "Of course, that’s top secret information…Sir Evan will have to answer to the Queen for that one, he will."
The terribly anxious moment that followed was punctured by a roar of laughter that would have given Hagrid’s bellowing a run for its money. "Well don’t worry about me, lad," said the smiling nurse, as she led them down the hall to the elderly knight’s room. "I won’t tell a soul." She knocked on a door then opened it just a bit to shout inside.
"Oy, Sir Evan, got some witches and wizards that are wanting to talk with you."
"About bloody time," came a strong voice in reply. "Show them in."
Sir Evan Turnbill was the kind of sprightly old man who wore his eighty-eight years quite well, thank you very much. He credited his vigor to a daily regimen of five walked miles and four gin and tonics, and had been rather put off that a broken hip had confined him to the bed of a nursing home.
"Good afternoon, Sir Evan," Hermione said as the three approached his bedside. "I’m…"
"Dame Hermione Granger, here with Sir Harry and Mr. Weasley, I presume?" the old man interrupted. "So, tell me how I know you lot aren’t Death Eaters."
The three looked at each other, slightly taken aback, before Hermione reached into her purse and retrieved her Order of Arthur badge. With their identities thus confirmed, the three were treated to the very same stories that the nurses had proclaimed so fantastical; which they were, of course, unless you happened to have lived in both the Muggle and magical worlds.
Evan Turnbill was card-carrying Muggle (younger brother a Hufflepuff, Class of ’37) who joined the Royal Air Force at the onset of the Second World War. He had spent the first few years as a Spitfire airplane mechanic, with an excellent service record that was nonetheless rather ordinary. That all changed, however, when he was ordered to report to an airbase in East Anglia, along with five other men from different service branches and fronts. A sonarman whose submarine had been ordered home just to deliver him to shore, an army attaché based in India, a tank driver, a codebreaker, and a cook...they thought that they had absolutely nothing in common until Albus Dumbledore strode into the room in full wizarding regalia. It was then that they realized they all were Muggle soldiers with magical siblings.
The Muggle government’s war against the Germans and Dumbledore’s battle against Grindelwald had reached a point where collaborative efforts had been deemed necessary. Dumbledore had learned that Grindelwald, a Dark Wizard based in Bavaria, had begun to work openly with the Nazi government. Unlike Voldemort, Grindelwald didn’t despise Muggles; in fact, he hid from wizarding world by living with the Muggles, and helped Hitler with things like the initiation of a nuclear weapons program (theoretical physics not all that different from the study of arithmancy). Deciding to fight fire with fire, the Muggle and magical governments of Britain had allied to develop a small, integrated team of wizard and Muggles in the know to defeat Grindelwald and thwart Hitler’s plans for world domination.
Each of the Muggle servicemen was paired with a hit wizard save for Sir Evan, who was paired with Dumbledore himself. The reason for this pairing became clear rather quickly; Muggle skills were critical to the team’s success (much to the consternation of the Aurors). Most of their initial missions involved information gathering; since Grindelwald was living and dressing like a Muggle in the Muggle world, English Muggles were needed to do things like drive vehicles, coordinate clothing, and spot things that just seemed out of place.
The first attempts to side-along apparate Evan and the other Muggles behind enemy lines had been near-fatal; it was only after the King had knighted the six Muggles and six wizards and invited them to join the Order of Arthur that they were able to get around this transportation problem.
"How did knighthood make side-alonging any easier?" Harry asked Sir Evan, as he, Hermione and Ron stood around his bedside to hear his story.
"The badge" replied Sir Evan, "is a instantaneous transportation device."
"Yes," Sir Evan said. "A very convenient way to travel. Safe for Muggles, too."
"I’ve never come across this in Hogwarts, A History," frowned Hermione.
"Oh, well then it’s not possible, right?" Ron chided.
"Dumbledore had said that there had been rumors of the badge’s powers, but with no living member of the Order there wasn’t anyone to pass that information on. Took him almost two years to find Merlin’s research journal."
He pointed towards his badge, noting that it was shaped like the sun, with twelve golden rays pointing out from an amber core (each representing a member of the Order).
"The magical properties of each badge are activated when the user calls out the war cry used by Arthur and his round table knights," said Evan.
"Well," said the elderly man, "for some reason, the cry was ‘Clarence!’…now, you see, when I used the war cry my badge was activated." He held his badge up to reveal four of the twelve sun rays lit, one at each compass point. "My ray is the East," Sir Evan said. "You can tell it is the only one activated because it’s brighter than the rest."
Sir Evan urged the Trio to try out their own badges, only to be disappointed by the fact that Hermione was the only one that had hers on her person. When Hermione used the rallying cry her badge lit, with both East and South rays glowing brightly and the North and West faintly. "Ah, Dame Hermione, so you are the South….or would you prefer six o’clock?"
"I think ‘South’ has a better ring to it," she said in reply.
"Now that the badge is activated you can transport to my position merely by saying the word Socioarus."
"And I’m transported exactly to your position?" she asked with a tinge of concern.
"Well, actually, you’d end up in a safe piece of unoccupied airspace a few feet away."
"So does it work like a portkey?" asked Harry.
"I’m not sure," Sir Evan said. "Never used a portkey."
"What does it feel like when you are transported?" asked Hermione.
"Well," said Sir Evan, "it feels like you’re being pulled backwards by a fishhook stuck in your navel."
"Portkey," said all three in near unison.
"Is it traceable? Does it work in places that are warded? Does it have a range limitation?"
"I’m not sure. You folks are the wizards, imagine you’d know better than me. I can tell you that back during the war we used it to travel between England and Germany, so it works that distance at least. Beyond that, I’m not sure." He went on to explain that when a Muggle-wizard team went on a mission the wizard would apparate to a target area, then the Muggle would use the badge to catch up with his partner. He then added that the badges also acted as a communication device.
"Like a two-way radio?" asked Hermione.
"More like a twelve-way radio, if you wanted to talk to everyone in the Order at the same time," said Sir Evan. "To talk with a specific person, you touch a specific ray and say "Confabulus."
"What if you want to talk with more than one person?"
"Then you simply press a finger on each of the target rays as you say the activation word. If you are in a hurry, or wanted to create a conference call, you can press your palm against the badge centre and contact everyone in the Order.
"Does the person you want to speak with have to have their badge activated to talk with them?"
"Yes they do. If you try to call someone whose badge is turned off, that person’s badge would vibrate and warm to the touch, so they’d know to turn it on. The connection would be established once they say the war cry; you don’t have to say Confabulus to receive a call."
"So it’s a medieval mobile phone?" asked Harry.
"Yes, I imagine you could think of it that way," said Sir Evan. "Of course, fifty years ago we didn’t have mobiles to compare it with. Even so, there are some advantages today to using your badge…you don’t need to be near a transmitting tower to talk, they work inside caves and underground, and you don’t need to recharge a battery."
"Or worry about going over minutes," mumbled Hermione, speaking from experience.
The Trio chatted with Sir Evan for a few more minutes about his wartime experiences. Harry wanted to learn more about the missions Sir Evan undertook by Dumbledore’s side, but the elderly knight suggested that those stories could wait for another day….particularly since they had some new toys to play with when they returned home.
And so the three bade Sir Evan goodbye with promises to make a return visit soon.
The conversation was rather animated on the return journey to Little Wizarding.
"Do you believe those stories that the old Muggle told?" asked Ron.
"Why shouldn’t we?" Hermione asked, "because he’s a Muggle?"
"’Course not," Ron replied rather defensively. "Just the idea of powerful magical devices being held in the hands of Muggles, and worse still, them knowing about it."
"He’s a c-mug, remember?" Harry replied. "And if being around Brian and Wally these past couple of weeks have taught me anything, it’s that there’s a lot more of them and they know a lot more then I ever imagined…and that’s not a bad thing."
"Why do you say that?" asked Ron. "Keeping our magical existence quiet from the Muggles has been the key to our world’s existence, hasn’t it?"
"To what end, though?" Harry said. "Our Ministry seems much more interested in keeping its secrets than defeating Voldemort, and Muggle lives are being lost as a result. It’d be different if we could handle our internal battles, well, internally, but that’s not how it’s working out is it?"
Ron thought about that for a second. "So if defeating Voldemort requires breaking our secrecy laws…"
"Then I’ll break them," Harry replied firmly, "And anyone who wants to be a part of Clan Potter should be willing to do the same."
Ron leaned back a bit in his seat, wondering if Harry was issuing a defining challenge. "I’m with you, Harry, no worries there," he replied quickly. "I’m just worried about having to fight Voldemort and the Ministry at the same time, especially with dad being on the other side."
"Don’t sell your dad short before he’s asked to make that choice," Hermione replied. She tried to defuse the situation by changing the subject. "So do you think Sir Evan will be able to help us?"
"Don’t see how, given his bad hip," Ron replied.
"Think about how the badge operates, though," Hermione said. "If they work like he says, then we could always transport to his location if we ever got into trouble, or stuck within an anti-apparition field. Assuming," she added, "that we all have our apparition licenses sometime in the next decade or so."
"Yeah, yeah," Ron replied. "Kind of limited use, though, if it means we’d always end up in Eastleigh…without someone being badged inside Little Wizarding…too bad we can’t get our hands on more of those things."
"Well," said Harry, "I can always talk to the Prince about getting more badges, though I think we’d have to think hard about who they’d go to. And as for having a badge in Eastleigh but not one in Little Whinging, there’s a solution to that, isn’t there?"
"Think he’d want to move?" Ron asked.
"In a heartbeat, if it meant spending some time with Hermione," Harry replied with a grin.
"Oh stop," Hermione said. "He’s a very nice man, and if he flirts a bit, well, at eighty-eight he can get away with it." She took a hand off the steering wheel and, after activating the badge she was wearing over her summer jumper, touched Sir Evan’s ray.
"Yes, Dame Hermione, brightest ray of the sun, what can I do for you?"
Ron grinned while Hermione shook her head at him. "We were just wondering if you’d like to stay with us for a while up in Surrey."
They heard something mumbled on the other side, and a moment later Ron had company in the back seat.
"Thought you’d never ask," Sir Evan said with a frail smile, as he leaned back on the rear bench of the Bentley.