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Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall
Queen's Wizard, Part 1
By canoncansodoff
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.
Chapter 12 – Queen’s Wizard
"The wards are still up," Harry said, as the tingling sensation traveled down his spine even before Hermione had turned onto Privet Drive. "I do hope that isn’t because Aunt Petunia is still here."
The chances that the Dursleys were still in Little Whinging, and any thoughts that there would be anything "small" about the dinner celebration that evening were quickly dispelled by the sight of the circus tent that covered a good portion of the street between Number 4 and Number 5. Hermione parked the car just outside of a barricade set up at the end of the street. Wally and Brian were waiting for them with umbrellas and a wheelchair.
"Good evening, Sir Evan," Brian said as he opened the rear door. "Sir Harry’s mobile call gave us the opportunity to ready a place for you to stay. Would you like me to take you there?"
"Not unless it has a stocked wet bar, thank you very much," Sir Evan replied. Ron rolled his eyes; the elderly knight had been badgering them to stop at a pub ever since he had popped out of thin air and into the Bentley.
Brian smiled as he helped the elderly man into the chair and handed him an umbrella. "I believe we will be able to accommodate your request under the tent."
As Brian pushed Sir Evan past four parked motor coaches Wally hung back to chat with the other three.
"I hope you don’t mind our initiative," he said, "but we’re going to make Number Twelve wheelchair accessible and convert its living room for Sir Evan’s use."
That’s fine, Wally," Harry replied. "We had been talking about turning one of the houses into an infirmary...this just moves that construction schedule up a bit." Harry crunched his eyebrows as he thought of something. "Do we have anyone lined up to take care of him?"
Wally nodded. "We had the same concern…there aren’t any c-mug geriatric nurses on MI-5 ¾’s payroll. But in a rather happy coincidence, one of your guests this evening is a card-carrying registered nurse."
"And who would that be?" Harry asked.
"A Mrs. Janet Miller," Wally replied, "the Muggle mum of a Hogwarts student from Chelsea."
"Oh great," groaned Hermione, "she must be Amy Miller’s mum."
"Third-year Ravenclaw," she replied, "and one of the more ardent members of the Harry Potter Fan Club."
Ron chuckled. "And how would know about the membership rolls of just such a club?"
Hermione blushed. "Well, I thought it my duty as Harry’s friend to keep tabs on what his fan girls were up to."
Harry grabbed Hermione’s and pulled her close. "And I suppose that was the only reason for joining my fan club, huh?"
"Maybe," she replied, before sticking out her tongue.
Harry tried to catch her tongue with a kiss, then laughed. "Well I suppose it’s time I break little Amy’s heart, along with those belonging to any of the other witches in that club that are here tonight."
Hermione’s eyes sparkled. "Who said it was only witches that fancied you?"
"Too much information," Ron yelled, covering his ears with his hands.
"Speaking of guest lists," Harry said quickly, as he turned to Wally, "I thought we agreed that tonight’s dinner party was going to be small."
"Well it is, actually," Wally said with a smile, "when you compare it with the Solstice Celebration that Fred and George have planned for next week..."
"So what about the neighbors?"
"We put them on a bus and sent them to the West End for the night…they’ve got tickets for the revival of Camelot."
That wasn’t the only clue that someone from the Muggle world had sprung the surprise, rather than the Weasley Twins. A yellow-brick road lay along the street, leading to a tent decorated like Munchkinland. Young children in brightly-colored costumes were running around with huge lollypops in their hands, or waiting in line for pony rides and candy floss. Their parents and older siblings were mingling under the tent and in front of a stage set with musical instruments and loudspeakers; Harry recognized the faces of several Muggleborn Hogwarts students sprinkled within this crowd.
"Looks like Mum put her mailing list to good use," Hermione said with a smile, as they were approached by a blond wand-bearing teen that wore white silk, corkbottle caps, and a goofy smile.
"Erm, I’m supposed to ask whether you are you a good witch, or a bad witch."
Hermione and Harry laughed, while Ron stood gobsmacked.
"Merlin, Luna, you look…you look beautiful."
"Thank you Ronald," she replied sweetly, as she walked up to him and gave him a kiss that turned Ron’s face beet-red.
Harry reached his arm around Hermione’s shoulder and hugged her close. "Oy, Weasley," he said, "save the bashful bit for the Snow White party."
Ron overlaid befuddlement on embarrassment as Luna took his arm and led him towards the tent. A great cheer arose when the four were spotted, and Harry, Ron and Hermione were quickly enveloped within a sea of handshakes and backslaps as thirty-seven muggle-born Hogwarts students angled for a chance to introduce Harry to their family. It took the better part of an hour for them to meet everyone; Harry might have spent the entire night within that crowd had Brian not saved him with word that he had another guest to meet. He led Harry, Hermione, Ron and Luna inside Number Five, where they found the Prince of Wales and his Royal Historian chatting with Hermione’s parents.
"Oh, there you are, Sir Harry…come in, come in," the Prince said. "And this must be Dame Hermione," he said, as he kissed the back of her hand. "It is a true honor to finally meet you, my lady."
Hermione blushed, not knowing whether she should pull her hand back, curtsy, or give some sort of formal response. "Pleased to meet you, Your Highness," she finally replied.
Harry then introduced the Prince to Ron and Luna, and started to introduce Luna to Hermione’s parents before they stopped him with word that they had met before the party started.
"So what brings you to Little Whinging, Your Highness?" Harry asked.
"Well, I did hear that there was cause to celebrate your freedom," the Prince replied. "And I as I already had a few things to discuss with you, I thought I’d come out and do it in person."
"How can I help you, Your Highness?"
"Now you see…there you go again," the Prince replied. "Please remember that I am the one that is supposed to be asking how I can help you."
The Prince suggested that they all sit down. "Firstly," he began, "Her Majesty and I were wondering if you would join us for lunch on Tuesday. We’re having a little get together out at Windsor, before taking in a bit of racing."
"Racing…on Tuesday?" Hermione asked. "Isn’t that the day that the Queen reopens the Royal Ascot?"
"Why, yes it is," he replied. Don’t worry…lunch won’t be anything too large, and it’s only a short ride from the castle down onto the course. Supposed to be nice weather, I hear."
"You…you aren’t asking us to ride in the Queen’s procession, are you?" Hermione asked incredulously, looking from the Prince over to her parents and then back.
"Erm, yes, I am, actually," the Prince replied. "I know that it’s rather last minute, but…"
"But we aren’t royalty," stated Harry.
"Is that so, Sir Harry?" the Prince replied with a smile. "Well, perhaps we can decide that part later, then? Good. Onto the second point. I understand that you’ve met with Mr. Baxter already? He’s been doing a little research for me, and we’ve come upon something that you might wish to consider...Mr. Baxter?"
"Thank you, Your Highness," the Royal Historian replied, and he turned towards the teens. "Over the past week I have been reviewing some of the treaties signed between the leadership of the Muggle and wizarding worlds, with particular interest on the position of Royal Wizard."
"You mean like Godric Gryffindor, when he was King’s Wizard?"
"Exactly," the historian replied. "You see, there hasn’t been a Royal Wizard for quite some time, and we weren’t sure whether the position had been eliminated by treaty, but it turns out that it hasn’t been."
"So the Queen, if she wanted to, could appoint a Royal Wizard even today?" Harry asked.
"What does a Royal Wizard do?" Ron asked.
"Well,the Royal Wizard was the sovereign’s representative in the wizarding world…an ambassador of sorts. They also led the wizarding forces loyal to that king or queen, in the days when the two world hadn’t completely separated, and advised the ruler on magical issues."
"But there aren’t any wizard forces under control of the Queen, are there?"
"No, neither directly, or under Her government," said the historian. "That right was ceded by treaty in the Sixteenth Century…but the position of Royal Wizard wasn’t ceded…it was kept for ceremonial purposes, much like the Swiss Guards that work for the Pope."
"Which brings us around to a question for you, Sir Harry," the Prince interjected. "Her Royal Highness would be pleased to have you serve her in that capacity."
"Because of the advantages that come with the post, I imagine," the historian said. "We understand that you have to worry about just how much information about the wizarding world you can legally share with Her Royal Majesty and her government. As Queen’s Wizard, we do not believe that would be an issue…there is no treaty limitation on the position's advisory role."
"So there’s an exception to the secrecy regulations for Royal Wizards, so long as it’s the Queen he’s talking to?" Harry asked.
"Again, that is our interpretation," the historian said. "The Royal Wizard is also allowed to use magic to support and defend the Crown, and there is no limitation made based on the age of the wizard."
"So you think that if I were Queen’s Wizard that I wouldn’t have to wait six more weeks to use a wand legally?" Harry said. "Sounds like an attractive offer…Hermione, any drawbacks that you can see?"
The bushy-haired witch thought for a moment. "Besides the obvious political fallout?" she asked. "Can’t imagine Scrimgeour will be too happy about you working for the Queen instead of him. It would also probably limit your future career options...forget working for the Ministry, or as an Auror."
"The pay is pretty good, if that is an issue," the Prince said with a smile. "Although we were also considering combining the ceremony with an investiture for the new Lord Gryffindor, and that would certainly involve some additional financial resources…."
"I’m not worried about money," Harry said, "I would like to be able to do something interesting after all of this, though...I imagine that I could always track down Dark Wizards in defense of the British Empire, right?"
Hermione turned to the historian. "Was Albus Dumbledore asked to be King’s Wizard during the war?"
"As a matter of fact he was," the Prince replied. "Unfortunately, he felt that his first loyalty had to be to Hogwarts. Of course, that didn’t stop him from acting as a de facto advisor," he said with a smile, "Or from leading the Order of Arthur….oh, that’s right. I almost forgot. As Queen’s Wizard you would have control of the remaining eight badges…I understand that they might be useful when placed in the right hands."
"Yes, I imagine that they would," said Harry, thinking furiously. "I hope this doesn’t offend you, Your Highness, but it sounds like some of this is based on treaty interpretations by your staff. Not that I doubt your skills, Mr. Baxter, but I might want to get a second opinion from a wizard barrister."
"No offense taken, my boy," the historian said. "That does sound like a prudent idea."
"I’ll take that as a provisional yes, then," the Prince said, "and trust that you’ll be able to establish a legal opinion from your side in the near future?"
"I'll try to be quick about it, Your Highness," Harry said.
"Excellent. Then it’s time to head out to the tent and celebrate. Dame Hermione's parents have arranged for a splendid band to play tonight."
As the group headed back to the tent Harry grabbed his girlfriend’s hand and held her back.
"Hermione," he asked, "you know how I talked about breaking some Fan Club hearts tonight?"
"Yes," she replied with a slight smile.
"Well, I’ve been having second thoughts."
"What about, Mr. Potter?" she said with a tinge of concern.
Harry quickly realized the multiple meanings of his last comment. "Not about us!" he quickly reassured her. "It's about...about whether we should keep our relationship a secret. And no, it’s not because I’m not proud to be your boyfriend, or afraid of Ginny, but…."
"Well, I’m afraid that it would be too dangerous for you if word got out that you were my girlfriend."
"You mean closer than I already was, or in more danger than I already was?" Hermione asked incredulously. "Harry, I’m already marked, probably number two on their hit list, since I’m a Muggleborn, and our friendship’s been no secret. And I mean, really, they’ve already tried to kill my parents and take me out, how much worse could it get?"
"Are you sure?" Harry asked skeptically.
"Are you sure you don’t want to see who else is enrolled in your Fan Club?"
"Yes, I’m sure," Harry said with a bright smile and a quick kiss. "Have it your way, then….just don’t say I didn’t warn you."
"Whatever do you mean, Harry?"
"Oh, nothing," the teen-aged wizard replied with a smirk.
They got to the tent just as his girlfriend's mum had stepped up to a microphone at the front of the stage.
"Good evening, everyone, I'd like to welcome you all here this evening," she began. "My name is Emily Granger, Chief Information Officer for the Fawkes Foundation, and, more importantly, Hermione Granger’s mum." (cheers and laughs from the crowd). "The band will be starting up in a few minutes, but before that I have a few announcements to make."
"Those families that that requested mobile telephones or laptop computers can pick them up at the back of the tent. There are also sign-up sheets there for anyone who needs high-speed internet connections installed, or computer lessons."
"Secondly, the summer lecture series ‘Muggles ‘R Us’ will kick off next Thursday, with a presentation by Robert Baxter from the British Museum titled ‘Merlin’s Legacy.’ Place and time will be posted this weekend on the muggleborn.com website. Which reminds me…if anyone hasn’t gotten their secure login codes yet please see me before the end of night."
"And last, I'd like to ask that each family introduce themselves to their club leaders this evening. We are hoping that each club meets sometime in the next week or two. Now, we’ve already heard from a few students that wish to be in the same group with best friends or housemates, but we ask that everyone give theie assignments a go. Groupings were based on geography, but we also made it a point to see that each club has different houses and years represented. Remember kids, on this side of Platform 9 ¾ you’ve all been sorted into the same house."
"And now, I’d like to turn the microphone over to a very special guest. Please give a warm Little Wizarding welcome to His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales."
The Prince strode up onto the stage, producing a raucous round of cheering. While Harry looked on with no small amount of apprehension, the Prince began to speak.
"On behalf of Her Majesty’s Government and the residents of Little Wizarding I’d like to thank all of you for coming out to this event. We are here to celebrate a liberation of sorts…not just Harry’s liberation from his tyrannical relatives, but the liberation of all of us from the tyranny of isolation and fear."
After the cheers and clapping subsided he continued.
"But perhaps I should step back and explain why I am here this evening. Two weeks ago, when I first met an amazing young man named Harry Potter, I was reminded that I am heir to the throne of all of Great Britain, and not just its Muggle bits."
That comment drew laughs from the crowd.
"Now there are some who believe that Her Majesty's government has no interest in protecting British witches and wizards from magical threats, but I think that this is rubbish. Young witches and wizards do not forfeit their rights as citizens of the United Kingdom upon their entry to Hogwarts...and the most basic of those rights is the expectation that their government will protect them from all threats, be they external, internal, Muggle or magical."
"Some might argue that the wizarding community has the resources to handle magical threats on its own, and that the Muggle government of Great Britain should mind its own business. Well, it is the unfortunate truth that over the past year the wizarding community has been unable to thwart the Dark Wizard and his minions. The evil one who fancies himself Lord Voldemort has even purposely attacked Muggles in an attempt to reach his intended goals. While we have no intention of getting in the way of the Ministry of Magic’s efforts, neither will Her Majesty’s government stand idly by in the hope that things will get better on their own."
"And this is where all of you, this young man, and this community enter into the story. I’m sure that most of you have heard the story of Harry Potter, of how he has seemingly been destined since birth to face Lord Voldemort. In the short time that I have known him, he has done nothing to diminish my confidence that he is up to this task, but he can not do it alone. Her Majesty’s government has made certain resources available to him for this fight, but this help alone is not sufficient. It is up to all of us, and all of you, to do whatever you can to help him in this fight. It is my hope that you will consider any help you give him to be as if you were giving it to the Crown itself. And it is my expectation that even in the darkest of days, you will all display the stoic resolve and strength that is at the very heart of what it means to be British."
The Prince then decided that it was time for Harry to make a few remarks. Saying that he wasn’t used to being a warm-up act but that in this case it was entirely appropriate, he pulled Harry up onto the stage. The young wizard looked as if he’d rather face Voldemort than a live microphone.
"Well, erm…look, I’m pants at giving speeches," he began, "so I hope you’re not expecting anything fancy coming out of my mouth." Sprinkles of laughter arose from the crowd. "It’s great seeing so many of my schoolmates here. Looks like we have a few Gryffindors here tonight (cheer), not to mention Ravenclaws (cheer) and Hufflepuffs (cheer)…if anyone out there is from Slytherin House (jeers and catcalls), the Death Eater’s Friday-night Fish Fry is next street over (big laugh)."
"I love seeing all of you with your families, because that’s what this is all about," Harry continued. "It;s what the work of the Fawkes Foundation is all about. I want all of the Hogwarts students out there to think about your parents, and brothers and sisters. If you think we live our lives in the Twilight Zone, what about them? When they’re at work and a co-worker starts bragging about their son’s play on the pitch what can they say…yeah, but you should see what my kid can do with a broom?" (laugh). When the neighbors bring around pictures of their children dressed for school socials can ours share moving pictures of us in our dress robes? (someone shouted "No great loss for Weasley," to the crowd’s amusement). While we’re away at school its the parents that have to always watch what they say, or do, to keep our world secret, and up to now they’ve had to shoulder that responsibility pretty much on their own. If the Fawkes Foundation can do anything to help support our families, to ease the burden they carry…through a network of Muggleborns and their families, then it will be an investment well made."
"The Prince talked about the challenge we face tonight. In a perfect world Voldemort would have no power. In a slightly less perfect world, the Ministry of Magic would be powerful enough to handle him. But we all know the reality….and we also know that on its own the Muggle government would find it hard to defeat a dark wizard. This is why a third way is so necessary…a path along which muggles and wizards march side by side, with those allied against the Dark forces."
"I’ve seen some amazing things these past weeks, and imagined amazing possibilities….Muggles and wizards collaborating in ways unthinkable for those blinded by narrow minds and racist attitudes. It’s enough to give a skinny young kid with hopeless hair some hope. And I can’t begin to say how much I appreciate all of the help and support I’ve received….from the Prince to the Grangers to all of you. It’s been…well, it’s been brilliant."
"There’s lots more we could talk about, but that’s what IM’ing is for, isn’t it? (laughs)…I just want to end by saying one thing more…Hermione, will you come up here?"
The crowd cheered and whistled while Harry held his hand out to a very embarrassed-looking witch. He pulled her up on stage and spun around to face the crowd, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.
"You know," Harry said, "there’s a prediction out there that Lord Voldemort will be defeated by a power he knows not. Headmaster Dumbledore thought it was love, but it’s also entirely possible that it is the power of Muggles. That was a bit of a riddle for me...as I look for all of the advantages I can get to defeat Old Tom; what should I look for….love, or a Muggle?"
Harry looked at Hermione, who was giving him a very high eyebrow. "Well," he continued, " I’d like to announce tonight that I’ve found an answer to that riddle. Killing two birds with one stone, I’ve fallen in love with the smartest and prettiest Muggleborn witch that I know – Hermione Jane Granger."
At that very moment, while the crowd went wild with applause and wolf whistles and cries ("About time, Potter" being quite popular) Harry pulled Hermione towards him and planted a long, full kiss on her lips. That only incited the crowd to louder cheering. When they broke the lip lock, Hermione, her cheeks bright red, leaned over and whispered into his ear.
"You are going to get so lucky tonight, Potter."
Saturday, June 16
Little Whinging, Surrey
“Ouch!…erm, morning Luna,” Harry stammered, as he blotted spilt coffee. “Did we miss giving you the belt?”
The blonde-haired teen entered Number Four’s kitchen wearing the same red “Clan Potter” dressing gown that Harry was wearing. Except that hers was hanging open over a skimpy mid-drift baring camisole and bright-red knickers.
She reached into the robe’s pockets and pulled out the ends of its sash. “No…is that a problem?” she asked with a bit of concern. “I like to air out my navel in the morning…keeps the nargle larvae from nesting, you know.”
“Erm, no…that’s fine,” Harry said. “I’m glad to see that you feel comfortable here…it’s just that in the Muggle world, erm, well…we usually wear something over our knickers when we’re in mixed company…unless we’re more than just good friends.”
“Oh….sorry,” Luna replied as she quickly tied her robe closed. “I thought that it wasn’t any different than Muggle swimming costumes.”
“You’re right,” Harry replied, trying not to make his house guest feel bad. “Guess that it’s one of those Muggle customs…location is everything, I guess….Say, our morning run is at seven…maybe you brought some shorts and you could join us?”
Luna’s eyes brightened back up. “I didn’t, but I can transfigure some…be right back.” Harry poured a cup of coffee for Luna while she ran back upstairs to change. She returned with a skin-tight t-shirt and a bra-less bounce in her step, forcing Harry to very carefully place his coffee mug on the counter top. Choosing to say nothing, he wondered just how many other surprises were in store for Luna’s visits to Little Wizarding.
“You’re up early…weren’t able to sleep?” he asked.
“Ronnie sure snores a lot, doesn’t he?” Luna replied. “I could hear them clear across the hall…how do you get any sleep at all in the same room?”
“Six years of practice,” Harry replied with a grin. “It’s actually gotten better, if you can believe that. Hermione convinced him to start wearing a Muggle breathing strip across his nose at night.”
“Maybe it will get better once we start sleeping together,” Luna said.
“Erm, yes…well, perhaps it will,” Harry said, forcing something out of his mouth besides sprayed liquids.
Luna plopped down on a kitchen table chair. “Unless, of course, you and Ron prefer sleeping together.”
Harry’s head snapped back a bit in shock. “Luna, Ron and I sleep in the same room, but we’re not sleeping together.”
“Well…wait, you really don’t know, do you?” he asked.
“Don’t know what?” Luna replied, confusion clearly displayed on her face.
“When Muggles talk about two people sleeping together, they really mean that they are shagging.”
“Oh…well if that’s the case why don’t they just say shag instead of sleep?”
“Erm…good question…usually if two people share a bed they’re also shagging…unless you listen to Uncle Vernon, of course,” Harry replied with a grin.
“So Muggles only shag when they’re asleep? Where’s the fun in that?”
“Erm, well... I guess it’s just the most private place to, erm…” Harry caught sight of somebody walking down the hall. “Good morning, Hermione.”
“Most private place to do what?” Hermione asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“Oh, Harry and I were just talking about sleeping together,” Luna said matter-of-factly.
“We were talking about the phrase ‘sleeping together’ and how it means more than just sharing a kip,” Harry replied quickly.
“Oh,” Hermione said, as she looked at Luna and Harry with furrowed brow. “And exactly how did this topic of conversation take place?”
“I told Harry that Ron’s snoring might get better if he slept with me.”
Wondering whether it really was that innocent, Hermione decided to change topics. “So what got you out of bed so early, Harry?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he said wearily. “A bit excited after all of last night’s fun, and I knew I had a stack of papers to go through.” He had in fact been reviewing an emancipation document that legally severed his Aunt and Uncle’s custodial rights over him.
The teen-aged wizard's mobile chirped. He fished it out of his pocket, pushed the correct button, and said, "Hullo?"
“Good morning, Sir Harry, sorry that it’s so early.”
“That’s fine, Wally, we were already up,” Harry replied. “What’s going on?”
“There was an accident in London last night that might be of interest to you. A man was struck by a lorry and taken to hospital. The report caught the eye of one of my colleagues when it was noted that the victim was wearing some sort of purse tied to his belt.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure until they e-mailed me some pictures of the crime scene. After all, I’ve been known to carry a purse around myself now and then. But the style it was so…erm, medieval…it just simply screamed wizard…no offense,” Wally added quickly.
“None taken,” Harry replied with a smile. “How is this bloke doing?”
“Just came out of surgery about two hours ago…still in a bad way, though,” Wally said. “It happens now and again that a John Doe is really a Merlin Doe, and there are protocols in place for notifying your wizard hospital, but…I thought I’d forward a head shot to you first, since the man is the same height and weight as that Mundungus chap you asked us to be on the look-out for.”
Harry’s heart jumped a beat. “Sure…send me the photo and I’ll take a look.”
“It’s already been sent…remember how to check your e-mail using the mobile?”
“Yeah, hang on.” Harry pushed a button to place Wally’s call on “hold,” then changed screens and punched a few more buttons to get to his in-box, where the message was waiting. He opened the attached jpeg, and squinted when the upper torso of the accident victim filled the mobile’s display screen.
“What do you think, Hermione?” Harry asked, handing her the device.
“Hard to tell with all that blood splatter,” she replied, “but it could be him.”
“Let’s check it out then,” Harry replied.
Hermione nodded and toggled back to the call, letting Wally know that Harry and she wanted to make an identification in person.
“He’s bringing the car around,” she said, after ending the call and returning Harry’s mobile.
He nodded and turned towards Luna, “Would it be alright if we left you here with Ron for a few hours?” he asked.
“Fine with me,” the blonde witch replied with a dreamy looking look. “Gives me the chance to work on his snoring problem.”
oo00OO00oo
Hermione leaned forward over the rear-facing bench. “Wally, I’m sorry but would you mind terribly if we rolled the divider up?”
“That’s why it’s there, Dame Hermione” Wally replied with a smile. “We’ll be at hospital in about thirty minutes.” He then saved her the trouble and raised the opaque divider between front and rear seats. Hermione leaned back, then stretched out on the bench facing Harry.
She turned a wide yawn into a smile. “Merlin, I’m still sleepy...I could use a kip.”
Harry chuckled. “Gee, I wonder why,” he replied with a bit of cheek. He then surprised Hermione by pouncing on top of her. “Need a blanket?”
“Got your hopes up after Luna’s comments, Harry?”
Harry reached down and pulled an errant strand of her hair back from her face.
“No,” he replied, “I’ve had those hopes for a little while now.”
“Since the last time I was stretched out in this motorcar.”
Hermione paused for a second to process, then squinted a bit when she arrived at an answer. After squinting she gave Harry a good sock in the arm.
“I thought you were sleeping when I was dressing down your Aunt!”
Harry grinned. “Kind of hard to sleep through the thunderstorm that you were brewing.”
“Oh,” she said quietly. “Guess I did get a little worked up.”
“So do you think we could do it?” Harry asked.
“Watch each other’s backs through the night.”
“Depends on whether you sleep on your side,” Hermione replied.
“I’m more worried about Ron,” she said.
“Looks like Luna might be a help there,” Harry said. “So when do you want to try?”
“Think you can behave yourself until third date?”
“Erm…yes, I think so,” Hermione said with a smile. “But that’s only one, and next time I’m expecting you to do the planning, not Mum.”
“Fair enough, I guess,” Harry said, mustering all of the sincerity he could gather at that moment, “I think that I can…that is, if you think you can keep your hands off of me.”
“My hands?” Hermione asked, with a sparkle in her eye. She shoved her two hands down the rear pockets of Harry’s trousers and gave a firm squeeze. “After last night…you’re the one worrying about my hands?”
Hermione raised her head up and gave Harry’s nose a quick peck. “No, I didn’t, did I?”
Mundungus Fletcher had never smelled a room as sterile as the one within which he regained consciousness. It was quite unnerving…almost as unnerving as the fact that his eyes were almost completely wrapped in white gauze and that he was breathing through a tube that was shoved down his throat.
“Why Dung, you are alive…so nice to see you again, though I dare say I’ve never seen you quite so….clean.”
The injured wizard tried, but failed, to turn his head towards the voice.
“Whoa, watch it there, Dung…the doctors have your necked braced for a reason…what… what’s that? Oh yes, and the tube is there because you weren’t breathing too well without it. You see, for some reason, these Muggle doctors actually think your sorry excuse for a life is worth saving.”
Dung’s eyes were able to move, and once they regained their ability to resolve the image that was presently hovering above his face the result wasn’t very encouraging.
“Yes, Dung, it’s me, Harry…you know, the kid you left to Dementors while you were off pawning stolen goods…the kid whose mansion you stole from…and before you try to apparate, don’t bother…you’ve been ankled with an anti-app bracelet.”
Dung could barely feel something around one of his legs, but was in no position to see what it was.
“So here’s the situation. The Muggles found you left for dead after being struck by a lorry outside of a pawn shop. Your head’s a right mess, and your brain is still so swollen that the doctors think they’ll have to operate again….yes, Dung…again. They’ve already drilled a few holes into your skull to reduce the swelling.”
The scruffy thief didn’t think that doctor’s trying to save his life could have anything to do with drills and his skull.
“Nurse tells me that if they have to go back in it won’t be drills, this time but a saw.”
Dung’s eyes narrowed in fright.
“Oh, now Dung, I knew you’d be worrying about that, so I thought I help ease your concerns. Nurse let me borrow one of the tools they’d be using.” Harry held a small battery-operated rotary saw over the patients’s head that was about the size of an electric toothbrush, with a 5cm diameter circular saw blade held perpendicular to the grip.
“See these Muggles, they use technology to make things so much smaller, and quieter,” Harry explained. “Would you like a demonstration?” Harry pressed a button on the handle and the circular blade began to twirl with a soft, but high-pitched whine that had Dung’s full attention.
“Of course, you wouldn’t need all of the knives and drills and saws cutting into your body if you were at St. Mungo’s, now would you? So I have a simple proposition…I’m going have the doctors take that tube out of your mouth, and you’re going to tell me where I can find a locket that you took from the Black mansion. Then we’re going to get it, and when we do, I’ll see to it that the healers at St. Mungo’s fix you up.”
oo00OO00oo
Three hours later, Harry returned to Dung’s hospital room with Hermione and Wally by his side and the real Slytherin’s locket in the front pants pocket opposite the one which contained the fake.
“Well, wonders never cease, it was right where you told me it was…and I only had to pay two hundred quid to get it back.”
“I may be a thief,” Mundungus said weakly, “but I’m no liar.”
Harry walked over to the bed and pulled the tape off of the magazine that had been wrapped around Dung’s leg. Dung’s eyes went wide as Harry showed it to him and Wally began to wheel the hospital bed out to a waiting ambulance for the ride to St. Mungo’s.
“Well I’m no thief,” Harry said, “but I have been known to stretch the truth some times myself. Guess we’ll have to call it even.”
Harry and Hermione had hoped to test their badge’s ability to transport them across Little Wiz’s goblin wards, but Ron wasn’t answering their call. Sir Evan, of course, had his badge available for what turned out to be a successful test.
The return trip to Number Four wasn’t quite as successful, from a time efficiency standpoint. First was the fifteen minute chat with Sir Evan, who was thrilled with his new accommodations now that his things had been packed up and delivered from the nursing home in Eastleigh. Then there was the meeting with Nurse Miller and her entire family, who had returned to Little Whiz that morning to look at the possibility of moving into Number Twelve, at least for the summer. Once they got out to the street, they were met by Hermione’s parents, who wanted to talk about how well the party had gone, and give word that three additional muggle-born families had already expressed interest in moving to Little Wiz.
It was some sixty minutes after their “instantaneous” arrival on Privet Drive that Harry and Hermione entered the front door of Number Four. They found the house empty, save for Ron and the Xbox. He informed them that Luna had floo’d back to her house to pack her things, having secured her father’s permission to accept Harry’s offer for her to stay with them in Little Wiz. Brian had driven out to the Lovegood residence to help with the transport, having decided that it be safer if the Luna’s move was "muggled." This rather conveniently allowed the Trio to talk about horcrux disposal.
Harry was inclined to immediately make the trip to Hogwarts and the Chamber of Secrets to find a loose basilisk fang lying about to smash upon the horcrux. Hermione, after scolding Harry a bit for his typical impetuousness, suggested that it would be prudent to wait until the Twins were able to furnish them with the protective dragon hide body suits that they’d ordered. She also pointed out that Harry still couldn’t legally use magic (at least where it could be detected), and that there wasn’t much downside if they waited until things were properly prepared…except, of course, for the fact that waiting would mean that they’d have a little piece of Lord Voldemort’s soul to constantly safeguard.
The three spent some time balancing the pros and cons of waiting to attempt to destroy the horcrux before Harry struck upon the idea of asking MI-5 ¾ to hide the locket until they were ready to dispose of it. Ron initially scoffed at the idea of Muggles having a place secure enough, but Hermione came to Harry’s aid, pointing out that it would be hard to find a place less secure than when the locket was in Mundungus’s possession.
And so, after transfiguring a breakfast cereal box into a wooden chest and securing the locket with Hermione’s most intricate charm work, Harry tucked the horcrux under his arm and they walked across the street to Number Five, where Wally promised to “Indiana Jones” the container (until such time as Harry wanted it back). The secret agent subsequently promised to deliver a DVD of “Raiders of the Lost Ark” so that Ron would understand the movie reference.
Harry told Ron and Hermione that he had some business stuff that he needed to discuss with her Dad, and suggested that he’d catch up with them in a bit. He then walked up to Number Five’s operations center, where Mr. Granger was taking his turn monitoring the neighborhood’s surveillance system.
The black-haired wizard knocked on the open door. “Mr. Granger, do you have a few minutes?” he asked.
Roger Granger swiveled around on his chair and gave Harry a smile. “Of course, Son, have a seat.”
“Thanks,” Harry replied, as he sat down and focused on the questions and statements that he’d been rehearsing in his mind for most of the day. “Erm, wanted to say thanks again for the party last night…it was brilliant.”
“It was nothing, Harry….and everything that you deserved to celebrate."
Harry took a breath. “Mr. Granger, I’d like to…erm…wanted you to know…well, I’m hoping that you aren’t too concerned about the feelings I expressed last night about your daughter.”
The dentist-turned-secret agent smiled. “Why would Emily and I be concerned? We already knew how you two felt about each other, and what you said was…well Emily for one thought it was sweet.”
“Erm, thanks,” Harry replied. “I guess I just wanted to reassure you that, even with the Dursleys gone that you can trust me with your daughter and her, erm…virtue.”
Roger squinted just a bit and nodded almost imperceptibly, finally understanding the reason for Harry’s visit.
“Worrying what we might think now that you two have an unchaperoned run of Number Four?” he asked.
“Harry,” Mr. Granger replied, “what I said two weeks ago still holds true. We trust you with Hermione’s life, and everything that goes with it. We’ve trusted Hermione to make wise decisions for longer than that. Nothing you two have done since that time has shaken that trust.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Granger, it’s just that you might think that…especially now with Ron and Luna there, well…”
Roger chuckled. “Harry, I appreciate the fact that you were concerned enough to come talk to me. Not too many teenaged boys would do that. But we trust you two to do what you think is right for the both of you. Fact is that both of you are full of virtue, and that’s not going to change regardless of whatever happens in your relationship.”
The teen-aged wizard couldn’t believe what he was hearing and his faced showed as much.
“Harry," Roger continued, “you and Hermione live in a dangerous world at a particularly dangerous time. Emily and I have already talked about this, and given a choice, we’d frankly feel better knowing you two were watching each other’s back night and day…and I do mean night and day. Am I making myself clear?”
The Boy-Who-Lived stood, and nodded as he reached out his hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Granger, I promise not to let you down.”
Roger shook Harry’s hand, placing his other on the boy’s shoulder. “I know, Son…I know.”
Hours later, a waning moon cast light onto four intertwined feet at the base of a four poster bed.
“Harry,” Hermione said, while looking back over her shoulder, “don’t you want to snuggle some more?”
“I promised your dad I’d watch your back,” her boyfriend replied, as he traced his fingertips over her gown-covered shoulder blade.
Hermione turned so quickly that Harry didn’t have time to move his hand away as it was dragged onto her chest. “Harry Potter, you didn’t tell my father that we were thinking about this, did you?”
“Of course not...he was too busy talking about something called ‘plausible deniability.’”
Hermione slapped at Harry’s chest. “Merlin, he did what? And you really were talking about this weren’t you?”
“I’m sorry, Hermione, but I just had to,” Harry replied.
His girlfriend smiled, then pulled Harry’s head in for a languid kiss. “Well whatever you said must have been reassuring, else we’d have seen Dad camped outside our door.”
“Of course it was,” Harry replied, “it wasn’t like I was asking for permission to ask you to marry me.”
Hermione giggled. “Well that’s good to know.”
Harry gave her an evil grin. “Saving that question for next week.”
Chapter 13 – Field Appointment
Sunday, June 17, 7:02pm
Little Wizarding, Surrey
Nymphadora Tonks took delight in showing her boss how to use a doorbell.
“Head Auror Robards, thank you for coming on such short notice,” Harry said, after he opened the front door. He shook the man’s hand, and led the two into the living room. “Let’s see…you know the Headmistress, of course, and you have met Hermione. This is my good friend Ron Weasley and this is…”
“Remus, good to see you again,” the Head Auror interrupted, as he nodded towards Lupin.
“Would you like something to drink, Head Auror?” Hermione asked. “We have pumpkin juice, butterbeer, some muggle iced tea…”
“No thank you, Miss Granger,” the wizard replied.
“Sorry about that bounce and subsequent walk that you just took,” Harry said. “We didn’t know that our new security wards would keep you from using your personal portkey until you just tried.”
The Head Auror nodded curtly. “I have to admit that I was rather surprised…the only other place that I’m aware of with that kind of warding is Gringott’s.”
“Yes, well…we just consulted with the…erm, security advisors…who helped install the wards. Apparently I can authorize portkey use by members of the Clan and Clan Friends. We can put you on this list…assuming, of course, that you would want to be one or the other.”
The Head Auror gave Harry a confused stare, then turned to Headmistress McGonagall.
“Minerva, what’s going on?”
The Headmistress smiled, “Gawain, while I am his wizard guardian for a few more weeks, we are on Muggle territory, and it is my understanding that under Muggle laws Clan Chief Potter is an emancipated minor. In any event he can speak for himself.”
“Clan Chief?” the Head Auror asked.
“My barrister filed the papers at the Ministry last week,” Harry replied nonchalantly. “Guess with all of the bureaucracy word hadn’t gotten around yet…but if it’s alright with you, Head Auror, I’d like to defer further talk on this issue and get to the matter that led to our request for this meeting?”
The Auror nodded, as Harry got down to business.
“This afternoon, at approximately 4:15pm, we caught Peter Pettigrew scouting around the backyard of this house in his animagus form. Twenty minutes later we obliviated and released him.”
“You did what?” the Head Auror asked. “You do realize that it was at your insistence that Pettigrew had been placed on the ‘Most Wanted Wizards’ list, don’t you?”
“Mr. Potter likely had very good reasons for doing what he did,” Headmistress McGonagall interjected. “And I’m sure that he will be happy to share them with us.”
“In a manner, yes,” Harry replied. “But if it’s all the same I’d rather show you what happened, so that you can offer your own opinions on what was said and done.” He drew his wand from his back pocket as Ron brought the pensieve out from behind a chair.
“Mr. Potter, I assume you’ve placed the Muggles in this house out of earshot?” the Head Auror asked.
Harry smirked at the Head Auror as he placed his wand tip on his temple. “Rest assured, they are well out of earshot...now close your eyes for a second will you? I wouldn’t want to get into trouble for underage wand use.”
Robards responded with a gruff “Just get on with it,” as Harry pulled a silvery wisp of a memory from his head and placed it into the pensieve.
“Is it safe to jump in,” McGonagall asked, “or should we just look?”
“You'll see more if you jump,” Ron replied. “I’ll hang back to keep a watch while Harry and Hermione join you to answer your questions.”
Twenty minutes later six witches and wizards returned from their journey into the recent past. Ron greeted them with butterbeers. “So what did you think?” he asked.
The Head Auror took a healthy swig from his bottle. “I think that we have a lot to think about.”
“Were we wrong to assume that in exchange for canceling the life debt that Wormtail’s word was good?” Hermione asked.
“No, I think that you worded the agreement quite carefully,” Remus replied. “I might have held on to that debt for a better deal, but…”
“It was worth it if what he told us was true,” Harry replied. “Besides, he merely exchanged one debt for another owed to Hermione…without her intervention I would have killed him on the spot.”
“Pettigrew might have thought he was telling the truth about this plan…” Remus mused.
“We’ve considered the possibility that he’d been intentionally fed misinformation,” Hermione replied. “And we’ve sketched out a plan that we think will keep us and the Ministry safe, even if it is a ruse.”
Head Auror Robards stepped into the discussion. “I find it difficult to believe that the Death Eaters have cells within any Ministry department, much less the Auror corps. I devised the constant vigilance program myself.”
“Gawain,” McGonagall replied gently, “nobody in this room questions your skills, but remember whom we are dealing with. After all, they were able to hide a polyjuiced Death Eater under Dumbledore’s nose for almost a year.”
The Auror paused in thought for a minute. “So, Mr. Potter, what are your plans?”
Harry looked at Ron and Hermione before giving the Head Auror a grim looking smile. “Well for starters, I plan on accepting an invitation from the Queen…”
Monday, June 18, 4:00pm
Little Whinging, Surrey
“Mum, I have absolutely nothing to wear for tomorrow!”
Emily Granger couldn’t choke off a laugh as Luna Lovegood helped her daughter rummage furiously through her bedroom closet. “Hermione, I never thought I’d ever hear you say something so charmingly teenagerish, particularly given circumstances.”
Hermione talked over her shoulder. “Well it’s not everyday that you’re invited to dine with the Queen and sit in the Royal Enclosure on the opening day at Ascot, is it?”
Emily nodded sympathetically as Luna pulled the blue evening gown out that Hermione had worn at her knighting ceremony. “Maybe you could transfigure this one?”
“Thought of that,” Hermione said, “but I’m pants at altering, and even if I weren’t, I don’t have a clue what I should be wearing…besides a hat, of course. At least you’ve got that one covered, Luna.”
“Oh, I’m not sure about that,” Luna said. “Ron made me promise to keep it quiet amongst the Muggles, and it does have a mind of its own.”
Hermione berated herself for not knowing exactly what to wear to the event. There had to be a book on the subject, but she’d been too busy worrying about defeating Voldemort to read Vogue. With all of the humility she could muster, she finally decided to take her mother’s suggestion and ask for some outside help.
Exactly seventy-two minutes later, Wally whisked Luna and Hermione into a small dress shop on a fashionable street in London’s West End. He introduced them to the shop’s owner, an old friend he had worked with at the Royal Household. “Do their beauty justice, Helen,” Wally instructed, “they’ll be in the Royal Box, so they’ll have to look good on camera.”
“Of course,” the seamstress replied. “The Royal Ascot’s always televised, and there’s a lot of interest this year with the new grandstand opening up. It’ll be something like 60 different countries, 25 million viewers, if you can believe the newspapers.”
Hermione looked nervously over at Luna.
“If anybody asks,” she warned, “your lion hat runs on batteries.”
Tuesday, June 19, 10:30am
Little Whinging, Surrey
Roger Granger adjusted the knot in Ron’s tie as they waited for the girls to emerge from Hermione’s bedroom. “Funny you don’t know how to tie one of these,” he told Ron. “It is part of your school uniform, isn’t it?”
Harry laughed as he stood before a mirror and tucked some unruly strands of hair under his black top hat. “Little Muggle boys have clip-ons, little wizards have self-knotting ties.”
“Sod off,” Ron said, just as Emily and Wally walked down the stairs.
“Oh don’t you two look handsome,” said Wally, who, as part of their security detail, was also dressed in a morning suit. “They’re coming right down, and Hermione’s a little self-conscious, so help out, will you?” Harry didn’t have time to reassure Wally on that point, as Luna had just turned the corner of the stairs. She wore a tan short-sleeved silk jacket over a tea length strapless blue silk dress, accessorized by her cork-bottle necklace and lion hat.
Ron exclaimed, “Luna…you look erm…really, really nice.”
“Thank you, Ronald,” Luna replied breezily as she twirled around once before him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “And you look rather handsome, in a Muggle sort of way, yourself.”
It was Harry’s turn to gaze with amazement as Hermione somewhat nervously walked down the stairs. She wore a sea foam tea length sleeveless dress that sported a pleasing (at least to Harry) display of décolletage. Her cleavage was partially concealed by her Order of Arthur badge, which hung loosely the end of a thick platinum link chain. Covering the dress was a sheer long-sleeved overlay that buttoned closed at the neck and flared out towards the floor, floating out behind her like a gossamer cape. In deference to her profession, she wore a pointed witch hat that had been transfigured to match her dress color. The brim had been enlarged a bit, so that it flopped down rather stylishly in the front. Large flowers were arranged about her hat, held in place by a familiar looking green vine.
Hermione smiled as she ran her hands down Harry’s lapels and rubbed Harry’s badge, which (like Ron’s) was pinned to his suit jacket. “Thank you, Sir Harry, you look handsome too.” She then waved off Harry’s apology with the comment that his eyes had, once again, betrayed his thoughts. As it was raining lightly outside, Emily Granger shooed the four teenagers into the living room for pictures using both Muggle and magical cameras.
“So are we all armed and dangerous?” asked Ron afterwards, as he pulled his wand and a shrunken down broom out of his suit jacket. Harry tilted his head back until he felt the tip of the sword hilt that was strapped to his back, then reached under his shirt collar and carefully pulled his sword out and over his head. “I’m so glad Fred and George found this magical scabbard for me,” he said, as he used his other hand to open his jacket and reveal both his wand and shrunken-down Firebolt. He then tipped his head forward and caught the brim of his top hat as it flipped off of his head. He looked down at all of the objects stored within it. “Same with McGonagall’s work on this hat…can’t imagine my rucksack being considered an appropriate accessory for the day.”
“At least you three have solid concealment,” said Hermione, as Luna pulled her wand out from a sheath concealed by one of her sleeves. Lacking similar opacity about her upper torso, Hermione tucked two fingers into a hidden seam on the side of her dress and pulled down. The sound of ripping Velcro was heard as she exposed her right thigh and a garter belt that secured her wand.
“Say,” said Harry with a grin, as he reached towards the opened seam. “What else do you have hidden in there?”
“Never you mind,” Hermione said as she slapped his hand away. “C’mon, we don’t want to be late for the Queen.”
A cheer rang out as the four stepped out onto the front porch. Lining the path to the waiting vehicles were friends, both old and new...Fred and George next to Brian and Sir Evan, who were across from Remus and Tonks. Further down stood some of the latest initiates into the Clan Potter family…Dean Thomas, Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, Lee Jordan, Seamus Finnegan, and Neville Longbottom.
Hermione walked up to Sir Evan, who was sitting upright in his wheelchair with a Bluetooth-enabled headset in one ear and a handgun holstered on his lap.
“Now you promise to call us the second you realize that you need back-up here?”
“Don’t worry about us, Dame Hermione,” the knight replied. “Between Wally’s men and your young wizard friends we’ll be in fine shape.”
Harry walked up to Tonks and Remus, who were also dressed for Ascot. Lupin looked rather uncomfortable in his suit coat.
“Remus, you clean up good,” Harry said. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were ready to see Tonks walking down the aisle.”
The former DADA professor laughed as Tonks’s cheeks turned a shade that clashed with her hair.
“You just watch yourselves along the way, and we’ll see you there.”
Harry then walked over his fellow Gryffindors. “Want to say again how grateful we are that you all have helped keep watch these past few days.”
“We’d have been hurt if you hadn’t asked us,” Lee replied.
“Well, with any luck things will continue to be quiet here, but if it does get hairy…stick with Fred and George, they know the neighborhood, and trust the Muggle support…they’re not as helpless as you may have been led to believe.”
Neville clicked his heals at attention and gave a smiling salute. “Aye aye, Clan Chief.”
“Oh, stop that,” Harry scolded.
Wally approached Harry’s side. “Neighborhood evac starts in five minutes, Sir Harry, we should go.”
“What?” Seamus said with amazement, “First it’s Clan Chief, then it’s Sir Harry…when do we start saying ‘Your Lordship?’”
Harry shook his head and snorted out a rueful grin.
“Oh, about an hour from now.”
They made the trip in two cars; Harry and Hermione rode in the back of her Bentley, driven by Wally, while Ron and Luna rode in the back of the black Bentley with Steve up front. There had been some talk about the four riding together, but their security detail insisted on driving separately, saying that even it were perfectly safe that as guests of the Queen they should arrive in style.
“It’s not fair,” Harry mock-whined, as he reached an arm around Hermione’s shoulder and pulled her close. “Their Bentley has blackened windows and that screen between the seats.”
Hermione jabbed an elbow into his side. “Harry, honestly…at a time like this.” She paused, then waggled her eyebrows. “Then again, what better time than this?” She then grabbed his chin and kissed him full on the lips.
“A bit of an exhibitionist, are we?” Harry asked, when their tongues finally untangled.
“Nothing wrong with a bit of snogging is there?” Hermione replied. “Besides,” she said in a raised voice as she turned towards the front seat, “the Royal Household’s staff is famous for its discretion, right?”
“My apologies, Dame Hermione, did you say something?” Wally replied, with a grin that was reflected in the rear view mirror. “My eyes and ears were focused on the road.”
“There you go,” Harry said with a Cheshire Cat’s grin.
“Just keep it PG-13, Potter,” Hermione replied, as she leaned forward and wrapped both hands around Harry’s neck. “Wouldn’t want to corrupt the morals of any kiddies looking in.”
As Little Wizarding was located in the western suburbs of London, very near Windsor, (and Ascot, for that matter), it took less than thirty minutes for the two cars to arrive at the Castle. After passing through the main gates the cars bypassed the front entrance and drove around the perimeter of the grounds, finally stopping outside a large wooden outbuilding. Wally and Steve ducked inside, only to return a few moments later carrying several pairs of Wellington boots.
“You’ll be more comfortable wearing these,” Wally said, as he opened the rear door. Hermione stepped out of the car whilst making some adjustments to her dress, then slipped out of her fancy new low-heeled shoes. She looked over at the other car and noticed that Luna was pulling up on the front of her outfit.
Hermione decided to tease. “Wardrobe malfunction, Luna?”
Luna looked a little puzzled. “No, I don’t think so,” she replied. “The fabric went exactly where Ronald’s hands wanted it to go.”
Harry and Hermione laughed as Ron tried to stammer out an explanation. With raised dress hems the four were led through puddles of water and mud and into the Mewes, where they came upon the Queen nuzzling a thoroughbred’s nose with her own.
Wally cleared his throat and introduced the four to the monarch, whose own pair of Wellies contrasted with her blue hat and dress just as sharply as Hermione and Luna’s.
“We are pleased to see you again, Sir Harry and Dame Hermione,” she said, with both hands still grasping the horse’s bridle, “and delighted to meet you, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Lovegood.”
“Is that really a horse?” Luna asked incredulously. “I’ve never seen one before.”
The Queen laughed. “Yes my dear, this is a real live horse. Perhaps not as colorful as some of your more magical creatures, but the way she runs is magical in and of itself.” She patted the side of the horse’s head and turned back towards the four. “One of mine,” she said proudly, “and odds-on favorite for tomorrow’s last race.” Raising her hand towards the far side of the stable she said, “You should meet my grandson…he is around here someplace with his young lady friend.”
The four followed her as she walked down the stable pathway. “We do hope that Brian has made your summer a little more comfortable than in years past, Sir Harry?”
“He’s been absolutely brilliant,” Harry replied, “I can’t thank you enough for what you did, Your Majesty.”
“We have no doubt that we will be the one thanking you for what you’ve done in far too soon a time,” the Queen replied. “By the way, we will be spending all of August at Balmoral, and would be pleased if you and your friends could visit for at least a portion of that time.”
Harry and Hermione exchanged quick looks of concern and calculation. “We are honored by your invitation, Your Majesty,” Hermione replied, “and would very much enjoy just such a visit.”
“Excellent,” the Queen replied. She stopped in front of a seemingly empty stall and, in a voice eerily similar to Dolores Umbridge’s, cleared her throat.
After a moment, the stall door opened and a handsome young man in his early twenties appeared. He wore a top hat, tails, and a guilty-looking grin as he led a demure young lady dressed in pink out of the stall.
The Queen said, “May I present my grandson, Prince Harold, and his friend, Lady Penelope.”
“Good morning, Grandmum,” the young prince replied. “I was just showing Penny around the stables.”
“Yes, that is quite evident,” the Queen replied, as she pulled a piece of straw away from the back of the young woman’s dress.
The young prince smirked as he looked towards the four. “Ah, you must be the bright young students from up North that father’s been talking about.”
“I imagine so, Prince Harold,” Hermione replied with the kind of saucer eyes she last wore at Buckingham Palace. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Please, call me Harry,” the young prince said, “although that might get confusing, right Sir Harry?”
Harry frowned a bit at the star-struck attention Hermione was paying to the most eligible bachelor in Britain (well, Muggle Britain, at least).
“Yes, well that little problem will be resolvable soon enough, won’t it?” suggested the Queen.
“Erm, yes, Your Majesty,” Harry replied modestly.
The Queen looked out the stable’s doorway. “It is nearly time for lunch. Would you go find your father, Dear…tell him that we need him to attend to us?”
“Sure, Grandmum,” Prince Harry replied. He led his girlfriend out of the stable.
The Queen sighed. “So spirited…just like his mother. Has us wrapped around his little finger, he does.”
A few minutes later a Rolls Royce pulled up outside the stable and discharged the Prince of Wales. “Hullo, Sir Harry, so good to see you again,” he said. “And so too, Dame Hermione, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Lovegood.”
“Your hats are quite amazing,” the Prince continued, “and a most fashionable placement of your badge, Dame Hermione. I understand you had the opportunity to test drive them over the weekend.”
“We did indeed,” Hermione replied.
“Did you bring the necessary instruments?” the Queen asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the Prince replied. He then opened his coat jacket and pulled out a piece of parchment and a large round object hidden under red silk.
“Sir Harry,” the Queen said, “in the interest of time and secrecy we thought it best to take care of this here. However, we must insist that this be considered a field appointment, and that there will be a time to do this properly at Westminster.”
“Understood, Your Majesty.” Harry said, as he pulled Gryffindor’s sword from its hidden scabbard and placed it in the Queen’s gloved hand. He then took a knee in front of her.
“Oh, Sir Harry that really wasn’t necessary,” the Queen said, “now you’ve gone and got some mud on your trouser leg. Remind us to have that cleaned up at the Castle…can’t have the Royal Wizard looking off when he’s presented to the Commonwealth, can we?”
Harry smiled. “No, Your Majesty, certainly not.”
The Queen nodded. “Dame Hermione, I believe that there was need of an official witness?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Hermione replied. She slipped behind a stall door and disappeared with a small “pop.” Fifteen seconds later, she returned in a bright display of light accompanied by the Head Auror.
“Your Majesty,” Hermione said, “may I present to you Gawain Robards, Head of Magical Law Enforcement’s Auror Department, and a member of the Minister of Magic’s cabinet.”
“It is our understanding that you are aware of these proceedings and have the authority to act as official witness for the wizarding world?”
The Head Auror bowed stiffly. “I do indeed, Your Majesty.”
The Queen then began to read from the parchment, with the Prince and Head Auror by her sides, and Hermione, Ron and Luna standing behind Harry.
“Sir Harry Potter, do you swear fealty to the Crown and promise to use all of your powers, be they physical, mental or magical, to defend it and its citizenry, both Muggle and wizard, against all enemies?”
“Then let it be known that under terms agreed upon in the Treaty of Carlisle that we, as Queen by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, and of our other Realms and Territories, do hereby claim the right to appoint a Royal Wizard, and do bestow that title upon Sir Harry Potter, along with all associated rights and responsibilities.”
She nodded towards the Prince, who unwrapped the silk-covered object, revealing a heavy gold-chained necklace that he hung on Harry’s bowed head. Hanging at the end of this chain was a fist-sized pearl, guarded on each side of its mount by golden upright lions. When the Queen placed the tip of Harry’s sword against the pearl it lit up with an amber glow that filled the entire stable with warm light. As she drew the sword tip away, arcs of fairy lightning briefly held the connection between sword and emblem.
The Queen seemed nonplussed as she continued. “At this time we also proclaim restoration of the honor and position of the House of Gryffindor within our Royal Court, and do confer upon he who leads that house by birthright the honor and title of Lord.”
The Queen then touched Harry’s shoulders three times with the sword’s blade.
Harry looked rather embarrassed by all of the pomp as he stood and sheathed his sword. That didn’t keep him from smiling widely as he accepted the handshakes, hugs and backslaps from those few witnesses to the event. He was rather pleasantly surprised by the vigor of the Head Auror’s handshake.
“Is everything set on your end?” Harry asked quietly.
“It is indeed, Milord,” the Auror replied with a smile.
“Please, you don’t need to use that title.”
“So how should I address you...Clan Chief?” Robards asked with a wink.
Harry shook his head with resignation. “Harry…just Harry is fine.”
oo00OO00oo
"Just Harry" made the short walk from Mewes to Castle flanked by Queen and Consort, while the Prince and Ron lagged behind to allow Luna a few more minutes with the horses.
“We will honor your request to not be addressed as Lord Gryffindor,” the Queen said, “unless, of course, it is necessary…we are curious, though, about the reason behind the reticence.”
“Well, Your Majesty, I can't pretend that I'm just a normal bloke, as much as I want to be,” Harry replied. “Fate marked me different at an early age…and it's not that that I'm not honored by your recognition, because I am. I'll even admit that I've gotten used to having Brian and Wally call me Sir Harry, and it does allow me to address a certain someone as `Dame.'”
Harry earned a poke in the ribs for that comment.
“But I'm no use without my friends, and I'm not going to succeed without them, and it's hard for me to accept a title that makes it sound like I am better than them.”
The Queen thought for a moment. “As we have said, we are prepared to confer knightship upon Mr. Weasley…anyone who wears the badge of the Order of Arthur deserves that recognition…and if he had difficulty with the oath of fealty we could make the title ceremonial…would that be of some help?”
“Thank you, your Highness,” Harry replied, “We'll ask him, though I have to say that he's accepted our titles with good humor.” He then stole a glance at Hermione. “But I guess I was thinking about being addressed as Lord while Hermione is still a Dame.”
The Queen smiled. “Well, Sir Harry, we are afraid that the solution to that problem is out of our hands.”
Harry gave the Queen a confused look, while Hermione inspected the cobblestone path with a hint of smile and a blush in her cheeks.
“Because, Harry,” Hermione said softly, “You are the only one that can give me the title of Lady Gryffindor.”
Hermione's blush grew a bit deeper. “By having another chat with my father.”
“Oh,” Harry said, without really understanding what she meant.
“Ohhhhhhh” he added (a few moments later), when he finally did.
When the three reached one of the rear entrances to the Castle grounds they turned back to see that Ron, Luna and the Prince had just starting up the path.
Suggesting that they wait for them, the Queen led Hermione and Harry to a bench that provided a stunning view of Windsor Great Park.
“First visit to Windsor, Sir Harry?” the Queen asked. Harry nodded as he looked around at the wide expanses of green land, dotted with copses of ancient hardwoods and manicured gardens. “I think that it's lovely, Your Majesty.”
“We're not surprised,” the Queen replied with a smile. “After all, it has changed little over the years, and some of those trees are almost old enough to have been planted by Godric's gardeners.”
Harry chuckled softly, having reached the point where these revelations could be taken in stride. He nodded his head towards the building behind them. “So I imagine that means this was originally Gryffindor's castle?”
“No, Sir Harry,” the Queen replied, “Windsor Castle was built by William the Conqueror…after he seized the land from Godric and knocked down the keep that was already standing here.”
“Please excuse me, Your Majesty,” Hermione interjected, “but we had been led to believe that Gryffindor's lands were up in the Midlands, where Harry was born.”
“They were indeed, Dame Hermione,” the Queen replied. “or perhaps more correctly, now that we once again enjoy Lord Gryffindor's presence, they are indeed. These five thousand or so acres of land, however, were presented to Godric when he became King's Wizard…and became part of the seized lands when he subsequently refused to serve the conquering Norman king.”
“I'm a bit afraid to ask,” Harry said, “but when you said that Gryffindor's lands are located in the Midlands…”
“You do realize, Sir Harry, that Godric's seized properties were only conditionally incorporated into the Royal land holdings?” the Queen asked. “William decreed that should Lord Gryffindor ever return to England and swear fealty to the Crown, that he'd regain his honorific, his lands…even his seat in the House of Lords…and now that Lord Gryffindor is once again the Royal Wizard…”
“House of Lords?” Harry asked weakly.
“Yes, Lord Gryffindor,” the Queen replied, “though we regret to inform you that as a result of recent government reforms that your hereditary seat is no longer automatically available to be taken up.”
Harry's face gained back a bit of the color that had been lost at the thought of having to sit as a Member of Parliament. “That's quite all right, Your Majesty,” he said.
The Queen nodded, having expected that reply. She chose not to tell the young wizard that there was nothing keeping her from issuing Letters Patent and giving him that seat in the House of Lords.
“We will insist that there be some accommodation reached regarding your land holdings, though,” she noted, waving her arm towards the Castle. “Over the years, a portion of your real estate portfolio has been developed to the point of making the return of title rather…impractical.”
“No need to do that, Your Majesty,” Harry quickly replied.
The Queen smiled and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. “No, Sir Harry,” she said, “we will be quite insistent on this point. Which is why we are pleased that you will be joining us in Balmoral…there is some land near there that you might consider suitable as exchange.” The Queen allowed Harry and Hermione to silently ponder that statement as the Prince, Ron and Luna finally joined them.
The small party entered the Castle's State Apartments where members of the Royal staff were waiting to lead them into a large room with luncheon seating for a hundred. Harry quickly scanned the tables and determined that they were the youngest there, by far; even the wait staff looked like they had at least thirty years of experience under their belts. The only people close to their age were Prince Harry and Lady Penelope, who were seated at the end of the head table with her parents. Perhaps realizing their potential discomfort, the young prince excused himself with a few words to his girlfriend and strode over towards them.
“Grandmum, perhaps you'll allow me to make introductions about the room?” he asked. To Harry's great concern the young prince took Hermione's hand and proceeded to introduce the four teens to the other tables of guests.
Hermione had never had the back of her hand kissed so many times. It seemed that every elderly Duke, Lord, and Viscount considered it obligatory to take her hand upon introductions. Some eyebrows were raised as the young prince introduced Harry and Hermione as Sir Harry and Dame Hermione, given that their knighthoods were not only recent but secret, but nothing was said.
When introductions were completed Harry politely but resolutely took Hermione's hand from Prince Harry's and made his way to an empty table, where they were confronted with plates of bright red whole lobster. While Hermione was no stranger to seafood, and Harry had boiled a few lobsters for his Aunt and Uncle over the years, Ron and Luna needed to be told that they hadn't just been presented with play toys.
“Well what are they suppose to do, then?” Ron asked, while putting back onto his plate the lobster that had just finished boxing with Luna's.
Hermione gave a small sigh of exasperation as she picked up a small fork, pulled some flesh out from the split tail of her crustacean, and dipped it into drawn butter. “They're supposed to sit there while we eat them.”
“That's a lovely motorcar,” the Queen said, looking fondly over at Hermione's Bentley. They had finished lunch and gathered at the front entrance of the Castle, where a small fleet of black limousines was waiting to ferry them to Ascot. The Queen, however, was looking past these motorcars to the Little Wiz Bentleys parked on one side. She turned towards Hermione and asked, “It's an S3, isn't it?”
“Much more dashing than the stuffy motorcars decorum dictates we ride in,” the Queen said. “Would you mind terribly if we used it to get down to the course?”
“Certainly not, Your Majesty,” Hermione said, with a small amount of fluster.
The Queen directed her staff to have Hermione's vehicle added to the queue of motorcars, and, once Wally had it in place, shooed Harry and Hermione into the back seat with her. Ron gave Harry a questioning look (to which Harry replied with shrugged shoulders), then joined Luna and Steve in a car farther down the queue.
Once the motorcade started along its way, the Queen stated, “Sir Harry, Dame Hermione, we have just a few minutes's drive, far too little time to spend worrying about proper titles and royal `we's.' In present company, a simple ma'am will do, understood?”
“Yes Your…erm, yes ma'am,” Harry replied.
“I just wanted to let you know that Wally has provided me a thorough overview of your rat catching efforts over the weekend, and subsequent plans for the day…a most ingenious scheme, by the way…”
“Thank you, Ma'am,” Hermione replied. “Given the probable risks, though, are you certain that you should be there today?”
“Of course I am,” the Queen replied. “I've attended every opening day at Ascot since 1945, and have no intention of stopping now.”
“But we're not certain that we'll be able to protect you if they throw everything that they've got at us,” Harry worried.
“Comes with the job, my boy…it's expected that I be there, and it's my duty to be there. It won't be the first time that there have been terrorist threats made against us…you are aware of the Troubles we've had over the years, aren't you?”
“Yes Ma'am,” Harry replied, thinking not only of the recent subway bombings but of attacks by militant separatists.
“We can not let the terrorists change the way we go about our business…can't allow them to keep us from living and loving, or they will have already won.”
Harry looked past the Queen, caught Hermione's eyes and shared with her a small smile, in recognition of the fact that they were living in agreement with the monarch's words.
1:25pm, Ascot Racecourse, Windsor Great Park
The Royal motorcade pulled up just outside of the Ascot grounds, where five horse-drawn open carriages were waiting to transfer the Queen and Royal Family to the Royal Box. The motorcars of those not fortunate to enter Ascot in such style went on to the grandstand, leaving the four teens, the Queen, and fifteen members of the Royal Family behind.
“Hermione, are you certain that this kind of entrance is necessary?” the newly named Queen's Wizard asked, with no small amount of resignation.
“Harry, we've been through this before,” she replied. “It's essential that everyone in the stands and in front of their tellies gets a good look at the Royal Wizard before anything else happens, and now that you are the Royal Wizard you need to be close enough to protect her.” She then followed the Queen and gave her hand to a groomsman who helped her step up into the first landau. The Prince of Wales smiled as he held an arm out for Harry to follow behind.
“I've learned over the years that on occasions such as these the correct response is, `Yes, dear,'” he said.
Harry muttered something to himself and took a seat next to Hermione on the rear-facing bench, as the Prince took his place next to the Queen. From his vantage point he could see Ron and Luna as they joined Prince Harry and Lady Penelope in the next carriage. When all of the carriages were full, members of the Queen's guard wearing smart dress uniforms galloped up the line while holding drawn sabers. Harry was wondering just how useful these swords would be in a fight until he caught a glimpse of automatic weaponry partially hidden within the tacking.
The carriages began their short trip at a saunter. “If it weren't for the fact that everyone expects me to face forward we would have offered you my spot,” the Queen said to Harry. “Better view of potential threats.”
“No worries, Your Majesty,” Harry responded. “If our intelligence is correct, Hermione and I will feel the danger before anyone else sees it.”
The carriages traveled a fairly short path in between two stables before reaching their entry point out onto the grass-covered track. Upon sight of the lead carriage thousands of spectators stood and cheered. Harry spotted many hats within the crowd that were just as elaborate as Hermione's.
The Queen smiled and waved to the crowd as their entrance (and the occupants of each successive carriage) was announced on the racecourse's public address system. Harry winced as he was presented to the crowd as “The Queen's Wizard, Gryffindor - Lord of the Illusion!” The crowd took pause as well, having never heard his name and title before, but acting on the assumption that anyone important enough to bump young Prince Harry down the line and into the second carriage had to rank favor, gave him polite applause.
Harry was grateful to see the attention of the crowd and the cameras quickly shift from him to Luna, who was laughing and waving wildly to the crowd from the next carriage. The roar of the crowd was matched by the roar of her lion hat, which had suddenly decided to spring to life.
“Batteries,” Luna explained brightly after every roar of her hat and every flash of a camera.
The single lap around the course gave Harry the opportunity to examine the infield and note that the props that they had designed for this event were all in place. Five large wooden boxes, each six feet square, were spaced evenly in a single line that bisected the oval infield. Each was propped up on a set of legs, some twenty-feet high, which made peering into each box next to impossible, even from the highest part of the stands. Banners were draped down the sides of each box, with decorative designs that matched similar banners placed elsewhere within the park.
Harry checked that a small earpiece was firmly in place and reached into a coat pocket, pushing the button on a small transceiver that activated his wireless communications device. He had meant to do a radio check, only to discover that it would have interrupted a rather colorful running commentary being transmitted over the airwaves.
“Merlin's Beard, the boy fancies himself Lord of the Illusion?…all dressed up, he must think that these Muggle electronics interfere with my eye enough that I can't see through these wooden walls…Just wait until I get down out of this box and I'll show him a magic trick or two…”
“Pipe down, Mad-Eye,” said another, in a matronly Scottish brogue, “I didn't hear you come up with any better ideas at the meeting.”
“Hear me?….Hear me?” Mad-eye retorted, “Surprised we can hear anything with these Muggle contraptions stuck up into our ears….”
Hermione’s chuckles and the smirk that Ron was sporting from the next carriage down led Harry to believe that they had their communicators working as well.
“Hey Mad-Eye, when this is all over I'll be happy to replace that earpiece with a wet sloppy kiss,” Harry said quietly into his hidden microphone.
“Oh, nice that you could join us, Lord of the Illusion,” Mad-eye responded. “Save your kisses for the lovely lass next to you.”
Ron cut into the conversation, “Excuse me, but can we do the radio check? Just like we practiced last night, okay Professors?”
“Why aren't you two holed up in boxes?” asked Mad-Eye.
“Helping the kids guard the point of attack, remember?”
“Well if anyone cared a lick about me they'd have remembered that I'd spent enough time being boxed up at Hogwarts…”
The four teens, Wally and Steve ignored Mad-Eye's complaints as they added their radio checks and Ron, who was taking his role as Clan Champion quite seriously, proceeded to remind everyone that their Muggle transmitters would die the first time they used magic, and that nobody should do any magic until Harry did. The four teens were pleasantly surprised by how well these directions were taken; it was truly an upside down world in which Ron was doling out commands to his Hogwarts professors.
Once the carriages reached the Royal Box the Queen's guard escorted all of the ladies to their seats, with the men following close behind. Harry gave a slight nod to Tonks and Lupin, who were positioned a few rows back within the crowd.
The first race was announced after a rousing chorus of “God Save Our Queen,” and Harry was finally starting to believe things had settled down a bit when the Prince turned and announced that the Prime Minister would soon join them. Not a minute later the head of the Muggle British government entered the box, accompanied by a rather large and rather cross-looking appointments secretary.
The Prince introduced the four to the Prime Minister, taking care to identify Harry as “the Queen's Wizard, Gryffindor.” The Prime Minister in turn introduced them to Kinglsey Shacklebolt.
“It's a very unexpected pleasure to see you again,” Kingsley said to Harry and Hermione.
“Oh, you know each other then?” the Prime Minister asked.
“Our paths have crossed now and then,” Hermione said, “though Mr. Shacklebolt has never been so handsomely dressed on those occasions.”
“Nor has your attire come so close to matching your beauty, Dame Hermione,” the Auror replied. He turned towards Harry. “Staying out of trouble this summer, Gryffindor?”
Harry laughed. “Oh, you know me Kingsley, trouble has a way of finding me even when I'm not looking.”
The Auror nodded, then took a step back as the others in the box took note of their conversation. “I do hope you have a pleasant afternoon,” he said, with a look on his face that suggested he was expecting otherwise, “and I can't wait to see what sort of show you are planning, Gryffindor.”
“And I'm looking forward to your support, during the show, Mr. Kingsley,” Harry replied.
“I will try, though we all do have our priorities, don't we?” Kingsley asked. He nodded towards the Prime Minister, who'd just completed a perfunctory conversation with the queen.
After the excitement of the royal procession and meeting with the Muggle Prime Minister. the races themselves seemed rather anticlimactic. When the third of seven races was complete a late luncheon break was announced, to Ron's great pleasure. Wally led them out of the box and into the sod-covered area where umbrella-wielding spectators from the Royal Enclosure were queuing before tables piled high with smoked salmon and strawberries in cream.
They had just managed to fill their plates with food and grab flutes of champagne when a chill filled the air, and the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood straight out. The four teens quietly put their plates down on a table, then quickly made their way towards the front of the stands, as murmurs of ill-ease and discomfort spread amongst the muggle crowd.
“Feels like company has arrived,” Harry said over the transmitter.
“You think so?” Mad-Eye replied sarcastically, as his magical eye whirled around in its socket. “They're gathering out above those woods to the North."
The four teens, whose wands had been out and down at their sides from the first indication, examined the swirling cloud of evil that was coming their way.
“Looks like Wormtail got this part right, at least,” Harry said. He nodded to Hermione, who discretely placed her wand tip to a newly minted medallion and sent out the alarm. At the same time Ron activated his badge and sent word to Sir Evan and Little Wizarding.
“Okay, Wally, everyone…looks like it's showtime.”
Ron and Luna nodded to Harry and Hermione as they left to take their positions with Wally up in the grandstand's control center. Harry walked Hermione back to the Royal Box, where Tonks and Lupin had their wands drawn out and eyes drawn to the gathering storm.
Harry squeezed Hermione's hand. “You take care of yourself first, promise?”
“We should be fine Harry…it's Shacklebolt that they're expecting a response from, remember?”
“Yeah, well, best laid plans of mice and men…” Harry replied nervously, as he glanced over towards the Auror, who nodded in acknowledgement.
Hermione turned to face Harry, and to his chagrin used her cleavage to hold her wand while her hands straightened out his tie.
“Wish I was that wand right now.”
“Hush, Harry,” Hermione sweetly admonished, “and take care to remember you still have a live microphone.”
“Give her a kiss and get on with it,” they heard Moody growl into his microphone.
“Yes, Dear,” Harry replied cheekily, as he gave Hermione a quick kiss.
“Knock `em dead, Harry,” Hermione said.
“I certainly intend to try,” he replied, as he ducked under the track railing and strode toward his place on the infield's center stage.
Chapter 14 – In Defense of the Realm
2:45pm, Little Wizarding, Surrey
The rotten-egg smell of mercaptan lingered in the air as the ersatz Little Wiz Defense Force mustered in front of Number Four. Brian Willox, Fred Weasley and Sir Evan reviewed the fourteen wizards, witches and muggles in front of them.
They'd been paired off into “Phoenix Teams,” each consisting of a wizard or witch matched with a Muggle member of MI 5 ¾. Brian and Fred were “Phoenix One,” while Roger Granger was paired with George, Emily with Dean Thomas, and five Muggle secret agents paired with the remaining Gryffindors. Everyone wore boots, black pants, and jumpers that bore the newly fashioned crest of Clan Potter: the shield of St. George behind a phoenix with outstretched wings, flanked by two upright Gryffindor lions. The wizards carried wands and brooms; the Muggles, automatic weapons. All wore belts bearing pockets filled with goodies from Fred and George's shop and MI-5 ¾'s research laboratories.
“Alright,” Brian said, “we've got warm medallions and verbal confirmation from Ascot that they've got nasties about. If our intelligence is right, we'll have company here soon enough. You all know the plan…just remember that no house, no street…nothing is more important than everyone getting home safe tonight.”
“Excepting the bad guys, of course,” Fred added, which earned a laugh from the ranks.
“Weapons checks, then move out,” Brian commanded, dismissing his troops. While the witches and wizards retightened their wand holsters and fine-tuned their brooms, Fred renewed the area silencing charm that had been placed around a wall of sand bags propped up against a side fence. The MI 5 ¾ agents proceeded to silently test fire their Sterling automatic rifles and sub-machine guns, until each was convinced that their weapons would work within a magical field of at least modest strength. The agents then holstered their weapons and mounted brooms behind their respective magical partners (each much more at ease with the idea of flying on broomsticks than when they'd begun practicing two nights before). The teams then flew out to their assigned posts along streets evacuated some two hours earlier by a false threat of a broken gas main.
While Fred cleaned up the shooting range, Brian shared a few words with Sir Evan.
“Are you certain that you don't want some on-the-ground backup, Sir Evan?”
“Heavens, no, Brian,” replied the elderly knight, who was wearing a World War II RAF uniform that still fit. He touched the sunburst badge pinned to his olive drab jumper. “I've got all the backup I need right here…and if that's not enough…” He reached to the side of his wheelchair and pulled his old service revolver out of its holster.
“Even broke out the silver bullets from my old kit,” he said with a smile. “Never know if one of them's going to be a werewolf.”
Brian laughed as he handed Sir Evan a bullhorn. “Good luck, then, and good hunting, Sir Evan,” he said. He then turned and hopped onto Fred's broom. And with a wave, the last of the eight Phoenix Teams flew off to its appointed post.
2:50pm, Ascot Racecourse, Great Windsor Park
“Ladies and Gentleman, as part of the Grand Reopening festivities, the Royal Ascot is pleased to present the public debut of the Queen's Wizard, Gryffindor, in `Lord of the Illusion'.'”
Harry nervously waved to the crowd from the infield stage as Wally and Ron tried to reassure him through his earpiece.
“Blimey, Harry,” Ron said, “you've got Dementors gathering behind you and you're nervous about facing a crowd of Muggles?”
“Dementors, I've faced before,” Harry quipped back.
“Well, you needn't worry about the television cameras, at least,” Wally added, “They've all gone to news updates during the break.”
“Right, so I've only got a few thousand to convince that I'm not using real magic, then. Brilliant.”
“Quit whining and get on with it,” chirped in Mad-Eye.
Responding to that cue, Harry tipped his hat to the crowd as the music that Wally had loaded into the Racecourse's sound system began to play. Wally then started in on their script.
“Don't let his youth mislead you folks,” Wally announced, “Gryffindor was born with magic in his blood, and has made magic the center of his life ever since he received his first wand at age eleven.”
Harry withdrew his wand from an inside coat pocket and sent a shower of red sparks out its end.
“Status, report, Ron,” Harry said into his microphone. Upon realizing that his wand sparks had fried his transmitter, he activated his Order of Arthur badge and restated his request.
“The black cloud's right behind you,” Ron replied from this grandstand vantage point. “It's stopped growing, but I can't make out individuals yet…look like they're holding back.”
“Great,” Harry replied, “They're going to make me go through my entire bag of tricks.”
“It took no time for Gryffindor to master the spellwork of ordinary magicians,” Wally continued to read.
Down on the stage, Harry took a white feather out of his pocket, pointed his wand at it, and caused it to float six inches up into the air. There was the smallest smattering of applause from the crowd. Harry then moved on, casting Orchideous to produce bouquets of flowers from the end of his wand. He then set his top hat upside down on a table, reached into it, and pulled out a wine glass. Putting his hat back onto his head, he cast a fountain of wine spell to fill this glass with merlot, which he then drank.
“Careful there Gryffindor,” Wally announced, “We might have to check your ID if you want to drink your magic.”
There was some nervous laughter from the crowd as Harry put his hands on his hip in an exaggerated pout.
“Merlin, I'm bombing,” Harry muttered into his badge.
“You're doing fine,” Hermione said in reassurance, as she shared some dark chocolate with the Queen. “It's the Dementors - they're making everyone ill and ill at ease…keep going.”
Harry plowed on, reaching into his hat and pulling out twenty more wine glasses, which he placed side-by-side on the square table. When he ran out of room he cast an enlargement spell that lengthened the table, and recast the wine-making spell which sent spurts of fluid into the glasses. Harry then looked up towards the announcer and stuck out his tongue.
Despite its discomfort, the Muggle crowd applauded a trick that they'd never seen before.
“Keep going, Harry,” the teen replied, “I'll let you know when to duck.”
“Moving right along,” Wally continued, “Gryffindor then began working more complex magic, to the point where he's capable of conjuring a menagerie of magical beasts.”
On that cue, the music grew much louder, and fog machines began billowing smoke along the track. Harry doffed his hat and touched the brim with his wand, firing off Weasley fireworks from inside. At first, brightly-colored Muggle-style salvos were shot off, but that quickly changed as one of their more elaborate firework creations took form….a large silvery pegasus that launched out of his hat and began to fly around the track. The audience ooohed and aaahed.
Harry then turned and pointed his wand towards each of the professor-filled boxes. Fog began billowing out of each box, and on Ron's cue, each of the Hogwarts professors lit off more of Fred and George's magic. The pegasus was soon joined by firework versions of a tiger, unicorn, gazelle, elephant and flying pig, all in a romp around the smoke-filled infield.
The distraction provided by these fireworks allowed Harry to turn towards the Dementor cloud. As if recognizing an old friend, a few individual Dementors immediately took form and began flying straight towards him.
“Dementors on the attack!” Ron bellowed into his microphone.
Harry smiled to himself as he stretched out his arm and thought about how happy his life had been the past two weeks.
Ron cried out, “Patronuses away!”
The stag that sprung forth from Harry's wand was at least three times the size of any he'd produced before.
It leapt up and over the five boxes, as if to assist in Ron's appeal, then flew straight towards the leading Dementors with head down. The corporeal Patronus of each professor sprang from each of the boxes and followed hotly in pursuit. Ron and Luna joined Remus and Tonks on the Grandstand's rooftop, and four more Patronuses came down onto the field from above. One animal not joining in attack was an otter; Hermione stood alone guarding the Queen, and was too close to the Muggle crowd to spell cast, unless it was an emergency.
Many within the grandstands never had the chance to try to make sense of the display, their ill ease morphing into acute nausea once the Dementors dropped down fully within the grounds. Those lucky Muggles with sunny dispositions and a slight resistance to the malaise thought they were seeing the best magic show of their lives, with the Patronuses blending in almost perfectly with the firework animals and Harry's presentation.
The first two Dementors took it on the chin (or whatever they had that passed for a chin); Harry's Patronus flat-out destroyed them, sending the black corpses down to the ground. The second wave was beaten back by the other Patronuses, with the silvery pack breaking off in pursuit of those Dementors who chose to scatter. The collective mass of evil that hadn't rushed down to attack Harry took note and fled.
Not in fear, but in satisfaction, knowing that after achieving their primary objective the Dark Lord would see them well-fed that night.
Percy Weasley blew by the Head Auror's administrative assistant with all of the bluster and authority that he carried within his own mind. The Head Auror, whose medallion was still lukewarm in his pocket, was ready and waiting for the Special Assistant to the Minister of Magic.
“We've just been informed that somebody cast a Patronus spell in full view of thousands of Muggles,” he exclaimed breathlessly.
“I know,” the Head Auror replied, “Whose department do you think it was that issued the alert?”
Percy huffed. “Obviously, this is a huge concern for the Minister…what are you doing about it?”
Head Auror Robards sat calmly and slowly counted to three before responding.
“Actually, there have been several different Patronus spells cast. We're fabricating portkeys right now that will send Patronus-qualified emergency response teams to the site.”
“Whatever for?” Percy demanded. “Any wizard brazen enough to defy International Laws on Magical Secrecy doesn't deserve the Ministry's aid.”
“Shouldn't we be more worried about the reason why a Patronus spell was cast?”
Percy looked at the Head Auror with unqualified contempt. “By order of the Minister of Magic, you will immediately initiate `Operation Wipe-out'.”
The Head Auror shook his head. “And send everyone and their secretary into harm's way, just so long as they can obliviate a Muggle?”
“You will follow the Minister's order, Head Auror Robards, or we will find someone else who will.”
The Auror bit the inside of his cheeks to stave off a smirk. “As you wish, Special Assistant to the Minister,” he replied. He fished a finger-sized crystal out from a hidden pocket inside his robes and set it into one of a series of keyed holes that were inset on the top of his desk. He then touched his wand tip to the crystal key and uttered an authorization incantation. Loud klaxons immediately began to shout out across every floor of the Ministry of Magic.
“You'll be joining us, then, Special Assistant to the Minister?” the Head Auror asked with a smile.
“Certainly…I can obliviate as well as anyone,” Percy spit back in reply. “And I'll be using the Minister's portkey, of course.” And with that the young wizard turned on his heel and stormed out of the office.
Once Percy turned the corner the Head Auror retrieved a silver mirror from his desk drawer and tapped it with his wand. He smiled grimly when the face of his closest friend and classmate appeared.
“And so it begins, David,” Robards told the Head of the Portkey Control Office. “Break out the special shoes.”
Magical Secrets Emergency…Magical Secrets Emergency…This is not a drill !…All Obliviate-Qualified Ministry staff and visitors report to the Atrium!
Magical Secrets Emergency…Magical Secrets Emergency…This is not a drill!…All Obliviate-Qualified Ministry staff and visitors report to the Atrium!
Magical Secrets Emergency…Magical Secrets Emergency…This is not a drill!…All Obliviate-Qualified Ministry staff and visitors report to the Atrium!
On every floor and in every Department of the Ministry, wizards and witches dropped what they were doing and obeyed the klaxon's commands. Their movements were calm and well rehearsed. Some would say (in trusted company) that they were too well rehearsed, and indicative of the misguided priorities of a Ministry more worried about keeping their world secret from Muggles than keeping their world safe from Lord Voldemort.
A few witches and wizards who'd be happy to tell just about anyone that the Ministry's priorities were off were presently ignoring the klaxon's commands and gathering in Arthur Weasley's office. Many were, like Arthur, Ministry employees; the others had all found reason (or excuse) to visit the Ministry of Magic that afternoon. When the office became quite crowded and the stream of visitors trickled out, Arthur stood on his desk, cast a Silencio spell on his door, and counted heads. Accounting for those deployed elsewhere, Arthur concluded that the trustworthy balance of the membership of the disbanded Order of the Phoenix was present. He tried to give a reassuring smile to his wife, who was looking very nervous, and addressed the group.
“Well,” he began, “it's good to see that I'm not the only one risking a hundred galleon fine by ignoring the alarm.” That got the smattering of chuckles that he'd been looking for. “Look, if a much lighter purse is all we have to worry about today then I'll be a happy wizard indeed…but as you know, those alarm bells wouldn't be ringing if the first attacks hadn't already occurred.”
“We should be out there protecting our children,” Molly lamented. “Heaven knows what Ron's Patronus spell is capable of producing these days.”
“Molly, the kids have half of Hogwarts's staff out there helping them,” Arthur replied. “And we've got a job to do ourselves here at the Ministry.” He looked back at the rest of the group, “And to that end…good luck, and let's go.”
Arthur stepped down from his desk, while his son countered a Gringott's-quality locking charm that had been placed on an office closet. The uniforms, weapons and special equipment that had been stored within this cache were quickly and efficiently distributed.
The Order members were not amongst the crowd of hundreds of witches and wizards that were crammed into the central atrium of the Ministry of Magic when the Head Auror appeared with the Portkey Control Office Head and three of his lieutenants. Each of these men carried a box of Muggle trainers, which they began to distribute amongst the crowd.
Failing to spot a suitable vantage point from which everyone could see him (and the fine set of robes he was now wearing), Percy Weasley used a hovering charm to lift himself up to the top of the fountain statue, where he found stable footing atop the goblin's head.
“Attention,” he called out, in a magically-aided voice, “Your attention please…I am Percy Weasley, Special Assistant to Minister Scrimgeour, I am Percy Weasley, Special Assistant to Minister Scrimgeour...”
The fact that a fair portion of the crowd was ignoring him led Percy to the false conclusion that his Sonorus spell wasn't working, so he zapped his throat again. “YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE!” he boomed out, at a volume that cause the Minister of Magic below to duck and wince at the same time. Satisfied, Percy continued.
“We have learned that magical spells have been cast within the presence of thousands of Muggles at a place called…(he looked down at a hand-written note) Ascot. Scouting parties from Magical Law Enforcement have identified a large enclosed area near this site to which we can safely and surreptitiously travel, and the Portkey Control Office is presently distributing portkeys for that location's coordinates. Once the portkeys have been activated and we have arrived at our location the plan is simple…. the Auror Department will establish a perimeter, and everyone else is to spread out and obliviate anyone not carrying a wand. Do whatever you must to keep any Muggle from leaving the area before their memory can be erased….up to and including the use of stunning and binding hexes. Now then, grab onto a portkey…you all should know your shoe buddies by now…should be room enough for everyone…right, then…listen for the count.”
Percy quickly dropped back down to the ground lest somebody shoulder him out from using the same portkey as Minister Scrimgeour.
Head Auror Robards levitated himself up a few feet off the ground, checking to see that everyone had gathered around a shoe (excepting, of course, those that he spotted partially hidden along the perimeter). With an almost imperceptible nod to the latter, he then dropped back down and gave a much more deliberate nod to his friend, whose wand was ready to activate the countdown on his mark. Robards then annoyed Percy by commanding the full attention of the crowd without magical aid.
“Here we go everyone,” he resolutely stated to the hushed and attentive crowd. “Portkey activation in five, four, three, two, one!”
Two things happened as the portkeys were activated:
1) Dozens of witches and wizards purposely removed their hands from their portkeys just before they were spirited away from the Ministry; and,
2) These witches and wizards were immediately shrouded both in darkness and mire, as Peruvian Instant Darkness balls, Portable Swamp disks and bags of belching powder were thrown from the Atrium's perimeter.
The witches and wizards who did hold onto their shoes were transported to a large empty warehouse on the outskirts of Norwich, some two hundred and fifty kilometers northeast of Ascot Racecourse. Each portkey dropped its riders onto a square within a pitch-sized checkerboard pattern that someone had thoughtfully painted onto the concrete floor.
The Head Auror immediately amplified his voice.
“Hold your positions, everyone…this is Head Auror Robards, nobody move from your landing points.”
A buzz of confusion traveled across the room as the Head Auror, his friend and three lieutenants strode over to a table, where five brooms and a mobile phone were waiting for them. Robards grabbed the mobile and one of the brooms, then zoomed up above the crowd with the others. As the other four were quickly making head counts, the Head Auror addressed the crowd.
“I need everyone's full and complete attention,” he loudly commanded. “At this very moment the Ministry of Magic is under attack. I repeat, the Ministry is under attack by Death Eaters, aided from within by their undercover operatives.”
After a moment of stunned silence, a voice cried out.
“Well, what are we doing here, then?”
“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sent Dementors to attack and harass Muggles gathered at Ascot,” Robards quickly explained, “knowing full well that there'd be at least one wizard there who would respond by casting a Patronus spell. That, then, would cause the Ministry to overreact by activating Operation Wipe-Out, causing those who should be guarding the Ministry to leave it in the hands of those who just took their hands off of the same portkeys that sent the rest of us here.”
As the crowd tried to process that backstory, and look around to see if anyone they knew had gone missing, the same person who had yelled out the previous question asked a logical follow-up.
“Well, what are we doing here, then?”
“We, Sir, are quickly taking stock of how deeply our ranks have been compromised, and preparing ourselves for a fight. Having been tipped off on the Death Eater's scheme, I made arrangements for a small but capable force to stay behind and deal with the traitors…specially authorized portkeys will be activated in ninety seconds to send anyone who cares to join that fight back to the Ministry.”
As the Head Auror finished issuing instructions, one his lieutenants flew over to him and passed along a piece of parchment with a hand-written head count. He blanched at the numbers…three-hundred seventy present, sixty-seven missing. They'd also compiled a list of Ministry staff who should have answered the klaxon's call but didn't; Robards counted nine on this list (including four from his own department) that he didn't recognize as members of the Order.
He took a second look, hoping to see one specific name. Not finding it, he asked, “Umbridge?”
His lieutenant pointed towards a corner of the room, where the toadish (but apparently loyal) witch was trying to stay as far away from the return trip portkeys as possible.
“Pity,” he thought to himself, as he circled down to where his lieutenants were distributing supplies from cached boxes. Minister Scrimgeour and an animated Special Assistant to the Minister were waiting for him.
“Robards, on whose authority did you develop and authorize this plan?” Percy demanded.
“My own,” the Head Auror replied.
“Didn't see fit to trust the Minister?” Percy bellowed with indignation.
“No offense, Special Assistant to the Minister,” the Head Auror replied, “but we had to act fast on our information, and given how sensitive it was, there were obvious concerns over how just how far it should be spread.”
“And you thought the Minister of Magic couldn't be trusted?”
“Obviously not,” Robards replied, “but I apparently had good reason to worry about his staff.” He handed the parchment to Scrimgeour, who quickly confirmed his own head count; almost a third of his people had failed to travel with him. He silently passed the list over to Percy.
“What will we find upon our return to the Atrium?” Scrimgeour asked the Head Auror.
“With luck, something similar to what Umbridge and her Aurors encountered during their visit to Surrey two weeks past,” Robards replied.
“And what else don't I know about this attack?”
Before the Head Auror could reply, the mobile phone that he'd pocketed upon his arrival rang. Looking down at the Caller ID, he smiled.
“Excuse me, Minister,” he said, “But this is an important call.”
“Robards here…situation?….good….sixty-seven, at least…yes, I know…no, the toad came with us…no, should be fine, need you in reserve in case he improvises… what?…oh, well that makes sense…thanks, Clan Chief, you too…right.”
Percy and Scrimgeour looked at the Head Auror with shock and confusion as he closed the flip-top on his mobile and returned it to a pocket.
“That was Potter, if you didn't guess,” Robards said. “He has Ascot secure, and his cover for their magic use is holding. They're working with the Muggle authorities to segregate a handful of folks that have caught on to us…he's lending us Mad-Eye Moody and Professor Flitwick…says that they aren't blending in as well as the others.” His eyes sparkled with bemusement. “Imagine that…well, we've got twenty seconds before return…any questions?”
The Special Assistant to the Minister of Magic was about to say something before seeing his boss shake his head with resignation and silently turn towards one of the waiting portkeys. Biting his tongue (hard), Percy turned his tail and followed the Minister of Magic.
3:05pm, Little Wizarding, Surrey
“Break your wands in half and throw the pieces onto the ground!”
A group of thirty Death Eaters broke out into raucous laughter. It was good to see that they would have at least one Muggle to play with.
After mass apparating into the park just outside of Little Wiz's protective wards, the Death Eater party had strolled down to Arabella Figg's house. They were disappointed to find nobody home within the empty house, as her possessions (and the contents of several other houses in the neighborhood) had been shrunken down and transported out of harm's way the night previous. Frustrated, the Death Eaters followed through on orders to destroy the only floo connection within the area, and torched the house with a round of incendiary spells.
They had then made their way towards Number Four, with strict orders to rape, pillage and destroy only after they'd taken Harry Potter prisoner. The Death Eaters therefore took pause when they came upon the Muggle who dared address them from a wheelchair parked in the middle of the street.
The masked leader cast a Sonorous spell on himself and fired back, “Aren't you Muggles taught to say please?”
Sir Evan raised his bullhorn back to his face. “Doesn't apply to Lord Moldyshorts and Death Idiots like yourselves,” he replied. “This is your last warning…snap your wands, remove your masks, and put your hands on top of your head.”
Ever mindful of what happens to those who go against the Dark Lord's orders, the lead Death Eater nevertheless decided that anyone brazen enough to make fun of their leader's name had to be dealt with immediately. He snarled and raised his wand towards Sir Evan's head.
But given that the killing curse requires a two word incantation, and that transport via Sir Evan's Order of Arthur badge required only one (which was uttered just as soon as he saw the wand pointed towards him), the lethal green beam found as its mark the back of an empty wheelchair.
“Where'd he go?” asked one Death Eater. “Sure you didn't Reducto him?” asked another. “Sure he was a Muggle?” asked a third.
“Doesn't matter,” replied the frustrated leader, as he pointed his wand up towards the sky. “Finally got enough of a reason to conjur the Dark Mark.” The group then continued the short walk towards the Dursley's.
Having witnessed the exchange from a rooftop perch a block away, Brian Willox decided it was time to break radio silence.
“Sir Harry, have you got Sir Evan?” Brian asked.
“I've got him,” replied Ron, speaking on his mobile from an empty box near the top of the Royal Enclosure. “He nearly plopped down right onto my lap.”
“How are things at Ascot?” Brian asked.
Having retrieved a fresh earpiece and microphone Harry broke into the conversation. “We just finished out here. All safe and accounted for, unless you're counting Dementors…what's your situation now, Brian?”
“We've got thirty-three, I repeat thirty-three Death Eaters about to turn the corner onto Privet Drive. They've set fire to Mrs. Figg's house, ignored our commands, tried the killing curse on Sir Evan, and just cast the Dark Mark,” he replied, as he peered into his binoculars. “It's floating up over the corner of Privet Lane and Persimmon Path ...Phoenix Four, looks like you've got the safest approach to fuel that fire.”
“Copy that, Phoenix One,” came the reply, “we see it, and we're on it.”
“Good,” replied Brian. “Sir Harry, when might we expect the cavalry?”
“From what we've heard,” Harry replied, “there won't be any help from the Ministry any time soon...they've got a fight on their hands…but we'll be there, just as soon as we can.”
“Hold your position, Sir Harry…you do still have the Queen there don't you?”
“But there's a backup plan in place that doesn't require you presence here, Sir Harry. Stay put and let us do our part.”
“He's right Harry,” Ron interjected. “Still don't know if they were planning a second wave here at the racecourse.”
It took nearly all of Harry's powers to overcome his “saving people thing” and listen to logic.
“Fine,” he finally said. “Just keep yourself and my future in-laws safe, would you Brian?”
Several different voices talked over each other on the radio, each trying to ask, “What was that, Harry?”
But Emily Granger, as the Muggle member of Phoenix Team Four, was too busy to hear Harry's reply. She was presently undoing the covers on two leather pouches strapped to her belt while her wizard partner, Dean Thomas, got his broom up to a hover. After checking that the safety was turned off on her holstered Sterling, she gingerly swung a leg over the broom behind Dean and wrapped one arm securely around his waist. They then swooped down off of their rooftop perch and started to slowly and carefully make their way towards Mrs. Figg's.
Mrs. Granger and Dean Thomas had been assigned to monitor/guard the northeast street access to the warded zone. Like the other seven wizard-Muggle pairs, they hadn't been tasked with trying to keep the Death Eaters from getting inside the nieghborhood. Instead, their mission was to keep the Death Eaters within the wards, blocking their escape until help arrived. Their secondary mission was to clamp down on any evidence of magic use observable from beyond the evacuation zone.
Dean carefully inched the broom forward between houses, dropping down into successive backyards after clearing each fence. When they reached Mrs. Figg's backyard, they activated the timers on three smoke bombs that Mrs. Granger had been carrying and quietly tossed them towards the rear of the house.
By the time each exploded with a small “pop” Phoenix Four was safely perched on a new rooftop with a good view of the fire. Dean then cast a blowing breeze charm towards the plumes, which pushed the columns of thick black smoke towards (and around) the Dark Mark, effectively screening it from distant Muggle eyes. Their secondary mission completed, they flew back to their original position.
“Phoenix Four returned to roost,” Mrs. Granger called out.
“Roger that,” said Brian, as he reached into a sleeve pocket and withdrew an eight-inch long laser device. “Phoenix teams, bug out…I repeat, all phoenix teams, bug out….phoenix fire's on the way.”
“Roger,” came the reply, as seven pairs of wizards and muggles prepared their brooms for flight.
Brian looked over at Fred (his “Phoenix One” wizard buddy), who already had one hand on his broom.
Brian shook his head as he turned the laser pointer on. “With all the smoke…now shoo…you'll be in charge at the rendezvous point.”
Fred nodded and patted Brian's shoulder. “Keep your head low,” he said, before jumping onto his broom. He then swooped down to the South, away from the Death Eaters and over the backyards of Little Wiz towards the prearranged meeting point.
Meanwhile, Brian looked down the street towards the pack of Death Eaters that was too arrogant (or too stupid) to spread out. He aimed his laser beam at a pointy hat within the crowd and voiced an authorization code into his transmitter.
One-hundred and thirty kilometers away, within an unmarked warehouse on an abandoned airbase, an RAF pilot on loan to MI-5 ¾ toggled cross-hairs over a bright red spot and pushed a button on his computer joystick. He watched his LCD display with satisfaction as a five-hundred pound laser-guided bomb cleared the struts of a remote-controlled drone aircraft that had been circling Little Whinging and started it's fifty-thousand foot descent.
Following a long-standing tradition of aircraft bombers and artillery men, the bomb casing exterior had short, hand-written messages for the intended targets.
One side said “Don't Mess with Muggles,” while the other side was a tad blunter:
“Hocus Poke This Up Your Arse!”
“Target acquired, feather's away,” the remote pilot called out. “Smoke's pretty think, Phoenix One…we'll need constant sparkle.”
Predictions by MI-5 ¾ weapons laboratory engineers that strong magical fields would wreak havoc on the internal guidance systems of so-called “smart” munitions had been confirmed by Wally the week previous, when he had driven across Little Wiz's ward boundaries with a dud bomb in the boot of his Bentley. But as the hemispherical wards that protected Number Four extended up no more than 400 feet above the ground, 99% of the pathway of a bomb dropped from 50,000 feet was free of magical interference, and the ability to self-correct course was magically lost for only the last few seconds of descent.
Much more worrisome were the mundane factors that had, for the most part, always limited the idea of “window-point” accuracy for laser-guided weapons to the minds (and presentations) of defense company marketing departments. “Smart weapons” rely upon clear and constant “sight” of a laser beam's reflection to adjust tail rudder angles and make in-flight course corrections. Smoke commonly interferes with this sight, even when the forward observer who has identified the target maintains a continuous laser beam spot. And the ability of the forward observer to maintain a constant “sparkle” of laser light on a target is always far from certain; even at a terminal velocity of more than six hundred miles per hour, a bomb dropped from 50,000 feet takes almost a minute to reach ground. And a lot can happen during that minute.
The clear view that Brian initially enjoyed allowed him to target his laser beam device from a well-hidden vantage point. Fifteen seconds after the bomb was released, however, the group of Death Eaters turned the corner onto Privet Drive, where a tall tree blocked Brian's view. Brian scrambled along the rooftop hoping for a better angle, and discovered that the only clear sight line required him to stand straight up on the roof crest. Which is what he did, without thought of personal safety.
The Death Eaters had just gathered in front of Number Four when one of them spotted someone standing on a rooftop pointing a wand down towards them.
The force of the spell blew Brian backwards, while his “wand” was flung violently out of his hand. Both were thrown to the ground.
The Death Eater who had cast the disarming spell used an “Accio” to take a closer look at the wand that had been raised against them. He then pushed the button located on one end of the metallic rod, thereby proving two separate facts:
- Battery-powered laser pointers aren't damaged by Accio spells; and,
- Curiosity can kill more than just cats.
The ten seconds of time during which the Death Eater played with his new toy was just enough for the bomb's sensors to reacquire its target and trim its tail in course correction. The bomb hit the ward boundary only twenty feet off course, and hit the ground a second later, thirty feet off-target into Number Five's front yard.
Given the specified accuracy and precision of the weapon, it was a direct hit.
Fred Weasley had ignored Brian's direct orders and, rather than land at the prearranged meeting point, had ducked behind a tree to a spot where he could keep an eye on his partner. Having witnessed Brian being thrown from the roof, Fred was flying at top speed towards him when the smart bomb detonated. The blast knocked Fred of his broom, with his body landing fifteen feet away from Brian's.
George Weasley, who had seen Fred fly back to rescue Brian, was on route to rescue his brother when the bomb went off. Having been partially shielded from the bomb blast by a house, he managed to stay on his broom (later claiming that the force was no greater than a typical bludger). After using words Mrs. Weasley would have conjured soap over, he quickly landed his broom in between Brian and his brother.
“Two down,” he cried into his microphone, “Brian Willox and my fool brother down…I need medics now!”
Wednesday, June 20, 4:00am
10 Downing Street, London
The Muggle Prime Minister had learned the hard way to treat the assurances of newspaper publishers with a large dose of skepticism. He also considered the British public's faith in the electronic news media to be quite secondary to the trust that they put into their morning newspapers…which is why he had waited until the wee hours of the morning before addressing the small painting in the corner of his office.
“You there,” he said to the small portraiture, “I want a meeting with the Ministry of Magic immediately.”
The rather ugly looking man within the frame, whose eyes were closed tightly, ignored him.
“Wake up you little gnome,” the Prime Minister said in raised voice. “Fetch me Scrimgeour or I'll bring the Queen's Royal Wizard around and have him give you a good hexing.”
The portraiture opened one eye and grimaced.
“The Muggle Prime Minister's `request' has been conveyed to the Office of the Ministrer of Magic,” the painting replied tersely.
“Good,” the Prime Minister said with no small amount of authority. He then returned to his desk and waited, while reading the front page of the last of the major dailies to have been rushed to his office.
Salmon Spoils Royal Ascot Reopening
Windsor Great Park (RPI) - Thousands of spectators took ill during the opening day of racing at the Royal Ascot, forcing authorities to cancel the last four races of the day. Ministry health officials later attributed the mass outbreak of upset stomachs, ill ease and general despondency to a massive case of food poisoning.“It was the salmon mousse,” said Ministry Health Department spokesperson T. Gilliam.
More than six hundred individuals were taken to area hospitals, with one hundred thirty admitted for overnight observation. The Queen and members of the Royal Family in attendance were reportedly not among the victims. The symptoms surfaced immediately after the third race, and put a damper on a spectacular display of magic performed during the debut of “Gryffindor,” a highly talented teen-aged illusionist who, according to Palace insiders, recently received a royal appointment as the “Queen's Wizard.”
see “Queen's Wizard,” page 11Explosion Rocks North Surrey Neighborhood
Little Whinging, Surrey (RPI) - Two men were seriously injured and several homes destroyed when a ruptured gas main exploded Tuesday in the suburban London community of Little Whinging. Local officials, noting that the neighborhood had been evacuated some two hours previous when the leak was first detected, expressed relief that the injury toll wasn't higher. More than two hundred residents spent the night in shelters while gas company workers and emergency responders worked to determine the extent of the pipeline breach and evaluate the structural safety of lesser-damaged residences. The underlying cause of the rupture is still under investigation.
Before the he had time to turn the page to learn more about Sir Harry the small portrait raised its tinny voice.
“The Office of the Minister of Magic regrets that its representative is not able to consult with you at this time,” it said.
The Prime Minister looked up at the portrait. He'd been informed that the Ministry of Magic had been secured hours ago, so they couldn't blame this avoidance on the fighting.
“Minister Scrimgeour sends his regrets?” he asked in clarification.
After a few seconds silence, the painting responded. “The Office of the Minister of Magic regrets that its representative is not able to consult with you at this time.”
“Wonder if he's been sacked,” the Prime Minister thought to himself. He stood and headed over to his leather-bound office couch, where he sat and addressed the portrait a final time. “Well, whoever the Ministry's representative turns out to be knows where to find me.”
Looking down at his watch, the Muggle leader decided it was time to end a very long day by stretching out for a very short kip. What magic lay beyond the sun's rise was something he could certainly wait to see.
Chapter 15 – The Round Tower
Wednesday, June 20, 11:00am
Round Tower, Windsor Castle
The Queen’s Wizard and Queen’s grandson climbed the last few stone steps to reach the highest point within Windsor Castle. The journey had taken them to the rooftop of the Round Tower, where cannons still guarded the Royal Standard that flew whenever the British Monarch was in residence.
“Well, Prince Harry,” Harry concluded as he looked out past the battlements, “this must rank as the nicest and most elaborate play fort in the world.”
The Young Prince chuckled. “Only second best, I’m afraid…there’s a Sultan down in the Emirates that had a half-scale replica of the Fortress of Fao built for his boys.”
“Yes, you’re right,” the young prince agreed. “When we were younger, my brother and I spent as much time as we could up here, playing knights and artillerymen…had these cannons carried live powder we would have flattened most of Berkshire several times over.”
The panoramic view was spectacular, and the Young Prince was all too happy to point out various landmarks and the vestiges of English countryside. To the South, within the Windsor Great Park, were hunting lodges turned Royal residences and the stables where he’d been presented the Royal Wizard’s orb. Just west of the Park, the oval track of Ascot Racecourse could be spied.
“Surprised that they’re racing today?” Harry asked.
“No,” replied the Young Prince. “The show must go on, stiff upper lip, and all that…sure that you don’t want to give a repeat performance?”
Harry shook his head. “I think they’ve seen enough Dementors over there for now, and I seem to attract them like flies.”
The Young Prince nodded as he grappled with his latest c-mug lesson on magical beasts and beings. “It was quite strange watching you and your comrades fight something that I couldn’t see…whatever happened to the two Dementors you downed?”
“Don’t know,” Harry replied. “The corpses dissolved away before we could poke at them.”
“How does that work…killing something that wasn’t alive in the first place?”
“I’m not quite sure…they don’t teach necromancy at school.”
“Necromancy?” the Young Prince asked, as he began to walk stiffly with his arms out. “You mean like zombies?”
“Yes,” Harry replied quietly. “Except that in our world they’re called Inferi, not zombies.”
The Young Prince took notice of the slight change in Harry’s complexion, and hollow look in his eyes.
“Don’t tell me that you’ve run up against those things as well?” he asked.
When Harry nodded, Prince Harry shook his head and whistled a low note as they continued their walk along the parapet.
“When I was your age, the scariest thing I had to face was my chemistry professor.” He stopped Harry and pointed north towards a campus of buildings and playing fields. “Speaking of which, there’s my old school.”
Harry looked out over the tower’s edge.
The Young Prince nodded, as he patted the barrel butt of one of the eighteenth-century cannons. “Father says that it’s no coincidence that this one’s aimed straight at the faculty’s residence.”
“He went there too?” Harry asked.
“No,” the Young Prince replied, "he boarded up in Scotland, but the Royal Family has been sending its boys there for centuries.”
“Would of thought the instructors too afraid to treat you with anything less than respect,” Harry replied.
“Oh, no,” the Young Prince replied with a rueful grin. “The staff takes great pride on living up to the House of Windsor’s insistence that its young men not be treated differently.”
“So let me guess,” said Harry. “The chemistry professor assumed you were full of yourself based on who you were, instead of how you acted, and took every opportunity to knock you down to what he thought should be your proper size.”
“Yeah,” the Young Prince said with surprise. “How’d you know?”
“Been there, been subjected to that.”
They continued their clockwise stroll, stopping to look east down the length of Heathrow’s two main runways as a passenger jet completed its landing. Twenty miles beyond the airport were the skyscrapers of Central London. Using the airport and various motorways as guide points, the two were able to distinguish Little Whinging from the similarly nondescript communities that surrounded it.
“Stopped by the hospital on the way out this morning and visited Brian,” the Young Prince said.
“That was nice,” Harry replied. “Hermione and I plan on returning there this afternoon…still unconscious?”
“Yes,” the Young Prince said. “His sister arrived this morning, you know.”
“No, I didn’t” replied Harry, already feeling guilty at the thought of meeting Brian’s family.
“I was quite close to him growing up,” sad Prince Harry softly, “used to sneak into the palace kitchens at night and he’d cook all my favorite greasy foods.”
“He told us that…he’s done so much for me as well,” Harry replied glumly.
“Chin up, Sir Harry,” the Young Prince said, as he straightened his own back. “He’s not dead.”
“Close to it,” Harry replied, “and I wasn’t there to help him.”
“Even wizards can’t be in two places at the same time…or can they?”
That comment brought a tight grin to Harry’s face as he thought about Hermione’s time turner. “Erm, no…at least not anymore.”
“So how’s your mate’s brother doing?”
“Fred?” Harry asked. “Broken arm, three cracked ribs, ruptured spleen, nasty concussion…he’ll be fine.”
“They must work wonders at your wizard hospital.”
“Yeah,” replied Harry. “They can.”
The Young Prince paused for a moment, then tried to change topics. “So have they let your neighbors back into their homes yet?”
“Should have by now,” Harry replied. “When I talked to Wally this morning they were close to being done.”
“Wow,” replied the Young Prince. “Heard about the damage…suppose you had some magic brooms and dustpans for the clean-up?”
Harry chuckled. “No, we fly on our brooms, and the neighborhood’s still a mess. Most of the houses still have broken glass, and there’s rubble and debris everywhere…guess I was talking more about cover-up than clean-up; we spent most of the night moving dirt and dressing up the impact crater just enough to make it look like a gas line explosion.”
“Imagine then that they’ve finished the body count?”
“Mostly,” Harry replied grimly. “Twenty-two dead, four wounded, and a lot of unidentified bits of bodies …took muggle search dogs and lots of “Accio body parts” spells to find it all.”
“Harsh,” was the Young Prince’s assessment.
“You could say that,” Harry agreed.
“So how long before you can move back?”
“Dunno,” Harry replied. “Wouldn’t do to use magic for the home repair, and my Aunt and Uncle’s house was flattened. I could move into one of the other houses I now own, but the magical protections that were in place are in poor shape. But even if they weren’t, I’m not sure I could return.”
“Because despite our success yesterday,” Harry explained, “there’s still Death Eaters out there looking to get to me. I’m certain we’ll have to defend ourselves again, and, well…how many gas main explosions can you have in one neighborhood before somebody gets suspicious?”
The Young Prince laughed. “Yes, well, I can see your predicament…which is why I’m pleased grandmum’s given you some options.”
Harry nodded. “You certain you wouldn’t mind lending me your play fort for a little while?”
The Young prince smiled. “No worries, Sir Harry. It was indeed a fabulous play fort, and this rooftop was a brilliant place to bring my teen-aged dates, but…well, we all move on, don’t we? Besides, it’s the Queen’s decision, and the offer’s already been made.”
The flag turret’s door swung out as the Prince of Wales led Hermione to the rooftop for her first views from the top of the Tower.
“So what do you think, Hermione?” the Queen's Wizard asked.
“Harry, can you feel it?” she replied excitedly. “I think I’ve already found a couple of dormant protection wards but there’s older magic than that at work here, I just know it. Pretty sure I can work out the equations needed to attenuate anti-app wards into something more elliptical...we should be able to cover the Upper Ward, at a minimum…maybe the entire castle with a little help from our security consultants.”
Harry smiled. “That’s great, Hermione, but what do you think of the inside?”
“Oh, well, there is a lot of space to work with, don’t you think?” she quickly replied. “Hedwig would love the huge area just below, and with the stone walls and fireplaces, and the apartment’s main room’s almost like Gryffindor Tower’s, isn’t it? And that one room that used to be a library, and the…”
“And the one bedroom?” Harry asked, with one eyebrow raised.
Hermione blushed just a bit. “Oh, well, there is that second apartment…Ron and Luna would have room when they visit, and the Prince was saying that the ground floor apartment used to house guards…it’d be perfect for mum and dad…” Realizing that she was babbling a bit and making more than a few assumptions, she tried to self-correct. “or any other MI-5 ¾ staff, of course.” She caught her breath, then asked, “So…what do you think, Harry?”
The Prince of Wales, sensing that he was witnessing something akin to a young couple buying their first house, took on the role of real estate agent and tried to close the deal.
“I will admit, it is a bit…rustic,” he said. “But your quarters in Buckingham might compensate, and we aren’t without the means to make it at least a little more comfortable for you here.” He paused, then added, “It wouldn’t be the first time a Royal Wizard took up residence within the Round Tower…and I’d wager those stone steps would create a healthy sense of space, should Hermione’s parents be assigned to work or live down at the base.”
It was Harry’s turn to blush, with the realization that there were lots of things he’d like to do with Hermione that he wouldn’t want her parents to walk in on.
Seeing an anticipatory look in her eyes, he turned back towards the Prince.
“But what would happen if the Death Eaters track me down again?” Harry asked. “Wouldn’t do to repeat yesterday’s tactics, would it? Hermione and I could get away easy enough, but how would the Queen or anyone else escape if need be?”
The Prince glanced over to his son who was smiling broadly. “Sir Harry,” the Prince said in reply, “the Queen usually only spends weekends here at the Castle; it’s Ascot that has her here for the week. And if she were to be in residence…well, this castle is nearly a thousand years old, and contains more than a few secret tunnels and passageways…isn’t that right, Prince Harry?”
“Erm, quite right, father,” the Young Prince said, with an unapologetic smirk still on his face.
Harry smiled at the give and take between father and son. He turned to Hermione, who said, “It’s up to you.”
Harry turned back to the Prince. “We would be honored, then, to accept the Queen’s generous offer of shelter.”
Hermione let out a little squeal (“squee” was what it actually sounded like), and hugged Harry tightly.
The Prince of Wales turned towards his son with and offered some fatherly advice. “You should take notice,” he gently chided his son, “of the benefits of cluing into your girlfriend’s opinions.”
When the two broke apart the Prince asked, “Will you two be joining us for lunch?”
Harry shook his head. “Thank you for offering, Your Highness, but we’re meeting Ron at noon down in London.”
The Prince nodded as looked at his watch. “Well then,” he said, “You should get going. Even with the morning rush over the roads will be busy.”
Hermione and Harry looked at each other and smiled.
“Oh, that’s right,” the Prince said, “you two don’t have to worry about paying road congestion fees, do you?”
Harry and Hermione used the thirty minutes not spent on the expressway to meet with the Castle’s superintendent, who promised to have the Tower cleared and cleaned by the end of the day. They then called Wally to get a Little Wiz update, and to let him know that the lorry holding their personal possessions could be dispatched to Windsor.
At five before noon, Hermione apparated to a secured travel point in London’s West End, then walked two blocks to the trendy muggle restaurant that Wally had recommended. It took her a few minutes to find a suitably secluded site within the busy bistro.
“Hermione!” Ron whined, as she pulled down the “closed for cleaning” sign that she’d been forced to conjur. “Why’d it have to be the women’s loo?”
The teen-aged witch frowned as she shooed her two boys out into the main eating area. “Don’t like it, pass your apparition test and you can pop up wherever you want.”
Head Auror Robard’s greetings and the prompt attention of the wait staff forced Ron to put his rant on hold. After ordering their food they took turn providing updates on their latest activities.
Ron began with word from St. Mungo’s. He had been one of the many relatives of injured patients who had stood overnight guard at the wizard hospital (with so many of the injured being Aurors, those normally on guard had been redeployed to the Ministry). Ron said that a rumor was spreading that the Ministry was going to draft all seventeen and eighteen year old witches and wizards into Ministry service. A second fast-spreading rumor clarified the first, stating that the draft would be restricted to pure-blooded witches and wizards. He then reported the senior healer’s latest estimate, that half of those injured during the battle would be released within forty-eight hours, and that half of those remaining would be cured within a week’s time. He ended on a personal note, conveying word that Fred was healing nicely, and that the lingering effects of the Cruciatus spell that had struck his mum were fading. Her healers were now predicting a slow, painful, but ultimately complete recovery.
Harry and Hermione followed with news on Little Wiz and the Muggle world. Three of the four Death Eaters that had survived the blast still lay unconscious within a military hospital. The fourth had been brought back within Little Wiz’s weak, but operant anti-apparition wards and was under heavy sedation. The Phoenix Teams were still on site, guarding the prisoner and working hard to maintain the official story on what had happened the previous day. As far as Harry and Hermione knew, the cover stories for both Little Wiz and Ascot were holding in the Muggle press.
They asked Ron and Robards whether word of the attack on Little Wiz had spread within the wizarding world, and were told that secret was holding as well.
They agreed that this was a good thing, once the Head Auror passed along news from the Ministry of Magic.
Rufus Scrimgeour had avoided an immediate sacking through the skillful deployment of deceit and misdirection. The subterfuge had been straightforward and effective. Head Auror Robards had advance knowledge of the attack plans and coordinated the successful response. Head Auror Robards was a member of the Minister’s cabinet. Therefore, using the transitive power of mathematics and sleazy politicians, it was the Minister’s Office that had valiantly saved the wizarding world from You-Know-Who. It had become the big victory that had proven so elusive for Scrimgeour’s office. Any questions on why there were so many Death Eaters working for the Ministry had been explained away with the simple observation that Scrimgeour had only been in power for a year, and that the vast majority of insurgents had been hired by previous administrations.
In other words, “Blame Fudge.”
The misdirection was far more insidious. Plans to arrest Harry for underage magic use had been reluctantly cancelled after Robards reported that he’d witnessed the sixteen year old's investiture as Queen’s Wizard. A quick trip to the Book of Wizarding Records confirmed this event, as well as its legality. The furor that the Minister and his staff hurled upon the Head Author for witnessing and giving legitimacy to Harry’s position was intense, but quiet. After all, Scrimgeour had just identified the Head Auror as a hero, and announced his intention to award him the Order of Merlin, Second Class.
There weren’t, unfortunately, as many constraints when it came to attacking Harry.
The wireless was already reporting that Harry Potter had betrayed the wizarding world by accepting the position of Queen’s Wizard, and that he’d shamelessly used his magical powers before thousands of Muggles in a self-aggrandizing attempt to gain fame and celebrity. A “senior Ministry official” had told the WWN that Harry was now a graver threat than Voldemort, stating that his actions threatened the shroud of secrecy that protected the entire wizarding world from Muggle interference. Word was also going around that Rita Skeeter would be reporting on this story in the next day’s Prophet.
The Head Auror apologized to Harry for the Ministry’s actions, and asked if he should go public with the truth. Harry and Hermione convinced him to stay quiet and keep his head low, arguing that the Ministry’s lies might lead Voldemort away from how his battle plans had actually been betrayed. They also argued that the battle against Voldemort needed the Head Auror to keep his job, and to stay on top of the Ministry’s machinations. And since it wouldn’t do for a Ministry war hero to be seen in public with a pariah, they suggested that the Head Auror return to his office, and limit communications until the dust settled and a proper response had been formulated.
Before leaving, Robards jotted down a spell equation and wand movement diagram on the back of a serviette. As he handed it to Hermione, he suggested that it might come in hand in the days ahead.
“What is it?” Ron asked, as Hermione worked through the arithmancy.
After miming the wand directions with an index finger, Hermione shook her head and sighed.
“It’s the counterjinx for howlers.”
8:00pm, The Round Tower, Windsor Castle
Hermione Granger had severely underestimated the amount of time and physical exertion Harry would need to process the Head Auror’s news. She’d called their personal trainer and Harry’s longsword instructor from the restaurant to set up late-afternoon training sessions at Windsor Castle. While waiting for the instructors to arrive, they had helped Palace staff empty out the Round Tower’s storage area, not bothering with shrinking and lightening spells. They then used that empty space for an exhausting series of practice duels. The physical trainer had taken them on an hour-long run within the Park and followed that with an hour of calisthenics. Harry then returned to the Tower with his instructor for an hour of sword training.
It had been two hours since that lesson ended, and Hermione could still hear Harry hacking away at conjured wooden posts. She decided that it was time to take action. Putting her unpacking on hold, she grabbed Harry’s backpack and climbed the stairs that led from their new mid-tower apartment to where Harry was slicing and dicing.
The Round Tower’s dimensions and layout had changed many times over the centuries. The last major modifications had been in the 1820’s, when Windsor Castle’s transformation from fortress to palace was completed under George IV. In order to maintain its position as the highest and most visible structure within the Castle, the Round Tower’s height was increased some thirty-three feet. Despite the inclusion of window wells in the new stone walls, the new interior space within the addition was left unfinished, creating a huge enclosed area within this false upper story.
It was within this space that Hermione found a sweaty and slightly-bloodied Harry. Three calls were needed before she caught his attention.
It was enough to make him stop.
She approached and took his hand, using the other to pull at a wooden splinter that had found its mark on Harry’s neck. A kiss staunched the wound and slowed down his heart rate.
“Come,” she commanded quietly. “You stink.”
He looked at her oddly as he leaned down on his sword. “Come where?” he asked. “I didn’t see any indoor plumbing within the Tower…did you?”
As Hermione shook her head she reached into Harry’s backpack and pulled out the magical tent. With a few quick wand strokes she raised it and staked it down.
“Come,” she commanded, as she pulled him towards the tent’s entrance. “You stink.”
Harry obeyed, and soon found the peace he’d been seeking at the end of Hermione’s scrub brush.
It took Harry Potter a few seconds to realize that it was his badge that had woken him, and not his alarm clock. A charitable observer might forgive this disorientation, noting that he was in a darkened room, on a new bed, and wearing a short robe instead of pajamas. And a discreet observer might overlook the sweet confusion that came with him waking up tightly spooned against Hermione. But Harry was too frightened at that moment to think about either charity or discretion. He groped for his glasses, and with newly focused vision made a snitch-worthy lunge towards the Order of Arthur badge that was flashing on the floor.
“Sir Evan,” he exclaimed, “what’s wrong?”
“Erm, nothing, Sir Harry,” the elderly night replied via badge phone. “I was checking to see if you and Dame Hermione were available…her parents are having trouble finding you.”
Harry’s movement had woken Hermione, who had found the magical light switch. “What?” she asked, as she turned towards her boyfriend. “Where are they now?”
“Erm, one second,” was the reply, “got them on my mobile…ah, they are the base of the Round Tower, and they say that they couldn’t find you in your new quarters. Your mobile wasn’t working either.”
Hermione grabbed her mobile from her nightstand and double-checked the charge. When she looked back up Harry guessed that she had made a realization similar to his.
“Erm, Sir Evan,” Harry asked (rather sheepishly), “will you tell them that we’re fine and that we’ll meet them at the base of the tower in ten minutes?”
“Consider it done,” Sir Evan replied.
“How are things on Privet Drive, by the way?” Hermione asked.
“Oh, bit of a mess still, but Number 12 is in fine shape…your friends are pretty handy with their repairing spells...looking forward to your return, though.”
“Oh...well, yes,” stammered Harry. “We’ll talk about that with you soon. Thanks again for your help, Sir Evan.”
“You are very welcome, Sir Harry…Evan out.”
“Arrgh,” Harry lamented, once he “hung up” his badge, “He thinks we’re moving back still…and I can’t believe we forgot about the Confundus spell on the tent flap…good thing that it wasn’t an emergency.”
“Yes,” agreed Hermione as she wiped sleep from her eyes. “No worries at all, other than what mum and dad will say when we explain why they couldn’t find us and give them a tour of the tent.”
“What?” Harry asked with alarm, as he looked around at the room. “Oh Merlin, that would look bad...do we have to?” He quickly stood and pulled at the obi that was tied around the waist of his short robe.
“Yes, we probably do” Hermione replied with a smile, as she watched Harry retrieve his boxer shorts from his clothes pile. “But don’t pull those up into a twist just yet.”
“Hermione,” Harry said reprovingly, “your parents have been amazingly accepting of our relationship and current living arrangements, but really…do you want to push our luck?”
To emphasize his point, he opened his nightstand drawer, pulled out a pair of velvet-lined handcuffs, and started swinging them around on one finger.
Hermione crawled over to Harry’s side of the bed on all fours. Tracking how poorly her garment kept up with her thighs as she moved, Harry failed to notice as Hermione caught the swinging handcuffs with one hand, quickly wrapped her arms around him and used the cuffs to drag him down on top of her.
“If this is all that you worry about today,” she told him in an unusually husky voice, “then I’ll take my chances.”
Harry gulped as Hermione raked the handcuffs up the length of his back and pinned the back of his legs down with the heels of her feet.
“Would you like to go out a second date with me tomorrow night?”
“Thought that you’d never ask.”
It only took Harry and Hermione a few minutes to resist temptation, change into trainers, and run down to meet her parents. After apologizing for the Confundus charm (which Hermione claimed she now used almost reflexively after sharing a house with Dudley Dursley), Harry and Hermione led her parents out of the Castle and along the running route that they’d used the night before. From the Castle it was exactly three miles down The Long Walk to The Copper Horse and three miles back, with a four-mile long loop in between that took them past Cranbourne Tower, Cumberland Lodge, and Frogmore. Hermione was amazed at how well her parents kept up, despite knowing that they had started their training at the same time that Harry and she had. She said as much as they cooled down with a walk around the outer perimeter of the castle walls.
“Well somebody has to keep up with you two,” Roger Granger explained with a smile, “or else there’s no telling what sorts of mischief you two could get into.”
Harry and Hermione responded with nervous laughter. “So was everything alright last night downstairs?” Harry asked.
“Yes,” Emily said, “it was like we were camping, what with the army cots and kerosene lanterns…though I’ll admit that the chamber pots were a bit off-putting,”
“Which reminds me, young lady,” Roger said, “We didn’t hear you two come down last night to use the facilities across the way. Please tell me you have some sort of magical water-free toothbrush.”
“Erm, something like that, daddy.”
“Well good,” Roger replied with a smile. “Just because your mum and I aren’t practicing dentists anymore doesn’t get you off the hook when it comes to proper oral hygiene.”
“Speaking of your new jobs,” Harry said quickly, trying to change the topic, “I don’t think I ever told you both how amazed I was watching you train this past week.”
“Thank you Harry,” Roger said. “I was a little amazed myself at how easily Emily took to flying…she usually leaves her lunch behind when she hops down off of carnival rides.”
“Well,” Emily replied in mock indignation, “maybe that was only because I had somebody so big and so strong to hold on tight to during that ride.”
“Oh, mum,” Hermione said with a bit of exasperation while Harry laughed.
“Seriously, though,” Roger said, “I’d have to say that even with all of the scary bits that I couldn’t think of a better way to have spent the past few weeks.”
“So even when the bits get scarier?” Harry asked, “because you know that they will.”
“Hermione Jane,” Emily said with a smile, “it sounds as if your boyfriend is trying to get rid of us.”
“Oh, no” Hermione replied, “it’s just his saving-people-thing kicking in.”
“Well that’s good,” Roger replied, as they signed back in at the guardhouse iand walked into the Upper Ward’s courtyard. “Because we’ve got business to discuss this morning.”
“Erm, that might have to wait,” Harry said, as he spied a flock of owls perched patiently on the Round Tower’s battlements. “Looks like Hermione and I have some mail to defuse first.”
With promises to meet the Grangers in a half-hour’s time for breakfast, Harry and Hermione climbed up to the tower’s addition to take on the assault of mail.
Having made it a point not to have The Daily Prophet delivered to Windsor, they relied upon the breath of commentary to gauge just how caustic Rita Skeeter’s hack-job had been. From the looks of things, it was every bit as bad as what they’d expected, but not more so.
Hermione expressed encouragement at seeing some supportive letters from Ministry workers who had experienced the truth first hand. A few had even chosen to sprinkle their remarks with disparaging comments about the Minister of Magic and his staff (using personal parchment, of course).
“Could have been worse,” Harry opined, “looks like only seventy percent is negative, and only half of that lot are howlers.”
“Well hello, Mister Optimism,” Hermione replied. “Certainly a welcome change from how surly you were last night.”
“Well what can I say,” Harry replied as he gazed fondly towards the Love Shack, “you just washed all of that anger off of me.”
“Right,” Hermione replied, “best you find another way of calming down …I’m not about to carry that scrub brush around with me.”
“That’s too bad,” Harry said, “because it was my focus on those bristles on my back that helped me clear my mind. I was quite serene there, for a moment.”
“Well, the cold bucket of water over my head was rather harsh for my concentration.”
Hermione laughed. “If that’s the case maybe some scrubbing would help with your occlumancy skills.”
Harry thought about that off-hand remark more seriously than Hermione expected.
“Yes, I think you are right… certainly bound to be more effective than anything Snape taught me.”
Hermione stared up and off to one side in what Harry recognized as one of her classic thinking poses.
“So a single-point focus….like a labyrinth almost, or a rosary…makes sense, actually…don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.”
Hermione cast an Accio spell, and a few moments later handed Harry the Love Shack’s scrub brush.
“Think that it’s time for you to take a Zen shower,” she replied. “By yourself,” she added, quickly shooting down Harry’s expectant look.
As the loser of a game of rock-parchment-wand, Harry reluctantly grabbed some fresh clothes and made the short hike to the Castle guard’s changing room. Harry was happy to see that Mr. Granger was still there to document his propriety…it was even worth the good-natured ribbing that he took (e.g. “So Harry, I imagine you use magic to keep from having to shave each morning, right?”). Roger waited for his daughter's boyfriend to shower and dress (white oxford shirt, Gryffindor rep tie, mauve linen suit, and loafers). They then made their way to the Royal Mess, where they joined Emily and Hermione for breakfast.
The “Royal Mess” was, for all intents, a company cafeteria – a place where Windsor's employees could grab a free meal without having to navigate through crowds of tourists and security checkpoints. But this was Windsor Castle, and the Queen took care of her staff, so it was as much a company cafeteria as a Rolls Royce was a commuter car. The hall was large and ornate, with hardwood floors, oriental carpeting and walls covered with paintings not of monarchs, but of those who served monarchs over the centuries. The tables were covered in linen, set with real silver, and dressed with fresh flowers.
The Mess manager greeted Roger and Harry at the door as if he were welcoming guests into his own house, and led them to a table where Hermione and Emily were already scanning a menu whose entrees ranged from haute cuisine to comfort foods.
“So, Harry,” Emily said after the two men were seated, “It seems that you are already turning heads and making friends within the Castle.”
“The manager mentioned your insistence on taking meals here, rather than one of the private state rooms…said it was ‘refreshingly humble for a member of the peerage’.”
“Well…it wasn’t just my decision,” Harry replied, as he took note of Hermione’s glowing smile. “And I don’t see why anyone should make a big deal…after all, I am a employee too, right?” To emphasize that point, Harry grabbed the Staff ID that hung from his jacket lapel.
“And walking into the kitchens to thank the staff?”
“Seemed the right thing to do…and Hermione’s got me well trained not to take Hogwart’s house elves for granted.” That comment earned a laugh from the table, as a waiter arrived to take their order. “I also wanted to give them an update on Brian’s condition…a lot of his old co-workers were there and word had gotten around that he’d been injured.”
Emily nodded. “I called the hospital while we were waiting…he’s been moved out of the Intensive Care Unit.”
“That’s great…has he regained consciousness?”
Mrs. Granger shook her head. “They think it still may take a few days…it was a rather nasty concussion that he suffered.”
“And they won’t know until he wakes just how bad the spinal cord injury was?”
After Emily nodded the conversation dropped for a few seconds as they all thought about (and silently prayed for) Brian’s prospects for a full recovery.
Roger broke the silence by providing Harry with an initial cost estimate from Privet Drive. Had there really been a gas main explosion, the utility company would have been liable, but given the circumstances, it was understandably reluctant to accept responsibility. MI-5 ¾ did have a secret fund for these sorts of things, but Harry had insisted that he cover the costs, arguing that the attack involved wizard terrorists. As a handshake compromise, the charges were to be split down the middle, with Harry providing payment in kind; rather than directly repay the Crown he would use his funds to support wizard forces fighting against Voldemort. With an estimate now in hand, Harry told Roger that he would create a “war funds” account within his Gringott’s portfolio, and transfer a galleon-equivalent amount.
Emily then raised a Clan Potter issue. Plans had been made for a summer solstice party that weekend, with an expanded guest list that included every Muggleborn Hogwarts student and their family. She had made arrangements to cover travel expenses for those students that lived outside of Greater London, but was uncertain what to do now that Privet Drive was a construction zone. Harry replied that bringing all of the Muggleborns together was more important than ever, given the Ministry’s actions. Hermione pointed out that there was plenty of room within the Castle, but that it might not be prudent to flaunt his position as Queen’s Wizard. Harry agreed, and mentioned sight of some sort of amusement park when he was up on the Round Tower’s roof. Emily promised to look into that possibility and to have a list of potential alternatives ready for Harry by dinner.
The Queen's Wizard had just poured a second cup of tea when Wally entered the hall and approached their table. He asked, “Lord Gryffindor, Dame Hermione, would you allow me to interrupt your breakfast?”
Harry smirked at Wally’s formality as he nodded in response. The secret agent explained that the Prince had instructed the Household Staff to fast-track the renovation and refurbishment of the Round Tower. To that end, there was a delegation of people that wanted to meet with Harry and Hermione for a tour. They immediately agreed, on condition that the Granger’s come along as well (as they might have an interest on the ground floor living quarters). And so it was that fifteen minutes later Harry, Hermione and her parents were introduced to the Castle Superintendent, the Royal Architect, the Castle’s Maintenance Chief and the Royal Curator of Art. The Royal Historian, whom they’d already met, was there as well.
It took almost an hour to complete the tour. As they made their way up through the various floors it became clear to Harry that there were competing interests within the group. The Maintenance Chief was almost embarrassed that the Queen had offered such spartan quarters to her guests, and took every opportunity to suggest how the floor plans could be changed, elevators installed, and modern conveniences provided. In contrast, the Royal Architect wanted to leave the tower the way it was, in the name of historic preservation. Whenever his colleague started to discuss knocking down walls, or adding an HVAC system, the Architect would argue (politely, of course) that the Queen’s guests would be much more comfortable elsewhere within the castle. The Curator took a middle course, asking that the changes be kept to what was absolutely necessary, and that they be done with an eye towards historic accuracy. And while the other staff members were trying to make their points, the Royal Historian provided more information about the tower’s history.
Windsor Castle was one of a series of fortifications built within a day’s march of London, and the Round Tower was one of the first structures built within the Castle. Its foundation stones were placed on top of an artificial hill that was constructed using the rubble from a previous structure.
“Who lived in the Tower besides the occasional Royal Wizard?” Harry asked.
The historian replied, “When there wasn’t a wizard in residence the tower belonged to the Superintendent’s predecessor.”
“His title was Castellan,” the Superintendent added, “though he was also identified as a governor. He lived in the upper apartment, while his lieutenant-governor had the ground floor quarters.”
“So this Castellan…was it a military or a civil post?” Hermione asked.
“Both,” the historian replied. “He was the local judge, chief forester and warden of the Windsor forest…at the same time, he was in charge of the castle’s defense, and of any prisoners kept within the tower’s cells.”
The tower’s detention area was sandwiched in between the upper and lower living quarters, with confinement space allotted based on the prisoner’s rank and gentry status. The first level had twelve small cells; the second level, four. The third level had only a single cell; this “King’s Suite,” was the historic home of jailed monarchs and regents.
Each of the two separate living areas had three rooms spread over two levels. The first floor of each apartment was a large open common room, with fireplaces spaced evenly along the circular walls. This was the main living area, and was also used as a dining room. The floor above was divided into bed chamber and dressing room. Since the ground level also had a guard house and storage room for weaponry, the lower apartment’s rooms were necessarily smaller.
In keeping with its main purpose, the tower’s living quarters were all opened to the circular staircase, providing easy access to its narrow windows for the Castle’s archers, and (later on), musket men. In fact, the only interior doors within the Tower were attached to the jail cells. This openness became an issue when the group discussion hit upon privacy concerns; anyone climbing the tower’s stairs to raise and lower the Royal Standard had to walk through each of the living quarters.
Harry’s worry about explaining away the Love Shack once the tour reached the addition proved baseless; Hermione had taken it down after her morning shower. The posts Harry had used for sword practice were still there, though, prompting him to provide cryptic comments about their use in a new illusion that he was developing.
After finishing their tour the group moved to a castle conference room to hammer out a renovation plan. Harry and Hermione scored points with the Architect and Historian by severely limiting the scope of work. Walls would be built to separate stairwells from living quarters, a stone-encased pipe chase would provide water and sewer service throughout the tower and electrical service to the lower apartment. Small W.C.s would also be built within each dressing room. Plans to build modern kitchens and install centralized heating were shelved; they would take their meals in the Royal Mess, and rely upon the fireplaces to provide heat in the winter.
When asked about potential reuse of the detention levels, Harry decided to leave it in its present condition; his only request being that the cell doors have modern locks installed. The Superintendent jokingly asked whether Harry had plans on housing any prisoners. When Harry smiled and replied, “That’s exactly what I’m planning to do,” Hermione was the only one to realize that he just might be serious.
Once plans were finalized the meeting broke up with the Castle’s superintendent and art curator asking for separate meetings with Harry and Hermione. Wally tagged along as the Superintendent gave Harry and Hermione an overview of the Castle’s security systems.
The bulk of the Castle’s defenses were arrayed to defend against tourists, rather than terrorists. The Castle was one of Britian’s most popular tourist attractions, particularly after the devastating fire of 1992, when the Queen opened for public display many of the rooms that had been restored at taxpayer expense. As the Superintendent led them through Castle grounds he pointed out various checkpoints and queues, where Castle visitors were checked to ensure that nothing dangerous was brought in, and nothing valuable taken out. He further noted that, after an embarrassing series of incidents, great care had been taken to keep uninvited guests from gaining access to the private portions of the Castle. Most of that effort was done remotely, as he demonstrated by walking them through a monitor-filled control room similar to what had been housed upstairs at Number Five Privet Drive.
The Superintendent’s tour ended just before lunch, leaving time for Harry and Hermione to privately discuss their security concerns with Wally. Hermione stated her intent to develop an anti-apparation field large enough to encompass the Castle, but noted that public access within parts of the Castle would still be an issue. Harry agreed, pointing out that a Death Eater’s wand wouldn’t trip a metal detector, and that wacky clothing couldn’t be trusted as a tell-tale indicator of magical ability. Wally asked if there was some sort of magical equivalent of a metal detector to identify magical devices. Harry mentioned the Sneakoscope, but said that it probably wouldn’t be focused enough to pick one wizard out of a crowd. He promised Wally that he’d have Fred and George look into the matter.
Wally then asked about protection wards for the Round Tower itself. He recognized the need to keep the general Muggle population out of the tower, but worried that Muggle repellent charms would be too obvious, and keep c-mugs like him from entering. He suggested that a Muggle electronic entry system might work, but Harry, recalling Slughorn’s pre-Hogwarts accommodations, thought that they might be too easy for a wizard to disarm. As usual, it was Hermione that thought of a practical solution…a security ward that was keyed for only certain individuals to pass, combined with a dummy key card device that an authorized visitor would go through the motions of activating.
Harry and Hermione next told Wally about the Daily Prophet article that had identified him as Queen’s Wizard. Now that this knowledge was out within the wizarding world, Harry was afraid that the Castle would become a Death Eater target. He mentioned that the Prince had described some secret escape routes within the castle, and asked him to find out more about these passageways. They then discussed how the Castle should be defended from physical attack. Wally noted that there was an army barracks a mile away from the castle with troops nominally designated for castle defense, but noted that there weren’t any c-mugs within those ranks. While MI-5 ¾ could easily plant a few of its agents within the Castle’s security team, they agreed that the Castle defenses should be no less robust than Privet Drive’s. Harry and Hermione decided to raise this issue the next time that they met with the Prince or Queen.
After lunch Harry and Hermione met with the Royal Art Curator to discuss Round Tower interior design. The Curator told them that the Castle had a large supply of antique furniture, carpeting and wall hangings that they could pick and choose from, and led them to a basement-level storage area underneath the State Apartments. Along the way, the curator tried to manage expectations, noting that within their inventories “modern” was used to describe anything made after the eighteenth century. Hermione surprised the curator when she replied that Harry and she had lived in a castle that lacked electrical service for most of the past six years, and would therefore be quite comfortable with even the simplest of accommodations. Encouraged by this response, the curator helped Harry and Hermione select several pieces of antique furniture and oriental rugs that would have been right at home within the Gryffindor common room. They also picked out large armoires and cabinets for the dressing room, and a four-poster bed, two desks and matching chairs for their bed chamber. Harry and Hermione then asked that her parents be allowed to similarly furnish the ground level living quarters.
With furniture and floors covered, the Curator took them to a fireproof climate-controlled storage room that housed a small portion of the royal art collection. Hermione was thrilled when told that they could decorate the Round Tower’s walls with any of the stored works. Again, the curator tried to manage expectations by noting that all of the Rembrandt’s were already hanging on royal walls. With more than a thousand pieces to choose from, Hermione asked to use the Collection’s e-gallery to narrow the field, while Harry asked if artwork had historically hung on the Round Tower’s walls. While the Curator excused herself to research that question, Harry and Hermione clicked through the e-gallery, cross-referencing possibilities against a list of works currently on display.
“So what are we looking for?” Harry asked.
“Wizards,” Hermione replied, “or, at least, something that might have been painted by a wizard.”
“Because I’m curious,” Hermione replied with a tad of defensiveness. “And because you never know what a magical painting might be able to tell you.”
“Oh….erm…Hermione, wouldn’t you think one of the Muggles around here would have noticed a magical painting?”
“Not if it was dormant,” Hermione replied.
Harry confessed his ignorance on the topic of sleeping magical paintings, which prompted Hermione to dive into a lecture based, of course, on the material that Harry should have known had he ever bothered to read Hogwarts, A History. Had he been taking notes, Harry’s short version of the presentation would have read: “Paintings need magic to stay alive. Wizard artists paint magical pictures of food, and the portraits “eat” this magical food. No magical food = no energy = paintings become dormant.”
“How will we know if a painting is magical if it’s dormant?” Harry asked.
“Well, without a magical still life to offer as a meal, we have to make some educated guesses, then zap each potential painting with a magical spell. That would probably provide enough energy for a portrait to at least stretch its legs.”
“But why would a wizard artist paint pictures for a muggle king or queen?” Harry asked.
“Because they were the ones with the money,” Hermione simply replied. “And it’s always possible that the Royal Family purchased a magical painting that had long gone dormant.”
It took Hermione just a few minutes to search through the computer database, arriving at a list of twenty different paintings similar in style to those hanging in Hogwarts. With Harry keeping watch for the Curator, Hermione retrieved these works using several variations of “Accio Portrait of Burkhard von Speyer”. She was disappointed that after magical transport none of the paintings gave signs of being magical, though they were all marvelous to look at. With the Curator still out of the room, Hermione decided to goose the paintings with some additional magic, and cast levitation spells. Again, none of the portraits moved, though Hermione though she might have seen an eyelash flutter in Portrait of a Young Man by Giovanni Bellini. She set that work aside, along with a similarly titled work called Portrait of a Man, (not because it appeared magical, but just because she liked it.)
Harry helped Hermione return the other paintings to their cubby holes, finishing just before the curator returned the room. She first complemented Hermione on her selections, and promised to have them brought to the tower along with the furniture. The Curator then told Harry that she had located a journal account that described Round Tower wall hangings during the Eighteenth Century, but that none of these works were within the collection’s database. She thought it possible that this artwork had remained in the tower, and had been stored with the other material that Harry and Hermione had helped remove from the Tower’s addition. They asked for and received permission to poke though these storage boxes.
Harry and Hermione spent a half-hour opening boxes and banishing dust-bunnies as they rummaged through the Tower’s past. They found swords and halberds and battle-axes, copper plates and goblets, moldy bedding and, finally, a box of unframed art. Having been trusted to work alone within the storage room, Harry unrolled each piece and used sticking charms to hang them up against a wall for closer display.
There were eleven different works, covering a variety of styles, media, and (frankly) skill levels. They ranged in size from an eight-by-twelve-inch piece of paper to a wall-sized tapestry eight feet long and ten-feet wide.
“Interesting,” Harry said with a wide grin, “Now this…this lot I could see hanging on our walls…what do you think, dear?”
It took Hermione all of three seconds to determine the unifying theme that had turned Harry into an art lover. Whether woven or painted, Baroque or Byzantine, intimate in detail or grand in scale, they all had one thing in common:
All artfully posed, mind you, but naked nonetheless.
“Oh, honestly, Harry!” Hermione said with a bit of disgust. “I’d have expected that response from any one of the Weasley boys, but from you?”
Harry looked at her with mock indignation. “Ah, the perils of being a patron of the arts.”
He laughed as Hermione scowled. “Ah, come on, Hermione, don’t you get it? This stuff was hanging in a guard house full of troops…not much different than some modern soldier having a page from a girly magazine hanging in his barracks.”
“Erm, don’t have one, I guess,” Harry replied with a grin. “Just thought we ought to check if any of these were magical…since there have been wizards in the tower, you never know….”
“You never know how in touch they were with their inner perv?”
“Now Hermione, you were the one that said a magical painting might tell us something valuable.”
“Yes, yes, I get the point,” Hermione replied with exasperation. “But your sticking charms were magical and nothing happened.”
“Well your painting needed an extra boost before you thought you saw fluttering eyelashes, right?”
Hermione reluctantly agreed and cancelled all of the sticking charms. The artwork fell to the floor in a heap. She then used the same levitation spell that had been placed on the other artwork.
“Hey, I saw that,” Harry exclaimed excitedly, “that one there…she wiggled her bum a bit…you saw that, didn’t you?”
It took most of Hermione’s willpower to reply truthfully.
“Yeah, yeah, I did,” she muttered, pointing towards a painting depicting a group frolicking nudes within a mountain spring. “Would have to be the one with the most women in it, wouldn’t it?”
Harry grinned. “Why don’t we goose them with some more magic…we want to be sure, right?”
His girlfriend shook her head with resignation, and then joined Harry in shooting a variety of harmless magical spells at the painting. After a thirty second barrage the painting’s spring began to flow and all nine of the bathers began to move in a series of wiggles, winks and grins. One figure, wearing a crown of roses in her hair, fixed her eyes on Harry and began to bend and stretch in ways that rendered useless the tree branches and leaves that had been strategically placed by the artist for modesty purposes.
Hermione put hands on hips and scowled a bit at the figures within the painting. “You do know that you’re all pushing your luck, don’t you?” Focusing on the one that had taken interest in Harry she said, “Let me guess, your name is Erato, right?” When the figure nodded her head regally Harry asked how she knew the figure’s name. Hermione pointed towards a pile of clothing and objects by the water’s edge.
“Those robes are Ancient Greek in design,” she replied, “as are the lyre, the flute, and the masks used by actors in Greek tragedies and comedies. Each of those objects are historically associated with one of the Nine Muses, and, well, there’s nine women there, isn’t there?”
Harry replied, “So how did you guess this muse was named Erato?”
“She’s the muse that inspires poets to write erotica.”
“Oh…well I certainly see how she could be inspirational.”
“Get your mind out of the painting, Potter,” Hermione chided.
“Erm, yes…dear?” Harry replied, with a somewhat guilty-looking expression.
Hermione sighed as she stepped towards the canvas and address the figures. “Alright, ladies, bath time is over, if you have any interest in hanging within a magical household again.”
Though the muses lacked enough magical energy to verbalize a reply, the fact all stepped out of the water and started to get dressed indicated that Hermione had gotten her point across.
“Right then,” Hermione said. “You’ll need to strike a pose…we’re going to have to show you to Muggles. Behave, and I might just might arrange a magical meal for you…understand?”
The Muses nodded in agreement as they each grabbed their distinctive prop and arranged themselves in the poses and positions originally given by their creator. Just to be safe, Hermione case a Finite Incantatum spell on the canvas before rolling it up.
The Curator was understandably excited about Harry and Hermione’s discovery. As one of the foremost art experts in Europe, she was able to identify the artists for almost all of the works. That she knew nothing about the bathing muse painting beyond it’s Italian Renaissance style didn’t dampen her enthusiasm; she labeled it a masterpiece upon inspection. A bit embarrassed that such a magnificent work had been allowed to fester in non-archival quality storage under her watch, she was amazed that her careful inspection found no evidence of damage. Harry and Hermione told her that her secret was safe with them, and that they’d take good care of the painting while she looked into the painting’s provenance. With that convenient arrangement reached, the grateful Curator told Harry and Hermione that after obtaining an electronic image of the painting she would frame it herself and deliver it to the Round Tower.
As they walked back towards the Round Tower, Harry apologized for acting his age in front of Erato. Hermione cocked her head slightly, and then took his arm and smiled. “You’re forgiven, but only because I’ve seen that lustful look on your face before.”
Harry furrowed his eyebrows. “You mean some time that Fleur was around?”
“No, silly,” Hermione replied demurely, “I mean last night.”