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Author Notes:

Chapters 16-20

Disclaimer:  Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

oo00OO00oo

Chapter 16 - A Quick Visit to the Wizarding World

Friday, June 22, 7:30am
Ottery St. Catchpole

Harry and Hermione had taken advantage of the early solstice sunrise and left Windsor Castle at 5:00am, hoping to catch Mr. Weasley before he floo’ed to work. Motoring was a decadent waste of time, but with little traffic on the road and the wind in their hair, they had both relished every moment. Right up to the point where they spotted the road sign for Ottery St. Catchpole.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, noticing Harry’s sudden mood change. “Disappointed that we had to postpone our date tonight?”

“No,” Harry replied. “I mean…yes, I’m disappointed, of course…but everything is moving so fast, on so many fronts, and now I’ve got the other badges…”

“And it isn’t letting up any, is it?” Hermione added. “You know, Harry, this ‘three date’ thing was a cute idea, but under the circumstances…”

“Stop right there, Hermione,” Harry said. “If you aren’t going to hold me to it, then I am. Saving the world is no excuse for not treating you right.”

“Oh, Harry…” Hermione sighed. “You treat me right with every breath you take…except, of course, when you’re panting over the Muses.”

“Hush,” Harry chided. “And take care to recall that it was your idea to hang it in the Tower last night….”

The banter lagged as Hermione navigated onto the path that so rarely doubled as The Burrow’s driveway. She thanked Merlin that they were driving Ron’s motorcar, rather than hers, then noticed another change in Harry’s demeanor that mirrored the transition from smooth asphalt to rough dirt.

“So Harry, really, why the sudden sullenness?”

“Erm, guess I was wondering how long it would take for life to imitate art.”

“How so?”

Harry turned and gave a rueful smile. “Remember that racy Muggle movie we watched last week?”

Hermione blushed a bit. “You mean The Unbearable Lightness of Being?”

“Yeah, that one…guess I was thinking about the ending.”

Hermione nodded. Though she had fallen asleep before the movie’s end, she had read the novel.

“Harry, it has been magical morning…a magical month for that matter. But that doesn’t mean that there’s a lorry just around the bend that going’s to end it all with a fatal head-on collision.” As she drove through the Burrow’s protective wards she added, “Particularly on this path.”

The Queen's Wizard shook his head and smiled a bit as he looked down towards his feet. “Ginny’s reaction to our news might have the same force as a head-on collision.”

Hermione nodded as she matched Harry’s smile. “Which is why,” she replied, “I owled Luna yesterday asking her to invite Ginny to spend the night at her house…we’ve got enough to do here before tackling that distraction.”

Harry jerked his head around towards Hermione and let out a quiet snort of bemusement. “Anyone tell you that you are one smart witch?”

“Oh, once or twice.”

By that point Hermione had pulled up in front of Mr. Weasley, who had heard the motorcar’s engines and was anxiously waiting to greet them. She allowed Arthur the opportunity to work the car door’s handle.

“Hermione, Harry, what a pleasant surprise,” he said as he opened her car door. “It’s so good to see you again!”

That Mr. Weasley took the time for hugs and handshakes before touching more than the Morris’s car door was clear indication that this greeting was genuine (though his patience seemed a bit tested as Fleur and Bill came out to add their welcomes).

“Hermione, you have a lovely motorcar,” he exclaimed.

“Oh, it’s not my car, Mr. Weasley, it’s Ron’s.”

“Ron’s?” Bill asked, “You mean my little brother actually knows how to work one of those things?”

Hermione nodded. “Didn’t even have to obliviate the muggle examiner for him to get his license,” she noted, which caused Arthur to puff out a bit in pride.

“Chip off the old block,” he said, as Hermione offered him the car keys and a chance behind the wheel. Once seated, he looked at the front dash, then down at the floor boards. “So where is the drain?”

“What drain?”

“The drain to take away the rain water.”

It took Harry only a few seconds to understand Arthur’s bewilderment. He then made Mr. Weasley’s day by showing him how the convertible’s cloth-topped roof could be extended up and over the interior. Hermione made Mr. Weasley’s week by asking if they could leave the motorcar there at the Burrow. That gave Fleur the chance to tactfully suggest there would be time for Arthur to spend with the vehicle later in the day. Mr. Weasley agreed with a hint of chagrin, and invited Harry and Hermione into the Burrow’s kitchen for some tea.

“You should have told us you were going to visit,” he chided. “We’d have had a big breakfast waiting.”

“Erm, that’s exactly why we didn’t call ahead,” Hermione said. “Didn’t want anyone to make a fuss, particularly Molly.”

Arthur nodded, “Well, if you come around to see Ron and Ginny, I’m afraid, there not here.”

Harry replied, “We know, we talked with Ron on the way out this morning…he’s off the graveyard shift in a few minutes, though, right?”

“Yes, off of work and ready for bed, just as soon as he tumbles through the floo. But Ginny should be up over at Luna’s, so it’d be easy to visit her.”

“We’re planning on visiting Luna’s later,” Hermione replied, “but we really hoped to have a chance to visit with you and Mrs. Weasley.”

“Oh,” Mr. Weasley said with a bit of surprise, “Well Molly’s still resting…hasn’t done much else since she came home yesterday…I’ll go and wake her.”

“Please don’t do that,” Harry quickly said, “I know all too well what she’s going through. Maybe you could just tell her we stopped by, and we’ll try again later?”

“Certainement,” Fleur interjected, as she levitated the kettle over to fill their mugs. Her comment brought Harry’s focus out of the conversation and onto his surroundings for a moment. It had been a year since he’d last visited the Weasley’s, but something had still seemed a bit off when he had first entered the kitchen. It took Fleur’s hospitality, her French, and the kitchen apron that she was wearing, for him to figure it all out.

For the moment, at least, they were in Fleur’s kitchen, not Molly’s.

The differences were minor, but all added up….a vase of fresh flowers on the table, a bowl of fresh fruit on the counter, and (most tellingly) a kitchen wall clock that now sported two additional hands: one labeled “Fleur” that hovered over “Home,” and a second marked “Molly” that pointed towards “Mortal Peril.”

Hermione’s voice brought Harry back from his quiet thoughts of guilt. “Ron said that the Ministry won’t let you take time off of work to be with Molly,” she said. “That’s terrible.”

“Yes, well, we are very short-handed now, aren’t we?” Mr. Weasley replied. “And with Fleur here…she’s been a godsend, she has…Thank Merlin the Ministry’s wizard draft won’t affect her.”

“So they’re really going to go forward with that?” Harry asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Arthur replied. “Of course, they’re not calling it a draft…instead, it's a Ministry intern program.”

“On a massive and involuntary scale, of course,” Bill added.

Arthur shook his head. “And since the Minister put Umbridge in charge, needless to say it only applies to purebloods.”

“That stupid cow wants another crack at what she failed to do at Hogwarts,” Harry stated.

“I’m afraid you are right,” Arthur said sadly. “That Hogwarts might not open this Fall is going to be presented as their rationale for including Ginny and all of the other sixth years in the program.”

“What? That’s outrageous.” Hermione said. “They’re not old enough to do magic on they’re own, but they’re old enough to be drummed into Ministry service?”

Arthur nodded. “Minister’s office thought of that, sad to say…since Hogwarts is officially closed they’re transferring the ‘instructional exception’ authority to the Ministry.”

“So instead of Headmistress McGonagall and our professors teaching students how to responsibly use magic it will be Umbridge and her stooges?” Harry scowled. “It’s disgusting…you’d think they might be humbled by the level of treason we found within their ranks, but they’re turning around and using this treason as an excuse to grab even more power!”

“A very cogent analysis, Harry,” Bill said. “Question is, what are we going to do about it?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know…I really don’t know. Bad enough we have to fight off Voldemort…but the Ministry as well?”

“You’ve got the ear of Head Auror Robards, Harry,” Mr. Weasley. He then gave a weak smile. “As well a few other ministry officials…”

“Thank you , Mr. Weasley…you don’t know how much that means to me,” Harry replied. “When does this ‘intern’ program start?”

“Owls are being sent out today, with assignments starting a week from Monday.”

Harry took note of the time. “We’re going have to spend some time working out a response,” he concluded, “but in the meantime you need to get to the Ministry on time…can’t give them an excuse to hassle our supporters, can we?”

Arthur smiled and said “I’ve still got a few minutes…floo traffic to the Ministry has been lighter than normal these past few days… can’t imagine why.”

Harry reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small electronic device. “We brought something that we thought you might want to see. Mrs. Weasley too, as soon as she’s up to it.” He opened the top up to reveal the small LCD display of a portable DVD player. “It’s not going to work inside the house, but maybe out in the yard?”

He went on to explain that it was a muggle version of omnioculars, with a recording of the Dementor attack on Ascot. Arthur’s eyes lit up as he calculated just how late he could be getting to work. With a laugh and wave, Bill and Fleur pushed Arthur out the door and towards the backyard Quidditch pitch with Harry and Hermione.

Once they were far enough away from the concentration of magic that was centered on the house, Harry turned on the player and showed Arthur how to work the controls. He then popped open the drive to reveal the DVD disk on which the recording was housed. Hermione explained that Muggle movies could be played on the machine as well, and handed Arthur a small case filled with some of her favorite films.

When the DVD recording of the Ascot magic show began to play Arthur quickly forgot about the technology and focused in on the Dementor attack. Ron had given him a cursory description of what had transpired, but it was nowhere near as riveting as seeing it replayed for himself. Harry provided a running commentary, and made sure to freeze the frame when Ron’s fully formed patronus came into view.

“That’s…that’s Ron’s?” Arthur asked with wonder, as he watched a tenacious terrier nip at a Dementor’s heels. “Oh my, Molly is going to be beside herself with pride when she sees this.”

“That was our hope,” Hermione replied, “because that ties into why we wanted to talk with you before Ron got home.” She then handed Arthur an engraved invitation, printed on Royal stationary.

Five minutes later, with DVD player, invitation and explanation in hand, Arthur led Hermione and Harry back inside the house. After checking in on Molly, he floo’ed off to the Ministry. A few minutes later, Ron popped out of the fireplace, tired and a bit worse for wear. He wasn’t too tired, though, to proudly take his big brother out for a ride in his convertible, which left Harry and Hermione alone for a few minutes with Fleur.

Hermione wanted an update on the wedding. Fleur, in turn, wanted an update on Hermione’s love life. At Harry’s embarrassed blush Fleur explained that it was her Veela blood that had betrayed their quasi-secret, rather than any loose words from those Weasley boys that were in the know. She cautioned, though, that Harry’s love-smitten face could be read by anyone who had a vested interest in looking, which made him blush even more. Hermione grabbed Harry’s hand in reassurance, and told Fleur that they were going to break the news to Ginny that afternoon at Luna’s house. Fleur agreed with that plan, noting with a smile that Ginny’s shrieking might interfere with Molly’s rest.

And on that reassuring note Hermione and Harry walked out beyond the Burrow’s protective wards. Along the way they waved goodbye to Ron and Bill as they drove back down the dirt path in the Morris. Once clear of the wards, Hermione gave Harry a quick kiss and disapparated to Diagon Alley.

Given that the ethereal plane was considerably less congested than either Muggle motorways or the floo network, the trip went very fast. The glamour charm that Hermione applied upon arrival facilitated anonymous entry into The Leaky Cauldron, but didn’t fool the observant eye of its bartender.

“They’re already upstairs, miss,” Tom quietly told her as she approached the bar. “Second door on the right.”

Hermione nodded her thanks, and was soon in the company of Tonks and Remus.

“Thanks for meeting on such short notice,” she said, as she cancelled the glamour and layered her silencing charms on top of those already lain.

“Are my eyes getting to old to spot an invisibility cloak’s use, or did you make the trip alone?” Lupin asked.

“I’m sure your eyesight is fine, Professor,” said a voice projected from inside Hermione’s sweatshirt.

“What did you do, Hermione,” Tonks asked with surprise, “shrink Harry down and stuff him in your pocket?”

Hermione smiled and shook her head as she unzipped her hooded sweatshirt to reveal her Order of Arthur badge. “All clear, Harry,”

Two seconds later, Harry Potter followed a flash of light into the room.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Fashioning illegal portkeys these days, Harry?”

The Queen’s Wizard smirked as he pointed towards his badge. “Guess we weren’t exhaustive in our descriptions of how these things work.”

Tonks and Lupin looked at each other with befuddlement until Hermione explained the transportation charms that Merlin had fashioned into the badges. Tonks wistfully lamented that with a pair of those Remus would have to work much harder to avoid lunch dates with her.

Harry smiled and fished two badges and two invitations out of his rucksack. “Then it looks like you’re out of luck, Moony.”

After a few minutes of discussion, Tonks and Remus agreed to the terms that came with the badges, and became seven and eight o-clock, respectively. Harry gave brief instructions on how to use the badge while Hermione gave a brief lecture on the Order of Arthur itself. Then, with promises made to meet at the Burrow later that evening, Hermione and Harry made their way towards Fred and George’s with two additional badges in hand.

oo00OO00oo

Two hours later, Harry and Hermione were performing pre-run stretching exercises with her parents back at Windsor. The Grangers initially seemed far more interested in the side-trip Harry and Hermione had made to Gringott’s than in any one of the morning meetings.

“So the goblins jumped your seventeenth birthday by a few weeks?” Emily asked Harry.

Harry nodded. “I wouldn’t call it goblin logic for fear of a nose chewing, but it seems that way. Griphook told me that wizard world adulthood is defined not by age, but by the ability to legally use magic. Since the legal age to cast spells outside of school is seventeen, that’s also the age of adulthood…for most witches and wizards,” he added, with a tinge of embarrassment.

Hermione jumped in. “In Harry’s case, the legal use of magic is predicated not on age, but on his position as Queen’s Wizard. Since under the terms of the governing treaty Harry can legally use magic, the goblins have decided that by treaty Harry is also an adult in the wizarding world.”

Roger Granger frowned in thought. “Does this mean that your mother’s protections are no longer in place?”

“I really don’t know,” Harry replied. “Guess the only way to test it would be to allow Voldemort to try and kill me between now and the end of July.”

“Let’s hold off on that experiment, then,” Roger said with a grin. “So I guess this answers my question on why your vault portfolios changed over the past couple of days.”

Harry nodded. “It did seem abstract until Hermione and I took a ride down to the Potter family vault.”

“Mum you should have seen it,” Hermione said with excitement, before realizing that Harry was embarrassed by his wealth. “I mean, well…like Harry said, it’s one thing to see a list of magical objects that he owns, but quite another to see them all in one place.”

Harry tried to change the topic. “Wish I had a camera to capture the look on Hermione’s face when she opened her vault for the first time.” Hermione blushed as her parents laughed at Harry’s teasing.

“So did you bring anything back with you?” Roger asked.

Harry shook his head. “Just a few things…did make arrangements for a delivery later today, though.”

“What kind of things?” Emily asked.

Harry only gave a “wait-and-see” smile in reply as he led the way out of the Castle and into the start of their late-morning run.

As they had made plans to meet Sir Evan for lunch at the Royal Mess, the pace was necessarily quicker than normal. When they’d finished, Harry and Hermione surprised her parents by leading them not to the changing rooms, but back to the Round Tower.

“I don’t know about you kids,” Emily said, “but Roger definitely needs a shower after that run.”

Hermione laughed. “You’ve got running water in your apartment now.”

“What?” Roger asked. “We were told that it’d take at least a week for the plumbing to be done.”

Harry lowered the ward that guarded the tower and opened the door. “We were told that too, so we thought we’d take matters into our own magical hands.” He led them inside, grabbing an oblong canvas bag on the way up to the second level of the ground level apartment.

Harry stepped into the dressing room and started to gauge ceiling heights and floor space, taking into consideration the antique furniture that had been moved there the night previous. He turned to Hermione, who had stopped at the room entry with her parents and pointed towards one corner of the room.

“Should fit over there, don’t you think?”

Hermione nodded and, ignoring her parents questioning looks, helped Harry empty out the canvas bag’s contents. It only took a couple of minutes to pitch the tent that they’d removed from the Potter family vault.

Roger’s comment upon entering the magical tent’s living room was amazingly similar to what Harry had said back at the Quidditch World Cup.

“I love magic.”

Hermione used freshening charms to take care of the mustiness as Harry led her parents from room to room. It was larger than the Love Shack, with two bedrooms and a full kitchen. The tent was also built with family more in mind than naughty fun. The furnishings were comfortable, (as much as nineteenth-century style furniture could be comfortable). More importantly, the bathroom was only thirty years out of date, with a bathtub, separate shower, and controls that (thankfully) didn’t require use of a wand.

Hermione cut into her parent’s sense of awe with a reminder that they had a lunch date with Sir Evan. When Emily asked if Harry or Hermione wanted to use the shower first they were forced to admit that they had their own tent upstairs. With promises to give that tour sometime later, Harry and Hermione left her parent’s new tent for their own.

oo00OO00oo

Sir Evan was thrilled to have been invited to Windsor Castle for lunch; despite his knighthood it was the first time he’d ever been inside. His reaction, then, when Harry and Hermione asked if he wanted to live within the castle, was understandably favorable. There were two issues that needed resolution prior to his move, however: his hip, and the Death Eater prisoners that were still being held underneath Privet Drive’s wards.

Sir Evan’s envisioned mission as part of the newly reconstituted Order of Arthur was twofold. First, a centralized anchor point was needed for the Order; a safe meeting place within the Muggle world where all of the Order members could meet in an emergency. That anchor required someone to stay at the Castle at all times. Since Sir Evan was already serving as an anchor for Privet Drive, it would be a change in location more than a change in mission. But as the captured Death Eaters were now all under combined muggle/wizard guard on Privet Drive, Sir Evan was still needed there (in case other Order Members were needed there in a hurry). Harry stated his intention to resurrect the Round Tower’s role as a jailhouse of sorts, but said that any decision to do so required active Castle wards and permission from both Queen and Prime Minister. Hermione was working on the former, while a meeting on 10 Downing had been arranged for the following week to discuss the latter.

The possibility of Round Tower as jail tied into Sir Evan’s second role at Windsor Castle. If there were wizard prisoners to be kept within the tower, there would be need of an on-site jailor. A c-mug was also now needed to raise and lower the Round Tower’s flagging whenever the Queen was in residence. Sir Evan could fill both roles, but only if he could get up and down the Tower’s stone stairs. The broken hip and wheelchair use were therefore an issue. When this point was brought up over lunch Sir Evan gave a guilty smile, and confessed that over the past week he had been able to sweet talk two very nice young witches (Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet, specifically) into casting some low-powered healing charms on his leg. To prove the point, he rose from his wheel chair and performed a little jig.

Sir Evan had maintained the ruse in order to shield Katie and Alicia from any troubles about spell casting on a Muggle. Harry and Hermione were more amused than alarmed, however. Harry told Sir Evan that a spell cast within Privet Drive’s wards couldn’t be tracked, and Hermione told him that any residual magic within the restored hip bone would dissipate within a few weeks. With that information in hand, Sir Evan stood and asked to take a walk up the Round Tower’s steps.

That Sir Evan had no problem walking up and down the stairs allowed Harry and Hermione to show him where they thought he might take up residence.

“Don’t mind the bars, Sir Evan,” Harry said as he led them into the jail’s “King’s Suite.” “We’ve already asked for a replacement door.”

The single room that covered this level of the tower was exactly the same as it was during the previous day’s tour, with three exceptions: one tent, and two paintings. As the tent appeared on the outside to be perfectly normal, Sir Evan’s attention was immediately drawn to the larger of the two paintings. Of course, the fact that there were nine beautiful women moving about within the frame might have had something to do with it as well.

“Sir Harry, how did you know my taste in art?” Sir Evan asked with a roguish grin.

Roger Granger and Harry joined Sir Evan for a closer look at the Muses. “Hey Harry, was there more where this one came from?” he asked with a laugh.

Meanwhile, Hermione and her mom stood with arms crossed, sharing a look of bemusement.

“At least they have clothes on now, mum,” Hermione said.

They watched with fascination as the nine figures took turns reaching through the edge of their painting and into the smaller work that hung right next to it. It was a still life of a bowl of fruit, and the Muses were grabbing apples and bunches of grapes. In between bites the figures flirted with the three men and spoke endearments in French.

“They look hungry,” Emily said.

“You would be too, if you hadn’t eaten in five hundred years,” her daughter replied. Hermione then told her mum the fascinating story that the painting’s figures had told in between their first bites of magical energy.

The nine women who had posed for the portrait weren’t really muses, of course…the witches that had served as inspiration for ancient muggle mythology had lived some two thousand years prior to the painting’s execution. A sixteenth-century French wizard artist had created the painting, and the figures were echoes of young French witches that had lived at that time. They had told Hermione that the rich mistress of a French king had commissioned the painting. The King, who had been imprisoned within the Round Tower, had written to this mistress of his loneliness, and she had conspired with the French king’s wizard to give him some company.

There was a reason behind the painting’s topic. Wanting to give his king something more than just eye candy, the French wizard had scoured the French wizarding world for not just beautiful witches, but smart and artistic ones as well. One was versed in poetry, another in the Classics, a third had a voice of gold, and so on. By choosing to paint them as Muses, the wizard artist was able to give them the instruments and texts that the echoes needed to entertain the French king in private. Apparently, the English king and castellan that held the French king were ignorant of the wizarding world, and thought nothing of allowing the painting to be hung in the jailed king’s cell (his confinement having certain advantages due to his rank). The jailors were similarly ignorant of the reason why several paintings of food accompanied the larger work.

Emily asked why, if the figures were now clothed, they had been found bathing nude, and why they hadn’t eaten for five hundred years. Hermione explained the mechanics of magical paintings, stating that the figures eventually ran out of painted food, and had been unable to scavenge for more. The story for their state of dress was a bit darker. After the French king died in captivity his jailor discovered the magic behind the paintings and decided to satiate his more prurient interests. He removed the magical food paintings from the castle, and forced the echoes to shed their clothing and perform for him in exchange for a few pieces of magical food, brought back to the castle one grape at a time.

“So this castellan forced them to become sex slaves of a sort?” Emily asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Hermione replied. “They had no rights, of course…magical world has problems granting equal status to sentient magical beings, much less paintings…really horrible, when you think of it…”

“Well at least they’re in a better place and better situation now,” Emily replied.

Hermione nodded. “They’re still a little too flirty for me, but at least it’s in French…Harry’s not exactly a master of languages.”

That earned a laugh from Emily. “Well unfortunately for me, our family vacations across the Channel have given your father more than enough understanding. Speaking of which…” She called out to her husband, “Think we have some duties at the control room, Roger.”

“Yes dear,” her husband replied with feigned grumpiness.

As the Granger’s headed off to their MI-5 ¾ responsibilities, Harry and Hermione showed Sir Evan his future magical home. With need to stay for that night’s meeting, Sir Evan suggested that he could use a kip inside the tent before teatime. Looking at their day schedule, Harry and Hermione realized that they themselves had ninety minutes of free time before they were to meet with Ron back at the Burrow. Rationalizing that their day had started early, and promised to end late, Harry and Hermione left Sir Evan for the friendly confines of their own magical tent and an afternoon nap of their own.

oo00OO00oo

Bliss lost out to worry as Harry rose from the failed kip. Untangling his limbs, he sighed as Hermione reached out in her sleep for the warmth he’d stolen from her, then turned and headed down to their common room.

Harry walked up to the borrowed white board, grabbed a dry erase marker, and checked off the last four names on their list. There’d been little doubt that they’d accept the offer to join the Order of Arthur. Fred and George, who had seen the badges in action, said yes even before Harry could completely verbalize the invitation. Tonks and Remus had been almost as quick; their brief discussion at The Leaky Cauldron involved far more explanation of purpose than arm-twisting.

It was the rest of the list that had caused Harry’s stomach to flip in fear - Wally, Steve, and Hermione’s parents. The guilt felt over Brian’s condition had initially blinded Harry to the notion that the new Order members had to all be witches or wizards, and capable of bouncing back from injury as easily as Fred had. With second thoughts, however, he decided that his responsibility to the Queen could require quick access. Sir Evan, of course, could anchor her location when she was at Windsor, but Ascot Week was an aberration; weekend visits were more often the norm, and even with her advanced age she got around the country quite a bit. With input from Wally and Steve they’d decided that the best approach to this problem would be for Steve to be reassigned to the Queen’s personal guard. In that way, all of the Order of Arthur members could rally to his position should the Queen ever again come under attack.

This idea of rally points had also been used to flesh out the roles of Tonks and Lupin. Tonks and all of the other Aurors that had been guarding the grounds of Hogwarts had been recalled to the home office after the attack, so she would be well placed to allow immediate access to the Ministry of Magic. Lupin, on the other hand, had no official ties to the Ministry, making him an ideal candidate for anchoring Hogwarts. Of course the Headmistress would have as well, but after some thought (and a bit of guilt) they’d decided that Remus would be more nimble on a broom and in battle.

Which left five badges, and the realization that the wizard-muggle teams that had been used on Privet Drive had worked for a reason. Wally was a natural selection, but they’d agonized over whether or not to include Mr. and Mrs. Granger. On the one hand it seemed like a selfish move; with the badges her parents would be able to escape any dangerous situation better than any other muggle could. But on the other hand the badges would put them at greater danger than any other muggles, because of the responsibility that came with it. Roger and Emily had proven their mettle at Privet Drive, and were constantly surprising them with new skills and capabilities. They also were c-mugs with motivation to fight and the knowledge to support that fight, but still…they were her parents. In the end, they had decided to lay out their concerns to her parents and ask their opinion. Roger and Emily had said that the choice was Harry’s, but they’d be honored to serve if asked. Harry, very reluctantly, gave them that honor.

Harry had plenty of ideas to explore with the assembled Order. He also, however, had plenty of self-doubt. Was he really a leader? It had been one thing to head up the DA, but as Harry looked once more at the list of names he came to the startling realization that he was the youngest person on the list!

And if that wasn’t enough to worry about there were all of his other responsibilities. Harry started to draw, following some of the diagram and flow charting tricks Hermione had taught him. A big box labeled “Clan Potter” was drawn on the board’s edge, with an arrow connecting it to his name on the Order list. A second box, marked “Fawkes Foundation” was similarly tied to his name. And then the dam burst, and all kinds of worries were linked to his name (e.g. Hogwarts, his finances, MI-5 ¾, member of the Queen’s staff). By the time he’d finished the white board resembled a giant web, with Harry the spider in the middle of it all.

He stepped back, then made the startling realization that he’d forgotten something. He reached out and wrote “VOLDEMORT/YOU-KNOW-WHAT HUNT” within a box that he linked to his name. Thinking that the omission perfectly symbolized his current state, he hurled the dry erase marker towards the white board. It bounced off the surface without satisfaction.

A call on his badge brought him out of his funk.

“Wally, what’s up?”

“Nothing bad, Sir Harry…just wanted to let you know that there are some boxes waiting for you down at the loading docks.”

Harry assumed that the goblins had made their delivery from his vault and told Wally that he was on his way. He then walked down the stairs and out of the tower. The loading docks were located within the Lower Ward, away from the State Apartments. As Harry’s path took him past a perpetual queue of tourists, he steeled himself for some public recognition.

The possibility that he might become just as famous within the muggle world was a frightening prospect. Being “The-Boy-Who-Lived” had forced him to accept the stares, smiles and waves from strangers for years, so he’d reasoned that he’d be able to adjust. He tried to limit his movement around the Castle to times outside of public hours, but there were times (such as this one) where he knew he just had to grin and bear it.

A teenage girl recognized him as he walked down the path and yelped out an autograph request. It’d happened twice the day previous, and he obligingly walked over. This time, however, there was more than a Castle Tour ticket stub to sign; the preteen handed Harry the latest issue of a muggle magazine called TRW (short for “Teen Royal Watch”). The cover startled him; it was a picture of him in top hat and tails, taken at Ascot. The teaser headline read “Wizar-Delicious! Palace Serves Up New Magical Hearthrob.”

As he finished writing the magazine cover, things began to spiral out of control. Another magazine was thrust in front of him, and then another, as the queue developed a bulbous growth of star-struck girls on its side. Hands not holding pens aimed camera phones, and picture flashes began to flare as the autograph requests became much more direct and provocative; one twenty-something blonde asked if he’d sign her knickers (while they were still worn, mind you).

A hand grasped his shoulder and pulled Harry back as the mob tried to crush its way into singularity. “Right then, that’s enough, ladies and gents. Please return to your queue, as the Queen’s Wizard has some meetings to attend to…back in queue, please….”

Harry turned and gave Roger Granger a slightly embarrassed look as Emily placed herself between Harry and the tourist pack desperate for some body contact. Once Harry cleared the crowd by a few meters those still in pursuit realized its futility, and quickly turned to secure their places in line.

“Thanks for the help,” Harry told the Grangers, as they walked away from the crowd. “Almost apparated out that situation.”

“Tsk, tsk, Harry,” Roger said with a smile. “You’ll be needing to be more mindful of visitor’s hours, now that Fleet Street’s proclaiming you ‘Queen’s Hottie.’”

“Arrggh,” Harry replied, “That’s exactly what I didn’t want happening…hope you two didn’t think I was courting any of that.”

“No worries, Harry,” Emily replied. “We had video on you from the start…came when we realized you’d be needing some help.”

The Grangers walked Harry down to the dock, where two burly Castle staff members were already loading large boxes onto two utility carts. He signed some papers, then took an offered seat next to one of the men as they drove out onto the path back towards the tower. He yelled out more thanks to the Grangers as he passed them on their walk back to their post, then turned and waved again to the crowd as they caught sight of him.

“Become a Castle attraction yourself, Guv,” the driver dryly said.

“Yeah, I guess it comes with the job,” Harry said with resignation.

When they arrived at the tower Harry got out to open the door, then walked back to help the two men unload. One of the men practically slapped his hand away. “What do you think you’re doing, there, guv’nor?”

“Just lending a hand…it’s my things, after all.”

The man shook his head. “See that the kitchen staff were right about you…Sir Harry, is it? Yes, well, Sir Harry, have you ever heard the ditty about Sir Reggie?”

Harry shook his head.

“Ah, well it goes something like this…

Sir Reggie went to change a light,
Fell off the ladder, serves him right!
He should have stayed where he did best,
And paid those skilled to do the rest.

Harry took a few seconds to work out the poem’s purpose. When he failed to wipe the daft look off his face the man continued. “You and I, we both work for the Queen, right? To do what…I’m a mover, and you’re a magician. If you spend time doing what I can do to serve the Crown, then who is going to do the wizarding? Not me.”

Harry nodded. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t want you to think that I think I’m better than…

“Look Sir Harry,” the man said, “It touches my heart to see your feet on the ground, and lacking airs…but you need not prove that every day by washing dishes and mowing the lawn. By letting those around you do what they do best…that’s what allows you to do your magic…to do what you do best.”

Harry broke into a smile, and reached out his hand. “Thank you for the advice…I can’t tell you how much your wisdom is going to help me.”

The mover shook Harry’s hand, and then raised his fingers up in a military salute. “Happy to help, Guv.”

Harry asked the two men to wait just a few seconds before bringing the boxes upstairs, which gave him time to shrink down and pocket the white board. He then left instructions to leave the boxes within the common room while he went upstairs to “work on his magic.” Once in the dressing room he resized the white board and used a sticking charm to place it on a wall. With the mover’s sage advice still ringing in his ears, Harry started to quickly sketch out a revised organizational chart.

Thirty minutes later Hermione found Harry sitting cross-legged on the floor looking up at his work. She smiled as she sat down behind him and scooted up with her legs outside his. With two arms wrapped around his chest she pulled Harry back until his head rested on her shoulder. After a little ear nibbling she asked, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Harry smiled as he closed his eyes and shook his head. “Things on my mind.”

“So it seems,” Hermione replied. “Looks like you’ve taken my flow charting lessons to heart.”

Harry nodded. “Along with the rest of you…and sorry, no give backs.”

Hermione responded with a squeeze. “Guess I’ll muddle through somehow.” She released a hand to wave towards the board. “So what brought this on?”

“I was worrying about things getting lost in all of the shuffle…decided I needed to clarify and quantify my life.” He turned his head towards hers. “So what do you think?”

Hermione let out a “Well…” that for all the world sounded like purring.

“I think it’s brilliant, and smart, and bound to be wildly effective.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Hermione.”

“I certainly hope so, Harry.”

“It’s only a rough draft, though,” he replied. “Any changes before I spring this on Wally and Ron and your parents?”

Hermione stood, grabbed a marker, and began chewing on its end as she examined the board. In the center, Harry had written his name next to Hermione’s with Ron’s right below to form a triangle. All three names were within a box labeled “Treasure Hunt,” representing, (Hermione guessed), the Trio’s horcrux search. Outside this box, Harry had drawn more boxes, each representing a group or organization that he was linked to. Within each box was a membership roster of sorts, with the top name in all-caps and underlined. Hermione noted that Harry had, on paper at least, accepted the need to delegate power and authority. The box labeled “Fawkes Foundation” had her mum’s name on top, her dad’s name was linked to Harry’s finances, and her name…well, her name was in quite a few boxes, but it was given top-billing within Clan Potter.

“Harry,” she asked, “Don’t you think that the Clan Chief should be head of Clan Potter?”

“Only when I have to,” Harry replied with a smile, “Thought I’d ask the powers behind the throne to run things otherwise.”

Hermione silently nodded, noting that Ron’s name was also prominent within the Clan box, as Champion and head of something labeled “CAF.”

“Stands for ‘Clan Air Force’,” Harry replied sheepishly when she asked about it. “Wanted to make sure that Dean, Neville and the rest know how important they are in all this.”

“Because you ran out of Order of Arthur badges?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Hermione nodded and moved on to the other side of the board. The names of the twelve Order of Arthur members were boxed, with Harry’s name underlined (but not all-capped). MI-5 ¾ had a box with Wally’s name on top (and Harry and Hermione’s absent). Windsor Castle had a box as well, as did Hogwarts, the muggle government and a small box with the word “Peanut Butter Brigade.” When asked, Harry said that it was a place-holder of sorts, representing his relationship to those within the magical world that supported him (with “Peanut Butter” standing for “Pure-Blood”)

Hermine took two steps back from the board. “I think that Harry Potter, Inc. has become a multi-national corporation,” she said.

“Well, not quite,” Harry replied. He looked up at the board and realized that something was missing. Standing, he took the pen from Hermione and drew a box around their names, then drew a line connecting the two names. Above the box he wrote “House of Lord Gryffindor.” He then walked back behind

Hermione and wrapped his arms around her in embrace.

“Erm…Harry?”

“Yes, Hermione.”

“I assume you added the Lord to distinguish that box from the Gryffindor House at Hogwarts?”

“That’s right.”

“So shouldn’t Lord Gryffindor’s name be underlined as the head of that little group?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh….so Harry?”

“Yes, Hermione.”

“We’re the only two people in that box?”

“For now, yes.”

Hermione turned with a look of scrutiny on her face. “Planning on a harem?”

“No,” Harry said with a smile. “Planning on in-laws.”

Hermione went wide-eyed. “You know, Harry, that’s the second time I’ve heard you talk about in-laws this week…just how definite are those plans of yours?”

Harry’s face dropped into a serious expression. “You’re right, Hermione, I shouldn’t be joking about something that’s so important.”

“Erm Harry…that’s nice, but it didn’t really answer the question?”

“Guess you’re right…it’s just that…well, I can’t imagine living without you in my life. That’s nothing new…I would have said the same thing two months ago…but now it’s, erm, so much better.”

“How?”


“Well…the snogging, of course, is brilliant, and you wield a mean scrub brush, and…and I used to be afraid that if we became more than friends that we’d lose that friendship.”

“Imagine your Aunt and Uncle weren’t the best role models there.”

“For certain,” Harry replied. "But it has worked, hasn’t it? We’ve gone beyond just spending all of our waking hours together to adding in the sleep time as well…and we’re not at each others throats, or arguing, or thinking less of each other…”

“Oh sure, say that now…but what happens the first time you hear me pass gas?”

“Who says I haven’t already?”

“Harry James Potter!”

“Ah, come on, Hermione, with all of the time we’ve been together…I mean Ron’s blasts are legendary, but you can’t blame it on him all the time, can you?”

“That’s what a polite boyfriend would do.”

“Well…I guess I could blame him, even though I’d know better…”

“And how is that?”

“Erm…you have to admit, Hermione, while Ron’s display an amazing two octave range, the associated smell is far more consistent. Well, consistent enough to notice a difference….”

Hermione sighed. “Merlin, it’s like having Ron around…one minute we’re talking about marriage plans and the next thing you know we’re comparing farts.” She laughed nervously. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

Harry laughed with her. “You can say anything around me Hermione, and I’m not going to think less of you…you know that.”

Hermione’s eyes were getting moist as she nodded in agreement. “I know…I’ve known that for a long time. Brings us back to that backwards approach we’re taking to our relationship.”

“You mean determine over a number of years that we’re compatible and then go out on a second date?”

“Exactly.” She placed a tender kiss on his lips then took a step back.

“You know, Harry, if you’d have been sorted Slytherin I might have thought your comments about in-laws were a sneaky way of testing the waters before risking a plunge.”

“Really?” Harry smirked. “You do know the Sorting Hat wanted to put me there.”

She gave him another kiss. “Yes, I do.”

“Sure, you say that now, but will you say ‘Yes’ or ‘I do’ when it really matters?”

Hermione smiled, “Guess you’ll have to risk jumping off into the deep end to find out.”

“You know I’m not a very good swimmer.”

Hermione kissed his nose in benediction.

“So bring some gillyweed.”

oo00OO00oo

Friday, June 22, 3:15pm
Ottery St. Catchpole

Harry and Hermione had to take an indirect route from Windsor Castle to Luna Lovegood’s house, as Hermione had never been there before. They apparated/ badge-traveled to just outside The Burrow’s wards, where Ron was waiting for them in his car. From there it only took a few minutes to drive into town.

The Queen's Wizard had floo-called Luna’s father from the Leaky Cauldron earlier that morning with a request to meet with him at his home that afternoon. While Harry didn’t want to explain the meeting purpose, it was easy enough for the Quibbler’s editor to assume that next issue’s cover story on the secret influence of vampires (“Vlad and Rufus: Separated at Birth?”) might be bumped.

Luna had already promised Harry and Hermione to keep Ginny at her house until dinner, allowing plans for Harry to meet with Ginny there as well, effectively killing two birds with one stone. The-Boy-Who-Lived hoped that was all the killing that would occur during those meetings.

They spied Luna and Ginny reading on the front porch steps of the Lovegood residence; Luna was deep into the Sixth-year Ancient Runes text she’d borrowed from Hermione, while Ginny was hunched over the latest “Teen Witch Weekly.”

The skies were overcast, but not yet wet, so the car’s roof was down. This allowed Ginny to practically fall into Harry’s lap after she ran to the stopped car in a blur of red hair and wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck. She pulled his head towards her in a tight embrace, oblivious to Hermione’s scowling in the rear seat and Harry’s deft avoidance of her lips.

“Harry,” she exclaimed, “it’s so wonderful to see you…it seems like ages.”

“Nice to see you too, Ginny,” Harry replied with a bit of stiffness. With gentle insistence he snaked his upper torso out from her embrace. “Erm. Ginny, we should talk later, but right now we’ve got to meet with Mr. Lovegood inside.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” Ginny replied with saccharin-levels of breathiness. Hermione, who was half-way out of the car, turned and stared, but said nothing; it was enough for her to see Harry scoot over the stick shift so that he could exit the car from the side opposite of Ginny.

“I’ll be waiting right here,” Ginny called out. She didn’t see Harry roll his eyes as he strode up the steps with a small stack of portfolios under his arm.

“Father is in his study,” Luna said, as she opened the front door for Harry and Hermione. “First door on the right.”

“Thanks, Luna,” Harry replied, as he grabbed Hermione’s hand and led her inside. Ron, now in Clan Champion mode, drew his wand out and turned his back to the front door, on guard against the advances of Death Eaters and ex-girlfriends. Harry heard him say, “No, Ginny, you’ll just have to wait,” before the door closed behind them.

Harry spared a second to take in his surroundings. It wasn’t a fancy house, but it was comfortable and inviting. The furnishings weren’t that much different than the Burrow’s; a bit less worn, without seven children in the house, but also less tidy (he thought that perhaps Luna’s breezy nonchalance ran in the family). Double stacked bookshelves, piles of yellowing newspapers and the bric-a-brac of world travelers also distinguished the decor.

His observations were interrupted by Lawrence Lovegood’s hearty greeting.

“Mr. Harry Potter, and Ms. Hermione Granger, it is rather thrilling to finally be able to meet you in the flesh.”

Harry turned and gave Luna’s father a firm handshake. “Pleased to meet you as well, Mr. Lovegood. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us at your house and on such short notice.”

Lovegood nodded as he closed the door behind the two teens and cast a series of silencing and privacy wards about the room.

“Thank you for the privacy,” Hermione said. “That was quite an impressive array.”

Mr. Lovegood shrugged his shoulders. “I’m the one that should be conveying thanks…I’ve wanted to express my sincere gratitude to Mr. Potter for some time.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Harry replied, “We both benefited from those Quibbler stories.”

Mr. Lovegood looked at him strangely. “Stories? You misunderstand me, young man. It is my gratitude as a father that I wish to convey. It is as if I could characterize Luna’s happiness and general outlook on life in terms of ‘Before She Met Harry at the start of Fourth Year,’ and ‘After She Met Harry.’”

The teen-aged wizard’s ears turned a bit red. “Thank you, sir,” he replied, “but I don’t think anything I did could have made that much of a change. If anything, I would say that Ron Weasley would have the lion’s share of any credit to be given.”

Lawrence Lovegood looked at Harry for a moment, then nodded as if he’d reached some internal conclusion. “Well perhaps we can discuss that another day. I imagine that you have other things…?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied. “I imagine that you’ve been following the reporting on my exploits over the past week in The Daily Prophet?”

Luna’s father nodded. “Always make it a point to scout out the competition, even when its accuracy and objectivity is worth little more than a slightly used chamber pot…so are you here to discuss opportunities to tell your side of the story?”

“Not right now,” Harry replied. “I mean, it did work rather brilliantly last time we did that, but Hermione and I think that we need a more…well, Slytherin…response to the way the Prophet is slandering us, and working as the Ministry’s mouthpiece.”

Hermione said, “Here’s the problem …the Daily Prophet has worked with the Ministry to lay out just enough facts to make it difficult to rebut. I mean, we could…but any accurate description of what’s happened this past week would put certain…intelligence assets…at risk.”

“It also might bring certain events to light that we’d rather stay out of the papers right now,” added Harry.

“I see,” Mr. Lovegood replied. “So you’re thinking of another approach?”

Harry nodded. “I’ve recently gained full control of the Potter Clan’s financial interests, as well as some additional monies from the Black estate. We want to use part of those resources to help you, and The Quibbler, get the truth out about the battle against Voldemort.”

Luna’s father looked at the two teens a bit cautiously. “Are you asking to buy the Quibbler?”

“Oh, no, sir, not at all,” Harry quickly said in reassurance. “If we were to buy any paper outright it’d be the Prophet itself…I apparently already own about 5% of its stock.”

“The problem is that Harry doesn’t want to give even the appearance of using his money to buy power and influence,” said Hermione. “If he did buy that rag, the Ministry would probably just start up its own newspaper, claiming that the wizarding world couldn’t trust what the Prophet would print with Harry as publisher.”

“Like it has a reason now,” Harry muttered.

Lovegood nodded, rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “So a more indirect approach that wouldn’t allow the Ministry to argue that Harry’s controlling either the Prophet or the Quibbler?”

“Exactly,” Hermione replied with a smile. She then reached into her rucksack and retrieved a portfolio of parchment papers. With Lovegood’s encouragement, she started down her list.

“First, we’ve been asked by an independent foundation to make arrangements with the Quibbler to start some new subscriptions.”

“Really?” asked Lovegood, wondering how this piece of information fit in. “How many new subscribers are we talking about?”

“We don’t have the full count right now, but at least six hundred to start.”

Lovegood took a step back in shock.

Harry explained, “The Foundation is looking for a way to get accurate and timely information about the wizarding world into the hands of every single muggle-born Hogwarts student and their families. Giving them a copy of the each issue of the Quibbler seemed a logical approach.”

Hermione had to bite her tongue just a bit when Harry said “accuracy” and “Quibbler” in the same sentence, but nevertheless continued. “The Foundation also expressed interest in getting this news spread more than once a week…might be a stretch to immediately jump to a daily paper, but maybe three times a week would be possible?”

“Three times a week?” asked Lovegood. “That’s a lot of copy to produce…I’m afraid that our staff would not be up to the task, and I’m very sure our old presses wouldn’t be able to take that kind of production rate for very long.”

Harry smiled. “We brought those potential issues to the Foundation’s attention. Their Board of Directors have authorized me to offer an immediate no-interest loan for you to purchase new printing equipment and hire new staff. They also thought you might want to consider moving to a newer, more secure location.” Harry smiled when he added, “Of course, the Board expects that the per issue purchase price will have to be raised a bit to cover these costs, and is prepared to pre-pay its subscriptions at twice the current rate.”

“Don’t forget the advertising,” Hermione said. “That might take up some space in the new editions as well.”

“Oh yes, thank you, Hermione,” said Harry, as she passed a piece of parchment over to Mr. Lovegood. “It turns out that over the years most of the Potter finances have been invested in wizarding businesses, rather sitting in piles of galleons at Gringott’s. That list you have are the businesses and enterprises that I presently either own outright or own majority interest in. I think that you’ll recognize at least a few of them as Quibbler advertisers.

“And a few more that advertise only in the Prophet,” Lawrence added as he quickly scanned the list.

“Up until now,” replied Harry with a grin. “I’m afraid that the Prophet is about to experience a rather shocking drop in advertising revenue.”

Hermione added her smile and comment. “Much better to be in the Quibbler’s position…why with its sudden jump in circulation, I’m sure, Mr. Lovegood, that you’ll be able to increase your advertisement rates quite nicely.”

“And I’m sure that the companies on that list will be willing to pay those new charges,” Harry said with a twinkle in his eye.

Lovegood stood gobsmacked in front of the two teens, then turned to levitate a pile of books off of his desk chair so that he could take a seat.

“This is all so overwhelming,” he finally said. “And what do you, or this foundation expect in return?”

“Nothing,” Harry said in reassurance. “Nothing more than what you are already doing.”

“Well…” said Hermione with a small smile, “It might be nice to know that at least some of those new reporters you hire focus on the Ministry and current events, and that Scrimgeour’s hijinks share the lead with Snorkack sightings now and again.”

Lovegood chuckled at that response. “Fair enough.”

“I couldn’t say for sure,” Harry said with a smile, “but you might find that in the future there will be a few more Ministry insiders willing to speak to Quibbler reporters off the record.”

“As well as the occasional anonymous tip from those most definitely outside of the Ministry, Harry?” the editor asked with an upraised eyebrow.

They all laughed at that observation. Hermione then provided Lovegood with some papers to sign from both the Fawkes Foundation and Gringott’s. The Quibbler’s editor didn’t fail to notice the unmarked envelope that was also within this pile of parchment. Harry and Hermione were forced to decline Lovegood’s invitation to stay for dinner with assurances to meet again in the near future, Luna’s father then led Harry and Hermione back out to the front steps of his house.

Upon his return to his office Lovegood opened the unmarked envelope. A few pieces of parchment and two wizarding photographs spilled out. Quickly scanning the first document, he found a list naming all of the Death Eater insiders that had tried to take control of Ministry that past week, sorted by department. “Little wonder they didn’t name names and departments in the Prophet,” he mused, as he realized just how many spies were within the Minister’s office itself.

He then laid the two photographs side-by-side on his desk. The first photograph was a headshot of Rita Skeeter, winking at the camera while her Quick Quotes Quill scribbled furiously over her shoulder. The second image was a close-up shot of a black beetle that appeared to be trapped in a glass jar. A comparison of these two pictures revealed markings on the beetle that looked amazingly similar to the gaudy glasses that Rita was wearing. Apparently, Lovegood’s anonymous source was thinking along those same lines, for attached to the second photograph was a Ministry list of all registered animagi (Skeeter’s name was absent), a copy of the law requiring anamagi to register, and contact information for the Ministry personnel responsible for enforcing that law.

Lovegood shook his head and laughed, thinking, “A most Slytherin response, indeed.”

oo00OO00oo

When Harry and Hermione returned to the front steps of the house they found Ginny anxiously waiting for them. Bowing to the inevitable, Harry asked Ginny to take a walk with him. The red-haired witch squeeled in delight as she grabbed his arm and they began a slow walk around the streets of Ottery St. Catchpole.

“Harry,” said Ginny, once she thought they were out of earshot of the others, “it’s been so awful reading those lies about you in the Daily Prophet.”

“Yeah, well what do you expect?”

“I mean, the idea that you’d even think about working for a Muggle instead of for the Ministry. Even if she is some kind of Queen…”

Well, actually,” Harry said somewhat bemusedly, “they got that part right.”

Ginny stopped in her tracks and asked, “What?”

The Queen's Wizard snorted, then looked around for someplace to sit. He led Ginny to a bench placed within a small municipal park and took a seat, making sure that Hermione, Ron and Luna (who had been trailing the two at a discreet distance) were still within eyesight.

“The part about me working for the Muggle Queen of Great Britain is what the Prophet got right.”

“But why?” asked Ginny, shock etched on her face, “What business does this Muggle queen have meddling with the wizarding world?”

Harry looked at the teen-aged witch rather crossly, then said, “Ginny, it’s the business of the muggle Queen and the Muggle Ministry to protect its citizens. When our Ministry and the Aurors can’t keep Dark Lords and Dementors from killing innocent Muggles, then they do have the right to get involved.”

“But wouldn’t you be more effective working for the Ministry rather than this queen?”

Harry shook his head and sighed. “Ginny, you read the Prophet…the part about the Minister of Magic believing that I’m a serious threat is for the most part true as well.”

“You, Harry…a threat?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied. “Not to the wizarding world, mind you, but a threat to them…Scrimgeour, Umbridge…even your brother Percy. And the feeling is mutual, frankly.”

“How so, Harry?”

Harry snorted. “Hermione and I had to fend off an attack by Umbitch and her lackey aurors the first night I was back at my Aunt and Uncle’s.”

“Oh,” said Ginny. She ignored the idea that the Ministry had it in for Harry and then asked what she thought was a much more pertinent question.

“So why was Hermione at your Aunt and Uncle’s house?”

Harry looked at Ginny with disbelief. He counted to five, then calmly replied, “Because I needed her there.”

“What? You needed Hermione’s help?”

Harry sighed. “Yes, Ginny, as much as it pains me to have her in harm’s way, I don’t think I could live without Hermione by my side.”

Ginny’s face started to turn beet red. “So you distance yourself from me, saying that I can’t be put in harm’s way, but it’s okay for Hermione to be with you night and day?”

“No, Ginny,” Harry replied. “it’s not like that…I also told Hermione that I didn’t want her near me the same day I told you.”

“So what made you change your mind…what did she do to make you change your mind?” Ginny huffed. “Why her and not me?”

Harry took a moment, then replied softly. “Because Hermione refused to allow me to push her away, Ginny….and you didn’t.”

“Oh,” the red-haired replied, looking as if Harry had just punched her in the gut. After a few quiet moments spent staring at the ground she looked at him with steely resolve and said, “Well now I’m refusing too.”

Harry shook his head. “That can’t happen, Ginny.”

“And why not?”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Well, for a number of reasons. First, because you’re underage.”

“But so are you, Harry.”

“Yeah, well as Queen’s Wizard that underage restriction doesn’t apply to me anymore…that was one of the reasons why I agreed to the job.”

“Oh, well…when have we worried about those restrictions, Harry?” Ginny asked. “Never been a problem at the Burrow, right?”

“Exactly my point,” Harry replied. “Students that grow up in wizarding homes don’t have to worry about getting caught doing underage magic when they’re home on break, because the Ministry simply assumes the magic is being done by the parents.”

“Really? I thought that they had some sort of tracking spell on our wands.”

Harry shook his head. “The Ministry has sensors that detect when and where magic is used…they can’t tell who is actually doing the spell. That’s why they need to do Priori Incantato to detect the use of Dark spells using a particular wand. That’s the reason why I got in trouble back in Second Year when Dobby did magic at my Aunt and Uncle’s house…the Ministry assumed that if magic was done in that Muggle household that I must have been the one to do it.”

“Huh…I didn’t know that.”

Harry nodded. “That was the same excuse Umbitch used to attack us three weeks ago when Hermione cast a cleaning spell on some bed clothes.”

Ginny paused, then brightened her expression when an idea came to mind. “Then you can simply move to The Burrow…Ron’s back now, after all.”

Harry shook his head. “Ginny, being Queen’s Wizard makes me responsible for certain things…I need to stay within the Muggle world this summer. Just like you and all of the other pureblood students will be forced to stay in the wizarding world.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry looked at her and decided that Ginny really didn’t know about the draft. “Talk to your dad, Ginny…the Ministry is going to force all of the Sixth and Seventh Year pureblood students to work at the Ministry as interns.”

“Oh.” Ginny replied. “So that’s the reason for Hermione being with you….because she’s muggleborn?”

Harry nodded. “That’s just one of the reasons.”

Ginny sighed, then tried to pull Harry into an embrace. “Oh, Harry,” she said, “I just can’t wait until you kill Voldemort so that all of this will be behind us and you can move back to the wizarding world and we can go back to the way things were…”

The-Boy-Who-Lived carefully pulled Ginny’s arms away from his neck and shook his head as he held her hands. “That’s not going to happen, Ginny.”

“Oh, don’t say that…of course you’re going to defeat Voldemort.”

“Well, that part, okay,” Harry said with a slight grin. “But if and when that happens, things will never be the same.”

“What do you mean? You’ve still got Seventh Year, and N.E.W.T.’s, and a Quidditch team to captain, and a girlfriend to snuggle up with in front of the Common Room fireplace…”

“No Ginny,” Harry said firmly. “We can’t go back. I don’t think I’m even going back to Hogwarts as a student, and I have more important things than Quidditch to worry about, and….well, there’s one more very important reason why things can’t go back to the way that they were.”

“Why is that?”

Harry let Ginny’s hands go, pushed his own into his pockets, and summoned the courage to reply while looking at her eyes.

“Because Hermione and I have fallen in love with each other.”

Ginny’s eyes went wide, then she began shaking her head almost violently.

No!”

Harry looked back across the street and saw that Ginny’s response had drawn the interest of Hermione and Ron (both had wands drawn discretely to their sides).

“I’m sorry, Ginny, but it’s true.”

“No, no, no,…that’s not possible, Harry, no, it simply can’t be.”

“Ginny…”

Ginny stood up and started to walk back and forth in front of the bench, with her head down and arms wrapped around herself.

“No…no…no…not possible….not the way it’s supposed to be…not the way it’s meant to be…”

“Ginny, stop, please, and listen to me.”

The despondent witch shook her head and muttered. “Nope, can’t listen to what can’t be happening…no….Mrs. Ginny Potter…it’s the way it’s supposed to be…”

Harry stood and grabbed the girl’s arms, forcing her to stand still. “Ginny, are you going to stop and listen to me, or am I going to have to petrify you?”

“No, Harry,” Ginny replied, “you wouldn’t do that to me…we were meant to be together…”

Oy! Ginny!” Ron shouted from across the way. “If Harry doesn’t, then I will.”

Ginny turned her head to look at her brother, then shook her head once more. “Nope, can’t be happening…must be a dream, or some delusion, or else Ron would be hexing Harry right now…can’t be real…Mrs. Potter…meant to be…”

Hermione decided that enough was enough and crossed the street. Ron and Luna were close behind, each worried that hexes would be flying in the very near future.

The bushy-haired witch went to Harry’s side, and grabbed hold of his hand in support. She turned to Ron and nodded, in a silent request for help.

“Ginny, this is not a dream,” Ron said, as he walked up to his sister. “Harry and Hermione are together, I’m okay with it, and that’s as it should be.”

Ron’s comment broke Ginny out of her quasi-catatonic state. She waved her arm towards Harry and Hermione and asked, “What? You’re okay with this?”

Her brother reached out for Luna’s hand, which she gave him with a smile. Ron then turned back to his sister and said, “Yes, Ginny…I’m more that okay with it.”

Ginny looked at Ron and Luna holding hands and put a rational thought together. “So you..and Luna?” Ginny asked sarcastically. “Oh, now it makes so much sense….Harry and Hermione, Ron and Luna….well where in Merlin’s name does that leave me….with Draco Malfoy?”

Ron shuddered. “Don’t need to go down that road, Ginny, do you?” he asked.

“We’re sorry that your upset about this,” Hermione said, “But it is what it is…it is what it has been for some time now. We just didn’t realize it, and I think that you know that’s the case.”

Ginny turned towards Hermione and her eyes narrowed. “You!” she cried. “You knew I’ve fancied Harry for the longest time…you knew and you betrayed me!”

“No, Ginny,” Harry said, his fingers now on his wand, “You didn’t fancy me, you fancied The Boy-Who-Lived.”

“What?” Ginny asked. “But you are the Boy-Who-Lived?”

Hermione made an attempt to reach out but Ginny turned her back. Harry motioned to the others to take a few steps back.

“Ginny, walk with me some more?” he asked.

The young witch didn’t look up at Harry, but did nod her head slightly and reached out her left hand. Harry let out his deep breath, then looked over to Hermione. When she nodded her acceptance, Harry took Ginny’s hand, and began to walk with her down a park path.

“You had a crush on me even before you met me, didn’t you?” he asked.

Ginny quietly stole a glance at Harry, before softly replying, “Maybe.”

“But you didn’t know what I was like, really…all you knew of me was that I somehow saved the wizarding world, right?”

“But then I did meet you, Harry,” Ginny said, “and I did get the chance to know the real you.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, Ginny, you had the chance, but did you really take it?”

“Of course I did,” Ginny replied a bit sharply. “Or did I miss something in between all of the snogging last month?”

“I think maybe you did,” Harry replied sadly. “If you really did know me then you wouldn’t have said what you did on the day of Dumbledore’s funeral.”

“What?” Ginny asked, in a tone that suggested she really didn’t know. “What do you mean?”

Harry sighed. “You said that I wouldn’t be happy unless I was fighting Voldemort.”

“Um, yeah?” Ginny replied. “You’d rather somebody else was doing it? I mean, really…it’s who you are.”

Harry stopped and had to count to ten to stave off an outburst. “Ginny….you still don’t get it, do you?” He sighed. “If somebody has to face Voldemort, I guess it has to be me if you take stock in the prophecy, but….fighting Dark Lords is not who I am….Your heroic Boy-Who-Lived might get off on being a superhero, but Harry Potter would wish nothing better than to have a quiet life with a wife, family, and bit of garden to tend to.”

Ginny shook her head. “Oh, that’s just the stress talking, Harry.”

“No Ginny,” Harry replied sharply. “It’s always been that way….you know, Ron used to think the same way, and if he’s gotten it through his thick skull then I would hope you could too. I’d trade all of the fame and all of my fortune for a simple life of anonymity.”

Ginny shook her head. “No…even when you do kill Voldemort, you’ll still want to be the good guy, the hero…it’s the “people saving thing,” like Hermione says.”

Harry stopped and forced the youngest Weasley to look at him. “Yes, Hermione’s said that…but she also knows just how reluctant I am when it comes to dealing with all of the publicity and fame and adoration.”

Ginny tried to make a joke of that, saying, “Well you will really need to work on that then, because if you think you’re popular in the wizarding world now, just wait until Voldemort’s gone.”

Harry shook his head. “I’m not going to change, Ginny, and I don’t think I’ll care a rat’s arse what the wizarding world thinks of me, because I’m not sure I’m ever coming back.”

“What do you mean?” Ginny asked. “Of course you’ll be part of the wizarding world, how could one of the most powerful wizards in the world not be?”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Harry asked quietly. “I don’t want to be part of a wizarding world that doesn’t care if a Dark Lord pops up every fifty years…I mean, look at this pure-blood nonsense that is still out and about.”

“Well you certainly could change that as Minister of Magic,” Ginny replied brightly.

“No, I don’t think I could,” Harry replied, “even if I were offered the job. Which I won’t, because Queen’s Wizard is not a job to walk away from….not a job I want to walk away from.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ginny, by accepting the job as Queen’s Wizard I’ve given up any chance of working for the Ministry of Magic…at least in its current form. In a way I actually have added fuel to the fire of all of those pureblooded bigots who claim that muggle-borns can’t be trusted in the wizarding world.”

“But you’re not a muggle-born, Harry…your dad was pure-blooded.”

“I was muggle-raised, though….I don’t see the difference, and the bigots don’t either.”

“So that means…”

“So that means that I’ll never be able to live completely within the wizarding world, even if I wanted to.”

“But there’s no reason why I couldn’t chuck it all to be with you, right?”

“Ginny, let’s be honest,” Harry replied. “You’ve been raised in the wizarding world…been a part of it all your life. I can’t imagine you trying to live even partway in the muggle world.”

“But I could try.”

“Yes, Ginny, you could try….but you wouldn’t truly be happy in the muggle world.”

“So you and Hermione…it’s just because she’s muggle-born, then, eh?”

Harry shook his head. “Not at all, Ginny…unless being muggle-born is the only way someone couldn’t be so captivated by the Boy-Who-Lived image that she couldn’t see the real me…see me as I want to be seen.”

The walked silently for a few moments, giving Harry the chance to confirm that the other three were still a respectful pace behind.

“Listen, Ginny, I don’t know if what I’ve said makes any sense, but it is the way it is, and I need you to accept Hermione and me being together.”

Ginny snorted. “Why do you need my acceptance?”

“Because, Ginny, I don’t want to lose you as a friend…just like I didn’t want to lose Ron’s friendship.”

“You still want to be friends?”

Harry pulled Ginny into an awkward hug. “Of course I do.”

“So just friends, then?”

Harry looked at Ginny for a moment, then added, “Well, friends and comrade-in-arms too.”

Ginny looked at Harry quizzically. “But I thought you didn’t want me fighting by your side?”

Harry nodded. “That’s right, Ginny…but with the way things are I still need your help…maybe even in ways more important than being with me.”

“How’s that?”

Harry paused, then looked over his shoulder back at Ron, Luna and Hermione.

“Well, Ginny…I need to form another army, kind of like the DA.”

“Something like the DA but not the DA?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah…right now I’m calling it the Peanut Butter Brigade.”

Ginny looked at Harry strangely. “What’s peanut butter, and how would you use it to fight?”

Harry laughed, and motioned for the others to join in the scheming.

Chapter 17 - Down on the Farm

Friday, June 22, 6:00pm
Ottery St. Catchpole

Ginny Weasley considered it a ridiculously implausible situation. 

Four weeks ago she was well on her way to showing Harry Potter the insides of every broom closet in Hogwarts.  And today….today, Harry showed her the inside a muggle automobile.  Which wouldn’t have been so bad, had it not been for the fact that she was in the front passenger seat next to her brother, while Harry was snuggling up against her former friend in the backseat. 

The news that Ron not only could drive the car but owned it would have be shocking in its own right, had it not been revealed on the heels of Harry and Hermione’s little surprise. She snorted as Ron struggled to push pedals and move the metal stick in between them to keep the automobile moving forward.  It seemed that Harry had no trouble with Ron trying to learn to live as a muggle.

Go figure.

They were making the short trip from Luna’s back to the Burrow, and the Golden Trio were kind enough to leave her alone with her thoughts.  She found herself thinking not so much about what went wrong with her and Harry, as thinking about what went wrong when Harry broke the news. 

You see, Ginny was rather disgusted with her own performance.  She had a good idea what was going to happen…how could she not have, given the dragon-sized hints that Ron and Luna had been dropping the past week or two?  And still, when Harry told her that he was with Hermione she hadn’t been strong…she’d gone mental.  Near-catatonic.  In a daze.  Mumbling incoherently.  All in all far too much like how Michael Corner and Dean Thomas had acted when she had broken up with them. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Harry had gone on to explain why he couldn’t be with Ginny with arguments that actually made sense

It was a very bitter potion to swallow.

At least she’d recovered some of her dignity in the aftermath.  He still wanted to be friends, which meant that she might have the chance to learn about “the real Harry” that she apparently knew nothing about.  And it was actually rather exciting to have had Harry ask her to do something that was not just important and potentially dangerous, but something that Hermione couldn’t do.

A long-term approach to the problem was indicated….this could just be a little detour along their pre-ordained path.  Harry would beat Voldemort…how could he not?  The idea that he wouldn’t be welcomed in the wizarding world after that was silly.  And while Hermione certainly would have no problems living in the wizarding world with Harry, there were no guarantees that when that time came Hermione would be living, were there?

You didn’t have to get an O on your divination O.W.L to see how the stars were lining up.  They were fighting a war.  People close to Harry were dying in that war, and the closer Harry got to killing Voldemort, the closer those dying were to Harry.

Two years ago it was Cedric Diggory, whom Harry had considered a friend. He’d been killed while Harry looked on helplessly in the Riddle graveyard.  Last year it was Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather, killed while Harry looked on helplessly at the Department of Mysteries.  And last month it was Headmaster Dumbledore, Harry’s mentor, who was killed as Harry looked on helplessly at the top of the Astronomy Tower.

Ginny looked over at her brother and worried.  Because if the pattern held, the next person in Harry’s life to die while he watched helplessly would be either Ron or Hermione.  Maybe both. 

Not that she’d wish too much harm on her head, but what if it was Hermione…who’d be there to help Harry get through things then? The night Dumbledore was killed Ginny had been the one to comfort Harry, while Hermione was conveniently petrified and out of the picture. 

Ginny looked out the rolled-down door window and smiled.  She could bide her time, play nice and pretend to be happy for Harry. She could also make sure that the next time he needed that kind of comfort…the next time someone dear to him was killed while he looked on helplessly…that she was in a position to provide it.

And make sure that the boyfriend-stealing bitch was either once again out of the picture, or the one that was down on the ground.

oo00OO00oo

They arrived at the Burrow to find official-looking letters waiting for Ron and Ginny on the kitchen table.  Fleur and Bill were explaining that Arthur had brought them home from the Ministry just as their father came down the stairs and joined them. 

“Well go on, open them,” Arthur said, “Let’s see where they the powers that be decided to sort you.”

“You mean you don’t know?” Hermione asked, as the two tore into the envelopes.

Arthur Weasley replied with a thin smile, “Can’t say that I’m currently in the loop when it comes to the Minister’s office these days….Ron, care to share with us? Imagine the two letters are practically the same.”

“Um, sure, dad,” Ron replied:

June 22, 2006

Ronald Weasley
The Burrow

Greetings:

In accord with Emergency Decree Number(EDN) 124, approved by the June 18, 2006 special session of the Wizengamot, you will report to the Goblin Liaison Office, Being Division, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at 8:00am Monday, July 1, 2006 to begin your internship position within the Ministry of Magic.  Specific work hours, duties and expectations are provided on the attached parchment. You might be pleased to note that all required fees associated with your participation in this educational program have been waived by Minister Scrimgour’s Office.

As per EDN124, failure to appear at the appointed point in time, or to participate in this program, will result in a fine of 100 galleons per day and/or imprisonment on a two days per day missed basis.

We are certain that you will find this unpaid internship to be an enriching experience.

Sincerely,

Dolores Umbridge, Director
Ministry Internship Program
Office of the Minister of Magic

Cc: Percey Weasley, Assistant Director to the Minister of Magic

“Bloody Hell,” swore Ron, “the git fancies himself an Assistant Director.”

“Language, Ron,” Ginny said in admonishment.

“Goblin Liaison Office, eh?” asked Bill. “Ginny, what’s your’s say?”

Bill's sister frowned.  “Same thing, except I’ve been assigned to the Werewolf Registry Desk in the Beasts Division."

Ron snorted. “Are any new werewolves bothering to register these days?”

Bill shook his head. “Nope…that position was vacant even before the Ministry purge…had to get somebody from Centaurs to sign off on my discharge papers from St. Mungo’s.”

“So what’s the point of forcing me to work in an office that doesn’t have any work to do?” asked Ginny. “Seems like a big waste of time.”

“Not much more to learn in the Goblin office,” Ron added.

Harry frowned. “That’s the point, I imagine.”

Hermione nodded. “Rather ingenious, actually.”

“How’s that?” asked Ginny.

“The Ministry lost a lot a good part of their workforce when they were exposed as spies,” Hermione replied. “Some of those people were assigned to key positions that really are important.”

Arthur nodded. “So they fill the critical positions by transferring current Ministry personnel, then backfill their less critical posts with unpaid interns.”

“But they’re calling this an educational internship,” Ginny whined. “Without work to do I won’t learn a thing.”

Arthur sighed. “Maybe Percy and the Minster’s office trusts you two about as much as me right now, so they want you out of the way.”

Harry nodded. “Look on the bright side, Ginny, at least you’ll have time to revise.”

Ginny scowled a bit. “Revise for what?  Without test results don’t know what I’ll be taking this fall even if Hogwarts opens.”

Arthur shook his head. “Plenty of time to worry about things like that later,” he said. “Why don’t you two run up and visit your mother…she’ll want to hear about your letters.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “She’s awake? Might Hermione and I visit as well?”

Arthur looked appraisingly at Harry and shook his head.  “She’s still rather weak…better to limit the excitement.” As if to punctuate that assessment, they heard wailing coming from upstairs about a lost son named Percy.

Mr. Weasley left the kitchen intent on settling his wife’s frayed nerves, allowing Fleur to quietly ask if Harry and Hermione had broken the news to Ginny.  The reply of “Yes and no” didn’t make much sense, until the two swore Bill and Fleur to secrecy and quickly let them in on their plans.

They fended off another dinner invitation from Fleur with the excuse that they’d soon be off to another meeting.  When the badges worn under their robes began to vibrate, Ron came down the stairs at a pace just under barreling and gave Harry and Hermione a questioning look.  The two looked at each other in silent communication, before Harry smiled and turned to Bill and Fleur.

“Do you two want to add on to that oath of secrecy?”

Bill and Fleur both shrugged shoulders and nodded as the three teens pulled their robes open enough to expose their Order of Arthur badges.

“So Big Brother,” Ron said as he winked at Harry and Hermione, “You think the protective wards are strong enough around this house?”

“Of course,” said Bill, a bit put off. “Did them myself…just as strong as any guarding any of the Ministry’s buildings.”

“Oh, okay,” Ron said with a sly smile. “Just checking….I’ll be back in a couple of hours to ask again.”  He then touched his badge, said a few quiet words, and disappeared with nary a pop.

Bill and Fleur both looked at where Ron should have been, then turned to face Harry and Hermione with a mixture of wonder and fear in their eyes.

“He doesn’t even have an apparition license,” Bill said.

Harry smiled. “Didn’t need one,” he explained. “He didn’t apparate.”

“Should I worry about the wards?” Bill asked.

Hermione shook her head.  “Your wards are fine, Bill…they just don’t work for what Ron just did…we’ll explain later.”  And with a touch and spoken word Hermione disappeared too.

Fleur turned to Harry with a look of shock on her face and asked, “How did they do zat?”

Harry smiled and answered (rather cheekily) just before he joined his friends.

“Honorary house-elves.”

oo00OO00oo

The Queen's Wizard had reason to hold that smile when he reappeared, for Ron had already found the drink table.

“Butterbeer?” Ron asked. 

“Thanks, mate,” Harry said, as he took the offered bottle and took in his immediate surroundings. 

They were standing in the middle of good-sized drawing room.  The rear-projection television, electric lamps and wall-to-wall carpeting immediately betrayed the area’s muggleness.  The room was naturally lit from large windows set in three of the four walls, as well as a sliding glass door. A buffet table, set up against the fourth wall, held trays and chafing dishes filled with food.  The furniture was informal and comfortable, adding to the rather rustic atmosphere. Hermione was standing to the side with her mum, huddled over a clipboard.

“Nice place they’ve found for us, ain’t it?” Ron asked.

Harry turned to him and nodded. “It certainly is….are the others here yet?”

Ron shrugged his shoulders as he nodded towards the two Granger women. “Haven’t had time to ask…barely had time to say hello to Hermione’s mum before she arrived and started talking about schedules and meeting stuff.”

Harry nodded as the patio door slid open and Mr. Granger, Wally and Steve entered the room with attractive-looking woman that appeared to be in her mid-thirties.

Steve said,  “Allow me to introduce you three.  Sir Harry, Dame Hermione, Ron, this is my mum, Helen Wall.”

Harry and Ron both did doubletakes when Steve made his introduction, as the woman he identified as his mother looked far too young for the job.  Hermione, however, had apparently already figured things out.

“Mrs. Wall, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said as she walked up to shake her hand.  “We can’t thank you enough for volunteering to help our cause.”

“I’m the one that should be saying thanks,” the woman replied with a smile. “Steve has always been far too tight-lipped about what he’s done with his life.  It’s amazing what I’ve learned about him, just in the past couple of days.”

Ron looked on with a screwed-up expression on his face.  “Erm…somebody want to explain why Steve’s mum looks more like his sister?”

“Oh Ron,” Hermione scowled, “I’d have expected that from Harry, not you…she’s a witch, remember?”

Harry snorted. “Of course,” he said, “As a witch she ages much more slowly than her, erm…non-magical son.”

“Oh, don’t be afraid to call me a squib, Sir Harry, it’s no skin off my nose.”

The Queen’s Wizard shook his head.  “I’d rather not…it’s the pure-bloods that only see shame in normality.”

“Who is calling my big oaf of a son normal?” Mrs. Wall asked with a smile. “Why the stories I could tell you about my little Stevie…”

“Yes, well, that won’t be necessary right now, mum,” Steve said, his ears getting a bit red. “Better to talk about why you’re with us, eh?”

Mrs. Granger chimed in. “And it’d be better to tell that story once everyone is here.”

Harry nodded. “Anything needing our attention before that happens?”

“No, Clan Chief,” Emily replied.

“Please, Mrs. Granger,” Harry asked, “this isn’t a Clan function…no need for the formality.”

“What should we call you then?” Ron asked. “Supreme Mugwump of the Order of Arthur?”

Harry shook his head with small grin. “Just Harry is fine…we could all use last names, but with two Walls, three Grangers and three Weasleys that might get a bit confusing.”

Wally nodded. “A pre-meeting tour of the grounds, then Harry?”

“No, we can do that as a group…unless there’s a reason not to, let’s get the rest here before dinner gets cold.”

And with that decision the first meeting of the Order of Arthur in more than sixty years was begun.  The Weasley twins, Tonks and Remus were called and arrived by badge (Sir Even remained at Windsor Castle as a rally point should the Queen come under magical attack).  The group made its way past the buffet table, and as the clouds had decided to part for a spell they took their plates and drinks outside and dined out on the wood-planked porch.

Harry found the informality comforting.  As he’d been rather nervous about his leadership role in the Order of Arthur, he was quite certain that Hermione and her mum had arranged to have this first meeting take place outside of the formality of Windsor Castle.  It was almost like a small cocktail party, with clusters of two and three people forming and reforming as they got to know more about each other and their meeting locale.

They were eating on the front porch of a comfortable four-bedroom modern country home set upon thirty acres of land.  “The Farm,” (as it was soon dubbed by the group), had been available for purchase on the real estate market for some time (as the absentee owner refused to reduce the price beyond what he had overpaid for it).  MI-5 3/4 had made arrangements for a holding company to obtain a short term lease, with an eye towards purchase if it ultimately met the needs of the Order of Arthur as a operational base.

The primary advantage of the property could be readily seen from the front porch.  The homestead was set on a western hillside of a prominent slope, and enjoyed an expansive view of the countryside.  And it wasn’t just some random piece of English countryside, mind you…the River Otter meandered through the vista, and the quaint town of Ottery St. Catchpole hugged its banks in the foreground. The Farm was, in fact, a scant four miles away from The Burrow as the crow (or broom) flies.  One couldn’t quite see the Burrow, of course; it was located within a small wooded vale south of town. 

The proximity of the Farm to the Burrow was quite intentional.  There was every expectation that the Weasley residence was a Death Eater target, and Ron would be staying there during his “internship” at the Ministry,  MI-5 3/4 wanted to watch over the Burrow as well as they could. 

While Harry and Hermione made an effort to chat with everyone there, they focused in on the person they knew the least about. Helen Wall was a pureblood that married for love rather than honor an arranged marriage contract.  Subsequently disowned and scorned within wizard society, she had nevertheless done quite nicely for herself and her family with a greenhouse business that operated in the grey zone of the mixed muggle/wizard economy.  She had successfully raised two children (one magical and one not), and would have been quite happy to continue down the course she had plotted for herself had it not been for two events; the untimely death of her beloved husband, and a call to service from Her Majesty’s Government.

When most of the dinner plates were clean (allowances being made for Ron’s third helpings), the group returned inside for tea.  Hermione levitated the buffet table over to one side of the room while Tonks and Remus conjured the few extra chairs needed for everyone to have a seat.  Harry stood in front of the other twelve and rather nervously “called” his meeting to order. 

“Erm, guess we’ll begin,” he said. “I should start by thanking Mrs. Granger and Wally for setting this whole thing up on the fly, and for arranging the location.” Emily and Wally waved off the polite round of applause and motioned for Harry to continue.

“Before we get too far along I’d like to introduce Steve’s mum…hope you all had the chance to meet during dinner…while Mrs. Wall isn’t badged, she will be a very important part of how we go about our business.”

The group then spent a few minutes talking about Helen Wall’s new mission. Mrs. Wall had been recruited as a MI-5 3/4 agent by her son, soon after he had been himself recruited.  Since then, she’d provided the agency a good deal of valuable information from her business dealings with wizard apothecaries.  Now she would be more on the operational side of things than intelligence gathering.  Agent Wall would be the nominal resident of the “Farm;” under cover as a retiree that had a desire to dabble in her own greenhouse and “reconnect with the wizarding world.”   To that end, she had made application to have a floo connection established and registered the Farm as a magical household.  While the backlog of floo service applications was at least a few months long, this would provide an explanation for any detection of magical use on the property.

Once they talked about what Steve’s mum would be doing she excused herself from the meeting.  Harry didn’t want to ask her to leave, but relented after Steve talked about security clearances and plausible deniability.  But before Harry could say too much more, Wally moved to the front of the small gathering and asked to speak a few words.  Harry was more than happy to yield the floor.

“Three weeks ago today,” Wally began, “Her Royal Majesty the Queen and Her Majesty’s government pledged to do whatever it could to help three teen-aged kids vanquish what is currently the greatest threat to British citizenry.  And not just the wizarding part of it, either…you are all aware of just how successful this collaborative effort has been, as you have all, in various ways, been in the thick of the fight.

“And then some,” Fred Weasley added.

Wally smiled. “This past week, Sir Harry was invested as the Queen’s Wizard, and provided the opportunity to select those who would join them in the Most Royal Order of Arthur. Looking around, I’m very happy to see the results of that selection process.  Happy because…well, Sir Harry will no doubt emphasize the Order’s charge to save the Queen from all magical threats.”

“Well,” Harry interrupted, “that is why the Order was started, wasn’t it?”

“True enough, Sir Harry,” Wally replied, “But I have it on good authority that Her Royal Majesty considers her safety to be best ensured when the Order is helping Sir Harry do all that he can do in his battle against Voldemort.  In fact, the Queen herself asked that I convey her hope that Sir Harry would consider members of the Order to be his own council, his support network, and the ones to rely upon whenever he is in need.”

“She didn’t need to do that,” Harry said with a bit of embarrassment.

“Perhaps not, but that is exactly what Her Royal Majesty did,” Wally noted.

“Don’t worry, Wally,” Hermione said, “I think you’ll find that Harry managed to reach that same conclusion on his own.”

“Did he now?” asked Ron.

Hermione nodded and said, “Harry, why don’t you show them your white board?”

Harry looked at Hermione a bit sheepishly, but did as he was told and pulled the shrunken board from his pocket. When he attached it to the wall Harry blanched, and quickly banished the diagramming before anyone could ask smart questions about the “House of Lord Gryffindor.” He then took a dry-erase marker from his pocket and drew a line down the center of the board.  He wrote “Wizarding” at the top of one side and “Muggle” on the other. 

“Right then, the Order of Arthur was established centuries ago with a single goal in mind…to protect the Crown from magical threats.  Today that means keeping Moldishorts away from the Queen.”  To illustrate this point he drew (on their respective sides) a happy face wearing a crown and a cartoonish skull sporting a forked tongue.

Harry’s artwork drew a laugh as he erased the center portion of the dividing line and replaced it with a rectangular box labeled “Order of Arthur” with his name inside and at the top. He then noted,“The Queen and her muggle citizenry are at risk because Tom hasn’t limited his terror to the wizarding world, and the Ministry of Magic hasn’t been able to prevent him from killing innocent Muggles who are unable to defend themselves from magical attacks. That’s where we come in.”

“Our little group will straddle the bright line between the Wizarding and Muggle worlds. We have muggles with knowledge of the wizarding world and wizards and witches who are comfortable on the Muggle side.  Each brings strengths and areas of expertise, and I’m hoping that we’ll be able to use these strengths to help achieve our objectives. And while some of you may be involved in multiple overlapping areas, each will be asked to take a leadership role within the group.”

Harry then started adding names to the box, linking each name to a new box located (as appropriate) within the wizarding or muggle world.

“Last week, Clan Potter came into existence in order to forge an alliance with the Goblin Nation.  I couldn’t get out of being Clan Chief, but for purposes of leading the Clan and managing its alliances I’ve asked Hermione Granger to take charge.”

“And what exactly,” George Weasley asked with a smile, “is Hermione’s position within the Clan?”

“You would ask, wouldn’t you Fool?” Hermione replied with a smile. “If anyone doesn’t know, I’m Harry’s girlfriend and Clan Chief Consort.”

“Erm, moving right along,” Harry said quickly, “Besides being Clan Champion, Ron Weasley is going to take the lead in our efforts to organize purebloods at the Ministry into our Peanut Butter Brigade”

“Peanut Butter Brigade?  Asked Wally. “Care to say anything more?”

Harry, Hermione and Ron took a few minutes to elaborate.  More than half of the members of the DA had been raised in pureblood families, and were therefore subject to the Ministry’s forced internship program.    The plan was for Ron to establish a network of these students and like-minded others, collecting information and forming a coherent cadre with those Ministry officials already sympathetic to Harry’s cause. Ron would be working closely with Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom and his sister Ginny.

“What’s little sister going to be doing?” asked Fred.

“Well, we’ll have to wait and see,” Harry replied cryptically.  “She’s going to try and get an internship working for her brother in the Minister’s office.”

“What are the odds they’d let your ex-girlfriend anywhere near Scrimgeour?” asked Tonks.

Harry smiled. “Depends on how convincing an actress she can be.”

“No worries there, then,” said George.  “Ginny’s nothing if not the little drama queen.”

Hermione nodded. “We let Bill and Fleur in on it, but it wouldn’t hurt to have you two reassuring your parents when Ginny appears to abandon the family and pull a Percy.”

“Right-o, Clan Chief.”

Harry shook his head with a bit of exasperation. “Moving right along, Hermione’s parents, Roger and Emily Granger….Roger is managing my business empire and looking for creative ways to wage economic warfare against the enemy.”

“Which enemy?”

Harry snorted. “Voldemort, you Fool, although anything that could make Umbitch’s life more difficult would be welcomed as well.  Roger is also arranging the Muggle-side of our training this summer…physical training, swords and other weapons.  Anyone that wants to join us in our early morning runs inside Windsor Park is more than welcome.”

“Emily Granger has the lead role in organizing all of the muggle-born students and their families into a support group and making sure that they have all of the information they need as things progress.  She’s done a fabulous job already, and with the Ministry pulling the bigot card we really need to make sure that the communication lines are kept open.

“And we can’t forget,” Harry added with a smirk, “that Mrs. Granger has already flown a combat mission on the back of a broomstick.”

Hermione sighed at this comment…it was hard for her to imagine anyone describing her parents without using the word “dentist.”  How quickly things had changed.

“Say Harry,” Fred asked, “what’s the nickname for the muggleborns that you’re organizing?”

“Nicknames?”

“Yeah,” replied George. “Like the Peanut Butter Brigade.”

“Erm…hadn’t thought about that,” Harry admitted. “Wally?”

“Yes, Sir Harry?”

“You Muggles are the smart ones when it comes to acronyms…work your magic will you?”

Wally nodded, and began playing with words with pen and paper.

Harry continued on to the other Order members and their roles.  The Weasley twins were the suppliers of magical equipment and devices, with a particular emphasis on ways for Muggles to protect themselves from magical attacks.  Their shop would also serve as a rally point as the quickest way for anyone in the Order to get to Diagon Alley.  Similarly, Tonks would anchor the Ministry of Magic, and Remus Lupin the anchor for Hogwarts. Both would also be contacts for what was left of the Order of the Phoenix.

“Hey Harry,” Ron asked, “shouldn’t we find a way to distinguish between the other Order and this one?”

“Yeah, might be a good idea,” Harry said.  “Anyone?”

After a few minutes thought Emily Granger suggested that the Order of Arthur could be informally known as “The Art Club.”  Everyone liked that idea.

“The Art Club it is, then,” Harry proclaimed.

Remus then shook his head and said, “I still don’t understand how I’ll be an anchor for Hogwarts…it’s not like I have a position there.”

“Not just yet,” Harry replied with a twinkle in his eye, “but I’m working on that.”

Steve was then recognized as the rally point for the Queen as a member of her security detail, and Wally was linked on the whiteboard to a box labeled “Muggle Gov’t.”

“Excuse me, Sir Harry, but I’ve got something,” said Wally.

“What’s that?”

“The acronym for muggle-borns…might I suggest ‘COMB’? It would be short for ‘Coalition of Muggle-Borns’?”

“Hmmm,” said Harry, “not quite as cheeky as MI-5 3/4, but…”

“Sorry, but that ‘MB’ letter combination is tough.” Wally explained.  “Didn’t think you’d want TOMB…Give me some time and I might work out something else out.”

“Fair enough,” said Harry with a grin.  He then drew a cartoon castle on the muggle side of the board similar to the one labeled “Hogwarts” and linked it to Sir Evan’s name with the explanation that he would be the anchor for the Round Tower and Windsor Castle.

With the group all finally introduced, Harry opened the floor up for any bits of information that anyone wanted to share.  That led to updates on the medical conditions of Brian Willox (still in a coma) and Molly Weasley (recovering, but still in bed).  Wally stated that the four Death Eater prisoners were all conscious and still at Privet Drive, thanks to the anti-apparition leg-bands that had been anonymously provided from the Auror Department (thank you, Tonks).  There was a brief debate about what to do with the prisoners…they were low-level recruits that wouldn’t have much information to provide, and Harry really didn’t want to tie up resources guarding them.  It was therefore decided to turn the prisoners over to the Aurors (once their memories had been suitably modified).  The mark that all four bore on their forearm was evidence enough to have them confined.

With Ron scheduled to work another graveyard shift at Midnight and planning still to be done for the next day’s muggle-born get-together the meeting broke up a little after 9:30.  Hermione told everyone to plan on meeting at the Farm until wards were up and running at Windsor, and everyone agreed to keep in touch with their badge communicators. 

Wally brought a seven-passenger Land Rover around the front of the house to take the three Weasleys, Tonks and Lupin back to the Burrow.  While there was nothing physically keeping people from apparating out, it was thought best not to show too much magic flashing about the Farm until some proper warding was established.  Steve volunteered to take first watch on the Farm  (providing him with some quality time with his mum), leaving Harry, Hermione and her parents to watch the high-summer sun set from side-by-side porch swings.

“Well that could have gone better,” the Queen's Wizard said with a sigh.

“What do you mean, Harry,” Emily replied, as she passed glasses of wine all around and took a sip. “I thought you did a great job.”

“But we barely did more than introduce ourselves….wasn’t any planning or collaboration or trap setting…”

“Going to be a bit of a problem if you use the battle planning with Head Auror Robards as your standard for meeting accomplishments,” Roger pointed out.

“Yes, but…”

“Harry this was the very first meeting,” replied Roger. “Can’t expect to do much until everyone gets used to the idea of working together…give it some time.”

Harry shook his head. “I just worry over whether we have that time available.”

Hermione scooted over closer to her boyfriend and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “Hey…remember three days ago? All of those Death Eaters that were splattered on Privet Drive or uncovered at the Ministry?  Can’t see Voldemort recovering too quickly from that kind of pantsing, do you?”

“Dunno,” Harry replied.

“Has been quiet since then, hasn’t it son?” Roger asked.

“Yes, but…”

Emily walked behind the swing that Harry and Hermione were sitting on and gave his shoulders a good squeeze. “But nothing, Harry.  You’ve done some great things over the past three weeks, and I think you don’t just deserve a bit of rest, you absolutely need some rest.  So take it, or else.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Or else what, Mrs. Granger?”

“Or else we’ll force you to explain a rather curious comment you made over the radio during the heat of battle the other day,” threatened Roger with a smile.

Harry looked at Roger  with mock shock (as he wasn’t all that upset over the possibility of discussing the idea of in-laws right then). “Oh…no, anything but that!” he exclaimed.

“Well then, sit there and watch the sunset, son.”

Harry raised his hands in surrender and released some of the tension in his shoulders. As Hermione leaned her head against his, he wondered if he would ever get used to this kind of love and attention.

He fervently hoped not.

Chapter 18 – On Lounging and Lupin

Saturday, June 23
Windsor Castle

The next morning Harry found Hermione still in the top half of his pajamas. Unfortunately, rather than modeling them in bed (where he wanted her), she was wearing them whilst sprawled out on the tatami-matted side of the Love Shack’s bathing area. Pieces of equation-covered parchment were stuck on the walls and scattered about the floor, as Hermione scribbled furiously on some parchment next to a detailed half-metre tall scale model of Windsor Castle.

“Thought we had a ‘no work’ agreement, Miss Granger,” Harry deadpanned, as he struggled to hide a grin behind the stern countenance of an authority figure.

Hermione dropped her quill and gave Harry a “hand in the cookie jar” look of guilt. “Oh, that was ‘no physical work,’ wasn’t it?”

“Nice try,” Harry replied. “You’d have been better off claiming that the castle was a toy that you were playing with.”

“Well I am playing with it, in a way,” Hermione replied. “Here…watch.”

She then touched her wand to five small stones that lay on a circle around the castle and said an incantation that created a translucent purplish dome that completely enclosed the scale model.

“Brilliant,” Harry said. “When I get back from the loo you can explain what you just did.”

Hermione nodded in agreement, then returned her gaze to the arithmancy equations she’d been working on. When Harry returned, she told him that an owl from Gringott’s had made an overnight delivery.

“Miniaturized rune stones,” Hermione explained. “They work exactly the same way as the full-sized ones, only on a much smaller scale.”

“And they’re good for what…” Harry asked, “creating protective fields around a little witch’s doll house?”

Hermione slugged his arm. “No, silly…they’re used to help design protective fields using a bench-scale model.”

Harry nodded. “So this bit of ‘I’m not working’ is working on your asymmetrical warding plans for the castle?”

“Exactly,” Hermione replied with a smile. “It really is more fun than work, though…hard to believe that ward designers actually get paid for this type of thing.”

When Harry looked over at the equations Hermione had scrawled out he shook his head in disagreement. “Well, it looks like work to me.”

“But it’s rather exciting, Harry,” admitted Hermione. “The goblins were rather taken with the idea when I wrote to them…they want to meet with me on Monday to discuss it, and, well…I just wanted to be prepared for that meeting.”

Harry reached over and pulled her up to her feet and up against his bare chest. “Well, I’m rather taken with the idea of you following through on plans to lie about on the rooftop in your swimming costume.”

Hermione gave Harry a devilish look in response. “Who said anything about wearing costumes while we sun ourselves?”

Harry gave her a gobsmacked look. “You can’t be serious…we’re directly under Heathrow’s flight lanes. Fancy on giving the pilots a show?”

“Oh Harry,” she replied with a smile, “am I not a witch?” She then took a step back and cast a disillusionment spell upon herself. A few seconds later, Harry’s pajama top appeared out of thin air and landed on his head.

“They won’t be able to see me,” Hermione explained, “but the sun’s rays will.”

“Rather ingenious, there, sweetheart…but what if someone were to call out a Finite Incantatum spell?”

“Harry Potter, you wouldn’t dare!”

“Aaaah, you’re probably right,” he admitted. “But it would make it rather difficult to tell if you’re getting a sun burn, wouldn’t it?”

“Hmmm….hadn’t thought about that,” she admitted.

“Suppose I could always poke about at intervals to see if any parts were hot to the touch?”

“You would be so lucky…I’ll just make sure I’ve got plenty of sunblock applied.”

“And you think that the lotion would disappear on skin contact?”

“Don’t imagine why not.”

“Think we ought to find that out before we hit the roof, don’t you?”

“Well, suppose you’re right. And I imagine you’ll volunteer to be the applicator?”

“No, got a better idea,” Harry replied. He then made a sudden lunge towards Hermione. Having gauged her position by the sound of her voice, he quickly scooped her up, carried her over to the hot tub and threw her in (completely ignoring her protests). Harry was rewarded with an anatomically correct depression in the water’s surface once Hermione surfaced.

“Always wondered what would happen if you were caught in the rain wearing an invisibility cloak,” he replied dryly, as Hermione splashed and sputtered her objections.

“Harry Potter, you are incorrigible!”

“Yeah, well, Hermione Granger, you are very wet,” he replied, with a grin and two eyes that were fixated on her aqueous outline.

Hermione was about to issue a retort when she experienced deja vu. Laughing, she asked, “Isn’t this the point where I banished your trousers?”

Harry paused, then smiled as he caught on to just how much the conversation was mirroring their first visit to the Love Shack. He pulled on the drawstring of his pajama bottoms, and launched himself into the tub almost before those bottoms hit the stone floor. When he resurfaced and pulled Hermione into a wet embrace he simply noted,

“Beat you to it.”

After a half-hour or so of what Harry had cheekily described as “snagging” (i.e. intimate acts intermediate to snogging and shagging), they called Hermione’s parents and arranged to meet for a late breakfast. Emily Granger only ordered tea and biscuits, as she had a very busy schedule ahead of her. Almost all of Hogwarts’s muggle-born students and families were converging in London that morning for what would have been a spectacular Summer Solstice Party on Privet Drive. As that location was no longer available to them, Emily had followed through on Harry’s mention that he had seen some kind of amusement park from the Round Tower’s roof. It had turned out to be a theme park named “Legoland,” based around a muggle play toy involving plastic building blocks. And while the theme park was geared towards younger children, there were roller coasters and rides available for the older siblings. The park normally closed at six, but Mrs. Granger had made arrangements to rent out the entire park just for the muggleborns and their families for an additional four hours. The band and caterers that had been contracted for the party would also move to the new venue.

Mr. Granger got some quality time with the kids once his wife left to double check on the day’s transportation. Harry and Hermione filled Roger in on their previous day’s discussion with Luna’s father, and that led to a discussion concerning the wizarding world’s portion of Harry’s investment portfolios. Roger expressed some concern about his ability to manage the wizard business side of Harry’s portfolios. He didn’t have the kind of access to information that existed on the muggle side, and obviously knew very little about the business plans of cauldron makers and broomstick manufacturers. This led Hermione to remind Harry that they had failed to reschedule their appointment with the wizard barrister that Mr. Weasley had recommended, and Harry agreed that it would be worthwhile to see if this person could help not just with legal advice, but business as well.

A light rain was falling from plump low-hanging clouds as they left the Mess, dashing any immediate plans for roof-top lounging. Roger returned to his ground level living quarters to gather a few things before taking over Steve’s watch on The Farm. Harry and Hermione walked up to their quarters and lit a fire in one of their first floor fireplaces to battle the damp chilly air within the stone tower.

“Any ideas on how we can productively rest?” asked Harry, as he joined Hermione on a sofa placed in front of the fire.

Hermione shook her head “no” as she looked around the large open room. Castle staff had moved the furniture they had selected into the Tower, and done some cursory placements and groupings, but not exactly to her liking. Then there was the issue of the boxes delivered by the goblins the day before. Within those boxes were almost all of the shrunken furnishings that had survived Voldemort’s attack on Godric’s Hollow the night Harry’s parents were killed. Someone had made arrangements to move them into the Potter family vault, and they’d been front and center when she and Harry had visited it the day before.

“What’cha thinking about?” Harry asked.

“Oh…nothing much,” Hermione replied. “Just wondering how we’re going to fit all of the new furniture inside the tower walls.

Harry nodded. “Well, with Sir Evan taking up residence downstairs we could move some of it to his quarters.” He then added with a smile, “Not that I’d consider it a legitimate way of resting.”

“We could always levitate the pieces…wouldn’t even break a sweat.”

Harry shook his head. “Yes, but that’d be quite a bit of expended magical power, wouldn’t it? We need to keep our heads low until the anti-magical detection wards are up.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “Which is why I really should take another look at my equations and ward model…I’m so glad that you agree.” And before Harry could object she placed a peck on his cheek and bolted upstairs to continue her project work in the tatami room. He snorted, quite certain that Hermione had expertly steered the conversation in that direction from the very start. But he let her go…it was important work, and asking his girlfriend to leave that bench model for a day would be like asking her to forego breathing.

The Queen's Wizard thought about visiting with Sir Evan, but the old man was busy trying to remember his wartime French in his efforts to interact with the Muses. Ron would still be sleeping after his shift at St. Mungo’s…Harry wondered just how early he could call and see if Ron and Luna wanted to join them at the theme park that evening. And then he remembered that there were others he could call using his badge, and he gave Remus’s badge a tickle.

“Erm…hullo?” Remus answered, after a few moments time.

“Hey, Moony, it’s Harry…hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No, no…not at all…Tonks is working day shift at the Ministry right now.”

“Oh,” replied Harry with interest. “Does that mean I would have been interrupting something if she were there with you right now?”

Harry heard something close to a growl, before Remus answered. “Are you looking to talk about witches, or something? Because I’ve got a few questions about you and Hermione….”

“No, no, Remus, just joking,” Harry quickly countered. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to pop over for a visit. You haven’t had a tour of our tower yet, and I’m looking for some company now that Hermione’s abandoned me for her arithmancy.”

“Sure, cub, just give me a few minutes to clean up.”

And so it was that Harry found the second best way to spend a rainy day of rest within the Round Tower (he thought Remus would have understood coming in second to “Hermione in the hot tub”). After the tour (and raised lupine eyebrows over the Love Shack), the two spent time catching up with each other’s activities. Both felt a bit of remorse for not having kept in better touch. Harry thought running with the werewolf pack as an important enough reason to be away the previous year, but Remus disagreed, and got Harry a bit riled up once he explained why.

It turned out that Remus had considered almost all of the time he’d spent on his “mission” for the Order of the Phoenix to have been a waste of time. Moony had long known enough about werewolf subculture and wizarding world bigotry to accurately predict how the pack would react to Greyback’s alpha leadership and Voldemort’s promises. He had told Dumbledore at the outset…and still was ordered to go and “gather intelligence,” and disappear from the wizarding world for the better part of a year. Moony initially resisted Harry’s questioning about why he thought Dumbledore had done so, but finally gave in and voiced suspicions that the mission was a part of the former Headmaster’s efforts to limit his contact with Harry and Hogwarts over the past three years.

When Harry (quite predictably) insisted that the former DADA professor explain, Remus recounted a confrontation with the Headmaster after Snape had outed him as a werewolf. Remus had insisted that Snape was a direct threat to Harry, and that if he had to go that the potions master did as well. Dumbledore, however, claimed that he would not be able to overrule the Board of Governors on Remus’s termination, and that Severus Snape had to remain at Hogwarts for security reasons (and this was even after Remus had shown the Headmaster a pensieved memory of Snape’s actions within the Shrieking Shack). Ever since that argument, Remus had thought Dumbledore had made it a point to find ways of keeping him away from Hogwarts and Harry, and only asked for Remus’s involvement as a last option.

After hearing Remus’s explanation, Harry became angry to the point of almost letting off some accidental magic. The way that Dumbledore appeared to have kept Remus out of his life and out of the picture seemed too much like the way he forced Sirius into quasi-house arrest at Grimmauld Place. There were only two possible explanations in Harry’s mind, and neither were charitable… the Headmaster had either justified his actions with his (ultimately) deadly zeal to insulate and protect Snape, or worse, had purposely manipulated Harry’s childhood to remove anyone who might challenge Dumbledore’s self-appointed position as a trustworthy father figure.

They’d been sitting in front of the fire during the discussion. After silently fuming (and running his hands through his unruly hair), Harry stood and pulled his white board out from a pocket. After enlarging it and placing it upon a wall, he took a marker and vented some energy with a few lines:

I will not speak ill of the dead.”
I will not speak ill of the dead.”
I will not speak ill of the dead.”

Remus looked on at this exercise with a bit of wonder at Harry’s maturity and control. When he complimented Harry on this, the teen responded with a statement that the white board could have come in handy the night he’d been told the full prophecy. When Remus asked what Harry was talking about, the Queen’s Wizard’s anger redoubled.

“You mean Dumbledore never told you about the prophecy?” Harry yelled. “It wasn’t just me he was keeping it from?”

More lines were written when Remus confirmed that was indeed the case. The former DADA professor asked if Harry wanted to put off continuing the conversation, Harry shook his head, firm with the conviction that Remus deserved to know the full story about Harry’s life, from the earliest point that he could remember it.

It only took a few descriptions of the abuse Harry had suffered at the Dursley’s for Remus to grab a marker and write a few lines of his own. However, curiosity proved far stronger an emotion than outrage, and the two soon were swapping stories and filling in missing pieces. Harry was amazed at the number of things that Remus didn’t know about him…from the little things (e.g. the Sorting Hat had suggested Slytherin), to the big (e.g. everything that had happened within the Chamber of Secrets, and his first year’s adventures with Norbert, Fluffy, and the Philospher’s Stone). Remus, in turn, gave Harry full descriptions of what the Order of the Phoenix had (and hadn’t) done over the years, and told a few stories about Hogwarts faculty meetings that had ended up with wands drawn. Those stories provided just enough comic relief for the two wizards to begin to look forward at what could be, rather than back at what should have been.

The “So now what?” moment came a bit after two in the afternoon, a fact that Harry only realized once his stomach began grumbling. The two fetched Hermione (who had also been expertly ignoring her own stomach’s empty protests) and made their way to the Mess for a late lunch. The late hour at least provided the three an empty room and the ability to continue their Round Tower conversations.

After getting an abridged (and less emotional) description of Harry and Remus’s revelations, Hermione noted that the Headmaster, for all of his faults, had at least made the current situation possible by arranging for Harry’s introduction to the Prince of Wales. Harry then added that the provisions made in Dumbledore’s will could also bring forth a positive legacy, providing a segue way for a discussion on Harry’s plans for the defense of Hogwarts.

They spent more than a few minutes brainstorming on ways to defend Hogwarts from what they all saw as an inevitable attack (whether or not students were in residence). Remus was also fascinated by the types of training that Harry and Hermione were undertaking. While impressed with the physical training and sword play, he noted that while the two still needed to keep their magical skills sharp. The two agreed, with Harry noting that it was only with his appointment as Queen’s Wizard the week previous that he’d been able to get around the underage magic laws. Remus offered to help them now that the restrictions had been cleared, and the three decided that the Room of Requirement would be the best place to train. Harry was leary of spending more time than was needed within the wizarding world (given the Ministry’s and Prophet’s attacks), but Hermione noted that if Remus was already within the castle that their badges could provide a “quick in/quick out” form of transport.

Remus asked if the badges would work within the grounds of Hogwarts, as it was only the Headmaster (or Headmistress) who had the authority to create portkeys for travel to and from the school. Hermione replied that while badge-travel felt like portkey use that they worked differently enough from portkeys to be potentially excluded from this restriction. They therefore reached a “only one way to find out” conclusion, and Harry and Hermione asked Lupin to set up a meeting with Headmistress McGonagall early in the next week.

The discussion about Hogwarts, and Harry’s earlier stories about the Chamber of Secrets led Harry to gently ask Remus about the full moon two weeks past. Lupin’s wince made Harry regret that he had done so, but Remus went on to say that the use of Hogwart’s dungeons as a secure place to transform had proven effective, and as he’d only had opportunity to use the wolvesbane potion two out of the past twelve months that the change hadn’t been that traumatic. This led to Hermione picking up their previous discussion about brewing the wolvesbane potion. She informed Remus that they had plans to harvest the basilisk’s remains for potion ingredients, and that she thought they’d fetch a fair value trade for what they would need. Remus nodded and expressed thanks, but noted that they’d still need the services of a master potions brewer who had the right contacts to make the trade.

When Hermione asked if Slughorn could fill that role Lupin said yes, but added that he was a hard wizard to find when he didn’t want to be found. Harry agreed, but thought that even when in hiding that the man would probably still keep in touch with his network of carefully-selected friends and former students. Remus laughed at that comment, and said that the Slug Club was a well-entrenched institution even back in his days as a student. Hermione then suggested that the network might be used to their advantage, and that if word got out that someone had a basilisk corpse on their hands that he’d find them in a heartbeat. Harry agreed, recounting the zeal with which Slughorn had collected arachnid venom and unicorn hairs on the night of Aragog’s funeral, and Remus offered to set the wheels in motion by contacting a few members of the Slug Club that he still knew.

Remus parted company with Harry and Hermione after finishing their late lunch, promising to keep the two informed as he worked the various tasks that he had agreed to tackle. The hug that Moony gave Harry before badge-jumping to Diagon Alley via Fred and George’s shop was almost as bone-crushing as Hermione’s best.

Harry didn’t mind one bit.

 

Chapter 19 - The Rookery

Sunday, June 24, 10:00am
Windsor Castle

The morning sunshine mocked Harry as he gazed over the Tower’s parapets and sipped his tea. The sun had stayed hidden behind rain clouds the entire day previous…the petulant and absent guest-of-honor at their Legoland solstice party. “No problems shining down upon the Ferris wheel and roller coasters today, though”, he noted, as he looked out towards the theme park’s grounds and recalled the previous night’s activities.

The persistently heavy rain had prevented any of the theme park’s rides from operating for the three-hundred or so Muggleborn students and their families. Harry thought the gathering doomed, only to discover support for the Muggle maxim that “Necessity is the mother of invention.” Theme park staff boarded the group’s tour buses at the front entrance and directed them to a large, non-descript warehouse at the edge of the park grounds. Inside the building, they found half-built large-scale Lego constructions surrounded by workbenches and piles of brightly-colored building blocks. Mrs. Granger then used a loudspeaker to announce that they were in the place where all of the theme park’s scale model replicas were designed and built, and that they had been invited to do some creative construction on their own.

Shouts of joy came from different parts of the large open space, as children dived head-long into the opportunity to build without material limits. The activity quickly turned into a competition, with teams of students building plastic magical replicas for their Muggle parents and siblings. “Magical creatures” was decided upon as the main theme, and after a hour’s worth of work (and with a seemingly unending supply of building materials), a small menagerie of half-metre tall hippogriffs, centaurs and unicorns were on proud display. Of course, some of the students were more creative than others; Dean Thomas’s group built a snarling potion master hovering over a cauldron and identified it a “Hooked-nosed Snape.” It won a voice vote as the scariest creature within the wizarding world.

The park staff that was working with Mrs. Granger on party plans was amazed at the breath of creativity on display (nobody chose to tell them that all of the creatures were inspired by real-life beasts). They also were impressed with the speed and efficiency with which the models had been built (not having seen some of the older students use liberal amounts of magic to replicate pieces, change their colors, and securely stick them together). The park workers went so far as to invite the entire group to create a much larger model of one of the figures for permanent display within the park. Strength of applause was used to select the Creevy brother’s “Harry and the Horned-tail” diorama as the winning model (much to the Queen Wizard's chagrin). Pallets of boxes filled with blue and purple blocks were brought in, and for the balance of the evening food and music were afterthoughts to the construction project. For much of that time, Harry served as a fairly-good humored live model, with a muggle push broom held between his legs.

It had turned out to be an enormously successful event, something that Mrs. Granger had the right to be proud of. Not that her work was done, mind you. Due to the inclement weather, vouchers had been provided to gain following-day readmission to the park, and many of the families had plans to do just that. Emily had been up and out of the castle by seven that morning to coordinate the logistics.

Clan Chief and Consort had other plans for the day. They had risen early and splashed through an early morning run, taken breakfast, then retreated to the Tower before the tourist queues had chance to take form. Hermione had disappeared into the Love Shack for more work with her own scale model constructions, leaving Harry just outside the tent to whack away at a wooden post. That he was drinking his tea alone following that work-out bore witness to Hermione’s attention to task. That he couldn’t prevent his teacup from trembling in either hand bore witness to his need to increase sword-arm strength.

Wally interrupted the post-workout cool-down with a badge-call request for Harry to meet him in the MI-5 3/4 field office. After determining that it wasn’t an emergency, Harry promised to meet with him after a shower.. He then walked down to their bed chambers, pulled some fresh clothes from his wardrobe, and ducked into the Love Shack, where a comfortably-dressed Hermione was hovering over her model wards.

“Hey Hermione, will you be a dear and press my suit while I’m in the showers?” asked Harry. “I’m pants at that ironing charm, and Wally needs to meet with me downstairs.”

Hermione looked up from her work and snorted. “Getting a bit dressed up for the weekend, aren’t you?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders and smiled as he looked at the bespoked suit in one hand and Italian loafers in the other. “Well…as Queen’s Wizard and a Lord…I do have a certain image to maintain, don’t I?”

That earned a snicker. “When have you ever worried about your attire, Harry?”

“Erm…not worrying…just working with what you and your mum picked out for me.”

“Sure, Harry…that wardrobe did include some jeans and polo shirts, did it not?”

“Well…I guess so.”

“Don’t suppose it’s because it’s Wally you’re meeting?”

“And just what are you suggesting?”

Hermione stood up and walked over to where Harry was standing. “That you’re either a closet clothes-hound,” she replied with a smile, “or that all of that witty banter with Wally means you’re a closeted something else.”

“Hermione!”

“Yes?”

“I’m surprised at your intimations….just because I’m secure enough in my own skin not to wither when he gets a bit catty?”

Hermione grabbed Harry’s waist with both hands and pulled him close. “Perhaps I am reading to much into this.”

With a frown of mock indignation Harry held the suit and shoes out from the embrace. “Mind the clothes!”

“There you go again, Harry….now I think you’ll just have to prove yourself.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “What…prove I don’t care about clothes by tossing them?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’d rather prove to you that my friendship with Wally is completely platonic.”

Hermione smiled. “And just how do you propose to do that?”

The linen suit and loafers fell to the floor as Harry grabbed Hermione and tossed her over his shoulder. She let out a “Squee!” as he carried her into the Love Shack’s main room and tossed her down on the bed. Something more like a growl came out of her mouth as Harry stripped off his clothes and pounced on her.

As he began nibbling on her earlobe, Hermione coyly noted, “You do realize that your suit is now completely wrinkled, right?”

Harry stopped nibbling long enough to murmur, “Would you worry if I cared?”

Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head as she pulled Harry’s sweaty chest down to hers. “As long…ooh!…as long as you keep proving things this way……never!”

Some time later...

Harry arrived at MI-5 3/4's field office a little more rumpled than initially planned. He found Wally was sitting in front of three large computer screens.

“Well don’t we look dashing,” he said upon Harry’s arrival. “The wizard wears Armani...yet again.”

Harry laughed. “Is that a complaint?”

“No, it’s a critique. Bad form to be caught on a magazine cover twice…or ten times…in the same outfit.”

“Perhaps I should let you lay out clothes for me rather than Hermione, then?”

“Erm…no thank you. First c-mug secret agent rule is ‘Never get in between a witch and her wand, no matter how gorgeous it is’.”

“But Hermione always has her wand with her.”

Wally made a show of fluttering his eye-lashes. “I was talking about a different wand, Sir Harry.”

Harry winked at Wally. “Flirt”

“Tease.”

Harry chuckled. “What have you got for me, Wally?”

The secret agent bit his lip before rifling back a scandalously witty retort, and waved Harry over.

“We’ve been working on improving surveillance capabilities for your Diagon Alley area, and have run across something you might want to see.”

Harry leaned over Wally’s shoulder and took a closer look at the central screen display showing an aerial photograph of an urban area. “That’s Charing Cross in London, then?” he asked.

Wally nodded as he pulled up a correlative street map on one of the side displays. While Harry matched up the two images using street patterns, the MI-5 3/4 agent pulled up a picture on the third screen.

“Look familiar, Harry?”

Harry looked across and nodded. “That’s the Muggle street side of the Leaky Cauldron.” He then looked back at the air photo and pointed. “That’s right about there, right?” he asked.

Wally nodded. “Exactly….which would mean that this cluster of small buildings behind it is Diagon Alley, right?”

Harry paused to match the bird’s eye view of the area to a mental image of a street level view of the Alley. “Yes, it must be,” he concluded. “That big building is Gringott’s, and there’s Madam Malkin’s, and the Weasley Twins’s store is right there.” He then squinted and frowned.

“Something look a bit off, Sir Harry?”

Harry nodded as he pointed to a spot just one block away from the Cauldron. “That building is casting a rather long shadow…just how tall is it?”

Wally smiled at how quickly Harry was on the uptake. “Tall enough to look down upon you wizarding folk, or so we think, at least.”

“So you think?” asked Harry with one eyebrow raised. “Are you not a secret agent?”

After chuckling, Wally noted, “It’s listed as a residential building, but we sent three different people there yesterday for a look/see and they all came back a bit dazed and confused.”

Harry smiled. “Don’t suppose you sent along a wizard, eh?”

Wally let out another small laugh as he brought up an infrared image and pointed out a dark interference zone centered on the building. “We thought we were a step ahead of you, Harry…it’s got some sort of magic to it, but Fred and George were just as confused when they tried to scout it out.”

Harry mused for a moment, then asked, “But you say it’s a residential building?”

Wally nodded and clicked open two new display windows with fuzzy overhead video clips of people walking in and out of the building’s front entrance. “We parked a drone on top of it for an hour, and captured these images.”

Harry thought, “So maybe it’s a wizard residence with ward’s tied to ownership…”

“There’s an idea,” said Wally. He quickly searched for (and found) building ownership records on an internet database. This search revealed that the building was built in the late 1890’s, and was owned by a rather nebulous corporate entity with a non-descript name. During this search, Harry focused not so much on what Wally was doing but rather on the street address he typed into the various search engines.

“Eight-seven Shaftesbury Avenue…you know, Wally, I’ve seen that address somewhere before,” he said. After a minute or so of rather intense concentration it came to him. Harry pulled a miniaturized ledger from an inside coat pocket and stepped into an adjacent empty room so that he could enlarge it without frying the electronics. A quick search of holdings provided the information he needed, and he returned to Wally’s side with a lopsided grin on his face.

“So why exactly are we interested in this building, Wally?”

“Erm…because we’d like to be able to keep an eye on the Weasley shop,” Wally replied. “They are out in a rather exposed location.”

Harry nodded. “And we take care of our own,” he said, as he reached a conclusion.

Thirty minutes later Harry and Hermione were in downtown London, standing across the street from the building that had piqued Wally’s interest. Hermione looked skeptical

“Remind me why this was worth changing into a dress and leaving my ward models?”

Harry smiled as he grabbed her hand. “Potter estate management, my dear.”

They noticed small brass plaques on either side of the front entrance as they crossed the street. One gave the street address, while the second identified the building as “The Rookery.” A magical tingle set the hair the back of Harry’s head on end as the two stepped onto the building’s front steps. Hermione felt a strong urge to back away, and this urge to flee remained until Harry literally dragged her by the arm through the front door. Once inside they found an elegantly appointed lobby of what looked to be a small hotel. They walked towards the back of the room, where a smartly dressed house-elf greeted them from behind a mahogany desk. The elf looked up at the two and smiled.

“Good day, Patriarch Potter,” he said. “The goblins informed us that we might be see your return sometime soon.”

Harry adopted a look of confusion on his face. “Good day, erm…I’m sorry but what’s your name?”

“Forgive me, Patriarch. My name is Gilbert, and I am The Rookery’s concierge.”

The house elf looked surprised when Harry reached out to shake his hand. “Please to meet you, Gilbert. This is Hermione Granger, my, erm…”

Hermione giggled a bit at Harry’s hesitance. “Nice to meet you, Gilbert. My name is Hermione Granger, and I am the Patriarch's Consort.”

Gilbert gave her a wide-eyed nod. “It is an honor, Consort Hermione.”

Harry gave her a fish-eye, then turned to the house-elf. “Gilbert, it is my understanding that I own an apartment in this building.”

“Yes indeed, Patriarch…would you allow me to take you there now?”

At Harry’s nod, Gilbert led them into a magical lift, and asked him to place his hand and wand tip onto a metal plate where floor buttons might otherwise be. The plate gave off a glow and the lift began to move. After a few moments the lift door opened and Gilbert announced, “Twenty- third floor, Potter residence.”

That night "Patriarch" Potter and his Consort invited the Art Club over for a small housewarming party. While everyone thought the apartment (which actually took up the entire 23rd floor) was lovely, the guests were far more interested in the large balcony and the differing views it provided.

Witches and wizards that looked down from the balcony could see the Leaky Cauldron’s rooftop, and, beyond that, a breathtaking view down the full length of Diagon Alley. Muggle Art Club members, however, could look in the exact same direction and see only warehouses, similar to the two-story structures that everyone agreed could be found in the adjacent city blocks. Evidently, the same kind of magic that protected Hogwarts from the prying eyes of muggles was at work in Central London.

Conjured telescopes, binoculars and window panes were used to work out just how that magic was working. Hermione had hypothesized that muggles might see through the magic if they weren’t seeing it with their bare eyes, based on the fact that Colin Creevy hadn’t been killed when he viewed the basilisk through his camera lens. Unfortunately, Muggle eyes were still fooled, even when looking through glass. It was only when Wally set up a digital camera and Harry aimed it towards Diagon Alley that the Grangers, Wally and Sir Evan could see in the camera’s image display what the others had seen.

Gilbert had been thrilled when Harry and Hermione asked him to provide food and beverages for the small get-together, and flat-out gobsmacked when they asked him to place an additional setting on the dinner table for himself. He demurred, until Harry pointed out that it would be the most efficient way for everyone to learn more about the building’s history. The house-elf told an amazingly interesting story.

Diagon Alley had hidden in plain sight for hundreds of years, with walls and street-level notice-me-not charms all that were needed to remain in the shadows. That changed, however, in the early 1800’s, when Muggles invented balloons and ways to build taller buildings. In response, wards were constructed to provide a hemispherical illusion for any Muggle who might spy down upon the magical enclave. This allowed unabated development of the surrounding Muggle neighborhoods, including residential buildings like The Rookery.

The Rookery distinguished itself from these other buildings not just with its wards and magical conveniences, but with its scandalous origins. It took a bit of prodding, but Gilbert finally admitted that the Rookery had been built by a small, elite social club of pure-blooded family patriarchs for pleasures of the flesh. While some wizards kept their mistresses there, others used their apartments to frolic with Muggle prostitutes. The building’s location was perfect for these purposes; conveniently close enough to Diagon for them to slip away, but on the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron (where no proper pure-blooded witch might care to follow). The club itself held nominal ownership of the building, and arranged for maintenance and upkeep through discrete and automatic withdrawals from Gringott’s accounts.

Remus noted that the information Gilbert provided was amazingly candid. The house elf shrugged his shoulders and stated that it didn't really matter how candid he was, since nobody other than Harry would remember what he said once they left the property. Immediately pressed for details, Gilbert explain that the entire building was charmed so that anyone other than the flat owners would magically forget about the building (and everything that occurred within its walls) once they crossed back over the wards. This automatic obliviation process was created and maintained not just for privacy but for discretion; with the charm in place philandering wizards didn't have to worry about the consent of the women they brought there.

The implications of the house elf's information cast a shadow on the evening, particularly when they realized that at least a few of the original patriarchs were probably alive and actively using the rest of the building. The group decided to call it a night and either badge-jumped or apparated back to their homes. Wally held back to talk about setting up long-range cameras on the balcony, until Harry reminded him that he would forget everything they talked about as soon as he left. With that conversation thus deferred, Harry and Hermione were soon the only two remaining.

Harry refilled their wineglasses with the last of the open bottles and joined Hermione on the balcony. It was nearly eleven and just barely twilight, as the summer sun dipped behind the western suburbs. They watched quietly as Diagon Alley's street lamps were lit. Hermione broke the silence, noting, “The more I think about why this building was built and what it's used for the less I appreciate this view.”

Harry agreed. “Also a waste of tasteful interior design, if you ask me…I was planning on ravishing you in the boudoir until I realized that you wouldn't remember any of my kisses.”

Hermione grinned. “So you think your kisses are worth remembering, Potter?”

“You'd be the one to know, sweetheart.”

Hermione's eyes lit up a bit. “Oh there may have been one or two that stood out.”

“Only one or two?”

Hermione nodded. “Of course, it wouldn't hurt to reinforce those memories by recreating the scene of the crime.”

Harry smiled and began to quietly sing. “I'm headin' down the Atlanta highway…”

“I'd rather you be quietly heading to Windsor.”

“Hey Hermione, do you think you'd like my singing any better during the trip?”

“Don't think I'd be able to notice, with all of the flashing lights and sounds.”

“Guess I'll just have to sing louder, then.”

Harry called Sir Even and they said the badge-jumping magic words. Hermione imagined that it was the first time a B-52's song had been sung on the astral plane.

“Love Shack, baby Love Shack!…Love Shack, baby Love Shack!…Love Shack….”

 

 

Chapter 20 – Marriage Contracts

Monday, June 25
The Rookery, London

The next morning, Harry Potter apparated to the Rookery with a case of electronics and some unanswered questions. Figuring that he ought to find out if he could trust the building staff before he broke out the cameras, he called out for Gilbert. The house-elf appeared in an instant.

“Good morning, Patriarch Potter,” said Gilbert. “How might I be of assistance?”

Harry frowned at his latest honorific. Bad enough being called the “Boy-Who-Lived,” or “The Chosen One”, but in just the past four weeks he’d been pronounced to be “Sir Harry,” “Clan Chief Potter,” “Queen’s Wizard,” “Lord Gryffindor,” and now “Patriarch Potter.” He counted the titles on his fingers, and snorted when he realized that he only needed one more to match the Prince.

Wonder how one goes about becoming ‘Grand Poobah Potter’?” he thought to himself.

Shaking himself from this thought, he asked the house-elf if what he did or said within the flat would be held in confidence.

The house-elf looked shocked at the question. “Of course, Patriarch. The first rule of the building is, “What happens at the Rookery, stays at the Rookery.”

Harry nodded, and then asked, “Does that kind of discretion include the patriarchs themselves?”

Gilbert nodded. “The Rookery’s house elves must never speak about the other patriarchs and their activities with anyone…even another patriarch.”

“So is there any way any of the other patriarchs would know I was here, either yesterday or today?”

Gilbert paused, then replied. “It is doubtful, Patriarch Potter. No records are kept or notifications made of when or how the patriarchs use their flats. House elves and goblins manage the building and all of its finances for the benefit of the patriarchs. So unless you were seen walking into the building by another patriarch…”

“I see,” said Harry. “Well, Gilbert, you have been most helpful. Thank you for your time and assistance.”

Gilbert bowed, but before he disappeared Harry asked, “And just to be certain, what we just discussed will not be shared with any of the other patriarchs?”

The house elf nodded, then said with a slight smile, “Death before indiscretion, Patriarch Potter. It will be as if I was never here.”

Once the house-elf disappeared Harry unpacked the case and set up the cameras and other sensors that could be controlled with telemetry. He’d been given a crash course on what cords went where and the right buttons to push before the trip, but still found it necessary to call Wally for some troubleshooting tips.

Meanwhile, MI-5 agents were busy setting up cameras and a concealed observation post in front of the building. Agents stationed at the site were to call MI-5 3/4's Windsor field office with physical descriptions of anyone entering or leaving the building. By comparing these “eye-witness” descriptions with live camera images, they hoped to be able to account for the potential use of glamor charms. With luck they would catch the faces of at least a few of the patriarchs that chose to walk into the building rather than directly apparate inside.

There were plans for more comprehensive monitoring of the building, but Harry left the details to Wally and Steve. He admired just how quickly the hastily assembled monitoring plan was being implemented, but wasn’t big on the “wait and see” approach.. He was (and figured he always would be) a man of action…someone who wanted to bash doors down rather than watch who used them. But as he already had plenty of other things on his plate he decided to focus on tasks that hadn’t been or couldn't be delegated to others. There were, in fact, six different things he had wanted to do that day in Central London, and he was already behind schedule. And so it was with some relief that he finally got confirmation from Wally back at Windsor that the cameras he set up were working properly. He packed up his things, badge-traveled to the back room of the Weasley’s shop, and prepared for his next meeting.

Harry walked confidently down Diagon Alley and into the main lobby of Gringott’s wearing a blond curly wig and a black eye-patch. The only thing funnier than his appearance was the fact that nobody blinked an eye (hiding in plain sight was easy when everyone expected a powerful wizard like Harry to use magical disguises). He ignored the disgusted looks and protests of bank patrons who thought he was jumping the queue and strode confidently towards a desk located near the back of the lobby.

“Good day, Griphook,” he said to the goblin seated behind the desk.

The goblin looked up and said, “Good day, Clan Chief.”

Harry took a seat in front of Griphook and pouted. “Aaah, you saw through my disguise. What was it, you read my magical aura? Maybe I tripped some ‘clan-chief detection wards’ on the way in?”

Griphook gave Harry a toothy smile as he stood from his desk, pulled two thick ledgers under his arms, and directed Harry towards a private conference room, “Something far more mundane,” he explained. “You are the only wizard to have ever recognized me and called me by name.”

As soon as the conference room’s door closed Harry pulled off the itchy wig and annoying eye-patch. “Much better,” he said to himself. He then asked,

“Griphook, what can you tell me about the a flat I now own in a building called ‘The Rookery’?”

The goblin hummed quietly as he opened up one of ledgers and began to search. Finding the page he was looking for, he said, “One flat, located at 87 Shaftsbury Avenue, Soho, London. Four bedrooms, 3,900 square feet, occupies entire twenty-third floor of building known as ‘The Rookery.’ Acquired by the Potter Estate in 1892 at time of construction. Original purchase price 87,000 galleons. Current estimated value 3.3 million galleons, although restrictive magical covenants bar you from placing it on the open market.”

Harry nodded, then asked, “I understand that the building is actually owned by some type of club. Are there annual billings or fees to cover my share of the building maintenance costs and other services?”

His account manager nodded hummed some more as he checked a different section of the same ledger. He then replied, “This past year the sum of 13,000 galleons was withdrawn from the Potter vault. Authorization for these automatic withdrawals was made by your grandfather on behalf of himself and his future heirs. As the Potter Patriarch you may stop these withdrawals, but this action would result in forfeiting title to the organization that holds nominal ownership of the entire building.” Griphook looked up from the ledger and asked,:"Do you wish me to stop these withdrawals?”

“Erm, no…not just yet,” Harry replied. He then noted, “When I visited the property yesterday a house-elf informed me that Gringott’s gave notice that I was the new Potter Patriarch and might be soon visiting.”

Griphook gave Harry a cautious look, and then replied, “Under the terms of your grandfather’s authorization, Gringott’s was required to notify The Rookery as soon as the Potter family had a Patriarch. You became the Potter Patriarch last week when you became Queen’s Wizard …a letter was sent by secure bank owl and received by a house-elf named Gilbert.”

Harry paused, then said, “Please Griphook, don’t be nervous…you were only doing your job and fulfilling the bank’s obligations, right?”

“Yes, Clan Chief, thank you.”

“Please Griphook, it’s Harry…especially when it is just the two of us in private, alright?”

Griphook gave Harry a second cautious look, then smiled once more. “As you wish…Harry.”

The young wizard then asked, “Did you contact any of the wizards that live there, or belong to the club that runs the place?”

Griphook shook his head. “We deal only with the house-elves. Privacy issues.”

Harry smiled when he realized it likely that none of Patriarchs knew he had access to his Rookery flat. Wondering if somebody like the senior Malfoy would know through other means, he asked, “Was anyone else notified when I gained my majority and full control of the Potter estate?”

Griphook sighed, then answered, “A required notification was sent to the Wizengamot.”

“Why the Wizengamot?”

The goblin gave Harry a tight-lipped smile. “Most likely because the Potter Patriarch has held a permanent seat on that body for more than 900 years.”

Harry accepted this reason, and then sighed. “Any chance that they haven’t gotten that message yet, Griphook?”

Griphook paused, then asked, “Would you wish that the Ministry not know?”

When Harry nodded, Griphook’s toothy grin returned. “I sent out the required notification to the Wizengamot’s office on the day it was attacked. While I have a return receipt that proves the message was delivered, I also know that the magical seal on that envelope was never opened.”

Harry cocked his head. “Why do you imagine that is, Griphook?”

The goblin pressed his fingertips together and replied. “I understand that the Wizengamot office was one of more damaged portions of the Ministry. It is possible that the letter was destroyed before anyone could read it.”

Harry nodded, and then asked, “Are you going to send another notification?”

Griphook smiled. “Gringott’s was obligated to send notification. Gringott’s is not obligated to determine whether the notification that was sent was actually read.” He then added, “At your instruction we could send a second owl.”

Harry thought about the benefits of keeping his voting authority in the Wizengamot a secret and realized he knew little about how that body worked. “Not that I would sway anybody’s vote right now,” he thought to himself.

“I think one notification was sufficient,” he decided out loud. “Any one else, then?”

Griphook looked down at the ledger, and then said, “There are a number of individuals and organizations that might be notified whenever an heir reaches his majority. Members of the family are notified, but we have no records of others in the Potter line. Any wizard family that has entered into a betrothal contract with your parents would be notified…”

Harry interrupted. “Would be….not was…right?”

Griphook delayed his response just long enough to see Harry squirm (who said goblins can’t have a bit of fun?). “No, Harry, your parents did not obligate you to honor a betrothal contract.”

After Harry let out a sigh of relief, Griphook added, “That being said, there are presently forty-seven open betrothal offers from other Families or Clans.”

“Forty-seven different marriage proposals?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“That’s simply…hard to believe.”

Griphook raised what could pass for eyebrows on a goblin’s face. “I have the names of the witches right here if you’d like to take a look.”

Harry chuckled, then noted, “Well, I couldn’t get into too much trouble if all I did was look, right?”

Griphook thought for a moment, then replied tactfully. “It might be argued that a wise and responsible Patriarch should take at least a cursory glance at the list, if only to consider the value of any potential clan alliances.”

Harry grinned at Griphook, and asked, “Let’s hope that wise and responsible consorts would think the same way if they found out.”

A wheezy cough erupted out of Harry’s throat when he looked down at the ledger.

“Oh. My. Sweet. Merlin!” 

After working through the list the Potter Patriarch asked, “Is there a reason why so many families would be willing to offer one of their daughters to me?”

The goblin chuckled. “Besides the fact that you are famous, wealthy, and the patriarch of one of the oldest wizarding families in Britain?”

“Yes, besides that.”

After they shared a few more chuckles (who knew that goblins liked a good joke just as much as any other sentient?) Harry asked for a copy of the list, as well as all of the correspondence and documentation associated with each offer. Griphook called another goblin into the room and sent him scurrying with orders to honor this request.

“The records will be available in a few minutes time,” said Griphook. The goblin then asked, “Is there anything else, then Clan Chief?”

Harry scowled a bit. “I’m sure that there is, let me take a look at the list Hermione made out for me.” He then glanced down at the piece of parchment pulled from his pocket. After a quick glance at his muggle wristwatch, he said, “Merlin, I’m supposed to be over at the Palace in a few minutes. But I also wanted to eat lunch with Hermione.”

Harry looked over at Griphook and asked, “What do you think, my friend…Queen or Consort?”

The goblin squinted a bit and pursed his lips, before asking, “Do they serve food at this Muggle Palace?”

Harry smiled at the goblin’s question. He then stood, shook Griphook’s hand, and said that his wisdom went far beyond the world of finance.

Thirty minutes later, Harry answered a badge-call from Hermione.

“Hello, Hermione…how is your meeting going with the goblin ward masters?” he asked.

“Erm, fine…well, better than fine, actually,” she replied. “But we’re on break…they all just got called away to check on some warding down within the vaults.”

“Really?” asked Harry. “Does that mean you have a bit of time for lunch?”

“Imagine so,” Hermione replied. “Have a place in mind?”

“Actually, I do…why don’t you jump over.”

Hermione paused. “Will I remember where I ate afterwards?”

She couldn’t see the grin on Harry’s face when he replied, “Yes, I think you just might.”

The jump took Hermione to an elegantly-decorated room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on three sides and large windows set within the fourth. A gentle breeze passed through these windows, bringing the scent of freshly-mown grass into the room where it mixed and mingled with the scent of century-old books and Beef Burgundy (the later coming from a table within the room’s center, elegantly set for lunch). The intoxicating combination of aromas nearly made Hermione’s knees buckle.

“Little woozy from the jump?” Harry asked cheekily.

Hermione shook her head as she turned to the sound of Harry’s voice. She startled at just how handsome he looked in his dark-olive two-piece suit, shirt and tie. She looked down at the workday robe she was wearing and frowned.

“Wish you had told me that lunch was a formal affair, Harry.”

“You’ve got a wardrobe full of new clothes here, if you like,” he replied with a grin. “But it is just the two of us here, and I think you look beautiful just as you are.”

She nodded as she took a second look at her surroundings. “We’re at Buckingham Palace, then?”

Harry nodded. “Welcome to the Royal Wizard’s Suite….would you rather take a tour or eat lunch?”

Hermione looked towards the room’s closed door, then over at the table. Focusing beyond the table towards one of the bookcases, she resisted the urge to add browsing as a third option, and suggested that they eat while the food was still hot.

Harry nodded as he pulled out a chair for her.

“Quite the gentleman, Harry,” she said.

“Well, comes with the territory, I imagine,” he replied, as he took his own seat and lifted up his already-filled wine glass. “A toast?” he asked.

Hermione’s thoughts drifted back towards Gringott’s and her unfinished work. But the label on the open wine bottle was just too intriguing (and Harry just too handsome) for her to care. She raised her glass towards Harry

He smiled and proposed, “To fairy tales with happy endings.”

The breath that got caught in her throat kept Hermione from replying. With moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes she clinked her glass against Harry’s.

“To our happy endings,” she replied.

It took a few moments for either to be inclined to start up a conversation.

Harry finally asked about Hermione’s meeting with the ward masters. She happily reported that the goblins were thrilled with her successful bench-scale demonstration of attenuated anti-apparition fields. There was a lot of work left to do with power boosting and spell focusing before they could recreate this success on a full-scale model, but these were already-established processes, and the ward masters were confident that they’d have a marketable process by week’s end.

Harry smiled and congratulated Hermione on her success. “So do you think this means we’ll have wards up at Windsor by week’s end?” he asked.

Hermione nodded. “I might know for sure later today. They’re bringing the Director of Warding Services in this afternoon to start negotiating a licensing agreement.”

“Wow, that’s great Hermione…any ideas on how much your ideas are worth?”

Hermione hemmed and hawed a bit, before Harry encouraged her to not be so modest.

“The ward masters think that by reducing the boundaries down to the exact footprint of the warded area they’ll reduce their power requirements by an average of twenty-five percent. But they also think that they can charge at least ten percent more for “custom-tailored” wards.”

“So they get paid more for something that will cost them less to build?”

Hermione nodded. “They started talking about either selling the idea to them outright, or granting them an exclusive license to use it.”

“Wonderful,” said Harry. “I’m so proud of you…so which way are you thinking?”

“Not sure,” Hermione replied. “I’m thinking of offering a trade instead…I let them use my attenuation mods, and they teach me how to build wards that block magical detection.”

Harry thought about Hermione’s statement, before his eyes lit up. “With those kind of wards up over a building, underage wizards could practice their magic!”

Hermione smiled. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

Harry couldn’t contain his enthusiasm, and almost jumped across the table to give Hermione a hug. “Oh, that’s simply brilliant, Hermione.”

Before Harry could turn his admiration into a snogfest Hermione asked how his morning had gone. Harry sighed, then sat back down and recounted his adventures within the Rookery flat. He then jumped over his meeting with Griphook to describe his introduction to staff at Buckingham Palace. Harry had met most of the Queen’s Palace security detail, as well as the head of SO14 (Scotland Yard’s Royal Protection Force), whom he described as a bit “Snape-ish.”

“How so?” Hermione asked.

“Well, he was a bit put-off that he had to give me a tour of their command center…thought that the ‘Queen’s little magician’ didn’t have a good enough reason to know.”

“So what happened?”

“Steve sat him down for a little chat,” he replied. “Right after he gave us new identification badges to deal with the bureaucratic git.” Harry then reached into his pocket, pulled out a plastic ID card, and passed it across the table.

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she gave Harry a questioning look. He responded by flipping his own palace staff ID around to show an identical badge.

“So is this just a fake ID for cover?” she asked.

Harry shook his head. “Afraid not,” he replied. “They don’t want there to be any questions about our authority to lead others magicals in the defense of the Royal Family.” He then stood up straight and extended his hand. “Agent Granger, welcome to Her Majesty’s Secret Service.”

Hermione shook her head, not sure that she liked the idea.

Harry noticed her concern, and said, “Look on the bright side, Hermione. They’re starting us with mid-grade commissions.”

“So?”

Harry smiled. “So how many teenagers get to outrank their parents?”

Hermione broke out into a small smile, and then asked, “Well that’s all fine and good, but the real question is whether or not I outrank my boyfriend.”

Harry grinned, and then replied, “They initially wanted to put me a couple of grades higher than you, but then I asked if that would prevent me from snogging a junior officer.”

“So what happened?”

“I made them demote me down to your rank.”

Hermione laughed, then walked over and gave him a hug. “Oh, Secret Agent Potter, how romantic.”

Harry paused, then chuckled at her response. “Merlin, there’s another one.”

“Another what, Harry?”

“Another title…ties me up with the Prince.”

“Really?” Hermione asked. “I didn’t know it was a competition.”

Harry shook his head. “It isn’t really. There’s only one title that I really care about…and chuck the rest.”

“And what title would that me?”

Harry placed a kiss on her forehead and replied, “Hermione’s boyfriend.”

Hermione looked into Harry’s eyes before snorting and pulling him into a hug.

“Oh, Harry,” she cooed. “I wish that I didn’t have to go back to that meeting right now.”

Her boyfriend looked at his wristwatch and said, “You don’t need to be back for another forty-five minutes.”

“Really?” asked Hermione. “And just how might you know that, Mr. Potter?”

Harry smiled and said, “Griphook assured me that the ward inspections would take at least an hour-and-a-half to complete their work.”

Hermione shook her head, not sure whether to admonish Harry for his scheming, or praise him for his ingenuity. Some ear nibbling forced the issue.

“So Harry,” she said, “you promised to give me a tour of the Royal Wizard’s suite?”

The Queen's wizard stopped chewing on an earlobe so that he could whisper in her ear. “Any particular room you might be interested in, Hermione?”

She pulled him into an even-tighter embrace and nodded. “Don’t suppose they gave you a broom closet?”

Harry smiled as he shook his head. “Sorry,” he whispered, “No broom closets. I do have a rather large master bedroom at my disposal, though.”

It was Hermione’s turn to smile as she broke the embrace, grabbed his hand, and started pulling him towards the door.

“Guess that will have to do.”

oo00OO00oo

Harry felt rather guilty that he hadn’t told Hermione about the marriage contracts before she returned to Gringott’s. He had planned on doing so during lunch, but the romantic atmosphere engineered to soften the blow of that revelation had gotten the best of them. Next thing he knew, they were snogging in his newly assigned bedroom at Buckingham (and he didn’t want to ruin any of that).

The Queen's Wizard suspected that things would be worse, now that the first chance to tell her had come and gone. Best he could do was rationalize the need to find out more about these contracts before the next chance came at dinnertime. But who to talk to? It was the kind of problem that he’d bring to Hermione first, but that wouldn’t do. Ron was clearly out…Harry loved him like a brother, but this was another one of those times when his Champion’s jump to jealousy might get the best of him. The ideal candidate would be a married wizard that Harry trusted, but the only one to fit that bill was Arthur Weasley, and he was clearly out given that Ginny’s name was on the list.

And so it was that Harry reluctantly sat up in his new bed and decided to call Remus Lupin (whose conflict of interest was almost as bad as Arthur’s). With assurances that Harry wasn’t interrupting his afternoon, Remus badge-jumped and immediately dropped to one knee.

“My liege,” he intoned.

“Oh knock it off, Remus,” Harry scolded, as he rose from his seat on the mattress edge. “It’s either ‘Just Harry’ or a hex for you.”

The former DADA professor broke out into a grin as he stood. That grin grew wider as he took in his surroundings.

“So Harry,” Remus asked, “did I ever tell you about my nights on patrol as a Hogwarts Prefect?”

Wondering why his former professor was raising this topic, Harry shook his head.

“Quite something,” Remus continued. “With my were-enhanced sense of smell I always knew when pheromones and bra hooks were being released behind closed broom closet doors.”

It only took Harry a few moments to catch on, and to realize that his recently-used bedroom might not have been the best place to receive a guest. Waffling between acute embarrassment and roguish camaraderie, Harry decided to put on the brave front.

“Down, boy,” he replied, “or do I need to mark my new territory?”

Remus broke out into a hearty laugh. “No worries, Alpha,” he said in reassurance. “Although it would be great fun to watch you pee around the perimeter of the Palace.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he grabbed Remus’s elbow and showed him around the new apartment. Of particular note were two large walk-in closets. Harry guided his mentor to a section that bore his name and handed him a clothes hanger.

“Thought we’d grab a cup of tea in the Mess,” he explained.

Remus nodded as he shed his robe and hung it on the bar next to a bespoke shirt and tailored suit. Hanging next to the suit were black combat fatigues, and two wizard’s robes (one plain and one formal). Looking down his black trousers and lightweight sweater, he snorted and asked, “Do I need to change into that fancy muggle wear?”

Harry gave Remus the once-over and smiled. “Good enough to throw on just the jacket…it’ll give you someplace to hang your credentials.” As he handed over both the jacket and a security badge, Harry explained that each member of the Order of Arthur had his or her own sets of clothing to facilitate travel between the muggle and wizarding worlds. Similar mini-staging areas were planned for Hogwarts, the back of Fred and George’s shop, the Round Tower, and the Farm.

“Five sets of clothing?” Remus asked. “Harry, you don’t need to do that. I mean, at the very least I can transfigure my clothing whenever there’s a need.”

Harry shook his head. “Not happening, my friend,” he replied. “The Queen insists that her Order be properly uniformed at her expense. Some of us could transfigure, sure, but Wally, Steve and the Granger’s can’t.” He then added, “And in any event these outfits are more than they might seem.”

Remus cocked his head as he slipped on the jacket and took a closer look. It was slightly heavier than he expected, and hung a bit stiffly, as if there were something between the wool fabric and silk lining.

“An inch-and-a-half of steel-reinforced Kevlar, magically thinned and lightened,” Harry said. He then explained what Kevlar was, and noted that MI-5 ¾ testing had proven that the material’s stopping power hadn’t been compromised by the magical alterations.

“So this would protect me from what, exactly?” Remus asked.

Harry grinned. “Oh, not much…knives, swords, bullets...”

“Expecting to fight against Muggles, are we?” Remus asked with a confused smile.

“Not really,” Harry explained. He then surprised Remus by withdrawing the Sword of Gryffindor from its hidden scabbard and whacking it against the werewolf’s wand arm. “But I imagine any magical opponents I face might wish they were Muggles if I catch them without something similar on.”

Remus winced from the sword’s impact. While the Kevlar had completely stopped the blade from slicing through his arm, it hadn’t cushioned against the blunt force behind the sword stroke. Embarrassed by his failure to maintain his guard, Remus gritted his teeth and struggled not to rub the area bruised by the attack. As he sheathed his sword Harry noted that Fred and George had also added the same shield charms used on the robes they had sold to the Ministry.

As the two left the apartment, Harry told Remus that the Muggle identification badges would be needed whenever they ventured beyond his quarters (the same held for trips outside of the Round Tower at Windsor). He also informed Remus that his badge identified him as a member of Palace security, and that he’d need to wear an earpiece similar to the one worn during the Battle of Ascot, if for nothing else than show.

Harry’s functional earpiece and transmitter came in handy when he got turned around on his way to the Mess. He could, of course, have used his badge to get directions from Steve, but there were Muggles about in the hallways. With Steve’s aid it only took them a few minutes to reach a mess hall strikingly similar to the one Harry visited so often at Windsor. As it was between lunchtime and teatime, the two found it easy to find a table where they could chat without need of privacy charms. Five minutes later, they were settled in with tea and fresh-baked scones.

After complimenting the service, Remus asked, “So I imagine you wanted me here to do more than dress me and show off your bachelor pad?”

The Queen’s Wizard snorted. “Most definitely, Remus.” After the few seconds of silence that accompanied a bite of biscuit, he off-handedly said, “I had an interesting chat with my Gringott’s advisor this morning.”

“About your financial situation?”

“Amongst other things,” Harry replied with a smile. He took a moment to pique some interest, then asked, “So what can you tell me about wizard world marriage contracts?”

Remus choked a bit on his tea, just barely managing to avoid a spray. “Have the goblins added matchmaking to their portfolio of services?”

Harry chuckled as he shook his head and began to recount his conversation with Griphook. Lupin was pleased to learn that Lily and James hadn’t agreed to any binding betrothal agreements, but lost it at the idea of Harry having to deal with open-ended marriage contracts.

“So did Griphook tell you how many open offers there were?”

Harry nodded, and told him. Remus couldn’t help but spray upon hearing the number.

“Forty-seven?” he exclaimed, loud enough to catch the attention of staff standing on the other side of the room.

Harry shushed his friend, and nodded.

Remus stated, “As a Muggleborn witch I take it Hermione’s parents weren’t involved?”

Harry nodded in confirmation.

“So what did she think about all this?” Remus asked.

“That’s the thing,” Harry replied sheepishly. “I had the chance to tell her during lunch, but couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

Lupin squinted at Harry. “But you found time enough to work up a sweat, eh?”

Harry nodded. “Well, yes…I was going to tell her, but we just got carried away a bit, and…”

“And now you’re worried about what she’ll say not just about the offers, but the fact that you didn’t immediately tell her.”

Harry sighed. “Right in one.”

Remus scratched his head. “Don’t know quite what to say, cub. I mean…my experience with witches isn’t any longer than yours….So what made you hesitate?”

“Besides the fact that she was making doe eyes at me all during lunch?”

“Erm…yes.”

“Oh…well….”

“Do you know which witches we’re talking about?”

Harry nodded, but made no move to show Remus the relevant parchment.

“Anybody on that list that we know?”

Harry snorted. “Of course, Remus…seems like just about every pure-blood family with an unattached female under the age of sixty has made an offer.

Remus nodded in understanding as he mentally reviewed his class lists.

“I mean, really,” Harry spouted. “what were my parents thinking?”

Remus paused before replying. “Your mum and dad never mentioned anything about marriage contracts for you, cub…besides the fact that they had rejected binding offers from the Malfoy and Nott families.

With a questioning look, Harry said, “Well if that’s the case then why is there a Malfoy on the list?”

Remus shook his head. “Dunno, Harry. It could be that those open offers were extended after your parent’s deaths.” He then snorted. “Didn’t realize the Malfoys had a daughter to marry off, although I wouldn’t put it past them to offer up Draco for the right amount of money and power.”

Harry shuddered at the thought. “I asked Griphook about that…apparently there’s a line of Malfoys still in France.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Remus replied. He then said, “If it helps any, I do know that your father fought tooth and nail to avoid one of these contracts so that he could marry your mum.”

“He did?”

Remus nodded. “It was a right mess. Words were spoken between James and your grandfather that never had opportunity to be taken back before either of them…well…”

After trailing off, Remus’s eyes lit up. “But that wouldn't matter, here, right? As Head of Family, you could reject all of these open offers out of hand.”

When Harry nodded, Remus asked a logical follow-up. “So what’s the problem? Is there somebody on the list that you fancy?”

Harry shook his head forcefully. “Of course not.”

“So what’s the problem telling Hermione? It’s not as if you asked for these contracts, right?”

Harry shook his head once more. “Guess I’m worried that Hermione would insist I consider the potential benefits of family alliances.”

Remus waved his hand dismissively. “Please, Harry…have a little faith in your girl. And if not faith, at least a sense of humor…I mean, what other teen-aged wizard has that many offers?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Harry replied. He paused, then gave Remus a evil look. “Think I should have a sense of humor about all this, eh?”

“Most definitely.”

Harry chuckled as he retrieved a small parchment scroll from an inside coat pocket. As he handed it across the table he snarked, “Let me see your sense of humor after you work your way through the list.”

Remus nodded and began to scan down the scroll. Harry was dead on with respect to comprehensiveness. All the big family names were there, including more than a few aligned with Voldemort. “Cornelius Fudge’s daughter, now there’s a match,” he thought to himself. Most of the specific witch’s names were unfamiliar to him; Remus guessed they might be older sisters (or the spinster aunts) of Harry’s classmates.

Two names caught his eye. “So you’ve been offered your choice of the Patil girls?” he asked.

Harry shook his head and sighed. “Not just my choice of one, but under the laws of magical India their parents offered me both.”

Remus chuckled. “Now you see Harry? Plenty of humor right there.”

“Yeah, right Moony,” Harry snarked. “Just scroll down to the end of the list.”

Remus nodded as he let the bottom end of the scroll fall. The first thing to catch his eye was Ginerva Weasley’s name. “That could be awkward,” he thought to himself. But then he glanced up a couple of lines and blanched.

He looked up at Harry and noticed that his eyes were twinkling like Dumbledore’s used to. He looked back down and confirmed that the name he thought he saw was really there.

“Apparently,” Harry dryly noted, “open-ended offers can come from more than just pure-blooded families.”

Remus nodded, and said nothing for ten full seconds before breaking out into a series of gut-wrenching guffaws. Harry couldn’t help but join in, earning them scolding looks from the mess hall manager. They got the non-verbal cue and quickly returned to Harry’s quarters to begin their scheming.

In the end, they decided that there was little need to embellish what was, all by itself, a rather wonderful prank. Harry found the nerve to spill the news to Hermione, and was pleased to be on the receiving end of her empathy. She even agreed to help with their plans.

oo00OO00oo

Nymphadora Tonks had no idea why her parents and Remus were invited that night to a hastily arranged dinner at Buckingham Palace. Ted and Andromeda Tonks, on the other hand, thought they knew why they had been invited, but had no idea why Hermione and Remus were there with Harry.

The entire Tonks family, therefore, was rendered speechless when (after an amazing dinner) Hermione presented everyone a copy of an open-ended betrothal contract and announced that as Potter Clan Consort she would take the lead on negotiating the terms offered in advance of Nymphadora’s marriage to Harry.

As the one with the least experience in the fine art of pranking, it was all Hermione could do not to burst out laughing at the look on the Tonks family’s faces. She held on just long enough for Remus to take a wizard photograph that documented the only time in his future wife’s life that she was able to display a beet-red hair color that so completely matched her face.

Remus considered the many future nights spent of the couch to be more than worth that photo. Harry and Hermione agreed, right up to the point where Tonks so brilliantly pranked them back.

But that’s another story.

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