I'm afraid I can't remember whether Heathrow has a viewing
gallery in Terminal One – I seem to remember looking out of one in Terminal
Four, but that's a slightly different situation. Anyway, for the purposes of this Prologue, Heathrow Terminal One
has an extensive viewing gallery.
"By the Pricking
of my Thumbs"
Prologue:
"George! For goodness sake, will you hurry up? You've got to be there at least an hour before your flight to check in your baggage – at least, that's what the ticket says – and we're never going to make it through the traffic if you don't get moving!" Ginny was virtually jumping up and down in frustration. Harry, sitting quietly behind the steering wheel of Fred's small hatchback, chuckled to himself as George, head down and cringing, dragged the last of his luggage out of the house and flung it unceremoniously into the boot of the car.
"Finally!" exclaimed his sister, as he practically fell into
the back seat, fumbling for the seatbelt. He scowled at her.
"I still don't see why I couldn't just Apparate or
Port." Ginny frowned.
"Look, Fred went over this twenty times – you're supposed to
be a Muggle. Muggles use planes and
boats and trains."
"And cars." added Harry innocently, starting the engine,
"Don't forget cars." Ginny turned to
glare at him, but didn't comment.
"Have you got your Passport?" she turned back to George as
Harry put the key in the ignition. George turned naïve wide eyes towards his sister.
"What's a Passport?" he asked, cluelessly.
"That little red booklet Fred brought back from the Ministry
for you." supplied Harry helpfully, revving the engine. "You know – the thing
he said was the final result of his three-month stint in Forgeries!"
"And don't you start now, Harry Potter!" Ginny turned on him
almost spitting, like a small red-furred wildcat, "I've had quite enough
trouble this morning sorting out this pitiful excuse for a wizard who thinks he
can pack, without any backchat from you." Harry caught George's eye in the rear-view mirror and bit his lips in an
effort not to smile. George winked, and
Harry, momentarily distracted, almost took the gatepost with him as he backed
the car out of the driveway.
"Harry! Just watch
where you're going – this isn't the Knight Bus, you know!" Ginny berated him. George grinned behind his hand and tapped her on the shoulder.
"I thought you told me I was supposed to be a Muggle!" he
protested in a hurt tone, "If I'm a Muggle, then I'm no sort of excuse for a
wizard, never mind a pitiful one." Ginny almost bared her teeth at him, but thought better of it.
"Until you learn the difference between essentials and … "
"You've obviously never been on the Knight Bus, my love, if
you think I drive like Ernie Prang." said Harry talking over her in a
conversational tone of voice.
"I never said I had …"
"And another thing." George's aggrieved tones cut across Ginny's reply. "I've packed more
cases than you've had Fizzing Wizbees, and I've never left anything
behind. Well, anything important
anyway."
"Oh no? What about
that time you …"
"And besides," interrupted Harry, his mouth twitching with
suppressed laughter, "The Knight Bus is a completely different prospect: diesel
engine, magically enhanced steering, absolutely loaded with Get Out of My Face
charms …"
"I'm a seasoned traveller, I am." continued George loudly,
"I don't need a nanny to …"
"WILL YOU TWO STOP IT?" Ginny was almost beside herself as the two men gave way to laughter,
"Honestly, you're just as bad as when we were at school. Why do I bother?"
"Ah!" said Harry, throwing an arm around her shoulder, still
laughing, "You bother because you love me, that's why."
"Sometimes I … Harry, watch out!"" Narrowly missing an oncoming Volvo, Harry hastily put both hands
back on the steering wheel and concentrated on driving. George was mumbling to himself.
"Orationem Gallo … orationem gallo … Hey, this
wretched charm Fred taught me doesn't work!"
"That's because it isn't Gallo, it's Arabilis
– Gallo will get you speaking Irish!" Harry carefully moved on to the motorway and put his foot down. "Besides,
there are an awful lot of Arab languages and unless you're a bit more specific,
you'll get an embarrassing mish-mash of all of them!" George grumbled and went back to his book. Ginny looked over her shoulder at the title
and read "Make Yourself Instantly Iranian – a Wizarding Guide to Acting the
Part". She smiled – George obviously
had a long way to go.
The journey was just like any Muggle airport run, but it was
new to the gang who were used to travelling rather more colourfully by broomstick
or, latterly, by Portkey or Apparation. However, on arrival at Heathrow, the general opinion was of sheer
amazement at the Muggles who managed to do this commute several times in a
week.
"It's so inefficient!" complained Ginny, as she and George
waited for the Courtesy Bus. Harry was
just parking the car. "The least they could do is provide some kind of
assistance with the luggage."
"They do." replied Harry, joining them, "They're called
trolleys. You'll see them when we get to
the airport building."
But by the time they had got to Terminal 1, trolleys were
the last thing on Ginny's mind. The
bustle of travellers rushing to and from Departure Gates, the groups of
bad-tempered people in uniform, the endless indecipherable blaring through the
tannoy, and the confusing array of monitors whose contents changed even as you
were reading them startled even George into silence.
"Come on." said Harry. Having miraculously found a trolley, without having to resort to either
unauthorised magic or gratuitous violence, he was piling George's luggage on
it. He smiled at their confusion.
"We've got plenty of time – the plane doesn't go for another
hour. Let's get this stuff checked in
and we'll go for a coffee."
Twenty minutes later found them sitting at a formica table
drinking Kenco filter coffee and nibbling at biscuits. George was beginning to recover from the
shock.
"I can't believe Muggles actually live like this all the
time." He was shaking his head in
bewilderment. Ginny's face was serious.
"I've never felt particularly sorry for them before," she
added, "But now I see what they have to live with – well, my heart goes out to
them." She bit into her jam donut, then looked at it, frowning.
"And if this is the sort of thing they have to contend with
for lunch, I'm even sorrier!"
Harry laughed, taking a swallow of coffee.
"Neither of you have ever visited an airport before, have
you?" They shook their heads.
"But you have, Harry." replied George, "How come?" Harry shrugged.
"Well, I travel to some pretty out of the way places, you
know." he said, easily, "Sometimes it's actually less hassle to travel
Muggle-style all the way than have to go into detailed and unlikely
explanations to justify a stretch covered by broomstick or Portkey. George, I think that was the call for your
plane." The others had only registered
a garbled sort of racket through the tannoy, sounding like an asthmatic bullfrog
shouting into the shallow end of a large swimming pool, but to Harry this apparently
made some kind of sense. Obediently,
they followed him as he made his way towards the correct Departure Gate.
"George," muttered Ginny worriedly, "How on earth are you
going to keep up this pretence of being a muggle once you get to - wherever it is your're going? You'll stand out like a sore thumb." George grinned.
"Don't fret, sister-mine." he replied, "The Wizard Embassy
are sending a representative to meet me and sort out all my day to day
needs. I'll be fine!" And with that he kissed her briefly on the
cheek and wrung Harry's hand in farewell.
"Good luck, mate."
Harry clapped him on the shoulder, "Take care – and try not to get any U.U.M.
Notices. This time it could mean more
than just a fine!" Ignoring that,
George returned Harry's salutation and, turning on his heel, went through the
gate. Harry shook his head.
"An Embassy escort? Hah! It'll be twice as obvious
that George is no muggle if he's accompanied by one of those idiots!" But Ginny wasn't listening.
"It's not George who needs to worry about Unauthorised Use
of Magic Notices." She muttered as they watched her brother disappear into the
crowd. Harry slung an arm around her
shoulder as they started to move away.
"You're not still worried about that, are you?" She shrugged.
"Sometimes, yes." she replied, "It would only take one slip
and I'd be … Oh, Harry, let's watch him get on the 'plane!" Ginny suddenly took off for the Observation
Gallery where she could plainly see a number of people, including George,
walking across the tarmac towards the huge 747. Although it was unlikely that he would see them, they stood
waving like maniacs until Harry glanced briefly at a figure standing quite
still at the other end of the Viewing Window, looked away then looked back
again, frowning in disbelief. As he
stared, the figure turned slowly round to face him and smiled ironically,
raising a hand in salutation. Harry
tapped Ginny on the shoulder.
"Ginny," he began, "Do you …" Abruptly, pandemonium broke out around them. The tannoy began blaring incomprehensible
instructions at a far greater volume than before, accompanied by a number of
wailing klaxons, shouting officials, and running air stewardesses. Ginny saw other people standing on the
Observation Gallery being physically pulled away from the windows by staff, and
turned to Harry just in time to see him finishing an incantation.
"I've put an Everyday charm on us." He explained, "I think
we can probably look after ourselves better than anyone else here today." He turned worried eyes to her.
"Ginny, quickly: do you recognise that man over there? On the other side of the window?" She followed his gaze and gasped, her hand
to her mouth.
"Great Merlin! Harry, it's Peter Pettigrew!" Harry nodded grimly, his mouth hardening into a straight line.
"What's he doing here, I wonder?"
As if in answer, a shadow fell over the window and the two
wizards looked up sharply. Ginny's
mouth fell open and she grabbed at Harry's arm in shock.
"Harry, that 'plane – it's coming straight for us!" Sure enough, a huge cargo plane was coming
in much too low, much too fast and apparently straight for the Terminal
Building. Harry, his wand already out,
was making several swift passes through the air.
"Praetidictio vaticinium." he muttered, watching the
scene in front of him keenly. Dotted
white lines, angles and arrows started to form over the ground, the air in
between and the cargo plane, just like an architect's diagram. Harry studied the lines for a second, then shook
his head, horror dawning in his eyes.
"It's not going to hit us, Ginny. If it doesn't change course immediately, it's going to take out
that Boeing down there: the one George is on!" Harry wasted no more time. Vaulting
the safety rail, he ran as close to the glass as he could get, raised his wand
and started intoning, trying to get a fix on the rogue plane. Ginny joined him almost immediately, but
kept quiet so as not to distract him. The plane wasn't slowing any and Harry frowned, biting his lip in
concentration.
"I can't get a grip!" he gasped, panting with effort, "It's
too heavy for a Stasis Charm, and it's moving too fast for me to catch it with
an Anti-Gravity Hex!" He raised his
wand again.
"Keep trying – you have to!" screamed Ginny, white-faced
with fear. She grabbed his arm again
and suddenly Harry's mind cleared. He
could see the scene before him as if in a black-and-white negative, and all the
possibilities of its destiny flashed before him. He saw the smoke and conflagration as the cargo plane ploughed
into the barely moving Boeing and exploded; he saw it shiver in mid-air and
drop to the ground just in front of the passenger plane, engulfing both in an
inferno of burning fuel oil; he saw it lift its nose momentarily – just enough
to send it smashing through the thick glass of the gallery window, crushing
staff and travellers alike to pulp, reducing the terminal building to rubble; -
and he saw it change course in mid-air, turning to avoid both buildings and
machines, landing safely on an unused part of the runway.
Harry turned to his girlfriend and took her hand in
his. Abruptly, power surged through his
body towards his wand arm, and a jet of purple light shot from the end,
dividing as it met the unyielding surface of the cargo plane to make a gleaming
purple cage around its immense bulk. Ginny clung to Harry's hand with all her might, pouring all the
resources of her considerable talent into his mind, watching in fear and then
incredible relief as the cargo plane slowly, ponderously lifted its nose,
changed course and came in to land harmlessly on the tarmac. The next thing she saw was the shadow of a
passenger plane going past the window: George's Boeing 747 had kept to its
take-off window.
She felt a drag on her hand and glanced down at Harry in
concern. He had slid down the window in
exhaustion and was sitting with his head bowed, trying to get his breath
back. She knelt down at his side,
putting an arm around his shoulders, running her fingers soothingly through the
black hair falling over his face. He
glanced up at her and sighed.
"Ye gods, that was hard, Ginny." He breathed, with scarcely
enough energy to hold his head up, "Without your help, I don't think I could –
" Without finishing the sentence, he turned sharply towards the other end of
the Observation Gallery. The figure of
Peter Pettigrew had disappeared.
"Hey, you!" A loud
shout interrupted them and they turned towards the sound. A uniformed official was gesturing angrily
at them.
"The area behind the safety rail's out of bounds – can't you
read the signs? And what are you doing here anyway? The Observation Gallery's been cleared already – if that plane
had crashed into the building, you'd have been the first to go!" Ginny's face reddened with annoyance, and
she opened her mouth to protest, but Harry laid a gentle hand on her arm,
levering himself to his feet with difficulty.
"Ah, but it didn't crash. And in the end, that's all that matters – isn't it?" Leaning on Ginny and smiling benignly at the
bemused official, Harry exited quietly, stage left.
"Ah! They're
back. He got off okay then, did
he?" The voice was Lee's, delivered
over the rim of a hot mug of tea, and Harry and Ginny entered the kitchen of
Harry's House to a universal smile from all its current occupants.
"Traffic bad was it? You look just about all-in." This was from Fred. Fred no
longer lived in Harry's House, having moved into a flat a couple of miles east
of St. John's Wood, near Mornington Crescent, but this in no way prevented him
from treating his old stamping ground as a second home when he felt so
inclined. In fact, the other residents
scarcely noticed the change, particularly when George, having been evicted from
his brother Ron's flat in favour of Hermione, promptly took over the vacant
room. Lee and Oliver had also been made
homeless by the marriage, but had also transferred their belongings (and their
lives) to Harry's House, much to the delight of its owner. It made up a little for losing
Hermione.
Oliver waved his wand in the direction of the teapot and two
fresh mugs of steaming tea floated over to the new arrivals. Harry sank gratefully into a chair and Ginny
threw the car keys into Fred's lap before sipping gratefully at the hot
liquid. Fred leaned forward curiously.
"Harry, has anything happened?" he asked in a quiet voice,
"George is okay, isn't he? You didn't
have any sort of – accident?" Ginny
smiled wryly.
"Prevented one, more like, Fred." she replied, giving Harry
a chance to gather his wits. "Harry
here has just averted potentially one of the worst aviation disasters to happen
at any of the world's major airports – and he'll never get any of the credit!"
"I had a good deal of help from you." Harry responded,
having sunk half of his tea and sat back in the chair, feeling slightly more
human. Between them, Harry and Ginny
told the story of the near catastrophe, reassuring their friends that George's
plane had simply continued on its journey, unaware of its near miss.
"You say you saw Peter Pettigrew." Fred's tone was casual,
but a muscle twitched in his jaw. Harry
nodded.
"It couldn't have been anyone else – I saw his hand." He
shuddered, remembering how and when Pettigrew had received that particular
appendage. Fred nodded slowly, but said
no more.
"And George doesn't know how near a thing it was?" Lee asked
Ginny, "Perhaps someone ought to tell him. After all, it might have something to do with the job he's on?" He looked questioningly at Fred, but
received no answer.
"I've sent an owl to George telling him what happened,"
Ginny said, "But seeing as he'll be travelling for at least 24 hours, I sent it
to his destination address with instructions to wait for him. It'll be a little while before he'll be able
to reply." Oliver rose to his feet with
a purposeful look on his face, pointed his wand at the tea things and began to
clear away. While they were washing
themselves up, he went to investigate the contents of the fridge, exclaiming in
triumph on finding 1lb of minced pork and a couple of red peppers.
"Who's in for supper tonight?" he demanded over his
shoulder. The response was unanimous,
including Fred.
"Okay, I'll cook." he said, still investigating the food
supplies. Ginny leaped up in guilty
consternation.
"Oh, Oliver, no!" she protested, "It's my turn to feed
everyone tonight – you do far more than your fair share!" He shrugged, using his wand to empty a small
cupboard of its stock of tins. Everyone
ducked as they floated towards the now clear kitchen table.
"I only got back last week after two exhausting months in
Transylvania." He began, "I'm sick of
travelling, sick of Quidditch and – most importantly – sick of hotel food. While I'm home, I want to taste real home
cooking."
"Oh?" replied Ginny, in mock offence, "And is my food not
"real" enough for you, then?" Oliver
stopped opening tins long enough to put a companionable arm around her
shoulders.
"Ginny, my dear," he said, charm oozing from every pore, "I
love everything about you, including your stupendous cooking …"
"But you don't want to eat any of it?"
"Let me finish. I
said I love your cooking, but seeing as I'm away for so much of the year, and
I'm so grateful to you guys for keeping things sorted for me while I'm on tour,
I feel I should really pull my weight when I'm home. I really don't mind cooking – it's shopping I can't stand!" He pointed his wand at some onions, which
floated gently over to a wooden board where a sharp knife began to dice
them. Ginny hugged him.
"You're sweet," she said. He grimaced at the adjective, but went on gamely.
"And, of course, there is the little matter of my cooking
being streets better than anyone else's!" He ducked as wands were drawn and flying objects hurtled towards him
from all corners of the room.
"Okay, okay, I give in!" he shouted from under the table,
"Now, will somebody please call off the ironmongery and peel some
potatoes for me? I've never been able
to master that charm!"
Harry was rather quiet for the rest of that evening. Ginny didn't pressure him, but she was
curious. As soon as was decently
possible, she retired to their bathroom to take a shower, and was relieved when
she heard Harry's distinctive tread coming into their bedroom. She stepped out of the warm spray and
wrapped a large fluffy towel around herself, running a hand through her damp
hair.
"Hi!" she greeted him, padding into the bedroom like a sleek
ginger cat. For once he did not react
to her inadequate attire, but merely nodded and continued to sit on the bed,
his chin in his hands, brooding. She
paused for a moment, then sank down next to him and ran her hands over his
shoulders and back, smoothing the taut muscles, her thumbs finding the pressure
points. He groaned quietly and wriggled
against the movement, feeling the tension drain out of him.
"Before I became a singer, I worked as a masseuse." She
whispered, her lips just grazing his ear. He smiled, his eyes closed.
"And where was that?" Her hands started to work downwards.
"Oh, a little place you and Ron are quite familiar with. In Soho. It's called Luscious Linda's Les…"
"Minx!" Harry turned
quickly, grabbing her upper arms and twisting so that she was suddenly beneath
him on the bed, "That's a Portkey Exchange for the World Wizarding Library, as
well you … wait a minute. How do
you know about that? You weren't with
us that day." Ginny giggled, pleased to
have achieved his undivided attention at last.
"I have my sources," she teased, "And besides – you didn't
really think I'd be content with the Harry Potter version of 'Life Before
Ginny', did you? I've been asking
around."
"And what have you discovered?" Interested, Harry relaxed his deathgrip and leaned on one
elbow. Ginny crowed with laughter.
"Oho, you'd be gobsmacked at the scandal I've managed to
uncover. Rita Skeeter would have a
field day, I'm telling you. Skeletons
in the cupboard? You've got whole
cemeteries of them. Scandal? Enough to keep the Daily Prophet in business
for a year!"
"Really?"
"Actually, no." She
sighed and gave him a crestfallen look. "Disappointingly, no one seems to have
any dirt whatsoever on you. Not even so
much as a Broomstick Speeding Offence." She sighed and started to sit up. "I guess I shall have to go to LA and
ask Neville." She found herself pinned
to the bed again by a grinning Harry.
"Not right now, you won't!"
"Oh really?" Ginny turned
innocent brown eyes to him, "Did you have something else in mind then?"
"Uh huh."
"Would you care to enlighten me as to what?" Still smiling, Harry bent his elbows to
bring his mouth down on to hers, only to find himself unexpectedly flipped over
on his back, straddled by two slim legs with his arms pinioned above his head.
"You were saying?" she continued, sweetly. He laughed, raising his eyebrows as her
towel, thoroughly loosened by the exercise, slipped further and further
down. She made no attempt to stop it.
"You know," she said conversationally, smiling down at him,
"It's just as well this mind-melding thing doesn't involve telepathy at any
other time. I'm so much smaller and
slighter, I would never have been able to get the better of you like that if I
hadn't had surprise on my side." Harry's smile faded slightly and his eyes clouded over. Ginny nodded to herself.
"I thought so." she said out loud, climbing off him and
re-fastening her towel.
"Hey!" he protested, "I liked it better before." She made a face at him and held up a stern
finger.
"Harry Potter, don't try to change the subject." she began,
"You've been deep in thought all evening. You stuffed down Oliver's delicious meal without a word, hardly drank
any wine – even though it was a very good Rumanian red which Charlie left here,
refused coffee, and now this preoccupation has even put you off your stride in
the nookie department!"
"Who says?" demanded Harry, leaping up off the bed in
outrage. He reached for her. "Nothing puts me off sex with you!" One arm wound firmly around her waist, Harry
used the other hand to grasp her jaw, dipping his head to once more try to kiss
her. Ginny wriggled free, somehow
retaining her towel.
"Yeah, yeah." she smiled, "Save the macho posturing for
someone who likes that sort of thing." Her smile faded and she sat down again.
"Seriously, my love, something's bothering you about this
afternoon." Her huge brown eyes looked
limpidly into his bright green ones, "If you can't share it with me, who can
you share it with?" Harry paused
for a moment, drinking in the elfin beauty of her face with its high
cheekbones, pale skin dusted with freckles and full, pouting lips. He sighed.
"Okay, Ginny, it's this way." He frowned, stroking his bottom lip with his index finger.
"Pettigrew was on the Observation Gallery the same time as us, right? Now that's just too much of a coincidence
for me to swallow – he had to have something to do with the cargo plane going
haywire. Okay, say he was there specifically
to cause a serious accident. Why do it
in the full view of two wizards powerful enough to avert the crisis? Surely he could have picked a better time to
cause mayhem sometime after we'd left the place." Ginny was pacing about the room shaking her head.
"No, Harry, that's not how I read it at all." she protested,
"I don't think this was a random act in any manner of being. I think George was his target – and if we
hadn't been there, Pettigrew would have succeeded in taking him out. That's why it's so important that we contact
George as soon as possible: he must be in terrible danger."
"Hmm." Harry sounded
not totally convinced. "Ginny, I know what you're saying makes sense, but
somehow I just can't totally buy it." She
frowned in exasperation and spread her hands wide.
"Harry, what other explanation could there be?" He shook his head.
"I don't know," he replied, "But I can't help thinking that
there's more to this than meets the eye." Smiling, Ginny knelt in front of him and gently brushed the untidy dark
hair away from his face.
"Do you know," she began, softly, "I never thought I'd see
the day when a plump, balding, cowardly, incompetent wizard would occupy your
attention while I was in the room – particularly in my current state of
undress. Harry Potter, are you losing
your touch?" In answer, Harry tilted
her chin towards him and kissed her deeply, pulling gently at the towel as he
did so.
"Pettigrew can go hang himself." he whispered, running his
lips over her ear, "I'm not interested in wizards, only witches. Beautiful, red-haired witches who drive me
absolutely wild, both in and out of bed!" He paused to pull his teeshirt over his head. He was starting to lose his deep California tan, but he was still
as muscular as ever. Ginny looped her
arms around his neck, pulling his mouth down on to hers as they sank into the
depths of the duvet.
"Prove it!" she whispered seductively, writhing sinuously
beneath him. He proceeded to do just
that.