Previously: "Where are we going?"
"Someplace safe. Ordinarily I wouldn't be able to take you, but we've modified security for MI6's sake."
'Modified.' Not 'lightened,' not 'decreased,' not 'forewarned.' 'Modified.' Whatever could that mean?

James Bond wondered momentarily whether he wanted to find out.

---

The choice was, of course, not his to make, as the man called Arthur Weasley was his only lead. Bond kept after him, moving through the crowds of London as would a fish against a current. They had walked only a couple of minutes when Weasley called out "Right then - here we are! Don't make too much of your entrance, though I'm sure no one will notice..." His voice was lost amidst the sounds of the traffic and voices of Charing Cross Road. Bond looked to where Weasley was gesturing.

It was a small, dark building, which could be charitably called "quaint" and uncharitably called "grubby." A sign hanging out front proclaimed that this was the Leaky Cauldron, which appeared to be a pub of sorts. 'From one pub to another,' Bond thought, feeling somewhat impatient. 'Another hydrant attack and my day will have been perfectly symmetrical.'

His reflection was interrupted by the sharp decrease in volume as he and his companion entered the pub. As soon as the door closed, the noise of the outside world vanished instantly. Bond whirled, immediately on guard. The windows still showed Charing Cross Road, but no sound penetrated them, nor did anyone on the streets seem to give the building a passing glance. One lingering gaze at London later, Bond turned back to the Leaky Cauldron.

And found himself the center of attention.

The wrinkled old barkeep had frozen where he stood, the bottle in his hand forgotten. The drink within overflowed the tankard that was its goal. The ten or fifteen patrons' gazes were fixed on the agent, regarding him quite like a pack of wolves regards its prey. Bond felt a twinge of unease, but returned their stony stares with a stoic look of his own that swept the room. The barkeep remembered himself, hastily moving to clean up the mess, and the pubgoers returned to their drinks, mumbling in hushed tones.

Mr. Weasley spoke then. "Back to your drinks, everyone, there's nothing and no one to see here. Come on, then, James - may I call you James?"

Bond grunted his approval, crossing the pub with the red-haired man. As they made their way toward an old mahogany staircase, he caught snatches of conversations, of which (and here he was at once curious and unnerved) he was the subject.

"-lettin' a Muggle in here-"
"-never in all my life-"
"-something to do with You-Know-Who?"

James was totally lost on the meaning of all this. Who was You-Know-Who? What was a Muggle, and why did they call him one?

They reached their destination as he was pondering the third question. Mr. Weasley stopped across from Room 18 - only to turn to the space between rooms 17 and 19. Which, Bond thought, made little sense for a destination.

But this thought was quickly overpowered by the shock of what Weasley did then.

The strange, balding man crouched down in front of the wall, whispered something unintelligible, and stood up as a door of black, varnished oak seemed to form from the patterns on the walls - doorknob and all. The door was numbered -18.

All kinds of alarms went off within Bond's mind. What he had witnessed was impossible - a door appearing as if by magic. But magic didn't exist - it couldn't! Everyone knew that.

Then he made a connection. 'Unless the fire hydrant attack was caused by the same sort of magic.' What hadn't M told him? How much did Weasley know? Bond intended to find out.

Immediately, Bond grabbed Weasley by the shoulders, shoving him up against the newly created door. "What just happened here?" he hissed. Mr. Weasley's eyes widened in surprise and fear, and he sputtered "James - what are you - no, it's-"

"What - just - happened - here?" Bond interrupted, punctuating each word with a slam against the door.

The interrogation ended abruptly when the door was pulled open, and a shocked voice cried out "Arthur!" Powerful hands wrenched Mr. Weasley from Bond's grip, and he drew his pistol - only to have three lengths of wood pointed at him in the same manner as his gun. 'Magic,' he thought. 'Wands?'

The person in the middle of the group spoke. "Inside. Now. Tonks, close the door. Lupin, keep an eye on the Muggle."

Her voice had a ring of maternal and official authority similar to M's. The woman was short and plump, with hair as red as Mr. Weasley's. A look of pure venom marred her otherwise pleasant face. Her wand was pointed directly at Bond's throat as she gave her commands. A young woman with bubblegum-pink hair - apparently Tonks - moved to close the door to Room -18, and a pale, older, tired-looking man kept his wand on James; this was clearly Lupin. Mr. Weasley had backed off. "Now, Molly," he said shakily, "let's not get overhasty...he's only a Muggle-"

"Only a Muggle with a gun, Arthur!" screeched the woman. Bond wondered briefly if she was Weasley's wife, and decided that he did not envy him in the least. "If You-Know-Who is getting ready for war, bring in your Ministry friends, not some mad Muggle with God knows how many of his men watching our every move and WILL YOU PUT THAT GUN DOWN!"

"Molly." A calm yet firm voice interrupted her. It was Lupin who made himself heard. "He comes alone - that much is certain. Kingsley assured us that MI6 was trustworthy, and I am inclined to believe him." Bond didn't know this man, but silently thanked him for taking his side against this woman.

"Now," Lupin continued, turning to Bond. "Molly is right - you should lay down your weapon. I promise no harm will come to you." Bond, still on edge, considered this. There were four of them, and he thought he could subdue the two closest - the ones called Tonks and Lupin - and outrun the rest. Tell M it was a trap, get the SAS in there. Then he remembered the door, and the wands pointed at him. What else could this magic - if indeed that was what it was - do to him?

'Discretion is the better part of valor,' he thought, defeated, and slowly crouched to lay down his gun.

Molly gave a stiff nod, and motioned for him to stand. "Come with us. There's someone who wants to see you." Bond nodded, and followed her into the next room. Tonks and Arthur moved to flank him, while Lupin picked up the gun and slipped it into a large coat pocket.

They emerged in a great hall which seemed far bigger than the pub itself. Bond decided not to think about that too hard, instead taking in the room's furnishings. The walls were done in dark brown oak, and a massive blue chandelier dominated the ceiling. A long table took up half the room, and there was a sitting area with several overstuffed armchairs and couches around a fireplace, which at the moment had a fire blazing in it. About eight people stood or sat in the room - some conversing quietly in the sitting area, others gathered around a blackboard on the far wall, chalk and erasers moving freely. They, like the pubgoers, stopped talking and stared at Bond, only to be detered by an icy glare from Molly.

Bond took all this in, feeling very ill at ease. 'Well,' he thought to himself, 'what have we gotten into this time?'