Chapter 3
The following morning, my alarm clock didn't wake me. Instead, a noise in my kitchen did. I got up, quickly, pulling the knife that I kept under my pillow out, and walked down the stairs to confront the burglar.
That was the second time I threatened Celia with my knife, "I thought you were someone else," I offered as I stood there, watching Celia wipe away the water she had spilt when I startled her.
"Who would I be?" she asked, sarcastically, "Santa Claus?"
"No," I shook my head, before I made my way back upstairs to take my shower and get dressed.
"What on earth is his problem?" Celia asked. I don't think I was supposed to hear, but I couldn't help but smirk a little.
A few minutes later, I was back downstairs. I picked up the phone and ordered two different advertisements to be published in the Newspaper.
One was a man holding his arm high. An owl was flying above him, circling. Message Received.
The second was a wand. Nothing more and nothing less – or, maybe, it was simply a pretty stick. It didn't matter. Magic Resurfaced.
I smiled to myself when, suddenly, the doorbell rang. Before I could even get up, Celia had jumped up and ran towards the door, grinning widely.
"Hello," she greeted the boy at the door.
"Who are you?" he asked.
I didn't give Celia time to reply, "What are you doing here?" I asked, recognizing the newspaper boy.
"I thought something might have happened to you," the boy explained, "You see, Mr. J, the one time you didn't pick up your newspaper as soon as I delivered it, you ran a rather high fever. As I recall you spent the better part of a month in the hospital because no one found you."
"As touching as your concern is," I said, snatching the newspaper from his hand, "It is completely unnecessary."
I slammed the door shut in his face and sighed a little.
"That was unnecessary, too," Celia added, just as the clock chimed. 7:32.
Again, Celia jumped and once again I sighed, "I'm running behind, today," I said, taking a bit of my toast before I went to the next room. Celia trailed after me like a lost puppy, "What are we going to do today?"
"I have to go shopping. And then we'll have to enroll you."
"But it's June," Celia complained, "School is nearly over."
"Be that as it may," I replied, pulling out a book from the shelf, "We're going to see the headmaster today. Now, go do something. I don't want to be disturbed for the next couple of hours."
"Isn't this a public library?" the girl asked, confused.
"Yes, still, no one ever comes here." I said, before I started to read. Celia walked around between the shelves for a while, pulling out books here and there until I told her – rather harshly, I'm afraid – not to make a mess. Celia then simply took the book she was holding at the moment and sat down, right where she was standing, reading the book.
Suddenly, the door chimed. "Yes?" I asked, looking up.
"Hello, Mr. J," the boy that had visited in the morning said, smiling a little.
"Hello," I replied, "What do you want?"
"I was wondering if your daughter might want to join us young folks at the bonfire tonight."
"I'm not his daughter – and thank God for that," Celia interrupted, coming out from behind the shelf.
"Yes, thank God," I echoed, "And no, she can't. We have errands to run."
"But not all day, Uncle Phil," Celia said, suddenly calling me 'Uncle Phil'. – trying to smooze, I supposed.
"We'll see," I replied, "So, do you need a book, too, or are you just here to annoy me?" I asked, glaring at the boy who, in turn, simply smiled back and began walking around between the shelves. I saw Celia following him and no matter how much I disapproved of her having any sort of social contact to the villagers I knew that I could do nothing to stop her.
However, the boy didn't stay very long. He was too scared of me, I supposed, or maybe he had some errand to run. It didn't matter, as long as he was gone.
At two, I closed the library and got my money. Together, we walked into town, drawing a lot of looks – most probably because I was never seen with anyone. In all my years there I had never been a very social person.
Our first stop was the school. I pushed the door open and allowed Celia to walk before me down the hallway. Behind us, the door fell shut with a bang. We made our way down the hall and towards the offices. Even though I had never been in the school they were easy to find as the school was rather tiny.
I knocked on the door and a young woman opened the door, "Mister Jameson," she said, surprised.
"Is the headmistress here?" I asked, entering the room with Celia trailing behind me.
"Yes," the woman nodded, "If you'll hold on for just a second."
She smiled again and left the room. "Do you have to be this way?" Celia asked.
"What way?" I feigned ignorance.
"You know, if you'd just smile back and start a conversation or two maybe people would actually like you."
"What if I don't want people to like me?" I asked, frowning at her.
"Of course you want people to like you – everyone does."
I sighed a little and said nothing as I turned back towards the door through which the woman had disappeared. A few seconds later, she opened the door again. "The Headmistress is ready for you now."
I walked through the door only to be faced with a stern-looking woman about ten years my senior. She looked as disinclined to smile as I was and I couldn't help but grin a little as she stood up from her chair to greet us.
"Hello, Mister Jameson," the woman said, gesturing towards the chairs which stood on the other side of her desk.
"Nice to meet you," I replied, shaking her hand as I took a seat. Celia was just standing in the door next to the secretary.
"This is Celia, my niece," I said, gesturing towards the girl, "She just moved in with me…"
"And you want to enroll her."
"Yes," I nodded, "I was wondering whether it was too late in the year to do so."
"Well, it is your choice, really," the woman said, "I assume you have all the necessary papers?"
"Of course," I nodded and pulled out the papers that Dudley had given me.
The headmistress put on her glasses and studied the paper for a few minutes before smiling weakly, "Well, everything seems to be in order."
"Then you can expect Celia here tomorrow morning at eight," I said, standing up and shaking the woman's hand before guiding Celia out of the room.
"Why?" Celia asked as soon as we were out of earshot, "Do I have to go to school tomorrow?"
"What else would you do?" I asked, turning to face her, "You need to meet the others otherwise they'll become too curious."
"Right. So I need to meet them but I can't be friends with them?"
"Try to blend in, Celia." I said, exiting the school and walking over to the grocery store.
"Is that what you're doing?" the girl asked, pulling up an eyebrow, "Because it seems to me that everyone here knows you."
"They know of me," I corrected the girl as I took a cart and began to fill it with groceries, "Just like they will know of you, soon."
Celia sighed and nodded.
"What do you want?" I asked her, deciding that maybe I should try and make her feel a little more welcome, "Any special treat?"
She looked up, startled, before pulling a box of cereal out of the cupboard. I sighed and grabbed an extra carton of milk before approaching the cash register.
"Anything else?" I asked her, but she just shook her head.
"Good," I nodded and put my purchases into plastic bags. Handing two of the bags to Celia, I left the store and headed straight home.
"So, what are we going to do now?" Celia asked after we had finished putting the groceries into the cupboards.
"I'm going to read," I replied, "As long as you don't make any noise, I don't really care what you do."
Celia nodded and walked upstairs. I assumed that she was going to her room and so I pulled out the envelope that I had handed to the headmistress and went through the papers. It seemed that Celia was an average student. It seemed that Creative Writing was the only subject in which he really excelled. I shrugged a little and was about to put the papers away again when my eyes fell on the last sheet of paper, tucked between her first-grade report card and the certificate proving that she attended ballet classes in kindergarten was something that I hadn't expected.
Adoption papers. Granting me full custody of Celia Dursley.
I quickly put the papers back into the envelope and put the envelope into my desk, locking the drawer.
Suddenly, I knew that Celia was standing behind me again and I swirled around, "Hungry?" I asked.
The girl nodded and I went into the kitchen and began to prepare dinner while Celia was sitting on the counter, watching me.
"You know, Uncle Phil," the girl said, suddenly, "I think you're a really bitter and old man. I don't know what dad thought he was doing when he sent me here."
"I suppose your dad was too scared to really think properly when he sent you here."
"Scared?" Celia asked, confused.
"He's always been scared of magic," I shrugged a little as I stirred, "I don't pretend to understand. Because no matter how bitter I am I'd never give away my daughter."
"He didn't give me away," the girl said, defending her father, "And it's not as though he had any other choice – I have to learn to control my magic."
"Celia, you can already control your magic. You can suppress it. Every child automatically learns that."
"Then why did you take me in?" she asked, "I thought you took me in to teach me how to use magic, but you already said you're not going to do that and since I already know how to suppress it – why couldn't I stay with my family?"
"Because, in a way, your father was right: Magic is dangerous. It's not a child's game. And I know enough to know that in the beginning, you would suppress it but then you'd get curious. You'd start experimenting, pushing your limits until, one day, in a big, gigantic leap you'd cross the line. And the consequences would be disastrous."
"So you're here to teach me that I shouldn't use magic." The girl summarized, "So why didn't you do the same? Why did you use magic?"
"Because it was different back then," I replied, pulling the pot from the stove, "Back then, we were an entire society. There was a system, a balance. When a witch or wizard acted out, when they threatened to cross the line there was a government in place to make sure that that would not happen."
The girl stared at me and blinked slowly, "Right, that's it for today," I said, putting the food on plates and handing her a spoon.
"What do you do when you're not in the library or reading elsewhere?" the girl asked, suddenly.
I didn't reply immediately and just took a bite, "That," I said, slowly, "is none of your business."
The girl nodded immediately, mumbled an apology and began to eat her food in silence.
I assume that she had expected a different response. Maybe she had thought I was warming up to her. But I wasn't. I couldn't let myself – she was Dudley's daughter. And as much as I despised it when people judged me due to my parents' actions I couldn't help but do the same to Celia.
Suddenly, I couldn't just sit there anymore. I got up and put my plate in the sink before I turned around and walked up the stairs towards the attic. At the door, I pulled out my key and unlocked the door, aware that there had been a time when this lock would not have kept anyone out. When I could cast wards with just the blink of my eye.
I pulled open the door and entered, locking it behind myself. I smiled a little as I looked around. This room had been my refuge for years now. When I had first moved in with the old librarian, he offered me this room and I had taken my things out of storage.
I let my eyes sweep across the familiar room, the bookshelves filled with magical texts and artifacts, the pictures that had once contained moving memories and that were now frozen and hung on the wall, the stacks of old newspapers documenting Voldemort's rise and fall and the depletion of magic, the potions rack filled with now completely useless ingredients, potions and creams, the exercise machines and the chair which stood in the middle of the room.
Next to the chair was a stack of books that I had recently read and yet to put back into the shelf. I smiled as I picked up the top book – Hogwarts: a history. Once again I was reminded of Hermione. Nearly automatically I looked up at the picture which hung in plain view. It portrayed Ron, Hermione and myself.
Once, Ron had grinned and slung an arm around my shoulder before boxing me in a friendly manner whilst I evaded his punch, at the same time pulling Hermione, who was rolling her eyes at our antics, closer towards us.
Now, though, we were stuck somewhat in between. An awkward distance had been created. I sighed and picked up the next book in order to put them into the shelf. The only book which I left out was the first one, Hermione's favorite.
I don't know how I came to be the librarian when it so obviously should have been Hermione. But she had said that she couldn't keep the books since that'd be exactly what they would expect. And so we put most of them in storage under one of my assumed identities. Hermione told me time and time again that I should collect the tings as soon as possible to avoid detection.
And thus I had built up this sanctuary. I bent down before the bookcase, looking at the lowest row of books. These were my Hogwarts books.
Should I give Celia access to some of these texts? After all, what sort of a librarian guards his books instead of letting the public read them?
This notion only lasted for a short moment. After all, I knew how dangerous knowledge could be and I had no intention of tempting Celia.
This is until my eyes fell on the series of history books that I had forced myself through. I smiled a little and picked them up. Maybe this would be good literature for Celia. Maybe this would give her something to do should she ever begin to bother me about magic again.
I startled when I heard a noise from downstairs and dropped the books. I quickly unlocked the door and ran down the stairs towards the kitchen. I was sure that something horrific had happened.
However, as soon as I entered the kitchen I knew that that was not the case. Celia was bent over, picking up the shards of a plate.
"What happened?" I asked.
"I'm sorry, Uncle Phil," the girl said, looking up, "It's just, well, I was washing the plates when an owl crashed against the window and I was so startled I dropped the plates and broke them."
"An owl?" I asked, looking at her, "Are you sure?"
"Yes, rather," the girl nodded, "It was white owl. I think…I think she might have been carrying a piece of paper in her talons."
I grasped the chair for stabilization as I suddenly got a little dizzy. An owl carrying a letter. Owls had been one of the first things to disappear from our daily lives. Letters would get lost more and more frequently until the last owls had simply been let go.
It wasn't really possible that owls were suddenly back without any human interference. Who could have put a spell as advanced as this on an owl? And who was using the owls?
I had lost Hedwig years before that happened, but watching pig fly away, out of the window and into the dark sky had seemed rather finale. It was then I had known that the beginning of the end had really arrived.
I went outside and really, there, before the window lay a white owl. As I bent down to get a closer look, I saw that she really was carrying a letter written on parchment. How long had it been since I'd touched parchment.
As I unrolled the scroll, I saw that whoever had written the letter had used a quill and, from the way it was written, it seemed like whoever it was had been using quills all their life. To my astonishment, it was addressed to me.
"Potter,
I am sending this letter in the hope that you are, contrary to popular belief, still alive. I don't know how many of these letters I have written to you in the past few years. The owl always came back – without the letter.
Maybe you got all my letters and are simply not replying. Though I cannot imagine that. On the other hand, why would you? After all, I give no reason for you to trust me. I give you no name, no details and no proof.
Merlin, I sound like a rambling fool. Anyways, I am writing to tell you that trouble is brewing. Magic is resurfacing, slowly. Mostly in Muggleborns.
You are familiar with the old families' believes. There is movement. For years I have been watching and now I can see a regrouping. A shift in power.
Potter, they are planning something. And, knowing the fools they are, it's something terrible. Something that will backfire eventually.
I am pleading with you – do something. I know you. You are not as out of touch with the rest of us as we might think. And if anyone can do something then you can.
Thank you for at least reading my letter."
I lowered the letter slowly and picked up the owl that was still out cold. "What happened to her?"
"Her?" I asked, looking up at Celia, "How could you possibly know that?"
"I don't know," she smiled a little awkwardly, "Doesn't she look like a she to you?"
I just shrugged and carried both the owl and the letter inside. "What are you going to do with her?" Celia asked, following me inside.
"I don't know," I shrugged again.
"Can we keep her?"
"She belongs to someone," I replied, "We have to send her back."
"Look at her wing, Uncle Phil," Celia said, "I think it may be broken."
I sighed and nodded. Celia was right. Once again I wished for my magic back.
"Can't we do something?" the girl asked.
I nodded, "We could take her to a vet, but the nearest one is two villages away. No, I think we'll wait."
"But she may die. Or she may never be able to fly again."
"If she is a magical owl, she won't need a vet. She'll just need a few weeks' rest. And if she isn't, then I wonder how she managed to deliver a letter."
"So the letter was for you?"
I nodded again and turned my attention back towards the letter. Who had sent it? Obviously someone I had known. From the way it was written I was nearly entirely certain that whoever it was was a pureblood and had contacts in the former 'high society'.
Maybe I should have stayed in touch, then I might have had a better idea who could have sent that letter. But, as it was, there was nothing I could do except get another advertisement published. This time I chose an owl carrying a question mark. Its talons were cut off and it seemed to smile – as much as cartoon owls can, that is. Mysterious contact or contact with unknown allegiance made. No danger.
I sighed, knowing that I was publishing too many advertisements in a short time. Someone could get suspicious, after all most of the images clearly alluded to magic. Thus, I quickly placed three more calls ordering another advertisement and cancelling my subscription. The last call was to a different newspaper.
Hermione would understand and do the same tomorrow. From now on the two of us would pass our messages via a different newspaper and through the personal ads instead of the advertisements.
As I put down the phone, I had made my decision. I wouldn't do anything. As horrible as it sounded, it wasn't my problem anymore. I had saved them once.
At least that's what I tried to tell myself. The fact was, I had also caused the collapse of everything that was controlling them. For the first time I wondered whether, maybe, Hermione had been wrong. Maybe we shouldn't have split up like this. Maybe all of us should have stayed behind.
Instead, we had split up each with our own mission. Hermione was to infiltrate the muggle law enforcement under a different name. That way she'd have access to most resources and suspicious activities would not be missed.
Ginny was to make contact with the old pureblood circles. Find out what they are up to – because we were certain of one thing: they would definitely be up to something to gain back what they had lost. She was the only one who was using her real name. After all, despite being a blood traitor, she was still a pureblood.
Ron was to travel around, looking for signs of magic. He was following rumors that Hermione and Ginny heard looking for magic.
It seemed that I was the only one who didn't do something productive. I was the only one who hid away. Hermione had argued, again and again, that I'd be in the most danger. That they'd all be looking for me. She'd argued and argued, saying that I couldn't infiltrate Purebloods since, well, I wasn't one and that travelling around, following rumors of magic would be too dangerous, too, since others might very well do the same.
And when I proposed that I could do her job, she just smirked a little and reminded me that she was the one with the brains. She was right, of course. And so I was stuck here, in this little town, guarding what was left of magic.
Whoever had sent me the letter probably assumed that I was still the same man I had been before. During the war I would never have imagined living as I did now – in hiding. I was reckless; I went into everything head-first without thinking for a second.
What had changed me?
I sighed a little and put the letter into my pocket before I went upstairs back towards my room, carrying the owl. As I walked up the stairs, I suddenly saw that I had left the door to the attic open. I got my key out of my pocket and approached the door, when I saw Celia standing in the middle of the room.
"What are you doing?" I asked, angrily.
Celia whirled around from where she had been standing, looking at one of the pictures. She dropped it and it clanged to the floor with a bang, breaking.
"I'm so sorry," she said, looking down. I sighed and picked it up and placed it on the shelf. It was an old picture, taken after my first year at Hogwarts on Kings Cross.
I immediately knew why Celia had picked the picture – it depicted Hermione, Ron and myself, surrounded by other wizards and witches. It was probably the first picture she saw as proof that the world really had existed.
But that was not the reason why she had picked it. She had picked it, because, in the background, Dudley, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon stood, looking over.
"Is that dad and his family?" Celia asked.
"Yes," I nodded, walking over to where I had dropped the history books. "Well, I suppose it's good that you came here, these," I handed her the stack, "are for you."
"For me?"
"To read. I want them back in pristine condition. They are one of a kind, after all."
Hermione had spent months working on the charm to extract all magic from the books to keep them from disintegrating when magic failed. A few of the really old books Hermione had even copied out by hand.
Celia nodded and looked at the owl, "What are you going to do with her?"
"Put her in a cage," I replied, "I wouldn't want her flying away and bringing someone back, now would I?"
"No, I suppose not. Good night, Uncle Phil."
"Celia," I said, suddenly, "You will not enter this room again, do you understand me? There are only two rooms which are off limit to you – this room and my bedroom. And I will not have you invade my privacy again. Now, I realize that I forgot to lock the door and that I never explicitly said that you couldn't come in here – but now you know and I won't have you here."
The girl looked at me, defiantly, and I thought she was going to argue but then, with one last, wistful look at the room, she left.
I sat down on my chair and put the owl on my lap, "What am I going to do with you?" I asked, stroking her feathers gently. Somehow, she reminded me of Hedwig.
I walked over to the book shelf and pulled out a book on Quidditch. I shook it a little and a single leaf of paper fell out. Smiling a little, I put the book back into the shelf and bent down. It was a muggle picture, taken on Dudley's seventeenth birthday. When the Dursleys had left to go into hiding, I had taken the picture along.
Not because I loved them so much and couldn't live without their picture. But also not because I wanted to annoy them. It was a reminder as to why I was fighting. I was fighting for families like the Dursleys and the Weasleys. And, despite it all, they were family.
And now I was looking at the picture, wondering if maybe it was time to give the picture back. Or at least to give the picture to Celia. I had seen how hungrily she had stared at the picture she had shattered earlier despite the fact that her family wasn't really in focus at all.
No, I decided, I would not give her the picture. At least not yet.
And thus I smiled a little and put the picture away before I left the room and went to sleep. I left the owl behind in the attic and locked the door behind myself. I couldn't let the owl escape. Who knew whom she could bring back.
At 6:24, like every morning, the alarm rang. I rolled over and hit the snooze button. A few minutes later, the alarm rang again and I rolled out of the bed, pulled my robe around myself and went downstairs.
I took the butter out of the fridge, put the kettle on the stove and popped two slices of toast into the toaster. For a moment I hesitated before I took a bowl, a spoon, the milk carton and the cereal out of the cabinets and placed them on the table.
I smiled a little before I turned around and made my way upstairs to take a shower. As I did so I could hear Celia move around her room. It was strange, I found, to have someone living with me. For nearly fifteen years I had been all alone and now, suddenly, Celia was living with me again.
I took my shower, brushed my teeth and got dressed before walking downstairs. As I entered the kitchen, I saw Celia sitting at the table, eating the cereal and smiling a little. I nearly returned the smile when the kettle whistled and I wondered why I was a little early when I remembered that I had forgotten to get the newspaper.
I was about to go outside when Celia called out to me, "Mark brought the paper in while you were upstairs," she said, smiling.
I nodded, turned around and poured myself some tea, "Do you want some?" I asked, holding up the kettle. Celia just shook her head and continued eating as I sat down and spread the butter on my toast. I began to leaf through the paper. Hermione had encoded a message and I couldn't help but smile a little.
She wanted to meet. I could feel my heart begin to race as I remembered the last time I had seen her on the day that magic had finally failed.
I skimmed over the announcement again to make sure I had it right, "Kita looking for Roaring Lion. Contact Newspaper for more information."
I smiled a little. Roaring Lion might be a bit obvious, but it didn't matter. The announcement gave neither time nor place. Kita – an acronym for Know-it-all – was Hermione's nom de plume.
I knew where and when we'd meet. That had been arranged earlier. We'd meet exactly one day after the announcement had been published in a small café that we had used while undercover during the war.
Suddenly, the clock chimed and Celia jumped a little. "You should get going," I told her and she nodded. I had a lot of things to prepare for the following day. I would have to leave early in the morning in order to be at the café on time. After all, it wouldn't do to let Hermione wait.
Celia left quickly whilst I got up and went next door. I spent the whole day staring down at my book, unable to concentrate.
"Hello," the bell rang suddenly, and I looked up.
"Yes?" I asked, looking at the stout man that had entered the room.
"Hello," he smiled a little, "My name is Smith, and I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions."
I looked at him and pulled up an eyebrow without replying. Apparently it wasn't needed either since the man just nodded and took a seat, smiling at me.
He didn't say anything and I wasn't inclined to begin speaking either, so we just sat there, staring at one another. "How did you do it?" I asked, suddenly, realizing who it was that I was talking to, "This…this is impossible."
"Not quite, Mr. Potter," the man said, and though I could see no sneer on the round face before me I knew that it was there – just buried beneath the surface.
"What do you want?" I asked, without moving, "Why have you come here now?"
"Because you know where Ms. Weasley is."
"Actually, I don't," I replied, "I haven't seen her since that day."
"Really?" the man asked, pulling up an eyebrow before leaning closer towards me, "See, I don't believe you. You're Harry Potter. You are involved in everything – and something as reckless as Ms. Weasley's mission," he sneered openly now, "Now, I'd bet anything on the fact that you're involved."
"You'd be wrong," I replied, evenly, though my heart was racing, "I'll have you know that I have no part in your world anymore. I have no contact. It doesn't exist anymore."
"Oh, Mister Potter, that society will never cease to exist. Now, tell me where I can find Ms. Weasley. What did she send you?"
"I got nothing. I know nothing about her mission. And if Ginny got into trouble, well, I can assure you that it was all her idea."
"So you're saying that you really have no idea? I was of the impression that you two are…more than just friends."
"We used to be," I replied, shrugging, "At the moment we're less than just friends. As I said before, I haven't seen her since that day,"
That day, just like the magical world could never say Voldemort, they couldn't say the day that magic failed. Instead they settled for euphemisms: you-know-who. That day.
"I see," the man nodded though I wasn't sure whether he believed me.
"Now," I said, standing up, "How did you find me? How are you still alive for that matter?"
"That," the man said, smirking at me, "Is for me to know and for you to find out."
I nodded and sat back down, "I'm sure you can find your own way out."
"You know, Potter," the man said, suddenly, "I see that the rumors are correct. You're not coming back to save the world – you need to be saved yourself."
"I'm fine," I replied, just as I had so often said, trying to assure everyone around me that nothing was wrong with me.
"No," the man shook his head, "You're not. The Harry Potter I knew would never hide in a tiny muggle village like this, hiding from is destiny, from his duty. And he definitely would never have just let me enter and leave like this."
"Why wouldn't I let you enter and leave?" I asked, pulling up an eyebrow, "We both know why you did what you did. You're no danger to me, you're no threat to me."
The man scoffed, "You're a coward." He said, turning around to leave.
"Maybe," I replied, "Or maybe I've just grown up and learned to pick my battles."
"Pick you battles, Potter, how very Slytherin of you."
"Well, the hat always did say I would have made a good Slytherin." I smiled a little, leaning back. "Tell me, what happened to Ginny?"
"I don't know," the man replied, "She found something about the plan. She got a message to me, telling me that she knew what they were doing. She told me where to meet, but she never showed up."
"You'll have me believe that you and Ginny worked together?" I smiled a little ironically.
"Well, the situation required it of us," he shrugged, "It was a beneficial arrangement for the both of us. And we knew we could trust each other."
"Right," I scoffed a little, "So you're telling me that you worked together, that she found something and promptly disappeared and that the first thing you do afterwards is come look for me?"
He smirked a little, "Indeed."
"So, tell me, how did you find me?" I tried again, "Don't tell me you talked to Lovegood."
"I didn't. It was rather stupid of you to take that owl in," he smirked, "But then again, sending her away would have been just as stupid. Muggles really do have better technology than I gave them credit for."
"GPS," I sighed, leaning back, "Well, I can't say I'm surprised. You always adapted rather well. But I'd bet everything that you did not write that letter. It's not you."
"Not me?" the man laughed a short, dry laugh, "You think you know me?"
"No, but I know that way you talk to me." I replied, smirking. He only nodded slightly admitting that I was right, "So, who wrote the letter?"
The man simply grinned and shook his head and I knew that he would not tell me.
"So why me?" I asked, "Why would Ginny send it to me after all these years?"
"Why you?" the man asked, "You're Harry Potter. She said she sent a contingency plan to someone she trusted."
"Well, she didn't send me anything," I replied, shrugging, "She doesn't even know where I live."
"If I could find you so could she," the man said, scoffing a little, "She knows you better than anyone else."
"She wouldn't send it to me, she'd send it to Hermione," I said, when, suddenly, the cuckoo-clock rang.
"It's two-oh-four," I said, smiling, "If you'll excuse me. I assume that you won't tell any of our mutual acquaintances of my location?"
"Of course not," he smiled a little when the door opened.
"Uncle Phil," Celia exclaimed as she entered, "I…who are you?"
"Celia," I scolded, frowning a little, "Is that how you treat my guests?"
"So I'm your guest now, Potter?" I could see his lip twitching.
"Potter?" the girl asked, "So you're…one of them?"
"I am a wizard."
"Celia, this is Smith," I said, emphasizing the false name that I had been given, "This is my cousin's daughter, Celia."
I put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her towards me. "No need to be so protective, I won't eat her. So this is that whale's daughter?"
"Hey," the girl exclaimed but I couldn't help but chuckle quietly.
"Why are you raising her?" he asked.
"That is none of your business." I said, "Weren't you going to leave?"
"Yes," he replied, "Contact me if you hear anything," he said, handing me a card. As he did so his sleeve moved a little and I could see the old and too familiar tattoo. I touched it carefully.
"Sometimes I think it was a dream," I said.
"I never do," he said, "I am constantly reminded." With that he finally turned around and left. I stared after him for a while when suddenly Celia said something.
"What did you just say?" I asked, turning to face her.
"Who was that?" she asked.
"No one," I replied, though I was still staring after him. What had happened to Ginny? Did Hermione know anything about it?
Finally I turned around, "Are you hungry?"
"Starving," the girl said, grinning, "What's for lunch?"
