Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any association with its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction. I do it because I must. A man must do what a man must do, and so must a woman.
"Un-fucking-believable!" growled Ron as he stormed through the wood, stomping on twigs and yellow leaves and iced-over puddles.
"Ron!" breathed Hermione, jogging to keep up with his long strides. "Magorian has a point, don't you think—"
"No, and I was just about to let him know exactly what I think before you dragged me off!"
"I hardly think that starting a fist fight with the centaurs is the best course of action—slow down, Ron!"
Ron stopped abruptly as they reached the faint dirt trail that led back to Hogsmeade village, upon which Ron's enchanted Ford Anglia was parked.
"I'm human," said Ron. Hermione blinked. "Not an animal!" he added. "This curse I've got—it isn't all that I am. I take my Wolfsbane and I'm harmless and hidden on the full moon, and everything's fine. It's not like I was bitten as a child or anything... my body fights the curse."
"I know that, but you—you infected one of their young," said Hermione delicately.
"Oh, that must be why they don't like me!" Ron threw his hands in the air theatrically. "Why didn't I think of that? Looks like we're all sorted then."
"But you must admit—"
"She wasn't even theirs!" Ron pressed. "She was with Deralon's troop, remember? And I took care of her. So, as long as it's not the night of the full moon, I won't be biting anyone."
"Deralon's troop exemplifies the reason Magorian banished you from his territory," said Hermione. "Don't look at me like that. These things have to be handled delicately. You must take every precaution against a violent outcome, which you didn't manage to do last time. They're looking out for her, and I'm looking out for you."
"Really!" Ron laughed coldly. "You're just looking out for me, is that it? You weren't here to ask Maggie to represent the centaurs at the Ministry? And when he said no, you just had to press the issue, didn't you?"
"If you're insinuating that my offering Magorian a chance to represent his people is why he won't let you visit Helinora—"
"It didn't help!"
"He didn't do it because he was angry, he did it for her!" Ron opened his mouth to reply, but Hermione held her hand up. "Ron, I know you don't need reminding of this, but you changed her life completely when you bit her. You took care of her when she needed it but now it's best to let her live as a centaur. Even the Burrow isn't tucked-away enough to house a centaur without arousing Muggle suspicion."
"It's not going to do her any good to take away her friends," said Ron.
"She'll make new friends. She'll be all right." Hermione gave an encouraging nod. "Besides, perhaps when she's of age we'll have a new centaur representative on our hands. Someone who's seen the world from their side and ours."
"Great, something to look forward to," droned Ron, rolling his eyes. "So, do you want to visit Grawp?"
"Not particularly."
"Scorpo?"
"Definitely not."
"Back to the joke shop then," concluded Ron as he walked around the car to the driver's seat.
Ron and Hermione drove along the bumpy dirt path towards Hogsmeade village without conversation. When they reached the old wooden gate that blocked off the path, Ron engaged the car's flight mode and they took off into the sky, flying over ancient little buildings and trees, clouds of exhaust puffing in their wake. Ron smirked as he noticed that Hermione had planted her hands firmly on the dashboard, her eyes shut tightly.
On their way towards the new Hogsmeade branch of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, the silence was broken by a distorted, intermittent voice buzzing from the radio device attached to the car's rear-view mirror.
"Ron, are you there?" said Harry's voice through the speaker. "Do you copy? Over."
Ron reached under the mirror and pulled the hanging brass microphone closer to his face.
"Copy," he said into the honeycomb-shaped device. "Something wrong, Harry? Over."
"You are aware we're to investigate a suspect in the Midnight Thief case? Over."
"Blimey, I thought that was yesterday. Over."
"If it were yesterday we'd have already done it. Over."
"I thought we'd missed it, cheeky git. What's the time? Over."
"Time for you to get over here. Where are you? Over."
"Flying over Hogsmeade. Just visited Helinora. Hermione's here too. Over."
"Oh. Over."
"Great transmission, mate."
A few moments' silence passed.
"You forgot to say 'over,'" said Hermione.
"Over." Ron glanced at Hermione; to his annoyance, she was still clamping her eyes shut tightly. "Really, Hermione, stop being so dramatic. It's like you don't trust me."
"Not while the Whomping Willow is in sight, I don't."
Ron was glaring at Hermione and contemplating doing a mid-air loop when Harry spoke again.
"Find a place to land and Apparate here on the double," he said. "This is the first decent assignment Robards has given us in a long time. Don't want to bugger it up. Over."
"Who else is he going to give it to? We're practically the only trainees left. Besides, I might be a bit late; apparently there's this Muggle club and the only requirement to join is that you've had sex while at least one mile off the ground. Over."
Hermione's jaw dropped and she finally opened her eyes to stare at Ron in outrage as he waggled his eyebrows at her.
"Uh, congratulations, mate," spoke Harry's voice from the radio. "Over."
Hermione snatched the microphone away from Ron and hissed into it, "I'll have you know we're doing no such thing! And if I were, you should be appalled that I'd do so while he's flying a car! What, do you think I'm some slag he picked up at King's Cross, Harry? OVER!
"And you!" she growled, looking at Ron. "Are we really a mile off the ground?"
"We're not off the ground at all," said Ron, amused; Hermione turned to her window and saw that they had touched down on the roof of the joke shop.
"Right." Harry's tentative voice sounded from the speaker again. "I think we should speak in code from now on. Over."
"Ten-four," said Ron, hesitating for a moment at Hermione's narrowed eyes. "I mean, since H.G. is being a right P.A., I think we should keep the M.T. on the D.L. until I reach H.Q., 'else I might end up F.U.B.A.R. Over."
Ron smiled again as he observed Hermione staring at the car's roof and biting her lip in thought, attempting to decypher the code.
"Um, Hermione," said Harry. "You're 'H.G.'" — Ron's eyes widened — "and 'P.A.' means 'pain in the—'"
"HARRY!" breathed Ron in horror, as Hermione batted him on the shoulder. "Why, Harry! WHY! OVER!"
"Maybe you'll think twice now before telling me about your little escapades with Hermione—and what was that, Hermione, about not distracting Ron while he's driving? Over."
"We've already landed!"
"You didn't say 'over,'" said Ron weakly.
"Over and out!"
As the Ministry lift arrived at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and its golden grilles swung open, Ron found himself face-to-face with Harry, who had apparently been waiting for him in the lobby.
"You're late," said Harry, his arms crossed. "And Robards has just finished lecturing me for it."
"Sorry," said Ron.
"Don't worry, that black eye Hermione gave you looks like punishment enough."
Thinking that Harry wouldn't be saying that if he knew what Hermione's guilt would lead to later on, Ron made to exit the lift, but Harry stopped him with a hand to his chest and stepped inside. The gates closed and the floor jerked upwards as they began to ascend.
"I don't want to go back in there," said Harry at Ron's questioning look. "Ernie and Clarinda are investigating another suspect in the case. Malfoy, probably."
"Malfoy? Come off it, Harry."
"Would you put it past him? Anyway, we're paying a visit to Walter Lesae."
"The umpteenth barmy author my mum fancies? Why?"
"Don't you see? He's rich and dashing and all that, just as the Prophet described. I'm sure Robards knows better but he's having us waste our time anyway, for public image."
"Just like they did Hagrid?"
"Exactly. This place needs a change, I'm telling you. I used to think it was funny that Kingsley was heading up the Aurors' search for Sirius Black and sending them on false trails, but now it just makes the whole department seem pathetic. Same rubbish, different Minister."
"S'not Kingsley's fault. Robards is an old Ministry official. He's been around a long time, and the Ministry's been this way for a long time. At least Kingsley's making a change. You won't see Kingsley greased by sods like Lucius Malfoy who've got loads of gold to throw away."
"But Lucius Malfoy got off!"
"True. Well, the Wizengamot are old too. He's still not allowed at the Ministry. It's a start, right?"
"Why are you making excuses for the Ministry?"
Harry leered at Ron in accusation as they arrived at the atrium and stepped out onto its polished wooden floor.
"I'm not, I think this place is long overdue for a change, but why don't we wait until we're full Aurors before starting the revolution, yeah? When you're head of the department, and Hermione's Chief Mugwump or something, then we'll start worrying about all this."
"Fine," agreed Harry as he led Ron to the Apparition Zone at the end of the hall. "So where d'you hope to end up, anyway?"
"Grandmaster of Quidditch."
*crack*
Harry took Ron by side-along Apparition to a gravelly road surrounded by fields of grass that stretched out over hills on the horizon like a desert of endless green, broken only by the clumps of houses by the road. Clouds overhead extended as far as the eye could see, though the sky was still bright enough that Harry and Ron had to squint to shield their eyes.
The two Auror trainees began walking down the road, until they came upon a tall fieldstone manor beyond a barrier of bristly leafless hedges, at the end of a vast garden that extended longer than Harry's best gnome toss.
"So, Harry," said Ron as they arrived at the front door. "What d'you reckon the chances are that the owner of this property would bother nicking a Jensen mask?"
"Same as the chances that the mask actually works," replied Harry.
"How do you want to proceed, then?" Ron smirked. "Friend and foe? Decoy dupe? Commando raid?"
"Let's just ask the usual questions—stay out of trouble," sighed Harry. He knocked on the door and shouted, "Ministry of Magic!"
"Why do we say that, anyway?" said Ron. "That just gives him time to hide all the evidence, doesn't it?"
"Because we always go by the book," said Harry, grinding his teeth.
The door opened, and all Harry saw was a very large man's chest; even Ron had to look up to meet the eyes of the man that answered the door. The tall and ghoulish man looked as though he had just woken up, with his blocky jaw hanging ajar and glazed-over eyes that stared blankly over Harry's head under a tangle of shaggy gray hair.
"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice as deep as Harry expected it to be.
There was a short silence as Harry looked the man up and down with narrowed eyes; he was wearing sharp silver dress robes that blended with his grayish skin.
"Ministry of Magic," said Ron awkwardly, nudging Harry with his elbow. "Can we speak with Walter Lesae?"
The man nodded silently and closed the door.
"Did you see that?" said Harry, nodding towards the door.
"I know what you're thinking," said Ron warily. "But if I were robbed by that bloke, I think the first thing I'd notice is that he's taller than a tree, not what he's wearing."
The door opened again, and Harry recognized the handsome bearded man behind it from his beaming picture on Molly's spellbook.
"Hello. I'm lord of the manor. How may I help you gentlemen?"
"We're from the Auror Office," said Harry. "I'm Harry Potter and this is my partner Ron Weasley. We'd like to ask you a few questions."
Lesae's eyebrows shot up for a moment at the mention of Harry's name.
"But why... ah," he said, breaking into a smile. "Of course. Do come in."
As Harry and Ron entered the house, Lesae gestured towards a coatrack by the door that had, instead of hooks, little carved wooden hands that came alive and grabbed at their traveling cloaks as they passed.
Lesae led them through the halls, following a trail of brown hardwood, passing by chalky white walls and many lamps that illuminated the entire house in a golden haze. Bookshelves covered most of the walls from floor to ceiling, packed entirely with books; Harry read such titles as Mysterious Dragon Blood, Modern Vampire Accounts, and Creatures of the Night from their spines. Finally, they stopped at one of the many doors lining the hall. The tall man in silver robes was waiting beside the door.
"This is my manservant, Bolo," said Lesae. "Bolo, fetch some tea for our guests."
Bolo nodded and stalked off down the hall.
"I... used to own a House Elf," explained Lesae, frowning, as he guided them through the door and into a small lounge. "Er, I accidentally set her free one day and I think she got eaten by a werewolf. She disappeared on the full moon."
Ron perked up. Harry was surprised by the sorrow he saw in Lesae's eyes, and averted his own by looking down at his feet.
"Though, perhaps it's for the best. With recent trends at the Ministry, the laws concerning House Elves do seem to be changing. Please, sit."
Lesae sat down in a nearby armchair and gestured to a puffy brown couch opposite him, and Harry and Ron sank into it.
"We'd like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Lesae," began Harry.
"Walt, please."
"All right, Walt, where were you on the night of..." Harry faltered, then huddled close to Ron and whispered, "What night was it?"
"I don't remember, it was so pointless," Ron whispered back.
"I believe the Jensen Brothers' Mask Market was burglarized on the fourth," Walt whispered, leaning into their huddle.
"Right," said Harry, clearing his throat. "Where were you then?"
"I was catching up on my writing at the Pair-a-Dice Inn in London," Walt explained.
The door behind him opened and in walked Bolo the towering butler, carrying a teapot, three little white cups, and an assortment of snacks all on a big silver tray.
"I'm certain the barman will absolve me," said Walt as Bolo poured tea for Harry and Ron. "Bolo, fetch our guests a pair of souvenir shirts."
"Oh, that won't be necessary," said Harry as Bolo nodded and left.
"But I insist. You're Aurors, after all."
Harry was technically only a trainee, but he felt no need to correct Walt; he glanced over at Ron and saw that Ron wasn't going to be correcting anyone either, with his mouth full of biscuits.
"And how did you know we were looking for a burglar?" said Harry. "I never said anything about that."
"Oh, come now," said Walt distractedly as he watched Ron eat. "I do read the Prophet in the morning, you know. In these dark times, it pays to keep current. I knew the Ministry would come knocking at my door, intimating that I'm of 'Midnight Thief' timber. I do seem the type, don't I?"
"The type?"
"Sly, handsome, and in great excess of time and gold. Yes, as soon as I read about the Midnight Thief's heist of Borgin and Burke's in Knockturn Alley, I knew I would be a suspect, despite my alibi being solid as granite."
"Don't believe everything you read," said Harry bitterly. "Anyway, you're not a suspect because of that. You've got a record."
"Ah, yes, my criminal record," Walt sighed. "I am ashamed to say that I once fancied myself as a sort of... Dumbledorean figure in that I believed myself to be above the law."
"It says here you were convicted of crimes against protected non-human beings and possession of a Class B Non-Tradeable."
"Mermaid hearts," said Walt matter-of-factly. "I thought the whole affair was entirely within the law. I did not kill the mermaid, after all."
"Why would you want a mermaid heart?" asked Harry.
"Just another bit of important magical research quashed by our venerable Ministry. Mermaid hearts are integral to the development of a groundbreaking new poison."
"Pardon?" said Ron thickly through a mouthful of food, looking as though he were considering spitting it out.
"A poison that, upon ingestion, consumes only those reaches of the human body afflicted with curses. Could you imagine? Vampirism, lycanthropy, any number of magical hexes all cleansed by none other than disease..."
The door opened again; Bolo had returned with two folded T-shirts.
"So it was all in the name of research?"
"I'm a spellmaker. I've made a fortune in household spells and other helpful charms. But I'm also a scholar. Mr. Weasley, that's going to bother me all day if I don't do something about it. May I?"
Walt drew a wand from the large sleeve of his robe; Harry and Ron flinched, their hands reaching for their own wands.
"Be still, this is not an attack." Walt raised his wand and took aim at Ron.
There was a quick zap of light that flashed over Ron's eyes. Ron blinked several times, seeing stars, then looked around at Harry.
"What just happened?"
"Your eye," said Harry, raising his eyebrows. "It's healed."
Ron brushed his fingers over his cheek where Hermione had struck him before; it was no longer sensitive.
"Not bad," he said to Walt.
"Yeah, I've seen your book," Harry added, grinning at the realization that this man had already surpassed Gilderoy Lockhart, who would likely have removed Ron's eyeballs completely.
"I've seen yours," said Walt, smirking. "Unless you're some other Harry Potter, besides the fabled hero?"
"Er, I didn't really ask to be fabled, but I'm him, yes. Well, that'll be all, I think—"
"No," said Walt quickly. "Stay a while, won't you?"
"Sorry, no. We're on duty."
"Ah, it wouldn't hurt—how about a round of Quidditch? I hear you're quite the flyer, after all."
"Quidditch? Here?"
"I've got my own field in the garden. Bolo!" he called suddenly. Bolo looked up, attentive. "We shall require Quidditch equipment. Brooms, padding, and a Quaffle, I think."
Bolo silently agreed and swept out of the room again.
"You have Quidditch posts set up in a Muggle area?" asked Harry.
"If any of the Muggles come asking about them, I tell them it's for an American sport, and they tend to lose interest."
Harry considered Walt's offer, weighing the options. Quidditch on a private field in the country, or cursebreaking time trials in the dank Ministry dungeons? Truthfully, there wasn't much left to be done with Walt Lesae other than to confirm his alibi at the Pair-a-Dice Inn, but, as Harry saw it, if Mr. Robards would knowingly send he and Ron on a fruitless waste of time in the afternoon, then it wouldn't matter if he wasted a little more.
"Yeah," Harry decided. "I'll fly. Ron?"
"Do you even have to ask?" Ron replied.
They played well into the evening. Bolo had brought them a set of brand new Nimbus Millennium broomsticks, which Harry found to be nearly on par with the speed and handling of his Firebolt. Harry wondered if the Firebolt had become outdated. They couldn't play proper Quidditch with only three players, but Walt knew of several one-on-one and free-for-all variations that kept them flying until sunset.
"I urge you to stay for dinner," Walt was saying as they made their way back to the manor.
"We can't, we've got to head back to the Department," said Harry. "I don't know what we're going to tell them."
"Nonsense," said Walt, with what looked like a forced grin. "You're on a big case here. I'm sure they won't mind if you exercise a bit of thoroughness."
"Yeah, we're here to investigate someone for fitting the Prophet's barmy description of the Midnight Thief," laughed Ron. "Really important case."
"Bolo!" snapped Walt once they arrived inside the house. Bolo appeared quickly. "A bottle of Ogden's, please, and dinner for three tonight."
Harry felt that Walt was intentionally setting plans in motion before he could decline, but he didn't mind much; Robards's reprimanding this morning had left him feeling rather cynical, and he thought a drink might help.
On their way down the hall, Harry spotted a set of trophy cases that contained several plaques and little gold figurines of men in combative stances.
"Tai Chi," explained Walt when Harry pointed this out. "Not at all a great feat on my part, so very few wizards partake in the martial disciplines. On top of that I've noticed a recent lack of respect for my art. Never underestimate the power of Chi."
Further along the hallway, they came across an open doorway that led to a dimly lit room. Harry spotted an odd crescent symbol on the floor inside the room, illuminated by the light of the hallway, before Walt promptly closed the door.
"The giftwrapping room," said Walt calmly, though he looked quite perturbed. Harry and Ron pressed on with narrowed eyes.
They sat down at a long table in the dining room, sharing a bottle of Firewhiskey and conversing over the dancing flames of candles between them, which seemed to get warmer the more they drank. His eyes drooping already from the Firewhiskey, Ron dizzily pointed out a magical portrait overlooking the dining room table. Its occupant, a pretty blonde woman in a periwinkle dress, was staring silently through an open window beside her.
"Who's that?" Ron asked.
"Oh, just a woman," said Walt, waving a dismissive hand. "I liked the portrait, so I bought it."
The woman in the portrait looked out at them for a moment, sighed, then refocused her gaze back to her painted window.
As the liquor continued flowing, in anticipation of their upcoming meal, the subject of conversation turned to food.
"I'm simply expressing the opinion that those who can't discern the difference between real and imitation crab meat should be outcast and forced to live as sewer mutants in the underworld," said Walt. "Is that wrong?"
"No, 'course n-not," said Harry drowsily.
"Is that wrong?" Walt asked again.
"Well, yes."
"I've never had either, meself," Ron admitted. Walt slammed his glass down on the table in outrage.
"We'll see about that!" he said.
Ron smiled eagerly and soon found himself clumsily forking bits of delicious crab meat into his mouth. Its taste did not blend well with firewhiskey.
"So, Walt, I reckon you must get plenty of attention from the witches," Ron slurred over his plate. "Tell Harry here how to—*hic*—properly p-propose to my bloody sister."
"How should I know?" Walt replied defensively. "Bedding them is one thing—one thing I'm very good at—but I don't have a wife. If I did, I wouldn't need Bolo here."
"I'm just—Ron, I'm just going to get it done, I don't care anymore," said Harry. "Hermione's right... she's always right."
"Well I could have told you that!"
After dinner, Walt again insisted that they stay longer. Harry got the impression from the man's jovial affectations that he was lonely. When Ron politely declined, something in Walt's expression triggered a memory that sounded as a voice in Harry's head. I used to own a House Elf. She was bitten by a werewolf, I think.
Harry understood now; Walt's House Elf purportedly being killed by a creature that's only dangerous to humans; the portrait of the woman in the dining room; the way Walt regarded Ron as he ate. Harry thought these things seemed curious at first, but it all made sense when he realized that, somehow, Walt knew that Ron was a werewolf, and Harry would be damned if the House Elf of which Walt spoke wasn't actually the woman in the portrait.
"I can't trust you to Apparate in that condition," Walt was saying as Harry's intoxicated mind raced. "You can stay in the guest room, and I'll have Bolo wake you early for breakfast. How about it?"
Though Harry was suspicious of Walt's intentions, he did agree; neither he nor Ron were adept at Apparition, and both could barely stand straight at the moment. Harry agreed to stay the night, and did his best to send a message via Patronus back to Grimmauld Place, and before he knew it he was sharing a guest bed with Ron.
"Harry?" mumbled Ron.
"Yes?"
"I think there's something Walt's not telling us."
"Me too."
"Yeah, that Bolo—he's definitely an Ogre. Seems nice though."
"Oh. Right."
"Quietly, Ron!" said Harry the next day as they arrived home from work.
"This door is huge, how quiet do you expect me to be?"
"I expect you not to handle it like a Bludger, at least. I'd like to slip past Ginny and get to bed early, if you don't mind. My head is killing me."
"What? It's not the—you know..."
"No, it's not the scar—watch the umbrella stand!"
"Sorry. Unlike you, I'm not sneaking by. I'm bloody hungry."
"Really? What else is new?"
"Hey, if you're going up, d'you mind trading shirts? Hermione'll see red..."
"Fine. Don't stretch it out though, I've seen what you do to your own shirts—"
"Ahem."
Harry and Ron spun around and saw Ginny standing in the doorway to the living room, arms crossed, eyebrows raised in a manner that reminded Harry of the looks Molly would use to tell the twins that they were in trouble.
"Where have you been?" she asked.
"We were on a case," said Harry.
"Looks like it," Ginny said, nodding to Harry's Hawaiian-style shirt, with its splashes of ocean blue, sunset pink, and sandy gold.
"What's going on?" said Hermione, appearing at Ginny's side. She took one look at Harry and Ron and scowled. "Oh."
Ron gulped as Hermione's eyes fell to his shirt; it was a solid brown, with a detailed image on the front that featured two nude women standing on giant dice, covered up only by the playing cards in their hands. A logo arcing above the women read Pair-a-Dice Inn.
"So that's where you spent the night?" said Hermione.
"Oh yeah, and there were women dancing on the tables," quipped Ron. "Give me some credit. We stayed at Walt's house. Walt Lesae, I mean."
"The spellmaker?" said Ginny, bewildered. "Since when are you on a first name basis with Walt Lesae?"
"Since we investigated him as a suspect in the Midnight Thief case," said Harry.
"Rubbish assignment," added Ron. "It's only because he fits the description of that stupid myth the Prophet made up—but at least it was a nice lark. When's dinner?"
"And you didn't go to work today?" said Hermione, ignoring his question. "I didn't see you at the office."
"That's because Robards had us in the dungeons all day. He went mental when we didn't come back yesterday, so he made us run training drills all day, no breaks."
"By the end of it, our shirts were soaked through with sweat, so we had to change into these," said Ron.
"But why did you stay at his house in the first place?" asked Ginny.
"Can't we talk about this over a plate of chicken or something?" Ron whined.
"All right, I'll get it started, but then I want the full details," agreed Hermione. "And change your shirt, you look ridiculous."
Ron smirked and shuffled up the stairs. Harry figured he could do with a meal before bed, even one prepared by Hermione, so he followed the girls into the kitchen and sat down with Ginny as Hermione paced back and forth around the kitchen, fetching pots and pans and ingredients while muttering instructions under her breath.
Harry exhaled a heavy sigh and rested his head on the table, letting his every muscle ache.
"I hope you're not too tired," said Ginny, patting his arm. "You know I've got a series against the Wasps starting tomorrow. So I was thinking that tonight..."
Harry grinned, but Ginny fell silent as Ron ambled back into the room.
"Much better," said Hermione, glancing at him.
"When?" he asked simply, taking a seat beside Harry.
"Not long now, it's only chicken—oops!"
"What?" Ron demanded.
"It's nothing!" Hermione said, scrambling to fix whatever she had done. Upon closer inspection, Harry and Ron saw that the pot containing the rice was overflowing with foam. "Don't come over, I've got it under control!"
Despite a few minor hiccups, the meal was ready quickly. Harry and Ron grinned as Hermione slid plates of chicken and rice in front of them; it didn't look too bad.
"So, tell me about Walt Lesae," said Hermione.
"Not much to tell," said Ron, his cheek bulging as he chewed. "You know, you should probably taste the food before adding spices."
"Oh." Hermione blushed. "We haven't covered that quite yet."
"Anyway, we went to his house and asked him where he'd been on the night the Jensens were robbed," said Ron. "He was really nice, actually."
"So nice that you felt compelled to stay the night?" asked Ginny.
"He asked us to stay a while—he has a private Quidditch field," explained Harry.
Looks of apprehension dawned on the girls' faces; Ginny looked understanding, but Hermione looked annoyed.
"You were playing Quidditch?" she asked.
"Yeah, then we worked up an appetite, and had dinner. By the time we were finished, we were too—too tired to Apparate back. Walt invited us to spend the night in his guest room."
"Tired?" Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "Is that why your Patronus drunkenly asked me if I'd ever tasted imitation crab meat?"
"So we had some Firewhiskey, so what?" said Ron impatiently.
"It sounds like he buttered you up with Quidditch and food and alcohol until you forgot you were investigating a suspect!"
"He's only a suspect because of the buggering Daily Prophet! Besides," said Ron, pointing at Harry's shirt. "His alibi's as good as granite"
"So that leaves Malfoy," said Harry distractedly; he ignored the round of weary groans that sounded around the table at this. "I'm surprised Ernie and Clarinda weren't sent to investigate him. If Lesae's a suspect, I mean..."
"What about that man you mentioned—Wielder, was it?" asked Ginny. "Shouldn't you investigate him? If not for being the Midnight Thief, at least because he's been loitering at Gringotts."
"Yeah, you're right," said Harry. "Something's not on with him, I know it, but I just can't remember... What do you think, Ron?"
"Worth looking into." Ron frowned. "Which means we won't be assigned the job."
"You could do it on your own," suggested Hermione. Ron rolled his eyes. "No, really, I think you'd be trusted with more responsibility if you brought in the Midnight Thief everyone's been talking about."
"Yeah, we'll be real heroes, bringing in the legendary criminal." Ron scoffed harshly. "We don't even know if it's the same guy doing it!"
"You don't understand. This Midnight Thief thing has got completely out of hand. Some people are even saying it could be you, Harry."
"Does that mean I'm suave and handsome?" said Harry.
"The point is, you'd be doing Robards a huge favor. You know how much he cares about public image."
"If you're telling me to be his lapdog, I'm not interested."
"Of course I'm not. It's just how you play the game," said Hermione in a tone that suggested she had said it a hundred times. "Right, Ron?"
"Um..."
"Leave Ron alone," said Ginny, smirking.
"Yeah," said Ron. "Wait, why?"
"Because, you must be depressed as it is, given what we did to the Cannons."
Harry smiled gratefully at his girlfriend for the change of subject.
"Pure luck!" snarled Ron. "I know it is, because they beat you last year, and they'll beat you next year! If McClain hadn't been thrown out of the game for stealing that Beater's bat, it'd be a different story, right Harry?"
"I'm not involved," said Harry quickly.
"Some friend you are." Ron turned to Hermione for support. "Hermione?"
"All I know about Quidditch is that the Chudley Cannons are the greatest team ever formed," said Hermione in a rehearsed tone.
"Right," said Ron, nodding triumphantly to Ginny. "That's right, Hermione. That's all you need to know."
"But, back to the topic at hand," began Hermione, but Harry raised a hand to silence her.
"Look, Hermione, I'm too tired for this," he said. "I suppose you're right. I just don't want to be a part of the old, corrupt Ministry. I want it to change."
"Oh, Harry, I know that, and I absolutely agree, but this isn't like Moja, where nobody knew what was going on; this one's in the public eye, and your boss can't ignore it if you succeed."
Harry sighed, then looked at Ron. "Well?"
"We'll have to run it by Ernie and Clarinda," said Ron.
"All right then." Harry stood. "It'll be difficult, though. We're dealing with a thief so elusive and clever that he only steals things nobody in their right mind would want in the first place."
