Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three
Iolanthe
Chapter Ten
The Department
Caught, dead to rights, like a fox with a fresh-killed pullet, Harry had to improvise, and edit, on the fly.
"Just a little courier work. Pop over to the States, see Madam President, pay a call on Professor Goldstein," Harry said. "There is a fellowship program that memorializes Dumbledore for Ilvermorny students, did you know that? One or two students a year with an expressed interest in magical education can use it for a year of post-graduation study and supervised teaching at Hogwarts or Beauxbatons. I'll be taking a check for presentation at an appropriate ceremony. Not a real check, of course, the transfers are all handled by Gringotts and their correspondent banks."
Daphne concentrated on Iolanthe's little baby spoon. She took a spoonful of applesauce puree from the cup and placed it on Iolanthe's perfect lower lip. Iolanthe opened her mouth and relieved the spoon of the puree. Iolanthe swallowed, smiled and got ready for the next applesauce puree delivery. Spoon to cup, spoon to Iolanthe, Iolanthe takes the puree, spoon to cup. Repeat.
Daphne didn't start crying, mainly because her anger was so intense it required her to focus all of her efforts on not exploding at Harry with a happy baby in her arms.
"What else?" she managed to ask.
Harry sighed.
"I have instructions," he began, "Regarding disclosure. I have to tell you so you know what I'm doing. We both have to be witting participants. There is a sanitized version for the rest of the family. You and I have to keep the details to ourselves, if that is alright with you?"
"Do I have a choice?" Daphne asked, between spoons of puree. "I can agree and have some idea of what my husband is doing, or I can demur and he won't be able to tell me anything. Nothing at all. I believe that is how these arrangements work. You just told me a cock and bull story that I saw through before you were half-way done, and I'm a healer. Do you think you're going to fool a professional with a professional's capacity for analysis of a rival ministry's comings and goings?"
"Merlin, you're smart," Harry said. "I'll take that as a yes.
"I got a briefing today. The ministry believes our baton needs a higher level of security, so I'll be hand-carrying it to Robert Goldstein's lab at Princeton. He has been doing some very advanced work that culminated in a stasis field, among other things. It's perfectly suited for putting a dangerous magical object into a state where it can't be used or tampered with, physically or magically. The Department of Mysteries has done all the study and research it can think of to do with it, except break the seals and open it up. No one, including Hermione, thinks that would be a good idea. The minister has personally visited Professor Goldstein's lab and thinks this is the best solution available, at least right now."
Daphne wiped Iolanthe's face clean with a damp cloth, which she bunched up and tossed across the room to Harry.
"Can you rinse this and hang it up?" she asked, starting to rock Iolanthe.
Harry did as he was told before returning to the nursery, Daphne's former bedroom.
"Did you have a clue this was coming?" Daphne asked. "It wasn't a coincidence those extra aurors became available to get you back to your old fighting form, do you think? And now that you're a world-beater once more, it wouldn't be yet a further coincidence that Kingsley Shacklebolt just happens to have a mission of such sensitivity that the ministry can't task a standard, working-level magical courier to do it?"
Daphne looked at Iolanthe's face as her eyes got heavier and heavier, finally closing. Her mouth continued to make eating motions, punctuated by smiles, as she drifted off to sleep. Daphne rocked forward and used the momentum to rise up. She crossed the room and laid Iolanthe down in her crib.
"In here," Daphne said, nodding toward Harry's room on the other side of the bath.
"You did have a clue, Harry. You had more than a clue. The details might have needed filling in, but you smelled this coming, and you didn't turn your back and walk away. Did you listen to anything I said before you promised me you wouldn't meet me in emergency again?"
"Of course," Harry said, a little pleading in his voice. "It's just a little overnight trip, I'll do some public relations, spread a little good will, see Ilvermorny which I've never visited before, and do a very small favor for our ministry. It's done a lot for me over the years."
"I'll go with you," she said, keeping her voice down.
"No, you won't," Harry said.
"Yes, I will," Daphne said.
"Why?" Harry demanded, some stress coming through.
"Voice," Daphne said.
"Sorry," Harry said. "Why do you want to go? I'll be busy the whole time. If it all goes as planned, I'll take a meeting with the president, we'll attend the Dumbledore function together, I'll get a tour of the professor's lab in my capacity of obscure foreign visitor, then take a slightly indirect route home."
"If Kingsley could guarantee it would all go as planned, the regular couriers would handle it. There's a reason they've taken a hand in your rehab and trained you up, Harry. Kingsley, or someone near him, doesn't think it will all go as planned," Daphne said. "Who else did you talk to today? Who gave you your briefing?"
"Daphne, I really shouldn't…" Harry made a manly attempt, all for naught.
"Which is to say, 'Yes, Daphne, I did get briefed by another ministry official today…'" said Daphne. "You might as well tell me. Maybe together we can figure out what the problem is and I can help you out."
"Slughorn," Harry said.
"And Slughorn is…?" Daphne asked.
"A department head. In addition to…"
"Potions Master," Daphne finished for him. "Brilliant. That department that is never acknowledged is overseen by the buffoonish Potions Master from the quaint magical boarding school in Scotland, up there in the mists on the shores of the unplottable lake. A talent spotter working right out in the open like a common groupie collecting autographs. That is really inspired, when you think about it.
"So, what is the problem?" Daphne asked.
"It is thought that the existence of our baton may be known, outside the ministry," Harry said. "There is no evidence of a physical nature. Just certain odd queries from some parties, some unexplained movements of people. They're just being cautious."
"Oh, Merlin," Daphne said. It was the last thing she said for close to a minute. When she spoke again, it was clear she had spent the intervening time wisely.
"Gellert Grindelwald, brilliant and megalomaniacal, discovered a way to use his magical abilities to jump over all the technical difficulties and diddle some fundamental forces. He overreached, as sometimes happens, when he tried to conscript you for his team, and the two of us modified him and put his taboo knowledge in a container of sorts. Although in the hands of specialists at the ministry for safekeeping, someone has learned, or made a lucky guess, that your baton has inside it their shortcut to power, wealth, and influence. Our esteemed minister thus believes the best chance civilization has to survive is to put the baton in the hands of Harry Potter and send him to New York to deliver it to the Princeton physicist Robert Goldstein, who will hide it in his magical forcefield, or, whatever it's called," Daphne said.
"That's it," Harry said.
"The ones after the baton, they are not nice people, are they?" Daphne asked.
"No," Harry admitted.
"Where's the item?" said Daphne.
Harry reached into his pocket and brought out a small black cylinder about the size of a lipstick tube.
"What kind of protection does it have?" Daphne asked.
"The baton is still sealed," Harry began. "It is inside this, which is obsidian, or something like it, and infused with some kind of a metallic preparation that keeps it from being penetrated by spells or charms that could…ahh…facilitate the malappropriation of Grindelwald's memories. It's been miniaturized by a common shrinking charm that any competent witch or wizard can reverse."
Daphne pinched her lower lip between her thumb and forefinger while she thought.
"You mean to leave tonight, or you wouldn't have been given the item," she stated. "How are you going?"
"I'll floo to Cornwall, to the Black estate. A portkey will be sitting on the table in the dining room," Harry said.
"How long do you plan to be gone?" Daphne asked.
"There are return portkeys arranged for tomorrow, at two and four," Harry said. "They will be ready in New York, whenever I'm done."
"When do you need to leave here?" Daphne asked.
"As soon as you and I are done talking," Harry answered.
"Okay, let's go," Daphne said, heading for Iolanthe Astoria's nursery.
"Daphne…"
"No, Harry Potter. No. Just no," Daphne said, stopping and re-closing the bathroom door. "There will be no solo jaunts to New York to deliver the item under cover of a check presentation and some quality time with Madam President. No one over there is going to watch your back or probe brains on your behalf. Those geniuses where you work are trying to finesse all of this by sending you in, out, wham, and bam. If it all goes haywire, well, they've got Harry Potter carrying the goods, so he'll figure something out, as he always does, and besides, he's in the best fighting shape he's been in for a couple of years, because they made sure of that, not to mention he's extra-extra-careful because he just finished rehab after nearly getting sliced in two by a cutting curse.
"Now, give it to me," Daphne demanded, holding out her hand. "The item. Don't stare, just hand it over, Potter."
Harry reached in his pocket and pulled the cylinder out.
"Give it to me and go kiss your daughter. Try not to wake her up, please," Daphne ordered, politely, nudging Harry out and closing the bathroom door.
"Finite incantatem," Harry said, his foot in the door. "That's all it takes to cancel the miniaturization. If you are forced to give up the item, give up the item. If you're forced to give up the spell, give up the spell. If possible, stand back ten feet or so when it is cast."
Harry looked at Iolanthe while he waited for Daphne to come out. He tried to memorize her hands, her face, her perfect little seashell ears. Her hair was just starting to come in, and it looked like she'd be a platinum blonde like Daphne. Baby hair. Harry knew enough about baby hair to know its color was subject to change without notice. He knew he liked looking at Daphne's rather dramatic hair, but supposed he'd like looking at Iolanthe's as well, no matter the final shade.
Daphne came out of the bathroom. There must have been a question on Harry's face.
"Don't ask. You would not like the answer," Daphne volunteered. "Did you give her a kiss? This might be your last chance for a while."
Harry leaned over Iolanthe Astoria's crib and kissed her forehead, carefully, silently.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I love you too," Daphne said, before kissing Iolanthe.
"I need them both," Daphne said, as much to herself as to Harry.
They found Kendra in the library.
"Mother," Daphne said, "Can I ask you a big favor? Is Father around somewhere? It would be best if we all got together."
"I think so," Kendra said, getting up from her chair. "Let's look in his office."
"Fabio?" Kendra said, cracking the door to the office.
"Hello?" Fabio answered. "Well, look who's here. Pretty much everyone. What's the occasion?"
"Harry? Sanitized version, please," Daphne said, giving Harry the floor.
"I'm going on a trip on behalf of the ministry," Harry said. "I'll go to New York and present a check to MACUSA and Ilvermorny to support the Dumbledore Fellowship program. While I'm there I'll pay a courtesy call on Professor Robert Goldstein, who's an uncle of our classmate Anthony Goldstein.
"It wasn't planned for Daphne to accompany me, but she has her own thoughts on that," Harry finished.
"There's a professional meeting in New York, just when Harry needs to be there," Daphne said. "It wouldn't hurt for me to show up and shake a few hands, strictly on the periphery, of course.
"Father, could we use the Greengrass floos? It would make our travel arrangements so much simpler," said Daphne. "And Mother, if I could impose on you. Trix is keeping some bottles in the cooler for Iolanthe but if you run out the elves can fix what you need. She likes the pureed veg better than milk now, anyway.
"What do you think, Harry, you said we're back tomorrow afternoon?" Daphne finished up.
"Or early evening," Harry affirmed.
"Of course, go ahead and use the Firm's floos, that's what they're for," Fabio said. He pulled out a desk drawer, then another, then a third before he found what he was looking for.
"Take this, Harry, it's a list of floo addresses we connect to. Use it all you want. You'll just be helping me to justify the expense."
"We'll go out the library, the fireplace is bigger," Daphne said. "Don't get up…Back before you know we've been gone."
"Wards," Harry said on his way out. "All of them. Maximum strength."
Daphne closed the door to the office behind them, then closed the door to the library.
"Why all the cloak and dagger?" Harry asked as they stepped into the fireplace.
"Greengrass Torshavn," Daphne said, dropping a good-sized pinch of floo powder.
In Fabio's office, Fabio and Kendra heard a faint 'WHOOSH' from the library.
Kendra looked at Fabio.
"She wanted to marry Harry Potter," Kendra said, sounding resigned.
"Pretty much since Platform Nine and Three Quarters," Fabio said. "Wonder what they're up to this time?"
"Feel like setting some wards, Lord Greengrass?" Kendra suggested, drawing her wand.
Harry and Daphne stepped out of a fireplace in a small, ground-floor office in a town, somewhere. Harry could see out the window. He didn't see any high rises. Most of the buildings he could see were one or two stories.
"Where in the world?" he asked.
"Quiet indoor voice," Daphne said. "Have you ever heard of the Faroes?"
"Island group northwest of Scotland, but before you get to Iceland?" Harry guessed.
"The very ones," Daphne said. "This is Father's office in Torshavn, the capital. It's occupied part of the year. Not now, though. There is an apartment upstairs. Come on."
Daphne walked to the back of the office and touched her wand to two locks set in a metal door. Harry heard two clicks, presumably the lock in the handle, and a deadbolt. He assumed they were magical locks, although muggle locks can be trained to lock and unlock in response to silent spells. Daphne stepped up as she went through the door.
"Step," she said. Once inside, she closed the door. The stairwell was pitch black.
"No lights," Daphne said. "Just stand here a minute and let our eyes adjust."
"Better?" Daphne asked, after a bit.
"Much," Harry said. He could just make out some regular variations in the shade of black rising up from the landing.
"I'll lock this behind us," Daphne said. "Then, we'll climb the stairs and sit down upstairs. Don't talk until we cast muffliato and then only when we have to. We'll sit quietly and look out the window for a little while."
"Why are we here again?" Harry asked.
"Just waiting to see if we have company," Daphne answered.
Once they got to the top of the stairs, Harry could see fairly well. There was some strong twilight outside, and a few street lamps were sufficient to pick out pedestrians. There weren't a lot of those.
Daphne waved her wand. She cast whatever she cast silently.
Harry looked out the window. A shadow moved across the street. Harry never did consider himself a master of legilimency, but he could reach out and get some idea for what was going on if the subject was not too far away.
"…Her mother never told her, the things a good girl should know…"
'BLAISE?' Harry thought.
"…About the ways of Navy men…"
'Nope, Blaise wouldn't be singing about Navy men. He wouldn't even have an earworm that sang about Navy men,' Harry thought.
A few minutes later, another figure walked up a side street that connected to the one that ran in front of the Greengrass office. The two figures stood on the sidewalk, by appearances having a conversation, then they turned and walked off.
Harry got Daphne's attention. He pointed to his ear. Daphne shook her head. Once again Daphne waved her wand, saying nothing.
"Quiet voices," Daphne said. "That was muffliato. What did you want?"
"Do you hear anything?" Harry asked.
"No," Daphne replied. "You?"
"The guy across the street had a kind of folk song playing in his head," Harry said. "It was in English."
"Most people here speak English, plus one or two other languages. What did the two of them speak?" Daphne asked.
"Don't know. It wasn't English nor parseltongue. It didn't sound like Fleur and Gabrielle either, so I guess that eliminates French," said Harry.
Daphne didn't see the conversation proceeding down productive channels, so she held her response to Harry's last comment and moved along in a different direction.
"Did they give you any American currency?" she asked.
"Five hundred dollars," Harry said. "I have to keep receipts for what I buy and turn in anything that's left over. How much is that in galleons, anyway?"
"Not enough to matter," Daphne said, and crept across the room. She opened a cupboard door, exposing a safe, and touched the dial with the tip of her wand. The dial spun itself, left, right and left, then stopped. Daphne grasped a handle and pushed it down, then pulled back, opening the safe. She reached inside and removed a canvas bag, from which she took several stacks of wrapped bills. She looked through her haul, throwing some of the stacks back into the bag, and putting others aside.
Moving to the window, she found the lightest spot on the floor and began separating stacks. After about ten minutes she handed Harry three wads of notes.
"Keep them folded over, like this," she said, showing Harry what she wanted. "Three thousand dollars in hundreds. Keep them flat, someplace where the silhouette won't show through your clothes. This is one thousand dollars in hundreds. Go ahead and give it up if it will get you out of a jam. It's just money. This is one thousand dollars in fifties, twenties and tens. This is your walking-around money. You may want a hot pretzel or something in New York. You probably won't have any trouble, but it's still New York, so try to be discreet when taking a little off your roll. No need to call attention to yourself.
"The same for me," Daphne said, holding up her bills. "That's five thousand dollars apiece. Now I want you to witness something."
Daphne found a legal pad on which she wrote with a felt tip marker: "IOU $10,000 U.S.—Daphne"
Daphne put the IOU, and the cash she didn't need, back in the safe and locked it up.
"I think we can move. Do you hear anything?" Daphne asked.
Harry shook his head. He closed his eyes and tried using legilimency to feel for others outside the building.
"You?" he asked.
"No."
Daphne led the way down the steps. Harry stopped her at the bottom. He drew his wand and pointed it at each lock, thinking 'silencio' in turn, then he looked at Daphne and nodded. She used her wand to again unlock the locks. Harry pointed his wand at the door, and thought 'open.'
The ground floor office looked just as they'd left it. Daphne closed and locked the door to the steps, then took Harry's hand and led him to the fireplace.
Daphne dropped her floo powder and said, "Greengrass Fort de France."
Harry was struck by the thought that if he became separated from Daphne he'd become a wizard Flying Dutchman, sailing the floo networks of the world, instead of the seas, going from port to port but never allowed to dock. It seemed like a wildly inappropriate metaphor, though, and he wisely resolved to keep it to himself.
Harry and Daphne exited a fireplace in the Fort de France Greengrass office, stepping into steambath conditions.
"Merlin!" Harry said. "This is?"
"Guadeloupe," said Daphne. "One of the French islands in the Caribbean."
"And they need fireplaces?" Harry wondered.
"This building pre-dates kitchen ranges," Daphne explained. "It ought to have fallen down by now. Would have, too, if it weren't for magic. Before they had ranges, they had to cook somewhere, so, during earlier centuries, this was how they cooked. This building is actually a converted kitchen. It was separated from the main house to keep the heat out here and not get the house even hotter with the cooking fire. It's a historic building. Father was lucky to get it.
"There are some magical growers on Guadeloupe, and Father developed a nice trading relationship with them a few years ago. He needed a local office, and it took forever to find one with a fireplace, but here we are.
"Now, I think we can have a little more confidence in our security. We'd have been jumped, or at least studied, in Torshavn, if there'd been a hound or hounds pursuing us, and neither one of us saw any sign.
"We have to think about clothes. What were you going to do about that?" Daphne asked.
"Guadeloupe isn't going to have what it takes to blend in with New Yorkers. What are you thinking?" Harry asked.
"A visit to one of the American department stores. A hundred, two hundred dollars for something off the rack, something suitable for a geeky healer with some training, a little on the shy side," Daphne said. "You?"
"This," Harry said, removing the top of his track suit, which he laid on the floor.
The trousers followed, and the t-shirt after that.
"You didn't get a shower after working out, did you?" asked Daphne, sounding genuinely concerned.
"Oh. Do I smell gamey?" Harry asked.
"Um, only a bit," Daphne reassured him.
Harry stood there in his underwear and socks, spread his arms and said, "Freshen me up."
Daphne cast several freshening charms in succession. Then Harry picked up his wand and cast limpio on his track suit, then flipped it over and did it again. Then he cast spells at the jacket, pants, and the t-shirt he'd been wearing, changing them to a charcoal suit and white cotton shirt with a button-down collar. He cast something at his athletic shoes and turned them into shiny black leather dress shoes with close soles. After slipping everything on, he looked at Daphne.
"I wouldn't mind taking a tasteful tropical tie home, if you know where one can be purchased," Harry said, a tie being all he needed to walk in the front door at MACUSA.
"We'll get you a tie," Daphne said. "Maybe not here. Right now, I've got to do something."
With that she pointed her wand just the way Harry had shown her, pushed everything out of her mind but one very happy thought, and cast her patronus. When the lynx had materialized, she gave it some instructions.
"I need you to go to Utica, New York, and find Larry Davis, and give him this message: 'Hi, Uncle Larry, this is Daphne. My husband and I are going to be close by and I wondered if I could bring him to your place and introduce him. If that works for you, just tell my friend here and she'll come right back to me and let me know. Kisses, of course, Uncle Larry'"
The lynx twitched its tail and bounded through the closed door to the street. Daphne waved her wand, and Harry felt the temperature start to drop.
"Might as well be comfortable," Daphne said, pulling a swivel chair over to the window and opening the wide shutters just a little.
"How did Daphne Greengrass acquire an uncle in, where'd you say…Yoot—"
"Utica, New York," Daphne advised him.
"He's Lawrence Davis, a squib, and my mother's beloved brother. When he couldn't do magic and therefore couldn't go to Hogwarts, Grandfather and Grandmother Davis arranged for him to study privately for a couple of years, then he applied for art school. He moved to Canada before the First Wizarding War was over, partly because of prejudice within his own family, partly for work. He started teaching, got recruited by a college in upstate New York, and has been there ever since. He's a citizen now. I believe his housemate teaches physics or chemistry at another college. It's always been ambiguous on our side of the pond if they're 'partners' in that sense of the word, so let's not either of us make assumptions until they let us know," Daphne finished.
"You're crazy about him," Harry said, very matter-of-factly.
"I am. We both are. Astoria and I got to visit him three times over the years. At one point I considered attending his college, then the professor I wanted to work with died or retired, I've forgotten which.
"Hell-OH!" Daphne said, interrupting herself. "Straight across the street. Straw hat, a bit of a beard, white shirt out over tan shorts."
"Is that Blaise?" Harry asked. "Cavalry twill shorts. Oh, yeah, that leg's seen surgery. What's he done to his face? It doesn't really settle, does it? It's always changing, but slowly, so you don't notice the motion. You just can't ever form a lasting impression of what he looks like. Diabolical. I like it."
"What's he doing here?" Daphne asked.
"Where did you plan to go next?" Harry responded.
"Greengrass Montreal, then on to Utica, if Uncle Larry says to come on," said Daphne.
"Let's go to Montreal and see if he shows up there. The lynx will come to you and your wand, wherever you are," said Harry.
Without further delay they stepped into the fireplace and Daphne dropped her floo powder, giving 'Greengrass Montreal' as the destination.
They stepped out. This time, Daphne didn't drop Harry's hand.
"Floo powder," she said, frustration coming through clearly. "I didn't check back there in Fort de France, and we barely had enough. We can't ever make that mistake again. It could mean floo'ing out, versus fighting our way out."
"Brilliant. I should have caught that," Harry said. "Credit, where credit is due."
"I want to stop right here and tell you I'm mad for you, Harry," said Daphne, "but we'd better put it off until we check our surroundings. Floo powder, check. Scan the office—papers put away, door secure, blinds down and just slightly open…"
A patronus lynx materialized from a little ball of light that popped into existence between Harry and Daphne. Someone started talking from the vicinity of the lynx.
"Daphne, my most favorite niece, or at least co-equal with Tracey and Astoria. You weren't very specific, but I'm here at the house this afternoon. I have two classes tomorrow so one p.m. to five p.m. are booked. Come before or after."
"Uncle Larry?" Harry asked.
"You're psychic," Daphne replied.
"Let's go," Harry said. "We'll dive straight down after that snitch and let the other guy smash into the ground. You may recall I used that very move against Ravenclaw, third year."
"I don't hate athletes," Daphne said. "Honestly, I don't, it's just…Utica central floo."
'WHOOSH!'
Harry had heard of towns with a central floo, but he had never had need to visit one. He was glad their next-to-final destination had one, because he couldn't think of a better way to spot a tail than to go to a town where every witch and wizard funneled in and out through the same floo.
The entrance and exit proved to be through the firebox of a boiler in an unused factory building. The access door had been magically modified to expand when someone needed to enter or exit, then resume its normal configuration.
An enterprising soul, presumably a witch or wizard, had set up a coffee stand several yards distant from the boiler. The stand was doing a brisk business, catching travelers who needed a pick-me-up after arriving, or who had a few minutes to spare before departing. Harry spotted a table that was partly obscured by a huge column of structural steel.
"Fancy a coffee?" Harry said. "Sit down and hold that little table, I'll get us an espresso."
"None for me," Daphne said.
Harry brought two little espresso cups to the table.
"Did you hear me say…" was all Daphne could say before Harry said, "Then just twiddle it a bit and watch the floo."
Daphne sniffed, but she did keep her fingertips on the little cup while she helped Harry look.
Harry took ten full minutes to watch the boiler, but no one came who piqued their interest. If they were under surveillance whomever was surveilling them was a master of concealment.
"Let's go," Harry said, taking both cups. He tossed his empty in the bin that said 'CUPS' and put Daphne's cup to his lips.
"One is never enough," he confided.
Daphne replied with an, "Ooooh. I do like to hear that. Apparation point right over here."
They came to a little secluded area behind some tall shrubs and Daphne put her arm around Harry's waist, pulling him close. She didn't waste any time and a moment later they were on a sidewalk, approaching the back door of a frame house from an alley that ran through the middle of the block. Harry crushed his cup as they walked.
Daphne knocked on the door, then opened it.
"Uncle Larry!" she called through the opening.
A fragmented figure appeared through the window and the narrow opening.
"Just a minute…chain," Harry heard, before the chain dropped with a rattling sound and the door opened.
"Daphne, if I could make art half as beautiful…and this is Mr. Daphne! Glad to meet you, I'm Daphne's Uncle Larry. Larry's fine, wait, you're not Larry, too, are you?" said a man in a white t-shirt and paint-spattered jeans topped off by a beautiful light gray silk kimono.
"It's Harry," Harry said. "Glad to meet you."
"Harry!" said Larry, "Of course, I remember when I heard you were engaged to Harry, Daphne, thinking, 'Oh. Positively Shakespearean. Harry and Larry. I sense the emergence of a new Comedy of Errors.
"Well, come on in. I'm guessing your time is short. Are you on Greengrass business?
"Not exactly. Harry is doing something for Hogwarts and I'll be attending a conference. What have you been up to?" Daphne asked.
"Come on in and I'll show you," Larry said. "Yo! Coming through with an impressionable young lady, try not to traumatize her psyche."
They heard a door close somewhere.
Larry's house was an old-fashioned bungalow design that had two large rooms in front. Larry's studio occupied one of the rooms, and the other was clearly a gallery, devoid of furniture, with paintings on the walls and track lighting all over the ceiling. In the studio side, finished paintings hung or stood stacked against the wall, and three easels had a painting-in-progress each. Harry had spent some time in galleries in London and had read in to a degree, and he could see that Larry was producing some very marketable work.
"Can you sell this in Utica?" Harry asked.
Larry laughed, loudly.
"Not a lot. I do hit the open-air art fair circuit during the nice times of the year. I'm represented by galleries in Buffalo and New York City. Painters can sell a lot over the internet, if they know what they're doing. My main occupation is art professor, but I like doing this and it provides a little mad money.
"Now, Daphne, tell me about my grand-niece. Kendra sent me some photos. I've been trying to find time to come over, even for a long weekend, but flying these days…Aieeee!"
Larry smacked his palm against his forehead.
"She just turned one year on December first, she eats, drinks, smiles, walks a bit, and is just starting to get hair. It might be like mine but it's too early to tell," Daphne told him, then turned to Harry.
"You know what, Harry?"
"I do," Harry said. "We need some of this for the house. Perfect fit."
Harry looked at Larry.
"Daphne and Fabio designed us a house, and the builders are almost done. It's contemporary, so this would all be appropriate."
Daphne moved around from painting to painting, then took some time looking through a stack that leaned against the front wall of the house. She looked out a front window and across a porch with what appeared to be a custom-designed porch swing, before turning her attention back to the paintings.
"Uncle Larry," she said, "Sorry to cut our visit so short, but we have to make this one a fly-by and get downstate and check in. Pick out a day in the next month when I can come buy some art for the house. I'll bring Iolanthe. Will you be able to visit when we're ready to hang it?"
"Any Saturday or Sunday works. No classes," Larry said. "Of course I'll come and help to hang it. My babies must be shown to their best advantage."
"Thank-you!" Daphne said. "I'll send you a couple of suggested dates in the next few days. I put one painting aside so I can think about it. Just there."
"Daphne," Larry said.
Daphne and Harry turned around.
"I know the signs. You're right in the middle of something. Is there anything I can do?" Larry asked.
"Put a SOLD tag on that one I pulled out, that looks like someone hallucinated irises. Should anyone apparate onto your front porch, demanding you produce us, show them the painting and tell them we went on ahead to New York. Should they offer to deliver it personally, give them your best, heart-felt thank you, and hand it over," Daphne said.
"Be safe," Larry said.
"Until next month," Daphne replied, leading Harry back out to the alley.
"What hotel did they want you to use?" Daphne said as they approached the old boiler.
Harry told her.
"Perfect!" Daphne said. "Let's check it out first, before you check in, okay?"
Without waiting for an answer, Daphne dropped her floo powder and said, "Miss Marigold's Manhattan."
Following the 'WHOOSH" Harry found himself stepping into a very peculiar room, something of a Victorian parlor recreated drawing solely on late twentieth and early twenty-first century fittings and furnishings. The effect was disorienting, like the incoherence implicit in adding gold fringe and finials to a Barcelona chair.
"Daphne!" someone called from behind a long desk near the wall.
"Marigold! What are you doing working the desk?" Daphne said. The two women crossed the room and indulged in a long, rocking embrace.
"Perfect storm," said Marigold. "The regular gave birth this morning, the sub I wanted went to California on vacation last week, and the sub for the sub isn't available for a few more hours because she has an actual job roasting coffee in Brooklyn. So, I'm it, until she gets here.
"Why are you popping in on us?"
"Ministry business," Daphne answered. "This is my husband, Harry Potter, and he's representing the ministry at a MACUSA event. I wanted to go by a conference downtown. There are a couple of interesting papers on the schedule, so I'm going to try to get in, even though I didn't get registered in advance. Is 301 available?"
"Yes, for you, it's always available," Marigold said. "Any bags?"
Marigold looked around, the practiced eye of the career hotelier sizing up the guest, and the guest's companion, their clothes, haircuts and body language.
"They'll be along," Daphne said. "Is my wand still the room key?"
"It's all still the same. Can we get you anything? Tickets for a show? Sports? Car and driver for tonight?" Marigold asked.
"Let us knock the road dust off," Daphne said. "By then we'll be thinking clearly."
Daphne led the way upstairs, skipping the two lobby lifts. She called a halt at the second floor, stepping back into a little anomaly in the hallway that afforded an unobstructed view of the top of the stairs, but would not make an observer obvious to anyone following behind. After counting to sixty, she took Harry's hand and proceeded to the second flight of stairs that went up to the third floor.
Room 301 at Marigold's faced the street in front of the building. The two streetside windows faced another hotel directly across and had views of a generous slice of the street to the right and left. Harry looked out and saw the hotel opposite them was the one he'd been directed to by the ministry travel office.
"You're supposed to be a country bumpkin witch who discovered a fascination with healing and focused on your discipline to the exclusion of any other sort of diversion," Harry said.
"And, when we're alone, I converse with Fleur Delacour Weasley only in French, and she does not correct my accent," Daphne responded.
"Before I got stuck on healing I worked with Fabio. I was his trainee, you could say. He does a lot of the supplier relations work personally, hence the facilities here and there. None of them are all that ostentatious, as you will have observed, just a little office where he can meet and drink tea with people, talk trade, do a little buying or contracting," Daphne explained as she pulled a chair closer to the window.
"If you'd like to pitch in with a little stakeout action, feel free," Daphne said. "Anyway, up until my late teens I'd travel with Fabio on school breaks, so I learned something about the Greengrass floos, New York, and Marigold's, as well as all those obscure places like Torshavn where we bought whelks, or lichen breath."
Harry positioned his chair so he could sweep the street from the hotel entrance opposite, along the sidewalk and the far traffic lane, to the intersection roughly a half block distant to his right.
"Lichens breathe?" he asked.
"Their exhalations are critical to the manufacture of certain potions," said Daphne. "The quantities needed are very small, so the houses that sell directly to potioneers don't bother doing the ground-level work with producers that Fabio does, preferring to let him have that part of the business, and buying what they need from him. His profit comes from volume. He completely rejuvenated the business with that strategy."
"I see where your work ethic originates," Harry said. "Besides having the vision, he had the energy to bring it to life."
"Exactly," said Daphne, "When anyone is lucky enough to find that thing they'd do just for the joy of doing it, success usually follows. Look at his gardens, a labor of love. He's the same way about the business. He really likes taking the floo to Fort de France and speaking French with those magical growers, going out to see the plots and beds, and so on. He's a gardener, and business success just seems to flow out of the fun he's having.
"That's how I became with mental maladies. Magical minds are kaleidoscopic. You never get to the end of possibilities. Some outcomes are not good and leave people in pain. I like to relieve pain. I can't ever learn enough about relieving those poor people of their pain."
"You make me want to say things that indicate I'm all squishy inside," Harry informed Daphne.
"A certain level of squishiness manifests inside me when you describe yours," advised Daphne.
"Just as soon as we wrap up this business…" said Harry.
"Take the whole street for just a moment," Harry said, getting up and crossing the room to the desk. He looked around for the usual hotel room literature, found it, then went through looking for a neighborhood map. In luck, he took the map back to his chair by the window.
"Look, my hotel goes through the block. I wonder if there is another entrance?" Harry mused. "If I can get out of here without being seen, I can go around to that side and see if I can find an entrance. I think it's time I checked in. What do you think of this—I'll take a little detour on the way to my hotel, register, and shower. That way, anyone paying attention sees evidence I've arrived. You can give me fifteen minutes then go do your shopping. We'll meet back here at Marigold's in two hours. There may be contact information waiting for me over there."
"Brilliant," Daphne said.
"The item," Harry said, holding out his hand.
"Harry…" Daphne tried.
"No, Daphne," Harry came back. "Not out on the street in New York, doing your shopping, going in and out of fitting rooms. Give it to me or I send up a distress flag and we get extracted."
Daphne disappeared into the bath and closed the door. A minute later, Harry heard water running and Daphne came out and handed him back the black cylinder. Harry looked at his watch.
"Is your watch magical? Does it reset itself? I have three p.m. Back here at five?"
Daphne looked at her watch and nodded.
Harry stuck the hotel map in the inside pocket of his jacket and leaned over toward Daphne as she turned her cheek up for him. With reciprocal 'Good luck' wishes Harry left the room.
Marigold's, a magical hotel, didn't have a need for all the security measures that plagued muggle establishments. The ground floor alternative exit was just a door that guests were welcome to use, unencumbered by warnings about alarms. Harry stepped out into a short alleyway that passed between two buildings and allowed him to walk to the street behind Marigold's. He turned right, then right again, walked two blocks, turned right again, and was on the street that passed by the opposite side of the ministry's choice of hotel. As he had anticipated, the hotel had a secondary entrance on that street, without the flashy stainless canopy.
Harry could see the lobby and main desk ahead as he ducked into a door marked 'Men.' He really didn't need it. He counted to ten and stepped back out, checking back the way he'd just come. Seeing no one coming along behind him, he went on to the desk to register.
Harry gave Daphne's answer to the question "Bags?" as he accepted the key card.
"They'll be along," he said. "Any messages for me?"
Harry'd been expecting something at check-in, but when the desk assured him there was nothing waiting for him, he took the lift to his floor and found his room. After closing the door and flipping the inside latch closed, he drew his wand and cast an additional security charm. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't particularly strong. It was sufficient to cause any intending intruder to make some noise getting in, so Harry could be ready to disarm and disable a person entering without permission.
Harry picked up an envelope from the desk with 'Harry' hand printed on the outside. Inside he found a single, blank sheet of parchment, its dimensions seeming just a little off. He guessed it was the standard U.S. size, eight and one-half by eleven inches, rather than the magical European A4 sheet. Drawing his wand, he passed it over the parchment, muttering, 'Revelio."
"Schedule for Mr. Harry Potter, OM, Ministry of Magic"
Said a very nice header at the top of the page. Harry looked closely at the print. It appeared to be calligraphy, but the letters were extraordinarily regular, making Harry think an autonomous quill had done the writing.
There was nothing scheduled for the evening.
"Nice," Harry thought. "Dinner with Healer Daphne. Someplace New Yorkish."
The next day's schedule was very compact.
"0700—Mr. Potter departs hotel for MACUSA. Transportation provided.
0710—Mr. Potter guest of President, MACUSA (PMACUSA) for breakfast.
0745—Mr. Potter and PMACUSA depart for Ilvermorny School. Transportation provided.
0750—Party introduced to Ilvermorny faculty (Faculty Lounge, coffee, tea)
0800—Dumbledore Fellowship check presentation. Remarks.
0830-0900—Tour Ilvermorny. PMACUSA returns to MACUSA.
0900—Mr. Potter departs for Princeton and tour of laboratory, Prof. Robert Goldstein, host. Transportation provided.
1100—Conclude tour, early lunch at Princeton Faculty Club.
TBD—Return to hotel. Carry out arrangement for Mr. Potter's return to London."
Harry studied the schedule. He tried to put himself inside the mind of someone who wanted to relieve someone like him of a valuable artifact. What would their assumptions be?
He could keep it with him or put it someplace safe. Harry Potter would believe the item would be safer with him because he's confident in his physical and magical fighting capabilities.
Where would he be vulnerable to a surprise assault? The street? On his way to dinner in New York on his free night? On his way back, when he's full and ready for downtime? In his room, where his movements are limited?
Harry had been drawing on all his years of training and hadn't spotted anyone following him. He was sure Blaise had been across the street from Fabio's office in Fort de France, but other than that, he hadn't seen anyone he thought was either a hostile or friendly tail. He sat on the end of his bed, staring at the wall, thinking it all through.
"Shower," he thought. He'd get freshened up, muss up some towels, and head back to his meeting with Daphne at Miss Marigold's, just another out-of-towner gawking at the buildings in what was possibly the only city on Earth more magical than London. Shower complete, complimentary toiletries opened and partially depleted, feeling fully human for the first time in several hours, Harry left the evidence of his check-in and returned to the ground floor, retracing his route out of the hotel. He took a little more time getting back to Marigold's so it would be very close to two hours when he opened the door to Room 301.
Harry paused on the second floor, following Daphne's excellent example, then continued up to Three. He laid his wand on the lock and entered.
"Daphne?" he called, looking around the room. He noted the door to the bath was open a few inches, and the light shone out. Odd. Daphne was a dedicated energy saver and never left any light source, muggle or magical, burning unnecessarily.
"In here, Harry," came a voice from the bath. "We have a visitor so no sudden moves. He's been polite so far."
The door opened slowly and a large man emerged from the bathroom.
"It's Huffman, isn't it?" Harry asked. "I've seen your photograph, of course. They're quite rare, but there is the one."
"Close, Mr. Potter," said the man, keeping his wand pointed toward the bath. Harry assessed it was directed at Daphne and would stay that way until Harry had been rendered harmless.
"I go by Hoffman. Now, you are transporting something and you have gone to a great deal of trouble to conceal your movements and give me a hard time so let's conclude our business in an efficient manner from this point on. I've heard there is a ceremonial baton that is in your possession and I'll just relieve you of it now."
"Oh," Harry said. "I thought you wanted to rob us. We have a bit of travel money. Surely that's what you're after."
"Do I have to become agitated?" Hoffman asked. He did sound a little agitated, Harry thought.
"I don't have a baton. I am transporting something," Harry said. "Why don't you point the wand at me, and I'll get what I've got out of my pocket and you can see if that is what you want?"
Hoffman kept his wand pointed toward the bath and stepped slowly into the room. Harry waited with his hands up until Hoffman redirected his wand at Harry. The two did a slow, ponderous sidestep until Harry was nearer the bath. He brought his right hand down to the breast pocket of his jacket and extracted the black cylinder, which he held up between his thumb and forefinger.
"This is what I was given to bring over," Harry said. "I don't know the whole story. They never tell you the whole story, of course."
He tossed the cylinder onto the duvet, and kept sidestepping toward the bath, and Daphne.
"What is this?" Hoffman asked.
"I don't know," Harry said. "I'm just the courier. The ministry is to pay me a tidy sum for delivering it. You'd really be better off robbing us, to be honest.
"The only thing I know is the cylinder is a container for something," Harry continued. "If you want to take a look, you have to reverse the shrinking charm. Can you cast finite incantatem? I can do it if you can't."
"Oh, for the Chief Druid's sake, Potter, of course I can, that is something the nursemaid teaches the little ones where I come from," Hoffman said.
Several things happened at once. Hoffman pointed his wand at the cylinder and said "Finite incantatem!" Harry dived toward Daphne, who had moved and was standing just outside the bathroom, and a shimmering blue light filled the room.