Thanks to
everybody who reviewed last time.
Cancer: Thanks –I really mean it – for
taking the trouble to put me right on those quite important points, and also
for the offer of help. Damn and blast,
I knew I'd let something slip. I
know it doesn't take that long to fly to Iran, but originally I had George
going to Australia and I'm afraid I didn't proofread it closely enough after
I'd made the changes: I meant to say he'd be travelling as a whole – not just
flying – for twenty-four hours. I have
my reasons for sending him to Iran instead of Australia, but these have nothing
to do with the main storyline, and everything to do with George possibly
getting into serious trouble. I am
aware of the potential for Western tourists to encounter grave difficulties
with Islamic law over things they consider to be quite innocent and normal, and
I felt that in trying to maintain the fiction that he was also a muggle, George
would be inclined to make at least one fatal error, despite his much vaunted
training. As for the language thing, I
obviously didn't make it clear enough that George was using a charm his brother
had given him – which, in the best tradition of the Weasley family, didn't
work, and in any case would have been rather less than suitable even if it had! Perhaps I should have modified the magical
jargon by making it a three word charm rather than only two. However, I still wouldn't have known that
the correct language was Farsi, so it probably wouldn't have helped!
"By the
Pricking of my Thumbs"
By Penpusher
Chapter Three: Preparations and Problems
"And now we come to the most famous name in both wizard and
muggle history to be associated with the Ring of Aphrodite – the witch
Bathsheba. Her family were, to our
knowledge, the only wizards living in Israel at the time, but they were not
Jewish. They used magic to conceal
their origins as the Israelites of the time were extremely xenophobic – so much
so that there was considerable tension between individual tribes, and
foreigners were treated with great suspicion. Bathsheba was talented, ambitious, highly educated and skilled in
magic. Certain family documents have
survived the centuries that give us quite a vivid picture both of her physical
appearance and her temperament. She
inherited the Ring when her mother died, and she subsequently started to think
in terms of a marriage contract. For
Bathsheba, there was no possibility of a partnership within the wizarding
community – the few young wizards of marriageable age were close family – so
she decided to cut her losses and make the best muggle marriage possible."
Harry paused to look around the room at his students. They numbered twelve, all in their late
teens/early twenties, gazing enraptured as the Famous Harry Potter delivered
his lecture. One or two were making
notes, the others just drinking in the ancient history. He raised his wand and drew a large
rectangle in the air inside which an image slowly formed.
"This is a facsimile of a likeness taken by her sister,
Michal." He continued, "As you can see,
she was already young and beautiful, but the effects of the Ring ensured that
she could choose virtually whoever she desired. She used it to engineer a marriage to a rich, respectable soldier
by name of Uriah. Okay, so he was a
Hittite, but he was pretty high up in the favour of David, the King of Israel,
so his nationality didn't count against him too much. However, they didn't exactly live happily ever after, and the
subsequent events of her life proved to be very significant." Harry paused again to check he had their
attention.
"As you probably know, the Ring of Aphrodite passed from
Bathsheba to her daughters, and on down the female line until it was finally
lost in the Jewish diaspora. It was
eventually recovered by a Palestinian wizard during a demonstration on the West
Bank. He discovered it in a
long-forgotten hiding place accidentally uncovered by earth-moving works on a
building site for new Israeli homes. Fortunately, he recognised it for what it was and took it to his ministry
contact in Tel Aviv. It now resides in
the Ministry Museum.
"You will find the rest of Bathsheba's story in the Jewish/Christian text, The Bible, Old Testament, Second Book of Samuel. There are a number of copies in the library." He smiled at them, flicking his wand at the blackboard. A piece of chalk leaped to attention and began to write in a casual but legible hand:
Assignment: "Israelite Royal Genealogy: how did Bathsheba's actions
impinge upon the royal bloodline, and what long-term implications can you draw
from their racial history?" Four feet
of parchment. Deadline: September 30th.
"I want you to research her story thoroughly." He told them
as they scrambled to copy down their task, "Read the account in the book of
Samuel and try to make some qualitative judgment of what she achieved. Seek out any mention of her in the wizarding
archives of the same or similar period – ask the Librarian – there should be
plenty to choose from. Go on as far as
you like with the Old Testament – you'd be surprised at how much you can learn
by reading between the lines. Try to
trace the royal bloodline. And if you
want to be really thorough, go on to the solely Christian part of the Bible,
the New Testament, and study the Gospels. The lineage of a major religious and historical figure was reputedly
traced back - at least in part! – to Bathsheba." Harry was interrupted in full flow by a carillon of tinkling
bells. He glanced towards his desk and
sighed as a globe the size of a large marble started spouting a tiny but
exquisite fountain of golden light. The
students stared and some began to clap spontaneously in appreciation.
"That really is the prettiest charm I've ever seen on a
Message Globe, sir." a dark, bespectacled girl commented shyly. There was a murmur of agreement.
"Cool!" agreed a tall, skinny youth wearing purple robes
over Levis and trainers. As his class
drifted out of the lecture room murmuring their goodbyes, Harry tapped the
globe with his wand. The carillon
stopped and the golden fountain shaped itself into a graceful quill that hung
motionless for an instant before beginning to write. It left a shimmering script suspended in the air, glowing for a
few seconds before fading slowly away. The message read:
Please drop into my
office for a few moments at the end of the afternoon.
Jeremy.
Harry snorted quietly and stirred the gleaming words
deliberately with the end of his wand so that they jumbled in a satisfying
manner before dissipating altogether. He gathered his notes and papers into a worn leather briefcase and threw
the Message Globe on top of them.
"Nox." he muttered, extinguishing the largely
unnecessary torches burning around the walls. He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
"Obsereosteum." The door clicked faintly as the lock engaged, and Harry swung lightly
down the echoing corridor towards the Principal's Office.
Jeremy Sweeting was the Head Honcho of UWIZ and didn't care
who knew it. However, he preferred to
conduct business on what he called a civilised level – meaning that he used
quiet, measured tones to tell his staff to jump, and he expected their response
to be something along the lines of "How high, Sir?" He was a softly spoken man with a very good brain and was once
upon a time a skilled wizard. Given
that it had been a number of years since his magical powers had suffered a
thorough workout, however, he tended to rest upon past laurels and leave the
active stuff to certain other members of his staff. Harry was one of them.
"Harry! Good of you
to drop by. Take a seat. Drink? Coffee, tea? Or something
stronger?" Sweeting's face beamed in a
good-humoured smile as he came forward to greet Harry in the doorway. Harry shook his head, not fooled in the
least.
"Coffee would be nice, if you have it." he responded,
automatically sinking into the sofa, "Otherwise nothing, thanks." Harry's boss tapped his wand twice on a
glass jug of black liquid and muttered a heating charm. Harry winced: he had never been a particular
fan of recycled coffee, and Sweeting's attempts even from fresh were
variable. Glancing away from the
preparations, Harry looked towards the bay just behind Sweeting's desk. He grinned widely and genuinely, rising to
his feet again and moving quickly over to the window. A tall, broad figure with jet-black curly hair and an amazingly
white grin in a suntanned face turned to face Harry with his arms
outstretched. The two men exchanged a
hug in greeting, slapping each other joyfully on the back and shoulders.
"Sirius!" exclaimed Harry delightedly, "How long have you
been back? Where are you staying? Never mind that – how long are you here
for? Why didn't you owl me – you must
come to us at the house, there's plenty of room!" Harry had not seen his godfather since Ron and Hermione's
wedding. Sirius smiled his famous
"knock 'em dead" grin and widened his eyes.
"Oh, this is just a day trip, Harry, more's the pity. The risk of coming under muggle scrutiny is
just too great for anything longer." His face became slightly rueful, "There's
nothing I'd like more than to come stay with you in St. John's Wood,
particularly now Ginny's moved in – but there it is." Harry flushed slightly, but couldn't suppress his smile of pride.
"I'm trying to persuade her to make it permanent," he told
the other man, "But she thinks it's too soon. She says that one whirlwind marriage in the Weasley family is quite
enough for the time being!" Sirius
laughed uproariously. Jeremy Sweeting
coughed lightly to draw their attention to his presence and also, of course, to
their coffee. Sirius winked at Harry as
if to say "we'll catch up later", so Harry was content to hold his peace. Absently, he sipped some of the contents of
his cup, only to put it hastily down on the table.
"So," he began, "To what do I owe this considerable
pleasure?" He looked from Sirius to his
boss expectantly. The two men exchanged
glances, as if deferring to each other for the privilege. Eventually Sweeting grasped the nettle and
began to speak.
"Harry," he said, leaning forward in his chair, "I'll come
straight to the point – it's about your potential South American
expedition." Harry nodded.
"I figured so." He affirmed, "After all, why else would
Sirius be here?" The other man smiled,
but deferred to the UWIZ Principal.
"We've had some recent information from the Ministry's most
reliable contact regarding the whereabouts of the magical artefact in
question." Sweeting began in a
scholarly tone, "I believe the Ministry has already sent someone out to verify
the details – somewhere in Iran I understand – but it will be some time before
he will be able to file a report. However, Minister Fudge feels that the information is so important it
should be acted upon immediately – and this is where you come in, Harry." Sirius leaned forward to take up the story.
"The Ministry wants you to get a team together and leave as
soon as possible." He told him, eyes
alight with anticipation. "The
information is so accurate and the potential so amazing that Minister Fudge
wants you on it as soon as possible." The younger man's face reflected startled disbelief rapidly dissolving
into intense excitement.
"They've finally tracked it down?"
"Yes, on impeccable authority. Of course, George has to check it out, but the credentials are so
good we've been given the go-ahead to put our best team on the job immediately
– and this means you!"
"Leandra's Ewer!" Harry could hardly keep the hushed,
reverent tone out of his voice. He
turned urgently.
"Where, Sirius? Are
we still talking about Belize?" Sirius
frowned slightly and shook his head.
"Our information has taken a slightly different direction
now, Harry, and it looks as though you'll be searching slightly further north –
Mexico, to be specific. Rainforest area
– uninhabited."
"Mexico." Harry
rested his chin in his hands thoughtfully, "I confess, I've never visited the
place – except on holiday when I was living in LA, and even then I stuck to the
tourist areas." He looked up, his eyes
bright.
"I'll need specialist equipment." Sirius spread his hands.
"Bogsworthy & Trench in Diagon Alley will provide you
with all the necessary equipment." he stated, "And if you need anything
extra-special, I'll have a word with Tim Cyu: his department will design and
make anything slightly out of the ordinary in record time – just be sure to
return it at the end of your trip, won't you?" Sirius scratched his head at Harry's startled glance and chuckled before
continuing.
"The only problem with Tim Cyu is that if you lose anything
or send it back damaged or broken, you tend to get your ears thoroughly chewed
off. He's quite certain we destroy
expensive equipment on purpose just to annoy him."
"Perhaps he should try some time out in the field?" Sirius snorted indelicately.
"Cyu? Good grief, he
has to be reminded to go home of an evening, otherwise he'd sleep at the
Ministry."
"Sounds a barrel of laughs." Harry's serious expression indicated he was thinking. Presently he looked up again.
"I'll definitely need backup this time," he stated categorically,
"And a local guide. I can't even
consider going into terrain this hostile without at least two other people, one
of whom must be familiar with the area." Sweeting and Sirius exchanged glances.
"That's absolutely no problem at all, Harry." With an air of pouring oil on troubled
waters, Sweeting had taken charge of the conversation.
"A local guide has already been suggested – by Sirius, as a
matter of fact."
"Well, not exactly by me." Sirius prevaricated, "I mean, I know this guide, yes, but the
recommendation came from a completely different source, if you catch my
drift." Sweeting nodded, impatiently.
"And as for backup," he paused to glance at Sirius once
again, "Harry, I think you'll find the third member of your team more than
satisfactory. Don't you, Black?" Sirius gave an odd, speculative smile and
nodded in agreement.
"Oh yes." He replied firmly to Harry's puzzled expression,
"I'm quite sure you'll have no complaints about your travelling companion – no
complaints at all."
******************************************
"Does it look okay? Or do you think I ought to curl it? It wouldn't take more than a few minutes – well, half an hour or so –
and I could make it look like a spiral perm, muggle style. What do you think, Lee?"
"Uh? What?" Lee raised his head directing an unfocussed
gaze at Ginny, who was standing impatiently at the other end of the kitchen
table.
"Oh, your hair? Yes,
it's lovely."
"Lee!" she all but shrieked at him, "I'm
trying to dress for tonight's gig. Will
you please, please try to give me some feedback. I know the clothes are okay – the band agreed on them earlier,
it's the hair I'm trying to conquer!" Lee sighed, putting down pages of computer printout.
"Ginny," he began, patiently, "For what it's worth, I think you look fantastic." He was being quite truthful: her outfit of skin-tight silver jeans and matching bomber jacket over a vibrant green halter top would have been totally OTT, even for a party, but onstage she would look out of this world.
"And the hair?" She was nothing if not persistent. He took a deep breath.
"In Harry's absence, I will express a personal opinion. I think spiral curls would be too fluffy for the image you're trying to project – leave it smooth." She nodded.
"Thank you, Lee. Thank you very much." He smiled, wearily and looked at his watch.
"I can't imagine where Harry's got to." he said, puzzled. Ginny gave him a sour look as she adjusted the straps of her high-heeled silver sandals.
"Predictable, I suppose." she replied, lightly, "After all, he's been used to living totally to his own schedule for four years. He's never had to make allowances for anyone else before. All the same, I hope he gets here in time for the gig. If he misses the first night, I'll be seriously disappointed." The front door banged and she turned swiftly, her face alight with hope which faded almost immediately when the visitor turned out to be her brother, Fred.
"Oh," she said, sadly, "It's you."
"My dear little sister," Fred began in his usual off-beat manner, "I may be talented, but regrettably I am unable to transform myself into the Famous Harry Potter solely to wipe that look of almost painful disappointment from your face. However, life is rarely perfect and we have to take the rough with the smooth. Is there any more tea, Lee, or will I make a fresh pot?" He took Lee's silence as a yes and busied himself with domestic pursuits while Ginny paced up and down the kitchen floor like a caged tiger. Eventually, Lee looked up again.
"Come on, Ginny, it's not like he's going to miss it or anything – you've got a good half hour before you need to leave, surely. And we won't miss the band even if we don't get there till 8.30 – you're not on till 9, is that right?" She nodded.
"I know." she sighed. "It's just that he said he would be getting home early. I hoped he'd come with me to the Club – for moral support, you know. It makes me worry that something's happened."
"Just keep calm, there's a good girl." Fred pressed a warm mug into her hands. "It's your first gig with this lot so you're bound to be nervous." She shook her head.
"It's not just that." she told him. "I've been having so many problems working with the male vocalist – he's such a total pratt – that if Harry's not there to give me moral support tonight, I'll feel like jacking it in completely and crawling back home to drink hemlock." Fred patted her shoulder.
"You're one of the strongest people I know – you're not going to let some little jerk frighten you away from something you want to do, are you? Incidentally, who is this idiot we're talking about?"
Ginny drew breath and set about giving Fred chapter and verse on Marcus Torrence – his insufferable rudeness and arrogance, his deadpan manner, his hostility towards her, and the impossibility of working with him. When she had finished, even Lee had raised his head in wonder at the vehemence of her recital.
"Is he good?" wondered Fred, with practised casuality.
"Good?" replied Ginny, "You mean talented? Oh, gods, yes. He's a natural – glorious voice and terrific stage presence. In fact, if I didn't know better, I would swear he's using some kind of magical enhancement."
"Do you think he would have the talent to do that? He is a wizard, isn't he? Where did he train?"
"He's certainly a wizard, and he's trained in sound engineering, if that's what you mean. I don't know where he went to school, though – it certainly wasn't Hogwarts – but I'll ask if you really want to know. Why the interest anyway?"
"Oh, no real reason." Fred looked slightly shifty, then appeared to change his mind, "Well, nothing really. I'm just slightly concerned about you getting sucked into a crowd used to employing magical enhancement on a regular basis. I know it's legal, if not actually encouraged, at wizarding venues, but what happens when they play for muggles? One more UUM Notice this year, sister mine, and you're for the high jump!"
"I know, I know." Ginny looked sulky.
"It's not worth it just for a job with a man who's causing you so much grief." Fred's voice became gentler, "Remind me – what was it he said about there being a surfeit of female vocalists?"
"He said we were ten a penny, if that's what you're referring to. And he also made some course remark about my living here with Harry."
"You didn't tell him about Harry yourself beforehand?"
"Good grief, no! I don't even speak to the man if I can avoid it. I'd hardly go out of my way to tell him my private life, now would I?" Fred made as if to let the subject drop, then turned back to his sister with an interested expression on his face.
"Just one more thing: did Justin know about you and Harry, or did you tell him?" Ginny considered.
"Oddly enough, he didn't even know Harry was in the country. I had to explain the situation after the blonde bombshell announced it to the world. Why the great interest, Fred? Does the Ministry have a file on Marcus or something?" Fred shook his head, his face at its blandest.
"No reason really. Just put it down to the natural reactions of a shifty, professionally paranoid, extremely sad person, who has no life to speak of and needs all the thrills he can get." He looked so mournful that she giggled involuntarily, swinging automatically towards the hall as she heard the front door bang again. Fred watched her go with a very thoughtful look in his eyes. One or two of his closest professional colleagues would have felt their hearts sink at the sight of that particular expression. He was quiet for a while, pondering, then shook his head, appearing either to have made a decision or to have put the problem aside for later consideration.
**************************************
Hermione stirred briefly and looked up as she heard the
front door open and close. She sighed
wearily, then smiled as feet thudded through the hall and into the
kitchen. There came a sound of water as
the kettle filled itself. Hearing this,
she picked up her quill again and decided just to finish this one last
precedent while Ron was making her a very welcome hot drink.
However, she was still scratching at her parchment when he
appeared at the door of the study carrying two cups of tea. He bent his head to kiss her lips lightly.
"Hi." He said quietly, "Had a good day?" She put down her quill and stretched her
arms above her head, wincing at her sore muscles.
"Fair to middling." she replied, her mind still partially
absorbed in her precedent, "At least I've practically finished the most
complicated section of this opinion. I'll be able to knock it into a rough draft tomorrow – which is more
than anyone else has been able to achieve in the last year!" Ron smiled at his wife.
"My Hermione," he said, shaking his head gently, "Absolutely
unstoppable when it comes to research. You have really phenomenal powers of concentration, you know. I have to take a break after half an hour –
most other people I know are the same. You can go on for hours at a time without even needing to look up!" She smiled, sipping her tea, and raised her
eyebrows over the rim of the cup.
"Practice." she replied succinctly, then frowned, glancing
at her wrist. "Ron, what's the
time? My watch seems to be acting up."
"It's 7.00pm." he replied, watching her face closely. Her eyes widened and so did her mouth.
"Oh, ye gods! We're due
at Harry's in twenty minutes. Ron, we
must change and get moving!" Her
husband grinned at her, and she registered his showered, shaven, smartened
state, contrasting uncomfortably with her creased, all-day griminess. Grabbing her mug, she raced for the bedroom,
rummaging through her wardrobe for something appropriate. Ron retired to the kitchen: he knew when not
to disturb his wife.
*********************************************************
Harry was making his way home. He was so deep in thought he hardly registered the familiar
landmarks, and on reaching his own front door, paused and gazed up at the Lion
doorknocker in slight confusion. He
shook his head: this would never do.
"Gallileo." He murmured, wondering what sort of
reception he was going to get from Ginny when he told her about his forthcoming
trip.
After the meeting with the Principal, he and Sirius had left
UWIZ together in search of some decent refreshment. Relaxing in "Grizabella's", a wizarding coffee house within a
stone's throw of UWIZ, the two had talked away the remainder of the afternoon
and Harry had caught up on a plethora of internal Ministry politics that had
bypassed him while he was abroad. Harry
was amazed how Sirius managed to keep his finger on the pulse, particularly as
he lived mostly in Brasilia, but the other man was somewhat secretive about his
sources. This unusual reticence led
Harry to suspect that perhaps Sirius might have more contact with the Weasley
twins than any of them were letting on. By far the most critical news he had to impart to Harry concerned
Minister Cornelius Fudge.
"He's not a well man, Harry." Sirius shook his head gravely,
sipping the strong, velvety-smooth Colombian coffee which was Grizabella's
speciality. His face creased into a smile
of near ecstasy.
"Oh, that stuff works better than a revival charm!" Harry nodded, rolling the bitter liquid
around his mouth.
"You were saying, Sirius – about Cornelius?"
"Yes. He's been ill
for some time, you know. Unfortunately,
it's not something he's going to recover from easily, and people are beginning
to notice that he's letting his deputies do most of the work. He really should retire – for his own
good." Sirius shook his head
again. Harry frowned.
"Doesn't he realise he's getting, well, past it?"
"Oh, yes! He's go
tomorrow if he could – so the rumours claim. No, Cornelius may be over-cautious, pompous, unwilling to face
unpleasant facts, and occasionally downright blind, but he's also utterly loyal
and would move heaven and earth, if he could, to safeguard the wizarding
world. He's also been a surprisingly
effective interface between magical and muggle governments, and he's been
responsible for good deal of fancy footwork over the years – to our advantage,
I might tell you. The problem is simply
who to appoint to replace him. He's
been trying to find a successor for almost the entire time I've known him –
with a marked lack of success." Harry
pursed his lips thoughtfully.
"I don't suppose you would ever consider …?" He trailed off as Sirius shook his head
decisively.
"It would put the muggle government in an impossible
position, Harry, plus the fact that I've never really had a yen to do a desk
job." Sirius stretched his long legs
out under the table and put his arms behind his head.
"No, until Pettigrew's actually arrested, charged and thrown into Azkaban, the muggle government will do no more than turn a blind eye to my occasional presence in this country – it can't afford to be seen to condone a convicted mass-murderer not only walking the streets but also working in a government department!"
"But the Ministry of Magic accepts the real situation,"
protested Harry, "And there's overwhelming evidence that Pettigrew is alive and
well and working for the Dark Side, so where's the problem?"
"The problem is that sixteen years ago the muggle judiciary
conclusively proved that I murdered a whole streetfull of people. Now, to prove otherwise would mean they
would have to re-open the case, re-examine all the evidence, perhaps point the
finger at some highly respected professionals for drawing the wrong conclusions
all that time ago, tread on a number of very sensitive toes, and to add insult
to injury, be obliged to leave the case open due to their having no one else in
custody to take the blame. Whitehall
would really rather let sleeping rats lie, thank you very much. No, Harry, even if I wanted it, the
Minister's job is not open to me, and probably never will be!"
Harry stood in the hall not moving, mulling over the
substance of the afternoon's talk. Eventually the voices in the kitchen penetrated his self-absorption, and
he threw his briefcase into the corner, strolling in through the door.
"Thank Merlin! I
thought you'd never get home. Where on
earth have you been?" Confused, Harry
glanced at his watch and gaped in astonishment.
"Ye Gods! Ginny, I'm
so sorry – I didn't realise it was that late." He hugged her briefly.
"I'd better go change right away. Do you want me to come to the Club with you now?" At the sight of Harry, solid and reassuring
and most importantly there for her, Ginny felt confidence flood back
into her nervous system and she smiled, shaking her head.
"It's okay, Harry – come along later with the others. I ought to leave in the next five minutes
anyway, and – what are you staring at?" Now he had taken a good look at her, Harry was goggling at the amazingly
sinuous effect of the shining silver outfit and the dramatic stage make-up.
"You didn't look like this the last time I saw you onstage."
was all he could manage, unable to look away. She burst into peals of laughter and kissed him lightly on the cheek,
careful not to smudge her lipstick.
"That's all the reassurance I need that this getup looks as
good as I think it does!" she announced, slinging a long grey cloak round her
shoulders and grabbing a handbag before moving out of the kitchen towards the
front door. "I'll see you all
later." Harry snapped out of his trance.
"Ginny! Wait a moment!" But it was too late – she had gone. Harry bit his lip: he'd have to keep quiet about his forthcoming trip for the whole evening now until he could talk to her on her own.
The sounds of new voices in the hallway alerted him to the
arrival of Ron and Hermione.
"We met the Gorgeous Girl on her way down the drive." Ron told Harry, grinning from ear to
ear. "Justin picked her up in his Mini
at the end of the road. Haven't seen
him in years – he's not changed much!" Hermione kissed Harry lightly on the cheek, as befitted an
almost-relation – or 'brother-out-law', as Ron insisted on calling him.
"Drinks anyone?" offered Lee, hospitably.
"Yes, thanks very much, Lee." replied Fred approaching the
communal wine rack with a critical eye, "I'll do the honours, shall I?" Lee's smile practically split his face.
"Carry on, make yourself at home, Fred." He chuckled, "The
glasses are …"
"In the cupboard above the sink – yes, I remember."
"What time do we have to leave?" Hermione was checking her watch.
"Oh, not for twenty minutes or so minimum." replied Harry,
accepting a glass of white wine, "I've got to get changed yet."
"Well, you'd better hurry." Hermione told him, "We can't
possibly be late for Ginny's first gig."
"Relax, 'Mione." Ron stroked her shoulder soothingly, "It's
not a concert – the live music doesn't start till late. And the band have top billing, so if we're a
bit late all that'll happen is we'll miss the warm-up acts. Besides, Ginny's reserved a table for us, so
we're laughing."
"We're still waiting for Oliver." explained Lee, pouring
wine for the couple, "He said to go on without him if he got delayed, but it
would be nice to go together." Ron took
his glass, held it up to the light in approval and raised it towards Harry.
"Well, mate," he began, "I reckon some kind of a toast is in
order." Harry stared then frowned,
shaking his head urgently, but he was too late: Ron was in full flow. Ignoring Harry's increasingly frantic
signals and Hermione's puzzled expression, he raised his glass high.
"This evening heralds not just one debut but two." He
announced to the assembled company, "I refer, of course, not only to Ginny's
debut at the prestigious P.O. Nightclub, but also to my future professional
partnership with our esteemed colleague, Harry Potter." He clinked his glass against Hermione's and
smiled smugly. She stared at him.
"You're working with Harry? Why Ron, that's marvellous!" her face spread into a broad grin, "Why
didn't you tell me about it sooner?" He
shrugged.
"It was only confirmed this afternoon," he explained, "And
besides – the job's in Mexico, so it'll be a little while before we can
start." A slightly awkward silence met
this devastating pronouncement, although Ron didn't seem to notice. He quaffed his wine with a satisfied smirk
then looked around the room, mildly surprised at the lack of reaction from his
friends. Fred winced and ducked
inwardly as Hermione drew breath. Lee
glanced surreptitiously around the room for potential hiding places. Harry sighed loudly and clapped Ron hard on
the shoulder.
"Well done, Ron." he replied, weakly, "Not only is Ginny
going to be absolutely livid when she hears that she was the last person to
learn of this potential trip, but I would also lay fairly stiff odds against
you getting out of my house with all your limbs and major organs intact." Ron stared at him, nonplussed until Harry
drew his attention to his wife's ominous stillness and lack of facial
expression.
"Ron, how long will you and Harry be in Mexico?" Hermione
enquired sweetly, although her eyes were like stone. Ron shrugged, oblivious.
"Oh, a couple of months I guess." He responded, "Of course,
it's not generally known that we're going yet. It's not exactly hush-hush, but it would be better not to mention it
outside these walls just at present."
"And when were you thinking of leaving?"
"As soon as we can get the equipment together." Ron was
beginning to feel slightly uneasy, "We've got to visit Diagon Alley, and maybe
one of the Ministry Labs. We'll Port to
LA for briefing from Sirius, then the three of us will travel to Mexico and set
up base somewhere relatively civilised, but as near to the rainforest as
possible."
"So you'll be travelling – in jungle?"
"Yes, that's the general idea, although we'll have Sirius as
back up."
"Don't you think that might just be a little bit –
dangerous?" Ron laughed, unwisely. Fred was torn between the desire to edge
slowly away, and a wicked sense of amusement at his younger brother's discomfiture.
"My love, we'll be perfectly alright. Harry and I are both used to this sort of
jaunt, and we'll have a local expert to guide us. It'll be a breeze." There
was a horrible silence, then Hermione flipped.
"You numbskull!" she shouted, "You total excuse for a wizard
and a human being! Did it never occur
to you that I might have some sort of opinion on this 'jaunt' you and
Harry have decided to go on? Did you
think I'd actually welcome the opportunity to send you to the other side
of the world on a mission that sounds frankly extremely dangerous? Are you completely insane or just totally
oblivious of how anyone else might feel about your decision, you insensitive
git!" At this stage in her highly
satisfactory rant, a lesser woman might have slapped her open-mouthed husband
around the face and burst into tears. Not so Hermione: she stormed up to within twelve inches of him, kicked
him hard in the shins with her stiletto heeled shoes and marched out of the
kitchen with her head held high.
Ignoring the howls of pain emanating from the other room,
Hermione, on automatic pilot, stormed into what used to be her study. About to slam the door, she stopped dead in
confusion. The place had been totally
transformed.
When Hermione had first moved into Harry's House, she had
taken automatic possession of the study. Being the one with the most research work and the largest collection of
books, this made sense to the others, none of whom particularly wanted to use
the room anyway. It had been cosy and
rather old-fashioned with a large polished wooden desk in the centre, a number
of bookcases around the walls, worn Moroccan rugs on the floor, a drinks
cabinet, a small leather sofa in the bay window and a couple of overstuffed
armchairs. Hermione gazed about her in
wonder: the desk had totally disappeared to be replaced by an ergonomically
designed workstation with two monitors, several keyboards, scanners, telephone
points, speakers and printers. The
battered sofa had been superseded by a smart-looking futon, the Moroccan rugs
had given way to sanded bare floorboards, and the bay window was now covered by
discreet and very effective blinds. The
only item of furniture which she remembered was the drinks cabinet.
"What the … " she began slowly. Footsteps sounded behind her and a voice called back to those
still in the kitchen:
"… better make sure she doesn't smash anything!" Lee came into the room behind her and
noticing her thunderstruck expression, looked suitably awkward.
"I know, I know." he muttered, scratching his head,
"Everything's changed. But Hermione,
life has to go on, and my work is so different from yours. I tried to use the old furniture, but it
just didn't work – I really need a properly designed workstation if I'm not
going to get permanent backache from the long hours I spend at these
machines." Hermione was shaking her
head.
"No, Lee." she replied quietly. "Of course you changed
it. I never expected it to stay as it
was, it's just … " she trailed off and sighed, "I guess I miss living here,
that's all. Some part of me wishes that
Ron and I had elected to move in here rather than the flat." She paused and then shook herself.
"How could he agree to something so momentous without even
mentioning it to me, Lee?" She turned
liquid brown eyes towards him. Lee
shuffled his feet and cleared his throat.
"Well," he began, "I suspect he was so excited at the
thought of working professionally with Harry at last that other considerations
sort of lost out in the aftermath. He's
always shared everything with Harry right from the start – his knowledge, his
possessions, his siblings, his share of his parents' attention, and also, to a
certain extent, you. It must have been
hard to be thought of as second best, as an also-ran, a side-kick to the Famous
Harry Potter, but Ron was always generous. Now, finally, he's got the girl, and the career, and the status. Don't get me wrong: I'm not implying there's
anything malicious in this – Ron hasn't a gram of mean-spiritedness in his
whole body – but there's got to be something in him wanting to prove himself a
match for Harry. And this trip to
Mexico looks like it's going to do just that – it's going to be no Sunday
school picnic out there."
"Rivalry? Is that
what this is all about?" Hermione was a little calmer, but her eyes were still
flashing, "Two little boys trying to find out who can run faster?"
"Hermione, it's not as silly as you're making it out to
be." Lee raked a hand through his wiry
black hair in exasperation. "Look, I'm really not very good at this, but I
think you should at least hear him out before doing any more screaming. And besides, it's time we left if we're
going to hear Ginny at all this evening." Hermione took several deep breaths then turned towards the doorway. Lee looked at her anxiously and she gave him
a tight smile.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to make a scene." she told him,
"At least not in public." And with that
she swept out into the hall to find that Oliver had arrived, Harry had changed,
and the rest of the gang were ready to leave. She condescended to take the arm Ron nervously proffered, but she
neither looked at nor spoke to him until they reached the P.O. Club.
