Well done, Qaera, you're quite right about the title. In fact, it's not the only thing I've
purloined from "The Scottish Play" – keep a look out.
Sorry I've worried you all about Harry and Ginny, but isn't
that what good plot development is all about? (I hope so anyway! On with
the show …)
"By the
Pricking of my Thumbs"
By Penpusher
Chapter Four: "Doubt truth to be a liar …"
The 'P.O.' was actually a nickname that stuck.
Before he had read "Hogwarts: A History", Harry had been
amazed to learn from Hermione that the enormous castle which housed the famous
school was actually visible to muggles. He had found this rather difficult to believe as even in the wilds of
Scotland (where Hogwarts was reputed to be situated) it was unlikely that
something this huge and grand could be simply overlooked or ignored by its
muggle neighbours. Hermione had airily
informed him that the building had a glamour cast over it to make it look
derelict. Various signs saying "Danger!
Do Not Enter!" and "Unsafe: Hard Hat Area Only!" had also been placed over all
the entrances and exits to ward off the curious.
On an apparently unrelated topic, the London Underground had
always been a source of complete mystery to most witches and wizards,
particularly to those who hailed from relatively rural areas. Why bury oneself in a metal box simply to go
rushing around in small, cramped tunnels where it was dark, there was nothing
to see and the air was stale? Far better
to keep above ground and travel in the daylight and fresh air. Indeed, their argument may have held water
at first, but come the second half of the Twentieth Century, even witches had
abandoned their broomsticks in favour of Apparation (if the distance was short)
and Portkey (for longer or more difficult journeys).
As times changed, the designers of the London Underground
rebuilt and modernised parts of the system, dug new tunnels, and redesigned the
stations in order to cope with the changes in commuter habits. As businesses waxed and waned and computer
technology changed people's working routines, retailers started operating for
longer hours and extra days, and shift work became more the norm than the
exception. Consequently, different
parts of the rail network became overworked – and some were more or less
abandoned. British Museum station is
part of the Central Line between Tottenham Court Road and Holborn, but no
passengers have alighted there since 1932. Similarly, on the Piccadilly Line between Green Park and Hyde Park
Corner, travellers can glimpse what looks like a slight change in the tunnel
design and brickwork. This is another
station, Down Street, which was closed in the same year.
Post Office had also once been a station on the Central
Line, but was closed down in the late 1960s in favour of St. Paul's. It had originally served the Post Office
Headquarters in Newgate Street, before the move in 1967 to the Post Office
Tower (now Telecom Tower). From above
ground there was no trace that a station had ever existed on Newgate Street,
but below the surface it was quite a different story.
As she took hold of the Portkey, Hermione felt a slight
sense of trepidation. It had been
explained to her in patient detail where she was going and that it was
perfectly safe, but Porting to an underground location had always given her a
great deal of unnecessary anxiety. She
resisted the temptation to squeeze Ron's hand for reassurance – she still
wasn't speaking to him – and it gave her immense satisfaction to note that he
too was less than confident about this Port. Fred began the countdown and Hermione screwed her eyes shut. Abruptly, they were somewhere else and,
feeling the change in the air, she opened her eyes – and stared.
"It's – unbelievable!" she whispered, clutching Ron's
nerveless hand in surprise. Ron didn't
notice – he and Harry were much too busy staring.
The sheer scale of the place was the first shock: it seemed
to go on for miles. Only after
adjusting their minds to accommodate its size were they able to take in the
gorgeous Art Deco style of the interior design. The managers of the P.O. had clearly taken its history
seriously. The entire floor was
carpeted in a dark rich red, and the walls picked up the colour, with cleverly
placed drapes in green and gold giving the illusion of windows. Picking up those colours on its frontage,
the bar resided at one end of the space: a huge circular sweep of mahogany and
chrome surrounded by fixed chrome bar stools. In its centre was a decoratively carved mahogany stand holding the
glasses, at the top of which was a vast golden light shaped like a cylinder
with a flared end. As they looked, they
noticed the design repeated in further huge lights floating near to the
ceiling. At the other end of the space
was the stage: massive, curtained in green and gold with flights of steps in
front and to both sides. As they
stared, an odd-looking wizard in bright yellow robes was demonstrating, to
howls of laughter from the front tables, how to use a muggle vacuum cleaner.
"That's Pythagorus Pringle." Lee said quietly, "Stupid name,
but he's actually very funny. D'you
know, every single muggle artefact in this act is genuinely used every day by
muggles! You'd never believe it, but
it's true." Pythagorus Pringle had now
started on an ironing board and had succeeded in folding himself into it, much
to the delight of his audience.
"It's when he gets on to the uses muggles make of
broomsticks, that's when I crack up." said Oliver, smiling. "I brought the Singapore Swifts here once,
and they didn't stop laughing about it for a whole week."
Filling the area between the bar and the stage were round
tables flanked by curved chairs, all in green, black and gold. Fred strolled easily forward and engaged the
waiter in conversation. He turned to
the others, inclining his head towards the stage.
"Come on. Ginny's
reserved us a place at the front." He
grinned, "She's also sent champagne with her compliments – it's chilling at the
table." Oliver and Lee needed no second
bidding, but Harry, Ron and Hermione moved rather more slowly, drinking in the
atmosphere of the place.
"Ye gods, I'm glad I wore a suit." muttered Harry, glancing
around at the clientele. Ron nodded in
agreement.
"I thought I'd feel a total pratt in black tie," he replied,
"But even Fred's tux looks ordinary by comparison. This place must be worth millions!" Harry smiled grimly.
"Why do you think Ginny was so keen to take the
contract? If she's a hit here, she can
more or less name her terms. Merlin
knows, she's put up with enough from this Marcus character though, so it'd
better be worth it."
They sat down at their table, staring surreptitiously at the
ranks of bright, rich young wizards and witches dancing, chatting, ordering
drinks and waiting for the main spot to begin. Harry was completely floored when a very beautiful blonde in a backless
gold sheath dress approached him and asked if he would like to dance.
"You're the Famous Harry Potter, aren't you?" she breathed,
stars in her eyes, "I thought you were living abroad now." Harry hastily smoothed his hair down over
his scar.
"Er, lightening visit, going home tomorrow, sorry." He
muttered, "Just over here for Ginny's – I mean, the band's debut."
"You mean 'Hold That Thought'? You know them?" Harry
fought off a wild desire to laugh.
"Well, yes." He replied, "I was at school with two of them."
"Is that a fact?" she fluttered her long eyelashes and
smiled alluringly. Harry gestured
towards the stage.
"I don't want to hurry you, but I think they're about to
start." He said gently, "You wouldn't want to miss them, would you?" With a small squeak, the blonde glanced
quickly at the stage and made off at top speed back to her table.
"Don't say it, Ron." Harry muttered between his teeth, not
looking at his friend, "Just shut it." Ron was almost purple in his efforts to keep his laughter contained, but
fortunately at that moment the houselights dimmed, floating spotlights zeroed
in and five figures came leaping on to the stage from different
directions. Justin kicked in the basic
backing track, Animal took up the rhythm and abruptly they were away in a
fast-tempo hard rock number, which kept Marcus and Charles extremely busy. Ginny was the sole vocalist in this number,
and whilst not exactly liking it, Harry had to admire the harsh, hard-bitten
sound she produced. They performed
three rock numbers on the trot, almost as a medley, then, acknowledging the
applause, Justin took the microphone to introduce the team. Two more numbers followed at a slightly
slower tempo, more Country & Western, but then Charles the bass player took
centre stage with an old Elvis song and had the place really swinging. To finish off the first spot, Ginny and
Marcus both took to the floor, effortlessly executing a very fast-paced number
with a dance routine to boot. Harry
found himself glancing at Fred, then looking back as he caught something
strange about the other man's expression. Fred was staring so intently at Marcus Torrence that if his glance had
been a knife, the blonde man would have been skewered. Harry frowned slightly, then shifted his
attention back to the stage where the number was just finishing to rapturous
applause.
The band then took a break and Harry decided to claim
boyfriend's privilege and slip backstage to the Green Room. He located a discreet door marked "Staff
Only" and slipped through it like a shadow. Once into the corridor, he paused irresolute: it was not entirely clear
which way he should go to catch up with the band.
"Can I help you?" a deep voice disturbed his
ponderings. He turned to face the large
presence of a P.O. bouncer.
"If you would be kind enough to go back through the door,
sir, I'm sure a waiter …" The large man stopped and frowned at Harry's
forehead.
"Are you Harry Potter?" he asked abruptly, then not waiting
for a reply, "Ah, you'll be wanting the Green Room, won't you sir? Yes, Miss Weasley warned me you might come
calling. This way please." He continued down the corridor with Harry in
pursuit and showed him into a large, pleasant room with comfortable armchairs,
a sideboard with drinks and nibbles, and a large fireplace. The five people all looked up at his
entrance, and one leaped from her chair and into his arms.
"Oh, Harry!" her face was smiling, but there was something
anxious about her eyes, "It's going well, don't you think? The audience seems to like us." There was a muted noise of disgust and Harry
raised his head to encounter the disconcertingly arctic gaze of the blonde lead
singer.
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure." Harry returned
coolly, "Harry Potter. And you are …?"
"Marcus Torrence." even his voice was cold and indifferent.
"You don't think you're a success with tonight's
crowd?" Torrence shrugged.
"This lot would clap a unicorn with no horn." was the
succinct reply.
"You mean we're easily pleased?" Again the icy stare.
"Whatever." was the careless reply, "You said it, not
me." He strolled away.
"I see what you mean." murmured Harry into Ginny's ear. He was trying not to let on how much the other man had angered him, but
he had to admit that his normal self-control seemed to have taken a
holiday. Fetching Ginny a drink from
the sideboard in order to regain some kind of equilibrium, Harry took one or
two deep breaths and tried to work out exactly what it was about this guy that
riled him so badly. The hostility
emanating from the man was almost tangible – Ginny seemed to be finding it
particularly difficult to cope with tonight. As a result, Harry stayed for almost the entire break, refilling his
glass from the Green Room supplies and talking to Ginny in a low voice, trying
to reassure her. He had been intending
to break the news of his impending trip to her during the interval, but once he
had seen the situation, he realised how unfair that would have been.
I'll just have to make sure I get to her first – certainly
before Ron and Hermione start bickering again, otherwise the cat'll be well and
truly out of the bag! Harry thought, running an irritated hand through his hair as he
virtually ran back through the corridor to take his place with the others.
"Where have you been?"
hissed Hermione as he sat down, just in time to join the applause for the
band's final spot. "You nearly missed
them." He shook his head.
"Went to see Ginny in the
Green Room." He told her, "Just as well I did, if you ask me?"
"Why?" But 'Hold That Thought' had dived into their
first number and further discussion was impossible.
Shaking his head in
disbelief, Harry reached for his glass. How could someone so monumentally unpleasant have such an incredible
stage presence? Torrence was superb,
there was no other way to describe him. He could make his voice curl and weave sensuously around the audience,
or rasp and grate sexily, depending on the mood of the music. His lithe dancer's body with its quick
movements and effortless grace mesmerised the audience, but it was his range of
facial expressions that completely threw Harry. Having come face to face with the man's objectionable deadpan
demeanour, Harry could scarcely believe that he could be so convincing, and he
was distinctly unhappy towards the end when Justin introduced a slower tempo
love song for the two vocalists. This
was followed fairly quickly by a medley of three rock songs for a barnstorming
finish which had the entire nightclub, clientele and staff alike, on their feet
cheering: 'Hold That Thought' had made it!
The management brought more champagne to their table without
any sort of prompting and after about fifteen minutes or so, Justin burst
through the 'staff only' door with Ginny on his arm followed by Charles and
Animal, grinning from ear to ear. Congratulations were heaped upon them, photographs taken, drinks offered
(and declined) and the group finally settled at their friends' table to toast
each other and their future success. Harry kissed Ginny on and on, seeing no need to worry about smudging her
makeup now, and settled her into the crook of his arm.
"You were fantastic!" he beamed, "Absolutely
mind-blowing!" Ginny grinned happily.
She was looking particularly beautiful having changed from her stage clothes
into a deep green bias-cut cocktail dress that complemented her hair colour
perfectly.
"I did it! I really
did! Oh, I thought it would never work,
but we managed to pull through in the end – and the applause! Justin's got three firm contract offers in
the last five minutes!" Harry turned
towards his former Hufflepuff friend to congratulate him, when a figure caught
his eye, moving swiftly towards the exit. It turned back for a moment and Harry
caught a glimpse of blonde hair and a pale face before it disappeared into the
night. Harry frowned and tapped Justin
on the shoulder.
"Where's Torrence? I
figured he'd be jumping for joy now this thing's taken off." Justin laughed.
"Marcus? He wouldn't
jump for joy if he inherited all the gold in Gringotts. He's a cold fish."
"But he's absolutely stupendous on stage! If he's so emotionless, how can what he does
be so good?" Justin shrugged and took a
large gulp of his champagne, sneezing as the bubbles tickled his nose.
"Search me," he replied, when he was able, "But we've never
had a vocalist with such experience or such intuition. Even Ginny, with all her training and
recording experience, is not up to him." Justin took another gulp and grinned slyly.
"But he's not as pretty as she is!" Harry returned the smile and clouted his
friend over the shoulder in a friendly fashion, but he soon relapsed into
thoughtfulness. This man must really be
something special to be able to achieve so much on stage. He thought back to the duet: Ginny's acting
had improved since the last concert he had witnessed, but Torrence had been
totally convincing. So much so that
Harry had felt his stomach clench as the other man had lifted a hand to caress
Ginny's cheek during their love song. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the memory. Let's just count blessings, shall
we? For whatever reason, we aren't
having to put up with him this evening. Potter, be grateful for not-so-small mercies.
The evening seemed to go on forever. Glancing at his watch, Harry was grateful
the following day was Saturday – that is, until he remembered that he and Ron
had a date in Diagon Alley to see about equipment. That set his stomach churning again: he hadn't yet told Ginny
about the trip. He glanced carefully
around the others. Hermione was still
being offhand with Ron, but had been remarkably self-disciplined about
expressing her annoyance in public. Harry flinched involuntarily: he wouldn't exchange places with Ron once
she got him alone for all the butterbeer in The Three Broomsticks.
"Have you spoken to her yet?" the voice was Fred's. Harry turned and shook his head, grimacing.
"I've hardly managed to get a private word with her all
evening." he complained, then sighed.
"It's her night, Fred, a tribute to her success. Oh, I know it's Justin's band, but all the
adulation this evening is really celebrating her talent and her beauty. Now in the middle of all that, how can I
suddenly announce that I'm going half way round the world to ferret about in an
uninhabited, primitive, dangerous environment in search of something which
we're not totally sure exists in the first place? I'm not going to burst her bubble like that – it'll have to wait
till tomorrow morning." Fred raised his
eyebrows but said nothing, instead taking a thoughtful sip of wine.
"You know," he began at length, rather too casually, "What
with George in Iran and you and Ron jaunting off to Mexico, Ginny's going to be
rather lonely with only Lee and Oliver for company in that huge house –
particularly as Oliver's hours are so irregular and he's often away on
tour." Harry spread his hands wide.
"I'm aware of that and Ginny and I have discussed the
possibility of getting someone else in." He frowned, ruefully, "The trouble is
no one springs instantly to mind, and we've just been too busy to think about
asking around."
"Hmm." Fred took another small sip, "You know, I have a
friend who has mentioned that she's looking to move. She's already in a flat, but she'd jump at the chance of moving
in with you lot. I could mention it to
her – only if you'd like, of course." Harry stared at Fred, then smiled.
"You're not, by any chance, attempting to move her out of your
flat, are you?" he demanded, chuckling, "Because if you are, I feel I must warn
you that we are not a rehabilitation centre for Fred Weasley's ex-girlfriends
…" Fred was shaking his head firmly.
"No, no, nothing like that I assure you." He replied,
"Ellen's just a friend." More laughter
from Harry. "No, really. Okay, she used to go out with a colleague at
the Ministry but they split up very recently, partly because she changed jobs
to a very high-powered firm and had to put in a lot of hours at first. She's living rather a long way out of London
– somewhere near Stratford I believe – and her present job is based on the
Edgeware Road, so she'd like to be a bit nearer. Your place would be just great. I'll bring her round tomorrow – if you think it's a good idea?"
"Tomorrow?" Harry
was slightly surprised.
"Yes, if that's okay. I'll bring her round for drinks round about 7.30pm? Great!" Fred smiled, slapping Harry's shoulder and turned to talk to
Oliver. Puzzled, Harry sipped his drink
in silence: he had the odd feeling he had just been railroaded – and he didn't
understand why.
Lee Jordan was having an interesting time. Being only averagely good at magic but
having a first-class analytical mind, Lee was finding his present Ministry
occupation exciting and absorbing, rather to the detriment of his social
life. He began to realise what Oliver
had been complaining so roundly about when he found himself still dancing as
evening dwindled into night and then into the small hours of the morning with
no appreciable fatigue. Sitting down
for a breather and another pint of butterbeer, he was about to remark upon this
phenomenon to Fred, when he noticed that his friend was wearing a very serious
expression. As he watched, Fred seemed
to come to the end of a train of thought and shake his head, automatically
raising his glass to his lips.
"What's up?" Lee asked, as quietly as he could. Fred took a deep breath and expelled it
forcibly in frustration.
"I need reassurance, Lee." He replied, "I need you to tell
me categorically that I am paranoid." He
looked challengingly into his old friend's face and smiled enigmatically. Lee immediately engaged his brain.
"Okay, Fred." He replied, carefully, "What is bugging
you?" Fred shook his head.
"Nothing," he replied, "And everything. That's the problem." Lee nodded slowly.
"Okay," he began, "Tell me some of the nothing." Fred paused, taking another swallow of his
beer.
"Tell me, Lee," he began abruptly, "Have you been involved
at all in processing the information on Harry's trip to Mexico?"
"You know I have, Fred." replied the other man, patiently,
"I was the one who sifted through the stuff you and George brought back from
Iran the first time. I know the
information backwards." Fred nodded
gently.
"Have you come across anything – well, strange about this
information?"
"Strange? Well, no –
most of it's pretty straightforward. In
fact, it was a joy to process really. It's not often so much fits together so easily. Usually it's something of a struggle to make
anything correlate."
"Are you saying it's too perfect? Something about it isn't quite – well, the norm?" Lee considered.
"Nothing overt, no. It doesn't smell bad, if that's what you mean." Fred sighed, shaking his head.
"I've got the jitters, Lee." He confided, "I'm seeing spies
in every corner, assassins under every bed, bugs in every telephone."
"Every what?" Fred
stared.
"Oh, come on, Lee! You use modems every waking minute of your life. Surely you know what a telephone is?"
"Fred, I use computers to log on to the internet. Ancient muggle artefacts are more Harry's
line."
"Ha very ha. Are you
sure your system is secure? You haven't
been hacked recently, have you?" Lee
sighed patiently.
"I have a Norton Firewall in action 24 hours a day." He began,
"I regularly upgrade it from the manufacturers and from the Ministry, and I'm
careful to establish rules for the applications that routinely access the net,
no more. I'm as safe as I can possibly
be."
"Upgrades from the Ministry? Surely you are the Ministry Technology Department at the
moment?"
"No, Fred." even more patiently, "From the Home Office – you
know, the muggle Government? Their
security services have kindly decided to extend their defences against computer
hacking to me. It has made my life a
good deal easier, I can tell you." Fred
paused, shaking his head again.
"There's something ringing a very faint bell – and I'm
damned if I can work out what it is." He exclaimed in frustration. Lee looked at him sympathetically.
"Something about Harry's trip?"
"Well, yes – but also about George in Iran. And – other things." His gaze wandered over to where Ginny was
laughing with Justin on the dancefloor.
"Ah well," he sighed, draining his pint and rising from the
table, "I guess I'm just becoming paranoid in my old age. To tell the truth, I'm relieved that's all
it is." Lee took a swig of butterbeer
and chuckled.
"Seriously, Fred, people in your line of work occasionally
do find their antennae start to work overtime for no apparent reason." Lee's face was sympathetic, "You know I'm
never involved in the intrigue that you deal with every day, I've only ever
been in R & D, but I've seen it happen to others quite frequently. It's nothing to worry about – it'll settle
down in a few days."
"Hmm." Fred sounded sceptical, but seeing as he had already
strolled away to see if Ginny wanted another dance, Lee could hardly challenge
him on the point.
************************************
"Oh, my head!" moaned Hermione. She turned over in bed, desperately trying to go back to sleep
and forget the swirling, flashing maelstrom which was her bedroom this
morning. Gently, a cool hand smoothed
her hair away from her face and she focussed just enough to identify Ron. He smiled faintly.
"I've brought you coffee and breakfast." He told her. Hermione practically threw up there and then
in reaction.
"Oh, Merlin, how did I manage to get into this state?" Ron shrugged.
"Spending all evening not talking to me, I guess you occupied
your mouth in knocking back the booze." He replied, "Although I didn't
particularly notice anything amiss when we were Porting home, I suppose the
effect must have been strengthened by the fact that we missed supper."
"I want to die!" his wife wailed, rolling over in
anguish. Ron patted her shoulder.
"Sit up." he told her.
"No, Ron, please." she murmured, "Just let me die quietly on
my own." He shook his head.
"No, sweetheart. Come on, do as Dr. Weasley says." Protesting feebly, Hermione propped herself up on her elbows and
struggled to a sitting position.
"My head feels worse. Ron, I'm going to be sick!"
"No you're not. Now
– drink this down in one. Go on." Hermione, too exhausted to argue,
mechanically opened her mouth and gulped at the contents of a small glass. She swallowed quickly, then gagged at the
bitter taste.
"What in Merlin's name was that?" she spat, her nose all
wrinkled with disgust, "If it was a patent vitamin complex, the manufacturer
needs to speak seriously to his industrial chemists." Ron laughed.
"It was a Hangover Relief potion. Fred made it for me after my Stag Night, and I wheedled the
recipe out of him later on. Can you
feel it working?" And Hermione had to
admit that she could. It was as though
the liquid was coursing through her very veins, carrying away the pain and
sickness and replacing it with a feeling of energy and well-being. She smiled incredulously at Ron.
"You are amazing!" she exclaimed. He gave her a sad-puppy look.
"That's not what you said to me last night." He protested
mildly. She frowned.
"Frankly, Ron, you were lucky that was all that happened to
you." Feeling considerably better,
Hermione leaped out of bed and threw her bathrobe on.
"I'm not going to repeat my rant this morning, and I am
really very grateful for the Hangover Relief potion, but the fact still remains
that you are going ahead with something extremely dangerous, despite my
objections. Although I wish you well,
Ron, on your own head be it if anything should go wrong. And now, I think I'll have a shower."
"Oh, you do, do you?" Ron caught her around the waist as she made her way nimbly to the
bathroom, "Don't I even get a kiss for taking all the trouble to brew that
potion fresh this morning?" She glared
at him, then leaned forward and pecked him on the nose, at the same time
ducking out of his embrace.
"Don't push your luck, Ron Weasley." she warned, moving
quickly into the bathroom. "You're not out of the woods yet!" Ron sighed, then smiled: at least she was speaking
to him.
*************************************
At about the same time, Ginny Weasly had crawled into the
kitchen in search of something to eat and drink. She had been so nervous the previous day that food had been the
last thing on her mind. Now, at 8.30am,
she was wide awake and ravenous. Rummaging in the fridge, she caught sight of her reflection in a glass
shelf and winced: she looked atrocious. Pale as death, hair hanging limply, last night's mascara not quite
removed properly making black rings round her eyes. Closing her eyes, Ginny grabbed the milk and hastily shut the
fridge door. A cup of coffee and
several slices of toast later, she was beginning to feel a little more human.
" Morning, superstar." Oliver slouched into the kitchen,
sniffing appreciatively at the fresh coffee. Ginny gestured to the pot and Oliver gratefully poured himself a mug.
"No seriously, Ginny," he continued, "You were absolutely
terrific – I couldn't take my eyes off you!" Ginny gave him an old-fashioned look, but was unable to hide her
pleasure.
"Cupboard love!" she told him, "You're only saying that because you want my coffee!"
"Absolutely!" he confirmed, generously topping up his mug,
"I need all the caffeine I can get – I don't think any of us got more than a
couple of hours' sleep. Where's Harry
this morning? Still in bed?" Ginny made a face.
"Out running, believe it or not." she replied, hunched over
her mug, "I admit it – I couldn't face pounding the streets this morning after
all those hours of pounding the stage and then the dancefloor last night."
"Too right." Oliver
waved a casual wand at a loaf of bread and a knife leaped smartly into action,
producing thick, even slices. They
winged their way over to the grill pan and laid themselves in a neat row.
"Having friends round for breakfast, Oliver?" asked Ginny in
perplexity at the amount of toast he was producing. He smiled.
"Just watch." He said. A very short time later, Lee and Harry collided in the kitchen doorway.
"Oof! Oh, I'm so sorry,
Lee, I didn't realise you were there."
"That's okay – I'm so tired I can hardly see."
"I know what you mean. Hey, is there anything for breakfast in this joint?"
"See what I mean?" Oliver
grinned triumphantly as Harry and Lee descended upon the toast like a swarm of
locusts and, when it ran out, starting on the coffee. Ginny tried to glare at them for their disgraceful good humour
and high levels of energy, but she simply couldn't raise the enthusiasm.
"Ye gods, you all look like you could do with a
holiday." Ron stood in the doorway
looking remarkably awake and well-groomed considering the little sleep he must
have had the previous night.
"Hi Ron." muttered Ginny, without enthusiasm, "What brings
you round here at the crack of dawn?" Ron stared.
"Didn't Harry tell you?" he began, "We're going on a
shopping trip to Diagon Alley." Harry
was by this time making frantic signals over Ginny's head and, realising what
dangerous ground he was treading, Ron made as if to try to change the
subject. Ginny raised her head and
frowned.
"Shopping? With
Harry?" she gave a short bark of laughter. "That'll be a barrel of laughs. What are you shopping for anyway?" But Ron seemed to have gone deaf.
"Er, is that coffee, Oliver? Great. Could I cadge
some? We'd run out of the decent stuff
at home – had to put up with instant, worst luck. I really think I'm going to have to have our groceries delivered,
you know. Hermione and I work such long
hours we never manage to find the time to shop." Aware that he was babbling, Ron took refuge in a large mug of
milky coffee thrust in his direction by Lee, but Ginny was not fooled.
"Ron, why are you and Harry going to Diagon Alley this
morning? And why have I not heard about
this before?" Ron fidgeted nervously.
"Well, we just need some equipment, that's all. For a job, that's it, a job."
"Since when have you and Harry worked together?"
"Er, it's the first time, actually. We didn't hear until yesterday. Cracking opportunity for promotion, kudos,
status – you name it."
"You're going to be working together in the near
future? Well, that's wonderful,
Ron." Ginny smiled and looked over at
Harry.
"Why didn't you tell me this was in the pipeline?" Harry shrugged.
"Actually, I didn't know it was until Sweeting called me
into the Inner Sanctum yesterday."
"So what will you be doing? I'm curious as to what an ancient historian and a special duty auror
have in common that makes their working together a possibility." Harry sighed and wiped suddenly cold
perspiration from his face.
"Congratulations, Ron." he announced, oozing irony and
sarcasm, "Not only have you succeeded in bollixing up your own relationship with
such incredible flair, you're also responsible for some potentially limb
mangling problems in mine. And all in
the space of a mere twenty-four hours. I think that must be a record, don't you?" Frantically mouthing apologies, Ron sat down heavily in a kitchen
chair. Harry turned to his
girlfriend. She looked terribly tiny
and vulnerable, standing with an empty coffee mug in her hands, wearing little
other than an old outsized teeshirt of Harry's that fell to her knees. Her pale face and the dark mascara rings
under her eyes only served to emphasise her fragility.
"Harry?" she asked uncertainly, "Is there something
wrong?" He sighed again and came to sit
in a chair close to her, gripping her lower arms and staring up into her face.
"No, Ginny, nothing's wrong as such, but the timing could
have been better." He paused to gather
his thoughts.
"There's no easy way to say this – I learned that last
night!" he frowned mightily at Ron who ducked reflexively, "Ginny, you remember
the South American trip?" She nodded, then her eyes widened.
"It's happening?"
"Yes, sort of."
"What does 'sort of' mean?"
"We won't be going to South America now. The latest destination is Mexico."
"Mexico? Whereabouts?"
"We'll be travelling first to Mexico City for briefing, then
we'll be going on to a small town called Uinal in the province of Yucatan. That's where Sirius will establish his
backup for us."
"Sirius? Where does
he fit into all this?"
"I saw him yesterday – at the University."
"You didn't tell me!"
"There wasn't time, Ginny. I hardly spoke a word to you last night that didn't have several hundred
witnesses."
"Oh? So it was more
important to maintain discretion over this trip than to tell me about it?"
"No, Ginny, it's not like that!" Harry put his head in his hands. He tried again.
"We're going to look for a potentially very valuable magical
artefact. I can't tell you any more
about it because – "
"Because the Ministry doesn't want plebs like me being party
to its secrets, yes?" She was starting
to steam at the ears. Harry flinched:
the truth was that he didn't want to come out with the details in front of
Oliver and Lee, but he could scarcely say so.
"So when do you intend to leave?"
"As soon as possible." Harry cringed inwardly but continued. "That's why Ron and I have
arranged to go to Diagon Alley this morning. As soon as we're properly equipped, we'll go." There was a brief, awkward pause. Then Harry turned to Ron.
"Look, mate. Can you
get lost for a couple of hours? Come
back about ten? I think you owe me that
at least after what you've just done." But Ron was shaking his head.
"I'm sorry Harry, but no can do. We've got to see Tim Cyu at eleven. Unless we get to Ropeworthys pretty quickly, we won't make it
back to the Ministry in time." Harry
turned back to his girlfriend and opened his mouth to speak, but she was too
quick for him.
"No, you go on. That's perfectly alright." She smiled a beaming, if slightly brittle,
smile, "You go to Diagon Alley and buy yourselves a whole truckful of new
toys. Spend all day playing with them,
why don't you? Some of us," she drew
herself upright, her eyes flashing, "Have work to do." Flouncing out of the kitchen, she stomped
through the hall and presently they heard the dining room door slam. Abruptly the sound of Beethoven's
Appassionata sonata, last movement (Allegro ma non troppo) played far too loud
and fast drifted into the kitchen. There was a profound silence.
"As an understatement, I guess that could have gone better."
remarked Oliver, pouring himself another cup of coffee. "All things considered, it's probably just
as well you're going away, Harry. Harry?" But Harry had taken off
after Ginny and could be heard hammering on the dining room door,
shouting. The music merely increased in
volume, and Harry slouched back into the kitchen looking decidedly
dejected. He shot Ron a glance of
dislike. Poor Ron spread his hands in
helpless dismay.
"Harry, I'm sorry. I
naturally assumed you would have told her by now." Harry knocked back his cold coffee.
"I'll just go and shower, then we'll be off to Diagon
Alley." he said quietly, moving towards the West Wing stairs.
