A/N: Just found out something when uploading these chapters, I can't remove the last chapter because it's not allowed, so it'll just have to stay there until I replace it with better content. Damn it!!! So can I trust you not to read the last chapter? Just ignore it, it's basically the same thing. Thank you. The next chapter will be up in a week, hopefully. Chapter Three

Faterex and the Mirror of Doom

"Harry!" a shrill cry rang out from the Burrow. The doors flung open to reveal a skinny girl with bushy brown hair. She beamed and ran over to Harry, almost knocking him over as she enveloped him in a bear hug.

"Err … hi, Hermione," Harry said, quite taken aback from this sudden spurt of affection from his other best friend.

"Oh … Harry, I was so worried about you," Hermione gushed, completely ignoring Ron as he walked past her into the house. "What with You-Know-Who being more powerful and all, I thought he might come back for you anytime. Are you okay?" She put an arm around his shoulders rather awkwardly as they made their way into the house. Harry thought he heard a small "Humph!" from Ron in front of them. He had a feeling the reason Hermione was acting like an overprotective hen was to provoke Ron.

"I'm fine," he said as they stepped into the hall with Ron nowhere in sight. "I'm very safe at Privet Drive, Voldemort wouldn't dare to hurt me there."

"Yeah, whatever." Hermione threw him a sceptical look. "What would your relatives do to protect you? Run after You-Know-Who with saucepans?" she scoffed. "And please don't say his name, Harry. It gives me the creeps."

Harry barely had time to picture the Dursleys chase Voldemort around Privet Drive with their cookware when he was, for the second time that day, given another hug enough to choke the lungs out of him. He moved away from the person, feeling disoriented, and with his glasses dangling at a wild angle off his chin.

"Harry," Mrs Weasley smiled warmly at him. She was a short, chubby woman with a kindly look on her face; the aunt Harry never had.

"I've been so worried about you!" She led them into the living room where Mr Weasley had just retired from the day's work. Harry realised with a jolt that what the twins said about their parents was true. Both Molly and Arthur seemed to have aged twenty years in advance, with well-defined lines on their faces.

"How are you, Harry?" Arthur Weasley asked from the couch, looking ready to collapse with fatigue as he nursed a cup of steaming hot coffee. He was a tall, thin man who was working for the Ministry of Magic, the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. He looked worn-out as usual, and grey hairs replaced whatever flaming red ones he had left on his head. Harry knew that now, with all the extra work in the light of Voldemort's rumoured return, work at the Ministry of Magic must have been hectic to say the least. He didn't even bother to ask where Fred and George were.

"How's it going at the Ministry?" Harry asked the tired wizard.

Mr Weasley mopped his forehead with a hanky. "I've just got back, it's been hell as usual. The things some wizards do …" he shook his head, as though clearing himself of puzzling thoughts. "Hot chocolate, Harry?"

Harry accepted the drink. Ron marched straight up the stairs with Harry's luggage, not even bothering to acknowledge his parents. He saw Mr and Mrs Weasley exchange troubled glances. Hermione, perched next to Harry on the couch, threw Ron an exasperated look.

Mrs Weasley looked uncomfortable. "Um, Harry, I'm so sorry about Ron … I don't know what's up with him - he's been like this ever since  …" she trailed off awkwardly.

"So Mr Weasley …" Hermione changed the subject abruptly, "what has been going on at the Ministry lately?"

"Has there been anything from Vol-uh, You-Know-Who?" Harry asked, and even Molly Weasley's expression turned to one of grim apprehension. 

"Well … Cornelius Fudge has been trying to hide things as usual," Mr Weasley spoke softly. "But the three deaths so far … just yesterday, a witch was found dead in her home in Devon," He looked regretful the moment the words left his mouth. Mrs Weasley gave him a look cold enough to freeze water.

"Arthur! You needn't have told them!"

"But Molly, it's important they know … after all, they're almost fifteen-"

"And that gives you reason to put them in trepidation?"

"Molly …"

"Come on, let's go upstairs," Harry told Hermione. "They seemed to have forgotten about us." Hermione nodded and they went up the stairs, leaving the couple behind on opposite sides of the couch, still engaged in a heated argument.

They were on the third landing when a door slammed open, and without admonition a slender figure stepped out in her lavender bathrobes, a towel wrapped around her hair. Green cream covered her entire face, only leaving two clear patches to show a pair of large brown eyes. The brown eyes turned over to the staircase to see a frozen Harry with his left leg poised in mid-flight, and enlarged in shock. Before Harry could register what he had witnessed, a large squeak was emitted from the youngest Weasley as she immediately turned around and bolted to the safety of her room as fast as her fluffy rabbit slippers would allow her. 

"What?" Harry demanded in annoyance from a giggling Hermione as they made their way up.

"You should have seen your face," she said impishly, trying to fight her giggles as they reached the bedroom where she was staying.

"I was just surprised, is all," Harry protested. "Besides, what was that green muck she had on anyway?"

"Avocado spread. You know, sometimes it's best to treat your skin using the good old Muggle way …"

"What traditional way? Smear gunk on your face and run around the house looking like Quirrell?" Indeed, Ginny's towel reminded him strangely of the eccentric yet evil Defence of the Dark Arts teacher they had had in their first year.

"Harry, that wasn't a turban, it was to keep her hair conditioned." Hermione opened the door of the fourth landing to show Harry the small guest room the Weasleys had let her use. It looked out onto the back yard, where Fred and George were busy de-gnoming.

"Speaking of which, do you have any idea who are we going to have for our DADA teacher this year? I'm getting tired of having to get used to new teachers every year."

"No idea," Harry shrugged, "I still liked Professor Lupin the best." Professor Remus Lupin had been their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in Harry's third year, and he had been an old classmate of James Potter. Unfortunately, the fact that he was actually a werewolf had been spread out in school, and Professor Lupin had resigned. Harry missed him immensely.

"Maybe we'll get a nice, decent witch this time." Hermione flicked an invisible speck of dust off her dressing table. "I'm sick of all these nasty surprises we're getting every year."

"Mmhmm." Harry murmured in agreement. His attention, however, was focused on the stack of books Hermione had arranged neatly beside her bed in alphabetical order. "The Life and Death of Godric Gryffindor?"

"By his great-great-great granddaughter, Louisa Gryffindor," Hermione added. She took the gigantic leather-bound book out of the pile, flipping through the pages. Harry caught a glimpse of pictures containing weird-looking wizards who waved rather monotonously at him, and lots and lots of miniscule fancy writing. "It makes for quite interesting reading, actually. Did you know that Gryffindor was a Nonwander?"     

"Nonwander?" Harry murmured, a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him to tell Hermione that he was one too.

"Yeah," Hermione replied chirpily, "they're wizards who are able to perform specific magic without using a wand." She sighed. "Wouldn't that be soooooo cool?"

"Err …" said Harry, feigning curiosity. "But isn't everyone able to do that? I mean, I blew up my Aunt back in third year and all that-"

"Yeah, but that was merely triggered by anger or strong emotions," Hermione replied intelligently. "Godric Gryffindor started out with freak accidents like that too, but with understanding and practice he was soon able to channel those feelings into direct commands. Imagine how powerful his powers must have been …" she shuddered. "Godric Gryffindor would have been able to kill anyone just by wishing it …"

Harry shuddered. He wasn't sure he wanted this kind of power. However tempting it was, starting the school year with the murdering of Snape or Draco Malfoy was not exactly beneficial to his school career. "Hey, Hermione, d'ya think I could borrow it for awhile?"

"Here," Hermione hurled him the book, and he caught it, nearly plummeting to the ground with its dead weight.

"Thanks," Harry said. Perhaps he'd be able to take a leaf out of Gryffindor's book, and learn to control his powers carefully.

Hermione nodded, then her hazel-coloured (A/N: is that the right colour?) eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, oh! I almost forgot!" she shrieked, hopping off the ledge of her bed. "All this nonsense with Ron must be getting to me …" she rubbed her temples with the air of one suffering from immense fatigue. "I can't believe I forgot …"

Hermione hurried across the room and opened her suitcase, fishing out a parcel wrapped in bright gold paper. "Here, your birthday present." Her smile grew when she saw the look of astonishment on her best friend's face.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said as he tore off the packaging.

Out fell a material so soft to the touch he though it was an Invisibility Cloak. The fabric, however, was a shimmering scarlet, with little golden blurs over it. On closer inspection they were actually vague impressions of minute golden snitches flying around. Harry brought it out to its full length; it was a dress robe.

Hermione saw the frozen look on Harry's look. "Do you like it?" her eyes were alight with anticipation.

"Like it?" Harry exclaimed, feeling a huge lump in his throat. "I love it." The dress robe felt smooth and slippery through his fingers, and he felt a surge of energy rush through him with every touch.

"This is made of a material call Faterex, it's supposed to bring the wearer of it good luck." Hermione twirled a strand of hair around her fingers, flushing modestly. "I've been so worried about your safety, I thought this robe might help. Promise me you'll keep it near you. " She couldn't keep the grin off her face, but that was replaced by alarm when Harry leapt forward, swept her off her feet and into a hug so tight she found it hard to breathe.

"Thank you, Hermione," Harry's voice was muffled, buried in her hair. 

Hermione could only squeeze harder in reply. They stood there for a while in each other's arms, feeling the warm and fuzzy feeling inside, knowing they each had a good friend …

"I think I should go to my room now." Harry pulled back, still carrying the Nonwander book in one hand, and Hermione's present in the other.  "Ron looked like he could do with some cheering up." He thought it was best that his friends knew nothing of his secret – yet.

"Don't mind Ron," Hermione advised Harry as he left the room. "His ruddy foul temper needs some time to be cleared up."

***

Harry reached the fifth and last landing, where Ron's bedroom was situated, trying not to smile at what had just happened. He reached the familiar door with its 'Ronald's Room' plague attached to it, and knocked cautiously, still holding his present as though it was a precious piece of china.

"Enter," said a sulky voice from behind the door.

Harry went in, and it took a few blurry moments for his eyes to adjust to the sudden burst of bright orange that seemed to have jumped from the walls and leapt straight at him. He had stayed in Ron's room quite a few times, but the bizarreness of it never failed to intrigue him.

Harry's head almost bumped into the ceiling if it wasn't for him sloping slightly on purpose. He wondered how Ron, who was a good head taller than him this year, managed to survive at all. The spare bed, where he was to sleep on, was set up across the room, and Harry's suitcase and Hedwig's cage were placed on it.

Ron was sprawled up on his bright-orange Chudley Cannons bedspread, appearing to be reading his old comics: The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Harry could tell that he had been fuming from the telltale redness of his ears.

"Reading, Ron?" Harry asked gently.

"Yeah, I'm getting to a real exciting part," Ron replied tediously.

"Don't see how reading upside-down can be really exciting, though," Harry said with a smile in his voice, taking the comic out of a blushing Ron's hands. 

"What's that you've got?" Ron peered at the gleaming material in Harry's hands, as he folded it with outrageous caution and tucked it safely in his suitcase.

"Hermione's present. A dress robe made of Faterex, supposed to bring me good luck."

That brought Ron to his feet.

"Sorry, Harry! I can't believe I forgot!" Ron ducked underneath his bed and fished out a package wrapped in blue. It was circular in shape, and seemed extremely heavy from the way Ron was clutching it.  "It must be all that nonsense with Hermione, I forgot all about it."

Harry barely had time to be amused that the Ron and Hermione had said and done exactly the same thing, when he thrust the parcel in his arms, wishing him a Happy Belated Birthday.

Harry opened the package, and saw why it would have been impossible for Pigwidgeon to carry it across England. Staring back at him, enclosed inside a golden frame was his own reflection. Ron had given him a mirror. Harry ran his fingers through the intricately engraved words that ran along the top of the frame: ' Doom dela Ecnoc Ruo Ytube Cafr Uoyton Wohsi.'  It reminded him oddly of the Mirror of Erised he had ran across in his first year, with its strange words and two clawed feet at the bottom to keep the mirror upright.

"No, this is not the Mirror of Erised," Ron said, seeing Harry's puzzled expression. "Go on, look at your reflection again, Harry."

Feeling apprehensive, Harry peered into the mirror again. A skinny, dark-haired boy stared back at him. This boy had a ghost of a smile on his face, but his eyebrows were raised in bafflement, and what seemed like question marks were floating around his head.

"What do you see?" Ron asked.

"Question marks floating around my head. Literally."

"That's what the Mirror of Doom does, it shows your true feelings."

"Doom?"

"Yeah," Ron said casually, as though Doom was a very cheerful word. "Other way round for mood. Promise me you'll keep it near you, Harry, and look at it often. The witch behind the counter told me that looking at the Mirror of Doom frequently would clear up all your perplexed feelings."

Harry knew all too well what his best friend meant.

***

Dinner at the Weasleys was a hectic, but pleasing affair. Mrs Weasley had outdone herself again, with all of Harry's favourite food. Mr Weasley, still slightly embarrassed after that afternoon's events, kept Harry talking with his constant questions about Muggle appliances, such as computers, washing machines, and lawn mowers.

On the other end of the table, Ron was chatting enthusiastically to his brothers (excluding Percy, who was upstairs finishing his report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation) about a recent Quidditch match.  He wasn't paying much attention to the person sitting next to him.

Hermione, however, didn't seem to mind. She was in an animated discussion with Ginny, probably on some other fanatic way to treat skin, Harry thought with amusement. Both of them were giggling, and flushing somewhat furiously.

Around desert, Mrs Weasley surprised everyone with a huge belated birthday cake for Harry. Feeling very embarrassed but nevertheless delighted, Harry blew out the fifteen birthday candles, the very first time he had ever done so. 

He was feeling more contented and comfortable that he had been for ages. He looked around the dinner table, at Mrs Weasley busy making sure everyone got a slab of cake, at Fred, George and Ron chortling with bits of food flying out of their mouth, at Hermione and Ginny laughing, both looking prettier and more at ease than he had ever saw them, and thought: This is my real home, this is where I belong, with the people I love … if only Voldemort wasn't around to spoil it all …

***

"Have you got the things I asked for?" The hooded man in the dark cloak asked.

"Just about all of it, your Lord," the other man answered. He was slight in built, but Harry couldn't see his face; the shadow of the night had hidden it well from any prying eyes.

"Good, good." The taller man nodded his head sullenly. "I suppose there have been no implications?"

"No, not at all, your Lord. When Wimple wants to get something done, he will." And with that, the man shrank away into the darkness.

The man in the cloak laughed spitefully. "Really, my dear Gilbert? When Lord Voldemort wants to get something done, he will too."

***

Harry woke up, brow furrowing in distaste, but he did not remember the dream.

***

Molly Weasley moaned at her husband, who was sipping coffee at the kitchen table and looking rather worn out. Arthur had unshaven patches on his chin, and he had bags under his eyes the size of umbrellas.

"Arthur, dear, do you really have to go to work on a Saturday?" she asked, frowning at the piece of bread in front of her. "Honestly, Arthur, this bread is dismaying. It's as hard as Hagrid's rock cakes.

"You know Molly, as well as I do," Mr Weasley replied kindly, "that we're not spending any unnecessary money on fancy bread and the such. We'll just have to scrap by with these."

Harry exchanged sympathetic yet infuriated looks with Hermione, who was sitting next to him at the breakfast table, pouring milk onto her Ghoul Crunchies.

Not to be able to afford proper bread? The Weasleys had never exactly been well off, what with Mr Weasley having to feed seven mouths with his pitiful salary, but up until now things hadn't been that bad. What was the Ministry of Magic paying him?

Hermione shot Ron an apologetic look, but Ron was too busy engaging in a Crunchies fight with his twin brothers to notice. Ginny, however, sitting at the other end of the table, looked close to tears.

"We won't even be able to afford proper bread? Are we going to go bankrupt?" Ginny exclaimed, voicing out the worries Harry and Hermione were too uncomfortable to bring up.

"Of course not, of course not," Mr Weasley mumbled, though there was something disturbing about the way he avoided his daughter's eyes.

"Why are you going to the office anyway, Mr Weasley?" Hermione interrupted, hastily changing the subject.

"Some paperwork to do on nasty experimental charms, it's not even my department." Mr Weasley sighed wearily. "But we could do with the extra money."

"Paperwork?"

"Yeah, like filing, sorting bits of information, typing out reports, that sort of thing."

Oh, that sort of thing. Harry could see Ron's thoughts as clearly as though he had written it on his forehead. Those sort of things that are entirely boring and pointless, but nevertheless take up lots of time and drain your energy, and yet you get paid peanuts for it.

Hermione brightened up. "Oh, can we go too? I mean," she explained, seeing the confused look on Mr Weasley face. "I'll help you with the typing and filing and sorting, I'll do it all for free to ease your burden. I mean, there must be plenty of jobs like this at the Ministry and even if some of the information's classified I can just do the boring stuff and I'll like it anyway, and I know how to do it, I've worked part time at my Mum's dentist clinic before, doing the paperwork you know. I promised I won't stuff things up, and Harry and Ron can help too, and we won't interfere with your work at all, and I've never seen the Ministry before and …" she faltered off, realising she had been rambling. Ron was trying not to laugh at her. Percy was looking disapproving but impressed.

Mrs Weasley looked delighted. "Why, how sweet! That would be very nice of you, Hermione."

"Can I then?" Hermione turned to look at Mr Weasley eagerly.

"Oh, I don't know, Hermione, I mean, there's so much work to be done, and I'm not sure if the Ministry needs any under-aged employees …" Mr Weasley started, feeling embarrassed that Hermione wanted so much to share his load.

"She's not under-aged, Dad," Fred pointed out, grinning supporting at her. "Hermione's already fourteen."

"Turning fifteen this September," added Ginny.

"Yeah, go on, dad, you could do with some extra help at the office, you said so yourself last night." George added.

Mrs Weasley turned to her husband, "Go on, Arthur, let her," she persuaded. "Look how nice it is of Hermione to volunteer to help."

"Alright, then," Mr Weasley gave in. "But Hermione, you don't have to do this …"

"I'm coming too," Harry added quickly. "I want to see what the Ministry's like. Coming, Ron?"

Ron groaned reluctantly, but quailed under the pressurising glare Hermione was giving him. 

***

A few minutes later, Harry stumbled out of the fireplace, managing to catch his glasses just in time. He had by no means really mastered the art of travelling via the Floo Network, and by the look of if, probably never would.

"You okay?" Ron asked, helping Harry to crawl out from the fireplace, soot and dust crumbling from the roof to land on both of their faces.

When they got out, Ginny, already standing in front of them did a double take, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide in shock. "Ekk!" she exclaimed. "Soot monsters from Hell!"

"Very funny," Ron commented sourly as he cleaned himself up as best as he could. Too bad magic still wasn't allowed outside of school. Hermione emerged from the fireplace, soot-free, finally followed by Mr Weasley.

"Ah, we're all here," he said.

Harry looked around him. They were in a small circular room, with plain cream-coloured walls and very few windows.

"This is it? The Ministry of Magic?" Hermione asked, nonplussed.

"Of course not," Ron told her. He had been to his dad's office a couple of times before. "You'll see."

"But there are no openings, no doors, no way of getting anywhere, besides those miniscule windows and that fireplace," Hermione wondered out loud. "A History of Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot, never mentioned anything about any other ways of travelling."

Ron snorted, muttering something like "Some bookworms are not as smart as they make out to be."

"Come on kids, stop bickering," Mr Weasley led them to a small counter at the corner of the room, behind which sat a particularly old and dreary looking old witch, with numerous thick volumes of books around her. "Hi Maurice."

"Good morning, Arthur," Maurice replied stiffly. She peered indifferently at Ron and Ginny behind him. "Your children, I suppose," Then her gaze shifted over to where Harry was standing, and her eyes widened considerably. Harry saw, with a sudden surge of annoyance, her grey eyes doing the common routine of sweeping up to his forehead and resting on where his scar was.

"Could it be? " she stuttered; spit flying out of her dry puckered lips.

"Yeah, yeah, all hail to the great Harry Potter, the honourable great saviour of all times, the one who defeated You-Know-Who single-handedly while still in his pram, yeah, yeah," Ron muttered irritably under his breath as Mr Weasley introduced an uncomfortable Harry to a gushing Maurice, who was practically throwing herself at his feet in admiration. 

"Right," Mr Weasley said hurriedly, before the old witch started badgering Harry for his autograph. "I would like to go to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement please, Committee on Experimental Charms, if you may, Maurice."

"Certainly. Just let Harry finish signing my hat, please," the old witch replied. Hermione saw, to her great amazement, poor Harry cornered by Maurice, forced to sign on her hat. He did not dare to meet his admirer's eyes.

After that particular piece of torture was got over and done with, old Maurice taped her wand on the wall behind her, muttering something inaudible. It was probably a secret password, as what looked like a map appeared on the wall. Harry could make out words like: "Department of Magical Sports and Games, Beast Division, and Accidental Magic Reversal Squad." There were all glistening with gold, and Harry saw little dots moving around on the map. He raised an eyebrow at Hermione and Ron, realising he was looking at a more complicated version of the Marauder's Map that he had himself.

Maurice pointed her wand to the rectangle that was labelled "Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Committee on Experimental Charms." For a second absolutely nothing happened.

Then Hermione gave a shriek as something materialised in front of her. It appeared to be a hologram image of some sort, suspended in mid-air. Mr Weasley looked on casually as the large rectangle focused into shape in front of him, mirroring off shimmering light that seemed to have come from within the hologram itself. Almost like a portal to another realm, Harry thought, staring with fascination at the bright array of colours.

"What is that?" Hermione said, looking like her eyes were going to pop out.

"Calm down, 'Mione, it's the gateway that transfers us between offices." Ron explained, as though explaining to her about something as simple as how quills worked.

"Come on," Ginny grabbed her friend's hand, and without warning, leapt straight into the flickering portal. Harry watched, dumbfounded as they stepped right into it and disappeared. He thought he could hear Hermione scream from wherever she was.

"Come on, Harry, this can't be too hard, much better than Floo," Ron teased, dragging Harry with him. They ran straight for the portal before he had any say in the matter.  Harry vaguely heard Maurice biding him farewell, before squeezing his eyes shut. He was expecting a rather colossal collusion, but like that barrier between the normal platforms and Platform Nine and Three Quarters at King's Cross Station, they fell right through it. Harry opened his eyes and caught a cosmic blur of iridescent colours all around him, before he was out again on the other side. He managed to keep his balance, turning around to see Mr Weasley also emerging from the portal.

"That was so cool, wasn't it?" Hermione came up to meet them, like a hyperactive kid at a circus fair. "Now that we're here, I'm so excited, I can't wait!" 

"Funny way to show it though," Ron mused. "Eyes almost poking out in shock, gibbering like an idiot, anyone would've thought you were an unpromising Muggle."

"Better to be an unpromising Muggle than a Pureblood wizard with no talent or potential in his arts whatsoever." Hermione spat back, hands on her hips.

"Using these special portals are the only entrance into the offices," Mr Weasley explained to Harry, while Ginny tried unsuccessfully to stop a fight brewing. "They're activated by a special password that changes on a day-to-day basis, so absolutely no one can enter or exit without having to seek an operator first. Tough security measures, eh?"

Harry nodded, wondering how one earth the Ministry had chosen to put their lives in the hands of someone as unreliable as Maurice. Not to sound too conceited, all Voldemort would have to do was use Polyjuice Potion to disguise himself as Harry, and the operator would be falling over herself trying to help him.

They were in a spacious lobby with couches and a counter at the centre, where three professional-looking witches sat on high stools, surrounded by large barn owls and mountains of parchment and envelopes. Above them on the wall, glistened large words that changed colours frequently: Committee on Experimental Charms, Part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Head of Committee and Chairperson: Gilbert Wimple.

Before Harry could chew over the fact that he had heard the name somewhere before, a strong booming voice broke into his thoughts and put an abrupt end to the verbal brawl between Ron and Hermione. He turned around; to see a petite man of slight built, running over to them, chocolate brown eyes flashing in delight.

"Gilbert!" Mr Weasley acknowledged, shaking his hands. "Haven't seen you in a while." He turned to them. "Allow me to introduce you to Gilbert Wimple, who has recently been promoted to Head of Committee on Experimental Charms." He broke off, seeing that Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny's eyes seemed permanently attached to the top of Gilbert Wimple's head. He had two bull-like horns sticking out of his head.

"Now, children, it's rude to stare." Mr Weasley began sternly, but Wimple cut him off with a laugh. "Let them, Arthur. I'm used to it by now. Been having these horns more than a year now. Still can't see why they aren't able to take it off." He winked at them, stroking his smooth ivory horns affectionately, as though proud to be so unique.

For a man with such a loud and confident voice, Gilbert Wimple seemed just a tad on the small side. Even Ginny, who was the shortest of the group, seemed to tower over him. However, Wimple chatted friendly as he led them around the Committee office while Mr Weasley got started on the paperwork in a spare room.

"I'll be fine," he had assured them as he sat down in front of a desk with a typewriter and spare bits of parchment. "Just follow Mr Wimple, and don't cause any mischief."

"I'll come and help you as soon as we're finished," Hermione quipped as they left, dragged along by the overenthusiastic Head.

He seemed very interested in Harry, and kept asking him things like, "So how does it feel to have beaten the Dark Lord when you were just a baby, and loosing your parents in the process?" and "I bet you're top of your class heh, your remaining relatives must be very proud of you." To which both questions Harry could only grunt vaguely in reply, wondering how on earth such a thick man like Gilbert Wimple could have been appointed as Head. Ginny, Ron and Hermione were both flashing the little man looks of intolerance, wondering if he would ever shut up.

When they finally managed to shrug Wimple off, Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny made their way back to the office where Mr Weasley had been. While Ginny ran ahead by herself, Harry dawdled behind with Hermione and Ron.

"What's up, Harry?" Ron asked. "You look horrible."

"I wouldn't blame him, what with being harassed by that Wimple," Hermione said crossly.

Harry shook his head. "It's not that. It's just that I have this bizarre feeling I've seen Gilbert Wimple before … sort of like …" He frowned. How to elucidate what he felt? The horns seemed to have rung a bell somewhere in his mind, yet Harry was sure he had ever talked to the funny little wizard.

"It's called déjà vu," Hermione explained. "It's a feeling that you've never really been somewhere or met someone, but you feel like you have. Is that right, Harry?"

"Yeah -"

"This wouldn't be one of your dreams, would they, Harry?" Ron asked uneasily. "I mean, You-Know-Who wouldn't be behind this, would he?" He looked worried.

"No … I haven't had too many dreams," Harry lied. The truth was, quite a few nasty dreams had haunted him over the holidays, but he had never been quite able to remember them very clearly, always waking up drenched in sweat and with a dreading feeling in the pit of his stomach. His most recent dream, with the killing of the woman, had been his clearest and most disturbing one to date.

"Hmm …" Hermione was deep in thought. "Do you remember how last year, at the Quidditch Cup final, Ron's dad was showing us around the campsite and pointing out Ministry officials to us?"

"Of course," Ron agreed. "So you have seen him before, dad pointed out Wimple for us, remember?"

Harry nodded. He remembered all too well the strange events that had unfolded at the site of the Quidditch Cup, barely a year ago. Yet it now seemed like decades before … so many inexplicable and unpredicted things had happened since then … 

They had arrived back at the office, to see Mr Weasley writing down records furiously. He shook his head despondently while Ginny filled him in on their tour around the office, and winced when told of the charms Gilbert Wimple had came up with recently.

"I've always liked Gilbert Wimple, he never meant any harm. But sometimes he's – er – far-fetched sense of humour does get the better of him."

Ron snorted. "Humour? He's a complete nutcase. Who made him Head?"

Mr Weasley shrugged. "He was only an ordinary employee just about half a year ago … Dedalus Diggle was Head back then … then – wham – next thing I knew Wimple was the most influential wizard in the Committee."

"What happened to Dedalus Diggle?"

At this Mr Weasley face darkened. "He disappeared," he answered, looking around him swiftly as though to make sure there were no eavesdroppers around.

"Disappeared? What, just like that?" Hermione looked intrigued. She had an official-looking quill tucked over one ear, and was sorting out bits and scraps of parchment. 

"Yeah … last summer. One day he was fine, the next – it was as though he had fallen off the face of the earth. The Ministry found no trace of him whatsoever."

"But how can someone just disappear like that?" Hermione asked. "Surely they would have found his body or something?"

"No, nothing. Usually when wizards disappear they usually turn up again after a while. Yet it has been almost a year since Dedalus Diggle's departure."  

"Wow …" Ron said. Then his eyes widened and he asked, "Dad, do you think Wimple could have killed Diggle so that he could be Head?"

Mr Weasley looked horrified. "Ron!" he admonished. "Of all the thoughtless things to say! Now, I understand your impression of Mr Wimple is less than flattering, but there's no reason to hurl wild and unfounded accusations at the poor man!"

"But Daddy, you've got to admit he's got a point," Ginny said. "I mean, Wimple was just a lowly office worker, and then all of a sudden the Head of the Committee just vanishes into thin air, and our humble little employee miraculously gets promoted, from the bottom of the barrel – right to the top!"

The others nodded in agreement.

"Now kids," Mr Weasley said huffily. "No matter how horrendous Gilbert Wimple is in your eyes, you are not to go around jumping to conclusions like that. Don't ever mention your suspicions to anyone; you might get landed in Azkaban for tarnishing the Head of the Committee on Experimental Charms' reputation!"

The prospect of getting thrown into Azkaban with the soul-sucking Dementors was not a bright notion, and Harry, Hermione and Ginny worked diligently with Mr Weasley for the rest of the morning. They filed, brought Mr Weasley what he required, and in Hermione's case, even wrote some of the reports. Most of the things they were handling consisted of information on the experimental charms, and about all of them, in Harry's opinion, were rubbish and a complete waste of anyone's time.

By noon, the work looked just about finished. Hermione ran one last check on the cabinets to make sure everything was in place, then stepped back and extracted the quill from behind her ear. "We're all finished. That was fun," she said, earning sceptical looks from Harry and Ron.

"Well, at least I got to practice my typing …" she suggested lamely.

"If it wasn't that you dragged me along, 'Mione," Ron complained, "I wouldn't be here voluntarily. We didn't get to see any wizards in action, just sorted out bits of parchment, and got dragged around by some round-the-bend horny guy." His dad coughed forebodingly. "In the literal sense," Ron added hastily.   

"Well, I for one consider this a most productive morning." Mr Weasley said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "I couldn't have done it without you competent lot." He beamed especially at Hermione. "I'll say this has been quite worth the two Galleons I've earned this morning."

Hermione looked outraged. "TWO Galleons?" she thundered. "Merely five Galleons for a whole morning's worth of work on a Saturday? Oh, the nerve of the Ministry!" She thumped her fist on the desk aggressively. "How dare they! Why, I've a good mind to stomp right up to that Wimple and give him a piece of my mind!"

Harry had only seen Hermione look this harassed once – back in his fourth year when she had been standing up for elfin rights.

"Now, now, Hermione," Mr Weasley said soothingly. "Two Galleons is enough."

"NO, it's not!" Hermione roared, not bothering to brush aside the strands of bushy hair falling over her face.  "You've got to stand up to them, Mr Weasley!" She turned around and marched straight for the door, practically spitting out the words, "Oh, that bastard, I'm going right over to his office to settle this score –" and saying that, she reached out her hand for the handle.

She never made it there.