Chapter 2 – Aurors Abroad

A few days later Harry was in his office reading through some reports when he felt a vibration against his ribs. As he laid down his quill and reached inside his robes Ron knocked on the office door and walked in.

Harry grinned. "Yeah, let yourself in, Ron."

"I just did," he frowned. "Oh, right. Sorry."

Harry laughed. "It's fine. Actually, you've come at the right time. I've got a reply from Ambrose."

Ron dragged up a chair and sat. "What does it say?"

"Dunno yet." Harry pulled out the replicating scroll from his inside pocket and unrolled it.

"Well?" Ron inquired after a few seconds.

"Lydia is keen to give it a try, and Ambrose hasn't been able to put her off. He says she likes the idea of having magical friends around her."

Ron grinned. "I bet he didn't put it exactly like that."

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "There were some more words. I condensed it a bit. She sounds determined to give it a go, bless her."

"Heart of a dragon, that one," Ron grinned. "I bet she gets sorted into Gryffindor."

"Mm. I don't know, though," Harry mused. "She's really clever and a hard worker, I think. She could be in Ravenclaw."

"Hermione was a Gryffindor," Ron pointed out.

"Do you ever think the Sorting Hat knew we needed her, Ron?"

"You mean like it could see we were heading towards difficult times and we would never manage without her? Bloody hell, Harry. I don't know. And don't tell her that!" Ron protested. "When I think about things like that it makes it sound like everything was laid down and we had no choice. Like we were just there to go through the moves and say the lines, like in a play. I have wondered about it, though. Prophecies, glimpses of the future like Lydia's 'insights', all that stuff. Even that time-turner thing. How much choice do we really have?"

Harry frowned at his old friend. "I never thought I'd say this, Ron, but maybe you're overthinking things?"

"Hey, I do the jokes around here, Potter," Ron said.

"Hadn't noticed," Harry quipped. "And, yeah, I've thought about it a lot, too. Dumbledore said my prophecy only meant something because of the choices that Voldemort and I made. But, then, Dumbledore said a lot of things. I gave up thinking about it."

"Yeah, giving up thinking solves a lot of problems," Ron grinned.

"Anyway, can you ask Hagrid to get the Vimy, or 'Vinny' as he calls it, ready for us? I think Pelicus would be happier with a request that came from Hagrid than one that came from the Auror Office."

"'Specially as it's not strictly legal," Ron noted. "And he calls us 'the snoops'."

"Yeah, exactly. I've also got a replicating scroll for Director Harizanis. I'll let him know the good news. If you can get Pelicus to let us know when we can fly and where we'll land I'll arrange for us to get picked up."

Ron paused at the office door. "Erm, would you like me to have a word with Lydia and her mum, on the way?"

Harry thought. "Well, Ambrose must have spoken to them already."

Ron grimaced. "We don't know what he has said to Catherine, though."

"You're worried that he might have said too much?"

"No," Ron, said. "I'm worried that whatever he's said, too much or too little, she's going to be terrified for Lydia."

"Terrified?"

"You said it, the whole case, was huge for Lydia," Ron went on. "And for Ambrose. Well, they witnessed everything that went on. Catherine saw nothing and has only heard bits of the story. She's had to fill the rest in from her imagination."

"So?" Harry frowned.

"How happy would you or Ginny be if huge stuff was happening to your kids and you only got to hear bits of it? You'd make up all sorts of horrors and worry yourself sick."

"No, but…," Harry began.

"Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon, Harry, doesn't mean we all have!"

Ron glared at Harry. Harry stared back, his mouth hanging open. They both exploded into howls of laughter.

"You've changed, man. You've changed," Harry wiped tears of mirth from his eyes.

"Emotional intelligence, mate," Ron winked. "You should try it sometime."

Harry nodded, still grinning. "You're right, though. She must be worried."

"Worried? She'll be having kittens, or 'having chickens' as my Auntie Muriel used to say."

"Play it down a bit, can you?" Harry suggested. "Lydia's going to try some magic that she's done before. She'll be surrounded by highly skilled and experienced wizards, who know what they're doing."

Ron nodded. "You mean lie."

Harry took a breath. "Be reassuring. Be diplomatic."

"So… lie."

Harry scowled.

"OK," Ron offered. "Lie, but don't call it a lie?"

"Ron…"

"What about Lydia?" Ron asked, moving on.

"Ambrose said she's keen to try, like I said."

Ron folded his arms. "Harry!"

Harry grimaced. "Oh, wow! That was so Hermione."

Ron raised his eyebrows as he unfolded his arms. "Yeah, well you deserved it, mate. Fancy believing Ambrose."

"OK," Harry agreed. "Try to sound Lydia out, if you can. I think Ambrose is genuinely concerned and he wouldn't let her do it if she wasn't keen. But see if she's really OK with it. And be subtle."

"You know me, Harry. Subtle is my middle name. Or it would be if it wasn't Bilius – and I actually knew what the word 'subtle' meant."

They could see the bottom half of Pelicus Treddle protruding from the engine cowling on the nearer side of the antique aircraft. He was wearing dungarees. Having seen him in his underwear before, they were grateful for the extra clothing.

"Pelicus!" Hagrid bellowed.

A loud clunk and an indistinct string of colourful cursing issued from inside the cowling. The dungarees stirred and the aviator emerged backwards on to the ladder below.

"Bloody Nora, Hagrid!" Pelicus called out.

"Sorry, sorry," Hagrid apologised. "Should've waited, I s'pose."

Pelicus laughed. "Oh, not a problem, not a problem old friend. There's no polite way to scare the poop out of someone. Anyhow, I was just nosing about. I've no idea what goes on under there."

Ambrose coughed and Lydia made a strangled squeak.

"Oh, no need for the horror-slapped faces," Pelicus chuckled. "Them engines have nothing to do with the flying. They're only for show."

He stepped from the bottom of the ladder, pulled his wand out from his dungarees, and gave it a flick. The ladders toddled away to prop themselves against the hangar wall, next to a row of mugs of cold tea.

He turned and beamed at the group. "Hello, Snoop Gang. Welcome back. Hagrid tells me you're away to the Americas again."

"Hello, Captain Treddle," Harry smiled, reaching out to shake his grimy hand. "We would like to go to Trenton, New Jersey. Do you know it?"

"Certainly not, but I can take you to somewhere in that New Jersey. I gather your friends will pick you up from there?"

Hagrid shook himself as Pelicus looked at him. "Yeah, tha's right. Professor McGonagall and Kingsley have arranged it, I'm told."

"That's great," Harry smiled. "Thanks Pelicus, Hagrid. That's all really helpful of you."

"Aye, well. Just don't go blabbing around that I'm helping the Snoops," Pelicus warned. "I've got a reputation to protect, y'know."

Ron grinned. "We promise. If it helps I'm leaving, I'm not actually a snoop for much longer."

"Oh, well done, lad. Well done you," Pelicus congratulated him. "Right, you lot. Get in and we'll be off. You know the way. Hagrid, I hope to see you next week. I've got a whole crate of fire whisky that needs tasting."

Hagrid grinned and said his farewells to them all then walked away with a final wave. The rest of them moved over to the wooden steps that led up to the passenger door in the side of the fuselage.

"Hello, young lady," Pelicus beamed at Lydia. "No chicken this time?"

"Yes, but she's turned into a cat, now."

"Oh, well," the pilot sighed. "These things happen. Not often, maybe, but they do."

"My dear Captain Treddle!" Ambrose greeted him, taking the pilot's oily hand in both of his. "Delighted to see you once more. Were you able to visit my friend, Mr Webb?"

"I did indeed, Ambrose," Pelicus confirmed. "Such an interesting bloke, our Gary. He's a musician, too. Though, as my nan used to say, everyone is musical if you hit them hard enough."

Ambrose chuckled. "My own grandmama used to say something of the sort."

Ambrose followed the others up the steps and into the belly of the aircraft. Pelicus brought up the rear and shut the door behind him. He checked that all his passengers were seated then disappeared up the ladder to the cockpit.

"This is your captain speaking," Pelicus' voice magically resounded around the library-like passenger area. "We shall be travelling at an altitude, and a speed, too. I'd love to tell you more but none of these instruments up here makes the slightest bit of sense to me. I'll ask our Gary next time I see him. Anyhow, I'll let you all know when we arrive or when we are about to ditch into the sea.

"Ooh, nearly forgot. There's a cake in the kitchen that my new lady friend made. Help yourselves. And if one of you could bring me a piece up to the cockpit, that'd be lovely. You might want to check that it's not cursed or poisoned first, though. Can't be too careful. It wouldn't be the first time one of my lady friends has fallen out with me for no reason.

"Oh, and one last thing, we're out over the Atlantic now. I think it's the Atlantic. Looks wet."

Ron went over to one of the porthole-like windows.

"He's right," Ron pronounced. "It does look wet."

"He doesn't inspire a lot of confidence, does he?" Harry mused.

Ambrose chuckled again. "It is his style, I think you'll find. He likes his passengers' expectations to be low. That way, they are relieved and grateful when they reach their destination. However, there are more important points we must address. It may have slipped past your attention but I believe there was mention of cake."

"I'll get it," Ron volunteered. "Who'd like tea and who'd like coffee?"

"Do you think he was serious when he said we should check it first?" Lydia piped up.

"I doubt it," Ron soothed. "But it's standard practice for aurors. Constant vigilance and all that."

He disappeared into the galley kitchen towards the tail of the aircraft.

"Uncle?" Lydia whispered to Ambrose. "Can I go up to the cockpit and take Pelicus his cake?"

"You may," Ambrose smiled. "Please do not stay up there too long, there may be things Harry would wish to discuss."

"OK," she agreed, jumping up as Ron emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray.

She selected the side plate holding the largest slice of cake. "It is his cake, after all," she told herself.

She walked over to the ladder in its alcove by the door they had used to enter the aircraft. She reached out for the ladder, wondering how she was going to climb it with one hand while balancing the plate in her other.

As she touched the ladder she found her problem was solved. She immediately felt weightless, as did the plate she was holding. With the hand holding the ladder she propelled herself upwards. It took almost no effort.

"That's how he gets up and down so easily. And I thought he was really strong," she realised.

She emerged into what appeared to be something between a wide balcony and a tree-house. There was a row of seats by the open balcony. Beyond the balcony she could see the sky and the distant horizon. There was no window between the balcony and the outside but no wind blew in.

Turning to find Pelicus, she saw he was sitting in an old armchair beside a snooker table. His feet, wearing tatty old slippers, rested on a footstool. Beyond the snooker table the walls of the room were made from scrap wood and recycled sheds. It smelled like a shed, with scents of wood, creosote and paraffin.

"Ah, young lady," he said, putting down the comic he was reading and rising from his seat. "Welcome to the cockpit. Ooh, and hello, cake!"

He used his wand to conjure up a chair for her. She handed him the plate of cake and sat down facing him.

"It's… very different to the downstairs," she observed.

"Aye, well," he explained. "We wanted it nice and smart for the passengers, so my dear departed wife did a lovely job. I'm the only one up here so I did it to my own 'tastes', if you can call them that. My wife wanted to do it but I preferred it my way."

"Is that why she departed?" Lydia regretted saying it, but it was out there now.

"Eeh, now. It wasn't like that," he explained. "I'm sure she would have liked to fill the place with scatter cushions. We talked it over and once she knew nobody else would be up here, she was fine with me doing it all comfy, like."

"I'm sorry," she blushed. "I don't know why I said that."

"Perfectly all right, little love," he beamed. "I have been known to wind people up, somehow. So, it's not like it wasn't a possibility."

Lydia felt she should try to make amends. "Can I bring you up a cup of tea?"

"No, chuck. Thank you very much," he grinned. "I've got a flask of coffee with brandy, or 'half and half', as I call it."

Lydia excused herself and floated back down the ladder to the passenger lounge.

Xander was perching on the back of Uncle Ambrose's chair, his head beside the old man's face. It looked to Lydia as though the cat had been licking her uncle's ear, or whispering in it. Uncle Ambrose was always comfortable with animals. They loved him and felt unthreatened by him. On their country walks, when she was little, she remembered watching him charm birds from the trees. He would stand very still and completely silent. In a matter of minutes, a raven or a sparrow would land on his outstretched arm like a falcon to a falconer.

As she walked towards them from the ladder Xander dropped to the carpet. She opened her arms as he sprang. She wrapped him in her arms as he arrived, a warm, furry, and almost liquid, bundle. He slid up to her shoulders as she retook her seat. Lydia smiled. Even as he clambered over her he barely ever used his claws. He would rather drop and be picked up again than scratch her, she knew.

She had loved Jacaranda, her uncle's cat who had gone missing, presumed dead. She had grown to have an affinity with the magical chicken they had never named. Once the chicken had been transfigured into Xander that affinity had grown. He was like instant family – like a brother to her, except one who was on her side all the time. It had been a wrench to leave him with her uncle, but she had to think of her mother's allergies.

She had never performed magic with Xander but she knew, somehow, that it would feel the same. It would feel as though the force of the magic flowed through them both.

"How are you feeling, Lydia?" Ron asked.

She could tell that Ron and Harry were trying to seem happy and comfortable. They must be worried about getting her to release Alorea if they were trying so hard not to worry her. Uncle Ambrose, on the other hand, had been clear that he was not happy about the idea of her being involved in this. She had told him that the best way for her to try her magic again would be with experienced wizards around her. He had not stood in her way. He had left the decision to her, after giving her all the information he could. He was treating her like an adult. She loved that.

She smiled at Ron. "I'm fine, thanks. I'm really looking forward to seeing if I can do this."

Harry and Ron looked surprised but, she thought, a bit pleased, maybe even admiring.

"Young Xander appears to be at ease with the idea," Ambrose noted. "Or possibly it may be that he simply regards it as a human enterprise and, therefore, of little interest to his feline sensibilities."

"How can you tell?" Harry asked with a smile.

Ambrose fixed him with an eye. "Harry, cats will generally make you abundantly aware if they are unhappy with any situation. This usually involves the letting of blood – human blood, naturally."

Harry had to concede that the signs were positive. Xander melted down on to Lydia's lap. He curled up and spent the rest of the flight in that position. Lydia had her tea and ate her slice of cake. Her uncle had offered to eat her cake for her, in case it was too difficult with a cat on her knee. Lydia had declined the offer with the contempt it deserved. She had eaten the cake with both of her eyes on the old glutton.

The conversation throughout the rest of the flight was light and good-natured. Lydia could tell they were doing it to keep her from worrying about what might happen at Trenton. She played along and waited until there was a lull in the talking.

"Where are the MBI offices in Trenton?" she asked. "We didn't really see them last time."

Harry screwed up his eyes for a moment. "I don't know, exactly. I think it is hidden, like Beverly University was in Salem. The only thing I know is that it is in or near the park, Cadwalader Park. Tally is going to meet us when we land and take us there."

Ron caught Lydia's eye. "How did you get there from Salem?"

"I don't really know," Lydia admitted. "I mean, I did it. I magicked us there, but I don't know how. I just wanted to be wherever they had taken you and Harry and we landed in the office in front of Tally's boss."

"So, you went where Tally was thinking of?" Ron suggested.

Lydia sighed. "I suppose so. It wasn't like I was reading her mind, though. I think we just went where we all needed to be."

"Maybe Xander was reading her mind – when he was a chicken, of course," Harry suggested.

Lydia looked to her uncle.

"There is little to be gained from looking at me, my dear," Ambrose warned. "Apart from the obvious aesthetic delights. I may know many things, by virtue of my antiquity, but this is outside my sphere of experience, I am afraid."

"It's beyond us all, Ambrose," Harry added. "All that Draco could suggest was that Lydia decides what she needs and the magic provides."

"I hope it works when we get to the egg," Lydia said.

She noticed glances pass between the three men.

"They don't think I can do it," she realised. "What if they're right?"

"This is your captain talking at you again," came Pelicus's voice. "We've arrived in Jersey or New Jersey or summat. Your friends are waiting outside for you. Just hang on a tick and I'll pop down to see you off."

True to his word, Pelicus dropped down the ladder and grinned at them. Thankfully, this time he had remembered to come down fully dressed in his dungarees and jacket. Perhaps he had decided that it would not be funny a second time to arrive in his underwear.

8