Ghostly Outcomes Chapter 2: La Petite Souris, a harry potter fanfic

Author's Notes: Ahem. Well, it's been three days since I posted chapter one, and I wrote this chapter in about the last two hours. Fun, huh? Well, I hope you like this chapter, but it's about two pages shorter than the last one, but where I stopped felt like a good place to stop. And don't worry, it's not a cliffhanger or anything – I'm not that mean… yet.

Another thing: a few times in this chapter I've felt as if I'm writing a Harry/Hermione or even a Harry/Draco (VOMITS UNCONTROLLABLY) fic, but just to let you know, I'm not. Those two aren't the ships I hate the most, but they are up there, trust me. Ugh.

Steph:Well, here's the next chapter lol.

PROFESSOR echo: Haha. Oh, and if my French is incorrect in this chapter, correct it plzkthxlol. Tee hee

Akalei: No it didn't, the summary sucked, stupid. [Oh, everyone read her fic BEHIND CLOSED DOORS, by the way. It's very good.]

Miss Piratess: You are a very smart reviewer. wink And I wanna give Remus a hug too… he needs one, the poor guy. =(

Star Allise: Thank you for that wonderful compliment, and the same to you.

Normally I don't do that, but since you guys are my only reviewers, I guess I have to haha.

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GHOSTLY OUTCOMES

[CHAPTER TWO: LA PETITE SOURIS]

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Harry took a deep breath as he Apparated into an abandoned alley designed solely for that purpose behind the Ministry. Of course, most Ministry workers Apparated from home, but some liked to walk to work in the morning and Apparate into the building. They didn't like to use the visitor's entrance; they thought it was a nuisance. It was far too slow for an important Ministry official, as most liked to think of themselves. But when Harry Apparated in the alley around noon, he wasn't planning on walking home in the middle of the day. He was going to have lunch with Hermione in some French restaurant a few blocks away. Normally, Ron would be going with Harry to lunch too, but today was Ron's day off, and he decided to go visit his brother Bill and his wife and children on the other side of town. Harry couldn't blame him. He had met Bill's daughters a few months before and they were perhaps the cutest three- and six-year-old's Harry had ever met.

London's streets were roaring with cars and filled with chattering pedestrians during most of the day, and the lunch hour wasn't any different. Harry walked leisurely on the sidewalk, observing the Muggles with a sort of amused disbelief. The teenagers giggling madly across the street didn't know that there was a ministry conducting its business below them. The old couple ahead of Harry was oblivious to the fact that there might be Death Eaters roaming this very street, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. None of them knew that the most malevolent wizard of the millennium was still at large, and Harry both pitied and envied their ignorance. Harry kept walking, his mind wandering from their unawareness to what would happen if he handed that little blonde toddler with the lollipop a dungbomb, when he came upon the restaurant Hermione had been talking about all week.

As he walked in the door, Harry chuckled at the name of the small café. It was called La Petite Souris, which Harry was sure meant "The Small Mouse" in French, although he wasn't sure. A few years after he graduated Harry and Ron had met Fleur Delacour talking with Bill in Gringotts, and they all had stopped and gotten lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, where Fleur tried to teach Ron some French. Needless to say, his accent was horrible and she had given up after only a half an hour, mumbling about crude "eenglish" accents." When they had told Hermione, she had thought the whole ordeal exceptionally funny and there wasn't a week that passed where she teased Ron sarcastically about his natural ability for picking up foreign languages.

Harry saw Hermione sitting in a corner that was tucked away from the rest of the restaurant, absorbed in a book, and Harry plopped into the chair opposite her. She jumped, but smiled when she saw Harry grinning across from her and said, "I've been waiting here almost fifteen minutes. What took you so long?"

"I was staring at the name of this 'cute little café', as you call it," Harry replied without missing a beat, "wondering what it meant."

"It means 'the small mouse,'" Hermione said distractedly, confirming Harry's hunch and checking the page number of her book before closing it.

"Isn't that a bit redundant?" Harry asked, barely concealing another grin. "I mean, most people know that a mouse is small. You don't really need to tell them that." He paused. "Well, except for Ron when he's having a particularly absentminded day. Then he doesn't know a mouse from a manticore."

Hermione smiled and agreed while handing Harry a menu. "Now, most of the menu is in French," she said, "and if you don't know what something is, just ask. I know what a fair few things are, and I should warn you to stay away from the seafood – that's the second section on the left hand page – because I tried some seafood in France the summer before third year, and I utterly detested it. Of course, that may be because I'm allergic to fish, but nevertheless it was disgusting…"

"Then I won't get the seafood, then," Harry muttered jauntily, and he caught Hermione's eye and they laughed.

After around five more minutes of discussing the menu, Harry finally settled on something he was slightly familiar with: an omelet. Hermione thought his choice of food was positively hilarious, but she wouldn't tell Harry why. She ordered a pancake-like dish that had an unpronounceable name that went along with an unpronounceable cheese from their waiter, a stuck-up looking man named Jérémie, leaving the two friends to talk until their food arrived. When it came, however, it didn't stop them from discussing differences of the treatment of convicts in Germany and Jordan.

Eventually the conversation rolled around to Hermione's occupation. Harry let her do most of the talking for awhile; he occasionally nodded or said, "Uh huh," but that was about it. She spouted obsessively about her plans for house-elves in the future for fifteen minutes, and it was only when she mentioned that she had full support from the Spirit Division when the memory of Malfoy passing Hermione's office abruptly wiped the smile off of Harry's face.

"The elder house-elves won't like it so much, but that can't be – Harry? What's wrong?"

Harry blinked and frowned, very irked at Malfoy, although he wasn't even there. He sighed and looked up from his half-eaten omelet at Hermione's concerned face. "The other day – that day I talked to Lupin in the hall – while you and Ron were talking, I saw Malfoy pass by your door," Harry said quietly and a disgusted look came over Hermione. "I went outside to see where he was going, and he went in the –"

"Spirit Division, I know," Hermione sighed. "I see him go in there almost every week. He works in the Department of Magical Cooperation, you know."

Harry, who was currently taking a drink of his water, choked and practically spat his water across the table. "The Department of Magical Cooperation?" he sputtered. "You're kidding!"

"No, unfortunately, I'm not. He's the Head, too."

Harry gaped at Hermione, hardly believing what he heard. Finally, he managed to stutter, "What was Griffiths thinking when she hired Malfoy to try to cooperate with the rest of the magical world?" Hermione shook her head. "Humankind will never make it through alive," Harry murmured cynically.

"Well, you have to think of who he is, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "He's a Malfoy. He can get whatever he wants with his gold."

"But his father's a known Death Eater who's in Azkaban!"

"That doesn't make him a Death Eater himself," Hermione said, avoiding Harry's eyes and picking at her pancake. Harry stared at her and she rolled her eyes. "All right, maybe it does, but the Ministry doesn't know that."

Harry leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "So, if he's the head of the Department of Magical Cooperation, what's he doing in the Spirit Division so often?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"I don't know," Hermione answered and she shrugged disinterestedly. "Demi Crane says he goes there all the time to visit Pansy Parkinson, who works in the Ghost Relocation Office. From what Demi says, though, Pansy doesn't really work at all, she looks at magazines and mirrors and sticks Demi with all her work." Hermione heaved a pitying sigh. "I can see why Demi doesn't like her job at times like those, but otherwise I think it would be fascinating, dealing with ghosts and all."

"Yeah," Harry said distractedly, still musing over Malfoy. They sat in silence for a minute – Harry taking a sip of water now and then and Hermione stabbing her unpronounceable food with her fork boredly – when there was a sudden but quiet pop!, making both friends jump, and a single scarlet feather and a parchment note appeared in the middle of the table. Harry and Hermione stared at it for a second, and then Hermione looked around fearfully, trying to see if any of the Muggles noticed a feather pop out of mid-air, but they were still eating peacefully. When Hermione looked back at Harry, he was nodding to her to read the note out loud. She picked it up, took one look at it, and whispered, "It's Dumbledore's handwriting."

"Of course it is," Harry whispered, lips quivering, "Who else do we know that has a phoenix?"

"Oh shut up and let me read," Hermione snapped, no longer whispering, but when she read the note she resumed her quiet voice.

"'To Miss Granger and Mr. Potter,

There will be a meeting tomorrow at three o'clock pm.

Sincerely,

Professor Albus Dumbledore."

Hermione looked up at Harry expectantly, as if asking what this was about, so Harry shrugged. "Maybe Snape's got another one of those tedious reports that tell us absolutely nothing," Harry said, mock hopefully.

"Maybe," Hermione said, but her tone was full of doubt.

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The next day, Harry and Ron were sitting at their cubicles and Ron was recounting his adventures with his nieces while Harry was keeping a fierce eye on the clock, which was moving incredibly slowly. Harry was leaning back in his chair and his feet were on his desk, a bad habit he had taken up recently when he was bored in the office. Ron had dragged his chair over to Harry's cubicle, and was sitting on the edge of his, telling his story wildly with many, many hand gestures.

"So – so, then Avalon comes out carrying Ally, screaming her head off – wait, you do know Avalon, don't you? Bill's wife?"

"Yes, Ron, I know Avalon."

"Right, but anyway – she comes out screaming at me and Evie, and I mean she was screeching, telling us off for how we'd given poor little Ally a cat's ears and tail, and I couldn't get a word in, but then Evie said, 'But Mummy, Ally's always said she's wanted to be a cat!'" With that final word, Ron started cracking up wildly and almost fell off his chair from laughing so hard. Harry, on the other hand, found this very funny but he was concentrating too hard on the clock. It was nearly three o'clock.

"Oh, and if you think that's funny, wait till you hear what Fred did to Charlie's wife Gisele on Christmas Eve – hang on, you do know Gisele, right?"

"Ron, I was there on Christmas Eve and I remember vividly what Fred did to Gisele. Ginny couldn't stop giggling for hours, remember?"

"Oh yeah… Did I tell you about what George did to Ginny, then?"

At that moment the clock struck three. Harry put his feet on the floor and stood up, saying. "No, you haven't told me that exact story yet, but I'm sure it can wait another time."

"What for? It's only three – I mean, we've got three more long, boring hours before we can go home," Ron objected, and Harry shook his head. "We haven't got three hours before we can go home?" he asked, perplexed. "But we get off at six, and it's only three…"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, Ron. We need to leave now," Harry said, and he began to stride swiftly away from his cubicle, and Ron followed him.

"Where?" Ron asked, catching up with Harry quickly.

"Grimmauld Place," Harry whispered as they passed the Crane brothers, who waved.

"There's a meeting?" asked a very uninformed Ron.

"Didn't you get the notice?"

"Well, something did pop into Avalon's soup in the middle of lunch, but she threw it out…"

Harry shook his head and they both made their way to the elevators. After a short and uneventful ride they exited into the Atrium, which was as hectic and boisterous as ever. There were numerous CRACKs as witches and wizards Apparated and Disapparated to places unknown, the noises making an irregular rhythm that was quite irritating. Harry and Ron disappeared into the crowd, glanced at each other, and Apparated in the trees in front of Grimmauld Place.

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Kudos for those who spot the PotC quote. Hehe.