There and Back Again Lane

Ch. 20 – The Wedding Present

Someone must have been telling lies about Joseph K., for he awoke from his bed to find himself arrested one fine morning.

—Franz Kafka, 'The Arrest,' The Trial

'ere I am, JH.

—Brazil

Part 1: Green-eyed locoman

England?

—(Harry's POV)—

Here I am, though where 'here' is I've no idea. Everyone must assume that the wisest course is to leave me completely in the dark. Why I can't fathom any definite reason. Perhaps it's due to my headaches, but that's an egoist's reasoning. Maybe it's to protect Hermione and Ginny, although Ginny doesn't need much protection, one woman wrecking crew that she is. More likely, they're just too busy to explain things to the resident village idiot.

And busy they certainly were. Ginny and I arrived here using another Portkey. (Amazingly, I failed once more to redecorate someone's elaborate flooring with sick.) She removed me to a hastily vetted sitting room, pressed me into a comfortable yet hideous chair, and left me with very firm instructions not to leave it or to touch anything. Plagued by the remaining twinges of my latest mini-migraine and stomach-churning voyage, I politely complied. Thus freed, Ginny immediately set to work casting more protective spells on the windows, doors, etc., like those she put on our flat's windows.

Ron and Hermione came by car. Their bickering about the comparative safety of broomsticks and flying carpets to her driving awoke me. It was a losing battle; I've no idea why he persisted. I suppose one man's appointment with injury is another's foreplay.

Despite the nervous looks and strange questions, I half-wished that we'd travelled with them. When Ron ran off to assist Ginny in protecting the house, I began dreaming of a car hurtling through London traffic at remarkable velocity, squeezing between cars, and seating twelve. At least until Hermione started examining me.

'Harry!'

She meant well, but wouldn't you curse if you were resting peacefully and some fool wrenches open your eyelids to test pupil dilation?

Satisfied I wasn't going to continue through my repertoire of oaths, she quickly set to completing the examination.

'I suppose you were the inspiration behind Ginny's Healer story,' I advanced conversationally as she studied my ocular reflexes. A censorious frown revealed how wrong I was.

'She came up with that little idea on her own, Harry,' Hermione groused. 'Anyway, would you have believed she was an Auror?'

I shook my head, especially as I would have had no idea what an Auror was. It is still perplexing even now that I know what an Auror is, though the journey to and through Haseltoun was a bit of a giveaway.

'Did you know I was in the area the day I met Ginny?'

Hermione pulled back, her stern demeanour replaced by a confused play of joy and regret. She brought a chair and sat beside me, composing herself whilst smoothing her skirt. Obviously, she wasn't familiar with being discomfited so. My question didn't appear to have been completely unexpected, however.

'Ginny asked me that as well,' she smiled. 'It was purely by chance that you encountered one another.'

Ah, the chain of chance. Yet neither Hermione nor I were entirely convinced. I decided to test the boundaries of her honesty and my conditioning at once.

'So, fate doesn't enter into it,' I stated plainly, 'despite what Einstein said about God not playing dice.'

She frowned and tilted her head the tiniest bit as if she was preparing to explain something very difficult to someone very dim. 'Then what of free will?' Bugger. 'Besides, he was discussing quantum mechanics, not human behaviour.' That and a raised eyebrow won the debate.

Though I knew my next enquiry would discomfit Hermione, it had to be made.

'You were involved in my treatment.' My voice was flat and calm though my stomach churned and my head buzzed in expectation of answers.

'I kept you safe,' she averred. 'I ensured that those who altered your memory didn't harm you any more than was necessary to protect you.'

Remembering back to what Ginny had told me earlier and of people's difficulty in recognising me, I plodded onward. 'You hid me.'

'I had no choice,' she asserted. 'You had no idea what that foul Perkins woman had planned for you.'

Hermione's voice had become hard, but I noticed that she was not simply trying to convince me, but herself as well.

'Anyway, I would have thought you would have had enough of destiny by now,' Hermione smiled. Until she noticed my brow furrowing as a query formed in my hazy mind. Avoiding the inevitable battery of questions to any reply she might make, Hermione stammered a speedy excuse about needing to be elsewhere. I made to follow her, apologising as I went, but I was still wobbly from the Portkey and hadn't travelled very far when a dazed Ginny careered into me.

'Why's Hermione all flustered?' Ginny demanded.

'Something about me having had enough of destiny.'

'You definitely have a way with women, Harry,' she scoffed, rolling her reddened eyes. She was so tired. 'With chat-up lines like that, how could you go wrong?'

'Worked on you,' I smirked.

'No, it was pity on my end,' she declared before dragging me off to an empty bedroom.

This place, this manor was gargantuan and impressive. Mind, some of the furnishings seemed to be holdovers from low-grade horror movies, though even on cursory inspection I could tell that the dross would have easily paid several months rent on our flat.

'Where are we?'

Ginny mumbled a reply that she steadfastly refused to repeat. Ignoring my entreaties for information, she pushed me into bed, then left to help the other two.

I had intended to rise and consider my circumstances further, but they conspired against me. A mixture of headaches, drink, and disturbed sleeping patterns over the past few days bludgeoned me into a fitful rest. For some strange reason, I dreamt of that horrid little blond tosser Ginny had head-butted how ever many years ago, of him engaged in petty displays of wickedness, and, stranger still, of a bouncing white ferret. I awoke from these disturbing images to find a very beautiful red-headed woman asleep beside me. Sometimes truth is better than fiction.

According to my glowing watch dial, two hours have passed. As indicated by Ginny's somnolent frowning and garbled muttered threats, lighted watch dials should not be held above one's sleeping girlfriend's head, especially if one wishes to live long enough to become her husband. Though boggled that such faint illumination could provoke such a reaction, I comply immediately. When I try to sneak my arm out from under her, she inches closer, trapping me in place. So, back to the original plan.

Perhaps I should start at the commencement of my latest misadventure in the wizarding world. Right…

In the beginning was the Big Thump, along with the strong urge to spew all over the goblins' lovely stone floor. Admittedly, the universe – if it had or has feelings – probably felt rather chuffed about coming into existence. My second appearance in London in three days left me feeling hungover and not at all pleased. Not that I knew I was in London immediately.

Before we departed Haseltoun, I had surmised that a Portkey was a means of travel. Our arrival in what I was soon to learn was Diagon Alley left me with another conclusion: I would rather be shot through a cannon than to experience that once more. It felt as if one was being pulled inexorably by one's stomach through a narrow tube only to be spat out the other side.

Whilst I had the misfortune of cracking my knees on the stones before collapsing to rest my head against them, Ginny – who had suffered enough already – had again come out worst. Though I was meant to be supporting her, with her injured rib(s) and all, we had grasped each other's arms as I had fallen forward, saving me from an almost certain concussion. Unfortunately, our actions had put undo strain upon her battered ribcage. Her typically fair and freckled complexion was turning an unhealthy cherry red and she produced anguished groans. Realising that Ginny had to have been in great agony for her to moan so, I let go and straightened into a proper sitting position all too quickly, further disorientating the both of us. Wobbly as I was, I was still able to grasp tightly on to Ginny's legs before she toppled.

As she teetered, her expression shifted swiftly from relief to panic as if she had lost something along the way. Terrified she was going into shock, I peered up at her face. Ginny had braced herself on my head and shoulder, permitting her to relax somewhat.

At that moment, a ruffled Tonks decided to make us aware of her continued presence. 'Would you two mind behaving professionally for once?' Ginny's supervisor grumbled, nodding and scowling pointedly at my hand that was presently cupping my fiancée's bottom.

Ginny glared down at me and shook her head in consternation. 'Can't even bring you into a bank without having you cause a scene,' she chuntered.

I rose from the floor gradually, giving Ginny time to balance herself whilst muttering my riposte. 'Me? Was I the one making those frankly pornographic sounds?'

The goblin courier, completely unmoved by the jaunt, snorted as he placed the book/Portkey into his satchel and went about his duties. Tonks quickly started discussing something with a bored goblin clerk(?) who had taken Dergspruan's place. And Ginny... well, she blushed.

Her scandalised countenance should have been enough of a warning, but I must still have been dazed from the voyage. 'Cheeky bugger,' she declared prior to pinching my bum, nearly causing us to tumble again. 'Steady on, you clumsy thing,' she chastised with a smirk. If she hadn't that broken rib, I would have given her such a tickling.

I regretted the thought immediately as she winced from a fresh pang wrought by that bloody bone. Please let it not be bloodied. 'Ginny...'

Her glower stilled my tongue, but my determined glare informed her that this subject wasn't closed until she received some medical attention. She rolled her eyes and shook her head at my well-meaning attempt to badger her, yet she pulled me closer, though careful not to aggravate her injury. Whilst that was an improvement, I still wasn't deterred and looked to Tonks for support.

Ginny's shape-changing boss, however, was haggling over a thick manila envelope with the clerk. At least, I assumed that was what they were doing as neither seemed interested in retaining it, whatever it was.

'What's in there?' Ginny whispered rhetorically, frowning intently as the other two fought to lose possession of the parcel.

I wondered the same thing myself. Tonks and the goblin's sidelong glances at Ginny deepened my suspicions, but Ginny held me back.

In the end, the clerk found himself the unhappy owner of the package. Disgusted with either his poor negotiating skills or business acumen, the goblin grunted and grudgingly waved for us to follow.

The tapestries were the last clue I needed to know we were no longer in Haseltoun, probably not even in Edinburgh. I had gained a passing familiarity with the richly dressed goblins scowling at us from their picture frames. Even the rosette and pillars in the main hall of Gringotts's Scottish branch were tame compared to the gore and bedlam in wool and linen covering the passage's walls. It was unnerving to be stalked by the odd blood-daubed goblin or Red Cap roving through the woven battlefields. I pulled Ginny closer to safeguard her from their avaricious and hungry eyes, an unnecessary measure that merely earned me another bruise to compliment those I had received in Edinburgh.

'Where are we?' I mumbled to Ginny.

'Diagon Alley, Mr Southam,' announced the clerk. That explains so much.

Eventually, Managing Director Fogruk greeted us in a small waiting room. Impeded by my presence beside her, Ginny attempted to drop a curtsy along with her superior, but the goblin would have none of it. Smiling in what he must have believed was a fatherly fashion, he bid her to remain upright. He informed us that Dergspruan had apprised him of her injuries and that such formalities from such a welcome guest as she were unnecessarily for the time being. We thanked him for his generosity, which had the unintended consequence of bringing me under his scrutiny.

I bowed once more, as much as possible whilst keeping the honoured guest comfortable. The goblin peered at me censoriously, even more so than before, making it terribly difficult not to reply in kind. Despite my unease, his actions were not with malicious intent, just unnerving. He continued to squint at me for the longest time. Perhaps this disguise isn't as foolproof as was believed.

Tonks coughed shrilly – something that I had never before thought possible, and thankfully so – provoking Fogruk's glowering ire until he realised the source of the disturbance. For some reason, her throat-clearing exercise reminded me of a toad in a wretched pink cardigan, stirring a fresh twinge of pain. Making another curtsy to make amends, she entered a fresh round of negotiations in Gobbledegook with this Managing Director. His face contorted furiously, his eyes narrowed to slits, and he pulled back his large bat-like ears menacingly.

'Right,' he growled. 'I shall inform Mr Weasley. Please wait here while we finalise the arrangements on your deposit, Madam Tonks.' With a curt bow of his head, he spun about and stormed off down the corridor.

I tried to resist, honestly I did, particularly as I had really wanted to ask about that parcel, but… 'Madam Tonks?'

She was unperturbed. 'I am over twenty-five.'

'Still, I mean…'

Ginny, however, graciously intervened with the question I should have asked. 'What was in that parcel?' She might have been tired and in a great deal of pain, but that simply made her more irascible.

'I didn't have the chance to look at it,' Tonks lied cavalierly. Conceding that neither of us believed her, she decided to ignore us and sat down in one of the goblin-sized chairs, calmly taking out a newspaper from her cloak.

We sat opposite Tonks and glared at her. This matter with the envelope quashed what little trust that had in developed between us and raised new suspicions. Ginny had doubts about her supervisor as well.

She continued to badger her boss – with greater strength now she was seated – but succeeded only in aggravating her injury and prompting the occasional blush from Tonks. Just as it appeared my beloved firebrand was finally on the road to some sort of response, another clerk appeared with a deposit slip for her governor and orders to hurry us along to the Managing Director's office. Before Ginny had the chance to launch another barrage of queries, Tonks sent us both a quelling look, altering her face to that of someone we both recognised.

Well, by recognised, I mean that I clutched my head and shut my eyes firmly against a sharp bolt of pain coursing through my head. Grateful for the distraction I had unwittingly created for Ginny, Tonks followed the clerk.

'She just had to impersonate McGonagall, didn't she,' Ginny groused as she assured herself I wouldn't suffer a serious attack. Teeth-clenched, she rose and tried to help me to my feet despite the horrible strain on her own body.

'Stop, please,' I demanded, knowing that nothing short of a direct order would compel her to halt. Her compliance, however, rattled me. She had never listened any to of my instructions before… Yet Ginny stood there before me, flush-faced, gasping, and irritable.

'I had to fall for a stoic,' I muttered with a grin, rising to my feet and resuming my earlier posting as support.

As expected, my attempt at levity received a scowl. 'So, you would prefer to marry a little Miss Whinge-a-lot?'

'Well, someone who wasn't so determined to exacerbate her existing condition would be nice.'

I had anticipated the elbow to my ribs as well, but it still hurt. Especially as it was on top of the one she had given me a short while before.

When we had arrived at the Managing Director's office immediately behind Tonks, who had kindly slowed her pace, Ron appeared to have been in the midst of his own negotiations with Fogruk. Ginny's brother smiled anxiously at the three of us, though he understandably focused on his sister.

Now that everything seemed to be coming together, I had to spoil the happy family reunion. Big mouth and his first aid certificate strike again.

Ron's reaction to learning of Ginny's injury was perfectly comprehensible – indeed, commendable. As his face became an alarming wine colour, I was waylaid by tremendous confusion and shame. I felt a hand furiously twisting my collar ever tighter as I fought off the urge to flinch from an incoming blow. I knew such events were all in my mind, but it seemed so real. After all, the only one close enough to strike me was Ginny, and though she might have had motive, at the moment she hadn't the means to both strangle and punch me. I could not see the relevance of that painful recollection to our present circumstances straight away, but something about the vague episode was familiar to me... of corridors and a girl striding away...

Fogruk, the wee pointy-eared angel, saved me from either a full-on migraine or passing out from an indistinctly remembered strangulation by providing Ron with a splendidly brief synopsis of our journey through Haseltoun. I could have kissed the dear goblin, but I feared both he and Ginny might get the wrong idea.

In the end, the Managing Director led Ron from the room, advising us to stay within his office until a clerk retrieved us. Obviously, Ron's participation in our escape route required a bit of preparation. Not too much, however, as a goblin soon appeared motioning for us to follow him. Ron and Fogruk hadn't entirely finalised their arrangements, though.

They argued in hushed tones, Ron gesticulating exuberantly to further emphasise his hissed demands to which Fogruk steadfastly refused to reply. In the end, the Managing Director muttered his final remarks just loud enough for all to hear.

'Mr Weasley, it is simply that you and Mrs Weasley' – goblins appear to be an old-fashioned lot – 'are a young couple, and young couples, even one's so fortunate as yourselves, ought to plan as soon as possible for their future offspring's education.' Bank managers are all alike, I thought. I pondered what rate of interest a Gringotts credit card carried ('A finger for this, a kidney for that') when he began again.

'After all, remember poor Harry Potter. Where would he have been if his parents and predecessors hadn't planned ahead?'

In my peripheral vision, I saw Ginny glance nervously at me, with some cause. His words had struck me hard, a metaphysical slap in the face or bucket of water to an unconscious man, brutally tearing him from oblivion and thrusting the poor sod into reality. What seemed to have been the height of foolishness before now was a probability.

I, Harry Potter, was a wizard.

The only reason I didn't laugh out loud at the time was that the effort not to look like a total prat gave me a bloody headache.

Maybe there is more than one Harry Potter, I wonder, hope even.

It certainly is possible, but for whatever reason, I don't think that it's true in this case. Ginny, asleep beside me, remembers me from before. So do Ron, Hermione, Fred, Angelina (I think), and Tonks. And that strange bloke Remus we would meet in a bit.

My friends will put me away, my fading sanity counters.

I wouldn't blame them. I'm so perfectly ordinary. After all, if I was a wizard, why must I wear glasses? (Maybe I didn't need spectacles when I was one. Lucky bastard.) Besides, who would believe there is an entire wizarding community under Calton Hill; that selkies, goblins, and Red Caps are real; and that Ginny, my girlfriend and the woman with whom we play pick-up footie, is not only a real, spell-casting witch but some sort of Jane Bond as well. Ha ha ha... Ow.

Back at Gringotts...

Ginny, noticing me squinting and shaking from restrained laughter (and occasional shots of pain), correctly decided my health wasn't in question and dragged – all right, steered – me along to meet her friend Remus.

'You'll like him, I promise,' she said hopefully. From past experience, her words didn't portend well. My mind conjured up one of her former lovers not long enough forgotten and of the gaffes I might commit that would fling them back together, or of some influential extended family member I would manage to offend. I was half right.

Remus was an odd fellow. It wasn't so much his appearance that gave a sense of peculiarity, or at least not his clothing or hair, as the manner in which he carried himself. At a distance, from his grey hair and grave, careworn expression he appeared to have been in his mid-fifties, an impression he unwittingly accentuated by leaning heavily on a walking stick, possibly from an old wound. Approaching him, I noted that though he had aged prematurely, he had done so gracefully. His robes, as far as I could tell, were of good quality and had fit him at one point, when he was less gaunt. But it was his eyes that unnerved me the most.

There was something almost canine in the way he peered at us. It was an intent, piercing gaze, made more threatening by the furrowing of his brow as he glowered at me. He must have believed that I was responsible for Ginny's condition, which visibly distressed him.

With Tonks watching the entrance from a safe distance, Ginny cautiously surveyed the area where we and Remus stood. Satsified no one would hear us, she whispered for me to introduce myself, 'As you did in Haseltoun.'

Tonks's reaction to my reappearance was alarming in its bone-crushing warmth, Remus's in its painful restraint. When I spoke my name and extended my hand to shake his, astonishment replaced his intense glare and a manic grin threatened to cross his face. The struggle to suppress his excitement – for the lack of a better term – twisted the smile into a tremulous smirk. His hand on the walking stick began to tremble as well.

Despite his strained response, things seemed to have been going swimmingly until he told me his name.

'Like Romulus and Remus?' I stupidly enquired as we shook hands. I had no idea what possessed me to say such a daft thing. The quivering grin he had sported since we were introduced faded almost immediately. What a prick I am. Swiftly expressing my regrets, his good spirits returned.

'Sorry, it's been a while since I've been asked that,' he replied with a chuckle. 'I didn't know you knew that tale.' He clapped me amicably on the shoulder, and offered me a fatherly smile. His eyes lingered on mine, peering sorrowfully at – not into – them as if expecting to see someone else. Ginny twitched in pain before I had the chance to ask him of whom I reminded him.

'What happened to you?' Remus asked in a tone that suggested Ginny and injury were all too familiar companions.

Ginny replied succinctly. 'Ambush. Probably a broken rib.'

He tutted and expressed his concerns, but dared not examine her. Wise man.

Tonks motioned us over to the entrance. Ron and Fogruk must have succeeded in their sales campaign, for a growing crowd surrounded them. Hidden within the mass of beings, we sneaked down the stairs, making our way along the bustling cobble-stone road towards a small brick archway with Tonks in the lead.

After Haseltoun, Diagon Alley wasn't so much a surprise as disturbingly depressing. Though the road was open to the air and the shops were well-maintained, the scars of war were more prominent here both on the buildings and in people's behaviour. Men and women alike were furtive and suspicious, glowering at us, goading us to prove how wicked strangers were. Haseltoun's shops were less colourful, possibly more mundane as well, but its roads were more vibrant and alive than Diagon Alley. Remus noted my expression in between shared anxious sidelong glances at Ginny – who was becoming steadily more agitated beside me – and informed me it hadn't always been so.

'Are you familiar with your history?' he enquired. I shrugged and admitted I knew a bit, causing Ginny to snicker. 'Then you can imagine how wars have a way of arousing suspicion, particularly internecine conflicts and especially within capitals,' he muttered. Distressingly, Ginny shuddered beside me, but her face had reverted to a terrifyingly impassive mien.

'After the war,' he continued, 'the hunt to arrest collaborators ruined even more lives as that imbecile Perkins stoked the fires of mistrust to snatch power.'

'Like Hitler and Stalin,' I encouraged, receiving a beaming smile from Remus. Strangely, he looked almost professorial.

'Absolutely. Luckily, the Minister for Magic was able to curtail the worst excesses, but here...'

Wait a minute... capitals? 'Where is here?'

'Ah, well...'

'We're in London, aren't we?'

'Yes, we're in London,' Ginny whispered gazing intently at her feet, avoiding using my name in case someone was able to penetrate whatever it was Hermione and the others had done to me.

Suspending my disbelief that we had travelled several hundred miles in an instant a short time before – not an easy thing to do – I wondered why neither Ginny nor Tonks bothered to reveal our destination.

Seeing Ginny's discomfort and my furrowed brow announcing a barrage of dangerous questions, Remus resumed his lecture. He is, or was, a professor.

'...Here, because of Knockturn Alley (which was the resident no-go area and still the locale for those with nefarious intentions); the gaoling of many members of prominent families; the confiscation of those families' property, and; the lucrative opportunities to be gained from those misfortunes – however deserved they might have been – the people's paranoia hit its peak.' His voice had become progressively melancholic as he recited the dreadful fate of this wizarding high street. He coughed into a hankerchief of fine linen before persevering.

'Diagon Alley only truly reawakens around the start of each school year.' Suddenly, his dour countenance wavered and he graced us with a grin. 'Mind, it has gone seven and the clouds are threatening rain.'

Finally we reach the arch at the end of the narrow road. Though it was only a short distance from Gringotts, worrying about Ginny's injury and thinking about the questions my mind has raised over the past few days made the Alley seem much longer.

'The Leaky Cauldron,' Remus declared. He made his goodbyes, hugging Tonks and giving Ginny a paternal peck on the forehead.

Turning to me, his face contorted. Happiness and sorrow battled each other to a stalemate as we shook hands once more. 'We'll see each other soon,' he said. 'Hopefully under better circumstances.'

With that, he gave a sad laugh and set off back down Diagon Alley.

Tearing myself away from the retreating back of our erstwhile companion, I absorbed the ambiance of our latest exotic locale: the arse end of a pub, dustbins and all. I could use a drink, I thought, drown one headache with another. Reality and a much more pressing concern took precedence. Fortunately, our dear dodgy guide was temporarily telepathic.

'Come on, you two,' Tonks said, nodding towards a rather battered wooden door. 'We'd best be off before they start to worry.'

They: Ron and Hermione, I surmised correctly. Ginny wouldn't accept treatment from anyone but her sister-in-law. How he could travel from wherever we were in London to their flat in Bayswater, what with the crowd he was attracting, I had no idea. Maybe he enjoys being spat out, I wondered. Or that's something else Ginny isn't telling me. At least it was an unimportant something.

I moved to follow Tonks into the Leaky Cauldron as she stood impatiently at the door, only to realise half of me remained firmly in place. Ginny had obstinately refused to budge from under the archway. Coughing faintly, her eyes shifted uneasily between forlorn glances trailing Mr Lupin down the Alley and chary glowers at Tonks in the doorway. With each cough and concomitant grimace, Ginny's agonised frown deepened, filling me with panic. Gingerly, I pulled her closer, placing my other hand on her cheek. I could feel the muscles tense as her jaw set.

Tonks's face creased with worry and befuddlement, mirroring mine. She made to speak, but Ginny waved aside whatever it was her boss had to say, along with my hand.

'Let's go,' Ginny muttered, glaring at the door. She must have had some truly dreadful experiences here, I mused. Either that or she's been barred. I considered asking her, hoping to humour her. Ginny's countenance foretold grievous bodily harm to whoever would be so foolish. It reminded me so much of Fred's that night I tried to convince him I wasn't doing a runner on her. Behind the determination etched upon her mien was trepidation. Her gaze darted furtively everywhere but in my direction whilst her chin jutted unerringly ahead. What else wasn't she telling me...?

Once inside the Leaky Cauldron, I was struck once more by the absurdity of my situation and the strangeness of my environment. There, I was the curiosity – or would have been had it not been for the clothes Miss Prem had provided us. The interior appeared to have been taken from some BBC period piece set in the sixteenth- or seventeenth-century, if not before. It wasn't merely dark within, but so murky from cigar and pipe smoke that one might have assumed the dreaded London smogs of yesteryear had returned. Somehow, the light from a constellation of candles – a few of which were hanging in mid-air – pierced through the blue haze, offering sufficient illumination to reveal the pub's patrons.

To the uninitiated, such as me, it was astounding to witness such a broad clientele. The customers had clearly emerged from one of William Hogarth's works, or those of Hieronymus Bosch. Everyone was dressed either in robes, cloaks, or in fashions not seen in several hundred years. They engaged in strange but simple displays of what could only be called magic – tea cups stirring themselves with the least bit of supervision, re-arranging tables with the merest flick of a wand – blissfully unaware of how marvellous such conduct was, or how astonishing they were.

In one booth near our entrance sat a group of what appeared to be dwarves, dressed in jerkins and aprons made of leather or another type of animal skin. They smoked a pungent substance that emitted vile green fumes from their curved pipes reminiscent of a U-bend and drank from tankards as large as their heads whilst vehemently discussing something in another tongue.

Another table played host to a troika of wizened old women garbed in heavy black cloaks. Hungrily, their beady, avaricious eyes swept the room as they flashed cruel, khaki-coloured smiles in anticipation. At their table rested a black cauldron heated by a small blue ball of flame dancing in a liquid-filled bowl. They drank from pewter mugs they immersed into the steaming vessel, unperturbed by the noxious seeming yellow-tinged plumes that rose ceiling-wards from its contents. I anxiously awaited the arrival of two Scottish lairds who would soon learn – and thereby beget – their fates. Despite the threesome's most fervent wishes, evinced by their gnashing teeth, they remained alone.

There were others who – in my ignorance – were odder still, causing me to gawp, mouth agape like a gormless idiot at the beings within that microcosm of Ginny's world. Meanwhile, I realised that they could not see me.

Whenever people looked at me, their eyes began to wander or lose focus. They could still sense someone or something near them, but only in as much as one would recognise a bollard to avoid it. Therefore, it didn't matter what my appearance was, so long as that of my companions was altered. I was completely and utterly safe – brazenly, soddingly, and cowardly safe.

Graciously, she wrenched me from my revulsion and observations up to the bar proper, where we were greeted by a slightly hunch-backed gentleman with absolutely no dental hygiene. Self-pity speedily leapt from the bus.

'Tom,' Tonks began, shaking his hand to pull him to within muttering range at the crowded and boisterous bar. Another bloody Tom. 'We'd like two rooms, please, short duration.'

His eyes widened in aggrieved shock before narrowing to angry slits. 'We don't run that kind of place,' he growled, glaring at me, 'and we don't serve punters!' His finger, which was remarkably clean, pointed vaguely but threateningly at me, daring me to contradict him as it dawned on me what he meant.

With a twitch of her nose, Tonks momentarily reverted to her usual appearance. 'Tom...'

Briefly, his eyes grew once more as a broad smile stretched across his face. 'My apologies, Madam, had I but known you were coming...,' Tom the barman swore as he guided us upstairs, replaced at the bar by a peculiar balding fellow apparently burdened with ennui.

Having scaled the rickety stairway to the first floor, Tom handed Tonks a pair of keys that she repaid with a few large, thick gold coins. I looked to Ginny for an explanation, but she continued to stare directly in front of her, interrupted only by the occasional agonising wince.

That did it. Witch or no witch, once we are in that room, I thought, I will demand to examine Ginny's rib. Consequently, I wondered what life would be like as a toad – if she let me live long enough.

Ginny's governess took matters into her own hands. Liberating Ginny from my questionable stewardship using the wicked, 'Now, you don't wish to cause her further harm by jostling her, do you,' argument, Tonks postponed my first experience of cross-class transfiguration for a short while. 'We'll be back shortly,' she assured, tossing me the other key, flinching slightly at my glower.

Correctly assuming my room was the one opposite, I was confronted by a four poster bed upon which lay a carry bag filled with ordinary (for me, anyway) clothes. Inside were a lightweight jacket, a plain t-shirt, and jeans, whilst on the floor there was a pair of trainers. Ginny must have informed Hermione or whomever about my size, because everything fit disturbingly well. From force of habit, I neatly folded the vestments borrowed from Miss Prem's boutique and filled the bag once more, a process I found strangely dismaying.

To escape that feeling and a host of other odd thoughts passing through my mind, I rapidly left the room only to be greeted by the muffled sounds of Ginny and Tonks quarrelling. I caught the last phrase just as Tonks came barrelling out of the room, a strained smile crossing her face.

Her dress and hair were subdued, which seemed curiously out of place. Her grin unwittingly developed a disarmingly manic quality as she smoothed her black skirt, which only became more pronounced as my aspect grew dour.

'What did you mean, "You should have thought of that beforehand"?'

'Well...' She tried and failed to appear calm.

'Yes?' The urge to tap my foot like an impatient headmaster was almost overwhelming.

'Oh good!' she spluttered. 'You remembered to pack the carry bag. Sunita would be pleased,' she continued to blether, beaming at me. I was bewildered as to why was she so rattled, but I pressed onward.

'What was in that parcel, Tonks?' I demanded, staring deeply into her eyes, my frown deepening. I tried the same technique on Ginny once after she had been out all night, coming home looking dreadful and tired, scaring me half to death both by her absence and her appearance. Whereas Ginny simply glared back at me and snickered, 'Nice try', Tonks held my gaze somewhat dazedly. I was disgusted with myself, but I had to know.

'Answer my questions,' I prompted.

She was about to reply when she flinched, shaking off my glower and stumbling back a few steps. Surprised by her reaction, I dropped the bag and moved to assist her. Swatting my hands away, she peered anxiously at me, fearful and furtive. Hastily, she snatched the fallen bag and hurried downstairs.

A fresh wave of guilt crashed down upon me, but I was still furious for being kept in the dark. Those two disappointments collided into a low anguished groan.

'I know precisely how you feel,' Ginny said as she stood in the doorway of their room. 'Mind, my interrogation wasn't nearly so brusque.'

Ashamed of myself, I muttered an oath to my feet.

'Sorry, not in my present condition,' she gasped with a smirk, holding her arm protectively over her chest whilst leaning against the frame.

Though it pained me to see her in such distress, to have her standing there, with her own lovely face and that beautiful hair, in fitted trousers and a light pullover, made me immediately forget my other concerns.

'How is it?' I enquired, walking over to her.

Consenting to me, wrapping her arm over my shoulders, Ginny dissuaded any further attempts to suggest treatment with a scowl. 'Not now...'

Still, I insisted on some sort of reply. 'Is it much worse?'

She bit her lip – either to stifle a wounded moan or an understandably irascible retort, I've no idea – guiding me to the bed by gently applying pressure on my shoulder with her hand so she might rest until Tonks returned. Even the act of lying down caused her to gurn in agony.

'Don't even think it...' she whispered through clenched teeth, her eyes narrowing menacingly, a tiger ready to strike.

'Perhaps I should get Tonks,' I calmly suggested. The glare sharpened. 'You can't go like this,' I averred. Behind her tormented grimace, the precursor of tempestuous row brewed, until I lifted a few locks of her hair to demonstrate my point.

'Oh...' With that, she relaxed for the first time since our brief stop at Miss Prem's.

There was, however, a significant obstacle in my plan. Who would look after Ginny when I left?

Ginny, as expected, dismissed my concerns. 'I'll be worse off if you don't go,' she yawned, gurning once more. 'I can lock the door from here, don't worry.'

I hate it when people ask the impossible of me.

'You'd best hurry before I hex you.' She even pointed her wand at me.

Acknowledging that I had, for the moment, lost the debate, I departed only to linger with my hand on the doorknob awaiting the joyous sound of the locks being engaged. That accomplished, I swiftly ducked downstairs for apologies and prodding.

Tonks had started drinking something, but I doubt whether any of it had touched her lips. She bore a distant look, her tankard forgotten halfway in its journey. When I tapped her lightly on the shoulder, she hopped about a foot off of her stool, spilling beer down her front and all over the bar, along with another muttered oath from my lips.

'I don't think Ginny would like that.' Tonks smiled at me, but that only made me feel worse. At least Tom was amused by our floor show as well.

In the midst of very profuse apologies about whatever it was I had done to her, I informed Tonks about Ginny's condition, which Tonks took as a signal to berate me for leaving our charge – 'Your fiancée!' – all alone, whilst I hissed my very sane excuse of not having a wand and being unable to perform magic anyway.

'What was I supposed to do if some more berks came 'round, stare them down and hope they leave?'

The reply to my quite valid query had to wait as we spent the next few minutes attempting to awaken Ginny. In the end, we conceded defeat, allowing Tonks to disguise Ginny's features one last time (hopefully).

Carrying a very groggy and now brunette Ginny between us, Tonks and I slipped through the early evening rush and onto...

'Charing Cross Road?'

I looked left. Down the road there was the record store I'd been in that day, and in front of us was the bollard, where...

'This was where I bumped into you...' Ginny emitted a sorrowful groan beside me.

My mind raced back to that day in December one-and-a-half years ago. At the time we collided, neither of us knew who the other was. Though an immensely talented actress on life's stage, her surprise and enthusiasm that day did not seem feigned – besides, she had thought I was dead – thereby leading me to discard the question, Did she know I was going to be here that day? and replacing it with, Did someone else know? That query offered one obvious possibility: Hermione.

When I glanced at Ginny's face, however, she was in no state to answer any queries. Her head was bowed and her eyes were closed tightly against memories of that day, which she tried to banish by constantly repeating that she hadn't known. Obviously, she hadn't much faith in my capacity for deductive reasoning.

Tonks joined in Ginny's gloomy assessment of my grasp on logic. My fellow crutch glowered at me to stop pestering her charge, only to receive an equally suspicious scowl in return. The uneasy détente we had brokered in Haseltoun had collapsed under our unexpectedly conflicting agenda on safeguarding Ginny's welfare.

Our attitude toward one another didn't improve as we jostled our way through the foot traffic in search of transport. As we had in Haseltoun, we began exchanging barbs, albeit without the light-heartedness from before. Even so, we seemed to reach the stage at which some resolution was bound to occur when that cunning twit scarpered.

We were in mid-argument when we realised Ginny had stopped apologising and had begun glowering indiscriminately at passers-by before deciding once more I was the source of all of her grief. Maybe I was... In any case, Madam Tonks and I, aware of the awakening volcano between us, quickened our pace only to have that dear creatrix of calamity stop suddenly in the middle of the pavement, nearly causing Ginny to tumble. As I looked daggers at Tonks, I saw her face fill with apprehension. Backing away from whatever it was had startled her, she motioned for us to take an alternate route. I was about to remind our dear governess that she was the only one of us able to still perform magic, but Ginny, in her half-awake, agony-addled state, decided we should row.

'We should bus it,' Ginny said in a particularly stroppy tone.

'No, we'll cab it,' I responded calmly.

We continued in this fashion for several minutes, blissfully failing to attract a crowd although we were annoyingly too pre-occupied to catch either a cab or bus. Finally, I'd had enough and half-directed, half-pulled her to a major thoroughfare until I, like Tonks, was distracted.

Ginny stumbled, wheezing and gurning in anguish as I abruptly halted at the sight. A figure emerging from the mists of time appeared in the midst of the early evening crowds, walking sedately towards us. A voice, heard so many times before, rang in my head. It couldn't have been, but it was.

'It can't be him...'

Dozy and worried, Ginny made a grab for her wand that I barely restrained in time. 'Who, where?'

'There!' I answered, nodding in his direction. I simply couldn't believe it...

Seeing whom I indicated, her grey eyes – now, why couldn't Tonks have leave them the way they were? – grew geometrically as her wand arm relaxed. 'Dumbledore?' she mused.

'What?' I blurted, believing I hadn't heard her correctly. 'No,' I eventually replied, 'it's Tom Baker.' Seeing the bewildered look on her face, I continued. 'You know, the fourth Doctor...'

After a two minute discussion about Doctor Who – during which I wisely avoided mentioning Siobhan who had introduced me to the programme – Ginny decided it was time to try to break one of my ribs with a well-aimed elbow. As I hunched over in breathless shock, she turned to rebuke me. In her rage, she had ignored her own injury, which was unkind enough (though perhaps not so to me) to remind her of its presence. Gasping in pain, she glared murderously at me. Fortunately, we were both saved from further harm by a minicab.

The short journey to Ron and Hermione's flat took an eternity... Ginny glared at me with such fervour – to which I responded with frowns of incomprehension – the driver didn't utter anything beyond asking our destination and telling us the fare. But at least she was awake and could manage, with assistance, the stairs to their floor.

We arrived shortly after that sneaky sod Tonks, who literally popped off soon after we had entered. Ginny couldn't break away from me fast enough to fall into Hermione's arms. I don't know whether it was my behaviour or her injury that propelled her quicker. Hermione and Ron appeared to view me sympathetically, though how long that would last was anyone's guess. With Ginny finally receiving some care, I felt some of the pressure ease.

I couldn't quite relax, however. From his tense grin and darting eyes, it was apparent Ron wanted to talk to me about something inconveniently important. His discomfort led me to smile uneasily back, the first sign of a burgeoning panic. Wisely, he suggested we partake in a casual drink before he began.

When I was first in this flat, I had been much too nervous to observe their furnishings properly. For instance, I hadn't noticed there was neither telly nor Playstation in the sitting room, only an old wireless set and a small stereo system that appeared to have been a few decades old. All of those headaches must have clouded my mind as only then was I finally able to infer the obvious: magic wreaks havoc on electrics. The electric coffee pot, the toaster, the telephone, that laptop...

'Sorry, Harry, I'm a married man,' Ron said nonchalantly as he handed me a bottle.

I really must learn to stop cursing, but it did lighten the mood.

The proffered bottle remained unopened in my hand whilst Ron took no pains to uncork his. I was slowly becoming chary of new experiences. For starters, the bottle was peculiar, with corks sealed with yellow wax in place of metal caps. A narrow ribbon of yellow silk was affixed to the bottle and cork by a signet in sealing-wax adorned with the initials MRC. Fine, to refuse a drink from one's future brother-in-law because it looked odd was a silly, if not disastrous, thing to do. Yet it was not simply the vessel nor its temperature that alarmed me most, but the contents themselves.

'Butterbeer?' I parroted, my face twitching with a bemused grin. I had believed I had misunderstood him, but his gape-mouthed display of dismay informed me otherwise. Within the deep recesses of my ransacked memory there was an image of Tibetans drinking fermented horse milk. The concept of drinking fermented milk brought a shudder. To that thought was appended a tale told by my history master at grammar school, that of Henri IV's obligatory conversion before being crowned King of France: 'Paris is worth a mass.' Whilst both the recollection and the story might have been apocryphal, their message was sound. (Strange, the things one supposedly remembers...)

'Don't be a wanker, Harry,' Ron chided with a shake of the head. 'Drink it.'

Not wanting to make a bigger prat of myself than I already had, I did. And it was good.

'Merton's Rutland Cream,' he smiled. 'Best in England. 'Course, I'm biased.'

'Why's that?' I enquired casually, encouraging him to be indiscreet.

He played ignorant, something at which he was quite talented. Except for the faintest blush appearing on his ears...

Rather than allowing me to ask another question, he distracted me with one of his own. 'Why did it take you so long to ask my sister to marry you?' with the emphasis on my sister.

I wittered on about University, my financial situation (causing his ears to redden further), well, basically what I had told Fred the other night. Anxiety created a drought in my mouth that I tried in vain to alleviate with the butterbeer, succeeding only in aggravating my headache. Ron wasn't paying attention to my words, however. He was looking at my face as if expecting to see someone else, a Harry who could recognise him. He gathered the courage to ask his question just as Ginny raced to the loo, followed closely by an agitated Hermione. Having had enough mystery for one night and not wanting to be left out, I joined the pursuit with Ron trailing behind telling me not to worry.

'Not to sodding worry?' I hissed, briefly ignoring the hammering in my head. 'She's been on edge these past few days, and you tell me to sit serenely by as she goes mad? What kind of brother are you?'

Judging from Ron's purple face and Hermione's stammering, as well as my own sense of decency, it was the wrong thing to say. Still, Hermione seemed almost impressed. A glower from her, mixed with assurances she would set the world to right, swiftly put an end to our male bonding ritual and ushered us back into the sitting room.

'Sorry,' we muttered. I noticed Ron looked as guilty as I felt, so I decided for both of our sakes not to press the issue.

In the awkward silence that followed, I observed that many of the walls were lined with books.

'What is it that you do?' I pondered.

His face quivered with barely suppressed elation. Based on his frame and his handshake, he must be quite active. His reaction revealed he enjoyed his profession, so I was surprised he didn't answer. Still angry with myself for my latest attempt to alienate Ginny's family, I decided not to pry. Ron, however, was under no such restrictions.

'What did you do at, er, that university thingie?'

When I explained again about what I had read at University and what it had entailed, he chortled. 'But you were crap at Potions.'

'So Ginny showed me,' I answered, describing how she had told me about us.

'She did right by you,' he swore. 'And you, her.' He smiled sadly and sat down. Gladly, I followed suit.

Chagrin crept across his visage once more as he finally asked me the question that had been bothering him. 'Do you remember me at all?'

I didn't know what to say. Even so, the words burbled out of me. 'I recall you having a go at me.' His eyes widened in shock and disbelief. 'Because of Ginny.'

Ron groaned and rolled his eyes. 'Was it in our sixth year?' I nodded. He shook his head and moaned again.

'I don't blame you...' I began, only to realise he was snickering.

'Ginny nearly killed me for that,' he laughed. 'She fancied you, but she was terrified…' His voice wavered as his eyes darted nervously to the sitting room window.

'Of what?' Just then, the feeling of something trying to extract my eyes with a dull spoon assailed me. Bright spots blinkered my vision, but I kept peering at him for as long as I could.

'I don't know,' he shrugged, or at least I think he did. From the tone of his voice, he was being honest.

I wanted to ask him several questions, such as whether or not he knew I had survived that night. Given that Hermione had been involved in the process, it didn't take an immense leap to surmise Ron had been party to my 'treatment' as well. And if that was the case, I might be able to discover how to rid myself of these buggering migraines. In the meantime, I tried to appear relaxed and not to succumb to the urge to boak.

Ginny and Hermione's return saved us both from pretending either of us was comfortable. Both women appeared as though they had been through the wars, which perhaps they had. Ginny seemed to recognise my symptoms directly. She placed a hand to my forehead. Indistinctly through the glare of strobing flashes affecting my vision, I saw her peer into my eyes. In the distance, I heard her suggesting I have a bit of a lie-down, to which Hermione concurred whilst twittering some well-meaning but utterly superfluous advice. Ginny bore such guidance good-naturedly, although the tensing of her hands as she directed me out of the sitting room belied her calm.

Still, it was Ron who enlightened us about a more pressing predicament. Tonks had informed him that Babbage was planning a visit to the flat. And, at that very moment, just as in some poorly crafted film noir, we heard a car pull up to the kerb. The other three drew their wands at once, leading me to fall in an unceremonious heap onto Ron and Hermione's (tastefully and thankfully carpeted) hardwood floor.

'Ow.'

'Sorry, Harry,' Ginny whispered with a barely suppressed laugh. Bet she thought it was sufficient payment for harranguing her about her rib. At least it took my mind off my headache. Ron was snickering as well. At least Hermione's tutting at them to be quiet, I thought, until she started as well. Ah, family.

The brief instant of levity was quickly broken by Ron, who, with my slightly less blurry eyes, was peering surreptitiously out the window. 'Er, Ginny, perhaps you and Harry should go now.'

'I'm not leaving,' Ginny snarled, wand at the ready.

'It's Shacklebolt,' Ron muttered.

'See you at the rendezvous,' she said hastily. Muttering a swift spell, she lifted me into a standing position and thrust another book into my hand.

'No, not again…'

Which brings me to where I am now.

Next: Ginny & Harry, Babbage's tea party, and travel... This chapter should be completed by 27 June.