Isadora Wilkins

Things didn't make sense, but Harry was determined to get to the bottom of things. Someone obviously tampered with Fred and George's memories, erasing everything related to the magic world. But why would someone do that? When he reached Grimauld place, he headed straight to bed and reviewed the events that had just happened. Eventually he drifted off to a deep sleep.

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"So you're breaking up with me?" Jenny said, trying to keep her voice calm.

"This is as hard for me as it is for you," Harry reasoned with her. "I'm just really busy right now, and I'm just hurting you by the fact that I can't see you as often as you'd want me to."

Jenny crossed her arms over her chest. "Well why don't you just tell me what the hell is going on so I can help you with whatever you're doing?"

"It's complicated," Harry said in a low voice. "I have a lot of questions that needs answers, and it could be dangerous. I don't want to risk it."

"Are you like a member of the secret service or something?" Jenny laughed. "I get it now. You must be some sort of spy, and you were basically using me to get information around the diner, around the city and – "

"I'm not a spy ok. I can assure you that," Harry tried not to smile.

"Well what are you?" Jenny said angrily. "You know what? Just – just go. Do whatever you have to do. I don't care." She was about to close the door but Harry grabbed her arm.

"Ginny – "

Big mistake. "I AM NOT GINNY OK?" Jenny yelled furiously. She slammed the door and Harry heard her lock it.

He sighed. He was expecting this type of reaction from Jenny. He walked towards the elevator and watched the doors close in front of him.

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Harry hadn't used any of his sick leaves, so he had about a week's worth of vacation. It was already November, and it snowed quite often. Harry decided to visit Percy, his least favorite Weasley. They had never managed to get along since they first met. Harry wasn't sure if Molly himself even talked to him on days other than holidays.

Harry reached the Ministry and approached a long hallway. He then reached a humungous hall with many wizards and witches going about in their business. He went to the fairly sized desk in the middle of the hall, where a curly haired woman with thick glasses was writing furiously. She looked up at him and gave him an angry look.

"Hi," he said feeling stupid.

"What do you need?" She said in a shrill voice.

"I'd just like to know, what department does Percy Weasley work in?" He inquired.

The woman snorted. "Percy Weasley? Oh that loony's been locked up at St. Mungo's for a few years now."

"How come?"

The woman began filing papers. "Because he's loony! Well, if you ask me, it's because his work has gotten to him. Works too much."

"What about his parents?"

"He claims he has none. He has no family. That man never really talked to anyone around here. We've stopped trying to reason with him."

"Ok, thank you very much for your help," Harry replied, feeling more confused than ever.

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What now? Harry paced back and forth in the library of his home. How was he going to find Ron or Hermione? He took his owl, Hammy, from his cage. Why didn't I think of this before? He grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill on a desk nearby and wrote hastily.

Ron,

Please write me as soon as you receive this. I have too many questions to ask, and if I wrote them down, the owl won't be able to carry the loads of parchment I will send. I will explain more about myself later.

Harry

He attached the note to Hammy's leg and opened the window, praying he would return good news.

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Five days later and Hammy had not returned. Harry ordered take out at Sam's diner to avoid awkward confrontations with Jenny. Whenever he stepped foot in the diner she would throw disgusted looks at him. Finally on the 6th day, while Harry was munching his burger, he heard something scraping on the glass window. He jumped up and quickly opened it. Hammy flew inside and to his food dish. Harry searched his faithful pet's leg and found a tiny piece of scrunched up parchment.

Isadora Wilkins, 4534 June Street, apartment 634.

What? Who the hell is Isadora Wilkins?