Healer Harry - A Fanfic

by SalTalStudios

"Huh, not...what I was expecting."

7. Theme Week

Harry took a deep breath in, glanced down at his watch, and then let out a discontented sigh.

8:59 am.

One minute until Hermione's charm would go off.

He'd been cutting it really close lately but after weeks of straight-laced behaviour, he'd decided enough was enough. Hermione could try and change him however much she wanted but he wasn't going to budge.

As soon as he apparated into his office, Harry held out his hand for his coffee only to be met with an empty room. "Huh…" he said, peeking around the door. How odd.

With a frown, he walked into the corridor and stepped out into the waiting room to find no one at the clerk's desk. The front doors were still locked, judging by the appearance of a man pressing his nose against the glass and waving for Harry's attention.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows and turned on his heel, determined to solve this little mystery.

He opened each exam room door, the storage room, the file room, and the bathroom before finally reaching the kitchen.

"Ah...Tracey," he said with a pleased smile. "I was looking for you."

She was in the process of smacking the old coffee maker hard with her hand, smoke billowing from it with a menacing hiss.

"Still not working, then?" Harry said, leaning against the cabinets with his arms crossed.

She let out an impatient huff. "It works alright but only just," she said, pouring out a cup and handing it to him before doing the same for herself. "Keeps making that wretched noise and letting out smoke."

Harry hummed in thought as he took a sip. "Tastes a bit burnt, no?" he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, it's either this or the rubbish they sell at that cafe across the road."

Making a face of disgust, he set his cup down. "It's not just the coffee that's bad there. The service is a right nightmare, as well," he said, shaking his head. "Crinkly Eyes nearly spilt a cup on me the other day when a child ran into her."

Tracey snorted. "She's the annoyingly happy one? With the smiley face and brown hair?"

"That's her, yeah," Harry said with a nod.

Turning back to the coffee maker, Tracey let out a small groan. "I just wish Hermione could remove the stick up her arse and let us buy a new one already."

"Christmas already passed," Harry said, taking another sip and wincing. "Shall we write it on our birthday lists again this year?"

She let out a dry laugh. "Hermione couldn't even give me the week off for my birthday, you think she's going to get us the Breville Brushed Stainless Steel Oracle Touch Espresso Machine?" she said, shaking her head. "We're stuck here in the trenches while she lives it up in Climax, Saskatchewan, for her little healthcare management conference."

"Deplorable," Harry agreed.

"I mean...why even keep the clinic open?" Tracey said, setting her cup down with more force than necessary, causing the contents to spill over the edge. "I say we lock it up. No seeing patients for the entire week. We bloody deserve a break!"

Harry considered the proposition for all of two seconds before voicing his opinion. "Let's do it for the morning. If we don't open, we'll never hear the end of it."

Tracey threw her head back and groaned but walked over to open the front doors. "If we're not staying closed, may as well just get on with it."

x-x-x

Harry finished chewing the final bite of his food, shoving his plate forward before he slumped backward into his chair.

He was tired. Today hadn't been especially miserable, filled only with the usual annoyances of the PIMMPLE. And yet, he'd felt himself deteriorate as the day dragged on.

Tracey had been just as bad as him, if not worse. She'd taken no joy in needlessly needling the patients like she might usually have done. Instead, she'd been ruthlessly efficient with them, while being short and grumpy with Harry.

He couldn't exactly blame her. Her vacation plans had been cancelled the night before due to Hermione's last-minute Climax Conference. But Harry had no similar excuse. Sure, he could assign some of his bad mood to Tracey being a miserable sod but it wasn't enough to shoulder it entirely. It certainly wouldn't be enough to explain why he'd skipped dinner at The Burrow tonight.

There was no doubt he'd hear about that.

As if on cue, Harry heard a pop signalling Kreacher's arrival. He took Harry's half-eaten plate and turned his beady eyes on him, his ears drooping as he shook his head. "Mistress be so disappointed in poor old Kreacher. Letting Young Master be here all alone, day after day," the old elf said, ambling back out of the room.

"What's that, Kreacher?" Harry said, raising an eyebrow.

The elf turned back to Harry and gave him a low bow. "Kreacher said nothing."

"Nothing, my left arse cheek," Harry muttered.

Though the batty old elf had improved some, he would never be the same again after the passing of his Mistress.

With a sigh, Harry waved him off and leant back in his desk chair. Kreacher gave a second mocking bow at that, mumbling something too quiet to hear.

This time of year had been difficult for a while now. The cold dreariness of the winter month that followed an outpouring of overwhelming and unnecessary comfort around the holiday season. The stark contrast was enough to drain him entirely.

Why couldn't everyone just leave him to wallow in peace?

Visiting the Burrow or the Delacours right now just felt so...wrong. Those places were overflowing in energy, vibrancy,, and joy. It was the last place he wanted to be at the moment.

Harry sighed and stood up, stretching his arms high and wiggling out his legs. He made his way over to the bookshelf and poured himself a stiff drink of firewhiskey, gulping it down and letting out an 'ahh' of satisfaction.

He poured himself another.

Alcohol wasn't an answer to his woes but it wouldn't exactly hurt either.

Capping the bottle, Harry returned to his desk for some light reading. But as he sat back down, he spotted something in his periphery that he wished he hadn't. Not today anyway. Not in the mood he was in.

The mitten.

As if drawn by a magnetic pull, Harry's free hand reached forward and slipped the mitten on. Fittingly, it was the only one he could find. The other member of the pair lost somewhere, missing its mate.

Harry shook his head and let out a shuddering breath before tipping his glass back again.

He'd lost his Soul Bonded. He'd grieved. He'd moved on. And yet the wound kept reopening as if he'd busted the stitches holding it closed, again and again and again.

Just as Harry went to refill his drink again, a voice came through the closed door.

"Harry?"

Dread filled his stomach. She was going to come in here and see him working on his third drink. No doubt Kreacher had already ratted him out, the blighter.

He heard a soft knock before the door creaked open. "Harry, Kreacher said I'd find you here."

As Fleur walked in, Harry greeted her with a strained smile.

She looked him up, down, and then caught sight of the mitten he hadn't realized he was still wearing.

"Oh, Harry..." Fleur said, her voice as heavy as the weight in his heart.

Harry swallowed, hard. "Sorry for missing dinner...it's just-"

Fleur closed the distance between them and placed a hand on his arm. "Shh, you don't need to say anything," she said. As soon as he put his drink down, she wrapped him up in a hug, rubbing his back soothingly.

"It's okay," she whispered, not letting him go. "I miss her too."

Tears filled unbidden in his eyes and he blinked furiously to keep them at bay. He held tightly onto Fleur, feeling her sobs wrack through her body.

How long they stood there he didn't know. All he could process was the torrent of emotions that came flooding out of him, ones he hadn't known he'd been holding back. Set off by nothing more than a shit day at work, a mitten, and a hug.

It made no sense. He hated that it made no sense.

Eventually they broke apart, Fleur taking the mitten off Harry's hand, her thumb tracing the stitched 'Gabr'. "It's okay to miss her, you know," she said, her voice quiet. "I'm here for you. Anytime you need me."

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice just yet.

"You don't need to drink alone," she said, the scolding he'd been worried about finally coming. "You have people who care for you, love you."

He cleared his throat. "It just hit me hard today," he said, shifting his eyes away from her. "Dunno why."

"Winter's always hard," Fleur said, placing her hand in his and squeezing it.

Harry stared down at their joined hands for a moment before taking the mitten and placing it back on the bookshelf. His eyes searched for the other one but they couldn't find purchase.

"If you want, I can speak to Bill," she said, coming over, stepping around him, and then lifting up a fallen book. She plucked the other smushed mitten from its hiding place and set it next to its pair. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind having you round for dinner more. And you know Victoire loves seeing her favourite uncle as often as she can."

Harry turned back to his drink and vanished the contents. "No...no, that's okay," he said, forcing a smile. "I'd rather not see Bill stuff his face unless I absolutely have to. He makes Ron look civilized with those table manners of his."

Fleur chuckled politely and took a seat on the sofa, inviting him to join her. "I don't know if the holidays will ever be the same, to be honest," she said with a wistful look. "But it helps...being around family and friends."

He joined her and dropped his head back onto the couch. "Yeah," he said, running his hand through his messy hair. "Nothing can really compare to those Delacour traditions."

With a warm look, she patted him on the knee. "You can still enjoy them without her, you know. You had so much fun that first time."

Harry shook his head. "I really don't think I can," he said, staring down at his hands. "And well...I made Maman promise to take this secret to the grave, but..."

"Secret?"

He smiled at Fleur, amused to see worry written all over her face. "Gabby was so excited the day I came home with her for Yule. I was worried I would wreck it somehow," he said, his own words feeling like a balm to his soul. "I floo'd Apolline and the two of us went out for brunch."

Fleur narrowed her eyes at him. "Maman never mentioned that," she said.

Harry nodded slowly, lost in the memory. "I talked with her about Gabby and how nervous I was," he said, a fond smile on his face. "So she told me about every one of your traditions. Talked me through them, gave me some tips, and took me to buy the apron that I've worn every year since."

At this, Fleur's eyes widened. "But...but you were so…"

"Excited, insatiable, and desperately wanting more?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well...yeah," she said, words finally leaving her open mouth.

Harry let out a long breath. "We may have been Soul Bonded but our love still formed naturally," he said with a shrug. "I was always looking for ways to make her happy. Gabby had built up the idea of Christmas at the Delacours so much that I wanted to make sure she had the time of her life while I was there."

"So...did you even enjoy the traditions?" she said with a small frown.

"I enjoyed making my wife happy," he said, swallowing hard. "And now…well, that element is missing."

Fleur was about to respond when Harry put up his hand. "I still meet with Maman regularly," he said. "We talk, and I do enjoy our time together. She makes sure of it."

With a nod, Fleur looked around the room. "What's all this, then?" she said, gesturing to the bottle of Firewhiskey.

Harry tried to hold back a grimace. "A nice relaxing drink after dinner."

She huffed out a breath. "That's not what Kreacher said when I asked him," she said, sounding thoroughly disappointed.

With a sigh, Harry looked down at his lap. "Today was a rough one," he said, not meeting her eyes. "More than usual."

"And if I ask Kreacher how many bottles he's replaced for you recently...?"

Harry shrunk in on himself. "Then you wouldn't be thrilled," he said, not bothering to lie. She'd call his bluff at once. And Kreacher wouldn't dare to lie to his Mistress' sister.

The look on her face was unreadable but before he could ask what she was thinking, he felt her finger poke into his gut.

"Ouch!" he said, rubbing the spot.

"You need to drink less and exercise more," she said, unrepentant. "You're developing a gut."

Harry rolled his eyes. His pants might be a little tighter round the waist, but he did not have a gut. "It's barely even half a stone."

Fleur stood and went over to his minibar. Her wand snapped into her hand, and without so much as a by-your-leave, she vanished all the liquor. "Uppers in the morning and downers at night," she said, admonishing him, her hands coming to rest on her hips. "You're going with no caffeine and no alcohol for a week or I'll be letting Maman in on this little habit of yours."

Taking a deep breath, Harry rubbed his temples and let out a sigh. "You don't play fair."

She lifted her chin and sniffed. "You don't take care of yourself."

They stared at each other for a moment before Fleur relaxed her shoulders and grabbed hold of his hand, her eyes softening. "Just promise me, Harry," she said, with a firm look. "No caffeine and no alcohol until the next Weasley dinner this Thursday night which You. Will. Be. At."

He put up his hands in surrender. "I promise," he said, a playful grin on his lips. "I'll pinky swear and everything."

She held his gaze until he nodded. "Here, I'll give you this. It's a good luck charm that I've brought on every curse-breaking expedition of mine," she said, digging a toy knight out of her pocket and placing it in his hands. "Whenever I felt like I hit a dead end, it was always surprisingly helpful to me."

Taking the offered toy, Harry turned it over, getting a good look at it.

"If you're having trouble keeping to your detox," Fleur said, drawing his attention away from the knight. "Just pull him out and remind yourself of your promise to me."

Harry chuckled. "Well, okay," he said, closing his fist around it. "I'll make sure to keep it with me then."

x-x-x

Harry arrived in his office at exactly 9:00 on the dot the next morning. Carefully taking off his mittens, he placed them neatly at the corner of his desk for optimum visibility. Without glancing up, he turned, making sure to keep his hand in so Tracey couldn't place a mug of coffee in it.

But for the second day in a row, his office was empty. No cup of coffee and no Tracey in sight. He blinked, wondering what was going on.

He was later than usual but Tracey hadn't bothered to seek him out. He'd even had a whole spiel ready about how he was going to detox this week, preparing a number of points to defend himself from her inevitable biting sarcasm.

But there was no need for it, it seemed.

How odd.

Harry walked to the door of his office, swung it open and peeked out, first right and then left. The hallway was clear and he couldn't hear footsteps nor smell Tracey's normal lingering fragrance. It was always stronger in the morning.

He frowned and ambled toward the kitchen where she must surely be making coffee. His lips thinned when he came to the doorway, finding an empty kitchen.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he made his way toward the one area he always made sure to avoid-the waiting room.

But desperate times called for desperate measures. With no coffee and no patient files, he'd have to track down his errant assistant to get this day going. He'd normally be more upset, but he was buoyed by the knowledge that he'd arrived on-time ⊂later by Hermione standards⊃, and they were quickly wasting the day away.

What a glorious start to the morning.

On a normal day, he could've already discharged a patient by now.

As his feet carried him into the reception area, he blinked in surprise. There wasn't a single patient waiting in the office, and Tracey had her chin on the desk, both hands cradling her coffee, no awareness of her surroundings whatsoever.

Harry stepped forward, more prominently entering her field of vision but she still didn't stir.

"Er...Tracey?" he said, unsure of how to proceed here.

"Did you know that, right now, I should be drunk off my gourd, feeling up a stranger with inhibitions as low as mine?" Tracey said, her eyes entirely focused on the coffee cup that was almost up against her nose.

"Er...no?" he said.

Harry moved closer to the desk and placed his hands on it but Tracey only let out a depressed sigh.

"I was supposed to spend the entire week in the sun in nothing more than my birthday suit, getting plowed by random strangers," she said before taking a sip of her coffee. "But nooooo… Granger-Gibbons needs to be at her Climax conference."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "Don't you have a significant other?"

Tracey shot him a dispirited scowl as she gripped her cup firmly. "No," she said, biting out the word, "but I was going to go find someone I fancied and take them to bed, night after night after night after night after night. Or multiple someones." Her shoulders slumped, and she took another large gulp of coffee.

Nodding in understanding, Harry glanced back at the empty waiting room. "Did you not open for patients this morning?"

It was a bit concerning that she hadn't done her job. She might purposely upset Hermione or the patients but she was always punctual and exceptionally efficient at her job.

This was beyond bizarre.

Just when he was going to ask her about getting the day started, Harry flinched, noticing a piece of magic he'd long ago learned to cower at. It was even worse than a Mrs Weasley Hogwarts Howler. It was a Lecture-Mode-Howler™

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

I HAVE RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE THAT THE POTTER INSTITUTE FOR MAGICAL AND MUNDANE PATHOLOGIES, LURGIES AND ENDOCRINOLOGY CLINIC, OTHERWISE KNOWN AS THE P-I-M-M-P-L-E, HAS NOT UNLOCKED ITS DOORS AT THE DESIGNATED TIME OF NINE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING, TODAY, THE 15TH OF JANUARY. I HAVE BEEN CONSIDERATE ENOUGH TO ALLOW UP TO TEN MINUTES OF TARDINESS. BUT CLEARLY, THERE IS NO INTENTION OF OPENING CLINIC DOORS TO THE PUBLIC AT THIS POINT.

THE SEVERITY OF THIS BREACH HAS RESULTED IN THE ACTIVATION OF STEP ONE OF THE P-I-M-M-P-L-E'S PRECAUTIONARY OFFICE PROTECTIONS PROTOCOL INITIATION-NOW GUARANTEED (P-O-P-P-I-N-G) IN WHICH P-I-M-M-P-L-E EMPLOYEES LOSE THEIR PRIVILEGES TO CERTAIN CLINIC AMENITIES FOR A FULL TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AS PUNISHMENT.

LET THIS SERVE AS A REMINDER THAT PUNCTUALITY-NOT THE INTENT OF-IS OF THE UTMOST IMPORTANCE.

PLEASE NOTE BOTH INTENT AND IMPORTANCE HAVE A LOWERCASE 'I'.

YOURS SINCERELY,

HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER-GIBBONS

Harry pulled his fingers out of his ears, twisting his right pinky as he did so. It wasn't so much the unbearable volume but the grating tone Hermione used. It always reminded him of when she'd chastise him and Ron for failing to do their potions essays.

"Well," Harry said, looking back at Tracey, "guess it's time to open. I'll head to my office, just bring back the patient files when everything is all set."

Tracey stood up with a scowl. "I'm going to make us another coffee before we have to deal with all them," she said, gesturing toward the line of patients forming outside the clinic doors. "I don't care what I-Must-Get-To-Climax says."

Harry knew the Lecture-Mode-Howler™ had angered her more than anything else and hoped that at least another coffee might soothe her.

She stomped away from her desk and down the hall. But Harry only shrugged and walked to his office, hearing Tracey's progress toward the kitchen the entire way. It wasn't until he sat down that he realized Tracey had said she was going to make him a cup too.

He'd never even gotten the chance to tell her about his detox.

Letting out a long sigh, he slouched back in his seat, thinking over the events that had transpired thus far. It was just like Hermione to treat them like infants while she was off having fun at her La Petite Mort Conference. Honestly, threatening them with their amenities? What amenities did they have at the PIMMPLE exactly?

He scoffed as he let his eyes rove over the files on his desk. He had half a mind to keep the doors locked all day to give himself a bloody well-deserved break.

The sight of the mittens still situated at the corner of his desk interrupted Harry's brooding thoughts, and he picked them up, his mood instantly improving. He let his fingers run over the tight stitching of the heart surrounding Gabby's name, feeling a burst of nostalgia that made him wish he could transport himself through time and space to Christmas at the Delacours. What he wouldn't give for a few of those mad traditions now.

Before Harry could get too lost down memory lane, however, a sudden scream rang out throughout the halls of the clinic.

He shot his head up and grabbed his wand in his other hand before racing towards the sound.

"Tracey?" he said coming to a halt in the doorway of the kitchen. "What is it? What's wrong?"

She whipped around, an angry scowl etched onto her face. "Look," she said through a snarl. "Look what she's done!"

Harry turned his gaze to where she was pointing and raised his eyebrows in surprise. The ancient coffee maker that had been both the bane and source of their existence for years was now surrounded by a metal cage that Harry could guess was impenetrable.

"How could she do this?" Tracey said, slamming her cup on the counter. "Who does she think she is, Harry? She's not the bloody boss of me!"

"Well…" he couldn't help but respond, causing Tracey to glare at him.

"Finish that sentence and you're dead, Potter," she said, pointing a finger at him.

Harry put his hands up in defence, surprised to discover that he was still holding one of the mittens. An unbidden smile formed on his face as a sudden idea hit him.

"What are you bloody smiling at?" Tracey said, opening various cabinets.

To what end, Harry wasn't sure, but he didn't think it wise to question her. What Tracey really needed was a way to lift her mood, her own personal Gabby-mitten.

"Hermione is forcing us to open the clinic, yeah?" Harry said, looking back up at her. "But there weren't any stipulations on how we had to run it while she was gone."

"What do you mean?" Tracey said slowly.

"Remember how she wanted to have that god-awful Christmas Week last year?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. "With the different themes every day?"

Tracey crossed her arms and gave a curt nod.

"What if we did that ourselves? The first official PIMPPLE Traditions Week," he said, giving her an encouraging grin.

Tracey shook her head. "I am not wearing ridiculous outfits all week," she said through clenched teeth. "Make your patients do it."

Harry's face lit up as he stepped forward. "Ah, but don't you see," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "That's the beauty of it. If we both dress up, then we can require the patients to do so, as well. We'll tell them we can't see them, otherwise." ⋃They'd do it better than Hermione ever could⋂.

She let her arms fall to her sides and swiped his hand off her. "Fine," she said, not sounding pleased. "You have to do all the work though."

He gave her a winning smile. "Of course," he said as if it was patently obvious.

"And you won't care if I refuse to let any patients see you all day?" she said, her voice filled with scepticism.

Tilting his head to the side, he gave a lazy shrug. "If we don't see any patients, I'll just tell Double-G I was busy with research," he said, already hearing her click her tongue in annoyance like she did every time he mentioned the 'R-word'.

Tracey huffed out an annoyed breath and fixed him with a hard stare. "And if H-to-the-Double-G tries to punish me for this, you'll be the one to step in?" she said, prodding him with her finger.

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "As long as you wear what I give you this week without complaint," he said, levelling a firm look at her.

She pinched her lips together as though considering. "Fine. But I'm not wearing a lion costume, nor any red and gold," she said finally, glowering at him as she picked up her empty coffee mug.

x-x-x

Tracey squirmed uncomfortably in her peach Sgt. Peppers uniform and lime-green feathered colonial tricorn hat, wishing Harry had picked something a bit less gaudy and stiff for the first day of their PIMMPLE traditions week. But he'd been set on the Beatles. And for good reason too.

It was no secret around the office that Hermione had an unhealthy obsession with the Beatles if her spreadsheet ranking their entire discography was anything to go by. Not to mention the fact that she owned every single one of Paul McCartney's solo albums.

On more than one occasion, she'd attempted to push her agenda for a Beatles-only playlist in the waiting room but Harry and Tracey had adamantly put their feet down.

Today, however, Hermione wasn't here.

Today, they were going to go all out and celebrate the Beatles. Doing everything Hermione had always wanted but was too engrossed in Climax to partake in.

Tracey shifted once again, trying to get comfortable as she kicked up her legs on the desk, her orange and yellow shoes clashing horribly with her outfit. "Hello, Goodbye" played over the clinic speakers that Harry had enchanted to run through Hermione's spreadsheet of songs in the ranking she'd listed them.

The waiting room itself was decorated in Beatles paraphernalia. Harry had truly outdone himself. The entire floor was charmed to look like a zebra crossing akin to the cover of Abbey Road. In the corner of the room was a large inflatable pool where various toy yellow submarines and menacing Blue Meanies floated upon the water. Black mop-top wigs hung on each hook of the coat rack by the entrance. Multicoloured guitars and a drum set with the iconic Beatles logo stood in place of the large couch that was usually situated there. Hanging on the walls were banners of each of the thirteen studio albums. And taking up multiple chairs in the waiting area was a life-size stuffed walrus.

And all the while, music continued to play in the background.

Tracey grinned to herself as Harry took several photographs to place on Hermione's desk for when she got back from her Reach-Your-Peak Conference before resuming his spot. He was dressed in John Lennon's Sgt. Pepper's outfit and standing very still against the wall as though he were a mannequin. To what end, she wasn't sure yet. But she was confident it would serve as wonderful entertainment.

x-x-x

"Fill that out," Tracey said, as the first patient came through the door, hopping on one leg with one hand holding the back of his ankle.

"I need to see a-"

"No paperwork, no healer," she said, pushing the clipboard into his chest.

Afro-Achilles hopped over to the chair and began filling it out in earnest.

Harry waited patiently for the man to settle in before casting a spell to move the chairs on either side of him toward his by half an inch.

The man looked up, his eyes darting right and left before he shook it off and went back to his paperwork.

As he did so, another patient walked in and made his way up to the desk. He had on Beyerdynamic DT 770 PRO: Closed Studio Headphones, and he pulled them off his ears as he began to speak. "Hello," he said in a deep, rich germanic accented voice.

Tracey stilled, her mouth slightly agape, clearly as shaken by the man's resonant tone as Harry was. "F-fill that out," she said, not daring to look up from behind her pink tricorn as she floated the clipboard into his chest.

Headphones-Hans took the offending item before pushing his headphones back into place. He went and sat two chairs away from Afro-Achilles.

Harry smiled. This was perfect.

He discreetly held out his wand and concentrated on making the chair between them bump into Afro-Achilles' just as Headphones-Hans shifted in his seat.

With a frown, Afro-Achilles used his foot to push it back. But Harry hit it with another spell that caused the chair to rocket off his foot and hit Headphones-Hans' with force.

The man clenched his jaw in response. "Hey, get's noch?!"

Harry snickered. Acting the part of the John-mannequin was brilliant. He watched as Headphone-Hans finished the paperwork first and walked over to Tracey's desk.

"I've filled out all ten pages," he said in his velvety rich voice. "Can I see the doctor now?"

Tracey looked him up and down before giving him a look of faux-sympathy. "Unfortunately, Healer Potter cannot see you," she said. "In accordance with the PIMMPLE Theme Week, all patients must be wearing the appropriately themed attire of the day in order to be seen."

The man pursed his lips into a thin line. "And what is the theme today?" he said.

She smiled brightly and gestured to the room at large. "The Beatles! Yeah, Yeah, Yeah!"

x-x-x

"Alright, I've done what you asked."

Harry grinned to himself as he watched Headphone-Hans stomp into the clinic wearing an early Beatles-era style outfit. A black, collarless tailored suit, a thin black tie, and a black mop-top wig.

Tracey took one look at him before shaking her head.

"You said Beatles was the theme!" Headphone-Hans said, his wig falling into his eyes.

"Yeah...the psychedelic era," she said, gesturing towards her outfit. "Not Beatlemania. Do I honestly need to spell it out for you?"

Headphone-Hans gritted his teeth. "I just want to be seen by a healer, is that too much to ask?"

Tracey gave him a kind look that Harry knew was anything but. "Not at all," she said, with a smile. "Here, you can go ahead and fill this out…"

"Thank you," Headphone-Hans said, reaching for the clipboard.

But at the last second, Tracey snatched it away. "As soon as you come back wearing the correctly themed Beatles outfit."

x-x-x

Harry watched as Headphones-Hans came in for the third time that day. If there was anything better than not treating patients, it was watching them go from confoundingly confused to frantically frustrated before becoming aggrievedly angry.

There was no way Tracey wasn't enjoying torturing these poor souls.

While it did make him feel slightly guilty, he knew it was all for a good cause. And besides, he wanted to make sure that Hermione would think twice next time before sending them a Lecture-Mode-Howler™. He would have thought she'd learnt her lesson the first time with the Lubriciously-Lively-Lilting-Laughing-Lion-Lecture-Mode-Howler™ incident that caused Gabby to...

Harry shook his head before finishing the thought.

Best not think about that. He was changing, becoming better, doing his detox and trying to get rid of the bit of pudge he'd packed on. He'd promised Fleur, after all.

"Let me see a healer, now," Headphones-Hans demanded, trying and failing to control the growl in his voice.

If Harry hadn't already cast a diagnostic charm, he might have been concerned about the bloke's adamance to see him. But while his ailment was annoying and incessantly itchy, it was ultimately rather minor. Nothing that wouldn't sort itself out given enough time.

As Tracey took in the man's attire, her frown deepened.

It was remarkably good, Harry had to admit. Almost as if he'd gone to a shop that specialized in costumes.

How sensible. Futile, but sensible.

Tracey marched up to him, her keen eyes scanning up then down before a triumphantly malicious glint appeared in her eyes. "Black socks and blue shoes?" she said, pointing down at his feet.

Headphones-Hans lifted the bottom of his pants and peered down. "Matching shoes," he said, shrugging.

With a click of her tongue, Tracey shook her head. "John wore brown socks," she said, deliberately drawing out her words.

Headphones-Hans' knuckles whitened as he crushed the forms he'd filled out for the third time that day. "You're not going to let me see a healer because my socks are the wrong colour?"

Tracey's face lit up as she smiled. "No, I'm not going to let you see a healer because your socks and shoes are the wrong colour," she said before pointing at Harry's shoes in comparison. "John had pink shoes, not blue."

"Wollt ihr mich verarschen?!" Headphone-Hans cried, pulling out his Beyerdynamic DT 770 PRO: Closed Studio Headphones from under his costume and placing them on his head before he stormed out of the clinic in a fury.

x-x-x

If there was one downside to not seeing patients-not that Harry would admit to there being any-it was just how long the day dragged on. Sitting in the reception area with nothing to do but check on his magical monitoring devices became rather dull after a while.

But there was still two minutes left in the workday, and he wouldn't put it past Hermione to have a charm to inform her if they closed early.

Harry turned back to his monitors and continued comparing them to scans he'd done previously.

It was tedious but essential work. If his equipment wasn't functioning properly, he couldn't diagnose patients with precision.

Click.

Harry's head shot up. He knew that noise.

Looking down at his watch, he noted the time and frowned. They still had one minute and thirty-two seconds to go.

He shrugged and packed up, preparing to leave. He wasn't drinking coffee this week, so only Tracey would suffer if they were punished for this.

As he made his way out of the reception area, he heard a pounding on the door, the sight of pink shoes and brown socks visible through the glass from where Harry was standing. He paused and turned to Tracey, raising an eyebrow.

She shot him a sickly sweet smile. "A perfect day, no patients."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Harry apparated into the clinic at 9:05 the next morning, having forgone any and all desire for punctuality. What was the point when Hermione had already carried out her punishments? And unlike yesterday, he wasn't surprised to find his office or the waiting room empty.

Tracey had once again refused to open the clinic doors on time.

He made his way towards the kitchen to find Tracey even though he knew the coffee maker was still out of use, as per Hermione's punishment. There was no doubt that Tracey's mood had only worsened as a result, so he was looking forward to sharing today's theme with her.

Messing with patients was always a sure-fire way to make her happy.

As soon Harry walked into the kitchen, however, he stopped short in the doorway. "Oh," he said with a frown. "This is a surprise."

Tracey looked up at him from her cup of coffee and grinned.

"How'd you manage that?" Harry said, gesturing towards it as he walked in.

"Our little Climax Seeker isn't as clever as she thinks she is," Tracey said, taking her last sip before placing the cup in the sink. "Her Howler said we'd lose privileges to 'clinic amenities' for 24 hours. What she didn't realize was...that meant business hours. I came in early and gave it a go, and it worked!"

Harry gave her a thoughtful look, taking a moment to consider whether Hermione really did make an error or not. Perhaps there was more going on here than either of them realized.

Almost as soon as the thought popped into his head, he spotted a dreaded envelope in the corner of his eye.

Lecture-Mode-Howler™

Harry sighed and braced himself for the worst.

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

I HAVE RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE THAT THE POTTER INSTITUTE FOR MAGICAL AND MUNDANE PATHOLOGIES, LURGIES AND ENDOCRINOLOGY CLINIC, OTHERWISE KNOWN AS THE P-I-M-M-P-L-E LOCKED ITS DOORS YESTERDAY, THE 15TH OF JANUARY EXACTLY TWO MINUTES EARLIER THAN THE DESIGNATED CLOSING TIME OF 2:30 PM.

THE SEVERITY OF THIS BREACH HAS RESULTED IN THE ACTIVATION OF STEP TWO OF THE P-I-M-M-P-L-E'S PRECAUTIONARY OFFICE PROTECTIONS PROTOCOL INITIATION-NOW GUARANTEED (P-O-P-P-I-N-G) IN WHICH P-I-M-M-P-L-E EMPLOYEES ARE PUNISHED WITH A PREARRANGED ULTIMATUM SYSTEM (P-U-S). YOU HAVE HEREBY LOST YOUR PRIVILEGES TO THE BATHROOMS.

IF YOU ARE GOING TO ACT LIKE UNCULTURED SWINE, THAT IS FINE BY ME. YOU CAN ROLL AROUND IN YOUR EXCREMENT FOR ALL I CARE. IF YOU CAN'T FOLLOW SIMPLE RULES WHILE I AM AWAY, HOW CAN I TRUST YOU TO USE THE TOILETS PROPERLY?

LET THIS SERVE AS A REMINDER THAT PUNCTUALITY-NOT THE INTENT OF-IS OF THE UTMOST IMPORTANCE. PIGS WILL LEARN TO FLY BEFORE I ALLOW THIS DEGENERACY TO CONTINUE.

PLEASE NOTE BOTH INTENT AND IMPORTANCE HAVE A LOWERCASE 'i'.

YOURS SINCERELY,

HERMIONE GRANGER-GIBBONS.

One could have heard a pin drop in the silence that ensued after the Howler disintegrated before their eyes.

Harry swallowed hard, chancing a glance at Tracey out of the corner of his eye.

The explosion came at once.

"Can you believe her?" she practically yelled, kicking one of the chairs aside in a fit of anger. "How can she do this? HOW?"

"Er…" Harry said, approaching her slowly as though she were a feral animal.

"Vanishing our own excrement like we're from the bloody 1400s?" she said, opening up the cabinets and emptying out their contents onto the floor.

Sugar, cream, stirrers, coffee beans, tea bags, and filters all littered the floor as Tracey continued on her rampage.

Harry tried several times to step in, pausing to duck his head as objects flew past him. When he was finally close enough to hold her arms down, she looked at him with a firm glare and tried to shake him off her.

"Tracey," he said, speaking gently. "I know this is frustrating but maybe you should try and relax."

"I don't want to relax! I want to throw things in a fit of anger!" she said pushing him away.

Harry stumbled back against the cabinets, eyes wide. "Er...look…" he said, fumbling around for his wand. "I have our theme week costumes. Let's just focus on that, okay? Making the patients annoyed. Which-you know...will make H-to-the-izz-I O-to-the-izz-E annoyed."

This seemed to calm Tracey's mood a bit which caused Harry to breathe a sigh of relief. He hesitated before placing a hand on her back and patting it in comfort.

"Fine," she mumbled, crossing her arms tightly. "What is it this time?"

Harry grinned before pulling the costumes out. With a snap of his wand, he was now wearing his.

Tracey raised her eyebrows as she gave him a slow once-over. "No way," she said, shaking her head. "I am not wearing that. It's skin-tight, I can see everything! Look at you…Those things are ginormous!"

x-x-x

If there was one thing he'd done perfectly today, it was his costume.

Starting with his custom-ordered skates, featuring Viking Sapphire Plus Long Track Blades with the All Black Luigino Tempo Carbon Fiber and Microfiber Lined Boots. It set the standard for his outfit and all others that would dare to attempt to see a doctor in the clinic today.

But what really set it off was the matching Adidas Men's Tiro 19 Training Pant in Power Red and Adidas Originals Firebird Full Zip Track Top. The all-time classic tracksuit was not only comfortable to wear, it was fabulously functional. The FDBB Stopwatch, with Timer Sports Training/Track and Field Sports Fitness/Multi-Function Game Chronograph in black and the Easy to Blow and Ultra Loud Silver Copper Whistle just turned the dial from ten to eleven.

But the absolute masterstroke was the aviators: The P8433 Porsche Design Sunglasses with A Gold Brown Frame.

It was…perfection personified. Unacceptably good. Rubber chicken/10.

As he stared out, watching the first patient of the day open the door, he knew it was game time. He popped two pieces of Sour Blue Raspberry Hubba Bubba Bubble Gum and grabbed his Silver Copper Whistle.

Harry knew what was about to happen and preemptively pushed off the boards, vacating his spot at the Garyt's Wrecking Services advertisement. He glided towards the Craig's Recording Services board but just when he'd gotten half-way through, he almost tripped and had to start all over again. Pushing off, he made his way to the perfect spot-the ad for Sharon's Secretarial Services. He glanced down and frowned at the tag line, not having noticed it before.

A real ladder climber.

But before he could wonder what that meant, Headphones-Hans entered the clinic, his stupendous Sgt. Pepper pink shoes with brown socks leading the way.

He stepped in and immediately cursed as he fell, slipping on the ice.

Harry locked eyes with Tracey before he shoved the whistle in his mouth. He took in a deep breath of air and huffed and puffed, eliciting a scrumptiously succulent FWEEEEEEET!

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING COMING IN HERE DRESSED LIKE THAT?!" Harry said, yelling over his ringing ears. "YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD JUST WALTZ IN HERE IN THAT CLOWN COSTUME? ON MY ICE?"

Headphones-Hans tried to scramble back to his feet but the ice was fresh and too slick for him to regain his balance.

"I DON'T CARE HOW RICH AND DEEP YOUR BEAUTIFUL GERMAN-ACCENTED VOICE IS! YOU GET YOUR PRETTY LITTLE ARSE OUT OF HERE AND DON'T COME BACK UNTIL YOU'RE PROPERLY ATTIRED!" Harry said, sending the poor man reeling back towards the door.

"GO ON. GET!" he said, shooing him away. "AND BE QUICK ABOUT IT, I'M TIMING!" He held out his FDBB Stopwatch and clicked it.

x-x-x

Tracey stretched back in her seat, awkwardly crossing her long-bladed skates. While she hadn't been a huge fan of the theme at first, she had to admit, the tracksuit was much more comfortable than the Sgt. Peppers outfit from yesterday.

The sound of the clinic door opening caused her to smirk, satisfied in the knowledge that she was about to turn some naive idiot away.

"Ay-up!" said a Northern England-accented voice.

South Yorkshire, to be specific.

Tracey glanced over at Harry who pushed off the boards where he'd been resting against the zapt's art exhibition ad and skated over to the patient, who immediately slipped on the ice as he entered.

"Bloody 'ell!" the man said, rubbing his bum with a wince. "Whuy es thuh fluhr meede uv arce?"

"What?" Tracey said, scrunching up her face. "Did you just ask why the floor was made of ice? In a very thick Yorkshire accent?"

Harry immediately blew his whistle, causing the man to jump in surprise and grab onto the Libly's Gently Gentle Adverbs ad to his left. "Theme week," he said, gesturing for him to make his way towards the front desk.

"Ayup, my name is Warden."

With a sigh, Tracey levitated the clipboard over to him. "Fill that out," she said in a flat voice, looking him up and down.

"Wha' does 'e mean, it's Theme Week?" the man said, grabbing the clipboard.

Tracey smiled thinly at him. "Never you mind," she said. "Just fill that out first, and I'll explain everything later."

The man shrugged and held onto the boards for support as he walked carefully towards the waiting room chairs.

After several minutes of filling out the paperwork, the man glided back towards the front desk.

"All filled out, canna see 'ealer Potter now?" the man said, glancing over at Harry who was currently in the midst holding a long and laborious two-legged squat against the boards, rhythmically breathing heavily.

Tracey gave him an apologetic look. "Oh...unfortunately, Healer Potter can't see you today," she said, giving him a quick once-over. "The PIMMPLE is hosting Theme Week, and today's theme is speedskating. He won't be seeing anyone who isn't in the appropriate thematic attire."

The man was too busy staring at Harry in awe as he transitioned into one-legged side-to-side-squats. "Blimey...he's lowkey a bit of a king for that," he said, nodding towards Harry before turning back to Tracey. "So...ah can't be seen then?"

"No," Tracey said. "Come back in a speedskating tracksuit first."

He gave a small frown. "Don' 'ave one," he said. "But I've got nowt better to do today. I'll stick aroun', bb. I think I like it here."

Tracey merely shrugged as he slid back towards the waiting room chair and took a seat, clapping as Harry did a Bart swings double push technique on the ice.

"A King is stanned!" the man exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air.

It wasn't long before another patient walked in. This one painted from head-to-toe in blue, a peacock feather wreath on his head and a flower garland around his neck. He held an Indian flute to his mouth which emitted soft tones as he walked calmly over the ice and towards Tracey's front desk. He paused in front of her, standing with one leg bent in front of the other.

"I'm here to see-"

"Let me stop you right there," Tracey said. "You won't be seen today, you're not dressed in the proper attire."

The Krishna-lookalike stopped playing his flute for a moment to ask, "When can I be seen then?"

"Friday," Harry said, skating over and coming to a graceful stop in front of him. "Friday is Deity Day."

The Krishna-lookalike nodded in understanding before turning around and walking back towards the door.

"Tarra, Krishna!" Warden said from his spot on the bench, waving goodbye.

Krishna finished his tune on the flute before turning towards him. "It's Lord Krishna to you," he said.

And with that, he walked out the door.

"Blimey...I feel a kinship with him, and I don't know why..." Warden said to himself, tugging on his mint green collar.

Tracey stared at him for a moment, entranced by the colour herself. "Mint green looks amazing on you," she said before shaking her head in confusion at her own words. She had no idea where that had come from, but she'd been unable to stop herself from saying them.

Warden only smiled in response. "I feel remarkably pretty," he said, nodding in agreement.

Before Tracey could think on it any further, the front door opened yet again, causing her to let out a groan.

What was it now? Why on earth was it so busy today?

She hadn't even had a chance to look up when a sudden cry of excitement rang throughout the room.

"Zapalapadingdong!" Harry said, skating so quickly over to the door that he nearly crashed into the Ajax's Falsetto Voice Acting - This C*nt works for you board.

"Hi, Harry," zapt said, holding his elbow tenderly.

A boy that looked just like zapt walked in behind him, nudging the older man further inside.

"Careful, son," zapt said, holding him steady. "The floor is made of ice."

"Why?" the boy said, with all the attitude of a 15-year old.

"Son?" Harry said, gleefully, skating between the two and placing his arms around both their shoulders. "I didn't know you had a son, Zapercalifragilisticexpialidocious."

The boy moved his head back to look up at Harry before sticking his hand out. "I'm zap apat Jr," he said. "But you can call me Emp."

"Empolololololology!" Harry said, leaning down to pinch his cheek.

"Hey!" Emp said moving back so fast that he lost his footing on the ice.

Warden got out his seat to help the boy up as Harry turned to zapt.

"What seems to be the problem, mate?" Harry said, crossing his arms and giving zapt an attentive look.

Tracey clicked her tongue loudly at his. "Oi!" she called out, causing everyone to turn and look at her. "He's not following the theme, you can't see him!"

Harry threw Tracey a disappointed look. "This isn't just anyone, Tracey," he said, shaking his head. "This is my good friend, Zapantidisestablishmentarianism. I'd see him no matter what he was wearing-no offence, Yorkshire-Fluff."

Warden looked momentarily confused when everyone turned to look at him. "Oh, you talkin' to uz?" he said, gesturing to himself.

"Thanks, Harry," zapt said, turning back towards him. "But I didn't even want to bother you with this. Emp made me come in to see you."

"He was being a stubborn idiot about it," Emp said, rolling his eyes like the 15-year old he was. "His elbow's been hurting."

zapt sighed but nodded. "It's the drawing I've been doing lately. I used Emp's laptop to Google it. I think I have Artist Elbow."

"Drawing?" Harry said with interest. "Ahhh, that's right...I'd heard you'd left the PrimJax faucet business."

zapt nodded. "They're PrimJax LLC now," he said. "There was no future for me there. No future for anyone there, if I'm being honest. I got out as soon as I could, and now I'm about to debut my art to the world at my exhibition next weekend. You got my flyer for it, yes?"

Tracey scoffed. "He's been showing it to everyone for weeks. Even put it up on the boards," she said, gesturing to the large advertisement behind Emp.

With a shy smile, zapt clapped Harry on the back. "Thanks, it means a lot."

"No problem at all, zapdichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane," Harry said.

At this, zapt's face turned serious. "Fuck you and your chemistry bullshit," he said.

Warden gasped. "That's neya way to speak to a King!"

"It's cool, it's cool," Harry said, giving Yorkshire-Fluff a smile. "I was in the wrong. After all the chemistry memes I spammed him with. Now, let's go get your Artist Elbow patched and mended, zapt."

x-x-x

Harry placed his hands on the closest board and then kicked his right leg out to the side. He dropped his head and began doing an Active Groin Stretch. All this skating back and forth was a real workout for his muscles.

It was odd that Yorkshire-Fluff had dozed off on the bench but given the results of Harry's diagnostic charms, he was suffering from acute fatigue. Following east-coast time while living in England had ruined his sleep schedule, it seemed.

He stretched it, first to the right side and then the left. Keeping his head down and hands on top of the boards, he took a look at the advertisement contained within.

Gwen's Fanfiction Writing Mastercalss.

He blinked and made sure he'd read that right.

He had.

Well, that was a class he'd not be signing up for. Or better yet, signign up for.

Shifting his weight to the other leg, he stretched his left groin and took a peek at the next board. Petri's' Self-Reacting Seminars - Just Do It- featuring A Gwen Mastercalss.

Harry's eyebrows rose. That lady was really Gwenning around.

He shifted back to stretch his right groin, almost moaning in relief, as he looked to the board beside it.

Gwen's Masterclass on Acronyms

Harry drew in his left leg and then took another step so he could read the smaller print.

Smh - so much hate. BD - Before Discovery. AD - After Discovery. TP - Tal Promise

He shook his head and wondered if the masterclasses were just a presentation of information that most would consider common sense. It was tough to know for sure. Hopefully, some poor sod would bite the bullet and buy them just to report back on how much of his money he'd wasted.

Just then, a patient pushed open the clinic doors wearing a remarkably fitting outfit.

He wore a blue helmet with the number 205 on it. Bright green framed glasses with clear inserts and a skin-tight black suit. On the suit was a white and red ellipse starting over his right breast and weaving around to his back on an angle, a big red maple leaf in the centre of it. The leggings were red with more maple leafs patterned down the sides. To top off the outfit were black boots with blades affixed to the bottom that were longer than the boot itself.

Harry smiled. He hadn't expected someone to actually try and get into costume today. The gear was quite rare.

The man looked around at their redone clinic. He brought one foot up at a time and removed his skate guards before gliding across the ice to Tracey's desk.

"Fill this out," Tracey said, floating a clipboard so it bumped the front of his helmet.

"I cannot," the Short-Track said. "I fell and broke my wrist." He held up a wrist that had an unnatural bend in it.

"No form, no service."

"Could you, maybe...help me fill it out?" he said, raising up his broken arm.

Harry blew his whistle and glided over, rapping his stopwatch on Short-Track's helmet. "What are you doing on my track?" he said, barking out the words with authority.

With his eyes still shut, the man put his finger in his ear and wriggled it around. "I was at St. Mungos when I ran into a guy dressed in a Sgt. Peppers uniform-though his shoes were pink instead of blue, which looked a bit ridiculous," he said, running his fingers through his beard. "He told me that if I was dressed as a speed skater then I could be seen at The PIMMPLE straight away."

Harry had chortled at the mention of Headphones-Hans. Guess he wasn't coming back. "Why are you in this getup anyway?" he said, focusing his attention back on Short-Track.

"I dress as one of my country's Olympic heroes every fourth odd Wednesday of the month. So long as it's sleeting, of course," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I was taking a twirl around the rink earlier and took a nasty fall."

Taking in his suit once more, Harry frowned. "You're Canadian?"

"French Canadian," he said, nodding his head.

"Isn't that...Canadian?" Harry said, quirking his eyebrow.

"I'm from Quebec."

Harry waited for him to elaborate but the man's mouth remained shut. He shot a look at Tracey who appeared as perplexed as he was.

"Who's your hero, then?" Tracey said.

"Charles Hamelin," he said, practically gushing.

"Who?" Harry said, knowing Tracey wouldn't have any idea either.

She hadn't even known that Short-Track wasn't dressed properly.

"The five-time Olympic medalist and two-time World Champion, three times over!"

Harry shrugged. He had no idea there were speedskater fanboys in the world. Maybe it was a French Canadian thing? zapt hadn't said anything about speedskaters being national heroes, had he?

"Well, I hate to break it to you but this is a clap-skate track only," Harry said, staring down at the high ankle boot of the man's short-track skates.

"But...the Sgt. Peppers guy said if I dressed as a speed skater, I'd get helped," he said as he held up his broken wrist. "It's just a simpl-"

With a disappointed sigh, Harry cut him off while shaking his head. "Listen...if it was a football-themed day, do you really think we'd let a Yank walk in here with his pigskin and just accept it?"

"Well, no...but I ju-"

"Then what makes you think you could come in here, Short-Track, and skate around on my ice with an unhinged blade?!" Harry was leaning over the man, invading his personal space.

FWEEEEEEET! Harry blew his whistle and pointed at the door.

"But it's just a quick char-"

FWEET!

"My wrist, it-"

FWEEEEEEET!

"Please, it hurt-"

FWEEEEEEEEEET!

"I can pa-"

FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!

Harry continued pointing at the door until the man finally got the message and skated out of the clinic.

He'd have to ask zapt if all French-Canadians were this annoying.

"We stan a mischievous king," came Yorkshire-Fluff's voice as he sat up from the bench and wiped his bleary eyes.

x-x-x

Harry let out a long sigh as he arrived at the clinic at 9:10 am the next morning.

He had an odd feeling in his gut today that made him wary as he walked out of his office in search of Tracey.

Today was Kilt Day. He'd come dressed in his outfit already-the knee-length, pleated, kilt in dark blue, black, and green tartan. He wore a black leather sporran that rested against his groin, long kilt hose, and ghillies which were surprisingly comfortable, yet fashionable Scottish traditional shoes.

But the real treat was Tracey's outfit, which he'd gone to great lengths to procure. He'd sent an owl to a good friend of his whose wife was Scottish and proceeded to ask him about women's traditional dress.

The result was the earasaid in Harry's hands, otherwise known as 'the woman's great kilt'. An over garment that was basically a big rectangular cloth in the same tartan colours as Harry's that reached from the neck to the heels. A belt separated the top and bottom half, the bottom flaring out as a long skirt. The top tied above the breast with a buckle in the front and a make-shift hood in the back.

If wearing this didn't improve Tracey's mood at once, he wasn't sure what would.

With a pleased smile, Harry made his way to the kitchen where he was confident he would find her.

And indeed, just like yesterday, she was there, holding a cup of coffee in her hands.

But unlike yesterday, she did not have a grin on her face.

"I see you used your loophole again this morning," Harry said carefully, noting the way she was clenching her jaw tight and gripping the cup so hard her knuckles were turning white.

"Yes," she hissed out. "I did. Woke up early to come in and make myself some coffee."

Harry cleared his throat, disappointed that she hadn't even commented on his amazing themed outfit. "And...is everything ok?"

As if the words themselves were a trigger, Tracey immediately slammed her cup down and took out her wand. "No, Harry, everything is not okay!" she yelled, sliding the cup over to him on the counter and causing the remaining contents to spill over. "Taste it. Go on. Taste it!"

"I'm...I'm doing my de-"

"Oh, enough with the damn detox!" she said, drowning out his words. "Of course you choose this week of all weeks to do it. Why should you care about the state of my coffee when you're doing your glorious detox. To hell with you. And to hell with Hermione and her bloody punishments!"

With that, she drew her wand and waved it around haphazardly, causing all the cabinets to shoot open and the plates and cutlery to fly out and smash onto the floor. She then pointed it at the chairs and table, and Harry watched with eyes wide as they disintegrated into a pile of ash. She was just about to blast the recently fixed PrimJax faucets when a noise like a shot erupted in the room causing them both to snap their heads around.

Lecture-Mode-HowlerTM

Oh shit…Harry thought.

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

I HAVE RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE THAT THE POTTER INSTITUTE FOR MAGICAL AND MUNDANE PATHOLOGIES, LURGIES AND ENDOCRINOLOGY CLINIC, OTHERWISE KNOWN AS THE P-I-M-M-P-L-E HAS BEEN VANDALISED ON THE DATE OF THE 17 OF JANUARY.

THE SEVERITY OF THIS BREACH HAS RESULTED IN THE ACTIVATION OF STEP THREE OF THE P-I-M-M-P-L-E'S PRECAUTIONARY OFFICE PROTECTIONS PROTOCOL INITIATION-NOW GUARANTEED (P-O-P-P-I-N-G) IN WHICH P-I-M-M-P-L-E EMPLOYEES ARE PUNISHED WITH A PREARRANGED ULTIMATUM SYSTEM (P-U-S). AN ATTACK AND/OR VANDALISM HAS BEEN DETECTED. THE BARRICADE UTILIZATION RESPONSE- SERIOUS THREAT (B-U-R-S-T) WILL NOW BE ACTIVATED IN ORDER TO PROTECT THE P-I-M-M-P-L-E EMPLOYEES. THE FACILITY WILL BE PUT INTO A 24-HOUR LOCKDOWN.

AS THIS IS THE THIRD NOTICE THIS WEEK, ALLOW THIS TO SERVE AS A REMINDER THAT PUNCTUALITY, NOT THE INTENT OF-IS OF THE UTMOST IMPORTANCE. PIGS WILL LEARN TO FLY BEFORE I ALLOW THIS DEGENERACY TO CONTINUE. AND JUST TO POINT OUT THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM, I AM AWARE OF THE 'LOOPHOLE' TO MY PREVIOUS PUNISHMENT AND HAVE SINCE ENSURED YOU WILL FIND THE COFFEE WHOLLY UNSATISFACTORY UNTIL I RETURN.

PLEASE NOTE BOTH INTENT AND IMPORTANCE HAVE A LOWERCASE 'i'.

YOURS SINCERELY,

HERMIONE GRANGER-GIBBONS.

"Vandalism?" Tracy said, seething. "I'll show you vandalism, Hermione Jean Granger-Gibbons."

With that, Tracey stomped out of the room, plowing Harry on her way out with her shoulder.

He quickly followed after her and gulped as he saw her attempt to barge into Hermione's office.

The doorknob wouldn't turn, and he wondered if that would put an end to it. But Tracey had other ideas, it seemed.

She stepped back from the door, levelled her wand at it and let out a powerful blasting curse. The door splintered apart at once, and Tracey pushed her way in through.

Harry could already hear a cacophony of noises emanating from within, and he braced himself before entering as well.

Tracey was going to town. She was blasting apart the pictures, the graduation certificates, the bookends, and the little ornaments decorating the shelves and desk.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Harry sighed, waiting for the flurry of destruction to end. She was aiming for the desk itself now but he knew the next few spells would have no more effect than the previous ones. This particular piece of furniture wasn't going to fall apart like cheap wood.

It had been a gift he'd bought Hermione to celebrate their first year of operation. She'd been using a horrible muggle thing from her parents, but he'd splurged and got the best magical desk Diagon Alley could supply. The thing was rock solid, and in the event of an emergency, the safest place would be inside of it.

"You done?" Harry asked, his voice curt, plucking the Beatles Theme Day photos that were thankfully still unharmed.

When he saw Tracey relax and drop her hands, he raised his wand and began to repair the whole room, including the splintered door.

"If you wanted to do actual lasting harm, you'd have done something other than destroy things she could easily put back together in seconds."

Tracey thrusted her hands onto her hips and glared at him. "Well, at least for those few seconds, she would've seen the damage!"

Harry shrugged. "Look, all I'm saying is...if you really wanted to get back at her, you'd do it best by breaking into her desk," he said, jutting his chin out toward it. "It's supposed to be password protected but I'm sure a former Slytherin like yourself is cunning enough to do it."

Huffing out a breath, she stomped over to the desk and began opening the drawers.

From the cursory glance Harry gave, the first one was only filled with office supplies. The second one had what looked to be medical files or research of some kind. And the third one didn't seem to budge when Tracey tried to pull it open.

"Alohomora," she said. Tracey tried the drawer again but it remained shut.

She let out a groan before trying a few more spells to no avail. "Great," she said, kicking her foot against the drawer. "What now?"

Harry took out his new favourite toy, hoping it could bring them some good luck like Fleur said it would. Sir Baba Yetu was awesome. Harry let him down on the desk and watched as the knight dropped his visor and ran around yelling 'I'll solve you!'.

Bit of an odd battle cry, that. But, it was a gift from Fleur and, therefore, precious.

In a way, their current situation was akin to some of the issues that Fleur may have faced on her curse-breaking expeditions. They were stuck in a magical environment, they'd entered the beast's lair and they were trying to get to the guarded treasure.

His eyes flicked over to Tracey, and he saw that she still wasn't having any luck, muttering spell after spell, trying to get the blasted thing open.

It was after Sir Baba Yetu had taken another four passes with his visor lowered and lance down that Tracey finally spoke up.

"It's some kind of code," she said, her eyes flitting around the desk.

Harry followed her gaze and noticed that there were now dashes etched onto the wood. Almost as if they had to guess the passphrase.

"How on earth are we supposed to guess a passcode with this many spaces?" Tracey said, staring down at it with obvious frustration.

Harry scanned the rest of the desk and noticed something odd. A bit further up, a simplistic gallow appeared on the wood with a rope hanging down. He nudged Tracey with his elbow and pointed to it.

"Hangman?" she said.

"Looks like it."

She clicked her tongue. "What are we, schoolchildren again?"

Letting out a small chuckle, he shrugged. "Well...we are breaking into our boss's office."

Tracey looked less than impressed at that response but turned her attention back to the desk. "Do we just guess a letter then?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

Harry tapped his wand on the top of the desk and a small red square appeared. "I'll guess first, shall I?"

Not waiting for a response, Harry went for it. "X," he said.

The blanks flashed for a second before the letter appeared off to the side of the dashes. A circle was then drawn under the gallows' rope.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ X

"X?" Tracey said, giving Harry an annoyed look. "Of all the letters to choose? Don't you want to open this thing?"

Harry merely smiled. "Oh, we will. But I'm much more interested in figuring out what this desk is capable of," he said, brushing his hand over the unblemished wood.

Tracey raised an eyebrow before turning back to the puzzle. "Right, my turn, then," she said. "A."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ A _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ X

"Only one 'A'?!" she said, smacking her hand against the desk in frustration.

Harry stared at her warily out of the corner of his eye, then set back to work. "Z."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ A _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ X Z

A line was drawn in, perpendicular to the top of the gallows, starting at the bottom of the circle.

Tracey let out another noise of discontent while Harry grinned.

They continued on like this, Harry guessing the least likely options during his turns while Tracey attempted to actually solve the riddle, getting increasingly angry with every limb of the stick figure being drawn.

_ _ _ H _ _ H _ _ V

Harry rubbed the palms of his hands together. He thought 'W' would get the last leg drawn on but it hadn't. "P," he said.

_ _ _ H _ _ H _ _ P

Tracey kicked the desk chair into the wall as the last right leg was drawn onto the stick figure. "You just couldn't let me solve it, could you?" she said, her voice ringing throughout the room. "You can guess wrong anytime Hermione is or isn't here but you had to choose right now?"

Harry put his well-honed skill of ignoring Tracey into practice as his eyes darted around the room, alert and ready for whatever defence mechanism had been triggered.

The result was rather anticlimactic but daunting just the same. He knew what it was the second the apparition took shape before him but it didn't stop the twisting in his gut.

It was Tracey. Or an exact likeness of her, sitting alone, staring out the window of what appeared to be a coffee shop with heavy rain pouring outside. Christmas decorations littered the walls of the empty shop. The only other person in the room walking over to Tracey with a small cake in her hands that Harry had to squint to read:

Merry Christmas to my nightly regular!

As the woman walked closer, Harry recognized the face at once. It was Crinkly-Eyes, in all her annoying happiness and bright smiles, clearly trying to cheer up a depressed-looking, lonely Tracey.

Harry looked over at the real Tracey beside him and frowned as he saw her turn almost catatonic watching the apparition of herself. He'd seen this happening before, even Molly had fallen prey to it.

Stepping forward, he drew up his happiest memories-sunshine, a patio in Brazil, orange juice in hand, Gabrielle sitting across from him. He stepped in front of Tracey so he could become the focus of the Boggart's attention, readying himself for the Dementor that was sure to come.

In an instant, the scene began to change.

"Expecto Patronu-"

The words died in his mouth.

It wasn't a Dementor. It was another scene. This time of himself, sitting in a private balcony in a large theatre.

He recognized it as the one he'd been to with Ginny in Brazil. He was seated in the same chair he was in then, no orange juice in his empty glass, the seat beside him empty. Harry looked around and noted it was the same horrid ballet he'd watched with Ginny.

Merlin, he could see Pansy-Princess' cankles even at this distance.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows as he watched himself. How he sat there, all alone, staring at his empty glass, not paying an iota of attention. But more than anything, it was the empty chair beside him that captivated him. Haunted him.

Could he really not have found someone to go with to this two-bit performance? Not even his on-again, off-again, on-again, off-again, on-again, off-again one-time girlfriend?

As he continued staring at the despairing scene, he heard the words that he should have uttered sound from somewhere to his left.

"Ridikkulus," Tracey said, her wand levelled at the apparition.

Immediately it changed. The ballerinas were dancing on llamas. Harry was dressed in mariachi outfit, hat included, strumming a guitar. The men in the audience were now wearing leave-nothing-to-the-imagination bikinis while the women were dressed as gladiators, clashing with their swords and spears, blood flying everywhere.

Harry shook his head. Lupin would have been disappointed if he'd known Harry had gotten so affected by a Boggart.

Quickly pulling out his wand, he banished the boggart back into the desk.

"Are you pleased?" Tracey said, pocketing her own wand with a grim look. "You know what the bloody desk does now."

He cleared his throat, trying to dispel both boggart images from his mind. Though the magnitude of what they'd both just witnessed was hard to move on from. "Let's just...let's take a look at this, shall we?" he said, gesturing towards the hangman riddle. "It's reset itself."

Tracey waved a small piece of paper in front of Harry. "Good thing I wrote it down as we were guessing," she bit out, before rattling off the previous letters that had been successful.

_ _ _ H _ _ H _ _ T

"If you guess 'X' again," Tracey said, levelling him with a menacing glare.

"No, no," Harry said. "Let's solve this, I want to figure out what's next."

Tracey nodded, then turned back to the riddle. "'I'" she said, clearly.

_ I _ H I _ H _ _ T

They both took a moment to study the letters. Harry was fairly certain he could solve it now, but he didn't want to take any chances. "G," he said.

_ _ _ T

"See the Tragic Highbrow Theft!" Tracey said at once, smiling victoriously.

T

Just as Harry glanced down at the solved puzzle, another series of blanks showed up below it.

"What?" Tracey said, clapping her hand to her forehead. "Another bloody hangman?"

"Well...it's certainly preferable to Devil's Snare or making us play as human chess pieces," Harry mumbled, frowning down at the desk. "Not that I'm brilliant at this either..."

He took a few seconds to consider the new dashes, noting something interesting. "There's no gallow," he said, tracing the empty space on the wood with his finger. "It's not hangman…"

"What? Then what is it?" Tracey said.

Biting his lip, Harry flitted his gaze from the dashes to the phrase they'd just solved, noting that they were the same amount of letters. He stared so long at them, that he felt his eyes begin to cross. And it was at that moment, that he felt a shudder run through him as a memory flashed in his mind's eye.

The Chamber. Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"Anagram," he said quietly, his shoulders slumping. "It's an anagram."

"What? Are you bloody kidding me?" Tracey said snapping her head towards him. "That'll take us ages! It could be anything!"

Harry looked at Tracey in concern, noting the increased aggression she was displaying at every obstacle they were facing. Nothing seemed to be helping her mood. Not the outfits and decorations for Theme Week, not the breaking into Hermione's office. In fact, if anything, she only seemed to be getting worse. It truly felt as if he'd reached a…

"Dead-end," Tracey said, slumping back against the wall behind her. "We've reached a dead-end, Harry."

Dead-end.

The words echoed in his mind, recalling a memory from earlier that week.

"Whenever I felt like I hit a dead-end, he's always been surprisingly helpful."

Harry snatched up the Sir Baba toy at once and stared at him for a moment. "I need your help," he said, unsure how to proceed. "Er...I need you to solve this!"

"I'll solve you!"

Letting out his battle cry, Sir Baba Yetu courageously rode over and began to unweave the unsolvable anagram. Letter after letter was rearranged. It was as if the fog was being rolled away, a veil being lifted, one blank at a time. Until, finally he was done.

The Brightest Witch of Her Age

How could they not have seen it before?

Tracey shook her head. "He solved it," she said, staring at the toy in wonder. "Bloody hell, that's useful. Where did you get him?"

But before Harry could answer, the locked drawer to Hermione's desk popped open with an audible click causing Tracey to let out a small whoop of victory.

They both knelt down at once, rifling through the objects on top.

"What the hell are these?" Tracey said, picking up three squishy looking, deflated balls that were practically torn up from excessive use.

Harry held back a smile. "Stress balls," he said, plucking one from Tracey's hand and tossing it in the air. "And they've definitely been used."

"Over-used, I'd say," Tracey said, tossing them behind her and looking back in the drawer.

Harry gave an indifferent shrug and turned his attention back to the drawer. He reached in and grabbed the first item his fingers made contact with. It was tubular and made of glass.

Odd.

He withdrew his hand and looked at the bottle he'd just pulled out.

Ron Bacardí de Maestros de Ron, Vintage, MMXII

He glanced at the dark liquid and passed it to Tracey. "Know what this is?"

Tracey held it up for a second before she pulled out her wand and uncorked it, immediately taking a swig. "Rum," she said, after swallowing. "Really expensive rum."

She held the bottle out, tilting it towards Harry, but he shook his head. He was more curious about the contents of the drawer than the bottle. But when he reached in again, he only found another one.

Sighing, he took it out of the drawer and read the label: 50-year-old Appleton Estate, Jamaica Independence Reserve.

"Oh good," Tracey said, practically cheering. "I don't have to share now!"

He reached in once more and got another heavily used stress ball. He gently tossed the gentle ball with a gentle throw and it gently landed on the surface of the desk with a gentle noise.

While Harry was busy admiring his gently thrown gentle ball, Tracey stuck her arm in the drawer, her eyes lighting up at once.

"Ooooh, I get to double fist now!" she said, lifting up her prized trophy. "Louis Xiii by Remy Martin Cognac Brandy With Exquisite Blend Of Up To 1,200 Grapes Eaux-de-vie Sourced 100% From Grande Champagne."

Harry shook his head, feeling somewhat concerned that Hermione had a drawer filled with stress balls and expensive alcohol.

"How bout we make a game of this?" Tracey said, trying a sip of the Remy Martin Cognac Brandy. "You get two choices: pull an item or pick an 'I have never'. If you've done whatever the 'I have never' is, or if you pull something out that isn't a stress ball or bottle of alcohol, you drink."

He considered this for a moment before nodding. "Let's do it," he said, sticking his arm into the bottomless drawer and pulling a leather bound book that he assumed was a planner.

But upon closer inspection of the inside of the cover, he read the words:

Hermione Jean Granger-Gibbons - A Memoir

Tracey snorted aloud while taking another sip of brandy. "Drink up, Buttercup," she said, patting him on the cheek.

Raising an eyebrow at her, Harry grabbed one of the many bottles littered on the floor and untwisted the expensive-looking stopper. He took a sip and gestured for Tracey to go.

"Ooooh, my turn," she said, practically lighting up with glee. Her forehead creased as she took a moment to debate her next move. "I got one. I have never...had a crush on my best friend of the opposite sex who I also happen to co-own a business with, at any point in my life."

Harry made a disgusted face and gagged. "Absolutely not true for me," he said, pushing the bottle away from him. "I have never thought of Hermione that way. That'd be like incest!

Tracey practically giggled. "No, it wouldn't," she said, pushing his shoulder lightly, her hand lingering on his arm. "You have four different parents and eight different grandparents. It's not even close. Nothing like Crabbe and Goyle and they turned out alright...ish."

"Ish being the operative word," Harry said. "But let's move on from this repulsive subject, please."

He stuck his arm into the drawer once more, this time coming into contact with what felt like multiple polaroid photos. Frowning in curiosity, he picked them up and flipped them over before letting out a startled yell and throwing them towards Tracey.

"What the-" Tracey said, picking one up.

With a roaring laugh that sounded like a donkey, she shoved the photo back in Harry's face. "Maybe I should hit that."

"Ack!" he cried out, rubbing at his eyes. "I can't unsee it!" He reached for the closest bottle and chugged some down, hoping the alcohol would dull his memory.

It had been a photograph of Ron wearing a stetson hat, bolo tie, cow-print and jean shirt, pink leopard-print cowboy boots, and horrifying, disgusting, atrocious ass-less chaps.

The image would be burned in his mind's eye forevermore.

He didn't bother looking through the rest of the polaroids, too afraid of what else he'd find. "Just go, please," he said, taking another drink to try and forget.

"Huh...not what I was expecting," she said, looking more closely at the photo. "But anyway...my turn. I have never...come across a mighty basilisk that required two hands before."

Harry frowned at that but picked up the bottle to take a drink.

"Oh, Merlin," Tracey said, her eyes practically bulging out of her sockets. "Who was it? Krum? I've heard great things about his basilisk."

"Er...what?" Harry said, blinking before realization hit him like a ton of bricks. "Wait...I'm not gay, I only meant I killed Salazar Slytherin's basilisk!"

She took another long pull even though it wasn't her turn. "Oh, you dirty, dirty, boy," she said. "Grabbing those basilisks."

At this, Harry gritted his teeth. "Maybe you should lay off that a bit," he said, taking the bottle from her hands.

Her eyes flared in response, and she wasted no time grabbing the brandy instead. "New game," she said.

"Er…" Harry said. "Okay?"

"Gay lists!" she said, clapping her hands together. "Name a list of people you would bang if you were attracted to your own sex."

Harry sighed and rubbed his temples, wondering how they'd even gotten here. He was at least pleased to note that Tracey's mood was significantly improved. The alcohol had certainly helped, of course. But perhaps these little games had an impact as well. "Fine, but...you go first."

Tracey shrugged. "Sure," she said, beginning to list off on her fingers: "Daphne, Hermione, Susan, both Patil twins...at once. Ginny, Cho. Alicia, Katie, Angelina...again all at once. Imagine those three together, eh? And...who else…"

His eyes widened. "There's more?"

She nodded as if it were obvious. "Ah, Rosmerta from the Three Broomsticks, Gwenog Jones...and a young McGonagall," she said. "Well...any McGonagall."

Harry took a drink at that, preferring to be drunk for this conversation.

"Your turn."

"I...I don't think I have anyone," he said with a shrug. "Blokes just don't do it for me."

Huffing out a breath, Tracey gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "There isn't a single bloke that you find handsome?"

He looked up at the ceiling and took a moment to think. "Erm...well, I suppose there is one… He's sort of...ruggedly handsome, now that you mention it?"

Getting up on her knees, Tracey practically fell into him as she grabbed his shoulders. "Who?" she demanded. "Tell me!"

Silence followed for a few seconds before Harry finally blurted it out:

"Bill Weasley."

"Eyyyy," Tracey said, picking up her bottle and clinking it with his. "Now that is a fine specimen. Hard agree."

Harry gave a reluctant nod. "It's the dragon fang earring and long hair," he found himself saying before he could filter the words coming out of his mouth.

"Fleur's been on my list since she stepped off the carriage," Tracey said, staring off, seemingly lost in a memory. "I'd have taken a run at either of them if I had the chance."

"Sounds like you'd have taken a run at just about anyone if you had the chance," Harry said, looking her up and down with a frown. "I really thought you were a lesbian, you know? I guess this means you're bi...?"

Tracey waved a dismissive hand and then took another hit of her drink. "I'm more of a go-for-whatever-I-fancy-at-the-time kind of gal."

Harry stared at his nearly empty bottle and burped. "So… you're hetero with lesbian tendencies when you're drunk?"

"I'm hetero with everything tendencies when I'm drunk," she said, fluttering her eyelashes at him and leaning in to tug on his collar.

Raising an eyebrow, he chugged the remainder of his rum, his eyes on Tracey the entire time. Her gaze fixed on his lips.

"Say, Harry...are you a real Scotsman?" she said, her voice taking on a tone Harry had never heard before as she bobbed her head in the direction of his kilt.

"Am I a what?"

Tracey let out a harumph and reached forward with her hand. In a single swift motion, she pulled the end of his kilt up, lifting it to his chest.

"Whoop!" she said, giggling as she fell ungracefully on top of him. "Guess you are."

Before Harry realized what was happening, Tracey's lips were on his, her hand groping up his leg and underneath his sporran.

One bottle in and much too drunk to think this through properly, Harry merely let things play out. It had been so long since he had been with anyone after all.

There'd be a time to worry about this but that time would be later. For now, he mentally shrugged and enjoyed himself.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"And you're sure you waited long enough in the floo?" Ginny said, arms crossed. "What if he was in the shower?"

Fleur shook her head as she brought her wand out to unlock the front door of the PIMMPLE, the rest of the Weasley clan standing behind her in various states of concern. "Non," she said. "I did wait long enough, and I checked his house-including the shower. He wasn't anywhere. He promised me he'd be at Ginny's announcement dinner today."

"How is it that even his lack of presence takes the spotlight from me?" Ginny muttered.

Molly shushed her and turned back to Fleur. "Well, it doesn't hurt to quickly check. There's no harm delaying Ginny's big announcement to make sure Harry is okay."

Everyone nodded and after unlocking the door, Fleur led them through the waiting room.

She frowned curiously at the odd decor, her children running past, excited to explore the transformed room. They darted towards the bagpipes, snare drum, and bass setup in one corner, playing music as though by an invisible band. A sheaf toss resting against the wall.

"Is that a sheaf toss?" George said in surprise. "I've always wanted to have a go at one. Can't be much different then gnome tossing with the garden hoe."

Angelina was off to the side, looking at the display to his left. "What are those 20 foot long wooden beams?" she said curiously, walking over to run her hand along the sizeable yet still smooth shaft.

"Cabers," Arthur said, reaching out to handle one himself. "Used in Highland Games for competitive throwing. It's said they used the long, straight, thick logs to toss. Narrow chasms didn't always have a bridge back in the day. Ah, and look what we have here! These two heavy balls are used for stone put. Bit like the muggle shot put, except well...with all-natural-stones!"

"What's shot put?" Ron said.

Fleur waved a dismissive hand and gestured for everyone to follow her into the back corridor to continue their search for Harry. She strode over to the sheaf toss and plucked the pitchfork from Dominique before she could hurt her brother or sister with it, silencing any protest with a stern look of disapproval.

Various shouts of "Harry!" rang throughout as multiple heads peeked into each room down the corridor.

"Blimey, what happened in here?" Ron said, pointing towards the kitchen.

Everyone crowded around the doorway to see what he was referring to, Molly letting out a loud gasp.

"It looks like there was an explosion. Like The PIMMPLE...popped," Bill said, running his hand across the scorch marks on the wall before pulling his wand out. With his face set in a serious line, he turned back around, his eyes catching Fleur's before darting to their kids. "Everyone, stand back, we need to check for intruders."

Fleur frowned, ushering the children back, as Bill began casting various enchantments. Her eyes darted to Hermione's office which was slightly ajar. Harry had mentioned that she was heading up the Climax Conference at the moment.

Why would she have left her office unlocked?

She looked away for a moment before turning back, surprised to see the door shut now. Before she could question it, though, she felt a sharp jab to her leg and cast her eyes down to the ground where the toy, Sir Baba, was poking her with his lance.

Fleur knelt down at once. "What is it, Sir?" she said, furrowing her eyebrows. "Lead the way."

He gave a single nod before galloping towards Hermione's office, Fleur following behind him.

She pushed open the door and rushed in, bracing herself for whatever destruction she'd find in here and praying that Harry was okay.

But whatever she had expected, it definitely had not been this.

"Have you seen my shirt?" Harry mumbled to a figure on the floor.

The desk was obscuring the rest of the person's body, and Fleur couldn't make out who it was.

Hermione, perhaps? But no….Harry would never be in this state of undress with his sister. The very thought left a horrible taste in Fleur's mouth.

Before she could make her presence known, however, Victoire slipped past her legs and beelined straight for Harry.

"UNCLE HARRY!" the little girl squealed, throwing her arms and legs around him in a hug.

He snapped his head towards the doorway where the entire Weasley family was standing behind Fleur, poking their heads in. He was currently shirtless with only a kilt tied haphazardly around his waist, his niece hanging onto his leg. Tracey Davis, his receptionist, had scrambled into a sitting position, rushing to tie what looked like a tartan blanket around herself.

"Erm… What are you lot doing here?" he said, summoning his shirt, or what was left of it. It had clearly been torn off of him and left in more than one piece.

Fleur raised her delicate eyebrow. "What are we doing here?" she said, her hands perched on her hips. "What are you doing here? I said take better care of yourself, not jump into the bed of the next woman you see!"

Harry blinked and then rubbed his eyes. He couldn't even manage a word as both Dominique and Louis came darting in the room as well, barrelling right into him. Bending down, he picked them all up in a bare-chested hug and squeezed them tight as they giggled in his arms.

As he placed them back down, he began to look somewhat flustered, his eyes searching the room. Fleur watched as his gaze lit up for a moment, and he scooped up three squishy balls from the ground.

"Here, toss these around," he said with a soft smile. "There's loads of them littered around the room."

They immediately scattered about, collecting all the squishy balls. Victoire tossed one up and caught it. Dom threw one across the room at Hermione's bookshelves. And Louis walked around with a big smile on his face, trying to fit as many in his little arms as he could.

"Well?" Fleur said, her arms crossed as she impatiently tapped her foot, all the while keeping a close eye on her rambunctious children as they ran rampant throughout the room.

Harry's gaze darted between her and Tracey. "It's not what it looks like, okay?"

Fleur raised an eyebrow and then gestured at Tracey, who had used the time everyone was distracted to do some quick work to make herself look presentable in polite company. "No? Then what is it like?"

"Do you mind if we take this elsewhere, please?" Harry said with a sigh of frustration. "Perhaps somewhere away from young ears?"

Without a second's hesitation, Fleur cast a charm to muffle the conversation from her children's ears. "There," she said, pocketing her wand. "Now they won't be able to listen in."

At this point, Tracey stood up and pressed her palms to the desk, everyone's attention shooting to her. "Look, as much as I'd love to meet the in-laws, this was just sex," she said before clenching her jaw. "A one-night-stand, a quick fuck-and-chuck, a root-n-boot."

Fleur's eyes darted to Harry, who was frowning and tapping his chin with his forefinger.

"Huh...not what I was expecting," he said with a contemplative look.

"You skipped my big announcement dinner for this?" Ginny said, piping up from the doorway, her arms crossed. The 'for her' was left unsaid.

Harry turned to look at her. "The dinner was for you?" he said, blinking. "I had wondered why it was on a Thursday."

An airborne stress ball hit Ginny on the side of the head, followed by soft giggles in the corner of the room.

Tracey rounded on Harry. "Hold on...what did you mean, 'not what you are expecting'?" she said, through gritted teeth. "What exactly were you expecting? That we'd get together after this? We'd make a terrrrrrible couple, fighting all the time, getting at each other's throats."

Harry nodded. "True," he said, sounding as if he was considering it for the first time. "Though the make-up sex might make it worth it."

"Merlin, yeah," Angelina said before clamping her hand over her mouth, looking mortified.

George wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Nice one, babe," he said, pulling her into a one-armed hug.

She turned to her husband. "I just said what we were all thinking."

Fleur flicked her hair behind her shoulder. "Anyway," she said, wanting to reign the conversation back in. "You were saying that this isn't what it looks like, Harry?"

He raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay… It is what it looks like," he said, somehow still managing to feign innocence. "But contrary to what Hemione believes, Intent is of the utmost Importance. And it definitely applies here."

Everyone in the room quieted down and nodded their heads, except for Ron.

"What's so important about intent?"

George immediately smacked Ron in the back of the head.

"What was that for?" Ron said, rubbing the spot with a wince.

Bill cleared his throat. "It's Intent, dickhead," he said as if he were scolding one of his children. "And Intent is always of the utmost Importance."

Harry bobbed his head in agreement. "And in this case, my Intent for sleeping with Tracey was for medical reasons."

Before Fleur could reply, a 'thud' drew everyone's attention. Another stress ball had been intercepted, mid-throw, by Tracey's head. It fell onto the desk and rolled in front of her.

Snatching it up, Tracey cocked her arm back and flung it at Harry's head. "Medical reasons?" she said, practically hissing the words.

Harry craned his neck to the right, letting the ball whiz past his head. A quiet 'oomf' was heard from behind him, and he turned to see Ginny clutching her neck, a small circular red mark visible on her throat.

"Well, it was just a root-n-boot, like you said…" Harry said, picking the conversation back up.

"You did say that, dear," Molly said, shushing Ginny as she began coughing.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Tracey reached in front of her and plucked another stress ball out of the air, mid-flight. She chucked it at him again, this time aiming for the spot where his sporran should have been.

As if by reflex, Harry brought his knee up and turned his hips, ensuring the ball hit his thigh instead. His eyes followed the ball as it fell to the floor before they darted back and forth between it and Tracey.

"Anyway...this all started because Tracey was upset that Hermione made her cancel her vacation. Which was fair enough," Harry said, looking from Tracey to Fleur. "But as the week went on, I began noticing an interesting pattern arise. Instead of adapting to the situation, Tracey's mood actually worsened, followed by extreme fluctuations in her emotions and magic that couldn't be attributed to her missed vacation alone.

"Were you using your bloody machines to monitor me? Tracey said, looking outraged.

"Well, yes, but I had to improvise a bit with the costumes and decorations I made for Theme Week. Why do you think I was the one to provide everything?" he said. "I knew you wouldn't have let me monitor your magic if you could help it. Plus, I was hoping the silliness of it all would help improve your mood a bit."

At this, her eyes narrowed. "Wait, wait, wait," she said, putting her hands up. "You're telling me you dressed me up all week so you could run tests on me?"

Harry gave a careless shrug. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Theme week?" Fleur spoke up, turning to look at Harry.

He nodded in enthusiasm. "We've had Beatles Day, Long Track Speedskating Day, Kilt Day, and tomorrow was supposed to be Deity Day, but, well...we may not need to continue now."

"Hold on," Bill said before Harry could continue his thought. "You've dressed up and decorated the clinic all week with these idiotic themes? When did you find the time to actually see patients, you know...do your bloody job?"

"I...didn't," Harry said, giving Bill a perplexed look.

Everyone turned to look at Harry.

"So you didn't see any patients this week?" Fleur said with a disappointed look.

"No no, I definitely did," Harry said. "zapt's son, (Emp) zap apat Jr. brought zapt in to see me, and I, of course, treated him despite his lack of speedskating attire. I had to. With a serious case of Artist's Elbow like that? I couldn't not treat my true friend."

A cough that sounded suspiciously like 'dickhead' came from Bill's direction of the room.

Looking around at everyone, he finally put two and two together. "Ah, I should probably mention that I couldn't let any patients in beyond the waiting room," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Because Tracey would wander about the clinic, I had to set up the equipment all around so it captured everything in the office."

"But...weren't you in the rest of the office too?" Ron said tentatively.

Harry gave him a sympathetic look. "My monitoring equipment has been specifically wired to cancel out my own magical signature."

"So you were doing your job all week then?" Fleur said, sighing in relief as she uncrossed her arms.

He nodded.

"I was worried, Harry," she said, her blue eyes radiating concern. "You'd missed dinner and it sounded like you had been skiving off work. Did you follow through with the detox, as well?"

At this, Tracey slammed her fist on the desk and glowered at Fleur. "You're the reason he gave up coffee?" she said, flaring her nostrils.

"Well, of course," Fleur said, jutting her chin out. "I care about him. I just want him to be happy and healthy."

Tracey only rolled her eyes as Fleur made her way to a still shirtless Harry and wrapped him up in a fierce hug.

"I'm so proud of you," she said into his ear. "And I know Gabby would be, too."

She was about to add more but an obnoxious, loud gagging noise cut her off.

"Sorry, I have a bit of a phlegm problem," Tracey said with an overly-sweet tone. "Harry, if you've moved on from medicinally sleeping with me, I'll leave you to this floozy." With that, she snatched the ball Victoire and Dominique had been passing back and forth and flung it straight at Harry's face.

Dodging his head to the left this time, Harry neatly avoided the throw. But a loud slapping noise followed by a fit of coughing sounded from behind him, and Fleur looked to see Ginny rubbing her throat tenderly as the ball bounced away from her.

Still trying to breathe normally, Ginny coughed up some phlegm and leant forward to spit it out, launching it onto Hermione's desk. "Fleur's his sister," she said to Tracey after clearing her throat. "You know that, right?"

After making a gagging noise, Tracey coughed up a larger bit of phlegm and spit it out onto the desk next to Ginny's. "Oh, I've seen him with his sister, and he's nothing like that with Hermione."

Victoire, Dom, and Louis poked their heads up, staring between Tracey and Ginny before making their way to Hermione's desk. Fleur cringed as she saw them start to cough up their own spit. Louis scooped up his as it dangled from his chin, and then put it back in his mouth before spitting it out again.

"Anyway," Harry called out, bare-chested and wearing naught but a kilt, still being hugged by Fleur. "Let me finish explaining why I banged Tracey for medical reasons."

Everyone's attention snapped to him, at once.

"See, I knew there was something wrong with her. Tracey gets upset, but when she does, she always takes it out on the patients," he said, adjusting his kilt, now that Fleur had released her grip on him. "So I began my testing and noticed that something was amplifying her emotional Intent."

Tracey stared at him, her jaw slowly lowering. "Amplifying? How?" she said, almost hysterically. "You mean like...when I was fantasizing about your arse in the speedskating suit, it was my magic more than anything?"

Harry tilted his head, considering the thought. "Well...it would only amplify what you were already feeling."

At this, Angelina piped up. "Oh, Harry's arse is fantastic. We used to love watching him chase after the snitch in practice for that very reason. Especially when it rained," she said, sighing wistfully as George nodded in agreement. "Katie most of all..."

Ginny cleared her throat again. "Look…can we get on with this, please?" she said, her nostrils flaring. "I'm supposed to be announcing something at dinner, you know…"

"The whole Beauxbatons delegation heard about it, too," Fleur said, nodding at Angelina. "Imagine our disappointment when we found out quidditch was cancelled that year."

Molly gave Fleur a comforting one-armed hug as Arthur placed a hand of solidarity on her back.

"That was the only reason most of Slytherin came to watch," Tracey added, a faraway look in her eye. "It sure wasn't to see the house team make a mockery of things, I'll tell you that much."

"Hey, Mum, remember the first task of the Triwizard Tournament?" Bill said, turning to Molly with a fond look. "I came to watch the dragons...but Harry's arse stole the show."

Harry hummed in assent, smiling good-naturedly as George clapped him on the shoulder.

"Ooooh," Ron said, smacking his own forehead. "I always wondered why the Gryffindor matches had double the attendance… It all makes sense now!"

Ginny opened her mouth to add something but a stress ball ricocheted off the desk and straight into it, stuffing it full.

"Anyway, like I was saying," Harry said, garnering everyone's attention once more. "Tracey was supposed to go on a laycation but it got cancelled. At first, I thought her unstable mood was due to PMS but it's clear it was an emotional-amplification of her sexual-frustration."

Bill chortled. "She's been rather...frustrated since we've been here," he said, a smug grin forming on his lips. "Are you that bad of a lay, Harry?"

"No," Harry and Molly said at the same time.

Everyone turned to look at Molly.

"What?" she said, looking all innocent. "Based on the noises we used to hear coming out of Ginny's bedroom, Harry could put his godfather to shame."

Arthur shifted his hand of solidarity from Fleur's back to his wife's as he nodded in agreement.

At this, everyone's attention finally shot to Ginny who was busy fending off Dominique and Victorie's barrage of stress balls.

Doing a quick mental check on each child, Fleur noticed Louis hadn't joined his sisters. She scanned the room, grimacing when she spotted her son. Louis was halfway through stuffing his hand in his mouth, the gobs of the phlegm missing from Hermione's desk, a trail of wet streaks leading towards him.

"Well?" George said, looking at Ginny.

Noticing she was the centre of attention for the first time, Ginny glared at them all. "Oh, of course you're all paying attention to me now because it has to do with Harry," she said before sighing, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. "He's the furthest from a bad lay there is, okay? It's the only reason we've been on-again, off-again, on-again, off-again, on-again, off-again lovers all this time."

Tracey dropped two bottles onto the desk with a heavy thud. She opened the closer one and then paused, having brought the bottle halfway to her lips. "She's got to have them in here somewhere..." she said before putting her hand back in Hermione's desk drawer and rummaging around. "Aha!"

Pulling her arm back out, Tracey held up two shot-glasses in hand. She filled them both before sliding one to Ginny and raising hers in a toast.

"Here's to Harry...the best lay of our lives," Tracey said before tilting back her head and slamming the shot.

Fleur summoned the two empty shot-glasses the moment they landed back on the desk and cast a cleaning charm on them. She then locked eyes with Angelina who nodded, taking the now full glass that Fleur handed to her.

"Cheers," Angelina said. "We'll drink to that."

"Oi!" George said, prodding his wife's shoulder. "Thought you said you hadn't shagged him."

Angelina rolled her eyes. "I haven't," she said. "But we've heard details before. Lots of details."

Having noticed people's attention turned to her, Fleur shrugged and smiled brightly. "Gabby wasn't shy."

Bill put his hand on her shoulder. "And I'm thankful that isn't a regular conversation at dinner anymore," he said, shaking his head.

"Anyway," Harry said for perhaps the fourth time that evening. "Back to Tracey's case...something was amplifying her emotional Intent, like I said. And while I thought it was the PMS at first, I noticed she was growing further and further unmoored from her norm. Which was when I realized that, as always, when things are wrong at PIMPPLE, Hermione is to blame."

"Blame Hermione," everyone in the room said in unison.

"Naturally," Harry said, dipping his chin. "This time it was because she refused to replace the malfunctioning coffee maker. Every time Tracey made coffee with it, she would grow more agitated, erratic, and unmoored."

Bill raised an eyebrow at that. "How do you know it was from the coffee-maker?" he said, staring at Harry as if he was mad. "I've never heard of a faulty household appliance messing with your magic."

At this point, Arthur stepped forward from behind Molly. "I've seen this before," he said, his face full of consternation. "When a muggle item spends too long in the presence of magic, it can have hazardous magical side-effects."

Harry clasped him on the shoulder. "Exactly," he said, giving him a warm look. "When Hermione enchanted her PIMPPLE POPPING PUS BURST protocols, she imbued too much magic into the coffee maker which had a nasty magical side-effect, like Arthur was saying. Caffeine is a stimulant which already amplifies chemicals in the body such as adrenaline and cortisol. When magic is added into the equation, it throws off the homeostasis completely. Leading to an overproduction of chemicals and overstimulation of emotional Intent."

"Well, if you shagged her stupid, shouldn't that have fixed the problem?" Ron piped up. "I thought she just wanted to go on her laycation?"

Harry turned to Tracey, everyone's eyes following his. "You wouldn't have been satisfied with just one root-n-boot on your laycation, would you?'

"Of course not," she said, crossing her arms. "It was supposed to be a laycation, not a layday."

He bobbed his head. "Just as I thought," he said, looking back at Ron. "Until she's been well and properly plowed or the effects of Hermione's tainted coffee work out of her system, Tracey will continue being agitated, erratic, and unmoored."

With a soft gasp, Molly stepped forward. "Harry, weren't you supposed to be going on your vacation to Brazil tomorrow?" she said in a suggestive tone.

Grinning, Harry looked over to Tracey. "Why, yes, Molly," he said. "Yes, indeed."

Fleur saw Angelina nudge George and whisper something in his ear to which his eyes lit up at once.

The next thing they knew, the two shot glasses on the desk were quickly multiplying. Angelina charmed the bottles to pour into each one as the room erupted in a sudden series of loud whizzes and bangs.

"Are you bloody kidding me right now?" Ginny said, peeling off a photo of Ron that had flown directly into her face from the resulting blast. "Fireworks, again? Why?"

George shrugged as Angelina handed out glasses to everyone. "The possibility of you and Harry being in one room? Of course I had to bring fireworks. As well as…"

With a wave of his wand, a giant banner appeared reading "Happy National Kilt Day!" that George levitated to hang on the wall of Hermione's now scorched office, fireworks continuing to erupt around them.

Several people coughed up phlegm from the smoke that was quickly filling the small space, and they proceeded to spit it up onto Hermione's desk.

"How the hell did you have that banner ready?" Ginny practically screamed as Louis came running at her with two fistfuls of newly-acquired phlegm raised over his head.

Now a foot away, he flung them at her, laughing hysterically at his accomplishment, her dress now covered in splodges of phlegm.

"I've wanted him to stop bringing that thing around him everywhere for ages," Angelina said with an exasperated shake of her head. "He's had it since the order for National Kilt Day got cancelled."

George shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. "I knew it would come in handy someday."

Everyone nodded in understanding.

"Well, I know Tracey and I definitely worked up an appetite today," Harry said, looking around at everyone with a large grin. "How about we all go back to the Burrow for some dinner, eh?"

Fleur felt a small body crash into her. Looking down, she saw Louis put his arms up, waving them around. She bent down and picked him up, holding her cute boy on her hip.

"I can't! Not now," Ginny said, practically screeching as she held her dress off her body. There were multiple splotches, wet spots and brownish-yellow smears on it from the phlegm debris. "My dress is ruined, I'll have to go home to change it."

Fleur ruffled Louis' hair and hugged him. "Oh, you silly boy."

"Tracey, dear," Molly said, putting a hand on her arm. "Did you want to join us for dinner, too? There's an empty space now that Ginny won't be joining us for her announcement dinner."

With a few seconds of careful consideration, Tracey glanced at Harry before giving a definitive nod. "Yeah, alright."

With that, loud cheers rang throughout the room as everyone followed the soon-to-be-week-long lovers out of Hermione's now decrepit office and back to the Burrow.

"Oh! Shouldn't you put a sign up that says the clinic will be closed tomorrow?" Fleur said, bouncing her giggling son in her arms.

Harry stopped in his tracks. "Huh, we probably should," he said looking at Tracey.

She gave a nonchalant shrug, "Sure, put something up, sis."

Fleur pinched her lips together before she summoned a piece of parchment. She took out her trusty quill, penned a sign and attached a business card before placing it on the front door and locking up.

Closed for Laycation! For all emergencies contact Hermione Jean Granger-Gibbons.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"So this was just for this week, right?" Harry said, taking a sip of his heavenly chilled but not too cold orange juice.

"Oh, of course," Tracey said as if it were obvious, scrunching up her nose up at Harry's drink. "By the way, does your friend over there always change the sheets while you're still in the room?"

Harry looked up to where she was pointing and winked at Brazilian Beta. "Oh, yeah. He's Overly Helpful, that one," he said. "Always waits five minutes after the shower is on to change them. He knows what I get up to in bed all day whenever I bring a girl to Brazil with me."

"I hope it doesn't bother you," said an Argentinian-Portuguese accented voice behind Tracey's ear causing her to jump in her chair and spill her glass of orange juice.

She looked up to see Brazilian Beta holding out a new glass for her. "Drink up," he said.

Giving him a weird look, Tracey shook her head.

"You're not going to be weird about this at the clinic, are you?" Harry said, continuing the conversation without missing a beat.

She snorted in response. "It'll be weird regardless, Harry," she said, taking a sip of OJ and gagging. "What with the clinic expanding and everything."

Harry frowned at that. "Expanding?"

Tracey rolled her eyes. "Aren't you co-owner of the place? How do you not know about this?"

Humming in thought, Harry shrugged. "Hermione may have mentioned it to me the other day when she was prattling on for about 20 minutes in my office after the workday had ended," he said, shaking his head. "Not that I listen to a word she says when she gets into Lecture-Mode™."

With a snort, Tracey brought her glass up to clink with Harry's. "Cheers, I'll drink to that."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Author's Note:

Firstly, we'd like to blame Nauze for his failure to assist STS in their many multi-faceted projects, including but not limited to FFN, AO3, STS discord. If only you'd recognized and helped with the charades along, this chapter would have been out last year.

Secondly, we'd like to thank Petrificus Somewhatus for not using his finely-honed detective skills to guess that STS was lying about being on hiatus while actually working on a brand new HH chapter. We sprinkled many clues throughout the server(s), and frankly, we are so pleased that your intellect failed you. You truly are The Golden God.

Thirdly, we'd like to blame Gab for being French Canadian and ensuring we know too much about the people with ridiculous French accents that inhabit Quebec. STS has taken note of your Short-Track prowess and ensured future SalTal sponsored Sports Days will incorporate in-line speed skating events.

Fourthly, we'd like to thank Peverell for his deep, velvety, rich, soothing, German-accented voice. STS HR has taken it upon themselves to record and use your voice in future Mindfulness and Meditation seminars for their employees. Please see our STS lawyers for any questions or concerns about your royalties, of which you have none.

Fifthly, we'd like to blame Warden for running on an east coast sleep schedule while living in North England. We'd also like to blame you for stanning SalTal. Our heads have gotten entirely too inflated at this point, but bb we look fantastic. Signed, your King and Queen.

Sixthly, we'd like to thank the entire Fluffy Gang for just being you! You are all doing amazing, sweeties!

As always,

Stay class, Euclanites!