We are back!

Some may wonder at my decision to jump to a whole new fic when I now have five waiting (some collecting more than others). I suppose it's an attempt to avoid falling into a writer's block; when some inspiration dries up, hop to another story and recharge.

Then again, it's my work, and ultimately I'm writing these stories to please myself (although, the internet fame does wonders for my self-esteem).

Tintin belongs to Herge/Studio Moulinsart. Harry Potter, of course, belongs to Jojo Rowling. Someone showed me a satirical news article recently wherein Ms. Rowling reveals that the reader has been gay all along. I found this hilarious and, being queer, rather inspiring.

The nocturnal quiet of the deserted road was broken by a noise much like a car backfiring. One minute, the road was empty, the next it was not.

A white fox terrier gave a shiver of displeasure. His owner smiled reassuringly. "Not the most pleasant of methods, I know, but I wasn't going to wait in line at the Floo, especially not in rush hour.

The young wizard and his dog strolled slowly down the lane for a half-kilometer before turning down a gravel drive nestled among the trees. He emerged at the other side of the copse, stopping before the gates of a once-grand estate.

The manor house beyond had clearly been the victim of a long-ago fire: it was a ruin of rotting, charred beams and crumbling, charred granite. A French-styled garden had been overtaken by weeds. The rusting gate was chained and padlocked, an Entree interdite sign posted beside it. The young wizard cast a quick alohomora, opened the gate, and stepped through the wards. With that, the ruin was gone, replaced a grand manor house in the French Renaissance style.

As he mounted the front steps and reached for a door handle, it was opened for him by a solemn man in a yellow-and-black pinstripe vest. "Good evening, Tintin. May I take your robe?"

"Thank you, Nestor," Tintin handed the butler his outer garment and crossed the grand hall, his steps ringing off of the marble floors.

He found Captain Haddock in the smoking room seated by the fireplace, his tumbler of firewhiskey momentarily neglected as the older man sat absorbed in the most recent copy of Le miroir magique. He glanced up as Tintin came in and smirked. "Good piece on the smuggling ring," he said, folding the paper and tossing it to the boy.

"Thanks, Captain," Tintin replied. "It could have been better."

"Don't punish yourself, Tintin. That Rastapopoulos is a slippery troglodyte."

"It just frustrates me that he keeps slipping through the auror's fingers," Tintin walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a glass of soda water. "Now he's off plotting another of his schemes."

"Whatever scheme he cooks up, you'll give him a good thrashing," Haddock replied with a smirk. "You always do."

Tintin flopped onto a sofa and sighed. Snowy jumped up beside his master and curled up for a quick nap. "I'm going to London," he said, sipping his drink.

"Really?" Haddock picked up his glass, downed it in one gulp, then stood to top himself up. "This is about the World Cup, isn't it?"

"The whole case stinks to high heaven," Tintin replied, sitting up. "I can't get it out of my head."

"Another of your damned mysteries." Haddock shook his head. "I'd be very careful, Tintin; the British Ministry of Magic are far less tolerant of the press, unless they're being fawned over by the Prophet. You've met their Press Secretary?"

"Ah yes, Umbridge." Tintin made a sour face. "Awful woman. It'll be an uphill battle getting anything out of her."

"So what's your plan? Should I tag along?"

"I could use someone with connections among the auror department," Tintin replied. "Plus, an underaged wizard requires a responsible guardian to chaperone him on trips abroad."

Haddock grinned. "Well, It's been a while since I've seen Diagon Alley or old Mad-Eye. You can get some school shopping done as well."

"You'd also be a good wand to have in a fight, provided you're not hitting the bottle."

"I'll have you know I've cut down to three glasses a day."

"Of firewhisky. What about your port intake? Butterbeer?"

"Well…" Haddock swore and stood up. "What I drink is my business. Provided I don't make an ass of myself, I see no reason to listen to your criticism."

"Sorry to have insulted you, Captain."

"I'm going to bed."

"Be ready to go early," Tintin called after the man as he stormed out. " I've taken the liberty of booking a an eight o'clock portkey."

Tintin enjoyed Diagon Alley; its eclectic shops and haphazard buildings reminded him of some of the Medieval neighborhoods in Brussels. He always went out of his way to visit the wizard enclave when in the country, even if it meant waiting on a valuable lead.

"Where to first?" Haddock asked, eying the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Flourish and Blotts," Tintin said, dragging the ex-auror past the pub door. "I need to brush up my history of the British Wizarding War. You can also Floo to the Ministry from there."

"Look, there's that French reporter," Hermione said, tugging on Harry's sleeve.

Harry glanced up and saw Tintin and his older friend chatting with Mr. Blott. "What's he doing here?"

"Shopping, obviously," Hermione replied. "A boy of my own heart."

"Figures," Ron muttered.

Harry ignored his friends and walked over to the reference shelves. He found a copy of A Wizarding Who's Who, and flipped through until he found the entry he was looking for:

Tintin (Reporter):

B. January 10, 1977; Brussels, Belgium. Joined staff of Le Miroir Magique January, 1990 as an columnist for Le Petit Miroir, a monthly children's magazine. Quickly made a name for himself as a muckraker. Has reported from as far off as Russia, San Theodoros, China, India & the United States.

An orphan at birth, was placed under the guardianship of Archibald Haddock, the controversial commander of the Auror Vice Squad from 1960-1984 (see Haddock, Archibald). Lives outside of Brussels at Marlinspike Hall, the Haddock family estate. Often in the company of his faithful fox terrier, Snowy. Attends Beauxbatons Academy sporadically.

Harry returned the book to its place and went over to the biography section. Several of the cub. reporter's books were on the shelves, he picked one at random and read the title: King Ottokar's Sceptre: Dispatches from the Syldavian-Bordurian Conflict. The cover depicted Tintin and Snowy standing in front of a European castle, smiling and waving to the camera. He flipped through the pages slowly, stopping to read the start of one chapter:

Most wizarding governments have shied away from the use of Muggle firearms. In 1830, the International Confederation of Wizards almost unanimously passed a resolution banning the use of guns in conflict, citing it as a Weapon of Mass Destruction.

Among the few nations that voted against the resolution were Syldavia and Borduria. This I only discovered now, as the Syldavian border guard drew his weapon, leveled it at my head, and pulled the trigger...

"Doing some research?" Harry gave a start; unbeknownst to him, Tintin had approached him and was reading along over the boy's shoulder.

Harry hurriedly put the book back. "Just curious, I guess."

"Hello, Mr. Tintin." Hermione and Ron had noticed the reporter and walked over to join them. "What are you doing in Diagon Alley?" the girl asked.

"Just doing some school shopping," Tintin said.

The reporter had several books tucked under one arm. Ron leaned in to read one of the spines. "A History of Dark Magic in Great Britain."

"I'm trying to learn more about Voldemort," the reporter said, patting the book.

Ron and Hermione flinched, as did a young witch in the next aisle who'd been eavesdropping on the Boy-Who-Lived. "You said his name," Harry said, mildly surprised.

Tintin nodded. "I've always found your country's taboo on his name ridiculous. He wanted the public to fear his name; it gave him more power."

"You're here about the Cup attack, aren't you?" Hermione asked.

Tintin smiled. "Yes, I'm hoping to dig up some dirt."

"Good luck with that," Ron said. "My dad says the case was open-and-shut. Vandalism and Illegal Possession of a Wand by a Magical Creature."

Tintin rolled his eyes. "Good thing I have Haddock with me. I sent him off to the Ministry to try and get some gossip."

As if on cue, the fireplace lit up green. "Bloodsucking bureaucratic baboons!" A second later the Captain was thrown through the fire, landing flat on his face with a loud oomph.

Tintin walked over and helped his friend up. "I take it things didn't go so well at the Ministry?"

"Blackguards wouldn't let me through security," Haddock said, rubbing his bruised nose. "Some words were exchanged."

"Seems like an overreaction if they threw you through the Floo," Hermione said.

Haddock rubbed the back of his neck. "I may have accidentally tried to punch one of them in the jaw."

"Temper, temper, Captain," Tintin mock-chided the older wizard.

Hermione tapped her friends on the shoulders. "I'm afraid we have to go and purchase our potions ingredients," she said. "It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Tintin."

"Just Tintin is fine, Miss Granger. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, good to see you."

Tintin and Haddock watched the Golden Trio leave the shop. "Potter has a good group of friends," the Captain remarked.

"He's nothing like I imagined," Tintin said.

"Who, Potter?" Haddock grinned. "You mean he's not an arrogant celebrity?"

Tintin nodded. "If anything, he seems uncomfortable with fame."

"Sounds like a friend of mine." Haddock nudged the boy with a grin. "C'mon, let's hit the Leaky Cauldron for some lunch."

"Tintin! Quelle surprise!"

Tintin turned and caught sight of a rather unkempt wizard standing in the doorway. Beside him was a young girl with light yellow hair and a serene expression wearing a pair of 3-D glasses and radish earrings. "Xenophilius!" Tintin strode over and pumped the man's hand. "So good to see you!"

Haddock joined the group and appraised Lovegood. "How goes the nargle hunt?"

"Don't be rude, Captain," Tintin hissed under his breath.

"Splendidly, Captain Haddock," Lovegood's daughter replied, failing to detect the derision in the man's voice. "We nearly caught them in Connemara, but they gave us the slip."

"Wiley little buggers, aren't they?" Haddock said smiling.

"You must be Luna," Tintin said, shaking the girl's hand. "A pleasure to meet another young reporter. I found your story about Sirius Black's innocence quite intriguing."

"Thank you, Mr. Tintin. I'm currently following up a lead on Mr. Black. I believe he may be living in disguise as Stubby Boardman."

"The musician?" Tintin suppressed a chuckle.

"I think Luna's onto something," Xenophilius said. "Think about it: they've never been seen together in the same room."

"That's because Black's a wanted criminal," Haddock noted. "Boardman; he's dating that awful Castafiore, isn't he?" Luna nodded. "Can't stand her. Once had her over to Marlinspike for a performance; she broke every mirror in the ballroom."

"Father thinks she's part banshee," Luna said.

"I wouldn't be the least bit surprised," Tintin said, laughing.

"You're here about the Quidditch Cup," Luna said.

"How did you know that?" Haddock asked. "Are you a mindreader?"

Xenophilius laughed loudly. "Merlin, no! We heard that a former auror was thrown out of the Ministry of Magic. It was either Moody or you, Haddock, and wherever you are Tintin is no doubt nearby."

"We were about to have lunch," Tintin said. "Would you care to join us?"

"Certainly! I want to hear all about your latest case."

"Very interesting," Lovegood said, looking up from his fish and chips as Tintin finished his summary. "So you don't buy that Ministry rot about vandals either?"

"It makes no sense," Haddock said. "The blasted ICW even denounced the investigation: called it a coverup. Too bad they're too bloody useless to intervene."

"And you've hit a snag in your sleuthing at the Ministry," Lovegood continued.

"Seems so," Tintin replied, pushing his chicken cutlet around the plate. "No doubt the Ministry will stonewall us as always."

Lovegood gave a small grin and leaned in to the reporter. "I might have a bit of a solution, my friend," he said, sotto voce. Tintin gestured for the man to continue. "I happen to have two contacts in the auror department-call them X & Y. They were the ones who were assigned the Quidditch Cup case. If you'd like I can arrange a meeting."

"That would be fantastic," Tintin said. "You're a lifesaver."

Xenophilius smiled. "Glad to be of help. However, I may need a bit of a favor in return." He reached into his bag and produced a thick manuscript. "My latest book: The Nargle (and How to Get It). A positive blurb for the cover would really help it sell."

Tintin's smile went from genuine to pasted on. "Ah, well, of course. I'd be happy to."

"Wonderful! I'll send you a copy by owl and get in touch with my contacts. When would you like to meet?"

"As soon as possible."

"Splendid! How about now?" Xenophilius sat back in his chair and waved to someone. "Thomson! Thompson! There's someone I'd like you to meet!"

"Wait, the Twins?" Haddock fell back and groaned. "Blistering barnacles, why did it have to be bloody Thomson and bloody Thompson?"

Xenophilius looked surprised. "Ah, you know them?"

"I was their commanding officer," Haddock said. "Trust me when I say they're the most bumbling buffoons the force has ever known."

"I'm sure they're not that bad," Tintin replied.

Crash!

Xenophilius and Luna winced. "Oh, dear. They appear to have fallen."

"Probably tripped over their own shoelaces," Haddock muttered.

"Each other's shoelaces, actually," Tintin said watching as a crowd gathered in a circle by the door.

"Great. Send in the clowns."

If you are enjoying the story so far, do remember to favorite, follow, and leave a comment below. And be sure to take a look at the other stories on my profile; hopefully you'll enjoy one of them as much as this one (perhaps even more(?)).