Chapter Six
Connections
Harry and Ethan sat in Harry's cubicle reviewing witness statements from the village in Wales. Unfortunately, those who had taken ill weren't in much condition to talk, and as of yet, none of them had made a connection to Gwilym Gethin.
"What if he used some sort of Memory Charm?" Ethan asked, his head, which had been propped on his elbow, popped up suddenly. "I mean, he wouldn't want to break the Statue of Secrecy and call attention to what he was doing."
Harry looked up, rubbing his groggy eyes beneath his glasses. They'd been reading over these statements all day. "It's possible. The body of one Muggle was found in the lab, but I suppose that doesn't necessarily mean he was being held there."
"Yeah, he might've tested a bunch of them, and then just held the ones who showed symptoms," Ethan said, his eyes shining.
"Or it was a new test victim. I wish we could find some sort of record of what adjustments he made – how he was able to test on Muggles," Harry mumbled, turning his attention back to the paperwork in front of him. He had a dull ache behind his eyes from reading so much small print.
"Did the team that searched the lab in St. Mungo's find anything?" Ethan asked.
"Not that I'm aware," Harry said absently, pointing to a stack of files in the corner of his cubicle. "Those are the notes we have to go through next."
Ethan groaned. They'd sent a team to St. Mungo's to search for any records of the Death Eater experiments during the war, but nothing had stood out glaringly. Harry suspected most of the records had been destroyed. Still, if any of the tests had yielded unexpected results, Harry felt certain they would've kept those notes hidden somewhere.
"There must be something in there, though. If they were testing on Muggles during the war, they had to make some alterations to sicken Muggles with magical ailments in the first place. Gethin could've used their findings in his own research," Harry said. "For now, the priority is finding if there is a connection with this Muggle sickness, and the best way to do that is through Gethin. Arthur wants to inform the Muggle Prime Minister as soon as possible if we find anything. It's going to involve working closer with the Muggles than we ever have before if it's there."
"How do you think the Muggle Prime Minister will take it?" Ethan asked.
"Dunno. I know he took over around the time the war ended, and Arthur likes him a lot. Arthur likes most Muggles," Harry said, grinning as he remembered Mr. Weasley's stories every time he had contact with the Muggle Prime Minister. Harry suspected it was far more often than necessary, and he'd bet his Quidditch tickets that Mr. Weasley made up excuses just to chat. He supposed it was good progress that they had more contact. Hopefully, it would help if they had bad news to share.
Ethan's eyes were wide and round. "I've never talked with a Muggle," he said. "D'you think I can go on any of the interviews for this case?"
"Never?" Harry asked, amazed. "How is that possible?"
Ethan shrugged. "We lived in a wizarding village in France. I did bump into one once at the station getting ready for school, but that wasn't really a conversation, and none of the cases I've worked on here involved Muggles."
"We're going to have to get you in the field then," Harry said, forgetting how secular most of the Wizarding population still was. He frequented Muggle London because he enjoyed the anonymity, but most wizards either avoided it or kept to themselves while running their errands. "You should go into a Muggle pub for lunch one day."
"I wouldn't know what to order," Ethan said, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. "What do Muggles eat?"
"Order whatever you'd usually get – the food really isn't any different. Sweets and drinks, yes, but the food is all the same," Harry said.
"What kind of sweets do they have?" Ethan asked, tilting his head to the side.
Harry grinned. "I used to nick Mars bars off my cousin at Halloween when we were kids. Chocolate bars with nougat and caramel. I liked those a lot."
"Why did you nick them? Is that something Muggles do on Halloween?" Ethan asked, putting down the folder and leaning across the desk eagerly. "Is your cousin older or younger? What did he nick from you? Or is your cousin a she?"
The rapid-fire questions made Harry shut his eyes, again forcefully returned to the Gryffindor common room where Colin frequently questioned him the same way. He wasn't about to tell Ethan that his first experience with sweets of his own came on the train with Ron before first year. "My cousin is a bloke," he said, ignoring the other questions. "Come on, Ethan, we can't move onto the next batch of files until we get through this one."
Ethan's shoulders slumped, and he looked as if a million more questions were just brimming to be asked. He pressed his lips into a firm line, however, and returned to his work.
They'd been reading for several more hours, their heads growing heavier and heavier as they both leaned on their elbows to support them, when Owen poked his head into Harry's cubicle, "Hey, what do you know?"
"I know there's absolutely nothing in these files of any use to us," Harry said grumpily. He'd always hated paperwork.
"Yeah, well, drop them," Owen said. "Follow me. Robards wants us in the small conference room. We may have something."
Both Harry and Ethan quickly dropped the files they were looking at and scrambled to their feet.
"Zeelus, you stay and continue here, I just need Potter for the meeting. We'll let you know if anything changes," Owen said, and Ethan's face fell comically.
Harry felt a surge of sympathy, but he'd been the new kid once, too, and did his share of grunt work. In fact, since he was from the first class of fast-tracked Aurors, he'd also had to deal with the disdain from older Aurors feeling he'd been given the job because of his name. His class had, at least, made it easier for the classes that came behind him.
He followed Owen to the conference room, and found Mr. Weasley, Ron and Neville already there.
"What's up?" Harry asked, looking at Ron.
"Come in and shut the door," Gawain said, wordlessly conjuring additional chairs around the small, round table. It was a tight fit, but they managed it.
"Has there been a lead?" Mr. Weasley asked, leaning forward.
"A couple of things," Robards said, running his finger over his upper lip and considering them all carefully. Finally, he slid a folder across the table towards Owen, "First off, we have a witness account of one of the infected Muggles doing business at the house where we found Gethin's remains. This is a neighbor of one of the infected Muggles, so not someone we initially took a report from. Savage, I want you and Potter to go talk to this witness – her information is all in that folder."
Owen took the folder but didn't open it, waiting to see what else Robards had to say. Robards turned his attention toward Mr. Weasley, who was still leaning forward in his chair.
"Arthur, once they speak to her, it's highly likely it will lead to confirmation of a Muggle connection. I want you to prepare a statement for the Muggle Prime Minister. Let him know we will do everything possible to contain the spread from our end, and we'll aid him in whatever way he sees fit to stop the Muggle-to-Muggle spread we fear is happening."
Mr. Weasley nodded, "I've already started, just in case. Do you have proof of it spreading between Muggles?"
"It has to be. This lead is the first potential tie to Gethin, linking our worlds. Otherwise, it's a new Muggle illness spreading amongst their population. We've confirmed a case in Cardiff that had direct contact with one of the cases in Queensferry.
"Weasley, take Williams and go the Muggle hospital in Flintshire. The infected Muggle in question was unconscious when we tried to interview him before, see if there's any change, or if you can get any more information from family members."
Ron nodded, quickly glancing at Harry, who briefly met his eyes. He wondered if these lingering symptoms of the war would follow them into their old age. Ron always worried when they followed separate leads.
"Longbottom, I want you to meet Proudfoot at the safehouse where the wizard family is being observed. The mother hasn't allowed anyone to question the teenage daughter, and we've accommodated her wishes thus far, but it's time for that to change."
"Why doesn't the mother want the daughter questioned?" Neville asked.
"I think it's just protective instincts, but she's not being rational," Robards replied.
"You think she has it, too," Harry said, and it wasn't a question.
Robards nodded. "We're waiting on the results of some tests. You should know by the time you get there, Longbottom."
"If we're going to contact the Muggles, does that mean you're ready to alert other foreign governments, as well?" Mr. Weasley asked.
Robards sighed heavily, then pressed his lips together, causing them to turn white. "Not yet," he said at last. "You might want to prepare preliminary statements, but I want to see what comes of these interviews first. Mostly, I'd like to keep it from the press as long as possible."
Harry could appreciate that, and he'd like to avoid any press involvement entirely. They had a knack for consistently making everything worse. They'd been lucky there hadn't been any leaks so far.
"Where's Unspeakable Scott?" Harry asked, assuming she'd be the one who eventually would have to handle the press.
"She's up with Amos Diggory narrowing down potential species venoms," Robards said. "I'll be certain to share any leads we may come up with. For now, let's get a move on."
The sound of scraping chairs and ruffled paper filled the air as the meeting broke apart. Owen took his folder and led the way back towards Harry's cubicle.
Selfishly, Harry hoped Ethan had made some headway on the stack of reports, then, feeling guilty, he said, "We should take Ethan on the interview. He said he's never chatted with a Muggle."
Owen stopped and turned around. "No, shit? Is he Pureblood?"
Since the war, any queries about blood status had become nearly taboo. Owen, however, never followed many social norms.
"Dunno," Harry said. "We probably should incorporate that into Auror training, anyway. This case, in particular, has a lot of Muggle crossover."
"Probably – you can suggest it to Robards. For now, let's get Ethan to lead the questioning," Owen said, grinning.
"Er… Owen, I said we should bring him, not put him in charge. We actually need answers and don't want to blow the Statue of Secrecy first off," Harry said, alarmed.
Owen shrugged and continued walking, "I think trial by fire is a necessary part of learning."
When they reached the cubicle, Ethan looked up blearily, "What did I miss?"
"Close up those files and lock them away, we've an interview to conduct. With a Muggle," Owen said, and Harry knew he was watching for the response.
As expected, Ethan stood up, looking both nervous and excited, "A Muggle? Really? And I can come?"
"Not only can you come, you're leading the questions. This is our interviewee," he said, holding up the file. Ethan's eyes grew round and wide.
"Er… me?" he asked, his voice even higher than normal.
"Yeah, you… looks like it's the next-door neighbor to one of the Muggles who contracted this thing. Wonder how she knows her neighbor had contact with Gethin?" Owen said, reading over the file.
Harry thought he did a really great job of feeding Ethan his first question without outright ordering him what to say. Once they'd all read the brief bit of information and address, they walked to the Apparition point and found themselves in Wales moments later. Naturally, it was raining.
The village of Queensferry was a small, quaint area in Flintshire set along the river Dee, near the English border. The row of townhouses behind which they'd Apparated rested just outside the wooded area where the remains of Gethin's cabin lay in ruins.
"She's in number six," Owen said, leading them around the front. They'd all transfigured their scarlet Auror robes into Muggle police uniforms. Harry remembered how he always used to like the uniforms when they came into his primary school for various presentations.
"Which one did our victim live in?" Ethan asked, staring up at the row of identical townhouses.
"Number five, next to it," Harry said, again looking up. He could see faces in the various windows ducking behind curtains when they realized he'd caught them looking. He was reminded of his Aunt Petunia and how she always loved to spy on the neighbors and whatever nonsense she'd imagined them doing. If she saw the police entering any of their homes, she'd be certain to tell all her friends and anyone listening that she'd seen them removing a body from the home in question.
Owen rang the bell to number six. It was opened very quickly by a middle-aged Muggle woman who looked them all over suspiciously.
"Yes?" she asked rather rudely. She had short, curly hair and wore a lot of make-up. Harry wondered if she had plans to go out for the evening.
"Hello, miss. We're investigating a burglary next door, and your name was mentioned in the file. We'd like to ask you a few more questions," Owen said politely, smiling most charmingly – at least he always told Harry women found him charming.
Apparently, he was correct because the woman's entire face lit up, and she lowered her lashes demurely. "Oh, by all means. Come in, come in," she said, opening the door wide.
The investigating team had all used the burglary story as a cover to gain interviews with the Muggles while they tried to trace where they'd become ill. From what Harry had seen, the majority of folk enjoyed talking about themselves after the first few questions.
This woman led them into her sitting room where she perched on the edge of a frilly and – Harry thought – uncomfortable-looking arm chair. She gestured toward the sofa where Owen, Ethan and Harry sat down. It wasn't an overly large sofa, and Harry felt rather uncomfortable being squashed in between his two colleagues. The Muggle had eyes only for Owen, but he stared expectantly at Ethan, who looked rather panicked.
"Er… yes… we were reading the case file from your neighbor, Mr. Tom Keaton, and it said you might have some additional information," Ethan stammered.
The woman puckered her lips, frowning. "Now, it's not as if I stick my nose into other people's business," she said, and Harry suspected that is exactly what she did. He was even more reminded of his aunt always spying on the innocent neighbors.
"Of course, you don't," Owen said, flashing his teeth.
The woman's relaxed her shoulders, rosy color filling her cheeks, "But, of course I want to help in any way I can. You say Tom was burglarized? Well, I'm not one to spread rumors, but I would've pegged him as the one doing the thieving." She fluttered her eyelashes, looking at all of them for their reactions.
Ethan immediately tried to refocus her. "What? No… the report says–"
"What makes you say that, miss?" Owen asked, cutting Ethan off. Harry gave Ethan a brief shake of his head, telling him to let her keep going. Ethan would learn that they often obtained more substantial information by letting witnesses continue without interruption.
"Well, he was always so secretive of what he did for work. I can't tell you how many times I've invited him 'round for tea, but he always had somewhere to be. A lot of odd jobs, you know? Anything to earn a few pounds. One day, I noticed him sneaking off into the woods behind us," she said, as if this was the most scandalous thing anyone could've done.
"I don't suppose you have any idea what he was doing in the woods, do you?" Harry asked. If she was really like Aunt Petunia, he'd bet she'd followed him.
"Of course, she does," Owen said, acting scandalized. "Why, I bet you've thought of becoming a constable yourself, with those observation skills of yours."
Harry really thought Owen was selling it too hard and she'd see right through him, so he was surprised when she fluttered her eyelashes even more quickly, staring only at Owen and continuing breathlessly, "I do always try to be aware of things around me, and I was curi… er concerned about what he might be up to, so… one afternoon this past winter, I followed him."
"You did?" Ethan yelped. "Where did he go? Did he see you?"
Owen waved Ethan off, glaring a stern warning. "Of course, she knew not to get caught," he said slyly, waving on the doting woman. "What did you see?"
"There's this path along the wood – a rather well-worn path, so it wasn't difficult to follow. There's this little glen, about a ten-minute walk from the village, and it contains a cabin. I saw this funny little man come outside to greet Tom when he arrived."
"Were you close enough to hear what they said?" Harry asked, envisioning the scene in his mind's eye.
The woman frowned, perturbed. "Not entirely, only a few words. I couldn't get close enough without being seen. It sounded like they were talking about scars, of all things. Now, mind, this funny man had a horribly disfigured face, and I know Tom has some horrible scars on his back."
"Scars on his back?" Owen said.
"Yes, he's quick to put on a shirt if anyone comes by, but I caught a glimpse of them once when he was working on his car around back. It was a very hot day, so I went to offer him a cold drink, mind."
"How very thoughtful of you," Owen said, and Harry couldn't help rolling his eyes. Fortunately, the Muggle woman missed it because her attention was entirely on Owen – and he knew it. Harry was well aware Owen would be preening like a peacock by the time they returned to the Ministry.
"The two went inside, and I crept closer to the window, but… for some reason I couldn't see inside or hear them anymore," the woman said, pouting.
"How long did he stay there?" Owen asked as if she was telling him the most fascinating story he'd ever heard.
"Well, I don't really know. I waited a bit, but I didn't have all day to stand around in the wood, and the wind was cold, so I went home," she said primly. "Do you think that little man was the thief? D'you suppose he and Tom could've been in on something together, perhaps trying to swindle his insurance company?"
"That's certainly something we'll have to look into," Owen said.
"Thank you very much for your help. We'll keep your name on record if we think of anything else," Harry said, taking the lead himself or he didn't think the woman would ever let Owen leave.
"You have to go already?" she asked, clearly disappointed.
"We have to get back to work, but you've been most helpful," Owen said, shaking her hand as Harry ushered them all toward the door.
"Well, come back any time if you have any more questions," she said. "You know where I live."
Once they were outside, the woman bidding them numerous farewells, Harry muttered under his breath, "Don't Disapparate until we're on the side of the building where she won't have a window to notice," he said, certain that, much like Aunt Petunia would, the woman was watching them intently as they walked away.
/* /* /* /*
By the time Harry arrived home for dinner, Ron and Hermione were already there. Ginny, who was on a light summer schedule before the season really began in August, had prepared dinner for all of them, and they were seated at the kitchen island, their plates already filled. Harry sank gratefully onto a stool and pulled some of the bangers and mash towards him, his mouth watering from the smell.
"Long day?" Ginny asked, leaning over to ruffle his hair and kiss him hello.
Harry nodded. "You don't know the half of it. I had to listen to Owen flirting outrageously with a Muggle witness, then nod appropriately as he went on and on about how thoroughly charming he is. It's a wonder he can get his head through a door."
Ron snorted. "He does seem to have a lot of dates."
While this was true, Harry wasn't in the mood to be generous. It had been a long afternoon listening to the gloating.
"Why was he flirting with a witness? That doesn't seem very professional," Hermione asked, startled.
"Have you met Owen, Hermione? Tell me one time he hasn't flirted with you," Ginny said, handing Harry a Butterbeer. "He likes to imagine himself a great gift to witches everywhere."
"Well, yes, but… that's not the point. Weren't you on an interview?" Hermione asked.
Harry took a long swig of his Butterbeer while nodding, "Yeah, I think we made the connection between Muggles and Gethin, actually. We reported everything we learned to Robards when we came back, and he's going to alert Unspeakable Scott."
"Dad'll be happy. I heard him practicing his talk with the Muggle Prime Minister when I stopped by his office," Ron said. "I didn't get a chance to see if Neville had any luck. Did you talk to him?"
"No, I never saw him. We went right into the meeting with Robards, and most everyone had left by the time we were finished. How did it go at the hospital?" Harry asked.
Ron shrugged. "Nothing new. The Muggle we went to see was awake, but he wasn't in his right mind – ranting and raving like a lunatic. He called me a leprechaun," he said indignantly.
Ginny sprayed her Butterbeer as she was overcome with giggles. "No wonder Dad loves Muggles so much," she said, once she regained control.
Hermione grinned, "Yes, well… you do fit their image. Do you think they're going to inform the Prime Minister, then?"
Harry swallowed a mouthful of his dinner, nodding. "Yeah, I think so. Robards said he wanted some proof of a connection first, and now he has one. I'd bet that's what he and Vivian are discussing now."
Hermione made an odd sort of harumff noise as she scooped more potatoes onto her plate.
"You don't think they should? I thought you wanted the Muggles alerted," Harry asked, surprised.
"No, I think they should've been notified immediately, but I was overruled," she said sourly.
Harry knew that Hermione and Vivian had clashed about it, but he didn't want to get involved between the two strong-willed witches. "I heard you were looking into potential venoms today. Did you find anything?" he asked instead.
"Possibly. I have a few creatures with venoms of lower toxicity in mind, but Vivian is obsessed with Billywigs. While it's true their venom causes giddiness, I've never seen it without the levitation aspect, and this illness hasn't had the merest hint of anyone randomly levitating. That would certainly cause hysteria in the Muggle world. I'm more inclined to think the Glumbumble's melancholy treacle can be manipulated. Vivian seemed quite ready to listen to me yesterday, but today she's right back on her Billywig idea. Honestly, neither creature produces the exact symptoms, and it could just as likely be something else entirely," Hermione said. "I think she's just being stubborn."
"So, you're still looking then?" Harry asked.
"Yes, but Amos Diggory keeps trying to shoot down Vivian's ideas, but he can't deny their validity, so he can't rule them out entirely, either, and it's making him rather cross," Hermione said, dropping her fork back on her plate without eating anything.
"He's not the only one," Ron said under his breath, and Hermione scowled at him.
"I know Vivian has a reputation of being hard to work with," Harry said delicately, remembering Mr. Weasley's words. He thought Hermione seemed both awestruck yet intimidated at the same time. It was an interesting paradox. "And everyone in the Department of Mysteries is always secretive."
"Oh, she's impossible," Hermione said, fuming. "She always thinks her way is the only logical way of doing anything."
The other three stared at her, dumbfounded. Harry quickly took another sip of his Butterbeer.
"I can't imagine dealing with anyone like that," Ron said, impressively keeping his face perfectly straight.
"Oh, I know how exceptionally bright she is, and quite honestly, she can talk rings around Amos, and she's always correct, but there's no need to talk to him as if he's dense," Hermione said.
"Wow. This doesn't sound at all familiar," Ron said, grinning at Hermione's rapidly darkening face.
Harry and Ginny glanced at one another, both sensing the oncoming row so they dug quickly into their own dinners.
"If you're talking about me, you're obviously not paying attention to what I actually said, Ronald," Hermione said.
"You mean to tell me that you're not anything like an exceptionally bright witch at the Ministry who likes to always be right and prove to those more inferior how she's right by telling them how inferior their thinking is? And you're going to prove this point by telling me how inferior my thinking is in comparing you?" Ron asked incredulously.
"That's not what I said," Hermione snapped. "You misunderstood my point about not talking down to co-workers."
Ron quirked an eyebrow. "Ha! Now's the part where you tell me I'm missing the point and storm upstairs to slam the door."
"I'm not storming anywhere, Ron. You're purposefully twisting my words, and I'm not going to have this conversation while you're being this way." Hermione placed her Butterbeer on the counter top with exaggerated purpose and strode slowly from the room.
"Well, that went–" Harry began, but Ron silenced him by putting his finger in the air, tilting his head, listening.
A moment later, the sound of door slamming from somewhere above echoed down the stairs.
"I love it when she realizes I made a point," Ron said, grinning foolishly.
Harry pursed his lips, controlling a grin. "So, I expect it'll be another night on the sofa for you then, eh?"
Ron's head swiveled back to Harry, and he swore violently.
This time, Harry really did grin. "I don't think that's happening tonight, mate."
"Er, Ron… not that I don't enjoy watching you stick your foot in it, but you probably should go after her," Ginny said, clearly amused. "She does like it when you grovel."
"Nah," Ron said, spearing another sausage on his fork. "She'll come back. She's too afraid she might miss something if we're talking about the case. Just give her a few minutes."
"Where's George tonight?" Harry asked, deciding long ago that he'd never understand the intricacies of the relationship between his two best friends.
"He hasn't come home yet. I don't think he's made it for dinner once this week," Ginny said, pointing to where she'd put a plate aside for him.
"He can't keep this up. I mean, it's great that business is so good, but he really needs to hire more people," Ron said.
"I know. I think he doesn't want to admit that he can't do it alone," Ginny said. "I worked a few hours this morning, but I think I was more a distraction than a help." Since Ginny had begun playing on the Harpies' first team, she'd drawn a lot of her own fans who would converge on the shop if she was there, looking for autographs.
"It's a bit like being Harry," she said, nudging him in the ribs. Harry couldn't really help out at the shop for the same reason, unless he stayed back in the storeroom.
"You're always a distraction to me," he said happily.
"Urgh," Ron said, pulling his head away. "What have I told you about that soppy stuff?"
"You're just jealous that Harry's going to get some tonight," Ginny said, smirking.
"Am I?" Harry asked, perking up.
"Most definitely," Ginny replied, causing Ron to get up from the counter and take his plate to the sink.
"I've lost my appetite," he said.
"You were on your third plateful, Ron. Don't expect a lot of sympathy," Ginny said, also beginning to clear the plates.
Harry took them from her and handed her another Butterbeer, "You cooked, we'll clean up."
"Hark, look who's counting," Ron said, turning the water on in the sink as the dishes began washing themselves.
"Counting what?" George asked, entering the kitchen and slumping onto a stool. The ever-present bags beneath his eyes looked painful, and his shoulders sagged once he sat down.
Ginny immediately stood to grab the plate she'd set aside for him and placed it in front of him.
"Thanks, Mum," he said tiredly.
Ginny frowned, "Get smart with me, and I can vanish it just as easily."
George pulled the plate closer, shaking his head. "No! I take it back. Thank you, oh gracious sister. Whatever can I do to show my appreciation for your thoughtfulness?"
"Well, that's a good start," she said, smirking. "Was it busy today?"
"It's busy every day," George said, savoring his first mouthful.
"When are you going to get some help, George? You can't keep up this pace, it's killing you," Ginny said, frowning at her obviously exhausted brother.
"Yeah, mate – there's really no need to work yourself like a house-elf. You should focus on the inventing end, and let someone else handle operations," Ron said, leaving the dishes washing in the sink and rejoining them at the counter.
"Who's going to be able to do that? Lee is too busy with commentating the games on the ActionTwin, Quidditch starts next month so Ginny'll be unavailable, and you two can't just abandon your cases to help me out," George said, exasperated.
"So? You can put an advert is the Daily Prophet outlining what skills you need," Ginny said, speaking very slowly like she did to Teddy when he was having a tantrum.
"It's a family business," George said, not looking up.
"It can still be a family business with some help. Verity and Eileen aren't family and you don't mind them being there. Although, Verity is very easy on the eyes," Ron said, speaking the last sentence very quietly even without Hermione in the room.
"They're great on register and keeping the line moving, but there needs to be someone there if there's a problem or to deal with thievery," George said, moodily.
"What you need is an assistant. Someone to manage things so you don't always have to be there when you're open," Ron said.
"You sound like Angie," George said, focusing on his dinner plate rather than any of their faces.
"Ah, so that's why you're rowing? Because she told you some truths you didn't want to hear. She has your best interests at heart, you know. You can't keep up like this, George," Ginny said.
"Fred wouldn't have wanted you to burn out, mate. The shop is to create laughter," Harry said in a low voice.
"I know… It just seems like… like I'm betraying him or something if I take on a partner," George said, squirming on his stool.
"It doesn't have to be a partner. An assistant manager would be a huge help. Hire two if you don't want to give someone else too much control," Harry suggested.
"Maybe," George said, noncommittedly.
"Maybe what?" Hermione asked, reentering the kitchen to find them all still huddled around the counter-top.
"Ah, I knew you'd be back," Ron said, grinning.
"I came to get a cup of tea," Hermione said, pointing her wand at the kettle. It boiled instantly. As she very slowly and precisely prepared her tea, she asked, "What are you talking about?"
"About George getting some help at the shop," Harry said, hoping she'd let the earlier disagreement go and come and join them. He always preferred when they all were getting along. He'd learned a long time ago – after many meals with the Weasleys had deteriorated into bickering and squabbling – that families didn't always get along harmoniously. Still, he liked it when they were all together and happy.
"I didn't say I was going to – just thinking about it," George said, grumbling.
"Apparently Angelina isn't talking to him because he's being a bull-headed prat," Ginny said, smirking.
George's head shot up, his ear very red, "She never called me that."
"Not to your face, anyway," Ron mumbled.
"Yeah, I'm sure she's saying it behind your back," Ginny said, nodding.
George rolled his eyes, again refocusing on his cooling dinner. "Oh, aren't you lot so worth coming home to?"
Hermione brought her tea over and sat at the counter. Ron grinned smugly at Harry and Ginny over her head. "So, why don't you want help?" Hermione asked George.
"All right! I said I'd think about it, didn't I? What did you lot do today beside interfering where you weren't asked?" George inquired, clearly at the end of his patience.
"We're all still trying to work out what's in that potion I told you about – the one that causes confusion and memory loss," Harry said, recognizing that George had had enough needling.
They hadn't confided in George about the illness, as per Kingsley's orders, but instead they used the cover story of a mysterious potion that they'd found on their raid in Diagon Alley.
"Hermione's looking into Billy whatsits and Glumby somethings," Ron said. "Trying to see if their venom was used."
"Billywigs and Glumbumbles," Hermione corrected automatically. "Both have elements that can cause confusion."
"Why just venoms? Why not look into plants?" George asked.
"What… like different potion ingredients, you mean?" Harry asked.
"Well, things like scurvy-grass, lovage and sneezewort are common in Befuddlement Draughts, but there are some rarer things that'll cause similar results, like Alihotsy leaves. I use a lot of them in various products," George said.
Hermione's eyes opened wide. "I think Vivian mentioned something about Alihotsy leaves… earlier today when we were talking about the Glumbumbles. The hysteria the leaves produce can temper their melancholy."
"So, she is looking at other options. I reckoned she would," Harry said, not at all surprised Vivian knew what Hermione was talking about, even if it sounded like a foreign language to him.
"She only mentioned that one," Hermione said, her voice still having that dreamy quality she always had when she was caught up in her own head.
"Trust me, I'd bet my broom she's brewing several cauldrons down in the Department of Mysteries trying to duplicate whatever Gethin was making," Harry said.
"D'you reckon she knows more than she's saying?" Ron asked.
"Of course, but she doesn't know for certain, or she wouldn't need any of us," Harry said.
"Well, now that I've given you all more to ponder, I'm going up to bed. Thanks for dinner, Ginny. I need to be back at the shop early to decide how to display the new line of Daydream Charms," George said, rubbing his eyes.
"What's new about them?" Harry asked, noting how George never referred to any of his new inventions as "his." He always used a neutral term like 'the' or 'an.'
George smirked, but it was Ginny who answered, "These are ones designed for adults, right – more fantasy-inducing than daydreams?"
Ginny looked particularly pleased about them, and something about her expression alerted Harry that he needed to ask her more about it when they were alone.
"Well, of-age students would still be all right," George said, tilting his head to the side.
"Ah, you don't want parents to catch on, then," Ron said, grinning. "Wouldn't want them thinking their little dears were hiding in the same broom cupboards they used to hide in," Ron said, chuckling.
"Right in one, little bro," George said, "but I still need them to sell, as I think they're a potential Galleon mine."
"Why don't you make them owl-order only? Then, students can order without parental knowledge, and adults can order without being embarrassed about it. That way, you don't have to do all the selling on your own, either. Anyone can fill mail orders," Ron said, scratching his ear.
George looked rather stunned. "Er, Ron… that's clever. I could just tell the girls at the shop to mention it to customers looking at the old Daydream Charms."
"Or, you could slip a flyer in everyone's bag alerting them to watch the owl-order form for new additions," Hermione said.
George nodded absently, his mind obviously awhirl with thoughts and planning. "Thanks," he mumbled, heading upstairs.
"Well, I'm glad that's settled," Ron said, amused.
"It was a very good marketing strategy, Ron," Hermione said rather stiffly.
"Er… thanks, and you, too… with the forms in bags idea," Ron said, nudging her shoulder.
Harry and Ginny rolled their eyes at each other.
The four friends finished tidying up the kitchen – Harry doing his usual Aunt-Petunia-like wipe-down – and headed up to their own bedrooms. Ginny stuck her hand inside Harry's, giving it a quick squeeze.
Harry kicked the door closed behind him and took her in his arms, feeling as if all his tension and other cares were draining away. "So, tell me, what did you do all day?" he asked.
"We had a photo shoot for that upcoming charity exhibition match," she said, wrinkling her nose as she pulled away to pull her night things out of a drawer.
Harry paused, admiring the view as she slipped another one of his T-shirts over her head. An orange Chudley Cannons logo blared across the front, something Ron had once given him, he was sure. It looked much better on her than it ever had on him. "You didn't enjoy having them tell you repeatedly where to look?" he asked, grinning and thinking of the loads of reporters that were always shouting at him, wanting photos.
Ginny sat at her vanity beside the bed and picked up a hairbrush, beginning to tug it through her long mane. "I know it's for charity, but it all seems so ridiculous. They should use pictures from actual games, not these stupid posed shots. And I don't think Gwenog even agreed to the whole thing for purely philanthropic reasons," she said, wincing as the brush hit a tangle.
Once he'd finished changing his clothes, he moved over to her vanity and took the brush from her, beginning to gently undo the tangle, "What makes you say that?" He knew the Harpies were facing off against the Montrose Magpies to raise funds for St. Mungo's Hospital in a match set to happen before the actual season began.
Ginny closed her eyes, obviously enjoying his ministrations, "During every break she was coaching us on what to watch for. I think she's preparing a strategy for when we face the Magpies later during the actual season."
"Of course, she is, wouldn't you?" Harry asked, laughing.
"Naturally, but I think I could be far less blatant about it. She lacks the skill of subtlety," Ginny said, putting her nose in the air in an expression Harry found adorable.
"Does she, now? I suppose since you've always been very good at getting away with things, you might have a point," Harry said, the brush now flowing smoothly through her hair, flecks of gold playing of the dim oil lamps on the walls of the room.
"Of course, I do. I'm very clever, you know," she said, her bright eyes twinkling mischievously.
"I'm not so bad myself. I did pass my Stealth Qualification with flying colors," Harry said, grinning into the mirror so she could see.
"Yes, but I'm not sure how. I mean, you have that emotionless mask thing down pat, but it all goes to hell once someone gets to know you, and the way you show off that scar – it's a bit… attention grabbing, know what I mean?" Ginny said, bolting from the vanity, giggling madly as he reached to catch her. She climbed up on the bed, scrambling away from him and gave a little shriek as he grabbed her ankle, yanking her back towards him.
"Attention grabbing, am I? I'll show you attention grabbing," he said, tickling her sides until she begged him to stop.
He climbed into bed next to her, grinning smugly. "I'm very stealthy."
"Of course, you are," Ginny said, still giggling.
"Speaking of stealth, what d'you know about George's new Daydream Charms? You looked way too guilty about them, by the way," Harry asked.
Ginny's cheeks turned a delightful rosy pink color. "Oh… um… d'you remember that dream I told you about, the one where we shared a broom…"
Harry turned toward her, shocked. "You didn't tell him about that," he yelped, feeling his own face filling with color. That dream was definitely not brother-sharing material.
Ginny smirked and she scooted over, straddling him, "Well, perhaps not all the details, but… he got the idea. He's adding a vibration spell that can be added to wands." She leaned over, kissing him soundly. She ran her hand gently along his chest, making him shiver.
Harry gasped as she reached her hands between them, adjusting him. Suddenly finding it rather difficult to breathe steadily, he found he really didn't care what she'd revealed after all…
Author's Note: Thanks to my awesome betas – Sherilyn, Arnel and Sue for all their comments and suggestions. It's truly thanks to them that this all came together.
I like to have a little buffer of what I'm posting compared to what I'm writing, so the first few chapters always sit for a while. It's the comments from these three that kept me moving.
Please continue to review! It always gives me a thrill to hear your thoughts on the story! Stay safe and be well, everyone!
