Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Twelve

Harry Potter, Official Visitor

Harry was speechless.

"You…," he tried, before giving up and simply waving a hand.

Daphne was visibly delighted.

"Thank-you, Harry!" she said.

"Have you told anyone of your, ah, suspicions?" Harry asked.

"And spoil all the fun?" Daphne asked, just a bit incredulous. "Harry, tsk-tsk."

"Well, I don't know how long it will last, it's just that it solves several problems for Kingsley, all at once. He could come up with something he likes better six months from now, and that will be that," Harry summarized. "Now, tomorrow, I have a full morning, but if things go according to schedule, I'm done following lunch with Professor Goldstein at the faculty club. We have to coordinate return by port key. The first one is scheduled for two p.m., which would be seven at Greengrass Manor. With luck, the two o'clock port key could have us back in time for the Honorable Miss Iolanthe Astoria's dinner."

"Well, I have a little separate program planned, as you know," Daphne said. "There really is a conference right here, at Columbia. I think they'll allow me to register. How will we meet?"

"Have you been to MACUSA? The portkeys will be there, allegedly," said Harry.

"I've been there," Daphne said. "Could you confide in your counterpart that your wife will be along and would like to portkey back with you? I would hope they'd admit me, after I'd let them peruse my wand, but you never know. Security today, even at St. Mungo's…"

"I don't recall saying anything about an alleged counterpart," Harry said.

"You didn't need to," said Daphne. "You came all this way, and you'll be do-gooding for Ilvermorny and getting the return portkey arranged by MACUSA. You'll need to be on a first name basis with whomever you'll be working with, once you're sworn in. Besides, you are (Daphne leaned whisper-close) Harry Potter and that person will want to meet you. Probably in the context of coffee with the MACUSA equivalent of the Head Auror, who you probably already know, considering your history."

"It says here," Harry said, reaching into his jacket and coming up with his schedule, "my transportation departs the hotel at seven and at seven-ten I commence being Madam President's guest for breakfast, there at MACUSA."

"He'll be at breakfast. He'll be at your table, along with the Head Auror, and the prez. She might have her Percy with her, or Hermione. Have you met either one of those?" Daphne asked.

"Percy's rough equivalent attended some meetings in London last year," Harry said. "I was on convalescent leave at the time, but Kingsley had me come to one meeting as a supernumerary because I was personally familiar with some subject matter that Ralph wasn't. Darn it, Daphne. How do you see it all so clearly?"

"Done?" Daphne asked, her face appearing just slightly smug. "Let's pay up and get some air. This is a delightful pizza joint but the oxygen is becoming a little too depleted for me."

Harry did some rough addition while he waited for the waiter to come by, pulled a few bills off his walking-around roll, and was ready to pay when the check arrived.

"I'll bring your change, sir," said the waiter.

"Not necessary," Harry said, reaching for Daphne's shopping bag as he stood.

"Thank-YOU, sir," the waiter said. "Please come back again."

The evening air was very pleasant outside. Harry pulled Daphne aside and waved his wand up and down before both of them, putting simple occlusionary and muffliato charms in place so they could walk and talk with some privacy.

"To answer your question, it's all just watching organizations over time. They're all pretty much the same. My director knows his opposite number in the magical hospitals in the larger U.S. cities. I've met my counterpart in the major magical hospital here, once, and should probably start planning more trips and sending some invitations. Why should the ministry and MACUSA be any different?" Daphne asked.

"There are transnational magical phenomena that will be of interest to you both and you will need to coordinate," said Daphne. "At the same time, we healers get into situations that require conflict abatement. A British wizard could have a situation arise requiring treatment in the States or Canada. That could lead to disagreements due to differences in laws or healing culture. What would the probability be that something similar happens between your two offices, giving due consideration for the difference in subject matter?"

Harry sighed. "One hundred percent."

"It's not hard," Daphne said. "Human organizations tend to replicate their structures regardless of the issues they're established to address. Thus the range of institutional response is determined by the total set of possible responses. The positions get different labels but the function is the same."

"At least," Daphne said, "That is my theory, as a country bumpkin witch."

"Country bumpkin magical polymath, more likely," Harry said. "I do hope you'll have time to spend with me on this kind of conversation, between being the perfect mother for our precocious daughter and the chief of service. I think there may be some challenges ahead."

Daphne reached under Harry's arm, linking it with hers.

"That would not be a new situation for us, though, would it?" Daphne asked.

Harry was at a loss for a response. "No," seemed inadequate for the scope of Daphne's question.

After an uneventful night in their hotel, Harry and Daphne got up refreshed and looking forward to an interesting day. Daphne had gotten Harry a tie on her shopping expedition the day before, and he noticed the color scheme featured emerald green, a color to which Daphne was most partial.

"Slytherin?" Harry said, holding up the tie.

"Harry, honestly," Daphne said. "It's just a green tie. Look at the pin dots. Do you like pin dots, because I almost got you a navy tie with medium white dots. I got the green because it will make the green come out in your eyes."

Harry looked at the pin dots. They were amber. When Daphne was sufficiently angered, her blue-gray eyes turned amber. It didn't sound rational, but Harry had observed it personally, and just accepted it as one of those magical things for which there might not be an explanation.

A question about the color scheme of his tie occurred to him.

"Is this thing enchanted?" he asked.

"Sometimes, a tie is just a tie," Daphne responded, deftly not answering Harry's question.

Harry didn't judge. He accepted the possibility that Daphne had fitted him out with an enchanted tie, one that had the capability of keeping an eye on him for her, and that, at the very least, would be a little reminder of Daphne every time he looked at it. A nice, unobtrusive, just-between-Harry-and-Daphne talisman, he thought.

Of course, he also had to consider the alternate possibility that Daphne had just bought him a tie—a generic muggle tie in a dominant color that would go well with his eyes. Either way, he'd still get his regular dose of Daphne-recollection every time he looked at the tie.

Harry's escort and transportation was due at 0700, so he and Daphne left their room a few minutes before seven and went down to the lobby. Daphne knew her way to the Columbia campus and the conference. She planned to walk across town, using some occlusion to be discreet. Both she and Harry thought that would be sufficient as a security measure.

MACUSA was housed in an unplottable building. Harry had visited twice before, on official working trips, and still questioned his ability to find it on his own. The transportation arrangements referred to in his schedule worked perfectly, though, and he was soon being greeted in the lobby of the president's office suite, followed by a short walk to a private dining room. Harry was seated between the president and his counterpart.

The functions of magical and muggle governments do not match up precisely, so it would be a mistake to assume that Horace Slughorn, and his successor, Harry Potter, were equivalent to muggle intelligence directors. There were some elements that were very similar, but the nature of magic meant the spectrum of concerns was much broader for magical departments.

Harry, looking around the table after the introductions, was only semi-surprised to see that Daphne's prediction was, by and large, correct. The president of MACUSA was to his left, and his counterpart director to his right. The president's assistant, roughly the position equivalent to Percy Weasley's junior minister slot, was next, then the head auror. Daphne even anticipated Hermione's equivalent, MACUSA's Director of the Bureau of Research. The director sat through breakfast without saying a word, although he did nod, shrug, smile, and adopt a serious demeanor at appropriate times.

Harry thought he was prepared for Ilvermorny, having read a pile of information Hermione had sent over on the school's origins and history through the years. He was mistaken. Harry was barely able exchange greetings with the school director after he and the PMACUSA arrived by port key. It was well-known among magicals that Ilvermorny sat on a mountain whose peak was perpetually obscured by fog. What Harry had not expected was a fogless view from the top of the mountain looking out and down on the surrounding countryside.

"Don't worry, Mr. Potter," said the school director. "We have all had trouble with the view when we first arrive."

"Sunny uplands," Harry said.

"Always a treat," said the president.

The director conducted the party to the faculty lounge, where the president and Harry were introduced to the faculty and staff. Ilvermorny had a dining hall of similar size to Hogwarts', and the students and faculty convened there for the ceremonial check presentation.

Harry was introduced and made appropriate remarks, encouraging all the students with an interest in magical education to consider applying for the Dumbledore Fellowship, and come to Hogwarts or Beauxbatons for a year. The director accepted the check and said a few appreciative words about his late friend and colleague Albus Dumbledore, and used the occasion to quote Dumbledore regarding looking for the light when it seems darkest.

Harry thought he remembered Dumbledore making that comment at the start of term feast for his sixth year. If the director didn't get Dumbledore's words just right, he was fairly close, and the sentiment was truly heartfelt. With the convocation complete, the president returned to New York via port key, and Harry was turned over to the director for a tour of Ilvermorny.

Harry enjoyed the tour. Ilvermorny was not encrusted with a thousand years of patinated treasures that were magically significant or simply too precious to clean, paint, adapt or move out to make room for something new. There was plenty of history about, but Ilvermorny's students, faculty and alumni had also kept up with evolving notions of design, architecture and color palettes. Harry found the jumble of styles and ideas somehow, however unlikely, to be a harmonious record of the generations of creative witches and wizards who had passed through Ilvermorny over the years.

It was the quidditch pitch, though, that really piqued Harry's interest. Over the years, Hogwarts' pitch had been modified for Tri-Wizard tournaments, destroyed by dragons, leveled in battle, and yet, somehow, managed to be repaired and rebuilt looking exactly the same. Harry had seen new lumber delivered and finished grandstands made from the lumber looking exactly like the old wrecks they'd replaced. Harry knew it had to be for supernatural reasons, but he'd never sorted out just how. From time to time he thought of asking Hermione to task her Unspeakables with a little research, but it always slipped his mind.

Ilvermorny, on the other hand, sported a perfectly-groomed pitch enclosed in a concrete oval. The seats for partisans of the different houses were picked out in their house colors. The remainder had faculty, family, and general admission sections, also designated by the color of the commodious seats. The school director, the flying instructor, and the quidditch captains were Harry's guides and escorts. They proudly showed him the individual house dressing and locker rooms, the physical education offices, visitors' dressing rooms, and the first aid unit. It was the pitch, though, that stopped Harry in his tracks.

The party walked onto the field through the same tunnel the competitors used. In the instant Harry stepped out of the shade of the tunnel into the sunlight that drenched the emerald green field, he was transported back to Hogwarts and his entrances there. Two teams were scrimmaging, the seekers high above, tossing a captured snitch in the air, capturing it, and tossing it up again for the next seeker.

Harry stood watching, involved in the beauty of the game, the seeming chaos of bludgers and quaffles, beaters and chasers that was, somehow, played at their level of skill, as regular as clockworks.

"Broom, Mr. Potter?" asked one of the captains, extending his hand.

Harry looked at the late model Firebolt. He knew he shouldn't, but he automatically accepted, aligned himself with the broomstick and kicked off. The first few players who saw Harry launch held up hands and started calling out "Stop play, stop play!" to the others. Quaffles were tucked under arms and beaters went after bludgers to keep them clear of the visitor. Harry circled the outer perimeter of the pitch on his way up to the seekers. There were four, altogether, two from each team. Two of the four were showing signs of recent injuries, so Harry surmised the others were the reserves who were getting a little playing time while their teammates awaited their medical clearances.

Harry stopped and shook hands with each seeker in turn. He was invited and promised to attend a game at Ilvermorny next season. On his way back down to the ground, Harry spoke to each of the beaters, chasers and keepers, just to make it even for everyone. As he landed at the field end of the tunnel, Harry looked up and saw a familiar face a short way into the stands.

Done flying, Harry handed his borrowed Firebolt back to its owner.

"Thanks!" he said. "Firebolts are still the best, if you ask me."

"Once in awhile, our flying instructor approves an informal game, students, alumni, distinguished visitor…" said the captain.

"If I can get away," Harry said, "I'll be here."

The party turned toward the tunnel.

"And that's the grand tour, Mr. Potter," said the director, summing up.

"Well, that was impressive," Harry said. "I'm glad I came, and I'll look forward to returning."

Harry wasn't surprised to see Blaise waiting outside the exit from the stands. He'd been given to understand, at breakfast, his transport to Princeton was arranged, and he'd be informed of the details a little closer to his actual departure. Somehow, Blaise seemed to be the obvious choice to show him to his ride, whatever form that might take.

"Harry," Blaise said, as the party approached him on the gravel path.

"Blaise," Harry said. "You're getting me to Princeton? I mentioned it at breakfast, but Daphne is going to be showing up this afternoon looking to hitch a ride home with me. Know anything about that?"

"Yes, and yes," Blaise said. "Once the final farewells are over, you'll get a port key and Professor Goldstein will welcome you to Princeton. There's a tour and lunch. You should be back to MACUSA well before the two p.m. port key activates."

"Let me proceed with the final formalities, then," Harry said.

"Mr. Director, it seems my ride is here," Harry said. "Do we have any more of your excellent program to complete?"

"Oh, not at all, Mr. Potter," said the director. "If you're all set we'll just part here."

"My distinguished classmate, Mr. Zabini, is ready to take me in hand, then," Harry said. "Please keep Professor McGonagall informed of any opportunities for further cooperation. I'm sure she'll be interested."

There followed a round of handshakes that included Blaise and resulted in some 'Nice to meet you' and 'Sorry to see you go so soon' sentiments. Blaise and Harry left with a final wave and walked up onto a little knob that looked out over a wide valley bracketed by wooded slopes and finished off with a tiny silver ribbon of river at the bottom.

"Nice, but Hogwarts has all of that history," Blaise observed.

"True," Harry said, then, with a little regret evident in his voice, "but that quidditch pitch…"

"Change of subject," Harry went on. "How much time do I have?"

Blaise checked his watch, reached in his pocket and pulled out a tie clip, which he fastened onto Harry's tie.

"A little under two minutes," he said.

"Ah," Harry said, "That should give you time to explain what you were doing in Fort de France, just hanging out on the street right across from an obscure building that ought to be falling down, if it weren't for the magic holding it up."

"Private trip, Harry," Blaise said. "I like the Caribbean. I've been to Guadeloupe a few times. I saw the front windows of that building flash green, so I strolled over to keep an eye on it. You just told me you were in Fort de France as well. What were you doing there?"

Harry looked closely at Blaise. He decided that Blaise knew enough and had been around him enough to have already done Harry any harm he might have wanted to do, so he might as well trust him now.

"Daphne knows the floos for Fabio's offices" Harry said. "She suggested taking those instead of the port key from the Blacks' in case that was compromised. Pretty good thinking, since I was told I was moving the item because word had leaked. I don't know how widely known those connections are, so I'd appreciate you keeping quiet about them. You never know. I might need a contingency plan someday."

"Don't worry," Blaise said. "Getting on the wrong side of the Greengrass family is not a life goal of mine."

It was almost time for the port key to activate. Harry looked down at the tie clip and had just enough time to see that the medallion on the end of the gold bar was a Slytherin Quidditch Captain pin.

"Blaise! What the…" he began, as the port key whisked him off to Princeton, New Jersey. The last thing he saw was the look of delight on Blaise' face.

"Welcome, Harry," said Robert Goldstein, extending his hand. Harry had done pretty well on his landing but did drop to one knee.

"Great to be here, nice to see you again, Professor," Harry said.

"Can we be Robert and Harry?" the professor asked. "It's up to you, but it simplifies things."

"I'd prefer it, actually," Harry said.

"Good," said Robert. "Now, we're headed this way. What do you know about Princeton?"

"Well, it's a prestigious American university, part of the Ivy League, Bill Bradley, Robert Oppenheimer, Albert Einstein and Scott Fitzgerald all have connections, somehow," Harry said, exhausting his knowledge of Princeton.

"Very good," Robert said. "You probably have more information right there than ninety percent of my fellow citizens. We also claim James Madison and Woodrow Wilson, at least for now. Alan Turing did graduate work here, as did the Professor James Potter who got you out of that time stream incident last year."

"Then I owe Princeton one of those unpayable debts," Harry said, only half in jest.

"The circle of the knowing is quite small, Harry," Robert said. "I don't think I'd be worrying about the chit getting called in.

"Now, here's the building where the lab is."

Robert Goldstein's lab was spare and clean, giving the impression it housed people who knew what they were doing and went about their business without a lot of wasted effort, motion or materials.

"Got it?" the professor asked.

Harry reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out the little cylinder.

"Be careful with that," Harry said. "Someone put a little spell on it. It was energized last night and I lived in one of your deserts for several seasons with a dog's head in place of mine."

Professor Goldstein froze.

"No one told me about a spell. How did it get activated?" he asked.

"Finite incantatem. It activates a protective spell. I've never seen it before," Harry said.

"Hmm…" said the professor. "I wonder if it should even be placed in stasis? It could react to that. Maybe the thing to do is to lock it up until we know more. Want to see our secure storage?"

"Sure," Harry said. "One never knows when one will need a friend with that kind of an asset. I might give you a tie clip for safekeeping."

Robert gave Harry a look, turning back to what was obviously a heavily-reinforced door, then punching in a series of numbers on the adjacent keypad. Robert led the way inside, holding the door for Harry.

"This is it," Robert said. The windlowless room held various kinds of secure containers along one wall, a work table and several swivel chairs. "What is this tie clip?"

Harry started to laugh.

"This!" he said, fingering the tie clip Blaise had given him. "It was the port key that brought me from Ilvermorny to Princeton. Blaise has a sense of humor. The little crest on the end is the Quidditch Captain's pin from Slytherin House, the arch-rival of my house, Gryffindor, whose quidditch team I captained, back in the day.

"Blaise is going to pay. I don't know how just yet, but Blaise is going to pay," Harry vowed.

"I get it," Robert said. "You had me going for a bit.

"Well, should we look at our item?" Robert asked. "My information was you would be carrying a baton. I assumed it would be in something, for travel. I didn't anticipate the shrinking charm."

"This is how it came to me," Harry said. "I was told it had been shrunk, and a little safety charm added that would give me a chance to escape if I were forced to give it up. Casting finite incantatem was supposed to cause some kind of a surprise for the person who cast it. Therefore, I could tell whomever to use finite incantatem and try to drop or jump behind something and let the unauthorized person get the jinx or hex or whatever it is."

"Properly magical," said Robert, with a note of approval in his voice. "I propose we lock up your item here until we can get some information on both it and the protective measures. Of course, you're still in possession, so if you want, you could take it back to your ministry. Do you plan to demand satisfaction?"

Harry burst out laughing. He reached out and picked up the alleged shrunken obsidian case with shrunken ceremonial baton inside.

"No, I think one of your safes would be fine. Is there one for which you have sole access?" Harry asked.

"Yes," the professor said, kneeling before a small gray file cabinet with a rotary combination lock set in the top drawer. After working the combination he opened the top drawer and removed what appeared to be a small cash box. He opened the box and looked inside.

"This is empty," he said, holding it out. Harry took the box and placed it on the table. He put the little black cartridge in the box and closed it. The box was equipped with a little pro forma lock that could easily be forced with a screwdriver. Harry looked around and found a cellophane tape dispenser. Removing the roll of tape, he wrapped it several times around the box in both directions.

"Do you have one of those black markers?" Harry asked.

The professor looked around.

"Doubt it," he said. "People come in here mostly to unlock and lock up."

"That's fine," Harry said, "This'll do."

Harry drew his wand and pointed it at all the places where the wraps of tape intersected, leaving a blob of red wax at each one.

"Good?" Harry asked. "I'll know if it's disturbed. Now, let's see…"

Harry passed his wand over the box, looking and feeling for an indication that magic was at work around, or inside. If there was anything, it didn't make his wand hum, jump or vibrate.

"I'd say lock it up and we're done," Harry said, "Unless you've got something else you want to do with it. I apologize for coming unequipped to put this all to rest."

"Don't worry about it," said the professor, "Although I was looking forward to taking it apart. Kind of like my grandfather's watch, when I was eight. Ready for lunch?"

Professor Goldstein put the small box with the cylinder back in the two drawer cabinet and closed it up. He took his time, using his wand to cause the dial to spin right, then back left, then right, then back left. He reached down and tried the handle, but couldn't open the drawer.

"Anything further you'd like to see in the lab?" Robert asked.

"Anything you care to show me?" Harry asked. "If you can keep it simple, that is."

"Sure," Robert said. "I work on atoms and the particles that make atoms, or the bits that show up when an atom comes apart. That means working on the forces that hold everything together. That's how you and I met. This lab is where we work out the questions we want to answer through experimentation."

"I need to go back to school," Harry said.

"Why not go back, then?" Robert said. "A few people over here, me among them, have been briefed on the upcoming handover. You'll need to account for your time somehow, if you follow the line Horace has laid out. You aren't a Hogwarts professor. Give it some thought."

"Daphne would probably like it," Harry said. "Eventually, I'd be able to carry on an intelligent conversation."

Robert thought that was pretty funny.

"I think you know you can carry on an intelligent conversation, Harry," he said. "You just have some subject matter gaps that you haven't had time to tidy up. You've been busy with other things. Thinking a step ahead of Gellert Grindelwald so you'll be ready for him at the other end of some time travel, to name just one example. You might be the only person on this planet with the knowledge to do that, and the presence of mind to set it up."

"You know," Harry said, "I'm going to look into this when I get back home. Where do we go next?"

"The Faculty Club…"

They didn't make it to the Faculty Club just then, for the door burst open and a woman with a serious look on her face came in, wand out, and slammed the door behind her.

"Muffliato!"she said, giving her wand a little flick before turning it back on Harry and Robert.

"Annette," Robert said, "This is a surprise."

"Shut up, Robert!" the woman said. "I'm here to pick up whatever this gentleman brought. It's small, and black. Where is it?"

"Locked up," said the professor. "Harry, this is my colleague, Annette Oiseau, of the English Department, despite her name. Annette is a star among the Shakespeareans, perhaps the world's foremost authority on Macbeth, at least until the next scholarly paper is published, sending her back to the First Folio. Annette, have you met Harry Potter?"

"A pleasure, Madame Bird," Harry said. "I like Macbeth. It has witches."

"Harry Potter, I've always wanted to meet you," said Ms. Oiseau. "I'd have preferred more congenial circumstances. Now, where is the thing you brought all this way?"

"Professor," Harry said, "We were just about to go to lunch, at the Faculty Club. I would like to invite you to accompany us, and perhaps you could give us a briefing on what you're after, who sent you, why you feel obligated to carry out their orders, and so on. That would all be very, very helpful to my understanding of your needs. Maybe we can work out a compromise."

"No," said the witch, "Robert is going to get that thing out of wherever he's got it locked up then I'm going to wipe your memories and walk out of here."

She made a little pointing gesture with the tip of her wand, indicating Harry and Robert were to go back into the secure room. Robert sidestepped over to the door, keeping his hands up and in plain sight.

"I have to work the keypad," he said, waiting for Professor Oiseau to nod her permission.

Harry and Robert reversed their steps and shortly had the room unsecured, the locking file cabinet open, and the little black cylinder of obsidian out of the cash box.

"That's it," Harry said, nodding at the cylinder.

Robert and Harry made eye contact. Harry moved his eyes to look at the door, then back to Robert, then back to the door. Robert moved back from the work table, a half-step at a time, backing slowly toward the exit.

"That's it?" asked Annette Oiseau.

"That's it," Harry said. "Right about now you're thinking, 'What is so important about this that they'd send me to get it and expose me and blow my cover sky-high?' Don't feel lonely, Professor, lots of people have hit the same bump in the road. Me among them! How ironic is that?"

Harry laughed at his own joke.

"But—" the professor began.

"The deal is, this little guy was shrunk for transport. The reversal is simple, finite incantatem, which cancels the shrinking charm and lets you get the goodies. The goody, I should say. There's a kind of ebony club inside this, if you want it," Harry advised. "If you don't know that one, I can do it for you."

Professor Oiseau had no reason to question Harry's word, and she thought she might like to see the little cylinder full-size. She could always shrink it back. She was a qualified witch, after all. She had used finite incantatem since she'd learned it back at Ilvermorny, she didn't need some British magical celebrity to show her how to cancel out a charm.

Harry let her get as far as 'finite in—' before he dived at Robert, aiming to take them both back out through the door of the secure room.

This time, Harry and Professor Goldstein both swam up through the blue gelatin, looking for some air.

"NOT AGAIN!" Harry shouted, as he lost consciousness and looked around in what appeared to be a little club. He saw a band stand with a band, a bar with bottles behind it, and a spotless kitchen visible through a large opening behind the bar, some very nicely-done neon lights hung on the walls, and some tables and chairs.

Harry found that he was actually sitting on a chair, with Professor Robert Goldstein sitting to his left. To his right was an old white-haired man wearing a white dress shirt over khaki trousers.

"Where are we?" Harry asked the old man.

"Las Cruces," said Don Juan.

"New Mexico," he added, as an afterthought.

Harry turned to Robert.

"Can you see him?" he asked, indicating Don Juan.

"Yes," Robert said. "He's kind of an elderly, distinguished looking gentleman."

"Do you recognize him?" Harry asked.

"No, should I?" Robert asked in turn. "Robert."

"Juan," said Don Juan, extending his hand across Harry. "Are you in the same line of work as Don Enrique?"

"There is some overlap," Robert said. "Who's the band?"

"Some nice boys who come over from Texas," said Don Juan. "I come to see them at least once whenever they're in town."

"Do you live in Las Cruces?" Robert asked. "I've come to a few things at your university here. I'm a physicist."

"I do a little work with the Anthropology Department," Don Juan said. "There is a lot of material for anthropologists in New Mexico. Now, Harry, what have you been doing since I left you on the mesa?"

"I climbed about halfway down the mesa, before I decided to chuck it all and just fly the rest of the way. Then I wandered in the desert for several seasons, as Anubis, I guess, before I sank into a mudhole during a rain. When I pulled myself out of the mud I was back in New York. My wife and I found the guy who cast the spell that made the blue light, called the New York aurors, and turned him over to them.

"I went to the Ilvermorny school this morning, then on to Princeton, and Robert here took charge of that stupid little piece of obsidian with the tricky charm on it. We settled our business and were on our way to lunch when another prospective thief burst in and we got her to cast the same spell," Harry finished.

"Can I ask you a question, Don Juan?" Harry asked.

"Of course," said the old brujo.

"When I woke up after our adventure, no time had passed. Why is that?"

"I can't say for sure," said Don Juan. "You looked an awful lot like Anubis, so if you'd taken on the aspect of Anubis, you might have been subject to some other attributes, and an inhabitant of the underworld might not have any use for time. Or, it could have just been one of those things where you have to come back to the moment you left because otherwise the temporal balance sheets won't stand up in an audit."

"Don Juan, the last time I came back, it happened all at once, without warning, so, if you have anything to tell us…" Harry said.

"Your wife is right outside the door," said Don Juan.

Harry looked at the entrance and saw Daphne pull the club door open and step into the lab, wand drawn, amber eyes aflame.

"What do you mean, 'Not Again?'" she demanded.

Harry and Robert picked themselves up from the floor of Robert's lab.

"And who is SHE?" Daphne said, pointing with her wand at an unconscious woman slumped over the table in the secure room.

"Professor Annette Oiseau, who just tried to do the same thing Hoffman did, rob us," Harry said. "So, introductions! Daphne, this is Anthony's Uncle Robert, or, Professor Robert Goldstein, of Princeton University. Robert, may I present my wife, Daphne Greengrass Potter."

"Glad to meet you, Doctor," said Robert. "I feel like I know you, Anthony has told me so much about you, and your daughter."

Daphne was a bit put out with Harry, but the action was concluded, it appeared, and he wasn't any the worse for wear. She decided to take care of one little detail.

"Accio!" she said, catching Annette Oiseau's wand as it came flying out of the secure storage room.

"Now what?" Harry said, looking at Robert.

"Campus police have a liaison desk. Princeton, you know," Robert shrugged. "Expecto patronum!"

Some kind of mammal Harry didn't recognize coalesced from the light that sprang from Robert Goldstein's wand.

"Go get Walter over at campus security and give him a message: 'Walter, it's Robert. Someone over here at the lab is going to need a ride home, if you could help out,'" the professor said, and the patronus leapt through a window and was gone.

"Well," Harry said, looking at his watch. "If we lock that thing up one more time, we've still got plenty of time for lunch."