Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three
Iolanthe
Chapter Fourteen
The Lestrange Problem
Harry didn't hear the little 'pop' that afternoon, nor that evening. He stayed at Greengrass Manor until after dinner. When Daphne took Iolanthe upstairs to have a bottle before bed, Harry went along. He brought a little side chair into the nursery and talked to Daphne while she rocked Iolanthe.
"I'm going to go take a look at #12, the flat, and the new house when we're done, then I'll be back," Harry said. "Georges Lestrange isn't going to let this go. There was something in his voice today. He's making a move on Fabio's operation and I don't think it is strictly for expansion purposes. My legilimency wasn't up to the task of working it out. Maybe if I'd had more time, but maybe not then, either.
"After our little encounter downstairs he may see me as something he has to get out of the way, before he can really pressure Fabio," Harry continued. "I'm going to see what I can find out about his businesses. Those unknown backers may be significant.
"Anyway, we probably ought to mix up our living arrangements," said Harry. "Not be predictable. We have the luxury of having options, all under our control. We can at least make it hard to pin us down. Use the floos to come and go, especially with #12. You could be vulnerable out there on the step. Another thing just occurred to me—in case I forget, remind me to mention to Kreacher and Walburga that we'd appreciate knowing of any additional security features that may have escaped our notice."
Daphne rocked slower and slower, finally taking the bottle from Iolanthe's hands and handing it to Harry. She picked up a washcloth and dabbed at the drops of milk at the corner of Iolanthe's mouth.
"It's all a bit disruptive, but not unreasonable," Daphne said. "Don't forget the Black estate is there, too. It's in Cornwall, it's isolated, that's some security in itself. And we know it has an adder."
Harry and Daphne both smiled at one another. Harry suppressed a laugh, so as not to wake Iolanthe.
"Watch your daughter with respect to adders," Harry said, smiling but serious. "She was peeking out from behind my leg, watching Lestrange get wound up, and offered to summon an adder. I asked her not to, at least right away, but she was ready to do it."
"Morgan," Daphne half-whispered, and Iolanthe smiled in her sleep. Daphne got out of the rocker and laid Iolanthe in her crib. She motioned with her head toward the bath, and Harry's room beyond.
"Much as I hate to say it, Harry, I think you're right about Lestrange," Daphne began. "Father's business has an attraction for him, of some kind, and he won't be able to leave it alone until he's got it. I suspect you are right about his assessment of you as the obstacle that he'll have to remove. If you were gone, preferably in some public fashion, Father would feel very exposed. Rightfully so, Harry. The question is, how will he move on you? Have you thought about that?"
"All afternoon," Harry said. "Not very systematically, though. I don't know enough about Lestrange to reach a conclusion. There are any number of ways he could try to catch me in a vulnerable position or set me up for a third party. I just don't have the background on his patterns for this kind of thing. He's not a fighter himself, or at least he's never been up against anyone with real skills, or he'd be dead. He drew his wand in the hall and I got it from him with a silent 'accio,' so what's that tell you?"
"I take your point, Harry, but you could probably disarm ninety-nine percent of the witches and wizards in London with your silent 'accio' so I'm not sure of the significance," Daphne replied.
"Now, if Georges Lestrange wanted a fight with you, personally, he'd have been back by now, probably with backup to keep the rest of us on the sidelines. I think he'll draw on some outside talent," Daphne said.
"Okay, then what?" Harry asked. "He was pretty hot today, like he needed to make a deal, now. But why? What kind of timetable is he working to?"
Daphne sighed.
"We're not going to figure it out right now," she said. "I need to get to sleep, and you want to go be a night watchman, so why don't you do that and you can wake me up if you need to when you get back."
"As good a plan as any," Harry said. He leaned over and kissed Daphne on the lips. "I'll try not to wake you. Now that your lynx has proven so useful, have it take a look outside before you turn in. All the way around, as far as the wards ought to be enough."
With that, Harry picked up a pair of comfortable trainers and went downstairs. It was a beautiful night outside, temperature quite bearable, with little air movement and a bright moon. Harry's first stop was #12 Grimmauld Place. He apparated onto the front step as Kreacher opened the door.
"Welcome home, Lord Harry," said the elf. "Can I hang up your jacket?"
"Kreacher, let's go to the kitchen," Harry said. When they got to the kitchen Harry gave a heavily-edited version of the day's events.
"Mistress Daphne and I discussed the situation and we'll be taking some extra care with our personal security while we wait for the situation to clarify," said Harry. "We'll try to avoid setting patterns so any bad actors will have a hard time predicting where we'll be or what we'll be doing. Meanwhile, I'd appreciate it if you could let me know if you see or hear suspicious activity around #12. Also, if there are additional wards or other protective measures for the family, this would be a good time to let us know."
"Of course, Lord Harry," Kreacher said, swelling just a little as he spoke. "#12 has some experience with similar situations, as I'm sure you are aware. I'm sure you'll be pleased on your next visit. Will you be staying the night?"
"No," Harry said. "I'm going to check on the other properties, just to assure myself we can all count on having them available should things get out of hand. I appreciate your support. Merlin willing, nothing will come of this and we'll all get back to normal soon."
Harry headed to the salon, and the big fireplace. Dropping a pinch of floo powder, Harry said, "The Mill," and disappeared in the 'WHOOSH' of the green flames.
Harry left The Mill's fireplace without so much as a stumble, or minor tripping. Wand in hand, he looked around the main room. Seeing nothing amiss, he said "Lumos," and checked out The Baths, followed by a visit to the upper floor and security checks of the windows and the big double doors.
Satisfied the building was well buttoned-up, Harry left by the front door, intending to walk to the site of the new Potter Manor, just to mix things up a bit. Instead, he decided to sit on the bench beside the door for a few minutes and clear his mind. Maybe watching the fairies would calm him and let some ideas he hadn't considered bubble to the surface.
As usual, Harry started to see the little points of light begin to appear after a minute or two. With no Daphne to accompany him, the fairies didn't make a crown of lights, but formed their buzzing ball and took a position about ten feet in front of Harry's spot on the bench.
"Good evening to the fairies," Harry said. "How are the fairies tonight?"
"Welcome, Harry. The fairies are as they always are," came the familiar voice.
"That is good to know," Harry said, with great sincerity.
"Harry is sitting on the bench," said the fairies' collective voice, "Sitting alone, thinking."
Harry let that sit for a bit, to mellow.
"The fairies are correct," Harry said. "I am thinking through a problem."
"Iolanthe is sitting on the bench, thinking through a problem," said the voice from the ball of fairy lights.
Harry pondered their response. The fairies were as old as the Earth. They would not end until the end of everything. The fairies did not use time, being effectively immortal. Time did nothing for them. The fairies simply saw. Harry considered several responses, rejecting them in turn. Harry had never dabbled in communications with the dead. He knew such pursuits were considered ethically-challenged, at the very least, by wizards he respected. Moreover, the whole subject had always given him the creeps. It might have stemmed from his parents' murder when he was just over a year old, reinforced by his presence when Sirius passed through the Veil. Added to that was his experience with the dead/undead that inhabited the lake, whom he and Dumbledore had nearly joined, following their expedition to retrieve Salazar Slytherin's locket.
Harry thought through his interactions with the fairies, ever since the evening Fabio had introduced himself and Draco, and almost offhandedly commented on the fairies' difficulty imagining the concept of time. To the fairies, Iolanthe Peverell was sitting on the bench, thinking about a problem, right then. If Iolanthe were there, for the fairies, that would mean that, to the fairies, Harry and Iolanthe were equally present. If he could get a little insight from Iolanthe, that wouldn't be pestering the dead. Iolanthe was at The Mill, and, to the fairies, Iolanthe simply was, the way Harry simply was. Well, why not? Harry decided to give it a try.
"My problem concerns family, Daphne, Fabio, Kendra and Iolanthe Astoria. Someone wants to take something from Fabio, and it appears they will use force against some or all of us in the attempt," Harry said. Having stated the problem, he returned to thinking about it. Around and around, the complex of issues refused to be pinned down. Lestrange wanted to buy Fabio out. Fabio had a small, specialized business, while Lestrange had a large one. Fabio sold high-quality products in modest amounts, with lots of overhead in terms of time spent with growers and suppliers, while Lestrange bought and sold rougher commodities, trying to minimize the time between buying and selling. Fabio was a gardener. Lestrange was a broker. Fabio loved the process of running his business, Lestrange loved making money, if he truly loved anything.
And yet, Lestrange seemed to need Fabio's business. Taking over Fabio's product line did not sound like the reason, no matter what approach Harry took. What else would it be, though? Harry thought about his travels with Daphne, to Torshavn, Fort de France, and Montreal…
"Oh!"
"I need to be going," Harry said. "My regards to great-grandmother Iolanthe. I can see why Lily and Iolanthe sit on the bench to solve problems."
"Iolanthe sends her blessing to Harry," said the fairies, as they began to drift out of their ball and become tiny individual lights returning to their trees, shrubs, rocks and flowers.
Harry took the short walk between The Mill and the site of Potter Manor, AKA 'the new house.' He didn't have to leave his own property, the way was free of obstructions, and the moonlight was sufficient to allow him to navigate the lane. Harry went over his problem again, thinking through the ramifications and possible pitfalls, and how he would avoid those.
If Harry's theory were correct, a little research tomorrow morning ought to confirm it was as he suspected. Of course, the same research could just as easily show he was enamored of his own fantasy, but Harry didn't think he was.
Construction of the new house was complete. Furnishing would take some time. Harry and Daphne had been busy. Daphne had her Chief of Service duties as well as her patients at St. Mungo's, and Harry had been consumed with his rehabilitation ever since the incident near Borgin and Burke's that had left him unfit for duty. There followed numerous meetings with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Horace Slughorn on the open projects Harry would inherit upon the pending handover of Horace' department head responsibilities.
Harry'd suggested to Daphne that they turn the interior over to Seamus and Dean, or someone Seamus and Dean recommended, but Daphne recoiled from the thought of picking among three options for the rooms the family and friends would be inhabiting. Harry knew Daphne had taste and design sense sufficient to forge a career in interior design, had she not become a healer. He dropped his suggestion and let her take the lead. Her reasoning was rock solid:
"Harry," she'd said, "The Potters will be living in this house for centuries. We have to get this right!"
Harry walked to a point he estimated to be fifty or sixty yards from the new Potter Manor, found a tree with grass growing right up to the boll, and sat down. The exterior was, to Harry's eyes, every bit a work of art as Fabio's elevation drawings had been. As on every previous visit, Harry's thoughts turned to lawns, and broomsticks, and young Potters growing up at Potter Manor. Harry allowed himself a little time to enjoy his projections before he got back to his feet and walked up to the house.
It wasn't a secret he and Daphne were building a new Potter Manor, so he thought it prudent to take a look, just in case Georges Lestrange had become petulant and turned vandal. Harry hadn't seen anything during the minutes he'd studied the property from the tree boll. He let a part of his mind go into a kind of legilimensmode, a technique he'd learned in auror training, designed to let aurors on patrol focus on observation of what was going on around them while staying alert for hostile personalities on one's periphery.
Harry walked up to the house via the flagstone patio. He was careful to avoid some tables and chairs, patio furniture that he and Daphne had purchased as soon as the patio pavers were in. He presented his wand to the lock on one of the French doors, and listened for the 'click.'
Once inside, Harry had to use his wand to get around, the moonlight being insufficient within the house. Everything looked to be in order. Nearly all of the construction materials had been removed, save some extra tiles and wooden trim pieces that would be taking up residence in a storeroom until they were needed for repairs. Harry walked through the room. As the first space inside, and the patio outside, the parallels with the Greengrass' sunny room were unmistakable. Harry was fine with that. He had nothing but pleasant memories of that room, and it clearly influenced both Daphne and Fabio's ideas of how to properly transition from the living quarters to the exterior. They would not get an argument from Harry.
Harry completed his tour of the downstairs and was debating whether it was worth going upstairs when he sensed a presence. Harry pushed everything out of his mind and focused on the person walking around outside. He tried to quiet everything, even the consciousness of his own mind working to sense the other's thoughts, so that he would have no interference between himself and the other. The thought arose, unbidden, that such thinking seemed a contradiction within itself. Harry identified the intrusion, considered it, and set it aside. Once acknowledged, the thought had no further need to intrude, and sat quietly by itself.
Harry felt the other outside, toward the front of the house. He moved back to the patio doors and used his wand to open one as silently as possible. Harry paused near the open door. The moon was about to set, but there was sufficient light to distinguish a person from a tree or shrub. Slowly and carefully, Harry stepped down from the house onto the stone flooring of the patio. He walked deliberately, putting his feet down, trying not to make a sound, aided by the rubber soles of his trainers and the dense limestone of the pavers.
The person was walking across the front façade, near the corner, coming toward Harry. Deciding to let his visitor work uninterrupted, as long as he kept coming his way, Harry stopped at the corner, partially concealed by a great, urn-like planter. The person kept walking toward Harry, his internal dialog becoming more intelligible the closer he got.
"Big pile of rock…What was wrong the way it was? Why can't they just live…might as well be a pyramid…"
"Hell-Oh!" Harry said as he stepped out from his concealment, wand up and ready. "Can I ask what you're doing here?"
He looked at the small man standing in front of him, frozen in the moonlight. The small, trouserless man, that is. The small, trouserless man wearing a white shirt and dark jacket, sporting a wispy beard, and horns.
"You're him!" said the man.
"I expect so," Harry said, "Since there's only one of me. What are you?"
"I would think that would be obvious," said the little creature. "I'm a faun. I live in the grove just over there. What have you gone and done to our hilltop? You've put a big stone pile over the best spot for revels in all of Devon."
"I built a house for my family," Harry replied, a bit put out at the big stone pile characterization. The faun sounded equally put out with Harry, and Harry was becoming mildly annoyed with the faun.
"What's this about revels?" Harry asked. It wasn't a rhetorical question. He and Daphne had just expended a great deal of time and money to build a home, expecting to raise their family on the hill with the breathtaking view of the River Dart, and a wood spirit seemed to be telling him the other entities in the neighborhood were taking umbrage.
"How's your Shakespeare?" asked the faun.
"I like Macbeth," Harry said. "It's got witches."
"Typical," said the faun, a bit dismissive, in Harry's estimation. "Have you ever read A Midsummer Night's Dream?"
"Might have," Harry said, honestly not sure. He wracked his brain for memories of the plot. The title was evocative, of wood creatures, summer, and a party.
"Shakespeare took some liberties, but for the most part, the play is historically accurate. This has been the neighborhood revel grounds for hundreds and hundreds of years," the faun said.
"Well, the Potters had a house here for a good number of those years, so what did the neighborhood do for revels then?" Harry demanded. He was genuinely curious. He wondered, specifically, if James had been an habitue'of the revels, considering his reputation for mischief. He resolved to raise the question at the proper time.
"We had a deal with the Potters," said the faun. "They let us throw our revel on the lawn, and we kept the fireworks away from the house. It worked pretty well, most of the time."
"Let us do this, then," Harry said. "The Potters will keep a space here on the hill that is reserved for revels. The size can be negotiated, I'm sure, since we haven't been able to start putting in beds and plants yet. The revel will continue as usual, and in return, my wife and I want to meet all of you so we recognize who is about and whether they ought to be here or not. Besides that, we will expect you and your friends to keep an eye on the place for us when we aren't around. Deal?"
"I think so," said the faun, "I'll have to table it for discussion with the others, of course."
"Absolutely," Harry said. "We want everyone on board, thinking the same way. Now, it's getting late and I have to get back and check on my family. What is your name, and how do I get in touch with you?"
"I'm Plum, and if you'll just come by the grove and make your wishes known, I'll get back to you as soon as I can," said the faun.
Harry stuck out his hand, which Plum took, and gave a little shake.
"Very glad to meet you, Plum, and I look forward to many more years of satisfactory relationships among the Potters and all of yourselves. Never hesitate to bring me, or my wife, issues of concern to the neighbors hereabouts. We won't be happy here if you aren't happy," said Harry.
"Mr. Potter—" Plum began.
"Harry, please," Harry interrupted. "We're neighbors, after all."
"Harry," said Plum, "Very happy to meet you as well. Please come back soon. I'd like to meet the rest of your family, and we can talk about size and placement of the reveling ground."
"Count on it," Harry said, and the faun turned and trotted off toward the grove.
Locking the French door behind him, Harry walked around to the front of the manor, located a clear spot, and disapparated. He wasn't thinking about self-defense when he materialized on the knob just outside the Greengrass Manor wards, so Harry wasn't prepared to get hit right in his breast bone and knocked onto his back.
"Dammit!" he said, trying to bring his wand to bear. He quickly figured out he wasn't in danger, though, when a glowing cat face looked down on him, stuck out its tongue, and gave him a rough lick from the point of his chin, across his mouth and nose, finishing up around his hairline.
The lynx got off Harry's chest and stood, waiting, while he got to his feet.
"You're not supposed to be that solid," Harry said, as the lynx rubbed against his leg, purring.
"Want to take one last look around?" Harry asked. He cast his patronus and the lynx ran to stand by the stag.
"One more tour of the perimeter," Harry instructed. "Then come back inside."
The stag and the lynx trotted away toward the next chunk of granite that marked the border of Greengrass Manor proper. Harry wondered if they were having too much fun together to meet standards for a good perimeter inspection. He watched them until the light faded completely before turning and walking down to the talking gate.
The gate opened for Harry with just the hint of a squeak.
"How are you feeling?" Harry asked. He remembered the gate's comment about how a few drops of oil would cause a talking gate to lose its voice.
"Fine," the gate said, "Just using my indoor voice while everyone's asleep. Did you find everything to be quiet and regular?"
"I did," Harry said. "There is a little more to do tomorrow, but that's always the case."
"Well, I wouldn't know about that," said the gate. "I stand here. I open. I close. I bid people safe travels, and I welcome them back to Greengrass Manor. Some of us are just not cut out for the frenetic pace you set."
"You trap me into philosophical conversations," Harry said. "With an inanimate object. Which is a polite way of saying you have driven me crazy."
"Oh, from what I hear, you didn't need any help from me in that department," said the gate. "Pleasant dreams."
Harry was furious with himself as he walked down the gravel path to the front door, which opened as his foot touched the step. He resolved, for the umpteenth time, to stop chatting up the stupid gate and confine his remarks to an occasional 'Thank-you' for a gate opening or greeting. He'd just done a good night's work and it was going to finish off with him lying in bed, working over the conversation with the gate, over and over again, while he tried to convince himself that was the last time he'd let the gate bait him into conversation. The gate had no brain. It had no perspective on frenetic paces or sedentary lifestyles. That all came out of Harry's subconscious mind. Something about the gate caused it to bubble to the surface and get fed back, by the gate, eliciting yet another followup from Harry, and so the circular conversation continued.
"Just don't say anything," Harry told himself. "It's just a novelty gate, it's not meant to be one half of a conversation. You're letting yourself become unbalanced by a pair of rusty hinges."
A faint squeak came to Harry from the other end of the path.
"I heard that," said the gate.
Harry made his way back up the stairs to his old bedroom, which was now the bedroom he shared with Daphne. There wasn't a moon any longer, so Harry used his wand to give himself a little light to find his way about.
"It's okay," came a voice from their bed. "I'm awake. Light a lamp and don't go tripping and falling all over the place. How did it go?"
Harry stepped out of his trainers as he answered.
"Fine," he said. "Better than fine. Give me a minute."
Leaving his clothes in a pile for the elves, he turned on the shower and stepped in, then out before the water was fully warm.
"Much better," he said when he got back to bed.
"I went to #12 first, and talked to Kreacher. I gave him a short version and asked him to let us know if there were any additional protective measures we should be activating.
"After that, I went to The Mill, and sat on the bench. The fairies came up and they divulged that Iolanthe was sitting on the bench thinking about a problem. I went over and over Lestrange and his fixation on the Greengrass businesses, and finally came up with a theory that accounts for his behavior. What if Lestrange doesn't want the businesses per se, but wants another asset? What if he wants the floo network, and the offices here and there? What if those fit in with some activity of his? What if they solve a problem he's having?"
Daphne was silent, and Harry thought she might have been lulled back to sleep by his droning. Suddenly, Daphne popped upright, throwing the sheet back with a sweep of her hand. She straddled Harry and looked down at him in the lamp light.
"He wants the locations," she said.
"I think so," Harry replied.
"He wants the private floo connections," Daphne continued.
"Which he'd get as an asset of the business," Harry replied.
"He'd get established import/export routines terminating in Britain, originating in all kinds of obscure locations, like little islands in the Caribbean," she went on.
"Guadeloupe," Harry noted.
"Cali," said Daphne.
"Colombia?" Harry asked.
"The only growers of the flyspeck orchid export out of Cali, Colombia, and Fabio is the only buyer in Britain," said Daphne. "Father has built a squeaky-clean business just because he likes doing it, so officialdom probably waves the vast majority of his shipments through without inspection. Lestrange doesn't want the business, he's trying to get his hands on those little offices and the floos."
"That's my conclusion," Harry said.
Daphne leaned down and kissed Harry, hard, taking her time. When she let him have his lips back, she didn't pull back all that far, but stayed close to his face, her eyes locked on his.
"Harry Potter, I love you so much," she said. "That man has been keeping my father and mother up nights, and on pins and needles during the day. You figured it out and you're going to fix things, aren't you?"
"Not to get ahead of ourselves…," Harry began. Something happened to Daphne's face, some disappointment showed, disappointment in him. "But, yes, I think I know how to fix things."
Daphne slid her arms under Harry's neck and laid her cheek against his. Harry felt her spine through the nightgown and drew his thumb down the ripples of Daphne's vertebrae.
"Can you be quiet?" she asked.