Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three
Iolanthe
Chapter Thirty-Two
"You're Under Attack, Harry."
Harry left the master suite at Potter Manor to go down and meet Mercury who would be bringing the morning reading file any minute. Even though the file came early, Daphne was awake and Periwinkle would soon be up with her breakfast tray and the early edition of the Daily Prophet. Daphne wasn't sleeping very much, but she was sleeping a lot more than she would be in just a few weeks, so she had to make the most of the opportunity. Harry tried to gauge whether Daphne needed him at night or needed to be alone more, and accommodate her, either way.
The messenger arrived as usual with the file. Harry usually started with the top page and worked down, but this morning he scanned the top sheet, didn't see anything relevant to last night's conversation with Iolanthe, went down one, scanned, one more, scanned…
When he was satisfied there wasn't anything pertinent to his infernal mixed personal/family/ministry problem, he settled in for a disciplined attack on the material his department had so helpfully put together. Iolanthe's concern wasn't misplaced. There had been some rumblings. The old pureblood faction was down, but it was never really out. Harry was anathema to them. Half-blood! In his position! That job needed a pureblood, born and raised. Someone who could look out for the interests of the real wizards, keep the foreigners out, disappear a goblin now and then just to show them the wizards were serious.
It went back to Voldemort, or course. It always went back to Voldemort.
Harry forced himself to refocus on his reading. People had gone to a lot of trouble to ferret out the information in that file, some risked their lives, and he owed it his closest attention. The pretender to a magical throne in a vacated French duchy was plotting? Why didn't that catch his interest this morning? Of course he was plotting. Muggle or wizard, it didn't matter, pretenders plotted. Nothing else gave their lives meaning.
Voldemort! He was a half-blood orphan, just like Harry, but by some means he had found the way into the purebloods' hearts, not all of them, but enough. Harry thought about that a lot. Voldemort had gotten a significant chunk of the purebloods killed outright, suborned the crimes that put a lot more of them in jail, and cut the pureblood birthrate down to almost nil, and they loved him for it. Harry saved British wizardry, even if he did have a lot of help, and the purebloods thought he ought to be happy with a stipend and a rock someplace in the Irish Sea.
"Blast," Harry said to himself.
"Mercury, will you have coffee, or a cup of tea?" Harry asked. "This is slow going this morning."
"I don't mind, sir," Mercury replied. "Take your time. Lots of distractions this time of year."
"So, something to drink?" Harry went back to his question.
"Nothing for me, sir," Mercury said, standing, back to the fireplace.
"Suit yourself," Harry said, "But if you don't mind terribly, have a seat over there in one of those chairs."
Back in the file, Harry read on, trying to be alert for any implied taskers for him or his department, and for anything he'd ought to bring to Kingsley Shacklebolt's attention. Even on the second reading, Harry didn't spot anything that seemed connected to the larger issue behind Iolanthe's report.
Harry stared at the document in front of him as he let his mind drift just a little. There was always the possibility Iolanthe was being used in a false flag operation. She was a conduit that went straight to Harry, so the young woman could have been following instructions to open communications with Iolanthe in order to get something to him. Who? Why?
Harry turned back once more to the file. He'd found no instructions, no requests, and nothing the department needed to pass on to Kingsley.
Harry thought of the old, semi-jocular saying, "Yeah, TOO quiet."
"Slow day," Harry said, closing the file and touching it with his wand before handing it back to Mercury.
"Thank everyone for me, if you would, please, and Merry Christmas," Harry said.
"Merry Christmas to you and yours, sir," Mercury said, stepping back into the fireplace and dropping his floo powder.
Harry got back upstairs just in time to hear "HARRY POTTER!" coming through the master suite door.
"What?" he said, pushing the door open.
"This!" Daphne said, shaking what looked like the Daily Prophet.
"Okay, show it to me, but calm down a little, please?" Harry said. He might not have been a healer but he was pretty sure a prospective mother at her stage of pregnancy hadn't ought to be so angry.
The Prophet was known go for a little titillation now and then, but the page Harry was looking at went far beyond that. There were two photos under the headline. One showed Harry and Daphne at their first St. Mungo's Ball. Daphne held one of Harry's arms and looked at him adoringly while he raised his ceremonial baton in his gloved hand, high above his head. The second showed Harry at Hogwarts, following Zelda's Gryffindor-Slytherin match. Tracey had slipped one arm out of her cape and under Harry's, and both looked at Zelda with great smiles on their faces. The headline above the photos said, in a huge typeface, "THE GRANDEE."
There was a knock on the bedroom door.
"Come in," Daphne said.
The door opened a crack and Ginny Weasley looked in.
"Oh, are you and Millicent here?" Harry asked.
"No," Ginny said, opening the door fully and stepping inside. Harry saw she had a copy of the day's paper in her hand.
"Millicent is in town," Ginny said. "Let me just say, I had no idea, Daphne. If I had known I would have offered my resignation. This is completely uncalled-for."
"Don't do that, Ginny," Harry said. "This looks like a rehash of some old gossip and a couple of juicy photos. Not worth quitting over. The question is, why print it now? Who benefits?"
"Harry Potter…ugh-h-h!" Daphne said. "When I get my hands on you…Get over here so I can get my hands on you!"
"No way," Harry said. "Not until you cool down. What's the rest? Or the worst? They're implying I'm keeping Tracey on the side, and we're finally going public. Is that it? Is there any more?"
Ginny looked at Daphne.
"There are allusions to Millicent and Ginny being part of your domestic arrangements," Daphne said.
Harry thought that over.
"I guess, strictly speaking, since you and Millicent have a room here…"
"Technically, they got that part right," Ginny agreed. Daphne tried not to, but she had to laugh at Ginny's comment.
"Bathroom," she managed, catching her breath, "Now."
Harry used the time to scan the article. It was a hit piece, certainly, but it looked like it had been carefully edited, with certain assertions attributed to sources who spoke on condition of anonymity. Some paragraphs went right up to stating something as fact, but careful reading revealed they were really speculation that something could behappening, without saying it actually washappening.
Daphne came back to the bedroom.
"Want to get dressed?" Harry said. "Let's get Periwinkle up here, we'll get out of your way, and make sure there is fresh coffee waiting for you downstairs. This looks worse than it really is."
Daphne didn't require a lot of persuading. She'd summoned Periwinkle before the door closed behind Harry and Ginny.
Daphne elected to have her coffee and an additional toasted muffin at the dining room table. Everyone pushed Daily Prophets back and forth, reading, re-reading and analyzing, floating theories for the origin of the piece, and the reason the author, and the editors, chose to run it just before Christmas.
Harry started in again, with a new perspective. He couldn't have said where he first heard of the technique, or when he started using it, but somewhere along the line he'd learned that when everything else proved elusive, or confusing, he needed to pay attention to what was not being said. As he read with that in mind, one thing gradually emerged, or didn't emerge, conspicuous in its absence. The Blacks. Aside from one sentence describing his two titles, there was no mention of the Black family of wizards. The author even skipped exploring the irony of Lord Potter-Black heading up the 'Toujours Pur' Blacks when he himself was a half-blood. Harry didn't think that could have escaped notice. More likely it was a conscious omission.
So, they didn't want to provoke the Blacks? How did that fit the overall problem? Was it even connected, or was Harry's job turning him into a paranoid conspiracy theorist? A chill went up Harry's back. What if he was right? What if Iolanthe's situation was connected, and she was in danger of getting sucked in? Maybe the Potters should collect their close circle and go looking for that unplottable islet in the Irish Sea. The problem was they'd need one heck of an islet to accommodate something over fifty close circle members, Harry estimated.
"Anything jump out at anyone?" Harry asked. "I'm open for suggestions."
"I'd like to suggest a cheerier atmosphere for breakfast," Tracey said, announcing her arrival in a most Tracey-like way.
Daphne waited until Tracey had taken her seat before passing the Daily Prophet to her.
"What…?" Tracey began.
"Just read," Daphne said.
Little profanities announced Tracey had read to this or that bit of sleaze. When she'd worked her way through the complete article, she slapped the paper down on the table.
"We don't bother anyone!" Tracey said, her voice a little loud for the surroundings. "Why would anyone do this? Is it to sell newspapers? It doesn't even say anything, if it's read carefully. Did you see that?"
Tracey looked at Daphne.
"Yes, I did," Daphne said. "That's why we aren't clawing each other's faces at the moment. Our newswoman can speak to sales numbers, but I suspect something a bit more political."
"Me too," Harry said, as he leaned back and collected his thoughts. "In no particular order, someone has a beef with me, someone wants my job, someone wants to use people around Kingsley to force him out, or at least damage him, meaning this is just the first in a series, or there is a formal or informal party that has coalesced and wants to mount a coup. There is always a possibility it is just maliciousness, vandalism on a large scale, but it doesn't feel like that, to me."
Ginny brought up resignation again, but Harry tried to persuade her to drop the idea, or at least save it as a last resort.
"It looks like we are all targets, at least potentially," Harry argued. "None of us has your access to the inner workings of the Daily Prophet. If you could bring yourself to stay a little longer, you might hear something important, you could keep us from being surprised."
Harry thought Ginny hadn't kept them from being surprised this morning, but he didn't say it.
"I think I'd better get to my desk and see what is blowing up down there," Harry said, standing and pushing his chair back.
"Harry, it will be Christmas in two days, you aren't going down there and staying, are you?" Daphne asked, almost pleading.
"Of course not," Harry said. "Just a little stop-by, ear to the ground, consult the College of Augurs, check the wind."
He stuck his forefinger in his mouth, then pointed it at the ceiling.
"Gross," someone said, getting two responses: "Gross" and "Very gross."
Harry used the floo to get to the ministry, then strolled outside and around the corner. He stopped in the coffee shop for a paper cup of their excellent house blend. The coffee shop used a variation on the system Harry had first seen in use at the St. Mungo's cafeteria. He took out his wand and touched a little machine that looked like a muggle calculator, little roll of paper and all. The machine made some very satisfying whirring noises and did something with his tab, although it didn't print out a receipt. Gringotts handled payment once a month, just like they did for his Magic Club bills, outfitting the Black scholars, and any number of other recurring expenses.
Harry stepped out of the coffee shop, looked up and down the street, and strolled the few yards to the inset door. He looked away, reached out for the handle, and let himself in. Jubal was behind his long desk, keeping an eye on the comings and goings.
"Merry Christmas, Mr. Potter," Jubal said in greeting.
"Merry Christmas, Jubal," said Harry in return, "Any Christmas geese in your immediate future?"
"Sadly, no, sir," Jubal said. "Mrs. Jubal had a little flock of geese when she was a girl in the countryside, and is constitutionally opposed to treating them as food. I suspect she was raised by the geese, more or less, the late mother-in-law having been somewhat more occupied with her potion-making than her family, at least by the time I got to know them."
"Oh," Harry said, "I had a potion-maker ancestor, way, way back in the past. Maybe I should re-orient the family to potion-making. Much less aggravation, I'd guess."
"It certainly worked out for Mrs. Jubal, sir, eventually," Jubal said, waving Harry on into the building.
Harry wondered about the talking gate at Greengrass Manor, which had the same ability to engage him in pointless, yet interminable conversations. Could Jubal be an automaton? A skilled magical metalworker might be able to fabricate a Jubal, perhaps some goblin craftsmanship followed by a highly skilled enchanter or enchantress taking on the finished construction and supplying the fragmented self-knowledge and ability to respond to greetings.
'Stop. Stop. Stop.'
Harry ordered himself to put Jubal and talking gates out of his mind and focus on the problem at hand. He got to his office and answered a round of 'Morning, sir!' greetings from people at desks, people out in the hallway, and people standing around. Harry walked on into his private office and put his coffee cup on a little coaster on his desk. He looked at the coaster for a fraction of second before the cup obscured the logo.
"St. Mungo's Hospital Cafeteria," it said. Harry sent a little mental message to Daphne informing her he loved her. Anything that said St. Mungo's triggered the reflex. Harry didn't know why, nor did he care.
Looking up, Harry was surprised to see his entire outer office, and the people from the corridor, standing in a semi-circle around his desk.
"And…hello again," Harry said.
"Sir," said a senior aide, taking charge. "We want you to know we were appalled by what we read in the Daily Prophet this morning. That was beyond the bounds of decency, to not only attack you, but to include your family. If there is anything you want us to do…"
"Oh, I think I can manage for now," Harry said, a little grin showing at the corners of his mouth. "Let's not give any hypothetical discontents cause to think I'm abusing my position, shall we? At present, the reasoning that led to this article could be interpreted in different ways. The minister may have a view on this. Let's allow this to sit for a bit. As long as we're all here, I'll take the opportunity to say thank-you, and I appreciate what all of you coming in here says about how you think of me as a department head. It's highly complimentary, and I appreciate it."
Harry was clearly done with the morning niceties, and the staff started turning for the door, mutterings of 'Thank-you sir' continuing as his office emptied.
Harry set about getting his office operational. He opened his safe and removed one file. Then he re-locked the safe, taking a moment to check the box on the security log by tapping it with the tip of his wand. The file held all the unfinished work in progress from the day before. Harry tried but he really couldn't concentrate on yesterday's leftovers. He went through the file looking for any issue that might have a connection, however slight, but didn't see anything.
Thoroughly frustrated, Harry decided to reach out and stop trying to solve the riddle himself. Harry opened the safe and put his working file away, re-locked the safe, and left his office. He had an assistant who sat right outside his door, whom he told he would be with the head analyst for a few minutes.
The man's office was directly below Harry's, so a quick trip down one flight of stairs later, Harry was knocking on his door.
"May I?" Harry asked.
"Certainly," said the analyst, who went by Pythagoras.
"The Daily Prophet article—have you read it?" Harry asked.
"I have," said Pythagoras. "Nasty piece of character assassination, sir."
"Classic," Harry said. "Textbook. I could almost admire it, for the craftsmanship. The author very carefully avoided saying anything I'd be forced to settle with a challenge, or that I can complain about in the Wizengamot. The reader is left with the impression that I have no time for work because I'm fully occupied with hobbies of a private nature, and yet there is nothing said directly. Everyone who knows me knows how the circle came about. I'm on good terms with everyones' families.
"So, the question is, why now? Newspaper sales? The fun of salacious gossip? Or a connection to something else, something more serious? Who benefits? Are they foreign or domestic?"
Pythagoras paused before speaking and rubbed his hands back over his face.
"All good questions, sir. The analysts are tackling them now. At the moment we don't know. The byline is a free-lancer the Daily Prophet has published before, but there is some question about whether he is the actual author of this piece. Style differences, vocabulary choices, that sort of thing."
"Then there is the larger picture," Harry said. Pythagoras looked grim.
"If there is a connection," Pythagoras began, "You may be the unlucky domino fated to fall first. They wouldn't have to force you out. Perhaps you are meant to take this as a signal to put all the aggravations of public service aside and enjoy a wonderful retirement."
"I don't think a lot of that idea," Harry said, a little redness creeping upward from his collar.
"And most likely, no one expected you would," said Pythagoras. "You may want to have a conversation with my brother in faith over at departmental security."
"I may," Harry said. "I may at that."
"Well," Harry said, getting up. "Thank you for this. I can stop analyzing now and get to work."
Harry was back upstairs at his desk not long afterwards when his assistant brought in a little cream envelope. Harry thought 'Invitation' and he was right. It was from Blaise.
Inside the monogrammed card was written:
"Lunch? Noon, Morgan's."
A few minutes before twelve Harry walked to a discreet apparation point maintained for him and a few other high-ranking officials of the department. From there he went to the balcony on the building that housed the Magic Club. He still didn't know how that worked, despite Fabio giving him a long seminar on magical architecture. Harry stepped in off the balcony and looked out at London from above. It was such a magical place, if one had the perceptions and fine tuning to discern what one was looking at.
Layers and layers of muggle work, wizardry, goblin businesses and goblin craftsmen, all side by side and fitted together, generally working fairly harmoniously, although the tribes, clans, families and individuals didn't always see it that way. In the case of the muggles, they couldn't be said to see very much at all, even though they might be staring right at it.
Harry thought of a paper he had read once, by a scholarly couple, witch and wizard, who had theorized that at one time, magical ability was randomly distributed across early humans, and witches and wizards were accepted and valued in their bands, the same as skilled hunters, fishermen, scouts, toolmakers and elders would have been. Somehow, the cooperative distribution of tasks ruptured, and the minority who could use magic became an 'other' and over the centuries a gradual distancing took place.
In Rome, there was a College of Augurs. That had to have had magical roots. By the 1500's though, witches and wizards were driven to cultivate means to remain hidden from the majority society. Harry thought the hypothesis sound. One could start with magical types limiting contact with muggles for self-preservation, with that leading gradually to concentration of magical ability in the minority population. Harry couldn't remember what the conclusion of the paper was. The authors probably threw up their hands and said the academic equivalent of 'What are you gonna do?'
"Oh, I thought I heard someone come in over here," said a familiar voice, and Harry turned to see Madame Ba approaching.
"It is our Lord Harry, joining us for lunch," she said. "And Lady Daphne will be with us again soon, may we hope?"
"I wouldn't look for her before March or April," Harry said. "She's not due until February, and if history is any kind of a guide, she'll curl up with the newcomers for a month or six weeks and exude love in waves."
"Oh, Mr. Potter, that is poetry," Madame Ba enthused.
"Ah, thank-you," Harry said. "I've been well-trained."
"Mr. Zabini has everything ready in the conference room, Mr. Potter," Madame Ba said. "You know the way, and I should get back to my station."
"Of course, and thank-you for asking about Daphne," Harry returned, before climbing the steps to the lounge.
Blaise did have everything ready, just as Madame Ba had said. The round conference table was set, pitchers of water and iced tea stood on a side table, and some senior ministry officials were already gathered together.
Ralph Mann, still the Head Auror, Hermione Granger-Weasley and Ron Weasley, Percy Weasley, and Blaise were all waiting for him.
"Everyone?" Percy said, assuming that, as senior ministry official present, it was his job to call the group to order. No matter. They all knew Percy.
Harry noticed everyone had a copy of that day's Daily Prophet next to his plate. Excellent. Maybe one of them had some insight as to why his family had gotten a jab to the bridge of the nose just in time for Christmas.
"Water, Harry?" Blaise asked. "Something stronger? Iced tea?"
"Iced tea, please," Harry said, unrolling the napkin that held his silverware and spreading it over his lap. Harry yielded to another compulsion and arranged the silverware properly, knife and spoon on the right, fork on the left. Then he shifted his plate just a little to get the symmetry he preferred, breaking off when the basket of bread came around. The round roll looked like pumpernickel, so Harry took it.
A cart with a big bowl of salad and a stack of bowls arrived. Blaise stood nearby and took the salad bowls to the table for the guests. As soon as everyone had his salad, the wait staffer left. Harry realized with a start that he could not have said if the person was male or female. That wasn't good. He was getting preoccupied with a personal problem and neglecting to observe what was going on around him. Hmm. He resolved to monitor that closely. That unplottable islet and a life of quiet potion-making might be closer than he thought.
A server re-entered. This one was definitely female.
After a few very gracious opening remarks, the waitress went through the list of lunch items.
"Sliced steamship roast beef on a Kaiser roll with onion and horseradish optional, toasted bagel with lettuce, tomato, avocado and Swiss cheese, chicken noodle soup with house made biscuits, and lentil-filled crepes."
The table took the roast beef sandwiches with everything, except for Hermione, who asked for the soup.
"I heard they confirmed Zelda's record," Ron said.
"Uh-huh," Harry and Blaise said together.
"What for?" Hermione asked.
"Most consecutive saves in a single game," Harry said. He paused a beat, for effect, before observing, "Against Slytherin, last Saturday."
"She's in Gryffindor, right?" Percy asked.
"Right," Harry said. "Ironically, Blaise gave her her first broom, didn't you, Blaise?"
"All right," Blaise said, "Go ahead and get it out. She should be in Slytherin, okay? But what she told me was she put on the hat saying, 'Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin' and the hat said it saw she wanted to play quidditch, and Slytherin would be tough but there was a chance she could play for Gryffindor as a first year, so she changed her house preference on the spot. No conversation with Tracey, none with me. I thought we had rules."
"I don't know, Blaise," Hermione said. "Rose says she's really making an effort in her classes because Neville won't let her play if she prioritizes quidditch. All the signs are you are getting an actual scholar athlete."
"Rare, those," Ron observed, as Harry nodded agreement.
"In any case, she seems to be very happy with her house, although I suppose Iolanthe is having a hard time, the unfairness of it all, and so on," Hermione concluded.
Harry nodded.
"She won't come right out and say it, but there are inklings," he said.
When the food arrived, the conversation subsided. Ralph Mann was holding his sandwich in one hand and the Daily Prophet in the other, ignoring the others while he read about Harry, the Grandee.
"Shall we?" Percy asked, interrupting the quiet one-on-one conversations, and Ralph's semi-private working lunch.
Everyone looked at Percy.
"Ideas, Harry?" Percy said.
"None," Harry replied. "I didn't see it coming, Daphne didn't, even Ginny didn't hear anything in advance, and she works there. It just appeared today. The reporter isn't a big name there, either. It's weird, for a number of reasons. If it is connected to something else, it's not obvious."
"Hermione?" Percy asked.
"There have been unsettling indications that Dark Magic is making a little comeback. Evidence of things that are known to be residue of some nasty work. We've been looking into it but if it's strictly thrill-seeking individuals, that's that. On the other hand, if there is a larger pattern?"
Hermione let the question hang there.
"Political talk is a constant," Percy said. "There is a lot going around. The current senior ministry positions have long term incumbents, yours truly not excepted. If enough witches and wizards want change, they'll get it."
"Sure," Blaise said. "There are means to do that, within the boundaries of established practice. The question is whether that is what the people who are pushing this plan to do. Will they respect the boundaries?"
"I'd be interested in everyone's perspective on my part in this," Harry said. "Unless the Daily Prophet just thought a story about our family's personal affairs would boost circulation, there are larger pieces in motion."
"Harry, have you thought maybe someone over there just found you and your family compelling copy?" Ralph Mann asked. "It's the Daily Prophet."
"Yes," Harry said. "That would make the most sense, as an isolated phenomenon. This might be an isolated phenomenon. With the other things that have come to our attention, I'd be skeptical."
"I'm with Harry," Hermione said. "Skeptical. That's as far as I can go. Ronald?"
"As Percy said, there is always talk," Ron said. "The office checks out anything that sounds like a threat to the Wizengamot. Disputes between members have been known to get heated, sometimes we have to look into those. There hasn't been anything of that nature recently. I can't make a connection between Harry's article and anything we're investigating."
"I'll assume, then, the consensus is the Daily Prophet story isn't a piece of a larger situation any of us are watching?" Harry asked.
"As of today," Percy added.
"Yes."
Went around the table. The door opened and the waitress looked in. Blaise nodded.
"There will be coffee and tea coming," Blaise said. "Dessert is a very light lemon gelato."
Business over, the conversations drifted a bit. Christmas plans for everyone were hurtling forward. Runaway trains were used in metaphors. Blaise tried to explain his and Tracey's plans, with the multiple parties where Zelda needed to make an appearance. Harry did his best to stay with Blaise, but gave up. He listened carefully for clues to what Blaise was doing for a social life, and concluded he wasn't doing anything. Harry wondered again why Blaise and Tracey, who didn't seem interested in anyone else besides Zelda, didn't de-complicate their lives and at minimum cohabitate, if they didn't want to get married, but that was none of his business, any more than his home life was the Daily Prophet's.
Lunch broke up when the coffee was finished. The ministry people left via the fireplace while Harry and Blaise stood talking and looking out at London in a quiet corner of the lounge.
"Have time to tell me about being a grandee?" Blaise asked. He really did look eager to hear all about it.
"Daphne had to explain it to me," Harry said. "It's very much out of fashion today, but old-time wizards could take multiple wives and concubines. I guess they were expected to have the economic means to support them. It was a style thing. Someone has resurrected the concept. Quite honestly, I try not to think about it, because it makes me want to flatten their nose."
"Harry, you stand out in the wizarding crowd," Blaise said. "If you didn't, no one would take notice. Your extended family is intensely loyal to you. I hope you know it. That includes me."
Blaise let the last sentence come out softly, but his gaze was steady as he extended his hand.
"Be careful, Harry," said Blaise. "Something about these bits and pieces, and how they're moving around, makes me think they all want to get lined up and fit together. I hope I'm wrong."
"Thanks, Blaise," Harry said. "It feels like one of those where all we can do is wait and see. Not like we haven't been here before."
Harry had been checking details and trying to penetrate shadows, using plate glass to look for tails and doubling back to where he wanted to be after intentionally overshooting his mark for so long those things had achieved status something like his way of life. The meeting was nice, informative, and involved seeing Ron and Hermione. Even so, Harry had taken one extra step and invited Kingsley Shacklebolt for coffee.
The little café next to Harry's building was a favorite of Kingsley's, so it made a natural spot for them to accidentally run into one another for a short, public encounter. They typically didn't discuss 'business' in the strictest sense, but they knew one another so well they could exchange information in a way that protected it from overeager ears.
Kingsley was standing at a counter fixed to the wall when Harry arrived. There were two cups in front of him, so Harry went straight over.
"Here's okay with me," Harry said, "Unless you want to go up."
"How's Jubal?" Kingsley asked.
"Something of a riddle, but well," Harry replied. "I had lunch with some friends at Madame Ba's place."
"Did you?" Kingsley asked. "I thought you might be doing that. Decent specials today?"
"Roast beef on a Kaiser roll," said Harry.
"Mmm," Kingsley said, "So her ladyship is at the manor, I take it."
"Well thought-out," Harry said. "We talked newspapering. And analysis."
"Brutal story, and just before Christmas," Kingsley observed.
"The why is escaping me," Harry said. "If there is a message in there, it's very obscure. The consensus at lunch was the same."
Kingsley stared out at the street.
"I suppose you need to get back," Kingsley said. It had that definitive Kingsley tone, so Harry didn't contradict him. Kingsley snapped the cover onto his paper cup. Harry did the same. Kingsley had to go left to return to the ministry, and Harry right. Two large aurors wearing raincoats stood up from a table when they moved. Kingsley stopped before getting to the door to let one of the aurors go first. He fidgeted with the coffee cup for a few seconds before proceeding, time he used for a final comment.
"You're under attack, Harry. This is a feint, to see how you'll react. We may be in for a full twelve rounds. We'll get together and catch up, soon."
Kingsley stepped out onto the street and walked away with the two aurors.