Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Thirty-Three

Harry Makes Preparations

Harry went to his office and spent enough time to check the latest reporting from the field, looking for anything that gave the appearance of having a connection with the Daily Prophet piece on him and the Potter family, Iolanthe's report of the strange interactions she'd had with one of the upper class Slytherin witches, and the indications that something vague was stirring in obscure corners and mist-filled valleys.

Harry took a moment at his desk to stare straight ahead, let his eyes go out of focus, breathe deeply and remind himself that many senior people had driven themselves insane in the upper reaches of all the world's intelligence services. It was an occupational hazard. Too much time in an environment where anything that looks normal must be assumed to be a concoction of a hostile entity meant to deceive, to lull, to sow discontent among allies, was bound to take a toll on the healthiest mind. Harry resolved to look without preconceptions, read carefully, and trust his instincts above all.

Harry had a deputy, a witch around his age, whether a few years younger or older, Harry couldn't say. She had been a Ravenclaw at Hogwarts, and she'd come up in the analyst ranks. Her name was Fiona. Harry poked his head out into the outer office and told his assistant he'd be leaving the office soon, but asked if the assistant would track Fiona down and invite her to join him for a short meeting.

"Sir?" Fiona stood in the doorway, waiting to be invited in.

"Ah, come in, have a seat," Harry said. He came out from behind his desk and closed the door.

"You've seen the article about me and practically everyone I know in the Daily Prophet?" Harry inquired.

Fiona nodded. "Rotten thing to do just before Christmas."

"Thanks," Harry said. "I had a little informal working lunch with some people today, and the consensus is no one knows what to make of it. On the other hand, another department is watching something, kind of like we are, but their concern is some indications there is more than the usual dabbling in some Dark Arts going on. Strictly individual cases, so far, but still…"

"I am going to make an effort to carry on, looking normal, acting normal, going about my normal business, because I think this may be nothing more than a provocation. Meanwhile, we need to go back and see if there have been reports over the last year that need a second look, in light of all those things I mentioned. There may be connections we overlooked at the time."

"Yes, sir," Fiona said. "I'll get right on it. Did you talk to Pythagoras?"

"Yes, it won't be a surprise."

"Very well," Fiona said. "Please be careful, when you're out and about.

"I will," Harry said, "Thanks for the thought."

Harry took one of a number of routes he used to go from the office back to #12 Grimmauld Place. Kreacher had the door half open when Harry apparated onto the top step. After quick glances right and left, Harry slipped inside and Kreacher closed the door.

Harry used the fireplace in the salon for a floo call to Potter Manor, telling Iolanthe, who answered on the other end, that he needed a little gym time and would be back in a few hours. Harry changed and loosened up. He thought about what he would be doing for the next few hours, the challenges ahead of him, the unknown that would not reveal itself until doing so gave it the advantage. He also thought about all the people for whom he had accepted responsibility, and how they depended on his skills and practice to keep them safe and their world in balance.

Harry finished his preliminary routine and began his workout. He did pushups, squat-thrusts, knee bends using only one leg with the other extended straight in front. He put his fists to the floor and pushed himself into the 'up' position, holding until he thought his knuckles would catch fire.

Harry switched to forms, watching himself in the big mirror, working his way through tai chi and tae kwon do, then drew his wand and asked for some dueling partners. The mannequins made a very sweaty time of it, unveiling some complex and unethical combined attacks, before everyone acknowledged the draw.

After his cool-down, Harry pulled out a thick black cushion from beneath a bench and placed it on the floor before a very large sheet of rice paper, upon which there was a great, incomplete circle, an 'O' in black ink brush calligraphy. Harry walked around the cushion and stopped facing the wall. He sat down on the cushion, rocked left, then right, then left, five times in all, cutting down the sway each time until his bottom had his weight distributed evenly. Harry lay one hand inside the other, and put his thumb tips together, just touching.

Harry's thoughts from earlier were reduced to one word: responsibility. That was it. He had cut everything else away with his punches, kicks and the slashing of his wand. He had no goal for how long he would sit, because long practice taught him he would know when it was time to get up.

Harry sat. Then he got up. He focused on his responsibility. He didn't know what that would require, until he did.

Hanging his office things in the closet, Harry took a quick shower in cold water and dried off. He chose some black trousers, a dark green silk shirt, a black tie and a full-length black traveling cloak. He got a black beret down from the shelf above the clothes bar, and pulled it on. He wore boots made of soft leather, with an opening that he closed with his wand. The boots were soled in a natural rubber that gave Harry some feel for variations in walking surfaces.

Harry went downstairs. He called out to Kreacher that he was leaving for Potter Manor, and went out to the top step. When he arrived at the woodlanders' green with a 'POP,' Harry stood still and listened. It was full dark and he would have been invisible, unless an onlooker were close enough and had just the right angle to see the faint glow of his face or his silhouette against the starlit sky.

Harry used his downsized legilimens technique to feel for unknown personalities that might be lurking about, inside or outside. Some of Plum's community were over in the woods, but everyone inside the house felt familiar, and the bits of language he did pick up were benign. When Harry was satisfied there was no more to learn out on the green he threw the tail of his cape back so he wouldn't trip and walked toward the patio doors.

"Hullo!" he called out. He'd paused to cast a little cleaning charm on his shoes, but he looked down anyway to make sure he wasn't tracking anything in. James came out to evaluate the commotion.

"Oh," James said, then stood there waiting for Harry to pick up the conversation.

"James," said Harry, "What's going on? How's your mother?"

"Nothing," James summarized. "Mum's in the little library, on her couch."

"Have you read the Daily Prophet?" Harry asked. "I left before you got downstairs this morning. If there's anything you want to ask…"

"Yes," James said, his face stuck in neutral.

"And?" Harry said. "What was your reaction.?"

"I'm pissed at whoever did this to our family," James said, leaving it there.

"Any questions you want to ask me?" Harry asked. "Ask away."

It occurred to Harry that James was much too young to take the lead on such a sensitive conversation, so he took over.

"The article implied, without saying it, that I've got money, a mysterious public job, multiple houses and several socially-prominent witches I keep in addition to your mother. The author intended the readers, including you and our close relatives and friends, to understand that I'm involved in some serious self-indulgence. The photos they chose are interesting. The one on the left shows me with my glam wife making some kind of triumphal gesture. I thought of one of those dictators from the nineteen-thirties who was always putting on a show from the balcony. The other one, on the right, shows me with Tracey, right when we were congratulating Zelda for the win last week. I'm sure Tracey didn't think about it beforehand, but she took my arm for a moment. That one shows us out in public, and implies I'm running around flaunting my girlfriend while my glam wife is confined at home in the late stages of pregnancy.

"It's a good piece of propaganda, if you like that. There are a few facts I can't dispute, and a lot of implications the author doesn't come right out and say. Very crafty. Tidy.

"So, James, if you do have questions, don't keep them to yourself. I'll be happy to talk to you about almost anything."

"Oh, well, when were you going to tell me about your job?" James asked.

Harry unfastened his cloak and pulled it off. He looked around for an elf but ended up carrying it.

"Come on," he said, gesturing toward the door. James fell in beside him.

"Go on in the office," Harry said. "I'll be along as soon as I report."

Daphne was back on her couch, barely covered by her blanket. There was a fire in the fireplace, mainly glowing coals, indicating she hadn't any interest in keeping the December chill out. Iolanthe sat in a side chair near a lamp, Astoria's leather-bound Fitzgerald open on her lap. Trix and Periwinkle were both in the room. It appeared Iolanthe had been reading The Odyssey for everyone.

"Well!" Harry said, giving the room a good scan.

"And we could all say the same," Daphne observed. "Good day at the office?"

"Not particularly," answered Harry. "Everything okay in here? Because James and I were just starting an interesting conversation that I really should finish, then I'll be right back."

"Oddly enough, husband, we've managed without you all day," Daphne said, "And lived to tell the tale. We can probably survive the length of a conversation between you and James. He's barely twelve, remember, so don't be overly generous with the cigars and mead."

Iolanthe looked everywhere but directly at either one of them.

"Be right back, then," Harry said, tossing the cloak over a side chair.

James was sitting in the swivel chair behind the desk, drawing rectangles of various sizes on a piece of parchment.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Grandfather gave me some ideas about garden beds," James said. "How the proportions can be important. These are experiments."

"So," Harry said, flopping on the leather settee, "What have you heard about my job?"

James started out a little jerkily, speaking in sentence fragments, but he warmed to the topic soon enough.

"People say you're a spy. You can't be trusted. I'll take everything I hear back to you, so be careful. You do the ministry's dirty work…"

"Oh, that's easy," Harry said. "Collecting intelligence is a function of government. Knowing what is coming keeps one from getting surprised, and can save lives. The minister can't rely on the Daily Prophet for some kinds of information, so a department exists to get that for him. We can get into the details, sometime, of how it works, but that's beyond our scope now.

"I'm the head of a department," Harry went on. "I've been a fairly public figure my whole life, so it's not a big deal to semi-acknowledge me, and it gives the gossips a subject for discussion, which is really speculation, and keeps the attention off the people who are doing the real work. Neat, eh?"

"Neat," James acknowledged.

"Note I said semi-acknowledge," Harry continued. "It is never officially acknowledged. I would appreciate your support on that. You can say I have a job in London, and I go to an office, and you're not sure exactly what I do. Try to make me dull and boring."

James thought that was funny.

"Are we really that rich?" James asked, changing directions without signaling.

"We're comfortable," Harry admitted, not seeing any advantage in bandying numbers about. "We'll talk about that at length when you're a little older. Can I give you some advice? Don't get into conversations about money, or things, or land, with people who have no reason to know your private business. That kind of thing can break up friendships. You don't want that."

"Are you and Tracey…?" James half-formed a question.

"No," Harry said. "Tracey and your mother have a deal not to do that. It goes back a long way. Their lives were intertwined long before any of us were in the picture, and they respect each other too much."

"Did you get the materials for the greenhouse?" James asked in another hairpin conversational turn.

"Should be right along," Harry said. "I passed your list to Fabio. Your grandfather and his garden elves know everyone in the field. If they aren't here by noon tomorrow, take the floo over and chat him up. It gets you out of here and he loves visits from fellow gardeners."

"Are you going out to do some spying?" James said, eying Harry's subdued colors.

"I might make a couple of stops, to let myself be spied-upon," Harry said, "Although that is very close-hold and not to be discussed outside this room. Done?"

"Done," James said. "Thanks, Dad."

"Anytime. Seriously," Harry said. "James?"

"Dad?"

"I want you to know, I didn't ask for any of this," Harry said. "All the fighting. Being a lightning rod for every discontented wizard with twisted views. But when your mother and I got Iolanthe, and you, and now the babies, I accepted the responsibility to keep you safe and give you a chance to grow up and pursue your dreams, whatever they turn out to be. I'd be happy to live with your mother at the Mill and watch my family grow up, and when the time comes, go back to Godric's Hollow and rest next to my parents. Not everyone wants us to live that way, though, so when I see a threat coming towards any of you, I do what I can to get to it first. Do you understand?"

"I think so, Dad," James said. "Dad, are you a great man?"

He said it like it was capitalized—Great Man.

"Great Man, eh?" Harry said, bemused. "I've known a few great men. They are exceedingly rare. I don't think any of them thought they were great. I think they believed they were ordinary, flawed men, playing the cards they were dealt, as skillfully as they could, trying to overcome long odds. Tell you what. You hold that thought for thirty or forty years, and you make your own decision."

James and Harry crossed the hall to the little library. Harry knocked on the door.

"Decent?" he called out.

"Yes, of course," Daphne said.

Harry opened the door and entered, followed by James.

"My great whale's belly covers all, I couldn't be indecent if I wanted to be," Daphne said.

"I think you're beautiful," Harry said, earning a 'Eeeew' from Iolanthe.

"Has everyone eaten?" Harry asked. "Do we need food? Pumpkin juice? The elves went somewhere, meaning they can be summoned."

"There is supposed to be something ready whenever we get to the dining room," Iolanthe said. "Mother, do you want to join us?"

"I need to walk," Daphne said. "My legs will cramp up otherwise. Your father will get me back to vertical, you two go ahead. Wash up."

Iolanthe and James left, closing the door behind them. Daphne threw back the blanket, revealing herself to be minimally clothed, yet covered in a thin sheen of sweat despite the chilly room. Harry knelt next to her couch and waited for Daphne to put her arm over his shoulders. Slipping his own arm around her back, Harry stood up, bringing Daphne with him, until they both stood at their full heights. Harry kept his arm around Daphne's waist until he was sure she had her balance. Daphne put her fingers on his chest and gently pushed Harry away.

"I've got it," she said. "Step back a bit."

Harry did as he was told, looking around for one of the caftans. It occurred to him that Daphne's caftans got a lot of work at this stage of her pregnancies.

"I know what you plan to do, Harry Potter," Daphne said. "I'm not in any shape to come with you, nor try and stop you. So look at me. Look at all of us, Harry. If you throw yourself away on something foolish, all of this will be here, in your home. Exposed. Vulnerable. Now, the caftan is right there."

Harry looked where Daphne was pointing and grabbed the silk caftan, holding it open so Daphne could put her arms through.

"Slippers?" Harry asked, looking around.

"No," Daphne said. "The cold floors feel too good under my bare feet."

"Are you sure that is normal?" Harry asked, reaching out to grasp the library doorknob.

"Twins, eighth month? Yes," Daphne said. "The little folks generate some heat."

Later, Harry would remember their dinner was delicious, but the only thing he could recall eating was the boiled potatoes. The mind, he'd think. So mysterious when it's stressed.

Harry got Daphne upstairs to their bedroom. She was no longer getting in and out of the tub, but she could sit on a stool under the shower while Harry managed the sponge. When she was dry and all tucked in, Harry sat down on the edge of their bed.

"Someone is up to something," Harry said. "We don't have anything solid, other than the article from this morning. It's not even clear if they are calling me out personally, or if they want to damage us because we are Kingsley supporters, or if they just want to sow discontent.

"Someone is watching, though. It's my responsibility to keep them away from you and the family. I'll just go out and talk to one or two people, just to let it be known there will be no hiding. I'll be very careful, I promise."

Daphne looked at Harry. The amber fire was definitely trying to break through the blue, so Harry leaned over to plant a kiss on her cheek before striding back to the door.

Responsibility. Harry held the word in his mind and excluded everything else. He had done all of this. Harry had no doubts the responsibility was his, because he had roped in Daphne and done everything that came after, putting the care and protection of her and their family directly on his shoulders. The picture of Daphne standing there, huge with his twins, kept popping into his mind.

"WHOOSH!'

Harry stepped out of the fireplace in the Three Broomsticks.

Madame Rosmerta didn't recognize him until he pushed back the hood of his black cloak and slid the beret off his head.

"Harry Potter," said Rosmerta. "Coming to see Minerva? She's about the only one left over at the school."

"No, just some foolishness wanting looking-into, thought I'd stop for a butterbeer on my way past," Harry said. "Beautiful night out there tonight. We don't have snow down our way yet, Christmas or no Christmas."

Harry looked around the room. There were some faces he recognized. He didn't think he could say how he recognized them, or when he had first seen the owners. He couldn't help wondering if they'd been sitting there on his first visit to the Three Broomsticks as a Hogwarts student.

Responsibility. Push everything else out and focus on responsibility, and everything would be fine. Even so, Iolanthe and her budding network, Hermione's dabblers in the Dark, and the little tremors of political unrest kept trying to elbow their way into his thoughts.

Harry finished his butter beer. He'd paid once but he added a few sickels to help Rosmerta with the overhead and went outside. Harry took his time. Aberforth was just as likely to be closed as open, so there wasn't a rush. Turned out he was open. 'What kind of business can he be doing tonight?' Harry thought to himself.

The hinges squeeked louder than ever when Harry pushed the door open. He walked up to the bar, throwing back his hood and pulling the beret off his head.

"Harry Potter, good to see you," Aberforth said, reaching across the bar to shake hands. "How have you been?"

"Fine, thank-you," Harry said. "The family's fine, the twins should get here in February, Daphne's doing great. What has been going on?"

"Not very much," Aberforth began. "The excitement of Christmas fades in Hogsmeade when the students go on break. One day there are people on the street, and the next you're lucky to see one of the centenarian witches out exercising her cane."

Aberforth had a way with words. He was one of the few people who, just by being themselves, could make Harry laugh uncontrollably. The centenarian Aberforth's disparaging comment about the centenarian witch was an example. Who else would phrase it that way?

"Now, you aren't in my pub because you got homesick for Hogsmeade, something tells me. Not when you ought to be home with the family. Did you have it in mind to bring me in on it?" Aberforth asked.

"Did you see the Daily Prophet this morning?" asked Harry.

Aberforth clearly had, and wished Harry hadn't brought it up.

"I did," said Aberforth.

"I talked it over with some people," Harry said. "Kingsley was among them. He is of the opinion it wasn't idle gossip collected into an article to boost sales. He thinks it is directed at me as a kind of warning shot. A warning for what purpose remains, um, obscure. If there is anything you know, or have heard of, that could tie that piece in the paper to a larger project someone is running, I'll listen respectfully to all points of view."

Aberforth stepped over to the door and slid the bolt home.

"People talk," Aberforth began. "Most of the time it's pretty bland. Muggles, foreigners and the ministry. One of those bothers almost any customer who walks through that door. They come here for a pint and someone to listen. About a year ago, I started to hear something different. Kingsley Shacklebolt and his gang. It's a spider's web and Kingsley is at the center. Everyone close to Kingsley is getting rich. They should get out and give someone else a chance, but as soon as anyone not in the gang tries, the aurors come for them. You and your department take out people without bothering the aurors, if the occasion calls for it.

"I throw them out if it gets too inflammatory, but that's not a cure-all. That's all I know."

"As usual, it's a couple of hundred percent more than I knew when I came in," Harry said, extending a hand. "Is that still connected to the floos?"

"Sure, a customer used it just a few hours ago," Aberforth said, polishing a mug with what actually looked like a clean towel. "Before you go, were you here?"

"I was," Harry said. "Just passing through and stopped for refreshment and a friendly face. Don't forget to unbolt the door, you could lose a customer."

Harry took the floo to the Leaky Cauldron, looking around the main room before he pushed his hood back and pulled off the black beret.

"Harry," Hannah Abbott called out as she walked past, multiple mugs in each hand.

"Butterbeer, please," Harry said. No one occupied the small booth by the fireplace, so Harry sat down. The back of the booth always had some interesting observations carved into the wood. Some had actually been carved with a knife, others burned in by wand. Both schools had skilled practitioners represented. One or two were very witty and done by talented carvers. Too bad they couldn't all rise to that level, Harry thought. Inside an elaborate heart with an ivy filigree frame: 'Jacques Lafleur est un vampire.' Harry thought about coming back with some tissue paper and a piece of brass and making a rubbing.

"What is going on?" Hannah asked when she got back with Harry's drink.

"Jacques Lafleur it seems, is a vampire," Harry said. "I don't see Neville."

"Gosh, Leaky Cauldron plus Jacques Lafleur, there had to be something amiss, didn't there? Neville's in the kitchen with the elves," Hannah said. "It's too late for real food orders, so they're doing a cleanse. Tomorrow they start getting ready for Christmas dinner. Let me see. Hey, that's pretty good."

Hannah took on some long-term residents in the upstairs rooms when she first began running the Leaky Cauldron. Some were elderly, some were newly single, some were just a bit down on their luck. The first Christmas, to celebrate her own good fortune in getting to run the business, she'd thrown a free all-the-trimmings dinner for her tenants. Christmas dinner had since become a Leaky Cauldron tradition, with both current residents and alumni invited.

"I'd better say hello," Harry said, standing and picking up his butterbeer.

Harry found Neville in the kitchen as promised, wand out, casting purgio and some other cleaning charms at greasy spots.

"Harry!" Neville greeted him. "Traveling?"

"You could say that," Harry said. "Just having some conversations with usually-reliable friends and acquaintances. Did you read the Daily Prophet this morning?"

Neville looked around. No humans besides Neville and Harry were in the kitchen, and the elves were all busy well away from them.

"Yes, sorry, Harry, joys of public life, eh?" Neville asked. "Have a Merry Christmas with your wonderful family and forget about it."

"Thanks, Neville," Harry said, "It's just that the timing makes it look like it's something bigger. There's talk it's time for a change, new blood, blah-blah. Nothing wrong with that. It's what the Wizengamot is for, among other things. There are rumblings of something more sweeping, more violent."

Neville looked at Harry.

"Did you talk to Hannah?" Neville asked. "I live a little more cloistered life during the academic year. She'd be the one to pick up the political talk."

"I haven't yet," Harry said. "She's fully-occupied at the moment. I need to get back home anyway. Promised Daphne. And the twins."

Harry thanked Neville and turned to go.

"Harry," Neville said, keeping his voice down. "Don't go using yourself as bait, hmm? Too many people…"

Harry nodded. 'Counting on me,' he thought, nodding.

Daphne was still awake when the 'WHOOSH' came out of the fireplace in the library at Potter Manor. Harry walked up the stairs to the master suite. Daphne had a couple of lamps burning, more than enough light for a witch or wizard to see clearly. Harry, who'd come in through the darkened house, was letting his eyes adjust when he noticed Daphne had her wand in hand, pointed straight at his chest.

"It's me," Harry said.

"I know," said Daphne. "Just practicing."

"Oh," Harry said, "You want to make sure you remember how?"

"Only partly," said Daphne, "Mostly it's to make sure you remember what it's like to be standing there with one of these pointed at you."

Harry crossed to the closet and swept off his robe, untied his tie, and got out of his shirt and trousers before he spoke.

"One doesn't forget that," Harry said, involuntarily reaching up and touching the scars from the cutting curse.

Daphne raised herself up on her elbows.

"You're sure? Because we believe in you, Harry. Can you come here?"

Harry stood in front of Daphne and took her hands in his. Daphne stood up. She had to accommodate the twins by standing back a little and leaning forward to put her cheek on Harry's.

"Do whatever you have to, to do your duty, Harry," she said. "You always do anyway, but you have my blessing. Then, after the twins get here, and you think you've tidied this up, we will have a conversation about your retirement from public life."

"Someone has to…" Harry began, before Daphne cut him off.

"Yes, they do," Daphne said, "And, at a certain point, it becomes Someone, besides you, doesn't it? That's how you got the job, don't I recall?"

"Fine," Harry said, "Maybe it is time. Let's see if this turns into anything, then we'll talk to Kingsley about it. There are at least four or five people, just in the department, who could do a fine job."

"Oh," Daphne said, "I thought it would take me a year or so just to get this far. What are you going to do next?"

"Next as in working on the immediate problem, or next as in next phase of my life?" Harry asked.

"Either one," said Daphne, letting Harry walk her across to the bath. She could handle that herself, but she also knew it made him feel like he was part of the whole pregnancy experience. Hah. As if.

"I think it might be time for an overt visit to Malfoy Manor," Harry said, talking through the door. "Call ahead, set a time, walk up to the gates in broad daylight, sit down with Lucius and Narcissa, state the situation, assure them we're open for business if something should fall into their laps, or they want to get it off their consciences."

"Is this another pureblood thing?" Daphne called out over the sound of water hitting the basin.

"I don't think so," Harry said. "I can't say a lot about the pureblood thing, considering Mum, and how I was raised. I'll always be an outsider to that core group, no matter how many pureblood witches I cohabit with. That said, this sounds and feels more like an insurgency from an outgroup, or more likely a group cultivating an outgroup approach. It's wizards. They could work on their skills, wave a wand, get whatever makes them happy. Instead, it's 'To the barricades!'"

Daphne stopped halfway back across their bedroom to laugh at the image.

"Wizards at the barricades? What a contradiction in terms."

"It's the romance," Harry said. "The cap of liberty, aloft on a pike. Marianne."

"Ahhh…" Daphne said, leaning back against the pile of pillows she employed to give her positioning options. "Harry? There is a pureblood witch over here that could use some cuddling. I estimate fifteen minutes before the heat gets to me and I send you away."

Harry eased over, trying to read Daphne's body language for cues, ending up with a sort of loose half-nelson that seemed to be fine for her, but started putting his entire upper left quadrant to sleep.

"And for the next phase of your life?" Daphne asked.

"I'm thinking of seeking employment with Teddy and James," Harry said, "Building magical greenhouses."