Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three
Iolanthe
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Cautery
Harry kissed Daphne, then Evans and Davis. He stood, hands on hips, looking nowhere in particular while he collected his thoughts. When he spoke, it was to say, "Just say I needed to floo over to Grimmauld Place for something, but you don't know what it was. I could come back at any time."
Harry turned and stepped into the master bedroom fireplace, the only one on the second floor. He made sure Daphne heard the floo direction, "Grimmauld Place."
Once back in London, Harry changed clothes and floo'd to Potter Manor. He'd built the place with an owlery. There wasn't an explanation really, although Harry had a huge soft spot for owls. He liked the way they looked, but the real reason was his first animal of any kind was Hedwig, the snowy owl Hagrid gave him for his birthday when he was eleven. They weren't just close, Hedwig had been killed while trying to screen Harry from a curse. That kind of devotion merits a memorial, thus the Potter Manor Owlery and the Black Owls he funded so that Hogwarts Blacks would always be able to stay in touch with family and friends.
Harry lit the lamps in the little library/gallery everyone seemed to have a hard time defining, but used for a multitude of purposes. He put a quill, a bottle of ink, and a box of some smaller dimension, note-size parchment on the desk and began to write. He wrote nothing about the Lafleur group or his suspicions. He just asked a few people he trusted to drop by The Mill for tea, and a sandwich when mealtime rolled around. When his owls were sent on their way, Harry secured the manor and took a walk.
He'd always liked the walk from the house to The Mill. Ever since Fabio had taken Harry and Draco to meet the fairies on his first visit, Harry had always liked the experience of walking the lane, through the bit of woods, and coming out in the clearing. He stopped at the wooden bench beside the millstone and sat down. It wasn't long and the little points of light began drifting down from the trees and rising up from the floor of the clearing.
"Hullo, Harry," said the fairies' voice. "Welcome to The Mill."
"I'm very happy to be here, as always," Harry said. "How are the fairies today?"
"The fairies are as always," said the collective voice.
Harry appreciated hearing that. He appreciated it very much, in fact. The fairies were a constant in his world of shadows, threats, appearances of threats that really weren't there, illusion, active measures, feints, jabs and the knockout blow that could land without warning if the least opening were allowed. The fairies, according to Kendra, were part of the same creation as the Earth, and would be there until the end. The End. That was solid. That was something that held still so he could study it.
"Some friends are going to come by and visit," Harry told the fairies. "I suppose I should wait for them over there."
"Go ahead, Harry," said the voice that spoke for the fairies. "The fairies will be here."
Harry got up and walked on to The Mill, opened the door to let the interior air out, and sat on the bench beside the door. He thought, while he waited, of the Potters' experience with the old building, the site that Iolanthe Peverell brought to her marriage into the Potter family. Harry and Daphne had worked, mostly with Winky, to spruce up the old building as a retreat, and the place seemed to have a knack for figuring in significant family events, including, it was suspected, the conceptions of both Iolanthe and Scorpius. Fabio maintained the magic came up out of the Earth here, like a spring. Harry could not find a flaw in that reasoning. He hoped the magic didn't fail him over the next few days.
"WHOOSH!"
A flash of green light escaped through the open door and danced on the packed dirt of the dooryard as Blaise Zabini stepped outside.
"Harry!"
"Good to see you, Blaise," Harry said. "How is the consulting business? Before you start, coffee? Tea? Butterbeer? Something else?"
"Tea, please," said Blaise.
"Sure," Harry agreed, "Let's make it a pot. Winky!"
The elf appeared under the arbor.
"Lord Harry! Master Blaise! How good to see you. Where is Miss Zelda?" asked Winky.
"Miss Zelda is with Mistress Tracey at the Black estate," Harry explained. "Melon and Periwinkle are busy with the people over there, so I wondered if you could make a pot of tea for Master Blaise and myself? Just bring it out here to the arbor."
Winky had a strong connection with The Mill, verging on proprietary feelings, and was thrilled Harry had called on her when Periwinkle and Melon were occupied elsewhere. She was also devoted to Zelda, feelings she transferred to Blaise and Tracey, as a sort of honorarium for combining to make their daughter.
Tea on the table and Winky thanked for the efficient preparation and service, Harry and Blaise moved to the arbor. Harry poured tea, slid one cup in front of Blaise, and got down to business.
"I have need of some research," he began. Fifteen minutes later he had outlined the problem, very sketchily at first, dropping tiny crumbs, watching Blaise carefully for anything that would have indicated Blaise was compromised in any way by the Lafleur movement.
Harry knew he had no tolerance for error. If he misjudged and gave away the background he had to the wrong person, his investigation could be over before it began. When he finally said 'Lafleur,' Blaise tilted his head back.
"Merlin!" he began, following it up with, "Damn. Damn-Damn-Damn. Oh, let's be careful, Harry. Let's be very, very careful. Lafleur. Oh, careful."
"You've some experience with them?" Harry asked.
"One arm's length removed, yes," Blaise said. "A year ago the firm got a little contract to do an audit of a private organization that received a bit of ministry funding for some services to youth and children. Not really what we're known for, but work is work, and we have a well-stocked directory of specialists we can call on. We took the job, got a financial type to look at that side, did some interviews, and wrote a report.
"Then it got weird. The people who directed some of the funds to a sub, which turned out to be a Lafleur organization, took exception. We'd seen some things that didn't look right and recommended further exploration as to whether they complied with standards for contracting, due diligence, blah-blah. Standard observation of compliance with ministry guidance. You would have thought that report charged them with high crimes. Deicide, or worse. The agency head rejected the report and refused to pay. I pointed out we had met the contractual terms and they owed, whether they agreed with the report or not. We got the basic amount but the agency refused to part with any of the performance bonus that is always in the contract."
"I just made a mental note to rebuff any future offers of work from that agency or the Lafleurs. Odd things kept happening, though. Prankish things. Mailbox stuffing. Poison pen letters. I didn't want to take up the aurors' time with it. We did a little standard surveillance. Very discreet."
Blaise stopped talking. Harry was familiar with the technique. He thought over what Blaise had said.
"Had they gotten someone inside?"
"Not my firm, no," said Blaise. "There was some financial hanky-panky involving a ministry employee who was a member of Lafleur's movement. He was pushing the do-gooder funds to the private agency that then subbed out to Lafleur. Your common, everyday corrupt practice. He was discovered and fired, and the agency is on the prohibited vendors list for two years. They even got to keep the funds.
"What surprised us was the over-reaction. It makes me think there is something a lot larger and they wanted to cut off contact before it was discovered in an expanded investigation, but at the same time, they kept calling attention to themselves," Blaise said.
"Where's the ministry guy today?" Harry asked.
"Don't know," Blaise said. "He's fortunate. I didn't find him inside my group."
Blaise let it hang there. Harry knew what it meant. He respected Blaise' right to shut up and go no further.
"I have to look into something. Something in my department," Harry said.
"Inside," Blaise said. "Inside your department."
"Yes," Harry said.
"Judging by your faraway look and long pauses, you don't feel you can give it to your own security section or the aurors," Blaise said.
"Not until I know they aren't compromised," Harry said. "The Lafleur people aren't just skimming from contracts. The upper echelon appears to be involved in some seriously depraved stuff. Children, specifically. They know they'll be going to Azkaban if they're caught, so they'll do whatever to avoid that. The infiltration of the ministry means they have legal and bureaucratic tools to deploy to delay or defeat corrective measures. They'll probably claim persecution, too. Jacques Lafleur just wants to help witches and wizards reach their potential by sharing the wisdom he's acquired."
"What do you want to do?" Blaise asked.
"The first thing is some research," Harry said. "I don't know who in the department would do an unprejudiced job and who would try to tank me while reporting back to Lafleur. It's the same as with the internal audit your firm did. I need some solid research done, names, numbers, known adherents."
"That's it? Standard rates?" Blaise asked.
"Sure," Harry said. "I can authorize that. Just so you know, I could be fired at the end of all this."
"That's a constant, isn't it?" Blaise said. "I'll present the invoice to your successor. Is anyone besides me working on this? I don't want to bump into Hermione and disrupt two projects."
"I have to speak to Hermione," Harry said. "With Mysteries you never know. They go back inside the lair and we might see them tomorrow or six months from now. I will be sure and tell her there is another effort underway and if she encounters the parallel she can just stand back enough to deconflict and carry on."
"Right" Blaise said. "I'm on it. Tracey and Zelda are in Cornwall?"
"Sure, give them a floo call," Harry said. "Go on over, if you want, just don't dither, please. I need to see what you have tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock, right here."
"I'll be here," Blaise said.
Harry heard Blaise talking from inside shortly before the green light poured out the door.
Harry sat waiting for Hermione to appear. He thought over his conversation with Blaise while he waited. He hadn't heard about the Lafleur organization getting involved with charities or contracting scams before. Merlin! What else would turn up?
Sitting still and stewing would not get Harry to any useful conclusion. He got up and went inside The Mill, coming out with the jar of dried crickets that sat on the mantle. These days it had a neighbor, a magical photo of a smiling Astoria Malfoy, who gave anyone picking up the jar a very big, overdone wink in recognition.
The trout in the mill pond were already coming up to the surface, some of them sticking their heads out, when Harry got to the berm. He couldn't think of a way to prove it, one way or the other, but he suspected Astoria had found a means of letting the trout know when someone was on the way with their crickets. Harry liked standing on the berm, flicking crickets off his fingertip for the trout. Something about it calmed his mind when it was in danger of overheating. He had stood right there, showing Astoria how to feed the trout, when she'd had her doubts about the aesthetics, before feeding trout became one of her favorite things to do.
Harry remembered the quick change in Astoria's thinking once she let herself absorb the rhythm of picking up a cricket, flicking it out over the pond, and watching one of the trout come up to accept the humans' tribute. She had even made it a final request to her survivors that they contribute some of the ashes from her pyre to the pond.
Fabio had introduced Harry to the concept of magic as the underlying connective tissue of everything that was. Harry flicked crickets and considered Fabio's theory. He couldn't find a logical flaw in Fabio's approach. He knew enough about muggle science to understand atoms, and the particles that went together in different combinations to make the elements. Break an atom and the behavior of the subatomic particles went beyond Harry's comprehension. Harry stood looking at an ancient oak at Potter Manor one day. The tree was huge. Lichens covered its bark. Fungi popped up between its roots. Squirrels chased other squirrels through its upper branches. A kite soared overhead. A random cloud dropped rain, then stopped after two or three minutes. Harry thought about everything that was alive, and the cycles of birth, death, and rebirth. The cycles went deep down into the community around the oak, becoming so subtle they disappeared. Something underlay it all, so why not Fabio's magic?
Harry was standing on the berm, thinking about the magic connecting everything, feeling Astoria's presence and feeding the trout when the green light shone out of the front door.
"Hullo?" came a voice from inside The Mill. It sounded like Hermione.
"Outside!" Harry shouted back. "Winky?"
"No, it's me," Hermione said.
"Winky is here, Lord Harry. Oh! It is Mistress Hermione. Will you stay for tea?"
"Have a seat, Hermione," Harry said. "I have to put the crickets back."
There followed a little tea sipping. Harry explained he'd only asked Hermione to come because he didn't want to poach on Ron's resources, which rightfully belonged to the Wizengamot. He asked for Hermione to exercise discretion for twenty-four hours, then he'd be glad to bring Ron on board. The Granger-Weasleys were used to being left out of spousal news. It wouldn't cause serious disruption.
There followed a repeat of Harry's chat with Blaise. Slow introduction combined with careful observation. It felt funny, being so guarded with Hermione. They were both alive because of their deep trust in one another. Still, Harry couldn't make a single mistake. If he misjudged, his investigation could be over before he'd gotten it underway.
"Oh, Merlin," Hermione said, when Harry got to the point. Being Hermione, she immediately started to put the pieces together.
"They're inside the ministry, diverting funding to their organization. You think someone is culling your reading before the reports get to you? They wouldn't stop there, would they? The people who produced the reports could be in danger. At the very least, the Lafleurs would have manipulated the system to give them different responsibilities," Hermione said, "To keep them well clear of any Lafleur scams."
"All true," Harry said, "And suggestive of the spectrum of their operations, something still to be determined. It's wide, though. I think we can be confident of that.
"Now, what to do? I have someone looking into some backgrounds," Harry went on. "I won't tell you who it is so you can honestly say that to anyone who asks. I can't direct the Unspeakables, of course, but if you should happen take an interest and in pursuing that you should run into another investigative effort, just de-conflict and we'll pool everything at the proper time.
"There are some things we can do," Hermione said, before caution took over and she went silent.
Harry knew Hermione had said all she had to say on the topic of Lafleurs working for the ministry.
"Have you heard anything about the youngsters' plans for the next few days?" he asked.
"Rose wanted to bring Zelda to the Burrow to play pickup quidditch with Weasleys," Hermione replied as she sipped he tea. "I think, if Tracey and I would let them go, they would just spend the summer there. Rose flies just fine, but she plays one game and sits down with Molly for some knitting and chat. Zelda never wears out. You know what George, Ron and Ginny are like around brooms. Charley is expected soon."
"Close to a team right there," Harry said.
Hermione tipped her head back and drained her cup.
"Thank Winky for the tea," she said. "I'd best check on my office and see what new conundrums they've loosed upon wizardry. I am going to need some coffee around two-thirty. Ministry cafeteria?"
"I'll be there," Harry said.
Hermione didn't bother with the floo but walked to the flat spot just past the millstone and disapparated with a 'POP.' Harry didn't have anything to do until coffee that afternoon, so he decided to stick with his leave plans and return to Cornwall and the family. If anyone from the Lafleur group, or any other hostile organization, were watching, Harry's movements wouldn't raise concerns. Besides, he felt the need for some quiet time to let his gray cells work.
"Ladies! James around?" Harry asked when he walked up on Tracey and Daphne holding the twins under the arbor.
"I think I'd look around in front. He was headed that way with one of Father's elf associates from Greengrass Manor," Daphne said.
Harry kept walking, but he thought he felt eyes on his back until he got around the corner of the house.
James was standing back from some plantings that bracketed the veranda, looking down the flagstone walk that led out to a green. James moved back and assessed the front of the house, then turned and looked back down the walk.
"Dad," James said, in what sounded like a statement.
"What are we doing?" Harry asked.
"Assessing the landscaping," James said. Harry wondered what needed assessing, as the house looked smashing to him.
"What do you think you can do with it?" Harry asked, hoping for a more illuminating response.
"Well," James said, turning toward the green as he motioned Harry to come along. "The plants along the front provide a little framing and color accents for the house. The Blacks had very dramatic taste, in houses."
"Quite possibly an understatement," Harry said. "Please continue."
"The look of the house will be affected by the trees, shrubs and other plants that grow around it. We stand off here and imagine the front with beds at the corners. What do we plant?"
Harry didn't know. He tried to remember conversations with Fabio, Neville and Teddy when they had discussed landscape design. He drew a complete blank.
"You've got some ideas," Harry said. "They're better than mine."
James gave Harry a very succinct description of what they had, what he wanted to keep, what he wanted to add, and why. Harry was beyond impressed.
"Done," he said. "Do you have to order anything?"
"A few things," James said.
"Approved," Harry said. "Are we doing anything today?"
James looked at Harry, a little confusion showing.
"You wanted to work?"
"Yes," Harry said, "At something. I want to move dirt, with hand tools."
"This way," James said.
Fifteen minutes later they were well into the removal of excess bedding plants.
"Feel better?" James asked.
"Calmer," Harry said. "I guess that is better."
"What's on your mind?"
"James," Harry said. Left unsaid, but implied was, "You can't seriously expect me…"
Harry stood up straight and stuck his garden fork in the ground.
"Actually, have you ever heard of Jacques Lafleur? He's some kind of guru for witches and wizards," Harry said. "It's a movement. They recruit. Young people."
"I got a flyer from them once, on the train platform," James said. "I didn't see anything relevant for me."
"Glad to hear that," Harry said.
They got the bedding plants out and James handed Harry a shovel.
"You'll need a hole, right about there, three feet across, two to three feet deep. Put the soil over here," James said.
"Has anyone tried to get you to talk about me, or what I'm doing, or the family?"
"Dad," James said, "We're not supposed to know anything about you. You used to be an auror, but now you do something in an office. I've told that to a lot of people. They've stopped asking."
"Well, James," Harry said, "That is actually a very good state of affairs."
Harry went back to his digging, putting some back into it. He wanted the physical exercise to clear his mind, so he could think through the Lafleur problem and all the subsidiary issues that had emerged since Lissette had come into their lives shortly after end of term. Instead, he'd managed to inject Lafleur into a gardening conversation with his son. Lafleur, someone Harry had never set eyes on, had succeeded in getting inside his head.
Harry kept an eye on his watch.
"Need to leave?" James asked.
"Got an appointment at two-thirty," Harry said. He didn't elaborate. "What am I digging a hole for?"
"A banana plant," James said. "I think those big green leaves will look good here at the corner of the house."
James looked at Harry's work.
"That's enough, I think," he said. "Leave everything here. What time is it?"
Harry looked at his watch.
"One," answered Harry.
"Time for some lunch," James declared. Turning to the garden elf, he asked, "Are you ready to go back to Greengrass Manor? Thanks for coming."
He didn't need to ask twice. The elf had disapparated before Harry and James got to the rear of the house. Harry got his wand out first and cast purgio at both pairs of shoes. Salad and sandwiches waited inside at the big dining table.
Harry looked around the table. The Potters, Tracey and Lissette were all there. Zelda, Harry theorized, was at the Burrow with Rose, and the quidditch players. Keeping an eye on his watch, Harry took his time with a very summery salad.
"Did you grow all this?" Harry asked James.
"Pretty much," James confirmed.
"Well, thanks," Harry said.
Harry didn't have a lot of spare capacity for chit-chat. He kept thinking about his Lafleur problem, or problems, and the people he'd asked for some investigative help. When he wasn't thinking of that, he was fighting to keep his anger in check. He didn't know how Lissette was able to face her mistreatment with such calm. Rage by proxy wouldn't help him fix his department. It would just divert him from directing an efficient investigation and making necessary corrections. He fought himself to stay focused.
"I have an appointment in London," Harry announced. "Maybe an hour, at the outside. If it looks like it will go longer, I'll try to owl or get word back somehow."
"Grimmauld Place," Harry said, dropping the floo powder. Daphne looked at Tracey. Neither of them, knowing Harry as they did, believed he had anything at all to do at #12. Still, it was so sweet of him to give them a cover story in case they were captured and given veratiserum.
Harry entered the ministry via the atrium. He consciously avoided getting caught up in the atmosphere of hustle and bustle, forcing himself to cross the atrium at a stately pace. He checked in with the security desk. The guard made a note on his sheet of ruled parchment, and Harry proceeded on to the cafeteria.
"Over here."
Harry recognized Hermione's voice and looked around, before locating her at a table that was neither conspicuous nor inconspicuous. Perfect. She even had two coffees ready.
"Goodies?" Harry asked.
"A few," Hermione teased. "Not here in front of everybody, Harry. You know the rules."
"Zelda has been abducted by Rose, apparently, just as you said," Harry began.
"You seem quite content with that, for a former Head Auror," said Hermione.
"I defer to her mother," Harry said. "She's done such a good job so far."
"That's actual wisdom, Harry," Hermione said. "You've grown so much."
"Well, now I'm primed to leave that all behind and start bludgeoning," said Harry. "I'm speaking figuratively, of course."
"Of course you are," Hermione said, adding, "Clearly. So I suggest we take these coffees and retire."
No one watched them leave. Harry, the department head whose department did not officially exist, and Hermione, the Head Unspeakable, turned no heads walking out of the ministry cafeteria deep in conversation. A complete stranger to ministry organization could have figured out something was going on by the strained air of business as usual that hung over the room.
"We've made some changes," Hermione said as they went down a corridor.
"Um-hmm," Harry acknowledged, "That's normal. The ministry was letting itself get shabby. Décor has really improved under Kingsley. What have you done? I only ask because the air looks maroon, like the walls, except for the corners and they look flat black."
"The paint is new. Magical Maintenance kept the original color scheme."
"Here we are," Hermione said, presenting her wand before an ordinary-looking door. The door opened, smoothly, but slowly, with great dignity, like a bank vault. Of course, the ordinary-looking door provided greater security than any bank vault in the muggle world. The Unspeakables felt quite safe from outsiders once they'd crossed the threshold, leaving only what they had inside to give them cause for fear or alarm.
Hermione walked with complete assurance through the round room encircled by identical doors. Harry felt the onset of nausea. He knew it wouldn't go away, but would only get worse, until Hermione got him out of that room. He couldn't understand how Hermione, who had had her own near-death experiences in the Department of Mysteries, could walk around with such assurance. He knew the techniques for controlling one's emotions and compartmentalizing conditioned responses to clear the way for dealing with immediate crises and emergencies. He used them in the circular room. What mystified Harry was Hermione's seeming immunity to the reignited terrors that affected him in her workplace.
"Because it is so delicious," Hermione said, picking one of the doors.
"What?" Harry asked. He was a bit startled by the answer to his unasked question.
"Your face said you don't want to be here," Hermione told him. "You're wondering how I can walk in and out and around the office every day. I was right here with you for that horror show, so it's only natural that you'd like to know what sorcery I'm using to appear unaffected."
"Something, like that, I guess," allowed Harry. "I couldn't feel you inside my thoughts, by the way, so I congratulate you on your technique."
"This way," Hermione indicated, waving her hand towards a long corridor of identical doors with no numbers or nameplates of any kind.
"The truth is, Harry, if I gave in to the negative emotions, the terror, I'd probably pee my pants before I could get out of here. Don't laugh, it's true. However, I overcame this once. That's what I stay focused on. I suspect you have something like that in you, just like me. That is what kept you from panic in those situations back at Hogwarts. You had already beaten the worst Voldemort could throw at you. When I bump up against the terror down here, my mind gets a little defiant," Hermione concluded.
"My office," she said, as a door opened for them.
"Is that all you've got?" Hermione asked. "I've already done that. That's what I say to it. To the terror. So delicious."
"Thank-you for the compliment, too, although I wasn't inside your thoughts. After all this time, you haven't stumbled on that? I don't need to go inside with you, Harry."
Hermione was one of the first witches Harry had met after learning he was a wizard, and she didn't get any less scary the longer he knew her.
"Have a seat," Hermione said, waving her wand over a small stack of file folders on top of her desk.
"A few things from the archives in here," she began. Harry focused on Hermione's outline of the contents of each file. Even with the new paint, the Department of Mysteries seemed designed specifically to creep out any stray Harry James Potter who wandered through. Harry speculated everyone had at least one of those. He knew Hermione had a permanent aversion to Malfoy Manor, scene of her torture and scarring at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, for which Harry blamed himself. He had hesitated right here in this department, letting Bellatrix get away when he would have been perfectly justified in killing her after what she had done to Sirius.
The deep maroon walls and the flat black corners tried to close in on Harry, while his mental exercise of listening closely to Hermione kept them in place. Harry convinced himself Hermione's words were his armor for the fight against the walls. That seemed to work, until she stopped talking.
Harry felt the office shrinking.
"So it's a con?" he asked, looking up from the open file folder on his lap. Anything to get Hermione talking again.
"It is," she said, "And more. There are always cults and sects and movements and pep-talkers around. Muggles and magicals both support healthy populations. If a person goes, hears something that makes them feel good, and gives a donation, there is nothing illegal in that. It isn't even objectionable, if it really helps a person face their problems or resolve an internal conflict.
"This one stands out, though, because it appears to be a conspiracy to do something. Just what is unclear. Infiltrating your department is deeply troubling. You weren't aware of Fiona's involvement with Lafleur. Going to self-help lectures or learning a meditative technique would not have been cause to deny her employment or promotion. Using one name for work and another in the Lafleur organization, though, that requires an explanation," Hermione said.
"This is a delicate matter, Harry," Hermione went on. "The public face of the Lafleur movement is squeaky clean. It might not be possible to make a legal case that will stand up."
"The misconduct, if any, was done by individuals," Harry said as he turned over another sheet. "Abuse of position."
"That will be the organization's position, almost certainly," Hermione agreed. "Historically, that is the first defensive posture."
Harry felt the walls pushing toward him, making it difficult to focus his mind. He wanted one more overview before he got the hell out of Hermione's madhouse.
"So Jacques Lafleur, the leader, has gone from renting a hall for a few hours and putting on "An Evening with Jacques Lafleur," to heading up a movement with a permanent organization of salaried flunkies, an income largely invisible to the authorities, and at least one successful penetration of a critical ministry department," Harry began.
"In a little over five years," Hermione added. "His origins are cloudy. He's almost certainly not Jacques Lafleur to his mum and dad. The philosophy is a mishmash, bits of mystical traditions from here and there."
"The increasing of magical power through meditation is not something usually seen in the retail magical texts," Harry went on.
"But you…" Hermione continued.
"What?" Harry said, a hint of alarm in his tone.
"Well, Harry," Hermione said, just a little bit exasperated with her longtime comrade-in-arms, "Your interest level spiked when we got to mixing meditation and magic, making me certain of something I've suspected for a long time. You practice, something, along with your dueling and wand work. You have been since you came back from your travels."
Harry was keeping the walls back, but it took an effort. The Department of Mysteries had no windows, which was to be expected, but they insisted on keeping the oil lamps and beeswax candles to a minimum. Harry speculated it was just more mysterious with dim light and black smoke.
"Okay," Harry said, "Since you asked. I don't bring it up because it is private, but this is a professional conversation. You have a legitimate interest.
"When I took my time away from Britain, I started out a real mess, up here."
Harry tapped his temple.
"Professor Flitwick had introduced me to dueling, like so many of us. I liked the workouts. It's escapism, for people with troubled minds. Exercise gets the mind out of the maze for a little while. If you can get into that zone for an hour or more daily, the mind starts to heal itself. My mind needed a LOT of healing.
"I didn't spend all my time as a wizard, while I was traveling. I looked for things to do, for the exercise, a replacement for dueling. I found a teacher. He was well-qualified in judo, and some other disciplines. He was a wizard, too, but he ran a school in a storefront, taught children, new mothers, aspiring boxers. I just walked in, and asked him about one or two judo lessons, just for familiarization. It fits quite neatly with our movements in dueling, believe it or not.
"I came back," Harry went on. "I always asked for a tutorial, which was expensive, but I didn't have anything else to spend my money on, so I didn't worry about that. I was just glad he could clear thirty minutes or an hour for me. He had a very successful school. You've probably guessed what's next. He figured out who I was. He identified himself as a wizard and took me to his real school.
"He'd built a retreat, outside of town, on a rocky patch of ground he owned. Some charms kept it occluded. One little shack, not much more than a lean-to, with a shrine inside and a few cushions. The students kept the little kitchen spotless. We had to sign up for the privilege of scrubbing the pots and pans, because that was the only time we touched hot water. The dojo was some packed earth in the courtyard, and three very substantial posts sunk in the ground. There were never more than three of us there at a time, besides my teacher. The days were work, meditation, hours and hours of forms, and silence.
"It sounds idyllic, but it was serious. Challenging, very challenging. After two weeks, I was allowed to spar. The others were more advanced, having been there longer. They took it easy on me at first, then our teacher said to get better, I had to experience the results of my incompetence.
"Work, meditation, forms, and silence gave me my sanity," Harry said. Hermione's walls retreated. "When our teacher brought wands back into the mix, we applied the physical training to dueling. At a certain point, the practitioner can experience an ecstatic state, due to some combination of magic and body chemistry and physical exertion. One day, after our workout, we cleaned up and went inside to sit, and I stared at the wall and counted my breaths, and something happened."
"Something?" Hermione asked.
"A sensation. Coming home. Realizing we're already home, that we've been home, all along. We know ourselves, completely, even when we don't know ourselves at all," Harry said.
"Isn't that contradictory?" Hermione asked.
"It sounds like it should be, before," Harry said. "But afterward, it all made sense. I bowed to my teacher and asked his blessing to leave and return to Britain. He bowed to me and wished me well."
"What happened next?" Hermione asked. The walls were completely back in place. Hermione's office wasn't as claustrophobia-inducing as Harry had thought just a few minutes earlier.
Harry took a deep breath, let it out, then took another, and let it out. He felt his familiar meditative state around him, just beyond his arm's reach. If he had allowed it to approach, he could have stayed right there and heard the bell ring to begin sitting.
"There is a saying: 'Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.' I came back to Britain, entered auror training, and I chopped wood and carried water," Harry answered.
Hermione sat staring at Harry over the pile of file folders. She and Harry had known one another since they were children. Hermione suspected Harry's evolution included some arcane knowledge. He was simply too good at single combat, for one thing. His famous equanimity in the face of mortal threats was another. Even so, she was surprised.
"You could do a Lafleur movement, if you wanted, couldn't you?" Hermione joked, "Only you'd do it right."
"There is a problem with that," Harry said. "Magic and martial arts must both be treated with respect. In combination they are very dangerous. My oath forbade me from misusing the power my teacher's techniques allowed me to access, taking money from others in exchange for the knowledge, or teaching it to the uninitiated. Furthermore, I am sworn to stop those who violate the prohibition."
"Harry?" Hermione asked, making it sound like she wanted to shriek.
Harry held Hermione's eyes and nodded. His skin wanted to tingle, but it was not yet time, so he focused his thoughts on a simple idea—a peaceful solution.
"It doesn't need to come to that," Harry said. He hoped his tone conveyed calm assurance. "Anyone can make a mistake. They must be allowed to correct their ways and make amends. Thank you for the informative briefing. How do I get out of here?"
"Right through that door," Hermione said, indicating the door they'd come in. Harry expected to see the endless corridor with the identical doorways marching down both sides, but he exited directly into the ministry atrium. He knew the Department of Mysteries was nowhere near the atrium. It wasn't even on the same level. Harry wondered what else Hermione had in her beaded bag. He was certain she hadn't shown him everything. Hermione never showed him, nor anyone else, everything.
Harry breathed in atrium air, deeply, feeling it displace the smoky Department of Mysteries air, breath by breath. He visualized the relatively clean atrium air penetrating to the lowest lobes of his lungs and pushing upward as he exhaled, moving the oil and beeswax up and out. Three breaths later he felt cleansed. He didn't think about the contamination in all the exhalations of ministry employees crossing the atrium with him.
Harry used an apparation point accessible by all ministry personnel. He was authorized to use several reserved for the most senior officers of the ministry, but he intended to be seen. Anyone watching, and he was certain there were some, needed to be aware he wasn't sitting still. Harry wondered what course the Lafleur organization would pursue. By now they knew they would have to do something. He let his conscious mind go, bidding it to think like Lafleur.
The period of building an organization on the fringes was over. Harry Potter, through his daughter, had snatched one of their adherents. That had to be challenged. Furthermore, Harry Potter was moving around London, meeting publicly with the Head Unspeakable. Blaise Zabini, another Potter associate, had brushed the Lafleur network some months back, uncovering a lucrative scam for tapping ministry funds, leading to the cutting-off of several similar deals.
Harry had entered #12 Grimmauld Place and thanked Kreacher for his work opening the door when it occurred to him he had lost track of the reason he had gone home in the first place. That is what happened when one released one's faculties without a trusted escort to guide them. The subconscious took over and brought one back to base. There was no one there, everyone else being at the Black estate in Cornwall. Harry asked Kreacher for a glass of iced tea in the garden, then went upstairs to change.
Fully freshened up and wearing clean clothes, Harry sat in the garden, appreciating the fresh air and the absence of candle and lamp smoke. He finished his iced tea, and would have enjoyed drinking another one, but he knew the second would inevitably impede his progress, so he continued to sit, running through everything he had learned about the Lafleurs since Lissette had come to the Potters.
Harry was in Lafleur's way. Lafleur would have to try to remove him. Lafleur could confront him or try to achieve his goal by stealth. He had succeeded in getting a close associate into Harry's inner circle, it appeared. Harry was unable to use his own counter-intelligence assets for fear they were compromised. It was a master stroke. Fiona's very presence precluded taking standard protective actions. For now, Harry Potter was checked.
That was A problem. THE problem, though, was Lafleur. Harry suspected the two of them were racing down the tracks, directly at one another, with neither able to step aside. Harry thought Lafleur's ego would force him to concoct a way to get Harry to fight him. The deck would be stacked, if Lafleur could do it, but he would take care to make it appear to be a fair fight.
Harry still didn't know who Jacques Lafleur really was. Nor had he been able to find out if he was an actual vampire, or if that was someone's figure of speech.
"Monster Versus Vampire! The Fight of the Epoch!"
Harry's mind designed a poster along the lines of muggle movie advertisements, making Harry laugh out loud. It wasn't that funny, but it gave him a little relief from the tension.
Harry got a good night's sleep at the Black estate and arrived at The Mill at seven-thirty next morning. He opened up the front door and let the fresh air and sunshine pour in. Summoning Winky, he tasked the elf with a quick trip to the Potter Manor owlery to ask his favorite owl, a big male barred owl, to join him at The Mill.
Harry tied a note to the owl's leg, then extended his fist for a perch.
"I know you can do this," Harry said, "I wouldn't ask otherwise. See you soon."
The barred owl hooted once, gave Harry a wink, and launched off his fist. Harry called for Winky a second time.
"Master Blaise will be joining us soon, Winky," Harry said, "I'd like to be able to offer him coffee or tea. Could you prepare a carafe of each?"
Winky was overjoyed, as always, to be asked for some little service by any member of the Potter family. The prospect of Harry and Blaise in combination was particularly sweet.
Harry heard the 'pop' from the flat spot and saw Blaise strolling down the lane past the wooden bench that sat by the old millstone. Harry stood up and extended his hand when Blaise reached the arbor.
"Welcome back," Harry said.
"Such a magical spot," Blaise observed. "Thank you for inviting me. Do you ever get tired of it?"
"Not so far," Harry said. "Coffee or tea?"
"Coffee, please," Blaise said. "Oh! Winky! Miss Zelda says hello!"
"Winky is so happy, Master Blaise," said the elf. "Please tell Miss Zelda Winky says hello as well!"
It was a beautiful July morning, not too hot yet, and Harry and Blaise sat under the arbor, both very reluctant to get to work. They listened to the breeze rattling the grape leaves, caught up on all the childrens' news, glossed over Lissette's summer with the Potters, and gradually worked their way back to the matter at hand.
"You understand I could get a lot more if I had more time, I know, but why don't I lay out what we managed to find and you can let me know if you want us to keep digging. I hope it goes without saying, Harry, we get freebies from time to time, ancillary stuff from working on other projects, so you're welcome to any such, no charge.
"First of all, no offense meant toward your former outfit, but it appears the aurors' traditional suspicion regarding the new and flashy has served them well. We found no indication the aurors were compromised, from Ralph Mann on down. That doesn't vet every auror in every nook and cranny in Britain, of course, but the leadership does not seem to have flirted with Lestrange at all.
"Second, reporting on Lestrange has gone up the line, and should have gotten into your reading. Fiona has to be considered the prime suspect for volunteer editor. She would be a good place for the counter-intelligence effort to start, if I may be so bold?
"Well-put, Blaise," Harry said. "Right under my nose."
"Don't blame yourself, Harry," Blaise said. "Lafleur has been hiding in plain sight, right under everyone's nose."
"Third, Jacques Lafleur is an assumed name," said Blaise.
"Of course," Harry replied.
"Had to be, didn't it?" Blaise said. "His real name is Michel Lestrange. Anglo-French family. He's a nephew of your old pal Georges. We couldn't get anything on his education. He studied somewhere, or did a good job educating himself, judging by the sources he draws on for the lectures and essays. The way he handles his references in building up to reach his conclusions sounds like he has a grounding in the formal study of philosophy as well as history of magic. According to our analyst, and, like I said, time is a factor. That could be subject to revision in light of new information."
"Is he really a vampire?" Harry asked. "Not figuratively, in actuality?"
"We're working on that," Blaise said. "He has purged much of his past. He emerged as Jacques Lafleur, magical public intellectual and popular lecturer around five years ago. Going further back than that will take a lot of digging."
"Hmm…" Harry pinched his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger.
"How is your coffee?" he asked. "Top it up? Glass of water to go with it?"
"I'd take some more coffee," Blaise said.
Harry got to the carafe first. He took his time loosening the stopper, and tilted the carafe toward Blaise' mug.
"Lestrange has a reputation, in certain circles," Harry said. "Not very positive, I'm afraid."
Harry sat back down and immersed himself in his own thoughts once more.
"When you were in the Army, I was pursuing my own post-Hogwarts therapy," Harry said. "I had an experience, an illustration of the truism that when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. Michel Lestrange had stumbled through a course of study with my teacher. I heard about if from another student. Our teacher is famously closed-mouth. As soon as he learned a few things, Lestrange showed his real concern was turning the knowledge he had gained to a commercial purpose. Which is not allowed. It appears he got the formula right around five years ago and became Jacques Lafleur."
"What do you think his reaction will be to your investigative efforts?" Blaise asked.
"Oddly enough, I've been pondering that since yesterday afternoon," Harry said. "Hermione gave me enough to tweak the memory. You just confirmed my hunch."
Harry looked to Blaise like he was prepared to ponder away all afternoon, if that were necessary.
"I think, by this time, word has gotten to Lafleur, or Lestrange, that I am looking into a couple of their areas of activity. From what I heard at my teacher's, I suspect Michel Lestrange is ruled by his ego, loves power and money and the things those can provide, and will feel compelled to respond to a perceived threat with overwhelming force. I have no idea whether or not he knows I studied with our master. I suspect not. As I said, Master is very closed-mouth, so unless another student talked about me, there is no reason for Lestrange to know about the connection. He'll know as soon as we face off, of course."
Blaise sat there, considering Harry. The breeze rattled the grape leaves in little rising and falling crescendos and diminuendos, laying down a counter-rhythm to their voices. They were sharing the intelligence upon which an operation would be based that in all likelihood would end in a fight to the death.
"What do you want me to do?" Blaise asked.
"I'd prefer not to have a big battle with a bunch of casualties to attend to," Harry said. "If things turn out properly, Lestrange and I will do all the fighting. If it doesn't go that way, do the best you can for Tracey and Daphne. They didn't start any of this, and the children are going to need them. Oh, one other thing, my will is up to date. Tracey becomes the guardian of the children in the event Daphne doesn't survive me. Not to put you under any more pressure than you're used to, but I'll count on you to show up once in awhile and mentor the youngsters. The boys in particular. They'll need to see an adult male who knows how to behave in polite magical company."
Blaise nodded.
"What's next?"
"Meetings," Harry said. He thought about what he'd just said and had to suppress a laugh. "Kingsley, Percy, Bart, Ralph, Hermione and our liaison with Wizengamot investigations, Ron Weasley. I'll give Kingsley what we've got so far. I'll have to offer my resignation, again. I suspect he'll turn the investigation over to Ralph and the DMLE. After that, my guess is Michel Lestrange will demand satisfaction."
"You don't want my associates to do that part? We can be discreet," Blaise said.
"No, that wouldn't work," Harry replied. "I appreciate the offer. Rogue he may be, but the, um, Lodge will expect me to do this myself. Michel Lestrange forsook the right path and violated his oath in my territory. I let it go on too long. Innocent people were hurt. Only I can make it right. The rules are simple and few. If I get it right, this will be cauterized and we'll go forward, lesson learned."