Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three
Iolanthe
Chapter Forty
Two Days of Strange Revelations
Harry Potter looked around at his immediate family. He had convened everyone in the library/gallery at Potter Manor to give them what he could. That wasn't a lot. Much of what he knew was either classified or critical to an ongoing investigation, not to be shared prematurely with unofficial persons. The gist was simple enough—he was on leave from his department. He had had meetings with concerned officials that morning. The Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, did not want to do it, but some action was necessary in light of the seriousness of what had happened.
The official story according to Kingsley's press spokesperson was that Harry had suffered some mild cardiac symptoms and would be resting at home pending the results of a full battery of tests by the healers from St. Mungo's cardiac unit. The unofficial version, as related to Fiona, the departmental deputy designated to act in Harry's absence, was that Harry was under investigation. Allusions were made to misfeasance, exceeding his brief, freelancing, and lack of candor when asked several direct questions by Percy Weasley. Percy gave Fiona a closed-door briefing, concluding with a verbal commission from Kingsley to assume the directorship on a temporary basis until the 'Potter Matter' was concluded.
"Did we do this?" Iolanthe asked. "Did I?"
"No, this is all me," Harry said. "I wasn't paying close enough attention. None of you are to blame in any way. It's purely a performance issue. Now, we are literally down to weeks before it is back to school. Everyone has to start thinking about first term, the subject matter you'll be tackling, supplies, uniforms that need replacing, and on and on. The world won't stop and wait for us because I'm sitting at home. All of our scholars can start to inventory their kit and we'll refit now so we're ready in September."
James and Iolanthe looked a little doubtful, but they had no choice but to take Harry's word for it. Zelda did not yet have a strong grasp of politics. She decided if there were to be any drastic changes to their lives, Tracey would inform her. Lissette, despite Harry's assurances, could not help thinking she had done something to cause her hosts' distress. Like many abuse victims, she had been conditioned to assume she was to blame for every bad thing that happened to her or around her. Even so, she held her tongue.
"So please carry on," Harry said. "Enjoy your summer. James, I'll probably just apprentice myself to you for the duration. You'll make sure my hard work and fresh air quotas are met, won't you?"
"Of course," James said. "As long as you follow my orders!"
With that, Iolanthe, James, Zelda and Lissette went back to whatever Harry had interrupted, leaving just Daphne and Tracey behind. Daphne waited for the door to close, then cast muffliato.
"Harry Potter."
Daphne made it a statement, although Harry was unclear on exactly what she was stating.
"Daphne Greengrass Potter?" Harry responded, politely, trying to be helpful.
"Are you going to tell us what is really going on?" Daphne asked.
"Some of it," Harry said. "I don't know all of it. Events will be taking place soon enough. A rough outline would be, an investigation is underway, I should not have anything to do with it because my office may end up with some of the responsibility, it concerns the activities of the Jacques Lafleur organization. Other than that, everything I know is confidential. In my judgment, you do not want to know all the details, at least not at this point. Some patience will be necessary over the next few weeks."
Tracey looked at Daphne. Daphne looked back.
"I don't…I guess I don't have anything more right now," Daphne said.
"Well, I do," Tracey said. "Harry Potter, this is a crock. Someone did something wrong and you're part of the solution, not part of the problem. Tell us what you want us to do."
Harry and Daphne looked at Tracey. They were used to Tracey's enthusiasms for event production, parties and weddings, and for Zelda. Other than that, Tracey was a presence in the Potter family, even when she was physically absent, and Daphne's most constant companion and helper. Harry couldn't remember any previous instances of Tracey acting like she wanted to draw her wand and mix it up with anyone. Nor had she ever exerted such spouse-like claims on their family life.
"Please don't do anything," Harry said. "Go about your business. Treat the children to a visit to Fortescue's. If you're worried about security I can arrange some coverage."
"Harry," Tracey replied, boring in. "I've been here with you and Daphne for years, if you remember? I hugged her and held her hand when you were lying in St. Mungo's with your chest laid open and I thought, 'At least I'm not crying myself to sleep because I might lose my husband tonight,' but I would have, wouldn't I? Something like that.
"You took me in when I was the castoff my own family all but disowned. You had a wife and family and you made room in your heart for Daphne's pregnant friend Tracey. You made me feel like I'm a human being and you appreciated me, just for that, and you gave me a stable foundation to build a life on and you have never once asked for anything in return. I have a home for Zelda, thanks to you. I'm part of this. Not a conventional part, I'll acknowledge, but something.
"I'm so sorry, Daphne, it's true. This is how I feel. None of us saw this coming. I didn't, and if you did, you didn't think to tell me. Now you can decide what you want to do with me. I trust you, completely, like always."
Tracey pulled a tissue from a box. She didn't look at either of them while she dabbed her nose. Daphne felt an explosion building inside her. Who did Tracey Davis think she was, talking to her husband like that? In Daphne's house? That was Daphne's prerogative alone. It would serve her right if Daphne were to tell her to take Zelda and get out of her house and not return. Then Daphne felt the pressure go away, as if it had evaporated, as if it never was. A switch closed somewhere deep inside, with a sound like a gasp and in that moment Daphne's life changed forever.
"Tracey's right, Harry," Daphne said, tears just starting to escape the corners of her eyes. "It took long enough, but I see our situation the same way Tracey does. We are almost interchangeable to the children, and they are to us. When Tracey and Zelda stay in Cornwall too long, I start thinking up reasons for asking them back. I have to see them, like I have to see you. Otherwise I get…off, somehow. This has been coming on for a long time. I understand it now that Tracey has laid it all out. I am complete and content when I have both of you close. In every way that matters Tracey is a Potter. From now on, we consider Tracey part of US. Unless you object?"
Harry didn't know what he'd just witnessed. Whatever it was, it was completely outside his experience and standard frames of reference. He hoped the witches weren't about to turn his immediate, comfortable, familiar world upside down. He thought Tracey had come very close to confessing she had feelings for her oldest, dearest, best friend's husband. Harry had to admit, when the Potters were in Devon and the Davis's in Cornwall, he had felt little twinges when he realized Tracey and Zelda wouldn't be at dinner, or would not be coming along for the family swimming party at Greengrass Lake.
"You know what?" Harry asked. "I am going to let you two continue to make all those kinds of decisions. You have experience keeping yourselves stable and it wouldn't be to anyone's advantage for me to interfere. I've a couple of conditions. I'm not getting married again, and if you make my life any more complicated than it is right now, I'm exiling the lot of you to the Faroes. I mean that. I have enough clout in London to make it happen, so don't doubt my word. Please."
"Yes, milord," was the reply, in duet.
"I know you're both due a better explanation of what is going on. Believe me, I appreciate everything the two of you do for me and the children and the household. I would not trade lives with any person on Earth," Harry said.
Later, upstairs, Harry slid his arm under Daphne and pulled her close.
"What just happened?" Harry asked.
"We all said we like each other and want to be together," Daphne said. "Other than that, bonds of affection are mysterious. Maybe Nature doesn't want us to understand too much, or the magic will go away."
"Do we just like each other? I don't want anyone but you in here with me, like this, I mean," said Harry. "There is only one of you. Cut me off if I get too gushy, but I can tell you truthfully I've had two lives, one before we got together and another one after. I prefer this one. I'd rather it wasn't disturbed."
"That makes me happy, Harry," said Daphne. "That makes me very happy. If it doesn't feel right telling Tracey you love her, you can tell her you're glad she's here. She'll know what you mean. And, in case you were wondering, Tracey and I aren't... Understand?"
"I wasn't worried. We do have to make some provision for her and Zelda now, though, don't we?" Harry said. "Something could happen that knocks us out of the picture, and then what would they do? I've been thinking about it, off and on, for a couple of years. I know Tracey has her business, but my guess is she doesn't have a lot put aside, and she hasn't mentioned the Davis family doing anything for her financially. Blaise may have done something, but if he has, he's been very closed-mouth about it.
"Between us we can give her some security and we won't even notice it. She'll need enough capital to generate an income for the two of them. I can work that out with Whetstone.
"They need a home, too, something in Tracey's name, even if they don't live there full-time," Harry said. "The Black estate is entailed, so I couldn't transfer it to her even if I wanted to. Why don't the two of you do some house-hunting? Figure out a way to do it so she doesn't appear to be a poor relation we're forced to support or a kept woman.
"While we're on the subject, I've been thinking about James and Teddy, too," Harry went on.
"Yes, we need to provide for all of them," Daphne agreed. "James has a job, you know, with Father."
"Oh, no, I didn't," Harry said. "He's moving into your position in the firm? At the age of twelve? Thirteen?"
"Pfft!" Daphne said. "I no longer have a position. I abandoned my position when I assumed responsibility for the mental health needs of magical Britain. Father wants James to focus on Hogwarts right now, because James has a tendency to follow his nose and that leads to a spotty education. That wouldn't do James a lot of good when he's a full-blown adult making his way in the business world. He's going to be a great magical botanist, but his real passion is magical landscape architecture, just like Fabio. That draws on multiple disciplines. He'll have to work if he wants to get there. Father thinks he has the tools. I don't know if he offered James a job, formally, but they have an understanding."
"What about the estate? I've forgotten all the details from our meeting with Gringotts," asked Harry. "I remember it's medieval."
Daphne laughed again.
"I'll never get to sleep," she said. "The entailment gives the estate to my firstborn child, regardless of sex. So that means, Merlin willing, it will pass eventually to Iolanthe. Father has some other properties, in addition to the business. He can make whatever bequests he wants to with those."
"Okay," Harry said. "While I'm suspended I can work on getting our people some financial security. It will be a good use of my time. Now I plan to shut up. Tomorrow is the first day of our new adventure."
Harry didn't think it would add anything useful to mention he would also be out, moving around, visible to any of Michel Lestrange's underlings, should they be taking an interest in the suddenly less-powerful, less-influential Harry Potter. So, not seeing any need to bother Daphne, he kept that to himself, and went to sleep.
Tracey got to the patio before anyone else and was well into her first cup of coffee when Harry walked out into the July morning. He paused beside her chair, nearly putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing, thought better of it, and tried Daphne's suggestion from the night before.
"Just so you know, Tracey, I'm glad you're here," said Harry. He pulled out the chair on Tracey's right and sat down. Tracey waited for him so settle, then reached over and laid her hand on top of Harry's.
"I'm very happy with you and Daphne, Harry," Tracey said. "I apologize if I was too forward last night, but I needed to tell you. Both of us, Zelda and I, wouldn't have the lives we have if not for you. So, what's on for today?"
"Someone will bring me some reading," Harry said. "Then I hope to do a little banking, if Gringotts can take me. If it stays nice, I'd suggest a visit to Greengrass Lake in the afternoon."
"Are you ever going to tell us what is really going on?" Tracey asked. "I know the signs when someone is coming after you. Daphne and I were at Hogwarts with you, you may recall."
"Yeah, what's going on?" asked Iolanthe as she walked up. "The real story. All of it."
Harry looked around. Lissette wasn't far behind Iolanthe.
"Look," he began. When the newcomers sat down, three bums pushed back against three chairs. Three forearms lay on the table. Three pairs of eyes bore into him with a tactile intensity.
"That's not going to be up for discussion right this minute. I am officially on sick leave because of some symptoms that gave cause for taking precautions, including absenting myself from the stress and strain at the office. There will be rumors. That is the way of things, something even the youngest of us understands."
Harry looked Iolanthe in the eye. She looked right back.
"If pressed, I'd appreciate the family confining its remarks to 'We're taking a wait-and-see approach,' if that isn't too much to ask," Harry continued.
Iolanthe looked at Tracey.
"We're taking a wait-and-see approach," she said.
"You poor dear," Tracey said. "Do let us know if you need anything the Davis family can provide in your time of trouble."
"How was that?" Iolanthe asked, directing the question to Harry.
"Completely believable," Harry said. "If I were a reporter trying to get the story, I'd quote you. What are you thinking of for breakfast? I've had scrambled eggs on my mind for some reason."
Everyone wanted scrambled eggs, it seemed, and Periwinkle appeared with a great platter a short while later, a mound of scrambled eggs in the middle and a border of toasted muffins, cups of crème fraiche, and slices of smoked salmon that somehow were a perfect fit for a muffin.
"Well!" said a voice they all recognized.
The four of them turned toward the house as Daphne stepped down onto the flagstones. She had her hair up in its twist, held by chopsticks. She wore a muslin caftan hemmed just high enough to not be a trip hazard for a busy mother.
"The youngest Potters have been fed and are awaiting transport. I believe this morning's fresh air and sunshine are indicated," said Healer Daphne.
Lissette jumped up, even faster than Iolanthe, and the two quick-marched back to the house, returning almost immediately with the wicker baby cradles. Evans and Davis were conversing in gibberish the whole way. Iolanthe and Lissette delivered the two to Tracey and Daphne.
"Hang them up?" Iolanthe asked Daphne.
"Sure, why not?" Daphne said. "Might as well let them enjoy a little swinging. I wonder if they'll miss it when they've outgrown the cradles?"
Iolanthe used wingardium leviosa to bring out two hefty wooden tripods from behind the great urn that stood at the corner of the patio. She went back for a log, about six inches in diameter, that spanned the tripods. There were chains descending from the log, ending in hooks, that allowed hanging both of the wicker cradles so the babies could be swung gently while everyone else admired them. If the breeze were just right, they could swing for hours undisturbed.
"Isn't this wonderful, lads?" Iolanthe asked when the two got going. "Your brother James is a brilliant engineer of baby equipment. Unfortunately, you're going to be rolling around and climbing soon and the Healer over there will ban you from your cradles. Poor little guys."
Looking at his watch, Harry decided it was time he met the messenger.
"Going for a little walk, to let the solitude do its work," Harry said. "I'll check the wards on the way. Better to stay inside, but remember them if you do have to go out."
"Wards?" said James, yawning as he walked outside.
"Yes, just a precaution, something to keep us interested," Harry said.
Harry had been vague about the someone who would be bringing him his reading. There were actually two people doing messenger duty that morning—Percy Weasley and Blaise Zabini. They really did have his reading file, as well as an update on the internal investigation. Harry met them in The Mill.
"Nothing actionable that I saw," Harry said, handing the folder back to Percy.
"That's the consensus," Percy said. "Still nothing about the Lafleur movement, either. Of course, there are other ways to do that sort of esoteric research. The easiest being the oldest, 'Follow the money.' Our colleague got there first, so duly noted, Blaise, and well done.
"The financial inspectors have been turning up some interesting accounts. The Lafleur group has become very proficient in tapping into the ministry cash flow, all along the model Blaise and his group discovered. A grant or contract is awarded then a little piece of it gets subcontracted to a Lafleur front, and a steady flow of galleons is added to Jacques Lafleur's net worth, month after month after month.
"It's clever and simple. There is no big theft to draw attention but the total of all the little ones is quite substantial," Percy concluded.
No one said anything, all three just sat there quietly, thinking through the problem.
"Who put the file together this morning?" Harry asked.
"Fiona," said Percy.
"Was there anything we would have found of interest?" asked Harry, already pretty sure he knew the answer.
"Yes, Harry, just as you suspected, there was a savory teaser cooked up with the connivance of a trusted analyst. It didn't make the cut, for your file nor for Kingsley's," Percy confirmed, sounding just as pleased as if Harry's discovery were his.
"Fiona," Harry nearly spat.
"It happens, Harry," Blaise interjected. "Don't blame yourself. Fiona has fooled everyone BUT you, hasn't she?"
"Still…"
"Bollocks," said Blaise, cutting Harry off. "You identified the problem, the damage is being assessed, it's going to get fixed."
"Now," Percy said, "Lafleur."
Harry didn't know how much Percy knew about Jacques Lafleur, born Michel Lestrange, the rogue student of restricted knowledge. He decided to keep his own counsel.
"Doing lectures?" Harry asked. "Sitting on his cushion, chanting?"
"No sightings for the last forty-eight hours, was it, Blaise?" asked Percy.
"More like seventy-two, I think," answered Blaise.
"Well, how about that?" Harry said. "What does that mean, I wonder? Fiona is functioning normally? No sign she's getting paranoid?"
"Not so far," Percy said.
"Where did the teaser end up? Do we know that?" Harry asked.
"It appears she disposed of it. She burns her read material regularly. The parchment had a little charm on it that would have alerted the aurors if it went out of the building," Harry said.
"Just what you'd want in a deputy, Harry," said Blaise.
"That's what irks me," Harry said. "When Daphne and I learned about the twins, and all of us were fully occupied with Astoria, and afterwards, I talked to Daphne about retiring and letting someone else have a go. I was going to recommend Kingsley promote Fiona."
The conversation stopped once more, while everyone thought his own thoughts about what Harry had just said.
"Well!" Harry said as he stood up. "Allow me to extend a little hospitality? Coffee, tea, pumpkin juice, breakfast? Snack? Winky lives to bring Blaise coffee and a bite to eat."
Both of his guests demurred, so Harry saw them off via the fireplace, then sat with the quiet at which The Mill was so accomplished. He thought through everything he'd discussed with Blaise and Percy, putting those pieces in the puzzle as it had emerged so far.
There was a well-developed body of evidence that the Lafleurs were systematically skimming from ministry contracts. That meant they had either corrupted ministry employees or management of the agencies that used ministry funds, or both.
Fiona had worked her way up in the ministry to a position in his department that enabled her to manipulate his understanding of current intelligence by sending on or retaining reports and analyses when she put his reading file together every morning. That would have been bad enough, but Fiona was the final editor for the intelligence files read by Kingsley and the junior ministers as well.
Harry thought back to when Fiona first joined his department. She had been there early in her career, then went to the DMLE where she…
"DRAT!"
Fiona's sponsor had given her the highest recommendation when Harry was interviewing candidates. That was a few years back, something like four years, or three-and-a-half. That would have put the emergence of Jacques Lafleur roughly a year prior. Harry felt the walls closing in. Time for some fresh air, and perhaps some fairies, he thought.
Harry sat down on the wooden bench to the left of the door and waited. Solutions to the toughest problems seemed to resolve if he sat long enough on that bench. Sometime later, Harry wasn't sure just how much, a barred owl glided to a perch on the arbor, a piece of note parchment tied to its leg.
"I don't have anything for a treat," Harry said. The owl hooted, a little irritation sounding in its tone. "I know, but the owlery is right up there, or you're free to go hunting if you want, just as soon as you make your delivery."
Harry held out his arm, and the owl left the arbor, gliding down to its temporary perch. Harry pulled the parchment free and lifted the owl to his shoulder before reading the note.
"That settles that," he said aloud. "Now, if you just go home and content yourself for a few minutes, I'll see that you're properly rewarded. Can you do that?"
The barred owl appeared to be contemplating nipping off a chunk of Harry's ear in recompense, but he refrained, hooted once, and launched himself toward the manor.
Harry secured The Mill and struck off walking for home. He used the time, sunshine, fresh air and exercise wisely, thinking through the complex of issues separately and together, arriving at what seemed like a reasonable solution by the time he arrived.
Daphne was in their room, laying out some of her professional clothes on their bed.
"Oh," Harry said, "Starting back to work?"
"Soon," Daphne replied. "This is just a staff meeting today, but I'll need to go back next week, or the week after at the latest. It's a good time. School will be starting before we know it. Are you going to be here to raise Evans and Davis?"
Harry hoped Daphne meant 'Will you be over and done with your department so you can stay at home?' and not 'Will you still be alive then, or…?' He was stumped for an answer, a situation that caused him great concern, although he didn't have time to ponder it right then.
"That could take a little time to determine," Harry said. He knew it sounded weak but dealing with an existential question on short notice always poses difficulties.
"Who's around?" Harry went on, asking what he'd meant to ask when he climbed the stairs.
"Everyone," Daphne said, "Tracey has something this afternoon, but I should be back around lunch."
"Oh, good," Harry said. "Wards. I'll talk to Tracey, but just to underline it. I suspect we have kicked a hornet's nest, or will shortly. Our inquiries are turning into a major organized crime/counter-intelligence operation. Our friend Lafleur's group, of course. We need to pay attention, all of us, including Iolanthe, James and Zelda."
"Do you want to move to Grimmauld Place?" Daphne asked.
"We may have to," Harry said. "It's so nice here, I'd hate to take the children back to the city. We don't have to decide today.
"Now, I'm going to do some banking. There may be a meeting or two afterwards, but that is still to be determined. I hope to be home for dinner," Harry said before planting a kiss on Daphne's cheek.
Harry went to the owlery and fulfilled his obligation to the barred owl. While he was there, he handed out smaller treats and chatted up the others who had been perching a bit more than they'd ought and getting fat. He threatened to cut their rations and make them hunt more if they didn't start paying attention to their fitness. Returning downstairs, Harry pulled a dress shirt from his closet and changed. Grabbing a necktie and a summer traveling cloak, he continued to the salon and stepped into the fireplace.
"Gringott's One," Harry said.
Whetstone was occupied, but Harry managed to get an appointment for later in the morning. Harry checked the time as he returned to the Gringott's One fireplace in the room off the main lobby. Another short floo trip and Harry walked out of the great fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron.
"Harry!" Neville Longbottom called out from behind the bar. "Judging by the time of day, you must have stopped in for a mineral water."
"How about a mug of coffee, and the mineral water on the side?" Harry asked, heading for Daphne's booth by the fireplace. As soon as he sat down, Harry checked for the Jacques Lafleur carving, which was still there on the panel. He reminded himself again that he wanted to do a rubbing of the piece before Hannah and Neville had it removed.
Neville delivered the mineral water, promising to have the coffee as soon as Hannah came out of the kitchen, before scooting back to the bar. True to his word, Hannah soon relieved Neville, who showed up minutes later with two big mugs of coffee.
"What's going on? This is a very odd time of day for you to be stopping in," Neville pointed out as he sat down.
"Not for public consumption?" Harry asked.
"Of course," Neville assured him, "Think of your publican as you do your doctor."
"There is an investigation going on," Harry began, "It requires my absence from the office."
Neville was well aware of the nature of Harry's job. If the head of his department figured in an investigation, in any way, there was a strong probability that things were not going well, for someone.
"Oh," Neville said, then, "Oh," a second time.
"I knew you'd sense the nuance," Harry offered. "Other than that, it's too early to say. Word gets around, so I expect you'll be back there and a customer is going to want to extract information from you, so you're authorized to answer, "It's too early to say."
"No matter what the question is?" Neville asked.
"Anything at all," Harry said, having a difficult time hiding his glee, "Until further notice."
"Well, of course we want to be supportive of our public servants," Neville affirmed.
"I'll also go on record as stating I have some business to attend to at Gringott's. I'm just early for my appointment," Harry summed up.
"Very routine," Neville noted, "The kind of thing any citizen might do on any given day."
Harry nodded.
"Ready for Hogwarts?" Harry asked, taking a sip of coffee.
"Just did two days up there, checking the greenhouses, assessing the plants," Neville answered. "Hagrid says hello to all the benighted down this way."
"Glad to hear he's well," Harry said, checking his watch. "I'm going to ask Daphne to send him an invitation to something. And now, I'll take a stroll before keeping my appointment at Gringott's, like any normal citizen."
Harry finished his coffee before stepping over to the fireplace, where he said, "Harry's flat," before dropping his floo powder. Harry walked through the flat, checking for open window latches, spills, palm prints on glossy surfaces, or footprints in the hall, kitchen, and around his desk. Satisfied that he had not had any unauthorized tourists in his flat since his last visit, Harry decided to drop a few crumbs and set about constructing a believable scenario from bits of personal property and livingry. He let his water run in the kitchen sink for sixty seconds, then filled a tumbler and took a long, satisfying drink. He took off his shirt, lathered his face and shaved, although he'd shaved at Potter Manor that morning, leaving his shaving mug and razor next to the sink in a little puddle of water and soap bubbles. There was a carton of gelato in the freezer compartment of the refrigerator, so he helped himself to three generous spoonsful before dropping the spoon in the sink and returning the carton to the freezer.
Harry expended the most thought and care on his desk. He put a quill and bottle of ink out, along with a packet of note-size parchment. A piece of parchment got a sizeable ink blot, was folded once and discarded in the small trash can that sat by the desk. A second sheet was tri-folded and placed under a heavy glass paper weight. Harry's desk had blotter paper in the center, and a quill was dipped in the inkwell and laid down flat to drip on the blotter. Harry picked up his water tumbler from the kitchen counter and put it down on the blotter. The condensation on the tumbler left a ring. Harry took another long, satisfying drink from the tumbler, emptying it, and put it in the sink alongside the spoon.
Harry stood in the center of his living room/dining room/kitchen space and looked around. One more bread crumb occurred to him. He'd drop that one and go. Harry opened the middle drawer of his desk and took out one of his favorite muggle inventions—a blue marker that spread a thick line of light blue ink one could read right through. Crossing to the refrigerator, he checked the card with the schedule for the Chelsea football club and found the next home game. He colored the day blue on the magical planning calendar that hung on the wall next to the fridge.
"Chelsea playing Liverpool at home," the calendar dutifully announced.
Harry's building was not all-magical. The magical apartments were accessed via a separate entrance, concealed from muggles by a charm that caused the canopy over the doors to disappear, the oaken doors to appear to be of a type of glass-and-wooden-panel used for commercial establishments in the first decades of the twentieth century, and the unwashed windows to seem to be backed by brown paper, with a permanently-displayed 'CLOSED' sign in the corner.
Harry had been very thorough in putting charms on all the routes someone could use to get inside the building and make their way to his apartment. As an auror, then a Head Auror, living alone, those were basic and prudent security measures, particularly if one lived semi-publicly in the heart of London. After he vacated the apartment the Potters had used it often enough to justify the checking and updating of the charms on a regular basis. He'd gotten used to the constant dings, dongs, and Westminster chimes that went off while his magical neighbors came and went, and subconsciously acknowledged and disregarded those he recognized as being on the front door or the lift, especially during high traffic hours. Thus, the ping of the charm for the stairs stood out. Harry had a charm for the stair landing on his floor, and it sounded in turn.
Grabbing his cloak from the back of his desk chair, Harry swung it around his shoulders, pulled the hood up, threw a pinch of floo powder in the fireplace and called out 'the Leaky Cauldron,' before taking a position in a dim corner of the living room. Harry leaned back against the corner joint, pulled his cloak snug across his front and cast 'AEgyptis obscura,' turning himself into a mummy case as someone unlocked his door and began to twist the door handle.
His mummy case disguise came with a pair of functioning eyes. He didn't recognize the first person through the door, but the second was his department head colleague, and former immediate supervisor Bart Fudge, Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry could hardly believe it. He'd been sitting on the bench at The Mill when Fudge emerged in his mind, because Bart had been such an enthusiastic supporter of Fiona when Harry was choosing his new principal deputy. Still, it was a shock to see Bart committing a breaking and entering, even if it was ironclad confirmation of his suspicion.
"No touring," Bart ordered as his companion stood looking at the mummy case. "No tossing the place, either. We're here to look for anything we can find that would indicate how much Potter knows. That is all Jacques wants, right now. Look around here and I'll go down the hall. Quick in and out, don't waste time. We don't know where Potter has got himself off to."
"Bart," said the mystery man as he slowly moved his wand across the front of the fireplace. "He just left. I can't be sure, but I think the last floo trip could have been to the Leaky Cauldron."
Bart Fudge changed direction and crossed the room to the fireplace. He moved his wand slowly across the opening, parallel to his flattened left hand.
"Yes, Nott, I think you're right. Good work," Bart said, "Probably has business in Diagon Alley. Okay, that takes some pressure off. Check the desk, I'll look down here."
Harry leaned back against the corner, as a mummy case, enjoying the show. He wondered what the rest of the day held? It wasn't even noon yet.
Bart Fudge emerged from the hallway.
"He shaved down there in the bathroom," said Fudge. "The soap is still wet. The bedroom is made up, like the elf just finished. That seems like an odd combination. He must have come here and cleaned up after sleeping at home, or the girlfriend's place. What have you got?"
"There is a dirty spoon in the sink, and a water glass with a few drops in the bottom," Nott reported, "The calendar has a whole day painted blue next week. A spoiled sheet of parchment in the waste can and a quill and ink bottle on the desk blotter. The quill seems to have been laid down and put a drop of ink on the blotter."
Fudge crossed to the desk and looked.
"Hmmm…" Fudge said, "Wonder what he was writing?"
"Do you think this is real?" Nott asked as he stood in front of the mummy case. He looked like he was about to reach out and touch it.
"No," said Fudge. "That looks like a copy of the famous King Tut case, and that is in Egypt, as far as I know. What are you doing?"
Nott had both hands on the edge of the mummy case, using his fingertips to pull the top toward him.
"That could be jinx…" Fudge nearly shouted, but it was too late.
"Awkk…" Nott croaked before dashing to the sink, where he threw up his partially-digested breakfast.
Fudge arrived at the mummy case and stood looking at the interior. One of the features of Harry's concealment charm was that it gave a respectful nod toward the details necessary to be the interior of a convincing mummy case. Upon opening the case, everyone expected to see it was empty, unless one had concealed oneself as a mummy case in a museum or an actual tomb. The mummy case was assumed to be a decorating statement, in a setting such as a bachelor flat in London, so the appearance of the occupant's skeleton, wrapped in shreds of linen, inside the case could put a definite chill on the adventuresome spirit of the casual intruder.
The magical mummy case, in effect, opened up and used the skeleton of the wizard who'd concealed himself, with the help of a few yards of magical linen, to appear to be the preserved, long-dead human specimen. The concealment charm even provided the added convenience of functioning eye sockets that must have worked in conjunction with those on the exterior, so the wizard could keep watch on the party from whom he was concealed. Harry wished he'd been oriented toward a mirror, so he could view his own skeleton. It occurred to him that the mummy case concealment charm could be a real hoot at a Halloween party. He resolved to try it sometime.
"Stop!" Bart Fudge ordered. Nott had been about to wash his sick mess down the drain.
"He could have recorded the placement of every item in this flat, including the things in the sink," said Fudge. "Assume anything that is moved tells Harry Potter someone has been here. Memorize the sink, clean it up, and put the glass and the spoon back exactly where they are."
"Very good, Bart," Harry thought to himself. "All those years as a prosecutor, soaking up procedure from the aurors. You have the ability to learn. What are you doing with the likes of Michel Lestrange?"
"Alright?" asked Bart Fudge, "I want to get out of here."
"Right behind you," answered Nott as he closed the door.
Harry waited, as a mummy case, until the last ding sounded, then forced himself to count to thirty before casting the counter-charm. The 'WHOOSH' sounded just as he was re-materializing as himself, giving him no chance to dodge or defend against the 'STUPEFY!' he heard before going stiff once again.
Harry was able to see, though, across the room, Lissette Lestrange with her right arm extended, new wand in hand, and her left pushing Iolanthe back.
"OH! It's Lord Harry!" Lissette said, "Ohhhh…I'm in so much trouble."
"No, you're not in trouble," Iolanthe said, looking down at Harry. "Stupefy is a jinx. Now crucio, that could get you in trouble. How are we doing, Father? Could you use a little refreshing?"
"Sure," Harry managed to choke out, so Iolanthe obliged him.
"I'm so sorry, Lord Harry," Lissette said, "I couldn't tell what that thing was, I was just trying to immobilize it so we could get a better look."
"No harm," Harry said. "Give me a moment, or two."
He struggled to his feet.
"Was that the new wand?" he gasped.
"Yes, sir," Lissette answered, still embarrassed but obviously pleased at how well she and her wand had performed.
"Well, Lissette, if you don't mind a little advice, you take care of that wand," Harry said, "Because I'm here to tell you, that stupefy you and your new wand cast gave me a pop.
"Now, what are you two doing here in the flat?" Harry asked Iolanthe, just short of demanding.
"Tracey is at the manor, Mother is at her staff meeting, and Tracey thought it would be fine if we came to London for a quick ice cream at Fortescue's," Iolanthe began. "We were going to walk to Diagon Alley from here, with an occlusion charm, of course, while we were on the muggle blocks."
"That's probably true," Harry said. "However, you just missed dropping in on two of the miscreants who are somehow mixed up in the Lafleur situation."
"How close?" Iolanthe asked, much too eagerly for Harry's taste.
"They left, I counted to thirty and was reconstituting myself when you arrived," Harry said. "Too close, Iolanthe. Seriously."
He looked back and forth between them, then checked his watch.
"I have an appointment at Gringotts, which I really ought to keep," Harry said, thinking as he went. "Let's see…"
Harry adjusted his cloak, took a pinch of floo powder and floo-called the Leaky Cauldron.
"Neville? Hannah? It's Harry."
"Hi, Harry," Hannah's voice came back, "Need another coffee?"
"Something like that, three of us coming through."
Once they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry negotiated mineral waters for Iolanthe and Lissette. He put them in the most obscure, out of the way booth in the main room, promising Hannah he'd retrieve them in fifteen minutes, before going on to Gringotts One.
"Lord Potter-Black," said Whetstone, extending his hand. "Right this way."
Harry quickly laid out what he and Daphne had discussed, the establishment of an investment account they'd get running then transfer to a family member. The goal was to reinvest earnings to build up the account, since it wasn't anticipated the beneficiary would need the capital to live on, at least not for some years. Whetstone asked about a few specifics, declared the meeting done, and Harry returned to the Leaky Cauldron.
"Still need ice cream?" he asked Iolanthe and Lissette.
"Perhaps a small one," Iolanthe answered in a meek voice they both knew was fake.
"Let's go," Harry said, leading the way out to the charmed brick wall. "We'll just stroll down the street…"
Which is what they did, only Harry refraining from upsetting his lunch plans by eating ice cream first. Harry was pleasantly surprised when they got through ice cream and the walk back to the Leaky Cauldron, without a single person accosting them to talk about quidditch, Black family matters, or other affairs of the day. He had no doubt there were going to be reports of his movements in some quarters. The question was which quarters? When the little expedition arrived back at Potter Manor, Harry convened the group in the library/gallery, called for Melon, ordered pumpkin juice for all, and closed the door.
"Nice work, Lissette," Harry said. "I consider myself lucky you didn't get more radical in your choice of spells."
"Lord Harry, I'm so sorry," Lissette began once again, a catch back in her voice. "I saw that thing and I thought it was a threat to us. I'm so sorry."
"Don't cry," Harry said, "It's spilled milk. I might be a little sore tomorrow but I've been lots worse. Ask around if you don't believe me. Now, what you saw was the end of a concealment charm. That's what kept me from having to fight the bums I told you about. The charm turns the caster into a pretty convincing mummy case. No, you can't try it, and no, I'm not going to teach you, not until you've both acquired a lot more practical, everyday magic. Charms like that are frosting, for after you've learned to bake cakes.
"Before I forget, was that Professor Bulstrode's class coming out back there?"
"Yes, Lord Harry," said Lissette, "She's the only formal teacher I've had."
"Impressive," Harry said. "Now, on to personal security. I like London as much anyone, but this is not the time for you to be visiting on your own. Until the Lafleur matter is concluded. You both know they're a muggle-level mess. Two wizards broke into my old flat today, and at least one of them defeated every security measure I'd put in place.
"That would be impressive, all by itself. What do you think would have happened if they had been there when you two floo'd in and not me?"
Iolanthe seemed to be caught between the positive and negative aspects of Harry's hypothetical, while Lissette looked downcast.
"Lord Harry's right," Lissette said. "We didn't think it through."
"On the other hand," Iolanthe began.
"Iolanthe," Harry advised. "Now, how about some lunch?"