Disclaimer: JKR is a wonderful woman, isn't she? I mean, she owns this awesome universe and I don't think I've ever heard of her complaining about fanfiction. Well, since she doesn't protest, I'm just here to play in the universe. Tara Staples belongs to me (really, she does, she's been copyrighted to me), but everything else is property of the wonderful JKR. I'm not here to make any money.
A/N: Sorry about the delay between chapters. Between moving, being sick, being tired, working enough to make Sara Sidle proud, and working on my original projects (check out my biggest one soon at http:smoothcriminal.4t.com), I just haven't given this story much thought.
Chapter Six: Topaz Backdrop
Sydney, Australia, several months before
"Keep him down! Check him for any weapons—and I mean any! I don't put Stun Capsules past this guy!" Ginny Weasley was in her element, her knees shoved into the back of Hostile Number Two, her hand splayed across the back of his neck. Her wand was pointed straight at his temple. "Petrificus Totalus!" Satisfied that he was rendered immobile, she stuck her wand into her arm sheath. She then began to search him, padding down his sides until she found what she was looking for: a simple Muggle handgun.
Her frustration grew when the search turned up without a wand. Had she really just bagged a Muggle? This was going to require extra paperwork. She sighed and retrieved her own handgun. She kept it jabbed into the back of the con's neck as she removed the hex.
"Witch!" he shouted at her.
"You'd better believe it." A quick silencing charm took care of any further outbursts. Working quickly, she was able to wrangle his wrists into handcuffs behind his back. She then hauled him up to his feet. Ginny may have looked small, but there was a lot of strength hidden in that light build. Gun still jabbed into his side, she more-or-less dragged the con to the side of the road. A little force was all it took to send the creep to the curb, sitting with his hands cuffed behind his back. He glared at her—blue eyes, shaved head, tattoo of a blue dragon on the side of his face. Definitely a Muggle, but still a problem, as he was currently teamed up with a drop-out wizard from Australia's local Lyon Institute.
Tara showed up a few seconds later, hauling the very same wizard behind her. She propelled him forward, and Ginny saw a flash of bright blond, too bright to be natural, and the same blue eyes. Were these two brothers? It certainly looked it—they were of the same height and build, with the same eyes. "Brothers?" Tara asked, reading her mind.
Ginny flipped her hostile's wallet open. "Lionel Camden. Yours got a name?"
"Oh, wouldn't you look at this?" Tara snorted and flipped open another wallet, showing the picture ID to Ginny. She turned back to look at the wizard, blond eyebrows raised. "You ain't eighteen, kid. You're not fooling anybody with this." Turning back to Ginny as the wizard swore at her, Tara shrugged. "Says his name's Jay Camden. I'd say brothers…or very close cousins."
"Jay and Lionel Camden?" Ginny scowled and cast a silencing charm on Jay, who was still swearing fit to make a sailor blush. "We go from solving serial murder cases to chasing down the likes of idiots like these two?"
Tara laughed and slapped her friend on the shoulder. "Call it in with the office." She held up a thin dowel of wood, obviously Jay's wand. Ginny watched his eyes widen with a sense of personal satisfaction. "As for this, it should have been snapped when you left the Lyon Institute. Here, let me do you a favour." As Jay howled in a silent scream of protest, she snapped the wand cleanly in half.
A few moments later, wizards from the Australian Ministry of Magic had taken both Jay and Lionel into custody while Ginny and Tara watched discreetly from a few blocks away. They were ranged comfortably outside of a small café, Ginny's arms crossed as she watched the proceedings from her vantage point against a pole. "You ever think they're going to figure out that we're not just angels trying to help them out?" she asked Tara, who was chewing on a piece of gum and trying not to look bored. Tara never wanted to stay around while the authorities picked up the cons, or hostiles, that they bagged on behalf of the Tunnel.
"Good work," came a gruff voice over the magically-enhanced ear-pieces both wore as part of the Tunnel uniform. "I'm proud to say that you have the local Ministry rather stumped."
"Thanks, Will," Tara said to the air, her drawling accent languid. "Are we done for the night? Ginny's wound up tighter than a two-year-old on sugar, and if I don't get some alcohol in my system, I fear madness is a very likely possibility."
"Ferris and Stedman should be able to cover any trouble without a problem. You two go out, have a drink on me."
"We owe you one," Ginny replied before taking the ear-piece out and stuffing it into her pocket. She stretched her arms out in front of her and glanced over at her partner. Tara Staples was her right side, it felt like at times. They'd known each other for a few years, but never had they become so close until they'd both accepted the transfer to Australia. It was almost to the point of mind-reading sometimes, but not the close bond Ginny had developed with Hermione once upon a time. Still, Tara didn't seem to mind. She chewed her gum silently, her body still. "We're going to Quinn's, right?"
"Of course we're going to Quinn's." Tara pulled her blond ponytail loose, sending perfectly formed blonde curls over her shoulder. "Take off your hex-vest. We can stash them in the apartment on the way." For they were both wearing the fitted, padded vests that blocked a wide range of hexes. Of course, they were as resilient as normal clothing to the Unforgiveables, but the hex-vest had saved Ginny from a hairy situation a time or two. She peeled off the thick garment now, and wrinkled her nose at the state of the T-shirt she wore underneath. Tara faced similar results. "Maybe we'll change while we're at it."
"Good idea," Ginny agreed quickly, and Disapparated.
Quinn's was the local witches and wizards' pub in Sydney, where the Tunnel mainly operated on the Australian continent. Ginny and Tara were both regulars there, having spent a majority of Saturday nights in their assignment in the friendly, somewhat rundown pub. Quinn knew both of them by name, and their drink preferences (A Concrete Aardvark and a Virgin Strawberry Daiquiri). "I think that fellow over there's checking you out," Ginny muttered to Tara as they entered together, smiling at the bouncer.
Tara made no secret of the fact that she was checking him out in return. The subject in question shifted a bit and raised his eyebrows. "A little young," she decided loftily.
"Oh, come on, he's at least twenty-five. Please tell me you've given up that dream of marrying an older rich man." They found empty spots at the bar and leaned against it, smiling over at Quinn. The barkeep ambled over. "We'll have our regular drinks, Quinn, and anything you know about the guy checking my friend over here out."
"Him?" Quinn snorted. "Saleswizard. Not your type."
Tara snapped her fingers, not disappointed in the least. "Anything interesting happen lately, Quinn?"
Quinn, by no means a small wizard, shifted his weight and grinned at her as he filled their drinks. Ginny's theory was that Quinn fancied Tara herself, but she would never voice this to her best friend. "Always digging for information—not healthy in a pretty bird as yourself, Miss Staples."
"Your concern is noted as always, Quinn—"
"Dermot!"
Ginny's hand flew to her wand and gripped it so tightly that her fingernails bit into her own palm. She had seen only a glimpse out of the corner of her eye, but it had been enough. Tara reflexively reached for her own wand and swung her arm in front of Ginny, keeping the other woman behind her protectively. Ginny resisted the urge to fight her friend's arm off, but Tara was right. She was a target now, and it was Tara's job to protect her.
"Where'd you see him?" Tara barked at her.
"There—by the juke box—"
Tara turned to Quinn. "Take Ginny in the back room and keep her there. Put your best bouncer outside the door—nobody but me gets in."
"Tara, that's—"
"Absolutely ridiculous." At the voice that interrupted her, Ginny's blood turned glacial. She knew that voice almost better than her own. She didn't even have time to look and confirm the face that she had memorised; Tara's arm tightened in front of her and shoved her over the bar and at Quinn. Dazed, Ginny careened into the barkeep. "My, my, Tara. I come here to re-establish a friendship and you shove her behind a bar. That's not very nice, is it?"
Tara's jaw locked. "It was just too much to hope that you'd been picked up by the Muggle police, wasn't it, Raine? What are you doing here? Whatever it is, you won't get her."
In the two years that Ginny and Tara had been living it up in Australia, Dermot Raine hadn't changed much. He was still tall and nicely built, complete now with a nice tan from the Australian sunshine. His hair was shorter than it had been before, cropped military-style now. Tara kept her wand pointed at him, but it was lowered discreetly; nobody nearby knew that there was even a disturbance at Quinn's, even though the barkeep himself had frozen. Ginny stood where she had landed, eyes fixed on Dermot and jaw hanging, perhaps ready to scream.
"What?" Dermot asked now, his fake Irish accent holding just a hint of a tease. "She's all yours, now? Is that it?"
"When it comes to you, yeah, it is, pig!" Tara shot back, hand twisting about on her wand. "You have thirty seconds to turn and walk away before I Stun you on the spot and leave you outside for the Dingos to enjoy."
Dermot just smiled a bit coldly at her. "After all a fellow does for the pair of you, this is how he gets treated? Not even a chance of friendship?"
"You tried to kill me!" Ginny protested, finding her voice. Righteous fury made her vision hazy, but she just clenched her fist around her wand and squared her stance. "Even if you hadn't, I wouldn't want to be friends with a murderer!"
For an eternity, Dermot just looked at her without any expression, eyes opaque. "Very well." Without another word, he just turned and walked away. Tara and Ginny, too shocked by what had just happened to move, watched him go.
"What in the blazes was that?" Quinn demanded of his two regular customers, one beside him behind the bar and the other still standing on the other side.
Ginny just shook her head, placed both hands atop the bar, and vaulted cleanly over. "I'm not sure." She looked at Tara, still dazed from the encounter. "Back to Headquarters?"
"Yeah." Tara shook off enough of the daze to smile at Quinn. "Sorry about that—we won't be needing those drinks after all." With just a twist of her wand, she disappeared from the spot. Giving the bartender an apologetic look, Ginny did the same.
"Abercrombie…Euan Abercrombie." Ron looked hard at the file on his desk as though it could tell him something about the subject of its contents by its mere appearance. He knew the kid—well, he wasn't so much of a kid, being a year or two out of Hogwarts—but that didn't mean he knew very much about him. If he remembered correctly, the kid had been frightened of Harry at first, which certainly didn't work in his favour.
But that was what bad press and messy hair got you, as he liked to point out to Harry (who would often at this time lean over and punch him).
Euan had been in Dumbledore's Army in its last official year. He'd been a smart kid, resourceful if a bit on the small side, with wild brown hair and buck teeth. From what Ron could remember, he'd been nearly attached at the hip to another kid in his year, a Terrence Holicrest. A glance underneath Euan's folder proved Ron's suspicions true—there was Terrence's file. Had Terrence been afraid of Harry, too? Ron couldn't remember.
"Oi!" he called to the kitchen, where Hermione was on the phone with one co-worker or another (they had agreed early on that Hermione's co-workers were not to be discussed). "When you've got a minute, can you give me a hand?"
"Sure, what is it?" Hermione's head appeared around the frame of the kitchen door, followed closely by Ginny's. Ron jumped; he had forgotten that Ginny had come over to discuss the Typhoon case while Harry finished up at Quidditch practice. He didn't have Ginny on as tight a leash as Ron would have liked; occasionally, the woman came over to Ron and Hermione's flat by herself, or even stared at her own flat with only Tara Staples for protection. Harry seemed to think she would be fine, although Ron wanted to protest at the top of his lungs. However, this was a battle Ron knew better than to fight.
"Do you remember anything about Euan Abercrombie and Terrence Holicrest?" he asked both of them, holding up the files for evidence. Without a word, Ginny crossed the room and took one of the files. Hermione remained leaning against the door frame, eyebrows knitted together. "They've both contacted a couple of people with an interest to see if 'the thing that came from Dumbledore's Army' is really still around."
"I remember Terrence. We all called him Terry," Ginny said slowly, rifling through the file. "Bright kid. Bit of a troublemaker, but…" She trailed off and studied the file as though she couldn't quite believe her eyes. "Wow, he certainly gave Hermione a run for her money in Transfiguration. Take a look at these marks." She whistled.
Hermione was across the room in an instant, much to the amusement of any Weasleys present. She snatched the folder from Ginny with a "hmmph!" and scanned the page. For a moment, she looked about to cry, but to Ron's amazement, she let out a close-mouthed snort of laughter. "Good one," she told Ginny, handing the file back. "For a minute you had me going."
"I don't see you on the list of Animagi," Ginny told her sister-in-law as Hermione headed back into the kitchen.
"'Course she's not registered," Ron muttered, writing notes in the margins of Euan's file. As much as he enjoyed having his sister back in England, the truth of the matter was that she interrupted the pattern of everyday life. It was supposed to be Harry that was over for dinner, and it was odd to see a redhead in his place. And Ron hadn't missed the looks that had passed between the pair after the Weasleys had all found Harry after the game. Something had happened in the Quidditch locker room, and Ron was dying to know what. However, both Ginny and Harry knew how to keep quiet when they wanted to. He scratched his head as he contemplated his sister now. "Why on earth would they make an Unspeakable register?"
"Would it be to our benefit to even have a registered Animagus in the Tunnel?" Hermione wondered. "I mean, anybody worth spying on would have that list memorised."
It looked as though Euan could become a peregrine falcon without even a twist of the wand, according to his file. Ginny sat down and frowned at it, twirling a lock of hair around her finger as she thought. "I think it'd be worth it—I mean the kid's an Animagus at eighteen. Not as impressive as some people we know," and she didn't even need to glance over at Hermione, who had become an otter at the age of sixteen just to prove she could, "but still…it's a big deal. And he was a member of the DA when it was still around. I say that you should recruit both Terrence and Euan."
"Well, that made my decision easy," Ron told her, flicking his wand at the files and Banishing them into the study. "What's for dinner?"
"Harry's picking up some Thai food on the way over. He should be here any minute." Ginny disappeared into the kitchen and re-emerged a second later toting a black briefcase with sinister silver snaps. She set it on the table with a decisive thunk. "Lady and gentleman, I give you—the Typhoon Case. All of the papers we've compiled about what we think might be happening behind the scenes at the Typhoon."
"That's a lot of paperwork," was all Ron could say. He was a bit daunted by the task that was ahead of them—he was so busy with the London Fizzing Whizzbee Scandal, and uncovering the bottom of Fudge's dealings with the International Confederacy of Wizards, and now it looked as though he was going to have to deal with Malfoy again. Good. Well, at least this time he would find a way to put Draco Malfoy behind bars—where he belonged. Suddenly, the task didn't seem so unappealing. "Any leads yet?"
"Not too many. Harry and I spent most of last night compiling a list of the people we think involved in the case. We think Sam Werner might actually be spearheading it." She pulled a photograph from the briefcase and slid that over to Ron, who appraised it with wide eyes. 'That's Werner himself, taken at the promotional banquet we had for the Typhoon last night."
"Who's he with?" Ron asked, studying the woman sitting beside the eighty-year-old Sam Werner, a wizened-looking fellow in plain black robes. The woman next to him looked maybe a quarter of his age, nothing more than a trophy wife in magnificent (and showy) dress robes. "That his wife?"
"His granddaughter, actually. She was a couple of years ahead of us in Slytherin. Never had too much to say while at Hogwarts, so it's not likely you'd remember her." Ginny took the photograph back and slid it carefully into a file. "I had Bill check her financial records out, and we've excluded the possibility of her being involved, although there's a high chance there might be wedding bells for her and a certain ferret in the near future."
The thought of Draco Malfoy getting married to anybody other than Pansy Parkinson made Ron want to snort, but he kept his mouth shut. "Was Malfoy present at the banquet last night?"
"No—we looked, but it looks like he's finally learned to keep a low profile." Ginny frowned at a photograph and then passed it across the table. "Those are the Davenports and their agent Simon Bates. It's possible that he's involved." Ron scrutinised the picture; two of the three were definitely related with sharp, regal features. The third, a thinner man that reeked of dirty dealings was brushing delicately at a moustache. All three looked snobbish; it wasn't a wonder that Harry had complained about them.
"I've done some poking around at work, and nobody's heard any whisperings of an upcoming project. Everything seems to be quiet on the western front." Hermione studied the photograph over Ron's shoulder and sighed, pushing a hand through her hair. Ron felt a stab of worry. With each passing day, her exhaustion seemed to grow, but she never wanted to talk about what was wrong. "I wish there was more I could contribute to this case."
"Nonsense," Ginny said quickly before Ron could open his mouth. "You're working hard enough as it is. This case is Harry's and my project, understand me? You're not to get involved."
"Besides," Ron felt the need to contribute, "we need you on the Fizzing Whizzbee scandal in London. Don't worry about this one, hun. Harry and Ginny will handle it just fine."
"Handle what just fine?" asked a voice from the doorway. Harry came in bearing a brown paper sack that steamed deliciously.
Ginny turned to smile at him. "The Typhoon case. Hermione's trying to lose even more sleep and help us out." She smiled and, to Ron's slack-jawed amazement, kissed Harry's cheek as she passed him on the way to the kitchen. When she emerged a few seconds later with plates and cutlery, all three of the trio were staring at her. "What?"
Ron wrenched his mouth shut. "You just—you just kissed Harry!"
To his amazement, Ginny merely turned and looked at Harry with a bemused expression. She seemed to shrug and turn back to Ron. "So I did. Heh."
"You just kissed Harry!" Ron repeated, still not sure reality had set in.
Harry, who had by now recovered, muffled a snicker. "You're starting to sound like a broken record," he warned Ron as he began to unload the sack of take-out. Ron heard Hermione's snickering behind him, but couldn't stop staring between the pair of them. "When—when did this happen?"
"Me kissing Harry? Just now," Ginny said at her sweetest. Grinning devilishly, she reached out and ruffled Ron's hair. He had the sense to dodge out of the way. Seeing his expression, she giggled and finally took pity on him. "Relax, dear brother of mine, it was just a peck on the cheek."
Hermione squeezed his shoulder and began distributing food onto the plates, smiling to herself. Still a bet shell-shocked, Ron gathered up his files and deposited them on the sideboard for later viewing. They kept the Typhoon case files in the middle of the table, presumably for dinner conversation.
Before long, everybody was situated with a glass of wine and a steaming plateful of Thai food, and Ron was puzzling the new development over in his head. Harry and Ginny—together? At one point, it had seemed so natural. Ginny had been the only person who could beat Harry down with a single word or look. But now? Harry had gained a polish and Ginny seemed to have developed an exoskeleton. There was a gritty side of her that poked out when she didn't think others were looking. It was like the roles had been completely reversed. What on earth made them decide to fall for each other now? Was that his fault, for assigning (begrudgingly, he would admit) Harry as Ginny's bodyguard?
Or had that dinner he had interrupted aeons ago been a date?
The possibility had never even occurred to him.
"Something the matter?" Hermione asked as the four dug into the food. "You're thinking about something pretty hard over there, hon."
Ron jerked out of his thoughts enough to smile distractedly at his wife. "Just thinking—unfamiliar territory and all, so it takes some concentration." That earned him a snort of laughter from Harry and grins from the two women. He cleared his throat and decided to get down to business. "So how close are we to finding out what the Typhoon is hiding?"
Ginny took a sip of wine. "Not remotely close, unfortunately. Has your agent on Sam Werner picked up any information?"
"Nothing," Hermione told her, for Ron had not even seen the information yet. He had been commuting between the twins' shop in London and the Tunnel headquarters every day, and so had been so busy that he had barely even seen Hermione all week. This was their first sit-down dinner in quite some time. Still, Ron didn't mind the company—Ginny was his sister and Harry was his best mate. If it were anybody else, he might have protested. "Have you considered the possibility of there not being anything there to cover up? The Typhoon might be a perfectly legitimate operation."
"We've considered that, yes," Harry informed her. "Tony mentioned that Malfoy has gambling debts that happen to be through the roof, so the Typhoon may just be a way of covering their bums, but…" He sighed and chewed as he considered how to word his next statement. "There's just something odd about the way the Davenports and their agent Simon Bates act to the team in general. I have reason to believe that there's not a 'spy,' for lack of a better term, in the team itself—but those three just make me suspicious."
"Plus," Ginny piped up, "I've done some extensive background checks on the entire team. Other than a few misdemeanours—some standard 'Flooing While Intoxicated' and underage magic notices, a case or two of Billywig Sting addiction—there's nothing there that suggests any of them might be spying. All are financially sound, and were apparently surprised when they were picked for the Typhoon. In fact, the only one that's exhibited anything that suggests he might be a spy is Harry himself."
Ron grinned at that. "Well, Harry, now's your chance to come clean. Just admit you didn't mean it, and we'll forgive you and forget this ever happened."
"Didn't mean it? Are you kidding? It was worth every Galleon." Harry hid a smile behind his goblet. "Ginny and I have gone over it from every angle, and it really seems that there is something shady about the Typhoon."
"Just wish we knew what," Hermione muttered emphatically. "Maybe if I checked in the library at work—"
"No!" Ginny, Harry, and Ron all said at once. Hermione looked a little bewildered and a little more hurt, but Ron was quick to follow up with, "You're working yourself into the ground already. We don't a repeat of third year, do we?" Not really caring that Harry and Ginny were watching, he rubbed her shoulder. "All we all ever do is work around here. Let's take a break. Why don't we stop talking about the Davenports and Malfoy and all during dinner?"
That idea seemed to go over well. "All right," said Harry agreeably. He immediately launched into a story from practice that day, about a running bet between Beater Tad Greeley and Chaser Stacy Harrows.
Ginny joined in before long. "It looks like there might be love on the Pitch," she sighed dramatically. "We're all headed to the American Quidditch Open in a couple of months, since the Typhoon isn't able to join the official league until the season begins in September. They're trying to get Tracy and Bear together, so Bear has to ask her out if they win two games. They would make an adorable couple, don't you think?"
"I always thought Bear liked Mel," Harry told her, shrugging. "But if he likes Stacy, that makes so much more sense."
Hermione tilted her head to the side. "Tracy." At Harry's confused look, she explained, "Ginny said Tracy. How closely were you listening to her?" She received her answer when Harry stuttered something out and flushed a bit. Ron narrowed his eyes at Harry and Ginny. This situation was going to take some getting used to. Would he had to assign Ginny another bodyguard? No, he decided after a minute. He didn't need that headache.
Why did he feel like everything was starting to happen right under his nose?
"Picking on your brother like that last night was just mean," Harry warned Ginny as they walked into the headquarters for the Nottingham Typhoon together the next day. It was just after the morning practice, so Harry was freshly showered, and Ginny was a bit sunburned. They both had a sheaf of paperwork to drop off before they headed about the respective days. This would probably be the best time they would have to talk until dinner. "And was it just me, or were they practically Banishing us to the door when we were getting ready to leave?"
Ginny giggled. "As much as I don't want to think about it, that was probably the first night they'd had alone in quite some time."
"Then why did they invite us to dinner? They should have eaten dinner by themselves if they haven't seen each other lately!" Harry shook his head and pulled at the sleeve of his new shirt. He had some business to attend to in the Muggle world, on behalf of Fred and George, so he was dressed in a pair of khakis and a moderately nice button-up green shirt. Ginny, in her work robes, looked a bit overdressed when walking next to him, but she didn't mind. "Insane, both of them."
Thinking about it brought a thoughtful frown to Ginny's face. "Hey, did you notice that Hermione seemed a bit quieter than usual last night?"
Harry held open the door to the main offices for her. "She's facing a promotion at work, and I think the stress of being a high-class Unspeakable and one of the top members of the You-Know-What is finally starting to get to her. If this keeps up, I'm going to force Ron to take her to Tahiti to get away from it all."
"Aw, what a nice friend." Ginny snickered behind her hand at his annoyed look. "Let's face it, though. Ron would never accept your money."
"He would if I threatened to hog-tie him to a Hippogryff."
"Ah, good! Miss Mason! Mr. Potter!" Both froze in their footsteps at the voice that rang out behind them. It belonged to Ulysses Davenport, and he sounded genuinely happy about something—never a good sign. Harry counted backwards from five in his head and slowly turned, keeping a hand on Ginny's arm to hold her in place until he could assess the situation. What he saw behind him made him want to groan, and then panic.
"Ginny—Malfoy's back there, and he'll recognise you, even with your disguise. Get out of here—I'll cover for you." Without a word of protest, she nodded and headed towards the door. Harry headed back to Ulysses and Malfoy, a forced grin in place. "Sorry, Mr. Davenport. Amy's late for an important meeting with a client of her independent business."
It was the first time he had come face to face with Draco Malfoy in some time. Although connections sometimes forced them to frequent the same parties, the two had a natural inclination to avoid each other—unless Malfoy wanted to pick a fight. But he rarely did that unless Ron was with Harry. Now Harry was less than pleased to find himself standing only four feet away from his old rival.
"Mr. Malfoy, I believe you know Harry Potter," Ulysses said magnanimously, as though he was doing both men a wonderfully large favour by reintroducing them to each other. "Potter, my associate, Draco Malfoy."
Harry kept his nod curt without actually looking at Malfoy. "Malfoy and I attended Hogwarts in the same year, sir."
The lazy drawl he was waiting for never came. Malfoy just nodded as curtly as he had a minute ago and looked questioningly at Ulysses. He apparently had no desire to talk to Harry—which, in Harry's opinion, was a fantastically good thing. Quickly, the Seeker excused himself and nearly bolted for the office. As he entered, somebody snatched a handful of his shirt and he was yanked sideways into Dave Davenport's private office. He didn't mind the lack of space so much when it brought him toe-to-toe with Ginny.
"That was quick!" she observed. "Are you sure that was Malfoy?"
Harry frowned. "It certainly looked like him." Quickly, he relayed the scene to her: Malfoy's bored look, his nod, his apparent desire not to talk to Harry. "He should have been jumping at the opportunity to pull off at least a few poisonous barbs!"
"What do you think? Polyjuice?"
But now, Harry shook his head and played with her hands. "I'm not sure. It's likely—but why?"
Ginny sighed and sat on the edge of the desk, looking down at their linked fingers. "Maybe he just wanted to look credible in front of Ulysses. It's entirely possible that he's matured, you know." She held a straight face for a long moment, and then both burst into incredulous laughter.
The sound of a throat clearing made both of them look over guiltily, but it was just Bear, leaning against the door jamb and grinning smugly. "You know," he advised, looking from Harry to Ginny, "if you step in for a quickie, it might be smarter to shut the door."
"But that would have kept the possibility of an orgy out," Harry said with a perfectly straight face.
"Did somebody say orgy?" Tad Gideon stuck his head in and pretended to look disappointed by the fact that everybody in the room was completely clothed. "We're all going out for lunch. You two coming?" He looked questioningly at Harry and Ginny; the rest of the team had, after the Dublin Demented game, just assumed that they were a couple and wouldn't be seen without the other. Even though it was true, it worked out extremely well for Harry's orders from the Tunnel.
"Lunch sounds nice," Ginny decided for the pair of them. "Where are we going?"
Tad rattled off something in French, inspiring Harry to lift an eyebrow and shrug. He didn't have anything against French food, but he really had to wonder if the restaurant was even in the same country. His teammates were crazy enough to travel to Bulgaria if it meant a good meal. "Write down the coordinates and we'll meet you there in five minutes?"
Bear and Tad left them alone after a minute with the coordinates for the restaurant. Harry sighed and rested his head on Ginny's shoulder, smiling at her laughter. Despite the fact that they lived together, both had been in a flurry of action since the Dublin Demented game. Their entire relationship consisted of a few stolen kisses and one late-night snogging session that had been unexpectedly broken up by the twins' return from Argentina (luckily, Fred and George had been too tired from a case of sunstroke and transcontinental portkeying, and hadn't noticed anything unusual about Harry and Ginny). Although the team knew, they had agreed to keep it from Ginny's family for at least a little while—long enough for a little of the steam over Fred's upcoming marriage to blow over.
Things might have been uncomfortable if either of the two were more outgoing with their feelings. But it happened that both Ginny and Harry had seen a lot in their short lifetimes. They had survived more than most would ever see in a 90-minute action flick, and as a result, both had learned the hard way to occasionally take a step back and let life happen once in awhile. And life had guided them both to each other. Both had been heartily surprised to find that, somehow, although they went through the first awkward stages of a relationship together, they just seemed to fit together.
"Do we have to go to lunch?" Harry wondered now, still leaning against Ginny. "I could easily not move for the rest of the day."
His breath against her neck made her giggle a bit. "Oh, come now, you enjoy these meetings with your teammates. Besides, we promised." Ginny moved to push him away from her and stand up, but he had seen this coming and instead pulled against her so that she was off-balance. By the time she regained any sort of orientation, he swept in and kissed her.
It took some time before they were able to coherently think about lunch. A bit pink in the face and grinning, they headed out of the tiny office and were just about to Disapparate from the spot when a throat cleared behind them. Ron strode up before they could turn. "Caught you still at the office," he said, relieved, as Harry and Ginny froze and immediately tried not to act guilty. It didn't work very well, but Ron was in such high spirits that he didn't notice. "I found you a third member for the Typhoon case."
"Ron, what are you doing here?" Ginny hissed at him. "Are you trying to blow our cover?"
"Bloke's got a right to see where his best mate works!" Ron smirked at her exasperated expression. "Be on the lookout for Euan Abercrombie. I met with him this morning—he spent last summer and up 'til now working for the Department of Magical Games and Sports, so he's a shoe-in for the job opening on the information staff for the Nottingham Quidditch Pitch."
"There was a job opening?" Harry repeated stupidly, wondering why Ron knew more about the place than he did.
"Of course. With him on the team, we should have plenty of eyes and ears on the case. He should be around here starting next week sometime. Maybe one of you could contact him and meet with him over dinner sometime?"
"Sure." Ginny shrugged. "Want to join us for lunch? We're headed off to eat with the team."
Ron inclined his head. "As much fun as a table full of Quidditch superstars would be, I'm afraid that I have to meet with Terrence Holicrest in about twenty minutes, so I guess I have to turn you down." He gave them a jaunty wave and disappeared from the spot without any further warning. Harry and Ginny stared after him for a full minute.
"Did he seem…happier than normal to you?" Ginny asked slowly.
"Like he—"
"You know what? This is my brother we're talking about. I don't want to think about that. Sorry I brought it up." Ginny looked so squeamish that Harry barked out a short note of laughter.
Harry got his second surprise visit from an old classmate later that night, just as a storm had closed in over London's sky and was threatening to tear the Hutch wall from wall. Ginny was in Ron's room—although it was more or less hers now—working on something for Angelina's wedding. It had been a quiet evening for the pair of them, but neither minded terribly. Sometimes, she holed herself up in there without a word. Harry more than understood the need to get away from humanity once in awhile.
He himself was once again staring at credit reports and bank statements of the various people they thought to be involved in the Typhoon Scandal. Something didn't match up. If Malfoy was as poor as Tony had claimed he was, how on earth could he afford to endorse a Quidditch team? Did they have yet another, more invisible creditor somewhere that was staring him in the face? What on earth did they all have to hide? His thoughts were so heavily invested in this that the booming thunder of somebody knocking on the front door made him jump quite spectacularly.
Ginny appeared at her bedroom door clad in a bathrobe, her hair damp. "Who on earth could be visiting at this hour? Or in this weather, come to think of it?"
"I dunno." Harry snatched up his wand from the coffee table and motioned for her to go back into the room. Rolling her eyes, she obliged. Harry, on the other hand, crept to the front door. Just as he reached it, the knocking sounded again, this time more frantically than the last.
"Oi, Ron! Harry!" None other than Neville Longbottom's voice drifted through the front door to Harry now. "Please, somebody, be home!"
Harry yanked open the door and gaped. Indeed, there stood his old roommate, looking miserable and soaked through. Water dripped off of Neville's nose as he looked at Harry in surprise. "You're home!"
"What—did you decide to go swimming in the Thames?" Harry quickly ushered his old schoolmate inside and locked the door behind him. Although it was nearing summer, the storm had quickly bought a chill to the evening. Harry waved his wand at Neville's clothing and immediately the other man was dry. "Merlin, Neville, what happened?" It was only then that it registered with him: Neville was clutching a damp rucksack and a battered suitcase. "Did something happen with Charity?"
Now dry and miserable, Neville nodded. "She kicked me out. The divorce paperwork came through today. I was wondering if I could kip here for a bit—only until I get my feet back. Ruddy ex-wives and their stealing your own home out from under your own nose." For a minute, he looked downright furious.
The Hutch had served as a doghouse before. "Sure," Harry relented graciously. "Stay here as long as you like. Come in, come in."
Neville looked pained and grateful at the same time. "Thanks, Harry. You have no idea how much you're helping right now."
"Always glad to." Sensing that his night was just going to get longer, Harry disappeared into the kitchen and flicked his wand at the tea kettle. He hurried into the living room as Neville sat gingerly on the sofa. "So it's finally quits with Charity, huh?"
Neville had, three years earlier, surprised everybody by proposing to spell-crafting witch Charity Rosenthal out of the blue. He was the first of their little circle of friends (although the circle halved itself after Hogwarts with Ginny taking off to a career in Prague and Luna headed to the Caspian Sea to create a documentary on the sirens that lined its shores) to get married, and they had thought that he would be the first parent of their little clique. However, his marriage with Charity had not been a happy one. As one of the leading herbologists, Neville worked long hours. He didn't complain much, but Harry and Ron had occasionally met him at a pub to talk about life, and Neville usually didn't have much to say about his marriage. It hadn't taken a genius—only Hermione—to figure out that Neville's married life was less than happy.
"Papers are signed, assets divided," Neville sighed, helping himself to a glass of sherry from the Quaffle decanter. "She got the house, the owl, and most of our stocks in the wizarding exchange. I got the rest of the stocks and the heartache." Sighing, he tilted his head back and downed the entire glass. Harry sympathetically left the room to retrieve the bottle of clear liquid he kept beneath the sink. When he returned, it was to find Neville staring at Ginny in shock. The herbologist quickly looked from Harry to Ginny and back again before dropping his gaze and blushing. "I'm sorry—I didn't know I was interrupting anything."
"You weren't," Ginny told him pertly, standing on her tiptoes to give him a hug. "Harry and I are dating, but I'm staying in Ron's room until I can find a place on my own."
"Oh. All right, then." Still, Neville looked awkwardly between the pair of them until Harry handed him a cup of tea laced with the alcohol. Ginny poured a bit of milk into her tea, but she waved the offer of alcohol off. "You don't mind the loss of your couch or the invasion of your privacy, right?"
"It's perfectly fine," Harry assured. "You can stay in my room. I'm more than comfortable on the couch, anyway."
Stammering, Neville insisted that he couldn't do that, but Harry was adamant. The herbologist took his tea and headed off to bed early, leaving Harry and Ginny to clean up. They were silent as they cleaned, each still wrapped in his or her own thoughts. Neville staying with them somehow cemented their cover story of being flatmates, but it did throw a wrench into the gears of their relationship. Harry half-wondered if Neville had tried to stay with Hermione first, and had been thrown out by Ron. That was probably the case. Neville was a Tunnel member, but his job kept him from doing serious field-work. He was all but oblivious to Ron and Hermione's parts in the organisation.
"You're really going to sleep on the couch?" Ginny asked, breaking the silence first.
Harry looked down at the sofa, a purchase he'd made at a rummage sale. It fit well with the rest of the house, and it was comfortable, so he didn't see a problem with it. "What's wrong with it? I like my couch."
"Oh. You were serious about that?"
Harry stared at her for a long time, wondering just what she meant by that. When it finally hit him, he felt like a bit of a fool. Either way, he burst out laughing and had to sit down before too long. Ginny shot him a puzzled look, but he waved her off. "That wasn't a ploy to get you into bed or anything, no."
Ginny threw her dish towel at him, and he snatched it out of the air. "Somehow, the fact that you're laughing about getting into bed with me just doesn't make me feel real loved, Harry."
Now, Harry belatedly tried to stifle his laughter, with little success. Ginny continued to give him a look that was somewhere between a glare and a glower. "Look, Gin," Harry said, moving closer to her slowly, testing the waters. "Remember how we talked about me being a guy and saying stupid stuff? Well, you can chalk that moment up on that list I know you're keeping in your head." He gave her his most charming grin, one he normally reserved for getting out of a Tunnel assignment (even though Hermione had proved years before that this smile had no effect on her).
Her resolve was melting, she was sure of it. After years of building up her defences against him, all he still had to do was flash those pearly whites and fix that bright gaze on her, and she was putty. Still, she sighed and narrowed her eyes at him. "Would you quit talking? I want to stay mad at you!"
"Sorry."
"Sure you're not." But she shook her head and finally allowed a smile to break through. "But is it honestly so revolting?"
He looked up from the dishes that he had just returned to, eyebrows raised. "Is what so revolting?"
Suddenly, it was a lot harder to get the words out. She mentally scolded herself—it was just Harry, after all—but none of the self-deprecating remarks held any effect on the willingness of her tongue to move over the next words. Her blush was quite spectacular. "Getting into bed with me. You know."
"Revolting is the last word I'd use," Harry said so honestly that even Ginny at her most paranoid would believe him. "However, the timing isn't right. For one thing, I'm in all technicalities your bodyguard until we fix the Dermot situation. If sleeping together would have a strain on our relationship—and I'm not saying that's necessarily the case—then I don't know what we would do. On top of that, we work together. And I know that your brothers may not be the strictest lot in our world, but that doesn't keep me from believing for even one second that they won't descend on me like a ton of Bludgers if I sleep with their precious sister." He smiled and playfully tweaked her nose, leaving soap bubbles frosted there. "I have a lot to live for—I'd rather not spend my last day being tarred, feathered, and pierced in any way whatsoever by slivers of bamboo."
She was close to gaping, and she knew it. Hurriedly, she firmed her jaw to keep it from falling open. "So when just when did you make the transition from terrible teen to perfect man, again?"
"I just try not to grunt like a caveman around you too much, that's all," Harry said modestly, scratching the back of his neck. To complete the picture of modesty, he rinsed out the sink, set the dish-towel carefully on the divider and held out his arm to her. Just as Ginny slipped underneath, a loud bang! from the back of the Hutch startled both into actions. Wands materialised in hands and Harry took point, running full-force through the apartment.
They found Neville seated in the hallway, rubbing the back of his head and looking a little dizzy. "Er—sorry," he said hastily as Ginny and Harry raced onto the scene. "I hit, um, this vase." He swept his hand out to indicate the vase, which was now in about forty pieces on the carpet. Harry sighed to himself and cast a quick Reparo. "I'm sorry, guys. I didn't mean to wake you—"
"Oh, nonsense." Ginny helped Neville to his feet as Harry collected the vase stand and the vase. Neville didn't notice that both Ginny were breathing harder than necessary and flicking uncertain glances at every entrance point, wands still out. "We were just cleaning up. I'll get Harry to move the vase—it's in a very troublesome spot, anyway."
"Hey, don't look at me, mate," Harry muttered under his breath to Neville as Ginny hurried off, presumably to check and make sure the house was secured—just in case. "I don't even remember having a vase. Must've been Hermione's addition."
Neville snorted. "Women."
