A/N: I want to thank Shalli, whose review threw me for a loop for a minute. After googling both "'strine" and "stone the flaming crows," the loop got smaller. But it was fun. Thanks, Shalli. I suppose the bit about 'bird' was a guilty pleasure—I've been watching too many movies from the forties (although I will point out that they say "bird" in Love Actually). I apologise now--this chapter is mostly conversation, but it's all stuff that needs to move the plot along. I also apologise for the wait…

Chapter Seven: Peridot in Paradise

Contrary to Harry's instinctual reaction to Neville's moving in to the Hutch, the living arrangement wasn't at all awkward, although having a third flatmate—especially a clumsy one—kept Ginny and Harry on their toes. Neville was often gone at work for days, coming home late at night to collapse onto his bed, only to rise up early the next morning and head out. Harry lived on a similar schedule, for Dave Davenport had the Typhoon practising at random hours to keep each team member ready for anything, rather like Mad-Eye Moody might. Only Ginny seemed to have somewhat of a normal schedule, but she was so busy with preparations for Angelina's wedding and the American Quidditch Open that it sometimes seemed that she was gone more than either of the men.

On the Tuesday following Neville's addition to the Hutch, Ginny and Harry met with Euan Abercrombie, a tall, lanky fellow with a thatch of sandy-blond hair and an Irish brogue thicker than Hagrid's old mead. The only word that Harry could possibly think of describing him with was "eager," for Euan gave off the impression of a rabbit on its haunches, just waiting to run and start up on the next task. Not sure what to do with a third person on the team, Harry assigned him to surveillance over the suspects' activities while in the stadium. Meanwhile, Harry and Ginny both lost a lot of sleep poring over bank statements, social calendars, and even a few gossip magazines.

"I wish we could just ask Tony for help on this one," Harry grumbled after a long night of doing just that. He pushed both of his hands up to the top of his scalp and expelled a hard breath. "Malfoy gambles, Dave and Ulysses lost a lot of money when Voldemort fell, Sam Werner's almost too old to say his own name properly…It doesn't add up that they could all be involved in some nefarious scandal!"

"Did you really just say 'nefarious?'" Ginny asked blearily behind her own mountain of parchment. She pushed the entire monolith away and pulled at a strand of hair, trying to focus. "Look, maybe we should get a new perspective on this. A fresh look."

The idea held some merit. "Ron and Hermione are too busy with that Fizzing Whizzbee scandal to devote any more time to this project. Hell's bells, we should be too busy with the Dermot assignment to be doing this." It was driving him to his last nerve, waiting for Dermot to come out of the woodwork. Although he logically knew that Dermot had followed his normal MO concerning Ginny and had backed off for a few months, just the thought of that man existing to possibly walk down the same streets they did…well, it made Harry quite edgy.

"What about Euan and Terrence?"

"Terrence?"

"Oh, he's Euan's best mate, another Tunnel recruit. We could stick him on this case with Euan since Euan's already playing a big role," Ginny suggested, shuffling parchment about. She picked up a piece, dropped it again, and pushed her right hand into her forehead. "Let them puzzle it out for a few days while I get the bulk of Angelina's wedding planned and you finish our big plans for the Quidditch Open. Sound good?"

It sounded more than wonderful. For the first time that night, Harry allowed himself to lean back in his chair. Maybe he and Ginny could finally have some thinking time that wasn't involved in how much Malfoy spent on the twelfth or where the Davenports shopped for their wine. "That sounds great."

"Excellent. I'll inform Hermione, Terrence, and Euan in the morning." Ginny closed the parchment folder with a snap, nearly making Harry jump. "But for now, we're calling it a night. And you're not sleeping on the couch again."

"It's fine," Harry grumbled, not wanting to beat this dead horse anymore than it was already beaten. They'd been arguing over Harry's sleeping arrangements all week. "I got that crick in my neck from straining the wrong way to catch the Snitch the other day, not from sleeping on the couch."

"Uh-uh, I don't think so," Ginny said just as Neville entered, holding a styrofoam cup of steaming liquid and looking wan. "Feeling okay there, Neville? You're looking a bit peaky."

Neville set the cup down and removed his cloak, revealing tattered robes over his denim pants. "I'm fine, Gin. The Brazilian Water Dragons decided that today was a good day to throw a revolution, that's all. I had half the staff trying to calm them, and the other half trying to harvest Mandrakes. Unfortunately, we had to do both today because the Minister of Herbology is coming to inspect tomorrow, and if we wait another day on the Mandrakes, I'm afraid we won't be able to make a proper revival potion out of them." He sighed wearily and took a long drag from the cup. "Would've been seven months of work, right down the drain."

"Get it done all right, Neville?" Harry asked, rising and crossing to the coffee pot, which looked tired from all of the use he and Ginny had put it through all week. It burbled when he tapped it with his wand but set about making coffee with a defeated air.

"Yes, it's all done. Unfortunately, it was hideous timing."

"Was it?" Ginny wanted to know. "Why's that? Tuesdays not good for a Water Dragons revolt?"

Neville managed to make a noise that vaguely resembled a weak chuckle. "Well, the Minister of Magic's just gone and gave his yearly speech on the wizarding economic state, hasn't he? Worst day a fiasco can happen is right after that speech because then everybody'll start wanting a raise!"

"Wow, good point," said Harry, who'd never known that the Minister gave a yearly speech on the economy. "Very astute business observation there, Neville. You've got a good head for business."

"I just wish it could get me ahead in the business world. Running an apothecary is no small task." Neville let out another gusty sigh and stood up to fill the now empty cup with coffee. "Oh, well. If wishes were broomsticks, beggars would ride, I suppose." He leaned over Harry's shoulder to get a good look at the credit reports. "Merlin, these things are a mess. I'm not good with numbers, but even I can tell that something is seriously wonky there. Say, would you like me to look over these for you? You know, in exchange for me stealing your bed?"

"Would you?" Ginny asked quickly before Harry could protest. "They're not ours, but we're working on them for a Tunnel case. If you could just figure out where all the money's coming from, where it's going to—we'd be forever grateful."

Neville smiled tiredly and collected the papers in front of Harry. "Sure. Be glad to help out the Tunnel. Been awhile." He shoved the parchments under his arm and toasted them with his coffee. "I'll take a look at them tomorrow. However, right now, I'm completely knackered. I'm off to kip a bit before my next shift starts." He turned to leave as Harry and Ginny bid him good-night. "Oh, right, before I forget. Harry—don't change your sleeping arrangements because I'm here. If you want to, um, you know," and his eyes darted once towards Ginny, "I really think you should."

"Goodnight, Neville," Harry said pointedly, wondering how his ears could burn so hotly. Things were the opposite of awkward around Ginny, but somehow when Neville brought the fact up to light, it always made Harry want to squirm guiltily in his seat. He and Ginny hadn't even told Ron and Hermione, their closest friends, that they were sort of going steady, as the term went. Living together made it easier and harder at the same time, and the fact that he was her bodyguard just kept getting in the way of everything. There was a protocol to be followed, a conscientious line to be walked.

"So," Ginny said, turning to face him with a smug look, "guess that means you're sleeping with me, doesn't it? You don't want to offend Neville now, do you?"

"And just how much did you pay him to bring that up, again?"

"There are other ways besides money to get what you want, Mr. Potter." Giggling, Ginny took advantage of his shocked look to lean in and kiss him, slowly enough to deliberately drive him mad. She pulled back, a feline smirk in place. "Grab your pillow and meet me in my room in two minutes. If you're not there by then, Neville's going to be very upset with the both of us."

"How come this is my house, and yet I'm the only one that doesn't get a say?" Harry wondered at the ceiling.


Ginny looked up as a slew of swearing entered her office, seconds before Tara Staples herself stepped in with all of her glorified blonde comparisons to Aphrodite in place. The perfect goddess image wasn't even marred by the fact that Tara was currently cursing hard enough to make a sailor—on leave—blush.

"Something wrong, Tara?" Ginny asked, moving the file for reservations off to the side and raising her eyebrows. "You look a bit upset."

"Upset, she says!" Tara grumbled to an imaginary person behind Ginny. "Like it's nothing!"

Ginny sat back and tapped the tip of her quill against a map of the stadium hosting the American Quidditch Open. Harry had owled it over earlier. "Like what's nothing?"

"Weasley, do you even bother to readthe British newspapers, much less the American ones?" Before Ginny could shake her head, Tara plunked a newspaper down on her desk hard enough to disturb the bottle of ink Ginny had sitting off to the side. That made the blonde Southerner let out an annoyed yell and flick her wand at it to clean it up. "Check it out, our favourite psychotic killer is at it again."

'WITCH HUNTER STRIKES IN BOSTON!' read the headline in stark lettering, tracing its way across the page and into Ginny's fears. She skipped the by-line and the photograph of the author to read the bulk of the article. Dermot had indeed struck again, killing a twenty-nine-year-old in Boston, Massachusetts. Ginny stared at the article for a long time without fathoming what it actually meant. Dermot was in Boston? He was originally from Seattle, and a bit nomadic on top of that, but his recent targets all had something to do with her. Did she know anybody in Boston? He'd stayed in Alabama to cause more trouble around people that she had met fleetingly.

"What's in Boston?" she asked, folding the newspaper carefully with shaking hands.

"My sister! My sister's in Boston, that's what!" Annoyed, Tara slammed a fist into the wall. Most people would have been unnerved by the pain, but she just stuffed her hand into a pocket. Ginny winced; she'd be feeling that later. "If that little cretin goes near—I've got to go back there. I've got to leave here, I've gotta go there right now—"

"What?!"

"I'm moving back to Boston. I'll move into Denise's place, stay on her couch. Denise is exactly why Dermot is in Boston, and by God, he's NOT getting her." Tara began to pace around the room, her footsteps a flurry of movement that made Ginny dizzy to watch. The redhead continued to sit back in her chair, quietly absorbing the article's news. So Dermot had indeed left her alone—but he was now on the loose, and killing more women. Guilt like none other seized her by the throat. If only she'd thought to Stun him when he'd surprised her…none of this would be happening…

"Stop it," Tara said suddenly.

Ginny jumped. "What?"

Tara crossed the few feet of space between them and leaned far over the desk so that she was directly in Ginny's face. "That blaming yourself thing. Stop it right now."

Ginny pushed her head against the back of the seat, a sigh rocking her entire form. "I can't exactly help it, you know."

"Yes, you can. You were a victim, too. And a darn good one because you were able to tell us who the Witch Hunter was. Now, stop blaming yourself for that woman that was killed, and get your things. We've got to pack up the apartment."

"Right." Ginny pushed her hair out of her face and began to shuffle parchment into file folders. She began to shove them into her satchel, mind a blur of confusing thoughts. "Right. I'll let Harry know. C'mon." She slung the satchel over her shoulder, grabbed her summer cloak, and headed for the locker rooms. The team was probably in there, listening to Bear going over plays. Although Dave Davenport was the coach, Bear had been named captain after the Dublin Demented game. The team unofficially agreed that he was devising their plays, and that they would listen to him. "He should be down this way."

They left the administrative offices through the concrete corridor that wound underneath the length of the stadium. Although Ginny had never had a problem with tight enclosed spaces, Tara was noticeably tensed as they walked. Ginny wasn't sure if it was the fact that Dermot was in the same city as her beloved sister, or if it was the walls pressing in tightly all around them. "The locker rooms are down at the end of this hall. You okay?"

"I'm fine," Tara replied immediately, pulling her hair back into a knot. "This way, right?"

"Right," Ginny said again. They made a sharp right, ducked under a set of pipes, and arrived at a door bearing the words "AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY" on a large blue and red sign. "This is it. The Typhoon locker room." She knocked four times on the door, and after a minute (and some scuffling inside), Tracy opened the door and grinned. She didn't look surprised to see Ginny at all.

"Amy! We haven't seen you in three days—well, except for Harry, of course! Come in, come in!" Tracy smiled broadly at Tara and grabbed Ginny by the arm, pulling her inside. Left with no other option, Tara followed. "Hey, everybody! Amy's here and she brought a friend!" She glanced questioningly at Tara, silently asking her name.

"It's Tara," Ginny supplied, for Tara looked a bit dazed the movement all around her. "We came to steal Harry for a minute, if that's okay with—" She came to an abrupt halt at the sight before her.

Bear was perched on his toes on the bench, wearing a pair of blue boxers and a T-shirt with the words "Appleby Arrows" splayed across the front. Dressed similarly in various other Quidditch shirts, Frank, Tad, and Harry were all balanced on their own benches, arms windmilling about. At the sight of Ginny, Harry slipped off the bench and barely caught himself with the edge of the locker. By laughing, Bear and Tad inadvertently mimicked his actions.

"Frank wins!" Stacy crowed, holding up a sheet of parchment. "And here is my marker, Mel—looks like I win again! I told you Frank had the best natural balance!"

Harry laughed and slapped Frank on the back—sending him to the floor with the rest of the team. "Hey, Amy," he said, giving Ginny a kiss on the temple. At the sight of Tara, he froze. Any playfulness in his manner disappeared, although his teammates were too busy congratulating Frank to notice that the look in Harry's eyes had quickly gone hard. "And…Tara…what are you doing here?"

"That's why we need to steal you, dear," Ginny said, using their code-word to signal the urgency of the situation. She turned to the rest of the team, her smile normal. "If the rest of you will excuse us? My sister wants to meet my boyfriend, if that's okay."

"Boyfriend," Tad sniggered like a twelve-year-old, but the team let them go.

They assembled in the narrowest corner of the outside corridor, much to Tara's dismay. However, she swallowed her problem long enough to face Harry, and to hand the newspaper over to him. He paled as he skimmed the article. When he was done, he crumpled it in one fist. "We have to go now."

"What?" Ginny and Tara asked on the same breath.

"To Boston. We end this now." Harry started to stride off, boxers and all, but Ginny grabbed his arm and hauled on it just in time, keeping him in place. "This has gone on long enough. Let's call Dermot out now."

Tara shook her head. "It doesn't work that way. Dermot plans public showdowns on his own terms. If we try to draw him out, it just won't work. This may have been a 'come and get me' message, but Dermot's smarter than that. He'll be waiting on his own turf."

"Which is why," Ginny added pointedly, forcing Harry to meet her gaze, "we're tricking him at the American Quidditch Open. Until then, our hands are tied."

Harry looked resigned. "Okay, then what—"

"Tara is going to Boston to protect her sister, who lives there," Ginny filled him in. Harry broke in to give his true opinion of Dermot in a word that would have made Hermione gasp. Ginny, who had heard much worse in the past, just shook her head and sighed. "We're headed off to pack up our flat so that she can go today."

"Take Euan with you," Harry said immediately, looking between them. "To Boston."

"Take Euan to Boston?" Tara echoed. "I can't just move Euan across—"

"Somebody say my name?" As though summoned by magic, Euan Abercrombie himself appeared, his easy smile in place. Ginny rather liked him for that smile; the guy didn't have the easiest life, she knew, but he usually found a reason to grin, even if it was a reason nobody else could understand. His unfailing optimism had already started to infect Harry, although the Seeker would never admit it. "Oh, good, you're both here," he said to Harry and Ginny now. "Listen, have you checked the papers this morning?"

After some debate, they had agreed to let Euan know the specifics involving Dermot, Ginny, and Tara. It helped ease Ron's conscience that he wasn't devoting as much time as he could to the case, and Euan offered some fresh views of Harry and Ginny's plan to draw Dermot out at the American Quidditch Open. Also, having a second person assigned to security for the event made Harry a little less edgy about the whole ordeal.

Now, Harry just held up the fistful of newspaper. Evan cringed. "Right," he continued. "Guess you did. Er, not to be ignorant or anything, but why is the Witch Hunter attacking in Boston? It just…doesn't seem right. I"ve been reading up on his activities over the years and while everything with, er, Amy is out of character for him, this is just…baffling."

"My sister is in Boston," Tara said, white stress lines appearing on either side of her mouth.

Euan glanced at Harry, his mouth open in an O. Harry just nodded. "Pack your things," he told Euan tersely. "You've been promoted to bodyguard. Stay with Tara and her sister in Boston—don't let them out of your sight."

Most might have protested; Euan only nodded and glanced at his watch. Tara opened her mouth to protest, but Euan just shrugged and glanced at Harry, "Give me an hour—I have to go cancel a date."

"You can't just make him drop everything and go!" Tara protested once Euan was out of hearing range.

Harry shrugged and handed the crumpled newspaper back to Ginny. "He doesn't seem to have a problem with it. Give me five minutes, and I'll come help you pack." There was a steely undertone to his voice that told Ginny it would be useless to try and convince him to stay, so the redhead merely pressed her lips together and nodded. As much as this might blow their cover with the Davenports, it was more important to Harry that he be there watching over them right now. She could pick her battles later; she had other things to do right now.


"Save me a piece of chicken teriyaki," Hermione called from Tara's bedroom, where she was flicking her wand at various boxes and doing most of the packing for them. After a couple of hours, Dave Davenport had owled Harry with the threat that if he didn't get back to the practice, the back-up Seeker was playing in the Quidditch Open, so Harry had called in a favour from Ron and Hermione. Ron had ducked out a few minutes earlier to check up on Scotty, the agent that had been trapped at the bottom of Hogwarts Lake in a safe while the Shrieking Shack collapsed in on Ginny and Harry. Tara and Ginny were in the kitchen, debating who got what item of food.

"Sure thing!" Ginny shouted back, eyeing the mostly full dish of chicken teriyaki that Ron had ordered before he left. Neither Ginny nor Tara were very hungry; Ginny had eaten a large meal earlier, and Tara was almost too sick with worry to eat.

"Luckily, Denise needs a flatmate," Tara said, continuing their conversation as she threw a jar of peanut butter into one of the boxes. "Her old one just moved out, otherwise I'd be crashing on her sofa for a couple of days and then apartment-hunting. It saves me a lot of trouble, at least."

"Does Denise know what's up?" Ginny had met Tara's sister when they had both worked in Alabama; Denise Staples was twenty, two years younger than Tara. She was attending a college in Boston (Ginny always forgot which one), and according to Tara, the tall blonde was a bit of a party animal. It worried Tara a bit that Denise was headed into using drugs. After Denise had graduated from St. Lawrence's Magical Institute, she had gone back to Muggle school and hung out with all Muggles. She hadn't chosen to follow Tara into the Tunnel.

Tara now shook her head tightly. "She just thinks I'm tired of the 'uptight' British and need a place to crash."

"Won't she be in for a shock when she hears your accent," Ginny observed, for Tara's southern drawl had slowly started to pick up a British undertone.

"The whole family will be," Tara said ruefully. "But it's no big deal, right? The instant I step back into Georgia, you'll be able to stand a spoon in my original accent, it's so thick." She managed a shaky grin and handed over a package of Ginny's favourite candies for Ginny to throw in her own box.

Ron knocked on the partially open front door to warn them and then walked in, throwing his wand from hand to hand. "Scotty's going to be fine," he told them when they looked at him expectantly. "Still struggling with some claustrophobia, but he wants back into the Tunnel."

"You're going to let him?"

"I'm cutting back his work-load for his wife' sake." Linda Darrow had been the one to call and let Harry and Ron know that Scotty was about to attempt suicide; she had taken the brunt of Scotty's new state with as much grace as possible, but it was obvious to anybody who talked to her that she did not want Scotty at all involved with the Tunnel. "He's a Broker by day, so I'm putting him on paperwork. Ginny, could you wrangle a couple of good tickets to the Quidditch Open for him? We worked up enough budget to send both Darrows on vacation to Florida."

"Not a problem," Ginny told him, making a mental note to ask Harry about it later. He could afford it, and she knew that Ron was too proud to ask him.

"Great, thanks. Where's Hermione?"

"Packing up the bedroom." Ginny snagged the plate of chicken teriyaki and pushed it into her brother's hands. "Go take this to her. Tara and I have got the kitchen covered."

"We're almost done," Tara decided, craning her neck to look over the short stacks of boxes they had created throughout the last few hours. "A couple more and that should do it. How many are there?"

Ginny counted the boxes with her eyes. "Twelve. That's with the shrunken entertainment centre, your expansive DVD collection, and everything but the kitchen sink."

"Should we take that, too?" Tara asked, attempting humour.

"Nah, leave it for the next poor people. We've already got the bathtub packed. They'll need something to bathe in."

Shrinking the boxes was left to Hermione, who was the only one competent enough to make sure that it got done properly. Ginny set about labelling them with a magic marker, listing the inner contents of the boxes in smaller letters. She'd moved enough to know that this would save time later. They would shrink the boxes, magic them to look like boxes of chocolates or something to fool the airline that Tara would have to travel on, and then stuff them all into one rucksack small enough for Tara to carry with her on the plane. Worried that Dermot would be watching the magical travel stations, Harry had taken the time to book two tickets (first class) on a red-eye flight into JFK International Airport. From there, they would Floo over to a friend of Denise's in Boston.

"How do Muggles do it all, I wonder," Ginny remarked as she finished taping up the boxes. "I mean, mailing all of this to each other would just be a bother, and what would you do without your stuff for the two weeks it takes?"

"I don't know." Tara was now surveying the empty flat with something akin to a frown on her face. "I really liked this place. And I've seen Denise's place. It's not nearly as good as this one."

"Maybe it'll be empty again someday. Then we'll move back in and make it the party flat we were intending to do when we first got it," Ginny offered, knowing it wasn't much comfort. Tara was having to uproot the life she had tentatively set down for herself in London and go back to her home country. It made Ginny want to kill Dermot with her own hands. She saw the look on her friend's face and grabbed her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, don't worry about it—Denise's going to be fine, we're going to catch Dermot, and we'll be back to being flatmates any day now."

Tara nearly gaped at her. "How is it that you're the one with the stalker and you're comforting me? Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

"I have Harry there to protect me. I'm not worried about it." To her surprise, Ginny found out that she wasn't lying. Somehow, the fact that Harry's eyes always darted around a room before they entered, and how he was always nearby watching, just made her feel better. She liked to be independent and self-reliant, but having a second person there to pick up the slack…well, it was nice.

Another knock from the door alerted them to Euan's presence and he walked in, carrying a suitcase. "Marie wasn't too pleased," he told them through a grin, leaning down to give each a kiss on the cheek (they'd learned early on that this was how Euan greeted every woman), "but I've got my schedule cleared for as long as you need me in Boston."

"Thanks, Euan. I'll be ready to go in about ten minutes."

Ron and Hermione emerged from the bedroom, Ron carrying the plate in one hand and holding his other palm open to reveal several sugar-cube-sized boxes. "Bedroom's all packed," Hermione announced. "Guess I should get started on this set, then?" Without waiting for an answer, she dove in.

"Hullo, Euan," Ron greeted. "I'd shake your hand, but as you see…" He shrugged helplessly and began unloading the boxes gently onto the counter. "Tara, Ginny, these need Unbreakable charms put on them so that nothing gets damaged during the flight. Euan, could I have a minute back here, please?" He jerked his head towards the empty bedroom and the two men disappeared that way.

"Is this your pile here, Ginny?" Hermione asked, indicating the thirteen boxes set off to the side.

"Yeah—I'm moving into the Hutch. Officially. I even let Mum know." Ginny winced at that sentence, knowing that her mother was probably opening the owl even now. If she hadn't received the howler by morning, she would know that Molly Weasley had passed out in shock. "Of course, the way I put it, Harry's added on a third bedroom to make room for me. She doesn't know that we're—"

As she clapped her hand over her mouth, Hermione and Tara turned as one, eyebrows raised at her slip. "That you're what?" Tara prompted mischievously, some of her sadness forgotten for the moment. "Living in sin?"

"We're not! We're just, er, sleeping together."

"Riiiiiight."

Hermione elbowed Tara, grinning, and winked.

"It's entirely innocent!" Well, that wasn't completely true, but she really wasn't one to go describe a snogging session in great detail. "Charity's kicked Neville out, so he's staying with us for awhile, and I don't want Harry sleeping on the couch. He's the best Seeker in England, for crying out loud. I don't want to be responsible for giving him back problems. His fans would lynch me."

Hermione instantly sobered. "Charity kicked Neville out? When?"

"Well, he's been staying with us for a week now, but he says the divorce has been finalised, so I think it's been closer to a month and he just got tired of living in a hotel room. Can't blame him—the poor bloke's at his wit's end." She and Neville had kept it from Harry pretty well that Neville had been drinking a little more than necessary. Ginny was trying to help him through the ordeal, but it wasn't easy with Angelina's wedding less than five months away.

Tara looked only vaguely interested in the conversation, but Hermione had gained a distant look in her eye, one that Ginny recognised all too well. Her best friend was plotting something. "You know," Hermione said faintly, her words trailing off, "I think Luna's in town. What luck."

"Luna?" Tara asked just as Ginny demanded, "What?!"

Hermione ignored Ginny. "Luna Lovegood was in Ginny's year at Hogwarts, a Ravenclaw. We all used to call her Loony Lovegood, with good reason. She and Neville had a bit of a thing going before he met Charity…"

"Luna's a great person, but she's as daffy as well…herself!" Ginny had never been able to describe Luna very well, and it showed in her long pause now. Slowly, her gaze turned thoughtful. Hermione's idea held some credibility, although it was laughable at first. "But she is the exact opposite of Charity…she's nice, for one thing, and while she doesn't seem to be all in one piece, Neville really doesn't need to be with somebody bossy, like Charity was. He needs…an equal."

"Are all the men in your lives in this much trouble?" Tara wondered, making Hermione and Ginny giggle.

"How long is Luna in town?" Ginny asked Hermione, intrigued.

"A couple of months. She's on assignment—some imaginary beast going through the dustbins in London." Hermione's smirk was obviously one that she had gleaned from too much time around Ron and Harry. "What say we have tea sometime soon with her, and bring Neville? I'm sure I can think of a last minute excuse out of there, can't you?"

"They really are in trouble," Tara decided just as Ginny began to giggle again.

Ron and Euan chose that moment to come back in as Ginny and Hermione continued to giggle at Tara's demure statement. "Hey," Ron asked, "why aren't those shrunk yet?" He indicated the still-tall stack of boxes in front of the three women.

"Girl talk, Ron. You wouldn't understand."


When Ginny came back to the Hutch later that night, trying to shake off the exhaustion that always accompanies one involved in any form with an airport, she found the Hutch lit low in only the way candlelight can do. She paused uncertainly on the threshold. "Harry?"

To her disappointment, it was Neville that stuck his head out of the kitchen and around the corner. "He was called away to a practice about two hours ago, but he should be back any minute now."

Ginny dropped her purse on the nearest chair and removed her rain jacket, scowling a bit at the thought of Harry practising out in the stormy weather outside. Tara's flight had nearly been delayed due to the viciousness of the summer storm, and Ginny was of the opinion that her boyfriend did not need to be on a broomstick out in the middle of the maelstrom. "What's with the candles, Neville?"

Neville had taken the time to light several of the tapers Harry kept under his sink, placing them around the table as he finished cooking dinner. One of the surprising things about Neville was that he could indeed cook: he just enjoyed using the herbs, he always said, and that usually meant putting them on chicken or in bread or whatever it took. Ginny wasn't sure whether she was relieved or disappointed to see the table set for three, for the setting was romantic in its own right. Still, Neville was a house guest, and it would be rude to kick him out because she had had very little time alone with her new boyfriend.

"Harry apparently runs this place on Muggle power," Neville informed her as he added oregano to the sauce, "and it went out about thirty minutes ago. Since you really don't want to see me light more than a candle, I left it up to those candles there. It's a wonderful light, isn't it? Kind of makes you want to paint, almost."

Neville had become one of the more sensitive men in her life, Ginny realised as she thought over his observation. Had Charity left him because she worried about his sexual preferences? That might have had something to do with it.

"So we're eating by candlelight tonight," Neville finished as Ginny moved to collect glasses from the cupboard. "Whenever Harry gets home, that is. That coach of his is insane."

"Trust me, I'm not going to disagree." Ginny sneaked around Neville to steal a taste of the sauce, and smiled. Charity really had thrown it all away when she had kicked Neville out. The man was almost a better cook than her mother. "So are we taking turns with dinner now?"

"I thought it was fair, since I've found a flat, but it won't be ready for another month. Adult sharehouse living." Neville brushed a hand through his hair and leaned around Ginny to stir the noodles. "I believe it's your night to cook tomorrow, so should I be expecting takeout or what?"

"I'm not that bad," Ginny protested, dismayed.

Neville just laughed.

The front door opened yet again and Ginny leaned around the corner to see Harry standing in the doorway, a trench coat hugging his thin, drenched frame. Water ran in rivulets down his face and hands, the "Bloody Davenports," he growled at the coat rack, shoving the coat onto it. "Think they own the bloody world, the sodding gits—"

"Harry's home," Ginny informed Neville, stopping Harry's tirade in its tracks. He blinked owlishly at the pair of them through water-spotted spectacles and pushed irritably at his wet locks, which still managed to defy gravity. Ginny smirked at his expression as she walked up to him and planted a coy kiss on his cheek. "Hi, honey. Hard day at work?"

He barely gave her a second look, and Ginny felt a stab of hurt. "Why is the flat dark?"

Neville appeared around the corner. "Electricity went down, so we're eating by candlelight, unless you'd like to perform a trickier charm and get us some real light."

This seemed to relieve Harry's foul mood a bit. "In this state, I'd just bungle it. Candlelight sounds good."

"Good. Go get changed. You look like a drowned owl."

Harry left the pair alone to wander into his room and change into dry clothing. "He's grumpy," Neville remarked, returning to the stove to stir the various pots and pans. "I guess we shouldn't put him on clean-up, then."

"It's been a long day." That much was evident in the way her arms and legs ached, and the fact that there were small weights on each of her eyelids. "We've spent the day arranging for a friend of ours to move back and watch out for her sister."

"Ouch." Neville flicked his wand at the coffee maker. "You sound like you need some. The portkey office always gives me a headache."

Ginny shook her head. "Muggle. Airport. We're sneaking her into the country, you might say. It's even worse than the portkey office."

Neville raised his eyebrows at this, but wisely chose not to ask exactly why her friend needed to be sneaked anywhere. Instead, he just added a couple more spices to the sauce, tasted it again, and nodded to himself. Ginny set the table around the candles, making sure to move any candles near Neville's place mat away. She poured herself a cup of coffee and drank that as she worked. By the time she poured pumpkin juice into the various glasses, Harry entered the kitchen, changed and considerably drier. He dropped a hand on the back of Ginny's neck, rubbing his fingers against her shirt collar, and leaned against the counter.

"Feeling better?" Ginny asked, wrapping her hand around his wrist.

He gave her a half-smile and turned to Neville. "You can cook?"

"Don't look so shocked," Neville admonished, smirking. The expression made him look a little older. "Charity can't cook worth knuts—one of us had to learn. I can make a soufflé that would make a grown man cry—and not because it hurts to eat it. Tonight, we're having rigatoni—my own special sauce."

"Candlelight," Harry observed, as though seeing it for the first time. "Home-cooked Italian food. The nice crockery. Neville, is there something you're not telling me?" When both Ginny and Neville looked at him in confusion, he shrugged and asked, "Are you carrying the torch for Ginny? Because if you are, I should leave and let you two have some alone-time—"

"No!" Ginny and Neville protested on the same breath.

Harry waited a beat—and then burst out laughing. "I'm sorry," he wheezed between chuckles, "your expression—priceless!"

Both Ginny and Neville watched Harry laugh on for a good minute before Neville frowned and turned to Ginny, his eyes thoughtful. "I think he's so tired he's punchy. Give him your coffee."

"Good idea," Ginny agreed, relinquishing the mug.

Harry's mirth had died down by the time they sat around the table, dishing generous portions of Neville's cooking onto their plates. "Wow," Neville commented as they began to dig into the food. "If only the world knew how England's most valuable Quidditch player spend his nights. Home-cooked meals with his girlfriend and random house guests. Harry, I'm afraid you're boring."

"I get that a lot," Harry confessed, smirking behind his pumpkin juice. "And to tell the truth, I don't care. People tend to stare at those parties."

This drew a chuckle from Neville, and he flicked a glance at the ever-present scar above Harry's eyes. "Oh, right. That nasty-looking cut you have on your forehead. I forgot. You got that from what, banging your head against the kitchen counter when you were a baby, right?"

"Something like that, yeah."

Since Voldemort's demise, Harry's friends had purposely lightened their banter with him, joking about the scar on his forehead. They liked to speculate various ways he got it: parents accidentally gave him a pocket-knife, interesting incident with a yak, Botox inversion (this was always Hermione's suggestion, and it puzzled the rest of them). The first joke that Ginny had heard since her return to England had put her on edge, but Harry had just laughed and said, "Something like that, yeah," the same way he just had to Neville. The humour helped him cope with the memories, she realised early on, and his friends were more than willing to accommodate for that humour.

"I don't know," Ginny remarked, "you could have got it just as easily from an end-table."

"I think it was the ice-box door, actually," Neville countered.

"No, the scar's too jagged for that. Maybe the edge of a cupboard door?"

"Maybe."

Meanwhile, Harry leaned back and casually fed himself forkfuls of rigatoni, amused by their exchange. "Dinner and a show," he remarked when Neville and Ginny paused to breathe. "Sorry to interrupt with business, but have you had any time to look over those bank statements, Neville?"

"Better." Neville stood and retrieved his briefcase from the counter. "I did a little investigating for you. Or I had Ron do it. Whichever you prefer to hear." He pulled a thick folder out and passed it to Harry, making sure to keep it away from the candles. "There's a system, kind of archaic, where you can charm a Galleon with a sort of tracking device. Ron has some inside contacts with Gringotts. These are the reports he gave me from the Galleons placed into the vaults of Draco Malfoy, Dave and Ulysses Davenport, and Sam Werner. Anybody else you want me to check out?"

"Just those four," Harry confirmed, opening the folders and flipping through the contents.

Neville in turn passed Ginny another stack of thick folders. "I analysed them on my lunch hour yesterday. Very messy, so it took me awhile to find out what they're hiding."

Harry was the one who saw the conclusion first. "They're investing in a dragon ranch?" he asked, his voice foggy with disbelief.

"Claw, Tooth, and Scale Dragon Home," Neville confirmed just as Ginny found the name on one of the bank statements. "Over four thousand Galleons from each account has gone there. It appears innocent."

"Very few things with this crowd are innocent." Irritable again, Harry flicked his wand at the overhead light and gave the kitchen a brighter ambience. He scanned one of the parchments and then leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed. "I'll admit. They've got me stumped."

"And here's the part where I give you the interesting news," Neville finished, taking a bite of noodles and talking around that. "Claw, Tooth, and Scale was a dragon home once. The main building burned down a few years ago, and ever since then they've lost all funding."

"Reasonable, if you can't even fireproof a building on a dragon ranch," Harry mused. "So are they merely funding this place again, or is this just an elaborate cover?"

"Hey, take a look at this," Ginny said suddenly, leaning forward with one of the parchments in her hand. "Malfoy hasn't sent any money to this dragon ranch whatever. All of his Galleons have been going to genuinely backing the Nottingham Typhoon."

"It's entirely possible that he's just working himself out of a gambling debt," Neville observed, although Harry's face darkened. "I know, the git's a rat, but…well, he did join our side in the end, didn't he?"

"Took a lot of dilly-dallying for him to decide." Harry's tone was frosty.

"As much as I am in loath to agree with Neville's observation, I think he's right. Draco Malfoy was never as conniving as his father was; he usually stuck to stupid little pranks like the Dementor thing in your third year, Harry." Ginny closed the folder, looking troubled. "Even when Umbridge was around, he wasn't anything more than a minion."

The stony look on Harry's face more than closed the subject for the night. He genuinely wanted something that would put Draco Malfoy out of commission and behind bars, where the git couldn't cause any more misery than he already had. He sighed and looked down at the folders he had to review that night before bed. "I'll give Charlie a call tomorrow, see if I can't find out why they picked Claw, Tooth, and Scale as a cover, if there was anything special about it. Thanks for the help, Neville." He stood up. "I'm going to go review these and try to get a few hours of sleep before the bloody Davenports drag me from my dreams again. Good night."

"Good night."


This game was getting too easy.

He had expected Ginny to be difficult—he enjoyed the challenge of hunting her, watching her every move, trying to stay one step ahead of her—but instead, she had turned out to be rather boring. She continually presented opportunities for him to attack: he could grab her while her Pretty-Boy boyfriend was out on the field. In fact, as much of a bodyguard as the boyfriend was trying to be, he was lousy at it. He kept her on too loose of a leash; she'd gone to the airport with Tara Staples and Euan Abercrombie alone tonight, without any sort of protection at all. If it hadn't been comparable to shooting a deer with a broken leg, he would have nabbed her then.

He knew that she'd put up a fight once he grabbed her, but he wanted something to work up his adrenaline beforehand. She was tough; he would need the edge. She had survived that fall in the Shrieking Shack, barely lived through being impaled on a sharp piece of wood. That boyfriend of hers had chosen the one night to accompany her. Otherwise, she'd already be dead.

This brought a cold, anticipating smile to the man's face, one that made the barkeep glance warily at him. He ignored this and instead finished off his whiskey, slapping that and a few pounds onto the counter to pay for his drink. "Keep the change."

Soon, he thought as he headed into the summery evening, the game would just become boring, and then he would have to up the stakes.

They were going to play by his rules or not at all.

A/N II: Coming up soon: Hermione makes a shocking announcement, Ginny and Harry attend a family dinner--together, and we finally meet Terry Holicrest!