This world belongs to J. K. Rowling but I will inherit it when she dies. THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The door to the interrogation room opened and Ron Weasley came in, carrying a handful of papers. There were bags under his eyes and he looked nearly as tired as I felt. ''How many reports have you written in your time, mate?''

''After nearly three years as a university professor, four years as a grad student and TA, four years as a Logistics Officer, and three as a Reserve Officer? How many do you think?''

He laughed briefly. ''Too bloody many. But I won't complain, this is the easiest crime report I've ever had to read.'' He looked around the little room. There wasn't much to it, just old brick walls and a wooden table with a couple of chairs. ''Cafeteria's just down the hall. I'll buy you a cuppa for your nerves.''

The shakes had settled down and my hands were nearly steady. I didn't need caffeine on top of the adrenaline, but it would give me a chance to talk to Weasley. I pushed the chair back, scraping the legs on the stone floor. ''Sounds good, thanks.''

I followed him out of the room and 'just down the hall', which turned out to be down the hall, around two corners, up another hall, and past any number of wizards and witches in practical tough clothing.

''No,'' Ron Weasley answered my last question. ''Hit-Wizards and Aurors operate out of two different Offices. And joint operations are organized by a third, the Magical Law Enforcement Squad Office. And my wife runs the fourth in the Department, the Office of Magical Police Sciences.''

''The Weasels,'' I said. ''Or Granger's Rangers.''

As he lead me over to the cafeteria counter, Ron Weasley gave me a look. I shrugged. ''I have a shoebox full of news articles about the former DA leadership. And another one for the old Death Eaters.''

We grabbed our tea and Ron paid, dropping a few Knuts into a big tin. He led the way through the cafeteria, past rows of tables with people at them. The big cafeteria hall wasn't full, but there were a few dozen wizards and witches scattered at the tables. Ron waved and nodded at people as we went by. ''This looks quiet.''

We sat a few tables away from most of the crowd, where the noise was a bit lower. Ron pulled his wand out and set it on the table in front of him.

''Headmistress Grimward is still finishing her report. The Hit-Witch helping her calls it a bloody novel.''

''Galilea likes to be precise.''

Weasley sipped his tea and didn't comment. He put the cup down and scratched at his stubble. ''You didn't see the third attacker?''

I twitched a bit, sloshing the hot tea in my cup. Luckily I didn't spill it. ''No. There were three? I saw the witch I tackled, and then that wizard who came through the kitchen. But the Hit-Wizard who took my report says he was one of yours.''

''Yeah, and he went and charged into a room wand-first. I'll have a chat with him about that.''

I recognized the dangerous gleam in his eyes. Ron Weasley was one of nature's NCOs. That 'chat' would end with a strip torn off the other wizard's back.

''So there was the witch who tried to attack Galilea, and who else?''

''Her partner, the one your lady friend hit with a repeating Cutting Curse. Both of them, as you'd say, known to the police. Nothing like this before though. They're both in Azkaban's healers ward, so you don't need to worry about them.''

''And the third?''

''That's the one that tried to hit you with Expulso, and you really don't need to worry about him.''

''Why not? What's Expulso?''

''Right, right.'' Ron Weasley sipped his tea again. ''I just poured this not five minutes ago. How can it be cold already? D'they put Cooling Charms on it?''

''Expulso.''

''You owe my brother a drink,'' Weasley said. ''Expulso is a Blasting Charm. This one bounced back back on the caster.''

A Blasting Charm? Someone had tried to detonate me? And it ricocheted? ''He... Exploded?''

''No. A deflected or bent spell usually doesn't work. It still carries a lot of punch, but it won't usually do what it was meant to. Losses intent, y'know. Most of the time it's like hitting something with a big sandbag. This time though, the spell raised the wizard's body temperature.''

That didn't sound healthy. ''How much?''

''About a hundred degrees, I'm told.''

That really didn't sound healthy. A reflected Expulso still had enough power to cook a man? ''I owe your brother a drink.''

I leaned back and drank some tea. Weasley had been right, it had gone cold quickly. ''There's something I didn't put in the report.''

I leaned forward on the table. I really was having trouble sitting still. ''When you came by the school, Galilea and I both assumed you meant Jezebel Rosier. She'd sent me an owl the morning after the formal.''

Weasley's expression went from blank to surprised. ''Her? She's one of Draco Malfoy's Vitalists. They want people like you in the Wizarding World.''

''Yeah, I found that out when she tried to recruit me to run classes at the Oakby Centre.'' Vitalists. One more thing to look up. Gah.

''One track mind, that girl. She's tried to recruit my wife too, but Hermione's got too much on her plate now.''

''I told her that as soon as I knew what my schedule would be like at Hogwarts, I'd give the Centre a few hours of my time. God only knows when that will be.''

''I know the feeling. So, your report?''

''The other woman I sat next to at dinner, the one I'd forgotten about because she didn't send me a letter? She turned up at Ollivanders while I was there for my interview.''

''That sounds familiar. Did Skeeter mention it in her article?''

I nodded. ''It was right in the part where I talked about putting my foot in my mouth at dinner. I said I hoped I'd make a better impression with the Ollivanders when I spoke to them.''

''Hm.'' Weasley waved his wand at his tea cup. The tea started to steam. He pointed his wand at my tea and gave me an inquisitive look.

''No. Any more caffeine and I'll get the shakes again.'' While he finished his tea I went on. ''Anyway, Cornfoot - I can't remember her first name. Cornfoot turned up in Ollivanders claiming she had damaged her wand. But Ward Ollivander said she'd barely nicked it. He didn't even charge her for repairs.''

''Did you speak with her at all while she was there?''

''She asked why I was in looking at wands.''

Ron Weasley struggled to control his shocked expression. ''Were you?''

I rolled my eyes. ''Are all you Purebloods this jumpy about Muggles? Yeah, I was. Ward and Glinda wanted to try. Didn't work though.''

Relief and embarrassment struggled for control of Weasley's face. Finally he managed to smooth out his expression. ''Anything else?''

''Yeah, I asked her and Glinda for advice on what to get Galilea. And we talked about restaurants. I even mentioned the name of the place we were going.''

He nodded. ''Well, that's good to know. Thanks, mate.'' Weasley sighed. ''You know how bad this must look? From the point of view of nutters like The One Hundred, I mean.''

''I've thought about it a couple of times. I blow past the wards at the Dufftown railway station - Hey, why do you guys have a train out of Dufftown anyway? I know the Ministry applies the Trace at King's Cross, but Dufftown?''

''There are size limits on Apparation and the Floo Network. Portkeys too.''

''Ah, okay. Shipping. Anyway, I blow past the Anti-Muggle Charms at Dufftown, wander around Hogsmeade scaring the good citizens, and the next thing you know I'm teaching Pureblood kids about Muggle society, going to formal dinners at the Ministry, and sitting in Ollivanders trying out wands. If you believe magic can be stolen, I must look like a looter.''

''That's about the long and short of - Hang on.'' Ron Weasley looked past me. I looked over my shoulder and saw a tiny flicker of purple light heading our way. A Messaging Charm. Weasley held out his wand and let the flicker settle on the tip of it. The light reformed itself into a brief written message.

''In the cafeteria, Harry.'' The letters collapsed back to a purple glow and flew away.

''You've got better range than the kids at Hogwarts,'' I said.

''I should hope so. Well, my boss and yours will be here soon enough. I should tell you, Harry's put me in charge of your security. For the most part that means I'll be working through the Squad Office to keep you under surveillance. Keep up your meetings with Neville and Ewart, but if you see anything out of place Floo my office. Or in your case, get someone else to Floo me as soon as possible.''

''Right. So, you being assigned to my security. Does that have anything to do with your informal visit a few days ago?''

He had the grace to look embarrassed. ''Yeah, yeah. Harry said if I were so eager to take on extra work, I might as well have it. Here they come.''

Galilea and a bland-looking wizard were making their way through the cafeteria. I got up and met them halfway. Galilea's eyes were red and her pale face had a grayish cast to it, and as I hugged her she trembled slightly. She squeezed me hard.

''I'm okay,'' I told her. ''You did good work. You took out most of that room.'' We stayed like that for a while, until Galilea stopped trembling. I'd had a bad case of the shakes earlier, but I had nearly a decade of drills to get used to stress and adrenaline. Galilea was a pure academic. And the last time anyone had attacked Galilea they'd hospitalized her and killed her family.

''You throw up much?'' I asked.

She leaned back a bit. ''Pardon?''

''From the shakes. Lots of people throw up or cry after a serious fight.''

''Are you trying to make me feel better?''

''Well yeah.''

She hugged me again and I hugged back. Being that close and seeing her safe helped dull the last of my edginess. Finally we broke the huddle, each keeping a hand on the other, and turned to face Ron Weasley and his boss.

Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, Master of Death, Slayer of the Dark Lord.

''Hello,'' he said politely. He held out his hand and I shook it. He had a light grip, and the expression on his face was blandly friendly. Brown hair with shaggy bangs, green eyes behind round glasses, a week's worth of an attempt to grow a beard. The man who'd defeated Tom Riddle, robbed Gringotts, and killed a basilisk looked like a Nice Guy and I didn't believe it for a second.

''Mr Potter,'' I said. ''It's easy to see which side of the family Albus takes after.''

That nice smile grew a bit wider. ''Professor Hunter, are you trying to deflect my attention?'' He said in a perfectly cheerful voice.

''If you think I want to talk about that restaurant again, you're mental.''

The smile never wavered. ''I've heard you can be a bit testy at times. Don't worry, I won't keep you. I've your report, the Headmistress' report, the reports from the team in the restaurant, and a report from the Obliviators who went in when it was all over. Some people might agree that I'm mental, but I don't need to hear more about the restaurant.''

I'd just been smacked down and I'd deserved it. ''Right, sorry. For what it's worth, your man in the kitchen responded pretty quickly.''

''And got himself a ticket to St. Mungo's with a back injury,'' said Potter. ''Ron, have a friendly talk with Greengrass about the proper way to enter a room. And set up refresher courses for the rest of the team.''

''Right, Harry.''

Galilea squeezed my waist. ''Mr. Potter, it has been a very long evening and Professor Hunter and I both have a great deal to do tomorrow. If there are no further questions...''

''Of course, Headmistress. Do you feel up to Apparating, or would you prefer to Floo home?''

''We'll Apparate, thank you. Believe me, I am very determined on our destination.''

That brought short chuckles from both wizards. I didn't even bother trying to memorize that in-joke. We said our goodbyes, the Aurors gave us the not-so-subtle reminder that they knew where to find us if they needed to, and Galilea Apparated us home.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

I awoke sometime in the late dark. Groggy, I listened to the sounds of an unfamiliar room as I tried to find what had woken me. Eventually I realised that my left arm hurt.

Galilea was short, but those dangerous curves had some weight to them. I worked my left arm out from underneath, trying not to wake her.

Odd thoughts come to you in odd hours. Listening to Galilea breath, smelling the traces of her perfume and sweat, I thought of her appearance. She'd been raised in Hogsmeade, but taken on a London accent. She'd grown up wearing Wizarding robes and cloaks, but now wore Muggle trousers and tops.

'The personal is political' is a totalitarian attitude, and like most things totalitarian gets it totally backwards. The political reflects the personal, always.

Galilea had personal reasons behind her reform agenda. It didn't take much to figure out what faction she wanted revenge on.