CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

''They're all suicidal. That's the only way to explain it.''

I leaned back on Galilea's cream-coloured sofa, resting my head against the cushions and rubbing my forehead. Madam Bones was a witch of her word, but fortunately none of her Hexes had been the permanent sort. By the time the students had got done with wounding each other Bones had hit me with antlers, beaver teeth, two-foot toenails, and an 'enhancement' that had nearly made me pass out from the loss of blood-pressure to my head.

''They're not suicidal, they're bored.'' Galilea emerged from her bedroom modelling her latest outfit, the corset-trousers-boots combo I'd first seen her in. ''The past few days have been too cold for the students to burn off any energy - ''

I laughed. Galilea rolled her eyes at me. ''Your opinion of the weather doesn't count, Mr Lived-In-The-Arctic-For-Three-Winters. The students will settle down as they find more constructive ways to spend their time indoors. What do you think of this outfit for supper?''

''Very edible. I like it, but the place will be crawling with students.''

Galilea went back into her room to change, leaving me in the living room. The Head Teacher's quarters are in a small tower that sprouts off from the main Head Teacher's Tower. This is architecturally impossible in a stone building, the walls aren't strong enough to bear the load, but oh well. A quarter of the round room was divided off for her bedroom and bathroom, with a fireplace set into the dividing wall. Her living space took up most of the space left over, with a little given to a small dining area and the stairs to the main tower. Galilea had decorated in Danish Modern, minimalist wood and fabric furniture in light colours. A few carefully placed rugs and wall hangings helped brighten the darker stone and wood of the castle itself, and a huge round window brought in south-east light. Other than the Great Hall it was the brightest space I'd seen at Hogwarts.

Around the walls were low bookshelves. I'd amused myself earlier by examining Galilea's reading materials, a mix of Muggle brain sciences, magical works on Legilimency and Occlumency, Buddhist and Taoist texts, and Charms Grimoires.

Galilea returned in a Muggle-ish outfit, a pink shirt and grey skirt and high heeled boots. She looked very secretarial, if you were hiring through the Playboy Temp Agency. Her top shirt button was undone and the second looked like it was just hanging on by a thread, and she could only take tiny steps in the skirt. And the boots... I checked my watch.

''Yeah, we've got time.'' I stood up and walked over to Galilea.

''Time for what?''

I crouched, pulled her over my shoulder, and stood up with a grunt.

''Geoffrey! What on Earth are you doing? !''

''Taking those boots up on the invitation,'' I said.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

We got cleaned up and downstairs just in time for Ron Weasley to firecall. He Apparated into the office a few seconds after Galilea confirmed we were ready for him.

''That has got to be the stupidest form of communication I've ever heard of. Who was the first person to look at a fire and think 'Hey, I should stick my head in there'?''

''If I had to venture a guess, most likely it was a salamander. A wizard or witch with a special talent for fire-manipulation. They tend to see and hear things in fires even without the use of special powders.''

''Huh. So are we ready, or do you need to change outfits again?''

''Hush,'' said Galilea. ''Or I'll let it slip over supper that you needed nearly an hour to choose your clothes.''

Weasley's eyes lit up. ''Oh, there's no way I'm not mentioning that.'' He looked Galilea and I up and down. ''At least you don't match. Took me ages to get Hermione to stop trying to coordinate our clothes.''

Galilea had finally settled on a simple black dress with a pink jumper and matching shoes. I'd gone with a green and gold shirt and dark trousers, and my now favourite belt and boots with chunky buckles. Ron Weasley...

It was hard to imagine anyone coordinating their outfit with Ron Weasley's red shirt, gold velvet jacket, orange scarf, and faded green trousers. Most Pureblood wizards had a truly horrific dress sense, but Ron looked as though he'd rolled around in a pile of laundry and worn whatever stuck to him.

Ron held out an arm for each of us. We stepped in close and then

we fell through nowhere and

we were outside a structure that could only have been built by magic. In the long shadows of twilight stood a crooked house with too many stories for its foundation, too many chimneys, additions stuck on at random heights and angles, and all the bits done in different brickwork or stone.

''Here we are,'' Ron said as he lead us towards the front door. ''Stately Weasley Manor. What do you think?''

''I think,'' I chose my words carefully, and remembering what my relatives had told me of class distinctions in the UK. ''That while the Malfoy's have money, the Most Ancient House of Weasley has class.''

''Don't let mum or dad hear you call us that. So far as they're concerned we're nothing at all like Those Sort of Purebloods.'' I could easily hear the emphasis he put on 'Those Sort'. He brought us up to the front door and stopped. Then he grinned at us. ''You two go on in and introduce yourselves. I have something I need to do.''

He took off running around the corner of the house. Galilea and I looked at each other. I shrugged and knocked on the door. After a bit of yelling and thumping the door flew open, spilling noise and heat out into the rural evening. A cute little red-headed girl in a green dress looked up at us.

Galilea stepped forward and smiled at the girl. ''Good evening, I'm Headmistress Galilea Grimward and this is Professor Geoffrey Hunter.''

Leaving the door open the girl spun around and let out an ear-shattering bellow. ''Jaaaaames! What did you do?''

A red-haired witch of about my age came into the doorway and put her hand on the girl's shoulder. ''Lily, I've told you once already not to shout.''

''Mum, the teachers are here for James.''

''These people are guests.'' She gave her daughter a gentle shove out of the doorway. ''Now shoo. And no more yelling. Don't make me tell you again.''

With her daughter out of the way the woman who could only be Ginevra Potter turned her attention to us. ''You must be Ron's guests, but where's he got to?''

We reintroduced ourselves and Ginny invited us in. ''Ron ran off around the back,'' I said. ''He said he had something he needed to do.''

''Hermione! Your husband's raiding the kitchen again!'' Easy to see where Lily got it from.

''He's your brother, you deal with him.''

The sitting room was a mass of noise and people, and most of those people had red hair. There were gingers on the couch and armchair, and leaning against walls, and over by the sideboard, seemingly growing out of every available space. In the sea of red I saw a few adults with brown hair, a dark-skinned woman with cornrows, a couple of tall blondes, and a small army of children in various colours. Harry Potter's dark hair was easy to spot in all that, especially as he now sported a truly ugly black beard. He sat next to a slender grey-haired woman wearing a muted Black Watch tartan dress.

Before Ginny could start on the introductions, a plump woman chased Ron out of the kitchen. ''Out! Wait until supper! And don't think I didn't see you grab that biscuit, young man!''

She pulled the biscuit from his grasp and handed it off to one of the children. Ron pointed an accusing finger at me. ''You ratted me out!''

''Of course I did. You've got my file, you know I used to be a big brother. Ratting people out is what we do.''

Ron shook his head. ''Terrible. What's this world coming to? All right, introductions then. Everyone, this is Galilea Grimward, Headmistress of Hogwarts, and this gentleman is her midlife crisis.''

''Ron!'' That came from a woman with thick brown hair and unusually good teeth for a Brit. Hermione Weasley, sounding more amused than annoyed.

''All right, all right. Geoffrey Hunter, meet the clan. Starting with the guests, that lovely lady next to Harry - That's Harry, by the way, you might not recognize him with that nasty growth on his face - The lady is Minerva McGonagall. That's Luna and Rolf drinking the sideboard dry, that's my father Arthur, my mum Molly's in the kitchen, you've met George, we're still not sure why Angelina agreed to marry him - ''

''For my money,'' said George. The black woman I assumed was Angelina rolled her eyes.

''Next we have Bill and Fleur, you've met Hannah, Neville, that's my brother Percy and his wife Audrey. And let's see, you'll have seen most of the kids at school, but that's Victoire, Bill and Fleur's daughter, and the youngest are Hugo, Lily, Trevor, Lorcan, Laudine, Fred, Lysander, Roxanne... I think that's all tonight.''

Including the half-dozen school-aged kids he hadn't introduced, there were dozens people jammed into the Burrow's living and dining space. The Weasley clan had to be truly huge if Ron could refer to a horde like that as 'that's all'. While I tried to memorize names Galilea stood on her tiptoes and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

''Minnie is an old friend. I'm afraid you're on your own for now.'' Galilea went over to talk to Minerva McGonagall, and Ron started herding me in the direction of the sideboard and drinks. Harry Potter gave Galilea the seat next to Minerva and met Ron and I by the sideboard. I knew Ron and Harry a bit, but I hadn't met the couple already pouring drinks. The woman had to be Luna Scamander, formerly Lovegood - Tall and slim, with slightly protuberant pale eyes under almost invisible blonde eyebrows. The man Ron had pointed out as Rolf was short, stocky, and had a mane of reddish-gold hair.

Ron made some quick personal introductions and then turned to talk to Potter. Rolf shook my hand as though he wasn't entirely sure how to do it - He gripped my fingers between his own, shook once, and then let go. ''Pleased to meet you,'' I said. He muttered something.

Luna seemed to be staring at a point just above my right ear, or possibly at my hair. I hadn't had it cut in a couple of months, so it was settling into a nice I'm A Professor I Don't Need To Groom mess. ''Oh, how nice. Is that a brineworm, Professor? It certainly matches Praereptor's description, but since he only copied Wildkyn's treatise and that's been lost it's rather hard to be certain. It's a shame about Bestias ex Flamma et Eorum Fines, don't you think?''

''I'm afraid I don't know that work. Is it Wildkyn's treatise? And I have to admit, I don't know what a brineworm is either.'' And now I was being followed by invisible creatures? Or was Luna just another crazy researcher?

Luna reached out and wiggled her fingers by my ear. Her husband didn't seem to be paying attention. Instead he was focusing his full attention on sniffing his drink. ''It does have very well developed aurakles,'' said Luna. ''I think it likes your hair. Do you mind if I take notes?''

''Not at all. There's a lot of kids around, are brineworms dangerous?''

''I've no idea.'' Luna pulled a small notebook and pencil stub from her pocket. ''Praereptor copied Bestias ex Flamma in Sixteen Sixty-Five, but the original was destroyed in the Great Fire of London. We should sit over there, so we don't disturb it while we're making observations.''

''Luna sees astral forms,'' said Rolf in a quietly soothing voice. Then he followed his wife across the room, where they settled in to stare at the area around my head and make notes.

''You took that well,'' said Potter.

''Meh. I've dealt with tenured professors. At least she didn't try to lick me.'' Unlike a philosophy professor I'd encountered at a truly miserable conference. I waved my hand by my ear. ''What's a brineworm?''

The corners of Potter's mouth twitched. ''No idea. Luna picks up on a lot of things other people don't.''

''Drink?'' Ron held up a shot glass and a bottle of firewhisky. ''It's just Ogden's Old, dad has rough taste in drinks.''

''That'll be fine, thanks.''

Potter poured his own drink, something green and oily. ''So Professor, how are you getting on at the school?''

''Geoffrey's fine. The kids are great. Far more disciplined than I expected.'' Well, except for the day's carnage. I resolved to put that down to cabin fever and try to forget about the whole mess.

We made a bit more small talk. Under detailed interrogation by the Aurors I revealed my lack of knowledge of Quidditch rankings and Devon's usual weather. Finally I decided to change the subject. ''Does your father still work in the Counterfeit Objects Office?''

Ron shook his head. ''Head of the Office of Muggle Commerce, under the Department of Muggle Affairs. You want to talk with him?''

''Sometime, yeah. But it's not urgent. I think he can answer a lot of questions I've got.'' I took a sip of firewhisky and watched the kids for a few seconds. They'd lost any interest they might have once had in the new guests. The younger kids were bouncing off the walls and furniture while the teenagers tried to look above it all. One small dark-haired boy stood apart from the noise, standing near the front door while watching the other kids. ''I wanted to ask you two about that reporter who snuck onto the grounds.''

Ron and Potter - I supposed I'd have to start calling him Harry, given the number of Potters running around the Burrow - traded glances. Harry shrugged. ''Not much to tell yet,'' said Ron. ''His name is Testudo Titch - Stop snickering, it's a good Wizarding name. He's a freelancer, sells his pictures to whoever'll pay the most. And we still don't know where he got that Disillusionment poncho.''

''That's a high-end artefact,'' said Harry, speaking through the World's Ugliest Beard. Black, patchy, bristly in front and curly at the sides. I felt a moment of pity for his wife. ''We checked through Hogwarts, and based on his OWLs there's no way he came up with that improved Disillusionment Charm. But he's not saying where it came from and we haven't gotten approval for Veritaserum or Legilimency-enhanced interrogation yet.''

''Are you still holding him? That seems like a long time for a trespassing charge.''

''Not for a possession of Dark artefacts charge,'' Ron put in. ''And that Charm's Dark Magic of the First.''

''Okay, what?''

''Ministry classification.'' Ron counted points off on his fingers. ''Dark Magic of the First Order, magic using Dark Force. Dark Magic of the Second Order, Forbidden Arts AKA the Unforgiveables. Dark Magic of the Third Order, illegal or unauthorized magics not restricted to the Unforgiveables. And then there's just good old Dark magic, which is anything that frightens the average ratepayer. But that last's not really an Auror problem, y'know?''

I thought about that for a minute. Broken down like that, it made sense out of the various references I'd seen to 'Dark Magics'. Partly a legal and social classification, maybe partly also a technical classification. ''Okay, that clarifies a lot of what I've read. But what's Dark Force?''

Harry answered that one. ''Dark Force is a different type of magic than what we do every day with our wands. It's not as safe as wand-magic, but it's not as rules-bound either. The only real rule with Dark Force magic is that you can't get something for nothing. And the price is never what you thought it would be.''

''You've met my brother Bill, right?'' Ron jumped in. ''Those scars on his face are as healed as they'll ever be. Dark wounds.''

''Right,'' said Harry. ''Using Dark Force creates what're called thought-forms, semi-independent or even fully independent entities that manipulate magic themselves. That's why the Ministry outlawed the Unforgiveables. Not only do you need to have the intent to harm someone, you're using that intent to create things that exist solely to kill, hurt or dominate people.''

''So Bill's scars are alive?''

Ron took a drink and thought for a moment. ''Sort of like, yeah. The werewolf spirit is still trying to take him over. That'll never happen, he got treatment right away, but it'll never stop trying.''

Ogden's Old firewhisky is actually pretty smooth. If Ron thought his dad had rough tastes, then the younger Weasley had to be buying the good stuff at home. ''So how is this poncho-thing Dark magic?''

''Hermione's Office hasn't finished the analysis yet,'' said Harry. ''But that thing reeks of Dark Force. When we know how it was made, we'll have an idea who might have put it together.''

''Until then - ''

Galilea's voice interrupted me. ''Until then, I hope you've not travelled from one end of Britain to the other to talk shop.''

Technically, my only business was to teach Muggle Studies. ''No. No shop talk for me.''

Galilea and Minerva McGonagall had come over to join us at the sideboard. Along with them came Hermione Granger-Weasley, Head of the Office of Magical Police Sciences. She seemed to have gotten her famous hair under control. While still thick it was curly rather than bushy. She moved next to Ron and they each curved an arm around the other. ''And are you talking shop?''

''Maybe.''

''Break it up. Hugo and Laudine keep trying to sneak into the kitchen for sweets. Your mother needs back-up.''

Ron and Hermione wandered off. That left Galilea, Harry Potter, myself, and Minerva McGonagall. Even having seen nearly a century, that old witch had a back straight as an iron bar.

''It's an honour to meet you, Ma'am. I've read a lot about you, and Galilea speaks highly of you.''

She examined me carefully through her spectacles, her expression prim as she eyed me up and down. She kept that cool gaze on me for a long moment before finally turning to Galilea. ''I say keep 'im. There aren't a lot of eligible wizards his age about, and you're related to most of them.''

''Thank you, Minnie. As always, subtlety and tact are your calling cards.''

''You're welcome, dear. And it's a pleasure to finally meet you, Professor Hunter. You might not know this, but we've been trying for decades to bring in a qualified Muggle Studies teacher.''

I shrugged. ''Judging by the OWLs and NEWTs scores from that period, Charity Burbage seemed to know her stuff.''

Minerva looked a bit surprised by that. ''I don't remember her classes ever scoring terribly well. In fact, I think the Board complained about it once or twice.''

''The Ministry tests are a joke. I could score an Outstanding on the NEWT if I had a couple of weeks to memorize the Ministry propaganda from five years ago.''

Harry had been watching the conversation, standing a bit back with a slight smile on his face. ''Why from five years ago?''

''That's the usual lag time,'' I told him. ''From the time the Ministry decides on its latest attitude towards Muggles to the time that attitude shows up on the standardized tests. Allowing for glitches like Riddle, obviously. The Ninety-Six to Ninety-Seven school year NEWTs focused on economic relations between Muggles and the Wizarding World, with a secondary focus on Muggle-Wizard history, and that all came from Cornelius Fudge's campaign in Nineteen Ninety. That focus was replaced the next year by - ''

''Why Muggles don't really feel pain,'' Harry finished. ''How did you pick all that up?''

''It's in the Hogwarts archives. It only took a few days to go through the material and compare it to Ministry press releases. It's not like they tried to be subtle about it.''

Minerva's mouth twitched into a smile. ''And you feel Charity's classes didn't achieve high tests results because...''

''If you just memorize the Ministry propaganda and regurgitate it in essay form, you'll do fine. If you actually try to take that propaganda and make sense of it, you're in for a struggle because there's no sense to find. It looks like Charity knew the propaganda was wrong, but she didn't have the resources to find the truth. I have those resources, and I'm trying to pass them on to my students. There's a difference between Ministry propaganda and real Muggle life, and I teach real life in my class. But I also teach them the propaganda so that when it comes time for them to sit their tests, they'll know what lies to puke up on the page. And I've told them that outright.''

Harry scoffed. ''Are you accusing our beloved Ministry of putting propaganda above the truth?'' He gestured with his chin to something behind me. ''Geoffrey, have you met my father Arthur?''

I turned to see Arthur Weasley approaching our little group. A tall cheerful looking man in his 60s, nearly bald but still with a bit of colour to his hair. Although he was informally dressed, the cut of his shirt and trousers were close to a century out of date. ''Professor Hunter, I presume. Arthur Weasley. It's a pleasure to meet you.''

We shook hands, agreed to drop the formalities, and I complimented him on managing to fit three dozen people into a floor space meant for a family of five.

''Hermione helped with the Charms. Have you heard of Extension Charms?''

''Yes, but apparently they're a bad idea idea at Hogwarts. I asked why once but couldn't follow the explanation.''

Arthur nodded sympathetically. ''Don't worry, I was the same way with Muggle technology when I first started. Now, Molly wants to meet you but she's putting together the finishing touches in the kitchen. She asked me to bring you over.''

We weaved our way through the mob, dodging kids and greeting adults as we went. I nodded to Neville and Hannah, spotted James pretending that he wasn't checking out Galilea, and George mentioned that he wanted to speak with me after supper. ''Arthur, I didn't catch everyone's names in Ron's introduction. Over by the door, that was...''

''Trevor,'' Arthur said. ''Ginny and Harry's foster son. He's ten, and a bit sensitive about his height.''

Ten? He was small enough that I would have guessed seven or eight. It was fairly obvious why he wasn't with his genitors. All I said was ''My father was too. Lucky for me I got my height from my mother's side.''

As usual for a witch's home, the kitchen was tiny compared to the Muggle version. Most of the mechanical work of cutting and stirring would be done by wand rather than hand, requiring a lot less elbow room. The Weasley kitchen was a flurry of last minute activity, with roast beef sliding onto a platter, Yorkshire puddings rolling off the cooking pan, dishes flying out of cupboards and stacking themselves on the counter, gravy pouring itself into a tureen... Molly Weasley stood like a conductor before an orchestra, short and plump and very much in control.

''Thank you, Arthur. Could you and George put the table out please. Hello dear, just give me a mo to finish up here...'' Swedes, parsnips, potatoes, and other vegetables plated themselves, and the kitchen settled to a halt.

The elder Mrs. Weasley looked over every platter and serving bowl. ''Well,'' she said, pronouncing it as a judgement. ''Ron says you've settled in nicely, but tell me dear, how are you doing? It must have been hard moving all the way over here.''

It wasn't my imagination. Ron had definitely invited me to have me checked out. Ron, Audrey, Arthur, Harry, Percy, Hermione... All Ministry employees. And almost all of the adults had been involved with the old Order of the Phoenix. On top of that, Molly Weasley hadn't said a word about her son dragging two guests in at the last moment. Not that she would have complained, no decent host really would, but she was also the kind of mother who wouldn't have passed up the chance to tweak her son about making more work for her. Time for just enough truth to pass the momterrogation.

''It wasn't all that difficult. To be honest, after my relationship with my ex fell apart I realized that all of my friends were actually hers. There wasn't much keeping me in Vancouver other than work.''

''And what did you do, dear?'' Only a British grandmother can make 'dear' sound formal.

''Whatever the tenure committee told me to.''

''Where's the food?''

''Ronald!''

Molly laughed. ''You go sit down. I'll be right out.''

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

Dinner was served on a table that couldn't have been brought into the living room through any door. Yorkshire pudding, roast, assorted root vegetables, sage and onion stuffing, and gravy in a tureen large enough to baptise a child. I fielded a few more questions about my previous job, confused Hermione with Muggle academic jokes, and offered up some non-essential details about the Hunters in Scotland. Trevor, sitting quietly between Ginny and Luna instead of at the children's table, didn't pay me any attention until I mentioned that my parents were deceased. James, having apparently just graduated to the grown-up table, showered me with questions about the Muggle military. By pudding he was obviously bored of hearing about supply chain management and transport documentation.

''Didn't you do anything else?'' The boy asked.

I thought about it for a few seconds. ''I got sick a lot.''

''Oh. Sick from what?''

''It was a lot of different things, really. The base is part of Canada's Arctic defence network, and it was originally intended to house a battalion. But about a third of the way through construction the priorities changed - Politics mainly, but they also expanded a base that was closer to the local port, so they didn't need to put a battalion in any more. They downgraded to what was essentially a forward operating base - ''

Blank looks from everyone around the table, including the Muggleborns. Small words, Geoffrey.

''They laid pipes to support water and sewage systems large enough for twelve hundred people, but then they only built a structure large enough for about two hundred people. And since they left the extra pipes in place we had water problems all the time. Cholera, diphtheria, some other bacteria that they couldn't identify. They called in a biologist who said it was a previously undiscovered species. He got it named after him.''

''Oh that's wonderful,'' said Luna.

''My intestinal tract begs to differ. And on top of that, a lot of the money originally budgeted for Camp Permafu- Uh, frost, got redirected into expanding the larger base. So Permafrost was basically just a bunch of prefabricated huts. A prefab is a bunch of parts that can be put together quickly to make a building.''

''Are they any good?'' James asked.

''Not if you have to live in them for three and a half years. We had mould problems. The whole base should have been shut down, but every time the military tried the chickenhawks started screaming.''

Luna perked up. ''Chickenhawks?''

''Not an actual animal, sorry. It's a slang term for someone, well, do you have the expression 'Let's you and him fight'?''

''We've got those,'' said Ron. ''We call 'em Augureys. They make a lot of scary noise, but they can never back it up.''

James appeared to think all this over. ''The Muggle military sounds really stupid.''

Ginny caught my eye and mouthed thank you.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

After the meal Percy Vanished the table and Arthur made the usual furniture reappear. The kids brought out various board games. George suggested snakes and ladders and Ginny glared daggers at him until he apologized. I cornered Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Arthur - All Ministry employees - and asked if they knew of any good sources for the history of the Ministry itself.

''I'm hoping you can recommend some good references on the Ministry's history and operations. How it works, how it started before Seclusion and how it developed.'' I nodded to Hermione. ''You must know the Ministry inside and out. Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, then the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.''

Hermione watched me for a few seconds. I couldn't read her expression at all. Finally, in a flat voice she said ''I hate my job.''

''Uh...''

Her expression changed to one of revelation, her eyes wide and shining in wonder. ''I do,'' she said. ''I hate my job.''

Ron moved in and put an arm around her shoulders. ''I know, love, I know.''

''Ron. I hate my job.''

Ron started moving her towards the stairway. ''I know, love. Just been waiting for you to figure it out.''

I looked around at Harry and Arthur. Harry looked utterly unsurprised. Arthur watched, sympathy written across his face, as his son led his daughter-in-law up the stairs. Hermione's voice drifted down the stairwell. ''... hate my...''

''I... Uh...'' I cleared my throat.

Harry shrugged. ''She hates her job.''

''I'm glad she's finally worked that out,'' said Arthur. ''Do you suppose she'll quit?'' He sounded hopeful. Not sure if I should be feeling guilty or helpful, I edged away from the adults towards a clump of kids. Albus and Trevor were playing Wizard Chess while Lily and Galilea watched. It looked like a nice safe activity where there could be no unexpected revelations.

I knelt down next to the table, across from Lily and Galilea. Trevor watched me from the corner of his eye, but no one else seemed to notice my arrival. I watched the two dark-haired boys order their pieces around, a knight trampling a bishop and one unarmed pawn biting another to 'death', and let the Hermione Incident settle down.

Albus glanced up at me. ''How did you get Sorted into Slytherin, sir?''

Galilea laughed, startling the kids. ''Is that how the news leaked out? Geoffrey, which part of 'Don't mention the hat' did you not understand?''

Oops. ''I was with you right up to 'don't'.''

Galilea made a very unladylike snorting sound. ''If I ever find it in the budget to hire a press secretary, their sole task will be to follow you around with a rolled up newspaper in hand.''

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

George held a small metal ball. ''So simple, even a Ministry Sub-Office junior assistant clerk could figure it out.''

Percy shook his head. ''Don't be too certain. It looks as though it has a moving part.''

I took the ball from George. It was about the size of a walnut, surprisingly light, and as Percy had said had a moving part. Specifically it had a tiny switch with four settings, labelled O, I, II, III. The switch was currently at O.

''The Ministry commissioned me to put together a demonstration model. They wanted something that was easy to use, could detect spells cast in an area, and reliably point out the caster. Took me three months to put this together.''

''Why didn't they go for it?'' I asked.

''After the fact, they decided they wanted something that would only cost fifty Sickles per hundred. I told them to go hug a Whomping Willow.''

''Yeah, that sounds like government procurement. How does it work?''

''It's an Intelligo Charm tied to a bunch of Alarm Charms. 'O' is off. Any of the other settings will set off the Alarm if someone casts a spell within twenty feet of the... Thingy. I haven't actually given it a name yet.''

''Weasley's Warning Wailer?''

''Nice one, Perc. Thanks.'' George turned back to me. ''Don't turn it on here unless you want the Burrow to sound like a church steeple. The first setting makes a bonging sound and lights up the caster just bright enough to be seen in the day. Second setting is loud enough to be startling, and a bit brighter. The third setting will make the caster ring like a church bell, and the glare'll be obvious out to about five yards even in bright daylight.''

''Nice. So if I declare my class room a no-spells zone and put this on one or two... How much?''

''Now there's where the Ministry and I had a bit of a disagreement. That should be about twenty Galleons retail - ''

''Ouch.''

''Worth every Knut,'' George assured me. ''But in this case I had the initial market pulled right out from under me. So I figure if you tell people where you got it, I can count that as an advertising cost.''

I considered that. ''I'm not trying to be ungrateful here, but are you sure you want your products associated with Hogwarts' 'notorious Muggle'?''

George grinned. ''No problem. The real Blood proud types don't come into my shop, so it's no loss to me. And kids like to talk, so if you scare them a few times with Weasley's Warning Wailer - ''

''I get ten percent for marketing,'' said Percy.

''Three,'' said George.

''Done.'' At Percy's agreement, George looked a bit disgruntled. He obviously hadn't expected his brother to settle at that and was regretting not starting with a lower offer.

''All right,'' I said. ''I'll make sure everyone knows about the wonder-workers at Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes - ''

A sudden roar of noise drowned out the rest of what I was saying. Most of the crowd cheered and laughed, and a few applauded. I looked for the cause of the celebration and spotted Harry coming down the stairs, face clean of black fuzz. Ginny followed behind him, smiling like a cat that had finished off a whole flock of canaries.

''Yes, all right, all right. Nothing to see here, move - '' A second wave of laughter cut Harry off. Still on the stairs, Ginny turned her husband around to rub her cheek across his.

''Oh that's better,'' she said. ''I can't believe how old you looked with that nasty thing.''

''I was hoping to look younger.'' Harry seemed a bit disgruntled. ''Snape was older than me and he wasn't greying yet. He must've used Dyeing Charms.''

Minerva McGonagall spoke up from her spot on the sofa. ''Severus had his share of the white coming in. You were never looking, is all. Now I think of it, they started around Christmas of 'Ninety-One. I wonder what happened that year to make the poor man go grey?''

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

Those families with young children had left for the evening, and the crowd was down to half its former size. For that matter, the room seemed smaller as well. I approached a small knot of kids by the sofa. Louis and Trevor tried to warn James with eye movements as I came up behind him. He was busy pretending that he Wasn't Looking at Galilea.

''She's too chuuuh...'' His voice trailed off as he realized I was standing right next to him. He looked sideways up at me, face stuck in a nervous smile. ''Er...''

''Curvy,'' I said. ''Remember that word. It'll save you a lot of trouble when you start dating. Curvy.''

''Curvy. Sir.'' If he could've used magic to melt into the floor or Apparate away, he would've. I wandered away to leave him in peace.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

It was down to immediate family, Minerva, and Galilea and I. Galilea and Minerva were saying their good-byes while I did the same with Ron and and his wife. Hermione still seemed to be shaking off the effects of her self-revelation.

Galilea and I finally made it out the door, out of the much-shrunken front room of the Burrow and into the cool September night. Galilea shivered and quickly Apparated us to her quarters.

''That was a successful night,'' I said while Galilea brought the wall torches to life (Torches! Dear Wizarding Britain, please join the rest of us in the 21st Century. R.S.V.P.). ''I think we've got the Weasleys on our side now. I'd hate to have that mob against us.'' I frowned, remembering something. ''Didn't Ron say he wanted to introduce me to an Occlumens?''

''I suspect that was a ruse.'' Galilea stepped in for a quick cuddle. ''I've discovered that Xenophilius Lovegood - Must you giggle every time you hear a Pureblood name? Luna's father sold the Quibbler to Dennis Creevey, and then retired to the south of France with his new wife. Creevey sold the paper to Parkin Spungeon - Cut that out. And the Spungeons are closely related to...'' She paused dramatically. ''Your friends the Cornfoots.''

''Hmm. Something to check out. Later.'' We enjoyed a minute or two of gentle snogging, but I broke away before the temptation got too much. ''I should go. This is our first night in the new quarters, and I should check on how Shibley's settling in.''

''It's my own fault, I suppose. I should have had Neville set that perfume to allow for someone a little less responsible.''