In the Crosshairs
Dragon Voldemort
Chapter 110: Quarter Pounder
Harry felt the soreness as he woke up Friday. A roll over, onto Ron, asleep. Harry got up, fed Hedwig an owl treat, stroked a couple of her feathers. Wings of white that spread. Harry patted her head. A spin around, Harry left the bedroom, went down the stairs, and first to the dining table.
"Doing better?" Sirius asked.
Harry popped the pills from the bottles, took them. Harry caught the eyes that tried to weigh him, judge his lack of any belly.
"It's…alright," Harry said.
Harry went into the kitchen area. He tried to focus, do what Ron's been trying to get him to do, shutter the memories from the Dursleys away, and Harry's stomach had a pang of hunger to it. Harry glanced at the supplies in the cupboard, wanted something more complicated, and brought out the flour.
"You do have a couple house elfs," Sirius said.
"And get lazy?" Harry said, "Love them being here, that's more than enough."
Harry took the measuring cup to the flour, put it into the mixing bowl. He turned, started the oven, and returned to the ingredients. Butter to a second bowl, the flour, the brown sugar, and cinnamon, he took the pastry blender, cut the butter to a crumble.
"I worry too," Sirius said, "Failed your Dad, Remus."
"You're taking action," Harry said, "Me…feels like I'm sitting around too. I did when Lupin was under siege, I was as Hagrid got arrested."
"Heard enough about the bats," Sirius said, "You wouldn't have—"
"Excuses!" Harry snapped.
Harry measured in the salt, the baking powder, added it to the mixing bowl with the flour and sugar. Oil, milk, and egg, he mixed up the thick batter. Greased a larger rectangular baking pan.
"Sitting on my arse," Harry said as he let the batter drop down into the pan.
"A lovely one that is," Ron said as he entered, "Trying to outdo me?"
"Takes thirty minutes in the oven," Harry said, "You can do the bacon and scrambled eggs again."
Harry spread the crumble on top.
"I need Voldemort dead," Harry said, "No way I can really live until then."
Harry put the pan into the oven, read the clock, and set the timer.
"Do you know how to kill him?" Sirius asked.
"No," Harry said, "Dumbledore's not thought to teach me that—guessing Voldemort will shake a killing curse as well as I do."
"Ever consider that perhaps nobody does?" Sirius asked.
"Oh," Harry muttered.
"Lord Voldemort spent decades learning and researching," Sirius said, "Dumbledore's sharp, but I don't think he's delved into the Dark Arts like Voldemort has."
"Let's get rid of defense," Ron said, "Turn it into a practical course on the dark arts instead. Nobody'll complain, I'm sure."
"Get your point," Harry said.
Harry leaned back on the counter, watched as Ron cut up bacon, sausage.
"So you're in or out for Dumbledore's card club?" Sirius asked.
"Got class," Harry said, "Should be the last one."
"Yesterday got a bit rough for Gia," Sirius said, "Consider coming along?"
"Got practice too," Harry said, "I'll pick her up."
"Practice?" Sirius asked.
"Teaching him to fly," Ron said.
Hermione snorted as she entered, Gia too. Hermione set The Daily Prophet down on the table. Sirius left.
"Don't read it," Ron said to Harry.
"Not even fit for Hedwig's use," Gia said.
Harry snorted.
"Got two boys cooking for us," Gia said.
"Weird," Hermione said.
A buzz, Harry grabbed a toothpick and the hotpads, opened the oven. He jabbed the toothpick in, pulled it out.
"Interesting," Ron said.
"It is," Harry said, "Clean means it's cooked."
Harry pulled the pan with the coffee cake out, carried it over to the table. He summoned over a spatula. Ron brought over the pan of scrambled eggs. Harry summoned over the orange juice. Eggs to his plate, the slice of the coffee cake, Harry ate.
"What?" Harry asked.
"None of us are arguing," Hermione said.
"I suppose we could make a chart," Gia said, "Give you a gold star every meal."
Gia grinned, left.
"Give you a blow if you gain weight?" Ron asked.
Harry shook his head. Harry finished his plate, stood. Harry ran up the stairs, to the bedroom, and she was already dressed for school with the strap of her school bag over her shoulder.
"I mean it," Gia said, her hands to his chest, as she kissed him, "Keep it up." Her hands went down his skin, beneath the hem of his underwear. "For everything we mean together."
"Ready?" Harry asked.
"Yes," Gia said.
Harry held her hands against him. He closed his eyes, the disillusionment first, the focus, and desire; he felt the squeeze of the disapparation, and they apparated into the classroom.
"Woof!"
Door that opened, Richard, Jen, and Snuffles entered. Some men in suits walked past outside.
"Later," Harry said to Gia.
Harry closed his eyes, the thought, he returned to 66 Pickering Place, into the living room.
"Ready?" Harry asked Ron.
"Leaving me all here to my own devices," Hermione said.
"You caught quite a few already," Ron said.
Hermione glared. Harry grabbed Ron's hand, another thought, another focus, the desire, the tightness, and they disapparated, apparated into the club room of Puddlemere United. Harry stepped into the office.
"Good morning gentlemen," Coach Meyers said, "Another day, good."
"It's this or study on something else," Ron said.
A snort.
"Around three," Harry said, "I'll need to go and escort my fiancee home, and we'll have to cram for tonight's class."
"Last one of an evening class," Ron said.
"I appreciate the ambition," the coach said, "After Ben clears you, I believe Leroy's eager to continue, I'll let him know."
Harry turned, went down the stairs, Ron followed.
"More falling?" Harry asked.
"Hope so," Ron said, "Don't tell Hermione or Gia."
Harry shook his head, and crossed the locker room. Ron followed into the examination room. Harry didn't wait for the instruction, he stepped onto the scale. Notley gripped the pen to his left hand, wrote down in the manila folder, the slight grin to the lips.
"We know it's good news," Ron said.
A glance of curiosity.
"Up a quarter pound," Notley said, "Write you out to three today."
"A quarter pound," Ron said, "Cool."
Harry turned left out of the examination room. Coach Kline was already in the box as they reached for the Nimbus 1000s.
"Glad you're eager," Coach Kline said, broom in hand.
Their feet to the grass, the sunshine, as they went out onto the pitch with the coach, the roof already retracted and open.
"We're suspended," Ron said, "Choices are study or practice."
"We have other needs," Harry said, "Falling's important."
A glance to Ron, the blue eyes that wanted to avoid undue concern.
"Today we're going to learn controlling your fall," Coach Kline said.
Wave of the wand, nets appeared, closer to the ground than last time. The Coach caught Harry's glances.
"These nets are tighter," Coach Kline said, "They'll still stop, less comfortable."
"Should we tell Notley what he agreed to?" Ron asked.
Another wave of the wand, a large bullseye appeared flat on the grass.
"Up to the roof, and fall," Coach Kline said, "Try for that."
"Alright," Harry said.
Harry dropped the broom, thought about it, first time to go that direction, the focused, the concentration, and he disapparated, apparated right above the roof, in the air that blew him. Rush of air against his skin as he rolled, fell. Halfway to between the target and the goal post, Harry felt the twist and pressure that arrested his fall. He apparated back to Ron and the Coach.
"First one to do that without the broom," Coach Kline said.
"First player to do that, period," said Fred, who stood there, "Was wondering why the pitch was closed for a second day straight. It's the fall damage, from both the lunatic teaching and the lunatics training."
"Let us train," Ron said.
"What's the odds of survival?" Fred asked George.
"Unless you want to join in," Coach Kline said, "Please, watch, wager, or whatever, off the pitch."
"We'll go and buy the plot," Fred said, "Let Dad plan the funeral."
Fred and George left the box, toward the locker room.
"Lets try it with flying," Coach Kline said.
Harry mounted, soared upward. Ron flew next to Harry, both sailed upward. Harry returned to roof level, the wind across them.
"You first," Ron said to Harry.
A thought from Harry, the broom that vanished, and Harry dove. Bit shaky, Harry was well off the target when he hit the net, his hand reached and touched the broom on the ground before the net returned him to lay there. A fast bounce, Ron a few feet away.
"Let's not apparate out," Ron said, "Apparate the broom down instead, good one."
Ron laughed. They laid there. Harry spotted the coach flying up to the middle, and fall with the broom in hand. Coach Kline moved a bit, off center though over the target. Coach Kline's feet pushed down on the net as he walked over, the face that loomed.
"See how well you can control it?" Coach Kline said.
"I don't need the broom for this," Harry said.
"Good practice for when those EM lemmings push us off the cliff," Ron said.
"Wouldn't put it quite like that," Coach Kline said, "You affect your fall by how your self–protection magic and you interact with the air, the wind. Wind stuff is studied by muggles, aerogymnastics."
"Aerodynamics," Harry said, "You don't run with Richard without picking that up."
Ron stood and mounted. Harry focused at the roof level, the desire to be up there, and found himself falling. He tucked in as he rolled, aimed, and hit halfway to the other goal post.
A shout from Ron above.
Harry sat on his butt, watched as Ron tipped. Red hair, the head, the beast that believed he was a bird, fell, closer to the other goal.
"Don't worry," Coach Kline said, as he hovered on the broom nearby, "This will take a while. Haven't quite got the knack to convey the skill properly."
"So we are the first for this," Harry said.
"Yes," Coach Kline said.
"My broom has a knack for dumping me from on high," Harry said, "It'll be useful."
A thought, Harry apparated above, again, the are that blew past him as he stretched himself, unaware to all the eyes that watched him.
…
Notley gripped the Firebolt in his hand, watched from the premium box seating as Harry dropped from the roof level. Meyers came up.
"You cleared him fast," Meyers said.
Notley watched, Harry that vanished from the net, only to reappear above.
"It's about compliance," Notley said, "He seems to be taking his condition seriously. So long as he keeps that up, I'm rewarding him."
"Means you're dubious," Meyers said.
"Case precedence isn't in his favor," Notley said, "So, either he pulls off a miracle and it works out. Or, we're giving him make–a–wish."
"Dumbledore's convinced it'll work out," Meyers said.
"So far, he's not wrong," Notley said.
Harry lost count of the tries, the attempts, only that he'd apparated back up above the roof, and fell. He adjusted as he dove, the wind that came at him. A blast from the left, the right, a twist, Harry compensated as the target grew in size to him. He stretched his arm, one that went through the net, and he touched the center of the bullseye as the net pulled him back up.
Clapping. Coach Meyers stood there to the side, next to Coach Kline. Harry apparated himself through the net, to the grass, as Ron hit the outer edge of the target.
"Confidence," Coach Meyers said, "See how confident you are for lunch."
Ron climbed off the net, rolled, and walked with Harry. Both boys went through the locker room, up the stairs, to the clubhouse, and entered. Harry's hand to the tray, took several sandwiches, the dark broth, chips, along with a drink. Harry reached, added two more sandwiches, and carried the tray to the table. Ron sat next to Harry.
"Understand you flew Firebolts for quite some time," Coach Meyers said.
Harry nodded. He dipped his first sandwich into the broth, ate the saturated bread and roast beef.
"Harry even out flew a dragon on his," Ron said.
"Most teams practice on their game brooms," Coach Meyers said, "While you should do that a bit, I think it's bad karma to always do that. You should be able to make any broom fly, perform. A really good flier can use a Shooting Star against a Cleansweep or even a Firebolt."
"Shooting Stars have a hard time against a butterfly," Ron said.
"In the hands of an inexperienced or a poor flier," Coach Meyers said, "I would agree."
"Shooting Stars were the king of their era," Coach Kline said, "Hottest thing."
Harry couldn't imagine such a primitive time. Harry worked on his third roast beef sandwich, dipped it into the broth, ate the beef deliciousness. He moved to the chips, a bit of brown sauce, and ate half of them. Half his soda.
Burp
"You can have the rest," Harry said as he pushed the sandwiches over onto Ron's plate. Harry poured the extra broth into Ron's bowl, kept the soda can.
"It's alright," Ron said to the coaches, "He's doing good."
Harry glanced to the blue eyes.
"You are," Ron said.
A glance to the coaches, the curiosity to missing half the conversation, and the concern they still had in Harry. Coach Meyers dipped his sandwich, ate. Coach Kline about emptied the ketchup bottle, dipped his first chip into the sauce.
"I'll be…" Harry stood.
"Give your stomach a chance to settle," Coach Kline said, "That training will turn about anybody's lunch against them."
Harry walked the rest of this little clubhouse, the bar, the corner with billiard tables and other games, dart boards. Harry summoned one green, threw it, and the dart sunk into the wedge of the twenty. Wand out, summoned it back, and banished to hit the bullseye.
"Companies, clubs, families, or friends can rent this out for a match," Coach Meyers said, "Or even the stadium for parties." The coach turned right, went back to the table with his chips.
Harry turned left, spotted the pitch, and went out the sliding glass to the seats that went down. A railing, the net that gave a sense of security, like the one below stretched across the green.
"Not a bad future," Ron said, "Is it?"
Ron stepped up, stood next to Harry, the head mostly in the shadow that covered their back halves.
"No," Harry said, "It feels good."
"Everybody's gotta do something," Ron said, "Dad worked in the Ministry, that was pretty stable, bit paltry but we lived on it."
Harry watched the bird on the other wall, the one that flew into the trees.
"Amy said this isn't enough," Harry said.
"Wood took up teaching," Ron said, "Funny that."
"Guess being an Auror isn't good money either," Harry said.
"We're not hiring into the Ministry anytime soon," Ron said.
"Nope," Harry said.
Harry imagined what that job interview would go like, some how, Harry couldn't figure an outcome that didn't involve handcuffs.
"How much's in your vault?" Ron asked.
"Hopefully not much," Harry said.
"Oh," Ron said, "Sorry, thought you had more."
"Disappointed?" Harry asked.
"No," Ron said, "It cost you a lot, it's not a price I want to pay."
Hands still curled to Ron's sides, Harry turned his focus back to the pitch.
"I thought you were loaded that first time on the train," Ron said, "Little did I know it was because you never had friends."
"Thanks," Harry said.
"Ready?" Ron asked.
"Yep." Harry's left foot up, he climbed the railing, dove as he jumped.
"What?" Ron stammered.
Harry rolled on the net, apparated through it, and stood on the grass. Red hair above, Ron did the same. Both stood, waited in the box, the Nimbus 1000s in their hands, the two minutes until Coach Kline showed.
"Five out of five for confidence," Coach Kline said, "Here you should always do it under supervision."
"Sorry," Harry said.
"Now we're going higher with the brooms," Coach Kline said as he pointed at a carpet.
Six feet to a side, they stepped onto the blue and white shag carpet, it's fibers between their toes. Coach Kline in the middle, Harry and Ron to the side, brooms in all three hands as the carpet rose, gently.
"Now that you're keeping your wits about you," Coach Kline said, "We'll go with mounting the broom under fall. So dive head first, broom to your side, wait until five hundred feet—halfway down the stadium, and mount. If done right, you won't hit the net."
"Should talk to Fred and George," Ron said, "Have them adjust the odds."
"Fine by me," Harry said.
The carpet rose higher and higher, escaped the stadium and continued.
"Apparate back up if you want," Coach Kline said, "This carpet's warded with muggle repellent."
"Good thing my Mum's not around," Ron said, "She'd murder me for the alarms on her clock."
"Family's not good for this training," Coach Kline said.
"Agreed," Harry said, "Higher?"
"While I like the passion," Coach Kline said, "We're already at fifteen hundred, so lets practice from here—raise the carpet later, if we have time."
Harry gripped his broom, knew better than to glance down, and jumped. He curled, adjusted, and dove in. Air across his face, he aimed for the bullseye. Harry waited until he was at the five hundred. Harry moved the broom as he straddled it, and began the pull. However, his momentum carried him downward until his shoulder hit the net near the box, and it touched the grass.
"My job's to keep you together," Notley said, nearby.
"I'm fine," Harry said, unsure if he actually was.
A scream, Ron came down, a bit more flailing, the broom that barely budged, and slammed face first onto the net.
"Ouch," Ron muttered.
Notley flew above the net, the wand drawn.
"Ego," Ron said.
Ron moved, onto his knee first. Harry disapparated, apparated up onto the carpet, broom in hand.
"Ease up," Harry said, "I'll mount at roof level."
Coach Kline nodded, and Harry jumped. Again, the air that rushed. Harry moved the broom as the roof passed, mounted it, and pulled up, with four hundred feet to spare before the net. Harry flew the broom upward, met up with Ron landing on the carpet.
"Easy," Ron said.
"Try seven hundred feet," Harry suggested.
Ron jumped, Harry jumped. Together they fell.
"And…" Harry started.
Seven hundred feet, Harry mounted, while Ron continued to fall. Harry pulled up, and managed to level at three hundred feet. Ron hit the net. Harry apparated back up, landed.
"You're good at that," Coach Kline said, "Not to be done in matches."
"I'm getting more jumps in," Harry said, "I'll try five now."
Harry dove as he jumped, broom in hand, while Ron sailed back up. Again, the air to his skin, Harry fell, aimed. At five hundred, he mounted, and he had room to spare. He apparated up as Ron landed on the carpet.
"Four now," Harry said.
"Show off," Ron said.
"I can push you," Harry offered.
Ron jumped, Harry jumped. Ron seemed to fall slightly faster as the wind passed them.
"Tell Hermione?" Ron asked.
Ron tried to mount at five hundred. Harry waited to three fifty before he mounted, his feet dragged on the net as he leveled off. Ron almost flying as his broom snagged the web.
"Sure, tell Hermione," Harry said.
Harry disapparated, apparated up onto the carpet.
"Getting better," Coach Kline said.
"Three hundred," Harry said.
Harry jumped, fell past Ron ascending. Harry delayed the mounting until two fifty, when he pulled up. Handle snagged the net, yanked from his grip, he flew and fell onto his back by the goal post.
"Gotta earn your paycheck," Harry said as Notley appeared, wand out.
"This isn't exactly safe," Notley said.
"It's fun," Harry said as he summoned the Nimbus 1000 to him. "Going to try again."
Harry grabbed the broom, disapparated, apparated, his back to the carpet. Harry sat up, stood next to the coach in the blue shorts and white T–shirt.
"Determined?" Coach Kline asked.
"Think I can get down to one hundred?" Harry asked, "You know, recover fast?"
"Harry," Ron said.
"Not this attempt," Harry lied.
Harry jumped, Ron followed. This time, Harry had challenged himself. He watched as the numbers passed him by, steadied himself. Faster than fast, he slipped below the hundred mark, mounted, and his feet dragged. Harry flew around, watched as Ron started at four hundred, leveled at one.
Above, the magic carpet came down. Coach Meyers blew his whistle. Harry and Ron flew down.
"We'll do more falling later," Coach Meyers said, "Start with balancing next."
Coach Meyers demonstrated, walking along the handle of the broom on the grass. Coach Kline landed the carpet.
"Bare feet are the best," Coach Kline said, "So…"
A wave of the wand, a thick bar showed, a foot above the ground.
"Try that," Coach Kline said.
Harry jumped, arms out, the arms that held steady, foot over foot, he made it to the end. Ron jumped, was slower.
"Think I've figured this out," Harry said.
Confidence in Harry as he summoned out the holly broom, jumped as it hovered. Harry stepped on it as it moved along, foot to foot, paced it. A summon, the Nimbus 1000 flew to him, and Harry stepped onto it.
…
"He's a bloody natural," Ron said, as he fell off the thinner bar.
Ron tumbled, rolled, and stood. Above, Harry stepped from broom to broom, went higher with each step.
"Cover Potter," Coach Meyers said to Kline, "I'll cover Weasley here."
Coach Kline mounted a Firebolt, flew up to Harry.
"Don't worry," Coach Meyers said, "Talent's always different, focus on yours."
Again, Ron jumped on the bar, worked it, this time getting to the other end.
…
Harry stood there, feet on the handle of the Nimbus 1000 as he flew. Felt his magic wanting him to remain still, the push to either side, guided him.
"Okay," Harry said, "Trade off, I'll use mine."
Harry summoned it, his holly wood, the net two hundred feet below, and stepped over. Both hands balanced him, and he stood. Coach Kline swung the leg, over to the Nimbus 1000.
"You've not actually done this," Harry said, "Have you?"
"Not like you're doing it," Coach Kline said.
Harry stepped over, onto the Firebolt, his toes curled around either side of the handle, and he banished his holly wood broom back.
"You can see what's happening, right?" Coach Kline asked.
"Yeah," Harry said, "This is good."
"Drop and catch yourself by the handle," Coach Kline said.
Harry did this, his knees hit the Firebolt, his grip failed, and he fell. A tuck, he curled, and he hit the net. Harry apparated himself back up, his feet balanced himself on the broom handle.
"I've done this before," Harry said, remembering back to his first year.
Harry dropped again, this time, his fingers held.
"Maybe…" Coach Kline said, "Expect a gymnastics instructor, that'll help, because, you're right, we're a bit beyond where I'm proficient."
Harry swung himself, dropped the broom, and mounted it. Harry leveled off the Firebolt, feet up onto it, he balanced carefully as he stood.
"You're seeing where we're heading with this, right?" Coach Kline said.
"Yep," Harry said.
Again, Harry dropped, held onto the handle, wondered how late he could get away with this and still get Gia in time.
Afternoon had passed, as Ron was balancing himself on the broom, though low to the nets. High above, Harry swung between brooms. Below, two red heads entered from the box, Fred and George, brooms in hand. Notley hovered, Coach Kline above, though Coach Meyers wasn't on the pitch.
"Still monopolizing the stadium?" Fred asked.
"Talk to the coaches," Ron said, "What time is it?"
"Three fifteen," Fred said.
"HARRY!" Ron shouted, "TIME!"
"Talk to the coaches?" Ron asked.
"Our contracts mandate practice," Fred said, "Tough to do that when some blokes reserve up the stadium for multiple days in a row."
"Risk of falling objects," Ron said.
Harry grabbed the brooms, dropped, crashed into the net.
"We see that," George said.
"We also need to teach our brother a sense of survival," Fred said.
"What?" Ron said, "We're training."
"You're actually going through with that program?!" George blurted.
"Seemed reasonable," Harry said, "Give it a try."
"Gia?" Ron asked Harry.
Harry jumped, rolled on the grass, ran into the box, into the locker room. Coach Kline descended. Ron kept his glare at his brothers.
"First suckers?" Fred asked.
"It is a very fine program," Coach Kline said, "You could benefit from it tremendously."
"There's a reason why nobody's bitten before," George said, "We're not crazy—congratulations on finding a pair of nuts."
Ron jumped, tackled George to the grass as he rolled.
"Wanna know what my life's like?" Ron plucked a couple strands of George's hair. "Hermione's been catching mines targeted at me, got some at home, perhaps we ought to swap my hair for yours."
"Easy," Fred said, as he pulled Ron off George.
Ron glared at George.
"First one I met severed my arm—at a hospital," Ron said, "Compared to that, this training's safe."
"Interesting recommendation," Coach Kline said.
"We can bring some in," Ron said, "Give it an edge and raise the stakes. Got plenty to choose from."
Ron studied his brothers' that stood there. Fred seemed to want to break the stalemate first.
"Dad got a new clock," Fred said, "Needs a lock of your hair."
"That'd only give him an ulcer," Ron said, "So, kiss this!"
Ron spun around, bent over as he dropped his shorts, and jumped onto the Nimbus 1000. A glance behind, Fred in hot pursuit. Ron shook his rear and moved.
"I'll get you Runt!" Fred yelled.
Ron flew around the stadium, Fred slightly gaining on him, when Ron slowed down at seven hundred feet. A hand that reached to grab the broom, Ron rolled and fell. A glance up, Fred zoomed faster on the downward dive. Ron waited, mounted, and pulled up to get his toes on the net. Fred flew into the net, bounced. George laughed.
"Great training," Ron said loud as he stepped to loom over Fred.
Fred's glare upward, the hand to the ankles. Ron's wand out, the aim upward.
"Carpe Retractum!" Ron exclaimed.
Magic lasso hit the side of the wall, near the roof, pulled Ron upward. Fred mounted the broom, chased.
"RON!" Fred shouted.
Ron hit the wall up there, waited until Fred neared.
"You're—no broom!" Fred said.
"Sure about that?" Ron asked.
Ron's wand banished, he fell, the motion, he got over the net as Fred chased. A summon, his broom fell out, and he mounted his Firebolt II. Ron out flew his brother, made it to the other end, circled around. Ron flew back, five hundred feet beneath him, for the center where Fred watched. Ron pushed, his balance trembled a bit, his toes gripped, and he stood up on the broom handle. Ron turned, his eyes on his brother.
"My name is Ronald Weasley," Ron said, "My goal is to help Harry defeat the Dark Lord; barring that, to be executed standing next to him."
"You don't care one iota about your survival, do you?" Fred asked.
"Nope," Ron replied.
Ron knew his identity as he stood there, the eyes on him. His stance set him apart from his family, and in this, Ron found his strength. Ron summoned his broom into his holster, and he dropped.
Harry cast the invisibility on himself, and disapparated. He apparated into the corridor toward the office. Gia and Richard walked toward that office door where the silver haired man in a dark suit, Headmaster Nolan Lydum, waited.
"What's going on?" Harry asked.
"Been summoned to the office," Gia said.
"This way," said the Headmaster, "She doesn't need—"
"I'm coming with her," Harry stated.
Richard stayed behind. Harry went with Gia. Through the main office, into another corridor with a right. An empty desk.
"My secretary used to sit there," said the Headmaster.
A left, into a room whose door bore the Headmaster's name. Lydum closed the door, and took a seat behind the desk. Harry stood next to Gia.
"I was ordered to do this at noon," the Headmaster said, "I disobeyed and let you finish out the day."
Harry spotted the panic behind the eyes, summoned the parchment beneath a quill.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Headmaster Lydum,
It came to my attention that two were killed in attempts to collect a million pound contract on the head of Gia Marie Prescott. A three million pound contract is outstanding on her boyfriend, Harry James Potter. We hereby apologize for the collateral damage. If you wish to safeguard your school, summon them into your office for a meeting, and break the enclosed quill; we can handle the rest.
Please, exercise good judgment so that no further muggles are killed.
Sincerely,
Seamus Finnigan,
President of Eximo Macula.
"I have not broken the quill—quaint," Lydum said, "Nor do I intend to."
Harry stared at the man, unsure to the next move.
"This—" Lydum handed Gia a letter. "Read it later, but I'll tell you myself."
Harry held Gia's left hand.
"Scholarship and behavior is excellent," Lydum said, "However, my first concern has to be the safety and welfare of everybody here. Board met this morning, and though it's unfair to you, it must be done. You're being expelled."
"What?!" Gia stammered.
"You read that note," Lydum said, "My secretary killed before my eyes. That contract makes you a magnet to assassins, the likes of which should never be at a school. To provide the level of security you require—that's simply not in the budget. I'm sorry, even if you appealed, it'd be rejected. Until you can mitigate that threat, the decision is final."
Harry focused on the eyes, ones that'd seen battle before.
"No other option?" Harry asked.
"I managed one stipulation," Lydum said, "You may sit your A–level examinations with your classmates. If you wish, a small consortium of teachers are available for correspondence, to help you home study for them next year. That was the most I could do—I do not like this outcome either, it's what had to be done."
"Understood," Harry said.
"I do wish you luck in your future endeavors," Lydum said, "However, it's late and you need to leave."
Harry conjured up a handkerchief, handed it to Gia as she cried. Harry held her, escorted her out of the office, into the corridor.
"How—?" Richard started.
"Expelled," Harry said, "For being a target."
"What?" Richard stammered.
Harry held Gia tight.
"Should likely be seen leaving," Richard said.
Harry walked with Gia; Richard to the other side.
"It's definitely unfair," Richard said, "I'll miss you."
They left the building. Harry kept his eyes open.
"Not certain when we'll see you next," Harry said.
"Running?" Richard said.
"I'd like that," Harry said, "Still, never know."
"It feels like goodbye," Richard said.
"It might be," Harry said, "We have enough people trying—one may succeed."
Harry reached, hugged Richard. A wave of the hand. Harry held Gia, thought, and disapparated. He apparated into the living room. Hermione's brown eyes glanced at them, Ron also at the dining table.
"Can you—?" Harry asked Hermione, "Gia needs some love. I need to cram."
Hermione stood, went for Gia, escorted her up the stairs.
"What?" Ron asked as Harry sat.
"Don't have to worry about school," Harry said, "They expelled her—safety."
Ron breathed, exhaled.
"It's sensible," Ron said.
"I know," Harry said, "Doesn't make it right…suppose it means we don't have to live here either."
"It's home," Ron said.
Harry leaned in, read through the materials.
Ron dipped the quill in the ink–jar, filled in the bubble on the scantron form. Watched as Harry turned his in, pulled gloves out of his book–bag, and went out the door. Ron went to the next question, filled that answer in. Ron finished, stood. He brought the form up to Shane Logan, who stuck into the machine, the beep, and the smile. Shane Logan signed the certificate, handed it over to Ron. Ron went back to his book–bag, put the strap over his shoulder.
"EXTRA CREDIT!" Harry announced as he entered, the six bladed mine in the dragon hide gloves, "Found this about eight feet above the sidewalk." He set it down on the table.
Whispers, murmurs, as the officers in sweats stood to gather around.
"Harry?" asked Kristen, nearby.
"Oh," Harry said, "I think it's docile."
Ron came up next to Harry, as most of the others cleared out.
"Don't you think that's a tad unfair to them?" Ron asked.
"We had the certified experts here," Harry said, "Blades are likely poisoned. Left the other, the mace like one out there."
"This ain't a muggle device," Ron said.
"She's seen what it can do," Harry pointed at Kristen.
"How many are there?" Kristen asked.
Harry lifted, read off the number.
"Five hundred?" Harry stammered.
"Of that make," Ron said.
"If you don't want it," Harry said to Kristen, "We'll add it to Hermione's collection."
Harry's wand out, he began the disassembly, into the parts.
"This is what we've been up against," Ron said.
"I see the relevance in the course," Kristen said.
"Switching out the dynamite would be easy," Harry said, "This…"
Harry pulled off the round charges packed around a center pebble. Harry reached into the pocket of the glove.
"Detonator," Harry said as he handed it over to her. "It's what triggers to me, Ron, and Hermione."
"Nobody else?" Kristen asked.
"Assuming it's not malfunctioning," Ron said.
"These are all over out there," Harry said, "I can't go out without setting one of these off."
"I'll get Shane in here and chew him out," Kristen said, "Thank you."
Harry grabbed his book–bag, held Ron, and disapparated. Apparated back into 66 Pickering Place. Harry went over to the styrofoam, ate a few remaining nuggets.
"Upstairs," Harry said.
A buzzing from Ron's holster, Ron pulled out the stone coin, and Percy's green head floated.
"Need to talk to you and Harry," Percy said.
"Apparate," Ron suggested.
"My license's bugged," Percy said, "And before you think of showing up—"
"Got an idea," Harry said.
Harry went over, grabbed a Daily Sport and tapped on it with his wand.
"HEDWIG!" Harry shouted.
Harry scribbled Percy's name on it, tied it up to the snowy white owl. Hedwig flew out of the house.
"Hide somewhere," Ron said, "Owl incoming."
Percy's head vanished.
"Yell when he shows," Harry said, "I need to see Gia."
Harry disapparated.
"Yeah, sure," Ron said, "Dad can wait."
Ron paced, before he laid on the sofa. A thud, the feet.
"HARRY!" Ron shouted.
A pop, Harry apparated downstairs, and Ron stood back up. Percy, in a pinstripe suit, stood there holding the Daily Sport.
"Set it down but don't touch it until done," Harry said.
Percy set it on the table, the eyes on them both.
"Has to be quick," Percy stated.
"This way," Harry said.
Ron followed, Harry and Percy went up the stairs. A right into the Room of Requirement.
"Hogwarts?" Percy asked.
A wave of Harry's wand, the room sealed itself off.
"I see your peril," Percy said as he spun around, the mines and devices in various stages of disassembly.
"Those were sent after us," Harry said, "You should be cautious too."
"Don't remind me," Percy said, "My movements are being watched."
"By who?" Harry asked.
"Not yet certain," Percy said, "Your portkey was the best idea, best to keep this short—they'll come looking."
"And?" Harry asked, "The Ministry?"
"I examine books and employments, and it's fishy," Percy said, "Aurors with finances too clean, but if you check their habits, houses, they're spending more than they earn, or borrow, not even moonlighting makes up for it, nor the rewards. They're getting unreported supplementary income."
"Illegal?" Harry asked.
Ron watched Percy's blue eyes, the ones not objecting.
"Possible," Percy said, "Or recent recruits—reformed Death Eaters on an evangelical path toward enlightenment."
Harry's eyes focused as hard as Ron's on Percy.
"For a Minister who's scared of the Dark Arts," Percy said, "Someone is pulling the wool over his eyes."
Harry shook his head.
"Reformed Death Eaters as Aurors?" Harry said, "Fox guarding the chickens—no such thing as a reformed Death Eater."
"Dumbledore managed one," Ron said.
"Are you sure?" Harry said, "Snape ferries messages between Dumbledore and Voldemort, that's it."
Ron caught the ire of mentioning Snape, however, Harry clearly wanted to push on.
"Any luck on the buying of that SDWCA?" Harry asked.
Percy sighed.
"Big and messy," Percy said, "So many hands at the Ministry and Gringotts, so many altered accounts and the money moved every which way to shake the trail. Right now, any one of many dozens of people."
"As soon as you know anything—tell us," Harry said, "Our lives depend on it."
"Got something planned?" Percy asked.
"Fantasy with The Daily Prophet and some Veritaserum," Harry said, "Minister for Magic, some EM lemmings, that sort."
"Enlightening," Percy said, "That portkey?"
"Ron?" Harry said, "It'll self–destruct as a portkey, but feel free to read and enjoy it."
A flick of the wand, the door returned. Ron led Percy down the steps into the living room, to the table.
"Still got your head," Percy said, "That's good."
Percy grabbed the Daily Sport and vanished. Ron went up the steps, to the bedroom. Hermione with Gia, Harry stood by the edge of the bed, recited what Percy said.
"I hope it works," Harry said.
"Money trails usually are," Hermione said, "Shows motive."
"At least we'll have practice tomorrow," Ron said.
Ron climbed onto the bed, laid there, and let himself drift into sleep.
Date: Thu Jan 4 09:53:35 2024