In the Crosshairs
Dragon Voldemort
Chapter 126: Schedules
Monday morning, Harry went down the steps, past the blonde haired Sirius in the kitchen, into the conservatory, to where Richard leaned over the table.
"See…" Richard said, the hand to the odd angled cube like construction. "Light always comes out the way it goes in."
Richard moved Hermione to the side, and pointed.
"See?" Richard asked.
"So…" Hermione moved the reflective model. "Your todger sees itself?"
"Something like that," Richard said, "If I were starkers."
"So…" Hermione fidgeted, drew her wand. "Harry."
Hermione aimed the wand at Harry.
"Stupefy!" Hermione snapped.
Harry's wand already in hand, the shield charm, and Hermione's curse shattered the light bulb.
"Will you two be careful?" Sirius asked.
"Sorry," Hermione said, "An idea."
Harry glanced at her.
"Any angle—back to the source?" Hermione asked Richard.
Richard nodded.
"Move that—hold it up over there," Hermione said.
Richard lifted, brought his model, the large foot by foot model, and held it against the wall. Hermione aimed her wand.
"Sgàthan draoidheachd!" Hermione snapped, the model that glowed, her wand that remained aimed. "Try to stun it."
Harry's wand to his hand, the snap. Red that shot out, it, and rebounded to Harry. Holly wand dropped as he blacked out.
"Enervate!" came Hermione's voice as Harry came to, back on the floor.
"You…tricked me," Harry said as he stood, his eyes on Hermione who also stood there.
"It's a better—I need my books," Hermione said, "My bag has my arithmacy notes."
"At Hogwarts—in my trunk," Harry said, "We can't get them."
"You'll be at…practice today?" Sirius asked as he carried in several plates.
"Yeah," Harry said as he sat at the table.
Harry popped his pills, worked into the eggs and bacon, thought about the beans on toast.
Dumbledore settled down at the table in the greenhouse, the tomatoes that bloomed to the side. He nibbled at the buttered crumpet while he perused the newspaper.
"Full of rubbish," said McGonagall as she sat across from him.
"Incidents in Macedonia and Zambia yesterday," Dumbledore said, "Should we discount Serbia or Thailand on Saturday? Or the Netherlands for Friday?"
McGonagall shook her head.
"And how motivated people are to extinguish their hope against eternal damnation," Dumbledore said.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Problem Solver
Face it Wizarding World, it's time to vote with your purse, express your dissatisfaction with the vileness that has crept back into our lives. You thought the Boy Who Lived was your salvation, you wish that were true but know it's not. We need to banish this blemish and disease from our lives, to return to the wonderful world of magic we all know and love.
Eximo Macula is proud to help administer these rewards for removal of known threats to the wizarding community.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Shouldn't Have Lived. 2,087K galleons.
Ronald Weasley, Kiss Up King. 1,629K galleons.
Hermione Granger, Wannabe Dark Queen. 1,082K galleons.
Gia Prescott, Muggle Cock Holster aka Potter's pet. 643K galleons.
Bonus of 20,000 galleons per relation or friendship severed.
Removal of these problems would be greatly appreciated. All wagers and contributions can be sent to "Bye Bye". To claim a reward, submit relevant documentation.
Though Dumbledore privately agreed it'd be better for his disposition to ignore the poor imitation cat litter.
"Ahem."
A glance upward at the lady in pink. Dumbledore already knew who she was.
"I'm Delores Umbridge," Umbridge said, "Your charge, Mr. Harry Potter, has an outstanding balance, and I've been sending him invoices, which have gone unanswered."
"Then you ought to be talking to Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said.
"I cannot seem to find him," Umbridge said, "Yet, his letters go through your office."
A glance to where McGonagall was, sat the tabby cat.
"It can be inconvenient for Mr. Potter to take owls," Dumbledore said, "He does collect his letters on a regular basis."
"So you admit he's gotten my letters?" Umbridge asked.
"I do not inspect the contents," Dumbledore said.
Umbridge handed over a sheet of parchment.
"A copy of my last invoice to him," Umbridge said.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Harry Potter
This is the bill for the services rendered by this committee.
Starting Balance30,000Interest (6%)1,500Late penalty500Pirate incident1,000Fine for Polyjuice500Donation, Victims5,000Services Rendered1,500Current Balance40,000 galleons
Please remit 40,000 galleons immediately; this is reflecting bad upon yourself to let your debts become so mismanaged.
Dolores Umbridge, Chair of the Harry Potter Guidance Committee
"Bit…pricey," Dumbledore said.
"I expect immediate payment," Umbridge said, "As executor—"
"Of the family trust," Dumbledore said, "As to this…it's individual and it's illegal for me to do anything aside from suggesting that you take this up with Mr. Potter."
"As I've been trying to do!" Umbridge said, "Where is he?"
Woof! Woof!
Big, blonde, the shaggy Padfoot lunged toward her.
"HISS!" Umbridge seethed back at him.
Woof! Woof!
Dumbledore snickered as the woman in pink darted, left. A thin smile to McGonagall's lips as she returned to witch form, while Sirius transformed.
Ron turned to Gia as he took out the Portkey that morning. Wand in hand, Ron activated it, and Gia held on. Jerk behind the naval, Ron's feet hit the tile in the showers of Puddlemere United. Ron made his way to the examination room with its light blue walls.
"Morning," Harry said, from the scale, "Been busy?"
Bottle green eyes that took him in while Notley wrote down the numbers.
"Hermione?" Ron asked.
"Upstairs," Harry replied.
"A moment," Ron said to Notley, "Breakfast."
Ron's feet carried him fast, along the corridor, up the steps, past McGonagall.
"Good morning Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said.
"Um…" Ron muttered.
"Everything is…as normal as it can be," McGonagall said, "Good day."
Ron nodded, the fast turn into the clubhouse. Hermione at a table, parchment spread on it, the quill, as she scribbled and jotted. Ron turned to face her.
"Hi," Ron managed.
"You've…you've grown," Hermione said.
"Huh?" Ron asked.
"Been…a weekend," Hermione said.
"I'll get…" Ron went to the buffet, served himself some sausage, biscuits, and gravy, carred the plate over to the table. "I won't…"
"Harry took me…know how much damage one bad mouthing off can cause?" Hermione asked.
"Um…" Ron muttered as he sat, her brown eyes leveled at him. Behind them, the memories of crying in the lavatory years earlier. "I'm sorry."
"You're guessing," Hermione said.
"Rule one of relationships," Ron said, "Just apologize, right or wrong doesn't matter."
Hermione sighed.
"Found some homework?" Ron asked.
"Something else," Hermione said.
Ron glanced at the book–bag.
"Thought we're packing light," Ron said.
"Professor McGonagall was kind enough to bring it," Hermione said, "Store it in your locker or something."
"That's…" Ron started, stopped. He focused his fork to the sausage, ate into it.
"You've been able to do what you love," Hermione said, "Me…not really, I'm luggage."
Ron shook his head.
"Something to do while you practice," Hermione said.
Harry walked in, book in hand, the muggle fighter plane on the front of it.
"What's that?" Ron asked.
"Coach Kline wants me to read…" Harry said, "I'll skim while he gets checked out by Notley."
Hermione grinned as Harry sat.
"That's…muggle stuff," Ron said.
"Wands on brooms," Harry said, "How's it any different?"
"Made her day," Ron said.
"Thinks…thinks we can use this," Harry said.
Harry waited. Footsteps as Gia entered, Harry went over to her laying down on the sofa. Harry leaned backward, used her chest as a pillow as he read. Ron watched Hermione's doodle, the regular pattern of hexagons with lines in them.
"That's…?" Ron asked.
"An idea," Hermione said, "Work on it while you two fly."
"Going to tell?" Ron asked.
"That'd ruin the surprise," Hermione said.
Ron sighed, stood, and went for the door.
"He'll be a while," Harry cautioned.
"And Hermione wants the peace and quiet," Ron said.
Ron left.
Harry turned on Gia as he read. Hermione's familiar quill scratching on parchment resonated in the right ear, though his left heard Gia's heartbeat.
"Cozy reading spot?" asked Coach Kline.
"Yeah," Harry replied.
Kline snorted, and Harry glanced up at him, the familiar white T–shirt and blue shorts on the man.
"If you can manage to carry a book," Coach Kline said, "It'd be great to read it all by next week."
Harry turned, stood.
"Um…" Harry reached, pulled out Stupefy! Stunnington's Auror Handbook, set it on the table with Hermione. "Hold onto that—we'll figure it out before we leave."
Harry followed the coach, kept the diagram up as he went down the stairs. Harry stashed the Fighter Combat Tactics and Maneuvering book into his hip pocket as they entered the locker room.
"See the value?" Coach Kline asked.
Harry nodded.
"Muggles are clever," Coach Kline said.
"Not fighting like that on the pitch," Harry said.
"In a way, you are," Coach Kline said.
Harry made it to the alcove box on the threshold of the pitch, where Ron followed Notley back into the locker room. Harry grabbed a Nimbus 1000 as Coach Kline did.
"Anyways," Coach Kline said, "You need to learn more."
Harry nodded, mounted the broom.
"We'll start with pursuits," Coach Kline said.
Harry bolted up in the air, the Coach to his tail.
Time was threatening noon when Hermione scribbled, tore up the parchment, and stood; she stomped.
"Take it easy," Gia said, still on the sofa, book in her hands.
"Take it easy?!" Hermione stammered, "Get a good idea…and it's like I can't do the arithmacy anymore! We're rotting away."
"At least you've got something," Gia said, "Me…my life's on hold until you lot sort out Harry's affairs. You know, most women dump blokes who can't manage it themselves."
"Harry's…" Hermione started.
"I know, it's legitimate," Gia said, "Still…bit late to pull out and save him the headache."
"Bit late," Hermione admitted.
"About six hundred thousand gold coins ago," Gia said.
"Million for me," Hermione said.
Hermione paced the room.
"Another breath?" Gia asked.
Hermione sat back down at the table. Hermione worked until Harry and Ron entered late that afternoon.
"Together or separate?" Ron asked as he went for the buffet.
Harry's bottle green eyes to Hermione.
"Got what you need?" Harry asked, "Ready?"
"Need to try…close," Hermione said.
"Together so we can practice," Harry said, "Um…should've thought about the bag."
"It's meant to be carried," Hermione said.
"Your notes," Harry said, "Risking them?"
"Riskier not to," Hermione said.
"You're carrying them," Harry said, "Or, one of our lockers."
Harry went for the buffet.
"You too," Gia said to Hermione.
Hermione walked over, her stomach not into it like Ron's full of chipped beef and mashed potatoes. Harry's lighter in portions. Hermione took a few rolls, some salad. Gia had a mixture, and they went over to the table.
"Been working on something?" Ron asked as he chewed into the beef.
"Take a bit more…" Hermione said, "Yes."
Hermione watched Ron eat across the table from her, the freckles on the face. Red hair and taller than the dolt she first met, though he still had a mouth. Ron's blue eyes noticed her, the fingers that moved, took one of her rolls, buttered it up, and lifted it near her face.
"Here," Ron suggested.
Harry snorted. Hermione glared at Harry, took the roll, and ate into it.
"Don't copy my bad habits," Harry said.
"Need some good ones," Hermione said.
Ron snickered.
"I'll vouch for the good," Gia said.
"Ready?" Harry asked.
Hermione recognized the deliberate shift as he stood. She turned for the other table, the collection of parchment, the quill. A sift through the sheets, the nagging of that large book–bag. She folded one sheet, put that into her pocket.
"Rest of it?" Harry said, "Unless you want Ron to cram it together."
Hermione worked fast, put the rest of the papers, the books into the bag.
"Downstairs first," Ron said, "Come Hermione."
Ron offered his elbow, one she took, and they left the clubhouse. Down the stairs, to the locker room, to the locker with Ron's name on it. Ron reached, opened it, and she put the bag inside. He closed it.
"Ready?" Harry asked, the portkey in his hand.
Hermione nodded. A touch from Harry's wand, the jerk behind the naval, the four of them were pulled away.
Left paw past the right, the tabby cat walked the banister early Tuesday morning, the nagging thought in McGonagall's mind. Light of the stained window that highlighted where to head. A jump, the fast trot along the first floor corridor, and she jumped through her office door's cat flap. Inside, the cabinet drawer straining to the charm from Flitwick's wand.
"Excuse me," said McGonagall as she transformed, "Pray tell what are you up to at this hour?"
Her stare at the man actively jimmying the lock.
"Did you deliver…" she pointed to the open canister of catnip on her desk.
"Several of my house misplaced their schedules," Flitwick said, "I didn't want to disturb you."
"Who needs their schedules?" McGonagall asked.
"I'll be … asking them to check twice," Flitwick said.
"As to this," McGonagall opened the cabinet to reveal the large bag of cat litter. "You understand, right?"
Flitwick sighed, left, which was replaced by the slow tap of the cane as Dumbledore entered.
"You've always had a knack with Transfiguration," said Dumbledore.
"Compared to you," McGonagall said, "I'm merely an apprentice."
McGonagall unsure if the old man actually blushed, still, he set The Daily Prophet on the round table. She swished her wand, the breakfast that showed.
"Not sure which is worse," McGonagall said, "Him trying to pilfer my schedules, or that rubbish."
"Predicts we'll be knee deep in blood before the weekend," Dumbledore said, "Cites yesterday's attacks in Gambia and Bolivia as evidence."
McGonagall sighed, sat at the table. She hoped that Harry wasn't wasting his time.
Wednesday morning, Harry woke to the poke, on the bed in Vienna, Austria.
"They're…" Gia muttered.
A glance to the other beds, the eyes on them.
"A screamer," said the bloke on one bed.
"Sorry," Harry said, "Privates were full."
Harry rolled over, off the bed, stood.
"Ain't drunk?" asked the man.
Harry stared at the brown haired man mostly beneath the covers for a moment.
"Come," Harry said to Gia.
"Forget anything?" the man asked.
"We pack—light," Harry quipped.
Gia brushed her blonde hair after she stood. An arm to her backside, his hand to her back, and they left. A short distance to the large reflecting fountain in front of Karlskirche.
"He…" Gia said, "Don't take this wrong, but you can be a bit of a spectacle, when you sleep."
"Um…" Harry muttered.
She stopped them both, turned to him, and leaned in. Her hands slipped down the front of his trousers, felt the arousal form. She kissed.
"I know you can't help it," Gia said, "Try explaining why to strangers."
Harry sighed.
"Breakfast," Gia said.
Harry nodded. A turn, and a step up onto the broad fountain ledge. A move to the left, onto the smaller upper lip of a step. Gia stepped onto the lower ledge, walked with him, her hand to his back.
"I try to ignore it as I love you and I understand," Gia said, "Still, it's tough to hide."
Harry sighed as he stepped over a goose dropping; his eyes focused more downward with every step.
"Need you to focus…focus on the task on hand," Gia said.
Harry glanced about, the thought of extra footsteps.
"Know you are…" Gia stopped, the hand that left, the thud. "Ow."
Harry spun, the skid mark on the step obvious, Gia down on the paving stones. A jump down, the fast crouch in his squat over her, the near paralysis obvious.
"Slipped," Gia muttered, the bruise to her forehead.
Harry's fingers to her neck, the fast and sharp focus, the need, and tightness that came with the apparation, into the light blue examination room of Puddlemere United. Harry spun, pressed the button on the wall.
"Um…" Harry started, the crouch again, the hands to her shoulders of her still laying on her right side on the floor.
"Did the right thing," Gia said.
A moment later, Notley bolted in.
"She…" Harry started.
"Slipped," Gia said, "Not a far drop, but."
Notley's wand to his hand.
"Thank you," Notley said, "Stretcher."
Harry's wand aimed, the conjured stretcher that rose up beneath her, levitated Gia onto the bed.
"You're doing good," Notley said, "As to the injuries… superficial, you'd have recovered, but better to have it checked out. Should have you done in a moment."
While Notley's wand went over Gia, Harry stood there and held her hand, watched her blue eyes. She sighed, the smile that returned to her lips.
"Everybody has accidents," Notley said, the wand that continued to move slowly over her, "I'm here to help fix them."
"Already feels…better," Gia managed.
"Good," Notley said, "One more…sorry, you'll feel this."
She held Harry's hand tight, the wincing.
"And…" Notley continued with the wand, "Done."
Gia moved, sat up.
"Scale," Notley said to Harry.
Harry groaned, moved, and stood on it. Notley grabbed the plain folder, noted into it.
"Don't think my fee's too high," Notley said, "A bit of gratification to know my efforts are helping you too."
Harry studied the man.
"Breakfast," Gia suggested.
Harry nodded, followed her out of the locker room. Around the corner, along the corridor. He reached into his hip pocket, pulled out the letter.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Mr. Potter
I'd love a chance to catch up. If you're willing, breakfast in my office, around eight, before classes.
Professor McGonagall
"Yes," Gia said to him at the bottom of the stairs, "It'd be nice to do more than classes there, only a small token."
A spin to her, the hand to hers, and he stepped to the stop. Her eyes that piqued as he began to waltz to a tune in the head. Her feet that moved.
"Been doing a lot of walking," Harry said, "How about…?"
Tightness to them both.
"Good morning Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall's voice, "I was wondering if you even got my invitation."
Harry took another spin with Gia, came to a halt. In her familiar emerald green, the square glasses, Professor McGonagall stood, pointed her wand at the round table, and a selection of cauldron cakes, the ham, juices appeared.
"Albus warned you might not knock," Professor McGonagall said, "Your…talent is singularly unique."
Harry understood, the eyes that had witnessed him apparating in with Gia.
"I do not know how," Harry said, "Except that I can."
Harry sat at the table.
"Anybody else would likely require the destruction of the stones of Hogwarts," McGonagall said, "And there is some fanciful debate as to whether that'd work."
"Don't advertise," Harry said.
Professor McGonagall sniffed as she forked over some ham. Her head turned.
"That…alright?" Harry asked.
"Think I … smell it too," Gia said.
Professor McGonagall turned, stood, went to her filing cabinet, opened it, drawer after drawer.
"Cleverly hidden," Professor McGonagall said, "If…" she turned to the desk, opened those drawers.
"Something amiss?" asked Professor Dumbledore as he entered the office, The Daily Prophet wrapped up underneath his arm.
"Albus—did you—exactly the thing you'd do," Professor McGonagall said.
"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," the Headmaster replied.
Professor McGonagall turned to the wardrobe.
"Not as strong over here," Professor McGonagall said.
She turned, returned toward the table.
"Stronger," Professor McGonagall said.
"Can you smell it?" Gia asked the Headmaster, now seated next to her.
"As an old wizard," Professor Dumbledore said, "Whatever it is, is likely smelling better than me."
Harry snorted.
"You'll get there too," Gia said to Harry.
Professor McGonagall sniffed, stopped at the table.
"It's…not the food," Professor McGonagall said.
"I showered last night," Harry said.
"More fishy…seaweed like," Professor McGonagall said.
Harry's nostrils began to pick it up, the odor. He stood, the step toward the corner, the smell similar, when he turned back for the table.
"He's not sat on any fish lately," Gia said, "Check your pocket."
"Ron…bet he…" Harry started. the hand that went into his hip pocket, deep.
"Thinking…it's a prank on you?" asked Professor McGonagall.
"I'll get him back." Harry's hand felt it, the slippery, slimy sack within, and pulled it out as the old rotting seaweed smell deepened. "It's…"
"Gillyweed," the Headmaster said, "If I'm not mistaken."
Harry lifted the small sack, the slippery worm like appendages rotting within.
"Ew," Harry muttered.
"Didn't take steps to keep that properly," said Professor McGonagall, "Imagine swallowing it?"
Harry shook his head. Harry tossed the sack upward, the wand out, banished it into the fireplace, where it began to burn.
"Fire will not consume that odor," Professor McGonagall said, "Quite the opposite."
"Now I can smell it," Professor Dumbledore said, "Thank you for confirming that I have not lost that sense."
"Um…" Harry managed as he remained standing. Three sets of eyes on him.
"There may be a breeze," said Professor McGonagall, her wand aimed, the windows that opened.
"Glad we got that sorted," said the Headmaster.
Harry sat back down, popped his pills, and started into the cauldron cakes.
"Should write The Daily Prophet and stop the presses," Professor Dumbledore said, "Clearly, of utmost importance, Mr. Potter forgot about a sack of Gillyweed—happens to the best of us."
Harry snorted.
"This…?" Gia took The Daily Prophet, opened it.
"If you believe the nonsense," Professor Dumbledore said, "While I don't believe that it was Mr. Potter, here, innocent people are dying, yesterday it was Nicaragua and Afghanistan."
"Oh," Harry said.
"Eat," Gia said to him.
"Another petition to the board of governors to have you expelled," Professor McGonagall said, "Nothing new there."
"Except that Amos Diggory seemed less receptive to it," the Headmaster said, "He sent his regards, seemed more impressed with you."
"He would," Harry replied.
Professor McGonagall's eyes toward him.
"Mind a moment?" said the Headmaster, "Maybe check up on Kingsley, make sure he's not bewitching the cauldron cakes to be sugar–free."
Professor McGonagall handed over a bit of parchment to Harry.
"Schedule, for yourself, and your friends," Professor McGonagall said.
Harry glanced at it, Defense Against the Dark Arts to start.
"Keep the whole thing and pretend you'll last to the end of the day," Professor McGonagall said.
Harry snorted, folded it up, and put it down into the hip pocket. She left.
"Another…slip into…you know where," Harry said, "Deliberate, felt Hermione needed to see what we're up against. This one…it meddled into our past, stopping the friendship…" Harry quickly explained revisiting the tournament, the tasks, that outcome. "At the end…I brought that Cedric back."
Professor Dumbledore dropped his fork, the blue eyes on Harry.
"Told him to change his name," Harry said.
"I certainly see why Amos' opinion of you rose tremendously," Professor Dumbledore said, "Interesting choice, given that the dead generally cannot return."
"This one wasn't dead," Harry said, "Have you a clue what Voldemort's operating? Amos isn't pissed, so the Cedric I brought back still lives. I know those alternates tend to burn when I get it right, so it's still one Cedric, and it's now a paradox, he's remembered as dead, but also lives."
Harry stood, the pace to the fireplace, stared at the embers to the sack.
"Can't bring dead back to life, right?" Harry asked.
"Reanimation of a corpse is possible," Professor Dumbledore said, "Forever a puppet, would require a master to control it."
Harry turned, finger to The Daily Prophet.
"Doesn't need puppets," Harry said, "He's got plenty wanting me dead now. How it gets Voldemort his machine, I don't know. Any clue to what he's operating? Or will be?"
"Anything similar would likely exist as fairy tales," Professor Dumbledore said, "Fanciful myths, that we won't know apply until after we find…this contraption."
Ring!
"Time for class," the Headmaster said, "Trust you to wait for Mr. Weasley and Miss. Granger."
Harry nodded as the Headmaster stood.
"Enjoy the first lesson," Professor Dumbledore said, "So few willing to teach you, but those that are, want to go full out."
A slow tap of the can, the Headmaster left. Harry sighed, turned, leaned back against Professor McGonagall's desk, butt on the edge, and crossed his arms. Gia watched him.
"How often is he truly surprised?" Gia asked.
"Not often," Harry said.
Harry felt it, the hand dropped as the door knob turned. A swish, Gia that vanished, as he did, while the door opened.
"It's us," came Ron's voice.
Harry focused on the blue eyes that were revealed as the invisibility downgraded to disillusionment. Mutual twinkling, and Harry dropped the charms. Hermione closed the door, and theirs dropped too.
"Breakfast," Harry suggested, and pointed to the table.
Ron sat fast, worked at the ham.
"Was your morning as muddy as ours?" Hermione asked.
"Mud?" Harry asked.
"Check the tide table before camping," Ron said.
Harry snorted, imagined it. He felt a bit famished, grabbed another cauldron cake, rolled it up, and ate. Gia grinned.
"It was kinda sinking when we woke," Ron said.
"Kinda?" Hermione asked.
Harry stretched his arms, placed his hands behind his head.
Burp!
"We're already late for class," Hermione said.
"Weird," Harry said.
"I know," Ron said as he stood.
"My books," Hermione said.
"Bit…late," Ron said.
"Talk to Tonks," Harry suggested.
Gia stood. Wands out, the disillusionment to them. Harry went for the door, heard the footsteps as soon as he left the office. Along the corridor, the sound of owls around them. Curiosity, Harry took the turn, crossed into the first floor courtyard, when he heard it.
"Show me!" came Finnigan's voice.
A spin, the realization that every nook, every crevice, of that courtyard had canary yellow. In the middle, stood Finnigan and Thomas side by side, their wands aimed at Harry.
"Ask you once," Finnigan said, "Where's Ernie Macmillan's body?"
Harry took a moment, but it was borrowed time.
"Five million galleons!" Parkinson shouted.
Wands that swished and flicked with their voices, the variety of curses that belched toward Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Gia.
Date:Sat Nov 9 05:01:58 2024