PhoenixSong.net :: A Harry/Ginny Fanfic and Fanart Archive

Author: GovCampbell

Story: Defining the Relationship

Part: Chapter Eleven

Rating: Teens

Setting: Pre-HBP

Status: Completed

Reviews: 24

Words: 6,520

Updated: October 12, 2005, 10:18pm

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Chapter Eleven

A/N: Disclaimer in the prologue.

Thanks to my Beta, Arnel, for her wonderful work. I'm beginning to think that my elementary school English teachers totally failed me. I'm now learning what ought to be basic grammar over the internet. Does this qualify as a correspondence course?

Thanks to my fiancée, VinFan, for keeping me on course when this chapter threatened to get the better of me. Love you.

Callander Square, the name, belongs to Anne Perry, who first used it as the title of a Thomas and Charlotte Pitt novel.

Tora! Tora! Tora! belongs to 20th Century Fox, while Battle of Britain, is the property of MGM/UA. The quotes from those films are historical, and for homework, you can look them up. :-)

-- -- -- --

The man looked around the room at his subordinates. They had been waiting for his pronouncement on what they had accomplished. A great victory, they thought.

"I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve," the man said. The room fell silent as he rose from his place and walked out of the room, putting on his cap. He stood by the rail, and looked out over the water. In his minds eye, he could see the destruction they had wrought. What happened now was beyond his control.

And the credits ran.

Harry sat up and stabbed the remote control, turning off the telly. He popped the DVD for Tora! Tora! Tora! out of the player, put it back in its case, and flipped it toward the box labelled, "Movies".

Growing up, he'd always been jealous of Dudley's endless array of electronics, particularly the television. After his Aunt and Uncle had stopped locking him up at night, he would sometimes sneak down early in the morning, before everyone was up and watch something, anything on TV. On the weekends, one of the channels had generally run an old war movie or a western, and as a result, Harry became quite fond of them. When he'd secured his own flat, one of the first things he'd purchased was a TV with a DVD player, and had built up a substantial collection.

If I watch every movie I own before I pack it, I won't make it to Hogwarts before Christmas. Harry sighed. He just couldn't seem to motivate himself to pack his life up. It seemed as though he'd just gotten started here.

And yet, it's not quite home either, Harry admitted to himself. Home was a place he'd never known in Godric's Hollow. While he'd always felt welcome at the Burrow, it was never his in the way a home was supposed to be yours. Hogwarts was the place that had come closest to being home, even if he'd had to share it with everyone else. Maybe going back as a professor would be different. Harry wasn't quite sure how it would feel.

Shaking his head, Harry looked around at the half-packed boxes and empty shelves. "Oh, screw it." Thinking of Hogwarts made him realize how sick he was of being inside. Glancing around the room, he spied his Firebolt leaning in a corner. Without stopping to think twice, he seized it and Apparated to the main gate of the Hogwarts grounds.

Now where did McGonagall say that supply closet was? Harry thought as he cruised up towards the castle's main door. When he got inside, he had a brief moment of disorientation before he found the room in question. Carefully removing the Snitch from its case, he carried it out to the pitch. It fluttered off into the sun, and Harry followed it until he lost sight of it. Then, he kicked off the ground, and began putting both himself and his broom through some warm up laps.

It was quite warm, and in a short time, Harry found himself working up a sweat. It had been a while since Harry had the opportunity to do some of the manoeuvres he worked on. The Weasley's orchard was not nearly as large as a true pitch, and they tried not to rise too far above the trees when they played for fear of being seen. Here, at Hogwarts, Harry had no such restrictions, and he found himself soaring to heights he hadn't attained since leaving school.

Coming to a stop near the faculty spectator tower, he wiped the sweat of out his eyes, and spied the Snitch hovering near the Gryffindor tower. He rocketed toward the stands, laying himself out as flat as he could on the broom, really letting the Firebolt unwind. The Snitch began to dodge, but Harry swerved around the spectator tower, and for a moment, he could imagine the roar of the crowds again. He could hear Ron's voice from near the goal posts, urging him on; from below, the twin screams of Ginny and Hermione. He made a minor course correction, and suddenly, his outstretched fingers closed around the Snitch.

Gliding gently to a halt, Harry felt his heartbeat slowly return to normal, and became conscious of applause coming from the ground.

He turned and looked down. Professor McGonagall was standing with Madame Hooch. He brought his broom around and circled to land.

"Headmistress, Madame Hooch, it's good to see you."

"Thank you, Harry." McGonagall nodded.

"And you, Harry," Madame Hooch said. "That was impressive. A good work out?"

"Yeah, it's been a while," Harry said. "I feel a little rusty."

Madame Hooch snorted. "If that's how you play when you're feeling rusty, I'd love to see you when you're feeling good. I'm going to make the Headmistress mad, and tell you I think you're wasting your talent teaching. You could turn the fortunes of any number teams in the League."

Harry and McGonagall laughed. "Ron's not sure he's forgiven me for not going out for Chudley yet," Harry said. "But I think this is what's best. It's not like I need more money, or more fame. Maybe this will give me a lower profile, rather than a higher one."

Madame Hooch nodded and shrugged. "I suppose you're right. Well, I just stopped by to say goodbye, and we saw someone out here, so we came out to see."

"Where are you headed?" Harry asked.

"I'm off to visit some family in South Africa," Madame Hooch explained.

"Excellent," Harry replied. "I wish you the best of luck."

"Thank you, Harry."

"I'll see you later, Harry," McGonagall said, as they both turned to go.

"Headmistress?" Harry called, and McGonagall turned back a little. "Is Hagrid in?"

"No, Harry, he's gone to visit his brother, and he said he was stopping in France on his way home. I expect him back in several weeks, however."

Harry nodded. Hagrid had eventually relocated his half-brother Grawp to the Black Hills of Bavaria, where he would be less likely to accidentally hurt someone. And it appeared Hagrid was still romancing Madame Maxime.

"Thanks!" Harry called as the pair receded. Harry was slowly becoming conscious that he was dripping with sweat, and his shirt was sticking to him. He took the Snitch back to the closet, put it away, and then weighed his options.

Do I want to go all the way back to my flat? he asked himself. Deciding he was feeling lazy, he mounted his broom and zipped down to Hogsmeade. He could nick a fresh shirt from Ron's closet if he couldn't convince Hermione to clean his for him. He was always rubbish at laundry spells.

-- -- -- --

"Shhhhh!" Hermione urged, immediately as Ginny arrived.

"Charlie asleep?" Ginny whispered.

"Finally," Hermione whispered back. "Come on, we'll sit on the front porch."

The two women left the house, and sat in the rockers on the porch. "What are you doing here?" Hermione asked Ginny.

"The people from the Ministry are putting up the anti-publicity wards, and I figured I needed a walk."

Hermione nodded.

The wards were called anti-publicity wards, but in reality they were more like anti-reporter wards. Each reporter was supposed to carry a press pass. The wards wouldn't allow anyone carrying a press pass to enter an area, similar to an age line. They also worked the other way around, such as sideline areas at Quidditch arenas where only reporters were allowed. Any reporter caught trying to sneak into a protected area by leaving a pass behind was subject to charges of trespassing, heavy Ministry fines, and would lose their job. The wards were tricky to set up though, meaning that generally their use was limited to the Minister of Magic (and any family) and to rich witches and wizards who could pay the high fees to security firms. Ginny, by virtue of her father's position was getting hers done by the Ministry.

"What's Ron doing today?" Ginny asked.

"I think he said he's catching up on some paperwork," Hermione said. "There is a lot to catch up on after the Malfoy thing."

"Right."

With a surprising suddenness, a figure on a broomstick pulled up and dropped to the ground in the Haven's front yard.

"Harry?" Hermione called, surprised.

"Hey, ladies," Harry said, striding up to the porch. "I wasn't expecting to see you, Ginny. I'd come over and give you a hug, but I'm disgusting." He had the grace to look embarrassed.

Ginny and Hermione could see that now. His shirt was soaked through, and his hair was matted to his scalp. His was giving off a noticeable odour, but strangely, Ginny felt heat rising inside her as she looked at him, and she was shocked to realize that she was feeling pure, unadulterated desire. "That's okay, Harry," she stammered.

"Good workout?" Hermione asked, looking bemusedly between Harry and Ginny. Ginny felt a blush creep up her face when she realized that Hermione could tell what she was thinking.

"I borrowed the Snitch from the school set, and was doing some dry runs out on the pitch. It felt really good." He grinned. "I thought maybe I could use your shower, that okay, Hermione? I'll nick a shirt from Ron."

"It's fine Harry, you know where it is. Just try to be quiet, Charlie's asleep. And if you leave the shirt here, you know I'll clean it for you," she said, rolling her eyes. She looked over at Ginny. "Three years out of Hogwarts and I'm still bailing them out."

"Thanks," Harry said, grinning, and he leaned his broom against the wall. "I'll be down in a bit," he said, peeling his shirt off and leaving it on the porch floor. Ginny caught a tantalizing glimpse of his bare back before he disappeared into the house. She took a deep breath.

"They're just so frustrating when they do that," Hermione said slyly. "They have no idea that when they think they're disgusting, that's when we want to get our hands on them the most. Ron acts the same way. When I would meet him down on the pitch after a match, before he went to shower, oh, Merlin, I just want to take him and…"

"Hermione!" Ginny half-screeched. "Please, I know we agreed that we could try to pretend this wasn't my brother we're talking about, but in this case this is too much information."

Hermione laughed.

-- -- -- --

Strangely, the rain was cold. Shouldn't be like this in July. Of course, this is London at its stereotypical best, he thought, as he walked down the wet sidewalk and under the police tape. A flash of light caught his eye, and he spotted a man cupping his hands to light a cigarette.

"Thought you were going to quit?" he asked.

The man jumped, startled, and dropped his Zippo lighter. "Jesus, Joseph and Mary, Inspector, you gave me a fright."

"Sorry, Frank," Inspector Chris Collins of Scotland Yard said to the patrolman. They knew each other well. That didn't speak well for the neighbourhood. "Feeling skittish tonight?"

"Well, you know how it is," the patrolman shrugged. "It's late, dark, cold, raining, the neighbourhood…and the glorious company."

"What have we got?"

"This way," the patrolman gestured with an electric torch, leading him towards the alley. Collins pulled his torch out of his jacket pocket.

The neighbourhood had once been a well-to-do area of tall, narrow, semi-detached houses, inhabited by middle class Victorian families with scullery maids and cooks. When the well-to-do families had begun moving out of the city into the suburbs, the neighbourhood had deteriorated rapidly, leaving behind empty shells that no one painted, dying bushes, and lots of dark alleys that had once been back-gardens. Callander Square, once proud, was now only a haven for crime and lawlessness.

The object of Inspector Collins's interest lay on the ground, covered by a rubberized sheet against the rain. "Well?"

The patrolman took out a notebook, holding it sideways to prevent the words from being erased by the steady rain, and read it by the light of his torch. "Adult male, looks to be approximately thirty to fifty years old, found by a local wino. No signs of a struggle, no ID."

"Robbery," Collins thought aloud, and then made to lift the sheet.

"Maybe," the patrolman's voice sounded odd. "I'm not sure though."

Collins turned. "Oh?"

"Well, I don't know if he was carrying any."

"What do you mean?"

"See for yourself," the patrolman directed.

Collins pulled back the sheet, waved his torch over the body and blinked hard. The man under the sheet had his eyes open wide in terror. There didn't appear to be any apparent wound, but the Inspector hadn't started looking yet. What got his attention was the way the man was dressed.

He was wearing a suit coat, but he was wearing it over what appeared to be a floor length robe, similar to a judge's robe, except it was a dark green. A brown fedora hat lay on the ground as if it had fallen from the man's head. He was wearing high top sneakers on his feet.

"Odd, isn't it?" the patrolman said. "Never seen anything like it."

"Mmm," Collins nodded. I have. "What's the cause?"

"No idea, Inspector, that's the other weird thing. No wound of any kind that I can see, no indication of trauma. He's just…dead."

"Indeed." Collins pulled the sheet back a little further. "What the…?"

"Yes, that's the kicker, isn't it?" the patrolman said, kneeling down beside Collins. "It was obviously done after the fact, what with all the stuff around on the ground."

The man's hair looked as if it had been hacked off with a weed eater. Locks of it were still scattered on the ground around the man's head. A chill ran up and down Collins's spine. "Very odd."

"Maybe we've got a loony on the loose? Someone with a hair fetish?"

"Let's hope not," Collins said. "Forensics crew on its way?"

"Had to roust them out of bed, I'm sure," the patrolman chuckled. "Don't you have a social life Inspector? You're always the first one here on these graveyard shift calls."

"Not to speak of Frank, not to speak of." He shook his head and stood. "I'm going to have a look around."

"Suit yourself, Inspector." The patrolman shrugged.

Collins stood up and walked around the alley briefly. The patrolman was right, there was no sign of a struggle, no indication the body had been moved at all. Nothing. Just an anonymous john doe, albeit one that was oddly dressed, lying in an alley. With his hair unceremoniously cut. Something didn't add up.

"Where's the wino that found him?" Collins asked.

"Took his name, and let him go on his way. He said he hangs about this neighbourhood, so if you want to find him again, shouldn't be too hard."

"Let's have someone bring him in, I want to talk to him, find out if he saw anything. Either of these two buildings occupied?" Collins gestured to the houses on either side of the alley.

"No, Inspector. Both empty, near as I can tell," the patrolman said apologetically. "I don't think you're going to find a witness."

Collins set his jaw grimly. "We'll see."

The forensics team arrived just then, bathing the area with their bright klieg lights, and Collins took the opportunity to walk back out to the main street. An ambulance had arrived as well, and its drivers were waiting to take possession of the victim when the pictures were all taken. He looked up and down at the dark buildings, shadows now dancing eerily in the flashing of lights from police cars and the ambulance.

Someone died, and I don't know who he was…but I might know what he was. The question is, now what do I do with that knowledge, and how best to use it…? Collins took a deep breath and glanced at his watch. He grabbed one of the forensics blokes who was walking back to the equipment truck. "I want those pictures on my desk by oh-nine-hundred, got it?"

"Yes, Inspector, we'll take care of it."

"Good."

-- -- -- --

Thursday morning, when Harry woke up, it was still raining. It had started the previous night, after he'd gotten home. He'd spent most of the rest of previous day sitting on the porch with Ginny and Hermione, occasionally playing with Charlie when he was awake, and at one point he'd fallen asleep leaning back in the rocker, with Charlie curled up on his chest. He'd awoken to find Hermione standing over him with her camera and her and Ginny wearing identical expressions of complete sappiness. He couldn't wait to see that picture.

Great, Harry thought, looking out the window. I suppose now I'll have to pack, since I can't go play Quidditch.

Harry looked at the pile of boxes in the living room and sighed. Well, I could always go bother Remus at work…

-- -- -- --

The pictures were waiting on his desk, along with the Coroner's report. The man's neck was broken, according to the file, it had been quick, painless, and the victim was taken completely by surprise.

Odd…not what I was expecting, Collins thought, picking up the folder and putting the whole thing into his briefcase.

"I'm going to shake some trees," he told the Chief Inspector, grabbing his McIntosh on his way out.

"The John Doe over in Callander Square?" the woman asked.

"That's the one. I'll be back in a couple hours."

"I've got Missing Persons keeping us posted on anything that comes in. I'll page you if something turns up."

"Thanks."

Inspector Collins took the elevator down to the first floor and walked out into the rain. His leg ached again, and he could tell it was slowing him down.

He cursed silently as he wearily climbed into the cab that took him away from Scotland Yard Headquarters to the train station. He would try and catch a nap on the train. It had been late last night.

-- -- -- --

"Ha," Harry declared. "Beat you again. Pay up, old man." Harry was doing a highly unattractive victory dance around Remus's desk.

"You just wait, whippersnapper, and I'll make you play chess for money next time," Remus observed, walking over to pull the darts out of his board.

Harry was too busy with his bizarre dance to care.

"Harry, you look ridiculous. People are staring at you." Remus finally pointed out.

"Eh, what do I care?" Harry asked. "Except for the fact that the press is after me, and is making my girlfriend look like a gold-digger, everything is going well for me."

"What are you going to do about that, anyway?" Remus asked, stepping back to the throwing line.

Harry shrugged. "Wait for the coverage to die down? I don't know. What should I do? I mean, it's not like I can go hexing people. If I tried to hex everyone who called Ginny a slut or worse, I'd never see her, since I'd be gone all the time."

Remus threw his dart into the outer circle. He muttered something inappropriate under his breath as he started to set for the next dart. "Well, you could file a civil suit. Slander or libel." He threw.

Harry shrugged, shifting his head back and forth. "I guess. But I thought that might just drag it out further. I don't really want to do that. I just want it to go away."

"And what does Ginny think?" Remus asked, throwing his final dart. It hit the board just to the edge of the bull's-eye. "Damn."

"Well, we never really had a chance to talk about what to do about it. I don't think either of us wanted to bring up the subject."

"You should probably talk to her about what she feels about the whole situation," Remus said, as Harry stepped to the line. "Her opinion is important. After all, they're not vilifying you."

"You're right," Harry conceded, casually tossing a dart. It hit in the inner circle, closer to the bull's-eye than Remus's last shot. "What are our options, really?"

"You'd have to speak to your solicitor, Harry. I'm not particularly knowledgeable in those types of law."

Harry lobbed another dart toward the board. It hit the bull's-eye. "Score!" Harry crowed. "All right, I'll owl him and find out what our options are. Then I'll talk to Ginny."

"That sounds like a good plan," Remus said. He frowned at the dart board. "You sure you're not using magic?"

Harry laughed. "Oh, sure. Whip me at chess every day, but when I win at darts, you think I'm using magic. You just can't handle the truth old man, you're getting schooled."

"I suppose I could say that I have work to do," Remus said, pointing to his desk.

"Hmph." Harry said. "Well, I could go harass Ron for a while," he allowed.

"I'm sure he'd appreciate it," Remus agreed. "I should really get back to work."

"All right," Harry sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. "You should really try this rich playboy thing Remus. It's a lot of fun."

"I guarantee in a week, you're going to be bored out of your skull," Remus said, smirking at him.

"Spoil sport." Harry glared at Remus as he started to leave. "The moon is next week, right?" Remus nodded. "You going to let me mind the house so you can do your thing in the basement rather than at St. Mungo's?"

"Harry, you know you don't have to…"

"But I want to. I don't want you cooped up in chains and all that junk they do at the hospital. Isn't it more comfortable in your own place?"

"Well, yes."

"Then it's settled then. I'll see you later!" And Harry left before Remus could protest further.

-- -- -- --

Inspector Collins tapped the cab driver on the shoulder. "You can let me off here," he told the man.

"Here?" The driver asked, slowing down at a fork in the road. "There's nothing here!" The road took them through the dark woods in a rural area near Cambridge.

"It's police business," he told him, flashing his badge.

"Oh, all right then, guv'nor, don't want to inconvenience you," the cabby said hurriedly, pulling over on to the shoulder.

"You've been most helpful," he told him, smiling, and tipping him generously. Collins got out of the cab, turned his collar up at the rain, and grabbed his briefcase. He watched the cabby pull away, and then turned up the dirt road that forked off the paved main road. Now where…there!

Collins turned up a narrow path in the woods, and after a few hundred meters, it widened out into a broad walkway, and then into a rolling lawn, tucked into a clearing. A cosy cottage dominated the clearing, smoke from the chimney curling up despite the rain. It was a welcoming sight.

Collins had practically grown up here at his Aunt's house. His mother had come here after his father had walked out, and young Chris remembered living here off and on with fondness. He had never realized that his Aunt was different until they had told him, around the time he started school. It was a whole new vocabulary to learn. Mummy, he was told, was a Squib. Aunt Anastasia was a witch.

He knocked on the door, and heard Aunt Anastasia call that she was coming. The door opened.

"Chris! What in Merlin's name are you doing here?" she cried. "Come in out of the rain before you catch your death of cold!" Aunt Anastasia ushered him in, drawing her wand, and drying his wet, damp clothes. "Come have a seat by the fire!" she ordered, and with another flick, she conjured an ottoman for him to put his leg up. "How's you're leg feeling?" she asked.

"Sore," Chris admitted, settling into the comfy chair by the fire and putting his foot up. "But I'm all right."

"What brings you here?" Aunt Anastasia asked, sitting down in her own chair. Her cat, a large, orange tabby that had to be as old as Chris was, curled up in her lap.

"Well, unfortunately, business," Chris sighed. He opened his briefcase and handed across the pictures. "Do you happen to recognize him?"

His Aunt studied the pictures briefly. "No, should I?"

"Well, I'm glad you don't, although there's a part of me that wished you had. He's dead."

"Dead?" Aunt Anastasia was startled.

"He turned up in an alley in Callander Square last night. Someone broke his neck, and stole whatever ID he was carrying."

"Terrible. Any idea who did it?"

"No, there was no physical evidence to speak off. He's dressed like a wizard, as you can tell, but they didn't even find a wand."

Aunt Anastasia furrowed her eyebrows. "That's odd."

"I agree. I'm inclined to think it means that our suspect should be a wizard. A petty crook out for a couple of bob for drugs wouldn't bother with it," Collins paused a moment. "One other thing," he said, unsure how to go on. "His hair had been cut."

"His hair?" Aunt Anastasia narrowed her eyes at him. "What do you mean?"

"Post-mortem. Looked like someone hacked large tufts off with a knife or a razor. There was stray hair all around the body's head on the ground."

"Missing wand, missing ID and hair has been cut?" His Aunt clearly was tracking onto something.

"What are you thinking?" he prompted.

"Well, there's a Potion…and it requires a person's hair. It's called Polyjuice, and it makes you look like the person whose hair is in the Potion." She stood up, pushing the cat gently off her lap and went over to her bookshelf, searching for a book.

"So what you're telling me is that a wizard bumped this guy off to steal his identity?" The cat relocated to his lap, and Collins found himself absently stroking the animal's fur.

"It's possible." His Aunt was running her fingers over her titles, not finding what she was looking for.

"I think I need to talk to someone in your law enforcement. What are they called again?"

"Aurors," Aunt Anastasia pursed her lips. "I don't know how you could do that."

"Try and find out," Chris urged. "I'm going to do what I can, but I'll need some info. I also don't want to end up with my memory erased."

"I'll do what I can. I might be able to write to an old schoolmate. One of her sons is an Auror." She gave up and returned to her chair.

"Okay, that sounds good," Collins said. "I need to get back to work soon," he said.

"But you just got here!" Aunt Anastasia protested. "Let me at least get you some tea."

"Yes, Aunt Anastasia." Chris had to admit, it was nice to be fussed over once in a while.

-- -- -- --

"Well, hello there," Molly said to the strange owl on her windowsill. "And where did you come from?"

She took the letter from the owl, and gave him a treat. It didn't leave right away, so Molly suspected it was supposed to wait for a response. She opened the letter.

"Oh my goodness, Anastasia! I haven't heard from her in years!"

Molly read the letter carefully, then picked up her quill. The first letter she gave to Anastasia's owl. The second, she gave to Edwina.

-- -- -- --

"Wotcher, Ronnikins." Harry grinned, sticking his head into Ron's office. Ron was frowning at a piece of parchment in his hand.

"Hey, Harry," Ron said absently.

"Whatcha got there?" Harry asked, taking a seat across from Ron.

"I'm not sure. It's a little bizarre."

"Oh?" Harry's curiosity was peaked.

"It's a letter from Mum," Ron began. "She's got an old school friend whose nephew is a Muggle police inspector – her sister was a Squib, you see."

"Right, with you so far."

"Well, her nephew knows about us, you see. Spent a lot of time at his Aunt's house as a child. And he's stumbled across something odd while working an investigation, and would like to speak with one of us, if possible." He rubbed the back of his head, thinking.

"Any word on what the investigation is?" Harry picked up one of the picture frame off Ron's desk. He watched the Ron and Hermione in the picture snogging each other on their wedding day. "That's a bit disturbing."

Ron ignored that comment. "No, the letter doesn't say. Mum said her friend didn't say."

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked, putting the picture down, and picking up a paperweight shaped like a pyramid.

"I'm intrigued. I want to meet with this guy, but I'm not sure when I can make the time."

Harry's curiosity was getting the better of him. "Mind if I tag along, if you do go?" he asked as he began juggling the paperweight.

Ron shrugged. "I've got no particular objection. Might want to ask Kingsley though."

"What Kingsley doesn't know won't hurt him. Just let me know when."

Ron shook his head. "Sure, Harry, it's not your career anymore, just mine." Ron rolled his eyes. "I'll let you know." Ron reached over the desk to snatch the pyramid out of mid-air and set it back on the desk.

"Thanks." Harry replied. "So how's everything?" Harry grabbed a quill from Ron's jar and realized it was a sugar quill. He held it up in question, and Ron waved a dismissive hand. Harry eagerly began nibbling.

"Things are okay. They've gotten a lot quieter now that we've made a decision about Malfoy. Just routine things now. Paperwork to catch up, Muggle baiters to chase. I think this job is going to be a lot quieter with the Death Eaters gone." Ron shuffled a set of folders from one side of the desk to the other.

"Oh, I can imagine," Harry agreed. "And it will be boring without me around."

"That's a given, but I'm not kidding myself to think you won't be around all the time. Ron leaned back in his chair a little.

"Oh no, I imagine I'll be floating in and out, offering unsolicited advice, as retired Aurors are wont to do." Harry gestured expressively.

"Oh, great, my own, personal, Mad-eye Moody." Ron rolled his eyes.

"Of course." Harry grinned. "So, how's Hermione?"

"You see my wife more than I do. I should be asking you that question." Ron glared at him sourly.

Harry laughed. "Probably true, but you've seen her more recently than I have, at least, I should hope you were home last night and this morning."

"Yes, I was. She's fine; Charlie's not sleeping well, though, so we're a bit frazzled." Ron rubbed his face tiredly.

"Not sleeping?"

"He goes to sleep, then we set him down, and he wakes up moments later crying. He won't stay asleep." Ron stared up at the ceiling.

"That's rough," Harry said sympathetically. "How long will it take to grow out of that stage?"

Ron laughed and looked back down at Harry. "A while, mate. You don't know that much about kids, do you?"

"Well, I haven't had to," Harry said defensively. "I didn't see much of the twins' kids. Charlie's really the first one I've had everyday contact with."

"Well, get used to it, because you and Ginny are at the top of our list for free babysitting service." Ron smirked at him.

"Would that be, me and Ginny separately, or as a pair?" Harry asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Ron glared at him. "Must you?"

"I only do it because I care." Harry grinned.

"So what should I tell this guy?" Ron asked, trying to take the conversation off dangerous ground.

"How are you supposed to get in touch with him?"

"I'm supposed to get a message to him at Scotland Yard. That's not the hard part, though. What should I say?" Ron picked up a quill and pulled out a blank sheet of parchment.

"Just tell him you're interested in a meet." Harry shrugged. "Pick a place, somewhere at a pub or something in Muggle London."

"Got any suggestions?" Ron asked.

"Hmm," Harry said, rubbing his chin. "Someplace nice and anonymous." Harry snapped his fingers. "There's that café just down the street from St. Mungo's. What's it called?"

"Oh, yeah, I think I know the place you're talking about. I'll have somebody check out the name, and I'll tell him to meet us there. Say tomorrow, around one? It won't be too crowded, since lunch is over, but it will be agreeably busy enough to keep things private."

"Right."

"I'll get ready and put that together. What did you come in here for anyway?" Ron asked, starting to make some notes on a pad.

"I came to harass you because I'm avoiding packing. Remus didn't want to lose to me at darts anymore, so he threw me out."

"Oh, fine, so you come to distract me, and invite yourself along on official business."

"Something like that." Harry grinned, still nibbling the sugar quill.

"Don't you have a job, or something?" Ron asked, resting his elbows on his desk and putting his face in his hands.

"Not until autumn."

"You know, I do have a job, too." Ron pointed out. "Unlike some people in this room."

"Oh, all right, be a spoilsport," Harry said, looking at this watch. "I'll let you get some work done before the day ends. I'm going to go drop in on the twins, and then maybe I'll go by the Burrow for dinner."

"Good idea, Mum and Dad would love the company. I worry about them all alone."

"Ron, at this point, they probably enjoy the quiet." Harry popped the sugar quill in his mouth on his way out.

-- -- -- --

"Ginny!" Molly exclaimed. "How nice to see you!"

"Hey Mum, I need a favour." Ginny said.

"What do you need dear?"

"I have an idea I want to run by you. Would you tell me what you think." Ginny elaborated for a few moments.

"Ginny, that's a marvellous idea. Just let me leave a note for Arthur and grab a few things. I'll be right with you."

-- -- -- --

Harry Apparated to the Burrow after leaving the twins' shop on Diagon Alley. It had been highly amusing watching them try and run the shop while they watched their children, but when they had attempted to press him into service he made his excuses and beat a hasty retreat. The first thing he noticed on his arrival at the Burrow was the smell of smoke.

"Hello," Harry coughed in the heavy cloud. "What's going on?" He fumbled his way to the kitchen, as the smoke was emanating from that direction. Someone else was in there, frantically doing something with the stove.

"Augamenti!" Harry cried, dousing the stove with water. The stove hissed, and Harry pointed his wand at the windows and they opened. A breeze began to clear the smoke, revealing a wet, soot covered Arthur Weasley.

"Mr. Weasley? What were you doing?" Harry asked, aghast. "Where's Mrs. Weasley?"

"She's gone out," Mr. Weasley said miserably. "I thought I'd make myself some dinner, but it's been so long since I cooked anything, I think it got out of hand…"

Harry pursed his lips together, and summoned every once of self-control in an attempt not to laugh. He waved his wand to clean up some of the mess in the kitchen. "Come on, Mr. Weasley. Dinner's on me tonight."

-- -- -- --

"Chris?" Sergeant Davis leaned his head into Collins' office.

"What's up, Tom?" Collins asked.

"Some bloke left this note for you downstairs at the desk, said I should deliver it right off, and that it was important."

"Oh?" Collins stood up and crossed the room. Davis met him half way and handed over the note. It was sealed with wax, oddly enough, with an unfamiliar logo pressed in the wax. He ripped open the envelope.

Inspector Collins,

We understand that you may have some information to exchange with us
My colleague and I will meet with you tomorrow at one o'clock at The Rampart
Lion on Gough Street. We will be waiting for you.

The note was unsigned. Collins committed the time and place to memory, and then tossed the note into the special wastebasket marked for burning. "What did he look like?" Collins asked the Sergeant.

"Looked like a messenger type, shortish with brown hair. Didn't notice anything else, sorry, Inspector."

"No, that's all right. He was probably the middle man anyway."

"An informant, Inspector?"

"Something like that." Collins went over to his calendar and pencilled the appointment in.

-- -- -- --

Mr. Weasley had been fascinated by the Muggle pizza parlour, and Harry had had a difficult time keeping him from making a scene. And he hadn't wanted to leave when they were finished eating either. Despite all this, they still arrived home before Mrs. Weasley.

"Where did she go?" Harry asked.

"Oh, the note said something about going over to Penny's to sit with little Arthur. Penny was going out, I guess."

"Oh, I wonder where she went." Harry wondered.

"Somewhere with Ginny, from what I understand."

"Oh, so Ginny's not home either." Harry was disappointed.

"No, I don't think so," Mr. Weasley said. "Thank you for dinner, Harry. I had a lot of fun," he said, as Harry made to leave.

"I did to, Mr. Weasley. And it kept you from burning down the kitchen."

"Well, yes, there's that too." Mr. Weasley had the grace to look a bit abashed. "Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Mr. Weasley."

Harry Apparated back to his flat, and looked at his boxes once again. He sighed, and walked over to the DVD rack. The disc slipped into the player, and Harry flopped onto the couch, hitting play.

The flotsam and jetsam of a defeated army lay scattered on the beach. The voice over the radio was deep, resonant and familiar.

"The battle of France is over. The Battle of Britain has just begun."

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