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Friends and Foes | ||||||
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Category: Post-Hogwarts, Post-DH/AB Characters:All Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Comedy, Drama, Fluff, Romance, Tragedy Warnings: Mild Sexual Situations, Violence Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 176 Summary: Harry and his friends finally know who killed Ginny and Luna's classmate, Colin Creevey. It is 2001, and the search has been ongoing for a year. Will those final few foes who escaped justice at the end of The Battle ever be brought to justice? Hitcount: Story Total: 56417; Chapter Total: 3798 Awards: View Trophy Room |
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10. Diagon Alley The magical streetlamps in Diagon Alley flickered fitfully as they cast their blue glow across the street. It was that uncertain time of night, the time when it could have been either very late at night or very early in the morning. The street was almost deserted–almost. Four black-cloaked wizards strode soundlessly through the gloom. Despite the fact that there was no one around to see them, they walked in single file and kept in the shadows close to the dark shop fronts. The lead figure was dark-haired, bespectacled, and of average height; the two behind him were noticeably taller; and the burly one-eared redhead bringing up the rear was the shortest. In an hour the sun would reveal itself for another day and the street would begin to wake, but for the moment the quartet had the place to themselves. ‘The Muffliato charm on the boots works well,’ the tall and gangling red-haired man who was second in line said quietly. ‘Another great product from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes,’ the one-eared red-head bringing up the rear murmured. ‘I reckon that another Auror contract is imminent.’ As the quartet reached Gringotts and climbed the stairs to the front door of the bank, a large lamp above the doors flickered into life. The four men blinked in the sudden brightness. ‘Lights, Ron,’ ordered the man in the lead. ‘Oh yeah. Sorry, Harry,’ Ron replied. He pulled what looked like a silver cigarette lighter from his pocket and clicked it five times. The light from the lamp above their heads, together with that from the four nearest streetlamps, shot through the air and into the Deluminator. They were once again plunged into darkness, and Ron yawned. ‘Are you okay, mate?’ asked Harry. His friend yawned again. ‘I’m fed up with early mornings,’ Ron admitted. ‘And Hermione was at work until ten last night. I never see her. Why did we have to be here so early? It’s not even the crack of dawn yet. And why is it that Nev’s missing yet another early morning! How is it he gets to stay in bed?’ ‘This isn’t an early morning, lazybones. It’s a late night. I haven’t been to bed yet,’ said George. ‘No stamina, that’s your problem, Ron. You can’t keep up with Hermione, can you?’ ‘Nev’s not in bed, Ron. He’s in Cardiff, checking up on the surveillance outside Beaker and Rodd. And you know we can’t do this during the day,’ said Harry, ignoring Ron’s brother. ‘Everyone would see us. And the Goblins wouldn’t approve.’ ‘It’s none of their business! We’re not mapping Gringotts,’ said Ron grumpily. ‘We’re mapping the area outside their front door. It’s a section of street, of Diagon Alley; it’s not part of the bank.’ ‘That won’t matter to the goblins,’ Harry said. ‘We’ll be able to see the names of everyone who enters.’ He pulled the parchment from his pocket and placed it on the ground in front of the door. ‘Everyone ready?’ ‘Yes,’ said George. ‘Yeah,’ Ron agreed. Terry Boot nodded. Four wands were placed on the centre of the parchment, tips touching; four voices whispered the enchantment; and four wands were dragged slowly across the parchment, one to each corner. As they moved, a blue-white light connected the four wands and created a glowing rectangle on the blank page. Once the corners of the parchment were reached, the quartet lifted their still magically connected wands into the air and began to walk to their agreed locations. Harry and Terry walked over to the properties opposite the bank, and then moved away from each other. Ron and George kept to the wall they’d been following, Ron returning the way they’d come, George moving further up Diagon Alley. Soon an area forty yards either side of Gringotts and covering the entire width of the street was enclosed inside the faintly glowing blue-white lines connecting the wands. The quartet looked at each other, checking that everyone else was in position. Moving as one, the four wands were placed on the ground. Four voices whispered the closing enchantment. The blue-white light left the wand-tips and slithered across the cobbles and up the steps in an ever-shrinking rectangle. It reached the parchment, which flared briefly. ‘That was brighter than I expected,’ said Ron. ‘It was hardly worth me putting out the lights.’ He clicked the Deluminator, and the lights flew back to their original positions. ‘Quiet,’ George hissed. In the still pre-dawn, everyone could hear the clatter of boots on cobbles. Harry flicked his wand and the parchment fluttered through the air and into his outstretched hand. His companions hurried towards him and huddled around the parchment. ‘It’s working,’ said Harry. All four names were huddled together on the parchment. ‘Who goes there?’ A voice asked. A new name “Albert Thynne” appeared on the far edge of the map. ‘Harry Potter, Auror Office,’ Harry called. ‘It’s been a while, Bailiff Thynne, how are you?’ Harry stared across the large desk. The sallow, thin-faced man in the large chair stared back; his bored and supercilious expression made it obvious to Harry that he’d asked the wrong question. ‘Bless you, Mr Potter, we don’t actually create every Portkey, we simply authorise them.’ the man said haughtily. ‘We licence the operators, regularly examine their credentials, and prosecute those who create an unauthorised Portkey.’ ‘Then please explain, Mr Hewitson,’ said Harry. To curb his annoyance and frustration with the man, he closed his eyes for a moment and remembered Ginny’s last Quidditch match. ‘Explain what, exactly?’ Hewitson spoke with an over-exaggerated politeness. Harry smiled at the memory of Ginny’s final goal, and opened his eyes. ‘Assume that I know nothing about how the Portkey Office operates. Let’s say, for example, that I want to move a large amount of furniture from one property to another.’ ‘You could try to avoid using an authorised Portkey. Many people do. You could move it yourself via the Floo Network, provided that the items will fit through the fireplaces at both the origin and destination. Of course if it doesn’t, or if you drop the item, it could block the system. But that would be the Floo Network Authority’s problem, not mine. I believe it’s one of their biggest. Alternatively you could use Apparition, if you can physically carry the items. Both methods have their drawbacks. Alternatively, you tie the furniture together, create a Portkey, and contact my staff for authorisation. You, and everything you’re holding on to, will be transported to the destination.’ The expression on the face of the Head of the Portkey Office became assessing, and slightly venal. He took off his glasses and began to polish them. ‘If you really are looking to move, then I could give you a short list of authorised contractors,’ Hewitson said eagerly. ‘If you’re looking for a reliable, efficient, and discreet Porter, then…’ ‘I’m simply trying to find out how the system works,’ said Harry. ‘I want to find out what your office does.’ ‘We make certain that goods and people can be moved efficiently, with no clashes of destination and timing, and we licence Porters–Portkey Operators–and check the safety of their work.’ Hewitson said. ‘It’s all supply and demand, Mr Potter.’ He waved a hand as if those three words explained everything, then grabbed his lapels in his hands, leant back in his chair, and began to expound. ‘In business, distribution is the key. Take, for example, the Nimbus Broom Company. They buy raw twigs and broom wood, their suppliers Porter them in bulk to their broom manufactory. Once the brooms are made, the company then Porters the finished product to the shops. A lot of witches and wizards make a good living by moving other people’s goods around. There’s a skill to it. I’m sure that you know that! If you’re inexperienced, travelling by Portkey can be a little bumpy. Imagine what it’s like when you have the Portkey in one hand and a large crate containing four dozen brooms in the other. The top Portering companies guarantee a perfect delivery. The larger the load a licensed Porter can land safely, the more he can earn. A good Porter can make a very good living.’ ‘So, most companies use Portkeys. Would you expect a company which imports and sells potion ingredients to deliver those items by Portkey?’ ‘Aha!’ the man said waving a finger in the air. ‘I knew this wasn’t simple curiosity, Mr Potter! You’re working on a case. What do you want to know? Most of the larger companies have Portering contracts, and usually they rely on one Portage company to deliver their wares. Which company are you interested in? I can guarantee they’ll be in our files somewhere.’ ‘I don’t want to take up any more of your valuable time, Mr Hewitson,’ said Harry politely. ‘And I don’t want everyone to know what we’re up to. All I need is a quick look through the relevant files. I know the name of the company supplying the goods, and where they are being delivered.’ ‘Discretion,’ Hewitson tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. ‘I understood! Follow me.’ He escorted Harry to the door of his office, and ushered him out into a room filled with busy-looking clerks. ‘Anthea,’ he bellowed. ‘Take Mr Potter to the file room. And be quick about it. It’s important Auror Office business.’ Harry sighed. When Harry re-entered the Auror Office, Lavender was standing at Terry’s desk. He could tell by her stance, and by the wheedling pitch of her voice, that her demands were not being met. Terry was unmoved; he shook his head in an impassive, and silent, refusal of her demands. Susan, Bobbie, and Dominic Strang were keeping their heads buried in paperwork and attempting to ignore the escalating altercation. Ron, however, seemed unable to ignore Lavender. Seeing Harry, he strode across the room, his face like thunder. ‘I told you!’ he hissed. ‘She’s an absolute bloody nightmare. The moment we find the last of the fugitives, I’m handing in my notice. I don’t know why I helped you get her in here!’ ‘She saved my life, Ron,’ said Harry quietly, trying to ignore the petulant whining coming from the other end of the room. ‘She almost got killed trying to capture Lestrange, and she really wanted the job.’ ‘Mr Robards said no!’ Terry said firmly, as Lavender finally forced him to speak. ‘Ha-wweee,’ Lavender’s voice went up another octave as she turned her attention on him. Not for the first time, Harry gave Ron a look of sympathy. As she scampered across the room towards them, Ron turned away and Harry once again wondered whether Ron was right. Had helping her into the Auror Office been a good idea? ‘I’m busy,’ he said sharply as she batted her eyelashes at him. ‘What do you want?’ ‘Ooh,’ Lavender began, oozing sympathy. ‘What’s the matter, Haw…’ Seeing his face, she lost both the pout and the little-girl act. She started again, using a much more matter-of-fact voice. ‘You’re busy, sorry. I’ll keep it short. Could you ask Terry to add Astoria Greengrass to the list of names that will trigger the Gringotts alarm, please?’ ‘Robards agreed that we’d put alarms on the names of the five fugitives, and no one else,’ said Ron sharply, turning back to face his ex-girlfriend. ‘How many names do you want? If we put more names on the list, the alarm will be going off all the time! Astoria isn’t wanted for anything.’ ‘Harry wants me to talk to her, Ron,’ said Lavender apologetically. She lowered her voice further and dropped her head, as contrite as a scolded puppy. ‘It’s difficult for me to bump into her by accident, but if I knew when she was in Diagon Alley…’ ‘Is that the only name you want adding?’ asked Harry when he realised what she wanted, and why. ‘I’d like to “bump into” Pansy, too,’ Lavender began. Seeing Harry’s face, she reconsidered. ‘But Astoria would be best. She’s Daphne’s sister, and you think that she might have some useful information. I could simply visit the Greengrasses and ask, but her mother hates me, and besides, an unannounced visit would put her on guard. You suggested…’ as Lavender continued to look into Harry’s face, he saw realisation spark and her contrition was replaced by a teasing grin. ‘It wasn’t you, was it? You’d have gone in yourself, all “I’m Harry Potter! Tell me what you know!” and you’d have got nothing. I bet it was Ginny… Anyway, if want me to talk to Astoria, it should be a friendly chat. She can’t know that she’s being interrogated. So, if I “just happen to bump into her” outside the bank…’ Lavender looked hopefully up into his eyes. Harry looked over her shoulder towards Terry, who had been listening to the discussion. He met Harry’s gaze and shrugged. ‘You should’ve explained,’ he grumbled. Lavender had the good sense to look sorry. ‘Astoria, but no one else,’ said Harry firmly. ‘Is that okay, Terry? I know it takes a long time to add an alarm to a name.’ ‘It’s quicker with practice,’ said Terry. Pulling out his wand, he once again began working on the Map. Lavender smiled happily and moved forward. Fearing that she might be about to embrace him, Harry took a step backwards. ‘I just wanted to say thanks, Harry. Hugs don’t mean anything.’ Lavender pouted, shaking her head sadly. ‘Luna hugs you.’ ‘Luna hugs everyone,’ Harry said. ‘For your information, so do I,’ said Lavender petulantly. ‘Why is Luna…’ ‘Why is Luna?’ interrupted Ron thoughtfully. ‘That’s one of the great mysteries of the universe. When you can figure out the answer to that one, Lavender, please let us know.’ Harry smiled. Lavender giggled and gave Ron a rather wistful look; he noticed, looked sheepish, and turned away to walk back to his desk. ‘Sorry, Lavender,’ he said. Although they’d split years earlier, there was still a tension between Ron and Lavender. Harry knew that Ron’s one word was as much as Lavender would ever get, but he wasn’t certain that Lavender realised that she’d heard Ron’s full and final apology. For a moment, Harry thought that she would follow him, try to continue the conversation. She didn’t, but that was in part because Neville bustled into the office wearing a worried expression. ‘I’ve spoken to Mr Webb, and to Sheriff Phillips,’ Neville announced. ‘The Map confirms that old Mr Rodd is alone in the shop. No one has seen his family for weeks, and the old man is really on edge. How did your visit to Diagon Alley go? And have you found out how the ingredients will be delivered?’ ‘Apart from the final name, how’s the new Map, Terry?’ Harry called. Terry gave the thumbs up, and Neville nodded an acknowledgment. ‘As for the ingredients, I’m going back to Diagon Alley now. I’m fairly certain I know who will be doing the delivery, but I need to speak to the delivery company to find out when.’ ‘Do you need us?’ asked Ron. Neville, who had been removing his coat, pulled it back on. ‘I’m going alone and out of uniform,’ said Harry. ‘Three Aurors visiting a delivery company might arouse suspicion.’ ‘True, but Nev and me should come to Diagon Alley with you anyway,’ said Ron. ‘I’m visiting a delivery company, Ron,’ Harry protested. ‘What could go wrong?’ ‘Constant vigilance!’ Ron grumbled, grinning. ‘We don’t need to be with you, just close at hand in case you run into problems. We could take Bobbie. She needs to get out of the office, and she needs to see Diagon Alley. After all, our discovery that Bulstrode is married to Flint was all down to her.’ ‘Bobbie needs to see some magical places outside the Ministry,’ Neville added. ‘It will help to give her some more background on the magical world.’ ‘I’m not sure I can cope with more background, Neville. It’s only my second day. I’m not even used to the Ministry building,’ said Bobbie, lifting her head from behind an enormous pile of files and smiling at him. ‘Is this report right? Do you really use owls to deliver letters?’ ‘Yes,’ several voices chorused. ‘Okay!’ Bobbie shrugged. ‘So, has anyone contacted Ballycastle Bats to see if the box they bought eight years ago and reserved for the exclusive use of the Goyle family is ever used? There’s nothing here to say that the club have been contacted, but the bank records show that this payment was for ten years.’ ‘He’s a Bats fan, is he?’ Ron asked. ‘I didn’t know that.’ ‘Apparently,’ Bobbie confirmed, waving a piece of parchment. ‘Who are Ballycastle Bats and what, exactly, is Quidditch?’ Harry pulled his motorbike into a side street near Leicester Square and stopped. He waited for Bobbie to climb from the pillion seat and hand him her helmet before rolling the bike into a parking space. After locking the helmets to the bike, he activated the Anti-Theft and Muggle-Repelling Charms. Unusually, several bystanders were watching him as he walked over to join Bobbie. Harry wore jeans and his bike jacket, and he wondered if the green Holyhead Harpies T-shirt he wore was enough to mark him out from the crowds. Normally, he was just another Muggle. Bobbie, who was wearing a smart grey pinstripe trouser suit, had also noticed. ‘We make an odd couple,’ she observed. ‘It’s me. I’m too smartly dressed to be sitting on the back of a motorbike. Where do we go from here?’ Harry led her out onto Charing Cross Road and turned left. ‘It’s not far,’ he said. ‘The Leaky Cauldron is only a few hundred yards from here. ‘And the only way into this Diagon Alley place is through a pub?’ Bobbie asked. ‘Not really,’ Harry said. ‘A lot of people use the Floo Network, and there are a few places where you can Apparate in and out. But if you can’t do any of those things–and you can’t–then this is the only way in. Ron and Neville will be waiting for us.’ ‘How can you hide an entire street in the middle of London?’ Bobbie asked as they strolled up the busy street side by side. ‘I really don’t know,’ Harry admitted, stopping outside the pub. ‘Magic?’ Bobbie laughed. She’d taken two more steps before realising that he wasn’t alongside her. When she turned to find him she peered around for a few seconds, apparently unable to see him. He waved. She stepped up to him, a puzzled expression on her face. ‘This is weird,’ she said, squinting at Harry and the pub door. ‘With your house, Grimmauld Place, I couldn’t see it at all, but now I can. Here, it’s different. It’s as if my eyes simply don’t want to look at the pub.’ ‘But you can see it?’ Harry asked. ‘Only when I concentrate,’ said Bobbie. She shivered. ‘I don’t like it out here, it’s unsettling, creepy; let’s go inside.’ She pushed open the door, and Harry followed her into the pub. Ron and Neville were standing at the bar. They were talking to Hannah, who was placing dirty glasses in the washer. As it was still well before noon, the place was quiet. Even so, the few people in the place fell silent when Harry and Bobbie walked into the Leaky Cauldron. ‘You made it, Bobbie,’ observed Ron. ‘I knew you would. Did you have problems seeing the pub door? Hermione’s parents told me that they used to, when she was little, but they find it a lot easier now. Jean says that it’s simply a matter of practice.’ ‘Bobbie, this is Hannah,’ Neville added, introducing his girlfriend. ‘Hello, Hannah,’ said Bobbie. ‘Hi, Hannah,’ Harry added, nodding a greeting to the smiling blonde girl. ‘I’m not stopping, I’m sorry. I’ll go straight through.’ ‘See you later, mate,’ said Ron. ‘Have a good day off, Harry, and thanks for delivering Bobbie,’ added Neville. His voice was louder than usual, as his words were for the benefit of Hannah’s customers. They’d soon be following him. Making his way out from the pub and into Diagon Alley, Harry checked the scrap of parchment on which he’d written the address. He was looking for Circe House, 127 Diagon Alley, which was some distance beyond Gringotts. Ignoring the stares, he strode rapidly along the street. Like most properties on that part of Diagon Alley, the property was tall and narrow-fronted. There were a series of brass plaques on the wall just inside the door. “Sadie Ebhart, Commercial Portkeys Ltd.” was the only business on the third floor. On the floor below were “The Kneazle Protection Association” and “Badcock Broom Repairs”; above was “Straughan, Straughan and Worcester”. The narrow stairs twisted up through the centre of the building, and the dingy stairwell was illuminated only by the scant light coming through the transom windows above the doors. The stairs were bare wood, and the floors on the landings were covered in shabby and patched buff linoleum. When Harry began his ascent, there was no one about. Were it not for the faint whisper of conversations behind the office doors, he’d have thought the place deserted. The company name had been magically etched onto the frosted glass of the door at the top of the stairs, but unlike the floor below, there was no noise coming from behind the door. Harry knocked, then entered without waiting for a response. The features of the rather plump girl behind the desk to the left of the door were hidden behind a large bubble of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum; all Harry could see was mousy brown hair and startled brown eyes. She’d been peering over the bubble and carefully examining her painted fingernails when he opened the door. Upon seeing him, the girl gulped, inhaled the bubble and, unfortunately for her, the gum. She almost choked, but managed to cough the gum out onto the desk. Whilst waiting for the mortified young woman to stop spluttering and dry her watering eyes, Harry looked around the room. The wall behind the girl was half-glass, but the glass was frosted and there were closed blinds on the other side. The plaque on that door read “General Manager”. On the wall to the girl’s left, opposite the door through which Harry had entered, was a door marked “Porters’ Office”. The other wall contained a line of dark green filing cabinets. Above the cabinets were a number of photographs of witches and wizards, each with a certificate beneath. They were all head and torso images and everyone wore green robes bearing the legend “Sadie Ebhart: Port — Storage — Logistics”. The nearest photo to Harry, that of a bald middle-aged man, was–according to the certificate below it–of Bernie Biddle, Porter, Portkey Office Licence ref: 0005736/10. ‘Harry Potter,’ the girl finally gasped, blushing profusely. Harry turned to face her. ‘Is Madam Ebhart available?’ he asked politely. ‘I don’t have an appointment, sorry, but…’ The girl was on her feet in an instant. She dashed through the door behind her desk, and shrieked ‘Mum, Harry Potter is here, and he wants to see you!’ ‘Abigail Ebhart,’ said an annoyed voice, ‘how many times must I tell you…’ ‘It’s really him, Mum!’ the girl interrupted. Harry peered around the door. The large middle-aged woman behind the desk swore, pushed herself to her feet, and beckoned Harry into the room. ‘Come in, sir. I thought she was joking, sorry,’ the woman admitted. ‘Off you go, Abigail. Close the door on your way out, and keep Bernie and the boys out!’ The woman indicated a robust-looking wooden upright chair, which stood next to the window. ‘Sit down, sir, I’m Sadie Ebhart. What can I do for you?’ ‘It’s an Auror Office matter,’ Harry confided. ‘But, please don’t call me sir; call me Harry.’ ‘An Auror Office matter!’ Sadie looked alarmed. ‘We deliver what we’re paid to deliver, sir… Mr… Harry. If we’ve been involved in transporting something…’ ‘No,’ Harry interrupted, trying to reassure her. ‘It’s simply…’ He paused and tried to come up with a plausible story that avoided any mention of a kidnapping. ‘I understand that you carry out all deliveries for Hogans Wholesale, of Dublin,’ he said. When she nodded, he continued. ‘We’ve received a tip off that a shipment of potion ingredients to Beaker and Rodd in Cardiff will be targeted by thieves, and that the Cardiff shop is likely to be burglarised the evening after the ingredients are delivered. All I want to know is the date and time of the delivery, so that we can be ready that evening.’ ‘A burglary?’ Sadie asked. ‘Is that Auror Office business?’ ‘Not usually, no. Did you read about the burglary in Muggle London, the one where a Muggle was killed?’ Harry answered her question with another, hoping that she’d jump to the conclusion he wanted her to. ‘The house belonged to that friend of yours, the one who’s working in the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary,’ said Sadie nodding excitedly. ‘Is it the same gang? The papers said that it was one of the people you’re after, the last of Lord-You-Know-Who’s people, and that they were looking for potion ingredients!’ Sadie beamed as she realised what he was saying. ‘The Auror Office has not confirmed that any of the people involved in that murder were followers of Tom Riddle,’ said Harry carefully. ‘Obviously, I’m relying on your discretion, Sadie. Can I call you Sadie?’ ‘Of course.’ She nodded eagerly. ‘All I need is the date and time,’ he told her. ‘Mr Hewitson of the Portkey Office told me that the delivery hasn’t been registered with them yet. He said that you’re unlikely to register the Portkey until the morning of the delivery.’ ‘So, old Hewitson does know how his Department operates,’ said Sadie sharply. ‘There have been times when I’ve wondered.’ She hesitated. ‘I can’t tell you, Harry, not yet. Hogans have us on a one-day retainer contract. When their package is complete, or when they decide that they want to send it, we have twenty-four hours to arrange collection and delivery. I won’t know myself until they contact me. Of course I’ll owl you the moment I know anything myself.’ The office door opened and the plump young receptionist, Sadie’s daughter Abigail, entered. ‘You should get a Mirrorphone, Mum,’ she said. ‘I bet Harry’s got one! Something might happen to an owl, but you could contact him in an instant if you had one. I’ve got one, Harry! I could…’ ‘Were you listening at my door?’ Sadie asked her daughter. ‘Yeah,’ the girl admitted unrepentantly. She turned and gazed admiringly at Harry. ‘I’ve told Mum she needs a Mirrorphone, but she won’t listen! We could touch Mirrors, Harry. I could…’ She stopped and squealed in delight as Harry pulled out his Auror wallet and slid a Mirrorphone from it. ‘That’s a very good idea, Abigail,’ said Harry with a quiet firmness. ‘But now I’m relying on both of you to let me know, and to be discreet!’ ‘We will,’ said Sadie, glaring at her daughter. ‘Is it okay if I tell my friends afterwards?’ Abigail asked. ‘If we catch them,’ said Harry, sighing. ‘I have two Mirrorphones, this one is for Auror work.’ The girl nodded, and they touched Mirrorphones. 'Contact between... sexy Abi Ebhart... and... Auror Potter,' the phones announced. ‘Sexy Abi!’ Sadie grumbled. Storm clouds had been gathering on her face, and now the lightning was flashing from her eyes. 'Please place a finger on the Mirrorphone,' the Mirrorphones stated as they continued to magically connect. 'Auror Potter...' the Mirrorphone asked. 'Do you wish to establish contact with... sexy Abi Ebhart?' Harry looked down at the now blushing Abigail; he hesitated before finally saying 'Yes.' The Mirrorphone then repeated the process. 'Contact established... Auror Potter... please provide an identifying name for... sexy Abi Ebhart,' the Mirrorphone said. 'Abigail Ebhart,' said Harry carefully. When the process repeated itself Abigail excitedly squealed, 'Harry Potter.' Harry moved his Mirrorphone away from Abigail's. 'Auror Potter... to contact... sexy Abi Ebhart... simply touch the mirror, and say... Abigail Ebhart.' While Harry’s phone spoke, Abigail’s was also repeating her version of the message. 'We will be in touch the moment we know anything, Harry,’ Sadie said. ‘You can rely on me. Now, if we’ve finished here, I’d like to have a word with my daughter.’ ‘Thanks, Sadie.’ Harry reached over the table and shook the older woman’s hand. ‘Abigail.’ He nodded at the girl who was staring proudly at the words “Harry Potter” that had appeared in her mirror. As he closed the door to the office, Harry heard the tirade begin. ‘Listening at the door! Sexy Abi!’ Sadie shouted. ‘Give me that bloody mirror-thing right now! I’m confiscating it! How does it work?’ ‘We really must do something about these gardens,’ said Astoria as they walked up the gravel drive towards the front gates. ‘There are a lot more important matters to resolve than the state of the gardens,’ observed Draco unhappily. Astoria reached across and squeezed his hand. ‘I know,’ she said sympathetically. She released his hand before he became uncomfortable. ‘But the last of the claims against your family has finally been resolved, Draco. The court cases are finally settled. You can take stock, plan a recovery. Now, at last, you can look to the future.’ ‘Have you been talking to mother?’ Draco asked. ‘That’s what she said to me, just before you arrived.’ ‘I talk to your mother all the time, you know that,’ said Astoria. ‘But we haven’t talked about your finances. After all, I’m not a Malfoy. But I know about business, my father was a successful businessman. Unfortunately, Mother is hopeless, and Daphne… Well, you know... So, since Daddy… Since he... Since he was killed, I’ve had to do my best.’ Astoria had been hoping for some sympathy, for the slightest hint of empathy from Draco, but he said nothing. She scolded herself for her foolish hopes and reminded herself that Draco was an important man. With the effective extinction of the Black and Lestrange families, his was arguably the most senior of the Pureblood families, yet his greatness was unacknowledged. Instead, he was a pariah. Everything about Draco, from his name to his problems, dwarfed her. When they reached the gate the Bailiff on duty stepped back. These days there was only one Bailiff, and soon even that limited protection would be gone. Draco had finally been acquitted of all charges other than a few misdemeanours, which had been dealt with by punitive fines. The courts had also decided that Lucius was of unsound mind and unable to stand trial. Within the week the Office of the High Sheriff of Mercia would remove the last of the Bailiffs from the gate of Malfoy Manor, and the Malfoys would be on their own. Astoria looked up at the wrought iron gates, hoping that the ancient magical protections would hold. They had to, because the Malfoys had many enemies. Once outside, Draco closed and carefully sealed the gates. Acknowledging the Bailiff’s presence with a curt nod, he turned his back on the woman and held out his arm. Astoria took it, and they Apparated to Diagon Alley. When they arrived, she released him. He crooked his arm and Astoria slipped her hand through it. Courage, she reminded herself, you’re better than them, act like it. As they strolled silently up the street towards the bank, her hand on his arm, Astoria was acutely aware of the sidelong glances. No one knew her, of course, and not everyone recognised him, either. In a way, she was his disguise, his shield. No one expected him to have a woman on his arm. As they processed towards the bank, she counted and classified people’s reactions to them. About two thirds of those in the street simply ignored them; they were either ignorant of the blond man whose arm she held, or so preoccupied with their own lives that they simply didn’t register who he was. The remainder looked and tried to place him. The majority could not. She could see them thinking. Did they know him personally? If not, where had they seen him? By the time they figured it out, if they ever did, it was too late. Only a tiny percentage recognised him instantly. They glared. An elderly man even spat on the street and muttered the words “Death Eater!” But no one confronted him, and he strolled unconcernedly onwards like the great man he was. They had almost reached their destination when it happened. ‘That’s him,’ a woman shouted. ‘That’s the man I saw leaving the crime scene! You there! Stop!’ The woman who was pointing an accusatory finger at Draco was tall and crop-haired, and she wore Muggle clothes. It was a ridiculous fashion which some foolish young people, mostly Half-bloods and Mudbloods, were following. Astoria, who read the fashion magazines, knew enough about Muggle fashions to know that this woman had got it wrong. She was wearing a man’s suit, a grey pinstripe with trousers, although it did seem to be cut for her. ‘Hello, Draco,’ a man said. Astoria had been concentrating on the woman; she hadn’t noticed that two black-coated Aurors were mere feet away from her. One was Longbottom, the other–the one who’d spoken–was Weasley. He looked like a man who’d picked up a Knut and discovered it was a Galleon. ‘Positive identification, Draco,’ said the ginger-haired Auror smugly. ‘You were seen leaving the crime scene.’ ‘Stop wasting my time, Weasley,’ Draco snapped. ‘You’ve already checked. I was at home when Finch-Fletchley’s place was burgled.’ ‘I saw you,’ the woman said firmly. ‘This woman is obviously deranged,’ said Draco, contemptuously dismissing the allegation. ‘I mean, just look at what she’s wearing. She might as well be a Muggle.’ ‘I am a Muggle,’ the woman said, stepping forwards to stand directly in front of Draco. ‘Constable Roberta Beadle, Metropolitan Police, and you’re nicked.’ ‘Get out of my way,’ Draco ordered. ‘I don’t have time for this; I have a very important meeting with the goblins.’ As Draco spoke, Astoria saw the gleam in Weasley’s eyes, and she knew that her boyfriend’s final words would spur the lanky, loutish Auror into action. ‘An accusation has been made, Draco,’ Weasley said with a self-satisfied smirk. He stepped forward and grabbed Draco’s arm. ‘We’d be remiss in our duties if we didn’t investigate, wouldn’t we, Neville?’ ‘We’ve checked once, Ron,’ the other Auror said. ‘We need to check again, Nev. And I’m sure Bobbie has some questions for Draco,’ said Ron. ‘I do,’ the woman said firmly. Astoria gave Draco’s arm a warning squeeze, but he ignored it and protested, ‘I’ll be late for my appointment!’ She sighed, wishing that she’d been able to prevent him from saying those words. Unfortunately, Weasley could make him bite every time, and once again her boyfriend had played right into the Auror’s hands. ‘I’m sure that the goblins will understand,’ said Ron, grinning. ‘I’m sure your skinny little girlfriend will be able to charm them. After all, she looks a lot like a goblin.’ Sensing what was about to happen, Astoria grabbed Draco’s arm with both hands, preventing him from drawing his wand. ‘He’s baiting you, just ignore him,’ she said. ‘He’s jealous of you.’ Ignoring Weasley’s dismissive snort, she pressed on. ‘I’ll speak to the goblins, Draco,’ Astoria said. ‘You can’t simply dismiss the Aurors. Don’t let him annoy you.’ She turned to address Longbottom. ‘Where are you taking him?’ ‘The Sheriff of the Metropolis has offices just down the road. We can go there,’ the scar-faced blond man said. ‘It’s him.’ the woman insisted. ‘It’s definitely him!’ Astoria watched her boyfriend being escorted away by the Aurors, being subjected to a public humiliation by Weasley, and then hurried into the bank. Unfortunately, the goblins refused to discuss anything with her. She wasn’t a Malfoy, so they would not even allow her to reschedule the appointment. Angry and frustrated, she stormed out of the bank. ‘Bloody Weasley, arrogant sod!’ she said to no one in particular. ‘You don’t have to tell me, Astoria. I’ve a lot of experience with that, believe me.’ Astoria turned and found herself staring into a pair of once-familiar violet eyes. ‘I thought I was joining the Auror Office,’ admitted Lavender, seething with annoyance. ‘But I’m nothing but a bloody messenger for my moronic pillock of an ex-boyfriend. I’m here to tell you that Draco’s now at the Auror Office “helping them with their enquiries.” So, that’s my job done! How are you, Asti? I’ve hardly seen you since your Dad’s funeral. Everyone seemed to avoid me when I was in that damned wheelchair. How’s your mum coping? How are you coping? You poor thing, it’s just you and your mum now, isn’t it? I don’t know what Daphne was thinking!’ Astoria found her hands being grasped by Lavender’s. ‘I...’ Astoria stared into the face of her second cousin, and smiled. ‘I wanted to visit you, but Mum... Well, you know...’ Astoria said. Even as she spoke, she hoped that Lavender didn’t actually know. After the Battle, Lavender’s mother, Carmine, had held out the hand of friendship to her family, to the Greengrasses. Some, like Carmine’s sister Scarlet, had taken it. Their brother, Astoria’s father had been killed at the Battle, and he’d been fighting alongside the Dark Lord. Astoria had no idea what her father would have done had he survived, but her mother would have nothing to do with the Browns. ‘Carmine married a Half-Blood and spawned another,’ Astoria’s mother had said. Almost before Astoria realised what was happening, she was being guided along Diagon Alley while listening to Lavender chatter. Her cousin led her into a chintzy little café named Tansy’s Tea Rooms, which was almost directly opposite the Witch Weekly offices. ‘Ron is such a prat,’ Lavender concluded after listing the many faults of her ex. Astoria could do nothing but nod in agreement. ‘What’s Draco like? He’s not my type, of course, but he seems to be smitten with you.’ ‘Do you think so?’ asked Astoria anxiously. ‘Sometimes I think he doesn’t really see me.’ ‘Inattentive boys!’ Lavender shook her head sympathetically. ‘But that’s most of them! I bet he’s better than Ron. I practically had to jump on him before he noticed me. Draco has a lot on his mind. I suppose there must be times when he’s…distant?’ Astoria found herself nodding. ‘Ron never had a lot on his mind. Although he didn’t have much mind, either, perhaps that’s why he was so inattentive. And you wouldn’t believe how petty he is!’ ‘Oh, I would,’ said Astoria forcefully. ‘He picks on Draco, you know? He’s nothing but a bully.’ ‘He was the worst boyfriend I ever had,’ Lavender confirmed, ordering tea and scones from the tall, sunken-cheeked waitress who’d come to take their order. ‘Of course Seamus went too far in the other direction. He smothered me!’ They berated boys in general, and talked about Draco and the ridiculous clothes Muggles wore, and they laughed. Astoria was reminded of those days out with her sister, the days before Daphne had gone on the run. ‘You miss her, don’t you?’ Lavender asked quietly. ‘I always wanted a sister, but there’s just me. I’d have... I’d have done what we’ve been doing, talked about boys and clothes and... I’ve got Parvati, of course, and Padma. Friends are good, they’re great. But I wish I had a sister.’ ‘She left me,’ said Astoria viciously. ‘She left me, and Mum, and ran off with that no-good Half-Blood boyfriend of hers. Mum says she’s getting what she deserves, but...’ ‘Getting what she deserves?’ asked Lavender, alarmed. ‘You know, if I’d gone on the run with Ron, I’d probably have killed him, or vice-versa. Watching him eat could be very unpleasant and having to do it every day...’ She shuddered. ‘It’s not until you’re with someone all the time that you find out what they’re really like.’ Astoria looked around and lowered her voice. ‘Lavender, could you do something for me?’ ‘Anything,’ Lavender told her. ‘Could you find out...’ Astoria hesitated. ‘Would she be sent to Azkaban? She didn’t... I mean she hasn’t... She hasn’t done anything serious, or if she has, he made her. He made her do everything. She’s unhappy, I know she is.’ ‘Daphne found them somewhere to hide when they were on the run,’ said Lavender thoughtfully. ‘But she didn’t fight at the Battle. The others all did, and they all fought on the wrong side. The Aurors aren’t sure about Bletchley, but they know that the others are killers. I know one thing for certain, Asti. If Daphne could bring one of them in–if she could help the Auror’s catch one, or all, of them–they probably wouldn’t even charge her with anything. You’re in contact with her, aren’t you? How do you keep in touch, by owl?’ Astoria nodded. ‘Write to her, let her know that surrendering herself would be the best thing she could do,’ Lavender advised. She smiled at the younger woman. ‘You mentioned that the goblins wouldn’t let you schedule Draco’s appointment for him. Did you think about making an appointment to see them for yourself? You could both turn up, and you could exchange the appointment with Draco. I’d do that now. Make yourself indispensible to him. He’ll like that.’ ‘Thanks, Lavender,’ Astoria said. She reached for her purse. ‘I’ll pay. It’s the least I can do.’ Lavender shook her head. ‘We’re family, Asti, we help each other. We’ll split the bill.’ |
| Reviews 176 |
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