Harry Potter and the Fifth Element

Chapter 52 - Hogsmeade Helter Skelter

Harry's most annoying alarm clock tore him from peaceful slumber, but for once did not risk a thorough hexing. This was no ordinary day, but a Hogsmeade weekend. Nor would the evening be ordinary, unless another last-minute snafu threw a spanner in the works. He looked forward to a night he would remember forever.

First times were like that.

Viewing matters more prosaically, today's Hogsmeade Saturday was also the fag end of another long, frustrating week. On Monday, Harry was true to his promises and revised -harder than he would have thought possible before this year. Distractions were minimal, with Hermione otherwise engaged until quite late. She attended one of her evening "Hogwarts Institution of Excellence" sessions with Madame Pomfrey, then attended to unspecified "other things."

Tuesday brought more of the same. Harry studied alone whilst Hermione led her first separate D.A. session in the Room of Requirement. Harry's absence was planned. They agreed that Hermione's authority as instructor would be enhanced if Harry took a miss.

Unfortunately, two consecutive nights without Hermione's presence left Harry in something of a foul mood. By the time she returned - all bubbly with word that enough students chose her session that involuntary assignments would not be necessary - Harry was rather short with her. It was their first lovers' quarrel, before they had technically (in body, if not in soul) even become lovers.

His grumblings of being slighted in favor of her pursuit of "miscellaneous medicinal magic" were proven quite mistaken, much to Harry's chagrin. Hermione was not supposed to tell anyone, so as not to engender false hopes, but she made an exception for Harry. She was working on one of magic's true Holy Grails - devising something that went beyond Wolfsbane and actually prevented werewolf transformations. Upon hearing the truth, Harry instantly apologised. He knew full well how much such a breakthrough would help Remus (and many others).

Harry spent the rest of the week kicking himself for jealous insensitivity.

On Wednesday Harry was the one who was out of pocket - Quidditch practice.

It was not a good practice.

Actually, it was an awful practice.

At Captain Katie's express request, Harry confronted Jazzy about her academic problems in Herbology. Not surprisingly, trying to extract the truth from Jazzy was like pulling dragon's teeth with zircon encrusted tweezers. The problem turned out to be frustratingly familiar - Slytherins. She had Herbology with them, and they persecuted her mercilessly.

Anti-Muslim whisperings were only the beginning. They also did things like sabotage her homework, fill her gloves with Bubotuber pus, and slip Venomous Tentacula cuttings into her textbook. Due to the harassment, Jazzy was unable to complete assignments, and had difficulty paying attention in class.

Jazzy was her typical stoic (stubborn) self. Even to Harry, she admitted what was happening only when informed that it endangered her spot on the Gryffindor team. She wanted none of Harry's proposed intercession with Professor Sprout - and extracted a promise that he would not grass to the staff about her issues. Jazzy was not inclined to accept help from anyone.

Still, by the end of their conversation, Harry had devised a two-pronged plan. First, he would talk to Neville, because his promise to Jazzy carefully excluded the possibility of somebody else alerting Professor Sprout to the problem. Second, he would talk to Fred and George this weekend. They were creative, and they owed him a favour, since he was permitting them advertise his appearance.

Harry's difficulties with Jazzy were child's play compared to the explosion from Mount Ginevra when she, too, was called aside by Captain Katie and informed that her academic problems - Potions, this time - threatened her position with the team. Ginny stormed off and promptly sparked a ferocious row with her brother, after he again refused to let her borrow the Half-Blood Prince's annotated guide to Potions. When she threatened to reveal the Prince to Professor Slughorn, Ron drew his wand, and they almost duelled right there on the pitch.

This brouhaha had unfortunate consequences for Harry. The team was extremely on edge and performed horribly during the practice. Captain Katie was furious and punished the team in truest Oliver Wood style. She scheduled an extra practice ("as long as it takes to prove you're ready") for Friday, starting half an hour after the end of the last classes and continuing until she saw fit to stop.

That happened to be the only evening of the week when both he and Hermione were free, and Harry saw his vision of their romantic interlude evaporating before his eyes. He could hardly seek an exemption with the excuse that he was planning to shag his girlfriend that evening.

Harry's recent tiff with Hermione only heightened the situation's irony. He had complained about her unavailability, and on a night that they had nothing in particular planned. Now the shoe fit very uncomfortably on the other foot. Friday was the night they had planned for "it" to happen, and now he had to beg off.

Fortunately, Hermione proved quite a bit more understanding than Harry had been earlier. She chose to downplay it - saying she had some "other things" she needed to finish,. Harry was too relieved at her better-than-anticipated reaction to enquire after those. They agreed to push back their plans a day.

Friday proved to be trying anyway. That day meant double Potions. Potions meant Ron. He had been about as prickly as the average Skrewt ever since the reading of Sirius' will.

Dealing with Ron in Potions necessarily meant another encounter with the Half-Blood Prince. Predictably, that caused more bickering between Harry's two best friends, which forced Harry into the sticky role of peacemaker. This particular fight was a little odd. Although Hermione disapproved of Ron's availing himself of the Prince on principle, at times she sounded almost as if trying to goad Ron into allowing Ginny do exactly what Hermione called cheating when Ron did it.

Before Potions, Hermione had retreated to the library during their free morning period. Harry used some of that time to discuss arrangements with Slamdor, the commander of the goblin guard assigned to protect him. Harry had no idea where Hermione planned to stage their "enchanted evening," as they had taken to calling it. Wherever it turned out to be, he planned on having the goblins ensure that they were not interrupted.

On the Hogsmeade morning, Harry took more pain than usual over his appearance - and not because of Hermione. He fondly believed that she would find him handsome in a house-elf tea cozy. Rather, he had promised the Twins a pre-announced appearance at their new Hogsmeade shop. Harry had regrets about this agreement, but was not about to go back on his promise.

Harry no sooner slid into his now-accustomed spot next to Hermione at the Gryffindor table when he saw Luna making her way towards them from Ravenclaw side of the Hall. She had a huge, almost beatific, smile on her face and a far-away look in her eyes.

"Watch out, mate," Ron whispered from his other side. "That one looks even more mental than usual."

Ron was not quiet enough, and his comment drew a huffy-sounding rebuke from Hermione. That might have started another ping-pong bickering match - with Harry as the net - had Luna not broken their concentration.

"I refused to read it until it was put to bed," she informed the two of them jubilantly, whilst shooting Ron a rather strange look (which he returned in kind) - "but now that I've seen it, I must say I'm quite honoured, and touched. Daddy would have been so proud that I had a hand in it...."

Harry was nonplussed, hardly an unusual state of affairs when Luna was involved. He looked to Hermione. Uncharacteristically, her eyes also held a questioning look. Before Hermione had to admit that she had no idea what Luna was talking about, the blonde girl thrust at them a first edition of this week's Quibbler, which was set to go on sale that morning.

The tabloid's multi-lined banner headline practically jumped off the page:

TO HELL AND BACK:

THE TRUE STORY OF

THE KIDNAPPING

AND RESCUE OF

HARRY POTTER

Beneath the headline, the entire front page was a collage of photographs. The right edge of the page featured a vertical photograph of a standing Harry - nothing out of the ordinary - in his Hogwarts robes. A similar photograph of Hermione adorned the left side. In between, beneath the superimposed screaming headlines, were public-domain photographs of the great London fire and a shot of the half-ruined Malfoy Manor following Dumbledore's unsuccessful rescue attempt. The story was, of course, by-lined "Rita Skeeter."

Inside, extending over the better part of six pages and exceeding 5000 words, appeared their approved version of the story. "When ... when did that get finished?" Harry asked blankly.

"Why, last night, of course," Luna replied as though that was exactly what Harry wanted to know. "I deliberately kept myself out of it of course - given our acquaintance...."

"Friendship," corrected Hermione.

"...but I did ask Electra, my new managing editor, to show me the final proofs," Luna continued as if not hearing Hermione at all. "It's absolutely wonderful.... The story of the year! The additional circulation should carry us over and, with luck, pay for Electra's salary."

Without warning, Luna leaned forward and planted a messy kiss on Hermione's cheek.

"And such an accurate story, too," she added, giving the rather surprised girl a wink.

Then Luna turned to Ron, "Oh, Ronald, please do remember to thank your brothers the next time you see them. The circulation desk tells me that they advance ordered 500 copies."

She puckered her lips to repeat her action for Ron, but he recoiled as if about to be cursed. Luna stopped. "I'll just save it for Fred and George, then. You're not ready to appreciate it."

Finally, she looked back to Harry, who was half hiding behind Hermione. "I'll leave it to her," she grinned, "but thank you so very much, Harry, for bringing her back."

Then, just as she had come, Luna serenely wandered away towards the Hall's main entrance.

"But ... that's not what I meant...," Harry muttered weakly after her retreating form.

'I think I can tell you,' Hermione Legilimenced, catching Harry by surprise as she often did when starting a silent conversation.

'This was part of all the stuff you were doing over the past few days,' Harry stated, anticipating her answer.

'Exactly,' Hermione confirmed. 'Rita owled the rough copy late Monday afternoon. I revised it that evening and returned it via Athena. At the same time, I submitted a second copy to the Headmaster for another set of eyes, to ensure that I was didn't give anything away in terms of security. The next draft arrived Wednesday night, and I received Dumbledore's blessing that same evening. I added my final changes whilst you taught the D.A. on Thursday.'

'I assume that the Quibbler was your idea, too?' Harry wondered.

'She really needs the money, Harry,' Hermione told him. 'She had to hire somebody to do what her father used to do for nothing. Besides, the Quibbler helped us when you needed it last year, so it was only right to return the favour. Both Luna and Rita make more money this way - since I'm sure they'll sell reprint rights to the Prophet.'

'But why doesn't she just ask me?' Harry complained. 'I've got more ruddy Galleons than I know what to do with anyway. I'd much rather give some to her than let Dennis take flutters in that Yank Quasnack.'

'That's NASDAQ,' Hermione reflexively corrected. 'And think about it. She can't ask you for any without compromising the Quibbler's journalistic integrity.'

Harry gave her a questioning look. 'Journalistic integrity? This is the Quibbler, remember? Heliopath sightings. Fudge dining on goblin steaks. Sirius playing for the Weird Sisters.'

'True,' Hermione had to concede, 'but for placing this kind of story....'

All conversation, oral and otherwise, abruptly ceased as Hagrid made the announcement that Filch was now ready to process Hogsmeade permission slips at the main entrance. Harry and Hermione rose and followed the crowd that immediately began moving in that direction.

At last, Harry had no worries about permission slips. He had his signed by Mad-Eye. Hermione had one signed by her mum - although being of age, Hermione technically no longer needed it.

As they queued up for Filch, Harry spotted a familiar face scanning the crowd of students - someone who could only be looking for him. Harry waved, and caught his attention. The uniformed goblin quickly made his way over.

"Asak, Impratraxis," he said.

"Asakisim," Harry replied - having learned the proper method for goblin royalty to greet their retainers. "Please also meet Hermione Granger, since I know you've been watching her for a while...."

"Watching me," Hermione said, sounding affronted. "Whatever for?"

"Hermione, this is Slamdor," Harry introduced. "He is the commanding officer of the goblin guard ... er ... for me."

"Savini Hermione," Slamdor uttered. He restrained himself, having learnt that not only did the usual goblin prostration ritual displease this particular prince, but also tended to attract unwanted attention from Harry's fellow students.

"To speak privately, I request," Slamdor asked.

Harry looked about. Finding someplace private meant sacrificing their place in the queue. Given how thoroughly Filch seemed to be inspecting everyone with what looked like a borrowed Gringotts Probity Probe, doing that would mean another half hour's wait. The alternative technically would violate the no magic in the halls rule ... but some rules were made to be broken.

Harry drew both Ron and Hermione in close, and with his arms around them, incanted, "Muffliato."

"Harry, you really shouldn't...," Hermione admonished.

"Oh, lay off him. I think it's brilliant, really," Ron came to Harry's defence.

"No choice," Harry sided with Ron. "Not if I wanted the goblins to deploy without gathering moss before we get out of here." Turning back to Slamdor, Harry continued, "Hermione told me she doesn't want to go to 3W's grand reopening and be gawked at like some caged animal, so I'll be going there alone."

"No you won't, mate," Ron broke in, "I'll make that trip with you. I wouldn't miss it for the world. Besides, if things get at all out of control, you'll need someone watching your back."

Harry knew he should be grateful for his friend's assistance, but a little voice in the back of his mind asked whether Ron just liked the attention he would get escorting Harry into what was certain to be the Twins' madhouse.

"But what about Cho?" Hermione asked, as if sensing Harry's hesitation.

"Oh, she'll be along later...," Ron replied airily.

Harry wondered whether Cho's absence was really Ron playing "keep away" as he had threatened last week in Gringotts.

"...Some 'girl stuff' she has to do. When she tells me that, all I bother to say is 'yes, dear.' I know she'll make it up to me later," Ron continued, giving Harry a wink. Then he gave Hermione the needle. "She's got reservations for us this afternoon at the Revolving Door...."

"Oh, really," Hermione took the bait with a snort. The Revolving Door was the seediest of the various Hogsmeade inns - the only one known for renting rooms by the hour. "Won't they be checking your papers?"

"Not mine," Ron said cheerfully, ignoring Hermione's hauteur. "All they care about there is whether the girl's of age - not the guy."

"Ahem," Slamdor softly but pointedly cleared his throat to remind everyone of his presence - and of the original purpose for this conversation. "Impratraxis, to and from Hogsmeade walking will you be, or in a Hogwarts carriages riding?"

"Weather's nice," Harry observed. "So we'll walk - unless something I don't know about yet comes up."

"And, for deployment, Savini Hermione will be where whilst at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes you are?" Slamdor asked

Slightly reluctantly, Hermione answered, "I think I'll drop by a bookstore...."

"That figures," quipped Ron.

"...one I haven't visited before, Samson's Option."

"Isn't that one rather dodgy?" Ron asked. "Lavender calls it an 'alternative bookstore.' I don't think you'd catch Cho dead in a place like that."

"I don't know. Like I said, I've never been inside that one, and you're right - its offerings have a reputation for being a little ... off," Hermione answered testily. "But with what we're facing, I think I need to consider all the options. Besides, what would Lavender know about bookstores, anyway? Unless they sell comics ... or Divination...."

"That's over on the other street, right?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded.

"I'll come meet you there, when I'm done, then," Harry told her. "Then we can visit that temporary shop set up for the ball - to get you a costume. Seamus said that they've even got a wax museum that we can tour for ideas."

"Then, what are you going to be mate?" Ron asked, picking up on Harry's statement that they would be shopping only for Hermione.

"Oh, he's got a Knight of the Realm uniform that's incredibly dashing," Hermione answered enthusiastically for Harry. "I saw him wear it in France during the holidays, and I suggested that he wear it again. I'm sure it will leave me weak at the knees."

Ron was about to tell them of his costume ideas when they finally reached the front of the queue. Slamdor was about to hurry off to deploy his troops, but something seemed odd as Harry was having trouble communicating with Filch. The Squib seemed to be getting angrier by the second and was furiously waving that probe of his.

It looked like Filch might strike Harry or Hermione with the almost metre long probe. With a hissing sound, a metal object neatly severed the probe a few centimetres above Filch's hands. As the severed end clattered to the floor, Slamdor summoned his Asterlik. Filch looked furiously at the goblin, who responded by baring his teeth in a threatening manner.

"Now look what you've done!" Filch shrieked at Harry. "Why don't you just bloody answer? That confounded buzz...."

"Oops," Harry realised. He ended the Muffliato Charm.

"Sorry," he apologised to a less-than-mollified Filch. "I'll arrange for Gringotts to get you a new probe."

"So that's it, is it?" Filch growled. "One of your goblin hangers-on assaults me, and all I get is a replacement probe. Such cheek would never have been tolerated under Madam Umbridge."

Any mention of that vile woman riled Harry, even though she was dead. "Well, are you going to check our passes or not?" he said impatiently.

"I've half a mind not to let the lot of you go - pass or no pass," Filch snarled.

"You can't do that. Everything's in order," Hermione snipped at him, making sure that her Prefect's badge was plainly visible.

"I know," Filch grumbled. "And basically that's the problem. Dumbledore's letting the inmates run the asylum."

Eyes flashing mutinously, the angry Squib collected and reviewed the Trio's passes. They were indeed in order. More forceful than necessary Filch gave each pass a tic mark with his quill, causing ink to bleed through.

"Now be off! All of you! Before I change my mind," he growled at them.

The sunlit morning was a seasonably cool. As the three walked lazily along the road to Hogsmeade, Harry pointed out the disguised goblins discreetly stationed all along their route. For a while, Harry's two companions amused themselves by picking the grey boulders lying unobtrusively in the fields and under the trees, but that soon got old.

"So, Harry," Ron asked, "do you think Katie's mental enough to order extra practices the whole time between now and the Slytherin match?"

"When did she say that?" Harry replied. This possibility was news to him.

"Oh ... you probably weren't there," Ron remembered. "She threatened the Beaters with extra practices, but come to think of it, you were off somewhere showing that crazy Jazzy girl something."

Hermione groaned. "Extra Quidditch practices ... aargh! That means that every week's going to be as hectic as this past."

"I'm sorry, Hermione ... really," Harry attempted to comfort her. "And I'm sorry I ever got upset with you about the things you had to do - that was stupid of me."

Harry's apology piqued Ron's interest. "Bloody Hell, mate, what happened?" he asked.

"I got shirty with her about not spending enough time with me," Harry got out, before Hermione hastily Legilimenced him.

'Please, don't go telling him about our private issues.'

It was too late.

"You two really need to let me give you the grand tour of Hogwarts' broom closets and other private, out-of-the-way places," Ron began regaling them, as Hermione cringed. "But just you remember that a Gryffindor or Ravenclaw necktie on the doorknob means go find someplace else...."

"Ronald!" Hermione reproached. "You really should stop airing your dirty knickers in public. What would Cho think?"

"There's nothing dirty about her knickers," Ron returned. "She takes them off first...." The redhead dissolved in laughter at his own attempt at humour, whilst Hermione glared at him.

In frustration she turned to Harry. "Well, at least you should be proud of me," she harped. "I actually turned down a request so I wouldn't be spending even less time with you."

"I like the sound of that," Harry replied. "What did they try to get you to do this time?"

"Not 'they'," Hermione explained. "It was Ginny."

"What did she want?" Harry had to ask.

"She wanted me to tutor her in Potions," Hermione revealed. "I considered it, but it would have to be in the evening. I wasn't going to give away my most precious time," she said, slipping her hand into his, "which is whatever I can spend with you. I told her that all the professors participate in Hogwarts' peer group tutoring programme. Ginny can just sign up with Slughorn. I can't do everything for everybody ... not enough hours in the day...."

Harry glanced nervously towards Ron, but for once he supported Hermione's decision, although not for the best reasons.

"You did the right thing," the redhead readily agreed. "I'm finally better than her at something, and she can't stand it."

"Well, that's another point," Hermione replied tartly. "I mentioned that, and you wouldn't believe the tirade I got back from her. Why don't you let your own sister use the Prince? That would solve...."

"Hell no!" Ron protested. "Ever since I can remember, it's been one thing or another - she just has to prove she's cleverer than her older brother. I must have pulled her hair too much when I was five, or something.... You should've seen the way she rubbed my nose in it when she got that bloody badge. Well, now the Flobberworm's turned and she's gone all mental. Why should I lend her my favourite book just so she can catch up to me? Let's see how she likes it when they threaten to take her badge away...."

Ron was clearly in the mood to rant at length about Ginny always trying to show him up academically. That was no surprise, since he had good cause. What was surprising was how Harry looked like he had just eaten something unpleasant.

Hermione Legilimenced him. 'Harry, what's wrong?'

'It's nothing, Hermione,' he Legilimenced back, 'nothing at all.'

'It clearly isn't nothing, Harry,' Hermione shot back.

'I'm sorry, Hermione,' Harry confessed. 'The Ginny business is sort of my fault.'

'How could Ginny failing Potions possibly be your fault?' Hermione asked.

'Not that,' Harry corrected. 'It's just ... well, I sort of.... Well, she was really upset about maybe losing her spot on the team, and I suggested ... umm ... that she ask you for help.'

'Oh,' Hermione replied, now understanding Harry's apology. 'And did you talk with her before or after....'

'After,' Harry hastily answered. 'That's why I feel so dumb. One minute, I'm upset because you don't have enough time for me, and the next I'm suggesting you help Ginny. I'm sorry.'

Harry was so contrite that Hermione could hardly stay cross with him. 'Don't worry,' she Legilimenced - sooner or later Ron would stop ranting about Ginny's real or imagined slights and realise that his friends were having their own private conversation - 'nobody is always consistent. Do you want me to help Ginny with Potions or not?'

Harry paused just a bit before telling her, 'No, actually not. I think you did the right thing. It sounds like the school's got this covered.'

At the first fork in the road after entering Hogsmeade, Harry and Ron turned left, along with the great majority of their cohorts, and walked down what would become the High Street - towards Honeydukes, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes (having its "Grand Reopening," an advert on the signpost at the junction announced), the Three Broomsticks and the village's other "popular" establishments.

Hermione took the road less travelled - past the Hogs Head tavern and the Revolving Door Inn, off to Samson's Option. She knew it was down this way a bit, somewhere before the cross road that led to the Shrieking Shack. At least that's what she had overheard Vicky Frobisher telling Lavender not too long ago....

After all, nobody would think of actually telling her - Prefect and notorious swot that she was. Ron was spot on about the unusual nature of Samson's wares. But even he did not know the half of it. Unless he and Cho had really unusual pillow talk, that is. Samson's, after all, catered exclusively to witches. Quite randy witches.

Finally she spotted the sign in front of the shop. The image was partially obscured by one of the Ministry's now rather tattered purple warning posters. The sign showed a muscular man, clad only in a loincloth, with both arms raised over his head. Those arms supported a horizontal witch, also scantily clad, who was lazily reading a book.

This was the place.

Even though she had no objective reason to feel guilty about anything, Hermione entered the shop, she felt she must be blushing furiously. She reminded herself that she was of age, and that the Twins' shop placed far more items on Filch's forbidden list than Samson's ever had.

Slipping hurriedly inside, she heard a high pitch whine when she closed the door. Mounted on the inside of the door she saw a small cage holding one rather bored færie. Hermione casually examined some of the magical skin creams and other witch cosmetics on racks near the door before a shop assistant greeted her.

"May I help you?" the woman - whose nametag read "Marian" - asked.

"Yes, the den please," Hermione requested. "I have about two hours."

"I'll need to see your wand, of course," Marian said.

"Of course," Hermione agreed as she gave her wrist a flick.

Marian was duly impressed that this customer wore an Auror-style wrist holster, and knew how to use it. She scuttled away to an adjacent room. Hermione's eyes turned to examining some "sale items" - mostly involving autoerotica - heaped into ... a black swing hanging from the ceiling that....

Well, it was utterly unlike any swing Hermione had ever seen before, but with Harry, she might not be adverse to trying it out.

Soon Marian returned. "Very well - you're legal," she told Hermione. "That will be six Sickles, plus any purchases."

Hermione pulled out her coin purse and counted out the silver. "Which way?" she asked.

"Back there," Marian replied, pointing towards the rear of the shop.

As Hermione looked on, what had been an ordinary stucco wall started to shimmer. A doorway fluttered into existence, topped by a sign that read, "Delilah's Den." Instead of a door, the entrance was hung with scores of strands of colourful beads, enough effectively to obscure what lay beyond. Her furious blush returned at the quite explicit pattern in the beads.

As Hermione started for the door, Marian called after her, in hushed tones, "Good luck, Ms. Granger, we're rooting for you, too."

No wowsers here. Delilah's Den carried the largest selection of witch-oriented sex manuals and similar literature in Scotland - or so claimed an advert on the wall inside the large, well appointed room.

Hermione came to this place for the same reason she went to any other bookstore or library - to learn. She was more in love with Harry Potter than she could have believed possible a year ago. She would be making love with him for the first time - probably that very night, and in any event, soon. It would mark a new departure in their always evolving relationship; one that she was determined would be the beginning of something better.

A not particularly philosophical sort, Hermione shared her father's attitude that philosophy was useless and theology worse. She did not, however, lack a creed by which she lived her life. One thing she knew for sure was she would do anything for Harry. The motto she followed was to be the best - or as close to that as humanly possible - at anything she did.

Thus, she made perfection her norm - and tried for better in special situations. This was the epitome of a special situation

Creed and need coalesced. So Hermione would spend the next couple of hours learning as much about sex - its techniques, magic, and maybe even its ethics - as she possibly could.

She had been called a boring bookworm (although rarely to her face) enough times in her life. Harry was going to find out - not that he had suggested any such thing lately - that a bookworm could be the complete opposite of boring.

The both of them had been in the papers enough lately that Hermione was relieved to find the room unoccupied. Her classmates were not a problem. She was the only one old enough to gain entry. But privacy was precisely why she had come early. She anticipated, correctly, that this establishment had little or no "morning crowd."

Whilst most of the Den's books and other paraphernalia were for sale, the place was also a reading room for those too penurious or, like Hermione, to unwilling to take forbidden items back to the Castle. Her Sickles had bought her two hours of revising time. Not wanting to waste a minute of it, she quickly began scanning the shelves.

'That looks interesting,' Hermione mused as she slid out a copy of Beyond Fornication Under Consent of the King. It was subtitled "A User's Guide to Sexual Practices Banned as Witchcraft by Muggle Henry VIII." Working quickly she collected some other likely-titled tomes and retired to the farthest back reaches of the room, where she found a comfy looking chair next to a small end table.

To make doubly sure that she would not be disturbed, Hermione pulled out the Invisibility Cloak Harry had loaned her and vanished under it. To keep her safe, he had provided her with a 1000-Galleon Cloak. Harry would eventually appreciate the irony in her first use of the Cloak.

She intended that he would appreciate it very, very much....

Before Hogwarts, Hermione's existence had been rather sheltered. Her father had been a strong Conservative Party backer, especially (and ironically) of John Major's abortive "Back to Basics" and "return to Victorian values" campaigns from a few years back. Despite their abysmal failure - half the cabinet enmeshed in scandal - a good bit of her non-magical upbringing reflected just such parental attitudes. Hence, Hermione had thought herself quite bold, just to nick a banana for practice.... Reading these books, she realised she had barely scratched the surface....

...Anne Boleyn was probably no witch, but some of the "sortileges" by which she supposedly bewitched the King sounded quite enchanting indeed...

...Seven different contraceptive charms worked on females, and three potions. Male contraception consisted of three charms, one potion, and a jinx (the last usually being involuntary)....

...A thirteenth use of dragon's blood existed that Dumbledore had not discovered - in a fertility potion to induce birth of a male heir....

...The Orgasimos Charm could be performed wandlessly with the male's organ....

...It could also be performed, with somewhat more difficulty, by either sex using the tongue or the teeth....

...A wizard around Harry's age could expect two, or conceivably three, orgasms in an evening. Extensive use of magic might raise the total to four. By contrast, a witch of the same age had no limit whatever - short of physical exhaustion....

...A properly charmed wand should not vibrate at more than ten times a second. Anything faster could not be individually sensed and simply overloaded the relevant nerve endings....

...Any vibrating spell performed with a wand could also be cast on one's tongue, although it made speech quite difficult. Failure to pronounce the "at" in "vibratio" could lead to nasty infections....

...On the subject of tongues, a less extreme version of the charm that the Twins embedded in their Ton-Tongue Toffees had another, quite scandalous, use....

...The Simultaneity Charm could be used to coordinate climaxes....

...Antoine Crewkerne formulated a magical lubricant, called "Superfluid Transdermal Potion." It was too effective. Deleting the magical ingredients and abbreviating the name, he sold the remaining formula to Muggles, who still use it in motorcars....

...Climbing flight with the female in front was recommended for sex on a broom. Other positions or flight orientations ran the risk of extremely adverse results....

...Like most of the clitoris, a goodly part of the male organ extended beneath the skin. This part was just as sensitive as the visible equipment....

...Another, supposedly "Tantric" (if done wandlessly and silently) way of going about things was for the male to lie still following penetration whilst successively casting and removing the Engorgio Charm on his organ....

...There was a dual form of the Bubblehead Charm, useful for underwater sexual activity....

...Several charms, including Wingardium Leviosa, made it possible to perform sex in midair. This was not recommended for beginners, as loss of concentration could make for a rather painful (or worse) landing....

...It was possible to mix lovers' magic during sex, but the resultant blurring of individual identities made it advisable to wait until marriage....

...Two different charms, both involving Transfiguration, were available to reconstruct a female's virginity, but repeated use caused a build up of scar tissue....

...Most ordinary spells doubled or better in strength if performed at the moment of orgasm. Results were erratic, however....

Hermione filed these - and many other - useful titbits of carnally-oriented knowledge away for future reference in her library-like mind. At their last ... session ... Harry had professed his jealousy of Hermione's banana. At their next, she intended to make the banana jealous of him.

There were few interruptions. Only a couple of witches entered whilst she was there, and only Karen Bundy, a Seventh-Year Ravenclaw, did she know by sight. Thus, nothing interfered with Hermione's voracious reading.

At least until it was almost time for Hermione to leave.

She was just finishing reading (and being puzzled by) several chapters of the wizard version of Aleister Crowley's Energised Enthusiasm, when the bead curtain rattled and Cho Chang slid through. The Ravenclaw seemed uncharacteristically anxious and out of sorts.

Hermione, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, at first tried ignoring her. That was extremely difficult, as merely being in the same room with that ... that harlot ... put Hermione extremely on edge. Cho had (albeit unintentionally) caused so much of her and Harry's recent suffering. But after finding herself rereading the same paragraph about male erogenous zones (there being, according to this author, precisely one) for the third time, she finally gave up and watched.

Cho was full of fidgety energy. She bustled to a shelf, selected a volume, sat down, read a bit, and then repeated the process all over again. Rather more often than Hermione thought normal, Cho's hand reflexively sought her lower torso.

Cho frequented the medical section. She couldn't be, could she?

If she were, was it really Ron's?

Even if not, would she tell him it was?

Originally, Hermione's intent had been to wait Cho out unseen. But as she sat there, under the Cloak, spying on the witch who had her other best friend wrapped around her finger, she felt compelled act. To do exactly what, she was not quite sure.

When Cho next moved to the shelves, and thus turned her back, Hermione removed the Cloak and pretended to read.

Cho returned to her own chair with her latest book - taken from the same spot as the others - and saw she had company.

"Eek! Hermione Granger!" she squeaked, her voice an octave or more higher than its usual sultry, contralto. "What are you doing here?"

"Why reading, of course," Hermione replied evenly.

"Oh, sorry, I knew that," Cho said, still quite muddled. "But you ... here?"

"I'm here, yes," Hermione answered, hoping that the less she said, the more Cho might reveal. That strategy failed, as Cho soon righted herself.

"But this is.... Oh, I get it.... Well congratulations are in order, I suppose," she said more coolly. "You're evidently taking your relationship with Harry to the next level."

"Thank you," Hermione responded, her mind working furiously. "Should I be congratulating you as well, then?"

"Oh, Ronnie and I have been together," she batted a knowing eyelash, "that way for quite some time. I'm surprised he didn't tell you. He's not particularly discreet.... Naughty lad, that."

Hermione suppressed a laugh at Cho's reference to sexual discretion. She rose and approached the shelves whilst still formulating her next move. "Umm ... you wouldn't know where the books on contraception are?" she asked, feigning anxiety.

"Third aisle, on the left," Cho responded smartly. "At least two shelves worth on the side nearest the door. They're quite good."

Hermione moved in that direction, thinking to herself, 'She can't be pregnant, then.' She opened a tome she had already read. Contraception was the first subject she had researched. 'Why else would she be consulting medical information?'

Time to bring their little charade to a conclusion.

Hermione exited the shelves, still holding the book. It would make a good shield if Cho tried hexing her. Instead of taking her seat, she retraced Cho's steps and took note of the titles surrounding the space vacated by the book Cho was reading.

"You know, Cho, I've never pried into Ron's affairs, but he is one of my oldest and best friends" Hermione spoke carefully. She could see Cho stiffen at the mention of Ron's name. "Why are you consulting a book on magically-induced sexual disorders?"

"Why I .... That's none of your business, Granger," Cho answered icily, no longer bothering to conceal the tension building between them.

"Oh, I'm afraid it is my business," Hermione pressed. "Like I said, Ron's a very good friend...."

"You've never been interested in him. Ron said so himself," Cho hissed. "What we do is none of your concern."

"If you infect him with any sort of STD," Hermione sternly warned, "you'll wish you'd never met him. I'll make certain of that."

"You'll make certain of nothing," Cho retorted hotly. "I'd never, ever do that to Ronnie. I'm very careful of him. From what Ronnie said, though, you'd do well to be careful of Harry...."

Hermione purpled, not sure with whom she was currently angrier - at Cho for casting aspersions on Harry, or at Ron for blabbing to Cho something she supposed Harry had told his best mate in confidence.

Despite her anger, Hermione was aware that the dog had not barked. Cho had not denied the assumption inherent in her earlier statement.

"I'm not worried about Harry," she stoutly declared. "Whatever Ron told you - he didn't know what he was talking about ... no surprise there."

"I rather think I should be going, then," Cho said dismissively, shutting her book with a thud. "Enjoy Harry. Even without the 100,000 Galleons, you two always deserved each other."

With that dig, Cho gathered her things and stood. Now Hermione could see the lettering on the spine of the book - Hubert Huddleston's Compleat Handbook of Sexual Enchantments and Related Magical Maladies.

"Well what is it, then, if not that?" Hermione called after the retreating witch, "I study healing. Maybe I could help."

"For the third time, it's none of your business," Cho growled as she reached the beaded curtain. "And you're the last person in the world I'd discuss such things with, anyway."

As Cho left, Hermione could not resist giving the screw one last turn. "If you can't find what you want here," she informed her deliberately, "you can always try things like WebMD on the Muggle Internet. There's a connection on the new central station system that Ravenclaw just got for the D.A. Any Muggle-born can show you how to use it."

When she mentioned the Internet, Hermione could almost feel Cho shiver.

Her encounter with Cho thoroughly upset Hermione for the rest of her time at Delilah's Den. She could absorb only so much of this ... material ... at one sitting anyway. Shortly after Cho departed, Hermione had had enough. Putting the books away, she gingerly examined the other items offered for sale.

She had no use for the various "hands on" products - especially those bearing the "Weasleys' Wanton Witches" trademark. 'It seems the Twins are expanding their market,' she mused. 'No telling what their products might actually do.'

She had contented herself with low tech before, and now with Harry ... now there was even less reason to upgrade.

The lingerie - that was another story. Samson's Option carried any number of costumes that, simply by sight, made her feel randy. All the major trademarks were represented: Witches' Wonderworks, Lover's Touch, Playwitch, Playwizard, and more. She even noticed Muggle wear, such as Victoria's Secret, Ann Summers, and Knickerbox.

After a few minutes of looking, Hermione selected something she considered appropriate for the occasion. She hoped it would be four Galleons well spent.

* * * *

Freed from Hermione's sometimes oppressive correctness, Harry and Ron trudged along the road to Hogsmeade. Ron was the first to break the silence.

"Umm ... Harry? I need.... Well, I want to, anyway...."

"Want to what?"

"I ... I want to apologise for going off on you the other day. I was being a jealous prat," Ron finally spit it out.

Surprised Harry might have been, but shocked he was not. He rather thought Ron had gone too far at Gringotts. "Well, all right then," he responded tersely. "But you had to know I'm over Cho."

"I know," Ron confessed, "I was more worried, actually, about Cho being over you...."

"Then shouldn't you really be talking to her, not me?" Harry carefully responded, mulling how quickly to let his friend off the hook.

"I did," he admitted. "She got madder at me than Hermione did. Asked me what the Hell I thought she was, she did. Remember that old joke I told you about haggling over the price...?"

"Not that I want to," Harry answered. He was getting uncomfortable and to get it over was ready to let Ron slide.

"...Well she thought that's how I was thinking of her," Ron said with a chuckle. "That's not what I meant...."

"Could have fooled me," Harry replied unsympathetically. "You acted like Cho would throw you over for my money. That's not true, and you know it...."

"Yeah, I know, but there's one thing I just don't get," Ron continued. Harry was afraid that Ron, with two feet firmly already implanted in his mouth, would go for the hat-trick. "Why don't you two just announce that you've declared for her and be done with it? It's no secret from You Know Who anymore, so why not just let all these witches know that ... well ... that this race is run?"

Ron actually had a rather good question.

"Mostly to keep her from being hassled, or worse," Harry stated honestly enough. "But you've a point. Things have changed. I'll ask Hermione about that."

From there, the conversation descended to less serious matters. They joked about Filch's comeuppance. They discussed strategy for the upcoming Slytherin Quidditch match - a subject that extended all the way into Hogsmeade. Upon reaching the Three Broomsticks, Harry realised he had no idea where he was going.

"Where are Fred and George's new premises?" Harry inquired.

"'Spect Zonko's old place," Ron guessed. "I know they were trying to buy it. They said old Zonk didn't want to go through another war, what with all the money he lost the first time. But they weren't telling me much at the end there...."

"Knowing them, it won't be hard to find," Harry observed.

"No doubt about that," Ron agreed.

They were right. As they turned the bend on Hogsmeade's High Street, the latest branch of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was impossible to miss. Zonko's old premises no longer bore any resemblance to the prior establishment. The building - formerly fire engine red - was repainted international orange, fluorescent green, and sky blue. Whilst 3W's Diagon Alley location sported stripes, this shop was patterned in lizards crawling all over the building.

So it appeared when Harry and Ron first set eyes on the place. But as they approached, the lizards began to change, metamorphosing into a hexagonal pattern, equally garish but quite different.

The shop bore the Twins' usual "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes" sign in half-metre-high red lettering. Harry swallowed hard because above that the Twins had mounted a three-by-one metre banner reading "Grand Reopening." Attached was a large picture of Harry's face and the words "Harry Potter Personal Appearance" beneath his picture. The banner was tied to a large sphere resembling a multi-coloured beach ball.

"I don't think I'm going to like this," Harry muttered, as the shop's exterior design turned into a honeycomb with bees on it.

"Oh come on, mate, it'll be fun," Ron tried cheering him up. "It's Gred and Forge, innit? Anything they've cooked up is bound to be hilarious."

"I dunno," Harry shook his head. "All I'm sure of is whatever they've planned is bound to make them money."

The honeybees on the outside of the 3W shop were becoming butterflies when a small crowd of people, watched over by a number of Aurors, spotted the two and started to applaud.

"Umm ... Ron...," Harry responded uncertainly.

"Take it from the King - just smile and wave," Ron told him. Harry looked at his friend and saw him doing just that. Harry put on his best fake smile and managed a small wave of his own.

As the butterflies were morphed into what some sort of fish, Fred Weasley emerged from the shop, attracted by the noise outside. Customarily, he was overdressed in a loud dragon skin suit - this one in bright blue with even brighter green pockets and orange buttons and trim, so that it matched the shop's décor. Seeing Harry, he bolted towards him.

"Harry! Old buddy. Old mate. Old pal," he beamed. "Great of you to come - and masterful timing too!" Fred clapped Harry heartily on the back. "Hard on the heels of your Quibbler tell-all. I didn't realise how great a businessman you really are...."

Entirely ignored by his older brother, Ron scowled.

Fred turned to the shop, where the fish were in the process of turning into birds, and yelled to his twin, who had stuck his head out the door, "It's him. Let 'er rip!"

The birds were transforming into some different type of birds - still the gaudy combination of orange, green, and blue - when a thunderous burst of bright yellow fireworks went off over the shop. A line fell away and the large beach-ball shaped object (filled with some lighter-than-air gas) shot skyward until restrained a hundred metres up by another cord. The poster bearing Harry's likeness rose with it. To Harry's dismay, it seemed to enlarge as it climbed.

"Lit the blue touch paper!" George yelled over the din. He wore an identically horrible suit, except he was now thoroughly dusted with what looked like grey ash.

"Did you forget to retire?" Fred retorted. He shepherded Harry inside whilst the birds resolved into some cubic pattern.

The shop was already packed with students and others drawn by the Twins' publicity. To part the crowd, Fred facetiously yelled, "Make way! Make way for the heir of Gryffindor! Seriously fanciable wizard coming through!" Harry allowed himself to be led to the rear of the store where George stood next to a podium decorated with a greatly enlarged likeness of Harry's Quibbler cover. With a fake wand shaped like a rubber croquet mallet, he was still beating the ash from his suit jacket.

On sight, he flipped the rather droopy device aside. "The man of the hour!" George exclaimed whilst enthusiastically shaking Harry's hand. "Returned from the edge of death - not once, but twice. Why don't you say a few words?" He pointed Harry the way to the podium. As a very red-faced Harry passed, George slipped him a note.

Harry read it behind the podium. It said, "Sorry about all this. With everything that's happened to you lately, it got out of hand. Hope you can muddle through. We have cool stuff to show you."

Harry nervously cleared his throat, "I'm really, really glad to be back," he began, having no idea what he would say. "Nobody can doubt now that Voldemort's back...."

An audible hiss came from the crowd when he used the Dark wizard's name.

"...And get used to that. Say his name. If you're too scared to do that, he's won half the battle already. We can beat him, after all. Look what he threw at me, and I came back anyway...."

Receiving a smattering of applause, Harry was surprised to feel as confident as he did. After Fudge threw him to the press, and then having wowing a much tougher crowd in France, Harry began to believe he could actually do this.

"I won't say much about that. You can read about it in the Quibbler...."

George raised his hands and interrupted, "We have autographed copies - five hundred of them...."

Harry's head whipped around at George's casual fraud. He knew he had never signed anything - but then George never specified who had signed these autographs.

"...They're a Galleon apiece by themselves, but free with any purchase of ten Galleons or more." Then George stopped yelling and nodded at Harry to go on.

"Umm.... That's George Weasley," Harry continued after a bit of a hitch. "He and Fred own this place. It's the best joke shop in all Hogsmeade...."

"It's the only joke shop in Hogsmeade," somebody called out. The crowd laughed.

"True," Harry replied, relaxing again, "but still, it's the best. Anyway, I know first hand how good their pranks can be. We'll need that. There's a war on, and we'll see some dark days ahead, I'm sure. We have to keep our spirits up, and for that, a sense of humour's essential...."

Within reach was a carousel of fake wands. Harry reached out and grabbed one. It let out a squeak and turned into a rubber rat. Holding it by the tail, without warning Harry swung it and smacked George in the back of the head.

"Hey!" the startled twin yowled as he jumped forward almost a metre. The pocket of his jacked caught in a countertop display of booby-trapped sweets and something called "Sweet Sixteen Additive." The entire display crashed to the ground.

"That's for shoving me up here in front of everybody with no warning," Harry joked as the crowd howled with laughter. "You're lucky it was only a whack with a rubber rat. If Hermione were here, she'd have hexed you long before."

Fred had worked his way to the front of the crowd. In the spirit of things he asked Harry in a loud voice, "Well, where is this girl who saved the Boy Who Lived's arse anyway?"

Harry was not about to tell the truth. "That's not for me to say. I'm not my ... er ... girlfriend's keeper," he replied. Addressing the crowd again, Harry added. "Anyway, like I was saying. Buy lots of these berks' stuff, because it's really good. But make sure you don't take any of it to the Castle.... There, now I won't get in any more trouble with Filch."

Again the crowd laughed, knowing full well that Harry neither meant for them to obey his last request nor intended to honour it himself.

"And remember," Harry closed. "Inter-house unity is key, and wizard relations Muggles and with every thinking magical creature. Don't forget, the goblins saved me as much as Hermione. Now go have some fun. I've said enough."

Harry tried to stand down, but for almost half an hour he had to suffer through an impromptu receiving line. A surprisingly large number of both Hogwarts students and local residents wanted to shake his hand, pat him on the back, or offer an encouraging word.

Ron stood by to him throughout. He certainly liked the concept of celebrity better than Harry. Seamus caused the only untoward incident. He shook hands with Harry whilst wearing odd-looking gloves that shimmered with multicoloured diffraction patterns. Seconds later, Ron burst out, "What the Hell...?"

"What?" Harry reacted, all eyes were on him again, and some of the youngest onlookers pointing.

"You're bloody glowing," he said. "Rainbow stripes all over your face, hands, and Merlin knows where else."

A couple metres away, Seamus almost doubled over in laughter at his prank.

"Finite," George muttered. "Sorry about that, but you've just seen how our Gaudy Gloves still work even when inside out."

Fred had the last laugh. He surreptitiously used a Switching Spell to replace Seamus' ordinary belt with another 3W product. This one, set for fifteen minutes, vanished a split second after the wearer's trousers grew by a half-dozen sizes.

As the crowd finally thinned, Harry felt George grab his shoulder and whisper in his ear, "Follow me. You've never had a real tour. Come see the stuff we really want to show you." He led Harry through a set of batwing swinging doors into a half-lit and totally deserted back room.

"What about Fred?" Harry questioned.

"Somebody has to mind the store, especially with all those customers you've attracted," George replied. "We drew straws, and I won."

Harry was impressed by the quantity of merchandise - much of which he could not identify. He asked, "What exactly is this place?" The walls, where not obscured by labeled cartons, were painted flat black. Light was provided by hundreds of tiny dots, stuck randomly to the walls.

It was a bit like stepping into a planetarium - not that the Dursleys had ever taken him to one.

"This is the adult section. No joking here," George said in atypically subdued fashion. "I don't know if anyone's told you, but we're now armourers to the Order, so we've developed more serious products. It started with last year's Shield Hats. They were a lark, but you can't believe how they sold. Turns out, a lot of wizards' Defence skills are totally rubbish. So we expanded that into an entire line - shield cloaks, shield socks, shield trousers - even a shield athletic supporter."

"Whoa, that's brilliant," Harry admired, "and just what the market needed, too. I'll bet you made piles...."

"Thousands of Galleons profit," George confirmed smugly. "The Ministry's our biggest customer now. They've bought hundreds. That's where the real money is - Private Tender Ministry contracts."

Maybe the Twins were being dodgy, but Harry kept his doubts to himself. Rather, he requested, "Before we go all serious, I want to redeem that certificate you gave me for my birthday...."

"A prank idea!" George enthusiastically cut in. "Bloody brilliant! Just tell me who and how. Maybe I should get Fred after all...."

"No, don't bother. You can tell him later. I want this kept as closely as possible because I'm trying to help someone who's rather prickly." Harry told George about Jazzy being harassed by Slytherins during Herbology.

When Harry finished, George thought for a bit, until cracking an evil smile. "I've got some ideas. Let me talk to Fred, and we should be able to have something suitably devious prepared in a week or so. You'll have to send Hedwig, though. Filch has banned all our delivery owls from the Castle."

"How will I know, then?" Harry asked.

"We'll have Verity send you a post owl," George replied. "The Owl Post office is just down the street. Anyway, please, take a look around. We really want to know what you think."

Harry did. Some items he recognised, like several Invisibility Cloaks, a box of Fanged Frisbees in military camouflage colours, and what looked like charmed riot police transparent shields. The oddest thing in the room - at least the oddest thing that stood out - was the light sources themselves.

"Well, for starters, what are these?" Harry wanted to know, gingerly touching a finger to one of tiny lights. He felt nothing.

"Clarion Crystals," George answered proudly. "They produce cold light, like fireflies, only magical - and they'll stay lit for days. These have Sticking Charms on them, but you can get them plain, too. Here, have some...."

George cracked open the top of a Muggle 55-gallon drum, and the light almost blinded Harry. Wielding a scoop like old man Honeydukes used for bulk Bertie Botts Beans, he poured a glistening pile of the luminous grains into a velvet drawstring bag and handed them to Harry.

"These could come in handy," he told Harry. "Toss a handful on the floor of a dark room, same as with Floo Powder, and the place lights right up. They'll counteract that Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder we're also selling."

"Speaking of what you're selling, what's that 'Sweet Sixteen Additive' I saw out there?" Harry asked.

"Well," George answered as he steered Harry towards another corner. "Truth be told, that's a stab at making something, actually, a little more legal."

Harry knew the Twins well. He gave George a sceptical look.

"Remember when we nearly got booted from your party for trying to spike the punch with vodka?" George continued as Harry nodded. "The wizard age for drink is sixteen, so rather than risk Azkaban, we've made this punch additive that only buzzes of age wizards - like you...."

"I don't drink," Harry flatly stated.

"Then it doesn't matter," George dismissed the diversion with a wave of his hand. "Take a look at these instead."

A glass display case against the far wall contained mysterious looking silvery objects, vaguely resembling the spindly devices Dumbledore kept in his office. Harry's gaze followed George's gesture.

"Those are Spyders," he told him.

"What do they do?"

"Spy on Dark Wizards, of course," George answered. "With their legs retracted, they're right tiny, and can hide easily in crevasses, or even in the ceiling. Set loose, they can cross a room of this size in a matter of seconds. They come with optional equipment - cameras, eye-scanners, visual sensors, razor-sharp blades, and soon we hope aura detectors. We're also experimenting with having them carry nasty hexes on one-way missions."

"What if they're captured?" Harry asked. "I'd hate to have them coming after me."

"They don't leave our shop until they're charmed only to obey the purchaser or a preset list of trusted wizards," George reassured. "After that's done, you programme them for each mission and activate with a simple Ennervate. Once turned on, though, you can't stop them until they've completed their mission - short of blasting them to pieces."

"They must cost an arm and a leg," Harry remarked. "That's some really intricate magic."

"We sell them for twenty Galleons apiece, with bulk discounts for the Order and the Ministry. Here, have a couple," George offered, reaching into the case.

"Ouch!" he yowled. "Bloody Hell! It bit me! Stupefy! I've told Fred he has to make sure these are thoroughly wiped before putting a demonstrator back in here."

Shaking a couple of the Spyders to make sure they were inert, George tossed them to Harry.

"Umm ... how much do I owe you for all this?" Harry asked. He had plenty of gold, but not with him, and he doubted that 3W could process a BoE credit card.

George looked at him like he had sprouted antlers - large, fuzzy, pink ones.

"Your gold is no good here. If you think we would take your money after all you've done for us, and for everybody, you're even more daft than we've figured you for. Anything and everything we have is yours, within reason of course."

"Look, I've got loads more Galleons than you," Harry protested. "I'm sure everybody knows that...."

"But not when you staked us. We'd never have gotten off the ground without you, mate," George explained. "That's settled. For you, everything is a comp."

Harry knew when he was beat, so he turned back to examining the Twins' other wares. "What do these do?" he asked.

"These are Pocket Pensieves," George said proudly. "They only hold one memory, so make sure it's a good one. With the accompanying charm booklet, you can customise them into almost any shape or colour you want. We sell these for twenty Galleons a pop. Here, have one." He dropped the top one from the stack into Harry's bag.

"And these?" Harry asked, looking at a stack of greyish-green discs slightly larger than Galleon coins.

"Those are Shocking Pinks," George answered. "A bit like Muggle land mines, but not as deadly. Scatter them about, and anyone or anything that steps on one lights up bright pink. In the dark, they'd be visible for almost a kilometre."

This went on for quite some time, as George showed Harry one outstanding creation after another. Finally, he led Harry through the shop's back door and into a walled courtyard. From the noise, Harry could tell that it abutted the High Street.

On blocks against the front wall were several large chunks of what looked like wood, stone, and metal. Behind them, befitting a target range, was stout rope netting. The netting looked rather worse for wear, with odd-shaped holes where the rope looked like it was melted away.

Harry squinted at all this apparatus. "What's all this?" Scattered on the ground were bits of similar wood, stone, and metal.

"Our best experimental weapon yet," George hinted. "But still strictly experimental. We're still working out the best delivery system, and we'd like your views after you try out what we have so far."

"First, what is it?" Harry asked warily as he eyed the large chunks - some distinctly deformed - that dominated the courtyard. The Twins' reputation preceded them.

"Oh, those are just the targets," George corrected. "Here are the weapons." He popped a box open and removed a large burlap bag filled with brightly coloured globules wrapped in what Harry swore looked like....

"Water balloons, these are," George confirmed. "Only in reverse...."

"Reverse water balloons?" Harry echoed, even more sceptical than before.

"Exactly," George confirmed. "Reverse water balloons. Have you ever heard of an Alkahest?"

Harry wracked his brains, trying to remember if he had ever come across such a thing in DADA, Potions, Charms, or any other class in his five plus years at Hogwarts. He came up empty.

"Can't say that I have," he admitted.

"Not to worry," George said with a smile. "Alkahests have been mostly rubbish because they're pretty much a universal solvent. Dissolve damn near anything solid - as long as it's not alive. Basically an Alkahest turns everything into water, least anything any Potions Master had ever tested."

"So what's holding the Alkahest now?" Harry curiously inquired.

"That's just it," George confided his secret. "Almost too bloody simple, it was. Ordinary Muggle balloons made from synthetic rubber, Neoprene, I think, but who cares? These Muggle synthetics are so unlike anything natural that Alkahests don't affect them."

"So, what good are they?" Harry asked bluntly.

"What good are they?" George repeated almost sarcastically. "They melt through all kinds of stuff, that's what."

"Okay, I'll give it a go," Harry assented, assuming George had brought him for that reason. He picked up a balloon, which sloshed back and forth in his hand. "I don't think I'll do well just tossing it."

"That's the question," George allowed, "What's the best delivery system, so we've got several alternatives we'd like to have you check out. We've got this...."

George produced the biggest hand catapult Harry had ever seen - even bigger than Dudley's - out of another chest next to the balloons.

"...And we've got this...."

He pulled out a long scooplike object. Harry looked at him questioningly, so George slipped a cord around his wrist and hefted it.

"Never seen anything like that before," Harry commented.

"I hadn't either, to tell the truth," George admitted. "Mad-Eye recommended it. He'd seen blokes hurling things pretty far with these on a mission to the Pyrenees ages ago. I put this handle on it back here for better control."

"Anything Mad-Eye saw is probably ages ago," Harry quipped.

"True," George said. "And last but not least, I've got this...."

His last option was a couple of pieces of cord with a solid-looking pocket between them.

"My sentimental favourite," George mentioned whilst fitting a balloon. He started swinging it in a circle over his head. "David beat Goliath with one of these...." He released the sling, but the Alkahest-filled balloon sailed off in an entirely unintended angle, bursting against the side wall of the shop. The bricks started flowing like hot, cinnamon coloured wax. "But I'm just George, not David," he chuckled. "I can't hit the bloody broad side of a Castle with it. That's why we need your expert opinion."

For the next twenty minutes or so, Harry practiced with the slingshot, the xistera, and the sling. His aim was best with the hand catapult, but merely because it was the only one of the three Harry had ever used before. Harry melted a lot of netting about the targets (George accioed in a steady string of replacements), but he dissolved a lot of metal, wood and stone targets, too - particularly in his later attempts.

Whilst Harry played with the equipment, George repaired the gaping hole that his errant shot had left in the side wall of the shop.

"George, I think I like this best," Harry told the twin as he placed another balloon in the xistera. "The hand catapult takes too long to aim and fire, and I'm almost as bad as you with that sling."

Harry moved quickly to his left and, with a straight overhand motion launched one of the Reverse Water Balloons squarely into what remained of the centre wooden target.

"It could use more of an indentation here, to hold the balloon better," he added as he slipped in a bright yellow balloon.

George used his wand to extract the last few balloons from the burlap bag. He casually asked Harry, "Can I ask you something about what's happening at Hogwarts?"

"Sure," Harry replied whilst lining up his next target. "Anything you want."

"Well, Mum's fretting about Ron not writing or Flooing nearly as much as before," George continued. "I'm wondering if he's too involved with that Cho Chang. What's your opinion of her? You went out with her once."

Harry had just gone into his windup when George mentioned Cho. Suddenly he felt like someone had grabbed him by windpipe and squeezed. No way in Hell could he answer George's question honestly. Harry knew that, without Hermione's help, he was pants as a liar.

He tried to stop the xistera, but all he managed was to slow himself down. As a result, Harry launched the balloon, flopping like a demented top, in a high lazy arc. It cleared the netting altogether, and for a couple of agonising moments Harry thought it would clear the courtyard wall and hit who knows what on the High Street beyond.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, when the canary yellow projectile splattered against the wall a little below the top.

Like the targets, the stone wall melted almost instantaneously, leaving a cavern-like opening. Harry was about to apologise to George when - what the fubb? - he saw Draco Malfoy's unmistakable platinum blond head bob past. With the Slytherin was a sprite of a man with thatch-coloured hair.

"Bloody Hell," George hissed behind Harry, Cho being all but forgotten. "What in blazes is he doing here?"

"Malfoy couldn't take Durmstrang," Harry told George. "He came crawling back to Dumbledore, who took him back.... Big mistake, if you...."

George interrupted, "I don't mean Malfoy; I mean Caractacus Burke. He hardly ever leaves his shop these days, and I've never seen him in Hogsmeade before."

Both moved closer to the hole to spy on the pair as they walked down the street.

"You mean as in 'Borgin & Burkes'?" Harry asked.

"Only one I know of," George whispered.

That bought raised eyebrows from Harry. "How would you know?"

"With our business," George hissed, "we're often enough looking for dodgy stuff - particularly ingredients. I'd much rather deal with Borgin, though ... the son, the old man's dead. Burke's almost surely a Death Eater."

"What's he doing with Malfoy, then?" Harry asked in an equally low voice.

"A very good question, Harry," George breathed into his ear as the subjects of the conversation retreated down the street. "Has Burke been in touch with Malfoy? His bird's very distinctive - not an owl - reddish-brown, actually, with a neck like a snake and a beak like a dagger."

"Malfoy did get a rather strange post earlier this week," Harry recalled. "George! Can I borrow one of those Invisibility Cloaks and a set of Extendable Ears?"

Instantly comprehending what Harry was going to do, George Summoned the requested items right away. He handed them to Harry as he crawled through the irregular hole the balloon left in the wall. "Happy hunting, mate - but stay out of any more traps. Malfoy's a twit, but Burke, he could be dangerous."

Fortunately Burke was an old man, because Harry had a lot of ground to make up, whilst staying both quiet and under the Cloak. After remembering to cast a Silencing Charm on his own feet, Harry at least had one less thing to worry about.

Harry's quarry turned down a side street Harry had never taken before, shaded by large, old trees ablaze in fall foliage. The street was quietly residential and quite deserted.

He was now alone with two likely Death Eaters. They paused and - there it was again - the bird George had described mere minutes before. It was the same that had visited Malfoy at Hogwarts, and it certainly looked evil enough. Burke was untying something from its leg, but before Harry could creep close enough for a good look, Burke gave whatever it was to Malfoy. The Slytherin boy quickly pocketed it, and the two moved on.

Whilst watching the bird fly off, it occurred to Harry that if the goblins, the Order, or Dumbledore ever found out the risk he was running, they would be furious. Hermione would probably not be happy with him, either.

Another worry was the Extendable Ears. They were not designed for eavesdropping on moving targets. Only by banishing the Ears into overhanging tree branches Harry could even catch snippets of their conversation.

He heard Burke's voice. "...set it up?"

"It's done exactly how it's supposed to be," Malfoy answered whatever question had been asked.

"Well I've done my part, and it went off without a hitch," Burke responded. "Finally that accursed thing's out of my shop. Good bloody riddance."

"Then there's nothing more either of us need do for the time being," Malfoy said with relief.

"True enough. Still you need to plan how to make exactly the right impression," Burke responded quietly. "Now we can't naff about. It wouldn't do to keep him waiting."

The two picked up their pace.

"And how's the work coming?" Malfoy asked.

"There are always delays, you know," Burke responded. "Supplies and labour are no problem, but the Ministry's requiring changes in the new ward structure, and...."

Silently Harry cursed as they moved beyond the range of the Extendable Ears.

As quickly as he could without being detected, Harry Summoned the ears silently - thanks to his silent spell-casting training. Just as silently he Banished them into another tree just in front of his targets.

"...he need for another meeting, anyway?" Malfoy whispered, sounding rather peeved.

"He didn't say, and I didn't ask," Burke replied. "You can - if you want."

"No ... thanks.... Do you think it's good or bad?" Malfoy continued, now sounding apprehensive.

"Good, I think," Burke answered. "My guess is there's an addition to your ... engagement. That's an honour."

"The only honour I need is more concrete and immediate," Malfoy commented. "Look is this about Hogwarts....?"

Harry groaned inwardly as again they passed from range. He quickly Summoned the Ears and Banished them again. 'Bollocks,' he thought as this try came up rather short.

"...back at Hogwarts?" Burke asked

"Hah! Like I give a damn about her. She's a Mudblood. She'll always be an insignificant piece of rubbish no matter what she does. Why the Dark Lord cares so...."

They passed from range again. Harry repeated the process and this time was rewarded with an excellent cast. The Ears zoomed into an old oak tree that Malfoy and Burke were just approaching.

"...can fix it?" Malfoy was saying.

"I'll do everything possible," Burke answered. "But I'll need to see it. Can you bring it in? All my tools are at the shop."

"It's where it is, and it has to stay," Malfoy said with finality. Harry was in luck, his quarry stopped beneath the tree.

Harry saw Burke touch a rather shaky hand to the younger boy's arm, and Malfoy yank his arm away. "Well, without seeing it, this sure won't be a soft touch...."

"I don't care," Malfoy hissed. "It must be done. To keep your attention focused on the task at hand, I'll have a ... family friend ... drop by every now and then for status reports. I'm sure you know Fenrir Greyback."

That name brought an unmistakable look of fear to the eyes of a wizard whom George had just told Harry could be dangerous in his own right.

"That really won't be necessary...," Burke protested feebly.

"That's not for you to decide," Malfoy threatened. "This is my chance. You Know Who placed me there, and I'm not about to fail.... You will keep the other one safe won't you?"

"Certainly," the older man replied very nervously. "But wouldn't it be better for me just to send it...."

"No, it wouldn't," Malfoy almost snarled as he cut the older man off. "I'm not prepared to bring it back, just yet. Filch has one of those damned probes."

"Very well," Burke acceded.

"Just make damn sure you don't sell it," Malfoy warned. "I'd definitely have to report that as sabotage."

"Certainly not," Burke agreed. "Shouldn't we be going? It wouldn't do to be late."

"There's nobody about," Malfoy remarked after looking straight through Harry. "Here's as good as anyplace, I suppose."

"At least let's move out of the street," Burke recommended, as he guided Draco behind the trunk of the massive oak.

By the time Harry had moved enough to spy them again, it was too late. He heard Burke ask, "Sidealong, then?" and Malfoy answered, "Yeah, I'm to be a good little boy as far as the Ministry's concerned."

With a distinct "pop," they were gone.

Harry decided it was high time he did the same. Leery of revealing his underage Apparition ability, he had only limited options. Willing himself back to the Twins' courtyard, he Apparated for the first time since his fateful final visit to Eliza's flat.

Even though rusty, Harry hit almost the exact spot he wanted - the grassy site of his earlier practice. He made rather more noise than usual, giving George quite a start.

"Blimey," he yelped. "Harry.... I'm right relieved to see you again, I tell you. I shouldn't have let you go alone. Five more minutes and I would have called...."

George stopped talking when he realised Harry was paying him no mind. Rather, the boy stood there, holding his arms away from his body. Harry was gazing at himself in a rather dumbfounded way. It was as if he had seen his own reflection in a mirror for the first time in quite a long while.

Harry looked like he felt, amazed. He had never felt so good - or at least felt less bad - following Apparition. True, it was still like being squeezed through a very long tube. But that was all. He had avoided the usual, almost crushing sense of crowding. That sensation, by far, had always been the most unpleasant aspect of Apparition (save the one time he unwisely Apparated with a full bladder). Nor did he have the usual post-Apparition headache.

Finally he heard George, "Yeah, I'm all right ... sort of...," he vaguely answered.

"Well, what did you find out?" George moved on.

That changed the subject. "That git is up to no good, I know it," Harry growled. "He and Burke went to some meeting. Apparated away. I'll bet anything he's with Death Eaters right now. I don't know what, but he's part of some plot involving Hogwarts."

George was dubious. He discounted any plot on the rationale that, if Draco were that untrustworthy, Dumbledore would never have allowed him to return to Hogwarts.

Harry almost started an argument, but with a mild dose of Occlumency managed to hold his tongue.

Glancing at his watch (a present from Ginny), Harry realised that he really needed to be getting on. His little frolic and detour after Draco had expended all the time he had left himself for the Twins' shop, and then some. Worse, his espionage raised far more questions than it answered.

George let Harry keep the Invisibility Cloak - actually, let him keep anything and everything he wanted. The Cloak was dead handy as Harry threaded his way to the exit through the Twins' gaggle of customers. As he left, the shop's always changing exterior sported a chessboard with pieces. They were metamorphosing into a regular checkerboard as Harry turned his back on it for the last time.

Stripping off the Twins' more confining Invisibility Cloak once he left the crowd behind, Harry trotted past Honeydukes and the Owl Post Office towards the Three Broomsticks. Turning left he took a side street and came to what was once an old barn. It bore a sign "Fizzlips & Schwinn Wax Museum & Fantasy Souvenir Shop." A broad porch fronting the large building opened onto the street. In porch swing hanging from the roof Harry saw Hermione lazily rocking back and forth, her nose buried in a book.

She faced away from him. Harry draped the Cloak back over himself and quietly approached.

"Hi Hermione," he whispered as with one motion he slid into the swing next to her and pushed the Cloak off of himself. "Revising again? I thought we'd agreed this was your day off...."

"What else should I do whilst waiting for you?" Hermione asked coyly. "If my Arithmancy's done, it's one less thing to distract me from you later on, don't you think?"

"Can't disagree," Harry agreed as he nuzzled Hermione's. "How can you even read that, though? I couldn't say what language it's in."

"Oh, because you're not in the class, the Translation Charm doesn't work for you," Hermione replied. "The language is Farsi, but it's written in Arabic. This is the original Arithmancic work...."

"Umm ... Impratraxis ... sir?"

It was Slamdor. Harry and Hermione instantly stopped their conversation to determine what he wanted.

"Your plans after this place, may I know?" he requested. "To deploy my iziz I need."

"I dunno," Harry paused. He asked Hermione. "Care to visit Madam Puddifoot's, milady?"

"Ugh!" Hermione groaned as her nose crinkled. "Call me that revolting name again, and you'll have to find something else to do this evening, Harry Dear. Nor am I the least bit interested in returning to that scene of the crime, just to be gawked at. The Three Broomsticks is much more to my taste."

"Yeah, alright," Harry answered, suitably chastened. "Maybe we can find with Ron and Cho."

Whilst Cho was probably the last person Hermione wanted to meet right about now, she realised that the chance of that happening was rather small. "Oh, I doubt that. They've undoubtedly retired to the Revolving Door by now."

Harry grinned at her, "Not a bad idea, don't you think?"

Hermione returned a knowing grin of her own, "Yes ... later." She added using Legilimency, 'It's almost time, Luv.'

Turning to Slamdor, Harry told him, "After here, be at the Three Broomsticks, and then go back to the Castle."

"Walk, you will?" the goblin commander asked.

Harry looked to Hermione, who nodded, "Weather's good, why not?" he said.

Slamdor thought a bit, and then responded, "Outside, my iziz will wait. I will follow you, but at a respectful distance."

"You didn't do that at the Twins' shop," Harry observed.

"Much more crowded it was - and to be reputable the proprietors were known," Slamdor explained.

Hermione could not help herself. She giggled.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked.

"It's just ... I've never heard the Twins described as 'reputable' before," she answered. "They'd probably be appalled."

The only entrance to the costume shop was through the wax museum, which cost three Sickles each. The ticket taker was reluctant to admit a goblin, but stopped resisting when Harry angrily slapped down a Galleon and said "keep the change and buy yourself a Firebolt." A sign at the door stated, "All period piece costumes available for sale in our souvenir shop."

For the next quarter hour or so, the couple strolled past numerous staged scenes, both magical and Muggle. One room had row upon row of dolls, dressed as almost every famous witch and wizard in European history. On display were Veelas dancing, banshees screaming, and a vampire in a count's outfit straight out of a Bela Lugosi movie. Several different Quidditch teams were portrayed, as were Aurors, Hit Wizards, Hippogriff racers, dragon tamers, Dementors, and - Albus Dumbledore in robes that seemed to be filtered through a prism. One window even had a placard mentioning Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort, but it was empty.

Muggles were also well represented. On display was a tuxedoed James Bond at a baccarat table with a lady in a sparkling silver evening gown. Another exhibit showed three American cowboys playing cards at a saloon, whilst watching dancing girls. Other windows sported Muggle kings, queens, and knights in shining armour, as well as pirates, prostitutes, cave men, and football stars.

Harry was more than a little concerned that he might just come face-to-face with his own likeness. Fortunately that did not happen. The exhibits looked like they had not been updated since before he was born.

A subtle sense of age and decay hung over everything. Visible dust covered most of the figures. The backgrounds were faded and often exposed the supports holding them up. The lighting was generally poor, as if the charms needed renewing. The corridors, whilst clear, had a musty smell that suggested they had not been cleaned recently.

"That's what I want, Harry," Hermione chose definitively. Harry had been looking the other way, at a depiction of overdressed ladies at a fancy "Gone With The Wind" party (or so a little placard stated). He turned to see what had captured her fancy.

She had found a depiction of a goblin royal family. Harry - undoubtedly the only person in Hogsmeade who had actually seen the goblin royal family - was impressed. The costumes were remarkably accurate. The costumes looked much more realistic than the wax goblins wearing them.

"You're a goblin prince," Hermione pointed out. "I want to go as a goblin princess."

"Great idea, Hermione," Harry agreed. "Let's get to the souvenir shop."

At the shop they discovered soon enough that the whole wax museum concept was a sham - specifically, a tax dodge. Clothing stores had to pay the full 17.5% value added tax to Wizland Revenue. Museums, however, were classified as "educational" institutions and their gift shops were tax exempt. Here, the supposed museum "gift shop" was larger than the "museum" itself.

Hermione was disappointed in the costumes. Whilst several goblin princess costumes were available, their material seemed distinctly inferior to the display in the museum itself. The display costume was made partially from green dragon hide, or something similar. The rack of cheap imitations was entirely of thick green velvet, which Hermione complained made her look "frumpy." They were hemmed much lower than what was in the museum - and were much looser fitting as well.

Hermione was in the fitting room with her third attempt when Slamdor asked to speak to Harry - outside. The goblin was grimacing enough that his pointed teeth were quite visible. Harry now knew that was a sign of agitation. He Legilimenced to Hermione that he was 'stepping outside for a moment.'

"Those costumes ... an insult are they," Slamdor declared angrily. "Nothing like what Imprexii would wear. Pathetic ... cheap ... imitation ... degrading.... I wish of assistance could I be."

"But that's what Hermione has her heart set on wearing to the ball," Harry protested. "Could I get a goblin tailor to help with alterations?"

Slamdor's grimace showed even more teeth. "Impossible. To handling such a travesty would stoop no tailor of ours. If earlier I had known, arranged for Savini to receive...."

"Savini?" Harry looked puzzled.

"Your consort," Slamdor replied. "An original obtained could we...."

"'Consort' is a little much," Harry corrected. "It's not like we're married or anything."

"So sorry, am I," Slamdor apologised, instantly prostrating himself. "Described in my orders so was she."

"Anyor," Harry commanded. Every time a goblin did that, it embarrassed him immensely. Even with no witnesses.

"You can get Hermione an original princess' dress from your nation?" Harry asked when Slamdor was standing again.

"Many apologies," Slamdor said. "Too late now is it. From Basilisk skin made are they. Into armour, forged has been it all, with the Voldemort war breaking out. Exceedingly rare, is it. At least two months...."

Harry experienced a eureka moment. "I can get you Basilisk skin right away!" Harry exclaimed. "I know where a fifteen-metre one is."

An excited look came to Slamdor's eyes. "To kill it a special battalion send we will. Command it, perhaps can I. Then cured, must it be. Tear will fresh Basilisk skin...."

"It's been dead for over three years," Harry explained.

"Then possible would it be," Slamdor replied with more enthusiasm than Harry had ever heard from a goblin. "Killed who did?"

"Me," Harry said flatly.

Slamdor looked at Harry as if the lad had just declared himself to be Elvis Presley. "Many apologies Impratraxis," he said, carefully choosing his words. "But maturity not reached would you - even under goblin law."

Harry quickly told Slamdor about his encounter with the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets at the age of twelve. Hearing the tale, Slamdor had to restrain himself from prostrating himself again.

"A solo kill. Truly, a warrior of greatness, you are," he told Harry. "Worthy of Impatok Rakazag himself. Please, get Savini ... er ... your, umm Hermione...."

"Oh, go ahead and use it then," Harry capitulated.

"Please, if Savini Hermione from this ... place can you, go can we."

"You don't want to go back inside, do you," Harry observed. It was more a statement than a question.

"Begging the Impratraxis' pardon, but no," Slamdor replied. "In same building with the plunder, wish not I to be."

"Plunder?" Harry asked. "What plunder?"

"In museum, the original state dress of our royal family there is. The placard, states it that after the Battle of Grim's Graves seized were these. One of our nation's worst humiliations was it."

"When was that?" Harry asked, wishing Hermione were there to conceal his ignorance.

"By your calendar, 1437," Slamdor answered.

"All right, stay here," Harry told the goblin. "I'm getting Hermione."

Harry rushed back inside the gift shop. Fortunately, Hermione had emerged from the fitting room in another of the "princess wraps," as she called them. She was no happier with it than any of the others.

Seeing Harry, she asked him, "Do you think this makes me look fat...?"

"Forget it, Hermione," Harry cut across her. "We're not staying."

"Why not?" Hermione asked, sounding annoyed at not being consulted about whatever Harry was so obviously set upon doing.

"The goblins will custom one of those for you," Harry told her. "We just have to take them to the Chamber of Secrets...."

"Are you out of your mind?" Hermione cut across him. "The Chamber...."

"...Is where the Basilisk skin they need is located," Harry finished the sentence for her.

"Oh ... that's excellent," Hermione said more cheerily. "Can I talk to them first? I have some alterations in mind."

"Not until you get out of that and we get out of here," Harry told her.

"Why not?" Hermione asked, this time genuinely confused.

"Because they don't want to be near those goblin costumes in the museum.... Apparently we wizards stole them after some battle," Harry explained.

"Yes, the Battle of Grim's Graves," Hermione responded, as Harry gawked. Seeing his look, she continued, "If you'd read the placards, you'd have known too. That was during the Roseleaf Goblin Rebellion. Wizard forces ambushed a large goblin force and almost totally scattered it. The goblins fled and their king barely escaped capture. His entire train was overrun and looted."

"And even today, they're not very happy about it," Harry added. "They call it 'plunder.'"

"I can see why they would," Hermione allowed.

"Excuse me, but are you planning on buying anything?" the shop assistant asked. "You've been here for quite some time, and I've other customers to wait upon."

The pair looked around and saw several other Hogwarts students standing around, having just emerged from the museum entrance.

"Er ... no we're not...," Harry began, before Hermione grabbed him by the sleeve. She pointed in the direction of the museum.

Harry looked uncertain, so she Legilimenced to him, 'Why don't you buy the 'plunder'?'

'Why don't I what...?' he Legilimenced back, before appreciating her idea. "That's bloody brilliant!" he almost yelled out loud, startling everyone else, who had not heard anything.

Hermione smiled and left to change into her regular clothing. Harry approached the shop assistant.

"How much do you want for the goblin costumes?" he asked whilst gesturing at the Museum entrance.

At first, the shop assistant did not understand. "Well, the one your witch friend was wearing, that's 35 Galleons before alterations," he replied.

"Sod that," Harry responded. "I mean the costumes actually in the museum. How much do you want?"

"Oh, those," the slightly intimidated assistant responded. "I'm afraid they're not for sale."

"I didn't ask if they were for sale," Harry persisted. "I asked how much you want. Do you know who I am?"

Harry played his fame card only rarely. This was one of those times.

The shop assistant finally took a good look at Harry, and Harry could see signs of recognition spread across his face. "I'm afraid I have to summon the proprietor, Mister Potter," the assistant said. He scuttled to the main sales counter, touched his wand to a cylindrical object, and said, "Mister Schwinn to the front, please." The same statement boomed throughout the building.

Hermione was out of the fitting room before an older wizard, dressed in nondescript blue robes, appeared. Except for a pair of peacock feathers jutting from his hat, nobody would have given him a second glance. He had a whispered conversation with the sales assistant. Harry was digging in his pockets for his set of Invisible Ears when the conversation ceased and Mr. Schwinn approached him.

"Mister Potter, the exhibits are not exposed for sale. We'd lose our tax exemption if we started selling off the contents of the museum," he explained.

"I'll give you ten thousand Galleons for the four goblin costumes," Harry said, ignoring what he had just been told. He also used just a touch of Legilimency.

His brush with the man's mind told Harry that Mr. Schwinn was both interested and dubious.

"I'm afraid I couldn't," Schwinn replied. "I'd lose as much in taxes over the course of the year."

"One hundred thousand Galleons, then," Harry upped his bid.

'Slow down, Harry,' Hermione Legilimenced. 'You're bidding against yourself.'

"These are personally significant heirlooms," Schwinn continued. "They've been in the family for centuries. Several Schwinns fought in the Roseleaf War...."

"Well, why don't you tell me what you want for them, then," Harry said earnestly - trying but failing to heed Hermione's admonition.

"I should really contact my lawyer, first," Schwinn told the insistent boy. He knew from the Daily Prophet that Harry was good for any figure that could be coaxed from him.

"We'll consult them later," Harry persisted. He intended to do this for the goblins - and he would do it right now - before he next saw Slamdor.

"The museum, it's an essential part of your business, isn't it?" Hermione broke in.

"Yes it is," Schwinn affirmed in his most grave voice.

"Well, what has it been appraised for?" Hermione bore in. "Surely you know that."

Schwinn knew, of course. He knew it was substantially less than the hundred thousand Galleons already on the table.

Hermione thought so too.

"The appraisal is not the point," Schwinn responded. "I'm a businessman. I've been a businessman all my life. And I'm not ready to retire."

"One hundred thousand Galleons is a rather substantial offer," Hermione remonstrated. "Don't you think you ought to at least talk to your partner?"

"Joachim Fizzlips is dead ten years," Schwinn responded. "Merlin rest his soul. I've bought him out."

In a sense, Hermione had overplayed her hand, since the possibility of another player perhaps more amenable to Harry's proposal evaporated. But it was useful information nonetheless, since they now knew no absent principal had to be consulted.

"Look, you like gambling, I think," Harry broke in again. "I see it in the museum, with Bond in the gambling house, card players, Hippogriff racers and the like...."

"Yes, I might," Schwinn admitted. "I've been know to fancy a flutter or two...."

"Well how would you like to run a gambling house for a living?" Harry said.

"Harry! What are you talking about?" Hermione asked.

"I've inherited all or most of some seaside mountain casino in I think southern France," Harry told her. "I haven't the slightest interest in gambling."

"Umm...," Schwinn observed, "I don't think there are any mountains in southern France - by the sea, that is."

"I was told that I've inherited a casino by the Mediterranean," Harry responded to the scepticism. "Maybe it's not in France. It's Monte something or other...."

"Monte Carlo?" Hermione's jaw dropped. "That's - that's in Monaco, which isn't really France."

"Monte Carlo?" Schwinn echoed, desperately suppressing the urge to shout.

"That's it, Monte Carlo," Harry confirmed. A little more Legilimency confirmed that the man was now very interested.

'That's easily worth one hundred times more than this dump,' Hermione Legilimenced.

'Don't care,' Harry Legilimenced back. 'I've no attachment to it. It was probably bought with slave money anyway. And for once I can spend some money doing something that feels right.'

'You're really wonderful,' Hermione responded, giving him her blessing. 'You know that, don't you?'

By the way Harry grinned at her, Schwinn knew that something had passed between them. He wisely kept his mouth shut.

'You'll find out tonight,' Harry replied - ending their silent conversation.

Harry turned back to Schwinn, "Look, I own or control the magical side of that Monte Carlo place. I'll swap it with you, straight up, for this place - but I want those goblin outfits, and any other goblin stuff from the same source; and I want it right now."

Schwinn's price had been found. "Well, I see that you've...."

"Yes or no?" Harry demanded.

"...made me an offer I can't refuse," the older man finished.

"Bring out the stuff, and we'll shake on it to make a binding magical contract," Harry told him.

"With alacrity," Mr. Schwinn said excitedly. He grabbed his sales assistant and made for the museum entrance - the other would-be customers being quite ignored.

"And one other thing," Harry called after them.

Schwinn stopped in his tracks. "What is that?"

"You stay here and run this place until the Hogwarts ball is over."

"Absolutely," Schwinn instantly agreed.

Ten minutes later, Harry was walking out the door with four sets of historic royal goblin clothing, plus a couple of shields, some swords, and miscellaneous jewelry. He also had the business card of Schwinn's solicitor. Harry would be sending Hedwig to Blackie Howe that evening with instructions to formalise a contract that reflected the transaction.

"Slamdor!" Harry bellowed when he reached the street. An amazed looking goblin approached.

"This is for you to return to the Goblin Nation," Harry told him.

"Impratraxis," was the only word out of his mouth before, instructions to the contrary be damned, he prostrated himself before his prince - who had just redeemed the Nation.

"Anyor - please, this is heavy," Harry protested. "It resists ... enchantments...."

Slamdor scrambled to feet, summoned his troops, and they each took a share of what signified the end of a half-millennium-old indignity to their Nation.

When Harry told Slamdor that he had surrendered his interest in a casino to redeem the goblins' centuries-old loss, he received a sly grin in return, and the comment, "Worry not, Impratraxis. Repaid, shall be you. In full. Excellent gamblers, are we goblins."

Needless to say, the trip to the Three Broomsticks was forgotten as Harry and his goblin caravan returned to Hogwarts. To prove good faith, Harry had agreed to keep the four royal outfits at the Castle, and not turn them over to the goblins until a formal contract with Schwinn was completed. Harry - and thus, the goblins - could have the miscellaneous materials immediately.

On the road back, Harry and Hermione completed a conversation with Slamdor about how to get goblins into the Chamber of Secrets so they could carve up the Basilisk carcass. In addition to Hermione's ball costume, Slamdor talked of preparing goblin-forged armour for them both, and possibly others, depending upon the amount of usable Basilisk skin. Slamdor retreated to discus logistics with his second, and Harry remembered an important question he wanted to ask Hermione.

'Hermione?' he Legilimenced, 'is there any reason left not to announce our engagement ... at least as a declaration?'

She, not Harry, usually initiated Legilimenced conversations. The subject matter doubly surprised her. Hermione turned to face him so quickly that she almost lost her footing on the somewhat muddy road.

'Announce our engagement? I thought you didn't want to,' she responded. Her heart was beating wildly at the thought - but not, as before, with happiness.

'I was afraid of you being a target,' he admitted. 'But after what the Death Eaters just did, I ... well, I don't think that's much of a reason anymore. What do you think...?'

'Harry, as much as I'd love to, we need to wait until you're of age,' Hermione told him.

That surprised Harry. 'Why?' was all he mustered. More was plainly at issue than met his eye.

'Because you're an underage orphan with more than enough property to attract attention,' Hermione informed him. 'I ran across that the other day, in my legal research. An estate the size of Blackwalls requires full Ministry's approval, not just Mad-Eye's. I'd rather not give them another opportunity to....'

All of a sudden a scream rang out ahead. Harry and Hermione saw Katie Bell hovering almost two metres off the ground with a friend of hers frantically grabbing one of her ankles to keep her from floating away. Katie's hair flowed all around her head as if in a great wind - although the day was calm. Her eyes were wide with fear.

"Katie!" Harry and Hermione yelled simultaneously, as they pelted off after her. The poor girl screamed and screamed again.

Harry leapt and caught Katie's other ankle. Hermione drew her wand and let loose with "Arachneortia!" A milky white jet of spider's silk erupted from her wand and stuck to Katie's midsection. Just as Hermione joined in the effort to reel Katie in, whatever was affecting her changed, and she flopped to the ground, landing heavily on both Harry and Katie's friend, Leanne Blyth.

Whilst now returned to the law of gravity, poor Katie still screamed and jerked. Harry had never seen anything like it ... except the Cruciatus Curse.

If that were the case, and it lasted too long.... Well, Neville's parents were a terrible example of what could happen.

Nobody else was in the immediate vicinity.

"Go to the Castle and get help!" Harry ordered the goblins. Slamdor immediately ran his fingers up his forearms. Blue light appeared on his fingertips. He pointed them at the bundles of royal clothes four of his men carried. Instantly, the bundles were suspended in mid air.

"Kasamak!" he yelled at them. In the blink of an eye, the four changed into the now familiar grey boulders, and shot off across the adjoining fields at a high rate of speed, smashing through the hedgerows and rolling directly towards the castle.

"Petrificus Totalus," Hermione incanted, and Katie stopped writhing. Katie's breathing was unaffected because she was still trying to scream. Her eyes remained wide with fear and pain.

Harry knelt beside her and cupped his hands very close to Katie's neck. "I don't know if this will work," he told the onlooking Hermione. "Suturc." Harry concentrated. If Katie were under the Cruciatus or something like it, this might well help.

It did seem to help. Hermione, after briefly giving Harry an odd "what was that" look, felt Katie's arm. Her musculature was no longer stiff and unyielding, as if straining against the restraints of the Petrificus.

How long Harry kept at it neither knew, although Leanne later said it was about ten minutes.

"Oi!" they finally heard in the distance. "Where are yeh?" Huffing and puffing around a bend in the road, led by a bouncing, rolling grey boulder, came Hagrid - red in the face from running all the way from Hogwarts. Following close behind was one of the school's Thestral-drawn carriages, its baseboards spattered in mud, and its windows cracked from a furious part-drive, part-flight along the uneven and occasionally muddy road.

Leanne and Hermione jumped up and ran towards Hagrid.

"Wha' 'appened?" the gigantic groundskeeper called to them.

"Katie's been cursed," Hermione shouted back.

"Something horrible's happened to her," Leanne wailed. "I haven't any idea what...."

Hagrid was no longer listening. He took one look at Katie, scooped her up, and deposited her into the carriage. "To the 'Ospital Wing!" he roared. He gave the Thestral a mighty slap on its hindquarters. It soared into the sky in the direction of the Castle.

Hagrid interrogated Leanne, who explained that it had something to do with a partially opened package now lying, forgotten, by the side of the lane. Hagrid reached for it.

"Don't touch that!" Hermione yelled. Hagrid stopped.

"Whatever that is, it probably cursed Katie," she said. She pointed her wand at a remnant piece of spider silk also lying in the road. "Accio." Then she asked Harry, "Will you freeze the water I'm going to pour on that package?"

Harry nodded. Hermione incanted "Aqueous," and a stream of water emerged from her wand.

Harry extended his hand and, using elemental magic, lowered the temperature of the package and its immediate vicinity to well below freezing. Once ice covered the package, Hermione dropped the string of spider silk on it. They cooperated to add more ice until Hermione was satisfied. She ended her spell and picked up what was now a substantial ball of ice attached to the spider silk thread. She wound the silk into a loop and handed it to Hagrid.

"I think the Headmaster needs to see this as soon as possible," she told Hagrid.

"Right yeh are, 'Ermione," he said, "an' thanks."

Hagrid turned around and ran off the way he came.

Hermione turned her attention to Katie's stricken friend. "Leanne, I know how you feel. If you've read the Quibbler story, you know I felt that way myself when Harry was kidnapped. You have to tell me as much as you can about what happened."

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C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch51 Padfoot's legacy.doc 3/10/2007