Who Ya Gonna Owl?

Who Ya Gonna Owl?

Chapter 3

"Are you quite sure this is how to do it, Hermione?"

The young witch sighed. "Yes, Mr. Weasley," she said patiently. "Quite sure."

Arthur shook his head, scanning the mass of people before him. "I don't know," he said. "It's just- well- it seems so inelegant somehow. Can't you reach them on the fellytone?"

"It's 'telephone', and they don't carry any with them."

"They don't? Why on earth not?"

"Probably because American telephones don't work in Europe. Anyway, I don't think Dr. Spengler's letter mentioned a cellular number. May I see it again?"

Arthur set down the cardboard sign reading STANTZ SPENGLER VENKMAN ZEDDEMORE and dug into the pocket of his Muggle jeans. He withdrew a crumpled envelope, which he passed to Hermione before peering hopefully at the crowd once more. "I should've asked them to send a picture," he fretted. "I only met them that once."

"I'm sure you'll be fine, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione absently as she smoothed out the letter. "There really can't be that many Americans coming into Heathrow on Icelandair."

He sighed, lowering his voice as a knot of teenagers milled past. "I suppose. Still, I do wish they'd been able to come by Floo."

"Well, they tried that, didn't they?" Hermione pointed to the letter, ducking the curious look of an elderly German woman. "They did get as far as Reykjavik."

Arthur nodded. The letter had arrived by short-eared owl yesterday, saying that the Ghostbusters had run into unexpected Floo troubles and could someone please come to meet them at Heathrow Airport. They'd tapped him for the job, and he'd jumped at the chance; he'd never been to a proper Muggle airport before. Not to mention that, Ghostbusters aside, he desperately wanted a close-up look at some aeroplanes. Lucky thing Hermione had volunteered to come along as a guide! How the Muggles could ever run a place this big and complicated without magic to ease things along, he'd never know. Why, the mere approach to the place was a nightmare, motorways full of strange signs and all kinds of vehicles whizzing by in every conceivable direction. Worse than a Quidditch riot! And the airport itself- well- definitely a lucky thing he had Hermione along; there were far too many things to see, instructions to follow, people to avoid. . .

"No," said Hermione, intruding on his reverie. "No number. I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley, but I really don't think they've got telephones with them."

"Oh," said Arthur, a bit disappointed. He took back the letter, tucking it into his pocket. "Ah- you are sure this is where we're supposed to meet them?"

"Pretty sure," said Hermione, indicating the INTERNATIONAL ARRIVALS sign.

A group of Muggles all in blue and yellow pushed past them, yellow pennants protruding from their bags. "Their- aeroplane?- it hasn't been delayed?"

"No, we checked on that already."

"Right, then." Arthur nodded firmly and picked up his sign again. There was music coming from the ceiling, some Muggle tune he didn't recognise. It had a stirring sort of beat to it; he found himself humming along.

Hermione sighed as she glanced at the clock on the wall. "They can't have got very far. If they're coming in from Iceland they've got to-"

His attention was jarred away from her words by the voice. Loud and brash, it cut across the ceiling music and the background murmurs of the surrounding crowd. And it was singing, albeit with more enthusiasm than skill:

"Toe your line and play their game-"

"Inside voice, Peter! Inside voice!" snapped someone else over the noise of the crowd.

"Sorry, Hermione," Arthur said, "I didn't catch that last?"

"They've got to pass Customs, and then-"

"Let the anesthetic cover it all-"

"And that's where?" asked Arthur, wincing and trying to block out the singer with one hand.

"Till one day they call your name- Egon, you're not singing!"

Arthur's head swung around immediately.

"I'm not talking to you, Peter, it's not good for me." The speaker was a tall, scowling, dark-haired American. His barber had inflicted a peculiar haircut upon him that added several inches to his height. He wore sensible grey traveling clothes (sensible for Muggles, anyway), and a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles sat on the bridge of his prominent nose. The target of his ire was a shorter man with a thing around his neck that Arthur remembered was some form of Muggle entertainment device meant to be worn over the ears. He was dressed in a fashion similar to the taller man, though his clothes rather looked the worse for wear. His dark brown hair flopped carelessly to one side as he stared up at the other with a look of injured innocence. Exactly the sort of look the twins used to pull when Molly found out about their latest experimental pranks, Arthur thought. Oh, yes, he knew that look- but more importantly, he knew those names. And- yes, there, he'd eat his hat if he didn't recognize the lighter of the two men coming up to join them-

He snatched his sign back up and held it over his head as high as he possibly could. The gesture was a bit excessive, true, but in the midst of a press like this you had to take excessive measures to get noticed. Sure enough, the black man who'd just arrived tapped the taller fellow on the shoulder and pointed.

Arthur smiled. "I do believe we've found them," he murmured to Hermione.

The one with the device around his neck- Peter- separated from the group first, making his way through the crowd. "Mr. . . ." He fished a piece of crumpled paper from his pocket. "Weasley? Arthur Weasley?"

"Yes," said Arthur as he lowered the sign. "And you're- don't tell me, I remember seeing you once- ah. . ."

The man grinned and stuck out his right hand. "Pete Venkman," he said. "Pleased to meet you. Hey! Guys! It's our ride!"

"Erm- if by 'ride' you mean-"

But Arthur couldn't finish the sentence; the American was shaking his hand too enthusiastically and passing him off to the others in turn. "Man am I glad to see you, I am so ready to get out of these duds- okay, this is Winston Zeddemore, and Dr. Ray Stantz-"

"We've met, Peter, remember?" The other man smiled. "Good to see you again, Mr. Weasley."

"Oh, yeah, sorry. You know Ray, then. And Egon-"

"Charmed," said the tall man, who sounded anything but. "Excuse me a minute, Mr. Weasley, but I've got to go get our equipment before the Customs inspectors do anything catastrophically stupid." He left before Arthur could so much as open his mouth.

"You'll have to excuse Dr. Spengler. We don't let him out much." Peter glanced over his shoulder at Egon's receding form. "And he's still kind of steamed about what happened in Iceland."

"Yes, about that-"

Ray made a 'tch' sound and shook his head sadly. "The Floo Network operators at Keflavik took one look at our proton packs and refused to let us even come near another one of their fires," he said. "All despite the fact that we'd just come through the Canadian fires and across Kalaallit Nunaat without any trouble, except when Venkman here sneezed at the wrong time and wound up in some fisherman's hut somewhere."

"Yeah, what a knockabout round of pure fun that was." Peter snorted. "Anyway. Egon said something about the Floo guys in Iceland knowing him from school, and he's had a bug up his ass about that ever since- oops, sorry." That last was hastily tacked on as Arthur cleared his throat, gesturing towards his companion. "Didn't see you there, miss."

"Quite all right, Dr. Venkman," said Hermione, stepping forward with her chin lifted slightly. "Although if I might ask you something-"

"Um- sure, I guess-"

"Hermione Granger," murmured Arthur by way of introduction.

"Okay. Sure, Miss Granger, what is it?"

She nodded towards the Customs area as Arthur started herding the group along. "Dr. Spengler, there- he isn't by any chance related to Zedekiah Spengler, is he?"

"Wasn't that the name of that guy in New England?" asked Winston. "The one with the dragon?"

"Yeah- yeah, I think so. Ray?"

"Yep," said Ray, "that's him. His great-great-great grandfather. He doesn't talk about him, though."

"Why on Earth not?" asked Hermione. "Zedekiah Spengler was one of the most respected wizards in colonial America!"

Ray shook his head. "He doesn't talk about any of his magical relatives," he said. "As far as he's concerned, his only worthwhile ancestors are the scientists and scholars. He ignores something like five-eighths of his family tree, really."

Arthur frowned a little. "But- if he's got that many-"

"Hold that thought," said Peter, tapping Arthur on the arm and pointing ahead to where Egon was talking to several uniformed Muggles.

"Look," snapped Egon at the Muggle nearest to him, "I've already told you, they were inspected and cleared at Keflavik. We were told there'd be no need for further inspection once the Icelandic government seal was on them." The sealed items were stacked one on top of the other; there were four, marked with not only the Icelandic government's seal but several yellow-and-black logos Arthur didn't recognise at all.

"That's as may be, sir, but that only applies to taxable goods, and if what you say is true, then Iceland mis-classified your equipment." The Muggle tapped her clip-board with the end of her pen. "These are very clearly not going to be sold in this country- at least, they'd better not be."

"You're right on that, at least," Egon muttered.

"Good. Unfortunately, Iceland's standards for allowable nuclear devices fail to measure up to ours in several particulars." She nodded to the Muggle next to her, who reached for the first box. Egon all but slapped his hand away. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to allow us to inspect your devices-"

"You're not qualified to inspect this stuff!"

Peter whistled softly. "Spengs is really gonna blow his stack," he said. "Been a long time since I've seen him this mad."

"Give him a break," said Ray sympathetically. "It's been a hard day for all of us. Him especially."

"Sir!" the Muggle woman barked. "Please stand away from the devices and surrender your papers for them at once!"

"All right. That's it." Egon lifted one hand in a sharp, angry wave. "You know what? You don't need to see their papers."

"He didn't just do that, did he?" whispered Peter to Ray.

The Muggle woman, who had been about to speak, blinked several times. Then, much to Arthur's surprise, she quietly said, "I don't need to see their papers."

"You don't?" asked the man next to her.

"She doesn't?" Hermione asked, almost as surprised.

"Uh- yeah, he did."

"You don't need to see any of our papers," Egon continued steadily. "You're going to let me through. And so are you," he added, eyes darting to the male Muggle.

The woman nodded. "I don't need to see any of your papers," she said, looking down at her clipboard and scribbling busily. "I'm going to let you through-"

"And so am I," chimed in the man.

"Excellent," said Egon. There was a peculiar gleam in his eye. "Carry on."

"Carry on," the woman said briskly. The other Muggle nodded, smiling, and the two of them walked off.

Egon exhaled, watching them go. "Bureaucrats," he muttered. It sounded impossibly vulgar, the way he said it.

"Jedi mind tricks in the middle of Heathrow. Nice one, Egon." Peter shook his head. "I thought you said we were supposed to be subtle on this trip?"

"We don't have English documentation for the proton packs. I assumed we wouldn't need it because we were supposed to be traveling by Floo." He grabbed one of the sealed packages off the stack.

"You couldn't have just bribed the woman?" Peter looked around. "Uh- Arthur, could you grab one of those wheely carts or something? We've got way more luggage here than we can carry, at least until we can get the packs out and put them on."

Hermione, meanwhile, was staring at Egon with a peculiar expression. "You can't have done that," she said.

"It was safer than the alternative," said Egon shortly. "Peter? This one's yours."

"No- I mean you shouldn't have been able to do that. I don't believe you've got a wand anywhere on you."

"That's because I don't use one if it can possibly be avoided." He adjusted his glasses and tossed one of the suitcases to Winston. "They're rarely even symbologically consistent, and unpredictably dangerous if damaged. At least if someone breaches the casing on the proton packs I know what's going to happen every time."

"What's going to happen?" asked Arthur, interested despite himself. He'd found a cart as Peter had requested, but there seemed to be something wrong with it; one of its wheels refused to run in the same direction as all the others.

"The resultant explosion takes out roughly half a New York City block and scatters multiple wavelengths of radiation and hazardous high-energy particles, contaminating the area for the next twenty years."

Arthur gulped.

Peter grinned. "And we wear them on our backs every single day of the year. Bet you'll sleep better knowing that little fact, huh?" He kicked at the stuck wheel on the cart. "Come on, guys, let's get out of here before Obi-Wan causes any more trouble. Which way do we go from here, Arthur?"

"Uh- Hermione?"

Hermione smiled. "Mr. Weasley's not very familiar with the airport," she said as they started to move. "That's what I'm here for. Come along- the exit's right this way."