Harry Potter and the Year of Highly Improbable Deeds

Harry Potter and the Year of Highly Improbable Deeds

Chapter 2 - Stuffed Heads and Familiar Faces

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the flowers were blossoming, even the tiny insects were buzzing happy tunes when Harry opened his eyes the following day. However, lovely as both the weather and the scenery might have been, other things, not half as pleasant, were to capture our hero's immediate attention. First of all and to his great displeasure, Harry noticed he had fallen asleep fully dressed, which had brought his favourite pair of robes in a state that urged for a Straightening Charm he had no idea how to perform. Secondly, it was well past noon. And thirdly, his right hand was hanging loosely over the bed side and something was... feeding on it!?

"Ouch!" Harry withdrew his hand rather violently from the reach of the impudent attacker, causing a storm of black feathers to fill the room. Still half asleep and rubbing his abused hand, the young man leaned over the margin of his bed and found himself staring at a black, unfamiliar owl, which lay motionless on the floor, apparently knocked out by his sudden movement. Harry closely inspected his hand, which was all bruised and damaged. As he untied the letter from the bird's legs, he vaguely wondered whether it was really something that important or, more likely, the rude creature had plainly no respect for the sleep of a wizard. Which, according to Ron, was something inviolable and sacred, but... well, that is beside the point here.

Any murderous thoughts Harry might have harboured regarding the owl vanished the second he read the name of the sender. Timberball's Advanced Investigation. It was the answer to his letter of application. And an amazingly fast one, too!

To Mr Harry Potter, number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London

Timberball's Advanced Investigation is happy to announce you that your letter of application and CV were carefully analysed and, the result being satisfactory enough, you have been offered a job at our agency. Please read and sign the enclosed contract.

Just when Harry began to wonder if that was some kind of joke, as he definitely couldn't see anything of that sort, the letters under his eyes started to fade and what indeed look like a job contract took their place. Perhaps under different circumstances, Harry would have troubled to read the countless, and, frankly, quite boring paragraphs with more attention, but right then he was still experiencing the effects of the previous night's one too many drinks, so... He only checked the salary, which turned out to be more than satisfactory, and without thinking twice, he summoned a quill and placed his signature on the spot marked precisely for the purpose. After the accomplishment of this task, more words appeared at the bottom of the scroll.

Welcome to Timberball's Advanced Investigation, Mr Potter!

You are to start your job tomorrow. Report to number one, Hazard Alley, eight o'clock sharp.

The contract is to be sent back as soon as possible via the delivery owl that brought it.

"Now, that could be a problem," Harry mused, while carefully poking the owl to check if it was still alive. What kind of first impression was his new employer going to make of him if he would sent back the contract and a dead owl as a bonus? Luckily, the bird stirred, giving Harry hopes that the situation was not so desperate after all. "I'll let Dobby handle this then," he decided after reassuring himself that the owl was showing indeed signs of life.

Dobby, the house elf, had been an old acquaintance of Harry, ever since the former had tried and failed to stop the latter returning to Hogwarts, back in Harry's second year- which was a long and, also, very well-known story around the wizarding world. Suffice to say that the relationship between our hero and the little funny-eared creature had evolved along the years to the point where Dobby worshiped the ground upon which Harry had been stepping. Thus, it hadn't come so much as a surprise for none when, three years ago, exactly one day after Harry had moved in at Grimmauld Place, Dobby turned up on his door-step, offering his services to 'master Harry'. Since 'master Harry' hadn't been able to bring himself to throw the house elf out, Dobby stayed and made himself useful around the house. Of course, Dobby, much to Hermione's delight, remained still a 'very' independent individual and was being properly paid for his work (and spent all the money on socks and, occasionally, also on other dressing items, such as hats, gloves and scarves).

It was on days like this that Harry mostly congratulated himself for keeping Dobby. Apart for his annoying habit of following Harry around and treat him like the centre of the universe, Dobby was a very resourceful house elf.

Just when Harry was about to call for his little friend, the door of his bedroom opened, as if the house elf had read the young man's mind.

"Master Harry slept well?"

Harry instantly covered his ears and groaned, as the room started to spin.

"Dobby! Don't yell like that!"

"Dobby is sorry, master Harry," the house elf apologised, this time barely daring to whisper. "Master Harry is having a nasty hangover. Dobby prepared this medicine for master Harry." The house elf placed a goblet filled with a green, vile looking liquid on the night table and waited.

Still holding his head with both his hands, Harry finally got out of bed.

"Thanks, Dobby! Can you take a look at this owl here while I put on some clean robes?" Harry pointed to the black mass of feathers lying on the floor. "I knocked it out by mistake."

"Dobby will make it as good as new for master Harry!" The elf assured shaking his head so energetically that Harry became afraid it might leave his body and start zooming around the room like a jinxed Bludger.

"Dobby was wondering, young sir... What is master Harry wanting for lunch today?"

"Arghh," Harry still felt the room spinning very fast around him, "anything would do, Dobby! I don't think I'll be able to eat much anyway!"

Dobby looked very offended at hearing that, but didn't make any comments.

"Then Dobby is preparing something really special for master Harry today! Master Harry just waits and sees!" With this, the house elf turned on his heels and left the room, carrying the dizzy owl away with him.

After having drunk Dobby's potion (which had a foul taste of fermented pears and tar), taking a shower and changing into clean robes, Harry found himself into the kitchen, with far more appetite than he had anticipated.

"Dobby prepared a delicious meal for master Harry," the house elf squeaked, extremely pleased with himself. "Magic Cheese Wafers as appetizer, and freshly baked Garden Herb Loaf, and a delicious Cockatrice Liver Soup," Dobby went on reciting, "Spiced London Broil, master's favourite, assorted with Mashed Mushroom Miracle, and, for dessert, Blackberry Pie with Vanilla Ice-cream. Is master Harry still not wanting to eat lunch?" Dobby sounded slightly accusatory this time.

Harry made a mental note to buy a nice warm fluffy pair of socks for Dobby's collection, next time he would go shopping. Preferably in weird colours.

***

Next morning, ten minutes to eight o'clock, Harry was standing in front of a large, beautifully polished oak door, bearing a sign that said, in large, elegant, silver letters, 'Welcome to Timberball's Advanced Investigations, P.M.A.A.! You're here because we're the best.' Above it, there was an ornament that looked suspiciously like one of those stuffed elf-heads at Grimmauld Place, which Harry had been unable to get rid of. They still made Dobby freak out every time he had to pass by them in the hallway.

Lost, thus, in contemplating the head, Harry literally jumped when it began talking to him.

"Welcome at Timberball's! State your name and business, please!"

Still a bit unnerved by talking to a stuffed head, Harry uttered his response in a clear voice.

"I'm Harry Potter. I work here starting from today."

"Oh, it's you, Harry!" The head gave him a big smile. Harry was shocked, to say the least. He hadn't been aware that he was on first-name basis with a stuffed head. Maybe it was a friend of those in his house...?

"Come in, boss's expecting you!" the head invited him and no sooner the words faded, that the door opened by magic (metaphorically as well as literally speaking), and Harry stepped inside.

He found himself standing in the middle of what looked like a reception room, but didn't get the time to properly register all the details, as he was suddenly subjected to a very tight hug that almost destabilised him.

"I was so happy when I found you'd work with us! It's sooo neat!"

Managing to break free from the embrace and, more importantly, to breathe again, Harry stared at the witch in front of him. She was wearing oddly shaped maroon robes and a pair of scarlet bells for earrings, but it was the dirty blond long hair and the dreamy look in her eyes that finally assured Harry he was standing in front of no other than Luna Lovegood.

"Luna?" He didn't ask for confirmation upon the witch's identity, as there was no other in the world to confound her with, but rather expressed his bewilderment at finding her there. "Was it you who talked to me through the stuffed head?"

Luna shook her head, making the bells tinkle in a merry manner.

"Neat stuff, huh?" she smiled. "Boss wanted to make sure no one comes in uninvited. He's quite a paranoid fellow, if you ask me. Did you like the door sign? I've come up with the words myself! You're here because we're the best. Neat, huh? Have you noticed how I can't stop saying 'neat'? It really bugs me. Neat. You're early, by the way. You should take a seat. Oh, I'm rhyming now, too, grrreat!" Luna went on cheerfully, rolling her eyes, while she was leading Harry to one of the armchairs. Harry didn't protest in the beginning, being in truth too confused for that.

"But-" he wanted to ask her a lot of questions, then realised it wasn't neither the right time, nor the right place for a friendly re-memorisation of school years. He went on and asked instead the one question that had been lingering in his mind ever since he had signed the contract.

"Tell me, Luna, who is this Timberball guy we're working for?"

Luna looked at him with something akin to amazement and her already very round eyes rounded some more, before she started to chuckle. Harry failed to understand what was so funny. But it was, after all, only Luna Lovegood acting weird, so he didn't worry too much.

"Oh, boss will receive you soon enough!" She eventually dismissed the matter with a wave of her hand. "Do you think Hagus McMartin was really sentenced for illegal potion trading or it was all a major set up? If you ask me, I'd say the latter!"

Having no idea about what Luna was talking about and figuring it was, more likely, one of those crazy rumours her father's newspaper, The Quibbler, was so good at spreading around, Harry decided that it was perhaps better to take a seat, as instructed.

There was another person in the room, and Harry headed in that direction. The person proved to be a young man around Harry's age who, most surprisingly, had no problem at sleeping soundly, head propped against the wall and hands hanging carelessly on either side of the seat he occupied.

Harry studied his face intently, as the other's features reminded him very much of someone he just couldn't put the finger on at the moment. The young man, Harry noticed, wore his long, purple hair- even Harry knew that charming hair purple was the latest fashion- tied in a pony tail. He also wore an earring that reminded Harry of Bill Weasley, a detail that confused him even further, as he was quite positive he hadn't met anyone that wore an earring beside Ron's elder brother.

Where Harry's speculations on the matter would have led was, however, to remain forever obscured in shadows, as the young man blinked several times and woke up.

"Harry?"

Harry's facial expression had become at that point a combination of not-understanding, expectation and slight irritation. Why was that today everybody seemed to know him, while he was repeatedly left clueless?

"Huh?"

"It's me, Neville!" The young man stood up quickly, arms wide open, and beaming to Harry.

Harry became confused to a point where there was no more room left for confusion, or so he thought.

"Neville...?"

But the only Neville he knew was... Harry jaw dropped.

"No way! Neville Longbottom?!"

The other shook his head. "In person! I feel kinda stupid for falling asleep like that in here, but I had a tough night, you see. Dated twins. Maaaan, they were so demanding!" Neville sighed, or yawned, or maybe both, somewhat carried away from this world with the memory.

Meanwhile, Harry's mind was blatantly refusing to acknowledge this new piece of information. The Neville Longbottom he had used to know was a round-faced, by no means slender boy, who was so forgetful that his grandma had to pack his lunch into a map, who, moreover, had a disturbing inclination to act clumsy, especially during Potions, and who, back in their schooldays, couldn't have as much as dared to fantasise about... dating twins? (And not to mention the purple hair...) The young man standing in front of him right now had kept the round-face, but looked quite athletic. He wore a black leather jacket and Muggle jeans, and though he looked a bit dishevelled, it actually suited him (minus the purple hair, but Harry reckoned that, luckily, that was, like most of the charms, only temporary), and he was, overall -there was no better word to describe him- cool. Harry experienced a very strong urge to pinch himself really hard, in a desperate attempt to make sure he wasn't dreaming the whole thing... but refrained from doing so, figuring it wouldn't leave a very good impression of him (in case he wasn't dreaming, that was).

"Uh... You've... changed," Harry managed to utter.

"I get told that a lot lately!" Neville's face was suddenly lit with cheerful laughter. "But the hair was just, er, an accident!" he added hastily.

"I didn't mean it in a bad way," Harry hurried to assure his former Gryffindor schoolmate. "I mean, wow! Look at you!"

"Oh, that..." Neville grinned, showing a set of perfectly sparkling white teeth. "After finishing school, I felt like going through a change of image. Gran nearly had a stroke when she saw my earring and this Muggle outfit, but she lived through it. Tough woman, gran!"

Harry decided it would be a good moment to sit. He wasn't as tough as Neville's gran, after all. Any more shocks of this kind, and he wasn't sure he could make it through the day unscathed.

"So, what are you doing here, Neville?" our hero inquired, already delighted with the answer he was half anticipating.

"Just call me Nev, Harry! It's my first day of work, actually!"

"Brilliant!" Harry couldn't restrain himself from giving Neville a friendly punch in the shoulder and grinning. "I'm working here too! Hey, by the way, have you met our employer already?"

"No, not yet! Luna said I should wait and pushed me in this armchair, where I fall asleep until you came," he shrugged, as if apologising.

Harry was about to say and ask more, when he heard his name called.

"Harry!" Luna was addressing him from the other side of the room. "Boss will receive you now!"

"But Nev was here before me," Harry protested at this blatant display of favouritism.

"Hey, no hard feelings," Neville assured him. "I know I'm not Harry Potter. Just go in there and shine! I think I'll take another nap 'til my turn arrives."

Not really having any other option, Harry followed Luna, who opened the door what he assumed would be Mr Timberball's office and announced, without much ceremony-

"Boss, here's Harry for you," and then she pushed him inside and slammed the door.

***

The office was in a state of relative darkness, the thick, green curtains that covered the windows preventing the sun rays from reaching the inner space of the room. It took Harry some moments to get used to the lack of visibility.

"Sit down, Potter," an idle, rather unpleasant voice invited him.

Harry could now discern a slender silhouette on the other side of a large desk. In front of the desk stood an empty chair, of which he took good use and sat himself in, as comfortably as possible without seeming disrespectful.

"Are you Mr Timberball?" the young man finally asked, a bit unsettled by the gloomy décor and by the silence that menaced to prolong at an indefinite rate.

The other started to chuckle as if he had just heard a very good joke.

"Oh, Potter, always that fun or are you making a special effort today?"

Harry didn't appreciate the sneering tone very much, not to mention that there was something familiar about that voice and the way it had uttered his name which made him shudder.

"Er, sorry, but have we met before?"

"I'm really crushed you haven't figured out who I am by now, really, heart-broken, Potter! And to think that I've actually hired you," the voice was mocking him. "I guess it's time to bring some light to this mystery then, don't you think? But first, maybe you should grab that chair more tightly. I wouldn't want you to slip with excitement and hit your pretty head now that you work for me."

A very nasty suspicion was starting to form in the back of Harry's mind. "Who are you?" he asked in awe.

The answer to his question came without further delay, as the mysterious person waved his wand and the curtains slid sideways, allowing the daylight to fill the room. Harry came very close to confirming the prediction, as he almost fell from his chair.

"Malfoy!!!"

It was indeed Draco Malfoy, former Slytherin prefect, Quidditch team captain and, in addition to this, Harry's constant-pain-in-the-arse during their days at Hogwarts, looking every inch as smug as Harry could remember, in his outrageously expensive robes that perfectly matched his annoyingly familiar superior smirk.

"In flesh," Malfoy unnecessarily confirmed. "And that would be Mr Malfoy to you from now on!" he added, in a voice that could have been the very sound of authority. Unfortunately, the effect was lost on Harry, who found it incredibly amusing instead.

"What?! Ha ha. You must be joking, Malfoy! Ha ha ha. Seriously, now, what are you doing here? You can tell me, now, very funny! Ha ha ha. Where's Timberball?"

"Maybe you should take notes, Potter. 'Cause I'm not gonna say this twice!" Malfoy replied, sulking a bit, obviously offended by Harry's reaction.

Harry glared. His former school-rival glared back, and continued, otherwise unperturbed.

"First, only because this place is called Timberball's Advanced Investigations, it doesn't mean it's run by a guy called Timberball. Secondly..." Malfoy was taking his own sweet time at giving his speech. "In fact, and this one might come as a shock to you, Potter, Timberball doesn't exist. Thirdly and finally, I own this agency. I hired you. I'm your boss. Therefore you must address me as Mr Malfoy," the former Slytherin concluded with yet another smirk that reminded Harry of the old school days and managed to get him seriously pissed off. Malfoy wasn't, apparently, enjoying it enough, as he decided to torment Harry a bit more.

"Oh, and I almost forgot! There's no way to quit this job. Unless I decide to fire you, of course. The contract you signed magically binds you to work for me for the next three years starting from today."

At this point, Harry felt the unstoppable urge to strangle Malfoy and wipe that irritating smirk off his smug face. Being a young man of initiative, Harry didn't stop to think twice, but translated this sudden need into action. Or, to speak the truth, he tried to. As Harry launched himself at his 'boss', Malfoy, who seemed to have expected a reaction of this sort, simply performed a Levitation Spell on his chair, placing himself out of the harms way.

"Potter! Let's try and talk like adults- Oouch, you're so gonna pay for that one, Potter!"

Harry, who had just performed the 'Finite Incantatem', causing Malfoy's chair to drop unceremoniously from the air, was feeling very satisfied with himself and not afraid to show it.

"Stop grinning, Potter! Merlin, I'll have to teach you some respect, if you're to work for me."

"I'd like to see you try, Mal-"

A buzz coming from the top of Malfoy's desk suddenly interrupted Harry. Trying to locate the source of disturbance, the young man's eyes eventually fell upon yet another -oh, the horror!- stuffed head. The heads seemed to be part of some internal communication system. He had noticed one on Luna's desk, as well.

"What now?" Malfoy asked the stuffed head, obviously annoyed with the interruption.

"Boss, Ronald Weasley has arrived. Do I-"

"WHAT?!" Harry jumped from his seat, while he vaguely remembered himself convincing Ron to write a letter of application two days ago, when neither of them had been exactly sober.

"-send him in?" Luna's voice coming from the stuffed head finished her question unperturbed.

"Yes, send Weasley in," Malfoy agreed. "This should be interesting..." he mused.

"You. Did. That. On. Purpose!" Harry gritted his teeth. "You scum-bag, you human sack of dung, you-"

"Potter!"

"You lowest form of parasite, you greasy piece of waste material-"

"Hey, I don't use hair gel, anymore!" the blond protested.

"You filthy son of a-"

"POTTER!"

"What?!"

"Just shut up!"

Beginning to run out of insults and of breath, Harry decided that it was perhaps wiser to stop yelling at Malfoy for the moment.

"Now that's better. Merlin, Potter, I didn't know you had such a... vivid imagination! However, I shall not tolerate this kind of behaviour!" Malfoy brows knitted in what he intended to be an authoritarian frown, and he waved his wand. "Here, catch!"

A rather heavy tome flew straight into Harry's arms, destabilising him for a moment.

"What's this, Malfoy, trying to kill me with heavy reading?" Harry turned his nose at the large book in black leather covers, now resting in his lap.

"That's the Timberball Scroll for the Suitable Upbringing of the Employee-"

"Scroll?"

"Well, it used to be a scroll, but I've got carried away and- Oh, shut up, Potter! Anyway, the Timberball Scroll tells you what you are allowed and, more importantly, not allowed to do and say in the presence of your superior. That being me, just to clear things out!" Malfoy smirked. "I suggest you get familiar with it, because starting from tomorrow I'll start cutting your salary, should there any violation of the rules take place from your part- Oh, Weasley, do come in!"

***

Ron stood motionless in the doorframe, until Luna got tired of it and pushed him into the office.

"How nice of you to finally join us, Weasley! Lovely day, isn't it?" Malfoy, wearing an innocent look, greeted the confused redhead.

Needless to say, Ron initially gasped, then gaped, then suffered a fury attack and ultimately, he, of course, tried to strangle Malfoy- 'tried' being the key word here. For the second time that morning, Malfoy had to levitate himself in order to avoid a slow and painful death by suffocation.

"Harry, what is Ferret Face doing here?" Ron asked, completely lost and not believing his eyes.

Harry couldn't bring himself to give Ron the bad news.

"That would be Mr Malfoy to you, Weasley!" the 'Ferret Face' in discussion patiently explained to the still enraged redhead, while slowly descending along with his chair. "I own Timberball's and I'm, consequently, your boss."

Ron shot a desperate look in Harry's direction, waiting for him to contradict Malfoy. Instead and to his uttermost horror, Harry gave him a miserable look and nodded.

"Merlin, I need to sit down!" Ron took his forehead in his hands and silently slid in one of the armchairs.

"I'm really sorry, Ron," Harry muttered to his friend, looking positively crushed. "It had been all my stupid idea!"

Malfoy was looking at the two of them with a hint of curiosity in his eyes he that didn't bother to disguise, but didn't ask any questions.

Ron's face suddenly lit, as he had been struck by a happy thought. "Hey, Harry, that's okay! We're quitting this stupid job, right?" By the look on his friend face (the 'it-serves-Malfoy-right-the-bastard!' kind of look), Harry thought, for a second, that Ron was going to stuck his tongue at their infamous boss. To his relief, he didn't.

"Actually..." Harry started to explain.

"...you can't quit, Weasley," Malfoy finished the sentence for him, very delighted. "You, like Potter, should've bothered to read the contract before signing it... but I guess, once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor! I don't know what makes you so dumb, but it works," he concluded with a smirk.

"Oh, I'm so going to kill you this time, Malfoy!" Ron launched himself for the second time at Malfoy's throat.

"Potter, your friend seems a bit too eager to lay his hands on me. Could it be my new, sexy haircut?" The blond blinked innocently and at the same time managed to smirk, two actions which Harry had previously thought impossible to perform simultaneously. But now that Malfoy mentioned it, Harry noticed that indeed the blond's hair was longer and looked altogether ruffled, which was definitely new (no hair gel!?), but he had no idea whether it was also 'sexy'. Harry made a mental note to ask for a woman's opinion on that.

Meanwhile, Ron's cheeks had gone very red and he looked like he could do a lot of nasty things to Malfoy. Harry held his friend back with difficulty.

"It's no use, Ron," he sighed, as the redhead glared. "We'll have to learn to live with the bastard!"

"That would be Mr Malfoy for you, Potter!" the young man in discussion intervened, irritated.

"We'll see about that, ferret!" Ron clenched his fists.

Luckily, the stuffed head on Malfoy's desk started buzzing again.

"Boss," Luna's voice came from the ugly lips of the head, "Hermione Granger is here-"

"WHAT?!" both Harry and Ron jumped.

"I said, Hermione Gra-"

"Miss Lovegood!" Malfoy pointedly intervened. "You're only answering my questions here, and, anyway, I believe Potter and Weasley were being rhetorical- Weasley, do us all a favour and close your mouth! Now, Miss Lovegood, please send Miss Granger in!"

The new and unexpected turn of events had left Harry looking completely horrified, but the paralysed expression on his face was nothing compared to that of his friend. Ron was looking twice as horrified.

"Shiiiiit!" was the only thing the redhead uttered, before walking to the nearest wall, upon which he started banging his head, muttering something under his breath angrily. Harry could discern the words 'stupid', 'my bloody fault', 'stupid', 'kill myself', 'stupid', 'kill Malfoy first'. Even Malfoy appeared to be a bit unsettled by this reaction.

"Um, Potter, make him stop!"

Harry shrugged. "I haven't seen him that bad since... Hell, since ever! Ron, mate, don't do that! It might not hurt right now, but it will, later, trust me!"

"Guh LEE-" bang "-nuh PAYSH-choh-guh-" bang "-duh HOH-ihn-" bang "-VYUG-wah-huh-suhkh!" the redhead spat.

Malfoy was positively appalled this time.

"Potter, has your friend gone mental?"

"Er, no," Harry explained somehow reluctantly, "he's, er, actually cursing you in Irish-"

"Guh GREH-muh nuh GRAWN-yoh-guh KYA-luhg-roo-nuh-khuh duh WAHL FA-ruh-guh!" Ron, meanwhile, kept banging his head like it was the end of the world.

"He picked up a few words while visiting his uncle's family last summer," Harry shrugged again, almost apologetically, turning slightly red. "They come up every now and then, when he's, er, hot-headed."

"Guh NYIH-huh nuh MEE-uhl-tuh KROO-buh-khuh duh khwihj GROO-ihg-yuh!!!" Ron roared.

"Do you understand what he's saying?" Malfoy inquired, not taking his eyes off from the enraged Weasley, like he was a cauldron ready to explode.

"As a matter of fact, Malfoy," Harry put on a pensive mien, "I believe he wished, though not necessarily in this order, for the worms to, er, lick your worthless arse, and the, er, malevolent hedgehogs to gnaw at your, er, manly part and, what else? Oh, yes! May the crab lice eat your hair!" Harry concluded with a wide grin, feeling very proud of how accurately he remembered the translation.

"That's it! I've had enough of you two!" Malfoy appeared to be finally loosing patience. "You're-"

Luckily or unluckily, right then the door of the office opened and Hermione, looking very professional in long, grey robes, was unceremoniously thrust in.

***

After the initial shock of finding herself in a room with a desperately-banging-his-head-on-a-wall-Ron, a helpless-looking-Harry and a-smirking-yet-a-bit-unnerved-Malfoy, Hermione put two and two together and came up with the only logical conclusion-

"You squalid, scatological, scabrous bastard!"

Hermione glared at Malfoy, Malfoy looked at Harry, Harry turned to Ron, who had suddenly decided to take a break from banging his head against the wall and was currently staring, mouth wide-opened, at Hermione.

"Miss Lovegood," Malfoy spoke to the stuffed head in a perfectly serene voice, rubbing his temples lightly, "I think I could use a cup of your excellent coffee right now. Oh, and bring along a dictionary, as well! I suspect miss Granger here has just insulted me, but I have to check to be sure."

Hermione, however, ignored these last words, as she advanced towards the desk, looking positively revengeful.

"I'm gonna make you die a slow and painful death for this, Malfoy!"

Malfoy sighed, exasperated, and prepared to perform the Levitation Spell again. Harry gasped, but didn't move. Ron held his breath, eyes full of hope. And Hermione... Well, Hermione didn't try to strangle Malfoy, in fact, but raised her wand and pointed it to the nearby plant that decorated the room. Consequently, the plant left its pot and zoomed to Malfoy, who had been taken quite by surprise with this new, improved tactic and barely managed to dodge in time. The demented plant wrapped itself around Malfoy's chair back, causing the wood to crack, and the initial target to gulp involuntarily.

"Merlin, Granger, I shouldn't have underestimated you!" the blond man said, now a nuance paler, and watching the killer plant with the corner of his eye, as if it was to strike again any moment.

"I can't believe you did that, you bastard!" Hermione burst, advancing to Malfoy's desk. "I should've known there was something wrong with that contract! Everything so nice and sunny! My own research lab! Endless research possibilities! And then, that little magical-bind clause, almost non-visible, at the end of it all! I should've known it was you!"

"Take it easy, Herm," Harry tried to calm his friend down. "We're all in the same mess."

"You've read it, too," she continued, "didn't you think it was something wrong with it?" The witch was gazing expectantly at her two friends.

"Well..."

"Er..."

As Hermione's eyes suddenly lit with understanding, she knitted her eyebrows. "I can't believe you two! You didn't read it! How can you be so irresponsible as to sign a contract, a magical contract, without even reading it?!"

"Well, you've read it and there you are, in no better situation than us!" Ron pointed out, annoyed with the lecture. "We, at least, have an excuse!" he sulked.

Hermione's face reddened, though it didn't necessarily un-suit her, Harry reckoned silently. Still, he could see a nasty argument coming between his two best friends. Malfoy arranged himself in a more comfortable position, looking like he greatly enjoyed the show.

"Oh, I don't think I've had that much fun ever since back at Hogwarts, when someone sneaked Enlargement Powder in Professor Snape's tea," the blond chuckled. Ron choked.

"Uh, Hermione," Harry tried to save the day by changing the course of discussion, "there's something I don't quite understand. What- what are you doing here?"

It didn't help much, though.

"This is his fault!" she pointed her index finger accusatively in the redhead's direction. To Harry's surprise, Ron lowered his head, looking repentant.

"Yeah, um, I, um," Ron started to explain, "convinced Hermione to apply for this job, after we separated from you on the night when we celebrated her return. I wasn't thinking quite clearly back then..."

Hermione didn't get the chance to say anything more, because the stuffed head was buzzing yet again. Harry and Ron were already preparing themselves for the worst.

"There it goes again," the redhead rolled his eyes.

"At least, it can't get worse than it already has, right?" Harry reasoned in loud voice.

Hermione simply stared at them, puzzled.

"Boss," Luna announced, "Virginia Weasley is here."

That was simply too much for Ron. Ginny's already much too hard-tried brother chose that particular moment to collapse into a nearby armchair and pass out.

"Now what in the name of Merlin's sanity is going on here?"

Ginny Weasley- dressed in tight, fashionable robes, cut of a soft, deep-green material, with matching high-heel boots and her ginger hair falling freely over her shoulders, but otherwise looking very much like her mother- stood by the door. Her hands were folded over her chest and the frown that twisted her usually friendly face, plainly stated that she was expecting an explanation. And a quick one, too.

~tbc~