The Heiress

I didn't remember leaving Hermione's room, but I must have, since about two minutes after finding her note, I was at the front desk with my hands wrapped around a bloke's throat.

"S-sir! It -erk- would help if you told me just what part of your service you were displeased with ...?"

It was the same tosser who'd turned Hermione and me away when we'd come to the Gainsvert for dinner. Even before I'd touched him, I could tell he wasn't very happy to see me. I could've done without the reintroduction, too, but I needed to know just what happened to Hermione, and for that, I needed to see Ethan.

If he'd seen her off, he might know what direction she'd gone in and give me at least some idea of where she might be now. But this sodding git at the front desk wouldn't tell me where Ethan was, spinning out some rot about how he was the night manager and if I had any questions or concerns, I should discuss them with him.

"I'm not going to ask again," I said through clenched teeth, giving him a little shake. "Get on that fellytone or whatever it is and tell Ethan to get his arse over here!"

"Felly ...? Sir, really, I don't think I can help you unless you stop -erg- talking nonsense ..."

He was flapping his hands about, almost as if he were trying to fly. I gave him another hard shake and his hand flailed out and slapped frantically at the underside of the desk. I half wondered why he was doing that instead of trying to get my hands away, but that question was answered when the frozen bloke stationed at the door ran inside. I reckoned then that there was some sort of device Muggles were able to push to get someone's attention quick, a bit like Howlers were for wizards.

"What's going on here?"

"Andrew, thank goodness! Help me! This -urg- is a very unsatisfied customer, and I believe I am about to lose consciousness -"

The frozen bloke breathed in sharply and growled out:"All right, you, let go of him. I've got a gun!"

I wasn't expecting that, and neither was Stephen judging by the way his face went entirely white. I didn't move, but I did take a little pressure off the bloke's throat and watched the colour start to seep back into his face.

"Didn't you hear what I said? Or don't you think I have a clear shot? I could come a bit closer, you know. Hands up!"

I let him go then and raised my hands. I knew something of Muggle weapons from my dad's books. They were just as dangerous as any spell, and less likely to miss.

"Aces, mate," he said acidly. "What's he done, Stephen?"

"This gentleman is quite displeased!" he squeaked, putting his own hands around his neck as if he missed having mine there choking the spit out of him. "He wants to speak with young master Ethan, and I've tried to explain to him that he's retired for the night."

"That so?" He took hold of my jumper and maneuvered me to the side. "That's all he did? Ask for Ethan?"

"Rather insistently, yes." His voice wavered and he shrank further away from me. "I'm afraid the authorities might have to be called. Mrs. Stafford-Bolingbroke will need to be informed. I don't even think this gentleman is a guest here!"

"No need for all that." He shook his head sharply. "He's bladdered for sure. Could smell him from all the way outside."

He tightened his hold and I tried not to wince. My arms and shoulders were taking quite a bit of abuse that night. "Come on, you."

I'd had enough and tried to twist away. "I'm not going any-bloody-where until -"

"You'll go where this tells you to go." He prodded me with the thing, and I felt the cold steel of it against my skin. "We'll just have a chat over here by the fire, shall we? Stephen, stand by in case we need to call the police."

Stephen seemed to be all right with that plan if the whimpering he was doing any sign. I wasn't all right with that plan, since I didn't know how much time I'd have to go for my wand if the frozen bloke lost patience and decided to use that gun on me. He led me away from the front desk,toward the fireplace and stopped there, my arm still in his grip.

"I'm not pissed," I snarled, "but you're going to wish you were in a minute -"

"- Keep your voice down." He tilted his head toward the front desk. "Stephen'll call the police as quick as he can blink if you so much as breathe too hard. What d'you want with Ethan?"

"He'd know," I said, a little thrown by how composed he suddenly was. I still felt the Muggle gun pressing into me, and I kept my eyes on his face as I twitched my hand toward my wand. "I only want to talk to him."

"It's late. He's probably sleeping now."

"I don't give a toss!" I snapped. The bloke's eyes narrowed dangerously, but I thought about Hermione's note in my pocket, and suddenly I didn't care about being quiet or him or that stupid-looking thing he was pressing into my stomach. "Wake him up! Wake everyone in this bloody place up, but get him down here, or -"

"- Or what? You'll Crucio everyone?"

For a minute, I was so stunned I forgot to be furious. He saw my expression change and let me go, making a show of straightening out the wrinkles he'd put in my jumper with his fist.

"I know who you are," he said conversationally. "I've known since the first time you came here. Knew who Hermione Granger was, too, when she came here. Would've said something to you if you didn't act like such a bell-end every time you saw me."

My face got warm, but I ignored that. There'd be time for apologies later, hopefully.

"You're a wizard? And you've got a Muggle weapon?"

"Grew up around them, didn't I?" he shrugged. "This isn't a real gun, anyway. Gran hates violence. It's just for show. Keeps the gits in line."

"Gran? Ethan's your brother?"

"Cousin. His mum's a witch, but my dad turned out to take after Gran's side of the family, you know, all-Muggle. Me and my brothers are wizards, though. They're at Hogwarts now and I'm here." He squinted down at me. "What d'you want with Ethan bad enough to throttle old Stephen over?"

"It's important, that's all I can say." Even without the threat of being poked full of holes, I didn't feel any more relaxed. "There's not much time. Do you know where he is?"

"In his room, probably. Hold a minute and I'll get him. Watch my back, would you? Can't let Muggles see what I'm about. Stephen's a nosy little knobhead. If it looks like he's coming over here, growl at him and beat your chest or something. That should run him off."

I didn't doubt it, but there wasn't any need for concern since Stephen looked like he was trying to work out whether he'd be able to fit in the cabinet right below the desk. The formerly frozen bloke walked toward the fireplace and squatted down. I saw a glittering flash as he tossed a handful of something into the fire and then the flames burned green. I was amazed at the cheek of having a working Floo right where Muggles could see, but I supposed they were as careful as they could be about that.

I heard the bloke say something quiet and quick, and there was an even shorter reply before the fires roared orange and hot once more. I gave him a look and he tossed back a short nod.

"He's on his way. Just told him it was an emergency, didn't tell him what it was about. He should be down in a minute." He grabbed my arm again.

"Look, I need to make it look like I'm winding you up, all right? If I don't, Stephen'll go to Gran, and she's scary before she's had her nip of brandy for the night. Ethan'll meet us outside."

I sighed. "Mind using my other arm? This one's been through a bit already tonight."

He glanced curiously at it if he expected it to slide off my body, but shrugged and pulled me by my jumper toward the door, insulting me half-heartedly in a loud voice. He spoke louder as we passed the desk.

"No need to worry, Stephen. This one just needs a bit of the brisk air to get his head on right. Good on you for calling me in."

I could just see the top of Stephen's hair creeping up over the edge. He wavered something about being so sorry he couldn't help me and hoped I'd feel better and had a pleasant evening. He'd probably said it so often and to so many people that it was automatic.

The bloke Andrew nudged me to a far corner outside of the inn, within sight of his usual perch. He let me go and with another one-sided smile and straightened out the wrinkles in my other sleeve.

I saw he had something in his hand, but it was too small and square to be that gun. I wondered if it was another Muggle weapon and watched warily when he opened it and shook out what looked like a little stick. I then recognized them as the things Muggles sucked away on like sugar quills that fizzed at the ends. He shook another one into his hand and held it out to me.

"Fancy a fag?"

I shook my head, hunching against the cold air. I'd left my coat somewhere between my old flat and the Ministry. I half-hoped that I had left it behind at my flat. It'd give me a better reason to go back there than I'd had earlier in the evening. I had a feeling, though, that Aurors would be back there, combing the place for more "evidence." They'd find my gold for sure, then. Maybe it was just as well. Lately, anything connected to Galleons had a way of going straight to piss.

"Gran can't stand that I smoke. She's getting my aunt to brew up something that'll make me quit, so I'm trying to get in as many as I can before all that."

I shrugged. I could tell he wasn't used to having an audience, being posted out in the open air so much. I strained my ears for footsteps, wondering what the bloody hell was taking Ethan so long.

"Would'n'tve gotten anything out of Stephen, you know," he said, blowing a plume of smoke into the air. "He's a Muggle. We Confound the Muggles so they can't find our rooms. Stephen's an all right sort. Part of him's a complete git, but the other part's a pretty nice bloke."

"What if it's an emergency? Isn't he family, too?"

"No, Gran's rather queer about that. She won't have any of the Muggles in our family work here. She loves my dad, sure enough, but the only people in the family here are all magical. None of the Muggle staff is related to us. It's strange, too, because Gran's obsessed with magic. I think she wishes she were magical herself. She likes to know everything about it, reads books on it and all. Still gets the names of the spells wrong, though."

"My dad's the same way about Muggles."

"Your dad should talk to mine. Being a Muggle isn't all it's cracked up to be." He shrugged. "But he's rich, my dad is, so I guess it makes up for it. He hates that I work here instead of doing something more ambitious. Thinks I should be in banking like him. Banking! D'you have any idea how sodding dull that is?"

"I've got an idea," I muttered, shades of Gringotts dancing through my head.

"This is the perfect job. Being outside means not having to deal with the ponced-up nutters that have Gran and everyone rushing about. Get to see 'em coming and going, and that's enough for me. 'Course, Gran doesn't understand, but she's got Ethan. He's brilliant at that wet nelly act that the guests expect."

I didn't have an answer for that, but I didn't need one because the wet nelly himself suddenly appeared on the porch, looking vaguely around and sniffing the air like a niffler. He spotted us through the cloud of smoke and moved as if his feet were hurting him, waving his hand in front of his face.

"What's the big emergency? I told you I'd get you an autograph -"

The bloke pointed the sparking stick at me, and as Ethan turned, Andrew stalked back to his post without another word to either of us. I'd guess he'd gotten that whole 'having a conversation' thing out of his system.

As for Ethan, he looked positively chuffed to see me. The ice melted off his expression, a wide, friendly smile taking its place.

"Mr. Weasley! You're back! What are you -"

"She's gone," I said in a voice I barely recognised as my own. Maybe the smoke from the sparking thing had done something to it; it had made my eyes burn, after all. "I was just in her room, and ... she's gone."

"Ms. Granger, you mean? Well, I don't suppose she would've been there, Mr. Weasley. I did as you asked." He brought his mouth close to my ear and spoke in a hurried whisper. "A bulletin came over the Wireless around eight o'clock. Said Ms. Granger was a witch of interest in a special investigation and that anyone who had news of her whereabouts should contact the Ministry immediately."

"Merlin." I squeezed my eyes shut, pain shooting up from right behind my eyes. "Bloody hell."

"As soon as I heard , I went straight to Ms. Granger to tell her the news. She was a little shaken up, but she said she understood and that you'd told her exactly what to do. She wanted to write you a bit of a note. I told her I'd be happy to give you any message, just, you know, so she'd be able to do what it was you told her to do, and in a hurry. But she insisted on the note. By that time, it was too late."

My eyes snapped open. "Too late for what?"

"Well, she'd followed me, you know." He made a little helpless gesture. "I tried not to let her see what I was about, but she was quicker than I'd realised, and ..."

I lost my breath. They'd figured out where she was somehow. Of course they would. She was probably in an interrogation chamber right now -or worse. A thought occurred to me that made my stomach roll. That shadow back at Whetwistle's shop ... maybe it wasn't his killer ... maybe it was his friend. A Death Eater ... one who'd had the scent of Hermione, followed her, and had seen their chance once I'd been out of the way.

"Who? Who was it?"

He just stared at me and I almost shook him the way I'd done the Muggle at the front desk. But I forced myself to calm down. I reckoned he was a bit young to know most of the blokes at the Ministry, and Death Eaters didn't exactly go around wearing masks anymore.

"Describe this person to me. Tall? Short? Dark hair?"

He blinked at me, twisting his head to the side as if he thought I was having him on.

"Old."

"Old?"

"Yes, Mr. Weasley. It was my gran who followed me up." He smiled as if that explained everything. "I had to excuse myself from serving tea after I heard the report on the Wireless. We're allowed to keep it on in the kitchen if there aren't any Muggles working. She wouldn't've just let me go, so I told her I'd heard Ms. Granger was in trouble and had to warn her. I knew she'd come after me, but I'd hoped Ms. Granger would pop away as soon as I'd told her. Gran had a talk with her, though, and that was that."

"That was what?" I almost wished I was talking to Stephen again.

"You didn't get the note?"

"What note? All I saw in there was this." I pulled out the paper with Hermione's half-scribbled sentence. "It was on the floor."

"That's the note," he said. "Ms. Granger figured since she wasn't leaving, there wasn't any reason to leave you a note. Then I thought I better leave one in case none of us was around. I didn't have any parchment on me and gran said it'd be a sin to waste paper. She's that type, you know. So I just used the back."

I flipped it over, seeing nothing. Ethan did the little head twist again, and took out his wand, tapping it to the paper.

"Apparecium."

The paper glowed and faint letters began to appear that completely obscured the ink blotches that had bled through from the other side.

Mr. Weasley.

Go to the grandfather clock off the staircase near the drawing room. Tap your wand to the 12, 9, 3 and 6, and cast Alohomora. Waiting in the parlour.

"She's down there, Mr. Weasley, and I think you should get down quick yourself," he said. "Ms. Granger was in right state. She keeps saying something about you and ten o'clock and Azkaban. Even Mr. Potter's looking ragged -"

"Potter?" I snatched the paper away, not caring really that I didn't know where down there was. "Harry's here?"

"He came about two minutes after Gran got up to the room. I know you said not to let anyone know where Ms. Granger was, but I reckoned Harry Potter's not just anyone. He brought Mrs. Potter, too. There're all down there, waiting, like the note says."

Ethan moved around and looked me in the eye, his expression almost terrifyingly serious. "Ms. Granger and the others are in the parlour."

I wasn't sure why he was talking that way. Maybe he thought that since I'd forgotten about Aparecium, he reckoned I might've forgotten how to understand English, too. But I had other thoughts on my mind. If Harry was there with Ginny, then McLaggen and Susan had been right about him not being on the hunt for Hermione. I wasn't sure how to feel about that; Harry was just as serious about being an Auror as I had been. But I knew some things were stronger than duty or even loyalty. Friendship was one of those things. Love was another.

"You go on ahead, Mr. Weasley. Round the side, there's a small door, leads straight toward the drawing room. Once you get inside, just go straight - you can't miss it. I'll be back down in a bit. Stephen's going on about seeing Andrew half in the fireplace talking into the flames. May have to Oblivate him again."

He went back the way he came, stopping to say something to his cousin, who nodded without moving his head. I watched him go and then went around to the side of the inn as directed. It took a minute, but I saw a dusty square of wood with a rusted-out handle that I supposed was a door. I gave it a good yank, but it didn't take that much.

It swung open, and as I passed through, my hair stood on end and the skin on the back of my neck tingled. The doorway was warded, but not very well, since I was able to slip through without trouble. I guessed the wards only kept Muggles from being able to see the door, though I thought I might have a talk with Ethan about punching them up a little.

I found myself in a long, narrow room. Not very bright, or clean, or cheerful. It was low, and I had to duck here and there to keep from hitting my head on the rafters. Another door like the first gave way with a push and I was right behind the grand staircase, a bit dusty and disoriented to the sudden warmth and light, but not so turned around that I didn't see the clock directly ahead of me. I heard voices wafting down from upstairs and plodding footsteps on their way down and I hurried over, knowing I had to be quick about it. There wasn't anyone watching my back.

Taking out my wand, I pressed it to the face of the clock, touching the 12, the 9, the 3, the 6 ... Alohomora.

Nothing happened for a moment, and then the ticking stopped abruptly. Beneath the mantle, the heavy wooden paneling slid silently open like lift doors, and beyond them, I could make out another dark passageway. I had to stoop again to squeeze in, but I made it before the footsteps got any closer.

The panels shut behind me and I looked up when it seemed that the walls were vibrating. It took a second, but I understood that I was now underneath the big staircase in an area that led to yet another hallway. It was bigger than the last corridor, better lit, and smelled of something delicious.

The scent grew stronger as I lit my wand and walked along the path, navigating a few twists and turns that didn't seem to go with the house. I looked around as I went, but there was nothing much to see. It was just like the attic back at the Burrow, but bigger, better kept, no mold and no ghoul, from what I could see. It was obvious someone had taken great care to make it presentable and keep it that way.

Walking straight ahead, just as Ethan had said, brought me to the end of the passageway in minutes, and ... nothing. A great stone wall was all I saw. No door, no other clock, and no Hermione. But the scent of food was so strong that my mouth watered. It smelled like bacon butties, pumpkin pasties, roast mutton and a thousand other things I loved to eat.

I whirled around in all directions, seeing nothing, and was starting to wonder if I'd taken a wrong turn, when something creaked beneath my feet. I squatted down, pointing my wand downward and saw, in the dust, the outline of a little hatch with a brass loop attached.

Tucking my wand under my arm, I grasped the loop and pulled. It took a few good yanks before it groaned open, and there was a little ladder below, leaning against another wall. The smells were overwhelming then and as I climbed down, I could hear faint voices that sounded a long way off.

The ladder was shorter than it looked, which was good, because I was moving so quickly and it was so dark that I missed the last few rungs. The smells and the sounds were much closer now, and a slice of light down a short hallway directly in front of me caught my eye. I walked on and saw what looked to be a another doorway at the end. It had curtains hung outside of it like the type of we'd had around our bed at Hogwarts.

I couldn't really tell one voice from another until I got closer to the entrance. The curtains weren't quite shut all the way, and once I adjusted to the low light, I was able to see a little beyond the doorway. I could make out a low table spread with sweets and a tea tray and Harry pacing right behind it, stone-faced. There was another voice, a bit familiar and a little rusty, saying something that sounded like "There, there, my dear" over and over again, and then that stopped suddenly. Harry was talking.

"I don't bloody care, there's got to be some way -"

"Never should have let him leave!" That was Hermione, and whatever relief I felt at hearing her voice popped off at those words. "It's my fault! I'm going to turn myself in -"

"Hermione, no!" That was Ginny, sounding horrified. I quickened my steps.

"I have to, Ginny, don't you see? It might already be too late! I won't ever be able to forgive myself if they toss him into some cold cell ... hurt, afraid, alone -"

"- Hungry," I said, pulling the curtain aside and striding in. "Are those meringues?"

Several things happened at once. Everyone in the room jumped, and I took it all in at a glance. Harry's eyes were huge behind his glasses and he looked gobsmacked. Ginny looked radiant. The old Muggle woman who ran the inn was there, too, and she looked satisfied. And Hermione -

"Ron!"

- rushed at me in a whirl of arms and legs and hair. I didn't even have time to brace myself before my arms were full of her and she was squeezing me tight.

"Oh, Ron, we were worried sick!" She turned her face up toward me. "We've heard the reports on the Wireless, and when ten o'clock came and you weren't back, we didn't know what to think . . ."

I heard her, but I wasn't listening - something that had always hacked her off back at Hogwarts. Her face was red, puffy, and streaked with wet, and I could still see the bite marks around her mouth, though her bruises were almost gone. Her eyes were a little red from crying, but they were dark and bright and sparkling and almost dancing as they looked up at me. I didn't know how much I'd missed those eyes until that second.

"Cut it a bit close, did I?"

"Just a bit." She reached up and cupped my cheek. " I was ... we were all so frightened when ten o'clock came and went. But I knew you'd be back. If they couldn't lay their hands on you before, you wouldn't let them do it now."

"Well, I can't seem to manage to stay away from this place."

Hermione was still gazing up at me, her hand warm and gentle on my skin. It wouldn't have taken much to go in for a snog, and I wasn't too keen on missing the opportunity. Her eyelids fluttered closed and I leaned in, brushing my mouth gently over her curving lips. I went slowly, not wanting to put too much pressure on the areas I was sure still hurt her. I felt her arms go around my waist and her hands raced up and down as if she was having trouble deciding on where to put them. I was going to make a suggestion, but it was about then that I remembered that we had an audience.

I cracked an eye open to see my sister smiling, my best mate with raised eyebrows and the old woman dabbing at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief.

My stomach growled just then, which seemed as good a reason as any to put an end to things. I broke away and avoided everyone's stares.

"Sorry. Didn't exactly have time to stop for crumpets in the Atrium."

I walked further in, pretending not to hear Hermione's little laugh as she threaded her arm through mine. Ginny's ear-to-ear grin was enough.

"What smells so good in here?"

"Of course, you must be famished, Mr. Weasley." The old woman patted the couch. "Do sit down and have some refreshments. Charlotte is just taking the Yorkshire puddings out of the oven and we'll get you a proper meal."

I didn't need to be told twice, but I remembered the last time the woman had offered me tea. At least I wasn't muddy and dripping this time.

"We're down beneath the inn, aren't we?" I asked, looking around. "Is this the basement?"

"A basement? Oh no, Mr. Weasley, this is my parlour." The old woman smiled. "You'll all be quite safe here. I'll see what's keeping my granddaughter." She disappeared through a set of French doors at the back.

"Parlour?" I looked at Harry. "Looks more like the downstairs of Grimmauld Place to me - only with more paint on the walls."

"Yeah, it is a little crowded in here. Maybe it started out as a storeroom or something."

It was as good a guess as any. The room was large and square and had the restful, respectful atmosphere of one of those places Muggles use for funerals, but thank Merlin, not the same smell. There were all sorts of banners and tapestries on the walls along with small, framed portraits that might've been people or hinkypunks, for all I could tell from where I was sitting. The only portrait I could see clearly was over the fireplace. It was a Muggle portrait, and quite old, too, as it had gone yellow with age and was a bit faded. In it was a tall blond smiling man in robes with his arm around a young dark-haired woman in a Muggle wedding gown. I guessed that the man was the wizard who'd started the Gainsvert. It didn't take me long to realise who the woman was. The old woman still had the dark, keen eyes of the young girl she'd been in the portrait, and I felt a little uncomfortable thinking that Ethan and Andrew's gran had been a gorgeous woman in her day.

There were heavy carved chairs with plush seats and tapestry backs and tarnished golden tassels hanging down their sides. At the back was a large mirror with curtained French doors underneath it. The fireplace, which was not quite as big or fancy as the one up at the inn, was at the opposite end with gently leaping flames that made the room seem golden. Scattered about were tables with crooked legs, mismatched clocks, small statues showing people bent in odd positions and a bunch of things that looked like diamonds but weren't. It was the sort of room that someone had worked hard to make seem smart and sophisticated but had so much crammed in it, it'd take a week to dust it all.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked after I'd stuffed in a few biscuits. "We came over as soon as we could."

"I'm fine. Is it true that Scrimgeour took you over his knee because you didn't tell him what was going on?"

"It wasn't that bad, but he suggested I take a bit of time off to consider where my priorities and loyalties are." His eyes glittered dangerously behind his glasses and he spoke with an anger that was new to me. "I don't need any time to figure that out, but I reckon he wouldn't like the answer. Don't know how he'd expect otherwise, given what's already happened to Hermione."

I glanced at her and she shot me an anguished look before staring down into her lap. So she'd told Harry and Ginny what Whetwistle had done to her. I could only imagine how hard it must've been for her, and still I envied them that they hadn't had to see it like I had. I didn't think I'd ever be able to get those images out of my head.

"Can you believe it? That overinflated wanker!" Ginny tossed her head in that way that usually meant some bloke had better start ducking. "After all Harry's done, he's banned him from the Ministry 'until further notice'!"

"It doesn't matter." Harry rubbed her shoulders before sinking back down onto the couch. "It's for the best right now. Besides we've still got Brock. He managed to convince them I'd talked him into concealing evidence and he wanted to go to the Minister all along. He's on our side, though, and he'll keep us a step ahead of what the Ministry's planning. He managed to sneak off to tell us what was happening even before the report came over the Wireless. Took us a minute to figure out where Hermione might be, and then we were here but you weren't. What went on at down there?"

In between bites of the best berry trifle I'd ever tasted, I told them about my night, from what had happened in my old flat to the ride up to the Atrium level in the secret lift. The only thing I left out was Zacharias Smith. Though I knew they'd all get a laugh out of it, even Hermione, there wouldn't be any way to explain why I'd redecorated the git's face without dragging in what he'd said into it, and Hermione had been through enough that night.

"I'm telling you, mate, Susan Bones looked about to jump out of her skin when I mentioned that potion. She knows something ..."

I trailed off when the French doors flew open again. The scent of fresh buttered bread entered the room a little before the old woman did. She was followed by a young, pretty blonde girl carrying a basket of fruit and there was Ethan, too, with a tray of roast mutton in his hands.

"Here we are!" The woman beamed as the girl and Ethan arranged the dishes in front of me and summoned a few platters of food I hadn't noticed. "Do eat up, Mr. Weasley. We've dined, but we kept it all nice and hot for you. That's quite a neat thing, that reheating spell."

"Warming charm, Gran." Ethan and the girl exchanged a bemused look. "Glad you made it here okay, Mr. Weasley. It's a bit tricky around the fourth or fifth turn."

I took a plate and glanced at Ethan. "How's Stephen?"

"Feeling rather forgetful at the moment. Suddenly remembered he hadn't put his socks away. Important business, you know."

He and I shared a grin. I was beginning to like this bloke a little.

While I ate, Ethan made the introductions. The girl was Charlotte, his older sister. Their mum was away, visiting their older brother. And the "parlour" we were sitting in had been around for decades, done up by their grandfather as a secret place to keep his family during the First Wizarding War.

The four of us just stared at each other. I'd just been taking the piss about it reminding me of the old Order of the Phoenix headquarters, but to know that this was actually what it was in its own way took us all back to a place and time that we didn't much fancy thinking about.

"My dear Bertie knew he'd be watched," the old woman said, looking fondly at the portrait over the fireplace. "Even then, the Gainsvert had a sterling reputation and a very exclusive clientele. But apparently this awful individual that Mr. Potter thankfully sent to a fitting reward had no great love for non-magical beings. My dear Sophie-Anne and sweet Adolphus were just children, and Bertie was so concerned for our safety. So he built this place and then hid it by magic. The Floralist charm, I think it was."

"Fidelius, Gran." Charlotte smiled and shook her head. "Granddad got the idea from a Muggle book, he said. During one of their wars, a whole family hid in an attic."

The old woman bristled. "Charlotte, dear, what have I told you about that distasteful word? The term is non-magical being. 'Muggle' just sounds so ... common."

"Muggle is just a shorter way of saying 'non-magical being,' Gran." Ethan sounded like he'd had this conversation before and hadn't come out of it very well. This time didn't seem like it'd be different.

"He was quite brave, my Bertie. He continued to run the inn as if all was well," she said. "We hardly ever had any vacancies! I continued to assist our guests and cook, of course, while our children stayed here with no one the wiser. When your world had its second war, my dear Bertie was gone, but the parlour remained. I kept my grandchildren here, safe and sound, and hired several other non-magical beings to help me with the inn. That is why we have since had such a drop in our distinguished guests."

"She means witches and wizards," said Ethan. His sister rolled her eyes and he looked confused for awhile and then blushed, as if his brain had caught up to how unneccessary that explanation had been.

"Anyway, no one knows about this place," said Ethan. "Granddad's brother Fritz was the Secret Keeper back then. When he died, granddad became the Secret Keeper, of course, along with my mum. After Granddad died, my mum became the Secret Keeper, and she's told me and Charlotte and our brother Geoffrey."

I nodded, understanding now why he'd been so deliberate outside about telling me where to find Hermione.

"It's all very mysterious, isn't it?" The old woman looked gleeful. "My Bertie was ever so clever. Did some sort of magic that gave us plenty of room for the children to play in without being underfoot. He built a little staircase just for me that connects to the kitchen so that I wouldn't have to go far to make dinner and afternoon tea and such things."

"Gran and my Uncle Adolphus - that's Andy's dad - are the only Mug-, um, non-magical beings who can find this place," said Ethan proudly. "So you see, we were thinking, this might be the best place for Ms. Granger to stay. No one'll ever be able to find her, even if they turn over every stone in the place. Mum gets a bit nervous sometimes, so Gran sent her to stay with Geoff for a bit, but they would never tell, either, you can count on that."

"That's really very kind of you," said Hermione cautiously, "but aren't you a relation of Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic? He's the one who told me of the Gainesvert in the first place. Wouldn't he know how to find this place?"

"Scrimgeour?" The old woman tapped her chin. "Yes, let me see ... I do recall Bertie having a third cousin or something of that nature who married someone with a very similar name. Quite long ago. They came to Sophie-Anne's wedding to poor, sweet Carleton and gave them a rather low-quality vase as a wedding gift. I can assure you they weren't ever invited again for so much as a Sunday lunch, let alone made privy to such a secret."

"Dad really liked that vase, Gran."

"He would, the poor dear. Lovely man - we lost him in a railway accident when dear Ethan was just a boy. Wonderful person, but he did have a very bad eye for fine things."

She gave the same sort of limp smile like my Aunt Muriel would when my dad rattled on about some Muggle artifact he'd managed to "figure out."

"At any rate, my parlour is at your disposal." The old woman spread her smile around to all of us. "Meals included, of course. No charge at all! I'd consider it an honour. You all are the cream of the magical community, after all, and deserve only the best."

"It might work for now," said Harry. "While the Ministry's figuring out what to, uh, do with me, they've revoked some of the permits for the stronger wards on our flat."

Hermione gasped, and I grit my teeth, sorry I hadn't gotten a chance to see Scrimgeour to do some of the face-rearranging I'd given Smith.

"That is a bad thing?" asked the old woman politely, noticing our expressions.

"Well, it just means my flat isn't as well-hidden as it was," Harry answered. "That's all right for me and my wife, but not so good for Hermione. We were thinking about taking rooms at Hogwarts and having Hermione with us. Under wraps and all."

Hermione turned to me, making a little face that let me know what she thought of the idea of having to skulk about under Harry's Invisibility Cloak all the time. I wasn't sure I liked it, either. The Ministry could turn Hogwarts upside down if it wanted to. It had happened before.

"Well, I think given the choice, I'd rather stay here. I think that if the Minister had known of this place before, he would've insisted I stay here. There were a few ... incidents." Her expression clouded over briefly. "But it's lovely and secure and I feel very comfortable here."

She gave me those eyes again. "Will you stay as well, Ron?"

"Of course he will," said Ginny before I could even take the fork out of my mouth. "It's not as if he has his own flat or anything. By the way, Ron - the weather's bollocks in Amsterdam this time of year. I'm sure you would've had a great time." Her tone was about as cheerful as a broom upside the head.

Hermione bit her lip and flashed an apology at me. I didn't really mind; it had been a naff idea to just leave without a word to anyone and it seemed only fair to have my face rubbed into it a bit. And anyway, I'd known that I wasn't going to let Hermione out of my sight again from the minute I'd heard her voice. But I didn't want it to seem as if I liked it much.

"I don't reckon there's a choice," I groused. "Maybe we can get through it a bit better than we did the last time we were flatmates."

"We can't possibly do worse, although, it wasn't all bad," she said softly, brushing my leg not quite by accident as she reached for a biscuit.

I swallowed painfully and took a good drink of tea. I didn't have to look at her to know that she was all wide-eyed innocence even with that smug 'best witch in her year' grin that always drove me mad. But I snuck a glance anyway. Hermione wasn't looking at me. She didn't need to. That smooth, quiet voice had slid right over my body, wrapped around me and pulled. No need to mention where.