Harry Potter and the Magical Tours

Harry stared into Deborah's face. Her words let his neck hair rise and his lips tighten. This, in turn, changed her expression from concern to deep worry, bordering on desperation.

He took her shoulders, gently pushed her on a seat. "Wait here - I'll be back in a few minutes."

She stopped him. "What are you going to do?"

"Pack some things, and talk with some people. Then we'll return to London, and and then we'll look for Sirius."

"But where? And how?"

"Everywhere ... We'll lift every lid and look into every pot - and if the lid refuses to open, it'll blow into the air." Harry realized that he had gritted his teeth, opened them again with some effort. "We'll find him, Deborah."

"And if he's dead?"

"Sunday you saw him the last time, right?"

She nodded.

"And yesterday he didn't appear, and today's Wednesday, that means he disappeared Monday." Harry shook his head. "If they'd killed him, he would have been found yesterday or this morning. No, he's alive - I'd say, he's a prisoner of Voldemort."

"How can you be sure of that?"

"I can't - but it's not the first time something like this is happening. The last time, it was Lupin, and I had to wait until Dumbledore could rescue him because I wasn't prepared. But this time I'm prepared."

Deborah wanted to know more; she wanted to hear a story with a happy end.

"Later," replied Harry. "First let me collect my things - we'll have time enough for stories while waiting, but not now."

In his dormitory, he packed some clothes and his Invisibility Cloak. When his glance fell on Nagini, the recent conversation with Professor Trelawney resurfaced in his memory. He said, "Come round me, partner - time for some travelling."

Reaching the hall again, his first stop was at the Ravenclaw table where, meanwhile, Cho and Almyra had arrived.

"Deborah's here," he said. "Sirius has disappeared, probably around Monday. I'm going to travel to London with her, and look for him."

Cho dropped her fork. "I'll come with you."

Harry shook his head. "Not yet. Maybe if we know more, although I'd feel much better knowing you're here. Please do me a favour - when I'm gone, tell Dumbledore what happened and that I'm looking for Sirius."

Cho's face had paled a bit. "Harry, is this the - the big encounter?"

"No idea. I'm pretty sure it was Voldemort - looks a bit like the Lupin story, only this time I'm better equipped, so it's not impossible."

Cho bit her lips. "When - "

Harry interrupted her. "I simply don't know. According to what I have in mind, the earliest time I'll be back is tomorrow evening, maybe a day later." He bent down. "You know what I promised, so please, don't get into a frenzy if it takes longer." He kissed her. "See you."

She stopped him. "Harry - I always had this picture, with me standing in a doorframe and waving at you how you walk away to meet Voldemort - and now it's me sitting here for lunch, and you're passing by and saying, 'See you.' It's so - "

He smiled. "Leaving you with some food - I like this picture much better."

"I love you, Harry. If you see Voldemort, do me a favour and kill him."

He kissed her again. "I love you, too. Otherwise - all I can promise is to come back."

Almyra was up, apparently to hug him - only Nagini was in the way. So she grabbed his head and kissed him. "There are some more people who love you - and if you can do with some help, come back and call, okay?"

Harry nodded. "You bet."

---

At the Gryffindor table, he met Ron and Hermione, who had found time to talk with Deborah, to hear the news, and to look concerned. Harry turned to Ron. "Listen, I'll be off for a while, maybe only for two days or so. Please tell the teachers."

"What can I tell them?"

Harry managed a grin. "Make it simple - tell them the truth." He turned to Hermione. "What's the Hogwarts rule for leaving in search for your godfather - I mean, it's not exactly without notice."

Hermione tried to smile. "As if there'd be any rule that fits you, Harry." Then she came round, encountered the same problem as Almyra before, and found the same solution. "Please find him, Harry."

He shook hands with Ron. "Okay, brother - for a few days, you have to train Quidditch for two." Outside, he took his Steel Wing, then walked with Deborah toward the Hogsmeade linkport.

Deborah said, "This must be a dream - and it's alternating between a nightmare and a fantasy. Sirius disappears, then I come to Hogwarts and tell you. And you say yes, Voldemort has caught him - he does it by a habit, it's not the first time. That's the nightmarish part ... Then I'm sitting there, waiting, and then I watch some sixth-years talking and kissing and saying goodbye and watch your back - like for some boat party or whatever. That's the fantasy part."

"There's nothing wrong with sixth-years." Harry chuckled. "Actually, Cho and Almyra are seventh-years."

Deborah glanced at him from the side. "For most people, when it's about searching for a grown man who has disappeared, there's little difference between sixth and seventh year."

"Basically, they're right. But in a few weeks, there's a world of difference."

It took Deborah a moment to realize what Harry was talking about. At least the issue seemed good to let her think about something else, as her next words indicated.

"Harry, how come your girl is older than you?"

"Good question ... Deborah, how come your man is older than you?"

She could smile. "Well - people consider this normal, if the man's older than the woman."

Harry shrugged. "The French think differently."

"Really? What do they think?"

"They say, love hits where it hits. Apart from that, for - er, educational purposes, they're convinced that a young student should look for an older teacher."

"And that's your policy?"

Suddenly, Harry realized that the question - asked from someone that close to Sirius - might have a larger scope than just himself. He glanced to his side, not learning anything from this face owned by an experienced interviewer.

When in doubt, use the truth. "Yes."

"That's what I heard."

He glanced again. "Did you?"

They had reached the linkport, reason enough for Deborah not to answer.

* * *

Sirius' office was their first station. Harry felt not quite sure how Sirius' secretary would cooperate. When she addressed him as "Mr Potter", he knew that another problem had to be solved first. He asked, "Do you think it was me?"

The secretary almost jumped. "No - of course not."

"Good. This isn't a party here, but still - can we go along with Harry and Jessica and Deborah?"

"Er - yes, sure."

"All right, Jessica. When did you see Sirius the last time?"

"He didn't arrive yesterday - Monday was a holiday, so Friday was the last time I saw him."

"What did you do when he didn't appear yesterday?"

The girl-like woman blushed, but kept silent.

"Did you do anything?"

Finally, she answered. "No ... After that long weekend, it could have been ... And then, this morning, er - Deborah came and asked for him, and then I knew ... But we agreed that she'd contact you first."

Apparently, Jessica's qualities in organization didn't extend to an unplanned situation, to anything out of the ordinary. She was no trouble-shooter, and she was no cop. Harry asked, "What case was Sirius working on?"

"Nothing special - none that I know of."

Glancing at Deborah, seeing her expression, Harry became aware that Sirius had changed his old habit in one aspect. He hadn't stopped telling his findings to someone else - he had only shifted from his secretary to another person. Well, considering the fact that Belinda had been more than his secretary, in a way he hadn't changed at all.

Harry asked, "Did you scan his desk?"

Jessica hadn't. The thought alone - even now - made her arms flutter through the air.

"Listen, Jessica. If someone's asking, you'll say Sirius is travelling to meet a person, and he didn't tell you when to expect him back, okay? And keep track of who's asking, so you can tell us when we pass by again. And now we'll turn his office upside down."

"Erm - er, Harry, what do you think happened to him?"

Harry saw no benefit in telling the truth to this girl who passed for a woman. He had the strong feeling the name Voldemort alone would make her panicking. "I think someone caught him," he said, "and is holding him prisoner now. And we're going to find him."

"How do you know?"

So Jessica wasn't stupid. Unfortunately, right now this seemed more of a burden than a help.

"He didn't get lost voluntarily," answered Harry. "If someone had killed him, he would have been found by now - so he's alive. That means, he's been kidnapped for some purpose - and sooner or later, we'll hear from the kidnappers."

Which drifted Jessica's thoughts toward some anonymous figures in the background, figures which hadn't been caught in the failed assault at Middle Station. To some degree, it was even true.

---

Inside Sirius' office, Deborah started to speak, but Harry stopped her, pointing around the room. "I'm not sure whether this room's clean. Let's talk later."

If Harry was right, if Deborah was Sirius' partner for loud thinking and for storing information in more than one head, most likely the desk would contain nothing of interest. However, it was a bit more than nothing.

He found a data sheet on Wesley Warrington, the head of the Transportation department. He found the copy of a letter to the Bahamas authorities, asking for information about real estate owned by a Wesley Warrington.

He also found a copy of the Potter-Pouilly file, and took it together with the other findings.

Outside in the street, Deborah looked at him. "What now?"

"His house."

"And how do we get inside?"

"Oh ... I thought you had a key."

She smiled. "Could have been, but just by coincidence, I have none."

"Well - it's not a real problem, but ..." They went back to Jessica to ask for a key and learned that yes, the ministry had keys to all houses that went with a job, but - unfortunately - it would take a triplicate form, and about half a dozen signatures, and -

"Forget it," interrupted Harry. "I think I know where to find a key." Outside again, he looked at Deborah. "Can you apparate?"

"Sure."

"Let's go."

"But - oh, yes of course." She grinned wryly. "Not my day."

A moment later, they stood in front of Sirius' house. Deborah glanced at Harry. "Better we break into a backside door; here in front, it's too - "

"Breaking in? Why?"

"Maybe because we have no key? Maybe because we want to go inside, except the door's locked?"

He grinned. "Calm down, and be quiet for a moment."

Deborah watched as Harry sat down just in front of the door, taking the lotus position. She opened her mouth, closed it again.

Click

She stared at the open door. "Cool."

Harry stood up. "Ladies first - "

"Said the farmer and decapitated the hen." Nonetheless, Deborah stepped inside. Then she stopped. "What are we doing here?"

"Same as in his office - scanning." Harry's finger drew a circle in the air. "And the problem might be the same."

"But what do you expect to find?"

"Most likely, nothing. Only it would be stupid not to look. It's just doing your homework before getting public - funny that I have to tell you, an experienced journalist."

"No, not funny, it's a shame. Only I have trouble thinking of this as some kind of research for an article."

Harry nodded. "Understandably so. Where do you want to start? Upstairs?" Upstairs were the bedrooms.

Deborah grimaced. "I'm not sure, but I think better me than you ... Okay." She went upstairs.

Harry dropped Nagini on the rug. Then a thought crossed his mind. "Say - can you detect hidden rooms?"

"No, Master - not as such."

"What do you mean - not as such?"

"I can sense people - in this regard, it won't matter whether they are in an open or in a hidden room."

Harry stared at his snake, as if he could learn something from the expression in this face. "People, yes ... What else?"

"Magic. But that's nothing new to you, Master."

"No ..." Only he hadn't thought of it. "Do you sense any magic now?"

"None - of course except for you and the woman. But there was something outside."

Next moment, Harry had grabbed Nagini again, went back, put the mat between door and frame so it would not close, and stepped outside.

"It's very weak, Master."

"Okay - I'm walking with you, and you say, 'Warmer' if it's getting stronger, or, 'Colder' if it's fading."

Five minutes later, with Nagini being as sure as she ever would be, Harry stared at the object which looked so perfectly innocent - the mailbox. Then it struck him. "Nagini, can you detect portkeys?"

"Only in the sense of a magical item. A portkey doesn't feel special in any regard, except that it emanates strong magic."

"Could this mailbox have been activated as a portkey, and deactivated afterwards?"

Yes, this could be - at least Nagini felt nothing that would contradict her master's theory.

Harry went inside and sat down, to think it over. Nagini found her way down to the rug without his help.

* * *

After some time, steps came down the stairs, taking him off his thoughts. Deborah showed a self-conscious smile. "Nothing - no hidden places, no dirty secrets, no map to the end of the rainbow. And you?"

"I didn't even start yet."

"Oh - leaving the hard work to the girls, huh? Well, I might have a surprise for you - I can sit down, too." Deborah did.

Not catching the challenging half-joke, Harry said, "I think I know how it was done. Nagini found it." He explained what they had detected outside. "Monday morning - Sirius is checking the mailbox, and bouff - off he goes. That's typical Voldemort; he did the same with me."

Deborah lost all sense of joking. Harry, in contrast, felt encouraged. "That confirms what we have suspected - which is good news."

"Good??"

Harry nodded. "Now I'm sure. To be honest, until a few minutes ago, I hadn't ruled out the possibility that Sirius would be found tomorrow morning - dead, I mean. But I think we can drop that, and this makes me feel a lot better."

"How good for you." Deborah looked miserable.

He went over, sat down beside her. "Deborah, now it's a million to one that Voldemort's holding Sirius as hostage - not someone in the middle, not someone with a grudge from his undercover time - no, Voldemort himself."

"Harry - did someone tell you that your way of cheering up people is a bit scary?"

He grinned. "Not exactly in these words, but I guess I know what you're talking about."

"Then, please, for the simple-minded, like me - what's so good about this news?"

Harry became aware that Deborah, in some sense, counted as a total outsider, despite everything she might have read in the press about him. He said, "That's a longer story - in a way, it's the story of my life. But for now, the good news is that Sirius will be alive and well until Voldemort and I meet."

"Then we just have to wait until you get a message?"

"No - the message will come, but if I have a choice, I'll track him down before. That's why we should finish our scan here."

More than an hour later, they had checked everything, had found nothing that would offer another trail. Outside, when the door had closed behind them, Deborah asked, "What now?"

"Well - for what comes next, today it's too late. Except for one thing - I didn't ask you yet what you can tell me about his latest activities."

Deborah nodded. "That fits just nicely, because you owe me a few answers, too. Follow me, Harry."

A short time later, he stood in her apartment and looked around. Through an open door, he could see what seemed to be her office, library, and work room in one, crammed with paper, parchments, books, newspapers, in shelves, in piles, in heaps. He realized that Sirius hadn't lived long enough in his house to make it a real home. Scanning this apartment would take a day, if not more.

---

Deborah appeared in the door. "Is it too early for something to eat?"

Too early? Suddenly Harry became aware that he had left Hogwarts before lunch - and now it was late afternoon. He told her.

"I'm no good cook," she said, "but I'm a good shopper. Beats that pub in Hogsmeade any time."

Not long afterwards, they were sitting at a table opposite each other, between them on the table numerous salads, meat, fish, French bread - somehow, the large variety reminded Harry of the Japanese food culture.

For a while, he was busy eating. Apparently, Deborah had skipped lunch too, for she was keeping pace with him, although not to the end. Eventually, she leaned back. "As you're still chewing, maybe I should start by answering your questions. But I don't see anything relevant. If I had a clue, I would have told you already."

Harry swallowed a bite. "Since Sirius is head of the Squad, he has developed a technique of making sure that important information is known at least by two people, and I don't think he's changed that. When Belinda was still alive, it was her. Of course, in the months afterwards, he changed it, but I hope he's found back to that habit. And one things's for sure - Jessica's not his backup mind. So the only one left is you."

Deborah looked thoughtful. "I won't say you're wrong. He doesn't discuss daily routine with me, not the way he probably did with Belinda. When we were talking about these things lately, it was about Warrington, and how to get further. Only we had no idea, not with this slimey eel - although we didn't work too hard on that, not when we were together ..."

Harry smiled.

"... The only thing he was pressing on and on - I shouldn't hang my neck too wide out of the window. 'Don't follow the tracks of Rita Skeeter,' he said. It wasn't my job but his." Deborah's expression changed. "Harry - are you sure he won't be found tomorrow morning?"

"Yes, I am ... By the way, the more I think about the Skeeter case, the more I think it wasn't Voldemort, or his helpers. Somehow it doesn't fit."

"Tell me why - I'm eager to hear everything that supports your theory."

"Look at the other cases, the four Magical Tours employees and Belinda. It's obvious to everyone that they've been killed on purpose. It might be unclear why, but these were no accidents, and they shouldn't look like accidents. That's Voldemort's style - he lets other people know that it was him, or someone under his command, and this jump artist was just the kind he would have hired. While in the case of Rita Skeeter, nominally it was an accident."

"Meaning what?"

"Assume she found something, or she came too close to some secret, some knowledge that would discredit or compromise someone. And this knowledge was important enough, and this someone was unscrupulous enough, and powerful enough, to arrange an accident. Would this description fit Warrington?"

"Probably so - at least, I have no information that would contradict ..." After a moment's thinking, Deborah asked, "But then, doesn't it mean Warrington and Voldemort are two different tracks?"

"No, I wouldn't say so. Voldemort has no mercy with his helpers, not more than with anyone else - if they're too stupid to cover themselves, it's not his problem. You know, he doesn't hide his doing - he only hides himself."

"That's something to think about for a moment." Deborah stood up and started to store the remnants in the kitchen.

Harry offered his help.

"No," said Deborah with more energy in her voice than before. "Stay out of the kitchen, and let me think at my own speed. You're dealing with Voldemort for quite some time, but for me it's something new."

He used the time to think his own arguments over, but found no flaw in them. Wesley Warrington had been the last entry in Rita Skeeter's list, before she was killed. It seemed time to pay a visit to that Warrington - after some other visits, that was.

---

Deborah returned from the kitchen, carrying a bottle and two glasses.

According to Jean-Baptiste, this was the best time - after a lot of food - and the best choice: red wine. Harry accepted a glass.

"Okay, Harry. You said it's the story of your life, when I asked why Voldemort captured Sirius. Then please, tell me the - no, I've another question first. What does Hippogriff mean?"

"My God, did nobody tell you until today?"

"Guess what? Maybe I can't hear this story often enough."

He laughed. "Hermione and I, we used a Hippogriff to save Sirius - actually, the Hippogriff was saved too. Buckbeak was his name, and this is already part of the complete story."

"That's just fine - a good article starts in the middle, jumps back to the start, and then forward to the end. I'm listening, Harry."

And so he told the story of Buckbeak, which was the final in the story about a prisoner of Azkaban, which was a centerpiece in the story of his life-long fight against Voldemort, condensing in four encounters - as a baby, as a first-year against Quirrel, as a fourth-year in the Tournament, and recently in the Battle of Hogwarts.

"Since he disappeared from that ship," finished Harry, "I was thinking over and over what I could do in another encounter. That was the missing element, but now this gap is closed. I can pursue him, so I think I'm ready. The only problem is to find him."

Deborah had listened, asking only a few questions. Now she was looking at the table, her fingers playing with the glass. Thoughtfully, she said, "What a story! I knew pieces - facts from the archive, some events from Sirius. He talks about himself only when talking about you - "

"Does he?"

"Oh yes. He says you're the perfect match of your parents."

Harry leaned forward. "He never spoke with me about that. What did he say?"

"I'm not sure ..." Deborah blushed a bit. "Part of it was - er, pillow talk, and normally ... But if it's appropriate to send you against Voldemort, I think it's okay to tell you."

Examining the question himself, Harry said, "Don't ask me what's appropriate. I've learned a lot about ethics, but for all I know, that's something different."

"Yes, that fits. He says your total recklessness comes from your father, except he calls him James. And from Lily - from your mother, you've got this unconditional devotion. And both together is a ... He says there's no limit for you, no borderline that couldn't be crossed."

"Hmm ... You were going to say both together is a - what is it?"

Deborah glanced up, looked down again. "A frightening combination - that's what he said."

"Well - I've heard that from other people, too." Inspecting this new facet in the picture of his godfather, another thought struck Harry.

"Although it's funny - Sirius, of all people." He stared into Deborah's face. "Do you know what it means, to survive twelve years in Azkaban? Did you ever meet a Dementor face to face? I did, and if there's anything that's scaring me, it's the thought of being in their hands for some time. I can't even imagine a day in that state, not to mention twelve years."

"But you developed your Patronus, and that's what he meant - if there's a barrier, you don't give a rest until it's broken, and if this requires a spell which so far has been just a myth in old books, then so what ..." After a second, Deborah added, "Besides, don't get me wrong - he says it's the combination which is frightening, it's not you."

Harry grimaced. "That's good to know."

"He says you've compensated, so it's under control. You've balanced out - "

"Balanced - oh yes." He laughed.

Deborah's face kept solemn. "Sirius thinks that one of the main reasons why you had to stay with your relatives was to keep you in proportion. With a normal life, in a normal family, you could have developed arrogance, or ignorance of other people, quite easily ... While now, normal things like family life are precious and new, and that balances with your collection of powers and skills no one else can offer."

Harry stared at her. "You mean it wasn't for any special protection in Privet Drive?"

"Oh, that was probably another reason - and what I'm telling you is more speculation than knowledge. But Sirius says this was the reason that you could adapt high ethics so easily - those of the Giants, the bond with the Goblins, your education in Japan."

"Except that I have trouble with conventions, huh?"

"Oh, c'mon, Harry." Deborah smiled. "People break conventions all the time; the only difference is you don't give a damn. No" - she giggled - "there's another difference, some of your problem solutions are highly unusual."

Which answered the question he had asked at the Hogsmeade linkport.

---

Deborah shook her head. "No, Harry - it's not true; you don't break conventions, you simply ignore them."

"Must be a side-effect from the lack of a decent family education."

Deborah laughed. "Maybe so. At any rate, Sirius has no complaints about your ethics - none whatsoever, if you get my bearing."

"Yes - loud and clear."

She looked at him. "The evening is young ... Tell me more about you, Harry."

"Now wait a second - when I said it's the story of my life, basically I meant Voldemort. And besides, I have to look for a place where to sleep, and get prepared for - "

Deborah came forward and looked at him pleadingly. "I can offer a couch in the office that can be stretched to a bed. Please ... inside, I'm scared shitless. Part of me wants to believe there's a chance, while another part says that's nonsense, be realistic - only I don't want to listen to that part. Please, tell me - tell me anything, as long as it's not about here and today."

"It's not unrealistic. It's only - "

"I know!" She almost shouted. "I know about Remus, and how he was saved, and that he paid with an eye - it gives me the ..."

She stopped and, calmer, continued, "Tomorrow, Harry - tomorrow we can discuss chances, and tomorrow I'll ask you what are our next steps - today, all I want to hear are fairytales with happy endings."

He watched her. "There's a story about real fairies - two actually, Muriel and Céline."

"Yes - tell me, please."

"What about you? In the mood for a bit trading?"

"Me?" Deborah made a dismissive gesture. "I'm not holding back, only there isn't much of a story. My life splits into three parts. The first part went until recently, when I met a man and fell in love with him, except he wasn't interested. Then I met another man who's incredibly young, and knows a lot of tricks, and some of these tricks helped me to get in touch with the man I love. Well - that's about part two ... Part three started yesterday, when this man didn't appear, and I ran to that young man to cry for help."

"Give or take a few details, huh?"

"Yeah, sure. There are some men in my past, except they don't matter, and nobody cares about them." Deborah showed a short grin. "I'm not hiding skeletons in the basement, it's not that bad, only those stories aren't really entertaining ... I know there are some women in Sirius' past, but for what I've heard, there's little sense in telling you." She tried to smile. "Tell me about your love, Harry."

"Cho? You know about her."

"Yes - give or take a few details ... When did you fall in love with her?"

"I guess it was the first time I saw her - only I didn't know then." Thinking about the milestones in his own life, especially those regarding Cho, Harry looked up.

"Deborah - I can't tell about Cho without touching sensitive details, like the time when Remus was captured. It was in those days that I realized ... that I told her - "

"It's okay. Do it like in a good article - make the unpleasent parts short, and stress the other."

"Well - all right, then ..." Harry exhaled. "Once, upon a time in the north ..."

Deborah giggled. "Very good. Go ahead."

And he did - telling about Cho and invitations to a ball, about Almyra and involuntary transformations, about Gabrielle and fairies and heroes, about Ron and Hermione, and how their friendship had formed. He avoided stories about Hagrid, because Hagrid was dead, and his ending hadn't been happy.

When he finished, Deborah said, "I wish I had a fairy, to trance me and to tell me it will be all right. But I haven't, so I'll try without."

She showed him the office and the bathroom, then opened up the sofa-bed, went into her own bedroom, and came back with a bedcover. "Which time tomorrow, Harry?"

"Normal - not too late."

"Okay. Thank you for some fairytales ... Good night."

* * *

Harry was lying awake, thinking about his planning for the next day, and how to handle this. Once more, he would visit the Magical Tours headquarter, and by then, he had to be prepared with some arguments - words, that was. If they failed, it would be still early enough for a little destructive work with a powerful wand, toward that building which seemed to have an unlucky -

There was a jolt in his haragei, and a muffled cry in his ears.

He reached Deborah and found her sitting upright in bed, face covered in her hands, shaking from sobs. He sat down, took her shoulders. "Hey, c'mon, it was just a bad dream."

"Harry - he ... he was ..." Again, she broke into tears.

He tried to send a wave of calmness and confidence.

She gasped, and almost jumped. "What's this?"

"It's me - mind energy, I was trying to calm you down."

"Sorry - I'm too shaky. Just hold me, please."

Skin contact, as Harry remembered, was indeed a means for curing a shock. Except, like all good medicines, it had some side-effects. He said, "You should lie down and try to sleep."

"No - I'm frightened to sleep, and to dream it again."

"Well - getting a cold won't help either."

"No, but there's a solution." She held the bedcover up. "Come in."

Harry shook his head. "That's not a good idea."

She had a short laugh. "That's the least of my worries, and anyway, I'm too ... never mind. Just hold me, Harry - otherwise, as soon as I'm asleep you'll jump again from my screaming."

He scanned her face. "Sounds a bit like blackmailing."

"No, it's not - just a simple fact, unfortunately ..."

He came under the cover, lying in her back, one arm on Deborah's shoulder, careful not to come much closer.

She relaxed a bit. "I'm sorry - you must think I'm a despisable weakling. That's not the picture I like to give, but I'm not playing in the same league as you and Sirius."

"You don't have to."

"Usually not, but maybe today ... Whatever, at least I won't fall apart if you come a bit closer."

"I was trying to avoid that."

"Harry, what I had in mind was to be held, not to be tickled." Deborah moved closer to him, grabbed his arm, and put it around her body. With some consternation, he realized that she was wearing a night gown rather than pyjamas, and a pretty short one.

A thin one.

Fright could heat a body as well as any other strong emotion. Feeling the heat through the thin fabric, feeling her body pressed against him, Harry reacted almost automatically.

Her breath changed when registering this. "You're not scared at all, are you?"

"That's not quite correct; this situation goes a bit unplanned - "

"Even so - I guess you're right." She took his hand and moved it under her gown.

"Deborah, I didn't - "

"Sssh ... This is a dream, Harry, it's not reality ... It started as a nightmare, and now it changes to a wet dream ... Probably the best that could happen." She turned around to lie on her back. He felt how his hand was taken again, then placed on an inviting intersection.

Her legs were spreading. "Dream, Harry ... Dream for both of us, please, your dream's by far better than mine."

Although wide awake, for Harry the moment felt dreamlike enough - caught, irresistibly, unable to escape, to change direction, without control ... Out of time.

---

He could sense how the remnants of horror faded from her, replaced by calmness, by heaviness, wetness, a slow wave of sensuality, growing, building momentum.

His stroking was slow, careful, almost hesitant. Contrary to what Deborah had said, this wasn't his dream. He saw himself as a visitor, had followed in a kind of emotional pursuit, dependent of his guide to proceed or to return - that was the perspective of his mind, in sharp contrast to his body, which claimed a questionable right with undiminished vigorousness.

There was a moment when it seemed possible to stop, to conserve the dream in a stasis which, eventually, would fade into sleep. His hand stopped, still resting at this wonderful landscape of softness, crests and rifts.

A whisper. "Come - share your strength with me."

His guide had taken the decision. He was only to follow. And so he followed, passing the entrance.

"Keep still ... It's a dream - don't move."

Balancing the weight of his upper torso on his elbows, he kept as motionless as he could, feeling her around him, her calmness interrupted by a casual tremble, by an involuntary contraction.

The wave was still growing, forerunners lapping against his senses, probing his quietness at such a high level. He sent them back to her, raising another offshoot which was returned as well, undermining her balance, pushing her uphill.

Deborah was lying motionless under him, surrendering to the rules of this dream - only her breath, and the twitching of muscles beyond control, told him that she was already washed offshore by the wave, whirling through the surges of emotion.

Stronger came the gusts of passion that blew against his inner senses - as much as against his self, tightly enclosed by her. He sent them into her, no longer aware whose mind was burning in this heat, still trying to keep his role of a mere katalyst.

Her trembling grew stronger, then stopped. He felt her body go rigid. With the tiniest movement, he sent her over the cliff.

Her sharp contractions ripped him off balance, a sudden attack which pushed him into the same maelstrom. Dropping his full weight onto her, he surrendering to the dream rules - a passive spectator, watching in awe as his own spasms started, rose, and erupted in the final blow of ecstasy.

A deep sigh from her. "What a dream ... In the morning, we won't remember, Harry - which is a pity, somehow, but that's the way with dreams, isn't it?"

"Yes, definitely."

About to leave, was he stopped by her. "Where do you want to go?"

"Back into my own - "

"Nonsense. I'll sleep a lot better with you in my back - and besides" - she smiled - "I guess now there's little risk of some - er, unplanned activity, right?"

She was right, although not true. For quite a while still, Harry lay awake, feeling Deborah's shoulders at his chest, her breasts under his hand, her buttocks against his groin, wishing that either sleep might come or another dream of this forgettable quality.

* * *

Sitting at the breakfast table, Harry felt hands at his shoulders, and heard a voice from behind whispering in his ear. "You were very gentle ... And now I'm ready to fight."

Deborah sat down opposite and looked at him. "All right, then. What next?"

"I'll make a visit to the Magical Tours headquarters. This managing director, Mr Boonhill, might be a contact. Probably he doesn't know much, but he knows that there's someone in the background. I'll make him call this someone."

"How?"

Harry stared into her eyes. "You don't want to know, Deborah."

"Yes, I do. Don't confuse today with yesterday." Only a sparkling in her eyes reminded him not to confuse nights and dreams either.

"No, I won't. But it's unlawful - better you read it first in the newspaper."

The joke didn't catch. "Are you going to torture him?"

"Heavens, no! He's innocent, as far as I know - well, almost. To trigger a reaction, I have to hit them where it hurts, and that someone in the background doesn't care about him."

Deborah looked relieved. "And where does it hurt?"

"Money - quite simple." Harry grinned almost joyfully. "Either they talk, or I'll blow their buildings into pieces - small pieces, mind you."

Deborah stared at him, nodded. "Yes - you'd do that."

He grinned broader. "I did it already - once, together with Belinda. It works, believe me."

"Oh, I do ... And then?"

"Then I'll visit Mr Moroney at Gringotts, and ask them for help. Information, that's what we need - about this Mr Warrington. He's the one we have to squeeze more thoroughly."

"More thoroughly?"

"I'm pretty sure he's a murderer, Deborah - not him personally, only that makes it even worse ... Still, torturing isn't really a good method of interrogation, that's why we have to use something else, and I have already an idea. Do we know the address of his vacation house on the Bahamas?"

"No - unfortunately not."

Harry looked surprised. "That's strange - you know there is one, but you don't have the address?"

"Oh, we got an address - only it was a fake."

"That's interesting ... Might be that's the place we're looking for."

"You mean - Sirius?"

"I mean Voldemort." Examining the thought, Harry added, "He might keep Sirius there, but not necessarily so."

"And how do we get the address?"

"One approach is Cho's father. I'll ask him to scan from top. Somewhere in some Bahama office, that real estate must be recorded, and maybe he knows someone who knows someone ... It's a try."

"And if not?"

"Well - Warrington himself would know, wouldn't he?"

Seeing his expression, Deborah swallowed. "Er - yes ... And what am I supposed to do?"

"I'd know something - if you're ready to do it. It's not very pleasant."

"What is it?"

"I need to know Warrington's daily routine - when does he reach the ministry, how does he travel, when does he return home - things like that."

Deborah's eyes widened. "For kidnapping him?"

"Exactly. Is this a job for a journalist?"

She inhaled deeply. "Yes - for a journalist whose lover has been stolen."

"Good. I'll return this evening to Hogwarts, to get some help for the kidnapping. I guess we'll arrive tomorrow evening - that gives you two days to check his routine. Can I leave my bag here in your apartment?"

A quick smile. "Sure. Who'll be the help?"

"If she agrees, Almyra."

"Why her?"

"She can turn into a falcon, into a dog ... We know how to work together."

* * *

Harry put Nagini around, donned his Invisibility Cloak, and then mounted his Steel Wing for the trip to the Magical Tours headquarter. Just outside the entrance, he took the cloak off and walked in.

The reception lady talked with Mr Boonhill's secretary. This took the first hurdle out of Harry's way. The secretary realized that Harry had no appointment and started to shake him off.

"Please give him my name," he insisted. "I'm sure he'll find a few minutes for me."

The secretary didn't think so.

"Madam, I'm the exception from the rule." Harry smiled. "If I'm wrong, I owe you a dinner."

The secretary started to laugh, stopped, and examined him again. "That's a new trick ... Please wait a minute."

It turned out ten minutes, but then Harry was sitting in front of Mr Boonhill's desk. "Mr Potter," said the manager, "what can I do for you? I hope the network tickets are working properly."

"Yes, thank you, Mr Boonhill, they do fine, that's not the reason for my visit. I'm looking for a man - his name is Sirius Black, and he's head of the Law Enforcement Squad."

The manager was silent for a moment. Dropping all foreplay, he said, "I was trying to find the link between him and me, but if there's any, I can't see it."

"There is, Mr Boonhill. If you allow me to explain."

"Yes, please, Mr Potter."

"The link appears in two aspects," began Harry. "The first one is less relevant for the current situation, but it has the advantage to be fact from start to end. The second one includes a bit of speculation, though only marginally."

"Then let's start with the first, Mr Potter."

"Well ... At my last visit here, you had an - er, assistant, Mr Boonhill. I never found out his name. Anyway, the same man appeared in Middle Station, the link to the wizard prison that's run by Goblins. There he tried to kill Mr Black but failed. You may have read it in the newspaper."

Mr Boonhill looked expressionless. "Yes, I did - also how this story ended."

"Right. At that time, we saw no reason to bother you, mostly because I'd had the impression this assistant wasn't entirely your own choice. That's all to the first aspect - although it's the basis for the second."

"Go ahead, Mr Potter."

"This assistant was - er, recommended by some people in the background. And the same people, or maybe someone in the background of the background, has caught Mr Black." Harry looked up. "Mr Boonhill, I'm looking for a way to reach the people in the background, and you are my entry key."

"Am I? Mr Potter, my comment on this weird story is simple - I don't know about people in the background, so there's no sense in agreeing or disagreeing with you. If there are some, this background is so remote that I can't see them. I won't know how to provide a contact."

Nagini kept silent.

Harry said, "From your perspective, Mr Boonhill, you're certainly right. But, for example, there is Amalgamated Enterprises."

The manager's eyes widened a bit. "You're well informed, Mr Potter - but these aren't people in the background ... It's a mother company, a relationship that's played in accounts and balance sheets more than anywhere else."

"Not in this case, Mr Boonhill."

Somewhere in the managing director's mind, he had pulled a string; Harry could see it in the man's face. The manager asked, "What exactly do you expect from me, Mr Potter?"

"Well, to put it as precisely as I can - I want you to talk with the place where your assistant came from, and to tell them that we have to talk, those people and I. And this talk is urgent, Mr Boonhill."

"But ... they'll laugh at me, Mr Potter - they'll ask me whether I don't have other things to do, and push me off."

Harry showed a thin smile. "No, Mr Boonhill. You'll certainly use my name, and the effect might be very much the same as here - giving me time to talk without an appointment."

Mr Boonhill looked as if searching for a pair of gloves to handle this task. "Maybe so, Mr Potter, maybe not. What if they simply block off?"

"They won't - because I'll provide you with an excellent argument, a business argument." Harry's voice was calm. "Please tell them that, two days from now, the Magical Tours offices and linkports will develop a sudden tendency to fall apart, until I've found Mr Black."

The managing director stared at Harry, and whatever his face expressed, it wasn't disbelief.

Harry nodded, as if confirming an unspoken question. "I'm glad to see that you take me seriously, Mr Boonhill. It saves me from blowing this nice glass facade out of its frame - after all, it's still a bit cold in the year."

"Yes, Mr Potter. I'll do what I can."

"Thank you, Mr Boonhill. I'm sorry to push you into a direction you were obviously trying to avoid as much as possible, but that's the only way I see. I'll be back day after tomorrow, to ask you for a place and a name."

The manager examined him, and his snake, with genuine interest. "A last question, Mr Potter. What makes you so sure I'm none of the people you're looking for?"

Harry pointed at Nagini. "You didn't tell me a single lie, Mr Boonhill - otherwise, this snake would have noticed. And then, our conversation would have changed in style ... By the way, it might be helpful to pass this information further, just to speed up things"

Harry stood up. "Goodbye, Mr Boonhill ... And thank you for listening to me."