Harry Potter and the Thunderstruck Muggles

Harry reacted like a submarine taking a hit. Some doors inside him closed, thereby isolating the wounded section, mercilessly suppressing any emotion, most of all suppressing cries for help coming from that section. At the same time, power valves opened up, flooding the control center with energy.

Cho kidnapped - no doubt about that.

First question, by whom? There was more than one possibility in this country in which administration and organized crime formed an inseparable mix, in which local police volunteered as paid servants for the local fat cats.

Harry couldn't detect any sign of a fight, or a struggle. But then, he could remember a kind of semi-kidnapping not far from here - it had taken place in full view of a hundred party guests.

Despite the number of possibilities, he had a fair guess how it had been done, and if he was right ... His eyes went over the car from front to end. Then, inhaling deeply, he touched the doorhandle.

Nothing.

He needed Nagini, needed her quickly. But first he had to confirm his suspicion from the non-magical angle. He turned to the woman.

"Please - assume that's your car. Can you come from the elevator, like as if you'd be planning to drive to the bank?"

The woman looked at Harry. For an instant, her eyes widened, obviously taking in the implicit message. Then she nodded. "Yes, I know what ..." Without finishing her sentence, she headed for the elevator.

Thank God - a quickwit, not a helpless bundle of nerves like Sirius' Jessica.

The woman came from the elevator, turning straight toward the limousine. Coming closer, she opened her purse and extracted the key. A few steps away from the car, she held it up, like pointing with a wand. Then, without stopping, she grabbed the handle and opened the door.

Now she turned to Harry. "That's it. With the real key, it would have clicked."

"Clicked?"

The woman presented the key for Harry to inspect. "It's an infra-red signal that opens the locks."

"Ah - that's why. I was ... Can you do it again with your own car? There's something - I have to see this how it's done in perfect routine."

The woman walked toward a smaller car, not far away.

Following, Harry watched as she extracted the key, clicked the door open, grabbed the handle while the key was held securely in her right hand, her purse as securely in her left - the same hand which opened the door, touching the handle.

"All right, that explains it. You know, I was wondering why the key hadn't dropped, or - "

"She got kidnapped, right?"

"That's what I think."

---

The woman's lips trembled for a second, then tightened. "I want to go upstairs - I have to call the police."

"Er - wait a second!"

The secretary bit her lips. "Mr Potter, I know who to call, and it's not the local precinct, so much for sure. They'd make ..." She stopped, fighting her composure.

"I'll give you two other numbers for people to call, but first - er, there's something else first." Harry moved a step closer. "We'll have to do some work together in the next - er, time, so - I'm Harry."

The shadow of a smile appeared in the woman's face, then it was gone. "Hello, Harry - I know about you, that you're good at something like that. Er - I'm Chrissy, like in 'For Chrissakes - do something'."

"Hello, Chrissy - I will, in a moment. Are you a witch?"

The hint of a smile. "No, but my daughter is. I always thought that's been my real qualification for this job - I mean, after I found out."

"Maybe part of it, but a minor one, as you know pretty well by yourself. Do you know what a portkey is?"

"Yes."

"The car - probably the doorhandle - has been made a portkey to kidnap her. I'm almost sure, and I'll be back in a little while with a snake who can confirm that. Until then, the car shouldn't be moved. Touching doesn't matter."

"A snake who ... Nagini."

Only then Harry remembered that he'd been in Chrissy's office with Nagini and with his luggage, just after finishing the Dementor patrol.

"Yes, right. Question is, who has ordered that? I have an idea, but there are several possibilities, and in a moment, I'm going to check one of them."

"Helix?"

A rush of confidence waved through Harry, caused by a woman who showed brains and competence.

"Yes - and when Cho's back, I'll make sure she's doubling your salary."

The woman didn't even bother to look pleased. "Harry, how much of that is when, and how much is if?"

"If it's the one I think it is - well, the odds aren't good, from the look of things. Only I once promised her something, and to hold my promise, she must be around as well, that's why ... Doesn't make sense, huh?"

"It's not Helix, is it?"

"Most likely not."

"So it's Voldemort?"

"I'm afraid so."

And how had Voldemort found out about Cho, Groucho, this building? With a knot forming in his stomach, Harry tried to remember exactly what he had told Armodéc, and through this channel Voldemort as well. It hadn't been very detailed, definitely not about Groucho. Then how -

Suddenly he knew. "The articles!"

"What?"

Harry looked up. "I just tried to figure out how Voldemort could know about this place. But it wasn't a secret, not after the articles in Time and Forbes."

Chrissy nodded. "The odds, Harry - bad odds, I take this as a promising sign."

He stared at her, wondering if his impression had been right.

The woman seemed to feel his thought and blushed a bit. "Cho - er, she once said - she said, for the odds Harry has been killed five times. Only if the odds are looking good, there's reason to worry."

Harry felt comforted - for a short instant; then he realized that it was himself whom everybody expected to do the miracle.

"Yeah, that's sort of reassuring. Now, there are two FBI agents - Wayne Ellis and Tracy Chipman. Please call them, tell them about me here, about the kidnapping, and that they should get in touch with your own police contact. The keyword is Terry Pritchard - if they want to know another, give them - er, Six Flags. The numbers are - " Harry stopped. "Can you remember all that?"

"Yes." Almost impatiently.

Harry said the numbers, then listened as the woman rattled down the names and numbers in staccato. "Right. See you then."

Chrissy, with the unknown family name, was already heading for the elevator when the air popped into the empty space from which a young man with a stony face had disappeared.

* * *

Alan Armstead, executive director of Helix Inc., had entered his office only minutes ago, and early hours were hardly the times of his best ideas. He had just finished getting familiar with this new day when his first visitor was standing in front of his desk - unplanned, unexpected, out of nowhere, while not unknown.

But Mr Armstead had earned his position thanks to a cool mind, and fast reflexes. "Good morning, Mr - er, Potter. I couldn't hear you knocking at the door."

"I didn't. I'm in a hurry. Miss Chang is missing. Do you know where she is?"

"Missing? What - " The man stopped and examined Harry's face. "You mean, she's been kidnapped?"

"That's what I think."

"And you came here because - " Mr Armstead sat back, careful to leave his hands openly visible on the desk plate. "No, Mr Potter, this isn't our work. You're on the wrong track here."

"I could be back in a few minutes to verify this."

Mr Armstead, never having heard of haragei, sensed enough to know that any wisecrack in this situation would be one too much. "You'll be welcome, Mr Potter. But let me tell you, it would be the wrong technique, the wrong time - totally counter-productive."

Harry was aware that the manager didn't bother to claim any morale which might forbid such an action. "Why's that?"

"Groucho's in business, very successfully so. To make a dollar, best you can do is doing business with them. Actually, I've made an offer to Miss Chang, and in a way, it's still pending."

"What was her answer?"

Mr Armstead suppressed a grimace. "She said she'll let me sweat on it for a while, just for the goold old times - I'm quoting her, Mr Potter. But she said basically it's a good idea."

Harry's senses told him enough to know, maybe the man was colouring the negotiation a bit, but what he said had at least a true basis. Then another thought struck him.

"Mr Armstead, would you know of any - er, competition that has a different opinion of times and methods?"

"In the business? No, definitely not, I mean there isn't another. The train's running, Mr Potter; any businessman would jump the wagon, rather than threatening the engineer. I'm afraid this has an entirely criminal background."

At another time, Harry could have admired the man's choice of words.

Mr Armstead hesitated. "Mr Potter ..."

"Yes?"

"If that's the case - I might have a contact through which I could try to get some information."

Harry felt surprise, though not about the contact itself. "Why so supportive? A fit of bad conscience?"

"What's that?" For a fleeting instant, Mr Armstead looked as though he would like to bite his tongue, to make the remark unsaid, then he quickly hurried on. "No, much simpler - Helix is steering through rough waters, and the deal with Groucho would solve a lot of problems for us. But only Miss Chang can sign such a deal."

Suddenly, Harry knew how the man had manicured the details. "You mean, Cho's been busy to strangle you to death, just for the good old times, and you told her that Helix is about to break, and she said she'll think it over. Right?"

Mr Armstead sighed. "You got it. If ... Only Miss Chang can change that - it's Narita crushing us; Groucho isn't big enough for that."

Which made it clear that there was no need returning with Nagini.

"Okay, Mr Armstead. Thanks for the information, and for the offer. But now I think I have an idea."

"If we can help in any regard, Mr Potter - just give me a - er, a visit."

Leaving, Harry felt as little pity for Helix' fate as he felt grateful for this offer. Still - somehow, it was kind of encouraging.

* * *

To reach Gryffindor Tower, where Nagini was lying curled up, close to the fireplace, Harry had to cross the Great Hall, in which supper was going on. He saw Ron waving and waved back without stopping. Coming downstairs a moment later, he saw the glances of his friends following him, a mix of worry and excitement in their faces.

Which wasn't wide off the mark, half of it.

Harry apparated straight into the basement of the Groucho building. Coming out, he saw Chrissy and a man unknown to him standing near Cho's car. Into his first step toward them, he saw the man turn and simultaneously seize for something at his hip.

Chrissy looked up. "That's Harry - Mr Potter. Harry, this is Lieutenant Garcia from the LAPD."

LAPD?

The man - slender body, dark teint, grey spots in short black hair - quickly made his gun disappear back into the holster. Apparently seeing the question in Harry's face, he said, "Los Angeles Police Department, Mr Potter - sorry for waving some metal around, but you scared me a bit."

Nagini hissed.

Harry suppressed a nod. Even without Nagini's remark, he knew that the man hadn't been scared at all, just watchful. Maybe for some irrational prejudice, from a Spanish name here like at the other side of this half-continent, Harry liked him instantly.

"My fault, Mr Garcia - I just took the shortest route."

"Mrs Vanzandt said you can check if the kidnapping has been done here. Is this correct?" The detective looked at Harry, then at Nagini with an expression that suggested politeness at the edge of disbelief.

"Yes - just a moment."

Harry reached the limousine. "Nagini, we're looking for a portkey, a one-time portkey, most likely this piece here. What can you tell me?"

"There is something, Master. Would you order this man to step aside?"

"Sure - why?"

There seemed a stressed patience to swing in Nagini's voice, or maybe it was just in Harry's imaginiation. "Because he is a wizard unfamiliar to me, and it's difficult to filter him out."

Harry looked up, for the first time in the last hour close to a grin. "Mr Garcia, of the Muggle police, would you please step back?"

The man obeyed, apparently grateful to find a natural reason for showing astonishment.

Nagini's head moved along the car's side, then turned to Harry. "Yes, Master. There is a trace of magic in this piece. I can't say it has been a portkey, but then, I don't know of any other explanation either."

"Thank you, Nagini."

Harry came up and moved a step toward the detective. "Who knows about you?"

Chrissy said, "Lieutenant Garcia's on our side, Harry. This isn't his normal territory, but - "

Despite himself, Harry grinned. "He's very much on his territory, actually more than you're aware." He looked at the man. "So?"

"How did you find out?" Answering a question with a question seemed a reflex that held even in this situation.

Harry pointed at Nagini. "I didn't; she did."

---

Chrissy asked, "What are you talking about?"

Lieutenant Garcia had come to a decision. "I'm an undercover wizard in the Muggle police - only Mr Potter just found out."

"Oh ..." Chrissy looked pleased. "That's good to know."

The detective sighed. "I'd be awfully glad if you could keep that knowledge to yourself."

After both Chrissy and Harry had assured him that his secret was in safe hands - er, minds, the lieutenant glanced at Nagini, then at Harry. "Some snake, really! What else did she say?"

"Traces of magic in the doorhandle - that means, a portkey's the only explanation."

"Is it?"

"Not literally, but as good as. And that's exactly Voldemort's handwriting - he's done the same a year ago with someone else."

"For what purpose?"

"To kidnap a man, as hostage. He used a mailbox, then."

"What happened?"

"We got him back, alive and unhurt."

"And what's been the price to pay?"

Harry looked grim. "Letting Voldemort live."

The detective nodded thoughtfully. "So for all you know, Mr Potter, Miss Chang has been kidnapped by Voldemort, using a portkey trick, to be held as hostage. Correct so far?"

"Yes."

"Other possibilities?"

"I checked one, some minutes ago. Nothing. No, it's Voldemort, I'm sure about that."

"Mr Potter." The detective's voice sounded a bit desperate, a feeling Harry couldn't afford. "I tend to agree with you, as long as you're not going to quote me in public. Officially, I'll be a bit more open to other possibilities, but here and now - what do you expect me to do?"

Harry registered quite some remarks left unsaid, rather admitted silently; for once, he took profit from his fame.

"What I have in mind is to go looking for her - for Voldemort, I mean. My idea is that you should handle this end here, maybe as a case of kidnapping - whatever, you know better than I, but so that there's no more damage than unavoidable, and most of all, so that nobody shouts 'Voldemort'."

"And those FBI agents?"

"They've been handling a case in which Voldemort was the brain in the background, which means you can tell them what happened here. We've been involved in their case, and the two agents and I, we have a deal running - "

"A deal?" Lieutenant Garcia seemed genuinely shocked.

"Yes - mainly, to keep the FBI from hunting Voldemort and messing things up."

"What did you do for them? Save Fort Knox?" Registering Harry's silence without visible surprise, the detective shrugged. "Never mind. Mr Potter, how close did you come to your target?"

"Good question." It was Harry's turn to sigh. "As far as we know, it's something like just around the corner and up the other street."

Lieutenant Garcia, member of the police in the largest street jungle of the western hemisphere, found no reason to look happy, hearing this answer.

* * *

Almyra wasn't in her office. Harry headed for Lupin's office, knocked at the door, and entered even before hearing an answer.

He had found her. She was standing so close to Lupin that Harry felt sure his intruding had interrupted them in some tête-a-tête. But there was no time for embarrassment.

"Sorry. Al, I need your help."

Something in his voice, or maybe his total lack of teasing remarks, brought Lupin to full alert. "What's going on, Harry?"

"Voldemort. He ..."

Still searching for any formulation that might ease the shock for Almyra, Harry was interrupted by her. "Did you find him?"

"No. But he found Cho."

A gasp - never before had Harry seen a face turn ashen so suddenly. "What? Is she ..."

He chided himself for such a stupid remark. "She's been kidnapped." Then, in short jets of words, cutting it to less than headlines, Harry summarized the events of the last three hours.

Almyra had collapsed into a chair, unable to control her trembling. Lupin stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, giving comfort and support. Now she steadied herself.

"And what can I do? A trance?"

"Yes."

Lupin looked bewildered.

Harry saw it. "Some weeks ago, I tried to find Voldemort that way. What I found was her."

His teacher relaxed a bit. "Well, then. Do you mind me being present?"

Nobody found the question funny - here, in Lupin's office.

Harry shook his head. "Quite the opposite, seeing you steady Al helps me too. We can do it right here."

He leaned back in his chair, finding a comfortable position. "Don't worry if it takes longer - at any rate, don't interrupt."

Almyra nodded, her wand pointing. "Mesmerisio."

The room disappeared. Harry was in the familiar void. He registered how his worried state faded nearly instantly; it was impossible to experience the void in agitation and uproar.

Silence. Empty blackness ... Not a single sound, in the word's metaphorical sense as it applied here, at this level of existence.

He waited. It never had reached him immediately.

Still nothing. As difficult as any sense of time felt in the void, he couldn't help thinking that, after this long while, he should have recognized the slow beat ... Or a faster one.

He couldn't wander around. But he could expand himself, and he did - to a state of omnipresence in the void, filling it like an atmosphere was filled with light.

No irregularity whatsoever.

Later, after waking up, he would feel desperation, but not here. He intensified the power of this radiance all around, more, more, as a sun might change to a supernova.

There! Something ... Harry condensed around this phenomenon, with difficulty, from a strange weakness as much as from its slippery appearance. Then, with some effort, he coordinated his presence around this nowhere of a location.

And he could hear - a flurred, quick pulsing ... Once, in Care of Magical Creatures still with Hagrid, he had held a small rodent in his closed hand - the heartbeat of the little animal resurfaced in his memory when sensing this pulse.

Focusing, getting in touch - missed.

He tried again, and again, failing to reach a mental grip onto this presence. When catching it from several angles, it resisted any attack. When attacking in a high-focus spot, it simply danced away.

Harry came to the only possible conclusion - without hesitating, after every available method had failed. This was an artificial fortress, unbreakable for him, at least now.

---

Then so ... He abandoned any thought of entering, changed his intention to the concept of a non-violent message. With this principle settled in his mind, he sent a wave - heat rather than light, passing barriers by infecting the barrier itself.

The pulsing felt as though accelerating, then slowing down, steadying. For Harry, it was confirmation enough, as there was no room for doubt in this spaceless void.

Releasing his grip, he relaxed, condensed into his own self, and connected back to his physical being.

The room appeared ... Lupin's office filled his vision, two figures opposite him, looking wretched - sweaty faces, sharp creases in the lamp light, glazing eyes.

"I'm back." His voice was croaky, weak - Harry the mini raven.

They both jumped.

Almyra was quicker. "Harry - oh my God, you're really back."

"How long ..." Checking his watch, Harry felt too weak to gasp. The trance had lasted three hours.

Lupin went up and came with a glass of water first and a shot of brandy then. After a look into Harry's eyes, he headed for a good measure of Madam Pomfrey's anti-burnout medicine.

"She's there." After these words, raising new spirits in Almyra, they both waited until Lupin was back before Harry reported about his journey.

"Something came through," he finished. "I could feel how that pulsing relaxed - like you, Al, a moment ago."

His sister in spirit exhaled in a trembling sigh. "These three hours - if you hadn't warned us, Harry ... Even so, Remus had to stop me every ten minutes from bursting into screaming panic."

Lupin also looked wary. "And I was telling myself, maybe he doesn't come back, but if so, and only because you interrupted, he'll be mad as hell."

Harry was sipping his mix of chocolate with hellfire. "Sorry - you just have no sense of time in there."

Lupin could smile. "What I really was telling myself - I thought, Harry knows what he's doing."

Harry felt too weak to giggle. "That's funny, because I don't."

Lupin grinned. "Doesn't matter. If it comes to you, the odds simply refuse to apply. And now - up with you into your bed, after eight hours sleep, you can think straight again."

It was Lupin himself who helped Harry upstairs, made sure his alarm clock was set. Climbing the stairs - like a man of seventeen, going ninety - Harry was musing whether the odds had the decency to refuse also toward Cho. Somehow, still under the influence of this righteous void, he couldn't suppress a doubt.

But then again - right now he was unable to think straight, Lupin would swear on it.

* * *

Harry reached the Great Hall just at the end of breakfast, while the other students were already leaving for their classes. About to turn, and go for the house elves, he saw Ron and Hermione wave at him.

Ron manoeuvered him onto his seat as though guiding a blind cripple. "Sit down, Harry. I'll be back with your food in a minute."

Hermione said, "Almyra told us. We're going to skip classes, and help you as much as we can."

"Thanks." Harry felt like weeping any second.

A figure blocked his vision. Looking up, he saw it was Samantha. "Hi, pal," she said. "I hear you could locate her and she's alive?"

"Er - yes."

"So it's a case of hostage, and you're going to rescue her, right?"

"Ummh ..."

"Damn, Harry, everybody tells me you love her - so how come I don't hear a straight 'Yes sir, madam, sir'?"

Harry tried to smile and tell her that he understood the good intentions, but failed. "Sam, there's a problem - two, actually. We can't find Voldemort - "

"Then you'll go and try seriously this time."

Rage boilt up in him, ready to burst out against Samantha. About to shout the worst insult he could come up with, Harry realized what she was trying, and swallowed. "Yes ... Only last time, I promised him that next time no hostage will stop me."

Samantha sat down on the next chair. "Harry, nobody said you have to stop. Go - find him - kill him - fetch her. Or the other way around."

"But - "

"Listen, son - if it helps, you can weep now and I'll rock you like a baby ..."

The thought had appeal. Only Harry didn't think it would help.

"... but since there's nobody else who can do it, we have to finish after ten minutes, okay?"

He smiled, his eyes wet. "Thanks, Sam."

Ron had arrived. An instant later, plates appeared on the table, and a steaming pot of tea. Without asking, Ron filled a dish, placed it in front of Harry, apparently calculating for a three-day's period until the next meal.

Samantha said, "There's a story I have to tell you, Harry. There was this woman - stupid old bitch, couldn't keep her nose out of trouble, or her mouth shut. So someone shot her. She was as good as dead - only there was this young man, pretty stubborn actually, a real pain in the ass. He didn't believe she was dead - he downright refused to accept it. What shall I say, in the end, it was easier to agree with him ..."

Harry didn't know how to look, kept his eyes at his food.

"... and if you don't find that stubbornness back by the end of your breakfast, you'll learn what a Texan bitch is really like. Did I make myself clear?"

At least Harry knew what to say. "Yessir, madam, sir."

"That's better. See you, partner." Samantha left.

Hermione asked, "What's the earliest time for us to visit your Pinkerton guy?"

"Francesco Lopez? Noon - that's six o'clock for him."

"We'll do that. After breakfast, you have an hour free - mostly to digest. Ron said we should use the time for a Go match. I guess he's right."

Harry stared at her, at Ron. "And then?"

"Then you're booked for a round or two with Kenzo. Ron and I, we'll watch."

Harry examined his two friends again.

Hermione's voice was a bit self-conscious. "The schedule's been made by Ron, but we agreed that you do better with a girl dragging your feet - er, sort of."

Harry found a smile. "Maybe you ought to have another breakfast - looks like a long day's beginning."

The Go match should have been an easy win for Ron. For a while, it looked that way. Then, without any sudden improvement in Harry's play, Ron's game lost momentum, his moves seemed quite awkward.

Harry glared up. "What's this? Are you trying to lose under my eyes?"

"No - honestly, it wasn't on purpose." Ron swallowed. "I just - er, when I saw that I can drive it home without sweat, I didn't concentrate so hard, and then I thought how it would be if he'd kidnapped Janine."

Harry felt startled. "Did you check?"

Ron's reaction told him that this had been a very stupid question, but only in one sense. "This game's a mess - go and do it now."

After a while, Ron was back, grinning wryly. "I must have looked like a fool, only I didn't feel like that. I figure Janine's mad at me."

"You didn't talk with her?"

"No - when I saw her in the classroom, I said sorry, and left. The other students were already giggling - you should have seen her look."

Hermione said, "Better this way than telling her."

Both Ron and Harry nodded, probably thinking the same - with some luck ... Had to be quite some luck.

Kenzo made Harry sit down - lotus position - and then sat down opposite. For the next fifteen minutes, nothing happened from the untrained spectator's view.

Then Kenzo asked, "Are you ready, Harry?"

"Yes, sensei."

For almost five more minutes, again nothing happened, looking from outside. Then, without any forewarning, Kenzo curled, stretched like a rubber toy, his leg coming flat, hard, in a half-arc, aiming at Harry's head.

It seemed part of the same movement when Harry's head and torso fell back, his body jerking up like a spring, his own leg kicking hard at the sensei, who was already out of reach.

A moment later, they were both standing upright, facing each other.

Kenzo smiled. "Let us get you prepared, Harry."

About two hours later, Harry had finished with shower, hot water, steam room, cold water, after light training into which, once every ten minutes or so, Kenzo had dashed a sudden attack at full force. Now Harry felt alive, ready, and pretty close to the state Samantha had demanded.

* * *

Harry walked with his two oldest friends - counting those alive - to the Hogwarts Express platform. Using the plate which had served Rahewa for so long, he programmed a permanent portkey to Francesco Lopez' flat in Boston.

They came out in front of the house. Harry apparated inside and waited until the sleepy but armed detective appeared, then went for the door to let his friends in.

Seeing Hermione enter the hall, Francesco Lopez uttered something Spanish and disappeared to dress with a bit more than his underpants.

Some time later, when they were sitting around a table, the detective said, "Simply speaking, we've reached the end of the rainbow, only there hasn't been a pot of gold. We've scanned the area, even extended it - nothing."

Hermione asked, "Then what's your conclusion, Mr Lopez?"

"Well - either we started on the wrong premises, which means Voldemort's somewhere else, or we used the wrong search pattern."

"No other options?"

The detective looked at her openly. "No, Miss Granger. We didn't foul up - more exactly, I used the last two days to check that, found two dubious spots, and investigated them. Nothing."

Hermione looked around. "Does anyone believe Voldemort's living somewhere else?"

Harry answered before the detective could. "No. He got Armodéc killed here in Boston."

"Okay, then." Hermione turned to Ron. "Can you apparate to Hogwarts and fetch - er, Almyra, Lupin, and Ginny?" She turned to Harry. "And you go to Santa Monica to fetch Marie-Christine."

"What for?"

"A brainstorming. We need a new search pattern - no, we need a new way how to interpret the data Mr Lopez has collected."

A brainstorming, moderated by Hermione ... It made Harry's stomach tingling with expectation. "Bloody good idea - only, in California it's four in the morning."

"Shit."

Harry and Ron looked with astonishment at Hermione, using such language in front of an almost stranger, while Francesco Lopez didn't so much as blink an eye.

Hermione looked at Harry. "What's more important, speed or Marie-Christine?"

Harry tempered the urge to shout and scream for every minute lost. "We have to do it right. Cho's life isn't at risk right now."

"Good, then. That gives us about three hours to roast Mr Lopez and let him prove he didn't overlook anything."

The detective nodded. "Young ladies toasting me are entitled to call me Francesco."

Hermione's lips twisted. "Latin gentlemen with such a fashionable underwear are entitled to call me Hermione."

Three hours later, Francesco's face showed an expression of sad satisfaction - they hadn't found a glitch, or gap.

Ron stood up. "I'll go and fetch them."

Harry said, "Plus Rahewa."

"Yes." Ron disappeared with a soft pop.

Francesco gasped. "Fuck it - I'm not used to that." He looked guiltily at Hermione. "Sorry."

Harry grinned. "Then look here." The last word was finished in the cool air of Santa Monica.

He had to wait still a while until Chrissy turned up. Then he had to wait another while until Marie-Christine's car came down the ramp into the Groucho park deck.

Marie-Christine climbed out and hugged him. "Morning, 'arry. What do you know? What can I do?"

"She's alive - we have to find her, and for that, we have to think a little ... A brainstorming."

Then, in some sense of symbolism, he programmed the portkey toward Boston right into her car's doorhandle.

Marie-Christine whispered, "Mon dieu," then touched the handle.

* * *

The room was hardly large enough for the nine people, but nobody paid attention to anything other than Hermione's words.

"The search for Voldemort," Hermione began, "has brought a lot of data which tells us - wherever he is, he himself isn't showing, and Wormtail isn't showing either. But we know he's somewhere around. What we need is a new search grid to interpret the data anew. Thank goodness, Francesco is a Muggle and works with a computer."

For a moment, heads turned toward the detective, who was sitting at his system, listening with his back to Hermione.

"I suggest that first we define the ideal place for him; then we add what's needed to hide in full public, I mean so close to a city like Boston. And all the while, Francesco runs our criteria against his data. Does anyone have a better idea?"

Nobody had.

"Then - tell me how the ideal home for Voldemort looks."

"A house." It came from Almyra.

Ginny grinned, realized that nobody else was grinning, while her brother, the protocoller for today's meeting, wrote it down, and got the idea. "More toward a castle," she said.

"But nothing pretentious." That was Lupin.

"Secluded. Nothing closer than - er, half a mile. Like a smuggler's nest." There was nothing tentative in Marie-Christine's voice.

A pause.

Hermione looked toward Francesco at the computer. "Where are we?"

"Pretty much the complete database."

Hermione asked into the round, "Where is this house?"

Harry said, "Here in Boston, or close to it."

Lupin asked, "How far is it to Salem?"

Without turning his head from the monitor screen, Francesco replied, "Thirty miles."

"Then it's near Salem."

Ron looked from Harry to Lupin. But the decision came from Marie-Christine.

"Yes - near Salem. So that he can look down at night at the lights of the town, and can be contemptuous and despise all the wizards of the world."

Ginny looked with some awe at her, while Ron wrote.

Hermione asked, "Francesco, where are we now?"

"Well, that cuts us down to ... yeah, sixty-odd. I can't guarantee that view for all houses, but - "

"That's okay," said Hermione. "Now - how does he hide?"

A pause, then the Pinkerton detective's voice came slow, thoughtful, while he kept looking toward the screen. "He's taken over something established, something that's well known for its shrewdness, its unsocial habits. And he's kept that facade. He could use it like a sailor's using a hostel - "

Marie-Christine's voice interrupted him. "No. He's taken over control - inside."

No one objected that.

Hermione asked, "How does the cover look from outside?"

Marie-Christine said, "A single person."

"A woman," said Lupin.

"A mean old bitch - " Ginny blushed at her contribution, then continued. "Hated by the others, hating them by herself. He's not controlling her in the sense of an Imperius - he's persuading her that she's getting her revenge."

Both Ron and Harry looked at Francesco, waiting for a sign of puzzlement from the word Imperius. But there was none - the detective apparently had milked the FBI database thoroughly.

---

Hermione asked, "Where are we now?"

"Fifteen."

The round was baffled.

"That's New England here," said Francesco as though apologizing for his own database. "Mean old bitches, over there in Salem? A dime a dozen."

"What's a dime?" asked Ginny, getting the answer from several sides.

"That woman's buying more food than a single person would eat," said Harry, "but nobody's wondering."

For an instant, a grin appeared at Ron's face, while his glance went to Harry, then he nodded.

Almyra said, "Either she's playing the samaritan - "

"No." It came from Marie-Christine.

"... or she has animals for which human food is suitable, and she spoils them with that."

"Dogs or cats," said Lupin.

Hermione asked, "And now, Francesco?"

"Still four."

A pause.

Rahewa spoke for the first time. "Cats - their sounds from fighting, and while on heat, and when - er, mating, you'd think that's someone screaming under torture."

Into the silence, Hermione asked, "Francesco?"

"Wait a sec ... here we go. That fits one - Hattie Hawking, called Hattie the hangman's bride. Has a reputation as an abortion witch, while not for love potions. If you'd look for a poison to kill your husband, she'd be just the right place, or so the closest neighbours have it - closest means downhill, quite a distance ... Twenty-some cats, easily."

People were looking at each other.

Almyra turned to Lupin. "We'll check the house - when it's dark. Owl and dog - but you'll have to keep some distance, with all those cats."

Francesco Lopez stared at them.

Before someone could enlighten him, Rahewa said, "I need a kitten."

Heads turned to her.

"I'm new around - we moved in just recently, and the new landlord doesn't allow cats in the house - and someone told me, that old Hattie - er, sorry, madam, but my kitten would have a better life here."

It came so rapidly, Harry was almost sure this story had taken place somewhere, some time.

Francesco Lopez had terror in his face. "No."

Two dark eyes stared at him. "You better get a mike that fits in a collar, or in a small locket, and you should be around with your equipment to listen."

The detective's mouth dropped open. But the terror in his face had faded.

Lupin said, "Rahewa, do you know what - "

Ron interrupted him. "Yes she does, and Cho's the one who gave her a Firebolt Two, and a contract, I mean aside from ..." His voice trailed off.

Lupin, an expression of helplessness in his face, looked at Almyra.

Almyra turned to the girl. "I'll be in a tree, and Remus in the bushes, and the others out of sight. If things start to go awry, reach that kitten and say, er - "

"Oh Kitty, poor me, to be alone." Rahewa beamed at her Transfiguration teacher.

* * *

Harry sat in the back of the battered panel truck which showed, among a lot of rust, the writing Coastal Gas & Electric to the accidental passer-by. Except there wasn't any. Inside, the truck was crammed with high-tech equipment of which Harry couldn't even guess the purpose in detail.

All he knew - Francesco and he himself were waiting to hear Rahewa's stunt.

"... then, Kitty, make a good impression, because that's your new home."

A pause.

"Nobody at - ah, here it comes, Kitty."

The sound of something opening - probably a window, certainly no door. Then another sound, scratchy.

Rahewa's next words told Harry the latter had been some question from Hattie the hangman's bride.

"Good afternoon, madam. I ... er, this kitten here - my Kitty ..." Suddenly, the voice changed to a sobbing misery, telling that she had to give her pet away, and she couldn't but she had to, and ...

Francesco whispered, "The kid's incredible."

Kid? Yes, probably he was right.

Another scratchy sound, then a door was opening. Footsteps. Then, for the first time clearly audible, a woman's voice. "Here, put her down. What's your name?"

Rahewa's voice, small, tear-coated. "Patricia, but my friends call me Catricia ... Patricia Pillwater."

"Your kitty will be fine here; I have more than twenty." A scratch, then a sharp noise, then the voice again. "Here, keep the collar, that will remind you, and my cats don't wear collars."

Harry felt Francesco stiffen, cramping inwardly while waiting for the seemingly inevitable - Rahewa refusing, blowing the stunt.

"Yes, madam ... I'll wear it myself."

The detective relaxed while more scratching told them that the collar was wrapped, probably around the girl's wrist.

"Thank you, madam. Er - I'm so glad ..."

"Yes, my little. I'll escort you downstairs."

Footsteps, then, "Madam, do you have only cats?"

"Why, yes."

A sigh of relief. "Good. Kitty's so afraid of dogs, smaller animals too - I wonder if she'll ever catch mice."

"Oh no, no dogs ... just my cats." A cackle. "And mice of course, but only for minutes."

Another cackle. "And a cute little rat - with this paw of his, like silver."