Getting Closer to Fine

Two

And if I stay lucky then my tongue will stay tied, and I won't betray the things that I hide. --Seven Mary Three

*

Harry put down his well-worn copy of Quidditch Through the Ages with a sigh. "Hurry up, Ron!" he yelled in the direction of the loo. "We were supposed to be at the restaurant fifteen minutes ago!"

The loo did not respond. Harry sighed again, stretching his legs out on the couch. Disaster was looming, he was sure of it - Ron had arranged a date with the girl he'd met at the nursing home and had enlisted Harry and Hermione to come along and keep him out of trouble. Hopefully.

Ron finally emerged from the toilet, circling like a dog chasing its tail. "Did I get them all?"

"Er - all what?"

"All Pig's bloody feathers! I've one clean jumper that's not maroon, and Pig just had to go roost in it."

"Well, stand still and let me check." Harry summoned the feathers off Ron's back - there really weren't that many - and sent them flying through the air toward the bin. "You could have done that yourself, you know."

"Shut it," Ron said. "I'm practising thinking like a Muggle. Been doing it all day."

"Oh," Harry said, trying to keep a straight face. "And - has it been going this well all day?"

"Shut it," Ron repeated, "I reckon we'd better go."

In a blink and a pop!, the pair arrived in the alley behind the restaurant. Harry silently thanked the unknown genius of a wizard who'd developed the first Apparition spell. It was a wonder he and Ron had ever gotten to class on time without it.

Harry began walking, but Ron pulled him to a halt.

"Wait - what is it I want to order again?"

"Crispy duck. Ron, you've had Chinese food before--"

"Not while pretending to be Muggle!"

Clearly, it was time for a pep talk. "Look," Harry said, "you've already made it through one conversation with her, right?"

Ron nodded.

"You did just fine then, obviously, or she wouldn't be going out with you. And with your friends that she's barely laid eyes on."

"True."

"And you've had a crash course in Muggle life since then. And you have me, and Hermione, right?"

Ron was still, apparently gathering his courage one final time. "Okay," he said finally. "Let's go."

When they rounded the corner of the building, Harry spotted Hermione at once. She and Ron's date, Sarah, were smiling and talking companionably - a good sign. Perhaps he and Ron wouldn't pay too dearly for their lateness. On the other hand, both girls had wrapped their jackets tightly around them to keep out the early October chill - not so good.

"Hullo, boys," Hermione said. "Sarah and I have had lots of time to talk about you."

Oh Merlin, was that an evil grin?

Ron must have noticed it too, because he jumped in with, "Sorry we're late - Harry's bloody slow, sometimes."

"Me? You -"

"I spoke to the hostess already," Hermione said, cutting him off, "so we should have a table soon."

Ron gallantly held the door for everyone, and Harry made certain to step on his friend's fat foot on the way inside.

*

Ron fiddled with his napkin.

Harry snuck glances at Sarah - she looked familiar, somehow. Maybe she had a brother or sister at Hogwarts? That would certainly make things easier. . . .

Ron fiddled with his chopsticks.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Sarah, you're at university, right?"

"Yeah. Just one more year before I can get out there and become the next Bill Gates." She grinned. "Or, more accurately, one of his minions."

Harry knew enough to smile in response; Ron looked ready to make a run for it; and Hermione actually beamed.

"You know computers! I think they're fascinating. Imagine, two clicks can do an hour's worth of searching indexes and library shelves. It's amazing."

"Wha - What?" The look on Ron's face was priceless; he was obviously computing the amount of time that could have been spent laying about or practising Quidditch if only there'd been a puter-thing at Hogwarts.

Both girls frowned; Hermione in warning, Sarah in confusion.

Luckily, Hermione rescued them again. "Sarah, do you think I could get your email address? My mum gave me her old computer, and I mostly know how to work it, but sometimes...."

"Sure," Sarah replied, and waited while Hermione dug a piece of paper out of her handbag. "It's Polkiss, that's p-o-l-k-i-s-s, at. . . ."

But Harry didn't hear the rest of her sentence. He didn't need to. Sarah Polkiss. Piers' older sister. He didn't really remember her, just vague impressions: Long brown hair and a smile on the doorstep of Number Four, taking her little brother home for tea. Arms just long enough and strong enough to pull Piers off him in the schoolyard, Harry's spectacles a second from being broken for the hundredth time. Sarah Polkiss.

Harry flattened his hair over his scar with an unsteady hand. How long until she recognized him? What had Piers told her about him? Should he just leave?

"Harry!" Hermione whispered. "Are you ill? You've gone all white."

"Er," he said, "er, no?"

"We'll be right back," Hermione announced. She grabbed Harry's arm and half-dragged him out of the booth. Harry briefly registered the look of pure terror on Ron's face before being escorted across the restaurant to the alcove by the toilets.

"Sit," Hermione said, pointing at a chair by the payphone. When he didn't move, she reached up to feel his forehead for a temperature.

Harry grabbed her hand. "I'm not sick. It's just. . .that's Sarah Polkiss."

"Yes, I caught the name," Hermione said slowly.

He looked away. "Sarah Polkiss. Sister of Piers Polkiss, Dudley's best mate."

"Oh! But - when did you see her last? Before Hogwarts? She's not likely to remember you. And if she does, what's the harm?"

"What's the harm?" Harry asked. "Who knows what Piers told her about me? He was there when I set that boa constrictor free from the zoo, you know. And when I Apparated onto the school roof to escape a fight. And when I Transfigured our teacher's wig blue--"

He glared at Hermione, who was trying rather unsuccessfully not to laugh. "It's not funny, Hermione! Because even if she doesn't know about all that--" Harry stopped as a man passed by them to enter the toilet. "Even if she doesn't know about that stuff," he continued quietly, "she will have certainly heard about what happened to the Dursleys. And I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered. Harry stared off over her head at a fascinating poster of China. "Harry, look at me," she said more firmly.

The wizards who built that Great Wall certainly were bold, he thought. Harry wondered if he would like China. The food was tasty, and he'd always had a bit of a thing for Asian women. It would only take a couple of quick Apparitions for him to find out. . . .

"Harry," Hermione said, putting her hand on his neck and forcing his head downward until he looked in her eyes, "she's on a first date tonight. Only someone with less tact than Ron would bring any of that up on a first date. Now, if she and Ron get serious, he's going to have to talk with her about some things, and you may have to talk with her about some things. But there's no sense in getting all wound up now. All right?"

It really was remarkable how often Hermione was right. Not that Harry had any intention of letting her know that, of course. "All right," he said. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Hermione smiled up at him, but didn't move - she seemed not to realise that her hand was still very much cupping his neck.

"Erm," Harry said, suddenly feeling a little funny after all, "we'd better go take care of Ron."

"Right." Turning away, she led him back up the corridor and across the restaurant.

*

Ron seemed to be doing all right without them. The food had arrived, and Sarah was leaning close to Ron, guiding his hands with hers as he battled with a set of chopsticks. Ron's ears were, of course, red.

"Sorry about that," Hermione said as they settled back into the booth. "Just remembered we needed to ring someone."

"No problem," Sarah said.

Harry examined the utensil options before him. While he liked the set of wizard's chopsticks Hermione had given him for his birthday - she'd charmed them to pick all the water chestnuts out of any dish they encountered- he wasn't sure he was up to trying the Muggle ones.Particularly with the luck Ron was having.

"Hermione," Sarah said, "Ron tells me you're at university as well?"

"Yes, I'm studying law -"

Finally deciding on a fork, Harry focused on his food and let the rest of Hermione's words flow over him. He'd heard more times than he could count about Hermione's plan to become an expert in Muggle law, particularly the rights of minority groups, and use her knowledge to influence the wizarding legal system. And, being Hermione she was already on her way to achieving them - along with her classes, she had a mini-pupilage with an extremely ancient wizard barrister. Hopefully, hopefully, Hermione wouldn't get carried away and start going on about oppressed house-elves or werewolves in front of Sarah.

Worrying about himself might have been a better idea, but he couldn't be expected to see the future, now could he?

"And what about you, Harry? What do you do?"

"Er," Harry said intelligently. "Erm, well. . ." Every good Auror had a cover story, but it was of course a wizarding cover story.

"He's in security," Hermione put in.

Harry smiled, full of gratitude. Crisis averted.

"If he told you, he'd have to kill you," Ron added helpfully, looking quite proud of his Mugglism.

Crisis back on.

*

Two hours later, Harry and Ron were stretched out in their flat, Ron comfortably on the couch, Harry less so on the floor nearby. They had Butterbeer, and there was a post-match show playing on WWN, but Harry wasn't content. He knew he needed to tell Ron about recognising Sarah; he'd noticed her eyeing him a time or two and thought it was only a matter of time before she made the connection. But knowing and wanting were two completely different things.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"You remember when I walked Sarah up to her flat, and left you and Hermione out on the pavement?"

"Yes, I remember," Harry said. "It was an entire half-hour ago, after all."

"Oh, sod off," Ron mumbled half-heartedly. "Listen, she mentioned wanting to see a play that's opening next weekend. And. . . I said that we'd all love to go Saturday night."

Harry sat up immediately. "Ron! I'm no expert, but if she wanted Hermione and me to go, wouldn't she have mentioned the play in front of us?"

"Well, she did look a bit disappointed. But I said. . . I said that you were too shy to ask Hermione out on your own, and me being such a good mate and all, I wanted to help out as much as I could. . . . "

Harry flopped back down, groaning. "I love how you keep assigning your problems to me. But it's no good - I'm supposed to be working out of town." He took a deep breath. "Actually, that's probably a good thing."

"Why's that?"

"Because Sarah's brother was Dudley's best friend, and when she recognises me I doubt you'll be able to dodge the wizard issue any longer."

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed, causing hooting and wing-rustling from Hedwig and Pig. "You could have mentioned this earlier!"

"No, I bloody well couldn't, because I didn't know until I heard her full name tonight!" It felt good to shout, even though Harry didn't really want to be angry with Ron. He understood that attraction was rather uncontrollable, but life certainly would have been easier for both of them if Ron had decided to stick to witches.

"Look, Ron," Harry began more gently, "it's not like you can keep this up much longer anyway. I'm sure she already thinks we're sort of odd. How are you planning to tell her?"

"You'll think of something," Harry said, settling back down on his cushion. "And if you don't, Hermione will."

*

Working out of town meant a change of scenery, of a sort. It was an anonymous tip that led Harry and Dean to Edinburgh, and lurking behind Scottish dustbins in the Scottish rain. Still working the same case, but with a different plan - when the suspect appeared, they'd stun, bind, and search him (or her or it) for contraband items. Then they'd all Apparate back to London, to headquarters.

Harry pictured Hermione's reaction to this. "People should be innocent until proven guilty, Harry," she'd surely say, her brow all creased. "Even if you think this is the same man, you can't arrest him for a crime he hasn't committed yet!"

And while Harry of course agreed in principle, he didn't want to wait around for goods to actually exchange hands today. He wanted to get his hands on whatever their suspect was selling; to see it, hold it, and feel for himself if it was indeed something that had once belonged to Voldemort. The last thing Harry wanted was for the artifact to get damaged in the scuffle, or hidden amongst other items in the shop.

God, Scottish rain really wasn't any drier than the English sort.

"Oi," Dean whispered.

"Oi what?"

"It was good of you to set Seamus up with Hermione," Dean said. "Boy's been in dire need of feminine company, lately."

"It's not supposed to be a date," Harry whispered, aware that this really wasn't the time for chit-chat, but going along anyway. "He's just doing Ron a favour."

"More like the other way around," Dean said. "And, hell, I bet you could've got several Galleons off him for the privilege of seeing Ronald Weasley, Smarmy Muggle."

"Think I still - look!"

They had company at last, cloaked and hooded and every bit suspicious. Pointing their wands, Harry and Dean chorused, "Stupefy!"

Thunk. Harry aimed a binding spell, while Dean quickly dragged the inert figure to their hiding place between the dustbins and the alley wall. Dean knelt near the suspect's feet, as Harry stationed himself at the head; each now had a view of the supine figure and a different portion of the alley.

Harry pulled back the hood and sucked in a breath.

"Do you know him?" Dean whispered.

"I think so," Harry said. "I think - yes, yes it did sound like him, now that I think about it - I think it's Avery." He looked up. "Am I remembering right? Didn't Avery talk his way out of Azkaban?"

Dean was searching the man's robes for magically concealed pockets. He shrugged, and kept on searching. "There!" He pulled out a small jade figurine, shaped like a snake. "Think this is what we're after?"

Harry took the little snake and turned it over in his hands. Suddenly, a tongue flicked out, tasting the air, and Harry said, "Yes."

From Dean's expression, he knew he had not spoken English.

The little statue appeared to know it too. The tongue flicked again, and with a hiss that echoed like stone, it said, "The enemy shall not outlive the master. The master remains. He shall always remain."

Harry repeated the snake's words for Dean; his partner swore.

"I'll second that. We should take this bloke in--"

"Do you think that thing is sentient?"

Harry blinked. "I don't know. Maybe. Or it could've been charmed just to say that."

"Well, ask it something else, while it's in the mood to talk," Dean said. "I've got things under control here." He gestured towards their captive, and the alley.

"Right," Harry said. He focused again on the figurine, and on turning his mind into something not quite human. "Who is the master?"

If there was a response, he missed it. Instead his ears were filled with Dean's expelliarmus!, and immediately Harry trained his wand on their prisoner - who was still out cold. Realising he'd misjudged the threat, Harry stood and spun to face the attacker head-on, but before he could do anything else found himself physically lifted and thrown face-first into the brick wall behind.

Harry heard a few sickening cracks and felt something warm and sticky on his face; then the blackness took over and he lost contact with his surroundings altogether.

*