Translation of Light

Chapter 8

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At 7.20 precisely on a warm Tuesday evening in early June, a young man walked into the saloon bar of the Rose and Crown public house in Cambridge and ordered himself a pint of bitter. He found an empty table tucked in a quiet corner, sat down and pulled a paperback novel out of his pocket. Ten minutes later a young woman walked in. She looked around, ordered herself a lager and lime, and then looked around again, uncertainly. Eventually she approached the young man.

"Excuse me. I hope you don't mind, but I'm supposed to be meeting some friends and they haven't arrived yet. I've seen you in a couple of my lectures, and I hoped you wouldn't mind if I sat with you while I wait for them. I don't like sitting on my own in a pub."

"Yeah, sure, no problem. I'm just killing time until I meet some friends, myself," the young man replied.

The barmaid gave them a little smile as they began to chat about the book and their shared classes, and thought she could sense a budding romance in the air.

In fact, Harry had cast a modified Confundus as soon as Hermione had taken a seat at the table.

"What's wrong?" he asked her. "It's been ages since you felt we needed this level of secrecy."

"Just read this," Hermione said tersely as she thrust a folded piece of parchment at Harry. "I've already decoded it."

Harry picked it up, opened it and scanned the short message written in Hermione's tidy script:

The beetle is feeding on the Phoenix and sharpening the Red Lion's teeth. The Lion believes it can smell blood. Beware its Den.

"Bollocks. When did you get this?"

"Yesterday morning. It was slipped into a file I was working on. I contacted you as soon as I could, obviously, but Harry, whoever sent this to me used Order codes, and -"

"It's fine," Harry said quickly. "I know who it is."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but Harry shook his head.

"It's safer if you don't know."

Hermione sighed, then nodded. "Well, whoever it is, they're warning you that Skeeter's spying on you and reporting back to Scrimgeour. And she's apparently managed to give him something he believes he can use against you."

Harry slowly shook his head as his mind worked furiously. There were anti-Animagus wards in place at the flat, the club and the Lilypad, and his house was under Fidelius. He was pretty certain that he hadn't done anything incriminating where Rita was likely to be able to see it. So what the hell was she telling Scrimgeour that had got him so excited?

"The informant is telling you to steer clear of the Ministry building, too, which is odd," Hermione continued. "I mean, it's not as if he'd dare make a move against you in the middle of the foyer, for goodness sake. It's far too public."

Harry shrugged. "Well, that's not an issue, anyway. I avoid the place like the plague. I'm more worried about Skeeter. I've got wards up all over the place, so I don't see how..."

He lapsed into silence as he mentally reviewed his recent activities, trying to spot something that would give him a clue as to what Skeeter could possibly have discovered about him. He finally sighed, rested his elbows on the table and cupped his chin in his hands.

"I've got no idea. I don't see how she could have anything on me at all. I really don't."

Hermione gave a derisive snort. "Knowing her, she probably made something up. I mean, it's not as if there's anything incriminating to find, is there? Apart from the Lilypad, and I know you haven't been stupid enough to go there and draw attention to it."

"Of course not," Harry said, studiously avoiding her gaze as he picked up his drink and took a long swallow. He hadn't been near the Lilypad, that much was true. But as for there being nothing else incriminating about his life, well, he didn't want to lie to her, but he wasn't ready to tell her the truth, either, so he simply changed the subject.

"Have you heard or seen anything suspicious at the Ministry? Rumours, or anything odd that's happened lately that you think I should know about?"

Hermione pursed her lips and her gaze became thoughtful. She slowly shook her head and said, "No, it's been really quiet. I can't think of... Oh. There was one thing you might be interested to know. The Dark Objects Disposal unit has been flapping around and panicking for the last couple of weeks. Apparently they got an anonymous tip that someone had bought a set of Wardstones on the black market. Richard told me about it, because all collectors and dealers are being asked to pass on any information or gossip they come across. Obviously they've got to track the stones down as soon as they can."

"Because?" Harry prompted.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Wardstones are extremely rare and dangerous objects. They come as a set of four stones, one for each point of the compass. They look rather like very large eggs, and are heavily inscribed with runes. You set them out over the area you want to cover and then activate them, and they totally nullify magic within that area. The DOD has one set that they use to render cursed and Dark objects harmless so they can dismantle and dispose of them. It took them years to acquire their set, and it's priceless. No one from outside the department is allowed anywhere near them. In fact, only the head of the unit is allowed to use them; it would be far too dangerous for someone who didn't know what they were doing. It's actually illegal for anyone else to own Wardstones, although Richard said that Gringotts is rumoured to have their own set."

"Wouldn't surprise me one bit," Harry agreed. "So Wardstones are like a portable magic suppression ward of some sort, then?"

Hermione shook her head. "Honestly, Harry, do you ever listen to a word I say? They don't suppress magic; they completely nullify it. That's why they're so dangerous."

Harry furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry, I must be missing something here. Why would that be more dangerous that normal magic suppression wards?"

Hermione sighed and said, "If a wizard wandered into the nullified area, he'd die. That's why."

"What? That doesn't make sense."

"Of course it does. We're not just Muggles with a bit of magic thrown in as an optional extra, you know? We're magical creatures, Harry. Without our magic we can't survive. It's as simple as that. Honestly, this is common knowledge. Did you ever actually read a book at school, or did you just rely on me to tell you everything?"

An icy feeling slithered down Harry's spine as he contemplated the extremely unsettling possibility that Scrimgeour had been the mystery buyer. He quickly dismissed the thought. No matter how much the Minister hated him, he'd been an Auror for far too long to break the law so blatantly. Still, it wouldn't hurt to be on his guard.

"Books?" Harry said as he furrowed his brow. "Oh, those things. I think I saw some once in that big room at school. The library, was it?"

"Idiot," Hermione said with a fond smile.

"Speaking of idiots, how are the wedding plans coming along? Ow! I was only joking," Harry said as Hermione punched his arm. "Very nice bloke, your Richard. I've always said so."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "They're coming along slowly but surely, thank you for asking. Though while we're on the subject, I do need to speak to you and Ron about some of the final arrangements, as you're both part of the wedding party. I'm busy for the next few days, but... Are you free on Sunday? You two could come to dinner."

"Yeah, that should be okay," Harry said after a moment. "I'll have to check with Ron, but I'm pretty certain he's got nothing on that he can't cancel. What time do you want us there?"

"About six?" Hermione suggested.

"Yeah, that should be fine," Harry said with a smile.

"Great. Well, I need to get going. I told Richard I was just popping in to see Mum for half an hour, and he'll be expecting me back."

Harry nodded. "Okay. Thanks for this," he said as he picked up the parchment and slipped it into his pocket. "You will be careful, won't you? Scrimgeour is a dangerous man. He wasn't in charge of the Aurors for so long because he looked good in the robes, you know? At the slightest hint of...well, anything that seems a bit odd, get out of there. Say you're sick and go home."

"I can take care of myself, Harry."

Harry sighed. "I know you can. Just don't draw attention to yourself by trying to find out anything more. Promise me." Hermione nodded reluctantly, and Harry continued, "Ready to go?"

Harry cancelled the Confundus and said, "Look, your friends don't seem to be coming. Why don't you come and have dinner with me and my friends? Do you like Chinese?"

Hermione smiled shyly. "Yeah, that'd be nice. Thanks."

They returned the barmaid's knowing smile as they left the pub. They quickly made their way to the back of the car park, and once they were certain there was no one around, they moved behind the large rubbish bins, cancelled their glamours and Apparated away.

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Ron dropped into the kitchen chair with a grateful sigh. He tugged off his shoes and rubbed his aching feet for a moment.

"Busy day?"

He looked up as Harry placed a mug of tea on the table in front of him.

"Oh, cheers, mate," Ron said. He picked up the mug and took a couple of slurps. "God, I needed that. I'm parched. Been rushed off my feet. I don't know where they all came from. Wednesday is usually my quiet day. I'm knackered."

"Too tired to go out for a pint?"

"Of course not," Ron said automatically. "Actually, I'm dying for a pint. I've been looking forward to one all day."

"God, yeah. Me, too," Harry said, sounding somewhat breathless.

"Well, what are waiting for, then?" Ron said as he stuffed his feet back into his shoes.

They made their way out to Muggle London, but instead of heading to their usual Apparition point, Harry started walking in the opposite direction, muttering, "Just follow my lead."

"You do know that my feet really are killing me, right?" Ron hissed back.

"Two minutes, I promise," Harry said.

Ron sighed and kept walking. And then sighed again when it turned out that their mystery destination really was a Muggle pub. If Harry had decided to stop for a pint first, he was going to kill him. He followed Harry inside, growing more irritated by the second. But instead of approaching the bar, Harry headed to the toilets. Ron followed him in, and stood by the sinks as Harry took a quick look around.

"What the hell -"

"Sorry, Ron. I'll explain when we get home. I'm going to Apparate us in a moment. Just hang on."

Ron felt an odd tingle as Harry's magic washed over him, and then the suffocating, squeezing sensation of Apparition. The moment they appeared in the familiar hallway, Harry placed his hand against the wall and closed his eyes. There was another surge of magic, this one much stronger, and Ron's irritation turned to alarm. Harry had just sent a huge amount of power into his wards. The faint, welcoming warmth that Ron associated with the wards on the house was suddenly a much stronger presence at the back of his mind.

"Sorry about all that," Harry said as Ron found himself pulled into a hug. "You go and sit down. I'll get us something to drink."

Harry started to move away, but Ron tightened his hold.

"What's going on, Harry?"

Harry sighed. "I'll tell you in a minute, okay?" Then he slipped out of Ron's grasp and headed towards the kitchen.

Ron kicked off his shoes and gratefully sank into the comfortable couch. He was exhausted, his feet were killing him, and now he was worried, too. This was not how Wednesdays were supposed to be. Wednesdays were boring and quiet, with an evening of rolling around naked with Harry to look forward to. Not busy and stressful, followed by more stress.

"Here you go," Harry said as he gave Ron a bottle of lager and then sat down next to him.

"Cheers. So what's all the drama in aid of?"

Harry exhaled heavily. "I saw Hermione yesterday, and -"

"What's happened? Is she all right?"

"Ron! She's fine, honestly. She just had something to tell me. It seems that Rita Skeeter is working for Scrimgeour. She's been giving him information, apparently. About me."

"But... But..." Ron's brain skipped blithely past vaguely concerned, jumped over really worried and dived head-first into blind panic. "Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, no. What if she knows? What if she's seen us? If it's plastered all over the front page of the fucking newspapers, everyone will know and it'll kill Mum, I know it will." His chest felt tight. He felt like he was suffocating and -

"Ron! Breathe! Oh, fucking hell."

Ron felt Harry's hand on the back of his head, and the next thing he knew he was choking and spluttering as a potion was poured down his throat. His mind fogged up, and he felt himself relax as he slumped back. His head felt suddenly too heavy to lift, so he let it fall back to rest against the back of the couch.

"Listen to me, Ron. Are you listening?"

Ron nodded slowly. The fog was gradually clearing, but it left a feeling of calm in its wake.

"Good. I'm sorry about the potion. I've only given you a sip, because you were hyperventilating. Now look, I really don't think she's found out about us. I've got wards up all over the place against Animagi, okay? And after I left Hermione yesterday I went and strengthened every single one of them apart from the house, because I knew I could check them over today. They're very, very strong, Ron, but I've beefed them up, anyway, okay? There's nothing to worry about. We're very careful in public, and she can't get to us anywhere else, I'm sure of it."

As he listened to Harry's calm assurances, Ron began to feel more in control of himself. He took several deep, calming breaths, and finally said, "You're right. I'm sorry."

Harry sighed. "You've got nothing to be sorry for, mate. None of this is your fault."

"I know that. I just... I really wish we'd just stomped on that bitch when we had her trapped, you know? Or just covered up the airholes in the lid of the jar we had her in. It would have been a public service."

Harry snorted softly. "I kept hoping someone would swat her accidentally while she was spying on them."

"I wish," Ron said. His head was clearing, now that he really had calmed down, and he began to really think about what Harry had told him. "Harry? If you've warded her out of everywhere, then what the hell could she have seen that was worth reporting to the Minister?"

Harry slowly shook his head. "I really don't know. I've been racking my brains, trying to remember if I've made a slip somewhere public; not used my wand for something, or said something, or..." He huffed loudly. "I've got no fucking clue. Hermione reckoned that she was probably just making stuff up, like she always does. But that really doesn't make sense."

"No. No, it doesn't," Ron said slowly. "Not unless Scrimgeour's got something on her and is blackmailing her to spy on you. In which case she'd have to come up with something to keep him happy."

"Did she ever register as an Animagus?"

"I've got no idea. Hermione thought she probably had, to stop us being able to blackmail her with it, but she never found out definitely one way or the other."

"That could be it, you know?"

"It's a definite possibility," Ron agreed. There was still a niggling doubt in the back of his mind, but he decided not to dwell on it. "'cause I reckon," he continued, "that if she really had found out about us, she'd never have been able to keep it quiet. A nice juicy scandal like that would be all over the newspapers by now. There's no way she'd be able to keep a story like that to herself."

"That does sound more like the Rita we know and hate, doesn't it?" Harry said thoughtfully. "All the same, we need to be very careful from now on." He reached out and took Ron's hand. "It'll be all right, I promise." Then he tugged, pulling Ron closer, and kissed him. It was gentle, reassuring, a mere press of lips. And nowhere near enough. Ron had gone three whole days without sex with Harry, and certain parts of his anatomy felt that they'd wasted enough time talking.

Ron wrapped an arm around Harry and let himself fall back, pulling Harry on top of him. Then he slipped his hand up to cup the back of Harry's head and pulled him into a bruising kiss.

"Fuck, Ron," Harry groaned when they finally broke for air.

"Later," Ron mumbled as he nuzzled against Harry's jaw. He slid his hands down to cup Harry's arse, kneading the cheeks roughly as they rutted against each other. He was so close he could almost taste it. He blindly sought out Harry's lips once more, latching on desperately as Harry ground against him, pushing him closer and closer until he was moaning into Harry's mouth as he came.

Ron looked up at Harry, who was grinning down at him, and chuckled. "I haven't come in my jeans like that just from a snogging session since I was a teenager."

"You obviously haven't been doing it right," Harry said smugly.

"Is that right? I just need a bit more practice, you reckon? I could probably find some willing volunteers, if I put my mind to it."

Something hot and dangerous flared in Harry's eyes. "Nobody touches you but me, Weasley. Your days of tomcatting around are well and truly over. You're mine."

"God, you're hot when you're being all possessive and dominant," Ron said. "Give us a kiss, you sexy beast."

"Prat," Harry said, grinning sheepishly. Ron could see the flush creeping up his cheeks, and knew that Harry was embarrassed by his jealous outburst. He felt a little pang of guilt twist in his chest. Harry had good reason, after all.

"I was only teasing," Ron said. "I don't want anyone but you. You know that."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said. He shifted slightly and then grimaced. "I don't know about you, but I could definitely do with a shower."

Ron grinned. "Sounds like a good idea. I could do with something to eat, too. Reckon there's any of those instant dinners left?"

"The cupboard's full of them," Harry said as he scrambled to his feet. "Actually, that reminds me. We've got a couple of dinner invitations. Hermione's asked us over on Sunday to talk about the wedding plans."

"Kill me now," Ron muttered as he pushed himself to his feet.

"I told her you'd be there, so suck it up," Harry said as he turned and headed towards the stairs.

"So who's the other invitation from?"

"Blaise. I saw him yesterday when I went to strengthen the wards on his flat. He wanted to know if we wanted to come to dinner on Friday night."

"Sure, why not," Ron said as he followed Harry up the stairs and into the bedroom.

Harry stood by the bathroom door and stared thoughtfully at Ron for a moment. "Exactly how hungry are you?"

Ron furrowed his brow. "What are you on about?"

"Let me put it this way. Do you want a quick shower, or do you want me to come and wash your back for you?" Harry said, flashing Ron the cheesiest leer he'd ever seen.

Ron snorted and shook his head. "C'mon then, Casanova," he said as he took Harry's hand and led him into the bathroom.

It had been three whole days, after all.

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