I Have a Rendezvous with Death

"I Have a Rendezvous with Death"

by Paracelsus

Chapter I: Come Together

Once upon a time, in the town of Hogsmeade, there was a shop on a side street just past the Three Broomsticks pub. It didn't look particularly impressive from the outside: only a hanging board carved with three ornate W's linked together. Nonetheless, it had a constant stream of customers, some of them looking very respectable and mature - surprisingly so, given the store's stock in trade. And it became a very popular place on certain Saturdays, when students from the nearby Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry came to town.

This was Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, one of wizarding Britain's most prestigious joke shops, if that's not an oxymoron.

On this particular Friday afternoon in May, the General Manager of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes (or "W-cubed" as its younger aficionados called it) sat at a desk in the back of the shop, reviewing inventory and comparing it with projected sales. His mind was absorbed with the details of the business's future growth: the expansion of the Diagon Alley and Calais franchises had taken a bite from the liquid capital, but things would be looking well by the end of the quarter... the proposed American venture could continue on schedule...

So engrossed was the Manager in his work that he failed to notice someone enter the shop's front door (without causing its little silver bell to ring), walk back through the aisles of merchandise (bypassing even the Long-Ear Lollipops, a fast-selling new addition to the Catastrophe Candies line), stroll right into his office and stop right behind his chair. He couldn't help fail to notice, though, when two slim hands were placed over his eyes and he was told, "Guess who?"

"Oh, horrors!" he cried. "I am in the clutches of She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! Disaster, woe, whatever shall I do?" Then grabbing the hands in his own, Ron Weasley stood and turned around with a huge smile. "Hey, Gin, it's good to see you."

"Melodramatic prat," grinned Ginny Weasley. "It's good to see you, too, Ron." She embraced her brother hard, and he returned the hug in equal force.

"What are you doing home? I thought you were still at Beauxbatons..."

"My last lecture was last night. I Portkeyed back to the Burrow this morning - by the way, Mum says hi, and why haven't you owled her lately? - and I thought I'd drop in on you and the Twins." She took a half step back, still with her arms around him, and said warmly, "It's really good to be back."

They stood there for a moment, just basking in each other's presence, until Ginny murmured, "For one thing, you have no idea how refreshing it is to look up into someone's eyes..."

At the age of twenty, Ginny showed her full inheritance of the Weasley genes: the red hair, the freckles, the brown eyes - and now, the height. She stood exactly six feet tall in her stockings, and even Ron only topped her by an inch or so. He released her from his hug now, and said, "I'll bet. Come and tell me about it." He snapped his fingers at a chair, which obediently walked over and set itself down next to his own.

"I was thinking of doing just that, brother mine. But I was hoping to lure you out of this stuffy office in the process... go out to dinner, maybe? It has been months..."

"Yeah, we're sorry you couldn't come home for Christmas. Well, you missed Fred and George by a couple of days. They're in America, promoting the business. Won't be back 'til next week." Ron thought for a moment. "Actually, I've already got dinner plans, but I'd be delighted if you'd join us." He saw her hesitate, and added casually, "How long has it been since you've seen Harry and Hermione?"

Her face lit up. "Ages! Oh, are you sure you wouldn't mind?"

"You kidding? They've missed you almost as much as I have. Let me warn them to look nice..." Ron took a scrap of parchment from the desk and scribbled on it, then walked over to a perch near the far wall. Ginny laughed. "Don't tell me you still have Pig?"

"Pig's mellowed with age," Ron replied, slightly defensive, as he tied the parchment to the tiny owl's leg. Ginny admitted to herself that it did seem less hyperactive than when they first got it. "Okay," Ron told the owl, "First Harry, then Hermione, then back here. Fast as you can, mind!"

Pig zoomed out of the window with a great hooting for a bird so small. Ron turned back to his sister. "So Beauxbatons let you leave early? I thought they liked you so much they wanted to keep you forever."

"They do like me," Ginny said, seating herself. "But when all's said and done, I'm still officially the DADA Guest Lecturer there. I don't have to teach for the last weeks of school, and I don't have to be there to give out exams." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "I think, though, that they may offer me a full-time professorship starting next term."

"Gin, that's great!" Ron's smile turned rueful. "Of course, that means we'll see you even less often than we do now... But at least you can bring some Hogwarts style to zose seelly Franch pipples..."

Ginny swatted his arm. "They don't talk that way, you know, how many times do I have to tell you? A lot of them speak better English than you do."

"Alas! They've turned you against your brother, your own flesh and kin... oh, tragedy..."

"And when did you develop this taste for melodrama?"

Ron laughed. "Working for Gred and Forge, how could I not?"

His sister regarded him for a moment. "What's it like, working for them? I can see it might be awkward..."

"Awkward? No, not really." He looked away, pensive. "It's just... It's not what I expected to be doing, you know, once I graduated."

"No," she smiled, "you were going to play Keeper for the Cannons."

"And with any luck, bring them a little further up in the league... You know, I was a damn fine Keeper for Gryffindor."

"I remember. But then came Hogsm... I mean, you were injured..."

"Right. And I started working for W-cubed while I recovered. And then... then I found I'd made myself indispensable here. And the money, well, it was the best our family'd ever seen... "

"Plus, I don't think anyone expected you to be so good at your job."

"Gee, thanks, sis!"

"Oh, you know what I mean. The Twins may be inventive geniuses, but they could never have made this place so profitable. That was thanks to you, brother mine."

"Yeah, well," Ron said ruefully, "when you grow up pinching Knuts, you learn how to manage money."

They fell silent, reminiscing, until she said softly, "In retrospect, every decision made sense at the time."

"Meaning I'd do it that way again?" He shrugged eloquently. "Of all our circle of friends, how many of us are doing today what we'd planned to do when we graduated from Hogwarts?"

*

Hermione Granger was surrounded by books. There were books on the table in front of her, books piled on the seat next to her, and books in stacks and shelves behind her. Old, musty, forgotten, indecipherable books, that hadn't been seen by human eyes in over a century.

In other words, Hermione Granger was in her element.

Nearby, other members of the Project team had their own stacks of books to inspect, review, and catalogue. The British Museum Recovery Project had already taken three years, and no one would be surprised if it took another decade. Her work sometimes felt more like that of an archaeologist than a researcher - and she wouldn't trade it for any other job.

A frenzied hooting heralded the arrival of Ron's owl, Pig. Hermione looked up to see him darting through the room straight for her, oblivious to collision or injury. She reached up and caught the little fellow in midair, before he could make more of a disturbance - she'd already gotten a look of reproof from the second-youngest member of the Project team (who was nonetheless three times her age).

She removed the tiny parchment from his leg and unrolled it. "All right to bring G?" it read. Following that was an "OK" in green ink. There were no signatures to be seen, but she knew those hands as she knew her own.

She smiled and wrote "Sure" (and didn't bother to sign it) on the parchment, then retied it to Pig's leg and sent him off. Hermione glanced at her watch, decided she had time to tackle one more book, and pulled it towards her. She tapped its edges with her wand and began a routine scan for literary hexes.

*

It was a fine seafood restaurant, nestled near the harbor in Portsmouth: neither so large as to be impersonal, nor so small as to permit no private conversations. It had the added advantage of being adjacent to a sheltered garden, where a witch might Apparate without fear of being observed by curious Muggles. Hermione Apparated into the garden, took a moment to adjust her dress a trifle (quite unnecessarily), and walked out of the garden to the restaurant.

She'd expected to be the first to arrive, so she was pleasantly surprised to discover Ron and Ginny awaiting her in the foyer. "Hermione!!" called Ginny, waving excitedly.

"Ginny!" she called back, and gave her a quick hug. "Merlin, you've - "

"- grown," Ginny finished with her, and added, "As Mum and Dad have already told me, at great length."

"Sorry, you probably get tired of hearing that. Let me rephrase: You're looking good." Indeed yes, thought Hermione to herself. Great legs, willowy figure, eye-catching red hair perfectly coiffed... and a poise you didn't have when you left for France, three years ago. I'm curious as to how Our Mr. Potter will react when he sees you. "Shall we go in?"

"We're still waiting for Harry," said Ron.

Hermione gave him a skeptical look. "Have you checked inside to see if he's waiting for us?"

"Um, well, uh..."

Pushing inside, the three spotted Harry sitting alone at a table for four. He'd seated himself so that he could watch the door, and he stood now with a broad smile and a wave of welcome.

They approached the table, as Harry happily greeted them. "Hey, Ron, come on in. Hermione - " he gave her a warm hug, " - good to see you." He turned to Ginny, and his smile grew broader. "Welcome back, Ginny." He had a warm hug for her as well, but no warmer than the one for Hermione.

Ginny was struck by what Harry didn't say. He didn't remark on how she'd grown, didn't seem self-conscious that she was now taller than he, and didn't make a fuss at her return from France. Rather, he seemed to simply accept her presence that evening, as something unusual but perfectly natural. Strangely, it made her feel more 'at home' now than she had since she'd arrived back in England.

Harry insisted on holding her chair for her, which prompted Ron to hold Hermione's chair. Harry and Ron then took their seats - Harry, as before, seating himself so he had a view of the door. Of course, Ginny realized. It's probably instinctive by now.

The waitress came and took their orders. Once she'd left, Ginny addressed Harry. "Ron didn't tell us you were already here. I hope we didn't keep you waiting long," she said.

"Not long. Actually, I'm not usually the first to arrive for dinner. By luck, I managed to finish my current case today - so I could leave early, to welcome you all." He reached into his pocket and added, "Which reminds me... shall we do this now?" He brought out an oddly shaped die, which Ginny recognized as one sold in Muggle game shops: a twenty-sided polyhedron, with a different number on each side.

"Do what now?" asked Ginny.

"Watch," smiled Harry. He rolled the die on the table. When it stopped, the top face showed the number 9. "Sunday next?"

"Works for me," said Ron, and Hermione nodded agreement. They had each produced a coin, which they held ready to toss. Harry returned the die to his pocket and brought out a coin of his own. At his nod, the three all spun their coins into the air, caught them, and displayed the results: Harry and Ron were both 'heads,' and Hermione was 'tails.'

"My choice this time," said Hermione, as they pocketed their coins. She brought out a slip of parchment with an address already written on it. She handed it to Harry, who read it, nodded, and passed it to Ron, who read it and slipped it into his pocket.

"Well, that was very mysterious," said Ginny. "For those of us who just arrived, mind telling me what that was all about?"

"We were just deciding where and when to have dinner again," Harry explained. "Rolling the die to see how many days between now and then - nine, in this case - and tossing coins to see who gets to choose the place."

"The idea," said Ron, "is to be as random as possible when choosing."

"Harry's die has spells on it similar to those on a Sneakoscope," Hermione continued, "so we'd know if it were being affected by outside influences. Other than that, no magic is used, so we can assume the decision's based on pure chance. And we never eat at the same place twice - no pattern to our actions, you see."

"Fortunately," Harry concluded, "there are a lot of places to eat in Britain."

Ginny had listened to this with growing amazement. "You're serious!" she exclaimed. "I thought this was just a little game of some sort, but you're not playing! You... you're..."

"Mental? Even paranoid?" Harry raised his eyebrow at her. "This from a lecturer on the Dark Arts. All right, class, ten points if you can tell me Mad-Eye Moody's favorite quote...?"

"'Constant vigilance,'" Ginny muttered. "I see your point, but isn't this a little... I dunno, extreme?"

"No," interjected Hermione. "'Extreme' would be never seeing your friends at all, ever. 'Extreme' would be worrying so much about making your friends a target, that you'd decide it was better to shun them. 'Extreme' would be..."

"Point made, Hermione," said Harry. He was covering his eyes in embarrassment, and Ginny was sure he was blushing.

Ron leaned over to her. "He actually tried to convince us not to see him anymore," he said in confidential tones. "That was, what, two years ago? More? When he'd just finished his Auror training, anyway. And really, he was right: the more we hang around with him, the more danger we're in." He raised a hand at Ginny's shocked look. "So we take precautions, of course we do - that bit with the die is just one of many - but Hermione and I convinced him that avoiding us wasn't an option." He smiled wickedly. "Get 'Mione to tell you what arguments she used."

"Ohhh?" Ginny looked archly at Hermione, whose air of innocence was almost palpable. "Maybe we should compare notes."

"Do let me know when you've tired of this topic," Harry said from behind his hands.

"Just making sure you've learned your lesson," Hermione replied sweetly.

"Oh, I have, I have." He lowered his hands and regarded them, pink-faced but with eyes twinkling. "You're my friends, now and always. Friends Don't Let Friends Fight Alone. Which is followed by: Hermione Is Always Right."

Hermione leaned forward, put one hand behind his neck, and pulled his head toward her. She touched her forehead to his and locked eyes with him. "And don't you forget it," she said with mock sternness, before releasing him.

"So, Hermione," said Ginny, "tell me about what you're up to. I know what Ron's been doing, and Harry can't tell us anything interesting - can you talk about this case you said you've just finished?" she shot at Harry.

"I could," Harry said quietly, "but I think you'd prefer I didn't."

"See? See? He tells us nothing... Anyway, Hermione, what's this Project you're working on? Is it exciting?"

"Nope," said Hermione cheerfully. "It's fun. Didn't Ron tell you anything about my work?"

"Only that it involves books, which I guess was no surprise."

"Well, it started the year after I graduated. I was doing some research for Professor McGonagall, and I was looking for some references in the British Museum. I couldn't find them. And I knew they had to be there, because they were cross-referenced by books in the Hogwarts library. So I did some digging." Hermione smiled like a child on her birthday. "It seems that, back in the 19^th Century, someone in the Ministry of Magic collected all the books in the British Museum that related to magic - and there were plenty of them, more than Hogwarts has - and housed them in a separate wing of the Museum. Then he put a spell over the entrance, just like the one that covers Platform 9 and ¾...it looks like a solid brick wall, and Muggles can't penetrate it."

Hermione took a sip of her wine. "And then he very inconsiderately died, before he could tell anyone what he'd done. So for about a century and a half, those books simply sat there collecting dust. Well, once I figured out what had happened, the Ministry decided to open the wing and discover just what was there. They assembled a team of scholars for the task, and I was asked to be on the team!"

"Considering that you'd discovered the bloody site," said Ron, "they'd've been right fools if they hadn't asked you."

"Well, it helps that I know all the hexes and protective spells that ancient authors used to put on their books. And I remember a lot of what's in the Hogwarts library, so I can compare editions as necessary. Did you know the Museum's copy of Moste Potente Potions has seven pages of potions that aren't in the Hogwarts edition?"

"Is the Hogwarts copy older or more recent? asked Harry interestedly.

"More recent... Oh, I see. The extra potions were left out of the second edition. I wonder why? They didn't look that dangerous to me..."

*

Dinner had been cleared, and the four friends were lingering over dessert and coffee. Ron had finished telling them about the Twins' business trip ("First Salem, then San Francisco. If there's time, they might visit a little town in Louisiana on their way home...") when Ginny noticed that Harry was absently fingering his scar. She wanted to ask him if it was hurting him, but she was familiar with the scar's history - the famous remnant of his first encounter with Lord Voldemort, twenty years before - and she knew that, if it hurt him, it would really hurt him. She kept quiet.

Harry noticed her interest, and casually dropped his hand from his forehead. Then, finishing his coffee, he said, "I hate to be a party pooper, but morning comes way too early for me tomorrow."

"Sure," said Ron. His eyes flicked over to Ginny for an instant, then he said, "Listen, I was thinking we might include Ginny in our get-togethers. She'll be home all summer, and it'd be nice to have someone around I can feel superior to."

Ginny swatted his arm as Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. "I'd love it," said Hermione with a smile.

"Me, too," seconded Harry. He looked at Ginny with a suddenly penetrating gaze, powerfully reminding her of Albus Dumbledore. "Are you planning to stay at the Burrow all summer, Gin?" She nodded, and he continued, "Well, that simplifies things. But... let's see, how to put this..."

"Ron mentioned precautions," Ginny said. "I assume I'd have to follow them, too?"

"Yes, exactly," said Harry with a relieved smile. "Mmm, Hermione could probably explain better than I could... Hermione, would you mind?"

Hermione grinned and linked her arm with Ginny's. "What say we go to my place for a nightcap and some girl talk?" Ginny grinned back.

"I'll walk you out," offered Harry, and the three of them left the restaurant together. Ron stayed at the table, drinking his coffee and helping himself to the remainder of Hermione's dessert. After a few minutes, Harry walked back into the restaurant and seated himself next to Ron.

"They've gone," he said quietly. "Disapparated to Hermione's flat. I went home myself, for a minute, just to confuse the trail."

Ron nodded. He was familiar with some of the tactics Harry had to employ as an Auror, and he was unwontedly somber as he asked, "Do you think He'll try anything tonight?"

Harry didn't immediately answer. "Call it a feeling," he said finally. "Nothing I can put my finger on. But for the moment, we're okay." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rolled slip of parchment, tied with ribbon and sealed with wax. "Which makes now the perfect opportunity to give you this."

Ron accepted the parchment quizzically. "So what's this?"

"I heard recently that the Chudley Cannons are losing Henshaw and Donnybrook at the end of this season," Harry announced. "Keeper and Beater positions will be open. The Cannons management are keeping it quiet, but there'll be preliminary tryouts for both positions on June first - by invitation only." He gestured at the parchment in Ron's hand. "That is an invitation."

Ron looked goggle-mouthed at the parchment, then at Harry, who continued, "Finalists from the prelims will be invited to a second round of tryouts on August first." He smiled and added, "I can think of no better birthday present than to hear you'd been accepted for the team."

"But... but..." Ron sputtered. He finally found his voice. "Harry, that was a daydream! A fantasy! It's been years... I couldn't possibly..."

"Keeper for Gryffindor during its best seasons ever? And oh, who was it who missed Quidditch so much that he organized an amateur league of Hogwarts grads? Hint: tall, red hair, last name rhymes with Beezley..." His smile grew gentler, and his eyes were serious as he urged, "This was your dream, Ron. You didn't have a chance to follow it when we graduated. Follow it now. Follow your heart."

"W-cubed... Fred and George..."

"They did fine before you joined them. They'll muddle through somehow when you leave. Maybe they'll hire your mom's cousin, the accountant."

"Yeah... okay..." Ron placed the parchment in his pocket as though it were a precious gem. He looked at Harry, suddenly suspicious. "How did you...? Harry, you didn't have anything to do with...?"

"They were going to owl it to you," Harry said easily. "But I happened to be in the vicinity, and I couldn't resist the chance to deliver it myself. I wanted to see your face, mate."

"Oh. Right then." Ron's face cleared, and he sipped more coffee to hide his embarrassment. "Listen, don't tell anyone just yet. It'll be a surprise for the whole family. Ginny'll go wild." He looked at Harry out of the corner of his eye. "She's turned out well, don't you think?"

"Very," Harry agreed. "Some young bonhomme is probably very lucky."

Ron snorted. "Not likely. She was telling me today that the Frenchies don't pay much attention to her."

"What, are they blind?"

"No. But remember, when in France she stays with the Delacours." Ron chuckled. "She says a lot of the men approached her just so they could ask her how to approach Fleur."

"I find that hard to believe." Harry stared into his empty coffee cup as he added, "It was a good idea, asking her to join us for our dinners. We've missed her." Ron smirked, and he admitted, "All right, I've missed her. Satisfied?"

"Yup." Ron stood, tossed some money on the table, and added, "I've missed her too. It's good to have her back."

"Yes," said Harry absently. "Good."

*

As soon as Harry Apparated back to his home, he took off his jacket and collapsed onto his armchair. His features, which had been friendly and jovial all evening, now relaxed and sagged with fatigue. He leaned back wearily and closed his eyes.

Hard enough to be upbeat with Ron and Hermione, he thought. It's going to be twice as hard with Ginny there, too. But they're right, I have to keep seeing them - for my own sake, as much as theirs. I have to keep from concentrating too much on the darkness - they're my light, and I need them. And they have to see that they're helping me.

His hand strayed to his scar. Here in his home, it never irritated him as it had during dessert; he'd seen to that. He thought he knew why it had started to bother him recently. Were you watching tonight, old snake? Did you see for yourself what true friendship can be? I doubt it. Such a concept is beyond your grasp.

Were you hoping to learn something important? We know better than to discuss anything where your spying might hear it. I was afraid for a moment Ginny might ask too much about my work, or even my scar... I know she noticed when it bothered me. I shouldn't have worried. She's an expert in the Dark Arts, Ginny is. She's faced you and lived to tell the tale - faced you twice, if we count that damned diary you wrote - which makes her more of an expert than many. I can rely on her discretion.

He opened his eyes and glanced at the pictures over his mantelpiece. They weren't of his family, or friends, or classmates. They were pictures of some of the many victims who'd died in the last seven years, thanks to Lord Voldemort - the victims he'd known personally: Cedric Diggory, Sirius Black, Marius and Rosemary Brown, Pat Featherstone, and others. My hall of shame. None of you would've died had my blood not revived Voldemort. I tell myself, it's not my fault.

But it's my responsibility.

I know what I have to do. And I must do it in total secrecy... not just to avoid alerting you, old snake, but so that I can spare those I love most dearly in this world. Nearly all the elements are in place, I just need a few last items. I can be cheerful in public for a little while longer.

In a moment of morbid humor, he thought, I'll finish this, if it's the last thing I do.