By the Pricking of my Thumbs

"By the Pricking of my Thumbs"

By Penpusher

Chapter Two: Preparations and Problems

"And now we come to the most famous name in both wizard and Muggle history to be associated with the Ring of Aphrodite - the witch Bathsheba. She was born in the old country of Israel around 1010BC; her family were migrants from Babylon. None of the surviving documentation gives us clear reasons for their relocation, only hints of a disagreement over leadership in the Babylonian wizard community, which seems to have end badly for Bathsheba's family. The Israelites of the time were extremely xenophobic, so much so that there was considerable tension even between individual tribes. Foreigners were treated with great suspicion and Bathsheba's family used a particular type of Glamour magic to conceal their Babylonian origins. To the best of our knowledge, they were the only wizarding family extant in Israel at this time.

"Bathsheba herself was talented, ambitious, highly educated and skilled in magic. There are enough family documents still in existence to give us quite a vivid picture, both of her physical appearance and of her temperament. She inherited the Ring at the age of fifteen, on the death of her mother. She was then quite old enough to think in terms of a marriage contract. Unfortunately for Bathsheba, there was no possibility of a partnership within the wizarding community. The few young wizards of marriageable age were close relatives, and the family had integrated itself so completely with the Israelite society as to lose their links with other wizard groups. Bathsheba decided to cut her losses and make the best Muggle marriage possible."

Harry paused to look around the room at his students. They numbered twelve, all in their late teens/early twenties, gazing enraptured as the Famous Harry Potter delivered his lecture. One or two were making notes; the others sat at ease, drinking in the ancient history. Harry raised his wand and described a large rectangle, inside which an image slowly took shape.

"This is a facsimile of a likeness of Bathsheba taken by her sister, Michal just after the death of their mother," he continued. "As you can see, she was already very beautiful, but the power of the Ring of Aphrodite ensured that she could choose whomsoever she wished for a husband. She used the Ring to engineer a marriage to a rich, respectable soldier by name of Uriah. Okay, so he was a Hittite, but he was pretty high up in the favour of David, the King of Israel, so his nationality didn't count against him too much. However, Bathsheba had her own reasons for wanting to secure contact with the King of Israel. She and Uriah didn't exactly live happily ever after, and the subsequent events of her life proved to be very significant indeed, both for herself and for the nation of Israel."

Harry paused again to check he had their attention.

"As you no doubt already know, the Ring of Aphrodite passed from Bathsheba to her daughters, and on down the female line until it was lost in the Jewish diaspora. A Palestinian wizard eventually recovered the Ring during a demonstration on the West Bank during the early 1990s. He discovered it in a long-forgotten hiding place accidentally uncovered by earth-moving works on a building site for new Israeli homes. Fortunately, he recognised it for what it was and took it to his ministry contact in Tel Aviv. It now resides in the Ministry Museum.

"You will find some of Bathsheba's story in the Jewish/Christian text, The Bible, Old Testament, Second Book of Samuel. There are a number of copies in the library."

Harry smiled at them, flicking his wand at the blackboard. A piece of chalk leaped to attention and began to write in a casual but legible hand:

Assignment: "Israelite Royal Genealogy: how did Bathsheba's actions impinge upon the royal bloodline of Israel, and what long-term implications can you draw from their racial history?" Three feet of parchment. Deadline: September 30th.

"I want you to research Bathsheba as thoroughly as possible," he told them as they scrambled to copy down their task. "Read the account in the book of Samuel and try to make some qualitative judgment on what she achieved. Seek out any mention of her in the wizard archives of the same or similar period. Speak to the Librarian; there are plenty of sources to choose from. Go on as far as you like with the Old Testament; you'd be surprised at how much you can learn by reading between the lines. Try to trace the royal bloodline. And if you want to be really thorough, go on to the solely Christian part of the Bible, the New Testament, and study the Gospels. The lineage of a major religious and historical figure was reputedly traced back, at least in part, to Bathsheba."

Harry was interrupted in full flow by a carillon of tinkling bells. He glanced towards his desk and sighed as a globe the size of a large marble spouted a tiny but exquisite fountain of golden light. The students stared and some began to clap spontaneously in appreciation.

"That really is the prettiest charm I've ever seen on a Messageglobe, sir," a dark, bespectacled girl commented shyly. There was a murmur of agreement.

"Cool!" agreed a tall, skinny youth wearing purple robes over Levis and trainers. As his class drifted out of the lecture room murmuring their goodbyes, Harry tapped the globe with his wand. The carillon stopped and the golden fountain shaped itself into a graceful quill that hung motionless for an instant before beginning to write. It left a shimmering script suspended in the air, glowing for a few seconds before fading slowly away. The message read:

Please drop into my office for a few moments at the end of the afternoon.

Alex.

Harry snorted quietly and stirred the gleaming words deliberately with the end of his wand so that they jumbled in a satisfying manner before dissipating altogether. He gathered his notes and papers into a worn leather briefcase and placed the Message Globe gently on top of them.

"Nox," he muttered, extinguishing the largely unnecessary torches burning around the walls. He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Obsereosteum."

The door clicked faintly as the lock engaged, and Harry swung lightly down the echoing corridor towards the Principal's Office.

Alexander Sweeting was Head Honcho of UWIZ and didn't care who knew it. With Ministry Officials, Aurors, heads of respected wizarding families and anyone else with the nerve to consider themselves in any way important, he was akin to a Rottweiler with toothache. However, he preferred to conduct business with his staff on what he called a civilised level. Meaning that he used quiet, measured tones to tell them to jump, and he expected their response to be something along the lines of "How high, Sir?" He was a quietly spoken man with a very good brain and was once upon a time a skilled wizard. Given that it had been a number of years since his magical powers had suffered a thorough workout, however, he tended to rest upon past laurels and leave the active stuff to certain other members of his staff. Harry was one of them.

"Harry! Good of you to drop by. Take a seat. Drink? Coffee, tea? Or something stronger?" Sweeting's face beamed in a good-humoured smile as he came forward to greet Harry in the doorway. Harry shook his head, not fooled in the least.

"Coffee would be nice, if you have it," he responded, automatically sinking into the sofa. "Otherwise nothing, thanks."

Harry's boss tapped his wand twice on a glass jug of black liquid and muttered a heating charm. Harry's eyes widened: his superior's attempts at fresh coffee were variable, but this stuff looked as if it had been made last week.

Shying away from the preparations with an ill-concealed shudder, Harry glanced towards the bay just behind his superior's desk. Double taking, he grinned widely and rose immediately to his feet, moving quickly over to the window. A tall, broad figure with jet-black curly hair and an amazingly white grin in a suntanned countenance turned to face Harry with his arms outstretched. The two men exchanged a hug in greeting, slapping each other joyfully on the back and shoulders.

"Sirius!" exclaimed Harry delightedly. "How long have you been back? Where are you staying? Never mind that - how long are you here for? Why didn't you owl me? You must come to us at the house, there's plenty of room!"

Harry had not seen his godfather since Ron and Hermione's wedding. Sirius smiled his famous "knock 'em dead" grin and widened his eyes.

"Oh, this is just a day trip, Harry, more's the pity. The risk of coming under Muggle scrutiny is just too great for anything longer." The grin faded and his face became rueful. "There's nothing I'd like more than to come stay with you in St. John's Wood, particularly now Ginny's moved in but, well, there it is."

Harry flushed deeply and looked away. Sirius laughed at his godson's discomposure and slapped him hard on the back. Alexander Sweeting coughed lightly to draw their attention to his presence and also, of course, to their coffee. Sirius winked at Harry as if to say "we'll catch up later", so Harry was content to hold his peace. Absently, he sipped some of the contents of his cup, only to put it hastily down on the table.

"So," he began, "to what do I owe this considerable pleasure?"

He looked from Sirius to his boss expectantly. The two men exchanged glances, as if deferring to each other for the privilege. Eventually Sweeting grasped the nettle and began to speak.

"Harry," he said, leaning forward in his chair, "I'll come straight to the point. It's about your potential South American expedition." Harry nodded.

"I figured so," he affirmed. "After all, why else would Sirius be here?" The other man smiled, but refrained from comment.

"We've had some recent information from the Ministry's most reliable contact regarding the whereabouts of the magical artefact in question," Sweeting began in a scholarly tone. "I believe the Ministry has already sent someone out to verify the details, somewhere in Iran I understand, but it will be some time before he will be able to file a report. However, Minister Fudge feels that the information is so important it should be acted upon immediately, and this is where you come in, Harry." Sirius leaned forward to take up the story.

"The Ministry wants you to get a team together and leave as soon as possible," Sirius' eyes were alight with anticipation. "The information is so detailed and the potential so amazing that Minister Fudge wants you on it as soon as possible."

Harry's face reflected startled disbelief rapidly dissolving into intense excitement.

"They've finally tracked it down?" he asked quickly.

"Yes, on impeccable authority. Of course, George has to check it out, but the credentials are so good we've been given the go-ahead to put our best team on the job immediately - and this means you!" Sirius was almost as excited as his godson.

"Leandra's Ewer!" Harry could hardly keep the hushed, reverent tone out of his voice. He turned urgently.

"Where, Sirius?" he demanded. "Are we still talking about Belize?" Sirius frowned slightly and shook his head.

"Our information has taken a slightly different direction now, Harry," he replied. "It looks as though you'll be searching slightly further north; Mexico, to be specific. Rainforest area, more or less uninhabited."

"Mexico." Harry rested his chin in his hands thoughtfully. "I confess, I've never visited the place, except on holiday once when I was living in LA, and even then I stuck to the tourist areas." He looked up, his eyes bright. "I'll need specialist equipment." Sirius spread his hands expansively with a broad smile.

"Bogsworthy & Trunks in Diagon Alley will provide you with all the necessary tackle," he stated, "and if you need anything extra-special, I'll have a word with Tim Cyu: his department will design and make anything slightly out of the ordinary in record time. Just be sure to return it undamaged at the end of your trip, won't you?"

Sirius scratched his head at Harry's startled glance and chuckled before continuing.

"The only problem with Tim is that if you lose anything or send it back damaged or broken, you tend to get your ears thoroughly chewed off," Sirius explained. "He's quite certain we destroy expensive equipment on purpose just to annoy him."

"Perhaps he should try some time out in the field?" suggested Harry innocently. Sirius snorted indelicately.

"Tim?" he exclaimed. "Good grief, he has to be reminded to go home of an evening, otherwise he'd sleep at the Ministry."

"Sounds like a barrel of laughs." Harry's mind was only half engaged. Presently he looked up again.

"I'll definitely need backup this time," he stated categorically, "and a local guide. I can't even consider going into terrain this hostile without at least two other people, one of whom must be familiar with the area." Sweeting and Sirius exchanged glances.

"That's absolutely no problem at all, Harry."

With an air of pouring oil on troubled waters, Sweeting had taken charge of the conversation.

"A local guide has already been suggested," he said complacently. "By Sirius, as a matter of fact."

"Well, not exactly by me," Sirius prevaricated. "I mean, I know this guide, yes, but the recommendation came from a completely different source. In fact, to be honest with you, I'd have my doubts about..."

"Yes, yes. Thank you, Black," Sweeting interrupted, impatiently. "Your opinion has been duly noted. Now, as for backup," Sweeting paused to glance at Sirius once again. "Harry, I think you'll find the third member of your team more than satisfactory. Don't you, Black?" Sirius gave an odd, speculative smile and nodded in agreement.

"Oh yes," he replied firmly to Harry's puzzled expression. "I'm quite sure you'll have no complaints about your travelling companion. No complaints at all."

~oOo~

"Does it look okay? Or do you think I ought to curl it? It wouldn't take more than a few minutes - well, half an hour or so - and I could make it look like a spiral perm, Muggle style. What do you think, Lee?"

"Uh? What?" Lee raised his head directing an unfocussed gaze at Ginny, who was standing impatiently at the other end of the kitchen table.

"Oh, your hair? Yes, it's lovely."

"Lee!" she all but shrieked at him. "I'm trying to dress for tonight's gig. Will you please, please try to give me some feedback. I know the clothes are okay; the band agreed on them earlier, it's the hair I'm trying to conquer!"

Lee sighed, putting down pages of computer printout.

"Ginny," he began, patiently, "for what it's worth, I think you look fantastic."

He was being quite truthful: her outfit of skin-tight silver jeans and matching bomber jacket over a vibrant green halter top would have been totally OTT, even for a party, but onstage she would look out of this world.

"And the hair?" She was nothing if not persistent. He took a deep breath.

"In Harry's absence, I will express a personal opinion. I think spiral curls would be too fluffy for the image you're trying to project. Leave it smooth." She nodded in relief.

"That's what I thought. Thank you, Lee. Thank you very much."

Lee smiled, wearily and looked at his watch.

"I can't imagine where Harry's got to," he remarked, puzzled. Ginny gave him a sour look as she adjusted the straps of her high-heeled silver sandals.

"Predictable, I suppose," she replied, lightly. "After all, he's been used to living totally to his own schedule for four years. He's never had to make allowances for anyone else before. All the same, I hope he gets here in time for the gig. If he misses the first night, I'll be seriously disappointed."

The front door banged and she turned swiftly, her face alight with hope, which faded almost immediately when the visitor turned out to be her brother, Fred.

"Oh," she said, sadly. "It's you."

"My dear little sister," Fred began in his usual off-beat manner, "I may be talented, but regrettably I am unable to transform myself into the Famous Harry Potter solely to wipe that look of almost comical disappointment from your face. However, life is rarely perfect and we have to take the rough with the smooth. Is there any more tea, Lee, or will I make a fresh pot?"

He took Lee's silence as a yes and busied himself with domestic pursuits while Ginny paced up and down the kitchen floor like a caged tiger. Eventually, Lee looked up again.

"Come on, Ginny, it's not like he's going to miss it or anything," he said reassuringly. "You've got a good half hour before you need to leave, surely. And we won't miss the band even if we don't get there till 8.30 - you're not on till 9, is that right?"

She nodded.

"I know," she sighed. "It's just that Harry said he'd make a special effort to get home early. I hoped he'd come with me to the Club, for moral support, you know. It makes me worry that something's happened."

"Just keep calm, there's a good girl." Fred pressed a warm mug into her hands. "It's your first gig with this lot so you're bound to be nervous." Ginny shook her head.

"It's not just that," she told him. "I've been having so many problems working with the male vocalist - he's a complete pig! - that if Harry's not there to give me moral support tonight, I'll feel like jacking it in completely and crawling back home to drink rat poison." Fred patted her shoulder.

"You're one of the strongest people I know, little sister," he told her. "You're not going to let some little jerk frighten you away from something you want to do, are you? Incidentally, who is this idiot we're talking about?"

Ginny drew breath and set about giving Fred chapter and verse on Marcus Torrence: his insufferable rudeness and arrogance, his deadpan manner, his hostility towards her, and the impossibility of working with him. When she had finished, even Lee had raised his head in wonder at the vehemence of her recital.

"Is he good?" wondered Fred, idly.

"Good?" replied Ginny, "You mean talented? Oh, gods, yes. He's a natural - glorious voice and terrific stage presence. In fact, if I didn't know better, I would swear he's using some kind of magical enhancement."

"Do you think he would have the talent to do that?" asked Fred with interest. "He is a wizard, isn't he? Where did he train?"

"He's certainly a wizard, and he's trained in sound engineering, if that's what you mean," Ginny replied. "I don't know where he went to school, though, it certainly wasn't Hogwarts, but I'll ask if you really want to know. Why the interest anyway?"

"Oh, no real reason." Fred's face had a somewhat shifty look. Ginny narrowed her eyes at him and he appeared to change his mind rather hurriedly.

"Well, nothing really," he back-pedalled hastily. "I'm just slightly concerned about you getting sucked into a crowd used to employing magical enhancement on a regular basis. I know it's legal, if not actually encouraged, at wizard venues, but what happens when they play for Muggles? One more UUM Notice this year, sister mine, and you're for the high jump!"

"I know, I know." Ginny looked sulky.

"It's not worth it just for a job with a man who's causing you so much grief." Fred's voice became gentler. "Remind me: what was it he said about there being a surfeit of female vocalists?"

"He said we were ten a penny, if that's what you're referring to," Ginny replied with a sniff. "And he also made some coarse remark about my living here with Harry."

"You didn't tell him about Harry yourself beforehand?"

"Good grief, no!" she insisted. "I don't even speak to the man if I can avoid it. I'd hardly go out of my way to tell him my private life, now would I?"

Fred made as if to let the subject drop, then turned back to his sister with an interested expression on his face.

"Just one more thing: did Justin know about you and Harry, or did you tell him?" Ginny considered.

"Oddly enough, he didn't even know Harry was in the country," she replied thoughtfully. "I had to explain the situation after the blonde bombshell announced it to the world. Why the great interest, Fred? Does the Ministry have a file on Marcus or something?" Fred shook his head, his face at its blandest.

"No reason really," he replied easily. "Just put it down to the natural reactions of a suspicious, professionally paranoid, extremely sad person, who has no life to speak of and needs all the thrills he can get."

He looked so mournful that Ginny giggled involuntarily, swinging automatically towards the hall as she heard the front door bang again. Fred watched her go with a very thoughtful look in his eyes. One or two of his closest professional colleagues would have felt their hearts sink at the sight of that particular expression. He was quiet for a while, pondering, then shook his head, appearing either to have made a decision or to have put the problem, whatever it was, aside for later consideration.

~oOo~

Hermione stirred briefly and looked up as she heard the front door open and close. She sighed wearily then smiled as feet thudded through the hall and into the kitchen. There came a sound of water as the kettle filled itself. Hearing this, she picked up her quill again and decided just to finish this one last precedent while Ron was making her a very welcome hot drink.

She was still scratching at her parchment when Ron appeared at the door of the study carrying two cups of tea. He bent his head to kiss her lips lightly.

"Hi," he said quietly. "Had a good day?"

Hermione put down her quill and stretched her arms above her head, wincing at her sore muscles.

"Fair to middling," she replied, her mind still partially absorbed in her precedent. "At least I've practically finished the most complicated section of this opinion. I'll be able to knock it into a rough draft tomorrow. Which is more than anyone else has been able to achieve in the last year!" Ron smiled at his wife.

"My Hermione," he said, shaking his head gently. "Absolutely unstoppable when it comes to research. You have really phenomenal powers of concentration, you know. I have to take a break after half an hour, and most other people I know are the same. You can go on for hours at a time without even needing to look up!"

She smiled, sipping her tea, and raised her eyebrows over the rim of the cup.

"Practice," she replied succinctly, then frowned, glancing at her wrist. "Ron, what's the time? My watch seems to be acting up."

"It's 7.00pm," he replied, watching her face closely. Her eyes widened and so did her mouth.

"Oh, ye gods! We're due at Harry's in twenty minutes. Ron, we must change and get moving!"

Her husband grinned at her, and she registered his showered, shaven, smartened state, contrasting uncomfortably with her creased, all-day griminess. Grabbing her mug, she raced for the bedroom, rummaging through her wardrobe for something appropriate. Ron retired to the kitchen: he knew when not to disturb his wife.

~oOo~

Harry was making his way home. He was so deep in thought he hardly registered the familiar landmarks, and on reaching his own front door, paused and gazed up at the Lion doorknocker in slight confusion. He shook his head: this would never do.

"Galileo," he murmured, wondering what sort of reception he was going to get from Ginny when he told her about his forthcoming trip.

Soon after their meeting with the Principal, Harry and Sirius had left UWIZ together in search of some decent refreshment. Relaxing in "Grizabella's", a wizard coffee house within a stone's throw of UWIZ, the two had talked away the remainder of the afternoon and Harry had caught up on a plethora of internal Ministry politics that had bypassed him while he was abroad. Harry was amazed how Sirius managed to keep his finger so firmly on the pulse, particularly as he lived so far away, but the other man was somewhat secretive about his sources. This unusual reticence led Harry to suspect that perhaps Sirius might have more contact with the Weasley twins than any of them were letting on. By far the most critical news he had to impart to Harry concerned Minister Cornelius Fudge.

"He's not a well man, Harry." Sirius shook his head gravely as he spoke, sipping the strong, velvety-smooth Colombian coffee, the specialty of the house. His face creased into a smile of near ecstasy.

"Mmmmm! That stuff works better than a revival charm!" Sirius sighed. Harry nodded in agreement, rolling the bitter liquid around his mouth.

"You were saying, Sirius - about Cornelius?"

"Yes," Sirius continued. "He's been ill for some time, you know. Unfortunately, it's not something he's going to recover from easily, and people are beginning to notice that he's letting his deputies do most of the work. He really should retire - for his own good and everyone else's." Sirius shook his head again. Harry frowned.

"Doesn't he realise he's getting, well, past it?"

"Oh, yes! He'd go tomorrow if he could, so the rumours claim. No, Cornelius may be over-cautious, pompous, unwilling to face unpleasant facts, and occasionally downright blind, but he's also utterly loyal and would move heaven and earth, if he could, to safeguard the wizard world. He's also been a surprisingly effective interface between magical and Muggle governments, and he was responsible for a good deal of fancy footwork over the years - to our advantage, I might tell you. The problem is simply who to appoint to replace him. He's been trying to find a successor for almost the entire time I've known him, with a marked lack of success."

Harry pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"I don't suppose you would ever consider...?" He trailed off as Sirius shook his head decisively.

"It would put the Muggle government in an impossible position, Harry, plus the fact that I've never really had a yen to do a desk job." Sirius stretched his long legs out under the table and put his arms behind his head.

"No. Until Pettigrew's actually arrested, charged and thrown into Azkaban, the Muggle government will do no more than turn a blind eye to my occasional presence in this country; it can't afford to be seen to condone a convicted mass-murderer not only walking the streets but also working in a government department!"

"But the Ministry of Magic accepts the real situation," protested Harry, "and there's overwhelming evidence that Pettigrew is alive and well and working for the Dark Side, so where's the problem?"

"The problem is that sixteen years ago the Wizard Judiciary conclusively proved that I murdered a whole streetful of people!" Sirius let out an exasperated sigh and drained the rest of his coffee. He signalled a waiter to refill his cup.

"When I escaped from Azkaban," Sirius continued, "Fudge took the unprecedented step of informing the Muggle Government as to how dangerous I was. Now, to establish my innocence to the Muggle authorities would mean re-trying me in Muggle jurisdiction. Actually re-opening the case, Harry. Re-examining all the evidence and very likely treading on a number of sensitive toes in the process. To add insult to injury, they would almost certainly be obliged to leave the case open, due to their having no one else to take the rap. All that would result would be a large spillage of wizard information into the Muggle world and considerable embarrassment for both sides. Unsurprisingly, both Whitehall and the Ministry of Magic would really rather let sleeping rats lie, thank you very much. No, Harry, even if I wanted it, the Minister's job is not open to me, and probably never will be!"

Harry pursed his lips thoughtfully but could think of nothing to say to counter Sirius' logic. He took a large swallow of coffee and sighed, shaking his head.

"A pity," was the only observation he would allow himself.

Harry set his cup carefully on its saucer, his face set in a serious expression.

"How close are you to Ministry sources, Sirius?" he began. The other man shrugged.

"Close enough," he replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I don't know," Harry shrugged. "I was just wondering about your choice of backup for me in Mexico." Sirius frowned.

"Surely you don't have a problem with that?"

"No, no," Harry hastened to reply. "Certainly not, it's just that, well, were I Head of Operations at the Ministry, my first recommendation would have been Fred Weasley." Sirius smiled ruefully.

"Frankly, and no offence meant to anyone, so would I, Harry," he replied, slightly uncomfortably. "In fact - and this is between you and me - I asked exactly that of Tantalus Brown at the time. His response was non-committal and really rather worrying."

"How do you mean exactly?" Harry asked, leaning forward in his seat. Sirius shrugged.

"He took refuge in some pompous claptrap about not being required to give reasons for his appointment," Sirius said with a certain irony. "When I pressed him, he admitted to there being little to choose between them, but he was very much against sending Fred, despite his greater experience in Central America, because he considered him to be the less stable of the two."

"What!" Harry was outraged. "Fred - unstable? Brilliant, unpredictable and eccentric, yes, but unstable? Never!" Sirius pursed his lips.

"I don't know, Harry," he replied. "Fred's not made himself popular at the Ministry, you know. He's a good man to have around you in a pinch, and when it comes to obtaining information, there's no one better, but he's not exactly diplomatic when it comes to dealing with his superiors." Harry looked puzzled.

"What do you mean?" he asked. Sirius sighed.

"I mean, he doesn't suffer fools at all, never mind gladly!" he responded, with an air of casting caution to the winds. "And, between you and me, Tantalus Brown is a fool of the first water." Harry made a face.

"Tell me about it," he said gloomily. "I've had experience with him before."

"Haven't we all," responded Sirius, "and we've all lived to regret it." He laughed and patted his godson on the shoulder.

"Some Muggle writer once said that the only things one could ever depend on are death and taxes," said Sirius, his eyes twinkling. "I think I could add a third: the stupidity of Tantalus Brown, and I'm sure we'll have more than enough reason to curse him yet again over his interference in your quest, Harry."

Harry snorted softly and his face assumed a gloomy expression. Sirius sat back in his chair and grinned at his godson's discomfiture.

"To change the subject," he said, observing Harry with a quirky, half-smile, "and to get to more interesting news, are you going to tell me about Ginny, or do I have to drag it out of you?"

Harry ducked his head in embarrassment, but couldn't suppress a small smile.

"Well, you know," he began awkwardly. "These things happen."

"Indeed they do, Harry," Sirius replied with some amusement, "to Fred, or to George or Ron - or even me. But not to you. I've never even seen you with a girl before, and here you turn up practically married to your best friend's sister!"

"Steady on, Sirius!" Harry protested. "It hasn't got, well, that far yet. I mean..."

Harry trailed off, running an agitated hand through his hair.

"I think I'll just shut up," he added.

Sirius laughed until the tears came. Harry felt slightly miffed at the mockery and cast about for a less controversial subject of conversation. His eyebrows gathered together in a frown.

"Actually, Sirius," he began, "there is something on which I wanted to ask your advice."

Sirius held up a hand.

"Speak freely, dear boy!" he commanded, wiping his eyes. "After all, what are godfathers for but to help with the little intimate details of their godsons' personal lives?"

Harry shook his head impatiently.

"No, Sirius, it's not about Ginny," he began. "Well, at least not about our - well, our relationship as such."

"Surely you're not arguing about money already?"

"Sirius."

Harry frowned hard; his godfather put away his handkerchief and held his peace.

"Fire away, Harry," he replied in a more composed fashion, but his eyes still twinkled.

Harry began to relate to his godfather the events of the past few months. His account was accurate and succinct and Sirius listened with growing interest, particularly to the part concerning the strange mental bonding between Harry and Ginny.

"And you've told no one else about this?" he replied. Harry shook his head.

"There were so many other things," he said. "What with Ron and Hermione's wedding, my transfer from LA and Ginny's career - not to mention helping her catch up on four years of lost magical development. I guess we assumed the bond was just another part of that very strange time when we were fighting Voldemort, but just not exactly, well, on earth as it were."

Sirius shrugged.

"Are you sure that isn't all it was?" he asked gently. "Just some kind of knock-on effect of taking on You-Know-Who face to face?"

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Some sort of group hallucination, you mean?" he replied. "I've considered it, yes. In fact, I more or less accepted it as an answer, except for two things."

Harry steepled his fingers, leaning his chin on their tips.

"Number one," he said. "The very first time the bonding occurred was before Voldemort's attack threw us into another dimension. It happened in the Temple, the first time he tried to possess Fred's body."

"But you were still in Voldemort's presence," argued Sirius. "You could both have been affected by the high levels of Dark Magic. We know that it can have serious hallucinatory effects on wizards of the Light."

"Number two," Harry continued, holding up a hand, "is the fact that it happened again only a few days ago."

"Again?" Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Where?"

"Heathrow Airport," Harry replied grimly. "And whilst that place may be analogous to the Ninth Circle of Hell, it is very definitely on this earth."

Sirius stared at Harry then he sat back in his chair frowning, deep in thought.

"And that's not all, Sirius," Harry leaned toward his godfather urgently. "I fully recognise that Ginny has been working very hard indeed on her studies. She's desperate to make up for lost time, and fortunately most of it seems to be coming reasonably easily to her. However, even at this accelerated rate, it should be years before she can use powerful magic reliably - let alone without a wand!" At this, Sirius' jaw really did drop.

"Without a wand, you say?" he repeated, eyes wide. Harry nodded gravely.

"I can do it too - have been able to for a while now," he replied.

"Well, so can I," Sirius added. "At least, in theory. I don't use it as a matter of course because I find it difficult to control the strength of the spell. It also wears me out."

"Me too. Not Ginny, though." Harry paused.

"Minerva reckoned Ginny was quite exceptional," he continued, "but she never really came through at Hogwarts. Perhaps that's got something to do with it?"

"Could be."

Sirius was not fully paying attention. He leaned forward urgently.

"Harry," he began. "You've really got to keep an eye on her, for her own safety's sake. You must make sure she gets the right kind of training; discipline, control, that kind of thing. A massive talent like that can so easily go off the rails - ye gods, I've seen it happen!"

Hardly realising what he was doing, Sirius reached out to grasp Harry's arm tightly in his fervour, his face alight with intensity. Harry stared, surprised and puzzled, but made no attempt to free himself from the crushing grip.

"Sirius?" Harry asked quietly. The fierce light gradually died from the older man's eyes as he mastered complex emotions slowly and with difficulty.

"Hell, Harry, I'm sorry."

Sirius removed his hand. Harry rubbed his bruises gingerly and gave his godfather a lopsided smile.

"History, eh?" he asked. The other man nodded tersely. Harry shrugged.

"Care to tell me about it?"

Sirius shook his head.

"Maybe someday," he replied wearily. "It's not pretty."

"Along with much else in this world," Harry responded lightly. "Oh, and Sirius?"

He waited until his godfather looked up.

"Don't worry about Ginny," Harry continued. "I can assure you, she's receiving the very best in remedial tuition, and we're keeping a very sharp eye on her progress. She's - precious to me, Sirius. I have too much at stake to neglect her magical development." He laughed suddenly, rising from his chair. "And besides, she's moving ahead at such a rate, her education can scarcely be called 'remedial' any more!"

"Exactly," muttered Sirius, replacing his cup and fumbling some small change for their bill. "So what happens when she outstrips her teachers, eh?"

Harry pushed his chair under the table with a scraping sound and appeared not to have heard.

But he had.

~oOo~

Harry stood in his front hall, immobile, mulling over the substance of the afternoon's talk. Eventually voices in the kitchen penetrated his self-absorption, and he threw his briefcase into a corner, strolling in through the door.

"Thank Merlin! I thought you'd never get home. Where on earth have you been?"

Confused, Harry glanced at his watch and gaped in astonishment.

"Ye Gods! Ginny, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise it was that late."

He hugged her briefly.

"I'd better go change right away," he said. "Do you want me to come to the Club with you now?"

At the sight of Harry, solid and reassuring and most importantly there for her, Ginny felt confidence flood back into her nervous system and she smiled, shaking her head.

"It's okay, Harry, come along later with the others," she replied. "I ought to leave in the next five minutes anyway, and - what are you staring at?"

Now he had taken a good look at her, Harry was openly goggling at the amazingly sexy effect of the shining silver outfit and the dramatic stage make-up.

"You didn't look like this the last time I saw you onstage!" was all he could manage, unable to look away. She burst into peals of laughter and kissed him lightly on the cheek, careful not to smudge her lipstick.

"That's all the reassurance I need that this getup looks as good as I think it does!" she announced, slinging a long grey cloak round her shoulders and grabbing a handbag before moving out of the kitchen towards the front door. "I'll see you all later." Harry snapped out of his trance.

"Ginny! Wait a moment!" he called, making for the door. But it was too late; she had gone. Harry bit his lip: he'd have to keep quiet about his forthcoming trip for the whole evening now until he could talk to her on her own.

The sounds of new voices in the hallway alerted him to the arrival of Ron and Hermione.

"We met the Gorgeous Girl on her way down the drive." Ron told Harry, grinning from ear to ear. "Justin picked her up at the end of the road. Haven't seen him in years - he's not changed much!"

Hermione kissed Harry lightly on the cheek, as befitted an almost-relation, or 'brother-out-law', as Ron insisted on calling him.

"Drinks anyone?" offered Lee, hospitably.

"Yes, thanks very much, Lee," replied Fred approaching the communal wine rack with a critical eye, "I'll do the honours, shall I?" Lee's smile practically split his face.

"Carry on, make yourself at home, Fred," he chuckled. "The glasses are ..."

"In the cupboard above the sink - yes, I remember." Fred gave Lee a wide, wolfish grin.

"What time do we have to leave?" Hermione was checking her watch.

"Oh, not for twenty minutes or so minimum," replied Harry, accepting a glass of white wine. "I've got to get changed yet."

"Well, you'd better hurry," Hermione told him. "We can't possibly be late for Ginny's first gig."

"Relax, 'Mione." Ron stroked her shoulder soothingly. "It's not a concert - the live music doesn't start till late. And the band has top billing, so if we're a bit late all that'll happen is we'll miss the warm-up acts. Besides, Ginny's reserved a table for us, so we're laughing."

"We're still waiting for Oliver," explained Lee, pouring wine for the couple. "He said to go on without him if he got delayed, but it would be nice to go together."

Ron took his glass, held it up to the light in approval and raised it towards Harry.

"Well, mate," he began, "I reckon some kind of a toast is in order."

Harry stared in puzzlement, then frowned, shaking his head urgently, but he was too late: Ron was in full flow. Ignoring Harry's increasingly frantic signals and Hermione's baffled expression, he raised his glass high.

"This evening heralds not just one debut but two," Ron announced to the assembled company. "I refer, of course, not only to Ginny's debut at the prestigious P.O. Nightclub, but also to my future professional partnership with our esteemed colleague, Harry Potter."

He clinked his glass against Hermione's and smiled smugly. She stared at him.

"You're working with Harry? Why Ron, that's marvellous!" Hermione's face spread into a broad grin. "Why didn't you tell me about it sooner?" He shrugged.

"It was only confirmed this afternoon," he explained, "and besides, the job's in Mexico, so it'll be a little while before we can start."

A slightly awkward silence greeted this devastating pronouncement, although Ron didn't seem to notice. He quaffed his wine with a satisfied smirk then looked around the room, mildly surprised at the lack of reaction from his friends. Fred winced and ducked inwardly as Hermione drew breath. Lee glanced surreptitiously around the room for potential hiding places. Harry sighed loudly and clapped Ron hard on the shoulder.

"Well done, Ron," he replied, weakly. "Not only is Ginny going to be absolutely livid when she hears that she was the last person to learn of this potential trip, but I would also lay fairly stiff odds against you getting out of my house with all your major organs intact."

Ron stared at him, nonplussed until Harry drew his attention to his wife's ominous stillness and lack of facial expression.

"Ron, how long will you and Harry be in Mexico?" Hermione enquired sweetly, although her eyes were like stone. Ron shrugged, oblivious.

"Oh, a couple of months I guess," he responded. "Of course, it's not generally known that we're going yet. It's not exactly hush-hush, but it would be better not to mention it outside these walls just at present."

"And when were you thinking of leaving?" Still the sweet tone.

"As soon as we can get the equipment together." Ron was beginning to feel slightly uneasy. "We've got to visit Diagon Alley, and maybe one of the Ministry Labs. We'll Port to LA for briefing from Sirius, then the three of us will travel to Mexico and set up base somewhere relatively civilised, but as near to the rainforest as possible."

"So you'll be travelling - in jungle?"

"Yes, that's the general idea, although we'll have Sirius as back up."

"Don't you think that might just be a little bit - dangerous?"

Unwisely, Ron laughed. Fred was torn between the desire to edge slowly away, and a wicked sense of amusement at his younger brother's discomfiture.

"My love, we'll be perfectly alright," Ron replied easily. "Harry and I are both used to this sort of jaunt, and we'll have a local expert to guide us. It'll be a breeze."

There was a horrible silence then Hermione flipped.

"You numbskull!" she shouted. "You total prat! You miserable excuse for a wizard and a human being! Did it never occur to you that I might have some sort of opinion on this 'jaunt' you and Harry have decided to go on? Did you think I'd actually welcome the opportunity to send you to the other side of the world on a mission that sounds frankly extremely dangerous? Are you completely out of your tree, or just totally oblivious of how anyone else might feel about your decision, you insensitive git!"

At this stage in her highly satisfactory rant, a lesser woman might have slapped her open-mouthed husband around the face and burst into tears. Not so Hermione: she stormed up to within twelve inches of him, kicked him hard in the shins with her stiletto heeled shoes and marched out of the kitchen with her head held high.

Ignoring the howls of pain emanating from the other room, Hermione, on automatic pilot, stormed into what used to be her study. About to slam the door, she stopped dead in confusion. The place had been totally transformed.

When Hermione had first moved into Harry's House, she had taken automatic possession of the study. Being the one with the most research work and the largest collection of books, this made sense to the others, none of whom particularly wanted to use the room anyway. It had been cosy and rather old-fashioned with a large polished wooden desk in the centre, a number of bookcases around the walls, worn Moroccan rugs on the floor, a drinks cabinet, a small leather sofa in the bay window and a couple of overstuffed armchairs.

Now, Hermione gazed about her in wonder. The desk had totally disappeared to be replaced by an ergonomically designed workstation with two monitors, several keyboards, scanners, telephone points, speakers and printers. The battered sofa had been superseded by a smart-looking futon, the Moroccan rugs had given way to sanded bare floorboards, and discreet and very effective blinds now covered the bay window. The only item of furniture she remembered was the drinks cabinet.

"What the ... " she began slowly. Footsteps sounded behind her and a voice called back to those still in the kitchen:

"... better make sure she doesn't smash anything!" Lee came into the room behind her and noticing her thunderstruck expression, looked suitably awkward.

"I know, I know," he muttered, scratching his head. "Everything's changed. But Hermione, life has to go on, and my work is so different from yours. I tried to use the old furniture, but it just didn't work. I really need a properly designed workstation if I'm not going to get permanent backache from the long hours I spend at these machines." Hermione was shaking her head.

"No, Lee," she replied quietly. "Of course you changed it. It's strange that I've not been in this room since moving out. I honestly never expected it to stay as it was, it's just ... " she trailed off and sighed. "I guess I miss living here, that's all. Some part of me wishes that Ron and I had elected to move in here rather than the flat."

She paused and then shook herself.

"How could he agree to something so momentous without even mentioning it to me, Lee?" She turned liquid brown eyes towards him. Lee shuffled his feet awkwardly and cleared his throat.

"Well," he began, "I suspect he was so excited at the thought of working professionally with Harry at last that other considerations sort of lost out in the aftermath. He's always shared everything with Harry, you know, right from the start: his knowledge, his possessions, his siblings, his share of his parents' attention, and also, to a certain extent, you. It must have been hard to be thought of as second best, as an also-ran, a sidekick to the Famous Harry Potter, but Ron was always generous. Now, finally, he's got the girl, and the career, and the status. Don't get me wrong: I'm not implying there's anything malicious in this - Ron hasn't a grain of mean-spiritedness in his whole body - but there's got to be something in him wanting to prove himself a match for Harry. And this trip to Mexico looks like it's going to do just that. It'll be no sinecure, that's for certain."

"Rivalry? Is that what this is all about?" Hermione was a little calmer, but her eyes were still flashing, "Two little boys trying to find out who can run faster?"

"Hermione, it's not as silly as you're making it out to be." Lee raked a hand through his wiry black hair in exasperation. "Look, I'm really not very good at this, but I think you should at least hear him out before doing any more screaming. And besides, it's time we left if we're going to hear any of Ginny's gig this evening."

Hermione took several deep breaths then turned towards the doorway. Lee looked at her anxiously and she gave him a tight smile.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to make a scene," she told him. "At least not in public."

And with that she swept out into the hall to find that Oliver had arrived, Harry had changed, and the rest of the gang were ready to leave. She condescended to take the arm Ron nervously proffered, but she neither looked at nor spoke to him until they reached the P.O. Club.