By the Pricking of my Thumbs

"By the Pricking of my Thumbs"

By Penpusher

Chapter Three: "Doubt truth to be a liar ..."

The 'P.O.' was actually a nickname that stuck.

Before he had read "Hogwarts: A History", Harry had been amazed to learn from Hermione that the enormous castle which housed the famous school was actually visible to Muggles. He had found this rather difficult to believe as even in the wilds of Scotland (where Hogwarts was reputed to be situated) it was unlikely that something this huge and grand could be simply overlooked or ignored by its Muggle neighbours. Hermione had airily informed him that the building had a glamour cast over it to make it look derelict. Various signs with the wording "Danger! Do Not Enter!" and "Unsafe: Hard Hat Area Only!" had also been placed over the entrances and exits to ward off the curious.

Conversely, the London Muggle Underground had always been a source of complete mystery to most witches and wizards, particularly to those who hailed from relatively rural areas. Why bury oneself in a metal box simply to go rushing around in small, cramped tunnels where it was dark, there was nothing to see and the atmosphere was stale? Far better to keep above ground and travel in the daylight and fresh air. Indeed, their argument may have held water at first, but come the second half of the Twentieth Century, even witches had abandoned their broomsticks in favour of Apparation (if the distance was short) and Portkey (for longer or more difficult journeys).

As the years brought more passengers, greater demands on the system and higher train speeds, the designers of the London Underground rebuilt and modernised parts of the structure, dug new tunnels, and redesigned the stations in order to cope with the changes in commuter habits. As businesses waxed and waned and computer technology changed people's working routines, retailers started operating for longer hours and extra days, and shift work became more the norm than the exception. Consequently, different parts of the rail network became overworked - and some were more or less abandoned. British Museum station is part of the Central Line between Tottenham Court Road and Holborn, but no passengers have alighted there since 1932. Similarly, on the Piccadilly Line between Green Park and Hyde Park Corner, travellers can glimpse what looks like a slight change in the tunnel design and brickwork. This is another station, Down Street, which was closed in the same year.

Post Office had also once been a station on the Central Line, but was closed down in the late 1960s in favour of St. Paul's. It had originally served the Post Office Headquarters in Newgate Street, before the move in 1967 to the Post Office Tower (now Telecom Tower). From above ground there was no trace that a station had ever existed on Newgate Street, but below the surface it was quite a different story.

As she took hold of the Portkey, Hermione felt a slight sense of trepidation. It had been explained to her in patient detail where she was going and that it was perfectly safe, but Porting to an underground location had always given her a great deal of unnecessary anxiety. She resisted the temptation to squeeze Ron's hand for reassurance (she still wasn't speaking to him) and it gave her immense satisfaction to note that he too was less than confident about this Port. Fred began the countdown and Hermione screwed her eyes shut. Abruptly, they were somewhere else and, feeling the change in the air, she opened her eyes - and stared.

"It's - unbelievable!" she whispered, clutching Ron's nerveless hand in surprise. Ron didn't notice; he and Harry were much too busy staring.

The sheer scale of the place was the first shock: it seemed to go on for miles. Only after adjusting their minds to accommodate its size were they able to take in the gorgeous Art Deco style of the interior design. The managers of the P.O. had clearly taken its history seriously. The entire floor was carpeted in a dark rich red, and the walls picked up the colour, with cleverly placed drapes in green and gold giving the illusion of windows. Picking up those colours on its frontage, the bar resided at one end of the space: a huge circular sweep of mahogany and chrome surrounded by fixed chrome bar stools. In its centre was a huge, decoratively carved mahogany stand holding the glasses, at the top of which was a vast golden light shaped like a cylinder with a flared end. As they looked, they noticed the design repeated in further huge lights floating near to the ceiling. At the far end of the space was the stage: massive, curtained in green and gold with flights of steps in front and to both sides. As they stared, an odd-looking wizard in bright yellow robes was demonstrating, to howls of laughter from the front tables, how to use a Muggle vacuum cleaner.

"That's Pythagorus Pringle," Lee said quietly. "Stupid name, but he's actually very funny. D'you know, every single artefact in his act is genuinely used every day by Muggles! You'd never believe it, but it's true."

Pythagorus Pringle now started on an ironing board and succeeded in folding himself into it, much to the delight of his audience.

"It's when he gets on to the uses Muggles make of broomsticks, that's when I crack up," said Oliver, smiling. "I brought the Swifts here once; they didn't stop laughing for a whole week."

Filling the area between the bar and the stage were round tables flanked by curved chairs, all in green, black and gold. Fred strolled easily forward and engaged the waiter in conversation. He turned to the others, inclining his head towards the stage.

"Come on. Ginny's reserved us a place at the front," he grinned. "She's also sent champagne with her compliments; it's chilling at the table."

Oliver and Lee needed no second bidding, but Harry, Ron and Hermione moved rather more slowly, drinking in the atmosphere of the place.

"Ye gods, I'm glad I wore a suit," muttered Harry, glancing around at the clientele. Ron nodded in agreement.

"I thought I'd feel a total prat in black tie," he replied, "but even Fred's tux looks ordinary by comparison to most of the crowd here. This place must be worth millions!"

Harry smiled grimly.

"Why do you think Ginny was so keen to take the contract?" he said. "If she's a hit here, she can more or less name her terms. Merlin knows, she's put up with enough from this Torrence character, so it'd better be worth it."

They sat down at their table, staring surreptitiously at the ranks of bright, rich young wizards and witches dancing, chatting, ordering drinks and waiting for the main spot to begin. Harry was completely floored when a very beautiful blonde in a backless gold sheath dress approached him and asked if he would like to dance.

"You're the Famous Harry Potter, aren't you?" she breathed, stars in her eyes. "I thought you were living abroad now." Harry hastily smoothed his hair down over his scar.

"Er, lightening visit, going home tomorrow, sorry," he muttered. "Just over here for Ginny's - I mean, the band's debut."

"You mean 'Hold That Thought'? You know them?"

The blonde's eyes were wide with admiration. Harry fought off a wild desire to laugh.

"Well, yes," he replied. "I was at school with two of them."

"Is that a fact?" She fluttered her long eyelashes and smiled alluringly. Harry gestured towards the stage.

"I don't want to hurry you, but I think they're actually about to begin their act," he said gently. "You wouldn't want to miss them, would you?"

With a small squeak, the blonde glanced quickly at the stage and made off at top speed back to her table.

"Don't say it, Ron," Harry muttered between his teeth, not looking at his friend. "Just shut it."

Ron was almost purple in his efforts to keep his laughter contained, but fortunately at that moment the houselights dimmed, floating spotlights zeroed in and five figures came leaping on to the stage from different directions.

Immediately, Justin kicked in the basic backing track, Animal took up the rhythm and they were away in a fast-tempo hard rock number, which kept Charles, on bass, and Marcus, on alto saxophone, extremely busy. Ginny was the sole vocalist in this number, and whilst not exactly liking it, Harry had to admire the harsh, hard-bitten sound she produced. The group performed three rock numbers on the trot, almost as a medley, then, acknowledging the applause, Justin took the microphone to introduce the team. Two more numbers followed at a slightly slower tempo, more Country & Western, but then Charles the bass player took centre stage with an old Elvis song and had the place really swinging. To finish off the first spot, Ginny and Marcus both took to the floor, effortlessly executing a very fast-paced number with a dance routine to boot.

Harry found himself glancing at Fred then looking back as he caught something strange about the other man's expression. Fred was staring so intently at Marcus Torrence that if his glance had been a knife, the blonde man would have been skewered. Harry frowned slightly before shifting his attention back to the stage where the number was just finishing to rapturous applause.

After bowing energetically, the band leaped offstage to take a break. Harry, claiming boyfriend's privilege, slipped backstage to the Green Room. Locating a discreet door marked "Staff Only" he slipped through it like a shadow, pausing in a bare corridor to get his bearings.

"Can I help you?"

The voice was deep and not exactly friendly. Harry turned to face the large presence of a P.O. bouncer.

"If you would be kind enough to go back through the door, sir," the large man began, advancing purposefully into Harry's personal space, "I'm sure a waiter ..."

He paused, frowning at Harry's forehead.

"Are you Harry Potter?" he asked abruptly, then not waiting for a reply, "Ah, you'll be wanting the Green Room, won't you sir? Yes, Miss Weasley warned me you might come calling. This way please."

Forcing his unwilling mouth into a smile, the large man continued down the corridor with Harry in pursuit and showed him into a wide, pleasant room. Five people all looked up at his entrance, and one leaped from her comfortable armchair into his arms.

"Oh, Harry!"

Ginny's lips were smiling, but there was something anxious about her eyes. "It's going well, don't you think? The audience seems to like us."

Behind him, Harry heard a muted noise of disgust. He turned to encounter the disconcertingly arctic gaze of the blonde lead singer.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," Harry said coolly. "Harry Potter. And you are...?"

"Marcus Torrence."

Even his voice was cold and indifferent.

"You don't think you're a success with tonight's crowd?"

The blonde man shrugged.

"This lot would clap a unicorn with no horn."

The reply was succinct and negligent.

"You mean we're easily pleased?"

Again the icy stare.

"Whatever. You said it, not me."

He strolled slowly away.

"I see what you mean," murmured Harry into Ginny's ear.

He was trying not to let on how much the other man had angered him, but Harry had to admit that his normal self-control seemed to have taken a holiday. Fetching Ginny a drink from the sideboard largely to give himself time to regain some kind of equilibrium, Harry took one or two deep breaths and tried to work out exactly what it was that riled him so badly. The hostility emanating from the man was almost tangible; Ginny seemed to be finding it particularly difficult to cope with tonight. As a result, Harry stayed for almost the entire break, refilling his glass from the Green Room supplies and talking to Ginny in a low voice, trying to reassure her. He had been intending to break the news of his impending trip to her during the interval, but once he had seen the situation, he realised how unfair that would have been.

I'll just have to make sure I get to her first - certainly before Ron and Hermione start bickering again, otherwise the cat'll be well and truly out of the bag! Harry thought, running an irritated hand through his hair as he virtually ran back through the corridor to take his place with the others.

"Where have you been?" hissed Hermione as he sat down, just in time to join the applause for the band's final spot. "You nearly missed them."

Harry shook his head.

"Went to see Ginny in the Green Room," he told her. "Just as well I did, if you ask me."

"Why?"

Hermione frowned quizzically, but 'Hold That Thought' had dived into their first number and further discussion was impossible.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Harry reached for his glass. How could someone so monumentally unpleasant have such an incredible stage presence?

Torrence was superb; there was really no other way to describe him. He could make his voice curl sensuously around the audience, or grate sexily, depending on the mood of the music. The smoky, rasping sound of his alto sax interlaced with Ginny's lyrical soprano as though the two of them were physically entwined. His lithe dancer's body with its quick movements and easy grace mesmerised the audience, but it was his range of facial expression that completely threw Harry. Having come face to face with the man's objectionably deadpan demeanour, Harry could scarcely believe he could be so convincing. A slower tempo love song for the two vocalists was a revelation for Harry. Great Merlin, he could almost believe Torrence meant every word he was singing! Harry firmly swallowed an irrational thread of jealousy and applauded loudly.

The duet was followed promptly by a medley of three rock songs for a barnstorming finish that had the entire nightclub, clientele and staff alike, on their feet cheering.

"I think this must mean they've made it, don't you?"

The nonchalant quality of Fred's aside to Harry was rather spoiled by the volume at which he was obliged to deliver it. Both men joined in the wild applause with enthusiasm, but above Fred's grinning mouth, Harry was intrigued to note that the piercing brown eyes were still watchful. Something was rattling Fred's cage, something obviously not quite right. Harry made a mental note to ask him about it.

The management brought more champagne to Harry's table without prompting, and after about thirty minutes or so, Justin burst through the 'Staff Only' door with Ginny on his arm followed closely by Charles and Animal, grinning from ear to ear. Congratulations were heaped upon them, photographs taken, drinks offered (and accepted) and the Group finally settled at their friends' table to toast each other and their future success. With feelings of great relief now the gig was over, Harry kissed Ginny on and on, seeing no need to worry about smudging her makeup now. He settled her into the crook of his arm and smiled tenderly into her face.

"You were fantastic!" He kissed the tip of her nose. "Absolutely mind-blowing!"

Ginny grinned happily. She was looking particularly beautiful having changed from her stage clothes into a leaf-green bias-cut cocktail dress that complemented her hair colour perfectly.

"I did it! I really did!" she squeaked excitedly. "Oh, I thought it would never work, but we managed to pull through in the end. And the applause! Justin's got three firm contract offers in the last five minutes!"

Harry turned towards his former Hufflepuff friend to congratulate him, when a pale, blonde figure standing by the exit caught his eye. So motionless as to be mistaken for a statue, he stood staring at the group, his face expressionless. Harry narrowed his eyes, frowning in puzzlement. The figure's mouth twisted into a sneer, then he turned with a contemptuous shrug and disappeared into the night. Harry frowned, tapping Justin on the shoulder.

"Where's Torrence going?" he asked. "I figured he'd be jumping for joy now this thing's taken off."

Justin laughed.

"Marcus?" He shook his head. "He wouldn't jump for joy if he inherited all the gold in Gringotts. He's a cold fish."

"But he's absolutely stupendous on stage!" Harry was mystified. "If he's so emotionless, how can he do what he does so well?"

Justin shrugged and took a large gulp of his champagne, sneezing as the bubbles tickled his nose.

"Search me," he replied, when he was able. "But I've never worked with a vocalist with such experience nor such intuition. Even Ginny, with all her training and recording know-how, is not up to his level of expertise." Justin took another gulp and grinned slyly. "But he's not as pretty as she is!"

Harry returned the smile and clouted his friend over the shoulder in a friendly fashion, but he soon relapsed into contemplation. This man must really be something special to be able to achieve so much on stage. He thought back to the duet: Ginny's stagecraft had improved even since the last concert he had witnessed, but Torrence had been utterly convincing. So much so that Harry felt his stomach clench as the other man lifted a hand to caress Ginny's cheek during their love song. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the memory. Let's just count blessings, shall we? For whatever reason, we don't have to stomach his presence this evening. Potter, be grateful for not-so-small mercies.

The evening seemed to go on forever. Glancing at his watch, Harry was grateful the following day was Saturday. That is, until he remembered that he and Ron had an early date in Diagon Alley to see about equipment. Which brought him back to his imminent trip. His stomach churned yet again: he still hadn't yet told Ginny. He glanced carefully around the others. Hermione was still being offhand with Ron, but had been remarkably self-disciplined about expressing her annoyance in public. Harry flinched involuntarily: he wouldn't change places with Ron once she got him alone for all the butterbeer in The Three Broomsticks.

"Have you spoken to her yet?"

The voice was Fred's. Harry smiled speculatively without looking up; really, this knack of Fred's for tuning in to people's lives was quite uncanny. He turned and shook his head, grimacing.

"I've hardly managed to get a private word with her all evening," he complained, and then sighed.

"It's her night, Fred," he told the other man. "It's a tribute to her success. Oh, I know it's Justin's band, but all the adulation this evening is really celebrating her talent and her beauty. Now in the middle of all that, how can I suddenly announce that I'm going to leave her here for several months to travel half way round the world in order to ferret about in an uninhabited, primitive, dangerous environment in search of something that I'm not even totally sure ever existed in the first place? I'm not going to burst her bubble like that; it'll just have to wait till tomorrow morning."

Fred raised his eyebrows but made no reply, instead taking a thoughtful sip of wine.

"You know," he began at length, rather too casually, "what with George in Iran and you and Ron jaunting off to Mexico, Ginny's going to be rather lonely with only Lee and Oliver for company in that huge house, particularly as Oliver's hours are so irregular and he's often away on tour."

Harry spread his hands wide.

"I'm aware of that and Ginny and I have discussed the possibility of getting someone else in," he replied, frowning ruefully. "The trouble is no one springs instantly to mind, and we've just been too busy to think about asking around."

"Hmm." Fred took another small sip. "You know, I have a friend who has mentioned that she's looking to move. She's already in a flat, but she'd jump at the chance of moving in with you lot. I could suggest it to her. Only if you'd like, of course."

Harry stared at Fred, then smiled.

"You're not, by any chance, attempting to move her out of your flat, are you?" he demanded, chuckling. "Because if you are, I feel I must warn you that we are not a rehabilitation centre for Fred Weasley's ex-girlfriends..."

Fred was shaking his head firmly.

"No, no, nothing like that I assure you," he replied easily. "Ellen's just a friend."

This old chestnut elicited even more laughter from Harry.

"No, really." Fred smiled with chagrin, realising that anything he said from now on would be open to wilful misinterpretation. "Okay, okay. Look, she used to go out with a colleague of mine at the Ministry but they split up very recently, partly because she changed jobs to an incredibly high-powered firm and had to put in a lot of hours at first. He couldn't cope with the competition - hey, it happens!"

Fred shrugged, slipping his empty champagne flute on to a passing waiter's tray and snagging another full one in one deft movement.

"She's living rather a long way out of London," he continued, smiling in pleasure as he sipped the ice-cold wine. "Somewhere near Leytonstone I believe, and her present job is based on the Edgeware Road, so she'd like to be a bit nearer if she could. Your place would be just great. I'll bring her round tomorrow, if you think it's a good idea?"

"Tomorrow?" Harry was slightly surprised.

"Yes, if that's okay," Fred smiled winningly. "I'll bring her round for drinks round about 7.30pm? Great!"

Fred slapped Harry's shoulder and swivelled quickly on his heel to engage Oliver in conversation. Puzzled, Harry sipped his warm champagne in silence. He had the odd feeling he had just been railroaded, and he didn't understand why.

Lee Jordan was having an interesting time. Being only averagely good at magic but having a first-class analytical mind, Lee found his present Ministry occupation both exciting and absorbing, rather to the detriment of his social life. He began to realise what Oliver had been complaining about so roundly when he found himself still on the P.O. dance floor, boogieing with increasing enjoyment and energy as evening dwindled into night, and then further into the small hours of the morning. Why don't I do this more often? he asked himself, and could think of no adequate reply. Sitting down for a breather and another pint of butterbeer, he remarked at length upon this phenomenon to Fred, when it occurred to him that his friend was not listening. Lee's words trailed away into silence and, as he watched, Fred frowned heavily, shook his head without speaking and automatically raised his glass to his lips with a sigh.

"What's up?" Lee asked, as quietly as he could. Fred took a deep breath and expelled it forcibly in frustration.

"I need reassurance, Lee," Fred replied. "I need you to tell me categorically that I am paranoid."

He looked challengingly into his old friend's face with a slightly wild grin. Lee fought the impulse to run scampering for the trees and reluctantly tried to engage his brain.

"Okay, Fred," he replied, carefully. "What's bugging you?"

Fred shook his head.

"Everything," he replied with a sigh, "and nothing. That's the problem."

Lee nodded slowly, processing this.

"Okay," he began slowly; Lee was accustomed to Fred's abstractions. "Let's start with some of the nothing."

Fred paused, taking another swallow of his beer.

"Tell me, Lee," he began abruptly, "have you been involved at all in processing the information on Harry's trip to Mexico?"

"You know I have, Fred," replied the other man, patiently. "I was the one who analysed the information you and George brought back from Iran the first time. I know the stuff backwards."

Fred nodded gently.

"Have you come across anything - well, strange about this information?"

"Strange? No." Lee scratched his head. "Most of it's pretty straightforward. In fact, it was a joy to process really. It's not often so much fits together so easily. Usually it's something of a struggle to make anything correlate."

"Are you saying it's too perfect?" Fred jumped in immediately. "Something about it isn't quite - the norm?"

Lee considered, rubbing his chin reflectively, then shot his companion a shrewd glance.

"Are you reaching, Fred?" he enquired with deceptive mildness. "Or have you been keeping something back?"

The red haired man shook his head and let out another explosive breath.

"No, I've got no secrets from you, Lee, at least, none pertaining to work." A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. "I just - wondered if you'd picked up any bad vibes, that's all. You know, intuition rather than intellect."

Lee smiled wryly.

"More your field than mine, Fred," he replied. "I don't usually work on hunches. But for what it's worth, I picked up nothing overtly sinister in anything either you or George delivered."

Fred sighed, shaking his head.

"I've got the jitters, Lee," he confided. "I'm seeing spies in every corner, assassins under every bed, bugs in every telephone."

"Every what?"

Fred stared.

"Oh, come on, Lee! You use modems every waking minute of your life!" he protested. "Surely you know what a telephone is?"

"Fred," Lee said patiently. "I use computers to log on to the Internet. Ancient Muggle artefacts are more Harry's line."

"Ha very ha. Are you sure your system is secure?" Now Fred was really reaching. "You haven't been hacked recently, have you?"

Lee sighed.

"I have a Norton Firewall in action 24 hours a day," he began, patiently. "I regularly upgrade it from the manufacturers and from the Ministry. I'm careful to establish Rules only for the applications that routinely access the net, no more, and I have an automatic 'Block Traffic' which cuts in whenever the connection remains dormant for more than ten minutes at any given time. I'm as safe as I can possibly be."

"Upgrades from the Ministry?" Fred was confused. "Surely you are the Ministry Technology Department at the moment?"

"No, Fred." This was said even more patiently. "From the Home Office. You know, the Muggle Government? Their security services have kindly decided to extend their defences against computer hacking to me. It has made my life a good deal easier, I can tell you."

Fred paused, shaking his head again.

"There's something ringing a very faint bell," he ground out, "and I'm damned if I can work out what it is."

He heaved a sigh of intense frustration. Lee looked at his friend sympathetically.

"Something about Harry's trip?" he hazarded.

"Well, yes," Fred returned reluctantly. "But also about George in Iran. And - other things."

Fred's gaze wandered over to where Ginny was laughing with Justin on the dance floor.

"Ah well," he sighed, draining his pint and rising from the table. "I guess I'm just becoming paranoid in my old age. To tell the truth, I'm relieved that's all it is."

Lee took a swig of butterbeer and chuckled.

"Seriously, Fred, people in your line of work occasionally do find their antennae start to work overtime for no apparent reason." Lee's face was sympathetic. "You know I'm never involved in the intrigue that you deal with every day, I've only ever been in R & D, but I've seen it happen to others quite frequently. It's nothing to worry about; it'll settle down in a few days."

"Hmm."

Fred sounded sceptical, but seeing as he had already strolled away to see if Ginny wanted another dance, Lee could hardly challenge him on the point.

~oOo~

"Oh, my head!" moaned Hermione. She turned over in bed, desperately trying to go back to sleep and forget the swirling, flashing maelstrom which was her bedroom this morning. Gently, a cool hand smoothed her hair away from her face and she focussed just enough to identify Ron. He smiled faintly.

"I've brought you coffee and breakfast," he told her.

Hermione hurriedly clenched her teeth against the impulse to throw up there and then in reaction.

"Oh, Merlin, how did I manage to get into this state?" she groaned. Ron shrugged.

"Spending all evening not talking to me, I guess you occupied your mouth in knocking back the booze," he replied. "Although I didn't particularly notice anything amiss when we were Porting home, I suppose the effect must have been strengthened by the fact that we missed supper."

"I want to die!" his wife wailed, rolling over in anguish. Ron patted her shoulder.

"Sit up," he told her.

"No, Ron, please - I'll be sick!" she murmured. "Just let me expire quietly on my own; I deserve it."

Ron shook his head.

"No, sweetheart. Come on, do as Dr. Weasley says."

Protesting feebly, Hermione propped herself up on her elbows and struggled to a sitting position.

"My head feels worse," she complained. "Ron, if you don't move quickly, I'm going to be sick over you!"

"No you're not," he told her. "Now. Drink this down in one. Go on."

Hermione, too exhausted to argue, mechanically opened her mouth and gulped at the contents of a small glass. She swallowed quickly then clapped a hand over her mouth as she gagged at the bitter taste.

"What in Merlin's name was that?" she spat, her nose wrinkled with disgust. "If it was a patent vitamin complex, the manufacturer needs to speak seriously to his industrial chemists."

Ron laughed.

"It was a Hangover Relief potion," he told her. "Fred made it for me after my Stag Night, and I wheedled the recipe out of him later on. Can you feel it working?"

Hermione had to admit that she could. It was as though the liquid was coursing through her very veins, carrying away the pain and sickness and replacing it with feelings of energy and well-being. She smiled incredulously at Ron.

"You are amazing!" she exclaimed. He gave her a sad-puppy look.

"That's not what you said to me last night," he protested mildly. She frowned.

"Frankly, Ron," she replied, "you were lucky that was all that happened to you."

Feeling considerably better, Hermione leaped out of bed, throwing on her bathrobe.

"I'm not going to repeat my rant this morning," she told him seriously, "and I am really very grateful for the Hangover Relief potion, but the fact still remains that you are going ahead with something extremely dangerous, despite my objections. Although I wish you well, Ron, on your own head be it if anything should go wrong. And now, I think I'll have a shower."

"Oh, you do, do you?"

Ron caught his wife around the waist as she made her way nimbly to the bathroom.

"Don't I even get a kiss for taking all the trouble to brew that potion fresh this morning?" he said plaintively.

Hermione glared at him, then leaned forward and pecked him on the nose, at the same time ducking out of his embrace.

"Don't push your luck, Ron Weasley," she warned, moving quickly into the bathroom. "You're not out of the woods yet!"

Ron sighed then smiled; at least she was speaking to him again.

~oOo~

At about the same time, Ginny Weasley crawled into the kitchen in search of something to eat and drink. Her nerves the previous day had been so jittery that food had been the last thing on her mind. Now, at 8.30am, she was wide-awake and ravenous. Rummaging in the fridge, she caught sight of her reflection in a glass shelf and winced: she looked atrocious. Pale as death, hair hanging limply, last night's mascara not quite properly removed making black rings round her eyes. Closing her eyes with a shudder, Ginny grabbed the milk and hastily shut the fridge door. A cup of coffee and several slices of toast later, she was beginning to feel a little more human.

" Morning, superstar."

Oliver slouched into the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively at the fresh coffee. Ginny gestured to the pot and Oliver gratefully poured himself a mug.

"No seriously, Ginny," he continued. "You were absolutely terrific; I couldn't take my eyes off you!"

Ginny gave him an old-fashioned look, but was unable to hide her pleasure.

"Cupboard love!" she told him. "You're only saying that because you want my coffee!"

"Absolutely!" he confirmed, generously topping up his mug. "I need all the caffeine I can get. I don't think any of us got more than a couple of hours' sleep. Where's Harry this morning? Still in bed?"

Ginny made a face.

"Out running, believe it or not," she replied, hunched over her mug. "I admit it, I couldn't face pounding the streets this morning after all those hours of pounding the stage and then the dance floor last night. He tried to get me to go too, bless him!"

She smiled fondly.

"He said it would do me good and he'd really welcome the company, but I'm afraid I told him to go away and let me sleep!"

"Too right."

Oliver waved a casual wand at a loaf of bread and a knife leaped smartly into action, producing thick, even slices. They winged their way over to the grill pan and laid themselves in a neat row. Ginny raised a speculative eyebrow.

"Having friends round for breakfast, Oliver?" she asked. He smiled.

"Just watch," he replied simply.

A very short time later, Lee and Harry collided in the kitchen doorway.

"Oof! Oh, I'm so sorry, Lee, I didn't realise you were there."

"That's okay. I'm so tired I can hardly see."

"I know what you mean. Hey, is there anything for breakfast in this joint?"

"See what I mean?" said Oliver, grinning triumphantly at Ginny as Harry and Lee descended upon the toast like a swarm of locusts and, when it ran out, started in on the coffee. Ginny tried to glare at them for their disgraceful good humour and high levels of energy, but she simply couldn't raise the enthusiasm.

"Ye gods, you look like you could all do with a holiday!" exclaimed Ron. He stood in the kitchen doorway looking remarkably awake and well-groomed considering the amount of sleep he must have had the previous night.

"Hi Ron," muttered Ginny, without enthusiasm. "What brings you round here at the crack of dawn?"

Ron stared.

"Didn't Harry tell you?" he said in surprise. "We're going on a shopping trip to Diagon Alley."

Ron's grin faded as he gradually became aware of Harry's frantic signals over Ginny's head. Realising the potentially dangerous ground he was treading, Ron made as if to try to change the subject. Ginny raised her head and frowned.

"Shopping? With Harry?" She gave a short bark of laughter. "That'll be a barrel of laughs. He's absolutely useless anywhere except Quality Quidditch Supplies. What are you shopping for anyway?"

But Ron seemed to have gone deaf.

"Er, is that coffee, Oliver?" he said quickly. "Great! Could I cadge some? We've run out of the decent stuff at home; had to put up with instant this morning, worst luck. I really think I'm going to have to have our groceries delivered, you know. Hermione and I work such long hours we never manage to find the time to shop."

Aware that he was babbling, Ron took refuge in a large mug of milky coffee thrust in his direction by Lee, but Ginny was not fooled.

"Ron, why are you and Harry going to Diagon Alley this morning?" she asked, with a slight frown. "And just what is Harry supposed to have told me?"

Ron fidgeted nervously.

"Well, we just need some equipment, that's all," he said lamely. "For a job. Yes, that's it; a job."

"Since when have you and Harry worked together?" she asked with interest.

"Er, it's the first time, actually," Ron replied with a smile. "We didn't hear until yesterday. Cracking opportunity for promotion, kudos, status - you name it."

"You're going to be working together in the near future? Well, that's wonderful, Ron." Ginny smiled and looked over at Harry.

"Why didn't you tell me this was in the pipeline?" she asked. Harry shrugged.

"Actually, I didn't know myself until Sweeting called me into the Inner Sanctum yesterday," he replied, awkwardly.

"So what will you be doing?" Ginny raised her eyebrows in query. "I'm curious as to what an ancient historian and a special duty Auror have in common that makes their working together a necessity."

Harry sighed and looked at the floor. The other occupants of the room fell silent.

"Congratulations, Ron," Harry announced, oozing irony and sarcasm. "Not just one foot in it up to the neck, but two. I think that must be a record - even for you!"

Frantically mouthing apologies, Ron sat down heavily in a kitchen chair. Harry turned to Ginny. She looked terribly tiny and vulnerable, standing with an empty coffee mug in her hands, wearing little other than an old outsized tee-shirt of Harry's that fell to her knees. Her pale face and the dark mascara rings under her eyes served only to emphasise her fragility.

"Harry?" she asked uncertainly. "Is something wrong?"

Harry sighed again and came to sit in a chair close to her. He reached out to grip her lower arms, staring up into her face.

"No, Ginny," he replied. "Nothing's wrong as such, but the timing could have been better." He paused to gather his thoughts.

"There's no easy way to say this - I learned that last night!" Harry frowned mightily at Ron who ducked reflexively. "Ginny, you remember the South American trip?"

She nodded, then her eyes widened.

"It's happening?" she asked. Harry nodded.

"Yes, sort of."

"What does 'sort of' mean?"

"Well, it's still South America, but its no longer Belize. The latest destination is Mexico."

"Mexico? Whereabouts?"

"We'll be travelling first to Mexico City for briefing, then we'll be going on to a small town called Uinal in the province of Yucatan. That's where Sirius will establish his backup for us."

"Sirius? Where does he fit into all this?"

"I saw him yesterday, at the University."

"You didn't tell me!"

"There wasn't time, Ginny. I hardly spoke a word to you last night that didn't have several hundred witnesses."

"Oh? So it was more important to maintain discretion over this trip than to tell me about it?"

"No, Ginny, it's not like that!" Harry put his head in his hands. He tried again.

"We're going to look for a potentially very valuable magical artefact. I can't tell you any more about it because - "

"Because the Ministry doesn't want plebs like me being party to its secrets, yes?"

Ginny was starting to work herself into a temper. Harry flinched: the truth was that he didn't want to come out with the details in front of Oliver and Lee, but he could scarcely say so.

"So when do you intend to leave?"

"As soon as possible." Harry cringed inwardly but continued. "That's why Ron and I have arranged to go to Diagon Alley this morning. As soon as we're properly equipped, we'll go."

There was a brief, awkward pause. Then Harry turned to Ron.

"Look, mate. Can you get lost for a couple of hours? Come back about ten? I think you owe me that at least after what you've just done."

But Ron was shaking his head.

"I'm sorry Harry, but no can do," he replied, shrugging helplessly. "We've got to see Tim Cyu at eleven. Unless we get to Bogsworths pretty quickly, we won't make it back to the Ministry in time."

Harry turned back to Ginny and opened his mouth to speak, but she was too quick for him.

"No, you go on. That's perfectly alright."

She smiled a beaming, if slightly brittle, smile.

"You go to Diagon Alley and buy yourselves a whole truckful of new toys," she told them. "Spend all day playing with them, why don't you? Some of us," she drew herself upright, her eyes flashing, "have work to do."

Flouncing out of the kitchen, she stomped through the hall and presently they heard the dining room door slam. Abruptly the sound of Beethoven's Appassionata sonata, last movement (Allegro ma non troppo), played too loud and far too fast drifted into the kitchen. There was a profound silence.

"As an understatement, I guess that could have gone better," remarked Oliver, pouring himself another cup of coffee. "All things considered, it's probably just as well you're going away, Harry. Harry?"

But Harry had taken off after Ginny and could be heard hammering on the dining room door, shouting. The music merely increased in volume. Harry slouched back into the kitchen, his expression grim. He shot Ron a glance of dislike. Poor Ron spread his hands in helpless dismay.

"Harry, I'm sorry," he said in genuine distress. "I naturally assumed you would have told her by now."

Harry knocked back his cold coffee.

"I'll just go and shower, then we'll be off to Diagon Alley," he said quietly, moving towards the West Wing stairs.