Harry Potter and the Year of Living Stupidly

Chapter Thirteen

The Best Laid Plans

"Who's responsible for this?" Viktor demanded again.

Harry, Fred and George quickly pointed at each other. Ron pointed at a wall. Probably it was just stupidity, but perhaps he thought it was safest to blame an inanimate object. He may have been right at that - the Bulgarian looked angry enough to punch out a mountain troll.

"That's 'ermione." Fleur pressed the back of her hand against her mouth as she stared down at the cat. Slowly the full impact of the fact sunk in. "Oh, 'arry, 'ow could you?" she wailed.

"Whot makes you think it was me?" demanded Harry. He was beginning to feel as if the whole world were against him again. He rather enjoyed it, but decided to pretend he didn't in the hopes of receiving more abuse.

"Who else would it be?" asked Fleur.

"Voldemort," replied Harry without hesitation.

"Voldemort?" repeated Viktor, rising to his feet. His face was pale and his eyes flashed. "Vhy vould Voldemort turn Herm-oh-ninny into a cat? Vouldn't he vant to kill her if she vas in his vay?"

That was a lot of 'v's for Harry to work through, but he got there in the end. "Ah, but you see, he did try to kill her," Harry explained, his fiendish brain working overtime. "So Ron and I turned her into a cat for her own safety."

"So it vas you!" Viktor loomed menacingly over Harry. He was a lot taller when he didn't slouch. Harry, his Gryffindor courage momentarily abandoning him in favor of the rarer trait of Gryffindor self-preservation, backed up a step.

"To protect her!" he squeaked, holding up his hands. "Only to protect her!"

Fleur folded her arms across her chest. She didn't believe it for an instant. "And you just 'appened to know 'ow to transform a person into a cat when Voldemort came calling?"

Harry flashed her a sour look. "We'd been practicing a lot of spells," he said between his teeth. "Just in case."

"And where was Dumbledore at the time?"

"On the pot. How should I know?" Harry was getting tired of this interfering female. He made a note to move her name to a higher spot on his hit list.

Viktor pondered, staring down at Hermione, who was washing her face and pretending he wasn't there. "Vell, you can turn her back now," he said slowly. "I vill protect her from Voldemort."

"Oh, I don't think you can do that," said Harry quickly. "You're nowhere near as powerful as Voldemort."

"And you're nowhere near as smart as 'ermione," Fleur pointed out. "You may need 'er advice some time. Anyway, no one deserves a life of coughing up 'airballs. Turn 'er back."

"Umm. . . er. . . " Harry, remarkably enough, was running out of lies. "But she's really safer as a cat. Voldemort's extremely allergic to them."

"Is he?"

"Oh, yes." Harry's eyes were big and sincere behind his glasses. "There was this one battle in the first war where they drove him back by waving kittens at him."

"Then why 'asn't anyone turned you into a cat for your safety?" Fleur asked, wondering why she was going on with this inane conversation. She would never believe that Harry had ever practiced spells for anyone's wellbeing but his own, nor that Voldemort was allowed to waltz into the castle any time he wanted to terrorize the students. Hogwarts was poorly run, but not that poorly run.

"Because the spell doesn't work on me," said Harry in a melancholy tone of heroic martyrdom. "I'm too powerful."

Fleur and Viktor doubled over laughing. Harry glared at them, his pride wounded.

"Right! I won't lift a finger to save you when Voldemort comes after your hides, mates!"

Viktor sobered. "I vant you to answer vone question honestly for me, Harry."

"Er, yes? Vhat - I mean what - is it?"

"Can you turn Herm-oh-ninny back?"

"Of course. In time." Harry qualified.

"That's a no," translated Fleur, raising an eyebrow.

There was a short silence.

"Well, yes," admitted Harry. "It's a no - for now."

There was another short silence.

"Are you up for vone more honest answer?"

"Err - maybe."

"Do you have any idea how to turn her back into a person?"

"Err - no. Not at the moment, that is. But I'm sure with a bit of studying. . . " Harry let the sentence trail off and shrugged in his shoulders in what he was sure was a deep and significant way that would allay all Viktor's fear.

"And vhen vas the last time you studied?"

"I already answered two questions honestly, dammit!" Harry folded his arms across his chest and glared.

Viktor slumped. Fleur patted him on the shoulder. It didn't sound good. In fact, thinking on the problem, she wouldn't trust Harry to change Hermione back into a human if he studied for five years and received a merit award for good behavior. Trusting Harry was just not a habit one should get into. "I'm sure someone else could turn 'er back," said Fleur encouragingly. "What about the professors?"

"Some of them tried," answered Ron, butting Harry aside and beaming hopefully at her. "But the only one who could probably manage it is McGonagall, and -- "

Fleur held up a hand. "Say no more." She still had nightmares about something she'd personally witnessed McGonagall do to a giant sloth. "No one else?"

Ron shook his head. "The only other person around here who's really good at Transfiguration is Sirius, and his spells don't work as well as they used to because he's dead."

"There 'as to be someone else who can turn animals into people." Fleur furrowed her brow and thought before she remembered that she might give herself unattractive wrinkles and smoothed them out. She couldn't think of anyone at Beauxbatons who might be able to help Hermione. They didn't work on animals there, focusing instead on turning inanimate objects such as sticks into chairs, or stones into shoes. That had always struck her as much more sensible anyway. If you ever really got caught in a bad situation, you were more likely to find rocks lying around than armadillos.

"Maybe someone from your school?" she suggested to Viktor. She really didn't know what they taught at Durmstrang. But he shook his head.

"Ve didn't do that sort of Transfiguration," he said. "Not much Transfiguration at all. Not much time for it, vhat vith learning curses, hexes, poisons, entrapments -- "

"Oooh!" breathed Harry softly. Apparently Durmstrang's curriculum held a lot of appeal for him.

"But you turned your 'ead into a shark's for the second task," Fleur reminded Viktor, swatting Harry across the ears.

"Didn't do a very good job," said the Bulgarian glumly.

That was true. Unfortunately, Fleur was running out of ideas. She wasn't even sure why she was concerning herself with the situation, except that it was better that going to Dumbledore's funeral.

Oh, yes, the funeral. She checked the time. Only half past ten. They wouldn't be serving any liquor yet. "Perhaps there's something in the library?" she suggested, tucking her watch back down the front of her dress. Ron's drooled as he caught a glimpse of another bit of forbidden undergarment.

Viktor brightened up at the mention of the library. After all, it was where he'd met Hermione in the first place. But Harry pulled a face. "It's closed today," he said. "Madame Pinch wanted to come to the funeral." She was one of the staff who wanted make sure that Dumbledore didn't jump out of the coffin and do a jig while crying: 'Fooled you! Fooled you!'

"Maybe tomorrow then." She gave the Hogwarts quartet a meaningful look. "I'm sure you can take some time tomorrow to search for a cure, right boys?"

"There's Quidditch practice tomorrow!" whined Harry, instantly forgetting his prior vow never to play Quidditch again.

"I'll look for a cure," lisped Ron unctuously. He batted his eyelashes at her.

"I'm sure 'ermione would appreciate it," Fleur replied, taking care to emphasize the name.

"Would you appreciate it, Fleur?" Ron asked, winking broadly. He jiggled his hips.

"Not as much as Viktor would, I'm certain."

Clearly this was not the response Ron had hoped for. Abandoning his seductive routine, he sulked, casting hostile glances at the Bulgarian Quidditch star who was once again staring at Hermione. "Well, maybe I'll look if I get time," he pouted.

Fleur sighed heavily. "Ron, you 'aven't forgotten that I'm dating your older brother, 'ave you?"

"No," replied Ron, who had. He pouted some more while the twins sniggered and made vague but obscene gestures behind his back.

"So I can't date you as well, okay?"

"Why not?" burst out Ron aggressively. "Bill's been shagging Lupin anyway."

The next silence wasn't particularly long measured in seconds, but it was so cold it seemed to last a lifetime. "What was that?" asked Fleur politely. She had to have misheard. Either that or the word 'shag' didn't mean what she remembered it meaning.

Ron realized he'd made yet another blunder. "Nothing," he replied, ears flaming.

"He just said that Bill's been seeing Lupin behind your back," supplied one of the twins. The other sniggered and made some more incomprehensible but clearly pornographic gestures.

"He has not!" denied Fleur furiously. She clenched her hands into fists and glared at all the males assembled. To her shock, each and every one shrugged.

"I wouldn't get so worked up over it," commented Harry, dredging in his ear with one finger for goodies. "Just about everyone sleeps with Lupin sooner or later. I'm sure he'd be happy to put you on the list."

"That isn't funny!" Fleur raised a fist and advanced a step. Harry abandoned his ear and scurried behind Ron.

"I think it's funny," said one of the twins to his brother. "Don't you?"

"It would be funnier if they were dressed as clowns," replied the other.

Fleur screeched and was about to perpetrate some serious mayhem when Viktor caught her arm. "This isn't helping Herm-oh-ninny," he said.

"Who cares?!" she shrieked. "They're claiming my boyfriend cheated on me with a werewolf!"

Viktor tried to look apologetic. It came out as a slightly gentler form of surliness. "They're probably right," he said. "Cedric told me some stories about Lupin. . . "

The French girl trembled. Her arm sagged. "That's. . . that's. . . why? I don't believe it!" But doubt had already taken root. A moment later an expression of sheerest rage transformed her face. "I'll skin that werewolf!"

"Not Bill?" asked Viktor.

"I'll neuter him!"

Fred and George thought that was hilarious. They made snipping sounds and pointed at their crotches. Harry, however, jumped out from behind Ron.

"You won't touch Headmaster Lupin!" he shouted, raising his puny fists.

Unfortunately, his dramatic leap had landed him right on Hermione's tail. She let out an ear-splitting yowl and dug her claws into his leg, causing the Boy-Who-Lived to shriek in turn. Dancing backward on one foot, he crashed into Ron, who began windmilling his arms like mad before toppling over. One of his wildly swinging hands caught George under the chin as he was bent over pointing at his crotch. George spun around and knocked his head right into Fred's midsection. Then Harry, Ron and the twins all collapsed in an unwieldy heap on the floor, accompanied by the sound of a fart as someone's elbow struck someone else's abdomen.

Fleur sniffled. It wasn't enough to cheer her up. Viktor searched his pockets for a handkerchief, failed to find one, and tore off a bit of Harry's sleeve and offered it to her. Ron, ever determined to keep in her good graces, tore the entire arm off his shirt and presented it. Fleur declined them both. "I hate the world!" she wailed, burying her face in her shawl.

Hermione mewed. It sounded like agreement. She extricated herself from Harry's leg and walked over to Viktor. He regarded her for a moment, then scooped her up.

"Ve have to do something," he said. "I won't be enjoying the funeral if I am thinking about Herm-oh-ninny all the time."

"You're not supposed to enjoy funerals," sniffled Fleur.

"It is Dumbledore's," he reminded her.

Put that way, it sounded almost nice. But Lupin would be at the funeral. Hell, Lupin would be practically conducting the funeral. Fleur's jaw tightened. "I don't want to go either," she said. "Let's raid the library. There must be something in there."

"The library is locked up tight," Harry reminded her impatiently. "Madame Pinch is not the sort to leave her precious books unguarded." And her wards had gotten a good deal better since the event with Hermione. Harry had tried sneaking in there only once since then and he'd tripped off all sorts of alarms and barely made it back to the common room in safety. And that was before he'd surrendered his Invisibility Cloak.

"So we'll ask Madame Pinch for use of her library while she's at the funeral."

"Madame Pinch is not going to let some bit of French crumpet go poking around in her library while she herself is not there," said Harry. "Furthermore, if you want to look in the Restricted Section, you have to have a teacher's signature and be prepared to sacrifice your firstborn."

"It's in a good cause!" Fleur screamed.

"Whot? Neutering Bill and taking out our headmaster? We've lost one already. I don't think Madame Pinch will see it as a good cause."

"Vhat about changing Herm-oh-ninny back?" asked Viktor.

"She won't approve of that either. Hermione used to actually check out books - Madame Pinch didn't like that at all. Look, just forget about the library, okay?"

"Vell then, vhat's your suggestion?" Viktor demanded.

"Err. . . I don't have one."

Fleur slumped to the floor, not even caring that she was rumpling her silk dress. Viktor scratched Hermione behind the ears and sighed deeply. They both looked so depressed that Harry actually almost felt a small stab of something that might have been remorse. He quickly quashed it and forced out a belch. That was better. Maybe it had just been gas.

Ron timidly sat down next to Fleur. "I'll help you if I can," he offered.

"What can you do?" she asked forlornly. As far as she knew, Ron had no special talents whatsoever aside from his undeniable gift for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

"Well, if the library can't help you and the teachers can't help you, that means. . . er. . . " Ron wracked his brains.

"No one can help you!" chortled one of the twins.

"Surely there must be someone!" Ron ran a hand through his gelled hair, causing it to stand greasily on end. "Where do you go when you need something you can't find anywhere else?" he asked his brothers.

"Knockturn Alley," replied Fred, without batting a lash.

"Knockturn Alley!" Ron's mouth sagged open. "Wicked!"

"Brilliant!" squealed Harry. "Let's go!" Suddenly filled with energy, he pushed away from the wall he'd been lounging against and practically danced in place. "Hurry, hurry! We have to get going if we want to be well away before the funeral begins!"

"But. . . " Fleur felt she did not have the energy for many more surprises. "Knockturn Alley. . . it is a rather low place, no?"

"If you got much lower you'd be crawling on your belly through the sewers," Fred assured her. He seemed to find this delightful.

"It is not a place we should go then," Fleur said, but she could feel her resolve wavering. What kind of curses might she be able to find in such a place? Surely a few would suit Bill and Lupin just perfectly.

"Are you thinking they vill have something to change Herm-oh-ninny back?" Viktor asked the twins. They shrugged, bemused. They hadn't been thinking anything.

"You can buy anything in Knockturn Alley," said George.

"Or sell anything."

"Yeah. We sold bottles of our own urine there once."

"Got a surprisingly good price for them too."

"What on earth would anyone want with your wee?" Harry wondered. Actually, he was already calculating how much he could get for his own contribution.

"I don't want to 'ear about it." Fleur took a deep breath and stood, distracted enough to not notice when the still-sitting Ron snuck a peek up her skirt. "I really don't think we should go," she said.

"Vell, I'm going," said Viktor. "If it'll help Herm-oh-ninny -- "

"If you get caught, you'll be in the headlines of every rag tomorrow," she reminded him. "Quidditch Star Bust in Sleazy Knockturn Hovel."

Viktor grunted. Fred said: "I like the title. Could be a bit catchier though."

"Like Chaser Chased Through Non-chaste Channels?" suggested George.

"That's better."

"It doesn't matter." Harry waved such mundane cares aside. "Quidditch stars are supposed to do crazy things like that. Their fans love it. Come to Knockturn Alley, Viktor. You can save Hermione and please the masses all at once."

"I vill go because I vant to save Herm-oh-ninny," repeated Viktor. "And I don't care about my fans."

"You don't?" said Ron, sounding disappointed.

"No. Screw them. Always gawking and asking stupid questions. Often I wish their heads would detonate." He set Hermione on one of his shoulders and looked questioningly at Fleur. "Are you coming?"

She debated. Spend the day listening to people lie about how wonderful Dumbledore was or sneak off to the shifty section of Diagon Alley and find a curse to place on her unfaithful boyfriend and the conniving werewolf.

Put that way, the choice was simple. Scummy though Knockturn Alley would be, it couldn't possibly make her feel as dirty as listening to people praise Dumbledore.

"I'm in," she said.

"Good." Harry rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Quickly, up to the common room. There's not a moment to lose."

"The common room?" asked Ron, confused.

"To change. I can't be seen in public without my polo shirt!"

* * * * *

"Remus."

"Hmm, yes?" asked the werewolf, preoccupied. How did the paperwork pile up so fast?

"Remus, are you paying attention?"

"A bit. Enough."

"No he isn't," said Dumbledore's portrait brattily. "He's ignoring you like a big stinky meanie." Dumbledore was chuffed. He had a big black satin bow attached to his frame for the occasion and his gaze kept flicking to it proudly. He wasn't going to let anyone forget that he was the center of attention for the day.

"Thank you, Dumbledore. Well, Remus, try to pay a little more. Because this is really, really, not going to make you happy."

Lupin set down the paper he was perusing and slowly straightened. "Just hearing those words makes me not particularly happy. All right. What went wrong now?"

"I went to -- "

"There's a fleck of dust on my canvas!"
Taking a handkerchief out of his pocket and muttering under his breath, Lupin got up and wiped the picture clean. "There, better?"

Dumbledore giggled. "It tickles!"

"Oh, for a vat of paint remover. . . what were you saying, Sirius?"

Sirius sighed. "I went to fetch Harry."

"And. . . ?"

"He's gone," said Sirius simply. Lupin's eyes narrowed.

"Gone."

Dumbledore puckered up and began wailing. "It's always the good who go first!" he sobbed.

"No, not gone dead, gone gone! I mean he's not in the common room. Ron's not there either. Nor are the twins, whom you've been pretending you didn't know were in the castle."

"Harry, Ron, Fred, and George all missing." Lupin began to pace.

"And Hermione too."

"Sounds like Harry's gone off on one of his adventures. He often stuffs Hermione in a sack when he does that." Lupin ground his teeth. "Blast! Of all the mornings to pull such a stunt!"

"I can stand on my head," said Dumbledore. "Look!" There was an alarming sound of creaking joints, then Dumbledore's head vanished from sight and his bandy old legs flew into the air. He was wearing crossed garters.

"There's worse news," said Sirius, doing his best to ignore the display. He took out the Marauders' Map and smoothed it out on the desktop. "I can't find them anywhere on here, which means they must have left the castle."

"Left the castle." Lupin ran both hands through his hair. "Lord, they could be anywhere! How long have they been gone?"

"Look at me! Look at me!" came Dumbledore's voice, muffled by robes.

"I don't know." Sirius slumped into Lupin's abandoned chair. "I didn't think to check the map at once. I figured they were probably just stuffing their faces in the kitchen or something."

"Look! Look!"

"A reasonable surmise."

"Look! Look!"

"And probably true." Sirius held up a mass of black fabric, covered in crumbs and smelling lightly of pork fat. Lupin recoiled.

"What's that?"

"Harry's mourning clothes."

Brrrraattzzzt! In an all-out attempt to gain attention, Dumbledore farted. Sensing their eyes upon him, the still upside down codger waggled his feet impishly. His robes slid down a little further, revealing underwear decorated with choo-choo trains.

Lupin turned the picture upside down. Dumbledore squawked as he fell to the other side of the frame in an untidy heap. "Behave yourself," Lupin told him, and turned his attention to Sirius. "I hope you didn't just find those clothes on the floor. That might mean Harry's streaking someone."

"God forbid." Sirius shuddered. "No, I found them in the boys' dormitory after I looked at the map. Ron's are on his bed as well. Probably he changed into that wretched polo shirt."

"They left deliberately." Lupin scowled at the wall. "Those little bastards."

"How dare they!" exclaimed Dumbledore indignantly. "Don't they realize this is a very special day for me? Why I have a good mind to give all their cookies to the Slytherins! That'll show them."

"You're right of course, Dumbledore," said Lupin. "This is a very special day for Harry, and we can't allow him to spoil it. He must be located at once." He gave Sirius a meaningful look. "See what you can do. Alert the Order if you must. I'll try to contact Narcissa."

* * * * *

"Tee-hee, tee-hee!"

"Stop giggling, 'arry!" Fleur gagged. "And 'ooever is farting, please try to 'old it in."

Ron instantly looked constipated.

They were all crammed into the back corner of a bus. Not the Knight Bus, mind you - that would have been too easy for wizards to trace - but a real, honest-to-goodness London double-decker bus.

Fred and George had had floo powder on them. That had made escaping the castle relatively easy once they'd found an empty room with a fireplace. They'd chosen number twelve Grimmauld Place as their destination rather than floo directly to Diagon Alley, just in case someone was watching them. From there, it was only a matter of dressing as Muggles and finding a bus that would take them relatively close to the Leaky Cauldron. As was usual in the wizarding worlds, they'd managed to get the disguise bit spectacularly wrong, despite having plenty of examples to go by all around them. Ron's AC/DC tee shirt with a purple paisley necktie, a waiter's jacket, and tartan leggings was particularly heinous.

"Tee-hee, tee-hee!"

"Harry!"

"Whot?" asked Harry, nettled. "I'm excited. This is ever so much more fun than going to Dumbledore's funeral."

Fleur snorted. "Do you 'ave an excuse for it, 'owever? And don't say you want to 'elp 'ermione, because I know that's not true."

Harry didn't bother trying. He looked crafty and took something out of his sleeve. "Recognize this?" he asked.

"Vand," Viktor grunted. He had Hermione on his lap and she was looking slightly carsick. She also kept gazing up at Viktor, who had found a Three Musketeer's hat in a costume shop and insisted on wearing it. One got the feeling she couldn't make up her mind whether to shake her head in disbelief or give in and bat at the feathers.

"Yes, it's a wand," said Harry patiently. "But it's not just any wand. This happens to be the wand that belonged to Gilderoy Lockhart the day he got himself turned into a god."

Ron and the twins 'ooohed' appreciatively and stared at the wand as if it were something unusual. Fleur shrugged. "And so?"

"So I'm going to have it examined in Knockturn Alley. They might be able to tell me what he did and then I'll become a god myself." He stifled another 'tee-hee.'

"Me too," said Ron. He tried to look cool. "Think you'd enjoy dating a god, Fleur?"

"I think after I'm through with Bill I might just give up Weasley men entirely." A second later she wondered if Charlie Weasely was Lupin-free. He was kind of cute in a rugged sort of way.

Ron slumped. Harry patted his arm, proof that the Boy-Who-Lived was in a truly beneficent mood. "Don't worry, mate," he consoled Ron. "Become the God of All the Things Girls Like and she'll be falling all over you."

Ron thought about it. "Nah, I'll become the God of Really Hawt Girls. I don't want a bunch of trolls falling all over me after all."

"So all you want are pretty girls - even if they 'ave lousy personalities?" Fleur demanded.

Ron stared back at her, thinking she fit those criteria pretty well. "Er, yes."

"Pig." Fleur shook her head.

"Where?" asked Harry, looking about eagerly.

"I don't see him," said Ron, also glancing about.

"No, no! I was calling you a pig, Ron!"

"Oh." Harry and Ron both slumped. "Bah," said Harry after a moment. "You got my hopes up there."

"Mine too," sighed Ron. "I have an owl named Pig, but I haven't seen him in months."

Had Ron been in the least bit observant, he would have noticed the waves of guilt coming off of Harry. About two months ago, Harry had awakened in the middle of the night with a rumbling tummy and eaten Pig in the vague hope that he'd taste like his namesake. He hadn't - it had been most disappointing. But at least Harry hadn't had to get out of bed. The floor had been cold that night.

He'd kind of hoped that Ron had forgotten all about his owl by now. Ah, well, give it another month or two.

"Are we almost there?" asked Ron, oblivious to Harry's mental process and pressing his nose against the window.

"Next stop," said Fleur, who was the only one bothering to pay attention to reality. The twins had had to be forcibly restrained from passing out joke candy on the bus. It hadn't been an easy job convincing them that turning the bus driver into a canary while he was actually driving was a Very Bad Idea. Fortunately, a child with a Rubik's Cube had come onto the bus, and this toy so fascinated the twins that they hung over the back of the seat gawking and whispering to one another. Well, not fortunately for the child, who was looking distinctly scared, but it kept them from pestering Fleur.

"Good," said Viktor. "Because I think Herm-oh-ninny's going to throw up."

She did. Exactly one minute before the bus pulled up at their stop. That meant the wizards got to flee the bus with its new aroma of semi-digested cat food, leaving the disgruntled Muggles to savor it in their stead. Fred and George snatched the Rubik's Cube from the frightened child and bolted, giggling. A wail of "Mommy!" followed them, but the bus driver slammed the door and took off anyway, too relieved to be rid of these particular passengers to make a fuss over the theft.

"The Leaky Cauldron," said Ron, rubbing his hands together. His eyes were shining in his pasty face. Fred and George played tug-of-war with the Rubik's Cube, each wanting to be the first to have the privilege of turning it. They cussed at each other with a surprising amount of ingenuity, enthusiasm, and volume.

"Disguises first," said Fleur over their noise. She was getting tired of being the responsible one. She felt if she wasn't careful, they'd have her wiping their noses and tying their shoelaces for them soon.

"Disguises?" asked Ron stupidly.

"We can't walk into the Leaky Cauldron with Harry Potter and Viktor Krum in our group and not expect to be recognized," she reminded him, bringing out the cloaks she'd taken from Grimmauld Place. They were long and hooded and completely unfashionable, but she supposed she could bear being dowdy for an hour or so. She passed them around, nearly uttering a sigh of relief when Ron finally covered up his hideous attire. "Viktor, you 'ave to take that hat off," she reproved him.

Vitkor scowled, but took off his musketeer hat. He wrapped himself up in a tattered black cloak and instantly looked like something that should be haunting a graveyard. A little girl with a yo-yo glanced at him and ran screaming home. Apparently it was their day to terrorize the children of London.

"Tee-hee, tee-hee!" Harry seemed to have shrunk again. He looked like a little boy playing dress-up in his green cloak. He bounced on the balls of his feet. "Tee-hee. Are we all ready? Can we go now?"

"Ve can go," answered Viktor, tucking Hermione under an arm.

The Rubik's Cube abruptly shattered. Multi-colored pieces of plastic littered the street. Fred and George looked at one another and shrugged. "Oh, well," said one.

"That's the way it goes," said the other.

They tucked their hands in their pockets and whistled carelessly as they sauntered up the street towards the Leaky Cauldron.

"If we get away with this, it'll be a miracle," grumbled Fleur.

"Everything'll be all right," Harry assured her. "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, after all!"

She was not comforted.

* * * * *

Munch, slurp, gobble, crunch belch.

Narcissa winced. Voldemort was really tearing though the victuals this morning. The little refrigerator she'd placed in his path to slow him down was practically empty already, and she didn't have another one on hand. They weren't the easiest things for wizards to procure.

Damn that Peter Pettigrew. This was all his fault. He'd shown up the night before, blubbering something about getting thrown out of Hogwarts and how his old friends didn't love him anymore. Narcissa had been just about to remind him that he'd spent the last fifteen years giving his friends excellent reasons to loathe him and kick him out the door when Voldemort swept him up in a hug of sympathy. There had followed several hours of maudlin drunkenness and tearful recriminations that didn't end until well after midnight.

And now the Dark Lord was famished. He always ate like a mule after a bender.

She sighed, folded her arms over her chest, and calculated how long it would take him to finish off what was left - even as she did so, he opened the door yet again and took out the plate of cold fried chicken. He didn't even call out "Is anyone going to eat this?" like he usually did, but instead tucked right in.

Fifteen minutes, tops, she figured. A good twenty minutes before the time Lupin had specified. And what would happen then? Would the guests even be assembled for the service yet? Even if they were, would Harry be there? It was all going to be pointless if Harry wasn't there.

To top it all off, she had a spectacular headache. She'd been awakened this morning by the sound of Peter Pettigrew vomiting repeatedly into a toilet.

Even as she weighed her options, an owl flew in the window. It was one she didn't recognize, and she frowned, thinking that this could not possibly mean anything good. Her misapprehensions deepened as she opened the envelope and recognized the handwritings as Lupin's.

Harry has vanished, along with Ron, Fred, and George. I fear they have gone on an expedition. Efforts are being made to locate them ASAP, but please delay Voldemort's arrival another twenty minutes.

Another twenty minutes? She lifted her head. The last of the chicken bones were disappearing down Voldemort's throat. Surely this had to be a record. "God, I'm hungry this morning!" proclaimed the Dark Lord, coming up for air. "Nothing like a few bottles of lager to give a man an appetite!" Standing, he lumbered over to the refrigerator and bent over to peruse the contents once more. His cheeks waggled thoughtfully as he deliberated. Finally he chose the tin of smoked oysters, a dish of cherry tomatoes, cheese, jam, and a loaf of bread, and proceeded to make a spectacularly unappealing sandwich.

Narcissa cursed to see how few items were left in the fridge. Twenty more minutes was impossible. She doubted she had that much food in the house. She could send out house elves to buy more, but it was unlikely they'd return before Voldemort's hand touched the handle of the big refrigerator.

Well, one had to try, she supposed. She quickly snapped out orders to Blimpy and Buppa who were standing nearby. They scurried off at once, not even taking the time to salute. Then she sat down and composed a quick reply to Lupin's missive. He was not going to be happy. Not happy at all.

* * * * *

"So. . . will you be wanting anything. . . gents?" Old Tom, the proprietor of the Leaky Cauldron, eyed the group dubiously.

"No thank you." Excitement made Harry's squeaky little boy voice higher than ever. Tom winced like he was afraid glasses might start shattering. Viktor nudged Ron.

"Hasn't he gone through puberty yet?" whispered the Bulgarian.

"Eh?" asked Ron, blinking in confusion. That was another thing they didn't teach at Hogwarts. It explained why most of the students were so clueless about relationships.

"Never mind." Viktor petted Hermione's head. "I don't know how you survived in that place so long," he murmured affectionately to her.

"Just be quiet," hissed Fleur. If anyone recognized the Bulgarian Seeker, the game was up. Or Harry, for that matter. She grabbed the Boy-Who-Lived by the scruff of his cloak and hauled him back. "We're just passing through to Diagon Alley," she told Tom, smiling. Even though she was cloaked, he looked dazzled. Veela blood was powerful stuff.

"Well, that's okay then," said Tom. He blinked and added a little hopefully: "You certain you don't have time for just one drink?"

"No, we 'ave to. . . What is it?" Harry was tugging on her cloak.

"I have to wee," he told her uncomfortably.

Fleur stifled a groan. "Can't you hold it in a few minutes longer?" She did not want to stay in the Leaky Cauldron another minute longer than they had to. Someone was bound to recognize Viktor by his slouch. Not everyone could pull off a slouch like that.

Harry squirmed. That seemed to be his answer. Fleur sighed. "All right, just be quick about it. And don't let anyone see your face."

The-Boy-Who-Lived took off in a careful gallop. By the look of his gait, he'd already waited until the very last moment. Fred and George chortled and began clumsily imitating him. What a pair of idiots. Fleur shook her head. She felt inexplicably uneasy - even taking into account the fact that she was sneaking off to Knockturn Alley with a quartet of morons and a sulky Bulgarian. No, some sixth sense was causing the back of her neck to prickle, as if a basilisk were slowly sneaking up on her.

She knew there was danger in the room. She could feel it in the air. She could taste it in the wind -

Fred farted gustily and she reminded herself not to be melodramatic ever again. Still, there was something she had to take note of, and soon. Her eyes scanned the room -

-- and all too swiftly landed on the sleek blonde head of Lucius Malfoy.

* * * * *

Lucius Malfoy tossed back his third glass of cherry-flavored vodka and sighed with pleasure as the alcohol began to ease away a little of the tension. Hopefully it would all be over in a couple hours. Harry Potter and Voldemort would fight, would kill one another, and then Narcissa would take over the whole nasty business and run it as she pleased. With any luck, she'd be so busy being boss of the Death Eaters that she wouldn't have time to nag at him for every little thing he did. He'd finally be able to watch the Wizard of Oz in peace. And maybe that Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory movie as well - he'd heard there were little orange men with funny knees in that one. What a delightful possibility.

The Leaky Cauldron was nice and peaceful today. He supposed a lot of people were taking time off to memorialize Dumbledore in some way or another - well, let them go to it, the poor sods. One good thing about being a known Death Eater was that it meant you weren't expected to put in an appearance.

"And another one, Tom," he ordered, lifting a finger.

"Sure thing, Mr. Malfoy," the bartender nodded.

Lucius heard a stifled gasp off to his right. Lucius was a good judge of noises of distress, and this one sounded rather like someone had just realized they were about to get caught doing something very wrong. Intrigued, he turned his head towards the direction of the sound. There was a large group of cloaked people lurking around by the wall that led to Diagon Alley. They had that vague, guilty air that a large group of people wearing cloaks and trying to be inconspicuous was bound to have, but he didn't recognize any of them right off.

No, wait a minute. The tall, slumped one did seem familiar. Lucius took a closer look, recognition dawning. Why, that could only be the Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum! Not everyone could pull off a slouch like that. Wouldn't little Kreckor be excited?

Tom brought Lucius's fresh drink and he sipped at it thoughtfully. Perhaps he should try to get Krum's autograph for Kreckor. Not that he really approved of the boy's hobby - Quidditch was a ridiculous sport, really. And there was the possibility that if Kreckor indulged in flying too much, he'd damage his yah-hahs, and the whole nuisance of rearing him to carry on the noble Malfoy name would be rendered moot - might as well have eaten him for Christmas, like the rest of his siblings.

On the other hand, if he indulged the boy, he wouldn't run whining to Narcissa. Then she'd be more likely to stay off his back for a while, or at least not invite Bellatrix over to spend the weekend.

Lucius sipped more cherry-flavored vodka and pondered. Really it seemed like a little effort to a great end. Unfortunately, he was feeling so mellow and comfortable from the booze that he didn't really care to get up. "One more if you'd be so kind," he told Tom lazily.

He leaned back in his chair and regarded the group once more. What a strange lot. Surely they weren't the rest of the Vrasta Vultures? And was that a cat Krum was carrying? Wasn't there something familiar about those two fellows in the brown cloaks who were gallivanting up and down the room as if they were pretending they had loads in their pants?

And come to think of it, who had let out that little gasp that had alerted him to their presence in the first place? Lucius couldn't imagine Krum making it, even if - well, suffice it to say that if Krum could make such a sound, all his theories about brooms were true and he wasn't going to let Kreckor on one ever again. But he really didn't think Krum had made it.

Uneasiness began to seep through the alcohol-induced serenity. Lucius pushed it ruthlessly aside. He was not going to have his good mood spoiled, damn it! It wasn't often he managed to sneak off to the Leaky Cauldron by himself, and he wouldn't let some weirdos ruin it for him If he ignored them, chances were they'd go away.

Satisfied with this decision, Lucius turned his attention to the new drink Tom had brought. He lifted it to his lips, his nose savoring the cherry goodness of the aroma. Just as he took the first delightful taste, a smallish figure came trotting out of the men's room. "Ready!" it cried.

Lucius choked. That was a voice there was no point in trying to pretend he didn't recognize. That shrill, self-satisfied eunuch tone could only belong to Harry Potter.

What was Harry Potter doing here, at the Leaky Cauldron? He was supposed to be at Dumbledore's funeral, getting prepared for his own.

"Shh, keep your voice down," scolded the shortest of the other cloaked figures. The accent was French, the voice feminine. Lucius noticed her casting a nervous glance in his direction and quickly took another drink. She must have been the one who'd gasped.

"You took a long time, Harry," observed Krum. It was a black-and-white cat he was petting. Lucius had heard the stories around Hogwarts. Hermione.

"Yes, I really had to pee a river!" agreed Harry enthusiastically. He sounded like he'd have enjoyed going into further detail, but the woman cut him off.

"We have to leave quickly."

"Err. . . " One of the cavorting figures began to squirm. "I need to pee now."

"Me too," said the other. Its voice was identical to the first. Fred and George Weasley.

The girl stomped a foot. "Oh, you are all impossible! Can't you 'old it?"

"No."

"No!"

"Then go quickly!" She pointed fiercely and they scampered off. Lucius caught a glimpse of silvery blonde hair and identified Fleur Delacour. The last one, the one mooning by her side like a lovesick orangutan had to be Ron Weasley. This suspicion was confirmed a moment later when Fleur asked him: "Do you 'ave to go too, Ron?"

"No!"

"Really?"

"Really, really!"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure." Ron sounded indignant.

"I bet my bladder would have burst if I'd tried to hold it much longer," Harry nattered on cheerfully. "Guess I drank too much pork gravy at breakfast."

"Ssshh!"

Well, I really couldn't ignore this any longer, can I? thought Lucius to himself. It wasn't that he wanted to get involved. It was that if Narcissa ever found out that he'd tamely sat by and allowed Harry Potter to slip away the day they were planning his execution, well. . . Visions of Bellatrix and a butcher's knife flashed through his head. He could suddenly see himself lying on a platter, an apple in his jaws and his skin crispy brown.

He shuddered violently. No, that was not at all the death he had in mind. Lucius intended to survive well into ripe old age, pretend to have gone deaf so he didn't have to talk to anyone, and finally expire on, say, his two hundredth birthday. Ideally, someone should hire a troupe of midgets to sing 'Happy Birthday' to him so he could go out in a fit of mirth.

Resignedly, he stood. Across the room, Fleur Delacour caught the motion and flinched. "Oh, we're done for!" she wailed, closing her eyes.

"Whot?" asked Harry. He turned around to look, an expression of gape-mouthed stupidity on his face. He had a finger stuck in his ear again, dredging out the wax. He froze as he recognized Draco's father.

There was a long silence. Guilt crept in and camped on that silence. At last Harry tittered nervously.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy!" he chirped, attempting to be cute.

Lucius sighed. "You're not supposed to be here, Harry," he said. Her swept the rest a disapproving look. "Or the rest of you, for that matter."

Fleur pulled nervously at her hair. Ron scrunched up his face and blubbered inarticulately. Krum just got a little sulkier.

"I'm going to have to contact the school right -- "

Something hit him in the back with the force of an express train. Lucius found himself kissing the floorboards with something roughly the weight of a telephone booth sitting atop him.

Or, more correctly, two somethings.

"Sorry!" chortled Fred, patting him on the bottom. "Didn't see you there."

George adjusted his fly. "All drained. We're ready to go now."

"Get his wand!" screeched Harry, taking advantage of the situation.

"You mean this?" Fred held it up. He'd lifted it out of sheer criminal habit.

"Bah-hah-hah!" Harry snatched it. A second later, Lucius's own wand was being leveled at his nose. "You're coming with us, mate!" The-Boy-Who-Lived cackled, and the triumph in his green goggle-eyes was as evil as any expression Bellatrix had ever managed to muster. Lucius whimpered, wishing he'd followed his first instinct and ignored the lot of them. There were some days when you just couldn't win.

Fleur tugged on Harry's sleeve. "Let's go before anyone else shows up!" she hissed.

"Right," said Harry, flicking the wand. "On your feet, Mr. Malfoy." He surveyed the group with the air of a general assessing his troops. "Now, is everybody ready?"

"Er. . ." Ron squirmed. "I have to pee."

Fleur kicked him in the rear.