Harry Potter and the Year of Living Stupidly

Chapter Fourteen

Friends in High Places

Lupin came back from his inspection of the funeral preparations to find Sirius waiting for him in his office. "I have a report," said the dead ex-convict as the werewolf came into the room.

Lupin stopped brushing off his mourning cloak and paid attention. "Harry's been sighted?" he asked hopefully.

"No, heard. They flooed to Grimmauld Place," said Sirius, well, grimly.

Sighing, Lupin pulled out a chair and flopped into it. "I suppose it's too much to hope that they're still there?"

"Far too much. Great-grandpa says they must have left half an hour ago."

"Or more," said Phineas Nigellus, back in his frame and idly buffing his fingernails against his waistcoat. "My nap was disturbed by someone giggling 'tee-hee' in a shrill, annoying voice, but. . . "

"But he decided to ignore it and go back to sleep," finished Sirius snidely.

"Of course I did! Sounded like a dratted house elf, only less masculine -- "

"That would be Harry Potter."

"Yes, well, since as far as I knew there was no reason for Harry Potter to be sneaking around the Grimmauld Place giggling, I don't see why you're taking me to task for not running over here to report it at once." Phineas blew on his nails, now polished to a brilliant shine. "You'd find it highly irritating if I told you about every strange noise that occurs at Grimmauld Place."

Lupin held up a hand to forestall further quibbling. "Let's not argue over might-have-beens, all right? At least we have an inkling of where Harry went."

"London," snorted Sirius, "and that, my friend, covers a hell of a lot of territory."

"Harry doesn't know London that well. He's probably heading for Diagon Alley."

"What for?"

"What for. I don't know what for!" Lupin bit back a snarl. "If I did, I could get there ahead of the little snot and catch him, couldn't I?"

"Don't snap at me, Moony."

"Sorry." Lupin took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I'm just so on edge. I mean, trust Harry to muck things up just when we had it all planned!"

"Blame yourself for not keeping a closer watch on him," said Phineas languidly.

"While I freely admit that Harry's a troublemaker, it's not really like him to leave the castle on a whim. He's too lazy."

"That's true," said Sirius, looking thoughtful, "so if we can figure out what motivated him to leave, we'll know where he went."

"A pork roast," said Phineas at once. "What else would Harry go to London for?"

"I don't know, said Sirius testily. "Perhaps the first meeting of the Harry Potter's A Really Swell Guy and We'd Like to Kiss His Ass Fan Club?"

"Ugh." Lupin massaged his temples. "Wouldn't it be easier to just search the whole British Isles?"

"No." Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Stop being so melodramatic, love-wolf. What do you think?"

"I think I don't care to attempt to fathom the workings of Harry's mind, Sirius. Call me mental if you like, but that's it."

"One imagines it is a dank and scabby place," said Phineas thoughtfully. "Rich with the smell of pig grease and ripe with half-identified adolescent fantasies of nascent sexuality -- "

"Great-grandfather. . . " Sirius grimaced. "Don't ever, ever, ever refer to Harry's sexuality again, okay?"

Phineas shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Deceive yourself if you like, great-grandson, but I've taught little squirts like these and I can tell you that Harry is definitely at that age where he looks at his wand and gets ideas -- "

Fortunately, before Phineas could give so much as a hint as to what these 'ideas' might be, an owl flew in the window, a handsome brown owl with manicured nails. Lupin knew it had to be from Narcissa. Only she would be fashion-conscious enough to get an owl a pedicure. There was a sinking sensation in his stomach as he untied the note from the owl's leg. This couldn't possibly be any good.

Your friend Pettigrew came over last night and he and the Dark Lord got soused. Now Lord V. is eating like a horse. Can't hold him much longer - find Harry soon.

Lupin cursed aloud. Sirius pulled out his desk chair and slumped in it. "Tell me the worst, Moony."

"Effing Peter ran over to the Malfoy's house last night - probably looking for consolation - and he and Voldemort got stinking drunk. Apparently now Voldemort's devouring everything at record speed."

Sirius passed a hand over his face. "Giving us that much less time to locate Harry before the funeral begins. Thank you bloody much, Peter."

"We're either going to have to find Harry very soon or Narcissa's going to have to take the portkey spell off the fridge entirely. And then we're back to square one." Lupin tossed down the note as if the very sight of it disgusted him. "If we fail so openly, it's likely to put Bellatrix in a very bad mood."

"Or a very good one," said Sirius. "Not that that isn't just as appalling."

"So you'd better find Harry," said Phineas, yawning.

"Yes, we'd better find Harry." Lupin studied the wall where Dumbledore's portrait had hung until recently - it had been moved into the back hall for the service, which accounted for the unusual silence. "I'm going to trust you to do it, Padfoot."

"Me?"

"How many Padfoots are there around here?"

"You're getting snippy again."

"Look, I'm headmaster and Tonks is a teacher. We have to make an appearance at the memorial. Moody. . . is too unsubtle, and let's face it, Arthur can be a damned fool. Take Kingsley with you if you like."

"Ech. He'll go all 'action commando' on me, you know. With the mirrored sunglasses and all."

"I think you can put up with it," said Lupin dryly. He checked his watch. "Right. People are going to start arriving soon. I have to get to the memorial and look sad."

"Too bad you never took acting lessons."

"Convincing James I was only trying to help Lily get some dust out of her eye when he caught us together in the girls' lavatory was equal to an entire summer studying Shakespeare."

"Eh? What exactly do you mean?" asked Sirius suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing," replied Lupin a little too quickly. "Just forget I said that."

* * * * *

Lucius had never been so humiliated in his life. No, not even that Sunday when Narcissa insisted he dress up as the Easter Bunny and hide chocolate eggs for Kreckor to find. Actually that one had embarrassed Kreckor too, but then he had been fourteen at the time.

Still, it didn't quite compare to the indignity of being marched along Diagon Alley with Harry Potter jabbing your own wand into your buttocks and giggling.

"I'm moving, I'm moving!" he said crossly. "You can stop prodding me with that thing."

Harry looked surprised, as if it had never occurred to him that anyone would object to being stuck in the arse with a wand. "I do it to myself all the time," he said.

Lucius, Viktor and Fleur stopped dead. Harry, Ron, and the twins promptly bumped into them. "You do vhat all the time?" demanded Viktor in the tone of a man wanting his worst fears denied.

"I do a lot of things with my wand," Harry explained. "It's a convenient back-scratcher, and it's also good for getting out the grime under my fingernails. As for my bum -- "

"I've decided I don't want to hear this," said Lucius, beginning to walk again, a little quicker than before. "Ugh! What a nasty little boy you are, Harry! I'm beginning to think it would be necessary to take you out even if you weren't the Dark Lord's sworn enemy."

"Sticks and stones," replied Harry brattily. "Anyway, I'm the one with the power now, mate!" He jabbed Lucius again.

"Don't. Do. That. At least not unless I give you a reason to."

"You're my enemy. That's reason enough." Harry lined the wand up for another shot but Fleur took it away from him.

"That's really disturbing, 'arry."

"Is it? Why?"

"Because you're gleefully jabbing an older man in the -- " No, she shouldn't have to explain this. "Never mind. Just let someone else watch Malfoy."

"How 'bout me? Can I have a go at him?" asked Ron, ever eager for a bit of thuggery. He reached for the wand but Fleur slapped his hand away.

"I'll do it. You wipe your nose." Ron of course didn't have a handkerchief, so she had to hunt one out herself and hold it to his face, confirming her suspicion that each and every one of them was determined to regress into infancy before they reached Knockturn Alley. Which meant they'd be in nappies soon, for Knockturn Alley was only a block away now, according to the twins.

'According to the twins.' That was a scary phrase. "Are you sure we are 'eading in the right direction?" she asked.

"Absolutely," answered George. "Just give it a minute and you'll be able to smell Knockturn Alley."

"I can 'ardly wait," she muttered. Diagon Alley was pungent enough. Not only did it reek of strange herbs and exotic animals, but it was also ripe with the smell of many people of dubious hygiene who donned heavy robes before going out in the sun to shop. One would have thought that wizards, with all their many powers, would have found a cure for B.O. by now. One would be wrong.

But in any case, the twins turned out to be right for once. Knockturn Alley had a stench all its own. Although Fleur would never learn this little fact, it smelled almost precisely like a combination of Dumbledore's breath, Hagrid's armpits, and Grawp's bum - and truth be told, she was probably happier for this lack of knowledge. She took one sniff and threw her sleeve over her face and tried to breathe solely through her mouth.

That proved to be a mistake. Now she could taste it. It smelled better.

"Oh my god," she gagged, wishing she wasn't too ladylike to spit in public. "You actually go down there? Of your own free will?"

"Sure." Fred and George took deep, exhilarating whiffs of the miasma. "Ahh! Breathe deeply, lads! That's a manly odor, it is!"

Ron obediently took a deep breath, turned green, and fell over on his side twitching. Viktor grumpily hauled him to his feet by the scruff of his cloak.

"I've never met a man who smelled anything like this," Fleur informed the twins.

"Clearly you've never met Mundungus Fletcher."

"Dung smells worse though."

"Yep, true, he does."

"Well, if you'd told me it would smell like this, I'd never have come along in the first place!"

"Don't be such a wuss," said Harry. "It's not that bad." Indeed, he seemed relatively unaffected. Of course, what with all the rich, fatty foods the Gryffindor boys routinely devoured, their dorm room could get mighty stinky at night. "Let's go."

"You really shouldn't wander around Knockturn Alley," Lucius warned them primly. "It's a dodgy sort of place."

"You know, Hagrid told me exactly the same thing," said Harry reminiscently, and Lucius shut up, thoroughly disgusted with himself.

They ventured in, Fleur stepping cautiously to avoid treading in any of the steaming lumps or one of the many puddles of unidentifiable goo that lined the street. The twins, on the other hand, frolicked straight on, careless as to where they placed their big, clumsy feet. They quickly built up a crust of sticky matter on their shoes and trousers. Once they stopped to talk to a vagrant who was squatting in a doorway, shaking a whiskey bottle disconsolately. "Cheer up, mate," Fred told him. "We've invented some new stuff."

"If you come round and test it, we'll give you two Galleons," finished George cajolingly. After a moment the drunk nodded.

"That's disgusting," said Fleur, stepping over another drunk's outstretched legs.

Fred and George shrugged. "Works for us," said one.

"It's not like anyone would miss any of these people anyway," said Lucius.

"Are you on the twins' side?" Fleur demanded, and again Lucius shut up, feeling ashamed. Perhaps he just shouldn't speak at all. Perhaps he should be making plans to escape - although the French girl seemed pretty steady with a wand and you just never knew what Harry might do if you gave him half an excuse to cut loose.

But it wasn't only that. He was becoming genuinely curious as to why this lot had decided to venture into Knockturn Alley rather than attend Dumbledore's funeral.

"Why did you come here?" he asked abruptly.

"Eh?" Fleur glanced away from her survey of Knockturn Alley. Her face was pale and her voice shook. Lucius took a look himself, to see what was upsetting her. Two men in overcoats so grimy you couldn't even guess what the original color might have been were playing tug-of-war with a baby basilisk. Another group of malformed miscreants squatted around a crackling green fire. Someone's head was merrily roasting in the coals. A half-naked Cyclops groaned and vomited noisily into a corner. And then there was the scantily-clad woman with the Dark Mark tattooed over every inch of her body that was doing something unspeakable with a grindylow. Just your typical day in Knockturn Alley, thought Lucius with a mental shrug.

"I am here to help Herm-oh-ninny," volunteered Viktor Krum unexpectedly.

"Ah." Lucius barely managed not to shrug. As far as he was concerned, Hermione was better off as a cat, but he had no intention of arguing with a lovesick Bulgarian twit. "A noble goal, to be sure."

"Oh, yes." Harry put on his best sincere expression. "We've all been feeling pretty bad about Hermione."

"So is that why you're here?"

"Nope!" giggled Harry, and jabbed Lucius in the rump again. He was far too fond of that activity for anyone's comfort. Even Ron eyed him dubiously.

"Put your wand away, 'arry," Fleur commanded. "I 'ave it under control."

Lucius rubbed his rump. "Thank you," he told her dryly.

She looked a trifle abashed. "I didn't know about 'arry's little 'obby when we took you prisoner," she said. "But you understand we cannot 'ave you running back to tell on us."

"Yes, of course, I quite understand," replied Lucius. "It's all right; I'm accustomed to abuse. Although Narcissa never tried the arse-jabbing routine." Was she going to laugh at the bruises on his bum.

"I'd abuse you too, if you were my husband," Fred told him earnestly.

"Shut up."

"Bah-hah-hah-hah!"

"And you shut up too, 'arry!" Fleur hesitated, looking at Lucius. "You know this Knockturn Alley place, no? Perhaps you could tell us where we might find a spell to 'elp 'ermione?" she asked, hesitating before adding: "And uh. . . maybe a few curses as well?"

Curses. Hmm. He wondered whom she wanted to curse. Interest pricked, he stroked his chin. "Hmm, well, I'd try Magical Morton's All-Purpose Mayhem Emporium."

"And where is that?"

"Two blocks up and one over on the left."

"You've been here often?"

Lucius shrugged.

"I think we should go to SKANK," argued George.

"SKANK?"

"Sister Killworthy's Awfully Nasty Knick-knacks," explained Fred. "It's a lot of fun, really. She has the largest range of illegally enchanted objects in Britain."

"Oooh!" cooed Harry delightedly.

"That's not what we're looking for," Fleur told him.

"Maybe on the way back, then," said Harry. It was very hard dislodge ideas from Harry's skull once they'd taken root.

"Let's go," growled Viktor impatiently.

They pulled their cloaks over their heads and skulked down Knockturn Alley, managing to avoid the attention of everyone except those who were the slightest bit intelligent or observant. Their progress was slow - Knockturn Alley being extremely narrow, they practically had to walk in single file to avoid brushing against the walls, which only the twins were willing to do. The grime had already worn a hole through Fred's cloak and eaten away a part of his sleeve. His skin was undamaged however - apparently even the slime of Knockturn Alley was reluctant to take a bite of the twins.

Magical Morton's All-Purpose Mayhem Emporium was surprisingly clean - for Knockturn Alley, at least. Only half the storefront had rotted away and the graffiti was slightly less obscene than elsewhere.

"Hey!" exclaimed Harry, pointing to a bit of writing on one wall that read: Harry Potter can kiss my bollocks. They couldn't tell if Harry was thrilled or outraged by his discovery. Lucius shrugged.

"Knochturn Alley is full of dark wizards," he said. "You can't expect them to be fans of yours."

"Bah," muttered Harry, glaring at the graffiti. "If I ever found out who wrote that, I'm going to make them sorry!"

"Look at this one!" called Ron, pointing. "For a good time call Lucius Malfoy, number seventeen -- "

Lucius hastily grabbed his wand from Fleur and obliterated the last of the message. He did not need to start receiving a bunch of owls from 'lonely' little boys. "Shall we go in the store?" he asked, handing the wand back. Fleur gave him a bemused look.

"Oh, yes!" Forgetting all about the offensive graffiti, Harry rushed into the store bah-ing delightedly. Ron followed just as eagerly, while the twins moseyed after, trying for an air of worldly sophistication and managing to look constipated.

"Just think," said Lucius, pausing outside, "we could burn down the store with the whole lot of them inside. Spare the world a lot of suffering."

"Never vork," said Viktor dourly.

"Oh, no?"

"No. They'd all suddenly have to pee at the same time and put it out or something depressingly stupid like that."

"You probably have a point."

* * * * *

At the Leaky Cauldron. . .

"Come on with it, man! Yeah, bring it on!"

Sirius sighed and ran a hand through his hair self-consciously. "Kingsley, do you have to be so damn conspicuous? All we're trying to do is find out if anyone saw Harry."

Kingsley scowled behind his mirrored shades. Sirius had to admit he looked damn cool in his slick leather coat and high boots, a little gold hoop earring in his left ear. "I'm with the program, man. Chill."

"Right." Sirius turned back to old Tom, who was understandably nervous about the sudden apparition of two men, one in dark glasses and a sinister black coat. "Sorry about that, Tom. What were you saying?"

Tom flicked Kingsley a nervous look before replying. Kingsley was scowling at one of the more dubious customers and fingering something in his pocket. It was probably just his wand, but then again, it would have been no surprise to Sirius if it were a semi-automatic. "I was saying, yes, I've seen Harry Potter today."

Sirius's ears perked up. "You have? When?"

"Maybe forty minutes ago." Tom gestured to the wall near the entrance to Diagon Alley. "It was a fairly large group, maybe half a dozen people. Yes, I think half a dozen."

"Half a dozen?" repeated Sirius, surprised. Kingsley leaned ominously over Tom.

"You better not be messin' with us, hear?"

Sirius waved him back. "Cool it. I'm just a little surprised. We thought Harry was probably with his friend Ron Weasley and Ron's twin brothers. Any idea who the other two were?"

"One was Viktor Krum," said Tom positively. "No one else could pull off a slouch like that."

"Viktor Krum." Sirius digested this news with surprise. "And the other?"

"A woman." Despite the circumstance, Tom's eyes became vaguely misty. "A beautiful woman with silvery-blonde hair and a French accent."

"Aha! Fleur Delacour." Sirius entertained vivid memories of her himself, but then most males who came into her presence did. "That makes a bit of sense," he told Kingsley.

"What you mean, fool?"

"Well, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang probably sent those two to represent them at Dumbledore's service. Since they were the Triwizard Cup champions and all."

"Yeah. Which means what the hell they wanna come back to Hogwarts for, huh? Answer me that."

"Probably they didn't. Which is why they skivved off with Harry instead." Sirius was feeling pretty clever. He located Tom, who was trying to blend in with the wallpaper. "Just a couple more questions and we'll get out of your hair. Do you have any idea where they were heading?"

"No. They basically stopped in here to use the loo. But -- "

"But?" Kingsley did that ominous lean thing again.

"But," squeaked Tom, "they kidnapped Lucius Malfoy."

"Huh?" grunted Sirius. Kingsley reached over and grabbed Tom by his lapels.

"What you mean by that? Huh? Answer, fool!"

Sirius caught hold of Kingsley's arm. "Ease off. He can't speak with you shaking him like that. Sorry, Tom. Kingsley just gets a little. . . carried away by his work sometimes."

"Lucius Malfoy was in here drinking," gasped Tom, anxious to get these two out of his tavern as soon as possible. "I think he recognized Harry. . . he went over and began talking to them. I think he was going to take them back to Hogwarts, but they disarmed him and forced him to go with them."

"And you didn't call the authorities?"

Tom shrugged. "It was only Lucius Malfoy. It isn't the first time he's been kidnapped. Let me tell you, those Death Eaters can get up to some strange games. Why, one time -- " He stopped.

"Go on," said Sirius, intrigued.

"No, never mind. It has nothing to do with what happened today. Anyway, it involves your cousin Bellatrix. And a whip, some mint jelly, a bowler hat, and about three yards of pink crepe satin. It would only upset you."

"I've already heard enough to upset me." Sirius gagged and wished he could take the time out for a drink to wash that mental picture away, but if there was one thing more challenging than going on a mission with Kingsley, it was drinking with him. The big black man always became awfully maudlin and soppy when he was drunk, then later had to be almost forcibly restrained from singing 'Shaft.' No, this was one mission he'd have to finish sober.

"Thanks, Tom. I mean, not for the image of Bellatrix wielding a whip, for which I'll hate you forever, but for the info on Harry."

"Yeah, thanks fool!" Kingsley pulled the whatever-it-was out of his pocket and pointed it at Tom. It was a semi-automatic. Tom gaped at it, then screamed and cowered as a stream of bullets went past his right ear. Fortunately for him, Sirius had grabbed Kingsley's arm in time to spoil his aim.

"What are you doing?!" demanded Sirius.

Kingsley looked a trifle sheepish. "Uh. . . makin' sure he don't tell no one else?"

"Who cares if he tells anyone else?!" Sirius wrenched the gun away. "Bad cop! No doughnut."

Kingsley sulked, for if there was one thing he loved more than mindless violence, it was a good doughnut, especially the kind with chocolate frosting and colorful little sprinkles.

"I suppose the next thing to do is ask other people if they've seen Harry," mused Sirius as he tucked the gun away in his coat. "Surely a group that large couldn't have passed without anyone noticing."

"And if they don't tell, they gonna regret it," agreed Kingsley ominously, now fingering something else in a different pocket.

"Absolutely," agreed Sirius wearily. There were already a few things he was regretting. Like not doing a weapons check on Kingsley before they set out.

After the two men left, old Tom ran to the front of the tavern and slapped the CLOSED sign onto the door. Then he snatched up all the floo powder he had at hand, stuffed some clothes into a suitcase, and jumped into the nearest fireplace.

"The Windsor Hotel, Bermuda," he announced clearly, and vanished in a flash of green flame. Tom had been suspecting for some while that he needed a holiday. This morning's events had convinced him he'd better take it sooner rather than later.

* * * * *

"Ooohhhh! What is that?" A long finger reached out, only to be slapped away.

"I don't know, 'arry, but don't touch it. It looks nasty." Fleur stared at the scaly, vicious-looking statue Harry was ogling and grimaced. "Why are you attracted to the most disgusting objects in the store?"

"Don't know," answered Harry, sucking on his thumb. He still couldn't tear his gaze away. Fleur was certain he'd try to pet it again as soon as her back was turned.

"Honestly, boy, you're the type who would try to shake hands with a Hand of Glory," said Lucius disgustedly - and, although he didn't know it, all too accurately.

"Yes," said Harry, who was still googling at the statue and not really listening.

Magical Morton's All-Purpose Mayhem Emporium was crammed fit to bursting with fascinating and vaguely evil objects - objects the group seemed all too determined to destroy in one way or another before the hour was out. The twins were romping alarmingly through the store. The floor shook as they cavorted past, and it would come as a surprise to no one to learn they'd pocketed a few items for later. Ron was too much of a coward to actually touch anything, but he looked excited enough to wet his pants as he gawked around. Viktor had found the only clear corner in the entire cramped shop to slouch in. Perhaps he felt he needed some practice. Fleur herself secretly coveted a pair of sparkling earrings that promised to make a love goddess out of anyone who donned them - not that she'd ever admit she actually needed such things. It just would be amusing to wear them and turn Bill into a drooling puddle of lust and then snap her fingers in his face, walk off, and shag Charlie instead. Or perhaps Tonks. Maybe it was time to give lesbianism a try. Men were such pigs.

Pigs. That only reminded her of Harry. She glanced over to see what the little polo-shirted fool was up to. Sure enough, he was still staring lovingly at the horrid statue. She hoped it ate him. Sighing, she located Lucius Malfoy, sitting in a large wooden chair shaped like an elephant's head, complete with tusks. "Well," she said.

He cocked his head to one side. "Well what?" he replied mildly. He seemed perfectly at ease.

"Well, where's the proprietor?"

"Oh, in the back, looking through his stock. I asked him about his freeze-dried midgets."

"Why?" asked Fleur, who was not privy to this bit of Malfoy insanity.

"So I can laugh at it," Lucius explained. "Lord knows I'll need a good laugh after today," he concluded glumly.

Fleur took a seat next to him on a chair shaped like a zebra. "And why is that?" she asked.

Lucius looked carefully around the room before replying. The twins had managed to get themselves sucked into a vacuum jar. Two legs and one hand protruded from the mouth, waving feebly for help. Ron looked ready to poop his drawers with alarm as he watched Harry inch ever closer and closer to stroking his coveted statue. And Viktor skulked in the corner with Hermione perched on one of his shoulders. No one was in a position to overhear.

Nevertheless, Lucius leaned close. "We were going to stage a duel between Harry and Voldemort today -- "

Fleur winced. "Don't say that name, please."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "You're not afraid of him, are you?"

"Well. . . " She hesitated. "I don't know what to think. Should I be?"

Lucius snorted. "Of course not! Stupid bastard couldn't even make himself a proper nose when he resurrected himself. You should see the mess when he gets a cold."

"No nose?" asked Fleur.

"No ears either. And balder than an egg. Basically he looks like the Pillsbury Doughboy's scrawny inbred cousin."

"Sound 'orrible!"

"Well, let's just say he's not going to be getting laid any time soon. Even Bellatrix isn't sick enough to do it. So, anyway, he and Harry were supposed to fight each other to the death today, but Harry decided to come here instead. And I just know my wife will blame it all on me." Lucius sighed and hung his head.

Fleur felt a surge of sympathy. "You poor man," she murmured. "I am so sorry we 'ad to take you captive."

"Why are you doing this, Fleur?"

"Bill's been cheating on me."

"With Lupin," Lucius nodded.

She stared at him. "Does everyone know?"

"Everyone who has a better than nodding acquaintance with Lupin can guess."

"And 'ow close is your relationship with Lupin?" Fleur asked.

"That is none of your business," replied Lucius sharply, but there was the faintest touch of pink in his cheeks. "But to get back to the subject at hand, if we don't return Harry to Hogwarts soon, the duel will be off, and we'll lose an opportunity to be free of the little git for the rest of our lives."

"BAHHHHHHH!" Harry suddenly went flying arse-first across the room. He'd given in to temptation and licked the statue. Now it looked as if his tongue were on fire. For a moment he danced desperately in place. Then he ran out the door, smoke pouring from his mouth, and dunked his head in the nearest puddle. There was a sizzling sound followed by a deep sigh of relief and a smell like lightly roasted pork.

"Getting rid of 'im forever would be nice," said Fleur wistfully. "Do you think we can still make the funeral?"

"Maybe if we're quick about finishing up our business here."

"Well then perhaps you shouldn't 'ave asked about the freeze-dried midgets."

"I couldn't resist."

"Ahem!" Both Fleur and Lucius turned around at the sound. There was a round, beaming, jolly-looking man holding up a dusty box with both hands. A button on his lapel proudly proclaimed 'Hello! I'm Magical Morton!' Funny, thought Fleur, he didn't seem at all the type to run a shop loaded with dangerous and probably evil magical paraphernalia. "Found it," he announced, shaking the box gently. "One dehydrated Munchkin, complete with blue costume and lollipop."

"Oh." Lucius clasped his hands together. It looked like a supplication, or perhaps a prayer. "Oh, it's too beautiful." He gently took the box from Magical Morton and examined the cover. "He sings, he dances, he plays games. Just add water." Lucius clasped the box to his chest and shut his eyes. "I can die a happy man now."

"Only three hundred Galleons," said Magical Morton, and Fleur instantly revised her estimate of the man. To ask such a price for a freeze-dried Munchkin was wicked indeed.

Lucius paid it at once.

* * * * *

"Excuse me, but have you seen -- "

"Answer, fool!"

"Kingsley, you have to let me get the question out first," said Sirius, exasperated.

Kingsley folded his arms across his chest and glared impatiently. Sirius wished he could send him off somewhere for a while - but of course he couldn't be trusted on his own. Kingsley had already kicked in three doors looking for suspects. Three unlocked doors. Someone had seen far too many episodes of COPS. "Sorry about that," said Sirius, turning his attention back to the shaken, middle-aged shopkeeper. "I just want to know if you've seen a group of six people in cloaks who look like they're trying to avoid attention?"

"Why, yes," replied the woman, lifting a shaking hand to brush strands of hair off her forehead. "They headed down that block there." She looked nervously towards Kingsley as he let out a snort of disgust. These people were being way too cooperative for his tastes. He hadn't had an excuse to smash in a single face or do the Master Noogie Kung Fu Grip of Extreme Painfulness he'd seen on television late one night. If people didn't stop being so goddamned obliging, Kingsley vowed to himself, they were going to get in really big trouble.

"Thank you," said Sirius, oblivious to the sinister thoughts lurking behind Kingsley's mirrored sunglasses. "Er, do you know what shops are down that way?" He knew it wasn't the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop. They'd already passed that one.

The woman wrinkled her nose. "It's not the nicest section of Diagon Alley," she confided. "There's a new joke shop in the vicinity -- "

"Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes."

"Could be," she answered primly. "It has a terrible reputation, whatever it's called. Stories of all sorts of strange noises. . . and smells."

"Maybe that's where they're going," Sirius muttered to himself.

"Why?" asked Kingsley bluntly.

"If I knew why, I could get in there ahead of the little snot and cut him off!" snapped Sirius, knowing he was echoing Lupin and disgusted with himself for it. It was impossible to see any expression behind the shades, but something about Kingsley went about ten degrees cooler and Sirius found himself suddenly very, very glad that he was already dead.

"Don't you back-talk me," rumbled Kingsley dangerously, managing to sound something like a rocket launcher sputtering to life.

"Sorry, King. I'm just frustrated."

"Gonna be dead if you don't -- " Kingsley just remembered that Sirius was and broke off with a curse. It didn't help that the ex-convict smirked openly. "Well, gonna be double-dead if you -- "

"What does that entail?" asked Sirius, cocking his head interestedly.

"It means I stuff yo' insubstantial ass into . . ." He paused for dramatic effect. "Mundugus's underwear hamper!"

Sirius felt his jaw drop. "You wouldn't dare."

Now it was Kingsley's turn to smirk. "Try me, fool."

"I don't think I will, thanks." Sirius compulsively checked his watch. A quarter past eleven. Shit. The guests would already have started arriving. And Voldemort could arrive at any second too, if what Narcissa said was true. And then what? Sirius didn't like to contemplate what the effect the sudden arrival of the Dark Lord on top of dead Dumbledore's chest would be like.

"Time's running out," he said curtly. "Lets' go check out the Weasley boys' shop."

* * * * *

The white lilies were perfectly arranged in tall graceful vases. The chairs were draped in black crepe and black satin bows adorned the columns. Muted organ music played in the background. Soft gray light filtered through the partially shaded windows to strike the open casket and gently illuminate its peaceful occupant.

"Stupid bastard."

Lupin winced. "Really Aberforth, that's not a kind way to speak of the dead -- "

"Oh, no." Aberforth shook his shaggy and eminently disreputable head adamantly. "Ta for the kind words and all, but Albus was a stupid bastard, take it from me. I'm surprised he managed to survive this long, if you want the honest truth. I thought he'd go at the age of five when he almost asphyxiated sucking on his own left foot -- "

"Don't talk about that!" hollered the portrait of Dumbledore from its place of honor above the casket.

"He actually got his anklebone past his lips - can you believe that? Stupid bastard." Aberforth shook his head again.

"You're just jealous that Mummy liked me best!"

"She did not!"

"Did too!"

Barely ten minutes into the viewing, what had been meant as a solemn occasion had already degenerated into a farce. But then Aberforth tended to have that effect on a room - and the odor of ill-groomed livestock that always seemed to hang around him certainly didn't help. The other mourners were discreetly trying to keep a distance from him. Except for McGonagall. Her nostrils kept flaring as she searched for the source of the aroma, positive that something tormentable was within easy reach.

Lupin grabbed Aberforth's sleeve. "Please keep your voice down," he murmured, determined to at least make an attempt to salvage the situation. "After all, it is a funeral."

"Only the funeral of that eejit," replied Aberforth, jerking his head in the direction of the casket. "Personally, I intend to get soused. Again. You should have seen me when I first heard the news," he continued somewhat dreamily. "I haven't been that drunk since the time I found that little black-and-white sheep wandering all by it lonesome and -- "

"Yes, well, other people are going to miss him even if you don't," Lupin quickly interrupted.

Aberforth's eyes widened. He gawked around the room as if hoping to spot one of these freaks of nature. "Go on, pull the other one," he said after a moment's scrutiny.

"No, honestly," Lupin insisted. "The students were very upset."

"Seem to have gotten over it all right," replied Aberforth picking something small and black out of one of his ears and flicking it away. A few more guests sidled away. Lupin cast a helpless look at Tonks, hoping she'd come to his rescue, but she pretended she didn't see him and kept talking to Amanda Bones.

"Perhaps you'd care to give a speech at the service?" suggested Lupin, knowing full well that it was a lousy idea. At least if Aberforth said something truly outrageous - check that, when Aberforth said something truly outrageous -- it would give him a chance to drink without anyone noticing. He could really use some whiskey right now. He had to settle for surreptitiously taking a bite out of a bar of extra-dark chocolate he had stashed in his pocket.

"A speech," mused Aberforth, taking to the idea almost as ardently as he'd take to the sudden appearance of a donkey in high heels and a pink girdle, "yeah, all right. I could say a word or two -- set the record straight as it were. You know, now that I think about it, I am going to miss the old sod a wee bit."

"Well, naturally. Albus was your brother after all."

"Nah, it's not that. He was just always good for a laugh." He spat wistfully into the coffin. "I once dared him to paint his cheeks pink and squat in the peaches at the fruit stand and he did it. Some old lady came 'long and stuck her finger into 'em too. Hah!"

Lupin, quickly surmising that 'cheeks' did not refer to a portion of Dumbledore's face, took another chomp of his chocolate bar.

"Oh? And what about the time I dared you to drink bubotuber pus?" yelled Dumbledore's portrait challengingly.

"I didn't do it."

"You were so - oh, that's right; you didn't." Dumbledore frowned, trying to come up with a witty riposte. Being patently incapable of doing so, he settled for insisting again: "Well, Mummy loved me best!"

"Well Papa thought you were a fruit!"

"Papa didn't like you either!"

"Papa said you were a pansy!"

"Papa said you were a sheep-lover!"

"Papa was right on both counts," muttered Lupin to himself. His chocolate bar was disappearing all too quickly.

"Auntie Elmira called me her little angel-muffin."

"Auntie Elmira drank toilet cleanser when she ran out of vodka."

"Perhaps you could say a few words now?" broke in Lupin, now only thinking of his hip flask and how to reach it without being noticed.

"Sure," agreed Aberforth. "How about I recite a poem?"

"That would be lovely," said Amanda Bones sternly, hoping to strike a more respectful tone.

Aberforth took a deep breath:

"Happy funeral dear Albus.

You really were a schmuck.

Now you're dead and you're rotting,

And I don't give a -- "

"Very nice!" interrupted Tonks with her best false cheery smile plastered to her face. Dumbledore's picture burst into tears.

"I don't want him here anymore!" he sobbed. "He's ruining my special day!"

"No, he is not," Tonks told him soothingly. "You're still the important one, I promise. We're all going to talk about how wonderful you are later. Right, Headmaster?"

Lupin, who was trying to casually tuck his hip flask back into his pocket, was not pleased to have the spotlight turned on him just then. "Just so, Professor Tonks. Of course we'll all have our fingers crossed behind our backs."

Aberforth hooted with derisive glee. Dumbledore puckered up and began wailing in earnest. Tears flowed down his cheeks to soak his beard, which quickly took on the appearance of a half-drowned rat. Tonks stepped on Lupin's foot. "Nice one, Remus," she hissed in his ear.

"I didn't think Dumbledore was smart enough to catch that one," he explained apologetically. Deciding it was just not worth the bother of hiding the hip flask, he lifted it to his lips again. Tonks snatched it from him.

"How much have you had to drink?" she demanded.

"Not nearly enough."

Dumbledore's screams increased in volume. He began banging on his frame, causing the entire picture to shudder. "I hate all of you!" he screeched.

"You're the headmaster. You can't appear at Dumbledore's funeral drunk!"

"Nymphadora, I honestly don't know how anyone intends to make it through this nonsense sober. I honestly don't."

"Cry baby! Mummy's boy!" shouted Aberforth. "Namby-pamby Albus, the dancing daisy boy!" His goat-like odor was increasing as he ranted. McGonagall was virtually beside herself with excitement. She sniffed and snuffled quite audibly as she came closer and closer to Aberforth.

In a fit of petulance, Dumbledore crumbled up the black bow on his frame and threw it at his brother. It fell feebly to the floor, several feet from its intended target. Aberforth laughed louder and more sardonically. "I was a lovely daisy!" Dumbledore screamed. "I could have been a star! You're nothing! Mummy hated you, and. . . and. . . and. . . AND I HATE YOU TOO!!!!"

"Dear god, he's channeling Harry," muttered Tonks. Lupin took advantage of her distraction to snatch back his hip flask.

Aberforth held his hands limply over his head and began dancing on his tiptoes. "Look at me, Mummy! I'm a flower! I'm a flower! Aren't I cute? Feh!" He blew a raspberry. "Should have gotten the weedkiller out right then!"

In an inarticulate fit of rage, Dumbledore began jumping up and down. The portrait thumped against the wall. "I don't think you should do that," warned Amanda.

Aberforth crossed his eyes, stuck his fingers in his ears, and waggled his tongue around. Dumbledore jumped harder. The wire holding the picture to the wall broke and the portrait of Dumbledore fell onto own body in the coffin. "Oh my god, I'M DEAD!!!" he cried, and fainted.

Aberforth might well have laughed until he was sick had not McGonagall chosen that moment to pounce him.

There was an appalled silence.

Lupin hiccuped.

Tonks put her face in her hands and moaned. "And it's not even noon. What else is going to go wrong today?"

Exactly on cue, a large shiny white refrigerator with the almighty feared Dark Lord Voldemort in tow fell out of nowhere, landing directly on top of the two Dumbledores in the open casket.