Game, Set, and Match

"History is indeed little more than the register of crimes, follies and misfortunes of man kind." - Edward Gibbon

Life with Gringotts was basically a life of extremes. There was no such thing as a nice balanced something, whether this something happened to be a tomb raid, payday or even lunch. Everything, one would find after two day's of work, was either too dangerous or too dull. This, in the end, was why it was so hard to be happy with working at Gringotts. Oh, indeed, it was certainly marvellous to boast to friends and family that you were the Engineer of Frozen Features (that is, you were in charge of finding meat in the messy, unorganized fridge in the Gringotts cafeteria), but eventually, no matter what you truly did, your life was teetering off the cliff of underpaid and underappreciated employees.

Bill Weasley, for example, had worked his entire life as a man of the field. He had raided the pits of hell and came back with Hades' triton, he had swam across Jaws's personal bloody sea, and he had flown to the top of the Empire State Building by holding on to a rather large swan. Well, not really, but he had done quite a lot of dangerous things. This was all part of the extremes of Gringotts: the one where your life was constantly threatened.

Tired of all the fuss with the bandages and broken bones, Bill had chosen the other extreme, the one of boring desk jobs. Well, in all honesty, he had taken it to be closer to his home in England. His loving father and adoringly scary mother were busy with helping save the world from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, so Bill took it upon himself to help raise his three siblings. Well, two siblings and a half-sibling.

"Shaving, Harry," Bill said as if indicating a way to put together a car, "is quite easy when you do it the Wizarding way. I've seen how Muggles do it, and please forgive me, but it's barbaric. Who wants a blade that close to your throat, I ask you?"

Harry, who was slowly starting to look like he was training to be part of Tom Hanks's Castaway film (not that they would get the reference so early in time), was listening carefully, happy that someone who wasn't a Dursley was showing him to take care of his appearance.

"This is a bottle of shaving potion," Bill continued. Ron, who was fighting with the towel around his waist, wished they would hurry up so he could take his bath.

Bill took the cap off and showed Harry the harmless-looking white cream. "You need to make sure you buy a good brand. Sometimes the products are a bit too strong. That's no good, because you'll have a hole in the side of your face." Bill looked thoughtful for a bit. "And girls lie, appearance is everything."

"Yes, that I know," Harry admitted.

"Hurry up," Ron muttered, but he looked slightly amused at Harry's lesson.

"It's really very simple," said Bill. "Take a bit of cream, just a little because it's more liquid that solid so it drips, and apply it to the hairy bits. It does sting, I'll give you that, but it's much more efficient that scraping your hairs off."

Harry took a bit of cream that Bill offered him and applied it to the hairs on his chin. He was quite happy to see how the hairs sizzled (yes, sizzled, ask Snape why) away. Excitedly, he took a bit more and tried to ignore the mosquito bite-like sting that was left behind.

"A word of warning from the wise, mate. Don't apply it to your privates. The sting will kill you." Bill grimaced in memory.

Ron chuckled.

"It's very good," Harry complimented. "Thank you for the help, Bill."

Bill shrugged. "Anything for you, Harry. You're like the brother I never had."

"Hey!" Ron objected, grabbing one of the hand towels and snapping it playfully at Bill.

Bill grabbed his own towel as Harry dodged out of the way. "You'll regret that, you little--YARGH!"

Bill's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates and he stumbled backwards, hitting the bottle of shaving potion off the sink and stumbling into the small shower. Quite ironically, and for some reason quite unexpected except perhaps to make the entire thing a bit more serious, the shaving potion burned a nice, thick hole through the fake fur rug that adorned the bathroom.

Harry and Ron turned around, both immediately turning into identical shades of red from embarrassment. Standing in the doorway, wearing a white dress, tied at the waist with what might have been a phone cord, and wearing a large hat that had to squeeze its way in was someone Bill had never truly expected to see again.

"Astrid," he muttered, trying to regain his composure. "Please don't tell me I need my wand."

Astrid Montanez smiled sweetly. "Hello, Bill," she said fondly. "Won't you invite a girl for a cup of tea?

*

Astrid had changed quite a lot since the last time Bill had set eyes on her. Her blonde hair had turned a darker colour, almost brown now, which did not suit her complexion as much as it had before. She still looked confident of herself, as she eyed the Weasleys' kitchen with a slight edge of curiosity and possible disappointment. In all honesty, Bill found that she did not look as pretty as she had when they had first met, but, he supposed, it was because she had killed someone he knew.

"I couldn't believe it when I heard you were in boring old England doing table job," she said, the strict Venezuelan accent in her features.

"Desk job," Bill corrected automatically. "And it's none of your business what I'm doing here. What do you want, Astrid? I don't know if you remember, but we didn't part on good terms."

Astrid took a sip of her tea and frowned. "I am sorry about that," she said. "I had meant to call. I know how horrible it is to wake up one morning and find yourself alo--"

"No," interrupted Bill, shaking his head. "About you killing Doyle."

"I did not kill him," Astrid said coldly. "He was already technically dead. It's my job to slay vampires, Bill. People always forget that the idea is we are born, we live and then we die. Permanently."

"If it happens, then it was meant to happen," argued Bill. "Look, I can't be arguing with you about this. I would rather not have my parents see you here."

Astrid seemed slightly hurt at the sharpness in Bill's voice, but she placed her cup back on the table and sighed. "I need you to help me get something," she admitted. "The Sphere of whatever had nothing against this. It's dangerous, and I want it."

"You might have got me if you would have lied and said you wanted to save mankind," Bill said dryly.

"It's a family heirloom. I care absolutamente nada about anyone else," she said. "However!"

At that exclamation a loud crash came from the front door and Tonks's friendly call of "Wotcher, Ron!" sounded throughout The Burrow.

"Ooh, is that the wife?" Astrid asked. Luckily for Bill, Tonks avoided the kitchen entirely and hurried up to the twins' room where she was meant to drop something off for the Order.

There was a bit of silence for a while as Astrid stared at Bill and he stared back, waiting for her to continue. "However," she finally said, "I don't expect you to do it for free. Equal trade, right? That's what everyone wants, and anyone who says otherwise is lying."

"What," said Bill, his curiosity piqued, "is it that you want back?"

"There's this mirror. It was brought over centuries ago and was passed down to my family. I actually lie when I say it's a family heirloom, because it wasn't actually family, more like master to slave, but I'm rightfully entitled to it, and I would like it back." Astrid's eyes seemed to glaze over. "This mirror serves as a portal to the other world, Bill."

Bill's brow frowned as he thought things over. "Are you saying this mirror," he faltered.

"You go through the mirror, and you're no longer in the world of the living," Astrid answered. "In fact, you can even bring back a guest."

Bill felt a slight tingle of fear run up his spine, but he ignored it. "You--you said equal trade. What exactly are you playing on giving me?"

Astrid grinned, showing that she knew he was interested. "I recently heard one of your old friends died," she said, slowly, putting an emphasis on every word. "Mr. Weasley, you help me get back what is mine and for a limited time offer, I will let you use it to bring back one Mr. Sirius Black."

A loud shatter caused Bill to jump from his seat. Harry and Ron were standing in the doorway, bringing in trays of cups and plates that had been sitting around the room. Harry's mouth was wide open, the tray in such a position in his hands that it only proved he had been the one to make the noise.

"Harry," Bill said quickly.

"You can bring Sirius back?" Harry demanded of Astrid.

Astrid stared at him, looking slightly confused, and then found the lightning bolt scar. She followed it with her eyes in amazement. "My, my, Mr. Harry Potter," she said. "This is a pleasure."

"Harry, we can't really--" Bill struggled, but Harry was approaching Astrid with determination.

"Can you guarantee you can bring him back?" the young wizard asked.

Astrid grinned. "Of course. If he's a recent dead, we can find him with the mirror. Being murdered is hardly something to be laughed about, is it?"

"Bill," Harry said, his voice sounding strangled. "Bill, please."

"Harry, we can't trust what she says. She's not... plus you shouldn't bring back the..." Bill trailed off looking uncomfortable.

Ron, who had been silent until now, spoke up, trying to be the reasonable one in Hermione's absence. "Perhaps we should get Dumbledore?" he said. He looked at Astrid warily. "If this mirror does what you say it does, then why hasn't it been black listed?"

"Oh, it has," Astrid said calmly. "That's why I need help getting it back. It's in a museum."