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Friends and Foes by Northumbrian

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6. Cymru

Cara stared at the vast expanse of glass. Rivulets of rain ran down the exterior of the gently curved windows.

Outside, several people sheltered under the wood and glass canopy. Their robes flapped in the wind as they waited for the squall to pass.

Despite the storm-dark skies, within the spacious, elegant, and imposing foyer of the Welsh Office all was as it should be. Inside their glass, timber, and slate offices, the staff of the newest Ministry building in Wizarding Britain worked with quiet efficiency.

Turning her gaze away from the window and looking at the pale wood wall to her right, Cara glanced at the clock. She’d been checking regularly since she’d returned from her lunch break at one o’clock. It was six minutes to two.

The foyer was almost empty. There were only a half-dozen members of the public in the cavernous space and because it was Friday--benefits day--the majority of them wore shabby robes and were huddled in the most secluded corner of the foyer. The claimants were sitting on the benches in front of the Benefits Desk, patiently waiting to speak to the only Benefits Officer on duty.

Alongside Cara the other receptionist, Ffion Hughes, was directing their only customer--a nervous-looking young man--to the Apparition Test Centre.

‘Third floor, room three-seventeen,’ the man repeated.

‘That’s right, Mr Jones,’ Ffion assured him. ‘The lifts are just beyond the staircase.’ She waved her hand to indicate the direction he should take. ‘Good luck, sir.’

The man whinnied nervously and turned away from the desk to move towards the glass lifts. As he moved away the flames of the large fire which burned on the wall on the left side of the foyer blazed brightly. They changed colour from warm orange-red to bright green, and Cara and Ffion exchanged a hopeful glance.

‘The Trio, you reckon?’ Ffion asked her colleague in a reverential whisper. ‘Their appointment with the Sheriff is at two o’…ooh!’ Ffion stopped mid-sentence, and squeaked in excitement.

The first to arrive was Auror Potter. He looked exactly like his press photographs; tousled black hair and sharp green eyes which gleamed out from behind fashionable rectangular wire-rimmed glasses. The glasses were identical to the ones Ffion wore, and had only become fashionable recently, when Potter was photographed wearing them.

He was a little taller than Cara expected, and his famous scar was barely visible. Potter’s eyes darted everywhere as he assessed the spacious modern foyer of the Welsh office. He instantly dismissed the life-size carved wooden dragon hanging from the ceiling, and instead concentrated on the occupants of the room.

Cara’s ex-boyfriend, Mark Moon, had actually met the famous Harry Potter. A year earlier they had met in Montrose, and later Mark had helped to rescue one of Potter’s friends from a burning building. Cara’s first date with the Scottish Law Officer had been filled with Mark’s tales of excitement and danger. It wasn’t until later that she realised that most of his work was mundane. Worse, he had been unwilling to attempt to contact Potter, or even to discuss the Chosen One’s character. –He seemed like a nice bloke. When he first arrived in our office he bought us all fish and chips.” That was as much as Mark had ever said about his encounter with the Trio’s famous leader.

Next to step out from the flames was Auror Weasley. His hands were thrust deep into the pockets of the long black Auror uniform coat he wore. Weasley towered over Potter, he was at least as tall as her ex-boyfriend, and his face shone with a rather child-like enthusiasm which also brought good memories of Mark into Cara’s mind. He stepped alongside Potter and stared up at the dragon in amazement.

‘Blimey,’ he said loudly. ‘This is much fancier than our place. Very impressive!’

His words were enough to make everyone in the foyer fall silent, and it was into this silence that the third member of Potter’s team arrived. Auror Longbottom was the shortest and broadest of the Trio. The fair-haired and scar-faced young man took his place on Potter’s left, and the moment he did so the three Aurors strode towards the reception desk.

They were halfway across the room when Potter stopped and looked across at the collection of witches and wizards waiting at the Benefits Desk. His companions immediately halted, and they followed his gaze. Weasley opened his mouth, but Potter held up a hand to silence him.

‘Don’t say anything yet, Ron. I want Nev’s opinion first. What d’you think?’ Harry Potter asked. He nodded towards the queue.

‘He looks shifty, but looking shifty isn’t a crime, Harry,’ Auror Longbottom observed. ‘He certainly looked very relieved when we headed towards the reception desk and not towards him. Do you know him?’

‘Well spotted, Nev. What were you going to say, Ron?’ Harry asked.

Ron Weasley gave a loud, almost pantomime, sniff. ‘I don’t recognise the face either, but I’d know that pong anywhere,’ he said conversationally. ‘I bet you do too, mate. Who do we know who always looks shifty and smokes a pipe that smells like sweaty socks?’

An elderly witch shuffled hastily sideways, away from the tall, cadaverous, and stringy-haired wizard who was sitting on the bench next to her.

‘I ain’t done nuffink,’ the man protested.

‘Probably not, at least, not yet,’ said Harry. ‘But I’m pretty certain that attempting to claim benefits disguised as someone else would be fraud, Dung.’

‘What makes you fink I’m Mundungus Fletcher?’ the man protested.

‘Harry simply called you Dung,’ said Neville. His voice was mild, but his wand had instantly appeared in his hand the moment the man spoke. ‘No one even mentioned the name Mundungus Fletcher.’

‘The noxious niff of bad baccy, and –I ain’t done nuffink,” are a bit of a giveaway,’ said Ron.

The man looked at the three Aurors, and assessed his options.

‘Don’t even think about running,’ Ron ordered. ‘You’re nicked, Dung.’

‘What for?’ the man protested.

‘For being Mundungus Fletcher,’ said Harry, grinning.

‘You can’t arrest me for that,’ the man objected.

‘That’s what Hermione says, too,’ said Ron shaking his head regretfully. ‘She tells me: –You can’t arrest someone just because you don’t like them Ron!” So, Mundungus Fletcher, you’re under arrest on suspicion of possession of class B Tradable Materials. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in Court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’

‘Come off it, Ron, I know the drill. I’ve heard the caution often enough, but class B Tradable Materials! I never…’

‘I’ve seen your mugshot, Fletcher. You’re obviously using a Polyjuice Potion,’ Neville observed quietly.

The man slumped in resignation and Neville pulled out a set of handcuffs. With the slightest of hand movements, Harry stopped his colleague in his tracks.

‘We’ll speak to you after our meeting with the Sheriff,’ Harry said. ‘But just to show how reasonable we are, we won’t send you to the Auror cells. You can wait here. Somewhere secure.’ Harry turned to look at Cara and Ffion.

Cara touched the mirror on the desk in front of her ‘Duty Bailiff to Reception, urgent,’ she said. Ffion glared at her.




A face like a troll who’s just lost an argument with half-a-dozen giants.

Ginny’s description of the Kenmare Beater whose Bludger had broken her ankle early in the season and kept her out of the two subsequent games, came instantly to Harry’s mind. Because of the person facing him, his attempts to dismiss the thought had only limited success. The Sheriff of Wales had a square, pugnacious face, a nose which had been broken at least twice, and at least one cauliflower ear. The state of the other ear was uncertain, as it was hidden beneath the woman’s long black hair. She was, he thought, in her forties.

‘Deethjee Phillips,’ she said, standing and holding out a hand at least as big as Harry’s. Her voice was a deep and musical contralto, it was a voice which conjured incongruous images of Welsh beauty. She was as tall as Neville, broader in the shoulder, and her grip was definitely firm.

After summoning the Bailiff, the effusive and over-helpful receptionist--Cara--had insisted on personally showing them through to the Sheriff’s Office, much to the annoyance of her colleague. While they were being ushered inside, Harry had noted the name etched on her door: Dyddgu Phillips (Sheriff/Siryf).

Grateful that the sheriff had told him how to pronounce her forename, he introduced himself and tried to remember the inflexion she’d used.

‘Harry Potter,’ he told her.

‘I know,’ she told him, grinning at his wholly unnecessary self-identification. ‘Everyone knows.’ Her smile transformed her face: if not into a thing of beauty, at least into something which wouldn’t terrify young children.

‘Ron Weasley,’ Ron told her.

‘And Neville Longbottom,’ Neville identified himself.

The handshakes over, Sheriff Philips swept a hand towards the three chairs on the opposite side of her desk, inviting them to sit.

‘You wanted to see us, Sheriff,’ Harry said. ‘And you said it was urgent.’

‘Straight down to business,’ the Sheriff said. ‘Good. When I asked for you in person Mr Potter, I didn’t expect an immediate response, and to be honest I didn’t expect to be visited by three Aurors. Thank you for coming so promptly.’

‘Call me Harry,’ he told her. ‘You did say that it was important, Sheriff.’

‘Harry it is then,’ she said. ‘Call me Dyddgu, if you can.’

‘Deethgy,’ said Harry experimentally.

‘Close enough,’ she said, chuckling. ‘I wouldn’t have contacted you if I didn’t think that it’s important.’

‘What’s the problem?’ Ron asked.

‘Are you familiar with magical Cardiff? Do you know Carntexp Lane at all?’

Harry and his friends shook their heads. ‘My visits to Wales are restricted to regular trips to Holyhead,’ he admitted.

‘You’re talking to a Catapults fan,’ she said sadly.

The Sheriff’s eyes momentarily lost their focus as her mind drifted back to relive the Harpies’ recent defeat of her team. She scowled. At least Harry hoped that it was a scowl, and that she wasn’t metamorphosing into a troll.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Ron, shaking his head ruefully. ‘It’s the second –four C’s” game on Saturday, and I’m a Cannons fan. You beat us at home already, so we’ve no chance. What about Cardiff, and Carntexp Lane?’

‘Carnexp Lane isn’t as big as Diagon Alley, it isn’t even as big as Side Way in Edinburgh, nor even O’Verth Row, in Dublin,’ Dyddgu Phillips told them. ‘But Beaker and Rodd is the oldest Apothecary in the British Isles. Their reputation is ... at least it was ... impeccable, irreproachable. Everyone used to say, if Beaker and Rodd don’t stock it, no one does.’ Dyddgu Phillips paused and looked at the three young men. ‘In the last few weeks, we’ve started to receive complaints!’ her voice soared in disbelief as she spoke the final word.

‘You asked us here because you’ve been getting complaints about the local apothecary?’ asked Ron incredulously.

The Sheriff glared at him. Ron took one look at her fierce face, closed his mouth and tried to look contrite.

‘That’s how it started,’ she said forcefully. ‘I passed the complaints on to my cousin in the Consumer Standards Office, he checked it out. Beaker and Rodd are licenced to sell class B Tradable Materials, and they’re filling in the new forms correctly, but what they’re selling is fake. My cousin bought some powdered Bicorn horn from them and checked it. It was only unicorn horn. He was going to prosecute, but I asked him to hold off until I checked.’

‘Why?’ Neville asked.

‘Because a couple of days ago a couple of the Bailiffs who regularly patrol Carnexp Lane mentioned that they hadn’t seen young Gareth Rodd for a while, and that old Gareth wasn’t himself. When I heard about the fake ingredients, I wondered if they were literally correct.’

The three young Aurors were instantly alert.

‘I went and had a word. I thought that if someone was using Polyjuice to pretend to be old Gareth, I’d be able to spot it. I grew up here, I’ve known him for years. He was nervous as hell when I went in. I asked him a few questions; enough to be sure that he really was old Gareth.’ The Sheriff paused, and stared fiercely at her visitors. ‘Then I asked him how his son and grandchildren were. He almost had a fit. Shaking like a leaf, he was. He gave me some story about them being on holiday, but it was obvious that he was making it up. The last time I saw him looking so frightened was when the Death Eaters kidnapped his daughter-in-law. I was one of the local Bailiffs at the time. He reported it to us, but that was when Thicknesse was in charge. We never found her.’ The Sheriff shook her head sadly. ‘No one has seen her since. Yesterday, I visited. I had my Bailiffs keep a quiet eye on the place. There’s no sign of his family. I’m worried.’

She stopped, and stared hopefully at them.

‘You think that his son and grandchildren have been kidnapped, and the kidnappers want potion ingredients, not cash, for their release,’ said Harry.

The sheriff nodded. ‘They might be dead already…’

‘But they might not be,’ said Harry. ‘But if he’s already handed over his stock, why haven’t the kidnappers returned his son and grandchildren?’

‘I wondered about that, so I asked around first thing this morning. I got this from O’Brien’s Importers in Dublin this morning, and that’s why I called you.’ The Sheriff pushed a scroll across the table.

Neville picked up the parchment, unrolled it, and quickly read through it.

‘I’m surprised you called us,’ said Ron. ‘Some sheriffs…’

‘Some sheriffs wouldn’t, I know,’ Dyddgu said. ‘But the Auror Office is better placed to mount a surveillance operation. And I don’t want anything to happen to young Gareth and his kids.’

‘I know that we’re still investigating the murder at Justin’s place, Harry,’ said Neville. ‘But, in eight days, Beaker and Rodd are expecting a huge delivery from Ireland. Look at the items on this list.’ He pushed the scroll along the table to allow Harry to read it.

Ron peered over Harry’s shoulder, read down the list, and swore. ‘Dementor Essence, lots of it; and a lot of other familiar ingredients,’ he said.

‘You’re interested?’ the Sheriff asked.

‘Very interested,’ Harry told her. ‘I’d be grateful if you kept this quiet, Dyddgu. I’ll need to speak to my boss, but I’ll try to get an Auror surveillance team out here today. They’ll be very discreet, I promise.’

‘Keep me informed, Harry,’ the Sheriff ordered.

‘Of course,’ Harry promised. ‘I’ll let you know what we’re doing on as soon as I know myself.’

‘And I don’t want…’

‘None of us want any harm to come to the kids, Sheriff,’ Ron promised. He turned to Harry, ‘If you want to go and talk to Robards, mate, Nev and I can deal with Dung,’ he suggested.

‘Is he the man you’ve just put in one of my holding cells?’ the sheriff asked.

‘He won’t be there much longer,’ Harry assured the sheriff as he checked his watch. He turned to his colleagues. ‘Thanks, Ron, but I’ll speak to Dung. You two head back to the office, and let the Sheriff know what’s happening.’

Ron pulled a face and shook his head. ‘Robards...’

‘The Wasps are playing today Ron, the match starts in an hour,’ Harry said. ‘Head Auror Robards will have finished for the day. His deputy will be in charge. Nev will be able to persuade Mrs Blood to set up surveillance immediately.’ He turned to the Sheriff. ‘If that’s okay with you, Dyddgu. I don’t think much will happen for a few days, but…’

The Sheriff nodded. ‘I agree with you, I think we’re dealing with a kidnapping, and that the kidnappers are stringing old Gareth along until he receives this big order from Ireland. Even so, the earlier you can get someone watching the place, the happier I’ll be.’

‘Thanks, Sheriff, we’ll be in touch,’ Harry said as he led his friends from the office.

The moment the Sheriff closed her door, Harry turned to his friends. ‘Nev,’ he began.

‘I’ll speak to Patience and organise the surveillance,’ said Neville, a tinge of sadness in his voice. Auror Patience Blood had trained, and worked closely with, Neville’s parents. She had become a friend of the family, and was always amenable to any suggestion he made. Neville always worried that he was taking advantage of her feelings.

‘It’s the right thing to do,’ Harry assured him.

‘What about the surveillance team, Harry?’ Neville asked. ‘I think Webb, Fortescue and Griffiths would be best.’

‘Definitely,’ said Harry. ‘And don’t forget to let Sheriff Phillips know.’

‘I won’t,’ Neville promised.

‘Ron, Yvonne will still be in the office,’ Harry continued. ‘Ask her to arrange a meeting with Mr Robards for first thing in the morning.’

‘I’m not sure about first thing,’ said Ron, after thinking over Harry’s request for a few moments. ‘I’ll ask her to pencil us in for an early meeting, if the Wasps win tonight we’ll see him, and he’ll agree to anything. If they lose, we should wait until he’s shouted at someone else.’

Harry smiled, and nodded in agreement. Robards’ personal assistant was a recent appointment, and Harry had been impressed by the woman’s cheerful competence. Yvonne knew her boss, and seemed unperturbed by the Head Auror’s volatility.




‘I’ve just spoken to the Bailiff who searched you,’ Harry told Mundungus Fletcher.

He sat down directly opposite the prisoner. The Polyjuice Potion had worn off, and the scruffy little man was shuffling uncomfortably in robes which were now much too big for him. He scratched his unshaven chin and gave Harry a hopeful half-smile.

‘According to this, you’re Ebenezer Jones, you live in Barry, and you’re registered as unemployed in this office.’ Harry placed a shabby leather wallet on the desk in front of Fletcher. ‘The Bailiff has been through the wallet, Dung. It seems that you’re also: Wilfred Dryden from Penge, registered as unemployed in the Diagon Alley Office; and you’re Angus McNamara from Leith, registered in Edinburgh; and Norman Barraclough from Netherthong which, much to my surprise, turns out to be a real place; Norman is registered in York.’

‘It’s just a misunderstanding,’ Fletcher began. ‘I can explain.’

Harry banged his fist on the table, and the little man fell silent.

‘It’s fraud, Dung,’ Harry said, staring into Mundungus Fletcher’s now worried face. ‘You’re stealing money which is supposed to be going to the poor and unemployed.’

Fletcher opened his mouth, but saw Harry’s face and decided to stay silent.

‘Don’t you dare try to claim that it’s Ministry money, and the Ministry can afford it,’ Harry shouted. ‘I don’t know why I’m bothering to talk to you. Everyone used to tell me that Dumbledore thought you were useful, but I can’t see why. Mad Eye never trusted you!’

‘Mad Eye never trusted nobody,’ said Fletcher, hopefully. He looked into Harry’s face and fell silent.

‘You’re a thief and a fraudster, Dung, and you’ve been caught red-handed.’ Harry spoke with dangerously quiet anger. Fletcher looked up nervously, sniffed, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘Once you’ve told me where you got the Polyjuice potion from, I’m handing you over to the Sheriff for processing. She’s going to contact the other Law Offices.’

‘You can’t, ‘arry,’ Fletcher pleaded. ‘They’ll send me to Azkaban. I was in the Order, remember. That place is full o’ Death Eaters. They’ll murder me.’

Harry ignored him. ‘Where did you get the Polyjuice Potion?’ he asked.

‘I, er, borrowed a load of ingredients from Moody’s place after, well, after…’

‘After you Disapparated, and left him to die,’ Harry shouted, clenching his fists.

‘Well, ‘e din’t ‘ave no use fer it!’ Fletcher protested. ‘I’ve ‘ad the ingredients fer years. I got this mate, Tepid; ‘e’s a wiz wiff potions, ‘e brewed up a few batches fer me, in exchange for half my stash o’ ingredients. I ain’t got much potion left. Enough for one more round of claims, that’s all,’ he admitted. ‘I wuz gonna call it a day when I’d run out. Just my luck!’

‘So, you don’t have a supplier?’ Harry asked.

‘No,’ Fletcher said, sounding annoyed. ‘An’ after ‘e gave me the potion, Tepid tole me that you can get a great price fer Polyjuice ingredients on the black market, tole me I’d of made more if I’d sold the ingredients instead of using ‘em. Wish I had! I’d never ‘ave run into you, that big ginger berk an’ the other bloke.’

‘Nice story, but it sounds like this –Tepid” bloke will be more use to me,’ Harry said. ‘I’ll let the Bailiff’s deal with you.’

‘Wait,’ Fletcher said. ‘Please, ‘arry, what more d’yer want? I hear stuff. There must be something you want.’

‘Gregory Goyle, Marcus Flint, Millicent Bulstrode, Miles Bletchley and Daphne Greengrass, where are they?’ Harry asked.

‘If I knew that, I’d be collectin’ the reward, wouldn’t I?’ Mundungus grumbled. ‘They reckon Goyle has a mansion somewhere, hidden under a Fidelius Charm, an’ he won’t tell the rest of ‘em where it is. So yer lookin’ fer: Goyle; Flint and Bulstrode; and Bletchley and Greengrass.’

‘I’d heard that, too,’ Harry said, Fletcher’s face fell. ‘Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson were best friends at school. I’ve heard rumours that they’re still in contact. Is it true?’

‘Bloody ‘ell, Harry! The Parkinson bird is livin’ wiff Theodore Nott! If you fink I’m gonna get myself tangled up wiff a bleedin’ Nott you must be off yer trolley. I’d rather take my chances in Azkaban.’

‘Okay,’ Harry said. He stood and walked towards the door.

‘Wait,’ Fletcher begged. ‘I hear that Greengrass ain’t happy bein’ on the run wiff Bletchley. It’s one fing fallin’ for a dangerous outlaw ... romantic an’ all that ... or so they say.’ He shrugged dismissively. ‘But it’s another fing goin’ on the run wiff one. All that hidin’ out an’ runnin’ around! A lot o’ posh birds don’t mind a bit o’ rough, but they don’t wanna live rough. I never tole you to ask Parkinson about it though, okay?’




Black clouds were blowing up from the south as Harry strode rapidly down the street. The Menai Strait was on his right, and the blustery breeze blowing from the shore brought with it the smells of the sea. Ginny’s house was only yards away on the left. When he reached it, and opened the gate, he vanished from Muggle view.

Pulling out his key, Harry unlocked her door, opened it, and called, ‘Hi, Ginny.’

Shrugging off his long black Auror coat, he looked for a space on the coat pegs on the wall next to the door. He placed it between her dragonskin motorcycle jacket and the knee-length green leather coat she’d recently bought.

‘Kitchen,’ she shouted, sounding slightly relieved. ‘You’re twenty minutes late, is everything okay?’

‘I’ve been to Cardiff, to the Sheriff’s Office,’ he called. ‘I was there longer than I expected. Rather than Floo back to the office and change…’

‘You came straight here,’ Ginny said as she appeared at the kitchen door, a towel in her hand. She finished drying her hands and threw the towel onto the table behind the door. ‘I do love a man in a uniform,’ she added.

‘All men in uniform?’ Harry asked teasingly.

‘Only the one,’ she told him. Ginny was wearing baggy cargo trousers, and a cropped t-shirt. She walked up to him and, before he could stop her, grabbed his grey tie to pull him down for a kiss.

‘Don’t,’ Harry began as she reached for his tie, but he was too late. The tie unwrapped itself from his neck, snaked around Ginny’s wrists, and tied them together.

Ginny stepped back and looked at her hands in surprise. ‘Interesting,’ she said. She grinned wickedly. ‘If this is your thing, Harry, you only have to ask.’

‘You know what my –thing” is,’ he told her. ‘It’s you.’

She lifted her bound wrists over his head, pulled him down to her level, and they kissed.

‘Care to explain?’ she asked him when they finally parted. She kept her bound hands behind his neck.

‘The tie-me-up-tie, as George insists on calling it, was Terry’s idea…’ Harry began.

‘I’m having a hard time picturing Terry tying up Fenella,’ Ginny interjected.

Harry laughed, and kissed her nose. Ginny’s eyes sparkled.

‘Do you want me to tell you why, or are you going to keep interrupt...’

‘What do you think?’ asked Ginny.

‘I think that training the Harpies training session went very well today,’ he said, gazing into her mischievous face. He pulled out his wand and reached behind his neck to touch it to the tie.

The tie unfastened itself, and Harry put it in his pocket. Ginny simply clasped her hands together and kept them on his neck, her eyes bored into his. She said nothing, so he continued.

‘Terry, Susan and Polly were making an arrest a couple of weeks ago,’ he explained. ‘They’d disarmed the suspects, but the biggest of them--he was enormous--grabbed Terry’s tie and tried to strangle him with it. Polly and Susan managed to Stun the guy, and Terry wasn’t badly hurt, but when it was discussed afterwards, at the arrest debriefing, Terry suggested that George make another change to the uniform. It’s a neat little enchantment.’

‘And in future, anyone who physically attacks an Auror by grabbing his tie is going to be in trouble,’ Ginny completed Harry’s explanation.

‘What a clever girl,’ said Harry with mock condescension.

‘Don’t make me smack you,’ she threatened. He winked at her. ‘How did you know that training went well?’ she asked.

Harry placed his hands on her bare waist, pulled her closer, and smiled. ‘There’s a big difference between Ginny after a bad day’s training and Ginny after a good day’s training. And this is definitely good day Ginny,’ he told her.

He bent forwards. His intention was to, once again, kiss her nose, but Ginny had other ideas.

Later, when they parted, the rain was hammering on the living room windows.

‘Now I’m really hungry,’ said Harry.

‘Meat and potato pie, Mum’s recipe,’ said Ginny as she wriggled back into her t-shirt. ‘I was just checking it when you arrived. It should be ready soon.’

‘Are you allowed…’ Harry began.

‘Melinda said...’ Ginny pursed her lips, craned her neck forwards, and adopted the splay-footed, arm-waving, stance of the Harpies new dietician. Putting on a shrill and rather nasal voice, she continued, ‘Tonight you can eat whatever you like. You can even have alcohol in moderation, but no Firewhisky. And remember that tomorrow morning you begin the pre-match diet.’

Ginny returned to her normal posture and turned on her heels. As Harry followed her down the hall and into the kitchen, she continued talking to him over her shoulder. ‘I told her that I haven’t had Firewhisky for more than a year, and asked if moderation meant that I could share a bottle of wine with my boyfriend. Melinda asked what I was cooking, checked Mum’s recipe, and declared it much too rich for tomorrow and completely unacceptable for a match day. Then she said it sounded nice, and recommended a Muggle wine.’

‘You like her, really, don’t you?’ Harry asked.

‘She’s annoying, intense, earnest, and passionate about her job. And she talks a lot of sense,’ said Ginny, a twinkle in her eyes. ‘Remind you of anyone?’

‘No comment,’ said Harry, grinning.

‘A lot of the girls were sceptical when Gwenog introduced her at the start of the season. Including me,’ Ginny admitted. ‘But she seems to be doing us some good. Linny has actually put on weight, but it’s in the right places, and she’s playing better than ever.’

Ginny checked the oven, and turned to face her boyfriend. ‘It’s almost done. I’ll cook the vegetables; it’ll only take five minutes. You can set the table and open the wine. You know where everything is.’

Harry examined the wine, a Beaujolais-Villages, and set to work.

‘Have they told you what’s happening tomorrow?’ he asked as he handed Ginny a full glass. She smiled her thanks, and began serving the meal. ‘That smells great,’ he added.

‘Thanks, Harry,’ said Ginny, accepting the compliment before answering the question. ‘It’s the day before the match, and we’re finally moving on to the new pre-match training schedule. When we left the ground we were all issued with our breakfasts for tomorrow; muesli, yoghurt, and fruit juice. It’s in the pantry, don’t touch it. We’re to eat before nine, and we can’t have anything else to eat or drink, except water. Then it’s a trip to the stadium to arrive no later than ten, and we’re off to Ballycastle by Floo. Final training is tomorrow afternoon in Ballycastle, and then it’s a quiet night in our hotel. No visitors; and a strictly regulated diet until after the game.’ Ginny then turned her attention to the vegetables. ‘The cabbage is done, if you drain it, I’ll start serving the pie.’

As they ate, Ginny asked, ‘Will you be able to make it to the match on Sunday, Harry?’

‘Of course.’ He nodded. ‘Although I may have to leave before it’s over. Tell your seeker she has two hours to catch the Snitch before I have to leave for work. You know I’m on late shift--five ‘till three, from Sunday to Tuesday. I probably won’t see you until Wednesday evening.’

‘Because of my England commitments,’ Ginny nodded, and changed the subject. ‘You still haven’t told me anything about your day. Are you any further forward? Any news on the murdered American Muggle, Mr...’ Ginny stopped, struggling for the name.

‘McCoy.’ Harry supplied. ‘Daniel G McCoy.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Neville, Ron and I spoke to Draco yesterday. I let Ron do the talking; you know how much he enjoys –interrogating” Draco.’ Harry’s face creased into amusement at the memory. ‘To be fair, Draco came to the same conclusion I did. He reckons that the prefect’s badge was –a pathetic attempt by that oaf Goyle to frame him.” It took us no time to make certain that Draco was in Malfoy Manor when the attack took place. Other than that, we’ve drawn a blank.’

‘Oh, Harry,’ Ginny reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

‘It can’t be helped,’ said Harry. ‘The killer--we can’t be certain that it was Goyle--stole a few books, a lot of potion ingredients, and then Apparated away. They could be anywhere. We spent the morning looking at Fenella’s crime scene images, which I have to say are brilliant. But we haven’t found anything new. Then we got a call from the High Sheriff of Wales...’

Harry was still talking about his trip to Wales when they finished their dessert, rhubarb crumble and custard.

‘Nev got in touch before I left the Welsh Office. The surveillance team is in place, they’re keeping a very close watch on Beaker and Rodd Apothecary. The fugitives are gathering up an enormous amount of potion ingredients, and not only to make Polyjuice potion. We think they’re trying to manufacture that love/hate potion they used on you last year.’

Ginny grimaced at the memory, leaned over the table, and kissed him.

‘Let’s go through the living room,’ Ginny suggested. ‘The dishes can wait.’ She led him through to the sofa, waited until he sat, and then snuggled in at his side.

‘I really wanted to talk to you about what Dung said,’ Harry began. ‘We know that Daphne was helping the fugitives last year. She tried to hide the transactions, but Terry and Webb have documentary proof that, even though she wasn’t on the run at the time, she was renting the places they were using as hideouts. But Dung seems to think that, now, she would betray them.’ His disbelief was obvious in his voice. ‘That she would betray her boyfriend...’

‘Harry,’ Ginny interrupted. ‘In a way it’s great that you find it difficult to belief that any girl, even Daphne, would turn on her boyfriend.’ she shook her head, and hugged him. ‘You still don’t know much about girls, do you? And you know nothing about Daphne Greengrass.’ She gave a short, tinkling laugh. ‘I’m beginning to think that Mundungus Fletcher knows more about girls than you do.’

Harry stiffened. Ginny turned her head, stared into his eyes, and kissed him lightly.

‘It’s lovely, Harry,’ she told him. ‘But I’m sure Dung’s right. When we were at school, Daphne liked to think that she was a rebel. She was never interested in Draco because Draco was posh. Her parents would have approved of Draco. Daphne wanted a lower class of villain and, eventually, she collared Bletchley. Her parents found out about him and forbade it, which was exactly what she wanted. She probably convinced herself that she was in love. After all, I’m well aware that there is a certain romance to having a dangerous boyfriend.’

‘I’m not dangerous,’ Harry protested. Ginny quietened him with a glance.

‘I know, but a lot of people think that you are, and that’s almost the same thing. And dangerous things happen around you. Last year I was targeted simply because I’m your girlfriend, remember?’

Harry frowned and nodded.

‘When Daphne went on the run with him, whatever romance she found in being involved with an outlaw would have been quickly knocked off its broom by the Bludger of reality. She’s be dealing with the real Bletchley twenty-four hours a day, and she probably doesn’t like him. Don’t look like that, Harry!’ She kissed him again.

‘By the time we started going out together, I knew who you really were. That wasn’t true for Michael or Dean, and that’s what went wrong. But, most importantly, I liked you.’

‘I liked you, too. But I was only just starting to realise who you were,’ Harry admitted. ‘And you still surprise me.’ Ginny moved onto his lap, and they kissed again.

‘So, do you think that I should go and talk to Pansy?’ Harry asked between kisses.

‘Merlin, no!’ Ginny said, disentangling herself from his arms.

‘No?’ said Harry, confused. ‘But you said…’

‘You’d be useless,’ said Ginny firmly. ‘If you want information, send a woman. Send Lavender.’

‘Lavender…’

‘She’s a trainee Auror, Harry. You, and Hermione, got the anti-werewolf legislation repealed to get her in, remember? And she probably knows more about Daphne than anyone else. They’re related you know. They’re second cousins or something. But the Greengrasses are wealthy Purebloods, and the Browns are only Half-bloods.’ Ginny held up a hand to stop her boyfriend from speaking.

‘The Pureblood argument isn’t important. What is, is that you didn’t keep up with the gossip at Hogwarts. Lavender definitely did. And she will be able to see the romance in having a dangerous on the run boyfriend.’

‘There’s nothing romantic about being on the run,’ he said.

‘And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be the one to see Pansy, Harry,’ she told him firmly. ‘You can’t see the romance. Lavender can. She reads all those silly romances. She may even believe that sometimes the heroine can redeem the bad boy. I’m sure that when Daphne ran off she had all these romantic ideas about fame and outlaws and hideouts and stuff, and the reality is...’

‘The reality is arguments, hunger, and a cold tent,’ Harry supplied, ‘and her face on a wanted poster.’

‘Send Lavender to see Pansy. They can bitch about the useless stupid boys they’ve gone out with…’ Ginny placed a finger on her boyfriend’s lips, to prevent his protests. ‘You don’t need to defend Ron every time! Lavender and Pansy can talk about Daphne’s poor choice in blokes. You should probably send her to talk to Daphne’s little sister, too, Wisteria, or whatever she’s called. It will work, trust me. And when it does, you can tell me what a clever girl I am.’