Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Stepping across the hearth, the roar of the fireplace is replaced with the hustle and bustle of the Burrow. Careful not to knock his shin into the coffee table as he walks into the cramped living room Harry says hello to Fleur and Percy, who greet him from the couch, returning to their conversation. Five year old Victorie and four year old Dominique sit colouring on the carpeted floor at their mothers feet, with Louis perched in his mothers lap.
Angelina runs after three year old Fred, who is yielding his own magic marker and leaving dancing scribbles on the walls in his wake. “Fred, that marker is for paper only!”
James darts out of Ginny’s grip to join his cousin's chase around the living room.
“Ginevra, is that you dear?” Molly called from the kitchen. Standing in the kitchen doorway, spoon in one hand she uses the other to hold her namesake on her hip. Percy and Aubrey’s first born pulls at her grandmother's ginger curls. “Hurry up, I need someone to watch the roast while I fix the mash.”
“Duty calls,” Ginny whispers. Even though everyone is now an adult, Ginny being the only daughter hadn’t changed, she was still responsible for helping her mother with her weekly family dinners.
“Here, mum, I can take her,” Percy offers, getting up from the couch.
“No, please, I know how to cook with a baby, Merlin knows I have plenty of experience,” said Molly, adjusting her youngest granddaughter. “Audrey has the right idea,” Molly gestured with her spoon to Audrey who had nodded off on the couch across from Fleur and Percy. “New parents need to rest when they can. If you want to take a nap too I’ll have Arthur set up your room - Arthur!”
“Yes, honey?” Arthur calls from outside. It had become a weekly tradition for Arthur to show off his latest purchase, a 1964 Ford Cortina, to whichever of his children or daughter-in-laws were willing. Having never gotten over the loss of the Angelia he intended to fix and modify the vehicle as a retirement project, in a few months he’d be able to devote all of his time to it, much to Molly’s chagrin.
“Mum, I’m fine,” Percy countered.
“What do you need?” said Arthur, entering the house from the backdoor in the kitchen, scooping up James to greet him.
“Nothing dad-”
“Arthur, set up Percy’s bed, he’s looking peaky,” said Molly, steam rolling her son. Ginny pops her head over Molly’s shoulder to make sure Harry can see her roll her eyes.
“And Harry, dear, fix yourself a drink,” Molly continued, pausing to give him a one armed hug hello. “Ginny, make sure you’re checking the centre, not the sides.”
Fixing himself a drink, as per Molly’s orders, Harry basks in the warmth that is the Burrow. The Weasley home looks just as Harry remembers it from school day Christmas' and summer holiday memories, only with about a hundred more pictures - all of Molly and Arthur’s grandchildren displayed proudly on every wall, table top, and mantle. The clock was now so full of hands it was nearly impossible to read - with all of their faces piled on top of eachother under the curling script that read the Burrow, exempting Fred, Ron and Hermione, who were nestled together at work. With a quiet whir, Hermione's hand began moving from work to travelling - a flash of green in the fireplace coincided with her spoon landing at the Burrow.
“Hello Molly, sorry for the delay, I just needed to pop into the office for a bit, oh thank you Harry,” said Hermione as Harry helped her and her protruding belly, over the hearth. Brushing the soot from her robe Hermione surveys the living room “Is Ron not here yet?”
“Not yet dear,” said Molly exiting the kitchen to give Hermione a proper hello, making sure to see how much her belly has grown in the last week. “I’m sure he’s on his way, come on, off your feet, what would you like?”
Hermione is led to the kitchen table, Angelina having successfully taken back the marker joining them, leaving Fred to stamp about angrily.
“Ughhhh,” Angelina sighed, running her finger through her box braids. “Enjoy it while you can, these Weasley kids are trouble.”
“I don’t know, we haven’t had too much trouble,” Fleur’s voice floats from the couch, brushing a baby fine hair from Louis' head behind his ear.
“Still want another?” Bill asks with a grin, reentering the Burrow from the backyard, a small oil stain on the sleeve of his jumper.
“Somehow, yeah,” Angelina laughs, rubbing the corner of her eyes with a smile.
“Right well, roasts done.” Ginny states, unceremoniously dropping the roast into the middle of the table; the potatoes, mushy peas, salad, gravy and the rest being levitated gracefully after by Molly.
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes Audrey joins the fray as the table quickly fills up with red heads. “How long was I asleep for?”
“About an hour,” Fleur states a little flippantly, but any mother would look frumpy when next to Fleur who was doing her hair and makeup before leaving St. Mungos with Victorie swaddled in an artfully embroidered quilt.
As the family settled in Molly alternated between dishing out the roast and showing off Hermione’s ultrasound, Arthur was more excited by the magnet Hermione had sent with it so they could place it on the fridge. “These muggles, so inventive.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Ron greeted, stepping quickly out of the fireplace to allow George to arrive right behind him.
“You’re late,” Hermione scolded, wiping the corner of her mouth with her napkin. Molly, much more forgiving since he was about to deliver her another grandchild, bustled over to greet him.
“It’s my fault Hermione, the one thing I needed help with turned into 5 things,” George explained, giving Angelina a kiss hello before taking the seat beside her.
“You need to hire someone,” said Angelina, helping Fred cut his roast.
“Why are you looking for a job?” George asked cheekily.
“Ha ha, the public health department keeps me busy enough thanks,” Angelina laughed, swapping her smile for a stern mom look as Fred refused his peas. Victoire, Dominique, and Louis ate theirs without complaint. James mostly tossed his peas onto the floor.
“How is that going?” asked Hermione, intrigued, and giving Ron a bit of the cold shoulder.
“Trying to explain the dangers of muggle chemicals, when they haven’t even heard the word chemical before.” Angelina shook her head, the beads from her braids clicking against each other. “May as well be trying to hatch dragons from chicken eggs.”
“If it isn’t a magical maladie it may as well be make believe - they just don’t understand lungs enough to know that tar on your lungs is a bad thing.”
“So tar in your lungs is bad then?” Ron asked with a smirk, receiving an elbow from Hermione, and an exasperated laugh from Angelina.
“It’ll be an uphill battle, a wizard and his pipe, it’s not a pair easily broken up.” Arthur reasoned, gesturing with his fork, dropping potatoes onto Molly’s tablecloth.
Harry wants to follow up, ask if Angelina has done any of this explaining to wizards, and which ones, but Arthur continues changing the subject.
“So how are the old stomping grounds then?”
“Oh, the castle looks the same as always,” of course it isn’t the same. The damage sustained after the battle was huge, it took months, years, to complete all of the repairs.
“You were at Hogwarts?” asks Bill, taking a bite of roast.
“It’s for a case.” Ron states in a tone that said they couldn’t say anything else.
“Well, Victorie has just begun dance lessons, she is the star of her class.” Fleur explains, detailing the most recent endeavours of Victorie’s ballet lesson.
“I want pictures Fleur,” Molly exclaims, with the discovery of magnets she now had plenty of room for more photographs.
“Harry’s going to be on the radio,” Ginny adds with an impish grin.
“Really!” Molly beams.
“Oh do tell,” George grins mischievously, already plotting how he can use this for joke ammunition later.
Cheeks warm, Harry is flushing already. “It’s just some new show they’re starting where they ask people-“
“Famous people” Ginny corrects.
“- uh people, about their favourite songs.”
“The muggle Monday girls putting it on,” Ginny elaborates, Arthur’s ears perking at the word muggle.
Across the table Harry can see Hermione brow furrow, as she tilts her head the way she does when she is listening angrily- looking to confirm something she already suspects.
“Oh, I listen to her show at the office, she’s very good,” Percy comments, Audrey nodding in agreement beside him.
“Yeah, we’ve been to the dwarf for some of her sets,” said Bill, taking Fleurs left hand into his.
“Yes, she’s very good,” she agrees.
The remainder of dinner is filled with chatter about everyone's week, sharing anecdotes about the joke shop, the office, the kids, all of the little moments that make up a life. For dessert Molly reveals a large cake which she had Ginny rig with magical candles that shot streamers and confetti into the air, coating the table in baby pink glitter.
“I am so happy for you both,” Molly exclaimed teary eyed, hugging Ron and Hermione as Arthur cut the cake.
Dessert wrapping up, the Weasley clan sat on the mismatched couches and armchairs, sipping coffee, the kids sticky with cake, excluding Fleur’s children who, still neat, managed to keep the cake in and around their mouths as opposed to on their hands and clothes.
“Anyone want more coffee?” Audrey offered, rising from her seat with her empty third mug.
“Oh have a seat Audrey, I’ll get it, I need to stretch my legs anyway.” Hermione offered, heaving herself, with Ron’s help, from the couch. “Ron, Harry, help me.”
Once all three were safely in the kitchen Hermione cast muffleto, with all of the commotion in the living room no one will notice.
“So, Harry, a radio interview.” Hermione began, flicking her wand the stove top coffee pot dumped itself of soggy grounds, and sparkling clean set itself on the stovetop awaiting use. “And Astoria Greengrass was the host you said?”
“Actually no one said,” Ron sniped, leaning cross armed against the kitchen counter. “Hermione, stop trying to solve the case, you’re the one who said we have to keep you out of it.”
“I’m not trying to-” a pointed look from Ron stopped Hermione in her tracks. She fills the bottom of the moka pot with water the muggle way. Stretching onto her toes to reach the ground coffee on the shelf above the stove she places a couple scoops into the upper filter, assembling the pieces back together.
Lighting the stove with her wand the water slowly comes to a rolling boil. “Just be careful.”
“You said we need to be secretive.” Harry counters to Hermione's back. Head bent she watches as steam begins to escape from the spout, an almost imperceptible cloud.
“I know but…” Hermione turns to face them. “It just seems…”
“Like a stalker,” Ron chimes in.
“Ronald,” Hermione admonishes, turning to check on the moka pot. “It seems a bit invasive, you’re getting involved in their lives.”
“A bit invasive, this whole case is-“ Ron clenches and unclenches his fist, in the end he decides on crossing his arms again. “It’s fucked up, pretending everything is still the same, still normal.”
Behind Hermione the moka pot begins to shriek. Turning the knob, lowering the roaring fire to a small flame to keep the fresh coffee warm Hermione doesn’t offer Ron any consolation. With an annoyed huff he returns to the living room.
“What has gotten into him?” It’s not rhetorical, Hermione is genuinely asking him.
Harry shrugs.
“I know what I said but…who are you investigating exactly?” He can see what she is thinking, someone Ron is looking into is upsetting him.
The truth is Harry doesn’t know, after returning from his discussion with professor McGonagall Ron had been quiet, not sharing what he’d found. Honestly he had been too involved with Malfoy to even think about it, just happy to know that Ron was happy with Harry following up on what he had found and keeping what he had found.
“Hermione, you know I can’t.”
She sighed, rubbing the inside corner of her eyes. Waving her wand the dishes begin to scrub themselves, she falls heavily into a chair- she looks tired.
“I’ll dry them, go have a seat.”
Returning from the kitchen with the moka pot, Ginny is at the radio fiddling with the dial. Astoria's familiar voice, warm, low and smooth comes through the speakers.
Hermione and Ron share a look, as Ginny laughs.
As soon as Harry is back at the office he’s scheming up a plan to run into Jack Walker, Draco’s parole officer. Due to the nature of the case Harry cannot request the standard interview as the act itself will tip his interviewees off to the fact that he is actively investigating. Accompanying each of his intended interviewees is a list of place of residence, place of employment, common hangouts and hobbies, anything that could give Harry an opportunity to speak with them.
Pansy Parkinson occasionally wrote for Witch Weekly, otherwise maintaining a very active social life- when not writing for the society pages she did her best to be in them. Daphne Greengrass had gone the more respectable route of a pure blooded witch, working her way up the volunteer committee ladder, she was now head of fundraising for St. Mungos and would be organizing the annual Halloween ball. Theodore Nott works at Overy law firm; Hermione has opposed them when they’ve defended charges made by the ministry - he’ll have to ask her about any active cases. And Goyle apparently did nothing.
Harry had Anne pull up Walker's fortnightly schedule; with all of his parole meetings he rarely left his office except for the hour break for lunch.
“He usually gets his lunch from the Tesco express down the corner. Grabs a meal deal and goes to Hyde Park” Anne explains, reading the time table upside down on Harry’s desk, “so don’t bother going to the cafeteria.”
“Oh and I’ve got the numbers for the ball, being a top donor will guarantee you an audience with the planning committee but uh, it's not cheap” Anne placed the quote face down, sliding it over carefully like a poor test score.
“How do you know all that?” Ron asks, referring to Walker's schedule, from a mouthful of his packed lunch, getting oily fingerprints on the file he is flipping through.
“Because I actually take my lunch,” Anne shrugs, “which reminds me, it’s nearly twelve.” With that she promptly collects her bag from her bottom desk drawer and is off.
“I take it you’re having lunch in the park then?” said Ron, already having a look through Harry’s packed lunch.
Ron seems in a much better mood than he was on Sunday and Harry doesn’t want to spoil it. He would like to believe he’s putting off Hermione’s request to figure out who Ron is investigating to keep his spirits up, but really he fears that if he pokes around in Ron’s cases then Ron will ask him about his.
He does know it is down to four, with Harry investigating Malfoy and Sabrina Fawcett. He suspects one of Ron’s case files belongs to Declan Summerby, but that is only a guess, he’s been keeping his desk locked as of late.
“Here,” Harry tosses Ron his lunch.
“If you’re popping in at Tesco, mind grabbing me a bag of prawn cocktail crisps.”
Rolling his eyes Harry shrugs into his muggle jacket, the garment treated with a disillusionment charm - to any muggles his Auror robes will appear as normal street clothes.
Just as Anne said he’s there. Sitting on a park bench overlooking The Serpentine. Feeding his crust to the ducks, Walker leans back into his bench enjoying what is likely to be one of the few days of sunshine left before autumn sweeps in.
Harry does his best to look as though he is doing the same, his own Tesco bag spinning awkwardly at his side, twisting the plastic handles. “You work at the ministry don’t you?”
It is only a moment until recognition flashes in Walker's eyes, his face breaking into a grin. He is middle aged, with dark curly hair, his brown eyes wrinkled with crows feet. “Yeah that’s right Mr.Potter, wouldn’t think someone like you would pay much attention to the likes of me.”
Cheeks hot, Harry still is not used to the flattery, he doesn’t know how to respond when it’s genuine.
“Yeah, well, I mean, we don’t work too far off from each other ,” said Harry, taking a seat on the bench; the not far from each other in reference to jurisdiction and not distance, as the two departments exist on entirely different floors. “Your Draco Malfoy's parole officer aren’t you?”
Reaching into his plastic bag, Harry pulls out a Tesco Ploughmans sandwich.
“Looking into his case are you?” Walker asks gleefully, “has he gotten himself into trouble then?”
“Oh no, not at all,” said Harry, pulling the cardboard tab to open his sandwich box. “I spoke as a character witness during his trail.”
Stashing the strip of cardboard back into the plastic bag Harry hopes this is enough explanation.
“Yeah, you did, didn't you,” Walker sighs, he would have been given the trial transcripts as part of his files. “Nicer than he deserves.”
“Why, what's he like now?” Harry asks, taking a bite of his sandwich - it's dry.
“An absolute git!” Walker laughs good naturedly. “I told him the smoke irritates my asthma, caught the fucker lighting up outside right before our meeting. But it’s not against parole to be an asshole is it.”
Leaning forward to take a bite, the middle of Walker's Prawn Mayo sandwich falls out onto the space between his feet.
That sounds like Malfoy, “so he’s having a hard time following parole then?”
“Oh he does everything he’s supposed to, just isn’t afraid of letting me know he hates it- if he ever thought he was in any real trouble he’d kiss ass.” Pulling a napkin from his own plastic shopping bag, Walker wipes fruitlessly at the dab of Mayo spotting his shirt.
“It’s normal for your client to hate you, but not so normal to actually listen to you. Never had anyone with a sentence that long who hasn’t rescinded. He’s improved my record, that's for sure.”
“Don’t get me wrong, he had a hard time in the beginning, never thought he’d manage to find someone dumb enough to hire him. Never thought he’d get over finding those types of jobs beneath him. But once he managed that, the rest of the requirements are small potatoes.”
“What other sort of requirements?”
“Oh you know, the usual stuff, restrictions on magic, restrictions on travel, no associating with known criminals, no criminal activity, the fortnightly meetings,” Finishing the last corner of his sandwich in one large bite, Walker rubs his hands free of crumbs.
“Thought that old girlfriend would do him in, was late a couple of times.”
“How do you verify that? The travelling and the magic, do you use veritaserum?” If the ministry were using tracking spells there would be a record of it.
Walker laughed. “As if we have the budget for that.” Placing his now empty sandwich box into his plastic bag he ties the handles together into a tight knot. “Nah, we use legilemens.”
Harry chokes on his can of coke, “isn’t that invasive?”
“He signed off on it,” Walkers responds defensively. Harry winces, he doesn't want this conversation to end poorly, he might need to run into him again.
“Isn’t it a challenge, using legilimency on a wizard that knows occlumency?”
He knows Malfoy must be good if he was able to keep Severus from reading his mind in sixth year, a fact Harry learned from a conversation between Severus and Malfoy that he listened to from under his invisibility cloak.
Walker scoffs. “Him a legilimens?” he shakes his head. “He’s an open book.” Taking up his nearly empty bag of crisp, Walker tips the bag bag, shaking the last couple crumbs directly into his mouth. Once finished he crumbles the shiny foil bag into a ball. “For his sake I hope you're mistaken, if he is he hasn’t claimed it.”
“I’m sure I am,” Harry assures him, curious to know why someone able to keep someone out of their head wouldn’t. It didn’t seem like Malfoy. “Back at school he wasn’t shy about talking himself up.”
“Don’t I know it,” Walker laughed. “Worst part of the job is all the baggage,” placing his hands on his knees, Walker heaves himself off of the park bench with a grunt. “Ah well, it’ll all be over soon enough. Less than a year left now, and I’m counting down the days.”
Checking his watch, Walker bids Harry farewell with a nod, lumbering off towards the Ministry for his next parole meeting. When Harry returns to the office he gives Ron his bag of crisps.
Ron opens it immediately and grabs a handful, a new stack of files by his desk. Harry can’t determine where they’re from by the covers alone, not recognizing the filing system of the codes. “How’s your investigation going?”
Ron responds with a grunt in the affirmative, his mouth full of crisps.
“I’m going to be in the field sometime next week, I’m trying to book an appointment at Gringotts,” Sabrina’s father was a banker at Gringotts, with all of the assets Harry had inherited from his parents, Sirius, and Remus, Mr. Fawcett had fallen into the client of a lifetime.
Nodding, Ron circles something in his notes, deep furrow in his brow.
With a firm rapt on the door Anne let’s herself in “Mr Weasley, Smith has someone on the muggle line for you, says its -”
“Yup, I can go right now,” Ron answered, immediately getting up from his desk. Stopping at the door he waves his wand sending the files into his desk, Harry hears the lock click.
Home much earlier than usual, Harry paces his living room waiting for Ginny to come home. He isn’t sure what he’ll do if Ginny thinks the donation is too much, doing it anyway wouldn’t be good, but how else is he going to speak with Daphne Greengrass? He walks another lap around the coffee table.
Coming up the drive from her run, James, arms up in the buggy already begging to be let out. “You're home early,” Ginny says a little too loudly, pulling her ear buds from her ear.
“Early day,” Harry smiles, walking down the stoop steps to meet her, they share a quick peck. Taking hold of the front end Harry helps her lift the buggy up the steps with a cheering James still secured inside.
“Rocket, rocket,” James exclaims, clapping when his father takes out his wand to levitate the buggy around the living room above the furniture.
“Oh, guess who I ran into, again. And who practically begged us to tea, again!” Ginny said, sitting on the wooden chest at the entryway which stores their out of season coats to unlace her shoes.
Narcissa Malfoy, ever since the trials she had been trying to take Harry out to thank him for what he’d done. In response Harry had done everything in his power to avoid her, he didn’t want to say no, to be rude to her kindness, but he didn’t want to accept either; he couldn’t imagine the meeting being anything other than awkward.
Standing back upright she kicks her worn runners off her feet. “Honestly you would think her life depended on it.”
Maybe it did. A life debt, having seen how serious the cost of repayment could go with Wormtail strangling himself in the cellar of Malfoy manor he could understand her anxiety to pay it and pay it cheap.
Careful not to get bowled over by the levitating buggy Ginny heads over to the kitchen, the whoosh of the tap carrying across the living room.
“Maybe we should finally take her up on it,” Harry suggested, slowly lowering the buggy so he could take James out of it.
Ginny sticks her head through the doorframe to see if Harry is joking, “really?”
Harry shrugs, Ginny guffaws “uh, okay, sure, why not.”
Disappearing back into the kitchen, Harry can hear the tap running again and the cupboards opening, probably taking her electrolytes, while she no longer played quidditch professionally she still trained as though it were the off season.
“Oh, and I was thinking of donating to St. Mungo’s fundraiser this year,” said Harry, lowering a squirming James onto the living room floor where he quickly tottered off towards the kitchen in search of his mother.
“Yeah, they do the fancy dress party right,” said Ginny, the roar of the blender forcing Harry to wait to continue.
“Right, but, I would be donating more than tickets…”
“Well I’m sure Ron and Hermione would come, invite George and Angelina- we could fill up a table easily, probably two.” Ginny reappeared with a dark green smoothie, leaning against the doorframe she took a long sip.
“More than that.”
Ginny rolled her eyes, “donate whatever will make you feel better, it’s your money.”
“It’s our money, I want you to be okay with it.”
With a sigh, Ginny set her smoothie onto a side table. “Harry, you could give it all away for all I care, I don’t need anything else.” Bridging the gap between them she wraps her arms around his neck, “just save enough for harpies season tickets.”