Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Paralyzed, Harry watches through the glass as Draco returns the clutch to a gracious Astoria, who sticks the purse under her armpit. He hadn’t thought things through, he never thinks things through. While his charms would keep someone absentmindedly digging through a loaded handbag from stumbling upon it, anyone who cared to look would be able to find it; and Malfoy was suspicious. Of course he was, Harry should have counted on that.
Reentering the ballroom, Harry scans the room, the band is winding down, the tables have been cleared of all dish ware, now littered with abandoned cocktails and half drunken waters. The Weasleys are still all on the dance floor, but now off towards the side chatting; Molly and Arthur slow dancing to the music.
Astoria and Draco rejoin their dinner group, chatting with Nott who appears to be introducing his date as they each take turns shaking hands. As a waiter walks by Astoria stops them, moving her hands emphatically as she makes her order; Daphne catches her purse as it slides from under her armpit, chastising her sister.
“Harry, I wanted to thank you for inviting me.”
“Uh, yeah, of course Neville,” he’s only half listening. Astoria has opened her bag, holding it from the bottom with her left hand and her right has disappeared inside.
“Really, I - it means a lot, that you care,” Neville continues, Astoria has pulled out a tube of lipstick and a hand mirror, with her purse back under her arm she checks her lips making sure her makeup is still intact. “I wish I could do more to support St Mungo’s and everything…”
Turning away from the Slytherins he finally looks at Neville. Alice and Frank Longbottom presently reside in the Janus Thicnkey war due to the extensive damage to their brains, the result of hours of magical torture. Unless there were any breakthroughs in the field of magical healing they always would.
“You do enough Neville.” Harry assures him. He feels awful for not saying anything to Neville sooner.
“There you are!” Hannah Abbot sidles up next to Neville, handing him a pint of beer, they clink glasses. “God, that bag is gorgeous isn’t it,” Hannah sighs wistfully, taking a small sip from her glass.
The server has returned with a tray of lagers, Astoria again adjusts her handbag as she helps the waiter hand the glasses out, luckily the server is quick and rebalances the tray before she can send all of the glasses to the floor.
“Do you want one?” Neville asks, the hand stitched sequin bag is much flashier than anything Hannah usually wears, even with the lights dimmed for dancing the silver thread shines brilliantly.
Each with a pint, Blaise appears to give a short speech before raising his glass; all but Daphne raise their glass to meet Blaise, waiting a beat and then chugging their drink as fast as they can. Pansy, noticeably begins ahead of the others. Returning her still full glass back to the waiter, Daphne heads towards the messaging her temples. Pansy is the first to show off her empty glass, Blaise, and Draco close behind, the boys all pointing accusing fingers at Pansy. Astoria with about a quarter glass left, pauses, pulling a face before finishing it in a go.
“Ha! I think a house would be a better use of our money. It's a Dremain Dreadfoul, that thing costs the same as a down payment on a mortgage.” Hannah takes another sip of her beer. “Beautiful though.”
“Please give it up for Davis Kenny and the brass boys,” Daphne’s voice is once again magically magnified, standing in the centre of the stage she raises her hands initiating a short round of applause as the band members take a bow around her. “As our DJ sets up to play us out for the rest of the evening we will be announcing the winner of this year's costume contest.”
Neville, Hannah, and Harry migrate to stand with the rest of the Weasley’s. Ginny squeezes Harry’s arm when she sees him.
Entering stage right as the band exits stage left, a server joins Daphne on the stage, a silver trophy in the form of a skeleton holding a pumpkin, balanced on his tray.
“Before we announce our winner a few honourable mentions; Merlin,” Daphne rolls her eyes as the twenty plus Merlins in the crowd cheer and pump their fists. “Rowena Ravenclaw,” a spotlight shines on an older woman, her silver hair styled in a sleek up-do accentuating the elegant silver and sapphire tiara on her head, her rich crushed velvet robes matching perfectly.
“And Cher,” Astoria again has her purse covering her belly as the spotlight turns to her.
“Well, I guess her campaigning worked,” Fleur pouts her lips, taking a sip of wine.
“You look stunning,” Bill assures her, kissing the back of her hand. Her lips upturned ever so slightly at the compliment.
“The winner of this year’s costume contest is - “ the audience holds their breath in anticipation. Reading the small red card in her hand Daphne presses her lips into a thin line. “Luna Lovegood. Yes, let’s give her and her, exuberant, chimera costume a big round of applause.”
To raucous applause Luna ascends the stage, accepting the trophy with both hands. She holds it like a new born baby, the goat on her hat opens its mouth and bleats, she doesn’t say anything before walking off the stage.
“Right then,” Daphne smiles awkwardly before leaving the stage to allow the next act to set up his equipment.
“That’s going to be it for me,” Aubrey announces, rubbing her eyes, Percy has already collected her cloak and is helping her into it.
“Yeah, my feet are not going to last a moment longer in these shoes,” states Hermione, placing her hand on Ron’s shoulder as she steps one foot out to allow her swollen foot a chance to breathe.
“What, come on it’s not even midnight, you can’t go now!” George protests, his face flush from drinking. Angelina nods in agreement, mouth preoccupied with finishing the last of her latest beer.
Bill has also left to collect his and Fleur’s belongings. “We will be leaving as well,” said Fleur, giving George a kiss on the cheek farewell. “Some of us have work in the morning.”
George turns to Ron. “Come on, let's do a shot, for the soon to be father!”
Even though it has been 7 years, George is still not used to not having an accomplice in all things.
“Okay one more,” Ron concedes.
“What Ron,” Hermione hisses, stepping back into her shoes.
“And I’m leaving right after.” Ron declares.
“Of course you are,” George nods with a wink, whisking him to the bar.
“I will be waiting at the apparition point.” Hermione calls after him, hugging Harry and Ginny farewell.
Inspecting the award for herself, Ginny congratulates Luna, “I bet Rolf would love to get a closer look at this.”
“I don’t think so,” said Luna dreamily, “he doesn’t seem to care about material things.”
Ginny’s exasperated answer is drowned out by the DJ, the bass of his speakers causing the chandeliers to shake. The dance floor swells with moving bodies. Amidst them is Astoria and Malfoy; Astoria, who is still holding her bag.
George returns from the bar without Ron who true to his word has left, two tall fie whisky and sodas in hand.
“Well done mate, mum will not stop going on about what a wonderful party this is,” George beams, nudging Harry with his elbow. “Here, loosen up, it's Halloween.” George instructs Harry, handing him his second drink.
Harry takes a sip, pulling a face, it’s strong.
“George,” said Harry, forming an idea. “Can I ask you a favour?”
Taking a long sip from his glass, Harry can hear the air in the straw as he pulls the last dregs from between the ice cubes, a lazy smile sliding across his face. “What, my dear brother in law, do you ever need?”
They get their chance a couple songs later. Exiting the dance floor Astoria retrieves her purse from her sister and runs to the loo. Returning to the ballroom George is ready.
Tucking her hair behind her ears Astoria isn’t looking when George stumbles into her, hard, knocking her purse on to the floor.
“My apologies, I’ve got it.” Shoving his half finished drink into Astoria’s hand George bends over to retrieve the dropped bag, grabbing it from the bottom and pulls it up upside down. “Whoops!”
Lifting it higher off the ground a litany of belongs fall from the open purse: a leather wallet, a change purse, a compact, three tubes of lipstick, loose coins, a sample size perfume bottle, her cigarette cas bursting open and raining loose cigarettes everywhere, portable walkman and headphones, three cd jewel cases, quills, pens, a pocket book, deodorant, a keyring loaded with keys, and a shower of business cards. The expansion charm must be extensive as the collection of items seems endless.
“Flip it the right way around!” Astoria yells, her hand in her hair as she helplessly watches her purse empty onto the marble floor. George gives the bag a shake for good measure. Handing her a now empty bag George apologizes profusely, hamming up his performance as he kneels on the ground to begin collecting the mess he made.
With all the commotion Harry doubted she would have noticed his wand out, casting a wordless accio. He slides the ear easily into his pocket.
A piercing beam of light burns Harry's retina’s; he scrunches his eyes shut tight against the assault. The banging of a thousand thunder clouds, someone climbing the staircase, the whine of the door hinges, he presses the pillow against the sonic assault.
“James, say good morning to daddy,” Ginny's laughter rattles his brain in his skull. “I’ll let Anne know you’re going to be late to work.”
Harry does end up making it to work on time, a pain tonic and a pepper up potion curbing the worst of his hangover. The journey from the floo entrances to the Auror Department, with the loud echoing marble floor and walls, and the bright overhead lights is still a torture to endure. Rushing through the door a half hour late, red Auror robes open, revealing Ron’s untucked shirt and missing tie, hair askance and dark heavy bags under his eyes Ron looks how Harry feels. They leave the lights off and work in silence.
Over the following week Harry watches and rewatches his memories of the gala, obsessively transcribing every encounter involving or pertaining to Malfoy. He needs to talk to Pansy, every review makes that fact clear, not only did she know him during second year, but she’s clearly observant, knowing just what to say to push his buttons, she knows him.
In the middle of the week, Malfoy’s response to the smoking survey is delivered to his desk, just in time for his parole meeting. He skims over the more introductory questions, reading the questions and observing which of the provided options is ticked. Do you smoke: ticked yes. How often do you smoke: ticked daily, Have you ever tried to quit smoking: ticked no. If so how many times?: left blank. When did you start smoking : ticked before 17.
Harry does a double take. Smoking was not permitted at Hogwarts, then again it would not have been above Malfoy to abuse his Prefect privileges. Harry remembers Hermione explaining how shocked she was with how many cigarettes she had confiscated, those with older siblings and cousins outside of school would send packs in care packages, or smuggle them in from Hogsmead weekends. Harry was sure any Malfoy confiscated never made it to Professor Snape, and if Snape were to find it odd that one of his Prefects never had any contraband to report he would ignore it if it was Malfoy.
Why do you smoke? Select all that apply: ticked to be social, ticked to aid in relaxation, ticked stress relief.
Harry thinks back to what Walker said, about Draco arriving at his parole meetings smelling like smoke.
Smoking is hazardous to your health, causing damage to major organs such as heart, lungs, and liver. For more information on how to quit please retain the bottom portion of this survey.
Being a copy of the original the paper isn’t perforated, but Harry can see where the page is meant to be torn away but remains attached.
Ding dong!
Hermione had insisted on having a muggle doorbell installed, and really the device had come in dead useful with takeaway deliveries.
“I’ll get it,” said Harry, running to the front door before Hermione could get her hands on the arms of her chair. 7 months into her pregnancy her stomach was ginormous, making the simplest of tasks laborious.
Ginny followed after him, taking the brown paper takeaway bags as Harry handled the muggle money.
“You know, I must have driven down the laneway a million times and I swear I’ve never seen this place before,” the young delivery driver says, shaking his head as he sorts out Harry’s change.
“Yeah, it’s pretty private.” or the place was under secrecy charms, he wouldn’t see it again until Hermione and Ron next decided to order in.
Harry gestures for him to keep the change; thanking Harry the driver returns to his car to disappear down the laneway, he won’t even think twice about the cottage vanishing from his rear view mirror- Hermione's spell work was very thorough.
In the kitchen Ginny is setting the containers of chicken tikka masala, korma, vindaloo, jasmine rice, and naan in the center of the table, sticking large soup spoons to serve with. Opening the eggshell painted cabinets, Harry pulls out a stack of Ikea plates to set the table with.
“Really Harry, Ginny, let me,” Hermione protested weakly, again preparing to get out of her chair.
“Hermione sit.” Ginny orders. “The best part about being pregnant and you won’t even let anyone do anything for you.”
“Yeah honey relax,” Ron says from his spot on the tiled kitchen floor next to James, brandishing a green crayon to colour in a toad n that is peaking from an orange and purple scribble cauldron.
From her seat Hermione fixes Ron with a glare, nodding towards the kitchen for him to get up and help their guests.
“No, no, Ron don’t get up,” Ginny teases, prodding her brother with her foot as she crosses the kitchen to help Harry with the cutlery. “I need to take advantage of the babysitting when I can get it, no offloading this one with his uncle come the new year.”
“I think you’ll be alright, you’ve got 6 to choose from,” said Ron, collecting the colouring bits from the floor.
“Yeah but you're his favourite,” said Ginny. Ron flushes under the compliment, lifting James from the floor and placing him into his highchair.
The group begin serving themselves heaping helpings of currie and rice, Harry passing around the foil bag of garlic naan as Ginny fixes a plate of rice to go along with James’ chopped banana and mushy carrots.
“Uncle Ron,” James cries, banging his fists on the high chairs table.
“You got it.” Grabbing the high chair by the two back legs Ron slides it around the dinner table, parking it next to his seat. James clapped all the while, enjoying the ride.
“So, Ginny, have you decided on that garden then?” asks Hermione.
“I think this one was decided for me,” Ginny answers, patting her non-existent baby bump. “No way I’m digging around in the dirt in 4 months when this is the size of a melon.”
“I’m sure Harry would help you,” said Hermione, shoveling up a steaming fork of masala.
Of course, Hermione was right that he would, but nothing about his childhood on Private Drive had given him any desire to garden. Knowing this Ginny would never ask.
“Oh, you’ll never guess what I picked up on my way home today,” Ron smirks. Hermione tilts her head, she hasn’t a clue. “I wanted it to be a surprise.” Ron explains summoning a magazine with his wand.
It is the latest issue of Witch Weekly. Flipping through the glossary pages Ron settles on a 2 page spread before setting it on the table.
The spread is filled with a collage of photographs from the Halloween gala, overlaid with blurbs of text naming those featured, and outlining key events from the evening. Among the collection of costumed, smiling patrons Harry easily spots Luna’s grand chimera costume; holding her best costume trophy Luna wears a serene expression, looking somewhere past the camera.
Surrounding her is a photograph of other prominent witches and wizards, such as the board for St. Mungos, prominent healers, important figures in business, and a photograph of Daphne and the Minister of Magic. Harry can also see the picture of himself and Kingsley that Pansy took, Kingsley coming across as diplomatic and self assured - Harry feels like he just looks like a gawky teenager beside him.
There is also a large shot of all of the Weasleys and co on the dance floor; it's a struggle to keep the entire group in frame, with all of the jostling to squeeze in together Neville spills his beer all over Percy. George and Angelina have opted to lay across the dance floor filling the bottom of the frame with beaming grins, kicking legs into the air dramatically. In the centre of all of the chaos Molly and Arthur Weasley smile proudly, Luna’s goat head is peeking through the back of the group. Harry is absent.
“Mum is going to go mental over it,” Ron shakes his head, rolling a generous helping of vindaloo into a piece of naan.
“Oh I’m sure she is, it’s about to replace your ultrasound the second she has the scissors out.” Ginny laughs, pulling the magazine closer to get a better look.
Flipping the page, the spread continues from general crowd shots to a best and worst dress feature. Astoria made the best dress, a cutting line questioning the appropriateness of such as dress at such a high end event with it, a back handed compliment then; in the photo she stands alone. There is also shot of Harry and Ginny, not the posed picture the one Pansy snapped when they weren’t looking, the pair blink owlishly.
Beneath the unflattering photograph was a blurb: Hero of the Wizarding world and former quidditch star, Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley decided to dust off the old Quidditch robes and call it a costume - does it suddenly count as a costume if you’re retired?
Ginny, pops her tongue reading the text. “She never did send that picture, did she?”
“No,” Harry realizes as he skims over the blurb again, he supposes that is a good enough reason to send Pansy Parkinson a letter at least - how he should phrase this to ensure it leads to more will require some thought.
Tired of the lack of attention James throws a fist of rice across the table.
“My thoughts exactly!” Ron nods, treating James' gesture as a sage point.
Loading her plate with a second portion, Hermione’s eating habits have come to resemble Rons this late into her pregnancy, she at least waits until after she’s swallowed to comment; “well, some people don’t change do they.”
Pansy had at least had some restraint, not featuring herself in the best dressed category (something she definitely would have done during their school days), however she can be seen subtly showing off a blood red ruby, nestled next to two small diamonds on her ring finger.
“Any plans for the weekend?” Harry asks Ron and Hermione, closing the magazine.
Still chewing, Hermione covers her open mouth with her hand, “well I have some work I want to get ahead on, which works out because George needs help at the joke shop-“
“Seriously Ron,” Ginny exclaims, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin.
“What, why are you mad at me!”
“Because you need to grow a spine and tell him you don’t work there! You already have a job.” Shaking her head Ginny stabs the chicken on her plate.
Ron doesn’t answer, shovelling a forkful of his own dinner quickly into his mouth, he and Hermione sharing a look across the table.
“What about you two?” Hermione asks, changing the subject.
“We need to go over to Grimmauld place, the tenants are having some issue with the plumbing,” Ginny shrugs.
“Isn’t that what an estate manager is for?” Ron asks through a mouthful of curry.
“Yeah, but if it's ever anything that could ‘ruin the integrity of the home’ we have to okay it.” Ginny explains. “I guess they might have to take some original wooden whatever out - I’m sure it’s fine.”
Harry knows what she doesn’t say, that they should just sell it and be done with it all.
“Grimmauld place,” Hermione murmurs, dropping her fork with a clatter. Harry can see the light bulb turn on in her head. With a start she attempts to leave her seat
“Uh, what about it?” Ron is already next to her, helping his wife out of her chair.
“Excuse me, I need to check some things in my office,” heading slowly up the stairs Harry follows behind her.
“Uhh what is this about Grimmauld place?” Harry asks, looming in her office doorway.
Hermione is at her bookshelf pulling, the volumes she is pulling out floating beside her in an ever growing pile. “Theodore Nott does estate law.”
“Right…but why would we-“
“Well it is a lot more complicated in the wizarding world then it is in the muggle world,” Hermione explains. “See there is legal inheritance but then there is also magical inheritance.”
“Okay but-“
“Ohh Harry I’m trying to think,” Hermione groans, closing the door on him.
“So I guess she won’t be joining us for dessert then,” Ron said, as Harry returned to the kitchen.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to set her off,” said Ginny cringing. Their dinners had a strict no work talk policy, because Ron and Harry weren’t allowed legally speaking to discuss ongoing cases and Hermione was prescribed a mandatory break past 6.
“It’s alright Ginny, there is nothing in the world Hermione can’t make about work,” said Ron, placing her plate into the sink.
“When is she meant to be on maternity leave?” Ginny asks, turning in her chair to sit backwards and look at her brother.
“Next week,” said Ron, shaking her head, leaning on the counter. “I tell you she won’t be putting the work down until the healer is shoving the baby in her hands.”
“Speaking of babies, I want to see the nursery,” Ginny announces, rising out of her chair. At Ginny’s behest the party moves from the kitchen, abandoning their dirty plates on the table, to move upstairs to the second bedroom; the light shining from under Hermione’s office door lighting the way.
“Behold, months of consumer product reviews, cutting edge childhood development research, and letters from mum,” Ron announces, opening the door with a dramatic flair.
The room is painted a banana yellow, with board and batten installed half way up the wall, painted an eggshell white. All of the furniture is pine, stained in light tones; a crib, a dresser, a changing table, and a bookshelf. The only non-oak furniture is an old oak rocking chair that Hermione’s mother had passed on to her at the baby shower, which had belonged to her mother, and her grandmother before her. A hand knitted blanket in a chevron pattern with alternating yellow and orange stripes made by Molly is draped across the back of the rocking chair.
“What’s that?” Ginny asks, pointing to a tall plastic cylinder with a foot pedal and hinged flap on a domed lid.
“Diaper genie,” Ginny and Harry give Ron a funny look. “It’s a muggle thing, a special trash can for dirty diapers.”
“Why do they call it a diaper genie then?”
“Because, it works like magic.” said Ron,waving his fingers like a hack magician.
“What’s supposed to be magic about it?” Ginny asks, crouching beside it to inspect it further, opening the lid and looking inside.
“It’s meant to stop the smell,” Ron explains with a shrug, leaning against the door frame.
Waddling over to the book shelf, James begins to pull out Hermione's carefully curated library volume by volume, raising James to rest on his hip. Harry quickly sets the books to rights with a wave of his wand.
“Does it work?” Ginny asks curiously, letting the lid flap closed.
“Well I don’t have a stash of used diapers to test it out with.”
“Well that just means you ought to be babysitting more,” Ginny smirks, picking the genie up to get a good look at every angle. “I’ll let Percy know you’re interested.”
“I’m happy to wait and find out.”
Bathed in the incandescent glow of streetlights, Harry raises his collar against a frigid wind. It feels like only yesterday he was blistering under the summer sun and now winter is approaching. He is standing outside the address listed for the Wizard Wireless Networks broadcasting station, Astoria having sent a memo to his office earlier in the day that she would have to change the location of their meeting or otherwise reschedule. The address, however, appears to be a normal muggle residential street, without any sign of magical activity in sight. Maybe he was at the wrong place.
“Harry Potter!” A man wearing a white t-shirt with a red tie and skinny jeans waves at him. If he hadn’t appeared out of thin air there would be nothing strange about him. “I’m Drew, Astoria asked me to show you inside.”
Taking the offered hand Harry shakes it.
“Now it’s simple enough really, have you seen the movie Singing in the Rain ?”
“Umm I’ve heard of it-”
But Drew isn’t looking, as he is facing the light post just ahead of them. “You just swing on this light post like your Gene Kelly and *snap* you're inside.” In time with his instruction Drew jumps onto the base of the lamp post, holding the pole with one hand, and using the momentum from his jump to swing around. Once he’s made it 180 degrees vanishes in thin air. None of the muggles walking their dogs seems to notice.
Apprehensively, Harry does the same, materializing in a wood panelled hallway with green shag carpeting - it is clearly a basement.
“See, easy,” Drew grins, gesturing for Harry to follow him down the hall. “Now this way.
They pass by a series of small rooms with low ceilings, some have desks in the centre with filing cabinets and bulletin boards cluttered with parchments and graphs, others have large windows looking into the hallway, with folding tables cluttered with sound boards, microphones, and a mess of cables. These are the only windows, unlike the Ministry with its magical windows providing 5 story views of London from the bowls of the city, WNN feels like a dark cave.
They stop at one of these windows, a similar set up to the ones Harry has passed, here the light is on, illuminating Astoria Greengrass. Her back turned to the pair she wears a large set of corded over ear headphones, bobbing to some unheard beat as she fiddles with various sliders and dials.
Drew knocks on the window. It takes a couple knocks to get her attention, when he does she holds up a finger, continuing to speak into a microphone. She must be on air. Setting the microphone down and flipping a switch she waves them in.
“So sorry about this,” Astoria begins, removing the left ear pad from her ear, continuing to listen to the live feed from her right ear. A tar black record spinning steadfastly behind her. “Fiona called in sick and I somehow, again , get stuck doing double duty-“
“And we appreciate your dedication,” says Drew in a placating tone. They’ve had this argument before.
“Yes, well, I want to remind you all that I too, have a life.” Astoria continues fixing Drew with a sharp stare.
“Right, and we can talk about this when we don’t have guests.” With a tight lipped smile Drew makes his exit, probably off home to dinner.
“I’m going to have to order in, I’m expecting to be reimbursed,” Astoria calls after him. “I mean it, I’m giving my receipt to accounting!”
Closing the door behind him Drew doesn’t even look back. With a sigh Astoria gestures for Harry to pull up one of the extra chairs currently pushed under the window. “It’s an advantage in a way, you can see the place yourself beforehand, settle in.”
“Oh yeah, it’s a-“
“A dank basement,” Astoria deadpans. “At least low ceilings make for good acoustics.”
Spinning in her wheeled office chair she begins to fiddle with the set up behind her.
“I’ll give you the tour,” she announces, wheeling her chair so Harry can get a clear view of the turntable.
“See it has three platters, those are the places for the records to go, so we can set up the tracks ahead of time. Otherwise there would be gaps in the programming with people needing to pick up the needle and swap the records, and all that faff. Instead we just flick a couple switches and,” flicking said switches, the middle record begins to revolve, and the previously spinning record on the left slows to a stop. “Presto! The next song starts. If you want to get really fancy with it you can start spinning one ahead of time and fade them in, or overlay different tracks on top of eachother.”
Even with her simple explanation the sheer amount of dials, slides, and switches promises that it is much more complicated than that.
“And here is the program,” she nudges a wooden crate filled with records that sits on the floor with her foot. Various colours of sticky tabs are poking from the covers. “Back to front, the colour lets you know which side, yellow side one, green side two, pink side 3, and orange side 4.”
And Harry thought records only had two sides, but she doesn’t pause to offer clarification, deftly sliding the previously played record into a white record sleeve.
“The track number is written on top, so just pull the next record,” replacing the previously played record to the back of the lineup, Astoria pulls the record at the front out, Harry recognizes Celestina Warbeck’s face on the cover. She pulls a yellow post-it off the front and reads it, “track 3, so I just place it on here,” she drops the record onto the now empty platter. “Place the needle so it’s ready at the start of track three,” gently she sets the needle down midway onto the record, where it can sit in wait for its turn to be spun. “And you’re all set, easy as pumpkin juice!”
Harry schools his face into one of interest but honestly he’s completely lost, the Dursleys never had a turntable and he’s stuck strictly to CD’s in his own listening. Spinning to face him she assesses him, self consciously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear; he remembers Hermione's comment, and the reaction to it he’d overheard and watched over and over again in his pensieve.
“Er, I don’t know about easy, I can’t make pumpkin juice,” said Harry. Astoria smiles self satisfied, pleased to know her work is beyond the saviour of the wizarding world. “I um, wanted to apologize for what Hermione said at the Halloween gala… for all of my guests actually.”
“She’s a big girl, she can apologize for herself if she wants.” Astoria states coldly. “So, you’ve got your list this time?”
“Yes, actually.” From his back Jean pocket he pulls out a folded piece of paper, a list of song titles written in his chicken scratch.
- Velouria
- Mr. grieves
- You charmed the heart right out of me
- Over the hills and far away
- Paint it black
- Wonderwall
- 1979
- Fantasy
Opening the paper Astoria smooths it down flat with her hands. Sliding her wand from the sleeve of her blouse- this time a chocolate brown satin, with bishop sleeves, she gives it a wave, copying the list into her pocket book. Pulling a pen from behind her ear she begins jotting her own notes.
“You can’t have two songs by the same artists,” Astoria notes immediately pointing at the first two titles, they’re both weird sisters songs. “Well, I mean you can I guess but, you’ll look like a philistine.”
He’s not sure what that means, but given Astorias expression it’s not something good.
“Oh er, whichever you think,” Harry shrugs. Astoria decisively crosses out Mr.Grieves.
She writes in the artists names next to the titles, as well as the albums she can find them on. She doesn’t ask for Harry’s help figuring this out; he doesn’t know if that means his picks are unique or if they’re all just obvious.
“Mariah Carey? Really?” She says as they reach the end.
“I remember hearing it at school,” Lavender Brown would play it in the common room, loudly, on the weekends, as she and Pavarti giggled over that week's Witch Weekly gossip column. “You played one Monday and it's been stuck in my head ever since.”
“You know it’s a sample of Genius of Love right?”
“What’s a sample?”
Astoria looks absolutely giddy, “we’ll talk about it on the show.” Harry supposes he’s given her some good material, he watches as she scribbles this information underneath the list, connecting her notes with a big curved arrow to the song title.
“Right, so what’s replacing this one then,” asks Astoria, tapping the back of her pen against the scratched out title. “You got an alternative?”
“Oh, er,” Harry racks his brain, he’s not so great with titles or artists, really he just lets the radio play and turns it off when he doesn’t like it. Fortunately the title is usually said in the chorus so he can usually guess. “Uh, take me out?”
Astoria nodding, adds “Take Me Out - Franz Ferdinand, self titled” to the list.
“I really am sorry, about everyone,” Harry reiterates, and really he is since at least some of their horribleness was his fault, what with George making a mess of her things. “I hope they didn’t spoil your night.”
“Stop apologizing,” Astoria groans. Her back is to him as she answers, returning the latest record back to its sleeve. “I should be used to it by now probably, Hermione’s hardly the first to say it.”
“Yeah, your sister was a little dismissive when I mentioned our interview,” Harry goes for nonchalant, hoping that if he acts like it’s normal for him and Daphne to talk then perhaps Astoria will treat it like it is.
Astoria scoffs, setting the next record in the lineup on the turntable “Hm, just dismissive? I guess you’re a stranger so she’d be more restrained.”
“Do you mind me asking why? Is radio not a good job?” Harry had never thought much about the status tied to careers, deciding to become an Auror based on his quest to defeat Voldemort, he hadn’t been prepared for the prestige the title gave him.
“Oh it’s not the job itself, it’s just…” spinning in her chair Astoria stops, although she is facing Harry she avoids making eye contact, instead looking at the ceiling water stained. “Everyone expects us to just go on as we were, as if nothing happened. To just go along with the same traditions that got us into this mess.”
This mess is Voldemort, the war, and everything that followed after.
“Draco gets away with it now because he’s on parole and needed to get whatever job he could without NEWTS.”
No one that was in seventh year during the war would have had them, either needing to repeat a year, study independently and show up for the scheduled time, or many, like Harry, forwent acquiring any NEWTS altogether and entering the job market.
“But now that he has them everyone just expects him to quit, leave a job he likes for a more respectable job he’ll probably hate. No definitely hate.” Astoria chews on the end of her thumb, so she’s unsure what Malfoy will do. “Not that we need to work but, Merlin, I can’t imagine staying at home all day, would drive me mad.”
Harry doesn’t know what to say, sitting awkwardly in his chair allowing Astoria to keep going.
“I’m not saying we should entirely abandon our culture, but, well, I guess I don’t know.”
Harry maybe does know somewhat, the expectations people have for you,the reality could never live up to the legend. “It’s a lot of pressure.”
“Yeah.” Astoria agrees, letting out a slow breath of air, her chair squeaks as she swivels the seat anxiously left and right.
“But you’re right, about the war, you should live the life you want.”
“Oh I intend to, the second Draco’s parole is up,” Astoria makes a motion as if wiping her hands clean. “We are out of here. obviously couldn’t do a proper honeymoon as he’s not allowed to leave the country, I can’t wait!”
She adopts a dreamy expression, clearly been thinking about this for years probably, since the wedding. Harry doubts it will happen as soon as she pictures, this case putting a wrench into all of her plans.
Once again she fiddles with the turntable, before she turns back to Harry. “We’ve got 3 minutes, come on, I’ll show you the record library and get you some tea.”
She props the door open with Harry’s chair before they are out, he can guess at some past incident wherein she had locked herself out before. They walk back the way he had come when he first entered the studio. Low ceiling, the music library looks so much like the others, except instead of a desk, or recording equipment, the room was filled with floor to ceiling metal shelves so loaded with records that the middle bowed under the weight.
Inside a man wheeling a metal cart loaded with albums is returning them onto the shelves. “Hey, don’t make too much of a mess, I don’t want to come in tomorrow to find half the storeroom on the floor of recording room B.”
“Relax Mark, I’m only grabbing a couple things,” Astoria assures him, familiar with the space she easily selects the titles she’s looking for. “Fiona’s picks are so safe, if I’m stuck here I might as well put my own spin on it, get it because-“
“Oh I got it,” Mark says, annoyed. “You’re a broken record. But I mean it, because after this cart I’m out of here.”
Inspecting the track list of a record, the cover has a yacht and a woman diving into the crisp blue water, Astoria waved her hand for him to stop. “I got it, no mess.”
Browsing the shelves himself Harry can see that they are sorted alphabetically according to artist, within genre, and within muggle and wizard. Some of the genres, pop/rock, metal, punk he recognizes but others noise, experimental, jazz fusion, he is wholly unfamiliar. Astoria moves through the shelves with ease, knowing what she’s looking for she quickly pulls an armful of records before leading him once again back to the hallway.
The staff room is at the far end of the hall, while larger than the recording rooms it is similarly low ceiled with scattered tables and chairs and a small kitchenette on the far wall. Putting a kettle on with one arm, the other still laden with records Astoria checks her watch.
“Wait here!”
Harry supposed her three minutes are almost up, peeking his head out the door, he waits for her to disappear back into the recording room.
The doors to the offices are labeled with engraved metal plates, making Astoria’s easy to find. The furniture is the same as everyone else’s, MDF desk with plastic office chair, a grey metal filing cabinet; but it’s the personal touches he’s more interested in.
On the cork board articles cut from top of the pops are tacked onto the board, as well as sticky notes with the names: “nsync” “Fiona Apple” “Britney Pierce Spears”. Promotional flyers picturing concerts and events that had been promoted by the station, are tacked on, these with snapshots from these events - given the angle of the photographs it appears as though Astoria took them herself, her arm reaching out past the frame in all of them, smiling next to her guests; sometimes this is Daphne, others Romillda Vane, but mostly it is Draco. From the photographs Malfoy gives Harry a stink eye, and Astoria noticing this just laughs.
She doesn’t have too many knick knacks, her purse has been dropped carelessly on her desk, the same brown one she had brought to their first meeting. Some of the contents; keys, a lipgloss, a silk Hermes scarf, have spilled out. Her jacket, a long black leather trench coat, hangs from the back of her chair.
Opening the filing cabinet the folders are labelled with show titles “Muggle Monday” “Witching Hour, the” and dates. Giving one a quick peak they’re mostly programming notes, a track list of what songs were aired, time stamps of when advertising was played. He closes the filing cabinet. Turning back to the bulletin board he finds a memo Astoria has tacked on, given the creasing he assumes WWN uses a similar system as the Ministry of Magic - Drunken Dwarf live show December 16th. Cover for Mark.
“You are absolutely terrible, worse than my husband.” Astoria is leaning in the door frame, arms crossed. Harry wonders how long she’s been watching him.
“Does he know I’m here?” asks Harry, wondering if Malfoy has warned her against him, she doesn’t seem suspicious herself, more amused.
“We don’t keep secrets.” There is a weight to it. Whatever she thinks Harry is implying she doesn’t like it. “Let’s go, your tea is getting cold.”
Flicking the light off she leaves, Harry is slow to follow.
Entering the recording studio the microphone has been left on the table, she must have been using it before returning to the staff room to finish fixing their tea. Two mugs are waiting for them, one brown, one orange, each with the royal blue WWN logo, she has the headphones back on bobbing along to the current track.
Returning to his seat, Harry takes his wallet out of his back pocket, leaving it on the table.
“Then what do you think?” If Malfoy really had shared all of his suspicions Harry couldn’t imagine why she was following through with their interview. Perhaps she only thinks he is; either way Harry wants to find out.
Removing the headphones Astoria rolls her eyes. “I think we’re all a little more paranoid after the war, and you’re being an Auror doesn’t help anything. The wizarding community is small, you’re a big figure in it,” Astoria shrugs. “Everyone sees everyone everywhere all the time.”
“Yeah, it all seemed so big when I was kid,” and it had, but now it's all the same names, the same faces.
“Ha, it’s claustrophobic.”
They spend another 30 minutes discussing Harry’s song choices in more detail, Astoria making sure he is confident with the titles and the artists - which he should really know if these are favourites. She jots notes on his anecdotes, prompts she can use during the interview proper to coax the more interesting stories from him. With the list settled all that is left to do is schedule the interview. They decide on a date in December.
When they’ve finished Astoria instructs Harry on how to leave. “Whoever was in charge of security must have been a huge cinephile, this is supposedly from some movie.” She waves her hand dismissively, whatever movie it is is neither here nor there. “Just tap your heels together three times and you’ll be back on the street.”
It may lead to nothing, but he decides to leave his wallet behind.
Feeling silly Harry does, the third time his heels click together he blinks and he’s back on the Manchester sidewalk, under the warm yellow glow of the street light on a cold November night.