Because I must pee, and your boyfriend is too much of a gentleman to watch."
Hermione's firm grip allowed her to feel Harry's belly laugh before she heard it.
"Not an easy thing, I assure you," he quipped. "I am just dying to know how a broomstick-riding witch can pee in mid-air."
Fleur giggled, and replied, "Well, it is a lot easier when you are not wearing any clothes."
"I imagine so."
Hermione gave Harry's waist a squeeze. "Well, keep it in your pants, and also in your imagination, Mister."
"Yes, Dear."
The Muggleborn witch proved that you can still roll your eyes when your eyelids are shut. She sighed, and then asked, "So why can't we continue on under the invisibility cloak, then?"
There was a delayed response (which only added fuel to Harry's imagination).
"I am pretty certain that we are only four or five miles from the border," Fleur finally replied. "The magical gendarmes would take a dim view of anyone trying to slip into the country while wearing an invisibility cloak."
"So what's their view about slipping into the country naked?" Hermione asked.
Fleur let out a melodic laugh. "Oh, ma Cherie…you know that we French are far more relaxed about these things than the uptight British people, n'est-ce pas?"
Hermione couldn't help but laugh at Fleur's joke. She then asked, "Well if we're that close…you really couldn't hold your water for a few more minutes?"
"We are close to the border…I did not say that we are close to the French coastline," Fleur replied. "Magical jurisdiction begins at the edge of the national ward line…halfway across the Channel."
"Ah…that makes sense."
"Bon, I am finished, Harry…shall we continue on?"
"Oui, oui!" Harry chirped, using an outrageous French accent. "Where you lead, I shall follow!"
Hermione felt the broom lurch a bit as Harry took one last look at the distant English shoreline, then brought the stick into a gentle 180 degree turn. She risked opening her eyes when Harry leaned forward and began to accelerate, and snorted when she visually confirmed the view that he had been following during the trip.
Fortunately, Fleur had selected a much more moderate air speed that allowed for conversations.
"What teen-aged male wouldn't want to follow that arse, huh Harry?" Hermione quipped.
Her boyfriend shrugged. "It's not bad."
"Right."
"Oh, geez," Harry whined. "It's no different than the view I gave you two on the beach."
"True."
"And it's a whole lot less than the view I had to give her tonight during the tracking charm check!"
"Fair enough."
"And shall I provide you with my review of the outdoor show that she and Bill gave us?"
Hermione leaned forward and planted a kiss behind Harry's ear to show that she was doing more teasing than complaining.
"Would you rather be following my bare arse, then?"
Harry groaned. "Why don't you drop your hands down towards my other stick and feel my reaction to that lovely thought?"
His girlfriend giggled. "That's okay…wouldn't want to distract the pilot."
"I could handle it!" Harry insisted.
"Nobody is going to be handling anything this far up in the air," said Hermione.
Fleur's estimate of how close they had been to the edge of the French area of magical control was based on separate estimates of flight time and average air velocities. That her calculation was a tad too conservative was proven when a larger-than-life glowing red "ARRÊT" sign suddenly popped into existence. Fleur and Harry pulled their broomsticks to abrupt stops as a rather angry voice boomed from the magical stop sign, shouting in English.
"HALT! YOU ARE ATTEMPTING UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY INTO THE MAGICAL REPUBLIC OF FRANCE. STAY WHERE YOU ARE. THE BORDER PATROL WILL ARRIVE AT YOUR LOCATION IN…FOUR…MINUTES. FAILURE TO COMPLY WITH THIS DEMAND WILL RESULT IN ADDITIONAL FINES AND/OR PROSECUTIONS!"
"Well, isn't that a lovely welcome?" Harry quipped.
Fleur shook her head as she put her stick in reverse and hovered back towards the other two. She stopped once she was within reach of them, and said, "Don't worry, it will be fine."
The part-Veela glanced back over her shoulder, and suddenly let out a squeal of delight.
"We did it!" she shouted. "We did it!"
Fleur lunged towards Harry and pulled him into a bare-breasted embrace.
"Welcome to France, Harry Potter," she said, kissing the teen-aged wizard on both cheeks. She then broke the embrace just as quickly, and repeated the welcome (and the kissing) with Hermione. The English witch accepted the welcome with good humor, and pulled Harry into a three-way hovering hug.
Harry thoroughly enjoyed the hugging and the kissing for a few seconds. But then his brain kicked into gear and he risked spoiling the mood with a simple question.
"So now what?" he asked.
Fleur broke the embrace and leaned back over her broomstick. "Now we wait for the escort from the immigration and control office. From there I can contact my father, and we will be home in no time!"
"That's nice," said Hermione. "But shouldn't you be clothed for all that?"
The French witch giggled. "Unfortunately, I seemed to have left all my clothing back in England. Along with my fiancé. And my identification papers."
Momentarily forgetting her altitude, Hermione released her two handed grip around Harry and reached for her expandable button.
"Here, I'm sure I can find something you can wear," she insisted.
Harry looked back over his shoulder, and smiled when he noticed that the first thing Hermione pulled from the magical container was a black silk thong.
"Good luck slipping that thing on in mid-air," he said. "Although…couldn't be that much harder than peeing, eh?"
Fleur laughed as she pointed her wand towards Hermione's hand and transfigured the pair of knickers into a simple grey cloak. The French witch then threw the cloak over her shoulders and said, "There are many interesting things that you can do on a broomstick…even more when you are sharing it with your lover, no?"
"I'll take your word for it," Harry said.
"You don't have any choice, Mister," Hermione quipped. "At least as long as I'm your girlfriend."
"Maybe when you become his fiancée, then?" Fleur teased.
"I doubt it," said Hermione. She then asked, "So now that we are just inside French jurisdiction, why don't you apparate us the rest of the way?"
"It would cause a big incident," Fleur replied. "Now that they have discovered us…they would be able to follow the apparition trace. Better to calm down their concerns here and now."
"Now it is, then," Harry stated, as he pointed towards the squadron of broomstick-riding gendarmes that was rapidly approaching their position.
The six border patrol agents weren't very happy with them, and did a lot of shouting and gesturing with their outstretched wands. Fleur tried to patiently explain (emphasizing whom she was, and whom her father was), but the gendarmes were skeptical, especially when she was unable to produce a passport (or any other kind of valid identification).
The part-Veela really didn't want to throw her inherited power around, especially now that she was on (or at least close to) home soil. And especially given what had happened the last time she had released her allure. But once they were ordered to turn their broomsticks around and fly back to England, she really didn't have a choice.
It was a testament to their level of magical and mental training that the border patrol agents didn't all fall off their broomsticks once Fleur hit them with a full blast.
"None of you will have a fatal heart attack and all of you will resist the temptation to masturbate," she stated.
The gendarmes all nodded their heads and repeated Fleur's statement.
"None of us will have a fatal heart attack…"
"Everything is in order here."
"Everything is in order here."
"These are very important people that require a protective escort back to your station."
"These are very important people…"
"Bon…allons-y!"
The gendarmes all nodded their heads, and took up a protective diamond-patterned formation around the other two broomsticks.
The entire group began to fly towards the French shoreline at a relatively moderate pace, with Fleur and Harry now flying side-by-side. This allowed Hermione to ask, "So it is that easy to get in, then? No problems once we get to their station?"
Fleur pouted. "I am much more worried about what happened back in England, when I used my allure on Monsieur Diggle."
Hermione shook her head. "There's no proof that you did that, or that what you did caused that, Fleur."
Fleur sighed. "Yes, I know…but still…"
"Is there a law against releasing allure…at least in France?" Hermione asked.
The French witch nodded. "I will be chastised by my parents, and I risk a rather large civil penalty for using allure on public officials, but when compared with the alternative?"
Harry said, "I'll cover whatever fine you have to pay."
Fleur smiled. "Thank you for the offer, but it is only a small risk that I will be fined."
"Because of whom I am?" Harry asked.
"No, because of whom my father is," Fleur replied. She sighed, and added, "It was a lucky thing that all of these agents were male."
Harry cocked his head and expressed his confusion. "Don't you have a female-affecting flavor as well?"
"Yes, but that would have affected Hermione as well," said Fleur. "You are a magnificent flyer, Harry Potter…but could you control your broomstick while your passenger passionately fluffed her muffin?"
Harry thought for a moment, then smiled. "Only one way to find out, right?"
That quip earned the teen-aged wizard a gentle slap on the head from his passenger.
"There will be no testing and no muffin fluffing while we're still two hundred feet above the water," she insisted.
"How about when we're two feet above solid ground, then?" Harry glibly replied.
"Stop it!" Hermione gently chided. She leaned her cheek against her boyfriend's back and let out a deep sigh.
"It's not fair that I'm affected by Fleur's allure, but you aren't."
"Yeah, why is that?" Harry asked. "I mean…you really shouldn't be if your heart belongs to another, right?"
Fleur grinned. "Never doubt that you hold Hermione's heart, Harry!"
The teen-aged wizard snorted. "Four h-words in a row…is this another language lesson?"
"Yes, it is," said Hermione. "And Fleur, you should have told Harry to stay close to your tail, rather than your arse."
"But I do not have a tail," Fleur protested. "At least…not unless I get very, very angry."
"It's a figure of speech," said Hermione.
"No, it is a biology lesson," Fleur replied. "Harry, the allures…they work differently. For the men, their attractions and desires are focused on me. But for the women? The allure gives them intense feelings and urges for the men."
"It's a defensive mechanism, remember?" Hermione added. "It gets unwanted men off of Fleur's back by making nearby women want to get on their backs and spread their legs for the unwanted men."
"So the reaction is opposite," Fleur agreed. "And the reaction is that much more intense for the woman if the man who holds her heart is by her side."
"Ah, I get it!" said Harry. "So is that why Hermione really needed to rub one off in the Burrow's sitting room? Because I was sitting next to her at the kitchen table?"
"Exactement!" Fleur replied.
"Don't let it go to your head, Mister!" Hermione warned.
"How could blood not flow towards that head when I hear how much of an effect I have on you?" Harry teased.
"You're a real berk sometimes, you know?"
"Yes, but you still love me, don't you?"
Hermione gave her boyfriend a squeeze and replied, "I wouldn't have had that screaming sitting room orgasm if I didn't, right?"
"Lucky me!"
"And don't you forget it!"
The three continued on in relatively good humor, their spirits dampened only when they thought of those still left behind in England.
oo00OO00oo
2:35am
The Burrow
Bill certainly appreciated the irony as he kept one eye on his mother's clock and the other eye on the stairs leading up to his mother's bedroom. Transfiguring the fake clock's face and swapping out the fake for the original was one of the first things he had done upon returning from the ward line. Prying his mum's clock away from her exposed left breast was going to mentally scar him for the rest of his life, but he (and Fleur and Harry and Hermione) were damned if they were going to let Molly meddle in their private lives…even from a distance.
Switching clocks early had provided Bill with an unplanned bonus; it allowed him to remotely monitor the other's health and progress. There was, of course, no location on the clock marked France(since Molly couldn't conceive of a reason why anyone would want to visit that country). But there was a spot marked Traveling, and that's where Harry's and Hermione's hands had come to rest. Fleur's hand was hovering over Work, which puzzled Bill until he decided that their primary job as Order of the Phoenix members was to keep Harry safe. And if Fleur was helping Harry stay safe by facilitating his escape, then it made sense that the clock considered her to be at Work. This also readily explained why Bill's hand was set over the same spot.
Bill also appreciated the fact that he was hyper focusing on the clock hands even more than his mother would have been (had she been awake). But no sense of shame came with this appreciation…not when so much was at stake. And he loved the poetic justice…the clock that had been modified in order to restrict their freedom was now being used against his mother's wishes in order to facilitate their freedom.
Not knowing Fleur's exact flight plan didn't mean that Bill didn't have a fairly good idea of where she was going, and how long it would take to get there by broomstick. The racing brooms had an easily-maintainable cruising speed of one-hundred miles per hour, and depending on the route it wasn't much more than a hundred and twenty miles to France as the witch or wizard flies. They had left just before one o'clock, which meant that if everything was going well they should be safely back over dry land by now.
The curse-breaker held the clock out from his chest and took yet another look. Nothing had changed…Fleur's, Harry's and Hermione's clock hands were still green, which was good. Fleur and Bill were both still at Work, while Harry and Hermione's hands were still Traveling.
Something came to mind as the curse-breaker pulled the clock back against his chest. He smiled a rather devious-looking smile, then fished a Brio and notepad out of his pocket.
"One with the lions, or with the snakes?" he whispered to himself…and (apparently) to Crookshanks, who was sitting at his feet.
The part-Kneazle lifted a front paw, extended its claws, and swiped at an imaginary foe.
"Of course, what was I thinking?" Bill asked, as he wrote the words Lion's Den on the notepad.
Crookshanks looked up towards Fleur's fiancé and gave him a cross look when a hearty chuckle escaped from his lips.
"Right, sorry," Bill whispered apologetically. "I was just wondering whether we could get there before breakfast…might be fun to play with their food before they eat it, right?"
Hermione's familiar replied with the feline equivalent of a smile, then rolled over onto its back and stretched his legs.
Bill eyes danced with delight as he hunched down and rubbed Crookshanks' belly.
"Exactly what I was thinking, Old Bean," he said. "You are one smart cat, aren't you?"
"Meow!"
"Oh, sorry…one smart part-kneazle."
"Meow!"
"Shush!" Bill whispered, still ducked down on his haunches. "You'll wake the whole house up!"
Crookshanks rolled his eyes, then rolled back onto his paws and butted his head against the back of Molly's clock.
"Meow!"
"Hey mind the equipment!" Bill hissed, and he quickly stood and held the clock away from Hermione's familiar.
Crookshanks gave Bill a look of exasperation that only a part-cat could give, then turned and started to walk away.
"Well you don't have to get all pissy about it," Bill whined. It was only then that he glanced at his mother's clock and realized what Hermione's familiar had been trying to tell him.
Three clock hands had shifted to a place where no hand had gone before.
On Holiday.
It took a minute for the implications to sink into Bill's head.
Harry and Hermione were no longer traveling. They were now at a location (and a state of mind) best associated with the word "holiday". Someplace fun and relaxing…someplace obviously very different than the Burrow.
Fleur was no longer working…she was on holiday as well. And if her "work" had been keeping Harry safe…what did it mean when she no longer needed to work and could go on holiday as well? She no longer needed to keep Harry safe…because he was safe wherever they were right at that moment.
They all had green clock hands and they all were in a safe and relaxing location.
They had made it.
Bell mentally bellowed out a WHOOP! and fist-pumped the air. And did a little dance. And picked up Crookshanks and planted a big fat kiss on the top of his head.
Crookshanks was not amused.
"Meowwwwwl..."
"Oh, alright," Bill whispered, letting the part-kneazle jump from his arms.
Fleur's fiancé followed Crookshanks down the stairs to the kitchen. Hermione's familiar crossed to the far side of the kitchen and scratched at the back door.
"Yes, yes…we'll be on our way in a few minutes," Bill said.
"Meow!"
"What?" Bill asked. "Sorry, Old Boy, but I don't speak cat."
"MEOW!"
"Fine, I don't speak part-kneazle either."
"MEOW!"
"What, you have to take a dump or something?" Bill asked. "Thought there was a box for that sort of thing."
"MEOW!"
"Oh, alright!" Bill hissed, as he opened the back door.
There were a half-dozen cats waiting on the other side. A half-dozen female cats, from the way that Crookshanks jumped over the threshold and began to chase some tail.
After a few seconds of chase (and a successful cover), Crookshanks sauntered back to the doorway and offered Bill a rather defiant-looking glare as the six felines draped themselves on and around the part-kneazle.
"Let me guess…this is your harem?" Bill asked.
Crookshanks nodded his head.
"And I suppose that you're going to put up a fight if I try to stuff you into your box and take you away from them?"
"Hisss…."
It wasn't the reaction that surprised Bill…it was the fact that it was Crookshank's harem that was providing it, and that they were punctuating their reply with extended front claws.
Bill thought for a moment. He still had some unfinished business to complete, and he doubted that Crookshanks would be in a mood to cooperate. He could have stunned the part-kneazle, of course…but feline or not, Crookshanks was a good bloke. And what kind of guy would be cruel enough to separate another bloke from the kind of situation that every bloke dreams about?
"You know that Hermione will miss you, right?" the curse breaker asked.
Crookshanks shrugged. Or at least moved his shoulders in a way that suggested a shrug.
"Right, then, off you go," Bill said.
Crookshanks turned away from the door, and ran out into the night, with his six feline consorts close behind.
As he closed the door, Bill muttered, "I'm probably going to regret that decision."
The real clock was sitting on the kitchen table, right where Bill had set it. He checked the hand positions, then looked towards the time-telling clock that was mounted on the wall. The curse breaker was tempted to put his skills to good use right then and there and make his own enhancements to the magical device. But time was wasting, and he definitely had better places to be at the moment. And revenge was a dish best served cold…cold, and slathered onto a piece of crusty French bread.
The decision made, Bill retrieved his rucksack and dumped his mum's clock into it. He then retrieved his short "TO DO" list and crossed off a task.
The only thing on this list besides "Box up Crookshanks" and "Decide on bloody clock" was "Set up wild hare chase." An idea sprung to mind that caused him to walk up to what had been Harry's bedroom. The envelope that contained Harry's tracking-charmed pubic chairs was there, left in a desk drawer. Bill pulled that envelope out of the drawer and dumped its contents onto the desk top.
The curse breaker separated a single hair from the pile and left it under the covers of Harry's bed. He then transfigured a scrap piece of parchment into a second envelope, and divided the pile of pubes into two sub-equal piles. Half went into the original envelope, and half into the new envelope, along with the list of ideas that Harry and Hermione had started working on earlier that evening. Both closed envelopes then went into a trouser pocket. It was more than a little weird to be handing another guy's pubic hairs, but if it was going to help the cause? And maybe teach someone a lesson?
No problem.
Walking back down into the kitchen, Bill took a look around the kitchen. His eyes came to rest on the locked cabinet door where his mum kept her special howler papers. He glanced at the wall clock, and decided that it was worth the time and effort. Forty-five seconds later, Molly's childproof locking charms were breached and the contents of the cabinet were in a new secured location…sitting on top of Molly's clock, inside Bill's rucksack.
It was with more than a little reluctance that Bill made one trip up the stairs, under cover of concealment cloak, and cancelled out the Somnus charms that had been cast on his family members. There was a small risk of discovery, but the red-haired wizard couldn't discount the similarly small risk that there would be a Death Eater attack sometime during the remainder of the night.
Bill grabbed Fleur's rucksack on the way out the back door.
He wasn't at all surprised when Chokebar emerged from the backyard shadows.
"So you're off, then?" the goblin asked.
Bill nodded. "Did you see Hermione's familiar take off earlier?" he asked. "Might want to add cat-watching to your portfolio of client services while we're away."
Chokebar chuckled. "Anything else we can do, then?"
"Diggle?" Bill asked.
"Died earlier this evening in his sleep, in his own bed," Chokebar replied with a smile. "A tragic loss."
Surprised at the goblin's congenial attitude, Bill pressed his luck even further. It took little time for him to explain what he had planned for the pubic hairs, and little time for Chokebar to agree to help with the task. The Curse Breaker handed one of the two envelopes to the account manager. The goblin, in turn, handed Bill a portkey to London. The curse breaker thanked the goblin, and shared the news that Molly's clock had provided. He then promised that he would be in touch with the account manager later that morning, assuming that all continued to go well.
Chokebar shook Bill's hand, then watched his subordinate disappear down the path that led out towards the ward line. He wondered whether the curse breaker trusted him enough to make use of the portkey, then decided that he certainly would not have, had roles been reversed. The goblin then glanced down at the envelope in his hand, and he thought a bit about its contents. Applying tracking charms to his client's body hairs had been a deviously clever idea…an idea that deserved to be trumped by an even more devious response.
A smile formed on Chokebar's lips as that response took form in his head. Being the Potter account manager meant that he was well aware of the product lines offered by Bill Weasley's twin brothers. He had to be, since their shop was one of his client's most promising investments. This level of awareness had included a hands-on review of some of their wheezes, and he still had a few of those wheezes back in his office.
One of these items was a travel guide, titled, "The Discerning Wizard's Guide to Muggle Britain."
There was a map inside this guidebook, with all sorts of interesting places highlighted…places unlikely to be marked out by any Muggle cartographer. And some of these places would be excellent places for a wild hare chase.
"Who would want to live in a place called Cockintake?" Chokebar thought to himself.
The goblin shrugged, and began sketching out his whirlwind early-hour tour of Muggle Britain.