Which older sister is that, Guv'nor?"
"Why, the fine structure that previously stood at that site, of course."
The cabbie arched his eyebrow at this response. His "Knowledge" included not only every street name within Greater London, but details about many of the city's more famous addresses. Claridge's certainly qualified as a famous address, and the cabbie could talk your ear off about all of the kings and queens and rock stars and prime ministers who had stayed there. More to the point, he could tell you that the construction of the current building was completed in the year 1898.
His passenger looked really old, but was he old enough to remember a building that was demolished in the Nineteenth Century?
"Meh," the cabbie thought to himself. "If he wants to remember it that way, so be it."
"So is this where you want to be let off, Guv'nor?" he politely asked.
The old man reluctantly turned and looked out the opposite rear window towards the adjacent storefront.
"If this is 59 Brook Street, then this is where I need to be," he stated, handing more than enough pound notes over the bench to cover the fare.
The driver shrugged as he accepted the money, then hustled out to the curb so that he could help the old man out of the cab and onto the sidewalk. The passenger tipped his bowler hat to the cabbie, then strode with confidence towards the shop whose windows were filled with elaborate white dresses. Once inside, he attracted the attention of a young sales girl and politely asked to speak with Miss Vera Wang.
oo00OO00oo
Chateau Delacour
The oversized cork that had been provided by Gringotts as a portkey to Harry Potter's vacation rental was rather small, when compared with the other objects that he had used for that purpose. But as the four persons using this small portkey were close friends (and paired off into couples) there weren't any complaints about overlapping grips as they took hold of the object just inside the main entrance to Chateau Delacour.
"All set, then?" Harry asked. After receiving two positive verbal responses and a hand squeeze, the teen-aged wizard called out, "Cortex Gaztelua" and the foursome disappeared from view.
Hermione Granger had described portkey travel to her parents as something akin to a Doctor Who intro…except that it was you who twirled down the tunnel of bright lights, rather than the TARDIS. And the accompanying soundtrack was a loud rush of wind, rather than a spooky electronic melody played over a thumping bass line. The Muggleborn witch had half expected the description would have warned off her parents to that mode of transit, but they were actually looking forward to their first magical trip. Said first trip was penciled in for the following day (assuming that neither parent needed to use their emergency portkey on the beach).
The other end of their transitory tunnel was a spot inside the Cortex Gaztelua's ward line, thirty meters in front of the fortified house and two meters above the ground surface. The foursome gently dropped towards the grass-covered ground, and took a few seconds to re-orient themselves within real space. Deep breaths of clean, crisp mountain air facilitated this recovery.
The younger couple had just enough time to twirl around and gain brief glimpses of the fortified stone house and surrounding countryside before a dozen Potter house elves popped into view. With a great shout they rushed forward to embrace the little boy turned Lord that they had been separated from for almost fifteen years.
Hermione stepped back from her boyfriend, giving the diminutive servants more room to smother him with their love, and their joy, and their regrets for not being able to properly serve Harry for all of those years. While the house elves were clearly putting their emotions on display, she could just as easily feel waves of emotion coming off of her boyfriend. The broadcast quality of these feelings was strong enough for Hermione to check the roof line and tree branches for Hedwig (whom didn't seem to be within viewing range).
The Muggleborn witch turned towards Bill, and asked him if this had been the errand that he'd needed to perform for Gringotts. The cursebreaker smiled, and told Hermione that he had actually ushered a second group inside the rental property's wards that morning. The identity of this second group, as well as the means for Harry's emotional broadcast, was revealed when Hermione's familiar sauntered into view, with a clowder of feline concubines in tow.
Within seconds, Crookshanks was gathered up into his human's arms, transmitting strong reunion-related emotions in both directions.
oo00OO00oo
Vera Wang at Browns
59 Brook Street
London W1K 4HS
Albus Dumbledore was quickly hustled to the back of the designer wedding gown shop and directed down a very long flight of dimly-lit stairs. There was a strong presence of magic at the bottom, prompting the headmaster to pull out his wand and delineate a Muggle-repelling ward. Not recognizing any additional magical barriers, he re-pocketed his wand and began making his way down a long, featureless corridor.
While this certainly wasn't the first time that Dumbledore had visited the North American Confederation's base of diplomatic operations, it was the first time that he'd received specific instructions to quietly enter through its concealed back door. He might had taken this as an insult, having (until very recently) been the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. But Albus appreciated the NAC's discretion, given the proposed meeting agenda.
That positive reaction was seemingly put at risk when, after a few hundred feet, the featureless corridor took a sharp left turn and Dumbledore's path was blocked by two very tall sentries dressed in battle robes. One of the men had his wand drawn, and was standing next to a chest-high metal box that sat over a raised track with inset rows of metal wheels. The second stood next to a freestanding stone arch, and had a firm grip around a very large (and very thick) Probity Probe. To Dumbledore's eye, both of these NAC-uniformed sentries were very formidable, and muscular, and handsome.
The first guard ordered the Headmaster to place his wand and every other magical device or object within his possession into a black plastic tub that sat on the near end of the metal track. Thinking this to be their version of the wand-weighing guard at the Ministry, Dumbledore withdrew his back-up wand, placed it into the tub, and pushed it through the enchanted scanner. Once the tub emerged on the far side of the device, the second sentry ordered the Headmaster to walk through the archway.
The klaxons that sounded when Dumbledore passed through the arch were loud and obnoxious. He was instructed to step back and again asked to place all of his magical objects and devices inside a tub. The Headmaster protested, stating that the wand that he had offered up for inspection should be sufficient to prove his identity. The guards informed him that the purpose of the security check was to identify threats, rather than simply identify people. They also said that Dumbledore was free to turn around and head back the way he came if he didn't want to comply with their instructions.
The Headmaster reluctantly placed the Elder Wand into a second black tub, then emptied the one pocket that his one good hand had access to. He looked at the three rings on that hand, then asked, "Every magical object?"
The two guards smiled. Those grins grew when Dumbledore fumbled an attempt to a wand to remove the rings that were worn on the same hand that was holding that wand. And the grins grew even wider when the Headmaster reluctantly used his teeth to pull the rings off of his fingers, one-at-a-time.
Once he was convinced that he had complied with the guards' demands, Dumbledore pushed the half-full tub down the track and once more tried to walk through the free-standing arch.
The alarm bells were just as loud.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Albus scowled. "All that is left are the clothes on my back!"
"And are those clothes charmed in any way?"
"Well of course they are," he replied. "There's temperature-control charms, anti-perspiring charms, softness charms…"
"All magical objects and devices are to be scanned," the guard holding the Probity Probe barked. "And if your clothes are magical objects, then…"
Dumbledore's gaze drifted from the guard's face to the probe that he had in hand. It was very long, and very thick, and had a bulbous end…
A thin smile formed on the Headmaster's lips as he gestured towards his bandaged hand, and informed the two guards that without his wand he would have a difficult time removing his Muggle attire. One of the guards stated that they wouldn't hesitate to conduct an invasive strip search if Dumbledore didn't cooperate.
The ancient wizard's eyes twinkled brightly. He gestured towards his clothing, then raised his hand and said, "Do what you need to do, my dear boys."
oo00OO00oo
Being a NAC spymaster required a well-disciplined mind…a mind that could weave disparate facts into a synthesized analysis just as readily as it could compartmentalize those facts into isolated packets of gray matter. Hector Gutierrez had one of those disciplined minds, but as he remotely monitored Dumbledore's strip search even he had a hard time processing and compartmentalizing the ancient wizard's favorable (and physical) reaction. And if Hector found it hard to watch, then…well, he now owed the two agents who had been posing as embassy security a few rounds of drinks. Once, of course, their own stomachs had settled.
The spymaster turned away from the security camera feed and glanced at the intentionally-uncomfortable wooden chair that sat in front of his desk. With a wave of his wand he gave the chair some padding; the last thing he wanted was to help his guest get some more jollies.
The next few minutes were spent thinking up creative ways to make Albus Dumbledore pay just a bit more dearly for his minion's release.
oo00OO00oo
Cortex Gaztelua
After a few minutes of much-needed glomping, one of the Potter house elves broke away from their group hug, grabbed the bottom of her simple knee-high sleeveless shift, and did a passable imitation of a curtsy in front of Hermione.
"I'm so excited to be meeting Lord Potter's lady," the house-elf said. "Momma be giving me bestest of child care training…how soon before I be taking care of the lord and lady's babies?"
Hermione nearly dropped Crookshanks in shock when she heard this unexpected question. She tossed a dirty look towards Fleur, who was failing miserably in an attempt to corral her giggles. Then she dropped down to her knees, let go of her familiar, and held her right hand out towards the little house elf.
"Hi, my name is Hermione," she said with a gentle smile. "What's yours?"
The house elf ignored the outstretched hand and did a second curtsy. "My name is Pebbles, my Lord Potter's lady."
"Pebbles?" the Muggleborn witch asked. "That's a pretty name. So I take it you're a Potter house elf?"
"Yes, my Lord Potter's lady."
"And your Mother, as well?"
The little house elf nodded vigorously as she turned and pointed out her mother Wilma and father Fred. Hermione decided to prioritize convincing the house elf to address her by her first name before asking how Pebbles and her parents had received their first names.
Pebbles was disappointed to learn that there weren't any immediate plans for Lord Potter to sire an heir. She was partly mollified, however, when Fleur told the young house elf that her Lord and the Lord's lady were at least practicing making babies. Hermione wasn't very happy with this comment, nor with the French witch's suggestion that Pebbles might hasten the heir making by preparing the estate house's master bedroom for her Lord and her Lord's lady's use.
oo00OO00oo
NAC Operations Center
Canadian High Commission
MacDonald House, London
Quickly tiring of his invited guest's excuses, Hector cut to the chase. He looked across his desk at Albus Dumbledore, and declared, "My government is prepared to release Severus Snape into your custody, with all charges dropped relating to his unlawful attempt to gain access to secured areas within the sovereign territory of the North American Confederation."
"Excellent news," Dumbledore stated. "When will I be able to retrieve him?"
"This evening," Hector replied. "I'm thinking Regents Park at eleven…but not until you agree to our terms and conditions."
"Terms and conditions?" asked Albus. "That makes it sound as if we're negotiating a treaty."
"Nothing too taxing, I can assure you," Hector stated. "Just some mutual back…scratching."
The spymaster winced at both his own unfortunate choice of words, and the way that Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in response. Soldiering on, he said, "We understand that you have recently been reinstated as Britain's ICW delegate."
"Yes, that's true."
"Then in exchange for Snape's freedom, you will make an unbreakable vow that you will not attempt to regain your position as Supreme Mugwump, and that you will actively support whomever the NAC backs for the post."
Dumbledore pursed his lips. He had planned on regaining both the Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock positions with the vain goal of dying while in office (three times over). But the next ICW election was eighteen months away, so the only way that he could regain that post would be to convince the interim replacement to step down. And that would require political capital that Dumbledore currently lacked.
The dying wizard had already sketched out plans for a massive marble tomb to be placed right outside the main doors of Hogwarts. With that appropriately-grand tribute set in stone (so to speak), Dumbledore decided that he could live (and die) without the mostly ceremonial ICW post.
"We would need a third person to administer the Vow," he stated.
"And you will also need to agree never to speak of this secret agreement," Hector noted. "But we are not quite there yet, my dear boy," he added, as he shuffled a few pieces of parchment on his desk. "So how are your enrollment numbers looking this year, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore frowned. "They are about what we expected."
"Which is, I expect, lower than normal, given that Voldie-shorts has finally been exposed?" Hector asked. Not waiting for an answer, he picked out a piece of parchment and held it up to his face. "Here we are…it seems that Salem fears that you will try to bolster your own enrollment numbers by poaching their students."
"I would never think of doing such a thing!" Dumbledore exclaimed.
"Of course you wouldn't," Hector replied. "And yet, my government needs to at least appear responsive to these concerns. So I will need your guarantees that you will not attempt to contact, entreat, persuade or coerce any school-aged NAC citizen into traveling to Britain or enrolling at Hogwarts this Fall."
Dumbledore let out a deep sigh, fearing that there was something vital behind this seemingly innocuous demand.
"One of our current Hogwarts students has a British father and North American mother," he replied. "This student also has an eleven-year-old sister who will be receiving her Hogwarts invitation this afternoon. I could not agree to any vow that would require me to break this family up."
"Fine," Hector replied. "So send out your invites and book lists this afternoon, and the restraining order will take effect tonight, once we deliver Snape. If our NAC students really want to attend Hogwarts, then that should suffice. Oh, and this ban on contact also extends to your school staff, and to the members of your little vigilante group."
Albus arched an eyebrow. "This ban on initiated contact would making teaching rather difficult…so it will, of course, expire on the first day of school?"
The NAC spymaster appeared to think this over for a few moments. "Okay, I'll give you that one."
Dumbledore smiled, and said, "Then, as I have no intention of 'poaching' any of Salem's students, we have an accord."
"Almost, Headmaster," Hector replied.
"There is more?"
"Just one more small favor," the spymaster stated. "I need you to lend me one of your house elves for a couple of weeks…"
oo00OO00oo
Cortex Gaztelua
A smile formed on Fleur's lips as she watched Hermione playfully smear some of the crème fraiche from her lunchtime dessert onto Harry's lips. The French witch covered Bill's hand with her own and said, "Let's go walk the ward line, my love."
Bill looked down at his half-eaten slice of cake, and was half-way towards protesting that he hadn't finished, before he cottoned on and pushed back from the table.
"If it pleases Milord," the red-haired wizard announced, "My lady and I will be reinspecting the ward line for the next hour or so."
Harry nodded halfheartedly as he tried to slip a plump strawberry past his giggling girlfriend's defenses.
"Reinspecting the ward line…is that what you kids are calling it these days?" he asked.
"Harry, that joke is really wearing thin!" Hermione playfully whined. "Would you rather they stay here and chaperone while I bite your berries?"
"Ouch," her boyfriend hissed, as he reflexively brought his legs together. "That one doesn't work so well for me."
A mock frown formed on Hermione's lips. "Would you rather bite your own berries, then?"
"Is he really that flexible?" Fleur asked with a laugh.
Hermione replied by wishing the older couple a very pleasant walk of at least sixty minutes duration. Once they were alone, she stood and said, "C'mon mister, we've got a master bedroom to reinspect."
The teen-aged wizard was quick to wipe his hands on his table napkin, and to follow his girlfriend up the stairs.
The house tour that they had taken before lunch had been detailed enough for the young couple to locate the master bedroom suite in short order. Once at the threshold, Harry pulled Hermione close and reached for her knees.
"What are you doing?"
"Thought I'd carry you in bridal style," Harry replied.
"Save it for when I'm your bride…I've got to go," Hermione quipped, as she pulled free from his grasp and dashed towards the en-suite lavatory. "But don't feel like you have to wait for me to start getting undressed!"
Harry chuckled as his girlfriend disappeared behind the closed door. They had been intimate with each other, and naked in front of each other…but they still hadn't, apparently, reached the point in their relationship where Hermione was comfortable enough to pee in his presence.
Not that he was complaining, mind you.
The teen-aged wizard walked into the bedroom, and smiled when he noticed that someone had turned down the duvet, spread rose petals on sheets, and placed a stamina potion on the bedside table. He imagined that it was the work of helpful house-elves who were eager for an heir.
Not spotting a valet chair like the one he'd used in the Delacour's beach cabana, Harry unbuttoned his robe and draped it over the arm of an upholstered side chair. Next, he loosened his tie and freed his shirt tails from the waistband of his linen trousers. He hated wearing so many clothes, but Hermione really did like picking them out, so he wasn't going to make a fuss over it…especially when the act of undressing brought his mind back to what had happened after he had undressed in the beach cabana the day before.
Harry's pleasant memories were interrupted by the sound of half-shouted laughter, carried into an opened bedroom window. He walked over to that window and took in the magnificent view down towards the sea. Some more laughter drew his attention closer to the foreground, and to the small patch of grape vines that were stretched along high rows of trellis wire. Harry spotted Bill and Fleur's robes hanging over two of those wires. The trellises were too high and the vines were too thick to actually see what the older couple was doing within the small vineyard, but the lack of silencing charms (and the pair of silk knickers that were just tossed up and onto the robes) provided more than enough circumstantial evidence.
The soundtrack was interesting enough to slow down Harry's own rate of undressing. That his girlfriend had not been similarly distracted was made clear when she returned to the bedroom dressed only in her knickers, and snuck up behind him.
"Something caught your eye, mister?" she teased, as she pressed her chest against Harry's shirt-covered back.
"Erm…just enjoying the view," he quickly replied.
Hermione looked over his shoulder and laughed.
"I'm beginning to think that my boyfriend likes to watch," she teased, using a seductive tone of voice that (when combined with some grinding) made it clear that she was more amused than upset.
"No, I'm…can't see actually see what they're doing!" Harry protested.
"Good," said Hermione, as she reached down and undid his belt buckle. "Then they won't be able to see what we're doing either."
"Doing…right here in front of the window?" Harry nervously asked.
"Uh huh," Hermione purred, as she slipped her fingers into his front pockets.
Harry groaned as the fingers within his left front pocket dragged down his rapidly stiffening erection.
"It certainly feels like you like to watch…or like the idea of being watched," Hermione whispered into her lover's ear. She giggled when her right hand wrapped around a hard length of wood within Harry's other pocket.
"So is that a wand, or are you just happy to see them?" the teen-aged witch quipped.
The question caught Harry off-guard, since (as far as he knew) his wand was still strapped to his forearm holster. So when the answer came to mind, he simply blurted it out.
"That's the portkey to Hidden Island."
In a flash, the couple disappeared.
And instead of grinding against the window sill, Harry and Hermione now found themselves barreling down another Dr. Who-ish dark tunnel walled with rainbow-colored lights.
"Oh, Shit!" Harry hissed.
Hermione thought the same, but decided to press on from that point.
"Harry?" she shouted into her boyfriend's ear. "Please don't tell me that the activation phrase for the portkey to your hidden island was 'Hidden Island."
The teen-aged wizard turned his head and shouted back, "Okay, I won't tell you."
"Really?"
"Guess the goblins could have picked a safer phrase, huh?"
Hermione's desire to swat her boyfriend's shoulder or cuff his ear was outweighed by a stronger need to hold on for dear life as they traveled across the Ethereal Plane. So the nearly-naked witch kept her hands in Harry's pants, figuring that there would be plenty of time to physically express her displeasure once they landed at the other end of their unplanned journey.
And there would have been, had they landed on Hidden Island. But instead they were diverted to Baffin Island, and dropped in front of an NAC border agent.
The landing was much rougher than Harry and Hermione's arrival at the rental property, causing the two teenagers to separate and lose their footing. The white-haired wizard's eyes widened when he looked up from his crossword puzzle and got a good view of Hermione's bared breasts. He reflexively licked his lips, before clearing his throat and asking, "Passports, please?"
"Eeep!" Hermione squeaked, as she hid behind her boyfriend's back.
Harry winced.
"Sorry, activated a portkey by mistake," he explained to the border agent. He grabbed Hermione's hand, then reached into his pocket with the other hand and grabbed the portkey.
"Island hidden," he said.
Nothing happened.
"Bollocks!" Harry hissed. "That was supposed to send us back."
The border agent shook his head. "That's because you are currently within a magical suppression cell," he explained.
"Shit," Harry hissed, as he took in his surroundings. They were standing in a small bare room, with a low ceiling and three white walls to the back and sides. The area between where they were standing and the border agent's duty station was bare; there was, presumably, some kind of invisible barrier separating the two.
Harry caught the agent's eye and asked, "I'm guessing I won't be able to transfigure my socks into something for my girlfriend to wear?"
"Nope."
"Harry!" Hermione whined.
The teen-aged wizard didn't like the grin on the customs officer's face.
"Dobby?" he called out.
"Harry," Hermione repeated. "If the portkey isn't going to work, why would you think that a house elf would be able to…"
A deafening "Boom!" cut the Muggleborn's sentence short, as a quivering house elf responded to Harry's call.
"What the hell?" the agent yelled, as he drew his wand.
"Wha…what can Dobby be doing for the Great Harry Potter, Sir?"
A firm slap on Harry's back kept him from squatting down to the house elf's level.
"Don't you dare move!" Hermione hissed.
"Oh, right…sorry," said Harry, as he glanced towards the agent. He then looked down towards Dobby and asked, "Would you be able to safely travel back and ask one of the Potter house elves to locate Hermione's robes and both of our passports? We need them."
"He won't be able to do that," the border patrol agent declared.
Dobby turned towards the older wizard and frowned.
"Mr. Nosey Parker shouldn't be telling Dobby what he can or can't do," he declared. "And Mr. Pervy Parker shouldn't be trying to see the Great Harry Potter's girlfriend's boobies!"
Dobby clicked his fingers, summoning a thick ceiling-to-floor curtain that completely shielded the holding cell from the customs officer's view.
The border agent blinked. And then he pushed his panic button.
Twenty seconds later, Dobby reappeared in front of the drawn curtain and dropped two passports onto the border agent's desk. "Here be the little bookies that Mr. Pervy Parker wanted."
The house elf popped away before either the border agent or any of the six Hit Wizards who had responded to the panic button thought to grab him.
oo00OO00oo
Hogwarts
Since it really wouldn't do for any of the former headmasters to see him out of sorts and not completely in control, Dumbledore took the time needed to remove the scowl from his face before stepping out of the floo-connected fireplace within his office.
Pushing his thoughts about the most painful way of removing a diplomat's credentials to one side, the Headmaster took a seat behind his ornate desk and immediately called for the school's head house elf. The servant popped into the office, and reported that the parliament of delivery owls had arrived. Dumbledore gave the order for the letters to be addressed. Next, he informed the elf that since the Assistant Headmistress was presently out of country, he would be the one to insert prefect badges and Quidditch team captain badges into the appropriate unsealed addressed envelopes.
The house elf happily accepted the Headmaster's instructions to bring each prefect's or captain's letter to him just as soon as each was addressed. Not waiting until all of the letters were addressed would mean making thirty individual trips up to the Headmaster's Office, rather than just one…but he didn't get his position as Head Hogwarts House Elf by shying away from extra work. And all of this focus on the owl deliveries might keep the Headmaster's attention away from the mysterious black hair that had been discovered within his shorts.
With the house elf dismissed, Dumbledore's thoughts drifted back to the less-than-successful recently-completed negotiations for Severus Snape's release. The North American wizard had refused to let Dumbledore speak with his potions master while he was there, and had demanded that the unbreakable vow be completed before the Headmaster left the meeting (with negotiated wording inserted into the vow that limited its enforcement until Snape had been safely handed over that evening).
Concerns about the potion master's safety led Dumbledore to recheck his "To-Do" list. Thankfully, he still didn't need to locate an emergency DADA replacement for the upcoming term. Dumbledore then took a few moments to review the mapped locations of his tracking charms. Little had changed during his absence; not counting the hair that appeared to be floating on the English side of the Channel, the only remaining domestic location was at Hogwarts. And that determination reminded the Headmaster about the black hair that still sat on his desk.
The Elder Wand was drawn, and the tracking charm was removed. But there was still a black dot hovering over Hogwarts, which meant that Dumbledore still needed to search the castle for another charmed pubic hair.
Any thoughts about starting in on that search or interrogating Canipsy were placed on hold when the current head house elf popped into the office with a box of badges and the first of thirty addressed envelopes that required stuffing.
oo00OO00oo
Ice Station Auyuittuq
Baffin Island, Canada
NAC Senior Agent Marcia Hopkins reflexively saluted the secured land line as her boss's boss ended the telephone call. She took one last glance at the digital dossiers that sat open on her desktop monitor before placing the techno-manced computer into lockdown mode. Then she rose from her desk and pocketed the passports that belonged to the two teenagers that her boss's boss had labeled "Her Very Important, Grade A, Farts-don't-smell Untouchable Guests."
Remembering how one of those guests had arrived within her jurisdiction, Senior Agent grabbed her extra uniform and a spare pair of shoes on her way out of her office. It took less than a minute for Hopkins to walk to the reception area for unauthorized portkey users. The hit-wizards who had established defensive positions in front of the cell were happy to see her.
"Can we gas them now, Ma'am?" the squad leader asked eagerly.
"No you may not gas them now," Hopkins replied. "What you can do is stand down and de-mobilize."
"Awwwww…really?" the hit-wizard whined.
The Senior Agent shook her head in disbelief. "Do you know who is behind that curtain right now?"
"A couple of kids and maybe one of them brownie-thingies?" the hit-wizard replied.
"Yeah, that's right, two kids just happen to have Alpha-1 diplomatic status," said Hopkins. She snorted, then added, "And at least one kid who would kick your ass nine duels out of ten once he stepped out of that cell."
"You shittin' me, Ma'am?"
"Dismissed, sergeant."
"Yes, Ma'am."
The high-level witch approached the border patrol officer who had been her guest's first contact as the others began to file out of the room.
"So, Bob…talk to me about what's going on beyond the red curtain."
"Nothing, Ma'am…at least not for the last ten minutes, if you trust our magical motion detectors."
"No visuals?"
"No, Ma'am…something has taken them off-line."
"Something other than the theater curtains?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Okay, then…open it up."
"Really?"
"You hell-bent on questioning my orders too, Bob?"
"No, Ma'am," the border agent replied, as he fished a necklace-strung key than out of his neckline.
As the Senior Agent approached the curtained cell, the border agent asked, "Should I bring it back up once you're through, Ma'am?"
"That is standard protocol, isn't it?"
"Yes, Ma'am…cleared to enter, Ma'am."
Hopkins took a deep breath, reached out, and pulled the split theater-style curtains apart.
"Huh!" she muttered, after taking her first look inside.
"Ma'am?" the border agent asked.
The senior NAC intelligence officer drew back the curtains, giving her subordinate his own view of a magical tent that now stood within the detention cell.
Keeping in mind her instructions to avoid doing anything that could be remotely interpreted as hostile (in the absence, of course, of in-bound hostile acts), Senior Agent Hopkins kept her wand holstered as she stepped into the cell and let the curtains drop back into place behind her (recalling why the house elf had reportedly seen fit to conjure it).
"Hello?" she called out. "Mr. Potter? Miss Granger? Is anyone in there?"
"Be right there," a male voice called back.
A few seconds later, a messy-haired teen popped his head out between the tent flaps.
"Oh, hello there. Are we sorted out, then?" he asked.
"Yes, actually," she replied. "And sorry for the delay, but I would greatly appreciate a few minutes of your time to answer a few questions."
"Erm, sure…do you want to come in?" Harry asked. He stepped out of the tent, held back one of the front flaps, and added, "I've got the kettle on the boil."
There was a certain "through the looking glass" aspect to being invited by a detainee into his smuggled magical tent for a cup of tea. But the NAC agent had been assured that the two teenagers were friendly, and their diplomatic status called for bold deference. So she thanked Harry for the invitation and ducked her head inside the tent.
The inside was magically expanded, but not to any great extent. The interior space was square-shaped, and roughly eight meters to the side. It was simply furnished, with a kitchenette and small eating area in one corner, opposite a sectioned-off lavatory. The space was illuminated by a lit fireplace, as well as by the artificial sunlight that streamed in from a bank of charmed windows. The urban views framed by these windows greatly added to the impression that this tent was modeled after a studio apartment (or "flat," given the fact that the urban views were taken from the city of London).
"Hermione?" Harry called from the tent entrance. "We have a guest."
The teen-aged witch, who had been engrossed by the book she'd been reading as she sat on the tent's couch, looked up from the page, then quickly placed the book to one side.
"Sorry, I'm Hermione Granger," she said, as she stood and held out her hand.
"Not at all, Miss Granger, I'm Senior Agent Marcia Hopkins," the older witch replied, as she shook Hermione's hand. "I'm so sorry for the delay, and for any disrespect from our staff that you may have encountered."
"Disrespect?" Hermione asked.
The older witch nodded as she gestured towards the spare robes draped over her arm, then nodded towards the conservatively-cut robes that Hermione was now wearing.
"The perceived need for a curtain?" she asked. "I brought something for you to wear, but I guess you didn't need it."
"Thanks for thinking of me," Hermione replied. She nodded towards Harry and said, "You'll have to excuse my ill-mannered boyfriend…has he apologized yet?"
"Erm, right," said Harry, as he walked over to the kitchenette and turned down the fire beneath a boiling tea kettle. He turned back towards the NAC official and said, "I really am sorry about arriving without our passports, and for whatever bother was created when my friend fetched them and pitched this tent for us. I'm willing to pay for any damages."
"No worries, Mr. Potter," the senior agent said. "It's been rather helpful, actually. That was the same friend who visited our London embassy yesterday, right?"
"Yes, it was," Hermione replied. She gestured towards the wing-backed chair next to the sofa and added, "Would you like to sit down?"
"Thank you, Miss Granger," Hopkins said, as she took the offered seat. She took a second look around the tent's interior and said, "It is very weird to be sitting this comfortably within one of our security cells. The fact that your friend was even able to pitch this magical tent has our techno-mages in a tizzy."
Hermione thought for a moment, then shrugged as she pointed towards the older witch's uniform.
"Those look like pretty thick robes," she noted. "Do they have a temperature-regulating charm on them?"
"Yes."
"And is that charm still working, or did you start to heat up once you entered the cell?"
"No, they still seem to be working…oh!" the agent replied. "I get it...objects that are charmed or enchanted before arriving in this cell retain their magic once they're brought in?"
"That was my guess," Hermione agreed. "I wouldn't have expected that to be the case, but once we realized that our holsters were still working…"
"Holsters?" the agent asked, glancing at their wrists.
"Erm…yeah. Is that a problem?"
"Concealed holsters are, unless you have the right permit," the agent replied. "I'll see if I can get those for you before you leave today."
"Oh, excellent," said Harry, as carried the tea platter over to the sitting area. "Appreciate the help."
"Is a concealed holster permit that easy to obtain?" Hermione asked.
The Special Agent's smile faltered just a smidge.
"Well, no…not really. Unless there are special circumstances, like having a Dark Lord gunning for your head."
"Ah."
"Just please don't use them while committing a crime during your stay," the agent ask. "And speaking of running afoul of the law…were either of you aware of the regulations that cover international portkey travel?"
"Obviously not," Hermione replied. "It was on my list of things to do, but we weren't intentionally trying to travel internationally this afternoon."
"Yes, that fact seemed pretty clear, given your traveling attire," the agent said with a smile.
"Or lack thereof," Harry quipped, earning him a stern glance from his girlfriend.
"Okay, then… a quick after-the-fact lesson," the senior agent stated. "That multiple-use portkey of yours was properly registered with us by Gringotts, allowing for point-to-point transit to or from your residence in Ontario without forced diversion to a border patrol office. But the only passport linked to that portkey was yours, Mr. Potter, and it was your British passport that was linked, not your NAC passport."
"So if I had used the portkey just by myself, it would have put me straight through to the destination?"
"As long as you were carrying that British passport," the agent replied. "We'd be happy to link your new NAC passport and Miss Granger's passport to the portkey before you leave. That way you won't face this issue in the future."
"So long as Harry doesn't accidentally activate the portkey the next time he's taking a shower," Hermione stated.
"Just so."
"Are we going to face this same issue on the return trip back to France?" Hermione asked.
"I would imagine," the agent replied. "Unless that portkey has been registered with their immigration office and linked to both your passports."
Hermione gave a questioning look towards Harry, who shrugged.
"Well, if it does happen, at least this time you'll have your clothes on," he reasoned.
The NAC agent smiled when a second glare was tossed in Harry's direction.
"I know somebody in the French Consulate in Montreal that I could call," she stated. "You can floo from here…"
Hermione giggled when she noticed the agent's eyes wander towards the magical tent's lit fireplace.
"Relax, Ms. Hopkins," she said. "As far as I know, that fireplace isn't connected."
"Good," the older witch replied. "You're welcome to use the floo in my office…while we're there, I can also link your passports to that portkey."
"Would you be able to change the activation phrase to that portkey as well?"
The Senior Agent smiled. "Well I can't, but we've got somebody in the office who can do that for you. Let me guess…the activation phrase is the same as your destination?"
"Right in one," Hermione replied.
"Got something better in mind?" Harry asked.
"Yes, well…I was thinking about going with 'My boyfriend is a berk,' but that phrase gets used more often than I'd like."
"How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?" Harry whined.
"I'll let you know," Hermione replied. "A few less times if you agree to clean up here and take down the tent while I go with the nice Senior Officer to take care of the passports and portkey."
"I can do that," Harry replied.
"You can do that without calling on Dobby for help?"
"Yes, Dear."
The NAC official chuckled at the bantering as she followed Hermione out the tent. Once outside, she asked, "Is there anyone back in Europe that you need to contact, to let them know you're safe?"
Hermione shook her head.
"We sent a message back with the Great Harry Potter Sir's friend," she quipped.
"And do you have the portkey that needs to be modified?"
Hermione padded her hand against the outside of her robe pocket, and assured the older witch that she would be carrying House Potter's portkeys for the foreseeable future.
oo00OO00oo
Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts
Albus Dumbledore had just finished stuffing a Slytherin prefects badge into Pansy Parkinson's school letter when Canipsy the head house elf popped back into his office with the latest addressed envelope. With a huff the Headmaster levitated Pansy's letter towards Canipsy and dismissed him…now that they were on the letter "P" the suspense was killing him, and he wanted Harry Potter's letter in hand even before its ink had dried.
The latest letter was addressed to Sixth-Year Ravenclaw Prefect, and would be heading to a city in India with enough letters in its name to approach the envelope's edge. Dumbledore started to Accio! the corresponding badge from the box, then decided it could wait. He was still trying to decide what to make of Hermione Granger's letter, and could use the few seconds of time before the Potter letter arrived to reflect on it. This was, he feared, linked to one of the promises made within the unbreakable vow.
The Sixth-Year Gryffindor's envelope was still sitting on the side of the Headmaster's desk. He brought it closer to him, so that he could easily compare addresses side-by-side once the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain's letter showed up.
That letter did show up.
The two addresses did match up.
Albus Dumbledore's heart raced. His eyes darted from the letter to the device that was charmed to monitor Harry Potter's well-being. That sparkly, silvery whirligig still showed the teen-aged wizard to be in tip-top emotional and physical shape. So if this device was working properly, then Harry certainly wasn't suffering any ill effects from his current location.
And if he wasn't in any immediate danger, then Dumbledore could worry more about the "To whom," than the "To where."
The "where" was Canada.
The "whom" was Lord Harry Potter.
Dumbledore grabbed Harry's unstuffed letter and rushed to the office fireplace. Floo powder was thrown, and the "Ministry of Magic" was called out. The Headmaster was in so much of a rush to check the Ministry's office of records that he left Hermione's letter behind. So it was still sitting on his desk when Canipsy popped back into the office with the next Prefect's letter in hand.
"Oh, my," the house elf muttered to himself. "Headmaster be leaving before all of the letters are stuffed…house elves can't be stuffing the badgeses into envelopes, so all of the envelopes won't be ready to be sent…and rules are being that the posty owls have to be leaving all at the same time with their envelopes…"
Canipsy was so excited about this turn of events that he barely thought to place the new letter on the headmaster's desk before popping back to the mail room to tell the other house elves the news. All those postal owls would need to be fed, and need to be watered, and their poop would need to be cleaned up…the Headmaster had just created a lot of extra work for the house elf staff. They would be dancing with delight!
As soon as the house elf popped away those headmaster portraits not covered up by the tracking charm map burst into excited conversation. Some of the headmasters that were covered by the map didn't believe the news (once it was relayed to them), so they jumped their frames and crowded into one portrait frame that sat above the Headmaster's desk. This frame offered the best view of the address on letter that Dumbledore had left behind:
Miss Hermione Granger
Detention Cell 2
NAC Border Control Office
Ice Station Auyuittuq
Baffin Island, North American Confederation