‘Any ex Order member is free to use it. Not that I’d recommend it. The place has been compromised.’
‘Yeah, Yaxley’, Hermione breathed. ‘Still at large, as far as I know. That’s another detail that worries me ���’
‘It’s only a meeting’, Arthur went on reasonably, ‘the Order has become defunct.’
‘But surely there’s a reason for Remus to want to meet us there?’ Ginny suggested.
‘I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough’, Arthur said and stretched with a yawn. ‘I don’t know about you people, but I’m going to get dressed and show my face at the Ministry for a few hours.’
‘On a Saturday?’ Molly asked, alarmed.
‘Just to finish a few things up, dear’, Arthur said vaguely and got up from the table.
‘And to escape the cleaning action’, Ginny remarked with a grin, catching her father’s warning glance.
‘What are you going to wear? I didn’t put anything out for you ���’ Molly went fussing after Arthur, leaving Hermione, Ginny, Harry and Ron sitting at the breakfast table.
There was a few minutes’ silence during which they dealt with their eggs more or less successfully. Hermione eyes were again searching for Harry’s. ‘Don’t you feel it, at least?’ she asked darkly. ‘That something’s happening?’
‘You keep saying that’, Ron sighed.
‘And you keep ignoring it!’ Hermione’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘You probably haven’t even seen what Witch Weekly writes about me?’ She picked up the magazine, ruffling the pages as she leafed through it ferociously. ‘Here! ‘Hermione Granger ��� nice girl or nerdy gargoyle?’ ��� The cheek!’
Ron snorted with his mouth full, stifling a laugh.
‘Very funny’, Hermione hissed.
‘That’s what you get from being a know-it-all’, Ron said with a shrug.
‘Idiot!’ Hermione shot up from the table. ‘And for your information ��� it’s the ‘nice girl’ part I resent!’ She gathered up the papers resolutely. ‘Suit yourselves then. Nothing like precious apathy, is there? Not for me, though. I’m going to do something!’
‘Yeah? Who’re you going to harass this time?’
A malicious little smile appeared on Hermione’s face. ‘Rita Skeeter. I haven’t seen her in a while and I think it’s time to pay her a little visit. I’m sure she’ll be very glad to see me!’ And with that, she turned up her nose and sailed out of the kitchen.
Harry and Ron exchanged telling glances. Ginny rolled her eyes. ‘Hermione! Wait!’ And she hurried after her friend.
‘She’s completely exaggerating, if you ask me’, Ron commented and proceeded to make short work of his breakfast.
‘You think?’
‘Come on, Harry. We won the war! The world’s ours now. I don’t believe for one minute that a few stupid articles in the Prophet might be the harbingers of a new dark age! The way Hermione’s talking one might think that Voldy’s coming back.’
‘One thing’s for sure’, Harry mused, ‘things are not going as we planned them immediately after the Victory.’
‘When are things ever going as planned?’
Harry said nothing and watched his best friend eat while only picking at his plate. He still wasn’t hungry, but by now he was aware that the early our was not to blame for it, but rather a feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach. He knew this feeling well as he’d had it before, it was like an instinct honed on past experience. However, he found that he didn’t really want to talk about it now. Hermione had made her point sufficiently.
‘What’s up with the two of you?’ he asked instead, since he and Ron were alone. ‘You’re constantly at each other’s throats. Is there a problem?’
‘Who knows’, Ron grumbled.
‘No, seriously.’
‘I am serious! The thing is ��� Hermione is all about studying, it’s like she wants to do the best N.E.W.T.s in Hogwarts history! All that work makes her testy and constantly on edge. To be honest, it’s getting on my nerves!’
‘Is that all?’ Harry asked with narrowed eyes. ‘Your bickering seems personal.’
‘I don’t wanna talk about it’, murmured Ron.
‘So there is something!’ Harry insisted.
‘Ah, well ���’, Ron rolled his eyes, ‘it’s just ��� you know ���’ To Harry’s surprise, his best friend’s cheeks coloured slightly, ‘I used to think that the advantage of having a Muggle-born girlfriend was that they would not quite so ��� modest as wizarding girls ��� You know what I mean?’
In fact, Harry understood very well and had to bite his tongue so as not to grin. ‘I guess’, he said noncommittally. ‘Though I wouldn’t generally say that. Lavender Brown, for instance, was anything but modest ���’ He broke off, suddenly remembering the fate of the girl at issue.
Ron, too, looked glum for a few moments. ‘I guess’, he mumbled, then went on. ‘Fact is, Hermione is about the most modest girl you can imagine! She hardly lets me get to second base!’
‘To you as a born and bred pureblood, that should hardly be a surprise’, Harry commented, ‘that’s how witches are still raised, aren’t they?’
‘Naah, that’s fast changing these days!’
‘Well, Ginny says ���’
‘Ginny’s different!’ Ron broke in and shot Harry a warning glance.
Again, Harry bit his tongue so as not to natter about the third bases he’d recently seen. ‘Alright, um ��� anyways, you shouldn’t give Hermione the feeling that you only took up with her to ��� well, get ahead quicker.’
‘Of course not! ��� It’s just ��� she’s all work and no play! And you know what that makes a girl.’
‘Mmh’, said Harry.
‘Plus, she’s constantly talking about Daysen. How brave he is, and how brilliant. That someone’s out there trying to make his life difficult, that poor man ��� Nonsense, if you ask me. If Daysen’s life’s difficult, he has himself to blame.’
Harry shrugged. He only agreed to half of what Ron was saying.
‘You know’, Ron went on gloomily, ‘sometimes I can’t shake the feeling that Hermione’s got the hots for him ���’
‘Get off it!’
‘No, seriously! They’re drinking Fire Whiskey like old buddies!’
‘I think she admires him’, Harry explained reasonably, ‘for all the cunning he used when working against Voldemort. You know that she respects intelligence more than anything. As a result, being acknowledged by Daysen means quite a bit to her.’
‘Don’t I know it! Doesn’t change anything for me, though. As far as I’m concerned, the guy is still a greasy git. Always has, always will be.’ Dispiritedly, Ron threw his fork onto the plate. ‘Bloody hell. It’s not even light yet, and already a spoilt day. Courtesy to my girlfriend ���’
‘Come on, it’s not that bad.’ Harry had gotten up and carried his plate to the counter. He looked out of the window and was greeted by the sun that had risen its sleepy head over the horizon with a fiery-red crown that reminded him of Ginny’s most enchanting bed hair. ‘Actually, I think it’s going to be a beautiful day ���’
It was, in fact, a surprisingly sunny Saturday morning, and at the height of it Jack Daysen found himself once more steering his broom towards London. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to pursuing business in the city since he hated to move in the Muggle world and London was a place where Muggles abounded in staggering numbers. Their cars where everywhere, honking loudly and spreading exhaust fumes. Their kids were squealing on every corner, their dogs crapping right beside, and the jostling of their bodies and the never-ending uninformed wise-cracking ��� not to mention the dirty looks they invariably gave him ��� was enough to spoil the rest of the day for him. Hence, he put off the touchdown a while longer and allowed himself a little race instead, flying in a wide circle high above the borough of Kensington and Chelsea. This he enjoyed, although he
knew that he was really too old to be riding his broom like a madman. Yet, it was still a far cry from the wild and reckless races he’d indulged in with Lucius Malfoy about two decades ago; by now, his broom had become too old, anyway.
Eventually, he landed in a small groomed park near Chelsea Embankment in a corner that he believed to be inconspicuous. Once more, he transfigured his broom into a large black umbrella ��� which was even more useless today than it had been last time ��� and was about to set off when he noticed a large pair of kid’s eyes staring at him. It was a girl of maybe six or seven years of age. She had long dark-red hair with a green ribbon in it, and sat under a bush, Barbie doll in hand. Jack met her glare and twitched. It was obvious that she had seen him landing and transfiguring his broom because her mouth had fallen open in disbelief. He took out his wand and fixed the little girl with one of this cold glares. Should he Obliviate her? The rule was not to bother with small children who were tolerant with magic and wouldn’t be believed if they told their parents that they had seen a man flying on a broom, but once they had gone to the so-called ‘age of reason’ things could become dicey. The girl under the bush knew very well that something wasn’t right, there was apprehension in her eyes. Green eyes, by the way, bright green. And the auburn hair ��� He found that he couldn’t Obliviate her. Instead, he tried at a relaxed face and put his finger to his mouth. ‘Don’t tell’, he said quietly, ‘nobody would believe you, anyway.’
Her green eyes became even wider. ‘Are you a wizard?’ she whispered, completely overawed.
He nodded. On an impulse, he picked up a couple of dead leaves and jinxed them so that they would form the body and wings of a bird, and made it fly towards her. The girl gasped with pleasure as she dropped the doll and received the leave bird in her open palms. Once more, Jack sought her eyes and put a finger to his mouth. She beamed at him and nodded fiercely. He walked away, but looked back over his shoulder after a few yards. She stood on the gravel path, hair glowing fiery in the blinding November sun, stared and waved shyly. He realized that she probably wouldn’t forget this encounter for the rest of her life, that she would try to convince her family and friends for years, that they would laugh at her and that it would make her shut up about it, that perhaps she would even try to convince herself that it hadn’t happened. The thought saddened him and after some hesitation, he waved back at her, not really knowing why he bothered.
Maybe he was becoming soft with age.
The house on Cheyne Walk was grand and had an iron fence around it. The road was wide and immaculately cleared of the dead leaves and sludge of the past days. The place breathed affluence, and large shiny cars were parked on the curb. One of these ��� although he usually snorted at cars ��� caught Jack’ attention; black, with nice curves and probably what Muggles called a ‘sports car’. Briefly, he imagined what it would be like to be able to drive it. Probably, it gave the average Muggle man the same kind of thrill that he got out of racing his broom.
When inspecting the car started to feel too much like longing admiration, Jack made himself walk up to the house. It had a concierge and the man remembered Daysen from his last visit only a few days ago. ‘To see Mr Malfoy?’ he asked smoothly, pronouncing the name with a French accent. He probably thought it was chic.
Daysen nodded, aware of the man’s eyes gliding over him. He had chosen a suit today as it was less conspicuous than robes, but to the concierge it probably looked like something out of a carnival trunk. The man was too well trained to let on, though, and picked up the receiver of his phone. ‘Professor Daysen here to see you, sir’, he purred after a while, ‘and do you want me to call the patisserie for your breakfast? ��� Two servings? ��� Very well, sir.’
He put down the receiver, jerked his chin at Daysen and pointed towards the elevator. ‘Up you go, then.’
Hating to follow a Muggle’s instructions, Jack took the stairs instead. They took him up two storeys until he reached a wide, lemon-scented corridor at the end of which a door stood open invitingly. The rooms behind it were open-plan and suffused by the slightly grubby November sunlight. The furniture was sparse and hence the golden parquet flooring and the high whitewashed walls set the atmosphere. On first inspection, nothing gave away the fact that quite a talented young wizard lived here; in fact, it looked like the abode of a bored young Muggle whose parents had stuffed more money up his backside than was good for him. On a polished oak table stood empty cartons with Asian inscriptions and two wineglasses with dried-up red residue at their bottoms. Items of clothing were strewn on the floor and Daysen’s brows went up as he cast his eyes around in search of Draco.
He found him in the next room, lolling on a chocolate-brown leather couch. His white-blond hair fell carelessly into his face and he wore a white shirt, unbuttoned and exposing a hairless but otherwise surprisingly manly chest. Close beside him sat a blonde girl in a very short jeans skirt, a tank top more fit for July than November, and purple tights that had magnificent holes and ladders in them. When Daysen entered, she stared at him with wary coal-smudged eyes. Her lips were a perfect erotic pout and her hand stroked the nape of Draco’s neck possessively.
‘Professor’, Draco said with a smile, ‘what a pleasure on a Saturday morning!’
‘Morning’s long past’, remarked Daysen and scowled at the blonde girl that looked him up and down impertinently.
‘Ah, but that’s where most of the Chelsea party folks would disagree’, Draco replied cheerfully ��� eliciting a chuckle from his companion ��� and indicated an expensive-looking leather armchair, ‘anyway, you’re here, why don’t you take a seat?’
However, Daysen didn’t budge from his spot. ‘I was hoping to talk to you. Alone.’
Draco nodded quickly, turned to the girl and whispered something in her ear. She pouted even more, murmured in protest, but Draco stroked her cheek and said a very pretty ‘Please’, upon which she sighed languidly and got up. She crossed the room with swaying hips and in doing so bestowed another look on Daysen that was somewhere between provocation and defiance. Taking her sweet time about it, she picked up a handbag, shoes and a black blouse before she left the apartment, loudly banging the door shut.
Only now did Jack take Draco up on his offer and took a seat. ‘What was that?’ he asked.
‘They’re called ‘girls”, Draco explained with a grin, ‘and that one, I’m told, is the rising star of London fashion heaven.’
Daysen sneered. ‘Which is probably the reason why she can’t afford a whole pair of tights?’
Draco smiled indulgently. ‘It’s a style. They call it ‘grunge’. ��� And she’s sweet, particularly for a Muggle girl.’
It made Daysen chuckle. ‘You’re talking like an old lecher. And yet, you’re probably younger than her?’
‘Older women like me’, Draco replied with all the Malfoy self-assurance. ‘To them, I’m this wealthy toy boy that’ll cheer them up without putting any pressure or expectations on them.’
‘How does Astoria fit into that?’
The smug grin fell from the young man’s face. ‘Have you given her my regards?’
‘Yes, I have, and I can assure you that it’s been years since I’ve been able to elicit such glowing cheeks.’ In spite of himself, the memory of the blushing Astoria Greengrass made Jack smile crookedly. ‘Which begs the question: what is that ��� woman ��� doing here?’ He could only just stop himself from saying ‘floozie’.
Draco squirmed a little. ‘That’s complicated.’
Daysen looked pointedly towards the four-poster bed that was visible from where he was sitting and looked as if a bunch of maddened pixies had been at it. ‘Doesn’t look very complicated to me’, he purred.
‘You see’, Draco started, looking flustered, ‘the thing with Astoria is ��� she’s The One. ��� You may laugh about it, but I’m sure.’
However, Jack had no intention of laughing. He was acutely reminded of L
ucius, many years ago, coming to him with a beaming face and explaining with all certainty that he was capable of that he had found The One. Narcissa Black. And in fact, the woman had turned a philandering ladies’ man into a surprisingly uxorious husband. Maybe the Malfoys had a talent for it, spotting the person that was right for them and not turning away from the decision once it was made. ‘Even more so’, Daysen went on, ‘it should have been Astoria sitting on that couch with you.’
Draco chuckled. ‘Astoria’s not off age yet, and from a good family. Her father’d jinx me to Saturn if I had her stay here for the night.’
‘He’d jinx you to Pluto if he knew that you’re having designs on his daughter and yet insist on rolling in the hay with Muggle girls dressed in rags’, Daysen said reasonably.
‘That’s just ��� for now’, Draco murmured and his voice sounded slightly embarrassed. ‘With Astoria I will have to do everything right, you see. She deserves that. But I’m not quite there yet. Not ��� ready, so to speak. This is why I’m giving myself this time, here, to sort myself out and to ��� well ���’
‘��� sow your wild oats’, Daysen finished Draco’s sentence lazily.
It made the young man’s cheeks colour slightly. ‘It sounds awful when you put it like that’, he mumbled ruefully.
‘It’s not why I have come here’, Jack replied, letting the subject drop, ‘as you may have guessed. ��� Have you done what I asked you to do?’
‘I have.’ Draco sat up and started to button up his shirt. ‘And the result was quite surprising.’
Daysen leant forward. ‘So you found him?’
‘I did. Wasn’t too difficult. The guy’s conspicuous.’
‘You have no idea’, Daysen sneered. ‘Go on.’
‘I was on to him all of yesterday’, Draco said. ‘Spent the morning in the Ministry. Of course, I couldn’t follow him in to see what he was doing there, but it wasn’t too long before he came out again and took off on his broom. Quite an old model, by the way. It was easy to stay on to him.’
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