"Mum has agreed to take all of the kids so Hermione and I can spend the day shopping," Ginny announced the next morning.

"ALL of them? Ours AND Rose and Hugo?" Harry gaped at Ginny. "ALL day?"

His wife laughed. "You know mum. She'll be happy to have a handful of little birdies back in her nest. Her five youngest grandchildren, cheeping away!"

Harry shuddered. "Screaming down the walls is more like it. How does she manage? Without losing her sanity, that is. The last time you and I both had those five... " He shook his head. "I was ready to take a flying leap into the Black Lake, giant squid and all! Just listen to our three right now - " and he gestured toward the exuberant shouting over a game of Exploding Snap in the next room.

Draping her arms around Harry's neck from behind as he sat at the breakfast table, Ginny whispered into his ear, "I think she uses a combination of magic and a wooden spoon."

Chuckling, Harry sipped at his second cup of coffee. "So, what does your day look like?"

Ginny slipped into her own chair and warmed up her coffee with a flick of her wand. "We're planning to hit Muggle London shops first, then have lunch, and finish in Diagon Alley. We'll probably make it back to the Burrow by three or three-thirty. I'll Floo mum if it looks like Hermione and I are going to run later than that."

"Right." Harry drained his cup. "I'll be spending most of my day doing legwork in the field. If I have time this afternoon, I may drop by Hogwarts and see what Snape and Flitwick have come up with." Frowning, he added, "They haven't been overly optimistic. Looks like Dumbledore and his colleagues intend to stay underground, so the research is stuck with a skimpy paper trail to follow. I think they're planning to search the library to see what information they can uncover concerning altering a wizard's magic."

"Okay." Ginny sent the breakfast dishes flying into the sink, then initiated the washing spell she'd learned from her mum. She knew her husband's fondness for seeing the dishes scrubbing themselves, as they'd been doing when he first set foot in the Burrow after being rescued by the twins and Ron on his twelfth birthday. "I'll get the kids into the Floo, and then I'll be off."

"Have a wonderful day," Harry said, kissing her. "I love you always."

His wife's eyes sparkled. "I love you back."

Three minutes later, Ginny and the kids vanished in a burst of green flame, and the sudden silence left in the cottage nearly made Harry think he'd gone deaf.

-:- -:- -:-

"I've never seen you eat fish and chips."

"Try spending a month on field rations, Sherlock. Even you wouldn't be picky after that."

"I'm not picky. And those are deep fried."

"No deadlier than bullets."

"They'll slow you down."

"Oh, so we'll be running home instead of taking a cab?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Just eat." He drummed his fingertips on the table.

John blew on the piece of fish, trying to cool it enough so he wouldn't get scalded by the steam. "What do you think of the crime scenes themselves?"

The drumming abruptly stopped. "Sorry?"

"I've been thinking - "

A scoff.

" - that the sixth one was different from the rest."

"Large house, wealthy people."

"Right. So why did the killer choose a different type of target? All of the other houses were quite modest, whether the murders were committed by a single killer or by the original and a copycat, too. Why change his pattern?"

"Excellent question."

"Any ideas?"

"Of course."

"Care to share?"

"I never knew it took so long to eat fish and chips."

"They'd go faster if you ate some of them, too."

"Boring."

"There's vinegar. That should liven up the taste."

"Hurry up." The finger drumming recommenced.

-:- -:- -:-

"Auror Potter is here. He'll take over, ma'am."

Harry Potter studied the stone cottage surrounded by a wild tangle of rose brambles. The blossoms had finished for the season, but in summer, the atmosphere around the comfortable home would be fragrant with their sweet scent.

"Wards?" he asked an aging witch who kept dabbing tears from her red-rimmed eyes.

"Just the usual," she choked out. "Keeps out casual trespassers. All were keyed to family members and a couple of trusted friends. Never needed anything more. We never bothered anyone. Lived quiet lives." She sobbed into her handkerchief. "Now my son is dead. Murdered in his own home. Who would have done such a thing?"

Harry rested a gentle hand on her frail arm. "Could Muggles see your cottage?"

The white-haired witch shook her head. "No. It had to be someone magical who broke through the wards. You can still see the smoke in the air."

Harry nodded solemnly as he studied the vaporous traces of the annihilated wards. On this misty afternoon, the fading smoke was barely darker than the cool fog surrounding the cottage. Some form of powerful magic had literally fried the family's protective barrier.

"My daughter-in-law has collapsed," whispered the witch. "She's devastated. Two children, and another one due in a month." She sobbed again. "Who? WHO?" Her voice rose in a raspy scream of despairing anguish.

"We'll do all we can," Harry said. "You need to get to St. Mungo's to be with your daughter-in-law. My assistant will Side-Along you, if you like. We don't need you getting splinched on top of everything else."

The elderly woman nodded gratefully. "Yes ... please," she managed through her tears.

Harry nodded to Joey Jasper, a recent graduate of the Auror Training Program, and the younger man whisked the old witch away, only to return alone mere seconds later.

"Sad situation, Auror Potter," he said quietly.

"Indeed," agreed Harry, slowly examining the exterior grounds of the cottage.

"People are approaching, sir."

Harry looked in the direction Joey indicated, then quickly waved his wand. The area beyond the small property hazed very faintly as the anti-Muggle ward domed overhead to conceal the structure from unwanted attention. Both wizards watched a Muggle-clad young woman and a little boy walking down the stony lane pause, then shrug and walk on.

"Looks like they may have seen the cottage, sir."

"I'll Obliviate them," Harry said quietly, carefully aiming his wand at the Muggles' backs. "We don't need gossip or speculation."

After completing his external examination, Harry slowly entered the cottage, followed by Joey. The younger man kept clearing his throat, as if trying to dislodge an uneasy lump.

"First murder for you?"

Joey nodded. "It's all been theory and paperwork ... until today, sir. I've never seen... " He cleared his throat once again.

"Don't touch anything," Harry cautioned.

"I won't, sir," Joey promised. "You can trust me on that."

"Where's the body?"

"Kitchen, sir. That way."

Harry took careful stock of each room he passed through, and the cheerful, homey atmosphere embodied by the small dwelling's design and comfortable furnishings made the prospect of a murder in such surroundings an obscenity. His heart went out to the surviving family members. This home had radiated abundant love and fulfillment; now, it would be forever darkened by senseless tragedy.

At last, they reached the kitchen, bright from the yellow-painted walls, even on this foggy day.

When Harry saw the victim's body, a queer chill ran up his spine. The wizard, probably in his early thirties, lay sprawled forward across the kitchen table, his hands bound together and tied with supple, braided cords, which had been wound around the table legs on the opposite side. A thin-bladed knife protruded from the man's back, surrounded by a small bloodstain.

"Merlin!" whispered Harry.

"You can say that again, sir," Joey agreed quietly, staring with morbid fascination at the body. "You'd think it was a Muggle murder, wouldn't you? Except no Muggles could have seen through the original wards."

Harry leaned down to study the knife at close range. From what he could tell, this knife could be a twin - or triplet, as it were - for the knives at the double murder he'd visited while following Sherlock and John.

"Odd, sir, to use a knife. Very crude, when there are so many other ways for a wizard - or witch - to commit murder, even without using Unforgivables. The Suffocation Curse, the Blood-Letting Curse, the - "

"Thank you, Auror Jasper. I catch your drift."

"Yes, sir."

"We'll need to get official photos of the scene, but I'll take some quick ones now, for my personal files... " So saying, Harry removed his Muggle mobile from a pocket of his dark blue-and-green camouflage Auror's robes, cancelled the stasis field surrounding it, and took several pictures, including the body's position, close-ups of the knots in the cords, the knife hilt and blade, and its position in the victim's back. Finished, he reapplied the stasis and tucked the mobile back into his pocket.

Joey Jasper watched him, wide-eyed. If the situation hadn't been so tragic, Harry might have grinned. The Auror Training Program focused almost exclusively on Wizarding methods of crime solving and Dark-wizard apprehension. By the time Joey got promoted to working solo, Harry hoped to have indoctrinated his bright young assistant into the usefulness of certain Muggle methods, as well.

Remembering the double murder, Harry glanced around. "Any sign of how the murderer got in and left?"

Joey pursed his lips. "Funny thing, that. The front door looked to have been kicked in."

"Kicked in?" Harry repeated, startled.

"Yes, sir. You'd think, once the wards were down, the killer could've simply Apparated in, but the door had a heel scuff below the latch, and the jamb itself was splintered by the force."

"Show me - no, wait a minute." Harry leaned down to study the dead wizard's face. "Accio teaspoon." A drawer opened and a clean teaspoon sailed across the kitchen into Harry's waiting hand. Gently, he worked the bowl of the spoon between the dead lips, carefully coaxing the mouth to open slightly.

"What IS that, sir?"

Harry cautiously extracted a hundred-dollar American bill from the dead wizard's mouth. "Our killer's signature," he said grimly. "I've seen this before - in the Muggle world."

Joey shook his head in disbelief. "But, sir - it couldn't have been a Muggle who committed this murder. The wards - "

"I think we were meant to believe it was a Muggle. On a sunny day, the smoke from the fried wards would have dissipated quickly enough, especially with a breeze. But on a still, foggy day like today, the smoke continued to hang about, something the killer may not have taken into account. Or perhaps he thought the fog might disguise the smoke. In any case, with the wards gone, a Muggle could have seen the cottage, kicked the door in, and killed the occupant. Provided, of course, that the occupant was a defenseless Muggle, instead of a wanded wizard."

Harry looked around suddenly, frowning. "Where is his wand?"

"I don't - I'll look for it, sir."

While Joey was searching, Harry used his own wand to unfold the hundred-dollar bill, after first photographing it folded. Then he took pictures of both the front and back of the bill, before photographing the scuff on the front door and the splintered jamb. Just as he re-stasised his mobile, Joey returned, looking puzzled.

"No sign of his wand, sir."

Harry's lips compressed. "So, our killer would seem adept at disarming his victims, but you'll need to follow up with his family to make sure there's no other explanation for his missing wand."

"Yes, sir."

"Is the coroner here? And the Auror photographer?"

"Yes to both."

"Fine. Get all angles of his crime scene photographed, including all doors, windows, and locks, and the grounds around the outside of the house, especially beneath the doors and windows. Also, tell the coroner I want a full examination, both physical and chemical, including magical scanning inside the body and out. Anything unusual, notify me straightaway."

"Yes, sir."

-:- -:- -:-

Hermione plopped down into one side of the booth, while Ginny sat opposite. Their colorful Muggle shopping bags took up the rest of their respective benches.

The brunette witch grinned at her sister-in-law. "It's been ages since I've had a day off, just to be me! Your mum is an angel to put up with all of the kids at once."

Ginny smiled ruefully. "She'd probably be willing to do it more often, but I really hate to take advantage of her good nature."

"Well, as long as you don't abuse her generosity... "

They both laughed happily.

The Muggle server set glasses of ice water on their tables and handed them menus with a smile. "I'll be back in a moment to take your order, but first, what would you like to drink?"

"Diet Coke, please," said Hermione.

"The same for me," added Ginny.

Smiling once more, the server went off to fill their beverage requests.

Opening the seafood menu, Hermione murmured, "What looks good?"

"Everything!"

They both laughed again.

"Just remember to save room for ice cream at Fortescue's - that's been our tradition since we were kids," Ginny said, running her finger down the selection of salads.

"I'm definitely doing shrimp scampi," declared Hermione. "And look - they've got crab panned in butter for you."

Ginny shook her head. "Not with my hips. Especially if I'm going to do ice cream later."

"Harry didn't say something, did he?" Hermione stared at Ginny across the top of her menu. "I'll hex him into next week!"

"No, but I can tell in the mirror."

"Tell what?"

"I'm starting to look like Mum from the waist down."

"No way!" Hermione reached across the table to squeeze Ginny's hand reassuringly. "Your mum had seven children. There's a HUGE difference. Er - well, that came out a bit wrong."

Ginny giggled in spite of herself. "'Huge' is why Harry and I are stopping at three."

"Tell you what - to burn off some calories, we'll walk all the way to the Leaky Cauldron."

"With this lot?" The red-haired witch gestured toward their numerous shopping bags.

Hermione leaned forward and whispered, "What are wands for?"

-:- -:- -:-

Up on the seventh floor of Hogwarts castle, Harry frowned at the gargoyle's denial. "Not here? Where did they go?"

The gargoyle gave a grating shrug. "Headmaster Flitwick did not inform me of any particulars. However, just before they disappeared around the corner, I caught the echo of Professor Snape saying, ‘restricted', Mr. Potter. You might want to check the Restricted Section of the library. Of course, he could have been referring to something else entirely."

"Right," said Harry. "Thanks."

As he strode the stone corridors and descended the marble staircase to the third floor, Harry delighted in being back inside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The familiar nooks and crannies, a few distinctive stones in various walls, the tapestries and paintings he'd passed a thousand times during his student days... It all looked so familiar, and yet, he felt almost like a stranger in the castle. The stone structure felt akin to a shell which he'd outgrown and left behind, instead of an extension of his own body and mind, as it had during the seven years he'd resided here.

Through an arched window, he caught sight of the smoking chimney of Hagrid's hut. If he had time, after speaking with Snape and Flitwick, he might just run down and say hello to his first-ever friend. Maybe even pop into the greenhouses on the way and touch base with Neville. His fellow Gryffindor had been promoted to full Professor of Herbology four years ago, after Professor Sprout had relocated to the tropics to broaden her botanical horizons.

"Mr. Potter."

"Madam Pince, it's good to see you're still here," Harry said politely, greeting the stern librarian, who seemed more angular than ever, with grizzled hair which was beginning to whiten at the temples.

"And where else would I be, Mr. Potter?"

Harry refrained from speculating aloud, asking instead, "By any chance, would Professors Flitwick and Snape be in the library today?"

"They're in the Restricted Section. You may go in."

"Thank you, ma'am." Harry headed off to the tall gate separating the main part of the Hogwarts library from the stacks restricted to N.E.W.T students and the rare few others who had written permission to enter. He followed the murmur of male voices and quickly located the wizards he sought in a back corner.

Harry hid a grin when he spotted Severus Snape. Despite his long retirement, the Potions Master had not completely thrown over his former teaching attire, although he usually dressed far more casually these days, especially in the comfort of his own home. Harry understood that the "dungeon bat" image of yesteryear had been primarily that - a deliberate image. One that frightened young dunderheads and held fearsome Death Eaters at a cautious distance.

But today, Snape had chucked his "Muggle casual" look and donned familiar severe black trousers and boots, the high-collared many-buttoned knee-length black coat, and over it all, the long black teaching robes which trailed dramatically across the floor several feet behind him.

Well, thought Harry, the castle did hold a permanent chill, so Snape had probably focused on the practical aspect of his sartorial layers. Still, the Auror found it amusing to see Snape suddenly looking like his old self, and he had to wonder how many students had scattered out of the man's way as he swept through the echoing halls of Hogwarts. The war hero's reputation preceded him, his stern image familiar to today's youngsters from chocolate frog cards, and the billowing robes simply completed the overall visual effect.

"There you are, Potter," said Filius Flitwick, peering up at Harry over the gold rims of wire-framed reading spectacles. "Good to see you. Have a seat." The diminutive Headmaster was standing on the seat of a library chair, leaning forward over a broad volume opened flat upon the table.

Harry slid into an empty chair and looked at his former teachers expectantly. "What have you found out?"

Flitwick gestured to Snape, who glowered in response. Having learned so much more about Snape's self-expression through the years since Voldemort's defeat, the younger wizard realized instantly that the news was not good.

"Very little, actually," Snape said with a sneer, which Harry correctly interpreted as disgust at the fruitlessness of their research. "Headmaster Flitwick has done an admirable job - with Madam Pince's invaluable assistance - in narrowing down the sources which deal with altering the state of a magical being."

Harry glanced around at the tall shelving surrounding the three wizards. The countless tomes - both ancient and modern - towered up into the gloom below the library's vaulted ceiling. "So, how many of these do we need to go through?"

The Potions Master snorted. "The relevant volumes are already on the table."

Startled, Harry looked at the nearly-empty tabletop. "These? That's - THREE!"

"Plus this roll of parchment, Potter," added Flitwick, using his wand to levitate a thick roll of yellowed layers of parchment to the center of the scarred oak table.

"You're joking," breathed Harry, staring at the scant source material in dismay. "You have to be joking, right? In a library this size? With ten centuries of recorded magical history?"

Sighing, Snape pulled out a chair for himself. "Sadly, we are quite serious. And do bear in mind, Potter, that the topic itself would have to be relatively obscure, else more material would certainly be available. Also, the very concept of altering a witch or wizard's magical nature skirts - at the very least - the fringes of Dark magic. Depending on the actual process involved, such action may prove incalculably Dark indeed."

Harry shifted his focus to Flitwick. "And you agree with Professor Snape's assessment, sir?"

"I do concur, Potter." The tiny Headmaster's squeaky voice sounded extremely grave. "I could not, in good conscience, ever consider undertaking performing such magic on a fellow witch or wizard."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Dumbledore seemed more than capable of selectively following his conscience, as we all know."

"So long as the end justified the means," Harry added, with a trace of sudden, reluctant bitterness, remembering the shocking revelation that Dumbledore had kept him alive just so he could die at the right moment.

"Precisely." The Potions Master extended his legs, resting one booted heel on the polished wooden floor, while crossing his ankles, as he leaned back in the hard chair. His endless robes puddled blackly on the floor in graceful folds, draping down all around the chair. "In the case of Sherlock Holmes, we know only his own description of what he witnessed as a child and what he appeared to experience as the result. We do not know why Dumbledore - if it was, in fact, Dumbledore - undertook such action, apart from an apparent request from Holmes' frantic mother."

Harry shrugged. "Well, from Sherlock's description, it certainly sounded like Dumbledore. Also, the fact that Dumbledore avoided your confrontation - to the point that he's now hiding out in the walls - seems to implicate him."

"It's still circumstantial, Potter, however much I am inclined to agree."

Flitwick turned a page in the broad volume and suddenly blurted, "Oh, I say!"

Snape's black eyes darted to the aged parchment pages. "What did you find?"

"Sorry - what?" Still half-lost in thought, the Headmaster peered at Snape.

"What did you find?" Snape repeated. "Anything useful?"

Flitwick shook his head. "Nothing applicable to altering the nature of a wizard's magic, but I must try this - I simply must!"

Bemused by the tiny Headmaster's open enthusiasm, Harry and Snape watched curiously as Flitwick placed a sparkly green pencil with a bright purple eraser on the floor. "One of my Muggle-born students left this in my office earlier, and I couldn't resist carrying it with me. Muggles love to brighten their world with the most mundane of objects, don't they? I suppose it's because they don't have magic..."

The small wizard backed up a bit and aimed his wand at the pencil, concentrated hard, and gave a complicated reverse spiral with his wand's tip before thrusting forward like a duelist.

Abruptly, a full-sized, sparkly-green ostrich took up a lot of room in their isolated corner of the Restricted Section.

Harry's chair fell over backwards with a loud wooden BANG, and even Snape recoiled slightly in shock. As he scrambled to his feet, Harry realized that his wand had appeared in his hand by total reflex and was now pointed pre-emptively at the ostrich. Said ostrich speculatively blinked bright purple eyelashes at Snape, seeming to find something of great interest in the Potions Master's appearance...

"Headmaster - "

Harry's jaw dropped as the ostrich lowered her head a long way and zeroed in on the front of Snape's coat... PECK! The green ostrich's bright purple bill struck forcefully at one of the many buttons...

"Filius!"

PECK-PECK-PECK!

"Bloody bird!"

PECK!

"Useless FOOL!" Snape leaped up and grabbed his wooden chair by the backrest, holding it out ahead of him like a lion tamer to fend off the eager ostrich.

Flitwick had doubled over with laughter and continued to gasp in mirth as the ostrich's sparkly green head bobbed, ducked, and wove back and forth, trying to outwit the protruding chair legs.

"MR. POTTER!" Madam Pince suddenly appeared at their table. "What in Merlin's name do you think you're DOING?"

To his chagrin, Harry realized how much the culprit he appeared, since he was the one pointing his wand at a purple-legged green ostrich. "I - I - " he stammered, thinking that even though he was an adult in his early thirties, these other adults still made him feel like a Third Year at times.

"Get RID of that creature, Potter. Immediately!"

"But I didn't do it ma'am," Harry denied as he finally found his voice. His laughter joined Flitwick's as he pointed at the short Headmaster. "HE did!"

Annoyed with having to dodge Snape's chair legs, the ostrich picked that moment to seek an easier target, latching onto the chortling Headmaster's wide sleeve. One good tug had the small wizard tumbling nearly beneath the great bird's horny purple feet.

"POTTER!" Madam Pince's indignant shout nearly shook the high rafters.

"Evanesco - " But before Harry could say "ostrich", the plumy bird squatted slightly, popping out a large, sparkly purple egg, which rolled over to thud against the base of a bookshelf. Harry's wand hand faltered as he burst out laughing again.

"Avis evanesco!" thundered Snape, determinedly pointing his own wand, and the ostrich Vanished, leaving behind the purple egg.

"Oh, my!" gasped Flitwick, wiping the corners of his eyes with the tip of his sleeve cuff. "I haven't had that much fun in years! I'm so glad to have found this book!"

"And the students wonder why we call it the ‘RESTRICTED' Section," sniffed Madam Pince, compressing her lips tightly in disapproval. "Really, Filius - you ARE the Headmaster. You should set a proper example for the students."

Flitwick squinted down a passage between the stacks. "Did anyone see that?" he asked, still chuckling. "Besides us?"

The librarian shook her head. "The majority of students are in their last afternoon class now, and the two who were doing research went to the kitchens for a late lunch."

"No harm done, then," chirped Flitwick, bustling cheerfully around the table to retrieve the sparkly purple egg. "My, this has some weight to it"

Snape repositioned his chair rather forcefully and sat down with a scowl. "IF we could return to our previous topic..."

"Quite right," agreed Flitwick, levitating himself back up to stand upon his own chair.

Harry righted the third chair and sat, trying not to cast sideways glances at the purple egg. "We were discussing... "

"The fact that we don't really know who did what to Sherlock Holmes," growled Snape.

"Right."

Flitwick pointed at the scroll. "I've not yet had the opportunity to read through that lot, but the books themselves are not too enlightening. This one - " he pointed to the thick tome which had prompted him to produce the ostrich, " - deals only in generalizations. It would appear that the writer possessed certain knowledge, but he seems determined not to discuss relevant details. In other words, we know that such a magical process exists, but we don't know how to reproduce it or how to counter it. If a counter even exists. It's entirely possible that it may not."

Snape leaned forward. "That's extremely important, Potter. Whatever else we must discuss with Holmes, we do NOT - under any circumstances - lead him to believe that we can ‘put him right', as it were. It may not be possible. His current state may well be permanent."

"I understand," said Harry, frowning thoughtfully.

"Furthermore," Snape continued, "even attempting to change anything about his magical state may destroy it entirely."

"And turn him into a squib?"

"We have no way of knowing at this time."

"Right." And then, a horrifying thought occurred to Harry. "His mind - his genius intellect - he could lose that ability, too?"

Snape nodded and Flitwick looked at Harry grimly.

"Very possible," said the Headmaster, "since this gift of genius appears to be the result of ... Dumbledore's - let's just say Dumbledore, shall we? - interference with natural magical order."

"Oh, Merlin," whispered Harry. "I've seen him in action. His mind is truly amazing. To lose that ability... It might ruin him psychologically and emotionally. We - we can't let that happen. Not ever!"

"I'm glad you understand," nodded Snape. Then he looked thoughtfully at Harry. "You say you've seen him in action? How? When?"

Harry told him how he'd followed Sherlock and John to the scene of the double homicide.

"Show me," Snape requested softly.

With complete trust, Harry met the Potions Master's black eyes and brought the memory of that astonishing night to the forefront of his mind for Snape to examine. This level of trust had taken a while to develop between the two men, but Harry would never doubt Snape's loyalty or sincerity ever again. Nor did he fear that the man would abuse his powers of Legilimency.

"Quite ... outstanding," Snape pronounced after many long moments of viewing Harry's memory. His voice registered respectful surprise. "I will admit, I thought I had trained myself to be observant and analytical, but Holmes' talent surpasses anything I could have ever dreamed of." He met Harry's eyes seriously. "We must protect that, Potter. At all costs."

Harry nodded. "I absolutely agree, sir."

Snape stood up and stretched. "Filius, I'll leave you to go over the information in the small volume. If you'll both excuse me, for the time being, I need to be ... excused." With a brief nod, the Potions Master swept away between the stacks, exiting the Restricted Section.

"Now, Potter, we have this tiny book," began Flitwick. "It dates back to 1548 - "

"HARRY! HARRY!" A muffled voice sounded from within Harry's pocket.

"Excuse me, Professor. It's my wife calling, and she sounds upset." Harry took out a small mirror set in a sturdy wooden frame. "I'm here, Gin. What's up?"

Ginny's worried face peered at him from the mirror. "Harry, you have to come quickly! They're here! In the Leaky Cauldron!"

"Who?"

"The men from the café!"

-:- -:- -: