Saturday, July 5th, 2014. 9:30 AM.

  28 Roseberry Avenue, Borough of Islington, London, UK

  Harry and Ginny basically slunk out of the Showroom, trying to ignore Dudley’s not-so-subtle muttering about “No wonder the lad seems high-strung if that is what he puts up with...”

  They walked on a bit in silence. Harry finally spoke.

  “What the... (‘Language,’ inserted Ginny) ,,,was that? Who the...(Harry!) ...was Dudley talking about? And how in the world can that.. (Harry James POTTER!) ...boy make us look like idiots by behaving?”

  “Harry!” He looked at her. She smiled, and mouthed the words ‘Let it go.’

  He slumped a little, smiled, leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss.

  “Delicious,” he said.

  ***

  They were walking arm-in-arm, coming up on the point where they would have to part ways.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll get started on the Krum side of things. Bulgaria’s first game isn’t for two weeks. Shouldn’t be hard to convince the editors to go along. Long shot or not, he’s still the most recognisable name out there. His opinion would be sought out even if he wasn’t playing.”

  Harry nodded. “I’ll let you get ahead on that front. No need muddying the water until I’m sure how deep it goes.”

  She grimaced. “Your metaphors stink. I think M.O.M. File is right. Your early teachers have a lot to answer for.”

  “I laugh at your puny parts of speech,” he said loftily. “Simile is still simile. Metaphor is still metaphor. I am still Potter.”

  “Similes and metaphors are not parts of speech!”

  “Kidding,” he said, but from the look on her face... “Anyway,” he continued. I’m going to try to nail down this odd sightings business. It’s amazing how antsy witches and wizards get when they don’t understand a phenomenon. What’s that old saying? ‘Everyone wants to be magickal until it’s time to do magickal schtuff.’”

  Ginny hmpfed. “For an old saying, that sounds remarkably like you just pulled it out of your... (‘Ginny! Language!’).” She snorted. “Oh, wait. I wanted to ask, Is anything is going to happen to those abusers?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “Ah, yes. Quite a bit, in fact. That Lifetime Warranty works both ways, and there are some pretty nasty clauses down in the fine print. First off, the extended family is blackballed, up to grandparents, down to grandchildren, and all siblings and their children, whether full, half, step or foster. Any other D&W products can be reclaimed immediately, pending civil court judgement. If they choose not to fight judgement, they will be reimbursed at 90p on the pound. If they fight and lose, it’s 30p. The actual purchaser will be taken to court and sued for the cost of repairs, plus legal fees. D&W rarely collects on those judgements. They just hold them open in case of further litigation. Their names are also published.”

  “Really?” she asked. “That a big deal?”

  “You would be surprised. A lot of D&W owners are almost fanatic loyalists. They have social clubs, networking, what do Muggles call those things, chat rooms? And abusing a D&W product definitely gets them stirred up. Not to the point of violence, mind you. That’s covered in the Lifetime Warranty as well. Dud’s staff did verify one couple in a gated community, they changed their name and emigrated.”

  “Woof,” she said. “Hey, what about the wife’s father? All he gets hit with is being blackballed?”

  Harry looked a little shifty. “Uh, yeah. Umm... Officially?”

  She just waited with one eyebrow up.

  Harry blew out his cheeks. “The last time something like this happened, and it was nowhere near this bad, Dudley, well...”

  The other eyebrow tightened over her other eye. Harry winced.

  “Dudley gave them to George.”

  Both eyebrows up, mouth a perfect O. “That poor, luckless... (‘Ginny! Language!’).”

  ***

  Back in the Auror’s Office, Harry got the “mysterious” file out, and started going through it more fully, making a list of places to check and people to interview, and hopefully come up with some factor that tied them all together.

  About a half-hour later, he sat up straighter in his chair, looking at his notes. Well, that was too bloody easy. And too bloody obvious.

  “Check it again,” he muttered to himself.

  Fifteen minutes after that, he pushed the papers away. The connecting factor was one Harry James Potter. Or someone very close to him, possibly. Which rang every existing alarm bell in Harry’s mind.

  ‘Set-up?’ he thought.’Trap?’ But most of the people involved wouldn’t set him up, and the others seriously wanted nothing to do with him. The thought of there being a conspiracy involving all these people... Even more absurd, someone manipulating these people, manouevering them into appearing to be conspirators.

  I need more information. Start with the easiest. He grabbed an unattended Daily Prophet off a nearby desk, and checked the Forecast section. “Of course,” he grumbled. He summoned a travelling cloak from 12 Grimmauld Place, (actually from a storage space on the roof, outside the house’s protections). He started off to the lobby so he could Apparate out of the Ministry.

  Morag Campbell was entering as he was leaving, with one of the M.O.M. Owls riding on her shoulder. “Where you off to, boss?” she said brightly.

  “Hogwarts,” he replied. The owl on her shoulder gave him The Look.

  “It’s Official Business,” Harry snarled.

  Morag looked over at him, confused.

  “Not you...” Harry started. “Oh, never mind!”