422Disclaimer: My house belongs to the bank, my work belongs to my boss and my money is always confiscated by my wife. And Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling... Damn...
In enemy waters
By DerLaCroix
Chapter 7 – Field trip
ooo Breakfast at the villa ooo
"This is either the weirdest set-up for a prank I've ever seen, or you have gone completely around the bend, Harry," Remus stated in a flat tone.
"Oh, good. You heard it, too," Margret chimed in. "I was wondering if somebody had laced my cereal with some of your power booze."
"It kind of makes sense," Henry agreed between bites. "In a weird, twisted, very naive and optimistic way of looking at impossible tasks."
"So in a nutshell, Harry's way?" Tonks snickered.
Remus wasn't quite willing to agree. "I'd rather call it a trademark Potter solution. James had the same disregard for common sense and possibility."
"Did he pull these off, though?" Ginny asked.
"I'd love to say I got to tell him that I told him so more often, but usually, the more outlandish his plan, the higher the chances he did pull it off," Remus reminisced with a pang of sorrow.
"Good enough for me, just don't tell Fred and George," Ginny replied, returning to her breakfast.
"The question remains," Tonks picked up the thread from her, while picking her breakfast fare. "Do you actually have a plan, or is this still the 'Declare war – miracle happens – victory' phase?"
Harry was a bit flustered, but held his ground. "I don't have a complete battle plan for all engagements, yet, no," he admitted. "But I don't even have a side to fight for, to be honest."
"To elaborate on that," Hermione offered support, "we think it is the right idea, in theory, but we need the support of more than just a boat or two worth of crew, and a small island to pull it off."
"Provided they'd even agree to it," Ginny agreed between spoonfuls of her fruit-spiked gruel breakfast. "Bringing up a trader is fine to them, there's profit in that. Going into a rescue mission to protect our island base and not losing everything was a stretch, but better than the alternative, so they gave it a try. But telling them to leave their relatively good lives to go fight full battles in order to free the other islands might be a bit outside of the job description, I'm afraid."
"True, that's why we need to get support from other islands," Hermione confirmed Ginny's assessment. "If others aren't willing to pull their weight in the fights, there is no sense in even asking our people."
Margret was proposing the conservative interpretation. "If they were willing to do so, they'd already done that, wouldn't you think?"
"But they do," Harry insisted. "Don't you agree, Tonks?"
"I'm not quite sure what you're hinting at, boss," the ex-auror denied her approval, looking quite baffled.
"First, we are pirates – they know we stole our coin and all the goods we ever trade with them, still, they trade with us," Harry started his enumeration of arguments. "They could easily have thrown us under the bus, or frigate, so to speak, when those soldiers showed up. But they were willing to protect us, even at the threat of harm to themselves, just to spite them," he continued, placating Tonks with a raised hand when she showed signs of interrupting him.
"Yeah, claims about fearing our retribution and stuff, true, but I don't believe them. They could easily have driven us away at first sight, and outnumber us by quite a margin. With some guile, they could help the authorities to wipe us out with ease," he continued.
"I say they'd like to resist more than just passive-aggressively, they just don't see a way to win," Harry concluded, causing most of the present company to frown, nod, or sport thoughtful expressions..
"Might be," Remus provided, before voicing the general consensus. "But they are right, aren't they?"
"Status, quo? Yes," Hermione agreed. "But isn't that what we are currently trying to rectify?"
Tonks huffed at the understatement of their problem. "I've been trying to run drills with them, but they are never going to be up to anything close to even a Hogwarts graduate. There is just so much missing in their education. Some of the younger ones might have a chance to grow into it, with prodding, but most of the older ones will not improve significantly from where they are now. More spells, maybe, but their potential is eroded due to lack of use."
"That's where the guns come into play," Harry argued. "We do have the advantage that our people are not averse to using newer muggle technology, where they see a profit. I saw more than one radio going round after the fight, and if the island's wards would not scramble the signals, I'm sure we'd even have some tellies and satellite dishes up and running. The other islanders, and most importantly, the Governor's forces, are technologically ahead of British wizards, but still set in the seventeen-somethings. They'd not know what hit them if a squad of riflemen went up against them."
"True, Harry," Henry agreed."But that also means they don't know that, and assumes we even get them working."
"That's why we are talking to you, and brainstorming, instead of giving speeches to the public," Hermione tried to make their point come across. "We are trying to find a plan that works out before we pursue this."
"So you are on board with his plan?" Margret spoke up, addressing her daughter. "Going to war and killing hundreds or thousands?"
Hermione's reply was firm and without any waver in her voice. "Yes, mum, I am. As far as Harry and I are concerned, we believe that we are already in a war, or at least an enemy occupation. It's true that open hostilities would cause losses on both sides, but there are already losses on what we see as 'our' side, every day. A missing fisherman here, a defiled maiden there, an enslaved family over there. Adding up, there are already hundreds of people dying every year, anyway. And it's been like that for generations."
Harry was not content with Hermione being alone on her soap box. "To me, ending such a permanent state would be worth almost any sacrifice, but I can't demand people to agree with me. Don't be fooled – Luna came up with it and I fully agree, the people need to have a vote on this."
"Ahh...I see. But just telling them to water the tree of freedom with their patriot blood will not suffice," Henry spoke up. "You know that they know that right now, you would be simply asking them to become martyrs for a good cause. So you are trying to present them a viable road to victory, first, then ask them to hop on for the ride," he summed up the point as he was getting it, which was coming as a great relief to his wife.
"So you do not intend to set sail into battle just for the sake of it? This war is not set in stone?" she asked, her worries slightly allayed by the chance of everything getting voted out.
Harry took a few moments to compose his reply.
"I have been called a hero, attention seeker, and reckless, but while I can be a blind idiot running into trouble, I'm none of the above."
"Well, they do have a point with that reckless bit, I must admit, but I am working on that," he added when he realised what he just said.
"No matter what, I will fight to protect the people I love, and the people in my care, but I am not out to rule any island, not even this, if I don't need to. I can promise you this - if we can't guarantee to win the war, I see no need to even start it, just on hopes and wishes. I just came out of a similar, fifty-fifty odds of survival nightmare by sheer luck and your help. The final decision on this will not be mine. First of all, yours, and then of the people living here. If the people vote to live like that, I'm not going to lift a finger for them. But this would mean we most likely must find somewhere else to live, soon, I fear. They won't forget what we did to them, and while hiding here, forever, has a certain charm, they only have to get lucky, once, to get one of us, and then they will leave no stone unturned to find the rest of us. This island only slipped by because piracy is mostly a nuisance to the rich, and not worth actively searching for us."
"Well, this means we should definitely get done with this breakfast and get going," Tonks quipped. "This hasn't changed any plan for today – we'll still have a kind of a 'day off', with mostly shopping for clothes and some new toys, and a quick hop to a gun shop for some more toys. While I certainly will be playing bodyguard for that part and the rest of the day, I still expect to spend most of the day dragging Remus from one boutique to the next, and I certainly do not want to waste any more of my precious shopping time on morose talks of war and..." she mock-shuddered at the word, "democracy."
Remus mustered her, his eyes squinted at her as she happily continued devouring her bowl of fruit salad. "And I don't get a say in this?"
"You see what you've done, Harry!" Tonks complained, her eyes twinkling as she complained, gesturing wildly at Harry and then in Remus' direction. "Now you've put that flea in his ear, and I have to suffer for it. Thanks a lot!"
Pinching Remus' cheek like one would to a cute kid, she explained the law of the land to her boyfriend. "This is going to be done by the ancient rules of the mall, my woof. One man, one vote. You get to be the man, and I get the vote, ok?" she tweeted at him, smiling sweetly. She was only able to hold on to her poker face for a few seconds before succumbing to laughter when recognition and fear slowly crept into his expression.
Harry was chuckling along with her, until he noticed Hermione's evil grin directed at him.
Being well-used to that chain of events, Henry just resigned to the inevitable, but felt like he just had to comment on a thing. "Soo – he's your 'Woof'?"
"Yeah, he's my 'luv', but kind of a dog," Tonks quipped, calmly waiting for the yowling to die down.
"Also, he's barkin'..."
oooOOOooo
"Finally! Civilization!" Margret rejoiced as she took in the skyline of South Pointe from aboard the ferry from Fisher Island, where the official international portkey entry point for Miami was located at. Even from afar, she could see the bustling of a busy city.
"And you're really sure you don't want to join us?" Henry asked, for the umpteenth time since he was told how it was going to be.
"Yes, darling. I still am. Look, if you think we're going to waste valuable shopping time running across half the city to locate a gun shop that carries the items you look for, then you've got another thing coming. Not going to happen," Margret responded, slowly growing belligerent due to the constant nagging.
"Honey," she added after a brief pause. "Your party already has 4 people – you, Harry, Tonks and Remus as bodyguards. I know, Remus and Tonks are trying to stay behind and all that, but if the girls and I join, we are going to cause a scene wherever we show up, just by being there and bored."
"You need at least one bodyguard, and it has to be Tonks, because while Remus is presenting a marvellous stiff upper lip, he's far from being fit. Also - once you join us - Tonks will want to drag him through a couple of shops, as well, and if he has a couple of hours with us girls already on the clock, he won't be of any use to her. We're far away from home, in a huge shopping district with tons of people, and both girls are more than capable of being my bodyguards, or do you think different?"
She left the challenge hanging.
Henry knew his wife, daughter and quasi-surrogate daughter well enough to not walk into that trap. That, and the sight of three pairs of slightly squinted eyes made him accept the way things were going to be.
Before he had time to forget that and reignite the argument, the ferry had reached the dock, and they had to part ways, the girls leaving towards South Pointe and the shops, while the others were left behind trying to figure out where to go, and how to get there.
oooOOooo
Margret, Ginny and Hermione had been walking along the causeway, amiably chatting about what kind of high crimes and misdemeanours in the name of shopping they were going to commit, when Margret finally found the courage to begin the conversation she thought they needed to have. Aware of the personal nature of said talk, she started to turn her head to check their immediate surroundings.
After finding themselves suitably distant to the other pedestrians, she steeled herself and went ahead.
"Ginny, may I ask you a question?" she asked the petite girls in jeans and a white print tee walking next to her.
While Ginny was steeling herself for a line of questioning she did not look forward to, she was thrown quite off balance by the actual question.
"What is Luna?" Marget asked in a quite surprising turn of events.
"Come again?" the petite redhead inquired, visibly confused. Noticing that the question might need a bit more verbosity to be understood, Margret rummaged her mind, trying to elaborate.
"I mean, Remus is a werewolf, Tonks can shift shapes, there are demon creatures eating souls, vampires, dragons, the fairy Christmas ornament visitors, basilisks, and a million other strange creatures… What is Luna best described as?"
"I am not sure I can follow you," Ginny replied, warily. Hermione was also looking at her mother in a rather bewildered way. "A witch?"
Margret sighed, interpreting the looks as disapproving, and chose to head off any concern about her motives. "Listen girls, I do not mean this as an insult, I only need to understand who she is and what powers she has. Luna is a conundrum, an enigma. She constantly defies any moral or etiquette to a point even I can't approve of, but people never confront her beyond maybe some sound bites. She makes up weird creatures, but everybody kind of just accepts them. She casually proposes infidelity, and no one takes offence. She always knows exactly how far she can go without provoking people into action. She suddenly joins a conversation, speaks her mind about a topic with a needle sharp point, and everybody just falls in line with her ideas," she continued, talking herself into a frenzy until she had to stop herself.
Briefly checking again whether they could be overheard, she tried to compose herself, and continued.
"You know, I tried to confront her - asking her what she is playing at with pushing Harry towards war, and she gave me some vague replies, half of them only barely relating to what we were talking of," she told the girls, both sporting smiles of recognition of the predicament Margret would have found herself in. Each of them had at one point or the other been at the receiving end of a Luna bypass, where you approached her to enter one conversation and suddenly found yourself flung around and heading away from her, and a completely different conversation than you had intended to have.
"And at one point I lost my nerve, and was asking if she was trying to lure Harry into sleeping with her – do you know what happened?" she continued, catching their attention with the dramatic pause. Mostly because you never really knew what would happen if Luna was involved.
"She suddenly turned… sober, in a way," Margret tried to describe the scene. "You know, she lost her dreamy gaze and looked me straight in the eye. I never saw her like that. Focused, attentive, but kind of old, worn, and tired," she mused, trying to find the words to continue.
"Told me that that only happens when something truly terrible happens to her, you, and Neville. But it not happening was fine with her, because that means there was only a slight chance that she or Harry would destroy the magical world down the line," Margret summarised the weirdest conversation of her life, so far.
Both girls came to an abrupt stop at this, causing Margaret to overshoot and having to turn around and wait for them to catch up. The pause needed to let some other people pass them to assure they were out of earshot allowed each of them to compose their thoughts.
"She said that? No, don't bother. Of course she did," Hermione restarted their exchange.
"Yeah. And then she talked about the colour of your dress being all wrong, went on about poor Ginny and to ask her about some toilet seat, and waltzed off, leaving me in a daze," Margret tried to lighten things up.
When Ginny not only did not join the laughter, but came to another surprised full stop, the game was up.
"What about that, Ginny? Sounds like quite a story - you want to share?" Margret inquired curiously.
"She told you about the toilet seat?" she almost squealed, her throat tightening as memories long forgotten flooded back to her.
With Ginny suddenly kind of dazed and looking confused, Margret quickly had the girls herded closer towards the railing for a break and chat, without people stumbling into them.
"Yes, she said all will become clear after you tell me about the toilet seat", Margret rephrased. "In your own time," she tried to calm the girl down.
After a moment, Ginny started talking.
"I almost forgot about that. I think it was the first time she did something, like, really strange," she started off. "It was after I met Harry at Platform 9 3/4. After I was back at home, I visited with her. We were talking, and I was literally gushing, talking a mile a minute about how I met 'The Boy Who Lived' and that I was going to end up marrying him and all, and she suddenly asked me which one of the twins had promised me the toilet seat," Ginny told them, chuckling to herself when she thought about the scene, before suddenly blushing, really hard.
"A toilet seat?" Hermione spoke up, curious. "I vaguely remember Harry, or was it Ron, once mentioning something along those lines..."
"Ginny? Are you alright?" she asked when Ginny was not continuing, nor responding to her surroundings, lost in thoughts and blushing, profoundly. Hermione had to resort to poking her shoulder to make her notice them.
"Huh?"
"Are you alright?"
"You do not have to talk about it, if it is too embarrassing, ok?" Margret provided.
"No, it's fine," Ginny quickly placated.
"Fred told me he would send me a Hogwarts toilet seat as a present when I was upset that I could not join them on the train in your first year," Ginny recalled, trying to suppress her blush while the other two sniggered at the mental image.
"But there is more to that, " Ginny soldiered on. "I never even told Luna that he did that, why would I? How did she know? But I was so surprised, I actually answered her. She then told me that I would not. That I would only have a chance to marry Harry when it's George who does it," she finished, a bit downtrodden, shooting Hermione an apologetic glance.
"I am over it, really! I'd never..." she started, her face starting to heat up.
Hermione laughed and pulled her friend into her arms.
"It's ok," she whispered, feeling the girl relax into the hug, and starting to reciprocate.
Margret took it upon herself to voice her suspicion. "Can she see the future? Is that even possible?"
"It is a woozy magical art, but there is precedent," Hermione replied, winding up to a ramble. "She's always so calm, nothing seems to surprise her. I can see how she seems to know exactly where to be and what to say, on occasion, but it doesn't feel like she knows the future. I mean, she knows... things, but she doesn't know all things," she stumbled over her own explanation, being interrupted by Ginny bursting into a braying laugh into her shoulder at her ineptitude to express herself.
Immediate expulsion from the hug and a death glare was the only punishment fitting the crime.
"Who are you, and what have you done with my daughter," Margret quipped, grinning at her flustered daughter.
"Honestly... I'm trying, ok?" Hermione protested, as she turned to resume their walk down the causeway, venting her frustration by getting into motion.
"We know," Ginny giggled, and proceeded to bump into Hermione on purpose to stop her from glaring at her.
"Ginny?" Margret asked. "You know her best. What do you think?"
"I think it might be because of what her mother did," Ginny replied, carefully. "She was doing some research, and something went wrong. Terrible accident, people said. No one knows exactly what she did and happened, and no one told us kids anything more than the basics. But her mother died, and Luna... "
Ginny trailed off, pausing to collect her thoughts.
"She hasn't been like this before. Before the accident, I mean. I'm sure I would remember. She was just a normal girl, I grew up with her, you see? She was the girl next door, just my age. We used to play all the time..."
Margaret nodded along, making agreeable parental sounds trying to keep the information flowing without applying pressure.
"That accident. They said she was fine, but she wasn't. I think it did something to her. At first, she wasn't all there. Just staring into the distance, barely reacting to anything. Took her months to snap out of it, and she became the Luna we know."
"Makes sense," Hermione mused as they walked along, slowly releasing Ginny. "I heard her mother died when she was experimenting with magic. I heard it was a horrible accident, and Luna was there when it happened."
"People said she was experimenting with dangerous things. That she was meddling with things you should not meddle with, and it was only a matter of when, not if, something like this would happen," Ginny provided.
Hermione acknowledged that input by perking up. "Could it be... maybe... that she worked on TIME itself? Time turners? Divination spells, perhaps? Could be almost everything," she mused aloud.
There was a long pause, all of them walking along in contemplative silence, before Margret spoke up, again. "Could it be... you know... like Groundhog day?"
While Hermione stumbled, losing a step, Ginny was merely confused. "What is a Groundhog day?"
"A movie, Ginny," Margret replied.
"Where someone was caught in a time loop and experienced the same day, again and again. Ended up knowing everything about everybody, and spending the day in every possible variant he could think of," Hermione muttered.
"Weird idea for a story. But it sounds fun – can we watch that some day?" Ginny quipped.
"Oh definitely," Margret replies. "I love that flick, it's such a great story. Just like 'French Kiss'."
A blushing Ginny was filled in on the general plot of that movie, as well, while they strolled along, hitting the first shop, with some fabulous ballroom dresses on display in the windows.
On queue, Margret turned to Ginny, and quipped a question that had been in the back of her mind. "You know, I never got to see any pictures of Hermione at the Yule ball – I know she didn't have a camera and all, but I have to ask – did someone take some, or were there any professionals made? Hermione insists there wasn't anyone, but at our school dances, there was always some professional photographer present, at least for the start of the dance."
"No, Colin was the only one who really was into photography, and he was just as hyped and busy with it as anyone else. A shame, looking back, we really should have thought of that. Hermione might have had some pictures taken by the press, though, being the date of a Triwizard Champion," Ginny prattled on, not realising her friend getting a bit embarrassed at the topic. "She was looking like a million Galleons, all blue and fluffy and princessy, you'd have loved it!" She gushed.
She almost ran into Margret when the woman suddenly came to a full stop and stared at her daughter. "Blue?"
Hermione made the universal 'annoyed-at-your-parent' eye roll, before deciding to come true. "I altered it."
Margret stared at her daughter as if she had gone mad. "Altered it?" She gasped, before building up into a quite a rant. "Why? We spent days – no, weeks – hunting for that perfect dress to make your boys finally take notice of you being a girl, and changing your image from the bossy bookworm to a fanciable beautiful young woman!"
"Classic teen movie plot twist, by the way - we'll get you to see some of those, in time," she added for Ginny.
Hermione gave a huff of annoyance before responding. "That was meant to get my peers to look at me differently - but I was going to the dance with a foreigner, older boy, international sports star, whom I barely knew, the press would attend, and then I saw what all the other girls had for dresses, and mine was sooo much... over that... and I chickened out, happy?"
That shut Margret up quite nicely. Being with a stranger, and a guarantee to have your pictures in the national and maybe even international press was quite a bit of pressure.
"What do you mean, 'over that'?" Ginny inquired, focussing on the more important part of that statement.
"Oh Ginny," Hermione sighed "those dress robes the other girls had – pretty much all of them had sleeves, I think Fleur was the only one at the ball to brave a strapped dress, and no jacket to cover it up, everything was flowing and, well, robes," she tried to convey her point, and finally resorted to pointing out some Gucci ad posters in the distance to her friend.
"See the right one - we Muggles still consider this day wear. The one to the left is what women would wear to a party. "
Ginny's eyes bulged. "Sweet Morgana! You're pulling my leg, aren't you? What kind of woman would have herself be seen in that! Literally – I can see everything!"
"Only the rich and famous, Ginny – you need the body and the money to pull that off – this is really fancy stuff," Margret confirmed, guiding the shocked girls look toward some more financially conservative window fronts. "That is more like what normal girls would wear for a night out."
"I would have been grounded with a skirt that short! Merlin – that shirt over there is just a flap over her front with some string to hold it on!" Ginny blurted, before suffering an even worse shock when her eyes swept over the store fronts, to settle on an Intimissimi.
"And this is considered mostly everyday underwear, dear," Margret whispered to the pretty much petrified girl. "Measuring by your reaction, you are not yet ready to see what we would wear if we do want to seduce a man."
"I probably am not," Ginny agreed, looking at a plethora of lace and silk, trying to wrap her head around wearing something that fancy as an every-day unmentionable.
"Now that I am getting a reference – just how 'over that' was your dress, Hermione?" she inquired, her voice quite a bit lower and raspier as she found her mouth dry, all of a sudden..
"Oh it was a beauty," Margret gushed. "An off the shoulder dress, corset bodice, made of a wrinkle-folded fabric wrapped around her torso, and some lacy material on it, with floral black embroidery on a sepia base tone, and a skirt that flared out at the hips, made of a sepia and black striped accents and frills to match the floral lace material, slightly transparent, but ruffled and overlaid in many layers, giving her a full ball gown."
"Wow." Ginny muttered, quite flushed when processing the rapidly rattled down description. "What colour is sepia, again?"
"Yeah, that is a hard one - it's a brownish one, but becomes black in higher concentration," Margret explained.
"Like our ink, Ginny. We actually use real sepia - squid ink - in school."
"Ohh..." Ginny gasped, her blush returning quite fiercely.
"McGonagall would have had a heart attack if you'd worn something like that to the ball," she said in a hushed voice.
"Along with half the boys," she added after a bit, her eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Yes, that's what I figured, when I saw what all the other girls did lay out that night," Hermione mused, emphasised by a roll of her eyes.
"That's why I panicked and made some quick decisions – I was afraid to mess it up, so I left the cut alone, vanished the wrap fabric and lace, and made the corset a modest bodice. I had to change the sleeves to be a bit more 'on' the shoulder and cover my back a bit more, and a bow so it would not slip, but that worked out fine. The bodice ended up a bit plain, but I ran out of time and it still looked well enough. Last, a colour that did not make me look nude at a distance, periwinkle instead of lace for the skirt, and I was done."
"That's pretty much everything changed," her mother noted. "When did you become a dress designer?"
"Took some cues from the other dresses, and some magazines that went the rounds – I was not the only one doing last minute dress modifications, though I think I was the only one trying to tone it down," she admitted with a grin.
"You did all that while getting ready?"
"Since I did not need to spend hours trying to make my hair curl and cake on make-up, I had plenty of time. All I had to do was to pour half a bottle of Sleakeazy into my hair, and then pull it back and sort out the curly waves a bit," Hermione laughed. "First time my mop worked to my advantage!"
oooOOooo
While the women were already hard at work at the clothes shops, Henry, Harry, and their bodyguards had finally ended up in the city, at an arms dealership. They had taken a brief detour to apparate to the local Gringotts bank, Remus and Tonks each side-alonging Harry and Henry, respectively, as one could not apparate to coordinates yet, and the other simply couldn't at all. A relatively brief refill of a literal chest, which Remus had carried in his pocket, shrunken down and charmed feather lightened, they collected a - once again literal - briefcase of Dollar currency on their way out. After stepping out of the entry to the wizard district, they found themselves somewhere in Miami, with no clue to where exactly they were, and even less idea about where to go. They finally got where they needed to go by the simple act of flagging down a taxi and asking the cabby to get them to a shop selling antique collector firearms.
After a reasonable ride, a brief huddle for strategizing, and a walk around the block to get lost in the crowd, Tonks and Remus told them to go ahead, they'd pose as different shoppers and enter the shop a bit later.
The shop was bright and surprisingly large. They had assumed it to be a smaller venue, more like a room with a desk and everything behind the counter, but this was more like a weird cross between a jeweller, an art exhibition, and a supermarket. Just with guns and outdoor stuff.
Henry and Harry were kind of set back and reeling, trying to figure out the layout. They only barely noticed Remus entering about a minute later, immediately going over to what seemed like clothes for hunting, and fishing gear, while they were making their way into the deeper back of the shop, where they could see some wall-to-wall glass cabinets holding various firearms and swords, among other things.
A brief scan of the available merchandise at this corner revealed it was indeed the antique section, and after a few more moments they left the first display with mostly cavalry sabres and various revolvers behind to find a rifle section. Henry was scanning the next display, pointing out something he called Trapdoor Springfields as potential candidates, briefly explaining how they worked. While Harry was trying to figure out the differences between the various ones on display, realising the simple genius behind that design, he suddenly got tugged away by Henry, quite enthusiastically, towards some other section that looked definitely Wild-west-ish with some of these cowboy lever guns and other stuff displayed.
"I've been an idiot! We need to get one of these, as well, Harry!"
"For you or for our... team?" Harry asked cheekily as he watched the man all but bounce with excitement.
"Both?" Henry replied with a grin like a boy in the toy shop. "I'm not saying that I wouldn't like to keep the original for my collection," Henry replied, with Harry immediately interrupting.
"You don't have 'a collection'," he pointed out.
"Well then this is a really good place to start one, don't you think?" Henry retorted with indisputable logic and a smug grin that left his compatriot shaking his head and exercising his eye musculature.
"Anyway," he continued, "I was originally looking for single shot guns to keep complexity down, since everything as precise as a simple bolt-action might be too complex, but these western guns are perfect. Their interiors are pretty simple, don't need to be hyper-precise to function, and they will work in the worst conditions. I'm pretty sure they will work."
"Do they have any significant advantage other than being cooler? I admit they look cooler and all, but something like this thing seems so much more rugged," Harry voiced his concerns, pointing at one of the Springfield trapdoors.
"I mean, look, a flap to open, cartridge goes in, and done. No things that can grind into each other. And they've got longer barrels. I don't know much, but I know that they must shoot better than the others, for that reason alone."
Henry baulked a bit, before replying. "You've got a point here, but... these things are pretty much the first assault rifles, you know. Small cartridges, big magazine, high rate of fire. With the others, you'd get a shot every 5 seconds, and certainly a gun that will hit at range, don't get me wrong," he tried to sell his point.
"But these will allow you to douse a target in bullets as fast as you can cycle the lever, and at a still much longer range than a musket or... any other stick you wave at it." Henry could not resist the urge to wink at Harry.
Harry, on the other hand, could resist the urge to roll his eyes at him for being childish. Close call, but he did, focusing on the task, instead.
"Interesting, that could be used like the Auror tactics Tonks trained us in," he admitted in a hushed tone. "One protects, one shoots, the other reloads. I can see the potential."
"Should we ask her?" Henry inquired, looking around for Tonks. He still could not identify her, but found Remus, pretending to browse some shelves close to the entrance, but keeping a close eye on the patrons, employees, and the door.
"She'll kill you if you blow her cover," Harry dissuaded him of that idea.
"From what I've heard from Remus and Tonks, you were only able to win at the harbour because the others were bottlenecked by the relative positioning of the ships, and you three doing the better part of all fighting. Now imagine you have 20 men sitting there, each firing ten or more rounds in about as many seconds. The moment a target pops up, they are ready, and each will hit at ranges five times further out than the best smooth bore musket could hope," Henry built his case upon the information he had.
"All right, all right! You can stop twisting my arm, I agree. Let's do this, then," Harry relented, finally.
Henry flagged down the employee standing closest to the display, a man in his thirties, with a blonde buzz-cut and about a stone or two too much on his frame. The sign on his shirt marked him as 'Ben'.
"Good day, Sir. Can I help you?"
"Hello Ben, I am Henry. Now, am I right to assume that you are getting a commission on sales of the antique section?" Henry opened the conversation with a disarming smile.
"Well, um... yes?" Ben replied, being put slightly out of balance by the unexpected inquiry. And the accent. You don't get too many posher British speakers in this part of the town, or country, all too often.
"You see, this is my soon to be son in law, Harry. Whom you, Ben, will be seeing as your best friend, soon – as he has a huge amount of money burning holes in his pockets, and will be spending a fortune on quite a few guns from this particular section, preferably ones in shooting condition," Henry continued confusing the poor guy, pointing towards the antique gun display behind them.
Ben perked up quite noticeably at that information. "Fortune?" He croaked, quickly clearing his throat.
"A literal one," Henry agreed with a splendid grin, ignoring Harry's scathing glare for the ruckus he caused. "Now, all we want in return is your full attention, every last bit of information you have, and most of all, your never ending patience for whatever dumb question we ask, or stupid thing we might say during this mutually enjoyable experience we are going to share. Are you our man, Ben?"
Thirty minutes later, Harry jumped, startled, when Henry's elbow found his mark, preventing him from zoning out completely after Ben spent this time pointing out the differences between the various Trapdoor rifles they had and what made each and every one of them a collectible worth having. Trying to focus and not to blush, he realised that Ben was already lecturing about the next item on display, the cowboy guns, and still no end in sight.
"... this particular specimen has a 28 inch octagonal barrel. Chambered for 45-60. Rare calibre for that gun, less than 2000 made, but a popular cartridge at the time. The magazine tube could hold 12 rounds, but word of mouth for those Winchesters was that you should always load less than full, say with 10 or 11 – or it might get jammy. This one is in good to near perfect condition, all the colouring still nice and shiny, the barrel still mostly blued, and the rifling at almost 90%, I'd say. Most likely a hunting rifle of some wealthy guy, hardly any wear, only a few dents in the wood. Sadly, the original tools are missing, but it came in a bundle with a modern tool set that was used to make ammo to shoot it," Ben finished explaining the next gun from the display, his face making clear that he would consider anybody willing to do this to a 12000 dollar collector's item insane, or better, eccentric. Rich people are never insane - shop policy. Harry could see just as well that Henry still really wanted it, and was intending to do exactly that.
Looking around, Harry realised that the sets next to it were much cheaper, a quarter or third the price. "One question – why are you so excited over the most expensive one? You do not seem to be that interested in these cheaper ones, or these 'Springfields' that we have seen right at the start," he asked, carefully. "It's not that I mind the money, but they look roughly the same gun to me- why is this rifle so much better?"
"Good question, Harry," Henry replied, a bit humbled by the reminder who would be paying for all this. "It's about performance and range. Those cheaper ones are 44-40 Model 73 carbines, pretty much guns that use pistol rounds. The 76 is a bigger version of the same gun, but using more powerful ammunition. The Springfields use a slightly more powerful cartridge, again, but are single shot," he stumbled through his rationale. "Help me out here, Ben, will you," he tried to get support from the local expert.
"Well, Sir, you are quite correct. While looking roughly the same at first glance, there is a definitive difference in their performance," Ben took over, pointing at the 76 Model. "With this gun, for example, you should be able to still hit true at 200 to 300 yards. You don't even need to flip the sight up at this distance. With the 73 Model, using a much weaker cartridge, you'd already be trying to arc the bullets in at this distance. Now, the 73 – using smaller cartridges, does hold 15 rounds, even though it is a shorter carbine, a lot more than the 76. On the other hand, you'll need those extras to hit anything that's more than 200 yards out and smaller than a barn door."
"Excuse me," Harry chose to interrupt. "But I'm pretty sure these ranges are wrong. There is no way these bullets only go just that far. I've seen guys hit... " - Harry barely caught himself when he realised what he was about to say - " targets at 50 to a 100 yards with just smoothbore muskets with no sights at all."
"Of course, Sir," Ben agreed, only briefly stalling at calling a much younger man 'Sir', but keeping the identity of the purse owner firmly in mind. "That's the difference between effective and maximum range. While you can lob a 44-40 out to a thousand yards, theoretically, a 44-40 is only good at about a hundred yards for deer hunting, maybe 200 for mere target shooting. After that, it's quickly starting to approach a rainbow trajectory. The 76 should be able to do a deer at 200, but 400 would be pretty much the end for well-aimed shooting. It travels further, but the blunt noses do tumble a lot after 300 yards, I believe. I do have a Trapdoor Springfield, myself – though a modern replica – and while they pack a little more punch, being 45-70, heavier bullet and longer barrel, even those are not going to be effective at more than 5, maybe 600 yards, if you got a good man at the gun. I've never tested, myself, but heard various claims that the bullet could actually go three thousand yards, if you arc it in, but honestly, most people can't even see their mark past 300 yards without optics, and these rifles don't have any."
"That's not quite true," Henry remarked. "There have been optics."
"Well, indeed, Sir, but not for a gun like this. A marksman rifle like a Sharps, maybe, but even then those are not quite practical," Ben tried to recover. "There are few originals left, and they were ridiculously long brass tubes, about as long as the barrel, with only barely adequate magnification and aperture. Most probably quite wobbly mounted, with no integrated mounting points designed into the rifles. I'd say they'd improve your aim a good bit, but would have to be tightened and re-zeroed every few shots – but since I've never seen an actual one, only pictures, that's just my guess."
"Usually, people used diopter sights on long-range rifles, and I've heard they would score hits at up to a thousand yards, with a couple of shots to get the sights zeroed in. Quite impressive, if you ask me – I'd need a huge neon sign to even see anything at that kind of range. Now, you certainly could get a gunsmith to mount a modern scope to one of these, true, and we could arrange that for you, but that would destroy the value of the piece, and I thought you would want to retain that?"
"Okay, true. You are right," Henry agreed, placating.
"If you want to go for that kind of distance shooting, you should look at our newest Benelli hunting rifles over there. These here are, after all, black powder antiques. Awesome and all, but nothing compared to modern guns and ammunition when it comes to performance," Ben attempted to get another sale into the package.
"No, we don't fancy modern guns, we do want to extend our blackpowder collection, for now, maybe next time," Henry declined politely.
"Do these come with loading tools, as well?" Harry asked suddenly, having been lost in thought during the latest exchange.
Ben was surprised by the comment and had to ask for clarification.
"I want some ready ammo for them, as well as reloading kits and supplies. Making them yourself is sooo much less of a hassle than having to order. Takes aaaages," he complained, modelling his rant slightly after Dudley, just with the drama toned down by a hundredfold.
"Also, I love making the paper cartridges for our other guns. The process is so... relaxing? You probably won't understand..." he veered off, hoping he didn't lay it on too thick.
"I can perfectly understand that sentiment. Many people do feel like that about making their own ammo. I was more referring to the 'which gun' you want it for."
"Oh, right," Harry responded, slightly embarrassed.
"We'll take all the 73s you have and all these trapdoor ones. And I'll throw in the 76 for you, Dad, as a Christmas present, ok? Then like a few hundred ammo for each calibre, and reloading kits, so we can reuse them," Harry provided the needed data. "And maybe some of those carry bags I can see over there, for ease of transportation?"
Ben was taken slightly aback by the statement. "All of them? I'm sorry to ask, but are you sure you can afford that kind of expense, Sir? Not wanting to come off insulting, but we're talking about 12 … 24… 32, about 50 to 60 grand here, depending on which of these rifles you choose', Sir."
"Didn't you hear when we said 'collection'? At home, we've got guns that you probably have never seen before, but mostly European muzzle loaders and stuff,but none of these American models, yet. Really hard to find over there. Oh - before I forget, we need the proper powder and primers, too, if you want to reload, Harry. Or muzzleloading stuff pretty sure does not work for them. And if you carry some casting material, it would be nice - we might be able to get on the range with them while we're still here," Henry tried to explain the situation..
"Oh, and thanks for the present. That's why you are my favourite son in law," he quipped at Harry.
"Not yet, and I would be your only one," Harry parried.
"True, but keep this up and I'll have to make us have a detour to Vegas to make sure she doesn't let you get away," Henry fired back with a huge grin across his face.
"I'd marry you, myself, but the wife might take issue," he tried to put one on top.
"I know exactly where she'd holster it if you told her you'd leave her over a rifle," Harry shot him down.
"Come to think of it, maybe a couple of suitable revolvers, too, since you said the 44 is a pistol round. I suppose there are some in stock, are they?" Harry suddenly addressed Ben, ignoring the momentarily shocked Henry.
Ben briefly cast some incredulous looks at Henry, and Harry, before snapping to attention.
"Yes, Sir, of course, Sir," he replied dutifully, briefly mulling the request over. "Oh boy,oh boy,oh boy... hmm. For that cartridge we currently only have one Colt frontier and some replicas in the counter, over there, if you'd like to follow me," he replied, motioning for them to follow him, but stopping abruptly and re-addressing them.
"Oh, no, disregard that – I just realised - these replicas are not pre-1899, I am afraid I can't sell you these today, only the original one," he stated.
"Pre-1899?" Harry parroted, confused.
"Ah - not antiques you mean?" Henry came to the rescue, receiving a nod from Ben.
"Yes Sir, for those, I need a registration, and you being foreigners, and, I assume tourists, regarding your remarks about home in Britain, this would be quite a hassle to get done, and that's not even starting with the export issues. The antique ones you can pretty much walk out of here with, or even have them sent via mail, but the newer ones..." he trailed off with a pained expression.
"Not an issue," Henry soothed the man's nerves. "I am well aware of these regulations, and that's precisely why we were explicitly browsing for such guns."
"Great, then let's wrap this all up - I am going to spend a fortune here, and our women are going to rack up an even worse amount at the stores if they are left to their devices for too long," Harry tried to speed things up. Frankly, the trip here had been fun, but he'd rather watch Hermione try on dresses and swimsuits than hear another thing about guns.
"Very well, Sir. Let me quickly check the rest of your list before I forget," Ben said, making some notes on a piece of paper. "Seems like we've got all of this. We do stock ready ammo, and cases for these cartridges you need. Primers and lead bars, we have a literal ton of, tin bars too. We'll have to look up the alloys for the cast, but they usually are listed in the references. Same for powder type and measures – give me a moment," he said, looking at the screen, typing some things in, his brow furrowing as he went on.
"I'm sure we've got all you need here, there is a new reference book that came out just this year, should contain the charges... Yes, there should be 5 left, I'll fetch you one in a second," he informed them after a couple of button presses and text inputs, his brow furrowing as he continued to type more and more frantically.
"Well, it seems like we do not have everything you wanted, I'm afraid. For the 44, we do have original Winchester tools, but for the Springfield, we only have a Lee Loader set, I believe. Means you need a hammer instead of a press and it's a bit more fiddly, but works just fine. We do have some proper modern reloading presses stocked, as well, but you'd have to order dies for these, we don't have any for .45-60 or .45 Government in stock, right now... 44-40 we actually do have, surprisingly...", he continued.
"Sorry to ask, but are you only interested in antique cartridge guns?" he suddenly interrupted. "For I just came across the fact that we got some replica muzzle-loaders, fresh from the factory, in the back, but not stocked in the showroom, yet. You could buy those without a registration, too."
"Not our thing," Henry replied. "We have enough casual shooter muzzle loading stuff at home. Rare originals might be interesting, but replicas we already have enough of," he lied his ass off. "And, to be frank, it's much easier to get those through customs if we order these from sellers at home."
Ben gave the man a knowing smile. "Understandable, Sir." And then froze, completely motionless. It took Harry a second to realise what had happened. A glance to his side revealed Henry was currently having the same issue.
By the time he came to the conclusion that they had been petrified, somehow, the command "Please turn around, and keep your hands where I can see it," registered with him, as well.
Turning around in the prescribed manner, while becoming aware that all of the store had gone quiet and motionless, Harry found himself looking at a man in a black suit, casually holding a wand in a ready position, and a badge in his left. Harry took it as an Auror identification of some kind, not that he recognized it.
Harry decided to go with the friendly option, first. "How can I help you, Sir?"
"I would like an explanation why a wizard is trying to purchase no-maj weaponry," the man inquired.
"Entertainment, a hobby of ours," Harry replied, pointing out the frozen Henry next to him. "I was not aware this is illegal in this country," he continued. "There is no such restriction where we come from."
"Oh, you're British," the man responded after hearing Harry speak, slightly lowering his wand. "No, it is not illegal, per se, we just try to keep an eye on such things, Mister...," the man responded, before his trained eye found the scar on Harry's forehead. "Oh…" he vocalised his recognition, and the wand came up slightly, again. As he let his shoulders slump and the necessary sigh escape, Harry was starting to ponder if he maybe had angered some god in a prior life to earn this rotten luck. Probably a whole pantheon, come to think of it.
"Are you aware that there was a request to detain you for urgent questioning sent out by your government, Mister Potter?" the man spoke up, justifying his actions.
"That's not my government. First of all, the current Minister is a Death Eater, Voldemort's right hand, to be precise, who simply bribed and blackmailed his way into office, and is trying to get his hands on me in order to make me disappear. And as I am additionally no longer a citizen of that nation, but rather the head of state of a small Caribbean island nation, I have responsibilities that do not allow me to take time off to get myself murdered by some dictatorship's leader," Harry replied, grinning quite boyishly. "So it's a bit more complicated than our dear old Death Eater Lucius would like."
"What island state? All islands in that waters are part of the British West Indies," the man claimed.
"Not this one," Harry insisted, still maintaining a jovial facade, and keeping on stalling.
The man briefly seemed to ponder the issue. "You know, on principle I'd tell the British to go fuck themselves, they've been a thorn on our sides for long enough, not my problem," he finally responded. "But then again, when I write my report, someone might cause me trouble for not bringing you in. I think I do have to take you in, and someone else will decide what happens next. Nothing personal, I'll have to ask you to surrender your wand, please."
Harry was about to give a snarky response, but his face fell slightly when he saw Remus being marched over by another man in a black suit. His reaction clued the man in front of him in on that arrival, causing him to briefly glance behind him.
"Ah, the bodyguard," he spoke, turning back to face Harry. "Great, now, if there are no further distractions, I'd like to, oooh booooy..." his speech petered out when he suddenly felt two wands poking him in the back.
"I'll take care of this," Remus spoke up, reaching around to pluck the wand from the man's hand. Turning his head, slowly, the man took a confused look at his black suited companion currently holding him at wand point.
"Mortimer?"
"Not exactly," the man responded in Tonks' voice. "He's sleeping on duty, near the hunting supplies."
"How?" the man blurted, before sharply taking in air as he cottoned on. "The shifter! Then you must be the werewolf, if I remember the briefing on known associates right."
"At your service," Remus replied, sketching a curt bow.
The man turned his head back to face Harry, and took a deep breath.
"Ok, let's all be reasonable here. You really don't want to attack an Auror, okay? Why don't we just all calm down and talk this through like the civilised people we are?"
"I'd be all for it," Harry responded, signalling Tonks to lower her wand. "We really do not have any problem with your country. We are just political enemies of the usurpers currently running the British Ministry, fighting the Dark Lord currently holding the office."
"The territories we keep defending are currently seceding from jolly old Britain, something your country probably can understand and get behind," he added, trying to add some levity to defuse the tension.
"Anyway, you seem to be aware of our names, so, if I may ask, how should we address you, Sir? I seem to have missed your name at the beginning."
"My name is Herbert," the man responded, remembering his training that first names were supposed to help de-escalate tension in a hostage situation, and really hoping the trainer knew what he was talking about.
"Nice to meet you, Herbert. I'm Harry, but you already knew that. Now, how about you and my friends step out of sight and revive your friend, and then you release the spell that keeps the Muggles frozen, so my father in law and I can finish this transaction. Then, we all meet up in a nice pub nearby and have that civilised talk we all want to have."
oooOOooo
"With that tentative agreement, the badge-based muggle ward was cancelled, people were rushed out before the Muggles came back to their senses, a sale was closed, two bags packed and sent off as a portkey, and about fifteen to twenty minutes later, six people ended up having coffee and something that was sold as tea, at a coffee shop, under a mild notice-me-not charm.
"How can you use six words to order tea, and still end up with something this undrinkable?" Harry commented with a frown, slowly pushing the cup with the mermaid logo away from him. "No wonder you people drink coffee over here."
"You wouldn't have been better off," replied Henry, after discreetly pretending to take another sip of his coffee, to mask that he was letting his first sip trickle back into the cup. "The sheer amount of sugar in this means that they know their roast is crap."
"Anyway, enough culinary snobbism, let's get this talk going," Harry spoke up. "First - Remus, would you please return their wands, this is supposed to be a talk among friends."
"Here you go," Remus commented, wrapping them in his napkin before sliding them over the table. "Apologies for disarming and bespelling you, Mortimer, but you hadn't identified yourself, and Tonks simply did her job disabling an unknown attacker. We thought you might be agents of the British Death Eater Regime."
The two MACUSA Aurors exchanged a glance. "You really aren't a fan of them, aren't you?" Mortimer spoke up.
"Pretty sure you have your own files on the criminal history of the current Minister, don't you?" Tonks quipped back, nipping her coffee - or to be more precise - her caramel beverage with a hint of coffee in it. In most countries, something with so much extra caramel in it would be on the dessert section of the card, not the drink page.
"Oh we do - to be honest, the day he sets foot on our soil, we'll most likely arrest him, immunity be damned," the one known as Mortimer grumbled. "But then again, that's why the only British politician ever to visit a foreign country in the last fifty years was Dumbledore. Now that he's gone, the ICW might finally get something done to reign your ministry in."
His colleague was not happy with his chatty attitude, and tried to curb it by growling his name. This made him express his opinion even more forcefully, though.
"Oh, shut up, Herb. With these latest Muggleborn acts they are just a step away from the ICW declaring the whole country as fallen to the dark. I swear, next week they will start claiming that Muggleborns have just stolen magic from purebloods, somehow," he chided, gaining momentum as he spoke.
"I know you are thinking about your career again, but we are not going to bring them in. Forget it. Nobody takes that request from that blonde Limey tosser seriously, and you know that, Herb."
Herbert was not quite ready to lay down and be walked over. "They did buy muggle weapons, though."
"Antiques, for our collection," Henry remarked. "Perfectly legal to buy, and even walk out of the store with them."
Mortimer agreed with that. "Correct, Sir. And to be honest, if you could guarantee that you'd be using them against the bastards in Cuba, I probably could get the boys to pool some coin and donate you a couple machine guns, maybe even a tank. And have it sent to your doorsteps with a pretty bow around the barrel."
"Do I sense some animosity there?" Remus quipped.
"Damn right you do. In 92, they tinkered with their weather wards, and redirected a hurricane our way. That thing took a hook and slammed right into the Cutler homestead wizarding town and harbour. We had a couple of settlements that got hit up and down the coast, but Cutler took it right on the nose. Pretty much got razed to the ground. Harbour, wharf, houses, ships - all ground to toothpicks. Even the local Gringotts branch was flooded to the point the Goblins just gave up on it," he spat, and Herbert was starting to fall in line with his friend's opinion, grumbling visibly, as well. Remus was looking quite put out realising that he had joked about some perceived rivalry when it turned out to be a thing that was based on a lot of grief suffered, instead.
"Sorry, I didn't know," he apologised.
The other man waved him off, dismissively. "Ah, don't sweat it. Barely anyone knows. That part of the news got buried. Deep. We knew it was them, they pretty much admitted it was them, but after weeks and months of squabbling, Dumbledore got our complaint with the ICW thrown out as 'mere conjecture' on our part. We were this close to war - only the election and the new President kept us from going through with it."
"He didn't want to jump right into a magical war against Britain right after learning that magic existed. Can't quite blame him, and we didn't have a proper fleet, anymore, anyway," he concluded, taking a sip of coffee, showing that he was very much used to the local brew.
After a few silent sips, Herbert thought it was time to address the elephant in the room.
"You guys are for real? With this secession business? Because if you are looking at us to help you out or even join your fight, you can keep looking. There'll be no help from our side, no matter how much you beg. There isn't a pole long enough for us to even think about touching this."
"True," Mortimer agreed. "Not with the current administration, and not with our current navy. It might look different on the Nomaj side, but in our little world, the Brits have the much larger one."
"We did make some progress on that issue," Harry quipped. Mortimer exchanged a look with Herbert, and both became interested in their cups.
"That Nassau business, that was you?" He then asked softly, not looking up from his cup until he heard some noises that confirmed his assumption.
"Good. People are still wondering who the frick did that. Maybe your little so-called rebellion isn't as toothless as I thought. If you are clever enough to listen to advice, keep on doing like you did, it's your best chance. Listen to the ones who got rid of them, already - don't fight their battle. Hit them, run, hit them again. Don't get cocky and think you can fight them in the open field."
Taking his cup and finishing it in a long gulp, he stood. "Let's get back to the office, Herb. Stupid faulty sensors picking up Kneazle strays," he muttered as he shimmied out of the booth they sat in.
"Have a nice day, and thanks for the coffee. Too bad we never met," he muttered towards the others, and made his way out, followed by his colleague.
Harry and the others exchanged a few glances between each other. It fell to Harry to break the sudden silence.
"That went well, didn't it? At least we can discount the 'join' option now, without having to bother with asking."
"Great, and with this out of the way, we are done here, quite ahead of our schedule, even," Tonks tweeted happily, having used the time the others had spent talking to fill up her sugar reserves. Content, she put her huge, now empty cup down and smiled brightly at the men at her mercy. "Time to join the girls and get the real shopping started."
"Pretty sure they are quite done, already. They've been at it for hours," Harry stated naively. His expression turned quite wary when Henry and Tonks exchanged a brief glance and started laughing maniacally.
"You know, Harry," Remus mock-whispered in Harry's ear, "If we hurry, we might still catch them and let them arrest us."
Harry briefly considered that option.