Special thanks go to Al and Wotan, as always, my wonderful beta-readers who are absolutely invaluable.

A fanfiction by Anne

Ron and Hermione pulled into her Aunt Lorraine and Uncle Herbert's drive at five minutes to seven on Sunday evening. They parked behind the Granger's car and climbed out.

"Now remember, we mustn't do or say anything tonight that lets on that we're wizards. Lila, Aunt Lorraine, and Uncle Herbert know, but David hasn't the foggiest - as far as he's concerned, I work for The Guardian and you are a Detective Sergeant at Scotland Yard, "Hermione reminded Ron for the thousandth time.

"I know, 'Mione," Ron moaned exasperatedly.

"Just making sure," she grinned up at him and pecked him on the lips quickly. Then they both turned and walked up the path to the front door. Ron rang the bell and within moments it was opened by a short, skinny woman who looked as though she might topple over from the weight of the blonde beehive perched precariously on her head.

"Hermione, dearest! And Ronald! It's been so long since we've seen you!" Lorraine Granger gushed as she embraced her niece. Hermione, being a good deal taller than her aunt had her head thrust unpleasantly into the mass of blond hair during the hug and got a nose-full of the overwhelming odor of hairspray.

Ron bent down and Lorraine on the cheek as Hermione said, "Yes, it has been too long, Aunt Lorraine. I don't think we've visited since just after the wedding. And I haven't seen Lila in nearly as long as that - how is she?"

"Well, see for yourself dear - she and David are just inside with your parents and Herbert," She ushered them through to the living room where five people were seated on sofas and chairs.

"Hermione! Ron!" Mrs. Granger stood up first and embraced her daughter and son-in-law in turn.

"Hello, Mum, Dad," Hermione greeted as her mother kissed her.

After Hermione had kissed her father and Uncle Herbert on the cheeks and Ron had shaken their hands, they both turned to Lila who was standing next to a fairly tall man, though not so tall as Ron, with mahogany hair and chocolate colored eyes.

"Hermione, Ron," Lila began, after hugging them both, "this is David Englethorp. David, this is my cousin Hermione Granger and her husband, Ron Weasley."

After hands were shaken and acquaintances made they all sat down and resumed their conversation on the latest scandal, over an MP (*Member of Parliament) and a 'call-girl' in the news. Lorraine excused herself to finish preparing the dinner and Lila and Hermione both offered to help, but she shooed them back into their chairs. Hermione refocused her attention on what was being said as Mr. Granger commented, "Well, that girl had the best teeth I've ever seen on a prostitute," and his wife said jokingly, "And just how many prostitute's’ teeth have you looked at, dear?"

*

Later, they moved into the dining-room and began eating. Hermione had speared a piece of salmon on her fork and was guiding it towards her mouth, when her aunt said, "David, why don't you tell Hermione and Ron what you do."

David laid down his own fork on his plate and said, "Well, it's really not that interesting, Mrs. G.,."

"Nonsense. I think it's perfectly fascinating," Lorraine said firmly.

Hermione chipped in, "Yes, we'd love to hear about it, David."

"Alright then," he conceded, "Essentially I run a property firm. We deal mostly with large corporations looking to relocate, but occasionally we take on a regular client or two. Basically, the large businesses have an idea of what area they want to relocate to, for tax reasons usually, and we travel to the area and scope out prospective properties for them. Once we've narrowed it down to a few viable choices, the company sends someone in to choose and then we take care of the business end with the former owner. It's quite simple, really."

Ron smiled easily, "It certainly sounds complicated."

David returned the smile, "Well, it's easier to do than to explain. Now, what is it that you two do again?"

"I’m a Detective at Scotland Yard," Ron replied.

"And I’m a reporter for The Guardian," Hermione said.

"Those both must be very exciting," David commented.

"Oh, not so much as you might think," Ron said, steering him away from the topic. "More paperwork than anything else."

"How is university going, Lila?" Hermione asked, changing the subject hurriedly.

"Really well, thanks,." Lila answered, her eyes bright,. "By the end of this year I'll have my degree in computer technology."

"Now that's a fascinating field," Hermione's mother said from the end of the table.

* * *

Later that evening Ron and Hermione pulled back out of the Granger's driveway and headed home.

"So, what did you think?" Hermione asked, as they zoomed through the countryside, heading back into London.

"Of David?" Ron asked.

"Um-hmm.," She nodded.

"I thought he seemed a decent enough bloke. If Lila likes him that's all that matters, right?"

"Right. Aunt Lorraine certainly seems to love him," Hermione mused.

"Your Aunt Lorraine would love any man Lila brought through her door.," Ron said, a smile turning up the corners of his lips.

"I know," Hermione said, "that's what I'm afraid of."

* *The Next Day* *

Molly Weasley bustled around her living room, plumping cushions here, straightening a picture frame there. She wanted everything to be perfect when Penny and the kids arrived, though from her experience with her own seven children, she knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

"Where do you want this bed, Molly?" Arthur called from the hallway.

The sound of a heavy object knocking into the wall reverberated through the house and the ghoul in the attic began to howl.

"Arthur! You stop levitating that bed this instant! It'll ruin the walls!" There was a thud from the hall and Molly could hear her husband muttering under his breath as he dragged it past the entrance to the living room.

"Can't see why… should have just conjured one… No need to get this out of storage…"

"Because it was Percy's. I want Devon to be able to sleep in the bed Percy grew up in," Molly snapped, a bit peevishly. "And put it back in Percy's room. Little Noah will sleep with Penny in Ginny's room and the girls can have Fred and George's."

"I'm going, I'm going!" Arthur said, holding up his hands in mock surrender and inadvertently dropping the bed on his foot.

"Ouch!" He yelped in surprise, as Molly quickly levitated the bed an inch or two above the floor so he could rescue his aching toes.

"Now who's levitating what?" Arthur asked with a mischievous grin.

"Oh shut it," Molly said, dropping the bed with a swift wave of her wand and stalking back into the living room in a huff.

Arthur smiled to himself and rubbed his injured foot a few times before going back to work on the bed.

Less than half an hour later he had shoved it into place in Percy's room with a grunt and collapsed on top of it for a rest. It felt like he'd been down for less than a minute when Arthur heard the familiar chime of the doorbell downstairs and Molly's hurried footsteps.

"Arthur! Hurry up - they're here!" She called as she passed the bottom of the stairs. Arthur heaved himself into a sitting position and then, getting to his feet, headed downstairs.

In the front hallway, Molly was standing before an open door embracing a curly-haired woman and four children all at once.

"Molly! Don't hog them all to yourself - I want to welcome my beautiful daughter-in-law and gorgeous grandchildren, too!" Arthur said from behind her.

The two women laughed and Penny said, "It's great to see you Arthur," and enveloped him in a hug.

Meanwhile, Molly had scooped up Claire and little Noah in her arms and was leading Devon and Molly through to the kitchen, saying, "Come along now, I've been baking biscuits for you all morning!"

At the word 'biscuits' Devon took off like a shot and raced ahead of his siblings and grandmother while Penny and Arthur laughed.

Once they were all seated around the kitchen table and the children had been settled down with biscuits and milk, Penny told them about their trip.

"Well, Percy left this morning in a terrible state. Apparently the Serbian minister sent a rude owl to the Croatian minister and now the Croatians are Croatia was threatening to attack," She shook her head. "Hopefully they'll be able to reach some sort of compromise soon…

And then I had a meeting this morning with the head of the board in charge of the Ministry's Christmas ball - there was a complete fiasco with the caterer we arranged and the man apparently can't simply hire another one without meeting with me personally, first. Sometimes I wonder how he manages to get out of the house in the morning without anyone else's help!" Molly and Arthur laughed. "So, how have you two been?" Penny asked, settling back into her chair.

"Well, we're doing just fine, dear. It's been quiet here - no international incidences incidents to speak of - " Molly smiled, "but on the whole, very pleasant. I keep busy with my gardening and cooking and weekly knitting group and Arthur is always 'improving' some Muggle object. You should see the state of the shed!"

Arthur laughed good-naturedly.

"Yes, we do keep busy. Wish we saw all you kids more often, of course, but it's hard to find the time. Ginny did stop by a couple of weeks ago on her way home from France for a holiday. She stayed the night and that was lovely - she also mentioned that if Harry could get time off they might pop down for a visit. We barely ever see the two of them; I can't think the last time Harry managed to get a weekend off - and Ron's just as bad. You're all workaholics, but I suppose we were just as bad when we were young!"

Penny laughed.

"Oh you two aren't as old as all that!"

"You're too kind dear." Molly said smiling at her daughter-in-law. "Of course we do miss seeing the children often," She patted Claire, who was slurping happily on a spill-proof glass full of milk, fondly on the head. "They're so precious and they grow up so quickly!" She looked wistful.

"Don't I know it!" Penelope said, "It seems every time I've just bought one of them a new pair of shoes, someone else has outgrown theirs!" She ruffled Devon's hair as he zoomed his biscuit through the air making airplane noises.

"Is that a Muggle plane, Devon?" His grandfather asked, a tad hopefully.

"Nope," Devon replied, biting off a chunk. "It's the flying car Uncle Ron and Uncle Harry crashed!" The biscuit went clattering to the table - he seemed perfectly delighted.

* * *

Ginny Weasley sat cross-legged on her sofa, a sketch pad propped on her knees, as soft mid-morning light filtered through the windows of her living room. She gazed around her little flat appreciatively - it was quite homey - for a home that wasn't often used.

As her quill scratched across the parchment surface, Ginny noticed a large shadow obscuring her light and looked up to see what it was. There was a large barn owl hovering outside her window and Ginny hurried to let it inside. After untying the note from the owl's leg Ginny tossed the fragment of parchment into the dustbin and shook her head. The owl was from Thérèse who said that they had a new client who was looking for a whole line of business-like suit/robes for her new job - something diplomatic. Ginny had to come back to Paris as soon as possible.

As much as she would have loved to stay in London forever, duty - and, more importantly, work - called and Ginny had to answer. She scribbled a hurried note to Harry and sent it off with Atalanta, her owl - Attie for short, grabbed her sketch pad, portfolio and handbag and Disapparated.

* * *

Penelope let out a sigh as she leaned against the trunk of a beech tree on the outskirts of the little paddock near the Burrow. Molly and Devon were playing on their uncles' old brooms and Claire and Noah were playing on a blanket next to where Penny sat. Molly tumbled off her broom onto the soft turf shouting, "Foul! Foul! Devon, that was a foul!"

It was lucky the brooms were so old and wouldn't carry them much higher than six feet or so above the ground, because Molly was relatively unharmed and bounced back up. She grabbed her fallen broomstick and took off after her brother who was calling, "It was not! Can't catch me!"

Penny laughed at their antics and turned her attention to her other two children. Noah, apparently exhausted simply from watching his older brother and sister play, was snoozing peacefully on the blanket as Claire tried to tie his short blond curls into bows.

"Claire!" Penny called to her youngest daughter in a half-hearted admonishment.

Claire looked up innocently, her small hand clutched around a fistful of blond ringlets. Penny scooted over and gently detached her daughter's hand from her son's hair, but as she did so, Noah woke with a start. He looked at his mother and sister leaning over him in surprise and then gave a cry.

"Shhh, Noah. Shhhh.," Penny picked him up and rocked him against her chest soothingly. Within seconds he had fallen back asleep, his face burrowed into his mother's neck. Claire looked slightly disappointed as she returned to the blanket, her game now over.

Her attention was soon diverted, however, by an approaching owl.

"Look Mummy! Owl!" She said, pointing gleefully into the chilly wind. Penny stood up, noticing for the first time how cool it was as the screech owl went flapping past her off in the direction of the Burrow. She followed it with her gaze for a few moments, before turning back to her children.

"Molly! Devon!" She called up at the two, "Come down, now, we're going back to the house."

Though Molly pouted and Devon sulked, Penny managed to cajole them back down to earth and she herded them and Claire and Noah back down to the Burrow.

They went in through the kitchen door into the cozy kitchen, a crackling fire in the hearth, and found Molly seated at the table, reading a letter, the screech owl hooting happily on the edge of the counter.

"Is it news from Percy?" Penny asked, stripping the children of their outdoor garments before she sat down across from her mother-in-law.

"No," Molly shook her head, "It's from Ginny. Here, you can read it if you like." She held out the parchment.

Penny set the letter on the table and looked up.

"So Ginny's back in France now?"

"It certainly seems that way," Molly nodded, getting to her feet and putting the kettle on for a cup of tea. "Would you-?" She left the query unfinished, holding up a second cup in question to Penny, who nodded in assent, rubbing her chafed hands together.

"Yes, thanks," She smiled. "This is quite a cozy spot for a cup of tea, don't you think?"

"Yes, I love sitting in here", Molly agreed, sitting down and waiting for the kettle to whistle. "Many an hour I've whiled away in here since all the children have left. It gets quite lonely sometimes. It seems like just yesterday Ginny was only starting Hogwarts…"

* * *

At that same moment, Ginny herself was trudging through very damp Paris streets - having been quite preoccupied when she Disapparated, she had appeared five streets west of where she wanted to be and didn't feel up to trying it again.

She hitched up her bag on her shoulder and headed up the cobbled street, drinking in observing the atmosphere the atmosphere in the Montmartre street near her Paris office. There were the typical street artists - all of them painting a variety of people. Ginny spotted one particularly awful American couple wearing Mickey-Mouse ears from Euro-Disney in their portrait. She moved along, passing a young guitarist leaning against the side of a building. He was strumming and singing a Muggle song she'd heard before.

He looked up, saw her passing and shoved a hat jingling with loose change towards her, saying in a heavy East-End accent, "Give us a franc or two, love. I'm just trying to get meself back to London."

"Funny. Me too." Ginny said, glancing up at him and dropping a fifty pence piece in the hat. She continued on her way as the boy began to sing once more.

When Ginny finally did arrive at her office she was quite wet and cold, not to mention none too happy at being called back on such short notice. She kicked open the door with her foot and, precariously managing her bag and portfolio, she backed through it.

"Vergeenia? Ees that you?" came a heavily accented voice from the next room.

"C'est moi, Thérèse," Ginny called back, entering the room and dropping her bags with a thud.

"What's with the English?" She asked as she collapsed into a chair.

"I 'ave been asking myself zat for zee longest time." Gilbert Voizin, one of Ginny's distribution agents, said as he entered the room.

"Gilbert!" Ginny threw a quill at him. "I meant why are you speaking English, Thérèse?"

"I am practeesing for when I travel to Eengland."

"You 'ave a trip planned?" Gilbert asked.

"Not yet. Sometime soon I 'ope."

"You'll have to come visit me, Thérèse. You can meet Harry and my family," Ginny suggested.

"Ah! I remember some'sing now! A letter from 'Arry arrived for you. I have eet somewhere-" She shuffled through the papers on her desk and then picked one up. "'Ere eet ees!" She handed it over to Ginny who tore open the envelope and pulled out the sheet of parchment.

Ginny grinned as she looked up from the parchment and noticed Gilbert and Thérèse reading over her shoulder. Gilbert was smirking and Thérèse seemed a bit confused.

"What ees a Dud-ley?" She asked, looking perplexed. Ginny and Gilbert both laughed.

"Sale cochon." Ginny answered, smiling mischievously as she pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment to reply to Harry.

Gilbert laughed even harder.

Ginny plucked a quill from the desk beside her and began to write:

She folded the letter quickly and handed it to Thérèse saying, "See this gets owled, would you?" and hurried out of the room, grabbing her cloak as she went.

Ginny was dashing down an alleyway on her way out of Montmartre when she remembered precisely what she was and Disapparated on the spot. Had she had more time, or been more self conscious, she might have noticed the double takes of the two schoolboys on their bicycles.

She couldn't help but notice the strange glances she got when from bystanders when she appeared out of thin air next to the fountain outside the Centre Georges Pompidou. A woman of about thirty-five was waving at her from behind a pair of mimes. Ginny jogged over to her and extended her hand saying, "Pardon. Je suis desolée pour être en retard. Je m'appelle Virginia Weasley."

"De rien," The woman replied, shaking Ginny's hand. "Je m'appelle Andréa Vorschev."

* * *

"Ron!" called Jake Winston called as he entered his boss's office in the M.L.E.S. Headquarters, "Johnson wants to see you in her office."

"Thanks, Jake," Ron called back as he got to his feet, shifting some of the papers on his cluttered desk in the process. He strode out of his own office and climbed the stairs to Angelina's, two floors above.

"You wanted to see me, Angelina?" He said, poking his fiery topped head around her door. She seemed to be berating someone on her grammaphone, but motioned for him to have a seat.

"And I haven't got the time to be left on hold for twenty odd minutes! I'm really very busy and if you call me so that your superior can speak to me, then he damn well better be ready to speak to me!" She finished loudly, then, "Hmmph. I thought so." She hung up so forcibly that it sent a flurry of papers to the ground, and turned to Ron.

"What's up?" Ron asked, mildly, surveying the papers.

"What isn't?" Angelina said, looking quite harassed a leaning back in her chair.

"I meant why did you call me?" Ron clarified, suppressing a smile.

"Oh. Right. Well, there's been a spot of trouble in Wales - that was the secretary of the head of the Welsh M.L.E.S. on the grammaphone - there are a lot of illegal wands on the black market there and we've no idea how they're entering the country. I owled the Cardiff HQ to let them know I'd send your squad along first thing tomorrow."

"Alright. Who's our liaison?"

"Well, that's the thing -" Angelina paused, "You haven't exactly got one. Wales has tried to crack this one on their own and haven't been able to so they turned it over to us, lock stock, and barrel. Their HQ will cooperate with you of course, and give you the use of any facilities you might need, but they won't spend anymore manpower on it. Do you think you lot can manage it?"

"Sure," Ron said, taking mental notes, "it'll be tougher without an informant, but certainly not impossible. When did you say we're due in Cardiff?"

"First thing tomorrow morning. Tell De, Jake and Alex to get their stuff together and be ready to fly down in the morning."

"You want us to fly?"

"Well, it's quicker than the train and less risky than appariation, but it's up to you. Why - do want to take something else?"

"I may ride my bike," Ron replied, referring to his old motorbike that he had refurbished the summer he had been sixteen. Sirius had been more than happy to share his expertise in that area. "And the others can fly. That way, once we get there we'll have some way to get around that doesn't require cloud cover. Just in case."

"Good point," Angelina nodded. "Okay then, good luck. I'll expect daily reports back from you."

"But probably won't get them," Ron finished with a grin - it was a long-standing joke between the two of them.

She sighed.

"Right. Bye."

"Bye," Ron echoed as he pulled her door shut behind him.

* * *

Early the next morning, before the sun had quite risen, Ron gathered his 'in the field' gear into a pack and firmly strapped it onto the back of the motorbike. He had arranged to meet Delia, Jake, and Alex outside the Leaky Cauldron (the Diagon Alley side) before departing. They would all be using broomsticks and would undoubtedly arrive in Cardiff a good deal before he would, as his bike unfortunately couldn't fly. (Mrs. Weasley had threatened Sirius with all sorts of bodily harm had he enchanted it for Ron that summer.) Ron kicked the stand out from under it and headed off in a small cloud of smoke.

When he arrived at the Leaky Cauldron Delia was already waiting outside, a warm mug of butterbeer cupped in her hands. As he climbed off the bike and strode over to her he called, "Morning, De!"

"Not a bloody good one, though," She shouted back, holding up the butterbeer, "I wanted something stronger, but Tom said not before at least nine in the morning!"

Delia was notoriously not a morning person.

Moments later Alex and Jake came swooping out of the sky, both looking bleary eyed.

"Morning boss, De," Alex said, eyeing Delia's butterbeer enviously. Jake didn't say anything, but rather slumped against the wall of the Leaky Cauldron in a half-doze.

"Alright troops - up and at 'em!" Ron said loudly in the hopes that this might spur them into action. He was decidedly wrong. De just glared at him and took another sip of butterbeer and Jake snored loudly.

"Would somebody wake him up?" Ron asked, a bit peevishly. This wasn't going at all as he had hoped.

Alex jolted Jake away with a swift elbow in the ribs and Ron said, "Right then. We'd better be off because you lot will want to have landed before there's too much daylight and it's going to take me awhile to get there as well. We want to be able to start as soon as I arrive so get your stuff settled in at the inn headquarters arranged rooms at and I'll meet you there."

There were a few mumbled 'right's as the other three mounted their brooms and kicked off into the dawning sky.

Two and a half-hours later Three and a half hours later Ron pulled into the car park at the small inn they were staying at, just outside of Cardiff. He kicked the stand down on the bike, shouldered his pack, and headed over to the door quickly; it looked like rain. But then, when didn't it look like rain in Wales?

The inn was situated in a wizarding village on the outskirts of Cardiff, which, small as it was, was the Welsh wizarding capital, so to speak.

Ron had passed an apothecary's shop having a sale on dragon toenails, a bookstore that reminded him of a much smaller Flourish and Blotts, a tiny joke-shop with brand-new dungbombs advertised, and a sweet shop from which the enticing smell of fresh fudge could be detected all the way up and down the high street.

The inn they were staying at was a pub with some rooms above it that the proprietors rented out, much like the Leaky Cauldron. 

Ron walked past a sign, dangling from a post outside the door, that proclaimed the pub's name to passers-by (The Drunken Dragon) and underneath it was a colorful picture of a Welsh green slurping on a pint of mead.

Shaking his head and chuckling, Ron pushed open the wooden door and ducked so as not to knock his head on the lentil when he entered. As he straightened up he took in his new surroundings. The interior of the pub was slightly dingy from frequent use and the air was permeated by the stench of smoke from pipes and cigarettes long since extinguished, but never quite gone. There were a few customers scattered at scarred tables here and there and the owner stood behind the bar fixing himself a mid-morning drink that Ron was sure the licensing laws didn't allow.

At a table in the corner sat Delia, Jake, and Alex, munching on eggs, kippers, and toast and happily slurping away at large mugs of coffee.

Ron walked over to them and let him bag slide off his shoulder and onto the floor with a thump.

"Morning, boss," Jake said, looking up from his toast.

"Woke up, did we then?" Ron asked, grinning at him.

"That I did. All it took was that invigorating blast of wind when I got in the air-" He began eloquently.

"And about six cups of coffee once we got here.," Delia added, smiling serenely up at Ron. Jake looked sheepish.

"Well, I'm going to go order some breakfast.," Ron said, heading over to the bar.

"The owner's friendly!" Delia called after him, warningly. She didn't sound pleased about this.

As Ron approached the owner knocked back the dregs of whatever he was drinking and stuck his hand out for Ron to shake.

"Morning, sir! How can I help you?"

"Morning. My name's Ron Weasley. I've booked a room for a few nights and I'd also love a spot of breakfast, Mr.-?"

"That I'll bet you would! Atterly. Richard Atterly's the name. Now, can I get you the full English?"

"Erm, no. I think I'd better just have toast, an egg, and a few kippers, thanks. Long day ahead of me, you know."

"Indeed I do," Richard Atterly nodded knowingly, "indeed -" but he was cut off as the door flew open with such force that Ron was surprised it hadn't come straight off its hinges.

A ruddy-faced man blew in with a gust of rain and wind, not bothering to pull off the oilskin cloak he wore.

Richard Atterly seemed utterly unperturbed by this invasion of his little pub. "That's Morgan Jones.," He said cheerily, though in an undertone, to Ron.

"Atterly!" Morgan Jones roared, his already blotchy face made even more so by his considerable rage. "'E's dead! My prize fighter dead!"

This news did get a reaction out of Atterly - he looked as though Christmas had come early.

"Mordred? The big Welsh green?"

"YES!" Jones moaned. "I know 'twas that gang of yours! Jes' cause you bet against him in the match coming Saturday!"

"Now, Morgan," Atterly said in a pacifying manner, "None of me friends have gone anywhere near your paddocks since last week's match. I should know; they're always in here drinking up me best brew!"

"Here, here!" came a voice from one of the tables.

"An how d'you know he was killed, Morgan?" Atterly continued, ignoring his chum. "I mean, mightn't he just died from somethin' natural-like?"

"Well," Jones shifted his weight onto a bar stool and put his light ginger colored head in his hands, "I suppose 'e might've."

"That's right, Morgan," Atterly said soothingly as he drew a pint of bitter and placed it before Jones, "There now, you drink that. It'll help." Then he turned back to Ron, who had been watching the whole exchange with amusement.

"I'll get your brekky in just a tic, Mr. Weasley. It's fixin' up to be an exciting day."

He disappeared into a room behind the bar and Ron replied, more to himself than to anyone else, "That it is. That it is."