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SIYE Time:16:52 on 28th March 2024
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Muggle Interface Team: Strange Place
By Northumbrian

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Category: Post-Hogwarts, Post-DH/AB
Characters:Harry/Ginny, Other
Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama, General, Tragedy
Warnings: None
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 48
Summary: A missing policeman leads the Muggle Interface Team, and their boss, Senior Auror Harry Potter, into a very strange place.
Hitcount: Story Total: 14374; Chapter Total: 1329





Author's Notes:
Thanks to Kellie for her beta work.




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Servants and Masters

Because it was a warm and sunny day, Constable Adrian Boyes was in shirtsleeve order. Had he been wearing his uniform jacket, he thought ruefully, he’d have been better protected. He probably wouldn’t have been injured. While listening to the radio operator’s questions, he checked his injured arm.

The cut was clean, and about two inches long. It was deep enough to draw blood, but no more. The blood-soaked rip in his white shirt was so straight that it could have been done with scissors. It looked more like the result of a slice from a blade than a ragged tear from a rose thorn. He squinted suspiciously at the gate, and saw only roses.

Deciding that he’d have a word with the owners about the dangerous state of their rose arch, Boyes picked up his uniform cap, brushed the soil from it, and replaced it on his head. That done, he pressed the transmit button on his radio. As he strolled towards the front door of the property, he responded to the operator’s enquiries.

‘I’m okay, but that was weird! There are all these roses around the front gate. When I opened the gate, one of ’em took my cap off and another cut my arm. It’s gone through my shirt. Thank Christ for my stab vest, it deflected the stem. Don’t laugh, but those roses have wicked sharp thorns.’

As he reached the gloomy porch, he saw it. ‘Hang on, there’s definitely something under the porch canopy. It is a briefcase.’ He reached down to pick it up. ‘I’ll just…’

Boyes was standing on solid ground, so when his world tipped through ninety degrees, he was utterly unprepared. As he felt himself falling toward the door, he braced himself. He didn’t hit it; he didn’t impact with anything at all. Instead he found himself tumbling and cartwheeling through dusty darkness until he unexpectedly found himself once again with his feet on solid ground.

Dizzy, disorientated, and coughing, he blinked dust from his eyes. As his vision cleared, he found himself standing in a large, barrel-vaulted room lit by an ornate chandelier. The man who was standing in front of the fireplace, staring at him, wasn’t certain whether to be relieved or worried by the presence of a uniformed constable. That, at least, was a familiar reaction. The man’s expression helped to calm Boyes’ racing pulse.

Experience took over. Boyes carried out a rapid assessment of the man. IC1 male, about five feet ten, dark brown hair teased into spikes–no doubt by some fancy gel or wax–and a rather pointed chin. He wore a smart, expensive looking suit and fancy brown shoes.

‘Hello, sir,’ said Boyes politely, exuding an unruffled police presence he wasn’t actually feeling.

The words of his old sergeant were at the forefront of Boyes mind. Keep calm, Del, and if you can’t, at least try to look calm. Good coppers are like ducks caught in a current. On the surface, where folks can see, we glide along, unruffled and completely in control. Underneath we might be paddling like buggery to keep out of trouble, but the public don’t need to see that–and they don’t want to see it.

‘I’m Constable Boyes. You’ll be Mr Lester Lubbock, I expect,’ Boyes did his best to remain professional. The nod of surprise and the look of relief on the missing estate agent’s face momentarily made the constable believe that he had things under control. Lubbock’s next words banished that illusion.

‘How did you get in here? Can you get us out?’

The first two questions were difficult to answer, but not–Boyes hoped–impossible. The third and fourth were the killers.

‘What happened to your arm? Is that why you aren’t wearing a shirt?’

Constable Boyes looked past his worryingly bare shoulder at his injured arm–it was still bleeding. An instant earlier he’d been standing in a porch. He’d stumbled, fallen, and somehow ended up here. Impossibly, he’d lost his shirt while falling. He looked down. He was still wearing his stab vest and equipment belt; only the shirt was missing. Shaken to his core, he tried to think logically. He must have passed out, but for how long? He checked his watch.

‘What time is it?’ Lubbock asked raising a wrist to reveal a very expensive-looking watch. ‘Mine has stopped. I think the battery’s dead.’

Boyes stared down at his trusty old Timex. The old wind-up watch had been a bequest from his late grandfather. It was also the old man’s idea of a joke. “If you want to know the time, ask a policeman.” The watch-repairer had warned him that fixing it would cost more than the watch was actually worth; he’d paid anyway.

He focussed on the sweep of the second hand. That was enough to convince him that, unlike Lubbock’s expensive timepiece, his entirely mechanical watch hadn’t stopped. Worryingly, it was telling him that he’d been outside the property less than five minutes earlier. The only alternative was that twelve hours had passed.

‘It’s ten forty-six, sir,’ said Boyes. ‘Bear with me a second, please.’ He lifted his radio and pushed the transmit button. November-Charlie-three-three to Control.’ There was silence, nothing, not even the static crackle that was always in the background. He tried again. ‘November-Charlie-three-three to Control.’

Drowning in silence, he examined the radio. It seemed that the batteries were dead. As it had been fully charged when he’d begun his shift, that should have been impossible. He shook it. Nothing. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his mobile phone and tried to turn it on. “ Please connect charger” it said before turning itself off.

‘Flat!’ Lubbock seemed close to tears. ‘They’re both flat, aren’t they? First thing I did was try my phone. You don’t know how you got here. We’re both trapped.’ Looking around the room, Lubbock stared at the table and pointed a shaking hand at it. ‘Two!’ he howled. He turned towards the fireplace. ‘And two!’ Collapsing to the floor, he curled up into a ball and began to weep.

‘That won’t help, Mr Lubbock,’ Boyes observed. ‘Perhaps you should rest for a few minutes, try to calm down.’

Boyes took the opportunity to look around the room. The fireplace was central in one of the two shorter walls. In front of the fire that blazed in the grate stood two old-fashioned red leather high-wingback chairs. To his left was a small dining table and two chairs, all with ornately carved serpent-like legs. They were the sort of thing you’d see in one of the many local antique shops. When he turned around, Boyes saw two four-poster beds. Between them, directly opposite the fireplace, there was a door.

‘Why not lie on one of the beds?’ offered Boyes considerately.

Lubbock looked up and began to shake. ‘Two!’ he screamed. ‘Two!’ Wailing, he returned to his foetal position on the floor.

There appeared to be nothing physically wrong with Lubbock, so Boyes strode over to the door he’d just seen. He was relieved to discover that it wasn’t locked. Pulling out his baton, he twisted the doorknob and pushed.

To his disappointment, he found himself looking into a bathroom. Like the main room–which he was trying not to think of as a well-appointed cell–its fittings were old-fashioned. Tiled floor, half-tiled walls, a large and sturdy sink, bath, and toilet bowl with a polished mahogany seat. The white cistern was high above the bowl and had the sort of chain pull he knew had once been common. Turning, he rechecked the large room. No doors, and no windows.

Returning his attention to the bathroom, Boyes stepped inside to make certain that he hadn’t missed another door. There were, he realised, two bath towels, two hand towels, and two flannels neatly folded on the mahogany bench next to the sink. He was beginning to suspect that there was a very good reason for Lubbock’s apparent obsession with the number two. Between the towels was a rolled-up bandage. He picked it up, and quickly bandaged his arm.

When he turned to leave, he saw his shirt. It hung from a coat hanger that itself was suspended from a brass hook on the back of the door. With a shaking hand, he holstered his baton and went over to examine it. It was definitely his; he recognised it, although it took him a moment. The shirt was freshly laundered and repaired. The repair was excellent, but the cut in the sleeve was final proof.

He swore.

‘There’s no way out,’ Lubbock wailed. ‘We’re trapped, aren’t we? It’s alive. This is a living prison!’

Removing his shirt from the hanger, Boyes strolled back out into the main room. If it was a cell, it was the most well-appointed cell he’d seen. ‘You’ve been here two days, Mr Lubbock,’ he said. ‘Have you seen anyone, spoken to anyone?’

‘No,’ Lubbock shook his head.

‘Tell me what’s been going on,’ Boyes ordered firmly. ‘If I’m going to get you out of here, I need to know everything.’

Lubbock hauled himself to his feet and tried to fight back his panic. ‘Two days?’ he put his head in his hands. ‘I suppose that makes sense.’

‘It does, why?’ Boyes unfastened his stab vest and began to remove it. He needed to feel normal, and a shirtless policeman certainly wasn’t normal.

‘Food,’ said Lubbock. ‘We won’t starve to death. Ham and mustard sandwiches, that was lunch. Then tea and scones, at teatime, I suppose. Then a pork chop, veg, and mash followed by spotted dick for dinner.’ He sighed. ‘When I got tired and put on the pyjamas–they’ll be under the pillow–and went to bed, that light went out.’ He pointed at the chandelier. ‘Woke up, and there was a full English breakfast waiting for me–great sausages–and a pot of tea. Then there was morning coffee–the coffee’s terrible, the sort of stuff your granny would serve up–and biscuits. Then it started again.’

‘Same menu?’ asked Boyes as he buttoned up his shirt.

‘No. Beef and horseradish sandwiches, tea and fairy cakes, then liver and onions followed by blackberry and apple pie. The menu’s as old-fashioned as the furnishings. Kippers for breakfast this morning!’ he shuddered.

‘So, who delivers them? And where from?’

‘No one, from nowhere. That’s the worst part of it!’ Lubbock was again beginning to panic.

‘Before I…’ Boyes tried to find the right words. ‘Before I arrived, there was only one armchair, one dining chair and one bed, wasn’t there?’

Lubbock nodded.

‘When did the extra furniture appear?’

‘When I wasn’t looking. That’s when everything happens!’ said Lubbock despairingly. ‘I was sitting in front of the fire, wondering what would happen if I took my phone’s battery out and threw it into the flames, when there was a noise.’

‘Did you see me get here?’

‘No!’ Lubbock threw up his hands in frustration. ‘Like I said, everything happens when I’m not looking, when my back is turned. That’s how the meals arrive, too. Empty table–look away–full table! There’s only one explanation, this place is haunted!’

‘By who? Casper the friendly ghost?’ asked Boyes sarcastically.

‘You’ll see,’ Lubbock warned. ‘Just wait, you’ll see!’ There was an unstable glint in his eye. ‘No, that’s the point, you won’t see.’ He began to laugh.




As Ginny re-entered the sitting room, she looked meaningfully at her sons and put a finger to her lips. ‘Shh!’ she whispered, closing the door as quietly as she could.

‘Lillilloo seep, Moomee?’ James asked, quietly padding across the room.

‘Yes,’ Ginny whispered. ‘Lily-Loo is asleep at last, James. Please be quiet, boys. We don’t want to wake her, because if she wakes up she’ll start to cry again.’

‘Noy-zee li-kul Li-lee-loo,’ observed Al, toddling over to stand next to his brother.

‘She certainly was, Al,’ Ginny whispered. ‘But now, at last, she’s quiet little Lily-Loo.’

‘Kite li-kul Li-lee-loo.’ Al had just finished carefully repeating his mother’s words when a bell jangled. ‘Ding-dong bell,’ he added knowledgeably.

‘Wassat?’ James asked, puzzled by the unfamiliar sound.

‘It’s the doorbell, boys,’ Ginny told him, trying to keep the worry from her face.

Her heart was already racing when, to add to the anxiety that simple sound had instilled in her, she heard her rudely disturbed daughter begin to whimper. Pulling herself from the edge of the pit of fear, Ginny concentrated on her daughter’s cries.

‘Sorry, boys, wait here, please.’ Ginny tried to keep her voice calm and reassuring; it wasn’t easy.

As Ginny hurried back upstairs, Lily’s whimpers turned into mewls. In an attempt to prevent them from becoming full-blown wails, she quickened her pace. Trying unsuccessfully to convince herself that a crying daughter really was the greatest of her worries, she dashed into the nursery and lifted Lily from her cot.

As she cradled the red-haired and red-faced tot, Ginny tried to repeat a reassuring mantra to herself. Nothing serious, nothing serious.

True, the doorbell had rung, but Kreacher would deal with it. It couldn’t be anything serious. Her attempt to make “nothing serious” her only thought failed miserably. Despite her exhaustion, her imagination had gone into full nightmare mode.

In order to ring the doorbell of number twelve Grimmauld Place, a person first had to be able to see the door. The number of people who could do that was relatively small. The place was hidden under a Fidelius Charm. Other than family, and the various members of Dumbledore’s Army, the only people who knew their address were a few senior Aurors and the Minister.

Only her parents, and Ron and Hermione, ever turned up unannounced. Even that was rare; they would usually contact her by Mirrorphone to make certain they would be welcome. He parents would certainly be busy babysitting various grandchildren, and Ron and Hermione were at work. That left the Auror Office. Unfortunately, Ginny knew their protocols. There was only one reason why an Auror would appear at her door unannounced.

Picking up on her mother’s unspoken anxieties, Lily howled. Ginny fought back tears of frustration. ‘Please, Lily,’ she begged.

The anxious bundle in her arms simply increased the volume. Sighing with frustration, Ginny held her daughter out at arms-length and stared into the baby’s tear-clouded eyes. ‘Please!’ she begged. Startled, her dangling daughter’s eyes met Ginny’s. There was an instant of connection, and Lily let out a heart-rending sob. Ginny immediately cradled her youngest. ‘Daddy’s fine,’ said Ginny.

Gathering her strength Ginny walked slowly back downstairs, gently rocking her sobbing daughter. As they descended, Lily let out an enormous burp, dribbled curdled milk from the side of her mouth, and rubbed her face against her mother’s chest.

‘Is that what was bothering you? Ginny asked.

Lily sighed contentedly, sneezed into Ginny’s t-shirt, and closed her eyes.

As Ginny stepped onto the landing, Kreacher arrived at its other end, and with him was Phillipa Fortescue. Ginny hadn’t closed the sitting room door properly, and midway between them, James and Al were peering out from the doorway. Her boys had no idea what was going on but, from their expressions, they had realised something was wrong.

‘Deputy Head Auror Fortescue wishes to speak with you, mistress,’ the Potter’s elderly house elf announced unnecessarily.

The sight of the plump, grandmotherly Auror was enough to overwhelm Ginny. ‘Harry?’ she whispered, not certain that she wanted to hear the answer.

‘He’s fine, Ginny,’ Phillipa’s assurance was firm and comforting. ‘Mrs Malfoy–Narcissa–assures us that he will remain safe, and that he will be well looked after.’

‘Narcissa!’ Ginny tried, and failed, to make sense of that information. ‘Well looked after?’

‘Perhaps we should go and sit down,’ Phillipa said. She moved towards the sitting room door and smiled down at the boys. ‘Hello, James, hello, Albus, my name is Phillipa, and I work for your daddy,’ she told them. After waving her fingers at the boys, she hunkered down in front of them. ‘We’ve met before, but I’m sure you don’t remember me.’

‘Where Daddy?’ asked James anxiously.

‘Es,’ Al agreed with his brother.

‘That is a very good question, James, and one I’m certain your Mummy will want to hear the answer to,’ Phillipa told them. ‘Come with me, and I’ll tell you all a story.’

Pushing open the sitting room door, Phillipa picked her way between a scattering of alphabet bricks and stepped over the wooden train set. After removing a toy drum from one of the two large armchairs in the room she turned, sat, and smiled at the anxious assembly of Potters.

Ginny was well aware that her husband had a great deal of respect for Phillipa Fortescue’s quiet professionalism. That was why he’d promoted her to be his deputy. As she watched the stout, grandmotherly, Auror calmly and quietly make herself at home, Ginny’s worries ebbed away. These weren’t the actions of a woman with catastrophic news.

‘Tea?’ Ginny asked, now determined to normalise the situation for her children.

‘That’s very kind, thank you,’ Phillipa replied.

‘Kreacher,’ Ginny began.

‘At once, mistress!’ the elderly house elf vanished.

‘My arrival worried you, Ginny,’ Phillipa began. ‘I’m sorry about that, but I couldn’t avoid it. You know that when something happens to an Auror, we always notify next-of-kin in person. You were bound to reach a worrying conclusion, but I can assure you that Harry is perfectly safe and, we believe, unhurt.’

‘Thanks.’ Ginny sighed in relief. ‘But he’s not here, and you believe he’s unhurt, so there is a problem, isn’t there?’

‘We know where he is, and we’re reasonably certain he’s uninjured, but he’s … trapped,’ Phillipa admitted.

‘Trapped?’ Ginny asked. ‘How? Where?’

‘This morning, we got a call from the Muggle Monitoring Service,’ Phillipa began.




Harry pulled his car to a halt behind the two Range Rovers already parked in the lane. Pulling on the handbrake, he unfastened his seatbelt. At his side, Narcissa Malfoy sat rigidly upright and stared straight ahead. Her eyes were wide and her face unreadable. He had fastened the seatbelt for her, so he unfastened it too. She looked down in astonishment as it reeled itself in.

‘Magic?’ she asked curiously as she removed her arm from the belt.

‘No,’ he told her. ‘All seatbelts in Muggle cars do that.’ As he spoke, Harry recognised his own ignorance. ‘It’s mechanical, I think, but I have no idea how the mechanism works. Dennis Creevey is building his own car. If you really want to know, I’m pretty certain that he’ll be able…’

‘Unnecessary,’ Narcissa shook her head.

‘So, what do we do now?’ he asked. ‘Can we simply walk up to the front door and ring the bell?’

‘I can,’ said Narcissa confidently. ‘You…’ she paused in thought. ‘I’m sure you’ll be safe, if you’re with me.’

‘That’s good news,’ he told her. ‘Excuse me.’ He reached across and opened the door for her.

As they stepped out from the car, silence fell. The assembled Aurors looked at their boss and his unlikely companion with surprise and concern.

‘What’s she doing here?’ The frost in Ottilia Ball’s voice chilled an already cool atmosphere.

‘What any good citizen would do.’ Narcissa’s look of contempt made Ottilia bristle.

‘Narcissa and I are going to enter the house,’ Harry told the assembled Aurors.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Harry,’ Bobbie Beadle protested. She wasn’t the only one.

‘This is an MIT case,’ Susan Bones reminded him.

‘Yeah, you assigned it to us, boss-man. If anyone’s going in, it should be us,’ Lavender Brown added.

‘It definitely shouldn’t be you, Harry,’ Dennis Creevey added.

Terry Boot nodded his agreement.

‘Anyway, you can’t,’ Ottilia told him firmly. ‘Getting through the gate uninjured is impossible, and every time we deactivate the hedge trap, it resets itself.’

Ignoring the Aurors’ protests, Narcissa strolled over to the gate, opened it, and beckoned Harry through. When he walked through it, she followed and closed the gate behind them. There was no movement from the hedge, or the roses.

‘How?’ Ottilia asked, moving forward. The rose lashed out at her, and she was forced to use her wand to deflect the flailing stem.

‘It’s all in the blood, of course,’ said Narcissa haughtily. ‘Best keep your distance, Todd!’

‘Todd? I haven’t been Todd for thirty years,’ Ottilia snapped. ‘But it’s obvious that you haven’t changed, Black! Don’t trust her, Harry.’

‘Ottilia.’ Harry held up a hand, palm out.

‘She’s a…’ Ottilia’s protests tailed off under the power of Harry’s stare. ‘Be careful! If there’s a problem, I can get everyone through.’

‘What? How?’ Harry demanded.

‘I haven’t suggested it, because I don’t like killing plants,’ Ottilia admitted. ‘But it would be relatively easy to simply burn through the hedge and gate. We can be inside in moments if necessary.’

‘Why, in Merlin’s name…’ Lavender began.

‘It’s a rare magical plant, Brown,’ Ottilia snapped.

‘Only destroy the hedge as a last resort.’ Harry ordered.

‘Any smoke is likely to attract the cops,’ Bobbie warned.

‘Has anyone tried to contact Neville?’ Harry asked. He was met with silence. He caught Lavender’s eyes. ‘Lavender.’

‘He’ll probably be teaching, Harry,’ she said. ‘I can use a Patronus, but…’

‘Do it,’ Harry told her. ‘We’re going in.’

‘What haven’t you told us, boss-man?’ asked Lavender.

‘We think the Lestrange’s house elf is still in there,’ Harry admitted. There were gasps of realisation from the Aurors.

The Hogwarts house elves hadn’t appeared on the Marauders Map. They didn’t appear on any Map. When he’d finally figured out what … who … Narcissa’s house elf, Tully, had been referring too when she’d said “Poor Skivvi, poor Skivvi.” The pieces had fallen into place. Not being seen, unless they wanted to be, was one of many house elf abilities he didn’t understand. It was magic not even Hermione understood.

‘If we’re dealing with a house elf, that could explain everything,’ Susan observed. ‘Why didn’t you just tell us, Harry?’

‘Narcissa believes that, if he’s in there, he’ll only allow Purebloods he recognises through the gate,’ Harry called. ‘He’s called Skivvi, and he’s been all alone and forgotten since The Battle.’

As they turned towards the building, Camelia Tepes strolled around the corner and nodded politely. She was carrying a briefcase. ‘Hello, Harry, Mrs Malfoy.’

‘What is this creature doing here?’ Narcissa’s unease was accompanied by a gleeful laugh from Ottilia.

‘My job, Mrs Malfoy,’ Camelia replied. ‘This was lying under the porch, Harry.’ She lifted up the briefcase. ‘I opened it. It belongs to Lester Lubbock. I’ve looked through the windows, too, but the ground floor appears to be uninhabited. The living room is a complete mess. I’ve tried ringing the bell, and knocking on the door, but no one has answered.’

‘Of course they haven’t,’ said Narcissa. ‘No one in their right mind would answer the door to you!’

‘Why not?’ Camelia asked. ‘It’s a home. I can’t enter uninvited. Even if they opened the door they’d be perfectly safe.’ She returned her attention to Harry. I was going to go up the walls to see what’s happening upstairs. Do you have a better plan?’

‘We’re going to knock on the door,’ Harry admitted. ‘Narcissa is confident that we’ll be allowed inside.’

‘This place is radiating more dark magic than Borgin and Burkes did during at the end of the last war, Harry,’ Ottilia called a warning from the gate. ‘She could be leading you into a trap.’

Ignoring the warning, Harry and Narcissa walked under the peculiar porch. At its end stood a large black-painted door pierced by a small, barred, diamond-shaped window. Below the window a bronze gargoyle head held a ring between its teeth. Ignoring the fierce-looking doorknocker, Narcissa reached for the handle of the bell pull on the wall.

The bell had barely begun to sound when the door was opened. All Harry could see of the creature that opened the door was the top of a scarred and wrinkled head, and a bright red curtain.

‘Madam Malfoy!’ There was a sob in the house elf’s voice.

When he finally straightened up, there were tears in the house elf’s enormous eyes. He wore his curtain like a great kilt. A rope curtain-tie belted it around his waist, and a safety pin held it at his left shoulder. With an expansive gesture, he motioned them into the house. They stepped into the hallway and he closed the door behind them.

‘Thank you, Skivvi,’ Narcissa said. ‘Are you alone?’

‘All alone, Madam,’ Skivvi told her sadly. ‘Waiting, waiting, waiting for Master and Mistress. They has not been home for long, long time.’

‘They won’t be coming home, Skivvi,’ Narcissa told him matter-of-factly. ‘My sister and her husband died almost ten years ago. Rabastan has been gone for eight.’

‘Narcissa!’ Harry was horrified at her coldness. She dismissed his concern with a shake of her head, but Skivvi began to howl.

‘Silence,’ ordered Narcissa firmly.

The house elf obeyed instantly.

‘Are we to simply stand here in the hall?’ she continued. The house elf looked around, horrified.

‘Apologies! Apologies! Follow, please, madam, young sir.’ Skivvi led them along the hallway and pushed open a door. The room had, at one time, been a lounge. Now, it was a mess. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and every flat surface was covered in a thick layer of dust. There was broken crockery on the floor, and someone had savagely attacked the sofa and armchairs with a knife. Stuffing was everywhere, and springs protruded from the seats.

‘Sit, wait,’ the house elf suggested. ‘Master and Mistress here soon, very soon.’

Narcissa gave Harry a meaningful look. ‘Your master and mistress are dead, Skivvi,’ she reminded him.

‘No!’ this time the house elf was enraged by the suggestion.

‘I’m afraid they are,’ Harry told Skivvi gently.

‘They are,’ Narcissa said. ‘Look around, Skivvi, look for them. You must know that they won’t be coming home.’

The house elf cocked his head to one side, and then the other. ‘Gone,’ he concluded.

Refocussing on his visitors, his eyes widened in surprise. It was as though he was seeing them for the first time. He raised an accusatory finger.

‘Out, out, out!’ he ordered. ‘Out, now!’ Worried, he began to mutter to himself. ‘Decant a bottle of the vinho do porto élfico, Skivvi. We’re going to Hogwarts, to teach a lesson to some unruly children. We’ll be back soon. Until then, let no one in. No one! Understand?’ The house elf nodded eagerly. ‘Skivvi understands, master.’ He glared at Narcissa and Harry. ‘Skivvi understood. But Skivvi forgets.’

‘You know who I am, Skivvi,’ Narcissa said. ‘I am sister to your mistress.’

‘Yes, but you are someone. And orders is orders. No one must enter Glaven House. Skivvi has failed!’ The house elf ran head first into an already broken china cabinet, and more broken crockery and glass joined the pile on the floor. Two shards of glass remained embedded in the house elf’s skull, and Harry wondered how many times over the past ten years alone Skivvi had deliberately injured himself. The house elf glared at them, and Harry was convinced that, in an instant, he’d find himself outside with little chance of re-entering the place.

‘Wait,’ Harry ordered. Skivvi stared at him. ‘You said no one must enter, but we aren’t the first. Two people arrived before us. Where are they?’

Skivvi shook his head. ‘No one must enter! People outside, trying to get in. No living person through gate! Not one. Outsiders impure!’ He pointed a finger at Narcissa. ‘Pure!’ he said. He moved his finger accusingly towards Harry, and stared. ‘Not pure,’ he concluded. ‘You trick poor old Skivvi,’ he told Narcissa reproachfully. ‘Go!’

‘There are others here, Skivvi,’ said Harry. ‘There are two others here.’

‘No!’ Skivvi folded his arms. ‘No persons here,’ he looked at Narcissa. ‘Except Madam Malfoy.’

Harry and Narcissa exchanged a look, and both instantly understood that Harry had been asking the wrong question. Harry tried to work out what to say, but Narcissa didn’t hesitate.

‘No people,’ she agreed. ‘But a couple of filthy Muggles had the temerity to try to get inside. The dungeons at Malfoy Manor are ready to receive them.’

‘My mistress…’

‘Your mistress is my sister, Skivvi,’ Narcissa said. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t kill them, I’ll leave that pleasure for her.’

‘Won’t kill them,’ Skivvi nodded. ‘Won’t! “Cissie’s not a blood traitor like Dromeda, Rodolphus, but she’s weak. She’s never killed anyone, and I don’t think she ever will.”’ He stared into Narcissa’s face. ‘Why should Skivvi give the filth to weak Madam Malfoy?’ Even as he asked the question, he was nodding in agreement with himself. Narcissa’s face was impassive. ‘Mistress likes toys. Last one long dead. Go!’

‘Wait,’ Harry ordered. Skivvi stared at him. ‘If you let them leave with Narcissa, I’ll take their place. Your mistress hates me. She’d be grateful for the chance to torture me instead.’

‘Harry!’ warned Narcissa.

‘Harry!’ With that one word, the situation changed. Skivvi stared up at Harry’s forehead and began to dance with joy. ‘Harry, Harry, Harry! Madam Malfoy brings Harry Potter to Glaven House. Master will be very happy, mistress will be very, very, very, very, happy.’

‘I want the Muggles in exchange!’ Narcissa demanded.

Skivvi snapped his fingers.
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