Chapter 24 Not the best of Birthdays

The Goblin's may be the nation that keeps the wheels of the wizarding economy turning, and to do so, they are constantly on the alert for any newsworthy of note. The slaying of a family with muggle-born wizards easily qualifies as such news.

A goblin saying reads, "Good news, travels at the speed of sound. Bad news, travels at the speed of light." Such as it was, the bad news did not arrive until a little after five in the morning the following day. The messenger woke everyone in Griphook's home when she practically unhinged the door with her urgent knocking, "Blahar Griphook, Mr. Potter, I bring… unwelcome news." The messenger handed the report. It was in many ways a form document that Aurors have filled out for centuries to report and record such incidents, including the official aftermath.

Declining to read over Griphook's shoulder, the wizard cast a duplication charm and stood up to read. He barely got halfway through before the paper crumbled to ash as his emotions took control of him; "Shit!" he stared at the glowing ball of flame in his hand, and blinked, "Shit! Take cover!"

Considering his generous height advantage over everyone else present, Harry aimed his outstretched arm up high. The lance of flame leaped from his wand arm with a scream. It arched up and slammed into the roof some thirty-odd feet overhead. The goblin enchantment held against the flaming assault with childish ease. Everyone else, however, looked at Harry with varying degrees of amusement, "Take cover eh Harry?" said Marinashka.

"Sorry about that," he sheepishly ran a hand through his hair, "Maybe we should set up a fund so that you can repair whatever I break, blow up, freeze or melt next?" There was a chuckle or two before the levity of the moment collapsed under the weight of what the report had said.

"Is there anything we can do?" wondered Harry, then recalled something he could do, "Griphook, get in touch with Amelia Bones. Arrange a meeting with her within Gringotts." he glanced at his charmed and protected wristwatch, "Today if you can."

"What are you planning Harry?" asked Griphook.

"Dumbledore, has done nothing to prevent this," growled Harry, "I… should have seen this coming. Voldemort wants me dead, and, this means he'll do whatever he has to." Something occurred to Harry: The Date. "That sonofabitch, has a nasty sense of timing, a sick sense of humor, or more than likely a mix of both," thought Harry. They were four hours into July 31, 1995, "Lousy way to start a birthday," muttered Harry.

"Senior Accounts Manager Griphook of Gringotts," Griphook blinked for a moment, "We have financial matters to discuss," Harry remembered the last time formality had stood between him and Griphook. It felt like two, three lifetimes ago. In truth, it had been less than a year. Less than nine months for that, but he had promised her. He would keep that promise, "Regarding the Potter Family Vault, amongst other things."

"Very well Mr. Potter," replied Griphook formally, "I shall await you in my office at nine o'clock this morning."

Harry nodded, "See if you can get Mrs. Bones, and Colin Creevey to attend as well." Griphook nodded, "And since we're all already up… does anyone feel like a cup of tea?"

The early morning hours passed quickly and followed Harry's regular routine. Doing stuff, doing anything, made the pain manageable. He was sleeping, more or less regularly, had some mastery of Occulemency and Legillimency, enough he hoped to give the headmaster Dumbledore a run for his money.

When Harry stepped out of the fireplace, he realized his mistake. He had said his destination to be "Gringotts London," instead of specifying that he wanted a specific office. He rolled out, and somewhat half stood and half twisted, landing on the floor, staring at a pair of female boots. He looked up and blinked in surprise, "Fleur?"

"Harry Potter, at my feet," she chuckled, "I always wondered what it would be like having you worship the ground I walked on…" her English had improved a great deal, but she still spoke with that slightly French accent, the melodic lit or something. She helped him to his feet, "Business or pleasure?"

"In Gringotts?" he smirked, and winked, "It's always business."

Fleur Isabelle Delacour, Part Veela, French, Beauxbattons graduate, Class of 1995, and still the same stunning woman. "Mr. Potter," She gestured to the central hall of the bank where a number of Goblins were seated, awaiting the days' customers, "Welcome to Gringotts, Diagon Alley. How may I be of assistance?"

Then it struck him, what was different. He had always been a little guarded around her, because of that Veela allure, charm, whatever you care to call it. But he realized that his basic occulemency shields were enough to at least, temporarily neutralize its effects, leaving him as clear-headed as usual, "I have an appointment with Senior Accounts Manager Griphook," Harry glanced at his watch, "scheduled for nine o'clock. I'm five minutes early."

"This way sir," she led him through a set of double doors, to one side of the hall.

He paused as they were about to pass through the doors, "Blahgrast Diedom Heartfang," he greeted the other Goblin as well. Both were on duty and could not speak to him but they saluted him, clenched fist crossing over their chest and bowed ever so slightly. He returned the gesture, bowing slightly more than they had, before continuing on their way.

"If I did not know better Harry," and she didn't, "I would say that you have been spending far too much time around the Goblins, learning to speak their language…." To Harry, it seemed like she was on a fishing expedition, but then again, this was Fleur. He had saved her life and her sisters during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. There was something of a life debt there, Harry realized, similar to the bond between him and Ginny Weasely.

"Being friends with Griphook means that I should learn at least the basics of his culture," Harry explained, "After all, I don't want to be like Hagrid. I'm sure you heard about his atrocious French… bong-sewer as opposed to bonne soiree…" she chuckled and Harry felt the slight tap against his mental shields. She was not doing it deliberately. It was just the way Veela, even part Veela are. They give off that positive vibe with a hint of "come hither" to it.

She led the way confidently through the warren of passages to the outer door of Griphook's office. The guards on either side of the door nodded and Fleur opened the door for him, "Got that internship eh?" she smiled, "Free for coffee later? I'd love to hear how you wound up back in London. I can pick you up at about four?"

She smiled, "I'd like that," she hesitated, "But only if you tell me how you are doing." She had not asked him, at least not directly. His friends had tried to ask him, to get him to open up and talk about it. They knew he'd held back, from all of them what had happened, and some of them, got the hint a little better than others.

The Weasely twins had asked him, gotten the hint, and left it alone. Ginny, had not caught on and still wrote, once a week, asking, almost begging him to talk to her about it. Neville and Luna had only mentioned that they were free to talk, listen, and he had promised to take them up on it sometime… they could, unfortunately, relate to his loss better than anyone else. Luna… Luna… he snapped back to the moment, "You'll have to do the same," he cautioned, "Have you managed to get today's newspapers?"

She shook her head, "Non, why?"

"Check… the obituaries..." he said, "Colin's family… they were killed last night."

Fleur paled. Harry's friends had seen to it, after something of a rocky start, that she had enjoyed her time at Hogwarts, and could take a certain amount of pride in calling his friends, hers as well, "Colin?"

"Survived… he wasn't there, at a friend's house according to the Auror's report," Harry said quietly, "Four o'clock then?"

She nodded, "In front of the bank."

He smiled, "I'll be waiting." The smile vanished as he entered Griphook's office. They got the formalities out of the way, and relapsed into their friendly, more personal demeanors, "I'm sorry about this morning, Griphook, but…"

"Formality probably saved me from having to replace a wall or two in my home," said Griphook, "I also heard that you challenged two of the Custodians to a duel, and fought them to a draw. Not the first either."

"Needed to vent a little… a lot," He replied, helping himself to the ever-present tea, and cookies, "You recall the first time I was in your office with, Hermione… I think it's time that I access my family vault."

Griphook put down his cup, "I suspected as much," they walked to the carts and took off at high speed through the twisting maze of tunnels, before coming to a stop before a vault that Harry had seen only once in his life but never entered, "Your blood is already here. Merely press your thumb and it will open.

The vault was old - ancient even given that it had a double-digit number instead of the more common three or four digits. However, the contents, he had only seen in passing once before when his blood had reactivated the blood wards. Harry quickly realized that the space was bigger on the inside than it should have been - a popular trick that allowed the Goblins to get more vaults into the same amount of space - lights flared to life along the breadth and depth of the family vault.

There was furniture, suits of armor, shelves lining the walls filled with tomes of encyclopedic knowledge. There was a display case of wands, numerous wands, all that and then, there was the money: Towering piles of gold disappeared behind one another, rising in perfect symmetry, "Each single stack measures precisely 32 feet and ten inches, or 1000 Galleons," explained Griphook, "Ten rows wide, Ten rows deep to a pallet equals 100,000 Galleons." Scattered throughout were gemstones of all kinds: Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, magical stones, shining in the light reflected in Harry's wide-eyed stare. "At present, the contents of this vault including artifacts, armor, gemstones, and properties amount to precisely 141.3 million Galleons, 72 Sickles, and 3 Knuts."

Last night, Voldemort had fired the opening salvo in the war to come. However, Harry knew he faced an uphill battle: It was not just Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He had been following the news. Moreover, the news was that Harry Potter and Dumbledore were both crackpot lunatics: The public, the wizarding press, the ministry of magic were as much his enemies as Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Arguably, he could put Dumbledore in the "neither friend nor foe" category, along with the Order of the Phoenix. That left him, to fight the war on his own. "Least I've got the money to finance a couple of small wars."

"Enough to finance a muggle Third World War and then help rebuild the world in the aftermath of it," said Griphook, "Not a suggestion mind you," he said drily. "I have made arrangements," the goblin pulled a rectangular piece of plastic from a pouch, "It is the equivalent of a muggle credit card, only tied to your vaults for your transactions in the muggle world." He handed a small pouch to Harry, "The money bag is also tied directly to your vaults, and if you will allow me," the Goblin drew a small blade, "A drop of blood will key it so that you and those you allow can draw funds through this bag, for whatever you have planned."

Harry held out his hand and Griphook nicked the tip of his finger and squeezed blood onto the edge of the bag. It glowed a sapphire blue and Harry attached it to his belt. "Yeah. Well, I've got plans of my own…. But we need to sort out Colin's situation first."

Their return trip by cart was quick and they arrived in Griphook's office to find Amelia Bones already seated and awaiting them. "Mrs. Bones, thank you for meeting me on such short notice," said Harry.

She studied him for a long moment and noticed that he had aged a great deal since she had last seen him. The last time they had met was an interesting evening, one of excellent food and drink where the conversation had only been surpassed by the quality of the company she had kept that evening, "Harry," she said, "You've caused a lot of people to worry, and panic with your vanishing act. I believe I'm the first witch to have lain eyes on you in about five weeks."

Harry said nothing about that: his disappearance, "Technically, you'd be the second," he said with a half-smile. His vanishing act had been noted by the major publications and only his friends knew that he was alive. He had used the Goblin Fire Sprites to handle his correspondences, making it next to impossible to confirm his location, even if the Sprites screamed that he was hiding in Gringotts. Gringotts, was after all, a Goblin city that went for miles underground in every direction, "Somewhere between the words "lunatic," "Crackpot," "disturbed," and "dangerous" the Prophet did mention I was missing," said Harry, "My personal favorite was Rita Skeeter's rumor that I had checked myself into St. Mungo's for shock therapy. How's Colin?" he asked abruptly.

The sudden change in the topic might have derailed some but the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement took it in stride, "Not well, all things considered," she replied, "Now I understand you arranged this meeting, to what end?"

Harry was blunt, "War is coming, Director Bones, and I want to know: What is the ministry doing to prepare?" Her silence spoke volumes, "Playing directly into Voldemort's hands." He shook his head, "What is it going to take for you people to act?" snarled Harry, "A home invasion robbery went horribly wrong? What could possibly be "right" about such a thing?"

"Blunt honesty," said the director, "I can appreciate that. So I feel that I can be as candid with you as you are with me: Where is the proof? Dumbledore's word counted for something, once, but not anymore. Despite your status as the "Chosen One," you are a relatively unknown, even after the Triwizard Tournament. It comes down to one thing: Where is the proof?" she held up her hands in a placating gesture, "Last night's attack only proves that the Death Eaters who went free are up to their old habits. But there have been attacks like this for years," she emphasized, "Years. Since the fall of Voldemort. Every few years a number of muggles are killed, muggle-borns are targeted, and the Dark Mark appears over the scene of the crime."

"So you people say "horrible tragedy" and move on. You want proof. I'll give you proof! Griphook! A Pensieve!" Normal memories are a silvery grey metallic in color. What Harry pulled from his temple was red with silvery streaks. It struck the surface of the Pensieve and immediately the normally placid surface began to roil, "Have a look in there! Have a look! If you dare! Your proof!" he spat.

She hesitated for an instant and then entered the memory.

When she emerged, she looked at Harry, with a new something. It was not respect. It was something else entirely, almost like fear, "He, really has risen from the grave…" she whispered.

Harry laughed bitterly, "Took the deaths of a pureblood, two muggle-borns, and two muggles to convince you did it? So what is the Ministry doing to prepare besides nothing?"

"Minister Fudge has hamstrung the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Our numbers have been in decline for the past few years, and there is no money in the budget, especially in the middle of the year. And what I saw maybe proof enough for me," she hesitated, "But the ministry won't take kindly to this," she warned, "and as a ministry official… I can tell you, you face an uphill battle if you try to convince them. Even a memory in Pensieve won't be enough, not with the media against you as well."

"I don't intend to convince them," was his blunt reply, "During the first war, the Order of the Phoenix fought against Voldemort, but I've studied the history. They did not fight. They remained passive. They reacted. The Ministry was essentially doing the same. It took an infant, to win your war. Now children will have to win it for you, again. But before we get to that, I want two things done for Colin…"

Colin's situation was more than unique: His parents were both muggle orphans. So there really was no family for him to go to. Harry had secured two things for his young friend: The first was that Colin would return to Hogwarts to continue his education. The second was that as long as all parties were agreeable, Colin would have a place to stay for the last month of the summer, with Luna and her father.

"So we are agreed?" asked Harry. She nodded "Good. Thank you for your time Director."

The door closed behind her and Griphook turned to Harry, "What are you planning Harry?"

"A lot," he answered, "For the moment, I want everything, my family vault and trust vault merged. Then I want… eighteen vaults created, each one to receive a deposit of five million galleons. As an account is drained, it is to be restored to its opening balance." Griphook nodded, "Next, I need a real estate agent. Then lawyers," Harry glanced at his watch, "well… the lawyers, after lunch." It was almost noon.

Harry spent only a half-hour with the goblin property agent, outlining the specific details of the property: Large, 400 square meters spread over two floors in an exclusive neighborhood, somewhere in or around London, price up to three million galleons or the equivalent in Pounds. The second property was for him, and he wanted something large and relatively isolated from wizards and muggles. two stories, maybe three, an extensive basement, swimming pool out back, with expansive grounds for at least a kilometer in every direction.

Lunch was a quiet affair for Harry as he picked at his plate, more due to his wandering rambling thoughts than anything else. In the afternoon, he was surprised to see Marinashka, leading a trio of goblins into the conference room, "Mr. Potter, I understand you wanted lawyers," he nodded, "I am Marinashka, these are my associates Selim and Thera." The goblins bowed at the introduction and Harry took care to return the greeting, "How may we be of service?"

"Two things but most importantly: I want to open a case file on Albus Dumbledore." Harry said, and it stopped all three goblins in their tracks."A Pensieve would be useful, so you can see for yourself." The artifact was brought in and within minutes, the Goblin's were watching video gold about Albus Dumbledore the wizard who had meddled with Harry's life since he was born. They saw his treatment at the hands of the Dursleys. The events of the past year were most damning of all. The illegal use of Legillimency was only one thing and then, they watched the rebirth of Voldemort and the revelation of the charms and curses that he had used on Hermione.

Harry had braced himself for the emotional wrench, but the table grew warm beneath his grip. Only a mental slap on the wrist from Marinashka kept the table from bursting into flame. By the time, they had finished viewing everything the goblins knew that they had enough to build a solid case against the Headmaster of Hogwarts, "Multiple counts of unwanted mental intrusion, possibly mind rape. Endangerment of children is a given. Given who and what he has hired as a Defense Professor, and Severus Snape means we can add incompetence and dereliction in his duties as headmaster. You have enough here to get him sacked as headmaster of Hogwarts, impeached as Chief of the Wizengamot, and to generally make his life very uncomfortable, for a very long time. Do you intend to press charges Mr. Potter?"

"Not yet," said the grinning teenager, "How does an underage wizard, go about petitioning the ministry for full emancipation?" That was the final piece of the puzzle, and it all fell into place for Harry's legal team.

"Headmaster Dumbledore will not sign off on any documentation such as this," said Marinashka, and then she grinned, "You intend to force him to sign off, don't you?"

"Call a spade a spade," countered Harry, "I'm going to blackmail him and I'll happily bury him if he doesn't and then get what I want anyway."

"You play a dangerous game, Harry," cautioned Marinashka, "I heard that you met with the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. I echo my husband's curiosity when I ask: What are you planning?"

Harry sighed, knowing that he would have to answer that question eventually, he glanced at his watch and noticed the time, and "War is coming. The Ministry buries its collective head in the sand or up its ass… The Order of the Phoenix is a reactive force, not a proactive one. He hasn't revealed himself yet, but he will. And when he does, I want to be ready."

"You've done a Dumbledore, Harry," said his lawyer, "You've given nothing but vague generalities and even when you do answer the question, you answer in general vagueness."

"I learned," he deadpanned, "from the best." Another glance at his watch, "I presume you don't need me hanging around to complete the paperwork?"

"We can complete the administrative paperwork. I presume you'll want to move ahead as soon as possible?"

Harry shook his head, "In a day or two, I have some post to deal with, and a friend to catch up with, in the next few hours." It was true that Harry had been in touch with all of his friends since the summer holidays began, but he had not disclosed his location to any of them, "Constant Vigilance!" the grizzled, veteran Auror was right about more than a couple of things.

The presents were varied and thoughtful but he kept his thank you brief and to the point, as he opened the simple gifts. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing from Ron. However, what hurt was that he kept expecting to see another letter, another package, another something. He shook his head, grit his teeth and bit back the tears, "She's gone! She is Gone! She! Is! Gone!" he told himself, he knew it was true, but it did not make it any easier to bear. He rubbed his eyes and changed. He had an appointment with a lovely young woman he did not intend to keep waiting.

Having spent much of the past five or so weeks underground, Harry still looked like Harry instead of some sort of pasty white vampire creature. The Goblins had charmed the roofs of their underground caverns to follow a strange pattern of lightning that mimicked light and day. Harry was as tanned as he was at the end of the school year, perhaps a touch paler, but not noticeably so. "Madamoiselle Delacour, c'est un vrai plaisair… ok fine… Languages are not my strong suit." She laughed and she hugged him, giving him the traditional French greeting that Harry smoothly returned. "Coffee? Ice Cream? Or both?" he asked.

"Both," she replied.

He flicked the braid of hair behind his ear, "I hate to say this Fleur, but I can't go out there as myself…" She eyed the braid, and like everyone else who knew him, wondering what it was, what it meant.

"So you know what the media have been saying, ever since the… tournament ended…" she asked. He nodded. They both knew that the tournament had not ended, but had fallen apart. He assumed the same disguise he had worn at the beginning of the summer and Fleur asked, "And who might you be sir?" she noted, still had the braid of dark brown hair.

"Just call me Harry," he said, running a hand through the rest of his silver-streaked blond hair. She smiled and for the first time in a long time, Harry felt something, different. He checked his mental shields and found that they were in place. Offering her his arm, she accepted and they strode out of the bank and into the sunlight, "So coffee and ice cream. I know just the place."

They strode down the Alley, arm in arm, chatting about everything and nothing all at once. They window-shopped stopping for a moment at Quality Quidditch Supplies so Harry could admire the new Firebolt XL. They stopped at Scribbulus Writing Instruments to stock up when Harry noticed it: Fleur Delacour could not help who and what she was. Wherever she went, she would arouse feelings of desire and jealousy in both men and women. That and the fact that she had chosen to give some teenage boy her time and attention, no doubt surreptitiously yanked a number of chains. The stares that the pair got were a source of mild amusement for Harry, "If only they knew," he thought with a chuckle. It was not long before they arrived at their destination: Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor.

They ordered and Harry paid before they settled into a "U" shaped booth at the back. His wand sprang from the Auror-style holster on his forearm as he cast a series of charms, giving them privacy and a measure of invisibility from the wizarding public.

The conversation ranged across a variety of topics. Fleur had gotten an internship at the bank, "at the bottom of the ladder," and could work her way up if she wanted to. He gave her an edited version of his summer activities so far. However, they both knew that they were dancing around what they both really wanted to discuss. For both of them, it was a grenade with the pin already pulled. Finally, two ice creams and several cups of coffee later, she broached the topic in a deliberately roundabout fashion, "How have you been holding up Harry?"

"…about as well as I can expect," he said honestly, "I've been getting some sleep, more than a few hours a night the past two weeks. How about yourself?"

She shrugged, "I sleep well enough… but it's hard sometimes to…" she gestured, "carry on?" she said quietly. Harry had done his reading and research and knew that the loss of a loved one was perhaps the easiest way to send a Veela, even a part Veela on a downward spiral from which there was little chance of recovery, "some days, it is alright. I can laugh and smile, but on others…"

"You see, or feel the weight of the world come crashing down upon your shoulders?" he finished. She nodded, looking down at her feet, "You wonder why him, not you?" she nodded and looked at him, tears swimming in her eyes as a single tear rolled down her cheek. So close to her, a detached part of his mind noted that even in tears, she looked beautiful. "If you're going to cry, cry." He said softly, "don't hold back on my account." He had not shed a tear in weeks now. They came. However, he never let them fall. There was no place in him for weakness.

She leaned against him. When they had gotten closer, he was not sure, but he did what instinct demanded of him. He did the only thing he could and simply held her as she cried. The emotional outburst from her scratched at his mind shields but he could see the wave of misery that radiated out from her. The witches and wizards in the street suddenly stopped, as if hit with a stunner, looking around. They could feel her pain but did not know who, what or the why associated with it.

"It gets better, Fleur," said Harry quietly, almost whispering to her, "It gets better with time." She held on to him, tightening her grip, almost as if she did not want to let go as if scared he would disappear. "I told you once; I always have time, for friends."

"What I do not have time for, is becoming anything more than friends." He thought.

She calmed after a few minutes, and realized where she was, whom she was leaning against and how it made her feel, safe, protected, cared for. So many words to describe so few feelings. Cedric had been able to do the same for her, but here it was different. She tensed slightly and she had no doubt that Harry felt it as his hold upon her slackened, ever so slightly.

She pulled away from him, "Sorry…"

"Feel better?" She nodded. He glanced at his watch… it was a little after seven in the evening and gave her a moment to compose herself.

"Dinner," she said suddenly, "I'm having dinner. Would you care to join me?"

He smiled, "Do you have a place in mind?"

Dinner was a quiet affair at an Italian restaurant in Muggle London where the waitress nearly fell over herself to provide the best service ever. The food was excellent and Harry found the company the most delightful part of the evening, and he was sorry to see the bill arrive. They walked back, through the Leaky Cauldron, where they stopped for a nightcap before Harry walked her home: A small building at the far end of the Alley, "Thank you, Harry. I had a wonderful evening." The goodnight kiss was chaste and polite.

He smiled, "So did I," he hesitated, not sure what the next step would be. "Would you care to do this again sometime?" She raised eyebrow was indicator enough, "That so… did not come out right…" he said sheepishly.

"Never asked a woman out before?" she teased him lightly.

His smile went from relaxed to brittle, "Never had to... Only ever went out with Hermione," his smile was fixed, as he seemed to be staring at something only he could see, "We, fell together… never asked her out, only went on two dates. Never… went that far at all." He snapped out of his reverie, "I'll… owl you," he said, "Good night, Fleur."

He turned and walked away, leaving Fleur alone on the front step to contemplate that thousand-yard stare in solitude. "The mystery of Harry Potter," she realized, too late that she had dropped the metaphorical grenade.

Unbeknownst to the pair, after their nightcap, a figure detached itself from a shadowy corner of the Leaky Cauldron, and spoke to the proprietor for a few moments, "aye, said his name was Harry, Harry Granger something of other… Evander maybe? … No…. not seen him in about a month…. Her? Fleur Dela…Delacour. Yeah, that's it. Passes through mostly. Maybe stops for a cup of tea once in a while." The figure made its way into the Alley and had the barest glimpse of long blonde hair rounding a distant corner. She stayed well back and observed them from a safe distance, watching her enter the building, while he walked back to Gringotts.

The figure made her way back to the Leaky Cauldron. She tossed a handful of Floo powder into the flames, "Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Command."

From there, Nymphadora Tonks exited the building and apparated onto the front doorstep of no. 12, Grimmauld Place. She burst through the front door, tripping over the troll leg umbrella stand, silenced the shrieking portrait of Walburga Black, and burst in on an Order meeting in session, "Think I've found him!" she gasped, "Think I've found Harry Potter!"