Randall, Harry, and Viktor each held one of the black lengths of wood gingerly, careful not to touch it with bare flesh.

  "Harry, where did you find magical black birch?" Randall marveled. The wintergreen-dominant scent had filled the workshop, and the fragrance was a little dizzying. "I've seen normal black birch, of course, but this is far from normal. Too dark, for one thing. Black birchwood is only black in comparison to regular birch."

  Krum asked, "How are the tvigs so straight?" He was sighting along it. "And it looks as if they are all this vay. And the nodes, so regular spaced. It is almost disturbink."

  Harry shook his head. "Guys, I have no idea. I remember asking Ginny to quietly spread word in the Quidditch community that I was looking for new types of wood to get twigs from. I did ask her to limit it to people and organizations she trusted implicitly. At the Spider Glen Skirmish, I noticed the added power and performance Nienna got from her Comet 520 by upgrading to birch twigs..."

  "But the Firebolt already has birch twigs standard," Randall said.

  Harry nodded. "So, I thought maybe another wood might, you know, work better. Something different, that maybe hadn't been tried, or had been dismissed for an unconnected reason."

  "And there is nothink else in the box?' Viktor gave it a curious glance.

  "Mebbe under th' sack?" Randall suggested.

  "Worth taking a look," Harry agreed. "How should we go about it, Spud?"

  Randall considered a moment, then said, "Both gloves on. Viktor, you and I will grab the slack in the material at the top of the sack. Harry, you keep the box steady. At my word, Viktor, we go straight up, let Harry get out from under, then straight back down and set the sack on the table."

  Both men nodded acknowledgement. The evolution was carried out without incident.

  "There is an envelope!" Harry said. "Big one. About what Muggles would call an A4."

  He took it out of the box, took a seat, and opened it.

  The others left him to it, while they kept examining the strangely magical twigs. After a few minutes, he got up, tapped the loose pages on the workbench to straighten them, and put them back in the envelope.

  Joining them by the sack of twigs, he shook his head.

  "Guys," he said. "The mysteries keep piling up. The letter is from a woman named Eulalia Sizemore Gibson. She's a Cherokee/Melungeon magic user."

  "Magic user?" asked Randall.

  "In both those cultures, the word 'witch' has very negative connotations, worse than usual. She goes by 'Granny Woman' or 'Medicine Woman.' She was approached by the Cherokee Fair Folk, the Moon-Eyed People. They are very secretive, but they have connections all through the magical folk of North America. They often serve as intermediaries in the conflicts of less peaceful peoples."

  "Acting in their role as go-betweens, the Fair Folk had been asked to use their human contacts to pass these twigs along to, well, me. The third party that sent them were attempting to find three of their members. They were bound over to dishonorable service by a leader corrupted by Dark Magic. They want me to find them in my role as Magical Law Enforcement, and return them to their families. Their Seer had a vision, in which I was the one who could find them and free them, and I would need these. They also come with a, I don't know what to call it... A warning? An aphorism?"

  "Vhich is...?" Viktor raised an eyebrow.

  Harry looked into the sack, again. "These are Black Birch twigs. But they have also been ritually treated with dye made from the Black Oak. That's two of the Seven Sacred Trees venerated by many indigenous people in North America, ('Ah!' said Randall, eyes widening), and, as far as I know, a unique combination."

  "The message," prompted Victor.

  Harry shrugged. "Black on Black for the Scion of Black. The Skein and the Twin will find Him."

  ***

  "But I want to help!" Harry said mulishly.

  Randall lowered his head and glared up at Harry from under his eyebrows.

  "Listen to me, young Harry Potter," he said through clenched teeth, poking Harry in the chest. "Even if you weren't half-dead with exhaustion, you touching any of my tools will only get you full-dead! You are useless to me. No, I go further. You are an active impediment to my ability to concentrate and work! So get your Harry ass in that apartment and... Get. Some. Sleep!"

  As he spoke, he kept poking Harry in the chest at every emphasis point, backing him through the internal door to the apartment. Once he had Harry fully inside, the finger finally lifted, only to point at a comfy-looking chair.

  "Absalom there will make you a nice bed." The chair obligingly began folding out. And out. The cushioned seat came up, rotated to show a white side, and expanded to become a mattress complete with bed clothes, a duvet, and pillows. It actually ended up larger than Harry and Ginny's bed at home.

  "Now follow the example of your smarter friend over there, kip down, and... Go. To. Sleep!"

  He kept his glare fixed on Harry as he walked to the kitchenette, picked up his gently steaming tea urn and the toaster, and started out the door. Harry looked over at Viktor in the actual bed, laid out like a dead man, and fast asleep. He even had his hands folded peacefully on his chest.

  "But..." he asked weakly. "Where are you going to sleep?"

  Randall stopped. He turned slightly at the waist to regard Harry.

  Uh-oh, thought Harry. There's that look again.

  The door closed without being touched. It did not slam, but there was a certain insolence in the way the lock engaged with an almost ostentatious CLICK!

  Out from under the baleful glare of the small elderly man, Harry glowered at the door. Or, as Ginny would have put it, pouted. Then, she would usually point out that none of their children, for all their behavior issues, ever pouted. Their responses ranged from shouting matches to cold, calculating hostility. But no pouting.

  Harry still seethed. Rationally, he knew he was wrong. But he also knew he wasn't, currently, rational.

  Damned if I'm going to let him have the last word, he thought, ignoring the fact that Randall hadn't. He reached for the doorknob.

  Which promptly popped like a bubble, leaving no trace of its former presence. He reached to pry at the crack of the door.

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  Which promptly, and literally, shocked the snot out of him. He wiped at his face with the sleeve of his robes.

  Whereupon the coat rack by the door, (the same model he had at 12 Grimmauld Place), grabbed him roughly by one shoulder, spun him, and whisked the robes off him in one smooth move. It then gave him a sharp shove. He stumbled, windmilling his arms, only to have Absalom scoot forward and catch him as he fell.

  Somehow, he ended up under the duvet. Equally somehow, his shoes and socks were off. Harry struggled to sit up, but the duvet gently pushed him back down. It tucked itself around him, not too snug. The bed started swaying, almost imperceptibly, side to side.

  Harry tried to snap, "Don't coddle me!" But the moment his mouth opened, it kept on going, growing into a jaw-crackling, ear-popping yawn. By the time that was over, he had forgotten what he was going to say. As his mouth closed, so did his eyes.

  ***

  As his eyes opened, so did the door leading to the small bath. He stared at it stupidly for a moment, then his body quietly suggested it would be a good idea to start heading that way. Having long experience of what happened when he ignored such suggestions, he folded the duvet back and sat up, putting his feet on the floor. He was only mildly surprised to find he was only wearing his pants.

  After all, I do live in a World of Magic, he thought cheerfully.

  He was a little more surprised at the clothes he found in the bathroom. Not only were his cleaned Bulgarian Quidditch robes hanging there, but also his Auror Dress Blacks and matching robes. There were also fresh pants and socks. Harry grinned. Ablutions Ahoy!

  A few minutes later, clean and refreshed, he came out. His bed had already reverted to chair form.

  "Thanks, Absalom," Harry said sincerely. "I haven't slept that well in quite a while!"

  The chair reclined temptingly, producing a plush little ottoman. Harry laughed out loud.

  "Maybe some other time," he said "Thanks again!"

  He noted Krum was already up and out, as he turned to face the door out to the shop area. It regarded him impassively.

  Harry ducked his head, looking embarrassed. "Yeah, I know. That was out of line. I apologize, sincerely. No excuses." Maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed some of the stiffness had eased.

  "So," Harry said tentatively. "We cool?"

  After only the shortest pause the door, quite graciously, swung open. Then, when he was almost through, it suddenly swung in and goosed him with its doorknob.

  Harry smothered a squawk, as he hopped forward. He turned and gave the door a half-amused, half-exasperated glare. The doorknob on this side promptly popped.

  Harry turned back and took in the scene in front of him. He was suddenly glad the noise he had almost made got smothered at birth.

  The work was being done with an air of intensity. Randall and Erik were sitting across from each other. Their heads were bent over the brush of the broom on the low bench between them. They were alternating. Randall would cast a spell on the base of the twig he was holding, and position it carefully. Holding it in place with one hand, he would look to Eric, who had just cast his spell. Randall would flick a finger to indicate a precise spot. He then went back to his, and started bending and smoothing the twig until it lay precisely alongside the others already placed.

  The third worker must be doing something to make the twigs pliable. Harry looked to see how.

  The tea urn was pouring out an endless stream of hot water into a catchment bowl that never overflowed. It had to be much hotter than needed to make tea, the steam was just boiling off it. The scalding cloud rose about two inches, made a right turn, and then wafted off toward a slightly open window.

  Harry marveled at how precise the movements being made were. Right hand holding the end of the twig, it was sidled into the boiling stream, starting about three inches above the base. From that point, it was run under the water to about the midpoint, the base sliding smoothly over the back of the left hand. It went back and forth four times, being gently, slowly twirled as well. After the fourth pass, it came out of the stream and was handed to the right, to be taken by the hand just reaching for it.

  It must be the small hands that make him so precise, Harry thought. And those are very small hands.

  His gaze wandered up to the face of the worker, and his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. It started to wander around, looking for an exit.

  There was the quietest 'ahem' Harry had ever heard. He looked to the side to see Dudley in the door frame leading into the hallway. It might be more accurate to say he was wearing the door frame.

  Then Harry saw the open, pleasant expression on Dudley's face. His heart jumped up into the back of his throat. That was much better. Easier access to the exit, and the sight lines were excellent.

  Dudley shook his head, almost microscopically. To the left. To the right. And center.

  Harry nodded acknowledgement, just as microscopically. Down. Up. Center.

  Krum was standing by Dudley, wearing the biggest smile Harry had ever seen on him.

  Harry gradually unfroze, and quietly sidled over to stand by Krum. The three men watched in silence.

  Randall finally spoke. "James, lad, make that the last one for now. Shop foreman calls a break."

  "Aye, sor," said James, sounding more like Erik than Erik did. He handed the last twig to Randall.

  Randall spoke as he placed it. "One more turn, fill in those last two lines, and this part is done. Good work, lads."

  James carefully patted the urn on the side with his gloved hand. "He means you, too, Ian. Break time. Shut it down."

  The water stopped, but Ian had to whistle merrily for a few moments before he cleared out all the steam.

  James carefully slid back the stool before standing. He started straightening up his workstation, and took a chamois to clear some condensation from Ian's surface. Only then did he take off his magic-proof gloves.

  Harry walked up behind him, and said, "Great work, James!"

  His son whirled, delight written all over his face. "Dad!"

  Harry was gripped around the waist forcefully enough to squeeze the breath out of him.

  "Easy on, James," he said, gasping a little. He patted the boy on the shoulder. It felt odd, for some reason. "Have you been growing or something? It's only been two weeks!"

  James shrugged. "Maybe sideways. Auntie Em feeds us a treat!" His voice was still muffled against Harry's midsection. "Hey, Dad?"

  "Yes?"

  James tilted his head back to look up at Harry's face. "How come you're wearing two sets of robes?"

  Harry laughed. "Nothing gets past you! It's part of an evil, vicious, sneaky plan that your Uncle Ron, your Mom, and I are going to put over on some bad guys. I can't tell you about it until the case is over, but it should work a treat."

  James gave him the classic Weasley Evil Grin. (Patent Pending. All rights Reserved. Do Not Copy and Paste. ?2014 - Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes). Then his face got serious.

  "I'm sorry I didn't hear you come in. You know how it is when you get into the zone."

  "Yeah, I do, "Harry said. How in the Heck do YOU? "Does that mean you haven't met Viktor, yet?"

  "Who?" asked James, loosening his bear hug, and looking where Harry was indicating. He froze.

  Harry finished disengaging himself, leaving James half-hugging thin, wintergreen-scented air. He looked like he was afraid he might startle Krum, and he would bolt.

  Krum straightened up from where he had been leaning on the wall, keeping a serious face, though Harry could tell he wanted to smile. He started walking over. James eyes rolled up, staying fixed on Viktor's face.

  Harry said, formally, "Viktor Krum, I would like you to meet my eldest son, James Sirius Potter. James, Viktor. You should probably call him Mr. Krum."

  "Nonsense!" Krum said. "Nefer in my life haf I heard such nonsense!" He reached out and took one of James still airbourne hands. "James, I haf heard much of you from your mother and your father, and now..." Viktor looked around the neat-as-a-pin shop. "Now I don't belief a vord of it."

  James' face split in a delighted grin. His other hand came around slowly to grasp Viktor's hand, as well. He started pumping it up and down slowly, gradually building speed. He opened his mouth.

  "UNCLE DUUUUUUD!" His shout took both Harry and Viktor aback.

  Dudley said, "Right here, James."

  "Get Irie," James started babbling. "Get Irie up here! Get Irie up here, RIGHT NOW!"

  "Viktor and I went downstairs earlier," Dudley grinned. "She took it a little better than you. Not much, but a little. Harmonia took her over to Diagon Alley to get some swag for Viktor to sign."

  "Brilliant! Irie's brilliant, too," he confided to Krum in what was not quite a shout. "I don't mean she's just brilliant awesome, she's brilliant smart, too. And she's my cousin. And my best friend. And..."

  "James?" Harry interrupted.

  "Yes, Dad?" James said, without ever looking away from Krum.

  "How long do you suppose it has been since the last time you blinked?"

  "Blinked?"

  "Yes. Blinked."

  "I... I don't know." James looked at Harry. "Why?"

  "It's been a little over two minutes. Blink for me, James."

  "Blink?"

  "Yes. Blink. Now."

  James, remarkably, did what he was told. (Harry could get used to this). He closed his eyes, flinched, and opened them again.

  "Ow," he said mildly. "That felt creepy."

  Harry nodded. "That's what happens when you let your eyeballs dry out."

  "Oh," James nodded as well. "I don't like that."

  "Then blink."

  "Okay."

  "No, I mean, blink. Again."

  "Oh."

  Viktor took pity. "James, vhy don't ve go downstairs. I haf not yet met all your co-vorkers."

  James brightened even further. "Oh! I can introduce you, Mr. Krum! I know everybody..."

  "Please to call me Victor." Krum led the way out of the shop, James still grasping one of Viktor's hands with both of his.

  "Okay, Viktor! Did you meet Erik yet? He was here but sometimes he doesn't notice things when he's working real hard..."

  "James?"

  "Yes, Viktor?"

  "Blink."