6: The Incorrigibles

Disclaimer: You're barmier that I am if you think I own this stuff. Even I don't think I'm J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 6: The Incorrigibles

---

Uh-oh.

Severus instinctively fell back on the first rule in the unwritten Universal Code of Double Agents (and incidentally, of men the world over): When cornered... stall.

"What about Thursday, my love?"

"Stalling isn't going to help you, Severus Snape."

Oh, crap. Not only was Hermione apparently aware, at least on an instinctive level, of the playbook...she was using both his names. One of the first things every human being learns is that unless they're graduating, getting married, or being awarded an Order of Merlin, being addressed by all of one's names means absolutely nothing good.

This goes double for males being addressed by females.

"I could have sworn we decided we weren't going to ask each other about this."

"That was before former featured reporter and current major pain in the neck of the universe Rita Skeeter apparently wrote a piece on your little expedition Thursday night." He grabbed for the paper almost exactly as she thrust it in his direction. "I'm guessing that, as per usual, she's made up most of it and distorted the remainder. But the timing is a little too convenient for her to have Summoned it from thin air."

Snape could feel his eyebrows doing all sorts of gymnastics as each new absurdity met his eyes. "Well... she spelled 'Amsterdam' correctly."

"Severus..."

"What am I supposed to say about this? Yes, in a moment of either madness or extraordinarily poor judgment, I actually believed that Draco had nothing more in mind than to help me purchase potions ingredients that are quite difficult to obtain locally. Believe me, the moment passed quickly...but by then, we were already arguing on a street corner in Amsterdam with reservations waiting. It was either listen to him whine until I could hex him somewhere not in public view and make good my escape, or acquire the ingredients with the comparatively minor inconvenience of having to spend an hour in the establishment in question, at his expense."

"So, Remus wasn't there?"

He wondered when those pretty little pools of chocolate that used to be Hermione's eyes had turned into cold, murky diamonds. I could have been born female and been spared the need to learn Legilimency, he thought.

"By a vast, disgustingly unfortunate coincidence, your two most delightful friends had the brilliant idea to bring Lupin to the exact same establishment as Draco had selected for our misguided excursion...which supports my hypothesis that had those three dunderheads somehow become friends during their tenure at Hogwarts, the school would no longer stand."

Hermione snorted. He would rather she didn't do that. It was not a flattering sound for her at all. Of course, his opinion may have been influenced by the fact that she seemed to produce it primarily in response to something he had done or was alleged to have done. "Nice try, but you aren't distracting me with humor."

"Who's joking?"

"Assault on a prostitute? Conspiring with leprechauns? Care to elaborate upon the acorns from which she grew those particular oaks?"

Snape sighed. "Your idiot friend Weasley had a few too many and made a pass at a waitress. No one was assaulted. The club's security personnel overreacted, and a leprechaun gold shower came out of nowhere, allowing us to leave the club without further repercussions."

"Wait... There really was leprechaun gold? And Ron and Harry were there... but that didn't find its way into the article?" Hermione's expression at trying to wrap her mind around the juxtaposition of leprechauns, the wizards in question, and a gentlemen's club would have been amusing if the whole situation weren't so damned uncomfortable.

"That is the one detail that puzzles me more than the fact that someone was fool enough to print this. She couldn't have been present... I can't imagine her being able to identify Lupin and myself and somehow managing to miss everyone else. Potter used his little Auror tricks to make sure they weren't readily recognizable, but if you knew who to look for, it was possible to spot him. And Draco made no attempt to disguise himself."

Confused or not, Hermione still looked mad enough to spit tacks. "I should have turned her in to the authorities when I had her in a jar."

Upon hearing that apparent non-sequitur, Severus' concern shifted from the fate of his hide to the state of his beloved's mind. "Care to explain that, my love?"

As succinctly as possibly, Hermione outlined her capture of Rita Skeeter, unregistered Animagus.

"Hey, Moto! Get your arse in here...I think your mystery bug might have something to do with this." Reggie materialized on the seat of one of the kitchen chairs, popping her head over the edge of the table and yelling for all she was worth.

Snape glared tiredly at the Jarvey (or, as he liked to think of her, the living embodiment of the essence of vexation). There was no point putting any teeth in it. It was utterly wasted on her. "How long have you been lurking there?"

"You mean, watching you try to squirm your way out of this? Maybe ten minutes. Figured you deserved something like this for being fuckwitted enough to wander off with the little blond pain in the arse."

Snape wasn't sure which was more irksome... the fact that Reggie had been enjoying his discomfort, or the fact that he hadn't thought to call upon the paragon of naïve earnestness that was her Apprentice to confirm his story immediately.

One naïvely earnest Apprentice, coming right up. "Here, Reggie-san! Is something the matter? Was I remiss in my actions regarding the small insect at the dining establishment?"

"Just give Hermione and Snarky your report on the Thursday night mission."

Any relief Snape might have felt at having his blamelessness in the affair confirmed was negated when Motoyoshi blithely recounted ALL of the events of Thursday's adventure. Including their sojourn with the authorities in Barcelona...and his deliverance from said situation. Complete with all pertinent names.

It wouldn't have been so bad if Hermione had been upset. Angry even. Perhaps mad enough to do wandless magic, thus necessitating 'Reparos' for assorted cracked dishes. But having her giggle about it was more than a man should have to stand.

Severus slapped the newspaper down on the kitchen table and gathered his injured dignity about him. "At least now I know what to do the next time you need cheering up. All it takes to restore your good humor is having me risk my neck riding a Charmed doormat across half of Europe. In very poor company, I might add."

Hermione shook her head at him, her expression affectionate rather than otherwise, despite the residual giggles. However, he did not deign to hope that all was well. He was quite through with optimism for at least a week.

Sure enough...she looked at the article again and sobered up a bit. "It seems she got rather scarily near the truth in places. Do you think there's anything to the bit about 'inquiries being made at the Ministry of Magic'?"

Snape was about to dismiss the notion when an awful thought crossed his mind. "Damned Potter! He probably had an attack of guilt or some such and started poking around to make certain we didn't damage anything at the club, or something equally asinine."

"Assuming it's true that there's an investigation, what on earth would possess you to think Harry was involved?"

"It's always him! Ever since he entered my classroom as a miserable little ball-ache, his grubby fingerprints have been somewhere on each lump of misery that falls into my life!"

"You know, the parallels between your negative opinions of each other are quite eerie at times."

That deserved a very black look indeed, and Snape did not hesitate to provide one.

Hermione reciprocated the expression wholeheartedly. "I'm going to call him at work and prove it to you!"

Severus took the opportunity to fume inwardly at the entire concept of mobile phones. He knew better than to fume outwardly. They'd been down this lane any number of times, and the phone was always still there at the end of it. She fiddled with something that ensured the volume would be loud enough for him to hear, and began pushing the infinitesimal buttons.

"Harry, I hope I'm not interrupting anything. Do you have a minute?"

"For you, absolutely. Is anything the matter?"

"Rather... have you seen the Daily Prophet this morning?"

"No. I've never had an occasion to wrap fish while at work."

"Harry, this is serious. Could you dig up a copy and have a look at the third gossip item from the bottom, page five?"

There was a pause, and then some rustling.

"Got it yet?"

"Yes."

When he failed to elaborate, she pressed on. "Well? Is she right about there being an inquiry?"

"Let me be quite clear on this point. One: I refuse to admit knowing anything about last Thursday. Two: I would prefer to deny any and all knowledge of all Thursdays for the foreseeable future. Finally, assuming last Thursday ever happened, I would be watching all incoming messages from law enforcement agencies in Amsterdam, Barcelona, and all points in between to make certain I personally filed all such messages in the appropriate location. I would do so for at least a month, just to be on the safe side."

"Then I'm safe in assuming no Aurors are investigating any of this?"

"Very, very safe."

"Thanks, Harry."

They said their goodbyes and she ended the call. Her expression as she turned to Snape was the facial equivalent of 'I told you so' in three-foot-high neon letters. He thinned his lips to near-invisibility and warned her, "Don't say it."

Hermione affected a blankly innocent expression. "I didn't realize I was speaking."

Snape wished, very briefly, for his good old days of teaching. At least his scowls had accomplished something back then, besides exacerbating his wrinkles. "Before you decided to become needlessly alarmed, we had assumed that the 'inquiry' reference was sheer invention."

"This from the man who went into a needless swearing fit from some sort of...of Harry-paranoia."

He really wanted to respond to that in kind. But Reggie was bouncing up and down on the kitchen table in apparent agitation, making faces at him around Hermione's shoulder. Unless he was very much mistaken, the gist of her non-verbal tirade was, 'You'd bloody well better diffuse this before you have the row to end all rows, and can't exchange wedding vows because you aren't speaking to each other!'

Well, that interpretation probably left out several 'fucks,' 'craps,' and the odd 'hell and damn.' But he had gotten the beast's point.

"No," he contradicted Hermione, coming near enough to slide his long fingers along her jaw line, past her ears, and into her hair, "this from the man who is insanely, impossibly in love with you, and doesn't care to spend what should be our wedding day answering inane questions under Veritaserum, or something equally disagreeable."

A distinctly Jarvey-sized thud, reverberating with relief, was just audible from somewhere behind Hermione as she responded. "Exactly why I was alarmed," she said against his lips. Nothing else was said for quite some time.

They took a slight breathing break. "Then it certainly wasn't needless alarm. I can't imagine a more distressing prospect than not being able to marry you." The slight creak and thump of the kitchen door opening and shutting implied they were now alone. Not one to waste the moment, Severus lifted Hermione on to the kitchen table.

"I thought you wanted breakfast, love."

'Randy Severus' was doing an internal happy dance. Hermione would only say that in such a sultry tone of voice if she fully intended to give him the perfect opening for naughty innuendo...and the opportunity to make good on it.

"I have every intention of eating on this table right now, my dear Hermione."

Evidently the first course would be tongue, because Hermione had taken quite forceful possession of his mouth again, with no apparent intention of relinquishing it any time soon. When she finally did, it was to lay claim to his ear. "I wonder why she put in that bit about an inquiry by the Ministry. Just to get up Harry's nose, I expect."

He growled at her slightly and attacked her neck in retribution. "I thought we had an agreement on a list of things...and people...we're not supposed to mention at times like this?"

"Sorry, love. I'm just so relieved it wasn't anything that might be trouble for you. For us."

Few things made Severus feel more magnanimous than Hermione's riotous curls caressing his face while her very deliberate, delicate fingers did likewise to the rest of him. He was even moved to make an oblique sort of apology. "It was silly of me to think so. After all, any investigation into an incident concerning leprechauns and a werewolf would be handled by that new department that monitors dangerous magical beings."

In later years, Severus would be tempted to use this incident as evidence that they would be better off if he never apologized for anything, however indirectly. He wisely refrained from doing so, instead opting to wish he had been wise enough to remain silent on that occasion. Of course, the most shocking thing about the incident was how he had forgotten the cardinal rule of his days as a spy reporting to Voldemort: never say more than is absolutely necessary.

Hermione popped up from the table, leaving Severus to flop rather forlornly on one elbow, contemplating the loss of her warm snuggly-ness.

"Why didn't I think of that before? She probably brought her nasty insinuations to Department for International Monitoring of Potentially Dangerous Magical Beings. That means Percy would be involved, and of all the self-righteous, career-obsessed, bull-headed, rabid bureaucrats that might get his hands on this information, he might stoop so low as to persecute poor Remus for publicity!"

It was both disheartening and a little insulting that she seemed so able to go from 'let's have each other for breakfast' to 'poor Remus' in absolutely nothing flat.

"You're interrupting what promised to be profoundly torrid sex to whinge about the bloody werewolf and his happiness?" Snape was not whining. Malfoys whined. Snapes, conversely, expressed the profound injustice of their current situation in the most evocative tone possible.

"What sort of nasty, petty, crude, childish thing to say is THAT?"

"Offhand, I'd say it's the entirely justified complaint of a very hungry man whose breakfast is currently pacing around the room, fretting about another man's ability to get married."

"Your breakfast, indeed! If you keep up these insensitive remarks, you may very well need to start fretting about your chances of getting married!"

Skittering sounds and wet slapping sounds heralded the arrival of the Fairy God-Creatures. The much-abused kitchen door smacked the adjoining wall as silver Jarvey and greenish Kappa entered, wreathed in a decidedly bluish cloud.

"Chingado-fucked-a-shit-arsed-puta-stupidities, I fucking bleeding KNEW I shouldn't-a-hell-a-sonofa-damned-fucked-bitch have left you two wanking-addled-arses alone!"

Reggie was normally intelligible, even when swearing up a storm. She had apparently reached the stage of agitation at which coherency was impossible.

"The hell you shouldn't have! I'm not about to have it off in front of a talking dust rag and her accompanying sodden rag mop."

"The likelihood of that just dropped to..."

"Parrense! Can you two hear each other? 'Cause it's fucksure that everyone within five miles who has one working eardrum can! You're getting married in FIVE DAYS. Remember how hard you worked to get to this point? Remember how hard I worked to get you to this point?" The Jarvey didn't pause long enough to draw breath, much less prompt a reply. "Listen to your godmum, kiddies. The sooner you two kiss and make up (and whatever else you do towards that end, keep it bloody well to yourselves), the better! Let Moto and me take care of this Skeeter bitch and this Percy bastard, whoever they are. That way, you two don't have to worry about a goddamn thing."

"What do you mean, 'take care of'?" Severus couldn't fathom why Hermione sounded apprehensive. Hadn't she contemplated homicide...or at least, insecticide...just a few minutes earlier?

Either Reggie didn't hear her goddaughter or she elected to ignore her. "Moto! Get your tutu, we're on the clock!"

"Hai! Immediately, Reggie-san!"

The familiar pink tulle appeared...in Motoyoshi's case, hanging limp and translucent over his little loincloth, accessorized with copious amounts of fetid water.

"Chinga, Mijo, you need to learn to call your tutu without dragging it through a chuffing swamp first."

"Apologies, Reggie-san!"

"Moto and I aren't going to rest until we sort anyone who might stand in the way of your wedding!" Addressing the Kappa, she asked, "Ready to go invisible, kid?"

"Invisible now, Reggie-san! Where are we going?"

"Ministry of Magic. Always square your shite with the law first. Take it from someone who knows."

As the unlikely duo vanished, Snape contemplated the cruel sense of humor pervading the universe. How else to explain how his fate always seemed to hinge on the will of beings like barmy old men with candy fetishes, bespectacled brats with perpetually bad hair, and foul-mouthed Fairy God-Jarveys whose smelly little apprentices dripped swamp water all over his kitchen floor?

---

Reggie knew that she had a serious problem on her paws the instant she entered the appropriate office. There were wizards and witches snoring gently at desks so neat they would meet Pip's approval, and angry voices were issuing from behind the dividing wall. Apparently the staff's mid-morning siesta was involuntary, and the person or persons responsible were getting an earful about it.

Motoyoshi looked towards the source of the sound. "Reggie-san, I am willing to bet a month's supply of matcha that the one called Percy is there."

"You're learning, Moto. The way our luck runs, that's exactly where he'll be." Still invisible, they slipped around the partially open door.

"I assume this isn't a social visit, since you saw fit to assault my staff." This came from the tall redhead standing behind the desk, his wand subtly at the ready and his posture tense. According to the nameplate on the desk, this was the wizard they were looking for. Oh, goody.

"Well spotted, Lord Muck," said one of the identical redheads on the other side of the desk. The pair began to drift apart from each other, leaving their opponent with no clear target and forcing his attention to jump between them as they bounced remarks back and forth like ping-pong balls. Reggie twigged that these blokes were probably the infamous Weasley twins, whose exploits had a way of getting into break room conversations even at the headquarters of the International Fellowship of Fairy Godmothers and Related Do-Gooding Beings. For some reason, it tended to happen when Reggie was having a quiet week in terms of assignments. Funny, that.

"This is strictly business. We have an appointment to kick ten bells out of you for collaborating with the enemy," the other added, tossing down the offending issue of the Daily Prophet.

Percy made a dismissive gesture towards the paper. "I've seen that utter rubbish, and I'd like to strangle the woman!"

"Likely story, from the man who's been grasping at every shred of attention he could manage since school." Reggie studied the speaker, wondering which twin was which. They should really come with labels, or something.

"Considering your lack of subtlety, brothers, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that the fact that she did not name me, or my department, escaped your notice. A fact for which I am grateful, since she came in here with a story suited to 'The Quibbler.' It wasn't the sort of attention my department needed."

"So, she was here." Hmm. That one had a slightly different quality to his voice than the other, at least to a Jarvey's sensitive ears. If she knew their names, she might be able to tell them apart without sniffing them. For reasons beyond her understanding, humans usually found that objectionable.

"Yes, annoying my staff and wasting my time." Percy's expression added, 'Rather like you two,' to that statement. "In order to get rid of her as quickly as possible, I said I would make a few private inquiries IF I had the time. I certainly never agreed to contribute to one of her tawdry little stories. As far as I can tell, there IS no story!"

"Then what do you call this?"

"Sheer invention on her part."

Tension was building, and it was obvious that one of the three palmed wands would be put into action at any moment.

"Reggie, do something," Moto whispered.

"Why? Maybe the two stubby prats will sort the prat with glasses and get some useful information out of him. Save us some trouble," Reggie whispered back.

"But that would be unethical! Now that we are involved, it is our responsibility to see that no harm comes to anyone here!"

Eventually, Reggie admitted that she probably could have responded to the situation better. However, Moto was right, and one of the twins twitched just then, and it all came out for the best, in the end. At least, as she successfully argued in her eventual report, the whole series of events had given Moto a hell of a lot of practical experience. "Fuck it! Go ahead, stop 'em."

Moto jabbed his hishaku urgently into the air, performing the first spell he could think of.

Reggie surveyed the results with a sigh. All three human occupants of the room were now stuck to the walls like butterflies pinned to a board, angrily accusing each other of casting the spell that left them so.

"Apologies, Reggie-san," Moto said miserably. He bowed more deeply than usual, resulting in the total loss of the water from the top of his head...a distraction and drain on his powers so profound that he became visible.

The sight of a gasping Kappa in a dripping pink tutu writhing on the office rug effectively put a stop to the yelling match between the humans. By the time Reggie had helped Moto sit up and replenish the water in his head, all eyes were on the pair.

"Well, kid... you definitely kept them from a serious arse-kicking. I have no idea in hell who's going to save us from the same, once Mab gets wind of this. But if we get the Order of the Boot for this mission, at least it'll be for acting on principle."

Raising her voice, she addressed their audience. "Sorry for the inconvenience, wankers...but there's no way around it. Be back in a bit to help you down." She shut their mouths for good measure before hustling Moto out of the room for a quick conference. No use having their yelling wake the rest of the office.

"Apologies..."

"For fuck's sake, Moto, don't bow again! Let me think." She began pacing in a rapid circuit in front of her miserable Apprentice. "Bloody, fucking hell... Wiping their memories, temporary restraint... They're not very good solutions, and we need permission to do either of those, anyway. Fuck!"

Motoyoshi sniffed.

Reggie circled, nibbled thoughtfully at her own tail, and circled again. "Nothing for it, mijo. I'm going to have to report to the Unusual Situations Office."

"I am sorry, O-Reggie-san. I will take full responsibility for this disaster and turn in my tutu."

She shook her head at her Apprentice, expression hardening as her eyes glinted dangerously with some coalescing idea. "Like hell you will. This isn't a disaster, not by half. I'm going all the way to the top and summoning that stuffy bastard Pip. Just let me do the talking, okay? I think I've got a plan."

When Reggie returned with Pip, he didn't look as if he were impressed. He didn't sound as if he were impressed, either, resuming their conversation where it had apparently left off when she retrieved him from the office.

"Puck's Truss! You want to combine your crackpot Apprentice, the Weasley twins, and you? Are you planning a wedding or orchestrating Armageddon?" Pip asked, completely aghast. "Could there possibly be a more dangerous, needlessly complicated way to aid your godchild?"

"Look, it's just for few days. They'll be able to activate and dispel a glamour I set up for them, and use a couple of other piddling spells. In an emergency, I might give them the ability to 'poof' for convenience's sake. It's not like I'm granting them access to major Transfigurations or Good Will Punch."

Pip remained nonplussed. "I have one word for you, Fletcher: jobsworth."

"It's either that or major memory modification and a good week's worth of physical restraint...'cause sure as shite they're going to go after their brother again once they run across that copy of the Daily Prophet or talk to anyone who's read it. How the hell do you think we got into this mess? Motoyoshi saw a real danger of serious physical harm and intervened as best he could! The rest was an unavoidable accident."

Not for the first time, Reggie wished everyone in the world saw things as clearly and sensibly as she did. After all, how the fuck do you make an omelet without breaking a few eggs? Or get your godchild their heart's desire without damaging a little plumbing? Or something of that nature. It was messy, that was all she knew.

"Assuming I do agree with this idea...an awfully big assumption...what are you going to do about the other witness? And you still haven't adequately explained why you need these wizards to deal with Rita Skeeter. I admit, from what you told me at the office, she sounds reprehensible and ought to be taught a lesson. But I have serious reservations as to your teaching methods."

"I figured you could get through to Percy, or as a last resort, sort him with a minor memory wipe," Fletcher said.

"How generous of you."

The Jarvey answered with a pained expression. "We're not going to injure anybody. I'm invoking the 'restraint to prevent harm' clause on the Skeeter puta. Restraint only...nothing violent. With humans involved, we won't need to use so much heavy magical shite. We're actually less likely to be discovered. So, what do you say?"

"I'd say 'counterintuitive' doesn't begin to describe your idea of subtlety." Pip sighed. "All right, Fletcher. You can have your deputies. But there will be conditions."

"It figures." Reggie bit off the rest of her comments and shuffled her paws. She was feeling the strain, not just from the stressful situation, but from being forced to cut down on her customary profanity levels in front of a supervisor.

"First, the wizards are under your jurisdiction at all times. You will be responsible for rationing out exactly as much of our magic as is needed for their tasks, for as long as it takes to accomplish those tasks, and no more. You will also be responsible for preventing them from misusing that power, without doing them any harm.

"Second, you are not permitted to damage the witch Skeeter. You may restrain her only as long as is necessary to prevent harm to your charges.

"Finally... Motoyoshi, clean that disgrace of a tutu. I know starch is probably too much to expect, but there is no way you are making Journeyman wearing a garment that smells like Kelpie piss."

"Hai, O-Pip-san." Moto managed to bow without spilling a suicidal amount of water from his head this time.

---

Pip would never admit it aloud, but Fletcher had definitely gotten one thing right: rendering Percy and the twins speechless. Explaining the situation to them was greatly facilitated by the fact that none of them could interrupt, argue, or express disbelief. He did the talking; it would not reflect well on the service to have Fletcher swear her way through the recitation of the wizards' limited options.

"I will now return your powers of speech, gentlemen. I suggest you use them wisely. Although we cannot, as sworn members of the Fellowship, ever do harm to another living being, we are under no obligation to stand by while you harm others. Neither are we constrained to stand idly by while you endanger the confidentiality of our organization. Our countermeasures with regards to such issues are nonviolent...but very thorough."

Percy was first to comment. "This sounds remarkably like something my department should be looking into. I daresay we should have a discussion. How an apparent pixie, Kappa, and Jarvey...of all creatures...have powers like yours is a matter of concern."

"Our powers are a matter of caring for others, to the point where it manifests as strong magic. I am willing to explain this to you in greater depth, but I first need your assurance that you will not attempt violence on anyone in this room, nor interfere with this Fairy God-Jarvey and her Apprentice...or any of our Fellowship...as they attempt to perform their sworn duty to do good and protect their godchildren."

With an irritated sigh, Percy acquiesced. "Oh, very well, if it gets me off this bloody wall."

One of the twins voiced an entirely different concern. "You still haven't proved Percy clear of this."

Pip meant to reply, but Fletcher interrupted. "What do you want, a fucking jury trial? I'd say the chances are pretty good that little shit stirrer Skeeter was able to come up with what she printed without once resorting to actual information." Somewhat tangentially, she asked, "Which one are you, anyway?"

"Fred, if that makes any difference."

The Jarvey kept talking. "Let me put it this way, Federico: until you can promise that you aren't going to go apeshit on your hermano, you're staying glued to that wall. Or somewhere else you can't damage anybody. Make that promise, and you get free. And if you still want to get Skeeter out of the way, and help Hermione, I might just have a proposal that would interest you. Got it?"

The other twin sighed. "That doesn't leave us with much of a choice, does it?"

"Glad you see it my way, Jorge. You don't mind if I call you Jorge, do you? I feel more comfortable doing names in Español when I'm working with someone."

George attempted to shrug. "Fine by me. Can I get off the wall now?"

"What about you, Rico?"

"You can call me anything but late to dinner, if you'll get me down from here."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Pip and Percy both muttered.

Reggie glared slightly at Pip. "Look, you speak bureaucrat; I'm fluent in mayhem. Let's say you take care of your end, and I'll take care of mine, and it'll all come out in the wash." Fletcher twitched her whiskers at Pip in a significant way. He got the message: all three brothers were telling the truth. Sometimes, he envied Fletcher and her ilk. Fairy Godmothers and Godfathers who did casework were so adept at reading people that 'lie' and 'truth' might as well be written on their faces. Pip arched a tiny, angular eyebrow fractionally in reply, and released Percy.

"Jorge, Rico, come with me." Magic prickled as Fletcher spoke their new nicknames, and they were detached from the wall. Pip would have argued, except that it was the Weasley twins they were dealing with, and somehow, they just seemed more Regina Fletcher's department than his.

With matching rude gestures in Percy's direction, the twins followed Reggie and Moto from the office.

"Why is it that I can't get the idea of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse out of my head?" Percy said, his tone conveying deep misgivings.

Pip found himself thinking much the same thing. "You know, I think we might just be able to come to an understanding. Shall I awaken your staff, so no further productivity is lost this morning? I need supervise things back at my office, but I can meet you at noon for lunch," Pip offered quite generously, considering the easiest thing to do would have been to exercise his option to administer a minor memory adjustment.

"That would be much appreciated," Percy admitted. He actually sounded as if he were looking forward to his conversation with the pixie. Pip thought he had an inkling of why. After all, it wasn't every day he met someone who had the right idea about productivity.

---

"Okay, Frick and Frack, here's the lowdown," Reggie addressed the twins with the air of a general issuing marching orders. "It's my job to see that one Hermione Granger is a happy witch. For reasons way beyond the cognitive capacity of my wee bonce, she seems to find that happiness with one Severus Snape, sarcastic bastard extraordinaire. Skeeter the bug-bitch is stirring up trouble for him and for her friend Lupin.

"At this point, anything that upsets Hermione upsets her impending wedding, and needs to be nipped in the bud...or in this case, the bug...sooner rather than later. My Apprentice Motoyoshi and I could use some discreet assistance in pulling off a modest hoax. We can give you temporary and EXTREMELY limited access to some very unusual magic in exchange for a piece of the action and you keeping your gobs shut about all of this. Not that anyone would believe you, mind; it's the principle of the thing. Otherwise, it's wiping your memories and keeping you under wraps until you forget about trying to kick seven shades of shit out of your hermano."

"A 'modest' hoax?" Fred asked, sounding rather patronizing. "I'm afraid it goes against our grain to be involved with a hoax that could be construed as 'modest.'"

"I have to agree, brother dear," George said, shaking his head. "We do have a professional reputation to maintain, after all."

"Well, I suppose I must acquaint you identical arsewipes with my definition of modest. The explosion of the gent's lav at the Midsummer's Eve Ball year before last was an example of one of my 'little' diversions," Reggie said.

"Aha, so that was you. Nice work," George said, nodding. "What do you say, Fred old boy? Do you think the Jarvey's performance is up to our standards?"

"Oh, certainly," Fred agreed. "It took Magical Maintenance a week to get the flow of water under control, and another week to repair everything."

"Only two weeks? Shite, I really fell down on the job there," she said, shaking her head.

"Ah, well. Better luck next time," George consoled her.

"Reggie-san, may I ask, what is the plan?" Motoyoshi twiddled his hishaku anxiously.

Reggie was careful not to let it show that she had almost forgotten that they were supposed to be planning. The prospect of reliving past adventures with a pair of like-minded avatars of chaos was quite distracting. "The way I see it, our goal is straightforward: get Skeeter to turn into a bug, and get her into a jar. We could just follow her and wait for her to spy on someone, but that leaves too much to chance. She might decide to write more shite in the meanwhile and cause more grief.

"I figure the best thing to do is to give her a situation where she can't resist changing form. We control the situation...we control any and all avenues of escape. Offhand, I can't think of a better way to do it than this."

She outlined her plan. By the end of it, Fred and George were both smirking dangerously, and Moto was nodding, a tight little approving quiver of his globular head that set the water in the top of his skull rippling and his reedy green hair swaying. "Keep in mind, any magic I loan you comes with fail-safes. You really don't want to find out what the consequences are if you fuck up and hurt somebody. Set the trap...wait till she goes buggy...then scoop her up. Then, we'll deal with her just desserts," Reggie finished. "Are you agreed, wankers?"

"I'm in, to the end. What about you, George? Or, should I say, Jorge?"

"Agreed, Rico. What do we do first?"

"Rico, you're with Moto. I need you to gather tactical information." She gave them their instructions, and Moto 'poofed' them away.

"Jorge, you're with me. Time to introduce you to the wonderful world of fairy glamours, 'cause tomorrow, you've got to see a reporter about some bullshit."

---

Rita Skeeter found Monday to be something of a disappointment. The office had been quiet; she'd invented something for Tuesday's column, then rushed back to her flat in hopes of momentous news. But there were no urgent Floo-calls, no anonymous owls with further developments on her story. By Tuesday, she was resigned to taking her bug form and slipping out to seek the usual dinnertime gossip for her next column.

Her plans were interrupted by the slight whoosh of the Floo being activated. "Miss Skeeter? I need a word with you. I'm coming through." With no further preamble, the man did just that. He rolled across the hearth, stood up with a sort of brusque aplomb, and briskly shook bits of ash from his robes.

"Mr. Weasley, isn't it? I was rather hoping to hear from you." Her faux-friendly interviewer's smile and bright tone of voice immediately slid into place, like a firefighter jumping straight from bed into protective trousers and boots to answer an alarm.

He polished his glasses and cleared his throat, looking somehow pleased to be recognized. "Yes. Well. As you may recall, I mentioned the possibility of an inquiry when we spoke on Friday. Since then, certain details have come to light." He looked around as if fearing he might be overheard. "Certain sensitive details."

Rita tried not to drool as she Summoned her quill. He intercepted it. "No, Miss Skeeter...please, hear me out. I must ask you a tremendous favor. Due to the gravity of this situation, you must hold off on printing any further information you may encounter. Sometime Wednesday afternoon, I will be sending a special messenger to the authorities in Amsterdam to retrieve additional evidence. I wish it could be done tonight, but unfortunately, my liaison in the police station is off until Wednesday morning.

"I cannot stress how sensitive this information is. It is imperative that you stay well away from Amsterdam or any other locale involved in this inquiry. I will, of course, make every effort to see that you are contacted first upon the outcome of the investigation."

"Mr. Weasley, if this is as sensitive...even dangerous...as you say, the public has a right to know the story."

"Interesting choice of words, Miss Skeeter."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I was referring to 'dangerous,' if you must know. Should this information get out too soon, there may, indeed, be danger...and there may be no story. Take my word for it, and stay well clear of the Dangerous Beasts desk at the central police station. Otherwise, you may find yourself faced with some rather disagreeable legal repercussions." With that quelling remark, he took his leave of her.

Rita waited exactly thirty seconds before heading to her room to gather a few necessary items. Then, she set about looking up the hour of the earliest Portkey to Amsterdam. It should be in plenty of time to get to the police before the Ministry's messenger did.

---

"Good going, Jorge. She really took the bait, didn't she?"

"Like a Puffskein takes bogies. Nice trick that...you actually Apparating us back into her flat instead of leaving by the Floo."

"It's called 'poofing' babe, and there's no other way to travel."

George cancelled the glamour as Reggie had instructed him and pocketed the glasses she'd provided, in case they were needed later. "You know, I'm sort of surprised she didn't leave tonight."

Reggie scowled at the thought of Rita Skeeter. "Fucking harpy probably couldn't get the paper to foot the bill for a hotel room...otherwise I bet she would have. The bitch just couldn't wait to get her claws into something she could turn into a smear job. She was practically drooling at the idea of wrecking two weddings and bollixing up all sorts of people's lives just to get one headline."

"Too true. But we'll sort her, Reg."

"Damn straight we will. Your Percy impersonation was brill, by the way."

"That glamour of yours was incredible. I almost felt tall and uptight."

With a 'poof' of greenish smoke, Fred and Motoyoshi appeared.

"We've GOT to get them to teach us how they do this," Fred muttered to George. "It's like Apparating, only completely silent, no nausea, and totally unaffected by distance. I can't begin to say enough about how they become invisible. It's got Disillusionment beat by miles."

"Mission accomplished, Reggie-san!" Moto announced proudly.

"Yeah...Percy's alibi is airtight, and the scheduling information we sussed out yesterday at the police precinct in Amsterdam should work out for us tomorrow," Fred clarified.

"Good. Then there's no reason I can't be at the rehearsal tonight, to give Hermione moral support." A toothy little grin lit Reggie's face with ferocious glee. "So it begins."

---

Reggie's Spanish vocabulary:

Chingado: fucked

Puta: whore

Parrense: Stop it (both of you)!

Chinga: Fuck

Mijo: My son

Hermano: brother

If you're wondering if there is a reason why Reggie refers to Fred and George by the Spanish versions of their names...Federico (which she shortens to Rico) and Jorge...keep wondering. The answer isn't going to show up until later.

Author's Notes:

The latest nugget of pure gold in my treasure trove of British slang? The phrase, 'getting the Order of the Boot' as a way of saying your employment has been terminated.

And if George's Puffskein comment didn't make sense, why, you need to catch up on your reading. It's all right there in 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.'

I went utterly and completely comma-happy on this chapter. Thanks to Tempest of Dreams for pruning the excess!