What Do They Know?

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On the fence

The consequence

What do they know

about that?

~*~

John freezes when he sees Carol emerge from her office. He watches her as she takes in the sight before her: a shop void of any customers, her most inefficient employee standing in the middle of a chocolate and pistachio flavored wreckage with broken glass at his feet and some feathers still floating to the floor.

“Jesus, Smith!”

John didn’t attempt to feign innocence. “Erm, I suppose I should get the mop–”

“No – I’ll get it.”

Before she returns, John remembers to stuff the owl’s message into his apron pocket.

“I don’t know what to do with you, Smith,” she says when she comes back, edging past Harry to sweep up the glass closest to the broken window.

John takes off his uniform cap, careful not to muss gel-downed hair. He knows what’s coming next.

“You’ve been working here for how long, Smith?”

“Um…”

Carol stops to count on her fingers. “It’s been eight weeks since you came here looking for employment.”

John hangs the cap on a wire bowl where several browning bananas rest. “That long?”

“And ever since you started working here, some strange stuff has been happening – power going off in our store and nowhere else, the ice cream still frozen after… you saying nonsense words under your breath – are you doing drugs?”

John shakes his head, though he considers it.

“Doesn’t matter anyway.” Carol sets the broom aside. “Listen, Smith–”

“Do I have to pick up my last check, or is it coming in the mail?”

She looks down. “Stop by Wednesday after five.”

John turns to go, but a conscience from someone long dead speaks up.

“You need help with this mess?”

“Is it going to be like the power going out?”

John nods.

She sighs. “I’ll be in my office.”

When she enters the shop, after closing her eyes and counting to ten, both the mess and Smith are gone, leaving nothing behind save for his uniform cap and a new window.

~*~

August shuts the door behind him gently and stares at the hat. It doesn’t look any different than it did when he got Gryffindor’s sword from it three years ago or during any of the other times the Hat has appeared since his escape.

“You are a figment of my imagination,” August says calmly, moving to the sink to wash up.

“What happened to the Gryffindor I Sorted?”

August splashes water into his face. Closes his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. And sleeping with all these bints isn’t going to change anything – have you even checked yourself for disease?”

“Of course not. There are spells for that sort of thing.”

Then August realizes his mistake.

“So you admit it’s true!” the hat says.

“Forget it.”

“There are spells to get rid of Voldemort, too–”

“Don’t say that name!”

“Afraid he’ll come after you? I think you’re afraid of a lot of things!”

“Shut up!”

The hat’s brim curls up into a sneer. “I bet you’re afraid for your Gran, too. Merlin knows what has happened over the years–”

August screams so loud that he hears knocking on the door. The Sorting Hat is gone. “You all right in there, luv?”

August leans onto the sink and takes in a few steadying breaths.

“I’ll be right out,” he says, ready for another go.

~*~

Dr. Simon pushes lank hair away from his face and sticks the Turner file into the rubbish bin when he hears his office door open.

“There isn’t much else to do,” he says to his receptionist as he straightens his desk.

“Wrong again, Professor.”

Simon’s head whips up at the figure before him. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“Are you and your partner in a crisis of any sort?”

“I’m not with anyone.”

“Then kindly get the fuck out of my office.”

“Professor, please! I–”

“You’ve no right to march in here, demanding things of me.”

“He gets more powerful every day.”

“Obviously. That’s why I didn’t stay and fight.”

A pause. “The Wizarding World needs–”

“Been there; done that.”

“Dumbledore would have–”

“Leave his name out of it!”

“Harry’s back.”

Simon shook his head. “Impossible. He’s dead.”

“You’re not the only one who’s faked his death to hide.”

Simon needs another moment to catch his breath. “Spare me any other sentimental tripe you saved for this visit.”

“There is a meeting tonight at eight.” A piece of parchment flutters onto his desk. “It’s under Fidelius.”

“And you’re the Secret Keeper?”

“Of course.”

Simon collapses into his chair and waits until the door closes and he is alone.

Only then does he take the parchment and reads the words.

“I should have bled to death when I had the chance.”

~*~

“Henrietta, someone’s on the phone.”

“Thanks,” she says, taking the phone from the girl at the counter. “Binghamton Books, Henrietta speaking. How can I help you?”

“It’s about Roland,” the voice at the other end says.

Henrietta closes her eyes and leans against one of the bookshelves. “What’d you do to him?”

“Quick to assume he’s the victim?” The voice, which Henrietta realizes belongs to a man, laughs again. “Maybe you’re the one about to be hurt.”

Henrietta’s mind races to her second worst fear. “Who’s he with?”

“He’s going to rendezvous at his school.” The voice proceeds to tell her the building and room number. “I’d suggest heading there as soon as you can before they finish. He was never one to last long, was he?”

Henrietta is about to retort, but the caller hangs up.

She leaves the phone at the counter and makes up her mind. Grabbing her purse out of the staff room, she storms out the back door.

~*~

Roland curses under his breath as he makes his way up another flight of stairs. Naturally it was the night he had to think up something to say to his professor about the paper that there was a room change to the seventh floor, and the escapators weren’t working.

Red-faced and breathing hard, Roland climbs up to the seventh floor with two minutes to spare. Running through the near empty halls, he finds the new classroom – and Henrietta standing in front of it.

“Who is she?” she says, her voice flat.

“How’d you get here before me?” he asks, dumbfounded. “Wait. Why are you here?”

“I used the elevator. And don’t give me that look. Who is she?” she repeats.

“Who are you talking about?” Roland moves to the door. “Listen, I need to get to class–”

“Don’t change the subject, Roland Marsden. Is she smarter than me? Prettier?”

It dawns on him. “I’m not cheating on you, if that’s what you mean.”

“You can’t hide it from me now. I know she’s in there.”

“I’m not cheating on you! This is where I’m having my class, which I’m late for.”

“Just tell me the truth!”

“You want the bloody truth? Here it is: I’m going to my class, and when I open this door, you’ll see I was right all along.”

Only when Roland pushes the door open, he discovers they’re both wrong.

“Hello, Granger. Weasley. You’re right on time.”

Author's Note: Thanks to Southern_Witch_69 for beta-ing this!

Lyrics at the top of the chapter are from the song "What Do They Know?" by Mindless Self Indulgence. The whole of it can be found here:

http://www.mindless-self-indulgence.com/lyrics_what_do_they_know/