Saturday, July 19th, 2014. 5:15 AM.

  12 Grimmauld Place, Borough of Islington, London, UK

  Kreacher, Mrs. Black, and Professor Black were in the midst of their regular morning planning meeting. A third lectern and a very high stool had been obtained for Kreacher, and the day's schedule was being laid out. Pixies buzzed from paintings to Elf and back, exchanging notes in mid-air like a fusion of trapeze artists and relay runners. Pixies also occasionally darted down the steps to the kitchen, where Cook could be heard preparing breakfast, while conversing with an early arriving guest.

  The three had gotten an especially early start, expecting a good deal of traffic through the entry hall on the Saturday, what with the house guests, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement operations, the renovation of the Passages for the Museum, and who knew what all else. The entryway was currently the only place they could meet because of the Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of Walberga's painting.

  Young Scorpius had a possible work-around for this issue that was currently being explored. It was based upon a recurring Boggart that kept manifesting in his rooms at Malfoy Manor. Now that the Protean Printer was functioning properly, attended by its own small legion of Pixies, Rose, Scorpius and Albus had been turned loose on other problems. But before that...

  ***

  Monday, July 14th, 2014. 8:30 AM.

  12 Grimmauld Place, Borough of Islington, London, UK

  Scorpius had proved his worth on Day One. While being guided through the guts of the P.P., he had been shown the spot that was supposed to be occupied by the Kaboom Dampener.

  The three children had been face to face to face inside the printer's dimensional workspace. Scorpius had quickly learned the trick of not paying attention to anything except what he was working on. If one needed a hand, it was best to just use it as automatically as possible. Trying to visually locate extremities was disorienting at best. At worst, well, a knee to the back of the head still hurt, even if it was one's own knee.

  Al indicated an orb made of many oddly shaped diaphanous layers of material. all orbiting a common, glowing center. It was about the size of a beach ball. Each bit of material had a slightly different hue, and circled the orb in different directions, like miniature flying carpets. When the bits overlapped, as they did frequently passing on their different levels, the color of the overlapping sections would blend to produce a new shade. Sometimes the results were nothing like the shade a Muggle would get with a Color Wheel.

  Al said, "Between the manual and the Pixies, we figured out that this orb displays diagnostics for the whole magimachine. Each layer monitors a part, a function, a supply, or a result. We've had to find out which is which by trial and error. The real problem is that the manual doesn't take the Pixies into account. The wizards who created the P.P. did not realise the machine needs Pixies to work properly, or that its magic attracts them. They thought the Little Folk were pests, and disrupted operations by trying to evict them."

  Al started to look around for something. He stopped suddenly, closed his eyes and waited for the dizziness to pass. Instead of looking again, he just spoke.

  "Missy, please bring the piece we need up to the Master Layer."

  The pixiegirl squirmed out of the simple ponytail that Rose's hair was in. She gave a few quick buzzes of her wings to propel her toward the globe, then snapped them back in to streamline her shape. She dived into the globe, eeling effortlessly between shapes and down through layers. Changing direction and depth frequently, she found the piece of material she wanted. Grasping it gently by the leading edges, she began escorting it up to the orb's surface. She had to slow down quite a bit, but gracefully avoided brushing any of the other bits. The resemblance to a magic carpet was heightened, as she guided it out and up.

  Released on the outermost layer, the palm sized patch resumed circling the orb. The next layer inward had only one item in it, a stripe of the diaphanous material that circled the orb from pole to pole and back. It was the only material in the orb that was a pure iridescent white.

  "That's the Diagnostic Line," said Rose. "Watch as the patch crosses it."

  The patch that represented the Kaboom Dampener Module was a very pale pink. As Scorpius watched, it started across the width of the glowing line. He would have expected the pink to glow brighter. Instead the colors muddied, swirling lines of brown and earth green mixing in.

  Al said, "The pink shows it's functioning, but poorly, as evidenced by the brown and green. They tell us what adjustments are needed, but we can't find the bloody unit to bloody adjust it!"

  "Hush," said Rose. "Here comes the thing we've never seen before."

  As the centerline of the pink patch crossed above the edge of the white strip, a line of strobing, virulent red appeared in the material. Beads of color pulsed from one end to the other of the line, rippling slightly as they passed through each other.

  "That is what has us stymied." Al frowned. "I don't know what the Diagnostic Orb is trying to tell us."

  "Well," said Scorpius softly. "I don't know much about Diagnostics. But I usually get best results by simplifying problems down, then building back. So, taking off the Di-, that leaves us with Agnostics. Agnostics refuse to Believe without Proof. I suppose, then, the best way to help an Agnostic is to give them something to Believe in. And, I believe..." He peered more closely at the patch, whose red line was just exiting the other side of the white strip. "...I believe that patch is upside down."

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  "Missy?" he asked. The Pixie popped to fluttering attention between him and the Orb. Scorpius found both hands just out from his chin. "Would you grab that front edge again, and..." He gave a flipping motion with his hands, like snapping out a tablecloth or a sheet.

  Missy's wings froze for a moment. (She didn't fall. Gravity did not seem to affect Pixies inside the dimensional space). She gave Scorpius an impish grin, then darted over to do as she was bid.

  "Are you sure...?" Albus started, but stopped. Missy had flipped the patch with a pop, and laid it precisely back in place. It started moving back the way it had come. The color started slowly shifting back and forth from pink to the alarming red, over the whole surface of the patch.

  More startling was the blank patch of wall they had been regarding. As if rising from the depths, a complicated module began extruding into the space. With its appearance, the density of magical energy in the space began to become slightly oppressive.

  Rose went, "Whew! Lots of magic tied up in that!"

  "Oh, yeah!" Al agreed fervently. He glanced back at the Orb. The patch representing the module had started passing back over the white stripe. The strobing remained the same, but the brown and green infusions of color were returning. They seemed to be making more recognisable shapes now. He started to speak, but Rose was ahead of him.

  "Missy, let the patch get fully over the strip, and lock it down."

  All three of the children regarded the module cautiously.

  "So," Al said. "A safety feature, I guess?"

  Rose nodded as Scorpius spoke. "Almost assuredly. This is probably the central magic routing and storage. It would be better insulated when buried in the wall, as it was. The color pulsing of the patch is likely a reminder to resubmerge the module when we're done." One of his still present hands brushed over his head "I can feel my hair trying to stand on end." Looking over at Rose, he noted her ponytail was slowly becoming more of a puffball. Al's hair, inherited from his dad, was still a mess. Apparently, though, it was a magic-impervious mess.

  Rose looked at the patch, now centered over the white strip. "Does the pulsing look as if it is gradually speeding up?"

  The two boys looked.

  "Yeah," said Al. "That's probably our time limit. What do you think happens if we run long?"

  Scorpius looked a trifle worried. "Consider the name of the module," he pointed out. "It probably won't be Earth-Shattering, but I'm fairly certain there will be a Kaboom."

  ***

  Saturday, July 19th, 2014. 5:30 AM.

  12 Grimmauld Place, Borough of Islington, London, UK

  The Planning Meeting was interrupted by an odd sequence of sounds from the other side of the front door. First, there was a muted crack, followed by a light thump. Then came a sort of squeaky sliding sound. The doorbell chimed, but hesitantly, as if it weren't sure of itself. There was another, somehow wider, sliding sound, ending in a louder Thump, like a melon being tested by an over-enthusiastic shopper.

  Kreacher hopped down from his stool, walking cautiously between the Blacks. At the door he reached slowly for the handle. His other hand was behind his back, knobbly fingers twisting into a Sign of Power.

  At the sight of it, Professor Black gave a sharp, but quiet, inhale.

  "Careful, Kreacher, old boy," he cautioned in a whisper. "That isn't the Kitchen Doors at Hogwarts, and it sounds like there's just one person. Who, by the way, knew enough to Apparate onto the doorstep."

  Kreacher said nothing, but nodded. His fingers twitched into a new position, as he unlatched the door. It pushed lightly against him as he peeked around, and then down. A snort of humor escaped him as he relaxed. He let the door come slowly open as Ron Weasley's upper torso laid gently down on the floor.

  Ron appeared to be very, very tired. After a moment, his eyelids opened. After another moment, his eyes managed to focus on the Elf.

  "Kreacher!" he said, in a pale shadow of his usual ebullient voice. "Mah Elf! Gimme five! No. Four. Gimme four!" His hand twitched, but remained in place.

  Muzzily, Ron added, "Heard that on the tally-wishon. Tully-fission. That thing. Can you dig it?"

  Kracher looked up at the paintings of the Blacks and sighed. While Professor Black looked slightly disapproving, Wulfreda had a lace-gloved hand over her mouth, as if she were trying to suppress a smile. The sight did Kreacher's heart good. He tipped Mistress Black a cheeky wink, as he turned to the kitchen steps. This elicited a tiny feminine snort and a blush from the painted woman.

  Across from her, Professor Black began to appreciate the humour of the situation as well. He leaned a little forward out of his canvas to look down. He sniffed.

  "Well, it's obviously not drink," he said. "Mr. Weasley, are you well?"

  Ron's wandering eyes settled on the slightly unnerving sight of the former Headmaster.

  "Phineas!" he said in delight. "Phineas Nigellus! And Missus Black! I made it, then! Good to see you! Good to see you both!" His head wavered slightly, side to side.

  "I used to hate you," he confided. "Hate, hate, hate. But no more! No more, no more, no bloody more. Wanna know why?" He tried to give them a stern look, but only succeeded in crossing his eyes.

  "S'cause I can tell you love Harry's kids. Ginny's kids. Harryses and Ginny's kids. An' anybody what loves them kids is all right with me!" His hand twitched again, as if he had thought of making a grand declaiming gesture.

  Kreacher had paused to listen. He sighed again, and turned to call down the stairs.

  "Mister Hagrid, could you...?"

  "Aht, aht, aht!" Hagrid's distinctive rumble interrupted. "Wh't did we 'gree? We be on th' same team, now, and teammates don'...

  "Fine, fine," Kreacher said, shaking his head, but smiling as well. "Hagrid-old-buddy, can you help Kreacher with Mister Ron?"

  "Ron's back, is he now? 'Bout time. Ah'm dyin' t' hear 'bout th' game. Hain't seen th' paper sin' Woden's Day." This was accompanied by the sound of Hagrid's enlarged chair sliding back, and his footsteps coming toward the door at the foot of the steps. The door was already Hagrid-sized, so he walked out and stepped up into the hall. One step, that is. Didn't even have to stretch much.

  "Wull," he said, taking in the sight. "Not gittin' aught outta him, now am I?" He leaned over to look down. "Ron, whut's wrong 'i ye? D'ja git stook in Between?"

  Ron's eyes focused on the upside-down (to him) giant face.

  "Aah!" he said. He probably intended to scream it. Didn't happen.

  He relaxed. "Oh. You're not falling. Good." Ron wrinkled his brow. "Am I falling?" He caught sight of Hagrid again. "Hagrid! Three day game, Hagrid! Three. Three days..." He mumbled to a stop, his eyes starting to close again. "I'm tired, Hagrid. I'm so tired... Three days..."

  Hagrid was grinning behind his beard. He reached down and scooped Ron up with no more effort than a man picking up a toddler.

  "Whur' d'ja want him, Kreacher m'lad?"

  Kreacher was fending off an attempt by the coat rack to acquire Ron's fairly filthy clothing. "No. No! Kreacher will put him in some of Mister Harry's pyjamas, and Kreacher will bring clothing back to you. Kreacher promises."

  To Hagrid, he went on. "Up in parlor. Blue settee becomes bed. Would put with Young Mister Hugo, but Kreacher understands Mister Ron snores."

  "Better 'n Ginny," Ron mumbled. "Sleep Hexing Bogey Face..." He cracked one eye open to look at Hagrid, as the giant bore him away.

  "Hagerd, y'know Krum. 'Course you do. Good ol' Krum. Asked me. I said, 'Sure, Viktor. Cover the game. No worries, Viktor. Be fun.' Three days, Hagger. Three. Days. Sneaky ol' Bulgarick try'n'a kill me. Still thinks he's got a chance with..."

  The voice faded into the depths of the upstairs hall.