Sloan Peregrine stood in front of the door at the address he had been given. He was missing a very important pair of glasses, and he suspected that the witch Rufus Frost had brought to the E² meeting had picked them up by mistake. He was hoping he could retrieve them easily, without having to explain who he was or what the glasses meant to him. This was her address it seemed. "This shouldn't be so difficult," he thought.

Sloan Peregrine came from a very influential wizarding family. Most of them had served in the Ministry of Magic and/or the International Federation of Wizards at one time or another. His father had headed up one of the Ministry departments at one time, before his retirement. One branch of the family had counted themselves among Voldemort's supporters, back in the day. Personally Sloan thought they were fools. Sloan had developed an interest in the dark arts at school, but he was bright enough to realize that Lord Voldemort, if he was still around, would never regain control of the wizard world as long as Harry Potter was alive. There were still a lot of dark wizards carrying the torch so to speak for "Moldy Voldy," as Sloan referred to him in his head. But, Peregrine had his own plan.

But for the moment what he needed were his glasses. He knocked at the door. He heard someone inside approaching the door, and as it opened he expected to see the witch from last's night divination discussions. But, instead, he found himself face to face with a rather tall dark-haired man with an unusual scar on his forehead. "Oh shit," he thought. "What the bloody hell is HE doing here?"

"Hullo. Can I help you?" Harry asked pleasantly.

"I hope so." After introducing himself, he explained that his glasses went missing last night during his divination group meeting, and he had heard that a Ms. Granger might have picked them up. He told Harry that he'd been given this address for Ms. Granger, but perhaps he'd been given faulty information.

"Oh no, you're not mistaken. This is Ms. Granger's flat. I'm Harry Potter, her flat mate. Hermione's not here at the moment, but I think I found your specs."

"Excellent. Well, I'll just take them then and be on my way," Sloan replied in a would-be casual tone.

"Oh no! I should be a better host to one of Rufus' friends. Come in; sit down. I insist." Peregrine entered the flat with some measure of trepidation. As he took a seat, Harry continued, "Er . . . these glasses. Could you just fill me in on how they work? You see I had them on by mistake in the middle of the night. Thought they were my glasses." Harry had retrieved the glasses from the kitchen counter and was examining them with interest.

"Well, they are a family heirloom," Sloan began slowly, realising that Harry might well have witnessed his ruthless activities of the previous night. Still, he couldn't be sure. He knew that when the glasses were worn by a Peregrine it allowed the one wearing the glasses to see what would happen for a short period of time into the future. The more powerful the Peregrine, the further into the future they could foresee. Sloan had recently acquired the ability to see almost an hour into the future. When the glasses were worn by someone other than a Peregrine, they either showed nothing at all, or, if the wizard was well-trained and sufficiently powerful, he might be able to see through the eyes of any one of a number of Peregrines.

"Ah, . . . so they are simply a sentimental object?" Harry probed.

"Yes, for the most part. They were originally used by our family to allow others to see how we lived. My family originated in Italy, and we were rather misunderstood in Britain for a long period of time. You see my great-great grandfather would loan these glasses to people who distrusted us, and over a period of a number of years, the family reputation improved significantly."

"Yes, I have heard of your family. Seems most of them were allied rather prominently against the dark forces in recent years," Harry commented, then went on, "So, if I understand you correctly, I could theoretically have seen things that you or another member of your family were doing last night when I had the glasses on?"

"That's correct." Sloan was having a hard time reading whether Harry had had the glasses on when he had killed that worthless wizard last night. "I actually went to bed straight away after I got home from the E² meeting. Had a rough week, I must say." Hoping to change the subject, he added, "You know, Harry, I should mention that your friend Ms. Granger is quite charming. I so enjoyed meeting her at last night's discussions."

"Yes, she is charming, isn't she?" Harry noted blandly, twirling the glasses absently between his fingers. "Well, I do rather think the Ministry's Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts would like to retain these glasses for a bit -- just to make sure they wouldn't be harmful. You really should keep better track of these priceless heirlooms, Mr. Peregrine."

By this point, Sloan had drawn his wand from his pocket and held it out of sight. If he could get the glasses on, he could probably outwit Potter and escape without being taken in for further questioning. He could just summon the glasses and apparate. "I wonder if there are anti-apparition wards up in this place? I would suspect as much with the number of enemies Potter has," Sloan thought ruefully. "Well, no time like the present to find out."

Sloan whipped out his wand and commanded, "Accio glasses!" The glasses flew to his hands, and as he put them on, he attempted to apparate. Because of the wards, Peregrine landed right back where he was, but he had his glasses on and he fully expected he would be able to see Harry's next move.

"Back again so soon?" Harry asked with a smirk. Peregrine noted that Harry was watching him intently.

"Well, I see you are well protected here," Peregrine commented as he eyed Harry warily.

"I made a number of enemies a few years back -- necessary precautions really," Harry responded.

"What do you want?" Peregrine asked.

"I think I'd like to take you and your glasses in for some questioning, if you don't mind," Harry said, keeping his face entirely blank.

"As it turns out, I do mind. I have other plans for the day you know," Peregrine said. He couldn't read Potter's next move even with the glasses; apparently Harry was keeping his mind as blank as his face. He was sure Potter wasn't going to let him just walk away, but how could he end this stalemate? The only advantage he could see was that Harry seemed to be unarmed.

At that moment, Hermione opened the door, but before she could enter the flat, Peregrine had ducked out the door and apparated back to his East End home from the stair landing. He certainly had not expected to run into Harry Potter this morning, and he was confident that Potter's new knowledge of his family heirloom was certain to mean trouble. "He knows more about those glasses than he let on. Why else would he have kept his mind so blank? And, how was he keeping his mind so blank that I couldn't read it?" he muttered to himself.

As he entered the kitchen, he could see he had received an owl post. He pushed aside some dirty dishes & an empty take-away pizza box on the table so he could spread out the parchment.

Peregrine considered the offer of these artifacts, and sent owl post back to the witch that he was interested. He would arrange to send the necessary galleons if she would save the artifacts for him. He wouldn't be able to get to Cardiff anytime soon, but he intimated that if she were to come to London, they could find a dark quiet place somewhere and do some palmistry. He smiled as he signed his name with a flourish.

*******************************

"What was Sloan Peregrine doing here?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"I take it you met him last night?" Harry answered grimly as he shut the door.

"Yes, he was amazing!" she exclaimed, not seeming to notice Harry's apprehension. "You know how I typically hate people who claim to have 'the inner eye' as that crackpot Trelawney always said. But this guy seemed to be the real thing. He would pick someone out of the crowd and tell some of us what they would be doing in 15 minutes or half an hour. Someone would write down his predictions, and damn if he wasn't right every single time! So . . . what did he want?"

"He wanted his glasses back. Apparently you picked them up by mistake last night," Harry said coolly.

"Yes, I realised that when I came home to pick up some things last night," she said somewhat casually. "I left them on the kitchen counter; did you find them for him all right?"

"Oh, I found them fine. They were very helpful," Harry said dryly. "Did Peregrine wear those glasses all night?"

"He wore them chiefly when he was speaking to the group. He must have taken them off at some point for me to have nicked them though, didn't he?" she said absentmindedly. Harry didn't reply. She stretched. "Well, I'm here to shower and change; then I'm off to the Victoria and Albert with Rufus. There's an interesting Renoir exhibit I've wanted to see for awhile, and Rufus managed to get us tickets. They're hard to come by. So, you'll be all right, then?

"I'll be fine. I have to go into work for a bit."

"I thought you said you were off until Sunday? What kind of work makes you come in on a nice Saturday like today? Even I am skiving off the revising for the day!"

"Nice try, Hermione!" Harry commented with a wry smile. "Just something I need to check into a bit further."

"Fine, then," she said with mock annoyance at his refusal to divulge anything more about his job. "I'd better go change; Rufus will be here soon."

"Well, in that case, I'd better be off now. Don't particularly want to run in to him at the moment."

Harry left in short order, and Hermione was just putting her hair up when Rufus arrived. She grabbed her bag, and they left for the museum. She and Rufus really did have quite a lot in common, she thought for the thousandth time as they made their way to the Shepherd's Bush stop. We are both muggle-born; that takes the pressure off that subject. We both love to read. She smiled as she thought again that he must be the only other person she'd met who owned as many books as she did. "Mum and Dad liked him too," she thought. "And, he really does take good care of me after all. . . . If only he didn't have such a problem with Harry, everything would be perfect," she thought wistfully.

"Did you ring your Mum yesterday?" Rufus asked as they squeezed onto a packed train.

"Oh, I forgot! I'll ring her tonight. Remind me?"

"It's my job to remind you of all those non-academic portions of your life that you occasionally must give some attention to . . . you know, like eating, sleeping, and ringing up your Mum from time to time," he said with a fond smile.

Hermione had met Rufus last fall when he gave a series of lectures on the use of herbs in advanced magical medicine at Stonehenge. While her coursework focused on charms, she'd attended this lecture series as she'd thought it would prove useful to become better acquainted with the topic, given Harry's increasing propensity to arrive home with unexplained injuries. He always refused to see a doctor, muggle or otherwise, and Hermione had been learning magical medicine in a rather haphazard as-needed fashion. As it turned out, while she'd found the lectures intriguing, she'd found the lecturer even more so. There was a depth in those deep brown eyes that had made Hermione feel as if she were wrapped up in a warm blanket.

They began chatting regularly after his lectures, and it wasn't long before he'd asked her to tea. She was soon seeing him on a fairly regular basis. "He has such a kind soul. That must be why his plants thrive so under his care. . . . and, come to think of it, he is really very good with people too. Well, except with Harry that is," Hermione thought as they moved through the tube station up to the street level.

They strolled through the Victoria & Albert, hand-in-hand, with Rufus pausing frequently in front of Post-Impressionists such as van Gogh and Cezanne. Hermione was quite fond of Impressionist works, and they lingered for quite some time in the Renoir exhibit. Although he had a sincere liking for both these styles, Hermione soon learned that Rufus was most interested in the Renaissance period. She privately thought that he'd have spent much more time in those rooms if he'd been alone. They had a late lunch in the museum restaurant, discussing the works they'd seen and the books they'd read on the works they'd seen. "He always seems to know just the way to take my mind off my studies; well, when I'll let him that is," Hermione mused thoughtfully as they walked out of the museum into the bright sunlight.

They decided to take advantage of the gorgeous weather and walk through Kensington Gardens after they left the V&A. They paused frequently at various brilliantly-coloured groupings of flowers so Rufus could get a better look. As they strolled leisurely, Hermione found herself confessing her uncertainty about her post-graduation job prospects. He seemed truly concerned that she take enough time to consider all her options and not feel pressure to accept a position too quickly. She told him about various openings at the Ministry -- there was one particularly interesting position in its Research Department. She had also had some serious discussions with the Charms Department at the Institute for Magical Academics, where she would be able to pursue some of her own research. And, as she told him, she'd already had inquires from a publishing house, Spellbound Books, Inc., and from a few private wizarding corporations.

"Maybe you should just take a couple of months off to think about it. Go spend some time on holiday -- maybe go visit your parents," Rufus advised earnestly.

"You know, that is a good idea. I really haven't spent a lot of time with my Mum since I moved to London," she said as she linked her arm with his. "How is that you always seem to know just what my soul needs?"

He smiled and pulled her closer. "He takes care of all the details and worries," she thought. "So different from Harry, where I'm the one doing the worrying!"

They paused in a particularly beautiful, yet remote portion of the gardens. Rufus turned and drew her close against him. "I just want you to be happy and at peace, Hermione. You know that, right?"

"Yes. That's one of the many reasons why I care so much about you," she replied.

"Ah . . . 'care so much about me,'" he repeated. "I don't suppose there's potential for the 'I love you' phrase, is there?" he asked softly as he kissed her forehead.

Hermione was silent for awhile as she rested her head on his chest, which seemed to answer Rufus' question for him.

"Well, know that I am in love with you. And, I think I could be there for you and take care of you, which is something you sorely need by the way," he said quietly.

"Maybe once I'm done with school I can think about love, Rufus," Hermione replied as she looked up into his eyes. "And taking care of you for a change! You've been so patient with me."

"Well, I happen to think you're worth it, I must say . . . ."

"Hmmmm, keep talking and I just might have to seduce you later . . . .," she teased as she tousled his longish light brown hair.

"Well then . . . you might seduce me, eh? In that case, I will indeed keep talking. And, I might even start steering you in the direction of one of our flats so you can make good on your threat," he said, grinning at her.

"Yes, well, it'd better be your flat I think. Harry should be home from wherever he had to run off to today, so my place might not be best."

"What does Harry do anyway?"

"I have no idea," she said quietly. Her brow furrowed; every time she thought about Harry's secretiveness about his job, it bothered her. "But, let's not talk about Harry. It always seems to spoil our fun," she said with a quick smile.

"I have no objections there," Rufus said emphatically. He leaned over and kissed her. They stood off one of the garden paths for quite some time, kissing and holding one another and completely unmindful of the passers-by. He had unclasped her hair and was arranging it on her shoulders. . . . . "Right, well, shall we head towards my place then?" She smiled and nodded as they set off.

***************************

Cordelia rolled her suitcase along behind her in the semi-darkness early Sunday morning. She had a very early flight to LaGuardia, and was in dire need of a cup of coffee. She walked along in a bit of a stupor, not noticing that she passed at least three Starbucks on the way, and suddenly found herself outside the Obsidian. "What am I doing here? I meant to just duck into that Starbucks at the end of my street. My, I must be tired," she thought, berating herself for having wandered so far off course. She needed to get on the Tube and get to the airport. Still, she couldn't help wondering if he was here still at this hour.

She entered the shop and looked over to see him glancing through the morning newspaper.

"You're back, I see," he said with a smile.

"Yes, well, I have a plane to catch, but I needed a jolt to get me to the airport. I'll take the strongest blackest coffee you've got. To go, please."

"So, this jolt you need . . . is it to come from the coffee or from seeing me? . . . I happen to know there are more than a few other coffee shops closer to you," he said as he set about getting her coffee. "And you've gone entirely in the wrong direction to get the best train to Victoria so you can get to the airport," he added with a knowing smile.

"Well, perhaps a bit of both if you want the truth. I hadn't intended to come in here when I set off, but . . . here I am, aren't I?" she commented, digging for money in her purse. She glanced up at him and smiled rather sheepishly.

"Yes, here you are. . . . And, it's made my day," he smiled as he set the coffee in front of her.

"Well, I better be off if I'm going to catch my plane," she said as she gathered her coffee and turned to head out the door. Once she'd reached the door, she turned, "Look, I get back on Thursday. Interested in having dinner with me on Friday?"

"Why, yes, I believe I could fit that in with my busy social schedule," he replied. He looked as though he was trying not to grin too widely.

"Good. Good," she repeated uncertainly. "Er. . . . why don't you come around my place at 7:00 then." She strode back to the counter and scribbled her address and phone number on a scrap of paper and handed it to him.

"Okay then, have a good trip."

"Thanks," she said, an uncertain smile playing around her lips.

As she exited the shop and proceeded toward the nearest Tube stop, she found herself definitely excited about the prospect of seeing this man. She was a bit surprised that she had asked him out. She really hadn't planned on doing that; it just seemed to roll out of her mouth. She felt her stomach twinge as she thought of his eyes. Then it did another flip when she thought, "What do I really know about this man?"

************************

Harry had apparated into a remote area of Cathay's Park in Cardiff in the early dawn on Monday morning. He wandered over near the cricket grounds, chuckling that the muggles had no idea that a large Quidditch stadium was in fact located in the same park and playing host to the Welsh regional final matches. He took a seat on a bench facing the river while he waited for Sirius, who had agreed to apparate and meet up with him after finishing up his shift at the Obsidian. He reached in his rucksack for the breakfast he'd packed -- some now slightly-cold bangers, hard-boiled eggs and a banana. He was munching on the banana, lost in thought, when he suddenly looked down to see that a large black dog had nicked his bangers.

"Damn it, Sirius, I haven't had anything to eat since late yesterday afternoon!" Harry exclaimed, grabbing the eggs out of the dog's reach.

Sirius transformed at once, grinning widely. "Well, whose fault is that?" he said, wiping his mouth with the napkin.

"You're awfully chirpy for someone who's been up all night," Harry said grumpily.

"I work in a coffee shop. What do you think I drink all night?" Sirius answered. "Where to next?" The sun was up, and there were now scores of early-morning exercise enthusiasts out and about in the park.

"We're supposed to meet up with Sabian in . . . .," Harry looked down at his watch, "about an hour. He's been trailing some of our suspects for the last several weeks." He finished off the last egg and stood up, stretching. They set off northwest, through the park.

"Ah, the mysterious Sabian," Sirius remarked as hurried to catch up with Harry, who had set off at a brisk pace. "So, I'll finally see him in person?"

"Hard to say," Harry said mysteriously. Sabian was one of the most respected agents in the I.D.; Harry and the other members of the I.D. had come to rely unconditionally on Sabian's intelligence & reconnaissance reports. But, no one seemed to have ever met Sabian face-to-face. He had been with the I.D. for a number of years and was in fact probably more a contemporary of Sirius than Harry. Sabian had seemingly shunned the official career track at the I.D. in favor of continuing his effective work in the field.

They tromped through the park grounds at a fast pace for quite some time, and Sirius eventually muttered, "Where are we meeting him anyway? Ireland?"

"Llandaff Cathedral," Harry replied shortly. He pointed off in the distance, where the Cathedral was shrouded in early-morning mist. "Most of the area around it has been given over to conservation, so it will be a quiet place to meet. And, at this hour, it shouldn't be overrun with tourists." He proceeded to expound on the history surrounding the Cathedral, explaining that it was believed to be situated on the oldest Christian site in Britain and had sustained heavy damage during the War. "Saint Dyfrig is said to be buried there -- he's the bishop who crowned King Arthur according to the Arthurian legends."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you've taken a leaf out of Hermione's book. What's all this then?" Sirius asked curiously.

Harry smiled, "Well, let's just say I have a bit of an interest in Welsh history and culture."

Sirius nodded and smiled back. "Yes, he would I suppose," he thought. "He did, after all, live here with his parents as a baby. And, of course, the family . . . " His thoughts were interrupted as the Cathedral came into clearer view. The serenity of the surroundings, the majestic presence of the Cathedral and the cool morning air combined to wipe all thoughts from his mind.

They stepped inside, and Harry spoke in Welsh to a woman seated near the entrance. "Rydyn ni'n eisiau mynd i mewn i'r capel . . . ." The woman finally nodded, and Harry motioned Sirius to follow him. "You speak Welsh?" Sirius murmured quietly as they proceeded through the main aisle of the Cathedral.

Harry nodded, "A bit." He pointed to a small chapel off in a far corner, and Sirius followed him into one of the pews. Once they were seated, Harry put his finger to his lips as Sirius started to speak. They sat quietly for a time. A figure clothed in dark robes, which might well be clerical vestments, and a hood drawn tightly around the face, suddenly walked in front of where Harry and Sirius were seated. Harry and Sirius only had a momentary glimpse of the side-view of the hooded person, who took a seat in the pew directly in front of Harry.

"So, you made it all right then, Harry?" the figure said quietly. His voice held no trace of any particular accent, and he spoke without turning to look at them.

"Yes. This is . . .," Harry began.

"Sirius Black," Sabian replied quietly. "Your reputation precedes you Mr. Black. I'm honored to meet you, but you'll forgive me if I don't turn around?"

"Of course," Sirius answered.

"So, do you have any report on the local activities of our friends?" Harry asked in a subdued voice.

"I've been tailing them all over Cardiff these last few weeks, Harry. But, I still can't pinpoint a centre of activity. They seem to move their . . . their headquarters if you will . . .a fair bit," Sabian answered. "I can say that they most often frequent the various sports fields around Cathays Park. I suspect, but can't prove, that they're implicated in the death last week of that muggle rugby player."

"That fits a pattern of sorts," Harry said with a frown. "We received a report that may connect that group in the death of that American baseball player last month. Bit odd, that they'd target sports players, isn't it?"

"Well, with both the muggle football matches that are being played today and, of course, the regional Quidditch finals, I'd say it's a safe bet they might be active in that vicinity. You can be certain I'll be lurking in that general area myself today," Sabian said.

"Is there a local leader?"

"Yes," Sabian murmured. "Her name is Jeralyn. I don't think she's native to Wales though. She speaks with a bit of a Dublin accent if you ask me. She's a bit short, long brown hair . . . well, here, I've got a photo in fact." Sabian dug around in his cloak pockets and slid a small photo under the pew toward Harry. Harry picked it up and examined it. The witch appeared to be furtively attempting to turn her head away, but he and Sirius got enough of a look for their purposes.

Harry slid the photo back under the pew. "Good. Anything else we should know?"

"That's it for now. I'll remain here for the time being. Contact me if you learn anything of interest while you're here."

"I'll send you a report via owl post when I return to London in any case," Harry replied. He motioned to Sirius, and they stood up and left the chapel. When they turned back into the Cathedral proper, Harry glanced back at the chapel, but Sabian was already gone.

As they walked back through Cathays Park toward the Welsh National Sports Centre, Harry and Sirius debated the implications of the deaths of two rather prominent sports figures. Muggle physicians had been unable to determine the exact cause of death in either case, but Harry doubted whether anyone in the muggle world was connecting those two deaths in any way. "D'you think it's coincidence that both deaths are sports figures then?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Don't know," Sirius shrugged. "There are a lot of athletes out there that are willing to do anything to get an edge, aren't there? . . . .Particularly muggle athletes."

"Well, in any case, they're clearly targeting muggles," Harry muttered. "Shall we get something to eat? It's another hour yet before the Quidditch matches start up."

"Yeah, but let's get something at the Quidditch field. I've not got much muggle money with me, and we might need it for a hotel tonight if we end up staying," Sirius remarked.

"Fine by me," Harry agreed, and they had soon procured sandwiches and beers. As they took seats in the stadium to watch the Swansea and Carmarthen match, Harry muttered, "Just remember, we have to leave here by 2:00, even if the match is still underway. We need to be around the football fields before that 2:30 match gets started."

"I know, I know," Sirius muttered, already distracted with the pre-match activities of both teams.

As luck would have it, the Carmarthen Seeker caught the snitch within half an hour, leaving Harry and Sirius with plenty of time to amble over to the nearby football fields. Harry wondered if they would know Sabian if they saw him. He somehow doubted it.

It wasn't until just before the start of the second football match in the late afternoon that Harry and Sirius saw anything of interest. They had separated off and on during the course of the afternoon and had just met up again to confer. They were discussing whether one of them should shift to the rugby fields when Harry saw Sirius' eyes cut over to what appeared to be the entrance to the players' locker room for one of the teams. Following his gaze, Harry saw at once what had caught Sirus' attention.

It was very clearly the witch from Sabian's photo. She was just entering the locker room, and she appeared to be carrying a large cooler bag with her. They quickly crossed the field. Sirius waited outside the locker room as Harry surreptitiously donned his invisibility cloak and went in. Once inside, Harry lingered between the rows of lockers and listened as the witch discussed her various herbal supplements.

"This one should increase your speed, and this one will give you more strength," she said to a player out of Harry's line of vision.

Harry couldn't hear the player's response; however, he did hear the witch emphasize that he should only take one drop per day for no more than 5 days. She also indicated that she only accepted cash.

She approached five different players and then headed for the door. As she exited the locker room, Sirius emerged from the shadows and grabbed Jeralyn's arm firmly.

"We'd like to discuss the potions you've been selling and the effects they're having on the muggle sports community," he said in a low voice.

"Potions. What are potions? I sell herbal remedies," Jeralyn muttered as she tried to extricate herself from his rather tight grip.

"We know who you are Jeralyn. We also know that you're at least tangentially involved in the darks arts and that you're trying to cash in on the vanity and competitiveness of muggle athletes," Sirius responded.

"I don't know what you're on about. And, what's this 'we' stuff anyway? I only see you," she said as Sirius maneuvered her into a small clearing at the edge of the park.

At that point, Harry emerged from behind a cluster of trees, smiling at her. "'We' includes me."

She sank onto a bench and crossed her arms across her chest. "Okay, so what do you two want? You are obviously the Harry Potter," she said coldly as she glanced at his scar. "Nice to meet you," she added with a sarcastic tone.

"Charmed," Harry replied.

"And who might your handsome partner here be? You look strangely familiar," she asked as she turned to look at Sirius.

"Never mind who I am." Sirius grinned slyly and commented "And just so you know, flattery will only get you so far…Ms. Jeralyn……"

"Just Jeralyn. I ditched the last name after my third husband."

"So what's with the potion scams?" Harry asked impatiently.

"Like I said, what potions? I sell herbal remedies. They help muggle athletes -- build strength, endurance, that sort of thing. What's the harm in that?"

"Well, there's no harm until your clients turn up dead," Harry said grimly.

"You know, what are you going to do?" she shrugged. "You tell these goons to take just one drop . . . .well, you know muggles. If one drop is good, three drops must be better. If I tell them to take the herb formulas just once a day, they figure they want to be four times better, so they give themselves four doses a day. You can't possibly hold me responsible for muggle stupidity, now can you, Harry? By the way, those green eyes are certainly more striking than I'd been told." Harry continued to gaze at her steadily. "Oh, and by the way, I sold all my remaining stock in the locker room back there. You can search me if you want, but you shan't find a drop of anything on me," Jeralyn went on.

"Nonetheless, we do still have some further questions for you," Harry replied.

"All right. What do you want? You have no authority to detain me though, do you?" she said hotly.

"It's in your best interests to cooperate fully with us, Jeralyn. Surely, you realise that," Sirius interjected.

"Where else you market these "herbal remedies" other than Cardiff?" Harry asked quickly.

"Larger cities . . . you know, New York, Los Angeles, Paris, Rome," she said grudgingly.

"Are your activities restricted to potions or do you dabble in other dark arts?" Sirius asked.

"Well, I sometimes do some voiceover work in New York, but yes . . . .mainly potions," she said with a wide grin. "And, potions are hardly illegal. They are a respectable part of any wizard's arsenal after all."

"They're not part of the typical muggle's arsenal though, now are they?" Harry asked.

"Harmless herbal remedies -- that's all I deal with I'm telling you," she said firmly.

"Are you familiar with a wizard by the name of Sloan Peregrine?" Sirius questioned.

"Never heard of him," she said hastily and looked away.

"She responded a tad bit too quickly," Harry thought to himself. "You obviously know we can't take you in for official questioning at the moment, but keep in mind that volunteering information now could ensure that you might receive more leniency. . . if you should find yourself facing official charges at some point in the future," Harry said quietly. "Don't fool yourself. It's only a matter of time before we piece this all together Jeralyn." Harry paused for dramatic effect. "So with that in mind, are you sure there isn't any other information you might want to share now?"

"Now I think of it, yes. I might have something of interest to you, Harry. Well, something with some sentimental value anyway. A girl can't make a living selling herbal remedies alone, so I've become a bit of an antiques dealer shall we say, on the side. I've recovered some bone fragments of someone by the name of Peter Pettigrew. You wouldn't be interested in these, would you? Don't wait too long though; I have several other interested buyers!" She then disapparated with a faint pop.

Sirius was stunned. He hadn't realised that any of the Death Eaters would have even retained Pettigrew's remains all this time. He also had never considered that the remains would be traded within the dark circles like some sort of trophy.

Harry was just annoyed. This was the second suspect in the last week who'd disapparated right under his nose. First Peregrine, now Jeralyn. "There must be some counter apparition charms out there," he thought, making a mental note to ask the I.D. Librarian about this in the morning.