Note to Readers, and Acknowledgement: The author makes no claim to any characters, descriptions or venues found in the following piece of fan fiction. Everything belongs to the great J.K Rowling, who set a bar the rest of us can only attempt to reach. If you enjoy reading it, that is all the compensation the author wants or needs.

Wheels Within Wheels was published originally as a single piece, due to my unfamiliarity with the site. A reader informed me the size of Wheels Within Wheels makes it impossible to access with some mobile applications. I will be re-publishing, breaking up the chapters, and will remove the original post. That should fix the problem noted.

Thanks to the folks who have taken the time to comment.

Wheels Within Wheels

Part One—Harry and Daphne

Chapter One

It All Started in Godric's Hollow

It was Halloween.

The day was dry, with little wind and no overcast. Walking through Hyde Park in the afternoon sunshine was a very pleasant, rejuvenating way to play hooky from work.

Harry Potter walked through the park, looking left, then straight ahead, then right, and again straight ahead, keeping track of the pedestrians, bicyclists and dogs that were out and about. Every so often he would pause to read the name plate at the base of a tree, or on the edge of a flower bed. The stops gave him an opportunity to turn back and see if anyone was coming toward him from the rear. At one stop, he saw a woman he had noticed before approaching. She was wearing a green cape, carrying a paper cup from a popular coffee chain, and trying to wrangle a Bichon Frise via a rhinestone leash that dangled from her wrist.

The green cape might mean she was a witch. Harry decided to look at the marigolds just a little longer to give him time to assess whether the woman was or was not a threat. He turned his left side toward the woman, so that his wand hand would be obscured by his body, and let his wand slip from his sleeve into his right hand.

As she and the dog got closer, Harry heard the woman say, "Raffles! No pull, Raffles. NO PULL!" He thought the woman couldn't be a witch. If she had been, she would have used a calming spell on Raffles long before, rather than fail so miserably at basic dog training.

Harry kept his head inclined to the flower bed while continuing to assess the pair. He was about to conclude he was watching a muggle out walking her poorly-trained dog when the paper coffee cup twitched. Harry gave the tip of his wand a flick, and thought, "Protego." A shield emerged between the woman in green and Harry. He watched as the paper cup grew in length, while its girth shrank, revealing itself to be a wand. Specifically, it was a wand made from a medium brown wood, possibly walnut, around ten or eleven inches in length. Harry cast a charm towards Raffles: "Revelio!" Nothing happened, so Raffles, it appeared, was just Raffles.

Harry moved quickly to his left just as the woman let go a curse from her wand. Her curse hit his shield and rebounded, and while she also moved to her left, a bit of the rebounding curse appeared to catch her on her right shoulder. The leash came off her left wrist, and Raffles yelped and ran down a branch of the path. The woman glared at Harry.

"You have thirty seconds to start telling me why I shouldn't use Levicorpus to put you into low Earth orbit," said Harry. "Starting now."

"You can't do that with Levicorpus, Potter," sneered the woman. "It isn't that strong."

"True," said Harry. "But I managed 320 feet using an 80 pound bag of cement, once, for practice, so if you want to take your chances..."

"Alright, Potter, alright," she said. "Took a contract. Someone wants to talk to you."

"You're a pro?" Harry asked. That didn't seem right. "Expeliarmus!" The woman's wand flew to his left hand. He looked at it more closely, lowering his own right hand but keeping his wand on the woman. Harry looked around, trying to find Raffles. He saw the Bichon, 100 yards, more or less, down the branch path. He raised his wand to his neck and spoke softly, "Raffles, come!" The little dog responded immediately, turning and trotting back along the path.

"Walnut, ten and seven-eighths inches, I'd say dragon heartstring core, in the possession of a modestly talented witch who thinks she is a magical career criminal, trying to make a bit of a rep by taking odd jobs 'way past her level of competence. You have got to be a Fletcher. I'm guessing you're Ivy. Seen Mundungus lately?"

"He's around, I guess," said the woman, looking at her feet. "Look, I didn't want any trouble, it seemed like a simple proposition, at the time. I just wanted to get close enough for confundo."

Harry saw Raffles run past Ivy Fletcher and approach him. Keeping his eyes, and his wand, on the Fletcher woman, he bent over and took Raffles' leash in hand.

"I can't let this go, I'm afraid, " Harry said. "You assaulted the Head Auror in Hyde Park in broad daylight, muggles all around, and one or both of us could have come out of this in very bad shape. You're going to get some time to consider your options."

With that, he turned his wand tip toward the sky and whispered "Ultra-violet," sending a stream of sparks upward. The sparks wouldn't be seen by anyone not wearing Ministry of Magic issue wide spectrum lenses, but any on-duty aurors in the area would respond immediately. Ten seconds later there were two sharp pops on the other side of a nearby hedge. A pair of aurors emerged through a gap.

"How can we help, Mr. Potter?" asked the one in front.

"Gentlemen, thank you for coming. If you don't already know, this lady is a member of the Fletcher crowd. I believe she is Ms. Ivy Fletcher, who is known to law enforcement, although not for anything particularly fiendish, at least up 'til now. She needs accommodation for a few hours at Ministry expense. The holding cells ought to be sufficient."

"Here, take this," Harry said as he held out Ivy Fletcher's wand. "Priori incantatemwill reveal she shot a hex of some sort at me a few minutes ago. Aimed it right into my shield, unfortunately for her, that sent the hex back, and she seems to have suffered a shoulder injury, so please have the Healers check her out. Other than that, she needs her peace and quiet. No one in the cell besides her."

"One other thing…" Harry motioned the two aurors over. "Muffliato!" he said, waving his wand, ensuring they could speak without Fletcher overhearing. "I have someplace to go. It won't be longer than a couple of hours. Take your time with processing. If word gets out we've got her, there will be Fletchers apparating in from all over London and who knows where else. We need to find out whatever she knows, no matter how little it is, so we can start figuring out who would send someone like her after me. An auror is to be within hearing distance until I get back, and make sure anything she does have to say is recorded, one way or another, okay?"

"Yes sir," said the aurors.

"I'll have to leave the dog with you. It's just a dog, I believe. Name's Raffles. Who is around today who is good with animagi?"

"Hobbes, sir. He was assigned to Diagon Alley at roll call. He's probably there now."

"Very good," said Harry. "Have Hobbes check Raffles out. We don't want him assuming his human form in the squad room, or sitting there as a dog soaking up all the gossip. Not until we find out what the hell is going on. Off with you then, and I'll see you shortly."

One auror secured Ivy Fletcher's wand inside his jacket while the other linked arms with her, and with a "Pop-pop" they disapparated. Harry stood for a moment, then looked around. Although he couldn't see anyone, he cast revealing charms until he had covered all the areas that could conceivably conceal a person, and disapparated.

Harry reappeared on the edge of a village in the West Country. Godric's Hollow had been home to innumerable witches and wizards over the centuries. Some illustrious, such as Albus Dumbledore, Ignotus Peverell, and the village namesake Godric Gryffindor, one of the four founders of Hogwarts School. Most had been quite ordinary, lovers of quiet lives in the embrace of friends and family, with, perhaps, a bit of the adventurous side of magic thrown in for flavor.

Godric's Hollow loomed large in Harry Potter's past. Both of his parents had been killed in their house in Godric's Hollow, and Harry nearly so, when the Dark Lord Voldemort attempted to murder Harry, fearing Harry was destined to defeat him. Voldemort believed that he had only to overcome Harry's parents, Lily and James, to clear the way for the murder of little Harry.

Voldemort, it turned out, was mistaken. Lily Potter was more than a match for Voldemort. By the time Voldemort began to grasp the enormity of his mistake, it was too late. Lily used her own unjust death to make Harry invulnerable to Voldemort's curses. Voldemort was broken, nearly killed, and struggled to return. He almost succeeded until Harry defeated him once more, sending him to well-deserved oblivion.

Harry learned the truth about his history, and the death of his parents, in bits and pieces over a period of years. Since reaching adulthood, he always tried to visit Godric's Hollow on Halloween, the anniversary of Voldemort's attack, and the start of his years of fear, and violence. Once, sitting on a bench in the church cemetery, contemplating James and Lily's graves, he went over again how he owed his life to Lily.

On that occasion, Harry believed he had heard his father, James speak inside his own head. He was convinced he had heard James say, clearly, "Shouldn't chew it over TOO much, mate. Mixed feelings are definitely a given, I'd say."

Harry thought about that experience, and others, as he made his way through Godric's Hollow. There was the cottage of Bathilda Bagshot, the eminent magical historian, where he had been ambushed by Voldemort's snake/familiar Nagini, and would have died if not for the quick and efficient use of magic by his good friend and ally, Hermione Granger. The house of his parents, still showing the damage caused by Voldemort's curse, was over there.

He walked past St. Jerome's Church, which, as always, induced its own melancholy, causing a lump to form in his throat. He always recalled his first sighting of the little church, and the Christmas Eve visit to the church cemetery, when he and Hermione listened to carols coming from inside, standing in falling snow before James and Lily's gravestone.

Harry entered the cemetery and walked the short distance to the grave. He had donated a traditional wooden park bench to the church some years before and placed it nearby. He was pleased to see it was weathering well, taking on that subtle outdoor wooden bench patina. He glanced at the dedication plaque, which read simply, "In remembrance. Mum and Dad. Always, Harry", not dwelling on the sentiment lest it overcome his composure. He sat down, waiting for his mind to calm a bit. The Halloween visits weren't easy, but Harry had discovered he felt something, visiting Godric's Hollow on Halloween, that he didn't experience at any other time. He was sure he felt his parents' presence, if he sat long enough, and remained calm enough. He wasn't convinced, in one part of his mind, that anything at all was different. There wasn't a magical explanation for his feeling, as far as he knew. He WAS certain he had heard James on that one occasion, a memory he cherished, and one that he recalled at various times, when he thought he was going to be swallowed by despair. Just thinking of it put a picture of James in his mind, reminding him that whatever was bothering him, it would be unwise to take it too seriously.

Harry sat on the bench, giving the gravestone a thorough looking-over. He was grateful to James and Lily's friends, who had paid for the stone at the time, Harry being just over a year and in no way competent or responsible for handling such affairs. He felt some negativity toward his Aunt Petunia, Lily's sister, who had raised him when he was orphaned, resented him every day, and tried to convince him he was no more than an unlucky child whose careless parents had let themselves get killed in an automobile accident.

That was why he had never visited his parents' gravesite until he was eighteen. Petunia was deeply conflicted, possessed no magical ability, and was accompanied throughout her own formative years by her sister Lily, one of the greatest witches Britain had ever produced. Fearing magic, and her nephew's growing magical power, she denied Harry not only the opportunity to express his grief and sense of loss, once he was old enough to experience those, but the knowledge of his place in the world, and the challenges that he should be preparing to face.

He remembered discovering his parents looked back at him when he looked into the Mirror of Erised. He thought of the times they had appeared to him, summoned from the realm of the dead only in his most dire times, looking into the face of Death, when there could be no other resolution, but to will himself to live, or to die. He thought of his success in the world of British wizardry following Voldemort's defeat, the Order of Merlin, First Class, his steady rise in the Ministry of Magic, until he had become the youngest Head Auror in history, with a strong likelihood he would repeat that when promoted to Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

It wasn't all triumph. Affairs of the heart were not, he had to admit, Harry's forte. He had, in fact, stumbled, failing miserably, at every opportunity.

He thought he was ready to settle into domesticity with Ginny Weasley, only to discover his vision of meeting the challenges of wizarding law enforcement while being happily married did not match Ginny's, who finally informed him she did not fancy seeing her husband going off to work every day not knowing if a wizard with an old grudge would get the better of Harry in some London alley, or if a wizarding domestic dispute call would go haywire, taking the disputants and her husband with it.

Harry had tried comparing Ginny's quidditch career, which came with its own risks, to his responsibilities, but found her unreceptive. Then things went beyond unreceptive. By the time they had exhausted their frustration with each other, it was clear they were long overdue for a break, if not a breakup.

Sitting on the bench, Harry thought about his future. His parents had married not long after leaving Hogwarts. He had come along fairly soon afterwards. If that was the standard, Harry was falling behind, not a sensation with which he was familiar. As the leaves drifted down from the deciduous trees, Harry mused on the annual reminder of the fleeting nature of time.

"As if I need reminding," Harry thought.

Harry, the orphan, found being with families such as the Weasleys close to heavenly. He had missed out on that when he was growing up, and he longed for a stable life with someone to love, who would love him back, who would enfold him in that warm blanket of affection he had seen and envied among his friends.

Bill and Fleur Weasley, Neville and Hannah Longbottom, Ron and Hermione, they had all found that someone who seemed the other half of the whole, with whom they fit so closely you couldn't imagine one without the other.

On a spring evening, some weeks after their parting, Harry and Ginny had sat in the garden at The Burrow, the Weasley family home, and talking, talking, talking, had danced around the core of their issues. Enough time had passed for sitting and talking, as long as each observed careful editing etiquette.

Ginny finally said,

"Harry, I think, we were meant to find each other, and maybe to fall in love. I don't think we were meant to stay that way. I get the feeling you feel something like that as well. We both know there is something we can't get over, and that is just the way it is. Isn't it? You know it, too. Now, you leave, and go talk to Ron, because I'm going to have to cry."

It took a beat or two for Harry to absorb what Ginny was saying, but when he had done, he felt a sensation, starting at the top of his head, rolling down to the soles of his feet, and back again. It felt like a wave, or a convulsion, and when it was over, he knew Ginny was right. It was so obvious, to both of them. Acknowledging that, they could, and did, move on with their lives. That didn't make his current situation any easier, though.

"Okay," he had said then. "I can't disagree. It's so obvious, isn't it? I'll take it as agreed, we will always be this honest with each other?"

Ginny just nodded, and Harry walked back inside to find Ron.

Harry sat on the bench and pondered. Maybe it was possible he wouldn't find anyone. "Maybe that is just the way it's supposed to be," he thought, not aware he was staring at Lily and James' gravestone. In the silence of the St. Jerome graveyard, Harry heard, quite distinctly, a female voice say, "Not likely." Then more silence. Harry looked around, and, seeing no one, he cast subtle revealing spells toward every tree and structure that could conceal a person. Harry was alone.

Respects paid, filial duty performed, Harry rose and walked to the cemetery gate, overcome as he always was with gratitude, and awe, for what his parents were prepared to do for him all those years past. "Shouldn't chew it over TOO much, mate," he told himself. That helped his mood, some.

Harry walked through the village once more, returning to the little hill he often used to disapparate, because it gave him an unobstructed view of the surroundings. Just in case. When he was sure there were no muggles around to see him, he disapparated from Godric's Hollow with a slight "Pop!" back to the Ministry in London. The guard in the Atrium nodded. "Afternoon, Mr. Potter, " to which Harry responded, "Afternoon." Then it was back to work.

Harry found one of the aurors to whom he had entrusted the presumed Ivy Fletcher in the squad room.

"I'm back," he announced. "What can you tell me?"

"Sir," the auror began. "Ms. Dobbs has the prisoner in Room One. The prisoner is indeed Ms. Ivy Fletcher, an associate and relative of Mundungus Fletcher. Her identity was confirmed through an examination of her wand. She doesn't deny it, but keeps repeating she hasn't done anything wrong, at least that we can prove.Priori incantatemrevealed she did cast a confundus the last time she used the wand, so the question is, whatever for?"

"Indeed. And she is in with Dobbs, excellent," Harry said.

Ms. Dobbs possessed a truly eerie degree of empathy. She was a natural interrogator. Harry had seen her sit down with street level crooks who had defeated shifts of aurors, and have them telling her their life story inside five minutes. No one had an explanation, including Harry, but he suspected Dobbs managed to somehow align her need for information with her subjects' need to talk to someone about the roots of their behavior. Harry wasn't sure if magic was at the heart of Dobbs' technique or not. He'd decided long ago that, all said and done, it really didn't matter.

"Auror Dobbs," Harry said as he entered the room. "How is our guest?"

"Head Auror," said Ms. Dobbs, standing up. "May I present Ms. Ivy Fletcher, who I understand you have met? Ms. Fletcher and I have been talking girl talk, and she says she once saw you play quidditch on the Gryffindor squad. She said you were quite good. She went away an admirer, if not a fan, and sincerely regrets any inconvenience she may have caused you today."

"Has she told you what her motivation was?"

"Indeed, Head Auror. It was a professional engagement," said Ms. Dobbs. "Go ahead, Ivy, tell Mr. Potter what you told me. You're not selling anyone out."

"And I won't, either," said Ivy. "I'm no grass!"

"Of course not, why, you could never hold your head up among the Fletchers, could you?" agreed Ms. Dobbs. "What was it you charged your employer? Ten galleons?"

"Ten galleons!" huffed Ivy. "Walk up to Mr. Potter here, cast a confundus, walk away, no one gets hurt. It seemed so simple. Don't know who they were or what they wanted you confunded for. It was a little vague, I guess."

"Ms. Fletcher, that is what self-reflection is for," said Dobbs. "We pause in our busy days, maybe have tea with a friend and talk things over. I look forward to it, because I always feel so refreshed afterwards. How are you feeling?"

"Lots better, thanks," said Ivy.

Harry inclined his head toward the door. Ms. Dobbs joined him there and they walked out of the room.

"This is not going to go anywhere," Harry said. "She appears to be losing the memory right now. She might have been confunded herself, given a little suggestion, and sent on her way. Did she have ten galleons on her?"

"No, Mr. Potter, she didn't, and I asked her about that and she couldn't remember what she had done with the money, or if she had gotten it when she took the job, or if she was to get it after. I didn't use veritaserum, but I couldn't feel any misrepresentation or obvious omissions in her story."

Harry thought his problem through. He had hauled in a fringe member of a clan of mostly career criminals, but one who put the petty in petty crime. She hadn't damaged anything except her own reputation for competence, and appeared to his most skilled interrogator to be devoid of any useful information.

"Right. Nothing useful to be gained by holding her. Put recordare totalison her wand. That way if we bring her in again, we'll see whatever she's been up to."

Ms. Dobbs nodded, "Right away sir."

"What about the dog?"

"Ivy says it's a prop, picked up just before she left to find you. Apparently someone let her take it out for a stroll. Lots of people can't adopt a dog, but are happy to volunteer to take them out to stretch their legs. She planned to walk right back and turn it in. Just speculation on my part, but maybe she got it from a pound nearby?"

Harry hadn't heard of that before, but let it go. "Okay," he said. "Don't forget to write up your results and get it to the desk for the file. They'll be expecting a couple of sheets before you leave for the day. Good job, auror."

Harry walked back to the desk. "Hobbes checked the little guy out? Not an animagus? No sign of were-dog tendencies?"

One of the perks of being Head Auror was that the aurors laughed at your lame jokes. Aurors usually didn't laugh at really good jokes. The concept of a were-Bichon Frise was, apparently, auror-level amusing, judging by the laughter.

"Very droll, sir, very droll indeed. No, sir, Hobbes said it looks like a real dog to him. He hasn't transformed into anything the whole time we've been watching him, have you Raffles? That's a good dog," said the auror, including Raffles in their conversation.

"Okay," said Harry. "Any arrangements for his care and feeding? Apparently, he was to go back after some exercise. Dobbs theorized he came from a pound near where Ivy came up on me, but they wouldn't be open now. We can take him back tomorrow. Muggle or magical dog pound is undetermined at this time."

"Right sir," said the remaining auror. "We got a cage from Supply, should he just spend the night back here?" indicating the area behind the desk.

"Naw," said Harry. "He'd probably get lonely and howl all night. He can come with me." Harry took Raffles' rhinestone leash and left the squad room.

When he got back to his office, Harry nodded to his assistant and offered, "Got a guest. Anything come in that needs extra special attention? Because I'm not going to be here very long."

"Gringott's chairman, or chair goblin or, whatever, sends his greetings and requests the honor of your presence at lunch tomorrow, at eleven a.m., in the boardroom of the bank."

"Ragnak? Ragnak is inviting me to lunch?"

"Sir," said the assistant with a nod that could almost have been a bow. "That is correct, lunch, tomorrow at eleven, Gringott's board room."

Harry had enough experience to know that he hadn't received an invitation. He had received a summons.

The chairman of Gringott's Bank was an immensely powerful personage in the magical world. Gringott's fingers were in every magical enterprise. Wizards deposited their money in Gringott's, changed currencies at Gringott's, and stored family treasure in Gringott's vaults. Gringott's trust department managed wizarding properties for entire wizarding clans, and important contracts were often signed by Gringotts contracting officers, who extracted hefty bonds held by Gringott's to guarantee contract performance.

Harry found Ragnak's invitation on his desk blotter. Reading it, he decided he still had time to respond, since goblins really liked working late. Calling his assistant in, he said he would be going to Gringott's for lunch tomorrow, and asked if he could please get an affirmative note prepared and brought in for signature. While he waited he reread the invitation. Ragnak didn't give anything away, nor did Harry expect he would. Ragnak was a goblin. Taciturnity when dealing with wizards was compulsory, on principle.

Within a few minutes, Harry had signed off on the response, ordered his assistant to dispatch it immediately by owl, and prepared to close up for the day. He looked at Raffles, who looked back with something like awe, combined with sublime happiness in his eyes.

"I hear you guys are chick magnets," Harry said, as he walked Raffles out toward the Atrium.

Once there, he tucked the dog under his arm, stepped into one of the fireplaces, visualized his apartment's living room, and with a "WHOOSH" he was there. He put Raffles, who seemed no worse for wear after his journey, down on the floor, and unclipped his leash. The little dog trotted over to Harry's couch, and promptly lifted his leg.