No copyright infringement intended.

Sorry for the long wait!

-2-

circa two weeks later

Harry found herself sitting in a comfortable waiting room, holding Hermione's hand. A plaque next

to them read S. Commodore – Investigations. Potted plants were crammed on the windowsill,

adding some much needed color to the creamy-white color scheme.

A secretary with an unfortunate perm was typing away on a keyboard, occasionally staring at them

in what she probably thought was a discreet manner.

It wasn't.

Two massive art prints hung on the wall opposite from the two witches. Something supposedly modern in black and white.

At least the couch was comfortable, Harry thought, exchanging a look with Hermione.

Her sister from another mister nodded encouragingly, ignoring the sterile environment with

practiced ease.

"Lady Potter-"

Harry considered jumping out of the window for just a second, but then reminded herself of her

precious cargo. She'd do it at a later date.

Hermione glowered at the man wearing a pristine suit and designer glasses, who had called them

up. "Mr. Commodore?"

"Yes, of course. Please enter and take a seat. Would you prefer some refreshments?" Even his accent was practiced upper-class and came across as arrogant.

Hermione and Harry sat down in ultra-modern chairs in front of a matching desk.

A portrait of the Queen hung behind the massive wooden construct, framed by a variety of diplomas and cut outs from various newspapers depicting Mr. Commodore.

White filing cabinets lined the equally white walls. There was a green rug on the wooden floor, but

no curtains in front of the large windows.

It smelled faintly of cleaning spray.

Harry tore herself out of unpleasant memories of Aunt Petunia's daily cleaning regiment, focusing on the man sitting opposite from her.

"No, thank you. We would like to go straight to business, please," Hermione insisted with a fake

smile.

She could probably cut glass with the edges of that expression.

Harry nodded, hoping to speed up the whole process. She didn't want to stay in this environment

any longer than necessary.

Mr. Commodore opened a locked cabinet, retrieving a folder. He placed it on the desk, then

carefully seated himself once more. "Why do you wish to know more about Mr. Morinozuka?"

"Personal reasons," Harry replied, keeping her tone neutral and bland. She could hardly tell him that she had had a one night stand with the poor guy and was expecting his baby at the moment, could she?

"It was not easy to find out more about this man. He seems very well protected. On the other hand,

there is quite a bit of public information readily available if one only knows where to look. You

mentioned only wishing more about his background, not requiring banking information or other,

more personal data, thus I concentrated on providing you with more shallow data."

He pushed the file across his desk, then opening it. It contained two copies of a rather thin folder.

"Mr. Morinozuka went to a prestigious school in Tokyo, Japan. He was national Kendo champion,

several times, as well as placing first, second, or third multiple times during Karate tournaments.

Until three months ago, he lived with his parents and younger brother."

"What happened three months ago?" Harry wondered.

"He moved to London, following his successful graduation from business and law school. He lived

in the United States of America for a time, but returned to finish his studies in Japan. According to

several announcements I found, his family is quite well-connected and presumably belongs to the

upper-class."

Hermione flipped through the sheets in the folder at almost lightning speed.

Harry trusted her to note anything which seemed strange.

"What is his current occupation?"

"He works for a Japanese business firm. We are not quite sure what they do, but they seem to be

specialized on security."

"And where does he currently live?"

"Near Hyde Park, the exact address is on the first page. I trust this is all satisfactory to you?"

Harry considered the paper in her hands. She hadn't even opened the file. So she sent a quick look at

her best friend.

Hermione nodded discreetly.

"Everything seems to be in order. Thank you for your swift and conscientious service, Mr.

Commodore."

They shook hands, although Mr. Commodore appeared to wish to bow, of all possible things, to

Harry.

He then guided them to the waiting room which doubled as a sort of lobby, wishing them

safe travels.

Harry swore to herself to never, ever return to this obsequious snob.

Once they finally stepped back onto the streets outside, she finally opened the paper file.

Her eyes were drawn to the first picture, lying on top of the information package.

It was him. Definitely.

She'd recognize those eyes anywhere.

Hermione nudged her gently. "Okay?"

"Okay," Harry replied, taking a deep, calming breath. "Let's do this."

oooo

They regrouped in the Granger's living room. Harry and Hermione were cradling a cup of warm chocolate, waiting for the others to come home.

Harry had nearly buried herself into her friend's side, like a cat looking for a cuddle session.

Hermione had an arm slung across her shoulders, one hand absentmindedly playing with a strand of black hair. She was reading, predictably.

Their cozy calm was disrupted when Ron Apparated to the back door, in view of the living room windows.

"How did it go?"

"We have a name and a face," Harry replied, slowly making space for Ron on the couch.

He squeezed his lanky frame onto the two seater, but then settled her feet onto his lap.

"And an address."

"Good. That's good. Right?"

"Yeah..." Harry agreed.

"What's that face for, mate?" Ron began to massage her feet. "You can still change your mind."

She scrunched up her nose, shaking her head lightly. While also trying not to dislodge Hermione's book.

"I guess...I'm just nervous. What if he doesn't even remember me? Or doesn't want to even see me? I mean, he doesn't know me. Who I am. We're basically strangers. Why should he trust me?"

Ron tugged on her feet, gently. "I hate to tell you this mate, but you're pretty much the exact opposite of forgettable. What's the worst that could happen when you talk to him?"

Harry avoided his eyes, fiddling with a loose strand on Fifth Year's Christmas sweater.

"The absolute worst case scenario?"

"Maybe throwing me out of his apartment once he hears what I have to say? Or not believing me? Or, or just not even allowing me to see him? To tell him?"

"Well, you still have us, the Grangers, all the Weasleys, and most of the DA to help raise your little imp. If that dunderhead can't appreciate you or the baby - that's his problem. Not your's."

Harry gave Ron a hug to the best of her ability, considering their rather precarious position.

"Thank you."