Harry, gripping his wand firmly in his pocket, cautiously did so, with a glance back to the man called Hughes. He seemed to be handing a boy, about Harry's age, a bouquet of flowers from one of the glass-fronted refrigerators. The boy had on a cap that obscured most of his face, and was wearing a tshirt and shorts. As he watched, the boy ran off, quickly, out the door.
'Definitely not him.' Thought Harry glumly. He felt Tonks put a hand on his shoulder, and give it a squeeze.
Ed was sitting under a tree on a bench near the graveyard when he spotted the boy. He stayed where he was and simply watched, golden eyes shaded with dark glasses and hidden beneath his black-dyed hair. The boy carried a yellow bouquet of flowers, as was his job. Carefully, the boy walked, looking for the right grave marker. Then, with a slight nod to no one and a cry of triumph, removed the dead boquet, and placed the new in the receptacle. Then the boy ran off. Back to where he had come. Ed still did not move from where he was.
But the message was delivered just the same.
'Harry's looking for me.' Ed thought. 'Yellow's for concern.'
Ed stretched his hands lazily over his head, and stood. Thinking. Then he looked around again, carefully. There wasn't many people around him at the moment. And there didn't feel like there were...others..there either.
"I believe I feel like gifting Hughes some pizza." He said aloud in Amestrian, then headed off to his new destination.
"So. How do you know Ed?" Hughes asked, pouring the tea from the teapot into six mismatched tea cups.
"I met him at school, actually." Harry replied. "And you?"
"Oh..he and the family go way back." Hughes said. "He knew my great-grandmother apparently. But then, she was so friendly with everyone and had such a long life. She made it to 100 before she went...this is her shop actually. Brought the whole thing over from Germany after the war."
"War?" Ron asked nervously. "W-what war?"
"World War Two. Way before your time. or my time for that matter." Hughes looked over at Ron, saw his confused face. "They haven't covered it yet in your school, now have they?" He chuckled. Then turned and opened the refrigerator. He grabbed two trays of cut up sandwiches, opened the lids, and placed them on the table. "Lets see...Should I get plates..? Oh ..Of course I should. Silly me." Hughes turned to the cupboards.
While his back was turned, Ron exchanged confused glances with Lupin and Tonks. Hermione caught their eyes and mouthed "Later." Harry watched them with amusement. He was glad of his Muggle education in situations like this, at least he could follow a Muggle's conversation adequately.
"Here we are..they match the cups at least." Hughes said with a smile.
Bell rung at the door.
"Oh. I'll be right back. Start without me, if you would?" Hughes said and got up from the table.
Lupin brought up one of the cups to his nose and gave it a cautious sniff.
"Well..it's not poisoned." Hermione said with annoyance. "Honestly..!"
Tonks chuckled, and brought a cup up to her own lips. Ron poked at one on the cut sandwiches, as if it would bite him. Harry sat back with his own cup in his hands. After a few minutes of silence...
"So this is the Muggle equivalent to a safe house." Tonks said.
"Looks like." Harry said. "Muggles don't have the same..."
"Shh" Lupin said.
"Annnnd...I'm back. Terribly sorry. There was a delivery, you see. It won't do for tea time, but..." Hughes said hurriedly, as he entered the little room, carrying a rather large flat box. Harry recogised it. He was sure Hermione would too. The smell itself was a dead give away to anyone else.
"I believe most do like having pizza, especially if it's a free gift." Hughes said, and set the box down on the table. He lifted the top flap. "I'm not sure who sent it, or even what kind it is..hope it has pepperoni...!"
Harry looked inside the box, curious, as it had been years since he last had pizza. And even then, it was days old, leftovers from Dudley Dursey's 6th birthday party. It had been forgotten in the back of the fridge. The smell of the fresh pizza was as heavenly to his nose now as it was then. He wondered what it tasted like.
But. Instead of seeing the expected pie, he saw a rather large note blocking his view of the molten cheese. It was written in the familiar, barely legible, and yet neat, scrawl. It said:
7658 market place. 6pm. If it's clear. We'll talk.
Hughes looked at the note, along with the rest of them.
"Should've known. Bloody brat. Must've knocked out another police officer or something." He said, and snorted with amusement. Then he looked at each of them. "Who wants pizza?"
:::
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