Assassins

Chapter Six

It had been three days since Draco had been accosted by his old school mates, and on the morning of the fourth day he was to be found in an increasingly common state - sound asleep after some lengthy quality time spent in more than a few of London's worst pubs.

Tap, tap, tap!

Draco winced against the bright sunlight that flooded his bedroom and immediately squeezed his eyes shut against the assault, frowning to himself. It wasn't just the unholy sunlight that had awoken him; he'd been dreaming that someone was knocking on his door. He lifted his head from the pillow slowly to avoid the spinning sensation that always occurred after a serious bender - a trick that most drunks learn early on - and strained his ears.

Tap, tap, tap!

There it was again. He cracked one red eye open and saw that it wasn't a person knocking on his door, but a rather large barn owl at the window.

"I heard you," he grunted and swung his feet over the side of his bed.

"Stupid animal," he mumbled as he got out of bed slowly and made his way over to the window, draping a blanket over him as he went. He opened the window and took the rolled-up parchment and small parcel attached to it from the owl's leg and slammed the window shut. The owl hooted indignantly, presumably about the rough treatment it was unaccustomed to receiving.

He didn't bother unrolling the parchment or peering into the bag before throwing them into a remote corner of the shabby room; he knew what they were. The Ministry may have been suffering in other departments due to the war, but somehow he managed to get his meager stipend on the first of the month like clockwork. He fell back into bed, and cursed loudly when he connected with something soft and warm.

"Ouch!" a raspy voice said from beneath the covers. Draco hung his head, and suddenly it occurred to him that he hadn't been alone when he came home the night before. Curious, he lifted the bedspread back to reveal a naked woman whose face was obscured by a mane of shining auburn hair. Draco had the distinct impression that he had been with this woman prior to last night, but he couldn't be sure. Between the blackouts and moments of clarity, there had been many women. It was irrelevant, anyway. Women were fine in the dark but absolutely unbearable in the harsh sunlight of the morning after.

"Get out."

"Excuse me?" The girl sat up and reached for him, but Draco practically jumped away from her. It wasn't that she was hideous or anything - she was actually rather pretty - it was just that he couldn't remember in which pub he'd met her. If she was a Muggle and she happened to see the owl that had been perched at his window only moments before, that was bad. If she was a witch, then she had to know who he was, and that was worse. He found her clothes in a heap at the foot of the bed and threw them at her.

"When I get out of the loo, I'd better be looking at an empty room."

"Aren't we hospitable this morning, love?" The girl laughed as she began pulling her clothes on, but Draco ignored her and stomped into the loo, slamming the door behind him.

Nausea hit him the moment he looked in the mirror and saw the pale, gaunt facing staring back at him.

I look like a bloody ghost, he thought with growing irritation. He splashed some water on his face, vomited, and waited until he heard the front door slam before leaving the loo. He moved into the kitchen, tripping over a pile of clothing as he went, and began to shout obscenities to himself. His frustration took a physical form as began banging cabinet doors, searching for the coffee.

He had never been a pleasant person - no one who knew him would ever contradict that - but ever since he'd seen the pug face and the Mublood walk into his pub and disrupt the shaky existence he had somehow managed for himself, his anger had barely been kept at bay.

'So, this is what has become of the Great Draco Malfoy?' He recalled Pansy's words at their impromptu meeting as he slammed a can of coffee and a chipped mug on the counter. The mug shattered instantly, causing Draco to reach up and begin massaging his temples. He cursed and waved his hand over the broken ceramic, restoring it to its original state. It infuriated him to no end that he could use wandless magic with some things and not others - like making the coffee in the morning. Even worse, domestic spells had always eluded him, and after several accidents that had resulted in nasty explosions, he had swallowed some of the one thing he still had left - namely his pride - and had resorted to making it the Muggle way.

Not that he had mastered that technique, either.

"Goddamnit!" He roared as the coffee urn fell from his shaking hand and landed with a thud on his toes. Hopping on the uninjured foot, he managed to make it back to his bed - the lone piece of furniture in what served as a bedroom/living area combo. Or, at least, that's how the sadistic landlord had described it when he'd shown him the dump. He massaged his aching foot as snippets of Pansy's and Hermione's conversations flooded his mind.

'What if I said that if you joined us I could get you the Manor back, and the money, and restore the family honor and the rest of the nonsense that you fanatical pure-bloods care about?'

She couldn't, she's a lying, despicable half-breed that would do anything to get what she wants.

He made a noise then that, had anybody else made it, would have been called a 'chuckle,' but from Draco's lips, even that act seemed to drip with disdain.

No, that's just me, except for the part about being a half-breed.

A small voice tugged at the back of his consciousness.

What if she's not lying?

He surveyed the small, decaying rooms; the peeling paint, broken fixtures, and piles of trash that were mounting by the day, and cursed loudly again. The truth was that he had no idea whatsoever how to take care of himself. His whole life he had been coddled and pampered. There was always an elf to shout orders at (or kick if the mood struck him) or his mother hovering over him, making sure he always got what he wanted. Always. His heart turned over when her face, so much like his own, flashed in his mind.

He shook his head in an effort to wipe the image away and sighed. He didn't like to think about them or that night. He had resorted to drinking every drop of alcohol that his body would allow in an attempt to rid himself of their memories. It was difficult, seeing as he had a daily reminder of how vastly changed his life was now that his parents were dead. The Ministry had seen to that.

His parents had been dead less than an hour when the Ministry Officials stormed the manor and found Draco in the Parlor, standing over his parents' lifeless bodies. He hadn't said a word in the chaos as lights began flashing and people shouted and someone was in front of him asking endless questions. He said nothing still as they ushered him out of the manor and back to the Ministry.

When they reached a large room filled to the high ceiling with stone benches and hundreds of witches and wizards staring down at him, he felt the first wave of panic penetrate his traumatized state. His head turned in all directions; he couldn't believe how they had all managed to assemble in such a short amount of time.

They were all there, too - the ones that had been working for years to bring down his father's master. The disgusting Weasleys, flanked by their idiot father, who, it was rumored at the time, was next in line for the Minister's job. Fudge, who was fooling nobody with his staged captures of 'alleged death eaters' and his belated 'change of mind' about Voldemort. He was on his way out, but he was desperately trying to salvage some part of his reputation in the process. Potter, the Mudblood, and the rest of the Wizarding world waited to punish him for crimes which they couldn't possibly prove - although at this stage of the game, proof was highly irrelevant.

He tried to shake the image of the courtroom and his enemies' faces from his mind as he got up from the bed again and made a second attempt at the coffee. He had to have something- anything- in his stomach before he started to drink. Otherwise he wouldn't have even half of his usual stamina when he began to hit the bottle hard later. It was his routine, one that he had created to stop himself from having pointless thoughts about the past, like these.

Potter had been first on the stand to assist Fudge in his witch hunt.

"No-" In his many battles with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, he had never seen Draco.

"But, it's not likely that I would have, is it? After all, the cowards wear masks over their faces." He turned and leveled eyes with Draco, who returned the malevolent stare.

Fudge turned dramatically, pointing his wand at Draco's heart, and commanded that he roll up the sleeves of his robes. Draco obliged, and Fudge sighed with disappointment at the sight of the pale, unmarked flesh.

Others, including Dumbledore and Snape, had testified that Draco had never once been accused of being a Death Eater. Weasel King had testified that while Draco had never revealed himself as one of Lord Voldemort's servants, he was the only child of the Dark Lord's right hand man. It simply made sense to assume that he shared his father's beliefs. When he compared Draco to Barty Crouch, Draco had become sick to his stomach.

When Draco had been allowed to defend himself, he'd faltered several times, finally breaking down and sobbing that his parents were dead and his world was over, and they only cared about their political agendas. His words were met with harsh clicks of the tongue and more than a few accusations of dishonesty.

Several minutes went by as Fudge whispered back and forth with Weasley, Madam Bones, and Dumbledore. Finally Fudge cleared his throat, and Draco could tell from the look on his pudgy face that he had gotten what he wanted.

"Mr. Malfoy, as there is no concrete evidence that proves you are, in fact, a Death Eater, it is the court's obligation to clear you of these charges." The crowd gasped, and Draco let out a loud sigh of relief. He understood later why Fudge had looked so happy when he quieted the mob, and cleared his throat again before continuing to speak.

"However, as your father was an escaped murderer and a known Death Eater who used his wealth as a means for bribery and criminal activity, it is the decision of this court to seize all assets of Lucius Malfoy, including all business and personal vaults at Gringott's bank, as well Malfoy Manor."

Fudge had finally gotten what he always wanted; Lucius' money without all of the nasty strings attached. Draco's jaw dropped.

"You can't be serious! How am I supposed to live?"

The court had adjourned, and after everyone had exited, Draco was left still sitting where he'd been since the moment he'd entered the room. He was only vaguely aware of Dumbledore in the corner of the room, whispering furiously to Madam Bones, Fudge, and the Weasley patriarch. After several moments of what appeared to be a heated conversation, Dumbledore and the eldest Weasley approached him.

"Mister Malfoy," Dumbledore said in soft greeting. Draco hadn't moved; hadn't even looked up to acknowledge the old man's presence. "Seeing as how you're about to enter a transitional period of your life, the Wizengamot has seen fit to issue you a stipend every month."

"Stipend?" Draco had echoed, his voice hollow and bitter. His eyes were still cast downward. "You mean an allowance?"

"It isn't a very significant amount, I'm afraid," Dumbledore had continued, ignoring Draco's accusation. "But it's better than nothing at all. Arthur Weasley will be the one who assures that your monthly pay is sent to you." At this, Draco had looked up. Arthur Weasley had taken a step back at the venom that was present in the boy's glare.

"I'm to depend on a Weasley for my own money?" Dumbledore had murmured comforting words that Draco had pointedly ignored in favor of glaring daggers at the redhead in front of him. Despite his anger, though, the eldest Weasley male had never been late in sending Draco's money.

"And here I am," he said out loud. Just then he saw something rolling around on the dirty floor. His eyes widened when he saw that it was glowing bright green. He bent down for a closer look and snarled when he realized what it was.

"Mudblood!" It was the parchment that Hermione had given him. In addition to glowing, the date that had been inscribed over the seal was blinking. Draco realized that the frigid egghead had put a charm on it.

"Merlin, I hate her!" He threw the parchment across the room and reached for the bottle of whiskey on the table. Her know-it-all attitude had always angered him, and now here she was, throwing it in his face all over again.

'Look what I can do! Look at how smart I am! Look Potter! Look Weasley!'

It was disgusting. He took a long drink, enjoying the euphoria as it washed over him. He looked over his surroundings, and frowned. The parchment was now speaking!

'Time's almost gone!'

'Time's almost gone!'

He threw the bottle at it, but it only got louder.

'I'll expire in an hour!'

'I'll expire in an hour!'

Would he really be willing to put up with the people he hated most in the world to get his life back?

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Hermione bounced nervously on the balls of her feet as she waited for the recruits to arrive. The burly man beside her rolled his eyes so many times that Hermione was sure that they would roll right out of his head at any moment.

A girl could hope, anyway.

She exhaled slowly, trying to focus on the small white cloud that her breath formed in the wintry air. Perhaps she could make a game of it, just as she had when she'd been a small girl. She used to love lying on her back and staring at the clouds, trying to make shapes out of them. A puff of breath in icy air was essentially the same thing, wasn't it? She let her mind wander off in this vein, and had been so absorbed in thinking about it that when a delicate hand fell on her shoulder, she screamed.

"Whoa," Ginny said, withdrawing her hand and giving Hermione a cautious look. "Bit jumpy, are we?"

"Sorry," Hermione apologized, taking a deep breath to calm her now racing heart. "I wasn't paying attention, and you took me by surprise."

"I'm good at that sort of thing," Ginny said, shrugging. She dropped the bag she'd been carrying at her feet and looked around. "So where is everyone else?"

"You're the first one here."

"Oh, cripes," Ginny sighed, rubbing her face. "I hate waiting."

"You won't have to wait too long," Hermione said softly, her eyes focused on a figure behind Ginny. Ginny turned and let out a loud squeal, then took off to meet Harry.

"Harry! How in the bloody hell have you been?" She jumped on him, wrapping her legs around his waist as her arms went around his neck. He looked momentarily surprised, and then a wide grin split his face.

"Damn, Ginny," he laughed, hugging her back before she dropped to her feet. "Miss me much?"

"Seeing as how you've made yourself so scarce, is it any wonder?" she asked, smiling broadly at him. Hermione smiled to herself; it turned out that some things never changed.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry said, resting his arm around Ginny's shoulders as he neared. Hermione smiled at him.

"Hi, Harry. It's good to see you again." Harry let his arm drop and glanced around.

"I thought you said that there were four others besides me. It looks like there's only two."

"Two?" Hermione asked, sounding puzzled. Harry nodded towards the heavyset man that was resting on a tree stump, and Hermione burst into giggles. "Oh, no! He's not one of you."

"Who is he, then?"

"A tattooist," came a male voice from behind Harry. Harry, Ginny, and Hermione turned to see Neville striding purposefully towards them. Hermione could almost feel the surprise radiating off of her two friends.

"Neville!" Ginny exclaimed. He gave her a wry smile, and then nodded curtly at Harry.

"Hullo, Harry."

"Hey, Neville. How've you been?"

Neville shrugged and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "I've... been."

A moment of silence passed between the two men before Hermione realized what they must be doing. She stomped her foot petulantly, and they turned to look at her.

"There'll be none of that, you two," she demanded, her hands flying to her hips. Harry grinned again, and Neville gave her a faint smile.

"None of what?" Ginny asked, frowning. She looked back and forth between the two of them, confusion etched on her freckled face. Before anyone could answer her, however, a familiar voice called out to them.

"Oy, fellow Gryffindors!" The small group turned to see Angelina Weasley striding towards them, a smile on her thin face.

"Ang!" Ginny squealed, running to hug her sister-in-law. Angelina laughed and hugged her back.

Neville watched in silence as Harry, Ginny, and Angelina began talking and laughing, and then he turned to Hermione, who was absentmindedly rubbing her hip. "Where's the other one?"

Startled, Hermione jumped. She made sure not to make eye contact with Neville as she chose her words very carefully. "He'll be here any moment, I'm sure."

I hope.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

It was her perfume, Ron decided finally, that was the most distracting thing about the girl. It was sweet like honey, and it had been invading his nostrils from the moment the doors to the Ministry car had slammed shut and he and Pansy had been chauffeured away. The scent was even more distracting than the slender hand that had been inching toward his thigh for the last several minutes - but he was doing everything in his power to ignore the not-so-subtle advances she was throwing at him.

"I can't believe we're going in this stupid Muggle contraption." She turned to look at him, and Ron had trouble ignoring the way her skirt settled at least four inches higher on her thighs in the new position.

"No magic." He turned away from her to look out the window and hide the blush that had risen in his cheeks. "I told you that before we left. If you didn't want to do it the Muggle way, you should have stayed at the office." A shock went through him as her hand settled lightly on his shoulder, gently turning him back around.

"I'm not opposed to all Muggle activities, you know." She arched a perfect eyebrow at him and moved her hand to rest right on top of his thigh.

"You have to stop this." He moved away from her grasp. "I told you, I love Hermio-"

"Don't say her name," she said in a cold voice. "I'm tired of hearing it. I'm tired of hearing about her and you and your perfect little delusional world."

"Delusional?"

"You may have tricked your pretty little head into believing that she was, is, and always will be the love of your life, but I know better." Ron's eyes shifted to the driver and the look he gave her couldn't have been more plain: be quiet!

"Don't talk about that," he hissed.

"Why not? It wasn't so long ago that you used to whisper my name, and tell me how much you wanted me." She reached for him again and was inwardly shocked when Ron didn't resist.

"It never would have worked, and you know it. We're too different, we believe in diff-"

"That may have been true five years ago, but people change, Ron. I'm not the same person I was anymore than you are."

"You look the same to me," he said, gently plucking her hand from his knee and dropping it onto the seat. She pursed her scarlet lips together and stifled a frustrated sigh.

"I'm here with you now, aren't I?"

"I'll not be fooled into thinking it's a desire to do good that brings you here," Ron said, his voice cool. "Which is further proof that you haven't changed a bit - you're still looking out for you and doing exactly what you need to do in order to get what you want."

"So I'm a hedonist," she said playfully, shrugging. "Would that more of us were - there would be a lot more happy people walking around, I can tell you that."

"You're not just a hedonist," he said, his eyes still focused on the scenery that whipped by outside. "You're selfish and self-serving. A bad combination all around."

"Oh, and your girlfriend the saint makes you so happy?" she snapped angrily.

"At least when I go to bed with Hermione, I don't have to wonder if she'll be there when I wake up in the morning," he said, leveling a cold look at her.

"As I recall, love, you were the one who pulled the disappearing act, not me."

"I had nothing to stay for."

"Your defeatist attitude is really starting to brass me off," she said, her cheeks flushing.

"We're here. Be a good girl and stay in the car, won't you?" he asked glibly, exiting the vehicle. He moved towards the group, stopping only when he was standing beside Hermione.

"All right there, love?" he asked quietly, his eyes focused on the group. She nodded.

"I'm fine, Ron. They're ready for you."

"Where's-"

"He'll be here." Ron doubted the certainty in his girlfriend's voice, but cleared his throat and began to speak anyway.

"Welcome, everyone," he said, his voice full of authority. "First of all, I want to say thank you for agreeing to be a part of this project. You have all been hand chosen to be a part of this, and since I'm sure that you're anxious to get going, I'll make this brief."

"Too late for that," Ginny muttered under her breath. The only person who'd heard her was Harry, and he shot a highly amused look at her before turning his attention back to Ron.

"Before you're transported to your training location, we're going to have to ask you to allow Jamison here to mark you."

"Mark us?" Angelina echoed. "You mean like a Dark Mark?" There were hushed whispers among the recruits, and Hermione interrupted.

"Not a Dark Mark - the same concept, but not the same thing."

"We need a way to identify all of you, and this was determined to be the best way. It will also serve as your portkey to the training location, as well as a means of communication between you."

"You mean you're not getting one?" Ginny asked curiously.

"I've already gotten mine," Ron explained. Hermione gave him a surprised look, which Harry narrowed his eyes at. "It's a fairly simple procedure - much like what you would experience should you get a Muggle tattoo."

"While Harry and Hermione may know what that entails, I'm sure Ginny and Neville and I would like to know what you mean," Angelina said, frowning.

"A Muggle tattooist uses a needle and permanent ink to embed an image in your skin," Ginny explained, her cheeks flushing pink. Every pair of eyes turned to focus on her.

"And how, exactly, would you know that?" Angelina asked. Ginny shifted nervously where she stood, and then lifted the hem of her shirt. Hermione's hand flew to her mouth as the redhead revealed a tiny broom in the middle of her lower back. Ron's eyes widened, and Harry grinned.

"Way to go, Gin," he commented softly. The color on Ginny's cheeks deepened from pink to crimson.

"I'm not going to ask if Mum and Dad know about that," Ron said sternly. Ginny let go of her shirt, and the tattoo was covered. "Anyway - Jamison is going to use a specially charmed quill to mark each of you. The quill will decide what mark is most appropriate for you."

"How does that work?" Harry asked curiously.

"The quill has been charmed to attune itself to the more distinct aspects of your personality, and from that it chooses an image that best suits you. I'm not going to lie to you - it isn't painless, but it's quick. Once the tattoo is complete, Hermione will activate the relocating spell, and you'll all be transported to the training location. No one knows where you will be except for her."

"What are we waiting for?" Ginny asked. "Let's get on with it!"

"So eager to leave, sweet?" Ron squeezed his eyes shut as Pansy's saccharine voice addressed his sister.

"I thought I told you to stay in the car," he hissed. She smirked at him.

"Apparently I'm not a good girl like you thought," she purred, slinking up beside him. "Perhaps it would be in your best interests to punish me and teach me a lesson."

"I'd like to-" Hermione started towards her, but Ron restrained her.

"Jamison, if you would," he said, nodding at the heavy man. He grunted and rose from his seat on the tree stump.

"Who wants to go first?" Hermione asked, still glaring at Pansy. Neville stepped forward.

"I'll do it." He rolled up his right sleeve and extended his arm towards the tattooist, and Ron gave Hermione a strange look.

"Are they all going to be on the arms?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Jamison told me that the quill will pick an appropriate spot for the mark."

Everyone watched with bated breath as Jamison gently touched the quill to the skin of Neville's arm. To their collective surprise, the quill then jumped out of the tattooist's hand and circled around Neville once before returning to the tender underside of his arm. When the tip of the quill pricked his skin, he sucked in a deep breath.

Hermione was the only one who couldn't bear to watch as the quill did its work. Ron hadn't lied - the procedure was over in a manner of moments, and when Jamison took the quill back into his hand, Neville was left gripping his arm just below the tattoo. Harry, Ginny, and Angelina gathered close so they could peer at the mark.

"What in Merlin's name is it?" Ginny asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Why don't we let Jamison clean the blood off first, and then you'll be able to tell," Ron said crossly, gesturing for the man to do what he'd said. The man grunted and produced a moist white cloth (and no one wanted to know how or with what it had been moistened), then proceeded to wipe Neville's arm clean. When he was finished, all eyes were back on Neville's arm.

"Again, what in Merlin's name is it?" Ginny frowned.

"It's the eye of Horus," Hermione supplied, her voice slightly awed. Neville blinked as he stared at the new permanent addition to his body.

"So what's the significance?" Harry asked.

"The eye of Horus, also called the Udjat, is an Egyptian symbol for healing and protection." Everyone stared at Hermione as she flushed pink. "What?"

"Is it a magical symbol?" Ginny asked uncertainly. "Because we went to Egypt and I don't remember seeing it."

"It's a magical symbol." All eyes turned to Ron. "We saw it loads of times in the pyramids, remember?"

"I don't remember, actually," Ginny sniffed, her eyes full of mischief. "I was too busy trying to help Fred and George shut Percy in one of them to look at the artwork on the walls." Ron snorted at this.

"All right, enough of this. Who's next?"

"I'll go," Harry volunteered. Jamison discarded the bloody cloth he'd been holding and moved towards Harry with the quill. He touched it to the back of Harry's hand and watched as the quill began its circle again. When the quill stopped just above Harry's heart, he frowned.

"Have to take your shirt off, laddie," Jamison grunted. Harry removed his shirt and winced as the quill penetrated the tender skin of his chest. Several deep breaths later, and the heavyset man was wiping the blood away with a new cloth.

"Interesting," Hermione commented, her cheeks flushing pink at seeing Harry's bare chest.

"What is it?" Harry asked curiously, straining to look.

"It looks like a feather," Ginny said, staring unabashedly at Harry's naked torso.

"It's the feather of Maat," Hermione commented, turning her eyes away. Harry pulled his shirt back on and ran his fingers through his hair in an effort to smooth it out.

"What does it mean?"

"It stands for truth, justice, morality, and balance. It's said that in Ancient Egypt, it was the Pharoh's job to uphold Maat, and when he died, the Maat died with him and the whole of the world was sent into chaos." All eyes turned to stare at Harry, whose cheeks turned scarlet.

"Are you sure this ruddy quill is on the up and up?" he asked, embarrassed by the attention.

"Absolutely," Hermione said. "Next?"

"I'll go," Ginny said, stepping forward. Jamison tossed the bloody cloth he'd been holding onto the ground, and touched the quill to the back of Ginny's hand. It circled around her twice before stopping somewhere behind her. Ron's face turned crimson.

"I think you'll have to remove your shirt as well, Gin."

"Well, I'm not bloody well doing it in front of you," she snapped. "Turn around." Hermione noted, with no small amount of amusement, that Ginny hadn't asked Harry to turn his back to her. She grasped her shirt at the hem and pulled it over her head. Neville averted his eyes modestly, but Hermione almost burst into giggles when she saw that Harry was staring openly.

The quill broke the skin of Ginny's left shoulder blade and began working furiously. Tears welled up in her eyes, but Hermione was surprised when they didn't spill over. Jamison began wiping away the smeared blood, and Ginny cursed.

"Watch it," she snarled, her eyes flashing at the man. He backed off, and Ginny turned her back to Hermione. "What is it?"

Hermione stepped closer and examined the fresh wound. "It's an Ieb."

"A what?"

"An Ieb. It's the Egyptian symbol for a heart."

"And the significance of that is what, exactly?" Ginny asked, gingerly pulling her shirt back on.

"Well," Hermione began. "The Egyptians believed that the heart was the center of all consciousness - the center of life itself, even. When someone died, it was believed that their heart had departed, and it was the only organ not removed from the body during mummification."

"Interesting," Ginny muttered, exhaling slowly. Hermione frowned to herself. She knew another bit of information about Ginny's mark that was far more interesting than the history she'd just given everyone, and she wondered if it bade well for any of them.

"I guess it's my turn," Angelina said hesitantly, stepping forward. Jamison touched the quill to the back of her hand, and they all watched as the quill circled her once, then stopped at the back of her neck.

"Lift your hair up, Ang," Ginny ordered gently. When the quill pierced her skin, Angelina gasped.

"That hurts," she squeaked. Moments later, Jamison was lifting his hand to touch the clean white cloth to the blood on Angelina's neck. Ginny snatched it away from him and glared at him.

"I'll do it." She gently touched the cloth to the tattoo, and Angelina winced. "It looks like a set of arms reaching up," she murmured, blotting the blood with the cloth.

"Really?" Hermione asked, interested. She moved behind Angelina and looked at the mark the quill had chosen. "Oh, she's right. It's a Ka."

"Ka?" Angelina echoed.

"The Ka is the symbol for someone's soul," Hermione explained, watching Ginny tend to the sore spot. Perhaps Ginny would have been better suited with the eye of Horus, she thought. "When a person died, it was said that they went to meet their Ka, although I've always thought that was rubbish."

"What? Why?"

"Because the Egyptians believed that the Ka lived on after the person died. The Ka was the reason that they filled tombs and pyramids with food and provisions for the afterlife - because the Ka would need them for the journey."

"Well, now that the Mud-" Ron shot Pansy a warning look, and she sighed. "Now that Granger has given us an impromptu history lesson, why is everyone just standing here?"

"I give the orders here, Parkinson," Ron snapped, his eyes darkening with anger.

"Yes, what are you doing here, anyway, Pansy?" Harry asked, arching an eyebrow. Pansy gave him a feral grin and moved closer to Ron.

"I'm Ron's assistant," she supplied. Hermione's face flushed with anger, and Harry met Ginny's eyes.

"Assistant?" he mouthed disbelievingly. Ginny rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Don't ask," she mouthed back.

"You should probably get going," Ron conceded, ignoring Pansy's smug look. "The sooner you get to the training point, the better. You'll need to get settled before dark."

"Wait," Harry said, glancing around. "We're still missing someone, aren't we?"

"He won't show," Pansy remarked caustically. Hermione leveled a glare at her.

"He'll be here."

"Hermione," Ron said quietly. "Maybe you'd better get going."

"He'll be here," she insisted, turning her glare towards Ron. He held his hands up in surrender.

"All right, if you say so. Well everyone, it was nice seeing you all again. I have to get back to the office and take care of some messy paperwork - good luck to all of you. We're counting on you."

"Oh, no pressure," Ginny remarked, sighing as Ron made his way back to the car with Pansy following on his heels.

"All right," Hermione said resignedly. "I'm going to activate your tattoos."

"Aren't you coming with us?" Angelina asked.

"I'm going to send you ahead of me and I'm going to wait here for exactly five minutes for the last recruit to show. If he doesn't, I'll be right behind you." Hermione took her wand out of her pocket and motioned everyone forward. One by one, she touched the tip of her wand to the new tattoos and whispered the incantation that made them disappear. When it was just her and the tattooist, she folded her arms across her chest.

"Five minutes is all you get, Malfoy," she muttered under her breath. "And then you've lost your chance."