Fame Isn\\\'t Everything

Chapter Two ~ The Boy Who Disappeared

It was July 31^st. All thoughts invariably turned to Harry Potter.

Harry tended to make the mistake in believing no one remembered him. This was incorrect because one can't touch so many lives without leaving some trace of oneself behind. All they needed was a good kick in the behind and a certain date on a calendar tended to do it. They had no trouble remembering after that.

Not everyone thought about him, of course. There were the thousands of people who had been raised in the Jack Barnes era and had never heard of Harry Potter except perhaps for some reference in an outdated textbook.

But for the people who had known him, and really known him, July 31^st was like a blast of icy water. One or two contemplated writing him. Most did their best to forget again so they could go on with their lives. Some opted for a quiet reflection, choosing to think of the good times--before he had gone nutty.

There were other people thinking about him as well that fateful day. People who had grown up hearing his name as part of constant dinner table conversation. People who had never particularly liked him and weren't sorry to see him go. People who wanted to make sure he'd stay gone.

Something strange happened, however. That year, when his former friends thought of him, they had a strange, sharp pain, right above their left eyes.

~~~

Ginny rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand as she kneaded the dough. She was exhausted, but she continued shaping the bread as sunlight poured into the kitchen of the Burrow.

She heard a creaking on the stairs and dropped the dough back onto the counter, ignoring her floured hands, and rushed to the aid of the older man as he came down.

"Dad, I told you to stay where you were," Ginny said, exasperated. "I was just going to finish up the bread and come up to you."

Arthur Weasley surveyed her from behind his glasses. What was left of his once red hair was now mostly grey and his gait was slow. Age (as well as other things) had taken their toll on him.

"I'm not completely incompetent, Ginny," he said, smiling. "I appreciate everything you do for me, my dear, but I can still walk up and down the stairs. I'm not that old."

"No," Ginny replied, "but you're not in the best health. I only want the best for you. I'm trying to help, you know."

"I understand that," Arthur said calmly. "But don't you think it might be a good idea if you focused on your own life?"

Ginny dropped his arm. Turning away from him, attacking the bread with unexpected ferocity, she said, "I thought we were done with this, Dad. Kenneth and I are over. Nothing is going to change that. I'm moving on."

"You don't seem to be going anywhere particularly," Arthur pointed out, taking a seat at the kitchen table with a groan. "You spend all your time here with me."

"You need me," she said firmly. "I don't mind."

"But perhaps if you and Kenneth just sat down and discussed your problems-"

"That may have worked for you and Mum," Ginny snapped, "but it sure as hell won't work for me and Ken. I won't go back to him. I think the two women he was sleeping with while we were married closed the book on that relationship."

Arthur was silent for a while and Ginny was worried she had taken it a step too far. Finally he said very quietly, "You look very much like your mother did when we first met."

Unlike her brother Ron, Ginny did not begin to cry when someone mentioned her mum. Her father had many nostalgic moments like this and she had trained herself long ago not to show how much it hurt. She wanted to spare her father that pain.

"Thank you, Dad. I know."

Apparently he knew the boundaries of that topic, for he changed the subject. "I don't suppose there have been any owls from the boys?"

Her shoulders tensed. "No, Dad." She added in an undertone, "There never are."

"Have you owled any of them lately?"

She gripped the edge of the sink tightly, her knuckles whitening. "No." The owl to Hermione didn't count. Ron probably didn't even know! Her temper got the better of her. "They wouldn't respond anyway."

Hearing the shuffle of a chair behind her, Ginny braced herself for the gentle pat on her shoulder that would inevitably come.

It didn't. Instead Arthur stood behind her and spoke softly, "I haven't become stupid in the past seven years, Ginny. Or deaf. Or senile. You never talk to me about it, but I know how it eats you up inside. Do you think that it might have contributed to your failed marriage?"

Ginny hated it when someone called it a "failed marriage." She hadn't failed, she had opted out. "Failed" made it sound as if it were somehow all her fault. As if she could have worked harder and made it better.

"It has nothing to do with me and Ken. He was an adulterous sod. I don't know why I married him in the first place." She took a deep breath and tried to stop herself from trembling. "They won't come see you because of me. They treat me as if I'm Percy."

He gave no indication that it hurt him to hear his third oldest son's name. "You are not your brother, Ginny. He made poor choices, and said things he couldn't take back, nor would he have if he could. Our family is very proud. It is one of our greatest shortcomings. You made a mistake. I don't blame you, my girl, and neither should they."

"But they do!" Ginny cried, tears in her eyes for the first time in a long time. "I've apologised, it was all a stupid mistake. Half of it wasn't even me! But they won't forgive me. And they're taking it out on you."

"There are reasons other than you that prevent Ron, Fred, George, Charlie, and Bill from entering this house. I have long since resigned myself to that. I miss them, but they are all grown men. They have the right to make their own choices. And I hear from them from time to time."

"Not nearly often enough," Ginny said, stamping her foot. "They ought to be ashamed of themselves."

"They struggle with their own demons. If you want them to forgive you, you ought to forgive them as well."

"It doesn't bother you?" Ginny shouted. "Don't you care that Ron is living in Greece with Hermione, that Charlie is in Romania with your only grandchild, whom you've never met, that Bill and Fleur flit about France never staying long enough anywhere to have a fixed address, and that the twins are causing chaos in America? Doesn't it matter that they never bother to stop by and see how you are doing? That I'm stuck here all alone, that all the responsibility has fallen on the youngest Weasley's shoulders, that I don't even have time to save my goddamned failed marriage?"

Sobbing, she fell against his chest and cried into his shirt, her entire body shaking. Arthur smoothed back her hair and hugged her tightly.

"How long have you been keeping all of that inside?" he asked softly.

"Too long," she answered, her voice muffled. She raised her head, her cheeks tearstained. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean what I said about being stuck here."

"Yes you did," he replied. "But that's okay. I already knew. You don't have to stay here with me all the time, you know."

"But you need someone," Ginny insisted. "You can't live here by yourself!"

He fidgeted slightly and avoided her sharp gaze. "Well, er, I was thinking about moving to someplace smaller."

"What!" she cried. "You can't! I grew up here. There are so many memories."

And that, she realised, was part of the problem. There were too many memories. But he couldn't do this to her.

"Dad, please, don't leave the Burrow. You can't. It's been our home for so long." Ginny knew her words were empty. She, too, knew how much it hurt to walk past her brothers' old rooms, to look inside and see a sort of time capsule, each place frozen at a happier moment in time.

It made it hard to remember what they had all become. They had all started out so innocently.

Well, except Fred and George. They were never innocent.

"I believe we have some post," Arthur said, apparently not having heard her entreaty, pointing to the window where an owl was sitting.

She opened the window and it fluttered in, holding out one of its legs with a letter attached. As soon as it was removed the bird flew away; apparently the letter did not require a response.

"It's addressed to you, Dad," she said, handing it to him.

He opened it and a smile lit up his face. "It's from Ron. See, he does owl."

Only once Hermione has made him

, Ginny thought privately. "I'm glad."

Looking up, Arthur caught the edge to his daughter's tone. "Do you want to talk about all this? About everything?"

"No," Ginny replied after a moment's consideration. "I think I'll pop over to Diagon Alley for a bit. Why don't you sit in the living room? You can read the latest George Cauldron mystery."

She grabbed her coat off the coat rack (which tried to grab it back), and Disapparated. Appearing moments later in the Apparation Station of Diagon Alley, she checked her appearance in a nearby mirror ("You look lovely, but you might want to do something with your hair," the mirror breezed), and stepped out into the street.

It was surprisingly busy for July 31^st. Hogwarts wouldn't start for another month, so the school season rush wouldn't be for another week or two. And there were no holidays to prepare for, so Ginny assumed that most were taking advantage of the lovely day.

Two members of the Militia walked down the street, engaged in animated conversation, apparently without noticing that everyone else gave them wide berth. Ginny turned to face a wall, praying that they wouldn't notice her. That was a hazard of having stayed in England; Militia were on every corner, and due to old activities, she was on their radar. They wouldn't actively pursue her, but she didn't want to attract their attention.

Once they had passed by, Ginny ducked into Flourish and Blotts, and began to walk up and down the aisles. She pulled books off the shelves at random and glanced at their titles, more concerned with being followed or watched than with shopping. It seemed her fears were groundless, though, as nothing happened to her. Feeling more at ease, she moved into the rare books section, the darker and dingier part of the shop.

She had just picked up an autographed copy of Jack Barnes: How I Defeated the Dark Lord, when she heard a vaguely familiar and unpleasant voice whisper in her ear.

"Well, well, if it isn't the littlest Weasel."

Ginny froze and then turned slowly. Leering down at her was none other than Draco Malfoy, managing to look both amused and disgusted at the same time. It was quite a feat. She hadn't seen him for a long time, at least not up close, but he hadn't changed much. He was unkempt, something unusual for him, but he somehow managed to carry it off. A long thin scar ran down his cheek, distorting his smirk into something worse. Lank blonde hair fell into his eyes.

"Relax," he said, correctly interpreting her horrified expression, "we're in a crowded bookstore, do you really think I'm going to try anything?"

She found her voice. "It never stopped you before."

"Times, they are a changing," he drawled. "Really, I'm not interested. I merely saw that beacon you call hair and decided a chat was in order."

"I have nothing to say to you," Ginny spat. "Leave me alone."

Uncomfortably aware of the darkness in the back, she tried to move towards the front of the shop, but Malfoy blocked her.

"I noticed you were avoiding the Moronic Militia," he commented. "In trouble, are we?"

"I thought you were in Albania, or some such place," Ginny snapped in return. "Hiding with the rest of your cronies."

His sneer intensified and Ginny was startled by the decline in his appearance. He had never been a good looking person to begin with, but with that expression he could nearly rival Mad-Eye Moody. Malfoy's furious stare travelled down to the book in her hand.

"Oh, yes, you and your precious Jack Barnes. Everyone's favourite wizard. Did you know it's impossible to go anywhere in the magical world without seeing that idiot's face? He is a blight on wizarding kind. And I thought Potter was bad."

She must have made some noise because he suddenly grinned.

"Oh, I had nearly forgotten your attachment to Potter. Don't know how it slipped my mind, but it's been a while, Weasel. Seven years, no? Although I do remember our time together very well."

"Shut your dirty mouth," Ginny hissed, afraid they'd be overheard. "This was no accident, was it? Your running into me. You want something and you're prepared to blackmail me into it. Well, I have news for you, Malfoy, everyone's perfectly aware of what happened back then. You have nothing."

Malfoy's smirk didn't change. "That's where you're wrong. Your pitiful excuse for a father doesn't know the whole story, does he? And I bet Potter doesn't either. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that there are many people who don't know it all. And I imagine you want to keep it that way."

"You are lower than slime," Ginny said, appalled.

"Seven years has changed you. Is that the best you can do, blood traitor?"

"I still remember my Bat-Bogey hexes, if that's what your after, you scum." Ginny looked him in the eyes. "Now it's my turn for predictions. I imagine you're in a position you're ashamed of. Lower than dirt." She imitated his drawl. "Poorer than a Weasley. Mummy and Daddy are gone now, along with the family fortune. You picked the wrong side, Malfoy. But I suppose it couldn't be helped. It was bred into you, like that pointed nose."

Pink tinged his cheeks. "You'll regret all of this."

"Never have before," she retorted, her own cheeks flushed. "The only thing I ever regretted was believing you had a shred of human decency. But I blame immaturity. I was a twit. And I was under a spell, oh, don't think I didn't know. I was the girl your fucking father dumped Tom Riddle on, remember? So if you've been comforting yourself these past seven years remembering me, then you're even more pathetic than I thought you were."

He watched her with those cold empty eyes of his. "You," he said finally, "are an idiot. Worse than that, there'll come a day when you'll wish you stayed. Wish you'd listened to me. I tried to save you once, Weasley. Nearly got myself killed for it too. Should have known better. Once a blood traitor, always a blood traitor." He paused and then said, "Oh, and if you want to pretend that it was all a spell, go ahead. But we both know better."

And he walked out of the store without so much as having touched his wand, leaving Ginny with the feeling that she had just got herself into big trouble. She shook the feeling away, and once Malfoy was out of sight, left the bookstore. She hadn't gone more than two steps when a voice hailed her.

"Ginny? Ginny, is that you?"

"Andrea?" Ginny replied, in equal astonishment, as the tall, dark-haired girl approached, grinning. "How are you? It's been ages."

Andrea Rudolf, a Hufflepuff from Ginny's year, swept her into a hug.

"It has been ages, darling, how have you been?"

"I've been fine," Ginny lied through her teeth. "What have you been up to lately?"

"Well," Andrea giggled, "I'm engaged!" She flashed a gaudy ring in Ginny's face.

"How perfectly lovely," Ginny replied, as was expected. Truthfully she loathed the sight of engagement rings and rubbed at the spot where up until a month ago her wedding ring had rested.

"We ought to catch up," Andrea said cheerfully. "I want to hear positively everything about your life. How about we get drinks in Chimera Cabaret?"

Ginny was doubtful. "Isn't that in Knockturn Alley?"

"Not really," Andrea answered breezily. "It's on the edge. It's a lovely place really, but not too crowded so we won't have to shout to be heard."

Feeling that she might as well fill her adventure quota for the year, Ginny accepted. They started down the path that branched off from the main drag, chatting away. Andrea continued to talk a mile a minute about her fabulous fiancé, brilliant new job, perfect this, and perfect that. Ginny kept a smile plastered on her face, but that smile slipped when, upon entering the Cabaret and taking a seat, Andrea uttered the horrible words Ginny had come to fear.

"Are you seeing anyone?"

Hastily ordering a glass of white wine, Ginny took a moment before answering. Eventually she said, "No. I recently got divorced."

Andrea looked scandalised. "Oh, you poor thing! What happened?" She told the waiter to make it two.

"He was having multiple affairs," Ginny shrugged. "I never should have married him in the first place."

"Who was he?" Andrea's eyes opened wide in shameless curiosity.

"His name is Kenneth Day. I was Virginia Day for one whole year." Her drink arrived and she downed half of it in a single gulp. "Worst year of my life."

"I am so sorry, Ginny," Andrea said, looking a little guilty. "I would never have mentioned my engagement if I had known."

Yes, you would have

, Ginny thought privately. You would have because you were always looking for an excuse to do me one better.

Aloud, she said, "Don't worry about it. You didn't know, and it's that simple. Tell me more about your fiancé." She finished her drink and ordered another.

A short time later Ginny interrupted Andrea in the middle of categorising her husband-to-be's flawless features, and stood up.

"I'm sure you'll forgive me, Andrea, dear," Ginny said, swaying slightly. She yawned. "I had better Floo home, I'm exhausted. It was lovely talking to you."

"You as well, Ginny. We should do lunch some time."

"Sounds smashing," Ginny yawned. "Oh, excuse me. I'll owl you about it."

Rather tipsy from imbibing too much alcohol in a short period of time, Ginny some how managed to make it to the Diagon Alley Floo Hub. One of the wizard guards took her arm, in part to steady her, and escorted her to a fireplace. She tossed some powder on the flames, stepped in, and cried, "The Burrow!"

It was miraculous that she made it home in one piece, she would reflect later. The ride had made her horribly sick, and she rushed to the bathroom. Weak and nauseous, Ginny crawled into her bed, hoping to sleep it off. She couldn't even summon enough energy to check on her father.

It had certainly been an odd day.

~~~

When Neville woke the next morning he found a sleeping Luna at his side, panicked completely, and ran into a very solid set of metal bars. He clutched at his head and stumbled backward, sitting down with a thump.

Luna sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes. "What are you doing on the floor?"

His thoughts weren't very clear, but Neville clung to one very important concept.

"You...I...We didn't...didn't..."

She smiled, clearly amused. "What? Have sex? No, don't worry, we didn't sleep together. Between being manhandled, stupefy-ed, and thrown in here, there really wasn't time."

Neville came to his senses. "What in the name of Merlin is going on?"

"About time you asked a sensible question," Luna replied. She stood up and stretched without so much as looking at her surroundings. Neville gaped at her. Hadn't she noticed they were in a prison?

"Are you going to give me an answer?" he asked.

"Well, it seems that our secret meetings were not so secret. Someone must have seen you enter the bookshop. I knew they were keeping it under surveillance." She tutted and sat back on the bed. Placing her feet up onto the wall, with her head hanging over the side, she surveyed him upside down, her blonde hair falling over her face.

"What about the spells?" Neville cried. "What were all those precautions for?"

"What spells?" Luna began to hum absent-mindedly. "I muttered a lot of nonsense. The point is that you felt safe, right?"

"But I wasn't!"

"A minor detail. Anyway the room has a lot of protective charms placed on it by my father. They shouldn't have been able to get through the trapdoor."

He had a pounding headache; it was hard enough to keep up with Luna in normal conversations. "Who are 'they'?"

"The Militia, of course," she replied, exasperated. "They knew we were plotting against them. They probably put bugs in the store when they came in early yesterday."

Struggling to take one piece of that insane statement at a time, Neville blurted out, "But we weren't plotting! Well, not really."

"That's not how they see it, I'm sure."

"We aren't capable of plotting! It's just the two of us!" A pause. Then, "What do you mean by bugs?"

"Listening devices. Or real bugs, I'm not sure." Luna patted her pockets. "Do you have a piece of Drooble's gum?"

She was completely insane. "That company went under three years ago."

Shrugging, she replied, "Just wondered."

"How would gum help us!"

"A piece of gum, a paper clip, and a match, and I could have us out of here in five minutes."

He could only stare. "Impossible."

"We'll never find out now, will we?" And she started to hum again.

Neville was ready to tear out his hair. He got slowly off the floor and went back to the metal bars. He started to call out, sticking his hand through the bars and wiggling it about.

"Hullo! Hullo, I say! Is there anyone out there? Can you hear me? This has all been a mistake!"

"They won't come," Luna said idly.

A sudden thought struck Neville. "Is this where they are? Are they here?" He shouted again. "Gran? Uncle Algie? Can you hear me?"

"They're not here," Luna said patiently. She turned herself around and flipped her hair back. "We're in a sort of limbo station. They're deciding whether or not we constitute a threat." She gave him an appraising look. "If I were you I'd prepare to have my memory modified."

Again, Neville had the strangest feeling he had just been insulted.

"Just how do you know all of this?" he demanded. When Neville Longbottom's temper wore thin, look out. It took a lot for his fuse to blow.

"I woke up earlier," she answered with a shrug. "Looked around, realised that there were no guards outside the door, I couldn't see the ocean from the window, and fell back asleep."

"What does the ocean have to do with anything?"

"My dad and your gran and uncle are in an island prison. We're just in a holding cell."

Neville abandoned conversation after that. Instead he prowled around the cell, prodding the bars and tapping on walls while Luna meditated. It didn't take long for him to come to the only obvious conclusion: they were in a stone room with no furniture save the rod-iron bed and the only way in or out of it was made of steel bars.

He patted the front of his worn robes and suddenly realised that he didn't have his wand. He said a few choice words and kicked hard at the bars.

"It doesn't matter," Luna said without opening her eyes. She folded herself into a new position. "Steel is practically impervious to magic. One would have to be a wizard or witch of Dumbledore's quality to bend steel bars."

Falling silent at the mention of his former headmaster's name, after a moment Neville snapped, "Well, who asked you?"

She said nothing, and he returned to his inspection. The bars on the windows were made the same as the door, and even if he had been able to force them apart somehow, they were several metres up.

Slumping against the wall, he buried his face in his hands. It seemed hopeless. He and Luna were going to be carted off to Luna's imaginary secret island prison, never to be heard from again. And she didn't even seem to care!

Then he heard heavy footsteps in the hallway. There was a thud and a clanking, and Neville could see the tip of a wand appear outside the cell. Luna quickly untangled herself, jumped upon the bed, and languished. One arm was tossed precariously over the side, her head lolled, and the tip of her tongue hung out. Neville thought for a moment she had fainted from a sudden rush of blood to her head, until she opened her eyes and hissed, "Pretend you're asleep!"

Neville didn't bother to argue and fell over onto the hard stone floor with a muttered, "Ow." Seconds later the door opened slightly and an unfamiliar man stepped in. Neville watched through half-closed eyes as the man peered at Luna sprawled on the bed and then walked over to him. Hurriedly shutting his eyes and willing his heart to stop racing, he felt the guard kick him several times and then mutter, "Dead to the world."

If he hadn't opened his eyes at that moment, he might have missed it.

Luna, who had slowly stood up when the guard's back was turned, leapt off the bed onto his back, and stuck her fingers into his eyes. He howled in pain and tried to throw her off, but she clung to him like a limpet. Neville stood up to assist her, but was struck back. The guard's flailing hands found his wand in its holster, and managed a tricky expelliarmus over his shoulder which caused Luna to go flying across the room. She landed with a sickening crunch in the corner.

Wiping blood from his cheek, the man exited, locking the door firmly behind him, grumbling fiercely about mad women.

Rushing to her side, Neville found that Luna was already sitting up, rubbing her head. She gave him a small smile as he approached.

"Not an oculominid," she sighed. "Such a pity."

Neville noticed that her ankle was already swelling like a balloon. "I think it's broken." He prodded it gently and she winced. "What's an oculo-whats-it?"

"Oculominid," Luna repeated. "A person who's life force is in their eyes. You can stab them through the heart without so much as giving them heartburn. The eyes are the most vulnerable part of any person anyway, so I thought it was worth a shot. You were supposed to take advantage of his blindness to make a run for it."

"What, and leave you behind?" Neville sounded horrified.

He removed his outer robe and shivered; he was only wearing a tee-shirt and jeans underneath. Ripping a large strip off of it, Neville looked around for something to use as a splint.

Luna sighed. "Yes, I can see how having both of us trapped in here is an infinitely better plan than having one of us free to help the other with a broken ankle."

"I'm just trying to help," he said, his face going red.

"You're very sweet," Luna conceded. "But far too noble for your own good. I suppose it's the Gryffindor in you." She took a deep breath. "Sit back and relax, Neville. We'll be here for quite some time."

"What about your ankle?" he asked, concerned.

"I'll live. Just wrap it up as tight as you can, and I'll try not to move." She closed her eyes and for a moment Neville thought she had gone to sleep, but she murmured, "If you get the chance, ask one of the guards for a splint."

Neville snorted. As if they would consent to their hostages' requests. But he said nothing and finished wrapping up her ankle. He settled in next to her. After several minutes more silence, Luna said:

"Oh, damn, I didn't have a chance to lock up the shop before we left. The place'll be in shambles when I return."

"Is that all you care about?" Neville asked without rancour. "There is a life outside The Quibbler, you know."

"Oh really? And what do you do that is so exciting?"

This was probably the longest conversation he had had with Luna that didn't involve some mention of a non-existent creature.

"My life may not be exciting," Neville insisted, "but at least it has some variation. I don't spend all my time completely focused on one thing."

Luna was very quiet. "I have a responsibility to my father, and to the people. I thought you at least would understand that."

Neville folded his arms. "I understand. I just think you ought to explore life outside of Crumpled-horned things."

"Crumpled-horned Snorkacks," Luna corrected. "And they're extinct now."

He gave up and rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes. Might as well get some sleep while they were stuck there. The real answers would have to wait.

~~~

Charlie groaned as he got up in the morning, belatedly remembering the undoubtedly broken rib. He hoped that Tabitha, the dragon camp's Healer, would be there early.

Stretching as far as he dared, he limped into the kitchen where Ionna was cooking breakfast. It smelled wonderful.

He knew perfectly well that he would never have survived the past three years if Ionna hadn't come to stay with him and look after Katelyn. She had been devoted to her sister and adored her niece. Unmarried, she had accepted Charlie's offer to live with them, and the two of them got on perfectly well, with neither ever mentioning Sofiya. The arrangement suited them both.

Katelyn, seated in her chair already wearing half her breakfast, giggled and squealed as her father entered the room. Charlie picked her up for a hug and a kiss, ignoring her stickiness. Ionna gave him a small smile and he took a seat.

"What happened?" she mouthed over Katelyn's head. The three-year old twisted and turned in her seat in an endeavour to see what was going on.

"It's nothing," Charlie said, picking Katelyn's napkin off the floor and putting it back on her lap where she promptly tossed it off again. "I'll have Tabs look at it."

Ionna gave him a look that said she clearly didn't believe him, but chose not to bring it up in front of Katelyn. They ate breakfast in relative silence, broken only by Katelyn's chirps about a girl she met the other day at the dragon camp. Charlie was not the only parent who worked with the dragons and so a day-care centre was started, a good distance from the actual enclosure. Ionna volunteered there a few afternoons a week.

Gulping down his breakfast quickly, Charlie went to collect his gear as Ionna changed Katelyn's dress. Then they got into the Muggle Jeep Charlie had purchased several years ago, and drove to the encampment.

As the three of them lived in housing built specifically for dragon-keepers, the encampment was not very far away, but every inch was covered with Muggle-repelling charms. Charlie had been in a bar in Constanta filled with Muggles once and a few had been discussing a failed camping trip where they had got to the camping site only to suddenly remember very important dental appointments.

Dropping Katelyn and Ionna off at the day care centre, Charlie proceeded to the dragon-designated grounds. It seemed to be an oddly calm morning as there were only a handful of keepers outside. Charlie entered a tent and began to suit up. As his fireproof jacket brushed against the broken rib, he flinched and decided he had better find Tabitha first.

Tabitha Albright, neJ Stevens (she claimed her mother had a terrible sense of humour), was busy bandaging a burn in the next tent. She looked up as Charlie approached, tied off the cloth, and gave the crispy-looking young wizard a pat on the shoulder.

"Off you go, Leland. Try and stay away from Dante, he's got a cold and can't control his sneezing."

Leland stood up and ash fell off him in clouds. As he limped out of the tent, Charlie sat down on the vacated bench.

"What on earth did you do to yourself this time, Charlie?" Tabitha asked, clucking her tongue as she walked around him, examining every inch over her wire-framed spectacles.

"Broken rib," he replied. "I think. My healing spells are rather messy, can you patch me up?"

"Now, I know this wasn't dragons, as you left here yesterday without a scratch on you. So 'fess up, what have you been up to?"

"I wish I could tell you, Tabs, but my job's on the line. Just Heal me, please." Charlie sucked in his breath as Tabitha prodded his rib cage with her wand.

"I can make this very painful, Charlie," she warned. "Why don't you come clean?"

Charlie grimaced as the wand prodded him again. "I can't. Why are you so interested anyway? Maybe I just got into a bar brawl."

"You?" She laughed. "Not very likely. Are you going to tell me Katelyn beat you up next?"

"If I thought you'd believe it," he grinned, which quickly turned into another grimace.

"You really did a number here," she said briskly, continuing to examine him. She looked at his eye. "Did you try to heal this by yourself? Well, you certainly made a mess of it. I can't keep fixing you up like this, Charlie. If you keep injuring yourself like this, one day you may go beyond what magic can repair."

"Spare me the lecture, Tabs. These weren't self-inflicted injuries, all right?"

"I didn't think so," she replied with a half smile. Then she met his eyes and her mouth formed a small 'o'. "You're not getting involved in that business again, are you?"

He ducked his head and muttered, "Not exactly."

A year ago he had been involved in stopping a dragon egg smuggling ring; it was partly how the Romanian magical government roped him into his current situation. Tabitha and several other keepers had stumbled onto his secret and nearly botched the entire job. After that Charlie took a personal oath that he wouldn't involve any of them again. Up until now he had kept that promise.

"Drop it, okay, Tabs?"

"Can't do that, Charlie," she replied, sighing. "It's my duty as the resident Healer to report injuries, especially those that are not dragon inflicted. New ministry rule."

"You're not bothering my wife, now are you, Weasley?" asked a deep voiced wizard who had just entered.

"Of course not, Eric," Charlie grinned at the newcomer. "She was flirting shamelessly with me. You really should keep her in line."

Eric Albright sighed. "I've tried, believe me." He shot his wife a tender look and she blushed.

Everyone in the dragon camp had tried to make sense of the relationship between Eric and Tabitha. No one could understand what mischievous and carefree Tabitha Stevens and sturdy, quiet, Eric Albright, whose sole passion in life was dragons, saw in one another. The two had nothing in common and from the first day had pretended that the other hadn't existed. There wasn't animosity, per se, but they were overly polite when they had to interact and few words were ever exchanged. Even Charlie himself, who was the closest to the pair, had thought they disliked one another.

Then one afternoon Tabitha had come into the camp wearing an engagement ring and a goofy grin with Eric at her side and after that it was a foregone conclusion. They had one son, a sturdy boy named David, who at five years old was already a terror. He insisted on seeing the dragons like his father which led to many...accidents. The camp had a green alert especially for him.

"So what's the problem now?" Eric asked Tabitha.

"Charlie's doing dangerous work again," she said, folding her arms and doing her best to glare at him.

"Nothing's much more dangerous than dragons, m'dear," Eric pointed out.

"This is worse," she replied resolutely. "He's doing it again."

Now Eric turned to Charlie and frowned. "I thought we closed this last year, Charlie."

Charlie stood up, holding his rib cage where a lovely purple bruise covered half his side, and faced the couple.

"Look, it's not what it was last year, all right? I know what I'm doing, and moreover I don't have a choice. You want to keep working here, right, Eric? Well, then let me do my job and don't gang up on me like this, I can't take it. Now, Tabs, will you just Heal me already?"

Her mouth set into a firm line, Tabitha took out her wand and muttered a few spells. Charlie could feel the pain go away. Much better.

"What about Katelyn?" Eric persisted.

Groaning, he replied, "What is it about you two? Leave it alone, would you? I'm doing this to protect Katelyn."

"And how will getting yourself killed help her?" Tabitha asked, her eyes wide.

Charlie held up his hand in front of him as if warding off evil spirits. "I've had about all I can take of you two this morning. If you don't mind I'm going to go work with the dragons now."

He went into the other tent and finished suiting up, then went to the enclosure. He tapped Leland, the burnt wizard, on the shoulder.

"What's the biggest problem this morning?"

"It's actually been rather quiet, sir," Leland replied. "One or two of the new recruits got on the wrong side of Miss Daisy, but they'll be alright in a couple of days. Hair grows back fast. What worries me, sir, is that, um, I think a dragon is missing."

"What?!"

"Oh, well, uh, I don't see Elmer in the paddock, and he certainly isn't in the forest because Ignia is clutching, and, um, well..."

"Bloody hell," Charlie muttered. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Well, no, of course not. He could be with the vets. Or he could be up by the spring. It's just that he hasn't been seen all morning, which is unusual for him. Normally he comes by to feed."

Charlie shook his head. "This isn't what we need right now. The Romanian government is always looking for an excuse to close us down, a runaway dragon just might do it."

"But, sir, without us all the dragons would be running wild!"

"They want to replace us with their own people. It wasn't enough that I took on four of their dragon keepers, two of whom immediately came down with dragon pox and had to be removed. They just don't like the idea of a camp run by British and American wizards. Their own dragon reserve is kilometres away." He rubbed his forehead and started to pace. Then he came to such a sudden stop he nearly fell over. "Oh bugger. Where's Davy Albright?"

"What, Tabs and Eric's kid? He's at the day-care centre, I assume."

"Never assume anything when it comes to Davy Albright," Charlie muttered. "That's the first rule of dragon keeping."

"I thought the first rule was always wear your flame-retardant jacket. Or was it never sneak up on a sleeping dragon?"

"Tickle," Charlie said absently. "Never tickle a sleeping dragon. But no, not around here."

He marched off, determined not to make an incident of this if it could be avoided. Stopping off first at the veterinary clinic, and then Apparating to the spring (where one wizened dragon was so startled he fell into the water), Charlie came to the same conclusion as Leland.

Elmer was nowhere to be found.

Breaking into a run, he arrived back in the Healing tent, breathing heavily. Tabitha was fixing one of the newer recruits, a young woman, as he entered. Eric was making notations on some parchment in the corner.

"Where's David?" he gasped, practically choking on air.

Tabitha looked up in surprise. "The day-care centre, I hope. Why has something gone wrong? He's not climbed into the enclosure again, has he?"

"No," Charlie replied. He took a look around the tent and seemed to realise how crowded it was. "Could everyone give us a few minutes?"

Grumbling, the other keepers filed out, and Charlie put an Imperturbable charm around the tent. Then he took a seat and looked at Tabitha and Eric who had come closer.

"One of the dragons is missing," he said quietly.

Eric looked as if someone had slapped him. "What? That's impossible. How could a dragon get away with out our noticing? We have round the clock patrols! And they're not precisely beasts of stealth."

"It's Elmer."

That apparently made a difference.

"Well, he is smaller than the others," Eric conceded, "but I still fail to see how he could have got away without someone noticing."

Tabitha took to the main issue at hand. "What does this have to do with Davy?"

Shifting slightly in his seat, Charlie said, "Well, whenever there's a problem, Tabs, you have to admit he's the cause of it."

She sat down next to him and rubbed her forehead. "I know he's a trouble-maker, but honestly, Charlie, do you really think a five year old boy could be responsible for the disappearance of a dragon more than five times his size?"

"My twin brothers were trouble-makers," Charlie said grimly, "and I wouldn't have put anything past them."

Suddenly dozens of globes that were stationed around each tent exploded with shrieks and blinding green light. Covering his ears, Charlie opened his eyes just enough to see that it was a camp-wide alert. Green meant Davy. The noise meant the day-care centre.

Katelyn.

Amidst dragons crying, roaring, and stamping their feet at the sudden noise, Charlie took off towards the day-care centre with Tabitha and Eric hot on his trail.

The building was smoking, and Charlie feared the worst. But upon entering, the first thing he saw was Ionna talking in a calm voice to the crowd of terrified children huddled in the corner. Katelyn's mop of red hair was clearly visible.

"Thank goodness," he heard Tabitha sigh behind him.

"Ionna, what happened?" he asked, coming to his sister-in-law's side. She seemed faint and he escorted her to a sofa where Loretta Perkins, the head of the centre, was lying, an expression of deep pain written across her face.

"I don't know," she said, nearly crying. "We were rounding them up for a game, when something was thrown through the window. Clouds of smoke filled the room. A man burst in, and I thought he was going to attack the children, so Victoria," she indicated a girl about eighteen, fresh from school, "and I cast shield charms around them. Loretta moved forward to disarm the man, but he hit her with some sort of hex. I was terrified and didn't know how much longer I could keep the shield up, but Davy was very clever. He set off the alarm." Ionna smiled slightly. "He knew the entire camp would mobilise for a green alert."

"The man, he didn't harm the children?" Charlie asked. Tabitha and Eric were comforting them; their cries had lessened.

"No," Ionna shook her head. "I don't understand it. When the alarm went off, he seemed to freeze in place for a moment, then he took something out of his pocket, dropped it on the floor and Disapparated." She handed something to him. "It's addressed to you."

Charlie took it from her, told her to rest, and went to help Tabitha and Eric with the other children. Katelyn was staring at him calmly, and seemed none the worse for wear. Davy sat smugly on a small plastic chair as his mother kissed him and praised him for his brave actions.

As he opened it, the Albrights moved towards him to read over his shoulder.

That was rather easy, don't you think?

--Jeto

"Charlie?" Tabitha said first. "This is the man who injured you, isn't it?"

"Tabitha," Eric chastised. "Little ears."

Staring off into space, it took Charlie several moments to realise he had been addressed.

"Yes," he answered finally. "He wanted me to know that he could get to Katelyn at any time. That damned pirate scum."

Tabitha took his hand and guided him into a small side room with Eric following. They sat down, but Charlie remained standing, the note still clutched in his hand.

"Charlie," she said softly, "maybe it's best you took some time off. Go away for a holiday with Ionna and Katelyn. Get away from here."

He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "I can't leave now! This is the worst time possible!"

"But, Charlie," Eric said, "think about Ionna and Katelyn. Is it really safe for them right now? Besides, the camp won't fall to pieces if you take a few weeks off. I'll be in charge, and I can handle it. It's more important that you take care of your family."

Family.

"Well, I suppose I could take them to England and stay with my father..."

Eric patted him heavily on the back. "See? There you go. Go on, take some time off. We'll hold down the fort."

"How can you take this so calmly?" Charlie said angrily. "Your son was threatened as well!"

"We're not taking it calmly," Tabitha replied. "We're solving the problem. You're the one he's targeting. My guess is that he merely wants you out of his business. You go to England, you're safe, Katelyn and Ionna are safe, and the rest of us are safe, too, because he'll leave us alone."

"Sounds like you've got it all planned out," Charlie grumbled. As Eric started in on him again, he held up a hand. "All right, all right, I'll take your advice."

Eric smiled. "Good. Why don't you leave tomorrow?"

"That's so soon!" Charlie grasped at straws. "What about Elmer? He's still missing."

"No, Leland just wired in that he returned to the paddock," Tabitha said. "Enough excuses. Go tell Katelyn and Ionna."

As Charlie went to inform his daughter and sister-in-law that they would be leaving the country, he cursed the day he lost control of his life to strong-minded women.

~~~

"I have become horribly predictable," Harry Potter said predictably. He went through the same routine every morning. First he complained about being stuck in a rut. Then he proceeded to do exactly as he did every other day.

He put on a track suit and jogged in place in the comfort of his living room. Then he sat down at the table and poured himself a bowl of Shreddies which he practically inhaled in order to remain on schedule.

His next task was to practise the exercises he had picked up from an aerobics instructor in Los Angeles. He meditated for a short time until he couldn't take the silence any more. Then he took out his wand and practised his hexes, jinxes, charms, and spells. It was important that his magic didn't grow rusty from disuse. Someday he'd have to use everything he had learned again, and that day wouldn't find him unprepared.

Moving now towards mirror, Harry looked into it and sighed, as he always did. He pressed his hair down and it sprung back again. The familiar green eyes stared morosely back at him and travelled up to the scar on his forehead.

Today he was going to do something different, he decided. He needed a break from moping and dwelling. The time for reflection had passed; the day beckoned and he was determined to answer its call.

One step out the door and the cry, What are you doing? Get away! echoed in his head. He shook it off and continued on. Two more steps and he heard, You'll be killed! No, stop! He's mine! He was nearly down the path when he fell to his knees. I watched him die. I saw him fall. Voldemort was mine, ricocheted around his mind. It was too much for him.

The voices, memories of the day he had lost everything, attacked at random moments. He felt powerless against them, they hurt too much. Harry couldn't stand those memories.

Slumped at the kitchen table, Harry buried his face in his hands as he relived the day everything he knew and loved was ripped from him. The day he lost himself. He thought he had finally put it all behind him, thought he had moved on. But its power was just as strong as ever.

There had been that stupid prophecy, Harry told himself over and over. The prophecy that Dumbledore himself had believed in. No mention of Jack Barnes was made in that damned thing. His birthday wasn't even in July, for Merlin's sake!

If he had lost it all to Neville, he thought he could have handled it. Because it was Neville, someone he knew and trusted. Once.

At times when he was feeling particularly desperate, Harry wished Sibyll Trelawney were still alive, so he could go to her and demand that she prophecy something else. He wished he could force her into admitting that she had made it up, that it was all nonsense. She had taken his life from him by speaking that night. And just when he thought he found it again, when he realised that though it wasn't perfect, it was his, Barnes stormed in and stole that from him, too.

It was so bloody unfair.

~~~

The sun had set in London. Jack finished signing his name with a flourish, and stuck the quill back in the ink bottle. He stretched and yawned. It had been a long day.

His secretary was already gone. In fact, he realised, he was the only one left in the building. It must have become later than he thought.

What a day indeed! He had just submitted a bill to the Minister's office about the recent influx of immigrant wizards fleeing harsh governments in the east. Something had to be done. England was hardly large enough for them all, and there was no way of tracking them.

How odd, he thought, glancing at his date book. Someone had circled July 31^st in red ink; whatever for? He tried to think. There hadn't been any important meetings, no lunches, no book signings. What could be important about July 31^st?

He was aware of movement in his office. "Who's there?" There were all sorts of charms and spells protecting his office, no one could have got in.

Silence. Then Jack heard the faintest creaking and drew his wand.

But it was too late.

"Stupefy," whispered a voice. Jack crumpled to the ground. A pair of hands picked him up and carried him from the room. The entire event was done with horrible efficiency. No evidence was left behind.

The moon rose.