Desired Life

Desired Life

Chapter One

Plagas Deuses

Ginny Weasley lay by the fire on her sofa, a huge blanket wrapped around her petite frame. Her eyes drifted open and closed; never quite asleep, yet never quite awake. She stared into the fire, as if her eyes were memorised by the flames leaping and jumping around inside the fireplace. It crackled and sizzled as each flame burned the wood behind the grate. The colour played upon her face, heating it as it made her skin look warm and inviting while her hair caught the light of the fire, making her hair glow and shine with reds and yellows.

A clock stuck, once, twice, three times, signalling that it was indeed already three in the morning. Ginny, in her half-awake state, sighed and nestled deeper under the protection of the duvet, wishing with all her heart that he would be safe, that he would come home soon. She couldn't stand the waiting, the wondering; to know whether or not Harry was coming home tonight, tomorrow, next week… If he would even be coming home at all.

No, Ginny chided herself, don’t think like that. He'll be safe.

Yet, she couldn't shake the fear that something was wrong. It was as if she knew something… something big and important was happening right now wherever he was. Something that could change their lives. She didn't like it, and she sipped some of her tea quietly, staring down into its amber depths, playing with the string that held onto the tea bag, swishing it around and around, all the while thinking. Just thinking.

Slowly, she felt her eyes flutter shut, and she pushed the cup of tea on the table in front of her, lying down, letting the blankets cover and keep her warm, and hopefully protect her from reality, at least for tonight. She made a small noise, letting her subconscious take over, to transport her into a life not her own.

What she dreamt of was a blur of images, colours and feelings. She shifted in her sleep as she entered a new dream, this one just as terrifying as all the others she saw that night. She saw Harry, she saw him lying on the ground, surrounded by his own pool of blood, his eyes clenched together in pain and fear, crying softly for everyone. Ginny, not far away, cried for him too, calling to him, but the fog that surrounded her dared not let her voice sound. A man stood over Harry, smiling maliciously down upon him, wearing a long robe and hood. Ginny couldn't see who it was as the hood cast a shadow over his face, but she could see the demonic smile, as pale skin and red lips laughed at her pain and sorrow. He turned to her. A single finger came to rest upon his lips, telling her to be quiet and as it hovered over the lips, the figure burst out laughing… the devil laugh sounding about the dead plane of land.

"Soon, he shall be no more. No more…" the man told her, his voice a whisper in the wind. Ginny tried to fight the binding fog, to tell this man that he was wrong. Harry would live. Just like he always did. So he could come home to her. But the man shook his head, his shoulders shaking with evil laughter.

"Harry…" Ginny tried to whisper again, but she herself heard nothing.

As though sensing her, Harry tried to get up, crawling on his knees towards her, one hand still holding his stomach as blood trailed after him. He finally reached her and she bent down to touch him, but every time she tried to help him, it seemed Harry moved farther away.

Harry opened his eyes, to look at her, the tears falling down his face.

"Ginny… Ginny…" he called to her, his voice breaking and Ginny tried to call back to him, but she couldn't talk. Her throat would not work. "Ginny…"

"Ginny, wake up," came a gentle voice and Ginny awoke with a jump. Looking up blearily, she saw Harry and almost cried with relief. He was staring at her, his eyes warm as he gazed upon her although they seemed oddly haunted. His face was cut a bit and smudged with dirt, but he seemed fine save the frown upon his mouth.

"Harry!" Ginny cried, throwing herself in his arms. "Oh thank Gods you're safe; I was so worried."

"I'm fine…" Harry told her soothingly, yet it sounded as though he wasn't fine. "I'm fine, Gin."

"Don't ever leave me again, Harry," she told him, clutching him tightly.

"I promise I won't," he whispered back, giving her a kiss. "Let's go to bed; I'm tired."

"All right," Ginny whispered back, smiling, her eyes glittering in the firelight before following Harry to the bedroom, realising belatedly that something seemed off about him. Then again, it could just be the dream making her paranoid. Or not.

***

Draco Malfoy stood in the shadows of the room, waiting and watching. He felt out of place, like he always did, but could do nothing about it. It wasn't as if anyone was trying to make him feel welcome, either.

He was in one of the rooms of Malfoy Manor that he didn't know existed; hadn't known until only a few days ago, when . . . when his father had shown him. It was a bare, large, and cold room, with scarcely any furniture, only a large desk and chair shoved up near the wall. The only light came from the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Just a few candles in it were lit, for no one who was in there cared for the brightness of fire too much.

There were only about ten Death Eaters standing about in the room, which was a smaller amount than usual, since most of them were still off recovering from a recent battle. They were chatting quietly; Draco couldn't - and didn't care to - overhear their conversations. He knew whatever they were discussing wasn't important to him, and didn't concern him.

A tinge of fiery pain singed his right forearm, causing him to hiss quietly and pull back the black sleeve that covered it. There, burned into the paleness of his flesh, was the Dark Mark. He'd only received it three days ago, making him the newest Death Eater, but it still throbbed with pain often. The moment it was burned into his skin he'd nearly passed out, yet had somehow held on to consciousness, for he knew that his father would be angry and disappointed if he'd fainted. He also wanted to prove to his new master, Lord Voldemort, that he wasn't a weakling; that he would be one of his strongest and most faithful supporters. If it meant biting his lip and taking in the pain without complaint, then so be it. Small price to pay if he wanted to be powerful and nearly unstoppable like Voldemort.

But after the moment the Dark Mark had been placed on him, Voldemort had never given him so much as another glance. Even though a little part of Draco was relieved of that, because he always got an unpleasant feeling in his stomach when Voldemort looked at him, it also annoyed him greatly. It made him feel insignificant, and that was not a feeling he took to lightly.

Still, what could he do? Complain? He would never do that. The only thing complaining to Voldemort achieved was torture. Sometimes death. It would depend on the mood the Dark Lord was in.

Now, Draco knew everyone was waiting around for their Master to arrive. No one ever knew exactly when he'd come. Whenever their Mark burned and turned black, they would all Apparate to the assigned meeting place; Malfoy Manor. They never asked the precise time, for Voldemort came whenever he chose. Whatever time was most convenient for him was when he'd show up.

Draco's impatience was rising in him. So far he'd been waiting for almost a half hour. And he was bored out of his mind. He'd always imagined, from the tales Lucius told over dinner, that being a Death Eater was exciting; adventurous; dangerous. But so far it just felt like being a slave to Voldemort. Having to go wherever he wanted them to go when he wanted them to, having to obey his orders constantly even if they seem incredibly absurd and pointless . . . Where was all the excitement his father spoke about?

At that moment, Lucius was probably with Voldemort somewhere. Draco knew that the Dark Lord favoured Lucius over any other Death Eater, and hoped that it would be to his advantage to be the son of Voldemort's most trusted ally. Hopefully, Draco thought with a frown, once Father dies, I'll take his place.

Glancing around the drafty room again, Draco tried to occupy his mind by guessing who each Death Eater was without being able to see their faces; as usual, they all wore their hoods up, which darkened their features. That short one with the gleaming hand was most obviously Wormtail, and the taller man he was talking to was Nott. The two bulky figures conversing in low, grunting tones were Crabbe and Goyle (Draco knew that their sons, Gregory and Vincent, would become Death Eaters on their next birthday. They both happened to be born in the same month and it was a couple months away).

Before Draco could try and identify anyone else, the door burst open, slamming against the wall behind it. Draco jumped slightly, startled, and felt a blast of cool air from the corridor whoosh in. A moment later, Lucius, hood down, followed by Voldemort, strode in. Lucius was looking incredibly smug, more so than usual, and Draco could only wonder what he was up to; why he was so thrilled.

The second Voldemort came in all conversation and ceased, and everyone was staring at him expectantly, knowing very well that they were not to speak before he did. Draco glanced at his Master's face, and saw that his expression wasn't all that different from Lucius'. Voldemort looked pleased, with the corners of his mouth upturned into a terrible smile.

Draco knew right then that something was up. He rarely ever saw Voldemort smile.

"Do any of you," the Dark Lord began in a low, slick voice, "know of the Silanus Aeternitas?"

There was dead, deep silence. Draco knew, with a smirk, that none of them had any clue as to what it was. Lucius shot him a look, making him realise that he was to answer. Draco wasn't sure the words meant, but he knew what language it was. He moved away from the wall and stepped into the light, saying quietly, "It's Latin."

Every head turned to him, including Voldemort's. Draco had never spoken out loud before in one of these meetings. In fact, he'd never spoken to anyone in the whole room except for his father before. It was uncomfortable to stand there, the centre of attention, but he kept an expressionless face and managed to look Voldemort directly in the eye.

"Very good, Mister Malfoy," Voldemort commended softly. Draco felt a tiny rush of pleasure, since Voldemort either called his followers simply by their last names, no "Mister" or anything, or by their first names, as in Lucius' case. Feeling a bit more encouraged, he lifted his chin slightly. "Do you know what it means?"

"Er - not exactly," Draco answered, trying hard to recall the few Latin words he knew. Before he could think too long on it, though, Voldemort went on.

"It means fountain of immortality," he said, turning his eyes away from Draco and looking at everyone else in the room. "And it does exist."

A low murmur rippled among the Death Eaters. They were now seeing where Voldemort was going with this. The Dark Lord was always searching for ways to become immortal.

"Whoever drinks from this fountain will be invincible," Voldemort continued, quieting the Death Eaters. "A god. And it is achievable."

Draco pretended to wipe at his nose to hide an amused grin. Voldemort thought every way was achievable, but he had yet to achieve it. But he bit his tongue, smothered his Malfoy instinct to make some witty, sarcastic remark by reminding himself that he couldn't insult his Master, and waited for him to go on.

"There is a book, written back during 252 BC, that states the exact location of the Silanus Aeternitas. A book that gives us precise directions. We are very close to getting this book in our possession. We - being Lucius and I - traced its owner all the way up to the present year."

"Master, may I speak?" Nott growled.

Voldemort flicked his blood-red eyes on him and looked enraged for an instant before calming and saying, "Go on."

"Forgive me, Master, but . . . well, ah, are you even sure that this fountain . . . well, exists?" Nott asked carefully.

Voldemort chuckled; a dry laugh with no mirth and no trace of his rare cruel smile. "Of course it exists, you fool.

"The reason you may have never heard of it," he went on after a slight pause, his chilling tone replacing his amused one, "is because it has been forgotten - buried under piles of myths and legends. Those few who do know of it are convinced it is mere fiction and not worthy to pursue. But those who think that are gravely mistaken. It's not fiction, nor myth, nor legend . . . it is real." He spun dramatically then, his cloak billowing out around him, before fixing his gaze on Draco. "You, Mister Malfoy, will retrieve this book for me," he announced unexpectedly.

Draco was beyond surprised. Lucius had warned him not to expect to do anything personally for Voldemort until he'd been in his service for at least a month. Three days, and already he wants me to do something important, Draco thought, a bit arrogantly. It must be a record.

"Yes, Master," Draco said in a steady voice.

"Master, if you'll excuse me, but why must the boy get this book?" Crabbe grunted.

"I believe it is in the custody of one of his old schoolmates," Voldemort replied slowly. "A little old lady owned it until just a few short weeks ago, when she died. She passed it down to one of her great granddaughters."

Draco's mind raced as he began to think of all the girls he knew at Hogwarts. "Who has it?" he blurted before he could stop himself.

To his relief, Voldemort didn't look bothered by his outburst. In fact, another awful smile crossed his features and he uttered the name, quietly and with a touch of malice.

"Ginny Weasley."

***

It was a beautiful morning, the sun shinning in on the kitchen counters, lighting up the exquisite room, making it warm and safe and happy. The smell of coffee was in the air, as was the aroma of the baking muffins in the oven.

Ginny sat at the table, a duvet wrapped around her; a coffee cup warming one of her hands as she slipped it around the mug's handle. She was hunched over the table, one arm supporting her head as she looked upon the wood's surface, committing to memory its' every grain and nick it had. Harry was still asleep, Ginny had woken early and decided he definitely needed his rest, so she nicked the duvet from the spare bedroom and came down here to think. She was thinking hard, her mind delving into her memory, as she tried to remember… remember every little memory about her great-grandmother, Nanan, as she used to call her.

'Nanan! Watch me! Look, I can do a cartwheel! Look! Look!'

'I'm looking, Ginny dear,' came the voice Ginny missed so much.

'See? I did it!'

Laughter floated through the air and Ginny could almost feel herself smiling. 'Yes you did! Good girl; who taught you that?'

'Ron did. We're always together. It'll be me 'n' Ron always.'

'Of course, dear, of course.'

More memories came, slowly at first, but soon there were more than Ginny had ever remembered before.

'Nonsense, Molly, Ginny'll be no trouble.'

'Are you sure, Grandmother? She can be a handful sometimes. I'm afraid she'll wear you out.'

The laughter came again. 'I'll be fine, Molly. You just go home and take care of those boys. Ginny and I will be perfectly fine on our own.'

'All right… If you insist. Good-bye, Grandma.'

'Goodnight, Molly.'

'I'm stayin'?'

'Yes, Ginny, dear.'

'Yay!'

'… and the witch and wizard lived happily ever after. The End.'

'Nanan?' A yawn. 'Do happilies ever afters really happen?'

'Yes, Ginny dear. See, right now? We're all warm, we have hot chocolate, and we're happy.'

'Is this our happily ever after?'

'Yes, Ginny, dear. This is our happily ever after.'

'Nanan, I miss Ron.' A sigh.

'What do you mean, Ginny?'

'I mean, it's his first summer back 'n he won't talk to me anymore. He keeps going on about all the stuff at Hogwarts 'n and all the friends he made.'

'Are you jealous, Ginny?'

A pause. '…Yes.'

'Why, Ginny?'

Another, more aggravated sigh. 'We always used to play all summer with each other 'n now he won't do anything with me!'

'Is that all?'

'Well… no. He knows Harry Potter, Nanan. Harry Potter! Can you imagine? Ron, best friends with the wizard who saved the world…'

'He's growing up, Gin. And soon, you will.'

'How are you feeling, Nanan?'

'Better than this morning.' A cough.

'Shh... Don't wear yourself out. I can go if you want to sleep.'

A feeble laugh. 'Ah, Ginny, darling, don't go. I miss you so.'

'I'm sorry I haven't been by lately. Everything has been so mad with the Dark Lord rising… Did you know he attacked Brighton yesterday? I can't understand his motives.'

'Yes, I heard about that. So much evil… so much evil in this world.'

'I wish I could help somehow,' came a mutter.

'You will, GinGin, one day. You'll see, you'll be exactly what the wizarding world needs.'

'Sorry, what was that Nanan? I didn't hear you.'

'It doesn't matter, Ginny, dear.'

Ginny stopped thinking, opening her eyes and realising that she was crying. Sniffing, she wiped at the tears and rubbed her face. She missed her great-grandmother. Nanan had always been so good to her; she had always been someone Ginny could turn to with her problems. And now she was gone.

Sighing, Ginny got up, leaving the duvet on the chair and dumped out her now-cold coffee in the sink. As she stood at the sink, watching the last dreads of the caffeine fall down the drain, she felt a pair of arms circle her waist.

"Mornin'," Harry said, nuzzling her neck.

"Why aren't you asleep?" Ginny gently chided.

"Couldn't sleep without you," Harry said, kissing her neck, then looked at her. "What's wrong?" he asked, seeing the tears in her eyes.

"It still hurts," Ginny said, biting her lip and shooting Harry a glance. He nodded and hugged her tighter.

"I'm sorry, Gin. I know how much she meant to you. It'll take time…"

"I know…" Ginny sighed and turned to face Harry. "I'll get used to her being gone. I'll have to."

"That's my girl," Harry said smiling. "Now, what would you like to do today?"

"I was actually thinking off looking through the things Nanan had given me…" Ginny said, sneaking out of Harry's arms and taking the muffins out of the oven. She placed them on the rack as she heard Harry's laugh behind her.

"You haven't looked at it yet?" Ginny shook her head as she began unloading the muffins from the rack onto a plate. "You could be rich for all you know!"

"It's a chest, not a bond, Harry," Ginny said, coming to the table and offering Harry a muffin. He took it and thanked her as she sat down and took one herself.

"You never know what're in chests, Gin," Harry said, with a reminder and Ginny smiled in spite of herself.

"I know. Well, I'll find out after breakfast, won't I?"

"Yep. Say, I have to run into the Ministry this morning; got an owl saying that they've found out something important. You don't mind staying here by yourself, right?"

Ginny snorted. "I'm twenty-one, Harry, not twelve."

"Sometimes I have a hard time believing that," Harry said, laughing and jumping away from her swipe at him. "Actually," Harry said, looking at the clock. "I'd better be off now." He paused to give her a quick kiss and then grabbed his cloak. "I'll make it up to you for leaving you for so long tonight, all right?" he asked, looking at her as he shrugged his cloak on.

"All right." Ginny smiled and watched him go, before setting her muffin down and sighing. She might as well head up to the attic and open up the chest now. Walking upstairs, she felt happier than she had when she had woken up. Harry was back, he was safe and Ginny was so relieved that it proved as a worthy distraction from her great-grandmothers death.

She opened the ceiling door to the attic and pulled down the stairs that was attached to the door, before climbing up the stairs and into the attic.

The attic wasn't like most attics in England. This one had been magically expanded so Harry and Ginny could stuff all their things they didn't use anymore up here, but there was still enough room for an extra bed and a sofa. Also, it wasn't dingy or dusty, but clean and fresh, having more than a few windows up there, making the air up in the attic smell nice and also allowed the sun to pour in when it chose to show itself.

All in all, Ginny loved coming up here from time to time for a peaceful nap, or to get away from the noise of the household and just read for a while in silence and solitude.

Walking to the far end, where the chest rested by the bed, Ginny felt happy and at peace as she usually did when up here. Smiling, she knelt by the chest and opened up the lid, coughing as a few dust particles rose into the air.

Ginny looked in and shook her head. Funny, there was only one thing in there, wrapped in brown paper. Taking it out, she knew it was a book.

A book? Her great-grandmother gave her a book? It must be some book, Ginny thought.

Closing the lid, she lay the package on the top of the chest and ripped open the paper.

There lay, as Ginny had guessed, a book. And it was a very curious book, too.

The cover was a deep green leather, but there was a red border around it that lifted off the cover

, while something was written in the middle, but she didn't recognise the words; they weren't English.

Wonder what that means? Ginny wondered as she ran a hand down the cover. She shuddered, as she felt something run through her. It was as though something was reaching back into her, to touch her very soul. She could feel the stirrings of something within her and she felt alive. Opening the book, hey eyes lay upon yellowed parchment, once new but now discoloured with age. She couldn't make out the words, it was some language she didn't understand but there were drawings, maps actually, and Ginny studied it intently, feeling as though she needed to commit the pictures to memory.

Her finger traced the drawings, the mountain peaks, the flowing rivers, the fields that were drawn upon the parchment. It seemed all so exotic to Ginny and she couldn't help but to turn page after page, taking in the drawings of the landscapes; of temples so high, they were above the clouds; of the deepest parts of the temples; of the pictures of gods and goddesses as they danced around the fire; and then finally, a drawing that filled two pages of the book, a drawing of a fountain, glowing in its' majestic power, and Ginny, upon looking at it, felt something… A nagging at the back of her head, as though she should know this from somewhere, somehow. But however hard Ginny wracked her brain; she couldn't come up with anything. So she looked upon the picture again, memorising it, taking in every detail so she could always remember it wholly.

"Gin?" a voice called from downstairs. Harry was home. "You up there?"

"Yes," Ginny called back, looking at the book with longing. For some reason she didn't want Harry to see this book; she felt as though she should keep it privet for now. She could always show it to him later, but for now… It was hers and hers alone. "I'll be down in a minute!" she called again.

Taking the book of the lid of the chest, she opened the lid and, biting her lip, laid it gently down upon the bottom of the chest, patting it as one would a pet and closed the lid, before standing up and wiping at her pants. With one last look, she walked out of the attic and down the stairs, to go find Harry.

***

Ginny walked down from the attic slowly, the maps and drawings still swirling in her mind. She wondered vaguely why she had felt the need to inspect the book so, but nothing nagged her to pursue the thought further. It didn’t matter – memorising it had been the right thing to do, so she wouldn’t bother herself with it.

In the kitchen, she saw Harry at the sink with his back to her, slowly placing dishes in the drainer to dry. Completely preoccupied with her own wonderment and fascination with the book, she didn’t notice that his shoulders were slightly hunched, and that he was moving sluggishly; the two signs that gave away his awful mood.

Sinking into a chair at the table, she silently hoped that Harry would leave the house again so she could retrieve the book and look at it once more. Even though she completely knew the maps by heart, maybe there was some clue as to what the text said. I could try and figure out what language it’s in, she thought, biting her lower lip, and find a book to translate it.

Before she could think any further, there came the noise of shattering glass. With a gasp she turned in her chair and glanced over at the sink. Harry had dropped a plate, and it had broke, its pieces scattered among the tiled floor.

Briefly, she glanced at Harry’s face. His lips were pressed in a thin white line of fury, his emerald eyes blazing – she could tell even from across the room. For a moment, he did not move; he glared hard at the glass on the ground. Ginny could almost feel the anger radiating from him, knew instantly that something was terribly wrong, but was afraid to even breathe, lest she cause him even more fury. All contemplation of the book in the attic flew from her thoughts.

After several heartbeats, Harry whirled around back to the sink and grabbed another handful of plates. With a cry of rage he heaved them across the room, where they slammed into the wall and exploded into a rain of glass pieces. Ginny jumped at the sudden movement and noise, turning her eyes from the broken plates that were once her mother’s when she and her father had started out as newlyweds, and focusing back in on Harry. He was already reaching for more dishes, but she finally snapped into attention and stood up.

“Harry!” she screamed. “Stop it! Stop it right now!”

He released the dishes and they clattered back into the sink. Once again, he put his back to her, and leaned against the counter, lowering his head.

Ginny pulled out her wand and whisked the glass into the nearby dustbin, knowing already that the plates that had belonged to her mother’s family for generations were too ruined to repair. Then she hurried over to Harry’s side, instantly forgiving him for breaking something that was so dear to her, for he seemed as though he were about to cry.

“Harry?” she asked, her voice gentler. “Harry, love, what’s wrong?”

She stared at his profile – his eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw was clenched, and he was breathing loudly through his nose trying to calm himself down. Nearly a minute passed before he opened his eyes and met her gaze.

“Do you realise how pointless this is, Ginny?” he said quietly.

She couldn’t help the startled look that came to her face. “What is pointless, Harry?”

“This. The war. Against Voldemort. The slimy bastard’s never going to die.”

This must have something to do with his Ministry visit, she figured. He’d been gone all morning, in town in London doing something with Dumbledore. Now she knew he must’ve been told something that made him depressed. “Of course he will, love. He’s human still, whether he likes it or not. He’s not immortal or godly yet.”

“He’s not human,” Harry told her fiercely. “He might be mortal, though, but I doubt for long. He’s got another plan.”

“Another plan for invincibility?”

Harry nodded, then shook his head. Pushing himself back away from the counter, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Never mind, Gin. I don’t want to bother you with it.”

She watched him as he put his glasses back on, then insisted, “You won’t bother me. I promise you. What’s he got planned now?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. A little too quickly. Besides, Ginny knew him too well. She knew that when he lied, he could never look her in the eye. And right now, he was looking beyond her at the sink.

“You’re lying,” she accused. “I know you don’t get upset over anything but news about Voldemort. So what is it this time? A new object that makes him invincible?”

“It’s nothing, Gin,” he protested. “Nothing that you need to worry about. The Ministry will handle it.”

He started to walk from the kitchen, but she followed close on his heels. “The Ministry will handle it,” she repeated, “and you will mope and sulk around about it while I have to live with you. You’re going to tell me what’s going on, Harry Potter, even if I have to use a Veritaserum on you –”

They were in the hallway, and he stopped and spun to face her. “Will you just forget about it, Ginny? I’m sorry I ever even said anything to you,” he muttered. He began striding back to the stairs.

She felt that familiar spark of anger light up inside her, and she scurried after him. “Is that the only thing you’re sorry about?” she demanded sharply. She looked up at him, for he was already near the top of the staircase. “Aren’t you sorry that you broke nearly all of my mum’s old china that her great grand-mum used back in the beginning of the nineteenth century? And that she and Dad used when Bill was only a baby?”

“I’m sorry,” he said under his breath. “I’ll buy you some new plates.”

She reached the upstairs landing. “I don’t want you to buy me bloody new plates,” she snapped as he was stepping into the bathroom. She ran the length of the landing and managed to wedge herself in between the door and the frame so he couldn’t shut it in her face. “Harry, tell me. Tell me before I get angry and move out.”

His face was rock hard, but his eyes softened in a way that made Ginny realise the thought of her moving out terrified him. She’d only said it because she was caught up in a moment of fury, and wasn’t really thinking rationally, but he obviously thought she meant it. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself and her temper.

“I didn’t mean that,” she said softly. “But tell me anyway, Harry. Please. I don’t want to know so I can be caught up in the gossip of the Ministry. I want to know so I can comfort you and understand what you’re going through.”

“It’s Ministry business,” he replied gruffly. “Confidential.”

She frowned. “You know I won’t fall for that. You’ve told me things that were confidential before. So tell me, Harry. Just tell me.”

Harry sighed through his nose, dropping his head back against the door for a moment. Then he stared at her, his eyes softening, and reached up a hand to stroke her cheek. “You’re the only one who would put up with me, you know that?” he asked gently.

She had to smile. “And you’re the only one who puts up with me.”

He smiled wistfully and dropped his hand, glancing away from her. “Like you guessed, Voldemort’s got a new ingenious plan to become a god. And I’m afraid this time it might work.”

“I kind of figured that part out,” Ginny said, giving him a lopsided grin. “But what’s his plan, exactly?”

“Some book,” replied Harry, returning his eyes to hers. “Called something Latin . . . oh, what’s it called . . . um, Plagas Deuses.”

Ginny squinted her eyes. That name sounded very familiar, actually. Where had she heard it? She certainly didn’t know what it translated to, or even what language it was. “What does that mean?” she asked.

“It’s Latin – I think it translates to plagas means regions, and dueses means god. That must translate to Regions of the Gods or something of that sort,” he explained.

“So he’s after a book, and you’re getting nervous?” Ginny asked slowly, giving him a confused look.

“It is what’s in the book that gets me nervous,” Harry said. “It’s what’s in the book when Voldemort gets a hold of it that bothers me. There’s said to be a map, or some drawing or something, which will lead him to Silanus Aeternitas.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s Latin, too. Silanus . . . let’s see if I can remember . . . it means fountain? And aeternitas means eternity, immortality. Basically a fountain of immortality.”

“So if Voldemort finds this book,” Ginny began, “he’ll find this fountain of immortality? And use it to become godlike?”

Harry nodded grimly, his mouth in a straight line. “Exactly.”

“Then you’ll just have to prevent him from getting that book, then,” Ginny said, as if it were that simple.

Harry snorted. “I wish that’s all there was to it. But we have no idea where the book is. Voldemort, knowing him, is probably on his way to get it from whoever has it, or wherever it is, as we speak.”

***

Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples, trying to rid herself of the ebbing pain that seemed to course between her eyes with every heartbeat. Opening her eyes, her gaze slightly blurred for a moment, she gazed down again at the papers in front of her.

"What is your secret?" she muttered to herself, picking up the parchment and ruffling through it again, the sound of the rustling paper the only thing in the still laboratory. It was pressing; this silence. The reason it was so quiet was that it was well past midnight. Hermione had meant to go home early tonight, to meet Ron for dinner to relax for once, when this--this artefact had been given to her by the Ministry of Magic.

"You're the o'ly one we know; we trust ta figure 't oot," she remembered the head of investigations, Sean O'Harray, telling her. "Wea've tried ever'thing known an' yet we cannot figure oot why 't's so important."

So, Hermione had agreed to stay, calling Ron up and telling him she'd have to cancel, something important had come in. She had spent all day, making notes about this artefact, trying to figure out what was so special. She had even called up Sean again to make sure there was no mistake. "Ay, no. Thair's somethin' t's hidin'," he had told her, sounding grave. "Please, jus' keep lookin'."

Putting down her papers, she reached for her coffee, the only thing that was keeping her going now. Taking a sip, she spit it out and muttered a curse when she tastes bitter, cold coffee on her tongue. Frowning, she realised it must be later than she intended. Looking up, she saw that it was already past two. Closing her eyes again, she rested her forehead on her hand and took her hair out of it's ponytail. Rubbing her scalp, trying to get some feeling back into it as her ponytail had been pulling tightly on it, she glanced over at the artefact in question.

It looked like an ordinary urn, one you might find at an archeology dig, for it was extremely old, dating back at least 3,000 years. Carefully, Hermione pulled some laboratory gloves on, and picked it up. A deep colour of black, carved in gold, Hermione looked at the pictures on it. Warriors danced a still dance, shouting battle cries she could not hear, their arrows waved above their heads, as though ready to charge. Hermione smiled softly to herself, tracing one figure. His arrow was broken, she thought sadly, yet his face showed nothing of fear of dying because being unarmed. In fact, he looked confident, she thought, his eyes glinting magically, almost. Wait… She peered closer. That arrow wasn't a broken arrow, she realised… It had to be –

"Hermione!" a shout came from her and Hermione jumped, almost dropping the urn.

Turning around she saw Harry.

"Harry!" she said, setting down the urn and placing a hand over her beating heart. "Don't do that!"

"I wouldn't if you wouldn't work so late--Ron called, he's worried as hell!" Harry smiled, tiredly, and sat down on a stool across from Hermione.

"You look like you haven't seen a shower or bed in ages," Hermione said, smiling.

Harry scowled and ran a hand through his hair. "Ginny and I had a fight," he mumbled, grabbing her cold cup of coffee.

"A fight?" Hermione asked, worried. "But you just got home. Shouldn't you both be in a sickening state of bliss?" Harry scowled again and lifted the coffee cup to his mouth. "Oh, Harry-" Hermione said, raising a hand as though to stop him.

Too late. He spat it out, coughing.

"Cold coffee?" he muttered, bringing the cup down upon the table with such force it shook the table.

"Sorry." Hermione smiled ruefully.

"It's all right," Harry muttered.

"So what was the fight about?" Hermione asked gently.

"Oh, I wouldn't tell her MOM business; you know how uptight she gets about those things." He paused. "Always wants to know where I'm going, what I'm doing, how much danger I'm in…"

"She cares about you," Hermione reminded him softly.

"She's like a bloody mum, sometimes!" Harry said, frustrated causing Hermione to laugh.

"Oh, Harry," she said, wiping at the tears in her eyes. "Why don’t you just get some rest? You'll work it out in the morning, okay?"

Harry sighed, but nodded, standing up. He looked at the clock and swore, before looking at Hermione.

"You go too then," he said.

"All right, all right," Hermione said. "But only because it'll get you and Ron off my back." Harry nodded, satisfied. Putting the urn in the protective cover it had come with before in the cardboard box, Hermione promised she'd find out what the secret behind the lone magical warrior was--but in the morning. Closing the lid, she grabbed her purse and left the building with Harry, locking it behind her. They hugged in the hall before each Disapparating.

* * *

That night, after covering Harry’s sleeping form on the couch with a blanket, Ginny headed up the creaky stairs into the attic. She wanted to look at the book one last time before she retired herself.

It was darker than she’d anticipated in the attic, for it was a cloudy night, and no moon or starlight came in through any of the several windows. Ginny quickly lit her wand and knelt on the dusty floor before her Nanan’s trunk. The lid squeaked as she opened it, as if in protest.

Biting her lip, Ginny brought the book of maps she’d been looking at earlier out and placed it in her lap. She brushed some dirt off the cover, and the wand-light hit the title of it at just the write angle. In shimmering gold letters were words of Latin.

Ginny sucked in a breath, her eyes widening in surprise.

She traced the letters with her finger as she whispered, “Plagas Deuses.”