The Heiress

We all stood around just passing around those damned Spectrespecs and hoping for a different result until we heard a thin wail from the other side of the door. Luna cocked her head slightly, closed her eyes and leaned toward the sound.

Her eyes popped open and she smiled. "Colin. I think he needs a nappy change."

"Right. I know. My turn," Dean said with a groan. He actually looked pale as he opened the door and marched into the other room as glum as an unarmed wizard about to face a patch of Devil's Snare. The wailing got louder and was soon joined by another set of cries. I suddenly had a whole new admiration for my mum, especially when Dean came back in and told us that we'd better head back downstairs since it wasn't going to be a pretty sight or smell in a moment.

"You're shocked," said Luna as we left Dean to it and went back down to the living room.

"Not really. My mum could make your hair fall out with the stories she could tell about dirty nappies."

"No, no, I mean about my father speaking with someone who was in Azkaban," she said. "And on the record."

I hesitated, then said: "Well, it is a little strange. But whoever it was wouldn't be the first Ministry git to have gone to prison. Are you sure, though, that he really talked to this person? Since it was such a big story, he might have tried to throw the Ministry off the scent by putting down a fake name."

"No, Dad wouldn't do that. He'd have no reason to believe the Ministry would be able to see his sources, you know. They were never able to figure it out before. Besides, Dad had quite a few friends there."

"Friends ..." I stared. "In Azkaban?"

"Oh, yes, he was quite popular," she said, bouncing something in her hand that looked like a snitch. "He didn't like to talk about it much, but just after he was released, there was a large increase in subscribers to The Quibbler."

"Hm." I didn't really trust myself to say any more than that. I never thought of Azkaban as a place to socialise. "Did he ever mention anyone in particular that he was close with?"

"No, not really. We received some odd Christmas owls for quite some time, but that stopped well before my father ever wrote that article. He would have just used a name if it had been someone he'd met while he'd been there. I think he used a number because he didn't know the person well and perhaps whoever it was had just left Azkaban."

"That could be. But a name would be bloody nice right now."

"But what you have is better than a name," said Luna. "With a prisoner identification number, you can find out everything about this person. Harry would be able to find him or her, of course. He's an Auror and he does have access to that sort of information. Shall I owl him and ask him to come over right away?"

Harry! In all the excitement, I'd nearly forgotten about my best mate, who was waiting for news. But I didn't think I could risk it. He and Ginny had already been out once that night, and I didn't want the Ministry tracing us to Luna and Dean's and getting them into danger.

"No, can't do it," I aimed an angry stare at the carpet. "The Ministry's watching Harry almost all the time. They think he knows where Hermione is, and he nearly got sacked."

"Of course he knows where Hermione is," said Luna, blinking slowly. "They're best friends. The Ministry would've done well to just sack him. He'll never tell them where to find her as long as they are so obvious about wanting to hurt her."

I nodded grimly. "That doesn't mean they won't try and I don't want them getting too much of a crack at him. No, I'll have to find it out some other way ..."

"Find what out?" Dean was coming down the stairs, and I noticed he had on a new jumper. Luna explained the problem while I glared at the carpet some more.

"Wish I could help you, Ron, but I never really knew any Aurors other than you and Harry while I worked at the Ministry," he said. "But there has to be a way to find out who this bloke is. Maybe hunt up a Gryffindor in the Corps that'll do a favour for an old housemate?"

"Not this old housemate," I muttered, thinking of the scrum I'd had at Headquarters. "I'll have to figure something else out, I suppose."

"How? By asking everyone in the wizarding world if they or someone they'd known had been in Azkaban, and if so, were they prisoner number so and so?" Dean sounded incredulous. "It's not as if everyone who'd been in there hangs around together and goes to the same pubs and eats at the same restaurants like a bunch of retired footballers. I think you should risk it and ask Harry. Or maybe your dad; doesn't he have some contacts from when he was in the Ministry?"

I muttered something vague. If I wasn't going to get Harry up and out of bed, I sure as hell wasn't going to involve my mum and dad who were still pretty much in the dark as to what was going on, though they knew Hermione was wanted, of course. But Dean had given me another idea. He wasn't entirely right about former Azkaban prisoners not tossing back stiff ones in the same places. Something Whetwistle told me long ago came back to my mind. It was when we'd caught him sneaking into Hermione's room at St. Mungo's. He'd said he'd gotten the Portkey from Mundungus Fletcher and they'd met in some tumbledown pub where his brother and "associates" used to meet. Knowing now that most of what Whetwistle had said was a lie, I had something of an idea of where he'd really met up whoever had gotten a Portkey for him, and it definitely wasn't Mundungus Fletcher. Going there might give me the answers I needed.

I knew I didn't have much time. The sooner I knew who the Ministry insider had been, the better chance there was of finding an antidote to the potion. I thanked Luna and Dean for all their help and told them I should get cracking on running down the lead. In reality, I had a stop to make at a fancy-dress shop in Muggle London. If I was to go where I was planning on going, I was going to have to blend in, and I wasn't going to be able to do that dressed the way I was.

"Of course, Ronald," said Luna with that familiar smile. "Do be careful. And please tell Hermione that we know she is innocent and we wish her well."

"Love, he can't tell her anything, remember?" said Dean cautiously. "No one knows where she is."
"Of course he can tell her," she said airily. "But we needn't know anything about it if he does. Goodnight, Ronald."

She pecked me on the cheek and Dean pounded me on the back and wished me luck, saying we needed to hunt up Seamus and Neville and Harry and go for a pint sometime soon. It was hard to leave, but I knew I had to. I thanked them both and took a last look around Shell Cottage. I sighed a little at the memories and the thoughts of what might've been before covering up in the Invisibility Cloak and going back out the way I came.

~*~

In less time than I realised, I was in a seedy area of Muggle London outside what looked at first glance like an old, outsized scullery. You could barely make out anything in the dark, but I could see the faint outlines of a wooden door with a little horizontal slash in the middle. I hid in a small alleyway a moment, waiting to see if I'd have company. Several sets of footsteps that went by, rather quickly, too, followed by a few whispers, but no one actually approached the little broken-down entryway.

Fidgeting, I looked at my watch and decided I couldn't hang about any longer. I was going to have to go on ahead. I supposed I'd be all right. I was dressed for the occasion, after all.

I stepped out of the shadows and gathered the outer cloak around me, pulling the hood down as far as it would go. My fingers brushed the stiff mask over my face, and I adjusted it a little so that it wasn't pressing so hard against my nose. I could barely breathe, but I could see, at least.

I glanced around again, and when I was satisfied that no one was coming along, I marched up to the door and tapped my wand on the wooden slit three times. Almost immediately the slit shimmered and faded out and I was staring into the face of a steel mask. Nothing happened for a moment except the two of us facing each other down, or at least I supposed we were. Unlike my mask, the one the bloke had on didn't have any eye holes.

"Friend or Foe?" asked a quiet, but young-sounding voice.

"Pureblood," I answered roughly, wishing I could punch the ponce. I hated this place. I hated that I even knew about this place.

The mask nodded, but the door didn't open.

"The password?"

I wet my lips nervously. There was never any proof, but I'd heard that anyone who gave the wrong password would immediately get a face full of Garrotting Gas. I couldn't see any further into the little building, and the only light came in sharp glints off the bloke's mask. He was waiting for me to speak, and I knew it wouldn't go well for me if I hesitated a moment longer.

"Pleiades."

The mask jerked back, and disappeared. The slit in the doorway reappeared suddenly with a soft click. I braced myself and sprang backward very quickly, but nothing happened except that the door creaked open and there was suddenly a hand on my arm.

"Forgive me for keeping you waiting, sir."

The hand guided me gently inside. I didn't even hear the door close. There was another, inner door directly in front, and the bloke and I stood there between the two doors in what felt like a dark box.

"It's all go tonight here, you know. Saturday nights into Sunday mornings tend to be like that. This way."

He threw open the inner door and stood with his head lowered while I walked over the threshold and into a nightmare. I didn't hear the second door close either. I took a deep breath and gave a long look around as I was led deeper and deeper into the black, rotting heart of the Double-S Club.

The Double-S Club was the wizarding world's reminder that not everyone who should've died in the final battle actually did. It was nothing more than a big, bloody valentine to Voldemort and his followers. With all the plush chairs and rich-looking furniture, the place tried to be posh on the inside to make up for the grimy exterior. That stopped working once you actually got into the club and had a good look. Despite the silver-edged tables that had big glass jars with bluebell flames dancing inside, and random bursts of green and silver lights swirling around the interior, it was still as shadowy and gloomy as the grottiest dungeon.

Everyone who worked there was dressed in their murderous best - purple hooded cloak and metal mask. Most of the customers, though, wore cloaks of different colours and rubber or clay masks. Liquor flowed like water here, and all the drinks all had stupid names like "Riddle on the Rocks" or "Greyback Gimlet." The barmaids serving them up were all fit, young and had the sort of sneers that looked drawn on. Their cloaks were striped green and silver, tighter and more revealing than what the blokes wore, and their masks only covered the top halves of their faces. There weren't any Dark Marks, since the Ministry had made them Taboo and anyone getting a Mark would be transported straight to a cell in Azkaban. But they got around that with green snakeskin bracelets that wound up their left forearm, twisted up in the shape of a skull. Cute, yeah?

There was ear-splitting music that made me wince - something called "death metal," made by Muggles, which was a laugh. But that wasn't the only entertainment. A painfully thin, pale woman with the same sort of dark, frizzed out hair as Bellatrix Lestrange writhed seductively to the music on a raised platform. She was naked except for her mask, a pair of green and silver knickers and a long, large snake that coiled around her knotty hair like a turban.

Officially, the pub was supposed to be all in fun, if in bad taste. At least that's what Lucian Bole had told the Wizengamot when he and his "partners" had been hauled there to explain themselves and their mad idea. Bole had argued that far from it being an insult to the sacrifices made by wizards and witches in the wars, it was paying them tribute by treating Death Eaters and Voldemort as elaborate jokes - never mind that the madman and the dozens of people he'd killed weren't anything to laugh about. He mentioned that it was more a tribute to Salazar Slytherin, which was why it was called the "Double-S Club" and kitted out in green and silver. Bole even said that Muggles had the same sort of places that poked fun at the tyrants and evil leaders that had terrorized him, so in a way, the pub was an indication that Muggles were a bit of all right.

It was a load of hippogriff dung, but Bole had gotten lucky, because the very year the Double-S Club had opened, one of the grandsons of the Muggle queen had gone to a fancy-dress 'do dressed as one of the Muggles who'd killed thousands of his own kind in a horrible war. Hermione had told me about that war once and that Voldemort and this Muggle shared a lot of the same beliefs in blood purity and that idiotic shite. And that nutter had been fond of the "double-S," too.

Anyway, since that seemed to prove Bole's point, the Ministry decided to let it stand for a moment and see what happened. For a long time, there were surprise raids and long arguments in the Prophet about how disgusting it all was. Then Scrimgeour put his foot down and closed it for good, but the blokes were clever and reopened it on the quiet right on the edges of Muggle London where you couldn't find it unless you knew what exactly you were looking for. I was sure the Ministry knew something about it, but since they were doing their best to go about unnoticed and no one complained anymore, they sort of forgot about it, I supposed. From what I'd heard, no one outside of Slytherins and curious wizards from other countries ever went there, and it became clear that the majority of the clientele were of the type that longed for the good old days of Unforgivables, dark magic and being able to say "Mudblood" and not get punched in the mouth for it.

To get in, you had to be dressed as a Death Eater: mask, hooded cloak and all. You also had to know the password, which apparently changed almost hourly - unless you knew someone intimately connected with the pub who could give you a more permanent password that meant instant entrance and lots of perks.

The one I'd used had been given to me a long time ago by Castor Greengrass, my ex-brother-in-law and one of the owners of this sodding disgrace. I was a bit surprised he hadn't changed it by now, but Castor had never done anything even remotely normal in his life. He'd been five years behind me in Hogwarts and left after seventh year to loaf around wizarding Britain before coming back to buy a part interest in the Double-S Club. He'd tried to get Daphne to get me to come to the pub once or twice. I supposed he hoped it would lend a bit of respectability to the place and get the Ministry to relent. Not to mention it would've been fantastic publicity for him to have a member of the famed "Trio" kitted out as a bloodthirsty bigot sipping on a fucking Malfoy Mudslide.

I think the night she asked me to go there with her was the same night I realised I'd married into a passel of nutters and I needed to get out, and fast. I also think that might've been the night she started it up with Zabini, since she'd gone out herself and come back in long after morning. Merlin knew this was Zabini's sort of place - the sort of place Death Eater sympathisers could come and talk "business."

I loathed that I even knew it existed, let alone how to get inside, but I needed the information now. There'd be enough time later for hot showers to rinse off the filth I'd pick up just being inside.

The bloke from the door led me through the pack, nattering the whole way.

"Of course, as a Very Important Pureblood, anything you want is on the house with our compliments," he said, trying to talk above the music. "Do you want a private room? They're only reserved for V.I.P.s, so you'd be assured quiet relaxation."

I shook my head. Quiet would've been brilliant, but for what I wanted, I was going to need to mingle, as much as the thought disgusted me. He bowed his head again and led me over to the bar. It was all but deserted; most people were milling around the dance floor or clustered around the stage watching the gaunt woman and her snake fondle each other. The bloke murmured something to the barkeep, who nodded thoughtfully and looked over at me. At least, I reckoned he was looking at me. His mask was turned my way, anyway. He slid down the bar as the guard wished me a good night and melted back into the crowd.

"Welcome, sir. Always good to have a V.I.P. What are you drinking?"

"Pureblood Pilsner for now." It was the one drink I could say without gagging.

He nodded and started filling a mug up with a dark ale. As he went about that, a barmaid came up to carry off a set of drinks, and she brushed up against me in a way that I could tell wasn't an accident. She had blonde hair, wide, athletic shoulders and thin little lips drawn into a pout. She smelled as if she'd been bathed in Firewhiskey and there was a cut on her arm that was just starting to heal over. She turned sideways a little and I thought I saw the glint of dark eyes studying me before she washed back into the crush of people.

"Have you been offered a room, sir?" the barkeep asked me, nodding not-so-subtlety toward the blonde. "I could send Gabriela back to you with your drink. You could enjoy both of them ... in private."

"Maybe later," I said, trying not to shudder. Unless I missed my guess, it looked as if Gabriela had been enjoyed in private quite a lot already that night.

I took up my drink and used my wand to enlarge the hole of my mask so that I could have a quaff. I nearly spit it out. It tasted like boiled kneazle droppings. Perfect for this place.

I put it back down, running my tongue over my teeth. "There's something maybe you can do for me, mate."

"Yeah?" His voice was slightly wary now. "What might that be, sir?"

"I need information. I know this is the place to get it."

"It depends on the sort of information." That same note of caution was still there. "Could you be more specific?"

"Someone has something I need," I said. "I've got to get hold of him, but all I have to go on is that he'd been in Azkaban once. I have his prisoner number -"

"I'm sorry, sir. This is a pub." There was open suspicion in his voice now. "You'd probably be able to find out what you need to know at the Ministry - if they feel you have a good enough reason for asking. Now, if I can get you something else to drink, let me know."

He turned slickly away from me, and I forced myself not to explode, panic or get mad. People didn't do any of that in this place, at least, not for the reason I'd be doing it.

"Sure, I understand, er, what was your name again?"

"Daniel, sir." He barely turned his head.

"Daniel," I repeated slowly, tapping my finger against the mask. "I'll be sure to tell Cas just how ... well you took care of me. Thanks for the drink."

I made to leave and he spun me back around before I could even get one foot down.

"C-Cas? You mean Mr. Greengrass, sir?"

"You know how Cas is." It made my tongue curdle to use that stupid nickname that idiotic tosspot liked to go by, but it was serving me well at the moment. "He likes to know how his staff is on top of things. You know how he can be when something's not quite right, don't you ... Daniel, wasn't it? I'm really sorry you can't help me. Cas won't like to hear that."

He was leaning over the bar now, and I fancied that even his mask had gone stark white.

"Sir, p-please don't tell Mr. Greengrass you were unsatisfied." The bloke was almost panting. "I'd be happy to help you, but I can't, you see. I've only been working here two months. I don't know a lot of the customers yet, not even V.I.P.s like yourself, otherwise, I wouldn't have had to ask what you wanted to drink."

I leaned my head and tried to make it seem as if I was thinking it over. "Then who could tell me what I want to know?"

"Likely Jonas. He's the relief barkeep. Works only on the weekends when the money's better, but he used to work a lot more and he's been with the club since the beginning. He'll be back within a half-hour, he's on break now." I heard the man swallow painfully. "Sir, why don't you relax in one of the private rooms and when Jonas comes back in, I'll send him your way? Some entertainment while you're waiting, maybe? If you don't fancy Gabriela, there're other bints -"

"Excuse me? Excuse me, a bit of service here, yeah?"

It was a gruff, hacked-off voice on the other side of me. The barkeep and I had been so deep into it that we hadn't noticed a bloke sidle up to the bar.

The barkeep swallowed hard again and turned a little. "Sir, a minute please? I have to take care of this customer."

"It's all right," I murmured. "We can continue our little talk when you're through with him."

His head bobbed briefly and he gave the other bloke his full attention while I tried to choke down more of that Pureblood sludge. I heard the chatter beside me and it was pretty obvious the barkeep was trying to get rid of the new bloke in a hurry.

"Can I help you sir? Wouldn't you rather wait for a barmaid to serve you?"

"It's all right, I'm gasping for something strong now," was the reply.

I frowned and sat up a little straighter, but I didn't move my head. The barkeep just kept his head slightly tilted, waiting to hear the bloke's order.

"Give me, uh ... um ... a Dolohov Cocktail and a ... a ... Goyle and Cranberry."

"A Goyle and Cranberry and Dolohov Cocktail." I heard the slightest bit of hesitation in the barkeep's voice, but he bent to his task with an efficient nod. "Right away, sir."

The man next to me was fidgeting and muttering something that was muffled by his mask. He was dressed sort of flashy, even for the Double-S Club. His cloak was a jaunty yellow that had a faint metallic sheen and stood out among all the green and grey and black. His fingers tapped restlessly on the counter and he was shifting from one foot to the other.

His restlessness caught my attention; he didn't seem as if he were thrilled to be there, which made me wonder what he was about. The loud colour of his cloak was also something to consider, since it seemed the darker the better was the rule for robes here, but it could be that he was a foreigner and just grabbed the first thing that seemed all right.

The barkeep lifted up two tall, narrow glasses, one fizzing orange and the other a mass of red ooze. They both looked like something you'd scrape off the inside of a cauldron. I looked at my "Pureblood Pilsner" again. I didn't want to think about where that looked like it had been scraped out of.

"Can I get you anything else, sir?"

"Probably, but I'll start in on this first. Cheers."

The bloke in yellow grabbed the drinks and staggered back out amongst the people. I gave a quick glance after him as if I were looking to see how the girl on stage was getting on with the snake. When I got a look at what she was up to, I wished I hadn't, but I also didn't see the bloke anymore, which was amazing, considering that with those robes, he could probably be seen from High Street.

Feeling a bit ruffled, I gave up looking and turned back to my new friend.

"Now, tell me more about this Jonas?"

"Just a minute, sir." Daniel looked out toward the crowd and made a slight motion with his hand. In about a minute, the blonde girl who'd given me the side-eye came up and leaned across the bar, sticking her arse out unnecessarily and wiggling it around in time to the music. I guess Daniel felt I could do with some entertainment after all.

The girl looked over her shoulder into the crowd, murmured something to the barkeep and went off again.

"Sorry about that, sir. A bit of a situation there. Now, you were saying -"

"What sort of situation? Someone forgot to flush?"

He didn't get it. "No, it's just that it looks like the Ministry's found us out and sent one of its mingers down." He sounded tired. "We were expecting it after all that business about that Mudblood Hermione Granger and that murder."

I bristled, feeling a surge of anger shoot from the tips of my toes to the top of my head and somehow the mug I was holding shattered in my hand. Daniel jerked back in surprise. I did, too. I was going to have to watch the wandless-magic flare-ups, but I didn't know how well I'd be able to as long as I stayed there.

"Sir, are you all right?"

"What sort of place is this," I said sharply, trying to sound angry. "Mugs exploding a bloke's hand and all?"

"I-I that's never happened before, I'm so sorry, sir!"

His voice had just what I wanted to hear in it - pants-wetting fear. Now he'd tell me anything I wanted to know.

"I'll get you another -"

"Forget it." I made a show of scraping the bits of glass off my hand and sounding as if none of it had really fazed me at all. "I don't blame you for it, just a bit of a shock. Now what's that murder got to do with this place?"

"Nothing at all, but the Ministry doesn't believe that," he said, leaning close. "They're sure we're brewing up another army for the Dark Lord. We figured we'd get raided any day now, and we can't very well apply for wards or an Unplottable address, can we? Being that we're officially not even supposed to exist, you know. To tell the truth, sir, I reckoned you as a Ministry spy until you mentioned Mr. Greengrass. And you being a V.I.P. and all, I should've known better."

"Yeah, you should've. But we'll forget about that, too, for right now." I saw him relax even more. "What makes you think the Ministry's got someone here tonight?"

"Well, you heard that bloke who was beside you, didn't you? In the ugly yellow robes? He ordered a Dolohov Cocktail and a Goyle and Cranberry."

"Yeah?"

"We've never actually served that last one," he said. "It was a bit of a wind-up from Mr. Bole when he sent the Wizengamot the list of drinks to be approved. Mr. Bole decided afterwards to take out the Goyle and Cranberry and the Crabbe and Coke, along with the Bella Belini. Anyone who's ever been here would never have heard of them, but someone in the Ministry would have seen the list and assumed we did serve them. Either that bloke wasn't briefed too well or he just forgot. Either way, he's a minger sure enough."

I turned and tried to peer through the swarm, but I couldn't see anything except people wriggling and hopping around. "What was that drink you gave him, then?"

"Firefly bourbon and cranberry cordial. That's what the Goyle and Cranberry was supposed to be anyway, if it existed." He shook his head. "The Ministry's slipping. That's what letting in Mudbloods'll do to a government."

I swallowed hard, but forced myself to sound casual. "What'll you do with him?"

"Gabriela's going to keep an eye on him. We don't want trouble here. This is a perfect place, being so close to Muggles. They'd never think we'd set up near them. And anyway, we didn't have anything to do with that Mudblood killing that Death Eater. Too bad, though. He would've made a V.I.P. sure enough."

I stood up quickly, feeling the anger start to well up again. I had to get away, and quickly before something else exploded - like that pillock's skull.

"I'll be back. Got to spend a Knut. Where's the loo?"

"The men's is in the back, left of the stage. Another drink for you, sir? Jonas should be back pretty soon."

"Sure." I flicked a few Galleons in the air in his direction and moved off, winding around the press of the crowd. Masks glowed almost white under the green glow and it occurred to me then that the sudden stab of green lights here and there were probably meant to imitate the Killing Curse.

I moved faster, not caring when I bumped into someone or stepped on a foot. The men's was fairly empty when I got there - just me and a bloke fussing around in a stall in the back. I loosened my mask so that I could splash water on my face. I wished I could take it off completely and give my skin some more air, but I was pretty sure there were surveillance charms there and it wouldn't be good to take any chances.

I gripped the edge of the basin and took shallow breaths. I didn't know how much longer I could keep that V.I.P. business up. If Daniel got too chatty, I might say the wrong thing and he wasn't as stupid as he'd seemed at first. As tired as I was, I couldn't completely trust that I'd be in good nick for much longer, and that ale had a good-sized kick to it.

I jumped when I heard a flush and then the stall door behind me flew open. Out walked a man in the dark-yellow robes that looked golden under the lights. He nodded carelessly to me as he washed up and I stood there not sure what to do or say. Part of me wanted to talk to him and the other part just wanted to be shot of him. If I warned him he was suspected of being a Ministry spy and it turned out he was just a sodding git, I'd be exposed. But if I didn't, he might be in more trouble than anyone could imagine, and I wasn't sure I trusted Daniel on what was in that drink. But while I was still puzzling out what to do, the bloke finished up and breezed out like a shadow over the floor. He didn't even let the door bang shut.

I wiped my hands on my robe and retreated to a stall. After a second of thought, I unrolled Harry's Invisibility Cloak and wrapped up in it. Knowing that this man was suspected of spying made me want to stick close to him, especially if he was connected to the Ministry. If he'd come to the pub on a tip, that might mean that the Ministry was getting close to whoever had killed Gregory Whetwistle, and that was worth knowing, too.

When I came out again all coiled up in the cloak, I kept low to avoid knocking around too much. It didn't matter. Since I couldn't be seen, the people I banged into just assumed it was someone next to them who was dancing too hard or had a bit too much to drink. I couldn't really see among the mass of people, and then I got an idea, though it made me a little sick.

I backtracked to the stage and climbed up, steering clear of the naked woman and her snake. I had a much better view from up there and it took me only a few seconds to spot the bloke in yellow seated at a table in a grubby corner. There was someone else with him, dressed in dark-grey robes and a silver mask like most of the staff had on. I didn't spot the blonde barmaid anywhere and I wondered if the bloke was being interrogated by someone, maybe that Jonas person I needed to see. The two were talking animatedly, heads close together, and every now and then the one in the yellow looked round as if he were searching for someone.

I slipped down from the stage and threaded my way through the press, but there wasn't any convenient place near that table for me to stand. There were people around everywhere filling the air with meaningless chatter. I suddenly saw Gabriela. She was on the fringes of the crowd serving other customers but I noticed she never strayed far from the man in yellow or his friend. She floated over toward that table a few times, but the person in grey always shooed her away with a wave.

I saw my chance then. A pocket of dancers had cleared out and there was a small space between a pillar and the back of the chair the grey-robed person was sitting in. I slid by Gabriela as she was making another pass through to the little nook. I had to draw my legs knees up nearly to my chin to squeeze in, but I made it - just. The music seemed not as loud in that area, but I couldn't catch very much of what was being said from where I was scrunched in, and the floor wasn't exactly doing wonders for my bum, so I rolled away and crawled beneath their table. It wasn't any more comfortable, but at least I could stretch my legs out a bit and I was able to hear more of the conversation from under there.

The bloke in the yellow was doing most of the talking. His voice was thin and nervous and his legs were tapping restlessly under the table. The other bloke had a voice like splintered wood - ugly, and hard and jagged round the edges. He had a rasp to his voice that seemed to belong to an older sort of wizard. As they talked, there was no warmth or really any familiarity there that I could tell, so I didn't think they were related.

"I'm not sure what's going on now. I don't understand why you're taking on about the Granger woman. I went through all that trouble, you know. I supposed it was all up now that Gregory Whetwistle's dead."

"It's not for you to question me about that. You had a clear shot at Weasley. Why didn't you take it?"

I bit back a shout, but my heart was hammering painfully against my ribs. I was almost sure I knew that voice. I searched my brain to place it, but the mask coupled with the music wasn't doing me any favours.

"That was never part of the arrangement! I just assumed -"

"Never mind. Hermione Granger's wanted by the Ministry. They need to know what she knows about Greg Whetwistle. She's the one that's my worry now, but I need her alive, too, for the moment. The Ministry'll find some way to make her disappear once they find out what she knows. So we have to find her first."

"I understand all that, but what's it got to do with Weasley?"

"It's pretty obvious he and Granger have legged it somewhere, but I don't think they went far," said the bloke in grey. "Weasley was just at the Ministry a week ago and that stupid bint let him go. It won't happen again. It's come from high up that if Weasley is there when Hermione Granger is found, there's to be a little ... accident with him. The Aurors will be happy to go along with it. Rather ironic considering, don't you think? You do know all about that trial, don't you?"

I rubbed my neck weakly. Yeah, that would be something. Lots of "accidents" where the Auror Division was concerned, it seemed.

"But what do they want to do that for? Granger is the traitor isn't she? It's her the Aurors want. And they believe she killed Greg Whetwistle, besides."

"They may want to have a little fun with her once they've heard what she has to say. But I don't want that - not unless it's absolutely necessary. She can still be used to break the curse on those Galleons. And as for Weasley, that's something else entirely, and it's pretty clear you wouldn't understand. How's your drink?"

"It's sweet," said the bloke in yellow, sounding a little surly, I thought. "I don't understand what you're on about. The one shot at the money is gone now that Whetwistle's dead. If he'd lived one more day, she would've married him, and then the hex would've been broken. There'll be a wait for that gold now. That's what you wanted!"

"The conditions to end the hex can still be met, but Granger's needed for it, after all. It's a good thing you were so horrid at trying to kill her."

I nearly sat up and knocked the table over, but just at the last moment, I pulled myself back down. My head bumped the top, though, and there was a tense second, but one of the blokes just muttered about hating wobbly tables.

"Well, I couldn't have foreseen everything, could I?" It was the bloke in yellow, sounding angry. "I don't know what you're on about with this money! Gregory's Whetwistle's dead, and his brother died before he did, so that's it then."

"Wrong. Gregory was a fool, but his death would have been a disaster if he were the only one who ..."

A group of drunken sots stumbled past and the rest of what the bloke was saying was tangled up in their loud whistles to the woman on the stage. I strained to hear, but it was a few minutes before someone in that group made a suggestion that they get up closer to the stage and the noise died down. I shuffled over, closer to the bloke in grey and after another minute could pick up his voice again.

"... He's much easier to manage than poor old Gregory was. All we need to do is find out just how we can manage Hermione Granger. Once Weasley's out of the way, we can pressure Granger. Sarah Whetwistle is fading fast. The end will be soon, according to my sources. Hermione Granger won't have much time - or, bless her soft heart, much choice."

"You're sure this other bloke isn't having you on? Seems rather convenient all of a sudden, isn't it?"

"Oh, it came out, but it was hushed up quite a long time ago. That's why Old Whetwistle's wife left him - not because of some sodding hex. Anyway, there isn't much time. In order to get this to work, Hermione Granger will have to be drawn out of her hiding place, and that means having to pull Weasley out of his."

"How do you suppose to do that?"

"Why do you think I asked to see you? That's where you come in. You're going to get Weasley to show himself."

"Me?" The bloke's legs went restless again. "How would I know where he is? I barely knew how to find Hermione Granger when you told me to slash her that day, and even that didn't work. Look, I held up my end of the bargain -"

"- And didn't I hold up my end? You have what you were promised by Gregory: money, power, influence. You have the payment I've given you. And you'll have even more when this is done - I can do much more for you than he ever did. You were wise to see things my way and you'd do well to keep playing it nice and easy and let me do all the heavy thinking. You don't do it so well. Just count your gold - that you do well."

There was a drawn-out pause and I heard a long sigh."Yes, but I don't know if I want any more of it. I'm fine where I am now. I like what I'm doing, finally. I'm even seeing a nice girl, for a change. I like my life as it is, and I have to be careful. There're too many questions being asked already. You already know that. They know where Weasley was the night of the murder; they know Granger was with him right after. My head's already been emptied and I'm sure I'm being watched - or followed."

His leg suddenly kicked out and I had to dodge over to the side to keep from getting hit.

"Weasley's not an idiot, and I think you're wrong," the bloke in yellow went on. "He tidied his affairs up nicely even before any of this got started. I think that he and Hermione Granger are across the world right now, and if you want to send me back to attack Weasley's sister or something, it won't be Ron coming out of his head, it'll be Harry Potter."

"No, I had something else in mind. And there are ways of getting around Harry Potter." There was another long pause. "You've hardly touched your drink. Aren't you enjoying it?"

"It's all right. It tastes a bit queer."

My ears perked at this and I felt a cold tingle run down my spine.

"You don't seem too keen on yours, yourself," the bloke in yellow said after a short silence. "What's in this, anyway?"

"Just as the name says, I suppose. I've never had it before. Listen ... think of the money! Double what you were paid before, all in gold, of course. I'd think you, of all people, wouldn't be able to pass that up."

"What good'll Galleons do me if I'm in Azkaban? If there's many more 'inconsistencies,' I won't be able to protect myself, let alone you." The bloke in yellow's voice sounded tired. "You don't need me anymore anyway. I've done my bit and gotten you this far. For the rest, it's better if you and your new bloke work your own plan."

There was another pause in the conversation broken by the bloke in yellow's restless foot-tapping.

"Suit yourself. If you're certain I can't change your mind ..." said the bloke in grey and he pushed back from the table and stood. "This stuff I'm drinking is arse. I'll try something else. Want another of those?"

"No, get me something else, too, this time. Maybe just plain Firewhiskey, if they have it."

"They have everything here," I heard the bloke in grey answer. "Too bad none of it's any good."

I peered out from the table and saw the grey cloak disappear into the mass, and my face burned as I reasoned out what must have happened. Whetwistle had hired this bastard in yellow to put a scare into Hermione. She'd already survived a scare in the vault, and that slashing outside of Harry and Ginny's was supposed to put her over the top. Only, it didn't completely work, so it was all stepped up when Marie Whetwistle died. Whetwistle had Hermione right he wanted, then, even if he hadn't counted on his daughter's illness getting as bad as it did. Maybe this bloke in yellow had something to do with that, too.

I remembered Hermione so weak and wan in St. Mungo's after the attack. Harry had said that if Ginny had waited just a few minutes longer to check on Hermione ...

The bloke in yellow's legs were just a wand's length away, and my hand hovered over my wand loop. I'd only really ever felt the desire to kill only a couple of times in my life. Once was after I'd found Percy's body. And I felt that same rage again; a fury that made the world go dark in front of me and my stomach knot up so hard that I felt as if I were being turned inside out. This bloke had nearly murdered Hermione and likely had tortured a little girl to death for a handful of dirty, sodding Galleons.

A small explosion and the sound of breaking glass made me jolt back in shock and bang the back of my head against the table leg. I bit back a curse and held my breath as I heard the bloke swear savagely and there was red liquid running off the edge of the table and onto the floor. I really had to watch the wandless magic. Uncontrolled, it was more of a nuisance than anything else. There was more cursing and the sound of more glass breaking, but suddenly the swearing broke off in a sharp gulp.

I watched with narrow eyes as the yellow-clad legs began to tremble restlessly and more and more unsteadily, almost as if he'd been hit with a Jelly-Legs Jinx. I heard choking sounds then, and he violently pushed back in his chair. There was shouting and the conversation started to die out, uneasy murmurs taking its place. I quickly slid from under the table and saw the man in yellow on his knees, shards of broken glass digging into his palm. The music screeched to a halt as he screamed and tried to struggle to his feet.

"C-Can't feel my ... legs! C-Can't breathe - god - air - need - air - the - drink -"

Shaking hands tore off the mask, and it was obvious he'd used the last of his strength to do that. I reeled when the icy green lights illuminated the face. It was Warren Hartfield, my old friend from Gringotts. His hair was shorter and he had dark stubble shading a fuller face, as if he'd been eating pretty well for awhile. But the rest of his face was strained and twisted grotesquely, his eyes huge and glassy, and dark foam running out of his mouth and down his chin.

He gasped painfully and his hands went to his throat a split second before his eyes rolled back in his head. With a muffled cry, he fell over and into the next table in a rustle of yellow cloth.

There was screaming now and people running away from him as he jerked and flopped before suddenly going completely still. I shrank back and scanned the crowd. I saw the man who'd been sitting with him, the man in the dark-grey robes, slink out in the confusion, moving awfully quickly for such an old man. I gave chase, leading with my shoulder through the crowd until I got to the entrance. The guard bloke had come in to see what the fuss was about and I was able to slip through to the outside.

There was no sound except that of my feet on the pavement. I hadn't come out too much later than the bloke in grey, and I reckoned that somewhere, there should be the sounds of footsteps or a cat stirring, but there was nothing. It was possible that he'd Apparated as soon as he'd gotten out into open air. The more nothing I heard, the more it became clear that the bloke in grey must've popped off.

I tore off the Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it back in the inside pocket of the robes I wore. The mask I snatched off and threw as hard as I could into the darkness.

Then I heard it - a small sound from the other side of the building. I froze for a second, and then heard it again, and in the next breath, I was pounding toward the spot. I ran up a dark alley strewn with trash and dead leaves and went straight into a fist that sent me flat on my face with a yell choked off in my throat.

I was stunned, and there wasn't time or room to move before I was being pummeled across the head and shoulders. Feet were plowing into my ribs with an awful, precise force, and the fist I'd run into was coming down again and again.

Low sounds of pain bubbled from my lips and I tried to reach for my wand or anything at all to defend myself, but a hard foot lashed out into my cheek and my head slammed against solid brick. Then I couldn't move at all anymore.

There wasn't any more pain then, just pressure and the feel of tearing flesh. I couldn't see or feel anything, but I could hear a little. A quiet, almost bored voice said, "Right, that's enough." There was another voice, higher and more excited, that argued that, no, that wasn't enough because it looked like I was still breathing, but the first voice won out and the hitting stopped.

Everything stopped except the sharp throbbing in my body. I tried to get up, but my feet weren't cooperating. I reached feebly for my wand, but just that little movement sent white-hot agony lancing through me and I sprawled out on the ground sucking in cold, clammy air and tasted my own blood. I might've laid there minutes or hours; I wasn't sure. There wasn't exactly a clock I could look at even if I could've pried my eyes open.

Then there were voices again. They could have been different voices, but I wasn't too aware of much. One muttered something that had sounded like a spell, but I couldn't be sure. Then I was sure: I felt my body get lighter and wind rush on either side of me as I was buoyed up and carried through the air by magic.

I just lay still, which was brilliant in its way because I couldn't do anything else. It was as if I was asleep, but awake, too, somehow. I was dreaming, but not dreaming at all. Trapped - that's what I was. Like a bug that'd been caught between two planes of glass and couldn't fly off or move up or down or to either side. I reckoned it was almost like being dead.