The Price of Paradise

The Price of Paradise

By Magdala Marr

Chapter Two - Project A

Newmarket, England

Apsley Field was a small, privately owned airstrip within five miles of Newmarket.

"Walk alongside me," Draco said to Ginny. "Don't try anything to attract attention. We're going on a trip. So watch yourself."

"Where are you taking me?" asked Ginny. Her stark terror had passed. She was calm, if not resigned, and had even managed a faintly disdainful expression.

Her companion glared at her, but she thought she caught a flicker of admiration across his face.

"Never mind." He took hold of her arm and walked her briskly across the airfield. A small Cessna took off a hundred yards away from them and buzzed into the sky like a red bee. Draco saw their pilot coming toward them. The man waved.

"The pilot works for us," Draco told Ginny quietly as he approached. "It would be of absolutely no use to scream or beg him for help."

The pilot was small and stocky, and he led them across the private airfield to a small six-seater plane. An airport mechanic was watching her. For a second she was tempted to tear herself free of Draco and scream for help. As if he read her thoughts, his grasp tightened and he hurried her to the steps. The mechanic had moved away. The few seconds' hesitation had cost her her chance.

She climbed docilely up the stairs and went inside the plane. He put her with surprising gentleness into one of the seats and sat down beside her.

"Buckle the belt," he said. She didn't move. It was too late now. Too late to save herself. Her only comfort was that she had saved her niece this horror.

He leaned over and pulled the webbing safety belt around her, buckling it tightly. The Frenchman sat behind them.

Ginny held tightly to the seat arms as the engines revved and caught and the plane began to taxi to the runway. As they took off she hid her face in her hands. Draco watched her, anticipating hysteria or collapse. He had seen that look exchanged with the mechanic and guessed that she was a hairline away from calling for help. But the shock had slowed her reactions, paralyzing her will to resist.

"Come and sit her for a minute," said Draco, turning to Resnais. They exchanged places. Resnais eased himself into the seat beside Ginny. She looked coldly contemptuous, but she was still attractive. It amused him to frighten her.

Ginny saw the appraising look and the slight smile on his mouth. She edged against the wall of the plan to avoid touching him.

"I'm Resnais," he said, conversationally, with a leering grin. "I'll be looking after you."

Draco came back. For a moment Ginny thought he would leave the Frenchman where he was and take the seat behind them. She didn't realize it, but she gave him a look of agonized appeal.

"Thanks," he said. He stood over Resnais and the Frenchman got up and resumed his former seat. Draco didn't look at Ginny. Resnais had been upsetting her, and he was irritated. It wouldn't help to have a hysterical outburst on the flight.

He produced a flask and unscrewed the top, passing it to Ginny. "It's brandy. Drink some."

"I don't want it." She turned her head away coldly.

"It isn't drugged, you damned little fool. It'll steady you. Do as you're told. Drink it."

She sipped and then swallowed. He took the flask and raised it to his own mouth.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"France," he answered shortly.

"Why the Muggle contraptions?" she demanded.

Draco matched her cold stare. "The Ministry keeps a close tab on Apparations and the other magical means of transportation. This is safest for us. Don't ask any more questions."

He spoke calmly. The brandy had helped her; she didn't look so sickly gray, and her eyes seemed less large in her small white contemptuous face. He admired her quickness in saving the child. It was just unfortunate for her that she'd been so brave.

***

Nice, France

The villa was built on a rock. It was poised above the sea, surrounded by a two-acre garden, ringed on the shore by a ten-foot wire fence. It was a long, low building, dazzling white, shaded by palm trees and giant pines. A huge purple bougainvillea sprawled over the front wall.

The late afternoon sun spilled through the parted curtains of an upstairs bedroom and onto the tangle of sheets, and the two naked entwined bodies. A bird chattered noisily, and the woman stirred from her sleep. Her black-lashed eyes slowly drifted open, and she lay still for a moment, assessing her surroundings. Her long silvery blonde hair was caught beneath the man's thick muscled arm, and she smiled, and nipped playfully at his neck.

He awoke and blinked drowsily. When he saw her, his mouth curved into a slow, sensuous smile. He reached up and touched her cheek.

"Fleur." The word sounded like a caress. In response, she brought her mouth over his. Then she rolled out of bed and pulled on a dressing gown, looking stunning even in the plainly cut cotton robe. Her hair rippled like moonlight over her shoulders.

"We have to get up," she said, in French. "Draco and Resnais should be coming back with the child at any moment."

He sighed and got up as well. "I'd better be going, then," he said. He pulled on a robe as well. Fleur eyed him appreciatively.

Philip Spencer was an IWF double agent as well, working on the same project though on a different mission. He was tracking the Midnight Sun Paymaster, trying to stop the flow of money from the Chief to his minions. By some ingenious maneuver on his part he'd managed to establish himself as the control for her cell.

They'd been lovers for nearly two years now, since they first began together on what was code-named Project A by DECT, the espionage and counter-terrorism department of the IWF. He knew that she and her younger sister Gabrielle were also double-agents, but to him Draco was a loyal Midnight Sun operative. The head of DECT had wanted it that way, and while Fleur loved him, her first loyalty was certainly to the IWF, and she and Gabrielle kept their mouths shut as ordered.

"Be careful, okay?" he was saying to her. He dropped a light kiss on her forehead. "Resnais and Malfoy are real fanatics, and I don't want either you or your sister hurt."

"Thank you," she answered softly. Her lips met his one last time.

"When the others come back tell them that your sister won't be coming back. She's wanted at Headquarters to counter the GWP Investigations from London."

Fleur nodded. "Are we allowed contact?"

Philip shook his head. "No. It's too risky."

"I wonder," said Fleur softly, "I wonder why we've never been found out? Why they've never assumed that the IWF is also on their tail?"

"You have to be extra careful, darling. It won't stay that way forever," said Philip seriously. "You know how the two American double agents were executed."

Fleur suppressed a shiver. "You be careful too." She gave him an affectionate smile. "I want you back in one piece. So that when this whole mess is over, we can be married, like you promised."

He smiled back. "You can hold me to that."

***

Nice, France

The landing was a nightmare. The little plane bumped and shuddered and she was thrown violently forward; the seat belt saved her from being flung out of the seat. She had suppressed her scream of terror, and felt Draco grab her. She was dragged out of the plane, disdainful and cool and aloof, hustled across the field at a run which almost brought her stumbling down in her high-heeled sandals, and almost thrown into the back of the car that awaited them.

Ginny tried to identify the coast as the car left the country roads and started on the road by the shore. It was approximately three or four o' clock, and it was very warm; the sea was a bright Mediterranean blue, and there were palm trees. They came into a big resort. Beach umbrellas and sunbathers, people sitting on the terraces of smart hotels. Several times they stopped at traffic lights, and as the car halted, Draco would give her a warning look. His hand was at his wand, and Ginny didn't doubt he wouldn't hesitate to use it. She recognized a magnificent hotel on the left - it was the Negresco. She had stayed there not two months before while researching for her novel.

They were driving through Nice.

They arrived at the villa some twenty minutes later. The tall gates swung open, and they drove up a palm-lined drive. When the car stopped, the Frenchman got out first. He stretched in the sunshine and yawned. Draco nudged her. "Get out."

When she stood in the drive, she felt as if she were going to faint. She fought the urge, but the Frenchman saw it, and slipped his arm around her waist.

"Come inside," he said pleasantly. Draco came up beside them.

"Leave her alone," he said sharply. He took Ginny by the arm. The villa was cool and spacious. The ground floor was open plan and luxuriously furnished, and an expensive portrait covered the far wall. Draco walked her up a marble staircase, and along a corridor. The room was simply furnished, with a bed and a chest and single armchair. There was wire mesh over the window. He came inside with her and let go of her arm.

"You'll stay here," he said, his face entirely impassive. "There's a bathroom through there. Make no trouble and nobody will hurt you."

"Wait - " Ginny turned to him. "Wait - please. What are you going to do? Why have you taken me -"

Draco closed the door, and Ginny edged away. There was something distinctly predatory and - and hungry in his gaze.

"You look beat," he said calmly. "Sit down."

She saw on the bed, watching him. "What do you hope to gain?" Ginny asked. "If you're looking for ransom, you'll find that I'm not worth much. I don't understand."

"We don't have anything against you," Draco answered. "We were going to take your niece. She wouldn't have come to any harm. We're reasonable people."

"Reasonable?" Ginny's voice shook, but it was with anger and not fear. "You call kidnapping a little girl reasonable? You'd have killed me in that car if I'd made a sound, wouldn't you?"

He didn't answer. She fixed her accusing eyes on his face, but his own gaze did not waver.

"No," he said at last. A shadow flickered across his face. "I wouldn't have killed you."

"I don't believe you."

"That's not my concern." He started to leave. "This room is protected by wards, so don't try anything. It won't work. I'll go get you something to eat."

He went out and she heard the door being locked. She got off the bed and stood looking around her. She went to the window first. It opened inward, secured by a catch on the wall. The wire mesh covering it outside was rigid and showed a view of blue sea with a curve of coastline bending from the right. It was impossible to see below. Ginny went into the bathroom leading off the bedroom and found another window, also protected. This showed the same line of coast continuing around. The house over looked a bay, and the right hand promontory connected with the mainland. There was no skylight in the bathroom, which was small and plainly equipped. From the glimpse she had caught of the interior, the room chosen for her was in the servants' quarters. She paused by the bathroom mirror, shocked by her appearance. The eyes that looked back at her had a shuttered, haggard look.

The room was very hot and airless and she lay on the bed exhausted. She had fallen asleep when the door opened. Draco came in, carrying a tray. He put it down on the dressing table. It was growing dark, and the room was full of soft blue shadows.

"You'll get three meals a day," he said. "And if you need anything, you can ask Fleur. She'll come up and take this away."

Ginny sat up. "If she's the woman that threatened to kill my niece, don't send her near me. I wouldn't ask her for anything."

Draco eyed her coolly. "She's not, but I can always send Resnais up as well."

Alarm flared in her. She didn't know why, but she didn't want the Frenchman coming into the room alone. "No - not him - please. Please," she said again.

Draco gave an irritated sigh. "You're in no position who dictates who comes up here and who doesn't."

She got off the bed and faced him. "You kidnapped me," she said. Her carriage was erect, and she looked like a slim white statue in the dusky light. She was wearing white robes, and the whole pose was very effective against her flame-colored hair. "You dragged me here by force and you're holding me for a purpose that I know nothing about. By the grace of heaven it's not my niece that's locked up here. How exactly would you have treated her?"

"As fairly as we'll treat you," he answered evenly, his eyes darkening. "So long as you behave yourself."

She turned away from him. The eyes were so aloof, so dispassionate, and in the dim room the shadows were deep and strong around his mouth. For a moment she had been angry enough to challenge him, but there had been no response.

She lay down at the bed again, shutting her eyes to shut out the world. She heard him leave, and lock the door behind him. When he was gone, she began to cry, softly and secretly, the tears tasting bitter as they fell on her hands.

Then she slept.

***

"Let me get this straight," said Draco. He was in his bed, with Fleur lying next to him on top of the covers. Resnais assumed they were lovers, but they weren't; they only pretended so that they could talk in peace. They'd put a mild sleeping draught in his soup, and he'd gone to bed early. They'd made sure that he was asleep before they snuck into Draco's room to discuss the day's work.

"Gabrielle won't be coming back here because the Chief needs her at Headquarters."

Fleur nodded, her silver blond hair fluttering. "Oui. They assume three people can keep Ginny Weasley in check."

Draco let out a long breath. "Then this is it," he said, flipping over on his side to look at Fleur. "Gabrielle's at Headquarters. If she can't uncover the Chief this time, we might never get such a chance again."

"We are not to contact her."

Draco nodded. "It would be too dangerous, anyway."

"I'll be reporting the matter to Head of DECT."

"Okay. So we're all set. So long as Gabrielle treads carefully."

Fleur nodded and looked away. "I hope she'll be careful." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "She's all I have."

Draco patted her head. "She'll be fine. Gabrielle's smart. Nothing will happen to her."

***

London, England

"You look . . . strange." Hermione stepped back and surveyed her work.

Harry grunted as he examined himself in the bathroom mirror. "Well, what did you expect? I think I look strange, too." He rubbed at the place where his scar had been. Hermione had concealed it with a charm, as well as temporarily correcting his eyesight so that he wouldn't need his glasses.

He yawned, rubbing at his eyes. It was four-thirty Tuesday morning, and he was tired. The meeting with Sirius and Arabella the previous night had ended at around two, and he'd gotten about three hours of sleep. Hermione, having pulled an all-nighter, was also looking worse for wear. There were shadows like bruises under her eyes. She'd sat up planning a cover for them, and Mmessages had passed between her and Sirius and Arabella all night.

"Did you have a hard time securing room 516 at the George Cinq?" asked Harry, as he splashed cold water on his face.

Hermione made a face. "They didn't understand why we had to have that room. I had to make up some balderash about 516 being my lucky number. When the blasted woman asked why, I said it was my birthday. May 16."

Harry snorted. "Hey, at least you managed it. What's the plan?"

"I'll tell you and Ron together while we eat the delicious breakfast he's making for us."

Harry made a rude noise. Hermione gave a mock frown.

"His cooking isn't that bad," she said, as they left the bathroom together and went to the small kitchen of the apartment the three of them shared. "Hey, at least it's not me that's making breakfast."

Over coffee and eggs, Hermione explained to Harry and Ron, "Arabella and I set up a cover as Jamaican businessmen, since our contact with BAC is through an agent located in Kingston. I've reserved rooms 514 and 516 of the George Cinq. We'll check into to our rooms this morning, then spend the morning in Madrid, getting any information we can. We can Apparate back to Paris when we're finished. We'll probably spend a few days there."

Ron took a long sip of coffee and asked, "Who's footing the bills? Do we have the funds for this investigation?"

"Don't worry about the money. Arabella says that BAC will take care of it."

"So we're set."

Hermione nodded. "I packed all our bags last night. I'll send them directly to the George Cinq. Then we can get rolling."

She stood from the table, turning to leave, when Harry put a light hand on her arm. She looked down at him. There was coffee on his nose from the rim of his cup.

"Thanks, Herm," he said, softly.

***

Nice, France

There was a carafe of water on the stand. Ginny was very thirsty, and she drank most of it. After she had fallen asleep the night before someone had come in and taken the untouched tray. It was early in the morning, and last night's rest had refreshed her. She felt clear-headed, and personal fear was minimized by the immense relief that she had saved Helen. Everything she had done since they confronted her in the nursery was dictated by the need to protect her niece. She had gone out of the house, driven through the streets, entered the plane.

She curled up on the bed and thought very hard. Some months before she had done an article for the Daily Prophet. There had been a series of mysterious attacks committed in South Africa's magical community. In her research she had learned of the biggest magical terrorist organization in wizarding history.

The Midnight Suns.

She rolled over. She believed herself to be quite calm, and in one sense she was. In another, her whole body was quiver with shock, and she felt clammy and cold. She got out of bed again and went to the window, hooking her fingers through the mesh. It was fixed to the outside wall and didn't yield when she tried to pull it. They had made their preparations very carefully. Which meant that Helen's kidnapping had been planned some time ahead. But why Helen? Why her? Facing the bright-blue morning sea through the steel mesh, Ginny understood that the reason lay in her connection with Percy. And through Percy, the entire British magical government system. But why? The question hammered at her, making her head ache. What had Percy done - or what could terrorists hope to gain by holding her? Their original target had been Helen. That was a clue. A child held as hostage. But against what?

The door swung open, and Ginny turned. A woman stood inside. She was beautiful, with silver blond hair, but she was not the woman that had threatened Helen, though there was unmistakable family resemblance about the eyes and the hair.

She came in silently and laid down at a breakfast tray on the stand.

"Eat," she said curtly, before leaving again.

Ginny stared at the place she had stood.

She knew who the woman was.

Some thirteen years back, when she'd been a third year Hogwarts student, her school had hosted the Triwizard Tournament. She'd never forgotten the Beauxbaton champion - a slender, willowy, half goddess and half-veela girl that Ron had fallen in love with.

The woman was Fleur Delacour.

***

"I've brought you towels. And some soap." Draco put them on the bed. Ginny was sitting in the chair. Though hardly mid afternoon, the room was stiflingly hot.

"Thank you," she said. "At least I can wash properly."

"Anything else?" he asked.

"I'm so terribly hot." Ginny stood up slowly. She moved as if she were exhausted.

Draco didn't mean to, but he sat down on the edge of the bed. He hadn't intended to stay and talk.

"Do you have to have that steel mesh over the window? It looks high enough and I promise you I'm not going to jump out. It stops the air from circulating; I feel suffocated in here."

"The mesh was put there fore the child," Draco said. "To stop her from falling out."

"Would you really have kept her locked up in here?"

"No." He looked at her with a curious expression in his eyes. "She would have slept here. Fleur would have looked after her; she'd have had the run of the garden. We meant to treat her properly."

It was all so logical, and at the same time so inhuman. She didn't argue with him, and the split second impulse to spit her condemnation in his face was quickly mastered. She felt as if she were groping in total darkness whenever she talked to him. It wasn't so much a dialogue, however brief, as an exploration of a species quite unknown to her.

"Would you like to tell me something?" Ginny asked him. Draco waited. "Why have you kidnapped me?"

"I can't tell you that. It's nothing personal against you."

"It must be something to do with my brother. Why can't you tell me?"

Draco looked at her.

"It is your brother. That's all I can tell you."

"And if he refuses the ransom?"

Draco looked at her oddly. "He won't."

He stood up, preparing to leave.

"I shouldn't have asked that," Ginny said, tiredly. "You don't have to answer. I can imagine. Please, couldn't you take that wire off the window?"

He went over and stood by it. He knew that the drop below was fifty feet to the rocks, and that the sea boiled around them there in a strong undercurrent. There was no pipes or ledges on the outside walls. Nothing but a suicidal drop.

"Okay, I'll have it taken down later."

"Thank you."

"Do you want anything else?"

"Something to read."

"I'll see what there is."

When he had gone, Ginny ran to the window. She pulled at the wire mesh. Once that was down, at least there was a possible way out. She could see the sea below and guessed that there must be a sheer drop or he wouldn't have agreed to take the mesh away.

She wondered how high the sea was. If it was possible to climb down even part of the way and then drop . . . she was a strong swimmer. The bed sheets and counterpane. The towels he had brought her. It might be possible to make a rope. She went into the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water. The heat was sticky and close, stifling.

She had survived so much. She had survived Tom Riddle's diary, she had survived the war. She had survived through years of struggling.

She would survive this, too.

***

Madrid, Spain

The night air was cool and the gardens were full of soft shadows. At this distant from the house the music and laughter was muted, unreal. Percy gave a sigh of relief, his ears still ringing slightly from the incredibly loud band.

Percy would never get used to Spanish parties. His ears ached from the loud Spanish music, his throat burned from the rich Spanish liquor, and his head spun from the late Spanish hours.

It was only two days since the last reception with Ramon Martinez, and there was already another. Percy wanted to damn all the festivities to hell and just get the negotiations going, but apparently this was the way of the Spanish, so he took it all meekly. Penelope wasn't here tonight, she had an upset stomach from Sunday night. Percy wished he could have pleaded sick, too.

But he'd gotten an urgent owl that afternoon from some guy named Homsi who said he had a very important message to give to him. And the only way for him to receive that message was to go to the party and go to the gardens at eleven. So promptly at the appointed time Percy managed to detach himself from the rest of the party and hie himself to the gardens of the Minister's lavish home. He was curious and not a little intrigued by this clandestine meeting. Arabella and Sirius had been informed, and they'd cautioned him to be careful. He'd balked when they had wanted to bug the place, however.

He felt a slight tug on his left sleeve.

"Mr. Weasley? Good evening." It was a slight man, very swarthy, with bright black eyes. "I am Saiid Homsi."

Percy nodded politely. "How do you do, Mr. Homsi."

"I have a message for you, sir."

"So I am aware."

"You have to understand that this is to be kept entirely secret, Mr. Weasley. The safety of your sister depends on it."

"My . . . sister? What are you talking about?"

The Syrian smiled. "Come, do not get excited. Let us walk while I tell you."

***

The Syrian spoke quietly and calmly.

"I don't believe you," Percy Weasley said, when he had finished. He took a step toward the Syrian, but Homsi didn't retreat. He shrugged, both his palms turned upward.

"I am only a messenger, Mr. Weasley," he said. "A go between. I can assure you, these people seized your sister yesterday morning. And they mean what they say." He shook his head a little. "Naturally this is a great shock to you. I do sympathize."

"I don't believe it," Percy repeated. "My sister's in England. If anything had happened to her, I'd have been told at once!"

"Apparently it was done in such a way that nobody knows she is missing," the Syrian said. "The terrorists want this kept completely secret. That is one of their conditions. You must tell nobody. I advise you to do as they say. They are a very dangerous, extremist group."

"I'll find her," Percy said. "I'll get every Auror force in the magical community on it."

"The moment you go to the Aurors or say anything, she will be killed," Saiid Homsi said quietly. "Make inquiries by all means, Mr. Weasley, but if you want your sister alive, you must be very, very discreet."

He watched the Englishman. The man had lost color, and his hands were clenching and opening. For a moment Homsi had feared that he might be punched to the ground when he first gave Percy the news.

Percy turned to him. "You're hand in glove with them," he said. "You're no bloody innocent! You tell me where she is, and I'll see you get more money than you've ever dreamed of - cooperate with me and get my sister out of danger, and I'll pay you any price you ask!"

"Unfortunately," Homsi said gently, "I can't be of any help. I don't know where Miss Weasley is being held and I couldn't assist in a rescue. It isn't a question of money, Mr. Weasley. This is a problem even you can't solve by signing a check. These people aren't interested in ransom."

"What do they want? What's the deal?"

"They haven't told me that. All I know is that Miss Weasley is in their hands. They want you to know this and to be ready to hear their terms for releasing her. They will tell me more in the next twenty-four hours. That's all I know."

"Bloody hell," Percy muttered. "I still can't believe it."

"I think you will find," the Syrian murmured, "that it is unfortunately true. I will go now, Mr. Weasley. If you will contact met the day after tomorrow, I will have more news for you. That gives you time to verify their information. If you find Miss Weasley is safe and well at home, nobody will be more pleased than myself."

He left the garden and returned to the house.

Percy didn't move for a moment. Then he followed him inside and went to the table where the drinks were kept. He drank it straight down, then went to a back room and picked up the magical telephone.

At one moment he had almost attacked the Syrian. There was something so hypocritical in the dark face, so maddening in the precise polite English that Percy wanted to punch and pummel him into a bloody mess. He listened impatiently for the housekeeper to pick up the phone on the other end.

"Mrs. Anthony? Percy here. Is my sister there? No? Where did she go? And Helen? Have you heard from her - from my sister? I see. All right. No, never mind." He dropped the receiver.

Ginny had left the house yesterday morning. She'd sent back a note by owl post. The child had been accidentally locked in a room with a lockerius charm. Ginny's wand had been found in the gardens below. The housekeeper had watched her leave with a man.

It didn't take a genius to figure out.

***

Paris, France

Hermione knew exactly where the light switch to her hotel room was, and with one sleek motion she stood on the threshold of the room with the door full open, the light on, and her wand outstretched. The safe, empty room sneered at her. She ignored the half open door of the bathroom, and after locking herself in, turned on the bed light and pocketed her wand. Then she bent down and inspected one of her own brown hairs which still lay undisturbed where she had left it that morning, wedged into the drawer of the writing desk.

Next she examined a faint trace of talcum powder on the inner rim of the porcelain handle of the clothes cupboard. It appeared untouched. She went into the bathroom, lifted the cover of the toilet, and verified the level of the water against a small scratch on the copper ball-cock.

Inspecting all these minute burglar alarms did not make her feel self-conscious or foolish in the least. She was a private investigator, had been for more than six years, and was still alive thanks to the exact attention to the detail of her profession. Routine precautions were to her no more unreasonable than they would be to a deep-sea diver or a test pilot, or any one earning danger money.

Satisfied that her room had not been searched while she was out with Harry and Ron in Madrid, she undressed and took a quick shower, going over the day's work in her mind. When she was finished, she grabbed her laptop and knocked lightly on the door that connected her room to the boys'. She was admitted by a half-dressed, shirtless Harry, who was towel drying his freshly washed hair. He looked a little strange to her without his glasses and his scar, but the disguise was necessary.

"Hey," said Harry, smiling as she entered the room, dressed laxly in a fuzzy blue bathrobe. Her mane of hair was caught with a ribbon at her neck, but loose tendrils were escaping.

"Hey yourself," she answered, with a grin, showing all her fine straight teeth. She heard the sound of the toilet being flushed from within the bathroom, then running water from the sink. After a minute Ron stepped out, also shirtless and wet-haired, and Hermione threw herself down on one of the double beds and relayed her plan for the evening.

"Okay," she said. "First we'll go over the things we learned today, and then we get properly dressed and go for a nice dinner at the hotel restaurant. How does that sound?"

"Sounds good," said Harry, and she nodded.

"Great. First things first."

Turning on her magical laptop computer, she said, "Let's go over everything we know about the Midnight Suns."

She typed in a few commands and waited as the computer processed them. "Okay," she said, and began to read aloud.

"Subject: Midnight Suns. Sources: Scanty material made available by the International Wizard Federation (IWF), the Wizard's Union (WU), the MSSA (Magical Secret Service of America), and the British Auror's College (BAC). Believed to be under the personal direction of a man known only as the Chief. Headquarters believed to be in Venice, but apparently it's financed from Cairo, Egypt. They're especially known for their acts of terrorism, but also for smuggling, drug dealing, and assassination. It's the biggest organization of dark magic since the fall of Voldemort." Here Ron winced. Hermione paid him no heed.

"It is thought that the Midnight Suns are responsible for the assassination of the Mexican Minister of Magic three years ago. It consists of a few thousand operatives of very high quality divided into five sections:

Department I: In charge of counterintelligence

Department II: Operations, including executions

Department III: Administration and Finance

Department IV: Investigations and legal work. Personnel.

Department V: Prosecutions; the section that passes final judgment on all victims.

Only one Midnight Sun operative has come into IWF hands, a man by the name of Andrew MacInnes, who shot a medical officer at the Portuguese embassy before he was captured. Committed suicide during interrogation by swallowing potassium cyanide. He revealed nothing beyond his membership of the Midnight Suns, of which he was arrogantly boastful. Tapes of the interview available upon request.

The following agents of the IWF believed to be victims of the Midnight Suns: Elizabeth Ackerly, James Donovan, Logan Mace, Jordan Fields, Blake Anthony, and Hester White. Details available upon request."

Hermione looked up. "Not much, but it's all that's known."

Her two partners looked thoughtful, and the room was silent for a moment. Then Hermione said crisply, "Onto the facts that we picked up this morning while we were in Madrid."

"But we didn't," said Ron, his red hair sticking on end. "We learned nothing at all. There was absolutely no earthly reason for Haboob Ibra-what's-his-face - "

"Habib Ibrahimi," interrupted Hermione, trying not to giggle.

"Whatever. There was absolutely no reason for his murder. We discovered nothing. Zip. Nada."

"On the contrary," countered Hermione. "We discovered that there was no reason for his murder. Which means that the only motive was to shut his mouth."

"He happens to be passing drinks at a reception given for the Spanish and British ministers," continued Harry, slowly. "He carries the telephone number of a Parisian hotel room - this room."

"And this room," finished Ron, "is occupied by an English student named John Smith. Any fool can see that that would an alias."

Hermione nodded. "Next step is to interview the maid here. The only way to do that is to put her in a trance and give her Veritaserum. It's taking unfair advantage of a Muggle, but there's no other way without alerting the Midnight Suns. They'd be able to break through memory charms."

"We'll take care of that tomorrow, when she comes to clean our rooms," said Ron. "We've done a good day's work, I guess. Let's go to dinner."