Footsteps To Valhalla

-- CHAPTER FOUR --

Partners in Crime

There were many godforsaken places in the world. He knew - he'd been to most of them - and this one was no different. Another damp, foul-smelling cellar in a damp, foul-smelling city backstreet, infested with rats and with refuse piled high in the alley outside - always cold and stale even in the height of summer. Such a beautiful thing as summer never penetrated this world. His world.

The young man felt damp against his back, soaking through his thin shirt from the wall he was leaning on. A shiver ran through his body, surprising him. He had thought he was becoming acclimatised to this sort of thing after so many years, but apparently the icy cold of the place and all the waiting around he had been doing lately had finally got to him. Folding his arms in an attempt to keep his torso warm, he pushed away from the wall and began a steady stroll across the room.

He hated this life, if you could even call it that. Rather it was an ugly, gruesome existence, spent in sinister places where the light of day never shone, rubbing shoulders with the scum of the earth, walking the paths of hell which were his only home now.

He stared at a tiny patch of light creeping in through a barred window high up near the roof of the grimy room. Beyond it, the streets of Bucharest were quiet and empty - at least, the respectable ones were - and hardly a breath of wind blew.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the cellar door opened with a creak, admitting an untidy, becloaked figure in a dark cowl. He pressed a palm to his ribcage and let out a sigh.

"It's you."

"Who did you expect?" said the newcomer, pulling back his hood and putting his wand away. He wore a menacing scowl and a long, jagged scar ran down the side of his face from his temple to the bottom of his chin. As the young man turned away he delivered a sharp, smarting clip to the back of his shoulder with the handle of the cane he carried. The youth winced.

"Stop daydreaming," the newcomer ordered.

"I wasn't," the young man replied, rubbing his shoulder. "What happened?"

"What we expected. Have you ever known me to be mistaken?"

"There's always a first time."

He dodged the second swipe by stepping swiftly sideways and rolling his body away.

"Don't be flippant," snarled his companion.

The young man scowled. "If you say so. What's our plan, then?"

"Not here," said the other. "We'll talk at the usual time, in the usual place. Right now I have things to do."

"What things?"

"None of your business, and I should have thought that by now you knew better than to ask."

The young man stared thoughtfully at his companion as he moved to the door of the filthy room, caressing the handle of his cane with something almost like love.

"What did they tell you?" he asked, curiously.

His companion paused as he laid his hand on the doorknob, and raised his dark head. Something gleamed in the depths of his black eyes, and his answer made itself felt right down in the young man's marrow.

"He's coming."

***

Ginny scowled her most forbidding scowl and planted her hands on her hips. She hadn't felt this cross in a long, long time.

"Let me get this straight," she said, facing Hermione over her office desk at the Bureau. "Harry has gone to Romania."

Hermione gave a nod. "Yes."

"And Ron has suddenly decided to spend a few days with Charlie, coincidentally at the same time?"

"Yes," said Hermione, "but - "

"No, not 'but', Hermione," interrupted Ginny, firmly. "There's something going on. Why is Ron going to Ingrisfeld mere days after Harry left with the Auror contingent?"

"I told you, he didn't say," replied Hermione, with a sigh. She sank onto Ginny's comfortable windowseat and rubbed her tired eyes. "I woke up this morning and found Pigwidgeon sitting on my balcony with a note from Ron that said not to worry but he was going to spend some time with Charlie and he'd say hello to Harry for us."

Ginny snorted. At the best of times her youngest brother was a reprehensible liar, and she still hadn't completely forgiven him for acting like an idiot over her trip to Egypt. Probably this low, contemptible action of his was payback.

"So basically it tells us nothing except they're up to something."

"But what can they be up to?" asked Hermione, apparently torn between anxiety and annoyance. "Harry's only been gone three days! And if he was in any trouble he would have told all of us, surely?"

Ginny cast her a doubtful look and began pacing the length of her office. It was rather cramped and very messy, with boxes and books and files scattered all over every surface, but it did very well as a little retreat from the rest of the world, and it was a favourite place of the two girls' for long conversations and confidences.

"Surely Ron would have said something?" Hermione went on, looking up at Ginny dubiously. "He would, wouldn't he?"

"Oh, Hermione, you know what Harry's like," exclaimed Ginny, throwing her arms out in a wide gesture. "It would have taken a promise sealed with blood, forcibly instigated by Ron before Harry left, to get him to call if there was anything happening. Not telling us was probably part of the deal."

"Oh dear," said Hermione, sinking back into the cushions against the window frame.

"Whatever it is, it's got something to do with Bill, Nick, and that attack on Aquila Road last week," Ginny went on, resuming her pacing. "Damn both of them. Why can't they just tell us?"

"I know," Hermione agreed. "All four of us are supposed to be in on the Horcrux business together. That means we should know exactly what's happening if there's trouble, even if it isn't related."

"You know what the problem is? It's because they're men," said Ginny, sweeping some papers off her desk onto the floor and plonking herself down in the space. "It's because they think we're incapable of being useful in a crisis."

Hermione smiled. "What's Patrick done now?"

Ginny blinked and stared at her. "What?"

"You always start raving about the nefarious qualities of men when he's done something to annoy you."

"It's not Patrick."

"What is it, then?"

Ginny took a moment to think before she spoke. The source of all her discomfiture came down to not knowing what was going on with the boys. Almost as soon as she had come back from Egypt she realised that one of them or both of them were hiding something, and it irked her to think that they had gone away without any indication of what they were up to.

Of course she couldn't exactly say that out loud, even to Hermione, since that was precisely what she herself had done when she'd gone away with Patrick.

And besides that, she could tell that everyone in her family hated the fact that she was a Cryptologist, and while most of them continuously came out and said as much, one or two did not, and this was what annoyed her the most.

"I - " she began, tentatively.

Hermione made an encouraging noise.

"I'm starting to feel that nobody appreciates me for what I am. Except you, and maybe Bill."

"Surely Ron and Harry do," protested Hermione.

Ginny shook her head. "Those two least of all. It's ridiculous - finally I've found a place where my skills were appreciated, with a man who loves me, and the freedom to do what I can to bring the war to an end. How many people can say the same? And why can't they see it like that?"

Hermione looked understanding, and she said as much.

"To your parents and your brothers you'll always be nine years old, Ginny. They'll never see you as an intelligent, wordly-wise, sophisticated woman because they remember how you used to squeal when they chased you round the duck pond with fists full of algae."

Ginny laughed despite herself.

"It's true, though," said Hermione, "trust me. My parents feel the same about me."

"And Harry?"

Yes, although she hated to admit it that was what bothered her the most. The fact that still, after four years of separation and individual careers, he didn't think enough of her to confide his plans for Romania in her.

He had come back from Collins' office later on the night of the attack, and they had all been waiting up for him at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He had sat in gruff, contemplative silence while everyone discussed the clear-up operation and the fate of the injured, and for the next two days he had been edgy and nervous with everyone except Ron. A brief note left in the room she used at the twins' was the only indication that he had gone to Romania after all. Even Hermione's had been fuller and more polite. She had scrumpled it up in a fit of crossness, but it had been rankling ever since and turning into quite a sore subject. Apparently Harry believed her unfit to be trusted with the details of his mission, and now Ron had gone out to join him in what could only be a masculine conspiracy to keep her and Hermione in the dark.

"Harry is Harry," said Hermione, with a resigned shrug. "He hates getting other people involved in his business. You remember how long it took him to tell us about the Horcruxes."

"You mean me," corrected Ginny. "He told you and Ron almost straightaway."

"That was only because of the - er - personal stuff between you."

"He could still have told me."

Hermione looked a little out of her depth, but she persisted valiantly. "He broke up with you because he wanted you to be free from all of this, not to drag you in again as his friend rather than his girlfriend."

Ginny sighed, wishing she hadn't begun this conversation. Her Not Thinking About Harry Plan was rapidly falling down around her ears ever since she'd got home. There were a million objections to what Hermione had just said, but Ginny had been over and over them in her mind so many times in the past that repeating them aloud seemed unnecessarily exhausting.

"If he came to you now," murmured Hermione, slowly, "and said he was sorry, and that he was prepared to let you do your job without reproaches, would you take him back?"

"No," said Ginny, emphatically, almost before she had finished the sentence. "Absolutely not."

Hermione gave her an appraising sort of look. "Not?"

"Absolutely not. I don't feel that way about him now. I've moved on, like he has. I'm with Patrick. Can we please talk about something else?"

Hermione nodded, and after a moment she bent down to pick up the papers on the floor.

"I think, frankly, that both of those boys need a lesson or two," she said, thoughtfully.

"What, you mean some kind of grand display of our capabilities is in order?" Hermione grinned, and Ginny's eyes lit up. "What an excellent idea!"

"I amaze myself sometimes," laughed Hermione.

"Well, then, O Partner in Crime," said Ginny, with a smile, crossing her legs and raising a mischievous eyebrow, "what do you suggest?"

***

Harry awoke with a start, flying into a sitting position and banging his head on the bedpost. He yelled.

A low chuckle sounded. "Sorry."

A red-headed person with freckles came slowly into focus as Harry blearily groped for his glasses, swearing all the while. Ron was sitting on the end of the bed, grinning.

"Was going for a light jab but clearly that didn't work," he said.

Harry collapsed back on his pillows with a groan. "When did you get here?"

"About thirty seconds ago. Thought you might be dying."

There was a slightly reproachful note in Ron's voice, Harry thought. Understandable, he supposed, charitably, since he hadn't been able to explain much in the fireplace at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, with Angelina in the kitchen and Ginny about to burst in at any moment from work.

"I know, sorry," Harry said, gingerly disentangling his limbs from the bedclothes. "It was meant to be just an indication that stuff is going on, not a call to arms."

"Yeah," replied Ron, standing up. A small smile was flickering at the edges of his mouth. "I figured that out when I saw you sprawled out here with your mouth open, snoring like Hagrid after one too many Firewhiskeys!"

Harry winced as he got his feet on the ground, holding his head. Ron tossed him a shirt.

"You OK? Tough night?"

Harry nodded. "Charlie decided it would be fun to get out a crate of Bulgarian Firewater last night."

Ron made a noise somewhere between a hearty guffaw and a groan. "Oh God, how are you even sitting upright?"

"I didn't have that much," protested Harry, indignantly. "The only reason my head aches is because you just made me clout it on the bedpost!"

Ron simply grinned serenely back before going to the tent entrance, popping his head outside and looking around.

"Hey, Kasim!" he yelled. "Seen Kia around anywhere?"

Harry heard a muffled reply and the sound of feet.

"Morning, Kiki - Yeah, just got here - Listen, you couldn't rustle me up some of your morning-after special, could you? Harry's feeling a bit delicate!"

Harry heard the sound of female laughter and forced himself to get up and walk to the tent entrance.

"I am not feeling delicate," he verified, firmly, flipping aside the flap.

Kia was standing on the other side, grinning ear to ear with her arms folded.

Harry had only met her for the first time a few days earlier when he arrived at the camp, although she and Charlie had been living together for nearly three years. He had liked her at once. She was quite small and petite to look at, with fine, faintly oriental features and long, black hair that almost reached her waist - but when one got talking with her it soon emerged that she had a devilishly wicked sense of mischief, a quick tongue that could argue anyone down, and a capable, fiercely loyal and loving heart that drew everyone's trust. If Charlie was the camp captain, there was no doubt that Kia was the camp lieutenant.

Today she was wearing her riding gear - thick dragon-hide boots, breeches, and a neat, intricately decorated jacket over a plain top - and looked quite formidable.

"He looks fine to me," she said, smiling, taking Harry in from head to toe. "And you'll need to be. Charlie wants everyone over at the Anvil for briefing at half-past eight. You're in for a rough day, boys!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Slave-driver," he muttered.

"Must dash," said Kia, patting Ron on the arm. "Got to do the early patrol up at the Ridge. See you at lunch!"

Harry watched her go absently, wondering what today's briefing would contain. Four three days he had turned up, as instructed, expecting to hear some news of what the Aurors were doing in Ingrisfeld; to be told that that evening they were starting whatever it was Collins had proposed him to help with. But so far, nothing. Charlie had gathered everyone, issued the day's dragon-related orders, and then he had disappeared for the rest of the day until dinner time when everyone convened around the central fireplace.

Harry set his jaw without realising it. It was making him cross, all this hanging about with no indication of why he was here at all. He might just as well be another dracology intern for all the mucking out of dragon enclosures and scrubbing down of scales that he did. And yet there was definitely something odd going on -

"Hey, earth to Harry!" Ron's voice broke into his thoughts. He was looking concerned.

"Sorry," said Harry, shaking his head and pulling himself together. He turned to go back into his tent and change for the briefing, and Ron followed.

"I think we need a little chat before we go any further," suggested Ron, in a tone that brooked no procrastination. "If all you're doing is tramping up hills after elusive breeds and polishing eggs, what are you doing here?"

"An excellent question," replied Harry, "which I fear I cannot answer."

Ron looked confused. "So - if all you're doing is tramping up hills, why did you get me over here?"

Harry paused in tying the laces of his boots and looked up at Ron. The time had come to be frank, and now it had, Harry felt sure that Ron would burst out laughing and think his suspicions utterly unfounded.

"OK, sit." He drew up a knobbly, uneven chair with his foot and nodded for Ron to use it. "Yesterday something weird happened - "

It was supper time again. The valley was magical at dusk, as the sun slipped behind Balaur Peak to the west and the braziers flamed into life all over the camp. People were talking and laughing as they arrived around the central fire, tossing their coats and baggage in a heap before collapsing beside the hearth.

"Hello, Harry," said a voice. Harry jumped and whirled his head around to see a friendly face taking a seat beside him. "Sorry," said the man. "Didn't mean to make you jump."

Harry smiled, rubbing the crick in his neck. "You're Kasim, aren't you? I saw you up at the Ridge earlier."

"Yeah, Charlie's got me doing night patrols again," laughed Kasim, his brown eyes dancing in the light of the fire. "Bloody awful job, unless something interesting happens."

Harry's ears pricked up, and he glanced sideways to see Kasim trying to hide a rather guilty expression.

"Like what?" he asked.

"Oh, the usual, you know," replied Kasim, shiftily.

"I haven't been here long. I don't know what 'usual' is."

"Oh, poachers, that sort of thing." Harry was certain he was trying to hide something. Auror training and years of experience trying to get secrets out of people unwilling to reveal anything had taught him how to spot a cover-up attempt.

He proceeded carefully, as he would if this was a night-time tracking. "Get a lot of poachers, do you?"

Kasim looked relieved. "Yeah, one or two. They're after the dragon eggs, you see, or even the dragons themselves sometimes. We've got to keep a watch over them twenty-four hours a day. There's a huge black market in hide, blood and horn."

"So someone patrols the whole site every night, do they? Do you ever catch anyone?"

"Not often. The locals have all kinds of sneaky tricks for hiding and disappearing if we get close. We've got wards up which means no-one can Apparate, but we think they've got underground tunnels or something."

Harry felt his heart begin to speed up. Underground tunnels, wherever they were, were 95% likely to mean trouble, even if it was only smuggling. But again, as his Auror training had taught him, where there are crooks and thieves there are Death Eaters. He could hear Collins' voice now: "Most crooks keep themselves to themselves. They don't like getting involved in things that will get them noticed by the authorities - unless the risk is outweighed by the temptation. And that means Death Eaters, dangling the possibility of wealth and sanctuary in front of their eyes. Voldemort loves using naïve criminals to do his dirty work. They're expendable, you see, and there's always blackmail or murder if they threaten to break away."

"There must be quite a crime ring around here then," Harry went on, innocently.

Kasim nodded, blissfully unaware of all the errors in concealment he was making.

"It used to be much bigger, though. During the last war it was a hotspot, which is why You Know Who built a base around here, and - "

Kasim stopped, looking horrified. Harry arranged his face into a picture of ignorance and merely smiled back.

"Must have your hands full, then, watching these dragons," he said, deciding the moment had come to put Kasim off the scent. "I suppose it's the rare breeds the poachers are after, isn't it? Have you got many here?"

Kasim talked on for a while about Bulgarian Brownbacks and Persian Wiverns, and gradually the tension in his face receded. Harry smiled to himself as he nodded and asked intelligent questions about dracology - Collins, if it wasn't down to him that the strange activity in Ingrisfeld was being kept a secret, would be proud of how his skills in cautious interrogation had grown.

Harry stopped his account and looked at Ron, who was wearing a highly sceptical expression.

"I knew you'd think I was making too much of this," said Harry. He stood up and began hunting around for his jacket.

"Well, I mean, Harry, it's not hugely conclusive, is it?" said Ron, defensively. "This place, wherever it is, is probably one of hundreds all over the world. Why would You Know Who pick this particular one to hide a Horcrux in? And why would he leave it here? It's been over twenty years since he last used this base, and now he's back he's probably moved it, if it was even here to begin with!"

"OK, that's enough cold water for the time being," interrupted Harry, wondering why he was feeling disappointed when he expected this reaction all along.

"Sorry, mate, but it's pretty far-fetched. What makes you think there's anything in it?"

Harry shrugged, feeling rather stupid. It had been foolish to drag Ron all the way over here on what was obviously a whim. "Just a feeling, I suppose. Everyone here, including Charlie, is keeping something from me, and I don't know why. I don't like it, and it makes me think something much bigger is going on behind my back."

Ron scratched his head. "Not very concrete, though, is it?"

"You're starting to sound like Hermione."

"Heaven forbid. But there's no harm in us doing a bit more investigating, is there? Maybe someone else will be even more indiscreet than Kasim!"

Harry smiled despite himself. "So you're going to stick around then, even though 'it's pretty far-fetched'?"

Ron returned the grin. "Absolutely. I'd rather be here where something might be going on than at home."

Harry thought there was a touch of bitterness in his voice as he spoke, but he decided not to pursue it. Ron was a pretty mixed-up, restless man at the moment, with all kinds of troubles in his head. He'd tried to get in, to help, but Ron had put up barriers not even his best friend could cross.

"I guess I was just hoping something would turn up here," Harry said, with a sigh. "It's been so long since we learned anything new, and I just - "

"Hey, I know," said Ron, hastily. "You don't have to justify this to me. It's a lead. " He grinned, and picked up his own jacket ready for the long walk up to the Anvil. "A pretty crap lead, but still a lead."

***

Ginny inserted her latchkey into the lock on the front door of the shop, realising for the first time in twelve hours that her day had been dreadful and she was absolutely, unbelievable exhausted. Christina had presented her with four dossiers and a heap of documents to sort through as soon as she set foot inside her office, and she missed lunch, her only teabreak, and five o'clock clocking off doing them. Now it was nearer seven, and her stomach was making some ghastly noises. Halfway home she had realised she was supposed to be going out with Hermione, and she wondered how on earth she was supposed to keep her eyes open.

The shop was deserted. Fred and George had obviously closed up and gone out somewhere with Angelina and Verity, which indicated, if luck was on her side, that there was the prospect of having the house to herself all evening to look forward to. Perhaps Hermione would agree to a quiet girls' night in on the sofa instead.

She opened the door through to the sitting room, and sleepily dropped her bag, keys and coat onto the nearest armchair, yawning widely. When a deep voice said "Hello," from the kitchen, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Patrick!" she exclaimed, for it was he, as large as life, sitting at the kitchen table with parchment spread out all over it. "What are you doing here?"

"I came by to see you at half five and you weren't back. George let me in and said to make myself comfortable until you arrived."

Ginny felt rather moved. He didn't often wait an hour and a half for her, generally using the excuse that minutes were like jewels in his profession and he was in constant demand.

"Where are my darling brothers?"

"Uh, I think George's exact phrase was 'out on the pull', but since Angelina and Verity went with them I don't suppose they'll get into too much trouble." Patrick grinned at her, and pulled out the chair beside him for her. She smiled and sat down, curling her legs up and leaning her head on her arm.

"Hermione came by too," he went on, shuffling some papers around. "She left you a note. Where - ? Ah, here it is."

Ginny took it.

Sorry, Ruby-Red Ginny, but do you think we can postpone our little outing tonight? Got home from work and Sam had surprised me with dinner round at his place, and I couldn't say no! Do you mind awfully? I promise I'll pay when we do go out! I'll be back later. Get some sleep!

Ginny laughed. "It's uncanny how she knows exactly how I'm going to feel when I get home."

"Is she staying here with you, then?"

"What do you mean?"

He pointed to the note. "She says she'll be back later."

"Yes, just for a few days while the Ministry touches up the wards on her flat."

Ginny closed her eyes for a few moments, fighting the urge to fall asleep where she sat.

"Want something to eat?" asked Patrick, with a tender smile.

She grinned. "My stomach thinks my throat's been cut."

Patrick stood up and went to the counter, and began pulling things out of cupboards with his wand.

"Had a good day?" he asked, amiably.

"God-awful. Christina is punishing me for something I didn't do."

"Did she give you the Rosterbridge files?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

He turned around, leaning against the sink, and smiled rather shiftily.

"I was supposed to do those today, but she dragged me into her rooms and thrust all of this into my arms and said she wants it by nine tomorrow." He gestured at the heap on the table. "God, I can't wait to get out in the field again!"

"I know what you mean," said Ginny, peering curiously at some of his papers. "I wasn't born for the office, unlike Percy the Prat, who thrives on it."

"It might be sooner than you think," said Patrick. Ginny looked up with sudden interest. "Christina's going abroad over the next couple of days, and when she comes back she's packing me off somewhere again."

"What about me?"

Patrick shrugged. "I asked if you were coming with me and she said she'd tell me nearer the time. She's definitely considering it."

Ginny wrinkled her nose, feeling cross. "Sounds like I'm on parole. Have I actually done something wrong? Is that why she gave me a week's worth of work to do in one day and is doubting my capabilities? Did I get drunk one night and make advances to her husband?"

Patrick chuckled. "Not as far as I know. Besides, I don't think she has a husband."

"What's she sending you off on now?"

"Something to do with Kastayov again."

"Oh, that poor bastard," sniggered Ginny. "Do me a favour, will you? Tell him I treasure the scar he gave me. It's my favourite one. And give him six more from me."

Patrick laughed. "Gladly. I have three myself with his name all over. God, that was a mess, wasn't it? And this next one will be too."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "A Beirut mess or an Istanbul mess?"

"More like a Copenhagen mess," replied Patrick.

"Oooh, God help him."

Patrick was quiet for a moment, watching her. Then he said, reflectively: "How is it that your family thinks you do a comfortable desk job?"

"They don't," Ginny answered. "They think I'm getting mixed up with villains and crooks and Death Eaters on an almost daily basis. That's why Ron and I are barely speaking and Fred always trembles whenever I mention the power of my left wand hook."

"Do they know you've been on five Class A Bureau missions?"

Ginny stretched out and then curled up into a little ball in her chair again, smiling contentedly. "No. Won't that be a shock for them when they find out."

"What do you tell them when you disappear for days on end?"

"Oooh, let me see - when we went to Beirut it was a residential Bureau course in the Alps. In Turkey it was a romantic week away with you. In Lithuania it was a trip to Glasgow to see one of my old Hogwarts dorm-mates. What was Denmark? Oh, yes, Denmark was when Mum and Dad were visiting Bill and Fleur in France, so I could just hop off without anyone noticing - "

Patrick, who had listened to this list with growing amusement, interrupted: "And by the time we got to Egypt you'd run out of excuses."

Ginny shook her head. "Absolutely not, I could think up excuses for years if I had to. No, Bill caught me that time and bullied the truth out of me in the hallway at the Ministry. Made me tell Dad the truth, but I made him promise to fib through his teeth to everyone else and pretend he didn't know where I was. I owe him big-time for that, actually." She ended the sentence on a huge yawn.

Patrick turned to the plate on the counter which had rapidly been filling up with vegetables and chicken casserole, and levitated it across to her place at the table.

"Yum," she said, appreciatively, tucking in. "Anyway, what is it she's got you doing with this lot?"

While she ate Patrick explained, rustling parchment, dropping papers on the floor and swearing. By the time she was finished he had got no further than he had when she'd first come in, so she tidied her empty plate away and drew her chair closer to his.

"OK, let's look at this systematically," she suggested, pulling out her wand and collating all the parchments into six neat piles on the table. "How many reports have you got to make?"

"Four," he said. "One for Kingsley, one for Christina's own files, one for Scrimgeour, and one for your father to take to the Emergency Action Committee next week."

"All the same?"

Patrick considered for a moment, and then shot her a sideways grin. "A toned-down version for our beloved Minister, I think."

"Thought as much," laughed Ginny. "All right, how about we start with - "

She felt a hand close over her mouth and an arm pull her off her chair onto his lap. She looked up to see Patrick's grey eyes twinkling back at her.

"How about you stop trying to do my job and take a rest," he said, softly. "I thought you were tired."

Ginny pulled his hand away. "I am."

"So go lie down, I'll do this."

Ginny thought about the tempting suggestion for a moment, before realising with sudden surprise that she was actually quite comfortable where she was. She kissed his forehead impulsively.

"You do this. I'll stay here," she said.

***

"You didn't need to walk me home, you know," smiled Hermione, as Sam slipped an affectionate arm around her shoulders.

"I wanted to," he replied.

They were walking under the streetlamps along the Alley towards Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, feeling pleasantly full and sleepy after the fabulous meal at Sam's house.

It had been a long time, Hermione was reflecting as they walked, since they had done something like this; since he had surprised her after a hard day at work and made her feel appreciated and happy. He was so often away, or too busy, or too tired to spend much time playing the boyfriend, and Hermione greatly missed the head-over-heels, I-love-you-I-love-you-too romance of the first few months of their relationship.

It's just the way things are, she would tell herself. We're adults now, not teenagers. Adult relationships are about having things in common and working out a future, not love letters and flowers and snogging in doorways.

Still, a bit of snogging in doorways would be very nice now and again, she thought, with a sigh. Talking cases and lines of argument all the time palled after a while, and there were moments when her mind would slip dreamily back to the days when she and Viktor Krum would slip out onto the terrace outside the library and steal a few moments before Madam Pince caught them and threatened them with detention. That had been nice, carefree, innocent snogging. Not the sort of snogging Ron and Lavender had done all over the common room, in full view of the world.

She gave herself a little mental shake. She didn't really want to go down that road just now, as she strolled hand-in-hand with a boyfriend who was partially redeeming himself with every step.

It seemed eons ago, all that silliness with Ron. So much had happened since, and everything had changed. They were both different people now, and time, they said, cured all ills.

Why is it, then, that I feel as though I hardly know him any more?

"I've had a really nice time tonight," said Sam, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"So have I," Hermione replied, honestly. "We should do this again sometime."

"I'd love to, but I have to go away again for a while shortly."

Hermione stopped walking suddenly. "You have?"

He nodded. "Only a little while, but I have to leave tomorrow."

"Where to this time?" she asked, feeling piqued as the realisation washed over her that the romantic meal they had just enjoyed was probably his way of buttering her up before dropping another bombshell.

"Dublin. There's a congress of European solicitors and I've been invited to go."

He could obviously see she was upset, because he reached out and brushed her hair behind her ear.

"Don't be too disappointed, darling," he said, with an indulgent, patronising edge to his voice that made Hermione cringe inwardly and jump away from his touch.

"I'm not disappointed," she replied, hotly, taking out the latchkey the twins had lent her and opening the shop door. "I'm cross. That's what tonight was about, wasn't it? To say, 'Oh, sorry, Hermione, but I'm abandoning you again for a work congress and heaven knows when I'll see you again'!"

He followed her inside and to the sitting room door, muttering something about how he couldn't possibly let them down now, and he hadn't thought she'd take this attitude -

"Thankyou for spoiling a truly lovely evening, Sam," she began, preparing to shut the door firmly in his face, but then he coughed distinctly and nodded over her shoulder towards the kitchen. Hermione whirled round.

Ginny and Patrick were sitting at the table, poring over piles of parchment and open books and drinking what smelled like coffee. Ginny looked up when she heard them and smiled. "Hey! Did you have a good night?"

Hermione didn't know what to reply.

***

"You look awful," remarked Ron, as Harry joined him at the edge of the lake near the camp.

"Thanks," grinned Harry.

He stripped off his filthy shirt which now sported a nice tear down the back and several singed patches, and pushed it under the water. It was a useless gesture since the shirt was beyond rescue, but it eased the pain in his back to kneel for a while and take the pressure off various muscles. He had been standing up since dawn, and now his watch read a quarter past three.

"Been up to the Ridge?" asked Ron, who was almost as filthy. He was also stripped to the waist and bootless, lying on the sand with most of his body under the water. An expression of sheer bliss lit up his dirt-streaked face.

Harry sat down beside him, groaning in relief.

"Yes. Never again. That isn't a hill, it's a precipice!"

It had amazed Harry when he first arrived how sprawling and large the site was. For some reason he had always imagined Charlie working with a few dragons who were nice and tame, behaving very much like oversized horses and requiring similar sort of care. Three hours had quickly enlightened him, and Ron had laughed hysterically when he had told him.

The park encompassed a good five-mile square area, which included hills, mountainous peaks, a large forest, several small look-out stations on the boundaries, and a huge lake in the centre - the one the boys were basking in at that moment. The actual nucleus of civilisation was in the valley about two hundred yards from the lake's north side, and was where most of the camp's activity was centred. A large field and set of enclosures were on the very edge, where the fledgling, sick, or protected dragons were housed, along with various outbuildings containing equipment and supplies. The rest of the camp was made up of tents or makeshift lodges, and the tents themselves were a great deal more luxurious than they looked from the outside. Harry had been stunned when he walked into the Meeting Tent and found an interior that looked like the great hall of some massive Tudor mansion, complete with stag heads on the wall and an enormous oak dining table that must have been at least twenty feet long.

Beyond the park, from what Harry had seen from the tops of various hills and cliffsides, was a forested, agricultural area worked by local Romanian people. The nearest big town was ten miles away, and only a smattering of small villages and tumbledown hamlets and abandoned industrial bases were in the immediate vicinity. It seemed a very isolated spot to be posting Aurors to.

"Bet the girls think we're up to our ears in high adventure and perilous battles," said Ron, lazily, closing his eyes. A tremour of laughter went through his body.

"Yeah, what did you tell them when you left?" Harry asked. He was well aware that he was going to be in trouble with both of them next time he saw them.

Ron grinned. "I did exactly what we did last time. I left a cryptic note and ran for it."

Harry had to laugh. "They're going to kill us."

The two of them sat in idleness for a while longer, enjoying the warm afternoon sun and resting their aching muscles. Harry allowed himself the luxury of leaning back on his elbows and watching the scene in front of him. Quite a few people had gathered by the water's edge now, either flopping like Harry and Ron on the sand or wading right out into the deeper water for a cooling swim. Kasim waved to him from a little way around to the west, and he spotted Kia and Charlie walking along the crumbly path that circled the lake. They were hand in hand and laughing, and had obviously been for a stroll alone.

"God, you two are a disgrace," grinned Charlie, when they came parallel to the cove where the boys lay.

Ron peered lazily up, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. "Yeah, speak for yourself. Shirking to go into the woods for a - " He made a rude hand gesture that set Kia laughing. Charlie jumped swiftly down onto the sand and proceeded to drag Ron into the deeper water and stick his head firmly under the surface.

"Ah, brotherly love," sighed Kia, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she came and sat beside Harry. "Who could see it and not love it?"

Harry leaned back on his elbows again and smiled.

"Nice place you've got here," he said.

Kia nodded. "It's home. I've lived here for four years and I can't imagine being happy anywhere else."

"It's a totally different lifestyle, isn't it?"

"Yes. It's a very close-to-nature, communal, bohemian sort of world. Just my cup of tea!"

Harry returned her grin, feeling very peaceful all of a sudden.

"Ginny would love it here."

Kia looked sideways at him in surprise. "Charlie's sister? Do you think so?"

Harry nodded, wondering what had made him say it.

"I'd love to meet her. It's so weird living with a guy for three years without meeting any of his family. Except Bill, of course, he's often in and out. And I only met Ron for the first time last year."

"Yeah, and that was a disaster, wasn't it?"

Kia shrugged. "We got through it. It's all part of life out here - we knew that when we came. Politics gets everywhere, even out here in the wilds."

For a moment Harry thought she would say more, slipping into indiscretion as Kasim had done - but she didn't. The philosophical expression in her eyes disappeared and she smiled.

"Come on," she said, getting to her feet. "Charlie! Ron! Stop larking about and come and eat something!"

***

The elderly inhabitants of Diagon Alley were not amused. Mrs Wimple, of Number 95, shook her head at her neighbour, Mrs Brittlesham, over the garden fence. Mr Brittlesham, fast asleep in his armchair with the Wizard Network on the radio, was the only one oblivious to the shrieks, pounding music and hollering going on at Number 93.

"Fred, for the sake of Merlin and all his faeries, turn it down," hissed Angelina, pointing her wand at the radio and substantially reducing the din of I'm Just Dying For A Ride On Your Broom by Gilbert Grouse and the Gnomes. "Do you want Community Patrol hammering on the door?"

"Angelina, beloved, this is a party!" Fred replied, in rather slurred speech. He brandished his half-empty bottle of Firewhisky over his head and climbed up onto the sofa, wobbling perilously. "We are gathered here today - " Here he gave a loud hiccup that set everyone laughing, " - to celebrate the departure of my mother. Who is a wonderful woman, and I love her dearly - "

He tottered again, spilling quite a lot of Firewhisky onto the sofa. Ginny grabbed hold of the bottle and took it out of his hand, taking a large swig herself. "However," Fred went on, warming up to his theme, "she has certain rules. Like not drinking."

Here George and Lee Jordan bellowed a loud noise that could have meant appreciation or disagreement, it was hard to tell.

"And not leaving the washing up in the sink."

Another bellow.

"And not snogging on the sofa."

Another one, and some giggles from the girls present.

"And not leaving the loo seat up."

"That's my rule," put in Angelina. Fred looked momentarily confused, and the girls began to laugh.

"And a darn good rule it is," added Ginny, giving Angelina a pat on the shoulder as a gesture of solidarity.

"I think so," agreed Angelina.

"Anyway!" exclaimed Fred, loudly, making George yell out in surprise as he fumbled his way drunkenly across the room to get another bottle. "As I was saying. This night...is to celebrate the return...of youthful debauchery!"

Everyone cheered. Fred raised his arms in a victorious salute and promptly fell over the back of the sofa onto the floor behind.

"God, Fred, are you all right?" cried Hermione, torn between anxiousness and laughter.

"Fine," came a muffled voice. "Think I'll stay here for a bit. It's less wobbly down here."

"If this is what you lot call 'a fun night in' I'd hate to see what you'd do for someone's twenty-first," observed a voice in Hermione's ear. Patrick had joined her on the arm of her chair, cradling a beer bottle in his hand and grinning in great amusement.

Hermione laughed. "You should have been here for Bill's stag night. I understand it was a sight to behold!"

They watched George as he grabbed hold of Verity and began tangoing around the kitchen table, upon which the number of discarded alcohol bottles was rapidly increasing.

"What's this party in aid of anyway?" Patrick asked, lifting his legs up as George and Verity passed within inches of his toes, both shrieking in glee. "Didn't quite catch what he said."

"Mrs Weasley went back to the Burrow today," Hermione explained, cocking an eyebrow as Ginny curled up in a ball on the sofa, holding her sides with paralysing laughter. "She's been spending quite a lot of time here lately while it was being fixed."

"What happened?"

"Oh, Mr Weasley was holding an important meeting there a few months back, and somehow the wards around the house were broken through. Nearly half the house was blown away - it was amazing no-one was hurt."

"Death Eaters?"

Hermione shrugged. "Presumably. I don't think they ever found out who it was, but since the meeting was filled with important Ministry officials discussing the war effort I think everyone just assumed. They're making the wards doubly strong this time."

Just then Lee pointed his wand at the radio while Angelina was busy picking Fred up off the floor, so that the strains of Take Me In The Witching Hour blared through the house.

"Take me in the Witching Hour

Somewhere we can dance all night.

I wanna hear music, I wanna see stars,

I want you to kiss me while the night is ours.

This voodoo that you do to me

Has me completely in your power

This Witching Hour."

"Ah, my favourite song!" exclaimed George, leaping over Fred's prostrate body and grabbing the nearest whisky bottle. He jumped up onto an armchair, with his feet on either arm, and began gyrating to the music. Verity hid her face in her hands.

"This Witching Hour has me so crazy, the daytime world is gettin' hazy - " he sang, at the top of his voice.

"I need another drink," gasped Ginny, pulling herself into a sitting position and trying to get her laughter under control.

"Get me one too," moaned Verity from behind her hands.

Hermione couldn't keep a straight face as Lee tried to join in with a flat descant, pounding around the room making guitar noises in the instrumental parts. This would kill Harry and Ron if they'd been here.

Although, she thought, one or both of them would probably be up on that armchair with George, drunk as a skunk and acting like fifteen-year-olds. She wondered, in a sober moment, what they were doing far away in Romania. Had Harry been onto something dangerous? Is that why he called Ron? No, one of them would have contacted her and Ginny before now if something had been really wrong.

Wouldn't they?

She caught Ginny's eye, and the powerful bond between the two of them must have told Ginny what was going through her mind, and she smiled reassuringly. Hermione smiled back. This was just what she needed tonight - some good company and a lot of distraction. Sam had gone off to Dublin in a huff that morning, leaving her feeling depressed and annoyed, and some frivolity with the people who frivolled best in the world was making her feel bright and alive again. Ginny had been right when she'd said a long time ago that nobody partied quite like a Weasley.

"Dance, Hermione!" cried Lee, grasping her by the wrists and pulling her up into his arms. He steered her around the sofa, bounding like a little boy, until she had to sit down for laughing so hard.

"'Take me on the kitchen counter, somewhere we can - '," sang George, exuberantly and out of tune - except he substituted 'dance' for a much ruder word.

"George, that isn't how it goes!" exclaimed Angelina, through her giggles.

He merely grinned and carried on. "'This Witching Hour has me so horny, the daytime world is getting corny - '"

"George!"

Hermione cast a look at Verity, who was now bright red and sunk as deep as she could into the sofa cushions.

"Kill me now," she mouthed, desperately.

"Drink this instead," suggested Ginny, handing her a smoking glass of something Hermione didn't recognise. "It does wonders for embarrassing moments. Drank it myself the day Fred found my knickers in the bathroom sink."

Patrick nearly spat out his mouthful of Firewhisky and started coughing. Hermione patted him on the back sympathetically.

"I want some fresh air!" declared Fred. He had managed to stagger to his feet and was looking refreshed for his sojourn on the carpet. "Who wants some fresh air?"

He opened the sitting room door and weaved his way to the front door, with George and Lee close behind him.

"Oh, God," groaned Angelina. "They're going to wake all of London."

The girls and Patrick got to the front door just as the boys had got four yards up the Alley, sniggering and bellowing and clutching at each other for support.

"George, for the love of Merlin, come back!" called Verity.

"Let's put a dustbin on Guinevere's head!" suggested Fred.

"What a wonderful idea," agreed Lee.

And they began wobbling up the Alley towards the fountain in the Square, singing the rude version of Take Me In The Witching Hour at the tops of their voices and extremely out of time.

The girls watched them go in stunned silence.

"Well, I'm not bailing them out if they get arrested," said Angelina, firmly.

"Some time in jail might be an excellent hangover cure," agreed Hermione.

"Shall we make this a little more civilised, ladies?" suggested Ginny, producing from her pocket with panache a little bottle with a violet label - 'Oakapple's Best Damascus Gin, infused with a delicate cocktail of Russian Vodka and Swiss Schnapps. Best when already slightly drunk'.

***

"I bet the girls are worried sick," said Harry, in a low voice.

He was lying on his back beside the open fire, tilting his head back and staring up into the starry sky, the book he'd been reading lying open on his chest. The place was almost deserted now. Everyone else had gone to bed except for one or two couples who had slipped out for a brief walk around the lake, and a few odd keepers who were just setting off to close up the enclosures for the night.

A little way away at the lake's edge, lit up by a pool of moonlight that reflected in the lapping water, Kia and Charlie were standing very close together, talking earnestly and holding hands. They weren't often publicly demonstrative, but it was rare moments like this one that showed Harry just how in love they were. Besides, he mused, moon and stars did strange things to people. He remembered it well.

Ron snorted in response to Harry's observation. "Serves them right. It'll give Gin a taste of her own medicine."

"They probably think something awful's happening."

Ron, who had been stretched out on his stomach poring over an old edition of the Quidditch page of the Daily Prophet, turned around and fixed Harry with a stern expression.

"Are you feeling guilty?" he demanded.

"A little bit," Harry confessed.

Ron looked exasperated. "You've got to stop this, Harry."

"We did promise we'd tell them if anything happened about the You Know Whats - " began Harry.

"Yes, and nothing has yet, has it?" Ron pointed out. "A hunch isn't likely to suck us both into an oblivion of death and destruction, is it?"

Harry laughed.

"Here's Nick," he said, as a familiar brown-faced, brown-headed man approached them from one of the nearby tents, and dropped onto the grass beside them. "How're you doing?"

Nick groaned and rubbed his shoulder. "Have I told you lately how much I hate dragons?"

"One got you, did it?"

"Bloody Chinese Fireball. Think I pissed her off. How are you two? Settling in OK?"

Harry nodded. "Feel a bit superfluous at the moment, though."

He hoped he sounded a little indignant and ill-used, and he must have done, because Nick turned to look at him with something not unlike sympathy.

"Yeah, I know, sorry about that," he said, lowering his voice. "I've got my orders and I can't tell you anything until they give me the say-so from HQ."

"Auror HQ or Order HQ?" asked Harry.

Nick smiled. "We're working together on this one. Hang on in there, Harry - all will be revealed, I promise faithfully."

Harry sat up and closed his book. Ron had returned to his Quidditch page, but he was almost positive that he had one ear on the conversation.

"Can't you even give me a general idea?" Harry asked, casting a glance across the hearth at where Charlie stood, deep in discussion with Elphias Doge.

Nick chuckled as he poured himself a drink. "I suppose there's no harm in telling you that we're here as operatives rather than operators," he said, cryptically.

"Spies, you mean?"

Nick shushed him. "Not so loud. I think it's only fair that you know that much in advance since it's only you who is new to the strength this time round."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You mean everyone else has done this before? Here?"

Nick nodded.

Feeling a little stunned, Harry swept his gaze around their immediate vicinity and moved a little nearer. "This is why the camp was attacked last year?" he murmured.

"More or less," replied Nick, "but for God's sake don't say anything."

Harry blinked. His brain was reeling. "Can I just ask, then - why the fucking hell are we doing it again?"

Nick coughed loudly. "I can't tell you any more, Harry, I've already said too much. Just wait for the summons and we'll explain everything."

"But - "

Nick nudged him sharply in the ribs with his elbow, and Harry looked up to see Kasim joining them.

"Hullo, everyone," he said, grinning around. "Room for another?"

"Have some Bulgarian Firewater, Kasim," suggested Nick, winking at Harry and Ron. "It'll grow hairs."

"No thanks," said Kasim, with a shake of his dark head. "Had some once and nearly died the next day."

"Killer hangover?" grinned Ron.

"No, couldn't see straight and almost got knocked over by a Muggle bus in Bond Street!"

Everyone laughed.

"You lot were looking damn conspiratorial just now," said Kasim, curiously. "Have I interrupted?"

"No, no," replied Nick, without looking up from his glass. "We were just talking about how evil dragons are, especially Chinese Fireballs."

"Singed you, did she?" chuckled Kasim. "I told you not to upset her."

"She's a sodding dragon, Kasim, not a maiden aunt!"

"They're sensitive creatures."

Nick rolled his eyes and looked sideways at Harry and Ron.

"Kasim was a dragon-keeper way before we got him to join the Order," he explained, with a grin.

"True love never dies," said Kasim, reverently.

Harry smiled to himself. If Kasim wasn't an Auror that would explain how easy it had been to extract information from him.

"Must have been a bit of a shock to the system when you got mixed up with everything here, then," said Harry.

Kasim blinked. "How do you mean?"

"With all the poachers and stuff you were telling me about, and that attack last year."

Harry half-expected Nick to elbow him again, but his face was still bent over his glass. Harry even thought he detected a little smile in the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah, that was quite the baptism of fire," said Kasim, a little nervously. "Learned the hard way then, didn't I?"

Nick gave a very slow, barely perceptible nod.

"You don't think it'll happen again, do you?" Harry went on, riskily. He was probably for it with Nick later anyway.

Kasim shrugged. "You never know, but we'll be better prepared this time."

"They came up from the villages last time, did they?"

Kasim cast Nick a desperate look but Nick was still looking away.

"Dunno," he replied. "Might have been the tunnels, I suppose."

"Oh, I'd forgotten about those," Harry lied. "Do they connect with the old base of Voldemort's?"

Kasim flinched, whether because of the name or the outright mention of the information he had let slip the other day, Harry couldn't tell. Even Nick's downcast face registered some kind of reaction.

"Couldn't tell you," muttered Kasim, reaching for the bottle of Firewater.

Nick laughed - a deep, sudden laugh. He looked up and grinned at Harry.

"Bloody hell, Harry, where did you learn to squeeze people like that?" he said, sounding genuinely impressed. "You're quite the master."

Harry smiled back. "So are you going to tell me about this base or do I have to squeeze someone else?"

Nick chuckled again. "No, I'll tell you. I don't suppose Kasim went that far, did he?"

Kasim looked hugely embarrassed but Nick didn't seem at all cross with him.

"It was a stronghold of Voldemort's in the last war, and he kept it at the centre of his affairs until he fell twenty years ago. Just days before the Aurors had broken the wards and raided it, taking everything into custody and vetting the place entirely. It's still there, but it's completely empty now. The Aurors put security wards up when they finished working there which only they know how to get through. It isn't really that interesting except as a point of history and local lore."

Harry had to disagree. He was quiet for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip.

"So no-one can get in now?" asked Ron, deeply interested.

Nick shook his head. "Nothing to see inside anyway. The Ministry took it all away."

"And it was one of the most important strongholds?" Harry asked.

"Yep. It was used as a hiding place and a cache for various magical artefacts - stolen, obviously."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances, reading each other's thoughts. Harry felt something inside him swell up, like a suddenly-inflated balloon.

They had to find out what had been in that base.

***

It was several moments before Ginny fully comprehended what had woken her up.

She distinctly remembered falling asleep on the sofa after helping Angelina half-carry her sozzled siblings up to their beds. They had dropped George on the first-floor landing - she remembered that because she had almost toppled over the banisters because she was laughing so much.

Then what had happened? Oh, yes, she and Hermione had made hot chocolate and got into their pyjamas. It was the kind of night made for girly slumber parties on the sofa - at least that was what she had told herself. Possibly the prospect of renegotiating that staircase for the second time had not appealed to her partially fuddled subconscious.

"Ginny!"

She opened one eye.

"Bloody hell!" she squeaked, as a dark-haired, green-eyed apparition stared back at her from among the glowing embers in the fireplace.

"Sssh! You'll wake him," Harry hissed, nodding to one of the armchairs.

Ginny looked, and saw the top of Patrick's head protruding out from underneath her own enormous duvet. It had golden snitches on it. How embarrassing.

"What on earth are you doing, Harry?" she enquired, flipping off her blanket and kneeling down on the hearthrug.

"Got to talk to you and Hermione," he said, urgently.

Hermione had stirred at Ginny's exclamation and was now sleepily rubbing her eyes and yawning.

"Harry?" she said in astonishment.

"Listen, I haven't got long," Harry said. "If Charlie catches me I'm for the high-jump."

"What the blazes is happening out there?" insisted Ginny, frowning fiercely at him. "Why did you call Ron and not us?"

Harry looked cross. "Do we have to have this conversation right now?"

"Yes."

Patrick gave a loud, rasping grunt and turned over on the chair. Hermione crawled over to her discarded jeans and pulled out her wand.

"Muffliato!" she whispered.

Harry turned a gobsmacked expression to her. "That was one of Snape's," he said.

Hermione tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Desperate times."

"Harry," said Ginny, firmly, "what is going on?"

"Nothing - "

"Nothing?"

"Nothing yet," Harry amended, hastily. "Look, we've found things out and we need you to do something - "

His explanation was brief and had yawning gaps in it, from what Ginny could tell, but when he finally got around to telling them what he wanted them to do she had stopped frowning and was listening intently.

"Do you think you can?" he urged.

The girls exchanged glances.

"Of course we can," said Ginny. "We can do anything."