Footsteps To Valhalla

Slight change of plan, folks! I know I promised explosions and activity in this chapter, there isn't actually a great deal because I decided to insert something I was planning to keep for later. It really needed to go in now, so the action has got to be delayed slightly. However, I faithfully promise it for Chapter Six.

This chapter focuses on Harry, and the fact that he has a LOT of secrets that the other three don't know about. I've actually done a little re-editing of the earlier chapters in order to prepare the way for this, which I think came a bit out of the blue. I hope everything ties in better now.

Anyway, enjoy Chapter Five, and do leave me a review telling me what you liked and what you didn't like. I aim to please! :-)

-- CHAPTER FIVE --

Secrets Uncovered

"Gerrof," mumbled Harry, turning over in bed and drawing the blankets up over his head. Whatever or whoever it was that was poking him in the side could take themselves off for another hour or so, no matter what dire emergency had arisen. Surely he hadn't been asleep longer than a couple of hours?

"Harry, wake up!" said an insistent male voice.

Harry opened one eye and squinted at the figure bent over him.

"Whasgoinon?"

"You need to get up, mate, sorry."

Fumbling for his glasses, Harry had the vague idea that it was Charlie talking. Sure enough, as his vision came into focus, it was.

Charlie was in his riding clothes, and looking as fresh and lively as he had been at noon the previous day. He carried his wand in one hand, a soft light glowing from the tip.

"God, Charlie, it's the middle of the sodding night!" moaned Harry, falling back against his pillows.

"Four a.m. to be precise," said Charlie, with a grin. "Nick needs everyone in the Meeting Tent now, before the civvies get up for the early shift. He wants to debrief everyone."

"Don't tell me I'm actually going to discover why the hell I'm here," muttered Harry, disgruntled.

Charlie chuckled. "You'll never know unless you haul your arse in there pretty quick. Here, put some clothes on, and bring your wand."

He disappeared through the tent flap, casting one pitiful glance at his youngest brother who was sprawled out on his front on the other campbed, snoring like an elephant.

Harry dressed as quickly and as silently as he could, so as not to wake Ron.

Not that anything short of an earthquake could do that right now, he thought to himself, wryly.

The Meeting Tent - the large inner room Harry had thought looked like a Tudor Great Hall - was lit up from inside by braziers and candles when he finally approached it. Everywhere else in the camp was deadly quiet, and only the hum of crickets in the long grass and the wind in the trees could be heard in the cool night air.

Harry flipped up the tent flap and went inside. Kia's was the first face he saw, pretty and smiling. She was leaning against a pole, and Charlie was beside her. Nick, Ernest Proudfoot, Elphias Doge, Jax Dawlish, Rick Savage and Kasim were sitting at the nearest end of the long table, talking in low voices and shuffling some papers around. All eyes turned to him as he closed the flap behind him.

"Good," said Nick, in a business-like fashion. "Sit down everyone. Have a seat, Harry."

Harry and the others obeyed, except for Charlie who spent a moment casting a Silencing Spell around the tent before joining them at the table. Harry looked expectantly at Nick, hardly daring to believe that he was about to get some intelligent answers at long last. His heartbeat quickened of its own accord, and a strange sort of thrill went through him as Nick straightened up in his chair and addressed them all in a low, serious voice.

"I'm sorry it's taken so long for you all to get a sensible update of events," he said. "And, in Harry's case, any explanation at all about what's going on here. It was a case of the high-level officials in the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix wanting to be one hundred percent sure that our cover was secure before embarking upon any military moves." He sighed slightly at this point. "Anyway, now I've been given the all-clear by H.Q. and I can explain to you, Harry, the exact nature of our business here."

Harry pricked up his ears, if they could be any more pricked up than they already were, and leaned forward on his elbows.

"Our job here, as the rest of you will know, is primarily to keep an eye on Death Eater activity in this area. It is an area designated High Risk by the Auror Department, and that means that there are only three or four other places in the entire world where it is more dangerous to be working in. I don't suppose Collins mentioned that, did he?"

Harry, realising this was addressed specifically to him, shook his head. "He omitted that fact, and most of the others too."

"I should warn you that by the end of this meeting there will be no further opportunities for you to back out of this, Harry," said Nick, solemnly. "By the time I've told you the full story there's no going back."

Kasim and the other Aurors fixed Harry with scrutinous eyes, as though they expected him to get up and walk out straightaway. Harry felt a little offended, but it swelled his heart to see that neither Charlie, Kia or Nick seemed particularly concerned about his response. They already knew what his answer was going to be.

"Keep going," said Harry, without hesitation.

Nick smiled in satisfaction and resumed.

"I think I'd better start at the very beginning for your benefit, Harry. We had intelligence several years ago that Voldemort was trying to resurrect a former network of support in this area which he'd had before he fell twenty years ago. It took so long to prove this intelligence that the Auror high-level officials, despite Kingsley's arguments to the contrary, felt that it was a dead end. But thanks to Charlie and Kia and their friends here - " Nick smiled around at the others sitting at the table, all of whom looked modestly back at him. " - who stayed put because they believed there was reason to watch the area, proof positive that this was a seriously Death-Eater-ridden spot came to light after the attack last year."

Harry felt understanding wash over him like a wave of sudden, bright light. That attack, which had almost cost Ron his life, had been preying upon Harry's mind like nothing else for months. Why had the Ministry covered it up? Why had everyone, even Mr Weasley and Kingsley and Remus, been so secretive about it, and so reluctant to get into arguments about it? Why had there never been any explanation offered for an atrocity which had killed fifteen civilian people for no apparent reason?

Now Harry understood. It had been an undercover operation to break a network of support for Voldemort, which had only failed because the top-level authorities had deemed the mission unworthy and without foundation. But now the cover of the team at the camp had been blown sky-high from the point of view of the Death Eaters, so why on earth had they all come back to do the same thing all over again?

Harry voiced this question aloud, as he had done in possession of fewer facts yesterday. Nick replied: "Basically it was decided that the sneakiest move would be to carry on as before because Voldemort wouldn't expect it. I know it sounds ridiculous," he said, as Harry opened his mouth to protest, "but these orders come from higher up, and our only job is to watch and listen and report anything weird, not to formulate any formal assault. We are intelligence gatherers, not soldiers, for the duration of this mission."

A ripple went around the group, and Harry deduced that this, if nothing else, was news to the others.

"How are we meant to gather intelligence without any formal military organisation?" asked Kia, rather crisply.

"What I meant was, we are not authorised to make any attacks," replied Nick. "We are only allowed to use our combat training in self-defence, unless we apply for authority from Kingsley first."

"That sounds unlike Kingsley, to keep us so restricted," observed Rick Savage, with a frown.

Nick leaned back in his chair and stifled a yawn. His official façade was slipping slightly in the earlyness of the hour. "It wasn't his decision. He's got three other people to answer to, and there's only so much sticking up for we curse fodder that he can do without getting the sack. But you didn't hear me say that."

"Quite," grinned Charlie.

"Anyway, despite all that, the High Levels have agreed that we can patrol the area like we did last time, and use any field skills up to Level Three - er, got that, Harry?"

"'Level Three - wand in self-defence; undercover tracking; tailing; no contact with the enemy unless provoked; ground assessment; mapping; no attention-drawing spells unless in self-defence'. Yeah, I've got it."

Nick blinked, as did most of the others. Harry felt rather pleased with himself, but tried hard not to let a smug grin creep onto his face.

"Er, yes," said Nick, shaking himself out of his impressed stupor. "Two of us will patrol the perimeter, especially the hotspots and nearest point of civilisation every night from now on, and report back with anything unusual. As the contigent leader for the Auror Department you report directly to me, and I report to our agent in Bucharest, who is stationed at the wizard embassy there and who is the first port of call in an emergency. If anything happens to me, notify him immediately. We can communicate with Kingsley and the Ministry safely through him, and Charlie is the chief representative for the Order of the Phoenix. He makes his reports separately, with my co-operation." Nick paused to take a deep breath. "Right, I think that's all I wanted to say for tonight. Any questions, anyone? Harry? Anything you think I've missed out? I want you to feel as up-to-date as the others, even though you're new to this."

"When I think of any I'll let you know," replied Harry, nodding.

"OK," said Nick, with an air of decisiveness. "I want you to come with me on the first patrol, Harry. That's going to be tomorrow night. Or tonight, if I'm going to be strictly accurate - it is 4.45a.m. after all. So, is everyone happy? I'll be calling everyone together every day for a quick briefing, just to let people know who's on patrol which night, but not at such an uncivilised hour as this, I promise."

With that, everybody got up and began to drift out and back to their own tents. Harry found himself yawning more than anyone, and yearned to collapse back on his bed and catch another couple of hours' sleep before Charlie had him up to see to the dragons at seven o'clock. But before he had taken three steps towards his tent, Charlie placed a hand on his shoulder and drew him aside.

"Just a quick word, Harry, off the record," he said, quietly. "Try not to say too much about all this to Ron, won't you? I know he's your best mate and all, but he's not on the staff here. The less he knows the safer for him. He shouldn't have come anyway, not now."

Harry thought Charlie was looking at him rather significantly as he said this, and realised that he had probably guessed Harry had called Ron over.

Still, he had not forbidden him to tell Ron anything. A watered-down version would surely be acceptable, and even if it wasn't nobody would know. Besides, it was important for the real reason Ron was in Ingrisfeld that the two of them be completely candid with each other.

Somehow or other, Harry thought to himself as he climbed back into bed, that base and the Horcruxes are tied up with all of this business. I can feel it. It might be the most dubious, stupidest thing in the world, but I can feel it.

***

The early morning sunlight filtered in through Hermione's curtains, dancing across her face and rousing her from sleep. She stretched out until her toes popped out from underneath the covers and rubbed her bleary eyes, rather relieved to have woken up from the extremely strange dream she'd been having. She had been chasing Sam along a beach at dusk, begging him to explain a peculiar clause in a law document, and then she had tripped and fallen into the shallow waves where Mrs Weasley was sitting, knitting a maroon jumper with a large 'R' on the front. "That's not such a good idea, dear," she had said, gently. Hermione had been about to explain urgently that she only wanted to know what the Act of Waffenburg was when she had opened her eyes to the sunshine.

She groaned, feeling a little confused and disorientated. Crookshanks, stretched out across her knees, purred sympathetically. Coffee, she thought. Coffee was what was needed.

Ten minutes later she found Ginny downstairs sitting at the kitchen table in a demure little skirt and a pretty sleeveless top, munching cereal and reading the Daily Prophet. She looked every bit the innocent, feminine little sister of the householders, but there was a glint in her eye that George had lately taken to calling her Political Spark.

"Morning, sunshine," Ginny said, brightly, looking up from the headlines. "The goblins are pissed off with Scrimgeour. He's handling the affair with his usual tact and diplomacy."

"And I bet that's exactly what Colin wrote," chuckled Hermione, filling an empty cup from the coffee pot on the sideboard. "Am I right?"

"More or less," said Ginny. "Never one for beating around the bush, our Colin."

"Didn't you kiss him at the Leavers' Ball?"

Ginny spluttered into her coffee. "Who on earth told you that?"

Hermione replied with a perfectly straight face. "I was informed of the fact by Romilda Vane last February at a Wizard Law Convention in Peterborough."

"It's a filthy lie!" cried Ginny, horrified.

"I assumed as much. Most things that come out of Romilda Vane's mouth are. Anyway, she's borne a massive grudge against you ever since you and Harry went out."

"Don't I know it," muttered Ginny, rolling her eyes.

"Have you got work today?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I must go and face the music with Christina and see what she wants to do with me next."

Hermione felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Is she going to pack you off abroad again?"

She had hoped Ginny would be staying close by for at least a little while. It had been so long since they'd had more than a couple of weeks together in between their hectic schedules. Spending time with the boys was well enough, but she rather liked having a girl chum after so many years of dealing with rampaging testosterone. And the boys were not boys any more but men, and men seemed to have even more issues and problems. There was no denying that she felt a little left out these days, and she was apt to look back with painful nostalgia on their comradely teenage days which had been swept away by the war and the necessity to grow up and take their separate responsibilities.

"No idea," came Ginny's reflective reply. "I hope not, actually. It looks like we've both got another job to do."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Yes, did I dream it or did Harry's head-in-the-fire tell us to illegally raid Ministry classified files last night?"

Ginny gave a little laugh and a shrug. "Exactly right. It is Harry, after all. Since when have official rules mattered to him?"

"How on earth are we going to manage it?"

Ginny stretched her legs out under the table and placed her hands behind her head. "With a large amount of radical daring," she replied, smiling wickedly, "and some good, old-fashioned fraudulence!"

***

Mending fences was a ridiculously boring job, Ron reflected, as he heaved himself a bit higher up the tree he was balanced in. With one foot braced on one of the beams that supported the fence, and the other jammed into a suitable knothole in the enormous trunk of the tree, he was trying to carefully negotiate the securing of a new plank. Being rather new to repairing fifty-foot fences, even with the aid of magic, this activity was accompanied by a good deal of swearing, cursing and botched woodwork.

When his wand slipped for the sixth time Ron decided to give up for the morning. He had done a pretty good job levitating the vertical poles and attaching the lower planks to the crossbeams, but short of levitating himself up to the appropriate height - which was not only dangerous but a highly awkward piece of magic to perform - there was no easy way of finishing off the top. With a despairing sigh Ron slithered down the trunk and dropped to the floor, reaching for the fraying towel that half-hung out of his rucksack. He was hot and sticky and hungry, and such tasks were best left to people in a more agreeable frame of mind, he decided.

A girlish giggle from somewhere to his left made him look up.

A pretty girl with golden hair and coquettish hazel eyes was standing a little way away, watching him. It was Anna.

"Hullo," Ron said, gruffly.

"Well, that's a nice greeting, I must say," said Anna, rolling her eyes. "Having trouble?"

"A little," Ron confessed, wiping his sweaty neck and face with the towel. It was a very dirty towel, and only served to add to the build-up of grime on his skin.

"Why are you back again so soon?" she asked, curiously.

"Aren't you pleased to see me?"

"Oh, yes," she replied, sidling up to him. Ron noticed that she was wearing a pair of very tight trousers, quite unsuitable for the messy sort of work the running of the camp required. "I just wondered, that's all."

"Missed me, did you?" grinned Ron, beginning to enjoy the game.

"Oh, I don't know about that," retorted Anna, tossing her hair. She strolled over to the fence and examined his handiwork. "There are plenty of nice guys here, and always new ones popping in. I don't get bored. That Rick Savage - well, what's a girl to do?"

Ron was spared from replying to this highly provocative statement by the arrival of Harry, who was looking, for him, rather furtive.

"You all right, mate?" Ron asked.

"Can I have a word?" said Harry, glancing sharply at Anna. "Alone."

"Oh," she huffed. "It looks like I've been dismissed." And she departed looking a little hurt.

"Was there any need to be quite that rude, Harry?" asked Ron, with a sigh. He knew that earnest gleam in his best friend's eye of old, and it meant that Harry had got yet another bee in his bonnet about something.

"She can't hear this," said Harry, indifferently, and he sat down in a shady spot under the tree and gestured for Ron to do the same.

Ron listened open-mouthed through most of what followed, and by the time Harry had finished relating the events of the previous night he was in a state of some confusion.

"This sounds like a really stupid plan," he said, at last.

Harry blinked. "That's frank."

"Well, come on, Harry, doesn't it sound pretty stupid to you too? I should have thought that you of all people had had enough experience of You Know Who to appreciate that he's cleverer than to fall into a ridiculous trap like this one."

"Of course I appreciate that," Harry replied, testily, "and I did point this out to them, but they seem to know what they're doing, and who am I to criticise their somewhat dubious methods?"

He wrinkled his forehead and Ron chuckled. A little way off down by the lake there was a shriek of female laughter, and their eyes turned to where Anna and a couple of other girls were cavorting in the shallow water.

"What do you think of her?" asked Ron, surprising even himself. Women was one of the topics he and Harry had, in latter Hogwarts years, tacitly chosen not to discuss between themselves, except on a very superficial level - most probably because Harry had known that Hermione would figure in the conversation to a certain extent, and Ron, speaking for himself, was not all that keen to hear his best friend agonise over his own little sister. But the years had passed and the unspoken rule was still in place. Ron wasn't stupid. He realised Harry had had at least one fling since Ginny, and he was fairly sure he preferred Harry's determined reticence to what could quite easily turn into a very girly and embarrassing conversation.

So why on earth did I just ask that? he groaned, inwardly. This was still not even remotely a safe subject.

"Erm," said Harry, looking uncomfortable. "She's ... er ... she's ...What the heck are you asking me for?"

Yes, very embarrassing.

Ron gave a shrug, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. Harry raised a suspicious eyebrow and put his hands up.

"Oh, no! If there's going to be a repeat of the Lavender thing I'm getting the next fireplace out of here, mission or no mission!"

Ron had to grin despite himself. Besides, that answered his question. To Harry, Anna represented The Fling, like the Lavenders and Chos of their teenage years, and as such the whole thing was doomed to a short life full of angst and arguments. He'd known that anyway.

Still, the haunting image of a brown-eyed, curly-haired beauty, who possessed effortless, unequalled integrity, sophistication, courage, wisdom - more qualities than he could ever find words to describe - was never far from his thoughts. She floated, dream-like, just beyond his reach, and the strange attraction he felt for her was seemed both unappeasable and torturous. And it was getting worse, ever since she'd come back from Cambridge. He was prepared to try anything to break the spell.

"Are you all right?" asked Harry, and Ron looked up to see him peering anxiously into his eyes.

Ron opened his mouth, but some words very different from the ones he'd intended to say came out. "Were you ever going to tell me about that girl?"

A look of mingled shock and irritation passed over Harry's face.

"What?"

"None of my business and all that, but I just wondered. Any reason why you went to all that trouble to keep her secret?"

Harry looked as though he was convulsed with conflicting feelings, and it took a few moments before he got out some words. Rather defensive words. "Do we have to go into this?"

"Might as well tell me now we've ventured this far into the realms of embarrassing, girly revelations," Ron pointed out, hoping to lighten the mood. "Bloody hell, Fred and George would love this if they could hear us now!"

"I would like it to go on record," said Harry, with a faint smile, "that I tried to pull out of this conversation."

Ron crossed his heart. "They'll never hear about it from me."

"Or the girls?"

"Especially not the girls, I think."

God, especially not the girls!

"Do you suppose either of us will have a shred of dignity left after this?"

"Potter, be a girl and just tell me."

Harry put up his hands again. "All right, since you're so curious." He took a deep breath. "I felt guilty, I think."

That had not been the answer Ron had expected. "Why?"

"It wasn't ... I mean, it was ... I knew it wasn't serious. For me. I ... I dunno, it's hard to explain. It felt better private."

Ron nodded slowly. "I wouldn't have judged you, you know. I mean, if you didn't tell me because of Ginny."

"It wasn't about Ginny," Harry replied, quickly. "It was ... like I said."

"Yeah, I know."

Silence fell for a moment, and then they looked up at each other and burst out laughing.

"Thank God that's over!" chuckled Ron.

"Never again," said Harry, looking traumatised.

"Kind of weird that it feels better, isn't it?"

Harry grinned. "Kind of. Women screw a lot of things up, don't they? Somehow they always manage to get in the way no matter how much world-saving you have to think about."

It was an odd sort of moment - sombre after what they would always look back on as one of the more awful and hilarious conversations of their friendship. 'World-saving' was exactly it - exactly what they were doing.

Ron felt a sudden surge of determination and energy bubble up inside him. He and Harry had taken on a man's job, and they would see it through with all the strength they had. It was time to focus, and to forget all the little matters. Some things were more important.

"Thank God the girls aren't here," said Ron, under his breath.

***

"I'm terribly sorry, miss, but you can't go in there!"

Ginny turned around. An unhealthy-looking man in mustard-yellow robes and large, owlish spectacles had fluttered up to her, just as her hand had alighted upon the handle to Ron and Harry's Auror office.

"I'm a friend," she said, matter-of-factly.

The man shook his head and brandished his clipboard at her. "You need special clearance, miss. This is a highly secure area!"

"Look," said Ginny, taking him by the elbow and drawing him aside gently. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Hermione roll her eyes and grin subtly behind her hand. "I know you've got a job to do, and so have I. I don't want to be obstructive or anything, but this really is rather important."

The man stubbornly set his jaw and crossed his arms. The creased sleeves of his voluminous robe blew out slightly in the draught coming through the corridor, giving him the appearance of a pallid monk in a dirty habit.

"I've got my orders, miss. I'm the chief secretary to Mr Shacklebolt, and if he heard I'd let you in - " He tailed off, looking sheepish.

"Mr Shacklebolt is a close personal friend," Ginny went on, shamelessly. "If you mention my name I'm sure he'll relax the rules for me just this once."

The secretary's Adam's apple began to bob nervously. "Er - I suppose you won't mind giving me your name then, miss?"

"By all means," said Ginny. "I am Ginevra Weasley."

In the middle of consulting his clipboard, the secretary glanced hurriedly up and looked shocked.

"Oh, er, Miss ... Miss, er, Weasley?"

"That's right."

"Oh, I, er," he stammered.

From over his shoulder Ginny caught sight of a very familiar head of greying red hair, accompanied by another with no hair at all. They were deep in conversation, but were moving ever closer.

Bugger!

"I say! Fancy seeing you here!"

Ginny whirled her head around the other way. Approaching from the other direction was Ernie Macmillan, beaming widely and puffing his chest out. She groaned inwardly.

"Hello, hello," he said, jovially, stopping beside Hermione. "Haven't seen you in a blue moon. How are things going?"

"Very well, Ernie, thanks," said Hermione, as politely as she could manage under the circumstances, "but we're in rather a hurry right now."

"Oh, really?" Ernie asked, with deep curiosity. "What is afoot now?"

"Oh, the usual," replied Hermione, with an indifferent shrug. Ginny gave her ten points for dissemblance.

"Yes, and very hectic it is too," Ginny finished. She turned to the secretary, who was still wringing his hands. "So you won't mind if we just pop in for ten minutes or so, would you?"

Ginny smiled beatifically as she flicked open the door and steered Hermione inside, ignoring the secretary's ineffectual protests and Ernie's blustering questions. "So kind, thank you!"

Hastily she closed the door and let out a sigh of relief.

"How do you do it?" breathed Hermione, almost admiringly.

Ginny grinned. "I thought you disapproved of my unblushing equivocation skills."

"As a rule I do, but occasionally even I have to admit that they come in handy!"

"You're too kind."

"Poor Ernie," sighed Hermione, regretfully.

"We'll buy him a pint next time he's in Hildebrand's," said Ginny, absently.

She had headed straight to one of the desks and begun examining the items strewn all over the surface. All three were a shambles, but she easily identified the one she was after: A large framed photograph rose up out of the sea of parchment and old books and every other kind of masculine rubble, and two smiling figures waved up at her. One wore glasses and had a very familiar grin; the other had long, russet-red hair like Ginny's and a pair of startlingly green eyes.

"I thought he kept this in his room at home," observed Hermione, coming to take a look.

"He had copies made," Ginny replied. She pulled out Harry's chair and sat in it, contemplating the task ahead. "How on earth are we going to find it amongst all of this?"

"Are you sure he's not going to mind us going through his drawers?" asked Hermione, anxiously. "It does seem rather invasive, and we didn't actually ask him - "

"He asked us to break into the Confiscation Unit," Ginny replied, suppressing her concern that Hermione was right. "We need his map of the wards so we can take them down without setting any off. I'm as appreciative of privacy as the next man, but desperate times call for desperate measures."

As she rifled through papers and opened drawers, Hermione wandered over to one of the other desks. Curiosity seemed to get the better of her moral fibre after a little while, and she perched on a corner and began turning some pages of parchment over.

"This looks like notes on Mundungus," she said, after a moment.

Ginny looked up. "Sitting there for the world to see? How like Ron!"

"No, it's pretty cryptic, I don't think anyone else would know what it meant."

"What does it say?"

"It's just a few odd words. It says - good God, this report is ten days overdue!"

She stared in horror at the parchment she had picked up from the desk.

"Hermione!" laughed Ginny, with mock impatience. "What does it say?"

"I was about to say it looks like the boys have been planning how to get hold of him before he goes to ground again."

Abandoning the top of Harry's desk, Ginny knelt on the floor and turned her attention to his bottom drawers. "Have they had any ideas?"

"'Release: Sept. 3^rd 2001. 22:00 Camberly Harbour, Edinburgh'," Hermione read aloud from the sheet. "How on earth did they find that out?"

"What exactly are we hoping to find out from Mundungus anyway?" asked Ginny, lifting up a heap of papers in one of Harry's drawers to discover three empty bottles of Firewhisky and a pair of boots encrusted with mud. "Ugh," she said, expressively.

"What he did with the locket from Grimmauld Place, of course. We are assuming he stole it, aren't we?"

"We certainly are - oh, Merlin's beard, why are men so fiendishly untidy?"

Just then her eyes fell upon something in the back of one of the magically-expanded drawers, carefully hidden under a set of files. The sight of it made the blood sing in her ears, and she gave a little cry of surprise.

"What's the matter?" said Hermione, anxiously.

Ginny was silent, staring at the items in the drawer. Not until Hermione came over and stood behind her with a hand on her shoulder did she say anything.

"Look," she whispered.

Inside the drawer was a selection of objects. A small case of field potions, emblazoned all over with the skull-and-crossbones mark; an arsenal belt, with concealable knives, a Muggle pistol, a compartment for a wand; a spare alarm band; a book of field regulations; and various bits of clothing that were obviously reserved for rigorous training. Or worse.

Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth and looked stricken. Ginny took a long, deep breath, trying to calm the beating of her heart.

"He's been lying to us," she said, hollowly. "This is standard Auror fieldwork kit - Patrick has some like it. Harry's been doing night patrols!"

Hermione's eyes were as wide as saucers, and Ginny could almost see her own dazed reflection in them.

"Oh, my God," breathed Hermione, moving over to Ron's chair and sitting heavily down in it. "He's really an Auror, isn't he?"

Ginny nodded, very slowly, opening up the book of field regulations and skimming the contents.

"'When out solo at night, always take emergency alarm band and list of coded wand signals. If attacked, use Degrees Three to Six according to the level of your injuries. Do not verbally call for help. Do not involve Muggles. Do not involve any witch or wizard except officially trained personnel. If you disregard these regulations, you will be liable for prosecution under Section G, Subsection 6, under the Breach of Security Act 1994'."

"Oh, stop, Ginny, for heaven's sake!" pleaded Hermione. "I can't believe it! Why didn't he tell us?"

Ginny felt a stab of guilt intermingle with the rapidly increasing sensation of panic. While her own activities were not entirely dissimilar to the ones Harry had obviously taken such pains to hide from them, there was nothing like the perpetual state of danger involved in them that would surround Harry on night patrols. Besides, Patrick was the agent, and she was his apprentice; a mere junior, barely trained and learning on the job. Here, in her hands and scattered around her feet on the carpeted floor, was the physical evidence that Harry was a fully-fledged Auror now, risking his life more than ever before.

"He didn't tell us!" Hermione said again, tearfully. "This is horrible!"

"We ought to have known," Ginny remarked, hollowly.

Typical Harry. Shield everyone, take everything on himself, make nothing of his problems. Ginny felt the sting of tears behind her eyelids.

"And what about Ron?" persisted Hermione. "Is this what he spends his nights doing too?"

Ginny shook her head. "I doubt it. He's with the Strategy Office - it's different work."

Hermione leaned forward in Ron's chair and placed a tentative hand on the handle of his top drawer. She looked guiltily up when she realised Ginny was watching.

"Go on," said Ginny, with a smile. "I won't tell."

While Hermione rustled paper and squeaked drawer hinges, Ginny stared blankly at the book in her lap. It was well-read and dog-eared, and there were even some scribbled notes in the margins. He must have been playing this game for weeks, if not months - maybe even before she went to Egypt. For some reason the thought made her nervous, and she wondered at her own foolishness as she drew the back of her hand across her eyes and found a sheen of moisture on it. What was there to cry about after all? Harry had been on the road towards this for three years, and inevitably the day would come when he would be doing the sort of work that kept Tonks and Remus and Moody out at all hours in some of the worst places in the wizard world. Apparently it had come, and they had all missed it.

Ginny felt an illogical reluctance to explore any more of Harry's desk, for fear of what other ghastly secrets he had been hiding. An Intelligence contract, perhaps, or a forthcoming mission.

This is ridiculous, she told herself sternly. I've got my own job to do and my own secrets. Two of us can play at that game.

Various other work-related items came to light as she foraged in the last drawer. Handbooks and lists and old memos from Collins, as well as the usual assortment of laddish possessions that she was certain would cause Harry to die of mortification if he knew she'd found them; an old magazine with a rather scantily-clad woman on the cover, a pair of socks with green frogs on them, an empty box of Russian tobacco, an old stub of a ticket for a Gilbert Grouse and the Gnomes concert, not to mention several dog-eared copies of the Quality Quidditch Annual and a receipt for a subscription.

The urge to smile replaced the dull feeling of shock in the region of her stomach - and then her gaze hit upon something else sitting at the very bottom of the drawer, half-tucked into the lining.

"Got it!" she cried, triumphantly.

Hermione clapped her hands. "I suppose we'd better tidy up a bit now, hadn't we?" she said, wrinkling her nose at the mess on the floor. "He's bound to notice, isn't he?"

"Not unless he has his own, masculine method of organisation that is utterly lost on we females," answered Ginny, with a grin. "Here, take this." She handed Hermione the map, and Hermione took it over to the windowseat to peruse while everything was tossed back into Harry's desk.

At least, tossing was how it started, then Ginny realised that even Harry would probably notice that his belongings were all upside down - so she began to take more care, especially with the drawer in which she had found all his field equipment.

"What are we going to say to him?" asked Hermione, worriedly. "Are we going to tell him we know?"

"Somehow I don't think he'd appreciate that," said Ginny. She slid back into Harry's chair to refill his top drawer with a handful of parchments.

"So we don't say anything?"

"If that's the way he wants to play it, I don't see that we can do anything else."

Ginny pushed a handful of papers right to the back of the drawer, trying to fill up all of the space. As she began to withdraw her hand, something on the underside of the desk brushed against her knuckles. Whatever it was had got wedged in a little crack in the wood, and she closed her fingers over it. She drew it out ...

And then her stomach flipped over.

It was a photograph. Of a very familiar face. Her face.

"What did you say?" came Hermione's voice, as if from a long way away.

Ginny shook her head. "Nothing."

A dozen questions popped into her mind. What was a photograph of herself doing in Harry's desk drawer? Moreover, what was a photograph of herself which she had had taken in fifth year and given to him as her first gift to her boyfriend doing in her now extremely ex-boyfriend's desk drawer? In his top desk drawer, no less, tucked carefully away where nobody would find it if they happened to look inside. It didn't make any sense at all.

The doorknob turned noisily just then, making Ginny jump, startled, and hastily tuck the photo back where she'd found it. On the windowseat, Hermione thrust the map underneath her top and smoothed the fabric down.

Anthony yelped in surprise when he saw them.

Ginny steeled herself. Another moment to exercise her skills in duplicity.

***

The corridors of the Third Floor were dark and deadly silent, and the light from the sconces along the walls didn't lend itself to easy navigation.

Thank goodness for Harry's map, Hermione reflected, tripping over a step and knocking into Ginny for what seemed like the tenth time. If only they could use their wands.

"Not yet," said Ginny, when she suggested this. "The place is crawling with Magical Sensors, and I don't know the proper counter-charms for this sort. When we get nearer the Confiscation Unit it'll be safer."

A sudden draught blew through the narrow hallway, making Hermione jump, and then she berated herself for her nervousness. She had traversed the corridors of the Ministry hundreds of times before, and never yet had anything dangerous or unpleasant thrown itself upon her from the shadows.

Too much imagination, the boys would have said.

Still, she kept close behind Ginny, who had her wand out, to use her words, 'just in case'. Just in case of what Hermione did not particularly want to speculate upon.

"Are you sure about this, Ginny?" she asked, as they rounded another corner and consulted the map again.

Ginny nodded. "Positive. I know every ward up on this place and I can take most of them down. It's part of my job."

"But if we get caught..."

"We run. Like hell."

"That's encouraging."

"No time for encouragement. This is our only chance." Ginny positioned herself under a sconce and peered closely at the map, tracing a line with her finger. "Right, we're directly underneath the mural of Priam being assaulted by the Myrmidons, which means there's a set of wards exactly - " She took a tentative step to the left, and suddenly a brilliant blue light flared up like a fountain of water spurting from a point on the ground. Without any hesitation at all Ginny aimed her wand and the descending shower of light disappeared as though snuffed out. " - there," finished Ginny. She glanced at Hermione with an expression of mingled satisfaction and reassurance.

Hermione let out the breath she had been holding in. "This is impossible."

"Nothing's impossible. Come on, we haven't got much time."

They made their way along Ginny's planned route, removing similar wards as they went. By the time they reached an oak door with a large brass plate on it reading 'Confiscation Unit: authorised personnel only', Hermione had mastered the spell.

"Fascinating," she murmured, as she eliminated a shower of pink rays. "I had no idea there were so many different kinds. You'll have to tell me about them one day, and - "

"Hermione, beloved, I adore your passion for enlightenment, but we need to get inside before the watch wizard comes along," whispered Ginny, nodding to a dim, shadowy corner of an atrium a little way down the long hall they had come out into, where there was some vague movement.

"How do we get in?"

"Ah," said Ginny, with an air of mystery. "I have something rather special up my sleeve for that."

She was about to take out her wand and place it against the iron lock when the sound of nearing footsteps made both of them whirl around. Someone was coming towards them from the opposite direction.

"Bloody, buggering hell," swore Ginny. She caught hold of Hermione's arm and dragged her behind a suit of armour standing conveniently in a little alcove.

It was rather cramped and incredibly dusty, but it served the purpose. The watch wizard strolled past them without a second glance, not appearing to notice the absence of the wards around the door. As he disappeared into the dark, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

"I can see you've done this sort of thing before," she said, with a soft laugh.

Ginny shivered next to her. "Oh, yes, but I think it's time to get down now."

"What's the matter?"

"I think something's just crawled down the back of my top."

It turned out to be a spider, and Hermione smiled at the very Ron-ish shudder that passed through Ginny's slight frame. Clearly arachnophobia was something of a family trait.

Ginny broke through the spells keeping the door locked with very suspicious ease, and after igniting her wand with a quick Lumos charm, the two girls found themselves staring at a small, circular room which looked very much like an ordinary office. Two other doors marked 'Secure Wing' and 'Holding' were tucked away beside an enormous fireplace, but Ginny's eye alighted upon an intricate wooden box on top of the main desk in the centre.

"Who's in charge of this place?" asked Hermione, wrinkling her nose. For an important official administration unit it was uncommonly untidy. Books and parchment and scattered folders were spread over most surfaces, and the aroma of old coffee indicated that somewhere amongst the mess were several cold, stagnant cups.

"No idea," Ginny replied, studying the box carefully.

"Whoever it is doesn't have much of an idea about filing," muttered Hermione, as she examined some of the book titles on the desk. The movement disturbed a group of memos lying beside them, and they flew up into the air and began hovering over their heads.

"Damn, watch out!" called Ginny, as another fountain of orange light burst into life above the desk.

She flicked her wand and the glowing beams vanished.

"Sorry," breathed Hermione.

"Not your fault, don't be silly. The whole Ministry is crawling with these things, and Harry's map might not be strictly up-to-date."

"Oh, heavens, now you tell me?"

Ginny laughed. "He'll have me to answer to if it isn't, if there's anything left of me once Dad's wrung my neck for breaking and entering!"

She had manoeuvred the little box open by now, and was looking thoughtfully at the contents - a fragile-looking white ball which was spinning very slowly, emitting a gentle bluish light.

"We use those in the Courts," Hermione said, in fascination.

It was something to be said for wizard methods of organisation, Hermione thought, that only a four-inch diameter ball was needed rather than several rooms full of filing cabinets. She watched as Ginny placed her wand tip against the glassy surface, magically asking it to present her with the file they needed.

It shot out into the air, and Hermione caught it before the papers had spilled onto the floor. It was titled: Ban Tarka, Ingrisfeld, 1981 - Mr. Damocles Jonchurch.

She turned the cover. After a page about Mr. Jonchurch and the process of transferring the objects from the mysterious fortress to the Unit there came a long list of all the confiscated items, categorised and numbered and with a small paragraph explaining the properties of each.

"'Granite obelisk, Egyptian hieroglyphs; Dark Charms,'" Hermione read. "What on earth does that mean?"

"It means it's carved all over with ancient spells that could raze whole cities to the ground or create walking corpses - that sort of thing," said Ginny, wryly. "Powerful Dark Magic."

Hermione skimmed down the list, looking for the word 'Ravenclaw' of 'Gryffindor', reading anything out that appeared interesting or remarkable.

"'Brass Hindu figurine, stolen in 1976 from the Universit*t Museum, Berlin; rumoured to have powerful magical properties' - goodness, he seems to have used the place as quite a treasure-trove."

"I suppose that's what made Harry think one of the Horcruxes might have been in there," observed Ginny, peering over her shoulder.

They scoured the files from end to end, to no avail. Hermione felt rather disappointed when they finally had to admit, after a hour of careful reading, that there was nothing on the list that was a cup, nor anything that was related to Rowena Ravenclaw or Godric Gryffindor.

"Well, that's that then," she said, sadly, once Ginny had sent the folder back the way it had come. "Harry's going to be crushed."

Ginny had been frowning slightly for a few minutes now, and she shook her head at this. "Not necessarily. Despite the fact that he told us hardly anything about what he and Ron are up to out there, I have to admit I think he's got a point about that place. After what we've just read it's absolutely dead-certain that Voldemort used it as a very important cache. He wouldn't hide things like stolen sacred relics and super-powerful Dark objects in just any old hideout."

"That's as maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that everything was taken away from the place twenty years ago, and we've seen the list: no relics of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw were there."

"Not when the place was raided, no," Ginny went on, with bright eyes. "That doesn't mean one hadn't been there in the past, and removed."

Hermione felt a familiar thrill go through her. It seemed improbable, impossible, but - as Harry had always firmly believed - any lead was better than no lead at all.

"If only we could sit down, all four of us, and discuss this," she sighed.

"There might be a way," Ginny mused. Seeing Hermione watching her curiously she gave herself a shake and smiled. "In the meantime, I think I'm going to make some enquiries about Ravenclaw at work. I can't help thinking she's the one we need to concentrate on."

***

The moon had come up by the time Harry met Nick at the Anvil, and there was just enough light to see by. Somehow the geography of the park seemed different by night - more solid and uneven, and the perfect place to launch a surprise ambush.

"Be careful," Nick warned him, as they strapped on their holsters under cover of the rock formation that gave the place its name. "I'm not expecting anyone to be about, but you never know."

Harry nodded. "Where are we going?"

"Thought I'd take you on a bit of a tour, just so you know what you're up against for the future. We're going to head north-east to the perimeter, and see if we can get a look at some of the outposts on the other side."

Harry wondered how they were going to get a look at anything in the darkness, even with the help of the moonlight, but even as he followed Nick through the trees he found his eyes becoming acclimatised to the dimness, just as they always did.

It was a long walk, and the terrain was hard-going for most of the way. Nick trudged along in purposeful silence, stopping occasionally to point out some natural feature of interest, or to show Harry where the trails were that the dragon keepers used.

"Kasim said there were underground tunnels," Harry said. "Do you know where they are?"

Nick shook his head. "Not exactly. We know they're here, but the locals are fiendishly good at their guerilla techniques. They could be transfigured, or disguised by glamour charms - God knows!"

"Is that how the Death Eaters got in last time?"

"If they did they covered their tracks, by using the ones as far away from the camp as up here, so they wouldn't be spotted coming out of them. Bastards."

It occurred to Harry that if he was in charge of operations, he would make locating those tunnel entrances his highest priority. Especially since they seemed to provide outsiders with an easy route through the protective barrier wards around the park perimeter.

"Nearly there," said Nick, after a few moments. He pointed to a scattering of little orange lights just ahead of them. "That's the nearest civilisation for ten miles."

"Is it a village?"

"Hardly. More like a deserted ex-barracks and a few tumbledown buildings. I told you the place was an old network of Voldemort's. No respectable Romanian would come within miles of there - it's a right hole of depravity!"

"Why don't the Aurors just repossess it and flush them out?"

Nick chuckled, and motioned for Harry to join him behind a rocky outcrop, where they could view the scene unnoticed. It was cramped and uncomfortable and freezing cold, but hidden between the trees and undergrowth there was no way anyone would see them from the valley below.

"We need them there for the time being. The eventual plan is to break the network and shove a huge spanner in Voldemort's nasty little works."

Harry couldn't see Nick's face, but he would have sworn he was wearing a wicked grin.

"But we can't do that until we've learned all we can from them," he finished.

"Even if that means leaving the park open to more attacks?" asked Harry, feeling his old indignance on this point swell up again.

"We're better prepared this time, Harry. We've got more men, more equipment, and an absolutely infallible network of our own in Bucharest. Charlie arranged for all extraneous dragon-keepers to be relocated to other parks, to reduce the potential casualties to as low a figure as possible."

"So why didn't Collins tell me all this before he packed me off here?" demanded Harry.

"He knew you wouldn't come," replied Nick, with a shrug.

Harry felt, rather than saw, Nick grin again, and conquered the urge to get cross. Typical Collins, in every way - raving on about detachment and self-control and all the time keeping information from him which would have changed his entire decision.

Or would it?

Harry thought of Seamus again, lying in St Mungos in Merlin knew what kind of a state. Nobody had told him what had happened to him, or even if he was still alive.

He bit his lip, tensely. No, he would have come anyway, no matter what. He owed that much to Seamus and all the others who were on that street when it was blown to pieces.

Nick had been staring down the hillside at the flickering lights, and suddenly he took Harry by the elbow.

"Come on, we need to get closer. I don't like the look of this."

"What is it?" Harry asked, as they scrambled silently down to the foot of the slope, using the bushes and rocks for cover. He missed his footing slightly and slid rather than scrambled the last few feet, probably taking off what felt like most of the skin of his left thigh too.

Nick pulled out his Seeker Glass, training it upon one of the central buildings. Much easier and handier to use than a Muggle telescope, the Glass could produce an image of whatever scene it was fixed upon up to ten miles away, as clear as if the user were standing only metres from the object. The scene could be recorded and played back as many times as needed, rather like the Omniculars Harry had bought at the World Cup so many years ago, but ten times more powerful and designed especially for Auror night fieldwork.

"What's going on?" insisted Harry.

"Ssh!" hissed Nick, fiddling with the Glass. "I don't know what they're doing but they sure as hell won't want to know we're watching. Take a look." He handed the Glass to Harry, who directed it at the same building.

It was a very poorly-constructed, ramshackle affair, with broken window panes and spirals of smoke coming from several very lopsided chimneys. But what was even more interesting was the behaviour of the figures that were gradually gathering at the door and going inside in groups - about a dozen in all, by the look of it. They were all dressed in tatty, muffled robes and they were all looking extremely furtive.

"What the hell are they up to?" whispered Harry.

"I dread to think. A meeting of some kind, by the look of it." Nick whistled very softly. "Fuck. This had better not mean trouble, or we're all in for a pretty nasty time."

He took the Glass back and looked through it once more.

"What sort of nasty time?" Harry asked, suspiciously. He had a fairly good idea.

"Er - it might be nothing," replied Nick, back-tracking. "This sort of thing isn't strictly unusual - just the locals getting together and exchanging dirty deals and that sort of thing. Nothing too dodgy, hopefully." He checked himself and grinned. "Well, it's always fairly dodgy because every man jack among this lot is a crook of some kind, even if they aren't directly involved with Voldemort's people. They're Mundungus Fletcher's kind of people. Know him?"

Harry gave a disparaging snort. "Yeah. I know him."

Nick put the Glass away. "Listen, I think we ought to head up to the outlook hut on the peak up there." He pointed behind them into the darkness, and Harry could just dimly make out the sillhouette of a craggy overhang with some sort of building on top of it. "We can get a better look, and I want to watch this lot for a little while, to see if anyone significant turns up."

They climbed in silence again, and Harry was grateful for some time alone with his thoughts. He'd processed quite a lot of information during the last hour or so, and much of it needed thinking about.

Obviously the outpost - it could scarcely be termed a village or a settlement - was a popular haunt for the Romanian underworld. An ex-network of Voldemort's, perhaps even a revived one, and one which almost certainly guided operations for the last attack on the dragon park. These people were up to their necks in league with the Death Eaters, and they used the secret tunnels into the park to launch their ambushes and probably to spy too.

"Ouch!"

Harry grabbed hold of a convenient tree branch as his foot slipped on the rock, and told himself to think and concentrate on where he was going at the same time.

More and more it seemed to him that the sinister events and deep-rooted connection to Voldemort in the area pointed to the mysterious base as being a highly important stronghold in the last war. The more Harry thought about it the more the feeling caught hold of him, and he was convinced that he might find some clue about Voldemort's Horcruxes there.

If only the girls can turn something up, he thought, desperately. He had never felt so close to an answer before, and it thrilled every nerve in a way that no night-time London sortie had ever done, and he had had some pretty thrilling experiences in his short life as an Auror. Once Moody had taken him to Soho, and introduced him to the real meaning behind 'self-defence'. It meant fight as you've never fought before. Attack. Kill. It's you or them, and you've got a job to do, Moody had told him. For a man in his sixties with a wooden leg he could move like a cat.

Another time he'd been in the seedy wizard quarter down by the river, reckying a disused warehouse. Only it hadn't been disused. Martin Stewart had lost his arm that night, and Tonks had been knocked unconscious and had nearly fallen off the fire-escape into the seething water below.

God, he had a horrible job sometimes. But it was worth it to know that you've saved heaven knows how many people from getting mixed up with the guy lying dead or unconscious at your feet.

"You still with me, Potter?" called Nick, softly.

Harry realised that he'd climbed all the way to the top without noticing, and that Nick was now leading him across to the little cabin nestling between the trees and shrubbery. It seemed even darker up here.

"You were miles away," said Nick, after extending a hand and hauling Harry up the last few inches.

"Yeah," said Harry.

He hated the moments when all the memories would flood over him, calling up images that he would much rather forget. God knows there were more of them than there ought to have been, but on the other hand it wasn't anything any other Auror hadn't seen.

Maybe I am over-sensitive, he thought.

Nick had gone on towards the cabin, unzipping his kit and belt and all the other accoutrements they had to carry on night work. He was whistling.

Hardened, I suppose, thought Harry. Nick had been in the game many years longer than he had. Is that what I'll be like in ten years? Detached, disinterested, just as Collins wanted? 'You'll understand when you get out there' Tonks had said, with that knowing look in her eye.

Harry gave himself a shake. Nick was at the door of the cabin now, aiming his wand at the lock and giving the password. He took a firm step to join him.

But he didn't get any further than the one step, for suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his lower back and found himself sinking to the ground, unable to break his fall. The impact, when it hit him, was hard, and jolted all the air out of him as he went sprawling.

A sudden exclamation from Nick came from the vague direction of the cabin, but it was as though a foggy mist had descended over Harry's eyes, obscuring his vision.

Bugger, bugger, bugger, was what went through his head as he tried to get his feet underneath him, fumbling on the ground for his wand which had fallen beside him. He could hear the low grunts and yells of a scuffle nearby. Obviously Nick had got hold of the intruder, whoever it was.

"Harry, are you all right?" came Nick's urgent, worried voice.

Having got to his knees, Harry found his vision was clearing. Whatever the curse was that had struck him it was not a very common one, but neither did it seem particularly long-lasting.

"Think so!" he called back, standing up.

He turned to face the source of the noise. Their attacker was a tall, burly figure swathed entirely in a black cloak and cowel which hid his face, and he presently had Nick in a vicious stranglehold.

"Nick, move!" Harry yelled, pointing his wand.

With a swift, apparently effortless movement Nick removed himself from the man's grip and retrieved his wand from the floor, receiving a hefty clout across the side of his head as he did so.

Harry aimed. He'd always been good at target training. The man flew backwards several feet as the curse struck him, and then lay motionless.

Nick hauled himself up from the ground and shook his head.

"Fuck," he breathed, looking from Harry to the prostrate figure. "Nice one, Harry!"

Harry nodded. It was about all he could manage.

Nick was beside him at once. "What got you?"

"No idea," said Harry, shaking his head, which felt as though it was filled with water. "A new one to me. Who the hell was that?"

Nick turned the man over and began going through some of the pockets. There was nothing in them that lent any detail as to who he was, or why he alone had come out of the woods to attack two people for no apparent reason.

"Tut, tut," said Nick, gravely. "Getting cocky, aren't they?"

"Perhaps he followed us from the bottom of the hill," suggested Harry. "Perhaps they saw us watching."

"Hmm. It's still unlike them, though. Anyway."

He opened the cabin door and ordered Harry to sit on the bare table while he hunted out some Firewhisky.

"Always keep a few bottles up here for medicinal purposes," he said, with a grin. "Standard kit." He handed Harry a bottle, and then went to the door. "Stay here, I'm going to go and make sure there aren't any others lurking about. Won't be a minute."

And he went out.

Harry took a long swig of the Firewhisky. He suddenly felt utterly exhausted, and his back was stinging and aching like mad.

Serves me right for not concentrating, he rebuked himself. How many times did Collins drum it into him that he should never let his guard down when he's out on a sortie?

The whisky helped, and slowly Harry felt his brain start working again. There didn't seem to be any serious damage from the curse, but he would get Kia to make sure when they got back to camp, just to be on the safe side.

He began a gentle walk around the cabin, taking the opportunity to examine the surroundings. It was a pretty bleak, empty room, with only a few chairs, a table, a rickety old sideboard and one or two chests pushed up against the wall. Cobwebs festooned the ceiling and most of the window panes were cracked or half-missing. Not very good for security. Hadn't Nick said these cabins were used as look-out centres?

His curiosity roused now that he was feeling better, Harry opened one or two drawers in the sideboard. There were a few odds and ends of spare pieces of equipment and some long-term supplies for the people who spent long hours up here on watch, but nothing very interesting. Or at least not until Harry unlocked one of the chests and found a whole selection of bottles containing various potions, from simple healing draughts to serious restricted Auror substances like Invisibility Elixir and Veritaserum.

"There's no-one there," announced Nick, coming back inside. "Whatever that chap was doing he was doing it alone. I'm going to need to tell Bucharest about this. Come on, let's head back."

***

The Museum in Socrates Square was one of those grand, noble-looking Georgian edifices that never failed to thrill the soul of any truly cultured and aesthetically-minded visitor. Girls gazed up at it and pictured sweeping staircases, masquerade balls, extravagant dinner parties, and whirling waltzes under a Michelangelonic ceiling. Men found themselves daydreaming about the figures of history who might have walked its hallowed halls in the days when it had been the palace of a wealthy wizard merchant; kings, leaders of men, heroes of legend. Its majestic façade, complete with towering Grecian columns and sculpted capitals, long windows and elegant steps, made it look quite peculiarly out of place in a busy London commercial square, with pigeons strolling across the balustrade and small children chasing dogs beneath its marbled arches.

Ginny felt her posture instinctively improve as she made her way up to the main door. As a student on the past she was more susceptible than most to evocative fantasies, but the years had taught her to mix scholarly curiosity with romantic notions.

So it was with some fervid eagerness that she made her way through the vast atrium up to the Athenaeum - a kind of library and research room for the curators and Bureau staff and any other archaeological officials that needed to examine the word-famous collections. Ginny had spent many a long hour poring over ancient manuscripts and gazing at artefacts under a magnifying lense, for it had been the major part of her training to bring her up to the level of a archaeologist in all fields of wizard history. It had been the excuse she had given her mother when she'd first decided to join the Bureau.

"It's only a glorified conservationist, Mum," she'd insisted, as her parents exchanged dubious glances.

"The Bureau has many departments, Ginny," her father told her, soberly. "Some of them a great deal more dangerous than others."

"I want to be a Cryptologist, Dad."

Her father had sighed and shaken his head and sighed again. He'd always known that he could never stop her doing anything she had set her heart on.

"Cryptology isn't just about translating ancient inscriptions and excavating tombs," he said. "For Muggles it is that simple, but in digging up the magical past we often discover things that were better left buried in the ground."

Ginny had had a long time to reflect upon those words in recent months. She hadn't been quite as naïve as her parents seemed to believe, and it was more or less the thrill of working undercover and fighting the illicit dealing which had attracted her to the job in the first place. Bless her dear family. To them she would always be eleven years old. Five times she had waited in the shadows while Patrick faced off with some of the leaders of the most sinister crime syndicates in the wizarding world; twice she had been inches from curse blasts, and once she had run a man through with Avada Kedavra.

Perhaps she could scarcely blame Harry for keeping secrets from her when her own double life was almost as perilous.

The Athenaeum doors were propped open when she reached the first floor landing, and the sound of low-pitched female voices was echoing between the towering walls and lofty roof.

The first thing Ginny spotted as she strolled inside was the clerk's desk under one of the tall windows at the far end. Sitting behind it was a little man with glasses and scruffy hair, scribbling madly away on an enormous page of parchment. He looked up and started when he saw her, and turned bright red.

"Morning, Hector!" called Ginny, giving him a cheerful wave.

He blushed even more, and dropped his ink bottle on the floor. Ginny smiled as he hastily bent down to retrieve it, muttering to himself.

Two other people were in the room, examining various books and papers spread out over one of the tables. The elder woman looked up when she saw who it was, and her face broke into a friendly smile.

"Hello, Ginny," she said, brightly. "Haven't seen you here for a while."

"Hi, Helen," Ginny replied. "I've been doing boring paperwork for Egypt."

"Oh, I hate that," agreed Helen, stretching her arms above her head. "I'm so glad I've been on home territory for the last few years - I love the travel and everything, but coming home afterwards is always such an anti-climax!"

The blonde, younger girl sitting beside her, who had been gazing at Ginny with vague hostility, tossed her hair over her shoulder and sniffed.

"How was Egypt, Ginny, darling?" she enquired, silkily.

"Wonderful, thank you, Marcelina," replied Ginny, narrowing her eyes. Marcelina Cobb was only a few years older than herself, but she always acted as though she led the entire Bureau. She politely loathed Ginny, and Ginny politely loathed her in return.

"You're looking quite delightful," Marcelina cooed, superciliously. "I love what you've done to your hair."

Ginny smiled unabashedly. She knew perfectly well that every time Marcelina used the word 'love' in relation to her appearance, it took the form of a thinly veiled insult.

"Why, thank you - that's so kind of you," she cooed back, noticing Helen stifle a smile out of the corner of her eye. Helen didn't have much time for Marcelina either, and nor did many other people on the Bureau staff. Patrick in particular, which was probably at the root of Marcelina's animus towards Ginny - Patrick was quite a catch, and he had confessed to having been forced to endure several years of 'pestering by that infernal woman' in his pre-Ginny days.

"What brings you over here, Gin?" asked Helen, obviously thinking it wise to head Marcelina off before she became too catty.

"Wanted a word with Henry, actually."

Henry was the chief curator at the Museum, and a mine of information. If anyone would know about the relics of the Hogwarts Founders, he would.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, darling, but he's not here," said Marcelina, with a malicious half-smile. "He's gone to Bermuda."

Ginny smiled back. "Why don't you?"

Helen stuffed her fist in her mouth, and Marcelina looked thoroughly affronted.

"Well, fine, if that's how you feel - " she snapped, turning on her heels and stalking out.

"Thank God for that!" murmured Helen. "She was beginning to drive me mad!"

"She's a piece of work," said Ginny, in a growl. "Can't Christina pack her off to Antarctica or somewhere?"

Helen laughed. "What a brilliant suggestion! Do ask Patrick to mention it."

"If Patrick suggested it she'd probably go, the randy little bitch."

"What did you want to see Henry about?"

Ginny explained, as best she could without giving too much away. Helen listened with growing curiosity, and was about to say something when someone else came into the room.

"How conspiratorial!" observed the man, when both girls closed their mouths firmly and glanced over at him, shiftily. "If I didn't know better I'd say you two were up to something."

"Gabriel, do you know anything about the Hogwarts Founders?" asked Ginny, turning round to face him.

"That depends," he said, with a cheeky grin. "What exactly did you want to know?"

"Anything, really. You see, I'm trying to finish this project about the four Founders, and there's so many books and resources on Hufflepuff and Slytherin, but I'm so behind on the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. I only know the bare bones about their histories, and I wondered if you could help fill in the gaps for me."

It was a barefaced lie, of course, but she had to feign some ignorance to get Gabriel talking. He was very senior in the Bureau, and the kind of conscientious archaeologist who would quickly get suspicious if she asked outright about famous, powerful belongings.

Gabriel perched on the edge of the table in front of the girls and swung his feet over until he was sitting directly opposite them. He twiddled his thumbs and looked excited.

"Well, tell me what you know and I'll interject with my pearls of wisdom."

Ginny took a deep breath, and rattled off some details about Gryffindor's life and times. It came almost word-for-word out of something Hermione had written up after hours of study in the library and put in their notebook on the Horcruxes, and even Gabriel seemed doubtful that he could add anything to it.

"All that I can think of that you've missed," he said, after she'd finished, "is the fact that Gryffindor's castle in Fife was besieged and razed to the ground in 1190, and nothing survived the fire or the falling stones. Most of his possessions were at Hogwarts anyway, because by the late twelfth century he had practically moved into the school. If you want anything particular of his you'll find it there, I expect."

Ginny appreciated this. All four of them had scoured the school from top to bottom during their last years there, and found nothing that matched what they were looking for.

"What about Ravenclaw?" asked Helen, whose professional curiosity had been rapidly rising.

"She went to Lebanon!" came a voice from across the room.

All three heads turned to Hector's desk. He had been scribbling on his parchment, but apparently with one ear and an eye on their conversation.

Ginny's eyes widened. "I'm sorry?"

Hector turned red again and bent back to his work.

"He's right, actually," affirmed Gabriel. "She led a much more eclectic life than her peers. She came from a family that was quite split and scattered and argumentative, and until she came to London at the age of seventeen she never had a real home. Then she became an apprentice to a notable alchemist in the city, and lived in lodgings right up to the time when she met Slytherin at a professional gathering. But then, you know the myth."

Ginny nodded. Hermione's research had come across a quite scandalous piece of information in a fifteenth century document which talked about a brief and passionate love affair between the couple. For two years Ravenclaw had lived as Slytherin's mistress, in his castle in the north of England, and with his assistance she rose rapidly in the profession of Potioneer. When their affair ended she had enough money and influence of her own to live alone in her own mansion in Wales, and fifteen years later she helped to hatch the plan to found Hogwarts.

"But she travelled extensively in the meantime," Gabriel added.

"How do you know that?" Ginny cut in, urgently. "I've read a lot about the Founders, obviously, and I've never come across anything that said she travelled."

It could mean the difference to their search for her relics.

Gabriel looked a little awkward. "Yes, perhaps I oughtn't to have mentioned that. You see, there's a man in Paris who has made studying the Founders his life's work. He got hold of some book or other that Hufflepuff was supposed to have owned, and it fired him up to go on the hunt and relive the events of their lives. The result of this being, of course, that he's spent the last couple of years following in Ravenclaw's footsteps, trying to track down all the details about her which you want to find out that nobody has discovered before. He's just written a book on his findings, and it's being published later in the year."

Ginny gripped the arms of her chair. "What did he find out?"

"That she spent several years in Lille studying, and then after the supposed affair with Slytherin she moved on through Turkey and Syria and Lebanon. He's found quite a lot of stuff out, actually, and he's filthy rich and has promised to give us all the details so we can add to our collection. Why don't you come upstairs and see it?"

Ginny said yes almost before Gabriel had finished speaking, and he took her up through the cavernous display rooms to one on the topmost floor. The ceiling was lower in this hall, and the floor was of polished beechwood instead of giant flagstones. Quite a good deal of dust covered everything, as it was obvious that this collection was not open to the general public.

"We open it every now and again, but we don't have anything to compare with the collection at Hogwarts." Gabriel gestured to the glass cases and cabinets that lined the walls, and Ginny was forced to see his point. Only one side of the room held artefacts relevant to the Founders, and it seemed a poor display when one considered the huge rooms full of treasures at the school.

"I had no idea this was even here!" breathed Ginny, in amazement. She placed two gentle hands against the glass of one cabinet, and gazed at the items inside. A set of jewels belonging to Hufflepuff; a quill and inkstand with Ravenclaw's name engraved on it in elaborate script; various bottles and potion-making equipment; a huge brass plate and set of goblets, and lots of other pieces in varying degrees of preservation and interest. Each one was carefully named and labelled.

"Not many people do," said Gabriel. "It's not exactly a popular collection, and the curators gave up researching the Founders years ago because it proved to be such a ghastly job."

"So this man in France is the first person to investigate their history for - "

"At least thirty years, I'd say. Oh, bugger!"

Gabriel stopped his placid strolling up and down the cabinets and snapped his fingers. Ginny looked at him in surprise.

"What's the matter?"

"I've got a meeting to go to!" he exclaimed. "And it's all the way over at the Bureau! Damn, I can't leave you here."

"It's all right," said Ginny, seeing his anxiety. "I've seen enough for one day."

They wandered back across the hall.

"What's this room called?" asked Ginny, as they stopped in the doorway and Gabriel put a hand on the iron-wrought handle. A strange sensation came over her as she took one final lingering look at the dim, dusty room - not fear or fervour, but something far more subtle and mysterious, very like that feeling you get that someone has just walked over the spot which is one day to be your grave. "I want to know so I can get back here one day if I need to."

Gabriel nodded. "It's hard to find unless you know where you're going. You'll find it, though. This is the Valhalla Hall."

***

"Bloody hell," gaped Ron, gazing wide-eyed at Harry. "Who was he?"

They were standing next to the Meeting Tent, eating breakfast on the go as usual, and Harry had just filled Ron in on the night's events.

"Ssh," Harry entreated, glancing around at the others gathered around the fire and the canteen tent. People were everywhere at this time of the morning, moving from tent to tent and getting things organised for the day's work. Perhaps it hadn't been the best moment to choose.

"Sorry," muttered Ron, sheepishly. "But what was he after?"

"I didn't exactly stop and ask him," retorted Harry, through closed teeth as Kia emerged from one of the tents and gave them both a cheerful wave.

"But one man attacking two in the middle on the night, within park boundaries. Weird, don't you think?"

"Very," said Harry. "Look out, Charlie's coming."

Charlie quickly sent Ron off on his business, and told Harry he'd be over at the enclosures if he was wanted.

The morning passed, and by the time eleven o'clock came round, Harry was sprawled out on his bed reading the overseas Prophet. Hedwig, most annoyed at being supplanted by a carrier owl, had retreated to her cage in chagrin, and was clicking her beak at frequent intervals hoping to incite an apology.

But Harry was rapt in Colin Creevey's latest article about the imminent goblin rebellion, and he paid no attention. As absorbed as he was, he didn't notice the fire in the grate begin to splutter softly, and when a feminine voice said "Hello, Harry," he gave a yelp of surprise and fell off his bed onto the floor. Hedwig shrieked and started flapping her wings.

"It's all right," said Hermione, with a smile, "it's only me."

"Oh, for God's sake, don't creep up on me like that!" exclaimed Harry, as his heart rate began to slow. He clapped a hand to his still-sore back. "God, I think I've done myself a mischief."

"Sorry, but I thought you'd want to know as soon as possible about what Ginny and I found out at the Ministry."

Harry cast a furtive glance at the tent entrance, but on hearing no noise outside he knelt down next to the hearth. "What did you find?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"No, nothing. Nothing resembling a You Know What was in that base when it was raided. Not a cup, not a relic, nothing. It wasn't there, Harry."

Hermione gazed up at him anxiously.

"It's all right," said Harry, reassuringly, trying not to let her see how disappointed he was. He had felt so sure, so definitely sure. Maybe his instincts weren't so reliable after all.

"We'll find them, Harry, I know we will," Hermione said, in determination. "Don't let's give up now."

"I'm not going to give up now," replied Harry, but he was touched by her attempt to encourage him. "What did the records say about what was in the base?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but Ron's arrival caused a temporary distraction. On seeing Hermione in the grate he nearly jumped out of his skin - and a very dirty skin it was too, and most of it was on display. Harry wished he hadn't seen Hermione's eyes visibly widen at the sight, nor Ron's glaring blush and haste to assume his mud-caked shirt.

"Hermione just dropped in to tell us about the Ministry files," he explained.

"No luck on the Horcrux line, I'm afraid," added Hermione. "But Ban Tarka was definitely used as a cache for a great many powerful Dark objects, most of them stolen by the looks of things. Ginny and I were both as convinced as you were that it was the place for a Horcrux to be hidden, but - " She tailed off.

Harry nodded. "Even if there wasn't a Horcrux there I still think we should take a look at the place."

"What?" said Ron, aghast. "With everything that's been going on here lately?"

Too late he realised his mistake, for Hermione's ears pricked up and she began a barrage of questions which were only halted when Harry swore that he would explain everything at a safer time, when Charlie or Kia weren't likely to walk through the door and overhear.

Hermione's eyebrow tilted. "By the way, I forgot to pass on Ginny's message about you both being evil for not telling us what's going on."

Ron scowled. "Well, she shouldn't bugger of to Egypt if she wants to be confided in. This is a two-way street in case she hadn't noticed!"

"Don't take that tone with me, Ron," remonstrated Hermione. "You two have more than made up for that by being so secretive. You practically force us to find things out for ourselves behind your back."

"What have you found out?" demanded Harry, quickly.

Hermione turned pink. "Well, we - I mean - it was only a hypothesis, Harry!"

Harry was about to reply when Hermione was suddenly obliterated by another head - a pretty face with fiery hair that got lost in the same-coloured flames.

"You're being incredibly high-handed about this, you two," said Ginny, pleasantly. "This seems as good a time as any for you to start telling us the truth."

"It's midday, Gin," replied Harry, impatiently, "anyone could walk in here. We can't risk being overheard."

"Hm, yes, it's an admirable excuse, by all means, but we're not buying it any more. Once and for all, Harry, what is the mystery out there? If my brother is involved I want to know."

"You didn't tell me about Egypt!" blustered Ron, indignantly.

Ginny cast him a look of deepest disdain. "I meant Charlie."

Harry massaged his temples. He could distinctly feel a headache coming on. "I can't tell you now. I will, I promise, but not here. You've got to go, Gin, before someone sees you."

"I am not leaving this fire until you start giving me some answers!"

Ron picked up a nearby bucket of water and positioned it over her head.

"Oh, all right, all right!" she exclaimed, hastily. "OK, fine, but this isn't over, boys!"

And she disappeared, leaving only smoking embers behind,

The boys exchanged glances, and Harry rocked back on his heels. "Well," he said. "We were wrong. The Horcrux wasn't there."

A look of sudden enlightenment passed over Ron's face, and his frown vanished. "Unless You Know Who removed it before the raid."

Harry considered. It made sense. It might have happened. Or were they just clutching at straws because there was nothing else to go on?

"Oh, this is getting us nowhere," he groaned, rubbing his eyes. "It wasn't there, and it isn't now, wherever it is. We've got to start again."

Ron handed him a hipflask and thumped him sympathetically on the shoulder. "Not entirely," he said. "Didn't you just say we ought to take a look at the base anyway?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "And didn't you just say that it was a stupid idea?"

Ron shrugged and took a swig from the hipflask himself. "I've come round to it."

Harry found himself grinning. If all it took was an altercation with Hermione to stir Ron into taking part in wildly unsubstantial schemes, he would have to remember that.

***

It was nearly half past midnight when Hermione's bedroom door opened the tiniest crack, and a red head poked around the gap.

"Are you sleepy?" it asked.

Hermione let the book she'd been reading fall onto her knees, and shook her head. "No. Are you?"

"No."

"Come in."

Ginny closed the door behind her and padded across the room, making herself comfortable on the foot of the bed. Crookshanks allowed himself to be displaced and planted in Ginny's lap with only the barest squawk of annoyance.

"I heard something about Seamus today," said Hermione, gazing abstractedly down at the pattern of her bedspread.

"How is he?"

"Not good. The Healers think he's stable, but he might yet lose the use of one leg."

"Oh, God," moaned Ginny. "I hate this. Why does all of this have to happen?"

"I wish I knew."

"And I'm worried about the boys and this Ingrisfeld business. They're not telling us everything."

Hermione smiled. "When did they ever?"

"This is big stuff, though, and if the Horcruxes are involved we need to be in the picture."

"You know what Harry's like," pointed out Hermione. "He thinks he can tackle everything on his own, and if he tells Ron anything it's only because it's been dragged out of him. Did you expect anything else?"

"But why does Ron put up with it," demanded Ginny, petulantly.

Hermione thought for a moment and then gave a shrug. "Men are comprehensible only to other men," she said, wisely. "They seem to understand each other. Ron's the right-hand man."

Ginny managed a small grin. "And what are we?"

"Wouldn't I like to know," sighed Hermione, rather wistfully.

A familiar gleam came suddenly into Ginny's eyes. "I think it's about time we put our plan into action, don't you?"

"You mean - ?"

"I mean go out there ourselves, just like Ron did. They can't refuse to explain if we just turn up on the doorstep, can they? And Charlie is my brother just as much as he is Ron's."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she sat up straighter in bed. "Can we pull it off?"

"Of course we can!" declared Ginny.

"But what about work?"

"Take some overdue sick leave."

Hermione was genuinely shocked, but clearly Ginny could see the barest flicker of temptation in the depths of her eyes, because she pointed out, mischievously: "It's in a good cause!"

Hermione softened slightly. "I suppose so."

Ginny beamed proudly at her, and shook her fiery mane over her shoulder. "So we'll leave after work tomorrow, and hang the consequences."

***

However, what the girls had failed to take into consideration when they made their brilliant plan was the fact that Fleur was arriving from Paris the next day, with her sister Gabrielle and brother Antoine in tow.

The result of this was that when Ginny and Hermione attempted to slip out with their bags at 9a.m. they discovered quite a reception committee already awaiting the guests in the kitchen. As well as Angelina - a die-hard early-riser - and Verity, who had come over to have breakfast before work, Mrs Weasley had arrived from the Burrow with Ginny's Aunt Brunhilda.

Aunt Brunhilda was what could only be described as the black sheep of the Weasley family. At the age of eighteen she had eloped to Vienna with a plumber from Norwich, and together they had bought an old-fashioned gypsy caravan in which they travelled around the lakes and mountains of Europe while bringing up two orphaned babies and several pensioner Lerchers.

"Oh, no!" Ginny sighed, as she caught sight of the little group over the bannister.

"What is it?" whispered Hermione.

"My Aunt Brunhilda. Hell, if she catches us we'll never get out of here. Quick, come on, back up to Harry's room."

She dragged Hermione back upstairs, with the other girl protesting wildly as they went.

"Why Harry's room?"

"Harry's emergency escape route, that's why," replied Ginny, nodding to the balcony and the little ledge that paralleled it.

The two of them managed to scuffle down in one piece, but as they passed the shop door it opened and a red head appeared.

"Oi," it said. "Where do you think you're off to, missy?"

It was Fred. Trying to appear dominant and forbidding, he crossed his arms over his chest and fixed Ginny with what he believed was a deathly stare. Of course it had no affect whatsoever on his duplicitous sister.

"We're taking another little trip somewhere. Did you know Mum was here?"

Fred's whole body seemed to jerk. "What?"

"Yes, she is. I think she'd be very distressed to learn about your depraved, drunken activity the other night in the Square, don't you?"

Fred scowled daggers at her. The thinly veiled threat was unmistakable. After a few moments of frantic inner conflict, he made a sound that might have been a moan or a grunt, it was hard to tell: "All right, you villainous, treacherous little fiend!" he burst out, turning red. "Go about your despicable business - I won't stop you."

With a sweet, carefree smile, Ginny pranced gleefully out of the shop with Hermione behind her.

***

A few moments later they had Apparated to the International Floo Port, and were making their way through the winding queues and signposted pathways towards the fireplace they needed to catch.

Hermione had only been out of the country by Floo once before, when she and Ginny had been to Corfu a few months earlier, so negotiating the crowded Floo Port was a relatively new experience for her. Rows and rows of fireplaces ran along the walls of the long, hall-like building, in varying sizes and designs. Each one had a group of watch wizards patrolling up and down the queue, checking passports and tickets and making sure every departure was legitimate. Security had been tightened in recent years because of the international situation, and getting out of Britain to some of the more front-line countries was well-nigh impossible for anyone without a Ministry clearance. Romania was one of these countries, but Ginny had everything well in hand. She had in readiness whipped out her Bureau identity papers, both of their passports, and an impressive-looking document with official signatures all over it which would hopefully impress the commissionnaire if there was any trouble.

"Fred will murder you for that," Hermione said in some apprehension, as they joined the back of the long line of people in front of a handsome white marble fireplace with a glowing sign above it reading 'BUCHAREST CENTRAL'. "You don't think he'll tell anyone we've gone, do you?"

"Hermione, my friend, my brothers and I understand each other perfectly," said Ginny, airily. "If he tells, I inform Mum about his drunken exploits. Besides, Fred and George taught me everything I know about wheedling, bribing, blackmailing and threatening. Now the student has become the mast ... oh, damn and blast it all to hell!"

Hermione stared at her in surprise until she realised Ginny was not talking about the twins any more. Following her gaze across the hall she spotted what had caught Ginny's eye - Neville Longbottom, as large as life, walking excitedly towards them from the other side of the hall.

"Oh, no," sighed Hermione.

"Busted!" groaned Ginny under her breath.

"Hello, hello!" called Neville, cheerily, coming to a halt beside them. "Didn't expect to see you here!"

"Hullo, Neville," said Hermione, with a slightly stiff smile. It was all they needed to have Neville going home and blurting it out to one of the Weasleys where she and Ginny had Flooed off to, or worse, begging to go with them. "What are you doing here?"

"Just seen my grandmother off to France," was the reply. "She's gone to visit my Uncle Tobias in Marseilles. Where are you off ... hey, Bucharest, isn't that where Har - ?"

He broke off abruptly as Ginny kicked him in the shins. "Hush, Neville, not here, for God's sake!"

A look of hurt passed briefly over Neville's face, but it was quickly gone. "Why are you all being so secretive lately?" he demanded. "I was out at Hildebrand's with Harry and Ron the other night and don't think I didn't notice them looking at each other all expressive-like when they thought I wasn't looking! Come on, tell me, what are you all up to now?"

The girls exchanged glances. Getting into detail in a public queue at a Floo Port was not exactly what either of them wanted, but they knew Neville's habit of getting louder and more hysterical as he became flustered of old.

"It's nothing, Neville, don't worry about it," Hermione said reassuringly. "It's Auror stuff, and you know the boys can't talk about that."

Neville didn't look even remotely convinced by this, which Hermione had to admit was both a provocative and inadequate excuse. He frowned and spoke petulantly.

"So why are you two involved? This is all damned shady, if you ask me - Harry and Ron being all weird and cryptic about something in Romania, now you two about to head off there and neither of you Aurors."

"Neville, it's honestly nothing," said Ginny, urgently.

"Don't you trust me, is that what this is?" Neville blustered, going red. "Is this like school, when the three of you would go off at night and break rules and save the world, leaving me gaping like a goldfish like some idiot? Don't you remember the D.A.? The Department of Mysteries? That battle when the Death Eaters broke into the school the night Dumbledore died?"

Ginny clapped a hand over his mouth and barked a harsh command at him. "Neville, shut up. This isn't some silly school thing, this is important - and if you start yelling about Death Eaters in front of five hundred strangers we could all end up getting cursed in the back, so keep your mouth shut - please!"

Neville seemed stunned into silence by her tone for a moment or two, and Hermione noticed that already people were staring at them. They were nearing the fireplace with every second. If only they could shake Neville off!

"I can't believe you," he said, quietly, looking down at his feet. Hermione felt a pang somewhere near her stomach - she almost preferred the shouting. "I thought we were friends. I thought the D.A. was supposed to be our little gang against the war."

"We are friends, Neville," said Hermione, feeling dreadful. "We do trust you, and we do remember all the times you've helped us out of some nasty situations, but this is something else entirely."

"Something I'm not fit for, is that what you mean?"

Hermione felt Ginny tugging on her sleeve. There were only two people between them and the fireplace now. Any moment they would have to go, with Neville's approval or otherwise.

"We don't think that, Neville, honestly we don't," said Ginny, handing the commissionaire their travel papers.

"Then tell me what you're all up to! Maybe I can help!"

"This is dangerous - you don't want to get involved in this," insisted Ginny.

Only one person left to go.

"I don't care about danger!" exclaimed Neville, eagerness replacing anger. "I'm fed up with my boring job and everyone telling me I'm a disappointment and I should do something with my life. Isn't this what you're doing? Why can't I?"

"Righty-ho, that's all in order, miss," announced the commissionaire, handing Ginny the papers he had been peering at. "Hop in, the pair of you."

Ginny stepped over the grate and held out her hand for Hermione.

"We have to go, Neville," she said. "We promise to explain everything soon."

"I've heard that before," snorted Neville. He caught hold of Hermione's elbow just as she made to step into the hearth. "Let me prove I'm not as incompetent as you seem to think."

"S'cuse me, sir, you don't have permission to go through there," said the commissionnaire, coming forward.

"We must go, Neville!" insisted Hermione, trying to pull away. "I'm so sorry - "

Her words were drowned by the sudden whirring noise of flames as they automatically darted up from the glowing embers and enveloped the girls in green smoke. Neville uttered a loud exclamation as his whole body was jerked into the fire from the point where his hand was still gripping Hermione's arm. The whole thing happened in just a few seconds, and then there was an empty gap in the hearth and only a few wisps of smoke remaining.

The commissionnaire stood in shock in front of his fireplace, wondering how on earth he was going to explain this to the manager.