By the Pricking of my Thumbs

"By the Pricking of my Thumbs"

By Penpusher

Chapter Four: Critical Mass

Harry was somewhat less than cheerful as he and Ron made their way towards Diagon Alley. In fact, if truth be told, he was downright miserable.

It's not my fault! he found himself mentally repeating over and over again, but he still couldn't seem to shake off insidious tentacles of guilt. The sunny streets seemed drab and uninteresting, and the bright awnings and paintwork of Florean Fortescue's Ice-cream Parlour only served to sink him even further into the mire of gloom.

Ron was feeling decidedly awkward. It wasn't as if he had done anything really bad, he told himself, it was just unfortunate that he had arrived at Harry's House so early. Besides, he reasoned, it was ultimately Harry's fault for not discussing the situation with Ginny in the first place, wasn't it? A glance at his friend's deadpan face told him they were most likely in agreement on that issue at least.

"Harry, we're here."

Ron snapped his fingers at eye level and Harry blinked.

"We're at Bogsworthy & Trunks," Ron reminded him patiently, "for our equipment, remember?"

Harry's eyes came back into focus and he nodded curtly, examining the building before him.

It was a small, dingy-looking shop with old-fashioned windows, tinted green against the sunlight, with a creaking sign bearing the legend:

Bogsworthy & Trunks

Purveyors to the Wizarding World

of Outdoor Clothing and Equipment

Proprietor: Claudius P. Makepeace

"Hmm," muttered Harry, shading his eyes from the sun to peer at the contents. Impatiently, he abandoned his efforts, swinging quickly up the step and in through the glass door. Ron followed hard on his heels, limping slightly: Hermione had a powerful half-volley when she liked and the bruises were just purpling nicely.

A soft tinkling of bells announced their arrival. They stood gazing around the shop, breathing in the comforting smells of leather and new canvas, and the bitter aroma of potion herbs.

"Gentlemen, may I assist you?"

A softly spoken wizard, smartly dressed, wearing a pince-nez had appeared, as if by Apparation, at the counter. Ron quickly strode ahead, producing a list of basic items for the trip, leaving Harry to browse. Idly, he wandered over to another counter and picked up what looked like a small mirror.

"An SOS Glass, Sir; a very useful item. It can emit a danger signal without the need for sun or even daylight. It also doubles as a miniature Foe Glass, giving advance warning of potential enemies."

Harry looked up and blinked at the gently smiling face before him. He glanced behind him towards Ron, still talking with the Proprietor and then dragged his eyes back to the figure in front of him. No, I'm really not seeing double, he thought.

Harry's expression must have given him away, because the man's smile widened sympathetically.

"I am Mr. Makepeace's assistant, Sir," the newcomer explained, calmly. "Mr. Makepeace prefers that his customers be given his personal attention at all times." The man leaned towards Harry and continued in a confidential whisper. "Between you and me, Sir, he has never really taken to employees in his establishment. Is there anything further here that interests you, Sir?"

Harry smiled, intrigued.

"You say you're his assistant?" he asked.

"That is correct, Sir."

"Does he have any others, or are you the only one?"

"There are as many of us as are necessary, Sir."

Harry frowned and scratched his ear thoughtfully

"Hang on a minute," he continued. "What would happen if, say, six different customers should walk in at the same time?"

The gentle smile did not waver.

"Sir, the scenario you suggest is very unlikely," the other wizard continued, "but should it occur, Mr. Makepeace would summon myself and another four of his assistants to care for his customers."

Harry shot another rapid glance at the two identical smiling figures, one before him, the other talking to Ron, and shook his head in perplexity. Reluctantly, he returned to the here and now.

"My colleague is making the basic purchases," he explained. "I am merely browsing. I've had some experience in outdoor living, but all my equipment was bought in America. I've never visited your establishment before."

The second Mr. Makepeace nodded and smiled.

"Then if Sir would care to continue, I will be only a moment away if you need me."

Harry returned his attention to the shop.

By the time Ron had finished his order, Harry had managed to browse through a fair amount of interesting gear.

"I've ordered suitable clothing and boots," Ron told him, ticking off the list. "I've got a collapsible, lightweight tent with two bedrooms - we can bunk together and let the guide have the other one. I've also got 'space' sleeping bags, 'space' blankets, and a portable platform, so we can pitch the tent above ground if we need to."

Harry nodded: these were all standard items.

"Washing kits," continued Ron, "Intellirope - Mageweave Special this time. The last time I bought something different, it frayed so badly I couldn't use it. Self-renewing water canteens, standard kitchen stuff for the tent, Sirius is organising the food. "Glow in the Dark" string, water purification straws and "Instaclear" potion. "Permascreen" factor 50 - I've also got the charm to get rid of it after the trip; hot climate lip balm; "Insectoban"; waterproof Spellotape and spare bootlaces."

"Medical kit?" queried Harry. Ron nodded vigorously.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, forgot about that. Medical kit containing standard dressings, standard potions, "Permulceo" draught for eyes, "Iunctura" electrolyte replacement draught, stitching kit, instruments - it's all there."

Ron handed the list to Harry who nodded approvingly.

"I'd just like to add a couple of things," Harry replied, passing a short handwritten list to the proprietor. Mr. Makepeace's smile widened as he read it, but he merely copied its contents down in a leather bound order book in discreet silence. Ron took a closer look at the discarded list.

"What's all this?" he asked, scanning it. Harry exchanged a glance with Mr. Makepeace.

"Alcohol," began Harry, "Hydrogen Peroxide, Aspirin and Paracetamol, Penicilllin, Antibiotic cream, Vitamin C, and Caffeine tablets."

At Ron's mystified expression, Harry tried again.

"Largely Muggle versions of our draughts and potions," he explained, "but they can come in extremely useful under difficult circumstances."

Ron shrugged and put his hands in his pockets.

"Can't think why you'd want anything like that," he muttered, "but you know what you're doing, I guess."

Harry wasn't listening. Intrigued, he fished a small item from a pile of sundries Ron had collected on the counter and examined it curiously.

"A sling, Sir," Mr. Makepeace told him, quietly. Harry quirked an eyebrow at Ron who nodded, smiling.

"It's accurate, lightweight, needs no magic, has the element of surprise and, above all, it's silent," Ron replied grinning.

"Ah, but can you use it?"

"You bet I can - just give me a target!"

"Later, later, Gladiator!"

"Ah, shut it, wiseass."

Mr. Makepeace cleared his throat.

"If that will be all, Sirs, I will make preparations to deliver the equipment to its destination address." Ron handed him another slip of parchment.

"Very good, Sir," he replied scanning the address composedly. "The goods will arrive promptly tomorrow morning. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, a pleasure to do business with you, Sirs. I hope to see you again."

They shook hands in confirmation of their business.

As they left the dark little shop, Harry squinted at his watch, half blinded by the bright sunlight, and saw to his surprise that it was nearly ten thirty. He nudged Ron.

"Let's go and have a quick butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks before we go to the Ministry," he suggested.

In complete agreement, they detoured across the road and disappeared into the dimness of the ancient hostelry. Which was why they didn't arrive at The Department for the Development of Magical Equipment until nearly eleven twenty.

~oo0oo~

"Hi Ginny. What's up?"

Hermione raised her head from her research to look into her office fireplace. Despite the flattering glow of the flames reflecting on her face, Hermione could see that her friend looked pale and her expression was serious.

"I just wondered," she began, dolefully, "if you weren't doing anything for lunch, maybe we could meet for a quick sandwich in the park or something?"

Hermione pursed her lips and leafed through her appointments diary.

"Okay," she replied with a smile. "If I manage to get this tied up in the next half hour, I'll be free for an hour or so after that. How does 12.15 by the fountain sound?"

"Wonderful," Ginny sighed. "Oh, I really need to talk to you."

And no prizes for guessing what about! thought Hermione grimly as she got back to her work.

12.15pm on the dot the two girls met and wandered until they found a spare park bench by the duck pond where they could eat their sandwiches.

"I brought some coffee," Ginny said, producing a flask. "And a couple of pastries from the bakery down the road."

Hermione smiled in genuine pleasure.

"That was a kind thought, Ginny," she replied, "particularly as I know you've got a lot on your mind. Come on, now - spill it."

The redhead looked out over the water and sighed.

"You must have guessed some of it," she began dolefully. "After all, you were in the same position last night, so I gathered from Oliver, but I'm just really hurt that Harry virtually announced to the whole world that he was going away on a quest, and didn't think to let me know first. I'd be less annoyed if it were a boring routine visit of a couple of days to East Grinstead, but it's actually something fairly dangerous and it involves him travelling to another Continent for a couple of months. Quite apart from the fact that he has to start out immediately, no warning, just zip - gone! Hermione, why did he humiliate me like that?"

Hermione paused, bit her lip then leaned forward.

"Well, actually it was largely down to Ron," she told her, unwillingly. "I hate to be disloyal, but Ron's really chuffed about being chosen to more-or-less bodyguard Harry on this trip. It's been a long time since the two of them were together, and I think they'll benefit from working as a team. Ron put his foot in it up to his armpits yesterday with me, and from what he told me on the telephone just an hour ago, he was the one who blew the gaff this morning. Unwittingly, I'm quite sure, but nevertheless thoroughly."

Ginny pouted.

"Ron wouldn't have had the opportunity to make a mistake like that if Harry had played fair with me in the first place," she complained.

Hermione spread her hands.

"Give him a chance, Ginny," she replied. "I don't believe he had time, what with the Club yesterday evening and not wanting to tell you before you went onstage in case it rattled your confidence. Did he have the opportunity afterwards when you were surrounded by adoring fans, dancing yourself insensible? Or when you got back home and fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow? Be reasonable, the odds were rather stacked against him."

Ginny bit into her sandwich.

"I know, I know, Hermione," she said fretfully, when she had swallowed her mouthful. "But it's not just being taken for granted that irks me so. If I'm to be honest, it's partly that I'm going to be left here in England in a practically empty house, and I don't like it."

Hermione laughed.

"Tell me about it!" she teased. "Don't forget, Ginny, I'll be on my own too. We should join forces of an evening - go to films, clubs, theatres!"

But Ginny's eyes had opened wide.

"Of course!" she exclaimed. "That's it! Hermione, you could move back into Harry's house for the time the boys are abroad. Oh please say you'll think about it. It would be just like the old times we were supposed to have, before I moved in with David Markland, and you wouldn't be lonely in the evenings if you were at home with us. Do think about it!"

Hermione had thought about it in those brief few seconds, and was inclined to rule it out entirely. From a purely personal viewpoint, she could think of nothing she would like less. Hermione firmly believed that once one had made a move, one should never go back. It would be admitting defeat to return to Harry's House, however briefly, just because Ron was going away for a while. The flat was her home now, and she felt she should stay there, come hell or high water. Besides, where was the point in moving all her books and notes just for a couple of months? And now Lee had taken over her study, where on earth would she put all her stuff? Where would she work?

Hermione sighed. The offer of company was very tempting, and Ginny was looking at her with such pleading eyes, so vulnerable at the moment, that Hermione found herself agreeing at least to think about the proposition. By the time she got back to chambers, she was kicking herself very hard, wondering how on earth she was going to get out of it.

~oo0oo~

"Come along, come along now, Weasley, and do try to pay attention even if you can't manage to get here on time."

Tim Cyu was an elderly wizard with white hair, bristling eyebrows and a pair of very sharp blue eyes. He stood, quite at home, in a large room filled with benches, equipment, wizards muttering over books, and evil-smelling cauldrons.

In one corner, a young wizard wearing dragonhide gloves fed a few drops of vivid yellow liquid to a white rat. There was a flash and a bang and before them stood a bewildered-looking man in a doublet and hose. Cyu clapped the wizard on the shoulder.

"Getting better, Drinkwater, but in my book the rats turn into horses. It's the lizards that become footmen. Preparations for the Ministry Ball," he explained as he led Ron and Harry past another workstation.

A grim-looking wizard aimed his wand at a plain white box.

"Reducto!"

Immediately, the box burst open to disgorge a horrific tangle of fire, venom and teeth which settled immediately onto an inoffensive-looking dummy wizard, reducing it to a pile of ashes and melting plastic in seconds.

"Finite Incantatem!" shouted the wizard, aiming his wand carefully. The creature gnashed its teeth hungrily at a passing technician then abruptly disintegrated in a shower of sparks.

"Splendid!" exclaimed Cyu, inspecting the incinerated remains of the dummy. "Have that ready for Wilberforce's leaving party next week!"

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. Ron shrugged helplessly, but fortunately they appeared to have reached their destination. Taking a deep breath, Tim Cyu gestured towards a number of items spread out over a spare bench.

"Now listen carefully, Weasley," he began, "and you too Potter, even though you're not exactly with this Department. This is a machete, if you didn't already know."

Expertly, he swung a long, wicked looking knife with a razor-sharp edge. "Self-sharpening blade, homing charm so it'll never get lost. Just whistle."

"You know how to whistle, don't you, Harry?" muttered Ron quietly as an aside. "You just put your lips together - and blow."

Harry snorted with laughter, hurriedly turning it into a cough.

"I heard that, Weasley." Cyu also seemed to have extremely sharp ears. "For goodness sake grow up. Now, 'Culter tutela' will activate the self-defense mechanism. Here is a smaller version to be used as a back up weapon. Be sure to conceal it in a leg holster and keep it with you at all times. 'Culter sarmenta' is an extra charm for the machete to make it hack vegetation for you."

"Now that's really useful!" remarked Harry, hefting the weapon.

"Hmm," replied Cyu looking at him sceptically. "Just make sure you get it right, that's all. These things can take limbs off with no problem at all.

"Here is another useful little item; a folding shovel which, with the right charm, will dig trenches, holes, or merely clear earth out of the way. The basic invocation is 'Fodio' - the more specific variants are in the instruction manual. Make sure you read it, both of you, before you attempt to use the thing."

"That's if it's in English," commented Ron, grinning widely. "A lot of this stuff is developed in Japan, isn't it, Tim?"

Cyu skewered Ron with a hard glare.

"Really, Weasley, if you'd spend your time listening rather than making smart remarks, some of your equipment might come back undamaged," he stated flatly. "I can assure you that I don't find you funny in the least, however amusing your companion seems to think you are!"

Cyu glowered at Harry, who bit his lips hard and stared at the floor.

"Magical compass," Cyu continued. "Will locate whatever you ask it to. Please remember to be specific. Telescope - rather like a Foe Glass, but it will focus on movement at a distance and recognize potential danger. Binoculars - identification of wildlife. A very good protection against poisons."

Harry and Ron nodded at each of the items, all of which were reasonably familiar to them, but with some kind of added twist or sophistication.

"Come with me."

Cyu led them into an area the size and design of an aircraft hangar. As he turned the corner, the older wizard suddenly ducked, diving for the shelter of a small cupboard. Puzzled, Harry stood blinking stupidly until Ron grabbed his sleeve and yanked him roughly down to the floor. Harry lost his balance and fell heavily on to Ron just as something large and winged grazed the tip of his ear. There was a loud whirring sound that moved away into the distance.

Reflexively, Harry turned his head to see the tail end of what looked like an enormous dragonfly disappearing towards the far end of the room. He ducked once more as two wizards vaulted over him, shouting instructions and aiming their wands. Tim Cyu picked himself up and absently dusted his lab-robes with one hand.

"They'd better get that penned up quickly," he said, "or I'll have to go to the staff restaurant for my lunch."

Harry looked at Ron with wide eyes. His friend shrugged helplessly and followed Tim Cyu over to a long workbench.

"Now, as I understand it," Cyu told them, "you're going into Mexican rainforest and a great deal of your trip will be covered on water."

This was news to Ron, but Harry nodded as though it were to be expected. Cyu took out a package, no more than six inches square, and tapped it with his wand. Rapidly, it began to unfold and expand.

"Lightweight inflatable raft."

The package assumed a recognisable shape.

"Has oars and a small outboard motor. Runs on distilled mineral oil - very concentrated so you'll barely need more than a litre of fuel for the whole trip. A Buoyancy charm will keep the raft upright and afloat even over white water, but you'll have to cope with staying attached to it yourselves: there's only so much magic can do to preserve the lives of the incompetent."

Cyu tapped the raft with his wand, and it began to deflate. He glanced at Ron and his eyes widened in alarm.

"Don't touch that!" he shouted as Ron curiously lifted a white paper bag. Startled, Ron let it drop on to the bench. Cyu breathed a sigh of relief.

"What is it?" asked Harry with interest. Cyu turned an unblinking stare on to him.

"My lunch," he replied.

~oo0oo~

"That's good. Now, if I can just make a couple of adjustments to the fields ... Yeah! Okay. Now, let's look at the data in pie chart form..."

Lee Jordan was hard at work, muttering quietly to himself. Recently he had been spending less and less time at the Ministry, largely because things were so much more comfortable and convenient at home. He found it hard to believe how much his productivity had increased since moving into Harry's House. The down side was that his social life had dwindled to a big fat zero. Still, he reasoned, once the Ministry took on a couple more computer technicians, things should get easier. He tried very hard to ignore the little voice at the back of his brain telling him that life was rarely that simple.

Lee punched up Outlook and clicked "Send/Receive" to check his emails. He quickly dashed off replies to four of them and pondered the fifth for a while before labelling it Unread. He would deal with that later. He then pulled out several data files on dark magic activity and merged them, putting them into graph format to see how the frequency waxed and waned with the cycles of the moon.

Lee sighed and laid his head on the keyboard. All he was doing was avoiding the issue, and he knew it. There was something ... well, not quite right about some of the data he had been receiving. He couldn't put a finger on it, he couldn't analyse it, it was something he might have called hunch - before the Divination experts had taken the guesswork out of it. Now he preferred to call it instinct, and his own instinct was telling him that something was faint but well and truly rotten. As to whether it was in the State of Denmark or somewhere nearer home remained to be seen.

"I'm becoming as paranoid as Fred," he muttered to himself. His assurances to his friend at the Post Office nightclub had been quite genuine, but if Lee were to be honest with himself, he had known as soon as he had uttered the words that his certainty was not one hundred percent, even then.

Lee took a fortifying gulp of lukewarm tea (he had used the last of the coffee earlier) and pulled up Fred and George's debriefing notes from the Ministry's central server. He was abruptly struck with an idea as to how a potential hacker could have got into these files, so he did not open them but ran a security check on his system. He scratched his head: nothing there. The next step was to go to the Ministry, talk to the operators and run a dummy hacking operation from the standalone he had in his office there. He was about to grab his jacket when he glanced at the time. Good grief - 7.10pm! Hadn't he overheard Fred saying something to Harry at the Club yesterday about coming round this evening? No, bringing someone round - that was it.

A loud banging on the study door startled him.

"Lee!" called Ginny's voice from the hall. "Lee, get out of there. Oliver's just told me Fred's bringing some girl round for drinks tonight - in twenty minutes! Come on, the place looks like a hurricane's hit it, we've got no mixers, no snacks and if Fred decides I ought to give them supper, we've got just about enough to feed a mouse!"

"If that happens, we'll get a carry out, Ginny."

Lee heard Oliver soothing her gently and he opened the study door.

"Fred's bringing - a girl?" Lee asked, eyebrows nearly meeting his hairline. Ginny stared at him then made a sound of annoyance.

"Look at you!" she exclaimed. "Honestly, Lee, have you been sleeping in those clothes?"

The dark man looked down at his faded blue denims and creased check shirt. He ran a hand over his chin to discover that, to his shame, he had failed to shave that morning.

"Um, I'll just go and change, shall I?" he hazarded. Ginny shook her head.

"Not yet," she rapped out efficiently. "First, visit the off-licence and bring back some beer and some mixers. Oh, and a couple of bottles of some reasonable white wine. Put it on Harry's account," she finished, maliciously. "He deserves it for this."

Slightly rattled by her implacable expression, Lee grabbed his wallet, turned on his heel and ran. Ginny's sour expression relaxed when she saw the effect she'd had on him, and the corners of her mouth lifted in an affectionate smile: poor Lee, the genius who was always two steps behind everyone else. She shrugged, turning back to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, the West Room had been cleaned, dusted and polished, the pizza boxes and newsparchments removed, and the empty bottles neatly stacked in a crate outside the back door. Oliver was busy making delicious-looking snacks out of baked stale bread and anything else he could find in the fridge, and Lee had returned with sufficient quantities of drink to last for several parties. Ginny ushered him upstairs to change. Harry was still nowhere to be seen; she ground her teeth in frustration.

Fred arrived punctually on the dot of 7.30pm with an attractive blonde girl he introduced as Ellen MacBeth. Ginny apologised for Harry's absence and steered them all into the West Room, detailing Oliver and Lee to serve drinks. They chatted for a while, making small talk, and Ginny discovered that Ellen worked within a large Muggle firm of actuaries based in the City of London.

"It was strange at first," she told them. "As a rule, witches and wizards try to ensure that all Muggles are ignorant of our existence, don't we? So it's really bizarre to come across a Muggle company that's not only aware but routinely employs us in special posts. I'm currently in financial analysis; I use Arithmancy to try to predict market trends. It's not foolproof of course, but it's streets ahead of Muggle means. My company employs several other witches and wizards in varying occupations ranging from risk-assessment to counter-espionage. My boss reckons his ambition is to find a genuine Seer - he'd make millions!"

"Scarcely fair competition though," put in Fred, leaning back on the sofa. "I mean, with that sort of advantage, he'd take over the world. And eventually put the whole insurance racket out of business."

"True." Ellen sipped her beer then looked up as the door opened. Harry stood in the threshold, dishevelled and stricken.

"Ginny!" he exclaimed. "I'm so sorry, I was held up at the Ministry. Someone had the bright idea of trying to Firetalk with Professor Radcliffe in Florence and it took half an hour to make the connection."

She looked at him without expression.

"Harry, I think you'd better go and change," she said coolly. "I promise we'll leave some of Oliver's delicious snacks for you, but only if you hurry."

Taking this as a measure of forgiveness, Harry grinned and darted up the West Wing stairs. Ginny took up the conversation again, asking Ellen where she trained.

"Actually, I didn't go to school," was the surprising reply.

It turned out that Ellen came from an ancient and wealthy family with a large estate in the West of Scotland. None of the young MacBeths had ever been sent to school and even when it was discovered that Ellen was a witch, the family saw no reason to break with the family tradition: they simply made enquiries, brought in a magically qualified governess and engaged a number of specialist tutors as they were needed. Indeed, Ellen's family had a very colourful history, which she seemed to take great pleasure in relating.

Ellen's ancestors went back a number of centuries and were an ambitious, warlike lot, guilty of regicide, no less. Her most illustrious forebear used a tried and tested method of rising to the throne, viz murdering all those nearer in line, including the monarch. MacBeth himself was finally dispatched by a loyal supporter of the murdered king, but not before Lady MacBeth, who was party to the entire campaign, went insane with guilt and committed suicide.

Ginny, Lee and Oliver stared in silent amazement at the end of this recital, both at the story itself and also at Ellen's matter-of-fact attitude towards the tragedy. Ellen herself eyed them with amusement.

"We weren't close, you know," she said, twinkling. "It was several centuries ago! Some years later, a Muggle hack stole our story and turned it into a hit play. I saw it myself a couple of months ago." She shook her head. "Utter rubbish! If he was going to plagiarise, he could at least have got his facts straight. And to add insult to injury, I've never even seen witches that ugly in my life!"

"What happened to the family after MacBeth was killed?" asked Oliver, with interest. Ellen shrugged.

"Well, oddly enough," she replied, "under the Scottish law of the time, the new king had to concede that the killing of MacBeth himself was actually unlawful. Even though the man was a multiple murderer himself, he was still king at the time, so it was therefore Regicide - again! His heirs used the opportunity to retain the estates, the castle and the name in return for keeping quiet about the whole thing." She smiled and took another mouthful of beer.

"We still live on the original estate," she continued. "Of course, things have changed a bit, and it's run on a far more businesslike level, but we still live in the original castle. It's called Dunsinane."

Harry chose that moment to enter the West Room, showered, shaved and changed. Although she was still as mad as could be, Ginny couldn't help softening a little as she watched him greet Fred and Ellen with that easy charm and infectious smile. He was wearing a white lawn shirt that somehow seemed vaguely familiar. She frowned slightly, then she remembered: the disastrous dinner party when they had rescued Fred from the Temple and David Markland had understandably freaked out. She also remembered her own reaction when Harry had stripped the shirt off, throwing it behind a bush, to cut down his visibility in the dark, and her eyes grew misty in memory. Consequently, when Harry came to sit down on the sofa by her, she smiled and went to get him a drink. He seemed slightly surprised, but greatly relieved by her actions.

"So," said Fred, briskly, "perhaps it might be as well if someone shows Ellen Hermione's old room to see if she likes it. I think she's fairly sold on the rest of the house, aren't you?" he turned enquiringly towards his friend and she smiled back.

"Absolutely." Ellen's Scottish brogue was faint but unmistakeable. "It's an incredible place to find in such a built-up area."

But Ginny's face was puzzled.

"I don't quite understand," she began, timidly, "Hermione's old room?"

"Yes, love," Harry broke in. "Fred happened to mention last night that Ellen was wanting to move closer to the centre of London, and we thought it might be a good idea if she came to take a look at the place, particularly as George is in Iran, I'm going to be leaving for Mexico soon, and Oliver's working habits are particularly irregular anyway. After all, we've discussed getting another housemate many times."

Ginny stared at him in consternation.

"But Hermione's going to move back so we can keep each other company over the time you and Ron are away," she replied agitatedly.

"Hermione?" queried Harry, puzzled, "Why on earth would she want to move back in?"

"Because she feels sorry for me," Ginny replied flatly, feeling her anger rising once again. She forced herself to cool down and turned back to Ellen with extreme politeness. "I apologise, Ellen, but Harry unfortunately neglected to tell me that this was not just a social call." That was putting it mildly! "I'm afraid I've already promised the room to its previous occupier. I am really sorry if this is a problem, but if you would like to view it once Harry and Ron have returned from Mexico and Hermione has gone back to the flat, you would be very welcome."

She picked up her glass with a trembling hand and took a sip of her drink. To everyone's surprise, Lee spoke up.

"Hermione's room isn't the only spare in the house," he said. "There are several - two in particular that don't even need too much doing to them." Fred looked up sharply.

"Wait a minute, Lee," he said. "You're not referring to the attic, are you?"

"Well, yes," replied Lee, defensively. "I know they've yet to be redecorated, and neither of them is ensuite, but they're in a reasonable state, and they do at least have a shared bathroom between them. There's no-one else up there at present, so Ellen could have it for her own."

"What about all those stairs though?" Fred looked at Ellen.

Oliver snorted with all the derision of an ex-professional Quidditch player.

"Stairs? What stairs, Fred?" he scoffed. "We're not all as unfit as you, you know."

Lee rose from his armchair and held out a hand towards Ellen.

"I'll show you, shall I?" he suggested. Without even glancing at Fred, Ellen took Lee's hand and rose from the sofa. She looked up into his honest, brown eyes and smiled.

"Thank you," she replied simply. "I'd like that."

The two left the room and made for the central stairs. As they walked through the hall, those left in the West Room could hear Lee talking.

"They're both quite large rooms connecting via the bathroom, as you've just heard. They're being used for storage at the moment, so they don't look terribly pretty, but we'll all pitch in to renovate. Harry's a dab hand with bathrooms!"

Oliver stared out into the hall then looked back at Fred, his jaw practically on the floor.

"Well, how do you like that?" he said explosively. "The first pretty girl to step inside this house, present company excepted of course, and even computer-geek Lee manages to beat me off the starting blocks. I hope you're telling the truth about you being 'just friends', Fred, because if you aren't, you will be!"

Fred smiled enigmatically, but declined to comment. Ginny rose from her seat.

"If nobody minds," she began shakily, "I'll just take over the dining room for a while: I need to do some practice."

"Oh, no you don't!" exclaimed Harry, jumping up from the sofa and taking her by the arm. "I'm not going through a repeat performance of this morning!"

To his amazement, she shook him off as though he were an irritating insect.

"You're not going through?" she queried in a low, dangerous voice. "You're not going though? Frankly, Harry, I don't think you're in a position to dictate what you're not going through, do you? After all you've done, or failed to do, over the last twenty-four hours, I doubt you have any right or reason to dictate to me. Not everything that goes on in this house is about you, you know!"

This was fighting talk. Ginny decided she'd said enough and, putting down her drink, quietly left the room. Harry seemed too stunned to go after her, and presently he too left the room, but in a different direction. Oliver and Fred exchanged glances.

"Well, that went just splendidly!" observed Fred, with deep sarcasm. "Remind me to bring my friends round here more often; it makes one glad to be alive."

At this point, voices could be heard in the hall and Ellen and Lee reappeared discussing paint and furniture.

"It's great, Fred!" she told him in an enthusiastic voice. "It's got a fantastic view of the garden, French doors, and a little balcony just right for broomstick takeoffs! Of course, it'll need some work doing on it. I'll get the necessary stuff together and Lee says he'll give me a hand."

Oliver gave Lee a very old-fashioned look, causing the other man to shuffle his feet slightly.

"Okay," she beamed around, seeming not to notice the absence of Harry and Ginny. "Is it alright if I start painting and moving my things a couple of evenings next week?"

"Absolutely!" agreed Oliver, aiming a nasty grin at Lee. "Lee's got plenty of spare time, haven't you Lee? He'd be delighted to help you with anything you have in mind, I'm sure!"

But Lee just smiled blandly, refusing to rise to the bait. Letting the backchat go completely over her head, Ellen picked up her handbag.

"Alright then, Fred," she said, much to Lee's disappointment. "We'd better be going if we're to get to Annabel's on time."

"Out for supper with a friend," explained Fred, also rising.

The two made their farewells and departed, leaving Oliver and Lee alone in a house that had suddenly become rather worryingly silent. Lee finally stirred.

"I think we ought to go out for a pint," he said thoughtfully. "This place feels like Vesuvius, and I'd rather be somewhere else when it erupts."

~oo0oo~

"I'm sorry, Sirius, I've got to delay departure for at least 24 hours. I really can't just take off with things as they are at the moment."

Harry was Firetalking with Sirius.

"Harry, I've got equipment being delivered, briefing appointments, your guide has been hanging around for a week already, and you're telling me you're going to delay another day?"

"That's right. Come on, this whole thing has been put on at a moment's notice. What's so terribly urgent about it, anyway? Is there something you're not telling me? Because if there is, you're not too big for me to whip your butt, dogman!"

"Don't even think about it, pipsqueak. I was learning unarmed combat when you were sucking dummies. Seriously, Harry, if you really feel you need another day, then take it. But please - get here as soon as possible, huh?"

"My word on it, Sirius."

"Ciao."

"See you."

Harry sat back on the sofa in the kitchen, chin in hands, wondering how to tackle this one. Last night Ginny had slept in her own room for the first time since moving into the house, and Harry had woken up to find she had left for a recording session. Seeing as they hadn't spoken properly about the trip, Ginny was unaware that Harry should have left by now. He was stalling so that he could at least try to make things right before he left.

But he couldn't do it if she continued to avoid him.

~oo0oo~

"Marcus, would you do me a favour, please?"

"I doubt it but you can ask, I suppose."

"Could you just answer a question for me?"

"I could, but whether I would depends upon the question. Why? Found something your diminutive brain can't cope with? That shouldn't be hard."

Ginny swallowed. This morning had been, if anything, worse than usual. Marcus's snide comments had reached new heights of offensiveness, and with this on top of everything else, Ginny was beginning to feel that she had had enough.

"Why are you so consistently rude to me?" She raised a genuinely enquiring expression towards the blonde man. "Oh, I know you're rude to everyone, but in my case you seem to excel yourself every time you open your mouth. Why is this?"

Marcus Torrence shot her a look of pure venom then smiled nastily.

"Why you?" he repeated, advancing on her. "Why you? Well, largely because you're a passenger on this ship, sweetie: a bimbo with no brain and precious little talent. In fact, the only asset you have is your looks. We'd probably have more success at the P.O. if you took some of your kit off."

He looked her up and down as though she were an animal at market then shook his head dismissively.

"Nah," he said, off-handedly. "Too skinny."

He turned his back on her and strolled away, leaving her dumbfounded. Then several things happened at once. Ginny burst into tears and ran sobbing out of the studio, followed swiftly and surprisingly by Charles. Marcus turned back to raise a curious eyebrow in an otherwise deadpan expression, and Justin flipped.

"You bastard!" he roared, almost blind with fury. "You will take that back and you will do it now, d'you hear? I don't give a toss how good you are onstage, Torrence. If you don't go find Ginny and apologise, you're out of here! No one's indispensable, least of all a smug, evil-minded little git like you!"

Marcus stared at Justin, frowned as though puzzled by all the drama then without missing a beat, he strode off towards the door and disappeared.

"Look, it's okay, Ginny. Marcus is just, like, well a total idiot, know what I mean?"

Charles was genuinely trying to comfort Ginny, but his complete incoherence and his ineffectual attempts to pat her on the shoulder without touching her made his efforts worse than useless.

"Charles, I can't go on!" she managed breathlessly, between sobs. "I can't cope with his continual hostility, and I just can't understand why he's got it in for me so badly!"

"Maybe he likes you."

Charles spoke without thinking. There was a catch in Ginny's crying. She raised wet, incredulous eyes to his face.

"Marcus - likes me?" she whispered. "Charles, what planet are you from? The guy has just told me I'm the lowest form of life, he's reduced me to a sobbing wreck - me! A professional! His raison d'être seems to be either to oust me from the band, or to destroy my self-confidence so utterly that I'll never work again. That doesn't sound very much as though he likes me, now does it?"

Charles shrugged.

"I don't know, I've not had the experience to judge," he replied honestly, spreading his hands in helpless indecision. Ginny stared at him then burst into fresh tears.

"Oh, why does this man hate me so much?" she wailed.

"Actually, I don't."

Ginny spun. The question had been rhetorical; she hadn't expected an answer from anyone. Nevertheless, there was Marcus Torrence, as large as life, standing in the corridor with that detestable half-smile on his face. Ginny mopped her eyes with Charles' large, linen handkerchief.

"Then you're a better actor than you think," she muttered gathering the shreds of her dignity around her. He shook his head.

"I don't hate you, I never did," he said quietly and flatly. "I could be jealous of you. Despite what I said earlier, you are a talented singer. You need a little coaching with your stagecraft, but your presence is good. You are certainly no bimbo, and I don't honestly believe that as a band we would be any more successful if you took your clothes off. Is that what you want to hear?"

Marcus turned on his heel and made for the swing doors to the stairs.

"Wait!"

Ginny took off, leaving Charles gaping at her. She was suddenly furious. She virtually collided with Marcus, grabbed him by the upper arms and swinging him round to look her in the face. His eyes widened in surprise.

"You think that's enough, do you?" she spat. "You think that grudging little bit of remorse is sufficient penance for threatening the stability of the group?"

There was a pause. His lips twitched.

"Okay, I'm sorry, so sue me!" he shouted suddenly. "This isn't exactly easy for me either, you know. I didn't expect ..." he broke off and exhaled heavily, his face bitter. "I didn't think it would ..."

Abruptly, he twisted free and burst through the swing doors, taking the stairs three at a time. Ginny stared in perplexity after the departing figure.

"What in Merlin's name was that about?" she muttered to herself.

~oo0oo~

"Ginny? Ginny, wake up. I've got to talk to you. Come on, Ginny, open the door!"

The red-haired girl turned over in bed and glanced at the clock. Her bleary eyes widened in surprise.

"Go away," she said, sleepily. "It's half-past four in the morning. Nobody's alive at this hour!"

"Ginny. Open this door before I use the Reductus curse on it!"

Grumbling, she groped for her wand. It was really too bad, she decided. After all, he was the one in the wrong. By rights, he should be bringing her breakfast in bed at noon, not making all this noise at the crack of dawn.

"Alohomora," she muttered. Harry walked in through the door, shaved and dressed in lightweight, summer clothes. He was carrying a canvas rucksack. Ginny's face creased in a frown and she sat up, puzzled.

"Where are you going?" she demanded. He looked at her expressionlessly.

"Mexico," he replied, simply. She stared, a stone falling into the pit of her stomach.

"Mexico? Right now?"

Harry nodded solemnly.

"I'm going to meet Ron at the flat," he replied. "He's got the Portkey. Ginny, I don't know how long this trip's going to be, but somehow embarking upon a new quest isn't exactly filling me with much excitement this time." He paused to scratch his head.

"Going away with Ron will be great," he continued. "I'll really enjoy his company and all that, but I'm not getting the usual feelings of anticipation and discovery. I have no real enthusiasm for this trip, Ginny. All I can think about is leaving you with this ill feeling hanging over our heads."

Tears pricked Ginny's eyes.

"You never told me it was so soon," she whispered, looking for all the world like a lost, small child. Instinctively, he sat down on the bed and gathered her into his arms.

"You never gave me a chance," he murmured in reply.

It was true. She buried her head in his shoulder. They held each other in silence for a while, and then he moved, looking her in the face.

"Sirius is waiting for us; has been for several days," he told her. "The guide was selected even before I was. This is a rush job, it seems."

"Why?"

"Search me," Harry shrugged. "I'd better find out during the briefings, or I'll want to know why not." He stroked her hair.

"I'm sorry I've not been here for you, Ginny," he said sadly. "And I'm sorry I've failed to tell you things. It's all gone wrong somehow. I never meant to hurt you."

"I'm sorry for trying to make you suffer." Tears were leaking down Ginny's cheeks. "I've been so self-absorbed, what with the band and that horrible man, that it didn't occur to me that you might be going through equally difficult times. Do you really have to go now? Can't you stay just one more day, just so we can say goodbye properly?"

Her eyes were pleading, but reluctantly Harry had to shake his head.

"I already delayed by a day just so I could catch up with you," he replied sorrowfully, "but it's taken me until now to do that. I really do have to go now."

Another nail drove itself into Ginny's heart. She leaped out of bed and flung a bathrobe over her nightshirt.

"I'll come and see you off," she said quietly, taking his arm.

They descended the staircase making very little noise and stood in the hallway, each unable to think of anything to say. Finally, Harry stirred.

"Well," he said, "I guess Ron will be waiting for me."

"Yes," Ginny replied.

Harry took her by the shoulders, gazing levelly into her eyes.

"You'll -" he gave a slight cough and tried again. "You will keep up your magical studies while I'm away, won't you? They're not as exciting as your music, I know, but they're much more important in the long run."

Ginny nodded wordlessly, lowering her eyes to the floor so that he wouldn't see the tears threatening to spill over again at any second. Maintaining his hold on her shoulders, Harry ducked his head to try to intercept her gaze.

"I do - care about you, you know," he told her. "I would never willingly do anything to cause you pain."

She could only nod in reply. He lifted her face, stared into her eyes for a moment then kissed her briefly and sweetly.

"Goodbye, Ginny."

There was something so incredibly final in that quiet salutation. Ginny watched him shoulder his rucksack and walk slowly down the driveway, the gravel crunching under his feet. He turned out of the gates on to the road without looking back. She watched and watched until even with an Eyesight Enhancement charm, she could no longer track him, then she ran back upstairs to her bedroom to cry and cry until there were no tears left to shed.