By the Pricking of my Thumbs

"By the Pricking of my Thumbs"

By Penpusher

Chapter Eight: Enter the Dragon

Ginny turned over on her stomach for the umpteenth time and buried her face in the pillow. She sighed: this sleeplessness was not going to help her present a fresh and attractive exterior for a magazine interview in the morning. She had been living with Harry for such a short time that she scarcely had the opportunity to grow accustomed to his presence in her bed before being deprived of it. But she missed him acutely, and everything in the room reminded her of his absence at times when she was most vulnerable. Like now.

Harry had warned her that contact between them could only come via Sirius while he was on the trip. He would be too far from civilisation to owl her, and firetalking was limited in its range. She sighed: even Sirius had failed to keep her posted. His replies to all her owl messages had been brief to say the least, and the last time she tentatively tried firetalking with him, he looked so weary and downtrodden that she hadn't the heart to berate him for his lack of information. She suspected that Harry's quest was the subject of a news blackout anyway, and pitied Sirius for having to enforce it.

She turned over on her back again and gazed into the darkness, silently counting. Three months. Was that all it was? Just three months, and already she and Harry had tumbled headlong into problems.

There was nothing like a separation to bring a bit of perspective on a situation, she thought sadly. She knew she had behaved badly, putting herself and her career before anything and anyone else, and Harry had been so gentle and supportive over the whole thing. To have him withdraw into his own concerns at the very toughest time had been more than she could bear.

She glanced towards the window. Faint grey light was beginning to herald sunrise, gradually illuminating the large bedroom and all its contents: the oak furniture, the noticeable lack of mirrors, the wall-to-wall shelving housing Harry's extensive collection of archaeological and historical texts, the neatly stacked piles of periodicals gathering dust in the corner. Ginny blinked back tears. Everything in this room spoke, no - screamed of Harry; shouted his name, gave off his fragrance, set off a tangle of memories and emotions, and oh, she wanted him! She wanted him so much...

She pulled the pillow over her head with a groan. Everything was all mixed up.

"Nothing makes sense any more!" she whispered harshly. "What's wrong with me? Why can't I think straight?"

A persistent presence beat against her brain - Great Merlin, she had to get away from that face; that voice!

"Not Harry," she muttered, shaking her head. "Him."

The spectre tormented her remorselessly with an equal although very different intensity to her longing for Harry.

Ginny threw her pillow to the floor and sat up, reaching for her dressing gown. It was clear that there would be no more sleep for her that night, so she might as well face up to the real reason for her restlessness. Marcus. There it was, admitted. Marcus, the sarcastic blonde wonderboy with the snaky hips and magical voice who had kissed her with such surprising skill and gentleness.

I can't stop thinking about him. It was all too confusing. Ginny shook her head, trying to clear her brain, but rational reflection was plainly impossible when Marcus constantly slid into her consciousness, smiling ironically, delivering snide insults and tingling caresses. The smell of fresh cigarette smoke was embedded in her memory, together with his touch, the coldness of his hands. She shivered involuntarily, realising she had let the feelings overwhelm her once again.

I can resist. Ginny gritted her teeth and made resolutely for the bathroom. Trying to squeeze toothpaste on to an uncooperative brush, she realised her hands were shaking. She bit her lip. This can't be normal, or even natural. Can it?

An hour or so later found her pensively sipping coffee in the kitchen, trying to come to some sort of decision. She had avoided Marcus like the plague since that time when ... she clenched her fists, refusing to be sidetracked again. Oh, the recording sessions had been a success; everything had been fine, brilliant even, but she felt as though she had been working on automatic pilot. It seemed as if she had been spending the majority of her creative energy on suppressing the disturbing pull Marcus seemed to possess for her. Her eyes followed him of their own accord, wherever he was, whatever he was doing. It was an obsession.

She sighed and buried her head in her hands, raking tense fingers through her hair. This is not helping. She thrust her chair away from the table and slung her bag over her shoulder, leaving her coffee half drunk.

"Accio," she commanded softly, and her Firebolt leaped from the hall cupboard to hover at waist height.

"Occulto," she murmured, reaching out to grip the handle as the broomstick lost ninety percent of its visibility. The sun had not yet risen fully, but Ginny was taking no chances on Improper Use of Magic Notices.

She vaulted on to the Firebolt and swept out of the front door, climbing at a steep angle into the clear blue sky until the rushing wind and thinning air forced some circumspection into her. She circled Wizarding Radio for a short while then, banking sharply, came in to land on the wide balcony especially designed for broomstick travel.

A little later, Ginny entered the studio block carrying another cup of coffee. It was 6.30am. No one would be around to disturb her and she could make some real progress on the editing backlog that never seemed to get any smaller. Without bothering to knock, she burst into Studio 2 - only to find Marcus Torrence sitting with his back to her at a bench, working with several Echospheres.

Oh, Merlin! Ginny's fair skin coloured to the roots of her hair. Instead of turning his head, Marcus glanced at her image in the window directly before him, his watchful eyes gleaming slightly. Despite her embarrassment, Ginny could make out his reflection clearly. She paused, puzzled and slightly scared.

"What the...?" she began in bewilderment. Marcus' reflection gave a small, ironic smile then he rose from his chair, turning to face her.

"Ginny," he said, expressionlessly. "What are you doing here at such an hour?"

With the exception of a speculatively raised eyebrow, his face was impassive. Realising she was staring, Ginny thrust speculation quickly aside and pulled herself together with an effort.

"I might ask you the same question," she retorted. "At least I work here on a regular basis. Do you have permission to mess with those?"

She nodded towards the Echospheres. A faint smile cracked the mask.

"Indeed I do," Marcus replied with an arrogant smile. "The sound wizards in this benighted establishment recognise class when they see it."

"Oh please!"

Ginny was getting angry now. Good: perhaps she could block some of the disquieting things this man's proximity was doing to her nervous system.

"Is it always necessary for you to be better than anyone else at everything?" she enquired dryly. Marcus grinned.

"Of course," he replied with more than a hint of complacency. "I'm a better sound wizard than any of the talentless idiots Ernie MacMillan employs here; I'm a better musician than either you or Justin Finch-Fletchley, and I'm a better wizard than that has-been you're living with."

Ginny stared in astonished disbelief at his egotism, but his smile only widened. He took a step towards her and stopped, just that little bit too close, invading her personal space.

"We could be a good team together, Ginny," he told her softly. His breath gazed across her cheek. "Just you and me. We could take on the musical world and be the best there is."

He paused; his voice became husky, intimate.

"And I could please you like no one else in the world, not even Potter."

His eyes bored into hers, mesmerising in their blueness.

"You know I'm telling the truth," he continued softly. "Give me an hour in your bed - just an hour, and I'll make you forget he ever existed."

Lazily, almost carelessly, Marcus stretched out a pale hand. Softly, he smoothed a wayward lock of red hair away from her face, all the time smiling gently, ironically. Ginny closed her eyes, gripped by surge of longing so intense it was almost uncontrollable.

"Marcus," she managed, between her teeth. She took a random step towards him.

I can't stop! her panicked mind screamed. This isn't physical attraction, or even lust; it's more like - compulsion.

Without really thinking, Ginny pointed the fingers of her right hand at a stack of chairs in the corner of the studio.

"Reducto!" she whispered. The chairs sprang apart from each other with a deafening report. Marcus whirled round.

"What the blazes was that?" he cried.

Quickly, he spun back, just in time to see the high heels of Ginny's boots disappearing around the swing doors. Marcus stood for a moment, running a hand through his pale blonde hair, and then he slammed an angry fist down against the bench.

"Damn it!" he growled.

Ginny ran, scuttling blindly down the corridor with no fixed destination in mind, the frantic need to get away from Marcus beating at her brain. She leaned over the counter in the kitchen, her breath coming in short gasps, shaking her head in anxiety. She could scarcely believe the strength of the pull between them; she was like an iron filing faced with magnetic North.

Some time later, she was still in the kitchen making and drinking cup after cup of coffee, twitching, tensing and sweating. What's the matter with me? Why aren't I in control any more?

When she finally gave way and returned to the studio, it was like a dam bursting - only to discover that Marcus was no longer there. Ginny bit her nails in vexation. She had to have this out with him, tell him he had to leave her alone or she would quit the band. At least, that's what her head was telling her. At this stage, she honestly didn't know whether she was strong enough to defy - what? Her heart? She shook her head firmly; no, not her heart, not really. So what, then?

Ginny shook her head violently, trying to hold on to the essentials. Where did Marcus live? She had no idea, and she wouldn't officially see him for the rest of the day, as the band had a half-holiday to celebrate the completion of their recording. Making a sudden decision, she upended her handbag until she found what she was looking for: a small sphere made entirely of black glass. With shaking hands she tapped it with her wand and it sprang to life.

"Appello Justin Finch-Fletchley," she commanded, hoping he was in range. She was in luck; he answered in very short order.

"Ginny! I was just coming over to the studio. Can it wait?"

"No, Justin, it can't. Please, can you tell me where Marcus lives?"

"Torrence? He's got a flat in Mornington Crescent."

"What!!"

"Yes, that's right. He hasn't been living there long. Just down the road from the Ace of Wands gym - place called Mendacium House, number four. But what do you ..."

"Thanks, Justin. See you later."

Ginny signed off, her head in a whirl. Marcus lived just down the road from her brother Fred? Was this really just a coincidence, or was there something more sinister involved?

"Oh, my head!" she cried out loud. Her brain was about to explode from all the input it had received in the last hour or so. Grabbing her bag, she made for the Ladies' Cloakroom.

~oOo~

Ginny was not the only resident of Harry's house suffering from sleeplessness. However hard Lee Jordan tried, he could not persuade his tired brain to stop processing information. Too much coffee he told himself, but he knew that wasn't the cause. Every time his mind began the long slide into oblivion, that tiny irritating inconsistency would push its way nearer the surface and jerk his consciousness awake again. Once there, however, the flaw remained tantalisingly out of reach, still just as nebulous, just as untouchable. Lee sighed, rolled out of bed blinking through swollen eyes, and padded down to the kitchen.

"Hmm," he said to himself, picking up the still-hot mug of coffee Ginny had left on the table in her haste. Someone else couldn't sleep, but where were they now? He shrugged and set about brewing himself a fresh pot. Searching in the fridge for some milk, Lee's eyes fell upon a small packet with an Italian label. Curiously, he picked it up, recognising it almost immediately as a piece of Reggiano Parmesan cheese.

Lee smiled, realising that George was the only person in Harry's house who was fussy enough to buy the most expensive Parmesan cheese. He replaced the package and shut the fridge door, moving over to the kitchen table to enjoy his coffee in relative comfort. Yes, Lee missed George. Fred had always been the leader, the motivator during their Hogwarts days, but gradually his job had taken over most of his life and he had withdrawn. The move into a separate flat signalled to Lee that Fred had decided he could cope sufficiently well on his own not to need people around him twenty-four hours a day. George, on the other hand, didn't seem to have matured much further than the prank-playing schoolboy he had been at Hogwarts. His attitude to life was easy-going and generous with little real grasp of the future or any sort of relationship beyond his family and his close friends. And indeed, when it came to the work that they carried out for the Ministry, Fred was the one who sized up the sources of information, tracked down potential weak links, shored up their lines of defence. In fact, Lee had been surprised that George had been sent to Iran instead of Fred, seeing as Fred had been the one to gather...

Wait a minute.

Time froze as Lee sat, cup halfway to his lips, an expression of total shock chasing its way across his face. That minute irregularity that had taunted him for so long had finally snared itself in the fine mesh of Lee's persistent mind. Fred had indeed been the operative who had traced the source in Iran. It was Fred's Iranian contact who had confirmed that Leandra's Ewer did indeed still exist. However, it was George, not Fred, who had visited Central America and brought back the startling information about the lost city in Yucatan. So how had the Iranian source known of the existence of Chinga'an at all? Ministry operatives worked on a need-to-know basis; there was no way on earth either Fred or George would have parted with such sensitive information to a mere contact. For Merlin's sake, even the name had been mentioned!

Lee groaned and beat his head against the table. So simple: so perilously simple, and he had missed it all along!

Leaping to his feet so swiftly that he overset his chair, Lee bolted to his bedroom, throwing on clothes as quickly as possible, then back down to the study. Twenty minutes later he had what he was looking for. He surveyed the sheets with a grimly satisfied smile.

"Eureka!" he muttered before stuffing them into his pocket. Lee Jordan was done with agonising; he knew what to do. He moved quickly to the fireplace in the kitchen and pointed his wand at the empty grate.

"Incendio," he commanded. Magical flames promptly soared into life. Opening a small jar on the mantle, he took a pinch of floo powder, walked over the hearth into the grate, announced "Fred Weasley's flat" in clear, loud tones, and threw the powder into the fire. He disappeared in a rush of brilliant green flames.

~oOo~

Ginny didn't know why she was behaving like this. It was as though the intellectual portion of her brain had detached itself from the emotional part and had taken charge of the situation without telling her what it had in mind. She seemed to be acting with deadly calm and assurance despite her wildly seesawing emotions, and most of Ginny was content to let whatever was driving her do its job without interference.

Darting into the Ladies' Cloakroom at the Studios, she took some time to establish a Glamour. Her hair, her most noticeable feature, became short and dark, her pale skin creamy, her eyes grey and obscured by small, fashionable spectacles. She debated changing sex but rejected the idea, instead adding a certain impish charm to the face in the mirror: who knew what she might have to do to get into his flat? She nodded grimly at her reflection; that should do it. Her clothes were suitable enough, but not totally convincing. She extended the glamour to them too; tweaking and twisting the magic until she was satisfied she would pass. No one seeing her now would mistake her for Ginny Weasley.

She then risked showing herself in the corridors of Wizarding Radio to get to the broomstick take-off balcony. Mercifully, Justin hadn't yet arrived and the place still seemed deserted. Ginny leaped aboard her Firebolt, pushing its speed to the limit as she travelled the short distance to Mornington Crescent. Gently, she landed behind a wall near to Fred's flat, casting an Everyday charm on the Firebolt in case some Muggle felt like making off with it. Emerging into the street, she wandered curiously along, looking for Mendacium House. She found it easily and, as luck would have it, she didn't even have to use the electronic answering service; one of the residents held the door open for her, smiling politely on his way out. Ginny gave a small wordless exclamation and braced her shoulders. So far, so good.

Ginny padded up the stairs until she spied an arrow indicating that flats four, five and six were to the left. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door of number four, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach, not entirely certain whether she hoped he was home or not. There was an agonising pause, and then someone sauntered down the hall to check the spy hole. Evidently she had been classed as harmless: the door opened to reveal Marcus Torrence, a faintly enquiring sneer on his face. Or, at least, it was almost Marcus.

And Ginny knew the truth.

She opened her mouth to repeat her rehearsed lines, but the blonde man frowned and waved her to silence before she could utter a word.

"I'm too busy right now to indulge in chit chat," he replied, his voice rather more nasal than usual. "Come back in a week and I might find time to ask you your name."

But Ginny had already allowed her Glamour to lapse. It gave her a great deal of pleasure to watch the growing shock on his face as he registered her changing appearance, but she knew she still had to be wary. Very, very wary.

"Shit!" the blonde man muttered, staring at Ginny in confusion, uncertain as to what or how much she knew. She smiled grimly.

"You should never have let your Glamour drop," she declared. "Mistake Number One, I think. Well, are we going to discuss the situation here in the lobby, or are you going to invite me in - Malfoy?"

There was a frozen silence for the duration of several heartbeats, and then the blond man's shoulders slumped, he sighed and opened the door wide. He looked at her with dislike.

"It doesn't look as though I have much choice, does it?" he said bitterly. He turned his back, leaving the door open for her to follow.

As Ginny entered his apartment, she realised that had she ever visited Marcus at home, she would have realised the inconsistencies between his two personae.

It was likely that Draco Malfoy in his Marcus guise would never have brought her here, at least, not until it was too late. It was obvious that the artistic Marcus could never have lived in a place so hopelessly sterile; Ginny knew that for a fact. It was evidently a bolthole; a place to eat, sleep and collect owl post. Malfoy didn't really live here either, but it was a useful front, and possibly a base for his manoeuvres against Fred. If, indeed, that was his objective. Ginny shivered, wondering just how powerful this man really was.

Draco Malfoy had never been much of a wizkid in his early days at Hogwarts. Only in his final year had he begun to display some talent, and even then in dubious and sometimes positively unpleasant directions. Since then, Malfoy had evidently been schooled in many of the shadier arts.

"My father's."

The blond man spoke for the first time, gesturing towards a glass case containing a severed, bloodless hand. "He lent it to me to assist in certain, ah, activities."

Unaware of her actions, Ginny realised she had been gazing unseeingly at the hand while trying to pull the pieces of her mind into some kind of order. Briefly, she extended her awareness towards it, trying to ignore the unpleasant twanging of her magical senses. Suppressing a shudder, she turned away. He gave a low chuckle.

"Not used to the Dark Arts, are you, Weasley?" he mocked.

Wordlessly, she shook her head then abruptly gathering her courage, she stared him straight in the eyes.

"What have you done to me?" she demanded, chin held high.

After a moment, a grim smile spread over his pale face.

"What gave me away?" he returned, not answering her question. She nodded.

"Okay, I'll answer you if you answer me."

He considered that then nodded. She inclined her own head briefly.

"Mistake number one; mirrors," she told him. At his puzzled expression she elaborated.

"This morning, when you were sound mixing in Studio 2, you were facing a window," she explained with justifiable relish.

Enlightenment dawned and his mouth thinned into a hard line. She couldn't resist taunting him.

"For all your vaunted prowess at the Dark Arts, Malfoy," she said, "you didn't even think to give your Glamour protection against revealing itself in a mirror?"

He glared, but returned no answer. As she studied him, Ginny realised that the changes he had wrought to make him into Marcus Torrence had been very subtle indeed. His hair and skin colouring were largely similar, and his lithe, slim physique had required little alteration. However, the facial features themselves had been carefully morphed away from the truth, softening the harsh lines, blending the cruelty in the eyes, turning those thin lips into the sensuous pout which Ginny had itched to exploit with her own mouth. Now, only the eyes still retained the startling blueness of his adopted persona. To Ginny's utter dismay, despite his unmasking, the pull between them was still strong. She dragged her gaze away with difficulty.

"You haven't answered my question," she told him.

"What question was that?" Amusement coloured the cold tone.

"You know very well!" Ginny was losing control of her temper. "What in Merlin's name have you done to me?"

"I should have thought that was obvious by now."

Draco Malfoy smiled, once more on top of the situation. He began to pace around her; she shivered under his scrutiny.

"You've been ensorcelled," he answered, a quiet note of triumph in his voice. "It's quite a subtle enchantment, though I say so myself. Highly illegal, of course, but what do laws exist for but to break?"

"Why?"

Her voice was beginning to shake and her knees were giving way with reaction. Malfoy noticed. Brusquely, he gestured to a black leather sofa.

"Sit down, girl, before you fall."

The instruction was rough but not unkind. Ginny obeyed more for the security of remaining vertical than out of any desire to do his bidding. Malfoy paced the room, obviously enjoying himself.

"Why did I, Draco Malfoy, use a love potion on you, Ginny Weasley?" he began, smiling spitefully. "Yes, that's a very good question indeed, particularly considering I wouldn't touch you with a twelve foot lance under normal circumstances."

He grinned nastily, but she didn't react.

"Go on," she responded evenly.

"It was part of an ongoing plan," he continued. "I'm delighted to say that this element of it was entirely my idea. My father commended me highly for my ruthlessness. I was to get you in my power, totally under my control."

Ginny shivered inwardly, but kept her countenance.

"What for?" she asked, "Why would you need me?"

He stared at her, this time in abject astonishment.

"You don't know, do you?" he exclaimed, "You really don't know! Well, let me enlighten you. As you'll shortly be saying goodbye to all your independent thinking for the foreseeable future, I see no reason to keep silent."

He paused to gather his thoughts.

"You and Potter--" he spat the name out as though it tasted nasty "--seem to have stumbled on something extremely powerful; so powerful that my father and his fellow Dark Wizards were unwilling to take the risk of it developing to its full potential. Unlike you two pathetic little lovebirds, they recognised it for what it was. That's what Peter was testing out at the airport, and yes - he was responsible for the near miss you and Potter narrowly averted. He came back a very worried man, I can tell you!"

Malfoy paused for consideration.

"This mind-meld you and Potter have between you," he continued. "It's not unique. There have been a number of instances of it in the past, but most of them have been between Dark Wizards. The most famous example of which you might have some knowledge was between Merlin and Morgan le Fey."

He shook his head regretfully.

"Extremely powerful," he said. "Potentially earth-shattering, but their allegiances were so different it all ended in disaster."

He pondered for a moment then seemed to drag himself back to the present.

"We couldn't possibly allow the most adept wizard of a generation to find out exactly what he'd stumbled upon, now could we?" he continued with an amiable grin. "Granted, it would have taken a number of years to achieve union, and many more to gain control of the gift. Your volatile personality would, of course, have made the necessary symbiosis at best very difficult, but I believe, with knowledge and suitable training, you would have achieved it in the end."

Draco Malfoy shook his head.

"We couldn't afford to let you even attempt it," he concluded gravely. He paused, and then smiled.

"But now I have you," he continued. "Here you are, trapped. You couldn't resist the attraction and you walked straight into my parlour. I must admit I was surprised you found me; I really wasn't expecting you to catch on so quickly. But, of course, it's too late for you now. You are destined to spend the rest of your days as my tool in the continuing battle against Potter and the Forces of Light."

Despite cringing under his bleak words, Ginny found that she was puzzled.

"What's to stop me going straight to Harry and telling him exactly what you've just told me?" she demanded hotly.

The expression that crept slowly over Draco Malfoy's face made her skin crawl. He extended a hand to her face, lightly caressing her cheek with ice-cold fingers. She tried to move away, gritting her teeth with the effort, but all that emerged from her mouth was a groan and her eyes closed luxuriously at the caress. He laughed lightly.

"This enchantment works in two stages," he told her, gloating. "The first involves compulsion. The victim is obliged to be near the caster, there can be no rest or peace of mind unless they are together. Once they are together, the inevitable, er, coupling must occur for the enchantment to become fixed."

"Coupling?" Ginny was astonished. Malfoy nodded, smiling faintly.

"I promised you I would make Potter disappear from your mind, and I will keep that promise," he told her coolly. "Reports from victims say that the final stage of this enchantment is the most potent physical experience of their lives. Of course, these victims have no option but to serve the enchanter without independent thought thereafter, so their reported opinions may be slightly, ah, biased."

"It's irreversible?"

"Oh, totally."

Abruptly, blind rage overwhelmed Ginny's mind. She drew herself up to her full height and glared at him.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" she shouted, angrily. "Such a brilliant scheme to use me as a puppet, a tool for your own contemptible ambitions! But what makes you think you're strong enough to hold me to this spell, eh, Malfoy? As I recall, you weren't exactly at the top of your year when we were at Hogwarts. In fact, I distinctly remember you barely managed to scrape through in Charms."

Malfoy glared at her as though unwilling to be reminded of his ignominious schooldays. Ginny smiled grimly.

"So, what's to stop me just breaking free of your Curse then, Malfoy?" she asked. "What are you going to do about it, eh?"

She raised her hand, fingers outstretched.

"Finite Incantatem," she commanded, furrowing her brow in concentration. The air around her shimmered slightly, but nothing else happened. Ginny bit her lip.

"Finite ... Incantatem," she said again, with extreme difficulty; she could scarcely get the words out.

Malfoy stared at her in amazement bordering on stupefaction.

"So it's happened," he said in quiet amazement. "I did wonder if you'd... Back at Wizarding Radio, I thought you'd somehow managed to hex that pile of chairs, but I didn't see you use your wand. I reckoned you'd had it hidden somewhere..."

He broke off, slid his wand out of its sleeve pocket and aimed it at Ginny.

"Nullo intercedo," he muttered offhandedly, still staring.

Ginny felt her grip on the counterspell begin to loosen. Her arm dropped, she ceased to struggle then flopped back in her chair panting for breath. Malfoy re-sheathed his wand with a flourish.

"I really can't have you interfering with the Charm," he told her complacently. "I've gone to a great deal of trouble to cast it just right. I would be very disappointed if you were to alter its construction in any way before I activate it fully. I'm afraid it's protected in such a way that standard Curse-breaking will have no effect on it. And besides, the counterspell must have my unique signature on it to have any chance of success."

Abruptly, Malfoy began to smile and shake his head.

"You really have already started to join!" he exclaimed. "I thought I must have been mistaken about what I saw in the studio this morning, but I was right the first time: you can conjure without a wand. Well, well, well!"

"Shut up, Malfoy!"

Ginny was getting angry. Malfoy shook his head again, smiling maliciously.

"You know," he began conversationally, "in your situation, I would be hard-pressed to decide which of my two possible destinies I would prefer to follow: ensorcellment or a slow decline into madness."

Ginny frowned.

"Malfoy, what are you blethering on about?" she demanded.

The blonde wizard raised one speculative eyebrow.

"You really don't know, do you?" he asked politely, and then gave a light laugh. "Well, allow me to enlighten you. Rest assured, Weasley, that even if your dearly-beloved Potter were to turn up at this very moment on a white charger, dressed in shining armour, ready to slay the wicked Dark wizard and bear you triumphantly away back to his castle in St. John's Wood, neither of you would live happily ever after. A pity, I'm sure, and an extremely disagreeable way to go, particularly for you, but sadly none of my doing."

"I asked you what you were talking about, Malfoy," Ginny said between gritted teeth.

Despite her angry tone and obvious contempt for her captor, Ginny was curious. Malfoy's infuriatingly smug expression made her want to hex the face off him, but something about his words had the ring of truth.

"Patience, patience," he drawled. "Good things come to those who wait. Not an entirely appropriate maxim in your case, I'm afraid, but the best I can do on the spur of the moment."

Malfoy paused and stroked his hairless chin thoughtfully

"It seems as though you and your precious paramour have already gone some way towards initiating the Mind Bond," he told her. "Magic without the focus of a wand is difficult for adepts, impossible for neophytes. Potter, at his level, could expect to perform some charms or hexes without his wand, but you? Pah!"

Malfoy clicked his fingers negligently as though consigning Ginny to a scrapheap of insignificance.

"You may have had some talent as a schoolgirl," he continued, "but your time spent shacked up with that odious Muggle - oh, yes, we know all about that! - should have set your development back a decade. Instead, what do we find? Little Ginny Weasley operating wandless at a level unheard of from anyone but the most powerful adepts!"

Malfoy shrugged, enjoying his position at centre-stage.

"The only conclusion I can draw is that you and Potter have already begun to initiate your Bond," he said. "Whether it happened by accident, or was triggered by some great magical effort, such as your antics at Heathrow Airport, only you can tell. However, if you really have begun the consolidation process, then you, my dear, can expect to continue living for approximately two years. Two years, max, Weasley. Two years of unspeakable pain and misery as your mental faculties are gradually scythed away under the onslaught of power levels the like of which your pitiful brain cannot contain. After that, there will be very little of you left for St. Mungo's to care for."

Malfoy grinned showing a row of even, slightly pointed teeth.

"Without the necessary guidance and training from an adept," he told her, "you have less than no chance of success. Such a pity the only surviving knowledge of the process lies with the Dark side. After all, we are hardly likely to help you, are we?"

Ginny could only stare dumbly. Malfoy chuckled unpleasantly.

"Potter, as the more powerful partner, will suffer too, but merely a reduction in his abilities," he continued smoothly. "The true agony will be yours alone. So, in many ways, it's really rather fortunate that I have a completely different destiny planned for you, isn't it? The magic in my enchantment will sever the Bond between you and Potter completely and forever. Surely, enslavement to me has to be superior to the long drawn-out torment you would otherwise have to endure. Believe me, Ginny; this way your remaining days on this earth will be totally fulfilled. Your life will be short, certainly, and, to all intents and purposes, utterly mindless, but you will not care. Once bound to me, you will be in no position to care about anything."

Malfoy took her nerveless hand in his cold one.

"Even if you were to escape me at this late juncture, I'm afraid your fate is sealed," he told her with surprising gentleness. "Two years, then madness. Compared with you, Morgan le Fey was as mild as a nun, yet even she failed to Bond with Merlin. You would need years to complete your Bond with Potter. Decades even. A pity really: in the right hands, you just might have succeeded. But now..."

Malfoy broke off, spreading his hands with a shrug. He shook his head.

"Count your blessings, Weasley," he told her. "At least this is a pleasant way to go. So I'm told."

Malfoy was grinning broadly now, evilly. He trailed a hand gently over Ginny's neck and shoulder, chuckling at the gasp she was unable to suppress. With a supreme effort, she raised her hand and brought it swiftly against his face in a stinging slap. Without missing a beat, Malfoy seized her wrist in an iron grip, turned her hand over and buried his lips in her palm. Ginny closed her eyes in forbidden ecstasy.

"Sensuous little thing, aren't you?" he murmured, feeling her shiver as he moved his mouth over her ear towards her throat. The hands resting lightly on her shoulders moved downwards, as Malfoy shifted his weight to bring their lips into contact.

"Relax, Ginny," he purred into her mouth, tobacco-scented breath sending electric tingles down her spine. "This is one experience you'll be reliving for the rest of your life."

~oOo~

"I don't know why I'm concerned, Fred."

Ellen's pretty face was worried but stubborn. "I can't tell you what's set my danger alarms pinging. All I know is that Lee's struggling with his doubts over this quest, and I have too much respect for his brainpower to ignore that fact!"

Fred paced the apartment, index finger tapping his lips. He looked back at her.

"And you have nothing else to go on? No proof? Nothing concrete?"

Ellen nearly screamed at him, but controlled the urge just in time.

"Haven't you been listening, Fred?" she returned. "I've tried to drop hints to persuade him to bring his findings to you, but I can't come right out and say it, can I? As far as he knows, we're just friends, nothing more."

Fred snorted.

"You'd have to be a pretty good friend to be in my flat at 6.30am."

They both chuckled, but Fred's face soon turned serious.

"What about Ginny? How's she coping?" he asked.

Ellen shrugged. She got up from her chair and walked over to the window.

"The best I can get out of her is that she and Harry didn't exactly part on good terms," the blonde girl began. "She's certainly been having her troubles with another member of the band, but that seems to have been resolved in some way or other."

She looked up at him and spread her hands.

"I'm sorry, I really don't know much more than that, "she sighed. "She hasn't exactly been around much to talk to, and she's been a bit, well, reclusive over the last few days."

Fred smiled wearily and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey," he said gently. "You can't get everything right all at once, you know."

A sudden commotion in the vicinity of the fireplace made them both swivel their heads. The sooty figure of Lee Jordan emerged into the living room.

"Sorry to burst in on you like this, Fred," he began shaking the dust from his hair, speaking rapidly and urgently, "but I finally figured out that anomaly. Believe it or not, it's the twin thing again. You told me over and over again that you and George never share each other's contacts; you keep your sources totally separate. I could kick myself for not spotting it sooner! That means the information George's contact had on Chinga'an must have come from somewhere else within the Ministry..."

Lee trailed off as he took in the presence of two figures in front of him. There was a brief silence. He swallowed with difficulty.

"Do you mind if I say, 'What the hell'?" he asked quietly.

Fred and Ellen exchanged a look and Fred sighed, removing his hand from Ellen's shoulder.

"You can say anything you like, Lee," he said, resignedly. "I guess it must be your move."

Lee swallowed again, looking from Ellen to Fred and then back again.

"I really don't believe what I'm seeing," he whispered. "You two specifically denied any sort of relationship; I specifically asked both of you to make absolutely sure. Now what the blazes is Ellen doing here in your flat, Fred, drinking coffee at 6.30am?"

Ellen got up from the sofa, still cradling her coffee mug.

"It's not what it seems, Lee," she began quietly. Lee gestured wildly in reply, raking rough hands through his hair.

"Okay, so what is it then?"

His hard tone and implacable expression were not encouraging. Ellen lowered her eyes. She glanced at Fred who nodded almost imperceptibly: permission to tell. She sighed and her shoulders slumped.

"Lee, the truth is that Fred and I are not just friends," she admitted.

Lee's stomach gave a sudden heave, which had nothing to do with his lack of breakfast. Get a grip! his mind reprimanded him. You've only known the woman a couple of weeks. You weren't exactly going out or anything. But the sickening disappointment threatened to engulf him.

"No, not friends," Fred echoed, knowing Lee rather better than Ellen and correctly interpreting the pain on his friend's face. "We're colleagues. Working associates."

It took a few seconds for that to percolate into Lee's system. When it did, he looked up disbelievingly.

"So you're a spook too?" he shot at the blonde girl, and then shook his head. "Nothing doing. I know all the operatives at the Ministry, even if I don't work with them, and you're not on the payroll. You'll have to do better than that."

"I can," continued Fred calmly. "Ellen's a contact. She's an interface with the Muggle world. Oh, she's extraordinarily intelligent and extremely successful in the world of money, but she's not in it solely for the filthy lucre."

Ellen smiled for the first time.

"You'll give me a swollen head," she chided him then her expression turned serious.

"I'm sorry you were dragged into this, Lee," she said contritely. Her eyes were sad.

Lee shook his head, still puzzled.

"But why didn't you just come out and tell me what the score was?" he demanded. "Why did I have to find out this way?"

Fred sighed.

"Now we come to something I'm not particularly proud of," he confessed. "It has to do with seeing enemies behind every tree, intrigue in every situation, yadda yadda - you know the sort of thing. We talked about it before."

Lee nodded. Fred continued.

"I'm not happy about Ginny." Fred's face was pensive. "It's not just that she's on her own while Harry's putting himself into danger in deepest Yucatan, it's something more than that. To be frank, it's something concerning that Marcus Torrence guy. I'm not happy about him. I've tried to have his records pulled from archives, but no one seems to be able to trace them. He's got no history that we can find with wizarding performing arts before this year. It's as though he appeared from nowhere with no family, no connections and no past to speak of."

Fred gritted his teeth in frustration.

"I know I'm touchy where my family are concerned, Lee," he continued. "But this man sets all my personal danger alarms ringing with a vengeance.

Lee pursed his lips, his brain working at speed. He looked up, fixing Fred with a very shrewd look.

"But just because you think a guy's trying to make a move on your sister doesn't merit your secretly parking a babysitter on her, does it?" he said, eyebrows raised in enquiry. "Don't you think that might be a slight overreaction on your part?"

"Perhaps." Fred replied, nodding bleakly. "But my alarm bells were ringing even more strongly over Torrence and his non-history than they were over Harry's benighted quest. Besides, once I'd realised that you too had a vague uneasiness over Leandra's Ewer, it occurred to me that if the Dark Side were meddling with Harry, they might also try to get to him through my sister."

Lee reached out and patted Fred's shoulder.

"I think I understand," he began, "perhaps better than anyone else. Little man Hunch has been muttering in his sleep for weeks now, keeping me from my own. This morning something bit him and he leaped wide-awake and yelling. Fred, I've found the discrepancy I was searching for, and it puts the whole bang shoot in jeopardy."

Quickly, Lee explained what he had come up with, presenting his computer printouts as proof. Fred frowned at the papers.

"So what you're telling me is that George's Iranian source was privy to information that originated from my Mexican source," he began slowly. "Now, we know for a fact that he couldn't have got it from George or from me, and your investigations have proved conclusively that the two sources have never had any contact. So what does that leave us with?"

Fred raised his head and stared at Lee with bleak eyes.

"A leak somewhere in the Ministry," Lee finished with a grim smile. "There's no other explanation."

Fred sighed heavily.

"Just let me check something here," he said, shuffling Lee's papers. "I just want to make sure..."

Fred trailed off, scanning quickly through the computer printouts. Feeling a gentle hand on his shoulder, Lee turned to see Ellen looking at him seriously.

"I'm sorry I had to deceive you, Lee," she began, but he shook his head, putting his hand over hers to push it away.

"You were just doing your job," he replied evenly. "Don't let it bother you."

Lee turned away before he could see the flash of pain in Ellen's eyes at his words. Dully, he realised that not only was he unsurprised at this turn of events, but that he also bore Fred no ill will, neither for deceiving him nor for Ellen's duplicity.

Par for the course, his inner stoic told him. Ellen was blonde, beautiful, devastatingly intelligent and fun to be with. Exactly the kind of girl Fred would be attracted to. And how in Merlin's name could Ellen herself fail to fall for Fred? Of course Ellen had been stringing Lee along - why else would she bother with him when she had someone like Fred dancing attendance on her? Lee was stupid to have entertained even a faint suspicion that she might just have liked him for himself.

With an effort, Lee turned his mind back to the purpose of his visit. Ellen sighed as she heard him reiterate his conclusions to Fred with a rapidity that occasionally obscured his meaning. Fred shook his head holding his hands palms outermost.

"Slow down, Lee," he protested. "Sit down, drink a cup of tea and take it calmly. You're telling me the leak has to be close to, or part of, my Department? Well, to be honest with you, I've suspected as much for a long time."

With a thoughtful glance and a shake of the head, Ellen quietly went to refill the teapot. There were too many other things to think about at present to give houseroom to worries of a personal nature: things that could easily involve the lives of people dear to all of them. She and Lee would get it sorted sometime, she thought hopefully, waving her wand at the boiling kettle. Until then, the universal panacea - a nice hot cup of tea - would always make a tricky situation more bearable. She shrugged. It would have to do for now; she had nothing else to offer him.

Finally, after considerable reflection, Fred raised his head. His dour expression took in both his friends.

"I think it's time we submitted this to a higher authority," he said quietly, reaching for the Floo powder.

~oOo~

As a result, the action against Mariane was dropped and could not be reactivated. The Court ruled that once Muggles had become aware of a magical situation, the legal basis of the claim was no longer viable ...

Hermione ran a despairing hand through her hair. Never had she found researching precedents a more tedious occupation. Usually she enjoyed the nitpicking detail required for Opinions of this type, but this morning she just couldn't seem to settle. I'm missing him so much more than I thought, she concluded wryly, and stretched her aching shoulders. She padded out to the kitchen for fresh coffee and on returning to the study, she found Ron's head in the fireplace.

Hermione was, to say the least, surprised, particularly as she had been under the distinct impression that to firetalk at long distances with no other magical assistance was extremely difficult. Ron's face kept waxing and waning as he fought to maintain the contact.

"Hermione," he began indistinctly, "don't talk; just listen. We need backup here urgently. Something unexpected has happened. I can't get through to Sirius. Go to The Burrow - Dad'll know what to do. Whatever you do, don't firetalk or owl - we don't know who might intercept you. And don't use your message globe. Go yourself. Now."

"Ron!" Hermione found herself wailing, throwing her hands up to her face. The fiery figure extended a faint hand towards her and smiled lovingly.

"I'm okay, Hermione - for the moment," he said, his image flickering. "Not sure about Harry though. Please, do as I say as quickly as possible. Never forget; I love you!"

His image blinked out very suddenly in the manner of someone cutting a telephone line. Hermione stood for one moment's panicked indecision then grabbing her handbag, she, too, reached for the Floo powder.