By the Pricking of my Thumbs

"By the Pricking of my Thumbs"

by Penpusher

Chapter Nine: "The Tomb of all Hope"

"Okay, that's enough. Now, everybody out."

Harry's voice was sharp with fatigue. There was a dull splashing as Katia levered herself over the side of the raft into the weed-choked water, followed quickly by Ron. Their boots immediately sank several inches into the soft riverbed. Grunting with effort, they eased their sole source of transport towards the shore, Harry steadily maintaining the Levitation charm throughout. As he wrung what seemed like several gallons of water out of his fatigues, Ron couldn't resist aiming a vicious kick at the forlorn machine.

"Bloody inadequate design!" he swore.

Harry grimaced vaguely, drying the sweat from his face before rescuing his glasses from his pocket where he had stored them against accidents.

"Be fair, Ron, it is a prototype," he protested mildly, "and, after all, it got us here, didn't it?"

Ron grumbled some more about academics in ivory towers and set about casting an Everyday charm on the raft to protect it from prying eyes. This done, he sat down heavily and sighed, unlacing his saturated boots. He looked at Harry.

"I'm not looking forward to making my report to Tim Cyu," he admitted, rifling through his pack for a dry pair of socks. "He's never going to believe that his wonderful new engine can't cope with river weed!"

His attention was drawn to Katia who was standing at the top of the bank. She beckoned urgently and the two men took off after her at a run, Ron fighting with one as yet unlaced boot.

"This way," she told them, striding out into the forest. Harry paused, still tucking in his shirt, then followed obediently, but Ron stood stubbornly, refusing to move.

"What about the gear?" he demanded when she looked back. She shook her head.

"We've got the packs and essential supplies," she told him. "We can return later for the rest. Is it not charm-protected?"

"Of course," he replied stiffly.

She shrugged in a "where's the problem then?" manner and turned to continue along the trail. Ron shook his head and reluctantly followed.

"Some day," he muttered to Harry, "some fine day I'm going to swing for that woman."

"Really?" Harry stopped to examine a hunk of stone buried in the ground and was only half listening. "I think she's a pretty useful person to have around. And really very good company. Her knowledge of the forest is really quite breathtaking."

And that's not the only breathtaking thing about her, obviously! Ron added mentally, biting his lips to hold his silence. He needn't have worried; Harry was too absorbed in his surroundings to notice his friend's outraged expression. Ron stood for a moment watching Harry continue on down the trail. He wiped sweat out of his eyes with a damp sleeve, shaking his head in disbelief.

What is it with this woman? Ron found himself thinking furiously. And how come Harry feels so differently from me? Am I right about the Veela magic? If so, for Merlin's sake why? She doesn't strike me as the sentimental type. What could she possibly have to gain from seducing Harry?

With a sigh of exasperation, Ron continued to trudge after his friend. He kicked his own thoughts around for a while, but without further enlightenment. Harry seemed to have disappeared into his own mind, brooding on ancient architecture and magical customs.

Ron gritted his teeth.

"Well, here goes nothing!" he muttered, fixing his sights on the tall figure blazing the trail some yards ahead of him. He increased his speed, jogging to catch up with the fast-moving woman, and settled himself at her elbow, assisting her with the tough undergrowth and activating the enchanted machete when the going quickly became harder.

"So, Katia," he began, in what he imagined was a casual tone. "Where exactly did you learn your magic? You said you didn't go to school, so how did you gain your knowledge? Who taught you?"

She gave him a suspicious glance.

"My father," she replied shortly.

When it appeared that she was not going to elaborate, Ron tried again.

"Was he a Mexican wizard?" he enquired with polite interest.

A small smile twitched her lips, but her voice betrayed only indifference.

"Yes, he was."

"And your mother?"

"Was not Mexican."

"So you're half-Mexican, half...?"

Ron left the question open, but Katia did not bother to grace him with an answer. A short silence fell.

"I've always wondered about the differences between the styles of magic practised in other countries," Ron began again, wondering how long he could keep this up with so little encouragement. "How exactly did you learn your craft?"

She stopped very suddenly and turned to face him.

"My craft? Is that what you call it?" she responded, cool and sarcastic. "Are you such a novice yourself that you think to deceive me with this - this polite conversation?" Her eyes narrowed. "How I learned my craft is my business, Mr. Special Duty Auror Ronald Weasley, and there are powers and mysteries about this land that would stop you dead in your tracks, for all your fine Hogwarts education."

Ron reckoned that this was the longest speech she had ever directed to him. He was not in the least disturbed by her obvious animosity, rather the opposite as he realised he had touched a nerve. Returning the vicious curl of her lip with a bland smile, he gestured towards the pathway.

"Pray continue," he said calmly, inclining his head. "I must admit, I'm very intrigued by the depth of your knowledge, and I'd very much like to continue this conversation. However, we need to keep moving if we're going to cover sufficient mileage before sundown. Perhaps we could talk as we walk? Unless, of course, you'd rather I lead for a while?"

Katia bared her white teeth with a sharp hiss, and then swung back to the path, not even dignifying him with an answer. Ron's lips twitched in a small smile. He swung into line behind her without further comment.

The day wore on, hot and humid. Harry could have sworn the anti-blister charm on his boots was fading, but at least the sunscreen worked. He paused for a moment, taking off his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow then he froze, his keen eyes taking in a flash of white amongst the dark green of the vegetation.

"Ron," he said, beckoning to his friend who was just coming up behind him. "Do you see something? There, through the trees - something white."

Ron squinted hard against the sun, using his hand to shield his eyes.

"Yes, I think I do," he replied, eventually. "White masonry, I think. But that can't be Chinga'an - the stonework would have discoloured after all this time, surely."

Harry gave his friend an amused smile.

"Ron, we have no idea what to expect," he explained. "This is a wizard city. Any amount of exotic magic could remain, both for protection and for durability. We are going to have to take this slowly once we find it, and your curse-breaking abilities might come in very handy indeed!"

Harry pushed his way through some overhanging creepers and practically collided with Katia, rocking back on his heels to keep his balance. Ron brought up the rear, craning his neck over the smaller man's shoulder.

"What's the problem?" he asked.

Katia hissed quietly at him and inclined her head to a sinuous shape with distinctive grey markings coiled on the path in front of her, poised to strike.

"A Bushmaster!" breathed Ron, scared yet fascinated by the lethal grace of the creature.

To everyone's amazement, Harry didn't even pause to think. He shouldered past Katia, drawing the snake's attention away from the others, then concentrated hard on the black head and glittering eyes.

"We mean you no harm," he said. "We know your bite is lethal to our kind. If you do not attack us, we will leave you in peace."

The breathy hissing which came out of Harry's mouth was not language in any strict sense of the word, but the snake paused in its aggressive behaviour, staring at Harry with thoughtful, glittering eyes.

"It has been many centuries since humans have had speech with us," it replied at length. "Not since the builders of the White City went away."

"The White City?" Harry didn't know if snake-language could express excitement, but his face certainly lit up with intense interest. "Where is this city? Will you show us?"

The snake seemed to consider, weaving its head to and fro.

"You are very near," it replied. "There are many of us living in the ruins. I will go to warn them of your coming. We will not attack you."

Harry bowed his head.

"You are hospitable," he returned. "We owe you our thanks."

The snake seemed to nod once, then turned to slither away through the undergrowth. Seeing the snake relax its guard, Katia suddenly reached for the rifle slung over her shoulder. Jumping in front of the snake, Harry held out his hands in refusal.

"No! Don't harm him; he can help us!"

In the same instant, Ron seized her arms in a vice-like grip and held her while she struggled helplessly. Harry turned back to the snake.

"Forgive us," he asked, humbly. "The woman did not understand. The others do not speak your tongue."

The snake seemed to ponder this, then fixed Harry with one gleaming eye.

"There were never many with this skill, even in the White City," it returned.

It fixed them with an unblinking gaze then abruptly slid away into the undergrowth. Once he was totally sure the snake had disappeared, Ron released his hold on Katia. Whirling round, she kicked his shins in fury.

"I could have got it!" she screamed.

Harry's eyes were wide with surprise.

"But we have just made a powerful ally!" he protested. "<>: Salazar Slytherin himself, no less. Katia, we will now have no problem with the snakes in Chinga'an. However, if you had killed that one, I doubt we could have got out of the place without using the antivenin."

For the first time, Katia glared at Harry in fury, then she turned her back wordlessly and continued to tramp through the undergrowth. With a small shrug, Ron followed leaving Harry blinking behind his glasses, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

~o0o~

Chinga'an must have been a very ambitious project, Harry decided, having paced out part of its perimeter, taken some preliminary measurements, and conjectured as to where the main buildings had stood. He deduced that if it followed the same basic structure as other surviving Mayan cities, Chinga'an had to have covered more than four times the area of the small site they were now examining. Amazing!

The party had reached the city proper just before nightfall. Harry was so excited that Ron had to take away his torch, then his wand, then physically drag him away from the ruins back to the campfire in order to force feed him a hot meal.

"It's absolutely fantastic!"

Harry looked at his two companions, eyes glowing with exhilarated discovery.

"We'll need to bring a team back here as soon as possible," he continued excitedly. "The scale of the site is beyond anything I'd ever dreamed, and the state of preservation of the stonework is so good it's a great credit to those who cast the Durability charms. They're so faint as to be almost undetectable, of course, but we need to get a specialist in to see how much we can learn from them. As for the quality of the carving, I've never ... mmmf! Oh, thanks!"

Ron stifled the monologue by ramming a hunk of bread into his friend's mouth. Harry continued to eat mechanically, occasionally assisted by Ron, the food scarcely interrupting the flow of information. Seeing as neither of the others was able to get a word in even had they wished, it was not greatly surprising that Katia remained silent throughout the meal. However, Ron caught occasional glimpses of her glinting, malevolent eyes and realised, with a shiver, that she had far from forgiven them for their earlier interference.

After supper, Ron determinedly forced Harry into their tent and bed at wand point. He knew his friend in this mood; Harry wouldn't stop until he dropped with exhaustion, and Ron figured he, Harry, would do the job better in daylight. Also, he admitted to himself, he was absolutely determined not to help Katia get Harry on his own in any way possible.

Several hours later, Ron had cause to reassess the situation. He woke very suddenly to see Harry silhouetted against the window, mechanically pulling on his clothes. He yawned and sighed blearily.

"Aw, Harry, give it a rest, will you? The damned city'll still be there in the morning..."

It was as though his friend could neither see nor hear him. Harry continued mechanically lacing his boots, and presently moved towards the door.

Suddenly very wide awake indeed, Ron leaped out of bed, hastily fastening his own fatigues and boots, and followed Harry out of the tent, down to the campsite. From there Harry plunged straight into the forest, his course leading always downhill. Ron found it difficult to be sure in the pale moonlight, but it seemed as though Harry was following a path already trodden. Faintly, Ron heard the sound of running water. That must be the stream Katia used to fill the water canteens, he decided.

It appeared that the water was not the only thing Ron was to see in the stream. As Harry made to step out from the undergrowth on to the bank of the stream, Ron put a cautionary hand on his shoulder, suddenly suspicious. Harry stopped moving and stood obediently while his friend quickly scanned the area for any kind of threat.

Alerted by the sound of splashing, Ron turned towards the water. His breath caught in his throat.

Katia was bathing in the shallow water, quite some way away from where they were standing, but close enough for Ron to see the moonlight shafting off her naked body as she twisted and turned, letting the water cascade in glittering rivulets over her smooth skin. Ron scratched his head in shock. She was magnificent; even he had to admit that. Mind-blowingly gorgeous, mesmerising, utterly enthralling, seriously arousing - hey, wait a moment!

Ron tore his eyes away from the sight, the blood pounding in his ears. There's no sense in both of us falling foul of this woman! He gave himself a stern lecture, then looked over at his friend.

"Oh Gods!" he muttered quietly, for Harry's shirt was on the ground, his boots and fatigues had been cast aside and his pants were rapidly going the same way. Ron put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey!" he said quietly, "What's up?"

Ron winced at the unintentional double-entendre, but fortunately Harry didn't seem to have noticed. He tried again.

"Harry, what do you think you're doing?" he began in a reasonable tone. "It's the middle of the night. Come on, let's get back to the tent."

Harry stopped moving and stood inertly, his face expressionless. Slowly, Ron picked up his friend's boots and pushed them back on his feet, not bothering to lace them. Flinging the shirt around his own shoulders and grabbing the trousers, he turned Harry around and gave him a gentle push back up the path. To Ron's eternal relief, Harry obeyed passively, walking back to the campsite and into the tent without resistance. Ron pushed him through the door.

"Okay, Harry, how about some cocoa now we're both awake, huh?" he said in quiet, reassuring tones as he wrapped the oblivious man in a blanket to preserve his modesty.

Carefully, Ron steered his friend towards the kitchen and sat him down in a chair, keeping up a meaningless monologue as he poured milk into a saucepan and hunted out the sugar. Harry sat submissively, staring at his surroundings without interest. His eyes were dull, the pupils dilated, and his pale skin was clammy with perspiration.

Ron treated him gently, carefully, all the time watching for signs that his friend was snapping out of it. For Ron knew exactly what was going on here, he'd seen the symptoms before: an ensorcellment somewhat akin to Imperius but more specific in its effects. The only question was why was she doing it?

He pressed the cup of warm cocoa against Harry's lips and watched the swallowing reflex take over. Harry blinked, took a deep, shuddering breath and suddenly seemed to wake up.

"Ron?" he queried, puzzled. His friend smiled and patted his arm.

"Harry," he said, "Ginny warned me all about your snoring, fidgeting and talking in your sleep, but she missed out the sleepwalking bit."

"I was sleepwalking?"

"Apparently so. Come on, drink your cocoa and we'll try to get some more shut-eye, okay?"

Harry was shaking his head bemusedly.

"But I've never sleepwalked in my life!" he protested looking up at Ron, his face oddly naked without his spectacles. Ron shrugged.

"There's a first time for everything, mate. Just don't make a habit of it, that's all."

Harry gave him one more slightly puzzled look, then shrugged and bent to his cocoa. Ron was grateful that Harry had taken the explanation at face value. Had he not been so preoccupied with Chinga'an, the chances were he would have asked a few more questions.

Throughout the rest of the night, Ron lay awake alternately watching Harry sleep and studying the darkness in front of his eyes, trying to work out what was going on. He turned for what must have been the thousandth time to make sure that his friend was still slumbering, and was struck once again by how vulnerable Harry looked without his protective glasses and his customary curious expression.

Ron shook his head wonderingly: the truth of it was that Harry would always be vulnerable. He was an obvious target for the Dark Side for his fame as Voldemort's nemesis and his (deserved) reputation as one of the most powerful wizards in the world. Harry was not streetwise in the way that his friend had become, and Ron privately hoped that this status quo would persist. Harry was too idealistic, too romantic, too trusting to be much proof against intrigue, but these very qualities in turn gave him charm, charisma and the ability to inspire others. He was like a child in a new universe, wide-eyed with wonder at the mysteries of life, persistent until he had uncovered everything there was to discover.

Ron sighed. His own love for Harry was almost as strong as his love for Hermione, albeit very different, and he knew that whatever the future held, he would spend his life protecting both of them, the most precious and valued members of his family.

~o0o~

The morning brought more pacing, careful examination and even more careful digging to uncover what Harry thought might be the library, probably the most important structure in all wizard communities. Ron checked the area thoroughly for curses and, finding none, cautiously joined Harry to open the door. The sun had travelled most of its course across the sky before they finished the work to Harry's satisfaction, and they were both wringing wet and parched when Harry finally took the first step into the building.

Half buried under the detritus of centuries, Harry had been surprised so much of the structure remained visible. Now as he stepped into the cool darkness, his wand ablaze, he could only gasp at the incredible order the ancient wizards had left behind them.

The place was much bigger than it had appeared from outside, although Ron could detect no Enhancement magic to achieve this effect, and it was entirely fashioned out of white marble. The ceiling was high, the immense walls obscured by slabs covered with intricate carvings. More carved tablets were stacked on tables arranged like freestanding shelves: the entire structure was completely covered in complex writing. Ron watched Harry's jaw drop in total amazement.

"Ron," he whispered in awe, "this is - just incredible. There's never been a discovery like it! Ye Gods, the information, the history - I can't begin to express..."

Harry tailed off, almost running into the room until Ron caught his arm.

"Hey, slow down," Ron protested, bringing out his wand to do a quick sweep of the place.

His brow furrowed as he picked up traces of long faded charm work, but nothing threatening.

"Okay," he said at last. "If there's anything dangerous here, it's beyond my ken. Right, Harry: you get moving on this stuff for as long as the light lasts. I know there's no way I'll manage to haul you out of here now you've seen this, so I'll call you to clean up and have a meal in an hour or so. Meanwhile, I'll make a report to Sirius. It's time he had some good news."

Utterly engrossed in the writings of the ancient wizards, Harry waved a vague adieu, hardly noticing when Ron left the building. Ron smiled, shaking his head.

As it happened, Ron didn't get round to contacting Sirius until much later. For reasons he couldn't entirely explain, he felt decidedly uneasy about delivering his report in Katia's earshot. Instead, he set about making camp, pitched the tent and gathered the basics of a meal, all the while watching her strip down and clean the automatic rifle she had mercifully yet to use on this trip. He started to make light conversation.

"You seem to know Sirius well," he began, deftly gathering together brushwood and small twigs to kindle a fire.

Her response was a hostile silence; only a slight slowing of her busy hands betrayed that she had heard him at all.

"How long have you known him?" Ron kept up the pleasant, reasonable tone.

For a while the woman didn't answer, then she looked up. Her face was far from friendly but her mouth smiled.

"I have known Sirius Black a long time," she told Ron. "Many years. He and I have been through a number of ... "

Abruptly she stopped. She scowled angrily as though impatient with herself, and continued to reassemble her weapon.

"No, please go on," Ron protested, pouring water into a cook pot. "I'm interested."

The dark woman shook her head.

"Forget it," she told him roughly. "Attend to your business and I will attend to mine."

Much later, just before Ron was due to rout Harry out from the library, Katia finished reassembling her weapon and departed to clean up in the stream. Ron turned to the campfire as soon as he could reasonably expect her to be out of range and brought out his wand.

He couldn't get through. The plain fact of it was he just couldn't raise Sirius at all.

"Something's blocking me!" he muttered in frustration, and after one more attempt, he ceased to try. He pondered for a while, becoming more and more concerned about being stranded virtually incommunicado with a woman he was rapidly beginning to believe was not exactly on the side of the angels, to put it mildly. He made a sudden decision, whipped out his wand again and cast the communication charm once more, only this time for a far greater range.

Ron had always known that firetalking over a long distance was at best unreliable and at worst very debilitating for the initiator, but he couldn't afford to hesitate. He guessed he was working against time, and he gritted his teeth with effort.

The exertion was almost more than he could endure, and when the contact abruptly broke, he was left panting with a mixture of exhaustion and relief. But he had reached Hermione; he had managed to raise the alarm.

Wiping the sweat out of his eyes with the hem of his tee shirt, he reached quickly for his pack, unbuckling a side-pocket and taking out a small, black object.

"Consequor!" he murmured, tapping it gently with the tip of his wand. The exterior of the object flared briefly into life, flashing green and gold before subsiding into its matte black surface once more. However, Ron did not wait to admire the display, merely thrusting the object quickly back into its pocket. Sirius had claimed the homing device was accurate to a range of 50 miles; Ron certainly hoped this was a conservative estimate.

He strapped up his pack, checking the padding for movement and wear, and then he paused feeling a prickling along his spine. Quickly he spun, automatically panning around the landscape, searching for the source of the scrutiny.

She stood stock still, just inside the edge of the clearing, smiling crookedly. She held her rifle in a casual grip, the barrel pointing unthreateningly towards the ground, but the very watchfulness of her bearing sent an unpleasant prickling across the back of Ron's neck. She moved towards the campfire and stood over his crouching figure.

"Who did you call?" Katia asked, her voice low and quiet.

Ron's highly trained magical antennae told him she was exerting some kind of influence to force him to answer. He felt a mild pain in his temples, and shook his head to dissipate its influence.

"It's no use, Katia," he said without looking at her. "You know I'm Auror-trained. You'll get nowhere like that." She shrugged.

"It was worth a try," she replied, "but there are other, more effective means."

Ron looked back up at her then stood slowly, shaking his head, his face twisting with dislike. Their eyes were almost on a level.

"Come on," he said, scornfully. "Just how good are you? You'd have to be a damn sight more adept than you appear to break me. I'm not as susceptible as Harry, either by training or by inclination."

Katia narrowed her eyes and spat at him in contempt, open animosity now written all over her face. Ron clenched his teeth, his eyes darting from her face to her hands. His body shifted easily, automatically, into defence mode, weight on the balls of his feet, centre of gravity shifted low. He became suddenly, acutely, aware of every tiny disturbance, every small sound, every movement around him, including his own. The proximity of each object, from the pack at his feet, the campfire at his elbow, to the exact position of his wand in its sleeve holster, became suddenly vital and absolute.

Katia had always known that Ron, not Harry, was her true adversary. His strength and reliability were like sharp thorns digging away at her carefully maintained neutrality. Now his persistence had finally cut her to the quick. He had forced her into the open. Very well: now he would pay for his insolence.

In one quick movement, she let the rifle fall to the ground and slid her wand out of its sleeve holster. Ron spun swiftly, wand in hand, even quicker than she. For an instant they stared at one another in open hostility. Ron took a mental inventory of the spells he had hanging and grimaced at their scantiness; he had been too busy with other concerns to complete his usual housekeeping routine. A slow smile spread itself cross Katia's smooth, expressionless face as she readied herself for combat.

Abruptly a hoarse shout shattered the tableau.

Harry staggered into the campsite, grey with grime and sweat, and covered in dust. He was clutching a huge stone tablet to his chest; holding it as though it were a lifebelt and he a drowning man.

~o0o~

"It didn't happen according to legend - nothing like."

Harry sipped at a mug of tea, pausing every now and then to stuff some bread into his mouth. He was eating as though days rather than hours had gone by, but then, Ron shrugged; Harry always had been able to inhale his food and never put on so much as an ounce. He deliberately tried to focus his mind on what Harry was saying, while all the time never relaxing his guard against the enigmatic Katia. On Harry's arrival, they had been obliged to cease hostilities for the present, but Ron was under no illusions as to the permanence of that arrangement.

"Do you remember, Ron?" Harry was saying. "When you were first briefed about the Ewer, I told you something about the Mayan civilisation. How they simply disappeared from their cities, no clues as to why, and the invading Toltecs just walked in and set up home. Remember?"

Ron nodded, having a vague memory of some Muggle history Harry had been spouting. Harry sighed and put his head in his hands.

"I've discovered why," he announced wearily, "and in many ways, I wish I hadn't."

There was a short pause while he gathered his thoughts.

"It was something of a fluke find, actually," he began, "although, I admit, most ancient Wizarding libraries have the same or similar layout. I happened upon several tablets that seemed to recount some of the history of the place. I read about the Ewer predicting invasion by the Toltecs and the peaceful migration of many of the Mayan Muggles. At this time, one of Leandra's close colleagues - he might even have been her husband - began an almost meteoric rise in fame. He gathered a great following around him and his ideas were very popular among the more militant magical families."

Harry sighed again.

"It's all terribly familiar; I guess history just repeats itself over and over again."

"Go on, Harry," prompted Ron, sneaking a sidelong look at Katia.

The dark woman seemed not to be contemplating homicide. At least not yet, but Ron wasn't slackening his defences one millimetre. Harry drew a deep breath.

"This wizard," he began heavily. "I won't glorify him with a name. He seemed to have an obsession with pure-blood in magical practitioners."

Ron's jaw dropped.

"You're kidding!" he exclaimed. "Are you sure his name wasn't Tom Riddle?"

Harry seemed to think this sort of flippancy out of place.

"It makes tragic reading," he continued, glancing down at the tablet in his hands. "He persuaded the Ruling Council, all wizards of pure blood, that Muggle borns must be eliminated, just as Voldemort tried to do in our generation. The difference being that this wizard succeeded where Voldemort failed."

There was a small silence then Ron stirred.

"You mean - they killed them all?" he asked, incredulously. "All the Muggle-born wizards?"

Harry nodded soberly.

"All of them, Ron," he sighed. "Every last one."

There was a shocked silence. At length, Harry stirred and sighed heavily.

"What they hadn't counted on was how far-reaching the magic would be," he continued bleakly. "They used a single spell, cast over not just Chinga'an but over the whole of the country. It must have taken massive power to do it; I can't imagine being able to sustain a spell like that over a small town, never mind an area of that size."

He sighed again, absently swirling his cooling tea around in its tin mug.

"<>," he murmured sadly. "And they had no idea what they unleashed on themselves."

He pulled himself together with an effort.

"What they didn't realise," he said slowly, "was that the spell was not only extremely powerful, it was utterly specific. Not only would it annihilate anyone with non-magical blood in their veins, it would trace that Muggle connection back - by as many as seven generations. Anyone with mixed blood died, even the ones whose magic never developed: those who we unfairly call squibs. And, of course, those wizards who were unaware of their abilities and who lived as Muggles - well, they died too."

Harry paused, swallowing on a dry throat.

"By the time the magic had taken its course, most of the ruling council had gone," he continued bleakly. "The principal wizard himself was dead, and all of his most militant followers had perished with him. Half the Mayan population appears to have been wiped out at one fell swoop; it must have seemed like a very visitation of the gods to these people, particularly the Muggles. Something like the Egyptian plagues in the Old Testament of the Bible, I should imagine."

Harry paused again, glancing back down at the tablet in his hands. He tapped it with a dusty finger.

"It's all here," he told them. "Carved in stone by one of the council members. It's pitiful to read, actually. He doesn't name himself. He no longer considers himself worthy to have a name because he assisted in genocide. He writes that this is his final task: to make certain that the history of what happened in Chinga'an survives as a warning to others. He writes here that once his task is complete, he will then lay himself down to eternal sleep with his ancestors. Many wizards who escaped the spell did likewise. In other words, they either faded away into despair and death, or they, well, hastened the process themselves. Chinga'an became one vast graveyard."

There was a silence. Ron didn't know what to say; even if there was anything he could say. A thought struck him.

"Leandra's Ewer, Harry," he said, "You mentioned that it foretold a great catastrophe befalling the Mayans, which they assumed to be the invading Toltecs. Is it possible that they were wrong; that it foretold the genocide instead?"

Harry considered then nodded.

"It's possible, Ron. Only a team of experts in more subjects than I can cover could tell you that," he replied. "However, and rather more disastrously for us, here in this account is pretty much conclusive proof that we have been sent on a fool's errand."

He raised his head and stared Ron straight in the eyes.

"I'm sorry, my friend," he said quietly, "but the information your organisation gathered regarding Leandra's Ewer was only correct as far as it went."

Harry looked back at the tablet, tracing a line of text with a dusty index finger.

"The few wizards who survived the holocaust either died or left Chinga'an fairly quickly," he began again. "Those who decided to leave were determined that they should not carry the contamination of their crime on to any other part of the magical community or, indeed, the world. They tried to ensure that nothing even approaching the tragedy of Chinga'an would ever happen again."

Harry smiled wryly.

"Unfortunately," he continued, "as so often happens, the backlash went too far in the opposite direction. These wizards broke their wands, cursed magic and vowed never to use their powers again, living as Muggles for the rest of their lives. They destroyed their scrolls, their records and all their artefacts, including, I'm afraid, Leandra's Ewer. There was disagreement about its destruction, but eventually it was broken, ground into dust and scattered into the river. As I mentioned before, only a few stayed behind in Chinga'an, largely to record the tragic history of the city before they died."

Harry paused again, pushing his untidy black hair away from his eyes and settling his glasses more firmly on his nose.

"Ron, I think we need to get a team here to take this place apart, find out what other history is hidden here, if there are any caches of artefacts buried under the city, etc. etc. but to be honest, I doubt they'll find much." Harry's face was pale with exhaustion and intense disappointment. "I think the city is nothing more than a vast mausoleum - the Tomb of all Hope."

Ron put a hand out to pat Harry's shoulder comfortingly, then his eyes slid over to Katia. She was still watching him passively, waiting for - for what?

"Okay," Ron began, speaking directly to her. "Now you know. The Ewer was destroyed many centuries ago. We don't have it for the forces of Light, but equally you can't take it for the Dark Side. It's an impasse. So can we please call a truce, take the block off the firetalking and for Merlin's sake get some reinforcements in here? It's time to go home"

Katia stared at Ron, for once apparently taken by surprise. Then, to his amazement, she laughed.

It was a small, squeezed sort of laugh, but nevertheless it made Ron stare curiously at her. He had no memory of ever having heard Katia do such a thing before, but seeing her now, her generous mouth wide with humour, his heart gave a sudden wrench that someone so beautiful, so talented, should belong heart and soul to the Dark Side, as he now truly believed she did.

"Take Leandra's Ewer for the Dark Side?" she exclaimed. "Is that what you thought? Oh, you really are so slow, Mr. Special-Duty Auror. They're supposed to teach you to think on your feet, aren't they? You were obviously not present at lectures that day. Leandra's Ewer was a device only activated by a person pure of mind and motive. Those qualities are anathema to the Dark Magic, so what possible use could we have for such an artefact?"

"To keep it out of our hands, perhaps?" suggested Ron, privately agreeing with her; perhaps now she would enlighten him. Katia spread her hands wide.

"If we had feared you finding it," she replied, "all we needed to do was to send a party of wizards into the forest to destroy the ruins, and any remaining artefacts would have been lost to you for all time."

Ron's brow creased in a frown.

"Then - why?" he gestured with his arm, indicating the gear, the tent, the campfire, everything that made up their expedition. She paused and a slow smile slid across her face.

"To maintain equilibrium," she told him with relish. "To stop Harry Potter from exploiting the Bond."

"Bond?" Ron queried, totally mystified. For one moment there, he thought Katia was referring to the partnership between Harry and himself, but somehow that didn't seem to fit.

"There are very few wizards who can truly work together," Katia told him. "In the past, when this merging of powers has occurred, it has usually involved unequal partners. This alone has prevented the participants from embarking upon a full Bond. Bonding can be very dangerous if not consummated fully, particularly for the less talented one. Harry Potter has forged a partnership with a witch of very great magical abilities. He must not be allowed to complete the Bond. The potential of such a union is devastating and must be stopped. I will be the one to stop it!"

She paused, savouring the moment, and smiled. Ron frowned.

"Hang on a moment," he said, holding up a hand in protest. "How do you know all this? You're supposed to be a native Mexican guide; a forest witch of greater-than-average abilities, aren't you? Where did you get your information?"

Katia scowled at the interruption.

"I'm sure that's a piece of information that you would find very interesting indeed, Mr. Special Duty Auror," she returned spitefully. "A pity you'll never know. My sources are my own business. I have no need to explain them to the likes of you."

Ron subsided lowering his eyes submissively, but in actual fact his brain was working overtime. Unbeknown to her, Katia had unwittingly given him several nuggets of information.

"Harry Potter was too powerful and had too many friends for us to take him out on his own territory," she continued, as though the interruption had never happened. "We had to get him on our ground - and I have succeeded."

"But you've had ample opportunity to kill Harry - or me for that matter," Ron protested. "The jaguar, for example; yet you saved him!"

Katia shrugged.

"Don't be misled into thinking that I'm at all sentimental, Weasley," she retorted. "I did what I had to do. We don't want him dead; just under our control."

"You could have used Imperius on us from day one!"

She nodded.

"That is true," she replied composedly, "but Imperius can be overcome by one such as Harry here. Also it can be recognised fairly quickly by those who have experience of it. No, I preferred to ensnare Harry Potter in my own way and at my own choosing."

Ron felt his fists balling. Enough was enough, he decided; time for a little payback.

"Sorry to disappoint you," he said with a grim smile, "but I think you might have a little trouble taking the both of us, eh Harry?"

He flexed his muscles, glancing down at his friend, and his expression changed.

"Harry?"

Harry sat patiently by the campfire still holding his cup and plate but his face held no more life than a statue. Katia laughed eerily again.

"He's already under my control, aren't you, my pet?" she taunted, sliding over to Harry and caressing his face warmly.

Harry sighed, rubbing his cheek against her hand. She smirked then turned a vicious glance towards Ron.

"I'd have had him even more firmly fixed if you hadn't interfered last night!" she spat. "And for that little piece of meddling, I'll make sure you pay in full measure."

She turned back to the blank-faced wizard.

"Harry, darling." She stroked his hair gently.

"Katia."

Mechanically, Harry reached for her but she moved deftly aside.

"Not yet, Harry, not until you've done what Katia wants."

Harry blinked behind his glasses, then nodded.

"Anything," he replied in a faint voice. The dark woman pointed towards Ron.

"I want you to kill him!"

The command was delivered in a whiplash, no-argument manner, but Harry creased his brow and frowned.

"Kill - Ron? But Katia, he's my friend."

She shook her head firmly.

"No he isn't, Harry, he's a traitor," she insisted. "He tried to hurt me, to kill me."

Harry's face darkened and he growled threateningly.

"He wants Leandra's Ewer for the Dark Side, Harry," she continued. "He won't stop until he has it!"

To Ron's ears, Katia sounded totally unconvincing, but he had to admit that he wasn't the one under the spell.

"You must destroy him," Katia cried, her voice rising in pitch. "Now!"

Harry leaped to his feet, reaching for his wand. He advanced on Ron, baring his teeth, snarling with fury, and circled his adversary, looking lethally confident.

Ron sized up the situation carefully, his brain working at lightning speed. He knew there was no way he could match Harry in a sorcerous duel; he wouldn't last five minutes. And judging by the way Harry was eyeing him now, he was willing to bet there wouldn't be enough left to bury. Somehow he had to separate Harry from his wand. Ron scratched his head; yes, but how? The man was behaving like a cross between Universal Soldier and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Wait a bit; that was it!

A twisted grin spread across Ron's face as he prepared to embark upon a performance that would win him an Oscar - if he survived to collect it.

Ron stood back and sneered, not even attempting to draw his wand. Harry continued to circle him, still growling viciously.

"So this is how it's going to end, is it Potter?" Ron began, folding his arms contemptuously. "You using your superior talent to smear me all over the forest floor. Yeah, yeah - great: such courage, such skill. What a big shot you've turned out to be!"

Harry paused briefly, confused.

"Yeah, I said big shot," continued Ron. "Just like you were at Hogwarts. Nobody ever told you this, Harry, but Malfoy had the rights of it back there. You were just a nobody. Take away the famous parents and all the hype and what was left? A nothing, a failure; no good at anything except broomstick flying, and where did that get you? Seeker in the Quidditch team - I ask you! What possible use is a Seeker? Seekers aren't even part of the team, they're just there for show, riding on the backs of the others. Something to make the little guy imagine that even he can aspire to be Someone. Well, I've got news for you, Potter."

Ron actually advanced on Harry and started to poke him in the chest. Katia looked on in surprise, uncertain as to the way things were developing.

"You thought Cho was your girl, huh?" Ron laughed, derisively. "She was cheating on you with half the seventh years. She even had a go at me! But did I tell you? No, I was too soft to want to dump that on you at the time."

"Cho Chang?" Harry queried, haltingly. His wand wavered uncertainly. Katia saw it.

"No, Harry, don't falter. Kill him now! He's lying to you!" she shrieked. Harry immediately reacted, bringing his wand arm up threateningly. Sweating with effort, Ron began again.

"But still, to the victor the spoils, I suppose," he sneered, keeping up the act with difficulty. "Having conveniently got Cedric killed, you must have figured you deserved to take over where he left off, am I right?"

Without pausing for an answer, Ron plunged straight on, noticing that Harry's teeth were now grinding together.

"And then there's my sister, dear sweet little Ginny," he continued. "I must admit, I thought she'd gone out of her tree hooking up with you, but that's family for you. Then I found out something really interesting. Did you know she's getting her daily exercise from someone much more interesting than a personal trainer?"

At this Harry seemed to crack slightly. His breathing became harsher; he narrowed his eyes. Ron smiled knowingly. Attaboy, Harry!

"Yes, Harry," he continued, "While you're excavating ancient ruins in Mexico, Ginny's being thoroughly excavated herself by none other than the bombshell, Torrence! Well, it was only to be expected. After all, he's blonde, beautiful (so I'm told) and a musician to boot. They'll probably go far together. Well, at least as far as the next recording session. Remind me to tell you about Ginny's past before she met David Markland some time. Well, to be frank, I could tell you a few tales about her while she was still living with the prat, but it depends on how much ... ooof!"

Harry had had enough. Flinging his wand unceremoniously to the ground, he leaped upon Ron knocking him backwards, flailing fists at his face, shoulders, neck; anywhere he could get to connect.

Attaboy, Harry! Ron cheered silently, fending off the blows as best he could. Somewhere he could hear Katia screaming in the background, but Harry was lost to her now in a red world of anger and jealousy, just where Ron had wanted him. When he had complimented Harry on his unarmed fighting, he had meant the tribute seriously, but when push came to shove, Ron knew he had a very considerable edge on his friend. And he meant to use it.

Quick as lightning, Ron saw an opening and let fly with his right fist. It knocked Harry clean off Ron's chest and on to the ground, giving Ron time to roll swiftly to one side and gain his footing. Gritting his teeth, he rounded on Harry and, giving him no time to get up, kicked him several times hard in the ribs, eliciting a deep agonised groan. Harry staggered to his feet and ran at Ron again. Ron sidestepped leaving one foot exposed to trip Harry's feet and, grabbing the collar of his shirt and the seat of his pants to lend him extra momentum, sent him crashing head first into the bushes. He followed, closing in, but Harry seemed to have had enough. He lay panting, giving the occasional groan as waves of pain washed over him. Ron crouched down.

"Harry!" he said urgently into his ear. "Harry, snap out of it! You've got to fight this magic. Come on, look at me!"

Harry looked up. His face was a mess, he was bleeding from several scrapes and cuts, and he was covered in mud, but his eyes were starting to clear.

"R- Ron?" he asked, dazedly. Ron lifted him until he was sitting up.

"Listen, Harry, and try to believe me," he began. "Katia's had you under ensorcellment. She's a Veela, Harry, or at least she's using Veela magic. Remember at the Quidditch World Cup? Those dancers, the effect they had on us?"

Harry was nodding slowly.

"Katia's - like that?"

Ron shook his head.

"I don't know, Harry," he responded urgently, "but whatever she is, she can use the Veela magic in a very unhealthy way."

Harry paused, puzzled.

"But Ron, she's not part of the Dark Side," he protested. "She's safeguarded us all along. It's only because of her that we got here at all!"

"Exactly!" Ron punched the ground to emphasise his point. "She needed to isolate us, to get us away from any backup, to weaken you until you could be controlled - for the benefit of the Dark Side."

Harry was shaking his head over and over again.

"But she saved my life!" he protested.

Ron nodded vigorously.

"She didn't want you dead, Harry," he insisted. "She wanted you pliant - obedient to her and her masters, whoever they are! Please believe me, Harry. What about the Muggles who attacked us, eh? Why did she go down first but strangely have no injuries to show for it later?"

"It was a set-up?"

Harry was at last starting to catch on.

"Too right it was, mate!" Ron told him vigorously. "They were supposed to take me out, to eliminate me. My death or serious injury would have left you wide open to her influence. Good thing she didn't know about your street-fighting skills, or we'd have been toast!"

"But - but why?"

Harry seemed bewildered, shaking his head. Ron took a breath and spoke rapidly.

"Katia says it's something to do with this - this mind meld thing you've got going with Ginny," he explained. "She calls it a Bond. You should never have kept quiet about it after it happened, Harry; the two of you should have approached someone for advice. Apparently, it's almost unheard of for a Bond to happen between two wizards of equivalent magical abilities."

Ron stopped to draw breath and Harry looked up at him, suddenly compos mentis.

"Ginny?" he breathed. "Ginny's in danger?"

A cold hand seemed to trail down the back of Ron's neck. His jaw dropped.

"Gods, yes!" he exclaimed in horror. "If they're after you, they've got to be after her too! Harry, we have to get moving, get help, and get home to Ginny. We've got to find out what's happening!"

Harry's mind was swirling. He clambered through the morass as though wading in sticky marshmallow. He couldn't seem to pull himself out of it somehow. Flashes of daylight kept stabbing through, but as soon as he tried to focus on them, they disappeared.

"Ginny," he muttered again.

Suddenly a wordless, soundless cry of anguish ripped through the fabric of his brain. His eyes flew open. There, it came again. Harry! it screamed, Harry, please!

And Harry Potter's mind jerked back into its groove. He sat bolt upright, oblivious to his hurts.

"I'm here, Ginny," he shouted into the wind, "I'm coming home!"

Ron almost sagged with relief to see the light come back into his friend's eyes.

"Harry," he said urgently, grabbing his friend's shoulders, trying to haul him to his feet. "We've got to get out of here!"

"Not so fast, Mr. Special-Duty Auror!"

Katia stood, her own wand in her right hand, Harry's wand dangling from her left. Reflexively, Ron raised his own wand but she was too quick for him.

"Expelliarmus!" she said, almost negligently, and laughed as Ron's wand flung itself out of his grasp and into her hands. Her smile widened as she saw his uncertainty and indecision. Like a stage magician, she snapped her fingers and two cloaked and hooded figures appeared, one either side of her.

"Death Eaters!" muttered Ron between clenched teeth. "I guess we know who she's working for now."

"Weren't you calling for reinforcements just a short time ago, Weasley?" she taunted. Her beautiful face was now twisted with evil glee. "Oh, but silly me! I think you had Ministry of Magic Special Forces in mind, didn't you? Oh well. You win some; you lose some. However, I think in your case the losing is going to be rather, ah, permanent. Say your prayers, Weasley!"

The three wizards raised their wands and Ron closed his eyes, not wishing to see the face of Death as it came to claim him.