By the Pricking of my Thumbs

"By the Pricking of my Thumbs"

by Penpusher

Chapter Ten: "The Last Twist of the Knife"

Arthur Weasley was having a bad day, and it had barely even started.

Wistfully, he regarded his cold tea and plate of toast, now the consistency of old leather, and turned back with reluctance to the pile of newly opened owl post littering the kitchen table.

"Why do these things always happen to me?" he muttered, groping for a quill to scribble on the latest message. Two owls perched impatiently on the windowsill, obviously awaiting replies.

As Arthur laboured to answer his mail, two more events occurred to darken his day. A further owl, as yet unfamiliar to him, arrowed in through the window to settle on the table, hooting urgently. At that same moment, three uninvited guests materialised in the fireplace with a flurry of soot and smoke, and stepped into the Weasley kitchen. Arthur blinked wonderingly at two of them, but at sight of the third he smiled broadly.

"Ah, Fred. Just the man!" Arthur exclaimed with relief. "I'm having real problems keeping Operations satisfied about that little incident in Kensington last week. Perhaps you could give me a hand. Just a moment: your mother will be delighted... Molly! I say, Molly!"

Arthur stood up, craning his head round the kitchen door.

"Molly!" he called again. "Fred's here, and he's brought some friends!"

"Good morning, Mr. Weasley," said Lee politely, advancing from the fireplace. He paused to wipe his sooty hand on the seat of his jeans before offering it to Arthur. As they exchanged greetings, the older man's face suddenly cleared.

"Lee!" he exclaimed. "Of course! We hardly ever see you these days. How are you? What are you getting up to these days? Still with those machines of yours, are you?"

"I'm very well indeed, Mr. Weasley," began Lee. "I'm still at the Ministry, you know, but I work so much from home that I don't see many people outside my own department. Mr. Weasley, I'm sorry we had to barge in on you like this, but the truth is that we've discovered something rather..."

But Arthur had already switched his attention.

"And who is this lovely young lady you've brought with you?" Encouraged by Arthur's welcoming smile, Ellen advanced, holding out her hand.

"My name is Ellen MacBeth, Mr. Weasley. I'm a friend of Fred's - oh, and Lee's too," she added, glancing diffidently in his direction. "I've recently moved into Harry's House."

"Splendid, splendid!" Mr. Weasley beamed. "MacBeth, you say. Really? One of the MacBeths? Goodness, how incredibly interesting. You really must tell me about it in detail some time. So you've moved in with Harry, eh? Just the thing for Ginny. You know, between you and me, she misses Hermione terribly. Great shame, but it can't exactly be helped. Can't stop these things happening - wouldn't want to, of course. We were delighted when Ron told us that he and Hermione... Ah, here's Molly now."

Plump, round-faced Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen beaming with delight.

"Fred!" she exclaimed, pulling his head down to kiss him soundly. "You should have owled to say you were coming: I'd have had breakfast ready for you!"

She began to wave her wand in the direction of the frying pan, when Fred caught her arm.

"Just a moment, Mum," he said, rather more gravely. "I think Dad had better hear why we're here before you start producing a meal for us. We may not have time to do it justice."

At Fred's grim tone, his mother's bright smile faded slightly and Arthur's expression assumed its former harassed look.

"It's not about George, is it?" he asked. Fred shrugged.

"To be frank, I have no real idea whether what we have to tell you affects George or not," he began, "but I confess, I'd be very surprised if it didn't."

The three visitors dragged chairs up to the table and began to relate what they knew while Mrs. Weasley supplied them with hot cups of tea and stacks of fresh toast. At the end of their recital, Arthur paused so long staring into his cup, that Lee wondered if he had fallen asleep. Finally, he raised his head and exhaled wearily.

"Nothing is ever simple," he murmured, mostly to himself. He looked grey and tired, as though the years had suddenly caught up with him. Just how old is Arthur Weasley, anyway? Lee found himself wondering.

With an effort, Arthur seemed to pull himself together. He drew himself up and swept a level, determined gaze around the table.

"Right," he announced briskly. "So, in a nutshell, the information Fred brought back from Iran has been found to be suspect, therefore by implication the information from Mexico is also questionable, and you haven't heard from Sirius in three days to argue the point. Putting these things together, it's a pretty safe bet that Harry and Ron are in some sort of danger, not to mention Sirius too. Does that about cover it?"

"Yes, sir, but it's not only that." Lee was extremely agitated.

"I've tried and tried to get people to listen to me over this," he protested. "Admittedly I didn't have exactly this much proof before, but even now it's still only supposition. I could spend weeks cooling my heels in corridors waiting for people to see me before anyone takes action. I'm convinced that this trip was a set-up from start to finish, in which case it may already be too late!"

"I've grasped that much, Lee, thank you," replied Arthur in a crisp tone that few people had heard him use before.

He crammed the last piece of toast into his mouth, washing it down with the dregs of his tea, and turned towards the fireplace.

"I know exactly who's trying to make sure you don't rock the boat, Lee," he said. "I'm having considerable problems with him myself. I can't make up my mind whether he's doing it deliberately or if he's just, well, rather foolish and clumsy. I daresay time will tell. However, this is not getting anything done. Fred, I'm about to call in a few favours."

Arthur grinned up at his son, and for a moment Ellen could have sworn she was looking at George's mischievous face.

"Tantalus Brown has been a thorn in my side for some time," Arthur continued, giving a flick of his wand towards the empty grate. Instantly red and orange flames leaped into life.

"He's nominally in charge of my department, you know," Arthur continued. "Interferes in everything; mostly things that don't concern him or tasks he thinks should be carried out or reported differently. Members of my staff have been driven mad by his meddling. Well, now I'm going over his head. We need to get to Harry and Ron fast, but we can't do it without backup. I'll get us the muscle, and then we'll Apparate to Sirius's place. It's called Uinal, isn't it? We'll find out where to go from there. Fred, take care of that owl for me, would you?"

He turned to the fireplace to make his call, while Fred took the message off the leg of the by now frantic owl which had started to peck Arthur's ears in frustration at being ignored. Fred's satisfied smirk at the sight of his father at last breaking out of his box was very quickly wiped off his face as he read the message.

"Oh, gods!" he whispered, paling visibly. Ellen laid a gentle hand on his arm.

"What is it, Fred?" she asked.

Fred stared at her, wide-open eyes full of fear.

"It's George," he replied. "He's in serious trouble. Muggle trouble. This has got to have something to do with my so-called contact in Iran! If anything happens to George..."

Fred trailed off, re-reading the message, but his expression boded ill for his Iranian informant, should they meet again.

"What's happened to him?" asked Lee, glancing at Ellen's hand, still gripping Fred's arm. She pointedly removed it and glared at him. Fred was too preoccupied to notice.

"He's been arrested," Fred said rapidly. "George has been picked up by the Iranian police and he's in an Iranian Muggle jail. Luckily, he managed to get word to his contact at the Embassy. They sent the owl to Dad."

Ellen had never seen Fred more shaken or more worried.

"I know what those jails are like," he grated out. "I've seen them - mercifully never been in one myself. He'll be lucky to get out alive, particularly if he resorts to magic. Once they find out he's a wizard, he's dead. I hope to Merlin they've taken away his wand!"

"But what could he possibly do to get arrested?" Lee demanded. Fred shrugged.

"This doesn't give details," he replied, "but the gist is that George offended against one of their strict religious codes and wound up being challenged by police. He protested rather too loudly, I think, and they took him away."

Fred put down the parchment on the table and snagged his father's quill.

"I have to go to Iran immediately," he told Lee as he wrote furiously on the parchment. "I can't afford to waste time; George could be in serious danger. I'm afraid you'll have to deal with Harry and Ron on your own."

"What?" Lee's jaw dropped. "What sort of a man of action do you think I am? I'm strictly a backroom boy, not a mercenary."

"Relax, Lee," Ellen told him, smiling sweetly. "From what I hear of Arthur's conversation, we'll have plenty of genuine mercenaries to take care of any action there might be."

She turned to Fred, concern etched all over her pretty face.

"Just go," she told him, "as quickly as possible, but please be careful! We'll explain the situation to Arthur. Go on, - Go!"

Fred nodded, concentrated briefly then suddenly winked out. Just as he disappeared, a small disturbance set Lee and Ellen swinging round again. Hermione stood in the kitchen doorway, one hand hanging on to the frame for support, the other clutching her handbag.

"Phew! I hate Apparating," she exclaimed, putting her hand to her head. "But the fireplace was in use, and this is urgent."

Looking wildly around the kitchen, she turned to Lee.

"Arthur's obviously busy," she said quickly. "Lee, I've just had the most extraordinary message from Ron."

Talking rapidly, taking no account of Ellen's unexplained presence, she related the entirety of Ron's communication. Lee listened attentively with pursed lips then, as she finished, laid a comforting hand on her arm.

"So as from half an hour ago, Ron was able to call for help," Lee said with a faint smile. "Frankly, the scenario is already a good deal better than I feared when I finally found what I had been looking for. However, I think the cavalry is being assembled as we speak."

He glanced round just as Arthur moved away from the fireplace.

"I've managed to bypass a number of very irritating procedures," Arthur announced, his eyes alight with mischief. "Fortunately I am not the only wizard interested in Muggle artefacts. There have been several occasions in the past when certain members of Operations might have had a good deal of explaining to do if I hadn't indulged in a little, ah, creativity in my reports."

"Arthur!" Molly exclaimed sharply, glaring at him. "I don't remember you ever mentioning this to me!"

For once Arthur stared back blandly.

"That's not very surprising, my dear," he told her, "Since I deliberately neglected to tell you all the facts. On the grounds, of course, that I would likely have been hung, drawn and quartered on the spot!"

Molly's stern face faltered, wavered then broke into a puzzled, slightly hurt expression.

"Am I really that severe, Arthur?" she asked him in a small voice.

"Good heavens, no!" Arthur leaped to his feet, in utter surprise at her reaction. He put out his arms and drew her into them, kissing the top of her head and murmuring sweet nothings into her ear.

"Molly, darling," he began, as soon as he could make sense, "if you weren't as strict as you are, there's no doubt I'd have been drummed out of the Ministry many years ago on account of my tinkering. I kept quiet on these few occasions because I knew I could benefit from being owed favours. And this sort of favour deteriorates in direct proportion to the number of people who know about it."

Releasing Molly with a reassuring smile and returning to the current situation, Arthur once again took charge.

"Now," he began, "my colleague in Operations, Caesare Brookes, is ready and willing to help, as are several of his assistants. Security Operatives, you know; serious muscle, to you and me!" He looked about him vaguely.

"Where's Fred disappeared to?" he demanded.

Lee coughed and when Arthur turned to him, held out the owl parchment wordlessly. Arthur read the message together with Fred's hurried scrawl, and his expression became grave.

"I should have suspected as much," he muttered, crumpling the parchment unseeingly. He gathered his thoughts.

"There's nothing we can do in Iran," he said decisively. "Fred will have to deal with that one on his own, and I'm sure he will cope admirably. Now, let's get ... Hermione, my dear!"

Arthur's face broke into a smile of real pleasure as he advanced to envelop his daughter-in-law in an affectionate hug.

"How lovely to see you," he exclaimed. "What brings you here so early in the morning? Not more bad news, I hope?"

Hermione gave a brave little smile, kissed her father-in-law on the cheek and began to explain once again the substance of the enigmatic, worrying message from her husband. Arthur was nodding.

"Yes, yes. Well, I believe I have more than enough cause to act," he stated, his jaw setting stubbornly. "My son and his closest friend are on Ministry business and have sent out an SOS. If I have cut corners in order to get to them as quickly as possible, so be it."

Abruptly, the cavalry arrived in the shape of four burly-looking men in fatigues and desert boots, materialising on Molly's best hearthrug. The tallest of the four, a dour-looking man with greying hair, stepped forward to grasp Arthur's proffered hand warmly. His hard eyes glinted with impatience.

"Glad to see you've decided to take the unicorn by the horn, Arthur," he said. "Been hearing rumours for months about this mission. Never liked the idea, you know. Never could see the point."

"Yes, thank you, Caesare," responded Arthur, his mind on other things. "Now, did you bring a Portkey, or will we all have to Apparate?"

Caesare Brookes smiled thinly and held up something that resembled a worn leather glove.

"This was the only one available," he said, "but I tuned it to Sirius Black's HQ before we left. All we have to do is activate it."

Arthur nodded, throwing his worn black cloak around his shoulders and slipping his wand into a sleeve pocket.

"Very well," he said. "Let's go!"

"Wait!"

Seeing what was about to happen, Lee leaped forward.

"You can't leave me behind!" he protested surprising everyone, including himself. "Not after all I went through to isolate the information!"

Arthur looked at him steadily.

"It could get nasty, Lee," he said gravely. "It might involve violence, maybe even loss of life. Are you sure you want to get involved in something like that?"

Lee swallowed then nodded emphatically.

"I've known Harry and Ron forever," he said simply. "I'd feel like I was running out on them if I just stayed here twiddling my thumbs."

Arthur nodded slowly.

"Very well," he responded.

"And you can just think again if you imagine you're leaving me behind!"

The voice was Hermione's. Arthur stared in astonishment.

"Now, my dear Hermione," he began. "Taking Lee with us is one thing, but I hardly think that exposing a vulnerable young lady to a potentially dangerous situation is a good..."

Hermione was having none of this.

"With respect, Mr. Weasley, rubbish!" she responded, swiftly. "Ron is my husband, and I think that gives me the right to be with you on this."

Arthur gazed at her sympathetically, then moved to take her by the shoulders.

"Hermione," he began, gently. "I love you as if you were my own daughter; you know that. Ron is your husband and that gives you the right to follow him wherever he may go. I say you have the right, but would it really be wise? How do you think Ron would feel if you were injured - or even killed? How do you think I would feel? Do you think Ron would ever be able to forgive his incompetent old father for allowing his wife, the most precious person in the world to him, to walk into in danger? And with the best will in the world, Hermione, all the people here are Ministry employees in one way or another. We know what we are letting ourselves in for. You, on the other hand, do not."

"Lee isn't front line material, and neither are you," protested Hermione stubbornly. Arthur smiled.

"Perhaps you're right," he responded, "but neither of us will distract Ron's judgment in a situation of danger to the same degree that you would. Please, Hermione - stay here with Molly and Ellen. Don't risk yourself and Ron by insisting on coming with us."

Hermione raised her eyes to his face and read only love and concern in his eyes. Her shoulders sagged in defeat and she lowered her eyes.

"Okay, okay. I'll stay," she muttered, and then looked up at him again. "But you had better bring them back in one piece, you hear?"

Arthur smiled in relief.

"You can depend upon it, my dear," he replied, saluting her gravely.

Arthur turned to where Brookes and his colleagues were waiting. All five wizards reached out to grasp the Portkey, Brookes could be heard counting, and then abruptly they were simply not there any more.

~o0o~

They materialised in blazing sunshine on a dirt road some yards from a small building. A Muggle pickup truck stood, badly parked; one or two other dust-covered cars could be seen abandoned further back. There was no sign of life.

"Sirius!" shouted Lee, making for the door. Arthur caught his arm and held him back.

"Steady, Lee," he said quietly. "Let the professionals do their job. That's what they're here for."

As he spoke, Brookes was deploying his forces wordlessly and with the minimum of fuss. They spread out, wands at the ready, one sprinting around the back of the building to scout out possible exits, the other two checking the sides. A few seconds later, the first wizard appeared around the side of the house holding up two fingers. Two exits. Brookes nodded tersely holding up three fingers. Then he waved one of the other wizards to follow and beckoned the third to join him. Three-minute rendezvous. They approached the front door cautiously. Finding it unlocked, Brookes gestured to his colleague to cover him and braced himself to kick the door open, bursting in with no warning whatsoever.

Lee and Arthur stared at the open door, tension mounting. As it happened, they did not have long to wait. Brookes reappeared at the doorstep beckoning urgently. The others covered the distance at a run.

"He's here," the big man told them, briefly, "but for how long - well, I wouldn't like to bet on it."

The main room led through to a bedroom, rough and ready and with little in the way of home comforts. Stretched on the hard-looking bed was Sirius. He was clearly unconscious, grey-faced, sweating and breathing heavily. He was lying strangely; curled up with his knees hugged to his abdomen, and when they tried to move him into coma position, he resisted fiercely, shivering, and shuddering at their touch. Automatically, Lee reached for a carafe of water resting on the table next to the bed and poured some into a glass.

"Sirius," he said, softly, "Sirius, you should drink. You have a fever."

Arthur creased his brow, frowning. He looked at Brookes and shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"What do you think, old friend?" he asked, "What is this? Illness? Ensorcellment?"

The other man was busy taking Sirius's pulse and temperature as best he could. Lee abandoned his attempt to get Sirius to drink and made as if to put the glass down when something struck him. He sniffed, sniffed again then brought the glass to his nose.

"Mr. Weasley," he began, a frown beginning to gather on his face. Arthur waved him away.

"Not now, Lee."

"Mr. Weasley," he insisted, pushing the glass towards him. "Just take a sniff at this."

Arthur looked at Lee then dipped his head and inhaled slowly. A look of puzzlement crept across his face.

"Strange," he muttered, "Some sort of - contamination, do you think?"

"Hey! Don't touch that!"

They both turned their heads as Brookes, pausing in his examination of Sirius, grabbed hold of the glass and set it back on the table.

"But Mr. Brookes," protested Lee, "there's something odd about that water. It smells strange."

Brookes paused.

"Strange smell, eh?" he repeated. "Some sort of Muggle toxin, perhaps? There's no sign of any magical interference in the place, no trace of ensorcellment on his body. I wonder..."

He trailed off, moving back to Sirius and bringing his nose close to the other man's face. He sniffed curiously at the rasping breath and wrinkled his nose.

"Garlic," he muttered, stepping back. "O'Malley!" he barked, "Check the water supply for interference."

A freckle-faced wizard immediately ran into the kitchen.

"If my nose is correct," he began, "then this is arsenical poisoning. Well done, young man, for spotting it. Sirius Black may be luckier than he knows; I am the only Muggle poisons specialist in the Ministry, probably in the country. And I've developed some expert antidote charms over the years. Arsenic, for example, usually requires some kind of purgative in the Muggle world to rid the system of its presence: sometimes an emetic, sometimes a stomach pump; that is, if the patient is not too far-gone to cope. Give me a few minutes to set the charm properly and I'll remove all traces of that group of toxins from his system. And without turning his intestines inside out!"

Brookes walked away, weighing his wand in his hand and muttering. O'Malley, the wizard sent to investigate the water supply, returned and, glancing warily at Brookes, decided to report to Arthur instead. He held out a polythene bag containing a small canister.

"I found this in the water tank, sir," he said. "It's a slow-release device. Judging by the amount left in it, it was probably planted there about a week ago."

Arthur nodded his thanks and turned to Lee with a grim expression.

"So someone arranged for Sirius to be slowly poisoned, eh?" he began. "And with a Muggle substance that we were extremely lucky to be able to identify so quickly. Why? What did Sirius know that was so important he needed to be silenced?"

Arthur began to search Sirius' desk systematically, looking for something, anything that might shed some light on the current situation. Suppressing a faint pang about invasion of privacy, Lee's eyes fell upon a small pile of computer printout sheets. Curious. What would Sirius be doing with something like that? Scanning through them, he realised, with a shock, that these were Muggle police reports. Curiouser and curiouser.

"I reckon I've got it."

The voice was alight with triumph. Brookes returned to Sirius's bedside and raised his wand, frowning with concentration. For a moment, nothing happened, then a faint mist started to flow from the tip.

"Purgatio venenum corporalis prorsus mandatum," he murmured.

The mist grew thicker and flowed inexorably towards Sirius's still form. As it reached him it divided into separate streams like tentacles, reaching out to different parts of his body, partially obscuring him from sight. As they watched, the mist changed colour, turning from pale grey to a vague sickly green. Amazingly, the expression of pain seemed to lift from Sirius' face, his body relaxed and the onlookers heard an exhausted sigh as he sank into a deep, genuine sleep. The mist hovered briefly then dissipated into the air.

Brookes sagged with relief and weariness.

"That ought to do it," he told them. "He won't need to be hospitalised. Of course, he'll feel a bit wrung out for a few days, but nothing to what he could have been going through. A few more hours, and - well, at least we caught it in time, that's the main thing."

Brookes turned towards O'Malley.

"And what do we have here then, my old son?" he said curiously.

He took the canister in its plastic protective wrapping and frowned. When his eyes met Arthur's, they were murderous.

"A coward's trick," Brookes said quietly. "We're looking for someone who works behind the scenes, I think. But why?"

"This might have something to do with it, sir."

Lee's face was pale and he was holding the police reports. Brookes took them and began to read, Arthur looking over his shoulder. Their eyes met.

"Well that's it then, isn't it?" Arthur turned and paced the floor, shaking his head. "If the Ministry had only thought to check this out thoroughly..."

"Then Harry and Ron wouldn't be in the extreme danger they are currently."

The voice was weak, but still a going concern. Arthur turned to find Sirius sitting up, deathly pale, weak and unsteady but alive.

"What happened?" he asked. Arthur tried to push him back down, but Sirius was having none of it. He shook Arthur off, wincing at the effort.

"Have you traced Ron and Harry yet?" he demanded, weakly. Brookes shook his head.

"We've only just managed to save your life," the operative replied pointedly. Sirius nodded.

"Point taken," he replied. "However, if either of them has remembered to activate his Homing Beacon, I should be able to track them down very quickly."

Sirius picked up the carafe of water by the side of his bed and squinted at it, shaking his head sadly.

"I wasn't the prime target," he said, gazing unseeingly at the moving liquid. "I only merited one of her little schemes because I knew too much about her. Even then, I didn't know the half of it until I read those reports. Together with the information from the New York Wizarding Agency - well, it didn't take a genius to see why I had to go. Unfortunately, I didn't know how she was doing it, and when I realised she'd poisoned the water supply in some way, it was too late."

Sirius replaced the carafe on his bedside table. Brookes came over to him.

"You are speaking about the guide, Katia Valentin, are you not?" he said.

Sirius nodded. Brookes pondered.

"Can you give us the information in a nutshell?" he asked.

"I certainly can."

Ignoring protests from Arthur, Sirius sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, shaking his head against the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him. O'Mally hesitated briefly then handed him a water canteen.

"It's okay, sir," he said, without a trace of humour, to Sirius' questioning glance. "This one was filled in England."

Sirius gave him a brief grin then sank half the contents in one go.

"She's wanted for murder by the Muggle authorities," Sirius explained, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. "She's also been identified as an associate of Lucius Malfoy and implicated in many crimes perpetrated by the Dark Side. 'Katia Valentin' is her major identity, but she has a number of aliases. She's a very powerful Dark witch. She's genuinely half-Mexican, which is presumably why she was given this job, but her mother is reputed to have been Veela. I can't vouch for the truth of that, but I can personally attest to her use of Veela magic."

Sirius winced, not solely due to physical pain. He started to edge his way off the bed.

"Very well, Sirius." Arthur moved towards him to offer help if necessary. "Now, we need to get you somewhere safe. Just give us Harry and Ron's location and we'll take it from there. The important thing is to get you out of the line of fire."

But Sirius was shaking his head. He stood up shakily.

"No way," he said quietly. "I have unfinished business with that homicidal little savage, and I intend to make sure it's finished - one way or another."

"Sirius, be sensible!"

Arthur knew he was fighting a losing battle but, for goodness sake, ten minutes ago the man had practically been on his deathbed. Sirius grinned at him, looking more and more like his old self.

"Take your pick, Arthur," he said, lightly. "Take me and Harry's current location - or whistle for both of us."

Arthur sighed; he knew when he was beaten.

~oOo~

The kitchen at The Burrow suddenly seemed very empty. Ellen and Hermione looked at each other and then at Molly who pursed her lips and shook her head.

"Men's business," she said, dismissively, "but I can certainly understand why you wanted to go, Hermione. I'm just glad Arthur had the sense not to take you."

Hermione sank down in a chair, her expression bleak.

"I don't know what to think any more," she said, without looking up. "It really was just an ordinary day this morning. Everything was normal; I was researching precedents, constructing arguments. Then suddenly I look up, Ron's in the fireplace and the whole world has been turned on its head. Molly, what on earth is going on?"

Between them, Molly and Ellen explained as best they could. Hermione sighed and shook her head. Her stomach growled embarrassingly.

"Molly, do you think I could be very cheeky and ask you for some breakfast?" she said, with a famished look at the empty plates and cups the men had left behind them. "I started work very early this morning and I haven't yet had a chance to get outside any food yet."

Molly jumped to her feet.

"Goodness!" she exclaimed. "Where are my manners? I clean forgot you might be hungry too. And I suspect Ellen could do with a little more, couldn't you dear?"

The blonde witch smiled ruefully.

"At the risk of being thought greedy," she replied, "yes please!"

Molly busied herself with the pots and pans and soon the delicious smell of frying bacon permeated the kitchen. Ellen looked at Hermione curiously.

"Would you mind answering me one question?" she said, carefully.

Hermione raised her eyebrows and waited.

"We haven't met before today, have we?" Ellen continued. "I mean, I've heard a lot about you and you obviously know who I am."

Hermione nodded.

"That's right. We've never met before," she replied, "but Ginny told me all about how she and Harry were looking for potential housemates and Fred suggested you might be interested in moving in." Ellen nodded.

"That's right." Her pretty face creased into a frown. "Look, I don't quite know how to put this but - why weren't you surprised to find me here this morning?"

This time Hermione's eyebrows almost reached her hairline.

"I beg your pardon?" she replied in polite astonishment. Ellen dropped her gaze and her cheeks flushed.

"It's just that you delivered that incredibly important message from Ron in my hearing without a qualm," she began, awkwardly. "I don't want to interfere or anything, but I think, in your position, I'd have delivered my message privately, or at least wondered, probably out loud, why the Weasleys had a stranger in their kitchen. Well, that's how I read it anyway," she finished in an embarrassed tone.

Hermione stared at the other girl for a few moments longer, then allowed her face to crease into a very small, smug smile.

"Was I supposed to assume that you were an infiltrator?" she asked politely. "Some kind of enemy agent ready to leak information to Lucius Malfoy at the earliest opportunity?"

"No, no." Ellen shook her head in exasperation. "I'm making a mess of this I know."

She gave Hermione a level glance and sighed.

"I'm not quite sure how to put this," Ellen began reluctantly, "but...

"You'd like to know whether you've been rumbled or whether I'm just careless with information," Hermione replied evenly. "Does that about cover it?"

Ellen stared; Hermione smiled sweetly.

"How did you..." the blonde girl began, and then trailed off. Hermione's grin widened.

"If I was going to be totally infuriating," she began, thanking Molly for the plate of eggs and bacon that had just appeared in front of her, "I would say that I trust the Weasleys implicitly, and anyone present in The Burrow just has to be whiter than white."

She took a healthy bite of bacon and paused to chew with evident enjoyment.

"Are you going to be totally infuriating then?" Ellen asked calmly, letting her own plate remain untouched for the present. Hermione finished her mouthful then laughed.

"If I was a couple of years younger I think, yes, I probably would," she replied. "But being a smartass loses its entertainment value after a while - sorry for the language, Molly."

Fortunately, Molly Weasley was attending to the dishes and apparently had not heard. Hermione chewed and swallowed another succulent mouthful then caught Ellen's eye and smiled.

"I'm sorry to be a party pooper, but I'm afraid I caught on to Fred's little game right from the start," she admitted, slightly shamefaced. "I was certain you were there for a purpose - it all happened far too conveniently for any other explanation. I thought the reason was to safeguard Ginny while Harry was way, for whatever grounds the Ministry considered necessary. I never imagined Fred was playing a solo hand, nor that you weren't strictly a Ministry employee. By the way, with regard to Fred, are you a Source, are you his partner, or are you what I believe is known as an Alongsider?"

Ellen choked on her tea.

"Good grief!" she exclaimed. "You make me sound like something out of a Muggle spy story! Hermione, I'm a colleague of Fred's, no more, no less. I'm his interface with the Muggle business world. I provide him with information he needs - nothing sensitive: I am, after all, employed by my company - and in return, he gives me a certain amount of useful stuff the Ministry thinks should trickle into the Muggle business world. It's a symbiotic relationship, you know, and purely business."

"Purely business?" repeated Hermione with a hard look. Ellen returned it calmly.

"Absolutely," she replied with certainty. "Fred and I are friends, yes, and we know each other very well after so many years, but it's never gone any further, and it's never likely to."

Ellen sat back in her chair.

"I guess I could be described as an Alongsider at that," she mused. "If I'm caught doing anything improper or illegal, it's my problem; the Ministry isn't involved. I merely work 'alongside' Fred, not with him."

She smiled grimly.

"I'm obviously I'm not as good as I think I am," she admitted regretfully. "I thought I had all of you fooled."

"Well, you certainly fooled Lee," Hermione told her confidently. She forked the last of her bacon into her mouth and sat back with a satisfied sigh. Ellen sighed too, but for different reasons.

"Yes, I did," she agreed, her smile fading. She pushed her plate away. She really wasn't hungry any more.

A small scuffle from the fireplace put paid to any further conversation. Both the girls and Molly Weasley gasped as a small redheaded figure climbed slowly out of the grate and stood staring.

"Ginny!" exclaimed Molly, rushing to her daughter's side. "Oh, Ginny! You must have heard! It's okay, darling - your father's summoned reinforcements and he's gone to help them. They'll be all right."

Ginny didn't seem to be taking any of this in at all. She looked dazed, preoccupied, almost as though her thoughts were not her own.

"Sit down, dear," Molly said urgently.

After hugging her daughter's unresponsive body, Molly guided her into a kitchen chair and set about putting the kettle on to boil and the frying pan back on the heat. Hermione reached out for her friend's hand. It was cold as ice. She shot a worried look at Ellen that the other girl returned with equal intensity.

"Ginny," Hermione tried. "Are you all right?"

At the sound of Hermione's voice, Ginny jerked and seemed to wake up. She turned wide, startled eyes on her friend, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"Hermione?"

The word was whispered. Hermione grasped her friend's hand tightly.

"Yes, it's me, Ginny," she replied. "Whatever has happened, you're safe now."

She took the unresisting girl into her arms and held her, trying to impart some warmth to her body. She turned troubled eyes towards the blonde girl.

"Ellen, could you get a blanket or something?" she said, urgently. "I think Ginny's in shock."

Ellen nodded and rose from the table.

"Ginny," began Hermione again. "Ginny, what's happened to you? Please, you must tell me or I can't help you, none of us can."

Ginny was quiet for a long moment, then mechanically she reached out for Hermione's mug of tea. There was a long pause, during which Ellen returned with a crocheted blanket. She draped it around the red-haired girl's shoulders and sat down next to her. Molly quietly pushed a second mug of tea and a plate of toast in front of her daughter and looked into her face worriedly.

"What's wrong with her, Hermione?" Molly asked. Hermione shook her head, completely at a loss. Ginny gave a sudden shudder and dropped the empty cup onto the table. The noise seemed to rouse her.

"Hermione?" she said again. "Ellen? But I wanted to get to The Burrow!"

"This is The Burrow, Ginny," Hermione explained gently. "Your mother's here, but everyone else has gone - well, they've been sent somewhere on Ministry business."

Ginny stared at Hermione for a long time then abruptly she picked up a knife and fork and quietly began to eat her breakfast.

The food seemed to bring Ginny a little more to herself. Her hands stopped shaking, some colour returned to the pale cheeks and her eyes became rather more alive, although their usual sparkle was noticeably absent. Once she had finished her meal, she looked altogether more like her usual self.

"I'm sorry," Ginny blurted, burying her face in her hands. She sighed deeply.

"I've been - a bit confused," she said. "Nothing that a few nights' unbroken sleep won't help."

Her mother gave her a worried look.

"Are you sure that's all, dear?" she asked anxiously, stroking the long red hair.

Ginny nodded wearily.

"Too much hard work and partying; burning the candle at both ends. Success has gone to my head." She smiled ruefully. "Seriously, Mum, I'm okay for now. I need to rearrange my life a bit - you know, take a little more time out. It's no big deal."

Molly didn't look entirely convinced, but her daughter had said enough to satisfy her, at least for the present. However, Ginny herself had other ideas.

"Hermione," she said urgently while Ellen and her mother were clearing away the dishes, "I know I'm not making much sense at the moment, but I really need to talk to you - alone."

Hermione considered.

"We could go for a walk in the garden," she offered. "We could go check that the perimeter gate is closed - would that do?"

Ginny nodded eagerly, obviously holding her control by a fairly slim margin.

Hermione approached Ellen and talked with her in low tones. Ellen nodded twice and turned back to the dishes, engaging Molly in gentle conversation about houseplants. Hermione went back towards Ginny and took her arm to help her from the chair. Seeing the movement from the corner of her eye, Molly turned to address her daughter.

"Oh, Ginny, no!" she exclaimed. "You really should stay sitting, or even lying, down in case you have another strange turn. You may look a little better, but you can never tell."

Ginny gave her a wan smile.

"It's okay, Mum," she replied, "Hermione and I are going to take a slow walk in the garden to check the gate is closed. I promise I won't do anything strenuous, and we won't be long."

Molly remained far from convinced.

"Well, if you're sure," she returned, doubtfully. Ellen tactfully initiated a conversation about Wizarding Radio and successfully distracted her for long enough to allow the two girls to make a tolerably swift exit.

After ten minutes of slow strolling and desultory conversation, Hermione was beginning to wonder why Ginny had asked her to come outside. Rain clouds were beginning to gather on the horizon, and a nippy little breeze had sprung up.

"I'm sorry, I don't know any subtle way of beginning this," Ginny suddenly began in a rather high, panic-stricken voice. "I've been - I've been ensorcelled."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Ensorcelled?" she responded. "But how? How do you know? And how strong is the spell? Who did this to you?"

Ginny swallowed convulsively.

"It was Marcus," she began in a low voice, answering only the last question. Hermione's lips set in a thin line.

"And what sort of spell did he use?"

"A - a love potion."

Hermione gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth.

"An illegal ensorcellment?" she exclaimed. "How in Merlin's name did a musician get hold of something like that? Good grief, Ginny. That's a very serious allegation."

The red-haired girl was nodding her head miserably.

"I know, I know," she moaned. "I was such a fool for not spotting it in the first place."

"The ensorcellment?" Hermione was puzzled. "But how could you have?"

Ginny shook her head violently.

"No, not the spell - Marcus!" she all but shrieked.

Hermione felt as though she had opened a 365-page crime novel at page 200. She took a deep breath.

"Ginny," she began slowly, "don't you think you should explain a little more clearly?"

Her friend nodded and swallowed nervously again.

"Hermione," she said, biting her lip. "Marcus Torrence is - is Draco Malfoy."

There was a long silence.

"Malfoy?" Hermione breathed shakily at length. Ginny nodded furiously.

"Yes, yes!" she insisted. "He used a glamour to change his appearance, but he forgot to adjust it to take mirrors into account. I spotted his reflection in a window, and I challenged him. I should never have been so foolhardy, but he already had me under his influence, so I guess I was partly responding to the spell even then."

Hermione took another deep breath and took her friend by the shoulders.

"Ginny," she said slowly and carefully, "begin at the beginning and tell it through like it was. Don't stop and don't leave anything out. I don't care if we have the mother of all thunderstorms out here - just tell me!"

Ginny nodded, wide-eyed, and began her story.

Most of the basic outline Hermione already knew. Ginny had been free with her opinions when she had been working with Marcus, and Hermione had most often been the whipping boy when she chose to vent her spleen. However, the events of the past few hours eclipsed everything either of them could have imagined. Ginny closed her eyes and remembered...

~oOo~

Her most potent memory was one of overriding physical passion. It was a hunger so intense it seemed to blot out everything and everyone else in the world, but at the same time, it was strangely empty; soulless, without any genuine object, like the need to fill a space or scratch an itch. Intellectually, Ginny was aware of the illusion, but the knowledge did not give her control: no, quite the opposite.

As Marcus - no, Draco touched her, he kindled a devastating wave of desire that obliterated her capacity for coherent thought. Draco was all of her mind: the heat of his body, the scent of his sweat, and the taste of his mouth. Frantically, she cast about for something, anything, to help her preserve some small sway over her understanding. She thought of the recording studio and big, bluff Ernie MacMillan; she thought of Hermione and lunch at Giovanni's; she thought of Ron and Harry in the Mexican rainforest. Nothing worked; nothing! She tried again: Harry's smile when he looked at her, the touch of his hands, his face when they were together.

It was a bad idea. The distraction had only served to take her mind more firmly off the hook, allowing her body to take over virtually of its own volition. Things had progressed alarmingly in the meanwhile.

His shirt hanging loose, exposing pale, almost silver-white shoulders, Draco seemed to be trying to climb inside Ginny's skin, tearing at her clothes, covering every inch of her with hands or lips. They were in his bedroom now. He pushed her down on her back against a clean, though unmade bed, falling heavily over her body, never once breaking contact. Ginny tried to push him away, to scream out a protest; to struggle free from those artful hands, those drugging lips. All that emerged from her throat was a groan, whether of passion or of anguish she could not be sure. She was a puppet, she thought fleetingly; a string marionette, and Draco was her puppet-master. Then, with an inner cry of despair, she relinquished all hold over herself, all control over her body and her mind.

Draco's lips travelled feverishly over her neck and shoulders, and further, as if trying to map out her body by the touch of his mouth alone. Closing her eyes, Ginny dragged her fingernails lightly over his bare shoulders and down his spine, making him arch into the caress and groan with unexpected fervour.

"Grindelwald's boots!" His voice was ragged in her ear. "What - what's happening? What are you doing to me? It - it's not supposed to be like this. I'm not meant to..."

He broke off suddenly, levering himself away, and stared uncertainly into her face. Ginny, too far gone to care, could only moan in protest at his withdrawal.

"No, Draco! Please!"

She reached for him again. He resisted, thrusting her arms away and gazing at her with a mixture of puzzlement and horrified disbelief.

By rights, Draco should have thanked his lucky stars that his long-planned task was a pleasant one and gone to it with a will. So why did he hesitate? Why waver on the very brink of success? This was his destiny and he knew it. This was his one chance to destroy the detested Harry Potter and to pave the way for the forces of Darkness to conquer the world. When the Dark Side took control, he, Draco Malfoy, would receive rewards in plenty for his part in their victory. This was what he had worked for, prepared for and dreamed of for a whole, painstaking year before making his first cautious move. Was he now to falter, to fail at the last? Why did he hesitate?

If Ginny had been in any kind of condition to think, she would have wondered all of those things. But she was not. Drunk with desire, she opened huge, bright eyes, fixing them on him with mindless purpose.

"Make love to me, Draco," she whispered. "Keep your promise; make me forget."

Draco gasped, then turned his head away with a groan. His face contorted as though even the simple act of breathing hurt him and then, with obvious effort, he sat back, dragging himself away from her.

"I can't do this," he muttered. He buried his face in shaking hands. "The Devil help me, I can't do it, and I don't understand why!"

He snatched at loosened trousers, reaching for his discarded shirt.

"Draco?" Ginny's glassy gaze now held puzzlement. She made no attempt to straighten her clothes. "Draco, aren't we going to..."

"No, we're bloody not!" he shouted, his throat so constricted he could scarcely get the words out. Impatiently, he thrust his shirt into the waistband of his jeans and started to search for his shoes.

"But Draco..."

Ginny, still mesmerised, sat up from the midst of the tangled bedclothes. Draco turned to her irritably, immediately jerking his eyes away.

"For Merlin's sake, get dressed!" he barked. "You'll regret it if you don't."

He fumbled in the sleeve of his shirt, cursing when his questing fingers snagged on the fragile silk. Tearing his wand impatiently from its holster, he turned back to the bed. Ginny had not moved in the interim. He shrugged and set his jaw.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he muttered between his teeth, raising his wand.

"Finite Incantatem," he declaimed quietly, sheathed the slim wooden rod and strode out of the bedroom.

For Ginny, it was as though a mist she had previously neither seen nor felt had suddenly been lifted. She knew down to the last detail what she had done and also what she had been about to do. Her memories of the driving emotion, total lack of control, and unquenchable craving for Draco's touch were painfully vivid, but she could no longer feel the compulsion.

Ginny's first emotion was one of overwhelming relief. Shuddering with reaction, she bent double, retching dryly, swallowing wave upon wave of intense nausea. In due course, the sickness abated and she sat back, gasping for breath, perspiration pouring from her body. She grabbed the corner of a bed sheet to swab her neck and shoulders.

Glancing around fearfully, Ginny made as if to get up off the bed and get the hell out of Draco's flat while the going was good, until she realised her state of undress. Colour flooded her face as she hastily retrieved her discarded clothes, and tried to straighten her hair. Some of the sickness returned as she dealt with loose buttons and strained fastenings. Quickly thrusting aside the line of thought those things engendered, she stood in the bedroom listening. A few faint sounds told her that Draco was in the kitchen. She could just walk out of his apartment, out of his life, and he would be none the wiser

Carefully she padded, feather-footed, through the hallway and took hold of the latch. Fortune was with her; it was unlocked. She was about to open the door and bolt in search of a place from which she could safely Apparate, when she paused to look back. Grateful as she was for the reprieve, why had Draco nullified the enchantment? Why hadn't he gone ahead and enslaved her as he was supposed to? What sort of punishment awaited him for failure, and who was he responsible to? She shook her head in bewilderment and, mentally calling herself seven kinds of a fool for taking the same risk a second time, she took her hand away from the lock and went back down the hall in search of her would-be captor.

After all, she told herself, bizarre as it was, she probably owed him her life.

"Malfoy?" she called, rapping on the kitchen door.

There was no answer. She pushed the door open and stepped into the room beyond. Draco Malfoy was there, alternately packing various items ranging from racks of potion bottles to saucepans, into several cardboard boxes, all the while taking great gulps from a mug of hot coffee. He looked up as she came in, bright blue eyes glittering with a curiously naked expression. Ginny shook her head involuntarily.

"How much of you is still under that Glamour, Malfoy?" she demanded. "With the best will in the world, I don't remember your eyes being that colour at Hogwarts."

Malfoy curled his thin lips into a sneer.

"Why are you still here, Weasley?" he snarled, throwing a small cauldron, a fork and an electric toaster into a box together. "You're free from the spell, I haven't harmed you, so why don't you just go home to Potter and forget all about this?"

Ginny shook her head.

"You know I can't do that, Malfoy," she replied softly then nodded towards the coffee. "May I have some of that, please?"

He glanced at the pot and shrugged.

"Help yourself."

She located a mug and filled it, hunting for milk in a nearby refrigerator. She was not really surprised to find none there. Shrugging, she leaned against the counter sipping her black coffee, which was surprisingly good, and wondering what on earth she was doing here. She should be miles away by now, thankfully celebrating her lucky escape. She shrugged again and looked at the man who would have made her his slave.

"Draco," Ginny paused, wondering why she had used his first name.

"Draco," she began again, rolling the word experimentally around her mouth, "do you mind if I ask you something?"

The blond man shrugged.

"Fire away," he replied without looking up. "But don't expect me to answer. And even if I do, don't cry if it's not to your liking."

Ginny quirked her eyebrows and gave a small sigh. It would have to do.

"What are you doing?" she asked neutrally.

"I'm packing, what does it look like?"

He glared at her with angry eyes then turned away.

"I can't stay here now," he continued. "You not only know who I am, you know what I am as well. I'm not so trusting that I believe you'll keep quiet about this for old time's sake."

This was biting sarcasm, but Ginny didn't allow herself to rise to the bait.

"How did you cast the spell?" she asked him. "You said it was in two parts and that I had been under your influence for quite a while. But I really only remember responding to it after you - after you kissed me for the first time, and that was only a few days ago."

Draco paused in his packing and leaned on the kitchen table, resting his coffee mug on its edge. He shrugged, throwing his arms wide.

"What the hell?" he declared to no one in particular. "What harm can it do now? The whole thing's shot to pieces anyway.

"You'd been primed for it some weeks back," he continued roughly. "The spell works mainly by using a potion, but it's a rather strange one. Once it's fully fixed, there's no antidote, but until then, it behaves like a charm or a hex; it can be deactivated very easily, as you just saw. My touch, sweat or saliva, whatever, provided the chemical to activate the potion. A mutual exchange of touching and - shall we say, other chemicals, would have fixed the spell. Forever."

Draco leered unpleasantly at Ginny.

"You were taken before you even knew who Marcus Torrence was," he boasted. "I put the stuff in your coffee the first time we met."

Draco bent to continue his packing.

Ginny thought back to that first meeting at Wizarding Radio, recognising Justin, meeting the others, her argument with Octavia over whether it was a good idea or not. Octavia? Wasn't it Octavia who set this whole thing up? Her eyes suddenly bright with enlightenment, she turned back to Draco.

"And did you concoct the potion," she asked casually, "or did you need Octavia's help for that?"

Ginny held her breath. Draco made a rude noise.

"Octavia?" he sneered. "Octavia couldn't brew a decent cup of coffee, let alone..."

He stopped, his eyes wide with shock.

"You tricked me," he whispered in outrage. "Get out of here! Out! Out, now!"

Ginny shook her head.

"One more question, Draco."

"I said get out of here!"

Draco was shouting. He was really rattled now; she was likely to get the truth.

"Why didn't you take me, back there in your bedroom?" she asked baldly. "Why did you back out at the last moment?"

Draco stared back at her, lost for words. Ginny held his gaze remorselessly.

"I mean, I was practically begging you for it," she continued bluntly, "never mind the fact that you had been working towards that very object for weeks. Now, I have no illusions as to my physical charms, but I am at least young and attractive enough for stage work; in other words, not totally repulsive, whatever your particular preferences. So why?"

Draco smirked, abruptly back on balance.

"It pains me to burst your little bubble," he replied lightly, "but I just don't fancy you, Ginny, that's all. Sorry and all that, but life is tough."

"Rubbish!" Ginny was getting angry. "Don't try to fob me off, Draco, I want the truth. We were nearly lovers, for Merlin's sake. You owe me an explanation."

"I owe you nothing!" Draco practically shouted the words. He bit his lip.

"Whatever you got, you brought on yourself," he continued, in a quieter tone, then he laughed nastily.

"What's the matter Weasley?" he continued. "Can't cope with the fact that some of us don't find you as irresistible as the almighty Potter seems to?"

"Oh, please," Ginny sighed in exasperation. "After all that careful planning and flawless execution, you're not going to make me believe that when push came to shove, you couldn't deliver?"

She paused then raised her eyebrows.

"Did you just - how shall I put this delicately? - fail to rise to the occasion?" she mocked rudely. "Or is it simply that you play for a - different team?"

Ginny's mouth quirked in amused query. Draco clenched his jaw tightly and narrowed his eyes.

"I am a professional," he began in a low, dangerous tone. "Sexual preference has no relevance in a situation like this."

"Yet you were unable to complete your task?" Ginny's tone was openly sceptical. "Oh, come on, Draco!"

He turned away. She caught him by the shoulders and swung him around.

"Draco, look at me!"

Reluctantly, he raised his eyes. Close up, Ginny could see the dark shadows under his eyes, the unhealthy pallor, and the perfect bone structure beneath too little flesh. This assignment had cost him almost everything he had to give; perhaps even his life.

"Now why?"

Impossible words, spoken gently, without anger, without blame. In her zeal for the truth, Ginny did not stop to think what she was asking of Draco. He had plotted against her and he had put her in the gravest possible danger. From where Ginny stood, it was intolerable that she should remain in ignorance of the reasons behind his actions. There was an answer to this puzzle, a solution to the enigma that was Draco Malfoy, and she would have it.

It did not occur to her to consider that Draco was holding back because that information was the one thing left to him in the ruins of his life.

Draco took a breath, opened his mouth to speak, and then sighed with a mixture of anger and vexation, wrenching himself free of her hands.

"I didn't expect you to be - like you are," he told her almost angrily. "When we were at school, you and your brothers, and Potter - always ganging up on me."

Ginny was astonished.

"Malfoy, as I remember, it was always you who started it," she protested. "Remember the business with Rita Skeeter? You actually engineered that little scam."

Draco was shaking his head.

"You had allies, Weasley!" he shouted. "You had a big, warm, protective family all around you. I had no one - just Crabbe and Goyle, and they only supported me because I'm a Malfoy. They looked on it as an obligation!"

"Maybe that's because you couldn't be bothered with anyone you considered your inferior!" she lashed back. "If you'd been kinder to people, they'd have been kinder to you!"

She stopped, puzzled.

"Draco, what's this got to do with our current situation?"

She watched the anger drain out of his face and he looked away. When he spoke again, it was in a much quieter voice.

"I thought I'd feel just the same about you as I had at school," he began. "I assumed I'd hate you because of your family, your Mudblood-loving sympathies, and your relationship with Potter."

He spat Harry's name in disgust, then he raised his eyes to hers, the blue of clear autumn skies, high and rare with a hint of frost.

"I didn't expect to like working with you," he said softly, almost wistfully. "I could never have imagined how much I would enjoy rehearsing with you, discussing the music, talking together. I never anticipated that you would stimulate my imagination and my intellect the way you did.

"I didn't expect to like being Marcus Torrence."

There was a long pause, and then Draco shrugged.

"Well, that's all over now; finished," he said briskly. "The band can find itself another male vocalist - and I hope he's crap!"

But Ginny's face was pensive.

"So you spared me just out of - pity then?" she asked him, staring thoughtfully straight into his face.

Draco's eyes flickered, his mouth worked, and then abruptly he pulled his wand from its sleeve holster and pointed it straight at her.

"Stupefy!" he declaimed, then leaped forward to catch her before she fell. With a strength at odds with his slender appearance, Draco carried the unconscious Ginny back into the bedroom and settled her on his rumpled bed. His hands lingered just a little too long as he tucked the quilt around her; he snatched them away impatiently. Without a backward glance, Draco left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He paused fractionally, his face expressionless, and then he turned away, the light of grim determination dawning in suddenly slate-grey eyes.

A very short while later, No. 4 Mendacium House, Mornington Crescent betrayed no sign whatsoever that Marcus Torrence, or indeed Draco Malfoy, had ever existed.

~oOo~

"I should have seen it coming."

Ginny sighed and briefly rested her forehead in her hands. "When I woke up, it was only about half an hour later, but he'd systematically stripped the place and gone. I couldn't even get a Tracer Charm to stick."

Hermione was silent for a moment, processing all this startling information.

"Is that everything?" she asked, sensing a slight tension in her friend. Ginny shifted her feet awkwardly.

"Well, not quite," she replied, in a subdued tone. "There's this."

She held up a small item and placed it carefully on Hermione's outstretched palm.

"It was lying on the pillow next to me when I woke up," she explained. "I'm not sure what it is - whether it's anything more than it appears, I mean - but I don't think it's dangerous."

Hermione looked up from examining the object.

"How can you be sure of that?" she demanded. Ginny shrugged.

"Call me soft and sentimental if you like," she said quietly, "but I think it's a peace offering."

She reached out her hand and retrieved the object, putting it quickly into her pocket. Hermione was about to protest, but Ginny broke into her thoughts before she could give it voice.

"Why didn't he finish the job, Hermione?" she whispered. "I put myself into his power, and I unmasked him. Surely he can't think I'll keep silent about his identity?"

Hermione gave her friend a very old-fashioned look, but wisely decided to hold her tongue as one glance at the girl's face told her she was very close to breaking point. As she looked, Ginny's lower lip began to tremble with reaction.

"Oh, this is all so horrible!" she began in a choked voice. "Just when everything seemed to be working out beautifully, the world gets turned on its head again. And what's happening to Harry? And Ron? I've been so wrapped up in my own affairs, yet again, that it's only just penetrated. Surely if I've been under attack because of this mind-bond thing that Harry and I have got going, then he must be in danger too!"

Hermione's face must have given more away than she had bargained for. Ginny's eyes widened.

"They are in danger, aren't they?" she gasped. "That's why Daddy's gone to Mexico!"

Hermione put her arms around Ginny.

"It's okay - they'll get to them," she soothed. "Sirius hasn't answered calls for more than forty-eight hours, so they've had to go to him first to find out what's going on, but we should hear later on."

Ginny's expression told her friend that very little of that explanation had been taken at face value. Abruptly, she buried her face in Hermione's shoulder and sobbed. She raised her face to the sky.

"Harry!" she called, miserably. "Harry, where are you?"

In agony. "Harry! Harry, please!"

And into her mind, infinitely soothing, infinitely calming, came the familiar mental presence, fleeting but firm:

"I'm here, Ginny," it said. "I'm coming home!"

And she believed him.

~oOo~

Oh, for Merlin's sake, get it over with!

Ron could only believe that Katia was stringing out his demise to force him to grovel. This conviction overcame all thoughts of fear, replacing them with burning anger. He opened his eyes, straightened his spine and stared her in the face, determined to deny her the sadistic pleasure she seemed to draw from watching him crawl.

"What are you waiting for?" he shouted, his voice rather higher than usual but still strong. "You've finally got me at your mercy. You can't risk keeping me alive, you know I've got nothing left to lose. Get on with it!"

Katia smirked as Ron's voice cracked, betraying his fear.

"So brave, so courageous!" she purred silkily. "Yet death still holds as much terror for you as for the lowest, meanest coward. How does it feel to know you are going to die in the next few moments, Weasley? That your body will be tossed in the nearest bog to be gnawed by crocodiles until all that is left of you is a few disconnected bones?"

Ron was silent. At his side, Harry stirred, shaking his head in confusion, trying to make sense of the last few minutes. Katia kept her attention on Ron. Still smiling, she moved a step towards him. Her bodyguards moved with her, their wands gently circling, awaiting her final command.

"So look where all your fine upper-class education, your ancient, pureblood family, and your much-vaunted Auror training have got you now, eh?" she mocked. "Bested, defeated by a mongrel, a no-good, illegitimate freak, a half-breed, outcast by my own people, the spawn of ignorance and an ill-considered love charm! Well, I have shown them I was someone to be reckoned with. My powers are so strong that were you to challenge me, I could crush you with a single spell!"

Ron kept his eyes firmly on Katia and concentrated on keeping his face rigidly still, but at his side he could hear the same curious hissing sound Harry had made earlier in their trip, just outside the Lost City. Hope flooded through Ron like an Enervating potion. Harry was speaking to the snakes, summoning them; asking for their assistance.

"But you never had any formal training," Ron replied, desperate to keep Katia's attention on himself. "How could you have developed such power as you claim without assistance?"

Katia spat at him contemptuously.

"You think your way is the only way to power?" she shouted, her eyes flashing dangerously. "The best and most powerful teachers do not bury themselves in schools, they are out in the world, waiting to be found by those who want to learn. I found my teachers, and I learned well."

Keeping his eyes fixed on the woman in front of him, Ron nevertheless could sense rather than see careful, stealthy movement in the trees behind Katia's two bodyguards.

"Who were these teachers, then?" he asked, aware that his play for time was all too transparent. "I've never heard of anyone more powerful than Albus Dumbledore, and he did indeed chose to 'bury himself' at Hogwarts."

As he spoke, the subtle movement coalesced into a number of large, gleaming, black and grey coils, descending smoothly, silently down the trunks of the trees.

"Dumbledore? Hah!" Katia gave a derisive laugh. "A pathetic, Muggle-loving fool who could have been great if he'd fixed his sights on an empire more worthy of attention than a mere school!"

"Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of his age!" Ron shouted, genuinely angry now.

"Then why is he dead?" Katia's sneering tone stabbed back at him. "In the end, he was defeated through his compassion - a stupid weakness which ... What? What is happening?"

Working with consummate co-ordination, the silent coils in the branches revealed themselves as two very large boa constrictors. Abruptly, they fell on Katia's bodyguards, effectively immobilising them amidst terrified shouts and screams. Katia turned in indecision, momentarily at a loss. Ron seized his chance and quickly groped at his belt for the small sling he had purchased in Bogsworthy & Trunks an eternity ago. Stooping for pebbles for ammunition, he took careful aim at the first bodyguard and let fly, bringing the evil wizard down with one blow to the head. Without pausing to examine his handiwork, he took aim at the other struggling man and successfully dispatched him in similar fashion.

Katia, who had been debating the best method of killing the snakes without harming her allies, was absolutely furious to see them knocked unconscious before she could help them. Almost beside herself with rage, she turned upon Ron and raised her wand again. This time there would be no messing about - she meant business.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The voice was Harry's, and it contained just enough sharpness in the tone to make her pause. There in front of her were two black snakes. They were smaller than the boa constrictors and had grey markings, but their lack of size was more than made up for by their threatening attitude and obvious fangs.

"Bushmasters," Harry explained crisply, in a didactic tone of voice. "You might remember meeting one of them before; extremely venomous, even to witches. Two of them here means that if you take out one, the other will get you. And unfortunately for you, Katia, I have the only antivenin."

The woman paused briefly to consider her situation then lowered her wand in defeat. The look she directed towards Harry made Ron shiver in his shoes. He remembered the Veelas they had seen at the Quidditch World Cup the summer before their fourth year at Hogwarts and how they had reacted when their wishes had been thwarted.

At that moment, the clearing suddenly seemed full of people. Ron became dimly aware of his father and Sirius arriving with a number of khaki-clad companions who immediately took charge of the situation. Caesare Brookes deployed his men quickly, barking orders, sweeping the area for further danger and, finding none, quickly trussing up the two unconscious bodyguards. The Bushmasters still menaced Katia, until Harry spoke to them gently, thanking them greatly for their help and allowing them to depart back to their homes. Brookes disarmed the Dark witch, returning Harry's and Ron's wands to them, and placed a pair of Enchantment-proofed handcuffs over her wrists. Arthur approached Ron and Harry with, to their amazement, tears in his eyes. He hugged both of them roughly.

"I thought we'd lost you," he said in a choked voice, "and we almost lost Sirius too."

"It was thanks to you, Arthur, that I survived the experience," Sirius broke in, adding his greetings to Arthur's.

Harry turned questioning eyes to his godfather. Sirius gave Harry and Ron each a searching look.

"You weren't the only ones to fall foul of Miss Valentin," he told them soberly.

Sirius walked over to where two of Brookes' men were guarding Katia.

"I've had previous encounters with this creature," he began. "I won't call her a lady, because she isn't. It's only recently I started to seriously suspect that she might be something other than she represented herself. More black than grey, as it were."

With a swift movement, he seized a handful of dark hair and pulled until her angry face was mere inches away from his implacable one.

"You're in the pay of Lucius Malfoy, aren't you?" he said, quietly, menacingly. "You always were, right from the start. That's where you got your training - through him, through the Dark Side. Isn't that right? Isn't it?"

Sirius was shouting directly at her, yanking her hair even harder when she refused to answer. Scowling fiercely, she spat hard into his face. Sirius abruptly let her go and groped for a cloth.

"Leave her, Sirius."

Arthur proffered a handkerchief. Sirius accepted it with silent thanks.

"Give it up, Sirius," Arthur said quietly, his eyes full of compassion. "It pains me to say this about anyone, even the darkest of Dark Wizards, but she's no good - rotten to the core. You have to face up to it, old friend."

Sirius nodded, wiping his face, but his eyes were bleak.

"I've known her a long time," he said bitterly. "I always knew there was some dark magic in her family, but it's hard to believe she betrayed us so utterly. I'm surprised I've lasted this long; I should have been dead years ago on her past record."

Sirius flicked an expressionless glance at where two of Caesare Brooks' underlings were securing Katia's wrists with Permacuffs.

"You'd think I'd have spotted it, wouldn't you?" he said in a curiously empty tone. "Considering how much dark there is in my own family roots."

"You mustn't blame yourself." Arthur put a hand on Sirius' shoulder. "Everything is easy with hindsight."

Sirius shook his head and sighed. He handed the handkerchief back to Arthur, looking into his face.

"Thanks for that," he said sincerely, meaning much more than just a handkerchief. Arthur smiled, patting him on the back.

"You're very welcome," he replied then, squaring his shoulders, he turned back to the group who seemed to be awaiting his instructions.

"Okay, everyone," said Arthur Weasley wearily. "Let's go home."