Sorcerers' Endgame

Sorcerers' Endgame

A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher

Sequel to "A Most Ingenious Paradox" and

"By the Pricking of My Thumbs"

Chapter One: "In the Midst of Life"

"O God our help in ages past," muttered Arthur Weasley, glancing around the congregation with a practised eye. To his left, Molly unconsciously smoothed a wrinkle from her sleeve. He smiled proudly: she looked suitably non-magical and really quite at ease in her sombre Muggle get up. Which was more than he could say for himself, he thought, surreptitiously tugging at his uncomfortable black tie for the umpteenth time that morning. Muggle clothes really were the pits, particularly on official occasions.

All in all, Arthur mused, it was a very good turnout, both wizards and Muggles. The magical folk had been obliged to toe the party line for this solemn occasion as the cathedral was peppered with Muggle press and the coverage would likely reach the national Muggle news.

Arthur sighed. It had scarcely been sudden and was not at all unexpected, but Cornelius Fudge's death had ended an era for all of them. Sir Cornelius actually; he had been knighted in the last Honours List, but had been too ill to attend the ceremony. Lady Fudge had been obliged to act as his proxy. Arthur's eyes drifted towards the widow in the front pew, correct in deep mourning, stiff-backed and stony-faced, flanked by her two sons. She was also accompanied by a few relatives and some close colleagues from the Ministry of Magic. And, of course, Tantalus Brown.

Tantalus Brown. The muscles either side of Arthur's jaw twitched and he looked away quickly. Over his years at the Ministry, Arthur had learned discretion, how to govern by persuasion rather than fiat, how to conceal one's true feelings, and how to sideline unwanted interference. Unfortunately, Tantalus Brown was the first in a long career to irritate him so badly that all his carefully won diplomacy promptly jumped ship and headed for the hills. And Brown just happened to be his immediate superior.

"Time, like an ever-rolling stream, Bears all its sons away;"

Arthur glanced briefly back into his hymnbook, thrusting all heretical thoughts firmly aside and gave the congregation another once-over, catching a glimpse of long, eye-catchingly red hair. He smiled tenderly as he recognised his daughter, Ginny, and her partner, Harry Potter. They made a very attractive couple, he mused, and their respective talents in a wide range of areas made the partnership a very valuable one to the magical world. They were at present investigating the ramifications of a strange bonding that had recently developed between them; a potentially devastating mind-meld which seemed to spring directly from the strength of their attachment. Its manifestation had caused much consternation among the ranks of the ungodly. And not just the ungodly either! Arthur's forehead creased in a small frown as he recalled the events of the past few days.

~oo0oo~

Harry placed his wand carefully on the table and for a brief moment rested his forehead in his hands. Ginny sat motionless, gazing at the floor, biting her lip apprehensively. Arthur braced himself for Harry's explosion.

"It's no good. We're not going to be able to trigger it this way."

Harry paced the floor gesturing with his hands.

"Look," he continued, with thinly disguised impatience. "This Mind-Bond thing has locked into place between Ginny and myself precisely three times, and on those occasions without exception we, or others close to us, were in considerable danger. Now, I don't pretend to have either the abilities or the detailed knowledge that you gentleman possess, but, for the wisdom of Merlin, it doesn't need a genius to put two and two together and come up with four!"

The young man glared at the assortment of experts assembled from various parts of the globe, ran an exasperated hand through his unruly hair and turned away with a sigh of disgust. There was a short silence, then Harry turned back to face his colleagues.

"We can't force it into place by willpower alone," he continued more calmly. "There has to be another way."

The others present in the Ministry Laboratory exchanged glances. One or two shuffled their feet in embarrassment.

"It is difficult," a quiet voice began. "No one here present has any concrete knowledge of magical Mind-Bonding between wizards. In fact, were it not for the shadows of these incidents in your minds, I could be forgiven for doubting the existence of such a phenomenon. In all my researches, I have never come across any reference to this ability, nor have I encountered anyone with such powers."

The softly-spoken Chinese Dr. Lim was attempting to lower the temperature of the meeting.

"Except the Dark Side," added Dr. Galen, the Ministry's own expert. "We have it from their agents that bonding has been known to occur between Dark Wizards. Indeed, the great Merlin himself was unwillingly bonded with the Dark Witch, Morgan le Fey, but we can discover nothing further from our archives, just the bare facts. It's very frustrating."

"Perhaps there is conflict between the parties."

Dr. Petrucci now joined the discussion.

Arthur had never met anyone who looked less like an academic than this olive-skinned, smouldering Latin. However, Petrucci's languid good looks concealed a first-class brain and a habit of speaking his mind.

"Perhaps neither of you will submit to the other's will," he added, with a faint trace of malice. "If you harbour resistance, however faint, it must and will make the process much more difficult. This is the case in the temporary pooling of power such as with co-operative spells, combination charms and other advanced magic of this kind."

There was a short, awkward silence. Arthur winced inwardly; it had not escaped his notice that Italian professor's roving eye had lit once or twice upon his pretty daughter. Ginny's blank indifference towards Petrucci's Latin gallantry had, in Arthur's opinion, bordered on the insulting and earned her no favours with the Italian wizard. Ginny spoke for the first time.

"Draco Malfoy..." she swallowed then began again. "He told me the Dark forces considered it unlikely Harry and I would succeed even in a partial bonding because of my volatile temperament."

Harry whirled round in dismay and took hold of her shoulders.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Ginny," he said exasperatedly. "You're not going to give credence to anything that vermin told you, are you?"

Ginny stared straight into his eyes, not at all intimidated.

"Why not?" she challenged. "They seem to know rather more about it on his side of the fence."

"That may be true," Harry replied reluctantly, "but Malfoy was always such an accomplished liar that it was never easy to separate out the small nuggets of truth he occasionally let slip. How can you be certain of anything he told you?"

Ginny was silent, but her face was implacable.

"It seems to me a very unfair description of you," Harry finished uneasily.

Ginny shrugged indifferently.

"I don't consider it unfair at all," she told him. "I know I'm unpredictable - it's a large part of my creativity and my magical strength. Of course I won't submit to you, why on earth should I? I wasn't brought up to be subservient, for Merlin's sake. I have six brothers - that's not exactly encouragement for a docile temperament, now is it?"

Without waiting for an answer, Ginny slid down from the high stool she had chosen to occupy. Wordlessly, she aimed her wandless hand towards Harry's empty chair.

"Incendio!" she whispered.

The chair did not so much catch fire as implode upon itself. There was one brief moment when those present saw it engulfed in living flames, then abruptly it was gone leaving nothing more than a small pile of ash, a rush of heat and the smell of ozone.

"See?" Ginny told them coolly. "That's how meek and mild I can be. And that's what happens every time I use magic: the power is multiplied by a factor of 10, and it's increasing every day. Pretty soon I'll have the power to take out a small town. That's assuming I'd ever want to."

Rigid and unruffled, Ginny slid back on to her stool.

Harry turned on her, his face distorted with anger. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

"Don't show off!" he told her bluntly. "We've all seen what you can do several times over. Frankly, it scares the pants off me - I'm admitting it! But we don't know what harm you do your system every time you use magic at this level. We know nothing of the long-term effects of a massive increase in native power of this nature. Please, Ginny, for your own safety, and possibly for mine too - keep it down."

Ginny turned to him, a humourless half-smile on her face.

"So," she said. "All I have to do is foreswear magic for the rest of my life, and everyone will live happily ever after. Is that it?"

Ginny shook her head and a spasm of remorse flickered across her features.

"No," she continued more quietly. "No, I tried that, didn't I? It didn't work."

Harry's hard expression relented. He took her hand in his and looked up into her face with wordless pity.

The mild-mannered Dr. Lim sighed and shook his head.

"We are hamstrung by our ignorance!" he declared, deeply frustrated. "The Dark Side possesses the knowledge and wisdom of centuries. We flail around blindly, trying to make sense of something for which we have no precedent. We desperately need to verify Draco Malfoy's claims for this development and find some way of dealing with the situation. Deactivating or cushioning the effect would be my chosen method. But progressing the situation - facilitating the process of Bonding may be another choice. Either way, we have to do something before the Dark Side makes yet another attempt to neutralise either or both Miss Weasley or Mr. Potter. It's a race against time, gentlemen - and we can't even find the starting blocks!

"We need information from somewhere - and we need it now!"

~oo0oo~

"And our eternal home!"

Arthur shook his head with a worried frown, coming back down to earth as the hymn ended and the congregation sat down. He looked up at the highly decorated lectern, observing as he did so that the showy flower arrangement was unseasonally bright and rather over the top. A faint smile crossed his face as he recalled the profusion of snowdrops and crocuses back at The Burrow.

What would Cornelius himself have made of all this pomp and circumstance, I wonder? mused Arthur as Tantalus Brown approached the lectern to read the first lesson. What had Cornelius really been like anyway? Had he been as accomplished a Minister as they were today proclaiming? Or had his success been largely due to the continual support he had received throughout from Albus Dumbledore? Arthur would have put money on the latter. Things at the Ministry had turned on their heads after Fudge and Dumbledore fell out over You-Know-Who, and it had been some considerable time before anything coherent had been achieved at a high level. It was no coincidence that Brown had begun his swift ascendancy through the Ministry echelons at about that time.

Tantalus Brown began to read. Arthur did not really want to listen; he preferred to keep his blood pressure at a manageable level. A faint, grim but satisfied smile settled over his lips as he recalled his relief when Brown had reluctantly withdrawn from the campaign to fill Cornelius' shoes. The article that Rita Skeeter submitted to Brown for pre-publication comment, dealing with his treatment of Harry and Ginny over the Mexican affair, had been a masterpiece of malice. Rather a pity in some ways that Tantalus had caved in; it would have made marvellous copy. The downside was that Arthur's Department owed Rita big, and they had no doubt that come payday it would cost everything she could screw out of them. C'est la vie! They'd cross that bridge when they came to it. Arthur sighed soundlessly: even if they knew nothing bad about him, the fact remained that the new Minister was something of an unknown quantity.

A shuffling of feet alerted Arthur that Brown had left the lectern. The Ministry bigwig strode back to his pew staring straight ahead, hardly deigning to acknowledge the diffident young man now taking his place at the huge Bible. Harry Potter carefully rifled the pages until he found the correct passage, refusing to be rattled by Brown's discourtesy in not turning to the next reading.

Arthur smiled faintly at the sight of his daughter's partner, still blinking behind his spectacles, still trying to flatten the unruly mop of hair that insisted on falling over his face. It was at times like these that Arthur was most forcibly reminded of James. Not that they had ever been close - after all, Arthur and Molly had been several years senior to James, Sirius and Remus at Hogwarts - but he remembered James well, Lily too. And now their son was involved with his daughter, together with all that arose from such an alliance. Ginny had scarcely had time to breathe since hooking up with Harry. Their relationship had been fraught with danger from its very beginning. No wonder she was reluctant to marry him; either or both of them could die tomorrow. Arthur shook his head again. That was why the exploitation of their mind-bond was so important. They had no choice but to see it through, if only for their own survival. The Dark Side was unlikely to slacken their vigilance now. Arthur's mind wandered again.

~oo0oo~

"He's answered my message - he's agreed to help us!"

Hermione's almost incandescent excitement led Arthur to overlook her bursting into his office without even knocking. He looked up from his everlasting paperwork as a piece of well-worn parchment was waved frantically in his face. Arthur steadied it and squinted at the crabbed, scribbly writing.

The message was from Dr. Radcliffe in Florence, the learned gentleman Harry had consulted over his discovery of the Holy Grail last year. Seeing how desperate Harry and Ginny were becoming over their continuing inability to understand their mind bond, Hermione had consulted the professor unofficially to see if he could shed some light on the problem. His response was to invite Harry and Ginny to the World Wizarding Library to explore some potential leads that could aid their endeavours.

The professor requested that Hermione should be part of the group of course, but knowing the old man's partiality for his wife, Ron refused to let her go without him. Intrigued by the prospect and eager to meet the eminent expert who had shed such a deal of light on the Holy Grail affair, Arthur decided to go along for the ride. But if he had known what he was letting himself in for, he would probably have stayed quietly at home.

Immediately on catching sight of Hermione, the good Professor enveloped her in a bear hug, kissing her soundly on each cheek. Arthur glanced fleetingly at his youngest son, observing a muscle twitching in his rigid face, and coughed discreetly into his handkerchief to hide his amusement. Ron refrained from kicking Radcliffe in the shins as he received his rather more formal greeting, but only just. Almost immediately, the Professor and Hermione went into a huddle, talking partly in English, part Italian, swiftly making lists and consulting the Catalogue. Radcliffe's suggestion that they should research some Muggle documentation, namely that of the ancient Indonesian peoples, particularly Javanese Hindu writings was greeted with puzzlement by the others.

"But why?" demanded Ron, antagonism making him blunt. Oblivious, the Professor turned an animated face towards him.

"A very good question, Mr. Weasley," he replied, absently stroking his beard. "The fact is that throughout history, a number of famous wizards were prominent Hindu priests, that particular great religion always being more tolerant than any other of so-called "magical" phenomena. Consequently, Hinduism has had far more interface with the magical community than Christianity, Islam, Judaism or any of the Eastern faiths."

Hermione was nodding earnestly.

"Yes, Professor," she interrupted eagerly. "I've also read that the older, pre-Christian religions of Europe have revealed a surprising wealth of knowledge and artefacts known to be magical in origin."

"That is absolutely true, Dr. Granger," replied the Professor equably. "But we have so few European sources - the early Muggle Christians took it upon themselves to destroy anything they considered Pagan. I suggest we begin where the pickings are good and hope that we strike gold soon!"

Hermione submitted her enormous reading list to the Catalogue and within a few minutes the first instalment of texts was delivered. Arthur's jaw dropped.

"What a task!" he muttered. Hermione turned her head.

"Oh, that's only about a quarter of it," she told him, frowning in concentration as she divided the books rapidly into categories. "Even though I jumped the queue by using the Professor's name, these are only the references they had within easy reach. It should take them the rest of the day to track down all the texts I've requested, and probably most of tonight to assemble them. We should be able to discard half to three-quarters of this consignment - or at least send the relevant pages for copying - before we leave this evening."

By six o'clock, Arthur was going cross-eyed. When they broke for lunch at twelve-thirty, he had been congratulating himself at having reduced his huge pile of books by approximately 75%. Over a light meal in the Library Refectory, he was looking forward to sloping off home early for once and surprising Molly. His spirits fell sharply, however, on his return to the reading room to find the next consignment of texts had been delivered while they were eating. The piles almost reached the ceiling! Arthur rested his forehead on the table and despaired.

It took two days to sort through the information. Two solid days of backache, cramp, sore necks, gritty eyes and aching brains, but the sum total of their gleanings now resided at the Ministry of Magic. Hermione, with immense aplomb, had run roughshod over anyone who tried to stand in her way and commandeered an office, some furniture and the services of a secretary. She then proceeded to work her way through the references slowly and methodically, magnanimously waving aside Tantalus Brown's protests about non-Ministry personnel and shutting the door firmly on his attempts to interfere.

~oo0oo~

Arthur's musings were interrupted yet again as the congregation stood for another hymn. Opening the small black book, he looked carefully around the church for his daughter-in-law, Hermione. Ah, there she was, sandwiched nicely between Ron and George. He must remember to ask her if anything new had come up over the past couple of days.

"The Lord's my shepherd, I'll not want," Arthur sang tunelessly, craning his neck to take in the row behind.

Was that Fred standing next to George? Yes, it was. Good. Bill had put in an appearance (suitably dressed, much to Molly's relief) and was standing at his mother's right hand, accompanied by Fleur, his girlfriend of several years' standing. Arthur allowed himself an indulgent smile as he noticed their linked hands; Bill was not generally known for sentimentality. Percy, a little further down the row, was dipping his head to murmur something to his wife, Penelope. Unfortunately, Charlie was involved with a brood of Hungarian Hornbacks in a critical stage of hatching and had been unable to leave them. The Hogwarts contingent had seated themselves towards the back, no doubt somewhat concerned about the all too blatant intrusion of the Muggle press.

The hymn ended, the congregation rustled back into their pews and the new Minister for Magic, Jeremy Wingford-Hill, slowly ascended the lectern to begin the Address. Arthur sat up, paying close attention, not solely because this was his ultimate superior, but because he was also very curious as to how the New Man would acquit himself in such a sensitive situation. Wingford-Hill took his time arranging his few pages of notes against the large Bible, then he looked out over the top of the lectern, surveying the congregation thoughtfully for a moment before beginning to speak. The proverbial pin could be heard echoing throughout the large building. Arthur smiled: he liked a man with a sense of theatre.

~oo0oo~

"Pressing the flesh" it was called. Or at least Arthur remembered it being described so by a more experienced colleague when he joined the Ministry so many years before. Armed with a solitary glass of something vaguely alcoholic and much too sweet, Arthur cruised the crowd attacking the funeral-baked meats, feeling slightly nauseous. Trying to formulate a plan of attack, he was distracted by a low voice in his ear.

"Bloody awful crush," it said scathingly. "We'd get better service down the Owl & Broomstick. And a better meal too, although that wouldn't be hard!"

"Good to see you, Fred," replied Arthur without bothering to turn round. "Rather a good turnout, I thought. At least most of our side stuck to the dress code. And you're being rather unfair about the food. From the little I can see, it appears to be very good."

"I'm not protesting the quality, or even the quantity, just the proximity," was Fred's grumbled reply. "Or, rather, lack of it."

The lanky redhead pursed his lips and surveyed the crowd, taking an unenthusiastic sip from his glass. His eyes narrowed, fixing beadily on something or someone over the other side of the room.

"Sorry, Dad," he said, patting his father's arm without breaking his gaze. "I'll catch up with you later. I've got to see a man about a hippogriff."

He dived purposefully into the crowd and it was with some surprise that Arthur watched him home in on Caesare Brooks, sometime Commander of Covert Operations, now retired.

"What in the world would Fred want with Caesare?" he pondered. The conversation seemed to be serious judging by the earnest expressions of both men. Arthur absently took a gulp of his drink, making a face at its cloying syrupiness.

"Damn and blast!" Another voice exploded in Arthur's ear. "I've been trying to snatch a word with Fred all day. Couldn't you have held on to him for another five minutes?"

Arthur smiled sympathetically.

"George, your mother and I have been trying to hold on to either or both of you since the day you were born," he replied, amused. "With a singular lack of success, I might add."

George grabbed a passing waiter by the sleeve and directed him to refill their glasses.

"Never know when you'll find another one in this crush," he commented, eyeing the diminishing buffet with chagrin.

Arthur gave his son a considering look.

"You say you haven't been able to pin Fred down all day," he said thoughtfully. "That's unusual, surely. Never a day goes by without you two cooking up something together, even now you've supposedly both grown up."

George shook his head.

"I'm trying to focus his attention on the business," he complained. "We've got some important policy decisions to make as to our future direction. Most of the time I run the whole bang shoot, but there's the odd occasion, like now, when I need Fred's input - and incidentally his signature on some documentation. After all, he has a fifty percent interest in this thing, even if he is behaving more like a sleeping partner these days."

Arthur kept his expression serious, but inwardly he smiled. It was scarcely perceptible to outsiders, and if challenged Arthur suspected that his son would deny it vehemently to within an inch of his life, but there was no doubt that George was beginning to show definite symptoms of adult responsibility. Arthur was of the private opinion that it was well past time both his twin sons grew up, but part of him couldn't help but mourn the passing of the happy-go-lucky, irresponsible boys whose pranks he had outwardly condemned but inwardly enjoyed as much as they had.

George suddenly spotted Oliver Wood among the crowd and, hastily excusing himself from his father, fought his way to the other side of the room, grinning broadly. Arthur saw Oliver smile in pleasure as he shook George's hand, a flash of white teeth in a deeply suntanned face, looking surprisingly well at ease in his Muggle suit. With Oliver were Lee Jordan and Ellen MacBeth, both long time friends of Fred and George and now living in Harry's House. Arthur wondered if wedding bells were tentatively ringing in that direction and promised himself to make time to talk to the young people today.

"Arthur! How pleasant to see you!" A hearty voice interrupted his reflections. "I only wish it could have been under more cheerful circumstances. Still, it wasn't exactly unexpected."

Arthur turned to shake hands with Minerva McGonagall, a broad genuine smile creasing his face.

"Minerva!" he exclaimed. "Good to see you too. How are things at Hogwarts these days?"

The years had changed Minerva McGonagall very little. She was still stiff-backed and severe, radiating an aura of calm competence from behind her square spectacles. If Arthur could discern a few more wrinkles and perhaps a little more grey in her hair since she had taken over from Albus Dumbledore as Head Teacher, he would never be so ungallant as to mention it. She was accompanied by Filius Flitwick, the tiny Charms teacher, who was so small as to be almost lost in the crowd.

"We're getting along much the same as usual," Minerva replied to Arthur's question. "We're working very hard on the new student exchange programme, you know. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang have both been very supportive, and the scheme has been extremely successful. It's in its third year now, and this year we've had some students from the American schools, LAWA and NYWA - Los Angeles and New York, you know. I think Harry Potter may have had some influence there."

She smiled in satisfaction.

"We've also had an approach from Caravadoccia, the Italian school," she continued. "But sadly as yet, the Russians and the Japanese regard the whole thing with grave suspicion."

"What about further afield?" Arthur enquired with interest. "I understand Professor Sinistra has had discussions with the embassy in South Africa."

"Indeed." Professor McGonagall smiled in satisfaction. "Capetown University has been very enthusiastic about a potential exchange programme. They have set up some interesting studies into Maritime Magic in later years, you know, and their weatherworkers are second to none. I would be delighted to see our Hogwarts students learning these skills. However, not everything has gone to plan. We still have serious logistical problems with the pilot scheme in China." She sighed regretfully.

"There's no problem with conflicting styles of magic," she continued with a searching glance. "I know a report was sent to you claiming exactly that, but its contents were based on a single interview and its conclusions extremely biased."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," Arthur replied. "And I'm fairly sure I know how it came about. Sadly, Minerva, it did your cause no good at all at the Ministry."

"Well," Professor McGonagall gave a resigned smile, "These things happen, and there's little that can be done in retrospect. No, the difficulty in China is the vast distances between the schools - and individually they're so small! Our students are so isolated, even now the language problem has been solved, that they return home within weeks."

"Perhaps several shorter visits, rather than one long period, would be better?" Arthur ventured. Professor McGonagall nodded.

"That's the next step," she told him. "A more optimistic topic, however, is the unexpected success we're having in Mexico. It's all due to your excavation of the ancient city Harry Potter and Ron Weasley discovered, you know. The dig has attracted a great deal of attention, particularly from the American universities, but also from Europe. Even Durmstrang have sent a group of students! Sirius Black has been very active in persuading the Mexican authorities to build a permanent study centre on the site. In fact, the possibility of a new Wizard University in Mexico is getting stronger every day."

Arthur nodded briskly.

"This is all excellent news," he replied with approval. "These contacts must be made while the children are still young enough to be flexible. You need have no worries about the continuation of your grant for this work, Minerva. I will personally make sure of that."

Professor McGonagall inclined her head in thanks.

"I have been a little concerned," she confided, "that there are some in the Ministry who have their doubts as to the validity of our work in this area."

She let her eyes slide over to a stiff little group standing somewhat apart from the crowd where Lady Fudge, flanked by her two sons, was being lectured by Tantalus Brown. Arthur followed her gaze and nodded slightly, noticing Percy and Penelope on the edges of that group. Penelope seemed to be trying to urge her husband away from Brown's monologue without being too obvious, but Percy was having none of it. He was hanging on his superior's every word. Arthur gave a small sigh; some historical features certainly did have a distressing tendency to repeat themselves.

"Have no fear Minerva," he reiterated quietly without moving his eyes. "The Ministry will continue to support your work." But his expression was far from sanguine.

As they watched, Jeremy Wingford-Hill approached Lady Fudge. It seemed to Arthur that the widow turned from Tantalus Brown with almost indecent haste and latched on to the new Minister with the relief of a drowning man presented with a straw. He smiled: for someone who had only known Cornelius personally for a year or so, Wingford-Hill's eulogy had been considerably better than anyone had expected. At least the man had done his homework.

A few moments later found Arthur taking very real pleasure in approaching a group comprising his daughter, his youngest son and their respective partners. Ron and Hermione were both radiating rather too much happiness for such a solemn occasion, but Arthur felt his spirits lift just looking at them. Ron acted as though he and Hermione were joined at the hip, refusing to be parted from her for a moment and gazing sappily into her eyes whenever he thought he wasn't observed. Hermione seemed equally star-struck, and if Ron's fussing around her like a mother hen caused her the occasional little frown of irritation, she seemed not to let it bother her.

"Doesn't she look well?" Ron said to his father as Hermione turned to exchange greetings with a colleague. Arthur nodded.

"Indeed she does," he replied approvingly. "Motherhood becomes her."

He raised his glass and clinked it against Ron's.

"I remember your mother when she was carrying Charlie," he remarked reminiscently. "She looked as pretty as a picture."

Which was a good deal more than he could say for his own daughter, Arthur thought. Not that he had any reason to think that Ginny was expecting, of course. His smile faded as he noted her uncharacteristic silence, the shadows under her eyes, and the tension in her body language. Harry seemed little different from usual, but Arthur noticed that although he rarely strayed far from her side, he seemed not to touch her in any way, not even to hold her hand. Baffled as to what this odd behaviour could signify, Arthur sighed and glanced around: people were starting to drift away now the buffet had been cleared.

"Have you spoken to Oliver?"

Ron was addressing him. Arthur shook his head.

"Haven't managed to get to him yet."

"So you won't have heard about his stint in Singapore then," Ron continued rapidly. "Get this: the team has a new chaser who needs to be broken in. Seeing as it's the low season for Quidditch at the moment, matches are sparse anyway so Oliver's keeping the whole team in Singapore for two months' training. Imagine that! Two solid months in one of the most exciting cities in the world!"

Arthur smiled.

"Perhaps you and Hermione could visit him for a holiday?" he suggested mildly.

Ron shook his head.

"Nah. No Apparating or Porting for her until she's six months gone, according to the Medics," he replied. "Too much of a shock to the system. And by that time, Hermione says she won't want to be too far from home. I guess we could use Muggle transport, but it's a long way to go, especially with morning sickness. I guess we'll wait till there's three of us!"

Arthur grimaced.

"She's still being sick?" he asked sympathetically.

"As a dog." Ron's expression was glum. "It's supposed to tail off after three months. Just goes to show you can't believe anything these Witch Doctors tell you!"

Arthur smiled, drained his glass and looked around for Molly. He found her talking kindly to a nervous young wizard from Arthur's department who seemed very ill at ease in his Muggle attire. Arthur nodded to him kindly before gently taking Molly's elbow, guiding her to one side.

"I don't know about you, dear," he murmured into her ear, "but this damn tie is strangling me, and I need a proper drink!"

"And these shoes are crippling my poor feet!" Molly replied equally quietly.

They made their excuses to Arthur's young colleague before embarking upon the obligatory round of farewells. Tantalus Brown seemed rather put out at being interrupted in full flow, but the widow received Arthur's condolences and thanks warmly. Exchanging courteous farewells, Arthur and Molly made their way slowly towards the exit. Molly sighed with suppressed exasperation.

"Honestly, I really don't think I could have stood another minute," she confided, rummaging in her handbag for their Portkey. "Ah, here it is. What with Hermione still with morning sickness, Ginny looking so tense and Fred so very unhappy at the moment, this funeral has given me enough family worries for several weeks."

Molly fussed, trying to negotiate the clasp of her handbag.

"And Arthur dear, you really must do something about that dreadful man, Tantalus Brown," she continued crossly, her fingers slipping on the polished leather. "Oh, goodness - these Muggle things!"

"Here, let me." Arthur came to the rescue, neatly snapping the fastening shut.

"Thank you, dear," Molly sighed, tucking the handle over her arm. "Now, what was I saying? Oh, yes - Tantalus Brown. Do you know, he spilled my drink, positively stamped on both my feet then had the nerve to glare at me as though it was my fault! And poor Lady Fudge! How she managed to stay civil to him is beyond my imagination."

"Yes indeed, dear," agreed Arthur, wrapping her gently in her cloak.

Yes indeed, he thought. But there's more to it than simply promotion beyond his level of incompetence, I'm quite sure about that. He's like a Hydra - wherever you go at the Ministry, whatever avenue you explore, you'll find one of his heads at the end of it. It just doesn't tally with the bluster, the sidelining, and the petty one-upmanship. We've all been feeling the squeeze lately, but it can't be coincidence that my allies are gradually disappearing; seconded, being shunted to other posts, taking early retirement. I'm calling in more favours than I'm creating just simply to stay afloat. The Muggles call this a War of Attrition, I believe. Their so-called "Cold War" was one such, and it went on for decades. Somehow I don't think I'm going to last quite that long.