The Road To Nowhere

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and a few inconsequential characters. The rest belongs to Rowling who probably won´t kick up too much of a fuss over me abusing them for a little while. I´m just having a little fun--no one is getting hurt. (Well, if they are, just remember: It´s fiction, they´re not real.)

Author´s Note:

Chapter Fourteen

The Metropolitan Museum of Art

"In a New York minute

Everything can change

In a New York minute

Things can get pretty strange..."

The Eagles: `New York Minute´

Sirius made a deft movement to snatch his sunglasses from his face. This was getting ridiculous--Peter was giving him the run around.

He held another note in his hand, instructing him to wait. He was outside of a record shop in muggle London. There was nothing else in the note to go on, only the promise that Peter would slip up and reveal pertinent information that could lead to any of his co-conspirators´ captures. Why Sirius didn´t just turn Peter in right here and now, he couldn´t have guessed. The only reason he had for showing leniency toward him was that he had no desire to condemn anyone to the life that he´d spent twelve years living--a prisoner of the hated Azkaban.

He knew a worse fate awaited the murderer of the former Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Peter would receive the Dementor´s Kiss for that offense. Really, Sirius thought with a half smile, that was more of a public service than a crime. Fudge really was an unforgiving, power-hungry bastard.

Sirius played along because worse people threatened Harry´s life than Peter--Voldemort and his precariously faithful financial backer, Lucius Malfoy, for starters. Plus, he and his band of freelance investigators suspected numerous moles within the Ministry. It was too much of a coincidence that the Dark Faction was a step ahead of the Auror Force and the Dept. of the Mysteries as well. Their connections ran deep and Sirius still held out hope that Peter would redeem himself and give someone up who knew anything about these Ministry subversives. He´d been meaning to get someone in there at the highest levels, but Dumbledore´s trusted group of witches and wizards was stretching thin as it was, everyone had their job, some of them had more than one. He felt that keeping Peter´s meetings a secret from his former headmaster could end up being disastrous--Dorothy couldn´t know, of course. Peter had killed her husband, the Minister, and she was out for blood. But Dumbledore´s council would be both sound and confidential. Hagrid could also lend an objective perspective on the decision. He had the valuable, salt of the earth point of view that Sirius thought very important, especially for someone as close to the situation as Hagrid was. He would seek the council of these two very wise friends as soon as they had returned from their final meeting with the small band of giants in the northern crags of Scotland.

He stopped in the middle of his thoughts of justification as a movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye. A familiar grayish rat ran across the street and around the corner of the bakery.

Sirius immediately followed.

***

Wizarding Paris was set up pell-mell around the larger Muggle sections in such a way that made it impossible for Draco to reach the marble façade of Gringott´s Bank sooner. He hoped that Bill was still there and had not been alerted to his sister´s disappearance from another source. He needed to hear the real story from Draco, not whatever bullshit the Ministry was cooking up to put a harmless spin on things.

He was not the first one to reach Bill, he saw with annoyance as he entered into the cool, marble cave of the bank lobby. Bill was standing just off one side with an official-looking wizard who was reading a statement. Bill looked confused and ashen. His eyes caught Draco´s with mild relief as well as urgency. He pushed the unsuspecting Ministry wizard to one side and made a direct path to where Draco stood just out of earshot of the official.

"Do you know what´s going on? This rent-a-cop over here is saying that Ginny was kidnapped just outside of the coffee shop. A mass memory charm was used--only one witness who saw it all from the park across the street." Bill was frantic, asking questions but not giving Draco the opportunity to answer them.

The Ministry wizard approached importantly and took out a quill. "Were you on the scene, sir? Do you have any details you want to offer?"

Draco leveled a surprised glare at the impertinent wizard who couldn´t be much older than himself. "No, bugger off, will you," was the only inarticulate response he could manage before turning back to Bill and asking if there were someplace he could speak to him in private.

Bill had the presence of mind to ask the young Ministry representative to wait outside while he ushered Draco into his office and shut the door. All the while Draco was fighting to gain control of himself. He wanted nothing better than to beat that cocky Ministry prat into the ground with his bare fists. He´d caught the look that the wizard had given him as he began his interrogation. He was all too familiar with that look--he´d been paid off. The doctors that had operated on Lucy, when suggesting to his mother that the horse, being a dangerous creature, should be put down immediately wore the same expression. He knew that they had been coached to say this and their pockets amply lined for all of their trouble. They were bribed with more than they made in a year, he could tell by the way they shifted uncomfortably, a moral struggle in which the idea of wealth always won out.

His father and his band of Voldemort supporters had an unfathomably long reach. It was no surprise to him at all to see that same expression play across the face of this investigator. In fact, he had expected nothing less. They were obviously behind it and it wouldn´t be too hard to cover up, given the amount of resources and connections these immensely wealthy and powerful men possessed.

"Talk, Malfoy. What do you know that they´re not telling me?" Bill looked visibly ruffled, as if he didn´t know what to believe. As Draco took a seat, he doubted that the story he had to tell would sound anymore credible than the tale that the authorities were telling.

***

Sirius advanced on the rat just as it had turned into the slight, fidgety Peter, wand raised--he would hold all of the cards this time. Trusting him was not an option. Sirius would have the truth or Peter was going to jail, right here and now.

"What do you want this time, Peter?" Sirius said, warning the shorter man with his tones that he may turn around to address him, but slowly. He would stand for no games.

"The same as always: a deal," he shrugged as if it were obvious.

Sirius was wondering why he didn´t go to someone with influence, the kind of person that could actually cut him a deal. Why did he assume that Sirius had any weight whatsoever with the Ministry?

"I can´t do that. I don´t even work there anymore. In fact, why don´t you ask the new Minister to give you some slack? Isn´t he one of your club?" So, that was true at least. Sirius had suspected Solomon Grey of Voldemort sympathies ever since he´d showed up out of nowhere and taken the position of Minister, doing nothing incriminating enough to arouse his public´s suspicion, but doing nothing to insure their safety from the threat of the dark forces that had plagued them for years now. He saw it in the way Peter started and then attempted a quick cover, impassive, indifferent. But that first instant of surprise was all it took. Sirius had one answer and was curious to see how much further he could push this.

"What is it that you plan to exchange? Why even try to deal? What is your motivation here, Peter?" Sirius asked without the slightest bit of concern. It was true that he didn´t want Peter´s fate in the hands of the Ministry, but he didn´t want him out on the streets either. Under Voldemort´s sway, Peter could be pretty dangerous.

"Information," Peter answered unceremoniously, examining his fingernails in a very unconcerned manner.

"You can´t expect me to bend over backward for you after what you´ve done. No matter how many of your compatriots you rat on." Sirius was losing patience with him. It was sickening to watch as he floundered about with the fate of countless people. If he´d left that life behind, it was all well and good. And of course, if that were the case, Sirius would do anything within his power to help him, reduce his sentence (although a life sentence might be the best that Peter could hope for). He knew that it was what Remus would have wanted.

"How about a little something to go on and then we can take it from there, hmm?" Peter slowly raised his eyes to look at Sirius. He wanted to beat that infuriatingly blasé look off of the rat´s face, but restrained himself with difficulty.

"What could you possibly know?" Sirius snorted, feeling mutinous. "If I were a powerful dark lord, I wouldn´t let you in on much of anything. Especially after the way you´d proved your loyalty in the beginning? Why should he trust a sniveling, power hungry traitor who´d sold out his friends for mere scraps of influence and power." He shook his head, surveying Peter with a look that would have shamed the filthiest sewer creature. It was obvious what he thought about Peter, but he did realize how much just coming here to talk to Sirius showed about his ardent wish to head off something big.

"Leave off the cocky, schoolboy bullshit for a minute, Sirius," Peter said, looking down at the mark on his arm and then quickly back to the stern-faced but quiet man. "The convoy to the giants is a set up. I´m not sure how much time there is to get whoever was supposed to meet up with that particular band out. It might have already gone bad. The giants would´ve never turned. Voldemort has already promised them too much, when he finally takes over." Peter stopped to shake his head. That could have been interpreted two ways, either he doubted that Voldemort would succeed or he believed that the giants would also turn on him as well. Either way, Sirius couldn´t give a damn--he wasn´t even paying attention anymore. His mind was fully focused on the alarm that registered as Peter told him calmly of Hagrid and Dumbledore´s fate. They had walked into an ambush that very morning and this was the first that Sirius was hearing about it, and from Peter nonetheless.

Wide-eyed and distant sounding to himself, Sirius muttered, "Dumbledore. It was Dumbledore and Hagrid."

Peter, upon hearing this, looked up from where he was surveying the mark on his arm and biting back the pain that it was causing, whispered, "Holly shit!"

"Is there time?" Sirius began in a desperate voice, "Will I be able to get there in time?"

"I," Peter began, looking as desperate as Sirius felt. He obviously hadn´t known who would be facilitating that meeting between the wizarding community and the giant community. He would not have announced it so lightly had he known Hagrid was involved, as they had become good friends at one time. "I don´t know. I only heard of it in passing."

"There still maybe time," Sirius said urgently, looking to his watch to form a plan.

"Do you know where the meeting was to take place?" Peter asked, eager to help for once and not being infuriatingly cryptic. He was just as concerned for Hagrid as Sirius was for either him or the headmaster. It felt odd to have thrown away the petty shit so quickly and to have formed an understanding of sorts with Peter.

He rubbed his eyes wearily and looked at the mark again. "I have to go. He´s been calling me for over five minutes now and will be growing suspicious if I don´t turn up soon." He turned to Apparate and Sirius walked off, quickly in the other direction.

"Sirius," Peter said.

"Yeah, Peter?"

"Good luck. I hope I wasn´t too late," the look in Peter´s eyes, defeat, resignation, told Sirius of his sincerity. Sincerity after all of these years, after all that had happened, he didn´t know what to do with it. He bit back that feelings of betrayal, loss, hate and concentrated on the few promising things. Peter was little by little, growing to hate the life he´d chosen, perhaps turning informant. All Sirius knew at the moment was that, if Peter hadn´t informed him of Dumbledore and Hagrid´s eminent danger, he would have had no other way of knowing. And, as it stood at the moment, unsure that they´d made it out of the ambush or not, was better than knowing they were dead. There might still be time on Sirius´ side, and Peter was to thank for that.

Sirius nodded.

"And Peter," he added reluctantly as the other man turned to walk away, "I´ll see what I can do for you, but for now I have to get to Dumbledore."

Peter nodded hopelessly and Apparated.

Sirius did the same.

***

"How much do you know about why Ginny tried to kill herself?" Draco asked tentatively as he watched Bill´s expression change from alarm to confusion and then to anger.

"Are you trying to suggest that I don´t know my own sister? I know that she´s had a rough couple of years and that it has been hard for her to live with Percy´s death. Why? Is there something that I´m missing here?" Bill asked, glaring at Draco, not sure if he would trust the rest of what he had to say or ignore him and stop wasting precious time that he could be looking for Ginny.

"There´s a lot we´re both missing," he said, setting Ginny´s bag on the ground, a little surprised that Bill hadn´t recognized it at least. Anyway, he would keep that if there were anything in there to suggest what might have happened to her. He checked his watch. He couldn´t spend much more time here. He had to get back to his grandmother´s house and then out of the country as fast as he could. The link between Ginny and himself could lead to Lucy as a target and he had to get her back to England and safe as soon as he could. He wasn´t willing to take any chances with her, as patronizing as that sounded. He also had another task that begged his urgent attention. He needed to find Hermione Granger as soon as possible.

"And what´s that, d´you suppose?" Bill asked, leaning back in his chair and massaging his temples, thinking of the best way to break it to his parents that Ginny had gone missing on his watch, leave off the fact that she´d tried to kill herself again a week and a half ago.

"That her wanting to top herself was more than just depression." He stopped and took a claming breath, "I don´t know how much you know about what happened two years ago, that whole Azkaban stint. I was there and I saw some pretty suspicious things surrounding your sister."

"How was it suspicious that she was taken along with the rest of them?" Bill interrupted incredulously, "she´s a Weasley. Your father was probably targeting her specifically. It wouldn´t have been the first time." He leveled a scrutinizing stare at Draco.

Draco on the other hand had foreseen that events might turn to this. Name-calling and mud slinging, he could handle a lot of things with grace and endless patience, bad mouthing his father was one of them. He´d had sufficient practice--he might even join in if he felt so inclined, but shirking his father´s reasons and actions onto him or his sister because they bore a resemblance and a name with him, that was another thing.

"Right," he said. He´d made up his mind that he would leave off convincing her brother of Ginny´s disappearance being linked with Voldemort at the first hint of hostility or doubt. He couldn´t blame Bill for his reaction. If it were Lucy, he´d probably act in a similar fashion. But time was wasting and he couldn´t waste another minute on Bill, when Ginny was in trouble, if there was another way of finding the information he required to track her. And there was, no matter how unsavory, there was another way. Granger knew what was going on. He would have to collaborate with her to get Ginny back, no matter how loathsome the idea was to him. He would bite the bullet and do it if Ginny needed him to. He had the feeling that she would do the same for him.

He stood up quickly and made for the door, leaving Bill to stare after him briefly before the Ministry wizard invited himself into the office for more questioning. Draco pushed past him roughly and purposefully, reaching into Ginny´s bag and producing the piece of paper that had given him the smallest amount of hope. A list of sorts that read:

Hermione:

Confirm Gryffindor

Evidence for Gryffindor

Find Ravenclaw, leads?

French?

Ginny:

Pensieve

V. Dream, what does that mean?

Connection?

Another Pensieve?

Draco had no clue what this gibberish might stand for, but it had something to do with why she´d been acting strangely and Granger knew more about it than anyone else he could think of. She´d been helping Ginny to find out about whatever it was that was going on right before she was taken, that much was obvious. And throughout all of that, Tom Riddle was hunting her. He didn´t like what it added up to, or what it didn´t add up to even.

***

As he gained the entryway of his grandmother´s house, Draco was met with Portia, Lucy´s house elf and companion. He was also met with the familiar sound of Prelude from Suite No. 1 in G Major as it wafted through the breeze in the opened windows of the music room. He followed the music as the house elf followed him, all the while issuing orders for Portia to pack Miss Lucy´s things immediately as they would be leaving as soon as they could be off.

"Where´s grandmother?" Draco asked, cutting into Lucy´s solo. He knew it was rude, but now was no time for manners.

"Gone since this morning with one of her boyfriends, I imagine," Lucy shrugged, lifting the bow from the strings and eyeing Draco with curiosity. "Why, what´s the matter?" she asked with mild concern, flipping through her music and half listening for his answer.

"We have to leave, I´m taking you home," Draco said shortly, moving to the writing desk to leave his grandmother a note explaining, in little detail, why they´d cut their trip short.

"Don´t be silly. I have a concert to attend tonight. The benefit, have you forgotten? Vasily Nabakov is playing tonight." She brushed him off and returned to her music.

Finishing the note, Draco came over to where Lucy had turned the page and continued to play. Shutting the music he continued in a short, clipped tone, "we´re leaving tonight and I don´t care whether you want to or not." Seeing that Portia had just entered, turned to her and added, "how soon can you finish?"

"I´m finished now, sir. Portia just needs to know whether Miss Lucy will be wanting to take her cello with her?" The house elf turned to Lucy in anticipation of an order to pack the instrument or leave it.

She stared from the elf to her brother and said nothing.

"Lucy, stop being so damned childish. We´re going home and you´re not going to argue with me." He turned once again to Portia and commanded her in an unnecessarily harsh tone to, "pack the damned thing. I want you ready to leave when I return," he added in a no less hostile voice as he trotted upstairs to pack his own things. He hadn´t meant to yell at Lucy, he hardly ever raised his voice with her and he felt guilty for doing so now, but he really didn´t have time to get into things. He had no idea how long it would take him to reach Granger and time wasn´t exactly on his side. He hoped that when this was all over, Lucy would understand why he was so nervous to get her home and out of harm´s way and forgive him for the language he´d used.

When he´d returned to the entryway with his own bags, he was relived to see that Portia had already banished most of the luggage back to the manor. Lucy was still there, solemn and purposefully not meeting his eyes. She was angry with him. He took her hand, a little more roughly than necessary and Apparated home.

***

"I don´t understand," Hermione said, chewing the end of a quill pensively, "It doesn´t seem right." She was staring at the sword that they´d just stolen from the Headmaster´s office. "It´s--I don´t know. Not the same as the one I saw. This is a fencing sword, not a broadsword like the one Godric handed Faramir. D´you suppose that this one´s a replica?"

"Oh, what the bloody hell is the difference? A sword is a sword, right?" Hermione scoffed at his hard language, but Mrs. Weasley had just flown out of the house in the most agitated manner, muttering something about Bill and needing to get to the Ministry to tell Arthur. Hermione had no idea what that was all about, but Ron was free to use whatever language he wanted without her reproachful hand around to smack him when he used it. She was formulating the least know-it-all approach to this question, but never got the chance to voice it.

A knock came at the door in which Harry offered to answer, he obviously smelled a row forming and was eager to get out of the line of fire.

"What do you want?" Harry asked, apparently surprised by the newcomer. Hermione and Ron both ceased their argument and craned their necks. Harry, sensing that they were trying to catch a glimpse of whom he was talking to, stepped outside and closed the door behind him, leaving only a crack for their eavesdropping convenience. Through it they heard the even more curious, "What do you want with her?"

Ron mouthed, "Who is he talking to?"

Hermione shrugged.

Ron, not standing to be kept from anything in his own home, came to the door and opened it behind Harry only to be more shocked by the visitor than he´d anticipated. It was Draco Malfoy.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He asked, ruffled by the surprise and therefore, unable to come up with any better phrase on such short notice.

"I´m here to see Granger. But, as long as you two are around, you should probably hear me out as well, as it concerns the two of you almost as much.

Hermione was on her feet now, recognizing the voice, came up behind Ron and invited Draco in.

Ron glared, but said nothing, at which point, Hermione was surprised to note how mature Ron had become. Time was, he couldn´t be stopped from compulsory insults when Malfoy was in the room.

Draco knew how unwelcome he was here, he didn´t pretend otherwise. He felt two pairs of eyes boring into the back of his head as he entered. He tried not to linger too long on the shabbily appointed kitchen that he was ushered into.

"I went to your parents house, first. But lucky me, they told me I could find you here," Draco said, raising his eyebrows with something like absolute loathing on top of determination. It was almost as if he were here against his will.

"I think you´d better explain why it is exactly that you wanted to see me?" Hermione said, deceptively clam. She was really dreading anything that he had to say to her. It most certainly wouldn´t be good news, considering the messenger and all.

Harry and Ron sat on either side of her, all three staring at the solitary Draco seated at the other end of the table. Best just to hit them with it all at once, he thought.

Reaching into the bag, he brought out the pewter cup, already having made the connection that this was the very one that Ginny mentioned in her list. He looked pointedly at Hermione when he asked, "Have you seen this before?"

She was speechless. She managed a weak nod, to which Ron and Harry ceased their burning Malfoy with fire from their eyes and turned to look at Hermione questioningly.

"Good, then you can help me," Draco said placing it on the table in front of him and brought out the list, handing it to Hermione, who was busy muttering, "Great, I´ve always said to myself, how might I best serve Draco Malfoy, and lucky me if today I don´t just have that opportunity."

"Cute," he answered in a monotone that showed clearly that he was not amused and uninterested in nemesis-style banter. "Ginny went missing yesterday. I was with her just before she was taken. And I think I knew who it was that had taken her," he continued unceremoniously. "But your brother wouldn´t believe me when I tried to tell him," he finished, his eyes falling on Ron at the last bit.

Ron was on his feet, chair thrown back against the wall. Draco was on his feet as well, but did not advance as Ron had.

"And even if we did believe you, which I´m not saying I do at this point, what would you expect us to do about it? Why not use the normal channels? Police, Ministry?" Harry asked as he and Hermione placed restraining hands on either of Ron´s shoulders.

"Are either of your parents here?" Draco asked as Harry picked up Ron´s chair and Hermione urged him to sit again and hear Draco out. It was difficult to keep his temper in the company of two retards and their mother hen, but he took two calming breaths and continued regardless. "I suspect they wouldn´t be, they´ve both gone to Paris where Ginny was last seen. As I suspect, they, along with your brother, will be tied up there with some rent-a-cop, Ministry fuck-up to run around in circles while the trail turns cold and Ginny could be hurt or worse."

"No more speculation," Hermione interrupted, "I know that he´s telling the truth. Ginny stole that cup from the Louvre. It´s a Pensieve," she began the long and arduous tale in which Ginny had suspected that her visions had been a foretelling of something ominous and how she just knew that the sarcophagus of Mungo (miss-marked in a muggle museum no less) held the Pensieve that she was supposed to use to find the two other chosen ones. For Draco´s benefit, she went further to explain that they´d found out that Harry was Gryffindor´s heir (to which he rolled his eyes but remained unsurprised) and how they were still clueless as to the chosen one of Ravenclaw´s. Harry´s artifact was here and the Pensieve was Ginny´s, but she still had some reservations about the authenticity of the sword). "So, what are you thinking?" she asked, turning to Draco, "who d´you guess took her?"

"Tom Riddle."

"You mean Voldemort," Harry scoffed at Draco as if he thought he was just terrified of the name.

"No," Draco seethed, raising his eyebrows at Harry, "I mean who I said. He has somehow gained the ability to become into his former self."

"But that would also mean--," Hermione began, but Draco finished for her, "he also has any former powers he´d had before his first downfall." He looked at Harry as he said this last bit, Harry felt, like he was judging him for doing a shoddy job of defeating him to begin with. There would be plenty of time for argument later and so Harry didn´t waste any valuable seconds canvassing the subject.

"I need to know," Draco continued, "How he got it all back, if I can. And what he needs Ginny for. If she´s expendable, or if they´re keeping her for some purpose."

"That´s my sister, you´re talking about, for Christ´s sake," Ron shouted, slamming an open hand down hard on the table, causing Hermione to jump.

"Well, he would need the seer, wouldn´t he, to find the other two chosen?" she shrugged, taking the Pensieve in her hands and examining it. "That is," she continued skeptically, "if they know about her powers as a seer, and if they know about the chosen at all. The Founders, I believe, kept it from Slytherin and his daughter."

"Where did you get all of this from, the scene in the Pensieve? Could you show me? That would help, I think," Draco asked tentatively.

Hermione nodded, "In fact, I think it would do Harry good to see it as well. It´s the best evidence I have for you as Faramir´s heir," she added to Harry as she quickly found the ingredients to fill the cup with its silver, memory stimulation liquid.

The four of them were suddenly thrust into the very scene that Hermione herself had witnessed only a month before with Ginny by her side. She hadn´t registered the panic at the moment Draco had said it, but she suddenly felt a pang of worry for her already stressed and weary friend. She muttered a silent prayer that Ginny could find the strength to hang on until they could find a way to her--and they would find a way to her, Hermione was certain.

***

"Hermione?" Ron asked as the scene faded from view and the four of them were huddled a little too closely around the small cup.

"What is it, Ron?" Hermione asked wearily, moving away to the table, where she´d jotted some thought´s down on Ginny´s list.

"What was that thing, Faramir was given?"

"He was given Gryffidor´s sword, and that´s why Isaiah was so upset," she began to explain, but Ron fervently shook his head.

"How dim do you think I am?" He shot Draco a look as he appeared to want to answer for Hermione, "I meant the pin thing that he gave him, pinned it to his robe before handing over the sword."

Hermione stopped writing and with wide eyes turned to Ron and kissed him full on the lips, causing everyone in the room to shift uncomfortably and avoid eye contact. "Ron! You´re a genius!" she exclaimed, running up the stairs and then back into the kitchen where she slammed a large book down on the table and bent over it to flip the pages, scanning for something in particular. Draco came to look over her shoulder with interest.

It was a muggle book: `Arms and Armor of the Metropolitan Museum of Art´.

"What´s with the art index?" he asked.

"It was a gift from Anni. I think Ron may be on to something. It was a very distinct looking fibula, a pin that held cloaks in place. Part of medieval dress, Gryffidor´s was very ornate for someone of Faramir´s station. I don´t imagine that he actually wore it, just sort of kept it hidden and passed it through his line." She stopped at a page of such rudimentary jewelry.

Draco had to agree with her. It was the most elaborate one of its kind. And horribly dated--it looked at least four hundred years older than the exhibit gave it credit for.

"Of course, it was staring me in the face the entire time," she whispered. "You need the fibula along with the sword, which is authentic, by the way. It´s disguised though. It looks like a rapier, fencing sword--," she continued.

"I know what a rapier is," Draco said hotly.

"But Ron and Harry don´t," she said, silencing him.

Draco was growing impatient. They needed to find that fibula thing and the Ravenclaw heir and be in their way. He couldn´t stand the thought of Ginny in the clutches of Voldemort--or worse, his father who was sure to be close by.

"Anyway, Dumbledore must´ve disguised it to throw anyone off who might be looking for it."

"So what do I need to do," Harry asked.

"Take a leaf out of Ginny´s book and lift it," Hermione shrugged. "The sword will be useless to you without it. It´s the only way the heir of Slytherin can be stopped."

"You´re saying that I´m supposed to go to New York and just walk into this museum and out with a nine hundred year old pin--one that´s behind glass and security and everything?" Harry asked skeptically.

"You have your invisibility cloak and Anni," Hermione said brightly, "She´s an Art History major? Isn´t that right? She´s interning at the Museum? How perfect is that. It´ll be a cinch Harry."

He didn´t look too sure. Draco looked even less so. He had no idea who this Anni person was and prayed that they weren´t going to bring anyone untrustworthy into this situation.

"Right," Harry said a little more confidently, "I´ll go get my stuff and be off then."

"No plan? No strategy?" Draco asked incredulously to his retreating form.

"No, I´ll improvise," Harry admitted, disappearing up the stairs to Percy´s old room where he´d been staying and returned momentarily with a bag full of necessities. With the time difference, and Apparating faster than time could move over the time zones, he figured he would have to stay with Anni until the Museum opened tomorrow.

"Gryffindors," Draco muttered to himself.

"What will you do while I´m gone?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione, pointedly looking at Draco.

"I´ll do some more research around here, see what I can come up with on the other chosen one," Hermione shrugged.

"No," Draco corrected, "There´s a better library at my place. I know there´s got to be something there on the other heir, and guaranteed there´s anything you want on Slytherin there as well." He turned to Harry and added, "When you have the fibula, Apparate directly to Malfoy Manor, I´ll have the wards down for you by then." Seeing Hermione´s apprehension, he added in a tired sort of tone, "My father´s not there at the moment and we won´t be bothered, I assure you."

Ron looked mutinous, but Hermione nodded her agreement and it was all settled.

***

Draco watched Ron pace methodically in the lawn beneath the window, hands in his pockets and a sickeningly worried scowl on his face. Draco felt the oddest twinge of empathy for him. He knew how it felt to have a sister in trouble, unable to be of immediate help to her. All you could do was wait. He hated waiting and from the looks of things, it was the one thing he had in common with Weasley. It was not a warm and fuzzy feeling and so Draco cast about the room in search of something to occupy his attention.

Hermione sat at the computer clicking furiously away at the keys of a computer. She´d been trying to crack the encoding system that Ginny had installed and was having slow success.

Draco stopped at a shelf full of girly figurines and the likes of which you´d normally find in a girl´s room after all. There were also pictures. Family photos, a picture of Ron and Ginny as toddler, Ginny stealing Ron´s pacifier innocently.

"Who´s this?" Draco interrupted, showing Hermione a picture of Ginny and a dark, curly-haired girl with glowing blue eyes, pretty but she had nothing on Ginny in Draco´s opinion. The two of them sat on the log outside that Ron was pacing next to, the dark-haired girl behind Ginny with her arms around the redhead, they were both smiling and laughing. It was perhaps the happiest that he´d seen Ginny, then the next minute he´d wished he´d known her before all of this, before she´d become so desperate and unhappy. His father had had a lot to do with why she was so sad and hopeless now, he knew that there was a lot that he should be sorry for with regards to her family. He began to doubt that anything that he might have hoped would happen between them would never work. They lived on opposite sides of the fence, different camps and all of that. Perhaps she had never been interested in him from the beginning.

"That´s Anni, George´s fiancé," she replied after a second´s recognition of the girl in the photo.

"The Anni that Harry went to see in New York?" Draco asked, surprised.

"Yes," Hermione answered distractedly manipulating the screens to show Ginny´s journal as she pulled it up from the hard-drive and began reading.

"Chummy little group, aren´t we?" he muttered.

"Actually, it´s Harry´s cousin, that´s how she met George. She´s not a witch. She attends school in the states." Draco nodded. That made more sense, with reference to the earlier mention of her name. He didn´t know her, but if she was involved personally, as evidenced by the regard shown in the photo, she could be trusted.

"Bingo," Hermione said, pulling up an entry from Ginny´s fourth year. "Oh, well that´s mostly about Harry," she said, quickly minimizing that page as Draco came to read over her shoulder. It was such a violation of her privacy, but it was the best way to know what was going on. Hermione was feeling guilty but quickly justified it. Ginny would forgiver her anyway, she always did.

"Ah, here we are--," Hermione said finally, but then gasped as she read further, Draco was right behind her. "Oh God!"

It was not as the two had suspected. Voldemort surely knew of Ginny´s ability of a seer. It was definitely the reason that she was specifically targeted. That automatically led to her as Helga´s heir. But the shocking realization that appeared in this particular entry was what explained her many suicide attempts: Voldemort had used her--her blood to revive his old memory of Tom Riddle. The same one that had spent a year terrorizing the poor girl before trying to feed off of her in the end to regain his former strength. He was his old self, in power, strength and looks--deceptively handsome. He still had yet to achieve immortality, but that was what this whole elaborate scheme was about, wasn´t it?

"Poor Ginny," Hermione added, one fist clenched over her trembling lips as she read on.

Draco´s grip tightened like a vice on the back of her chair as he continued, reading each word of Ginny´s recounting with rage, disgust and sympathy. It must have been hard to live through and live with as well.

Hermione printed out some of the most important entries and shoved them into Ginny´s bag with some of her own books and the Pensieve. She handed the sword of Gryffindor to Draco and added, "We´d better get Ron and be off then."

***

Harry scanned the address of an old letter of Anni´s. This must be the place. It wasn´t shabby, but it wasn´t grand, Fifth Avenue either.

He knocked.

"Who´s that?" a short blond asked, opening the door and surveying Harry. Before he´d had a chance to answer she added, "We don´t want whatever it is you´re selling, kid," and slammed the door without another word.

Off to a great start, Harry thought as he knocked again. "Shove off," was all he got. The lag from Apparating through time zones was making him edgy and he blamed Hermione for this stupid plan.

"Is Anni there?" He called, a bit frustrated, through the thin door.

"Harry?" Anni asked, opening the door a crack and then all the way as she´d recognized him, "Harry, it is you! I thought I heard your voice. Don´t mind Billy, she´s always rude to people who come `round--someone always wanting to sell something. You look like crap Harry, d´you know that?"

"Thanks," was all he could manage.

Anni was different than when he´d last seen her. Although her hair was short last time, it was only bleached on the tips. Now, her hair was entirely purple. An eyebrow ring and a nose ring accented the purple hair just enough to make her look like nearly everyone else her age that he´d seen on the street.

"Does George like that?" he asked pointing to the eyebrow ring.

She smiled impishly, "He likes this better," she answered sticking out her tongue where another hole was carved with a silver ball protruding from it. It would have been enough to give Uncle Vernon the heart attack that would do him in for good. Harry shook his head. That was Anni for you.

Anni led him to the back of her small flat and into her room, taking his stuff from him and throwing it in a corner she commanded him to sit and promptly demanded, "spill!"

And spill he did, everything that he knew regarding the events surrounding Ginny´s disappearance. Anni was shocked and upset to hear that her favorite little sister and friend had been taken to God knows where and wanted Harry to take her back with him, to which he adamantly refused. She settled instead for helping Harry with his mission here in New York.

But not tonight, the Museum would be closed.

Harry, more exhausted than he´d been in a while, never having experienced Apparation Lag, was asleep almost before he´d finished his story and they´d come up with a workable plan of action for tomorrow´s big heist.

***

It was like déjà vu when he entered the Arms and Armor room of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, led by Anni who had a tight grip on his hand. He stayed close behind her as not to get bumped into. That would surely cause a scene if a muggle inadvertently bumped into an invisible person. Harry was under his cloak. They thought it would be best this way. Anni could remain close and serve as the lookout, keep people from treading on him and watch for the security to pass by.

The glass was another big obstacle, but Harry had made glass disappear before, no problem. The hard part would come in doing it without arousing suspicion--and putting it back. The last time he´d done this, he hadn´t even turned eleven yet and he´d trapped Dudley in a python´s cage at the London Zoo, without a wand.

Anni had spent all evening, while Harry was passed out in her room, looking through the book Hermione had left him, to help them along. Standard Book of Spells Grade Six. She´d found the exact charm that Harry had used the first time without even being aware of it.

The next problem was getting the real fibula out, without getting them set downtown for booking. Earlier that morning, it had come to Harry, Transfigure another object to look like the one in the book. It would have to be an object that closely resembled the fibula and Anni frantically looked around the flat before a perspective candidate turned up in Billy´s room: a crucifix that had hung on the wall. (Billy was obviously a devout-on-certain-occasions Catholic. She might not even notice that it had gone missing, or maybe she would. In any case Anni had resolved to get her a new one).

Harry set to the difficult task of transferring the properties of the fibula to the crucifix, replacing Jesus with a series of early Christian/Pagan symbols and runes. When he´d finished, the cross no longer had its ornate silver filigree and shiny finish. It was now dull and ancient looking, with a clasp on the back and tiny, dull rubies encrusted in cloisonné on the front--slightly shabbier than the real fibula--but it would serve its purpose beautifully. McGonagall would have been proud.

Now, as Harry saw the fibula up close, he´d had the strangest feeling that he´d seen it before, like in a dream.

"Ok, the docent´s rounded the corner, you´re all clear, Harry," Anni called, nudging her invisible companion, slightly unbalancing him.

"I´m invisible, not dead, Anni. You don´t have to keep nudging me to make sure I´m still here," Harry whispered back exasperatedly, removing his wand from the bag and whispering the charm that cased the glass of that particular case to disappear.

"Right, sorry," she whispered back, eyeing a Japanese couple warily as they passed through the room and into the next.

Harry removed the crucifix-turned-fibula from his bag and reached into the case. He retrieved the real fibula, far more heavy that the fake one (real gold, Harry imagined) and placed the crucifix in its place. The Transfiguration would wear off in about a day or so. But Harry would be long gone by then.

Placing the ancient piece of jewelry in the bag, wrapping it in a shirt for extra measure, he turned and proceeded to close up the glass again. Just as he´d muttered the countercharm that restored the glass to its pane, he heard Anni whisper the words that made him freeze, "Oh shit!"

The docent had rounded the corner jut in time to have seen a strange glint as the shine of glass replaced the dull space where it had gone missing just seconds before. Anni pretended not to notice this, but made her way over to the woman, recognizing her, as she was an intern here.

The woman shifted her suspicious glance to Anni, one of only three people in the room. Anni, before walking over to where the woman stood blinking, whispered to Harry, "Get out of here. I´ve got this."

"Did you just see that, Anni? I think my mind is messing with me," the tall black woman admitted.

"See what?" Anni asked, before tripping headlong into a marble table and causing it to wobble precariously. She pretended to knock her head into it and crumple to the ground. The woman gave a gasp and then reached for her walkie-talkie to call for help. "A visitor has been injured in section three, possible harm to artifact," the woman squealed into the radio.

Careful not to ram into anyone in his invisible state, Harry turned only momentarily to awe over the scene Anni had created. Swarms of concerned tourists and frantic security personnel swarmed around the area and the odd shimmer that the glass returning to its pane had caused was completely forgotten. Fred and George would have marveled at her skill, but Harry had not the time to do so now.

He slipped out of the building and into the alleyway nearest the large building where he took off his cloak and placed it inside his bag. He went and sat on the grand steps at the front of the Museum to wait for Anni.