Chapter One: A Sharp Hint of Old Fears
Author's Note: Before I begin, I would like to say I know that the Ottomans never conquered Afghanistan. Please refrain from messaging me over this small fact, it's not a mistake it's just meant to say that the Turkish governing body of magic controls that huge area. This is probably much more polished than my other works because I sat on it for a while and looked over it a few times. Still, if you see any mistakes feel free to let me know. I would also like to thank my beta reader WereRanga for her help with this chapter and the next one.
Harry didn't think that he'd ever seen a brighter, hotter day. He would have sworn that the sun was closer here. It burned with such intensity that the sky was white and cloudless and the light reflected up off the rolling sand dunes. Ahead of him, through the light, he could barely see Ron riding atop one of the magical carpets loaned to them by the Ottoman Organization of the Occult.
Rugs weren't as sleek as brooms, but Harry could see the appeal. The same couldn't be said for Ron.
He kept his eyes looked ahead of him, into the glaring white sky. Harry was having trouble making out Ron and that must have been why they're suspects ran this way. Any curses or hexes they threw would be marred by the sun's light. Harry squinted toward the western horizon for a sign of anyone else.
"Didn't Akbar say that the Muggles were fighting a war out here…in this Desert?" Ron hollered back to Harry, his red hair appeared to be on fire with the sun providing backlight. The concern in his voice was evident.
"I hardly think they'd be looking men on carpet-back, Ron," Harry replied smirking and shielding his eyes.
Ron dropped his arms to his sides, his wand still clutched tight. "I'm just not sure I want to get hit by one of those stupid Muggle bonds when they fall out of their hello-planes or whatever…" he called back indignantly.
A great smile took over Harry's face as he held back his laughter. "Mate, we've got to talk to Hermione about your schooling—you should have never opted to pass up on that seventh year," Harry said.
Hot, dry wind swept past them carrying bits of sand in it. They'd been at this too long, perhaps Kingsley Shacklebolt had sent the wrong men. Harry always thought that because of the War, there was too much trust put in him by the new Minster of Magic. Chasing this lead had taken them to France, where they'd employed the help of Fleur Weasley. Then they'd been in Italy for a week but that had only taken them to Romania and then they found their way to Afghanistan.
There was a glimmer of something against the alabaster backdrop of the sky, a wisp of moving light that swirled and shimmered light green. Ron called out just as Harry realized what it was. "Harry—down!" he yelled.
A green jet of light zipped past Harry as he crouched against his rug, a killing curse. Harry raised his wand to fire a hex back. "Ease up, Ron! We can't see them like this…"
Ron squatted against the front of his rug, trying to slow himself. It wasn't as abrupt as he would have liked, Harry could tell. "Bugger this, not sure how the O.O.O. puts up with it!" Ron hissed. He rocked to one side as another curse zipped between them. "That settles it, Amir and Malzahar are definitely up there," he added.
"Ah, Ron—you think?" asked Harry. An intense silence fell over the skies, Harry studied the horizon for signs of more curses and Ron leveled out with him, keeping a few feet between them. Now he could hear the dark tendrils of hair brushing lightly against his forehead. The wind ripped around his body and caused his clothes to flap lightly.
"They're afraid," Harry said finally. "They're playing it safe and using these tricks because they don't want an outright fight."
"Course they don't," Ron started. "You're the only person to survive one killing curse, let alone multiple ones…I wouldn't want to fight you either."
Harry didn't respond directly to him, he felt as if some kind of trance. "Cowardice—dark wizards never seem to want a fair fight," he said slowly.
"They can't get much more an advantage than this," Ron said just as a pair of cobalt waves of energy rained down from above them. "I guess I spoke too soon, up!"
The pair must have circled around and made a steep climb to drop in from above Harry and Ron using the sun as cover. Amir and Malzahar straight down on top of them, their long black hair fanned out around them as the air whipped around them. They continued to rain curses down as the gripped their rungs tight and clung to them.
"They're going for the easy kill!" Harry shouted
A curse exploded into the ground below them with a force so great that the sand and debris kicked up unseated Harry from his carpet. He caught onto the edge of the rug with his wand hand and held both tight.
"Harry!"
"Back off, Ron!"
"When I'm under your rug, you have to let go!"
Their assailants circled back to make a second pass and a killing curse skirted past Harry's let so closely that he could feel it pushing the air out from in front of it. Its light felt cold, like a Dementor.
"Not yet!"
"Come on Harry!"
A set of rapid fire spells peppered the sand around them and then there was a swoosh of air as the pair passed them again and almost knocked Ron off balance with another quick curse.
"I got this Ron, you just cover me!"
There was a big thud as a purple ball of energy pounded into a big dune ahead of them. The sands rumbled and broke away as a huge beast, it almost looked to be a dog leaped forth from the dune and stretched its gaping maw toward Harry and Ron. It was big enough to swallow them both.
Harry was still unarmed, he slung his other elbow over the carpet and attempted to free his wand hand. But Ron reacted quicker, raising his wand toward the transfigurations mouth and shouting his incantation. "Aguamenti!" a huge burst of water shot from his wand drenching the sand thing into a struggling mud creature.
With wand in hand, Harry cast a levitation charm and flipped his rug so that he was right side up on it. He rose to his feet in time for the next set of small spells. He blocked two and sent one of his own back, but it missed.
Ron swung his wand sharply as he spotted Amir turning around out ahead of them. Their rugs were faster, but Ron thought he had the timing. "Let's see how they do without the flying floor coverings! Reducto!" he shouted. A blue burst of light left his wand, but he must have been slightly off target.
The world seemed to slow down as Harry turned to look at Ron's spellwork. Amir reached the apex of his arc and just as he turned the Reductor curse caught up to him, he wrenched his head around to see it the wave of energy racing up…
…and then it collided with his face and there was resounding explosion of light.
"Holy shit!" Ron gasped.
Harry gritted his teeth in shock and recoiled back, almost forgetting where he was. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he turned to Ron with his arms thrown out to the side.
Amir's headless corpse stumbled off the carpet and plummeted into the sand below, the rug followed its rider's motion. A blood curdling scream broke the air and Harry turned to see Malzahar grasping the sides of his head in crazed grief. The noises that followed were crazed, half sobs and part something else—something angry. In the moment of conflict that followed, Malzahar turned abruptly to go for Amir. His screams became more intelligible. "My brother!" he cried hysterically.
Harry wasted no time when he saw his opening. With Malzahar going at a snail's pace past him, he Apparated onto the back of the criminal's carpet. The soft pop when he reappeared must have given him away because Malzahar spun to attack and Harry deflected the blow with his wand and caught him by the wrist with the other.
"You can't just Apparate onto a moving rug!" Ron screamed. Harry ignored him.
Hooking his arm around under Harry's, Malzahar grappled his wrist too. The pair of them were locked there, faces pressed close together as horrid rage tore over Malzahar's features. "My brother—you filthy bastards…" he trailed off. "I'll kill you—I'll kill the whole lot of you!" his words were hinged with anger and grief.
Between them, their wands sparked and shimmered as they rubbed together between them, repelled by the minor curses they were maintaining. Harry couldn't let his down because he would just be hit by Malzahar's retaliation. They were tussling back and forth and then their legs were hooked around one another, either of them could topple off of this rug and down into the sand.
Ron was trailing them, hollering over the rush of wind around them. "This is stupid, Harry, you're too close!"
With a rapid movement of his head, Harry scanned the sky for his carpet. It had fallen from the sky like it was supposed to without a rider. "Ron, hang on!" Harry swept his foot from around Malzahar's, forced both their wands down together and head-butted him so that he stumbled back just a enough.
CRACK!
Harry Apparated onto the back of Ron's rug and before Malzahar could regain his composure, he raised his wand. "Rictusempra!" Harry cried. It was the first spell that popped into his mind.
Malzahar curled his hands around his midriff, grasping at his sides and burst into a fit of laughter. The motion caused him to seize up and bucked him off of his carpet and he landed legs first, with a thunderous crunch in the sand.
"A bloody tickling charm?" asked Ron.
Harry glared at him. "You're one to talk, at least mine's still got his head!" he brought his rug down close to where Malzahar had fallen. "I think he broke his legs," Harry said nonchalantly.
"Gonna hurt for him when we Apparate him back," Ron said.
Harry nodded.
"Should we go get the other one?" asked Ron pointing back to where Amir's headless form had fallen.
"We nothing, you're going back there get Ichabod Crane up out of the sand, I'm taking this one," Harry said tugging Malzahar upright and restraining him with a spell. With a flick of his wand he stopped the tickling curse, Malzahar was still shouting and crying. "I want to hear you explain to them how Amir lost his head…"
"I didn't mean—I was aiming for the rug!"
"Kind of like how you didn't mean to Confundus Charm that man in front of the double-decker bus?" Harry said.
"You sure know how to make a friend feel well."
Harry left the perpetrator on the ground and headed back toward the dune. "Let's go get yours," he said softly.
Malzahar choked at the air, coughing futility. "It won't help you—I won't help you!" he screamed. Ron paused and jerked his head to look back over his shoulder.
"Just leave him, Ron."
"It doesn't matter, just kill me like you murdered my brother—it won't stop it! The job is done," he screamed.
Ron turned away.
Then Malzahar cackled. "While you're here, who's guarding the little Mud-Blood bitch and the Quidditch whore?"
Harry could hear the snap of Ron's muscles as his friend bounded over the sand and slammed Malzahar back to the ground, holding him at the throat. "What did you say?" Ron asked. He tugged Malzahar up, his arms tightening as he held prisoner close to his face. "What did you do to them! Tell me!" he demanded, his face reddening.
"It doesn't matter—that's all you'll get from me, ever," Malzahar said. There was something final in his voice, tears still ran down his cheeks and there was sand clinging to the small wet trail where they had run.
"Ron, check his mouth," Harry said.
With his hands gripped at the collar of Malzahar's shirt he demanded. "What do you know? This isn't going to be it, if anything happens to Hermione or my sister there won't be a corner of the universe you can hide from me in, you hear me!"
Malzahar's chuckling became more pronounced.
"Just wait till we get back to Istanbul, you'll talk when you get a bit of Veritaserum in you, mate," Ron said.
"Ron, check his bloody mouth!"
It was too late; Harry went to charge back toward them just in time to see Malzahar pushed what appeared to be a black walnut shell out of his mouth with his tongue and then pulled it back in to snap his jaw down on it. Black veins spread out from his lips and down his chin and Malzahar lay shaking before finally falling silent. Ron grabbed him by the chin whipping his head to the side and prying his mouth open to find a puddle of black sludge now filling it.
Harry placed a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Death seed," he said. "The Ministry said they weren't going to come easy," he added.
Ron nodded quietly.
"Hermione and Ginny will be fine, don't worry," said Harry.
"Didn't think that bloke meant to kill himself."
"You had no way of knowing he would, either. Let's collect them up and go get yelled at for our incompetence," Harry said slapping Ron on the back.
The Muggle pubs were packed, but they offered an alternative to the ones in Diagon Alley and the rest of the Wizarding World. After over a decade of being around it, Hermione wasn't finding magic quite as spectacular. She longed to spend one night out with friends being regular and not having to think about witches and wizards. Though there was some drawback to Muggle men…
"Hey, Red, do the carpets match the drapes?" shouted an intoxicated man wearing a necktie around the top of his head as he was stumbling past. His outstretched arm pointed at Ginny.
Ginny narrowed her eyes. "What does that mean? I just know it was something offensive—oooo I want to hex him," she said.
"You can't, Gin. It's illegal," Hermione reminded.
"Just a teensy-tiny hex—I can make it look like a mistake," Ginny said holding her fingers up to indicate a small size. She was having trouble balancing on her stool and her breath was hot with vodka.
Hermione grasped Ginny at the shoulder tenderly. "This is why we took your wand away. You have a tendency go a bit overboard."
On Ginny's other side was Luna. She sat with an airy look that would have usually indicated someone as being drunk or high, but it was normal for her. She typically got that look and Hermione knew the two beers attached to Luna's head on a garish, homemade hat had nothing to do with it. "I think it was nice of him—that man obviously wants to know if you've decorated your flat or whatever so that the carpets and drapes match," Luna said before taking another sip of beer through the hat's straw. "Maybe he's gay."
"I'm sure that's it," Hermione mused as she stirred her drink slowly. Though she tried to hide it, the corners of her mouth lifted into a smile.
There was no conversation between them for a long time and the rap song booming out through the pub filled the silent gap. A group of rowdy girls from the corner of the bar linked hands and walked out to a small open space on the floor to dance. A nearby guy took notice and worked his way between two of the girls. Hermione realized that Ginny was watching the same scene as her when she spoke.
"Why do Muggles dance like that, seems a bit too erotic," Ginny said watching the two women grind against either side of the man.
Luna blinked absently. "Maybe we should try it," she said.
"Pah," Ginny said. "Could you imagine my uncoordinated brother and Hermione trying to dance like that?"
Hermione felt her cheeks go hot and fought to keep it hidden. "Or we could ask Harry if he wanted to give you a demonstration like that—" Hermione said in retaliation.
Ginny pursed her lips gazed down at the floor quietly. It wasn't often that Hermione teased her about Harry, but it made for a good defense. Besides, if Ginny kept this pace with drinking she wouldn't remember any of this tomorrow. If anything the mention of Harry would only make her drink more.
In the almost three years since the end of the war, Harry had regarded Ginny with some caution and kept her at a distance. Hermione knew that it bothered her and she was actually wrestling with the question of why he would do that. He hadn't said much to anyone about it.
"Excuse me, but you want to dance?" a slender man in a black and blue argyle cardigan had strolled up to ask Luna. His thick, black rimmed Buddy Holly glasses reminded Hermione immensely of the ones Harry used to wear. Luna offered her hand to the man and he whisked her away to the dance floor.
"Give me the whole bottle, they might as well," Ginny said as Hermione turned back to watch her purchasing another pair of drinks for herself. "I don't want to remember tonight," she threw back one of the drinks in an instant and slammed the glass down on the bar. It toppled over wasting the ice on the counter top. She simply ignored it and began to sip from the other glass.
Hermione sighed inwardly and moved her napkin to wipe up the mess. "Maybe we should head home when Luna comes back? Call it a night," she felt a pang of guilt. "You can stay at my flat if you don't feel like—"
"I want to go back to the Burrow," Ginny said.
"Gin, you're too drunk—you don't live there anymore and I'm sure you're mum doesn't want you stumbling in lashed and knocking all of her things over," said Hermione. She silently hoped that there wasn't an overlooked stop for intoxicated on the Weasley's clock. "Let's get you a water," she raised her hand to flag the barkeep down. Her first instinct had been to take out her wand and refill one of the glasses, but she stopped herself.
Out on the dance floor, Luna was spinning in circles against the guy she had gone to dance with. She pawed at the air with her fingers, in an almost feline manner. The poor guy was so drunk that he didn't seem to care or be weirded out and he even began to follow her lead, laughing as he did. Hermione shook her head at the pair of them and turned back to find Ginny laying her head down on the bar.
"Why are you so sad all of a sudden?" asked Hermione.
"Don't want to talk about it," Ginny's voice was muffled into her arm.
Hermione placed her hand between Ginny's shoulder blades, massaging a gentle circle into her bare back. They'd dressed up for the night, but not in the sense they would have usually considered dressed up. Ginny wore something that was part dress and part-chemise. It was a sparkling purple color and contrasted well with her freckled skin, it also left the patch of skin just below her neck uncovered. Even now, sitting here comforting Ginny, Hermione couldn't shake how out of place she looked in her own knee length red dress and she wondered how Luna did it.
Easy. Luna didn't care how she looked.
"You can tell me, I know," Hermione spoke the words in such a light tone that she feared the music and the crowd might have torn them away.
Ginny turned and looked up at her, reddened from the drinking and the corners of her mouth twisted into enough of a smile for it to brighten the rest of her appearance. "I'm just worried about Harry—he's burning himself up lately and…"
"I don't think he's quite as bad as you think," Hermione lied. She knew it wouldn't have normally worked but Ginny was drunk.
"Not that it matters…he doesn't care…he doesn't care that I care…" Ginny rolled her head against her arm.
"Stop it."
"He hates me," Ginny said.
Luna returned from her dance holding something between her hands and looking down at it. "The Muggle gave me a strip of parchment with his number," she said between Ginny and Hermione, as if she was speaking to neither of them. "His name is Mark."
"We have to go, Luna," Hermione said.
As if she hadn't noticed it before, Luna rushed in between Hermione and Ginny so that Hermione was forced to withdraw her hand. "What's the matter, Ginny?" Luna asked rubbing her hand up and down Ginny's arm.
"No," Ginny managed.
"We're taking her home?" asked Luna, turning back to Hermione.
Hermione shook her head. "I don't want to leave her alone right now. She needs one of us," she said.
"It's about Harry again, isn't it?" Luna said dimly and Hermione could tell right away that she was slightly intoxicated too.
Pushing away from them and out to the center of the floor, Hermione sighed. "We're going to need to get her out of here, when we're outside I'll go get my car," she said.
"Why did we bring that thing?" asked Ginny. "We can Apparate, I'm going to Apparate home now," she tugged herself up from the bar and Luna grabbed hold of her tightly and held her in place.
"We're going to drive, it'll be more fun," Luna suggested in an overly happy tone. "Come on," she pulled Ginny along beside her and they trailed behind Hermione as she pushed her way through the crowds of Muggles and back toward the door. Luna and Ginny waited near the entrance to the pub where there was a line of men straggling in whom looked to have already done their drinking.
Hermione shot a glance over her shoulder at where Ginny rested against Luna. "I'll be right back, the car's just over here," she said reassuringly. "I'll be right back," she repeated.
The streets were a murky wet mess as Hermione made her way around the corner into the alley shortcut that bisected the block which she had parked the cars on the opposite side of. Everything was soaked and she could tell they'd been struck with a fresh bout of rain since she'd entered the club. The alley held a rancid food smell that she was sure no amount of scrubbing or spellwork could release.
She tugged her dress to one side to avoid a narrow impasse between the haphazardly placed rubbish bins. The sheer power of the odor caused her eyes to tear up. Hermione slapped a hand to her mouth and gagged as she pulled past the bins and out into the open again. Someone tugged at her skirt and before she could gaze off to her side a weak voice called up to her.
"Spare some change, love?" the man was covered in blankets wrapped with empty trash bags, his nearly toothless face was staring up at her.
Hermione fished into her purse and grasped around. Bigger on the inside, she tried to hide the face and her fingers rubbed against some Wizard money. That wouldn't help this man. She grasped crisp note of Muggle Money.
Fishing it out, she glanced down at it only a moment before passing it to him. "Here you are, a ten pound note," she flashed a smile. "Don't spend it all in one place," she added with a short, stifled giggle.
"Bless you, Miss," he said accepting it. "Bless you."
Hermione nodded and turned to jog the rest of the block. She moved hurriedly toward the corner, her heels clicking against the pavement as she went and then she froze midstride. Her hands shook, wearily and she could feel her steamy breath rolling past her lips, see it rising into the air in front of her. The air had chilled.
Grasping the strap of her clutch, she looked to the homeless man still examining his money. A shiver worked its way down her body and when she turned back the hooded figure of a Dementor was levitating just before her.
Had it sneaked up? How?
She backed away, dropping her bag and going for her wand. There was a startling rattle as something cold and dry slammed her from behind, knocking her into the brick wall. She let out a sharp shriek as she went down, the bag and her wand just outside her grasp. The eyeless visage of a Dementor hovered above her and she could suddenly feel draining dread wash over her. Waves of panic overtook her and she could hear the echo of a scream and then a voice. "I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?" it was as if the voice was at a distance, but she remembered it as Bellatrix.
There were two of them now.
Hermione felt herself pinned down in the Malfoy Manor again. "What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall you run you through with this knife!" the voice was closer now but Hermione was back in the alley fighting to reach her wand.
The Dementor drew closer, she could feel Bellatrix's weight pressed against her and there was anticipation of the next volley from the Cruciatus Curse. Hermione's body burned, stung with pain. She could taste the blood. She couldn't move and the past and present seemed to mingle together. Reality slipped away and she was enveloped in darkness.
A vision of Ron bleeding on the forest floor, injured with a splint flashed before her. Then the sight of the basilisk reflected in a mirror outside the girls lavatory at Hogwarts. It was so fast and in-between each moment she could see the Dementor lording over her—Bellatrix's demented voice reverberated around her.
"Filthy Mudblood!"
"You have a bad trip or something?" she blinked and it was the homeless man from before. "It sure got cold fast," he said.
Hermione's arm was still outstretched, still going for the wand. She couldn't managed the words, her eyes would barely stay open. The homeless man followed her line of sight over to the wand. "You want this? Is it like your drugs or something?" he grasped it and handed it back to her.
Summoning up everything within her, every memory that she could muster Hermione brought herself upright before the two Dementors. The end of the war. Graduation. My baby sister being born. Ron and me…
She didn't remember saying the incantation, but a brilliant, silvery otter burst from the tip of her wand in a fit of blinding light. The homeless Muggle stumbled back into the trash cans and toppled over as the Dementors were forced up into the night sky high above the city.
There was a wet warmth on her bare arm. Blood. She sank to the concrete and drew a ragged breath, her body going limp slowly and the darkness fighting to swallow her.
"Is there medicine, in your purse?" the homeless man opened the small bag and gasped. "What the Hell…" he tossed it down next to her. "I'm going to get help, stay here."
But it was no use, she couldn't move any longer and the blackness had taken most of her sight. In the last wink of an image she saw, the homeless Muggle was rounding the corner back toward the club.
Despite all that Harry had seen, Kingsley Shacklebolt was still a startlingly imposing person to stand near. He was taller than Harry or Ron or almost anyone else they knew and his skin was a dark, rich brown that in contrast made his teeth like ivory when he smiled.
Kingsley Shacklebolt was doing anything but smiling right now.
His huge arms were folded over his wide chest and he stared incredulously down at Ron and Harry. He studied them in the silence, the Ottoman Organization of the Occult members had left them in peace to talk about the botched mission.
Shaking his head, Kingsley paced back and forth in front of Harry and Ron. It wasn't everyday that the Minister of Magic jumped international borders Auror Business—then again it wasn't everyday that someone made an attempt on the Minister's life.
"So, we've heard how yours died, Potter," Kingsley scoffed. "I can't wait to hear this," he said before aiming his thumb back over his shoulder at where the two bodies rested against the stone wall together, the brothers: Amir and Malzahar. "Where did—where did his bloody head go?" he said clasping his hand to his face.
Ron swallowed audibly. "There was a lot going on and it's hard to see with all the sand and sun in your eyes…" Ron started.
"Sand, sun, wind, rain—it's why Quidditch players wear goggles," Kingsley said rapidly, "you should know this Mister Weasley. Where did…his head go?"
"Harry had almost fallen and those rugs fly fa—"
"Why did you bring me back a headless corpse to interrogate?" asked Kingsley. We're supposed to talk to him, do you see the issue here? Do you see the conflict of interest? He's got no head, no mouth and I'm pretty sure he's bloody dead."
"Reductor curse," Ron said suddenly. "It got away from me."
"We really had no idea you'd be here to do the questioning, sir," Harry said.
Kingsley eyed Harry again. "Wouldn't I be?" he asked. "They tried to kill me, my wife, my daughters," his accent hit the last word especially hard. "How would you react if someone tried to hurt Hermione or Ginny?" his gaze fell on Harry at Ginny's mention and it was as if there was a palpable weight cast by his eyes. Harry leaned forward casually to get out from under it.
"Sorry sir, they were being especially vicious," Ron said. "I aimed the curse at the rug but he was wavering up and down so much that I must have miscalculated and it hit him in the face when he turned."
"They were determined to die, if we had captured them I doubt they still wouldn't have taken their own lives before we had time to administer the truth serum," Harry added.
"Even so, we can't let you fly around blowing off people's heads with curses," said Kingsley. "That kind of behavior might fly with the Russian Aurors, but I'll have none of it."
"Yes, sir," Harry and Ron said in unison.
There was a change in the room, like the air in the area had just sighed, Kingsley took a long gaze back at the bodies and conjured himself a chair to sit down across from them. He laced his fingers together and rested his chin atop his knuckles. "What did you find out?" he asked after he sighed himself.
Ron looked to Harry, searching for something in his eyes. Then he flicked his gaze back to the Minister. "Hermione and my sister might be in danger—and there's a larger force at work here," he said.
"Where did you gather this larger force thing?" Harry asked. "I don't remember hearing that."
"I just…I just thought of it. It came to me," Ron answered. "They'd have to have some backing for the things they've pulled."
Kingsley raised an eyebrow in Ron's direction. "Theory, Mister Weasley?"
"There's something larger at work here, sir," Ron said.
Harry nodded slowly. "He's right; this has got to be something bigger than just two brothers. It might be a loose conglomerate of small groups—I mean we never caught all of the Death Eaters, maybe they're trying to upset the balance of power," he suggested.
"When it's your family the political dispute becomes rather…personal," Kingsley said.
"Believe me, if Ginny and Hermione are in danger—I know the feeling all too well," Ron said.
Harry said nothing. He was tired of people insinuating things about him and Ginny when there was nothing…at least not anymore. There hadn't been for a long time.
"We're going to—" started the Minster.
"We're going to need to get you a heavier security detail of Senior Aurors, loyal ones," Harry said.
Kingsley rose from his seat. "I'd rather you put the detail on my family—and if need be I will make sure all of the Weasley's and Miss Granger and her family are well seen to too," he said.
"Thank you, sir," Ron said.
"I've got to get back to London—at least we have a little more to go on than when we started," said Kingsley. "They've asked that you remain in Istanbul for a few hours tightening up some of the loose ends."
"Yes, sir."
