Cicatrix (2/?)
A/N Plotty goodness!
****
One moment Ron was in the flat he shared with Hermione and the next he'd Apparated with a crack into a splendid hall filled with witches and wizards walking to and fro. There was another crack beside him as Hermione Apparated at his elbow, her face extremely pale and her eyes bloodshot. She hadn't cried, not yet, and he knew she was going to pay for it later. Right now, she was too intent on thinking, on finding a how and a why for what had happened.
Without speaking, they circled the fountain in the middle of the Ministry's main hall and headed toward one of the twenty golden grille fronted lifts, squeezing inside with several other busy wizards, one sporting a large cauldron which seemed to be hiccoughing in a weak manner. Everyone ignored it and they rode in silence, the lift juddering, and letting people on and off as the doors opened on each level.
Finally they reached Level two and Ron and Hermione stepped out of the lift, followed closely by the cauldron-bearing wizard who headed off toward the Misuse of Magic office. As they approached the lop-sided sign that identified Auror Headquarters, they heard the rise and fall of several voices thick with anger. They exchanged glances and winced.
They had expected this. There was going to some opposition to what had happened and what everyone should do now that the worst possible thing had come to pass. Steeling himself, Ron walked into the large cubicle that was Auror Headquarters, noticing the lull in the arguments for a split moment as they all spied him, Hermione at his side.
"You didn't have to come into work today, son," a familiar, haggard voice said from the crowd. Everyone's attention turned on the Minister of Magic as Arthur Weasley extracted himself from the crowd and crossed to his son, placing one hand on his broad shoulder and staring up into his strong face. "The same for you, Hermione. Your mother is sick with worry."
Ron just stared at his father, seeing the mark of aging on the familiar features of his face, the strain around his eyes clear and present for someone who knew him so well. His father was hurting too--he'd always thought of Harry as one his son's and this news had hit him hard. He couldn't even imagine how his mother must be feeling.
"You know we can't take the time, Mr. Weasley. There is too much to do," Hermione said with a heavy sigh, her face unreadable. Mr. Weasley touched her face and then nodded his head.
"Yes, there is. I'm glad you're both here, you especially Hermione. We need your cool head," Arthur said, turning to the rest of the Auror's who had grown quiet, watching with dark expressions on their faces. Ron spotted Tonks standing shoulder to shoulder with Remus Lupin, her eyes strangely bright, hair black and long as it swung in her face. His gaze connected with Lupin's and he saw the open expression of mourning in his eyes. He had to look away quickly.
"I won't pretend that the situation isn't bad, not with you lot. You know it and I know it. We suspect Harry Potter is dead--we're never going to be sure what happened back at Grimmauld Place, but we can't rule out the evidence. Our best chance at destroying You-Know-Who is gone and now my daughter is missing..." Arthur said, dropping his head, unable to say more.
Kingsley Shacklebolt cleared his throat and everyone looked at him. "I know this isn't what you want to hear, but it has to be said. How do we know if she was taken by the Death Eaters or if she went willingly?"
Ron's temper flared and he pulled out his wand in an instant. "Watch your mouth, Shacklebolt!"
"Ron!" Hermione warned sharply, grabbing his wrist and attempting to wrench his wand down. "Don't!"
"Did you hear what he said, Hermione?"
"Of course I heard him, Ron! And he has a point!" Hermione said through gritted teeth. Ron stared at her in disbelief, and then wrenched his wrist from her grasp, breathing heavily.
"Are you trying to tell me you think Ginny would have turned Harry in?" he snapped at her, barely keeping his rage in.
"NO! I'm merely looking at both sides of the situation," Hermione said fiercely, and then looked around at the assembled Aurors. "The fact is, we don't know what happened. We have bits and pieces of the story and that's not good enough. We need hard facts and leads that we don't have yet. Who discovered Ginny hadn't showed up in Dublin?"
"Aphrodesia Shawnessey, one of our operatives in Dublin, was waiting on her to show two nights ago--Wednesday. They had appointed a specific time for her arrival by portkey and when that time passed and she didn't show, she sent an owl to our offices," Shacklebolt said heavily, his brown creased in thought.
"What was she going to Dublin for?" Hestia Jones asked with a curious expression on her face.
"A standard curse-breaking job on a set of Celtic objects someone had unearthed. It was a risk-free assignment, which is why Aphrodesia was the only one waiting for her to arrive. She wasn't in any danger, or at least she shouldn't have been," the Minister said.
"Did anyone go to Ginny's flat and see if she was there?"
"I did," Tonks spoke up, clearing her throat. "I flooed in, saw she wasn't there, and then Apparated at Grimmauld Place, which is when I met up with you two at Grimmauld Place. You know the rest from there."
"Right. And you went for help while Hermione and I sifted through what was left. And since then has anyone found out ANYTHING AT ALL?" Ron asked, his temper flaring again.
"Ron, you don't understand--there isn't anything to find. Ginny's just disappeared!" Tonks exclaimed.
"There has to be something. Who was the last to see her?"
"Probably Harry," Lupin spoke up in his quiet voice, blinking at them with his soft brown gaze. "He mentioned to me in passing that she was leaving for a few days and that they were having dinner Wednesday."
"Was she going to Portkey out of Grimmauld Place?" someone from the crowd asked. Lupin shook his head.
"That, I do not know. Does anyone know the object that was spelled for her use?"
There was a rustle of papers and then Hestia Jones spoke up. "I sent a memo to the Portkey Office and they sent her paperwork up. It says here that she was assigned a teapot Wednesday afternoon to be activated at 7:15 pm, destination the Dublin branch of the Ministry. Standard portkey paperwork and everything seems in order. The only trouble is, it was activated but Miss Weasley never arrived at the correct destination--which means someone re-purposed it."
"When did Shawnessey contact you, Kingsley?" Hermione asked, an expression of deep thought on her face.
"She didn't. It was Edgecombe from the Portkey Office that send her owl up here. Shawnessey sent the Office a complaint, thinking that perhaps it was a failure of the portkey that had caused the delay."
"When did Edgecombe get the owl?"
"She didn't say, actually. She just said that she'd got an owl and thought I might like to know that Weasley hadn't showed up where she'd been expected." Kingsley's face looked rather dark for a moment as he thought about what he'd said. "She left in a hurry after telling me. I didn't stop her--I was too busy contacting the rest of you."
"That's odd, to say the least. Where is Edgecombe now?" Hermione asked, looking around at them all. Suspicion had risen among them suddenly. They'd dealt with too many spies not to immediately suspect someone's shady motives.
"In the Portkey Office, I'd assume," Hestia Jones, said. "I'll got fetch her if you like."
"Please, thank you Hestia," Arthur said, crossing his arms over his chest and watching as the dark haired witch left the room.
"Why would Shawnessey just send an owl and not come here personally?" Ron asked in a tight voice.
"Shawnessey couldn't floo to the Ministry, Ron, not from Dublin. And it was too far to Apparate, which is why Ginny was portkeying in the first place. Sending a letter by owl was the fastest way--and there was no way she could have known how important Ginny was--is and the seriousness of the situation," Hermione explained with a measure of impatience in her voice.
"Fine. So we know she didn't arrive and that the portkey was activated. What we need is a lead--something, anything to tell us where she is!" Ron said, equally as impatient. He wanted to be doing something, not standing there talking about it. They'd wasted enough time already. "Is there any way to find out where the portkey went instead of Dublin?"
"No, the only one who knows that is the one who spelled it in the first place, which according to the paperwork, was Edgecombe," Elphias Doge said with a wheezy growl. "Unless someone changed it after that..."
"I have an idea--" Hermione interrupted before Ron could explode again. She exchanged looks with the Minister and then squared her shoulders. "Something I've been working on that couldn't hurt to try. I could find clues, if there are any, in Ginny's flat about where she might have gone."
"There was nothing there, Hermione. Nothing I saw anyway," Tonks said, shaking her head.
"You were in a hurry, Tonks. There might be clues that I can find that you wouldn't normally see at first glance."
"Good idea Hermione," Arthur said, patting her shoulder and then turning back to the room full of Aurors. He opened his mouth to say something, but the sudden arrival of Hestia Jones in their midst stopped him. "Yes?"
Hestia looked angry. "Marietta Edgecombe didn't show up for work this morning."
There was a collective intake of breath.
Arthur Weasley took a steadying breath and then ordered in a tight voice, "Hestia, Kingsley--get on it. Find Edgecombe and bring her in for questioning. Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, I'm putting you in charge of Miss Weasley's case. Find her, please. As for the rest of you, its business as usual. There are other criminals to capture and leads to follow. I don't need to tell you how important this is now. We must weaken You-Know-Who's supporters any way we can. "
And with that, the Minister of Magic turned on his heel and walked out of the cubicle, leaving the Aurors to their jobs. No doubt he had other worries on his mind. Everyone scattered, gathering papers and wands, still looking pale and worried, but no less determined to do the best they could.
Ron turned to Hermione and he saw the nervous expression on her face. "I hope whatever you have up your sleeve is going to work this time, Hermione."
"Me too..." she said and then bit down on her lip. "Me too."
****
From the Ministry's grand welcoming hall, Ron and Hermione flooed into Ginny's flat, which was situated in the heart of Diagon Alley above Quality Quidditch Supplies. Coughing slightly, Ron moved to dust the soot off of his robes, but Hermione grabbed his hand, stopping him.
"Don't, you could upset the crime scene."
"The what?"
Hermione ignored him and stepped lightly into Ginny's sitting room, looking around with keen eyes. Ron stood by her side, feeling a horrible ache in his gut as he looked at his little sister's things. She'd moved in here the year before, having claimed she was too old to live at home anymore, making the Burrow officially an empty nest. The twins lived nearby; Bill in France and Charlie still worked with his dragons in Romania. Percy lived in London also, but they saw less and less of him as the years went by, which was probably for the better.
He'd often wondered why she hadn't moved into Grimmauld Place with Harry, though. Another question without an answer. There were too many of those now.
He choked on his thoughts, trying to ignore the hollow ache in his gut. Two of the most important people in his life had been ripped from him so suddenly, so horribly that he could barely wrap his mind around it. He looked hard at Hermione's proud form stooped over the davenport, examining the damask with narrowed eyes. As he watched, she opened her cloak, pushing them aside to reveal the large pack she had strapped on her hip.
He didn't recognize half of the instruments and vials lined up on the pack in little holsters, but Hermione reached immediately for a small inner pocket, pulling out a pair of silver tweezers. Her face was set and hard, concentrated. He knew that look only too well.
Watching her made him ache even more. She was all he had left and was suddenly very aware of the fact that she could be taken away in an instant. That thought made him weak in the knees and he resisted the urge to grab her by the hand and hold her as close to him as he could. He loved her so much sometimes that it hurt and right now she was probably the only thing keeping him from going crazy.
"What are you doing, Hermione?" he asked in a weary voice as she combed over the davenport, peering at the dark silk for a moment before looking back up at him.
"Finding clues. I mentioned this not too long ago. I wanted to try some Muggle techniques out, with a bit of a magical tweak to them. Muggles have surprisingly advanced ways of identifying guilty parties or victims by analyzing blood samples, hair, skin...almost anything."
"And how is that going to help us?"
"Well, it's likely that if someone was in here and there was a struggle, that they left clues behind."
"If this is where they attacked her."
"If they attacked her at all."
"Hermione--" he began angrily, but she cut him off with a stern look.
"Ron, we have to look at all sides. We have to be objective!"
"No we don't! I can't be! Ginny is my sister and Harry was my best friend!"
"He was mine too!"
"If that's true then how can you act so calm right now? You've barely cried! Merlin, Hermione...are you made of stone?" he railed at her, seeing the hurt that suddenly sprang into her eyes.
"I am certainly not made of stone, Ron. I'm just not thinking about it. I CAN'T think about it right now. Whenever I do I can't breathe and I start to panic. I cannot afford to panic right now; Ginny needs me. I'll cry later, after we find her," she said, the hurt in her eyes being pushed down and her mask falling back into place.
"Hermione, you don't have to be so bloody strong all the time." His voice was soft and it carried over to her, where he saw her mask soften slightly.
"Yes I do, Ron," she said and then turned back to the davenport. "There's nothing on the material, here. Do me a favor and go search her bedroom. Look for signs of a struggle or anything, really. Something that seems out of place."
Ron nodded his head, glancing over his shoulder as Hermione got down on all fours, pulling out another strange instrument from her full pack and strapping it to her head. He looked back as he entered his sister's bedroom, suddenly aware of how much the place smelled like her. His gut knotted up as he saw the pictures on the walls of the family and of Harry and the four of them, of their years at Hogwarts and beyond.
He schooled his emotions and looked around, trying to find anything, any clue as to what had happened. He circled her bed, frowning at the imprint of a body in the wrinkled duvet. The fluffy pillows were mashed down as if someone had fluffed them and then laid upon them. Taking a cue from Hermione, bent, looking for anything on the blankets.
Two bright red strands of hair clung to the imprint on the pillows and he frowned as he picked them off, running them through his fingers, the sick feeling inside of him growing. So she'd lain here sometime before she'd left. He turned around, intending to call Hermione into the room to show her, but as he stepped forward, the toe of his battered boot struck something hard and lumpy jutting out from under the bed.
Curiously he bent at the knees and grasped it, drawing it out from under the ruffled edge of the bedspread, where it had been hidden. His eyes widened as he looked at the object. It was a travel suitcase, one he recognized very well. Popping the clasps, he threw it open and frowned at the neatly folded pile of robes inside and the small bag of personal items--hairbrush, toothbrush, toothpaste, makeup and those daily necessities that a girl carried everywhere they went.
This was Ginny's bag, the one she'd packed to bring with her to Dublin for a few days. Which meant--
"Ron!"
He leapt to his feet and tore into the sitting room, where Hermione was on the floor, an thoughtful expression on her face.
"What is it?"
Hermione's face was intent as she crawled along the floor peering hard. "I...I found...something," she said in an unsteady voice. He frowned and crossed the room, coming to a stop next to her.
"What?"
"Its...oh Merlin...its..." She looked down at her hand, where something was resting in her open palm. Something small and pink, with bits of red flecked on it. He looked harder, uncomprehending. "Its her fingernail..."
He sucked in a sharp breath, finally getting it. He looked harder at the small, bloody thing, seeing the pink varnish on one side and the blood over the split, splintered thing. It looked as if it had been ripped from the cuticle. The air rushed out his lungs.
"Where did you find it?" She gestured to the floor and he got to his knees beside her, following her finger. There on the floor next to the fireplace were three tiny scratches in the wooden floor. "What the hell happened there?"
"It was buried here," she said, gesturing to the deepest furrow in the wood. He noticed the other scratches were less deep and not as long. "She clawed the floor here..." Hermione put her fingers on the deep scratches, lining it up so that her index finger rested on the deepest furrow. "She was dragged across the floor and she was trying to hold on."
"Why is that scratch deeper and why are there only three of them?"
"She put more weight on those three fingers. The index finger is the strongest finger on either hand with the exception of the thumb. When you're pulled, you claw like this..." He watched as she demonstrated, pushing hard and pulling her hand across the floor. "She pressed harder with her index finger, which is why her nail is embedded in the wood. She was desperate. See here?" She pointed to a tiny rusty stain on the floor. "That's where she lost the nail and that's where she let go."
Ron felt his sick rising again. "How do you know its Ginny's nail?"
"Its her color," Hermione said, a storm cloud passing over her face.
"What?"
"Her nail varnish. She always wore this color. Of course, that can be faked, so I'll have to do some tests on it," she said and then peered at the bloody fingernail in her palm again. "Did Ginny scratch a lot?"
"What?"
"Growing up, when you'd fight--did she scratch?" Hermione asked in a serious voice. Ron thought back for a moment.
"Yeah...yeah she did. We didn't physically fight much, but sometimes when she'd really get me going--why?" Ron's brow furrowed.
"She might have scratched her attacker and if that's so, then there'll be skin cells beneath the tip of her fingernail that I can identify--get us a face to place on our enemy," Hermione explained grimly. "This is the only thing I've found, Ron. It's small, but its all we have. If there aren't any skin cells, we've hit a dead end again."
"At least we can say that she was definitely taken by force. No one can accuse her of betraying anyone after this," Ron said.
"It doesn't look like she went willingly, at least."
"Not just that, but I found her bag in the bedroom. It was half-hidden under the bed, which means she meant to depart from here and didn't do it prepared," Ron said, crossing his arms over his chest.
"And someone tried to hide the bag?" Hermione asked, placing the fingernail in a vial from the packs on her hip and pushing a cork stopper in the top.
"They didn't do a very good job of it if that's what they were trying--I hit it with my foot," Ron said.
Hermione made an interested sound in her throat, but her attention was on her packs again. "Bring me Ginny's cauldron."
He immediately brought it over, placing it in front of his girlfriend, who was pulling spell ingredients out of what he was beginning to think was the magically enlarged insides of her packs. He followed her directions, adding pinches and splashes of liquids he recognized but had never seen in combinations together. The potion she was making was unknown to him and from the look of concentration on her face--she wasn't completely sure about it herself.
The clear white liquid came to a rapid boil, a faint hiss of steam swirling in rapid circles over the surface and turning the air suddenly very warm. Ron felt sweat roll down his temple and he saw Hermione swallow hard. She exchanged glances with him and then ladled out two equal portions of the liquid into two shiny silver bowls that were smooth as glass.
"What does this do, Hermione?" he finally asked, as she pulled out the vial with the fingernail inside of it. She emptied it into her palm, took out her tweezers and scraped at the tip of the broken, split thing. She smeared the scrapings on a thin piece of glass and placed it to the side.
"Its a potion of my own making--never had a chance to test it. It should tell us if this belongs to Ginny or not in a pretty obvious way."
He almost asked, 'what do you mean by obvious', but the words never got out. She dropped the fingernail into one of the shiny silver bowls and a great plume of silver gas escaped into the air, towering up to the ceiling.
Hermione took a step back, grabbing his hand. He took it, following her gaze as the mushroom cloud of silver gas opened up from the middle, forming what looked like a portal in the air. And in the portal--
Ron took a deep breath and stared at his sister's face, barely a glimmer, but very noticible in the gassy portal. He glanced at Hermione, but rather than looking triumphant, there were tears in her eyes. He touched her shoulder and she closed her eyes.
"Hermione?"
"The fingernail is hers, not unexpected," she said, reopening her eyes, the tears still there, but her voice had regained its impartiality, like what she was seeing meant nothing to her. He envied her that slightly. She let go of his hand and pulled her wand, waving it at the silver plume of gas, which immediately dissolved. The potion in the silver bowl had turned a muddy black and was stiff like tar. "Evanesco."
The tar-like liquid dissolved, leaving the bowl smooth and reflective once more. Ron took a deep breath and touched her shoulder.
"Now what?"
"Now we see if Ginny left us any clues..." Hermione said distractedly, picking up the slide of glass with the scraping on it. She looked at it hard and then dumped it into the second bowl of potion. A great plume of silver gas erupted toward the ceiling just as it had the first time. She stepped back, holding her breath hard, her hands clutched to her throat. Her mouth was white with terror and nerves.
Ron felt his stomach clench, felt his heart contract. This was it.
The portal showed in the roiling cloud of silver and slowly, an image came into focus, faint, but unmistakable.
Hermione gave a small scream, her hand over her mouth. Ron felt his anger rising.
Through his teeth, he ground out, "Draco Malfoy."
****
The pub was smoky and close, the air dank and faintly smelling of sewer. He hated this place, hated the clientele so much his wand arm twitched at the very thought of cursing the Muggle nearest him just for a spot of fun. If only.
He needed to keep a low profile though and as such, cursing a Muggle would blow his cover. He downed a shot of whisky--Muggle whisky and the cheap kind at that--and grimaced as it burnt a hole in his stomach. His face throbbed slightly and he lifted his hand to his cheek, sour expression crossing his pale, pointed face.
She was late. Very late and that didn't please him in the least.
His wand arm twitched again. He'd love to do something, ANYTHING to anyone...
There was a crack that broke the muffled silence of the pub and head's turned in all directions, looking for the source of the noise. The shadows were so deep in the pub that the bleary eyes of the daytime drunks couldn't make out anything across the room.
"You're late," he said sourly to the witch who had just Apparated with a crack next to him. She sat down with a swift movement, her face pale, curly hair unbound in her face. Her mouth was pinched and her eyes rolled wildly in their sockets.
"I..."
"You what?" he prompted, pushing a shot glass at her impatiently.
"I'm having second thoughts about this," she said, her hands shaking as she reached for the glass. Amber liquid sloshed over the sides as she grasped it, then put it back down with a thunk of glass on wood. He laughed and slung his arm over her shoulder, leaning in close so she could smell the cheap alcohol on his breath.
"I think it's too late to be having second thoughts, don't you?"
"I...they're going to suspect something!" she said, unnerved by his closeness.
"You have nothing to hide!"
"That doesn't matter, they're always looking for spies these days. They don't trust anyone!" she said with a hiss. He laughed again, a slow sycophantic laugh that made her shudder beneath him.
"They should, Marietta," he said as he closed his lips on neck and sucked hard on the skin. She gasped and shuddered hard against him. He pulled his mouth away and looked her straight in the eyes. "You will go back. Your presence in the Ministry is very important to the Dark Lord. You will be rewarded if continue to serve him as well as you have."
"Its getting too dangerous...I can't..."
He grabbed her around her neck in an instant, his slender fingers closing over her windpipe and squeezing. She choked and attempted to suck in air, but he tightened his hold, hauling her against him, his mouth on her ear.
"You can and you will or I'll kill you. The fools you work for will only turn on you and you'll spend the rest of your life in Azkaban. It may not be as bad as it once was with the Dementors there, but I assure you, it's nothing like the life you're used to living. The Dark Lord will win this war and you'll be rewarded or punished in the end. Which would you prefer?"
She choked, trying to pull his hands away from her throat. He let up slightly so she could answer and she pulled in a desperate breath. "Just tell me what to do!" Her tone was desperate.
He laughed hard and kissed her hard on the lips. "Just go back to work and pretend ignorance. Your orders will come soon enough and you'll prove your worth to the Dark Lord." He let go of her neck and got up from the dark table. The Muggles in the pub hadn't noticed anything they were so drunk.
"Where will you be?"
He laughed hard and smiled slyly. "Taking care of beautiful girl who's really made a mark on me." He felt her eyes raked over the claw marks across his pale face and watched as she shuddered. "Remember, say a word to anyone and I'll make sure you suffer a fate worse than death. Understand?"
"I...I understand," Marietta Edgecombe said in a shaky voice.
"Good, I'll be seeing you." And with that, Draco Malfoy Disapparated with a crack, leaving her behind in the dark, smoky pub.
(end chapter)
****
A/N Plotty goodness!
****
One moment Ron was in the flat he shared with Hermione and the next he'd Apparated with a crack into a splendid hall filled with witches and wizards walking to and fro. There was another crack beside him as Hermione Apparated at his elbow, her face extremely pale and her eyes bloodshot. She hadn't cried, not yet, and he knew she was going to pay for it later. Right now, she was too intent on thinking, on finding a how and a why for what had happened.
Without speaking, they circled the fountain in the middle of the Ministry's main hall and headed toward one of the twenty golden grille fronted lifts, squeezing inside with several other busy wizards, one sporting a large cauldron which seemed to be hiccoughing in a weak manner. Everyone ignored it and they rode in silence, the lift juddering, and letting people on and off as the doors opened on each level.
Finally they reached Level two and Ron and Hermione stepped out of the lift, followed closely by the cauldron-bearing wizard who headed off toward the Misuse of Magic office. As they approached the lop-sided sign that identified Auror Headquarters, they heard the rise and fall of several voices thick with anger. They exchanged glances and winced.
They had expected this. There was going to some opposition to what had happened and what everyone should do now that the worst possible thing had come to pass. Steeling himself, Ron walked into the large cubicle that was Auror Headquarters, noticing the lull in the arguments for a split moment as they all spied him, Hermione at his side.
"You didn't have to come into work today, son," a familiar, haggard voice said from the crowd. Everyone's attention turned on the Minister of Magic as Arthur Weasley extracted himself from the crowd and crossed to his son, placing one hand on his broad shoulder and staring up into his strong face. "The same for you, Hermione. Your mother is sick with worry."
Ron just stared at his father, seeing the mark of aging on the familiar features of his face, the strain around his eyes clear and present for someone who knew him so well. His father was hurting too--he'd always thought of Harry as one his son's and this news had hit him hard. He couldn't even imagine how his mother must be feeling.
"You know we can't take the time, Mr. Weasley. There is too much to do," Hermione said with a heavy sigh, her face unreadable. Mr. Weasley touched her face and then nodded his head.
"Yes, there is. I'm glad you're both here, you especially Hermione. We need your cool head," Arthur said, turning to the rest of the Auror's who had grown quiet, watching with dark expressions on their faces. Ron spotted Tonks standing shoulder to shoulder with Remus Lupin, her eyes strangely bright, hair black and long as it swung in her face. His gaze connected with Lupin's and he saw the open expression of mourning in his eyes. He had to look away quickly.
"I won't pretend that the situation isn't bad, not with you lot. You know it and I know it. We suspect Harry Potter is dead--we're never going to be sure what happened back at Grimmauld Place, but we can't rule out the evidence. Our best chance at destroying You-Know-Who is gone and now my daughter is missing..." Arthur said, dropping his head, unable to say more.
Kingsley Shacklebolt cleared his throat and everyone looked at him. "I know this isn't what you want to hear, but it has to be said. How do we know if she was taken by the Death Eaters or if she went willingly?"
Ron's temper flared and he pulled out his wand in an instant. "Watch your mouth, Shacklebolt!"
"Ron!" Hermione warned sharply, grabbing his wrist and attempting to wrench his wand down. "Don't!"
"Did you hear what he said, Hermione?"
"Of course I heard him, Ron! And he has a point!" Hermione said through gritted teeth. Ron stared at her in disbelief, and then wrenched his wrist from her grasp, breathing heavily.
"Are you trying to tell me you think Ginny would have turned Harry in?" he snapped at her, barely keeping his rage in.
"NO! I'm merely looking at both sides of the situation," Hermione said fiercely, and then looked around at the assembled Aurors. "The fact is, we don't know what happened. We have bits and pieces of the story and that's not good enough. We need hard facts and leads that we don't have yet. Who discovered Ginny hadn't showed up in Dublin?"
"Aphrodesia Shawnessey, one of our operatives in Dublin, was waiting on her to show two nights ago--Wednesday. They had appointed a specific time for her arrival by portkey and when that time passed and she didn't show, she sent an owl to our offices," Shacklebolt said heavily, his brown creased in thought.
"What was she going to Dublin for?" Hestia Jones asked with a curious expression on her face.
"A standard curse-breaking job on a set of Celtic objects someone had unearthed. It was a risk-free assignment, which is why Aphrodesia was the only one waiting for her to arrive. She wasn't in any danger, or at least she shouldn't have been," the Minister said.
"Did anyone go to Ginny's flat and see if she was there?"
"I did," Tonks spoke up, clearing her throat. "I flooed in, saw she wasn't there, and then Apparated at Grimmauld Place, which is when I met up with you two at Grimmauld Place. You know the rest from there."
"Right. And you went for help while Hermione and I sifted through what was left. And since then has anyone found out ANYTHING AT ALL?" Ron asked, his temper flaring again.
"Ron, you don't understand--there isn't anything to find. Ginny's just disappeared!" Tonks exclaimed.
"There has to be something. Who was the last to see her?"
"Probably Harry," Lupin spoke up in his quiet voice, blinking at them with his soft brown gaze. "He mentioned to me in passing that she was leaving for a few days and that they were having dinner Wednesday."
"Was she going to Portkey out of Grimmauld Place?" someone from the crowd asked. Lupin shook his head.
"That, I do not know. Does anyone know the object that was spelled for her use?"
There was a rustle of papers and then Hestia Jones spoke up. "I sent a memo to the Portkey Office and they sent her paperwork up. It says here that she was assigned a teapot Wednesday afternoon to be activated at 7:15 pm, destination the Dublin branch of the Ministry. Standard portkey paperwork and everything seems in order. The only trouble is, it was activated but Miss Weasley never arrived at the correct destination--which means someone re-purposed it."
"When did Shawnessey contact you, Kingsley?" Hermione asked, an expression of deep thought on her face.
"She didn't. It was Edgecombe from the Portkey Office that send her owl up here. Shawnessey sent the Office a complaint, thinking that perhaps it was a failure of the portkey that had caused the delay."
"When did Edgecombe get the owl?"
"She didn't say, actually. She just said that she'd got an owl and thought I might like to know that Weasley hadn't showed up where she'd been expected." Kingsley's face looked rather dark for a moment as he thought about what he'd said. "She left in a hurry after telling me. I didn't stop her--I was too busy contacting the rest of you."
"That's odd, to say the least. Where is Edgecombe now?" Hermione asked, looking around at them all. Suspicion had risen among them suddenly. They'd dealt with too many spies not to immediately suspect someone's shady motives.
"In the Portkey Office, I'd assume," Hestia Jones, said. "I'll got fetch her if you like."
"Please, thank you Hestia," Arthur said, crossing his arms over his chest and watching as the dark haired witch left the room.
"Why would Shawnessey just send an owl and not come here personally?" Ron asked in a tight voice.
"Shawnessey couldn't floo to the Ministry, Ron, not from Dublin. And it was too far to Apparate, which is why Ginny was portkeying in the first place. Sending a letter by owl was the fastest way--and there was no way she could have known how important Ginny was--is and the seriousness of the situation," Hermione explained with a measure of impatience in her voice.
"Fine. So we know she didn't arrive and that the portkey was activated. What we need is a lead--something, anything to tell us where she is!" Ron said, equally as impatient. He wanted to be doing something, not standing there talking about it. They'd wasted enough time already. "Is there any way to find out where the portkey went instead of Dublin?"
"No, the only one who knows that is the one who spelled it in the first place, which according to the paperwork, was Edgecombe," Elphias Doge said with a wheezy growl. "Unless someone changed it after that..."
"I have an idea--" Hermione interrupted before Ron could explode again. She exchanged looks with the Minister and then squared her shoulders. "Something I've been working on that couldn't hurt to try. I could find clues, if there are any, in Ginny's flat about where she might have gone."
"There was nothing there, Hermione. Nothing I saw anyway," Tonks said, shaking her head.
"You were in a hurry, Tonks. There might be clues that I can find that you wouldn't normally see at first glance."
"Good idea Hermione," Arthur said, patting her shoulder and then turning back to the room full of Aurors. He opened his mouth to say something, but the sudden arrival of Hestia Jones in their midst stopped him. "Yes?"
Hestia looked angry. "Marietta Edgecombe didn't show up for work this morning."
There was a collective intake of breath.
Arthur Weasley took a steadying breath and then ordered in a tight voice, "Hestia, Kingsley--get on it. Find Edgecombe and bring her in for questioning. Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, I'm putting you in charge of Miss Weasley's case. Find her, please. As for the rest of you, its business as usual. There are other criminals to capture and leads to follow. I don't need to tell you how important this is now. We must weaken You-Know-Who's supporters any way we can. "
And with that, the Minister of Magic turned on his heel and walked out of the cubicle, leaving the Aurors to their jobs. No doubt he had other worries on his mind. Everyone scattered, gathering papers and wands, still looking pale and worried, but no less determined to do the best they could.
Ron turned to Hermione and he saw the nervous expression on her face. "I hope whatever you have up your sleeve is going to work this time, Hermione."
"Me too..." she said and then bit down on her lip. "Me too."
****
From the Ministry's grand welcoming hall, Ron and Hermione flooed into Ginny's flat, which was situated in the heart of Diagon Alley above Quality Quidditch Supplies. Coughing slightly, Ron moved to dust the soot off of his robes, but Hermione grabbed his hand, stopping him.
"Don't, you could upset the crime scene."
"The what?"
Hermione ignored him and stepped lightly into Ginny's sitting room, looking around with keen eyes. Ron stood by her side, feeling a horrible ache in his gut as he looked at his little sister's things. She'd moved in here the year before, having claimed she was too old to live at home anymore, making the Burrow officially an empty nest. The twins lived nearby; Bill in France and Charlie still worked with his dragons in Romania. Percy lived in London also, but they saw less and less of him as the years went by, which was probably for the better.
He'd often wondered why she hadn't moved into Grimmauld Place with Harry, though. Another question without an answer. There were too many of those now.
He choked on his thoughts, trying to ignore the hollow ache in his gut. Two of the most important people in his life had been ripped from him so suddenly, so horribly that he could barely wrap his mind around it. He looked hard at Hermione's proud form stooped over the davenport, examining the damask with narrowed eyes. As he watched, she opened her cloak, pushing them aside to reveal the large pack she had strapped on her hip.
He didn't recognize half of the instruments and vials lined up on the pack in little holsters, but Hermione reached immediately for a small inner pocket, pulling out a pair of silver tweezers. Her face was set and hard, concentrated. He knew that look only too well.
Watching her made him ache even more. She was all he had left and was suddenly very aware of the fact that she could be taken away in an instant. That thought made him weak in the knees and he resisted the urge to grab her by the hand and hold her as close to him as he could. He loved her so much sometimes that it hurt and right now she was probably the only thing keeping him from going crazy.
"What are you doing, Hermione?" he asked in a weary voice as she combed over the davenport, peering at the dark silk for a moment before looking back up at him.
"Finding clues. I mentioned this not too long ago. I wanted to try some Muggle techniques out, with a bit of a magical tweak to them. Muggles have surprisingly advanced ways of identifying guilty parties or victims by analyzing blood samples, hair, skin...almost anything."
"And how is that going to help us?"
"Well, it's likely that if someone was in here and there was a struggle, that they left clues behind."
"If this is where they attacked her."
"If they attacked her at all."
"Hermione--" he began angrily, but she cut him off with a stern look.
"Ron, we have to look at all sides. We have to be objective!"
"No we don't! I can't be! Ginny is my sister and Harry was my best friend!"
"He was mine too!"
"If that's true then how can you act so calm right now? You've barely cried! Merlin, Hermione...are you made of stone?" he railed at her, seeing the hurt that suddenly sprang into her eyes.
"I am certainly not made of stone, Ron. I'm just not thinking about it. I CAN'T think about it right now. Whenever I do I can't breathe and I start to panic. I cannot afford to panic right now; Ginny needs me. I'll cry later, after we find her," she said, the hurt in her eyes being pushed down and her mask falling back into place.
"Hermione, you don't have to be so bloody strong all the time." His voice was soft and it carried over to her, where he saw her mask soften slightly.
"Yes I do, Ron," she said and then turned back to the davenport. "There's nothing on the material, here. Do me a favor and go search her bedroom. Look for signs of a struggle or anything, really. Something that seems out of place."
Ron nodded his head, glancing over his shoulder as Hermione got down on all fours, pulling out another strange instrument from her full pack and strapping it to her head. He looked back as he entered his sister's bedroom, suddenly aware of how much the place smelled like her. His gut knotted up as he saw the pictures on the walls of the family and of Harry and the four of them, of their years at Hogwarts and beyond.
He schooled his emotions and looked around, trying to find anything, any clue as to what had happened. He circled her bed, frowning at the imprint of a body in the wrinkled duvet. The fluffy pillows were mashed down as if someone had fluffed them and then laid upon them. Taking a cue from Hermione, bent, looking for anything on the blankets.
Two bright red strands of hair clung to the imprint on the pillows and he frowned as he picked them off, running them through his fingers, the sick feeling inside of him growing. So she'd lain here sometime before she'd left. He turned around, intending to call Hermione into the room to show her, but as he stepped forward, the toe of his battered boot struck something hard and lumpy jutting out from under the bed.
Curiously he bent at the knees and grasped it, drawing it out from under the ruffled edge of the bedspread, where it had been hidden. His eyes widened as he looked at the object. It was a travel suitcase, one he recognized very well. Popping the clasps, he threw it open and frowned at the neatly folded pile of robes inside and the small bag of personal items--hairbrush, toothbrush, toothpaste, makeup and those daily necessities that a girl carried everywhere they went.
This was Ginny's bag, the one she'd packed to bring with her to Dublin for a few days. Which meant--
"Ron!"
He leapt to his feet and tore into the sitting room, where Hermione was on the floor, an thoughtful expression on her face.
"What is it?"
Hermione's face was intent as she crawled along the floor peering hard. "I...I found...something," she said in an unsteady voice. He frowned and crossed the room, coming to a stop next to her.
"What?"
"Its...oh Merlin...its..." She looked down at her hand, where something was resting in her open palm. Something small and pink, with bits of red flecked on it. He looked harder, uncomprehending. "Its her fingernail..."
He sucked in a sharp breath, finally getting it. He looked harder at the small, bloody thing, seeing the pink varnish on one side and the blood over the split, splintered thing. It looked as if it had been ripped from the cuticle. The air rushed out his lungs.
"Where did you find it?" She gestured to the floor and he got to his knees beside her, following her finger. There on the floor next to the fireplace were three tiny scratches in the wooden floor. "What the hell happened there?"
"It was buried here," she said, gesturing to the deepest furrow in the wood. He noticed the other scratches were less deep and not as long. "She clawed the floor here..." Hermione put her fingers on the deep scratches, lining it up so that her index finger rested on the deepest furrow. "She was dragged across the floor and she was trying to hold on."
"Why is that scratch deeper and why are there only three of them?"
"She put more weight on those three fingers. The index finger is the strongest finger on either hand with the exception of the thumb. When you're pulled, you claw like this..." He watched as she demonstrated, pushing hard and pulling her hand across the floor. "She pressed harder with her index finger, which is why her nail is embedded in the wood. She was desperate. See here?" She pointed to a tiny rusty stain on the floor. "That's where she lost the nail and that's where she let go."
Ron felt his sick rising again. "How do you know its Ginny's nail?"
"Its her color," Hermione said, a storm cloud passing over her face.
"What?"
"Her nail varnish. She always wore this color. Of course, that can be faked, so I'll have to do some tests on it," she said and then peered at the bloody fingernail in her palm again. "Did Ginny scratch a lot?"
"What?"
"Growing up, when you'd fight--did she scratch?" Hermione asked in a serious voice. Ron thought back for a moment.
"Yeah...yeah she did. We didn't physically fight much, but sometimes when she'd really get me going--why?" Ron's brow furrowed.
"She might have scratched her attacker and if that's so, then there'll be skin cells beneath the tip of her fingernail that I can identify--get us a face to place on our enemy," Hermione explained grimly. "This is the only thing I've found, Ron. It's small, but its all we have. If there aren't any skin cells, we've hit a dead end again."
"At least we can say that she was definitely taken by force. No one can accuse her of betraying anyone after this," Ron said.
"It doesn't look like she went willingly, at least."
"Not just that, but I found her bag in the bedroom. It was half-hidden under the bed, which means she meant to depart from here and didn't do it prepared," Ron said, crossing his arms over his chest.
"And someone tried to hide the bag?" Hermione asked, placing the fingernail in a vial from the packs on her hip and pushing a cork stopper in the top.
"They didn't do a very good job of it if that's what they were trying--I hit it with my foot," Ron said.
Hermione made an interested sound in her throat, but her attention was on her packs again. "Bring me Ginny's cauldron."
He immediately brought it over, placing it in front of his girlfriend, who was pulling spell ingredients out of what he was beginning to think was the magically enlarged insides of her packs. He followed her directions, adding pinches and splashes of liquids he recognized but had never seen in combinations together. The potion she was making was unknown to him and from the look of concentration on her face--she wasn't completely sure about it herself.
The clear white liquid came to a rapid boil, a faint hiss of steam swirling in rapid circles over the surface and turning the air suddenly very warm. Ron felt sweat roll down his temple and he saw Hermione swallow hard. She exchanged glances with him and then ladled out two equal portions of the liquid into two shiny silver bowls that were smooth as glass.
"What does this do, Hermione?" he finally asked, as she pulled out the vial with the fingernail inside of it. She emptied it into her palm, took out her tweezers and scraped at the tip of the broken, split thing. She smeared the scrapings on a thin piece of glass and placed it to the side.
"Its a potion of my own making--never had a chance to test it. It should tell us if this belongs to Ginny or not in a pretty obvious way."
He almost asked, 'what do you mean by obvious', but the words never got out. She dropped the fingernail into one of the shiny silver bowls and a great plume of silver gas escaped into the air, towering up to the ceiling.
Hermione took a step back, grabbing his hand. He took it, following her gaze as the mushroom cloud of silver gas opened up from the middle, forming what looked like a portal in the air. And in the portal--
Ron took a deep breath and stared at his sister's face, barely a glimmer, but very noticible in the gassy portal. He glanced at Hermione, but rather than looking triumphant, there were tears in her eyes. He touched her shoulder and she closed her eyes.
"Hermione?"
"The fingernail is hers, not unexpected," she said, reopening her eyes, the tears still there, but her voice had regained its impartiality, like what she was seeing meant nothing to her. He envied her that slightly. She let go of his hand and pulled her wand, waving it at the silver plume of gas, which immediately dissolved. The potion in the silver bowl had turned a muddy black and was stiff like tar. "Evanesco."
The tar-like liquid dissolved, leaving the bowl smooth and reflective once more. Ron took a deep breath and touched her shoulder.
"Now what?"
"Now we see if Ginny left us any clues..." Hermione said distractedly, picking up the slide of glass with the scraping on it. She looked at it hard and then dumped it into the second bowl of potion. A great plume of silver gas erupted toward the ceiling just as it had the first time. She stepped back, holding her breath hard, her hands clutched to her throat. Her mouth was white with terror and nerves.
Ron felt his stomach clench, felt his heart contract. This was it.
The portal showed in the roiling cloud of silver and slowly, an image came into focus, faint, but unmistakable.
Hermione gave a small scream, her hand over her mouth. Ron felt his anger rising.
Through his teeth, he ground out, "Draco Malfoy."
****
The pub was smoky and close, the air dank and faintly smelling of sewer. He hated this place, hated the clientele so much his wand arm twitched at the very thought of cursing the Muggle nearest him just for a spot of fun. If only.
He needed to keep a low profile though and as such, cursing a Muggle would blow his cover. He downed a shot of whisky--Muggle whisky and the cheap kind at that--and grimaced as it burnt a hole in his stomach. His face throbbed slightly and he lifted his hand to his cheek, sour expression crossing his pale, pointed face.
She was late. Very late and that didn't please him in the least.
His wand arm twitched again. He'd love to do something, ANYTHING to anyone...
There was a crack that broke the muffled silence of the pub and head's turned in all directions, looking for the source of the noise. The shadows were so deep in the pub that the bleary eyes of the daytime drunks couldn't make out anything across the room.
"You're late," he said sourly to the witch who had just Apparated with a crack next to him. She sat down with a swift movement, her face pale, curly hair unbound in her face. Her mouth was pinched and her eyes rolled wildly in their sockets.
"I..."
"You what?" he prompted, pushing a shot glass at her impatiently.
"I'm having second thoughts about this," she said, her hands shaking as she reached for the glass. Amber liquid sloshed over the sides as she grasped it, then put it back down with a thunk of glass on wood. He laughed and slung his arm over her shoulder, leaning in close so she could smell the cheap alcohol on his breath.
"I think it's too late to be having second thoughts, don't you?"
"I...they're going to suspect something!" she said, unnerved by his closeness.
"You have nothing to hide!"
"That doesn't matter, they're always looking for spies these days. They don't trust anyone!" she said with a hiss. He laughed again, a slow sycophantic laugh that made her shudder beneath him.
"They should, Marietta," he said as he closed his lips on neck and sucked hard on the skin. She gasped and shuddered hard against him. He pulled his mouth away and looked her straight in the eyes. "You will go back. Your presence in the Ministry is very important to the Dark Lord. You will be rewarded if continue to serve him as well as you have."
"Its getting too dangerous...I can't..."
He grabbed her around her neck in an instant, his slender fingers closing over her windpipe and squeezing. She choked and attempted to suck in air, but he tightened his hold, hauling her against him, his mouth on her ear.
"You can and you will or I'll kill you. The fools you work for will only turn on you and you'll spend the rest of your life in Azkaban. It may not be as bad as it once was with the Dementors there, but I assure you, it's nothing like the life you're used to living. The Dark Lord will win this war and you'll be rewarded or punished in the end. Which would you prefer?"
She choked, trying to pull his hands away from her throat. He let up slightly so she could answer and she pulled in a desperate breath. "Just tell me what to do!" Her tone was desperate.
He laughed hard and kissed her hard on the lips. "Just go back to work and pretend ignorance. Your orders will come soon enough and you'll prove your worth to the Dark Lord." He let go of her neck and got up from the dark table. The Muggles in the pub hadn't noticed anything they were so drunk.
"Where will you be?"
He laughed hard and smiled slyly. "Taking care of beautiful girl who's really made a mark on me." He felt her eyes raked over the claw marks across his pale face and watched as she shuddered. "Remember, say a word to anyone and I'll make sure you suffer a fate worse than death. Understand?"
"I...I understand," Marietta Edgecombe said in a shaky voice.
"Good, I'll be seeing you." And with that, Draco Malfoy Disapparated with a crack, leaving her behind in the dark, smoky pub.
(end chapter)
****