IV. The Burrow

I lie in my old bed staring at the ceiling. I can hear Mum and Dad's murmurs drifting up from downstairs, and for a few minutes I feel like a child again. I am hoping to drift to sleep on the warm, low sounds of their voices.

I don't think that's going to happen.

My mind is spinning in overdrive, and I roll over and punch the pillow, trying to get comfortable. I remember dinner that evening. It was supposed to be a happy time, and it was. Mum couldn't be more pleased that I'm home. She hates it when her kids aren't under her direct supervision, and for the moment I'm living here, so she was in Mum heaven. Dad, in his quiet way, was happy, too. All the brothers were there, along with wives, girlfriends, and a handful of nieces and nephews. It was a big, noisy, happy Weasley family evening.

Except for Ron, Hermione, and Harry. They were quiet, subdued, thoughtful. I knew they were processing the events of this afternoon, coming to terms with their grief over having to stake Kingsley, and wondering just who the hell I have become. I could see it in their surreptitious glances, in the way they looked away when I looked over there.

Sylvia says not to worry about what people think. We live by violence so that other people don't have to. If we didn't do what we do, they wouldn't sleep safely in their beds at night. She's right, and I repeat her words of wisdom over and over to myself, trying to make myself feel the truth of them. I am not a violent person, I tell myself. Guns, knives, wands…they're all just the tools of the trade.

I raise my chin in a gesture that's supposed to be defiant, but deep down I know it's more defensive than defiant. It's a good thing I can wield the tools of the trade, because Britain's on the edge of serious trouble. It's bad enough that the vampires have taken sides, but knowing that Zana's here and intending to lead them, that's worse. She's got aspirations to rival Voldemort's, and I'm not sure what she's got up her sleeve.

I snuck out after dinner to write a note to Sylvia.

Dear Chief,

Zana's here. I wasn't home an hour before I had a run-in with Jusuf, and Kingsley's dead. How's your week going?

-G.M.

If she's got news, she'll let me know, but I know she can't come to help me. I'm on my own here. No, wait, that's wrong. I'm not on my own, but I am in charge. I am responsible.

I curl up in my bed and pull the covers over my head, wishing for the days when it was somebody else's responsibility to make the monsters go away.

Harry caught me as I was rolling up the note to Sylvia. He was quiet, but not sneaky, and I sensed that he didn't know how to say what he wanted to say. It's funny how well I still know him. It was dim and warm in the kitchen; the family was all in the parlor, and I was content to wait.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. He rocked back on his heels. He ran a hand through his hair. Finally he took a deep breath and said, "Is it always like that?"

"Which part?" I asked.

Harry gave me an incredulous look. "Danger, guns, knives, blood, attacks from the ceiling," he prompted.

"Oh," I said, and I laughed again because the irony was really just too much. "Of course not."

He gave a breath of relief and smiled at me. I smiled back; I couldn't help it. I hated to be condescending, but I was truly amused.

"Harry," I said, walking up to him and squeezing his arm, "I would have sent a first year trainee to do today's job, if I had any. Two corpses and a human servant are nothing. Nothing."

My amusement was fading and being replaced by an urgency to make him understand just what's in store for us. Just how serious this threat is.

Oh, damn. Speaking of threats, I turned down a midnight appointment with Zana, but that's no guarantee she won't try to keep it anyway. With a groan I toss aside the warm, heavy covers and get out of bed. It's after eleven, and the voices are still coming from the kitchen, but I don't think Zana will bother anyone but me. If she even shows up.

Right, I snort to myself and I pull off my nightgown. Like Zana's ever passed up an opportunity to scare the piss out of me. She'll be here. I quickly step into my jeans and pull on a sleeveless tank top with a man's button-down shirt over it. One wrist blade, the little Firestar, and my wand in the holster. I don't bother with shoes. I also grab the pyx and the holy water; if I'm going to be up, I might as well make things as safe as I can.

I make my way down the stairs, skipping the step that creaks. I can hear the voices more clearly now, and it isn't actually Mum and Dad. It's Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I know it's not polite, but I stop to listen. Information is as much a weapon in this job as a gun or a knife. It's lame, but that's how I justify it to myself.

"She says that it's usually a lot worse than today," Harry says, and I can tell he's pacing.

"I expect it is," Hermione says with that thoughtful note in her voice. "Vampires are the Darkest Creatures we have under legislation."

"How can it get worse than today?" Ron asks angrily. I am warmed by it; the anger in his voice comes from his worry for me. "We cut off Kingsley's head, for Merlin's sake."

"And that Jusuf bloke touched her!" Harry growls.

"But did you see how fast she moved?" Hermione reminds him. "I've never seen anyone move like that, Harry."

That's enough for me. It won't help them to sit around and speculate about me; I'm the only one with any answers. I stand in the doorway and wait for them to see me. It doesn't take long. They have finely honed reflexes, and a movement in the doorway, namely mine, has them all on their feet, wands out.

"Speaking of moving fast," I say, relaxing against the doorjamb. They all grin wryly and slide their wands back.

I wander into the kitchen and take a seat at the table. I have to pull the chair around so I can see both doorways, but I've already been snuck up on once today. And it was daylight then. It would be worse now.

They all look at me. Harry leans against the sink. Behind him the scrubbing brush gently washes a pot and the sound of lightly trickling water soothes me. Harry crosses his arms over his chest, and the posture accentuates both his muscles and his worry.

"You lot were great today," I tell them, and I mean it. I asked Harry for backup that was fast and willing to do what needed to be done, and I got it.

"We didn't do anything," Ron says, shaking his head in disgust. "We didn't even check the room properly. How many times did Mad-Eye drill it into us?"

Harry and Hermione laugh and say in unison, "Three hundred and sixty degree visibility, lads! Constant vigilance!"

I laugh. I never took Mad-Eye's class; I had been pulled for training with Sylvia before second year, but I know him well enough to know how accurate their impression is.

"Seriously, Ginny," Hermione says, her laughter fading. "We let you down. It won't happen again."

I shake my head. "We're all alive," I say. "And unhurt. That makes today a rousing success."

Harry is looking at me again. "Who's this Zana, Ginny? What does she want with you?"

I blow out a breath, which makes my fringe ruffle. I look at them. They are competent, strong people, and some of the finest Aurors I know. But they really know nothing about the world I've been living in for four years, and I'm not sure I can explain it. I've got to try, though. Anything I can tell them is more than they knew before.

"Zana is an Albanian vampire," I begin. "She's the master vampire of the region, which means she's strong enough to command obedience from the other vampires. Sylvia and I went to execute her about a year ago, but we didn't pull it off."

Harry's eyes are fixed on me. He hasn't looked away. It makes me want to squirm, and that makes me mad. I stare back at him and raise my chin defiantly.

"Why did you need to execute her if vampirism is legal in Albania?" he asks.

"She brought some people over without their consent," I say, hedging. "That's illegal everywhere."

"Brought them over?" Ron asks. "You mean she made them vampires?"

I nod.

"Is that why she's after you?" Hermione asks. "Because you tried to kill her?"

"No," I say sighing deeply. "It's much more petty than that. She's after me because I killed her lover. He was one of those brought over without his consent."

Ron frowns. "If he was brought over without his consent, why would he become her lover?"

They really have no clue.

"Zana is powerful enough to force someone to do what she wants," I say, my eyes flicking briefly to the dark windows. "Anyway, she may have had his consent. He might have wanted to be her lover and to be a vampire."

They all look at me, and I am aware that I seem to have contradicted myself. "He wasn't of legal age to give consent," I say grimly. "His parents didn't give their consent for him to cross over, and they're the ones who signed his staking order."

Hermione looks slightly sick. "How old was he?"

"Fourteen," I say.

Harry swears, and Ron gives a low whistle.

"There's more, though," Harry says starkly, looking in my eyes. Is he reading me, or is he just that smart? "Why didn't you get her, Ginny?"

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Here's hoping that's true, and they don't freak out. I stand and slip off the overshirt, which leaves me in jeans and the cropped white tank top. I pull my hair to one side, exposing the remains of scar tissue low on my neck. Hermione gasps, and Ron's jaw snaps shut. Harry's green eyes flash, but he doesn't say anything.

I stretch out my left arm, where there's a thick lumpy mass of scar tissue around the vein, just above the hilt of the knife. Then I slowly raise my tank top, to just below my breast, to show the deep pink welts of what used to be claw marks across my ribs. The scars don't even begin to express the reality of what happened; I was torn open on that side. Magical healing is a wonderful thing.

"She bit you." Harry's voice is wrenched from him, and I am startled by the pain and fury in it. He's still looking at my neck, the least of the scars.

"Yeah."

"Why aren't you a vampire?"

"Sylvia found me and got me out of there and cleansed the bite."

I do not mention that cleansing a vampire bite is far worse pain than actually receiving it. It was the worst thing that happened to me that night. Possibly the worst thing that's happened to me ever.

"This," I point to the claw marks across my ribs, "is from a werewolf under Zana's power. It didn't have a chance to bite me, though, so I don't go furry once a month."

They look pale and shocked. I think they are finally beginning to understand. But as I glance up and meet Harry's glance, I wince. He's not done with me. I can tell by the way those green eyes lock on mine. Damn him, he's going to make me tell the whole thing.

"How could she get that close, Ginny?" he asks, his voice barely above a grim whisper. "You move too fast for that."

"Well," I prevaricate, looking down at my hands, "I thought she had Sylvia in this castle. I was…careless…going in. I thought she was using Sylvia as bait for getting me, but I was actually the bait for them to get Sylvia."

I glance up, wondering how he is receiving this.

"But once you were in?" Harry asks.

I meet his eyes. I really don't want to tell him the rest. His gaze doesn't waver, but I have to look away again.

"She bespelled me," I say softly, turning my head to look down at the scars on my left arm. "I didn't fight her at all. I could have shot her the second I walked in the door, but I wasted time trying to get her to tell me where Sylvia was. She caught my mind."

There is silence, and I can feel Harry's will pressing on mine. I've made another mistake. Earlier I said he was nearly as strong as me. Now I think he might be stronger. I raise my chin. Forget that. Harry is not stronger than me.

"She…" I clear my throat. I don't want to look at them. "She made me do things. Once she got my mind, I couldn't fight her."

"That's not your fault, Ginny!" Hermione exclaims loyally. "She had you entranced. You weren't responsible."

I nod, but I still can't look at them. "You have to know how it can be," I say hoarsely. "I didn't want to fight her. I wanted to do all the things she told me to do. I wanted to give her my blood, and I did, and it felt really good."

I can't even begin to explain the dark intense pleasure that throbs through your body when a vampire is sucking on you. Everything good in you drains out, and you are glad to see it go. I hope they never experience it.

"She'd have had me if Sylvia hadn't saved me," I say. "She says now that she let me go, but she was only saving her own skin. Sylvia was fighting too many others at the time; she couldn't go after her. I was useless." My voice is thick with disgust. "I say that I let her go because I didn't shoot her as soon as I walked in, so we're even."

Harry turns and looks out the window into the garden. I tense and stand up, resting a hand on my Firestar.

"Do you see something?" I snap.

He turns back, surprised. "What? Oh, sorry. No, I don't see anything."

I let out a breath, but I don't sit down again. Harry looks me up and down, and I can feel myself flushing. Stupid, because I know he's looking at the weapons, not at my glorious person. I didn't put the overshirt back on, so I'm standing there in a half-shirt with a gun in my trousers and a knife on my arm. Just your typical family get-together, sitting 'round drinking tea armed to the teeth.

Harry's still watching me. I wish he'd stop it. "Do you expect her to try to force that midnight meeting?" he asks.

I shrug. "It's possible, but there's not much she can do," I say, trying to sound unconcerned. Truth is, I'm scared stupid of Zana. I really wish she'd stayed in Albania.

"Why not?" Hermione asks.

"She can't come in unless she's invited," I say. "And I certainly don't plan to go out there looking for her. Do you?"

They all laugh and the mood is lightened a bit. Hermione stretches and says, "Well, it's almost midnight, so I think I'll turn in now."

"Wait," I say. I pull the pyx out of my pocket and open it carefully. "Here." I hand her a host. "Put one in front of the window."

Hermione frowns. "But I thought you said—"

"I know," I say, "but humor me, okay?"

She nods and takes the host. Ron stands, as well, and holds out his hand. I place a host gently in his hand, then move in to give him a hug. He's big and very strong, and he makes me feel safe. It's a nice feeling, even if it's only an illusion.

"Night, Ginny," he says, kissing the top of my head. He follows Hermione out, and I wonder if they'll end up in the same room tonight.

None of my business.

I'm left in the kitchen with Harry, and I'm suddenly aware that I'm still only half dressed. I pick up the big shirt from where it's hanging on the back of the chair and slip it on. Harry's gazing out the window again, frowning. His hand reaches for his wand, and his shoulders get that battle-ready tension I recognize all too well.

"What's up?" I say, feeling my own shoulders go tight as I walk up to him. I quietly draw the Firestar. I'm not scared, I tell myself. Just alert. Right. "Is someone out there?"

"I don't know," Harry says. "I think so."

Icy fear floods my stomach, but I ignore it. I nudge him aside. It's like nudging a brick wall; he's that muscular and solid. "Move," I say, and he takes a small step to the left. I pull my wand with my left hand and wave it, extinguishing the candles so they don't reflect in the glass. Now Harry and I are standing in the dark, our bodies touching down one entire side.

I peer out the window. There's no movement, but that's to be expected. Vampires are dead, so they don't shift their weight or take deep breaths or scratch their noses like humans do when they're waiting. I close my eyes and try to reach out with my magic. Sylvia's better at this than I am, because her magic connects with the dead, and I don't have any particular skills in necromancy. But there's a way…I concentrate and let my magic roll off me in tendrils. It hits Harry's magic immediately; Merlin, he's powerful. My skin hums with the contact. But I'm going past him…out the window, through the garden, into the woods.

I do not hit life, but I do hit resistance. My magic is light, warm, spiritual, and it hits its mirror image…dead, cold, supernatural evil, and lots of it. I clench my jaw to suppress the fine trembles that begin to shudder through me. She's out there. She just wants me to know.

Harry glances down at me. "How do you know?" he asks. "How did you do that?"

I open my eyes, startled. Had I said that out loud? "My magic found her," I say.

He frowns at me in the darkness. "Show me."

I take a deep breath and clamp down on my fear. There's just no room for it right now. Later, I tell myself. I'll deal with it later. I turn my attention to Harry, which is easy to do, seeing as he's barely an inch away.

"All right," I say quietly. It seems right to be quiet, in the darkness of the kitchen, with death waiting outside the window. "Close your eyes."

He does, those dark lashes fluttering down behind his glasses. His face is tense, and I can tell he doesn't like it.

"Think about your magic," I instruct him.

"What?" he squints at me through slitted eyes. I glare at him until he closes them again.

"Think about your magic," I repeat. "When you do a difficult spell, where does it come from? Where are you concentrating?"

He thinks. I study his face while his eyes are closed. He really is handsome. For a moment I actually forget about Zana, and I raise a hand to stroke the stubble shadowing his cheeks.

"Here, I think," he says, and I drop my hand quickly. I ignore the heat rushing to my face. Harry presses a fist against his belly.

"Er…okay," I say. "Concentrate on that place, feel your magic, gather it in, hold it there."

His face is screwed up in concentration. I laugh softly. "Don't think so hard, just feel it."

"I think I have it," he says.

"All right, now picture it flowing out of you, away from you, feeling for more magic."

A flash of light emanates from Harry and crashes into me. I stumble back, my skin buzzing almost painfully. His magic shoots past me through the window, through the garden and into the woods like horizontal lightning. By its glare, I can see Zana's beautiful figure standing between the trees. She's surprised, and our eyes meet across the distance. This is the first time I've actually seen her since that night, and fear crawls up my spine at the sight of her. I swallow hard, trying to get control of it.

"What did I do?" Harry asks, looking worried.

"What did you feel?" I ask, shaking my head, shaking off my fear and the unwanted connection with Zana. She's beautiful, but a connection with her feels ugly to me.

"I tried to guide my magic, but it hit yours and got out of my control," he says uncertainly.

"What did you feel when it got out there?"

"I…I don't know," he says, frowning in concentration. "Something. Not someone, though."

I laugh darkly. "No, it wouldn't be."

"It was as if my magic got sucked into a very deep grave," he says slowly.

I nod. "Yeah," I say quietly. "That's exactly it. That very deep grave was Zana."

"Merlin, Ginny," he says, and his voice is heavy and weary. He reaches under his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "What are we going to do?"

I shrug. There really are not very many possible answers to that question. "Train the Aurors. Form a special cohort. Kill Zana."

He stares at me for a beat. "Just like that?"

I scowl at him. "You have a better plan, Potter?"

"No," he shrugs, looking away. "I just wondered why it's so easy for you, Ginny. Why killing comes so naturally. You don't even give it a second thought."

Damn him. To hell with him if he thinks I'm going to explain myself. I square my shoulders and raise my chin. My superiority complex is big enough to hide behind for days, thanks very much.

"They're already dead, Potter," I say coolly, going for that touch of patronizing disdain that Sylvia always uses to put people in their place. "They would take over the world if people like me didn't stop them. And they won't give a Knut for your high morals when they sink their fangs into your jugular. In fact, I expect they'll find them right tasty."

Harry draws in a breath, and I smirk. That'll give him something to think about. I know he doesn't like violence; he's like Remus that way. I don't like violence, either. I'm just really good at it. But I'm not about to try to make him understand that. Let him judge me, the arrogant berk. He still needs me to save the country.

Finally he turns away and runs a hand through his messy black hair. "Sorry," he mumbles, reaching out awkwardly and taking my hand. I'm still angry with him, but I don't pull away, and he tugs me a few inches toward him. "I just…I just have a feeling this is going to get bad before it gets better."

Now that I'll take seriously.

I look up at Harry. The moonlight coming through the window plays blue shadows on his face. His jaw is set, and I can see the light pressure of denied anxiety pressing around his eyes.

"She's gone," he says.

"Yeah," I say, squeezing his hand. "She's gone. For now."

11