Chapter 8

I never looked up from my scrolls when the door opened and shut, "Just put it down," I said, without looking up.

"Where?" a voice asked, and I could practically hear the smirk. Finally, I looked up and pulled my glasses off my face.

I looked around, seeing that there really wasn't a lot of space left. Everything was covered in scrolls and papers and books: the desk, the chairs, even the floor. The only empty place was a small path from the door over to my desk.

"Just put it on this pile," I said, gesturing at the smallest pile I could find. My guest nodded and placed the armload down. This finally enabled me to see him clearly without papers obstructing my view.

He was tall, with red hair and freckles. "What are you researching?" he asked, suddenly. His accent seemed distinctively British which astonished me since we were in the middle of Romania and it had been years since I had talked to a fellow Brit.

I looked up, startled. Hadn't he heard of me, yet? Wasn't that the only reason why he was bringing me the papers? Most people who were new at the library came into this room once to see me. I was a curiosity.

My interest was magic. I had found documents to indicate that it existed. And not only that - there was a whole society connected to it. At least that's what I assumed from books that I had accidentally stumbled upon nearly a decade ago.

I had read through the books in record time and was now trying to find out more. I had found so many false leads but whenever I stumbled upon anything that seemed real, I was more and more amazed.

This society was great. It was better than fiction – with its dark lords and wars and struggles. And the creatures…oh, how they intrigued me. I would have given my left arm to get to see a dragon or a unicorn.

The sound of a throat being cleared called me back to the present and to the man standing in the doorway. So what was he doing here if he didn't know what I was researching? Wasn't he here to make fun of me as soon as he left the room?

"So?" he asked, looking at me. I could feel his eyes boring into my skull and I wondered what he saw when he looked at me.

I was too pale, I knew that, and I was a little overweight. I enjoyed eating too much and physical exercises too little. My hair was tied together in a messy bun and I wore no make-up. I must have looked like a lunatic bookworm whose sole reason to live was her research.

Well, I suppose, in a manner that was a correct observation. I had been divorced for three years now and I didn't see my son anymore – he lived with my ex-husband in London and wrote my research off like everyone else did.

"You do this often, don't you?" he asked, tilting his head.

I colored slightly and nodded.

"I used to know someone like you – someone whose mind was so amazingly complicated that she often forgot herself."

I smiled a little at him and looked down at my research which I couldn't read anymore since I was still holding my glasses in my hands.

"So, what are you researching?" he asked.

"Magic," I replied, waiting for a response. I had expected him to laugh, or at least for his lip to quirk a little and dismiss me as insane. When that didn't happen, I pulled up an eyebrow.

"What?" I asked, "No response?"

"No," the man shook his head, "It's just been a while since I met someone who studied magic."

"So you've met others? Others like me?" I asked, suddenly, inexplicably giddy.

"Not like you, no," the man shook his head, "So, tell me, what are you looking at now?"

"The reason why this other world died. Why it doesn't exist anymore. Something happened fifteen years ago and I have no idea what it is."

"Join the club," the man seemed to mutter but when I asked for clarification, he just waved it off.

"I was told that you have a message for me." The man suddenly said, "A message from the Weasel."

The Weasel was my best supplier of books and thus I never asked him for his true name. He always found books for me and whenever he was in the city I made it a point to meet him. Still, I had the suspicion that he kept the best books for himself.

"A message?" I asked, tilting my head and frowning a little. Over the last few years, the Weasel had tucked small envelopes into the books he left me. When I opened them, they always contained a letter which seemed to be gibberish accompanied by a note addressed to me, "Give this to the man who comes asking for it."

Only no one ever came asking for the letters. They just disappeared during the night. So it took me a while to remember the letter.

I looked around, trying to locate it on my desk, before picking it up and handing him the envelope.

"Thank you," the man nodded at me.

"I'm not sure how much help that letter is going to be to you." I offered as he opened it and looked inside.

"Don't worry about it," he smiled, before he tucked the envelope into his pocket and turned around.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," the man said, and left the room, closing the door behind himself. I looked at the closed door for a while before I put my glasses back on and continued my research.

I don't know how long I was engrossed in my papers when, suddenly, there was a knock on my door. Before I could reply, the door was opened with a bang, causing one of my taller piles of paper to topple over.

The man entered the room again and closed the door behind himself, "We have to leave," he said, suddenly, "Come on."

"What?" I asked, staring at him.

"I have been found," he said, as though that explained everything, "They are after me. And now they've finally caught up with me. And your research…you need to destroy it and leave."

I looked up at the man as he pulled out a lighter, "Don't you dare," I said, glaring at him, "That's my life's work. You have no idea what I've sacrificed for this."

"This is all replaceable," the man said, "Your life isn't. Trust me, we have to go."

"I don't know you," I replied, "I don't even know your name. And I'll have you know that these are unique."

He picked up a random book, turned it over and smirked at me, "My name is Charles Weasley," the man said, "And I have a copy of most of these books. I'll make sure you get them all if you left me destroy your things."

I looked at my office. At the piles of scrolls and books that I had carefully collected and at my notes. I pulled a USB stick out of my pocket and made a copy of my most important files before getting up from my chair.

I had no idea – I still have no idea – what made me do it. I still don't know why on earth I trusted this stranger and let him destroy my research. I just know that a few seconds later I found myself on the street.

The fire alarm went off and suddenly the whole library was evacuating. As I ran down the street, I turned around and looked up. I could see a dark cloud of smoke coming out of my office window and I knew, without a doubt, that everything I had worked for was gone. That is, everything except for my memory stick.

We rounded a corner and suddenly, the library had disappeared from my view. I came to a sudden halt and whirled around to face the man – Charles.

"Explain," I said, glaring at him.

"There is nothing to explain," Charles replied, "They found me and I couldn't risk letting them get you."

"Me?" I asked, pulling up an eyebrow, "What on earth could be important about me? It sure as hell isn't my research."

"No," Charles smiled and shook his head, "It isn't your research. It's the fact that you're openly researching magic. That's made some previously very powerful wizards and witches angry.

"That's nonsense," I argued, "Magic doesn't exist."

"Not anymore," Charles agreed, smirking.

Suddenly, we heard footsteps. Charles looked around a corner before turning back towards me and cursing quietly, "They found us," he added, softly, "I can't believe they found us."

I was about to ask who they are, when a woman rounded the corner, smiling in a seemingly friendly manner, "Hello, Weasley," she said, smiling a little, "It's been a while."

"Yes," the man agreed, "It has. Though I can't say that I missed you, Parkinson."

"Well," the woman shrugged, "I'm not asking you to. I have to say, I do feel a little let down. After all, I expected the end to be much more…I don't know, befitting of a Weasley."

"I'm not George," the man said, smiling a little, "I can assure you that I have no fireworks up my sleeve."

"No?" the woman asked and it seemed almost as though she was disappointed. Almost.

"No," Charles said, again, "But I do have an escape plan," he said, surprising me greatly before he began to run, pulling me after him.

Before a motorcycle, he came to a stop, jumped on and pulled me on behind himself before driving off.

I held on, scared halfway to death. I couldn't believe that I was actually escaping on a motorcycle. Suddenly the exciting part of the magical life which I had always envied seemed much less appealing and I simply yearned for my little, quiet study.

A few moments later, we had arrived. Charles got off and helped me down, too. "Where are we?" I asked once I regained my breath.

"At my house," the man said, "Come on, we don't have long."

I looked around as we entered a small cottage. It was cluttered but nowhere near as messy as my study had been. On the walls, there were drawings of dragons and pictures of a largely red-headed family.

Charles pushed open a door and I was suddenly in a library. As I looked at the books I realized that they truly were the books that I had had in my office, "Where did you get them?" I asked, turning to look at the man before me.

"I collected them," he replied, "You should take what you want to take before I destroy the rest. I can't leave them behind for them to find."

"Who are they?"

"A group of people who are looking for people like me," the man said, looking around before pulling out certain books which I assumed he was going to take along. I did the same and discovered that there were far more books than I had ever collected.

"Why are they following you?" I asked.

"Because of these books," the man replied, "Though, of course, this isn't the biggest collection. I know as a matter of fact that there is at least one bigger collection."

"I would die to get my hands on that," I said, looking up at him. I was sure that my eyes sparkled and my cheeks were reddened in excitement at the prospect of studying those books because Charles gave a deep, throaty laugh before turning back towards the books.

"Well, let's see," he said, smiling, "Who knows, you might get the chance."

The books were a wide variety: spell books, potion books, history books…I was in heaven.

I grabbed as many history books as possible, since that was my passion – and, maybe, they would tell me what happened to that society.

"They won't tell you," Charles said, suddenly, startling me.

"What?" I asked, turning to face him, a heavy book in my hands.

"They won't tell you anything about why everything collapsed," Charles replied, "They were written before that time."

I nodded and still added the book to the ever growing pile next to me.

"We should hurry," Charles said, suddenly, "Come on,"

I bent down to pick up the pile of books and tried to follow the man quickly, but I stumbled over something and soon I lay there, between books. Charles halted and turned around before sighing and walking back over to my side.

He helped me up before he quickly put the books into a pile. He picked up the larger pile before he walked off again.

I followed him, this time at a slower pace and more cautious. Soon, we found ourselves in a garage. Charles popped the trunk of the car and I could see that there were already suitcases packed. He added the pile of books and gestured for me to do the same before he slammed the trunk shut again.

"Let's get going," he said, and got into the driver's seat. I followed his lead and got into the car, too.

Charles pressed button and the door opened, slowly. He grinned, strapped his seatbelt and turned the ignition before driving off. Once we had put about half a mile of distance between the car and the house, Charles threw me a strange device, "Push the button," he ordered.

I did as I was told and a second later, the whole cottage went up in flames. I startled and gripped Charles' arm tightly, which caused him to swerve dangerously before he regained control of the car.

I watched the man as he drove into the darkness and once again I was astonished at what had happened in the last few hours. I had burned down my study, everything I had worked for, just because a stranger had told me to. And now he was sitting there, driving me to god only knows where.

"Where are we going?" I asked, after we had been driving for an hour, deciding that enough was enough.

"Bulgaria," the man replied, "I know someone there who might be able to help us."

"Help us?" I asked, looking at him, "Why do we need help?"

"Because Parkinson is still following us," the man replied, "At least she's trying to find us right now. I'm sorry I involved you."

"I still don't get why I was in danger," I said, suddenly, turning to face him, "I'm going back."

"Back to what?" he asked, "You burned everything down."

"Why did you take me along?"

"You were passing along letters for us," the man said, sighing, "I'm sorry that we involved you, but they knew how we communicated and that you were an important link. They would have killed you just to cut off our means of communication."

"Who are they?" I asked.

"After magic failed," Charles started, keeping his eyes on the road before him, "The magical world split into two groups. One group started to try to rebuild the world, to somehow make magic come back. They call themselves The Saviors. The other group just hid or tried to integrate itself into the muggle world."

"Muggle?" I asked, tilting my head as I looked at the man next to me, "You're one of them."

"Not anymore," the man smiled but still I could feel that something was different about him.

"So, what happened?"

"The group that's fighting for magic – well, they are mostly made up of people who fought in the last war and of their children. And slowly they've lost all scruples on their quest for magic."

"And what are you going to do?" I asked.

"I'm going to stop them." He said and if he hadn't been so serious, I would have laughed outright. It seemed ludicrous that he could possibly stop a whole group of people, consisting of old veterans.

"Not alone, of course," he said, as though he had read my thoughts.

"How do you know the Weasel?" I asked, knowing that I wouldn't get more information about the war from him.

"He's my brother," the man replied, and suddenly I could see the resemblance. They shared the same red hair, the same blue eyes and they had the same intense look about them.

We drove throughout the whole night when, suddenly, Charles pulled the car over and drove a bit further off the road until the car came to a sputtering halt. I looked out the window and saw that we were in one of the forests.

Charles pulled the key out of the ignition and placed it under his seat before gesturing for me to get out of the car. I did as I was told while he covered it with leaves and branches that were lying around, "Someone will come back for it," he said, as he threw me a sweater before walking off into the night.

With nothing else to do but follow him, I did so but not without complaining thoroughly. I couldn't believe that I was really in the woods at night and following a near-stranger to an unknown destination.

I don't know how long we trekked up that mountain or how far we went, I just know that my legs were aching and I was struggling for every breath by the time that Charles came to a stop, seemingly unperturbed by the physical struggles.

"What?" I asked, thoroughly annoyed.

"We're here," the man replied.

"Where?" I scoffed, seeing nothing but the mountain and trees covered in a cloak of darkness.

He smiled and walked forwards towards the mountain. He pulled away a curtain which covered the entrance to a cave and smiled, "Ladies first," he said.

"No way," I shook my head, "I am not going into a dark cave."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged and entered the cave before letting the curtain fall down behind him leaving me all alone in the dark forest.

For a moment I stood still when I heard a howl in the distance. I quickly approached the curtain, pulled it back and entered the cave with quick paces.

"Took you long enough," a familiar voice said. I whirled around and saw Charles standing there, leaning against the wall and smirking.

"You waited for me," I said, smiling.

"Of course," he said, walking off, "I couldn't leave you out there on your own, now could I?"

I sighed and followed him again. "So, what is this place?" I asked, as we hurried down further into the mountain.

"It's The Resistance." Charles said, without further explanation, though I could practically hear the capital letters.

"Resistance?" I asked, "Against what?"

"Against the Saviors," he said as though that was completely obvious.

"There is a resistance?" I asked, "I thought that those who didn't join the Saviors went into hiding."

"Look around yourself," Charles said, smirking, "We are in hiding."

"So you don't want magic back?" I asked, looking at Charles closely.

He was about to reply when, suddenly, a group of people approached.

"Weasley," one of them said, in a heavy Eastern European accent, "Victor wants to talk to you."

Charles nodded and sighed, "What does he want?"

"I don't know," the man said, shrugging, "He said that it's personal."

Charles nodded again and walked off, down a corridor on the left. He was halfway down, when he turned around, raised an eyebrow and asked, "Well, are you coming?"

I hurried down the corridor after him and met him just as he was about to enter one of the rooms. He didn't knock and simply pushed the door open, "Hey, Victor," he said, taking a seat, "What is it?"

I followed him into the room and looked around. The walls were bare except for a poster which hung behind the desk, portraying a group of people in uniforms holding brooms.

"It's…" the man occupying the desk started to say before he trailed off, looking decidedly lost.

"Victor, just tell me." Charles said, sighing, "I can take it, you know I can."

"It's Ginny," Victor replied, "She was killed a few days ago. I just heard from Hermione. And…Ron's been captured."

His accent was becoming more and more obvious as he struggled to find the correct words. He looked around, his eyes suddenly meeting mine and I knew that he wondered who I was.

Charles collapsed onto one of the chairs in the room and sighed, "I can't say I didn't expect to hear this years ago," he said, blinking rapidly. I had the feeling that he was fighting back the tears, "I never expected them to survive the first war."

"I'm so sorry," Victor said, lowering his eyes, "If you want to go back to England…"

"And do what?" Charles asked, frowning, "There's nothing I can do."

I watched, in silence, wondering who Ginny and Ron were but didn't dare to ask.

I stood there, waiting for the silence to be broken when, suddenly, Charles straightened his back, sat upright and pulled the letter I had handed him out of his pocket. Victor took the letter and seemed to be able to read it easily even though I was sure that it only contained gibberish.

Slowly, the man lowered the letter, "Is Bill all right?" was the first thing that Charles asked.

I assumed that Bill was the Weasel's real name. "He's fine – at least, at the moment," Victor said, looking at Charles, "How were things with Parkinson?"

"We had a small run-in." Charles shrugged, "Nothing unusual. I'm afraid she might have followed me a little further than I'd have liked her to, but I think I lost her at the border."

"I'll send a team to make sure," Victor said, "How soon are you ready to set out again?"

"Immediately," Charles replied, "Especially if it's to help Bill."

"Bill knows what they're planning. He knows how they're gaining magic. And he says it's worse than we imagined. He couldn't put it into the letter in case it got intercepted."

Charles nodded, "Where do I meet him?"

"He's in Bulgaria," Victor replied, "In Serres, to be exact."

"That's not far from the border," Charles said, nodding, "I can be there by noon tomorrow."

Victor nodded, "I've had someone get your things to your quarters. So, they finally found your house, haven't they?"

"I thought the cottage was safe – It was my home since before the last war."

Victor smiled sadly, "We've all lost our homes."

Charles nodded before he remembered me, "That's Catherine Johnson, by the way,"

"Nice to meet you," the man said, nodding at me, "I'm Victor Krum. I'd get up, but…" he trailed off and gestured to where his legs should be.

I hadn't noticed before that instead of legs, the man had stumps. "The war," the man offered, smiling a little as he knew what I was trying to ask without appearing tactless.

"So you fought in the last war?" I asked, excited to finally meet someone who could tell me about the war.

"I did. But if you want more information, you should talk to Charlie here," the man smiled, "He was far more involved than I was. And his family…" he trailed off at a stern look from Charles.

"You didn't tell me you fought in the war," I said, glaring at the man.

"When should I have told you?" the man asked, smirking as he turned around to face me, "After putting your office on fire or after blowing up my house?"

"How about during our ride?" I asked, pulling up an eyebrow.

Charles just shrugged and got up, "I'll be ready to leave within the hour."

"Okay," he nodded, "Ksenia asked me to tell you that she is on a mission. And that she'll talk to you as soon as you regain your common sense…which, apparently, isn't going to be soon." He added at the glance he caught from Charles.

"I told her…" Charles started, before he shook his head, "It doesn't matter. Thank you, anyways," he finished, before leaving the office. We walked down the corridor for at least two miles before Charles pushed open a door and entered a small room which was filled with the suitcases that he had put into the trunk of his car just hours ago.

The man sighed and walked over to the closet – the only furniture apart from the bed in the otherwise sparely decorated room, as I noticed – and opened it. He pulled out a fresh pair of pants and a new shirt before he began to change.

For lack of anything else to do, I looked around the room. There was nothing on the walls, no personal items cluttered the room – apart from the things that were in the suitcases.

"I don't spend a lot of time here," Charles said and again I had the distinct impression as though he was reading my mind.

"How do you do that?" I asked, turning to face him.

"Do what?" Charles asked, pulling a sweater over his head.

"How do you know what I am thinking?"

"I don't," the man replied, "You're just easy to read."

"I am not," I replied before looking up at the man before me, "So, when are we leaving?"

"We are not leaving. I am leaving."

"And what am I supposed to do? Stay here and twiddle my thumbs?"

"Of course not," the man replied, "You have all these books," he gestured around the room and for a moment it really was rather tempting to just stay here.

"I don't know anyone here," I argued, "I have no idea who these people are and I feel out of place – plus, I want to know what's going on just as much as you do. I'm coming with you and that's final."

Charles looked at me, sizing me up. He seemed to deliberate whether I was bearable enough not to warrant a long discussion. "Fine," he said, apparently reaching a conclusion, "You can come along. But if I tell you to run, you run."

I nodded, knowing that that was going to be as much as I was going to get. An hour later, we had left the system of caves and had walked down the mountain again. Charles uncovered the car, took the key from under the seat and got into the car. I followed his lead whilst Charles started the engine and drove off into the night.

For a long while, we said nothing before I finally broke the silence, "How are we going to find Bill?" I asked, "I mean, who knows how many people live in Serres?"

"We're not going to Serres," Charles replied.

"We're not?" I asked, startled.

"No. We're going to Skopje," he answered, "Bill would never put his location into a letter.

"You do realize that Skopje is an ever bigger city, right?" I asked, pulling up an eyebrow.

"Yes, Catherine," Charles said, sighing, "I know where to find him."

I realized when he didn't tell me where to find Bill that he didn't trust me – at least not completely. And I also realized that he'd taken a risk – a rather large one, at that, by taking me into the Resistance.

Was that why we had taken the long way into and out of the caves? I had had the suspicion that there was a shorter, easier way. After all, the luggage had been in the room beforehand and Victor had known about our presence – and the contents of the luggage – as soon as we entered the caves.

"It's nothing personal," Charles offered, and I knew that was as close as I was going to get to an apology. I shrugged, understanding his point of view.

"We're never going to make it before noon," I said, shifting in my seat to find a comfortable position.

"It's times like these I miss magic most," Charles sighed, "Or, at least my dad's car."

I didn't dare ask what Charles' father had done to their car and instead drifted into a vivid dream, featuring cars, mountains and, for some inexplicable reason, my ex-husband.

The next thing I remember is being shaken awake by Charles, "We've arrived," he said, grinning.

"How long have I been asleep?" I asked, startled.

"Nearly eight hours," the man said, grinning even wider, "And we did make it by noon – if only just."

He parked the car and together we got out of the car, "Please tell me we don't have to go up that mountain."

"If it makes you feel better," Charles shrugged, "We don't have to go up that mountain," he said, before starting the hike.

"Liar," I shouted after him before turning to follow him again. As I walked up the mountain I pondered – for the umpteenth time – what I had gotten myself into. I was in way over my head - that much I knew.

The walk was a relatively short one – at least compared to the hike we had taken the in Bulgaria – and we reached the Millenium Cross in a relatively short while.

Charles entered the souvenir shop which was situated right next to the cross. I followed him in, hurrying to catch up.

I came in just in time to see him hugging the Weasel who was wearing a uniform and apparently worked there.

"I'm taking five," the Weasel hollered back towards his boss before guiding Charles out of the shop and towards a lonely park bench.

"Bill, you know Catherine, don't you? Catherine, my brother, Bill the Weasel." Charles chortles.

"Hey, no making fun of my name," Bill said, but his grin belied his words, "You try thinking of something within a second."

"Okay, okay," Charles grinned before sitting down, "So, what have you discovered?"

"I know how they do it," Bill said, lowering his voice before throwing me a nervous glance.

"Just tell us already," Charles said, "If she's one of them, she already knows this."

"No, she wouldn't," Bill shook his head, "Not many people know this – it's why it took us so long to discover. I think apart from Malfoy there are only two more people who know."

"Bill, tell me," Charles said, looking up at his brother.

"I managed to get into one of their research facilities. They have managed to bottle magic."

"They have what?" Charles asked, staring at his brother, "How?"

I looked at Bill and could tell immediately, just by looking at his face, that it wasn't good.

"Tell me, Bill," Charles repeated again and Bill nodded.

"All right," the man said, nodding again.