Disclaimer-stands as before

A/N-I've been procrastinating so here's a longer chapter =)

To say that the Minister of Magic was distressed would be the understatement of the year. He was positively livid.

"Have they deployed already?" He asked his Chief-of-Staff.

"Yes, sir. They've already gone to raid the place, citing Emergency Procedure Act. 14 for imminent danger, which is of course from, you know, before," the Chief-of-Staff paused, seeing the look on the Minister's face and chose his next words carefully. "They informed this office in advance but by the time we began to even process the request they were already at the place."

The Minister raised a hand to stop his Chief-of-Staff's prattle. He didn't have time to yell at his staff for incompetence. He could only concentrate on one thing.

"I don't care what you have to do, just get those morons out of there before they get us all killed."

His Chief-of-Staff nodded and scurried out of the office to bark orders at lower staff. The Minister turned his back on all that and turned toward the window. The first thought on his mind was his wife and children, at home, safe and happy, for the moment. He felt a bone-deep chill run down from his chest to stomach. He thought of ways to spin this debacle; surely this couldn't be that big of a deal, only a small mishap by two idiots, right? He has never received any specific instructions to stay away from this place that was about to be raided, so that was a positive. Right?

He shook his head. He had only one thing to do to save his skin before this got out of control even more. He walked over to the decorative display case, meant to entertain guests with various muggle and magical objects. He quickly closed the door and took out an antique telephone, at least that's what it looked like to the untrained eye. Then he dialed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Five hours ago

First she was running. Then she was struggling, gasping and choking against writhing, slimy tentacles that had her in a vice-like grip. Around her all she saw was darkness. She tried to scream but the iron grip covered her mouth. She looked around for the light. She had come here with it, surely it was nearby, ready to rescue her? Then she saw it, a small ball of white light, her friend, her companion…retreating. It was retreating into the darkness, growing smaller and smaller by the second, leaving her all by herself at the mercy of this…this thing. She was about to pass out when the tentacles loosened their grip. Right then Ginny realized they were not tentacles at all, but hands. Big and rough, a man's hands. Then the hands began to caress her, gently gliding over her bruised wrists, neck and face, soothing her. Ginny frantically glanced back at her retreating light, which was nowhere to be seen now. She was engulfed in darkness, alone, except for this gentle stranger. Soon her bruises began to stop hurting and the caresses were now making her skin all warm and fuzzy, like her blood had turned to hot liquid to chase away the biting cold. She gasped. She moaned, oh Draco….

SCREEEEEEEEEEECH

Ginny woke with a start. She actually bolted upright in her bed, and loudly coughed as if to throw something unpleasant out of her system. She's had yet another weird dream, in a looong string of weird dreams, interrupted by, once again, the charmed muggle alarm clock. These days the muggle contraption came in handy more than Ginny wanted to admit. The closer the weekend approached, the harder it was to sleep, and wake up.

With a flick of her wand she shut off the alarm and got out of bed to stretch. She had an excruciatingly long day ahead of her. She, Ashan and their "assistant" Jason were still stumped with the Broomstock case, which still had no leads nor any satisfying conclusion in sight. Except for Alfreda's sneaked mind-boggling note and a mention of "red magic." If Ginny were at Hogwarts, she would be at the library right now, nose deep in dusty old tomes with fellow, preferably DADA members. Oh, who was she kidding, even then, the first thing she would do would be to run to Hermione with a bunch of questions, and it would be Hermione with her nose in a dusty old tome at the library, all by herself, not getting up until she had the whole thing figured out.

And it was Hermione she ran to even now, even in these times. They haven't seen each other face-to-face in years and years, even since before the floo network was dismantled during the fighting. The network was restored now, but it was closely monitored and Ginny didn't have a fireplace at her apartment anyway. Ginny had been out of touch with her family and friends for over three years, since she left home, until she got back in touch with them to let them know she was an auror now. ("Hey I'm an auror now. Miss you loads.") Owls, too, were closely monitored. The Weasleys had been certain that all their mail were personally read by high ranking Death Eaters, at least in the early days, maybe not now, when their lives in relative obscurity was spared all scrutiny.

When Ginny wanted to ask Hermione about "red magic," she wasn't sure if she could owl her, floo her from the office or even call her. Everything at the Ministry was closely monitored and recorded. She wanted to owl her, but her old instincts kicked in about including sensitive information in letters. It was Ken who came up with a solution actually. Ken, who she used to talk to every day, but now only occasionally, especially when she needed something, which she felt terribly guilty about. Ken, who was an expert in muggle artifacts, as much as Hermione was, came up with the idea of text messaging. He said if they used his cell phone, which he said had a SIM card he recycled every week, so even if someone managed to tap it they'll never get any permanent information, their conversations will be untraceable. Ken got a hold of a friend, who was all the way down in Surrey, to personally get a hold of Hermione, and tell her about the situation. Ginny was flabbergasted at all the loops they had to skip through, but in an hour she was supposed to be in her office with a cell phone in her hand expecting Hermione's text messages.

As she fried some eggs for her breakfast, she felt a bit melancholy. She was hoping to hear Hermione's voice, see her face, listen to that slight arrogance in her voice she got whenever she was distributing her hard-earned knowledge to people who were too lazy to read. It would be an affirmation that a part of her old life was still there, alive and untouched.

By the time she got to the Auror's office, Ashan was already there, lemon tea in hand reading the Today's Notices page of The Daily Prophet, which had a small snippet for the latest Broomstock auction.

"Rare Nineteenth Century artifacts auction held today," it read.

Britain's most reputed Broomstock Auctioneer's and Traders will hold an exclusive auction for rare nineteenth century charmed and transfigured magical artifacts today at the Broomstock ballroom. All items are at least a century and a half old, and the lowest bid will start at one thousand, two hundred and seventy three galleons.

This is the second part of Broomstock's magical artifact auctions this season, immediately following the widely successful Modern Magical Artifacts auction held last week.

All transactions for Broomstock are held in good faith. No new item introductions on the day of the auction. All are welcome. Attend to bid only. No spectators allowed. No loitering.

Auctions will begin at noon. Attendees expected at the ballroom thirty minutes before.

Broomstock was obviously doing just fine.

When Ashan saw her enter, his face lit up. First thing he said was "How long?"

"In ten minutes or so," Ginny said. "Where's Jason?"

"Oh, we got a call about a couple of boggarts terrorizing children, I sent him in for that. He won't be back till the evening, the call came from Sussex."

"Should we, close the door or something?"

Ashan smiled. "No, let's go to the lunch room."

Ever since Alfreda's clandestine note, they have been worried. It garnered that whatever they were onto was sensitive information, even to Ministry officials. They were constantly watching over their shoulders, securing all files related to the case, keeping newbie Jason away for his own safety, because if something went wrong, it would be him they'll come after first. It reminded Ginny of what the Ministry was like during the War, or at least what her father said the Ministry was like—full of spies for both sides, not knowing if you could trust your own right arm, confusing and terrifying orders from higher ups to follow, some officials abruptly quitting in terror, some aurors on the run for their lives.

Ginny had her own lemon tea by the time Ken's phone gave a gentle beep.

Hello?

Ginny smiled despite herself. Hermione, ever the polite.

Hello Hermione. Ginny here. There's another auror with me, Ashan.

Oh, hi. Your friend here tells me we only have fifteen minutes. I'll be brief.

By all means. Ashan says hiya back.

Well, I tried to read up on this 'red magic' you mentioned, not an easy thing to do given that, most libraries around here have stopped circulating important magical history and dark arts books.

Ginny imagined verbose Hermione tapping away at the miniature keypad to get all her thoughts out in a rush.

But I found some side notes in my old NEWT Advanced Magical History textbook about an ancient group of wizards who called themselves the Red Circle. They were active in Medieval Europe, around the time when plague and famine were causing widespread devastation. They believed that Merlin, you know the Merlin, had locked a part of his power away in one of his possessions so that in the future a worthy successor might unlock that power and be like him, that is to say, infinitely more powerful than the average wizard. Though Merlin was a real wizard, there's a lot of myth surrounding his life. This is just one of them. Merlin is considered the most powerful wizard ever, so for any witch or wizard to possess even a part of that power would make them unthinkably more adept at channeling magic. Anyway, the Red Circle went on this quest to acquire any and all family heirlooms that had a mystical history. This is of course, very problematic because most people simply make up histories for family heirlooms, only a few had any significant power, though not any extraordinary power to make great wizards. So these wizards went around paying exorbitant sums for little trinkets from wizarding families, and this quite famously made them the butt of many jokes.

Ginny typed, "Really, that's it?"

Well, not quite. Sure the Red Circle wizards were laughed at for paying a lot of money for basically trash, but some historians believe their work went beyond simply collecting. They actually believed that with Merlin's power, they would be able to find a cure for the plague and conjure food ending all famines. You have to understand, this was a very paranoid time. Most witches and wizards were taking extraordinary measures to avoid a certain death. The Red Circle seems quite tame compared to those who made human blood potions hoping it will cure the disease or went on killing sprees, thinking human sacrifice was the solution. Medieval historian Lord Kettlebank theorized that the Red Circle was experimenting with extracting mystical forces. Transferring your magical power to magical objects is not just a belief, it's an actual form of magic. For example, the Founders of Hogwarts transferred some of their power to the Sorting Hat to make it function the way they intended for a long time to come. This practice has long since been lost to many except a select few. Kettlebank thought that the Red Circle was forming a spell to reverse this. Instead of transferring one's magic to an object, they wanted to extract magic from objects other wizards have used. They thought this would make them able to absorb power. They were looking for these ancient artifacts, hoping to stumble onto, well, a magic power mine.

Ginny and Ashan looked at each other.

Kettlebank concluded this was ultimately a fruitless attempt. The Red Circle was not that prominent during the era, they had a very few members and the circle disbanded in a matter of decades. No one would even know about them if not for Kettlebank's book, Extraordinary Measures in Desperate Times: Ridiculous Magical Cults in Medieval Times. Later, during the early twentieth century, con artists came along with spells to falsify the value of magical artifacts, and these spells became known as Red Magic in certain banking circles, because you know of how members of the Red Circle were "conned" into paying gold for nothing. Mr. Weasley told me that. These days I cannot think of anyone who might take these red magic bollocks literally.

"Is she always this professorial?" Ashan asked her.

"You have no idea."

Thanks a lot Hermione. I think we just found a cave of thieves.

Really. Oh I have to go now. Well, your friend needs to go. Take care Ginny, we all love you. Everyone says hi. Hope you visit soon.

But before Ginny could say "same here" Hermione was gone.

Ashan began. "I think Broomstock is conning people. That might be what Alfreda meant."

"You know what I think, Ashan. I think these old bats have no idea about the real value of these little lost trinkets. I think Broomstock gets people to steal them because if they offered a price, people would be instantly curious about the real value of these unwanted objects and Broomstock would end up paying a hefty fee. And anyway who would care about a lost lead necklace, except for lonely old bats like Skoosy who have nothing else left but these trinkets. I think they are stuffing their pockets to the hem with this racket."

Ashan's eyes got wide. "You know, it's possible there's a lot more objects stolen because people, sane ones anyway, don't report missing music boxes."

"There's only one way to know."

"What do you mean?" Ashan asked.

Ginny only looked at him. Ashan's eyes got wide again. "Ginny, you don't mean, surely…"

"Yes, we will raid the place," Ginny said with certainty.

Ashan was less certain. "But, you know there haven't been any such raids since, you know. Well except for the time we raided Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. And that time we raided the home of a wizard called Mundungus Fletcher, turned out everything there, including the house, was stolen. We actually had to disrobe the man by force because he was wearing a stolen gold-lined cloak….Anyway my point is, there's haven't been a raid of this caliber in a long time."

Ginny slumped back a little. "Well, I remember my father mentioning something about aurors raiding this shop in Knockturn Alley that used to sell dark magic objects…."

Ashan interrupted her. "I mean there haven't been a raid on a reputable establishment like Broomstock in, well, ever."

"We'll make the exception."

"Still we need to go through with the Minister's office, given that this is not some dubious little back alley shop. There's paperwork and we'll have to wait for Minister's approval, which takes like months, unless we can prove Broomstock poses an imminent threat to society or…."

"Or is about to definitely evade auror enforcement, I know Ashan," Ginny said exasperatedly.

"All right, all right, I know you are passionate about these things," Ashan said putting his palms up in surrender. "You know, I'll go get the files so we can get started on the paperwork."

Ginny was mad. They will never get approval from the Minister's office, which would deny them for no reason other than the fact that the request came from aurors. They couldn't even get approval from the stupid property office.

Ashan came back with a stack of files and dumped it all on Ginny's desk. Ginny's heart sank even lower, and from Ashan's face he looked the same too.

Unless…

"Ashan, where is that newspaper you were reading, the one with the Broomstock auction notice."

"It's today at noon." Ginny plan slowly unfolded in her mind. "Let's apparate to Skoosy's."

"Why?"

"Where's her address? Just follow me."

Skoosy Pinnleweemp all but jumped right out of her chair when two aurors suddenly appeared in her living room. Ginny was quick to apologize. "I'm sorry for the intrusion, Ms. Pinnleweemp, but, have you read the newspaper today?

Flabbergasted, Skoosy only muttered a little "What?"

"Are you aware that there's another Broomstock auction today?"

With the mention of Broomstock, Skoosy seemed to have recovered her senses. She was back to her sniffling self. "Oh yes, I did. I wander if my box will be auctioned off. If they do, I'll never get it back. I can't even attend if I'm not bidding, and I don't have thousand galleons to waste on thieves."

Ginny smiled, this was what she wanted to hear. "Are you saying that you know your property will be at this auction and you want the aurors to confiscate it for you before it's lost forever?"

Ashan looked at her, finally catching on.

"You can do that?" Skoosy said expectantly.

Ashan began, "Well, you seemed certain that…." But before he finished Skoosy cut in, in a high pitched voice. "Not seemed, I am certain they have my box. If aurors can go there, I want you to go there and get it for me before they sell it off."

Ashan knew what Ginny was up to. Though he looked uncertain, he was ready to follow Ginny's lead.

"Ginny, it's already 11.30," Ashan said glancing at the clock.

"All the better," Ginny said. Right now the guests will be arriving at the party, right before the aurors crashed it.

"Let's apparate to the Ministry, then to Broomstock," Ginny said.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXX

Ten minutes to noon. The Minister's Office.

"Sir," his Chief-of-Staff came panting. "Sir, they are already inside the building. They only came to the Ministry briefly to send a message to our office, and went right back. The officer we sent there says the security at the entrance told him two aurors came flashing badges and they had to let them inside. Our officer was not allowed inside without a badge."

"Tell him to wait outside. Go find the Labdeck, he's in charge of officials' conduct. Have him issue a notice."

His Chief-of-Staff still stood there. "What about…"

"Well we can't drag them out now can we?" he bellowed. "We've done all we can."

At least, he has done all he could.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Almost noon. Broomstock Ballroom.

The venue was packed with elegantly dressed witches and wizards. There were overhead decorations, and little pamphlets flying around that included information about all items for auction. Ashan went through one of the pamphlets, while Ginny argued with a skinny old man who looked as if someone had bent him in two.

"We have very credible information that this place is selling stolen property. Under the authority of the Auror's Department, I demand that you gather all items for inspection. They are evidence now."

The old man looked at Ginny as if she were a raving mad dog with rabies. When he kept on gaping at her and made no move to do as was asked, Ginny asked him to see the person in charge.

"Take me to the owner," she said.

"Owner? No owner here today," the man croaked. "I am Caretaker Lewis. I represent the owner in his absence."

"Well, then," Ginny began, loudly so the man will hear her over the chitter chatter of the ballroom. "Take me to your inventory. I have to confiscate it."

The man looked absolutely horrified. "Why that is outrageous…"

"I will have to arrest you in front of all these people if you don't cooperate…."

If it was possible, the man looked even more scandalized. Before he began to croak his protests, a well-dressed wizard, who looked somewhat of an auror himself came to Ginny.

"Aurors, the owner would like a word with you. If you may….," the new man indicated to his left while smiling a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Lewis the caretaker, looking pale and angry and stunned, looked between the two of them. The new man gave him a warning glance before he escorted Ginny and Ashan through a well-carpeted corridor.

They arrived at a small office, not at all grandiose enough to belong to an owner of such an enterprise as Broomstock. It was small, dingy, and Ginny could only see a large, elaborately carved desk with some golden decorations, and a very old man with snowy hair slumped in a matching chair.

"I am the owner of Broomstock," he introduced himself in a raspy voice without standing up. "I am terribly sorry for any inconvenience my staff might have caused you," he continued, sounding not at all sorry, "but I am more than willing to help you. I believe you are here about a stolen artifact on our inventory?"

Ginny didn't know how this man could have known about their conversation with the caretaker that quick, but she answered yes, cutting to the chase. She also noticed that the man's eyes kept flickering left and right, as if someone was listening in on them.

"I know it is in your right to intervene in cases such as this," the old man continued. "So you have a list of our inventory about to be on auction in your companion's hands. All our inventory on this site is listed on there. If you can identify the item in question, I will gladly lead you to our storage. If not, without a warrant, I will have to kindly ask you to vacate our premises, as you are now allowed in here by law."

Ginny went red. Ashan looked at her, almost as pale as the old man's hair. "Um, Auror Weasley, I've looked at this list, thrice, but the item is not listed here."

Ginny was now as red as her hair. Sometimes, she loved to jump to conclusions, and quickly regretted them with fury. The old man smiled sleekly and indicated the door. "I believe a Ministry official is waiting outside for you."

Once outside, Ginny's fury quickly became confusion. Where had the owner come from, especially given that the caretaker insisted the owner was absent; when had he learned why they were there and how had he managed to kick them out like he had a professional Representor there? Usually, in such cases, people tended to show their inventory, just to prove they are innocent, if they are innocent.

Right then she realized they had left without getting the owner's name.

"Back to square one," Ashan said.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

His day had begun rather quietly. Sure, today was the day he had to review all foreign intelligence reports, which tended to be tedious and boring, not to mention infuriating if any of his staff showed even the tiniest bit of incompetence. But he was in a good mood. Only two days to Sunday, he thought, smiling to himself, and he had a riveting surprise planned for her.

He began his morning leisurely, tenderly (ha, him and tenderly in one sentence) thinking of a delicious dream he had had of a certain redhead. His staff these days were quite perplexed at his good mood, unhealthily used to his sour moods.

Well, things were going just fine, at least until it was closer to lunchtime and a certain phone call ruined his day for him. Curse him for expecting at least a mediocre level of competency from his subordinates who were increasingly proving incapable of handling even the simplest of tasks. Who was he, their mother, to fix everything every time they screwed up? He really really wanted to torture someone that day, and one of the brothers, or maybe even all of them, were definitely in for it.

Red hot senseless fury flashed behind his eyes. He could no longer concentrate on the pile of paperwork in front of him. Even though he knew the lieutenant he had discharged would more than take care of this ridiculous situation, the anger came rolling in. He had way more important things to handle than this.

He threw down his quill and signed. Given the parties involved, he knew he had to personally review the situation before things got screwed up even more.

R&R