A/N: At the risk of being annoyingly self-effacing, I struggled horribly with this one and I fear it may be obvious just how much. However, in the interest of moving things along, I decided to go with it, warts and all, before you forget what the story is about. At any rate, I'll let you be the judge. Back to the Balkans in this chapter, but we'll return to Ginny in the next.

Chapter Twenty

The Meeting

On the outskirts of Prizren, on a high cliff overlooking the valley, were the ruins of an old hunting lodge, built in the days of the great Ottoman Empire. In recent years it had been a home for monks who preferred the quiet isolation of hilltops for prayer and meditation, but rioting during the late hostilities had caused irreparable damage and economic hardship had left it in disrepair. It was, however, a perfect meeting place for a handful of ragtag witches and wizards, who were used to meeting in much less hospitable environments.

Inside the crumbling walls the participants exchanged pleasantries in what had been a ballroom, later turned into a chapel, but now merely a cavernous space with chipped marble floors and peeling wallpaper with tarnished gold trim. Everyone seemed keyed up, but one was decidedly more nervous than the others, and kept glancing at the arched entryway, watching for something that didn't appear to be happening the way he apparently thought it should.

"He is late," Dolohov said to his partner, Petroff. "He has changed his mind. After all our planning. . ."

"He'll be here, Andrei," said Dragovic, who had overheard Dolohov's comment. "Trust me. He gave his word, and Lucius Malfoy's word is his bond."

Dolohov bit his lip. "If he doesn't come soon, Dragovic. . ."

"I spoke with him only yesterday," Dragovic said. "Relax, my friend. He'll be here, I assure you."

"Perhaps we should start without him, Andrei," said Petroff, looking around at the others. "They are growing restless. If something doesn't happen soon. . . Oh, there you are, Rookwood!"

A stooped wizard with a pockmarked face entered the ballroom, dabbing at his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief. "Sorry to be late," he said in a cringing sort of voice. "There were last minute complications. But good news! I saw Lucius Malfoy Apparate as I was coming up the hill."

"Did you?" said Petroff in obvious relief. "He's here then?"

Dolohov began to flap his arms in agitation. "Places, please, everyone! Our guest of honor is on his way."

The small group of witches and wizards scurried to find seats at a table that had been set up in a corner of the room. After a bit of jostling for position, they all stood behind their respective chairs, poised and waiting. Minutes later, two men appeared in the archway. One was dark and swarthy, but the other had white-blonde hair, a pale, pointed face, and carried himself with an air of pride and authority, despite his careworn appearance.

Rookwood rushed forward to greet the blonde man, holding out his hand in welcome. "Lucius, my old friend!" he cried. "How wonderful to see you looking so well!"

"A few weeks in Marseille have done wonders, Rookwood," said Lucius Malfoy. "You will, of course, remember my financial advisor, Malfius Swingle."

"I do indeed," said Rookwood. "How are you, Mr. Swingle?" The dark-haired man gave Rookwood a cursory nod. He looked ill at ease, his black eyes scanning the crowd as though taking inventory.

Dolohov, who had hurried along behind Rookwood, scowled at the man with Lucius Malfoy. "This is most irregular, Lucius," he said. "You were to come alone."

Lucius arched a brow at him. "Malfius handles all my financial affairs. I wouldn't invest so much as a knut without his counsel. Besides, Rookwood knows him. Don't you, Augustus?"

"I do indeed," Rookwood said. "Mr. Swingle was an ardent supporter of the Dark Lord. I would know him anywhere."

"I don't know, Andrei," said Petroff. "How do we know this man is trustworthy?"

"I can vouch for him," Dragovic said. "I, too, know Mr. Swingle."

"The word of a smuggler is not worth much," Petroff scoffed.

A fleeting shadow crossed Dragovic's face, but it was quickly replaced with a smile. "You have never heard the expression, 'honor among thieves?' I swear to you, Nicolai, Mr. Swingle can be trusted. I would stake my life on it."

Petroff looked uneasy, but after a brief hesitation, Dolohov nodded a reluctant approval. The two men were ushered to seats at the table. Lucius was accorded the seat of honor at one end, and everyone shifted aside to make room for Swingle, who reached into a pocket for parchment and a quill.

"No notes," Petroff said. "We don't allow note taking at any of our meetings."

"I forgot to mention it," Dolohov added apologetically. "We're all agreed there should be nothing in writing to tie any of us to this group."

Swingle scowled and looked at Lucius,then grudgingly tucked his quill and parchment back inside his robes.

"Well, gentlemen," said Lucius. With a nod at the two witches at the table he added, "And ladies of course. Explain to me why I should invest in your enterprise."

Dolohov stood and swept an arm about the room. "Every one of the individuals you see before you, Lucius, was handpicked by the Dark Lord to carry out a plan he first conceived during his years in exile. He chose each of us for individual talents which we combined for his consideration. We were, in fact, a kind of brain trust that he put together many years ago, and we've continued meeting in secret since his tragic demise. In order to avoid attracting attention we've also maintained our base of operations in the Balkans, a region already torn by war and long accustomed to strife and division. And of course, as you know, we have continued to pursue the Dark Lord's noble goal of creating ethnic and religious division among Muggles, not just in the Balkans, but many other parts of the world, which he believed essential to achieving his ultimate objective."

"That objective being to overthrow the Statute of Secrecy and achieve wizard dominance over Muggles," said Malfoy in a bored voice. "Yes, Dolohov, I already know all that. But what makes you think you can succeed where wizards such as Grindelwald and even the Dark Lord himself failed?"

"Because we have taken the Dark Lord's plan a step beyond what even he dreamed," Dolohov said. "His overall vision was brilliant, but slow to reach fruition. And by focusing all our efforts on inciting violence in various parts of the world, we have found that we attract too much notice from wizarding authorities such as Harry Potter."

"Speaking of which," said Petroff, "Potter hasn't been seen or heard from in weeks. You've implied that you had something to do with that, Mr. Malfoy, but I think we'd all like to know if it's true. In fact, before anything else is said here today, I'd like your personal assurance that Potter is no longer a threat to us or our plans."

"I told you he'd been taken care of, didn't I?" Malfoy replied.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but I'm afraid that isn't good enough," said Petroff. "What's become of Potter? Have you captured him? Is he dead?"

"I'm afraid that's a rather, er, sensitive issue," Malfoy said with a small, secretive smile. "You understand, I am sure."

"It must be true, Nicolai," Dolohov said. "We have Archibald Hines under the Imperius Curse. We'd know if it was a trick."

"There you have it, Petroff," said Malfoy, as Rookwood shifted in his chair. "Even the Head Auror doesn't know where Potter is. What more do you need?"

Petroff, however, still seemed reluctant. "Dragovic tells us your word is your bond, Mr. Malfoy. Will you give us your word? As a wizard and a gentleman?"

Malfoy's smile broadened. "Very well, Petroff. As a wizard and a gentleman, you have my word that Harry Potter is no threat."

"Well, Nicolai," said Dolohov in relief. "You can't ask for more than that, can you?"

"You were telling me of your plans, gentlemen," Malfoy said. "Before we were . . . sidetracked."

"Yes," said Dolohov. "Nicolai, you had better take it from here. This is your area of expertise."

Dolohov sat down as Petroff stood up. "For centuries the natural aversion of wizard to Muggle has kept us at an understandable distance," Petroff said, in the dry, unemotional tones of a mathematics instructor. "But the rules of warfare tell us that it is necessary to know an enemy in order to defeat him. The Dark Lord understood this, which was why he charged us with the task of studying Muggles at close quarters in order to to identify their weaknesses and vulnerabilities.Our observations, compiled separately but combined over several years of productive compilation and discussion, have led each of us to the inescapable conclusion that Muggles are every bit as lazy, ignorant, greedy, envious, self-indulgent, and unimaginative as wizards have always assumed. They spread disease, discord, and carnage. They are destroying the earth with their power plants and automobiles, their trinkets and their toys, their wars and their petty squabbles. If left unchecked, they will make this planet uninhabitable. In short, Muggles are dangerous, both to themselves and to wizardkind."

"What do you propose we do about it?" said Malfoy. "Kill them all?"

"Their sheer numbers make that an unattainable goal," Petroff replied in all seriousness. "But they can and should be controlled, and the way to do that is through something they call 'technology.' In the past few decades, Muggles have become wholly dependent on mechanized systems called computers. In the presence of too much magic, these systems do not work at all, but it is almost childishly simple to interfere with them. We have been working on something the Muggles call 'viruses' which, when introduced into their computer systems, create unbelievable chaos that affects their politics, economics, communications, even their identities. So far they've been able to counteract all the viruses we've introduced, but we're on the verge of creating something they won't be able to cope with. It will bring about the largest systems failure yet known and, if done correctly, will bring the Muggle world to a virtual halt."

Silence pervaded the large room. The sound of water dripping along the eaves could be heard. Malfoy glanced at Rookwood, who was staring at Petroff. Apparently it was the first he had heard of any of this, but he'd only been out of Azkaban a short while himself. Swingle had yet to speak, but his gaze was fixed on Petroff, as though in serious contemplation.

"It will require the most meticulous planning," Petroff continued. "Everything must be set up in advance so that we are poised to step in with magical solutions to the inevitable crisis, thereby enabling us to seize power."

"In the meantime, of course," Dolohov said when Petroff paused for breath, "we will continue to influence Muggle decision makers throughout the world and create disruptions that will make common Muggles long for the kind of answers only we can provide. But that kind of detailed organization requires gold, and there, Lucius, is where you come in. Naturally we don't expect you to provide all the funding for this project, but with all your contacts, you undoubtedly know other pureblood wizards who might be interested in investing in a worthy enterprise for the good of the wizarding race."

Malfoy looked thoughtful. "You have considered possible obstacles, I presume?"

"Of course we have," Dolohov said. "But the only Ministry that's shown the slightest interest in our activities is Croatia, and they're too small and underfunded to pose any real threat. Nobody else believes Kingsley Shacklebolt's wild-eyed claims, and with Potter gone, he'll hesitate to send anyone else out this way. As it is, he'll have a lot of explaining to do for losing the so-called 'hero' of the wizarding world."

All the wizards laughed, and so did one of the witches, but the other, a pallid looking woman with a long nose and wide-set eyes, said in a surprisingly deep voice, "There is one other potential obstacle. The legend."

Everyone stopped laughing at once. "We agreed not to mention that, Lucretia," said Petroff.

"You agreed, Nicolai," said the witch. "I actually disagreed, if you'll recall. I think we owe it to Mr. Malfoy to present an accurate picture. It is a question of trust, after all."

"I appreciate your honesty," Malfoy said. "And I'd like to hear about this legend, Madam. . .?"

"Avenir," said the witch, returning Malfoy's polite bow. "Lucretia Avenir."

"Go on, please, Madam Avenir," said Malfoy.

The witch reached for a long roll of parchment on the table in front of her. Unrolling it, she revealed an intricate star chart which she held up for all to see, though the glyphs and symbols made no sense to anyone else if the blank looks on every other face were any indication.

"I first discovered this anomaly many years ago," said Madam Avenir in her resonant voice. "It corresponds with an ancient legend that has been told and retold within magical communities in Asia, the Middle East, and parts of eastern Europe. You may have heard of it. It is the legend of the Chosen One."

Rookwood gave a noticeable start, but Malfoy covered it by saying, "You're talking about a Prophecy that was made twenty-six years ago, Madam Avenir. That is hardly ancient and, in any case, it has already been fulfilled."

"I am not speaking of Sybil Trelawney's rather vague and questionable Prophecy," said Madame Avenir with a loud sniff that let everyone know precisely what she thought of the Hogwarts Divination teacher. "That was luck more than anything, and I do not believe this legend concerns Harry Potter, at least not directly. This is a legend that goes back many thousands of years. It tells of a child who will be born at a crucial time in wizarding history to a world torn by strife and division. This child, the legend claims, will build a bridge between the Muggle and magical worlds by helping Muggles find the magic within."

For the first timeMalfoy looked startled. "This child will give magic to Muggles?"

"More that he will help them discover untapped reservoirs of magic that already exist in themselves," Madame Avenir said. "It is a subject to which the Dark Lord devoted a great deal of serious study. What else would explain Mudbloods born into families without a trace of magic? The Dark Lord came to the rather distressing conclusion that all humans were originally endowed with magical ability. However, in the course of evolution, those of inferior status lost their powers, whereas those who retained magical ability were clearly of superior lineage. Both Muggles and wizards are part of the human race, but power has been passed down through a natural selection process of winnowing out the weak and the unworthy. Nevertheless, Muggles still have trace elements of magic within them, and if this power were to be rediscovered. . . well, you can imagine the consequences."

The wizards and witches along the table murmured in agreement, but Petroff said, "It is only a legend! It has no bearing whatsoever on our plans."

"It could make Muggles more difficult to subdue," pointed out a wizard with ascraggly looking goatee. "If this bridge between the Muggle and wizarding worlds ever comes to pass, it could undermine everything we're trying to do, Nicolai."

"And timing is of the essence," Madam Avenir added. "According to my calculations, the child is to be born very soon. I cannot pinpoint the exact date, but it could happen within a matter of weeks. Efforts must be made to identify this child and destroy him, lest all our plans go awry."

"This is superstitious nonsense!" Petroff protested. "Nothing should distract us from our primary goal!"

"The Dark Lord believed in the legend," Madam Avenir shot back. "Who are you to say nay?"

A spate of discussion broke out around the table as to the various merits of both sides of the argument. Dolohov raised his hands, imploring everyone to silence. Rookwood, meanwhile, fell into a rather dramatic coughing fit, causing the wizard next to him to pat him on the back and offer him a glass of water from one of the silver carafes on the table.

"Please!" Dolohov shouted to be heard above the din. "Lucius Malfoy did not come all this way to observe us bickering amongst ourselves!"

"It's quite all right, Dolohov," Malfoy said, his lips twitching with suppressed amusement. "I think I've heard enough."

"Have you?" Dolohov said hopefully. "Have we convinced you to lend us your support?"

Malfoy did not respond, but Rookwood stood up, as did Swingle and Dragovic, and all were pointing wands at those who were still seated. There was something extremely odd about Rookwood, though. Before their eyes he was growing taller, his hair was darkening, and the pockmarks on his face were disappearing. All except one in the center of his forehead, and that one looked more like. . . Well, like a scar. A scar shaped like a bolt of lightning.

"You!" Dolohov shouted, reaching for his wand, but a Stunning spell flew across the table and immobilized him. Another spell froze Petroff who was seconds behind him.

"Before anyone else goes for their wands," said Harry Potter, standing in the place where Rookwood had been a moment before, as the group around the table stared in open-mouthed astonishment, "you might be interested to know that this building is surrounded by Aurors, and if you don't want them misinterpreting your actions, I would strongly suggest putting your hands in the air. Oh, and by the way, you're all under arrest for International Conspiracy."

The conspirators were bound to their chairs by thick ropes. "Where is Rookwood?" Dolohov demanded, as Harry checked the ropes around his ankles to ensure they wouldn't come loose during transport.

"In a holding cell in Dubrovnik," Harry explained. "I'll be taking him back to England with me tomorrow. Straight to Azkaban, in fact."

"And there are cells at Nurmengard vaiting for you," said the wizard who'd posed as Lucius Malfoy's financial advisor, in reality a Croatian security wizard called Horvath. "You vill not be seeing sunshine again for many years, I am thinking." He scowled at one of the wizards who had just appeared in the archway. "Kovac, set up portkeys and let us get this theatrical production on the street."

"Set up portkeys and vot?" asked Kovac, clearly at a loss.

"He meant 'let's get this show on the road,'" Harry murmured as an aside. "I think he wants you to start moving the prisoners."

"Dragovic, we trusted you!" Dolohov said, as Kovac began turning carafes into portkeys. "What happened to honor among thieves?"

"I told you not to trust him," said Petroff. "A common smuggler! How could you trust a man like that?"

"A common smuggler, am I?" Dragovic snarled, placing himself mere inches from where Petroff and Dolohov were tied up, back to back, his face darkening with a kind of feral hatred. "I happen to be a trained security wizard with the Crotian Ministry of Magic. I volunteered for this mission because of my father, an honest trader who specialized in the sale of magical herbs who had the misfortune to wander into an Albanian forest one day. There he encountered your Dark Lord, and it cost him his life, as well as that of my Muggleborn mother. I was only ten years old. I was sent to England to live with relatives. But I came back to work for my father's best friend, Ivan Horvath, a man he trusted. So don't speak to me about trust, you filthy piece of rat droppings!"

"Pavel," Horvath said soothingly as Dragovic lunged toward the bound wizards. "It's over now. It's all over."

"It isn't over!" Dragovic shouted, struggling against Horvath's restraining hands. "Not for my parents, nor my cousin Daphne either! He destroyed them, Ivan! He destroyed them all!"

"I know, Pavel," Horvath said. "And now you have avenged them."

"I can't believe Lucius Malfoy betrayed us," Dolohovsaid wonderingly as Horvath led Dragovic away. "He gave us his word, as a wizard and a gentleman!"

"Where is he anyway?" Petroff asked. "Where has he gone?"

Harry looked around. Malfoy had indeed disappeared. Leaving Horvath and his men to look after the prisoners, he ran to the archway and looked up and down the long hall. Seeing nothing, he strode through the ruins until he saw a lone figure standing just outside the lodge, looking over the crest of a hill to the valley below.

Harry walked up quietly beside the woman in oversized robes. Narcissa barely stirred as Harry moved up next to her, but a slight breeze lifted her white-blonde hair and wafted it softly across her face.

"Thanks for picking up on my signal," Harry told her. "I panicked when I felt myself starting to change back. I must not have taken a large enough dose of Polyjuice Potion."

"Well, it was rather obvious," said Narcissa. "I was a bit concerned you might collapse a lung for a moment there."

"You were wonderful, by the way," Harry said. "I'm not sure anyone else could have persuaded them to confess all that. A couple of times I almost believed you were Lucius Malfoy myself."

"You can't live with someone for a quarter of a century without knowing them pretty well," said Narcissa. "And Lucius shared everything with me, whether I wanted to know it or not. I learned all of his secrets."

"How sick is he?" Harry asked.

"He is dying," Narcissa stated flatly. "He started dying the day the Dark Lord fell, and he's been failing ever since."

"The climate in Marseille hasn't helped at all?"

"I took him to Marseille to separate him from Draco. My sole concern was to prevent our son from becoming embroiled in a dying man's final scheme. Lucius will die in comfort. My conscience will be satisfied with that, and then I can return to England to be near my grandson."

Harry didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry" hardly seemed appropriate, under the circumstances. "The wizarding world owes you a tremendous debt of gratitude," he said. "I've known a lot of courageous women in my life, but few could have done what you did."

"In my case, I think it's merely biology," said Narcissa. "All that I do, all I have ever done, is for my son."

"He's lucky to have such a mother."

"He might not agree. I think it may be too late for Draco. I hoped that with his marriage I might see a change in him, but so far I haven't. I am fortunate in my daughter-in-law, though. In some ways she is more my child than Draco ever was."

"You are fond of her," Harry said.

"Very much so," said Narcissa. "Even more since I've come to know her. Pavel had a profound influence on Astoria. They grew up together and he was always her favorite cousin. And after Daphne died it really changed the way she saw the world. It was she who convinced me to come forward, you know, so if either of us deserves credit for courage. . . Well, perhaps between the two of us, we can raise Scorpius to be the man I once hoped his father would be."

"You can be proud of what you did today,"said Harry. "You heard what they were planning. It would have been horrible if they'd succeeded."

"Yes," Narcissa said vaguely. "The legend that woman mentioned. Had you ever heard of it?"

"No," Harry said. "I can't say I ever have."

"Do you believe it?"

Harry shrugged. "What's important is that they believed it, and planned to murder an innocent child because of it. Interesting theory Voldemort had about Muggles. I wonder if there's any truth to it."

Narcissa only flinched a little at the sound of the Dark Lord's name. "Whatever anyone had to say about him, no one ever denied his brilliance. He normally wasn't superstitious, but he believed in the Prophecy. And this legend apparently made sense to him."

Harry regarded the older woman. "There are so many legends. It's hard to know what to believe."

"Yes," Narcissa said. "I suppose that's true."

The fell silent for a moment, then Harry asked, "Will you be all right?"

Narcissa smiled. "Oh, yes. I think so."

"What I mean is," Harry qualified, "will you be able to get home all right?"

"Yes," said Narcissa. "Eventually."

She held out her hand. Harry shook it gently and said, "Until we meet again, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Until then, Mr. Potter," Narcissa said.

Harry waited until Narcissa Apparated with a quiet 'pop' before pulling the parchment from his pocket. He frowned to find it still blank. His last message from Ginny had been last night, asking for permission to tell Ron what she knew, but there had been nothing since then. The parchment only worked one way. Ginny had to initiate contact, but Harry found it disquieting to go so long without a message from her. He was probably worrying for nothing. No doubt she'd just been busy. Perhaps there had been a spate of unexpected company, or maybe she was up to her elbows with research for her book. She did have a tendency to shut out the world when she was in the middle of an especially interesting project. Yes, that had to be it. She'd gotten caught up with something and forgot about the parchment. But with any luck at all, by this time tomorrow he'd be home and they wouldn't have to depend upon these scattered messages to communicate any more.

Feeling buoyed by this thought, Harry returned to Dubrovnik with Horvath and his men. He was finalizing arrangements with the portkey office to extradite Rookwood back to England when a commotion outside drew everyone's attention.

"Vot the hell?" Kovac demanded, looking up from the paperwork he'd been translating.

A voice drifted up the stairs, a shockingly familiar voice that shouted in English, "I am trying to locate Harry Potter! Why can't you just tell me where he is?"

"Merlin's beard," Harry muttered. "It can't be. . ."

He started toward the stairs, but was met halfway down by Charlie Weasley coming up, breathing fire like one of his dragons, with half a dozen Croatian Ministry officials making fruitless efforts to restrain him.

"It's all right," Harry told them. "He's my brother-in-law. Charlie, what on earth are you doing here?"

"Shacklebolt told us where to find you," Charlie replied, as the Croatians backed away, glad to be relieved of any responsibility for this wild-eyed maniac. "I was closest to Dubrovnik so they sent me to track you down. Where the hell have you been, Harry? I've been looking all over for you."

"There was a meeting in Kosovo," said Harry. "I only just got back, and was arranging to transport a prisoner. . ."

"Somebody else will have to do that," Charlie said. "You're going back to London with me straight away."

"Charlie, I can't," said Harry. "I have to. . ."

Harry broke off when Charlie grabbed his robes, nearly lifting him off his feet.

"What you have to do is get your arse home now," Charlie said forcefully. "Ginny is in labor. Ready or not, Harry, that kid of yours is about to be born."

A/N: Thanks so much for all of your good wishes. I'm still on the mend, but things are looking up, and I promise to continue plugging away at this story as time and circumstances permit.
In the interest of time, I've decided to answer specific questions from Anonymous Reviewers, but mention all of you in one group thank you. For the last chapter many thanks for brightening my world go to: Sidney, Amy, MrsH, Jessica, Chase, NPeaches, ray-ray, Celestina, prettywheezy, THEWORLDOFHPEXISTSNOMATTERWHAT, Sherry Anderson, noviwanwife,anotherJessica, padfootprongs7, Christina, Starbucks2012, Jenn, and another Amy. Now for specific questions.

Ray-ray: Yes, I'm from Colorado, but I live just outside of Denver. I like Fort Collins, though. It's a nice town.

Padfootprongs7: No, unfortunately Sirius won't be coming back. He's had his day, I'm afraid.

Starbucks2012: No, it's not Braxton Hicks. As Charlie has just informed everyone, Ginny is in premature labor.