"A Most Ingenious Paradox"
[A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher]
Chapter Four - "Things are seldom what they seem"
It looked as if the council of war would be going on for most of the night. At least it's Sunday tomorrow, thought Hermione, but that's not going to dice any ginger roots where Ron is concerned. The Ministry has been so overworked recently that he's sure to get at least one emergency call during off-duty hours.
Ginny sat on the sofa warming her hands on her mug of coffee. At Fred's request, and to preserve general male peace of mind, she had cast an opacity charm on her caftan. Fred paced about the room, surprisingly ill at ease, until Harry called him to order. Even so, he seemed reluctant to settle, unnecessarily refilling his coffee mug, returning to the kitchen for biscuits, opening a small window then closing it again. Ginny watched her brother fidget in growing puzzlement. This was so unlike Fred's usual relaxed, laconic demeanour.
"Look, would it be simpler if I were to begin?" Harry asked, his impatience getting the better of him. Fred looked at him but made no sign. Harry gave a soft sigh and patted the sofa seat next to him.
"Sit down - George." Harry said quietly. The two men locked eyes then slowly Fred resumed his seat on the other side of Harry's sofa.
After a moment of stunned silence, everyone started to speak at once.
"Oh, pull the other one, Fred!" scoffed Ron. "We all know about that Quidditch scar of your. Bit of a dead giveaway that. Pity, I know, but you can't fool us on that one any more."
"Excuse me," this was Lee Jordan. "But I'm not sure I heard you correctly, Harry. You're telling me this isn't Fred?"
"But why?" Ginny looked totally bewildered and also rather hurt. "Why are you deceiving us like this?"
"Fred" gave no sign that he had heard any of their questions. He merely brought out his wand and described an intricate little shape in mid-air accompanied by a whispered charm. At first nothing happened, then subtle changes started to creep over his face and body. His physique became slightly stockier, his cheeks rounded a little, his hair thickened and the long silver scar disappeared entirely.
"It's a Glamour," he explained quietly. "Fred and I use them all the time. We've been impersonating each other for years now, no one rumbled us. However, we couldn't hide from Potter here - he helped us develop the charms, amongst other things," Harry grinned. "And I have to admit, over the last few weeks, I had to confide in Hermione. It was that or go mad, really." He shrugged helplessly.
Ron turned furious eyes on his ex-girlfriend.
"You never told me!" he protested. She shrugged, totally unmoved.
"I was asked not to tell anyone," she said simply. "And there was a very good reason why."
"Oh yeah? Name it!" Ron was very angry.
"Well, actually, it's not for me to tell," Hermione replied worriedly, biting her lip.
"Oh no?" sneered Ron. "Well, how very convenient!"
"It's alright, Ron," George interrupted. "You can stop badgering Hermione. I'll tell you the reason why. Fred's, well, disappeared."
The pause that followed was long and very uncomfortable. Harry slowly uncrossed his legs and cleared his throat, looking round at the group.
"I think, George," Harry said gently, "that it will be easier for us all to understand what you are saying if you start at the beginning."
Slowly, hesitantly, his eyes still fixed to the floor, George began to speak.
What followed was almost a complete re-working of the lives of George and Fred Weasley. To their friends and family, the twins were a couple of overgrown schoolboys who took nothing seriously, except perhaps making money. On leaving Hogwarts, they had fulfilled their lifelong dream to own and run a joke shop. George did most of the donkeywork while Fred supplemented their joint income with a little freelance spellbook publishing. It seemed to work well enough. Happy-go-lucky and easygoing to a fault, the twins had never really grown up enough to move fully into adulthood. Or so it seemed.
Now George reluctantly acknowledged that whilst Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had been a modest success, the twins' real employment was, and always had been, with the Intelligence Department of the Ministry of Magic.
"The Ministry made their first approaches to us before we left Hogwarts," George continued. "Our NEWTs results were no better than average, but they knew there was more to us than we were letting on. After all, exams aren't always the best way to measure ability."
George said this without any trace of conceit or complacency, but Ron and Hermione exchanged chagrined glances as they remembered their own fraught final year.
"The fact that we are twins and had a high profile for being airheads was just so much jam as far as our Department was concerned," George continued. "We both tried out for the Cannons during our final year. They liked that; fitness is a pre-requisite in our business. During training, we were given the basics of the Glamour technique, but you need a lot of skill to be really effective. The Ministry arranged for Harry to give us some help with that. We took a holiday to California, remember Ron? You wondered how on earth we could afford it. It took a lot of self-control not to tell you it was official." Ron nodded slowly. "Well, it was on that trip that Fred recruited Harry as an emergency contact."
This was not normal practice for Ministry operatives, George explained, but Fred never liked putting all his eggs in one basket. He got twitchy, he said, if he didn't have at least a couple of aces up his sleeve. Like the spellbook publishing, for instance. It seemed that Fred's other job was quite genuine, but existed mainly as cover for his frequent trips abroad.
"Fred was always the one with the real flair for intelligence," George went on. "I'm not bad, but Fred has always had the knack of melting into the background when he wanted. He could win the confidence of even the most nervous informant. Fred would be posted somewhere, quite often abroad, at short notice and I would be left to keep things going, so I simply - became him when necessary."
Ron was scandalised.
"Do you mean to say that you've been living in two places at the same time? That Hermione's been sharing her house with you, convinced that you were one person, when all the time you were someone else?" Hermione laughed.
"Oh, Ron, don't be silly! These are your brothers we're talking about." She was very amused. "And besides, latterly I've been in on the secret. It was impossible for George to maintain both lives indefinitely, and eventually he had to trust me. Mind you, if I hadn't been burning the midnight oil, I'd have worked it out for myself ages ago!" Irreverently, she poked out her tongue at George who was making derisive signs to anyone who would look.
"Can I ask something?" Ginny finally spoke up. She wasn't smiling. "How long have you been assuming Fred's identity?" George pursed his lips.
"For about, uh, two months now, I reckon."
"So Fred's been missing all this time? Have you notified the Ministry, whatever department it is you work in? Have you done anything to find him? Is he in any danger? How much do you know about what he's up to?" George looked into her worried eyes and sighed.
"I knew you'd be upset," he began, sorrowfully. "I'll tell you as much as I can. It's not a great deal, I'm afraid. Fred always played a lone hand, even with me, so I have very little to go on." He took a deep breath.
"Fred had been on the trail of something potentially important, although he was pretty vague about the details," George began. "All he had were a couple of drawings (some sort of arcane design, maybe a carving, we couldn't tell) and some very ambiguous stories surrounding them. I'd never been entirely happy about this particular operation, to be honest. I didn't trust the informant as far as I could kick him, but Fred assured me it would be a breeze, and with lots of extra kudos with the Ministry as a bonus."
George had reluctantly agreed to cover Fred's absence in the usual way, lulled into a false sense of security by his brother's insistence that he would only be away for a matter of days. In fact, even when days became weeks and eventually a month slipped past, George did not worry unduly. Fred's maverick behaviour drove Ministry staff to distraction, but George knew his brother would make contact just as soon as he was able.
"Then I came home very late one evening and found Hermione asleep over her desk." George continued. "When she'd woken up enough, she told me about her sudden flood of work. I listened, polite conversation really, then something seemed to click. The types of cases she was defending were so odd and unusual that I found my intelligence antennae twitching." George paused, looking across at Hermione. Taking the hint, she also took up the narrative.
"My firm has traditionally dealt with civil litigation, specialist opinions, contracts, that sort of thing," Hermione began promptly, "but the stuff we're dealing with lately is largely criminal in nature. Also, the type of case we're being hired for is really very unusual: people accused of crimes they seemed to have no memory of committing, and no motive; wizards sent to Azkaban for use of Unforgivable Curses, all the while screaming their innocence; people disappearing, Muggles and wizards, and others accused of their murders." Hermione paused to take a fortifying sip of coffee.
"I think the final straw was when I became involved in a case of theft regarding an important magical artefact," she continued. "The thief had been caught, but although he was an habitual criminal and known to me personally in my professional life, this particular offence didn't have the right feel about it, if you know what I mean. It just wasn't his style. Also once apprehended, this particular crook was usually pretty co- operative for the sake of a plea bargain. Not this time though: he was adamant that he was innocent." She sighed. "Didn't help him - straight back to Azkaban."
As Hermione came to a natural conclusion, George stepped in again.
"Time went on," he continued, "and eventually I grew worried enough about Fred to contact Harry." He turned to nod at the other man. "As I feared, Harry could throw no light on Fred's whereabouts, nor could he glean any information on how long he had been missing."
There was a pause. Harry shifted in his seat, stroking his bottom lip with an index finger.
"I think it's time we called on Lee to explain his part," he said, as though chairing a meeting. Lee nodded, clearing his throat.
"You've heard from Hermione about how she started to wonder not only about the sudden increase in her workload, but also the type of case," Lee began. "What you don't know is that it's not only affecting Advocates in London. Wizarding lawyers all over the country are inundated, and most of their colleagues abroad are similarly bogged down. She mentioned this phenomenon in passing one evening round at the flat. I was working on a very sophisticated system for data analysis at the time and I felt I could do worse than use Hermione's problem as a test case for the programme.
"We did a surface analysis of the data," he continued. "We broke it up into fields of variability - like, type of crime, how many persons involved, ages of victims and perpetrators, etc. etc. all the way through to time of day, colour of clothing, whether the perp. owned a pet, what colour their bathroom was painted - you know, from the sublime to the ridiculous. It took quite a long time, but eventually I had it sorted and I then began the task of getting it on to the computer. The results were surprising - a number of very strong correlations. The problem then was interpretation."
Lee glanced at Hermione and she shrugged.
"And I'm afraid it remains the problem," she finished bluntly. "We're researchers, Lee and I, not criminal analysts and, frankly, we don't have any idea what we've got. To be honest, I'm not sure our results are solely crime based. Some of them point a long way beyond crime into politics - and not just wizard politics either. This is something that seems to embrace both wizards and Muggles alike, and whatever it is, it's on a massive scale."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand. It seems to me we've got two different scenarios here." The others all turned to look at Ginny who it was speaking.
"I may be very stupid," she continued humbly, "but I don't see the connection between Lee's analysis and Fred's disappearance." George stirred again.
"I admit, I was reluctant to see any sort of link myself." he began awkwardly. "That is, until half the Aurors in London turned up on my doorstep and I found myself hauled into custody accused of Fred's murder."
"Oh Merlin!" gasped Ginny, her hands to her mouth.
"Indeed." George's eyes were stony. "And if I hadn't been playing my little double-act, I'd probably be languishing in Azkaban right now." Ginny gave a little sob. George leaned over to lay a hand on her arm.
"Don't jump to conclusions, Ginny," he said soothingly. "Fred's a very good operative - one of the best, and the Ministry doesn't take losers. I believe he is very much alive and kicking, he's just not able to contact us for some reason." He ran an impatient hand through his hair.
"I followed every lead I had," he continued. "I spoke to anyone who might have information, used tracer charms, pulled in favours - nothing. Then, out of the blue, came yesterday's little brush with the great Unknown. Now, I'm afraid if Fred doesn't make contact in the next day or so, I have only one option left to me: to inform the Ministry whatever the cost."
The corners of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile.
"And that's when things will really get interesting."
"George," Lee began, breaking the resulting silence, "you mentioned the business in that temple out there as though it were connected with Fred's disappearance. I don't want to appear stupid, but am I missing something here?"
"I'm sorry, I seem to have skipped a link," George replied. "You know I mentioned drawings of some kind of design, maybe a carving? Fred took the documents with him when he made off the last time and I hardly gave them another thought. Until this morning when I saw that altar."
He leaned forward, his eyes swinging from one person to another.
"The wooden altar was covered with carvings just like the ones in Fred's drawings. He never told me what they were supposed to represent, or where they were from, but these carvings are the same design, I'd lay my life on it." He leaned back against the sofa and put his hands above his head.
"I guess that just about wraps it up," George said somberly. Hermione fixed him with a glare and leaned forward ominously.
"George, please credit us with a little intelligence," Hermione replied crisply. "It is not wrapped up, nor will it be until you explain what you did to trigger the booby trap in the temple, and how."
"Huh?" said Ron, puzzled. "What booby trap?"
"Well what else did you think it was?" Hermione shot back with barely controlled impatience. "An earthquake?" She turned once more to George.
"I'm not letting you off the hook that easily, Weasley," Hermione said firmly. "We know now why you just happened to have specialist Ministry property hanging around in your wallet, we've coped with your revelations concerning your double identity and Fred's disappearance, we've even swallowed whole the news about what you really do for a living - now, please, just get this last little thing off your chest, will you? Believe me, you'll feel ever so much better afterwards."
"Fred was always better at this sort of thing than me," George muttered, cringing at her heavy sarcasm. "Okay, it's this way.
"Fred got those drawings off some crazy old wizard who was slightly involved with the theft of Morgana's Mirror six months ago. That robbery even made the Daily Prophet, unfortunately. It was far too important to be totally hushed up. This guy seemed to think these inscriptions were important somehow, although none of the Ministry cryptologists could make head nor tail of them. Fred reported most of this guy's ravings, most of them scarcely made sense anyway, but Fred decided to leave one small thing out of his official report. He tried to kid me that it was all nonsense, that it would be embarrassing to put something so crazy in his report, but I wasn't fooled. This old wizard, he mentioned the Holy Grail."
There was a reverent silence as none of those present could think of a suitable reply.
"The Holy Grail." said Harry, finally. "Subject of Muggle legend, associated with the great wizard Merlin, connections with early pagan religions. The greatest magical artefact of all time."
"Then it existed?" Lee was sitting on the edge of his seat. Harry nodded.
"Oh yes, it existed all right." he replied equably. "I've come across far too many references to it in my travels and researches for it to be the product of someone's fevered imagination. Whether it still exists, however, is quite another matter." He paused, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.
"I had hoped it wouldn't come to this," Harry began again. "I shall need to examine Hermione and Lee's research on an urgent basis, but for now, let's hear the end of George's exploits in the temple." He gestured for his friend to continue.
"I freely admit, I must have been crazy just to walk straight up to the altar and not expect to fall into any kind of danger," George went on, "but there it was. I reached the thing intact and had just started to examine it when my magical detection alarm started beeping."
At their confused expressions, he unclipped a small device from his belt and held it out to their curious gazes.
"Second item of specialist Ministry property," George said, shortly. "Registers presence and levels of dark magic. This device was going crazy. Only I could hear it, of course."
"George," said Ron in a strangled voice, "when you told me that thing was a mileometer you used for long-distance running, I believed you, you - you git!"
George flashed him a quick grin, then became serious once more.
"At this point, Hermione freaked and tried to drag me away from the altar." George shrugged. "It was then that I spotted it." He reached into his pocket, brought out a small object and laid it carefully on the coffee table.
At first sight, it was nothing more than a stone. About as big as the average man's hand, it was a kind of dull pink quartz covered in scratches. No one touched it; no one spoke.
"Well done, George," Harry murmured with feeling then held up his hands warningly. "Don't handle it, please, any of you. It may be attuned to George. I doubt it, but I don't want to take any chances."
Hermione leaned forward to get as close to the thing as she could without actually coming into contact with it in any way. Ron tried to squeeze his broad shoulders between Lee and Ginny to get a peek.
"What on earth is it?" Hermione queried, looking as puzzled as she ever had.
"Harry, do you know what it is?" asked Ginny, timidly.
"No, not yet," replied Harry, gently, "but I think I know how to find out."
Harry slid his wand from an inside pocket and passed it slowly over the stone, muttering inaudibly. A mist rose, obscuring most of the coffee table, swirling around the stone, blurring its outlines. Then, with no rhyme or reason, it began to lengthen and broaden. It changed colour and the scratches became clearer, sharper. Harry sat back and watched his magic take effect. Once the mist had cleared, the five friends leaned forward interestedly. The stone was now at least six inches square, black, and covered not by scratches, but by what looked like an ancient language. George was the first to react.
"Well, it beats me," he sighed. "It's got to have some significance - I found the thing under the altar, for Merlin's sake."
"Oh, it's certainly important, George," said Harry hunched over the stone, his eyes alight with interest. "In fact, it could be the key to this whole mystery."
Hermione tilted her head to one side, minutely examining the surface of the stone.
"It's definitely some kind of script," she said decisively. "But is it a wizard or a Muggle language, I wonder?" Lee shook his head.
"It's hardly likely to be Muggle, Hermione," he protested. "Not with all those enchantments on it."
"Oh, I don't know." She was frowning in concentration. "It really depends upon how old it is."
No one could shed light on the strange language. Harry sat back in his chair and sighed.
"We're not getting any further, are we?" he said, looking around the group. "I suggest we throw in the towel for tonight. I don't know about the rest of you, but I've travelled half way across the world today, and I'm tired!"
Murmuring assent, the others started to make departure noises. Ginny helped Hermione clear the coffee things. Ron started to follow but turned back as Harry spoke his name.
"I want to try to get into the temple tomorrow," Harry said quietly. "I'd do it now, but I don't trust the dark. Ron, would you be prepared to come with me? I'd rather not go alone and I can't think of anyone I'd rather have watching my back."
"Of course," replied Ron staunchly. "I'd be delighted."
Lee looked up as Ginny came back into the room and smiled at her.
"I reckon it's time we all went home," he said. "I'll give you a lift to your flat, if you like." Harry looked up.
"No, Lee, don't worry," he said before Ginny could open her mouth. "I'll finish what I started. Besides," and his eyes twinkled, "if there's likely to be any fisticuffs with Mr. Markland, I'm the one responsible for abducting Ginny at the dead of night so I feel I should face the consequences."
"Oh, you!" Ginny punched Harry playfully in the shoulder, but did not object to the change in arrangements.
In fact, Harry looked as though he was actually relishing the prospect of taking on Ginny's boyfriend. Ron raised his eyebrows and exchanged a glance with Lee but refrained from comment. Ginny slipped back to the kitchen to say her farewells while Harry went to the hall closet in search of her Firebolt.
"Now don't forget about tomorrow evening," Hermione was saying to Ginny as Harry returned. "7.00pm for 7.30pm and Fred - sorry, George - is cooking, so at least it'll be edible!"
"Oh, Hermione!" exclaimed Ginny, kissing her on the cheek. "Your cooking is terrific, I really don't know why you keep putting yourself down."
"Call it habit - and close association with your brothers," returned Hermione tartly. In answer to Harry's raised eyebrows, Hermione explained.
"A couple of weeks back, we fixed for Ginny and David to come over tomorrow for dinner."
Harry winced inwardly.
"I'll go visit Giovanni's, don't you worry," he began, unwilling to share a continent with David Markland, let alone a dinner table, but Hermione shook her head.
"It was never going to be formal," she told him. "Just George, Ginny and David, and Ron me, but the dining room table can easily accommodate Lee and yourself as well, Harry. I squared it with Lee earlier. Oh, do come. It'll be fun."
Hermione couldn't quite convince herself of that last statement, and Harry was just about to cry off when he noticed Ginny looking earnestly at him. Sighing inwardly, he relented.
"Okay, Hermione, I'll be here," he said resignedly. Hermione was clearly relieved, grateful for the extra support with a Muggle guest who wasn't the friendliest of people. However, Harry could have told her that if Markland was inclined to trouble the waters, he, Harry, was not disposed to pour oil on them - unless to set fire to it.
He and Ginny flew straight back to her flat with none of the aerobatics of the outward journey. The air was cold and Ginny started to shiver, so much so that Harry wrapped his cloak around her and flew one-handed for most of the way. He set her down on the balcony, noticing that the patio door was still ajar.
"You'd better go in quickly," Harry whispered, his mouth close to Ginny's ear. "That wasn't the best of landings: we might have woken your man." Ginny turned towards Harry and suddenly lifted a hand to smooth his hair, ruffled by the wind.
"Is sun-bleaching the fashionable norm in LA?" she enquired, smiling. "Or did you just not notice?"
"If I'm totally honest, I did notice it," Harry said. He was glad it was dark as his face felt decidedly warm. "To be honest, I couldn't be bothered to worry about it. However, I think I'm going to have to do something soon: you and Hermione are making me paranoid!" He squeezed Ginny's hand fondly then reluctantly released her. Ginny began to move towards the patio doors, then lingered, looking back at him.
"Thanks for coming to get me, Harry," Ginny said in a low voice. "I don't think I could have coped with hearing about Fred tomorrow, after everyone else. I already feel as though I've lost touch with my family and all my old friends. Getting such information second-hand would have just about finished me off, I think."
Ginny stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips lightly against his cheek then with a swirl of light fabric, she was gone.
It was just as well.
"Darling, what on earth are you doing out on the balcony - at this time of night?" Markland himself, debonair in oriental silk, stood in the living room, yawning and running a hand through his hair. Harry ducked quickly below the level of the windowsill adjacent to the patio doors and waited.
"I couldn't sleep." Harry heard Ginny say in a plaintive tone. "I was watching the stars." That much was true: she and Harry had admired the clarity of the heavens as they had sped back to her flat. There was a swish of fabric and a soft sound as of kissing.
"Come to bed," said Markland, in a low suggestive voice, abruptly punctuated by a muffled exclamation from Ginny.
"Well, what do you expect?" Markland continued, accompanied by the whisper of cloth sliding against skin. "If you choose to wear something so sheer it leaves nothing to the imagination, you must take the consequences."
The small amount of light faded and disappeared entirely as the couple went out of the room, closing the door softly behind them. Harry paused for a moment on the balcony, aware that his breathing was ragged. He looked down at his hands, unclenching them to see pale crescents in the skin where his nails had bitten into the palms. Presently, he realised that it was starting to rain. The journey home seemed longer than before, and served to make Harry thoroughly wet and miserable. Still, at least it took his mind off what was currently happening chez Markland.
~oo0oo~
Back at the house, Ron was the only one left in the West Room. On his knees over the stone, muttering and making notes on a pad of paper, he looked up when Harry entered.
"Raining is it?" Ron enquired then shrugged in sympathy. "Bad luck. Doesn't it always happen?"
"I haven't needed water repellent spells for years, what with living in LA." Harry shook his streaked hair making water spray out over the carpet. "When it came to it, I couldn't remember a single one."
But Ron wasn't listening. He was staring at where droplets from Harry's hair had splashed on to the stone. A small patch was no longer black but translucent where the water had touched it.
"Harry," Ron said, cautiously, "just shake your head again, but over the stone this time."
Uncomprehending, Harry obeyed and was rewarded with a patchwork of clear areas, revealing something tantalisingly hidden in the depths of the stone. Harry glanced over to the window where the full moon was sending silver light into the room, glancing off the tabletop and the strange stone too.
"Of course!" he murmured, almost inaudibly. "How could I have missed it?"
"Quickly!" he snapped. "Ron, is there anything in this house or garden which collects rainwater?" Ron thought swiftly.
"There's a water butt outside the kitchen door."
"Thank Merlin!" breathed Harry, taking off at a run. "If this is what I think it is, it won't react to tap water."
Once sprinkled with rainwater, the stone became totally translucent, displaying its inner message clearly.
"Yes!" hissed Harry, quietly to himself, frantically copying down the suddenly revealed runes on Ron's pad of paper. He had just finished and was carefully checking each outline when without warning, the moonlight faded as a cloud obscured it, and the stone became suddenly opaque again.
"Did you get it?" demanded Ron, breathlessly.
"I think so, and I think it's accurate." Harry nodded, his eyes shining. "It was a double bluff, Ron. I've seen something like it before, but it's a very rare occurrence. You see this artefact is only magical by association, not by origin." At Ron's puzzled glance, he hastened to explain.
"Because the stone responded to my disclosure spell, we were meant to think that we had uncovered its secrets." Harry began, his voice suffused with suppressed excitement. "However, I reckon we'll find that the glyphs on the surface are either meaningless or indecipherable. They were meant to make us waste time trying, don't you see? However, by an incredible stroke of luck, we had the two ingredients that allowed us to see the true appearance of the stone, just for a moment: rainwater and the light of the moon. When all is said and done, it's not even a magical artefact, it's an enchanted Muggle thing."
He paused to examine what he had written on the pad of paper.
"It's a very old script, Ron, ancient Aramaic. I think I can make a start on this, but we'll need to spend tomorrow in that fount of all the wisdom and knowledge of the ancient world."
"Huh?"
"The World Wizard Library, you dunce!"
~ooOoo~
It was like old times again, thought Harry, as the following day he, Ron and Hermione made their way towards a library. Granted, it was a professional wizard library, probably the single most comprehensive collection of magical knowledge in the known world, but Hermione had used it so many times she could have practically run the place single-handed, and she reckoned there wasn't much they couldn't find out about the ancient world if they were persistent.
Where the World Wizard Library was situated was a well-kept secret. The only way to get there was to go to one of a number of designated exchanges and pick up a Portkey. Having ascertained that the exchange Hermione habitually used in Kensington was Out Of Service, the three friends set out for the Centrepoint exchange on the Underground, having decided that broomsticks would only be an encumbrance.
Walking through Soho at 10 o'clock in the morning was nowhere near as disconcerting as during the night hours, but Hermione still found it necessary to keep her eyes firmly front. Nevertheless, a slight blush around her jawline betrayed her unfamiliarity with such blatant profiteering. Harry and Ron, however, gazed about them with interest, Ron occasionally nudging Harry to point out something particularly interesting. They were snorting with laughter, practically falling into the gutter, when Hermione raised her eyes skywards.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were back at Hogwarts," she scolded them. "Haven't you grown up at all in the last four years? And Ron, don't go into that place, please - I'm not sure you'd come out the same person as you went in."
She clutched at Ron's arm, swinging him round to face her, away from the luridly decorated emporium on their right. Ron's features settled into an expression of utter astonishment.
"Hermione, I'm surprised at you!" he exclaimed. "You, a staunch socialist, defender of house elves and all other oppressed minorities, scorn to visit "Luscious Linda's Lesbian Lovelies"? My dear girl, they need champions for their cause just as much as any house elf! And besides, according to the Ministry instructions, this is the Centrepoint exchange!"
Ron ducked as Hermione swung at him furiously with her handbag. He then leaped up the steps into "Luscious Linda's" followed closely by Harry. Hermione scuttled quickly after them, averting her eyes from the garish posters. The doorman glared at them and was scarcely any less suspicious when they identified themselves as bona fide wizards. Mutely, he gestured to a small kiosk housing an old-fashioned telephone bearing the legend "Out of Order" on a small, dog-eared card stuck to one of the glass panels.
Having regained her composure, Hermione opened the kiosk door, gesturing for the two boys to precede her. It was very cramped. Ron tried hard to make himself as small as possible but his broad shoulders took up most of the available space and Hermione found herself crushed between Ron's chest and the door. Simultaneously, the three wizards reached for the telephone receiver.
.and were abruptly standing in a different lobby elsewhere.
~oo0oo~
The World Wizarding Library was a fascinating organisation, Harry thought as he stood looking around, establishing his bearings. He was fairly familiar with its layout, having been a frequent visitor in the past, and Hermione had practically lived in its environs while studying for her Advocate's Professional Exams, but Harry had to admit that he was surprised when Ron also betrayed some knowledge of it.
"I came here for some research a couple of years ago - when I was doing my training," he explained. "It's rather intimidating, isn't it? But anything you want to know, they'll find it for you."
Hermione went immediately to the Catalogue to compile a list of suitable books. The Catalogue consisted of a very long counter built against a wall with a number of quills and pieces of parchment set at regular intervals along its surface. Hermione took a seat at one of these and began to speak, apparently into the air. Immediately, the quill jumped to attention and started to write quickly on the parchment. After a while, Hermione shook her head and pointed at the parchment: parts of the script disappeared, and quill swiftly replaced them with other suggestions. While this process continued, Harry and Ron stood around rather at a loose end until Hermione was satisfied with her book list and was ready to issue them with instructions or detail them to fetch and carry. After a short period of abstraction, Harry turned to his friend, a peculiar expression on his face.
"Ron, this Muggle Ginny's shacked up with." Harry couldn't quite look his friend in the eye. Ron started in surprise at his friend's coarse language, but merely looked at him quizzically.
"I know he's her agent," Harry continued, "but what else does he do?"
"That's it, as far as I know." Ron shrugged. Harry tried again.
"But they have a flat in Hampstead." Harry insisted. "You and I both know that sort of property doesn't come cheap. Has he an independent income?"
"I don't think so," Ron replied after some thought. "I think it's all earned money. Ginny's not the only artist on his books, you know, but I have to admit that from everything she says she's the most profitable by a long shot."
"So you're telling me that this Markland guy is more or less living off Ginny's income, with precious little other money coming in?" Harry felt his temper begin to smoulder. "And he has a mortgage on a very expensive flat, Gucci shoes, Armani suits, and a lifestyle that would make most stockbrokers drool?"
"And he drives a Jeep," added Ron, with conviction. "In London. Says it's all part of the successful agent image."
"Why does she stay?" Harry was beginning to lose it. He kept his voice calm only with effort. "Surely she can see she's being taken for a ride?" Ron gave Harry a wide-eyed, rather surprised look.
"Don't you know how they got together? Oh, well, it's ancient history now, but I'll tell you anyway." Ron paused to gather his thoughts.
"We were with Ginny when she first met Markland - Hermione, Fred, George and me - in a karaoke pub down on the Bow Road: it's a Chinese Restaurant now." Ron began in a matter of fact manner. "She was the only one of us who would dare to take up the challenge to sing into that machine. To our surprise, the punters loved her. After she sat down again, this bloke came up to speak to her. I could see by her face she was impressed, after all he's got all the gear and he looks pretty cool, but he claimed to be an agent of sorts and asked her to come for a voice tryout. We teased her about it afterwards, but it turned out he'd given her his card and she thought enough of him to follow it up. The rest is history - within a couple of weeks she'd moved in with him and he was pestering her to give up her job."
"Job?" queried Harry. .
"Wizarding Radio," Ron said enthusiastically, "with Ernie MacMillan - you remember him from our year? In Hufflepuff."
Harry nodded: he remembered Ernie well.
"Well, she does some reporting for him," Ron explained. "Editing, sound work - you name it, our Ginny's probably had a go at it. She only works there part-time; her singing takes up the rest of her life. Frankly, I'd be happier if she threw all her creative weight into Wizarding Radio and ditched the gigs, but hell, I'm only her brother."
Harry swallowed back his rising ire yet again.
"Why didn't you do something, Ron?"
"Huh?"
"He's ruining her life, not to mention stunting her magical growth as a sorceress. How can you just stand by and ."
"Now, hold on, Harry. Whoa, just think about what you're saying here."
The anger in Harry's eyes had Ron backing off, holding his hands out in front of him defensively.
"She's a big girl now, Harry, she's her own person and she's got to make her own decisions. My opinion of that git doesn't cut any ice with Ginny, and I can't interfere in her personal life. She wouldn't thank me for it in the long run anyway."
Ron paused, a quirky smile spreading across his face.
"I tell you what, Harry, if you're so worried about her, why don't you make a move on her yourself?"
Ron expected Harry to blush, to tell him he was barmy, to punch him in the shoulder and to demand to know where Ron had got such a stupid idea. But Harry's face only twisted in pain and he turned away, shoving his hands deeply into his pockets.
"I don't have relationships," Harry said, bitterly. "Only funerals."
Ron's eyes widened in shock. He opened his mouth to apologise, but before he could speak Hermione approached them. She was smiling broadly, accompanied by an elderly, grey-haired wizard.
"Ron, Harry, come and meet Professor Radcliffe." Hermione was very excited. "He's occupying the Chair of Ancient Languages at the Wizarding University in Florence, but he's over here doing some research - amazing luck running into him like this."
Radcliffe smiled vaguely. The stranger was a small, wizened man with skin the colour of parchment and about as dry. His robes were of ancient tweed, showing definite signs of wear at the collar and cuffs, and with leather patches at the elbows. Determinedly, Harry threw off his abstracted mood, and advanced, holding out a hand in greeting.
"Harry Potter, Professor," he said, smiling as he grasped the proffered hand. "We've corresponded in the past - over the Egyptian statue I was trying to locate two years ago."
The professor's smile broadened as he grasped Harry's hand strongly.
"Good to meet you at last, Potter! You know, your ideas gave me the inspiration for an entire series of articles in "The Alchemist" last year."
"I read them," responded Harry, "but I had no idea I was instrumental in their creation!"
The other man laughed good-humouredly.
"Oh, yes indeed," Radcliffe affirmed. "The young lady tells me you're on the trail of something else involving old runes, eh?"
Guiding the professor to a table and chairs in the corner of the lobby, Hermione quickly outlined the problem and produced Harry's copy of the inscriptions. The Professor frowned at the outlines briefly and held them up to the light.
"Ah, yes," Radcliffe muttered. "Yes, Potter, I agree with you - ancient Aramaic, but a strange variant I haven't come across before. Now let me see ."
He began to scrawl what looked like gibberish to Ron on Harry's notepad, but Hermione was nodding in agreement and making suggestions. Eventually, he gave her the piece of paper - which turned out to be a comprehensive list of articles from learned journals and periodicals - and she departed to the desk to order them up from Archives.
"Catalogue won't find those too easily," the Professor declared with satisfaction, "but I know what I'm looking for. The young lady and I will be able to make a fair stab at this by the end of the afternoon, I reckon."
Hermione returned and took Ron to one side while Harry was talking to the professor.
"It really only needs one of us here, and it might as well be me - seeing as he's already taken a shine to my company!" Hermione said, with a twinkle. "I know we're working on a short timescale because we don't really know what's involved, so I suggest you take Harry back to the house and let him take a look at whatever's in that temple. I'm quite sure he'd rather visit it by day."
Ron looked slightly reluctant. His eyes flickered between the Professor and Hermione several times before reluctantly deciding that she could take care of herself.
"Oh, and Ron?"
He turned back with a questioning look.
"Be careful," Hermione told him sincerely then turned back to her research.
Ron and Harry ported back to Soho and from thence Apparated to St. John's Wood.
~ooOoo~
Harry stood at the back door staring at the tangle of trees, shrubs and undergrowth that led from the patio.
"Flamel's Stone!" he muttered, shaking his head. "It's much worse than I remember it."
"Of course it is." replied Ron, coming to stand next to him. "It's been four years since you saw it, remember?"
"Yes, I know," Harry was now looking slightly puzzled, "but I don't remember encountering 20ft trees when I checked the boundaries."
"Perhaps it's under an enchantment." Ron suggested. Harry said nothing.
"Sorry," muttered Ron, his face reddening in embarrassment. "Of course it is. How could a place like this exist in Central London otherwise?"
"Oh, I knew all about that when I bought it," Harry explained, smiling grimly. "I beat all the developers who were simply slitting each other throats for the chance to get their grubby little fingers on this property. I went to speak to the vendor, discovered she was a witch and hey presto! I was immediately the preferred purchaser. She'd been renting it out for years, broken up into flats, using a variant on the Everyday charm to hide the scale of the garden from her tenants. Unfortunately, she wasn't terribly skilled in charmwork; once she'd sold the house to me, the spell started to lapse. That was when George and I decided we ought to take a hike round the boundaries." He sighed and gestured to the expanse of land.
"What's here is very old magic indeed, Ron," Harry continued. "This is real land, as real as it ever gets, but you won't find it on any map, wizard or Muggle. The charm on this garden is one of the strongest I have ever seen. It doesn't age or fade with time, and it's so inextricably linked with the earth and plant life that I don't think it could ever be reversed or halted. Everything in this garden is something of a law unto itself - normal magical conditions don't apply here." He turned to his friend with a very serious expression.
"With all my expertise and knowledge, Ron, I'm not happy about this piece of real estate." Harry said and sighed. "And I never have been." He stepped off the patio and plunged into the undergrowth, followed closely by Ron.
Although they had brought their wands, for reasons of safety in unknown territory, Harry insisted they use no magic, at least until he had examined the temple closely. So instead they hacked and slashed away at the greenery with garden implements, shears and a small scythe called a hook.
"I don't understand this," panted Ron, wiping an arm over his forehead. "They said they made a pathway only yesterday. Not a particularly good path, admittedly, but there's no trace of it today. Do you think we're going the right way?" Harry made no reply, but his expression became grave.
It took quite some time before they could get a glimpse of the building, never mind try to get in. It was only after some considerable time that Harry stood contemplating the large silver birch blocking the doorway to the temple.
"Hey," said Ron indignantly, "I thought they said Ginny had shifted that thing!"
"I'm sure they did," Harry replied. "I just don't think it liked its new home." He cast about for another way in but, as George before him, failed to find one.
"Well, it's either move the tree like Ginny did, Apparate, or shrink to 50% and crawl through," Harry said. "Apparating's out - we don't know the lie of the land well enough, and I don't want to risk even a simple shrinking charm in a place that stinks so strongly of unknown enchantment. That leaves levitating the tree, and frankly I'm not sure I can do it. Can you?" Ron shook his head slowly.
"We could always pick Ginny up from Wizarding Radio and get her to do it again." Ron suggested, but Harry vetoed that idea.
"We really need to get in there now, before whatever's behind this starts fighting back. Ah, well." Harry sighed. "Ginny's going to be really pissed at me." He produced his wand from a sleeve pocket, concentrated for a moment then pointed it at the tree.
"Reducto!" Harry declaimed. The tree suddenly burst into fragments and totally disintegrated. Ron sighed. That's as good a way of announcing our arrival as ringing the doorbell! he thought, but nevertheless followed Harry quickly through the debris and into the temple.
Inside, the surroundings were exactly as Hermione, Ginny, George and Colin had found them, except for one notable difference. The altar was no longer empty. Instead, a large stone plinth covered in strange runes and symbols dominated the structure. Harry stared at the altar, the blood draining from his face. His shoulders sagged in weariness.
"What's up?" queried Ron in alarm. The other man shook his head wordlessly.
"If I had known this," Harry replied, hoarsely, "I would never have dared to enter this place." Abruptly he gained control once more.
"Quickly!" Harry hissed, making recklessly for the altar. "Where was it George said he took the stone?"
"He said underneath the altar," replied Ron, catching up. "In a place that was supposed to be handy, if you get the drift."
His tone implied that he, Ron, didn't. Harry was already examining the base of the altar. With an impatient noise, he reached into a pocket and pulled out the stone itself. Immediately it began to glow, a soft rosy radiance. Harry stared at it in alarm and jerked it away from the altar, but the light did not decrease; rather it grew brighter.
"What's happening?" demanded Ron, his face distorted with fear.
"I don't know," replied Harry, between his teeth, "but I fear I am going to find out. It's pulling me away from here."
Jerkily, Harry began to move away from the altar, down towards the doorway, the stone held out in front of him like a water diviner. As he approached a long, moth-eaten tapestry on the right-hand side of the doorway, a second light began to shine brightly through the material. Hardly knowing what he was doing, Harry raised his hand, pulling the tattered material away to reveal a niche in the wall containing a cup. Gold with silver inlay and shaped like a goblet, it stood maybe about six or eight inches high, bathed in the unearthly light. Harry reached out a hand to grasp it then recoiled.
"Ron," he whispered, "you take it." The other man's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline.
"Me?" Ron whispered. "Are you sure?" Harry nodded.
Swallowing on a dry throat, Ron slowly put his hand into the niche and grasped the goblet by its stem, carefully pulling it towards him. They gazed at it in wonder.
"What is it?" Ron breathed, hardly able to take his eyes off it.
"Something very important, Ron." Harry said, with a hint of triumph in his voice. He smiled broadly. "Something I don't believe the dark side knew was here."
They glanced back just as the light went out. Harry ran his hands over the wall to find it solid, no niche to be seen.
"It only appears with the stone's presence - that's a nice little charm!" Ron remarked. Harry glanced around, trying to ascertain if anything had changed while they had been pre-occupied.
"I think we'd better get out of here, Ron," Harry said, quickly. "After all, I did blast that tree into the middle of next week, and I don't suppose whoever is using this place is going to overlook a thing like that!"
But when they went to leave, they found the guardian silver birch tree back in its accustomed place again.
"Okay, we Apparate out - fast!" said Harry without missing a beat. But Ron was quicker. Delving into an inside pocket, he produced an object the size and shape of a credit card.
"I borrowed this from George - just in case!" Ron said, flashing a triumphant grin. Grabbing Harry by the arm, he activated the Portkey and the two wizards disappeared.
~ooOoo~
Hermione walked up the pathway to Harry's House, weary but exultant: she had spent the entire afternoon in the World Wizarding Library with Professor Radcliffe, poring over books and scanning articles, and they had finally struck gold. She now had a rough working translation of the strange runes, and enough background in her notes to be able to fine-tune it where necessary.
She was a little surprised to find no one home and wandered into the kitchen in search of something to drink. There, she found magical writing strung over the stove informing the reader that George was in residence but he had gone shopping: "Someone has to refill the fridge and the larder, not to mention the freezer."
Hermione smiled rather guiltily. Although she probably did most of the cooking, she could rarely force herself into the supermarket. George, however, seemed to quite enjoy trudging up and down the aisles with a trolley, just so long as he could use Fred's car to bring it all home.
Surely Ron and Harry can't still be in the temple? she thought, worriedly, and just as she was about to start hacking her way through the garden to find out, the front door opened to admit them, tired and footsore but very excited about something. All three started talking at once.
"You first," Harry ordered finally, gesturing to Hermione. She willingly told them about the translation, even starting to get out her notes while Ron made a pot of tea. Eventually, Harry stopped her.
"We'll get to the fine print in a moment," he said. "Now, listen to this."
Harry and Ron related the events in the Temple, including the discovery of the shining golden cup, which Ron promptly produced from a carrier bag stuffed into his pocket. They set it on the table and gazed reverently.
"My wand, this is incredible!" Hermione breathed, raising her hand to touch it then glancing sideways at Harry. He shook his head.
"I think we'd better keep the number of people in contact with this thing as few as possible for the moment," Harry said.
"I assume this came from the temple," Hermione replied, frowning slightly in concentration. She eyed him shrewdly. "What on earth did you have to do to get it? I know it's dusty in there, but you two look as though you've been arguing territory with a Hungarian Horntail!"
Harry and Ron exchanged glances and Ron shuffled his feet awkwardly.
"The basic problem," Harry began, raising his eyes skywards, "is that pizza-brain here, the great hope of the Ministry of Magic, can't even programme a Portkey!"
"It got us out of there when the tree blocked the doorway, didn't it?" protested Ron.
"Harrods Food Hall again?" Hermione asked sympathetically, trying to suppress a smile.
"Would that it had been!" Harry shook his head, his expression grim. "We ended up in a Ladies Lavatory somewhere east of Pimlico. We frightened the daylights out of two elderly Muggle ladies, and narrowly avoided being arrested by the Muggle police - I had to use a memory charm. To add insult to injury, neither of us had any Muggle money at all, and we were both too bushed to Apparate, so it had to be the Knight Bus or walk. In view of the imminent dinner engagement, we chose the Knight Bus - oh, my aching head!"
The front door slammed and a tall figure burst into the kitchen laden with bags of shopping.
"Move yourselves!" George shouted loudly as he elbowed them out of the way. "There's more in the car - give us a hand, can't you?"
Harry and Hermione immediately leaped out of their chairs. Oblivious, Ron continued to gaze at the shining golden cup. George stopped unloading packets of chocolate biscuits to stare.
"Wow, that's a beautiful thing!" George reached out to touch it but Ron caught his hand.
"Sorry," said Ron, slightly awkwardly at George's quizzical look. "Harry reckons that as few people as possible should touch it. So far, only I have."
"What is it?" George asked.
"Beats me." Ron replied, shaking his head. "I've got some ideas though, but I'd like to hear what Harry has to say."
They turned their heads as the others came back into the kitchen.
"I may be wrong," said Harry, hauling in several bursting carrier bags and dumping them on the counter, "but I think what we're looking at here, my friends, is the mythical Holy Grail."
Author's Notes
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author. Disclaimer: this is a non-profit enterprise. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, except the plot and David Markland, both of which belong to Penpusher. Tribute to: Susan Cooper's incomparable "The Dark is Rising" sequence for use of the "High Magic"; Dennis Wheatley for a plot device; and many, many other fanfiction writers whose works of all kinds and in very differing genres have been an immense inspiration to me. The quotations used as chapter titles are too numerous to credit here. Full details available on request, but Shakespeare and The Bible should yield most of them.
And all the thanks in the world to Becky (aka williara) for being a superb beta.
Chapter Four - "Things are seldom what they seem"
It looked as if the council of war would be going on for most of the night. At least it's Sunday tomorrow, thought Hermione, but that's not going to dice any ginger roots where Ron is concerned. The Ministry has been so overworked recently that he's sure to get at least one emergency call during off-duty hours.
Ginny sat on the sofa warming her hands on her mug of coffee. At Fred's request, and to preserve general male peace of mind, she had cast an opacity charm on her caftan. Fred paced about the room, surprisingly ill at ease, until Harry called him to order. Even so, he seemed reluctant to settle, unnecessarily refilling his coffee mug, returning to the kitchen for biscuits, opening a small window then closing it again. Ginny watched her brother fidget in growing puzzlement. This was so unlike Fred's usual relaxed, laconic demeanour.
"Look, would it be simpler if I were to begin?" Harry asked, his impatience getting the better of him. Fred looked at him but made no sign. Harry gave a soft sigh and patted the sofa seat next to him.
"Sit down - George." Harry said quietly. The two men locked eyes then slowly Fred resumed his seat on the other side of Harry's sofa.
After a moment of stunned silence, everyone started to speak at once.
"Oh, pull the other one, Fred!" scoffed Ron. "We all know about that Quidditch scar of your. Bit of a dead giveaway that. Pity, I know, but you can't fool us on that one any more."
"Excuse me," this was Lee Jordan. "But I'm not sure I heard you correctly, Harry. You're telling me this isn't Fred?"
"But why?" Ginny looked totally bewildered and also rather hurt. "Why are you deceiving us like this?"
"Fred" gave no sign that he had heard any of their questions. He merely brought out his wand and described an intricate little shape in mid-air accompanied by a whispered charm. At first nothing happened, then subtle changes started to creep over his face and body. His physique became slightly stockier, his cheeks rounded a little, his hair thickened and the long silver scar disappeared entirely.
"It's a Glamour," he explained quietly. "Fred and I use them all the time. We've been impersonating each other for years now, no one rumbled us. However, we couldn't hide from Potter here - he helped us develop the charms, amongst other things," Harry grinned. "And I have to admit, over the last few weeks, I had to confide in Hermione. It was that or go mad, really." He shrugged helplessly.
Ron turned furious eyes on his ex-girlfriend.
"You never told me!" he protested. She shrugged, totally unmoved.
"I was asked not to tell anyone," she said simply. "And there was a very good reason why."
"Oh yeah? Name it!" Ron was very angry.
"Well, actually, it's not for me to tell," Hermione replied worriedly, biting her lip.
"Oh no?" sneered Ron. "Well, how very convenient!"
"It's alright, Ron," George interrupted. "You can stop badgering Hermione. I'll tell you the reason why. Fred's, well, disappeared."
The pause that followed was long and very uncomfortable. Harry slowly uncrossed his legs and cleared his throat, looking round at the group.
"I think, George," Harry said gently, "that it will be easier for us all to understand what you are saying if you start at the beginning."
Slowly, hesitantly, his eyes still fixed to the floor, George began to speak.
What followed was almost a complete re-working of the lives of George and Fred Weasley. To their friends and family, the twins were a couple of overgrown schoolboys who took nothing seriously, except perhaps making money. On leaving Hogwarts, they had fulfilled their lifelong dream to own and run a joke shop. George did most of the donkeywork while Fred supplemented their joint income with a little freelance spellbook publishing. It seemed to work well enough. Happy-go-lucky and easygoing to a fault, the twins had never really grown up enough to move fully into adulthood. Or so it seemed.
Now George reluctantly acknowledged that whilst Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had been a modest success, the twins' real employment was, and always had been, with the Intelligence Department of the Ministry of Magic.
"The Ministry made their first approaches to us before we left Hogwarts," George continued. "Our NEWTs results were no better than average, but they knew there was more to us than we were letting on. After all, exams aren't always the best way to measure ability."
George said this without any trace of conceit or complacency, but Ron and Hermione exchanged chagrined glances as they remembered their own fraught final year.
"The fact that we are twins and had a high profile for being airheads was just so much jam as far as our Department was concerned," George continued. "We both tried out for the Cannons during our final year. They liked that; fitness is a pre-requisite in our business. During training, we were given the basics of the Glamour technique, but you need a lot of skill to be really effective. The Ministry arranged for Harry to give us some help with that. We took a holiday to California, remember Ron? You wondered how on earth we could afford it. It took a lot of self-control not to tell you it was official." Ron nodded slowly. "Well, it was on that trip that Fred recruited Harry as an emergency contact."
This was not normal practice for Ministry operatives, George explained, but Fred never liked putting all his eggs in one basket. He got twitchy, he said, if he didn't have at least a couple of aces up his sleeve. Like the spellbook publishing, for instance. It seemed that Fred's other job was quite genuine, but existed mainly as cover for his frequent trips abroad.
"Fred was always the one with the real flair for intelligence," George went on. "I'm not bad, but Fred has always had the knack of melting into the background when he wanted. He could win the confidence of even the most nervous informant. Fred would be posted somewhere, quite often abroad, at short notice and I would be left to keep things going, so I simply - became him when necessary."
Ron was scandalised.
"Do you mean to say that you've been living in two places at the same time? That Hermione's been sharing her house with you, convinced that you were one person, when all the time you were someone else?" Hermione laughed.
"Oh, Ron, don't be silly! These are your brothers we're talking about." She was very amused. "And besides, latterly I've been in on the secret. It was impossible for George to maintain both lives indefinitely, and eventually he had to trust me. Mind you, if I hadn't been burning the midnight oil, I'd have worked it out for myself ages ago!" Irreverently, she poked out her tongue at George who was making derisive signs to anyone who would look.
"Can I ask something?" Ginny finally spoke up. She wasn't smiling. "How long have you been assuming Fred's identity?" George pursed his lips.
"For about, uh, two months now, I reckon."
"So Fred's been missing all this time? Have you notified the Ministry, whatever department it is you work in? Have you done anything to find him? Is he in any danger? How much do you know about what he's up to?" George looked into her worried eyes and sighed.
"I knew you'd be upset," he began, sorrowfully. "I'll tell you as much as I can. It's not a great deal, I'm afraid. Fred always played a lone hand, even with me, so I have very little to go on." He took a deep breath.
"Fred had been on the trail of something potentially important, although he was pretty vague about the details," George began. "All he had were a couple of drawings (some sort of arcane design, maybe a carving, we couldn't tell) and some very ambiguous stories surrounding them. I'd never been entirely happy about this particular operation, to be honest. I didn't trust the informant as far as I could kick him, but Fred assured me it would be a breeze, and with lots of extra kudos with the Ministry as a bonus."
George had reluctantly agreed to cover Fred's absence in the usual way, lulled into a false sense of security by his brother's insistence that he would only be away for a matter of days. In fact, even when days became weeks and eventually a month slipped past, George did not worry unduly. Fred's maverick behaviour drove Ministry staff to distraction, but George knew his brother would make contact just as soon as he was able.
"Then I came home very late one evening and found Hermione asleep over her desk." George continued. "When she'd woken up enough, she told me about her sudden flood of work. I listened, polite conversation really, then something seemed to click. The types of cases she was defending were so odd and unusual that I found my intelligence antennae twitching." George paused, looking across at Hermione. Taking the hint, she also took up the narrative.
"My firm has traditionally dealt with civil litigation, specialist opinions, contracts, that sort of thing," Hermione began promptly, "but the stuff we're dealing with lately is largely criminal in nature. Also, the type of case we're being hired for is really very unusual: people accused of crimes they seemed to have no memory of committing, and no motive; wizards sent to Azkaban for use of Unforgivable Curses, all the while screaming their innocence; people disappearing, Muggles and wizards, and others accused of their murders." Hermione paused to take a fortifying sip of coffee.
"I think the final straw was when I became involved in a case of theft regarding an important magical artefact," she continued. "The thief had been caught, but although he was an habitual criminal and known to me personally in my professional life, this particular offence didn't have the right feel about it, if you know what I mean. It just wasn't his style. Also once apprehended, this particular crook was usually pretty co- operative for the sake of a plea bargain. Not this time though: he was adamant that he was innocent." She sighed. "Didn't help him - straight back to Azkaban."
As Hermione came to a natural conclusion, George stepped in again.
"Time went on," he continued, "and eventually I grew worried enough about Fred to contact Harry." He turned to nod at the other man. "As I feared, Harry could throw no light on Fred's whereabouts, nor could he glean any information on how long he had been missing."
There was a pause. Harry shifted in his seat, stroking his bottom lip with an index finger.
"I think it's time we called on Lee to explain his part," he said, as though chairing a meeting. Lee nodded, clearing his throat.
"You've heard from Hermione about how she started to wonder not only about the sudden increase in her workload, but also the type of case," Lee began. "What you don't know is that it's not only affecting Advocates in London. Wizarding lawyers all over the country are inundated, and most of their colleagues abroad are similarly bogged down. She mentioned this phenomenon in passing one evening round at the flat. I was working on a very sophisticated system for data analysis at the time and I felt I could do worse than use Hermione's problem as a test case for the programme.
"We did a surface analysis of the data," he continued. "We broke it up into fields of variability - like, type of crime, how many persons involved, ages of victims and perpetrators, etc. etc. all the way through to time of day, colour of clothing, whether the perp. owned a pet, what colour their bathroom was painted - you know, from the sublime to the ridiculous. It took quite a long time, but eventually I had it sorted and I then began the task of getting it on to the computer. The results were surprising - a number of very strong correlations. The problem then was interpretation."
Lee glanced at Hermione and she shrugged.
"And I'm afraid it remains the problem," she finished bluntly. "We're researchers, Lee and I, not criminal analysts and, frankly, we don't have any idea what we've got. To be honest, I'm not sure our results are solely crime based. Some of them point a long way beyond crime into politics - and not just wizard politics either. This is something that seems to embrace both wizards and Muggles alike, and whatever it is, it's on a massive scale."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand. It seems to me we've got two different scenarios here." The others all turned to look at Ginny who it was speaking.
"I may be very stupid," she continued humbly, "but I don't see the connection between Lee's analysis and Fred's disappearance." George stirred again.
"I admit, I was reluctant to see any sort of link myself." he began awkwardly. "That is, until half the Aurors in London turned up on my doorstep and I found myself hauled into custody accused of Fred's murder."
"Oh Merlin!" gasped Ginny, her hands to her mouth.
"Indeed." George's eyes were stony. "And if I hadn't been playing my little double-act, I'd probably be languishing in Azkaban right now." Ginny gave a little sob. George leaned over to lay a hand on her arm.
"Don't jump to conclusions, Ginny," he said soothingly. "Fred's a very good operative - one of the best, and the Ministry doesn't take losers. I believe he is very much alive and kicking, he's just not able to contact us for some reason." He ran an impatient hand through his hair.
"I followed every lead I had," he continued. "I spoke to anyone who might have information, used tracer charms, pulled in favours - nothing. Then, out of the blue, came yesterday's little brush with the great Unknown. Now, I'm afraid if Fred doesn't make contact in the next day or so, I have only one option left to me: to inform the Ministry whatever the cost."
The corners of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile.
"And that's when things will really get interesting."
"George," Lee began, breaking the resulting silence, "you mentioned the business in that temple out there as though it were connected with Fred's disappearance. I don't want to appear stupid, but am I missing something here?"
"I'm sorry, I seem to have skipped a link," George replied. "You know I mentioned drawings of some kind of design, maybe a carving? Fred took the documents with him when he made off the last time and I hardly gave them another thought. Until this morning when I saw that altar."
He leaned forward, his eyes swinging from one person to another.
"The wooden altar was covered with carvings just like the ones in Fred's drawings. He never told me what they were supposed to represent, or where they were from, but these carvings are the same design, I'd lay my life on it." He leaned back against the sofa and put his hands above his head.
"I guess that just about wraps it up," George said somberly. Hermione fixed him with a glare and leaned forward ominously.
"George, please credit us with a little intelligence," Hermione replied crisply. "It is not wrapped up, nor will it be until you explain what you did to trigger the booby trap in the temple, and how."
"Huh?" said Ron, puzzled. "What booby trap?"
"Well what else did you think it was?" Hermione shot back with barely controlled impatience. "An earthquake?" She turned once more to George.
"I'm not letting you off the hook that easily, Weasley," Hermione said firmly. "We know now why you just happened to have specialist Ministry property hanging around in your wallet, we've coped with your revelations concerning your double identity and Fred's disappearance, we've even swallowed whole the news about what you really do for a living - now, please, just get this last little thing off your chest, will you? Believe me, you'll feel ever so much better afterwards."
"Fred was always better at this sort of thing than me," George muttered, cringing at her heavy sarcasm. "Okay, it's this way.
"Fred got those drawings off some crazy old wizard who was slightly involved with the theft of Morgana's Mirror six months ago. That robbery even made the Daily Prophet, unfortunately. It was far too important to be totally hushed up. This guy seemed to think these inscriptions were important somehow, although none of the Ministry cryptologists could make head nor tail of them. Fred reported most of this guy's ravings, most of them scarcely made sense anyway, but Fred decided to leave one small thing out of his official report. He tried to kid me that it was all nonsense, that it would be embarrassing to put something so crazy in his report, but I wasn't fooled. This old wizard, he mentioned the Holy Grail."
There was a reverent silence as none of those present could think of a suitable reply.
"The Holy Grail." said Harry, finally. "Subject of Muggle legend, associated with the great wizard Merlin, connections with early pagan religions. The greatest magical artefact of all time."
"Then it existed?" Lee was sitting on the edge of his seat. Harry nodded.
"Oh yes, it existed all right." he replied equably. "I've come across far too many references to it in my travels and researches for it to be the product of someone's fevered imagination. Whether it still exists, however, is quite another matter." He paused, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.
"I had hoped it wouldn't come to this," Harry began again. "I shall need to examine Hermione and Lee's research on an urgent basis, but for now, let's hear the end of George's exploits in the temple." He gestured for his friend to continue.
"I freely admit, I must have been crazy just to walk straight up to the altar and not expect to fall into any kind of danger," George went on, "but there it was. I reached the thing intact and had just started to examine it when my magical detection alarm started beeping."
At their confused expressions, he unclipped a small device from his belt and held it out to their curious gazes.
"Second item of specialist Ministry property," George said, shortly. "Registers presence and levels of dark magic. This device was going crazy. Only I could hear it, of course."
"George," said Ron in a strangled voice, "when you told me that thing was a mileometer you used for long-distance running, I believed you, you - you git!"
George flashed him a quick grin, then became serious once more.
"At this point, Hermione freaked and tried to drag me away from the altar." George shrugged. "It was then that I spotted it." He reached into his pocket, brought out a small object and laid it carefully on the coffee table.
At first sight, it was nothing more than a stone. About as big as the average man's hand, it was a kind of dull pink quartz covered in scratches. No one touched it; no one spoke.
"Well done, George," Harry murmured with feeling then held up his hands warningly. "Don't handle it, please, any of you. It may be attuned to George. I doubt it, but I don't want to take any chances."
Hermione leaned forward to get as close to the thing as she could without actually coming into contact with it in any way. Ron tried to squeeze his broad shoulders between Lee and Ginny to get a peek.
"What on earth is it?" Hermione queried, looking as puzzled as she ever had.
"Harry, do you know what it is?" asked Ginny, timidly.
"No, not yet," replied Harry, gently, "but I think I know how to find out."
Harry slid his wand from an inside pocket and passed it slowly over the stone, muttering inaudibly. A mist rose, obscuring most of the coffee table, swirling around the stone, blurring its outlines. Then, with no rhyme or reason, it began to lengthen and broaden. It changed colour and the scratches became clearer, sharper. Harry sat back and watched his magic take effect. Once the mist had cleared, the five friends leaned forward interestedly. The stone was now at least six inches square, black, and covered not by scratches, but by what looked like an ancient language. George was the first to react.
"Well, it beats me," he sighed. "It's got to have some significance - I found the thing under the altar, for Merlin's sake."
"Oh, it's certainly important, George," said Harry hunched over the stone, his eyes alight with interest. "In fact, it could be the key to this whole mystery."
Hermione tilted her head to one side, minutely examining the surface of the stone.
"It's definitely some kind of script," she said decisively. "But is it a wizard or a Muggle language, I wonder?" Lee shook his head.
"It's hardly likely to be Muggle, Hermione," he protested. "Not with all those enchantments on it."
"Oh, I don't know." She was frowning in concentration. "It really depends upon how old it is."
No one could shed light on the strange language. Harry sat back in his chair and sighed.
"We're not getting any further, are we?" he said, looking around the group. "I suggest we throw in the towel for tonight. I don't know about the rest of you, but I've travelled half way across the world today, and I'm tired!"
Murmuring assent, the others started to make departure noises. Ginny helped Hermione clear the coffee things. Ron started to follow but turned back as Harry spoke his name.
"I want to try to get into the temple tomorrow," Harry said quietly. "I'd do it now, but I don't trust the dark. Ron, would you be prepared to come with me? I'd rather not go alone and I can't think of anyone I'd rather have watching my back."
"Of course," replied Ron staunchly. "I'd be delighted."
Lee looked up as Ginny came back into the room and smiled at her.
"I reckon it's time we all went home," he said. "I'll give you a lift to your flat, if you like." Harry looked up.
"No, Lee, don't worry," he said before Ginny could open her mouth. "I'll finish what I started. Besides," and his eyes twinkled, "if there's likely to be any fisticuffs with Mr. Markland, I'm the one responsible for abducting Ginny at the dead of night so I feel I should face the consequences."
"Oh, you!" Ginny punched Harry playfully in the shoulder, but did not object to the change in arrangements.
In fact, Harry looked as though he was actually relishing the prospect of taking on Ginny's boyfriend. Ron raised his eyebrows and exchanged a glance with Lee but refrained from comment. Ginny slipped back to the kitchen to say her farewells while Harry went to the hall closet in search of her Firebolt.
"Now don't forget about tomorrow evening," Hermione was saying to Ginny as Harry returned. "7.00pm for 7.30pm and Fred - sorry, George - is cooking, so at least it'll be edible!"
"Oh, Hermione!" exclaimed Ginny, kissing her on the cheek. "Your cooking is terrific, I really don't know why you keep putting yourself down."
"Call it habit - and close association with your brothers," returned Hermione tartly. In answer to Harry's raised eyebrows, Hermione explained.
"A couple of weeks back, we fixed for Ginny and David to come over tomorrow for dinner."
Harry winced inwardly.
"I'll go visit Giovanni's, don't you worry," he began, unwilling to share a continent with David Markland, let alone a dinner table, but Hermione shook her head.
"It was never going to be formal," she told him. "Just George, Ginny and David, and Ron me, but the dining room table can easily accommodate Lee and yourself as well, Harry. I squared it with Lee earlier. Oh, do come. It'll be fun."
Hermione couldn't quite convince herself of that last statement, and Harry was just about to cry off when he noticed Ginny looking earnestly at him. Sighing inwardly, he relented.
"Okay, Hermione, I'll be here," he said resignedly. Hermione was clearly relieved, grateful for the extra support with a Muggle guest who wasn't the friendliest of people. However, Harry could have told her that if Markland was inclined to trouble the waters, he, Harry, was not disposed to pour oil on them - unless to set fire to it.
He and Ginny flew straight back to her flat with none of the aerobatics of the outward journey. The air was cold and Ginny started to shiver, so much so that Harry wrapped his cloak around her and flew one-handed for most of the way. He set her down on the balcony, noticing that the patio door was still ajar.
"You'd better go in quickly," Harry whispered, his mouth close to Ginny's ear. "That wasn't the best of landings: we might have woken your man." Ginny turned towards Harry and suddenly lifted a hand to smooth his hair, ruffled by the wind.
"Is sun-bleaching the fashionable norm in LA?" she enquired, smiling. "Or did you just not notice?"
"If I'm totally honest, I did notice it," Harry said. He was glad it was dark as his face felt decidedly warm. "To be honest, I couldn't be bothered to worry about it. However, I think I'm going to have to do something soon: you and Hermione are making me paranoid!" He squeezed Ginny's hand fondly then reluctantly released her. Ginny began to move towards the patio doors, then lingered, looking back at him.
"Thanks for coming to get me, Harry," Ginny said in a low voice. "I don't think I could have coped with hearing about Fred tomorrow, after everyone else. I already feel as though I've lost touch with my family and all my old friends. Getting such information second-hand would have just about finished me off, I think."
Ginny stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips lightly against his cheek then with a swirl of light fabric, she was gone.
It was just as well.
"Darling, what on earth are you doing out on the balcony - at this time of night?" Markland himself, debonair in oriental silk, stood in the living room, yawning and running a hand through his hair. Harry ducked quickly below the level of the windowsill adjacent to the patio doors and waited.
"I couldn't sleep." Harry heard Ginny say in a plaintive tone. "I was watching the stars." That much was true: she and Harry had admired the clarity of the heavens as they had sped back to her flat. There was a swish of fabric and a soft sound as of kissing.
"Come to bed," said Markland, in a low suggestive voice, abruptly punctuated by a muffled exclamation from Ginny.
"Well, what do you expect?" Markland continued, accompanied by the whisper of cloth sliding against skin. "If you choose to wear something so sheer it leaves nothing to the imagination, you must take the consequences."
The small amount of light faded and disappeared entirely as the couple went out of the room, closing the door softly behind them. Harry paused for a moment on the balcony, aware that his breathing was ragged. He looked down at his hands, unclenching them to see pale crescents in the skin where his nails had bitten into the palms. Presently, he realised that it was starting to rain. The journey home seemed longer than before, and served to make Harry thoroughly wet and miserable. Still, at least it took his mind off what was currently happening chez Markland.
~oo0oo~
Back at the house, Ron was the only one left in the West Room. On his knees over the stone, muttering and making notes on a pad of paper, he looked up when Harry entered.
"Raining is it?" Ron enquired then shrugged in sympathy. "Bad luck. Doesn't it always happen?"
"I haven't needed water repellent spells for years, what with living in LA." Harry shook his streaked hair making water spray out over the carpet. "When it came to it, I couldn't remember a single one."
But Ron wasn't listening. He was staring at where droplets from Harry's hair had splashed on to the stone. A small patch was no longer black but translucent where the water had touched it.
"Harry," Ron said, cautiously, "just shake your head again, but over the stone this time."
Uncomprehending, Harry obeyed and was rewarded with a patchwork of clear areas, revealing something tantalisingly hidden in the depths of the stone. Harry glanced over to the window where the full moon was sending silver light into the room, glancing off the tabletop and the strange stone too.
"Of course!" he murmured, almost inaudibly. "How could I have missed it?"
"Quickly!" he snapped. "Ron, is there anything in this house or garden which collects rainwater?" Ron thought swiftly.
"There's a water butt outside the kitchen door."
"Thank Merlin!" breathed Harry, taking off at a run. "If this is what I think it is, it won't react to tap water."
Once sprinkled with rainwater, the stone became totally translucent, displaying its inner message clearly.
"Yes!" hissed Harry, quietly to himself, frantically copying down the suddenly revealed runes on Ron's pad of paper. He had just finished and was carefully checking each outline when without warning, the moonlight faded as a cloud obscured it, and the stone became suddenly opaque again.
"Did you get it?" demanded Ron, breathlessly.
"I think so, and I think it's accurate." Harry nodded, his eyes shining. "It was a double bluff, Ron. I've seen something like it before, but it's a very rare occurrence. You see this artefact is only magical by association, not by origin." At Ron's puzzled glance, he hastened to explain.
"Because the stone responded to my disclosure spell, we were meant to think that we had uncovered its secrets." Harry began, his voice suffused with suppressed excitement. "However, I reckon we'll find that the glyphs on the surface are either meaningless or indecipherable. They were meant to make us waste time trying, don't you see? However, by an incredible stroke of luck, we had the two ingredients that allowed us to see the true appearance of the stone, just for a moment: rainwater and the light of the moon. When all is said and done, it's not even a magical artefact, it's an enchanted Muggle thing."
He paused to examine what he had written on the pad of paper.
"It's a very old script, Ron, ancient Aramaic. I think I can make a start on this, but we'll need to spend tomorrow in that fount of all the wisdom and knowledge of the ancient world."
"Huh?"
"The World Wizard Library, you dunce!"
~ooOoo~
It was like old times again, thought Harry, as the following day he, Ron and Hermione made their way towards a library. Granted, it was a professional wizard library, probably the single most comprehensive collection of magical knowledge in the known world, but Hermione had used it so many times she could have practically run the place single-handed, and she reckoned there wasn't much they couldn't find out about the ancient world if they were persistent.
Where the World Wizard Library was situated was a well-kept secret. The only way to get there was to go to one of a number of designated exchanges and pick up a Portkey. Having ascertained that the exchange Hermione habitually used in Kensington was Out Of Service, the three friends set out for the Centrepoint exchange on the Underground, having decided that broomsticks would only be an encumbrance.
Walking through Soho at 10 o'clock in the morning was nowhere near as disconcerting as during the night hours, but Hermione still found it necessary to keep her eyes firmly front. Nevertheless, a slight blush around her jawline betrayed her unfamiliarity with such blatant profiteering. Harry and Ron, however, gazed about them with interest, Ron occasionally nudging Harry to point out something particularly interesting. They were snorting with laughter, practically falling into the gutter, when Hermione raised her eyes skywards.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were back at Hogwarts," she scolded them. "Haven't you grown up at all in the last four years? And Ron, don't go into that place, please - I'm not sure you'd come out the same person as you went in."
She clutched at Ron's arm, swinging him round to face her, away from the luridly decorated emporium on their right. Ron's features settled into an expression of utter astonishment.
"Hermione, I'm surprised at you!" he exclaimed. "You, a staunch socialist, defender of house elves and all other oppressed minorities, scorn to visit "Luscious Linda's Lesbian Lovelies"? My dear girl, they need champions for their cause just as much as any house elf! And besides, according to the Ministry instructions, this is the Centrepoint exchange!"
Ron ducked as Hermione swung at him furiously with her handbag. He then leaped up the steps into "Luscious Linda's" followed closely by Harry. Hermione scuttled quickly after them, averting her eyes from the garish posters. The doorman glared at them and was scarcely any less suspicious when they identified themselves as bona fide wizards. Mutely, he gestured to a small kiosk housing an old-fashioned telephone bearing the legend "Out of Order" on a small, dog-eared card stuck to one of the glass panels.
Having regained her composure, Hermione opened the kiosk door, gesturing for the two boys to precede her. It was very cramped. Ron tried hard to make himself as small as possible but his broad shoulders took up most of the available space and Hermione found herself crushed between Ron's chest and the door. Simultaneously, the three wizards reached for the telephone receiver.
.and were abruptly standing in a different lobby elsewhere.
~oo0oo~
The World Wizarding Library was a fascinating organisation, Harry thought as he stood looking around, establishing his bearings. He was fairly familiar with its layout, having been a frequent visitor in the past, and Hermione had practically lived in its environs while studying for her Advocate's Professional Exams, but Harry had to admit that he was surprised when Ron also betrayed some knowledge of it.
"I came here for some research a couple of years ago - when I was doing my training," he explained. "It's rather intimidating, isn't it? But anything you want to know, they'll find it for you."
Hermione went immediately to the Catalogue to compile a list of suitable books. The Catalogue consisted of a very long counter built against a wall with a number of quills and pieces of parchment set at regular intervals along its surface. Hermione took a seat at one of these and began to speak, apparently into the air. Immediately, the quill jumped to attention and started to write quickly on the parchment. After a while, Hermione shook her head and pointed at the parchment: parts of the script disappeared, and quill swiftly replaced them with other suggestions. While this process continued, Harry and Ron stood around rather at a loose end until Hermione was satisfied with her book list and was ready to issue them with instructions or detail them to fetch and carry. After a short period of abstraction, Harry turned to his friend, a peculiar expression on his face.
"Ron, this Muggle Ginny's shacked up with." Harry couldn't quite look his friend in the eye. Ron started in surprise at his friend's coarse language, but merely looked at him quizzically.
"I know he's her agent," Harry continued, "but what else does he do?"
"That's it, as far as I know." Ron shrugged. Harry tried again.
"But they have a flat in Hampstead." Harry insisted. "You and I both know that sort of property doesn't come cheap. Has he an independent income?"
"I don't think so," Ron replied after some thought. "I think it's all earned money. Ginny's not the only artist on his books, you know, but I have to admit that from everything she says she's the most profitable by a long shot."
"So you're telling me that this Markland guy is more or less living off Ginny's income, with precious little other money coming in?" Harry felt his temper begin to smoulder. "And he has a mortgage on a very expensive flat, Gucci shoes, Armani suits, and a lifestyle that would make most stockbrokers drool?"
"And he drives a Jeep," added Ron, with conviction. "In London. Says it's all part of the successful agent image."
"Why does she stay?" Harry was beginning to lose it. He kept his voice calm only with effort. "Surely she can see she's being taken for a ride?" Ron gave Harry a wide-eyed, rather surprised look.
"Don't you know how they got together? Oh, well, it's ancient history now, but I'll tell you anyway." Ron paused to gather his thoughts.
"We were with Ginny when she first met Markland - Hermione, Fred, George and me - in a karaoke pub down on the Bow Road: it's a Chinese Restaurant now." Ron began in a matter of fact manner. "She was the only one of us who would dare to take up the challenge to sing into that machine. To our surprise, the punters loved her. After she sat down again, this bloke came up to speak to her. I could see by her face she was impressed, after all he's got all the gear and he looks pretty cool, but he claimed to be an agent of sorts and asked her to come for a voice tryout. We teased her about it afterwards, but it turned out he'd given her his card and she thought enough of him to follow it up. The rest is history - within a couple of weeks she'd moved in with him and he was pestering her to give up her job."
"Job?" queried Harry. .
"Wizarding Radio," Ron said enthusiastically, "with Ernie MacMillan - you remember him from our year? In Hufflepuff."
Harry nodded: he remembered Ernie well.
"Well, she does some reporting for him," Ron explained. "Editing, sound work - you name it, our Ginny's probably had a go at it. She only works there part-time; her singing takes up the rest of her life. Frankly, I'd be happier if she threw all her creative weight into Wizarding Radio and ditched the gigs, but hell, I'm only her brother."
Harry swallowed back his rising ire yet again.
"Why didn't you do something, Ron?"
"Huh?"
"He's ruining her life, not to mention stunting her magical growth as a sorceress. How can you just stand by and ."
"Now, hold on, Harry. Whoa, just think about what you're saying here."
The anger in Harry's eyes had Ron backing off, holding his hands out in front of him defensively.
"She's a big girl now, Harry, she's her own person and she's got to make her own decisions. My opinion of that git doesn't cut any ice with Ginny, and I can't interfere in her personal life. She wouldn't thank me for it in the long run anyway."
Ron paused, a quirky smile spreading across his face.
"I tell you what, Harry, if you're so worried about her, why don't you make a move on her yourself?"
Ron expected Harry to blush, to tell him he was barmy, to punch him in the shoulder and to demand to know where Ron had got such a stupid idea. But Harry's face only twisted in pain and he turned away, shoving his hands deeply into his pockets.
"I don't have relationships," Harry said, bitterly. "Only funerals."
Ron's eyes widened in shock. He opened his mouth to apologise, but before he could speak Hermione approached them. She was smiling broadly, accompanied by an elderly, grey-haired wizard.
"Ron, Harry, come and meet Professor Radcliffe." Hermione was very excited. "He's occupying the Chair of Ancient Languages at the Wizarding University in Florence, but he's over here doing some research - amazing luck running into him like this."
Radcliffe smiled vaguely. The stranger was a small, wizened man with skin the colour of parchment and about as dry. His robes were of ancient tweed, showing definite signs of wear at the collar and cuffs, and with leather patches at the elbows. Determinedly, Harry threw off his abstracted mood, and advanced, holding out a hand in greeting.
"Harry Potter, Professor," he said, smiling as he grasped the proffered hand. "We've corresponded in the past - over the Egyptian statue I was trying to locate two years ago."
The professor's smile broadened as he grasped Harry's hand strongly.
"Good to meet you at last, Potter! You know, your ideas gave me the inspiration for an entire series of articles in "The Alchemist" last year."
"I read them," responded Harry, "but I had no idea I was instrumental in their creation!"
The other man laughed good-humouredly.
"Oh, yes indeed," Radcliffe affirmed. "The young lady tells me you're on the trail of something else involving old runes, eh?"
Guiding the professor to a table and chairs in the corner of the lobby, Hermione quickly outlined the problem and produced Harry's copy of the inscriptions. The Professor frowned at the outlines briefly and held them up to the light.
"Ah, yes," Radcliffe muttered. "Yes, Potter, I agree with you - ancient Aramaic, but a strange variant I haven't come across before. Now let me see ."
He began to scrawl what looked like gibberish to Ron on Harry's notepad, but Hermione was nodding in agreement and making suggestions. Eventually, he gave her the piece of paper - which turned out to be a comprehensive list of articles from learned journals and periodicals - and she departed to the desk to order them up from Archives.
"Catalogue won't find those too easily," the Professor declared with satisfaction, "but I know what I'm looking for. The young lady and I will be able to make a fair stab at this by the end of the afternoon, I reckon."
Hermione returned and took Ron to one side while Harry was talking to the professor.
"It really only needs one of us here, and it might as well be me - seeing as he's already taken a shine to my company!" Hermione said, with a twinkle. "I know we're working on a short timescale because we don't really know what's involved, so I suggest you take Harry back to the house and let him take a look at whatever's in that temple. I'm quite sure he'd rather visit it by day."
Ron looked slightly reluctant. His eyes flickered between the Professor and Hermione several times before reluctantly deciding that she could take care of herself.
"Oh, and Ron?"
He turned back with a questioning look.
"Be careful," Hermione told him sincerely then turned back to her research.
Ron and Harry ported back to Soho and from thence Apparated to St. John's Wood.
~ooOoo~
Harry stood at the back door staring at the tangle of trees, shrubs and undergrowth that led from the patio.
"Flamel's Stone!" he muttered, shaking his head. "It's much worse than I remember it."
"Of course it is." replied Ron, coming to stand next to him. "It's been four years since you saw it, remember?"
"Yes, I know," Harry was now looking slightly puzzled, "but I don't remember encountering 20ft trees when I checked the boundaries."
"Perhaps it's under an enchantment." Ron suggested. Harry said nothing.
"Sorry," muttered Ron, his face reddening in embarrassment. "Of course it is. How could a place like this exist in Central London otherwise?"
"Oh, I knew all about that when I bought it," Harry explained, smiling grimly. "I beat all the developers who were simply slitting each other throats for the chance to get their grubby little fingers on this property. I went to speak to the vendor, discovered she was a witch and hey presto! I was immediately the preferred purchaser. She'd been renting it out for years, broken up into flats, using a variant on the Everyday charm to hide the scale of the garden from her tenants. Unfortunately, she wasn't terribly skilled in charmwork; once she'd sold the house to me, the spell started to lapse. That was when George and I decided we ought to take a hike round the boundaries." He sighed and gestured to the expanse of land.
"What's here is very old magic indeed, Ron," Harry continued. "This is real land, as real as it ever gets, but you won't find it on any map, wizard or Muggle. The charm on this garden is one of the strongest I have ever seen. It doesn't age or fade with time, and it's so inextricably linked with the earth and plant life that I don't think it could ever be reversed or halted. Everything in this garden is something of a law unto itself - normal magical conditions don't apply here." He turned to his friend with a very serious expression.
"With all my expertise and knowledge, Ron, I'm not happy about this piece of real estate." Harry said and sighed. "And I never have been." He stepped off the patio and plunged into the undergrowth, followed closely by Ron.
Although they had brought their wands, for reasons of safety in unknown territory, Harry insisted they use no magic, at least until he had examined the temple closely. So instead they hacked and slashed away at the greenery with garden implements, shears and a small scythe called a hook.
"I don't understand this," panted Ron, wiping an arm over his forehead. "They said they made a pathway only yesterday. Not a particularly good path, admittedly, but there's no trace of it today. Do you think we're going the right way?" Harry made no reply, but his expression became grave.
It took quite some time before they could get a glimpse of the building, never mind try to get in. It was only after some considerable time that Harry stood contemplating the large silver birch blocking the doorway to the temple.
"Hey," said Ron indignantly, "I thought they said Ginny had shifted that thing!"
"I'm sure they did," Harry replied. "I just don't think it liked its new home." He cast about for another way in but, as George before him, failed to find one.
"Well, it's either move the tree like Ginny did, Apparate, or shrink to 50% and crawl through," Harry said. "Apparating's out - we don't know the lie of the land well enough, and I don't want to risk even a simple shrinking charm in a place that stinks so strongly of unknown enchantment. That leaves levitating the tree, and frankly I'm not sure I can do it. Can you?" Ron shook his head slowly.
"We could always pick Ginny up from Wizarding Radio and get her to do it again." Ron suggested, but Harry vetoed that idea.
"We really need to get in there now, before whatever's behind this starts fighting back. Ah, well." Harry sighed. "Ginny's going to be really pissed at me." He produced his wand from a sleeve pocket, concentrated for a moment then pointed it at the tree.
"Reducto!" Harry declaimed. The tree suddenly burst into fragments and totally disintegrated. Ron sighed. That's as good a way of announcing our arrival as ringing the doorbell! he thought, but nevertheless followed Harry quickly through the debris and into the temple.
Inside, the surroundings were exactly as Hermione, Ginny, George and Colin had found them, except for one notable difference. The altar was no longer empty. Instead, a large stone plinth covered in strange runes and symbols dominated the structure. Harry stared at the altar, the blood draining from his face. His shoulders sagged in weariness.
"What's up?" queried Ron in alarm. The other man shook his head wordlessly.
"If I had known this," Harry replied, hoarsely, "I would never have dared to enter this place." Abruptly he gained control once more.
"Quickly!" Harry hissed, making recklessly for the altar. "Where was it George said he took the stone?"
"He said underneath the altar," replied Ron, catching up. "In a place that was supposed to be handy, if you get the drift."
His tone implied that he, Ron, didn't. Harry was already examining the base of the altar. With an impatient noise, he reached into a pocket and pulled out the stone itself. Immediately it began to glow, a soft rosy radiance. Harry stared at it in alarm and jerked it away from the altar, but the light did not decrease; rather it grew brighter.
"What's happening?" demanded Ron, his face distorted with fear.
"I don't know," replied Harry, between his teeth, "but I fear I am going to find out. It's pulling me away from here."
Jerkily, Harry began to move away from the altar, down towards the doorway, the stone held out in front of him like a water diviner. As he approached a long, moth-eaten tapestry on the right-hand side of the doorway, a second light began to shine brightly through the material. Hardly knowing what he was doing, Harry raised his hand, pulling the tattered material away to reveal a niche in the wall containing a cup. Gold with silver inlay and shaped like a goblet, it stood maybe about six or eight inches high, bathed in the unearthly light. Harry reached out a hand to grasp it then recoiled.
"Ron," he whispered, "you take it." The other man's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline.
"Me?" Ron whispered. "Are you sure?" Harry nodded.
Swallowing on a dry throat, Ron slowly put his hand into the niche and grasped the goblet by its stem, carefully pulling it towards him. They gazed at it in wonder.
"What is it?" Ron breathed, hardly able to take his eyes off it.
"Something very important, Ron." Harry said, with a hint of triumph in his voice. He smiled broadly. "Something I don't believe the dark side knew was here."
They glanced back just as the light went out. Harry ran his hands over the wall to find it solid, no niche to be seen.
"It only appears with the stone's presence - that's a nice little charm!" Ron remarked. Harry glanced around, trying to ascertain if anything had changed while they had been pre-occupied.
"I think we'd better get out of here, Ron," Harry said, quickly. "After all, I did blast that tree into the middle of next week, and I don't suppose whoever is using this place is going to overlook a thing like that!"
But when they went to leave, they found the guardian silver birch tree back in its accustomed place again.
"Okay, we Apparate out - fast!" said Harry without missing a beat. But Ron was quicker. Delving into an inside pocket, he produced an object the size and shape of a credit card.
"I borrowed this from George - just in case!" Ron said, flashing a triumphant grin. Grabbing Harry by the arm, he activated the Portkey and the two wizards disappeared.
~ooOoo~
Hermione walked up the pathway to Harry's House, weary but exultant: she had spent the entire afternoon in the World Wizarding Library with Professor Radcliffe, poring over books and scanning articles, and they had finally struck gold. She now had a rough working translation of the strange runes, and enough background in her notes to be able to fine-tune it where necessary.
She was a little surprised to find no one home and wandered into the kitchen in search of something to drink. There, she found magical writing strung over the stove informing the reader that George was in residence but he had gone shopping: "Someone has to refill the fridge and the larder, not to mention the freezer."
Hermione smiled rather guiltily. Although she probably did most of the cooking, she could rarely force herself into the supermarket. George, however, seemed to quite enjoy trudging up and down the aisles with a trolley, just so long as he could use Fred's car to bring it all home.
Surely Ron and Harry can't still be in the temple? she thought, worriedly, and just as she was about to start hacking her way through the garden to find out, the front door opened to admit them, tired and footsore but very excited about something. All three started talking at once.
"You first," Harry ordered finally, gesturing to Hermione. She willingly told them about the translation, even starting to get out her notes while Ron made a pot of tea. Eventually, Harry stopped her.
"We'll get to the fine print in a moment," he said. "Now, listen to this."
Harry and Ron related the events in the Temple, including the discovery of the shining golden cup, which Ron promptly produced from a carrier bag stuffed into his pocket. They set it on the table and gazed reverently.
"My wand, this is incredible!" Hermione breathed, raising her hand to touch it then glancing sideways at Harry. He shook his head.
"I think we'd better keep the number of people in contact with this thing as few as possible for the moment," Harry said.
"I assume this came from the temple," Hermione replied, frowning slightly in concentration. She eyed him shrewdly. "What on earth did you have to do to get it? I know it's dusty in there, but you two look as though you've been arguing territory with a Hungarian Horntail!"
Harry and Ron exchanged glances and Ron shuffled his feet awkwardly.
"The basic problem," Harry began, raising his eyes skywards, "is that pizza-brain here, the great hope of the Ministry of Magic, can't even programme a Portkey!"
"It got us out of there when the tree blocked the doorway, didn't it?" protested Ron.
"Harrods Food Hall again?" Hermione asked sympathetically, trying to suppress a smile.
"Would that it had been!" Harry shook his head, his expression grim. "We ended up in a Ladies Lavatory somewhere east of Pimlico. We frightened the daylights out of two elderly Muggle ladies, and narrowly avoided being arrested by the Muggle police - I had to use a memory charm. To add insult to injury, neither of us had any Muggle money at all, and we were both too bushed to Apparate, so it had to be the Knight Bus or walk. In view of the imminent dinner engagement, we chose the Knight Bus - oh, my aching head!"
The front door slammed and a tall figure burst into the kitchen laden with bags of shopping.
"Move yourselves!" George shouted loudly as he elbowed them out of the way. "There's more in the car - give us a hand, can't you?"
Harry and Hermione immediately leaped out of their chairs. Oblivious, Ron continued to gaze at the shining golden cup. George stopped unloading packets of chocolate biscuits to stare.
"Wow, that's a beautiful thing!" George reached out to touch it but Ron caught his hand.
"Sorry," said Ron, slightly awkwardly at George's quizzical look. "Harry reckons that as few people as possible should touch it. So far, only I have."
"What is it?" George asked.
"Beats me." Ron replied, shaking his head. "I've got some ideas though, but I'd like to hear what Harry has to say."
They turned their heads as the others came back into the kitchen.
"I may be wrong," said Harry, hauling in several bursting carrier bags and dumping them on the counter, "but I think what we're looking at here, my friends, is the mythical Holy Grail."
Author's Notes
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author. Disclaimer: this is a non-profit enterprise. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, except the plot and David Markland, both of which belong to Penpusher. Tribute to: Susan Cooper's incomparable "The Dark is Rising" sequence for use of the "High Magic"; Dennis Wheatley for a plot device; and many, many other fanfiction writers whose works of all kinds and in very differing genres have been an immense inspiration to me. The quotations used as chapter titles are too numerous to credit here. Full details available on request, but Shakespeare and The Bible should yield most of them.
And all the thanks in the world to Becky (aka williara) for being a superb beta.