"A Most Ingenious Paradox"
[A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher]
Chapter Five - Confrontations and Solutions
The problem with having guests to dinner, thought Hermione, is that there's never enough time! Frantically, she hauled on a sheath dress in a deep blue, and checked that her legs were sufficiently suntanned to show without stockings,
Earlier, whilst stowing George's shopping away in the larder, Hermione had glanced at the kitchen clock and clapped her hands over her mouth in horror. Preparations for the evening's dinner suddenly became urgent, and further discussions concerning the strange cup or, indeed, Hermione's own research were promptly shelved until further notice.
Hermione bit her lip as she rapidly applied mascara. Unfortunately, there would be no further enlightenment over dinner either. Markland's stultifying presence would ensure that any conversation would be limited to the polite kind, and Hermione didn't dare telephone to cancel such a long- standing engagement at the last moment, much as she wanted to. Markland was already becoming sniffy with her, and even a small amount of aggravation was likely to result in him breaking off diplomatic relations completely. Hermione's friendship with Ginny was too precious for her to let it slide over something so trivial. Still, it was frustrating!
George was nominally the chef, and happy to be so, but it had been all hands to the pumps almost immediately. Ron was detailed to put out smoked salmon with assorted salad leaves and thin slices of lemon. He had also managed to successfully decant a bottle of dill and mustard dressing into a jug without getting more than ten percent of it over the floor. Hermione had elected to make the pudding, which turned out to be a wonderfully fragrant exotic fruit salad accompanied by three different flavours of icecream. George, seriously occupied with fillet steak and Béarnaise sauce, had dragooned Harry into cleaning mushrooms, slicing tomatoes, trimming mange tout and dicing potatoes to be sautéed in sizzling butter. At the eleventh hour, Ron Apparated back to the flat to change and the others hurtled to their various rooms to shower quickly and throw on whatever decent clothes were closest. Hermione came into her study with a sigh of relief to find George already there, putting out bowls of nibbles and mixing drinks.
"You angel!" she smiled, grazing her lips lightly over his cheek so as not to leave lipstick traces on his collar. He handed her a weak gin and tonic and went to dim the lights. Hermione glanced around, making sure all was tidy and that no incriminating papers had been left on show. Her study was an ideal place to serve drinks and nibbles, being so close to both the kitchen and the dining room. They would use the West Room again this evening for coffee.
Ron and Lee arrived on foot, trying to act as Muggle-like as possible in case they ran into Ginny and Markland. They each took a well-earned drink from George and stood glancing wistfully at the peanuts and crisps. Hermione eyed her three boys critically over her glass: really, all the Hogwarts lads had turned out impressively easy on the eyes. George, although the heavier of the twins, was still tall and active-looking with a good-humoured, twinkling-eyed face. Lee was less easy to categorise, but that evening he looked as close to smooth as she had ever seen him. Ron, however, could truthfully be described as hot. Hermione smiled as she took in his appearance: expensive smart-casual and predominantly blue, which contrasted attractively with his hair and eyes.
Ginny arrived punctually at 7.00, dazzling in sea-green silk, with a dour- looking Markland in tow. Her face lit up with genuine pleasure as she stepped forward to embrace Hermione warmly, despite the face that it had been less than 24 hours since they had last seen each other. Hermione paid dutiful homage to Markland, a head to toe advertisement for Gucci, but felt her stomach give an unaccustomed lurch. This is all a horrible mistake, she thought as his indifferent gaze swept over her, sliding away unmoved.
Making a supreme effort, Hermione broke what threatened to be an awkward silence with a commonplace observation on the evening traffic levels in London. Ron and Lee made sterling attempts to assist her efforts; George lent occasional assistance in between keeping a weather eye on progress in the kitchen. Hermione sipped her drink, made the occasional comment and tried not to fidget. Where was Harry? She glanced surreptitiously at her watch: 7.20 and he still hadn't appeared. What on earth was he playing at?
Abruptly, Harry entered the study apologising profusely. A business call, he explained to all who were listening, which could not be curtailed, only resolved. Hermione saw Ginny's gaze drawn towards him like a magnet. Turning her own eyes towards Markland, Hermione bit her lip. She was sure she hadn't imagined the sudden narrowing of those cold eyes and tightening of the mouth.
Hermione turned to look at Harry herself and had to admit that Markland might well imagine he had cause for concern. Harry had changed beyond all recognition from the scrawny kid she had known at Hogwarts. He was dressed simply and casually in neutral stone and a brilliant white lawn shirt which clung to muscles she didn't remember him having before he left for LA. She smiled wryly. No wonder Ginny couldn't take her eyes off him, he was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous!
George had truly outdone himself on the food, Ginny remarked to herself. Markland complained quietly about the high levels of cholesterol but she ignored him, eating and drinking everything put in front of her. She was now in that slightly heady stage which welcomes stars, moonlight and a good cup of coffee. Harry seemed slightly preoccupied, she noticed, and he wasn't drinking much at all. He had made slight general conversation with Lee and George, both of whom were within chatting distance, but although Hermione had placed him opposite Ginny, Harry had exchanged no more than a dozen words with her during the meal. She wondered if she had offended him in some way, or if he was simply trying to keep the peace with her boyfriend.
Hermione served coffee in the West Room once again, accompanied by glorious sunset views, pink and gold against the western sky. Ginny stood gazing through the windows as the light slowly faded and the tinted trees sank into the dusk.
"Do you come here often?" murmured a low voice in her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. She turned slightly and smiled at Harry.
"Not as often as I'd like." Ginny looked at him directly. "Why were you ignoring me at dinner, Harry? You were supposed to be entertaining me with witty conversation, not wasting it all on Lee."
"Just trying to keep the peace, for Hermione's sake," Harry shrugged. "After all, she did fix up this little gathering."
"So, if you're afraid of disturbing it, why are you talking to me now?" Ginny tilted her head to one side quizzically. Harry gave a wicked grin, slid his hand under her elbow and leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"Your boyfriend's looking for the bathroom." Harry told her, gravely. "And Ron took it upon himself to put a Confusion charm on the hall doorways. It should be a few minutes at least before he returns." Ginny shook with laughter then clapped a hand over her mouth with a little gasp.
"What's this?" Harry objected, much amused. "Markland's dignity is not to be mocked, is that it?"
Smiling a wide genuine smile, Harry took one of Ginny's hands in his and pressed it briefly to his mouth. Ginny's lips parted in surprise and she stared at him with wide, worried dark eyes. Harry's smile faded slightly and he was about to speak when both their heads whipped around to stare out of the window in astonishment. A brilliant white flash lit up the whole garden, turning night to day in an instant. A hollow boom whose vibrations shook the room, jangling the coffee cups, followed hard on its heels.
"What in Merlin's name was that?" exclaimed Ron, putting down his cup with a clatter and making for the patio doors.
Dropping Ginny's nerveless hand, Harry pressed his face close to the glass. Reflexively, he threw an arm over his eyes as a second flash, vivid as the first, left him momentarily blinded. Blinking back stinging tears, he groaned, turned away from the night sky and buried his face in his hands.
"Too late!" he murmured. "I should have known better." Pulling himself together, he straightened quickly and gestured towards the French doors.
"Someone open these." Harry barked.
"Stand back!" Hermione already had her wand out.
"Alohomora!"
The doors sprang apart and Harry jumped through them, his glimmering white shirt disappearing into the darkness. Ginny paused only for a second before taking off in pursuit, followed by Ron, Lee and Hermione in quick succession.
"What the .?"
Unable to find the bathroom, David Markland reappeared in the doorway just in time to witness the unexpected exodus into the garden. Puzzled, curious and more than a little annoyed that a domestic crisis should have robbed his hosts of even the vaguest courtesy towards their guest, he sighed in irritation and followed in their wake.
Ginny kept close behind Harry through the garden jungle. The going was a good deal faster than before because Harry, throwing all caution to the winds in favour of speed, was using the Reductus curse left, right and centre to blast himself a path through the thick undergrowth. They reached the temple, panting for breath, only to find their way blocked not merely by the persistent silver birch tree, but also by a closed rank of cloaked, hooded figures, silently awaiting them. Harry took one swift look and grabbed Ginny by the arm, hauling her behind a large shrub. The air was at once electric with power as Curses bounced off and around their temporary shelter. Ginny's hair crackled and tingled with static as she smoothed it down. Harry gritted his teeth: their leafy protection was slender indeed - it wouldn't last for long.
"Death Eaters." Harry muttered, bitterly. "He must be attempting to take his full form once again on this plane."
Ron overtook them at a run, leaping out from behind their flimsy shelter, wand at the ready.
"Inflammatus!" he yelled releasing a stream of crimson fire from the end of his wand. A piercing scream confirmed that he had hit something, but Ron was oblivious, already aiming his next attack.
"Cylon universus!"
Hermione caught up with them just as four Death Eaters collapsed to the ground, twitching uncontrollably.
"Ron," she began. "What on earth.?"
"Reflexus!" A blue mist swept rapidly over Ron's body, establishing thrumming lines of power two inches from the surface of his skin. Curses bounced harmlessly back off the mesh, rebounding on their hapless creators. Hermione frowned in perplexity.
"Lancea glacies!" shouted Ron. Two more Death Eaters suddenly stiffened, as though frozen solid.
"I didn't know Ron knew that curse!" Hermione muttered to Ginny in astonishment. "Those are very accomplished spells, you know. They're only normally taught to specialists; wizards who use advanced defensive and offensive magic in the course of their employment." But Ginny wasn't listening. She was staring at the obstinate birch tree.
"Harry," she said, puzzled. "I moved that tree once ."
"I know," he interrupted. "It must be enchanted - it keeps moving back. Even the Reductus curse didn't stop it."
"I wonder," Ginny said biting her lip. Then she took out her wand and concentrated.
"Wingardium leviosa!" Ginny muttered, quietly, then "Silencio!" and a number of other murmured magical charms. The tree began to move once again, rising slowly upwards, freeing its roots from the earth just as before. Then with the same majestic motion, it turned gracefully in the air until it was horizontal, then it began to travel forwards. The huge trunk caught the nearest Death Eater painfully on the back of the neck and he cannoned into those in front of him. Abruptly, the whole rank was floored like so many ninepins. Dazedly, several started to get back to their feet, but the tree was there, swinging back at their faces this time. After a third pass, none of them stirred. Sweating profusely, Ginny deposited the tree gently by the side of the temple.
"Great Merlin, that was inspired!" exclaimed Ron, charging up to hug his sister.
"Twice in twenty-four hours is really rather tiring," Ginny replied, giving him a wan smile.
"Would someone mind telling me what the hell is going on?"
A loud, indignant voice carried over the murmur of praise being heaped upon Ginny. Her expression changed to one of dismay.
"Oh, my wand - David!"
Ginny shook herself free of Ron and Hermione, and turned to face him.
"Why didn't you stay in the house?" Ginny found herself wailing.
"Why on earth should I?" Markland retorted, shrugging his shoulders. "You went gallivanting out into the garden in the dark with Potter - what was I suppose to think?"
Ginny stared at the ground, crimson with shame. Harry put a hand on her arm then turned to the other man.
"Listen, Markland." Harry began in what was, for the circumstances, a very calm, collected tone. "Things are about to happen here that neither you nor any other Muggle could understand in a thousand years. And when I tell you your life is in danger, you'd better believe it. Ginny is right - it would have been a whole lot better if you had stayed in the house. However, you're here now, and we have no alternative but to make the best of it."
Harry took a step forward, moving into the other man's air space until their faces were mere inches apart. Markland glared back without flinching.
"From now on, you will do exactly as I say - no more, no less," Harry's voice was quiet, almost conversational. He flicked a glance towards the approaching figure of Lee Jordan.
"Stick close to him, Lee." Harry commanded, holding the other wizard's gaze until he nodded, albeit reluctantly.
"Lee is now officially your minder," Harry continued, turning back to Markland. "Move when he moves, and don't do anything stupid." Markland was clearly furious.
"Now just a minute, Potter." blustered the Muggle, confused and angry. "What possible right have you to tell me."
"Every right in the world at present," returned Harry, crisply. "Please credit me with the truth when I tell you that your well-being is a matter of supreme indifference to me at this time: there are far more important matters to be dealt with. If you want to come out of this in one piece, keep your head down until it's over."
He turned his back on a gaping Markland, dismissing him from his active attention, and led the way over to the temple door. Ron stayed behind briefly to cast the full bodybind on the unconscious Death Eaters, just in case Ginny's tree hadn't done its job quite thoroughly enough. Signalling to the others for total silence, Harry peered gingerly around the door.
The temple appeared to be empty, a situation Harry viewed with some suspicion considering the size of their would-be welcoming committee outside. Little seemed to have changed since their last visit. The huge altar was still in place, complete with stone plinth and decorative carvings, but the air was heavy with a musky, cloying scent that dulled the senses and robbed the breath. Putting a handkerchief over his mouth, Harry glanced around, tracing the source of the noxious fumes to a number of burning black candles housed in brackets around the walls of the temple and also on the altar itself. He heard Hermione begin to cough quietly and reached behind him to catch her wand arm before she could cast a Purification Charm.
"Please - no one is to use magic in this place," he whispered, urgently. "We don't know what we're dealing with here, although I admit I've got a pretty good idea by now."
"It's You-Know-Who, isn't it?" blurted Ron in a hoarse whisper, his face ashen. "Pretty much of a giveaway, really, with all those Death Eaters on the doorstep."
"I believe he's trying to gain access to our dimension," Harry affirmed gravely. He took a deep breath, turned and addressed the others in low, careful tones.
"When I defeated Voldemort at the end of my seventh year, I didn't kill him," Harry began. "The Ministry of Magic thought it wise not to let the wizarding world know of that little fact. No, I didn't destroy him, I merely banished him to another dimension, another plane of existence where he would be trapped for all time. Fudge didn't exactly bargain on him finding a way back, but I have to admit I'm not altogether surprised. I've been detecting his influence in our world for quite some time. Hermione and Lee's data from the legal system is just more corroborating evidence, and Fred, George and Ron too have been adding their observations to the melting pot."
Harry started to strip off his white shirt. When Hermione blinked at him, he gave her a wry smile.
"With this thing on, I show up like a searchlight." Harry said, pausing to remove his wand from its sleeve holster before throwing the shirt behind a tree. His muscular torso was the same heavily suntanned colour as his face. Ginny looked away, flushing slightly.
"What about Fred?" George's voice was tense. Harry turned a grim expression towards his friend.
"I'm afraid I just don't know, George," Harry admitted, humbly, "but the odds aren't very favourable, you have to admit."
George lowered his eyes and shook his head slowly.
"He can't be dead." George's voice was muffled but firm. "If Fred were dead, I'd know. That's all there is to it."
"Look!" Ron whispered suddenly, pointing at the altar.
The plinth glowed, a sickly, dull orange like iron in a blacksmith's fire. A wave of pure malevolence hurled its way through Harry's defences, sweeping them aside like rotten branches. Sudden sickness, frightening in its intensity, threatened to overwhelm him. He fought it down with clenched teeth.
A low hiss echoed around the walls:
"Aah! At laasssst!"
A part of the dark floor moved, rose and seemed to take on human shape. Deep black robes with a hood shading the face revealed it to be a lone Death Eater. The figure bowed low to the altar then scuttled off into the dimness somewhere to its left.
The glow of the plinth started to waver and distort; the sweet stench of the candles was overpowering. Harry felt his tenuous grip on the here and now begin to slip.
"Harry! Harry!" Ginny's voice stabbed insistently into his consciousness. She sounded very far away. "Harry, this is no time to pass out! Concentrate on my voice - and sit down before you fall!"
Hardly knowing what he was doing, Harry allowed his body to be guided away from the doorway into the shadows, felt himself pushed to his knees with gentle force. He took several breaths of fresher air and tried to coerce his swimming senses back into focus. Slowly, the nausea receded leaving in its place a strong sense of fear and shame. He looked up into Ginny's anxious eyes.
"What happened?" Ginny asked quietly. Harry shook his head, unable to speak, and rose unsteadily to his feet.
"Harry?" Hermione appeared at his side, her lovely face pale and worried. He expelled breath in a wordless sigh.
"I'm okay now." Harry replied. "At least for the present."
Harry tried to smile reassuringly, but the truth was he was beginning to wonder if he was out of his depth. The smile faded from his lips as he glimpsed movement through the doorway over Hermione's shoulder. The Death Eater had returned, but this time he was not alone; another figure preceded him, this one moving slowly and jerkily, as if it was sleepwalking.
"Fred!" cried George, in a suddenly hoarse voice.
As one, Harry and Ron leaped to grab him by the back of his robes, yanking him out of the doorway before he could give the game away. They stared, horrified, as Fred Weasley, obviously unconscious and motivated by the Mobilicorpus Charm, moved erratically towards the altar. The Death Eater then raised his wand and Fred floated horizontally into the air, coming to rest at the front of the altar table, just below the stone plinth.
At this moment, the plinth itself blazed blood-red, pulsing with power; warped and diseased. Harry swallowed dryly as his stomach contents began once again to protest their current location. Something within the churning maelstrom began to take shape, something shadowy and half-formed, but growing more solid by the instant. The Death Eater laughed a high- pitched excited giggle and threw back his hood in exultation.
"Wormtail!" muttered Harry, his eyes alight with anger and disgust. "I really believed I'd got him the last time we met. Well, I can always try again!"
Abruptly, Harry left the safety of the doorway and moved silently into the temple, keeping to the shadows, well away from the altar. Ron and George padded after him, followed after some hesitation by Hermione and Ginny. Lee stayed by the door as rearguard, shepherding Markland, who looked as though his worst nightmares were being enacted before his very eyes.
Harry approached the altar stealthily, his eyes fixed on Wormtail. He ducked behind a pillar and pointed his wand, whispering "Stupefy!" Wormtail crumpled oblivious to the floor. Abandoning secrecy, Harry sprang out before the altar, wand raised to strike, any number of powerful curses at the ready on the tip of his tongue. Then suddenly he froze. Harry Potter froze and faltered, his arm falling loosely to his side as he stared in horror at the object materialising on the stone plinth.
Ginny frowned. What was the matter with Harry? Why didn't he strike? Whatever this thing could be, it was becoming more real by the second. He couldn't afford to delay much longer. She shielded her eyes against a blast of bright light, squinting as the thing now extruded a cage of revolving red lines joining smoothly into a lattice. Now that lattice was bending and stretching, becoming three-dimensional, rapidly gaining flesh and solidity. Still Harry had not moved. Ginny looked over at him and felt a cold wave of panic wash over her: He didn't know what to do!
Harry felt himself break out into a cold sweat. He was as helpless as when he had been roped to a gravestone, watching the Dark Lord come to life before his very eyes. He knew this situation was not quite comparable; Voldemort was not resurrecting himself but forcing his way through from a parallel plane of existence. However, Harry stared and stared at the gradually strengthening form of his old enemy and could not think of a single thing to do to stop the process.
Ginny Weasley had not practised formal magic for four long years. Her two exhibitions with the silver birch tree outside the temple had been largely instinctive, inspired firstly by an unwillingness to destroy wantonly, and secondly by the need to protect her friends and family. Her grasp of the art was so natural it was almost organic, as though she had been born with the knowledge as well as the ability. It was this intuitive side of her power that prompted her into action.
Ginny stared around the temple with suddenly heightened perception. It was as though she was looking through the viewfinder of an infrared camera. Areas of dark magic glowed red. The brighter they glowed, the stronger they were, she realised. Her gaze was attracted and held by the brightest area of them all: the plinth itself. This was the key. If the plinth could be changed, eroded or destroyed, the process of materialisation could be halted or corrupted. It was that simple - so why couldn't Harry see it? She left Hermione's side and rushed over to where he stood in tortured indecision.
"The plinth!" Ginny shouted in his ear, shaking his arm. "That's the gateway, the portal from the other world. Destroy it before he completes his transition!" Drawing out her wand, she pointed it.
"Reducto!" Ginny cried. The curse bounced off harmlessly, demolishing part of the wall. She went to try again, when Harry grabbed her wrist.
"You're right, Ginny. Of course you are!" Harry exclaimed. "But the Reductus curse won't be strong enough for this. I know what to do now. Stay here, I may need your help again."
Raising his wand, Harry paused for a moment to gather his thoughts then he drew a strange design in the air, leaving a faint silvery trail. He began to intone, muttering alien words in a language unfamiliar to the others. Hermione shook her head wordlessly; even she did not recognise it. Twice Harry faltered. The second time he reached out a hand to grip Ginny's arm.
Help me, Ginny! It's too strong for me to go it alone. I need your help.
How can I help you, Harry? Just tell me.
Join with me.
How?
Reach out. With your thoughts. Join with me.
Ginny had no idea what was happening. Wizards could only supplement each other's power by the usual ways of combining spells. No one could use another wizard as a source of power - could they? Nevertheless, she reached out as he had asked her.
Pain - searing agony! A whirling morass of red light . Ginny gasped, her hands flying to her head.
I - can't do it.
Ginny, please. I can't hold out much longer. Please - just try.
Almost sobbing with anguish, Ginny closed her eyes and reached - and reached.
.and abruptly felt the incredible mental presence of Harry Potter there with her, within her mind. The doors of her ears slammed shut. She reeled in shock at the immediate mental silence, like entering the eye of a hurricane.
Don't be frightened, said Harry's essence to her panicking inner self. His voice sounded curiously dead, without resonance. We are together, melded but separate. We can beat him.
Ginny listened and believed.
Harry felt a rush of power surge through him as he continued to chant. His voice rose and fell, the syllables coming with increasing clarity and strength. He was casting the incantation for the third and final time now and its power was almost visible, distorting the outlines of the stone, blurring the edges of reality like a heat-haze in a desert. A sharp implosion thudded, a hot wind blew sand into his eyes. An instant of searingly bright light threw the bone structure of his face into sharp relief. Blinded by the glare, tears pouring down her cheeks, Ginny could see rivulets of sweat cutting white streaks through the dust on Harry's strained face. On and on went the slow, relentless intoning.
As he neared the end of the incantation, Harry's voice rose in pitch. He raised his arms high above his head as if calling on the heavens for assistance. The crescendo of sound and magic reached its peak. Speaking the final words of the spell, he threw down his hands violently in completion.
And the heavens answered.
A tremendous explosion shook the very foundations of the temple, depositing everyone except Harry on to the ruined floor. Statues fell from the walls, dust and masonry rained down from the roof, and the stone floor rippled uncannily like the surface of a stream. The stone plinth split abruptly through its centre, falling into two halves, its polluted, diseased light instantly extinguished. An unearthly scream of rage and pain rang around the building, and the image on the altar dissolved into a cloud of ozone, fizzing and hissing as it dissipated. Harry stood still for a moment then slowly, wearily sank to his knees in exhaustion. Ginny scrambled to her feet and ran to him.
"Harry!" Ginny took his grey face between her hands, noting the beads of sweat mingled with tears, the blood running from his scar. Harry looked up at her and raised a tired hand to cover one of hers.
"The portal is closed," Harry said quietly. "For the present."
"For the present?" asked Ron, also scrambling to his feet and extending a hand to help Hermione. Harry nodded mutely, then looked towards the altar where George was helping a dazed but very much alive Fred to stand up.
"Thank Merlin," Harry murmured. "I couldn't be sure we'd ever see him again." He looked about him in puzzlement.
"Where's Wormtail?"
"I expect he transfigured and got away," Ron replied, shrugging regretfully. "We'll never find him out there in the dark." Harry sighed and leaned his head in his hands.
"Have you any idea how long the gateway will remain closed?" asked Hermione, practical as usual. Harry shook his head.
"He broke through it once, it won't take much for him to repeat the exercise," Harry sighed. "It drained a great deal of his power, though: it'll take him some time to recover."
"He's not the only one who needs to recover," replied Hermione in a non- nonsense fashion, throwing a companionable arm around Harry's shoulder. "Harry, we need to get you back into the house - if you're not to pass out on us. Oh, the strength of that final incantation!" Her eyes widened in alarm as Harry sagged heavily against her, and Ron moved quickly to intercept them.
"Both you and Fred need a good long sleep," Ron announced to Harry. "But after that, we need answers to an awful lot of questions."
"Yes," said a new voice, flatly. They all paused, then reluctantly turned to look at David Markland. He was pale and so covered in dust that his dark hair looked almost grey. Only his eyes were slits of brightness. For someone who had recently witnessed a massive demonstration of a power he had not known existed until that evening, he seemed remarkably composed.
"Yes," Markland repeated. "I think we all need to get out of here and back to some kind of sanity. And I also think I need to borrow your study, Hermione, if you don't mind: I believe that I too am entitled to some answers - am I not, Ginny?"
Without waiting for confirmation, he turned towards the house, gesturing to Ginny to precede him. Ginny gave Hermione one rather frightened glance, then turned on her heel and marched off, her head held high: she was more than equal to whatever David Markland had in mind for her. Hermione sighed as she watched them go and shook her head silently.
~oo0oo~
Markland opened the door to Hermione's study to let Ginny through, closing it firmly behind him. Without asking for permission, he crossed over the drinks cabinet and poured himself a very large Scotch. Ginny noted that he didn't offer to help her to a drink, and quietly put together a moderate gin and tonic for herself. He drained half the contents of his glass in one go, then he sighed.
"So, this is it then, is it?" Markland began. Ginny looked puzzled; he tried again. "This is what you are, this hocus pocus, jiggery pokery, abbra cadabra." She winced.
"Please don't say that." It was Markland's turn to look blank.
"It's a corruption of the - of the Killing Curse," Ginny explained, unhappily. "There's no countercurse, and no way to block it ."
"That's exactly what I mean!" Markland thundered, suddenly. "All this - magic, this levitation, disappearing, strange red lights, stroboscopic effects. And all of you carrying little sticks of wood and waving them around - children's toys! God, why don't you dress the part - where's your pointed hat and your broomstick?" Ginny bit her lip.
"We don't wear pointy hats any more, unless we're flying in very bad weather. I've been keeping my broomstick here, though - in the hall cupboard with Hermione's, George's and Harry's." Ginny took a sip of her drink and attempted a smile. "It's a Firebolt Original - almost as good as the Firebolt Mark II."
Markland swore violently and slammed his glass down on the desk. In a moment, Hermione's best Waterford crystal had disintegrated into pieces. Without thinking, Ginny pulled out her wand muttering "Reparario!" The glass swiftly reassembled itself and sat innocently on the desk as though it had never been broken. Markland's trousers, however, were soaked with good Irish malt.
"I'm sorry, David, I'm afraid you'll have to pour yourself another drink," Ginny said, her voice trembling. "I'm afraid I gave up my magical studies before I learned how to levitate liquids from carpet pile."
Markland, who had been staring at the glass as though it would bite him, shook himself and shot a look of such venom at Ginny that she took an involuntary step backwards.
"I want you to sit on that sofa," Markland said, in a low hiss, "and tell me about this, right from the beginning. No tricks, no demonstrations, just plain old-fashioned words. And I don't care how long it takes, or how difficult it is - I want to know everything!"
Ginny paused for a moment, then shrugged slightly and complied. It was going to be a long night.
~ooOoo~
"I think he's just exhausted, there's no fever." Hermione put a hand on Harry's forehead: he did not so much as stir.
"I'm not exactly surprised," added Ron, throwing several blankets over his friend and holding Harry's head as Hermione deftly put a pillow under it.
"Harry's always something rather more than any of us," he continued. "Even you, Hermione. You couldn't have done what he did tonight." Hermione shook her head slowly.
"It's not just You-Know-Who who'll need to recover spent energy," she said, thoughtfully. "Such an outpouring of raw power - and to sustain it for so long!"
She shook her head in wonderment then frowned as something seemed to occur to her.
"Speaking of spent energy, Ron," she began in a suspiciously neutral tone, "since when have you been able to cast a multiple Jellylegs curse?"
Ron started slightly, caught unawares, and then smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.
"Oh," Ron began offhandedly, "I learned any number of spells when I did my training for the Department. Must have been then."
"Did you indeed?" Hermione replied, nodding gravely. "And did that training also include several different and, I might add, quite devastating fire spells? And Lancea glacies, more commonly known as the Pillar of Salt curse? And a medium-term body-armour charm with special protective characteristics against dark magic? And I suppose you just happened to have all of these complex spells and more ready to hand for rapid-fire use - just in case you happened to run into a powerful dark magician on one of your house calls?"
Ron's would-be nonchalant expression changed to something much less assured. Shrugging helplessly, he started to speak then stopped, running an unsteady hand through his hair.
"Ron," Hermione began meaningfully, "these are all specialist spells used routinely by Aurors only against Dark Wizards. Now tell me: since when does the Office for Improper use of Magic have need for spellcraft of that calibre?" She paused to glare at him. As he shook his head speechlessly, she let out a sigh of exhaustion.
"I've had a gruelling evening, Ron," Hermione continued. "We all have. So don't annoy me any further, just spit it out. How is it that you know such advanced magic, where did you learn it and how come you are so practised at using it?"
Ron expelled a breath he had not realised he had been holding. Hermione narrowed her eyes. He held up a hand defensively.
"It certainly is a night for revelations," Ron muttered, then squared his shoulders and looked Hermione straight in the eye.
"The Office for Improper Use of Magic is something of an umbrella, covering quite a lot of different functions," Ron began. "When I joined the Office, my family, and you, Hermione, all assumed I would be working with the Accidental Use of Magic Reversal Squads, and indeed I was for a while. But accidental magic is a very wide subject and covers a great deal that is marginal or may even be deliberate. Quite often, the squads themselves need protection when going out on a call. If HQ has suspicions about anything to do with a case, that's when I'm called in. One of my jobs is to firefight: to protect the squads from anything they might turn up on a case that could conceivably develop into something really nasty."
"So you've had Auror-training then, I knew it! Why didn't you tell me, Ron?" Hermione demanded crossly. "I'm supposed to be your best friend. Since when do friends have secrets?"
"It's not something I tend to noise around, Hermione." Ron shook his head helplessly. "At first, I wasn't sure I'd be accepted, even when I'd taken the training. And once I was given the job, I never seemed to find the right time to tell you. I'm sorry."
"Why didn't I see it before?" Hermione said, more quietly. She felt her anger begin to dissipate. "I'd often wondered why you were on call so much. Squad members work regular shifts, not the odd hours you're on duty. And it also explains how you were able to afford that huge flat you live in. You're not renting it at all, are you? It's yours."
"A special duty Auror is very well paid indeed compared to a squad member because of the unsocial hours and the dangerous nature of our work," Ron explained reluctantly. "We're really the first line of defence, you know: we're sent in to assess tricky situations and either contain them or call for back up. I've seen a lot over the last couple of years, I can tell you. I've encountered things that would make even Harry's hair curl!"
"I look forward to hearing about it - soon." Hermione's voice was sharp but without any real animosity. She turned back to the unconscious Harry and tucked the blankets gently around his shoulders.
"Why doesn't he wake?" Hermione whispered worriedly. Ron paused for a moment, then placed a careful hand over hers. She raised her eyes questioningly and he smiled.
"He'll wake when he's ready," Ron replied quietly, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. "You know, Hermione," he continued in a matter of fact tone, although his face was serious. "In a way, Harry and You-Know-Who are equal and opposite forces - if the one didn't exist, the other wouldn't need to."
"No, no!" Hermione shook her head vehemently. "Harry's not just - a nemesis for You-Know-Who, for goodness sake! He's a person in his own right, whom we all love very dearly. Have you forgotten what it was like at Hogwarts?"
Hermione gripped Ron's fingers tightly, hardly aware of what she was doing. He rested a soothing hand on her shoulder.
"I didn't mean that he had no other place in the world, 'Mione," Ron replied, more quietly, "just that they're the two greatest wizards, perhaps of all time. The difference is that Tom Riddle sacrificed his humanity for power. I think Harry would willingly give up his power if he could, and retire to a cattle ranch in North America."
Hermione leaned wearily into his arm, enjoying the feeling of Ron - warm, solid and secure, an island of steadfastness in a world that right now seemed to offer very little in the way of stability. Somehow his recent deception seemed to matter very little in comparison to what they had all been through.
"When you two can let a body get a word in edgewise," interrupted a hoarse voice, "one of the medical essentials to help combat the over-exertion of magical powers is fluids. I am so dry, the Sahara would seem like a wetland."
Harry propped himself up on one elbow, staring irritably at his two friends, but his lips had curved into a small smile at the sight of them, and his green eyes were warm.
~ooOoo~
"Fred, you've been under an enchantment, you really do need to get some food and some rest!"
George and Lee between them strong-armed Fred into an armchair while George forced a cup of strong tea down his throat. It was he who was speaking. Lee searched the kitchen for something to throw together to make a light meal.
"I'm okay, lemme go - umph!" Fred was unimpressed. "Look, I've been under Imperius, okay, not Cruciatus. I don't want to be babied, I want to know what's been going on!"
"You've lost at least a stone in weight," protested George, as Lee brought in a cheese and ham omelette, some salad he'd found in the fridge and a buttered roll. "And neither of us is going to tell you a thing until you've eaten everything on that plate, okay?"
~ooOoo~
"So that's more or less all there is to it, really." Finishing her explanation, Ginny shrugged and went to refill her glass from the drinks cabinet. She was aware that her recital had been found wanting in more ways than she could mention.
Having been born and brought up in a wizarding family, Ginny had taken so much for granted that blending into the Muggle world had been almost impossible. However, with Hermione's help and some useful tips from the twins, she had worked hard at carving out some kind of a niche with a fair degree of success, she had thought. However, being required to give an account of her life and a defence for her wizarding talents had turned out to be as difficult as it was unexpected. Markland was silent for a while, his brow furrowed, his lips pursed in a frown of concentration. When he finally did begin talking, it was so quiet that she almost missed the first few words.
"So what you're saying is that magic has always been a reality to you," Markland began. "You never had your childhood dreams about flying carpets, magic wands and devastating spells, dashed to the ground once adolescence kicked in, like most kids do. Most Muggle kids, that is. You merely had to wait until you were old enough to learn how to use the power, old enough to go to a special school for the purpose. Yes, that sounds reasonable. And then when you graduated, what made you go into music?"
Ginny shook her head.
"I don't know. I'd always been able to sing, and I'd never really had any desire to pursue any one area of magic. I decided to coast along for a while until I found what I really wanted to do. Then - then I met you." Ginny fell silent. Markland was nodding gently then he raised his eyes and fixed them on hers.
"And you lied to me." Markland stated flatly. Ginny stared.
"Wh-what do you mean?"
"Oh, come on, Ginny! What do you think I mean? I'm a reasonable man, fairly sane, slightly fiery temperament, but tolerably intelligent and open- minded. I'm living my life as I usually do - working hard, worrying about the business, eating, sleeping, etc. etc. when suddenly I discover that the girl I have been living with for three years is a witch."
A dreadful silence followed this bald statement. Ginny couldn't argue with him - for the life of her, she couldn't find anything to say in reply. Markland continued.
"Yes, a witch. And not just some weird tree-worshipping crackpot either, oh, no. My girl just happens to be a very powerful sorceress, yes, sir, up there with the best of them. Using nothing more substantial than a thin piece of wood, she wrenched an entire twenty-foot birch tree out of the ground and threw it at a bunch of - well, can I call them bad guys? I still have no real idea what happened out there in the garden, all I know is that it was one of the scariest things I have ever seen in my life."
"I've tried to explain about, well, You-Know-Who and about the danger to the Muggle world as well as to wizards." Ginny protested. Markland shook his head confusedly.
"Look, that's just the trouble, isn't it? Muggles and wizards. How can we possibly even co-operate together?" Markland complained. "Right now I feel resentful and betrayed, but that isn't the half of it, oh, no. Mostly I feel - jealous. Yes, that's right: blindingly jealous that it was you who was born with these talents and not me. And there's not a thing I can do about it, not even if I live till I'm one hundred." He paused and placed his now empty, mended glass quietly on the desk, surveying it interestedly.
"That really is a first-class job, you know." Markland glanced up at her. "Cut glass is notoriously difficult to repair well." Ginny stared at him as he continued to peruse the Waterford.
"So - what's going to happen?" Ginny's voice was uncertain.
"Well, surely that's for you to tell me, isn't it?" Markland looked up at her. "I mean, this You-Know-Who chap wasn't defeated, was he? At least, Harry didn't think so, and he's your great white leader, isn't he?"
"David, please!"
"Okay, Ginny; what do you want to know?"
"Well, what about us? How is this going to affect what's between us?"
There was a horrible, pregnant silence.
"I'm sorry, I thought that was obvious." Markland's voice was very low, and he refused to look at her. "If I have to spell it out then I will: Ginny, it's over, finished. You can have as long as you like to find somewhere else to live, I'll move in with a colleague while you sort your life out, but I won't change my mind on this. You lied to me. You represented yourself as something quite different from what you are, and we've been living a sham the whole time. I'll carry on representing you professionally, of course, if that's what you want, but that's really all I can do. I'm sorry. Goodbye, Ginny."
Markland got up to leave the room. Ginny could hardly speak past the lump in her throat, past the unshed tears which were threatening to choke her at any moment, but she had to be a responsible witch - she couldn't afford another Improper Use of Magic Notice.
"David," Ginny said, quietly, "you can't go, not like this."
"Ginny, please don't make this any more difficult than it already is." Markland sighed.
"No, David, I'm not trying to make you change your mind." Ginny replied, shaking her head. "If I thought it would make any difference, I would plead until the milk turns sour ."
"What?" Markland frowned, "What's milk got to do with it?"
"It's just a wizard saying, David," Ginny ventured nervously, fiddling with her hair. "A bit like 'until the cows come home', I suppose." He growled softly through his teeth.
"I really can't imagine how I didn't spot it." Markland was obviously kicking himself. "You're just so - different from everyone else I know."
"David, if we're not going to be together any longer, I can't let you leave here with the knowledge I've just given you." Ginny tried again. Markland paused in confusion.
"Run that by me again, will you?"
"We aren't allowed to let Muggles know about us, except in very special circumstances, of course."
"I see. But you've just broken that rule by telling me everything. And now I'm just going to walk out of that door and you can't do a thing about it. What's likely to happen then? A fine? A prison sentence?"
"I could be fined." Ginny told him seriously. "If I keep doing it, I'll have my licence revoked, my wand snapped in two. But it won't stop me being a witch, it'll just make me very unhappy."
"This is unreal." Markland was completely perplexed. "So what happens now? Do you lock me up and throw away the key?"
"No, David, but you have to have your memory - altered." There was a long pause.
"Are you out of your mind?" Markland was speaking quietly, but Ginny realised he was now extremely angry. "If you think I'm going to submit to you or anyone else monkeying around with my memory, you're nuts!"
"You really don't have any choice, you know."
"Oh, yes I do!" Markland was shouting now. "All I have to do is walk out of that door, and you just try and stop me! Goodbye, Ginny."
Tears rolled silently down Ginny's cheeks as she watched him stride towards the door and fling it open. She fingered her wand gently and whispered "Goodbye, David" before pointing it carefully at his departing figure.
"Obliviate!" Ginny muttered, and a thin stream of golden light shot out of the tip, wrapping itself around David's head. He staggered, regained his footing then leaned against the doorframe. She ran to him.
"Are you alright?" Ginny seized his arm reflexively.
"Funny turn, felt faint." Markland said slowly. He looked at Ginny's anxious face and his expression softened.
"Hey! What's this? Tears?" He raised a hand to stroke her hair gently.
"Don't cry, Ginny." Markland smiled sadly. "We can still work together. I hope we will. We really should stay friends, you know, we just can't - be a couple any more. I won't make any trouble about the flat - you can stay as long as it takes. Well, see you in the morning - my word it's late! If I'm going to get to Albert's place at a halfway decent hour, I'd better get moving."
Markland kissed Ginny's cheek almost in benediction and hurried off to the front door. Moments later she heard it slam and the sound of his quick footsteps down the front path. Ginny leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. When she finally opened them, it was to find Hermione looking at her anxiously. She had, to her total embarrassment, involuntarily slid down the wall until she was curled in the foetal position. Stiffly, she unrolled herself, and her wand fell to the floor with a clatter.
"Memory charm?" Hermione asked, eyeing it.
"We're through." Ginny said, briefly, rising uncomfortably to her feet. Hermione winced.
"I thought it might happen - especially after tonight. Ginny, it takes a very strong person, with a very deep imagination, to come through what David saw tonight and not freak out." Hermione's eyes were soft with sympathy as she spoke.
"It's been coming for ages, I just didn't want to see it." Ginny's voice cracked, partly with emotion, partly fatigue. Becoming suddenly aware that while Hermione was in her dressing gown, clean and showered, Ginny's own clothes were black and sooty, and there were white tear streaks down her face, she wearily made her way out of the study.
"I need to change and shower - and then I need some space and sleep." Ginny commented in a practical tone. "How's Harry?"
"Refusing to rest, as usual," Hermione replied with a smile. "He asked after you - I said you were occupied."
"I'll leave him to you then, Hermione," Ginny yawned. "Right now I'd rather not see anyone, least of all Harry." Gathering up her bag and coat, she walked out of the room.
"Tell him I'll talk to him tomorrow. I've got a lot to think about." Wearily, Ginny put on her coat and walked the few minutes to the flat.
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 Five - Confrontations and Solutions
The problem with having guests to dinner, thought Hermione, is that there's never enough time! Frantically, she hauled on a sheath dress in a deep blue, and checked that her legs were sufficiently suntanned to show without stockings,
Earlier, whilst stowing George's shopping away in the larder, Hermione had glanced at the kitchen clock and clapped her hands over her mouth in horror. Preparations for the evening's dinner suddenly became urgent, and further discussions concerning the strange cup or, indeed, Hermione's own research were promptly shelved until further notice.
Hermione bit her lip as she rapidly applied mascara. Unfortunately, there would be no further enlightenment over dinner either. Markland's stultifying presence would ensure that any conversation would be limited to the polite kind, and Hermione didn't dare telephone to cancel such a long- standing engagement at the last moment, much as she wanted to. Markland was already becoming sniffy with her, and even a small amount of aggravation was likely to result in him breaking off diplomatic relations completely. Hermione's friendship with Ginny was too precious for her to let it slide over something so trivial. Still, it was frustrating!
George was nominally the chef, and happy to be so, but it had been all hands to the pumps almost immediately. Ron was detailed to put out smoked salmon with assorted salad leaves and thin slices of lemon. He had also managed to successfully decant a bottle of dill and mustard dressing into a jug without getting more than ten percent of it over the floor. Hermione had elected to make the pudding, which turned out to be a wonderfully fragrant exotic fruit salad accompanied by three different flavours of icecream. George, seriously occupied with fillet steak and Béarnaise sauce, had dragooned Harry into cleaning mushrooms, slicing tomatoes, trimming mange tout and dicing potatoes to be sautéed in sizzling butter. At the eleventh hour, Ron Apparated back to the flat to change and the others hurtled to their various rooms to shower quickly and throw on whatever decent clothes were closest. Hermione came into her study with a sigh of relief to find George already there, putting out bowls of nibbles and mixing drinks.
"You angel!" she smiled, grazing her lips lightly over his cheek so as not to leave lipstick traces on his collar. He handed her a weak gin and tonic and went to dim the lights. Hermione glanced around, making sure all was tidy and that no incriminating papers had been left on show. Her study was an ideal place to serve drinks and nibbles, being so close to both the kitchen and the dining room. They would use the West Room again this evening for coffee.
Ron and Lee arrived on foot, trying to act as Muggle-like as possible in case they ran into Ginny and Markland. They each took a well-earned drink from George and stood glancing wistfully at the peanuts and crisps. Hermione eyed her three boys critically over her glass: really, all the Hogwarts lads had turned out impressively easy on the eyes. George, although the heavier of the twins, was still tall and active-looking with a good-humoured, twinkling-eyed face. Lee was less easy to categorise, but that evening he looked as close to smooth as she had ever seen him. Ron, however, could truthfully be described as hot. Hermione smiled as she took in his appearance: expensive smart-casual and predominantly blue, which contrasted attractively with his hair and eyes.
Ginny arrived punctually at 7.00, dazzling in sea-green silk, with a dour- looking Markland in tow. Her face lit up with genuine pleasure as she stepped forward to embrace Hermione warmly, despite the face that it had been less than 24 hours since they had last seen each other. Hermione paid dutiful homage to Markland, a head to toe advertisement for Gucci, but felt her stomach give an unaccustomed lurch. This is all a horrible mistake, she thought as his indifferent gaze swept over her, sliding away unmoved.
Making a supreme effort, Hermione broke what threatened to be an awkward silence with a commonplace observation on the evening traffic levels in London. Ron and Lee made sterling attempts to assist her efforts; George lent occasional assistance in between keeping a weather eye on progress in the kitchen. Hermione sipped her drink, made the occasional comment and tried not to fidget. Where was Harry? She glanced surreptitiously at her watch: 7.20 and he still hadn't appeared. What on earth was he playing at?
Abruptly, Harry entered the study apologising profusely. A business call, he explained to all who were listening, which could not be curtailed, only resolved. Hermione saw Ginny's gaze drawn towards him like a magnet. Turning her own eyes towards Markland, Hermione bit her lip. She was sure she hadn't imagined the sudden narrowing of those cold eyes and tightening of the mouth.
Hermione turned to look at Harry herself and had to admit that Markland might well imagine he had cause for concern. Harry had changed beyond all recognition from the scrawny kid she had known at Hogwarts. He was dressed simply and casually in neutral stone and a brilliant white lawn shirt which clung to muscles she didn't remember him having before he left for LA. She smiled wryly. No wonder Ginny couldn't take her eyes off him, he was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous!
George had truly outdone himself on the food, Ginny remarked to herself. Markland complained quietly about the high levels of cholesterol but she ignored him, eating and drinking everything put in front of her. She was now in that slightly heady stage which welcomes stars, moonlight and a good cup of coffee. Harry seemed slightly preoccupied, she noticed, and he wasn't drinking much at all. He had made slight general conversation with Lee and George, both of whom were within chatting distance, but although Hermione had placed him opposite Ginny, Harry had exchanged no more than a dozen words with her during the meal. She wondered if she had offended him in some way, or if he was simply trying to keep the peace with her boyfriend.
Hermione served coffee in the West Room once again, accompanied by glorious sunset views, pink and gold against the western sky. Ginny stood gazing through the windows as the light slowly faded and the tinted trees sank into the dusk.
"Do you come here often?" murmured a low voice in her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. She turned slightly and smiled at Harry.
"Not as often as I'd like." Ginny looked at him directly. "Why were you ignoring me at dinner, Harry? You were supposed to be entertaining me with witty conversation, not wasting it all on Lee."
"Just trying to keep the peace, for Hermione's sake," Harry shrugged. "After all, she did fix up this little gathering."
"So, if you're afraid of disturbing it, why are you talking to me now?" Ginny tilted her head to one side quizzically. Harry gave a wicked grin, slid his hand under her elbow and leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"Your boyfriend's looking for the bathroom." Harry told her, gravely. "And Ron took it upon himself to put a Confusion charm on the hall doorways. It should be a few minutes at least before he returns." Ginny shook with laughter then clapped a hand over her mouth with a little gasp.
"What's this?" Harry objected, much amused. "Markland's dignity is not to be mocked, is that it?"
Smiling a wide genuine smile, Harry took one of Ginny's hands in his and pressed it briefly to his mouth. Ginny's lips parted in surprise and she stared at him with wide, worried dark eyes. Harry's smile faded slightly and he was about to speak when both their heads whipped around to stare out of the window in astonishment. A brilliant white flash lit up the whole garden, turning night to day in an instant. A hollow boom whose vibrations shook the room, jangling the coffee cups, followed hard on its heels.
"What in Merlin's name was that?" exclaimed Ron, putting down his cup with a clatter and making for the patio doors.
Dropping Ginny's nerveless hand, Harry pressed his face close to the glass. Reflexively, he threw an arm over his eyes as a second flash, vivid as the first, left him momentarily blinded. Blinking back stinging tears, he groaned, turned away from the night sky and buried his face in his hands.
"Too late!" he murmured. "I should have known better." Pulling himself together, he straightened quickly and gestured towards the French doors.
"Someone open these." Harry barked.
"Stand back!" Hermione already had her wand out.
"Alohomora!"
The doors sprang apart and Harry jumped through them, his glimmering white shirt disappearing into the darkness. Ginny paused only for a second before taking off in pursuit, followed by Ron, Lee and Hermione in quick succession.
"What the .?"
Unable to find the bathroom, David Markland reappeared in the doorway just in time to witness the unexpected exodus into the garden. Puzzled, curious and more than a little annoyed that a domestic crisis should have robbed his hosts of even the vaguest courtesy towards their guest, he sighed in irritation and followed in their wake.
Ginny kept close behind Harry through the garden jungle. The going was a good deal faster than before because Harry, throwing all caution to the winds in favour of speed, was using the Reductus curse left, right and centre to blast himself a path through the thick undergrowth. They reached the temple, panting for breath, only to find their way blocked not merely by the persistent silver birch tree, but also by a closed rank of cloaked, hooded figures, silently awaiting them. Harry took one swift look and grabbed Ginny by the arm, hauling her behind a large shrub. The air was at once electric with power as Curses bounced off and around their temporary shelter. Ginny's hair crackled and tingled with static as she smoothed it down. Harry gritted his teeth: their leafy protection was slender indeed - it wouldn't last for long.
"Death Eaters." Harry muttered, bitterly. "He must be attempting to take his full form once again on this plane."
Ron overtook them at a run, leaping out from behind their flimsy shelter, wand at the ready.
"Inflammatus!" he yelled releasing a stream of crimson fire from the end of his wand. A piercing scream confirmed that he had hit something, but Ron was oblivious, already aiming his next attack.
"Cylon universus!"
Hermione caught up with them just as four Death Eaters collapsed to the ground, twitching uncontrollably.
"Ron," she began. "What on earth.?"
"Reflexus!" A blue mist swept rapidly over Ron's body, establishing thrumming lines of power two inches from the surface of his skin. Curses bounced harmlessly back off the mesh, rebounding on their hapless creators. Hermione frowned in perplexity.
"Lancea glacies!" shouted Ron. Two more Death Eaters suddenly stiffened, as though frozen solid.
"I didn't know Ron knew that curse!" Hermione muttered to Ginny in astonishment. "Those are very accomplished spells, you know. They're only normally taught to specialists; wizards who use advanced defensive and offensive magic in the course of their employment." But Ginny wasn't listening. She was staring at the obstinate birch tree.
"Harry," she said, puzzled. "I moved that tree once ."
"I know," he interrupted. "It must be enchanted - it keeps moving back. Even the Reductus curse didn't stop it."
"I wonder," Ginny said biting her lip. Then she took out her wand and concentrated.
"Wingardium leviosa!" Ginny muttered, quietly, then "Silencio!" and a number of other murmured magical charms. The tree began to move once again, rising slowly upwards, freeing its roots from the earth just as before. Then with the same majestic motion, it turned gracefully in the air until it was horizontal, then it began to travel forwards. The huge trunk caught the nearest Death Eater painfully on the back of the neck and he cannoned into those in front of him. Abruptly, the whole rank was floored like so many ninepins. Dazedly, several started to get back to their feet, but the tree was there, swinging back at their faces this time. After a third pass, none of them stirred. Sweating profusely, Ginny deposited the tree gently by the side of the temple.
"Great Merlin, that was inspired!" exclaimed Ron, charging up to hug his sister.
"Twice in twenty-four hours is really rather tiring," Ginny replied, giving him a wan smile.
"Would someone mind telling me what the hell is going on?"
A loud, indignant voice carried over the murmur of praise being heaped upon Ginny. Her expression changed to one of dismay.
"Oh, my wand - David!"
Ginny shook herself free of Ron and Hermione, and turned to face him.
"Why didn't you stay in the house?" Ginny found herself wailing.
"Why on earth should I?" Markland retorted, shrugging his shoulders. "You went gallivanting out into the garden in the dark with Potter - what was I suppose to think?"
Ginny stared at the ground, crimson with shame. Harry put a hand on her arm then turned to the other man.
"Listen, Markland." Harry began in what was, for the circumstances, a very calm, collected tone. "Things are about to happen here that neither you nor any other Muggle could understand in a thousand years. And when I tell you your life is in danger, you'd better believe it. Ginny is right - it would have been a whole lot better if you had stayed in the house. However, you're here now, and we have no alternative but to make the best of it."
Harry took a step forward, moving into the other man's air space until their faces were mere inches apart. Markland glared back without flinching.
"From now on, you will do exactly as I say - no more, no less," Harry's voice was quiet, almost conversational. He flicked a glance towards the approaching figure of Lee Jordan.
"Stick close to him, Lee." Harry commanded, holding the other wizard's gaze until he nodded, albeit reluctantly.
"Lee is now officially your minder," Harry continued, turning back to Markland. "Move when he moves, and don't do anything stupid." Markland was clearly furious.
"Now just a minute, Potter." blustered the Muggle, confused and angry. "What possible right have you to tell me."
"Every right in the world at present," returned Harry, crisply. "Please credit me with the truth when I tell you that your well-being is a matter of supreme indifference to me at this time: there are far more important matters to be dealt with. If you want to come out of this in one piece, keep your head down until it's over."
He turned his back on a gaping Markland, dismissing him from his active attention, and led the way over to the temple door. Ron stayed behind briefly to cast the full bodybind on the unconscious Death Eaters, just in case Ginny's tree hadn't done its job quite thoroughly enough. Signalling to the others for total silence, Harry peered gingerly around the door.
The temple appeared to be empty, a situation Harry viewed with some suspicion considering the size of their would-be welcoming committee outside. Little seemed to have changed since their last visit. The huge altar was still in place, complete with stone plinth and decorative carvings, but the air was heavy with a musky, cloying scent that dulled the senses and robbed the breath. Putting a handkerchief over his mouth, Harry glanced around, tracing the source of the noxious fumes to a number of burning black candles housed in brackets around the walls of the temple and also on the altar itself. He heard Hermione begin to cough quietly and reached behind him to catch her wand arm before she could cast a Purification Charm.
"Please - no one is to use magic in this place," he whispered, urgently. "We don't know what we're dealing with here, although I admit I've got a pretty good idea by now."
"It's You-Know-Who, isn't it?" blurted Ron in a hoarse whisper, his face ashen. "Pretty much of a giveaway, really, with all those Death Eaters on the doorstep."
"I believe he's trying to gain access to our dimension," Harry affirmed gravely. He took a deep breath, turned and addressed the others in low, careful tones.
"When I defeated Voldemort at the end of my seventh year, I didn't kill him," Harry began. "The Ministry of Magic thought it wise not to let the wizarding world know of that little fact. No, I didn't destroy him, I merely banished him to another dimension, another plane of existence where he would be trapped for all time. Fudge didn't exactly bargain on him finding a way back, but I have to admit I'm not altogether surprised. I've been detecting his influence in our world for quite some time. Hermione and Lee's data from the legal system is just more corroborating evidence, and Fred, George and Ron too have been adding their observations to the melting pot."
Harry started to strip off his white shirt. When Hermione blinked at him, he gave her a wry smile.
"With this thing on, I show up like a searchlight." Harry said, pausing to remove his wand from its sleeve holster before throwing the shirt behind a tree. His muscular torso was the same heavily suntanned colour as his face. Ginny looked away, flushing slightly.
"What about Fred?" George's voice was tense. Harry turned a grim expression towards his friend.
"I'm afraid I just don't know, George," Harry admitted, humbly, "but the odds aren't very favourable, you have to admit."
George lowered his eyes and shook his head slowly.
"He can't be dead." George's voice was muffled but firm. "If Fred were dead, I'd know. That's all there is to it."
"Look!" Ron whispered suddenly, pointing at the altar.
The plinth glowed, a sickly, dull orange like iron in a blacksmith's fire. A wave of pure malevolence hurled its way through Harry's defences, sweeping them aside like rotten branches. Sudden sickness, frightening in its intensity, threatened to overwhelm him. He fought it down with clenched teeth.
A low hiss echoed around the walls:
"Aah! At laasssst!"
A part of the dark floor moved, rose and seemed to take on human shape. Deep black robes with a hood shading the face revealed it to be a lone Death Eater. The figure bowed low to the altar then scuttled off into the dimness somewhere to its left.
The glow of the plinth started to waver and distort; the sweet stench of the candles was overpowering. Harry felt his tenuous grip on the here and now begin to slip.
"Harry! Harry!" Ginny's voice stabbed insistently into his consciousness. She sounded very far away. "Harry, this is no time to pass out! Concentrate on my voice - and sit down before you fall!"
Hardly knowing what he was doing, Harry allowed his body to be guided away from the doorway into the shadows, felt himself pushed to his knees with gentle force. He took several breaths of fresher air and tried to coerce his swimming senses back into focus. Slowly, the nausea receded leaving in its place a strong sense of fear and shame. He looked up into Ginny's anxious eyes.
"What happened?" Ginny asked quietly. Harry shook his head, unable to speak, and rose unsteadily to his feet.
"Harry?" Hermione appeared at his side, her lovely face pale and worried. He expelled breath in a wordless sigh.
"I'm okay now." Harry replied. "At least for the present."
Harry tried to smile reassuringly, but the truth was he was beginning to wonder if he was out of his depth. The smile faded from his lips as he glimpsed movement through the doorway over Hermione's shoulder. The Death Eater had returned, but this time he was not alone; another figure preceded him, this one moving slowly and jerkily, as if it was sleepwalking.
"Fred!" cried George, in a suddenly hoarse voice.
As one, Harry and Ron leaped to grab him by the back of his robes, yanking him out of the doorway before he could give the game away. They stared, horrified, as Fred Weasley, obviously unconscious and motivated by the Mobilicorpus Charm, moved erratically towards the altar. The Death Eater then raised his wand and Fred floated horizontally into the air, coming to rest at the front of the altar table, just below the stone plinth.
At this moment, the plinth itself blazed blood-red, pulsing with power; warped and diseased. Harry swallowed dryly as his stomach contents began once again to protest their current location. Something within the churning maelstrom began to take shape, something shadowy and half-formed, but growing more solid by the instant. The Death Eater laughed a high- pitched excited giggle and threw back his hood in exultation.
"Wormtail!" muttered Harry, his eyes alight with anger and disgust. "I really believed I'd got him the last time we met. Well, I can always try again!"
Abruptly, Harry left the safety of the doorway and moved silently into the temple, keeping to the shadows, well away from the altar. Ron and George padded after him, followed after some hesitation by Hermione and Ginny. Lee stayed by the door as rearguard, shepherding Markland, who looked as though his worst nightmares were being enacted before his very eyes.
Harry approached the altar stealthily, his eyes fixed on Wormtail. He ducked behind a pillar and pointed his wand, whispering "Stupefy!" Wormtail crumpled oblivious to the floor. Abandoning secrecy, Harry sprang out before the altar, wand raised to strike, any number of powerful curses at the ready on the tip of his tongue. Then suddenly he froze. Harry Potter froze and faltered, his arm falling loosely to his side as he stared in horror at the object materialising on the stone plinth.
Ginny frowned. What was the matter with Harry? Why didn't he strike? Whatever this thing could be, it was becoming more real by the second. He couldn't afford to delay much longer. She shielded her eyes against a blast of bright light, squinting as the thing now extruded a cage of revolving red lines joining smoothly into a lattice. Now that lattice was bending and stretching, becoming three-dimensional, rapidly gaining flesh and solidity. Still Harry had not moved. Ginny looked over at him and felt a cold wave of panic wash over her: He didn't know what to do!
Harry felt himself break out into a cold sweat. He was as helpless as when he had been roped to a gravestone, watching the Dark Lord come to life before his very eyes. He knew this situation was not quite comparable; Voldemort was not resurrecting himself but forcing his way through from a parallel plane of existence. However, Harry stared and stared at the gradually strengthening form of his old enemy and could not think of a single thing to do to stop the process.
Ginny Weasley had not practised formal magic for four long years. Her two exhibitions with the silver birch tree outside the temple had been largely instinctive, inspired firstly by an unwillingness to destroy wantonly, and secondly by the need to protect her friends and family. Her grasp of the art was so natural it was almost organic, as though she had been born with the knowledge as well as the ability. It was this intuitive side of her power that prompted her into action.
Ginny stared around the temple with suddenly heightened perception. It was as though she was looking through the viewfinder of an infrared camera. Areas of dark magic glowed red. The brighter they glowed, the stronger they were, she realised. Her gaze was attracted and held by the brightest area of them all: the plinth itself. This was the key. If the plinth could be changed, eroded or destroyed, the process of materialisation could be halted or corrupted. It was that simple - so why couldn't Harry see it? She left Hermione's side and rushed over to where he stood in tortured indecision.
"The plinth!" Ginny shouted in his ear, shaking his arm. "That's the gateway, the portal from the other world. Destroy it before he completes his transition!" Drawing out her wand, she pointed it.
"Reducto!" Ginny cried. The curse bounced off harmlessly, demolishing part of the wall. She went to try again, when Harry grabbed her wrist.
"You're right, Ginny. Of course you are!" Harry exclaimed. "But the Reductus curse won't be strong enough for this. I know what to do now. Stay here, I may need your help again."
Raising his wand, Harry paused for a moment to gather his thoughts then he drew a strange design in the air, leaving a faint silvery trail. He began to intone, muttering alien words in a language unfamiliar to the others. Hermione shook her head wordlessly; even she did not recognise it. Twice Harry faltered. The second time he reached out a hand to grip Ginny's arm.
Help me, Ginny! It's too strong for me to go it alone. I need your help.
How can I help you, Harry? Just tell me.
Join with me.
How?
Reach out. With your thoughts. Join with me.
Ginny had no idea what was happening. Wizards could only supplement each other's power by the usual ways of combining spells. No one could use another wizard as a source of power - could they? Nevertheless, she reached out as he had asked her.
Pain - searing agony! A whirling morass of red light . Ginny gasped, her hands flying to her head.
I - can't do it.
Ginny, please. I can't hold out much longer. Please - just try.
Almost sobbing with anguish, Ginny closed her eyes and reached - and reached.
.and abruptly felt the incredible mental presence of Harry Potter there with her, within her mind. The doors of her ears slammed shut. She reeled in shock at the immediate mental silence, like entering the eye of a hurricane.
Don't be frightened, said Harry's essence to her panicking inner self. His voice sounded curiously dead, without resonance. We are together, melded but separate. We can beat him.
Ginny listened and believed.
Harry felt a rush of power surge through him as he continued to chant. His voice rose and fell, the syllables coming with increasing clarity and strength. He was casting the incantation for the third and final time now and its power was almost visible, distorting the outlines of the stone, blurring the edges of reality like a heat-haze in a desert. A sharp implosion thudded, a hot wind blew sand into his eyes. An instant of searingly bright light threw the bone structure of his face into sharp relief. Blinded by the glare, tears pouring down her cheeks, Ginny could see rivulets of sweat cutting white streaks through the dust on Harry's strained face. On and on went the slow, relentless intoning.
As he neared the end of the incantation, Harry's voice rose in pitch. He raised his arms high above his head as if calling on the heavens for assistance. The crescendo of sound and magic reached its peak. Speaking the final words of the spell, he threw down his hands violently in completion.
And the heavens answered.
A tremendous explosion shook the very foundations of the temple, depositing everyone except Harry on to the ruined floor. Statues fell from the walls, dust and masonry rained down from the roof, and the stone floor rippled uncannily like the surface of a stream. The stone plinth split abruptly through its centre, falling into two halves, its polluted, diseased light instantly extinguished. An unearthly scream of rage and pain rang around the building, and the image on the altar dissolved into a cloud of ozone, fizzing and hissing as it dissipated. Harry stood still for a moment then slowly, wearily sank to his knees in exhaustion. Ginny scrambled to her feet and ran to him.
"Harry!" Ginny took his grey face between her hands, noting the beads of sweat mingled with tears, the blood running from his scar. Harry looked up at her and raised a tired hand to cover one of hers.
"The portal is closed," Harry said quietly. "For the present."
"For the present?" asked Ron, also scrambling to his feet and extending a hand to help Hermione. Harry nodded mutely, then looked towards the altar where George was helping a dazed but very much alive Fred to stand up.
"Thank Merlin," Harry murmured. "I couldn't be sure we'd ever see him again." He looked about him in puzzlement.
"Where's Wormtail?"
"I expect he transfigured and got away," Ron replied, shrugging regretfully. "We'll never find him out there in the dark." Harry sighed and leaned his head in his hands.
"Have you any idea how long the gateway will remain closed?" asked Hermione, practical as usual. Harry shook his head.
"He broke through it once, it won't take much for him to repeat the exercise," Harry sighed. "It drained a great deal of his power, though: it'll take him some time to recover."
"He's not the only one who needs to recover," replied Hermione in a non- nonsense fashion, throwing a companionable arm around Harry's shoulder. "Harry, we need to get you back into the house - if you're not to pass out on us. Oh, the strength of that final incantation!" Her eyes widened in alarm as Harry sagged heavily against her, and Ron moved quickly to intercept them.
"Both you and Fred need a good long sleep," Ron announced to Harry. "But after that, we need answers to an awful lot of questions."
"Yes," said a new voice, flatly. They all paused, then reluctantly turned to look at David Markland. He was pale and so covered in dust that his dark hair looked almost grey. Only his eyes were slits of brightness. For someone who had recently witnessed a massive demonstration of a power he had not known existed until that evening, he seemed remarkably composed.
"Yes," Markland repeated. "I think we all need to get out of here and back to some kind of sanity. And I also think I need to borrow your study, Hermione, if you don't mind: I believe that I too am entitled to some answers - am I not, Ginny?"
Without waiting for confirmation, he turned towards the house, gesturing to Ginny to precede him. Ginny gave Hermione one rather frightened glance, then turned on her heel and marched off, her head held high: she was more than equal to whatever David Markland had in mind for her. Hermione sighed as she watched them go and shook her head silently.
~oo0oo~
Markland opened the door to Hermione's study to let Ginny through, closing it firmly behind him. Without asking for permission, he crossed over the drinks cabinet and poured himself a very large Scotch. Ginny noted that he didn't offer to help her to a drink, and quietly put together a moderate gin and tonic for herself. He drained half the contents of his glass in one go, then he sighed.
"So, this is it then, is it?" Markland began. Ginny looked puzzled; he tried again. "This is what you are, this hocus pocus, jiggery pokery, abbra cadabra." She winced.
"Please don't say that." It was Markland's turn to look blank.
"It's a corruption of the - of the Killing Curse," Ginny explained, unhappily. "There's no countercurse, and no way to block it ."
"That's exactly what I mean!" Markland thundered, suddenly. "All this - magic, this levitation, disappearing, strange red lights, stroboscopic effects. And all of you carrying little sticks of wood and waving them around - children's toys! God, why don't you dress the part - where's your pointed hat and your broomstick?" Ginny bit her lip.
"We don't wear pointy hats any more, unless we're flying in very bad weather. I've been keeping my broomstick here, though - in the hall cupboard with Hermione's, George's and Harry's." Ginny took a sip of her drink and attempted a smile. "It's a Firebolt Original - almost as good as the Firebolt Mark II."
Markland swore violently and slammed his glass down on the desk. In a moment, Hermione's best Waterford crystal had disintegrated into pieces. Without thinking, Ginny pulled out her wand muttering "Reparario!" The glass swiftly reassembled itself and sat innocently on the desk as though it had never been broken. Markland's trousers, however, were soaked with good Irish malt.
"I'm sorry, David, I'm afraid you'll have to pour yourself another drink," Ginny said, her voice trembling. "I'm afraid I gave up my magical studies before I learned how to levitate liquids from carpet pile."
Markland, who had been staring at the glass as though it would bite him, shook himself and shot a look of such venom at Ginny that she took an involuntary step backwards.
"I want you to sit on that sofa," Markland said, in a low hiss, "and tell me about this, right from the beginning. No tricks, no demonstrations, just plain old-fashioned words. And I don't care how long it takes, or how difficult it is - I want to know everything!"
Ginny paused for a moment, then shrugged slightly and complied. It was going to be a long night.
~ooOoo~
"I think he's just exhausted, there's no fever." Hermione put a hand on Harry's forehead: he did not so much as stir.
"I'm not exactly surprised," added Ron, throwing several blankets over his friend and holding Harry's head as Hermione deftly put a pillow under it.
"Harry's always something rather more than any of us," he continued. "Even you, Hermione. You couldn't have done what he did tonight." Hermione shook her head slowly.
"It's not just You-Know-Who who'll need to recover spent energy," she said, thoughtfully. "Such an outpouring of raw power - and to sustain it for so long!"
She shook her head in wonderment then frowned as something seemed to occur to her.
"Speaking of spent energy, Ron," she began in a suspiciously neutral tone, "since when have you been able to cast a multiple Jellylegs curse?"
Ron started slightly, caught unawares, and then smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.
"Oh," Ron began offhandedly, "I learned any number of spells when I did my training for the Department. Must have been then."
"Did you indeed?" Hermione replied, nodding gravely. "And did that training also include several different and, I might add, quite devastating fire spells? And Lancea glacies, more commonly known as the Pillar of Salt curse? And a medium-term body-armour charm with special protective characteristics against dark magic? And I suppose you just happened to have all of these complex spells and more ready to hand for rapid-fire use - just in case you happened to run into a powerful dark magician on one of your house calls?"
Ron's would-be nonchalant expression changed to something much less assured. Shrugging helplessly, he started to speak then stopped, running an unsteady hand through his hair.
"Ron," Hermione began meaningfully, "these are all specialist spells used routinely by Aurors only against Dark Wizards. Now tell me: since when does the Office for Improper use of Magic have need for spellcraft of that calibre?" She paused to glare at him. As he shook his head speechlessly, she let out a sigh of exhaustion.
"I've had a gruelling evening, Ron," Hermione continued. "We all have. So don't annoy me any further, just spit it out. How is it that you know such advanced magic, where did you learn it and how come you are so practised at using it?"
Ron expelled a breath he had not realised he had been holding. Hermione narrowed her eyes. He held up a hand defensively.
"It certainly is a night for revelations," Ron muttered, then squared his shoulders and looked Hermione straight in the eye.
"The Office for Improper Use of Magic is something of an umbrella, covering quite a lot of different functions," Ron began. "When I joined the Office, my family, and you, Hermione, all assumed I would be working with the Accidental Use of Magic Reversal Squads, and indeed I was for a while. But accidental magic is a very wide subject and covers a great deal that is marginal or may even be deliberate. Quite often, the squads themselves need protection when going out on a call. If HQ has suspicions about anything to do with a case, that's when I'm called in. One of my jobs is to firefight: to protect the squads from anything they might turn up on a case that could conceivably develop into something really nasty."
"So you've had Auror-training then, I knew it! Why didn't you tell me, Ron?" Hermione demanded crossly. "I'm supposed to be your best friend. Since when do friends have secrets?"
"It's not something I tend to noise around, Hermione." Ron shook his head helplessly. "At first, I wasn't sure I'd be accepted, even when I'd taken the training. And once I was given the job, I never seemed to find the right time to tell you. I'm sorry."
"Why didn't I see it before?" Hermione said, more quietly. She felt her anger begin to dissipate. "I'd often wondered why you were on call so much. Squad members work regular shifts, not the odd hours you're on duty. And it also explains how you were able to afford that huge flat you live in. You're not renting it at all, are you? It's yours."
"A special duty Auror is very well paid indeed compared to a squad member because of the unsocial hours and the dangerous nature of our work," Ron explained reluctantly. "We're really the first line of defence, you know: we're sent in to assess tricky situations and either contain them or call for back up. I've seen a lot over the last couple of years, I can tell you. I've encountered things that would make even Harry's hair curl!"
"I look forward to hearing about it - soon." Hermione's voice was sharp but without any real animosity. She turned back to the unconscious Harry and tucked the blankets gently around his shoulders.
"Why doesn't he wake?" Hermione whispered worriedly. Ron paused for a moment, then placed a careful hand over hers. She raised her eyes questioningly and he smiled.
"He'll wake when he's ready," Ron replied quietly, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. "You know, Hermione," he continued in a matter of fact tone, although his face was serious. "In a way, Harry and You-Know-Who are equal and opposite forces - if the one didn't exist, the other wouldn't need to."
"No, no!" Hermione shook her head vehemently. "Harry's not just - a nemesis for You-Know-Who, for goodness sake! He's a person in his own right, whom we all love very dearly. Have you forgotten what it was like at Hogwarts?"
Hermione gripped Ron's fingers tightly, hardly aware of what she was doing. He rested a soothing hand on her shoulder.
"I didn't mean that he had no other place in the world, 'Mione," Ron replied, more quietly, "just that they're the two greatest wizards, perhaps of all time. The difference is that Tom Riddle sacrificed his humanity for power. I think Harry would willingly give up his power if he could, and retire to a cattle ranch in North America."
Hermione leaned wearily into his arm, enjoying the feeling of Ron - warm, solid and secure, an island of steadfastness in a world that right now seemed to offer very little in the way of stability. Somehow his recent deception seemed to matter very little in comparison to what they had all been through.
"When you two can let a body get a word in edgewise," interrupted a hoarse voice, "one of the medical essentials to help combat the over-exertion of magical powers is fluids. I am so dry, the Sahara would seem like a wetland."
Harry propped himself up on one elbow, staring irritably at his two friends, but his lips had curved into a small smile at the sight of them, and his green eyes were warm.
~ooOoo~
"Fred, you've been under an enchantment, you really do need to get some food and some rest!"
George and Lee between them strong-armed Fred into an armchair while George forced a cup of strong tea down his throat. It was he who was speaking. Lee searched the kitchen for something to throw together to make a light meal.
"I'm okay, lemme go - umph!" Fred was unimpressed. "Look, I've been under Imperius, okay, not Cruciatus. I don't want to be babied, I want to know what's been going on!"
"You've lost at least a stone in weight," protested George, as Lee brought in a cheese and ham omelette, some salad he'd found in the fridge and a buttered roll. "And neither of us is going to tell you a thing until you've eaten everything on that plate, okay?"
~ooOoo~
"So that's more or less all there is to it, really." Finishing her explanation, Ginny shrugged and went to refill her glass from the drinks cabinet. She was aware that her recital had been found wanting in more ways than she could mention.
Having been born and brought up in a wizarding family, Ginny had taken so much for granted that blending into the Muggle world had been almost impossible. However, with Hermione's help and some useful tips from the twins, she had worked hard at carving out some kind of a niche with a fair degree of success, she had thought. However, being required to give an account of her life and a defence for her wizarding talents had turned out to be as difficult as it was unexpected. Markland was silent for a while, his brow furrowed, his lips pursed in a frown of concentration. When he finally did begin talking, it was so quiet that she almost missed the first few words.
"So what you're saying is that magic has always been a reality to you," Markland began. "You never had your childhood dreams about flying carpets, magic wands and devastating spells, dashed to the ground once adolescence kicked in, like most kids do. Most Muggle kids, that is. You merely had to wait until you were old enough to learn how to use the power, old enough to go to a special school for the purpose. Yes, that sounds reasonable. And then when you graduated, what made you go into music?"
Ginny shook her head.
"I don't know. I'd always been able to sing, and I'd never really had any desire to pursue any one area of magic. I decided to coast along for a while until I found what I really wanted to do. Then - then I met you." Ginny fell silent. Markland was nodding gently then he raised his eyes and fixed them on hers.
"And you lied to me." Markland stated flatly. Ginny stared.
"Wh-what do you mean?"
"Oh, come on, Ginny! What do you think I mean? I'm a reasonable man, fairly sane, slightly fiery temperament, but tolerably intelligent and open- minded. I'm living my life as I usually do - working hard, worrying about the business, eating, sleeping, etc. etc. when suddenly I discover that the girl I have been living with for three years is a witch."
A dreadful silence followed this bald statement. Ginny couldn't argue with him - for the life of her, she couldn't find anything to say in reply. Markland continued.
"Yes, a witch. And not just some weird tree-worshipping crackpot either, oh, no. My girl just happens to be a very powerful sorceress, yes, sir, up there with the best of them. Using nothing more substantial than a thin piece of wood, she wrenched an entire twenty-foot birch tree out of the ground and threw it at a bunch of - well, can I call them bad guys? I still have no real idea what happened out there in the garden, all I know is that it was one of the scariest things I have ever seen in my life."
"I've tried to explain about, well, You-Know-Who and about the danger to the Muggle world as well as to wizards." Ginny protested. Markland shook his head confusedly.
"Look, that's just the trouble, isn't it? Muggles and wizards. How can we possibly even co-operate together?" Markland complained. "Right now I feel resentful and betrayed, but that isn't the half of it, oh, no. Mostly I feel - jealous. Yes, that's right: blindingly jealous that it was you who was born with these talents and not me. And there's not a thing I can do about it, not even if I live till I'm one hundred." He paused and placed his now empty, mended glass quietly on the desk, surveying it interestedly.
"That really is a first-class job, you know." Markland glanced up at her. "Cut glass is notoriously difficult to repair well." Ginny stared at him as he continued to peruse the Waterford.
"So - what's going to happen?" Ginny's voice was uncertain.
"Well, surely that's for you to tell me, isn't it?" Markland looked up at her. "I mean, this You-Know-Who chap wasn't defeated, was he? At least, Harry didn't think so, and he's your great white leader, isn't he?"
"David, please!"
"Okay, Ginny; what do you want to know?"
"Well, what about us? How is this going to affect what's between us?"
There was a horrible, pregnant silence.
"I'm sorry, I thought that was obvious." Markland's voice was very low, and he refused to look at her. "If I have to spell it out then I will: Ginny, it's over, finished. You can have as long as you like to find somewhere else to live, I'll move in with a colleague while you sort your life out, but I won't change my mind on this. You lied to me. You represented yourself as something quite different from what you are, and we've been living a sham the whole time. I'll carry on representing you professionally, of course, if that's what you want, but that's really all I can do. I'm sorry. Goodbye, Ginny."
Markland got up to leave the room. Ginny could hardly speak past the lump in her throat, past the unshed tears which were threatening to choke her at any moment, but she had to be a responsible witch - she couldn't afford another Improper Use of Magic Notice.
"David," Ginny said, quietly, "you can't go, not like this."
"Ginny, please don't make this any more difficult than it already is." Markland sighed.
"No, David, I'm not trying to make you change your mind." Ginny replied, shaking her head. "If I thought it would make any difference, I would plead until the milk turns sour ."
"What?" Markland frowned, "What's milk got to do with it?"
"It's just a wizard saying, David," Ginny ventured nervously, fiddling with her hair. "A bit like 'until the cows come home', I suppose." He growled softly through his teeth.
"I really can't imagine how I didn't spot it." Markland was obviously kicking himself. "You're just so - different from everyone else I know."
"David, if we're not going to be together any longer, I can't let you leave here with the knowledge I've just given you." Ginny tried again. Markland paused in confusion.
"Run that by me again, will you?"
"We aren't allowed to let Muggles know about us, except in very special circumstances, of course."
"I see. But you've just broken that rule by telling me everything. And now I'm just going to walk out of that door and you can't do a thing about it. What's likely to happen then? A fine? A prison sentence?"
"I could be fined." Ginny told him seriously. "If I keep doing it, I'll have my licence revoked, my wand snapped in two. But it won't stop me being a witch, it'll just make me very unhappy."
"This is unreal." Markland was completely perplexed. "So what happens now? Do you lock me up and throw away the key?"
"No, David, but you have to have your memory - altered." There was a long pause.
"Are you out of your mind?" Markland was speaking quietly, but Ginny realised he was now extremely angry. "If you think I'm going to submit to you or anyone else monkeying around with my memory, you're nuts!"
"You really don't have any choice, you know."
"Oh, yes I do!" Markland was shouting now. "All I have to do is walk out of that door, and you just try and stop me! Goodbye, Ginny."
Tears rolled silently down Ginny's cheeks as she watched him stride towards the door and fling it open. She fingered her wand gently and whispered "Goodbye, David" before pointing it carefully at his departing figure.
"Obliviate!" Ginny muttered, and a thin stream of golden light shot out of the tip, wrapping itself around David's head. He staggered, regained his footing then leaned against the doorframe. She ran to him.
"Are you alright?" Ginny seized his arm reflexively.
"Funny turn, felt faint." Markland said slowly. He looked at Ginny's anxious face and his expression softened.
"Hey! What's this? Tears?" He raised a hand to stroke her hair gently.
"Don't cry, Ginny." Markland smiled sadly. "We can still work together. I hope we will. We really should stay friends, you know, we just can't - be a couple any more. I won't make any trouble about the flat - you can stay as long as it takes. Well, see you in the morning - my word it's late! If I'm going to get to Albert's place at a halfway decent hour, I'd better get moving."
Markland kissed Ginny's cheek almost in benediction and hurried off to the front door. Moments later she heard it slam and the sound of his quick footsteps down the front path. Ginny leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. When she finally opened them, it was to find Hermione looking at her anxiously. She had, to her total embarrassment, involuntarily slid down the wall until she was curled in the foetal position. Stiffly, she unrolled herself, and her wand fell to the floor with a clatter.
"Memory charm?" Hermione asked, eyeing it.
"We're through." Ginny said, briefly, rising uncomfortably to her feet. Hermione winced.
"I thought it might happen - especially after tonight. Ginny, it takes a very strong person, with a very deep imagination, to come through what David saw tonight and not freak out." Hermione's eyes were soft with sympathy as she spoke.
"It's been coming for ages, I just didn't want to see it." Ginny's voice cracked, partly with emotion, partly fatigue. Becoming suddenly aware that while Hermione was in her dressing gown, clean and showered, Ginny's own clothes were black and sooty, and there were white tear streaks down her face, she wearily made her way out of the study.
"I need to change and shower - and then I need some space and sleep." Ginny commented in a practical tone. "How's Harry?"
"Refusing to rest, as usual," Hermione replied with a smile. "He asked after you - I said you were occupied."
"I'll leave him to you then, Hermione," Ginny yawned. "Right now I'd rather not see anyone, least of all Harry." Gathering up her bag and coat, she walked out of the room.
"Tell him I'll talk to him tomorrow. I've got a lot to think about." Wearily, Ginny put on her coat and walked the few minutes to the flat.
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.