I think it must be spot the quotation time here. There are a number of them, largely from
just two sources. Not all Shakespeare
or Gilbert & Sullivan for once!
Okay, I'm bracing myself here for flames. Ginny is having a very hard time in this
chapter, but I believe she's a strong person and she can take it. Do you agree?
Thanks to everyone who reviewed – this fic is starting to
take off a bit now.
"By the
Pricking of my Thumbs"
By Penpusher
Chapter Five: Critical Mass
Harry was somewhat less than cheerful as he and Ron made their way towards Diagon Alley. In fact, if the truth be told, he was downright miserable. It's not my fault! he found himself mentally repeating over and over again. Even the sunny streets seemed drab and uninteresting, and the gay awnings and paintwork of Florean Fortescue's Icecream Parlour only served to make him even more despondent.
Ron was feeling decidedly awkward. It wasn't as if he had done anything really bad, he told himself, it was just unfortunate that he had arrived so early. Besides, he reasoned, it was all Harry's fault for not discussing the situation with Ginny in the first place – wasn't it? A glance at his friend's deadpan face told him they were in agreement on that issue at least.
"Harry, we're here." Ron snapped his fingers at eye level and Harry blinked. "We're at Bogsworthy & Trench – for our equipment, remember?" Harry's eyes came back into focus and he nodded curtly, examining the building in front of him.
It was a small, dingy-looking place with old-fashioned windows, green tinted against the sunlight, with a creaking sign bearing the legend:
Bogsworthy
& Trunks
Purveyors
to the Wizarding World of
Outdoor
Clothing and Equipment
Proprietor:
Claudius P. Makepeace
"Hmm." muttered Harry, shading his eyes from the sun to peer at the contents in the window. Impatiently, he abandoned his efforts and swung quickly up the step and in through the glass door, followed closely by Ron.
A soft tinkling of bells announced their arrival. They stood gazing around the shop, breathing in the comforting smells of leather and new canvas, and the bitter aroma of potion herbs.
"Can I help you?" a softly-spoken wizard, smartly dressed, wearing a pince-nez had appeared at the counter. Ron quickly strode forward, producing a list of basic items for the trip, leaving Harry to look around. Idly, he wandered over to another counter and picked up what looked like a small mirror.
"A very useful item, Sir. An SOS Mirror. Can emit a danger signal without the need for sun or even daylight. It also doubles as a miniature Foe Glass, giving warning of potential enemies." Harry looked up and blinked at the gently smiling face before him. He glanced behind him at Ron, still talking with the proprietor and then dragged his eyes back to the figure in front of him. His face must have given him away, because the man's smile widened sympathetically.
"I am Mr. Makepeace's assistant, sir." he explained, calmly, "Mr. Makepeace prefers that his customers be given his personal attention at all times – between you and me, he has never really taken to having employees assist in his establishment. Is there anything here which interests you, Sir?" But Harry was intrigued.
"You tell me you're his assistant."
"That is correct, Sir."
"Does he have any others, or are you the only one?"
"There are as many of us as are necessary, Sir."
"Hang on a minute – what would happen if, say, six different customers should walk in at the same time?"
"Sir, the scenario you suggest is very unlikely, but should it occur, Mr. Makepeace would summon myself and another four of his assistants to care for his customers." Harry took another rapid glance at the two identical smiling figures, one before him, the other talking to Ron, and shook his head in perplexity. Reluctantly, he returned to the here and now.
"My colleague is making the basic purchases." He explained, "I am merely browsing. I've had some experience in outdoor living, but all my equipment was bought in America. I've never visited your establishment before." The second Mr. Makepeace nodded and smiled.
"Then if Sir would care to continue, I will only be a moment away if you need me." Harry returned his attention to the shop.
By the time Ron had finished his order, Harry had managed to browse through a fair amount of interesting gear.
"I've ordered suitable clothing and boots," Ron told him, ticking off the list, "I've got a collapsible, lightweight tent with two bedrooms – we can toss for who shares with the guide if you like! I've also got 'space' sleeping bags, 'space' blankets, and a portable platform, so we can pitch the tent above ground if we need to." Harry nodded: these were all standard items.
"Washing kits," continued Ron, "Intellirope – Mageweave Special this time. The last time I bought another weave, it frayed so badly I couldn't use it. Self-renewing water canteens, standard kitchen stuff for the tent, Sirius is organising the food. "Glow in the Dark" string, water purification straws and "Instaclear" potion. "Permascreen" factor 50 – I've also got the charm to get rid of it after the trip!; hot climate lip balm; "Insectoban"; waterproof adhesive tape and spare bootlaces."
"Medical kit?" queried Harry. Ron nodded vigorously.
"Oh, yeah. Sorry, forgot about that. Medical kit containing standard dressings, standard potions, "Permulceo" draught for eyes, "Iunctura" electrolyte replacement draught, stitching kit, instruments – it's all there." He handed the list to Harry who nodded approvingly.
"I'd just like to add a couple of things." he replied, passing a short handwritten list to the proprietor. Mr. Makepeace's smile widened as he read it, but he merely copied it down in a leather bound order book, refraining from comment. Ron took a closer look at the discarded list.
"What's all this?" he asked, scanning it. Harry exchanged a glance with Mr. Makepeace.
"Alcohol," began Harry, "Hydrogen peroxide, Aspirin and Paracetamol, Penicilllin, Antibiotic cream, Vitamin C, and Caffeine tablets." At Ron's mystified expression, Harry tried again.
"Largely muggle versions of our draughts and potions," he explained, "But they can come in extremely useful under difficult circumstances." Ron shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. Harry fished out a small item from a pile of sundries Ron had collected and looked at it curiously.
"A sling, Sir." Mr. Makepeace told him, quietly. Harry quirked an eyebrow at Ron who nodded, not at all phased.
"It's accurate, lightweight, needs no magic, has the element of surprise and, above all, it's silent."
"Ah, but can you use it?"
"You bet I can – just give me a target!"
"Later, later, Gladiator!"
"Ah, shut it, wiseass." Mr. Makepeace cleared his throat.
"If that will be all, Sirs, I will make preparations to deliver the equipment to its destination address." Ron handed him a slip of paper. The wizard scanned the address briefly, but his smile merely widened.
"Very good, Sir. The goods will arrive promptly tomorrow morning. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, a pleasure to do business with you, Sirs. I hope to see you again." As they left the dark little shop, Harry squinted at his watch, half blinded by the bright sunlight, and saw to his surprise that it was nearly ten thirty. He nudged Ron.
"Let's go and have a quick butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks before we go to the Ministry." Ron was in complete agreement – which was why they didn't arrive at The Department for the Development of Magical Equipment until nearly eleven twenty.
***************************************
"Hi Ginny. What's up?" Hermione raised her head from her research to look into her office fireplace. Despite the flattering glow of the flames reflecting on her face, Hermione could see that her friend looked pale and her expression was serious.
"I just wondered," she began, dolefully, "If you weren't doing anything for lunch, maybe we could meet for a quick sandwich in the park or something?" Hermione pursed her lips and leafed through her appointments diary.
"Okay." she smiled, "If I manage to get this tied up in the next half hour, I'll be free for an hour or so after that. How does 12.15 by the fountain sound?"
"Wonderful." Ginny sighed, "Oh, I really need to talk to you." And no prizes for guessing what about! thought Hermione grimly as she got back to her work.
12.15 on the dot the two girls met and wandered until they found a spare park bench by the duck pond where they could eat their sandwiches.
"I brought some coffee," Ginny said, producing a flask, "And a couple of pastries from the bakery down the road." Hermione smiled in genuine pleasure.
"That was a kind thought, Ginny." She replied, "Particularly as I know you've got a lot on your mind. Come on, now – spill it." The redhead looked out over the water and sighed.
"You must have guessed some of it – after all, you were in the same position last night, so I gathered from Oliver – but I'm just really hurt that Harry virtually announced to the whole world that he was going away on a quest, and didn't think to let me know first. I'd be less annoyed if it were a boring routine visit of a couple of days to East Grinstead, but it's actually something fairly dangerous and it involves him travelling to another Continent for a couple of months. Hermione, why did he embarrass me like that?" Hermione paused, bit her lip then leaned forward.
"Well, actually it was largely because of Ron." she told her, unwillingly, "I hate to be disloyal, but Ron's really chuffed about being chosen to more-or-less bodyguard Harry on this trip. It's been a long time since the two of them were together, and I think they'll benefit from working as a team. Ron put his foot in it up to his armpits yesterday with me, and from what he told me on the telephone just an hour ago, he was the one who blew the gaff this morning. Unwittingly, I'm quite sure, but nevertheless thoroughly." Ginny pouted.
"Ron wouldn't have had the opportunity to make a mistake like that if Harry had played fair with me in the first place." she complained. Hermione spread her hands.
"Give him a chance, Ginny." she replied, "I don't believe he had time, what with the Club yesterday evening and not wanting to tell you before you went onstage in case it rattled your confidence. Did he have the opportunity afterwards when you were surrounded by adoring fans, dancing yourself insensible? Or when you got back home and fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow? Be fair, the odds were rather stacked against him." Ginny bit into her sandwich.
"I know, I know, Hermione," she said fretfully, when she had swallowed her mouthful, "And it's not just the feeling of being taken for granted. If I'm honest, it's partly that I'm going to be left here in England in a practically empty house, and I don't like it." Hermione laughed.
"Tell me about it!" she teased, "Don't forget, Ginny, I'll be on my own too. We should join forces of an evening – go to films, clubs, theatres!" But Ginny's eyes had opened wide.
"Of course!" she exclaimed, "That's it! Hermione, you could move back into Harry's house for the time the boys are abroad. Oh please say you'll think about it. It would be just like the old times we were supposed to have – before I moved in with David Markland, and you wouldn't be lonely in the evenings if you were at home with us. Do think about it!" Hermione had thought about it in those brief few seconds, and was inclined to rule it out entirely. From a purely personal viewpoint, she could think of nothing she would less like to do. Hermione firmly believed that once you had made a move, you should never go back: it would be like admitting defeat. The flat was now her home with Ron, and she felt she should stay there, come hell or high water. Besides, where was the point in moving all her books and notes just for a couple of months? And now Lee had taken over the study, where on earth would she put all her stuff? Where would she work? But the offer of company was very tempting, and Ginny was looking at her with such pleading eyes, so vulnerable at the moment, that Hermione found herself agreeing at least to think about the proposition. By the time she got back to chambers, she was kicking herself very hard, wondering how on earth she was going to get out of it.
**********************************************
"Come along, come along now, Weasley, and do try to pay attention even if you can't manage to get here on time." Tim Cyu was an elderly wizard with white
hair, bristling eyebrows and a pair of very sharp blue eyes. They were standing in a large room filled
with benches, equipment, wizards muttering over books, and evil-smelling
cauldrons. In one corner, a young
wizard wearing dragonhide gloves fed a couple of drops of vivid yellow liquid
to a white rat. There was a flash and a
bang and there before them stood a bewildered-looking man in a doublet and
hose. Cyu clapped the wizard on the
shoulder.
"Getting better,
Drinkwater, but in my book the rats turn into horses. It's the lizards that become footmen. Preparations for the Ministry Ball." He explained as he led Ron and Harry past another workstation
where two wizards were working on what was evidently a variation of the
Jellylegs curse. One of them was on the
floor, twitching helplessly, totally unable to rise to his feet or indeed move
at all.
"Splendid!"
exclaimed Cyu, inspecting the fallen wizard closely. "Have that ready for
Wilberforce's party next week!" Harry
and Ron exchanged glances, but fortunately they had already reached their
destination. Taking a deep breath, Tim
Cyu gestured towards a number of items spread out over a spare bench.
"Now listen carefully, Weasley – and you too Potter, even though you're not part of this Department. This is a machete, if you didn't already know." Expertly, he swung a long, wicked looking knife with a razor-sharp blade. "Self-sharpening blade, homing charm so it'll never get lost. Just whistle."
"You know how to whistle, don't you, Harry?" muttered Ron quietly as an aside, "You just put your lips together – and blow." Harry snorted with laughter, hurriedly turning it into a cough.
"I heard that, Weasley." Cyu also seemed to have extremely sharp ears. "For goodness sake grow up. Now, 'Culter tutela' will activate the self-defense mechanism. Here is a smaller version to be used as a back up weapon. Be sure to conceal it in a leg holster and keep it with you at all times. 'Culter sarmenta' is an extra charm for the machete to make it hack vegetation for you."
"Now that's really useful!" remarked Harry, hefting the weapon.
"Hmm." replied Cyu looking at him sceptically, "Just make sure you get it right, that's all. These things can take limbs off with no problem at all.
"Here is another useful little item – a folding shovel which, with the right charm, will dig trenches, holes, or merely clear earth out of the way. The basic invocation is 'Fodio' – the more specific variants are in the instruction manual. Make sure you read it, both of you, before you attempt to use the thing.
"Magical compass which will locate whatever you ask it to. Please remember to be specific. Telescope – rather like a Foe Glass, but it will focus on movement at a distance and recognize potential danger. Binoculars – identification of wildlife. A very good protection against poisons." Harry and Ron nodded at each of the items, all of which were reasonably familiar to them, but with some kind of added twist or sophistication.
"Now," Cyu led them around a corner into an area the size and design of an aircraft hangar. In fact, there were one or two pieces of equipment present which looked as though they could possibly take wing at any moment. "As I understand it, you're going into Mexican rainforest and a great deal of your trip will be covered on water." This was news to Ron, but Harry nodded as though it was to be expected. Cyu took out a package, no more than six inches square, and tapped it with his wand. Rapidly, it began to unfold and expand.
"Lightweight inflatable raft." He told them as it grew into a recognisable shape. "Has oars and a small outboard motor. Runs on distilled mineral oil – very concentrated so you'll barely need more than a litre of fuel for the whole trip. A Buoyancy charm will keep the raft upright and afloat even over white water, but you'll have to cope with staying attached to it yourselves: there's only so much magic can do to preserve the lives of the incompetent." He tapped the raft with his wand, and it began to deflate. Cyu looked up and his eyes widened in alarm.
"Don't touch that!" he shouted as Ron curiously lifted a white paper bag. Startled, he let it drop on to the bench. Cyu breathed a sigh of relief.
"What is it?" asked Harry with interest. Cyu turned an unblinking stare on to him.
"My lunch." he replied.
*****************************************************
"That's good. Now, if I can just make a couple of adjustments to the fields … Yeah! Okay. Now, let's look at the data in pie chart form …" Lee Jordan was hard at work, muttering quietly to himself. Recently he had been spending less and less time at the Ministry, largely because things were so much more comfortable and convenient at home. He found it hard to believe how much his productivity had increased since moving into Harry's House. The down side was that his social life had dwindled into a big fat zero. Still, he reasoned, once the Ministry took on a couple more computer technicians, things should get easier. He tried very hard to ignore the little voice at the back of his brain telling him that life was rarely that simple.
Lee punched up Microsoft Outlook and clicked "Send/Receive" to check his emails. He quickly dashed off replies to four of them and pondered the fifth for a while before labelling it unread. He would deal with that later. He then pulled out several data files on dark magic activity and merged them, putting them into graph format to see how the frequency waxed and waned with the cycles of the moon. Lee sighed and laid his head on the keyboard. All he was doing was avoiding the issue, and he knew it. There was something … well, not quite right about some of the data he had been receiving. He couldn't put a finger on it, he couldn't analyse it, it was something he might have called hunch – before the Seers took all the guesswork out of it. Now he preferred to call it instinct, and his was telling him that something was faint but well and truly rotten. As to whether it was in the State of Denmark or somewhere nearer home remained to be seen. Lee took a fortifying gulp of lukewarm tea (he had used the last of the coffee earlier) and pulled up Fred and George's debriefing notes from the Ministry's central server. He was abruptly struck with an idea as to how a potential hacker could have got into these files, so he did not open them but ran a security check on his system. He scratched his head: nothing there. The next step was to go to the Ministry, talk to the operators and run a dummy hacking operation from the standalone he had in his office there. He was about to grab his jacket when he glanced at the time. Good grief – 7.10pm! Hadn't he overheard Fred saying something to Harry at the Club yesterday about coming round this evening? No, bringing someone round – that was it. Suddenly a loud banging on the study door totally distracted him.
"Lee!" called Ginny's voice from the hall, "Lee, get out of there. Oliver's just told me that Fred's bringing some girl round for drinks tonight – in twenty minutes! Come on – the place looks like a hurricane's hit it, we've got no mixers, no snacks and if Fred decides I ought to provide supper, we've got just about enough to feed a mouse!"
"If that happens, we'll get a carry out, Ginny." Lee heard Oliver soothing her gently. Lee opened the study door.
"Fred's bringing – a girl?" he asked, eyebrows nearly meeting his hairline. Ginny stared at him, then made a sound of annoyance.
"Look at you!" she exclaimed, "Honestly, Lee, have you been sleeping in those clothes?" The dark man looked down at his faded blue denims and creased check shirt. He ran a hand over his chin to discover, to his shame, that he had failed to shave that morning.
"Uh, I'll just go and change, shall I?"
"Not yet – go visit the off-licence first and bring back some beer and some mixers. Oh, and couple of bottles of some reasonable white wine. Put it on Harry's account," she finished, maliciously, "He deserves it for this." Slightly rattled by her implacable expression, Lee grabbed his wallet, turned on his heel and ran. Ginny's expression relaxed when she saw the effect she'd had on him, and the corners of her mouth lifted in an affectionate smile: poor Lee, the brainiac who was always two steps behind everyone else. Pity, really. she mused watching him go, He's starting to look really quite attractive: something like a young Michael Jackson. She turned back to the kitchen and began to organise Oliver.
Ten minutes later, the West Room had been cleaned, dusted and polished, the pizza boxes and newspapers removed, and the empty bottles neatly stacked in a crate outside the back door. Oliver was busy making delicious-looking snacks out of baked stale bread and anything else he could find in the larder or fridge, and Lee had returned with sufficient quantities of drink to last for several parties. He had gone upstairs to change, but Harry was still nowhere to be seen. Ginny ground her teeth in frustration.
Fred arrived punctually on the dot of 7.30pm with an attractive blonde girl he introduced as Ellen MacBeth. Ginny apologised for Harry's absence and steered them all into the West Room, detailing Oliver and Lee to serve drinks. They chatted for a while, making small talk, and Ginny discovered that Ellen worked within a large muggle firm of actuaries based in the City of London.
"It was strange at first." she told them. "As a rule, witches and wizards try to ensure that all muggles are in ignorance of our existence, don't we? So it's really strange to come across a muggle company that's not only aware but routinely employs us in special posts. My boss reckons his ambition is to find a genuine seer – he'd make millions!"
"Scarcely fair competition though." put in Fred, leaning back on the sofa, "I mean, with that sort of advantage, he'd take over the world – and eventually put the whole insurance racket out of business."
"True." Ellen sipped her beer, then looked up as the door opened. Harry stood in the threshold looking dishevelled and stricken.
"Ginny!" he exclaimed, "I'm so sorry, I was held up at the Ministry – someone had the bright idea of trying to Firetalk with Professor Ratcliffe in Florence and it took half an hour to make the connection." She looked at him without expression.
"Harry, I think you'd better go and change." she said coolly, "I promise we'll leave some of Oliver's delicious snacks for you – but only if you hurry." Taking this as a measure of forgiveness, Harry grinned and darted up the West Wing stairs. Ginny took up the conversation again, asking Ellen where she trained.
"Actually, I didn't go to school." was the surprising reply. It turned out that she came from a very old and rich family with a large estate in the West of Scotland. None of the young MacBeths had ever been sent to school and even when it was discovered that Ellen was a witch, the family saw no reason to break with the family tradition: they simply made enquiries and brought in a highly qualified witch as a governess and a number of tutors. Indeed, Ellen's family had a very colourful history, which she seemed to take great pleasure in relating.
Ellen's ancestors went back a number of centuries and were
an ambitious, warlike lot, guilty of regicide, no less! Her most illustrious forebear used a tried
and tested method of rising to the throne ie. murdering all those nearer in
line, including the monarch. MacBeth
himself was finally despatched by one MacDuff, a loyal supporter of the
murdered king, but not before Lady MacBeth, who was party to the entire
campaign, went insane with guilt and committed suicide.
At the end of this recital, Ginny, Lee and Oliver were
open-mouthed with astonishment, both at the story itself and also at Ellen's
matter-of-fact attitude towards the tragedy. She eyed them with amusement.
"We weren't close, you know." she said, twinkling, "It was
several centuries ago!"
"Well!" exclaimed Oliver, "Muggles, honestly! This almost puts you-know-who to shame for
blood and gore!"
"Ah, well," Ellen continued, smiling, "It is said that
MacBeth consulted three very wise witches who claimed to be Seers, so he wasn't
totally devoid of magical assistance. They told him that no man born of woman could destroy him, and he
interpreted that to mean that he was totally invincible. However, his wife seemed to have a little of
the gift herself, and ended up having prophetic dreams before the end. In the end, MacBeth's killer, MacDuff,
turned out not to have been actually born of woman at all. His mother had died in childbirth, and he
was saved by a primitive Caesarean section. I think the magic in me must have come through Lady MacBeth's side of the
family – unless someone was born the wrong side of the blanket. Come to think of it, that's probably the
most likely explanation!"
"What happened to the family after MacBeth was killed?"
asked Oliver, with interest. She
shrugged.
"Well, under the Scottish law of the time, the new king had
to concede that MacBeth's killing was actually unlawful – even after all that
he had done! The heirs then used the
opportunity to retain the estates, the castle and the name in return for
keeping quiet about the whole thing." She smiled and took another mouthful of beer.
"We still live on the original estate. Of course, things have changed slightly –
it's run on a far more businesslike level – but we still live in the original
castle. It's called Dunsinane."
Harry chose that moment to enter the West Room, showered, shaved and changed. Although she was still as mad as could be, Ginny couldn't help softening a little as she watched him greet Fred and Ellen with that easy charm and infectious smile. He was wearing a white lawn shirt that somehow seemed vaguely familiar. She frowned slightly, then she remembered: the disastrous dinner party when they had rescued Fred from the Temple and David Markland had understandably freaked out. She also remembered her own reaction when Harry had stripped the shirt off, throwing it behind a bush, to cut down his visibility in the dark, and her eyes grew misty in memory. Consequently, when Harry came to sit down on the sofa by her, she smiled and went to get him a drink. He seemed slightly surprised, but greatly relieved by her reaction.
"So," said Fred, briskly, "Perhaps it might be as well if someone shows Ellen Hermione's old room to see if she likes it. I think she's fairly sold on the rest of the house, aren't you?" he turned enquiringly towards his friend and she smiled back.
"Absolutely." Her Scottish brogue was faint but unmistakeable. "It's an incredible place to find in such a built-up area." But Ginny was looking puzzled.
"I don't quite understand." She began, timidly, "Hermione's old room?"
"Yes, love." Harry broke in. "Fred happened to mention last night that Ellen was wanting to move closer to the centre of London, and we thought it might be a good idea if she came to take a look at the place – particularly as George is in Iran, I'm going to be leaving for Mexico soon, and Oliver's working habits are particularly irregular anyway. After all, we've discussed getting another housemate many times." Ginny stared at him in consternation.
"But Hermione's going to move back so we can keep each other company over the time you and Ron are away."
"Hermione?" queried Harry, puzzled, "Why on earth would she want to move back in?"
"Because she feels sorry for me." Ginny replied flatly, feeling her anger rising once again. She forced herself to cool down and turned back to Ellen with extreme politeness. "I apologise, Ellen, but Harry unfortunately neglected to tell me that this was not just a social call." That was putting it mildly! "I'm afraid I've already promised the room to its previous occupier. I am really sorry if this is a problem, but if you would like to view it once Harry and Ron have returned from Mexico and Hermione has gone back to the flat, you would be very welcome." She picked up her glass with a trembling hand and took a sip of her drink. To everyone's surprise, Lee spoke up.
"Hermione's room isn't the only spare in the house." He said, "There are several – two in particular that don't even need too much doing to them." Fred looked up sharply.
"Wait a minute, Lee," he said, "You're not referring to those two attic rooms above George's place and Hermione's old room, are you?"
"Well, yes." replied Lee, defensively, "I know they've yet to be redecorated, and neither of them is ensuite, but they're in a reasonable state, and they do at least have a shared bathroom between them. There's no-one else up there at present, so Ellen could have it for her own."
"What about all those stairs though?" Fred looked at Ellen. Oliver snorted with all the derision of an ex-professional Quidditch player.
"Stairs? What stairs, Fred?" he scoffed, "We're not all as unfit as you, you know." Lee rose from his armchair and held out a hand towards Ellen.
"I'll show them to you, shall I?" he suggested. Without even looking at Fred, Ellen took Lee's hand and rose from the sofa.
"Thank you." she said simply. "I'd like that." The two left the room and made for the central stairs. As they walked through the hall, those left in the West Room could hear Lee talking.
"They're both quite large rooms connecting via the bathroom, as you've just heard. They're being used for storage at the moment, so they don't look terribly pretty, but we'll all pitch in to renovate it – Harry's a dab hand with bathrooms!"
Oliver stared out into the hall then looked back at Fred, his jaw practically on the floor.
"Well, how do you like that?" he said explosively, "The first pretty girl to step inside this house – present company excepted of course – and Lee manages to beat me to the starting blocks. I hope you're telling the truth about you being 'just friends', Fred, because if you aren't, you will be!" Fred smiled enigmatically, but declined to comment. Ginny rose from her seat.
"If nobody minds," she began shakily, "I'll just take over the dining room for a while: I need to do some practice."
"Oh, no you don't!" exclaimed Harry, jumping up from the sofa and taking her by the arm, "I'm not going through a repeat performance of this morning!" To his amazement, she shook him off as though he were an irritating insect.
" You're not going through?" she queried in a low, dangerous voice, "You're not going though? Frankly, Harry, I don't think you're in a position to dictate what you're not going through, do you? After all you've done, or failed to so, over the last twenty-four hours, I doubt you have any right or reason to dictate to me. Not everything that goes on in this house is about you, you know!" This was fighting talk. Ginny decided she'd said enough and, putting down her drink, quietly left the room. Harry seemed too stunned to go after her, and presently he too left the room, but in a different direction. Oliver and Fred exchanged glances.
"That went just spendidly!" observed Fred, sarcastically, "Remind me to bring my friends round here again – it makes one glad to be alive." At this point, voices could be heard in the hall and Ellen and Lee reappeared discussing paint and furniture.
"It's great, Fred!" She told him in an enthusiastic voice, "It's got a fantastic view of the garden, French doors, and a little balcony just right for broomstick takeoffs! Of course, it'll need some work doing on it – I'll get the necessary stuff together and Lee says he'll give me a hand." Oliver gave Lee a very old-fashioned look, causing the other man to shuffle his feet slightly.
"Okay." she beamed around, seeming not to notice the absence of Harry and Ginny. "Is it alright if I start painting and moving my things a couple of evenings next week?"
"Absolutely!" agreed Oliver, aiming a nasty grin at Lee, "Lee's got plenty of spare time, haven't you Lee? He'd be delighted to help you with anything you have in mind, I'm sure!" But Lee just smiled blandly, refusing to rise to the bait. Letting the backchat go completely over her head, Ellen picked up her handbag.
"Alright then, Fred." she said, much to Lee's disappointment, "We'd better be going if we're to get to Annabel's on time."
"Out for supper with a friend." explained Fred, also rising. The two made their farewells and departed, leaving Oliver and Lee alone in a house which had suddenly become rather worryingly silent. Lee finally stirred.
"I think we ought to go out for a pint." he said thoughtfully, "This place feels like Vesuvius – and I'd rather be somewhere else when it erupts."
**************************************************************
"I'm sorry, Sirius, I've got to delay departure for at least 24 hours. I really can't just take off with things as they are at the moment." Harry was Firetalking with Sirius.
"Harry, I've got equipment being delivered, briefing appointments, your guide has been hanging around for a week already, and you're telling me you're going to delay another day?"
"That's right. Come on, this whole thing has been put on at a moment's notice. What's so terribly urgent about it, anyway? Is there something you're not telling me? Because if there is, you're not too big for me to whip your butt, dogman!"
"Don't even think about it, pipsqueak. I was learning unarmed combat when you were sucking dummies. Seriously, Harry, if you really feel you need another day, then take it. But please – get here as soon as possible, huh?"
"My word on it, Sirius."
"Ciao."
"See you."
Harry sat back on the sofa in the kitchen, chin in hands, wondering how to tackle this one. Last night Ginny had slept in her own room for the first time since moving into the house, and Harry had woken up to find she had left for a recording session. Seeing as they hadn't spoken properly about the trip, Ginny was unaware that Harry should have left by now. He was stalling so that he could at least try to make things right before he left, but he couldn't do it if she continued to avoid him.
***********************************************
"Marcus, would you do me a favour, please?"
"I doubt it but you can ask, I suppose."
"Could you just answer a question for me?"
"I could, but whether I would depends upon the question. Why? Found something your diminutive brain can't cope with? That shouldn't be hard." Ginny swallowed. This morning had been, if anything, worse than usual. Marcus's snide comments had reached new heights of offensiveness, and with this on top of everything else, Ginny was beginning to feel that she had had enough.
"Why are you so consistently rude to me?" she raised a genuinely enquiring expression towards the blonde man, "Oh, I know you're rude to everyone, but in my case you seem to excel yourself every time you open your mouth. Why is this?" Marcus Torrence shot her a look of pure venom, then smiled nastily.
"Why you?" he repeated, advancing on her, "Why you? Well, largely because you're a passenger on this ship, sweetie: a bimbo with no brain and precious little talent. In fact, the only asset you have are your looks. We'd probably have more success at the P.O. if you took some of your kit off." He looked her up and down as though she were an animal at market, then shook his head dismissively.
"Nah." He said, off-handedly, "Too skinny." He turned his back on her and strolled away, leaving her absolutely gobsmacked. Several things happened at once. Ginny burst into tears and ran sobbing out of the studio, followed swiftly and surprisingly by Charles. Marcus turned back blinking in astonishment at her reaction, and Justin flipped.
"You asshole!" he roared, almost blind with fury, "You will take that back and you will do it now, d'you hear? I don't give a toss how good you are onstage, Torrence, but if you don't go find Ginny and apologise, you're out of here. No one's indispensable, least of all a smug, evil-minded little git like you!" Marcus frowned as though puzzled by all the drama then without missing a beat, he strode off towards the door and disappeared.
"Look, it's okay, Ginny. Marcus is just, like, well a total idiot, know what I mean?" Charles was genuinely trying to comfort Ginny, but his complete incoherence and his ineffectual attempts to pat her on the shoulder without touching her made his efforts worse than useless.
"Charles, I can't go on!" she managed breathlessly, between sobs. "I can't cope with his continual hostility – and I just can't understand why he's got it in for me so badly!"
"May be he likes you." Charles spoke without thinking. There was a catch in Ginny's crying, then she raised wet, incredulous eyes to his face.
"Marcus – likes me? Charles, what planet are you from? The guy has just told me I'm the lowest form of life, he's reduced me to a sobbing wreck – me! a professional! His raison d'être seems to be either to oust me from the band, or to destroy my self-confidence so utterly that I'll never work again. That doesn't sound very much as though he likes me, now does it?" Charles shrugged.
"I don't know – I've not had the experience to judge." Ginny stared at him.
"Why does this man hate me so much?" She wailed.
"Actually, I don't." She spun. The question had been rhetorical, she hadn't expected an answer from anyone. Nevertheless, there was Marcus Torrence, large as life, standing in the corridor with that detestable half-smile on his face.
"You're a better actor than you think." she muttered gathering the shreds of her dignity around her. He shook his head.
"I don't hate you, I never did." He said quietly and flatly, "I could be jealous of you. Despite what I said earlier, you are a talented singer. You need a little coaching with your acting, but your stage presence is good. You are certainly no bimbo, and I don't honestly believe that as a band we would be any more successful if you took your clothes off. Is that what you want to hear?" He turned on his heel and made for the swing doors to the stairs.
"Wait!" Ginny took off, leaving Charles gaping at her. She was suddenly furious. She virtually collided with Marcus, grabbed him by the upper arms and swinging him round to look her in the face. His eyes widened in surprise.
"You think that's enough, do you?" she spat, "You think that grudging little bit of hubris is sufficient penance for tormenting me all this time?" There was a pause. His lips twitched.
"Okay, I'm sorry, so sue me!" he shouted suddenly, "This isn't exactly easy for me either, you know. I didn't expect …" he broke off, breathing heavily, his face bitter, "I didn't think it would …" Abruptly, he twisted free and burst through the swing doors, taking the stairs three at a time. Ginny stared in perplexity after the departing figure.
"What in Merlin's name was that about?" she muttered to herself.
*******************************************************
"Ginny? Ginny, wake up. I've got to talk to you. Come on, Ginny, open the door!" The red-haired girl turned over in bed and glanced at the clock. Her bleary eyes widened in surprise.
"Go away." she said, sleepily, "It's three a.m. – nobody's alive at this time in the morning!"
"Ginny. Open this door before I use the Reductus curse on it!" Grumbling, she groped for her wand. It was really too bad, she decided. After all, he was the one in the wrong. By rights, he should be bringing her breakfast in bed, not making all this noise at the crack of dawn.
"Alohomora." she muttered. Harry walked in through the door, shaved and dressed for a day's work. He was carrying a small canvas rucksack. Ginny's face creased in a frown and she sat up, puzzled.
"Where are you going?" she demanded. He stared at her expressionlessly.
"Mexico." he replied, simply. She just stared, a stone falling into the pit of her stomach.
"Mexico? Right now?" He nodded solemnly.
"I'm going to meet Ron at the flat – he's got the Portkey. I don't know how long this trip's going to be, Ginny, but somehow it's not filling me with as much excitement this time." He paused and scratched his head.
"Going away with Ron is great, I'll really enjoy his company and all that, but I'm not getting that same feeling of anticipation and discovery as I've had in the past." Tears pricked Ginny's eyes.
"You never told me it was so soon." She whispered, looking for all the world like a small child. Instinctively, he sat down on the bed and gathered her into his arms.
"You never gave me a chance." He whispered. She buried her head in his shoulder, knowing it was true. They held each other in silence for a while then he moved, looking her in the face.
"Sirius is waiting for us – has been for several days." He told her, "The guide was selected even before I was. This is a rushed job, it seems."
"Why?"
"Search me." He shrugged. "I'd better find out during the briefings, or I'll want to know why not." He stroked her hair.
"I'm sorry I've not been here for you, my love. And I'm sorry I've failed to tell you things. It's all gone wrong somehow. I never meant to hurt you."
"I'm sorry for trying to make you suffer." Tears were leaking down Ginny's cheeks. "I've been so self-absorbed, what with the band and that horrible man, that I didn't think that you might be going through equally difficult times. Do you really have to go now? Can't you stay just one more day – so we can say goodbye properly?" He eyes were pleading, but reluctantly Harry had to shake his head.
"I already delayed by a day just so I could catch up with you, but it's taken me until now to do that. I've really got to go now." Another nail drove itself into Ginny's heart. She leaped out of bed and flung her bathrobe over her nightshirt.
"I'll come and see you off." She said quietly, taking his arm.
They descended the staircase making very little noise and stood in the hallway, each unable to think of anything to say. Finally, Harry stirred.
"Well," he said, "I guess Ron will be waiting for me."
"Yes." She replied. He took her shoulders.
"I do love you, you know." He told her, "I would never willingly do anything to hurt you." She could only nod in reply. He lifted her face, stared into her eyes for a moment then kissed her briefly and sweetly.
"Goodbye my love." There was something so incredibly final in that quiet salutation. Ginny watched and watched until even an Eyesight Enhancement charm could no longer track him, then she ran back upstairs to her bedroom to cry and cry until there were no tears left to shed.
