Thanks once again for all the reviews – I have enjoyed
reading them. I think this chapter is
rather shorter than the others. No
particular cause, except that I saw no reason to make it any longer! Here's where I get some more flames, I
suspect. (Guess I should borrow Charlie
Weasley's fireproof balaclava.) I'm
choosing not to answer any queries/predictions from your reviews because some
of them are close to the truth – close, but not in the gold. There seem to be some formatting problems
with uploading on ff,net at the moment. Sorry about that but still, at least it's readable. That's all!
"Ellen, I'm sorry, I really am." Ginny was squirming with embarrassment, twisting her red hair
frantically around her fingers.
"Hermione as good as promised she would be moving back into
the house for the duration – now she's chickened out and says she'll stay over
'a couple of times, just to make sure I'm being a good girl', if you ever heard
anything so pathetic." Ginny paused to
draw breath and take a firmer hold on her hair.
"If I'd only known that earlier, I'd have been able to offer
you her old room, but now you've done all that work on the attic room, well
…" If Ginny were to be totally honest,
she would admit to Ellen that the confusion was largely her fault. From the beginning, she had realised
Hermione's reluctance to take a retrograde step, although she knew her friend's
loyalty would prevent her from backing out completely. However, once Hermione had got wind of the
plan to take on a new housemate, she had felt quite justified in crying off,
citing pressure of work and conviction that Ginny would get on like a house on
fire with 'the new girl'. Strangely, it
looked as though that might well be the case. Pausing at the foot of the stairs to readjust a rather heavy cardboard
box, Ellen swiped a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes and fixed Ginny with
a measuring, but not unfriendly look.
"Why are you worrying?" she asked, in genuine amusement, "If
I hadn't liked the room, I wouldn't have agreed to move in. Where's the problem?" Ginny frowned.
"The problem is the stairs – and crossed wires with Harry."
She sighed, "That seems to be happening a lot lately."
"Do you miss him?" The other girl's face was sympathetic,
but without overdoing it. Ginny looked
up surprised, but answered anyway.
"Yes I do – even more than I thought I would." she replied,
"Things haven't been exactly – well, peaceful between us right from the
start." She paused, remembering the
events of the summer, and started, realising that Ellen was waiting politely
for her to continue – and that she hardly knew the girl.
"But that's all in the past now," she continued hurriedly,
"And you certainly don't want to hear chapter and verse on my private
life. Let me help you with this
lot." She seized another box,
staggering at its weight, and leaped into action up the several flights of
stairs. As Ellen hefted her own box,
the door of the study opened and Lee poked his head around it. Seeing the new girl, he smiled and came out
into the hall.
"Just what we need: a big strong man to carry all this stuff
up to the attic!" She was laughing at
him he knew, but it was a challenge nonetheless.
"Anything you say, ma'am." he replied, touching his hand to
an imaginary cap. The three housemates
set to the removal work with a will that, in Ginny's case at least, rapidly
faded on the third ascent of the stairs.
"Phew!" she exhaled, sinking down on the hall carpet, "I'm
obviously totally unfit. I'm also late
– I promised Ernie I'd get stuck into the editing backlog today."
"Coward!" shouted Lee with what little breath he had left,
as she beat a hasty retreat out of the front door. He exchanged a rueful glance with Ellen.
"Never mind." she said soothingly, "We've nearly
finished. I'll make us a cup of coffee
just as soon as we've shifted these last few boxes."
Coffee, thought Lee, leaning back luxuriously into the
kitchen sofa, had never tasted so good. Or was it just the company? He sneaked a quick glance at the blonde witch sipping at her mug with
obvious enjoyment. She caught his eye
and he flushed, looking away. He sensed
she was trying to hide her amusement at having caught him out and felt a sudden
surge of courage.
"This is great coffee." he began mildly. She smiled.
"Thank you."
"And good company."
"Flattery, eh? Always a good path to tread."
"Alright then. How
would you like to grab a pizza with me later this evening?" There was a small silence, then Ellen
sighed.
"Much as I would like to, Lee, I have to work tonight."
"Tonight? You're
joking." She shook her head seriously.
"You forget, I don't work in the wizarding world – or even
in government. My company keeps ticking
over twenty-four hours a day."
"But it's Saturday!" She shrugged.
"Some staff even come in regularly on Sundays." He subsided feeling crushed, and presently
returned to the study. Lee Jordan was
not a vain man, and his estimation of his own appeal was not high enough for
him even to consider that she might be telling the truth.
Several hours later, at an out-of-the-way workstation at the
Ministry, Lee raised his head from the keyboard and exhaled in a gust of
frustration. He had achieved nothing
further of any note and was now simply going round and round in circles. For lack of any other option, he had now run
every test he knew of – and several he had concocted himself – on the central
server. The results had often been
interesting but completely off the point. Well, one thing was now certain: there was no way anyone was hacking
into the Ministry systems, magically or otherwise. That left more mundane options. He sighed. He knew there was an
inconsistency somewhere, but he just couldn't put his finger on it – and no
form of logic was going to explain away the prickling feeling he got every time
he considered the information regarding Leandra's Ewer.
"Paralysis by analysis." He muttered, massaging his eyes,
"Come on, Lee. You've been trying to
crack this one ever since the stuff arrived. Don't you think it's time you bit the bullet and faced up to the fact
that this time you're being paranoid?" After all, no one else was the slightest bit interested in the vague
suspicious of a computer geek – why should they be? All he seemed to be doing was trying to throw spokes into what
was a very nicely turning wheel, thank you very much. Percy Weasley had made that much very clear when, on a colleague
to colleague basis, Lee had approached him with the problem.
"But what have you got to go on, Lee?" he had said, smiling
importantly, "Show me some concrete evidence of interference and I'll back you
to the hilt, but until then – well, I'm afraid we'll just have to let sleeping
dogs lie." And Lee had gone away
feeling, if possible, even more insignificant than usual.
Letting out an unusually vehement expletive, Lee thrust his
swivel chair back from the table, grabbed his leather jacket and made for the
Portkey home. Materialising behind a
thick bank of trees, he trudged wearily up the drive to the front door, for
once not bothering to snarl at the lion door-knocker. Throwing his jacket at the coat rack and slamming the door of the
study, Lee flung himself down on the sofa, head in hands.
"Give up, Jordan." he murmured, "It's not as if you haven't
got anything better to do – there's a ton of reports just waiting to be evaluated. Face it. You've got the jitters – Fred's infected you with his unexplained
paranoia – you're working too hard, drinking too much coffee, not getting out
enough." Any or all of these things
could be the cause, Lee knew that. Nevertheless, this nameless worry kept niggling around the edges of his
brilliant mind, eating away at his concentration. He knew it would not let him rest until he had tracked down the
inconsistency. There was a soft knock
at the door and he raised his head.
"Come in." he responded, wondering who was at home. Ellen's blonde head leaned around the door.
"I heard you come in." she said, gently, "Is everything
alright?" Lee stared at her, surprised
at her kindness, then sighed heavily.
"I'll cope with it." He replied, then relented when he saw
she was about to go away. "No, come in
if you're at a loose end. I could do
with another analytical mind just to reassure me that I truly am just suffering
from overwork." Ellen smiled and edged
round the door. When he saw what she
was carrying, he was even more grateful that he had been gentlemanly enough to
invite her in: a tray containing two cups, a pot of tea, milk in a jug and a
plate of cake which looked homemade.
"My mother's." she explained, indicating the cake, "Made from
an old family recipe – but you needn't worry." she grinned, mischievously,
"Poisons were a Medici family speciality, the MacBeths favoured swords, daggers
or anything else sharp – so watch out for the cake knife!" She giggled as Lee reflexively glanced
towards it, then flushed slightly at having been caught out twice in one
day. He smiled at her and suddenly felt
himself relax for the first time. She
poured the tea and smiled encouragingly.
"So," she began, "Had a hard day at the office?" He looked at her sympathetic face, thinking
almost absently how like spun silk her hair seemed when the light fell on
it. Taking a breath, he told her as
much as he could about his work and his current worries. He mentioned no names and no specific
details, but she seemed to understand his dilemma. She frowned, drumming her fingers on the knees of her blue denim
jeans.
"Who is your immediate superior, Lee?" He shrugged.
"Well, technically I answer directly to Minister Fudge, but
he's so – uh, busy at the moment there's no way I'm going to get to see him."
"Is there anyone else in your department you could
approach?"
"Not really. You
see, I'm still a bit of an experiment." He smiled wryly. "They don't yet know quite what to make of
me, or what to do with me. All they
know is that I'm getting results. There
are a couple of others, technicians really, who keep the machines going, but
there's no one else who does this kind of work in the same manner."
"What about the people who analyse the information in the good
old fashioned way? Who are they?" Lee stared.
"Well, they're the operatives themselves." He told her,
"People like Fred and George. They
don't just gather the information they interpret and evaluate it too. There are a number of them, but they tend to
play their cards very close to the chest. The twins are the only ones I have any meaningful contact with."
"Have you spoken to Fred?" Lee shifted uneasily.
"No, I haven't." There was a pause while Lee tried to articulate his reluctance.
"Fred's – well, worse than I am at the moment." He began,
"He's seeing shadows around every corner, boggarts in every wardrobe, intrigue
everywhere. Frankly, I think he's
worried he's burnt out. You know –
becoming obsessive." He scratched his
head. "Trouble is, he could be right, I
can't tell. Now, if I take my own
suspicions to him, I'd be no better off, don't you see? If he's really off-balance at the moment,
the last thing he needs is for me to add more fuel to the fire. And even if he does dismiss my suspicions as
so much eyewash, I still won't be convinced he's being impartial." Ellen nodded slowly, frowning in
concentration. Suddenly she glanced at
her watch and looked up at him.
"It's seven-thirty." she said smiling, "I phoned work and
told them they could do without me this evening. Are you still on for that pizza?" Lee's eyes lit up so much that Ellen blushed faintly.
"Am I ever!" he leaped to his feet with a broad grin. "Come on – let's get to Giovanni's before
the crush." Laughing good-humouredly,
they threw on jackets and left the house on foot. Without thinking, Lee took her hand as they walked and was
smiling fit to burst when her fingers curled warmly around his.
***********************************************
"The balance is totally wrong for this song. There's hardly any brightness or contrast
until we get to the chorus." Marcus was
pacing around scowling as usual. Ginny
raised an eyebrow at Justin but otherwise just let them get on with it. She was deep in thought when she realised,
with a shock, that her opinion was being sought.
"Sorry," she said, shaking her head slightly, "I was miles
away." She bit her tongue furiously at
having given Marcus such an open invitation for a sexist, chauvinist, elitist
or just plain nasty remark, but to her surprise he didn't rise to it.
"Justin and I were discussing the possibility of you taking
a more prominent role in this song." He told her, gravely. "At the moment, you're really functioning as
backing for the chorus, but I can't help thinking that the sound would be
lightened considerably if you sang it and I backed you." Ginny's jaw dropped, but her mind was
racing. What was the blonde bombshell
going to get out of this? She
swallowed, then stared back defiantly.
"What's this, Marcus? Have I actually done something you approve of for once? I must say I'm astonished you would rate anyone
as being better than you in any way, much less little old me." He shrugged.
"Nothing personal, Ginny. I just give credit where credit is due." He turned and wandered back to the recording equipment to speak
to the sound wizards about adjustment to accommodate the new vocal tone. Ginny was completely nonplussed.
"Did you just hear …?" she said to Justin, who was standing
at her side. He looked at her
meaningfully.
"I had a few well-chosen words with Marcus after the 'bimbo'
incident." He told her. "I think he
realises how much of a destructive influence he has been." She shook her head.
"This is more confusing than ever." she remarked. "At least
when he was being obnoxious I knew where I stood." They began the song again, noting that Marcus had indeed been
right about the balance: what had been merely run of the mill now had a drive
and a direction that had been completely missing before. They worked on it for a while, tried a
couple of takes, then took a break while the sound wizards went into a huddle
about technical matters.
Ginny went to get a drink of water, deep in thought. Now she came to think of it, Marcus had been
considerably more bearable since Justin had bawled him out, and now he was
being positively gallant. What was it
with him? Irrationally annoyed, she
walked back towards the studio, glass in hand, and peered in through the swing
doors. Justin and Charles were talking
to the sound wizards and Animal was practising some clever technique involving
brushes and a metal wastepaper bin. Marcus was nowhere to be seen. Restlessly, Ginny wandered down the stairs and out into the courtyard,
happening upon the very man before she had totally composed herself. Skidding to a halt, she observed him as he
leaned against a wall, legs crossed, smoking a cigarette. Ginny had seen people smoking before, but
had never known anyone who actually pursued the habit. He turned, sensing her presence, and smiled
at the obvious disgust on her face, raising his eyebrows in query.
"I didn't know you smoked." She remarked, wrinkling her
nose. He shrugged.
"There's a lot you don't know about me." He countered,
tossing the half-smoked stick to the floor and grinding it out with his
heel. He flipped the remains into the
wastebin and put his hands in his pockets.
"Time to get back to the grind?" he queried. She shook her head.
"Still in conference with the sound guys." She told him,
eyeing the smouldering tobacco.
"Why do you do that?" she couldn't help asking. "You're a serious singer – the heat and the
tar ruin the vocal chords, not to mention the risk of disease." He gave a dry chuckle.
"I don't smoke often," he admitted, "Only when I'm rattled."
"And are you rattled now?" He didn't answer.
"Marcus, what's got into you?" the question burst out of her
before she was ready to ask it.
"From the very first time we met, you seem to have done
nothing but slag me off – now you've turned full circle. What kind of game are you playing here? Whatever's behind this, you're not only
messing with my self-confidence, you're playing around with the stability of
the band. Marcus, what is it
with you?" It was a while before he
answered, then turned to face her, giving her the full benefit of that
laser-blue gaze.
"What I said before was true." He began slowly, "I didn't
like the idea of you right from the start. I thought you were some good-looking bimbo, shacked up with a famous
wizard, with a little bit of talent but nothing deserving of any special
attention. I was angry that Justin
decided the band needed some skirt – sorry, a female lead. I was jealous of your success as a solo
artist. If you don't believe that, then
I'm sorry but it's the best I can do."
"I'm frankly amazed." Ginny stared at him. "And I'm tempted not to believe you." He shrugged.
"Suit yourself." He replied, "The fact is that we're stuck
with each other and if we don't accept that fact, the band is going to fall
apart." There was a long pause.
"Marcus, why were you smoking?"
"I've told you – I was rattled."
"What rattled you?" He didn't answer. Instead, he
made as if to go back into the building, but stopped as he passed her,
irresolute. His hard blue gaze softened
and fingers calloused from guitar strings caught her lightly under the chin,
raising her eyes to his. She shivered,
although the air was warm.
"Marcus." She began, her voice unsteady. His hand moved slowly to her cheek and
thence to brush a wayward strand of hair away from her face. His touch left a tingling trail over her
skin.
"Marcus." She tried again, more urgently this time, but he
stilled her quivering lips with a light index finger.
"I was not expecting you to be like this." he said softly,
enigmatically. He gave her no time to
ponder his meaning as his soft, sensuous mouth fastened over her lips in a kiss
as light as it was strangely intense. She could taste the lingering tang of cigarette smoke on his breath,
only heightening the strangeness of the unexpected contact.
And Ginny's mind exploded in a bewildering rush of desire
that pierced her like a knife in the gut. She gasped, stepping away from him, hugging herself against an swathe of
raw emotion so powerful it was scarcely less than pain.
"What have you done to me?" she whispered, but the courtyard
was empty. Only the sound of the swing doors penetrated the quietness.
*************************************
Fred Weasley was not a happy man. He had spent the whole day in his office at the Ministry,
something he rarely did because it always made him feel as though he was in
solitary confinement. However, it had
been necessary for him to clear a backlog of work dating from at least two
months before. Fred had an adequate
system of dealing with paperwork, but even he had to put his back into it every
once in a while.
In addition to the mountain of administrative detail, word
got around the building that Fred Weasley was in residence and as a result he
was pestered by every single person who had failed to get an answer to their
memo/email/letter/report in the past six months. All in all, Fred was decidedly unhappy by the time he muttered
the password to his front door. He was
tired, hungry and it was 11.30pm.
Sagging in weariness, he waved his wand at the curtains and
the lights, muttering the appropriate charms, and wandered into the kitchen to
set some coffee on to boil. Suddenly he
stiffened, the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to react to the possible
presence of another person in the flat. At the same moment, his eyes lit upon a strange broomstick propped
neatly in the corner and he smiled.
"Very good." He said conversationally, without turning
round. "I really don't think you missed anything this time, I'm
impressed." He went back to the kitchen
door and stood nonchalantly looking into the living room. Slowly, noiselessly the swivel armchair
facing the balcony turned to reveal a blonde female occupant. She smiled easily and climbed out of the
chair, moving familiarly into the kitchen.
"I've been waiting half an hour for you."
"Oh?" his eyebrows raised interrogatively, "And what was
your excuse for going out so late?" She
shrugged and smiled, hands occupied making the coffee.
"No one's my keeper," she told him, "And I remarked before I
moved in how good the balcony was for broomstick take-off and landing." Fred smiled.
"How did you shake Lee?" She looked at him sharply.
"Lee? How did you …"
She bit her lip as he waggled a finger at her, all the while grinning broadly.
"Fell into that one, I'm afraid. Pride before a fall." Shrugging.
"You win some, you lose some." Fred shook his head.
"Ellen, I freely admit, in all the time we've been together,
you've rarely lost any at all." She
smiled and opened the fridge, inspecting its contents and shuddering.
"Pasta and tomato sauce, I think." she announced, firmly
closing the door on the chaos within and making for the cupboards. She turned to look at him critically and
shook her head.
"You're almost transparent with hunger. I bet you haven't eaten all day." He smiled and spread his hands.
"Too much to do, too little time to do it in." he yawned,
then grinned slyly. "And I've got an
early start in the morning. Perhaps
you'd better act as my alarm clock." She poked a finger at him, unerringly finding a sensitive spot in his
ribs. He jumped slightly.
"It was you, remember, who found me a new place to live with
lots of new companions." She teased him, "It's only polite to at least have
breakfast with them the morning after I move in." With a small smirk, she bent to her cooking. She looked round.
"Well, the least you can do is pour me a drink." Fred smiled sardonically and bowed.
"Madam, your wish is my command."
