"By the Pricking of my Thumbs"

Oh, please – I was joking about the death threats.  You'll see what I mean if you read iggly wiggly's review (I can't remember which one – they're all hilarious).  Grace, I apologise for attributing your nice continuity point to Quaera – I've fixed that now.  I am having such fun with this, you won't believe!  It's just all falling beautifully into place at the moment – I hope it continues.

"By the Pricking of my Thumbs" By Penpusher Chapter Nine: Enter the Dragon

Ginny turned over on to her stomach for the umpteenth time and buried her face in the pillow.  She sighed: this sleeplessness was not going to help her present a fresh and attractive exterior for a magazine interview tomorrow.  She had been living with Harry for such a short time that she scarcely had the opportunity to grow accustomed to his presence in her bed before being deprived of it. But she missed him acutely, and everything in the room reminded her of his absence at times when she was most vulnerable.  Like now.  He had warned her that contact between them could only come via Sirius while he was on the trip.  He would be too far from civilisation to owl her, and firetalking was limited in its range.  She sighed: even Sirius had failed to keep her posted.  He had replied in the briefest possible terms to all her owl messages, and the last time she had tentatively tried firetalking to him, he had looked so weary and downtrodden that she hadn't had the heart to berate him for his lack of information.  She suspected that Harry's quest was the subject of a news blackout anyway, and pitied Sirius for having to implement it.

She turned over on her back and gazed into the darkness, silently counting.  Three months.  Was that all it was?  Just three months, and already she and Harry had tumbled headlong into problems.  There was nothing like a separation to bring a bit of perspective on a situation, she thought sadly.  She knew she had behaved badly, putting herself and her career before anything and anyone else, and Harry had been so gentle and supportive over the whole thing.  To have him withdraw into his own concerns at the very toughest time had been more than she could bear.  She looked towards the window.  Faint grey light was beginning to herald sunrise, vaguely illuminating the large bedroom: the oak furniture, the noticeable lack of mirrors, the wall-to-wall shelves housing his extensive collection of archaeological and historical texts, the neatly stacked piles of periodicals gathering dust in the corner.  Ginny blinked back tears.  Everything in this room spoke, no – screamed of Harry, shouted his name, gave off his fragrance, set off a tangle of memories, and oh, she wanted him.  She wanted him so much.  If only to give her some respite from the disturbing and persistent intrusion of another face, another voice, another presence that tormented her with an equal, although different, intensity.

Ginny finally sat up in bed and groped for her bathrobe.  It was clear that there would be no more sleep forthcoming, so she might as well face up to what she was trying to avoid.  Marcus.  There it was, admitted.  Marcus.  The sarcastic blonde wonderboy with the snaky hips and the magical voice who had kissed her with such surprising skill and gentleness.  I can't stop thinking about him. she whispered to herself, How can this happen when I know I love Harry?  It was all too confusing.  Ginny shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, but rational thinking was clearly impossible when Marcus constantly slid into her brain, smiling ironically, delivering snide insults and tingling kisses.  The smell of fresh cigarette smoke was embedded in her memory, together with his touch, the coldness of his hands.  She shivered involuntarily, realising she had let the feelings overwhelm her once again.

An hour later found her pensively sipping coffee in the kitchen, trying to come to some sort of decision.  She had avoided Marcus like the plague since that time when … she refused to be sidetracked again.  Oh, the recording sessions had been a success, everything had been fine, brilliant even.  But she felt as though she had been working on automatic pilot, the majority of her creative energy being expended on suppressing the disturbing pull Marcus seemed to possess for her.  Her eyes seemed to follow him of their own accord, wherever he was, whatever he was doing.  It was an obsession.  She sighed and buried her head in her hands, raking tense fingers through her hair.  This is not helping.  She thrust her chair away from the table and slung her bag over her shoulder, leaving her coffee half drunk.

"Accio." she commanded softly, and her Firebolt leaped from the hall cupboard to hover at waist height.  "Occulto" she murmured, reaching out to grip the handle as the broomstick lost ninety percent of its visibility.  The sun had not yet risen properly, but Ginny was taking no chances on Improper Use of Magic Notices.  She vaulted on to the Firebolt and swept out of the front door, climbing at a steep angle into the clear blue sky until the rushing wind and thinning air forced some circumspection into her.  She circled Wizarding Radio for a short while then, banking sharply, came in to land on the wide balcony especially designed for broomstick travel.

A little later, Ginny entered the studio block carrying a cup of coffee.  It was 6.30am.  No one would be around to disturb her and she could make some real progress on the editing backlog that never seemed to get any smaller.  Without bothering to knock, she burst into Studio 2 – to find Marcus Torrence sitting at a bench working with several Echospheres, sound mixing.  Oh, Merlin! her brain shrieked as her pale skin coloured to the roots of her hair.  Instead of turning his head, Marcus glanced at the window directly in front of him.  Despite her embarrassment, Ginny saw his reflection clearly – and paused, puzzled.

"Ginny." He said, expressionlessly, "What are you doing here at such an hour?"  He turned to face her, impassive.

"I might ask you the same question." She retorted, "At least I work here on a regular basis – do you have permission to mess with those?"  She nodded towards the Echospheres.  A faint smile cracked the mask.

"Indeed I do." He replied, arrogantly, "The sound wizards in this benighted establishment recognise class when they see it."

"Oh really!" Ginny was getting angry now.  Good – perhaps she could blot out the disturbing things his proximity was doing to her nervous system.

"Is it always necessary for you to be better than anyone else at everything?"  Marcus grinned.

"Of course." He replied with more than a hint of smugness, "I'm a better sound wizard than any of the talentless idiots Ernie MacMillan employs here, I'm a better musician than you or Justin, and I'm a better wizard than that has-been you're living with."  Ginny stared in astonished disbelief at his arrogance, but his smile only widened.

"We could be a good team together, Ginny." He told her softly, "Just you and me.  We could take on the musical world and be the best there is."  He paused and his voice became husky, intimate. "And I could please you like no one else in the world, not even Potter.  You know I'm telling the truth.  Just give me an hour in your bed – just an hour – and I'll make you forget he ever existed."  Ginny closed her eyes, gripped by such a intense surge of longing that it was almost a compulsion.

"Marcus," she managed, between her teeth, then quickly spun on her heel and almost ran through the swing doors, running blindly down the corridor, anywhere just to get away from him.

Whatever had happened to her before was nothing compared to what she was going through now.  She sat in the kitchen making and drinking cup after cup of coffee, twitching, tensing and sweating.  What's the matter with me? her mind demanded, Why aren't I in control any more?  When she finally gave way and returned to the studio, it was like a dam bursting – only to discover that Marcus was no longer there.  Ginny bit her nails in frustration.  She had to have this out with him, tell him he had to leave her alone or she would quit the band.  At least, that's what her head was telling her.  At this stage, she honestly didn't know whether she was strong enough to defy – what?  Her heart?  She shook her head firmly.  No, not her heart, not really.  So what?  She shook her head violently, trying to hold on to the essentials.  Where did Marcus live?  She had no idea, and she wouldn't officially see him for the rest of the day as there was no practice, no gig and the recording sessions were finished.  Making a sudden decision, she upended her handbag until she found what she was looking for – a small sphere made of black glass.  With shaking hands she tapped it with her wand and it sprang to life.

"Appello Justin Finch-Fletchley." She commanded, hoping that he was in range.  She was in luck.  He answered in very short order.

"Ginny!  I was just coming over to the studio.  Can it wait?"

"No, Justin, it can't.  Please, can you tell me where Marcus lives?"

"Torrence?  He's got a flat in Mornington Crescent."

"What!!"

"Yes, that's right.  He hasn't been living there long.  Just down the road from the Ace of Wands gym – place called Mendacium House, number four.  But what do you …"

"Thanks, Justin.  See you later."  Ginny signed off, her head in a whirl.  Marcus living just down the road from her brother Fred?  Was this really just a coincidence, or was there something more sinister involved?

"Oh, my head!" she cried out loud, feeling that her brain would explode from all the input it had received in the last hour or so.  Grabbing her bag, she made for the Ladies Cloakroom.

***************************

Ginny was not the only resident of Harry's house suffering from sleeplessness.  However hard Lee Jordan tried, he could not persuade his tired brain to stop processing information.  Too much coffee he told himself, but he knew that wasn't the cause.  Every time his mind started to slip into oblivion, that tiny irritating inconsistency would push its way nearer the surface and jerk his consciousness awake again.  Once there, however, the flaw remained tantalisingly out of reach, still just as nebulous, just as untouchable.  Lee sighed, rolled out of bed blinking through swollen eyes, and padded down to the kitchen.

"Hmm." he said to himself, picking up the still-hot mug of coffee Ginny had left on the table in her haste.  Someone else couldn't sleep, but where were they now?  He shrugged and set about brewing himself a fresh pot.  Searching in the fridge for some milk, his eyes fell upon a small packet with an Italian label.  Curiously, Lee picked it up, recognising it almost immediately as a piece of Reggiano parmesan cheese.  He smiled, realising that George was the only one in this house who was fussy enough to buy the most expensive parmesan.  He replaced it and shut the fridge door, moving over to the kitchen table to enjoy his coffee in relative comfort.  Yes, he missed George.  Fred had always been the leader, the motivator during their Hogwarts days, but gradually his job had taken over most of his life and he had withdrawn.  This move into a separate flat signalled to Lee that Fred had decided he could cope sufficiently well on his own not to need people around him twenty-four hours a day.  George, on the other hand, didn't seem to have matured much further than the prank-playing schoolboy he had been at Hogwarts.  His attitude to life was easy-going and generous with little real grasp of the future or any sort of relationship beyond his family and his close friends.  And indeed, when it came to the work that they carried out for The Ministry, Fred was the one who sized up the sources of information, tracked down potential weak links, shored up their lines of defences.  In fact, Lee had been surprised that George had been sent to Iran instead of Fred, seeing as Fred had been the one to gather … Wait a minute.  Time froze as Lee sat, cup halfway to his lips, an expression of total shock chasing its way across his face.  That minute irregularity that had taunted him for so long had finally snared itself in the fine mesh of Lee's persistent mind.  Fred had indeed been the operative who had traced the source in Iran.  It was from this contact that they had received the confirmation that Leandra's Ewer did indeed survive.  However, it had been George who had visited Central America and had brought back the startling information about the lost city in Yucatan.  So how had the Iranian source known of the existence of Chinga'an?  For Merlin's sake, even the name had been mentioned.  Lee groaned and beat his head against the table.  So simple.  So perilously simple, and he had missed it all along!  So swiftly that he overset his chair, Lee bolted to his bedroom, throwing on clothes as quickly as possible, then back down to the study.  Twenty minutes later he had got what he was looking for.  He surveyed the sheets with a grimly satisfied smile.

"Eureka!" he muttered before stuffing them into his pocket.  Lee was done with agonising – he knew what to do.  He moved quickly to the fireplace in the kitchen and pointed his wand at the empty grate.

"Incendio." He commanded, and magical flames promptly leaped up the chimney.  Opening a small jar on the mantle, he took a pinch of floo powder, threw it into the fire, announced "Fred Weasley's flat" and walked over the hearth into the grate.

*********************************************

Ginny didn't know why she was behaving like this.  It was as though the intellectual part of her brain had detached itself from the emotional part and had taken charge of the situation without telling her what it had in mind.  She seemed to be acting with deadly calm and assurance despite her wildly seesawing emotions, and most of Ginny was content to let whatever was driving her do its job without interference.  Darting into the Ladies Cloakroom at the Studios, she took some time to establish a glamour.  Her hair, her most noticeable feature, became short and dark, her pale skin creamy, her eyes grey and obscured by small, fashionable spectacles.  She debated changing sex but rejected the idea, instead adding a certain impish charm to the face in the mirror: who knew what she might have to do to get into his flat?  She nodded grimly at her reflection.  That should do it.  Her clothes were suitable enough, but not totally convincing.  She extended the glamour to them too, tweaking and twisting the magic until she was satisfied she would pass.  No one seeing her now would mistake her for Ginny Weasley.

She then risked showing herself in the corridors of Wizarding Radio to get to the broomstick take-off balcony.  Mercifully, Justin hadn't come in yet and the place still seemed deserted.  Ginny leaped aboard her Firebolt, pushing its speed to the limit as she travelled the short distance to Mornington Crescent.  Gently, she landed behind a wall near to Fred's flat, casting an Everyday charm on the Firebolt in case some muggle felt like making off with it.  Emerging into the street, she wandered curiously along, looking for Mendacium House.  She found it easily and, as luck would have it, she didn't even have to use the electronic answering service – one of the residents held the door open for her, smiling politely on his way out.  Ginny gave a small wordless exclamation and braced her shoulders.  So far, so good.  She padded up the stairs until she spied an arrow indicating that flats four, five and six were to the left.  Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door of number four, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach, not entirely certain whether she hoped he was home or not.  There was an agonising pause, then someone padded down the hall and checked the spyhole.  Evidently she had been classed as harmless: the door opened to reveal Marcus Torrence, an enquiring expression on his face – and Ginny knew the truth.

"I'm sorry to bother you," she began, steeling her nerves and smiling, "But I'm your new neighbour – I've just moved in to number five above you – and I thought I'd come to say hello."  The blonde man frowned.

"I'm too busy right now to indulge in chit chat." He replied, his voice rather more nasal than usual.  "Come back in a week and I might find time to ask you your name."  But Ginny was already abandoning her disguise.  It gave her a great deal of pleasure to watch the growing shock on his face as he began to register the deception, but she knew she still had to be wary.  Very, very wary.

"Shit." was his succinct comment on the situation.  He looked up at her in confusion, uncertain as to what or how much she knew.  She smiled grimly.

"You should never have let the glamour drop.  Mistake number two, I think.  Well, are we going to discuss the situation here in the lobby, or are you going to invite me in – Draco?"  His shoulders slumped and his face twisted.

"It doesn't look as though I have much choice, does it?" he said bitterly.  He turned his back, leaving the door open for her to follow.

As Ginny walked into Marcus – no, Draco's flat, she realised that had she ever visited him before, she would have realised the inconsistencies between the two personae.  Possibly Draco in his Marcus guise would never have brought her here – at least, not until it was too late – but the artistic Marcus could never have existed in a place so sterile, Ginny knew.  It was obviously a bolt hole – just a place to eat, sleep and collect owl post.  Draco didn't really live here, but it was a useful front – and possibly a base for his manoeuvres against Fred.  Ginny shivered and wondered just how powerful this man really was.

Draco Malfoy had never been much of a wizkid in his early days at Hogwarts.  Only in his final year did he start to display some talent – and even then in dubious and sometimes positively unpleasant directions.  Since then, Draco had evidently been schooled in many of the shadier arts.

"My father's." Draco spoke for the first time. "He lent it to me to assist in certain, ah, activities."  She stared at him, then started as he jerked his head towards a glass case containing a severed, bloodless hand.  Unaware of her actions, she realised she had been staring at it while trying to pull the shattered pieces of her mind together.  Shaking with reaction, she gave it her full attention, trying to ignore the unpleasant twanging of her magical antennae as she extended her awareness towards it.  Suppressing a shudder, she turned away.  He gave a low chuckle.

"Not used to the Dark Arts, are you Ginny?"  Wordlessly, she shook her head, then abruptly gathering her courage, she stared him straight in the eyes.

"What have you done to me?"  After a moment, a grim smile spread over his pale face. 

"What gave me away?" he returned, not answering her question.  She nodded.

"Okay, I'll answer you if you answer me."  He considered that, then nodded.  She inclined her own head briefly.

"Mistake number one.  Mirrors." she told him.  At his puzzled expression she elaborated.

"This morning, when you were sound mixing in Studio 2, you were facing a window."  Enlightenment dawned and his mouth thinned into a hard line.  She couldn't resist taunting him.

"For all your vaunted prowess at the Dark Arts, Malfoy, you don't even know how to give a glamour protection against revealing itself in a mirror?"  He glared, but returned no answer.  Conversely as she studied him, Ginny realised that the changes he had wrought to make him into Marcus Torrence had been very subtle indeed.  His hair, skin and eye colouring had remained largely the same and his lithe, slim physique had required little alteration.  It was the facial features themselves which had morphed away from the truth, softening the harsh lines, blending the cruelty in the eyes, turning those thin lips into the sensuous pout which Ginny had itched to exploit with her own mouth.  To her utter dismay, despite his unmasking, the pull between them was still strong.  She dragged her eyes away.

"You haven't answered my question."

"What question was that?"  Amused.

"You know very well!  What in Merlin's name have you done to me?"

"I should have thought that was obvious by now."  Draco Malfoy was in his element.  He started to pace around her, keeping his eyes on her the whole time.  She shivered under his scrutiny.

"You've been ensorcelled." He told her, a quiet note of triumph in his voice, "It's quite a subtle enchantment, though I say so myself.  Illegal, of course, but what do laws exist for but to break?"

"Why?"  Her voice was beginning to shake and her knees were giving way with reaction.  Malfoy noticed.  Brusquely, he gestured to a black leather sofa.

"Sit down, girl, before you fall." The instruction was rough but not unkind.  Ginny obeyed more for the security of remaining vertical than out of any desire to do his bidding.  Malfoy paced the room, obviously enjoying himself.

"Why did I, Draco Malfoy, use a love potion on you, Ginny Weasley?  Yes, that's a very good question indeed, particularly considering I wouldn't touch you with a twelve foot lance under normal circumstances."  He grinned nastily, but she didn't react.

"Go on." she responded evenly.

"It was part of an ongoing plan." He continued, "I'm delighted to say that this part of it was my idea.  My father commended me highly for my ruthlessness.  I had to get you in my power, totally under my control."  Ginny shivered inwardly, but kept her countenance.

"What for?" she asked, "Why would you need me?"  He stared at her, this time in abject astonishment.

"You don't know, do you?" he exclaimed, "You really don't know!  Well, let me be the one to enlighten you.  As you'll shortly be saying goodbye to all your independent thoughts for the foreseeable future, I see no reason not to tell you."  He paused to gather his thoughts.

"You and Potter," he spat the name out as though it tasted nasty, "Seem to have stumbled on something extremely powerful.  So powerful that my father and his fellow Dark Wizards could not allow it to develop to its full potential.  Unlike you two pathetic little lovebirds, they recognised it for what it was.  That's what Peter was testing out at the airport, and yes, he was responsible for the near miss you and Potter narrowly averted.  He came back from that a very worried man, I can tell you."  Malfoy paused for thought.

"This – mind-meld you and Potter have between you.  It's not unique.  There have been a number of instances of it in the past, but most of them have been between Dark Wizards.  The most famous example that you would have heard of was between Merlin and Morgan le Fey."  He shook his head regretfully, "Extremely powerful, potentially earth-shattering, but their allegiances were so different it all ended in disaster."  He pondered for a moment, then seemed to drag himself back to the present.

"We couldn't possibly allow the most adept wizard of a generation to find out exactly what he'd stumbled upon, now could we?  Granted, it would have taken a number of years to gain control of the gift, and your volatile personality would have made the necessary symbiosis at best very difficult, but I believe you would have achieved it in the end.  We couldn't let you do it."  He paused and then smiled.

"But now I have you." He continued, "Here you are trapped.  You couldn't resist the attraction and you walked straight into my parlour.  I must admit, I was surprised you found me – I really wasn't expecting you to catch on so quickly.  But, of course, it's too late now.  You are destined to spend the rest of your days as my tool in the continuing battle against Potter and the Forces of Light."  Despite cringing under his bleak words, Ginny found that she was puzzled.

"What stops me from going to Harry and telling him exactly what you have just told me?"  The expression that crept slowly over Draco Malfoy's face made her skin crawl.  He extended a hand to her face, lightly caressing her cheek with ice-cold fingers.  She tried to move away, gritting her teeth with the effort, but all that emerged from her mouth was a contented sigh and her eyes closed luxuriously at the caress.  He laughed lightly.

"This enchantment works in two stages." He told her, "The first involves compulsion.  The victim is obliged to be near the caster, there can be no rest or peace of mind unless they are together.  Once they are together, the inevitable, er, coupling must occur for the enchantment to become fixed."

"Coupling?"  Ginny was astonished.  Malfoy nodded, smiling faintly.

"I promised you I would make Potter disappear from your mind, and I'll keep that promise." He said, coolly, "Reports from victims say that the final stage of this enchantment is the most potent physical experience of their lives.  Of course, they have no option but to serve the caster with no independent thought thereafter, so their opinion may be slightly, ah, biased."

"It's irreversible?"

"Oh, totally."  Draco was smiling broadly now, evilly.  He trailed a hand gently over her neck and shoulder, chuckling at the gasp she was unable to suppress.  With a supreme effort, she raised her hand and brought it swiftly against his face in a stinging slap.  Without missing a beat, Malfoy seized her wrist in an iron grip, turned her hand over and buried his lips in her palm.  Ginny closed her eyes in forbidden rapture.

"Sensuous little thing, aren't you?" he murmured, feeling her shiver as he moved his mouth over her ear and down towards her throat.  The hands resting lightly on her shoulders moved downwards, as Malfoy shifted his weight to bring their lips into contact.

"Relax, Ginny." he spoke into her mouth, tobacco-scented breath sending electric tingles down her spine, "This is one experience you'll be reliving for the rest of your life."

*********************************************************

"I don't know why I'm concerned, Fred."  Ellen's pretty face was worried but stubborn.  "I can't tell you what's set my danger alarms pinging.  All I know is that Lee's struggling with his doubts over this quest, and I have too much respect for his brainpower to ignore that fact!"  Fred paced the flat, index finger tapping his lips.  He looked back at her.

"And you have nothing else to go on?  No proof?  Nothing concrete?"  Ellen nearly screamed at him, but controlled the urge just in time.

"Haven't you been listening, Fred?" she returned, "I've tried to drop hints about him talking to you, but I can't come right out and say it, can I?  As far as he knows, we're just friends, nothing more."  Fred snorted.

"You'd have to be a pretty good friend to be in my flat at 6.30am."  They both laughed, but Fred's face soon turned serious.

"What about Ginny?  How's she coping?"  Ellen shrugged.  She got up from her chair and walked over to the window.

"The best I can get out of her is that she and Harry didn't exactly part on good terms." She began, "She's certainly been having her troubles with another member of the band, but that seems to have been resolved in some way."  She looked up at him and spread her hands.

"I'm sorry, I really don't know much more than that.  She hasn't exactly been around much to talk to, and she's been a bit, well, reclusive over the last few days."  Fred smiled wearily and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey," he said gently, "You can't get everything right all at once, you know."  A sudden commotion in the vicinity of the fireplace made them both swivel their heads as the sooty figure of Lee Jordan emerged into the living room.

"Sorry to burst in on you like this," he began shaking the dust from his hair, "But I finally figured out that anomaly.  Believe it or not, it's the usual twin thing …"  He trailed off as he took in the two figures in front of him.  There was a brief silence.  Lee swallowed.

"Do you mind if I say 'What the hell'?" were his next words.  Fred and Ellen exchanged a look and Fred sighed, removing his hand from Ellen's shoulder.

"You can say anything you like, Lee." he said, resignedly, "I guess it must be your move."  Lee swallowed and looked from Ellen to Fred and then back again.

"I really don't believe what I'm seeing." He whispered.  "You two specifically denied any sort of relationship – I asked both of you just to make absolutely sure.  Now what in hell is Ellen doing here in your flat, Fred, drinking coffee at 6.30am?"  Ellen got up from the sofa, still cradling her coffee mug.

"It's not what it seems, Lee." She began quietly.  He gestured wildly.

"Okay, so what is it then?"  She looked at Fred who gave the tiniest inclination of his head, giving her permission to tell.  Her shoulders slumped.

"Lee, the truth is that Fred and I are not just friends."  Lee's stomach gave a sudden heave, which had nothing to do with his lack of breakfast.  Get a grip! his mind reprimanded him, You've only known the woman a couple of weeks.  You weren't exactly going out or anything.  But the sickening disappointment threatened to engulf him.

"No, not friends." Fred echoed, knowing Lee rather better than Ellen and correctly interpreting the pain on his friend's face. "We're colleagues.  Working associates."  It took a few seconds for that to percolate into Lee's system.  When it did, he looked up disbelievingly.

"You're a spook too?" he shot at the blonde girl, then he shook his head, "Nothing doing.  I know all the operatives at The Ministry, even if I don't work with them, and you're not on the payroll.  You'll have to do better than that."

"I can." continued Fred calmly, "Ellen's a contact.  She's an interface with the muggle world.  Oh, she's devastatingly intelligent and extremely successful in the world of money, but she's not in it solely for the filthy lucre."  Ellen smiled for the first time.

"You'll give me a swelled head." she chided him, then her expression turned serious.

"I'm sorry you were dragged into this, Lee."   He shook his head, still puzzled.

"But why didn't you just come out and tell me what the score was?  Why did I have to find out this way?"  Fred sighed.

"Now we come to something I'm not particularly proud of." He confessed, "It has to do with seeing enemies behind every tree, intrigue in every situation, you know the sort of thing.  We talked about it before."  Lee nodded. Fred continued.

"I'm not happy about Ginny." His face was pensive.  "It's not just that she's on her own while Harry's putting himself into danger in deepest Yucatan, it's something more than that.  To be frank, it's something concerning that Marcus Torrence guy.  I'm not happy about him.  I've had records pulled from archives about him and there's something about his profile that just doesn't add up – it's too neat."  Lee considered, jumping to a couple of correct conclusions.

"But just because you think a guy's trying to make a move on your sister doesn't merit secretly moving a babysitter in with her, does it?  Don't you think that might be an overreaction on your part?"

"Perhaps," Fred's face was bleak, "But my alarm bells were ringing even more strongly over Torrence and his non-history than they were over Harry's benighted quest.  Besides, once I'd realised that you too had a problem over Leandra's Ewer, it occurred to me that if the Dark Side were meddling with Harry, they might also try to get to him through my sister."  Lee reached out and patted Fred's shoulder.

"I think I understand," he began. "Perhaps better than anyone else.  Little man hunch has been muttering in his sleep for weeks, keeping me from my own.  This morning something bit him and he leaped wide awake and shouting.  Fred, I've found the discrepancy I was searching for – and it puts the whole bang shoot in jeopardy."  Quickly, he explained what he had come up with and presented the computer printouts as proof.  While Fred was scanning them, Lee turned feeling a gentle hand on his arm.  Ellen's face was serious.

"I'm sorry I had to deceive you, Lee." she began, but he shook his head, putting his hand over hers and pushing it away.

"You were just doing your job.  Don't let it bother you."  He turned away to go back to Fred.  Ellen sighed but let it pass.  There was too much else to think about at the moment, things that might involve people's lives.  They'd get it sorted sometime, she hoped.  Very much.

Finally Fred raised his head.  His expression was bleak.

"I think it's time we took this to a higher authority." He said quietly, and reached for the floo powder.

*****************************************************

As a result, the action against Mariane was dropped and could not be reactivated due to prejudice of the original evidence.  The Court ruled that once muggles had become aware of a magical situation, the legal basis of the claim was no longer viable …  Hermione ran a despairing hand through her hair.  Never had she found researching precedents a more tedious occupation.  Usually she enjoyed the nitpicking detail required for Opinions of this type, but this morning she just couldn't seem to settle.  I'm missing him so much more than I thought. she concluded wryly, and stretched her aching shoulders.  She padded out to the kitchen for fresh coffee and on returning to the study, found Ron's head in the fireplace.

Hermione was, to say the least, extremely surprised, particularly as she had been under the impression that to firetalk at that distance with no other magical assistance was extremely difficult. Ron's face kept waxing and waning as he fought to maintain the contact.

"Hermione," he began indistinctly, "Don't talk, just listen.  We need backup here urgently.  Something unexpected has happened.  I can't get through to Sirius.  Go to The Burrow – Dad'll know what to do.  Whatever you do, don't firetalk or owl – and don't use your message globe.  Go yourself.  Now."

"Ron!" Hermione found herself wailing, throwing her hands up to her face.  The fiery figure extended a faint hand towards her and smiled lovingly.

"I'm okay, Hermione – for the moment.  Not sure about Harry though.  Please, do as I say as quickly as possible.  Never forget – I love you!"  His image was cut off very suddenly in the manner of someone cutting a telephone line.  Hermione stood for one moment's panicked indecision, then grabbing her handbag, she reached for the floo powder.