"By the Pricking of my Thumbs"

Thanks so much, everyone, for all the enthusiastic reviews.  This epic seems to be specialising in cliffhangers, and I confess that's the way I like both to write and read stories.

Hi Keith – thanks for the review.  So you win some, you lose some.  The "Draco in disguise" thing has been used by so many other authors, including Lori, that it's something of a cliché now.  However, it was just toooo good an opportunity to pass up.  Also, I wanted to plant some seeds that I may or may not exploit for the next fic, and this was the most logical way of doing it.  You'll see what I mean when I write the Epilogue!  [By the way, when are you getting round to chapter 6 of "Ginny the Vampire Slayer", eh?]

Anne – of course it's all wrong, wrong, wrong and I promise I'll get her out of it – just not today.  [You know I will really, you're just itching to know how!]

Ginny Potter – what are you going to bribe me with!?

"By the Pricking of my Thumbs"

by Penpusher

Chapter Ten: "The Tomb of all Hope"

"Okay, that's enough.  Now, everybody out."  There was a dull splashing as Harry and Katia both levered themselves over the side of their raft into the weed-choked water.  Their boots sank into the soft riverbed as, grunting with effort, they levered their sole source of transport on to the shore, Ron steadily maintaining the Levitation charm throughout.  As he wrung what seemed like several gallons of water out of his fatigues, Ron couldn't resist aiming a kick at the forlorn machine.

"Bloody inadequate design!" he swore.  Harry grimaced vaguely, drying the sweat from his face before rescuing his glasses from his pocket where he had stored them against accidents.

"Be fair, Ron, it is a prototype.  And after all, it got us here, didn't it?"  Ron grumbled some more about academics in ivory towers and set about casting an invisibility charm on the raft to protect it from prying eyes.  Having achieved his object, he sat down heavily and sighed, unlacing his saturated boots.  He looked at Harry.

"I'm not looking forward to making my report to Tim Cyu." He admitted, rifling through his pack for a dry pair of socks, "He's never going to believe that his wonderful new engine can't cope with river weed!"  His attention was drawn to Katia who was standing at the top of the bank.  She beckoned urgently and the two men took off after her at a run, Ron fighting with one as yet unlaced boot.

"This way." She told them, striding out into the forest.  Harry paused, still tucking in his shirt, then followed obediently, but Ron stood, stubbornly refusing to move.

"What about the gear?" he demanded when she looked back.  She shook her head.

"Bring the packs and essential supplies." She told him.  "We can return later for the rest.  Is it not charm-protected?"

"Of course." He replied stiffly.  She shrugged in a "where's the problem then?" manner and turned to continue along the trail.  Ron shook his head and reluctantly followed.

"Some day," he muttered to Harry, "Some fine day I'm going to swing for that woman."

"Really?"  Harry had stopped to examine a hunk of stone buried in the ground and was only half listening.  "I think she's a pretty useful person to have around.  And good company."  He added as an afterthought, too absorbed in his surroundings to notice Ron's outraged expression.  Harry carried on down the trail, following Katia leaving Ron shaking his head in disbelief.

What is it with this woman? Ron found himself thinking furiously.  And how come Harry feels so differently?  Am I right about the Veela magic?  If so, for Merlin's sake why?  She doesn't strike me as the sentimental type.  What could she possibly have to gain from seducing Harry?  Ron kicked his thoughts around for a while without enlightenment.  He looked up at his friend.  Harry seemed to have disappeared into his own mind, brooding on ancient architecture and magical customs.  Ron decided to try to get his answers from the horse's mouth.  He increased his speed, jogging to catch up with the fast-moving woman, and settled himself at her elbow, assisting her with the tough undergrowth and activating the enchanted machete when the going quickly became harder.

 

"So, Katia," he began, in what he thought was a casual tone, "Where exactly did you learn your magic?  You said you didn't go to school, so how did you gain your knowledge?  Who taught you?"  She gave him a suspicious glance.

"My father." she replied shortly.  When it appeared that she was not going to elaborate, Ron tried again.

"Was he a Mexican wizard?"  A small smile twitched her lips, but her voice betrayed only indifference.

"Yes, he was."

"And your mother?"

"Was not Mexican."

"So you're half-Mexican, half - ?"  Ron left the question open, but Katia did not grace him with an answer.  A short silence fell.

"I've always wondered about the differences between the styles of magic practised in other countries." Ron began again, wondering how long he could keep this up with so little encouragement.  "How exactly did you learn your craft?"  She stopped very suddenly and turned to face him.

"My craft, is that what you call it?" she responded, cool and sarcastic, "Are you such a rank tyro that you think you are deceiving me with this – this polite conversation?"  Her eyes narrowed.  "How I learned my craft is my business, Mr. Special Duty Auror Ronald Weasley, and there are powers and mysteries about this land that would stop you dead in your tracks, for all your fine Hogwarts education."  Ron reckoned that this was the longest speech she had ever directed towards him.  He was not in the least disturbed by her obvious animosity, rather the opposite as he realised he had touched a nerve.  Returning the vicious curl of her lip with a bland smile, he gestured towards the pathway.

"We're wasting daylight.  Please continue – unless you'd rather I led?"  She swung back to the path, not even dignifying that with an answer.

The day wore on, hot and humid.  Harry could have sworn the anti-blister charm on his boots was fading, but at least the sunscreen worked.  He paused for a moment, taking off his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow, then froze, his keen eyes taking in a flash of white amongst the dark green of the vegetation.

"Ron," he said, beckoning to his friend who was just coming up behind him, "Do you see something?  There, through the trees – something white."  Ron squinted hard against the sun, using his hand to shield his eyes.

"Yes, I think I do," He replied, eventually, "But that can't be Chinga'an – the stonework isn't likely to be white after all this time, surely."  Harry gave him an amused smile.

"Ron, we have no idea what to expect." He explained, "This is a wizarding city – any amount of exotic magic could remain, both for protection and for durability.  We are going to have to take this slowly once we find it, and your curse-breaking abilities might come in very handy indeed!"

Harry pushed his way through some overhanging creepers and practically collided with Katia, rocking back on his heels to keep his balance.  Ron brought up the rear, craning his neck over the smaller man's shoulder.

"What's the problem?" he asked.  Katia hissed quietly at him and inclined her head to a sinuous, black shape on the path in front of her, poised to strike.

"A coral snake!" breathed Ron, scared yet fascinated by the lethal grace of the creature.  To everyone's amazement, Harry didn't even pause to think.  He shouldered past Katia, drawing the snake's attention away from the others, then concentrated hard on the black head and glittering eyes.

"We mean you no harm." He said, "We know your bite is fatal to our kind.  If you do not attack us, we will leave you in peace."  The breathy hissing which came out of Harry's mouth was not language in any strict sense of the word, but the snake itself paused in its aggressive behaviour and seemed to answer him.

"It has been many centuries since humans have had speech with us." It replied, "Not since the builders of the White City went away."

"The White City?"  Harry didn't know if snake-language could express excitement, but his face certainly lit up with intense interest.  "Where is this city?  Will you show us?"  The snake paused, weaving its head to and fro.

"You are very near." It said, "There are many of us living in the ruins.  I will go to warn them of your coming.  We will not attack you."  Harry bowed his head.

"You are hospitable." He returned.  Seeing the snake relax its guard, Katia suddenly reached for the rifle slung over her shoulder.  Jumping in front of the snake, Harry held out his hands in refusal.

"No!  Don't harm him – he can help us!"  In the same instant, Ron seized her arms in a vice-like grip and held her while she struggled helplessly.  Harry turned back to the snake.

"Forgive us." He asked, humbly, "The woman did not understand.  The others do not speak your tongue."  The snake seemed to ponder this, then fixed Harry with one gleaming eye.

"There were never many with the skill, even in the White City." It returned, then abruptly slid away into the undergrowth.  Once he was totally sure the snake had disappeared, Ron released his hold on Katia.  Whirling round, she kicked his shins in fury.

"I could have got it!" she screamed.  Harry's eyes were wide with surprise.

"But we have just made a powerful ally!" he protested, "'Beware of cavalier slaughter until you know the enemy's numbers'.  Salazar Slytherin himself, no less.  Katia, we will have no further problems with the snakes that have made their home in Chinga'an.  However, if you had killed that one, I doubt we could have got out of the place without using the antivenin."  For the first time, Katia glared at Harry in fury, then she turned her back wordlessly and continued to tramp through the undergrowth.  With a small shrug, Ron followed leaving Harry blinking behind his glasses, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

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

Chinga'an must have been a very ambitious project, Harry decided, having paced out part of its perimeter, conjectured as to where the main buildings had stood, and decided that on comparison with other Mayan cities, this one had to have stretch for four times the area of the site they were now examining.  Amazing!

The party had reached the city proper just before nightfall.  Harry was so excited that Ron had to take away his torch, then his wand, then physically drag him away from the ruins back to the campfire in order to force feed him a hot meal.

"This is absolutely fantastic!" Harry looked at his two companions, eyes glowing with exhilarated discovery.  "We'll need to bring a team back here as soon as possible.  The scale of the site is beyond anything I'd ever dreamed, and the state of preservation of the stonework is so good it's a great credit to those who cast the Durability charms.  They're so faint as to be almost undetectable, of course, but we need to get a specialist in to see how much we can learn from them.  As for the quality of the carving, I've never … mmmf!  Oh, thanks."  Ron stifled the monologue by ramming a hunk of bread into his friend's mouth.  Harry carried on eating mechanically, occasionally assisted by Ron, scarcely interrupting the flow of information.  Seeing as neither of the others were able to get a word in even had they wished, it was not greatly surprising that Katia remained silent throughout the meal, but Ron caught occasional glimpses of her glittering, malevolent eyes and realised, with a shiver, that she had far from forgiven them.

After supper, Ron determinedly forced Harry into their tent and bed at wandpoint.  He knew his friend in this mood – he wouldn't stop until he dropped to the ground with exhaustion, and Ron figured he would do the job better in daylight.  Also, he admitted to himself, he was absolutely determined not to help Katia get Harry on his own in any way possible.

Several hours later, Ron had cause to reassess the situation.  He woke very suddenly to see Harry silhouetted against the window, mechanically pulling on his clothes.  He yawned and sighed blearily.

"Aw, Harry, give it a rest, will you?  The damn city'll still be there in the morning …"  It was as though his friend could neither see nor hear him.  Harry carried on mechanically lacing his boots, and presently moved towards the door.  Suddenly very wide awake indeed, Ron leaped out of bed, hastily fastening his own trousers and boots, and followed Harry out of the tent, down to the campsite.  From there he plunged straight into the forest, his course leading always downhill.  Ron found it difficult to be sure in the pale moonlight, but it seemed as though Harry was following a path already trodden by someone else.  Faintly, he heard the sound of running water.  The stream that Katia used to fill the water canteens, Ron decided: he had not seen this particular feature in daylight yet. 

It appeared that the water was not the only thing he was to see.  As Harry made to step out from the undergrowth on to the bank of the stream, Ron put a hand on his shoulder, suddenly suspicious.  Harry stopped moving and stood obediently while Ron scanned the area, looking for any kind of threat.  Then he saw her and his breath caught in his throat.

She was bathing in the shallow water, quite some way away from where they were standing, but close enough for Ron to see the moonlight shafting off her body as she twisted and turned, letting the water cascade in glittering rivulets over her smooth skin.  Ron scratched his head in shock.  She was magnificent, he had to admit.  Mindblowingly gorgeous, mesmerising, seriously arousing – hey, wait a moment!  He shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the almost hypnotising sight.  There's no sense in both of us falling foul of this woman!  He told himself, and looked over at his friend.

"Oh Gods!" he muttered quietly, for Harry's shirt was on the ground, his boots had just been cast aside and his trousers were rapidly going the same way.  Ron put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey!" he said quietly, "What's up?"  Well, he could have put that better, but Harry didn't seem to notice.  He tried again.

"Harry, what do you think you're doing?  It's the middle of the night.  Come on, let's get back to the tent."  Harry stopped moving and merely stood inertly, his face expressionless.  Slowly, Ron picked up his friend's boots and pushed them back on his feet, not bothering to lace them.  Flinging the shirt around his shoulders, he turned Harry around and gave him a gentle push back up the path.  To Ron's eternal relief, Harry obeyed passively, walking back to the campsite and into the tent without resistance.  Ron pushed him through the door.

"Okay, Harry, how about some cocoa now we're both awake, huh?"  Carefully, he steered his friend towards the kitchen and sat him down in a chair, keeping up a meaningless monologue as he poured milk into a saucepan and hunted out the sugar.  Harry sat submissively, staring at his surroundings without interest.  His eyes were dull, the pupils dilated, and his pale skin was clammy with perspiration.  Ron treated him gently, carefully, all the time watching for the sign that his friend was coming out of it.  For Ron knew exactly what was going on here, he'd seen the signs before.  The only question was how was she doing it?  He pressed the cup of warm cocoa against Harry's lips and watched the swallowing reflex take over.  Harry blinked, took a deep, shuddering breath and suddenly seemed to wake up.

"Ron?" he queried, puzzled.  His friend smiled and patted his arm.

"Harry, Ginny warned me all about your snoring, fidgeting and talking in your sleep, but she missed out the sleepwalking bit."

"I was sleepwalking?"

"Apparently so.  Come on, drink your cocoa and we'll try to get some more shut-eye, okay?"  Harry was shaking his head bemusedly.

"But I've never sleepwalked in my life!"

"There's a first time for everything, mate.  Just don't make a habit of it, that's all."

Ron was grateful that Harry had taken his explanation at face value.  Had he not been so preoccupied with Chinga'an, the chances were he would have asked a few more questions. 

Throughout the rest of the night, Ron lay awake alternately watching Harry sleep and studying the darkness in front of his eyes, trying to work out what was going on.  He turned for what must have been the thousandth time to make sure that his friend was still slumbering, and was struck by how vulnerable Harry looked without his protective glasses and his customary curious expression.  He shook his head: the truth of it was that Harry would always be vulnerable.  He was an obvious target for the Dark Side because of his fame as Voldemort's nemesis and his (deserved) reputation as one of the most powerful wizards in the world.  Harry was not streetwise in the way that his friend had become, and Ron privately hoped that it would remain so.  Harry was too idealistic, too romantic, too trusting to be much proof against intrigue, but these very qualities in turn gave him charm, charisma and the ability to inspire others.  He was like a child in a new universe, wide-eyed with wonder at the mysteries of life, persistent until he had uncovered everything there was to discover.  Ron sighed.  His own love for Harry was nearly as strong as his love for Hermione, although different, and he knew that whatever the future held, he would spend his life protecting both of them, the most precious and valued members of his family.

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

The morning brought more pacing, careful examination and even more careful digging to uncover what Harry thought might be the library, a very important structure in all wizarding communities.  Ron had checked the area thoroughly for curses and, finding none, had cautiously joined Harry to open the door.  The sun had travelled most of its course across the sky before they had finished the work to Harry's satisfaction, and they were both wringing wet and sweating when Harry finally took the first step into the building.

Half-buried under the detritus of centuries, Harry had been surprised so much of the structure remained visible.  Now he stepped into the cool darkness, his wand ablaze, he could only gasp at the incredible order the ancient wizards had left behind them.  The place was much bigger than it had appeared from outside, although Ron could detect no Enhancement magic to achieve this effect, and was entirely fashioned from white marble.  The ceiling was high and the walls were obscured by slabs covered with intricate carvings.  More carved tablets were stacked on tables arranged like free-standing shelves: the entire place was completely covered in complex writing.  Ron watched Harry's jaw drop in total amazement.

"Ron," He whispered in awe, "This is – just incredible.  There's never been a discovery like it!  Ye Gods, the information, the history – I can't begin to express …" he tailed off, almost running into the room until Ron caught his arm.

"Hey, slow down." He told him, bringing out his wand and doing a quick sweep of the place.  His brow furrowed as his picked up traces of long faded charmwork, but nothing threatening.

"Okay." He said at last, "If there's anything here, it's beyond my ken.  Right, Harry: get moving on this stuff for as long as the light lasts.  I know there's no way I'll get you out of here now!  I'll call you to clean up and have a meal in an hour or so.  Meanwhile, I'll make a report to Sirius – it's time he got some good news."

As it happened, Ron didn't get round to contacting Sirius until much later.  He felt decidedly uneasy about making his report with Katia listening in the whole time, so he set about making camp, erected the tent and gathered the basics of a meal, all the while watching her strip down and clean the automatic rifle she had mercifully yet to use on this trip.  He started to make conversation.

"You seem to know Sirius well."  There was silence, only a slight slowing of her busy hands betrayed that she had heard.

"How long have you known him?"  For a while she didn't answer, then she looked up.  Her face was far from friendly, but her mouth smiled.

"Sirius and I go back a long way," She told him, "A very long way.  He and I have been through a number of  … " Abruptly she stopped, scowling, and continued to reassemble her weapon.

"No, please go on." Ron said, "I'm interested."  She shook her head.

"Forget it.  Attend to your business and I will attend to mine."  And despite several further attempts at conversation, she refused to speak another word.

Much later, just before he was due to rout Harry out from the library, Katia finished reassembling the weapon and departed to clean up in the stream.  Ron turned to the campfire as soon as he could reasonably expect her to be out of range and brought out his wand.

He couldn't get through.  The plain fact of it was he just couldn't raise Sirius at all.  Something's blocking me, he muttered in frustration, and after one more attempt, ceased trying.  He pondered for a while, becoming more and more concerned about being stranded virtually incommunicado with a woman he was rapidly beginning to believe was not exactly on the side of the angels.  He made a sudden decision, whipped out his wand and cast the communication charm again, only this time for a far greater range.

Ron had always known that firetalking over a long distance was at best unreliable and at worst very debilitating for the initiator, but he couldn't afford to hesitate.  He guessed he was working against time, and gritted his teeth.  The effort was almost more than he could endure.  When the contact abruptly broke, he was left panting with a mixture of exhaustion and relief – he had got through to Hermione, he had managed to raise the alarm.  Wiping the sweat out of his eyes with the hem of his teeshirt, he paused feeling a prickling along his spine: he was being watched.  Quickly he spun, automatically panning around the landscape, searching for the source of the scrutiny, and his eyes fell upon Katia.  She was standing just inside the edge of the clearing, rifle slung over her shoulder, just staring at him with a crooked smile on her face.  She moved towards the campfire and stood over his crouching figure.

"Who did you contact?" she asked, her voice low and quiet.  Ron's highly-trained magical antennae told him she was exerting some kind of influence to force him to answer.  He felt a mild pain in his temples, and shook his head to dissipate its influence.

"It's no use, Katia." He said without looking at her, "You know I'm auror-trained.  You'll get nowhere like that."  She shrugged.

"It was worth a try," she replied, "But there are other more effective means."  He looked back up at her, his face twisting with dislike, and shook his head.

"Come on." he said, scornfully, "Just how good are you?  You'd have to be a darn sight more adept than you appear to have any influence over me.  You see, I'm not as susceptible as Harry, both by inclination and by training."  She narrowed her eyes and spat at him in contempt, open animosity now written all over her face.  Ron was delighted.  He grinned, suddenly feeling confidence pour back into him as she finally dropped the pretence of alliance and showed her true colours.  Katia had always known that Ron, not Harry, was her true adversary – his strength and reliability were like sharp thorns digging away at her plans.  Now the cat was well and truly out of the bag, it was time to shed the annoying kid gloves.  In one quick movement, she let the rifle fall to the ground and slid her wand out of its sleeve holster.  Ron leaped to his feet, wand in hand, even quicker than she.  For an instant they stared at one another in open hostility, then a hoarse shout broke the tableau and Harry staggered into the campsite, filthy dirty and covered in dust.  He was clutching a huge stone tablet which he held as though it were a lifebelt and he a drowning man.

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

"It didn't happen according to legend – nothing like."  Harry was sipping a mug of tea, pausing every now and then to stuff some bread into his mouth.  He was eating as though days rather than hours had gone by, but then – Ron shrugged – Harry always had been able to inhale his food and still never put on an ounce.  He deliberately tried to focus his mind on what Harry was saying, while all the time never relaxing his guard against the engimatic Katia.  On Harry's arrival, they had been obliged to cease hostilities for the present, but Ron was under no illusions as to the permanence of that arrangement.

"Do you remember, Ron?"  Harry was saying, "When you were first briefed about the Ewer, I told you something about the Mayan civilisation.  How they simply disappeared from their cities, no clues as to why, and the invading Toltecs just walked in and set up home.  Remember?"  Ron nodded, having a vague memory of some muggle history Harry had been spouting.  Harry sighed and put his head in his hands.

"I've discovered why," he announced wearily, "And in many ways, I wish I hadn't."  There was a short pause while he gathered his thoughts.

"It was something of a fluke find, actually," He began, "Although most ancient wizarding libraries have the same or similar layout.  I happened upon several tablets which seemed to recount some of the history of the place.  I read about the Ewer predicting invasion by the Toltecs and the peaceful migration of many of the Mayan muggles.  At this time, one of Leandra's close colleagues, he might even have been her husband, started an almost meteoric rise in fame.  He gathered a great following around him and his ideas were very popular among the more militant magical families."  Harry sighed again.

"It's all terribly familiar, I guess history just goes on repeating itself over and over again."

"Go on, Harry." prompted Ron, sneaking a sidelong look at Katia.  She didn't seem to be contemplating homicide, at least not yet, but Ron wasn't slackening his defences one inch.  Harry drew a deep breath.

"This wizard – I won't glorify him with a name – seemed to have an obsession with pure-blood in magical practitioners."  Ron's jaw dropped.

"You're kidding!" he exclaimed, "Are you sure his name wasn't Tom Riddle?"  Harry seemed to think this sort of flippancy out of place.

"It makes very sad reading." He continued, glancing down at the tablet in his hands, "He persuaded the Ruling Council – all wizards of pure blood – that all muggle borns must be eliminated, just as Voldemort tried to do in our generation, the difference being that he succeeded where Voldemort failed."  There was a small silence, then Ron stirred.

"You mean – they killed them all?  All the muggle-born wizards?"  Harry nodded slowly.

"What they hadn't counted on was how far-reaching the magic would be." He told them.  "They used a single spell, cast over not just Chinga'an but the whole of the country.  It must have taken massive power to do that – I can't imagine being able to sustain a spell like that over a small town, never mind an area of that size.  What they didn't realise was that the spell would annihilate anyone with even a trace of non-magical blood in their veins.  By the time the magic had taken its course, most of the ruling council had gone.  The leading wizard himself was dead.  Half the Mayan population appears to have been affected – it must have seemed like a very visitation of the gods to these people, particularly the muggles."  Harry paused again, glancing back down at the tablet in his hands.  He tapped it with a dusty finger.

"It's all here," he told them, "Carved in stone by one of the council members.  It's pitiful to read, actually.  He doesn't consider himself worthy of a name because he participated in genocide.  However, he says this is his final task – to make certain that the history of what happened in Chinga'an survived as a warning to others.  He says that once his task is complete, he will take his own life.  Apparently, those wizards who remained in Chinga'an did exactly that, out of sheer despair.  I see no reason to assume that this man acted any differently."  There was a silence.  Ron didn't really know what to say, but then a thought struck him.

"Leandra's Ewer, Harry." He said, "You mentioned that it foretold a great catastrophe befalling the Mayans, which they assumed to be the invading Toltecs.  Is it possible that they were wrong, that it foretold the genocide instead?"  Harry considered then nodded.

"It's possible, Ron.  Only a team of experts in more subjects than I can cover could tell you that."  He replied, "However, and rather more disastrously for us, here in this account is pretty much conclusive proof that we have been sent on a fool's errand."  He raised his head and stared Ron straight in the eyes.

"I'm sorry, my friend, but the information your organisation gathered regarding that artefact was only correct as far as it went."  Harry looked back at the tablet and began again.

"The few wizards who survived the holocaust left Chinga'an fairly quickly, but before doing so they set about trying to salvage something out of the ashes.  Unfortunately, as often happened, the backlash went too far in the opposite direction.  Many broke their wands, cursed magic and refused to have anything more to do with it, living as muggles for the rest of their lives.  They destroyed their scrolls, their records and all their artefacts, including, I'm afraid, Leandra's Ewer.  There was disagreement about its destruction, but eventually it was broken, ground into dust and scattered into the river.  As I mentioned before, only a few stayed behind in Chinga'an, largely to record the tragic history of the city before they died."  Harry paused again, pushing his untidy black hair away from his eyes and settling his glasses more firmly on his nose.

"Ron, I think we need to get a team here to take this place apart, find out what other history is hidden here, if there are any caches of artefacts buried under the city, etc. etc. but to be honest, I doubt they'll find much." His face was grey with fatigue and intense disappointment.  "I think this place is merely a vast mausoleum – the tomb of all hope."  Ron put a hand out to pat Harry's shoulder comfortingly, then his eyes slid over to Katia.  She was still watching him passively, waiting for – for what? 

"Okay," Ron began, speaking directly to her, "Now you know.  The Ewer was destroyed many centuries ago.  We don't have it for the forces of Light, but equally you can't take it for the Dark Side.  It's an impasse.  So can we please call a truce, take the block off the firetalking and for Merlin's sake get some reinforcements in here!"  Katia stared at Ron, for once taken totally by surprise.  Then, to his amazement, she laughed.

It was a small, squeezed sort of laugh, but nevertheless it made Ron stare in surprise.  He had no memory of ever having heard Katia laugh out loud before, but seeing her now, her generous mouth wide with humour, he had a sudden pang that someone so beautiful and talented should belong heart and soul to the Dark Side, as he now truly believed she did.

"Take Leandra's Ewer for the Dark Side?" she exclaimed, "Is that what you thought?  Oh, you really are so slow, Mr. Special-Duty Auror.  They're supposed to teach you to think on your feet, aren't they?  You obviously cut classes that day.  Leandra's Ewer is a scrying device which could only be used by a person pure of mind and motive.  Those qualities are anathema to the Dark Magic, so what possible use could we have for such an artefact?"

"To keep it out of our hands, perhaps?" suggested Ron, privately agreeing with her, having wondered himself about that anomaly.  Katia spread her hands wide.

"If we had feared you finding it, all we needed to do was to send a party of wizards into the forest to destroy the ruins, and any remaining artefacts would have gone the same way."  Ron's brow creased in a frown.

"Then – why?" he gestured with his arm, indicating the gear, the tent, the campfire – everything that made up their expedition.  She paused and a slow smile slid across her face.

"To maintain equilibrium." She told him, "To stop Harry Potter from exploiting the Bond." 

"Bond?" Ron queried, totally mystified.  For a moment there, he thought Katia was referring to the partnership between Harry and himself, but somehow that didn't seem to fit.

"There are very few wizards who can truly work together." Katia told him, "When this merging of powers occurs, it is usually between unequal partners and can be very dangerous, particularly for the less talented one.  Harry Potter has forged a partnership with a witch of very great magical abilities.  The potential of such a union is devastating and must be stopped.  I will be the one to stop it."  She paused.

"Harry Potter was too powerful and had too many friends for us to take him out on his own territory." She explained, as though she was merely clarifying a recipe for chocolate brownies, "We had to get him into ours – and I have succeeded."  Ron frowned.

"But you've had ample opportunity to kill Harry – or me for that matter.  The jaguar, for example.  Yet you saved him!"  She shrugged.

"Don't be misled into thinking that I'm at all sentimental, Weasley.  I did what I had to.  We don't want him dead, you know – just under our control."

"You could have used the Imperius Curse on us from day one!"  She nodded.

"That is true, but the Imperius Curse can be fought by one such as Harry Potter.  Also it can be recognised fairly quickly by those who have experience of it.  No, I preferred to ensnare Harry Potter my own way – and I have done so."  Ron felt his fists balling.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I think you might have a little trouble taking the both of us, eh Harry?"  He flexed his muscles, glancing down at his friend, and his expression changed.

"Harry?"  Harry was sitting patiently by the campfire still holding his cup and plate but his face held no more life than a statue.  Katia laughed eerily again.

"He's already under my control, aren't you my darling?" she taunted, sliding over to Harry and caressing his face warmly.  Harry sighed and rubbed his cheek against her hand.  She smirked, then turned a vicious glance to Ron.

"I'd have had him even more firmly fixed if you hadn't interfered last night!" she spat, "And for that little piece of meddling, I'll make sure you pay in full measure.  Harry, darling."  She turned back to him, stroking his hair.

"Katia." Harry reached unconsciously for her body, but she deftly moved aside.

"Not yet, Harry, not until you've done what Katia tells you to."  Harry blinked behind his glasses, then nodded.

"Anything you say." He replied in a faint voice.  She pointed towards Ron.

"I want you to kill him!"  The command was delivered in a whiplash, no-argument manner, but Harry creased his brow and frowned.

"Kill – Ron?  But Katia, he's my friend."  She shook her head firmly.

"No he isn't, Harry, he's a traitor." She insisted, "He tried to hurt me, to kill me."  Harry's face darkened and he growled threateningly.

"He wants Leandra's Ewer for the Dark Side, Harry, and he won't stop until he has it."  Katia sounded fairly unconvincing to Ron's ears, but he wasn't the one under the spell.

"You must destroy him – now!"  Harry leaped to his feet, reaching for his wand, and advanced on Ron, looking lethally confident, baring his teeth in anger.

Ron sized up the situation carefully, his brain working at lightening speed.  He knew there was no way he could match Harry in a sorcerous duel – he wouldn't last five minutes – and the way Harry was looking at him now, there wouldn't be enough left to bury.  Therefore he had to separate Harry from his wand somehow.  He scratched his head – yes, but how?  The man looked something like a cross between Universal Soldier and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.  Wait!  That was it!  A twisted grin spread across Ron's face as he prepared to embark upon a performance that would win him an Emmy – if he survived to collect it.

Ron stood back and sneered, not having even tried to reach his wand.  Harry carried on snarling and circling.

"So this is how it's going to end, is it Potter?" he began, folding his arms contemptuously, "You using your superior talent to smear me all over the forest floor.  Yeah, great.  Such courage, such skill.  What a big shot you've turned out to be!"  Harry paused briefly, confused.

"Yes, I said big shot." continued Ron, "Just like you were at Hogwarts.  Nobody ever told you this, Harry, but Malfoy had the rights of it back there.  You were just a nobody.  Take away the famous parents and all the hype and what was left?  A nothing, a failure, no good at anything except broomstick flying, and where did that get you?  What good has Quidditch ever done the world, apart from providing it with amusement?  And what use is a seeker?  Seekers aren't even part of the team! – they're just there for show, riding on the backs of the others, something to make the little guy imagine that even he can aspire to be someone.  Well, I've got news for you, Potter."  Ron actually advanced on Harry and started to poke him in the chest.  Katia looked on in astonishment, uncertain as to the way things were developing.

"You thought Cho Chang was your girl, huh?"  Ron laughed, derisively, "She was cheating on you with half the seventh years, she even had a go at me.  But did I tell you?  No, I was too soft to want to dump that on you at the time."

"Cho Chang?" Harry queried, haltingly.  His wand wavered uncertainly.  Katia saw it.

"No, Harry, don't falter.  Kill him now!  He's telling you lies!"  Harry immediately reacted, bringing his wand arm up threateningly.  Sweating with the effort, Ron began again.

"But still, to the victor the spoils, I suppose.  Having conveniently got Cedric killed, you must have figured you deserved to take over where he left off, am I right?"  Without pausing for an answer, Ron plunged straight on, noticing that Harry's teeth were now grinding together.

"And then there's my sister, my dear sweet Ginny." He continued, "I must admit, I thought she'd gone out of her tree hooking up with you, but that's family for you.  Then I found out something really interesting.  Did you know she's getting her daily exercise from someone much more interesting than a personal trainer?"  At this Harry seemed to crack slightly, breathing heavily, narrowing his eyes.  Ron smiled knowingly.

"Yes, Harry.  While you're excavating ancient ruins in Mexico, Ginny's being thoroughly excavated by none other than Marcus Torrence.  Well, it was only to be expected.  After all, he's blonde, beautiful (so I'm told), and a musician to boot.  They'll probably go far together.  Well, at least as far as the next recording session.  Remind me to tell you about Ginny's past before she met David Markland some time – well, I could tell you a few tales about her while she was still living with the pratt, but it depends on how much … ooof!"  Harry had had enough.  Flinging his wand unceremoniously to the ground, he leaped upon Ron knocking him backwards, flailing fists at his face, shoulders, neck, anywhere he could get to connect.  Attaboy, Harry!  Ron cheered silently, fending off the blows as best he could.  Somewhere he could hear Katia screaming in the background, but Harry was lost to her now in a red world of anger and jealousy, just where Ron had wanted him.  When he had complimented Harry on his unarmed fighting, he had meant the tribute seriously, but when push came to shove, Ron knew he had a very considerable edge on his friend – and he meant to use it. 

Quick as lightening, Ron saw an opening and let fly with his right fist.  It knocked Harry clean off his chest and on to the ground, giving Ron time to roll swiftly to one side and gain his footing.  Gritting his teeth, he rounded on Harry and, giving him no time to get up, kicked him several times hard in the ribs, eliciting a deep agonised groan.  Harry staggered to his feet and ran at Ron again.  Ron sidestepped, tripping his friend and grabbing the collar of his shirt and the seat of his pants to lend him extra momentum, sent him crashing head first into the bushes.  He followed, closing in, but Harry seemed to have had enough.  He lay panting, giving the occasional groan as waves of pain washed over him.  Ron crouched down.

"Harry!" he said urgently into his ear, "Harry, snap out of it!  You've got to fight this magic.  Come on, look at me!"  Harry looked up.  His face was a mess, he was bleeding from several scrapes and cuts, and he was covered in mud, but his eyes were starting to clear.

"R- Ron?" he asked, dazedly.  Ron lifted him until he was sitting up.

"Listen, Harry, and try to believe me." he began, "Katia's had you under ensorcellment.  She's a Veela, Harry – or at least she's using Veela magic.  Remember at the Quidditch World Cup?  Those dancers, the effect they had on us?"  Harry was nodding slowly.

"Katia's – like that?"  Ron shook his head.

"I don't know, Harry, but whatever she is, she can use the Veela magic in a very unhealthy way."  Harry paused, puzzled.

"But Ron, she's not part of the Dark Side.  She's protected us all along.  It's only because of her that we got here at all."

"Exactly!"  Ron punched the ground to emphasise his point, "She needed to isolate us, to get us away from any backup, to weaken you until you could be controlled – for the benefit of the Dark Side."  Harry was shaking his head over and over again.

"But she saved my life!" he protested.  Ron nodded vigorously.

"She didn't want you dead, she wanted you pliant – obedient to her will!  Please believe me, Harry.  What about the muggles who attacked us, eh?  Why did she go down first but strangely have no injuries to show for it later?"

"It was a set-up?"  Harry was at last starting to catch on.

"Too right it was, mate!  Good thing she didn't know about your street-fighting skills, or we'd have been toast!"

"But – but why?"  Harry seemed bewildered, shaking his head.  Ron took a breath and spoke rapidly.

"She says it's something to do with this – this mind meld thing you've got going with Ginny.  She calls it a Bond.  You should never have kept quiet about it after it happened, Harry, the two of you should have approached someone for advice.  Apparently, it's almost unheard of for a Bond to happen between two wizards of equal magical abilities."  He stopped to draw breath and Harry looked up at him, suddenly compos mentis.

"Ginny?" he breathed, "Ginny's in danger?"  A cold hand seemed to be trailing down the back of Ron's neck.

"Gods, yes!" he exclaimed in horror, "If they're after you, they've got to be after her too!  Harry, we have to get moving, get help, get home to Ginny.  We've got to find out what's happening!"

Harry's mind was swirling.  He was clambering through the morass as though wading in sticky marshmallow.  He couldn't seem to pull himself out of it somehow.  Flashes of daylight kept stabbing through, but as soon as he tried to focus on them, they disappeared.

"Ginny." He muttered again.  Suddenly a wordless, soundless cry of anguish ripped through the fabric of his brain.  His eyes flew open.  There, it came again. Harry! it screamed, Harry, please! and Harry Potter's mind jerked back into groove.  He sat bolt upright, oblivious to his hurts.

"I'm here, Ginny," he shouted into the wind, "I'm coming home!" 

Ron almost sagged with relief to see the light come back into his friend's eyes.

"Harry," he said urgently, grabbing his friend's shoulders, trying to haul him to his feet, "We've got to get out of here!"

"Not so fast." Katia was standing, her own wand in her right hand, Harry's wand dangling from her left.  Instinctively, Ron's hand went to the sleeve of his shirt, but she was too quick for him.

"Expelliarmus!" she said, almost negligently, and laughed as Ron's wand flung itself out of his grasp and into her hands.  Her smile widened as she saw their uncertainty and indecision.  Like a stage magician, she snapped her fingers and suddenly two cloaked and hooded figures appeared, one either side of her.

"Weren't you calling for reinforcements just a short time ago, Weasley?" she taunted.  Her beautiful face was now twisted with evil glee.  "Oh, but silly me!  I think you had Ministry of Magic Special Forces in mind, didn't you?  Oh well, you win some, you lose some.  However, I think in your case the losing is going to be rather, ah, permanent.  Say your prayers, Weasley!"  The three wizards raised their wands and Ron closed his eyes, not wishing to see the face of Death as it came to claim him.