Chapter Eleven: "The Last Twist of the Knife"
Arthur Weasley was having a bad day, and it had barely
even started. He glanced at his cold
tea and plate of toast now the consistency of old leather, and reluctantly
turned back to the pile of newly-opened owl post littering the kitchen table.
"Why do these things always happen to me?" he muttered,
groping for a quill to scribble on the latest message. Two owls were perched impatiently on the
windowsill, obviously waiting for replies.
As he laboured to complete his messages, two more events occurred to
darken his day. A further owl, unknown
to Arthur, arrowed in through the window to settle on the table, hooting
urgently, and, with a flurry of soot and smoke, three uninvited guests stepped
from the fireplace into the Weasley kitchen.
He blinked wonderingly at two of them, but at sight of the third he
smiled and relaxed.
"Ah, Fred. Just the
man! I'm having real problems keeping
Operations satisfied about that little incident in Kensington last week. Perhaps you could give me a hand. Just a moment." He stood up, craning his
head round the kitchen door, "Molly!
Fred's come for a visit. And
he's brought some friends!"
"Good morning, Mr. Weasley." said Lee, advancing from the
fireplace, pausing to wipe his sooty hand on the seat of his jeans before
offering it to Arthur. The other man's
face suddenly cleared as he shook it.
"Lee!" he exclaimed, "Of course! We hardly ever see you these days. How are you? What are you
getting up to at the moment?"
"I'm very well indeed, Mr. Weasley." began Lee, "I'm still
at the Ministry, you know, but I work so much from home that I don't see many
people outside my own department. Mr.
Weasley, I'm sorry we had to barge in on you like this, but the truth is that
we've discovered something rather …" But Arthur had already switched his
attention.
"And who is this lovely young lady you've brought with you?"
he smiled in Ellen's direction and she also offered her hand to shake.
"My name is Ellen MacBeth, Mr. Weasley. I'm a friend of Fred's – oh, and Lee's too."
she added, glancing diffidently in his direction. "I've recently moved into Harry's House."
"Splendid, splendid!"
Mr. Weasley beamed, "MacBeth, you say.
Really? One of the
MacBeths? Goodness, how incredibly
interesting. You really must tell me
about it in detail some time. So you've
moved in with Harry, eh? Just the thing
for Ginny. You know, she really misses
Hermione, but it can't exactly be helped.
Can't stop these things happening – wouldn't want to, of course. We were delighted when Ron told us that he
and Hermione – Ah, here's Molly now."
Plump, round-faced Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen beaming all over her
face.
"Fred!" she exclaimed, pulling his head down to kiss him
soundly. "You should have said you were coming: I'd have had breakfast ready
for you!" She began to wave her wand in
the direction of the frying pan, when Fred caught her arm.
"Just a moment, Mum." He said, rather more gravely, "I think
Dad had better hear what we've come for before you start cooking. We may not have time to eat it." At Fred's grim tone, his mother's bright
smile faded slightly and Arthur began to look rather anxious.
"It's not about George, is it?" he asked. Fred shrugged.
"I have no idea whether what we have to tell you affects
George or not," he began, "But I'd be very surprised if ultimately it
didn't." The three dragged chairs up to
the table and began to relate what they knew while Mrs. Weasley supplied them
with fresh cups of tea and stacks of fresh toast. At the end of their recital, Arthur paused so long staring into
his cup, that Lee wondered if he had fallen asleep. Finally, he raised his head and exhaled wearily.
"Nothing is ever simple." He murmured, mostly to himself,
then he seemed to snap out of it, "Right, so to put it in a nutshell, the
information that Fred and George brought back from Iran is suspect, therefore
the information from Mexico is also suspect, and you haven't heard from Sirius in
three days to argue the point. Putting
these things together, it's a pretty safe bet that Harry and Ron are in some
sort of danger, not to mention Sirius too, does that about cover it?"
"Yes, sir, but it's not only that." Lee was extremely agitated, "I've tried and
tried to get people to listen to me over this.
Admittedly I didn't have exactly this information before, but even now
it's still only supposition. I could
spend weeks cooling my heels in corridors waiting for people to see me before
anyone takes action. I'm convinced that
this trip was a set-up from start to finish, in which case it may very well be
too late already!"
"I've grasped that, Lee, thank you." replied Arthur in a
crisp tone that few people had heard him use before. He crammed the last piece of toast into his mouth, washing it
down with the dregs of his tea, and turned towards the fireplace.
"I know exactly who's trying to make sure you don't rock the
boat, Lee." He began, "I'm having considerable problems with him myself. I can't make up my mind whether he's doing
it deliberately or if he's just, well, rather foolish and clumsy. I daresay time will tell. However, this is not getting anything done. Fred, I'm about to call in a few
favours." He grinned up at his son, and
for a moment Ellen could have sworn she was looking at George grinning
mischievously at his brother.
"Tantalus Brown has been a thorn in my side for some time."
Arthur continued, giving a flick of his wand towards the empty grate. Instantly red and orange flames leaped into
life.
"He's nominally in charge of my department, you know. Interferes in everything – mostly things
that don't concern him or tasks he thinks should be carried out or reported
differently. My staff have been driven
mad by his continual carping. Well, now
I'm going over his head. We need to get to Harry and Ron fast, but we can't do
it without backup. I'll get us the
muscle, then we'll apparate to Sirius's place – it's called Uinal, isn't it? –
and find out where to go from there. Fred,
take care of that owl for me, would you?"
He turned to the fireplace to make his call, while Fred took the message
off the leg of the by now frantic owl which had started to peck his ears in
frustration at being ignored. Fred's
satisfied smirk at the sight of his father at last breaking out of his box was
very quickly wiped off his face as he read the message.
"Oh, gods!" he whispered, paling visibly. Ellen laid a gentle hand on his arm.
"What is it, Fred!"
"It's George. He's
in serious trouble. Muggle
trouble. This has got to have something
to do with our source in Iran! If
anything happens to George ..." Fred
trailed off, re-reading the message, but his expression boded ill for his
Iranian informant, should they meet again.
"What's happened to him?"
Lee glanced at Ellen's hand. She
pointedly removed it and glared at him.
Fred was too preoccupied to notice.
"He's been arrested.
He's in an Iranian muggle jail.
Luckily, he managed to get word to his contact at the Embassy – that's
who sent the owl." Ellen had never seen
Fred more shaken or more worried.
"I know what those jails are like." He grated out, "I've
seen them – never been in one myself, mercifully – he'll be lucky to get out
alive, particularly if he resorts to magic.
Once they find out he's a wizard, he's dead. I hope to Merlin they've taken away his wand!"
"But what could he possibly do to get arrested?" Fred shrugged.
"This doesn't give details, but the gist is that he offended
against one of their strict religious codes and wound up being challenged by
police. He protested rather too loudly,
I think, and they took him away." He
put the parchment down on the table and snagged his father's quill.
"I have to go to Iran immediately." He told Lee as he wrote furiously on the
parchment, "I can't afford to waste time – George could be in serious
danger. I'm afraid you'll have to deal
with Harry and Ron on your own."
"What?" Lee's jaw dropped, "What sort of a man of action do
you think I am? I'm strictly a backroom
boy, not a mercenary."
"Relax, Lee." Ellen told him, smiling sweetly, "From what I
hear of Arthur's conversation, we'll have plenty of mercenaries to keep the
peace." She turned to Fred, concern etched all over her pretty face.
"Just go," she told him, "As quickly as possible, but please
be careful! We'll explain the situation
to Arthur. Go, on – Go!" Fred nodded, concentrated briefly, then suddenly
winked out. Just as he disappeared,
there was a small disturbance behind them.
Lee and Ellen turned to see Hermione standing in the doorway, clutching
one of the walls for support.
"Phew! I hate
apparating," she exclaimed, putting her hand to her head, "But the fireplace
was in use, and this is urgent."
Looking wildly around the kitchen, she turned to Lee.
"Arthur's obviously busy." she said quickly, "Lee, I've just
had the most extraordinary message from Ron."
Talking rapidly, taking no account of Ellen's unexplained presence, she
related the entirety of Ron's communication.
Lee listened attentively with pursed lips then, as she finished, laid a
comforting hand on her arm.
"At least half an hour ago he was able to call for help." he
said with a faint smile, "Frankly, the scenario is a good deal better than I
feared when I finally found what I had been looking for. However, I think the cavalry is being
assembled as we speak." He looked round
just as Arthur moved away from the fireplace.
"I've managed to bypass a number of very irritating
procedures." He announced, his eyes alight with mischief, "Fortunately I am not
the only wizard interested in muggle artefacts. There have been several occasions in the past when certain
members of Operations might have had a great deal of explaining to do if I
hadn't indulged in a little, ah, creativity in my reports."
"Arthur!" Molly
exclaimed sharply, glaring at him, "I don't remember you ever mentioning this
to me!" For once Arthur stared back
blandly.
"That's not very surprising, my dear," he told her, "Since I
deliberately neglected to tell you the facts – on the grounds that I would
likely have been hung, drawn and quartered on the spot!" Molly's stern face faltered, wavered then
broke into a puzzled, slightly hurt expression.
"Am I really that severe, Arthur?" she asked him in a small
voice.
""Good heavens, no!" Arthur leaped to his feet, in utter
surprise at her reaction. He put out
his arms and drew her into them, kissing the top of her head and murmuring
sweet nothings into her ear. "Molly,
darling." He began, as soon as he could make sense, "If you weren't as strict
as you are, there's no doubt I'd have been drummed out of the Ministry as a
result of my tinkering many years ago.
It's just that on these few occasions, I knew I could benefit from being
owed favours. And this sort of favour
deteriorates in direct proportion to the number of people who know about
it. Am I right, Lee?"
"Absolutely, sir!"
Lee knew where his best interests lay. Finally releasing Molly and returning to the current situation,
Arthur took charge.
"Now," he began, "My colleague in Operations, Caesare
Brookes, is ready and willing to help, as are several of his assistants –
Security Operatives, you know. Serious
muscle, to you and me!" He looked about
him vaguely.
"Where's Fred disappeared to?" Lee coughed and when Arthur turned to him, held out the owl
message wordlessly. Arthur read the
message together with Fred's hurried scrawl, and his expression became grave.
"I should have suspected as much." he muttered, crumpling
the parchment unseeingly. He gathered
his thoughts.
"There's nothing we can do in Iran." He said decisively,
"Fred will have to deal with that one, and I'm sure he will cope
admirably. Now, let's get … Hermione,
my dear! How lovely to see you. What brings you here so early in the
morning? Not more bad news, I
hope?" Hermione gave a small, brave
smile, kissed her father-in-law on the cheek and began to explain once again
the substance of the enigmatic, worrying message from her husband. Arthur was nodding.
"Well, I believe I have more than enough cause to act." he
stated, his jaw setting stubbornly, "My son and his closest friend are on
Ministry business and have sent out an SOS.
If I have cut corners in order to get to them as quickly as possible, so
be it." Abruptly, the cavalry arrived
in the shape of four burly-looking men in fatigues and desert boots. The tallest of the four stepped forward to
grasp Arthur's proffered hand warmly.
His grey eyes glinted with impatience.
"Glad to see you've decided to take the unicorn by the horn,
Arthur." He said, "Been hearing rumours for months about this mission. Never liked the idea, you know. Never could see the point."
"Yes, thank you, Caesare." responded Arthur, his mind on
other things, "Now, did you bring a Portkey, or will we all have to apparate?" Caesare Brookes smiled and held up something
that resembled a worn leather glove.
"This was the only one available." He said, slightly
apologetically, "But I tuned it to Sirius Black's HQ before we left. All we have to do is activate it." Arthur nodded, throwing his worn black cloak
around his shoulders and slipping his wand into a sleeve pocket.
"Very well." he said, "Let's go!"
"Wait!" Seeing what
was about to happen, Lee leaped forward.
"You can't leave me behind – not after all I went through to
isolate the information!" Arthur looked
at him steadily.
"It could get nasty, Lee." He told him, "It might involve
violence, maybe even loss of life. Are
you sure you want to get involved in something like that?" Lee nodded emphatically.
"I've known Harry and Ron forever." He said simply, "I'd
feel like I was running out on them if I just stayed here twiddling my
thumbs." Arthur nodded slowly.
"Very well." he responded.
"And you can just think again if you imagine you're leaving
me behind." The voice was
Hermione's. Arthur stared in
astonishment.
"Now, my dear Hermione," he began, "Taking Lee with us is
one thing, but I hardly think that exposing a young Lady to a potentially
dangerous situation is a good …"
Hermione was having none of this.
"With respect, Mr. Weasley, rubbish!" she responded,
swiftly. "Ron is my husband, and I
think that gives me the right to be with you on this." Arthur gazed at her sympathetically, then
moved to take her by the shoulders.
"Hermione," he began, gently, "I love you like a daughter,
you know that. Ron is your husband and
that gives you the right to follow him wherever he may go – but how do you
think he would feel if you were injured – or even killed? How do you think I would feel? Do you think Ron would ever be able to
forgive his incompetent old father for allowing his wife, the most precious
person in the world to him, to put herself in danger? And with the best will in the world, Hermione, all the people
here are Ministry employees in one way or another. We know what we are letting ourselves in for. You, on the other hand, do not."
"Lee isn't front line material, and neither are you." protested Hermione stubbornly. Arthur smiled.
"Perhaps you are right, but neither of us will distract
Ron's judgment in a situation of danger to the same extent that you would. Please, Hermione – stay here with Molly and
Ellen. Don't risk yourself and Ron by
insisting on coming with us." Hermione
raised her eyes to his face and read only love and concern in his eyes. Her shoulders sagged in defeat and she
lowered her eyes.
"Okay, okay. I'll
stay." she muttered, then looked up at him. "But you had better bring them back
in one piece, you hear?" Arthur smiled.
"You can depend on it, my dear." He replied, then turned to
where Brookes and his colleagues were waiting.
All five wizards reached out to grasp the Portkey, Brookes could be
heard counting, then abruptly they were simply not there any more.
****************************************************
They materialised in blazing sunshine on a dirt road some
yards away from a small building. A
muggle pickup truck stood, badly parked, abandoned to one side, one or two
other dust-covered cars could be seen further back. There was no sign of life.
"Sirius!" shouted Lee, making for the door. Arthur caught his arm and held him back.
"Steady, Lee." He said quietly, "Let the professionals get
on with it – that's what they're here for."
As he was speaking, Brookes was deploying his forces wordlessly and with
the minimum of fuss. They spread out,
wands at the ready, one sprinting around the back of the building to scout out
possible exits, the other two checking the sides. A few seconds later, the first wizard appeared around the side of
the house holding up two fingers. Two
exits. Brookes nodded tersely holding
up three fingers, then he waved one of the others to follow and beckoned the
third to join him. Three minute
rendez-vous. They approached the front
door cautiously. Finding it unlocked,
Brookes gestured to his colleague to cover him and burst in with no warning
whatsoever.
Lee and Arthur stared at the open door, tension
mounting. As it happened, they did not
have long to wait. Brookes reappeared
at the open door beckoning urgently.
They covered the distance at a run.
"He's here." The man told them, briefly, "But I'm not sure
for how long." The main room led
through to a bedroom, rough and ready with little in the way of home
comforts. Stretched on the hard-looking
bed was Sirius. He was clearly unconscious,
grey-faced, sweating and breathing heavily.
He was lying strangely, curled up with his knees hugged to his abdomen,
and when they tried to move him into coma position, he resisted fiercely,
shivering, and shuddering at their touch.
Automatically, Lee reached for a jug of water resting on the table next
to the bed and poured some into a glass.
"Sirius," he said, softly, "Sirius, you should drink. You have a fever." Arthur was creasing his brow, frowning. He looked at Brookes and shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
"What do you think, old friend?" he asked, "What is
this? Illness? Ensorcellment?" The other man was busy taking Sirius's pulse and temperature as
best he could. Lee abandoned his
attempt to get Sirius to drink and made as if to put the glass down when
something struck him. He sniffed,
sniffed again, then brought the glass to his nose.
"Mr. Weasley," he began, a frown beginning to gather on his
face. Arthur waved him away.
"Not now, Lee."
"Mr. Weasley," he insisted, pushing the glass towards
him, "Just take a sniff at this."
Arthur looked at Lee then dipped his head and inhaled slowly, a look of
puzzlement creeping across his face.
"Strange," he muttered, "Some sort of – contamination, do
you think?"
"Hey! Don't touch
that!" They both turned their heads as
Brookes, having paused in his examination of Sirius, grabbed hold of the glass
and set it back on the table.
"But Mr. Brookes," protested Lee, "There's something odd
about that water. It smells
strange." Brookes paused.
"Strange smell, eh?" he repeated, "Some sort of muggle
toxin, perhaps? There's no sign of any
magical interference in the place, no trace of ensorcellment on his body. I wonder …" he trailed off, moving back to
Sirius and bringing his nose close to the other man's face. He sniffed curiously at the rasping breath
and wrinkled his nose.
"Garlic." He muttered, stepping back. "O'Malley!" he barked,
"Check the water supply for interference."
One of his colleagues immediately ran into the kitchen.
"If my nose is correct," he began, "Then this is arsenical
poisoning. Well done, young man, for
spotting it. Sirius Black may be
luckier than he knows – I am the only muggle poisons specialist in the
Ministry, probably in the country. And
I've developed some reasonable antidote charms. Arsenic, for example, usually requires some kind of purgative in
the muggle world to rid the system of its presence. Sometimes an emetic, sometimes a stomach pump, if the patient is
not too far gone. Give me a few minutes
to set the charm properly and I'll remove all traces of that group of toxins
from his system." Brookes walked away,
weighing his wand in his hand and muttering.
O'Malley, the wizard sent to investigate the water supply, returned and,
glancing warily at Brookes, decided to report to Arthur instead. He held out a polythene bag containing small
canister.
"I found this in the water tank, sir." he said, "It's a
slow-release device. Judging by the
amount left in it, it was probably put in there about a week ago." Arthur nodded his thanks and turned to Lee
with a grim expression.
"So someone arranged for Sirius to be slowly poisoned, eh?"
he began, "And with a muggle poison that we were extremely lucky to be able to
identify so quickly. Why? What did Sirius know that was so important
he needed to be silenced?" He began to
search Sirius's desk systematically, looking for something, anything that might
shed some light on the current situation.
Suppressing a faint pang about invasion of privacy, Lee's eyes fell upon
a small pile of computer printout sheets.
Curious. What would Sirius be
doing with something like that?
Scanning through them, he realised, with a shock, that these were muggle
police reports. Curiouser still.
"I reckon I've got it." Brookes had returned to Sirius's
bedside. He raised his wand, frowning
with concentration, and a faint mist started to flow from the tip.
"Purgatio venenum corporalis prorsus mandatum." he
murmured. The mist grew thicker and
flowed inexorably towards Sirius's still form.
As it reached him it divided into separate streams like tentacles,
reaching out to different parts of his body, partially obscuring him from
sight. As they watched, the mist seemed
to change colour, turning a vague sickly green and, amazingly, the expression
of pain seemed to lift from Sirius's face, his body relaxed and a deep sigh was
heard as he sank into a deep, genuine sleep.
The mist hovered briefly then dissipated into the air and Brookes sagged
with relief and exhaustion.
"That'll do it." he told them, "He won't need to be
hospitalised. Of course, he'll feel a
bit wrung out for a few days, but nothing to what he could have been going
through. A few more hours, and – well,
at least we caught it in time, that's the main thing." He turned towards O'Malley.
"And what do we have here then, my old son?" He took the canister in its plastic
protective wrapping and frowned. When
his eyes met Arthur's, they were murderous.
"A coward's trick." He said quietly, "We're looking for
someone who works behind the scenes, I think.
But why?"
"This might have something to do with it, Sir." Lee's face was pale and he was holding the
Police reports. Brookes took them and
began to read, Arthur looking over his shoulder. Their eyes met.
"Well that's it then, isn't it?" Arthur turned and paced the floor, shaking his head. "If the
Ministry had only thought to check this out thoroughly …"
"Then Harry and Ron wouldn't be in the terrible danger they
are currently." The voice was weak, but
still a going concern. Arthur turned to
find Sirius sitting up, deathly pale, weak and unsteady but alive!
"What happened?" he asked.
Arthur tried to push him back down, but Sirius was having none of
it. He shook him off, wincing at the
effort.
"Have you traced Ron and Harry yet?" he demanded,
weakly. Brookes shook his head.
"We've only just managed to save your life." He
replied pointedly. Sirius shook his
head.
"I wasn't the prime target." He grated, "I only merited one
of her little schemes because I knew too much about her. Even then, I didn't know the half of it
until I read those reports. Together
with the information from the New York Wizarding Agency – well, it didn't take a
genius to see why I had to go.
Unfortunately, I didn't know how she was doing it, and when I realised
it was poison, it was too late."
Brookes came over to him.
"You are speaking about the guide, Katia Valentin, are you
not?" Sirius nodded. Brookes pondered.
"Can you give us the information in a nutshell?"
"I certainly can." Ignoring protests, Sirius sat up and swung his legs over the edge
of the bed, shaking his head against the dizziness which threatened to
overwhelm him. O'Mally hesitated, then
handed him a water canteen.
"It's okay, sir." He said, with absolutely no humour, "That
one was filled in England." Sirius gave
him a brief grin, then sank half the contents at one go.
"She's wanted for murder by the muggle authorities." He
explained, "She's also been identified as an associate of Lucius Malfoy and
implicated in many crimes perpetrated by the Dark Side. "Katia Valentin" is merely an alias – she's
known as Lilith, and she's a very powerful witch. She's genuinely half-Mexican, which is presumably why she was
given this job, but her mother is reputed to have been Veela. I can't vouch for the truth of that, but I
can personally attest to her use of Veela magic." He winced, not solely due to physical pain. He started to edge his way off the bed.
"Very well, Sirius." Arthur moved towards him to offer help
if necessary, "Now, we need to get you somewhere safe. Just give us Harry and Ron's location and
we'll take care of them. The important
thing is to get you out of the line of fire."
But Sirius was shaking his head.
He stood up shakily.
"No way." He said quietly, "I have unfinished business with
that homicidal little piece of ass, and I intend to make sure it's finished –
one way or another."
"Sirius, be sensible!"
Arthur knew he was fighting a losing battle but, for goodness sake, the
man had practically been on his deathbed!
Sirius grinned at him, looking more and more like his old self.
"Take your pick, Arthur." He said, lightly, "Take me and
the location – or whistle for both of us."
Arthur sighed: he knew when he was beaten.
******************************************************
The kitchen at The Burrow seemed suddenly very empty. Ellen and Hermione looked at each other and
then at Molly who pursed her lips and shook her head.
"Men's business," she said, dismissively, "But I can
certainly understand why you wanted to go, Hermione. I'm just glad Arthur had the sense not to take you." Hermione sank down in a chair, her head in
her hands.
"I just don't know what to think." she said, without looking
up, "This morning everything's just as normal, researching precedents,
constructing arguments. Then suddenly I
look up, Ron's in the fireplace and the whole world has been turned on its
head. Molly, what on earth is going on?" Between them, Molly and Ellen explained as
best they could. Hermione sighed.
"Molly, do you think I could be very cheeky and ask you for
some breakfast?" she said, with a famished look at the empty plates and cups
the men had left behind them, "I started work very early this morning and I
haven't yet had a chance to get outside any food yet." Molly jumped to her feet.
"Goodness!" she exclaimed, "Where are my manners? I clean forgot you might be hungry too. And I suspect Ellen could do with a little
more, couldn't you dear?" The blonde
witch smiled ruefully.
"At the risk of being thought greedy, yes please!" Molly busied herself with the pots and pans
and soon the delicious smell of frying bacon permeated the kitchen. Ellen looked at Hermione curiously.
"Would you mind answering me a question?" Hermione raised her eyebrows and
waited. Ellen continued.
"We've met only once before, I believe – at Harry's House,
yes?" Hermione nodded.
"Yes," she replied, "Ginny said Harry had spoken to Fred
about their need to fill the house a little after I left, and Fred had
suggested you might like to take a look."
Ellen nodded.
"That's right." Her
pretty face creased into a frown, "Look, I don't quite know how to put this but
– why weren't you surprised to find me here this morning?" This time Hermione's eyebrows almost reached
her hairline.
"I mean, you didn't ignore me or anything – don't get the
wrong idea." Ellen became aware she was babbling, "It's just that you delivered
that incredibly important message from Ron in my hearing without a qualm. I think, in your position, I'd have
wondered, probably out loud, why I was here."
Hermione stared at the other girl for a few moments longer, then allowed
her face to crease into a very small, smug smile.
"If I was going to be totally infuriating," she began,
thanking Molly for the place of eggs and bacon that had just appeared in front
of her, "I would say that I trust the Weasleys and anyone who is present in The
Burrow must be whiter than white." She
took a healthy bite of sausage and paused to chew with evident enjoyment.
"Are you going to be totally infuriating then?" Ellen
asked calmly, letting her own plate remain untouched for the present. Hermione finished her mouthful, then
laughed.
"If I was a couple of years younger I think, yes, I probably
would. But it loses it's entertainment
value after a while when all your friends are seriously fed up with your
continually being a smartass – sorry, Molly."
Fortunately, Molly was attending to the dishes and apparently had not
heard. Hermione chewed and swallowed
another succulent mouthful then caught Ellen's eye and smiled.
"I'm sorry to be a party pooper, but I'm afraid I caught on
to Fred's little game right from the start." she said, slightly shamefaced, "I
was quite sure you were there for a purpose – it all happened far too conveniently
for any other explanation. I thought
the purpose was to safeguard Ginny while Harry was way, for whatever reason the
Ministry considered necessary. I never
imagined Fred was playing a solo hand, nor that you weren't strictly a Ministry
employee. By the way, with regard to
Fred, are you a source, are you his partner, or are you what I believe is known
as an alongsider?" Ellen choked on her
tea.
"Good grief!" she exclaimed, "You make me sound like
something out of a muggle spy story!
Hermione, I'm a colleague of Fred's – no more, no less. I'm his interface into the muggle business
world. I provide him with information
he needs – nothing sensitive: I am, after all, employed by my company – and in
return, he gives me a certain amount of useful stuff the Ministry think should
trickle into the muggle business world.
It's a symbiotic relationship – but it's purely business. We're friends, yes, and we know each other
very well after so many years, but it's never gone any further, and it's never likely
to." She sat back in her chair.
"I guess I could be described as an alongsider at that." She
mused, "If I'm caught doing anything improper or illegal, it's my problem – the
Ministry isn't involved. I merely work
'alongside' Fred, not with him." She
smiled grimly.
"I guess I'm not as good as I think I am." She said
regretfully, "I thought I had all of you fooled."
"Well, you certainly fooled Lee." Hermione forked the last of her bacon into her mouth and sat back
with a satisfied sigh. Ellen sighed
too, but for other reasons.
"Yes, I did." she agreed, her smile fading. Suddenly, she wasn't hungry.
A small noise from the fireplace attracted their attention
and both they and Molly Weasley gasped as a small redheaded figure climbed
slowly out of the grate and stood staring.
"Ginny!" exclaimed Molly, rushing to her daughter's side,
"Oh, Ginny! You must have heard! It's okay, darling – your father's summoned
reinforcements and he's gone to help them.
They'll be alright." Ginny
didn't seem as though she was taking anything in at all. She looked dazed, preoccupied, almost as
though her thoughts were not her own.
"Sit down, dear." After hugging her daughter's unresponsive
body, Molly urged her down into a kitchen chair and set about putting the kettle
on to boil and the frying pan back on the heat. Hermione reached out for her friend's hand. It was as cold as ice. She shot a worried look at Ellen which the
other girl returned.
"Ginny," Hermione tried, "Are you alright?" At the sound of Hermione's voice, Ginny
jerked and seemed to wake up. She
turned wide, startled eyes on her friend, looking like a deer caught in
headlights.
"Hermione?" the word was whispered. Hermione grasped her friend's hand tightly.
"Yes, it's me, Ginny." She replied, "Whatever has happened,
you're safe now." She took the
unresisting girl into her arms and held her, trying to impart some warmth to
her body. She turned worried eyes
towards the blonde girl.
"Ellen, could you get a blanket or something." She said,
urgently, "I think she's in shock."
Ellen nodded and rose from the table.
"Ginny," began Hermione again, "Ginny, what has happened to
you? Please, you must tell me or I
can't help you, none of us can." Ginny
was quiet for a long moment, then mechanically she reached out for Hermione's
mug of tea. There was a long pause,
during which Ellen returned with a crocheted blanket. She draped it around the red-haired girl's shoulders and sat down
next to her. Molly quietly pushed a
second mug of tea and a plate of toast in front of her daughter and looked into
her face worriedly.
"What's wrong with her, Hermione?" The other girl shook her
head, completely at a loss. Ginny gave
a sudden shudder and dropped the empty cup on to the table. The noise seemed to rouse her.
"Hermione?" she said again, "Ellen? But I wanted to get to The Burrow!"
"This is The Burrow, Ginny." Hermione explained gently,
"Your mother's here, but everyone else has gone – well, they've been sent
somewhere on Ministry business." Ginny
stared at Hermione for a long time, then she quietly began to eat her
breakfast.
The meal seemed to bring Ginny a little more to
herself. Her hands stopped shaking, a
little colour returned to the pale cheeks and her eyes became rather more
alive, although their usual sparkle was noticeably absent. Once she had finished her meal, she was
looking altogether more like her usual self.
"I'm sorry," she buried her face in her hands and sighed
deeply, "I've been – a bit confused.
Nothing that a few nights' unbroken sleep won't help." Her mother looked anxiously into her face.
"Are you sure that's all, dear?" Ginny nodded wearily.
"Too much hard work and partying, burning the candle at both
ends. Success has gone to my
head." She smiled ruefully, "Seriously,
Mum, I'm okay for now. I need to
rearrange my life a bit – you know, take a little more time out. It's no big deal." Molly didn't look entirely convinced, but Ginny had said enough
to satisfy her, at least for the present.
However, Ginny had other ideas.
"Hermione," she said urgently while Ellen and her mother
were clearing away the dishes, "I know I'm not making much sense at the moment,
but I really need to talk to you – alone."
Hermione considered.
"We could go for a walk in the garden." She offered, "We
could go check that the perimeter gate is closed – would that do?" Ginny
nodded, obviously holding her control by a fairly slim margin. Hermione approached Ellen and talked with
her in low tones. Ellen nodded twice
and turned back to the dishes, engaging Molly in gentle conversation about
houseplants. Hermione went back towards
Ginny and took her arm to help her from the chair. Seeing the movement from the corner of her eye, Molly turned to
address her daughter.
"Oh, Ginny, no!" she exclaimed, "You really should stay
sitting, or even lying, down in case you have another strange turn. You may look a little better, but you can
never tell." Ginny gave her a wan smile.
"It's okay, mum." She replied, "Hermione and I are going to
take a slow walk in the garden to check the gate is closed. I promise I won't do anything strenuous, and
we won't be long." Molly remained far
from convinced.
"Well, if you're sure." She returned, doubtfully. Ellen tactfully initiated a conversation
about Wizarding Radio and successfully distracted her long enough for the two
girls to make a tolerably swift exit.
After ten minutes of slow strolling and desultory
conversation, Hermione was beginning to wonder why Ginny had asked her to come
outside. The weather was not looking
wonderful – rain clouds were beginning to gather on the horizon, and a nippy
little breeze had sprung up.
"I'm sorry, I don't know any subtle way of beginning this."
Ginny suddenly began in a rather high, panic-stricken voice. "I've been – I've been ensorcelled." Hermione's jaw dropped.
"Ensorcelled?" she responded, "But how – how do you
know? And how strong is the
spell?" Ginny swallowed convulsively.
"It was Marcus." She began in a low voice. Hermione's lips set in a thin line.
"And what sort of spell did he use?"
"A – a love potion."
A gasp.
"An illegal ensorcellment?
How in Merlin's name did a musician get hold of something like
that? Good grief, Ginny. That's a very serious allegation." The red-haired girl was nodding her head miserably.
"I know, I know." She moaned, "I've been such a fool for not
spotting it in the first place."
"The ensorcellment?
But how could you have?" Ginny
was shaking her head violently.
"No, not the spell – Marcus!" Hermione felt as though she had opened a 365-page crime novel at
page 200. She took a deep breath.
"Ginny, don't you think you should explain a little more
clearly?" Her friend nodded and
swallowed nervously again.
"Hermione, Marcus Torrence is – is Draco Malfoy." There was a long silence.
"Malfoy?" Hermione
breathed at length. Ginny was nodding
furiously.
"Yes, yes." she insisted, "He used a glamour, but he forgot
to adjust it to take mirrors into account.
I spotted his reflection in a window, and I challenged him. I should never have been so foolhardy, but
he already had me under his influence, so I guess I was partly responding to
the spell even then." Hermione took
another deep breath and took her friend by the shoulders.
"Ginny," she said slowly and carefully, "Begin at the
beginning and tell it through like it was.
Don't stop and don't leave anything out. I don't care if we have the mother of all thunderstorms out her –
just tell me!" Ginny nodded, wide-eyed,
and began her story.
Most of the basic outline Hermione already knew. Ginny had been free with her opinions when
she had been working with Marcus, and Hermione had most often been the whipping
boy when she chose to vent her spleen. However,
the events of the past few hours eclipsed everything either of them could have
imagined. Ginny closed her eyes and
remembered …
*********************************************
Her overwhelming recollection was one of total, overriding
passion. It was a hunger so intense it
seemed to blot out everything else, everyone else in the world, but at the same
time, it was oddly empty, soulless, without any genuine object. Having experienced one matchless passion in
her life, Ginny was aware that what she was feeling now was false, but the knowledge
did not give her power: no, almost the opposite. As Marcus – no, Draco had begun to touch her, a
devastating wave of desire almost obliterated any capacity for coherent
thought. All that was left in her mind
was Draco – the heat of his body, the scent of his sweat, the taste of his mouth. She tried to gain control of her mind by
fixing her attention on something – anything – other than the effect Draco's
kisses and caresses were having. She
thought of the recording studio and big, bluff Ernie MacMillan, she thought of
Hermione and lunch at Giovanni's, she thought of Ron and Harry in the Mexican
rainforest – nothing worked. She tried
again: Harry's smile when he looked at her, the touch of his hand, his face
during the throes of passion. Whoa, bad
idea. The distraction had only served
to take her mind off the hook, allowing her body to take over – and had it
ever! She and Draco seemed now to be
trying to climb inside each other's clothes, tearing at buttons, zippers,
covering every inch of exposed skin with hands or lips. He had manoeuvred her into his bedroom and
pushed her down on her back against a clean, though unmade bed, falling heavily
over her body in his frenzy to get at her.
His lips travelled feverishly over her face and neck and
further, as if he was trying to map out her body by touch alone. She dragged her fingernails lightly over his
shoulders and down his spine, making him arch into the caress and groan with
unexpected longing.
"Ginny," his voice was ragged in her ear, his hands moving
rapidly, "Gods, what you do to me! It –
it's not supposed to be like this, I'm not supposed to feel …" he broke off
suddenly, levered himself away from her and stared uncertainly into her
face. Ginny, too far gone to care,
could only moan in protest at his withdrawal.
She reached mindlessly for him, but he resisted, gazing at her with a
mixture of puzzlement and horrified disbelief.
Caught like that – pliant at the peak of arousal, clothing in disarray,
tantalisingly open to him – she was achingly beautiful. Draco should have thanked his lucky stars
that his long-planned task was a pleasant one and gone to it with a will. Instead, he found himself hesitating on the
edge of success, wavering on the brink, something preventing him from fulfilling
his destiny. Ginny opened her huge,
bright eyes and fixed them on him purposefully.
"Make love to me, Draco." she whispered, and he gasped as a
sudden rush of anticipation went straight to his groin. Then with a brutal emotional wrench, he
turned his head away.
"I can't do this." he muttered, climbing off her prone body,
"The Devil help me, I can't do it!" He
snatched at the zip of his trousers, reaching for his discarded shirt.
"Draco?" Ginny's
glassy gaze now held puzzlement. She
made no attempt to straighten her clothes.
"Draco, aren't we going to …"
"No, we're not!" he shouted, his throat so tight with
tension he could scarcely get the words out.
Impatiently, he thrust his shirt into the waist of his trousers and
started to search for his shoes.
"But Draco …" Ginny, still mesmerised, sat up from the midst
of the tangled bedclothes. Draco turned
to her irritably and jerked his eyes away from her body.
"For Pete's sake, get dressed!" he barked, "You'll regret it
if you don't." He strode out of the
bedroom and returned moments later with his wand. Ginny had not moved in the interim. He shrugged and gritted his teeth.
"Don't say I didn't warn you." He muttered between his teeth
and raised his wand.
"Finite incantatem." he declaimed quietly, put the
wand away in a sleeve pocket and walked out of the bedroom.
For Ginny, it was as if a mist she had previously neither
seen nor felt had suddenly been lifted.
She knew down to the last detail what she had done and also what she had
been about to do. She had vivid
memories of the driving emotion and lack of control, the unquenchable craving
for Draco's body, his touch, his kiss – but she could no longer feel it. She was free of the spell – free! She made as if to get up off the bed and get
the hell out of Draco's flat while the going was good, until she realised her
state of undress. Colour flooded her
face as she hastily refastened hooks and buttons, and straightened her
hair. She stood in the bedroom
listening. A few faint sounds told her
Draco was in the kitchen. She could
just walk out and he would be none the wiser.
Carefully she padded feather-footed through the hallway and took hold of
the latch – it was unlocked! She was
about to open it and bolt in search of a place she could safely apparate from,
when she paused and looked back.
Grateful as she was for the reprieve, why had Draco nullified the
enchantment? Why hadn't he gone
ahead and enslaved her as he was supposed to?
What sort of punishment awaited him for failure, and who was he
responsible to? She shook her head in
bewilderment and, mentally calling herself seven kinds of a fool for taking the
same risk a second time, she took her hand away from the lock and went back
down the hall in search of her would-be captor.
She knocked on the kitchen door.
"Draco?" there was no answer. She pushed the door open and stepped into the kitchen. Draco was alternately packing various items
ranging from racks of potions bottles to saucepans into several large cardboard
boxes, and taking large gulps from a mug of hot coffee. He looked up as she came in, blue eyes
glittering with a curiously naked expression.
"Why are you still here, Weasley?" he snarled, throwing a
small cauldron, a fork and an electric toaster into a box together, "You're
free from the spell, I haven't harmed you, so why don't you just go home to
Potter and forget all about this." She
shook her head.
"You know I can't do that, Draco." She replied softly, then
nodded towards the coffee pot, "Could I have some of that?" He glanced at the
pot and shrugged.
"Help yourself." She
located a mug and filled it, going to the fridge for some milk. She leaned against the counter sipping the
coffee, which was surprisingly good, and wondering what on earth she was doing
here. She should be miles away by now,
thankfully celebrating her lucky escape.
She shrugged and looked at the man who would have been her master.
"Draco, do you mind if I ask you something?"
"Fire away." Without looking up, "Don't expect me to answer
them though, and even if I do, don't cry if they're not to your liking." She quirked her eyebrows and sighed but it
would have to do.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm packing, what does it look like?" A flash of anger, "I can't stay here now –
you not only know who I am, you know what I am as well. I'm not so trusting that I believe you'll
keep quiet about this – for old time's sake."
Biting sarcasm, but Ginny didn't allow herself to rise to it.
"How did you cast the spell? You said it was in two parts and that I had been under your
influence for quite a while. But I
really only remember responding to it after you – after you kissed me for the
first time." Draco paused in his
packing and leaned on the table, finishing his coffee.
"You had been primed for that weeks ago." He told her, "The
spell works mainly by using a potion, but it's a rather strange one. Once it's fully fixed, there's no antidote,
but until then, it behaves like a charm or a hex –it can be deactivated very
easily, as you just saw. My touch –
sweat or saliva, whatever – provided the chemical to activate the potion. A mutual exchange of touching and – other
chemicals, shall we say, would have fixed the spell, forever." He sneered at her.
"You were taken before you even knew who Marcus Torrence
was." He boasted, "I put the stuff in your coffee the first time we met." Ginny went back in her memory to that first
meeting at Wizarding Radio – recognising Justin, meeting the others, her
argument with Octavia over whether it was a good idea or not. Octavia?
Wasn't it Octavia who set this whole thing up? Her eyes suddenly bright with enlightenment, she turned back to
Draco.
"And did you concoct the potion, or did you need Octavia's
help for that?" She held her
breath. Draco made a rude noise.
"Octavia? Octavia
couldn't brew a decent cup of coffee, let alone … " he stopped, his eyes wide
with shock.
"You tricked me." he whispered in outrage, "Get out of
here! Out! Out, now!" Ginny shook
her head.
"One more question, Draco." He was really rattled now, she
was likely to get the truth.
"Why didn't you screw me back there in your bedroom?" she
stared innocently into his eyes, "I mean, I was practically begging you for it,
never mind the fact that you had been working towards that very object for
weeks. Now, I have no illusions as to
my physical charms, but I am at least young, slim and attractive enough for
stage work. In other words, not totally
repulsive, whatever your particular likes or dislikes. So why?"
Draco smirked.
"Just don't fancy you, Ginny, that's all. Sorry and all that, but that's life."
"Rubbish!" Ginny was
angry, "After all that planning and flawless acting, you're not going to make
me believe that when push came to shove, you just couldn't deliver?" Draco swelled with anger.
"How dare you?" he hissed, "I have no problem on that score,
I can assure you. No problem at all!"
"Then what?" He
looked away. She caught him by the
shoulders.
"Draco, look at me!"
Reluctantly, he raised his eyes to hers.
"Now why?" said
gently, without anger, without blame. Draco took a breath, opened his mouth to speak, then sighed in
exasperation and twisted free.
"I didn't expect you to be – like you are." he told her
almost angrily, "When we were at school, you and your brothers, and Potter –
always ganging up on me." Ginny was
astonished.
"Malfoy, as I remember, it was always you who started
it. Remember the business with Rita
Skeeter? You actually engineered that little scam." Draco was
shaking his head.
"You had allies, Weasley," he
shouted, "You had a big, protective family all around you. I had no-one – just Crabbe and Goyle, and
they only supported me because I'm a Malfoy.
They looked on it as an obligation!"
"Maybe that's because you
couldn't be bothered with anyone you considered your inferior!" she lashed
back, "If you'd been kinder to people, they'd have been kinder to you!" She stopped, puzzled.
"Malfoy, what's this got to do
with our current situation?" She
watched the anger drain out of Draco's face and he looked away. When he next spoke, it was in a much quieter
voice.
"I thought I'd feel just the same
about you as I had at school." He began, "I assumed I'd hate you because of
your family, your mudblood-loving sympathies, your relationship with Potter."
He almost spat Harry's name out in disgust, then he raised his eyes to hers,
the blue of clear autumn skies, high and rare with a hint of frost.
"I didn't expect to like working
with you." He said softly, "I could never have imagined how much I would enjoy
rehearsing with you, discussing the music, talking together. I never anticipated that you would stimulate
my imagination and my intellect the way you did. I didn't expect to like being Marcus Torrence." There
was a pause, then he shrugged.
"But that's all
over now, finished." He said briskly, "The band can find itself another male
vocalist – I hope he's crap!" But Ginny
was looking pensive.
"You spared me just out of pity
then?" she asked him, staring thoughtfully straight into his face. Draco's eyes flickered, his mouth worked,
then abruptly he pulled out his wand and pointed it straight at her.
"Stupefy!" he declaimed, then
darted forward to catch her before she fell.
With a strength at odds with his slender appearance, Draco carried Ginny
back into the bedroom, settling her on the bed and throwing the quilt over her
to keep her warm. His hands lingered
just a little too long as he tucked the bedclothes around her. He snatched them away impatiently. Without a backward glance, Draco left the
bedroom. A very short while later, No.
4 Mendacium House, Mornington Crescent betrayed no sign whatsoever that Marcus
Torrence, or indeed Draco Malfoy, had ever existed.
*********************************************************
"I should have seen it coming." Ginny sighed and briefly
rested her forehead in her hands. "When I woke up, it was only about half an
hour later, but he'd systematically stripped the place and gone. I couldn't even get a Tracer Charm to
stick." Hermione was silent for a
moment, processing all this startling information.
"Is that everything?" she asked, sensing a slight tension
in her friend. Ginny shifted her feet
awkwardly.
"Well, not quite." she replied, in a subdued tone,
"There's this." She held up a small
item and placed it carefully on Hermione's outstretched palm.
"It was lying on the pillow next to me when I woke up."
she explained, "I'm not sure what it is – whether it's anything more than it
appears, I mean – but I don't think it's dangerous." Hermione looked up from examining the object.
"How can you be sure of that?" she demanded. Ginny shrugged.
"Call me soft and sentimental if you like," she said
quietly, "But I think it's a peace offering." She reached out her hand and took
the object, putting it quickly into her pocket. Hermione was about to protest, but Ginny broke in to her thoughts
before she could give that one voice.
"Why didn't he finish the job, Hermione?" she whispered,
"I put myself in his power, and I unmasked him. Surely he can't think I'll keep silent about his identity?" Hermione gave her a very old-fashioned look,
but wisely decided to hold her tongue as one glance at her friend's face told
her she was very close to breaking point.
As she looked, Ginny's lower lip began to tremble with reaction.
"Oh, this is all so horrible!" she began in a choked
voice, "Just when everything seemed to be working out beautifully, the world
gets turned on its head again. And
what's happening to Harry? And Ron? I've been so wrapped up in my own affairs,
yet again, that it's only just penetrated: if I've been under attack because of
this mind-bond thing that Harry and I have got going, then he must be in danger
too!" Hermione's face must have given
more away than she had bargained for.
Ginny's eyes widened.
"They are in danger, aren't they? That's why Daddy's gone to Mexico!" Hermione put her arms around Ginny.
"It's okay – they'll get to them." She soothed, "Sirius
hasn't answered calls for more than forty-eight hours, so they've had to go to
him first to find out what's going on, but we should hear later on." Ginny's face told her friend that very
little of that had been taken at face value.
Abruptly, Ginny buried her face in Hermione's shoulder and sobbed. She raised her face to the sky.
"Harry!" she called, miserably, "Harry, where are you?" In agony, "Harry! Harry, please!"
And in her mind, infinitely soothing, infinitely calming,
came the familiar mental presence, fleeting but firm:
"I'm here, Ginny." It said, "I'm coming home!" And she believed him.
********************************************
Oh, for Merlin's sake, get it over with! Ron could only believe that Katia was
stringing out his demise to force him to grovel. The conviction overcame all thoughts of fear, replacing them with
anger. He opened his eyes, straightened
his spine and stared her in the face, determined to deny her the sadistic
pleasure she seemed to draw from watching him crawl.
"What are you waiting for?" he shouted, his voice rather
higher than usual but still strong, "You've finally got me at your mercy. You can't risk keeping me alive, you know
I've got nothing left to lose. Get
on with it!" Katia smirked as Ron's
voice finally shook, betraying his fear.
"So brave, so courageous!" she purred silkily, "Yet death
still holds as much terror for you as the lowest, meanest coward. How does it feel to know you are going to
die in the next few moments, Weasley?
That your body will be tossed in the nearest bog to be gnawed by crocodiles
until all that is left of you is a few disconnected bones?" Ron was silent. At his side, Harry stirred, shaking his head in confusion, trying
to make sense of the last few minutes.
Katia kept her attention on Ron.
Still smiling, she moved a step towards him. Her bodyguards moved with her, still pointing their wands at Ron,
awaiting the final command.
"So look where all your fine upper-class education, your
ancient, pureblood family, and your much-vaunted auror training have got you
now, eh?" she mocked, "Bested, defeated by a mongrel, a no-good, illegitimate
freak, a half-breed, outcast by my own people, the spawn of ignorance and an
ill-considered love charm! Well, I have
shown them I was someone to be reckoned with.
My powers are so strong that were you to challenge me, I could crush you
with a single spell!" Ron kept his eyes
firmly on Katia and concentrated on keeping his face rigidly still, but at his
side he could hear the same curious hissing sound Harry had made earlier in
their trip, just outside the Lost City.
Hope flooded through Ron like an Enervating potion: Harry was speaking
to the snakes, summoning them, asking for their assistance.
"But you never had any formal training." Ron replied,
desperate to keep Katia's attention on himself, "How could you have developed
such power as you claim without assistance?"
Katia spat at him.
"You think your way is the only way to power?" she
shouted, her eyes flashing dangerously, "The best and most powerful teachers do
not bury themselves in schools, they are out in the world, waiting to be found
by those who want to learn. I found my
teachers, and I learned well." Keeping
his eyes fixed on the woman in front of him, Ron nevertheless could sense
rather than see careful, stealthy movement in the trees behind Katia's two
bodyguards.
"Who were these teachers, then?" Ron asked, aware that his
play for time was all too transparent, "I've never heard of anyone more
powerful than Albus Dumbledore, and he did indeed chose to 'bury himself' at
Hogwarts." As he spoke, the movement coalesced
into a number of large, gleaming, black coils, descending smoothly, silently
down the trunks of the trees.
"Dumbledore?
Hah!" Katia gave a derisive
laugh, "A pathetic, muggle-loving fool who could have been great if he'd fixed
his sights on an empire more worthy of attention than a mere school!"
"Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of his age!" Ron
shouted, genuinely angry now.
"Then why is he dead?"
Katia's sneering tone stabbed back at him, "In the end, he was defeated
through his compassion – a stupid weakness which … What? What is happening?" Working with consummate co-ordination, the
silent coils in the branches revealed themselves as two very large boa
constrictors which abruptly fell on Katia's bodyguards, effectively
immobilising them amidst terrified shouts and screams. Katia turned in indecision, momentarily at a
loss. Ron seized his chance and quickly
groped at his belt for the small sling he had purchased in Bogsworthy &
Trunks an eternity ago, or so it seemed.
Stooping for pebbles for ammunition, he took careful aim at the first
bodyguard and let fly, bringing the evil wizard down with one blow to the
head. Without pausing to examine his
handiwork, he took aim at the other struggling man and successfully despatched
him in similar fashion. Katia, who had
been debating the best method of killing the snakes without harming her allies,
was absolutely furious to see them knocked unconscious before she could help
them. Almost beside herself with rage,
she turned upon Ron and raised her wand again.
This time there would be no messing about – she meant business.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." The voice was Harry's, and it contained just
enough sharpness in the tone to make her pause. There in front of her were two black snakes. They were smaller than the boa constrictors,
but their lack of size was more than made up for by their threatening attitude
and obvious fangs.
"Coral snakes." Harry explained in a didactic tone of
voice, "You might remember meeting one of them before. Extremely venomous, even to witches. Two of them means that if you take out one,
the other will get you. And
unfortunately for you, Katia, I have the only antivenin." The woman paused briefly to consider her
situation, then lowered her wand in defeat.
The look she directed towards Harry made Ron shiver in his shoes. He remembered the Veelas they had seen at
the Quidditch World Cup the summer before their fourth year at Hogwarts and how
they had reacted when their wishes had been thwarted.
At that moment, the clearing suddenly seemed full of people. Ron became dimly aware of his father and
Sirius arriving with a number of khaki-clad companions who immediately took
charge of the situation. Caesare
Brookes deployed his men quickly, barking orders, sweeping the area for further
danger and, finding none, quickly trussing up the two unconscious
bodyguards. Katia was still being
menaced by the coral snakes, until Harry spoke to them gently, thanking them
greatly for their help and allowing them to depart back to their homes. Brookes disarmed her, returning Harry's and
Ron's wands to them, and placed a pair of handcuffs over her wrists. Arthur approached Ron and Harry with, to
their amazement, tears in his eyes. He
hugged both of them roughly.
"I thought we'd lost you," He said in a choked voice, "And
we almost lost Sirius too."
"It was thanks to you, Arthur, that I survived the
experience." Sirius broke in to add his greetings to Arthur's. He gave them each a searching look.
"You weren't the only ones to fall foul of Miss
Valentin." Sirius walked over to where
two of Brookes's men were guarding Katia.
"I've had previous encounters with this creature," he
began, "I won't call her a lady, because she isn't. It's only recently I started to seriously suspect that she might
be something other than she represented herself." With a swift movement, he seized her by her hair and pulled until
their faces were inches apart.
"You're in the pay of Lucius Malfoy, aren't you?" he said,
quietly, menacingly, "You always were, right from the start. That's where you got your training – through
him, through the Dark Side. Isn't that
right? Isn't it?" He shouted, yanking her hair even harder
when she refused to answer. Scowling
fiercely, she spat in his face. Sirius
abruptly let her go and groped for a cloth.
"Leave her, Sirius."
Arthur quietly proffered a handkerchief, "She's no good, you know. Rotten to the core." Sirius nodded, wiping his face, but his eyes
were bleak.
"I've known her a long time." He said bitterly. "It's hard
to believe she was always in the pay of the other side. I'm surprised I've lasted this long, I
should have been dead years ago on her past record." He sighed and handed the handkerchief back to Arthur, looking
into his face.
"Thanks." He said sincerely. Arthur smiled, patting him on the back.
"You're very welcome." he replied then, squaring his
shoulders, he turned back to the group who seemed to be awaiting his
instructions.
"Okay, everyone." He said wearily, "Let's go home."