Disclaimer: Neither Camille nor Quill claim ownership of any of the characters associated with J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. We unfortunately, do not posses the amazing literary genius to create such an amazing world or plot line. We only claim our original characters and our plot line. Please do not sue us, Camille is a poor college student, and Quill isn't any better off either.
Summary: When the Minister's life is threatened, Harry, Hermione, and Ron pull 24 year-old Ginny into a high stakes game of life or death, where much more is at risk than what they originally believed.
Thanks: We'd like to thank AngieJ for Beta reading this for us, although we were never able to receive the edited copy due to e-mailing problems. Hopefully that will change in the future.
"Ginny, over here a minute, these forms, they need - "
Ginny held up an impatient hand and continued walking down the blue carpeted corridor, her heeled dress-shoes making no noise of her procession.
"I need Minister Será to sign these. They need to be signed today!" pressed a rather plump middle-aged woman named Morgan Mitchell, who shoved a pile of manila folders into Ginny's outstretched arms.
"Umpf," Ginny breathed as her arms fell with their weight. "What are these?" she asked impatiently, casting a patronizing glance down at the papers.
"They're regarding the upcoming International Wizarding Nations Summit. You know Britain is hosting it again, Gin. We need Minister Será's approval to change some of the design plans to the Bearet Convention Center," Morgan said. "You can have the wonderful job of getting her to sign them."
Ginny looked up quickly, her brown eyes flashing, and groaned.
"Don't tell me she's at it again," Ginny moaned, her voice low, as if asking the great wizards of the past to somehow interrupt the flow of time. Morgan cast a glance down the corridor, and once she was satisfied that no one was in sight, leaned closer to Ginny, dropping her voice.
"She was here at five, that's what the guards said, cussing up a storm. Then whatever had made her angry was only accentuated by the fact that she had just a little trouble getting the front doors to open so she cursed them."
Ginny raised her eyebrows.
"So that's what happened to the front doors. I was wondering why they were being replaced. That bad, eh, that they had to literally put up new ones?" Ginny asked, her eyes flitting down the hall.
"That bad, and it's your bad luck you got stuck with her. There was a reason no one wanted the job, you do know that, right?" Morgan asked, reaching up and pushing her graying brown hair out of her eyes.
"Hey now, no insulting family, that's too cheap," Ginny exclaimed, shifting her weight, trying to get a better grip on her foot tall stack of files.
Morgan smiled sympathetically. "Just be happy you're not family by blood," she said, and then turned and walked back towards her office, her dark maroon robes falling several inches too short.
Ginny shook her head and proceeded down the corridor, smiling at her various associates.
"Good morning, Miss Weasley."
"Good morning, Dr. Kent," Ginny called as the head of the Department of Malady Corrections walked by. After a few minutes of hasty hellos and sharp turns, Ginny reached her destination, the Department of the Minister of Magic. She pushed her way through the wing's door.
"Ah, Ginny, looking stunning, new robe?"
"Of course, Tatiana, there was a sale at Madam Malkin's over the weekend," Ginny said to the tall secretary on her left. Tatiana smiled and stood up, several folders clutched in her hands.
"For the Minister, Ginny. They just came in, she'll want to see them."
Tatiana placed the folders atop Ginny's growing pile and smiled. "Good luck, Gin. And keep a good, safe distance, perhaps she'll miss your robe then if she throws her tea cup at you."
Ginny paled and then rolled her eyes. "I take it that's happened already today?" she asked. "Tell me, which of my three genius associates managed to become her target this morning?"
Tatiana sat down and fluttered her eyelids behind her small oval glasses. "Of course it would be the only person who'd cut straight to the chase and tell her exactly what was going on, whether the Minister wanted to hear it or not," Tatiana replied delicately.
"Hermione!" Ginny groaned, "What am I going to do with you?" Ginny shook her head and strode towards the closed door at the end of the corridor.
"Remember, in case of flying objects, duck and cover!" Tatiana called after her.
Ginny scowled. "Duck and cover," she mumbled as she pushed her way into her office.
Her office wasn't something to brag about. It was fairly small with oak paneling and a dark burgundy carpet that made her feel as if she were walking atop blood. On the west wall was a large window, the shades already drawn to reveal the rolling landscape lying past the Ministry. Ginny's desk was on the right, the tops lined with different files, Muggle post-it notes attached to the top of them, indicating their respective purposes. Pushed to the corner of the desk was her Muggle laptop, which she thankfully rarely had to use: She couldn't do much more than turn it on and open the word processor.
Ginny walked right through and stopped at the closed door on the opposite side. She cast a glance at the gold nameplate and then softly kicked the door, unable to spare an arm to knock.
"It's Ginny, Wynne."
"Coming, coming"
Ginny heard footsteps and suddenly the oak door wrenched open and she found herself face to face with her sister-in-law, the Minister of Magic, Wynne Será. Much to Mrs. Weasley's dislike, Wynne hadn't taken the Weasley name, arguing that she was too internationally established to make such a change manageable.
A fair woman, with long amber hair swept into a neat bun, stood in the doorframe, her rectangle turtle-shell glasses hanging halfway down her nose, and small diamond studs protruding from her ears. Minister Será stepped back from her doorway, her majestic purple robes hanging lopsided on her body, as if she had put them on in a very dark room.
"Tough morning, Wynne?" Ginny asked, sweeping into the room.
"Damn that brother of yours, I'd be doing just wonderful had it not been for his incessant snoring," Wynne grumbled, her dark brown eyes narrowing as she slammed the door behind her. Several of the portraits, all of former Ministers, shuddered on their magical mounts. Ginny deposited the papers onto the mahogany desk that stood in the center of the room and turned around, her eyebrows raised.
"I don't remember Bill ever snoring" she began, but Wynne had taken that moment to finally take notice of the stack of files and threw her hands up in exasperation, pursing her red lips together in distaste.
"And what are all these? I already have enough to do today!"
Wynne strode over to her desk, yanked out her expensive executive chair and collapsed into it.
"It seems that there have been some design flaws in the Bearet Center. They need your approval to contract the designers to fix them," Ginny said, reaching down and pulling a quill from its holder. "I believe, Wynne, that you'll want to do this straight off; you do have several out of the office appointments to attend today."
Wynne looked up, a bemused expression on her face. "I do?" she asked, reaching for the quill and opening the first manila folder.
"Yes, Wynne, you do. First off is a meeting at Hogwarts with Headmistress McGonagall, concerning the new opening on the Board of Governors."
"I thought that was tomorrow," Wynne muttered, her tongue protruding slightly from between her teeth as she signed the first parchment in the folder.
Wynne Será was definitely not the most polished Minister of Magic that Great Britain had ever seen. She was quite tall and formidable, always intimidating most men she met. She was short and to the point, didn't care about what would be said about her often risqué speeches, and she dressed in a more showy style than most politicians did. However, despite this, the fact remained that she was the youngest Minister ever, and at 40, she had made quite the
name for herself politically.
"I heard that Hermione Granger was here to see you bright and early this morning," Ginny said, a hint of amusement in her voice. She was now standing opposite Wynne, her legs spread slightly apart, gripping a large appointment book to her chest. Wynne looked up, a sheepish expression on her face.
"Yes, well, I'm afraid a little too early," she said, quickly averting her eyes back to the newest piece of parchment.
"And the reason for her visit?" Ginny pressed.
"Oh, the usual. Wanted to know if Bill and I were coming to Charlie's surprise party. Wanted to see how certain, um, projects were coming along. Wanted to know a lot of things that were actually none of her damn business," Wynne said hurriedly, rolling her eyes, and returning to her signing.
"So it was purely a social call?" Ginny inquired. "Do you frequently end your social calls with tea hurling contests?"
Wynne glared at Ginny but complacently set down her quill.
"It was not a purely social call, no. It seems that Detective Granger and her two partners are again expressing concern about the Summit. They think it is my best interest, and in the best interest of the other delegates, to reschedule," Wynne sighed, staring up at Ginny through her low spectacles.
"And what do you think, Wynne?" Ginny replied, trying not to laugh at Wynne's long-suffering face, making her look like the very possibility of Hermione Granger, or anyone else for that matter, finding something wrong with her painstakingly planned International Wizarding Nations Summit was pushing her toward a nervous breakdown.
"I don't know this Summit is essential to our taking a stand against another rise of a Dark Order, against another rise of a Dark Lord. We need to build these alliances," Wynne began. She reached up, slowly pulled off her glasses, and set them atop her desk.
"What about you, Gin. Come on, you've always been the honest one, always stuck by my side through everything, even that horrible wedding planing fiasco," Wynne looked at Ginny, a slight look of panic hidden behind her usual firm and staunch expression.
"I say, if they're worried, then whether we can truly pinpoint a problem or not, it's there. I think it may be more beneficial to next time hear Hermione, or any of them for that matter, out before you go pitching cups of steaming liquid at them," Ginny replied.
"I suppose Ginny, please owl Detective Granger and schedule a conference time to discuss this," Wynne said, deciding that scheduling a conference would work wonders.
"I'll do that right away, Wynne," Ginny said, turning.
"Oh, and Ginny? Could you fetch me another cup of tea?"
Upon leaving Hogwarts, she had had no idea to which direction her life would take her next. She hadn't excelled in any subject during school, leaving her with no idea to what she should pursue as a professional career. Nobody had been much help either. Her mother, since Ginny could remember, had been adamant on her settling down promptly after Hogwarts and beginning a large family, carrying on the Weasley tradition of being able to furnish their own Quidditch team as the respective children grew older. Ginny, although not very opposed to the idea of running a household, lacked one important aspect in that idea, the man for whom she'd run a household.
Her father, quite aware of her original lack of interest in pursuing any kind of magical career that involved much wand wiggling and spell casting, had suggested she make the transition into Muggle society and pursue a Muggle career such as electrical engineering: Mr. Weasley never really did get over his electricity obsession. As much as Ginny was intrigued about learning more about the Muggle world, she also didn't want to give up her very efficient life with magic.
Bill still worked for Gringotts and had offered to get her a job there, but the only job available at the time was a car-operator. Ginny turned this offer down as fast as she could spit out the words, "Hell no!" Those cars never had agreed with her, and the thought of forty hours a week riding up and down on some sort of crazy roller-coaster from hell didn't thrill her in the least.
It was Ron who had finally given her the best advice, and now looking back upon it, he dearly wished he had kept his mouth shut
The Burrow was uncharacteristically silent and Ginny was sitting, curled up on the sofa, reading her favorite novel, a blanket wrapped around her, and a cup of tea on the coffee table. Her bright red hair hadn't lightened or changed a bit since she was little, much to her displeasure, and she now wore it in two high pigtails at the top of her head,
the strands hanging down in delicate ringlets.
It was raining outside, the patter of the droplets hitting the home serenading her with a lovely rhythm that provided the background for a relaxing day at home. On a bookshelf across the room, a picture filled with frantically waving people caught her attention. She smiled slightly and with a great effort, heaved herself up, dropping her book back onto the sofa. She strode over to the bookshelf, her dark brown eyes flitting over the faces beaming back at her.
She was in the middle, wearing purple dress robes, her parents standing behind her. To her right stood Fred and George, both wearing identical green robes, goofy grins plastered on their faces. And next to them, Charlie and Bill, Bill wearing a very charming smile, his hand every so often raising up to run through his hair. Ginny giggled, knowing exactly what he was doing. His girlfriend, Wynne Será had been taking the picture and Bill was using the time to get in a few good points. On Ginny's other side was Harry, Ron, and Hermione, all wearing dress robes of different shades of blue, smiling merrily, Harry frequently leaning over and punching her playfully in the arm in congratulations.
This particular photograph had been taken upon her arrival home from Hogwarts. They had all gone out for dinner, dressed in their very best robes, all, except Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Hermione, with grand intentions of getting rightfully drunk and ending the night in a hilarious banter about nothing.
"Must it be wet today!"
Ginny turned around, her eyes widening as voices drifted from the front entryway. Then her face turned from one of slight fear to one of sheer embarrassment. She wrapped her blanket around herself tightly and strode forward, wondering how childish she looked with her hair up in pigtails.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were hanging up their cloaks, Harry and Ron trying to shake the rain from their hair.
"Honestly, you two do everything the hard way," Hermione sighed, reaching into her robe and pulling out her wand.
With a quick flick of her wrist, both boys were no longing sporting a drowned-rat look. She then turned her wand on herself. Harry and Ron cast sheepish glances between one another, each wishing they had thought of that instead of shaking their heads like giant sheep dogs.
"Ginny, home alone?" Hermione asked, kicking her shoes off into the hall and walking into the sitting room, smiling at her friend.
"Mum and Dad went into London today, I'm not sure why," Ginny said, pulling her blanket even tighter around herself, suddenly feeling as if she were in a cocoon. She was only wearing her underwear and a camisole, in her opinion, the perfect reading outfit, and since she wasn't expecting anyone to be home until dinner time, she had found it perfectly all right to wander downstairs like that.
"Cold, Gin?" Harry asked, following Hermione in and drawing his own wand.
"No," Ginny replied as Harry lit the fireplace anyway and the smell of sulfur filled the room. She looked from Hermione, who had collapsed down into a nearby rocking chair, to Harry who was repocketing his wand, to Ron, who trudged in from the entryway, a pout engulfing his face.
"I never thought I'd say it, but must classes be cancelled today? I mean, today!" he sighed, falling backward onto the sofa and throwing his feet up on the arm of Hermione's rocking chair. She cast him a patronizing glance and then pushed his feet off, and he let them fall to the ground with an unceremonious thump.
"Classes were cancelled?" Ginny asked, deciding she'd better at least make some attempt at conversation before she ran upstairs to dress.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione, upon leaving Hogwarts had entered the British Auror Academy, much to no one's surprise. Ron had moved out, and the three had taken up residence at the Academy Hall, deciding to devote their time to their studies (something that Ron had not been willing to do at first but the prospective of leaving Hermione, his girlfriend since their fifth year, alone with Harry, although he was sort of seeing Cho, didn't sit well with him). Now they were two months from beginning their final year at the Academy, the specialization year. Ginny felt a little sorry for them. Unlike at Hogwarts and the various wizarding universities, the spring term at the Academy ended in September, a week before the fall term started, leaving them practically no vacation.
Everyone had seen their specialization coming as much as they had seen their career choice coming. It seemed ludicrous to the entire wizarding world for the famous Hogwarts Trio, what they were now called, to study anything but Investigation and Recovery. It was indeed their forté. And the prospect of being called Detectives set well with all of them except Harry, who felt any other title added to his name would be too much to bear.
"Of course classes were cancelled, Gin," Ron said sardonically, "We were going to start our first simulation today. You know, we're given a mock crime to solve. This would have been the easiest assignment in the world we already know all about solving mysteries. I was to begin my stress-free living today: No crazy homework, no spells to memorize, no dueling to practice."
"Get off it, Ron. You don't do your work anyway you just wanted to start the assignment because our mock involves the Chuddly Canons," Hermione laughed, rolling her eyes, and beginning to rock.
"Why was it cancelled?" Ginny asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.
"Who knows," Harry replied, walking toward her. "You don't look too well, Gin, you look a little flushed. How do you feel?"
Harry felt her forehead, leaning forward in concern. She leaned out of his reach. Ginny had gotten over her childhood crush on him several years ago, and had come to think of him as a brother, and just like with all her other brothers, didn't like him touching her.
"I'm fine," she replied, how come everyone treats me like I'm helpless, she wondered. Harry stared at her for a second, a trace of worry on his face. "I swear, I feel fine," she insisted. "Go, sit."
"If she would have added a few other words, like 'come,' 'no,'' fetch', she'd be a dead-ringer for Cho," Ron said, a small mischievous smile playing on his face. Harry cast him a dark glare and then took the seat at the far end of the sofa, nearest to Ginny.
"You and Cho having problems again?" Ginny asked with interest. She had always thought Cho and Harry made a horrible couple. She didn't even know how their relationship had ever started. Cho hadn't spoken to Harry after Cedric's death for an entire year, and then, her final year, and Harry's Sixth, they were suddenly the school's hottest couple.
"Problems? Having problems isn't the right phrase. That girl is the problem," Ron snapped, dropping his feet onto the coffee table and stretching his legs with a groan.
"What happened this time?" Ginny asked turning to look at Harry, who just sighed.
"What didn't is more like it," Hermione answered, just as Harry opened his mouth to speak. "Started out like a normal evening at Academy Hall - which reminds me, can't we get a flat?"
"No," Ron snapped, "Too expensive."
Hermione groaned in response, and then continued her explanation. "Cho had come over to our already cramped room - "
"How did you manage that?" Ginny asked.
"Manage what?" Hermione said, narrowing her eyes at being interrupted.
"To get all three of you in a room I thought the Academy didn't allow coed rooms."
Ron smirked. "They don't. Hermione has her own room, but for some reason, she doesn't ever stay there. She crams her stuff into ours," Ron said with mock-anger.
"So," Hermione interrupted, "Cho came over to Ron and Harry's already cramped room and we were going to order in and play some Poker Ron had the dumb idea that he might be able to get some gold off her."
"She has enough to abolish poverty world wide!" he exclaimed, "She could at least share the wealth."
"Of course she does, her family has good connections in the Orient," Harry muttered in her defense.
"So, little Miss Bow Down Before Me and Lick the Dirt From My Shoes - " Ron began.
"You're talking about my girlfriend," Harry interrupted, raising an eyebrow.
Ron waved an impatient hand. "Face it, Harry, your off again, on again relationship is off again, even you said so earlier this morning," Ron argued.
"That is not what I said!" Harry shot. He turned his attention to Hermione and smiled imploringly. "Tell him that's not what I said," he pleaded.
"Well, he didn't use those exact words, Ron," Hermione replied. Harry threw his hands into the air.
"Just because Cho and I don't have the relationship you two do does not mean she and I won't last," Harry exclaimed, sinking back into the sofa and raising his hands to his temples.
"Now look what you did, Ron," Hermione hissed, narrowing her eyes. Ron groaned and sat up.
"All right, Harry. I'm sorry, you and Cho are going through one of those phases that you always go through when she tells you to fetch something one too many times - "
Ginny burst into giggles and almost dropped her quilt.
"She's still treating you like a dog!" she exclaimed. "Come on, you're Harry Potter, for Merlin's sake, you could do SO much better!"
Harry slowly lowered his hands. "You of all people, Ginny, I would have thought would leave the subject alone," he said slowly.
"I'm sorry, Harry," she laughed, a hand before her face to hide her grin, "but she's on this 'Harry fetch me this, Harry fetch me that, no Harry, sit here Harry, do this Harry,' kick again?"
"Doesn't that sound like talking to a dog to you Harry?" Ron asked, "Seamus Finnegan once had a Ferret named Harry, Ferrets are kind of like dogs kind of" Ron grinned at Harry's face.
"She just likes her way," Harry replied angrily.
"So, are you still seeing her?" Ginny asked.
"Yes," Harry replied, suddenly interested in his fingernails.
"Only because poking out his eyes so he doesn't have to look at her sounds too painful," Ron shouted in laughter, "Ouch!"
Several pillows hit him on the side of the face, knocking him into the arm of the sofa.
"Fine, you're not in a joking mood," Ron said in a disappointed tone, tossing the pillows back to Harry.
Ginny stifled another giggle and stood up. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she said, beginning to walk toward the lopsided staircase in the corner, lying between the sitting room and the kitchen.
"Ginny, have you thought at all about what you're going to do next?" Hermione called after her, her brown eyes narrowed in concern. She desperately wanted Ginny to decide on what form of education she'd follow so she could start applying for the programs.
"Hermione, she doesn't feel well, let her be," Harry objected "You sure you're not cold?"
"I'm fine!" Ginny called back.
"Ginny could be an Auror like us," Ron said, smirking slightly: There was no way Ginny could ever be an Auror, she was too girly, but Ron didn't voice his opinion.
"Yeah, I could be an Auror right," Ginny yelled over her shoulder as she trudged up the staircase.
"Me, an Auror? I'm horrible at dueling. I'd end up being killed," she laughed as she walked into her bedroom. She tossed her blanket atop her unmade bed and walked toward the dresser. She didn't quite reach it though.
"Me, an Auror? Ginny, the Auror Detective Genevieve Weasley, Chief Auror" her overactive imagination had once again taken hold of her mind, much as it had when she had first met Harry and had imagined how her name would sound if it were Ginny Potter now though, she thought it didn't sound very appealing.
Still in her underwear, Ginny ran to her desk and drew out a piece of parchment.
"Detective Weasley," she mouthed as she began her letter to the British Auror Academy Board of Admissions.
*************
"Earth to Ginny! Come in Ginny! Anyone home?"
Ginny blinked several times and looked around her office, wondering who was calling her it couldn't be a student, they never called her Ginny.
"Genevieve Weasley!"
Wynne was standing in her doorway, wearing a dark gray traveling cloak, a briefcase tucked under her arm. Ginny sat up quickly, raising her hand to smooth her hair, a nervous reflex she had never been able to rid herself of.
"Oh, I'm sorry Wynne, I was just thinking," she said quickly, her eyes roving around her desk, trying to discern what she was supposed to be doing. Wynne smirked, her dark brown eyes sparkling in delight.
"Oh, Ginny dearest, isn't it your job to remind me of my appointments, as you are my personal assistant?" Wynne asked, walking toward her desk. Ginny sighed and stood up.
"That's it, the meeting!" she murmured, and then louder, "We should be leaving now if you're to meet with McGonagall. And I didn't go to school to be your personal appointment keeper."
Ginny walked around her desk, grabbing her cloak from its peg on the south wall.
"Who goes to school to be a personal assistant?" Wynne asked incredulously, handing Ginny a large pile of files.
"Oh, and you don't mind carrying my briefcase for me, do you? It wrinkles my robes." Wynne smiled sweetly, her white teeth blazing in the bright sunlight streaming through the window, and handed Ginny the large briefcase. Ginny glared at her.
"No, I don't mind at all, your highness." Ginny wrinkled her nose and moved toward the door. "You should be nice to me anyway," she joked, her head turning back to stare at Wynne. Wynne raised an eyebrow.
"Oh really I am the Minister of Magic, I need not be nice to anyone, but it would suffice politically to do so," Wynne said, her charming smile leaving her face, now replaced with a tight lipped expression, which didn't intimidate Ginny in the least.
"Not many people are willing to leave their perfectly good teaching job and come out of Auror retirement to pose undercover to protect the often rude and ego-centric Minister from crazed lunatics at the request of her two friends and brother," Ginny replied, turning all the way around now, a deep, throaty laugh escaping.
"Oh come now, Gin, you taught one year as the Defense Mistress at Hogwarts you would have had to leave anyway, tradition, you know: They haven't had the same teacher for more than one year since before your parents even went there. And coming out of Auror retirement? Ha! You worked as an Auror for a whole three years!" Wynne exclaimed, her eyes tearing in laughter.
"Laugh all you want. It isn't my fault I didn't like being an Auror. Who knew that being a detective was nothing like those mystery books make it out to be I mean, I was expecting happy endings." Ginny paused, her face darkening.
"Not any of this unsolved crimes stuff. So I wasted two years at the Academy, but it also made me realize how much I liked Defense."
"You only liked teaching Defense because you got to spend time with that hot professor what's his name Oracle Orange Oriole"
" - Oren!" Ginny interrupted, blushing slightly as she turned to stare out the window, suddenly very interested in a pigeon perched on the windowsill.
"Oh, I can see it by your expression! Ickle Ginnikin's about to swoon over a man whom I've never met, I might add!"
"I am not about to swoon," Ginny snapped, turning her attention back to Wynne who was staring at her with great interest.
"Do your brothers know that when you hear his name you go all starry-eyed?" Wynne asked, her face brightening with the expectation of fresh gossip.
"Do not tell any one of them!" Ginny said quickly, her eyes widening in horror. Her extremely overprotective brothers had the unfortunate habit of believing that all men interested in dating their sister first had to pass a test. Her second serious boyfriend, someone she had met at the Academy, had faired the best he was only in St. Mungos' for a month, and the doctors said he'd lose the tremor in his hands in a few years or so. "They want me to be an old-maid. You will not tell them anything, Wynne!"
Wynne waived her hand impatiently, the entire thought that she had a meeting with Professor McGonagall completely slipping her mind. Wynne took a couple steps nearer to Ginny, her smile widening.
"Never mind them tell me, Gin, did you ever sleep with this Oren?"
Ginny's eyes widened dramatically and she took a step back.
"It's none of your business!" she said quickly, looking down at the agenda lying open on her desk. "We're late, Wynne! We should have Apparated already!"
Wynne waved her hand again, shrugging off Ginny's exclamation.
"So you have, have you?" she said, practically ready to explode with the information. "You're right, we better not let your brothers know, they'd kill him."
"I didn't say I slept with him," Ginny said, picking up her agenda and glaring at Wynne.
"Then you didn't?" Wynne pressed, her smile dropping slightly things had been getting so good.
"I'm not saying anything. I chose not to disclose any further information about my romantic life," Ginny said, turning and walking through the door into the corridor. Wynne hustled after her.
"Now wait a second, Ginny!" Wynne covered the distance between the two in a matter of seconds. "You can't chose not to disclose any further information."
"And why not?" Ginny asked, "Oh hi, Mr. Meel." Ginny waved to a stocky man with a long mustache who was walking by.
"Miss Weasley, Madam Minister." Mr. Meel tipped his hat to them and continued walking.
"You choose not to disclose information to me all the time," Ginny whispered as they neared the Apparation area.
"That's different, I'm the Minister of Magic, I can do anything I want," Wynne sniffed, nodding her head at a group of tourists who flashed wizarding pictures from behind a curse-proof glass barrier. "Well, perhaps not anything, I still can't get that brother of yours to sleep quietly."
Ginny laughed and sped up her pace so she could reach the door to the Apparation area ahead of Wynne.
"Thanks Gin," Wynne said, nodding her head pompously at her as she walked through the door that Ginny was holding.
"You are under no obligation to disclose anything to me, and I am under no obligation to disclose anything to you,"
Ginny continued as she showed her security card to the security wizard. All points of Apparation for Wynne had to be secured, on account that wizards had no defenses while Apparating, and it took several seconds to regain their magical ability once they had appeared at their destination.
"You are too under obligation to disclose any information I ask for, as per the Powers of the Minister of Magic, Section 3 Article 2 - "
Ginny stopped in her tracks and turned to stare at Wynne. She threw her arms up into the air. "That Article was annulled over a thousand years ago, when the Minister no longer was determined by blood, you daft git!"
"Hey now, you - no insulting the Minister of Magic!" The security wizard, adorned in navy blue robes that had shorter arms and legs than the usual robes, was walking toward Ginny, brandishing his wand. Wynne cast an amused glance at Ginny, who raised an eyebrow at the advancing security wizard and shook her head, her eyes flitting down to look at her watch.
"We're five minutes late to the meeting, Wynne, we need to go now!"
"Yes, Miss Weasley, I am aware of your failure to keep me on schedule," Wynne said, regaining her composure and striding back into the middle of the room. Ginny glared at her. "Oh, and Roger, let's let Miss Weasley slide this time she's new to the Ministry and isn't quite used to the workings. I'm sure she just forgot you're not supposed to go around insulting the Minister to her face. Behind her back, sure, but to her face, no. Come now, Miss Weasley, and we must discuss your ability to keep time."
"You moron!" Ginny hissed so Roger couldn't hear, her eyes narrowing at Wynne, "Does it give you pleasure to make me feel like an incapable child?"
Wynne shrugged her shoulders and smiled. "Your brothers must be rubbing off on me you know I love you Ginny, but that hair, we must do something with that hair." Wynne smiled pleasantly at Ginny, who didn't return the gesture.
"Let's go visit McGonagall, shall we?" Wynne suggested, reaching into her robe to pull out her wand.
Ginny lowered her hand from her head, having decided that there was nothing wrong with her hair and that Wynne was just being her sunny self again. "Just remember, Wynne, be nice"
*************
"Madam Minister?"
Two men on either side of the path were now walking forward, their wands hanging at their sides, their arms ready to fly up and begin a defense if they deemed one necessary.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Wynne said smoothly, tossing her head back as if she were trying to throw her hair behind her.
The two guards nodded and stopped off the path.
"We'll be waiting for your return, Madam Minister," the short guard on Ginny's right said in a high voice that reminded Ginny of how Professor Flitwick always spoke.
"Very well." Wynne looked down at her watch. "Well aren't we late," she muttered, beginning to walk in a long stride toward the winged-boar gates that separated them from the Hogwarts grounds. Ginny rushed after her, hanging desperately onto Wynne's briefcase, several large files pressed to her chest with her other hand. Ginny caught up with her in a few seconds and began walking at her side, casting several quick glances at Wynne.
As Ginny and Wynne approached the wrought-iron gates, the dark metal began to glow. Ginny didn't pay it any attention, she had seen the gates open hundreds of times when she was at school, but she had to admit, the first time she watched the metamorphosis, she had been astounded.
The gate was quickly developing a golden gleam, glittering in the bright sunlight. And then, right before Ginny's eyes, the gate disappeared completely, the only thing remaining between the thick, tall stone walls was a golden rectangle, standing in the same position that the gate had just recently occupied.
This golden portal served several purposes, which Ginny had been explained upon accepting the professorship the previous year. The wrought-iron gates had no clasp to which one could open them. They were solid iron, thus preventing any Muggles from trying to pry one open. They attached to the stone walls magically; there were no hinges, bolts, or other means of connection, only the magic spells that had been performed hundreds of years ago. The walls themselves were unscaleable, enchanted with a Delusionary Charm, causing any prospective climber, no matter how high they climbed, to feel as if they had never left the ground.
But the golden portal itself was the most extraordinary aspect of all. The gates could identify one of magical ability, and began the transformation once the beings had reached a distance of ten feet. Any Muggles watching would not see anything but the iron gate, while Wizards would walk right through the portal. The portal served two purposes, admitting wizards being the secondary purpose. The other purpose was to place a Muggle invisibility charm on all who entered. The students were already provided with the charm once they opened their letters, but many wizards visited the school without opening letters. This presented a problem: If a Muggle in an airplane flew over the grounds, the Muggle would see the old, dilapidated castle, and then might see uncharmed wizards flying around on brooms, or flicking wands at each other. This would never do, so the charms made all magical activity invisible to Muggle observers.
Now that they were inside the grounds, the gates resumed their solid shape, the eyes of the boars watching with interest as Wynne, marching in an imperial manner, and Ginny, almost jogging to keep up, made their way toward the castle. The castle was set far back on the grounds, its stone battlements reaching high into the cloudless blue sky. Ginny smiled.
"I always thought Hogwarts was beautiful," she said to Wynne.
"Yes, even the Muggles would be amazed at the architectural wonders we've created," Wynne replied. "Ginny, what exactly are we doing here again?"
Ginny rolled her eyes and quickened her step.
"Wynne, you don't mean to tell me that you've forgotten already?" Ginny asked disparagingly. They were almost to the castle, and the voices of children could be heard coming from the Quidditch pitch, where Ginny assumed the first years were having their first flying lessons.
"That is why I have you, Gin, to remember these things for me. I have enough to do without having to remember the object of petty appointments," Wynne said in a low voice as they began climbing the stone entrance steps.
"You'll want to brush up on your diplomacy, I think, Wynne. I don't know if McGonagall would appreciate you referring to an appointment with her as petty."
The two stopped at the top of the steps and were facing the carved oak entrance doors.
"McGonagall needs to lighten up anyway, let her hair down a bit. I don't think I've ever seen her with her hair not in a bun," Wynne said distastefully, her eyes staring at Ginny expectantly.
"Wynne, you always wear your hair in a bun!" Ginny replied, trying not to laugh.
"But I'm willing to do something else with it too. I'm not stuck in a rut like McGonagall is. See?" Wynne reached up and grabbed the clip that was holding her hair in place. With a tug she ripped out the clip and her amber hair fell down around her shoulders, slightly tangled. It was obvious that Wynne had not even brushed her hair before stomping off to the office earlier that morning. Ginny raised an eyebrow.
"Well, that hair-style is sure to turn heads. All right, you've made your point, put your hair back up, Wynne. You're the Minister, you're to look professional."
"Exactly my point, I'm the Minister, I can wear my hair down if I want. And what are you doing standing there? Are you going to open that door, or just stand and stare at me, critiquing my style?"
Wynne placed a hand on her slim hip and raised one of her eyebrows behind her rectangular glasses. Ginny's jaw dropped slightly. She had been wondering why they were still standing out on the entrance steps. She cast a glance down at her filled arms, one still trying to keep the files in a neat stack, the other grasping Wynne's briefcase. Wynne seemed to finally realize that Ginny couldn't possibly open the door and frowned slightly.
"Oh, all right," she breathed, walking forward and yanking the door open.
"Thanks," Ginny called as she walked into the Entrance Hall. Wynne followed behind her.
"What is my job coming to, now I have to open my own doors!" Wynne muttered sullenly.
The Entrance Hall was newly waxed, the sunlight flooding through the open door reflecting off the shining floor, filling the room brightly. Ginny smiled slightly, extremely thrilled to be back at Hogwarts.
"Ah, if I do remember, Wynne, you never were on time, especially not to my class." Professor McGonagall had appeared in the doorway leading to the Great Hall. She was wearing her usual emerald robes, her hair pulled, as always, into a tight bun atop her head, her square spectacles glinting in the sunlight. Wynne shifted sheepishly next to Ginny.
Wynne had never gotten along with Professor McGonagall, especially not while attending school, and their relationship hadn't improved with age. From past experiences, Ginny knew that meetings between the two usually ended in shouting matches which Wynne usually won only because she could go much longer without drawing a breath than McGonagall could.
"Well, as I am the Minister, I do sometimes get caught up with situations that must take precedence over such appointments as today's," Wynne said in a meeker voice than usual, trying extremely hard, though, to retain the edge she usually kept during conversations.
"Professor McGonagall," Ginny said quickly, trying to change the subject, realizing that Wynne would not be enduring herself to the Headmistress today. "How are you doing? I haven't spoken to you lately." Ginny awkwardly walked forward, still trying desperately to cling to the slipping files and Wynne's briefcase.
"Ginny, you know you don't have to call me Professor anymore, please - oh - Wingardium Leviosa!"
The folders and briefcase that Ginny had just lost grip on moments before flew back up into the air, having been caught by the charm seconds before they hit the floor.
"Thanks Professor," Ginny sighed, reaching out for them. McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Accio files," she said and caught the pile Ginny had been carrying. "I'll carry these, and, Wynne, I do believe that is your briefcase, is it not?"
Ginny winced. They're already starting it a whole minute into the meeting and they both have it out for each other. I knew this would be a bad idea I just knew it, she thought.
Behind Ginny, Wynne smiled patronizingly at being expected to carry her own briefcase and strode forward, grabbing her case from the air.
"Thank you for holding it so carefully for me, Ginny," Wynne said in a clipped tone, not turning her gaze from
McGonagall, who, like always, was pursing her lips. "Well, Minerva, we should be getting started."
Ginny trudged after the two, breathing deeply: There was no way they'd agree on the appointees, and any hope that it would have happened, was now completely lost Mental note, Ginny told herself as they made their way through the empty corridors, work with Wynne on diplomacy.
"No," Wynne said flatly, leaning back in her chair. She stared with a superior expression across the desk to where Minerva McGonagall was sitting. "I don't like him."
"Wynne, you know very well that he'd be an asset to the Board of Governors. You cannot be serious of rejecting him just because of the pudding fiasco in your third year." McGonagall opened one of her desk drawers and pulled out another quill, replacing the one she was writing with.
"Are you suggesting that I would be that petty to deny a man a job just because he threw pudding laced with bubertuber pus at me on my birthday?"
Ginny could tell by McGonagall's impassive face, which she was trying very hard to keep, that this was exactly what she was thinking. Ginny was sitting next to Wynne, sorting through several of the files, looking for the one holding the information about Dalen Spinnet, the now best-selling author.
"Here we go," Ginny interrupted, pulling out the files from the multitudes and opening it.
"Dalen Spinnet, born in 1965 to Richard and Celeste Spinnet. He has one younger sister, Alicia - wow, they were quite some years apart. He's married to Paula Spinnet nee Weekley and has three girls, Jessica, Hattie, and Serina. His net worth is valued - "
"Minerva, I will not approve his recommendation, if that is whom you decide to give your support to," Wynne snapped, leaning over and snatching the folder from Ginny's lap. "Look, Minerva, he has a few questionable associations. One is with an American Muggle organization, Established Traders of America or something like that."
"They were on the Muggle news earlier this week," Ginny interrupted thoughtfully, wondering why Dalen would be associated with them.
"Shh" Wynne snapped, glaring at Ginny. "You are not part of the conversation." Wynne turned her attention back to McGonagall. "They're a pretty rich organization for having started only a few years ago. They're under investigation for some kind of fraud. Why would Dalen associate with them? I don't want someone who may have dangerous associations making decision that are affecting the students. The children attending Hogwarts, Minerva, are here because their parents trust the school. How would it look if we had hired someone who was knowingly cooperating with a corrupt Muggle entity?" Wynne was sitting straight-backed in her chair, her eyes fixed on McGonagall, and Ginny could tell that McGonagall had been as surprised as she had been to hear this.
"Dalen Spinnet?" Minerva asked slowly, narrowing her eyes as if she didn't believe it.
"Dalen Spinnet," Wynne repeated, nodding. "Pudding right. Minerva, I refuse to approve Dalen's recommendation. If indeed it turns out that my assumptions regarding Dalen are false, then I will consider him at a later opening, but under the current circumstances, I cannot allow myself to approve such a man to the position.
Now, Ginny, hand me Miriam Abbott's file."
Ginny looked back into the pile and pulled out the file labeled, Abbott, Miriam.
"What do you think about Miriam Abbott, Minerva?" Wynne handed the folder to Minerva, who opened it and scanned the first piece of parchment.
"She was quite active when Hannah attended, always attended the open Board meetings, but we haven't seen hide nor hair of her since Hannah left." Minerva lowered her glasses down the bridge of her nose and read further along the parchment.
Ginny looked around the office. McGonagall hadn't changed it much from how Dumbledore had had it. There were several more bookshelves, lined with books in languages Ginny couldn't read. Along the upper half of the room hung the portraits of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses. Albus Dumbledore, with his shiny beard, half-moon spectacles, and his twinkling eyes hung right above McGonagall.
Dumbledore had retired Ginny's seventh year. No one believed that he had really wanted to. But, Ginny had found out later, mostly through Harry, who tended to tell her more things than anyone else did, that he works closely with the Aurors now, helping to track down the very last of Voldemort's supporters.
"Excuse me, Wynne, Professor McGonagall, I'll be right back," Ginny said abruptly.
Wynne mumbled something Ginny couldn't make out, and Minerva nodded. Ginny hurried from the room, letting the large door shut quietly behind her. Classes were still in session, but only for a few more minutes, and the corridors were empty, even of the ghosts, who Ginny had a feeling were still on their crusade to evict Peeves. While she had been teaching the previous year, the ghosts often had secret meetings, and their appearance to the students and even professors had dropped dramatically.
Ginny really didn't have any idea where she was going, but she didn't want to stay in McGonagall's office anymore. She had never been the office type, never liked being cooped up like that. That was her largest complaint about working for Wynne: She was always in someone's office.
Ginny walked out the Entrance Doors just as the deep clank of the bell rang. A familiar smell tickled Ginny's nostrils as she peered over the Hogwarts grounds. Not much had changed. The thousand-year-old squid still rolled over and over in the water, splashing water over the bank, the sun still caught the glint of Hogwarts windows. The air still smelt strongly of sage and rosemary. Ginny's eyes absently wondered over to Hagrid's hut. It still stood in its place by the Forest, a little more sunken than what it had been, but there all the same. She smiled at her childhood memories, and then at her not-so childish memories.
"Oren! Look!" Ginny whispered, pointing over to the Whomping Willow. There, nestled sweetly in each other's silky white downs, two turtledoves were bathed in the moonlight. One turned to look over at them, its ruby red eyes penetrated them, rooting them to their spots. In complete silence, Oren and Ginny stood, awestruck, at the sheer beauty of the scene.
"Magnificent!" breathed Oren, grinning broadly and wrapping his arm around Ginny's shoulders.
The amazing birds took flight, weaving a misty path of pearls through the darkening sky, leaving Oren and Ginny quite alone in the beautiful night
"Professor Weasley?"
Ginny turned around abruptly, the memories retreating to the back of her mind. A young girl with short and thin blonde hair stood behind her. She was extremely small for her age, and her robes hung around her as if they were being worn by a toothpick.
"Cara Northerner," Ginny replied, smiling at the second year. "And how is your school year going?"
Cara smiled and shrugged her small shoulders. "The new Defense professor, Delacour, she isn't as good as you," Cara said abruptly. Ginny smirked. When she had found out that Fleur Delacour was to be taking the Defense Professorship, she had burst into laughter during the staffing.
"Why thank you, Cara," Ginny said, bending down so she and Cara were the same height. Looking at the small girl before her almost made her cry. Her face was sunken in, her eyes which had once shone brightly were extremely dull, and her hair, which once had a brilliant sheen, was ratty and coarse.
"How are you doing, Cara?" Ginny asked in a soft voice. Cara looked at her, a reluctant expression crossing over the deathly-pale face.
"Are you ever going to catch him, Professor Weasley, are you?" There was an urgent gleam in Cara's eye, a
primordial panic surfacing in the iris. Ginny took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
"Cara, you know I'm not on that case anymore." Cara's face fell suddenly, looking as if all hope was suddenly gone.
"But you know who is on the case? Harry Potter he's on it, and so is Hermione Granger, and my brother, Ron.
They're much better than me anyway."
Cara shook her head.
"You were good, much better than them that night. They just came and started doing their investigation. The girl, she came and asked me questions, gave me a blanket, asked me what happened."
Ginny looked away suddenly.
"Please find him, please. For my sister, please find him." The bell signaling the start of the next class rang; Cara Northerer took a step backwards and then turned on her heel and ran back into the castle as fast as her ailing body could carry her, having made her last plea for justice on her sister's behalf.
She had only been nine when her sister had been murdered. Cara didn't remember her father or mother. They had been Muggle doctors who had died in a plane crash when Cara was two and her older sister, Veronica, was sixteen. Veronica was all Cara had had. Cara had come home one day from her primary school to find her door locked. Veronica, a Muggle accountant for a firm, Rezzmon Trust, had never locked her out before. Veronica usually worked from home and was always waiting for her with cookies and milk, or cake, or sometimes ice-cream. But that rainy October day, the door was locked. Cara didn't have a key. So she went around to the back to try that door: Locked also.
Not knowing what to do, she walked over to her neighbor, an old lady named Mrs. Figg. She explained her situation to Mrs. Figg, and then, Arabella Figg, surreptitiously pocketing her wand, followed Cara to her house. It was because of Arabella Figg's presence that the Ministry of Magic had gotten involved. She unlocked the door without Cara knowing, but as the door swung open, they were met with a strong metallic smell. Mrs. Figg drew her wand immediately, shoved Cara behind her, and then took a step into the darkened kitchen. The blinds were drawn and in the faint light both Cara and Mrs. Figg could make out red puddles on the floor and the red liquid splattered around the room. Before Mrs. Figg could stop her, Cara ran from behind her, calling her sister's name. Mrs. Figg followed the screams of "Veronica!" and stopped in her tracks when she heard Cara's strangled cry and the thump of her body hitting the ground as she passed out.
Mrs. Figg didn't call the Muggle police for one reason: The windows and doors had been locked from the inside, even the chain lock. The murderer had Apparated, it was the only logical solution for the murderer's escape. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were the first investigators on the scene, followed shortly by the Chief Wizarding Medical Examiner, Dr. Yasmine Blanche. Ginny had been called in later, by Hermione, to help deal with the hysterical nine-year-old. Ginny had taken Cara Northerner to St. Mungos. This wouldn't be Cara's last trip either; shortly after, Cara was placed in the care of Mrs. Figg, and slowly stopped eating. None of the wizarding or Muggle treatments had proved to make a substantial difference in her condition, and the doctors had finally curtailed her treatment to keeping her alive as long as possible.
The murder had never been solved. Veronica had been stabbed numerous times, with what Dr. Blanche decided was an instrument similar to a serrated knife, but the weapon had never been found. Ginny had been assigned to help Harry, Hermione, and Ron with their investigation, and had proved to be the only one who was able to successfully interview Cara Northerner.
Ginny stood up and wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly very cold. A wizard had murdered a Muggle, and hadn't had the decency (as much as Ginny hated to call any murder decent) to at least Avada Kedavra her away. They had never found a motive either. And to make it worse, Veronica hadn't been the last victim
*************
"Where were you?" Wynne asked as Ginny reentered McGonagall's office.
"I was out looking over the grounds," Ginny replied as she retook her seat, smiling at Minerva, who looked rather frazzled.
"Sure you were," Wynne muttered, not looking up from a piece of parchment, "You went out to look for that Professor friend of yours."
"Who, Oren?" Minerva asked, happy for a change of subject.
"I wasn't out looking for him, but that is who she's referring to," Ginny replied.
"He's not here today. He went to a transfiguration convention in Germany today and tomorrow," she replied.
Wynne looked up from her parchment, a hopeful expression on her face. "What about Timothy Newman?" she asked.
"No," Minerva replied in monotone, turning her attention to a stack of parchment on the corner of her desk.
"Preston Moore?"
"Absolutely not!"
"Fielder Sycora?"
"No!" Minerva looked up from her pile to stare imploringly at Ginny. "The Minister and I didn't get any further in your absence, Ginny," Minerva said.
Wynne leaned back in her chair and blew air through her teeth in frustration. Ginny sat awkwardly, wondering if McGonagall expected her to do something about Wynne's obstinacy, not that Ginny could do anything. She really wasn't even qualified for her job, nor had she wanted it in the first place. It had been a last minute request of Harry's back in August. She had to admire him though, he was the most persistent person she knew. After countless refusals and even several slammed doors, he had kept coming back to request her help. Finally she gave in and once she gave the position some thought she was rather quite flattered. Of all the Aurors Harry could ask, he had asked her. She had retired from active duty as an Auror a little over a year ago, but under Ministry guideline, could be called back into services at any time, and it was Harry finally threatening her with getting a court-order to force her to take the position that made her say yes.
So, a month before school began, Ginny resigned as the Defense professor, thanking the stars that there was someone ready to take the post at such short notice, although she had her doubts about Fleur. Ginny bought a flat in London, pulled her Auror's badge and uniform out from the box under her bed, and took up the visage of the Minister's personal assistant, although her real job was to be Harry, Hermione, and Ron's eyes and ears concerning Wynne's well being. Rumors had been circulating for several months of a possible attack on her to prevent the up-coming Summit, which this year would take its first major aggressive steps against the Dark Arts. The agenda for the Summit was enough to provoke an attack on Wynne, and if anyone tried, Ginny would be there, Harry, Hermione, and Ron right behind.
Protecting the Minister wasn't their jurisdiction until Wynne, already angry at anyone proposing that she couldn't take care of herself, made it their jurisdiction. Now, Harry, Hermione, and Ron only worked their unsolved cases and spent the rest of their time trying to secure the Summit.
Ginny smiled at McGonagall. "Well, if all else fails, there's always Dad," she replied nonchalantly.
"Arthur Weasley!" Wynne exclaimed, snapping out of her stupor, and pointing a finger at Minerva.
Minerva thought for a moment. "If you're not worried about the claim of nepotism," she began.
"Am I worried about nepotism?" Wynne whispered to Ginny.
Ginny pursed her lips in thought. "That would probably be a good question for one of your advisors," she replied.
Wynne stood up abruptly. "Yes, I'll get back to you on Arthur," she said, smiling her first genuine smile of the meeting.
"I'd be willing to give him my recommendation," McGonagall confirmed, also standing up.
Ginny remained sitting trying to gather the various files together. Wynne reached down and picked up her briefcase, staring at it, trying to decide what to say. Finally, with a somewhat painful look, she glanced at Minerva and declared, "I look forward to speaking to you again," and then motioned for Ginny to follow her out.
Once the door to McGonagall's office was shut, Wynne handed Ginny her briefcase.
"What is nepotism?" she asked quietly.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'm getting you a dictionary for Christmas," she replied, setting Wynne's briefcase back onto the floor and beginning to make her way down the staircase. Wynne stared at her briefcase with disgust and then reluctantly picked it up.
"All right, as long as I don't have to carry the damn book myself!" she called after Ginny.
Ginny turned the key in the lock, and then whispered the spell that served as the second lock on her flat's door. She quickly let herself in and shut the door tightly behind her, arming her security alarm with a push of a button. Her father loved visiting her flat because of these Muggle gadgets. He found them highly entertaining and was completely convinced her possession of these items, including her telephone, and even the Glock that she kept in her night table, were all for his own personal enjoyment. Ginny, though, had never thought of her father at all when purchasing them. All she had thought about was the six women who had been murdered the last two years.
The similarities between Veronica Northerner's murder and the others were hard to overlook. In all the cases, the doors and windows were locked from the inside, and the women were found in their bedroom, strangled and stabbed with a tool that caused the same striations first seen on Veronica's mangled body. She had watched several of the autopsies, including Veronica's, and often at night, when her overactive imagination had nothing to occupy itself with, she'd see the images of the women, lying on a stainless steel table as Dr. Blanche began her inspection.
Ginny walked toward the kitchen and pulled open the silverware drawer, grabbing a spoon. Everyone who visited her flat always remarked about the lack of knives. She didn't even have a butter knife, let alone a steak-knife, or anything sharper. Just the thought of having something in her house that could be used against her scared her silly. This though, she overcame a month ago when she bought her Glock.
Ginny reached into her freezer and pulled out a tub of vanilla ice-cream, which she carried, spoon in her mouth, into her living room. She deposited the tub and spoon on the coffee table and walked into her bedroom.
She returned to her living room a few minutes later, wearing black knit pants and a sweatshirt, carrying several manila files. She spread the files before her on the coffee table and stared at them. They were copies of the six case folders, three of which she worked on, three of which happened after she quit, now all covered with notes in many different colors, pieces of paper taped onto the sides of parchments, autopsy reports highlighted and underlined. Ginny, completely forgetting about the tub of ice-cream, settled back onto her couch, her legs crossed before her, and pulled Veronica Northerner's case-file into her lap.
"What a way to spend the evening," she murmured.
Veronica had been a first for the entire British wizarding community. Never in anyone's memory had there been a record of a wizard brutally murdering Muggles with Muggle techniques. Even Voldemort, the most ruthless of his kind had always used the Killing Curse. Ginny didn't know what she was looking for; she just thumbed through the report. She stopped on a page that was roughly unmarked.
'Veronica Northerner worked as an accountant for Rezzmon Trust. Much of her work was done by home over dial-in connections to RT's accounts.'
Rezzmon Trust was underlined. Ginny reached over and pulled several other files into her lap: Debra Calhoun, a web designer for Rezzmon Trust; Stephanie Montgomery, a Secretary for Rezzmon Trust; and Kay Triscotti, Head of Personnel for Rezzmon Trust.
Four of the six victims had worked for Rezzmon Trust, a connection Ginny had made from the beginning. She had visited the company several times, but had found nothing of use to the investigation. The Trust took the stance that the murders were purely coincidental, not willing to even contemplate the possibility that a murderer could be running rampant through their company, killing women employees.
Ginny threw the files onto the coffee table and headed back into the kitchen, leaving the ice cream container forgotten. Checking to make sure her wand was in her pocket, Ginny sat down at the polished wood table, her head in her hands.
"I quit this stuff I'm not supposed to care about it anymore," she whispered. She looked up wearily, her gaze falling upon Joshua, her owl, who was sitting on his perch, staring at her curiously.
"What do you think, Joshua?" she asked, standing up and walking over to ruffle his feathers. "I quit because I didn't like it. I quit because I couldn't stand it. I quit because even if I found this loon and I could look Cara and the other families in the face and say I had finally caught the murderer, the next day I'd have to start over again." She looked away and glared out the dark window.
"Damn it, Wynne better be in real danger," she barked, not really thinking of what she was saying, "to pull me back in this mess. Last year I saw Cara all the time and it never affected me, but now when I see her and I feel my badge in my pocket Merlin!" Ginny stormed back to the freezer and yanked it open.
"Where's my ice cream?" she said in a helpless voice. "Look at me Joshua, I'm twenty-four and I'm talking to an owl and whining about ice cream!" Ginny's face fell in disappointment. "I need to sleep."
Ginny sat up straight in bed, blinking rapidly. Her bedroom was pitch black, her blinds drawn to keep out the sun when it rose. She slowly turned to look at her luminous clock.
"What am I doing up at three in the morning?" she asked herself. And then the telephone rang.
"Oh bugger," she whined, reaching over for the telephone. "Hello? Hello! Anyone there?" Ginny pulled the receiver from her face and squinted into the darkness. "Oh, it's upside-down," she mumbled.
"Hello?" she tried again.
"Took you long enough," said a soft voice. Ginny pressed the receiver closer to her ear.
"Hermione, is that you?" she asked, lunging backward on her bed toward her other nightstand to find her wand.
"Yeah, Gin, it's me."
"Why are you whispering?" Ginny asked, rubbing her eyes, careful not to poke herself with her wand.
"Because."
"Now that's an answer," Ginny muttered, flicking her wands at the telephone and muttering a few choice words, including 'Lumos.' Her room lightened as Hermione's voice rang louder in her ear.
"I'm whispering because I don't want anyone to hear me. Why else would I whisper, for the heck of it?" she said, her annoyance coming in clear with the magically increased volume.
"What do you want?" Ginny mumbled, "I was sleeping."
There was a pause and then: "Gin, there's been another one."
It took Ginny a second to work out what Hermione had said. She fell back onto her pillows.
"Great," she murmured, running her hand through her tangled hair.
"25 year old female, multiple stab wounds to the upper body."
"Why are you calling me? I don't do this anymore remember? I'm Queen Minister's personal slave."
Hermione was silent for a second. "Because, Ginny, this one wasn't a Muggle."
Ginny sat up straight in her bed. "What do you mean, this one wasn't a Muggle?" she drawled, her voice caught in her throat.
"Ginny, you need to get over here, now," Hermione said. Ginny could tell, even with the magically audible voice, that Hermione was still whispering.
"I don't do this anymore, Hermione. This is your, Harry, and Ron's arena I'm just here to baby-sit the Minister," Ginny said, pulling herself out of bed and making her way to the bathroom.
"Ginny, this isn't a negotiation. I've already spoken to Wynne: You're to get over here right now," Hermione said, a tinge of impatience in her voice.
Ginny flicked the switch for the bathroom light and snapped her eyes shut as she was flooded with brightness. Why is Wynne involved, Ginny thought, she's never concerned herself with these murders before.
"Ginny? Ginny? You still there?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah," Ginny mumbled, turning the tap on. "What does Wynne have to do with this?"
"Ginny?" A new voice was on the telephone now.
"Harry?" Ginny reached down and shut the water off. She could barely hear him. She had only cast the spell to make Hermione's voice louder, and now Harry was whispering too.
"Get your robe on, grab you badge, and get down here," he hissed. Ginny sighed and walked back into her room. She took a deep breath.
"So, this one's so bad that the famous trio can't handle it themselves?" she said angrily. "I'm tired, I want to sleep!" Ginny threw her closet door open and started rummaging for one of her uniforms.
"Ginny, we can't handle this one at all. You know protocol, no working cases where you have substantial ties to the victim."
Ginny dropped her robe, the hanger clanking against the wood flooring.
"What do you mean, substantial ties to the victim?" she asked slowly, realizing what was going on. They knew the victim Shit! she thought, they knew the victim. If they knew the victim, they wouldn't be able to work the case. And if this was another murder, then the only logical thing would be to have someone who's worked the other cases do this one and that someone was her. That's why Wynne was involved they'd have to get Wynne's permission for Ginny to take the case over from the detectives already there.
"Shit, they know the victim," Ginny repeated, this time in a whisper that Harry couldn't hear.
"Who is it?" Ginny asked in a louder voice, dreading the answer.
Harry didn't respond at first, and Ginny stood listening to the awkward silence until Harry took a deep breath and hesitantly murmured the name: "Lavender Brown."
Ginny shut her eyes. "All right, give me a few minutes, I'll be right there."