Chapter Five: Unfolding
Another house, another area of London. This establishment was in Belgravia, probably
one of the most expensive residential areas in the world. The house was smart, well-kept, large and
with a garden almost extensive enough to be called "grounds". It was exquisitely decorated with the type
of antique furniture and paintings that made Octavia Tenaxis' apartment look
like a council flat in Brixton. And its
owner was a good deal more unprincipled than she was. In fact, the Borgias could have learned a thing or two from this
sweetheart.
In the entrance hall, a beautiful, curvaceous blonde leaned
decoratively against an oak panelled door.
"Darling, I'm leaving now." She cooed against the smooth,
polished wood, mindful of her likely replacement if she were to put a toe out
of line.
"Come!" snapped a voice from inside the room. Carefully, she opened the door a crack and
slipped through.
The room she entered was not large, at least not in
comparison with the average church. It
was probably a study, although the plethora of expensively framed oil paintings
on the walls made it touch and go as to whether it was being used temporarily
to house the overspill from the Tate.
The blonde took the short hike between the door and the enormous Louis
XIV desk at a leisurely pace. Anything
faster would have spoiled her entrance, and besides, it takes a great deal of
effort to wade through a carpet pile six inches deep wearing three-inch
stilettos. The carpet – ah, now there
was something to feast the eyes upon!
Pure silk in a rich gold, resembling nothing so much as a rippling field
of ripe corn, so flawless as to make a vacuum-cleaner salesman weep. The blonde had by this time reached the far
end of the room and gingerly approached the magnificent desk. Deep mahogany, gleaming like burnished
copper in the light of the log fire, the beautiful piece of furniture would
have outshone the carpet if it hadn't been for the curtains. The curtains made the carpet look
shabby. Gleaming Persian silk damask
with a rich brocade trimming, they covered the entirety of a wall and fell from
ceiling to floor in one perfect golden swathe.
But the blonde's attention was directed towards none of
these wonders. Her concern was with the
owner of them, the necessary evil that came with a marriage agreed to out of a
purely disinterested desire for money and status. A puff of cigarette smoke wafted in her direction and she made
strenuous efforts to suppress an involuntary cough. The smoker turned to face her from behind his overlarge desk.
"Ah, there you are, my dear." The light of the standard lamp fell full on his face, revealing
him to be in late middle-age, slightly overweight and no oil painting. However, his stance and posture denoted
great self-satisfaction, arrogance, and a habit of thinking too well of
himself, due mainly to his obvious wealth. The blonde fidgeted awkwardly under
his scrutiny, but maintained her false, beaming smile. Examining her outfit, the man frowned
slightly and rested his smouldering cigarette in the ashtray. Unhurriedly, he skirted the desk and walked
around her, scrutinizing every inch of her body. Patiently, she waited.
"Don't you think that colour is a little – dressy for an
evening with your sister, my dear?" He
began, his smile taking on a reptilian quality. The blonde swallowed, then recovered her composure with difficulty.
"But it's such a lovely dress, darling." She wheedled. "I remember the day you bought it for
me. In Paris, on our honeymoon."
"Indeed." He inclined his head. "But I also remember I intended you to wear it for me, not
to waste it on your sister. If that is
really who you are meeting tonight."
The blonde's eyes widened, a flicker of fear in their depths.
"Of course I'm meeting Fiona!" she exclaimed, her voice
pitched uncomfortably high. "Darling,
where else would I go without you?" He
gripped her chin uncomfortably in the fingers of one hand, forcing her to look
him in the eyes.
"Where indeed?" he murmured, breathing tobacco fumes in her
face. "Where indeed do you go, my dear, when you are out of my sight? Particularly when you are dressed so beautifully." His fingers tightened, a small sound of pain
escaped her.
"Don't forget," he continued, still in the same quiet
tones. "You belong to me. Play the game and maybe you'll last a little
longer than your predecessors. I bought
you for my own amusement, no one else's."
She let out a shaking breath as he released her and went back behind the
desk. Drawing on his neglected
cigarette, he turned back to his wife.
"Henry will take you, as usual." He said, "But I have asked
him to act as your escort. He will be
at your side all evening and will bring you home well before the witching
hour." The man smiled.
"Have a good evening, my dear." The young blonde stumbled out of the study as quickly as possible
before the tears could spill over and ruin her makeup.
Her husband sat back down at his desk and began to write,
carefully and methodically, smiling slightly at the sound of his wife's BMW on
the gravel driveway a few minutes later.
After that, there was silence broken only by the tick of the clock and
the occasional shifting of a log in the fire.
Presently, a respectful knock on the study door heralded a dowdy,
middle-aged woman who slipped into the room, standing as near to the door as
she could contrive.
"Begging your pardon, sir, but I've left your supper in the
dining room as usual. You said it was
just you tonight, sir, as the mistress is out."
"That's right, Mrs. Collins." The man didn't bother to look
up. The housekeeper fidgeted with her
apron.
"Well if that's all, sir, I'll be making my way
home." He waved an irritable hand in
her direction.
"Yes, yes, Mrs. Collins.
Now just go!" The woman
bobbed a small curtsey and left the room, closing the door quietly. Presently, the man heard footsteps in the
hall and the click of the front door latch.
He was alone.
Time moved its slow, relentless pace. Eventually the man paused in his writing,
wriggled his weary fingers and leaned back in his chair. He glanced at the clock: nine-fifteen. Perhaps it was time for a break, some supper. He rose from his chair, stretching his
aching shoulders, then paused as a cold draught hit the back of his neck. Puzzled, he looked towards the curtains,
wondering if a window had been left open.
He moved towards them, and abruptly the standard lamp, the only source
of light in the room, was extinguished.
The man swore, lunging across the desk towards the defective light,
freezing instantly as an arm wrapped itself under his chin and something cold
and rather sharp jabbed at his neck.
"Stay still." A cool voice whispered in his ear. "Stay very still indeed, Mr. Cavendish,
if you value the state of your health."
Cavendish made himself as still as possible.
"That's better." The whispering continued. "Now, very slowly indeed, back up towards
your chair. That's right, slowly and
steadily. I don't suppose I need to
tell you what will happen to you if you try anything stupid, now do I? No, I didn't think so." Cavendish sank very gradually into his
chair. He wanted to tell the Voice that
of course he wouldn't do anything stupid, that he'd had training from experts
as to what to do in a hostage situation, that he was sure they could come to an
adequate financial arrangement, but when he opened his mouth, all that emerged
was a strangled croak.
"Shhh!" whispered the voice chidingly. "Don't try to speak. Fear not – you'll be doing plenty of that
later. Just sit in the chair quietly like
a good boy while I take some measures to make sure you stay there." There was a quiet swishing of cloth, then
the whispered command: "Vinculorum!"
Something cold settled on his arms and legs. Cavendish tried to move and found that he had been bound securely
to his chair. He struggled briefly then
gave it up as a lost cause.
"Well now!" his captor stood behind him. "That's much
better. I admit, I feel rather happier
now I know you'll stay put." Cavendish
strained his eyes but could make out nothing more than a shadow.
"If it's money you want, there's very little on the premises."
He said. The other man laughed.
"My dear Cavendish, if that's your real name at all –
which I doubt." He laughed grimly. "If
all I wanted was your money, I would have killed you and taken it from the safe
concealed behind the small but exquisite Turner watercolour. Muggle security is effective against
muggles, but as we both know, there are more things in heaven and earth than
muggles." Cavendish's eyes almost
popped out of his head.
"Muggles?" he muttered.
"You – you're a wizard?"
"Give that man a prize!"
The voice sighed in exaggerated patience. "How do you think I immobilised you? I was never a boy scout, so my prowess with knots isn't exactly
anything to write home about."
Cavendish fell silent. Here was
a totally new ball game. His experience
with wizards was long-standing, but he had only ever met two examples of the
breed. And he knew nothing of resisting
magic, he didn't even know if it was possible for muggles to be proof against
such power.
"Who are you?" A
harsh laugh.
"You expect something for nothing? I came here to get information, not to give
it. In fact, Mr. Cavendish, I
came here for a good deal of information, and I fully intend to depart with all
of it." Cavendish struggled uselessly
against his bonds.
"You'll get nothing out of me!" he snarled, with a
conviction he did not feel.
"I think you would be well advised to reconsider that
position." replied the Voice in measured tones. "Hmm. Perhaps a little
pertinent information would help. We
have, in fact, never met, but I recognise your type very well indeed. I am highly trained, you know, in many
skills you would probably rather not be acquainted with: Brainwashing by
several different means; Torture by the Elements – Fire, Water, Earth and Air;
the Induction of Madness by both Surgical and Psychological Methods; the Many
uses of Sharp Instruments; the Management of Pain – oh, I could go on and
on." Cavendish felt sweat break out on
his forehead. The Voice paused,
weighing his words carefully.
"You work for Lucius Malfoy." He began quietly. "You are his solicitor. You are a muggle and muggle trained, but
over the years you have carried out extensive research into wizarding law. Lucius Malfoy was quick to see that this
made you the ideal advisor for his criminal activities. You have acted for him for most of your
professional life, and you have been closely involved with his business and
personal matters over recent years. If
I were to tell you that I am from the same camp, but a maverick, how much less
confident in your prospects of remaining silent would you suddenly be?"
The answer to that last question was "considerably". Cavendish felt the blood drain from his
face. Lucius Malfoy was a very good
client, and Cavendish didn't dare consider the financial consequences of losing
him. It was his patronage that brought
the luxurious house, the incredible art works, the succession of young and
beautiful wives. But Lucius was one
scary being. Cavendish rated himself as
being pretty hardened to the nastier side of life, but with Lucius he had seen
things that had turned even his strong stomach. And this guy was trained in the same things as Lucius, but a
loose cannon? Suddenly getting out of
this situation alive seemed a good deal less probable than it had five minutes
ago. He took a deep breath.
"What do you want to know?"
"There! I knew
you'd see reason eventually." The Voice
oozed satisfaction then became brisk and businesslike. "How long have you worked for the Malfoy
Empire?" A shrug.
"Thirty – possibly thirty-five years."
"How much do you know about your client?"
"I know he's a wizard."
"Three cheers – don't make me impatient. Or I might be tempted to drag it out of you
– just to keep my hand in, you understand."
Hurriedly. "I know
he's descended from a very old, pure-blood family – one of the aristocrats of
the wizarding world. He married a
Swartzkraft – united two very powerful families by doing so, apparently. Wife died several years ago – he's never
married again …" A low hiss from his
captor stopped Cavendish in mid-flow.
"I could read all this in 'Wizarding Who's Who'!" snarled
the Voice. Cavendish trembled. There was a small silence.
"Why did Narcissa Swartzkraft marry Lucius Malfoy?" Cavendish was puzzled.
"I really have no idea – I was
not acquainted with Mr. Malfoy at that time."
"Come on, you can do better than
that, Cavendish. You made the marriage
settlement, for Merlin's sake!"
Stiffly. "It was a mutually agreed match between the
families."
"So she was under pressure. How on earth did you make her go through
with it?"
"That, fortunately, was none of
my concern."
"What about the children?"
"Children? There is only one – a boy, Draco. Unfortunately, he has turned out to be –
unstable. Such a tragedy for this to
happen to the only son and heir."
"I was under the impression that
there was a younger sibling, a girl."
Cavendish froze. Very few people
either knew or remembered the second Malfoy birth. A grim smile formed on his face.
"I believe I know who I am
talking to now." He replied, a little more confidently. "You're the traitor, Draco Malfoy. The turncoat." There was a sudden sharp prick at his throat. The voice paused then began again a little
quicker, a little more breathlessly.
"That's as may be, but you will
tell me all you know about Aurora Malfoy unless you wish to feel cold steel
pierce your windpipe. My patience is
not infinite and this blade is very small and sharp. One muscle tremor and your life could be spilling copiously over
your fine custom-made Chinese carpet.
It seems a shame to desecrate such a beautiful possession, but sadly
Muggles have yet to discover how to remove blood from silk, particularly in
such quantities. Now, tell me!" To emphasise his order, he leaned a little
on the knife, puncturing the skin of his captive's throat. Feeling blood trickle down his chest,
Cavendish lost all his new-found self-assurance.
"Look," he began
pleadingly. "I don't know much, and
what I do know is down to supposition, piecing things together – you know the
sort of thing." He swallowed.
"The girl died in infancy." He
said.
"How?" Cavendish shook his head impatiently.
"I've no idea – some childhood
disease, accident, who knows? There was
never any question about it, but it was all kept very quiet indeed because
Narcissa went absolutely made with grief."
He paused and the knife jerked slightly.
"I had to draw up a Power of
Attorney." He said hurriedly, his voice rising in pitch with panic. "Narcissa was beyond help, beyond
anything. Lucius had her committed to
St. Mungo's, but she died very shortly thereafter."
"How did she die?"
"She …" But at that moment, both
heads turned as a key scraped in the front door.
"Mr. Cavendish has not yet
retired." A feminine voice spoke in the hallway. "The dining room lights are
still blazing." The hand holding the
knife seemed to hesitate, then withdrew.
Cavendish had never been so glad of his wife's presence.
"It's alright, madam." A male
voice replied. "He asked me to look in
on him when we returned this evening.
If you have everything you need, I will do that now."
"Very well, Henry." The woman
replied wearily. "I'll make my way to
bed then. Be sure to tell Mr. Cavendish
that I wanted to see him, won't you?"
"I will Madam."
"Caught!" said Cavendish to his
captor in triumph. "You always were a
disappointment to your father. I'll
enjoy handing you over to him. Draco
Malfoy, caught by a muggle! That'll be
a poke in the eye for Pettigrew, eh Malfoy?
Malfoy?"
But by the time Henry had opened
the door, turned on the main light and seen his master's predicament, Draco was
long gone. The French doors behind the
desk were wide open, the sumptuous curtains flapping in the breeze, but
Cavendish was certain even Draco Malfoy would never have left so obvious a
clue. He struggled against his bonds
then shook his head as his servant tried to release him.
"Henry," he said
impatiently. "Leave those things
alone! Go now and telephone Lucius
Malfoy. Tell him I need to see him
urgently." The chauffeur stared at his
employer in amazement.
"But sir," he protested. "It's
nearly midnight!"
"Just do as I say and keep your
opinions to yourself!" Cavendish shouted, almost beside himself. "Get me Lucius Malfoy – and keep quiet about
this, if you value your job!" Henry
gave a quick salute before taking off at the double.
"Yes sir!"
Cavendish struggled once more to
free himself, failing miserably. His
vulnerability was making him restless.
Draco Malfoy would scarcely be satisfied with the little information he
had already extracted, so the chances were high that he would return. Now that Cavendish knew his enemy – a
renegade with Dark Arts training and a Malfoy temperament – he was more afraid
for his life than he had ever been. And
rightly so, as it turned out.
~oo0oo~
Ginny sighed gently as she hung up the last of her
garments in the spacious wardrobe.
"Most of the stuff I brought is far too warm." She
complained. "You forget how it feels to
be warm in the middle of an English spring!"
Harry smiled and put his arms round her in an impulsive hug.
"Then go on a vast shopping spree!" he told her. "That's what most people come to Singapore
for. There's mall upon mall of shops
and cafes, restaurants and foodhalls.
If you can't buy what you want in Singapore, then you can't get it
anywhere!" Ginny creased her forehead
in puzzlement.
"Is there nothing else to do here but shop?" she asked in
a small voice. Harry took pity on her.
"Of course there is!" He replied. "There's lots to see and to visit – you wait
until we meet Oliver this evening.
He'll tell us exactly who to talk to, where to go and how to make the
most of the short time we have here."
There was a small pause then Harry continued, sounding rather less sure
of himself.
"I've always wanted to visit the Far East." He said. "I'd planned to bring you here for a
holiday, you know. A bit of R&R
after our hectic time over the past year."
Ginny smiled and caressed his face with one hand.
"What a lovely thought." She replied. "Perhaps we can come back some day." He nodded.
"Perhaps." He agreed.
He released her and made as if to turn away, then changed his mind and
turned back, his hands going to her shoulders.
"I wanted to give you a really special holiday." He said earnestly. "I thought we could come here for our – for our honeymoon." He waited, holding his breath. Ginny's face was in shadow.
"Harry," she began uncertainly. "I … " Quickly, Harry
tilted her chin, raising her head until their eyes met.
"Shhh, it's okay." He told her, putting a finger against
her lips. "I shouldn't have said
anything." But inside he felt cold as
stone. Ginny pushed his hand away.
"No, Harry, I didn't mean … oh, this is so
difficult!" She turned away and covered
her mouth with her hands for a moment.
Resolutely, she turned back and levelled her bright brown eyes to his
green ones.
"I know what you're trying to do." She began in a low
voice. "This is about the conversation
we had a couple of weeks ago, isn't it?"
Harry was surprised.
"What?" he queried.
She skimmed gentle fingers over his arm.
"When I told you how bad I felt about the mind-bond
thing?" she prompted. "How it was all
my fault it wouldn't work? How I made
you vulnerable, but couldn't provide you with any extra strength?" He was nodding now.
"Among other ridiculous ideas." He added with a
smile. She continued.
"You're trying to prove something." She told him. "This is about making a total commitment,
showing me once and for all that you love me and you want to be with me,
whatever happens."
"Well, yes." he agreed, looking slightly confused. "Is that a problem?" She shook her head.
"Goodness no!" she told him. "Perhaps I'm rather old-fashioned, but I've always felt that
marriage is for life, no going back, no copping out half way through. When I take you for better or for worse,
Harry, it will be for the duration. Only
death will separate us, and even then I have hopes that we'll meet again in
whatever sort of afterlife there turns out to be." She pursed her lips thoughtfully.
"Trouble is," she continued. "I really believe that I can only make a full commitment when and
if I can be confident I'm not going to put you at risk."
"Huh?" Harry reckoned
he must be very slow, but he didn't exactly follow that. She paced the room a little.
"If I marry you now," she continued. "All the problems, all the worries I have
about being the weak link, the millstone, the liability will still be
there. A piece of paper, even though
it's a legal contract, isn't going to solve that overnight." She turned to him again.
"The only thing that will convince me that I'm worthy of
your love is for us to learn to work the mind-bond." A variety of different emotions chased each other across Harry's
face. Blank astonishment was quickly
replaced by something close to anger, which in turn melted away into a mixture
of disbelief and chagrin. At the heart
of his reaction was something very like despair.
"And if we never manage to work it?" Ginny lowered her eyes.
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." She
whispered, and with that Harry had to be content.
One hour later found them showered, dressed in evening
clothes and toying with cocktails in the Foyer Bar. Harry was still wrestling with the knotty problem of creating a
temperature control charm to make the heat and 90% humidity bearable, yet be
sensitive enough to deactivate once it detected the arctic air-conditioning in
every public building. Ginny sat gazing
up at the glass ceiling so very far away from them. A frown settled between her eyebrows: something was not quite
right about the architecture.
"Quite stunning, isn't it? If you've never seen an Atrium Hotel before, this is a really
good example." Ginny snapped her head
round and found herself staring into warm, brown eyes in a tanned, smiling
face.
"Oliver!" she exclaimed.
"How lovely to see you!" She put
her arms round his neck and hugged him.
Harry stood up, holding his hand out in welcome. The former fellow Quidditch team members
shook hands heartily.
"Let me get you a drink."
Harry made off quickly in the direction of the bar. Oliver sat down at the table.
"When did you get here?" He asked.
"Mid-morning.
Ported directly into Changi Airport." She responded, then made a face
which had nothing to do with the taste of her drink. "Really, whoever is in charge of that exchange ought to do
something about the facilities."
"Oh?" Oliver raised his eyebrows. Ginny looked at him.
"You've never used that one?" He shook his head.
"I always use the Embassy exchange." Ginny sniffed.
"You're probably wise.
It's a broom cupboard – a very dirty broom cupboard – located in the
bowels of the basement. Goodness knows
what the muggles use it for!" Oliver
laughed, then followed Ginny's eyes as she took yet another unconscious glance
up at the ceiling. She shook her head.
"Oliver, there's something wrong with this place." She
told him. "Every time I look up, I
think I'm going to fall over!"
"That's because the walls aren't perpendicular." She looked at him, puzzled. He smiled.
"Look," he began.
"As I told you, this is an Atrium hotel building, it's specially
designed for hot climates. Heat rises,
yes? So the place most heat is lost is
through the roof. If you make a big
open space for the Foyer rising the entire height of the hotel – in this case,
a clear eighteen stories – and have the bedrooms circling it on mezzanines
which overlap each other by a few feet as they ascend, you've got a natural
cooling tower!" Ginny frowned.
"So that's why I get the feeling that the walls are
falling in on me every time I look up?"
Oliver nodded.
"And all the heat produced in this building funnels up the
Foyer and goes out through the roof?"
"Well, almost."
Oliver grinned. "They're a bit
short of living area here on Singapore – I'll explain about that later, if you
want – so to make up for the apparent waste of space, the rising heat is used
to provide hot water for the guests."
Ginny stared. Oliver nodded,
grinning.
"And when the water is at boiling point and they still
have heat to spare, they channel it into the swimming pool. That's why it's on the roof – the perfect
heat sink!" Ginny was still frowning.
"I'm sure it's very clever," she told him. "But surely a simple Frigidus charm
would do the trick." Oliver rolled his
eyes, but fortunately at that moment Harry returned with fresh drinks for all
of them. Once he had been served,
Oliver raised his glass and smiled over the rim.
"It's good to see familiar faces again." He told her with
a grin. "I miss Harry's House and
having you all around me. Here's to a
successful visit – whatever it is you're here for!" Ginny raised her eyebrows.
"You really miss England that much? Don't you like living in Singapore?" Oliver considered.
"Well," he began.
"Some of it's disturbingly English, like the Raffles Hotel. Some of it's totally and utterly foreign,
like some of the old streets and buildings where the air-conditioning consists
of opening a window. And some of it
embodies both the best and the worst of capitalism – as you'll pretty soon find
out if you get the chance to compare the luxury of the shopping malls with the
bleakness of some of the suburbs. It
can get pretty functional, you know, once you get beyond the tourist areas."
"But do you like it here?" Ginny persisted,
determined to get an answer for reasons she did not fully understand. Oliver paused again, then nodded.
"Yes." He told her.
"Yes, actually I do like it here.
I enjoy the buzz and the life of the place. And you realise, don't you, that magic is much better tolerated
here than in most parts of the world, including England?" Harry cleared his throat.
"We had lunch today with a representative from the
Embassy." He said. "I don't think we
learned much, but it was quite pleasant.
He indicated that wizards occupy the same embassy building as muggles,
but they don't seem to come into any conflict." Oliver was nodding.
"Yes, that's right."
He glanced at his watch. "Look,
why don't we go into dinner now?
There's a great deal I can tell you, but it might take a little time."
Over a surprisingly international menu, Oliver
continued. He told them of the
extremely strict muggle codes of conduct, the laws governing the disposal of
refuse, the resulting lack of insect-borne diseases such as malaria, the use of
corporal punishment. Ginny was shocked.
"It's like living in a police state!" She exclaimed.
"But it keeps the place from sliding into anarchy!"
insisted Oliver. "Look, Ginny. With over four million people living in this
small area, plus the tourists, laws have to be stringent to make things
bearable. Take the water
situation." Oliver was beginning to
warm to his subject.
"Much of Singapore is mountainous, and practically all of
the rest has been developed in some form or other. There's no space for them to build reservoirs. If Singapore were to rely on its own water
supplies, they'd be dry within a day!"
"So how do they cope?"
This was Harry speaking. Oliver
shrugged.
"They have an agreement with Malaysia. The Malays provide the water, Singapore
purifies it, takes what it needs, then sends the rest back."
"A mutually beneficial situation." Oliver made a face.
"Isn't it just? – until the Malaysian government uses our
dependence on their water to inflict unfair political pressure." Ginny took note that Oliver had started to
use personal pronouns.
"We have an incredible shortage of space." He
continued. "There's even a plan afoot
now to artificially extend the resort island, Sentosa. How they'll do it is totally beyond me."
"Perhaps they'll bring in wizards to help." Ginny
suggested idly. Oliver fixed her with
an intense look.
"That's not as daft an idea as you seem to think." He told
her then scratched his head, wondering where to begin.
"It's a strange situation." He
said eventually. "Wizards aren't hated
or feared here, we're rather treated as experts in our field, just like Chinese
traditional doctors, faith healers and astrologers. The Oriental peoples have greater contact with the spiritual
world and are generally less suspicious.
They also don't need every 'i' dotted and every 't' crossed, like
muggles in England do." He looked at
his two friends.
"I, however, do." He said
firmly. "Now, I have a very vague idea
why you're here in Singapore, but no details.
If it's terribly hush-hush, I suppose I'll just have to grit my teeth
and suffer, but if it's all the same to you, I'm terribly curious as to why I
have the pleasure of your company so suddenly." Harry gave a small chuckle and scanned the table: they had all
finished.
"Shall we take our coffee in the
Foyer?" he suggested. "And perhaps
there, Oliver, we can give you a little more idea as to what Singapore might
have to offer us."
Night was beginning to fall
outside, and the lights in the Foyer were gradually brightening. Ginny noticed how the huge space above seemed
both to absorb and to clarify any sound in the building. Tuning out the boys' soft conversation, she
looked up once more at the disturbing walls – Oliver's explanation of their
construction had not served to make her easy with the sensation. Abruptly her attention snapped back into
focus at an outraged yell of pain. She
looked round to see Oliver on his feet, his trousers dripping with hot coffee,
facing a smartly-dressed Eurasian girl who was apologising profusely in heavily
accented English.
"I so sorry!" she exclaimed,
looking as though she was about to cry.
"Are you hurt? Oh, I so
clumsy! Please let me help." She fumbled in her handbag for a
handkerchief. Huge eyes so dark as to
be almost black gazed limpidly upwards through smoky black lashes. Oliver's jaw dropped.
The girl seemed to be in her
early to mid-twenties with shining ebony hair falling almost to her waist, a
pale-skinned oval face, and a slender, lithe body encased in a deep red dress
which clung to her curves and emphasised the endless length of her legs. Oblivious to the hot coffee, Oliver drew a
clean white handkerchief from his breast pocket and offered it to the
girl. She took it with a shy smile of
thanks and carefully mopped a few stray spots of coffee from her Italian
leather shoes before handing it back.
"But what about …?" she gestured to his ruined trousers. Oliver shrugged.
"It doesn't matter." He
responded. "Look, let me buy you a
drink – to show no hard feelings, eh?
The name's Oliver Wood." Her
face broke into a brilliant smile, revealing perfect white teeth.
"I am Wu Jiang-Li." She responded. "Thank you so much."
Taking her by the elbow, Oliver steered her gently towards the bar. Harry watched them go with a small frown on
his face. He heard a soft chuckle from
Ginny.
"Oliver's determined not to let
this one get away." She commented easily.
Harry gave her a very old-fashioned look.
"Ginny, my darling," he began
gently. "That was as professional a
piece of work as I have ever seen in my life!"
"Huh?" Ginny was puzzled. Harry
smiled indulgently.
"The spilled drink is an old
one," he continued. "Although I am
surprised that she chose to drench him quite so thoroughly – and with extremely
hot liquid too." Ginny's quizzical
frown did not abate. Harry sighed.
"That one's a professional – I'd
put money on it!" She looked at him
blankly. Exasperated at her
incomprehension, he lowered his voice.
"A call-girl, a hooker!"
"Oh, surely not!" Ginny was shocked. Harry shrugged, unable to resist a superior smile at her
discomfiture. He sneaked a quick look
at the dark-haired girl standing with his friend at the bar, laughing
attractively and gesturing gracefully with her hands. His frown deepened.
"Well, she's not here for the
benefit of Oliver's baby-blue eyes, that's for sure!"
"His eyes are brown."
"You know what I mean." Ginny sighed.
"I suppose I do. Oh, Harry!" she pouted prettily. "Just when I really thought Oliver was going
to get a life, you have to put the dampers on it!"
"Hey!" he protested, holding up
both his hands defensively. "Don't
shoot the messenger! You know how
hopelessly naïve he is with girls. I
was only giving you the benefit of my greater experience." Ginny had just opened her mouth to let him
have it – greater experience indeed! – when Oliver and his beautiful companion
returned from the bar with their drinks.
Gallantly, Harry collected another chair for the girl and positioned it
next to his friend, directly opposite his own.
Immediately, Oliver began the introductions. The girl nodded politely, only reacting when Harry mentioned that
they were English.
"You are from England?" she
exclaimed, a delighted smile illuminating her flawless face. "I have relatives in England. Let me see now …" She broke off to consider.
"The Chans!" she announced
triumphantly. "They live in
London. Eleanor and Michael, and their
children, Richard, Jenny and Alistair.
You know them, no?" Harry was
puzzled. Perhaps she was nothing more
sinister than a harmless nutter. Oliver
coughed gently.
"London is a very big place," he
told the girl. "And it's impossible to
know everyone who lives there." She
seemed to accept that, then her face lit up once again.
"Ah, but I do have someone that
I am sure you will know! He is a
friend, not a relative. His name is
Fred Weasley." A sudden silence
fell. Oliver's eyes widened. Ginny's startled exclamation was stifled by
Harry's hand slamming swiftly down on her lower arm, preventing her from
drawing her wand. Slowly he shook his
head: if there were going to be fireworks, he would be the one to
deliver them. Lifting his chin slightly
in challenge, Harry warily regarded the lovely young woman opposite. She was still sitting in the deceptively relaxed
posture she had adopted when she had joined them. Her expressionless face clearly told him that the ball was in his
court.
"My wand is pointing straight at
your heart." He said calmly, in low tones, "If you move, I will hex you. Since you claim to be well acquainted with
Fred Weasley, I'm assuming that you know exactly what I mean."
Her response was equally quiet,
equally composed, and in perfect idiomatic North-American English.
"My Wall of Force may only be
two inches thick, but it's wrapped around me exactly like a scuba suit. Anything you choose to throw at me will get
bounced right back at you. Rain
check?" They stared at each other for a
timeless moment then Harry resheathed his wand and brought both his hands into
view, placing them flat on the edge of the table.
"You have the advantage of me,
Miss Jiang-Li," He said with a wry smile. "In more ways than one. Wizarding Intelligence?" She nodded, her rigid expression relaxing
into a half-grin.
"Attached to the Embassy," She
confirmed. "Loosely." Ginny stared.
"So you're our contact?" Wu Jiang-li pursed her lips.
"In a manner of speaking." She
replied. Harry let out a breath.
"So I assume you know exactly
who I am and why I am in Singapore?"
She nodded.
"I was well briefed." She
assured him. "I could have picked you
out of a crowd – and Miss Weasley here, of course, but that wouldn't exactly be
difficult." She smiled across at
Ginny's rigid, unresponsive expression.
"Your pictures don't do you
justice." She told her. "You gained
quite a following here when 'Hold That Thought' was current. A pity it had to disband, but under the
circumstances I suppose it was unavoidable."
Ginny gave her a hard, suspicious stare, then allowed a suspicion of a
smile to crack her face.
"I confess," she replied. "I had
no idea 'Hold That Thought' had been marketed anywhere other than Britain and
The States. Did we really attract that
much attention?" The other girl nodded
with enthusiasm.
"Oh yes." she replied. "My colleagues were humming those tunes for
months." Ginny looked pleased. Harry was still thoughtful.
"Why did you consider it
necessary to use such an – unorthodox method of approach?" He asked.
The girl toyed with her glass, her smile fading.
"Various reasons," She
began. "Concerning news of several
people who are seeking to stop you from completing your quest." Her eyes locked with Harry's.
"Go on." He told her.
"Lucius Malfoy." She began,
without preamble. "He has business
connections here in Singapore. There
are ripples, undercurrents." She shook
her head.
"It's difficult to evaluate the
intelligence when most of it is so nebulous, but the drift of it is, shall we
say, extremely unhealthy for you – on a personal level." Harry nodded without smiling.
"I can believe it, Miss Jiang-Li." He leaned towards her over the table. "So you came to my hotel dressed like a
call-girl and poured coffee over my friend here simply in order to meet us
independently of your Department?
You'll have to do better than that."
She gave him an arch look and
was silent for a moment.
"I do indeed know Fred Weasley on both professional and
personal levels." She began. "He and I
have the same – how shall I call it? – instinct. A nose, a feeling for intrigue, if you like. We both have very sensitive antennae – for
magic and for the inherent rightness in a situation." Her mouth firmed in a straight line.
"And this situation stinks. It's rotten to the core, and the smell is so strong that I prefer
to go it alone than risk being compromised."
"You think Lucius's organisation has infiltrated your
department?" She nodded firmly.
"I'm damn sure of it.
I can't prove anything, of course: he's far too clever not to cover his
ass several times over, but I have a fair idea who I'm dealing with." Harry nodded slowly.
"And if we hadn't been who we pretended to be?" he asked,
his eyes hard. "If this had been a
set-up designed to entrap you, what then?"
She held his gaze steadily.
"Then I would have been forced to take, ah, sterner
measures." They stared each other out
for a brief moment then Harry nodded again silently. The girl smiled, reaching into her purse.
"Just in case you need final proof of my bona fides,
I think this should do nicely." She
slid a folded piece of parchment across the table. Gingerly, Harry picked it up and unwrapped it, frowning in
surprise.
"What is it?"
Ginny leaned over. Wordlessly,
he passed the parchment to her, unsurprised at her gasp of astonishment. She looked up.
"The prophecy!" she exclaimed. "I believe this is the original!" Wu Jiang-Li nodded.
"You're right. I'm
returning it to you on behalf of the Singapore Ministry of Magic."
Harry paused to take a good look at her. She accepted his scrutiny with the passive
acceptance of one who has become accustomed to attention: men would always look
at Wu Jiang-Li. He held out his hand to
her.
"Harry Potter." He said formally. "I am entirely satisfied that you are who
you say you are, Miss Jiang-Li." A
sudden smile lightened her face as she returned the handshake.
"Julie Wu, if you please." she told him. "I spent a few years in Canada – did some
advanced training at the Portastrium School in Vancouver. My fellow students coined the name, and I've
gone by it ever since."
"Is that the only place you've trained?" Ginny asked. Julie shook her head.
"Heavens no!" she replied. "I've studied all over the world – Java, India, Thailand,
Russia. I've even been to Germany. I studied for a year or two at Durmstrang."
"Durmstrang?" The alarm was evident in Ginny's voice. Julie maintained her smile, nodding firmly.
"So are the rumours true?" Harry asked casually. "Do they indeed teach the Dark Arts
there?" The lightness of his tone
belied a certain tension. She shook her
head.
"I am bound by the rules not to reveal the
curriculum." She told him. "Suffice it to say that I only lasted one
term." A delicate shudder told Harry
all he wanted to know.
"Look, if nobody minds, I think I'll just retire for a
moment or two to do a quick repair job on my trousers." Oliver spoke for the first time since
Julie's revelations.
"Seeing as we're all wizards together here, I fail to see
any good reason for staying uncomfortable any longer," he continued. "But as we're in a muggle hotel, I suppose
I'd better get out of sight first." He
turned to the raven-haired beauty.
"You'll stay with us a little longer, won't you?" he
asked. "You won't disappear as soon as
I'm gone?" Julie looked thoughtfully
into his eyes then delivered a smile that settled on him like a ten-ton truck.
"No, Oliver," she replied gently. "I'll still be here." Harry watched Oliver scuttle towards the
Cloakrooms then turned back to Julie.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked quietly.
"That it would be dangerous for us to meet again, and
risky for me to leave messages here at the hotel? Yes, that had occurred to me too." She glanced over her shoulder towards Oliver's disappearing
figure.
"Perhaps a go-between would solve the problem?" Harry suggested mildly. Julie pretended to consider.
"What does he do here in Singapore?"
"He manages the Singapore Swifts." Ginny interjected quickly. "He used to be keeper, but he says he's got
beyond the Manager/Player thing. He's
here for a few more weeks at least – they've been breaking in a new player and
it's not been easy." Julie blinked in
surprise.
"A Quidditch player?" she said, obviously impressed. "That could work. That could work very well."
Ginny looked round to see Harry nodding in satisfied agreement and
allowed herself an inner sigh: Oliver's luck with women was obviously running
true to form.
Now back at their table with freshly pressed trousers,
Oliver was devastated to find Julie in deep conversation with Harry. A very swift exchange of information was
taking place, and Julie was therefore not at all interested in the rituals of
courtship. Ginny took pity on him and
engaged him in conversation, keeping half an ear on the exchange taking place
next to her.
The only contact the Ministry had in Bali was an old Hindu
priest, whose bailiwick covered most of the inhabited parts of the island. Julie explained that she had met him on
several occasions and found it difficult to get any straight information out of
him.
"It will take time," she told Harry, "And at present, time
is the one thing you don't have. Try
not to become impatient with him. If
you want to find this magical artefact – the Syrinx – then you must go with the
flow."
"Do you know anything about it? The Syrinx, I mean?"
Ginny asked, quite forgetting she was supposed to be amusing
Oliver. Julie shook her head slowly.
"Nothing concrete." She replied, to their
disappointment. "Well, nothing at all
really, beyond a couple of vague references in ancient legend. Stuff we all learned in childhood. Anyway, I'll get word to you when I've made
the arrangements". She glanced quickly
in Oliver's direction. Harry nodded.
Unsurprisingly, when Oliver requested the pleasure of
seeing Julie home, she accepted with alacrity.
He was completely unable to disguise his delight and bustled about,
seeing to her purse, her wrap and her empty glass before whisking her away into
the night and an air-conditioned taxi.
Ginny felt sorry for him, and rather annoyed with Harry for setting him
up so blatantly. Nevertheless, they
needed a conduit and Oliver fitted the bill precisely. There were things more important than
personal relationships at present. As
she linked arms with Harry and prepared to go up to their room, it hit her exactly
how true that was of her own situation.
Why can't we all just be left alone to get on with our
lives? She thought resentfully.
Because you chose to become involved with the Famous
Harry Potter, that's why. Came the reply almost instantly. Anyone involved with Harry takes on part
of his responsibility. You can't avoid
it, you shouldn't try to. It's your
destiny to help and support him, and that's what Oliver is doing now, although
he may not see it quite that way!
~oo0oo~
