Disclaimer: This story is written for the purposes of my own amusement and, hopefully, that of my readers, and no profit of any kind is being generated by it or by either of its prequels. All characters and history belong to J.K. Rowling and to whosoever she has licensed her creations at the present time. I own the plot and the odd original character, nothing else.
Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews. I need to give credit to Jane Austen for one small misquotation from Pride & Prejudice.
Sorcerors' Endgame A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher Sequel to "By the Pricking of My Thumbs"Chapter Eleven: The Hunt Begins
Hermione sighed as she sipped her cocoa. The argument with Lee had taken it out of her. She really hadn't wanted to upset him, but he just wouldn't listen.
The problem was that it was 3.00am and nothing more could be resolved until morning. They all desperately needed sleep, but Lee was adamant that he was not leaving Hermione alone with Draco. This she could understand, and was grateful for his concern, but his solution to the problem was to contact Ron immediately. It was there that she and Lee parted company.
Lee had had enough of Draco's theatricals, and of his precarious position vis a vis Lucius and the Ministry. He was also not impressed by the spectre of Peter Pettigrew's unconscious body on the floor of the Weasley living room. It gave him the creeps, he said. The situation was ridiculous. Why not just get the Aurors in now? It would save so much time and anguish later.
Hermione begged to differ. Firstly, she gave an outright negative to contacting Ron. All that would happen is that the two wizards would automatically fight a duel. Ron would kill Draco, or Draco would kill Ron. Either of which outcome would be a very unsatisfactory end to a stressful day.
Ron was on a twelve-hour shift, due to the panic over the Azkaban breakout. He wasn't due back until 11 am at the very earliest, by which time Hermione fervently hoped that they would have come to some sort of agreement. Otherwise – well, she really didn't want to think about it.
Grumbling fit to burst, Lee had bespoken Ellen who was far from sanguine about being woken up for the second time that night, and even less happy when she learned that Lee would not be returning home until late morning. Convinced that this was the only way to ensure Hermione's safety, Lee retired in high dudgeon to the other sofa having issued pointed threats to Draco involving a live electrical cable and certain delicate parts of his anatomy should Hermione so much as sprain her little finger. Hermione shrugged almost apologetically at Draco as Lee settled himself among the cushions and almost immediately began to snore.
"He feels responsible for me in Ron's absence." she explained with slight exasperation. Draco had been somewhat nonplussed, pondering on what an electrical cable might be, live or otherwise. He merely smiled vaguely, his unseeing eyes fixed upon the glowing coals consuming themselves away in the grate. There was silence save for the tick of the clock. Hermione's mug was empty. From his silent immobility, she could almost believe that Draco was dozing, but the flicker of his eyelids betrayed him.
"Why don't you sleep?" she asked softly. He turned his head, grey eyes glittering in the half-light.
"Why don't you?" he countered. She shrugged and folded her hands over her abdomen.
"The baby's awake." she explained. "It seems to be a nocturnal creature, at least at present."
"Perhaps it's a werewolf," suggested Draco, "Or even a vampire. Quite likely when you think about it, considering Weasley's the father. At least, I assume he is." Hermione felt no inclination to rise to these barbs, and indeed Draco himself delivered them in a world-weary, flat tone as though he was just going through the motions. I guess it must be hard to put your heart into hating someone after you've just saved her life. Hermione mused, taking a sidelong glance at the smooth, aquiline profile. She shifted in her chair so she could observe him more easily.
"Malfoy," she began quietly, "what do you think happened to your sister?" There was a long pause, then the blonde man sighed and leaned his forehead against the heels of his hands.
"I honestly don't know." he replied. "I think if my father hadn't loosed the dogs of war on me for trying to find out, I would have let it drop by now. I've got so little to go on, yet there must be something about her death that wasn't above-board to get him so excited."
"But you have your suspicions?"
"Of course I do. Everyone has suspicions. It's giving them substance – that's where most of us come unstuck, myself included at the moment." He scratched his head.
"I sort of wonder whether my mother went mad with grief, as I was told, or whether she was party to – whatever it was."
"Or whether she was locked away to silence her." Draco stared then nodded slowly.
"Good on you, Granger." he said, respect dawning in his eyes. "I hadn't thought of that one. It would be just like my father to do something so pointlessly brutal to his wife of seventeen years." Hermione chewed her lip.
"You really hate him, don't you?" Draco raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, come now, Granger!" he told her with an urbane smile. "I've grown up with this kind of treatment. I was taught to lie, cheat and deceive when I was in my cradle. I've had my Dark Arts training from the very best; you don't learn that sort of thing out of books, you know. My father is an exceptional Dark Wizard – and yes, I hate him. I hate him more than Potter hates Voldemort, the sick bastard, because believe it or not I have more reason to." Hermione was startled.
"More reason to hate Lucius than Voldemort? Great Merlin, Malfoy, what did he do to you?" But Draco was shaking his head.
"You don't want to know, Granger." he said, his face graven in stone. "Believe me, you don't."
Draco, thought Hermione, was being surprisingly forthcoming about his family. It had to be the after-effects of what they had gone through this evening. Bearing that in mind, she decided to ask a very risky question.
"Malfoy?" she began again.
"Yes, Granger?" the tone was deceptively mild, but Hermione reckoned that he was reaching the end of his patience. However, whatever she was, Hermione was no coward. She squared her shoulders.
"Something I've always wondered. Was it your idea or your father's to ensnare Ginny in that particular fashion?" Draco sighed.
"I was so right about dotting 'i's and crossing 't's. Can't you ever let anything go? No." he shook his head wearily. "No, you never could." He leaned back against the sofa cushions and sighed heavily. He turned his head giving her the benefit of his piercing grey eyes.
"Seeing as neither of us is likely to get any sleep," he began wearily, "I may as well tell you. After all, you probably know more now about my family than anyone outside its immediate environs. What harm can yet another indiscretion do when I'm already facing Azkaban?" There was a slight edge of despair to his tone. Hermione swallowed the first faint stirrings of guilt and kept her mouth shut and her ears open.
"Unfortunately, it was my suggestion to attack Potter through his relationship with the lovely Miss Weasley." He began without rancour. "As soon as she moved into his house, I realised now useful his resulting vulnerability could be to us. I argued with my father over it. I insisted we strike as soon as we could, before he could come to a proper understanding with her. The earlier we attacked them, the easier it would be to pull them apart. Once the snare was laid through our operatives in Iran and Potter had taken the bait, the redoubtable Miss Valentin was despatched to deal with that end of the setup. When my father suggested that I not only lure Miss Weasley away from Potter but enslave her myself, I looked upon that as a definite improvement on the original plan. In this way, three out of the four possible scenarios would have given us enough success to achieve our long-term objectives." Draco pulled at the lobe of one ear in an oddly childlike manner.
"Of course," he continued, "I hadn't realised exactly what dear old daddy had in mind. That potion was the absolute devil to concoct – I spent weeks researching it, and I had precious little to go on to guarantee its effectiveness or its correct formulation. Then I realised that if I simply hit her with its effects all at once, it would be instantly obvious to her immediate circle that she was acting under coercion. I had to play this one very coolly indeed."
Hermione clenched her fists. Draco was relating the history of one of the most painful events in her recent family history with as much emotion as he would describe a – a trip to Diagon Alley! Ginny was still seriously traumatised. Draco was describing his task as though it had been a military campaign. Perhaps it had been.
"The role of Marcus Torrence came relatively easily." Draco continued, oblivious to Hermione's reaction. "I've always been interested in music – in fact, in my adolescence, I seriously considered a career on the technical side. Of course, at that time I didn't fully realise that the direction of my future was not exactly mine to choose." He smiled ironically. "Malfoys have only ever had one career." Hermione forebore to tease him with questions on that subject for fear that he might answer them.
"The first part of the enchantment came easily." He steepled his fingers, leaning his chin against the apex. "Octavia used to make coffee so strong it would strip paint. You could put Asafoetida into it and not notice." Hermione wrinkled her nose at the mere notion of drinking the foul-smelling herb.
"The most critical decision for me was when to activate it." He began to play with the cording around the edge of a cushion. "After we'd done a couple of gigs together, I reckoned I'd smouldered around her long enough to make a relationship believable. The first kiss cast a Compulsion on her. From then on, she was totally lost. I must admit, though, I was surprised to find that she could still think logically, even while obeying my Summons." He looked at Hermione once again.
"She unmasked me, you know." he told her conversationally.
"Yes, she did tell me." It took all of Hermione's self-control to keep her voice steady. Draco nodded.
"She caught sight of my reflection in a window." he continued with a grimace. "Not the kind of trap my father would have fallen into. But then my father would have enslaved her without a second thought. Tumbled her into his bed and had his pleasure of her until she bored him, then handed her over for more of the same to whichever of his henchmen was most in favour at the time. He's done it before." Draco's expression was bleak. Hermione swallowed and fumbled for the cold dregs of her cocoa to give herself something to do. Otherwise she might just strangle him with her bare hands. She frowned, partly at the taste, partly at a question running through her mind. Before she could chicken out, she asked it.
"Why didn't you enslave her?" she asked curiously. "After all, she was totally at your mercy, and it was what you had been working for, striving for all that time. Why did you let her go?"
This was the six-million-dollar question. The rationale behind Ginny's almost miraculous escape had puzzled everybody who had heard about it. Arthur Weasley had found it very difficult to believe at first, but Ginny stubbornly told the same tale every time she was persuaded to talk about it, and eventually he forbade discussion of the subject on the grounds that it was driving Ginny herself just as crazy trying to work it out. Hermione had no real expectation that he would enlighten her, but she felt it incumbent upon herself to ask. It was the question Draco had been dreading.
There was a long, long pause, then he sighed and leaned his forehead in his hands.
"Why did I spare her?" he said. "Why indeed! The culmination of my magical education, a coup d'etat for my father and the Dark Side, total vindication of my somewhat chequered career, and a sizeable leg up the status ladder for me." He sighed again, shaking his head.
"I fell in love with her." he replied. He made the momentous statement quietly and with no particular inflection, just as a statement of fact, nothing more, nothing less. To Hermione, it was a bolt out of the blue.
"You – you're kidding!" she whispered, eyes as round as saucers.
"Yes, of course I'm kidding, Granger!" Draco reverted to snarling sarcasm. "For years I've frequently been in the habit of declaring undying love for unsuitable females when the fancy takes me. In fact, several times a day if there's an 'r' in the month."
"But Draco, how could you?" Hermione's first shocked reaction was to reject his explanation utterly. She had never been a believer in the theory that Draco Malfoy had discovered compassion in the person of Ginny Weasley, and here he was claiming that it was not merely understanding, but love that had saved the girl from slavery.
"Do you think I'm proud of it?" he lashed back at her. "Stone-hearted, cold, calculating, aristocratic Dark Wizard, Draco Malfoy falls for the little do-gooder from the poverty-stricken, muggle-loving Weasley family? The whole idea makes me sick to my stomach." He turned away from her and hugged himself tightly, his face stricken.
"But nevertheless, it's true. No matter how many times I've tried to deny it, I can't forget her. I can only put her out of my mind temporarily." He shrugged helplessly. "She always comes back."
Hermione pulled herself together.
"How did this happen?" Draco shrugged sulkily then his face crumpled in despair.
"I don't know, Granger." he said wearily. "It could have been spontaneous combustion, but I seriously doubt it. Even in the Torrence persona, I don't think I'm quite that susceptible." He sighed.
"I guess it must have been the Enchantment." he said finally. "Potions was always something I excelled at – everyone thought I got my marks because Snape was creating local colour by making me his favourite, but it wasn't the case. I was quite happy to let you think so, however. " A faint smile hovered over his lips, then faded.
"It's a very old and difficult potion to create." he explained. "I had help and guidance from an expert my father summoned from Russia. A pupil of Rasputin, no less. But despite all the safeguards, I suspect that I was hoist on my own petard." He sighed again heavily.
"And what a fitting punishment for using an illegal enchantment akin to one of the Unforgiveables!" he said with savage irony. "Cursed till my dying day to love a woman whom I can never hope to have: cold and blind to anyone else. A very suitable retribution. You may tell Miss Weasley when you see her. No doubt she will appreciate the justice of the situation." He buried his face in his hands and drew a shaking breath.
Hermione didn't quite know how to respond to this sudden outpouring. She guessed that Draco was quite unaccustomed to baring his soul, and wondered vaguely how she, without ever having pretended to like or even approve of him, had become the recipient of his confidence.
Presently, Draco straightened, rubbing his hands over his face.
"I know she's pledged to Potter," he continued with remarkable candour, "And nothing I can do or say will change that fact. I don't love her with any hope in my heart that she will one day see the error of her ways and come flying to my arms – believe me, Granger, you can't live the kind of life I have and retain any sort of illusions, let alone illusions about love. No." he continued, shaking his head.
"I love her not because I want to, but because I have to. It's painful, inconvenient, mortifying – frightening even. You see, this obsession has broken me wide open. Woken me up and forced me to smell the coffee." He looked up at Hermione and their eyes locked.
"The feelings I have now make it impossible for me to continue on my present path." He told her dispassionately. "I have committed some horrible crimes over the years, but this enchantment – if that's what it is – has uncovered enough humanity left in me to destroy all my father's carefully laid groundwork. I am still a Malfoy, but I now find myself revolted by my father, by his track record and by the history of my entire family. I am a Malfoy, yes – but this is the end of the line for me as a Dark Wizard."
"What will you do now?" Hermione asked in the sudden silence that followed such a devastating pronouncement. Draco shrugged and gave a small smile.
"It depends what you decide, Granger." he replied. "Whether you will help me, or hand me over to the Ministry Minions." Hermione pondered. The ticking of the clock seemed suddenly loud in the silent room. Over on the other sofa, Lee sighed in his sleep and turned over.
"What exactly do you want from me?" she asked, surprised that she hadn't thought to broach this subject before. Draco gave a slight chuckle without looking at her then he turned and held her gaze.
"I want you to tell me where Potter is." he said, slowly and deliberately. "Where he is, and how to get to him."
Hermione's hands rushed to her face. How could she have been so blind?
"So you can pursue Ginny?" she demanded, shaking her head vehemently. "Or wreak some sort of damage on Harry? Not on your life, Malfoy. Go work it out for yourself."
"I've been trying." he replied equably, not at all phased. "I can't find hide nor hare of either of them on the grapevine, nor from any of my dwindling number of sources. That's why I'm reduced to asking you." Hermione was almost speechless.
"You sit here and spout about how much you care for Ginny," she began in furious indignation, "and then expect me to betray her at the first opportunity? What sort of a friend do you think I am?" Draco was shaking his head.
"A very loyal one," he replied, "however, also one who is not thinking very clearly."
"On the contrary, Malfoy!" Hermione was livid. "I'm starting to think clearly for the first time since you stepped into this apartment!" Draco turned to her, his eyes bright with urgency.
"Please, Hermione." he began, desperation seeping through the mask of control. "I have to find Potter." He took hold of her upper arms in his insistence. "Finding him, tracking him down is the only way I can get …"
"I've heard enough!" Hermione was beyond any kind of persuasion. She flung his hands away as though they burned her. She was so angry she failed to notice immediately that Draco had uttered a word she had never heard him use. That word was 'please".
"And to think I nearly fell for it!" she was outraged. Grabbing her empty mug, she swept off to the kitchen in high dudgeon.
"I'm going to bed!" she announced. "And don't even think of trying to get out of here. Lee put Unbreakable Wards on the doors, windows and chimney. Try to leave, and see where it gets you!" Draco merely bowed his head in acknowledgment.
Some time after Hermione had retired to her room, Draco rose quietly from the sofa. By this time, the fire was practically out. The dying embers cast a faint glow around the room, just enough to see by. Stealthily, Draco drew his wand, walked feather-footed over to where Lee Jordan lay snoring, and traced a complex symbol over his supine form, muttering softly. Lee grunted and turned over, his breathing evening out again. Draco smiled. He padded out into the hallway and turned to the door of Hermione's bedroom. He shook his head, smiling faintly.
"First and last mistake, Granger." he said quietly. "You should have kept tabs on my wand." He drew the same intricate symbol in the air outside her door, murmuring in a similar fashion. When he was satisfied, he withdrew to the living room. With the point of his wand, he marked out the eight corners of the apartment and joined them together.
"Paries Silentii!" Draco whispered, efficiently erecting his Wall of Silence. He lowered his wand and turned to the still form of the hitherto abused and ignored Peter Pettigrew.
"Now, Peter my lad." he said, smiling as he swiftly removed the other's wand from an inside pocket. "Let's see what you know, shall we? Enervate!"
~oo0oo~
The time was seven minutes past eleven in the morning. Ron Weasley wearily angled his broomstick to land on the balcony of his apartment and turned the door handle. It wouldn't budge. However hard he tried, he couldn't make the door move. Even Alohomora failed. Reluctantly, Ron lowered himself to ground level, using an Everyday Charm to conceal the strangeness of his activities from prying muggle eyes. He then ascended the stairs and tried to enter by the front door. No response there either. He returned to the balcony, by now seriously worried, and checked the windows – no luck. He used a Levitation Charm to try to get in via the kitchen and bedroom windows – still no joy. Through a gap in the curtain, Ron could see Hermione still fast asleep in bed. His tapping became loud knocking, pounding and yelling, but she remained stubbornly unresponsive.
By the time consciousness crept into Hermione's brain, it was twelve-thirty and Ron was practically hoarse with shouting. At first, she found it difficult even to remember her own name – her head was pounding, but she had no memory of having done anything the previous evening to deserve a hangover of such magnitude. She tumbled out of bed, dimly registering a loud noise outside the front door, then gasped in alarm as her auditory centres recognised and identified the origin of the din. On admitting her furious husband into their apartment, Hermione felt sufficiently confused to be unable to give a satisfactory account of the events of the previous evening. Instead she told Ron to be quiet in no uncertain terms, and snatched up a piece of parchment lying openly on the sofa. She gasped, scanning it quickly, her hand over her mouth.
"Hermione, for the last time, will you tell me what is going on around here?" Ron was positively dancing with fury. Hermione made a noise of frustration and chagrin, looked up at her irate husband and thrust the parchment at him wordlessly. Ron seized it and read:
Be not alarmed, my dear Granger, on receiving this note by the suspicion that it may contain anything that could cause distress either to you or to your esteemed husband.
Puzzled, Ron snorted softly.
As I explained to you last night, for the preservation of my life I cannot allow you to deliver me to Ministry Authorities while the status quo remains unchanged. I fully understand your reluctance to reveal the whereabouts of your two greatest friends, but you will be fascinated to learn that Pettigrew was a good deal more receptive to persuasion than were you. Do with him what you will with my blessing, I have no further need of the idiot. On second thoughts, perhaps the Ministry would be inclined to look upon my plight more favourably if it became known that I was his captor?
A word to the wise: if circumstances remain unchanged at the Ministry, Pettigrew will not survive long enough to spill his guts, let alone testify.
Caio,
Draco Malfoy
P.S. I apologise for the use of the Dormosus charm. A crude method of buying time, but nonetheless effective. My sincere apologies for the unpleasant after-effects.
Hermione blushed to the roots of her hair under Ron's incredulous stare.
"You mean – " he began in a strangled voice, "Draco Malfoy was – here? In our home?" His astonishment turned to horror. He grabbed her shoulders.
"'Mione, what did he do to you? Is the baby okay?" she shook her head firmly.
"Nothing, Ron." she replied. "He did nothing to me at all, and the baby's fine. Really." she added, as his expression became disbelieving. She sighed.
"He came for help." she told him resignedly. Ron's eyes practically started out of his head.
"Help?" he squeaked.
Hermione stared at her husband. This was a most unfortunate turn of events – and it wasn't even her fault! She was humiliated to think that Draco Malfoy had outwitted her – her! Hermione Granger-Weasley! Cleverest witch of her Hogwarts generation! But she hadn't exactly invited him, had she? He had waltzed into their apartment without so much as a by-your-leave and proceeded to turn her life upside down. How could she had made the most elementary mistake in the book and allowed him to keep his wand? Hermione fumed silently. She suspected now that flouncing off to bed in a full-scale snit had been more Draco's idea than hers. If she hadn't been so rattled, she might have remembered that he was still armed.
Marshalling her thoughts, Hermione gave Ron a concise account of the events of the previous evening, interspersed with comments largely of a defensive nature from a very subdued and bleary-eyed Lee Jordan.
"I wanted to call you, Ron." he said plaintively, ignoring Hermione's glares. She trod heavily on his unshod foot, ignoring his yell of pain.
"Well, darling, at least you've got Wormtail." she told her husband in a 'look on the bright side' tone of voice. Ron, however, was not listening; he was busy scanning Draco's message for the second time.
"Bloody hell!" he swore violently, crumpling the parchment between his hands. "That really tears it!" Hermione raised her eyebrows interrogatively. Ron sighed and took Hermione's hand in his.
"We had confirmation this morning." he told her in a quieter voice. "Lucius and MacNair are already in Bali. Fortunately, we managed to intercept their backup team before they could Port out to join them." Ron made a disgusted noise.
"They tried to use a designated Portkey exchange, the idiots! We picked them up as soon as they passed the front entrance." Hermione frowned.
"So if Lucius knows where Harry is," she began slowly, "then so does Pettigrew."
"And right now, so does Draco!" Ron ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. "That's all we need now – Draco joining the party in Bali. The only saving grace we have is that none of them know Harry's exact whereabouts on the island. Of course, that's something of a two-edged sword, as we don't either." His grim smile faded as he considered the rest of his news.
"Our contact reported that Lucius is staying at an exclusive wizard hotel in Nusa Dua – accompanied by an unknown woman." He looked up at Hermione with worried eyes.
"I think we can take an educated guess as to who that might be." he added bleakly.
~oo0oo~
Mouse propped a bulging rucksack against his shins and unrolled a small piece of parchment. He frowned then yelped, snatching away burnt fingers as the message spontaneously combusted immediately he had absorbed its content.
"Ah, shit man!" He dropped the parchment and watched as it disintegrated before his eyes, sucking his burnt fingers in disgust. He would never, ever get used to these weird methods of communication.
A shadow fell over him and he looked up involuntarily into blue, blue eyes that seemed to expand to fill the whole universe. A strangely soporific feeling of contentment suffused his being. It was something like being stoned or hammered, his conscious mind observed. Then he stopped listening.
The face around the eyes smiled in a friendly fashion.
"Excuse me." The voice was quiet and cultured. "I'm sorry to accost you in the street, but I'm a friend of Virginia Weasley and I need to get in touch with her urgently. I understand that you might know where I can find her." Mouse grinned broadly at the blue eyes.
"Yeah, sure I do!" he exclaimed, anxious to be of help. The other man's smile widened.
"I felt sure you would." he murmured in satisfaction.
"Yeah!" continued Mouse, still grinning inanely. "Tell you what – I'm jus' on my way to join them. Bus is due any minute now."
"How very convenient!" The stranger pushed his blonde hair back off his face. Mouse wondered fleetingly why anyone would choose to wear black in a climate like this, but the mantle of warmth descended over him once again, whispering reassurance that the blue-eyed guy was a cool dude, one of the good guys.
"How long does the journey take?" the blonde man was asking.
"'Bout three hours." Mouse caught sight of a ramshackle vehicle clanking its way towards them and stuck out his hand.
"And where exactly are we going?" Mouse threw his rucksack through the doorway, climbed in athletically and extended a hand to help the other man with his luggage. It was then he realised that his new companion was travelling with just the clothes he stood in. A frown gathered between Mouse's eyebrows.
"You got no luggage? Where's your pack, man?" The blue-eyed man stared up into his face and smiled again. Suddenly his lack of personal belongings was supremely unimportant. Any idiot could see that the guy was okay. He probably had some trouble at the airport. Yeah, that was it. Mouse could understand that. Hey, stuff happens! He was sure they'd manage with what he'd brought in his pack, he didn't mind sharing. He turned to the bus driver and bought two tickets to the Bali Barat National Park. Mouse shouldered his rucksack and moved into the bus.
"What's your name, man?" he looked back over his shoulder. "They call me Mouse." The blonde man smiled.
"Pleased to meet you, Mouse." he replied, following the other to the back of the bus. "I'm known as Marcus Torrence."
~oo0oo~
Lucius Malfoy was in an extremely bad temper. Not only had he wasted an entire day kicking his heels around this godforsaken place waiting for reinforcements who never showed up – arrested by Weasley and his Ministry bloodhounds, for Merlin's sake! – but the private muggle army he had been amassing had suddenly melted into oblivion following a number of spectacular raids by the muggle police. Something about a drug smuggling ring, apparently.
Lucius gritted his teeth. Unfortunately, it seemed that his worthless excuse for a son and heir, Draco, had indeed managed to get some information out of Cavendish before Wormtail could silence the muggle. That was bad enough, but the latest reports placed Draco in the heart of the enemy camp – with Ron and Hermione Weasley, of all people! The muggle homing device was still working though. Lucius smiled grimly: his Deatheaters in London had reported that the signal had moved north towards Scotland. Trying to get to Hogwarts are you, my boy? It won't help you to go to ground there, I'm far too strong politically for McGonagall to resist.
All this was extremely annoying, but even more aggravating was Wormtail's failure to answer his messages. Lucius had expected him to catch up with Draco at the Weasley apartment. Evidently, he had failed again and was too terrified to check in. Lucius slammed a savage fist down on the table in barely suppressed fury, shaking the crockery. And the coffee in this hotel is crap!
A slender, brown-skinned hand set a small toppled vase to an upright position. Lucius looked up as Katia Valentin slid sinuously into a chair, smiling faintly.
"Bad news?" she enquired in a tone just short of insolence. Lucius let out his frustration in a vicious sigh and shaking his head, drained his cup in one go. He made a face of disgust.
"Damnit, what is this stuff? It's undrinkable." Katia poured some of the dark aromatic liquid into a cup and sniffed appreciatively.
"It's Colombian – the best coffee in the world," she told him quietly, "and I suggest you keep your mouth shut and your temper under control." Lucius stared, speechless with anger. Katia composedly took a sip of her drink.
"It's an excellent blend," she continued conversationally, "and it is scarcely the growers' fault that you pollute it with milk. Now." Her tone became brisk and businesslike, cutting through his vain attempts to interrupt.
"My spies tracked Potter and the Weasley girl to a rundown house in a slum area of Denpasar." she began. "They raided the place, but they encountered unexpected resistance. When they returned later, the birds had already flown. Rumour has it that they are making for the Bali Barat National Park – no one knows why. My people have Apparated to the perimeter, but must go further on foot. They are waiting for us to join them before following Potter and his companions into the rainforest." She took a complacent sip of her coffee. Lucius was spluttering indignantly.
"Your spies, your people? What resources do you have in this country?" He glared angrily. "And what kind of hired help are you using if they can't Apparate further than that?" Katia put down her coffee cup and arched her eyebrows.
"What's the matter, Lucius?" she taunted. "Annoyed that I found them first? Or did you just get out of bed the wrong side this morning?" Lucius bit down on his resentment, moved slowly around the table and with a lightening motion, closed steel fingers around the girl's wrist. Her smooth, deadpan face betrayed a flicker of unease as she flexed her arm to no avail.
"Not this time, my pretty," he murmured between his teeth, "and as for this talk of beds, I regard it as very unfriendly of you to have locked your door last night. Very unfriendly indeed, particularly considering that without my aid, you would still be languishing in Azkaban." Katia struggled in vain.
"Scum!" she spat, still trying to fee herself. "It was down to your incompetence that I was there in the first place!" Lucius gave a low laugh and increased the pressure on her arm. The strength enchantment he had cast over himself earlier was reducing her resistance to nothing.
"You have courage, I'll grant you that." he continued, grabbing a handful of her thick, black hair, jerking her head to an impossible angle. "It would be a pleasure to break your spirit, to make you into a willing slave. You would find me a most – ah – inventive bed partner."
"Never!" Katia's voice was muffled, but her eyes were murderous. Lucius was amused.
"Ah, but I'm forgetting – " his eyes glittered with malice. "Sirius Black got there first, didn't he? Oh, yes – I've done a little research into your past record, my pretty. It wasn't business that made you sleep with him, was it? You didn't need any reason to climb into his bed, did you? You were only too happy to have him between your legs. He humbled you. He tamed your wild spirit, bested your fierce temper. He made you gentle, pliant. He made you love him."
"That's not true!" she shrieked, struggling wildly.
"And then he betrayed you, left you, to return to Potter and the rest of his benighted crew." Lucius was grinning now, enjoying himself hugely. "He dropped you like a hot brick once he discovered what you really are. Far from luring him over to the Dark Side, you lost your own direction. And you've never got over him." He laughed nastily. "Was he good in bed, Katia?" He shook her roughly by the shoulders. "Did his loving make you moan and thrash in the throes of passion? Make you feel truly alive for once in your life? Such a shame you couldn't hold on to him." Lucius shook his head in feigned sympathy.
"But I don't mind." he continued, still holding her, one hand starting to wander. "I'm not fussy about my partner's track-record, just so long as she's …"
There was a sudden explosion. Lucius found himself flat on his back ten feet away with the breath knocked from his body. Katia approached him, breathing heavily and rubbing her wrist where a ring of bruises was already beginning to form. Lucius stared at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he gasped for air.
"If you ever touch me again," she told him with dreadful finality, "you will die." She took a shuddering breath and abruptly Disapparated.
~oo0oo~
"Guru, the sun's sinking and we're pretty much all in. Shouldn't we make some kind of camp? Get some rest, at least for a couple of hours?" Sirius had moved up the row from the rear to suggest some kind of a break.
Mercifully, their route had not taken them into swampland, but through primary rainforest. Here the canopy was so thick that little undergrowth could survive. As a consequence, the going was not particularly difficult and they were largely protected from direct sunlight, but the humidity was one hundred per cent and the air was stock still. They had been walking for the majority of the day, and Ginny was beginning to show signs of exhaustion.
Guru did not slacken his pace, but he raised his head and sniffed.
"We must keep walking until sundown." he replied implacably. "If we bivouac here we will run the risk of predators. Also, we are too near standing water. We must climb, get higher above the water table. Then it will be safe to rest." He turned to observe his party of travellers – Harry, unruly hair plastered to his head, glasses constantly slipping down his nose, holding a hand out to help Ginny, frail and grey-faced with fatigue, the arms of her teeshirt damp with perspiration. Following in their footsteps were his daughter, her braided silver hair falling out of its restraints, with Fred Weasley at her elbow, pausing occasionally to wipe the sweat out of his eyes, holding out a hand to assist her whenever necessary. Guru nodded, a faint smile curving his lips.
"It is hard going for those who aren't used to it." he replied more gently. He looked up at Sirius. "We should be free of the immediate mosquito zone in about another hour, but the lie of the land will soon become steeper. It will not be easy."
Guru was right. By sunset, Sirius was wheezing like an octogenarian. As he turned to haul Harry up a steep incline, he felt his knees give way and only just managed to hang on. Together they spent the last of their strength helping the two women to the top. Syrinx was, if possible, paler than ever, her breath rasping in her throat, Ginny all but collapsed. Fred brought up the rear, checking diligently for any sign of pursuit, and negotiated the ascent under his own steam. Sirius shook his head. This was the man Tantalus Brown had described as 'unstable'!
Guru was breathing heavily. He stood, his back bent, leaning his hands upon his knees while he sucked in great lungfuls of air. Sirius really had to hand it to him. The man was seventy if he was a day, and he had knocked spots of all of them, including the fit twenty-somethings.
"We should be able to find somewhere suitable to rest for a few hours now." he replied at length, glancing at Syrinx. She nodded.
"There is a dry cave a little way to the east." she pointed, aiming her sightless eyes to her left. "There is also a spring of clean water." Harry dusted down his filthy jeans.
"Well," he sighed, "at least we're above the canopy now. That should make it a little cooler." Guru snorted.
"We'll get a reasonable night's sleep as a result," he said, "but we'll be back down in the rainforest tomorrow, so don't get used to it!"
Gratefully, the group stumbled along a mainly level path for another half-mile or so, then Sirius stopped, pushed aside some scrubby undergrowth, and disappeared into a fissure in the rock. He looked out straight at Syrinx.
"Is this what you mean?" he asked. She aimed her empty eyes in his direction and nodded, smiling.
"That is exactly what I mean." she replied, smiling. Sirius stared, shaking his head in bewilderment at her unerring abilities.
A little while later, Ginny was stirring a cauldron of soup over a small campfire. She had rallied somewhat after the sun had gone down and had argued fiercely with Fred over the necessity of a cooking fire.
"Smoke up here is as good a way of advertising our presence as a Conflagration curse." he argued. "Not only do we run the risk of being pinpointed by the Dark Side, we're breaking muggle law by wandering in this land without an appointed guide. The last thing we want is to excite the interest of the Forest Rangers – they'll arrest us as poachers!" Ginny shook her head vehemently.
"Yes, I know all that, Fred," she replied, "But the tinder we've gathered is so dry, it'll make no smoke at all. Trust me." The general opinion was with Ginny, largely due to the fact that a hot meal was an irresistible lure after such a long day's travelling. However, to Fred's surprise, even Syrinx weighed in behind her fellow witch. Sighing, he gave way.
It seemed as though Ginny was right. The fire lasted long enough for her to reconstitute and heat through a muggle packet of dehydrated vegetable soup with dried, salted meat added to give it more sticking power. Accompanied by flat, unleavened bread, the meal was consumed ravenously despite its less than gourmet flavour.
Harry wandered over to where Ginny was sitting on the outskirts of the party, slowly finishing her bread.
"Don't stare." he said quietly, sitting down next to her. She flushed, but stood her ground.
"I know," she said mildly, "But I've never seen Fred like this before." Harry focussed on his old friend, deep in quiet conversation with the enigmatic Syrinx, and smiled gently.
"They're holding hands." he murmured. Ginny poked him lightly in the ribs.
"Now who's staring?" she riposted.
"A mere glance." he replied equably, sliding an arm round her shoulders.
Fred stroked the pale, slender fingers held lightly in his own much bigger hand, resisting the urge to bring them to his lips. She was so delicate he feared he would crush her. A delighted giggle escaped the young girl next to him.
"What?" he asked. She gave him an amused smile.
"You." she replied. "You're just so – reverent."
"I have every cause to be." he retorted. "Don't I?"
"Hmmm." She tilted her head to one side thoughtfully. "Perhaps, although I'd really rather be treated as a normal person." Fred raised serious eyes to her face.
"But Syrinx, you're not a normal person."
"Only in one area, Fred."
"It's a pretty big area, if you don't mind me saying so." The girl paused. Fred could feel her thoughts turning around in her head.
"The number of true Seers throughout magical history can be numbered on the fingers of one hand." she said pensively. "It has been nearly five hundred years since the last Seer died."
"Five hundred years!" Fred was impressed, then he smiled impishly. "I guess that puts dear old Prof. Trelawney out in the cold, huh?" He forgot that Syrinx had never been to Hogwarts, but strangely she seemed to understand him.
"Your Professor Trelawney has a sensitivity, no more, to the workings of the future." Syrinx said. Fred frowned.
"What do you know about her?" The pale girl smiled.
"Only what is in your mind." she replied equably. "You remember her very clearly – I can see her now. Floating scarves, firelight, huge spectacles – like some enormous insect." Fred stared.
"How'd you do that?" she shrugged.
"We are – connected." she told him. "You had a taste of it yesterday when we first met." Fred shook his head in bewilderment.
"I don't understand." Syrinx stroked his hand soothingly.
"You will," she told him, "once you get a handle on your own powers." She was unconsciously adopting his modes of speech, he noticed. Was this because she could see into his mind so easily?
Syrinx was shaking her head.
"I can't see into your mind, not as such." she replied to a question he hadn't even asked. Fred was beginning to feel more and more at sea. The gentle, persistent stroking of her fingers gradually calmed him. The young girl's face changed.
"Fred, I am truly blind." she told him seriously. "My eyes are an organic disaster area, a medical one-off. But nevertheless, I have sight." Fred gnawed his upper lip.
"You said this once before," he remarked. "And I didn't understand it then. Syrinx, if you can't see, you can't see. And, forgive me, but there is no way your eyes are ever going to function normally." He smiled tenderly at the girl. Unerringly, she directed her sightless gaze to his face and smiled in return.
"That, my dear, is stating the obvious." she replied, her gentle tone taking the sting out of her words. "But I didn't claim to be able to see – I said that I have sight." She sighed and grasped his hand tightly.
"The people you call seers – like your Professor Trelawney," she began, "their visions of the future are imprecise, sporadic, unreliable – yes?" Fred agreed. Syrinx nodded.
"My powers are greater," she replied, "as an elephant is greater than an ant. The sheer size of the elephant is lost on the ant, because it cannot conceive of such immensity." She smiled. "My gift is of that nature."
She seemed to be gazing out into the rapidly darkening forest, and her words came crawling up over the ground into Fred's ears.
"I see the future – all the time." she said calmly. "I have awareness as far ahead as I wish to look. I can see several timelines at one moment. I can isolate events that tip the balance from one timeline to the next. Whole civilisations can rise or fall on my knowledge of the future – or of any number of potential futures.
"I can also see the past," she continued, "as if it were a long, long carpet spreading out behind me. I can see many almost-events and their consequences, and also the imprint of my own knowledge on what has already been. Mercifully, my contribution has so far been very small." She smiled and turned to Fred.
"That is how I can see you," she told him. "How I know where you are, what you are doing, without any physical sight."
"You see me through your prescience of the future – yes, of course!" Fred's eyes blazed as he beheld the woman next to him, so small and frail, so vulnerable, but with the power to topple empires. He paused to let the ramifications of this new knowledge sink in, then he turned to look at her again, fully aware that she knew what his next question would be before he asked it. She smiled affectionately as she caught up with his reasoning, and reached for his other hand.
"Yes, Fred." she replied. "I knew the exact moment of your arrival in my life, and I have known it for many years. I know that we are destined to remain together and to love each other for as long as we both live, and I also know that despite your contempt for the practice of Divination, you have a very powerful inner eye which will develop, I promise, by your close association with me."
Harry nudged Ginny who was about to fall asleep.
"I think they're about to announce their engagement." he whispered wickedly.
"Harry!" she complained, but Harry's eyes had swung over her shoulder and widened in alarm.
"Shit!" he muttered succinctly, springing to his feet as quickly as his abused and aching muscles would let him. A thin spiral of smoke was rising into the night air from the remains of their cooking fire. Harry doused it quickly, but the damage had already been done.
"I thought you made sure the tinder was bone dry!" accused Fred angrily, coming over to see what the fuss was about. Harry turned an apologetic face to him.
"It was, Fred," he replied with chagrin. "A stray spark must have escaped when I put it out earlier. Unfortunately, it caught on the green stuff nearby." Fred made a disgusted sound.
Fortunately, he didn't say 'I told you so' or any variant of it. Half-sitting, half lying watching Fred argue with Harry, Ginny was quite sure she would have been forced to strangle him if he had. If she could just manage to drag herself off this nice comfortable groundsheet. Her eyelids drooped, her sore muscles relaxed.
Smiling, Harry tucked a blanket around her exhausted body and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. He was about to turn in himself when he heard the crackle of dry undergrowth and looked up to see Sirius prowling restlessly around the camp.
"What's up?" Harry asked quietly, so as not to disturb Ginny. Sirius stood with his hands on his hips, looking up at the full moon and frowning. He shook his head.
"I'm not sure, Harry." he began. "Look, you've been in some wild, out-of-the-way places in your life. You know when you're unsure of your surroundings, you get that kind of – heightened awareness? When your antennae get twitchy, but there's nothing you can pin down?" Harry nodded.
"I know it well." he replied then raised his eyebrows. "Feeling jumpy, Sirius?" His godfather smiled grimly.
"Too right." he agreed. He sighed and looked about him into the blackness. "There's something strange about this place – something that spooks me. I don't know what or where it is, but one thing I do know is that I'm not going to get any sleep tonight." He turned to Harry with a gentle smile.
"Let me keep watch." he asked. "Lying down gazing at the moon isn't going to help me much. I may as well try to isolate what's disturbing my senses so badly." He paused to sniff the air then shook his head. The two men stood gazing up at the clear sky, each mentally charting the unfamiliar constellations. Sirius sighed.
"It's on nights like this that I remember." he murmured. "All those years ago – Moony, Prongs and Padfoot – and Wormtail, of course. He wasn't evil then, just – inadequate, I guess. We were all too young to understand, too careless of ourselves and of each other. Holding our impending adulthood in check for just a little while longer while we frolicked in the woods. And now I'm the last." He sighed again and looked at Harry.
"I still miss Remus." he said sadly. "He was the closest thing I had to a brother. He died in my arms, you know?" Harry nodded gravely. The older man turned back to the eternal skies for an instant then came back down to earth. The moment was over.
"I'll do a bit of recce, I think." he said, squinting out into the darkness. "I've brought a muggle torch – I hope it works!"
~oo0oo~