Chapter 4
Bitterness and Betrayal
Over the next week, Ginny fell into something of a routine. She'd show up at the Department of International Magical Cooperation early in the morning, speak with Mrs. Reading about her tasks for the day, and then work almost continuously until late in the afternoon. Only rarely would she stop for lunch, and then only if she was forced to wait because someone else had decided to actually take a break from their job.
This self-imposed schedule served two main purposes. First, it kept her almost constantly busy, giving Mr. Harrington few opportunities to speak with her. Second, it allowed her to leave earlier than normal. This left her some time between leaving the Ministry and the time when her mother would expect her to return. When Mrs. Reading had asked where she went, Ginny told her that she simply enjoyed being able to take some time to relax before she went home.
It was the truth, for the most part. Her days could get quite wearing. For now, her job seemed to consist almost entirely of reading books and reports and listening to other people talk. No one really expected her to answer any questions or make any decisions. Often she wasn't even expected to speak. She was just supposed to sit and learn.
It was like a History of Magic class, only with a slightly more interesting subject. Almost everything she was learning had some connection to Quidditch. She'd read a dozen reports on international sporting event regulations, and spent enough time in the Department of Magical Games and Sports that many of the wizards there were under the impression she worked for them and not Mrs. Reading. Still, she wished she'd been allowed to actually do something. Of course, it was certainly better than the alternative. In case there had been any doubt, she'd met the alternative exactly a week after she'd been hired on.
Evelyn Sibley wrote for the Department. She had apparently been working there for two years, and Mrs. Reading had privately explained that she wasn't the best writer they had, but had been hired as a favor to some other Ministry official. Ginny wondered why she was so different from Evelyn that had made Carmilla comment that they had better uses for her. Meeting Evelyn provided her with that answer.
Evelyn's office was at the far end of the long corridor which passed by most of the cubicles. It was large, and had two windows which were displaying a rather cheerful spring day. The room itself felt light and airy. Ginny took a seat in one of the wooden chairs against the wall and allowed Mrs. Reading to take the more comfortable-looking leather chair near the desk.
As Ginny looked at Evelyn, she wondered if it were possible for her to look more excited and happy. It must be possible, she thought to herself; even Moaning Myrtle smiled on occasion. Evelyn Sibley, however, exuded an acute bitterness and intense loathing of the world around her that made even Myrtle seem optimistic. Dark brown hair hung haphazardly from her head. Her eyes were of a similar color and seemed to be unable to do anything other than glare at how wretched the world around her truly was. Her ill-fitting robes were plain and worn. The only thing about her that looked well-kept was a small, heart-shaped gold locket, which hung about her neck looking like it belonged there as much as one might expect a bulb of garlic hung around a vampire's neck.
Since the moment she'd entered, Evelyn's eyes had deemed Ginny to be the most wretched thing around, and they watched her with an intensity that Ginny found quite unnerving. She looked about the office, searching for anything to distract her from the witch glowering at her. She was sadly disappointed. The office was depressingly empty.
"Good afternoon, Evelyn," Mrs. Reading said as she sat down. "This is Ginny Weasley."
"Ginny," Evelyn said with obvious distaste. "How cute," she said under her breath. "It's supposed to be Ginevra, isn't it?" Ginny nodded slowly, unsure of just how to react. Evelyn frowned and finally blinked. "My father used to call me Evie. What a repulsive name. It should be a crime to force such a horrible name on a child. Of course, some people actually enjoy it. Bloody morons ruin it for the rest of us."
"Well, er... I'm sorry to hear that, Evelyn," Mrs. Reading said with a cheerful voice, "I felt the two of you should meet. Ginny's just started—"
"I heard," Evelyn replied with a thin smile. "She's Arthur Weasley's daughter, isn't she? From the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"
"Yes, that's right," Mrs. Reading answered. "She'll be assisting me with this Quidditch business. More to the point, she'll be dealing with the French delegation next week."
"Of course she will," Evelyn remarked sourly. "She'll do wonderfully, I'm certain."
"Yes, I... er, I think she'll do just fine," Mrs. Reading agreed warily. "I thought it might be best if you could share anything you might know about the situation."
Ginny didn't quite know how to interpret Evelyn's response. She seemed angry about it, but she really seemed angry about pretty much everything. Before Ginny could decide exactly how to handle the situation, Mrs. Reading was standing and wishing her luck before quickly leaving the room. Ginny tried to conceal her discomfort with being left alone.
"So you need to learn about the French delegation?" Evelyn grumbled as she flipped through a stack of parchment.
"Er, I guess I do," Ginny responded weakly. "I... I don't really know much about them at all. For instance, I haven't really heard what they are a delegation to."
A hissing laugh filtered through the tangled curtain of hair hiding Evelyn's face. "Just a pretty face wrapped around the mind of a troll, are you?" she sneered. "It's a Quidditch World Cup delegation. They cast votes to decide where the next championship will be held. Of course, the French are pushing for a site in France. The Bulgarians and the Swiss are arguing pretty strongly for a site in Bulgaria. There are a couple other countries hoping they could host it, but they're just fooling themselves."
She pulled out a roll of parchment and unrolled it to look at it closer. "It's all a pile of rubbish, anyway. I don't know why anyone wastes all this time with such a wretched bore of a sport. I'd rather listen to a mermaid choir than sit through a minute of that mindless idiocy. Here," she said as she handed the roll to Ginny. "Read that— I assume you can read, can't you?"
"Yes," Ginny growled.
"Well, you are well trained, aren't you?" Evelyn mumbled as she started searching for something else. "You want to know about the French? Well, it won't take long. Even considering the stuff you might not understand, there isn't much to tell. The want to host the championship. They've been trying to convince others to support them, but they're not terribly good at it. The only reason the vote is going to be close is due to the fact that it seems like Bulgaria has a good shot of actually playing in the championship match, and some people feel that it will somehow be more disappointing if they lose to them in Bulgaria than if they lose to them in France. I feel the disappointing part is the shocking amount of time they spend arguing about it."
"Anyway, the Minister refused to meet with the French delegation a while back, so now they've decided they'll try and convince the players directly. A few days ago, they requested a meeting with the Tornadoes. The Ministry gave in and arranged for them to have a private box at the the match next Tuesday. So long as they are pleased with the meeting, the French Ministry has agreed to put an end to unicorn smuggling across the channel."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Nothing important," Evelyn replied flatly. "In fact, if you're doing something and it feels important, you're probably doing it wrong. You just go sit in your box and be your normal, pleasant, pretty, friendly, vapid self and I'm sure you'll do just fine."
"That's all I'm supposed to do? Just sit there?"
"Please," Evelyn snorted as she looked up from the stack of reports. "You don't think they hired you based on your N.E.W.T. scores, do you?" When she saw Ginny's reaction, she just laughed and shook her head. "You were hired because your father works for the Ministry, because you're attractive, and because you have a cute name that is impossible to use in an argument without looking completely absurd."
Ginny was dumbfounded.
"As I was saying, they're just there to meet the Tornadoes. All you've got to do is keep them happy. That should be fairly easy for you. Of course, two of them are witches and they probably won't find you as charming, but you can ignore them. One is over one hundred years old, and the other barely speaks. Feel free to try and please them if you like. But, as long as you keep the head of the delegation happy, you should be fine."
"How will I know which one is the head?" Ginny asked apprehensively. She simply wished for this to be over so she could leave.
Evelyn tossed a photo at her. The wizard in the photo had dark hair and a smug arrogance to his smile. "His name is Henri D'Anneau. He's young, new to their Ministry, and full of ambition. You shouldn't have much trouble relating to him," she added with a bitter smile. "There are rumors that he went to Durmstrang, which seems to fit since he's got friends in Germany, Hungary and Poland. There's also a rumor that he has a certain fondness for witches who've just left school, so if your untalented brother puts in his usual performance you shouldn't have any trouble finding other ways of entertaining him."
Ginny's jaw dropped as she shot out of her chair. "How dare you—"
"Since you're standing, I'll assume that we're done here," Evelyn interrupted. "You should leave now. I'd wish you good luck, but I couldn't really care less how it all turns out."
Ginny stormed out of Evelyn's office. When she reached her desk, she found Mrs. Reading waiting for her with an apologetic look on her face. "I'm sorry about that," she said with a weak smile. "Normally she's a bit more restrained."
"Is it something I did?"
"No," Mrs. Reading replied. "A long time ago, Evelyn lost an argument with rest of the world. She still hasn't forgiven us for that. It has created a bit of a problem. We can't very well send her out to meet with anyone, but no one really wants her around here either."
"Am I going to have to talk to her a lot?" Ginny asked, though she was afraid to hear the answer.
"Luckily, no," Mrs. Reading answered with a smile. "Only when you need information quickly. I assume you got everything you'll need?"
"I hope so."
"Good. You can leave early if you like. You've been through quite enough today."
A few minutes later, Ginny arrived in the Leaky Cauldron. Tom waved at her from the bar and pushed the most recent copy of the Daily Prophet toward her. She picked it up off the bar and took it to a small table along the wall.
For the past week, she'd come here every day after leaving the Ministry. Tom no longer asked what she wanted when she came in. He merely gave her a friendly nod and passed her the Prophet. Though it was quite a bit easier than listening to old wizards argue about the best Bludger maker, she wasn't really here to relax.
Something strange was happening in the wizarding world. Voldemort had been defeated, but the Death Eaters remained, though their numbers were shrinking. One of the big reasons appeared to be the emergence of the grey-cloaked wizards she'd seen in the Spectrecorder. The Department of Mysteries knew about them. The Death Eaters knew about them. Charlie had even found them.
Ginny was certain that if she simply paid attention, she'd eventually find them as well. She had decided the best way of actually accomplishing that would be to spend time in places where wizards gathered. She only read the Prophet to appear occupied. She spent most of her time scanning the room and keeping a close watch on the doors and fireplaces. Today there was even less to read than usual. The front page had a story about the French delegation visiting the upcoming Quidditch match, but it didn't say anything she didn't already know. She'd given up on the whole thing after the next few articles, and focused instead on watching everyone around her.
After only a few days, she'd memorized all of the bar's usual occupants. Shortly after she normally arrived, a pair of witches would walk in the door from Muggle London and sit in one of the back tables laughing and glaring at anyone who walked by them. There was also an old wizard with a black beard who had been there every day except Thursday. He usually sat at a square table in the center of the room and played wizarding chess with anyone he could convince to join him.
The four wizards sitting at the bar seemed to be more like furnishings than customers. They had been there before Ginny arrived every day that week, and she'd never seen any of them leave. One of them, an wizened old wizard the others called Lord Albert, wore a tall crimson hat on his head, tall leather boots on his feet, and a tall bottle of Firewhiskey in his left hand. In his right hand was a glass which he concentrated on keeping empty at all times. All evidence suggested that he had been drunk well before Ginny had ever arrived at the bar, yet Ginny wondered if that was the correct word for it. It seemed more likely that this was simply his normal state and that Firewhiskey was some essential ingredient for his life.
Despite the somewhat disturbing spectacle of a thoroughly drunken wizard, she was thankful for the distraction he provided. With him shouting garbled jokes at his three friends at the bar, few people found any reason to pay attention to her. His wild antics also meant that others found a similar amount of privacy here.
Once she'd figured out who to expect there every day, it became easier to spot anyone who didn't fit in. The previous night she had spotted a curious meeting between three wizards. They had taken advantage of a particularly loud and incoherent story from Lord Albert to discuss something quite serious. Even more interesting was a white haired wizard in a deep purple cloak who watched them intently from the far corner.
She had never seen the white haired wizard before. He hadn't looked very old at all. Most of his face was hidden under the shadows of his hood, but he had a short goatee and his face lacked any of the normal signs of old age. He hadn't taken a seat at any table and instead chose to simply stand quietly in the shadowy corner and watch the people around him. He'd been there for some time before she had noticed him. That fact disturbed her, and she wondered if it was possible she had missed him before. With any luck, he would return and she would have a chance to follow him when he left.
She didn't see him tonight, however. As the night wore on, she had less and less hope that he might return. The two witches at the back table had left, and a group of young wizards had taken their place. The old wizard at the chess board had long ago beaten his last opponent. Ginny looked up at the clock. It was nearly seven o' clock. She'd missed dinner. She shook her head and stood up. He wasn't coming back. At least, not anytime soon. Remaining there and looking for him would only make her look suspicious, and that was the last thing she wanted.
"Thanks, Tom," she called out as she slapped the Daily Prophet on the bar.
"Thank you, Tommy," Lord Albert mimicked before collapsing in a fit of laughter.
"Ignore him," Tom said quietly. "It's beyond me how he actually manages to speak after all that." He picked up the Prophet and shook his head at the article on the front page. "The Tornadoes and the Cannons? What's the point?"
Ginny would have responded, but something much more interesting than the upcoming Quidditch match. Sandwiched between an advertisement for the newest Cleansweep broom and Madam Malkin's was a dense column of tiny text with a small picture. It was nearly unreadable, but the headline and the photos above it had caught her attention.
"Tom, may I have that back for a moment?" she asked politely. He shrugged and returned it to her before returning himself to the customers at the other end of the bar. Ginny found a dark corner and started reading.
TROUBLE IN TRANSYLVANIA HAUNTS HOSTING HOPES
A number of wizards from the Quidditch World Cup Site Selection Committee have canceled their planned visits to the prospective site being presented by Romanian officials. Delegations from Ireland, Germany and Egypt announced the change in plans early this morning after reports of security breaches both at the newly constructed pitch and at the Romanian Ministry itself.
The Romanian Minister downplayed the severity of both attacks, claiming that neither attack had put any wizard in danger. "This is undoubtedly the work of saboteurs wishing to decrease Romania's chances of hosting the next Quidditch World Cup." He urged the delegations to contact him about selecting another time to visit.
Fenkirk Shaughnessy, the head of the Irish delegation, says he's in no hurry to reschedule. "It's just not worth the risk," he said in a recent interview. "They cannot even make it safe enough for a visit by Selection Committee officials. How can we know they'll be able to make it safe enough for a hundred thousand spectators?" The members of the German delegation refused to comment on the Romanian site, but did say they were looking forward to meeting with Bulgarian officials next week.
Despite disappointing performances from their national team in the past, Romanian officials had high hopes for the upcoming Quidditch World Cup. A new pitch has been constructed specifically for holding the World Cup. It is reportedly the largest, most luxurious, and most easily accessed site being considered. Romanian officials are claiming that they can fill the grounds without any Muggle notice in just two days.
Of course, the reason this is possible is the very reason why the location is undesirable. The only nearby towns, a pair of Muggle villages and a small wizarding settlement, were completely destroyed two months ago when a pair of dragons escaped from their pens nearby and went on a rampage across the countryside. The handlers responsible for the dragons claim the escape was caused by old equipment and insisted it would not happen again.
That might have been enough to comfort Shaughnessy and the rest of the Irish delegation, but this is not an isolated incident. Four months ago, a Ministry official and her family were killed in a string of werewolf attacks which claimed the lives of twenty-one wizards. A month before that, a confrontation in Korzha, just outside the Ministry castle, left a section of the town in flames. These events, combined with an epidemic of unexplained disappearances seem to have all but destroyed any hopes for a World Cup match in Romania.
Above the article were a pair of photos. One showed a small town set on the flat top of a large hill. Above the town wheeled a pair of dragons, a Chinese Fireball and what looked to be a Hungarian Horntail. Occasionally, they would swoop low and spew fire at some of the wooden buildings. The other photo showed the same hill, but the town had been replaced by a ring of tall stone towers overlooking a vibrant green pitch. The valley around the hill had a grid of paths marked with flags and signs.
Ginny stared at the photo with the dragons, then searched back in the article to find where they had been mentioned: ...completely destroyed two months ago pair of dragons escaped from their pens nearby and went on a rampage... Ginny walked back to the bar. If that had happened two months ago, it would have been a month before Charlie had died. He hadn't mentioned anything like that happening. How could he not have heard about dragons escaping and destroying three villages?
"You like the pretty dragons, eh Miss?" Lord Albert laughed. "Not nice, those dragons. Not nice at all. I use to hunt them in my day. I'd tie their tails to trees and use their flames to roast coneys." Hoarse laughter erupted from his throat, and he rocked back and forth in incoherent glee. He rocked a bit too far, and crashed to the floor. To Ginny's amazement, he didn't spill a single drop of Firewhiskey. As soon as he himself had confirmed this, he took a long gulp from his bottle, and laid back on the floor. "Ahh! Nothing's better than a pair of dragon roasted coneys! Don't even got to skin them!" he called out before returning to his laughter.
Tom shook his head and nodded to her as Ginny turned and walked toward the brick wall leading to Diagon Alley. She quickly tapped the bricks and waited for the doorway to open. Charlie must have heard about the dragons. He just hadn't told anyone about it. But why? If the Daily Prophet knew about it, it couldn't be a secret.
Ginny stepped through the doorway and out into Diagon Alley. She tried to remember what had happened during the month before Charlie died. She searched her memory for anything that might be important but it was useless. She didn't remember ever seeing Charlie for that last month.
Perhaps that was the important point. The last six months had been rather strange in Romania, but Charlie hadn't mentioned any of it. Then it hit her. He hadn't mentioned the theft at the Ministry either, but he'd known about it. He had to have known about the werewolves and disappearances, too. What could have kept him from trying to tell anyone else?
She had to talk to someone, and there was one person who might be able to answer her questions. Ginny walked briskly down the street, looking for the distinctive, gabled roof of Hermione's flat. When she found it, she opened the building's heavy front door and quickly made her way up the long spiral staircase. When she reached the top, she could hear someone walking around on the other side of the door. Ginny gave the door two sharp knocks and waited for Hermione to greet her.
The door opened a second later, revealing a very surprised Hermione. "Oh, Ginny! Hello!" she said with a little relief. "I don't normally expect anyone to visit this late. Is anything wrong?"
Ginny walked in the door and waited for Hermione to close it. She looked about to try and figure out if anyone else was in the flat. When she was certain they were alone, she turned back to Hermione.
"I need to talk to you about Charlie," Ginny announced.
"Charlie? What exactly about Charlie?"
Ginny stepped closer and lowered her voice. "I think I've found something."
Anxiety flashed in Hermione's eyes and she looked away. "Oh, right. I, er... I'd love to hear it, but well—" Hermione turned away and rubbed her forehead as she walked back toward the kitchen. She stopped suddenly, and turned. "I have to go back to work tonight," she announced.
"Now?"
"Well, not just now, but—" Hermione stammered. "Well, actually yes. I might as well go now. It'll be better if I get there early."
Ginny's eyes narrowed as they watched Hermione gather one of her sets of robes for work and a pair of books. "Is something wrong, Hermione?"
"Wrong? No, no. I'm just—well, I wasn't really expecting anyone and now I've got to go. You don't mind, do you?" she asked without looking at Ginny.
"I guess not."
"Oh, good. Thanks for understanding. I'm really sorry," Hermione said as she strode toward the door. "If you're hungry, feel free to take some of the food. I'll lock the door, so you'll have to Apparate out."
The door slammed a second later leaving Ginny standing alone in Hermione's flat again. She really didn't want to wait to tell Hermione what she'd found out. Hermione, however, didn't appear the least bit interested. A quick look into the kitchen explained everything. A bowl of soup sat on the table next to a cup of tea. Both of them were still steaming.
Hermione hadn't needed to return to the Ministry. She was looking for some way to avoid talking about Charlie. That could only mean that she knew there was more than she'd already shared. How much more did she know? Why wouldn't she tell her? Ginny took a sip of the tea and walked back into the main room. If Hermione wouldn't share anything with her, perhaps there were others who might be able to help. She closed her eyes, and Disapparated.
The crushing, squeezing sensation ended a second later, but without the reassuring feeling of anything firm under her feet. That observation was quickly confirmed by the feeling of something painfully firm slamming into her back. She coughed and gasped for breath as she struggled back to her feet. A small crowd had gathered around her, and a few of the younger wizards rushed forward to help her stand.
"Are you alright?" one of them asked in a friendly voice.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Ginny replied. In front of her was the front door to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. A silver plaque on the door stated very clearly that the shop was currently closed. "I don't know what happened. I was just trying to Apparate into—"
"Hmph! Apparation!" huffed an old witch nearby. "Witches and wizards these days barely know how. They think they can listen to some stuffy Ministry official for a couple hours and know how to Apparate to Arabia. Foolishness. Why, when I learned I spent hours..." Her voice trailed off as she turned and walked away.
"Wherever you were trying to go, I'd guess it has wards against Apparation," the wizard holding her arm said. "Where exactly would that be?"
"There," Ginny answered, pointing to the second floor of the shop. "They're my brothers."
"Right," he said with a nod, "I suppose I should have guessed that. Well, it doesn't seem they are in the mood for guests. If you want, we can stop by a nice little shop across the street for a bite to eat and you can check back in an hour or so."
Ginny smiled back but shook her head. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll find some way to get up there." The wizard looked disappointed but smiled and waved goodbye to her. Ginny waited for the crowd to disperse before walking to the shop window and peering inside.
No one was in the shop. They were probably in their flat. When no one was looking, she slipped into an alley between the shop and the large brick building next to it. At the end of the alley she found the small alcove which hid the back door to the shop. Ginny waved her wand at it, and a sturdy wooden door appeared. Hoping for luck, she reached for the handle.
It turned. The door was unlocked. She checked the alley for anyone who might have seen her, but saw no one. Without the slightest sound, she slipped into the shop and closed the door behind her.
She was in the shop's stock room. The walls were lined with shelves full of small boxes labeled with names that were mostly familiar to her. One entire wall was stocked with nothing but a variety of cloaks, hats, gloves and robes. There was a door on the opposite wall. It must lead to the rest of the shop. The stairs to the flat would be behind the counter. Ginny began walking toward the door, but before she took her second step, red light flashed from a number of places around the room. It happened too quickly. She tried to dodge them, and she might have succeeded in twisting away from the first one, but the second and third hexes hit her squarely in the chest. The world around her faded away.
Some imperceptible amount of time later, Ginny found herself surrounded by a blurry golden light.
"At least we know it works," a voice said through the ringing in her head.
"Unfortunately, it won't work tonight because we'll have to reset it," another responded.
"Well, we can just remove the doors again."
"And you're going to put them back tomorrow morning, are you?"
Ginny blinked her eyes as the golden light gave way to a clearer image of her surroundings. She was lying on the floor of the stock room, with Fred and George standing over her. Fred had his wand out, but he wasn't paying any attention to her anymore. He was still arguing with George.
"What else are we going to do?"
"We have the cloak," George replied. "They always go for the cloaks. It's not like they'll clean us out in one night."
"What are you two talking about?" Ginny asked groggily.
"Bloody kids," Fred announced a scowl. "We've always had more problems in the summer, but now that Voldemort's gone, it's like everyone's got nothing better to do than break in and see what new stuff they can find in the shop."
"Been getting worse now that Hogwarts sent out the book lists for the next term," George added. "Still, it's only a couple times a week, and they usually run away before they get a chance to take much."
"Little bastards are getting smart about it, though," Fred growled. "They started using the stuff we sell to break in. And once they're in, they take the shield cloaks to protect them from any of our, er..."
"—Security measures—"
"—Right, our security measures."
"Your security measures fired three Stunners at me," Ginny said as she carefully stood up.
"Er... Actually, it was more like six, but we think only the first three hit you."
"I dodged one," she said flatly.
"Right, well the next three hit you, then. You probably fell before the last two could get you," Fred explained as if this was supposed to make Ginny feel better. Instead, she scowled at him. "It's not our fault," he said defensively. "You were breaking into the shop, and well—"
"Most of the time we're dealing with multiple burglars," George finished. "It's no good if we only stun one or two of them."
Ginny was beginning to feel a little dizzy and looked around for someplace to sit back down. Not far from her was a large padded chair with a dark brown cloak draped across the seat. She stepped over to it and reached for the cloak.
"STOP!" George shouted. "Don't touch that! It's, er... It's cursed."
"It's cursed?"
"Like we said, the gits take the shield cloaks and use them. So we cursed a few of them." George explained.
"It's really quite nasty," Fred said with an evil smirk. "Once you finally do wake up, you'll really wish you hadn't."
"How do you know this one's cursed? It looks like all the rest of them."
"Not if you know what to look for," Fred said as he slipped a pair of heavy gloves over his hands. He gingerly picked up the cloak. "See here? The gold trim gives it away. We'd never make something that poncy." He laid it down on a nearby table, and motioned for Ginny to sit in the chair. Hesitantly, she did.
"We set them about at night. If they little buggers keep away from them, there's no harm."
"That's wonderful for you," Ginny replied, "but how exactly am I supposed to visit you two, if you've filled the place with wards and traps?"
"Er... well, you could probably start by telling us that you're coming," Fred answered.
"You haven't visited us in months," George continued. "We've barely seen you since— Well, we haven't seen you in about two months."
Ginny frowned and looked at them. "That's actually what I came here to talk about." Fred and George exchanged glances.
"Alright then, what have you got?"
A sense of paranoia swept over her. Hermione had told her that it was dangerous to simply ask about the subject. If they were able to give her any more understanding, they too would be in whatever danger she might be in. Of course, if they knew nothing, they would know as much as she did, and that might be enough to endanger them. Still, she'd get nowhere without some amount of risk. The curious looks in their eyes chased away any doubts.
"I think Charlie got himself mixed up in something dangerous."
"I thought that was blindingly obvious," remarked Fred.
"No," Ginny said in frustration, "Before he came to the Ministry."
George still looked confused. "Something more dangerous than raising dragons, then?"
"Have you read the back page of today's Daily Prophet?"
"'Course we haven't!" Fred declared. "We're busy shopkeepers now. We don't have time to sit around reading every silly publication the owls drop off."
Ginny ignored the comment and sent George to fetch a copy. When he returned, she directed them to the article she'd seen earlier. They read it silently. When they had both finished, George tossed it aside and gave Ginny a thoughtful look.
"It's the dragons, is it?" he asked. "You think he had some connection to that?"
"He had to, didn't he?" Ginny countered. "How many of those camps can there be in Romania?"
Fred was shaking his head. "I don't get it. You're right, he must have known about the dragons, but what does that have to do with Quidditch or the Death Eater attack on the Ministry?"
"I don't know," Ginny replied. "I can't believe it's just a coincidence. The dragons he's supposed to be tending break loose but he doesn't tell anyone about it, and a month later he's at the Ministry stopping an attack that no one else knew about."
Fred paced along a set of shelves containing an assortment of brightly colored boxes. "Two completely different events. The only thing connecting them is Charlie."
"Wait," Ginny said as she stood up. "That's it, isn't it? He isn't the only thing they share, of course, but he's the most important thing. Somehow he was in a place to know about both of them. The first one is easy. He couldn't help but hear about the dragons, but what if he learned about them both at the same time?"
In her mind, Ginny replayed her memory of the Spectrecorder. There had been something strange about how Charlie had spoken to the thief. She'd ignored it at the time. There had been a certain amount of compassion and concern in his voice. He'd been bargaining with the thief, not simply demanding him to give up.
The conclusion was obvious. "He knew him," she said aloud.
"Knew who?"
"The, er... the wizard who he learned about the attack from," Ginny answered. "It was someone he knew. Maybe one of the wizards he worked with."
George frowned. "The Death Eaters were always secretive about everything they did. If he heard about the attack from another wizard, they must have been a Death Eater themselves."
Was the thief a Death Eater? Hadn't he attacked the Death Eaters? Hadn't they been trying to stop him? It didn't seem to make sense, yet it made as much sense as anything else. "Alright, then why do the Death Eaters want to prevent Romania from hosting the Quidditch World Cup?" she asked.
"Who said they did?" Fred replied as he tossed the rolled up Prophet at her. "Read it again. The new pitch was built on the site of the dragon attack. Whoever let the dragons loose did it before all this Quidditch business."
George was nodding as if it had been his idea. "I'd say they want something—"
"—or someone—" Fred added.
"—inside the Romanian Ministry. They're just using the World Cup as a distraction. See how all the attacks are linked with the Ministry, not really the World Cup?"
Ginny frowned. "I guess that makes sense, but it doesn't really help me at all. I've got even less information than before. I've still got nothing."
"Well, there are only two people that I can think of who might be willing to help you change that."
"Only two? Who would they be?"
"The Romanian Minister for one." Fred said with a smile. "If he's anything like Scrimgeour, he'll know what's been going on in his own country. If only you knew someone inside the Department of International Magical Cooperation."
Ginny glared at him. "I'm an assistant. I sit around reading books all day. There's no way I'll get a meeting with the Romanian Minister. The best I could hope for would be babysitting a bunch of stuffy delegate members if they felt like watching some Quidditch match." She rolled her eyes. "Who's my other option? The new Head of the International Confederation of Wizards?"
"Hermione Granger," Fred said with a smile. "The Department of Mysteries studies everything. They hear all sorts of things that no one else ever talks about. You just have to get her to talk about them."
"I tried," Ginny said dejectedly. "She even told me that she'd help. That's why I came here. When I tried to talk to her about this, she ran away."
Fred feigned offense. "Well, I see where we stand now," he said in a wounded voice.
"You just have to ask her in a different voice," George suggested.
"And what does that mean? You think she'd talk to me if talked like a child?"
"I was thinking of something a little deeper," George told her. "Something more like Ron's voice."
