Chapter Six

Failed Negotiations

Ginny awoke to the familiar dizziness and nausea associated with being stunned. She took a moment to worry about just what she would see when her vision cleared. There was a dull ache coming from her left arm and hip, but the pain in her arm was lessening. The room was bright, too bright for her to see anything more than vague shadows in the light. She blinked her eyes and saw the blurry outline of someone leaning over her.

Instinctively, her leg kicked out, striking her captor in the knee. They let out a shriek of pain and fell clumsily to the floor. Ginny took the opportunity to sit up. She ignored the pounding in her head and leaped onto the person on the floor. In a second, she'd taken their wand and now had it pointed at their neck. She blinked her eyes again, trying to get a better look at her prisoner.

"I'm sorry!" shouted a familiar voice. "I— I didn't know it was you."

Ginny blinked again and began to recognize her surroundings. She was still in Hermione's flat, but the shades were up and it was currently bathed in light from the setting sun as well as a number of lamps. Trapped underneath her and wincing in pain was Hermione.

Ginny slowly stood up and handed the wand back to Hermione. Hermione dusted herself off and glared back at Ginny. She limped over to the center of the room and carefully bent over to pick something off the floor. She limped back to Ginny and handed her a wand.

"You dropped that."

"I dropped it when you stunned me!" Ginny exclaimed.

"What do you expect when you just Apparate into my flat?"

"I've done it loads of times," Ginny argued. "I've never been stunned because of it. Why had you pulled all the shades anyway?"

"Why didn't you Apparate to the street and walk up like you normally do?"

Ginny wondered if Hermione meant to imply that the two had a similar cause. She stood in silent thought for a moment. Had Hermione expected her to visit her? Who else had she expected?

"What's going on Hermione? Why are you acting this way?" she asked, then struck upon a more important question. "Is Ron alright?"

"Ron's fine," she answered. "He, er... decided to help finish up at the pitch. He'll be home later tonight." Hermione paused for a moment, looking like she was trying to think of what to say next. "Are you alright, Ginny?"

"I honestly don't know," she answered. "How can I know if I'm safe when I don't even know what I'm running or hiding from? They're out there somewhere, but I don't know why."

"I told you this might—"

"I know, Hermione," Ginny snapped. "But I think this is a bit worse than you expected. I haven't found anything. I haven't even asked anything. They're following me now. They were at the match, and they were waiting for me to leave the Ministry. It must have been something at the match—"

"They were following you when you came to visit me last Friday," Hermione told her. Ginny sat down on the couch and stared back in shock.

"Last Friday... but... I don't understand," she stammered. "Who are they?"

Hermione stared back, looking rather uncomfortable. "Why are you here, Ginny?"

"Are you going to run away if I tell you?"

"Are you here to talk about Charlie?"

"What if I am?" Ginny challenged her. "You said you'd help me."

Hermione collapsed into a nearby chair and leaned forward with her face in her hands. "Right now," she said in an even tone, "not talking to you about Charlie is the most helpful thing I can do for you."

"How can you know that?" Ginny replied emphatically.

"Is that why you're here?" Hermione asked in an almost forceful tone.

"No," answered Ginny.

"Then relax and let me get some tea."

Hermione stood up and walked to her kitchen. Ginny sat and waited, listening to the moving of cups, whistling of the teapot, and the gentle clinking of the spoon as it stirred sugar into her tea. When Hermione returned two minutes later, most of the urgency and anxiety of her day had already disappeared. Hermione walked over to her and handed her a large steaming cup.

"Drink a little of this, then we'll talk." Hermione took her seat nearby and for another minute they simply sat in her living room, silently drinking tea. Finally, Hermione sat her cup down on the table in front of her. "Alright, what did you want to know?"

Ginny took another sip of tea and set her cup on the table as well. If she couldn't talk about Charlie, she'd ask about what was really troubling her.

"You were working on Voldemort's wand when it was stolen, weren't you?"

"Bloody hell, Ginny!" Hermione nearly shouted. "You know I can't talk about that!"

Ginny's face fell. She stood up, but couldn't make herself look at Hermione. "Fine," she growled, "I guess I should go, then."

"Where are you going?"

"To the Leaky Cauldron," Ginny answered. "If you won't talk to me, I know Henri D'Anneau will."

"Are you insane?" Hermione shouted. "You can't do that!" When Ginny made no move to stop, she relented. "Don't go! Sit down, alright. I'll tell you whatever I can," When Ginny was sitting down again, Hermione continued. "Yes, I was working on the wand, but you can't tell that to anyone. If anyone—"

"How did you get it?" Ginny interrupted.

"I don't know, the Department of Mysteries had it before I started working there."

"And you don't know how they got it?"

Hermione was beginning to look more uncomfortable with each question. "The Aurors recovered it. No one ever said anything more about it," she explained stiffly. "I think I hear the words 'We can't tell you' at least once a day. I've asked—"

Ginny didn't wait for the rest of the explanation. There had to be something for her to work with. "Did they recover anything else?"

"Yes, I think so," Hermione replied. "I've only seen the vault once, but... well, I really can't say anything more. Is there something specific you were interested in?"

There wasn't. Ginny discarded the idea, and decided to try something else. "You said you were studying the things Voldemort had done after the Triwizard Tournament. Did you find out anything that happened between him and Harry? Do you know how it ended?"

Hermione's face softened a little. "No, we don't know," she said. "It's impossible to tell what the last spells were. The wand was damaged by whatever happened."

Ginny closed her eyes. She almost didn't want to ask the next question, but she had to. She took a deep breath and tried not to think about what she was asking.

"You're certain Harry's dead, though?"

Hermione was silent for some time. When she finally spoke, her voice was slow and even, as if she were concentrating very hard on speaking.

"Harry's gone, Ginny," she said. "You can't keep living like this. You have to accept it."

She'd done it again. Hermione always did that. "What exactly do I have to accept?" Ginny asked, without any attempt at hiding her annoyance.

"You have to accept that Harry isn't here," Hermione replied sternly. "He isn't following you. He isn't hiding from you, and he isn't trying to contact you."

"I saw him," Ginny announced. "I saw him after the match, and again at the Ministry."

"You only thought you saw him."

"Ron saw him too," Ginny argued.

"That's not what he told me. He said he only saw a wizard who looked like Harry."

Ginny's mouth dropped open. "I know what I saw! You're going to take his word over of mine? Do you think I don't know what Harry's face looks like?"

"I didn't say that—" Hermione interrupted quickly, hoping to avoid an argument.

"Then say it!" Ginny shouted. "Say he's dead! Say he's never coming back!"

"You have to stop, Ginny. Stop looking for him." It sounded more like a warning than friendly advice.

Ginny dodged the comment and pressed harder. "You've never said it, Hermione. You say he's gone and you say that I should move on, but you've never said he's dead and you've never told me that he won't come back. Why won't you say it?"

Hermione leaned forward and buried her face in her hands again, letting her hair hang like a curtain to hide her emotions. "I can't talk to you about this," she said with a muffled voice. "I won't. I—"

"Why won't you say it?" Ginny persisted. "If you tell me he's dead, I'll stop. That's all it takes. Just say that Harry is dead."

Hermione's face jerked up to look at Ginny. Her eyes were red and glassy and her face was flushed. "Please stop this," she pleaded. "Don't make me..."

"No. You said you'd help me."

"I am helping you!" Hermione shouted. In front of her, her teacup shattered, spilling the dark contents across the table. "I told you what would happen if you went looking for answers. I said I'd help you, and right now that means trying to make sure you don't end up like Charlie."

Ginny forced herself to stay focused. She'd never get this opportunity again. "From the start, your only help has been telling me to stop. Don't ask about Charlie. Don't ask questions. Don't ask why. Maybe if we'd asked more questions last year, we'd know what happened to Harry."

Hermione shot out of her seat and glared threateningly at Ginny. "Do you have any idea how close I am to being sacked?" she growled. "I had Voldemort's wand stolen from my office while I was working on it. I had to explain why the Spectrecorder from the day of a major attack on the Ministry disappeared for two hours. I had the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation questioning me about a friend who was applying for the most controversial job opening the Ministry has seen in years, and then my own boss came in to question me about how I had gotten myself wrapped up in it." Hermione took a deep, shaky breath. "If anyone even suspects this conversation took place, I'm through. And now you want me to tell you what I know about Harry?"

The realization hit Ginny suddenly. Ron said that Hermione had been searching for Harry as well. She hadn't stopped. She hadn't given up either. If she couldn't tell Ginny what she knew, it meant there must have been something to tell. There was one simple explanation for all of it.

"My god," she said softly. "You've seen him, haven't you?"

Hermione wiped a tear from her eye, and she collapsed again. "I don't know what I've seen," she said through her hands. "He said he'd return when it was over. If he's still alive, he would have come back. Voldemort is dead. He's destroyed. He can't come back, but Harry should have. It can't be him, can it?" Hermione asked, almost pleading for Ginny to agree with her. "He wouldn't do that to us. He wouldn't do that to you."

"What if he's alive and he needs help?" Ginny asked. "How can you bear not knowing if he's out there?"

Hermione stared back at her, slowly shaking her head. "Ginny, I'm deadly serious. Don't go looking for him. I haven't figured out what is going on, but I've heard some very strange things. Something is happening. I don't know how to even start explaining it, and there are loads of things they don't tell me." Hermione stopped and took a deep breath. "Whatever you think you saw, I don't think it's Harry. If he's out there, that isn't him. Don't go searching for him. Don't ask about him. Don't follow him if you see him."

"What should I do if I see him?"

"Walk away, Ginny. Don't run. Don't call for help. Just walk away like you never saw him. Please promise me you'll do that." The sound of a small bell ringing echoed through the flat. It was followed by a second chime a moment later.

Hermione punched a nearby cushion and swore loudly. She stood up and pulled her hair back from her face. "I, er... I've got to report to the Ministry," she said in a wavering voice. She looked suddenly very frightened and pale. "You know you can stay here as long as you like. I don't know when I'll be back. If... If they know what— Well, promise me you'll remember what I told you, because when I come back, I might not."

"What's happening?" Ginny asked, sensing Hermione's anxiety. "Is everything going to be alright?"

"I don't know," Hermione mumbled. She tied her hair back and walked to the kitchen to splash water on her face. When she returned she looked a little better. "You're right. This is worse than I thought. I don't know what to do. Maybe you were right all along." Hermione straightened her robes and gave a final smile. "I've got to go." A second later, she disappeared.

Ginny slowly walked out the door of the building and into the middle of Diagon Alley. The sun was going down and the street was already bathed in shadows. Light from store fronts and lit lamps created an eerie mixture of warmth and shadow. All about her, witches and wizards were milling about, slipping from shadow to the light and back into shadow.

She felt exposed and vulnerable. A wave of paranoia hit her as a dozen or so wizards passed by, glancing at her as she stood there watching them. Should she hide? Where could she go? How could she hide when she didn't even know who she was supposed to hide from?

Whoever they were, they must have some ties to the Ministry. No one could have known where she'd gone. They must have guessed that she might go to Hermione's flat, and somehow made the Department of Mysteries call her in. However it had been achieved, the purpose seemed obvious enough: They wanted to force her out into the open again.

Was this what Charlie had gone through? Was this why he hadn't spoken with anyone about what he knew? Deep in her stomach, Ginny felt a warmth creeping up toward her chest. Charlie hadn't run. He'd fought back, and died because of it. If she ran, his fight would be for nothing. She had to fight back, but she didn't know how. She didn't even know what was happening.

However, Henri D'Anneau did. She was certain he knew much more than he had told her. Perhaps he was in more control of the conversation than he made it seem. He'd told her just enough to prove the legitimacy of his information, but that could still be useful to her. Somehow it was all related, but none of it made sense. The Death Eaters meant to steal Voldemort's wand, but for what purpose? D'Anneau said that the Romanian Minister had enemies, but they weren't the Death Eaters. Were they the grey-cloaked wizards? Is that how Charlie found them? Why would he trust someone who had unleashed dragons on defenseless towns? How did D'Anneau know about the theft? There were so many questions, but none of them compared to the newest one.

Why had Hermione behaved as if looking for Harry and trying to figure out what happened to Charlie were the same thing?

That thought fueled the fire in her stomach even more. There were answers to all of her questions, she just had to find them. It sounded as if Hermione had some of them, but who knows how many of them she'd remember after the Department of Mysteries was finished. Ginny grimaced to herself. Perhaps she would be next. She just needed something to work with. Some clue about who was following her, or why.

There was one sure source. Henri D'Anneau was almost certainly at the Leaky Cauldron. Though he probably no longer expected her, she knew he wouldn't turn her away. Even if the idea didn't turn her stomach, it would be foolish to return to the Leaky Cauldron. Anyone who'd been following her for more than a few days would have to expect her to return there sooner or later.

That was it.

They would have lost track of her when she went to Hermione's flat. They'd called Hermione away to flush her out, and they would probably keep a close eye on the Leaky Cauldron, waiting for her to return. They wouldn't be able to hide under cloaks there. After a couple years of Death Eater attacks, the patrons had a tendency to act rather aggressively toward wizards who hid their identities. With a little help from the pub's regular occupants, she should be able to get a good look at her hunters. With a little luck, she might even be able to speak with them.

She considered running off that moment, but devised a better plan. Her pursuers would be easier to spot if they were forced to stand out for a while. There were some things she should get before then, anyway. Flourish and Blott's and Madam Maulkin's might still be open, but she hoped to find someplace a little more convenient. With grim determination, she turned and walked fearlessly down the street, away from the Leaky Cauldron and toward Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

She weaved her way through the crowds, forcing herself to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that she was already being watched and followed. As she neared the store, she saw a faint glow coming from the front window. Light from the windows of the flat above confirmed that someone was there, and that was all she needed. If she had to get stunned for the second time that day to get their attention, it would be worth it.

She paused for a moment before approaching the door. She stepped into the shadows and took a moment to search the thinning crowd around her. They were all moving, and none of them seemed to even notice her. Satisfied that she wasn't putting anyone in immediate danger, she walked to the storefront.

A brief look through the front window showed Fred and George sitting at their counter. Fred was counting through stacks of Galleons and Sickles, while George was scratching away at a roll of parchment. Ginny was relieved. She'd been stunned quite enough for one day. She tried the door, but it was shut tightly, and a large sign hung at eye-level.

CLOSED FOR THE NIGHT

Don't even think about knocking.

Ginny ignored it, and rapped on the door sharply. After waiting a few seconds, she stepped away to look through the window again. Neither of them had moved. Ginny frowned, and knocked harder on the door. To her surprise, the writing on the sign disappeared, and a new message scribbled itself across the clean surface.

IT'S NOT THAT WE DON'T HEAR YOU

We just don't want to talk to you.

Ginny scowled at the sign, and pounded on the door until her fist hurt. When she checked the window, there was still no sign of either of them even turning to notice her. The sign had noticed however.

NOT TOO BRIGHT, ARE YOU?

Normally, gits like you leave by now.

Ginny swung her fist at the door and let out a furious scream. When she turned around to rub her aching hand, she found twenty or more wizards staring at her as if she were a raving lunatic. It seemed that more drastic measures would be needed. Giving in to her anger, she drew her wand from her pocket, walked to the door, and pointed her wand directly at the sign.

"Reduc—"

Before she could finish the hex, a hand had reached through the door and snatched her wand from her hand. She stood frozen for a moment, dumbfounded and defenseless. As she stared at her empty hand, another arm shot through the door, grabbed her wrist, and tugged her through the door with a helpless shriek.

For one brief moment, it occurred to her to panic. She found herself stumbling toward the center of a darkened room without her wand. She lost her balance and lurched to the side, slamming her hip into something large and not at all soft. The pain was intense, and a moment later her elbow hit something which sounded quite convincingly like stone.

"Sorry about that," a voice whispered. "We didn't really expect you to come by tonight."

Ginny found something solid to lean against and quickly slid to the floor where she could sit and nurse her wounds. The bruise on her hip was sending throbbing waves of pain down her leg. "I don't care who you are, I'll beat you senseless if you don't give me my wand right now," she growled.

"Lumos."

A pale light shone only a few feet in front of her. George was crouched somewhat behind it, holding another wand in his hand and offering it to Ginny. She took it, and allowed George to gently help her to her feet. She lit her own wand and looked around the room in amazement. It was the twins' shop, but it was darkened and deserted. There was no lamp, no Fred, and no pile of coins and parchment.

"But... I saw—"

"Pretty clever, isn't it?" George said with a smile. "We don't really know what to call them yet. We've been calling them Publicity Windows for now. They're like the windows in the Ministry, except they remember a scene and then replay that over and over." He smiled proudly at them. "Pretty convincing, aren't they? Obviously, no one's likely to believe that Fred and I are going to spend all night counting money, so we'll have to change it soon. Maybe we can find some ferocious dog to prowl about."

He walked over to the door and poked at it with his wand, it shimmered slightly. He knocked lightly on it. Hearing a firm, solid thunk, he smiled and put his wand away. "Come on," he said in an encouraging voice. "We've got a visitor who'll be interested in seeing you."

George led her over to the door to the storage room. He turned the knob and pushed the door open, but didn't enter. "We had another break-in last night," he explained as he waited. After a second or two, the doorway gave a dull red flash and George led her into the storage room.

Fred was sitting in the center of the room, bent over a small table and poking at something with his wand. To her surprise, Ron was sitting at the same table with his back to her.

"Ah, George!" Fred called out. "That took long enough. Did they finally get the point?"

"Not really," George answered.

"I guess we'll just have to try that Shocking Charm," Fred responded. "Now that you're back, can you check and see if you can find our old guards?"

"It's pointless. You'll never fix it. Those things aren't made to be fixed. They're made to never be broken."

"That's what I told him," Fred replied without looking up. "They could fix this in a day over at Quality Quidditch Supplies. It'd be just like new, but Ron's being stubborn."

"Stubborn?" Ron shot back. "I'd have to be mental to walk into that shop after today's match. I've heard quite enough jokes this week, thanks."

"What'd you do to it, anyway?" Fred asked, as he aimed his wand at the broken buckle. "I've never seen a Bludger do anything like this."

"It was Ginny's fault," Ron explained. "She wanted to talk with me, but got impatient and blasted it."

George smiled. "Funny you should mention her..."

"It was my fault?" Ginny snapped. Ron's head spun around to stare at her. "You were the one who made that horribly piggish comment about—"

"Yes, alright!" Ron interrupted her. "I may have exaggerated a bit. It's been a bad day. I'm sure Fred and George aren't interested in hearing every little detail." By the looks on their faces, it seemed as if they would have been quite interested in that particular detail, but Ron didn't give Ginny a chance to explain.

"Have you seen Hermione?"

"Yes," Ginny answered, suddenly remembering why she was here.

"How long ago?"

"I don't know. Maybe five or ten minutes."

"She's gone," he announced.

"I know. She got called back to the Department of Mysteries while we were talking."

Ron stood up and stared at her. Fred had stopped toying with the buckle and was watching closely as well.

"What were you talking about before she left?"

"That's between her and me," Ginny answered. The less Ron knew the less she would have to worry about him.

"You might as well tell me now. I'll just ask her when she comes back."

"If either of us know by then, we'll tell you." Without any more explanation she turned to George and started pulling out whatever coins she could find in her pockets and piling them on the table. "I need some supplies," she told him. "First, I'll need a Disappearing Diary or some Vanishing Vellum." George shrugged and started rifling through a nearby drawer.

"Hold on," Ron said. "What do you mean, 'if either of you know'? You know right now, why wouldn't you know tomorrow?"

"I might forget," she answered. George slid a small black book across the table toward Ginny. She picked it up, pulled a quill and inkwell from a nearby shelf, and sat down in Ron's chair.

"What are you doing?"

Ginny opened the small book and after a brief pause to get over the bizarre tightness in her stomach, she started writing in the Diary. "I'm writing myself a reminder," she offered in explanation. She wrote small and quickly, trying to think of every detail from her conversation with Hermione. For a minute or more, the room was silent as everyone waited for Ginny to say anything more about what she was doing.

"Why not just tell me?" Ron finally asked. "I promise I'll remind you."

"That'd work just fine," Ginny said as she scratched away at the parchment, "but what if you forget to remind me, or forget what it was that you were supposed to remind me of?"

"I promise I won't forget."

Ginny put down the quill, and closed the book. "Sorry, Ron, but there's simply no way you can promise that." She stood up and turned the book over. On the back cover was a small, golden square. She took out her wand and tapped it twice. After a quick search through the pages, she was satisfied that no one would be able to read it.

"I need you to deliver this to me tomorrow," she said as she handed the Diary to George. "Keep it someplace safe, but not in the shop and not in this room. Somewhere upstairs. Send it by owl sometime tomorrow night." Fred nodded slowly.

"What's going on, Ginny?" Ron asked. "Does this have something to do with the Quidditch match?"

"No," Ginny lied. It was an obvious lie, but it made her feel better than admitting the truth. "I need a few of your shield cloaks. The cloaks— not the robes. I'll need a hood."

Fred gave her a curious look. "We've only got one. They're only popular with the goblins."

"What?" Ron exclaimed. "Why do the goblins want full length cloaks?"

"What do we care?" Fred replied as he started looking through a nearby rack of robes. "I can't say we're all that fussed about it. They order in bulk and pay in advance. I'd sell knickers to a mermaid for business like that." He tossed something large and black at Ginny.

She held it up. It was far too large for her, but it had a hood and was still fairly light weight. She took out her wand and wrapped the cloak around her. It would work fine after a few adjustments. "You only have the one?" she asked. "How long before I could get more?"

Fred and George shared a concerned look. "Maybe a day or two," Fred said. "How many do you need?"

"We've actually got one more," George announced. "The goblins asked for an extra one yesterday. It's a light tan, but we can change that later, if you like. The goblins won't come by to pick it up before noon and I can make another before then."

With a silent nod from Ginny, he turned and walked back through the door to the rest of the store. She was focusing on shortening and shrinking the cloak to fit her better. When she was finished she took it off and tried to think of what color it should be. With a determined grin, she touched her wand to the fabric and it slowly faded to a color that matched the stone of the walls around her. With luck, the grey-cloaked wizards would take this to mean that she wasn't their enemy.

George returned with the second cloak, and Ginny quickly wrapped it into a tight roll, shrunk it to the size of her fist, and stuffed it into a pocket.

"That's it?" Fred asked. "Nothing else?"

"No, I think that will do for now," Ginny answered. She pushed the smile pile of coins toward George. "I know this doesn't cover it, but it's all I've got right now."

George pushed the pile back toward her. "Keep it. If you really need those cloaks, you'll need all of that."

"What's going on, Ginny?" Ron asked.

"Where are you going that you need two of those cloaks?" Fred added.

Ginny stood and smiled at her brothers. "I've had a rough day. I think I need a bit of a drink."

"You're not going to the Leaky Cauldron," Ron said, his eyes wide in surprise. "The French delegates are there. Hasn't anyone told you about that bloke D'Anneau?"

"I can handle myself around Henri D'Anneau," Ginny said with a hint of bitterness. "Relax. I won't be having any... private discussions with him." She walked to the back door and stopped. "Is this one cursed as well?"

"Yes," Fred answered with a nod. "Don't touch the handle. Tap the hinge with your wand and wait for the red flash." Ginny did as he said and had to jump out of the way as the hinge-side of the door swung out toward her. She stood and waited for the flash which would tell her that whatever hex they had put on the doorway was deactivated.

"Still, you've got to be mental to show your face there," Ron argued. "The wizards who attacked you, they could be there waiting for you."

"Yes, they could."

"This is about Charlie, isn't it?" Fred asked. "We'll help you, if you just tell us what is happening."

"I know you would," Ginny replied. "You already have. And although I hate sounding like Hermione, it's better if you don't ask questions right now. I may need your help again soon. I'll see if I can tell you more then."

There was a flash of red, and Ginny turned to walk out the door. She stepped out into the dark alley and heard the metallic clack of the door locking behind her. She wrapped the grey cloak around her again and pulled the hood over her head. It may not be the best disguise, but it was better than nothing, and more protective than anything Madam Malkin's could sell her.

She quietly stepped out into the street and began walking toward the Leaky Cauldron.

Ginny walked into the pub with purpose and determination. She made certain that she didn't show any of the nervousness she felt as dozens of wizards turned to stare at her as she entered. She pulled back her hood and walked to the bar as if it were any other day. The only wizard who hadn't noticed her was Lord Albert, who was currently focusing all of his attention on using his wand to refill the large bottle of Firewhiskey in front of him.

Tom was giving her a peculiar look, but it didn't stop him from giving her his customary nod and pushing the day's Daily Prophet toward her. She took it and began walking to her usual table. Along the way, she noticed the old wizard with the black beard sitting with the same wizards she'd seen him with at the match. He noticed her as well, and spoke up.

"I hear you made it into the match," he said with a slight smile, "though not with the best company. They came here looking for you. Seemed a little put out at the time." He stopped and looked at her as if he'd just noticed her. "That's an interesting cloak you've got there. Do they sell them around here?"

Ginny was caught off guard. Why had he asked about the cloak? Why had he asked about it? Did he know something about the grey-cloaked wizards? Or was it something closer? She tried to think of an answer which might get him to talk about them more.

"Oh, it's just a standard black cloak," she told him casually. "I had to charm it to get it to look like this. I've been looking for something in this color for a while now."

The result wasn't what she'd hoped for. Instead of showing any sign of recognition, he merely shrugged and shook his head. "I don't see why black isn't good enough for anybody. Witches and wizards these days —it's even the grown wizards now— wearing all manner of robes and cloaks. I suppose you're free to look however you like." He let out a short grunt. "You just keep your wits about you, and enjoy your evening. I've got a game to win."

He gave her one last smile before turning back to the chess board on the table, leaving Ginny feeling a little disappointed. She took her seat and started scanning the room over the top of the Prophet. The Leaky Cauldron had a few extra patrons that night. It was also quite a bit darker than she was used to, and quite a bit more difficult to see into all the corners and shadows. As she searched the large main room, her eyes caught a group of cloaked wizards coming down the stairs.

It was the French delegates. For a moment, she felt like trying to hide, but thought better of it. She'd stay right where she was. Henri D'Anneau wasn't going to attack her. At worst he'd disgust her. Just as she'd expected, D'Anneau spotted her quickly and walked toward her, trailing the blonde witch, Sabine, and one of the wizards.

"Good evening, Ginny," he said as he smiled and sat down across from her.

Ginny returned a forced smile. "I never mentioned that name to you," she told him.

His smile melted away. "I admit it. This afternoon was not the first time I have heard of you."

"So, you were lying to me when we met? You knew who I was. You knew who my brother was. Why shouldn't I think you were lying about everything you claimed you could do for me?"

"I was not lying," D'Anneau declared with as much sincerity as he could gather. "I said only that I had heard of you. I had not expected we would meet today, nor had I any idea what you looked like."

"And the rest of our conversation was completely honest?" Ginny asked. "You weren't trying to deceive me?"

"Deception is a major part of my job. It's a part of yours as well, whether you know it is occurring or not. Still, it does not have to prevent us from working together. There is still much that we might gain by friendship. There is information I can give you. Information about what happened after the match?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you do. You saw something unexpected. Something which isn't supposed to exist."

Ginny tried to control herself. He knew about Harry (or was it an impostor?) and the other wizards. How much would he tell her. "I want to know about the wand."

"That is a very complicated subject."

"So I've heard."

"I may be able to tell you quite a bit, but I cannot do it here," he told her. "Come. Join me in my room and we can discuss many things."

"I don't think so," Ginny answered coldly. "I don't trust you. I think you'd say just about anything to... get what you want. I can't even tell if you know everything you claim you do." Ginny felt her heart racing, but forced herself to appear calm. If she could keep him talking, she might get more information from him.

"What guarantee could I make?" he asked. "What would you ask of me that might prove my reliability?"

"Where is the wand?" she asked quietly. In one question she hoped to D'Anneau might be forced to reveal quite a bit of information.

"You're asking quite a bit," he whispered. "The answer is more complex than you realize."

"You don't know, do you?" Ginny responded, hoping to needle him into saying more.

"If I did know where it was, and did not return it, would I not be as much of a thief as the one who took it?"

"So tell me what you do know."

"I would like nothing more than to do just that," D'Anneau said in a hushed voice, "but I cannot do that here. Please. Join me in my room. We have little time and there is much for us to discuss."

"I think you're lying."

"I assure you I am not. You must trust me." His smooth, charming nature had melted away, but instead of arrogance and anger, D'Anneau's face was filled with desperation and a little fear. "Can you not trust me? Is there nowhere else we might go?" he pleaded.

"You can go home to France, where you belong," an uneven voice called out. A tall figure pushed forward between the witch and wizard behind D'Anneau. With a single motion, he grasped D'Anneau's shoulders and pulled him to his feet. Ginny sat frozen in her seat. It was Lord Albert.

He gave D'Anneau a rough shove and sat down in his seat. "You've been harassing this witch quite enough," he said as he pulled a cup from his pocket. With the other hand he fished the usual bottle of Firewhiskey from his other pocket. He set both of them on the table, but didn't actually let go of them. As he filled his glass, he looked over his shoulder at the three French delegates.

"You're done here," he called out in a voice that was only slightly slurred. "You've seen your match and finished your business. You tried to make your deal, and she isn't interested."

D'Anneau looked panicked. "Please, I meant her no harm—"

"'Course you wouldn't see it as harm, would you?" Lord Albert said with a little more hostility. He threw back the glass of Firewhiskey and set it on the table. It wasn't until then that Ginny realized he'd let go of his bottle. His wand was in that hand now, and it was pointed at Henri D'Anneau. "It's not enough to have power, is it? You want the thrill of exploiting young witches. Perhaps next time you should just do your job and leave."

Lord Albert had spoken with such vehemence that even the arrogant D'Anneau was caught off guard. His whole personality seemed to have changed. He appeared uncertain and paranoid, like some cornered animal. His eyes shifted from Ginny to Lord Albert and back to Ginny. His eyes twitched, as if an idea had suddenly struck him.

"I— Please accept my apology." he said quickly. "Allow me to make it up to you. There is something I must attend to immediately. Goodnight. I hope we might meet again, in better moods. " He turned and walked away quickly.

Over her new friend's shoulder, she watched as D'Anneau said a few sharp words to his companions, then walked to the fireplace and disappeared in a flash of green flame. Ginny stared at the flames for a moment. D'Anneau had been the only source of information and now he was gone, probably for good.

He'd behaved strangely, though. He'd obviously had some plan, and she had ruined it. Why had it upset him so much? Certainly she wasn't the first witch to turn him away. It had been more than that, she told herself. He hadn't acted annoyed or frustrated. He was frightened. How could Ginny frighten a wizard like Henri D'Anneau?

"Don't you worry about him," Lord Albert said as he filled his glass again. "He won't bother you anymore. That D'Anneau chap likes to pretend he's important, but he's not." He downed his glass and sat back with a satisfied smile. "He's not like you. When you've seen as many wizards as I have, you can tell which ones are worth knowing."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't really know what I mean," he laughed. "Sometimes I say things... and they make sense when I say 'em, but I don't really remember why." He stopped to stare into the bottom of his empty glass. "At least, I don't think I remember why." He shrugged and started filling his glass again. "You want any?" he asked as he offered the bottle to her.

"Is it really Firewhiskey?" Ginny asked, marveling at the impossible amount he had ingested in the last two minutes.

"No, not really," he laughed. "Oh, it's close enough to fool most people around here—not that it takes much, mind you."

Ginny smiled and agreed, and to her surprise, Lord Albert pulled a second glass from his robes and set it down next to his. "Always keep a spare," he whispered. "I've never really trusted a glass I didn't clean myself, you know?" He slowly filled it with the bottle in his other hand. When it was half full, he stopped and gently slid it toward her. "There you are, er... what was your name?"

"Ginny. Ginny Weasley."

"Ah, that's not so bad," he said. "That's much easier to say than mine. You can just call me Albert."

"Alright. Thank you, Albert," Ginny said as she gingerly lifted the glass. Now that she got a good look at it, it didn't quite look like Firewhiskey. It was lighter in color and weight, and seemed to have a more floral aroma. With a shrug and a smile, she raised her glass in salute.

Ginny had tried Firewhiskey before. It hadn't been an entirely unpleasant experience, but it had been enough to keep her away from it in the future. From the moment the concoction left the glass, she knew that Albert had told her the truth. It was obviously not Firewhiskey. The searing agony it caused made her memory of Firewhiskey seem almost pleasant. She gasped for air as it reached her stomach and made her feel as if her whole body was truly on fire.

Through the coughing and gasping and thunderous pounding of her own heart, she could hear Albert laughing. "Now that's a fine drink, eh? Never could stand the English stuff. It's watered-down." Ginny tried to respond, but she was still trying to breathe.

"Come on, it's not that bad," Albert remarked. "The first one is always the worst. The second one goes down much smoother, and by the third you won't even remember the first."

Ginny wiped the tears from her eyes and found him sliding her glass back toward her. It was already half full again.

"Are you mental?" she croaked.

"According to most people, yeah," he laughed as he downed another glass. "I used to try and argue with them, but I always forgot which side I was on. Once you make that mistake, it's pretty hard to fix." He shrugged. "At least you asked. Most people just tell me, as if it was something I didn't already know. Not you, though. You're different. I knew something was off when you didn't show up like usual and then that French bloke pranced in here, asking for you. I may be a raving lunatic, but I know when I see trouble coming."

Ginny stared at Albert. Perhaps she could still find what she came here for. However, it would be risky and it would require putting quite a bit of trust in a man who lived every moment of his life in a state well beyond drunkenness. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, picked up the glass in front of her, and drank it in a single gulp.

"You didn't notice anything else when D'Anneau showed up, did you? Did anyone—" Ginny paused to blink away her tears. He'd been right. The burning was tolerable this time, but only barely so. She clenched her teeth through the worst of it, and finished her question. "Did anyone else ask for me?"

Albert smirked and nodded. "And how would you know that? You're not one of those witches who can read people's thoughts? I knew a witch who tried that that on a cat once. She's got her own bed in St. Mungo's now. Tragic."

"So there was someone?"

"One, yeah," he said quietly. "That shifty one behind me. The one who's always playing chess? He came in a little after the Frenchman. He was asking about you, too," He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "I've never trusted him. He relies on his rooks far too much for any normal wizard. He's not right in the head, I tell you."

Ginny wondered how much she could trust the comments of a man who was in the process of ingesting appalling amounts of liquor. Still, it was still suspicious.

"That wasn't the strangest part, though. Another wizard came running in a little after the rest of them. He didn't ask for you but he disappeared real quick once you showed up."

"What did he look like?" Ginny asked as she stared at the half filled glass still in front of her. How many had she drank? Was this her third? When had he filled the last one?

"He was in a sour mood," Albert said as he filled her glass again. She stared down at it. It had been full just a second ago. He was looking thoughtfully at his bottle as he passed the glass back to her. "A tall, severe looking chap. Dark green dragon-hide boots. Never could stand dark green boots. Too flashy, you know? No real point."

"What did he look like?" Ginny asked. She found herself lifting her glass again, but stopped herself.

Albert frowned. "You're right. You've probably had enough." He took the glass from her and drank it himself. "He was a strange looking fellow. White hair, but not even as old as me. He was here before. The day you were so interested in the dragons. He slipped out as soon as you started talking to that chess playing git."

"I knew he had to be one of them," Ginny said groggily. Now that she'd stopped drinking, she was starting to feel a little dizzy. "Should have known."

"You alright, Miss?" Albert asked her. "You don't drink much, do you?" Ginny started to nod, but stopped when the room started spinning around her. "Come on," he said as he stood and gently helped her to do the same. "You should go home."

"Can't go home," she mumbled. "They're waiting for me."

"Don't you worry about the Frenchman," he said in a calm voice. "He's long gone."

"Not him," she whispered. "The others. They follow me. I have to find the grey wizards."

"Not tonight, you won't," he replied. "All you need to find tonight is a soft bed. Come on. You can use a bit of my Floo Powder."

"Won't work," Ginny said through the fog in her mind. "It's not connected; have to Apparate."

"Well if you're going to Apparate, you're going to need a little more of this." He quickly poured another glass and handed it to her. Without thinking, she drank it and felt the world slipping back into focus. "You'd better be off now. That's not going to last long." Ginny nodded. He looked her in the eyes. "You remember where home is?"

"No," she murmured. "Not home. Someplace better. They won't follow me there."

"Well, do you remember where that is?"

"Yeah," she answered. "London. Black House."

"I've no idea what you're talking about," he said with a confused expression, "but so long as you do, I'm sure you'll do fine."

Ginny nodded. She could see the edges of her vision blurring again. She hoped she would remember all of this tomorrow. Right now, she needed to get to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. She closed her eyes and focused on her memory of the pavement across the street. After a brief sensation of being crushed, she felt her feet land on the pavement. She stumbled, but didn't fall down. Slowly, she walked across the street and slipped into the deserted house.