Chapter 7

Uncomfortable Consequences

Ginny awoke the next morning feeling as if she'd been attacked by a dozen Bludgers. The light streaming in through the window burned her eyes and none of her muscles were working quite right. She tried to remember just how much she'd had to drink the night before, but she was having trouble concentrating. Something was irritating her. Some thought was poking at her dulled mind, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. As she tried to concentrate on it, another series of stabbing pains shot through her shoulder.

She recoiled from the source, causing even more pain to jump through her limbs. She squinted around the room and jumped again when her eyes found Kreacher standing next to the couch she'd fallen asleep on.

He reached forward and poked her with a knobby finger. "Miss needs to wake up. The Ministry will come if she does not," Kreacher croaked with a forced smile. "There are no wizards waiting for her now, but there will be if she keeps to her lazy, blood-traitor ways."

As soon as Ginny sat up, Kreacher's face fell and he started shuffling out of the room. "You'd prefer it if they did, wouldn't you?" she called out before he could disappear.

Kreacher stopped and turned around. For a moment, his face had been contorted into an agonized scowl, but it was quickly replaced with the false smile again. "Of course. Kreacher would be happy to live in peace and silence without having to deal with filthy trollops who break into his house smelling like expensive whiskey and nasty French wizards. But Kreacher is just a house elf. He has no choice." His smile faltered for a moment. He stared at her, and spoke slowly. "Wise master gave Kreacher orders."

Ginny ignored his glares and massaged her temples, hoping that it might somehow stop the pounding in her head. "But he's gone," she said. "Why do you still follow his orders?"

"Kreacher cannot disobey," he croaked. "Filthy master was very thorough. Kreacher cannot leave the house, and cannot reveal himself to anyone outside the house."

Ginny and Kreacher stared at each other, each finding the other thoroughly repulsive. After a moment, Kreacher turned to shuffle back into the kitchen. Ginny felt something odd about his behavior. He'd never been so hospitable as to wake her with anything less than the pounding of pans against the floor.

"Where is your master, Kreacher?"

Kreacher's body froze. He turned back toward her. His lips were trembling in a restrained scowl, but his eyes flashed with a rebellious gleam. "Master is gone," he said stiffly. "Master left to fight the great wizard. Kreacher never saw him return. Kreacher never heard if he returned. Kreacher has seen nothing that might him think think Master has returned. Kreacher cannot tell you anything," He flashed a sneering smile at her. "Kreacher must go. Kreacher knows nothing about his very thorough master."

Ginny sat on the sofa for a moment, trying to make some sense of what was happening. It should have been easier, but her head felt like a cauldron of Polyjuice potion. The rest of her body was little better. Her arms and legs ached, her back was stiff and her stomach felt tense and knotted. She now understood why Albert drank so much. If this is what it felt like when you stopped, it might be worth drinking the stuff for the rest of your life. Of course, doing that might result in reaching the end of your life much sooner than you might like, but death couldn't be much worse than how Ginny currently felt.

She eventually forced herself to stand up and walk around. Only the memory of Kreacher's words convinced her not to lay back down. He'd said there were no wizards waiting for her, but there would be. What did he mean? While her mind tried to work that problem out, there was a light tapping at the window which was amplified to mind-splitting agony in her head.

She carefully walked to the window, trying to move as smoothly as possible and avoid jarring her throbbing head. Outside the window, a large barn owl was perched on the ledge. Ginny carefully opened the window and retrieved a roll of parchment tied to the owl's foot.

She opened it quickly and tried to read it. Her vision was still a little blurry and the light shining off the clean parchment made her eyes feel like they were going to pop out of her skull, but she was able to read enough of it to understand what was going on. Mrs. Reading was summoning her to the Ministry. Usually, she wouldn't be required to be at the Ministry for another half hour, but if she hadn't drank enough to incapacitate a troll last night, she would have already been there. The summons simply made her immediate departure a requirement.

There was an extra message at the bottom of the note: Please deliver this in person to the watch wizard on duty at the main gate. She frowned at it and walked back to a dimmer part of the room. She searched for her wand, noticing the horrible state her robes were in. Ignoring that for the moment, she waved her wand over the parchment, and frowned again as it glowed a faint violet.

It was a trick Tonks had taught her. It meant that they had put a tracking charm on it. It wouldn't allow them to get into Grimmauld Place, but if she didn't leave soon, they'd still know where to find her.

She walked into the kitchen and saw Kreacher slipping out the other door. The table was littered with crumbs from a piece of old bread. Ginny ignored the mess. She didn't have time to deal with it. She walked immediately over to the spare cupboard and found some clean robes. After changing quickly, she used her wand to fix her hair and any obvious problems with her clothes.

She put any thoughts of Kreacher or D'Anneau aside and focused on her current problem. She'd been summoned to the Ministry. Was it related to Hermione's summons the previous night? There was nothing she could do about it now. She couldn't very well ignore it, and she didn't have any time to think of anything else. Taking a deep breath, she opened the front door and walked out of Grimmauld Place.

There didn't seem to be anyone around. She walked quickly across the street and into the dark alleyway she often used. Once there, she waited for another minute, then checked again. She still couldn't see anyone. Perhaps there wasn't any danger after all. Or perhaps Kreacher knew something she didn't. She pushed the thought from her mind again, and tried to ignore the shooting pain in her head long enough to Disapparate to the Ministry.

After her second try, she found herself standing unsteadily in the Ministry Entrance Hall. Loads of other wizards were Apparating around her. She was able to walk more naturally now, though the very idea of walking any faster made her feel dizzy.

As she made her way to the security desk, she tried to get a look at the room around her. She couldn't see anyone who was paying any attention to her much less following her. She handed the parchment to the wizard at the desk. He took it lazily, stamped it and tossed it into a drawer without even looking at her. Feeling somewhat disappointed in the lack of attention she was attracting, she slipped into the flow of people walking through the gate.

The moment she passed through the gate she saw him. Standing at the end of the hall and staring at her was the white haired wizard Albert had pointed out the previous night. He wasn't wearing a hood anymore and she could see his face clearly. She had hoped there might be something about his face that would feel familiar once she'd seen it, but there was nothing. There was no doubt that he was the same wizard, but beyond that, she'd never seen him before.

After realizing that she'd been standing there staring back at him, she looked away and made her way to one of the queues of wizards waiting for a lift. To her horror, the white-haired wizard followed her, standing directly behind her. It became quite uncomfortable, but she didn't know what else to do. He couldn't attack her here. They were surrounded by Ministry employees. They wouldn't stand for it, not after what happened to Charlie.

The lift in front of her opened, and it suddenly struck her. He'd gotten past the gate. He wasn't disguised. He wasn't hiding.

He was a Ministry employee.

They'd sent for Hermione the night before. Ginny felt her heart pounding in her chest. Had they sent him out to keep an eye on her until she could be summoned the next morning? What had he been told to do?

She walked into the lift and stood stiffly as he took a space right next to her. She was trapped. Where could she go? Would wizards be waiting for her in the Department of International Magical Cooperation? Maybe she could get off early? He's here so you don't do that, Ginny told herself. There really wasn't anything she could do.

Not wanting to risk looking him in the eye, she kept her head down and focused on the floor of the lift as people marched out at each level. He was wearing smooth black leather boots with ornate gold trim. It reminded her of the sort of excessively flashy things Lucius Malfoy had enjoyed buying.

As the lift neared her floor, she felt her anger building. She hadn't done anything wrong. Hermione hadn't even told her anything useful. She had, of course, given Ginny access to the Spectrecorder and said some things she shouldn't have, but that wasn't so bad that it warranted the treatment she was getting.

The lift doors doors opened noisily and announced that Ginny had reached her destination. She stepped out of the lift with grim determination, and whirled around to face the wizard following her.

He wasn't there.

As the lift descended, Ginny just caught the face of the white-haired wizard staring back at her with an expressionless face. What was going on? Wasn't he following her? Ginny turned and hesitantly walked toward Carmilla's desk.

"Good morning, Miss Weasley," Carmilla greeted her warmly. "Running a little late today?"

"Yeah, I had a tiring day yesterday," Ginny replied with some uncertainly.

"That's what I hear," Carmilla laughed. "You apparently handled yourself well enough. Watch out, though. Harrington's a bit upset. It's mostly an injured ego, but he'll have to deal with the Minister as well, and that always puts him in a sour mood."

"It's not because of something I said, is it? I tried to be professional, but Mr. D'Anneau was rather pushy and—"

"—No, no," Carmilla interrupted. "You did just fine. In fact, you did spectacular. Well, I suspect they'll explain it all to you. Mrs. Reading has been anxious to find you. We were just about to send the Aurors out."

Ginny nodded vacantly as Carmilla explained about what had happened that morning. Apparently an owl had been waiting for Mrs. Reading when she'd arrived. After realizing Ginny hadn't shown up at her normal time, she'd sent out the summons. "It wasn't a serious thing," Carmilla reassured her. "I think she was worried about you. We heard that you were chased at the match."

Ginny fumbled her way through the rest of the conversation and eventually walked off to her small and seldom-used cubicle down the hall. She sat down and stared blankly at the books, parchment and inkwells scattered across her small desk. She was completely confused about what was happening. There was little point in doing anything until someone explained what was going on, so she simply sat and tried to ignore her nausea.

"Working hard, I see," announced a dull voice behind her. Ginny spun around to find Evelyn glowering at her over a large stack of folders. "Does it ever get tiring? Just sitting about looking pretty? But then, you've had quite a bit of practice at it, haven't you? I hear you made quite an impression on Henri D'Anneau."

"I'm terribly sorry, Evelyn," Ginny groaned, feeling not at all sorry, "but I'm not feeling well and I've got a lot on my mind right now."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Evelyn replied in a patronizing voice. "I forgot that you're not used to having anything on your mind."

Ginny turned toward her, prepared to return some biting response, but it disappeared when the world didn't stop spinning when her head did. A wave of dizziness struck her, and when it had passed, Evelyn was smiling at her.

"Feeling ill? You were a bit late this morning as well, weren't you? I guess you must have had a long night. You didn't spend the night setting up any, er... cultural exchanges, did you?"

Ginny's bloodshot eyes narrowed as she scowled back at her. "Have we met before? Is there some reason why you dislike me?"

"I didn't need to meet you," Evelyn answered, continuing the same insulting tone. "I've met plenty of witches like you. You're no different than the others. You haven't even thanked me for my advice."

"What advice was that?"

"Don't insult my intelligence," Evelyn snapped. "What are you going to tell Cordelia? That you and Henri talked about the impact of the unicorn migrations on the nomadic wizard bands of the Balkans? Perhaps you'll just tell her that you were discussing the embarrassing show your brother put on. But you and I both know that D'Anneau doesn't even like Quidditch. I told you what he did like and you used it to get what you wanted. Since you can't lower yourself to thank me, let's see how you do without me holding your hand."

Ginny rubbed her eyes and tried to shake her head clear. "What are you talking about? What aren't you helping me with?"

"Oh, of course. You couldn't possibly know what's going on because no one's told you, right? Well, I'm sure it will all make sense shortly. Until then, here is France—" she dropped a third of her stack of folders on Ginny's desk, "—and here is World Cup Voting Procedures." She unceremoniously dropped the remaining folders next to the first stack.

Ginny stared at in bewilderment. "What—"

"Miss Sibley, I told you to deliver those after the meeting," Mrs. Reading interrupted as she walked up behind Evelyn and gave her a disapproving glare.

"It's alright, Cordelia," she replied lightly. "Ginny's terribly clever. I'm sure she has already figured it out." With one last glare, she turned and walked away.

"Is she correct?" Mrs. Reading asked Ginny.

"No," Ginny answered slowly. She'd expected to be reprimanded or suspended or be sent to the Aurors, not insulted by some spoiled witch in a foul mood. There was something else, and she was tired of being left in the dark. "I have no idea what she's talking about. I overslept and was woken up by your note. I came as quickly as I could."

Mrs. Reading gave her an appraising look, then smiled and nodded. "Alright. Well, you'd best come with me. I have to speak with Harrington, and it's only fair that you be there to hear it."

Ginny followed Mrs. Reading down the corridor to Harrington's office. She felt tense just walking back into the office. The memory of the last time she'd been there was still vivid. Given the look on Harrington's face upon seeing her, perhaps this visit would not be terribly different than the last.

"I should have expected this," he announced. "Why shouldn't she be involved in every single thing this department does? She's been here less than a month and is already creating policy, so why not include her in administration as well? By the way, does she still work for me or is she reporting directly to Scrimgeour, now?"

Mrs. Reading bristled. "You agreed when we hired her that she would report to me and be my responsibility."

"Ahh! So you're going to handle Reynard, are you? You'll speak with the Minister when he hears about it?"

"I would," she replied with a sly smile, "but I specifically remember a memo stating that all inter-departmental business should be left to you."

Harrington scowled at her. "Nonetheless, I didn't call you in here to speak about this business with Reynard. We need to talk about the other problem first. Certainly she doesn't need to be here for that."

"Why shouldn't she be here? You told me that she would take orders from me. I can't stop you from second-guessing my decisions, but if you're going to start telling her what to do, I think you should do it to her face."

Harrington sat back in defeat. "Then by all means, let's begin. But we'll start with this problem with Reynard first." With a rather stern expression, he turned to glare at Ginny.

"Yesterday evening, you visited Hermione Granger, an employee of the Department of Mysteries. During a conversation, she revealed some information she was not supposed to share. Did you ask her to reveal this information?"

Ginny took a moment to think. How much did he know? Would he know if she lied? Was there any reason why she should lie? She finally answered, "I didn't know it was anything she wasn't supposed to talk about." It was mostly true.

"So you did ask her to reveal information?"

"No," Ginny replied. "I asked her about a friend. I didn't know we weren't allowed to discuss our friends."

"That would be a perfectly understandable explanation were you talking about another wizard, but you know very well that the wizard you were asking about wasn't just your friend, and has a much greater importance to the rest of the wizarding world."

"So, she's to be punished for knowing important wizards?" Mrs. Reading asked.

"No," Harrington growled, "she's to be punished for pressing a Department of Mysteries employee for information on one of the biggest mysteries of our time. If she is so ignorant that she cannot remember where Miss Granger works, then I don't see the point in sending her out of this office."

"I wasn't asking for that," Ginny argued. "I'd never ask her to do anything illegal. I never asked her about her work. It was nothing. We've had that conversation a hundred times. This is the first time anyone's ever been hauled back to the Ministry because of it."

"Perhaps you don't understand the seriousness of this situation," he said in a quieter voice. "This isn't like having your friends help you get a job. This is the the kind of thing that can make you lose your job, or worse."

Ginny felt a small stab of fear at the sound of that. What would she do if she lost her job? Her parents would help her, of course, but that would only last so long. Her worries were interrupted by Mrs. Reading clearing her throat.

"You know very well that you aren't going to get rid of her," she chastised Harrington. "If she's telling the truth, then she hasn't really done anything wrong."

"And if she's lying, then we've got a problem which cannot be fixed," Harrington replied. "Even if you are telling the truth, it's terribly serious. Between that and your rather suspicious success with D'Anneau, I'd say you'd best keep your head down for a while. The next time anything like this happens, you'll find yourself in front of the Wizengamot, and the last time I checked, you didn't have any friends there anymore."

"Until then, what am I supposed to do with you, Miss Weasley? I can't have you sacked, I can't let Reynard or anyone else in the Department of Mysteries tell me how to run my department, and Cordelia won't let me punish you. Am I supposed to pretend this didn't happen? I can't tell the Minister that you were punished if you weren't and I can't tell him that I let her do nothing. So, what should she do?"

"I'm going to promote her."

Both Ginny and Harrington turned to stare at Mrs. Reading. If she felt at all uncomfortable, she wasn't showing it.

"You're going to do what?" Harrington asked incredulously. "Have you gone mad? It's preposterous! And it's impossible. The Minister expressly said that she must remain in this position."

"No, the Minister said someone needed to remain in that position." Mrs. Reading corrected him. "He certainly didn't mean that we should hire someone who could never be promoted. Besides, there's no other way to let her go. We made a deal with the goblins. I'll just find someone else to take her place. It'll be easier this time. We won't have to make a decision in a day. I've already got someone coming in to see me tomorrow. Scrimgeour won't even have to know that we're doing it until it's all fixed."

Harrington leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. "Well, that's perfect. I've spent the last three years trying to build some sort of stability in this department, and you're trying your hardest to help another Weasley meet even more influential friends. Why not give her my job?"

Mrs. Reading smiled back at him. "She'd never be able to do it with the same amount of cheer and friendliness that you have."

The older wizard narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Do it," he snapped, "but I want her replacement hired before any rumor of this reaches the Minister's office, and if I find out that she's done anything questionable to make this happen, I will have her sacked without another thought."

"I've already talked to the French Ministry about this, Ferdinand," Mrs. Reading replied. "They completely support D'Anneau and agree with his recommendations. The only one who's complaining is you. I have complete confidence in Ginny's abilities, and if they didn't, they wouldn't have asked for her."

"Excuse me," Ginny interrupted. "What are you talking about?"

"This," Harrington said as he slid a roll of parchment toward her. "I found an eagle owl waiting to deliver that to me when I came in this morning. Of course, you couldn't have known it was coming, could you?"

Ginny unrolled the parchment and began reading.

To Ferdinand Harrington, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation,

The French delegation to the World Cup Site Selection Committee wishes to request your Ministry's assistance in the upcoming Site Selection Conference in Giza, Egypt. As you know, each delegation nominated for the final round of selection is allowed to select two non-voting attendants to attend the conference in order to aid the delegation and act as advocates for the potential host country.

Our delegates have asked that Ginevra Weasley be named as one of the attendants. The French Ministry requests that you make Miss Weasley available to aid the French delegation for the duration of the conference. Our Ministry will guarantee that your assistance in this matter will not be forgotten and that any expenses needed to accommodate this favor will be repaid handsomely.

Please refer to the Site Selection Committee Handbook for any information regarding dates, requirements, provisions, and restrictions regarding this request and the fulfillment thereof.

Beneath the flowing script was a large red seal, which Ginny recognized as the seal given to documents from the office of the French Minister. She'd only seen it once before, on a copy of the application to the Site Selection Committee. She didn't really understand what was going on, but that seal meant it must be serious.

"Did D'Anneau tell you about this last night?" Mrs. Reading asked. She had an oddly uncertain look on her face, as if she were afraid of what Ginny might say.

"No," Ginny answered. "He never said anything about this. I don't even know what this is."

"But he did talk with you?"

"Yes. He asked me to come to his room. I told him to shove off. He tried to apologize, but I ignored him." Even as she said it, her own words reminded her of exactly what he'd said. Allow me to make it up to you, he'd told her, and then: There is something I must attend to immediately. She had little doubt that the parchment in her hands was his attempt to compensate her, but for what? It seemed a poor way to apologize for attempting to take advantage of her. Perhaps Harrington had the right idea, and D'Anneau thought she would be eager to be able to make powerful friends. To someone like him, that might be an acceptable form of payment.

"There's nothing more?" Harrington pressed her. "What did he do after that?"

"He left pretty quick after I told him I wasn't going to talk with him."

"Satisfied?" Mrs. Reading said to Harrington.

"Do I have a choice?" he shot back at her. "I can't very well ignore a request from the French Minister, and Scrimgeour would skin me if I passed up the opportunity to have the French Ministry owe us a favor or two."

Mrs. Reading was smiling gently. "Would you like me to help you speak to Reynard? I'll be willing to vouch for Ginny myself."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," Harrington replied sharply. "I am the head of this department. Reynard needs to learn the fact that just because the Department of Mysteries gets special privileges, it doesn't entitle him to push anyone else around or force people to vouch for other people to make him happy. If he wants to meddle with my employees, he'll have to go through the Minister." He stood up and rubbed his eyes. Ginny hadn't realized until then just how tired he looked.

"I assume you can handle the rest of this?" he asked Mrs. Reading. "See that she gets whatever she needs: robes, a traveling chest, and so forth," She nodded and Harrington made his way to the door. "Alright then. I guess I've got a lift to catch. Good day."

Ginny and Mrs. Harrington followed him out the door. He turned toward the lifts, and Ginny followed Mrs. Reading back to her much smaller office. As she sat down in the only other chair in the office, she looked about her. It was actually smaller than the office Evelyn sat in. Mrs. Reading sat down and immediately started scratching away at a piece of parchment.

"As you read, the conference will be in Giza. I hear you've already been there, but you might find this to be a little different. First off, you'll need a set of light colored robes. Not white, though. Light grey, tan, or maybe a pale yellow. The Committee is requiring them of all visiting wizards. There are too many of them to let them all prance about the sands in purple and black. They're usually easy to find. However, it also gets pretty cold at night, so you might want a light colored cloak. They're a little more rare, but you've got a week and Madam Malkin shouldn't have a problem making one for you."

"I've already got one," Ginny said, The revelation seemed to surprise her just as much as Mrs. Reading.

"You do?" she asked. "Why exactly is that?"

Ginny didn't know what to say. "A coincidence, I guess. My brother's gave me an extra one from their shop. They had offered to change the color, but I never had the time." She didn't want to tell Mrs. Reading that she'd only gotten it last night.

"Alright. Well, I'm writing a voucher which should allow you to purchase anything else you might need from Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade or pretty much any other shop in Britain. If you abuse it, you can expect another conversation with Harrington. Short of that, don't worry. We'll just send the bill to the French Ministry. Do try and keep the reason quiet, though. Anyone who reads this should know not to ask questions, and even if they do, by time the rumor starts, we should have already fixed the problem." She rolled the parchment up and handed it to Ginny.

"Evelyn has already dropped off the research I requested for you. I had hoped that she would sort through it a bit more, but she seems to be in an exceptionally bad mood this morning. You'll want to read through as much of that as you can. I mean no offense, but I do not know why they chose you. I can only assume they have something specific in mind. I don't think they will expect you to know anything more than you already do, but it can't hurt."

"Other than that, you'll want to try and keep out of trouble. Harrington can exaggerate at times, but he was serious about this situation with Reynard. You'll want to watch what you do from now on."

Ginny stared back at her. "From now on?" she said with frustration. "For the last week and a half, I've done whatever I was told. Harrington called me a liar to my face, and I never asked to know why. I never demanded to be told why I was hired so quickly. After a week of being here, I was sent to meet with a delegation from one of the leading candidate sites for the next World Cup. I should have been the last person anyone chose, but I didn't ask why."

Ginny felt her heart pounding almost painfully in her chest, but she knew that if she stopped, she'd never finish. "Everyone else is acting as if I know what's going on. I don't. I don't know why D'Anneau's doing this. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do. All I wanted was a job. I didn't ask for any of this. Now I can't even talk to my friends without Ministry approval."

She stopped, took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. "I'll do this, even though I find Henri D'Anneau to be one of the most vile wizards I've ever met —and I've met some of the very worst wizards. I've been patient until now, but someone better start explaining to me what's going on."

Mrs. Reading just sat and stared at her in shock. After an uncomfortably long period of silence she blinked and waved her wand at the door. It closed and the room echoed with the sound of the bolt locking the door.

"You really don't know, do you?" Mrs. Reading asked. "My god, what have we done? I didn't really believe Harrington, but I guess I assumed—" She stared at Ginny with wide eyes. "I feel so irresponsible. I never should have gotten you involved in this. You don't have to do this, Ginny. We can find someplace else for you to work."

"No," Ginny said quickly. As much as she might like a less complicated life, she knew that all of the trouble she was in was because she was getting closer to finding out what had happened to Charlie, and perhaps Harry. "No, I can do this. I just need to know what's going on."

Mrs. Reading started explaining what might be expected of Ginny. Customarily, the attendants to the delegations were influential wizards who would talk with the other delegations and try to get them to support the country they represented. It wasn't uncommon for the attendants to be from other countries. There was even a rumor that the Bulgarians had actually found a wizard from France who had agreed to help them.

Of course, Ginny was not terribly influential. She wasn't even well known in Britain. No one in the department really knew why she had been requested, and Ginny decided that it would be best if she didn't tell them everything that had been said between her and D'Anneau.

In the end, it was entirely possible that they would expect very little of her. She might have been requested for nothing more than the appearance of support by the British Ministry. Everyone knew the vote would be close. The British delegates were still split, and they had the potential to cast the deciding votes. Perhaps Ginny would be asked to speak with them.

More importantly, Mrs. Reading explained that the whole thing meant very little to D'Anneau. He'd never been remotely interested in the World Cup until it had given him a chance to gain political power. He wouldn't care about losing it if he was able to gain some other advantage in exchange. It was also well known that he had his sight on the French Minister's job.

If everything Ron had told her was correct, then maybe all of the demands and arguments over her job had simply been some pointless political battle between D'Anneau and the Bulgarians. He had wanted the Ministry to hire someone who knew about Quidditch, but was still young and easy to manipulate. The British delegates would be more likely to side with a British Ministry official. The Bulgarians must have seen what he was doing and had tried to stop him, but Ginny was the one who was getting blamed for all of it.

As she walked back to her desk, she tried to reconcile this with everything else she'd learned. Was it just a coincidence that D'Anneau knew about her brother? There had been no time for him to do any sort of research. He hadn't even known she was the one he'd be meeting. She concluded he must have known beforehand. That was why he'd asked about Ron. He was making a plan.

How did a power-hungry bureaucrat know so much about what had happened to Charlie? He supposedly had loads of friends across Europe. He could have heard it from any of them, yet if he were somehow personally involved, it might explain why the World Cup site selection had become so complicated.

Could D'Anneau be one of the grey-cloaked wizards? The thought was enough to make her stop in the middle of the corridor. The Romanians were France's strongest supporters. D'Anneau even said he knew the Romanian Minister. If the grey-cloaked wizards had stopped the Death Eaters at the Ministry, maybe they had been trying to protect the Romanian Minister as well. That still didn't explain how the Death Eaters were involved. It didn't explain how Harry might be involved either.

Ginny sat down at her desk and stared at the two small towers of notes and reports in front of her. She had a week to try and learn whatever she could from them. As she started skimming through the leafs of parchment in the larger stack, she couldn't help but scowl to herself. If there was anything useful in the stack, Evelyn had done an excellent job of hiding it. With a deep sigh, she sat back, grabbed a stack of parchment and started searching for something that might actually help her.

Ginny stared at the clock on the wall, waiting for it to count off one more minute. Harrington had returned from his meeting with Reynard, who appeared to be the Head of the Department of Mysteries. He hadn't seemed terribly pleased, but there was a faint look of satisfaction about his face. He hadn't said anything to Ginny, but had passed by often enough that she didn't feel like leaving any earlier than she normally did.

She was halfway through the larger of the two stacks and had created a much smaller stack of interesting items, mostly accounts of various trickery that had been accomplished during the voting conferences. She figured that if she was destined to become the subject of one of the reports, she might as well do her best to make sure she would be part of one of the clever successes and not an embarrassing disaster.

Ginny closed the large folder in her hands, and tossed it on top of the stack of other useful material. She had a whole week to go over the mountain of reports on her desk. There was something much more urgent she needed to do. She tidied up the stacks and quietly slipped out of the department. When she reached Level Eight, she stepped out of the lift with a number of other witches and wizards. They all turned and walked toward the gate at the end of the hall and the Entrance Hall on the other side of it. Ginny however, turned the other direction. She walked to the opposite end of the hall and simply stood against the blank wall and waited.

After about fifteen minutes and a hundred or so suspicious glares from passing wizards, she finally saw what she'd been waiting for: a shorter witch with a heavy bag slung over her shoulder and wavy brown hair tied back over her shoulders. Her hair had lost most of its bushiness over the last two years, but Hermione still kept it tied back, if only out of habit. Ginny quickly caught up with her and grabbed her shoulder to stop her.

With an echoing shriek, Hermione spun around, dropping her bag and spilling a number of old books across the stone floor. For a moment, there had been a look of fear on her face, but as soon as she saw Ginny's face, it disappeared. In its place, however, was a tight-lipped grimace of barely restrained anger.

"Ginny—" Hermione started, then cut herself short. "Are you— I— We can't do this. I can't talk to you right now," She knelt on the floor and began violently shoving the books back in her bag. "I... I've got... er..."

"—An urgent call from the Department of Mysteries?" Ginny offered.

Hermione stood up and gave Ginny a whithering glare. "I've got errands to run. Urgent errands. Errands that require me to be far away from here very urgently." Hermione turned back toward the gate.

"I just need to talk to you for a moment, I promise I'll—"

Hermione whirled on her. "Do you not understand what the word 'urgent' means?" she hissed. "Wait, of course you do. You just don't listen to anything I say. I told you it was dangerous. I told you to stop pressing it. I told you not to ask questions about it, but you just kept pushing until you got your answers."

"So you remember everything we talked about?" Ginny asked. "How much did you tell them? What did they ask about?"

"I can't tell you," Hermione whispered as she threw paranoid glances as passing wizards.

"Why not? It's not like you'd be telling me anything I haven't already heard?"

Hermione stared sullenly back at Ginny. "I can't tell you, because I can't remember," She flashed a grim smile. "I can't remember what they asked. I can't remember what I told them. I don't even know who I talked to. All I know is that they aren't going to sack me, though that's hardly good news. Of course, that was before Harrington came down to talk to Mr. Reynard, so I suppose there's still some hope for tomorrow."

"What's going on, Hermione?" Ginny asked. "Why are they doing this? We didn't talk about anything we haven't talked about before."

"We can't talk about this here," Hermione said with finality. She turned and started walking away. In two strides, Ginny caught her and spun her around again.

"We'll I can't talk about it out there," she said nodding toward the Entrance Hall. "It's not safe out there. You were right. They're following me. They've been following me for some time," Hermione tried to push herself away, but Ginny held tight. "You don't understand, Hermione," she said with more force. "Once I pass through that gate, I can't trust anyone."

"No, you don't understand," Hermione said with a shove. "It's not safe here. It's never been safe. Not for you." With one last tug, Hermione pulled free and strode through the gate into the wider hall, leaving Ginny behind.

Once on the other side, Hermione turned and gave Ginny a sympathetic look. A moment later, she Disapparated, and for a brief instant, Ginny saw a wizard standing some distance away. He had dark hair, glasses and a long brown cloak. Ginny blinked, but when her eyes opened, he was gone.

Hermione's message had been clear enough. Even the Ministry wasn't safe. Something still didn't add up. She wasn't safe, yet she wasn't in danger either. Hermione would never leave her if she was truly in danger. It was like she was simply being watched. As if someone were waiting for something else to happen. She felt like she was stumbling about a trap, waiting for the one false step that would trigger it.

She needed to think. If nowhere was safe, then at least she could find some place where she could see the danger she was in coming at her.

Tom gave her a grim nod as she walked in. He pushed the day's Daily Prophet toward her and turned back to his patrons. Ginny took it and turned toward her usual table.

Sitting two tables away were three wizards in heavy robes. Two of them wore wide brimmed hats, the other had a hood and was facing away from her. His boots however, were not hidden. They were the same gold-trimmed boots that she saw that morning. It was the white-haired wizard.

Ginny no longer doubted that he worked in the Ministry. He was probably an Auror, or perhaps someone from the Department of Mysteries. Were these the wizards who had chased her after the Quidditch match? Why would they chase her? They must have known she was going to return to the Ministry. Someone had reported the incident to the Ministry. Harrington had found out before she could even make it to his office.

Something felt wrong. Things were happening too fast. Something told her that if she sat down at her normal table, the three wizards would do something. She looked about the room, trying to find some other place to sit.

"You're not still dizzy from last night, are you?"

Ginny turned and found Lord Albert sitting on a stool at the bar. He was smiling lightly. When Ginny didn't immediately respond, he waved his bottle about in a gesture meant to encourage her to join him. She looked back at the three wizards and found two of them staring at her from under their hats. She turned her back to them.

"No, I was just trying to decide if I wanted something to drink," she said as she walked toward Albert. "I've had a bit of a rough day, and my throat's a little dry."

Faster than she could sit down, Albert had a second glass on the counter and had filled both of them from his bottle.

"Er, I was thinking I'd just stick to butterbeer, thanks," she told him as her head throbbed lightly in memory of her morning. Tom heard her comment, and gladly placed a cold glass of the beverage on the bar in front of her.

Albert gave it a disapproving look, but shrugged and smiled at her. "Suit yourself. I guess that just means there'll be more for me." Without a pause, he drained both glasses and started refilling them. "You sure you don't want one? It might help you in your current predicament."

"The last thing I need right now is another stabbing headache. Sorry, but I don't really see how it could help me."

"Sharpens the senses," he said with only a slightly slurred voice. "If you'd have had a glass or two before you came in, you might have spotted your friends over there."

"I spotted them fast enough," Ginny said as she opened the bottle of butterbeer and took a long drink.

"Wasn't talking about the blokes from the Ministry," Albert said with a crooked grin. "They're not even trying to hide. I was talking about that bloke sitting under the stairs and the goblins in the corner—don't be foolish and start looking for them now. They came in here a little before you. Nobody really took note of them, except—" Instead of finishing, he simply raised a glass of the pale liquid, smiled and tossed it back. When he put the glass back down, he was still smiling. "You sure you don't want a glass or two?"

Ginny fought the urge to turn around and instead stared into Albert's face. There was a reason this was happening. She was almost positive she knew why. She was getting closer. She was figuring it out. If she gave up now, would they just disappear again? Was that what she wanted?

"Albert, why are you helping me?"

"Can't really say," he said with a laugh. "Maybe it's the Firewhiskey. Maybe I can just see things others can't. Maybe I've seen so much that I don't even realize when something's supposed to be hidden. I can spot a bowtruckle in a pile of kindling as easily as I can spot great wizards —or witches. I've been doing it since I was young. My old uncle Antonin never talked to me again after I told him he was worth about as much as a wooden cauldron. My cousin, though, he was—"

"What do you know about Romania?" Ginny asked quickly before she lost her nerve.

"Romania? Oh, I've been there," Albert said with a nod and a drink. "Nice scenery. Great trees for wands. Plenty of dragons. They've got a fair number of them. There's a camp of wizards who raise them. I hear they're pretty popular with the young witches in the area. I suppose they would be impressive with all the gear they wear. Witches these days like that, I guess," He gave her an odd look. "And you like dragons, don't you? I remember you looking at that story. The dragon handlers would probably fancy you. It's not common to see a red haired witch in those parts."

"My brother was a dragon handler."

For the first time since she'd seen him, Albert stopped in the middle of emptying his glass and stared at her.

"Now, I don't mean any disrespect toward your brother, but if you're looking for a wizard to settle down with, I think you'd be able to find plenty of other wizards who would take you instead," Ginny stared at him in bewildered shock, but he barely noticed. "In fact, if you're that eager to find someone, I know a fine wizard who'd be over the moon to marry you. Now, he is getting on in years, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. With you being as pretty and, er... lively as you are... Well, it wouldn't be a long marriage, but it'd be a happy one. If you'd like to meet him—"

"I'm looking for a group of wizards who wear grey cloaks," Ginny whispered.

Albert stopped talking immediately. He put down his bottle and glass and straightened his robes. "Grey cloaks, you say?" he mumbled. "Might be anyone..." He filled his glass, drank it, and then drank another. "Still, it's best if you don't go asking about them."

"Asking about who?"

Albert narrowed his eyes and glanced about the room suspiciously. "There were stories —a long time ago, when I was as young as you are now. They said there was a group of wizards who banded together to fix things. The stories said they took to wearing grey cloaks."

"Who were they?"

"It doesn't matter," he grunted. "Most decent wizards thinks they're gone. Some decent wizards are convinced they never really existed. Either way, the best you'll get by asking is a funny look. The worst is well... worse. Why are you asking?"

"Were any of them from Romania?" Ginny asked quickly. "Or France?"

Albert leaned closer and dropped his voice. "Yes, they were from Romania. And France," he answered as he drained yet another glass and laughed to himself, "—and Italy, Germany, Norway, Russia, Sweden and even Britain. If you listen to the rumors, they were spread all across Europe and Asia."

"Where did they go?"

"Why not ask where the fog goes?" he laughed. "They went just where you'd expect something which never really existed to go. Nowhere."

Ginny blinked at him in confusion. "What does that mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything," he answered with a shrug. "We weren't really talking about anything, were we? You weren't asking anything and I was just babbling about old tales from my childhood. Now, how about my old, wealthy friend Pavel? He's got a wonderful castle in Poland—"

"I think I'll keep looking, thanks," Ginny interrupted. She finished the last of her butterbeer and slid off her stool. "I need to visit Gringott's. Thanks for the company."

"You're quite welcome," he replied. "I'll keep a stool open for you."

Ginny left the Leaky Cauldron feeling quite a bit more tense than she'd entered. After walking out into Diagon Alley, she found a shadowy corner where she could stand and watch for anyone who might have followed. After a minute or so, she felt confident that no one was going to follow her immediately. Of course, that might simply mean that they were already out there waiting for her.

She'd just have to take that risk. After talking with Albert, it was obvious that her suspicions were right. Whatever she'd been doing, it was drawing out even more suspicious activity. It wasn't necessarily providing explanations, but every little bit of information helped.

She'd already guessed the Ministry was following her. However, they couldn't have started until after she began working there. If they had been watching her before that, the Aurors would have known what she was planning. Whatever she was involved in now had started well before then, and she had merely stumbled right into it.

The closest link she'd found to that plot was Henri D'Anneau. He'd seemed eager —almost desperate— to tell her something, but then he left, and sent the letter she'd read that morning. With the power and friends he was rumored to have, he could have gotten a hundred other British wizards with much more influence than she had. Evelyn had said that he didn't care about Quidditch, but that made even less sense. Why else would he go through all this trouble? Would he come this far and throw away France's chance at hosting the World Cup match?

As she watched the door, she realized she already knew the answer. He would, if there was something else which could get him even more power. It was possible, but what else could that be? The wand? Could he be searching for it? Did he think that Ginny could help him find it?

Ginny forced the thought from her mind. It was pointless to waste time thinking about that right now. She would find out soon enough. There were other things she could focus on right now.

Albert had said the goblins were watching her. Sometimes goblins would come into the Leaky Cauldron, but she rarely took notice of them. By nature, they avoided mingling with wizards and did so only when there was something to be gained. So, if Albert was right, then something had convinced them that she was worth keeping an eye on.

As she walked down Diagon Alley, her mind was thinking about only one thing. George had given her a cloak which was supposed to be picked up by the goblins. It was a dusty tan, just the color that Mrs. Reading had told her to buy. The goblins would have ordered it before the Quidditch match. It could be just a coincidence, or it could be evidence that the goblins were helping wizards secretly head to Egypt.

Ginny pushed open the door and began walking across the polished marble floor toward a row of goblins sitting at counters across the hall. Before she even reached them, another goblin was trotting toward her. He looked uncharacteristically nervous.

"Yes?" he asked her, "Is there something I can help you with?"

Ginny looked down at the goblin, then at the goblins behind the counters. They were all staring at her as well. In fact, some of the goblins walking about the hall had even stopped to look at her.

"I... well, I..." she stammered. She hadn't expected this sort of reception. The goblins were always very standoffish. She'd expected it would take quite a bit to get any of them to even take notice of her.

"I need to speak to someone about my vault."

The goblin stared at her for a moment. "Of course," he finally said. "Perhaps you could speak to Grimbok in one of our private lobbies."

Ginny's eyes opened wide. There were private lobbies? She followed the goblin as he led her through a large golden door into a large room with a number of doors on every wall. He walked toward one of the doors, opened it, and motioned for Ginny to enter.

She walked in and found herself in a richly decorated room with a small forest of plants lining the walls. At one end of the room was a large desk made of solid white marble with a very formal looking goblin sitting behind it. The door behind her closed quietly, leaving her feeling distinctly awkward.

"Come. Sit down, Miss Weasley," the goblin called out. "I am Grimbok. I understand you had some questions."

Ginny walked forward warily. She'd never even knew these rooms existed, and now she'd been led to one without any real reason. She stopped in front of a chair, but didn't sit down. The whole situation felt too much like the trap she'd been trying to avoid.

"I, er... I just wanted to get forty Galleons from my vault. The Ministry should have deposited at least that by now."

Grimbok raised an eyebrow at her. "And that is all?"

"I think so."

The goblin pulled a quill from a nearby inkwell and began scratching at a piece of parchment. When he was finished, he folded it neatly, and walked to the wall behind him. He slipped the parchment into a small slot and walked back to his desk.

"Your coins will be delivered shortly," he announced. "Please, sit down. Is there anything else we might do for you this evening?"

Ginny eyed the chair suspiciously. There was another slightly farther away. She walked to it and sat down slowly. Grimbok watched her passively and waited for an answer.

The room fell into a uncomfortable silence. Something was odd here, too. The goblins were acting strangely. It was almost as if they were expecting her, or maybe it was something specific they were expecting her to do. She remembered the question she'd had when she came in. Could goblins use Legilimency? Grimbok was still looking at her expectantly. Could it hurt to ask? Ginny could feel her heart pounding.

"Gringott's recently ordered a number of cloaks from my brother's store," she finally said. "I don't suppose you know anything about that order?"

Grimbok nodded stiffly. "I do. It is not normally proper to discuss such things with wizards, but considering your relation to the shop owners, I may be able to answer some of your questions."

"How many of them were ordered?"

"I believe there were twenty-one in the last order," he said casually. "There were three shipments: one of eight cloaks, one of twelve, and one final cloak just today."

"Were any of them light tan in color?"

"Of course," Grimbok said with a nod. "But you knew that before you asked."

"Were they all the same color?"

Grimbok surveyed her carefully. "No, they were not."

Ginny paused for a moment, hoping for more information, but Grimbok said nothing more. If that's all he was going to tell her, there wasn't much point in asking anything more. And yet, it couldn't hurt. She forced herself to swallow, and pressed forward.

"Could you tell me who they were for?"

"I could tell you if you already knew," he answered cryptically.

Ginny wondered exactly what that meant. Had she already made a mistake? Would he have told her if she hadn't revealed that she didn't already know? She decided she had to take a chance.

"They were for Henri D'Anneau, weren't they?"

Grimbok frowned at the name. "I'm afraid Gringott's no longer has any business with Mr. D'Anneau."

Before Ginny had a chance to ask any more questions, a door opened out of the smooth stone wall and another goblin appeared carrying a small chest made of dark wood. He walked over to Ginny and opened it, offering her a small cloth bag. She lifted it from the chest, realizing the contents were the Galleons she'd asked for. The goblin closed the chest and quickly left, closing the door behind him and leaving no evidence that he'd ever been there at all.

"Is there anything else, Miss Weasley?" Grimbok asked as he stood and began walking to the door. Ginny frowned and followed him. It seemed that was the end of any information he might give her. When they reached the door, he paused and looked up at her.

"Henri D'Anneau is not a wizard who can be trusted," he told her. "If you must travel with him, take care and keep your wits about you. It is dangerous for you to be near him."

He escorted Ginny back out to Diagon Alley and then turned and left her without another word. She walked back toward the Leaky Cauldron. The area just outside the entrance was the only place where Disapparation was allowed. She couldn't trust using the Twins' shop, and she doubted Hermione would allow her to enter her flat.

When she Apparated across the street from Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, her mind was full of speculations again. The goblins weren't helping D'Anneau. That made sense. Judging by what Ron had told her, the goblins had thwarted at least one of D'Anneau's attempts to control the position she'd been hired for. It seemed most likely that they were both trying to force the Ministry into some action. The question was: Who had won?

Once inside Grimmauld Place, Ginny found a large owl waiting for her at the window. It had a small package wrapped in parchment and addressed to her. It should be the diary she'd told George to send to her. She opened it and paged through it. Finding nothing, she tapped the back cover twice with her wand, and checked the pages again. Satisfied that the contents were still safe, she tapped the back cover again, and put the book in the cabinet where she kept her extra clothes.

The more she found out, the more certain she was that something more important was being hidden from her. It was more important than simply making money off the Quidditch World Cup. Ginny rubbed her head. She had thought hard enough that day. She needed her sleep. Tomorrow wouldn't be much better.

She would have to think of something to tell her parents. They had never bothered her for failing to return home for a night, but they would probably start worrying if she stayed away much longer. She could always tell them she'd spent the night with Hermione again. It was unlikely that Hermione would even be able to tell them it wasn't true.

Ginny lay down in one of the unused bedrooms. She was safe there. There was nothing to worry about and no one to hide from. Slowly, she drifted off to sleep.

She arrived at the Ministry early the next day. There was no white-haired wizard, no goblins, and no wizards in brown cloaks and glasses. When she reached her cubicle, all she found waiting for her were some daunting stacks of folders. Harrington was in his office, and Mrs. Reading spent the day running in and out of her office doing a variety of small tasks.

It was as if the previous two days had never happened. Were it not for the depressing number of reports and essays sitting on her desk, she might have questioned if it actually had.

Her day passed without incident. Her father stopped by to check on her sometime after noon. Ginny pretended as if nothing interesting had happened and hoped that he would not spend any more time looking into it. As the end of the day neared, she began feeling paranoid.

She stepped out of the lift and began cautiously walking toward the golden gate. She couldn't see anyone watching her. She passed into the Entrance Hall and walked toward the fountain, constantly searching the room for any bizarre behavior.

There was nothing. No one was following her. No one was even paying any attention to her. Feeling more than a little confused, she Apparated to Diagon Alley.

She found her normal table empty as usual. Nearby, the dark-bearded wizard was playing chess with an elderly witch. No one turned to watch her, and there was no sign of anyone unusual there. The only person who seemed to find any of this remarkable was Tom.

"Feels a bit quiet in here after the last two days, doesn't it?" he asked as he slid the Daily Prophet toward her.

Ginny took it and saw Lord Albert sitting on his stool and passively swirling the liquid in his bottle. He gave her a smile and a nod and turned his attention back to his bottle. Ginny searched the pub again. Yesterday, it seemed like everyone was watching her every move. Now, no one even cared that she had arrived.

Instead of walking to her table, she walked over to where Albert was sitting. Without looking up from his bottle, he nudged a stool toward her and slipped a few coins onto the bar. As Ginny sat down, Tom set a cold glass of butterbeer in front of her.

"Er, thanks, Albert," she told him. "It's alright, you know. I do have a job. I can buy my own drinks."

"I'm sure you could," he laughed, "but you'd have to fish around in your pockets, wasting valuable drinking time. Tom and I have a little agreement. I pay him more than he asks, and he doesn't complain if I get a little louder than the rest of this lot. To be honest, a few Sickles is more than worth the company."

Ginny thanked him for the drink again and sat by him while he engaged a few of the other patrons in an argument about just which broom would be the best in a thunderstorm. Though he claimed to have bought the drink in return for her company, he barely seemed to notice she was there.

As they night wore on, other wizards entered and left the pub, but she and Albert stayed where they were. Eventually, the room quieted down long enough that Ginny could quietly ask Albert some questions.

"Was there anyone... watching me today?" she whispered to him.

He looked at her strangely. "No, I didn't see anyone. You didn't seem to enjoy it much yesterday. I figured you'd be happy about it."

"I guess I should be, but I don't know what changed."

"The number of people watching you, for one," he said with a smile. "Have you ever tried following a wizard? With Disapparation, the Floo system, portkeys, and all order of charms and magical objects, it can be really tiring work. I can't imagine enjoying it for much more than a night or two. The longest I've ever tailed a Hippogriff was three days. Even then, I only kept at it because he had managed to wrap my favorite scarf around his neck. I'd have just let him go, but nothing else looked right with my hat."

He emptied the glass in his hand and leaned back. "And Hippogriffs aren't nearly so tricky as wizards. It's thirsty work. I don't think I'd have the stomach to follow you about more than a day or two." He smiled and gave her a friendly pat on the back. "Give them a day or two to rest. I'm sure they're tired."

"So you think they'll come back?" she whispered.

Albert looked away for a moment, and drank another glass from his bottle. "No. Not really," he said with an apologetic expression. "To be honest, I don't really think they will." Ginny stared blankly at him.

"Oh, don't be upset, now," he said with an encouraging smile. "I know plenty of wizards who've gone their whole lives and haven't once been followed by anything more than some child who enjoyed how shiny their boots were. You've had more than your share. Best not to get greedy."

"I think Henri D'Anneau is up to something."

"I'm sure he is," Albert laughed loudly. "If what I hear is true, there hasn't been a moment since he learned to speak when he hasn't been planning something. I've seen a thousand wizards like him. Nothing new there. Though, he is worse than most, I'll grant you."

"The goblins say he's dangerous."

Albert grunted. "The goblins would dress up like Austrian barmaids and juggle wild boars if you paid them enough," he added with a laugh. He shook his head and downed another glass. "Not that I'm saying he isn't dangerous. Any wizard can be dangerous if they've got something worth fighting for. Just what that might be depends on the wizard. The Frenchman... well, I think you've already got a good idea of the luxuries he wants. So long as you keep clear of him, I don't think you'll have to give him a second thought."

"What if he's got something I want?"

"Then you'd best treat him like he's a dragon who stole your wand."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly do I do that?"

Albert laughed, "Only get as close as you need to, don't turn your back on him, don't let him corner you, and if you value your life, keep an eye on his tail. " His expression became more serious and he leaned closer to Ginny. "I know loads of clever wizards who've been killed because they forgot about the tail. One of my cousins lost his arm to a Norwegian Ridgeback. I tried to warn him about its tail, but he didn't listen. Thought all he had to do was keep away from the flames, you know? Now whenever he flies on a broom he always drifts to the left."

Ginny blinked and stared back at him. "Er... thanks, I guess."