Chapter 10
Three Ensnared Dragons
The decision had been simple enough to make at the time. She'd agreed to do it if only out of a strange desire to understand what had happened at the last convention. She hadn't expected the amount of work she'd be forced to actually do. She spent the first three days doing nothing more than sitting in small rooms and listening to the rest of the delegation.
Much to her annoyance, she couldn't even find a good place to relax after her days were over. She had been forced to avoid the Leaky Cauldron after a pair of reporters attempted to ambush her and force her to recount her heroic story of survival. When she refused to talk to them, they took up residence in the small pub and waited for her to return. Albert had warned her about them as he stood outside the entrance, failing to look inconspicuous.
After four days of waiting, they finally gave up and wrote a rather inaccurate article about her, explaining how brave and resourceful she had been to survive the attacks. It would have been almost flattering had they not included a number of paragraphs about how frightened and paranoid she had become after her escape from death.
Most of the wizards around her seemed to accept this story. She was treated with a level of kindness and sensitivity that she found truly annoying. More wizards around the Ministry were taking note of her. There was no longer any question in her mind about whether she was being followed or watched. She was always being watched or followed, but now it was so much harder to tell who they were and why they were doing it.
Some wizards had reacted quite differently, including all of the delegates she was working with. Two of them treated her with some sort of detached reverence, as if she were somehow more knowledgeable or wise than they were. The other two acted warily around her, as if she were some omen of ill fate. All of them showed a similarly stiff version of courtesy as they tried to tell her all the useless things they assumed she wanted to know.
She honestly didn't know what they thought they were accomplishing. There wasn't much of a point in teaching her anything. As the last few days before the vote passed by, they spent much of their time discussing their expectations of the French and Bulgarians. The more news they heard from other delegations, the less important the whole thing seemed. Even if the attacks hadn't occurred, France would have been selected. Now, with the Bulgarians being investigated for their part in the attacks, the possibility of them even holding enough votes to delay the vote again was dropping quickly.
The other British delegates were all going to vote for France. It wouldn't really matter who she voted for, yet as she walked toward the Burrow from the hill overlooking it, she found herself debating which she should choose. She had never known the selection of the World Cup Championship was so political. After everything she read, she still had trouble understanding just why there had been such strong disagreements this time.
In any other year, there wouldn't have been such debate. Bulgaria would have been chosen without much ceremony. They had been the favorite from the very beginning. For months, no other countries had even expressed interest in opposing them. Perhaps that was what had inspired France and Romania to try. Why would a country that had been such a favorite resorted to such horrible measures to win? Had they become that corrupted? At Giza, Ginny had argued that they had, but did she really believe that?
As the last few days slipped by, Ginny found her sleep to be more and more troubled. Her dreams were haunted by thoughts and memories of all the things she'd been told and warned about. Threading its way through all of them was a single vein of doubt that she could not ignore. She would be the youngest delegate at the convention. She'd only played Quidditch for a short time. She'd been working for the Ministry for less than two months.
Everything that had happened to her had led her to this. Was it all just a coincidence? Or was it fate? Albert had said that he could see that she would become a great witch, but maybe Harrington was right about it happening a little too quickly. She had thought that she'd escaped a trap in Giza, but perhaps she'd only stepped into a different one.
Two days before the next ―and almost certainly final― vote, Ginny and the rest of the British delegation gathered in the deserted Entrance Hall of the Ministry. Like the Giza convention, they would be traveling to Germany via the Floo.
They waited in silence for a witch from the German Ministry to appear and inform them that their fireplace had been connected to the large castle outside Bremen where the convention was to take place. Ginny sat somewhat apart from the others. They had never really gotten used to her, and Ginny was becoming increasingly unnerved by the odd way they behaved around her. She was wearing a fresh set of Shield Robes and wrapped in a newly made Shield Cloak, which Fred and George insisted she wear at all times. As she looked into the empty fireplace, she felt an odd twinge of fear.
The fireplace suddenly blazed forth with a bright green flame, creating an eerie green flash which brought horrible memories flooding back to her. She could still remember the warmth of his robes as she clung to them, the panicked confusion as he tried to push her away, and the unnatural limpness of his vacant corpse as it dropped to the ground with her. She loathed her own memories, and wished she could escape them. A talented Obliviator could make her forget, perhaps, but nothing could ever repair the damage. It wasn't a memory of the past which she feared, it was the possibility of it happening again and the horrible knowledge that if it did, she would be capable of killing another wizard. What had she done to deserve this?
"Miss Weasley? Are you alright?"
Ginny awoke from her thoughts with a start. A kindly looking witch was kneeling in front of her with a concerned look on her face. The other delegates were queued up in front of the fireplace. The first one had already gone.
"You're not feeling ill, are you dear?" the witch asked.
"N-No," Ginny replied shakily. "No, it's just really early."
"Yes, I know," the witch replied with a smile. "We're terribly sorry, but we're not willing to take any chances this time. It's for the best, I assure you. We'll see that nothing happens to you," With a surprisingly firm grip, the witch pulled Ginny to her feet and shrank her traveling chest (which had eventually been returned by the Egyptian Ministry). She smiled and patted Ginny on the shoulder. "Just step into the fire and say The Weserburg." After taking a couple of deep breaths, Ginny stepped into the queue.
The Weserburg was a truly gigantic castle which overlooked a large river. In many ways it felt like Hogwarts. Similar wards made it invisible to the Muggles living nearby. The entire castle was currently overrun with officials and delegates and a small army of guards and other security wizards.
The French, British, Romanian and Bulgarian delegations had all be assigned to separate towers with a group of wizards guarding the door to each. It seemed almost excessive considering the difficulty everyone had getting in. The moment she'd come through the fireplace in the Weserburg, she'd been mobbed by no less than four wizards. One had asked for her identification while the other three ran through books of charms and detection spells.
They'd been escorted to their tower where they had spent the rest of the day. It was spacious enough, and each of them had large comfortable rooms to sleep in. The time was slow to pass, however, and she found little comfort in her companions. They would speak to each other when she wasn't around, but when she was they would quickly become very businesslike. Ginny had tried speaking to them about other things but they didn't seem eager to respond to her.
To describe her first day at the Weserburg as uninteresting would have been as appropriate as describing Albert's drink of choice as refreshing. House elves served them lunch and dinner, but no one else entered or left the tower all day. The other delegates told her the next day would be more interesting, but there really wasn't any way for it to be less interesting.
Ginny slept much later than she realized the next morning. She took her time washing up and when she came down to the main room of the tower, she found the rest of the delegates sitting in chairs and chatting with one of the wizards from the French delegation.
For a moment she was upset that she'd been left out, but the French wizard quickly explained that he'd been sent to speak with all of them and that he did not mind waiting for Ginny. Now that Ginny had arrived there was some formal exchange of rolls of parchment and the French wizard explained that the French delegation wanted to speak with them, but they could not set a time.
This seemed to trigger a reaction in the head of the British delegation. Ginny couldn't tell if he was offended or simply confused. Once the French wizard had left, Ginny summoned the courage to ask him about it.
"Don't they usually request a meeting at a specific time?"
The head of the delegation, a wizard named Hermanson, frowned and nodded. "They do," he said with obvious confusion. "It doesn't make any sense. They must want to speak with you. I can't see why they wouldn't want to do it as soon as possible. Why else would he have waited here for you?"
"Why do the French want to speak with me?" Ginny asked.
"Everyone wants to speak with you," he told her, "but all of them think it's inappropriate to do so before the French delegates get their chance."
"But why does anyone care what I think?"
"It's not what you think, but what you know," Hermanson said with an apologetic expression. "You were in the middle of the attacks. Whether it's true or not, everyone assumes you know who was responsible. If you openly support France, there will be even fewer delegates who will be willing to argue in support of Bulgaria."
"I don't think Bulgaria had anything to do with the attacks," Ginny said, surprising herself with the declaration.
"That doesn't matter," he said with a shrug. "Only the appearance matters. Even if you know the Bulgarians had no part in any of it, I'd be shocked to hear that you'd suddenly support Bulgaria. As long as you're not saying anything, Germany and other countries will still stand by them. Once your opinion is known ―no matter what it's based on― it will affect the other delegates."
Ginny looked up and found the other delegates staring at her. "What if I say that I haven't made a decision?"
Hermanson laughed. "Don't worry too much about it, Miss Weasley. I don't think it really matters. The French would have won in Giza and the Bulgarians haven't won any more votes since then. I just figured the French would want to make everything clearer. This move is unexpected. If I didn't know better, I'd guess that there is a bit of a struggle occurring within the French delegation."
As the day wore on, Hermanson's words were confirmed as only one other delegate came to speak with them, and even then it was only to ask whether they had spoken with the French delegation.
By the time the house elves arrived with their supper, the rest of the British delegates were looking quite frustrated. It didn't make sense to Ginny. They all knew who they were planning to vote for. It wasn't as if the French really needed to convince them of anything. As the sun went down, they began speaking more openly of their concerns.
"Something has happened," Hermanson declared. "The French said they wanted to meet with us, and it's not going to happen. Something is changing and I want to know what it is. It's too late to try and figure out what it is tonight. I will have more news before we report for the vote tomorrow, I promise."
He pulled aside one of the younger members of the delegation and spoke with him privately for a few moments before sending him out of the tower on some errand. The rest of them sat around the room waiting in a tense silence for something to happen. A half hour later, the delegate Hermanson had sent out returned looking hopeful but without any news for them.
Her second day truly hadn't been any more interesting than the first, and more importantly, Ginny hadn't even had a chance to leave the tower. There was no sign of Grigore Tarus, either. The other delegates had confirmed that he had not been one of the wizards chosen as attendants and he had not been selected as one of the officials. The day had been a complete loss.
Ginny went to bed early, hoping to at least avoid oversleeping again. If Hermanson was right and something important really was happening, she wanted to be as alert as possible when she finally heard just what it was. Her dreams that night were haunted with visions of dragons, crippled and snarling at armies of wizards slowly surrounding them.
She woke up early the day of the vote. She hoped everyone else was right and this would be the final vote. It had been a horribly boring and tense pair of days and she was certain she didn't want to go through it again.
She was the first of the British delegates to wake up and she almost enjoyed watching the sunrise out the tower windows. After two days in a tower and no idea what was happening around her, the simplicity of the rising sun was comforting.
After an hour or so, the other delegates started coming down to join her. The house elves came and laid out a number of platters piled with food for breakfast. They ate in silence and waited for Hermanson, the only delegate who hadn't come down, to join them.
An hour before they were supposed to report to the Grand Hall on the second floor of the keep, Hermanson finally walked into the main room. He looked a little pale and not terribly healthy. He sat down and began chewing on a roll.
"The French delegation spent almost all of yesterday talking with the officials," he explained between bites. "It seems there was some discussion about who was truly part of their delegation. It sounds as if someone arrived the night before and filed a complaint. I don't suppose it would be below the Bulgarians to do something like that. Still, it won't make them any friends."
They questioned him more about what he'd heard, but there had been little else. Somehow, Hermanson had gotten a message to one of the officials and the official had sent a secret message back with one of the House Elves. He hadn't been able to say much more than Hermanson had shared with them. It wasn't all that much information, but it did at least explain why the French delegates had not seen them the day before.
When the time came, a group of guards came and escorted them all to the Keep where they took their seats around one of many evenly spaced round tables in an expansive and cavernous hall. Around each table were five chairs, and on the table in front of each of them was a large glass goblet and a single, round stone. Ginny took her seats with the rest of the British delegates and watched as the rest of the delegations filed into the hall.
After ten minutes or more, the wizards stopped arriving and the sound of the locking doors echoed throughout the hall. One of the officials walked to a large podium and began reading a very official, extremely boring document.
Ginny ignored him. She'd already read about this five or more times. When her country was called, she'd walk to the officials table at the head of the hall and drop her stone into one of two bowls. It wasn't difficult to do or understand, so she took the opportunity to look about the room.
Others seemed to be doing the very same thing. There was a faint murmur of whispering about the room and a few discrete gestures toward the front of the hall. Ginny followed the nods and glances and found the French delegation sitting around a larger table with a tall candle at the center of their table. She recognized the wizard who had visited them the day before. Then she realized that she recognized more than just that wizard.
Sitting with her back to the wizard at the podium and staring directly back at her was a blonde witch whose face Ginny could not forget.
It was Sabine D'Anneau.
Their eyes met for a moment and they recognized the surprise in each other's faces. Ginny pulled her eyes away and found that many of the other wizards in the hall were staring at her as well. The Daily Prophet had said she was dead. Should it be that surprising? The Prophet had said she too had died that night. If they made one mistake, how much harder could it be to make two?
The first of the delegations was making its way toward the officials table and dropping their votes in the bowls. In the noise of chairs being moved about and boots walking across the stone floor, wizards were beginning to speak to each other in low tones.
"I didn't know she was alive," Ginny whispered.
"No one did," Hermanson replied. "She didn't arrive with the rest of the French delegation. She must have been the one who arrived last night. If she's still alive, it would mean that one of the other delegates would have to be removed. That would explain what we heard about yesterday."
Ginny watched Sabine as she walked to the officials table and dropped her vote in the Bulgarian bowl. A hush fell across the hall as everyone tried to understand just what the gesture had meant.
Something bizarre was happening. Sabine didn't have to return. It was already obvious that France would win this vote. She had come back for some other reason, and Ginny found that she was terribly curious about what it might be.
When the British delegation was called, Ginny took her place at the end of the queue and rolled the small stone sphere about in her hand. Why had Sabine voted for Bulgaria? Why had she disappeared? A horrible thought came to her as Hermanson dropped his vote into the French bowl. They had reported Ginny's death as well. Hermione had said they'd wanted to draw her out of hiding. Maybe they'd done the same for Sabine. Could it be that she was being followed and hunted just as Ginny was? Perhaps she knew something that made her a threat to the Brotherhood. How could Ginny talk to her? How could she let her know that she wanted to talk with her?
As she walked to the two bowls, the answer came to her. She held the small stone ball in her hand, and dropped it directly into the Bulgarian bowl. A second hush swept across the hall, and when Ginny turned to walk back to her table, she found Sabine D'Anneau staring at her with a look of surprise and curiosity. It had worked. Now it would be up to her to find some way to contact Ginny. Ginny certainly had no idea how she might contact Sabine.
The rest of the British delegates stared at her in shock as she walked back to their table. The last of the delegations were already in the queue to vote, but it appeared that Ginny and Sabine's gestures had made some wizards second guess their choices. Those who changed their votes to Bulgaria did so only for the appearance. France had already gathered a large majority of the votes.
"What was the meaning of that?" Hermanson hissed at her. "You shouted at us for letting Bulgaria use their talent on the pitch to gain power, but you'll vote for them yourself? Are you mental?"
Ginny thought for a moment. "I don't like being used," she whispered back, "and right now, I feel very much like I'm a pawn in someone's game."
"If you are, then I'd show a little more caution," Hermanson replied. "Those who betray others often find themselves betrayed."
There was no more time to talk. The chairman of the Site Selection Committee was walking to the podium. A pair of goblins were quickly counting through the two bowls. The outcome was known, but the official rules declared that a count must be made and entered into the record. As soon as the last vote was counted, the chairman stepped up to the podium and announced the result.
"As Chairman of the Quidditch World Cup Championship Site Selection Committee, I am pleased to announce that next year's Quidditch World Cup will be hosted by France!" Clapping and various cheers echoed through the hall. The French delegates were celebrating lightly and congratulating each other. Ginny could still see the French table quite well, and she could tell that Sabine D'Anneau found no joy in their victory.
"You have all fulfilled your official duties as delegates," announced the chairman. "You are free to return to your respective countries at this time, if you wish. However, there are a number of tasks which still must be decided upon. The Site Selection Committee values the opinions of all participants, and we ask that you remain if possible to join the discussion of these smaller matters."
Ginny looked about her and saw only two wizards stand and make their way to the doors in the back of the hall. None of the British delegates made any move to stand. When she looked at the French table, she found Sabine D'Anneau staring at her again. Her expression was one of curious concern.
As the castle's house-elves brought out platters of food for lunch, the chairman of the committee invited the French delegates to the officials table where they spent some time speaking privately to the other officials. When everyone had some time to eat, the chairman returned to the podium and began going over a number of very small decisions. Officially the delegates had no power to make any of them. Only the opinions of the committee members and the French delegates made any real difference, but the other delegates were free to argue their opinions if they felt the desire to.
Most of the decisions were very minor and were decided without any real argument. Britain, Belgium and Italy would be used to help wizards get into France in a controlled manner. The final date and time of the start of the match were set as well as the first day the spectators would be allowed to arrive.
The new head of the French delegation, a rather proper looking witch named Rochelle DuPrix, had made most of the decisions already. The other delegates made suggestions or simple comments on occasion, but Sabine D'Anneau remained silent. She glared at the head delegate and refused to comment on any of the questions.
As discussion began on the specific site the French had selected, more of the hall began to take notice. There was some real debate over just how much land would be needed to hold all the spectators and how it could be hidden from the Muggles in the area. As the topic of security came up, a number of delegations began to press DuPrix with very specific demands.
It was clear that many wizards were upset with the recent increase in violence associated with the World Cup. Some argued that more extreme measures were needed to ensure everyone's safety, while some, including DuPrix, claimed that there was little need.
"Now that we have finally selected a site, this petty fighting should be finished," she told a group of wizards from Denmark. "I was just as saddened by the loss Henri as any of you here, but there is no reason for the attacks to continue. The votes have been counted. The attacks will end."
"They won't end," echoed a louder voice. "They haven't ended."
Everyone in the hall paused and looked to the end of the table, where a rather upset looking Sabine D'Anneau was scowling at DuPrix.
"We are all very sorry for the ordeal you have gone through, child," DuPrix told her, "but you must move on. It was a terrible tragedy, a mistake which got horribly out of hand, but it is over. Even if the Bulgarians were responsible in some small part, they have no reason to continue."
"It wasn't the Bulgarians," Sabine replied, "and they won't stop because of the vote. They attacked me that night. They attacked me again when I escaped to my chateau along the Seine, and they were waiting for me when I tried to come here and take my rightful place in this delegation ―a place which you now hold."
"Calm down, girl," DuPrix said with a little annoyance. "No one has tried to rob you of your position. You are of no greater or lesser importance than you were when your husband led this delegation, and I assure you that neither you nor any other wizard in this hall has any need to fear further attacks."
"They killed my brother!" Sabine shouted. "They used him to coax me out of hiding, and when I did not fall for their trick, they killed him. What do you think waits for me when I return home?"
"Nothing!" snapped DuPrix. "That is what you fear, isn't it? No power, no influence, and no husband to give them to you."
"Enough!" shouted the committee chairman. "It is clear that there is still some concern over the safety of these proceedings and the World Cup matches. Instead of bickering, let us take this time to make plans for the safety of the matches. I, for one, trust in Madame DuPrix and the wizards of her country to provide for my safety. If others question it, then let us select an alternate site to hold the match if France proves unreliable in the future."
One of the German wizards stood and called out, "If France cannot host the match, then it should default to the Bulgarians." The Bulgarian delegation remained silent, though it was obvious they supported the idea.
"No," the chairman responded sharply. "This committee is still investigating the Bulgarians' role in the attacks upon the French delegation and its attendants. I will not hand them the prize which they are accused of conspiring to take by force."
"Who else would you choose?" the German wizard replied. "It has taken France and Bulgaria months to reach this point, and it will take every week from now until the match for France to prepare. It is simply too late. No other country could host it with less notice."
"There is one!" another wizard called out, Ginny craned her neck to get a look at him. He looked faintly familiar.
"A claim that no one has been able to verify!" the German wizard shouted back.
"I have seen it with my own eyes," the wizard argued. "It stands waiting already. It could be made ready in a matter of weeks. If tragedy strikes again, Romania could host the match ―as a favor to our friends," he added with a bow to the French delegates. "We have no desire to steal this honor from France or subvert the choice of this convention. We would merely donate the location and allow the French council to hold the match as they see fit."
Suddenly Ginny realized why she recognized the wizard. He had been one of the wizards accompanying Grigore Tarus when D'Anneau had first introduced her to him. He'd been with Stefan.
"How gracious of you, Razvan," the German wizard replied with distaste. "Even if this fictional pitch exists, how are we to believe that Romania is any safer than France?"
"Perhaps it is not," the Romanian replied, "but the unfortunate attacks within our country have always been aimed at our own government. Visiting wizards have never been harmed. If France is unsafe, and the attacks do not cease in our lands, then I would suggest that we consider the whole of Europe unsafe. How many contingency plans must we consider, Jacob?"
The German wizard was about to respond, when the chairman interrupted the debate. "Mr. Lupescu has a fine point. If the French site is to be abandoned, then there must indeed be a grave problem. I see no other option but to consider the Romanian proposal. If it proves equally unsuitable, then we will be forced to re-evaluate our options at that time. Are there any substantial disagreements with this plan?"
"Is there any substantial evidence that it even exists?" another wizard shouted from the back of the hall. "The thought of building such a thing―"
"If it does not exist, then it will not be used, and we are no worse off."
"Should we not know that before we declare it as an alternate site?" one of the French delegates suggested. "A lot of useless planning might be avoided if we simply send someone to verify Lupescu's claim."
The chairman looked to Madame DuPrix, and she gave a reluctant nod. "Very well. Is there anyone you might suggest? In the interest of fairness, I suggest we select someone outside the French and Romanian delegations," he said, then paused and added, "―perhaps the Germans should be avoided as well."
Rochelle DuPrix looked thoughtful for a moment, then leaned toward the two wizards on her left and they whispered briefly together. When she leaned back, she looked a little uncertain. "Despite recent events, we would suggest Ginevra Weasley from the British delegation."
"No!" Sabine objected sharply. "Not her!"
"She's the perfect choice," one of the French wizards replied. "She's never visited Romania, but she's met the Minister. We trust her judgement, but she broke with her delegation and voted for Bulgaria."
Sabine was unconvinced. "You can't send her there!" she argued. "It's too dangerous for her!"
"I assure you, Madame D'Anneau, she will be safe," Lupescu called out over the murmur of the gathered wizards. "If the committee requests it, I am certain the Minister will personally vouch for her safety. It could be arranged in minutes."
"What do you say Miss Weasley?" the chairman called out.
Ginny felt slightly disoriented and suddenly quite nervous. They wanted her to go speak with Tarus. That had been one of the hopes which had brought her here. It couldn't be a coincidence. Was it a trap? Or was it something Tarus had tried to set up in order to save her again? Sabine certainly thought it was a trap, but she didn't know about Tarus's promise. She closed her eyes, and made a decision.
"I'll go," she said.
"Out of respect for Madame D'Anneau's concern for your safety, I think it best if you leave within the hour. That will prevent anyone outside this hall from knowing of your departure. Will that be acceptable?"
"Yes," Ginny agreed weakly.
"Excellent," the chairman replied. "I hope that puts an end to that rather uninteresting argument. Mr. Lupescu, if you would please send word to your Minister about his upcoming guest," Lupescu stood, bowed and quickly walked toward the door. The chairman turned to Ginny and continued, "And Miss Weasley, you may return to your tower and pack your things. I'm sure Mr. Tarus will provide you with anything else you might need. We will make arrangements for your travel and send someone to fetch you in thirty minutes."
With a nod, Ginny turned and walked away as well. She still felt slightly numb. After being overruled, Sabine D'Anneau had not taken her eyes off Ginny. It had been unnerving. Why had she been so eager to keep Ginny from going to Romania? There was no time to think of those things right now. Ginny trusted Tarus, and a surprise trip to Romania still felt safer than her scheduled return to London, where she knew wizards were waiting for her to return.
When she got to the tower, she found a pair of guards waiting for her. Somehow they already knew why she was there and they opened the door without a word. Ginny walked to her room and quickly began packing her things. She hadn't brought much, but her growing anxiety made packing so much slower. When she was almost finished, there was a sharp knock at the door. A quick check of the clock on the wall told her she still had ten more minutes. She walked to the door and opened it slowly.
"Excuse me, miss, but you've got a visitor," a guard announced. He wasn't one of the guards who had been waiting for her by the door.
"Who is it?" Ginny asked suspiciously as she reached into her robes for her wand.
"It's Madame D'Anneau, Miss," he replied crisply.
Before Ginny could respond, he had turned on his heels and marched back down the stairs. With her anxiety building even faster now, she stuffed everything else into her traveling chest and levitated it in front of her. She quickly made her way down the stairs to the main room and found four guards waiting for her. Standing in the middle of them was Sabine D'Anneau.
"Don't go to Romania," she blurted out upon seeing Ginny. "Tell the chairman you can't go. Tell him you don't feel well or that you have urgent business in London."
"Why?" Ginny asked.
"Because you are a good witch," Sabine replied with desperation. "I could tell from the moment I met you. There is nothing for you in Romania. Only danger."
"England is no different," Ginny said flatly. "I've been in danger there for weeks now. I'm not afraid."
"You don't know what danger really is," Sabine countered. "I've walked under the shadow of death much longer than you have. You must understand that this is something beyond fear." She stepped closer and dropped her voice, "As children we fear the dark because of the monsters which might be hiding in it. When we grow up, we conquer our fear of the dark, but that doesn't mean the monsters aren't there. Your lack of fear is no protection from them."
"Perhaps not, but I won't hide from them," Ginny said. "I trust Grigore Tarus. He's told me the truth when no one else would. He'll protect me."
"He offered the same to me," Sabine replied, taking Ginny by surprise. "I don't want the protection he could give me. He's―"
The door to the room opened quickly and another set of guards walked into the room. Two of them walked forward and stood next to Sabine.
"Madame D'Anneau, you need to come with us," one of them announced. "Madame DuPrix has requested an audience with you."
Sabine looked at the guards with hollow eyes. When she looked back at Ginny, her expression was filled with desperation. "Please, don't go. Stay away from Grigore Tarus. It's not safe―"
"Enough!" the guard interrupted. "Madame DuPrix demands you come immediately." Sabine's face fell in defeat. With one last warning glance, she turned and let the guards lead her out of the room.
Another set of guards walked over to Ginny and one of them pulled out a wand and took over the levitation of her chest. "I'm very sorry about that," one of the others apologized. "Madame D'Anneau hasn't been herself lately. She's become dangerously paranoid. It seems two guards were attacked the night she arrived. We couldn't prove it at first, but it seems she suspected they were trying to kill the other French delegates. When Madam DuPrix heard that she'd come here, she sent for her immediately. I hope she hasn't upset you."
Ginny took a moment to try and understand what had just happened before she replied. "Er―No. I― I'm fine. Just a little confused, I guess."
The guards nodded as if they understood but said nothing more. There were six of them now, and with a gesture from one of them, they turned and escorted her out the door. As they left, the two who had been guarding the door walked ahead of them.
Ginny didn't even try to figure out just where they were taking her. She'd barely left the tower in the last two days, and they seemed to be quite a ways away from the Keep. Finally, they stopped in what looked to be a large kitchen. In the center was a large stone fireplace with a green fire burning.
"I'll take your luggage first," the head guard told her. He took her traveling chest and stepped into the fire.
"The Dragon's Horn!"
With a flash of green flame, he disappeared. The room was silent for a little while, then the fire flashed again and the guard tumbled back into the room. It was Ginny's turn now. She took a deep breath, stepped into the fire and tried to forget everything Sabine D'Anneau had told her.
"The Dragon's Horn!"
When Ginny rolled out of the fireplace at the other end, she immediately began panicking. She was in a dimly lit room all by herself. Had she said something wrong? Where was she? She stood up slowly and tried to see if she could find any clue to tell her where she was. A moment later she found something that helped. Her traveling chest was sitting a few feet from a door in the far wall. She must be in the right place, but why was no one else around?
The fire behind her slowly faded back to a warm orange flame. The door was the only way out now. Ginny pulled her wand, walked to the door, and cautiously opened it. The room on the other side was brighter and Ginny found herself squinting against the light from a large chandelier in the center of the room. Seeing no one else in the room, she slowly entered.
"Good afternoon, Miss Weasley," a voice announced behind her.
Ginny spun and pointed her wand at the source. Standing beside the doorway she'd just walked through was Grigore Tarus. He had a warm smile on his face and didn't seem put off by Ginny's wand in the least. "A fine show, I must say. Far too many wizards study their hexes and counter-curses but totally neglect the skill of drawing their wand at a moment's notice. Sadly, fewer still develop the skill of recognizing the voices and shouts of their friends over those of their foes."
Feeling a little silly, Ginny smiled and lowered her wand. Before she could walk back for her chest, Tarus had snapped his fingers and a small, wiry-looking house-elf appeared. Without a word of command, it walked into the room, grabbed the small traveling chest, and disappeared with a light pop, taking the chest with it.
"I must apologize for my failure to provide you with a better welcome to my country," said Tarus formally. "I had hoped your first visit might be something a little more grand than tumbling into a mostly deserted pub."
"Well, I don't think I would have minded that," Ginny replied as she dusted herself off. "I think the rest of them meant for this to be a bit of a surprise, just to be safe."
"They sent you to verify the existence of the pitch Razvan and I have spoken of, did they not?" he asked lightly. "Perhaps they hoped they might catch us in a lie if we were were caught unprepared."
There was something peculiar about Tarus's behavior. It wasn't his casual attitude. He'd always appeared very composed. It was a very slight change in the pitch of his voice. It was nearly imperceptible, but there was a slight eagerness to the way he was speaking.
"I think it's a little more than that," Ginny replied. "My visit isn't as much of a surprise as you were going to let me think, is it? You expected this to happen, didn't you?"
"You are a very clever witch," he told her with a proud smile. "Did I expect you to visit?" He paused to think a moment, then nodded and continued, "Yes, I suppose I did expect it, but I did not orchestrate it as you might be implying. Razvan knew of my desire to speak with you again. He is also very clever, and he no doubt encouraged the idea of you coming here. I must admit, however, that the amount of security he requested was a bit surprising. He made it sound as if you were being chased by the Telahmet itself."
"What is a Telahmet?" Ginny asked.
"The Telahmet," he corrected. "I am sorry, it is a folk story among my people. I believe you might be more familiar with the― bogeyman, is it?" Ginny nodded and smiled in recognition.
"Razvan said that he promised I would provide you with the highest security I could, and I do not wish to make him appear a fool. So, let us be off."
As Tarus spoke, a group of ten or more wizards began filing into the room. They all wore something of a uniform: long purple robes with gold trim and a golden circlet about their heads. Tarus introduced them as his personal guards and motioned for Ginny to follow him.
He led Ginny and the guards out onto a wide, raised street paved with large flat stones. On either side, stairs and wooden ramps sloped down to the doors and narrow streets of the rest of the city. The road itself stretched toward a large castle made of dark stone. After walking for only a minute or two, Tarus pointed out a large building made of white stone off to the left.
"You may leave all worries of the Brotherhood behind you while you stay in this city," he explained in a low voice. "however, it is still best if you do not stay in the palace. There have still been... problems there. I have arranged a room for you in that inn. Simply return there and ask for a room under the name 'Elizabeth Harker'. Everything will be taken care of."
As they walked further, the street rose higher over the surrounding city, and the buildings on either side became somewhat more run down. Tarus explained that this area was the least desirable area of the city due to it's distance from the palace and the distance the street rose over the buildings below. Just as he had said, the buildings became cleaner and much more lavish as they neared the palace.
The final approach to the palace explained the purpose behind the raised street. The palace itself was built upon a rather prominent hill, and the path to the front gate was one that could easily be walked by both wizards and animals.
Before they reached the front gate, it began opening for them and more guards walked out to greet them. Ginny looked over the sides of the street and was surprised by the steepness of the hill the palace had been built upon.
"This building has not always been a palace," Tarus said as they walked through the heavily reinforced gate. "Some say it is a rather interesting story. I find it fitting and rather encouraging."
He led her across a courtyard and through another grand gate structure. "Long ago, before the people of this part of the world drew lines to separate themselves, this place was the site of a wizarding village. The fields below were farmed, and the farmers lived on this hill. For generations they lived in peace and harmony with the Muggles and other wizards in the area. Slowly, they began to develop their own culture, their own power and identity.
"Other villages began to look to them for leadership and guidance, and the wizards who lived here became both merciful and wise. As their renown grew, so did the stories of their greatness. Those stories began to anger other villages and tribes who no longer held the power they once did. They banded together and remedied their problem."
Tarus stopped in front of a large painting, and directed Ginny to look at it. It was a large painting of fertile farmland wrapped around a solitary hill with brightly colored buildings on it. As she watched, a number of black specks grew on the horizon until they were large winged shapes swooping and diving over the city. Bright, glowing streams of flame shot from their long necks and splashed across the town on the hill. She watched as the orange flames grew taller and spread, leaping down the slopes of the hill and across the farmlands below.
"When the town was destroyed, the wizards who had joined against it turned on the people who had supported it, then those who fought to protect them, and finally, finding no one else to oppose them, they turned upon each other. The resulting war and chaos left wounds in this land which can still be seen.
"It is said that none of the village's inhabitants survived, but the story of its ascent to greatness and its tragic fall have lived on. For quite some time this hill was little more than a place of reflection for those who aspired to greatness. Eventually, others decided it had remained uninhabited long enough. This palace was built by them, along with the long causeway which we now call the High Road. It was to be a place of strength and wisdom.
"As the lands around it became even more peaceful, and it became something of a school, teaching the power and wisdom it stood for to others. Then, as is the nature of the world, the world grew more violent. The school became a fortress against those who felt threatened by such knowledge. When the wizards of this country were told to choose a location for their Ministry, they chose this castle. To the people, it is a symbol of the triumph of harmony and wisdom over the greed, anger, excess and discord of the world around them."
Tarus turned and continued walking down the corridor. Ginny could feel the floor sloping gently upward as they walked.
"These are the principles upon which I am expected to act, and I have done so to the best of my abilities," Tarus said over his shoulder. "I recognize my own wisdom, and yet with wisdom comes the knowledge that all wisdom is limited and imperfect." He stopped and looked at Ginny. "I have made mistakes in my day. It seems the older I get, the more prone I am to making them. Right now, more than any other time in the past, it is critically important that I make no mistakes."
"What does this have to do with Wold Cup?"
"Not as much as it might seem," Tarus said with a faint smile, "but in times like these, every area becomes a battlefield. You were sent here to inspect a battlefield which I have turned into an arena." Tarus stopped in front of a wide door and motioned for Ginny to enter. "This is my personal study. Shall we sit and speak?" Ginny nodded and walked into the room.
The room was round, with a large circular opening in the ceiling, as if it were the uppermost chamber of some tower. It was lavishly decorated in rich browns and deep reds with golden accents. The walls were filled with paintings of many different scenes, some of them showing battles, others showing tall towers gleaming in the sunlight. In the center of the room were a number large cushioned chairs circling a low, round table edged in gold. Ginny took a seat in one of the chairs, and Tarus took one facing her.
"That is much better," he said as he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. "To answer your question more fully, you must know more about the events which led to the building of our glorious pitch. You have heard of the attack, have you not? The escaped dragons?" he added in case Ginny wasn't certain. Ginny nodded. "From your brother?" he asked with a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.
"No," Ginny answered. "I read about it some time after it happened."
Tarus nodded and continued. "The attack bore a striking similarity to the events which preceded the construction of this castle. It was meant as a message to remember those times and the destruction they inflicted on this land. In the place of that attack, I gathered all the wizards who would stand with me, and we built what I felt was my best chance at turning the tide."
"A Quidditch pitch?" Ginny replied incredulously. "Why not build a castle or a tower or just a stronger town?"
"What good would another castle do? Romania has enough castles, and far too many towers," he said dismissively. "A stronger town would only provoke a stronger attack, and weaker citizens who run to their cellars instead of facing danger."
"What about the people who lived in that village?" Ginny asked. "Do you think they wanted their homes turned into a Quidditch pitch?"
"Certainly not. Neither did they want them turned into smoldering ruins and smoking tombs for their families. Do not misunderstand me, Miss Weasley," Tarus said firmly. "I pitied the families of that village. I saw their loss first hand. I did what I could to heal their loss but more importantly, I tried to teach them how to take strength and wisdom from it."
"But why a Quidditch pitch?" Ginny persisted.
"I have mentioned the problems I face," Tarus said gravely. "No castle can hold back this evil, but wizards might. If this new pitch forces even a small number of wizards to pay attention to what is happening here then it was worth every spell. This is not a threat only to Romania, but to all of the wizarding world. For many years it has existed and no one has tried to stop it."
Ginny gave him a perplexed look. "D'Anneau said that you were facing a new enemy."
"And to many eyes, he would be correct," Tarus replied solemnly. "Henri had an agile mind and a great talent for finding ways to obtain what he wanted, but only rarely included knowledge of the history of the world around him. You, however, have seen much more of the nature of this world than many other wizards. Certainly you have observed that our enemies do not start out as such. Instead, they are created by our own actions."
"No, our enemies are created by their actions," Ginny disagreed.
"I beg your pardon, but that is a naive observation and one beneath your abilities," Tarus said. "I should think that of all people you would have seen the error in that view. What did Harry Potter do to become Lord Voldemort's enemy?"
Ginny twitched upon hearing Harry's name, and she felt her pulse quicken. "He didn't do anything. It was all Tom's doing. Harry never had a choice."
"There is always a choice," Tarus replied. "Voldemort's choice created his enemy, and Harry's choice to take up the mantle prepared for him made Voldemort his enemy. Between the two of them, the source lies in Lord Voldemort, but both of them made the choice. Harry could have chosen to run or to strike some bargain for his life."
"He never would have done that," Ginny said stiffly.
"Precisely, Miss Weasley. And Lord Voldemort never would have allowed anyone to threaten his power. His ruthless pursuit of domination incited wizards like Albus Dumbledore and Harry's parents to stand against him," Tarus explained slowly. "His actions brought them together. His actions solidified their resolve, and in the ultimate act of defiance, they created the boy who would become his ultimate enemy."
With a gentle pop, a small house-elf appeared with a wide silver tray and two elegant china cups upon it. "Would you care for some tea?" he asked, as he reached for one of the cups. Ginny nodded vacantly and took the other.
"The path Harry followed was scarcely different," Tarus continued after a sip of tea. "His compassion and bravery incited others to stand against him as well ―wizards like the Malfoy boy and his peers. Harry attracted them like insects to a torch, bringing them together and bringing out the worst of their characters."
Ginny nearly dropped her tea as she glared at Tarus. "What does that mean? Are you saying that it was his fault ―that he was too good?"
Tarus put his tea back on the table. "Fault and blame are words best left to fools and politicians," he snapped. After a brief pause, his expression softened a little. "Harry has always been just what he was meant to be. He is no more responsible for his nature than the dragons who razed that village. Nonetheless, the dragons did raze that village, and he and Lord Voldemort fractured the wizarding world, creating an endless supply of enemies by doing nothing more than simply fulfilling their roles in nature."
"Then what does this have anything to do with you?"
"Everything, I'm afraid," the old wizard answered. "Harry and Lord Voldemort were so much stronger than anything our world was prepared for. Two such powers were never meant to confront each other, but they had no choice. The results of that confrontation have left a wound in the wizarding world that will not heal quickly. I am certain you are aware of this fact." Tarus leaned forward to drink more of his tea. Slowly, Ginny was starting to realize how old Grigore Tarus truly was.
He leaned back into his seat with a sigh. "It should have been Albus Dumbledore's task to complete, but he is gone. I hoped someone else would take his place and finish what he had started, but no one did. I told myself that I could do it. It was to be my last accomplishment. I thought I could mend it before a second, more violent war broke out." Tarus leaned forward and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, they were filled with exhaustion and regret.
"The wound was much deeper than anyone could have known," he said with remorse. "In my clumsy attempt to correct it, I awoke the very evil I wanted to stop. Those who had been my allies and countrymen turned against me. The more I tried to repair the damage, the more I found myself slipping into the path of Harry and Lord Voldemort. I gathered those I could trust, and found my enemies multiplied. I sought out my old allies and found them arrayed against me. Every advantage I gained opened a vulnerability somewhere else. Every increase in my strength pushed my enemies to respond in kind."
"That's why you haven't told anyone else," Ginny commented. "You're the ensnared dragon."
Grigore Tarus nodded weakly. "The wizarding world must be saved, even if I must pay for it with my own life. It has been many years since I could even remember what it was like to be young. I cannot fight a war, and the world is not yet ready to fight another one. If I am to fight, it must be done in secrecy, pulling my enemies into the shadows with me. In such a battle, the wise hold the advantage and in my own wisdom I have put all my hopes."
Tarus said nothing more and returned to his tea. Ginny sat and watched as he inhaled the vapors and released long, relaxing breaths. Grigore Tarus was a truly bizarre wizard. One moment he argued with the energy Ginny rarely saw in any wizard, yet in an another he was just an old wizard who'd been forced to fight long after someone else should have taken his place. She understood why he'd done what he did, but there was one thing he still hadn't explained.
"Why did you bring me here?"
Tarus looked up from his tea and smiled. "You were right, you know," he said quietly. "I did plan to bring you here, even if I did not know the hour of your arrival." He drank the last of his tea and placed the cup on the table in front of him. With a look of grim determination, he sat up straight and looked directly at Ginny.
"Another war is coming. Perhaps it has already begun."
"Perhaps?" Ginny exclaimed. "Nine people died at Giza. Sabine D'Anneau's brother was murdered!"
"Casualties do not need wars," he replied. "This is a critical point. At any moment, the wall I have built may crack and war will spill across the rest of the wizarding world. It is time for you to pick which side you will fight on."
The sudden forcefulness of his tone caught Ginny off guard. "What if I don't want to pick a side?" she asked.
"I am afraid that is not one of your options," Tarus answered. "Surely you have seen enough to know that you cannot outrun the coming storm. It will sweep you up into into it, and without allies to help you, you will not survive."
Ginny bristled at the veiled threat, and meant to reply, but he stopped her.
"I do not mean to threaten you," he said quickly. "I am trying to warn you and protect you as I promised your brother I would do. The battle to come cannot be avoided, but your death can be." There was a hint of sincere desperation in his voice that convinced Ginny of his concern for her. "On your own, there is little hope of your survival. Charlie knew this long ago, but he knew that with the help and protection of others, you might avoid that fate. I fear there is precious little time for you to choose your path."
"And I'm supposed to choose your path, is that it?"
"Our choices are always our own," he answered flatly. "It may not matter what choice you make, but your fate is sealed if you stand aside and do nothing."
"I don't want to fight," she told him, "but I will if I am forced to."
"You will be, I assure you," he replied quickly. "I do not ask you to decide this moment. I only ask that you be prepared to choose. When the time comes, will you be able to make your own choice, or will you allow another to choose for you?"
"I make my own decisions," Ginny replied sharply.
"Your brother said the very same thing, and yet he was led astray by concerns for your safety. Because of that mistake, he was killed, and now you are in more danger because of it. If he were still alive, would you still make your own choice, or would you simply agree to stand by him? Could you make your own decision about what is right and true, or would you ask Miss Granger to explain it to you? Would you think for yourself, or would you follow Harry Potter, even if he was leaping into the abyss?"
"Harry Potter is gone," Ginny replied mechanically.
"Of course," Tarus replied with a nod. "It was merely an example."
"I think for myself," she said firmly. "I make my own decisions. I won't allow anyone to tell me what choice to make ―or when to make it― no matter how wise or important they are."
Grigore Tarus stared at her for a moment and then turned away and massaged his temples. "I fear I have upset you," he said in a downcast tone. "I assure you that was not my intention. I am afraid that I have grown quite paranoid, lately. I find fewer and fewer friends in this world, and those I do find are too often taken from me or driven away by my own actions." He turned back to face her with an expression of sincere apology. "As I said before, we create our enemies through our own actions, and I have been far too active for a wizard my age."
Ginny said nothing, but did not look away from him. She respected him and pitied him. If he truly was the only chance the world had to survive the war, he would need all the help he could get, and yet Ginny felt reluctant to answer his request as promptly as he wanted.
"Please accept my apology," he begged. "We will speak of this no more. If the time comes that you wish to discuss this again, simply send word and I will arrange everything. Tomorrow, we will visit the magnificent pitch my fellow wizards have built. You will see it with your own eyes so that you may report back to the committee. I must admit that I now have little hope of seeing a match played there, but this small honor would do much to encourage the wizards who built it.
"Tonight, you will be free to explore the city." Tarus rose and gestured for Ginny to follow him. At the door, he turned again. "I ask only that you keep close to the High Street. My guards watch it closely and they have been told to watch for you and see that you are well treated. However, they will not follow you, both out of respect, and out of practicality. I have many wizards in this city to protect. The Lower City between the Gatehouse and the Palace is not watched, and while the wizards there are not evil, they are not fond of foreigners."
Tarus shook her hand firmly and opened the door. A pair of guards were waiting to escort her. "Please, forget my earlier comments. I was not thinking. Try to enjoy your night. I hear you are fond of pubs. There are several near the Gatehouse at the other end of the High Road that you might try, I wish you a good evening." He bowed and gestured to the guards.
The guards silently led her back to the door, across the courtyard and back through the main gate. Once she was back on the High Road, the guards stopped and bowed slightly. She continued walking down the road, though without them she felt slightly exposed. As she walked away from the palace, she began to see more wizards using the High Street. More than she ever had in London, Ginny felt self-conscious of her red hair. All around her, wizard were turning or stopping to stare at her.
Ginny pulled her hood over her head and quickened her pace. Looking about her, she realized that she could see a pair of guards in their purple cloaks some distance ahead of her. Both of them were watching her. As she passed them, they nodded courteously.
While they made her feel safe enough, Ginny had little desire to explore the city. Even with the guards watching her, she didn't think she'd be able to enjoy herself much. Despite Tarus's instructions, she couldn't forget what he'd told her. The weariness and desperation in his voice were disturbing. Whatever it was he was trying to fight, it must have been serious.
As she walked she began to feel guilty about how she'd spoken to him. He was trying to fix things. If he was fighting the new Dark Lord, then Ginny would do everything she could to help him. She wished she would have told him that. At the time, it had just been too much for her to process. Now, she simply wanted to find the inn Tarus had pointed out and take some time to rest and think about her day.
She passed another pair of guards and finally recognized the top of the inn standing over the other buildings some distance down the street. She spotted another pair of guards not far ahead. They were more concentrated here. They must have been expecting her to come to the inn. She nodded at the closest pair and walked down a set of marble stairs that led toward the inn's large ornately carved doors.
What was that name she was supposed to use? She paused at the door and tried to remember what it was. Elizabeth something. Harper? That didn't sound quite right. Ginny stepped away and tried to think harder. When nothing came to her mind, she turned and tried to find one of the guards. Maybe they could help her.
She climbed the stairs and scanned the street for the purple cloaks of the guards. When she didn't find any, she turned back toward the inn. Her body instinctively froze. Standing in a dark alley between the inn and a small book shop was a wizard wearing a long dark cloak. He was staring directly at her.
There were wizards all around her dressed in black cloaks or coats, but Ginny knew instantly that there was something different about that wizard. There was something familiar about him and just as Ginny realized that, the wizard had disappeared down the alleyway. Without a second thought, Ginny leaped down the stairs to follow him.
When she reached the dark alley, she could just barely make out the shape of a wizard slipping around a corner. Ginny ran after him. She knew who it was now. It was the wizard from Giza, the new Dark Lord Tarus had been afraid of. He was here. As Ginny stumbled after him, she began to question her actions. She should tell the guards. She should have found some way to raise an alarm. She hesitated for a second. If she stopped now, he'd disappear. They'd never find him again. If she kept following him, there still might be a chance. With growing courage, she ran through the darkened alley.
Only a few seconds later, she hit a brick wall with a sickening sound and a pained shriek. After regaining her balance she found a narrow opening to her right. The dim light of dusk was faintly visible at the end of a narrow passage that would be better described as a wide crack between two buildings. Ginny slipped between the stone walls and eventually stumbled into a crowded marketplace.
There was no sign of the dark wizard. There were far too many wizards around her and all of them seemed to be taller than she was. She needed to find some way to get higher. She pushed her way through the crowd and toward a shop with a bench under their front window. She leaped onto the bench and scanned the crowd again. At the far end of the crowded street she saw a wizard running past a broken stone archway. Ginny jumped down and ran off after him.
After the arch, the crowd thinned quickly, but the shops became much less inviting. Several of the shops had broken windows or doors with scorch marks on them. The whole place was dark and dreary. It felt like Knockturn Alley. She ignored her fears and pressed on. After turning one last corner, she found herself in a small courtyard with a number of rough looking wizards.
They all stopped talking and stared at her. Ginny looked around and realized that none of them were the wizard she'd been following. What a bloody stupid thing to do, she told herself. She'd managed to lose the wizard she was chasing and put herself just where Grigore Tarus had warned her not to go. She quickly turned and tried to run back the way she came, but she ran directly into a tall wizard with long black hair. He grabbed her by her cloak and said something in a language she couldn't understand, though the look on his face and his rough laugh were enough to convince her that she didn't really want to know what it was.
She tried to step away from him, but he was clutching at her cloak. She struggled harder and finally pulled herself free of the cloak. He was left holding her cloak while she tumbled to the dusty ground. When she got back to her feet, Ginny found herself surrounded. She quickly drew her wand and brandished it at the nearest wizard.
"Take a wrong turn, did you?" he croaked.
"That's a pretty wand you have there," said a witch next to him. "Hand it to me, dearie, and I'll see none of this lot harms you."
A wizard to her left reached out to grab her shoulder. Ginny tried to bat his arm away, but his hand clasped onto her arm and he pulled her closer to him instead. With his other arm he reached for her hair. "Such hair," he whispered, "So rare a color. Come with me, my pet. I would like to work out a trade with you. I won't even ask for your wand," he said with a laugh. "It won't do you any good at all."
Ginny wrenched her arm free, and looked for the path back to the street she'd come from. Once she found it, she closed her eyes tightly and kept a firm grasp on her wand. She could feel the witches and wizards closing in upon her. She concentrated on her wand, and a second later she felt a flash of warmth and heard a chorus of wails and shouts from around her.
It had only been a simple Flash Charm, but it had been painfully bright. Quite a few of the wizards had tripped or stumbled, and Ginny took care stepping over them. She needed only a few seconds of freedom, just enough to send some sort of sign that she needed help. She raised her wand to the sky, but watched in horror as a thin rope snaked around her forearm and yanked it down, making her fire red sparks into a nearby storefront. She felt a curse strike her in the back, but it was repelled by her charmed robes.
More ropes wrapped around her legs, and she finally lost her balance and stumbled to the stone pavement. Her head exploded with pain as it struck the ground. Through the ringing, she heard angry shouts and curses. A number of spells hit her in quick succession. With one last ominous flash she felt the world slip away.
Author's Notes:
This chapter has been a little delayed while I tried to work out all the links in this chapter to the rest of the story. As you might guess, this is a very important chapter. However, it still isn't as important as the next chapter. The good news is that I'm already half done with Chapter 11. The bad news is that Civilization IV comes out soon. Still, I'll do my best. I promise that Chapter 11 will be ... interesting. I can't guarantee that everyone will love every part of it, but hopefully everyone will find it entertaining overall.
Also note that I'm sorry is ditching all of my formatting when I upload chapters. I'm not sure exactly why, but I'll see if I can figure out what is going on.
