Disclaimer: Once again, the concept of Harry Potter and all related characters belongs to J.K.R., Time Warner, Bloomsbury Publishing, and whomever else. The author of this fanfic wishes to make it known that she is not incurring anything more than pure enjoyment from writing this story.
A/N: Okay, I owe everybody a huge apology for the amount of time this chapter took. I've decided, as you've probably heard, just to keep rolling forward as though the Sixth Book hadn't changed minor details like Harry and Ginny dating. If you look at my profile, you will see the Rough Guide to the Garnet Snitch, if you need to be caught up on what's happened before this. This is the chapter that sets up the final two chapters, so we're heading into the home stretch. And I'll try not to take as long on the next chapter, but being a full time student, working three jobs, and having an active social life tends to slow any progress.
Without further ado, enjoy!
Chapter Fifteen: Amethyst Maelstrom
Since they'd won the last game, time seemed to exist on two very different and unequal levels, either choosing to crawl by at a pace that would make a snail raise its eyebrows in wonder, or just speeding by fast enough to dizzy up anybody caught in its claws. A couple of days of this was all it took for Harry to get exasperated with it all.
It wasn't as though he had nothing to do. The truth was, he had plenty. Chris Gingham had ignored Stacy and Tracy and had tanked forward with plans and ideas for increased publicity. There were newspaper shoots, interviews, people to meet beyond every corner. The members of the Tunnel keeping an eye on Ginny were constantly forced to adapt to Chris introducing "just this one last person, I really think you should meet him/her/them, Amy." By the time that the night before the next game rolled around, everybody was physically exhausted from all the scares they'd had and Harry thought he'd seen at least two voodoo dolls being passed around that looked remarkably like a certain team owner he knew.
Ron made the decision to cut Neville, Luna, and the twins loose the night before the big game, telling them to go out and enjoy themselves, while he and Hermione parked themselves in Harry's hotel suite with a deck of cards. They'd whiled away an hour bickering, and already Harry was ready to strangle them. Euan and Tara had escaped long before under the flimsy excuse that there was perhaps a film in the cinemas that they were missing.
Harry sat at the desk the hotel suite afforded, a stack of parchment piled up before him. Ginny had taken the smarter route and had pled exhaustion, retiring early to the bedroom. Harry had no doubt he'd later find her curled up around a book. He wished he could use the same excuse, but the truth was, he'd let his associations get rather lax with all the Tunnel business. So he forced himself to focus on the letters. They were mostly to business contemporaries in whom Harry had invested a few Galleons here or there. He hated this sort of upkeep, but it was necessary.
Very few of those businesses had any idea that they were actually funding an underground organisation. Normally this amused Harry, but tonight there was very little amusement to be found anywhere.
"There's an article in here about the Typhoon Scandal," Hermione commented, folding up the day-old copy of the Daily Prophet. "Several analysts are predicting that this could put most of the members of the party away for good."
"What about Malfoy?" Ron asked immediately, his eyes narrowing.
Hermione shook her head. "They have plenty of evidence, but it's likely he'll only serve ten years. Seven, if he behaves well."
"In Azkaban?" Harry asked interestedly, looking up from his letter.
"No, a medium-security prison. One of the ones that they started up a couple of years ago…I imagine it'll be Langoliyer, since Geroodhain seems to be more for manslaughter and other crimes like that. The evidence of him not being a Death Eater is still holding up, so it's not enough to send him to Azkaban." Hermione frowned at that, but let it go with a small shrug. She shot a quelling look at Ron before he could begin a tirade. "But I suppose we'll have to take what we can get. Shall we go over the plan once more?"
Harry was about to agree, for he wanted to be absolutely certain that there were no holes, but the bedroom door opened and Ginny emerged, considerably dishevelled. She blinked out at them from underneath a curtain of hair. When she spoke, her voice was sloppy with sleep. "You're still here?"
To Harry's relief, Ron bit back his sarcastic response. "We were about to go over the plans for tomorrow," Hermione informed Ginny kindly as the redhead yawned and finger-combed her hair.
"Oh." Ginny flopped onto the couch. "Can't hurt anything, I suppose. Fire away."
Hermione opened her mouth—and a knock sounded on the door. Harry stuck his wand in the side of his waistband and motioned for them to remain seated, out of the line of sight from the door. He then rose to answer the door himself.
Stacy and Tracy were ranged on the other side of the door, their expressions on opposite sides of the emotional spectrum. "Hey, Harry," Tracy greeted cheerfully. She held up a bag of crisps and what Harry vaguely recognised as a Muggle DVD. "Are you and Amy busy? Stacy's being a spoilsport tonight, so I'm trying my hardest to cheer her up."
Behind him, Harry heard the faintest sounds of Ron and Hermione clearing out and escaping through the door adjoining their suites. "We're not busy. Having a bit of a night in. Come on in," he said easily once they were clear. He moved to the side of the door and let the twins enter, checking the picture Hermione had installed above the door. If either of the twins had been Polyjuiced or otherwise disguised, it changed to an "Exit" sign.
Since the picture remained unchanged, Harry slid his hand away from his wand hilt. "I warn you, Amy just woke up from a nap. She'll be a grouch for a bit."
"I heard that," Ginny grumbled, but she didn't bother to deny it. She perked up at the sight of Stacy and Tracy. "What's this? An impromptu party?"
"We've invited Tad and Frank, and Melinda's just behind us," Tracy informed her, vaulting over the couch and landing beside her. "They're bringing more food."
"Oh, so you planned this," Harry had time to say before Melinda entered, bearing what looked to be an armful of chocolate snacks. "What about Bear?"
Stacy rolled her eyes. Tracy broke into the crisps. Neither, Harry noticed, looked at the other. "He's out on a date," Melinda answered and began fussing with all of the different snack items she'd brought. Harry was glad that Ron and Hermione had cleaned out all of the Tunnel devices, so that the suite looked normal, albeit a tad messy. "He may drop by later, if he's in the mood."
Tracy bit into a crisp and talked around it. "But in the meantime, we decided that we wanted some downtime with the rest of you," she filled Ginny and Harry in. "Too much publicity rubbish lately. I sent Chris off to a conference over in Georgia and begged the night off for the rest of us."
"We are forever in your debt," Harry muttered darkly.
"He's just trying to get our name out there," Tracy said, but her tone was apologetic. "Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but I've been wanting to see this one for a while." She named a title that Harry had never heard of, of course. "If just for the laughs."
By the time that Tad and Frank had arrived, and had made themselves completely at home, some of Stacy's ill humour had vanished. It was hard to be dour among a group like the Typhoon, especially once you had Tad dangling a fake spider over you and Frank stabbing wildly at it with a crisp in order to 'save' you. In the background, some Muggle movie with singing and dancing of wild proportions flashed, but the team paid it no mind. Harry was duly dispatched for appropriate drinks; Tracy and Frank made a show of taste-testing the gin party fizz he'd ordered from room service and declaring it "resoundingly average." It would do, they claimed, but Harry was no longer allowed to choose the beverages for them.
At some point in the evening, Ginny slipped out of the room and soon returned in a simple set of slacks and a Typhoon shirt. Harry kept an unobtrusive eye on her, but it turned out to be unnecessary. Nothing of the tension that had been plaguing her for two days showed on her face or in her movements. She volleyed mock-insults back at Tracy as soon as the twin shot them at her, commented on Melinda's blouse (apparently, it was new, though Harry couldn't tell), and even acted as hostess, relying upon the mini-bar to restock drinks and snacks. Harry's money purse would be much lighter after it, but he didn't particularly mind.
"I must say," Stacy remarked, twirling one of the pretzel rods Ginny had found in the hotel supplies, "for a new couple, you two sure do tolerate us intruding on your space quite often."
Ginny rolled her eyes when Harry snorted. "Oh, compared to some of our friends, it's as though we never see you," Harry remarked. "And you're smart enough to bribe your way in with crisps and chocolate."
The doorbell prevented Ginny from scolding him. Stacy, who had relaxed over the course of the evening, tensed. "I'll get that," Harry said, and crossed to the door. He peered through the peephole; Bear stood on the other side of the door, wearing a Muggle-styled tooled leather jacket despite the oppressive heat. Cautious, Harry pulled the door open, and Bear smiled tiredly at him. "I got word that this was where the team was congregating."
Harry scanned the hallway, but Bear was alone. "Come on in. I think the movie's almost over, but more importantly, I don't think anybody cares. Here, have a drink."
Since the portrait above the door remained unchanged, Harry moved to the mini-bar and poured Bear a firewhiskey. There was a grey tinge to the other man's skin that suggested he needed it. Indeed Bear took it with a "thanks" and swilled half of it. "Sorry."
"Lousy date?"
"If original thoughts were knuts, shaking her head wouldn't have even produced a jingle." Bear rolled his eyes and finished the rest of the whiskey, coughing a little. "That's all for me. Game tomorrow. Need to be sharp."
"Others are through there," Harry offered as he stored the firewhiskey decanter against the wall. "I need to place a call. I'll be back in a second."
As soon as Bear had sauntered past, Harry picked up the phone on the kitchen counter and hit three buttons. "Hullo?" Ron answered, his voice cracking with sleep.
"It's me," Harry said.
Ron's voice immediately cleared. "Hey, Harry. Has the party cleared out?" As if to answer his question, Tracy and the Beaters laughed raucously at something Bear had just said. "Ah," Ron said. "I see. How much longer?"
"Couldn't tell you. I don't know."
Sensing movement, Harry looked up, but it was only Ginny. She'd moved to the doorway between the living area and the tiny kitchenette. 'Ron?' she mouthed at him. He nodded.
Meanwhile, irritation crept into Ron's voice. "Well, see if you can't kick them out or something. You have a game tomorrow."
"So do they," Harry pointed out.
Ginny moved further into the kitchen, leaning against the counter and facing him, watching his face. He couldn't quite read her expression, but she appeared to be studying his. On the other end of the phone line, Ron's voice was a bit strained. "I'd like to review the plans, and I don't want everybody up too late."
Harry glanced toward the living area, gauged whether he could actually get the team out without causing any problems. Laughter answered him. "We can review them in the morning. Go ahead and turn in. Get some sleep. And make Hermione sleep, too. She needs sleep more than the rest of us."
With some reluctance, Ron agreed, and summarily hung up. Ginny waited until Harry had replaced the phone in its cradle before the devilish smile broke out. "That was quite underhanded of you," she observed, crossing her arms over her chest. She stepped closer to him; Harry decided that he was just comfortable where he was, and that the party in the other area could wait. "Playing the pregnant wife card like that. Hermione wouldn't put up with that if she knew you were doing that."
Harry snorted. "Ron wouldn't be foolish enough to admit it—and the trick works. I figure I'm safe."
"Is any man truly safe from the wrath of a pregnant woman?"
"Only if we have a running start and some of kind of peanut butter and—what is it, pickles?—to act as a shield," Harry confessed, and smiled when her arms came around his neck.
This was more or less how Frank found them a few minutes later when he wandered into the kitchen. "Well, I'll be buggered," he commented, and had them breaking apart. "Would you look at this, mates? They're a real couple. Snogging behind our backs like a couple of teens." He wagged a finger at them.
"What do you want?" Harry grumbled without releasing his hold on Ginny.
"An innocent glass of water." Frank eased around them and helped himself to the water at the tap. "Stacy and Bear are sniping at each other."
"I'll go play mediator." Ginny slipped away and was out the door before Harry could stop her. With nothing to do with his hands, he tucked them into his pockets and leaned back against the counter.
"Coward," Frank observed.
"What?"
"You think I don't see what you're doing? You're avoiding going in there and having to deal with Stacy and Bear." Frank smiled behind his water glass.
"So're you," Harry pointed out.
"Me, I'm having a glass of this delicious cold water." Frank proved it by downing the rest of it in one hefty swallow, and setting the glass beside the sink. "Besides, with Amy in there, they'll behave. The whole team's afraid of her."
"As they should be," Harry muttered, and went back in to join the party. "And they haven't even seen her when she's truly angry."
Chris Gingham leaned back against the nearest locker and surveyed his team with an unmistakably puzzled expression. He was positive that he had heard Tracy sneak into the hotel room in the ballpark of two a.m. She wasn't very quiet—on the ground—and he distinctly remembered waking and rolling over to see her enter. The time had been well after 2:15, and he knew she'd been with the rest of the team in Potter's hotel suite, having a good time. By all rights, the entire team should be heavy-eyed from a lack of sleep and uncommunicative.
Yet, they looked as fresh as spring daisies. He just couldn't figure it out.
That didn't mean there wasn't tension in the air, though, he noted as he looked around. Potter looked downright distracted, absorbed in staring at his Quidditch boots. Melinda, Tracy, and the Beaters seemed to be fine. Stacy was scowling hard into her locker. And Bear was…wait, where was Bear?
"Has anybody seen Bear?" Chris asked the group.
"He said he might be late. But he'll be here."
Chris checked the watch his grandfather had given him and wanted to sigh to himself. "Well, he's got five minutes before I send security after him."
"He'll be here," Potter assured, and turned back to his locker, already distracted once more. Chris wondered if it was a good idea to have a distracted Seeker, but decided not to say anything. Potter'd been Seeker for England for years. He knew what he was doing.
That was the problem with this team. They knew what they were doing. Trying to coach them was dismissed as ridiculous from every single one of them.
A deep knock shook the locker room door. Since he was the closest, Chris gestured for his team to remain seated and answered the door himself. A security badge was shoved into his face. "Are you Christopher Gingham?"
"Yes," Chris replied, looking around the badge to see the pointy-faced wizard holding it. "Who's asking?"
"Officer Webster, Head of Security Squadron D. My partner and I came upon your team member, Barry Winslow, exchanging blows with a civilian, identified as a Randolf Holmes. They are both under arrest, but stadium law requires that Mr. Winslow be allowed to play during his match. After the match, we will take him into custody once more, but until that is done, he is in your custody. If you would sign here?"
Webster produced a clipboard out of nowhere, thrusting it under Chris's nose. Baffled, Chris took the insta-quill offered and signed his name on the appropriate line. All was silent behind him, never a good sign.
Things only worsened as Bear was shoved into view. His tall, lanky Keeper, who'd been whole and in one piece only the day before, looked as though he had decided to block shots from all three Chasers…using only his face. His trousers were ripped, blood trickled from cuts on his face, arms, and neck. Yet he still gave Chris a "what are you going to do about it?" look, squinting through the eye that wasn't already swelling shut. Behind him, Webster closed the door, leaving Chris and the team alone.
"Which one of you has medical training?" Chris asked without removing his eyes from Bear's face.
There was silence for a minute. Even the room seemed to be holding its breath. "Stacy does," Tracy finally offered.
Behind Chris's back, Stacy shot her twin sister a betrayed look.
"Stacy," Chris said. "Heal him. So I can kick his sodding arse."
Bear sneered yet again. The instant he opened his mouth, the heavy and sweet scent of liquor flooded the air. "You wouldn't even be able to land a single punch, pansy-boy."
"Yeah?" Chris's hand shot out; he gripped Bear's left shoulder, the one he'd seen the other man favouring. And squeezed. Bear went down hard, already swearing by the time he hit the ground. Chris just sighed to himself and hauled the Keeper off of the floor, gesturing impatiently for Tad to get a chair. When that was delivered, he shoved Bear into it. "Tracy, there's some Sober-Up Solvent in my bag. Could you please fetch that and a glass of water? Stacy, he needs both eyes to play."
Even though his own annoyance with Bear had skyrocketed, he was surprised when Stacy none-too-gently grabbed Bear's chin and yanked it to one side. Bear swore and writhed about but Stacy didn't release her grip. "You sodding idiot," she snapped at him, and poked her wand at a scrape on his cheek. "You just couldn't leave him alone, could you? You men never think things through, do you? Oh, no, that's just too much work!"
"Er, Stacy?" Chris asked. "I said heal him, not scratch his face off."
"Sorry," Stacy snapped, but she didn't sound it. When Tracy handed her the Sober-Up Solvent, she poured it mercilessly down Bear's throat. He gargled a protest, but she just continued to jab at his face with her wand, healing the abrasions. Before long, Tracy pulled Chris off to the side.
"She's irked because Randolf Holmes is—was her boyfriend," she explained in a low voice. "The rest of the team doesn't know this, so keep it quiet, but he broke up with her last night. Said he'd found something better." She swore her opinion of that, and of Randolf Holmes. "This was after we left Harry and Amy's hotel room. Bear found her before I did. Bear was…well, he was understandably annoyed."
"Let me guess," Chris interrupted. "She asked him not to go after Holmes, but he did anyway?"
Tracy made a sour face. "Just wait until Stacy finds out she's become part of a cliché love story."
As much as he genuinely liked Stacy, and even Bear, Chris couldn't help feel the annoyance double in strength. He put a hand against his forehead and pushed, trying to stave off a headache before it could find its footing. "And you're telling me that they couldn't possibly save the cliché for after the game?"
Fans had been expecting that the battle between the Nottingham Typhoon and the Bismarck Flickertails to be brutal, an ongoing rage of nut-brown players against blue, red, and grey ones. Harry and Ginny had certainly counted on it when they were building their plans, Ron and Hermione relied upon it now as they attempted to carry those plans out.
So when Harry and the Flickertails Seeker went into a steep dive almost immediately after the Quidditch balls were released, every Tunnel member present felt a numbing sense of dread. When Harry emerged from the dive seconds ahead of his opponent, clutching the traitorous golden Snitch, the dread tripled.
The increasing number of Typhoon fans didn't notice the dismayed group. They went wild; this was a historical catch—made before the Quaffle could even enter a single goal! For the first time in the Open history, there was a game that was exactly 150-0, in favor of an unknown British team with a famous hero as its Seeker!
Euphoria was the last thing on the minds of the Tunnel members, though. Ron swore viciously through the spell-link they'd all charmed into their heads, a link that would allow them all to hear each other throughout the entire plan. "Did nobody tell him not to do that?" he raged.
Ginny, torn between pride for Harry and despair for herself, felt her hackles rise. "It wasn't like he had a choice, Ronald! The other Seeker would have caught it if he hadn't!"
"Relax, Ginny, I know. I'm just…well, it throws an interesting sticking hex into our well-laid plans." Ron sighed over the link. "Okay, stay in positions for a minute." From his vantage point in the opposing team's press box, he saw a crowd sweep poor Neville and Luna to the side, and amended, "If you can."
"There's always next game," Hermione said in Ginny's head. "We'll have to use our alternate set-up, but we can…"
Ginny tuned her out and slowly sat down. She'd risen to her feet in the same surge as everybody else egging on Harry's impressive dive. Now they were all hurrying out of the press box, perhaps hoping to glean an autograph or two out of the occasion. Out on the Pitch, the Typhoon players were taking a stunned victory lap, wide-eyed and chattering to each other. It wasn't hard to notice Bear trailing along behind them, his scowl evident even from this distance.
"Ginny? Ginny!" Hermione's voice interrupted her study of Bear. Ginny glanced up guiltily, even though Hermione couldn't see her. She was alone in the press box, aside from the Darrows and Fred, all disguised to be rich business owners. Well, Fred was a rich business owner on his own, but today he sold magical real estate instead of transportable swamps.
"Sorry, Hermione," Ginny muttered.
"Do you have visual of Tara and Euan? I have them on my brochure, but I want to be certain it is working properly. They should be in the doorway to the press box." Hermione sounded faint, as though she were walking farther away from Ginny.
Ginny twisted her head around to look at the entrance just as Euan gave Tara a hand inside. Immediately, the blonde American raised a reassuring smile at her former flatmate. "It's me," she said, and Ginny heard her both inside and outside of her head, a sign that this was not Dermot in disguise.
"Both of us," Euan confirmed, following Tara into the press box. "I take it from the riot that we missed the whole match."
"Your fault for being perpetually late," Ginny told Tara in a light voice, but she didn't feel in a very teasing mood. On the Pitch, the two teams filed back into the doors that led to their locker rooms. "There went all of our plans."
The trap for Dermot had been very simple, once upon a time. It had required the most acting from Ginny's part: for two days now, whenever she was in public, she made it a point to seem irritable and distracted. With the threat of Dermot hanging over the entire team now, it wasn't hard. Her irritation was supposed to hit its breaking point at the game, during which Tara was supposed to arrive late with Euan in tow. She and Tara were supposed to have a spat, they were both to stomp off in different directions. Euan was to follow Tara, Ginny was to go off "alone." With any luck, Dermot wouldn't recognise any of the disguises Ron had picked out for his team, strategically set up on the route Ginny would storm down.
With the game ending so quickly, though, their plans were moot. Ginny wanted to scream and kick something. Instead, she rested her head on Tara's shoulder and sighed. Tara wrapped an arm around her shoulders. They sat in silence like that for several minutes, listening to the rest of the team chatter in their heads. Euan said nothing as he stood awkwardly by them, adorably trying to guard them like a puppy might try to guard a master.
"George, report in," Ron barked in their heads.
George's voice was harried as he replied. "I'm down by the locker rooms. This place is a mob scene—they're all shouting for Harry and the rest of the team—hey, watch where you put that elbow! Yes, you! Hey, I would never say that about your Aunt Mildred, why don't you give mine a break? Oh, did you want to take this outside—"
"George!"
"Right, sorry—Oh, here's the team, they're finally coming out of the locker room. They look…well, a bit puzzled, to tell the truth. It's going to be awhile before we get to Harry, mate. He's got a crowd around him wanting autographs.
"Hey, Ginny, where are you?" George continued. "Bloke looks like he accidentally killed somebody's pet Puffskein. He could use a bit of cheering up."
Ginny nodded wordlessly at Fred, who rose to his feet at the same time as she. Without saying a word to the Darrows, Tara, or Euan, they left the press box and headed down the staircase to the locker rooms. She didn't hear Ron or Hermione following them, but she assumed that they were indeed around her. Occasionally, one would offer instructions to get through the crowd more smoothly, though they would both remain out of sight.
Somehow, she made her way past the crush of the crowd, elbowing and shoving a bit in order to get through. Once Harry was in sight, Fred dropped back, keeping his hand on his wand. Ginny continued forward until she reached the ropes separating the team from the crowd. It was Tad that picked her up and deposited her next to Harry as though she weighed little more than a sack of flour, effectively snatching her away from the crowd.
"Did you see that catch, Amy?" Tracy crowed, grabbing Harry's wrist and flinging it into the air. His fans roared wildly in response. "Absolutely brilliant catch! Inspired!"
The strained smile on Harry's face lent an air of credibility to Ginny's own smile. She dodged around Frank, who was swinging his tiny wife around and shouting triumphant praise at the top of his lungs. Since everybody on the magical-link could what she said aloud, she smiled and wrapped her arms around him. "It was a brilliant catch."
"Didn't mean to catch it quite that quick," Harry muttered ruefully, turning red as a few of his fans catcalled at Ginny. "So it was really a rubbish catch."
"I consider any catch where you're not injured in the process brilliant," she informed him staunchly, straightening the front of his grey Quidditch robes. She heard Fred, George, and Ron snicker in her head, and rolled her eyes.
"I don't suppose you had any luck?"
"None, but don't worry. There's always next game." Ginny caught Chris's scowl in their direction and smirked. "Looks like your manager's demanding you sign autographs. You don't need me here. Meet me by the locker room later?"
"Ooh," Fred and George crooned at exactly the same time. George continued, "Why not ask him to meet you under the bleachers for a quick snog?"
Deciding that one of them had to be mature, Ginny chose not to rise to the bait. She did turn in confusion, though, at the commotion that erupted near the locker room door. "What on earth's happened to Bear?"
Fans all throughout the noisy hallway quieted as the tall Keeper was led away from the locker room by a security guard. The shaggy blond hair blocked most of his face from the crowd; he kept his head down, eyes securely fastened to the floor as he was thrust into the crowd by his security guard. His hands were lashed together behind his back with what looked to be several magical handcuffs. His shoulders were hunched in defence. The crowd backed up on itself to clear a pathway. A few of the younger members looked worried, but the older ones, who'd been around for the more violent times of Quidditch, just seemed amused.
As Bear was pulled from sight, Ginny chanced a glance at Stacy. Tracy had thrown an arm around her sister's shoulder in triumph before the scene; now, it remained there in support.
Gradually, the crowd's noises started up: murmuring that was certainly about Bear, renewed pleas for autographs, excited chatter. It gave way to cheering and screaming once again. Harry took the opportunity to lean down and explain, "I'll explain after Hermione takes the link down," in her ear.
She nodded in reply to that. "See you then." It took her a moment to find Fred in the crowd, for he was still disguised as an aristocratic southern gentleman. She gave Harry a quick kiss and followed after her older brother.
"C'mon, Fred, let's find someplace to wait this out."
"Figure there'll be any good tea in this place?" Fred asked, his tone the slightest bit wistful.
"I doubt it. But I'll spring for a cup of bad coffee."
They waited until the Polyjuice potion they'd all taken before the game wore off before they convened in the coffee shop with Ginny and Fred. Hermione arrived first, looking harried, followed closely by Euan and Tara. The Darrows had retired back to the hotel, George informed them when he arrived. He took one look at the dark green and brown décor, shrugged, and ordered the strongest coffee in the building. He was stirring a heap of sugar into that when Ron arrived.
"Right, then," he said as Hermione kindly deactivated the mental communication link so that they wouldn't hear double anymore. He studied the group assembled over two tables, most of them clutching coffees and trying not to look dejected. "Did anybody spot anything?"
"Nothing," they all reported, one by one.
"Brilliant catch, but Harry still caught it too bloody early," Fred groused, taking a long drink of the coffee. He was on his second cup, but the caffeine didn't appear to be having any affect. "And there's no chance we can use this set-up again. Just not worth it."
"We'll have to use the other one," Ginny commented. "Really, it's more sensible—"
"No," chimed in Fred, George, and Ron on the same breath. Ron continued, "We've already agreed not even to consider that plan. Too bloody dangerous." Hermione's scowl at her husband to watch his mouth was duly ignored. "Who are we still missing?"
As though he had been cued, Harry entered the coffee shop, freshly showered and changed. Ginny didn't understand why her heart thudded with relief at the sight of him. "Ron told me you were all meeting in here," he informed Ginny in a low voice. "It's actually me, by the way. Recipient of the most horrible Valentine courtesy of Fred and George. Never hiring a singing troll for any of my future parties, especially ones that compare my eyes to pickles." He rolled those eyes now. "So, what's been decided?"
"We'll have to talk strategy back at the hotel," Ron decided. "It's not safe here."
"We're just waiting for Neville and Luna," Hermione added. "They should be here any moment now. They were both working the circuit near the security desk."
"That was an inspired catch, Harry," Euan, still young enough to have a bit of hero-worship in him, commented. "Zinged it straight out from underneath the other Seeker. You should have seen the look on his face."
"I consider any catch where I don't swallow it a good one," Harry remarked tritely.
Like the others, Ginny looked up when Neville staggered into the coffee. And like the others, she was on her feet in an instant, wand out. Neville's robes had been pristine that morning. Now they were bloodied and torn, blood leaking from a severe cut on his left arm. He looked at all of them without seeing them.
"What happened to you?" Ginny demanded at the same time as everybody else.
"Dermot." Neville gripped the edge of a tabletop like a man in a storm. "He—he's taken Luna. I couldn't stop him. And now he's gone.
"And he's got Luna."
A/N The Second: Yes, I know this is an evil cliffie. Why don't you tell me how much you hate it? Leave me a review. I'll try to write quickly and get us out of this quagmire.
