Disclaimer in chapter 1.

"Fate is a doorway that opens with a single key. This key, in turn, can unleash unspeakable horrors."

onoM

Chapter IX: A Turn of the Key

MULTI-NATIONAL FORCE SLAUGHTERED, MYSTERY MAN SLAYS NUNDU SINGLE-HANDEDLY!

Last week was a time of great trials for residents of the Greater Chalbi Desert in Kenya. Sources within the Kenyan Ministry of Information confirmed yesterday that they sent out a distress call to several of their closest allies to help deal with a creature that is considered by many experts to be the most dangerous beast in existence. A Multi-National Wizarding Force was assembled to deal with the threat.

Preliminary estimates suggest that more than 200 wizards from at least 8 different countries were involved in the effort. It is unknown at this time if any of our own Aurors were sent, but judging by the Ministry presence in the successful raid last Friday night, it is rather unlikely that they had Aurors to spare.

Recent figures put the civilian death toll at 1127 dead, 4250 still unaccounted for. Although it has not been confirmed by Kenyan sources, it is widely accepted that the entire Multi-National Wizarding Force was massacred, save a single wizard. When asked about this, Commander Nasawi Mgumbira of the Kenyan Wizarding Army had only this to say, "The Kakawana is a great man. I cannot tell you any more than that." Kakawana, I have been informed, translates roughly to, 'strongest of men'. No further comments were made about the identity of the mystery wizard.

This reporter is not in the habit of rumor-mongering, but I'm certain I am not alone in wondering: If 200 wizards tried and failed, just what sort of man could accomplish such a feat alone?

In an effort to give credit where it is due, the Daily Prophet will pay 500 galleons to any witch or wizard with new information on the name or home country of this mysterious figure. Please owl your information and full name to the Daily Prophet, Research Division.

Ginny dropped the paper back onto the Gryffindor Table, not caring that the edge of it was dipping into her oatmeal. Death toll in the thousands? Ginny had never heard of a Nundu before, but it sounded terrifying. "Hermione, what's a Nundu?" She passed the slightly soiled paper to her 6th year friend.

"This is impossible." The bushy-haired Gryffindor said, her eyes going wide. "The Nundu is a mythical beast. It's a huge leopard that is completely silent when it moves. Its breath can wipe out entire villages in a matter of minutes. There isn't another creature alive as dangerous, and they're telling us that a single wizard killed it? Bollocks."

Hermione tossed the paper down the table with a snort, then her eyes grew thoughtful. Ron watched her with no small measure of interest. He'd read the story first, after all. Hermione leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered with a gleam of pride. "It was Harry!"

Ginny laughed at the notion. "Oh come off it, there's no way something like that..." The idea, impossible as it seemed only moments ago, had taken hold in her mind. Harry was conspicuously absent last week, which coincided with what the Daily Prophet said. She knew that Harry was an incredibly competent wizard, although that much was obvious from the beginning. Her faith in his abilities was bolstered considerably when he rescued her from a mansion filled with gun-wielding muggles. But this...

This was too much. Harry was released from the Hospital Wing just last night, he refused to tell Ron where he was or what he was doing. All he would say is that it was still classified. Was it possible, could Harry be the man in the article?

500 galleons was a lot of money, to be sure, and she offhandedly wondered what she'd do with that much money. Her dad made quite a sum, being the Minister of Magic had a few perks, but 500 galleons was a lot of money. It was almost as much as her dad took home in a month. She dismissed the idea from her head. That would mean betraying the trust he put in all of them, and she couldn't bear the thought of it. But would other students keep his trust as well?

Right on time, the Boy who Lived came in from his morning workout. He was dry, but a white outline of salt from his sweat was visible on his black shirt. He sat down in his usual spot next to Ginny and his enormous breakfast appeared in front of him. He began shoveling it without even a hello.

Ginny and Hermione stared at him levelly until he came up for air. "Good morning, Hermione, Ginny. Did you both obtain an adequate amount of sleep last night?"

"Yes." They answered together, shaking their heads. They had tried to teach him how to start a conversation, but he was still patently terrible at it.

Harry was not a great conversationalist, but he could tell perhaps better than anyone when someone was hiding something. "What's wrong?" he asked, all business.

Ginny spoke up, "Just reading the paper, that's all. Everything is just fine."

He didn't buy it, but he also knew not to pry. Sooner or later, the truth would come out. He'd only been given a temporary clean bill of health from Madam Pomfrey, but 'light flying' was allowed. Perfect for what he had in mind. "Ginny, are you free this afternoon?"

The youngest Weasley's pulse quickened. Is he trying to make up for last Saturday, or maybe he wants to walk around the lake or take a quick trip to the astronomy tower... Shaking her head again to clear her mind of that particularly dangerous train of thought, she answered, "Yes, totally free, nothing at all to do!" She hoped she didn't sound too excited, but she really couldn't help it.

"I will be attending Quidditch practice for the first time tonight. I still do not understand how to be a useful element of our Quidditch team. Could you teach me what you know of secondary Seeker duties, and how best to perform them?"

Ginny visibly deflated. Of course. She couldn't expect him to change overnight, though there was some very visible progress made in the last few weeks. "Sure, Harry. I'd love to teach you. My last lesson ends at noon, and Quidditch practice doesn't start until..."

"7 o'clock." Ron supplied with a small smile. "Sharp."

"Right. 7 o'clock. So that's quite a bit of time, isn't it. I'm sure you'll get the gist of it by then." Ginny finished brightly, trying to suppress both a blush and the urge to beat her brother into submission as she smiled weakly at the Boy who Lived.

"Good. Will we be having lunch here first?" Harry inquired.

Ginny wasn't quite certain what caused her sudden boost of confidence, but she straightened up a little in her seat and said, "No, actually. I think I'll bring some food out there for us. Let's meet on the pitch at 12:30. And could you do something for me?" A blush fought its way onto her cheeks. She repressed it violently.

Harry nodded. "Of course, Ginny."

Summoning up her courage, she said meekly, "After practice, could you resize a few of my outfits? I had the idea a while ago but everything seemed to be getting in the way, and you did a really good job that one time and I just thought maybe if you wanted to you could-"

"Ginny, you're rambling." Hermione interjected with a suppressed giggle. The red-haired girl's face turned scarlet.

"That would be an acceptable trade. Thank you, Ginny." Without further preamble, he went back to shoveling food into the bottomless pit that was his mouth.

Ginny sighed in defeat, picking up her fork again. Cheers. She thought morosely. A picnic with a vacuum cleaner. I'd better bring two baskets. Watching Harry devour what appeared to be an entire pig made of bacon in about three seconds, she mentally appended, Make that three.

Ginny was sore. Every muscle in her body was aching, she was still weak even a full hour afterwards. Nothing she had ever found could alleviate this particularly nasty ache, nor could any other culprit be named. No, this kind of soreness could only come from one thing: Quidditch.

Ron must have been too excited to finally have Harry there, that he forgot the rest of the

m were just regular people. Harry, strangely, was riding on one of the school brooms, a Comet 260 from the looks of it. Regardless, Ron ran the whole team into the ground, doing laps and sprints and drills for a solid three hours without a single break. Even Harry was sweating heavily by the end of it, and that was saying something. It was by far the toughest practice she'd ever had, even worse than taskmaster Wood, who was widely accepted to be the most demanding Quidditch Captain that Gryffindor had ever had, ever. Thankfully, he graduated several years ago. Then came Captain Johnson, who was slightly more emotional but every bit as dedicated as Captain Wood, and now there was Captain Weasley. Wood was a girl scout compared to her brother today.

She couldn't collapse on her bed just yet, though, because Harry Potter was currently occupying it. Ginny had lost track of how many outfits she'd changed into so he could resize them, but the process was remarkably quick on his end. She would put something on in the bathroom and come out, he'd just run a finger along the seam and the cloth would tighten and loosen in all the right places. She was immensely pleased with the results, and it had nothing to do with the electric shock that his touch consistently sent up her spine. No, nothing to do with that. She thought obdurately.

She could lie to herself if she damn well pleased.

After a grueling session of her just standing there while he ran his fingers along the seams of her clothes, she threw modesty out on its arse and collapsed onto her bed next to the Boy who Lived. The impact made her emit a low groan as her muscles protested the harsh treatment. At least none of her roommates were present, a fact that didn't puzzle her too much. They usually came up to bed late, for the simple reason that their active 'social' lives involved breaking curfew and broom closets. The dirty slags.

"Are you all right, Ginny?" Harry sounded concerned. She was getting better at picking up the incredibly subtle inflections that managed to make their way into his speech patterns.

Ginny buried her face in her pillow and shook her head weakly. "My whole body hurts. Even my face hurts, that's a first for me. I'm going to hurt my brother as soon as I can move again." She whimpered pitifully into the silk coverlet of her favorite pillow. "Do you have a charm that will knock me out, or something? I'm never going to get to sleep at this rate..."

Without another word, Harry sat up, rolled and swung his knee over Ginny's prone form. He was straddling her lower back now, and she fought the urge to ask him what exactly he thought he was doing up there. She'd have her answer soon enough, and then she could decide whether or not to kill him for it. Well, maybe not kill. She'd certainly try, though, even if the effort consisted of beating her fists uselessly on his well-toned chest and screaming expletives at the top of her lungs. It was the thought that counted, right?

"Try to relax, Ginny." He told her as he tentatively placed his hands on either side of her spine. After a particularly rigorous day of training, Sirius would often bring in a massage therapist to push the excess lactic acid out of his muscles so his performance wouldn't suffer the next day. Perhaps he could keep her from feeling awful tomorrow morning.

After a long moment, Ginny felt Harry's fingers slowly rubbing the aching muscles in her back through the cloth of her tank top. She buried her face further in her pillow to keep him from seeing how red she was. They were on her bed, he was on top of her and giving her a back massage like it was the most natural thing in the world. That, and he seemed to know what exactly he thought he was doing up there. Oh, if her roommates came in right now she'd murder them in their sleep!

Leaning forward, Harry worked light circles on each side of her spine, careful not to push directly on the spine itself. You couldn't just start digging into a person's back without a warm-up, it would only make the muscles hurt worse in the morning. She was very tense, her muscles still felt like they were flexing.

After working circles along the entire length of her spine he began kneading her shoulders slowly. Ginny moaned softly into her pillow as he gradually worked the tension out of her. Delicious warmth was spreading through her as his hands danced over her back, and it felt almost impossibly good. There was no pain at all, just an encompassing heat that seemed to envelop her.

Whenever Harry got a massage, it had always been on bare skin. The traction was better, more warmth was transferred through the hands and you could pinpoint problem areas with more certainty when you didn't have one or more layers of cloth in the way. Her muscles were warm enough now to start digging a little deeper, and it really wasn't possible with that tank top in the way...

Ginny surprised herself by not screaming when her top mysteriously vanished. One moment it was there, the next moment it simply wasn't. She was wearing her night clothes already, so there was literally nothing between her and Harry's hands but air. Her face felt like it was on fire. She couldn't really do anything without exposing herself, so she bit back a few choice swear words and lay there limply. There was no justifiable explanation to why he seemed this dense. It wasn't humanly possible for him to not understand that you just didn't do things like this without asking! She might have said yes, but that was hardly the point!

On the other side, the feeling was incredible. His fingers were digging even further into her muscles, working out tension she didn't even realize she had until it was gone. She was breathing easier than she had in months, probably even years. Was she really that tense? His hands were quite rough, but he was so gentle that it never became abrasive. The warmth turned into a pleasant fire tracing alongside her spine as he kneaded, rolled and knuckled.

It was a good thing she was wearing shorts, because he worked her legs next. It felt wonderful, like she was in the middle of a long, hot bath. She could feel herself drifting away, getting lost in the pleasant weight and warmth of the Boy who Lived as his hands worked their magic on her sore body. Alright, I won't kill him. But next time, I've got to tell him not to just vanish my top like that. I'm a woman, for Merlin's sake...

He worked her arms next and finished with her neck, the small supporting muscles that ran the length of it were as solid as iron bars when he started. By the time he worked the knots out of her neck she had fallen asleep. Her breathing was slow and steady, the bare skin of her back was smooth and dotted with freckles in the low light. It seemed like every inch of her had at least a few freckles on it, it brought a small smile to his face. A real one, with nothing forced. There was nobody there to smile at, but he smiled all the same. It served no purpose at all, and he had to admit that it felt pretty damn good. He slowly eased off of her and folded the covers over her sleeping form. Pulling the curtains shut around her, he made his way to the room entrance.

"Goodnight, Ginny." He whispered as he disillusioned himself and unlocked the door, padding silently through the common room and back up to his own dormitory. It wasn't a mission, but he felt a powerful sense of fulfillment nonetheless. Ron was fast asleep, so he walked over to the vacant spot where his bed was before he burned it to cinders and cancelled his disillusionment charm. He sat down with his back against the blackened, slightly melted stone and went to sleep, the smile still etched on his face.

"Sirius, I need another broom." Harry told the disembodied head floating in Dumbledore's fireplace.

His Godfather shook his head with a chuckle, "What happened this time?"

"A Nundu ate it, sir. I need it by this Friday night, our first match is on Saturday." He replied.

Sirius raised his eyebrows questioningly. "A Nundu ate it, eh. If you were anyone else, I'd have you committed to St. Mungo's for saying something like that. Well, Mr. Potter, I take it you were on the broom up until this event?"

The Boy who Lived nodded. "Affirmative."

The last full of the house of Black let out a long-suffering sigh. "Listen, Harry. Any time you want to stop going on missions, all you have to do is say the word. I'll have you off the active duty roster in thirty seconds flat. You don't have to keep risking your life like this. I daresay you've earned the right to do whatever you want."

Harry shook his head. "This is what I want, Sirius. I can't just let go, I can't quit. I don't know how to explain it, but I need this job. I need these missions. More than that, I need that broom by Friday night at the latest."

"But Harry-" whatever Sirius was about to say was cut off as the green-eyed Gryffindor ended the firecall. I'm sorry Sirius, but I just can't give it up. He descended the spiral staircase and thanked Albus for the use of his fireplace, then headed off to lunch. His friends were waiting.

Ron was getting a little unbearable, the first Quidditch match of the season was looming on the horizon and he busied himself creating ridiculously complex but tactically brilliant plays for the chasers. There was no chance that the chasers would know the plays well enough to perform them during this game, but they humored him anyway. Their team was still one of the best at Hogwarts, even though two of their chasers and both beaters graduated last year. They still had Katie Bell, they still had Ginny and Ron Weasley. Only now, they had Harry Potter too. Even on a school broom, he managed to impress Ron. He was so singularly focused on his task that Ron started telling everyone to 'act a little more like Harry, will you?!'

The Gryffindor Quidditch team, tired but not yet defeated, trudged into the Common Room with varying levels of relief. The game was in two days, and Captain Weasley never worked them hard right before a match. "Great practice, everyone. Honestly, if you play half as well as you practice we've got the Cup in our hands already. Get some rest." They nodded tiredly, trudging up the stairs towards their soft, warm beds with a single-minded tenacity. Sleep, that fickle mistress, was the last thing on his mind as he scanned the Common Room for his girlfriend. He hadn't had a single moment alone with her since the beginning of the week, and it was starting to get to him. The Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team woke up this morning hugging his body-length pillow, for Merlin's sake, and that was where Ronald Bilius Weasley drew the line.

He found her, as he always did, in the library. She was buried in books, sitting in her favorite spot between the window and the transfiguration section. He snuck up behind her, as was his ill-fated custom, the route so ingrained in his memory that he could have done it in his sleep. Not that it mattered, Hermione could hear a mouse sneezing in her sleep. In his entire Hogwarts career, he'd never managed to sneak up on the bushy-haired Gryffindor. He stepped carefully over the creaky board that extended out of the charms aisle, nearing his quarry...

"You know, Ron, you're never going to make it all the way to my chair when you go crashing about like that. It's a wonder Madam Pince hasn't banned you from the library entirely." Hermione said, without looking up. He could almost hear the smirk on her face.

Shoulders slumped in defeat, Ron dragged himself over to her table and threw himself into the chair next to her, folding his arms huffily. "I almost had you that time." He scowled unconvincingly.

This time she did look up, shooting him that special smile she saved just for him, something halfway between a superior smirk and a genuinely appreciative grin. It was one of the things he loved most about her, but the list was already miles long and getting bigger every day.

"Yes, of course you did, dear." She dipped her quill and for a long while the only sound was her deft, precise scratching. Ron didn't mind, he never did. He could (and did, on many occasions) watch her work for hours on end and never grow tired of it. He turned his chair slightly so he could look at her without getting a crick in his neck. When she was searching for the right word to use in a sentence, she would bite just the corner of her lip, always on the right side. When she didn't know how to end a paragraph, she would furrow her brow and squint slightly. When she tucked her hair behind her ear, it meant she had just written something that she was proud of. It was almost pitiful, how utterly captivated he was by this bushy-haired Gryffindor.

With a flourish, she dried her quill and tapped the most recent of her parchments with her wand, instantly drying the ink. Rolling up her homework, she flicked her wand at each of the books in turn. The mountain of tomes picked itself apart as countless volumes closed and began to saunter off towards their own respective shelves. It was a mass exodus, repeated on a near-nightly basis. "I've told you countless times that you don't have to watch me do my homework, in case you've forgotten." She said with a long-suffering yawn, arching her back and stretching in what he considered a very provocative way.

"And in case you've forgotten, I've told you that I love to watch you work." He leaned towards her and kissed her on the cheek, embracing her tightly from the side. "Countless times."

Hermione giggled softly. "Stop it, Ron, you'll make me blush." She batted at his arms, not really putting up any resistance.

"Good. You're even cuter when your cheeks are pink." He responded, nuzzling the base of her neck.

She let out a soft sigh, inclining her head to give him better access. "Honestly, Ron, we're in the library. What if Madam Pince catches us?" Her voice and her body were telling conflicting stories, and he knew from vast experience which one couldn't tell a lie.

"Then I'll stun the nosey bint. Serves her right, barging in on us like that..." He loved the smell of her, a mix of cinnamon and vanilla. With practiced ease, he planted small, tender kisses along her collarbone and up the side of her neck, catching the corner of her mouth.

"We should go somewhere a little more... private. And I should clean up a little. I smell like dusty books." She whispered against him, her arms encircling his broad shoulders. Her hands snaked into his wavy ginger hair, pulling him into a deep kiss.

"Alright, 'Mione. But let it be known that I love the smell of dusty books." A little breathless, and more than a little reluctant, he let go of her and gathered her things. He hefted her backpack easily. Odd, it seemed heavier last time he carried it. Much heavier. "Guess."

"6th floor, in that dark alcove just off the south staircase." Hermione said matter-of-factly.

"Spot on! I knew there was a reason I kept you around." He broke into a broad grin, catching her hand and entwining his fingers with hers as they made their way up to the tower.

A good while later, Ron was sitting up with his back against the granite wall and Hermione was in turn sitting between his legs with her back against his chest. She was small enough that he could completely surround her; it was how they usually sat after a rather heated snog. It had been quite a while since they'd been to the 6th floor.

With a small smile, he looked over at the far corner of the alcove. It was where she took him after their first Hogsmeade date. It had been an intensely awkward situation, when she asked him when he was going to take her on a date, or even out for a snog. He had been rather clueless, since she was his first girlfriend. He couldn't be expected to ask Fred and George, or Merlin forbid, Percy for advice on this sort of thing, could he? Her forwardness at the time still amazed him.

His chin rested on her shoulder, and when he spoke the warm breath on her ear caused a tremor to run up her spine. "Do you remember the first time we met, 'Mione?" He turned his head slightly, burying his face in her hair and kissing her neck softly.

"Of course I do, Ron. What brought this up?" She found his hand and grasped it firmly, encouraging him to speak his mind.

Ron smiled wistfully, kissing her knuckles as she held his hand. "Just reminiscing, that's all. Hogwarts Express, first year. I was a scared little boy, and it didn't help that Fred and George told me that I'd have to fight a troll during the sorting ceremony. Never mind the fact that we did fight a troll that year, how's that for irony. Faded, 3rd generation hand-me-down robes, a broken wand held together with at least half a roll of spell-o-tape...

"I can still remember going through each of the compartments, some half empty, and hearing again and again that they were full up. It seemed like I wasn't good enough to be around people like them. So I found an empty compartment and spent a rather long time thinking that this was a glimpse of the year to come, sitting alone while everyone else had fun with their friends.

"And then you came in, looking for Neville's toad. 'Haven't seen it', I mumbled." Ron recited with a grin.

Hermione said in a slightly higher-pitched voice, "You've got dirt on your nose, just there. Did you know?"

Ron nodded, adding, "And then you made to leave, and I don't know what possessed me but I couldn't let you walk out like that. I mean, nobody else wanted to talk to me and you didn't seem to notice that I had less money than Merlin's ghost. Didn't notice or didn't care, but I wasn't picky. I just couldn't sit alone in that damned compartment anymore."

"Oh I noticed, but I had never seen so many wizards my age. I suppose I was a little overwhelmed with it all..." Hermione trailed off, smiling at old memories.

"Well, being the beacon of chivalry that I am," Ron declared pompously, "I couldn't let a woman go alone on her dangerous quest to seek out and bring to justice the bloodthirsty fiend known as Trevor!"

Hermione playfully hit Ron on the shoulder and articulated flatly, "Because Trevor was such a menace, wasn't he."

Ron nodded sagely into the back of her neck, "I don't think you could have survived the encounter with all of your limbs intact. He was a biter!"

Hermione snorted.