Author’s Notes: Thank you for reading and taking the time to review! And thank you, fyrechild, for being my beta reader.
For those sites who take issue with authors who don’t use Ginny’s real name: I do not call her Ginevra, but there’s a reason for that -- other than this has been a work in progress for longer than we’ve had that information. In this fic, her name is Guinevere; since it’s a plot point, I’m letting it stand.
And since you’ve all been so patient, I’m giving you another nice, long chapter to devour. :-D I hope it’s to your liking. And once again, I’ve chosen a Pink Floyd song for the title. (I just love them!)
CHAPTER 20 – Wish You Were Here
Poppy watched as the fire flared up then all but extinguished itself. But when no one came through to meet her, she blinked once then did a double-take into the hearth. Hadn’t he grabbed my hand? she thought, wondering if she had only imagined feeling the sweat from his palm.
The Healer carefully reached back into the fireplace. She rummaged around, as if she extended her arm far enough back, she would actually find Draco waiting there, grasp onto him, and pull him through. It was so simple that the poor woman was dumbfounded as to why it hadn’t worked.
“Well,” Narcissa demanded in a half-whisper, as if the chore of speaking were draining her, “where is he?” Poppy turned to the bed of her solitary patient and saw that the woman’s eyes were closed now. Those cool, haunted eyes which Poppy knew so well. “Is he coming?” she asked her.
“Narcis— Mrs. Malfoy,” she began then stuttered, “I-I’m not sure what happened. One minute he was there, reaching out to me. Our hands touched, and then the next -- h-he was -- he was just . . . gone.”
“Liar,” she sneered. “If you touched him and didn’t bring him here, then you must have let go!”
“No, I’m sure I didn’t,” she assured the boy’s mother. “Perhaps they were called back. I’ll ask Professor Snape.”
But on checking with the Potions Master, he said that Draco and Ginny had both left his office by Floo and were destined for the hospital wing. As he spoke, he tore off a small piece of parchment and scrawled four words on it:
Magno Imperiatum
Lucius Malfoy
With a grim expression on his face, he handed the note to Poppy. She read it silently then drew in a sharp breath. The unexpectedly loud gasp caused Narcissa to stir slightly and let out a soft moan. Severus raised one eyebrow, and curled his lip a bit.
Slipping the note in her front pocket, Poppy tutted, “Do calm down, Mrs. Malfoy. I’ll get a house-elf to go and find your son.”
Shortly after requesting one, Dobby soon arrived. Bowing low to the woman he respected so much for having repeatedly set Harry Potter to rights -- mending his wounds, restoring his bones, and whatnot. His nose practically touching the floor, he asked politely, “What does the honorable Madam Pomfrey wish of Dobby?”
“Oh, Dobby, stop it,” she laughed gently. “I need your help in locating someone.” He rose, his overlarge eyes opening even wider. She went on, “It seems that two students have gone missing while traveling through the internal Floo system: Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy. You remember the Malfoys, don’t you, Dobby? Mrs. Malfoy is just over there, taking a rest,” she said, pointing to wife of the elf’s former owner.
“Yes, ma’am, Dobby remembers,” he said, doing his best to hide a shudder. Then he promised, “Dobby will do his best to help Miss Weezy. And young Master Malfoy.”
Madam Pomfrey suggested he begin his search in the Gryffindor common room, or perhaps in Slytherin -- although she secretly doubted that Draco’s housemates would be of much help. Dobby bowed once more, then with loud Crack!, he disappeared and began his search of the expansive castle.
A short while later up in Gryffindor tower, a knock on the sixth-year boys’ dorm startled the only two residents who were there.
“Wh-Who is it?” Ron asked nervously.
“Dobby the house-elf,” came the reply through the latched door.
Both boys sighed and rolled their eyes. Harry murmured, “He’s probably just here to bring us more socks, or to tell me which elves have agreed to join Dumbledore’s Army.”
“Hasn’t he already told you that -- what, eight times?” Ron asked, concentrating on the chess board that lay between them.
Harry rose sluggishly from their game and answered the door. “Come in, Dobby.” He was actually quite glad, since Ron was smoking him like a cheap cigar, to quote a muggle phrase. The truth was, they were both supposed to be studying, which was why they were hiding in their room in the first place; Hermione would have boiled them in oil if she’d caught them ignoring the Advanced Herbology notes she had copied down for them. After all, she had reminded them, their end of term tests were starting in just two weeks.
Dobby seemed a bit anxious, reminding Harry of the first time he’d met the little fellow back at Privet Drive. “Dobby?” he asked concernedly. “What is it?”
The elf hedged another moment then finally spoke. “Dobby needs to ask a very serious question of Harry Potter and Ron Weezy.”
“Shoot,” Ron replied casually, never looking up from the game. It had dragged on for so long now that the pieces were starting to get antsy. Finally, he commanded, “Knight to D-6.” The tiny horse reared up then trampled one of Harry’s rooks. As the castle-shaped piece crumbled under the beast’s hooves, the knight ferociously drove his sword into its rubble, claiming victory.
“Madam Pomfrey has sent Dobby to ask if Harry Potter or Ron Weezy has . . has seen Miss Weezy, Ron Weezy’s sister,” he said slowly, expecting to be pummeled, as if he had lost her himself. When the boys only looked at him blankly, he elaborated carefully. “Well, Miss Weezy was down in Professor Snape’s office. When she tried to Floo to the hospital wing, she . . . disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Ron gasped, his eyes getting nearly as large as Dobby’s.
Harry, who looked nearly as alarmed as his friend did, asked, “Do you think she didn’t make her destination clear?” But that didn’t sound very likely, not even to Harry. “And you're certain she’s not in the fifth-year girls’ dormitory?” Dobby nodded his head, his ears flapping wildly. “Then where could she be?”
That gave Ron an idea. He exchanged a glance with Harry, giving him a sly wink. “Thanks, Dobby,” he said, “we’ll take it from here,” then tried to shuffle him out the door.
But Dobby was adamant. “Please, Ron Weezy, sir -- Madam Pomfrey, she needs to talk to sirs about this! Someone else was with her and is missing, too!” Ignoring his pleas, they assured him they would be at the hospital wing in five minutes. Ron continued shoving him out into the hallway, practically slamming the door on the elf's spindly fingers.
“Quick, Harry -- the map!” he commanded. On activating it, they swiftly surveyed the school grounds. There was no sign of Ginny; stunned, Harry let the aged parchment fall to the floor.
Then he had an awful thought. “Ron, where else could the Floo network take someone? I mean, your home is on it—”
“Maybe. Our connection doesn’t reach this far.” At Harry’s blank look, Ron explained, “It costs loads of Galleons for your connection to go farther than 100 miles, and using a gateway or connection path can be astronomically expensive. Otherwise, it’s just the cost of the Floo powder.” He sat on his bed, silently staring at the tops of his shoes and pondering where his sister might be.
Meanwhile, Harry thought more about what the elf had said. “What did Dobby mean, she wasn’t alone? And that someone else was missing too?”
Ron shrugged, “S’pose she must have been with a friend. And now they’re both gone.”
“But who? Why didn’t he tell us that? Because that could have something to do with where she is, especially if her friend spoke the destination.” Then he offered quietly, “Maybe—”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe she’s just as shocked to find herself there -- wherever there is -- as we are to know that she’s gone.” He looked at his friend and said solemnly, “Ron. We have to find her.”
“We can’t go to her, Harry. It might be a . . a trap,” he suggested bleakly. Then he said softly, “Remember what happened with Sirius.”
The wheels in Harry’s mind started to turn, thinking about what little they knew. Down in Snape’s office. In the dungeons.
Close to -- oh, my God, no.
When Ron saw his friend suddenly go pale, he got a quizzical look and said, “Harry? What is it?”
Harry jumped up, Banished the remains of their game, paying no heed to the little pieces’ shouts of protest. Latching onto the map once more, he glanced over it quickly, looking for a dot with the name of a certain blond Slytherin they both utterly loathed.
No sign of him, either. Harry’s heart sunk, thinking the worst. “Ron, listen to me. I may know who she’s with, maybe even where she is. And if I’m right -- we have to hurry.”
He dashed out of the room and headed for the stairs, Ron trailing in his wake. “Harry, wait! What are you talking about?” They were down to the fourth landing when his long arm reached out and was able to make contact with the tail-end of his friend’s robes. He grabbed hold and gave them a sharp tug, yanking him completely around. As both boys panted to catch their breath, Ron implored, “What is it, Harry? Who’s she with?”
Harry started to answer him right away then he hesitated for a bit. But then he decided -- however much this might hurt Ron -- he had to know. Ginny’s life might depend on them . . both of them, for they worked better together than alone.
He murmured a name. A name that Ron hated.
“Draco Malfoy.”
Panicked, his eyes flew open. “What?!” he practically shouted. A few seconds later, Ron accused irritably, “Hang on -- I know what you’re up to, Harry Potter!”
“Up to? What do you mean, ‘up to’?”
“Just because you wanted to date her and she turned you down -- now you’re making up empty, ridiculous lies to pay her back? What will you stoop to next?” he asked with hostility, his face flushed with anger.
Harry exhaled noisily as his face dropped into his hands. Massaging his forehead and temples, he said rather testily, “Ron, I am sorry you have to hear this from me, but, well -- it’s become rather common knowledge that your sister and Draco Malfoy have been, well, what you might call -- an item for a while now.” He added in a soft mutter, almost to himself, “Well, seeing as Neville knows about it . . I believe it’s safe to call it ‘common knowledge’.”
But by then, Ron was beyond listening; his fingers slowly curled into tight fists as he ground his teeth. Thinking momentarily of Hermione and how disappointed she would be if he lost control, he tried desperately to calm himself.
He lost the battle.
Launching himself at Harry, he wrapped his hands around the boy’s throat and tightened them against his wind pipe. Harry was soon gasping for air as he struggled to remove Ron’s hands, but they were clenched too tightly about his neck. He reached for Ron’s face, trying to smack some sense into him, but the Keeper’s height and longer reach gave him the advantage.
Meanwhile, a small, curious crowd was starting to gather at the bottom of the stairs and in the hallway. Younger boys were peeking out of their dorm rooms, anxious to catch a glimpse of the first fight any of them had ever seen break out in Gryffindor tower. The two friends seemed not to notice.
“Get off me, Ron! We’ve got to go and help Ginny!” Harry managed to choke out.
But Ron would not be moved. “That can wait until after I kill you -- you jealous, conniving prick!!”
As each of them wrestled for control, Ron soon had Harry completely backed up against the wall. When his hands started to get clammy, his grip loosened slightly, and Harry managed to take in a few gulps of air. Having had years of practice at wriggling out of Dudley’s fat, piggy fingers, he finally managed to wrench his way out of the stranglehold, finding himself oddly grateful to the obese git. He slipped away deftly; Ron, still in full denial and blinded by rage, came at him again.
Dancing like a lightweight boxer, Harry stepped aside, and Ron ran smack into the wall. The Boy Who Lived seized the moment; he snatched his friend by the robes and spun him around. He punched him with all he had, sending him reeling across the hall and most likely giving him a black eye. Ron struck him a few seconds later, sending Harry’s glasses flying off his face and his body hurtling into the nearest door.
Out of the crowd, a clear voice rang out.
“Petrificus Totalus!”
Harry and Ron fell to the floor together, solid as if they had been turned to stone. People turned, openmouthed and wide-eyed, and stared at Neville Longbottom. As he pocketed his wand, he exhaled, “I’ve wanted to do that for years. Felt really good, too.”
Hermione soon came running up the stairs, a book in one hand, her wand in the other, and worry in her eyes.
“Damnit!” she swore, barely bothering to conceal her annoyance. A collective gasp from their young audience caused Hermione to turn and glare at them, and the group dispersed quickly. Then she chastised their hapless classmate, “Neville, what were you thinking?”
“Someone had to stop them,” he replied unapologetically. “I thought they might kill each other.”
She sighed then muttered the counterspell, adding an Ennervate just for good measure. Running a hand over each of their foreheads, she asked her two best friends in the world, “Are you two all right?” The boys looked at each other then looked down sheepishly as Hermione frowned. “What was that all about, anyway?”
Harry retrieved his glasses and repaired them. As he cleaned the sweat off of the lenses, he muttered, “Ginny.”
“And the company she keeps,” Ron added with mild disgust.
“Oh,” she said, “so Dobby did find you? I didn’t know where to tell him you were.”
Her boyfriend sat up straighter and looked at her. “What?”
“Well, he cornered me in the common room. I was just on my way to come get you two.” Her tone switched from concerned friend to that of harpy in two seconds flat. “And where do I find you? Trying to choke the life out of your best friend!” Sounding eerily like a cross between their head of house and the Weasley matriarch, even to herself, she succeeded in making them both feel completely ridiculous, which was her intent.
Good, she thought.
“I feel so stupid,” Ron admitted. “I’m sorry Harry.”
“Yeah . . me too, mate. I’m sorry I had to tell you. Thought you might react that way,” he muttered.
“A prefect in a fist fight -- with his best friend, no less. Never been so embarrassed in all my life,” Ron mumbled, his head hung low. “Now I’ll never be Head Boy.”
Hermione said wryly, “Oh, I don’t know, Ron. Malfoy’s sure to blow it somehow. There are still two terms and several Quidditch matches left.”
“She’s right, mate,” Harry agreed. “He’s bound to fuck something up.”
Ron nodded as he chuckled softly. Then his girlfriend reminded them, “Look, we really need to go. That is if you . . want my help.” When she showed them the book she was carrying, both of them recognized it instantly: It was the diary that Bill had given to Ginny.
They gladly accepted her offer. The boys apologized to each other once more and shook hands, and the three friends began their descent to the common room. Harry started to ask Hermione why she had brought Ginny’s diary, but before she could answer, they came into full view of the common room. Cheers and raucous laughter immediately erupted, and a few of their more obnoxious housemates just had to throw in their two knuts worth.
Lavender teased, “Aww, Hermione, you should have left ‘em like that!” Parvati glanced up from the tea leaves she was reading. Both girls giggled hysterically, as if Lav had actually said something funny.
“Oy, Weasley!” Seamus Finnegan harassed him, “Nice shiner!” Both he and Dean Thomas broke into fits of laughter as they turned back to their homework. Ron was blushing to the very ends of his hair.
Hermione, who was not the least amused by their antics, said slowly, “Ha, ha.” She turned her wand toward their table, surreptitiously spilling jet-black ink all over Seamus’s half-written Potions essay with a charm she had stumbled upon before she started her first year at Hogwarts.
Annoyed, he turned and gaped at her then shouted indignantly, “Hey!”
Hermione blinked innocently and daintily covered her mouth with her fingers. She gasped, “Oh, how unfortunate! Well, Seamus -- luckily, you are a wizard and not a toad; surely, you can come up with a basic cleaning spell.”
When he glared at her, she looked back at him, unfazed, and said curtly, “Good night.” One by one, the friends stepped into the fireplace then disappeared.
They were soon picking themselves up off the floor of Madam Pomfrey’s domain, Hermione dusting the ashes and soot off of all of their robes. She looked up, surprised to see that the Healer had three people assisting her. Professors Flitwick and Lupin greeted the students with a nod. But neither Madam Pomfrey -- who had extraordinary care in her eyes, perhaps even tears -- nor the tall man with the red ponytail spared a glance from the patient whose bedside they were hovering near.
Hermione asked in an undertone, “What’s Bill doing here?”
“Dunno,” Ron replied dumbly as he gawked openly at his brother. When Bill stretched to work out a kink in his neck, the sixth-years could see the patient’s face more clearly; surprisingly, she was neither student nor teacher, but she was quite beautiful. He was leaning over—
“Isn’t that . . Mrs. Malfoy?” Hermione hissed.
Harry replied, “Yeah. Couldn’t miss that sneer; gods, she even has it in her sleep.”
“Who could blame her, considering who her husband is and that she has to sleep with him? Well -- she used to, anyway,” Ron muttered quietly. Waiting for Madam Pomfrey to turn away from her patient, he wondered aloud, “What’s Malfoy’s mum doing here, anyway?”
Hermione had her own theories, but when Harry jeered, “I don’t know. You’re the diviner; you tell us,” she simply rolled her eyes, exasperated.
“Will you two stop it?” she sighed. “I’m guessing that Ginny was, or rather, is, with Malfoy, and they were coming here to see his mum. But what’s puzzling me is . . why would she be here at all—?”
Suddenly, images of that morning flashed through her mind: The late owl at breakfast, loping toward the Slytherin table, nearly beaten to a bloody pulp; the package it was carrying; Draco asking her about UCD-I in Advanced Potions class.
And she herself, having come so close to telling him what it did and how it worked.
Her hand rose involuntarily to her lips as she let out a gasp. She looked at the figure resting on the small bed. Had his mother taken the UCD-I, and if so, was this the outcome? To be so utterly drained, that all she couldn’t keep her head up? And what did that portend?
Could she have overdosed? Then her mind silently chastised, I told them they should have separated them into two smaller vials. But nooo, Snape had that all worked out!
As the trio looked on, Bill’s presence suddenly spoke volumes to Hermione.
“Well, she obviously needs to have a curse broken. And,” she added, “I’m guessing, a rather nasty one -- if it couldn’t be resolved between Madam Pomfrey and Professors Lupin and Flitwick,” three people she had the utmost respect for.
Returning to her thoughts and silent fears that she may have been partly responsible -- well, if not responsible, she certainly could have been more helpful, maybe even have kept this from happening in the first place . .
Reeling from the implications, the self-doubt, and an unhealthy dose of guilt, Hermione wasn’t really listening when Professor Lupin suggested something about contacting Fred or George for help. Ron, however, was listening. Intently.
He sidled up to the adults then cleared his throat. “Professor Lupin? I hope you don’t mind my asking—” he began. Lupin looked up and greeted him casually. “But . . well, Fred and George are pretty good at putting people in the hospital, but how could either of them help someone who’s already there?”
“We’re just going to use their Floo connection.” Then he added in a low voice, “By the way, Ron -- I’m glad you’re here; I need to talk to you when I’m done with Fred.”
“Well -- if it has anything to do with Ginny . . I-I know,” Ron stammered nervously.
“Oh,” was all the professor said. “Fine.” When Ron’s eyes clouded, he added, “Then you already know she’s missing? And that she was last seen using Professor Snape’s fireplace to Floo here with Draco Malfoy? Only instead of arriving here . . they didn’t. No one knows where they are. Except -- well, except the party responsible for their ‘misrouting’, as it were.”
Ron’s eyes turned to Narcissa Malfoy and narrowed slightly. His mind was jumping to the worst possible conclusions, as he silently accused her son of all sorts of atrocities against his baby sister. Just then, a sleepy, freckle-faced imp appeared in the flames, drawing Lupin’s and Ron’s attention back to the fireplace.
Fred yawned, groaning, “’Sup, Remus?”
The professor cringed slightly, apologizing, “I’m sorry, Fred -- were you already in bed?”
“Tha’s all right,” he slurred. “Do you need one of us to connect you? Where to this time?”
“Yes, please; I must speak with your mother or father. Are either of them at home?”
Fred shrugged casually. “As far as we know. They don’t—” he let out another yawn and stretched his arms toward the ceiling, “don’t always tell us of their comings and goings.”
Ron could barely sit still. He yelled at his brother, “Don’t tell you? What’s going on?”
“Oh, ickle Ronniekins,” Fred sighed. “Go on back to your little room with your little friends and play with your little wand. Me and George, we’ve had a long night of binging . . and well, he’s smashed, and I can already feel a massive hangover coming on. Ah, but it’s the price we pay as inventors.”
Remus gave the young proprietor a mildly disgusted smirk then suggested to Ron that he go and wait with his friends. He did. By some miracle, Fred had the wherewithal to complete the connection to the Burrow and contact his parents, who, as it turned out, had been resting for quite some time.
“Here you go, Lupin,” Fred said lazily, “My father -- or so they tell me -- Arthur Weasley, at your bleeding service. I’m off to bed now . . Merlin, I’m exhausted. G’night, all.” As his face faded, a girlish giggle could be heard as he slurred, “One more time? Alright then, if you insissst—”
Arthur gave Fred a glare of disgust and Remus an apologetic smile. Ron simply rolled his eyes. For the next few minutes, the two men conferred via their Floo connection about Ginny. Mr. Weasley checked the family clock and read the marking above Ginny’s name with a heavy sigh.
“Lost.” He looked at Lupin and said, “Well, on the bright side, that does mean we have time. At least it doesn’t say ‘Mortal Peril’, so we can assume she’s safe. For now, anyway.” He ended the call, promising to let the school know immediately if her status changed and requesting that Lupin call the minute he had any news.
Bill finally turned his head. Looking past Remus, he squinted his eyes and said, “Is that my little brother and his friends?” When he saw that it was, he called out, “Oy, Hermione! Harry, get over here! You too, Ron.”
Feeling slighted, Ron muttered, “Great, I’m always at the bottom of the dung heap.” Hermione clicked her tongue then slugged him teasingly on the shoulder. He winced slightly. “Hey,” he whined, “that’s the one I hurt in Quidditch practice the other day, remember?” She wrapped her arm around his waist, and all his aches and pains, including his bruised ego, were soon forgotten.
“Hermione,” Bill asked, “do you remember that charm we discussed at the Burrow, back before the beginning of term?” Hermione, ever eager to help, not to mention, to show off her skills, particularly when it came to Charms, beamed as she nodded her head.
“And you’ve brought the book?” he asked.
“What the—” Ron started to ask.
“Got it right here,” she said with pride, holding Ginny’s diary out in front of her.
“Good. Now to cast this spell, you run your wand along the outer edges of the book. Draw an imaginary line around all four edges of the diary in a clockwise manner and then say, ‘Locatus Guinevere Molly Weasley.’ ”
“That’s it?” Harry spoke up. “A wand, four words, and a magical diary can tell us where she is?” He looked at the book briefly then asked, “What if this . . falls into the wrong hands?”
Bill said, “Not to worry, Harry. Anyone who casts this charm has to know her full name -- which not many people do. Most of them think it’s Virginia, or maybe even Ginevra, if you can imagine. Besides,” he added, “if you don’t have the best of intentions for her, you can’t even hold it. It would literally scorch the skin right off a Death Eater’s fingers.”
The outer cover of the book unlatched. It opened itself so suddenly that it got knocked out of her hands and fell to the floor. It lay there, open to a page adorned only with today’s date written in Ginny’s handwriting. Hermione picked the book up gingerly and placed it on the nearest hospital bed.
There were no lines on the page; just a vague, colorless image, gray and blurry, of what looked like an inside view of an abandoned house. All they could make out was a rather fuzzy picture of a dimly-lit room with a long table and a solitary chair. The walls looked to be made of stone, and although no one recognized it, the place had a strangely familiar feel to it.
The three friends crowded around the book and studied the image, hoping that by getting closer, it would come into better focus. While they tried to make out what it was they were looking at, Bill stepped up and removed his cloak. He asked them nonchalantly, “Well, kids? Where are they?”
Ron grunted in frustration, “How the bloody hell are we supposed to know?”
“Temper, young one,” his oldest brother taunted him. Then he assured him, “We will find her.”
Ron had nothing to say to his insufferable arrogance. Hell, the guy had gotten Fleur Delacour to marry him, for crying out loud.
“Go on, take another look. Think. Figure it out. I’ve got to go over and help Madam Pomfrey with her patient.” Ron looked warily from his brother to Draco’s mum. Then he watched as Bill strolled away confidently.
Nothing ever shakes him up. Sometimes, Bill just made him sick with envy.
Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione were debating hotly about what the image actually was. Ron peered around his girlfriend’s bushy hair, moving it back over her shoulder and scooting his body closer to hers. She looked at him briefly; she gave him a light smile but did not stop arguing with Harry.
“No, Harry, that can’t be the home of a Death Eater. Most of them are shamefully rich, and it’s not nearly fancy enough.”
“It could be the servants’ area of the house,” Harry offered. “I still say it’s Malfoy Mansion. Or whatever they call their sprawling, palatial estate for three.”
Ron agreed with Harry, saying through gritted teeth, “Definitely. I’m sure he’d take her there, thinking he could have his way with her.” He pressed his fist into his open hand and wrapped his fingers around it, saying, “If he did, I’ll strangle that pointy-faced little bastard -- if I ever see him alive again,” he added with finality. “Ginny might just kill him first.”
Harry chuckled bitterly, “A little late for that, isn’t it Ron?” Then he turned back to Hermione and went on, “It could be the Parkinsons’, you know. Or maybe . . wherever Voldemort’s hiding out these days.” Oddly enough, Ron didn’t even flinch at the mention of ‘You-Know-Who’s’ name.
Hermione confessed, “I don’t know. What do you think, Ron?” she asked, trying to break the tension and end this futile argument.
But Ron was completely silent. He was too busy trying to digest what Harry had just said. A little late for that, isn’t it? What had he meant by that?
He swallowed as the blood ran from his face. Suddenly, he found it difficult to breathe. “Harry,” he said weakly, “are you saying that . . that Lucius Malfoy was right? In th-that vision I had. You know what I mean?”
Exasperated, Harry took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and asked in a tired voice, “I’m sorry, Ron -- you lost me. What ‘vision’ would that be?”
As his friends looked up at him, he started to feel mildly uncomfortable. Neither of them actually believed in divination, much less that he had a gift for it. He looked down at the book and saw something . .
Was it their first useful clue?
The walls at the back of the image, as well as part of the dresser, and the table -- they were all sort of . . . moving. Or rather, the impression of something, most likely a person, seemed to be blurring parts of them. This wasn’t invisibility; it looked more like . . camouflage.
Harry gasped, “Wait, that’s a Disillusionment Charm! I’ve been under one myself. They’re creepy but very effective.” As they stared at it, the image became a bit clearer, then it blurred again. Still, no one knew what house they were looking into or what this clue really signified. All they knew was that Ginny might have been followed and could be in even more danger.
Ron’s face turned to one of horror. “So you’re saying that someone’s there with them? And they can’t see him -- or her? Who would want to follow them?”
Harry and Hermione forgot all about their argument, as well as their friend’s misguided belief that he could actually foretell things. Their eyes were drawn to what he was staring at; they studied it intently.
“By the height of the outline,” Harry observed, “it’s got to be a man. Or maybe Madame Maxime,” he added half-jokingly. When the figure made the mistake of turning around quickly, they could see his hair, which appeared to be rather long, as it flew over his shoulder.
Ron thought it had to be Lucius Malfoy, an opinion he readily shared. “But why would he be sneaking up his own son?” he wondered aloud. Hermione said nothing.
“But he’s still in prison, isn’t he? They couldn’t be -- at Azkaban, could they?” Harry half-whispered, the fear apparent in his voice. He thought back to that night on the Hogwarts Express, long ago, when he and his friends had faced a Dementor for the first time. Ron said that Ginny’s face had gone pale; she, too, had remembered something horribly painful, buried in her past.
“No,” Hermione answered softly, pointing to the book. “Look -- there are no bars. And that’s much too large for a cell, according to Sirius.”
Harry scoffed bitterly, “But with Malfoy -- who knows what accommodations he was able to ‘appropriate’ for himself?”
“No, this isn’t a prison.” She eyed the page closely. Suddenly, she drew in a sharp breath. “But for one man, it was.” When both boys looked at her oddly, she explained as if it were as plain as the nose on their faces, “Sirius!” She smiled, impressed by her own cleverness.
Ron, as usual, was without a clue. “Huh? But you said it couldn’t be Azkaban—”
“It’s not! How thick are you? Don’t you recognize the table, that dresser?! We’ve been there, eaten there -- for God’s sake, we had Christmas together there!”
“Of course,” Harry sighed, inexplicably relieved. “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.”
So Ginny was at Sirius Black’s family home. That didn’t sound so bad. And yet—
“Hey, Bill!” Ron shouted, interrupting his brother, who was right in the middle of a difficult spell meant to break some of the nastiest, most long-standing curses. The results this time were less than stellar.
“What?!” he barked back impatiently, all of his ‘cool’ having flown out the window.
Ron was taken aback at this uncharacteristic reply. “Nothing,” he mumbled, “it’s just -- well, we’ve found out where Ginny is.” Bill merely raised his shoulders indicating that he should tell him, so he did. “She’s at Sirius’s old house.”
Remus smiled and congratulated them. “Good work. We can have someone from the Order there in less than 10 minutes.” He contacted Tonks back at Ministry headquarters and explained what had happened. She couldn’t go herself, as she was finalizing Bellatrix LeStrange’s incarceration proceedings and setting her up to be delivered to Azkaban to await trial.
She remarked, “Unless, of course, Fudge has her Kissed directly for perpetrating numerous Unforgivable Curses, like he did with Barty Crouch, Jr. Surely, the Ministry could gather a good deal of information from such a high-ranking Death Eater -- and a woman, no less. I mean, they must know that giving her to the Dementors right away would be a colossal mistake; not that Fudge hasn’t made any of those in his career,” she added with a sneer.
When their conversation had ended, Lupin nudged Bill. Both men turned to go back to help Madam Pomfrey, who had made slight progress but was still nowhere near finished.
Harry couldn’t stop himself; he felt he had to say something about what else they’d seen. After all, Ginny’s life could be in danger. “Wait! Professor Lupin, Bill . . I know you’re busy just now, but I think Ginny -- and Malfoy -- may be in danger.”
Bill narrowed his eyes. “What makes you say that?”
“We . . saw someone, in the diary. The outline of a person, most likely a man, presumably using a Disillusionment Charm. And if we’re right -- it’s someone who should definitely not be at Number 12, Grimmauld Place.”
“Who do you think it is?” Lupin asked seriously.
Harry looked at the men darkly. “We think . . it was Lucius Malfoy.”
“Bloody hell,” Bill breathed. “Hang on -- I thought he was in Azkaban!”
“Apparently, he’s on holiday at the moment,” Ron sniffed.
“But if he’s escaped, wouldn’t we have at least heard about it?” Bill pointed out. “True, he’s not as big-time news as Sirius Black was, but still -- he’s not exactly Father Christmas.”
“Maybe he’s an unregistered Animagus, or . . or . . . something,” Ron suggested, hoping he’d actually stumble across the answer before Hermione did. She was oddly silent.
Harry bit his lip nervously, anxious for the go-ahead to dash off and rescue Ginny. If she preferred Malfoy to him . . well, that was her misfortune; but when that bastard broke her heart, Harry swore to himself he would be there for her, to help pick up the pieces . .
Emboldened by his hope for a second chance with her, he urged them, “Well, if Draco and Lucius Malfoy are there, you know she doesn’t stand a chance; come on -- let’s go!!”
“She’s stronger than you know,” Hermione murmured quietly. They were the first words she’d spoken since both boys had concluded that the person whose image neither of them could quite make out was Draco’s father. “And she is safe.”
“How do you know?” Ron sneered. “What if that is Malfoy’s dad? He’d kill her without batting an eye.”
“Because—” Hermione’s throat constricting her words, she insisted, “just tell Tonks that it’s not Lucius Malfoy and not to have anyone go charging in there just now!”
Harry asked her point-blank, “Who is it, then?”
“Please, just trust me; it’s a friend of theirs -- a friend of his,” she corrected.
But this declaration caused even more confusion and concern than if she’d said nothing at all.
“Why does that not comfort me?” Ron snarled. “Oh, yeah, I remember; because all his friends are -- oh, how shall I put it -- evil, lowlife scum?!”
She pleaded with her friends. “Believe me, they are safe. Please don’t make me say anything more.”
Yet Ron, stubborn as a badger, would not give up. “Who is it, Hermione?” he persisted. “You know, don’t you?” She nodded, so he pressed, “Then why won’t you tell us?”
She hedged once more. But knowing that she could trust these people with her life, and even though they really had no need to know . . they could never tell another living soul, so she wouldn’t really be breaking her promise. She struggled with her conscience, with the bond of secrecy; the power that Professor Dumbledore had entrusted to her alone.
She looked into Ron’s eyes; seeing the worry and tears in them, she finally relented.
“All right. If you must know . . it’s Blaise Zabini.”
~End of Chapter~
Notes: Told ya he’d be back . . . ! So do your happy dance, then review!!
P.S. Sorry, no Draco or Ginny in this chapter, but I was starting to miss the rest of the cast. I promise, I’ll more than make up for it in the next go-round. ;-)
For those sites who take issue with authors who don’t use Ginny’s real name: I do not call her Ginevra, but there’s a reason for that -- other than this has been a work in progress for longer than we’ve had that information. In this fic, her name is Guinevere; since it’s a plot point, I’m letting it stand.
And since you’ve all been so patient, I’m giving you another nice, long chapter to devour. :-D I hope it’s to your liking. And once again, I’ve chosen a Pink Floyd song for the title. (I just love them!)
CHAPTER 20 – Wish You Were Here
Poppy watched as the fire flared up then all but extinguished itself. But when no one came through to meet her, she blinked once then did a double-take into the hearth. Hadn’t he grabbed my hand? she thought, wondering if she had only imagined feeling the sweat from his palm.
The Healer carefully reached back into the fireplace. She rummaged around, as if she extended her arm far enough back, she would actually find Draco waiting there, grasp onto him, and pull him through. It was so simple that the poor woman was dumbfounded as to why it hadn’t worked.
“Well,” Narcissa demanded in a half-whisper, as if the chore of speaking were draining her, “where is he?” Poppy turned to the bed of her solitary patient and saw that the woman’s eyes were closed now. Those cool, haunted eyes which Poppy knew so well. “Is he coming?” she asked her.
“Narcis— Mrs. Malfoy,” she began then stuttered, “I-I’m not sure what happened. One minute he was there, reaching out to me. Our hands touched, and then the next -- h-he was -- he was just . . . gone.”
“Liar,” she sneered. “If you touched him and didn’t bring him here, then you must have let go!”
“No, I’m sure I didn’t,” she assured the boy’s mother. “Perhaps they were called back. I’ll ask Professor Snape.”
But on checking with the Potions Master, he said that Draco and Ginny had both left his office by Floo and were destined for the hospital wing. As he spoke, he tore off a small piece of parchment and scrawled four words on it:
Lucius Malfoy
With a grim expression on his face, he handed the note to Poppy. She read it silently then drew in a sharp breath. The unexpectedly loud gasp caused Narcissa to stir slightly and let out a soft moan. Severus raised one eyebrow, and curled his lip a bit.
Slipping the note in her front pocket, Poppy tutted, “Do calm down, Mrs. Malfoy. I’ll get a house-elf to go and find your son.”
Shortly after requesting one, Dobby soon arrived. Bowing low to the woman he respected so much for having repeatedly set Harry Potter to rights -- mending his wounds, restoring his bones, and whatnot. His nose practically touching the floor, he asked politely, “What does the honorable Madam Pomfrey wish of Dobby?”
“Oh, Dobby, stop it,” she laughed gently. “I need your help in locating someone.” He rose, his overlarge eyes opening even wider. She went on, “It seems that two students have gone missing while traveling through the internal Floo system: Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy. You remember the Malfoys, don’t you, Dobby? Mrs. Malfoy is just over there, taking a rest,” she said, pointing to wife of the elf’s former owner.
“Yes, ma’am, Dobby remembers,” he said, doing his best to hide a shudder. Then he promised, “Dobby will do his best to help Miss Weezy. And young Master Malfoy.”
Madam Pomfrey suggested he begin his search in the Gryffindor common room, or perhaps in Slytherin -- although she secretly doubted that Draco’s housemates would be of much help. Dobby bowed once more, then with loud Crack!, he disappeared and began his search of the expansive castle.
A short while later up in Gryffindor tower, a knock on the sixth-year boys’ dorm startled the only two residents who were there.
“Wh-Who is it?” Ron asked nervously.
“Dobby the house-elf,” came the reply through the latched door.
Both boys sighed and rolled their eyes. Harry murmured, “He’s probably just here to bring us more socks, or to tell me which elves have agreed to join Dumbledore’s Army.”
“Hasn’t he already told you that -- what, eight times?” Ron asked, concentrating on the chess board that lay between them.
Harry rose sluggishly from their game and answered the door. “Come in, Dobby.” He was actually quite glad, since Ron was smoking him like a cheap cigar, to quote a muggle phrase. The truth was, they were both supposed to be studying, which was why they were hiding in their room in the first place; Hermione would have boiled them in oil if she’d caught them ignoring the Advanced Herbology notes she had copied down for them. After all, she had reminded them, their end of term tests were starting in just two weeks.
Dobby seemed a bit anxious, reminding Harry of the first time he’d met the little fellow back at Privet Drive. “Dobby?” he asked concernedly. “What is it?”
The elf hedged another moment then finally spoke. “Dobby needs to ask a very serious question of Harry Potter and Ron Weezy.”
“Shoot,” Ron replied casually, never looking up from the game. It had dragged on for so long now that the pieces were starting to get antsy. Finally, he commanded, “Knight to D-6.” The tiny horse reared up then trampled one of Harry’s rooks. As the castle-shaped piece crumbled under the beast’s hooves, the knight ferociously drove his sword into its rubble, claiming victory.
“Madam Pomfrey has sent Dobby to ask if Harry Potter or Ron Weezy has . . has seen Miss Weezy, Ron Weezy’s sister,” he said slowly, expecting to be pummeled, as if he had lost her himself. When the boys only looked at him blankly, he elaborated carefully. “Well, Miss Weezy was down in Professor Snape’s office. When she tried to Floo to the hospital wing, she . . . disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Ron gasped, his eyes getting nearly as large as Dobby’s.
Harry, who looked nearly as alarmed as his friend did, asked, “Do you think she didn’t make her destination clear?” But that didn’t sound very likely, not even to Harry. “And you're certain she’s not in the fifth-year girls’ dormitory?” Dobby nodded his head, his ears flapping wildly. “Then where could she be?”
That gave Ron an idea. He exchanged a glance with Harry, giving him a sly wink. “Thanks, Dobby,” he said, “we’ll take it from here,” then tried to shuffle him out the door.
But Dobby was adamant. “Please, Ron Weezy, sir -- Madam Pomfrey, she needs to talk to sirs about this! Someone else was with her and is missing, too!” Ignoring his pleas, they assured him they would be at the hospital wing in five minutes. Ron continued shoving him out into the hallway, practically slamming the door on the elf's spindly fingers.
“Quick, Harry -- the map!” he commanded. On activating it, they swiftly surveyed the school grounds. There was no sign of Ginny; stunned, Harry let the aged parchment fall to the floor.
Then he had an awful thought. “Ron, where else could the Floo network take someone? I mean, your home is on it—”
“Maybe. Our connection doesn’t reach this far.” At Harry’s blank look, Ron explained, “It costs loads of Galleons for your connection to go farther than 100 miles, and using a gateway or connection path can be astronomically expensive. Otherwise, it’s just the cost of the Floo powder.” He sat on his bed, silently staring at the tops of his shoes and pondering where his sister might be.
Meanwhile, Harry thought more about what the elf had said. “What did Dobby mean, she wasn’t alone? And that someone else was missing too?”
Ron shrugged, “S’pose she must have been with a friend. And now they’re both gone.”
“But who? Why didn’t he tell us that? Because that could have something to do with where she is, especially if her friend spoke the destination.” Then he offered quietly, “Maybe—”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe she’s just as shocked to find herself there -- wherever there is -- as we are to know that she’s gone.” He looked at his friend and said solemnly, “Ron. We have to find her.”
“We can’t go to her, Harry. It might be a . . a trap,” he suggested bleakly. Then he said softly, “Remember what happened with Sirius.”
The wheels in Harry’s mind started to turn, thinking about what little they knew. Down in Snape’s office. In the dungeons.
Close to -- oh, my God, no.
When Ron saw his friend suddenly go pale, he got a quizzical look and said, “Harry? What is it?”
Harry jumped up, Banished the remains of their game, paying no heed to the little pieces’ shouts of protest. Latching onto the map once more, he glanced over it quickly, looking for a dot with the name of a certain blond Slytherin they both utterly loathed.
No sign of him, either. Harry’s heart sunk, thinking the worst. “Ron, listen to me. I may know who she’s with, maybe even where she is. And if I’m right -- we have to hurry.”
He dashed out of the room and headed for the stairs, Ron trailing in his wake. “Harry, wait! What are you talking about?” They were down to the fourth landing when his long arm reached out and was able to make contact with the tail-end of his friend’s robes. He grabbed hold and gave them a sharp tug, yanking him completely around. As both boys panted to catch their breath, Ron implored, “What is it, Harry? Who’s she with?”
Harry started to answer him right away then he hesitated for a bit. But then he decided -- however much this might hurt Ron -- he had to know. Ginny’s life might depend on them . . both of them, for they worked better together than alone.
He murmured a name. A name that Ron hated.
“Draco Malfoy.”
Panicked, his eyes flew open. “What?!” he practically shouted. A few seconds later, Ron accused irritably, “Hang on -- I know what you’re up to, Harry Potter!”
“Up to? What do you mean, ‘up to’?”
“Just because you wanted to date her and she turned you down -- now you’re making up empty, ridiculous lies to pay her back? What will you stoop to next?” he asked with hostility, his face flushed with anger.
Harry exhaled noisily as his face dropped into his hands. Massaging his forehead and temples, he said rather testily, “Ron, I am sorry you have to hear this from me, but, well -- it’s become rather common knowledge that your sister and Draco Malfoy have been, well, what you might call -- an item for a while now.” He added in a soft mutter, almost to himself, “Well, seeing as Neville knows about it . . I believe it’s safe to call it ‘common knowledge’.”
But by then, Ron was beyond listening; his fingers slowly curled into tight fists as he ground his teeth. Thinking momentarily of Hermione and how disappointed she would be if he lost control, he tried desperately to calm himself.
He lost the battle.
Launching himself at Harry, he wrapped his hands around the boy’s throat and tightened them against his wind pipe. Harry was soon gasping for air as he struggled to remove Ron’s hands, but they were clenched too tightly about his neck. He reached for Ron’s face, trying to smack some sense into him, but the Keeper’s height and longer reach gave him the advantage.
Meanwhile, a small, curious crowd was starting to gather at the bottom of the stairs and in the hallway. Younger boys were peeking out of their dorm rooms, anxious to catch a glimpse of the first fight any of them had ever seen break out in Gryffindor tower. The two friends seemed not to notice.
“Get off me, Ron! We’ve got to go and help Ginny!” Harry managed to choke out.
But Ron would not be moved. “That can wait until after I kill you -- you jealous, conniving prick!!”
As each of them wrestled for control, Ron soon had Harry completely backed up against the wall. When his hands started to get clammy, his grip loosened slightly, and Harry managed to take in a few gulps of air. Having had years of practice at wriggling out of Dudley’s fat, piggy fingers, he finally managed to wrench his way out of the stranglehold, finding himself oddly grateful to the obese git. He slipped away deftly; Ron, still in full denial and blinded by rage, came at him again.
Dancing like a lightweight boxer, Harry stepped aside, and Ron ran smack into the wall. The Boy Who Lived seized the moment; he snatched his friend by the robes and spun him around. He punched him with all he had, sending him reeling across the hall and most likely giving him a black eye. Ron struck him a few seconds later, sending Harry’s glasses flying off his face and his body hurtling into the nearest door.
Out of the crowd, a clear voice rang out.
“Petrificus Totalus!”
Harry and Ron fell to the floor together, solid as if they had been turned to stone. People turned, openmouthed and wide-eyed, and stared at Neville Longbottom. As he pocketed his wand, he exhaled, “I’ve wanted to do that for years. Felt really good, too.”
Hermione soon came running up the stairs, a book in one hand, her wand in the other, and worry in her eyes.
“Damnit!” she swore, barely bothering to conceal her annoyance. A collective gasp from their young audience caused Hermione to turn and glare at them, and the group dispersed quickly. Then she chastised their hapless classmate, “Neville, what were you thinking?”
“Someone had to stop them,” he replied unapologetically. “I thought they might kill each other.”
She sighed then muttered the counterspell, adding an Ennervate just for good measure. Running a hand over each of their foreheads, she asked her two best friends in the world, “Are you two all right?” The boys looked at each other then looked down sheepishly as Hermione frowned. “What was that all about, anyway?”
Harry retrieved his glasses and repaired them. As he cleaned the sweat off of the lenses, he muttered, “Ginny.”
“And the company she keeps,” Ron added with mild disgust.
“Oh,” she said, “so Dobby did find you? I didn’t know where to tell him you were.”
Her boyfriend sat up straighter and looked at her. “What?”
“Well, he cornered me in the common room. I was just on my way to come get you two.” Her tone switched from concerned friend to that of harpy in two seconds flat. “And where do I find you? Trying to choke the life out of your best friend!” Sounding eerily like a cross between their head of house and the Weasley matriarch, even to herself, she succeeded in making them both feel completely ridiculous, which was her intent.
Good, she thought.
“I feel so stupid,” Ron admitted. “I’m sorry Harry.”
“Yeah . . me too, mate. I’m sorry I had to tell you. Thought you might react that way,” he muttered.
“A prefect in a fist fight -- with his best friend, no less. Never been so embarrassed in all my life,” Ron mumbled, his head hung low. “Now I’ll never be Head Boy.”
Hermione said wryly, “Oh, I don’t know, Ron. Malfoy’s sure to blow it somehow. There are still two terms and several Quidditch matches left.”
“She’s right, mate,” Harry agreed. “He’s bound to fuck something up.”
Ron nodded as he chuckled softly. Then his girlfriend reminded them, “Look, we really need to go. That is if you . . want my help.” When she showed them the book she was carrying, both of them recognized it instantly: It was the diary that Bill had given to Ginny.
They gladly accepted her offer. The boys apologized to each other once more and shook hands, and the three friends began their descent to the common room. Harry started to ask Hermione why she had brought Ginny’s diary, but before she could answer, they came into full view of the common room. Cheers and raucous laughter immediately erupted, and a few of their more obnoxious housemates just had to throw in their two knuts worth.
Lavender teased, “Aww, Hermione, you should have left ‘em like that!” Parvati glanced up from the tea leaves she was reading. Both girls giggled hysterically, as if Lav had actually said something funny.
“Oy, Weasley!” Seamus Finnegan harassed him, “Nice shiner!” Both he and Dean Thomas broke into fits of laughter as they turned back to their homework. Ron was blushing to the very ends of his hair.
Hermione, who was not the least amused by their antics, said slowly, “Ha, ha.” She turned her wand toward their table, surreptitiously spilling jet-black ink all over Seamus’s half-written Potions essay with a charm she had stumbled upon before she started her first year at Hogwarts.
Annoyed, he turned and gaped at her then shouted indignantly, “Hey!”
Hermione blinked innocently and daintily covered her mouth with her fingers. She gasped, “Oh, how unfortunate! Well, Seamus -- luckily, you are a wizard and not a toad; surely, you can come up with a basic cleaning spell.”
When he glared at her, she looked back at him, unfazed, and said curtly, “Good night.” One by one, the friends stepped into the fireplace then disappeared.
They were soon picking themselves up off the floor of Madam Pomfrey’s domain, Hermione dusting the ashes and soot off of all of their robes. She looked up, surprised to see that the Healer had three people assisting her. Professors Flitwick and Lupin greeted the students with a nod. But neither Madam Pomfrey -- who had extraordinary care in her eyes, perhaps even tears -- nor the tall man with the red ponytail spared a glance from the patient whose bedside they were hovering near.
Hermione asked in an undertone, “What’s Bill doing here?”
“Dunno,” Ron replied dumbly as he gawked openly at his brother. When Bill stretched to work out a kink in his neck, the sixth-years could see the patient’s face more clearly; surprisingly, she was neither student nor teacher, but she was quite beautiful. He was leaning over—
“Isn’t that . . Mrs. Malfoy?” Hermione hissed.
Harry replied, “Yeah. Couldn’t miss that sneer; gods, she even has it in her sleep.”
“Who could blame her, considering who her husband is and that she has to sleep with him? Well -- she used to, anyway,” Ron muttered quietly. Waiting for Madam Pomfrey to turn away from her patient, he wondered aloud, “What’s Malfoy’s mum doing here, anyway?”
Hermione had her own theories, but when Harry jeered, “I don’t know. You’re the diviner; you tell us,” she simply rolled her eyes, exasperated.
“Will you two stop it?” she sighed. “I’m guessing that Ginny was, or rather, is, with Malfoy, and they were coming here to see his mum. But what’s puzzling me is . . why would she be here at all—?”
Suddenly, images of that morning flashed through her mind: The late owl at breakfast, loping toward the Slytherin table, nearly beaten to a bloody pulp; the package it was carrying; Draco asking her about UCD-I in Advanced Potions class.
And she herself, having come so close to telling him what it did and how it worked.
Her hand rose involuntarily to her lips as she let out a gasp. She looked at the figure resting on the small bed. Had his mother taken the UCD-I, and if so, was this the outcome? To be so utterly drained, that all she couldn’t keep her head up? And what did that portend?
Could she have overdosed? Then her mind silently chastised, I told them they should have separated them into two smaller vials. But nooo, Snape had that all worked out!
As the trio looked on, Bill’s presence suddenly spoke volumes to Hermione.
“Well, she obviously needs to have a curse broken. And,” she added, “I’m guessing, a rather nasty one -- if it couldn’t be resolved between Madam Pomfrey and Professors Lupin and Flitwick,” three people she had the utmost respect for.
Returning to her thoughts and silent fears that she may have been partly responsible -- well, if not responsible, she certainly could have been more helpful, maybe even have kept this from happening in the first place . .
Reeling from the implications, the self-doubt, and an unhealthy dose of guilt, Hermione wasn’t really listening when Professor Lupin suggested something about contacting Fred or George for help. Ron, however, was listening. Intently.
He sidled up to the adults then cleared his throat. “Professor Lupin? I hope you don’t mind my asking—” he began. Lupin looked up and greeted him casually. “But . . well, Fred and George are pretty good at putting people in the hospital, but how could either of them help someone who’s already there?”
“We’re just going to use their Floo connection.” Then he added in a low voice, “By the way, Ron -- I’m glad you’re here; I need to talk to you when I’m done with Fred.”
“Well -- if it has anything to do with Ginny . . I-I know,” Ron stammered nervously.
“Oh,” was all the professor said. “Fine.” When Ron’s eyes clouded, he added, “Then you already know she’s missing? And that she was last seen using Professor Snape’s fireplace to Floo here with Draco Malfoy? Only instead of arriving here . . they didn’t. No one knows where they are. Except -- well, except the party responsible for their ‘misrouting’, as it were.”
Ron’s eyes turned to Narcissa Malfoy and narrowed slightly. His mind was jumping to the worst possible conclusions, as he silently accused her son of all sorts of atrocities against his baby sister. Just then, a sleepy, freckle-faced imp appeared in the flames, drawing Lupin’s and Ron’s attention back to the fireplace.
Fred yawned, groaning, “’Sup, Remus?”
The professor cringed slightly, apologizing, “I’m sorry, Fred -- were you already in bed?”
“Tha’s all right,” he slurred. “Do you need one of us to connect you? Where to this time?”
“Yes, please; I must speak with your mother or father. Are either of them at home?”
Fred shrugged casually. “As far as we know. They don’t—” he let out another yawn and stretched his arms toward the ceiling, “don’t always tell us of their comings and goings.”
Ron could barely sit still. He yelled at his brother, “Don’t tell you? What’s going on?”
“Oh, ickle Ronniekins,” Fred sighed. “Go on back to your little room with your little friends and play with your little wand. Me and George, we’ve had a long night of binging . . and well, he’s smashed, and I can already feel a massive hangover coming on. Ah, but it’s the price we pay as inventors.”
Remus gave the young proprietor a mildly disgusted smirk then suggested to Ron that he go and wait with his friends. He did. By some miracle, Fred had the wherewithal to complete the connection to the Burrow and contact his parents, who, as it turned out, had been resting for quite some time.
“Here you go, Lupin,” Fred said lazily, “My father -- or so they tell me -- Arthur Weasley, at your bleeding service. I’m off to bed now . . Merlin, I’m exhausted. G’night, all.” As his face faded, a girlish giggle could be heard as he slurred, “One more time? Alright then, if you insissst—”
Arthur gave Fred a glare of disgust and Remus an apologetic smile. Ron simply rolled his eyes. For the next few minutes, the two men conferred via their Floo connection about Ginny. Mr. Weasley checked the family clock and read the marking above Ginny’s name with a heavy sigh.
“Lost.” He looked at Lupin and said, “Well, on the bright side, that does mean we have time. At least it doesn’t say ‘Mortal Peril’, so we can assume she’s safe. For now, anyway.” He ended the call, promising to let the school know immediately if her status changed and requesting that Lupin call the minute he had any news.
Bill finally turned his head. Looking past Remus, he squinted his eyes and said, “Is that my little brother and his friends?” When he saw that it was, he called out, “Oy, Hermione! Harry, get over here! You too, Ron.”
Feeling slighted, Ron muttered, “Great, I’m always at the bottom of the dung heap.” Hermione clicked her tongue then slugged him teasingly on the shoulder. He winced slightly. “Hey,” he whined, “that’s the one I hurt in Quidditch practice the other day, remember?” She wrapped her arm around his waist, and all his aches and pains, including his bruised ego, were soon forgotten.
“Hermione,” Bill asked, “do you remember that charm we discussed at the Burrow, back before the beginning of term?” Hermione, ever eager to help, not to mention, to show off her skills, particularly when it came to Charms, beamed as she nodded her head.
“And you’ve brought the book?” he asked.
“What the—” Ron started to ask.
“Got it right here,” she said with pride, holding Ginny’s diary out in front of her.
“Good. Now to cast this spell, you run your wand along the outer edges of the book. Draw an imaginary line around all four edges of the diary in a clockwise manner and then say, ‘Locatus Guinevere Molly Weasley.’ ”
“That’s it?” Harry spoke up. “A wand, four words, and a magical diary can tell us where she is?” He looked at the book briefly then asked, “What if this . . falls into the wrong hands?”
Bill said, “Not to worry, Harry. Anyone who casts this charm has to know her full name -- which not many people do. Most of them think it’s Virginia, or maybe even Ginevra, if you can imagine. Besides,” he added, “if you don’t have the best of intentions for her, you can’t even hold it. It would literally scorch the skin right off a Death Eater’s fingers.”
The outer cover of the book unlatched. It opened itself so suddenly that it got knocked out of her hands and fell to the floor. It lay there, open to a page adorned only with today’s date written in Ginny’s handwriting. Hermione picked the book up gingerly and placed it on the nearest hospital bed.
There were no lines on the page; just a vague, colorless image, gray and blurry, of what looked like an inside view of an abandoned house. All they could make out was a rather fuzzy picture of a dimly-lit room with a long table and a solitary chair. The walls looked to be made of stone, and although no one recognized it, the place had a strangely familiar feel to it.
The three friends crowded around the book and studied the image, hoping that by getting closer, it would come into better focus. While they tried to make out what it was they were looking at, Bill stepped up and removed his cloak. He asked them nonchalantly, “Well, kids? Where are they?”
Ron grunted in frustration, “How the bloody hell are we supposed to know?”
“Temper, young one,” his oldest brother taunted him. Then he assured him, “We will find her.”
Ron had nothing to say to his insufferable arrogance. Hell, the guy had gotten Fleur Delacour to marry him, for crying out loud.
“Go on, take another look. Think. Figure it out. I’ve got to go over and help Madam Pomfrey with her patient.” Ron looked warily from his brother to Draco’s mum. Then he watched as Bill strolled away confidently.
Nothing ever shakes him up. Sometimes, Bill just made him sick with envy.
Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione were debating hotly about what the image actually was. Ron peered around his girlfriend’s bushy hair, moving it back over her shoulder and scooting his body closer to hers. She looked at him briefly; she gave him a light smile but did not stop arguing with Harry.
“No, Harry, that can’t be the home of a Death Eater. Most of them are shamefully rich, and it’s not nearly fancy enough.”
“It could be the servants’ area of the house,” Harry offered. “I still say it’s Malfoy Mansion. Or whatever they call their sprawling, palatial estate for three.”
Ron agreed with Harry, saying through gritted teeth, “Definitely. I’m sure he’d take her there, thinking he could have his way with her.” He pressed his fist into his open hand and wrapped his fingers around it, saying, “If he did, I’ll strangle that pointy-faced little bastard -- if I ever see him alive again,” he added with finality. “Ginny might just kill him first.”
Harry chuckled bitterly, “A little late for that, isn’t it Ron?” Then he turned back to Hermione and went on, “It could be the Parkinsons’, you know. Or maybe . . wherever Voldemort’s hiding out these days.” Oddly enough, Ron didn’t even flinch at the mention of ‘You-Know-Who’s’ name.
Hermione confessed, “I don’t know. What do you think, Ron?” she asked, trying to break the tension and end this futile argument.
But Ron was completely silent. He was too busy trying to digest what Harry had just said. A little late for that, isn’t it? What had he meant by that?
He swallowed as the blood ran from his face. Suddenly, he found it difficult to breathe. “Harry,” he said weakly, “are you saying that . . that Lucius Malfoy was right? In th-that vision I had. You know what I mean?”
Exasperated, Harry took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and asked in a tired voice, “I’m sorry, Ron -- you lost me. What ‘vision’ would that be?”
As his friends looked up at him, he started to feel mildly uncomfortable. Neither of them actually believed in divination, much less that he had a gift for it. He looked down at the book and saw something . .
Was it their first useful clue?
The walls at the back of the image, as well as part of the dresser, and the table -- they were all sort of . . . moving. Or rather, the impression of something, most likely a person, seemed to be blurring parts of them. This wasn’t invisibility; it looked more like . . camouflage.
Harry gasped, “Wait, that’s a Disillusionment Charm! I’ve been under one myself. They’re creepy but very effective.” As they stared at it, the image became a bit clearer, then it blurred again. Still, no one knew what house they were looking into or what this clue really signified. All they knew was that Ginny might have been followed and could be in even more danger.
Ron’s face turned to one of horror. “So you’re saying that someone’s there with them? And they can’t see him -- or her? Who would want to follow them?”
Harry and Hermione forgot all about their argument, as well as their friend’s misguided belief that he could actually foretell things. Their eyes were drawn to what he was staring at; they studied it intently.
“By the height of the outline,” Harry observed, “it’s got to be a man. Or maybe Madame Maxime,” he added half-jokingly. When the figure made the mistake of turning around quickly, they could see his hair, which appeared to be rather long, as it flew over his shoulder.
Ron thought it had to be Lucius Malfoy, an opinion he readily shared. “But why would he be sneaking up his own son?” he wondered aloud. Hermione said nothing.
“But he’s still in prison, isn’t he? They couldn’t be -- at Azkaban, could they?” Harry half-whispered, the fear apparent in his voice. He thought back to that night on the Hogwarts Express, long ago, when he and his friends had faced a Dementor for the first time. Ron said that Ginny’s face had gone pale; she, too, had remembered something horribly painful, buried in her past.
“No,” Hermione answered softly, pointing to the book. “Look -- there are no bars. And that’s much too large for a cell, according to Sirius.”
Harry scoffed bitterly, “But with Malfoy -- who knows what accommodations he was able to ‘appropriate’ for himself?”
“No, this isn’t a prison.” She eyed the page closely. Suddenly, she drew in a sharp breath. “But for one man, it was.” When both boys looked at her oddly, she explained as if it were as plain as the nose on their faces, “Sirius!” She smiled, impressed by her own cleverness.
Ron, as usual, was without a clue. “Huh? But you said it couldn’t be Azkaban—”
“It’s not! How thick are you? Don’t you recognize the table, that dresser?! We’ve been there, eaten there -- for God’s sake, we had Christmas together there!”
“Of course,” Harry sighed, inexplicably relieved. “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.”
So Ginny was at Sirius Black’s family home. That didn’t sound so bad. And yet—
“Hey, Bill!” Ron shouted, interrupting his brother, who was right in the middle of a difficult spell meant to break some of the nastiest, most long-standing curses. The results this time were less than stellar.
“What?!” he barked back impatiently, all of his ‘cool’ having flown out the window.
Ron was taken aback at this uncharacteristic reply. “Nothing,” he mumbled, “it’s just -- well, we’ve found out where Ginny is.” Bill merely raised his shoulders indicating that he should tell him, so he did. “She’s at Sirius’s old house.”
Remus smiled and congratulated them. “Good work. We can have someone from the Order there in less than 10 minutes.” He contacted Tonks back at Ministry headquarters and explained what had happened. She couldn’t go herself, as she was finalizing Bellatrix LeStrange’s incarceration proceedings and setting her up to be delivered to Azkaban to await trial.
She remarked, “Unless, of course, Fudge has her Kissed directly for perpetrating numerous Unforgivable Curses, like he did with Barty Crouch, Jr. Surely, the Ministry could gather a good deal of information from such a high-ranking Death Eater -- and a woman, no less. I mean, they must know that giving her to the Dementors right away would be a colossal mistake; not that Fudge hasn’t made any of those in his career,” she added with a sneer.
When their conversation had ended, Lupin nudged Bill. Both men turned to go back to help Madam Pomfrey, who had made slight progress but was still nowhere near finished.
Harry couldn’t stop himself; he felt he had to say something about what else they’d seen. After all, Ginny’s life could be in danger. “Wait! Professor Lupin, Bill . . I know you’re busy just now, but I think Ginny -- and Malfoy -- may be in danger.”
Bill narrowed his eyes. “What makes you say that?”
“We . . saw someone, in the diary. The outline of a person, most likely a man, presumably using a Disillusionment Charm. And if we’re right -- it’s someone who should definitely not be at Number 12, Grimmauld Place.”
“Who do you think it is?” Lupin asked seriously.
Harry looked at the men darkly. “We think . . it was Lucius Malfoy.”
“Bloody hell,” Bill breathed. “Hang on -- I thought he was in Azkaban!”
“Apparently, he’s on holiday at the moment,” Ron sniffed.
“But if he’s escaped, wouldn’t we have at least heard about it?” Bill pointed out. “True, he’s not as big-time news as Sirius Black was, but still -- he’s not exactly Father Christmas.”
“Maybe he’s an unregistered Animagus, or . . or . . . something,” Ron suggested, hoping he’d actually stumble across the answer before Hermione did. She was oddly silent.
Harry bit his lip nervously, anxious for the go-ahead to dash off and rescue Ginny. If she preferred Malfoy to him . . well, that was her misfortune; but when that bastard broke her heart, Harry swore to himself he would be there for her, to help pick up the pieces . .
Emboldened by his hope for a second chance with her, he urged them, “Well, if Draco and Lucius Malfoy are there, you know she doesn’t stand a chance; come on -- let’s go!!”
“She’s stronger than you know,” Hermione murmured quietly. They were the first words she’d spoken since both boys had concluded that the person whose image neither of them could quite make out was Draco’s father. “And she is safe.”
“How do you know?” Ron sneered. “What if that is Malfoy’s dad? He’d kill her without batting an eye.”
“Because—” Hermione’s throat constricting her words, she insisted, “just tell Tonks that it’s not Lucius Malfoy and not to have anyone go charging in there just now!”
Harry asked her point-blank, “Who is it, then?”
“Please, just trust me; it’s a friend of theirs -- a friend of his,” she corrected.
But this declaration caused even more confusion and concern than if she’d said nothing at all.
“Why does that not comfort me?” Ron snarled. “Oh, yeah, I remember; because all his friends are -- oh, how shall I put it -- evil, lowlife scum?!”
She pleaded with her friends. “Believe me, they are safe. Please don’t make me say anything more.”
Yet Ron, stubborn as a badger, would not give up. “Who is it, Hermione?” he persisted. “You know, don’t you?” She nodded, so he pressed, “Then why won’t you tell us?”
She hedged once more. But knowing that she could trust these people with her life, and even though they really had no need to know . . they could never tell another living soul, so she wouldn’t really be breaking her promise. She struggled with her conscience, with the bond of secrecy; the power that Professor Dumbledore had entrusted to her alone.
She looked into Ron’s eyes; seeing the worry and tears in them, she finally relented.
“All right. If you must know . . it’s Blaise Zabini.”
~End of Chapter~
Notes: Told ya he’d be back . . . ! So do your happy dance, then review!!
P.S. Sorry, no Draco or Ginny in this chapter, but I was starting to miss the rest of the cast. I promise, I’ll more than make up for it in the next go-round. ;-)
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