FanFiction.Net login | register AuthorTitleSummaryFull-Text FlavorTangerineKiwiBlueberryGrapeBlackberryMint Just In | Discussion Forums | Community Connector | Authors Directory | FAQ« Help» A Most Ingenious Paradox Category: Books » Harry Potter Censor: R Genre: Romance Chapters: 11 Reviews: 208 Author: Penpusher - Select Font -VerdanaTimes New RomanArialGeneva Font Size: Bigger (+) - Smaller (-) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 2 ) » Disclaimer: all characters belong to J.K. Rowling except David Markland who is mine, as is the plot. Tribute to Dennis Wheatley for a plot device, and to various sources for the quotations. This disclaimer applies to all subsequent chapters. Spot where the title comes from! “A Most Ingenious Paradox” Chapter One – “Their Various Ways” Hermione looked up wearily as the door of her study opened carefully. Two bright brown eyes framed by deep red hair peered hesitantly around the door with a questioning look. “Fred let me in.” said the eyes, timidly, “He said you were frantically busy. I said everybody needs to eat, don’t they? He said that you were trying to disprove that theory, but I strong-armed him out of the way.” Hermione sighed and threw down her quill. “Come on in, Ginny, I could really do with a break.” She stretched sinuously, wincing as her muscles protested. The red-haired girl came into the room, sinking down in a corner of the leather sofa. Hermione smiled: Ginny was average height, lithe, slender and angular, but right at that moment curled up on the sofa, she resembled nothing so much as a tabby cat. “I think I’ve reached saturation point anyway.” announced Hermione, getting up from the desk and aiming for the drinks cabinet, “Honestly, I really wish I had access to a central data facility, like muggles have, with an efficient search facility: I’d save hours upon hours of hard slog.” She held up a Waterford tumbler with a questioning look: Ginny held up the index finger and thumb of her right hand to indicate a small measure. There was a pause as Hermione poured the drinks, adding large quantities of mixers and ice, during which Ginny got up from the sofa and paced restlessly around the room, stopping at the large desk. She peered down at the papers spread all over it and frowned. “You’re completely swamped with work!” she exclaimed. Hermione sighed. “Tell me about it.” she murmured. Hermione was an Advocate, a wizarding barrister. After graduating from Hogwarts, she had taken professional training in both wizarding and muggle legal matters for two years, then she joined her present chambers as an Advocate’s Clerk for a further year’s training (most of which seemed to be taken up with archiving past cases). On completing the year, she was retained by her chambers as a Junior Advocate, and this was her first year as a fully-qualified lawyer. Hermione raised an eyebrow at Ginny’s unaccustomed edginess. “You’re jumpy tonight.” She handed her the tumbler, now full of a pale amber liquid. Ginny took the glass and swallowed half its contents in one go. “Great Merlin! You’d better tell me all about it.” Hermione, took a sip from her own glass and motioned for Ginny to sit down again. The red haired girl shook her head vigorously. “It’s nothing really, just another argument.” “With David?” “Who else?” She took a more measured sip of her drink and sank down once again on the sofa. “Oh, it’s the same old tale again - why do I carry on working with Ernie at Wizard Radio when I could be, in his words, ‘raking it in’ by becoming a full-time professional singer.” “Hmm.” Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully, “Is it just the money situation, do you think, or is it a little more than that?” “I wish I knew.” Ginny paused, “We’re, well, rather on our beam ends, you know, what with the flat and David’s agency business not doing as well as it might – he doesn’t say much, but I think I’m the only really bankable artist on his books. I have to confess, it’s rather demeaning. I mean, being thought of as a money-making commodity rather than a person by your partner, even after working hours and in the privacy of your own home!” Hermione could see that Ginny was far more upset by the situation than she was letting on. She leaned over to her friend and took one of her hands in her own. “Gin, darling, you can’t afford any more mistakes – you’ve had nine Unauthorised Use of Magic Notices in the past year: one more and you’re toast – you’ll have to go before a Ministry Tribunal. And I don’t think explaining that you’re just trying to make a living is going to be a sufficient defence.” The other girl shook her head. “I know, I know.” She replied, miserably, “But I so want to please him – you know? And the temptation to just add a little magical something to the performance to boost the ratings, to get more bookings, to add to his reputation, get his business going just a little better – I feel so helpless. And however much effort I put into my singing, I’m never going to be able to achieve all I know is possible out of a performance by muggle means alone.” Hermione took a deep breath. “Ginny, I know I’ve said this before …” “No, Hermione, I know what you’re going to say, and I just can’t do it.” “But if he loves you, he’ll accept you for what you are, and you won’t have to keep suppressing your natural talents – which were formidable when you left Hogwarts: I know because Minerva McGonnagle told me!” “He’s a muggle, Hermione!” “So? There have been wizard/muggle matches before now. Not often, I grant you - we do tend to stick to our own kind - but it’s quite possible for muggles to adjust perfectly happily to our world.” But Ginny was shaking her head emphatically. “Three years is a long time – too long to just come home one night and tell him, out of the blue, that I’m not just the professional singer he’s had on his books, and incidentally been living with, for most of that time, I am, in fact, a witch. Oh, no, not the pointed hat, rotten teeth, “Bubble bubble toil and trouble” type witch, but a serious practising sorceress. Excuse me while I ring the Funny Farm!” Ginny paused for breath and Hermione burst out laughing. “I’m glad you find it amusing!” retorted the red-head crossly, knocking back the rest of her drink. Hermione looked at her affectionately. “I’m sorry, Ginny, but really – don’t you think you’re exaggerating just a tiny bit? After all, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan have both dated muggle girls in their time …” “Yes, but did they tell them the truth?” “Well, no, not so far as I’m aware …” “Well, there you are then!” Ginny sat back contemplating her empty glass gloomily. Hermione got up to refill it. “I don’t suppose either of them gave it a second thought.” She continued, “There’s really no comparison. How can I tell David I’ve been living a lie ever since we first met! It’s just too late.” Privately, Hermione agreed but forebore to say any more. Ginny shook her head sending her long red hair flying. “It’s no good sitting here being miserable and making you miserable too.” She jumped up from the sofa and put down her half-finished drink, “Come on, let’s go to Giovanni’s – it’s 8.45pm, I’m starving and he’s doing a special hot Americana topping this week.” “You’re on!” exclaimed Hermione, willingly forgetting about her unfinished work: enough was enough. The two girls made a striking pair as they walked down the road towards the local Italian restaurant, one slight, slender and willowy with an elfin face wearing casual muggle clothes with an ethnic slant, the other tall, poised and stylish, dressed rather more formally. Hermione’s best feature was probably her hair, which was very dark, long and sleek. She now swore by muggle hairdressers, having found one locally who could keep even her bushy hair tamed. After walking for a couple of streets, the girls turned into a small, dimly-lit Bistro which, although it was a midweek night, was already fairly busy. They made a dash for a window table which had just become vacant and settled to perusing the menu, which was vast and comprehensive, and took up two sides of A3 card. Giovanni himself came to take their order, greeting them like the old friends they were. “’Ermione, and the little Ginny! I ‘ave meessed you! Per’aps you ‘ave found another place to eat, eh?” Hermione grinned broadly at his mock-soulful manner and his twinkling black eyes. “Now, Giovanni, you know full well we would never go anywhere else – not while you still make such wonderful toppings!” “Mmm!” agreed Ginny, glancing at the chalkboard which contained the day’s specials, “Well, it’s no contest for me. I’m having the Americana Hot Chilli – with a large bottle of sparkling mineral water!” Hermione nodded for the same, but Giovanni was in an expansive mood. “Ah, I remember.” The little man finished marking his order pad, “I remember when you all moved ‘ere – the parties! All your friends from school – Fred and George, Ron, Lee and Oliver – and ‘Arry, I was forgetting. ‘Ave you ‘eard from ‘im lately? ‘Ow is ‘ee?” Ginny smiled. “I had a letter from him today, as a matter of fact.” She replied, “He’s still enjoying life, but he’s a long way from becoming a native Californian – I’m delighted to say.” “’Ee come back? Soon?” Hermione shook her head. “I don’t think so, Giovanni.” The little man nodded, and departed to place their order. “That’s strange.” Ginny was toying with a bread stick, contemplating the pattern on the tablecloth. “What?” “Giovanni suddenly mentioning Harry like that.” “Why particularly?” “Well, he hasn’t asked about him for months – I thought everyone had forgotten Harry.” “Have you?” Ginny looked startled. “Goodness, no! How could I ever forget Harry?” “Exactly.” Hermione sat back as a waiter poured their mineral water, “Neither could I – and that’s not just because he’s my landlord. Speaking of which, I really should put some time into the next project.” “Oh?” Ginny looked up, her interest caught. Hermione nodded. “Well, the house is pretty much sorted,” she began, “Except for the attics and cellars (at least the boiler room’s up to scratch!), and that last bit of the West Wing, but Harry particularly wanted me to make some sort of start on the garden. I mean, really, it’s been two years since we moved in and the place is still a jungle. It’s so huge we have no idea what’s out there - there are trees over twenty feet high which should never have been allowed to grow in the first place – it’s like a small forest! Harry could have made an independent sale of the grounds to developers and recouped some of the fortune he spent on the place.” Ginny frowned. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “There aren’t that many properties around, in reasonably desirable areas of London, that big with such extensive grounds. It must have been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for an army of potential developers. So how did Harry manage to end up with it?” Hermione smiled and shrugged. “You know Harry.” She replied, “Once he sets his sights on something, he tends to get what he wants – one way or another. But I sometimes wonder why he wanted it in the first place. I mean it’s a beautiful house, and so big! – four floors and all, plus cellars and attics – and in a prime area of the city, but why choose to sink all his money into something which was so run down when all the time he was planning to work abroad?” Ginny started to attack her pizza. “Well, he did live in London for a year before taking off to LA,” she said in muffled tones, around her mouthful. “And you’ve got to admit, he did sort out some of the renovations before he accepted the new job. Have you never asked him?” Hermione shook her head, also beginning to eat. “To be honest, I was so gobsmacked when I saw the house I didn’t want to dissuade him. And besides, his reasoning seemed very plausible at the time – you know, rising market, excellent investment, couldn’t lose money, providing a home for his friends – which was extremely welcome at the time, I can tell you, as I was absolutely stony broke during my pupilage. I think he intended Ron to move in here too, but – ah, well: that’s all water under the bridge now.” Ginny gave a small smile, swallowed her mouthful and took a sip of water. “I think Harry may have been a little optimistic if he expected Ron to share a house with you on a platonic basis. I mean, it’s a bit much to expect when you’d split up after – what was it? - two years at Hogwarts. The wounds must have still been a bit raw.” Hermione grimaced. “Well, he’s done more or less the next best thing, hasn’t he?” She started sawing her pizza into strips with unnecessary vigour, “Sharing that flat round the corner with Oliver, Lee and Fred – honestly, I know it’s big, but it’s got to be a bit cramped when they’re all home, rare though that might be. They make me feel like I’m rattling around in Harry’s House with only George to trip over - it’s like a mortuary when he isn’t around.” Hermione sighed. “I know Lavender and I didn’t always see eye to eye, but I liked her and I was sorry when she moved in with that Gringotts chap – what was his name? – Aurelius, that’s it. Charlie filled the gap for quite a while – that last case of dragonscore took a long time to completely heal, even with Madame Pomfrey’s help – but now he’s gone back, I miss the company.” Ginny nodded. “Time for you to find another housemate – perhaps several.” Hermione looked dubious. “Who did you have in mind? I’d be delighted if Ron and his fellows would move in, but I really don’t think that’s at all likely.” Ginny smiled and shook her head. “You’ll never guess who I ran into last week? Colin Creevey!” Hermione’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “Colin the Camera? With the little brother, Dennis?” “The very same.” “Well, it’s a small world indeed. What’s he doing at the moment?” Ginny’s smile broadened. “Well, that’s just it. He’s swapped his camera for – get this – paints and chisels. He’s become an artist and sculptor and is getting quite a following amongst both wizards and muggles. The trouble is, his studio is near Shepherd’s Bush and he’s living somewhere in Clapham – ghastly journey, and neither property is very satisfactory. He’d absolutely kill to be able to live here – if he could afford it, that is.” “Oh, he could afford it, all right!” Hermione’s eyes were alight with possibility, “I’ll make it a condition of his tenancy that he put in at least five hours a week remodelling the garden!” The two girls raised their glasses of mineral water in a good-humoured toast. It was really far too late for a midweek night, Hermione decided as she walked up the driveway to the front door of Harry’s House, weary but relaxed. “Gallileo.” She muttered, absently at the lion-shaped knocker on front door. The beast fixed her with a baleful glare before the door swung open into a still-lit hallway. As she was hanging up her coat, a head poked into the hall from the kitchen. “Ah, so there is life in Harry’s House yet.” said a cheerful voice. Hermione smiled. “Hello, er – “ squinting as the owner of the voice moved into the light, “Fred.” She finished confidently, catching sight of a pale, vertical scar down one side of his face. The red-haired man grinned. “All those years you’ve known us, Hermione, and you still can’t tell us apart.” She snorted and plonked her umbrella into the stand. “Save it for those who need to be fooled, sunshine.” His smiled widened. “It does no harm to keep in practice.” he replied mildly, “Fooling my family’s one thing, but fooling you – well, it’s become almost impossible.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’d take that as a compliment – except that I know you too well. There’s something bothering you, isn’t there?” He didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Now whyever would you think that?” She made a “tut-tutting” noise. “Since when do you haunt the front door looking for company? Come on, Freddy-boy – spill!” He shrugged. “Nothing new, really, “ he replied, “I’m just starting to get pretty worried now. It’s been a month and a half – six weeks - and still no word. It’s not like him to stay under so long without contacting me. I’ve half a mind to call in …” Hermione shook her head firmly. “No, Fred, give it a bit more slack before you do that. After all, it’s not as if anyone else can help, is it? You could be putting the whole thing in jeopardy.” Surreptitiously, she looked at her watch: close to 11pm. She sighed inwardly, feeling herself sag with fatigue. “Come on,” she said, patting his shoulder and gently steering him into the kitchen, “Let’s get some cocoa and thrash this out a little more.” David Markland staggered out of the shower, dragged on a bathrobe and sauntered into the kitchen drying his hair with a towel to find Ginny sharing a pot of coffee with a complete stranger. A complete male stranger at that. David glowered from the doorway until she looked up and gave him a quick smile. “Good morning, sweetie.” she said, pouring him a black coffee which he took silently, “This is Colin Creevey.” The stranger stood up and offered a hand to shake, which David pointedly ignored. Ginny’s smile dropped a little, but she rallied quickly. “Colin’s an artist – a painter and sculptor.” she began abruptly, and proceeded to explain about his accommodation problem. David frowned. “I supposed St. John’s Wood is a lot nearer than Clapham.” He remarked, “But it’s going a long way up market, isn’t it?” Ginny felt embarrassed at his tactlessness, but continued gamely. “Well, there may be a solution to both problems – we’re going to see if we can’t thrash it out on Saturday.” she continued, “There’s actually some kind of outhouse in the grounds. Hermione told me about it – probably old stables or something. If it’s suitable, Colin thinks he might be able to renovate it into a studio.” “It needn’t be anything too special.” put in Colin, slightly nervously, “As long as the light’s good, it doesn’t really need much else to start with. Of course, I’d like to have running water etc. eventually.” He put in hurriedly, remembering that he was speaking to someone who would not understand about the uses of magic in building and renovation. David tossed off his coffee and fixed Colin with a searching glare. Colin smiled nervously: he had always been a weedy, scrawny little kid when he was at Hogwarts, with an unfortunate manner which put one in mind of a small terrier. As an adult, he had changed, but not greatly. He was dressed quite nattily in a pale blue shirt and well-cut blue jeans, and had hung his denim jacket over the back of his chair. His hair was mousy brown, streaked professionally with honey and platinum highlights and, although it was early in the season, his skin was deeply tanned. David, in contrast, was a tall man, not exactly built but strong-looking, with black hair, cold blue eyes and a natural olive complexion. I think I want to be somewhere else, was Colin’s major thought as he absorbed David’s unspoken hostility, but to his relief, the man just put his empty cup on the table, turned on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen without another word. Ginny smiled apologetically. “He’s not really a morning person.” she explained in embarrassment. I’ll bet! thought Colin. To save further awkwardness, he began to make departure signals. Ginny didn’t offer him another cup of coffee, but they arranged to meet up at Harry’s House the following Saturday to make a recce of the outhouse. Coming back into the kitchen after seeing Colin out, Ginny encountered David, fully dressed in a classic black Armani suit and black linen shirt, drinking a second cup of coffee and looking out of the window. “So Hermione wants to share her house with that little squirt, does she?” he said without looking at her. “He’s an old school friend.” she replied, sensing that David had by no means forgiven her for going over to Hermione’s last night, rather than pouring oil on his own personal troubled waters. “Another one?” he turned abruptly and threw his coffee mug into the sink. Ginny winced involuntarily, but fortunately it bounced. “It’s like a ghetto over there in St. John’s Wood with all your ex-school friends. What is it about that part of London?” Ginny shook her head. “No, David, you’ve got it all wrong.” She protested, “It’s just that Ron was lucky enough to find a flat round the corner from Harry’s House …” “Harry’s House, Harry’s House? What a stupid name for such an incredible pile. Your ex-boyfriend must have a high opinion of himself if that’s what he named it.” “David, please: Harry didn’t name the house anything, it hasn’t got a name. It’s – just always been known as Harry’s House to the rest of us. And he’s not my ex-boyfriend, he never was.” “You told me you had a crush on him at school.” “At school, yes – David, it was a long time ago!” “How do I know what you got up to with him?” “David, we were teenagers, you’re being ridiculous …” “What did he do – go to the States without you? Dump you for his career?” “You’re not making any sense. We’ve been through this before …” “That’s the trouble – we’ve never even been through it once! You won’t give me a straight answer to anything concerning Harry Potter.” “I tell you everything I can … “But never the truth.” “Alright! Okay!” Ginny buried her hands in her hair, “You want to know why Harry Potter left England, why he accepted a job half a continent away from all his friends and family? When he was in the sixth year, he went out with a girl in the year above him. He’d liked her for a long time, and he’d never really been out with anyone else. No one at school knew it, but they were serious, you know? Going to buy a flat together once he’d graduated, perhaps get married – I don’t know.” “What happened?” “She died.” Ginny said flatly. “Ron told me Harry was never the same again. I don’t know why he bought the house, but I think that would explain to most normal people’s satisfaction why he might have left the country, don’t you?” And for once, Ginny walked out after a row with David having had the last word. Slamming the front door behind her, Ginny lunged for the lift and punched the wall in frustration as the doors closed in her face. Resolutely, she picked up her briefcase and sprinted down the several flights of stairs into the basement, arriving at the car parking level out of breath but determined David should not catch up with her, even if he wanted to. She backed her ancient red Nissan out of its parking space, sneering at David’s Jeep: who needed an off-road vehicle in London, unless they were competing for Poser of the Year? By the time she had done battle with the rush hour traffic and had pulled in to her parking space at Wizard Radio, Ginny was almost sobbing with frustration. Generally she travelled to work by tube, but several times each month her job took her out of town, and usually she found it advantageous to call in at the office beforehand. On this occasion, she wished she had skipped that part and just driven on to her appointment: she didn’t relish talking to Ernie. Wizarding Radio was housed in a small building with two floors and a basement: the top floor was the administrative centre, the basement contained the electronics and the recording studios, and the middle floor housed the Hospitality Suite and the open-plan press office where Ginny worked when she wasn’t in the studios. Ernie MacMillan was already at his desk, shouting at someone down the phone, his language liberally seasoned with expletives and some downright threats. He was a big man, tall, hunky and slightly overweight with irregular features, as though someone had rearranged them with a blunt instrument at some time. Most people walked stiff-legged around Ernie, but Ginny knew that the tough-guy pose was exactly that: Ernie was a complete pussycat, if you knew the buttons to press. Ernie took one look at Ginny’s tearstained face, spat an abrupt insult in farewell, and slammed the phone down. “Now what?” he growled, “You’re supposed to be interviewing that crazy witch in Sussex who says her cat can sing opera. You can’t interview anyone in the state you’re in. Just a minute.” He stopped ranting long enough to mutter “Sonorus”, then bellowed: “TOM, GET YOUR ASS OUT OF THAT CHAIR AND DOWN TO PRESS, PRONTO!” Gingerly, Ginny removed her fingers from her ears. “Wouldn’t it have been simpler to have used the telephone?” she asked in a pained voice. In response, Ernie gave her a wide genuine smile. “Of course, but not nearly as much fun!” A dishevelled looking young wizard burst in through the double doors and skidded to a halt panting in front of Ernie’s desk. “Not bad – 9.5 secs. You’re getting better – not good, but better. Anyway, get your stuff – you’re going down to interview Mathilda the Magnificent. And don’t forget to tape the cat singing!” “If it can. Which I doubt.” He muttered to Ginny, under Tom’s elated exclamations. “Good worker, just a total twat.” He continued, “And smarten yourself up!” He yelled at Tom’s departing back. He looked at the forlorn girl and shook his head. “Time you got yourself a new man; this one’s proving too expensive. Come on.” He levered himself out of his chair, “Let’s go get a coffee: I could do with a break.” Ernie was well-known in the local café, “The Cat and Warlock”. As soon as he put a foot over the threshold, the air was full of friendly greetings, and the proprietor had his order ready before he had reached the counter: a huge pot of coffee together with a plate of assorted doughnuts. Glancing at Ginny, he pushed another mug on to the tray, but otherwise passed no comment. Ernie slapped some money down on the counter and proceeded to heave the groaning tray over to the window table, gesturing for Ginny to follow. She glanced around the clientele, smiling absently at a waving wizard in a purple cloak whose cat was sitting on a chair drinking coffee through a straw. Two other wizards were having a heated argument over the correct way to perform the furnunculus curse, a small, grey-haired witch was reading an article in “The Successful Charm” while her quill automatically made notes on a roll of parchment, and a couple on the table next to them were trying to play chess, seriously hampered by the fact that one set of chessmen was refusing to play until the other set’s queen had apologised to their knight. “Imbeciles!” muttered Ernie, disdainfully, “How in Merlin’s name do they expect to control their chessmen when neither of them could play his way out of a piece of parchment!” Over the good hot coffee and a cinnamon doughnut, Ginny proceeded to tell Ernie the substance of her quarrel with David. It didn’t take too long – Ernie had heard most of it before – and pretty soon she was staring moodily into her cup and contemplating another doughnut. Ernie sighed. “Sounds like that idiot man of yours has got a serious case of inferiority.” he announced, with no ceremony, “Jealousy of an absentee school friend, who hasn’t set foot in the country in years – excuse me while I send out for a straightjacket!” “I had a crush on Harry at school.” Ginny reminded him, tonelessly. He grinned. “I knew it, we all knew it.” he said through a mouthful of chocolate topping, “We all thought he was nuts: why bother with that Cho Chang when you were around? Any of us would have sat through a week of Snape’s detentions just for the chance with you. Ah, well – happy days. Shame about Cho though – just graduated, hadn’t she? Could happen to anyone, but you simply don’t think of wizarding folk being killed in car smashes, do you?” Ginny shook her head slowly. “It took everything we had – Ron, Hermione and me – just to get Harry to carry on living, never mind take his NEWTs.” She said in low tones, “He couldn’t even remember his family, you see, he was too young when you-know-who … when they were killed.” Ernie was nodding. “Yeah, I’m familiar with the story – everyone is.” He washed down the last crumbs of doughnut with the dregs of his coffee, “Well, this isn’t getting any work done. Do you feel up to a stint in the studio? We’ve got a backlog of programmes that’d make your hair curl, and Tom was supposed to be making inroads into it today.” Ginny got resolutely to her feet. “I’m not taking time out over a shower of pathetic insults, if that’s what you mean.” She returned firmly, “Whatever David thinks of it, I like my job and I want to keep it!” “Okay. Let’s get moving.” Ron Weasley strolled up the path to the front door of Harry’s House and drawled “Gallileo!” to the lion-shaped door-knocker. To his surprise, the beast roared loudly in his face making him take a startled step backwards, before the door swung silently open on magically oiled hinges. He took a step into the vestibule. “Okay,” he announced, stalking through into the hall, “Who’s the wiseass then?” There was no immediate answer, but a murmur of conversation drew him towards Hermione’s study where the door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open to find Lee and Hermione, surrounded by mounds of paper, computer printouts, handwritten notes, open books and press cuttings, sprawled on their stomachs on the floor, heads together, deep in analysis of some problem or other. Ron was still tall with a shock of red-gold hair and a dusting of freckles over his nose, which would spread rapidly all over his body as soon as the sun showed itself. Otherwise his resemblance to the skinny boy who attended Hogwarts for seven years was fairly minimal. Ron had broadened out: wide shoulders and muscular arms hinted at impressive strength in his upper body, and he had the slim but sturdy legs often seen in a distance runner. He was also handsome. There was no other way to describe his regular, aquiline features, striking hair and regular, even smile, but Ron himself was refreshingly unaware of any of it: all he knew was that he could never get a suntan in summer. He had followed his father and elder brother Percy into the Ministry of Magic, working for the subsidiary Office of Accidental Magic Reversal. “Don’t mind me, will you?” he growled mock-seriously, at the tangle of Lee and Hermione on the study floor, “I just came from a totally empty flat wondering if there was any life in St. John’s Wood. What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” Hermione rolled over and sat up, smiling at him. “Hello, Ron.” she said, getting up to kiss him briefly on the cheek, “Are you looking for food, drink, company or a mixture of all three?” “How well you know me!” he replied, grinning, “And all three would be absolutely marvellous, but I think, by the looks of things, I’m only likely to get one.” Hermione crossed to the drinks cabinet. “Well, I can certainly provide you with a drink,” she said, “And I for one have had enough analysis for tonight, but it looks as though Lee is good for another couple of hours.” They turned towards the lanky, dark-skinned, former Hogwarts Quidditch commentator who was still lying on the floor. Lee had also joined the Ministry on graduation, but after a couple of years floating around not really finding his niche, he had discovered muggle computers and had managed to convince his superiors that they were an area worthy of further research. Since then, he had transferred to the Department for the Development of Magic and was happily tapping into keyboards all day long. However, the down side was that so many important people had become interested in what his machines could do that he was seriously overworked. The project he had online with Hermione at the moment was being pursued in his spare time. “Bugger!” he exploded as he scrabbled through a pile of notes, reducing what had been reasonably ordered to total chaos. Hermione rolled her eyes, handed Ron a full glass and jerked her head in the direction of the door. They left so quietly that Lee didn’t even notice. Hermione led the way down the long hall towards the big communal kitchen with its huge range and scrubbed oak refectory table. Ron looked around admiringly at the clean surfaces and tidy utensils and pans. “Someone’s been busy.” He remarked. Hermione looked affronted. “Are you implying that my kitchen is usually messy?” “Well, you have to admit that it’s not often this pristine.” “I know.” She sighed, “I try to keep it clean and tidy because that’s the way I was brought up, but when I’m literally working all the hours there are, I don’t seem to have the time or the energy to put together the necessary household spells.” Ron nodded wisely. “You really need a couple of housemates. Oh, I know Fred lives here, but he’s just as bad as George: you can go for weeks without seeing him and you only know he’s been at home by the mound of washing he chucks into the utility room. I’ve only seen George to speak to once or twice in the last month. I expect it’s the same with Fred.” Hermione nodded, but didn’t quite meet Ron’s eyes. “So who do you suggest I draft into Harry’s House then?” Ron shrugged expansively. “Most people’d give their eye teeth to live in a place like this.” “Okay then: what about you?” Hermione’s expression was challenging: Ron laughed. “Is this a proposition? Or even a proposal?” She gave a wry smile. “I don’t have time for either at the moment, more’s the pity. No, I wasn’t serious, Ron, although you know only too well I’d love it if you and George and Lee and Oliver were to move in here.” But Ron was shaking his head. “With Fred as well, and Charlie, when he’s home? No, no - the mix’d be too rich. Besides, it’s not good for a girl to be stuck on her own with so many blokes: people will start to talk!” They laughed. “No,” began Ron, pulling out a chair and relaxing into it, “I think you need a couple of girls.” “Trouble is, I don’t make girlfriends that easily.” said Hermione, aiming her wand at a kettle of water, which instantly spouted steam, and remotely upending a pasta packet into a large saucepan. “I can’t imagine who I’d ask to share a house with me – unless it was your sister, of course, but she’s out of the question.” “I wish she bloody-well wasn’t.” retorted Ron, crossly, “That muggle git’s making her life a misery!” “Watch the tone of the insults, sunshine.” she returned, as an onion leaped out of the vegetable basket on to a thick wooden chopping board, “Just remember my mudblood origins and be careful.” But Ron was too annoyed to take any notice. “Ginny was the most natural sorceress in her year.” He began, “Dumbledore called mum and dad in to warn them that she was proving to be very precocious, and that they were going to have to help her control her powers. Hey, watch it!” He ducked as a sharp knife sailed over his head and quickly diced the onion. “Sorry.” said Hermione, as she dumped the chopped onion into a frying pan sizzling with butter, “Go on, Ron.” Ron smoothed his thick red/gold hair back over his head as though he suspected he have been given a haircut. “Well, when she graduated Hogwarts with the highest practical NEWTs anyone had seen for years (even better than yours, Hermione – although apparently her written papers left something to be desired!), everyone expected she’d romp into some high paid, high status job at the ministry – Department of Developmental Magic, for example – any one of a number of glittering careers! The next thing we know she’s shacked up with this muggle who’s convinced her she can sing, and that’s the end of her magic. Three years now – surely it’s about time she gave him the push?” Hermione nodded at a spatula which obediently stirred garlic and tomatoes into the chopped onion, then she delved in the fridge for some parmesan. “Could you just grate some of that into a bowl, please?” she asked, handing him a hard yellow lump and a wicked-looking grater. Ron sighed and started to rub the cheese against the mesh, careful not to bring his fingers in contact with the sharp surface. He gave her a black look. “You know I can’t manage a grating charm.” He grumbled. “All the more incentive to learn.” Hermione replied with a small smile as she shook the pan, then turned the heat up under the pasta. “Well, Ron,” she began, carefully, “You are strictly not to talk about this, okay? It sounds to me, even if Ginny isn’t yet aware of it, as if the relationship is about to die a natural death anyway. Let’s face it, she’s been lying to him about her abilities for three years. There’s no way he’s ever going to accept that kind of deceit, so she can’t exactly come clean now, and she’s been suppressing her magical powers for so long now that something’s got to give eventually. She’s between a rock and a hard place, and the only way out is forward.” She shook some sugar and salt into the pan and began to grind pepper, checking that the pasta was soft. Ron went over to the kitchen wine rack and inspected its contents diffidently. “Red okay?” he queried. She nodded, deftly removing two warmed plates from the cooler of the two ovens. While Ron went in search of a corkscrew, Hermione conjured a drainer under the pasta, divided it between them and poured the tomato and garlic sauce over the top. There was a short pause while she served the meal, during which Ron found some glasses and poured the wine. An even longer pause ensued while Ron attacked the meal with a gusto implying that he hadn’t been fed for several days. Hermione smiled at his enthusiasm, and ate hers at a rather slower rate. Once Ron’s plate was clear, he gave a deep sigh and sat back in his chair, savouring his glass of wine. “That was so good.” He sighed, “You know, if me and the guys did move in with you, you’d be forever in the kitchen!” “Don’t you believe it!” Hermione shot back, her eyes flashing, “I’m still capable of organising a rota you know, and enforcing it – even with such unpromising material as you lot!” Ron turned down the corners of his mouth in mock-injury, but could not sustain it in the face of such congenial surroundings and company. Eventually, he conjured the dishes and pans into the dishwasher, and they retired to the old blanket-covered sofa at the other end of the room. Hermione quickly enchanted a fire, and they relaxed, finishing off the wine. “End of a long day.” remarked Ron, glancing reluctantly at his watch and yawning, “Time for me to get some shut-eye, ‘Mione.” He got up slowly, resting his empty glass on the coffee table. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ve got a couple of important meetings tomorrow.” She stood up and stretched like a cat, the firelight casting shadows across her translucent skin. Ron looked at her. “Thanks, love.” He said, smiling as he kissed her gently on the cheek. He stared into her eyes and saw, if not an invitation at least no rejection, so he kissed her mouth a little more lingeringly. He was about to go for broke when she stopped him, placing her index finger on his lips in a surprisingly intimate gesture. “Are you really prepared to re-open old wounds, Ron?” she asked seriously, but a gentle smile played over her features. He looked away and shuffled his feet awkwardly. “I might have been, until you ruined the moment!” he muttered, crossly. Her laughter was unforced and genuine. “Oh, Ron, where angels fear to tread, you have always managed to sprint in at record-breaking speed!” “Are you telling me I’m a fool then?” “Absolutely not! You’re one of my three very best friends ever and, as you know, I don’t suffer fools in any way, never mind gladly! All I’m saying is, just once, think about what you’re doing before you do it.” “How do you know I haven’t already?” Ron’s face seemed to be slightly flushed, although it could have been the effect of the firelight. Hermione softened. She held out her arms and pulled him into them, patting his back gently as one would a child. “I’m sorry.” Her words were muffled in the shoulder of his sweater. Ron buried his face in her hair, inhaling her sweet familiar fragrance, then he lifted his head to look at her, put a hand out to her cheek and kissed her lips again. “I’d better go,” he murmured into her hair, “Before I do something really stupid. Besides, Lee’s still in your study – I’d better take him home before he falls asleep on the job!” Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh damn and blast! I forgot all about Lee – and we’ve gone and eaten all the pasta!” Ron laughed. “Don’t worry – he won’t have noticed. I’ll take him home and open a can of soup or something. Oh, by the way: both Lee and I are away this weekend - not together I might add – although George is suppose to be at home tonight. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow or something, but I won’t be back until Monday night.” Hermione nodded. “That’s okay: I’ve got loads to do, and Colin Creevey’s coming round on Saturday.” Ron’s expression was a picture. “Creevey? Creevey? You mean the creep with the camera, year below us?” She nodded playfully. “What’s he doing round here?” “Dare I say it, moving in?” There was a flabbergasted silence. “Please tell me you’re joking.” Hermione burst out laughing. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.” she said, and proceeded to tell him about the outhouse buried in the depths of the jungle beyond the windows. “Better take a machete.” said Ron dubiously, glancing out of the back window, “You never know what you might meet in there – lions, dragons, maybe even the lost tribe of the Incas.” “Don’t worry: Fred is going to be here, and Ginny’s coming too, so I think we’ll cope.” “Well, I for one am glad to be missing this little charade.” Ron announced, making briskly for Hermione’s study, “Don’t forget to tell me how it goes, will you? If you ever get out. I tell you what: if you get into trouble, send up red sparks and I’ll issue a search party. Come on Lee!” throwing the study door open with as much noise and fuss as possible, “Last orders; chucking out time; come on, man, let’s get home!” But Lee was fast asleep on his piles of papers and snoring loudly. Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 2 ) » Review Story ( be a responsible reader and write a review) Title: A Most Ingenious Paradox Name: Email: (optional) Review: If you feel that this entry violates any of the guidelines set by FanFiction.Net please click here to notify the staff. Home | About Us | Terms of Service | Browser Compatibility | Privacy FanFiction.Net login | register AuthorTitleSummaryFull-Text FlavorTangerineKiwiBlueberryGrapeBlackberryMint Just In | Discussion Forums | Community Connector | Authors Directory | FAQ« Help» A Most Ingenious Paradox Category: Books » Harry Potter Censor: R Genre: Romance Chapters: 11 Reviews: 208 Author: Penpusher - Select Font -VerdanaTimes New RomanArialGeneva Font Size: Bigger (+) - Smaller (-) « Previous Chapter ( 1 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 3 ) » “A Most Ingenious Paradox” Chapter Two – Mysteries and Discoveries “I think we should be a bit further to the left now. Ouch!” “Sorry. We seem to have a bit of a problem here.” “Don’t just whip branches back in my face, Fred, it hurts! And besides I’m not really in a position to retaliate.” “Conjure yourself some protective gear then – dragonhide ought to do it.” “Great Merlin, this is some garden – more like a jungle!” “Excuse me, you don’t have large predators as well as man-eating plants living here, do you?” Colin Creevey was beginning to regret having taken up Hermione’s offer to look at the old outhouse. Sure, he realised that none of the residents, current or historical, had bothered much with the garden for years uncounted, but it had never occurred to him that his first glimpse of the building which might eventually become his studio would be their first sight too. He had envisaged a reasonably large piece of land, gracefully unkempt but still recognisable as a garden, with an overgrown but still passable pathway to a partially hidden but attractively dilapidated building whose full exotic promise would not become apparent until they had probed the mysteries within. Right now he was wondering when David Attenborough was going to turn up. The garden was absolutely huge - massive for most semi-rural areas, almost impossible for St. John’s Wood. Colin had too much to think about to give it serious consideration at the moment, but he had fleetingly wondered whether there was some kind of enchantment on it; some variant of the Everyday charm they often used to escape muggle attention. That was when he got his first sight of the old temple. Colin’s first thought was that he had strayed into another continent. India, perhaps, or Africa – he wasn’t sure, but definitely not Europe. “Flamel’s Stone!” he breathed, in reverence or horror, uncertain as to which, “What in Merlin’s name is that?” The others seemed to share his amazement and, after a long moment broke out into furious questions. “Do you mean to say that this has been here all the time – and we had no idea whatsoever until now?” “Who built this thing anyway, and what for? It’s nothing like the same style as the house.” “Hermione, did the estate agent’s details list outhouses as part of the deal, or are we in someone else’s garden?” Hermione smiled at Lee, who had spoken last. “Well, although I am the leaseholder and I did look over it with Harry before he decided to buy it, I am still as much in the dark as the rest of you.” She began, “However, firstly I can assure you that whilst this particular edifice was definitely not listed in the particulars nor described at all in any way, there are no outstanding leaseholds, no easements, no rights of way, no other tenancy agreements – nothing, in fact, to cause any difficulty with the ownership of this – thing. I ought to know – I checked the conveyancing very thoroughly.” “Also,” interrupted Fred, holding up a hand against further questions, “Also, Harry and I made absolutely sure of the boundaries before he signed on the dotted line – we walked around the property to make sure the fences were intact. That was some experience, I can tell you – we had to use a scythe!” Hermione gazed steadily at him. “And I expect you used the access to set up wards for my safety, knowing that I was likely to be here on my own for some of the time?” The question was gentle, full of affection. Fred spread his hands and looked slightly uncomfortable. “It was Harry’s idea. He never intended you to be here alone, Hermione. If things had worked the way he’d planned – but never mind. The wards are still in place – I’ve made quite sure of that!” She smiled warmly and put a rather grubby hand on his arm. “Thanks, Fred.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “I don’t want to seem like I’m breaking anything up here, but I for one would rather like to get out of this patch of thistles: I’m feeling like a pincushion!” In response to Colin’s plaintive request, they obediently began moving towards the building, although it was quite some minutes before they could reach what had obviously once been the entrance. There they stood, uncertain as to the next move, for in front of the doorway, blocking it totally, was a tree. It was so thoroughly established that they could have been forgiven for suspecting it to have been planted there deliberately, but who would do something as ridiculous as that – and why. It was tall – about 20 feet high – strong and healthy: not an easy prospect. Fred and Hermione approached it gingerly, and Fred sighed in resignation. “We’ll have to abandon it for the day, folks. There’s no way we’re going to get past this, unless we shrink ourselves to 50%, and we haven’t a hope of getting through it without an axe. I suggest we try again tomorrow with the proper tools.” “No, wait.” Ginny stared at the tree thoughtfully. “It’s such a beautiful tree – a silver birch, you know. They take a long, long time to grow, and I’d hate for it to be destroyed simply because we couldn’t think of any other way to get past it. Look, do you mind if I just ...” She trailed off and produced her wand from a sleeve pocket. She concentrated hard, eyes closed murmuring a number of incantations, while the others watched her curiously. For a while nothing seemed to happen, then as she drew in a sharp breath and gritted her teeth, the tree seemed to move. Firstly, it shuddered from top to bottom, then the roots seemed to take on a life of their own, churning the earth and freeing themselves from its grasp. The tree rose slowly and majestically above the ground to hover, weightless in mid-air. “Quick, Fred!” gasped Ginny, “I can’t hold it for long. Join with me! Everyone else dig a pit to plant it in.” Fred whipped out his wand shouting “Wingardium leviosa!” Instantly, Ginny felt the tree stabilise and took a moment to regroup her powers. Between them the siblings held the tree suspended until Colin and Hermione had enchanted a deep enough trench to re-plant it, then Fred and Ginny moved it until it was poised over the trench. “Over to you.” said Fred, breathing heavily, and she began the delicate work of insinuating the roots back into the soil, finding the moist areas, guiding the long tap root down towards the water table. Finally, as the job was completed and she sagged wearily against her brother, Ginny became aware of a number of curious eyes. “Just where,” began Hermione, “Did you learn to do that particular little party trick, Miss Weasley?” Ginny looked up at her and grinned. “You sound just like Minerva McGonagall.” She commented, and was rewarded with a blush from Hermione. “Seriously, though,” this was Fred, “Dealing with living things is quite extraordinary in comparison with inanimate ones. That was an incredible feat of manipulation – I really don’t know quite how you managed it, particularly as you’re so out of practice.” It was the wrong thing to say. Ginny flushed an angry red which clashed painfully with her hair. “I think we can start exploring the temple now.” She said quietly, “Why don’t you lead the way, Fred?” It proved very easy to enter the building now that the tree had gone. Glancing at Fred and Ginny, who were both somewhat drained by their efforts, Hermione produced her own wand, muttered “Lumos”, and led the way inside. “Great stars above, Hermione, can’t you get it any brighter than that?” said Colin tetchily, not so much out of annoyance but because he was feeling vague stirrings of uneasiness. Whatever this building was, he had more or less made up his mind that it was totally unsuitable for a studio. Quite apart from its peculiar design, lack of natural light and complete absence of basic facilities, his magical antennae were picking up some very strange sensations indeed. Hermione seemed to be similarly affected as she moved to one side of the doorway, but made no further attempt to move into the building. She merely stood silently, with an odd concentrated expression. “Come on, let’s see what’s in here. Hurry up, Hermione!” Fred had entered, whipping out his wand and shouting loudly for illumination. Bright, white light seared forth, throwing the four corners of the building into sharp relief, revealing everything in one sudden flash of brilliance. They stood stunned, then gasped in amazement bordering on stupefaction. The first thing the four noticed was that the building was larger than it had appeared from the outside - by an approximate factor of six. That it was indeed some sort of temple was very obvious by the intricate marble flooring, the astonishing pictures on the walls, and the large, ornate altar made of wood and stone at the far end which was, at present, empty. Everything was covered in the dust of decades. Colin thought back to the size of the garden and wondered if this enchantment of scale was the only spellcraft he could sense here or whether, as he suspected, there was a good deal more. He decided to voice the question. “Hermione,” he whispered as quietly as possible, but the very air seemed to pick up and amplify the sound, “This place – it absolutely reeks of magic. Really strong stuff, and I’m not sure how clean it is, if you know what I mean.” Hermione could only nod. She seemed too shocked to move, but Fred took a determined step forward. Colin noticed that his face was white and strained. “That altar.” He muttered, “It reminds me of something …” He trailed off and walked towards it. “Great Merlin!” whispered Ginny, who had moved to stand alongside Hermione. “It’s like some ancient Hindu temple, a really rich one. But what on earth’s it doing here, and what was it used for?” Hermione shivered and seemed to emerge from her trance. She glanced towards Fred then gasped in horror as she saw him approach the altar. “Fred, no!” her voice slammed sharply against the walls, and she ran towards him grabbing his arm to try to drag him back. “I must see that altar!” he grated between clenched teeth. “No, don’t go near it!” she pleaded, “You don’t know what it is.” His face was set in a stubborn expression. “Don’t I?” he glared, “The difference here, my dear Hermione, is that I at least have a good idea what it might mean – you only think you do.” Her eyes widened in horror. “You think it might have something to do with …?” He ignored her. “Just let me go, there’s a good girl. I’ll try not to touch anything, but frankly this is the first real lead I’ve had since it happened, and if you think I’m just going to walk away, you’re crazy. I owe him that much, at least.” Hermione stood helplessly watching while Fred approached the stone table, wand held in front of him. To her relief, he appeared to cast no spells nor to be using magic of any kind, merely examining the sculpted legs and front, and trying to read the inscriptions. He seemed somehow dissatisfied, when suddenly he straightened up and moved behind the altar, bending down again to look at something near the floor. She heard him cry out sharply, then he looked up over the top of the table. “Hermione,” he began, slowly and clearly, his voice betraying fear and suppressed excitement, “You must do exactly as I say, or we may not get out of here for a long while. Go back to the doorway and stand under the lintel – you know, the big stone beam which supports the wall. Take Ginny and Colin with you and, this is important, make sure you are touching each other - holding hands would be best – then wait for me to come to you. Okay?” “Fred, I don’t under…” “Hermione, don’t ask questions – please, just do it, okay?” The tone of his voice was such that Hermione obeyed without another murmur, and so grave and serious was her expression that Ginny and Colin both complied with her instructions instantly. In the eerie brilliance of the temple, they waited for Fred. Suddenly there was a loud crack and a flash of dazzling blue light, and Fred came hurtling towards them. He was holding something small in his left hand and running like the wind. “Stay where you are!” he bellowed, as the ground began to shake and pieces of plaster and masonry started to bounce off the floor behind him. A gilt picture frame glanced off his arm, but he paid it no heed. Instinctively, Ginny whirled towards the doorway, but to her horror it was totally blocked by something which strongly resembled a tree trunk. As she turned her frightened eyes back to Fred, he cannoned into them, enveloped all three in a tight, hard bear hug and held aloft what looked like a credit card. Immediately, white mist started to rise from it, curling around them, blocking out the light and the sight of the temple, and suddenly … … they were somewhere else. “Well, I guess we have to talk about it sometime, don’t we?” Ginny stood facing Fred and Hermione who were sitting on her sofa, drinking cups of hot restorative coffee. Their clothes were dirty and dishevelled, even their hair and faces were dusty and grubby, although both had made some attempts to clean up. Ginny was aware that she looked equally bad. Although she was in her own home, she had refrained from changing clothes and had merely indulged in the most cursory ablutions, so as not to put the others at a disadvantage. Hermione glanced at Fred, but encountered no reaction. She shrugged and put down her coffee cup. “Ginny, I don’t know what to say.” She began, “I’ve never come across anything like that before, I have no idea what it was or what was powering it. All I know is that I was scared witless.” Ginny gave her a searching look and turned to Fred. He shrugged. “Like Hermione said,” he began, “It’s not something I have any knowledge of …” “Bullshit!” returned Ginny, frowning mightily, “You did something in that temple, Fred, don’t try to deny it. And how did we get out of there anyway? You can’t apparate out and take three of us with you – we’d all get splinched. So how was it that we ended up in the Harrods Food Hall, halfway between the hand-made Swiss and Belgian chocolates and the sushi bar?” Hermione raised her eyes, then totally failed to control a slightly hysterical giggle. “Did you see that bloke’s face?” she said to Fred, “You know, the one with the strawberry blonde perm who was eating teriyaki chicken?” Fred gave an outright laugh. “I think he thought Christmas had come early when Colin landed in his lap.” Hermione grimaced. “I’m not sure Colin was exactly keen though.” Fred shook his head. “I think he was at the end of his tether by then. He’s certainly not going to have very much to do with us in future, and I think it would take a tranquillising gun to make him set foot in Harry’s House again, let alone the garden.” “Will you two be serious!” Ginny was almost jumping up and down in fury. She rounded on her brother. “Fred, that was a portkey you used – don’t try to deny it! I may have been out of magic for a while, but I’m not totally stupid. Now, what’s a jokeshop owner cum freelance spellbook publisher doing with ministry equipment, eh?” Fred had the grace to look abashed, but he did not answer. “And Hermione,” Ginny turned to her best friend, “Why were you so concerned when Fred went to look at that altar?” Hermione rallied with difficulty. “I thought the whole place was remarkably peculiar, and rather scarey.” She began, “My magical senses were on overload by the time we got inside the door. As soon as I focused in on the altar, I realised that much of the magic I was sensing was dark.” She swallowed back bile as the true horror of the memory seeped over her once more, “I was scared Fred was going to disturb it in some way, that’s all.” “Well, unlike Fred, at least you tried, although most of that explanation would provide enough organic matter to fertilize a rose bed for the next several years.” Ginny was cross. “Why won’t you level with me?” she demanded, “You obviously know much more about this than you’re letting on – I was there too, you know.” “We know that!” Fred burst out, unexpectedly vehement, his eyes hard and bright. He grabbed her hands. “Ginny, I can’t be sure what we’re dealing with here. To be honest, I can’t be sure of anything, so I’m just not prepared to commit myself to any kind of answer where you are concerned. Okay?” He exchanged glances with Hermione and Ginny saw her nod almost imperceptibly. He looked back towards his sister. “In fact,” he went on in a slightly calmer voice, “We’ve decided to bring in the SAS.” “Huh?” “We think we should tell Harry.” Hermione translated. Ginny sat back down in astonishment. “Harry?” she queried, he jaw slack, “Harry! What in Merlin’s name makes you think he’d have any interest in this at all? For goodness sake, he’s made another life for himself a whole world away from us here. The last thing he’s going to want to be bothered with is a peculiarity involving some arcane structure in the middle of his back garden; a back garden, I might add, which he hasn’t set eyes on for four years! Can’t we just – I don’t know - exorcise it or something?” Hermione looked at Fred. “You know when all is said and done, that might not be the worst idea anyone’s come up with.” A grim smile twisted her strong features, “I wouldn’t like to attempt it at the moment, but plain old muggle superstition might just be what the doctor ordered in the end.” “Hermione, you’re tired, you need rest.” Fred laid a hand on her arm in a patronising fashion and for once she did not rise to it, merely smiled and leaned against his shoulder. She looked directly at Ginny and sighed. “We’ll leave you in peace shortly.” She said, quietly, “We need to go home to clean up, just as soon as I’ve taken a quick fire talk.” “Who with?” “Harry, who do you think? Sorry to borrow your fireplace, but I’ve left an urgent message – a real SOS. He should be appearing any minute – oh, yes: right on time!” The fireplace unaccountably burst into orange flames, parting in the centre to reveal a man’s head. Hermione gasped. “My owl! Harry, you’ve gone blonde!” The man in the fireplace irritably brushed his wayward hair out of his eyes and scowled. “Trust you to notice that, Hermione!” were his first words. “Well, it is rather obvious,” said Hermione, apologetically, “And you’re very suntanned.” “What do you expect? It’s par for the course when you live in California.” The face grinned broadly. “What’s the weather like with you? It’s scorching here, and most people are covered up from their necks to their toes, terrified of skin cancer.” “It’s a typical English summer,” replied Fred, matching the grin, “Warmish, wettish and cloudy.” “So, children,” began Harry, “What’s the crisis? I’m supposed to be lecturing a group of 2nd year advanced students on the Unforgivable Curses with particular reference to my recent travels in Central America, but when I got your Mayday, I figured I’d better answer immediately.” Hermione leaned forward again. “We’ve got what might be a serious problem, Harry, and I really think you need to see it. In fact, it might need a little of your time to unravel it, so I suggest you take some leave and come home as soon as possible.” There: it was out and she couldn’t unsay it. Ginny held her breath while all his possible replies went through her head: I can’t just abandon my students in mid-course; I’m supposed to be giving a lecture right now, call me back later with the rest of this nonsense; aren’t you old enough by now to sort things out yourselves?; call in the Ministry: they’ll know what to do. To her surprise, he said none of these things. “Can you elaborate on the problem any further?” he enquired calmly and quietly. Hermione opened her mouth, then shut it again. “It’s – difficult.” She began, then Fred pushed his sister into view. “Ginny’s here, Harry.” He began inanely, “She knows a little about this. She shares a flat with a muggle professional a few streets away from your house. We’ve used her fireplace for this apparition, but we’ll have to be quick because her muggle partner doesn’t know she’s a witch.” Ginny stared open-mouthed at Fred for this seemingly totally gratuitous and ridiculous outburst of unnecessary information, but Harry was not phased in the least. “I see.” He said, and appeared to consider for a short while, then he looked up again. “I’ll use my old room in the West Wing then, shall I Hermione? Or is someone else occupying it at the moment?” “No, it’s empty.” replied Hermione, unable to hide the overwhelming relief she was feeling at his decision, “I’ll put it to rights for you, don’t worry.” He inclined his head in thanks. “Well, I’ll see you very shortly – probably tonight for dinner. I’ll just have to do something about taking leave, that’s all. See you later.” The flames died down and the fireplace returned to normal. Hermione sighed in satisfaction and turned to Fred. “I guess I’d better summon the gang for a dinner party.” She turned to Ginny, “You and David are invited, of course.” Ginny grimaced. “I can’t, unfortunately.” She sighed, “I’ve got a gig, and I really can’t back out, not after – well, I’ve just got to do it, that’s all.” Hermione’s face fell, then suddenly her eyes lit up. “How about we come to your gig – all of us, Harry too – then we can all go back to Harry’s house for dinner, or a take-away, or even out to a restaurant if we’re feeling flush!” Ginny smiled, a wide genuine smile. “That’s really kind – I could do with the support at the moment. It’s at the Café Royale in Balham – I’ll leave you some tickets on the door if you like. I think I’d better call a rain check on dinner though – at least until I’ve okayed it with David.” Fred pulled a face, fortunately behind Ginny’s back, and Hermione shot a very old-fashioned look at him until he mended his manners. “Don’t worry,” she said soothingly, “You can decide tomorrow after the gig whether you want to come with us or not. Now,” she shot a glance at Fred and started to look round for her handbag, laughing when she remembered how abruptly they had left home. “I think it’s time we went home to clean up. I, for one, am hungry – it’s well into lunchtime – and I want a little time to make up Harry’s room for him.” Fred groaned and leaned back on the sofa. “You go ahead, Hermione,” he said, “I don’t want to walk like this: I’ll apparate back when I feel up to it.” She gave him a sharp look which he returned innocently enough, but walking home she wondered if she had done the right thing by leaving him there with Ginny: after all, David was due home at any time. After the front door had closed on Hermione, Ginny rounded on her brother, hands on her hips, brown eyes flashing dangerously. “Well, Fred?” she demanded, “Are you going to come clean about this, or am I going to drop-kick your butt from here to Putney Bridge without bouncing?” Fred stared at her in wide-eyed amazement, then burst into hysterical laughter. Ginny’s anger abruptly drained away and she sank down into the squashy sofa. “You are completely hopeless, Fred.” She muttered, in defeat, “I never could get a straight answer out of either you or George – Ron’s become just as bad.” She looked at him. “You can’t blame me for worrying, Fred. I know you two are always plotting something, but recently I’ve just been a bit, well, concerned?” Fred looked up sharply. “Why?” he returned, rather too quickly. She shrugged. “Well, it’s just that you don’t seem entirely yourself, Fred. I can’t put my finger on it, but you’re not quite – well, right somehow.” She shook her head. “Don’t ask me to explain it any further.” She looked at him. “Are you okay?” Fred uncrossed his legs and shifted to the edge of the sofa, not meeting her eyes. “You’re preparing to lie to me, aren’t you?” she said. He sighed. “It’s very difficult to hide anything from you, but – yes, I’m afraid I was.” “Then don’t answer.” Her face was serious, “Tell me when you can, but don’t lie to me.” He took her hand and squeezed it gently. She met his eyes. “Prawn and lettuce sandwiches do for lunch?” He grinned broadly. “You bet!” « Previous Chapter ( 1 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 3 ) » Review Story ( be a responsible reader and write a review) Title: A Most Ingenious Paradox Name: Email: (optional) Review: If you feel that this entry violates any of the guidelines set by FanFiction.Net please click here to notify the staff. Home | About Us | Terms of Service | Browser Compatibility | Privacy FanFiction.Net login | register AuthorTitleSummaryFull-Text FlavorTangerineKiwiBlueberryGrapeBlackberryMint Just In | Discussion Forums | Community Connector | Authors Directory | FAQ« Help» A Most Ingenious Paradox Category: Books » Harry Potter Censor: R Genre: Romance Chapters: 11 Reviews: 208 Author: Penpusher - Select Font -VerdanaTimes New RomanArialGeneva Font Size: Bigger (+) - Smaller (-) « Previous Chapter ( 2 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 4 ) » “A Most Ingenious Paradox” Chapter Three – “The Return of the Native” Harry Potter’s life had not exactly been easy. Technically, he was an orphan having lost his parents to a particularly violent death involving the worst threat the wizarding world had seen for many centuries. He had been brought up as a muggle by his aunt and uncle, neither of whom had any wizarding talent, and he had suffered greatly at the hands of their lumbering son, Dudley, to whom anything weaker or more helpless than himself was a legitimate target. When Harry had been given a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the age of eleven, life had started to look at once brighter and happier, but a good deal more dangerous. He did reasonably well in his studies at school, turning out no brighter or more inspired than most other Hogwarts pupils. However, what did stand out about him was his ability to cope in a crisis, and his talent for choosing and retaining friends and champions. Which was a very fortunate thing since the plethora of attacks on his life by his sworn enemy Tom Riddle aka Voldemort (the most feared dark wizard since Rasputin) would have succeeded on a number of counts had Harry not been watched over and protected by others. By his sixth year, Harry was starting to display signs of what could only be described as street-wisdom in his dealings with Voldemort, all of which culminated in a spectacular battle between dark and light magic on the premises of Hogwarts itself. Harry himself had defeated the dark wizard, vanquished his followers and won the fair maiden (the Ravenclaw seeker, Cho Chang), but not without loss. Albus Dumbledore, tireless champion and matchless wizard of unparalleled powers had been struck down never to rise again. Harry had mourned the death of his mentor, knowing his passing to be a tragedy the full degree of which would only be felt by future generations, but this grief paled into insignificance when his lover and life partner, Cho Chang, was killed by a muggle automobile the following year. When Harry decided to pursue his career at the University in LA, Harry’s friends had assumed he was trying to escape from his memories. But, mused Harry himself as he strode swiftly towards the office occupied by the Principal of his college, they were dead wrong. Fifteen minutes later, after a heated discussion with the Principal, which involved Harry threatening to hand in his notice with an indifference he did not exactly feel, he was free. He had been granted a month’s sabbatical, which extended conveniently into the long summer vacation: time enough to assess whether Fred and Hermione’s fears were groundless, but he was almost sure that they were not. Half an hour later, Harry was disturbed in his packing by a magical alarm: one of his wards had been tripped. Presently, Neville Longbottom poked his head around Harry’s bedroom door. “So the rumours are true then?” He said. Harry sighed. “I swear, the wizarding grapevine around this place is the most efficient in the world.” Neville shrugged and came into the room. “To coin a cliché, this is all very sudden.” He said, flatly, “I mean, I always knew you were never intending to make your life with us here, but what’s triggered this sudden urge to go home?” Harry paused while folding a shirt, and sagged slightly. “If you put it that way,” he began, slowly, “I would have to say it’s Hermione, but ultimately it’s really got to have been brewing for some time. I guess I’m just anxious about them. Things are happening, Neville: things which should have been dead and buried a long time ago. I thought so when I went on that expedition to China in search of the Aurora Amulet, the first summer I was here – you remember? There were too many people unaccounted for, wizards and muggles both. As you know, I certainly achieved my aims on that particular trip, but it just wasn’t enough: somewhere I was missing the point. Now Hermione has joined forces with Lee Jordan, she’s noticed a pattern emerging. I want to study their data and draw my own conclusions. The Weasley twins – I’m worried they’ve lost the plot somewhere. Ron isn’t involved, I know that, but he’s still in a high risk occupation, being an auror. On top of that, they’ve obviously stumbled on something – weird. I have no idea what it is, but I’ve never seen Hermione so tense about anything – and Fred was more nervous than I’ve ever seen him. Something stinks back there in St. John’s Wood, and I need to go home to sort it out.” He resumed packing with renewed energy. Neville pondered, then straightened up. “I figured as much,” he replied, “So I looked around for ways I might help out, and what d’ya know? I noticed this li’l ol’ portkey jus’ hangin’ aroun’ the office, lookin’ like it might need a li’l exercise, know what I mean?” Harry jerked his head up. “A portkey? Can you tune it for London?” “Yes siree, sure can.” He replied, mockingly, “Even tune it for St. John’s Wood if you want.” “Thanks, Neville, I really appreciate this. Apparating into the office is one thing, but all the way to London – well, I always feel exhausted for days.” Harry held his hand out for the portkey, but found it dangled just out of his reach. “It has a price.” Harry frowned, but Neville smiled broadly and genuinely for the first time. “A farewell cup of strong, black, Colombian coffee - and a short advice session before you go.” Harry looked puzzled. “Advice?” Neville nodded frantically. “Advice, Harry. Let’s face it: Gringotts is a big, big enterprise and I was unbelievably lucky to get this post in LA. My concern now is how I’m gonna keep it without you around to keep me on the rails!” Chuckling, Harry stopped struggling with his bulging suitcase and pointed at it with his wand. Abruptly, the locks fastened and straps appeared, fastening tightly around the outside. Harry grimaced. “I hate doing that,” he said, “I always end up with creased shirts. Time for coffee?” Neville grinned. “I put on the machine before I interrupted you.” Hermione was trying to make up for lost time. She felt guilty that her extra-curricular studies with Lee seemed to be taking precedence over everything else, and even more guilty that she had spent a precious couple of hours trying to make Harry’s room welcoming: it’s general appearance was Spartan, to say the least. During the last couple of weeks, her caseload had rocketed, mostly minor offences, but a number of quite large trials which were likely to last well into the New Year. She shook her head: where was all the work coming from? Her chambers had never had it so good. They had barely been coping before this sudden influx of new stuff, but now it looked as though they would have to recruit at least two juniors and a well-seasoned Grade One to cope with the backlog. Slow down a minute, Hermione. She creased her brow in a heavy frown and stopped writing suddenly. Wasn’t that just the point? A very effective way of stopping people thinking clearly was to make sure they had too much work – Hogwarts had taught her that. Her chambers wasn’t the only one suffering from this abrupt deluge of work. And where did most of the clever, intelligent witches and wizards with a bent for research and book learning end up? In the legal profession. Hermione wondered how many other lawyers were working flat out, like she was, and whether this was the reason no one else seemed either to know or care about the very worrying trends in the wizarding world’s crime patterns. She sighed and reflexively took a mouthful of coffee from a nearby mug, nearly spitting it out when she realised it was stone cold. She was about to raise her wand to heat it up, when she became aware of someone else in the room. There was a tall figure in the bay, silhouetted against the light. One moment the window had been empty, the next he was there, a tall, lithe, rangy-looking man, slightly disorientated by his recent apparation, pausing to get his bearings. Hermione leaped up from her desk. “Harry!” she exclaimed, rushing over to him, flinging her arms round his neck and astounding him with the wild enthusiasm of her hello kiss. “Merlin’s Wand, Hermione!” he grinned, “I’ll have to do this more often if that’s the kind of reception I get!” But Hermione was too happy to see him to think of a suitable ripost. “Oh Harry, it’s so wonderful to have you home again!” she enthused, all thoughts of work completely erased from her mind. “Fred is home – come through and say hello to him.” Harry raised a speculative eyebrow, but refrained from comment. “Let’s get some decent coffee going.” She picked up her mug, frowning at its contents, and led Harry out of her study, down the hall and into the large kitchen. “Harry! You made it!” Harry took one step into the kitchen and was enveloped in a huge bear hug by a grinning red-haired man. “This is the best thing that’s happened in a long time!” Harry looked the red-head up and down. “Hello Fred.” He said, his hesitation barely perceptible. There was a chuckle from the direction of the fireplace. “I thought twins were supposed to get less alike as they grew older,” observed a well-loved voice, “But my brothers still seem to be able to fool a large number of people.” Harry swung round in delight to see his much loved friend and school chum Ron emerging from the sofa, grinning from ear to ear. Harry smiled warmly and held out a hand in greeting, but Ron was having none of it. “If Fred can hug you, so can I!” he told him, before crushing the other man’s ribs in his fervour, while Harry pummelled Ron’s back as though he were a punchbag. Hermione went to refresh the coffee pot, smiling at the boys’ antics, while Fred was protesting total innocence in the face of Ron’s allegations. “Ron, you know George and I have given up trying to fool anyone as to our identities.” He said in hurt tones, “Ever since I got my scar trying out for the Cannons, and left it to heal muggle style, no one’s been fooled as to who’s who.” Who’s buying that, I wonder? thought Harry, politely accepting a cup of strong black coffee from Hermione and watching while Ron and Fred battled it out. As he stood inhaling the steam from the fragrant liquid, Hermione had the chance to observe his appearance properly. Really, she had to admit, for a kid who had been small, gangly and weedy in school, Harry had turned out to be really rather gorgeous looking now he was in his twenties. He was dressed casually in olive fatigues and teeshirt with a creased khaki shirt left open with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. His loafers were made of soft, flexible leather and looked expensive, and his skin was the deep mahogany tan that only genuinely happens to very dark-haired people. He still wore his trademark round-lensed spectacles, but the blonde hair which had surprised her so much turned out to be rather less dramatic in the flesh: it was certainly several shades lighter, nothing more than continuous exposure to the sun would do, but she definitely preferred him dark. Time rolled effortlessly away as Hermione made pot after pot of coffee, latterly charming the caffeine out of it, and the friends talked and talked, catching up on news and re-living old stories. Eventually, Lee arrived bringing with him, to everyone’s surprise, Oliver Wood who was home for a brief weekend in the midst of a hectic time managing the Chudley Cannons’ world tour. As soon as she saw them, Hermione looked at her watch and let out a horrified squeak. “Oh hell, I’m not even changed yet, and it starts at 7.30pm.” she started to panic her way out of the kitchen, “It’s these light evenings – they make you think you’ve got more time than you have!” Harry turned to Ron. “Is Hermione going somewhere tonight?” he queried, slightly disappointed that his old friend should have an appointment on the evening he arrived. Ron drained his coffee mug. “We all are, mate.” He responded, “We’re going to a concert.” “What!” exclaimed Harry. Ron grinned hugely. “You heard me – and don’t ask me who it is. I’ve been sworn to secrecy, but you’ll know as soon as you get there.” The Café Royale was less grand than its name implied, being slightly shabby and grey on the outside, but once inside Harry could see why it was a popular venue. It was a large building with plenty of seating, a good modern stage and, most importantly, a large and well-appointed bar, well situated with an excellent view of the entertainment. It was quite crowded and very noisy. Ron immediately disappeared into the crush round the bar and came back some minutes later with a tray of drinks. Meanwhile, Hermione had deftly secured a table near the front and had gone in search of extra chairs. Harry sat down, gazing around him: he saw no one he knew, although he didn’t exactly expect to, but he had to admit to being slightly phased by the fact that he and his party were apparently the only wizarding folk present. Still, he mused, they weren’t exactly easy to spot. Nowadays, few younger wizards wore traditional robes all the time: most, like his own group, wore muggle clothes day to day, reserving their robes for purely wizarding or formal occasions. He made idle conversation with Ron, debating the quality of their beer, which was warm but otherwise surprisingly good. “Real ale,” Ron said briefly, holding it up to the light, “From somewhere in Somerset, I believe.” “I thought that was cider country.” remarked Harry. Ron shrugged. “Diversity is the name of the game. Oh, look – it’s about to start.” He turned towards the stage as the lights dimmed and the compere came on. He was a seasoned comedian with a humorous line of patter which amused the audience, even if they didn’t particularly listen to it. Soon tired of this, Harry elected to fight his way to the bar for another round of drinks. It took quite some time: it seemed he wasn’t the only one who was bored with the warm-up and wanted to get sufficient drinks in to cover the first half. By the time he got back to the table and began to hand out glasses, the act was being introduced. Harry had never heard of the vocalist Virginia Dale, but when the band started up and a slender girl with startlingly red hair walked onstage, picked up the microphone and began to sing an old jazz favourite, he found himself frozen to the spot in the process of handing Ron a pint of beer. Laughing, Ron waved a hand in front of Harry’s face to break the trance. Harry sat down heavily, spilling his beer over the floor: Ron laughed some more. “Bet you never expected this, eh?” he grinned, swelling with pride at his great friend’s reaction to his little sister’s performance. Harry shook his head wonderingly, unable to take his eyes off her. “I had no idea she was so good!” he whispered, completely thrown. Ginny’s act was a composite of various different styles. She was a very good singer indeed, but her real strength was in her versatility. The basis of the evening’s music was on the traditional side of jazz – not surprising, considering the venue was more or less a jazz club – but these numbers were interspersed with ballads, folk songs, country and western, one or two rock and even a couple of opera arias: “Il mio bambino caro” had the punters on their feet, cheering and stamping. Harry had not spoken a word throughout the whole spot, and when she left the stage for a breather, he applauded with the rest of the audience and sank the rest of his warm beer in one. “I’m going outside for a breather.” He shouted at Ron over the hubbub. Ron nodded and continued trying to hold a conversation with Hermione. Harry pushed his way through the heaving mass of people, finally coming to the main doors spilling out on to the pavement. Here it was a little quieter, although several others had the same idea. Harry leaned against the cool stonework and wished, not for the first time, that he smoked: a cigarette might have helped untangle the knot of unfamiliar emotions roiling around in his stomach. No wonder Ginny had been snapped up so quickly by an agent – they must have been beating her door down! If her voice could do this to Harry, think what effect it must have on the muggle population. Preparing to go back in for the second half, Harry shook his head in wonderment: it had been a long time since he had been this deeply stirred by anything. The second half was much the same in content as the first, and Harry felt himself settling, calming down, getting used to the fact that this was Ron’s little sister whom he had known at school. Near the end, she signalled for quiet and the noise died down to an acceptable buzz. She then took the microphone and started to sing, totally without accompaniment, an ancient Irish folksong which rose and fell modally, conjuring up hills and heather, peat fires and the smell of rain. Harry could feel her consciousness spiralling out to embrace the audience: forget your problems and your troubles, all is green and peaceful she seemed to be saying. Harry’s mind swirled and, before he realised what he was doing, he had reached out and joined with her, reinforcing her thoughts, strengthening her outward message. In the reverent silence which followed the end of the song, Harry suddenly came to with a jolt. Fortunately, the band had been primed to cut in quickly with the intro to the last barnstorming number, so his startled exclamation went unnoticed. What did I think I was doing? He berated himself, This is muggle territory, there’s no way I can get away with blatant interference like that! There’d be a Misuse of Magic Warning back at the house this evening with his name on it, he knew it, and his face flushed a dull red. Who would have thought it: Harry Potter making such an elementary mistake. They went backstage to the Green Room afterwards to meet a radiant Ginny who was fully aware of how well her gig had gone. Harry noticed a tall dark man pouring drinks and guessed that this must be David Markland, her muggle agent and live-in partner. Harry thought he looked rather too pleased with himself. As soon as she could, Ginny excused herself from a crowd of fans and well-wishers and flew over to Harry, standing on tiptoe to fling her arms round his neck with abandon. “Oh, we’ve missed you so much! How long are you staying? Thank you so much for coming this evening, it meant such a lot to me, and it all went so well just because you were there!” Harry smiled down at the beautiful girl in his arms. “Hiya, Ginny.” He said, happily, “I’ve missed you too. I think I might be staying for a while, so be prepared to see a lot more of me this time.” She grinned up at him happily, then a small frowm creased her features and she lifted an experimental hand to the hair which flopped over his forehead. “My wand, Harry, what have you done to your hair?!” Harry sighed and self-consciously pushed the somewhat lightened locks away from his eyes. “You girls and your obsession with hair!” He replied, in mild exasperation, “I live in sunshine 364 days out of each year in LA, and I’m often abroad in places where they don’t have sunscreen shampoo. Sunbleaching’s a natural phenomenon.” But he was too pleased to see her to be cross. “Your gig was fantastic, I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed it.” He told her enthusiastically, “You really have moved on such a lot in four years.” “For three of them she’s been in my professional care, so it isn’t surprising that she’s learned some sophistication.” said a new voice. Reluctantly, Harry let his arms slide away from the girl, and turned to meet the intruder. Ginny remembered her manners. “Oh, Harry, this is David Markland, my agent and manager. David, this is Harry Potter. We were at school together.” The man nodded unsmilingly. “So I hear.” He replied, coolly, “Ginny seems to have a number of old school friends in St. John’s Wood. They seem to multiply by the day.” Harry shook the carelessly outstretched hand, taking an adolescent pleasure in seeing Markland’s eyes widen at the strength of his grip. “Ginny is very talented,” the tall man went on in the same casual tone, “But far too easily pleased. Tonight for example: she is over the moon at her performance, whereas I could only feel totally convinced by “My Lagan Love” – the Irish melody. Only that had the necessary spark of real star quality.” Ginny seemed to wilt visibly, but tried gamely to swallow her disappointment. Harry felt faint stirrings of anger. “You might do well to listen to her audience.” He replied, speaking for the first time, “You could have heard a pin drop during most of her numbers, and the applause was deafening: I know because I was contgributing!” Ginny smiled gratefully. “This place? Pfff!” Markland waved his hand negligently, consigning the Café Royale and all its contents to a nether world of total unimportance, “They’re easily pleased here. Once she gets on to the really big stages, then she’ll have to do better.” “But David, we’ve been through this before; I really feel so much happier in a smaller environment.” Ginny cut in, “I’m not at all sure I want to go as big as you’d like. At least, not yet.” The last words were added hastily as Markland’s eyes darkened in anger. “Ginny, you need to go butter up Samuel Stacey about that recording deal he’s dickering on. He’s only here for a little while, we can’t waste time. Nice to have met you, er, Potter, wasn’t it?” So saying, Markland put a proprietary hand under Ginny’s elbow and bore her firmly away from Harry towards a smallish, balding man surrounded by a group of rather lovely young women. Harry gritted his teeth as, rather reluctantly, Ginny joined them and presently Harry saw her smiling winningly at the little man while he surreptitiously stroked her shoulder, Markland looking on approvingly all the time. Harry felt the stem of his champagne glass snap under the pressure of his fingers, and hurriedly disposed of the remains in the empty fireplace. He and the others left shortly afterwards. Unsurprisingly, Ginny and David did not join them for supper and, after a brief consultation, they decided to go back to Harry’s House, picking up a carry out on the way. There was a brief tussle over whether it would be Chinese, Indian, Italian or Tex-Mex, but eventually Chinese triumphed as the restaurant was nearer. Ron and Lee detoured to the local off-licence and by the time they arrived, the meal was served in the kitchen and ready to eat: it took very little time indeed for the food to be demolished, even though they had bought a set meal for eight! Hermione suggested coffee and further drinks, a motion which was passed unanimously, and also proposed relocating to the Garden Room, the ground floor sitting room in the West Wing. There was a murmur of assent and a scraping of chairs as people began to help clear the table and set the kitchen to rights. Hermione waved her wand vaguely at the kettle and coffee pot and they jumped to attention, beginning to assemble themselves correctly. Harry could see why Hermione had suggested they use the West Room. Even though it was late, the last vestiges of sunset could be seen through the several sets of French doors, colouring the horizon, the moonlight was bright and silvery, and the stars seemed very close to them in the inky blue sky. He sank down in a corner of a squashy sofa and gazed up at the sky enraptured. “It’s stunning, isn’t it?” said a low voice. He turned to see Fred just about to take a seat next to him. Harry nodded, then focussed his attention on the man sitting next to him. “I believe you have a good deal of explaining to do, my old friend.” The redhead sighed and smiled wryly. “I can’t imagine how you could have come to that conclusion, Harry.” He returned, with unaccustomed sarcasm. Harry shrugged. “Something appears to have gone disastrously wrong, but untangling it might require a little ingenuity and the pooling of information. The way this thing seems to be going, we’re all involved one way or another and we all need to know the bottom line.” He looked at Fred keenly. “I think perhaps we had better come clean tonight don’t you?” Fred nodded slowly. “Perhaps that might be a good idea, yes.” “It’s the only way.” Harry was firm on the subject. Fred opened his mouth one or two times, then he leaned forward with a serious expression on his face. “There’s one other person who needs to hear this.” He began, “I don’t want her to get the information second-hand; she’d feel somehow that the rest of your were more important than she is.” Harry pursed his lips and frowned. “You’re speaking of Ginny, of course.” Fred nodded. “But she and David elected to go Merlin-knows-where with that pack of posers back at the Café Royale. They might not even be home yet, even though it’s gone 11.30pm, and if they are they’ll be asleep.” Fred’s face assumed a stubborn expression. “Then I’m saying nothing until we can get her here. It just isn’t right otherwise, Harry, you’ve got to realise that.” They said no more until Ron, Lee and Hermione had also sat down, bringing the coffee with them. Harry waited until they were all served, then he looked at Hermione. “I’m the newcomer here,” he began, “I’m the one who has been out of touch for a long time. I think it’s best if you assume I know nothing, although that might be slightly less than the truth, I warn you. Okay, if Hermione would oblige me, I would like to know what happened this morning.” Hermione took a breath, then expelled it without thinking. “It really was only this morning.” She said in wonderment, “It feels as though so much time as gone by.” With that, she launched into a fairly accurate description of the morning’s events in the old temple, including where Fred’s portkey had sent them. This caused a great deal of hilarity amongst Ron and Lee, but who were nevertheless rather taken aback that so much weirdness should be present in Harry’s backyard. “So what was it about the altar, Fred?” asked Ron. Fred opened his mouth, but Harry held up a hand. “It’s probably time to ‘fess up, Fred.” He said, gently. The redhead drooped in his chair slightly, then rallied with a determined expression on his face. “I really don’t want to spill the beans without Ginny here.” He began firmly, “This affects her as much as it does anyone else here.” Hermione looked at her watch. “It’s very late, Fred. I expect she’s asleep.” But her brother was adamant. Harry got to his feet, sighing. “Okay Fred, I think you’ve made your point. Someone lend me a broom – I’ll fly over to her flat, if you give me the address, and see if I can’t sneak her out without sourpuss Markland noticing.” Ron raised his eyebrows. “Not taken to him then?” Harry made a growl in reply. “He’s a total pratt,” He responded succinctly, “And he’s got Ginny so messed up that she doesn’t trust her own judgment any more.” Ron nodded in agreement. “Yep, that’s about the size of it,” he nodded, “But try telling Ginny that – or rather, don’t, if you value your assets!” Ron handed Harry a Firebolt out of the hall closet. Harry smiled reminiscently and opened the front door. “That’s Ginny’s broom.” yelled Ron after him, casting a quick Everyday charm to protect him from muggle eyes. Harry sped away into the night. At Ginny’s flat, she and David had indeed retired for the night, but in different rooms. David, after giving her a monumental dressing-down, firstly for being less than electric at the gig, and secondly for failing to go along with Samuel Stacey’s extremely suggestive ideas of what might help fix the deal, and thereby losing them the contract. After shouting himself hoarse, David had retired to bed leaving Ginny watching late-night television and contemplating suicide. She had just decided that slashing her wrists might be less risky in the long run than muggle drugs or a self-induced death curse, when there was a soft tapping on the window. Easing the drapes to one side, Ginny clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a squeak as she beheld Harry standing on the balcony, holding her Firebolt in his hand. He beckoned. She unlocked the patio doors and stared. “Come on.” He said, “We’ve having a council of war, and Fred won’t come clean until you’re there.” She turned huge, confused eyes on him. “What council of war – what are you talking about?” “The Temple this morning, silly, what did you think?” “But – what does Fred know about it?” “A lot, trust me. Come on, let’s go.” “But – but I’m scarcely dressed for it.” This was true, for all that covered her thin body was a voluminous but sheer caftan she had put on for ease and comfort when they had arrived home. Harry waved aside her concerns. “Ron’s put an Everyday charm on the broomstick – I’ll just extend it to you. Oh, and if you’re cold, hold on tight to me: I’ll keep you warm!” Ginny actually blushed slightly, but did not give way. “But what about David? What’s he going to think if he wakes up and finds I’m not here?” “What do you care?” Harry’s indifferent remark and cold tone cut through her like a knife, “He’s a grown man, Ginny: he can look after himself – very well, I suspect. Now, come on!” Suddenly pouncing on her, he swept her into his arms, jumped aboard the Firebolt, and had kicked off from the ground before she could utter a sound. Harry had always adored flying. From the very first time he had held a broomstick, he seemed to know instinctively what to do with it. At Hogwarts, the school broomsticks had been slow, well-used and inclined to list if one wasn’t careful, but Harry’s own first broomstick had been a Nimbus 2000, the state of the art broomstick at the time. It had later been superseded by the Firebolt, the very model they were sitting on now, and Harry’s own Nimbus had been destroyed by accident, but he had never forgotten the sudden feeling of liberty, exhilaration and control over his own destiny that flying had given him. Now, soaring above London in the certain knowledge that muggles could neither see nor hear him, Harry exulted in the freedom of the skies, looping the loop, turning upside down, making sudden, spectacular dives. He had almost forgotten the girl held tightly in his arms before him until he was circling high above St. John’s Wood, zeroing in on Harry’s House. As they landed gently in the front garden, Harry gazed anxiously into her face. “I’m really sorry, Ginny.” He began, “I just didn’t think. It’s been so long since I let off steam I’m afraid I rather over did it.” To his astonishment, she smiled a wide, genuine, life’s-worth-living grin and impulsively kissed him on the cheek. He felt himself redden slightly. “Harry, you’re not Superman – and I’m not Lois Lane either!” she told him, “Unlike her, I’m used to flying dangerously – or have you forgotten I was the Gryffindor seeker the year after you left?” She stretched her arms high above her head. “Oh, but that was marvellous! I’d forgotten just how much flying takes away all your everyday cares and hang-ups. You look down over all that land, all those people, all those separate little lives and you realise just how small and unimportant your own little problems really are!” She started for the door, put her face up close to the lion-shaped doorknocker and yelled “Gallileo!!” at the top of her voice. Instead of roaring in her face, it uttered a surprised little mew and opened the door in double quick time. Helpless with laughter, Harry and Ginny staggered into the hall. However, they certainly sobered into seriousness when Fred told his tale. « Previous Chapter ( 2 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 4 ) » Review Story ( be a responsible reader and write a review) Title: A Most Ingenious Paradox Name: Email: (optional) Review: If you feel that this entry violates any of the guidelines set by FanFiction.Net please click here to notify the staff. Home | About Us | Terms of Service | Browser Compatibility | Privacy FanFiction.Net login | register AuthorTitleSummaryFull-Text FlavorTangerineKiwiBlueberryGrapeBlackberryMint Just In | Discussion Forums | Community Connector | Authors Directory | FAQ« Help» A Most Ingenious Paradox Category: Books » Harry Potter Censor: R Genre: Romance Chapters: 11 Reviews: 208 Author: Penpusher - Select Font -VerdanaTimes New RomanArialGeneva Font Size: Bigger (+) - Smaller (-) « Previous Chapter ( 3 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 5 ) » No one’s attempted to identify the title quotation yet! I must say, I’m delighted at the number of reviews and the general response to my story. Keep reading and reviewing, guys, I love it! “A Most Ingenious Paradox” Chapter Four – “Things are seldom what they seem” It looked as though the council of war would be going on for most of the night. At least it’s Sunday tomorrow, thought Hermione, but that’s not going to dice any ginger roots where Ron and Lee are concerned; the Ministry has been so overworked recently that the one thing they can depend on is that they’ll get at least one emergency call during their off-duty hours. Once Ginny had been provided with hot coffee and had cast an opacity charm on her caftan for the sake of general male peace of mind, Fred began his recital. He was surprisingly nervous as he began to speak. He wrung his hands together, couldn’t meet anybody’s eyes, and eventually started pacing about the room as though this might help him. Harry watched him impassively for a while, then moved to intervene. “Look, would it be simpler if I were to begin?” he asked, and without waiting for confirmation, indicated the sofa beside him and said “Sit down – George.” The redhead obeyed without hesitation. There was a moment of complete silence, then pandemonium broke out. Ron was telling his brother to pull the other one – what about that scar then, eh?, Ginny admitted to being completely in the dark, and Lee was asking if he had heard correctly. “Fred” sighed deeply and brought out his wand. Gradually subtle changes began to come over his face and body – he became slightly heavier, his cheeks slightly rounder, his hair thickened a little and the long silver scar disappeared entirely. “It’s a Glamour.” He explained quietly, “Fred and I used them all the time. We’ve been impersonating each other for years now, no one rumbled us. However, we couldn’t hide from Potter here – he helped us develop the charms, amongst other things,” Harry grinned, “And I have to admit, in the last few weeks I have confided in Hermione.” Ron turned furious eyes on his ex-girlfriend. “You never told me!” he stormed. She shrugged, totally unmoved. “I was asked not to tell anyone,” she said simply, “And there was a very good reason.” “Oh yeah? Name it!” “Alright,” continued George heavily, “Fred’s – disappeared.” What followed was almost a complete re-working of the lives of George and Fred Weasley. As far as most of their friends and family were aware, the Weasley twins took nothing seriously, except perhaps making money. All through their careers at Hogwarts, they had wanted nothing more than to own and run a joke shop and, despite being almost international standard Quidditch players and academically very able indeed, they had never really taken life seriously. Or so it seemed. Now George was telling them that whilst they had made a modest success of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, their real employment was and always had been with the Intelligence Department of the Ministry of Magic. “The fact that we are twins and had a high profile for being airheads was just so much jam as far as our Department was concerned.” explained George, “They taught us the basics of the Glamour technique, and we gradually refined the charms over the years – with Harry’s help at one time. That was when we went on holiday to California – remember Ron? It was really a working trip: you wondered how on earth we could afford it.” Ron nodded slowly in sudden understanding. George went on. “Fred was always the one with the real flair for intelligence. I’m not bad, but Fred has always had the knack of melting into the background when he chose. Most often, Fred would be posted somewhere – quite often abroad – at short notice and I would be left to keep things going, so I simply became him when necessary.” It seemed that Fred had taken on his status as a freelance spellbook publisher as a cover for his frequent trips abroad. However, when he needed to be in two places at once ie. known to be at home whilst in reality elsewhere, George stepped in and covered both their lives. Ron was horrified. “Do you mean to say that you’ve been living in two places at the same time? That Hermione’s been sharing her house with you convinced that you were one person, when all the time you were someone else?” Hermione laughed. “Oh, Ron, don’t be silly! This is your brothers we’re talking about.” She was very amused, “And besides, latterly I’ve been in on the secret. It was very difficult for George to maintain both lives over an extended period, and eventually he had to let me in on the secret – before I worked it out myself!” George gave her a chagrined smile. “Can I ask something?” Ginny spoke for the first time. She wasn’t smiling. “How long have you been assuming Fred’s identity?” George pursed his lips. “For about – two months now, I reckon.” “So Fred’s been missing all this time? Have you notified the ministry – whatever department you work in? Have you done anything to find him? Is he in any danger? How much do you know about what he’s up to?” George sighed. “Well, here we come to the difficult bit.” He began, “Ginny, please accept that I can’t just spill my guts to you here and now: I’d be in a hell of a fix with regard to my job and it simply wouldn’t help things any, trust me. Please just accept that Fred was on a mission concerning a number of missing magical artefacts, some of them really quite dangerous stuff, and he was obliged to remain incommunicado for long periods, okay?” The others nodded. “Now, here’s where Harry comes in.” Ginny looked up sharply, but Harry’s face remained impassive. George went on to explain that Harry was the ideal contact being, as he was, half a world away and more or less totally divorced from his friends and family in England. Fred only used him when his usual lines of communication were blocked or too risky, but this time Harry had received no word at all. George had not been worried in the least for quite a while – Fred had been away for months at a time with no word forthcoming on several previous occasions – but eventually several things happened more or less simultaneously to make him put two and two together and come up with rather more than four. “It’s a case of a number of small events cropping up which, taken in isolation, have no real significance whatsoever.” George explained, steepling his fingers and bringing them up against his forehead. “Firstly, Fred had been on the trail of something fairly significant, although he couldn’t be sure of what it was. All he had were some vague descriptions and a couple of drawings – some sort of arcane design, maybe carving, we couldn’t tell. Secondly, I was having a late-night discussion with Hermione – I’d found her asleep over her desk and she told me about the deluge of work her chambers was getting. I asked her about it – polite conversation really – then something seemed to click. The types of cases she was defending were really very unusual: people accused of crimes they seemed to have no memory of doing, and no reason or past history to back it up; wizards sent to Azkaban for use of the Unforgivable Curses all the while screaming their innocence; people disappearing, muggles and wizards, and others accused of their murders, sometimes convicted, but with no trace of their victims – really peculiar stuff. Also, she was party to a case of serious theft regarding an important magical artefact. The thief had been caught, but although he was a known criminal, this particular offence didn’t have the right smell about it, if you know what I mean. It just wasn’t his M.O. at all. Also once nicked, this particular crook tends to come clean and try to plea bargain. Not this time: he was adamant that he was innocent.” He sighed. “Didn’t help him though – straight back to Azkaban.” “M.O?” Ginny was confused. George smiled at her. “Modus operandi – it’s a muggle term for accustomed method and type of crime.” There was a pause, and Harry shifted in his seat, uncrossing his legs. “I think it’s time we called on Lee and Hermione to explain their part in all this.” He said, quietly as though chairing a meeting. Lee coughed and sat up, glancing at Hermione. In unspoken agreement with Lee, she began to speak. “Well,” she said, trying to clear her thoughts, “You’ve heard from George how I started wondering about the type of work which was coming my way. I’m a fairly new barrister – I’ve only been fully in the business for less than a year – and it would have been very easy to dismiss this sudden influx of new stuff as normal for the lowest in line. I might have done just that, but I happened to be having a Friday night drink with my boss to discuss the court appearance on the following Monday, and he mentioned that everyone was tearing their hair out – not just me, not just him, not just our particularly chambers, but every wizarding lawyer in London. In fact, he had reason to believe that most of his colleagues abroad were similarly bogged down. I asked permission to look into it as the whole situation intrigued me. He refused to let me do it in working hours, but told me what I did in my own time was my own affair. The rest you know, except that during the late-night discussion that George referred to, he did in fact let slip (accidentally on purpose, I think) that Fred was missing. He tried to stick to the script and make me believe that George was the one who was missing, but I’m afraid I put several things together and drew my own conclusions. Much of what he has said tonight is a complete surprise to me, I might add, but after that discussion, I approached Lee for help. He’d been sounding off on a number of occasions about how wonderful his computers were and how, if wizards would only accept the validity of both logic and technology, automatic spell processing was only a short time away, so I decided to call his bluff.” Lee grinned widely. “Weren’t disappointed though, were you?” he returned, impishly, “Seriously though, Hermione and I did a surface analysis of the data and broke it up into fields of variability – like, type of crime, how many persons involved, ages of victims and perpetrators, etc. etc. all the way through to time of day, colour of clothing, whether the perp. owned a pet, what colour their bathroom was painted – you know, from the sublime to the ridiculous. This took quite a long time, but eventually I had it sorted and I then began the task of getting it on to the computer. The results were absolutely staggering – a number of really strong correlations. The problem then was interpretation.” He looked at Hermione again and she shrugged. “And that’s as far as we’ve got.” She finished. “The decision to consult Harry was a last-ditch attempt before placing our findings before the Ministry. You see, Lee and I – well, we’re out of our depth. We’ve gathered the information and we’ve processed it, I think it’s now up to others to interpret it and, more importantly, to act on it.” A silence fell, broken only by Ginny whose serious expression had given way to puzzlement. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. It seems to me we’ve got two different scenarios here.” The others all turned to look at her. “I may be very stupid, but I don’t see the connection between Lee’s analysis and Fred’s disappearance.” George stirred again. “Well, Fred’s disappearance actually fitted into the pattern Lee and Hermione have uncovered.” He began awkwardly, “I suspect if I hadn’t been playing my little charade, I’d have been arrested and charged with his murder.” “Oh Merlin!” gasped Ginny, her hands to her mouth. George leaned over and laid a hand on her arm. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Ginny.” He said urgently, “Fred’s a very good operative – one of the best, and the Ministry doesn’t take losers. I believe Fred is still alive, he’s just not able to contact us for some reason.” “But you can’t be sure of that, George.” Harry began gently, but George merely looked stubborn. “Oh, yes I can, Harry.” He replied, firmly, “Fred’s not just my brother, he’s my twin. All that we’ve been through together – and you know plenty about that yourself – has only served to make us closer. If Fred were dead, I’d know about it, and that’s all there is to it. You’ll have to trust me on this one.” Harry nodded, but his eyes betrayed scepticism. “But what about the pattern, George?” Lee was leaning forward in his chair eagerly. George nodded. “Okay, you know I mentioned drawings of some kind of design, maybe a carving? Well, I’d almost forgotten all about them – Fred took them with him when he made off the last time – until this morning, when I saw that altar.” He leaned forward, his eyes swinging from one person to another. “The altar was solid wood and covered with carvings just like the ones in Fred’s drawings. I never knew exactly what they were supposed to represent, or where they were from, but these carvings are the same design, I’d lay my life on it.” There was silence for a while, then George leaned back against the sofa and put his hands above his head. “I guess that just about wraps it up.” Hermione fixed him with a glare. “George, please credit us with a little more intelligence than that. It is not wrapped up, nor will it be until you explain what you did to trigger the booby trap in the temple.” “Huh?” said Ron, puzzled, “What booby trap?” Hermione shot him a withering glance. “Well what else did you think it was?” she shot back with barely controlled impatience, “An earthquake?” She turned once more to George. “I’m not letting you off the hook that easily, Weasley.” She said firmly, “We know now why you just happened to have specialist Ministry property hanging around in your wallet, we’ve coped with your revelations concerning your double identity and Fred’s disappearance, we’ve even swallowed whole the news about what you really do for a living – now, please, just get this last little thing off your chest, will you?” George sighed heavily. “Fred was always better at this sort of thing than me.” He muttered, “Okay, it’s this way. I recognised the carvings on the altar. I don’t know what they mean – neither did Fred, he got them off some crazy old wizard who was slightly involved with the theft of Morgana’s Mirror six months ago. I believe that even made the Daily Prophet: it was far too important to be totally hushed up. This guy seemed to think these inscriptions were important somehow, although none of the Ministry cryptologists could make head nor tail of them. He mentioned – and here’s where another connection with Hermione and Lee’s data comes up, Harry – he mentioned the Holy Grail.” There was a reverent silence as none of those present could think of a suitable reply. “The Holy Grail.” said Harry, finally, “Subject of muggle legend, associated with the great wizard Merlin, connections with early pagan religions. The greatest magical artefact of all time.” “Then it existed?” Lee was sitting on the edge of his seat. Harry nodded. “Oh yes, it existed all right. I’ve come across far too many references to it in my travels and researches for it to be the product of some fevered imagination. Whether it still does, however, is quite another matter.” He paused, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” he began, “I shall need to examine Hermione and Lee’s research on an urgent basis, but for now, let’s hear the end of George’s explanation.” He gestured for the redhead to continue. “I freely admit, I must have been crazy just to walk straight up to the altar and not expect to fall into any kind of danger,” George went on, “But there it was: I reached the thing intact and had just started to examine it when my magical detection alarm started beeping.” At their confused expressions, he unclipped a small device from his belt and held it out to their curious gazes. “Second item of specialist Ministry property.” He said, shortly, “Registers presence and levels of dark magic. This device was going crazy – only I could hear it, of course.” “George,” said Ron in a strangled voice, “When you told me this was a mileometer you used for long-distance running, I believed you – you git!” George flashed him a quick grin, then became serious once more. “At this point, Hermione started to freak about the whole situation and came over to the altar to try to drag me back. It was then that I spotted it.” He reached into his pocket, brought out a small object and laid it on the coffee table. At first sight, it was nothing more than a stone. It was about as big as the average man’s hand, made of a kind of pink quartz and covered in scratches. No one touched it, just stared uncomprehendingly. Harry let out a satisfied sigh. “Well done, George.” He murmured with feeling, then held up his hands warningly. “Don’t touch it, any of you. It may be attuned to George – I doubt it, but I don’t want to take any chances.” Hermione leaned forward to get as close to the thing as she could without actually coming into contact with it in any way. “What on earth is it?” she queried, looking as puzzled as she ever had. “Harry, do you know what it is?” asked Ginny, timidly. “No, not yet.” returned Harry, gently, “But I think I know how to find out.” He took his wand out of an inside pocket and passed it slowly over the stone, muttering inaudibly. Gradually, a mist rose, obscuring most of the coffee table, swirling around the stone, blurring its outlines. Then, with no rhyme or reason, it began to lengthen and broaden, it changed colour and the scratches started to take some sort of form. Harry sat back and watched his magic take effect. Once the mist had cleared, the five friends leaned forwards interestedly and studied the changes that had taken place. The stone was now quite large – at least a foot square – black, and covered not by scratches but by what looked like an ancient language. George was the first to react. “Well, it beats me.” He sighed, “It’s got to have some significance – I found the thing under the altar, for Merlin’s sake.” “Oh, it’s certainly important, George,” said Harry, hunched over the stone, his eyes alight with interest, “In fact, it could be the key to this whole mystery.” He sat up, his manner brisk and businesslike. “Well, I think that’s most of it.” He said, looking around the group, “Tomorrow, I propose trying to get back into the temple – I don’t want to do it in the dark. Ron, would you come with me, please, to the temple tomorrow – I’d value your judgment, in view of your expertise.” Ron nodded immediately. Harry continued. “And while we’re on that subject, would you mind staying on a little while this evening? I think you particularly might be able to help me shed some light on this artefact here.” Hermione gave Ron a puzzled look. “Since when does the Office for Improper use of Magic have anything to do with ancient runes and symbols?” she demanded, suspiciously, “Or, for that matter, the dark side at all?” Ron had the grace to look shamefaced. “It certainly is a night for revelations.” He muttered, then squared his shoulders and looked Hermione straight in the eye. “The Improper Use of Magic Office is something of an umbrella, covering quite a lot of different functions.” He began, “When I joined the Office, my family – and you, Hermione – all assumed I would be working with the Accidental Use of Magic Reversal Squads, and indeed I was for a while. But accidental magic is a very wide subject and covers a great deal that is marginal or may even be deliberate. Quite often, the squads themselves need protection when going out on a call, or what they find can simply be too much for them to cope with. That’s where I come in.” Hermione frowned. “Are you telling us that you’re auror-trained, Ron?” Very red around the ears, Ron nodded. George was the first one to speak. “Well, well, well, little brother!” he smiled, “And to think I worried about how you’d take my little piece of deception!” “Oh, come on, George!” retorted Ron, indignantly, “At least I was always truthful about who I worked for, even if I didn’t let on as the exact nature of my employment.” Hermione was still staring at him in utter disbelief. “That explains your odd working hours.” She said, slowly, “I’d often wondered why you were on call so much – squad members work regular shifts, not the odd hours you were on duty – and it also explains how you were able to afford that huge flat you live in. You’re not renting it at all, are you? It’s yours.” Reluctantly, Ron nodded again. “A special duty auror is very well paid indeed compared to a squad member because of the unsocial hours and the dangerous nature of our work.” He explained, “We’re really the first line of defence, you know: we’re sent in to assess situations and either contain them or call for back up. But Harry’s right that I could possibly help him with this stone: he has the ancient historical knowledge he gained from his researches over in LA, but I have the practical knowhow about the uses of these things. I’ve seen a lot over the last couple of years, I can tell you!” “I look forward to hearing about it – soon.” Hermione was evidently not amused at having been kept in the dark. Harry quickly turned a snigger into a cough, but didn’t quite escape her piercing glare as she swept out with the coffee tray. Ron and Harry sat down on the sofa to converse in low tones about the meaning of the runes on the stone. Lee sighed and stood up, turning to Ginny. “I reckon it’s time we went home.” He smiled, “I’ll give you a lift.” Harry looked up at this. “No, Lee, don’t worry.” He protested, “I’ll finish what I started. Besides,” and his eyes twinkled, “If there’s likely to be any fisticuffs with Mr. Markland, I’m the one responsible for abducting Ginny at the dead of night so I feel I should face the consequences.” Harry looked as though he was actually relishing the prospect. Ron raised his eyebrows and exchanged a glance with Lee as Harry and Ginny went to say goodbye to Hermione in the kitchen. “Now don’t forget about tomorrow evening.” she was saying as they took Ginny’s Firebolt from the hall closet, “8.00pm for 8.30pm and Fred – sorry, George – is cooking, so it’ll at least be edible!” “Oh, Hermione!” exclaimed Ginny, kissing her on the cheek, “Your cooking is terrific, I really don’t know why you keep putting yourself down.” “Call it habit – and close association with your brothers.” Returned Hermione tartly. In answer to Harry’s raised eyebrows, Hermione explained. “A couple of weeks back, we fixed for Ginny and David to come over tomorrow for dinner.” Harry winced inwardly. “I’ll go visit Giovanni’s, don’t you worry.” He began, unwilling to share the same house as Ginny’s boyfriend, but Hermione was shaking her head. “It was never going to be formal – just myself, George, Ginny and David, and Ron – but the dining room table can easily accommodate Lee and yourself as well, Harry. I squared it with Lee earlier. Oh, do come: it’ll be fun.” Hermione couldn’t quite convince herself of that last statement, and Harry was just about to cry off when he noticed Ginny looking earnestly at him and he relented. “Okay, Hermione, I’ll be here.” He said resignedly. She looked relieved: probably grateful for the extra support with a muggle guest who wasn’t the friendliest of people, but Harry could have told her that if David was inclined to trouble the waters, he, Harry, was not likely to pour oil on them – unless to set fire to it! He and Ginny flew straight back to her flat with none of the aerobatics of the outward journey. The air was cold and Ginny started to shiver, so much so that Harry wrapped his cloak around her and flew one-handed for most of the way. He set her down on the balcony, noticing that the patio door was still wide open. “You’d better get in quickly,” he whispered, his mouth close to her ear, “That wasn’t the best of landings: he might have been disturbed.” Ginny turned towards him and suddenly lifted a hand to smooth his hair, ruffled by the wind. “Is sun-bleaching the fashionable norm in LA?” she enquired, smiling, “Or did you just not notice?” Harry was glad it was night as his face felt decidedly warm. “If I’m totally honest, I did notice it,” he said, “But I couldn’t be bothered to worry about it. However, I think I’m going to have to do something soon: you and Hermione are making me paranoid!” He squeezed her hand. Ginny began to move towards the patio doors, then lingered. “Thanks for coming to get me, Harry. I don’t think I could have coped with hearing about Fred tomorrow, after everyone else.” She stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips lightly against his cheek, then with a swirl of light fabric, she was gone. It was just as well. “Darling, what on earth are you doing out on the balcony – at this time of night?” It was David himself in an oriental silk dressing gown, yawning and running a hand through his hair. Harry ducked quickly below the level of the windowsill adjacent to the patio doors and waited. “I couldn’t sleep.” he heard Ginny say in a plaintive tone, “I was watching the stars.” That much was true: she and Harry had admired the clarity of the heavens as they had sped back to her flat. There was a swish of fabric and a soft sound as of kissing. “Come to bed.” said David, in a low suggestive voice, abruptly punctuated by a muffled exclamation from Ginny. “Well, what do you expect?” he continued, accompanied by the whisper of cloth sliding against skin, “If you choose to wear something so sheer it leaves very little to the imagination, you must take the consequences.” The small amount of light faded and disappeared entirely as the couple went out of the room, closing the door softly behind them. Harry paused a moment on the balcony, breathing deeply and trying to unclench his fists. Presently, he became aware that it was starting to rain. The journey home seemed longer than before, and served to make Harry thoroughly wet and miserable. Still, at least it took his mind off what that bastard was currently doing to his best friend’s little sister. Back at the house, Ron was the only one left in the West Room. He was on his knees on the floor, staring at the stone from all angles, muttering and making notes on a pad of paper. He looked up when Harry entered. “Raining is it?” he enquired, then shrugged in sympathy, “Bad luck. Doesn’t it always happen.” “I haven’t needed water repellant spells for years, what with living in LA.” Harry shook his streaked hair making water spray out over the carpet, “When it came to it, I couldn’t remember a single one.” But Ron wasn’t listening. He was staring at a patch on the stone which had been splashed by the rainwater. It was no longer black, but had become translucent where the water had touched it. “Harry,” he said, cautiously, “Just shake your head again, but over the stone this time.” Uncomprehendingly, Harry obeyed and was rewarded with a patchwork of translucent areas, revealing something tantalisingly hidden in the depths of the stone. Harry glanced over to the unshaded window where the full moon was sending silver light into the room, glancing off the table top and the strange stone too. “Of course!” he murmured, almost inaudibly, “How could I have missed it! Quickly!” He snapped, urgently, “Ron, is there anything in this house or garden which collects rainwater?” Ron thought swiftly. “There’s a water butt outside the kitchen window.” “Thank Merlin!” breathed Harry, taking off at a run. ”If this is what I think it is, it won’t react to anything but rainwater.” Presently Harry came back with a jug of slightly cloudy rainwater and the two wizards sprinkled it carefully over the stone until it had lost all traces of its black colour and the message within was revealed. “Yes!” hissed Harry, quietly to himself, frantically copying down the suddenly revealed runes on Ron’s pad of paper. He had just finished and was carefully checking each outline when without warning, the moonlight faded as a cloud obscured it, and the stone was suddenly opaque again. “Did you get it?” demanded Ron, breathlessly. Harry nodded. “I think so, and I think it’s accurate.” He looked up, his eyes shining, “It was a double bluff, Ron. I’ve seen something like it before, but it’s a very rare occurrence. You see this artefact is only magical by association, not by origin.” At Ron’s puzzled glance, he hastened to explain. “Because the stone responded to my disclosure spell, we were meant to think that we had uncovered its secrets. However, I think we’ll find that the glyphs on the surface are either meaningless or indecipherable – they were meant to make us waste time trying, don’t you see? However, by a stroke of incredible good luck, we had the two ingredients which allowed us to see the true appearance of the stone, just for a moment – rainwater and the light of the full moon. When all is said and done, it’s not even a magical artefact, it’s a muggle thing – incredibly old and probably very rare indeed.” He paused to examine what he had written on the pad of paper. “It’s a very old script, Ron, ancient Aramaic. I think I can make a start on this, but we’ll need to spend tomorrow in that fount of all the wisdom and knowledge of the ancient world.” “Huh?” “The World Wizard Library, you dunce!” It was like old times again, thought Harry, as the following day he, Ron and Hermione made their way towards a library. Granted, it was a professional wizard library, probably the single most comprehensive collection of magical knowledge in the known world, but Hermione had used it so many times she could have practically run the place single-handed, and she reckoned there wasn’t much they couldn’t find out about the ancient world if they were persistent. Where the World Wizard Library was situated was a well-kept secret. The only way one could get there was to go to one of a number of designated exchanges and pick up a portkey. Having ascertained that the exchange Hermione habitually used in Kensington was being overhauled, the three friends set out for the Soho exchange on the Underground, having decided that broomsticks would only be an encumbrance. Walking through Soho at 10 o’clock in the morning was nowhere near as disconcerting as during the night hours, but Hermione still found it necessary to keep her eyes firmly to the front, and a slight blush around her jawline betrayed her unfamiliarity with such blatant profiteering. Harry and Ron, however, gazed about them with interest, Ron occasionally nudging Harry to point out something particularly interesting. They were snorting with laughter and practically falling into the gutter when Hermione raised her eyes skywards. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were back at Hogwarts.” She scolded them, “Haven’t you grown up at all in the last four years? And Ron, don’t go into that place, please – I’m not sure you’d come out the same person as you went in.” She clutched at Ron’s arm, swinging him round to face her. His features settled into an expression of utter astonishment. “Hermione, I’m surprised at you.” He exclaimed, “You, a staunch socialist, defender of house elves and the like, scorn to visit “Luscious Linda’s Lesbian Lovelies”? My dear girl, they need people to champion their cause, to haul them out of the bitter pit of slavery just as much as any house elf – and besides, according to the Ministry instructions, this is actually the exchange!” Ron ducked quickly as Hermione swung at him furiously with her handbag, and leaped up the steps into “Luscious Linda’s” followed closely by Harry. The doorman glared at them and was scarcely any less suspicious when they identified themselves as bona fide wizards. Mutely, he gestured to a small kiosk housing an old-fashioned telephone which had the legend “Out of Order” on a small printed notice stuck to one of the glass panels. Having regained her composure, Hermione opened the door and gestured for the two boys to precede her. It was rather cramped, and she found herself crushed against the side wall by Ron’s broad shoulders. Simultaneously, they reached for the telephone receiver – and were abruptly standing in a totally different lobby in a completely different place. The World Wizarding Library was a fascinating organisation, Harry thought as he stood looking around establishing his bearings. He was fairly familiar with its layout, having been a frequent visitor in the past, and Hermione had practically lived in its environs while studying for her Advocate’s Professional Exams, but Harry had to admit that he was surprised when Ron also betrayed some knowledge of it. “I came here for some research a couple of years ago – when I was doing my auror training.” He explained, “It’s rather intimidating, isn’t it? But anything you want to know, they’ll find it for you.” Hermione went immediately to the catalogue and began to compile a list of suitable books. The catalogue itself was a very long counter set against a wall with a number of quills and pieces of parchment set at regular intervals along its surface. Hermione took a seat at one of these and began to speak, apparently into the air. Immediately, the quill jumped to attention and began writing on the parchment. After a while, Hermione shook her head and started to point at the parchment: parts of the script disappeared, and quill quickly replaced them with other suggestions. While this process continued, Harry and Ron stood around rather at a loose end until Hermione was satisfied with her book list and was ready to issue them with instructions or detail them to carry books. After a short period of abstraction, Harry turned to Ron with a peculiar expression on his face. “Ron,” he began, “This muggle Ginny’s shacked up with.” Ron winced at his coarse language, but merely looked at him interrogatively. “I know he’s her agent, but what else does he do?” Ron shrugged. “That’s it, as far as I know.” Harry tried again. “But they have a flat in Hampstead. You and I both know that sort of property doesn’t come cheap. Has he an independent income?” Ron pursed his lips. “I don’t think so.” he replied after some thought, “I think it’s all earned money. Ginny’s not the only artist on his books, you know, but I have to admit that from everything she says she’s the most profitable by a long shot.” Harry felt his temper begin to smoulder. “So what you’re telling me is that this Markland guy is more or less living off Ginny’s income, with precious little other money coming in? And he has a mortgage on a very expensive flat, Gucci shoes and Armani suits, and a lifestyle that would make most stockbrokers drool?” “And he drives a Porsche.” added Ron, with conviction. “In London. Says it’s all part of the successful agent image.” “Why does she stay?” Harry was beginning to lose it, but with effort kept his voice calm, “Surely she can see she’s being taken for a ride?” Ron gave Harry a wide-eyed, rather surprised look. “Don’t you know how they got together? Oh, well, it’s ancient history now, but I’ll tell you anyway.” Ron paused to gather his thoughts. “We were with her when she first met him – Hermione, Fred, George and me - in a karaoke pub down on the Bow Road: it’s a Chinese Restaurant now. She was the only one of us who would dare to take up the challenge to sing into that machine and the punters loved her. After she sat down again, this bloke came up to speak to her. I could see by her face she was impressed, after all he’s got all the gear and he looks pretty cool, but he claimed to be an agent of sorts and asked her to come for a voice tryout. We teased her about it afterwards, but it turned out he’d given her his card and she thought enough of him to follow it up. The rest is history – within a couple of weeks she’d moved in with him and he was pestering her to give up her job.” “Job?” queried Harry. Ron nodded enthusiastically. “Wizarding Radio with Ernie MacMillan – you remember him from our year? In Hufflepuff.” Harry nodded: he remembered Ernie well. Harry swallowed back his rising ire yet again. “Why didn’t you do something, Ron?” “Huh?” “He’s ruining her life, not to mention stunting her magical growth as a sorceress. How can you just stand by and …” “Now, hold on, Harry. Whoa, just think about what you’re saying here.” Ron was backing off at the anger in Harry’s eyes, holding his hands out in front of him defensively. “She’s a big girl now, Harry, she’s her own person and she’s got to make her own decisions. My opinion of that muggle idiot doesn’t cut any ice with Ginny, and I can’t interfere in her personal life. She wouldn’t thank me for it in the long run anyway.” Ron paused, and a quirky smile spread across his face. “I tell you what, Harry, if you’re so worried about her, why don’t you make a move on her yourself?” Ron had expected Harry to blush, to tell him he was barmy, to punch him in the shoulder and to demand to know where Ron had got such a stupid idea from. But Harry’s face only twisted as if in pain and he turned away. “I don’t have relationships,” He said, bitterly, “Only funerals.” Ron’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened in alarm, but before he could speak Hermione approached them. She was smiling broadly and was accompanied by a stranger. “Ron, Harry, come and meet Professor Radcliffe. He’s occupying the Chair of Ancient Languages at the Wizarding University in Florence, but he’s over here doing some research – amazing luck running into him like this.” She introduced them to a smiling, grey-haired man wearing an ancient tweed jacket. Harry’s eyes lit up and he advanced, totally forgetting his previous abstracted mood, holding out a hand in greeting. “Harry Potter, Professor. We’ve corresponded in the past – over the Egyptian statue I was trying to locate two years ago.” The professor’s smile broadened as he grasped Harry’s hand strongly. “Good to meet you at last, Potter! You know, your ideas gave me the inspiration for an entire series of articles in “The Alchemist” last year.” ”I read them,” responded Harry, “But I had no idea I was instrumental in their creation!” The other man laughed good-humouredly. “Oh, yes indeed.” He affirmed, “The young lady tells me you’re on the trail of something else involving old runes, eh?” Guiding the professor to a table and chairs in the corner of the lobby, Hermione quickly outlined the problem and produced Harry’s transcription of the inscriptions. The Professor frowned at the outlines briefly and held them up to the light. “Ah, yes.” He muttered, “Yes, Potter, I agree with you – ancient Aramaic, but a strange variant I haven’t come across before. Now let me see …” He began scrawling what looked like gibberish to Ron on Harry’s notepad, but Hermione was nodding in agreement and making suggestions. Eventually, he gave her the piece of paper – which turned out to be a comprehensive list of articles from learned journals and periodicals – which she took to the desk to order from Archives. “Catalogue won’t find those too easily,” the Professor declared with satisfaction, “But I know what I’m looking for. The young lady and I will be able to make a fair stab at this by the end of the afternoon, I reckon.” Hermione returned and took Ron to one side while Harry was talking to the professor. “It really only needs one of us here, and it might as well be me – seeing as he’s already taken a liking to my company!” She said, with a twinkle, “I know we’re working on a short timescale because we don’t really know what’s involved, so I suggest you take Harry back to the house and let him get at whatever’s in that temple.” Ron looked slightly reluctant – his eyes flickered between the Professor and Hermione, but he eventually decided that Hermione could look after herself. He and Harry ported back to Soho and apparated quickly to St. John’s Wood. Harry was standing at the back door staring at the tangle of trees, shrubs and undergrowth that led from the patio. “Flamel’s Stone!” he muttered, shaking his head, “It’s much worse than I remember it.” “Of course it is,” replied Ron, coming to stand next to him, “It’s been four years since you saw it, remember?” “Yes, I know,” Harry was now looking slightly puzzled, “But I don’t remember encountering 20ft trees when I checked the boundaries.” “Perhaps it’s under an enchantment.” Ron suggested. Harry gave him a look and Ron felt his face reddening. “Sorry,” he muttered, “Of course it is – how could a place like this exist in Central London otherwise?” Harry smiled grimly. “Oh, I knew all about that when I bought it.” he explained, “I beat all the developers who were simply slitting each other throats for the chance to get their grubby little hands on this property. I went to speak to the vendor, discovered she was a witch and hey presto! I was immediately the preferred purchaser. She’d been renting it out for years, of course, broken up into flats - I can’t trace the last time an owner/occupier lived here. She’d been using a glamour – a variation of the Everyday charm we all use – to hide the existence of the garden from her tenants, but once she’d sold the house to me, she let the charm lapse. That was when George and I decided we ought to take a hike round the boundaries.” He sighed and gestured. “What’s here is very old magic indeed, Ron. This is real land – as real as it ever gets – but you won’t find it on any map, wizard or muggle. The charm on this garden is one of the strongest I have ever seen, it doesn’t age or fade with time, and it’s so inextricably linked in with the earth and plant life that I don’t think it could ever be reversed or halted. Anything in this garden is something of a law unto itself – normal magical considerations don’t apply here.” He turned to his friend with a very serious expression. “With all my expertise and knowledge, Ron, I’m not happy about this piece of real estate.” With that, he and Ron stepped off the patio and plunged into the undergrowth. Although they had brought their wands, for reasons he didn’t explain Harry insisted they use no magic, at least until he had examined the temple closely. So instead they hacked and slashed away at the greenery with garden implements – shears and a small scythe called a “hook”. It took quite some time before they could get even a glimpse of the building, never mind try to get in. Presently, Harry stood contemplating the large silver birch blocking the doorway to the temple. “Hey,” said Ron indignantly, “I thought they said Ginny had shifted that thing!” Harry nodded. “They did,” He replied, “I just don’t think it liked its new home.” He cast about for another way in but, as George before him, failed to find one. He sighed. “Well, it’s either move the tree like Ginny did, apparate, or shrink to 50% and crawl through. Apparating’s out – we don’t know the lie of the land well enough, and I don’t want to risk even a simple shrinking charm in a place that stinks so strongly of unknown enchantment. That leaves levitating the tree, and frankly I’m not sure I can do it. Can you?” Ron shook his head slowly. “We could always pick her up from Wizarding Radio and get her to do it again.” He suggested, but Harry vetoed that idea. “We really need to get in there now, before whatever’s behind this starts fighting back. Ah, well.” He sighed, “Ginny’s going to be really pissed at me.” He produced his wand from a sleeve pocket, concentrated for a moment then pointed it at the tree. “Reducto!” he declaimed. The tree suddenly burst into fragments and totally disintegrated. Ron sighed. That’s as good a way of announcing our arrival as ringing the doorbell! he thought, but nevertheless, he followed Harry quickly through the debris and into the temple. Inside, the surroundings were exactly as Hermione, Ginny, George and Colin had found them, except for one notable difference: the altar was no longer empty, it was now dominated by a large stone plinth covered in strange runes and sympbols. Harry’s face went white when he saw this, and his shoulders sagged in weariness. “What’s up?” queried Ron in alarm, Harry shook his head wordlessly. “If I had known this,” he replied, hoarsely, “I wouldn’t have dared enter this place.” Abruptly he gained control once more. “Quickly!” he hissed, making recklessly for the altar, “Where was it George said he took the stone?” “He said underneath the altar,” replied Ron, catching up, “In a place that was supposed to be handy, if you get the drift.” His tone implied that he didn’t. Harry was already examining the base of the altar. With an impatient noise, he reached into a pocket and pulled out the stone. Immediately it started to glow. Harry stared at it in alarm, and jerked it away from the altar, but the light did not decrease, rather it grew brighter. “What’s happening?” demanded Ron, his face distorted with fear. “I don’t know,” replied Harry, between his teeth, “But I fear I am going to find out. It’s pulling me away from here.” Jerkily, Harry began to move away from the altar, down towards the doorway, the stone out in front of him, like a water diviner. As he approached a long, moth-eaten tapestry on the right-hand side of the doorway, a second light began to shine brightly from behind it. Hardly knowing what he was doing, Harry raised his hand and pulled the tattered material away to reveal a niche in the wall containing – a cup. Gold with silver inlay and shaped like a goblet, it stood maybe about ten or twelve inches high, bathed in the unearthly light. Harry reached out a hand, then recoiled slightly. “Ron,” he whispered, “You take it.” Swallowing with difficulty, Ron slowly put his hand into the niche and grasped the goblet by its stem, carefully pulling it towards him. They gazed at it in wonder. “What is it?” Ron breathed, hardly able to take his eyes off it. Harry smiled. “Something very important, Ron.” He said, with a hint of triumph in his voice, “Something I don’t believe the dark side knew was here.” They glanced back to find that the light had ceased abruptly and the wall was now solid – no niche to be seen. Ron shook his head. “It only appears with the stone’s presence – that’s a nice little charm!” Harry glanced around. “I think we’d better get out of here, Ron.” He said, quickly, “After all, I did blast that tree into the middle of next week, and I don’t suppose whoever is using this place is going to miss a thing like that!” But when they went to leave, they found the guardian silver birch tree back in its accustomed place again. Harry didn’t even pause. “Okay, I suggest we apparate out – fast!” But Ron was even quicker. He had delved into an inside pocket and brought out an object which looked vaguely like a credit card. “I borrowed this from George – just in case!” he said, flashing a grin. Grabbing Harry by the arm, he activated the portkey and the two wizards disappeared. Hermione walked up the pathway to Harry’s House, weary but exultant: she had spent the entire afternoon in the World Wizarding Library with Professor Ratcliffe, poring over books and scanning articles, and they had finally struck gold. She now had a rough working translation of the strange runes, and enough background in her notes to be able to fine tune it where necessary. She was a little surprised to find no one about and wandered into the kitchen in search of Harry and Ron. There all she found was some magical writing strung over the cooker which told the reader that George was in residence but he had gone shopping – “Someone has to refill the fridge and the larder, not to mention the freezer.” Hermione smiled rather guiltily: although she probably did most of the cooking, she could rarely force herself into the supermarket. George, however, seemed to quite enjoy trudging up and down the aisles with a trolley – just so long as he could use Fred’s car to bring it all home. Surely Ron and Harry can’t still be in the temple? she thought, worriedly, and just as she was about to start hacking her way through the garden to find out, the front door opened to admit them, tired and footsore but very excited about something. All three of them started talking at once, until finally Harry held up a hand for silence. “You first.” He ordered, gesturing to Hermione. She willingly told them about the translation, even starting to get out her notes while Ron made a cup of tea. Eventually, Harry stopped her. “We’ll get to the fine print in a moment,” he said, “Firstly, listen to this.” He and Ron told her about the events in the Temple, including the discovery of the shining golden cup, which Ron promptly produced from a carrier bag stuffed into his pocket. They set it on the table and gazed reverently. Hermione was the first to snap out of it. “My wand, this is incredible!” she breathed, raising her hand to touch it then raising her eyebrows at Harry. He shook his head. “I think we’d better keep the number of people in contact with this thing as few as possible for the moment.” He explained. She continued to gaze at the cup. “I assume this came from the temple.” she said, frowning slightly in concentration, then eyed him shrewdly, “What on earth did you have to do to get it? I know it’s dusty in there, but you two look as though you’ve been arguing territory with a Hungarian Horntail!” Harry and Ron exchanged glances and Harry raised his eyes skywards. “The basic problem,” he began, “Is that pizza-brain here, the great white hope of the Ministry of Magic, can’t even enchant a portkey!” “It got us out of there when the tree blocked the doorway, didn’t it?” protested Ron. Hermione looked resignedly towards Harry. “Harrods Food Hall again?” she asked, sympathetically. Harry shook his head. “Would that it had been.” He answered grimly, “We ended up in a Ladies Lavatory somewhere east of Pimlico. We frightened the daylights out of two elderly muggle females, and narrowly avoided being arrested by the muggle police – I had to use a memory charm. To add insult to injury, neither of us had any muggle money at all, and we were too bushed to apparate, so it had to be the Knight Bus or walk. In view of the imminent dinner engagement, we chose the Knight Bus – oh, my aching head!” At that point, George came into the kitchen laden with bags of shopping. “Move yourselves!” he shouted loudly as he elbowed them out of the way, “There’s more in the car – give us a hand, can’t you?” Harry and Hermione leaped out of the seats to go and help, Ron carried on gazing. George stopped unloading packets of chocolate biscuits to stare. “Wow, that’s a beautiful thing!” he said, reaching out to touch it. Ron caught his hand. George looked at him quizzically. “Sorry,” said Ron, slightly awkwardly, “But Harry reckons that as few people as possible should touch it. So far, only I have.” “What is it?” Ron shook his head. “Beats me. I’ve got some ideas though, but I’d like to hear what Harry had to say.” “I may be wrong,” said Harry from behind them, hauling in several bursting carrier bags and dumping them on the counter, “But I think what we’re looking at here, folks – is the mythical Holy Grail.” « Previous Chapter ( 3 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 5 ) » Review Story ( be a responsible reader and write a review) Title: A Most Ingenious Paradox Name: Email: (optional) Review: If you feel that this entry violates any of the guidelines set by FanFiction.Net please click here to notify the staff. Home | About Us | Terms of Service | Browser Compatibility | Privacy FanFiction.Net login | register AuthorTitleSummaryFull-Text FlavorTangerineKiwiBlueberryGrapeBlackberryMint Just In | Discussion Forums | Community Connector | Authors Directory | FAQ« Help» A Most Ingenious Paradox Category: Books » Harry Potter Censor: R Genre: Romance Chapters: 11 Reviews: 208 Author: Penpusher - Select Font -VerdanaTimes New RomanArialGeneva Font Size: Bigger (+) - Smaller (-) « Previous Chapter ( 4 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 6 ) » Well done, Anita, for spotting the quotation! For all those who didn’t know (or who did but couldn’t be bothered to tell me!) it’s from Gilbert & Sullivan “The Pirates of Penzance”, and it’s from a trio sung by the hero, the Pirate King (nominally a bad guy, but eventually redeemed) and the hero’s old nurse, who was responsible for getting him into the particular paradox in the first place. The paradox in this fic is a good deal less complicated and is more of a Catch 22 situation than the one in “Pirates”, but I still thought it was quite apt! “A Most Ingenious Paradox” Chapter Five – Confrontations and Solutions The problem with having guests to dinner, thought Hermione as she frantically hauled on a sheath dress in a deep blue, and checked that her legs were sufficiently suntanned to show without stockings, is that there’s never enough time! They couldn’t talk further about the Grail or even her own researches from the afternoon because of David’s presence, and Hermione didn’t dare ring to cancel such a long-standing engagement. David was already becoming extremely stiff and formal with her: any slight aggravation would probably result in the cessation of all communications – and her friendship with Ginny was too precious to let slide over something like that. Still, it was frustrating! George was officially the chef, and happy to be so, but it had been all hands to the pumps almost immediately after the shopping had been put away. Ron had been detailed to put out smoked salmon with assorted salad leaves and thin slices of lemon. He also managed to decant a bottle of dill and mustard dressing into a jug without getting more than ten percent of it over the floor. Hermione had elected to make the pudding, which turned out to be a wonderfully fragrant exotic fruit salad accompanied by three different flavours of icecream. George was seriously occupied with fillet steak and Béarnaise sauce, and Harry had done the donkey work of cleaning mushrooms, slicing tomatoes, trimming mange tout and dicing potatoes to be sautéed in sizzling butter. Ron gritted his teeth and apparated back to his flat to change, the others hurtled to their various rooms to shower quickly and throw on whatever decent clothes were closest. Hermione came into her study with a sigh of relief to find George already there, putting out bowls of nibbles and mixing drinks. “You angel!” she smiled, grazing her lips over his cheek so as not to leave lipstick traces on his collar. He handed her a gin and tonic with ice and lemon and went to dim the lights. At this point Ron and Lee arrived on foot, Ron looking remarkably clean and tidy for such a short turnaround, and each took a drink from George. Hermione looked at them over her glass: really, the Weasley brothers had all turned out impressively easy on the eyes. George, although the heavier of the twins, was still tall and active-looking with a good-humoured, twinkling-eyed face. Ron, however, could legitimately be described as hot, particularly dressed as he was this evening: expensive smart-casual, predominantly blue. Even Lee looked as close to smooth as she had ever seen him. Ginny and David arrived punctually at 8.00pm, Ginny looking particularly ravishing in deep green which complemented her hair. David was a head to toe advertisement for Calvin Klein. Hermione glanced at her watch: 8.20, and Harry still hadn’t appeared. What on earth was he playing at? Abruptly, he entered the study apologising profusely. A business call, he explained to all who were listening, which could not be curtailed, only finished. Hermione saw Ginny’s eyes drawn towards Harry, and turned her own to David. She bit her lip: she was sure she hadn’t imagined the sudden narrowing of the eyes and tightening of the mouth. She turned to look at Harry herself and had to admit that he had changed beyond all recognition from the scrawny kid she had known at Hogwarts. He was dressed simply and casually in baggy stone-coloured chinos teamed with a brilliant white lawn shirt which clung to muscles she didn’t remember him having before he left for LA. She smiled: no wonder Ginny couldn’t take her eyes off him, he had become absolutely drop-dead gorgeous. George had outdone himself on the food this evening, Ginny remarked to herself. David had complained quietly about the high levels of fat, but Ginny had ignored him and eaten and drunk everything that was put in front of her. She was now in that slightly heady stage which welcomes stars, moonlight and a good cup of coffee. Harry was looking slightly preoccupied, she noticed, and he wasn’t drinking much at all. He had made slight general conversation with Lee and George, both of whom were within chatting distance but although Hermione had placed him next to Ginny, he had exchanged no more than a dozen words with her during the meal. This left her wondering whether she had offended him in any way, or whether he was just trying to keep the peace with David. Hermione served coffee in the West Room once more, with a wonderful view of the sunset, pink and gold against the western sky. Ginny stood at the patio doors while the coffee was poured, enraptured by the glorious colours of the sky and the tinted trees and buildings. “Do you come here often?” a low voice murmured in her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. She turned slightly and smiled at Harry. “Not as often as I’d like.” she looked at him directly, “Why were you ignoring me at dinner? You were supposed to be entertaining me with witty conversation, not wasting it all on Lee.” Harry shrugged. “Just trying to keep the peace – for Hermione’s sake. After all, she did fix up this little gathering.” “So, if you’re afraid of disturbing it, why are you talking to me now?” He grinned, wickedly. “Your boyfriend’s looking for the bathroom,” he said, gravely, “And Ron took it upon himself to put a confusion charm on the hall doorways. It should be a few minutes at least before he returns.” Ginny shook with laughter, then clapped a hand over her mouth as she realised she shouldn’t be mocking David’s dignity, even privately. Smiling a wide genuine smile, Harry took one of her hands in his and pressed it briefly to his lips. Abruptly, they both whirled back towards the windows as a sudden brilliant flash illuminated the garden. Dropping Ginny’s nerveless hand, Harry pressed his face to the glass, searching wildly through the twilight. There, it came again! He groaned, turned his back on the French door and briefly buried his face in his hands. “Too late.” He murmured, “I should have known better than to leave it for so long.” He straightened quickly and gestured towards the French doors. “Someone open these.” He barked. “Stand back.” Said Hermione, who already had her wand out, “Alohomora!” The doors sprang apart and Harry jumped through them, his glimmering white shirt disappearing into the darkness. Ginny paused only for a second before taking off in pursuit, followed by Ron, Lee and Hermione in quick succession. “What the …?” Unable to find the bathroom, David had reappeared in the doorway just in time to witness the unexpected exodus into the garden. Puzzled, curious and more than a little annoyed that a domestic crisis should have robbed his hosts of even the vaguest courtesy towards their guest, David sighed in irritation and followed in their wake. Ginny followed closely on Harry’s heels through the garden jungle. The going was a good deal faster than before because Harry, having thrown all caution to the winds in favour of speed, was using the Reductus curse right, left and centre to blast himself a path through the thick undergrowth. The reached the temple, panting for breath, to find their way blocked not only by the persistent silver birch tree but by a silent rank of cloaked, hooded figures who seemed to be waiting for them. Harry took one look and grabbed Ginny by the arm, hauling her behind a large shrub. She could feel a tingling sensation as the curses bounced off their protection, but it wouldn’t last for long. “Death Eaters.” he muttered, bitterly, “He must be attempting to take his full form once again on this plane.” Ginny wasn’t listening. “Harry,” she said, puzzled, “I moved that tree once …” “I know,” he interrupted, “It must be enchanted – it keeps moving back. Even the Reductus curse didn’t stop it.” She bit her lip. “I wonder.” she pondered, then took out her wand and concentrated. “Wingardium leviosa!” she muttered, quietly, then “Silencio!” and a number of other murmured magical charms. The tree began to move once more, rising slowly into the air, freeing its roots from the earth just as before. Then with the same majestic movement, it turned gracefully in the air until it was horizontal and began to travel forwards. It caught the first Death Eater painfully on the back of the neck and he cannoned into those in front of him. Abruptly, the whole rank of them had been knocked onto the ground by Ginny’s tree. Dazedly, several started to get up, but the tree was there, swinging back at their faces this time. After a third pass, none of them got up. Sweating profusely, Ginny deposited the tree gently by the side of the temple. “Great Merlin, that was inspired!” exclaimed Ron, charging up to hug his sister briefly. She gave him a wan smile. “Twice in twenty-four hours is really rather tiring.” was her reply. “Would someone mind telling me what the hell is going on?” a loud, indignant voice carried over the murmur of praise being heaped upon Ginny. Her expression changed to one of dismay. “Oh, my wand - David!” she shook herself free of Ron and Hermione, and turned to face him. “Why didn’t you stay in the house?” she found herself wailing. He shrugged. “Why on earth should I?” he retorted, “You went gallivanting out into the garden in the dark with Potter – what was I suppose to think?” Ginny was crimson with shame, Harry put a hand on her arm. “Listen, Markland.” He began in what was for the circumstances a very calm, collected tone, “Things are about to happen here that neither you nor any other muggle would be likely to understand in a thousand years, and when I say that your life is in danger you’d better believe it. Ginny is right – it would have been a whole lot better for you to have stayed in the house, but now you’re here, please do as I say: stick close to Lee,” he glanced at the dark man, who nodded resignedly, “Move when he moves, and don’t do anything stupid.” “Now just a minute, Potter,” blustered David, confused and angry, “What possible right have you to tell me …” “Every right in the world at present.” returned Harry, now noticeably irritated, “Please credit me with the truth when I tell you that your wellbeing is a matter of supreme indifference to me at this moment: there are far more important matters to be dealt with. If you want to come out of this situation in one piece, then keep your head down until it’s over.” He turned his back on David, dismissing him from his active mind, and led the way over to the temple door. Ron stayed behind briefly to cast the full bodybind on the unconscious Death Eaters, just in case Ginny’s tree hadn’t done its job quite thoroughly enough. Signalling to the others to keep total silence, Harry peered gingerly around the door. The temple seemed to be empty, which was something of a surprise considering the size of the welcoming committee outside. The stone plinth was still present upon the altar, and black candles were alight throughout the building, emitting a sweet, musky scent. Hermione immediately began to cough quietly, and raised her wand to try to clear the air, but Harry caught hold of it before she could speak. “Please don’t anyone cast any spells in this place.” he whispered, urgently, “We don’t know what we’re dealing with here, although I admit I’ve got a pretty good idea by now.” “It’s you-know-who, isn’t it?” blurted Ron in a hoarse whisper, his face ashen, “Pretty much of a giveaway, really, with all those Death Eaters on the doorstep.” Harry nodded gravely. “I believe he’s trying to gain access to our dimension.” he took a breath, “When I defeated Voldemort at the end of my seventh year, I didn’t kill him, although the Ministry thought it would be wise not to let the wizarding world know that little fact. I didn’t destroy him, I merely banished him to another dimension, another plane of existence where he would be trapped for all time. Fudge didn’t exactly bargain on him finding a way back, but I have to admit I’m not altogether surprised: I’ve been detecting his influence in our world for quite some time. Hermione and Lee’s data from the legal system is just more corroborating evidence, and Fred, George and Ron too have been adding their observations to the melting pot.” Harry started to strip off his white shirt and threw it behind a shrub. Hermione blinked at him. He gave her a wry smile. “With this thing on, I show up like a searchlight.” His muscular torso was the same heavily suntanned colour as his face. Ginny looked away, flushing slightly. “What about Fred?” George’s voice was tense. Harry looked at him sadly. “I’m afraid I just don’t know, George,” he said, humbly, “But the lookout isn’t very optimistic, you have to admit.” George lowered his eyes. Suddenly, Ron pointed at the altar. “Look!” he shouted. The plinth had begun to glow a dull orange and at the same time a low sigh echoed around the walls. “Aah! At last!” Then what Harry had assumed was part of the floor started to rise and take human shape. It was a hooded Death Eater. He seemed to be alone. He bowed low to the altar and scuttled off to disappear somewhere to its left. The plinth continued to glow, and presently the Death Eater returned, but this time he was not alone: he was accompanied by another figure, this one moving slowly and jerkily, as if it was sleepwalking. “Fred!” cried George, in a suddenly hoarse voice. Harry and Ron had to grab him by the back of his robes and yank him back out of the doorway before he gave the game away. They stared, horrified, as Fred Weasley, obviously unconscious and motivated by the mobilicorpus charm, moved erratically towards the altar. The Death Eater then raised his wand and Fred floated into the air, becoming horizontal, and coming to rest finally at the front of the table, just below the stone plinth. At this point, the plinth itself glowed bright red and something started to take shape upon it – something shadowy and half-formed, but growing more solid by the instant. The Death Eater laughed a high-pitched excited giggle and threw back his hood in exultation. “Wormtail!” muttered Harry, his eyes alight with anger and disgust, “I really believed I’d got him last time. Well, I can always try again!” Abruptly, he left the safety of the doorway and moved like a cat into the temple, keeping to the shadows, trying to shield himself from the altar. Silently, Ron and George came after him, followed after a little hesitation by Hermione and Ginny. David and Lee stayed by the door as rearguard. Harry approached the altar stealthily, his eyes fixed on Wormtail, then he ducked behind a pillar, pointed his wand and whispered “Stupefy!” Wormtail crumpled oblivious to the floor. Harry sprang out in front of the altar, staring wildly at the materialising figure on the stone plinth. It seemed to Ginny that Harry had frozen solid in front of the thing. It was becoming more real by the second: firstly a blast of bright light; then a cage of revolving red lines; now those lines forming into a three-dimensional image; now that image was gaining flesh and solidity. Still Harry had not moved. Ginny looked over at him and felt a cold wave of panic wash over her: Harry didn’t know what to do! It was true: Harry felt as helpless as when he had been roped to a gravestone, watching the Dark Lord come to life before his very eyes. He knew that this situation was not quite the same, Voldemort was not resurrecting himself, he was forcing his way through from a parallel plane of existence, but Harry looked at the gradually strengthening form of his old enemy and could not think of a thing to do to stop him. Ginny Weasley had not practised formal magic for four long years. Her two exhibitions with the silver birch tree outside the temple had been largely instinctive, inspired firstly by an unwillingness to destroy wantonly, and secondly by the need to protect her friends and family. Her grasp of the art was so natural it was almost organic – as though she had been born with the knowledge as well as the ability – and it was this analytical side of her power which she started to use. She gazed around the temple with suddenly heightened perception. It was as though she was looking through an infrared camera, where areas of dark magic glowed brighter the stronger they were. Her gaze was attracted and held by a very bright area indeed: the plinth. The plinth was the key, she could see that now: if it could be changed or eroded or destroyed, the process of materialisation could be halted or corrupted. She left Hermione’s side and rushed over to where Harry stood in indecision. “The plinth!” she shouted in his ear, shaking his arm, “That’s the gateway, the portal from the other world. Destroy it before he completes his transition!” Drawing out her wand, she pointed it and cried “Reducto!”. The curse bounced off harmlessly, demolishing part of the wall. She went to try again, when Harry grabbed her wrist. “You’re right, Ginny. Of course you are!” he cried, “I know what to do now. Stay here, I may need your help.” Raising his wand, Harry paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, then drew a strange design in the air, leaving a silver trail. He started to intone a spell in a strange language which none of the others had heard before. Twice he faltered. The second time he reached out a hand to grip Ginny’s arm. Help me, Ginny! It’s too strong for me to go it alone. I need your help. How can I help you, Harry? Just tell me. Join with me. How? Just reach out, with your thoughts, and join to mine. Ginny had no idea what was going on. Wizards could only supplement each others power by the usual ways of combining spells, no one was able to use another wizard as a source of power – were they? Nevertheless, she reached out as he had asked her and abruptly felt the incredible mental presence of Harry Potter there with her, within her mind. Don’t be frightened, said Harry’s essence to her panicking inner self, We are together, melded but separate. We can beat him. Ginny listened and believed. Harry felt a rush of power surge through him and continued chanting. There was a sudden implosion and an instant of searingly bright white light, which threw the bone structure of Harry’s face into sharp relief. Blinded by the glare, shielding her eyes, Ginny could see that rivulets of sweat had cut white streaks through the dust on his face, but he didn’t stop his slow, relentless intoning. As he neared the end of the incantation, his voice rose in pitch and he raised his arms high above his head, reaching to the heavens, then throwing them down violently as the spell took hold. There was a dull boom which shook the very foundations of the temple, depositing everyone except Harry on to the ruined floor, and the stone plinth cracked down the middle, splitting into two halves. They heard an unearthly scream of rage and pain, and the image abruptly dissolved. Harry stood for a moment frozen, then slowly, wearily sank to his knees in exhaustion. Ginny scrambled to her feet and ran to him. “Harry!” she cried anxiously, taking his grey face between her hands, noting the beads of sweat mingling with the tears, the blood running from his scar. Harry looked down at her and raised a tired hand to cover one of hers. “The portal is closed,” he said quietly, “For the present.” “For the present?” asked Ron, who had also managed to scramble to his feet, extending a hand to help Hermione. Harry nodded mutely, then looked towards the altar where George was helping a dazed but very much alive Fred to stand up. “Thank Merlin.” He murmured, “I couldn’t be sure we’d ever see him again.” He looked about him in puzzlement. “Where’s Wormtail?” He asked quickly. Ron looked around the temple shrugging. “I expect he transfigured and got away.” He said, regretfully, “We’ll never find him out there in the dark.” Harry sighed and leaned his head in his hands. “Have you any idea how long the gateway will remain closed?” asked Hermione, practical as usual. Harry shook his head. “He broke through it once, it won’t take much for him to repeat the exercise.” He sighed, “It drained a great deal of his power, though: it’ll take him some time to recover.” “He’s not the only one who needs to recover.” replied Hermione in a non-nonsense fashion, throwing a companionable arm around Harry’s shoulder, “We need to get you back into the house – if you’re not to pass out on us: the strength of that final incantation!” Her eyes widened in alarm as Harry sagged heavily against her, and Ron moved quickly to intercept them. “Both you and Fred need a good long sleep.” He announced, “But after that, we need answers to an awful lot of questions.” “Yes.” said a new voice, flatly. They all turned to look at David. He was pale and so covered in dust that his dark hair looked grey: only his eyes were slits of brightness. Despite the fact that he had just been blown up by a massive demonstration of a power he had not known existed until five minutes ago, he seemed remarkably composed. “Yes,” he repeated, ”I think we all need to get out of here and back to some kind of sanity. And I also think I need to borrow your study, Hermione, if you don’t mind: I believe that I too am entitled to some answers – am I not, Ginny?” Without waiting for verification, he turned towards the house, gesturing Ginny to precede him. She gave Hermione one rather frightened glance, then turned on her heel and marched off, her head held high: she was more than equal to whatever David had in mind for her. Hermione sighed as she watched them go and shook her head silently. David opened the door to Hermione’s study to let Ginny through, then closed it firmly behind him. Without asking for permission, he crossed over the drinks cabinet and poured himself a very large Scotch. Ginny noted that he didn’t offer to help her to a drink, and quietly put together a moderate gin and tonic for herself. David drained half the contents of his glass in one go, then he sighed. “So, this is it then, is it?” he began. Ginny looked puzzled; he tried again. “This is what you are, this hocus pocus, jiggery pokery, abbra cadabra – “ she winced. “Please don’t say that.” It was his turn to look blank. “It’s a corruption of the – of the killing curse.” she explained, unhappily, “There’s no countercurse, and no way to block it …” “That’s exactly what I mean!” he thundered, suddenly, “All this – magic, this levitation, disappearing, strange red lights, stroboscopic effects. And all of you carrying little sticks of wood and waving them around – children’s toys! God, why don’t you dress the part – where’s your pointed hat and your broomstick?” Ginny bit her lip. “We don’t wear pointy hats any more, unless we’re flying in very bad weather. I’ve been keeping my brookstick here, though - in the hall cupboard with Hermione’s, George’s and Harry’s.” She took a sip of her drink, “It’s a Firebolt Original – almost as good as the Firebolt Mark II.” David swore violently and slammed his glass down on the desk. In a moment, Hermione’s best Waterford crystal had disintegrated into pieces. Without thinking, Ginny pulled out her wand muttering “Reparario!” The glass swiftly reassembled itself and sat innocently on the desk as though it had never been broken: David’s trousers, however, were soaked with good Irish malt. Ginny took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, David, I think you’ll have to pour yourself another drink.” David, who had been staring at the glass as though it was about to bite him, shook himself and shot a look of such venom at Ginny that she took an involuntary step backwards. “I want you to sit on that sofa,” he said, in a low hiss, “And tell me about this, right from the beginning. No tricks, no demonstrations, just plain old fashioned words. And I don’t care how long it takes, or how difficult it is – I want to know everything.” The red-haired girl paused for a moment, then shrugged slightly and complied: it was going to be a long night. “I think he’s just exhausted, there’s no fever.” Hermione put a hand on Harry’s forehead: he didn’t so much as stir. “I’m not exactly surprised,” added Ron, throwing several blankets over his friend and holding Harry’s head as Hermione deftly put a pillow under it. “I know Harry’s always been a more powerful wizard than me, but even you couldn’t have done what he did tonight.” Hermione shook her head slowly. “It’s not just you-know-who who’ll need to recover spent energy.” she said, thoughtfully, “Such an outpouring of raw power – and to sustain it for such a long period of time!” She shook her head in wonderment. Ron paused for a moment, then placed a careful hand over hers. She raised her eyes questioningly and he smiled. “Harry’s always been something, well, more than either you or me.” he said matter of factly, although his voice was serious, “In a way, Harry and you-know-who are equal and opposite forces – if the one didn’t exist, the other wouldn’t need to.” “No, no.” Hermione was shaking her head vehemently. “Harry’s not just – a nemesis, for goodness sake! He’s a person in his own right, whom we all love very dearly. Have you forgotten what it was like at Hogwarts?” She was gripping Ron’s hand tightly by now, hardly aware of what she was doing. Ron rested a soothing hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean that he had no other place in the world, ‘Mione,” he replied, more quietly, “Just that they’re the two greatest wizards, perhaps of all time. The difference is that Tom Riddle sacrificed his humanity for power – I think Harry would willingly give up his power if he could, and retire to a cattle ranch in North America.” She leaned wearily into his arm, enjoying the feeling of Ron – warm, solid and secure, an island of steadfastness in a world which offered her very little stability. “When you two can let a body get a word in edgewise,” interrupted a hoarse voice, “One of the medical essentials to help combat the over-exertion of magical powers is fluids. I am so dry, the Sahara would seem like a wetland.” Harry was propping himself up on one elbow, staring irritably at his two friends, but his lips had curved into a small smile at the sight of them, and his green eyes were warm. “Fred, you’ve been under an enchantment, you really do need to get some food and some rest!” George and Lee between them strong-armed Fred into an armchair and while George forced a cup of strong tea down his throat, Lee looked about the kitchen for something to throw together to make a light meal. “I’m okay, lemme go – umph!” Fred was unimpressed, “Look, I’ve been under the Imperius Curse, okay, not the Cruciatus. I don’t want to be babied, I want to know what’s been going on!” “You’ve lost at least a stone in weight,” protested George, as Lee brought in a cheese and ham omelette with some salad he’d found in the fridge and a buttered roll, “And neither of us is going to tell you a thing until you’ve eaten everything on that plate, okay?” “So that’s more or less all there is to it, really.” Ginny shrugged and went to refill her glass from the drinks cabinet. She was aware that her recital had been found wanting in more ways than she could mention. Having been born and brought up in a wizarding family, Ginny had taken so much for granted that blending into the muggle world had been almost impossible. However, with Hermione’s help and some useful tips from Harry, she had worked hard at carving out some kind of a niche and with a fair degree of success, she had thought. However, being required to give an account of her life and a defence for her wizarding talents had turned out to be as difficult as it was unexpected. David was silent for a while, his brow furrowed, his lips pursed in a frown of concentration. When he finally did begin talking, it was so quiet that she almost missed the first few words. “So what you’re saying is that magic has always been a reality to you. You never had your childhood dreams about flying carpets, magic wands and devastating spells, dashed to the ground once adolescence kicked in, like most kids did. Most muggle kids, that is. As far as you were concerned, it was merely that you had to wait until you were old enough to learn how to use the power – old enough to go to a special school for the purpose. Yes, that sounds reasonable. And then when you graduated, what made you go into music?” Ginny shook her head. “I don’t know. I’d always been able to sing, and I’d never really had any desire to pursue any one area of magic. I decided to coast along for a while until I found what I really wanted to do. Then – then I met you.” She fell silent. David was nodding gently, then he raised his eyes and fixed then on hers. “And you lied to me.” he stated flatly. She stared. “Wh-what do you mean?” “Oh, come on, Ginny! What do you think I mean? I’m a reasonable man, fairly sane, slightly fiery temperament, but tolerably intelligent and open-minded. I’m living my life as I usually do – working hard, worrying about the business, eating, sleeping, etc. etc. when suddenly I discover that the girl I have been living with for three years is a witch.” A dreadful silence followed this bald statement. Ginny couldn’t argue with him – for the life of her, she couldn’t find anything to say in reply. David continued. “Yes, a witch. And not just some weird tree-worshipping crackpot either, oh, no. My girl just happens to be a very powerful sorceress, up there with the best of them, who, using nothing more substantial than a thin piece of wood, wrenched an entire twenty-foot birch tree out of the ground and threw it at a bunch of – well, can I call them bad guys? I still have no real idea what happened out there in the garden, all I know is that it was one of the scariest things I have ever had to go through.” “I’ve tried to explain about, well, you-know-who and about the danger to the muggle world as well as to wizards.” Ginny protested. David was shaking his head confusedly. “Look, that’s just the trouble, isn’t it? Muggles and wizards. How can we possibly even co-operate together? Right now I feel resentful and betrayed, but that isn’t the half of it – oh, no. Mostly I feel – jealous. Yes, that’s right: blindingly jealous that it was you who was born with these talents and not me. And there’s not a thing I can do about it, not even if I live till I’m one hundred.” He paused and placed his now empty, mended glass quietly on the desk, surveying it interestedly. “That really was a first-class job, you know.” He glanced up at her, “No one’s ever been able to repair cut glass really well.” She stared at him as he went back to perusing the Waterford. “So – what’s going to happen?” He looked up again. “Well, surely that’s for you to tell me, isn’t it? I mean, this you-know-who chap wasn’t defeated, was he? At least, Harry didn’t think so, and he’s your great white leader, isn’t he?” “David, please!” “Okay, Ginny; what do you want to know?” “Well, what about us? How is this going to affect what’s between us?” There was a horrible, pregnant silence. “I’m sorry, I thought that was obvious.” His voice was very low, and he refused to look at her. “If I have to spell it out then I will: Ginny, it’s over, finished. You can have as long as you like to find somewhere else, I’ll move in with a colleague while you sort your life out, but I won’t change my mind on this. You lied to me. You represented yourself as something quite different from what you are, and we’ve been living a sham the whole time. I’ll carry on representing you professionally, of course, if that’s what you want, but that’s really all I can do. I’m sorry. Goodbye, Ginny.” He got up to leave the room. Ginny could hardly speak past the lump in her throat, past the unshed tears which were threatening to choke her at any moment, but she had to be a responsible witch – she couldn’t afford another Improper Use of Magic Notice. “David,” she said, quietly, “You can’t go, not like this.” He sighed. “Ginny, please don’t make this any more difficult.” She shook her head impatiently. “No, David, I’m not trying to make you change your mind. If I thought it would make any difference, I would plead until the milk turns sour …” “What?” David frowned, “What’s milk got to do with it?” Ginny fiddled with her hair. “It’s just a wizarding saying, David – a bit like ‘until the cows come home’, I suppose.” He growled softly through his teeth. “I really can’t imagine how I didn’t spot it.” He was obviously kicking himself. “You’re just so – different from everyone else I know.” Ginny tried again. “David, if we’re not going to be together any longer, I can’t let you leave here with the knowledge I’ve just given you.” He paused in confusion. “Run that by me again, will you?” “We aren’t allowed to let muggles know about us, except in very special circumstances, of course.” “I see.” He nodded, “But you’ve just broken that rule by telling me everything. And now I’m just going to walk out of that door and you can’t do a thing about it. What’s likely to happen then? A fine? A prison sentence?” “I could be fined.” She replied seriously, “If I keep doing it, I’ll have my licence revoked, my wand snapped in two. But it won’t stop me being a witch, it’ll just make me very unhappy.” “This is unreal.” David was completely perplexed, “So what happens now? Do you lock me up and throw away the key?” “No, David, but you have to have your memory – altered.” There was a long pause. “Are you out of your mind?” he was speaking quietly, but she realised he was now extremely angry. “If you think I’m going to submit to you or anyone else monkeying around with my memory, you’re nuts!” “You really don’t have any choice, you know.” “Oh, yes I do!” he was shouting now, “All I have to do is walk out of that door, and you just try and stop me! Goodbye, Ginny.” The red-haired girl had tears rolling silently down her cheeks as she watched him stride towards the door and fling it open. She fingered her wand gently and whispered “Goodbye, David” before pointing it carefully at his departing figure. “Obliviate!” she muttered, and a thin stream of golden light shot out of the tip, wrapping itself around David’s head. He staggered, regained his footing, then leaned against the door frame. She ran to him. “Are you alright?” she seized his arm reflexively. He nodded slowly. “Funny turn, felt faint.” He looked at her anxious face and his expression softened. “Don’t cry, Ginny baby.” He raised a hand to stroke her hair, “We’ll still be working together. We really should stay friends, you know, and still go out occasionally, we just won’t be a couple any more. I won’t make any trouble about the flat – you can stay as long as it takes. Well, see you in the morning – my word it’s late! If I’m going to get to Albert’s place at a halfway decent hour, I’d better get moving.” He hurried off to the front door and moments later she heard it slam and the sound of his quick footsteps down the front path. Ginny leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. When she finally opened them, it was to find Hermione looking at her anxiously – she had, to her embarrassment, involuntarily slid down the wall until she was curled in the foetal position on the floor. Stiffly, she unrolled herself, and her wand fell on the floor with a clatter. Hermione eyed it. “Memory charm?” she said. Ginny nodded, getting up stiffly. “We’re through.” She said, briefly. Hermione winced. “I thought it might happen – especially after tonight. Ginny, it takes a very strong person, with a very deep imagination, to come through what David saw tonight and not freak out.” “It’s been coming for ages, I just didn’t want to see it.” Becoming suddenly aware that while Hermione was in her dressing gown, clean and showered, Ginny’s clothes were black and sooty, and there were white tear streaks down her face, the smaller girl wearily made her way out of the study. “I need to change and shower – and then I need some privacy and sleep.” She said, “How’s Harry?” Hermione smiled. “Refusing to rest, as usual.” She replied, “He asked after you – I said you were occupied.” Ginny nodded and yawned. ”I wouldn’t want Hedwig to see me in this state, never mind Harry.” She said, gathering up her bag and coat, “Tell him I’ll talk to him tomorrow. I’ve got a lot to think about.” She wearily put on her coat and walked the few minutes to the flat. « Previous Chapter ( 4 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 6 ) » Review Story ( be a responsible reader and write a review) Title: A Most Ingenious Paradox Name: Email: (optional) Review: If you feel that this entry violates any of the guidelines set by FanFiction.Net please click here to notify the staff. Home | About Us | Terms of Service | Browser Compatibility | Privacy FanFiction.Net login | register AuthorTitleSummaryFull-Text FlavorTangerineKiwiBlueberryGrapeBlackberryMint Just In | Discussion Forums | Community Connector | Authors Directory | FAQ« Help» A Most Ingenious Paradox Category: Books » Harry Potter Censor: R Genre: Romance Chapters: 11 Reviews: 208 Author: Penpusher - Select Font -VerdanaTimes New RomanArialGeneva Font Size: Bigger (+) - Smaller (-) « Previous Chapter ( 5 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 7 ) » Well done for hanging in there this far folks Thanks for all the reviews (keep ‘em coming) but I must warn you, we’ve got a long way to go before everything gets neatly wound up – and a few shocks to come yet. Many, many thanks for all the wonderful reviews, particularly to PEZ, Mrs. Weasley and Ginny Potter for all their encouraging comments. Apologies to ( ) – it would be nice to have a name to reply to – for frequent postings: I’m really not doing it for nothing or just to stay first in the queue, although I admit it’s tempting. I don’t have a proof reader (or whatever you call them) and I keep spotting errors. If it annoys you, I’ll try to keep my corrections until each time I post a new chapter. I’ve had to alter the rating to R. This is nothing dreadful – there will be no gratuitous sex or violence (you know me better than that, folks!) – but we will soon be touching on areas that are rather darker and a good deal more serious than what we have seen previously. Thanks to Anne McCaffrey from whose novels I drew the idea of linking magical ability to psychic awareness. To her I owe my references to “talent”, a character being “psychically dead”, “sensitives” and “latents”. “A Most Ingenious Paradox” Chapter Six – A New Beginning Harry put down his copy of the Daily Prophet with a sigh, noting that his cup of coffee was stone cold. He was about to use a heating charm on it, when it occurred to him that the house was extremely silent – too silent for a Saturday, particularly when he himself was gathering dust in Hermione’s study. The events of the previous weekend had been almost too much to cope with, Harry decided, but like the children they no longer were, the gang had bounced back. Fred had moved back into his old room and place in Harry’s House as though he’d never been away, George had gone home to Ron’s flat, Hermione had continued slaving as though there was no tomorrow during working hours and collaborating with Lee when off-duty, and Ron – well, Ron had taken a few days leave to study and research the cup they had taken from the temple. Ron and Harry had returned to the World Wizarding Library in the hopes of finding Professor Ratcliffe still there. On enquiry of Reception, it appeared he had returned to Florence to write up his notes and was not expected back for several weeks. Undaunted, the two wizards tackled the catalogue themselves for information on the Holy Grail, but little of it was of any help. Ron took a breath, pointing at a passage in a huge leather-bound book: “Look, it says here: ‘Holy Grail, The: artefact, believed to be magical, beloved by several pagan muggle religions during the reign of King Arthur and the Dark Ages in England. Once the property of Merlin (unsubstantiated), it was recovered by the knight Sir Galahad, the only Knight of the Round Table (the entourage of King Arthur) who was pure in body and spirit and therefore worthy to handle it.’ Does that mean I’m pure in body and spirit, since I’m the one who took it out of the temple?” Harry laughed. “That sounds about as useful as the stuff I’m reading here. Listen: ‘The Holy Grail is believed to have been another name for the Cauldron of Ceridwyn, a magical artefact with no physical substance, which could be summoned under certain circumstances to give healing, well-being and great joy to all who desired it.’ “ Ron frowned. “Harry, what makes you so sure that what we’ve got is the Holy Grail? We can’t find out anything about it – it could be any old chalice.” Harry was shaking his head. “I strongly suspect that it is the Holy Grail, Ron, for several reasons.” He paused and steepled his fingers. “Firstly, it is without doubt one of the most powerful magical artefacts I have ever encountered – the ramifications of it are quite astounding. Secondly, I can’t identify it as anything else, and my speciality is in just this sort of thing. Thirdly, putting numbers one and two together, the chances of something as powerful as this being totally unheard of are very slim, and from all we can find out, the Holy Grail is the only possible match. Fourthly, well I just feel it in my gut.” Ron stared, and smiled. “So, if you’re honest, you really have very little to go on, apart from intuition?” Harry nodded sombrely. “That’s about the size of it, Ron. There are simply no hard facts. I think we’re going to have to go to Florence you know – to tackle the Professor.” Ron smiled somewhat grimly. “Better take Hermione then: she’ll get more out of him than anyone else!” Harry seemed to have done precious little other than slog over books this week: it felt like old times back at Hogwarts, but inwardly he knew that the battle with Voldemort had taken more out of him than he cared to remember and he had needed the recovery time badly. Harry brooded darkly: one of the worst things he had ever had to do in his life was tell his friends the bitter truth. He still hadn’t dared to give them chapter and verse – he guessed some things were easier swallowed in small pieces. Their horror and distress when he told them flatly that Voldemort was indeed still alive, if one could call it that, and was trying to return to the everyday world was very dreadful to him, and he hated being the one responsible for the information. But there it was – they had to know, and the sooner the better. It was indeed Voldemort they had seen materialising on the stone plinth, his faithful servant Wormtail waiting to welcome him, and it was only Harry and Ginny’s prompt action which had thwarted his return this time around – Harry doubted very much whether he could be despatched as simply in future. The only one of the gang who took the news with relative equanimity was Fred – but this was solely because he had had time to get used to it whilst captured. “Face it, George.” He said forcefully to his twin, “You may not have fully recognised him in the temple, but I saw him when he took me prisoner. He’s back, he’s just as powerful, the only problem is that he can’t get into our world without a number of special circumstances. My guess is that this temple is one of the few places he can work the necessary magic – it may be the only place, so we’d better start making preparations.” Harry stretched, wincing as he activated muscles that were still sore, and got up, pacing round the study. At least Fred had been very little affected by his period of incarceration with Voldemort. Most people taken prisoner by the dark side were very badly treated indeed – Alastor Moody being a prime example – but Fred seemed to have been quite well looked-after, at least physically: he had been under the Imperius Curse for most of the time, so his mind had wandered somewhat. Harry had not actually confided his reasoning as to why this might have been the case, but Fred had pre-empted him by working it out himself. “He was going to use me as a host body, wasn’t he?” In his usual abrupt style, Fred had simply come upon Harry alone in the kitchen early one morning and dropped his bombshell. Harry had choked on his coffee, then turned around and, after coughing at length, managed to answer him. “I think that was his intention, yes.” he said, seriously. “I believe physical materialisation on this plane would use up too much of his power to be effective, so total possession of your body, plus access to your own powers and your knowledge and memories – well, he’d be extremely well prepared to fight off anything we could throw at him.” Fred nodded, pursing his lips in a serious manner. “Oh, and Fred?” “Yeah?” “Pour me another coffee, would you? I’d prefer this one to go down my throat rather than my dressing gown.” Fred grinned impishly as he passed the coffee pot. Harry shook his head, trying to fit all this information together. Then there were the results of Hermione’s researches on the stone with Professor Ratcliffe. That had been a real facer. It had been Tuesday before Hermione had felt Harry to be strong enough to cope with what she had found out. However, she insisted that he stay lying on the sofa, with George, Lee, Ron and Fred in chairs around them, while she perched on the edge and explained her findings. “It’s not a very idiomatic translation,” she began, shuffling pages absently, “But it’s as accurate as we could get. It seems to be some kind of prophesy. Anyway, it goes like this.” She cleared her throat. “’On the day the dead one returns to claim his own, the living boy and the .. ‘ well, the nearest we could get was ‘dryad’ or ‘spirit of nature’ ‘must unite in care, and take the cup of plenty from the hands of the pure one to return it to its rightful place.’ That’s not exact, and there are a number of anomalies, but I think that’s enough to be getting on with.” “’The Living Boy’” mused Ron, rubbing a finger pensively down the side of his nose, “Do you think that might be ‘The Boy Who Lived’?” The others smiled at the old name which had been coined for Harry when he was only a baby. Hermione nodded. “I think it’s got to be,” she replied, as though this had already occurred to her, “And “the dead one” is therefore going to be you-know-who, but who’s the dryad, or spirit of nature?” “Aren’t dryads something to do with trees?” put in Lee, tentatively. Hermione nodded. “Yes that’s right.” She said, “In muggle mythology, the spirits of trees were depicted as beautiful young nymphs. They could leave their trees for a limited amount of time, and were sometimes quite mischievous, leading young men a merry dance and getting them hopelessly lost in deep forest.” There was a pause as they tried to make sense of it. “What about the ‘cup of plenty’?” asked Ron. “Oh, that’s obvious.” scoffed Fred, “It’s that grail thing you’ve got in your pocket, Ron – the thing you won’t let out of your sight. Even if it isn’t the Holy Grail, it’s got to be the thing mentioned in this prophesy lark – after all, it was the stone which led you to the cup, wasn’t it?” They all agreed that Fred was most likely right. “What about the pure one?” Harry spoke for the first time, looking around. Blank faces greeted him. “Ron and I found out that during the reign of the muggle English King Arthur, during the Dark Ages, the Holy Grail was recovered by a knight called Galahad.” Harry told them. “He was apparently the only one of Arthur’s knights who was pure enough in body and spirit to take the cup and bear it back to Camelot, where it was used to heal Arthur of the wounds he had received from his half-sister, Morgan le Fey. Also, the idea crops up in the German legend of the Perfect Fool or Parsifal.” “But who can it refer to in our present time?” asked Hermione. Harry shrugged. Fred laughed. “Well, I’m afraid none of us here is exactly innocent in spirit, and as for bodily purity – well, I think we all gave up on that one a long time ago, unless Ron’s holding out on us? What about it, Ronnie-boy?” Ron’s ears turned red. “Shut it, Fred.” he growled. Fred’s grin widened as he noticed Hermione’s eyes slide away. “I think you may be barking up the wrong tree, Fred.” said Harry, seriously, “I don’t think we’re talking purity as in virginity, or even innocence of mind here. If the prophecy is as old as Professor Ratcliffe seems to think it is, then I think it means morality in the wider sense: decency, honour, integrity and honesty of motive. The putting of the greater good before one’s own well-being, if you follow me.” “What does it mean to ‘unite in care’?” asked George. Hermione frowned over her notes. “Well, that’s a rather moot question actually, George.” She admitted, “There are several meanings to that particular glyph, and ‘care’ seemed the most appropriate translation, but it really depends on the overall meaning of the prophecy which way it could swing.” There was a short pause and she gave a small sigh. “I’m afraid I can’t shed any more light on this. Let’s sleep on it and see what we come up with.” But after several nights’ sleep, Harry was no further forward Harry stopped pacing the room and gazed unseeingly out of the window. He needed to go through all this with someone completely fresh, he told himself. He wanted, to his surprise, Ginny, but he hadn’t seen anything of her since the previous weekend. He sighed and suddenly making a decision, strode across the room and flung open the door. Going for a wander, he decided to see if anyone else felt like another cup of coffee, but tracking them down proved somewhat mysterious – the kitchen was empty, so was the drawing room, the dining room, the West Room, the library, the guest bathrooms, the utility and, so far as he could guess, the cellars, the attics and the garden. Mystified, he moved to the unfinished west wing where his own bedroom and bathroom were situated and was rewarded by the sound of activity and faint conversation. He followed this and emerged into a large, bright room, the existence of which, until then, he had been totally unaware. Hermione was at the top of a step ladder. She was wearing scruffy paint-stained overalls, and her rich brown hair was carelessly piled on top of her head so that several strands were hanging over her face. She grinned broadly. “Hi, Harry – come to give us a hand?” He returned her smile. “Certainly – if you tell me what you’re doing.” “Redecorating, mate, what does it look like?” The other voice, Harry noticed, belonged to Fred who was looking equally dishevelled and had his wand out, enchanting buckets of water. Harry paused to look around the room. It had a very pleasant aspect, looking out over the overgrown garden, with huge sash windows and French doors leading on to a balcony. He nodded at another door over to the side. “What’s in there?” “Bathroom.” replied Fred, shortly, “Or, rather, will be when we’ve renovated it.” Harry crossed the room and opened the door to the potential ensuite. Fred was right: it certainly needed some work, but the basics were all there. Harry closed the door thoughtfully and went back to the main door, intending to go to his bedroom and change into some less important clothes. He was struck by a sudden thought. “Hermione, who is this bedroom for?” Hermione stopped washing down the walls and exchanged a swift glance with Fred. “No one, really.” He answered for her, with a disarming grin, “Just part of the general renovation.” Harry came back into the room and pointed a finger at Fred. “The truth, Weasley – or you’re toast!” Fred shrugged in defeat and opened his mouth, but Hermione was looking at Harry critically, with narrowed eyes. “Harry, you’re dark again – when did that happen?” He ran a hand shyly through his thick hair, fighting against embarrassment. “Oh, it was you girls really.” He said with a disarming grin, “I didn’t particularly notice – everyone’s sun-bleached in California – but you seemed so shocked I thought I’d – repair the damage, that’s all. And stop trying to change the subject, Hermione!” If Harry were to be totally truthful, he would have to admit that it was Ginny’s comment the previous weekend which had decided him, but he was not going to admit that to Hermione. She grimaced slightly and turned back to the subject in question. “It’s my fault, Harry, but you know you always intended your house to be full of your old friends, so I don’t feel too guilty about it.” “About what?” “And it’s not as if you’d need references for her – she’s been living here almost more than she’s been at home lately.” “She? Hermione, just who are we talking about?” “And it could be said that – well, really, you, Harry, are to blame for her being homeless …” “Hermione,” Harry took hold of the stepladder, “Start talking sense, or I shake this until you do. Whom have I made homeless?” “It’s Ginny.” explained Fred, when Hermione’s nerve failed her, “You know she’s been living with that muggle guy who was here last night when the temple went boom. Well, they’ve been together three years – and he knew nothing about magic. Had no idea she was a witch – can you imagine?” Fred was shaking his head in disbelief. Hermione took up the tale. “She’s got to move out of the flat, Harry: the lease is in David’s name. She’s really cut up about the split, and I felt she’d be better among friends than trying to find somewhere on her own.” Hermione stared at him anxiously, trying to gauge his e madeHopinion and, finding no appreciable reaction, launched herself into unplanned explanations. “This guy has been really bad for her. Did you know he’s her agent as well as her ex-boyfriend? Well, she’s been trying to live all this time without using magic – can you believe it? She’s been trying to pretend she’s a muggle for the sake of that preppy idiot, and now the cat’s out of the bag, he’s dumped her.” Harry’s expression darkened. “Harry, please say something.” Hermione was really apprehensive now. “I was so sure you’d be happy for Ginny to come and live here …” “Eh? What?” Harry seemed to return to earth, and his face cleared, “Of course I don’t mind – why on earth did you think I would? Just because my name’s on the deeds of this mausoleum doesn’t mean I’m the only one who calls the shots around here, you know.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I was just wondering – about her magical talents, I mean. If she hasn’t been using them to any great extent for three years, she’s probably going to need some help from the rest of us to get back to her former level. From the events of last weekend, I’d say that none of her raw power has gone, but she must have forgotten a great deal of what we learned at school.” “We can do that!” smiled Hermione, continuing to wash walls with renewed vigour, “We can do anything!” “Except devise a charm to wash down walls, so it seems!” Harry was amused. Fred frowned. “Okay, wiseass: you think of one!” Harry backed off, hands held in front of him, shaking his head. “I think I’ll just see what can be done with the bathroom.” “Coward!” Later that afternoon, the trio surveyed the results of their labours with true satisfaction. George and Hermione had opted to paint the ceiling and the walls down as far as the picture rails pure white, as was the gloss paint on the doors, skirting, archetraving and windows. For the rest of the walls, they had decided on a pale eggshell blue, which picked out the pattern of some heavy drapes Hermione had conjured for the two huge windows. The floorboards they had left bare, but here George had come to the rescue with a powerful abrasive spell which had left the wood ready for a couple of tins of stain and varnish and a painting charm. Hermione had also provided two Chinese rugs and a cover for the large double bed, which was made out of the curtain material. However, as she said, it was no trouble to change the colour scheme – in fact, it might give Ginny some well needed practice. Having appraised the bedroom to their own satisfaction, the three housemates moved into Harry’s domain – the ensuite bathroom – and here George and Hermione literally gasped in surprise. The room had originally been a dressing room and was not exactly huge, but Harry had managed to fit in not only a shower cubicle but a corner bath so luxuriously large that it resembled nothing so much as a small swimming pool. In addition, the two big windows had been curtained in a sumptuous damask rose velvet, the floor was pale grey marble, and the tiling was a subtle mix of the two colours. The suite was white and so was the paintwork, and the overall effect was nothing short of beautiful. “Harry, I didn’t know you had it in you – she’ll love it!” Hermione was absolutely entranced, turning round and round gazing at the room until Harry went pink with embarrassment. “Well, like you said, she can always change the colour scheme if she doesn’t like it.” “Just one thing.” Hermione’s brow creased slightly, “The windows are enormous. I know she’s not going to be overlooked from the road but, well, this is a wizarding house and people do arrive on broomsticks fairly frequently. Much as I hate the things, I really would put at least half-nets at the windows.” Harry shrugged. “She could always use an opacity charm – I know a good one which makes the windows let in light, but you can’t see in from outside. I don’t want to do any more now – I’ll ask her later if she wants to use it.” It was early evening before Ginny, arrived in a taxi containing all her worldly goods. As Fred and George made trips to and from the car, piling her cases and boxes in her new room, Ginny herself stood rather forlornly in the hall, clutching a cardboard box containing some books, an old set of scales and a full set of Gryffindor quidditch robes. Seeing she was close to tears, Harry slid a gentle arm round her and pulled her head onto his shoulder. “It’s alright, sweetheart.” He murmured, “You’re moving house – that’s a bit of a wrench under any circumstances, but you’ve got the added heartache of leaving a relationship as well as a place. You’re allowed to be sad, you’re even allowed to cry if you want to!” Ginny smothered a sob in Harry’s shirt, but gamely rubbed the tears away with her fists: a curiously endearing gesture. “I’ve cried a river already, as the song goes.” She told him, “I knew it couldn’t work forever, but I refused to admit it. Now I’ve got to make my own way.” He squeezed her shoulders. “We’ll help you.” Pausing to peck her briefly on the cheek, he released her and went to make sure Fred and George were doing the removals properly. Ginny’s reaction on seeing her room for the first time were everything Hermione could have wished. The cardboard box slipped from her nerveless hands as she stared around her with delight. “Oh, Hermione, it’s just beautiful!” she whispered, running to the window to look out over the garden, then back to admire the paintwork and the new bedcover. “You can always change anything you don’t like.” volunteered Fred, “We won’t be offended or anything – we’ll just make you do it the muggle way!” Hermione took her hand and led her towards the ensuite bathroom door. “Just you go and see what Harry’s been doing this afternoon.” she smiled, happily anticipating the reaction. Ginny peered around the door and gasped in amazement. She moved around turning on the taps, exclaiming at the size of the bath, demurely casting an opacity charm on the window. Then she turned to them all with tears in her eyes. “Oh thank you!” she sobbed, leaning on Hermione’s shoulder, “I don’t know what else to say – just thank you!” Fred and George had offered to cook a special supper to celebrate Ginny’s adoption into Harry’s House. As it happened, both Ron and Lee turned up later, on spec, but were immediately invited to stay in return for a trip to the local off-licence which left the communal wine cellar a good deal better off than it had been for years. Hermione had retired diffidently to the kitchen to attempt to restore some order to the proceedings, but Lee and Ron eventually plied her with so much good red wine that Fred and George were allowed their head, and produced an extremely passable pasta with chicken and wine sauce, followed by fruit salad in champagne (the bubbles disappeared very quickly, so Harry used an enchantment to keep it sparkling until it was eaten). As a release of tension after such unremitting hard work, the gang all drank rather more than they were used to and ended up playing silly party games and dancing to seventies music. “Hey!” shouted Lee, waving a CD furiously, “This is a karaoke disc – where did you get that?” “Oh, I asked Ginny to get it from Wizarding Radio.” replied Hermione, who was dancing with Ron, “It’s great, but I still can’t sing, whatever she says!” Lee stuffed the disc into the machine, and the sultry saxophone tones of “Stormy Weather” started to float out of the speakers. “Oh, man!” murmured Fred, stretching out on one of the sofas, “This is real late-night music!” Ron took the opportunity of wrapping his arms around Hermione so that her head fell naturally on to his shoulder. Unprotesting, she swayed in his arms to the music, her eyes closed. Harry sat in an armchair, silently enjoying the music, taking the occasional sip at his glass of wine. Unlike everyone else, he had drunk very little, convinced that the resulting vulnerability would be a bad idea. Ginny had drunk everything Harry had emptied into her glass, determined to thoroughly drown her sorrows. What she didn’t know was that he had charmed out most of the alcohol and had replaced it with a relaxing spell which made her sleepy, but without the threat of a hangover. She was sitting on the hearthrug, playing with her glass, deep in thought, when suddenly she started to sing. “Stormy Weather” was one of the numbers Harry had heard at her gig last weekend, and he had liked the way she had adapted an old and well-tried number to her own style, but she was singing it quite differently now. Before, he had admired the purity of her tone, the cleverness of the variation on the melody and her unerring sense of pitch and rhythm. Now, her voice harsh from crying, the real heartache of the song came through, the pain and the loneliness. Harry felt his eyes mist over, and looked round to see if any of the others were listening. Hermione and Ron had finally collapsed on to the sofa Lee was occupying. Hermione seemed to be falling asleep, until Ron poked her unceremoniously in the ribs. She made a face at him, took a sip of wine and leaned back casually on his shoulder. The redhead affectionately ruffled her hair. Harry smiled. It was good to see those two finally getting along again. Eventually, Ginny’s head drooped and her shoulders sagged as she lost the battle against the sleep which had been eluding her for many weeks. Harry looked at the deep shadows under her eyes and decided that it was probably quite some time since Ginny had had a proper night’s rest. Placing his glass carefully on the coffee table, Harry slid an arm round her shoulders and another under her knees. Taking care not to disturb her, he lifted her against his chest, raising his eyebrows at her lightness, and carried her up the sweeping staircase into the West Wing and her new bedroom. He left her tucked up under the new bedcover, having removed only her shoes for comfort, then came back downstairs to strengthen the magical wards protecting the entry/exit points of the house. He was not entirely sure why he chose to make a domestic check at this time, but when he had finished he was very glad he had done so: several of the wards were weakening, and the one on the vulnerable garden door had faded away altogether. Grimly, he made a mental note to bawl Fred and George out for that in the morning. He made his way towards his bedroom, only pausing long enough to peer into the living room. The twins were out for the count in armchairs. Lee, Ron and Hermione were sound asleep, tangled together on the large sofa. Ron had his arms around Hermione’s waist and she was leaning against his chest, while Lee’s head was cradled in her lap. Harry smiled, lowered the lights with a gesture and closed the door softly. They were back in the temple, that – thing was materialising on the altar, the weird red light was beginning to engulf them all. Harry had just got dizzily to his feet. A beam of silver frost had sprung from the end of his wand, encircling the figure, holding the sickly red light contained, and he had begun the incantation. Strong magic was pulsing through the air, the thing on the pedestal gave an unearthly scream and flickered, writhing, in and out of existence. Suddenly, she froze in horror as it turned its face straight towards her: it was David. Ginny awoke with cold sweat trickling down her face, and leaped out of bed, instinctively reaching for her wand. “Lumos!” she all but shrieked as the room came into focus: she didn’t know where she was. Heart beating loudly enough to rouse the entire house, she sprinted to the door and stepped out into the corridor, breathing heavily and unevenly. Still nothing familiar. She was about to continue down the corridor in search of a staircase, when someone turned on the electric light. Ginny whirled, terrified, bringing her wand reflexively in front of her face then sagged with relief as she saw that it was only Harry. He had obviously been sleeping as his wayward dark hair was on end, and he was wearing a hastily fastened towelling bathrobe, but for all that his eyes were cool and alert and his stance was anything but sluggish. “Great Merlin! You startled me.” Ginny burst out, all but collapsing on the floor. Harry shrugged. “I could say the same – did you know you were virtually screaming in your sleep? I was already on my way to shake you awake if necessary, but then you shouted for light and started running, so I thought I’d better make sure it really was only a nightmare.” ”Only a nightmare!” repeated Ginny feebly, wiping the sweat out of her eyes, “Oh, Great Powers of Light, I hope I never see another one like that!” Harry regarded her critically. “That bad, huh?” She nodded feebly. “Okay.” he looked at her seriously, “I think some kind of restorative and a little talk are both in order – before either of us attempts to get any more sleep.” He paused, “I suggest you go and put on the nightclothes Hermione left for you, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen in about five minutes: I think I need to put on something a little more decent than this.” He grinned mildly in her direction, and Ginny became aware that his hastily-fastened bathrobe was likely the only thing he was wearing. Her cheeks suddenly became warm and she turned abruptly back to the bedroom. “Okay,” came her muffled reply, “Five minutes.” Harry had been right about her need to change clothes, Ginny thought as she stripped off the black jeans and skinny teeshirt she had thought so cool. Now they looked like rags: soaked with sweat and creased beyond redemption. She shook her head – this would never do. Ten minutes later found her swiftly showered and dressed in one of her own nightshirts and Hermione’s spare bathrobe, drinking Harry’s cocoa curled up on the kitchen sofa in front of the warm range. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed to note that Harry’s legs were now covered by striped pyjama trousers. As the warmth flooded through her, Ginny began to relax and revert to her real self. “Now,” said Harry, placing his mug down on the table, “What caused such a violent nightmare, Ginny? Are you able to tell me?” She nodded. “I think so, but I don’t think you’ll learn anything useful from it.” With that rider, Ginny told him as much as she could remember about her dream, including the horror of seeing David’s face at the top of the pedestal on the altar. Harry pondered briefly, then shrugged. “Ginny, I’m almost positive that David is muggle through and through – he’s not even a sensitive.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “I took a mental reading on him when I first met him. I wondered whether he was a latent, and if so, whether your problem with your relationship could be solved that way – perhaps by trying to shock his abilities into focus, but I’m afraid he’s as psychically dead as the proverbial dodo: absolutely no response, no talent. However,” and here he held up a hand to forestall her interruption, “I have been known to be wrong on occasions,” his eyes twinkled, “And David’s talent may be too deeply buried for me to uncover.” There was a slight question-mark in his voice, but Ginny shook her head. “I gave up hoping he was really a wizard deep down a long time ago.” She propped her chin in her hands thoughtfully, “It’s like – living with someone who’s blind or deaf and pretending you can’t see or hear too, just to keep them from realising that there’s a whole different world out there that they’re never going to be able to appreciate.” A tear rolled slowly down her cheek, unchecked. “I wish I could have helped him – or at least have been able to keep my two lives separate.” She made a small impatient sound. “I should have stopped deceiving myself. I couldn’t make myself into a muggle any more than I could make him into a wizard.” Harry didn’t react immediately, but instead seemed to ponder for a while before answering. Then he leaned forward and took both her hands in his. “You are a very powerful sorceress,” he began, earnestly, “Minerva McGonagall told me you were way ahead of the rest of your family – including Molly and Arthur – by the time you were sixteen. I think at the time she had a family alliance in mind, but this was before she was aware of – of my understanding with Cho. Anyway, quite apart from the mental misery it must have cost you to suppress your powers over these past three years, it’s positively criminal to waste such an ability. Ginny, you’ve lost crucial time in the development of your powers by pretending to be something you’re not, and you’ve exposed yourself to psychic suffering of a very acute kind. I know the particular nightmare you experienced tonight had its roots in last weekend’s traumas, but can you look me in the face and swear that you have had a dream-free night since you first started trying to deny yourself? Well, can you?” Forced to confront him, Ginny stared boldly into his eyes and shook her head. “It’s been hell on earth.” She stated quietly. He gave a slight nod. “If you ever want to sleep peacefully again, I suggest you start giving your powers a regular workout.” Ginny sipped her cocoa thoughtfully, hugging her knees. After a pause, she looked up at him curiously over the rim of her mug. “Harry,” she began, cautiously, “What happened last weekend? In the temple, I mean?” Harry sighed and looked at the floor, running a hand through his tousled hair. Irrelevantly, Ginny noticed how much better it suited him dark, despite his deep suntan. He looked straight at her, his startlingly green eyes shadowed. “Well,” he began, “The bald facts are as you learned last week: Voldemort is alive and powerful, but he exists in a parallel dimension. He still seems to be obsessed with conquering our world, and he’s now trying to break through the barrier between planes to materialise physically here. I believe he kidnapped Fred in order to try to use his body as a host.” Ginny shivered. Harry nodded seriously. “Quite. Fred’s physical youth and strength, together with his magical powers, knowledge of Ministry secrets and unassailable position with us here would have made him the ideal host. It was down to your talent and grit in a crisis that Voldemort hasn’t already begun his reign of terror.” Ginny shook her head, unwilling to accept the tribute, then looked up again. “But how did we do it, Harry?” she asked, “I mean, what happened between us back there? I’ve never heard of any two wizards being able to – well, merge their power in that way before.” “To be completely honest, Ginny, neither have I.” he favoured her with a wry smile before frowning in thought, “All I know is that I was so horrified by the sight of my worst nightmares becoming real that I couldn’t even move, never mind work out a defensive strategy. You were the one who spotted the weakness – how did you do that, by the way?” She shook her head. “I’ve really no idea.” she responded, pensively, “I just remember seeing everything tinted in red, and I seemed to know that the brightest object was the one I had to hit – in whatever way was most appropriate!” Harry shrugged in defeat. “Yet another mystery. You know, I’m beginning to feel a little out of control, like I’m working to someone else’s agenda, even when I’m fighting back.” He sighed. “I’d really like to be able to return to some kind of normal existence while I’m still young enough to enjoy it, but there we go – life is seldom what you want.” “But Harry,” persisted Ginny, “How did we manage to pool our power like that?” Harry frowned and scratched his head. “I wish I knew, Ginny.” He replied. “It’s a formidable weapon, you know, particularly if we could expand the pool to include other wizards. Pouring a large amount of magical energy through one outlet must pretty dangerous though, if my physical reaction to the exertion is anything to go on, but we really ought to ask someone a little more adept than we are – how about Sirius?” Ginny shrugged, then bit her lip as though she was debating whether or not to say something. “It was more than a pooling of power, Harry,” she said finally, in a low voice, “I could feel your thoughts, your – emotions.” Harry didn’t speak for a while, but his gut twisted. He had suspected, feared that she had also experienced the strange melding of minds which had rattled him so badly. In fact, he had been so unsettled by the experience that he had tried not to examine it too closely, and here was Ginny forcing him to drag it back up for analysis. “Ginny, I …” she held up a hand to silence him. “Please, don’t speak yet, let me finish.” she swallowed on a dry throat and tried again, “Harry, you were always aware of the childish crush I had on you when I first met you – Harry the Hero, the Boy Who Lived – what red-blooded Hogwarts witch didn’t fantasise about going out with you? Unlike the others, I got to know you through Ron, and my crush didn’t die, it just changed and got stronger. But I always assumed that it was completely one-sided, that you were always so wrapped up in – in Cho, even now, that there could never be anyone else.” “Ginny, please.” Harry’s face was twisted as if he was in pain. ”I’m sorry to talk about her, Harry, but life has to go on, and you can’t ignore the fact that she isn’t here any more.” Ginny’s eyes held nothing but desperate sorrow. Harry shook his head, violently but did not speak. “This is difficult for me too, Harry, but it’s got to be said.” She was unconsciously lacing and unlacing her fingers, “I felt your emotions, Harry, I heard your thoughts. Until now I had no idea that any feelings I had for you might be returned, despite Cho.” He looked up sharply, piercing her with the directness of his gaze. He felt unreasonably angry. “Well, now you know, don’t you?” he snapped, “Much good it’ll do either of us.” She shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand.” she cried, “What’s stopping you, Harry? I know how you feel, I was there, with you, and you could never have had any doubts as to my feelings, so why did you keep away from me? Why are you holding back now?” He didn’t respond. Her shoulders sagged and a deep sigh escaped her. She uncurled her legs from the sofa, placed her mug carefully on the coffee table, and stood up. “I’m sorry, Harry,” she whispered, “I just don’t understand. But it hurts anyway.” She laid her hands on his shoulders and pressed her lips lightly to his cheek in farewell. Harry made a harsh, painful sound deep in his throat and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her abdomen, breathing in the warm fragrance of her skin. “Oh, Ginny, if you only knew …” He raised his head to look at her. Tendrils of long red hair brushed his face as she tentatively angled her head towards his. Just for an instant, it seemed as if Harry would allow himself to surrender, to take the step she yearned for, but as their mouths were about to touch, he turned away and got up from the sofa, breathing heavily. “I can’t do this to you.” he whispered, “The risk to your safety, and you’re on the rebound anyway. How could I even think of ...” he trailed off, shaking his head and started to walk towards the stairs. “Harry.” He stopped dead as she spoke and she walked over to him, placing a hand on his arm, “I’m not on the rebound, not with you. I’ve always known that David was no good for me, but I refused to believe it until you came back. Then as soon as I saw you in the Green Room of the Café Royale, I knew it was all over between David and me. I stayed with him so long because I couldn’t have you, because you’d left me here in England, because I knew you never cared for me like I always cared for you. How could you deny me for so long?” She stared up at him in anguish. Harry looked at her intensely. “Deny you?” he said, incredulously, “Deny you! Ginny, don’t you understand? Voldemort kills people who are close to me – my parents, Remus, Cho – I couldn’t risk any of your lives by close association with me, I had to go away, pretend I didn’t care. I didn’t dare have any sort of romantic liaison – I’ve been celibate since Cho! – even friendships were out of the question. I gambled on Voldemort’s weakness for a whole year in London, while I found the house and started to renovate it, but when you graduated and it looked as though you would be moving in with Hermione, I knew I couldn’t risk it any longer. That’s when I decided to take the job in LA.” “And I moved in with David.” mused Ginny, stroking her bottom lip with her index finger. Harry shook his head. “Even then, the fact that you and I were close – I’ve coped with a lot of grief and pain in my life, Ginny, but losing you to Voldemort’s evil would have broken me wide open.” He put a hand to his forehead in frustration. “I feel as though I’ve been living in a vacuum.” he finally burst out, “Any emotional involvement on my part exposed the other person to danger. Ergo the only sort of relationship I could form was with someone I didn’t care about. Why bother? It’s a Catch 22 situation, just like the fiction about Voldemort: Harry Potter destroyed Voldemort when he was still at school, so now the world is free. Consequently, no one keeps a watching brief on his possible return - because he’s not going to come back. Nobody bothers correlating all the pointers, large and small, which have been building up over the years – because Voldemort is dead. I’m one of the few people who know that that isn’t the case, that it’ll take more than a sixteen-year old schoolboy, however special, to rid the world of that menace, but I can’t ask for help BECAUSE VOLDEMORT IS DEAD!” He practically shouted the last four words, hands tearing at his wayward dark hair. He paused for breath. “And I couldn’t explain.” Harry was losing his grip. He was shaking his head over and over again, “I had to leave you, all of you, my family – and I couldn’t even tell you why.” He stared at the floor. Gently, Ginny pushed his hair back from his forehead. “’A paradox, a paradox, a most ingenious paradox.’” she sang quietly almost to herself, then tilted his chin up to meet her eyes. “Then let me help.” She replied, flatly. He stared at her uncomprehendingly. “Harry, you can’t live your life like a clam.” She went on, “You can’t foreswear all emotional relationships for the rest of your life for fear of the unknown.” She smiled, wryly. “I’m supposed to be some sort of wizkid sorceress, aren’t I? Well, use my powers, take me on to your team, let me into your life.” He didn’t seem able to speak. She moved towards him. “Harry,” she said uncertainly, reaching out a tentative hand, “Harry?” Almost in a trance, he took her hand and folded her into his arms, kissing her as though he were a drowning man and she a straw in the ocean. She took a quick shuddering gasp and pulled his mouth down on hers a second time, desperate to stop him slipping away from her once more. Harry freed his lips and buried them in her hair. “Ginny,” he breathed, his eyes closed, “Please. You’ve got to be sure. Do you really want this? Anyone who gets close to me runs a terrible risk, you know that …” She stopped his protests with another kiss, which rapidly progressed into something much more serious. “You’ll never be safe again.” He muttered, when he could breathe again. She broke free, took his hand and led him silently out of the kitchen, upstairs into the warm, velvety darkness. « Previous Chapter ( 5 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 7 ) » Review Story ( be a responsible reader and write a review) Title: A Most Ingenious Paradox Name: Email: (optional) Review: If you feel that this entry violates any of the guidelines set by FanFiction.Net please click here to notify the staff. Home | About Us | Terms of Service | Browser Compatibility | Privacy FanFiction.Net login | register AuthorTitleSummaryFull-Text FlavorTangerineKiwiBlueberryGrapeBlackberryMint Just In | Discussion Forums | Community Connector | Authors Directory | FAQ« Help» A Most Ingenious Paradox Category: Books » Harry Potter Censor: R Genre: Romance Chapters: 11 Reviews: 208 Author: Penpusher - Select Font -VerdanaTimes New RomanArialGeneva Font Size: Bigger (+) - Smaller (-) « Previous Chapter ( 6 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 8 ) » Now, just hold on a while before you flame me for something that happens at the end of this chapter. Don’t just go off and sulk without following it through to the bitter end! Thanks again for the great reviews – I’m loving it, keep ‘em coming! NB Sorry if this has uploaded twice – my computer obviously couldn’t cope with the drama and passion, and suffered a monumental crash, so I uploaded again to make sure. “A Most Ingenious Paradox” Chapter Seven – “On the Wings of the Morning” Harry stood watching the full moon go down, pressed pale into the horizon by the approaching sunrise. It was going to be another warm day he reflected, observing the clarity of the dawn, the morning mist barely shadowing its beauty. And I have betrayed a trust, he thought, and exposed someone dearer than friend to a kind of danger I would not wish upon my greatest enemy. He looked back to the double bed with its single occupant outlined against the plain dark blue sheets, and smiled a little sadly: Ginny’s red hair contrasted starkly with the colour. She was deeply asleep, sated and exhausted after the fulfilment of years of longing and frustration, and Harry’s heart melted as he gazed at her. She is so beautiful! he thought, smiling gently, And so vulnerable. So was Cho. Harry shifted awkwardly, unwilling to deal with those particular memories right now. Silently, he opened the glass doors on to the balcony and stepped out into the pre-dawn chill. He gazed out over the garden, standing perfectly still, listening to the rustling of the leaves in the faint breeze. The temple was not visible from here being completely obscured by the trees, but he knew it was there and it would not just go away. Voldemort has ruined my life, he found himself thinking, He killed my parents, deprived me of love and a proper upbringing when I needed it most, threatened my every move throughout my young life, tried to kill me on average once a year until I was sixteen, destroyed my friends … Harry felt his throat tighten as he thought of Albus Dumbledore and Remus Lupin, both dead at Voldemort’s hand while he, Harry Potter, lived to vanquish him – or so everyone thought. He turned away and went back into the bedroom, closing the glass doors silently. Ginny didn’t stir as he left the room. Down in the kitchen, Harry was slightly startled but not entirely surprised to find Fred moving around, fully dressed, making coffee. He looked up as Harry came in. “Hiya,” he said, smiling, “Care for a caffeine hit? What are you doing up at this time?” Harry eyed him suspiciously. “I could ask you the same question,” he replied, “And I at least am appropriately dressed. Do my eyes deceive me, or are they last night’s clothes? By the way, some coffee would be great.” Fred obediently filled a mug with a dark, strongly aromatic brew and handed it to him. Harry sniffed appreciatively before taking the first reviving mouthful and Fred poured his own, staring critically at the other man before drinking it. Harry raised an enquiring eyebrow, Fred grinned. “I was trying to work out what was different.” He replied, “It’s your hair. You’ve enchanted it back to its original colour, haven’t you? Sun-bleaching a little out of place anywhere but LA, huh?” Harry scowled and involuntarily raked a hand through his fringe. “Not bad, Fred,” he riposted, “But you haven’t answered my question.” “No, I haven’t.” said Fred, cheerfully, “Just for the record, did you change your hair because Hermione commented on it or because Ginny did?” Harry felt his face flushing. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Fred!” “Now who’s not answering questions!” “Look, Hermione’s my best friend, apart from Ron, and Ginny – well, Ginny’s …” “Upstairs asleep in your bed at present, so if you don’t want to completely arse-up your relationship before it’s even off the ground, you’d better take her the extra cup of coffee!” He held out a second full mug, grinning wickedly. Harry stared at Fred, wide-eyed over the rim of his mug, then spluttered violently as he forgot to swallow before breathing. Fred, enjoying every moment of his confusion, patted him on the back as he fought for control. “What – did you just say?” Harry whispered hoarsely, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his bathrobe. “You heard.” Fred responded, “I’m not the best intelligence officer in the Ministry for nothing, you know. Hey, relax!” Here Fred grinned in genuine amusement at Harry’s horrified face, “I’m not going to rip your balls off for bonking my sister, and neither is George: as a matter of fact, we couldn’t be more pleased. She’s been aching for it for years and let’s face it – you’ve got to be a better prospect than that pratt who’s just given her the push!” Harry was stunned almost into immobility. Fred crowed loudly. “Oh, if only Ron were here to see this!” he exclaimed, jubilantly, “The famous Harry Potter, completely lost for words!” Harry’s face abruptly became panic-stricken. “Oh, my owl – Ron!” he whispered. Fred sobered slightly. “Now Ron’s reaction might be a little more tricky,” he admitted, “He’s a mite protective when it comes to our little sister.” He shrugged, “But I guess you’ll have to cross that bridge when you come to it.” Harry refilled his own mug, picked up the fresh full one and, nodding his thanks to Fred, departed back to the West Wing. Ginny wasn’t yet awake when Harry opened the door, but the smell of the coffee seemed to act like an alarm clock and, as he placed it gently on the bedside table, she stirred, stretched and opened her eyes. Harry smiled, sipping from his own mug, as she gazed mistily up at him, her eyes unfocussed, like a small child, then she returned his smile and her face took on its familiar expression. “Good morning.” She said huskily. “Good morning.” He replied, sitting on the edge of the bed and handing her the coffee, “Did you sleep well?” She gave him a sharp look as though she expected there to be some barb behind the query, but his eyes were bland and innocent. “Thank you, yes,” she said, “Your bed is very comfortable. In fact,” she smiled brilliantly at him, “I think I could get used to this.” He shook his head and grinned back. “Could you indeed? And what makes you think you’re going to get the chance?” “Oh, I don’t know, just – something in the way you look at me.” Ginny wriggled sinuously underneath the thin cotton sheet in a manner which took Harry’s mind completely off Fred’s good coffee. He swallowed hard. “Ginny,” he began, more seriously, “Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?” Ginny pouted and made a sound of annoyance. “Harry Potter, for goodness sake, we went through all this at length last night! I’m a big girl now and I have every intention of behaving like one. I’ve waited years for this, and you’re not going to talk your way out of it by harping on and on about you-know-who.” Harry put down his empty mug and took her hands; his skin tingled under the touch. “Ginny, you know how I feel about you,” he began seriously, “You saw into my heart only too plainly.” He paused and continued in a quieter, more hesitant voice. “I need to tell you about Cho.” Ginny cringed inside. The spectre of Cho had haunted her throughout her life, it seemed. Doomed Harry Potter, who triumphed over the Dark Lord when all was thought to be lost, only to subsequently lose his girl in a tragic accident which broke his heart beyond all mending: this had been the substance of many a glossy Witch magazine’s speculations. Ginny had read them all, and had cursed Cho over and over again, largely for being dead and therefore unassailable. A living Cho could perhaps have been supplanted; a dead one, never. She sighed, swallowed the last of her coffee and looked straight at him, determined to grasp the bull by its horns. “Do you often think about her? Cho, I mean.” Harry didn’t answer for a moment, then he shifted awkwardly in his seat and looked at her. “All the time, Ginny,” he replied, huskily, “Every day.” Ginny lowered her eyes into her empty mug, but Harry hadn’t finished. “I can’t help thinking about her when I know in my heart that I was responsible for her death.” Ginny raised her head and stared at him. “What do you mean? Harry, it was a muggle car that ran her down, I read the newspaper reports …” she trailed off in confusion. He was nodding. “Oh yes, I know what the rags said about it.” He replied, coolly, “I read them all, several times. Then I burnt them.” He was silent for a while, then began to speak very quietly. “I did some research into the muggle driver.” He began, “He was a law-abiding 40-year old with a wife and three children. He had never put a foot wrong with the law before – not even a parking fine – but he admitted to having run Cho down. The Court gave him a suspended sentence and a fine for careless driving, but I managed to get hold of his police statements – don’t ask me how, I’m ashamed of it. He swore by all he held holy that he had done it deliberately. He maintained that he had heard voices in his head telling him to drive on to the pavement and crush Cho out of existence. There’s even a psychiatrist’s report: the doctor is completely baffled as to how a perfectly upright and sane citizen, with a very reasonable argument for accidental manslaughter, should come out with such stuff.” “Perhaps he went temporarily insane.” suggested Ginny. Harry shrugged. “There are well-documented instances of such things,” he replied, “But this man maintained that he was guilty of Cho’s murder until the day he died – which wasn’t long afterwards. He only lasted two years before he took an overdose of tranquillisers – they’re a muggle drug to help you sleep. Too many of them make you sleep forever. Now, what do you think that sounds like?” Ginny concentrated hard, analysing what he had just told her, and came up with a surprising conclusion. “It sounds,” she began, “As though the man was under an Imperius curse.” “Exactly.” said Harry, slapping his hand on his knee, “You see it, I see it. No one else is interested.” He fell silent. Ginny was still puzzled. “What does this have to do with your being responsible, Harry?” He jerked to awareness. “Oh, of course.” He gathered his thoughts, “Hermione has been gathering criminal data for a long time now, and Lee has been processing it. If they were able to analyse data from five years ago, they might find an emerging pattern rather than the fully-fledged one they’re uncovering now. Ginny, Voldemort was beginning to infiltrate the wizarding world even five years ago, so soon after I defeated him at Hogwarts. He was responsible for Cho’s death.” There was a long silence. “Yes,” Ginny began uncertainly, “I remember you mentioned her last night in the same breath as Albus Dumbledore and Remus Lupin – as someone close to you who Voldemort had killed. Harry, I know you were devastated when she died …” “Totally.” He affirmed. “And you must have been looking for someone to blame.” He stared at her, but she continued doggedly. “Accidents do happen, you know, even to wizarding folk, and Cho was no exception. You have to accept that sometimes there’s no one to blame …” “Ginny,” Harry interrupted, feverishly, “I would accept what you’re saying with no argument, if I hadn’t been so obsessed with her safety when I was at Hogwarts. I devised a protection charm that guaranteed her safety from all muggle-inspired dangers. When I went to identify her body at the mortuary, I at least had the composure to check whether the charm had been broken. It hadn’t: the cause of Cho’s death was not of muggle origin.” Ginny’s jaw dropped. “Have you told anyone?” “Only you.” Harry shrugged, “It’s too late for Cho, why cause more heartache for anyone else?” “So that’s why you – left the country? Because of us? Because of Ron and Hermione, Lee, George and Fred – and me?” Ginny was wide-eyed, “Because you were afraid Voldemort would attack us too?” Harry nodded slowly. Ginny let out a long slow breath. “And now he’s trying to get back into our dimension.” “And I can’t work out how to stop him.” Harry punched the mattress in frustration. Ginny took his fist in her little hands and unclenched it, wrapping her fingers around his. Harry looked into her eyes, then looked away. “Ginny, I can’t protect you from him.” He said slowly, “I’m one of the most skilled wizards in the world, and I can’t guarantee your life.” Silence fell between them. Ginny was pleating and unpleating the sheet between her fingers, Harry merely sat immobile. Finally, he stirred. “I know it’ll be difficult,” he began, “But the safest thing for us both would be to put what happened last night on the back burner, for me to try to solve this riddle concerning the temple in the garden and then to return to LA. It’s the only way you’re genuinely going to be safe from Voldemort.” “Harry, are you kidding?” Ginny sat bolt upright, totally forgetting her state of undress, “I have absolutely no intention of letting you out of my sight. I think all this analysis has deprived you of rational thought on the subject. I’m a witch, Harry, and a far better one than Cho ever was, despite my lack of practice. Just let him try, that’s all!” Harry smiled. “No wonder they put you in Gryffindor, my little red-haired lion.” He teased, quickly averting his eyes as he registered how far the sheet had slipped. Ginny flushed and looked away, scrambling to restore her dignity, then she stopped, let the sheet slip back and looked up at Harry. “Let’s just enjoy each other while we can.” She whispered, opening her arms to him, “Whatever happens in the future, at least we can have this brief time together. Please?” And he could hold back no longer. This time it was better, Harry thought. The first time had been born of desperate hunger and a backlog of emotional confusion, and while the results had been not exactly brief, they had certainly been violent. When it was over, Ginny had fallen instantly into the oblivion of exhaustion, leaving Harry physically drained but his mind working overtime. This second time was different. Now more relaxed, Harry began to uncover memories and to rediscover delights he had thought he would never experience with another woman. He moved more slowly, more surely, no longer frantic with desire and desperate to relieve the ache, but able to pace himself better. I’m the one who’s out of practice now, he realised, but we’ll get there. Afterwards, Harry kissed her gently and settled her head in the crook of his shoulder before they both drifted into an untroubled, dreamless sleep. “Lee, Ron, I’m really sorry but we’re going to have to have our coffee and wait until Harry surfaces.” Hermione was as flustered as any of them had ever seen her, “It’s so unlike him to sleep in, but I really don’t want to disturb him after all he’s been through lately. And another thing,” she turned a slightly anxious face towards Fred, “I can’t seem to find Ginny. Her bed’s been slept in and she’s obviously changed clothes at some stage, but I can’t find her anywhere in the house.” Like the experienced intelligence officer he was, Fred did not bat an eyelid at her worries. “Don’t get into a state, Hermione.” he began soothingly, “It’s not as though she’s likely to run away, she’s probably just gone to the newsagents.” Hermione stared at him scathingly. “The Daily Prophet comes by owl, you know that Fred!” He shrugged. “She’s lived with a muggle for three years – perhaps she has a favourite muggle Sunday paper.” George turned away and unnecessarily filled the kettle with water to hide a smile. “Ah well,” said Ron, flinging himself on to the sofa with exaggerated abandon, “We’ve got all day, I suppose – except that Lee and I have a lunch date round the “’Cat and Warlock’.” “Really,” replied Hermione, too casually, “Anyone I know?” Lee giggled. “Yeah,” he said, “The heats of the Quidditch World Cup – England –v- Transylvania – and a couple of pints of butterbeer!” Hermione sniffed. “Louts!” she muttered, but she refilled their coffee mugs all the same. Ginny woke first, stretching gently and registering that the window was much lighter than it had been earlier. She turned towards Harry, kissing his neck and snuggling closer. Still asleep, Harry wrapped his arms more tightly around her, his lips searching automatically for hers. After a very pleasant few moments, Harry’s eyes opened and he smiled. “What a wonderful way to wake up.” He murmured, his hands and mouth busy. Ginny submitted just long enough to make sure he was really interested, then wriggled free and slid out from beneath the sheets. “Hey!” protested Harry, sitting up, “Where are you going?” She giggled, throwing on Hermione’s bathrobe, opened the door and paused in the doorway “There’s a huge new corner bath in my bathroom.” She whispered, seductively, “Want to come christen it?” She gave a shriek as Harry bounded out of bed, not even bothering to grab his robe, and pelted down the corridor after her. Hermione paused in her conversation with Lee and frowned, looking towards the West Wing staircase. “I thought I heard – wait a minute, I think Harry must have surfaced.” “I’ll go check.” put in Fred quickly, leaping to his feet, but he was just slightly too late. “It’s okay,” said Ron, already halfway to the stairs, holding a mug, “I’ll see if he wants some coffee.” So much for breaking it to Ron gently! mused Fred sitting down again, mentally cringing in anticipation of the forthcoming explosion. Ron climbed the West Wing staircase towards Harry’s room, noting the muffled sounds of giggling and splashing coming from Ginny’s new bathroom. He smiled: she sounded happy enough with her new bathroom. At least Hermione could stop worrying about where she was. “Come on, mate,” he announced loudly, striding into Harry’s room coffee in hand, “Time for another council of war, all the gang are here. Get up, you lazy …” But Harry was nowhere to be seen. Ron crossed over to the bathroom and knocked gently on the door: it swung open revealing a totally empty room. He turned slowly and surveyed Harry’s bedroom – the curtains still drawn, the bed unmade and in extreme disarray, various items of nightwear flung unceremoniously on the floor. Hardly knowing what he was doing, he picked up a pink nightshirt, regarded it with his jaw hanging loose, then draped it unseeingly over the bed. Still holding the cup of coffee, he left Harry’s room and followed the splashing sounds almost as though his feet were doing the thinking for him. He walked through Ginny’s bedroom, across towards the wide open bathroom door and peered around it. They were both in the new tub Harry had designed with their backs to the door. Harry was washing Ginny’s hair, pausing occasionally to brush away the bubbles dripping down his face from his own drenched head. “I don’t have to use the conditioner on my hair too, do I?” he was grumbling as he worked the shampoo through the long red mane. She giggled. “Oh, alright, I’ll let you off, but you’ve still got to do mine – and comb it through!” Harry groaned, pausing in his ministrations to look around for a comb. “Do you mean to tell me I’ve got to get out and drip all over the new carpets just so that you can look beautiful?” She turned her head and grinned at him, kissing his nose briefly. “S’right, lover boy. Time you learned what it is to have a girlfriend!” Muttering under his breath, Harry stood up, turning round to get out of the bath, and froze. “Oh, God.” he breathed. “What?” said Ginny, starting to turn round. With incredible presence of mind, Harry thrust her back into the bath water. “Don’t get up,” He said, calmly, “Just keep under the bubbles.” He looked back at Ron: his jaw was hanging slackly, his eyes goggling, and the cup of black coffee had slid from his hand to splash over the carpet. Harry got out of the bath, wrapping a towel around his waist, allowing Ginny an unobstructed view of the doorway. She gasped in horror and let out a piercing scream. Downstairs every eye was suddenly jerked towards the stairs, and Fred winced involuntarily. Harry walked over to Ron and picked up the fallen mug, shaking his head. “Nice of you to bring me coffee, mate, but I guess I could have waited until I’d got downstairs.” Ron did not react: he seemed in shock. Harry shrugged, took Ron’s wand out of his pocket and muttered a brief charm: the coffee immediately levitated out of the carpet and back into the mug. Having just about recovered from the intrusion, Ginny was leaning over the side of the bath, careful to keep most of herself hidden. “You’ll have to teach me that one.” she said conversationally, “I still have to deal with spillages the muggle way.” Harry smiled wryly at her. “Serves you right for letting things slide for four years!” he replied, then looked at her critically. “Much as I like your present attire, I think it might be as well if you got dressed now, Ginny,” he said, “I’ll deal with Ron.” She nodded, and waited for them to leave. Steering Ron back into the bedroom, Harry then walked him into the corridor and propped him up against the wall. “Stay here.” He ordered, “I’m just going to throw some clothes on.” Five minutes later he emerged dressed in jeans and a teeshirt, running a comb through his hair. Ron seemed to have come to: he was frowning and scratching his head. Harry paused, unsure from which direction the inevitable attack was going to come, then Ron did something which floored him completely: he smiled. “Well, it’s certainly taken long enough.” he said, “I’d written you two off – I never expected in a month of Sundays … Well, well, well – and in a bath too! I never had you pegged as the adventurous type.” Harry paused, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Whatever perverted conclusions your twisted little mind is jumping to, Ron, I can assure you the situation in the bathroom was entirely innocent. We were just – getting clean.” Ron was having hysterics before he had even finished the sentence. “Getting clean?” he spluttered when he was once more capable of speech, “My owl, that’s the most original name for it I’ve heard in a long while – and you can stand there spouting that sanctimonious rubbish with a totally straight face too!” Harry stood feeling rather foolish while his friend was bent over almost double with laughter. “Ron,” he began, warningly, “If you so much as think about teasing Ginny on this subject, I’ll drag you straight back into that bathroom, and drown you in that new tub!” Ron’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Flamel’s Stone, Harry; water sports with my sister is one thing, but I had no idea you were into team events! It just shows, doesn’t it? You never really know your friends till you share a bath with them. Come to think of it, perhaps Hermione should try to persuade Colin Creevey he’d like to move in here with you after all – I hear he has an interest in both teams …” Harry glared at his laughing friend, then punched him none-too-gently on the shoulder. “Ow!” said Ron, jumping about and holding his arm, still laughing, “Hey, don’t shoot the piano player – I only came up here to call you downstairs. The whole gang are here – or had you forgotten the meeting?” Harry’s blank look rapidly shifted into one of sudden enlightenment and he clapped his hand to his forehead. “Great Merlin, I had forgotten!” Ron smirked. “So many other things to concentrate on that it sort of slipped your mind, huh?” “Ron, if you don’t go downstairs right now and stop winding me up, it’ll be the furnunculus curse, no messing about I promise!” “Okay, okay!” Ron held up his hands in surrender and started to back towards the stairs, “We’ll see you two in – a few minutes, yes?” Still chuckling, he disappeared back to the kitchen. Harry sighed and started to drink the coffee Ron had brought him. He made a face – it was really too cold to bother with now. He went back into Ginny’s bedroom, pausing to knock on the door before entering, and found her drying her hair with a dessicating charm. “It’s not good for the hair,” she explained to Harry’s puzzled look, “I have to use a repair serum afterwards, which almost defeats the point, but I think speed is of the essence this morning, seeing as we were due in a meeting half an hour ago.” Harry stared. “If you knew that, why didn’t you tell me?” She smiled wickedly. “I didn’t like to.” She replied, “You seemed to be having so much fun I thought it would be a shame to spoil it …” She didn’t finish her sentence as Harry, having endured quite a bit of teasing already this morning, made a lunge for her which narrowly missed. With the agility of a cat, Ginny dodged his outstretched arms, skirted the bed and sprinted out of the door, coming to an abrupt stop at the top of the stairs. She looked at him anxiously as he skidded to a halt beside her and took his hand. He looked questioningly at her serious face. “Harry,” she said, timid but determined, “If this was a one-night-stand then you’d better come out with it now, before we go downstairs. By this time, Ron will have told them everything – with a good deal of embroidery, if I know my brother. They’re really going to let us have it, you know? So we’d better make sure our stories tally. What’s it going to be?” “A one-night-stand? Ginny, you insult me.” Harry put an arm protectively around her shoulders and smiled reassuringly into her eyes, “Besides which, your brothers, while seeming to be reasonably content with the situation, would have no hesitation in castrating me and hanging the bits from the chimney pots if I let you down, so basically I’m well and truly pegged!” Ginny stared at him in indignation. “Why you …” She sprang at him, but he was ready. Grinning like a maniac, he descended the stairs three at a time, Ginny a matter of inches away from him, so their subsequent arrival in the kitchen was less than decorous. As Harry levered himself up from where he’d tripped over the carpet gripper in the doorway and fallen flat on his face, dragging Ginny down on top of him, he heard a sardonic male voice breaking the shocked silence. “Trust Potter to make an entrance. Poser!” George Weasley extended a helping hand, grinning hugely all over his kind, generous face. Harry Potter had rarely been absolutely and totally happy at any time in his life. A few snapshot moments - such as when Gryffindor had won the house or Quidditch cup, when Sirius had asked if he would consider living with him, when Cho had finally agreed to go out with him – could have been described that way, but nothing could touch the pure unalloyed bliss that had suddenly cascaded over him, like a tidal wave, taking him completely by surprise. Previously, he had suspected that any kind of relationship with Ginny would complicate matters, making him vulnerable when he needed to be detached and clear-headed. He had made himself satisfied with a potential relationship, a could-be situation, staving off any sort of confrontation largely by his physical absence. And it had worked – so well that he had gone into the real relationship with reluctance, yielding to her demands only because he couldn’t bear to splinter her heart any more than it had already been broken. Consequently, the flood of sheer joy bursting out of his suddenly unchained heart threatened to drive any other considerations into insignificance. “Harry? Harry, are you listening?” Hermione frowned and knocked on Harry’s skull with her fist, “Hello, is there anyone at home? Earth to Harry, do you read me?” Abruptly, he dragged his gaze away from the depths of Ginny’s brown eyes. “What? Sorry, Hermione, my mind must have wandered.” “Harry!” she returned in exasperation, “I appreciate that you and Ginny are a very new couple – so new, in fact, that some of us have yet to get used to the situation! – but we could be talking about our continued safety, indeed lifespan here, not to mention the security of the wizarding world. Please, just for a little while, can you listen to me?” Harry sighed and reluctantly released Ginny’s hand. “Ginny, I think we have to be grown-ups for a bit, okay?” she nodded, her eyes brimming with mischief. He straightened and leaned forward on his knees. “Okay, Hermione,” he began, “You’ve checked up on those planetary correlations, and the results were near enough what I said they might be?” She nodded firmly. “Spot on, actually.” She replied, “I even,” and her mouth fixed in a moue of distaste, “Took the courageous step of contacting Sibyll Trelawney. To my astonishment, she agreed in every particular.” There was a respectful silence: for Hermione to voluntarily go within half a continent of her former Divination Professor, the situation had to be grim. “Okay.” Harry swivelled round, “Ron, what did the Ministry records have to say about the previous owner of this house?” “Well, Harry, that was very interesting indeed.” Ron fished out a notebook and flipped diffidently through the last few pages, “On the surface, she was exactly as she represented herself – a lone witch, stuck with a large, magically augmented property, who had been renting it out for years for lack of anything else to do with it. Rather than let it fall into disrepair, she looked for a wizarding buyer, and you were the first to appear. However, I checked with Criminal Records – Court cases, connections with you-know-who, witness statements, etc. – and I found her.” He looked around the others in triumph, “It was a small reference, easily missed – I was lucky to find it. She was involved peripherally in two events that make her somewhat suspicious: the first was a witness statement regarding the theft of Morgana’s Mirror. She was on the premises when the theft took place and gave evidence to aurors about the perpetrators, including descriptions. Naturally, the Mirror is still missing, and the thieves haven’t yet been caught. Her description of the crooks was apparently the only reliable one! Secondly, I found a reference from the original trials of Voldemort’s supporters. It was a very small mention, but evidently she had been on the fringes of a riot near Diagon Alley, during which two wizards were badly injured. Again, she gave a witness statement, but there was some disagreement amongst the aurors on duty as to whether she was just an innocent bystander or part of the disturbance. Eventually, they gave her the benefit of the doubt and let her go.” Harry paused, stroking his chin with his fingertips, deep in thought. Eventually, he expelled a heavy breath and turned towards the others. “My friends,” he began, speaking quietly, “We are all in very great danger, particularly while we stay in this house, but Fred is in far greater danger than anyone else.” All eyes turned to Fred, who immediately looked indignant. “Just a moment,” he protested, “I’m as good as any of you in a pinch, better than some …” Harry was shaking his head. “It’s not a matter of strength, Fred.” He began, “I have been researching the procedures necessary for the possession of another person’s body - not by the Imperius curse, but a total taking over. There have to be a number of preparations designed to attune the body to the potential new spirit, if the body is to respond suitably and not to overload.” Ginny gave a shudder. Harry continued impassively. “These procedures can take quite some time, and are difficult and exacting to perform. Voldemort has put a great deal of effort into preparing you for possession, Fred: he’s not going to let you off the hook that easily.” “Plus,” added Hermione, getting out her notes, “The alignment of the planets during this celestial phase puts you-know-who’s plane closest to us at this time. From now onwards, the potential crossover points get further apart and more difficult to negotiate.” “So when’s the next crossover point?” Hermione didn’t even have to check. “In two days’ time.” There was a general gasp. Fred stood up looking as agitated as they had ever seen him. “Are you telling me,” he began, rapidly, “That tomorrow night, you-know-who’s going to have another go at me?” “I think we can safely assume that he is, yes.” Harry did not mince his words. Fred sat down heavily, then stood up again, struck by another thought. “These – preparations, Harry, are they harmful?” “I don’t think so.” Harry replied, “They are more to do with the adjustment of that part of Voldemort which is planning to relocate, than any sort of tinkering with your internal systems.” Fred wiped imaginary sweat off his brow. “Just so long as he hasn’t been tampering with anything personal.” He muttered lightly, but his eyes were worried. Harry continued. “The upshot of all this research, if you hadn’t already gathered, is that I have screwed up royally.” The gang looked at him uncomprehendingly. Harry ran a despairing hand through his hair. “How did I manage to beat off rival bids for this property at the height of the development heyday, when rival companies were virtually tearing each other to shreds to get a piece of the action?” He sighed, “I was too ready to believe that the wizarding connection had guaranteed me preferential treatment, and when I saw the scale of the augmentation charm on the garden, I thought I knew why it would have been difficult to sell it to muggles. Instead, I fell for the oldest trick in the book – the double bluff.” He fell silent. Eventually Hermione, her forehead creased in a frown, leaned forward. “Harry, you know I could never cope with not understanding something,” She told him, “And I’m sure I’m not the only one here who’s in the dark, so please: tell me what I’ve missed.” “I was led by the nose!” he burst out, “Surely you can see that? The previous owner – I bet if we tried to find her now we couldn’t. She’ll either be dead, abroad or disappeared without trace. She was one of Voldemort’s creatures! She was told to sell to me – Flamel’s Stone, it must have been one hell of a shock to Voldemort to find me walking into his parlour once again in total innocence. He must have thought Christmas had come early! What an opportunity! And that’s what I thought it was.” He paused and leaned his head wearily into his hands. “The plan was to create a bolt-hole, a place of safety for my friends – no, my family! I wanted to stop you scattering to the winds, separating, forgetting about me once I had gone away, but at the same time, I was unwilling to do anything to put you in the kind of danger any close association with me inevitably involves. I knew Voldemort would be returning, you see – he promised me that he would make it his business to consign me and all I held dear to the pits of hell and beyond. Of course, you didn’t all fall in with my plans – why on earth should you? Hermione and Ron inconsiderately broke up while we were still at Hogwarts and despite all my efforts, refused to get back together.” He glared at both of them: Hermione dropped her eyes, Ron couldn’t even raise his. “Ginny elected to live elsewhere,” Harry continued, ignoring his girlfriend’s flushed face, “Fred and George decided it suited their chosen career to be living in separate places, and Lee opted to live in Ron’s all-male household – so I signally failed in what I was attempting. However, Voldemort didn’t have it all his own way either.” Harry paused again to refill his coffee cup and take a deep pull. “The previous owner was a witch of reasonable abilities, but she wasn’t unduly talented.” He continued, “The augmentation charm on the grounds has held so well over the years that I suspect she must have had assistance with it, or maybe it pre-dates her owership. Certainly the glamour she cast to prevent her tenants perceiving the extent of the land was patchy and showed signs of frequent repair, and that was the major problem. It should have prevented us from perceiving the temple – but it failed. That’s why it was four years before anyone noticed that there was an outhouse at all in the grounds – we weren’t meant to!” Harry fell silent. “So Voldemort made sure you bought the house, Harry, okay I buy that, but why?” Ron was speaking, trying to take all of this on board. “The temple was his focus of energy on this plane.” Harry continued, “To have the people I loved so close must have been too tempting a scenario for him to pass up, so he ignored the risk that I was occasionally on his doorstep for the larger view. If he could possess one of us, he could destroy us from within – and not only us. Think about it: the famous Harry Potter, four members of the prestigious Weasley family, a ministry computer hotshot, and the cleverest witch Hogwarts has ever produced, all in his power at one fell swoop. Think of the damage to the Ministry, the Legal Service, the wizarding Universities, that he could have achieved, just through us. What a coup! And what a complete idiot I was to fall for it.” George spoke for the first time. “Don’t beat yourself to death, Harry, anyone could have made the same mistake.” “I’m supposed to be one of the world’s most famous wizards!” Harry spat back, “And I fell for it hook, line and sinker – Voldemort must be laughing his socks off.” “Snap out of it, Harry: cut out the self-pity and let’s think about this.” Ron snapped, grabbing his friend’s arm and shaking it hard, “Look at it this way: you-know-who made his primary attempt to get back to our dimension, and failed solely because of your efforts. If you hadn’t realised what was happening in time, we’d all be dead. So just can the emotional wallowing and start thinking!” Harry’s astonished open mouth was highly amusing to Ginny, whose sudden laughter was her first contribution to the meeting. “Harry, there are some things which happen whether you’re there or not, you know.” She teased, “Some of us are valuable to the wizarding world for ourselves – not just because we’re friends of yours.” Harry flushed a deep brick red. “Sorry.” He muttered. Ron patted him on the back. “Not your fault, mate, goes with the territory.” He replied, “Now. You tell us the Big-V is going to have another go in two days’ time. How, where and what can we do to stop him?” “Okay,” began Harry, briskly, “I’ll tackle ‘where’ first. Frankly, it doesn’t matter: all he has to do is kidnap Fred one way or another then take him to a place where the magical lines of power which run through our dimension intersect. The spot out there in the garden where the temple is built is one of those places - probably the very reason why the builder selected the site in the first place. There are other points of intersection in the world, but I would have to do some further study to find out where they are. That will have to wait. ‘How’ and ‘what’ come more or less into the same category. He’ll go for Fred first, so we have to stay as a group to protect him, and he won’t pull any punches or worry about being subtle. Hermione, you discovered that the next crossover point is tomorrow night – when does the one after occur?” Hermione pursed her lips and consulted her notes. “The following Tuesday,” she began, “But after that there’s a two week break until the next intersection, and the planes will have drifted considerably further apart by then.” “Right then.” Harry turned back to his friends, “So he’s got to make the transition either tomorrow night or, as a last ditch attempt, next Tuesday. It’s my belief he’ll be very keen to do it as soon as possible – so he’s going to make an all-out effort to get Fred back during the hours of darkness tonight.” There was a tense silence, then George spoke. “Can we fight him?” he asked quietly. Harry nodded vigorously. “ Oh, yes,” he replied, “There’s quite a lot we can do to safeguard ourselves, both tonight and tomorrow. I believe we can construct sufficient protection to keep him at bay until the window of opportunity closes. Each time we resist him, it will become more difficult for him to manifest himself the next time. What I’m really saying is that tonight he will be at his most powerful, exerting his greatest efforts to defeat us - and what we will have to endure will be beyond imagining.” « Previous Chapter ( 6 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 8 ) » Review Story ( be a responsible reader and write a review) Title: A Most Ingenious Paradox Name: Email: (optional) Review: If you feel that this entry violates any of the guidelines set by FanFiction.Net please click here to notify the staff. Home | About Us | Terms of Service | Browser Compatibility | Privacy FanFiction.Net login | register AuthorTitleSummaryFull-Text FlavorTangerineKiwiBlueberryGrapeBlackberryMint Just In | Discussion Forums | Community Connector | Authors Directory | FAQ« Help» A Most Ingenious Paradox Category: Books » Harry Potter Censor: R Genre: Romance Chapters: 11 Reviews: 208 Author: Penpusher - Select Font -VerdanaTimes New RomanArialGeneva Font Size: Bigger (+) - Smaller (-) « Previous Chapter ( 7 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 9 ) » Apologies, I forgot where I put the chapter breaks – this is the chapter where you’ll flame me (sorry Xavien – you’ve got to go through it all over again!) I must say, I’m overwhelmed by the enthusiasm of the reviews, I just hope I can keep up the quality. Be prepared for some darkness here, but have faith – good really will triumph over evil in the end! “A Most Ingenious Paradox” Chapter Eight – “The Thin Red Line” The next few hours were filled with nervous buzzing as the gang alternately wished for the power to slow the clocks, and seethed with impatience for the fateful evening to be over and done with. They all knew they were about to face the most serious test of their lives – and whether they would all come through it was far from certain. Hermione spent the rest of the morning at her chambers re-routing urgent work, then she returned home to, as she explained to Ron, “put her affairs in order” before 6 o’clock, when Harry had requested they all assemble in the West Room. “Honestly, Hermione – what’s that supposed to mean? You sound like you’re writing a Will or something. Don’t you need witnesses for that?” “You can never be too careful, Ron. As an auror, you ought to know that.” “How many times do I have to say it – I’m not an auror!” “Yeah, yeah. Now say it again – with conviction!” Lee had not bothered going into the Ministry or even back to the flat. “They’ll only be trying to find me there – best not to bother moving really.” He closeted himself in Hermione’s study with his laptop, until she threw him out later on in the afternoon. He stalked into the kitchen to join Ron, who was occupying his time usefully by drinking endless cups of coffee and worrying. Ginny had provided lunch for the gang, made a few phone calls and commandeered the piano in the library to put in some practice. Harry was nowhere to be seen. The twins had shown a remarkable grasp of the priorities and had between them cooked a large cauldron of soup, and imported half the local baker’s shop to accompany it. Ron gaped in amazement. “Fred, it’s high summer!” he protested. Fred glared at him darkly, filling thermos flasks, slo cookers, pans to put in hay boxes – anything that would keep the stuff hot for a while. “It may be high summer at the moment,” he said, grimly, “But we’re going to be up all night, mark my words, and we’ll need it come 3.00am when you-know-who comes calling.” “Thank you for your efforts, Fred and George,” said Harry, suddenly coming upon them in the doorway, “But I’m afraid all we can risk having with us tonight is water, and even that may prove to be our downfall.” George looked from Harry to the lake of soup they had just finished cooking, then shrugged and started to pour it back into the cauldron. “We can face you-know-who with the soup inside our skins as it were, can’t we?” He said equably. Harry nodded. “Absolutely!” By 6.00pm all the gang was assembled in the West Room as Harry had requested. “Now,” he began, “Firstly, I feel this is the best place for us to spend the night. It’s large and has good visibility out into the garden. If anything should approach us from there, we’ll have plenty of warning. It’s also self-contained, having only one door, and it’s far enough from the road to avoid any disturbance to the neighbourhood – should there be any.” There was a murmur in reply, largely on the subject of there being only two sofas. Harry shook his head. “The very first thing we must do is to move all the furniture out into the hall. Please, I’m serious. I can’t run the risk of any remnants of magic clinging to anything in this room. Everything that can be removed – furniture, curtains, carpets, you name it – we’ve got to get rid of it.” The next hour was spent in preparing the room in the way Harry instructed. He was absolutely tireless: nothing was left, not even the carpet, and once he had seen the old worn tiles underneath, he hunted out brooms and mops, cleaning until the floor was spotless. “Now,” he said, wearily rising to a sitting position, “I want everyone to bring down enough bedding to be comfortable. Mats and inflatable mattresses are okay, together with your usual bedclothes and pillows, and a pile of extra blankets. Nothing magical, whatever you do, and no other objects. We must keep as little in this room as possible.” The others dutifully went upstairs, Hermione panicking over trying to provide quilts for three extra people. Soon there was a pile of bedding in the middle of the floor which they spread carefully around the room so that everyone had sufficient space to stretch out. During this time, Harry was walking around examining the windows and doors, muttering over the frames, noting the absence of a fireplace. “Okay.” He said, as they finished their preparations, “The next thing we must do is to change into completely comfortable clothes – things we can sleep in with no problems, tracksuits, teeshirts, you know the sort of thing. Make sure you are warm enough. Then I suggest Fred and George serve up some of that delicious soup and bread!” The gang were rather subdued over their meal. Harry and Fred had practically emptied their wardrobes trying to find sweats for Lee, George and Ron, and now all were swallowing the twins’ hearty soup and bread sitting at the large kitchen table. Harry, having eaten lightly and finished first, was filling water bottles and carrying them into the West Room. He also filled a large bowl with all the fruit he could find in the house. After stacking the dishwasher, the gang followed him and stood around rather aimlessly, waiting for the next move. “Find your bedding and sit down.” Harry began, “Okay, the gist of it is we’re going to have to stay here all night. Not a problem, you might say? The catch is that you will not be able to leave the room for any reason whatsoever.” There was a murmur of conversation, then quiet again. Harry continued. “I am going to ask for Ron and Hermione’s help in a moment to seal the doors and the windows, then I will place this room in a protective bubble. It will take a little time, but I believe it will hold out against almost anything Voldemort can throw at us – just so long as we don’t break it by leaving the room, or sending a curse through it.” He quirked an eyebrow at them. “I’m afraid we can’t even leave to use the bathroom. I’ve done the best I can by clearing the small closet in the corner, and I will, of course, include it in the bubble. It at least has a door for privacy, but the best I can do for sanitary ware is a bucket. Sorry about that, folks, but this is a bit of an improvisation!” The men smiled, but the girls looked pretty dubious. Harry went on. “The attacks Voldemort will throw at us could come in any form and at any time. I suspect he won’t care to use daylight hours – the risks are too great – so he’ll probably come upon us when we are at our most vulnerable: tired, cold, hungry, thirsty, sleepy but unable to sleep – and he’ll capitalise on those problems. You may feel so tired that you want nothing more than to collapse in a nice comfortable bed. You may find you are very thirsty – this is why we have the water - or hungry – ditto the fruit. However, we will have to be careful with it because once we have finished it, we can’t go back out into the kitchen to get more. I have brought extra blankets in case the attack should involve you feeling cold.” Fred shifted impatiently. “Harry, these are all simple standard hexes. Is that all we are going to have to face tonight?” Harry shook his head. “Would that they were – this will only be the beginning. Direct attacks, such as serious curses, will be deflected by the barrier – simple hexes will be able to get through. However, I’m warning you that you will not necessarily be able to spot the fact that these are actually hexes at the time, and you will be strongly tempted to try to remedy them physically. You may become very irritable, either for no reason at all, or for a specific one such as feeling extremely foolish lying on the floor in the middle of the night, feeling hungry, thirsty and wanting a stiff drink. This is also an attack. You must watch yourselves, and also watch each other, because the one thing that will let Voldemort into our midst is to break the protective bubble.” Harry paused. “Then he could try to scare us out of here. He could make us see manifestations the horror of which we have never faced before. He could send minions in the form of any of our parents, siblings, friends - voices alone or even actual appearances. We may find that our greatest fears suddenly take shape before our eyes, but we will simply have to wait them out – we won’t be able to banish them like we could defeat a boggart. We may suddenly find we are in pain – a headache, earache, or perhaps something potentially more serious. We must not give way, either by leaving the bubble, or even attempting to use magic to ease the problem: Voldemort’s powers could extend to confusing the magical charms, or reversing them, so that the results could be disastrous, even fatal. Whatever you do, don’t try to curse anything outside the bubble: that will totally destroy our protection in one fell swoop.” Harry rose to his feet in a fluid motion. “Now,” he said, “I want Ron and Hermione to help me seal the doors and window, then I would like Fred to help me with the bubble charm: he and I have had experience of doing this in the past.” He grinned suddenly at Fred, and instantly the atmosphere lightened as the two men shared a memory. For a time, there was no sound except for mutterings from Harry, Ron and Hermione as they sealed the various entrances and exits punctuated by muted conversation from the others as they waited. Finally, Harry and Fred stood together in the middle of the room and together worked a rather more complex charm involving the creation of a hemispherical binding, which shimmered lightly with silvery lines of force before fading into invisibility: the ‘bubble’. “We don’t have to worry about breaking through the protection as long as we stay in the room.” explained Harry, “The bubble’s flexible enough to accommodate any movement, but once we open the door, or even a window, we lose our defence.” He sat down on his bedding. “I suggest we try to get some sleep.” He said, “I know that’s probably the last thing any of you wants to do at the moment, but I don’t suppose we’ll get much chance later.” Obediently, the others climbed into their bedding but lay awake, talking quietly among themselves. Ginny, who had positioned her bedding closest to Harry, turned to him, her expression serious. “So we just sit here and wait for Voldemort to attack us?” Harry nodded heavily. “Unfortunately, Ginny, yes.” He replied, “I don’t believe he can afford to let this opportunity pass – he must get Fred back, and he must get him back before tomorrow night.” “And there’s nothing we can do to pre-empt him? You know, get in first? Force him to fight the battle on our terms?” Harry sighed. “I with there were, but we’ve already done all we can to turn the situation to our advantage – and that’s precious little, I grant you.” There was a short silence. “Harry,” she began again, “There’s something I’m still not terribly clear about.” He smiled and took her hand gently. “Fire away,” he said, “After all, we’ve got all night!” She squeezed his hand and frowned slightly. “It’s about the temple.” she began, “I understand that it’s one of the few places in the world that Voldemort can use to cross over into our dimension – but where did it come from? I mean, who built it and for what purpose? Did Voldemort himself build it when he was still in human form? Did someone else build it on his instructions?” Harry shook his head. “Now that’s something I was curious about myself.” He began, aware that the others had fallen silent and were listening, “While Ron was researching the witch who sold this house to me, I was doing a little research of my own, at the Land Registry amongst other places, into the owners previous to her. It turns out that there have only been three – the original builder of the house, who was also the architect and lived here until his death, a Senior Officer in the British Army who served in India during the Raj, and, after his death, his eldest son. It was the British Officer who interested me. He spent most of his active life in India, together with his family, and came home only when he retired. He had found a deep sympathy with the Hindu faith while among the Indian people, a sentiment which was shared by his family, in particular his eldest son. There are no planning records relevant to the temple, nothing official whatsoever, but together with the deeds of the house are purchase orders for building materials and letters of contract with local artisans. There are no plans or drawings, unfortunately. The eldest son must have assisted him in the building and design, and also by visiting India on at least one occasion to bring back the wonderful decorations – painting, wall hangings, statues, etc. Once the old man had died, the eldest son went back to India, taking his family with him. In fact, there is some evidence to suggest that he had married a native woman, although I have my doubts on that issue.” “Why?” Ginny was puzzled, “Surely that would make sense, I mean, they had to get their knowledge of the religion from somewhere.” Harry shook his head. “Muggles are funny.” He began, to a murmur of agreement, “When the British were in India, they were the overlords, the conquerors. Even though it wasn’t their country, they ruled it, and they looked on the Indians as inferior. For an Englishman to marry an Indian woman would have caused social uproar. He and his family would have become outcasts: neither the English nor the Indians would have accepted them.” The gang stared at each other in amazement. “So marrying Parvati or Padma would have meant that none of our friends would have any more to do with us?” it was Lee talking. George laughed. “Just don’t tell Seamus then.” There was a general chuckle. Harry continued. “After the eldest son took his family back to India, the house was left empty for a while. It was then that my vendor took it on – she must be very old now, even for a witch.” “Harry,” asked Hermione, “You mentioned the Hindu religion. I’ve heard of it, having had a muggle background, but I suspect the others haven’t. Do you know anything about it?” “Yes,” acknowledged Harry, “Enough to provide some background anyway. Hinduism began as a sort of primitive village cult in Eastern societies, but which rapidly spread all over the world. It has three major deities – Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver and Shiva the Destroyer – as well as many, many other, lesser gods, but unlike Christianity, the three major gods are totally separate entities: they do not unite to form a Trinity, a three-in-one, they exist independently of each other, representing the three states of nature. Our temple is dedicated to Shiva, and is quite unusual outside Asia.” Harry paused to gather his thoughts. “I think the fact that it was built along intersecting lines of power is no accident. Wizards exist in all walks of life, and if they are not caught and trained early, their magic will surface only haphazardly. There are many religious leaders in muggle history who are quite obviously sensitives, if not fully-fledged wizards, acting on instinct rather than training. I think our ex-army officer was one of those sensitives. He must have had talent in order to have situated his temple in precisely the spot he chose, but I do not believe he had evil intentions. No, I think Voldemort corrupted this temple, just as he corrupts every other worthwhile thing he touches. He was just lucky to find this place, all ready and waiting for him. Just incredibly lucky.” Harry’s face became bleak and bitter and he fell silent. The next couple of hours were spent in desultory conversation as the gang individually tried to get some rest. They all knew that sleep would be very difficult to attain, but Harry had advised them to at least lie on their bedding, to give their bodies a chance to relax. Harry himself appeared, at first sight, to be sleeping: he was stretched on top of his bedding with his hands under his head, calm and relaxed, breathing deeply and evenly. Only his eyes gave him away, which were wide open and staring at nothing. Harry was in fact meditating using a technique taught to him by an elderly Buddhist during his travels in China. The method achieved a state of total muscular repose and lifted the consciousness to a level approaching sleep, but left the practitioner supernaturally sensitive to any disturbance, however, small. “I’m thirsty.” said Lee, hoarsely, “I wish we had a drink.” Harry’s early warning system started to react and he sat up. “You’re forgetting the water, Lee.” He replied, gesturing to the bottles, “Sorry it’s nothing stronger, I suspect we could all do with it.” There was a murmur of agreement, and Lee, grabbing one of the bottles, gratefully sunk half of it in one go. Round one to me. Thought Harry grimly, but he knew that this was only a practice run, and there would be many more attempts to be thwarted before the night was over. The next attack came without warning a few minutes later. Fred suddenly gave a cry of distress and rolled over into the foetal position on the floor, hugging his knees and shaking. “C-cold.” He muttered, between chattering teeth, “F-freezing cold.” “Quickly!” snapped Harry, “Ron, the blankets. Cover him over. I should have suspected this would happen.” He murmured as he helped wrap all the spare blankets they had over the shaking Fred in the hope of easing the fever. “Fred is the weakest of all of us because of his prolonged exposure to Voldemort during his capture. He’s also the ultimate target of these attacks, he’s bound to be the worst affected.” At that moment, Fred gave a convulsive shudder and collapsed into total immobility. George gave an exclamation and turned him over, to be immediately elbowed out of the way by Ginny. Quickly, professionally, she manoeuvred him into coma position, checked his pulse and respiration, then tucked the blankets back around him, sitting back on her heels. “He’s unconscious.” She told them, “I suspect the strength of the attack was too much for him. It’s the best thing really – if he stays out of it for the rest of the night, he’ll be beyond Voldemort’s reach.” Harry nodded at her. “George?” he said. The redhead looked towards him. “Can I ask you to babysit? Someone needs to be responsible for Fred and to alert the rest of us if and when he wakes.” George nodded seriously and turned to where Fred was lying. “I think we had better get back to our places,” said Harry to the others, “But as you can see, Voldemort has begun his onslaught and, according to my watch, it’s only 11.00pm. There’s a lot of night still to come, and he may not even stop with the dawn.” If we last out that long! He added silently. There was a long period of inactivity after Fred’s collapse. Ginny, curled up next to Harry, seemed to have fallen into a light doze, George was kneeling next to Fred keeping watch, Lee was lying on his back staring at the ceiling, his lips moving faintly. Working through some computer calculation, probably, thought Harry. Hermione and Ron had talked for a while in low tones, but were now merely sitting together silently. Ron appeared to be debating something, then with an air of finality, he rose to his feet and walked deliberately over to Harry. “That’s it,” he said, belligerently, “I’ve had enough of this. I’m tired, hungry, cold and uncomfortable. I’m fed up with lying here on a cold hard floor making a fool of myself for no reason at all. I’m going out of that door into the study to make myself a stiff whisky and soda, then I’m going to apparate home to my bed – and I suggest the rest of you all do the same.” Harry looked calmly up at Ron, but his insides were churning with anxiety: this was a different kind of attack. “Ron,” he began, “Are you not convinced that we are, even now, under attack by Voldemort? That your brother is in great danger? You saw what happened to Fred.” Ron shook his head stubbornly. “I think it’s all a load of bull.” He replied, “Fred just had – some sort of fit, that’s all. If Voldemort was going to attack, he’d do it in broad daylight with curses and hexes and goodness-knows-what. He must be laughing himself sick at the thought of us spending the night lying here on the floor. Well, I’ve had enough – I’m off!” Harry pushed his bedclothes aside and rose to his feet. “Ron,” he said again, putting hands on the taller man’s shoulders, “We’ve been friends for a very long time, yes?” Ron nodded, unwillingly. “And though you may be wiser than me and know in your heart that Voldemort will not attack us tonight, that all these preparations are so much nonsense, I, your friend, admit to being very frightened that Voldemort will indeed attack us tonight. So, for the sake of our friendship, I ask you to put up with the discomfort and stay with me tonight, here, and not leave the room. Will you do that for me?” Ron scowled, then shrugged off Harry’s hands. “Well, since you put it that way, I can’t really do anything else, can I?” he muttered ill-temperedly, and stomped back to his bedding. Harry lay down again, suppressing a small smile: Voldemort really didn’t understand such things as friendship and loyalty, even though he seemed to make much of the latter quality. Defeating that particular attack had been really very simple. But Harry was not given further time to gloat, for the next attack was already on them. There was a sudden sharp tapping on the window, startling Hermione into a small scream. “George?” came a familiar voice, “George, are you in there?” Ron stared at George and Ginny, his mouth open. “It’s mum!” he hissed, “What in Merlin’s name is she doing here?” “George!” continued the voice, “I need your help – it’s your father. Hurry up and open the door. Come on, let me in!” Automatically, George swung towards the French doors, preparing to open them when Harry caught hold of his arm. “George, no!” he said, forcefully, “That’s not your mother!” “What are you talking about Harry?” George began indignantly, “Do you think I don’t know my own mother’s voice?” Harry still held on to George’s arm. “I tell you that is not your mother!” he insisted, “And if you opened the door to look, you would find something very different waiting for you to let it in – and it would be the last thing you ever saw!” The Weasleys froze in horror, listening to the uncannily accurate imitation of Molly Weasley while the voice pleaded, cajoled and finally ceased in a trailing wail that set the hairs on the backs of their necks bristling. “Get into a circle!” barked Harry, urgently, “Backs to the middle, facing outwards. I think Voldemort is about to take off his kid gloves. Whatever you do, don’t leave the room!” The gang huddled together, eyes darting around the room in fear. “What’s that?” hissed Hermione, suddenly pointing to a corner of the room where the shadows seemed somehow distorted, as if seen through a lens. The gang watched in horrified fascination as the very air seemed to coalesce and thicken into a dark shape, which rapidly developed rudimentary features – bulbous eyes, a wide mouth full of fangs, a long body with a forked tail, and wings like a bat. “It’s an elemental.” whispered Harry, hoarsely, “This one’s an air spirit from an adjacent plane. They don’t have much intelligence – this one probably won’t imagine we would have any protection until it hits the barrier. Just watch – NO!” This was to Hermione who had instinctively pulled out her wand and was about to hex the creature. Harry grabbed her arm before she could release the curse. “Sorry, Hermione, but no magic – please!” he begged, “If just one of your curses should hit the barrier, we’re toast.” Hermione nodded, white-faced. “I’m sorry, Harry, I forgot.” He patted her arm. “Perfectly natural reaction.” He replied, looking all around the room quickly. The elemental had now fully formed and was crouching in the corner, grinning at them, bearing its great fangs, then suddenly with a speed at odds with its rather cumbersome appearance, it launched itself into the air, diving straight for the little group in the middle of the floor. Ginny shrieked and they all instinctively ducked, but the elemental seemed to stop dead in mid-air amidst a shower of sparks and electrical flashes. It screamed in apparent pain and dropped to the floor. “Did you see that?” shouted Lee in triumph, “It can’t get past our bubble, it’s helpless!” It certainly appeared that way. The elemental was certainly as stupid as Harry had described, for it simply continued to fling itself at the bubble again and again, screaming with pain and anger each time it failed to breach the magical barrier. Eventually, it crawled back into the corner and began to dematerialise. “It’s given up!” crowed Lee, “Round One to us!” Privately, Harry thought that might be putting their achievement rather too high, but he had no time to ponder as the next onslaught was already upon them. “Ginny? Ginny, what on earth are you doing here with these weirdos? Come on, let’s get out of here and go home.” Ginny’s face was ashen and she clamped a hand firmly over her mouth to stifle a scream. “David?” she choked quietly, incredulously. There was a movement in the shadows, and suddenly the figure of David Markland was standing in the room, Armani suit, Gucci shoes, immaculately groomed as always. “I’ve come to take you home, Ginny.” it said, holding out a hand to the terrified girl. She shook her head, slowly then more insistently. “No, no.” she whispered, “We split up, David. You dumped me when you found out I was a witch. This is my home now.” The figure smiled gently. “It was a big shock, Ginny, you must admit that.” it said, “Was it surprising that I needed time to digest what you’d told me? To try to work it all out? Come home, Ginny: let’s start again.” He extended his hand towards the redhead and, to the gang’s horror, Ginny actually started to move towards him. “No!” whispered Harry, his mouth suddenly dry. The shade of David Markland smiled more widely, beckoning to Ginny, reaching to grasp her hand, when suddenly it stretched too far and touched the invisible barrier. The facial features contorted with pain and rage, flowing away like melting candle wax, and for a fleeting moment became something totally inhuman before dissolving quickly away into nothing. Ginny turned and buried her face in Harry’s shoulder, overcome with nausea. “It was a manifestation.” Harry explained, holding her tightly, “It wasn’t real, Ginny. Voldemort can delve into the surface of our minds, but we instinctively prevent him from reading us any more deeply. He made that construct out of your memories of David. You saw how quickly it was destroyed by our bubble.” Suddenly, a choking sound alerted the gang to another attack, swiftly on the heels of this last one. Lee was on the floor, his hands to his throat, his face changing colour from his normal healthy lustre to a greyish tinge. Hermione gave a cry and dropped to her knees. She looked up. “It’s magic now, Harry, or he dies.” She said grimly, “I have to do it.” Harry nodded tensely. Hermione produced her wand for the second time that night and steadied herself to perform the counter curse. At the last moment, she made a slight alteration to the incantation, making the spell specific to Lee, and launched it at him. Abruptly, Lee gave a violent lurch, then collapsed, drawing in great gulps of air in great whooping gasps. Ron and Harry propped him into a sitting position. “That was well thought of, Hermione.” said Harry, patting Lee’s back gently, “In a crisis like that, I don’t think I would have had the presence of mind to personalise my spell.” She shrugged. “It just seemed like a good idea at the …” she glanced over his shoulder and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my wand! Harry – look!” The entire gang swung round and were completely struck dumb: there in front of them, looking extremely fragile and vulnerable, stood Cho Chang. It was as though they had been frozen into immobility, all of them. Ron stood, his arms protectively around Hermione, trying to shield her from whatever threatened; Lee still sat on the floor, breathing harshly and raspingly; Ginny had drawn back from the manifestation, her fists clenched, into George’s reassuring bulk. Slowly, Harry stood up and surveyed the small figure before him. “What do you want?” he said, tonelessly. She smiled at him and her face lit up. “Harry! Oh, Harry, I’ve missed you so much!” she cried, holding out her arms. He didn’t move, nor did he smile. She hasn’t changed at all, he thought. She was still nineteen, slim and extremely pretty in an active, athletic sort of way – just as she had been when he saw her last. “You’re dead.” He said, tonelessly, “I saw your body on a mortuary slab – it was you alright, I should know.” Her face assumed a solemn, sorrowful expression. “Harry, I know you thought you saw me in the mortuary,” she began, “But it wasn’t me, truly. You-know-who kidnapped me – he stole me away and put a glamour on someone else to make it look like I had died.” Harry was shaking his head. “I put an Out of Harms Way charm on you.” He told the figure, “It was unbroken when I identified you – that’s how I knew you hadn’t died by accident.” “Harry,” Cho’s voice was urgent, “He knew about the charm, don’t you see? He duplicated it on my stand-in and fooled you.” “It was a particular variant I had designed myself.” Harry insisted, his voice hardening, “It had my hallmarks all over it like fingerprints – even the bits I had to rework slightly were there. It was my charm, Cho; you died that day.” She was shaking her head vehemently. “No, no, Harry!” she protested, “I swear to you that he duplicated your charm. I’m real, Harry, as real as you are. Come, touch me, prove it to yourself.” She held out a hand and Harry, feeling his muscles react in reflex, dragged himself back just in time. Cho’s face was disappointed. “You don’t trust me.” She said sorrowfully. “Too right I don’t.” Harry raked a despairing hand through his hair, “Okay, Cho, or whatever you are. What do you want from me?” The figure drew itself upright. “Okay, Harry, if you want to play it that way.” Her expression was sad, “You-know-who wants a trade. He’s prepared to make an exchange for the life of Fred Weasley.” “Oh?” said Harry, already knowing the answer, “And what do I get for handing over one of my friends to an enemy not exactly known for his justice or mercy?” “You get me.” Cho said, standing tall but with her voice quavering, “You get me back in full physical health with all my memories intact. Think of it, Harry!” her eyes lit up, “You’ve pined for me for years – now you could have me back! After all, you were the one responsible for my death in the first place, weren’t you? And Cedric’s too, don’t forget. After all, if you hadn’t got Cedric killed in that stupid Triwizard Tournament, I’d probably never have agreed to get involved with you at all. But you persuaded me into it eventually – and then you got me killed too. Don’t you think you owe me something after all that?” Harry didn’t answer. Ginny looked towards him and her heart froze. His face was distorted with pain and grief, but underneath she could just catch a glimmer of hope, a tiny ray of longing that had never quite been extinguished over the intervening years. He hung his head in agony, unable to speak. “No.” she whispered, grappling for her wand. “No, you can’t do this!” But she wasn’t quick enough. Another wand had been drawn, an incantation shouted in anger, a curse launched from a wand straight at Cho – breaking the protective bubble, their one defence against the Dark Lord! Instantly, Cho’s face broke into an evil, triumphant grin and she swept her wand from her sleeve with a flourish. “Come forth, spirits of the Dark Lord: I summon you to destroy those who would stand in our way!” She shrieked, holding her wand aloft and throwing lightning flashes around the room. The elemental returned, gnashing its teeth in expectation, followed by other manifestations equally horrible, which grouped themselves around the figure of Cho. Ginny screamed in horror as David took shape once more, still suave and sophisticated, but his face etched with delighted malice. As the noise and thunder from Cho’s wand increased, Harry and the others found their attention held by something much larger and scarier beginning to appear. Just as they had seen it in the temple, a tall figure was gradually forming right before their eyes, firstly as floating red lines of power, quickly joined and covered with a more opaque surface, giving the illusion of solidity. The figure then began to gain characteristics – long, bony hands, skeletal features, black robes and flaming red eyes in a cruel, twisted face, which was at this moment alight with triumph. However, he seemed unable to achieve any real presence or stability, his image kept flickering like an uncertain lightbulb, or a very old newsreel. Meanwhile Cho and David flung themselves down before the half-formed figure’s feet. “Master!” Cho cried, exultantly, gleefully, “Watch what I shall do in your name!” And while Voldemort was still taking shape, she pointed her wand exultantly at the cowering group of friends. “Thank you very much.” She said silkily, “One of you has been remarkably foolish and has made my task a good deal easier than I expected. Now that one shall reap her reward – a swift and immediate death. Avada Kedavra!” Green fire jetted from her wand, directly towards a petrified Hermione. At that very moment Harry stood, his face grey with fatigue, pointed his wand towards Cho, and snapped in a clear, incisive voice eleven words that bore no relation to any language known to anyone present. There was a sudden soundless explosion that briefly turned everything into a black and white negative. The elementals fizzled and dissolved into nothing, leaving behind the sharp smell of ozone. The figures of Cho, David and the not-yet-quite manifested Voldemort screamed in unbearable agony and seemed to implode on themselves, sucked into a rushing vortex of white winds. Then there was total silence, broken only by the distant sound of birdsong: dawn had come at last. More author’s notes: thanks to Cinnamon Oatmeal, Brandie, Mage, GinnyPotter, Jen, Sara, PEZ, P J Babington and everyone else for their kind reviews last time. Xavien – I can see there’s a little tidying up to be done with regard to the bathroom window! I explained the flaming thing – sorry again! Keith Fraser – whoopee! Thanks loads – I’ve missed you! Hmm, I can see there’s a lot more tidying up to do than I thought. “Ramifications” – I did mean to use that particular word, although perhaps “potential” would have been better. You see, the Grail is a law unto itself. Harry can’t use it, he can only sense how powerful it is (or could be) under the right circs. The stone and the Grail being in the temple: I meant to tie the Grail in with Voldemort’s return – you know, his search for magical artefacts to increase his power in this world after he crosses over. I meant to tie in the stone as something Voldemort had appropriated to lead him to the Grail. I meant to imply that the Grail could only be found at a certain time, or by a certain person, and that Voldemort knew it was in the Temple, but Harry beat him to it. Something like that. Ahh … I meant to imply a lot of things, but my fingers took over. I have read POU, which I really enjoyed, and I admit it: that’s where I got the inspiration to write about the gang post-Hogwarts. It seemed very likely that they would stick together when they left. I originally had them sharing a large apartment, but the temple thing was too tempting, and I couldn’t imagine Harry being the absentee landlord of a flat, for Merlin’s sake! It had to be a large house, and to have the old temple on their doorstep but unnoticed by anyone until this story, required a good deal of fancy footwork. By the time I’d worked it all out and invented some background – Oh, dear! The similarities in their situation with POU were a bit noticeable, along with some other details. Apologies if this is a problem – apologies also to Lori if she’s offended! Anita – yes, I did rather slip up with regard to the Misuse of Magic Warning. The implication was meant to be that it was Harry, not Ginny, who was providing the magical enhancement, as a reflex action because he was so moved by her singing. I suppose it could be solved something like this: Will that do, do you think? Or do I need to put in something about Ginny’s puzzlement as to why she escaped censure? Of course, at this stage, she would assume that it was only her providing the enhancement – I don’t want them getting too obviously close at this point! Mage – I did know about the Christian origin of the Holy Grail, but I was a bit wary of bringing it in to this story. I’m not yet quite sure how I would reconcile magic with the Christian faith – although I do tackle Hinduism later on (I’ll probably get that wrong, I expect!) Anne and Ron’s Babe – whoops! I completely missed the bit about Lee being black. Damnit, now I’ll have to alter a lot of mental images as well as the text! « Previous Chapter ( 7 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 9 ) » Review Story ( be a responsible reader and write a review) Title: A Most Ingenious Paradox Name: Email: (optional) Review: If you feel that this entry violates any of the guidelines set by FanFiction.Net please click here to notify the staff. Home | About Us | Terms of Service | Browser Compatibility | Privacy FanFiction.Net login | register AuthorTitleSummaryFull-Text FlavorTangerineKiwiBlueberryGrapeBlackberryMint Just In | Discussion Forums | Community Connector | Authors Directory | FAQ« Help» A Most Ingenious Paradox Category: Books » Harry Potter Censor: R Genre: Romance Chapters: 11 Reviews: 208 Author: Penpusher - Select Font -VerdanaTimes New RomanArialGeneva Font Size: Bigger (+) - Smaller (-) « Previous Chapter ( 8 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 10 ) » This second attempt at Chapter Eight is in response to some very constructive criticism delivered by PJ Babington. Thanks to all who liked the previous version – which I have left intact for comparison purposes – but I feel that while I am on a roll, I should at least make the attempt to answer the points raised (I think they are very astute and relevant). Sorry if this annoys anyone (you can vote for which chapter you would like to retain if you like!) I promise the real chapter nine will come soooon! “A Most Ingenious Paradox” Chapter Eight – “The Thin Red Line” – SECOND ATTEMPT The next few hours were filled with nervous buzzing as the gang alternately wished for the power to slow the clocks, and seethed with impatience for the fateful evening to be over and done with. They all knew they were about to face the most serious test of their lives, and whether they would all come through it was far from certain. Hermione spent the rest of the morning at her chambers re-routing urgent work, then she returned home to, as she explained to Ron, “put her affairs in order” before 8 o’clock, when Harry had requested they all assemble in the West Room. “Honestly, Hermione – what’s that supposed to mean? You sound like you’re writing a Will or something. Don’t you need witnesses for that?” “You can never be too careful, Ron. As an auror, you ought to know that.” “How many times do I have to say it – I’m not an auror!” “Yeah, yeah. Now say it again – with conviction!” Lee had not bothered going into the Ministry or even back to the flat. “They’ll only be trying to find me there – best not to bother moving really.” He closeted himself in Hermione’s study with his laptop, until she threw him out later on in the afternoon. He stalked into the kitchen to join Ron, who was occupying his time usefully by drinking endless cups of coffee and worrying. Ginny had provided lunch for the gang, made a few phone calls and commandeered the piano in the library to put in some practice. Harry was nowhere to be seen. The twins had shown a remarkable grasp of the priorities and between them cooked a large cauldron of soup, and imported half the local baker’s shop to accompany it. Ron gaped in amazement. “Fred, it’s high summer!” he protested. Fred glared at him darkly, “It may be high summer at the moment,” he said, grimly, “But we’re going to be up all night, mark my words, and we’ll need it come 3.00am when you-know-who comes calling.” “What on earth is going on here?” Harry appeared suddenly in the doorway, staring at the lake of soup the twins had cooked. He burst out laughing. “That’s enough for an army!” George looked rather annoyed. “Well, an army marches on its stomach, doesn’t it?” he responded, testily, “Anyway, Harry, if we’re going to be up all night making sure you-know-who doesn’t make off with Fred, we’re going to need some sustenance. Apart from anything else, it might keep us awake!” Harry scratched his head. “Well, yes – I can see your point,” he began, “Except that I don’t think we’re going to be able to get out into the kitchen much – if at all, actually.” All heads turned towards him. Ron pushed a cup of coffee into his hand. “Drink that, Harry,” he said, “And you might like to reassess your priorities. I for one am never going to stay awake later than 1.00am without coffee.” Harry automatically took a gulp of the strong, aromatic brew. “I’ve been looking into the various ways we can protect ourselves against attack,” he told them, “That’s what I’ve been doing all morning. I managed to get through to Professor Ratcliffe at last, and I’ve been talking to various dark arts experts I’ve worked with before. We’re all agreed that the surest form of protection is a Wall of Force.” George frowned. “But surely that leaves us vulnerable from overhead and beneath.” he argued, “I can’t see that Voldemort is going to fall for that one.” “I know,” replied Harry, “But a Wall of Force can be modified into a vaguely three-dimensional shape – with the right spells, naturally.” “Of course!” exclaimed Hermione, her frown lifting. “I remember Alastor Moody giving a court room a detailed description of one – I called him as an expert witness for the Defence once, about a year ago.” Harry smiled. “Did you win?” he asked, with interest. She nodded vigorously. “Too right, we did! He had the whole courtroom on the edge of their seats. I’d use him again anytime.” She paused, and the frown returned. “But Harry, the – Glass Bubble, I believe he called it. It’s not perfect by any means, and it’s not proof against a whole host of hexes.” Harry was nodding. “Yes, Hermione, I realise that.” “Hey, get real you two!” Lee entered into the conversation, “I work with machines most of the time, and my magic only gets a workout once or twice a week. Have a heart and explain, will you?” Hermione exchanged a glance with Harry and giggled. Ginny glared. “Hey, that’s not fair!” she protested, “Just because you two know what you’re talking about, doesn’t mean the rest of us do! I’m with Lee on this.” Harry took her hand in his and patted it gently. “The Glass Bubble is a variation on the Wall of Force which moulds the protection into a bubble-shape.” He explained, “This means that any one enclosed within the bubble will be safe from a number of external attacks, notably the three Unforgiveable Curses.” Ginny’s eyes widened. “But I thought the Avada curse was unblockable!” she exclaimed. Harry and Fred exchanged glances. “Well, we thought so too.” Harry began at length. “It’s a long story involving Fred, George, myself, and a multiple manifestation of griffins. I’ll tell you about it sometime – not now – but the upshot is that although the avada curse can’t be blocked, it can be avoided.” “Well, we know that.” Ginny protested, impatiently, “All you have to do is move out of the way – same as any other curse.” Harry nodded as though she had said something extremely sensible. “That’s right, and that’s the principle involved in the Glass Bubble.” He explained, “Don’t ask me exactly how it works – I didn’t design it – but it incorporates an Evasion charm. It literally avoids being hit by the powerful and dangerous curses – it eludes them.” “Now that sounds more like it!” Lee jumped out of his chair, “With one of those around the house, we could sleep soundly until the middle of next week – and there’d be nothing you-know-who could do about it!” Harry was shaking his head slowly. Hermione looked serious and began to speak. “It’s not so simple Lee.” she explained, “It’s not so much a bubble as a net made out of fine mesh. Powerful, dangerous curses are deflected, but smaller, less harmful ones can get through to a certain extent. Also, anti-hexes or confusion charms – that sort of thing – well, they can penetrate the barrier as well.” There was a small pause as the gang absorbed this information. “So,” began George, slowly, “Although you-know-who can’t kill or hurt us badly while we’re in the bubble, he can torment us with any number of small hexes – furnunculus, morbum incido, dolorus, confusium perplexa – you name it. That’s not good, Harry.” The other man shrugged. “I’m sorry, George, it’s really the best I can do. And that’s not all, I’m afraid.” He paused to rake a hand through his untidy dark hair, “When you talk about throwing a Glass Bubble around the whole house – well, it’s simply not possible, not even for me. The Glass Bubble is only effective in small spaces, the size of a normal room, no larger.” “So the upshot is that in order to keep me safe, we are going to have to spend the entire night all together in one room, yes?” It was Fred speaking. Harry nodded. “That’s about the size of it, yes.” By 8.00pm all the gang was assembled in the West Room as Harry had requested. “Now,” he began, “Firstly, I think this is the best place for us to spend the night. It’s large and has good visibility out into the garden. If anything should approach us from there, we’ll have plenty of warning. It’s also self-contained, having only one door, and it’s far enough from the road to avoid any disturbance to the neighbourhood – should there be any.” There was a murmur in reply, largely on the subject of there being only two sofas. Harry shook his head. “The very first thing we must do is to move all the furniture out into the hall.” “Why?” “How on earth will we fit it all in?” “Do you mean we’re going to have to sit on the floor all night?” Harry held his hand up against the flood of protests. “Please, I’m serious. We can’t run the risk of any remnants of magic clinging to anything in this room, not to mention the fact that, as we’ve discussed at length, minor hexes can get through. Imagine being stuck in a room where every item of furniture was behaving like a Quidditch bludger! It could happen. Everything that can be removed – furniture, curtains, carpets, you name it – we’ve got to get rid of it.” The next hour was spent in preparing the room in the way Harry instructed. He was absolutely tireless: nothing was left, not even the carpet. “Now,” he said, wearily, “I want everyone to bring down enough bedding to be comfortable. Mats and inflatable mattresses are okay, together with your usual bedclothes and pillows, and a pile of extra blankets. Nothing magical, whatever you do, and nothing heavy or dangerous. We must keep as little in this room as possible.” The others dutifully went upstairs, Hermione panicking over trying to provide quilts for three extra people. Soon there was a pile of bedding in the middle of the floor which they spread carefully around the room so that everyone had sufficient space to stretch out. During this time, Harry was walking around examining the windows and doors, muttering over the frames, noting the absence of a fireplace. “Okay.” He said, as they finished their preparations, “Now I think we’d all better go and eat some of that vast quantity of soup the twins have cooked for us – we need a good meal before we go into this. After that, I think it may be as well if we all change into some less formal clothes – tracksuits, jogging pants, teeshirts, you know the type. Things we can sleep in if necessary, although I doubt we’ll be able to – and we’d better make sure we’ll be warm enough. We can leave the central heating on, but one blast of the frigesco charm and we’ll be extremely uncomfortable. Ditto for excandesco, so make sure you put on layers of clothes that you can take off if you get too hot!” Harry and Fred practically emptied their wardrobes trying to find sweats for Lee, George and Ron. Harry, having eaten lightly and finished first, was filling plastic water bottles and carrying them into the West Room. He also filled a wicker basket with all the fruit he could find in the house. The gang followed him and stood around rather aimlessly, waiting for the next move. Ron simply stared at Hermione who was looking ravishing in a scarlet tracksuit with her long brown hair down. She smiled gently at him, then moved over to where Harry was still examining the room. “Want some help with that?” she enquired, softly. He looked up at her and she felt her heart twist at the lines of strain around his mouth, the worry etched plainly in his eyes. He sighed and nodded. “Thanks, Hermione: standard Repel All Boarders wards, extended to cover the whole of each window and door frame, also any cracks in the walls.” She nodded then looked back towards the others. “Hey, Ron, come and help with this, please.” With the air of jumping to attention, Ron sprang into action and had soon taken over from Harry, sealing the cracks in the door and walls with magical protection. Harry paused for a while, then walked over to Fred. “How much do you remember about the Manhatten Island situation?” he asked, obliquely. Fred looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled in recollection. “You want me to help you? With the Glass Bubble charm?” Harry nodded firmly. “Frankly, what you produced there was the most sure-fire defence I’ve seen in a long time.” He remarked. Fred bowed his head in acceptance of the compliment. “You want more of the same?” “Too right! Let’s get to it.” For a time, there was no sound except for mutterings from Ron and Hermione as they continued placing wards, punctuated by muted discussion between Harry and Fred. Finally, the two wizards stood together in the middle of the room and together worked an extremely complex charm involving the creation of a hemispherical binding of lines of force, which shimmered lightly with a silvery mesh before fading into invisibility: the Glass Bubble. “We don’t have to worry about breaking through the protection as long as we stay in the room.” explained Harry, “The bubble’s flexible enough to accommodate any movement, but once we open the door, or even a window, we lose our defence.” He sat down on his bedding. “Can I just remind you that we’re really not sure what we’re up against here? Technically we know we can survive simply by sitting tight, but I doubt it’ll be that simple. Please try not to use magic if you can possibly help it: the chances of Voldemort hexing us so that any spell will backfire are very strong. Also anything more powerful than a minor hex will shatter the bubble from the inside.” “Harry, have you any idea what we can expect by way of attacks tonight?” Hermione was calm but obviously perturbed by the idea of being in the dark. “Not really,” he replied, flatly, “But I can make some guesses which might hold water.” “Go on.” said George, when he paused for thought. Harry took off his spectacles and polished them absent-mindedly on his tracksuit top. “We’ve already discussed the small hexes which can get through – feeling cold, hot, sick, in pain, thirsty, hungry.” He said, putting his glasses back on. “We have a remedy of sorts for some of them – the water, the fruit – the others we’ll just have to sit out. We may be under attack in other, more subtle ways. Any one of us may suddenly feel irrationally angry, fed up, irritable, sad, frightened – many other emotional responses. It’s up to the rest of us to try to spot these attacks and defuse them.” George nodded seriously, then sat down on his bedding. “I guess we ought to try to get some sleep.” He said, “I know that’s probably the last thing any of us wants to do at the moment, but I don’t suppose we’ll get much chance later.” He sat down on his bedding and stretched out, his hands behind his head. Harry followed suit. Ginny, who had positioned her bedding closest to Harry, turned to him, her expression serious. “So we just sit here and wait for Voldemort to attack us?” Harry nodded heavily. “Unfortunately, Ginny, yes.” He replied, “I don’t believe he can afford to let this opportunity pass – he must get Fred back, and he must get him back before tomorrow night.” “And there’s nothing we can do to pre-empt him? You know, get in first? Force him to fight the battle on our terms?” Harry sighed. “I with there were, but we’ve already done all we can to turn the situation to our advantage – and that’s precious little, I grant you.” There was a short silence. “Harry,” she began again, “There’s something I’m still not terribly clear about.” He smiled and took her hand gently. “Fire away,” he said, “After all, we’ve got all night!” She squeezed his hand and frowned slightly. “It’s about the temple.” she began, “I understand that it’s one of the few places in the world that Voldemort can use to cross over into our dimension – but where did it come from? I mean, who built it and for what purpose? Did Voldemort himself build it when he was still in human form? Did someone else build it on his instructions?” Harry shook his head. “Now that’s something I was curious about myself.” He began, aware that the others had fallen silent and were listening, “While Ron was researching the witch who sold this house to me, I was doing a little research of my own, at the Land Registry amongst other places, into the owners previous to her. It turns out that there have only been three – the original builder of the house, who was also the architect and lived here until his death, a Senior Officer in the British Army who served in India during the Raj, and, after his death, his eldest son. It was the British Officer who interested me. He spent most of his active life in India, together with his family, and came home only when he retired. He had found a deep sympathy with the Hindu faith while among the Indian people, a sentiment which was shared by his family, in particular his eldest son. There are no planning records relevant to the temple, nothing official whatsoever, but together with the deeds of the house are purchase orders for building materials and letters of contract with local artisans. There are no plans or drawings, unfortunately. The eldest son must have assisted him in the building and design, and also by visiting India on at least one occasion to bring back the wonderful decorations – painting, wall hangings, statues, etc. Once the old man had died, the eldest son went back to India, taking his family with him. In fact, there is some evidence to suggest that he had married a native woman, although I have my doubts on that issue.” “Why?” Ginny was puzzled, “Surely that would make sense, I mean, they had to get their knowledge of the religion from somewhere.” Harry shook his head. “Muggles are funny.” He began, to a murmur of agreement, “When the British were in India, they were the overlords, the conquerors. Even though it wasn’t their country, they ruled it, and they looked on the Indians as inferior. For an Englishman to marry an Indian woman would have caused social uproar. He and his family would have become outcasts: neither the English nor the Indians would have accepted them.” The gang stared at each other in amazement. “So marrying Parvati or Padma would have meant that none of our friends would have any more to do with us?” it was Lee talking. George laughed. “Just don’t tell Seamus then.” There was a general chuckle. Harry continued. “After the eldest son took his family back to India, the house was left empty for a while. It was then that my vendor took it on – she must be very old now, even for a witch.” “Harry,” asked Hermione, “You mentioned the Hindu religion. I’ve heard of it, having had a muggle background, but I suspect the others haven’t. Do you know anything about it?” “Yes,” acknowledged Harry, “Enough to provide some background anyway. Hinduism began as a sort of primitive village cult in Eastern societies, but which rapidly spread all over the world. It has three major deities – Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver and Shiva the Destroyer – as well as many, many other, lesser gods, but unlike Christianity, the three major gods are totally separate entities: they do not unite to form a Trinity, a three-in-one, they exist independently of each other, representing the three states of nature. Our temple is dedicated to Shiva, and is quite unusual outside Asia.” Harry paused to gather his thoughts. “I think the fact that it was built along intersecting lines of power is no accident. Wizards exist in all walks of life, and if they are not caught and trained early, their magic will surface only haphazardly. There are many religious leaders in muggle history who are quite obviously sensitives, if not fully-fledged wizards, acting on instinct rather than training. I think our ex-army officer was one of those sensitives. He must have had talent in order to have situated his temple in precisely the spot he chose, but I do not believe he had evil intentions. No, I think Voldemort corrupted this temple, just as he corrupts every other worthwhile thing he touches. He was just lucky to find this place, all ready and waiting for him. Just incredibly lucky.” Harry’s face became bleak and bitter and he fell silent. The next couple of hours were spent in desultory conversation as the gang individually tried to get some rest. They all knew that sleep would be very difficult to attain, but it could do no harm to try, surely. Suddenly, without warning, the gang leaped to their feet, galvanized into action by an abrupt onslaught of thunder. The room seemed full of green fire, shooting into corners, bouncing off windows, filling the space with noise and light. Ginny shrieked in shock, but stayed put in the midst of her bedclothes. Hermione, most uncharacteristically, flung her arms around Ron and buried her head in his chest. George drew his wand, only to have it slapped away by Fred. “No magic, George!” he shouted, “Besides, I think if we wait a short time, we’ll find it’s not really necessary.” Fred was right. As suddenly as it had begun, the green fire ceased, leaving the room in total silence. “What the hell was that?” spluttered Lee. Harry picked himself up off the floor, straightening his clothes. “If I read it correctly, Lee,” he began, “It was the Avada curse, sent many, many times. We were meant to be completely wiped out.” Harry smiled, grimly, “Voldemort is about to discover his mistake.” But if Harry expected the Dark Wizard himself to come to inspect the damage, or at least to send a lieutenant, he was disappointed. Nothing happened, and as the minutes turned into hours, the gang began to settle themselves again. Harry had advised them to at least lie on their bedding, to give their bodies a chance to relax. He himself appeared, at first sight, to be sleeping: he was stretched on top of his bedding with his hands under his head, calm and relaxed, breathing deeply and evenly. Only his eyes gave him away. They were wide open and staring at nothing. Harry was in fact meditating using a technique taught to him by an elderly Buddhist during his travels in China. The method achieved a state of total muscular repose and lifted the consciousness to a level approaching sleep, but left the practitioner supernaturally sensitive to any disturbance, however small. “I’m thirsty.” said Lee, hoarsely, “I wish we had a drink.” Harry’s early warning system started to react and he sat up. Voldemort has realised that his attacks have achieved nothing. He thought, He’s backtracked and he’s starting small. “You’re forgetting the water, Lee.” He replied, gesturing to the bottles, “Sorry it’s nothing stronger, I suspect we could all do with it.” There was a murmur of agreement, and Lee, grabbing one of the bottles, gratefully sunk half of it in one go. Round one to us. Thought Harry grimly, but he knew that this was only a practice run, and there would be many more attempts to be thwarted before the night was over. The next attack came without warning a few minutes later. Fred suddenly gave a cry of distress and rolled over into the foetal position on the floor, hugging his knees and shaking. “C-cold.” He muttered, between chattering teeth, “F-freezing cold.” “Quickly!” snapped Harry, “Ron, the blankets. Cover him over. I should have suspected this would happen.” He murmured as he helped wrap all the spare blankets they had over the shaking Fred in the hope of easing the fever. “Fred is the weakest of all of us because of his prolonged exposure to Voldemort during his capture. He’s also the ultimate target of these attacks, he’s bound to be the worst affected.” At that moment, Fred gave a convulsive shudder and collapsed into total immobility. George gave an exclamation and turned him over, to be immediately elbowed out of the way by Ginny. Quickly, she manoeuvred him into coma position, checked his pulse and respiration, then tucked the blankets back around him, sitting back on her heels. “He’s unconscious.” She told them, “I suspect the strength of the attack was too much for him. It’s the best thing really – if he stays out of it for the rest of the night, he’ll be beyond Voldemort’s reach.” Harry nodded at her. “George?” he said. The redhead looked towards him. “Can I ask you to babysit? Someone needs to be responsible for Fred and to alert the rest of us if and when he wakes.” George nodded seriously and turned to where Fred was lying. “I think we had better get back to our places,” said Harry to the others, “But as you can see, Voldemort has begun his onslaught and, according to my watch, it’s only 11.00pm. There’s a lot of night still to come, and he may not even stop with the dawn.” If we last out that long! He added silently. There was a long period of inactivity after Fred’s collapse. Ginny, curled up next to Harry, seemed to have fallen into a light doze, George was kneeling next to Fred keeping watch, Lee was lying on his back staring at the ceiling, his lips moving faintly. Working through some computer calculation, probably, thought Harry. Hermione and Ron had talked for a while in low tones, but were now merely sitting together silently. Ron appeared to be debating something, then with an air of finality, he rose to his feet and walked deliberately over to Harry. “That’s it,” he said, belligerently, “I’ve had enough of this. I’m tired, hungry, cold and uncomfortable. I’m fed up with lying here on a cold hard floor making a fool of myself for no reason at all. I’m going out of that door into the study to make myself a drink, then I’m going to apparate home to my bed – and I suggest the rest of you all do the same.” Harry looked calmly up at Ron, but his insides were churning with anxiety: this was a different kind of attack. “Ron,” he began, “Are you not convinced that we are, even now, under attack by Voldemort? That your brother is in great danger? You saw what happened to Fred.” Ron shook his head stubbornly. “I think it’s all a load of bull.” He replied, “Fred just had – some sort of fit, that’s all. If Voldemort was going to attack, he’d do it in broad daylight with curses and hexes and goodness-knows-what. He must be laughing himself sick at the thought of us spending the night lying here on the floor. Well, I’ve had enough – I’m off!” Harry pushed his bedclothes aside and rose to his feet. “Ron,” he said again, putting hands on the taller man’s shoulders, “We’ve been friends for a very long time, yes?” Ron nodded, unwillingly. “And though you may be wiser than me and know in your heart that Voldemort will not attack us tonight, that all these preparations are so much nonsense, I, your friend, admit to being very frightened that Voldemort will indeed attack us tonight. So, for the sake of our friendship, I ask you to put up with the discomfort and stay with me tonight, here, and not leave the room. Will you do that for me?” Ron scowled, then shrugged off Harry’s hands. “Well, since you put it that way, I can’t really do anything else, can I?” he muttered ill-temperedly, and stomped back to his bedding. Harry lay down again, suppressing a small smile: Voldemort really didn’t understand such things as friendship and loyalty, even though he seemed to make much of the latter quality. Defeating that particular attack had been really very simple. But Harry was not given further time to gloat, for the next attack was already on them. There was a sudden sharp tapping on the window, startling Hermione into a small scream. “George?” came a familiar voice, “George, are you in there?” Ron stared at George and Ginny, his mouth open. “It’s mum!” he hissed, “What in Merlin’s name is she doing here?” “George!” continued the voice, “I need your help – it’s your father. Hurry up and open the door. Come on, let me in!” Automatically, George swung towards the French doors, preparing to open them when Harry caught hold of his arm. “George, no!” he said, forcefully, “That’s not your mother!” “What are you talking about Harry?” George began indignantly, “Do you think I don’t know my own mother’s voice?” Harry still held on to George’s arm. “I tell you that is not your mother!” he insisted, “And if you opened the door to look, you would find something very different waiting for you to let it in – and it would be the last thing you ever saw!” The Weasleys froze in horror, listening to the uncannily accurate imitation of Molly Weasley while the voice pleaded, cajoled and finally ceased in a trailing wail that set the hairs on the backs of their necks bristling. “Get into a circle!” barked Harry, urgently, “Backs to the middle, facing outwards. I think Voldemort is about to take off his kid gloves. Whatever you do, don’t leave the room!” The gang huddled together, eyes darting around the room in fear. “What’s that?” hissed Hermione, suddenly pointing to a corner of the room where the shadows seemed somehow distorted, as if seen through a lens. The gang watched in horrified fascination as the very air seemed to coalesce and thicken into a dark shape, which rapidly developed into a human figure. “Wormtail!” spat Harry, in disgust, “How many times do I have to kill him before he lies down? Hermione – NO!” She had instinctively pulled out her wand and was about to hex the Deatheater. Harry grabbed her arm before she could release the curse. “Sorry, Hermione, but no magic – please!” he begged, “If just one of your curses should hit the barrier, we’re toast.” Hermione nodded, white-faced and trembling. “I’m sorry, Harry, I forgot.” He patted her arm. “Perfectly natural reaction.” He replied, turning to face the Deatheater with a determined expression. He spread his arms wide. “Your move, Wormtail.” He said simply, and waited. Wormtail seemed to take his time: he walked all around the room checking the doors and windows, examined the small closet in the corner, peered at their bedding and supplies of food and water. Suddenly he gave a low hiss. “You seem to have thought of most things.” He said with grudging respect. Harry shrugged. “We try to please.” He responded lightly. Suddenly Wormtail raised his wand. “Incendium deflagro!” he shouted, sending bolts of searing orange light at the gang. Reflexively, Harry dropped to the floor like a stone, dragging Ginny with him. The others followed suit, stifling yells of surprise. The attack hit the invisible barrier and burst into a shower of sparks, momentarily defining the limits of the bubble as it did so. It bounced back towards the hapless Wormtail who shrieked, ducking the various magical fragments. “Did you see that?” shouted Lee getting to his feet, “He can’t get his Inferno curse past our bubble – he’s powerless!” It certainly appeared that way. But Wormtail seemed to have decided that enough was enough: he sheathed his wand and began to dematerialise. “He’s given up!” crowed Lee, “One up to us!” Privately, Harry thought that might be putting their achievement rather too high, but he had no time to ponder as the next onslaught was already upon them. “Ginny? Ginny, what on earth are you doing here with these weirdos? Come on, let’s get out of here and go home.” Ginny’s face was ashen and she clamped a hand firmly over her mouth to stifle a scream. “David?” she choked quietly, incredulously. There was a movement in the shadows, and suddenly the figure of David Markland was standing in the room, Armani suit, Gucci shoes, immaculately groomed as always. “I’ve come to take you home, Ginny.” it said, holding out a hand to the terrified girl. She shook her head, slowly then more insistently. “No, no.” she whispered, “We split up, David. You dumped me when you found out I was a witch. This is my home now.” The figure smiled gently. “It was a big shock, Ginny, you must admit that.” it said, “Was it surprising that I needed time to digest what you’d told me? To try to work it all out? Come home, Ginny: let’s start again.” He extended his hand towards the redhead and, to the gang’s horror, Ginny actually started to move towards him. “No!” whispered Harry, his mouth suddenly dry. The shade of David Markland smiled more widely, beckoning to Ginny, reaching to grasp her hand, when suddenly it stretched too far and touched the invisible barrier. The facial features contorted with pain and rage, flowing away like melting candle wax, and for a fleeting moment became something totally inhuman before dissolving quickly away into nothing. Ginny turned and buried her face in Harry’s shoulder, overcome with nausea. “It was a manifestation.” Harry explained, holding her tightly, “It wasn’t real, Ginny. Voldemort can delve into the surface of our minds, but we instinctively prevent him from reading us any more deeply. He made that construct out of your memories of David. You saw how quickly it was destroyed by our bubble.” Suddenly, a choking sound alerted the gang to another attack, swiftly on the heels of this last one. Lee was on the floor, his hands to his throat, his face changing colour from his normal healthy lustre to a greyish tinge. Hermione gave a cry and dropped to her knees. She looked up. “It’s magic now, Harry, or he dies.” She said grimly, “I have to do it.” Harry nodded tensely. Hermione produced her wand for the second time that night and steadied herself to perform the counter curse. At the last moment, she made a slight alteration to the incantation, making the spell specific to Lee, and launched it at him. Abruptly, Lee gave a violent lurch, then collapsed, drawing in great gulps of air in great whooping gasps. Ron and Harry propped him into a sitting position. “That was well thought of, Hermione.” said Harry, patting Lee’s back gently, “In a crisis like that, I don’t think I would have had the presence of mind to personalise my spell.” She shrugged. “It just seemed like a good idea at the …” she glanced over his shoulder and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my wand! Harry – look!” The entire gang swung round and were completely struck dumb: there in front of them, looking extremely fragile and vulnerable, stood Cho Chang. It was as though they had been frozen into immobility, all of them. Ron stood, his arms protectively around Hermione, trying to shield her from whatever threatened; Lee still sat on the floor, breathing harshly and raspingly; Ginny had drawn back from the manifestation, her fists clenched, into George’s reassuring bulk. Slowly, Harry stood up and surveyed the small figure before him. “What do you want?” he said, tonelessly. She smiled at him and her face lit up. “Harry! Oh, Harry, I’ve missed you so much!” she cried, holding out her arms. He didn’t move, nor did he smile. She hasn’t changed at all, he thought. She was still nineteen, slim and extremely pretty in an active, athletic sort of way – just as she had been when he saw her last. “You’re dead.” He said, tonelessly, “I saw your body on a mortuary slab – it was you alright, I should know.” Her face assumed a solemn, sorrowful expression. “Harry, I know you thought you saw me in the mortuary,” she began, “But it wasn’t me, truly. You-know-who kidnapped me – he stole me away and put a glamour on someone else to make it look like I had died.” Harry was shaking his head. “I put an Out of Harms Way charm on you.” He told the figure, “It was unbroken when I identified you – that’s how I knew you hadn’t died by accident.” “Harry,” Cho’s voice was urgent, “He knew about the charm, don’t you see? He duplicated it on my stand-in and fooled you.” “It was a particular variant I had designed myself.” Harry insisted, his voice hardening, “It had my hallmarks all over it like fingerprints – even the bits I had to rework slightly were there. It was my charm, Cho; you died that day.” She was shaking her head vehemently. “No, no, Harry!” she protested, “I swear to you that he duplicated your charm. I’m real, Harry, as real as you are. Come, touch me, prove it to yourself.” She held out a hand and Harry, feeling his muscles react in reflex, dragged himself back just in time. Cho’s face was disappointed. “You don’t trust me.” She said sorrowfully. “Too right I don’t.” Harry raked a despairing hand through his hair, “Okay, Cho, or whatever you are. What do you want from me?” The figure drew itself upright. “Okay, Harry, if you want to play it that way.” Her expression was sad, “You-know-who wants a trade. He’s prepared to make an exchange for the life of Fred Weasley.” “Oh?” said Harry, already knowing the answer, “And what do I get for handing over one of my friends to an enemy not exactly known for his justice or mercy?” “You get me.” Cho said, standing tall but with her voice quavering, “You get me back in full physical health with all my memories intact. Think of it, Harry!” her eyes lit up, “You’ve pined for me for years – now you could have me back! After all, you were the one responsible for my death in the first place, weren’t you? And Cedric’s too, don’t forget. After all, if you hadn’t got Cedric killed in that stupid Triwizard Tournament, I’d probably never have agreed to get involved with you at all. But you persuaded me into it eventually – and then you got me killed too. Don’t you think you owe me something after all that?” Harry didn’t answer. Ginny looked towards him and her heart froze. His face was distorted with pain and grief, but underneath she could just catch a glimmer of hope, a tiny ray of longing that had never quite been extinguished over the intervening years. He hung his head in agony, unable to speak. “No.” she whispered, grappling for her wand. “No, you can’t do this!” But she wasn’t quick enough. Another wand had been drawn, an incantation shouted in anger, a curse launched from a wand straight at Cho – breaking the protective bubble, their one defence against the Dark Lord! Instantly, Cho’s face broke into an evil, triumphant grin and she swept her wand from her sleeve with a flourish. “Come forth, servants of the Dark Lord: I summon you to destroy those who would stand in our way!” She shrieked, holding her wand aloft and throwing lightning flashes around the room. Abruptly, the room seemed to be full of people – cloaked and hooded people who exuded a horrible triumphant menace. As Harry spun around, breathing heavily, looking this way and that, he realised that they were surrounded by a ring of Deatheaters. Their protection was gone, and there was no escape. Ginny screamed in horror as David took shape once more, still suave and sophisticated, but his face etched with delighted malice. As the noise and thunder from Cho’s wand increased, Harry and the others found their attention held by something much larger and scarier beginning to appear. Just as they had seen it in the temple, a tall figure was gradually forming right before their eyes, firstly as floating red lines of power, quickly joined and covered with a more opaque surface, giving the illusion of solidity. The figure then began to gain characteristics – long, bony hands, skeletal features, black robes and flaming red eyes in a cruel, twisted face, which was at this moment alight with triumph. However, he seemed unable to achieve any real presence or stability, his image kept flickering like an uncertain lightbulb, or a very old newsreel. Meanwhile as the Deatheaters bowed their heads to their master, Cho and David flung themselves down before the half-formed figure’s feet. “Master!” Cho cried, exultantly, gleefully, “Watch what I shall do in your name!” And while Voldemort was still taking shape, she pointed her wand exultantly at the cowering group of friends. “Thank you very much.” She said silkily, “One of you has been remarkably foolish and has made my task a good deal easier than I expected. Now that one shall reap her reward – a swift and immediate death. Avada Kedavra!” Green fire jetted from her wand, directly towards a petrified Hermione. At that very moment Harry stood, his face grey with fatigue, pointed his wand towards Cho, and snapped in a clear, incisive voice eleven words that bore no relation to any language known to anyone present. There was a sudden soundless explosion that briefly turned everything into a black and white negative. The figures of Cho, David, the Deatheaters and the not-yet-quite manifested Voldemort screamed in unbearable agony and seemed to implode on themselves, sucked into a rushing vortex of white winds. The gang were knocked senseless to the floor by the impact. Then there was total silence, broken only by the distant sound of birdsong: dawn had come at last. « Previous Chapter ( 8 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 10 ) » Review Story ( be a responsible reader and write a review) Title: A Most Ingenious Paradox Name: Email: (optional) Review: If you feel that this entry violates any of the guidelines set by FanFiction.Net please click here to notify the staff. Home | About Us | Terms of Service | Browser Compatibility | Privacy FanFiction.Net login | register AuthorTitleSummaryFull-Text FlavorTangerineKiwiBlueberryGrapeBlackberryMint Just In | Discussion Forums | Community Connector | Authors Directory | FAQ« Help» A Most Ingenious Paradox Category: Books » Harry Potter Censor: R Genre: Romance Chapters: 11 Reviews: 208 Author: Penpusher - Select Font -VerdanaTimes New RomanArialGeneva Font Size: Bigger (+) - Smaller (-) « Previous Chapter ( 9 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 11 ) » Tribute in this chapter to Susan Cooper’s extraordinary “The Dark is Rising” sequence for my use of the “High Magic”. Well! Apologies for the lack of co-ordination between my profile and what was actually in the fic! I’ve been trying for two days at least to upload a new chapter with no success – of course, the system accepted my new profile, no problem. Anyway, here it is at last – the one you’re going to scream at me for writing. Please read the whole chapter before flaming me – there really is hope for Ron and Hermione, honest. “A Most Ingenious Paradox” Chapter Nine – The Last Battle Harry awoke wondering what he had been doing the previous evening to give himself such a monumental hangover. He opened gritty, sticky eyes to focus blearily on Ginny’s face hovering above him. She looked tired and anxious, with huge black circles under her eyes. As soon as she saw him stir, she called. “George, he’s awake thank goodness!” Harry rubbed a hand over his eyes and sat up, wincing as bright sunlight lanced through his head. The first thing he noticed was that he was still in the West Room, but it was now bright daylight outside the window. Gradually, an unusual sound intruded upon his consciousness: it was a strange hoarse gasping, as though someone were labouring through a severe asthma attack without the benefit of a salbutamol inhaler. “Ginny,” he began, holding his head gingerly in his hands, “What’s that noise?” She turned towards him and he was horrified to see her eyes filling with tears. “Oh, Harry!” she cried, and buried her head in his shoulder. He held her close for a short while, then she started to speak. “It’s just awful.” She whispered, “Right at the end, when Cho – or rather, the thing that looked like Cho – was trying to get you to go over to the dark side, Hermione –“ Ginny choked, then bravely continued, “Hermione threw a curse at her. It broke the bubble, so Cho threw the death curse back at Hermione. I thought you must have got in first with whatever piece of magic you used to finally banish Voldemort and his allies, but when we woke up this morning, we found that Hermione was – was dead.” Harry stiffened in horror then ignoring the pain in his head, looked over to where Ron was sitting crouched over Hermione’s body. He did not touch her in any way, merely sat back on his heels staring at her cold, pale face, but his breath was coming in harsh sobs, tearing and painful. Lee was standing by his side, obviously at a loss to know what to do. “He’s losing his voice.” whispered Ginny, sadly, “He’s been like this since he woke up.” “Yeah, and that’s not all, Harry.” George came over to squat by the two of them. He looked drained and haggard. “They got Fred.” As far as morale went, there wasn’t much further for them to go down, Ginny decided later on in the morning. She had bullied Harry, Lee and George out of the West Room and insisted they change their clothes and shower before doing anything else. Ron, at first, refused to leave Hermione’s body, but eventually his sister cajoled him into observing the niceties of hygiene, and he also went to shower. Lee went back to their flat to procure some decent clean clothes for Ron and himself, ignoring the incessantly ringing messageballs, the huge pile of owl post and the multiple copies of the Daily Prophet. Ginny set to and put together something which vaguely resembled lunch, but for all the attention the men paid to it, it might just as well have been sawdust and cardboard. George was inconsolable: he had been charged with protecting his helpless brother, and he had failed. Ron simply sat stunned, eating nothing and drinking very little. When they had finished all they were going to eat, Ginny put down her coffee cup gently but decisively. “Okay,” she said quietly, “What’s the next step?” Lee looked at her in amazement. “You can talk about going on, continuing with what we’ve been doing – after what happened last night?” Ginny nodded firmly. “Certainly I can,” she replied, “Because I must. Someone has just killed one of my very best friends and I’m going to miss her very badly, but I also want to make sure that whoever is responsible pays for what they have done. Also, I’ve lost a brother to this same monster. We can’t just abandon Fred, consign him to the scrapheap. Would he walk out on you, do you think, under the same circumstances? You can bet he wouldn’t even dream of it. And besides, George will try to find Fred on his own if necessary, and I can’t let him go off and get himself killed, now can I? So, I’ll ask again: what have we got to go on?” Harry sighed wearily and raised his head, unnecessarily stirring his cup of coffee round and round. “Well, the first thing to do is to find Hermione’s notes.” Ron winced at the mention of her name, but aside from that he was almost completely immobile. Ginny held them up. “Check.” She said, “What do you need to know?” “The exact time of the next conjunction, and also the other points in the world where the lines of power intersect. He’s not going to use the temple again, so he’s got to find somewhere else to make the transfer.” “Okay then,” said Ginny, looking up at him, “Let’s get moving.” Harry arose from the table, then paused slightly on seeing Ron. “Ron,” He began in a low voice. Ron grunted, but otherwise gave no sign. Harry continued. “Ron, I’ve got to do a couple of things – for Hermione you know.” Ron’s head jerked up at the mention of her name. “Don’t you touch her!” he said in a low, hoarse voice, “Don’t do anything to her body now. She’s been through enough, hasn’t she? Let her rest in peace.” Harry put a hand on his arm. “I’ve got to use a couple of enchantments, Ron,” said Harry, gently, “To make sure that Voldemort can’t use her body for evil means.” “What do you mean?” demanded Ron, looking at Harry for the first time, “That bastard can’t touch her now, can he? I mean, she’s – she’s dead, isn’t she?” Fresh tears began to well up and Harry patted his friend’s shoulder awkwardly. “I have to make sure he can’t reach her.” He explained, “Also that he can’t move her anywhere else or even try to – reanimate her.” “You mean like a – zombie?” Harry nodded, distastefully. Ron considered for a moment then looked back at his friend. “Do what you must.” He said quietly, “I don’t want him to abuse her body, particularly now she can’t defend it herself.” Harry nodded, gave Ron’s shoulder a final pat, then went to perform the necessary tasks. After a while, wondering how long it was going to take, George went in search of Harry. He found him still in the West Room, standing above Hermione’s lifeless body gazing at her familiar, well-loved face. He had apparently finished whatever spells he needed to cast and was shaking his head over and over again, deep in grief and remorse. “Hermione.” He murmured, “Oh, Hermione, my friend, forgive me; I failed you. Ron, I’m sorry; I let you down when you most needed me!” He buried his face in his hands in heartfelt sorrow, his shoulders heaving. “Ron knows it wasn’t your fault.” George spoke quietly, leaning a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry shook it off violently, turning towards George with a face so full of anger and loathing that the other man took an involuntary step backwards. “Not my fault?” he spat, his voice dripping with self-contempt, “If I hadn’t been so damn rattled by that manifestation of Cho, I’d have noticed the attack on Hermione. You know how level-headed she was – she would never have made such an elementary mistake under normal circumstances. I should have twigged when she was so wand-happy earlier on. I could have saved her, George: do you realise what that means? I screwed up, I let her die for nothing. She was one of my best friends and I let him kill her. It should have been me!” The last was an anguished cry of agony, and Harry turned away his shoulders shaking. George swallowed on a suddenly dry throat then he grabbed Harry roughly and swung him round so that their faces were inches apart. “Now you just listen to me.” He began, deadly quiet. “You’re our leader, our oracle of all wisdom, the one we all look up to. Sure, you screwed up – most leaders do once in a while, and Voldemort is no Sunday-school picnic. If you’d done things differently, Hermione might still be alive, I’ll buy that – but I might not still be here: or you, or Ron, or Ginny, or Lee, or any number of the millions of other people who are on this planet, wizards and muggles alike.” George paused to draw breath, and went on. “Whatever happened last night, we’ve still got to keep on fighting – and we can’t do it without you. You’re the one person we just can’t afford to lose: we need you to safeguard Ron and the Grail, and to plan out what we’re going to do next, never mind provide the leadership in the final battle. If you collapse on us, then we might just as well write off Fred’s life as well as Hermione’s, accept that they both died for nothing, and sit on our arses waiting for the end.” Seeing a flicker of reaction on Harry’s face, George pressed home his advantage. “That temple out there is one of the few places in the world we know Voldemort can use to get passage into this dimension, you know that, Harry.” George was virtually spitting in his vehemence, “One of a small number of locations where those particular lines of power intersect happens to be in your back garden. He knows we’ll be ready for him if he tries it again here – so the odds are he’ll go elsewhere. But where else is there in the world to go? Harry, this sort of ancient arcane magical calculation is your speciality, you must know something, for crying out loud? This is my brother’s life we’re talking about, not to mention the future of the civilised world. Come on Harry: think!” George was shaking Harry so hard the man was beginning to see stars. Eventually, Harry exerted enough pressure on George’s biceps to free himself from the painful grip. “Okay, okay: you’ve made your point.” George stepped back, wincing as he rubbed at the bruises on his upper arms. Harry looked up. His face was haggard from strain and lack of sleep, there were deep shadows under his eyes, and he was pale beneath his tan, but his expression was calm and his eyes at last were clear. George expelled a soft sigh of relief. “Okay, Harry.” He said, quietly, “What first?” Harry stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Hermione’s notes, I think,” He replied, “And if they are not fruitful, perhaps an emergency apparation to Florence to consult the good Professor Ratcliffe again might be in order.” When he arrived back in the kitchen, it was to find Ginny and Lee buried in Hermione’s notes about the intersecting magical lines. “We’re in luck, Harry.” Ginny greeted him, “We’ve found only two possible places, and one of those is a far weaker intersection than the other. I’d put odds on the first.” Harry looked at their results and nodded. “I’m inclined to believe you. Well done! You’re sure there are no others?” “Positive.” Lee was totally dogmatic where he knew himself to be right. “Where is it exactly? Geographically, I mean.” asked Harry. Ginny was already checking an atlas. “Not far, actually.” She told him, “It’s near a place called Amesbury on Salisbury Plain. It’s quite a tourist attraction actually, so we’ll have to be careful. It’s called Stonehenge.” The rest of the day was something of a blur. Harry, deciding that Fred’s car was too small to transport five people all the way to Stonehenge (hopefully six people on the way back), arranged the hire of a larger vehicle, a seven-seater Range-Rover. He had something of a tussle with George, who wanted to use Fred’s Ministry portkey, but Harry flatly refused, saying that the unexplained magical activity would forewarn Voldemort that they hadn’t given up. “The last thing we need is to alert him to our presence.” He argued, “Whether we can maintain the element of surprise remains to be seen, but I want to keep as low a profile as possible. As from now, we are tourists travelling in the West Country.” Ginny planned the route they were to take, ever practical George provided food for the journey and Lee phoned in messages to their various places of employment, also going back to the flat he shared with Ron to pick up their messages. Ron himself simply sat, too stunned even to begin grieving. Harry, torn between feeling a certain responsibility for Hermione’s death, and a duty to Fred to persuade Ron to lend his very considerable aid to his rescue, sat with him for a short while, trying to talk to him. For most of the time, Ron was immovable, locked inside his own mind. Then suddenly, out of the blue, he turned to Harry and spoke with great clarity. “It wasn’t anything to do with you that Hermione and I split up, you know.” “Huh?” Harry was puzzled. Ron continued. “I know you blamed yourself.” He sighed, “We had to spend a lot of time with you when Cho – you know, but it had nothing to do with the relationship going down the tubes: I did that all on my own.” “What do you mean?” Ron sighed. “Oh, we’d been going out for two years, and Hermione wanted some sort of commitment. She wanted to know whether we were going to get married, or drift apart. You know Hermoine – always well prepared for everything. You see, she wanted to try to plan her life – if we were going to get married, she wanted to have a family while we were still young and put her career on hold for a few years. However, if we weren’t, she was going to study for the bar. I was too young really to make a decision like that, so we split. Well, not immediately, but when it became clear that I wasn’t going to put a ring on her finger while we were still at school, she more or less assumed that we would go our separate ways once we left. I precipitated the split by attempting to persuade her otherwise, I’m afraid.” He sighed, “She’s a strong-minded person, is my Hermione.” He paused, swallowed, then continued in a lower voice. “Was a strong-minded person, I meant to say.” His lower lip quivered then he seemed to take his mind off the hook again and relapsed back into his accustomed stupor. Harry could not rouse him again before they left. George drove first as he seemed the freshest of them all, with Ginny map reading. Lee and Harry sat in the back with Ron between them, trying to stir some life into him, but in vain. While the Range Rover ate up the miles, Harry spent the time trying to plan some kind of strategy to deal with Voldemort once they reached Stonehenge, but he found that his brain refused to function. He felt listless and vague; even the very sunshine and scenery rushing past seemed hazy and indistinct. “Shock probably.” said Lee succinctly when he mentioned it. It never once occurred to Harry that they might be wrong about the location, but short of turning up and launching into a full-scale sorcerous battle, Harry simply could not come up with anything even vaguely resembling a plan. “Do you know anything about this place, Harry – Stonehenge, is it?” asked George as he drove. “A little.” he replied, “It’s really very old – the first wave of building began in about 3,500 BC.” “Wow!” Ginny’s eyes were wide with amazement, “But how did they build it without modern technology?” Harry smiled. “That’s one of the major questions about Stonehenge. How did these people transport blocks of stone weighing as much as 26 tons originating in Wales, where they were evidently hand-hewn, all the way to a site in the middle of Salisbury Plain? Even when they got them there, the massive job of erecting them in concentric circles, and also placing other huge blocks over the tops of them, like lintels on doorframes, seems inconceivable for primitive people. And the fact that the ancient Brits looked after their monument generation after generation - continuing with the building, repairing and nurturing what was already there – for two thousand years! Most of our buildings, even wizard maintained ones, scarcely last for more than a few hundred years. The other major question is what did they build it for?” He paused, steepling his fingers, deep in thought: Harry had snapped into university lecturer mode. “Most muggle theories centre on the connection with the heavenly bodies.” He began, “In the 1960s, an eminent astronomer claimed to have proved that the ancients used Stonehenge as a kind of calculator for astronomical and astrological events. He discovered that certain of the key stones corresponded with certain events, such as the solstices and equinoxes, and thereby deduced that the ancients knew very much more about the heavens than we give them credit for - not to mention the science of construction!” Harry scratched his head with a wry smile. “Of course, what they don’t know is that Stonehenge dates from a time when wizards didn’t have to keep their existence secret from muggles, quite the contrary. Muggles and wizards co-operated in the building of Stonehenge for a very definite purpose. This co-operation lasted for centuries, and Stonehenge was maintained, loved and looked after, until the Dark Ages, when magical people and creatures were persecuted and all but wiped out.” Here Harry paused again, gathering his thoughts. “Stonehenge was deliberately built on intersecting lines of magic, just like the temple, which gave access to other worlds, other dimensions. The ancient wizards used these connections for knowledge, divination, the development of their own powers, and many other purposes. It wasn’t all good, though. Some less scrupulous sorcerers used the access to create portals through which to summon supernatural beings – demons and elementals – to give themselves added power over other people, mainly muggles. In fact, one could say that by doing this, they were responsible for the later persecution of the magical community. By subjecting the world to a virtual invasion of dark beings, which were far more powerful in this dimension than they were in their own, these dark wizards were a strong factor in the fall of civilisation and the descent into the Dark Ages. It was to drag Britain out of this primitive lawlessness that the laws against magic were made and enforced – to the grief and suffering of the magical community throughout the world.” There was a pause. “Probably just as well in the end.” commented George, glancing away from the road for a moment, “If we still had to co-operate with muggles, we’d never get anything done!” “Oh, I don’t know, George,” put in Lee, “Look at Cornelius Fudge. He’s been sitting on the fence for so long he’s got a permanent groove in his backside! And I hear that he was once a fairly decent wizard – of course, that was a long time ago. Considering his official line about Voldemort’s return while we were still at school, I was surprised he managed to keep his job. He is solely responsible for Harry’s relative anonymity, you know. He kept the official line all the way through the Voldemort crisis: so well, in fact, that few people believe that Harry beat him twice. They never even believed he’d returned at all!” “Lee!” admonished Ginny, shocked, “This is your boss you’re cheerfully slagging off!” Lee shrugged. “Only to you - and I’ve probably got enough on every one of you to ensure your silence!” The car erupted in laughter that abruptly ceased at a howl of anguish from Ron. He turned a furious face around his friends. “How can you do this?” he demanded, hoarsely, “How can you laugh and joke and make light of things? Don’t you realise how serious the situation is? Don’t you realise what it’s already cost us? Hermione was … Hermione was …” He couldn’t continue. “She was the best friend anyone ever had, Ron.” Harry finished for him, putting a hand on his shoulder, “She was good, kind, brave, intelligent, but above all, she loved all of us and she gave her life to keep us safe.” Ron was shaking his head miserably. “I loved her, you know.” He burst out, “I loved her more than my own life. And I never told her so, I let her get away. She went to her grave never knowing that in all my life, there was never anyone else.” “She knew, Ron. She knew, and she loved you too.” The words came from George. Unnoticed by the rest, he had carefully drawn into a layby and parked, keeping the engine running. Ron raised his head disbelievingly. George turned around in his seat and nodded forcefully. “You forget, I lived in the same house for a while.” He continued, “I talked to her and listened to her problems when life was getting her down. One night she had slightly too many nightcaps and told me about you and her. She said there could never be anyone else for her, that you had always been the one she wanted to be with, but that you had to find out for yourself. She was waiting for you, Ron. She would have been there for you, if she’d lived.” Ron stared at his brother in astonishment, then buried his face in his hands. “Ron,” continued George, urgently, “She wouldn’t have wanted you to opt out like you’re doing now. You know how much courage she had. She’d be gutted if she thought she was responsible for you just crouching in a corner, so overwhelmed by your grief for her that you couldn’t even help us fight her killer!” There was a tense silence after this chilly speech, then slowly Ron raised his head. “Okay, George.” He said, in a low, rough voice, “I get the picture. I’m not about to stand around while you all rush in and get yourselves flattened – “ he shifted awkwardly, winced and pulled a large package out of his pocket, staring at it in bewilderment “ – even if my main function in life is to childmind a cup! What’s this doing here?” It was the Grail, still wrapped in its supermarket polythene bag. Harry saw it and smiled. “You never bothered to take it out of your pocket.” He told him, “Now that’s what I call being a guardian! I’m glad you brought it, Ron: perhaps it’s function will be made clear to us tonight” “You said it’s a very powerful entity, Harry.” George put the car into gear, and pulled out on to the road again. “What can it do? Would it be of help to us against Voldemort?” Harry shrugged and looked helpless. “Ron and I tried to research it and got absolutely nowhere.” He sighed, “We would have visited Professor Ratcliffe again, but time was too short. Anyway, from all we could discover, the Grail is a law unto itself. It is immensely powerful, but it can’t be manipulated. It has great healing properties, but only through the attainment of self-knowledge. We can’t use it, if that’s what you mean, but it may possibly prove to be some sort of ally.” “What if Voldemort should capture it?” Ginny’s lovely face was anxious. Harry sighed again. “Darling, if Voldemort should get through the portal between the worlds and take possession of Fred’s body, nothing will ever stop him again. If he wants the Grail, he will get it wherever we hide it.” Ginny’s heart sank, so much so that she scarcely noticed that Harry had called her ‘darling’ for the first time. By the time they approached Amesbury, the sun was starting to sink down into the west, a big orange globe hanging over the horizon. Harry was irresistibly reminded of Hermione’s dinner party when he and Ginny had stood together looking out of the West Room windows at such a sunset. He sighed: it was certain that if he didn’t defeat Voldemort later on this evening, he and Ginny wouldn’t even have time to come to terms with their new relationship, never mind consider the future. Lee was driving and was unsure of the directions, continually checking their position with a very patient Ginny, who kept pointing to the skyline as the vast standing stones appeared silhouetted against the fading light. Eventually, Lee drew the Range Rover to a halt. “I can’t get any nearer,” he explained, “And we’ll need to climb over fences, or something if we’re going to get there on foot: apparently too many tourists were eroding away the stones so English Heritage fenced them off and you can only view them from a distance now.” Harry slammed the boot shut and approached Lee carrying several long somethings and wearing a large grin. “Forget wire cutters or bolt shears,” he said, “In an hour or so the sun will have gone down altogether, and we’ll be able to fly straight to the outer circle.” Lee looked down to find himself holding his own broomstick. Slowly, his face creased into a matching smile. Dusk found them lying on their stomachs in the long grass a safe distance away from the outer circle of stones, having hidden their broomsticks in a nearby ditch. Lee and Harry were squinting through the binoculars they had both had the foresight to bring, but could discern no life among the stones as yet. George and Ron were taking turns with the binoculars, Ron still pale, but doggedly doing all he could. As the evening progressed, they divided into unofficial watches, trying to ignore the gnawing anxiety that they were on a wild goose chase and that Voldemort had indeed decided to risk using the temple. Lee and Harry were on watch duty. Ginny wandered over to her brother, a question in her eyes. “Yes, sister mine?” responded George lightly, as he sat quietly ordering his thoughts. She hunkered down beside him and frowned. “George,” she said bluntly, “Was that the truth? You know, your conversation with Hermione about Ron? What you told him in the car?” George didn’t answer immediately, then he turned and looked her straight in the eye. “No.” he said, flatly, “I lied.” “I thought so.” She replied, “Hermione never even spoke to me about Ron, so I very much doubt she’d have opened up to you. So why say that to Ron?” George shrugged. “To get him out of his stupor.” He said, simply, “To make sure he would be a bit more than the passenger he’s been for the last few hours.” “George!” Ginny was shocked, “How could you do that? To lie to someone who has just been so dreadfully bereaved – your own brother no less – just for the sake of – of …” “Survival perhaps?” George finished in a very gentle voice, then took her shoulders and looked straight into her eyes, “Ginny dear, my only sister, do you really believe that after this evening any of us is likely to see daylight again?” A cold hand started to move down Ginny’s spine and she stared dumbly at her brother. He smiled sadly and stroked a hand lightly over her lovely hair. “Can you honestly believe that we’re going to defeat Voldemort, even with the redoubtable Harry on our team, busily pulling rabbits out of hats like he’s been doing for the past few days? You-know-who will crush us, Ginny, like so many flies, and with as much indifference. But we’ve got to try, don’t you see? I know we can’t win, but what’s the alternative? Going back home and waiting for Voldemort to find us there? Just like Harry famously said before he went after Quirrell, when he was only eleven: it’s only dying a bit later than we would have done, because we’re never going over to the dark side. So how much longer has Ron got on this earth? If a downright lie from a brother who loves him will make his last few hours more useful and bearable than they might have been, then I’ll take that on my conscience gladly.” Ginny gave a dry sob and felt a warm hand on her shoulder. She glanced up to see Harry looking seriously at George. “Of course you’re right, old friend,” he said quietly, “We can’t possibly win. All we can do is die heroically trying to save Fred, and you never know: we may actually weaken Voldemort before our time is up. That’s what I’m going to do before he kills me: it’s the least I can do for Fred – and Hermione.” George grinned. “I’m with you there!” he agreed, giving Harry a high five. The two men looked at each other uncertainly, then George reached out and pulled Harry into a rough embrace. “It was good, wasn’t it?” he said in rather muffled tones, “Living together, working together, fighting the dark magic. We were a good team – weren’t we?” “The best, George.” replied Harry, his throat so tight he was virtually whispering. “No one was ever better!” He patted the other man on the back and pulled away, blinking slightly. “I came to tell you it’s your watch.” he said, giving George time to recover, “Ron’s already taken over from Lee. Nothing’s happened yet.” George nodded and walked off slowly, leaving Ginny gazing in bewilderment at her boyfriend. “I’m sorry, love.” He murmured, folding his arms around her, “I wish I could have some vague hope for us, but deep inside I know there’s just no way I can take him on again and win. It was down to a few ancient spells I learned on my travels, and some incredible luck that we’ve made it this far. They know we’re coming, I’m certain of that, and they’ll show us no mercy. I’ve got no more tricks up my sleeve, just my love of life, and of you, and of all my friends, and my determination not to let it all go without a struggle.” Ginny looked up at him and smiled bravely. “Whatever happens, Harry, I’m glad we found each other. At least I won’t be lonely in death – I’ll have you to keep me company.” He gave a wry grin and kissed the top of her head. “You know, Ginny,” he began, “I realised something last night, when that manifestation of Cho Chang appeared. I realised that when she died I locked my sorrow and my memories away inside me. I didn’t allow myself to grieve for her properly. Over the years, I tried to forget her, but the feeling of responsibility for her death wouldn’t leave me. That’s why I had no close relationships: I couldn’t prize my heart away from her memory, nor could I escape the conviction that her love for me had caused her death. Last night, when Voldemort offered her back to me in exchange for Fred, I knew that the hold she had on me had gone forever. It was Voldemort who had taken her from me in a very deliberate attempt to weaken me, and he had succeeded. Now he was trying to corrupt me using the same technique. I knew Cho was dead – I had seen her body, but he thought I had sunk low enough to be satisfied with a facsimile. Pah!” Harry gave a sharp exclamation of disgust, then he pulled Ginny close against his chest. “He didn’t know about you, about us – perhaps he still doesn’t.” he whispered, “Only you made it possible for me to resist that dreadful temptation.” He began to kiss her – soft, blind kisses one might give a child who had woken in the night. “I love you.” He murmured, “I wish I had years to prove how much. But however short my time may be, Ginny, I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you.” “Oh, Harry!” she buried her face in his shoulder, holding him hard as though she would never let him go. “I’ve always loved you – you know that.” “Yes.” He whispered into the fading light. As the darkness deepened and the new moon, thin as a lemon rind, began to appear, George suddenly stiffened, grunted then exhaled quickly with relief. “They’re here, Harry.” He said quietly, passing the binoculars, “I’m positive I saw Wormtail.” Harry drew a sharp breath at the sight of his old enemy once more, performed a careful sweep of the area and nodded to himself. He then turned to George. “Okay.” He said, half-reluctantly, “I think this is where you do your stuff, George.” The red-haired man nodded grimly, then suddenly took off over the grass, quickly fading from sight. “Wha .. How ..?” Ginny spluttered looking first at Harry, then at the rapidly disappearing form of her brother. She planted her hands on her hips. “What’s going on Harry? And don’t tell me I don’t want to know, because I do!” Harry’s face creased into a smile at her determination. “Okay, Ginny, but I think you’d better make a promise to keep this dead secret, okay? You too, Lee – if you don’t already know about it.” Lee raised his eyebrows but made no further comment. Harry scratched his head. “Well,” he began, “The plain unvarnished truth is that George is an animagus. So is Fred, actually.” “What!?!” exclaimed Ginny, after a considerable pause, “But – they’ve never been registered or anything. How did this happen and when, Harry? It’s a very difficult thing to become an animagus – how did my two lazy brothers manage to achieve it?” Harry had the grace to look a little shamefaced. “You remember that holiday they both took in California, all expenses paid by the Ministry because I was helping them perfect their Glamour art?” She nodded, “Well, we couldn’t practice glamour charms all day, could we? So I sort of helped them out with the animagus magic – it all went remarkably smoothly really.” “What animals do they transfigure into?” asked Ginny, with interest. Lee guffawed. “Why don’t you just take a guess, little sister?” he suggested, with a broad grin. Ginny thought for a moment. “Not weasels, surely?” “Got it in one!” Harry smiled. “So now, if by some incredibly lucky chance we manage to get out of this jam alive, you’ve got to keep very quiet indeed about this. If it gets out at the Ministry, your brothers will be carpeted for sure, and besides, once everybody knows about it, the element of surprise has gone. George is just doing a bit of recce for us – he’ll be back within ten minutes or so.” But he wasn’t. Ginny was starting to feel very odd. The strange, dream-like quality Lee had put down to shock seemed to have intensified as the light faded, and she found her eyesight adjusting, just as it had in the temple. She marvelled at the strange qualities she could see in the very rocks and vegetation around her, and when she looked towards the edifice of Stongehenge itself, the lines of power radiating from the stones were almost blinding in their intensity. Harry was fidgeting and looking at his watch. Finally, he sighed. “We’ll have to make a move or we’ll be too late.” He said, “George must have met difficulties – we’ll try to find him as we go.” “Harry.” Ginny grasped at his arm, her eyes full of the strange radiance, “It hasn’t happened yet – I know. Please don’t do anything yet.” Harry stared at her in puzzlement. “What do you mean?” he asked, then cut off his own question, “We haven’t got time, Ginny, I’m sorry. Let’s get going - we’ve got to do something about this.” “Wait!” shouted Lee, “Our broomsticks! At least they’ll give us a fighting chance!” “Yes!” replied Harry, with sudden energy, “Well done, Lee, at least someone’s still thinking! Okay, let’s get to it.” Ginny was still standing entranced, as though listening intently for something. Her youngest brother approached her with both their broomsticks “Ginny?” Ron queried, uncertainly. “There is power,” she said, faintly, “Great power in the earth. Power of rocks, stones, sky and sea. It – resists his advance. We must help, Ron, it’s our only chance!” Ron frowned. “Ginny, what are you talking about? We’ve got to go fight you-know-who now, so stop freaking out on me and get on your broomstick!” He flung the Firebolt at her and all but pushed her on to it. Mechanically, she kicked off from the ground and followed the others, but the strange out-of-this-world feeling would not leave her. As they circled above the massive structure, Harry could see that they were none too early. The place was crawling with Deatheaters, Fred had been stretched out on a massive flat stone which was being used as an altar, and Wormtail had already begun the Summoning. Harry angled his broomstick to swoop down on the altar. The battle was short and decisive. It was clear right from the start that Wormtail and the other Deatheaters were ready for them, almost expecting them to strike exactly when they did. As Harry plummeted towards the altar, intending to sweep the unconscious Fred from its surface and climb back up into the sky, Wormtail quickly cast a binding spell which sealed Fred to the surface of the stone, making it impossible for Harry to do any more than retreat empty handed. Ron fared little better having ploughed into a waiting group of Deatheaters: Harry could see the flashes and smoke from his wand as he fought desperately to fend them off. Lee was nowhere to be seen, but a commotion off to the left somewhere indicated that he also was fighting for his life. “BE STILL!” A curiously quiet, evil voice rang out in everyone’s ears. The fighting stopped instantly and all eyes turned towards the altar. The figure of Voldemort had materialised, unsteady and two-dimensional it was true, but as going a concern as Harry had ever seen him. “In a few moments,” the figure said, “I shall take possession of this new body, and through it the world!” There was a ragged cheer from the Deatheaters. Voldemort gestured to them. “Bring me the prisoners.” Harry watched in pain as Lee and Ron were flung unceremoniously to the ground in front of Voldemort. Ginny followed swiftly on their heels, still looking dazed: she didn’t even seem to have pulled her wand out of her pocket! “And here is one more.” Smiled Voldemort. He snapped his fingers. “Wormtail?” Immediately Wormtail delved in a pocket to produce a small, struggling creature with red fur. Voldemort pointed his wand at it. “Transform, or you die now!” The weasel immediately became a dejected-looking George Weasley. He shrugged at the others. “I’m sorry,” He said, “They were ready for me, even in my animal form!” “Silence!” bellowed Voldemort, then he looked upwards, straight at Harry who was still on his broomstick. “Potter,” He said, in a quieter tone, “As you can see, I have your friends. It is possible I will spare one of them, if you will give yourself up.” Harry knew he had no choice. He flew his broomstick as near to the ground as possible, then slid gracefully from its polished handle to stand next to Ron. He looked at them sorrowfully, but no words would come. He tried to catch Ginny’s eye, but she was caught in a trance, her eyes vacant, her lips vibrating slightly. Voldemort smiled, an evil, satisfied smile. “So, Potter, we meet again, but in circumstances which are, I fear, not exactly to your liking.” Harry sighed. “There have been no pleasurable occasions on which we have met, you know that, Tom.” Voldemort frowned. “You will not refer to me by that name.” Harry raised an enquiring eyebrow. “Whyever not?” he replied, “It’s your given name, isn’t it?” Voldemort growled angrily. “The name of my father – that cursed muggle, who I killed as soon as I had attained some power. I do not acknowledge him, or his name!” “That’s a shame.” said Harry, mildly, “My father’s name was James. You killed him too. Do you have some problem with fathers, Tom?” Voldemort looked as though he was about to explode with anger, but controlled himself with difficulty. “You will die very painfully and slowly for that, Potter.” He snarled, softly, but Harry was not paying attention to Voldemort any more. Neither was anyone else; they were all looking at Ginny. She was standing a little apart from the others, and the Deatheaters surrounding her had drawn back in confusion. She appeared to still be in her trance, but an odd sort of greenish light was emanating from her robes and her face had begun to glow with an unearthly radiance. She held her arms up to the standing stones surrounding them and spoke in a suddenly clear, resonant voice: “On the day the dead one returns to claim his own, the living boy and the dryad must unite in love, and take the cup of plenty from the hands of the pure one to return it to its rightful place.” Slowly, she turned towards Ron and held out her hands. “You are the pure one, the keeper of the Grail.” She said, “I am the dryad. Give it to me so that it may be returned to its proper place.” Unable to take his eyes from her face, Ron fumbled in his pocket until he produced the Grail, golden and shining in the eerie green light. Voldemort gave a sudden hiss which was choked off quickly. Ginny took the chalice, turned and moved across the grass towards Harry, almost as if she were gliding. “Harry,” she said, and her voice had taken on an extra resonance that cut through the sudden silence like a knife. “You are the living boy. You must join with me now, through the Grail.” Not understanding any of this, Harry moved towards her and placed his hands over hers, grasping the cup securely. Abruptly, as in the temple, he felt a sudden surge of power as his mind merged with hers in a unity of consciousness which this time knew no barriers, no obstacles, merely the love and trust of two generous souls whose faith was only equalled by their bravery. Ginny, what’s happening? I don’t know. All I know is that I’m following instructions. What instructions? Who from? I wish I knew. Harry, look at the Grail! In response to the mental instruction, Harry focussed back on the outside world and saw the Grail start to glow with an inner light. As he watched, the radiance increased, stabbing out towards the surrounding Deatheaters, making them howl with pain when it touched them. There was a sudden wash of brilliance which sent everyone reeling backwards with their hands over their eyes – all except Harry and Ginny who stood looking into the light, holding the Holy Grail firmly between them. In the midst of the incredible brightness, Ron could just discern something taking shape. It seemed to consist entirely of a strange pearly opalescence. Its outlines were human, but it resembled no human being any of them had ever seen. It was dressed in robes of very bright white, not wizarding robes but something like the flowing drapery worn by figures in ancient Greek sculptures. There was a silence, then the figure spoke in a clear, silvery voice, neither male nor female: “I am a Lord of the High Magic, remote from the affairs of your plane. The pursuits of good and evil are not my concern, yet once I lived among you and for this reason, and for the sake of the artefact you bear, I have answered your call for help. You face great danger to your immortal souls in this place, but you undertook the burden freely for the sake of the love you bear each other, and to save the rest of your world from mortal peril. For these things I honour you, and also the one of your number who has been struck down in her earthly body. The one who seeks to harm you is no longer part of your dimension and his attempts to pass between planes are illegal and cannot be tolerated. However, his destruction would threaten the eternal balance and equally cannot be contemplated. Therefore I shall return you to your own dimension with the assurance that you will no longer be threatened by your enemy at any time during the remainder of your natural lives.” “What?” stuttered Harry, “You mean Voldemort will still be alive?” “If the existence he holds at present can be so described, yes.” the figure replied equably, “You have done as much as you are able, but his ultimate destruction lies in another future at other hands. However, I will banish him to a far plane where his destructive power will serve him not at all in the business of survival. Farewell my children: may your lives be long and may happiness stay with you always.” The unbearably bright light then seemed to intensify until, shielding their tear-filled eyes with their hands, they each fell away into merciful darkness. Then there was total silence, broken only by the distant sound of birdsong: dawn had come at last. ********************************************** Harry awoke instantly, all in one moment, and sat up suddenly, staring. The first thing he saw was Ginny, hovering anxiously over him. As soon as she registered his waking, she sighed in heartfelt relief and called: ”George! George, he’s alive and awake, thank Merlin!” The grinning figure of George Weasley appeared and grasped Harry’s hand, pulling him bodily to his feet. Harry thought he must be hallucinating as the same face seemed to be sporting an identical grin over Ginny’s shoulder, but to his delight he realised it was Fred. Almost simultaneously, he heard a shout of wonder and disbelief and turned to see Ron, his eyes overflowing with tears of astonishment and gratitude, holding tightly to the hand of a bleary-eyed and rather confused Hermione! Harry looked around him, expecting to see open sky, grass and the huge standing monoliths of the great monument known as Stonhenge. Instead he realised that he and the others were back inside the West Room at Harry’s House, and sunlight was pouring in through the windows. “Well, well, well!” he murmured quietly, the beginnings of a smile creasing his face. Ron, still clutching Hermione’s hand as though he expected her to suddenly disappear, brought her over to Harry, his face childlike with wonder. “Harry, she’s alive.” He said, unnecessarily, “How? What happened here?” “Of course I’m alive!” retorted Hermione, impatiently, “What on earth are you wittering about, Ron?” Harry shook his head, his smile rapidly becoming a grin. “The High Magic.” He replied, “Who knows what motivates it, or even what it is? But it saved us this time – and it was all down to you, Ginny.” The red-haired girl stared at him with wide eyes. “Me?” she squeaked, “But I didn’t – I mean, I don’t remember – “ “You called the High Magic, sister mine!” George told her, enveloping her in a bear hug, “I really didn’t know you had it in you, but you were the Dryad the prophecy spoke of.” “Yeah, and Ron really was the Pure One, despite all the jibes from you two.” It was Lee speaking to the Weasley twins, who at least had the grace to look slightly abashed. Harry turned to face his friends. “The spell I used to banish Voldemort and his minions from this room was a very old one.” He began, “It was taught to me by Albus Dumbledore shortly before he died. He told me never to use it except in the most dire circumstances when my very soul was in danger of destruction. He didn’t explain why, or even what the spell would accomplish, but I believe it took us out of here into another plane of existence, where we could call upon higher assistance to save both ourselves and our world.” Harry shook his head in wonder. “Dumbledore knew I would be fighting for my life, without his help. Did he foresee this very situation, do you think?” He looked at the others in bewilderment. Ginny stared at him, her eyes enormous, her hand over her mouth. “The Lord of the High Magic, was it – Dumbledore? He said he had once lived among us …” she trailed off in awe. “He said he would return us to our own dimension.” said Ron, breathlessly, “He must have been responsible for saving Hermione too.” “I believe Hermione never really died in this world.” replied Harry, thoughtfully, “I think my spell took her beyond the reach of the Avada curse just in time, but prevented her from accompanying us any further.” “He also said he would banish Voldemort to a far less friendly world than you sent him to, Harry.” added George. “I hope he keeps his word!” growled Lee. “Look, I’m a bit confused.” Hermione said in a protesting voice, “I seem to have missed out on something here – more like several somethings actually, and Ron won’t let go of my hand. He says he’s afraid I’ll die on him again!” The others laughed and George patted Ron on the back. “Go on, Ron, take her away and tell her all about it.” “And don’t come back until you’re married – or at least engaged!” shouted Fred after their retreating backs. Harry snuck a quick look at Ginny, but she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. He smiled to himself, wondering how long it would take for him to persuade her. “Hey!” shouted Lee from a far corner of the room, “Look at this. I mean, is this thing supposed to still be here?” He pointed to something standing quietly on its own, nearly touching the wall, just as bright and golden as it had been when Ron had taken it out of the temple. “The Holy Grail.” whispered George. Harry said nothing, merely walked over to it and picked it up without hesitation. “The power,” he said, faintly, “Has gone out of it, I think – at least for the time being.” He smiled and looked round at the others. “I think this had better become the property of the Ministry, for now at any rate. Anyone mind if I’m credited with its discovery?” Grinning like a maniac, Harry promptly ducked and ran from the room as Fred, George, Lee and Ginny followed him, pelting him over the head with pillows. Well, how was that for a deus ex machina? Epilogue coming soon! « Previous Chapter ( 9 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Next Chapter ( 11 ) » Review Story ( be a responsible reader and write a review) Title: A Most Ingenious Paradox Name: Email: (optional) Review: If you feel that this entry violates any of the guidelines set by FanFiction.Net please click here to notify the staff. Home | About Us | Terms of Service | Browser Compatibility | Privacy FanFiction.Net login | register AuthorTitleSummaryFull-Text FlavorTangerineKiwiBlueberryGrapeBlackberryMint Just In | Discussion Forums | Community Connector | Authors Directory | FAQ« Help» A Most Ingenious Paradox Category: Books » Harry Potter Censor: R Genre: Romance Chapters: 11 Reviews: 208 Author: Penpusher - Select Font -VerdanaTimes New RomanArialGeneva Font Size: Bigger (+) - Smaller (-) « Previous Chapter ( 10 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue I’m impressed, dezzikitty. I didn’t even realise I was alluding to “The Dark is Rising” - it’s not a quotation, but it’s close, isn’t it? Thanks loads, everyone, for the marvellous reviews. Thanks particularly to PJ Babington who managed to dig up my email address from the message boards and review me that way, when ff.net refused to take reviews for several days! PJ, I am indeed getting more comfortable with this, particularly the emotional writing. Now I need a tighter plot. Watch for the sequel and see if I manage it. To all those who threatened me with goodness-knows-what if I didn’t make the Epilogue absolutely bursting with fluffiness, here it is in full technicolour. Aww, I’m a sucker for happy endings, but there are a few pointers towards a possible sequel – if I ever manage to make the plot watertight! “A Most Ingenious Paradox” Chapter Ten – Epilogue “For goodness sake, Harry, leave that car alone and get back here. Haven’t you and my brothers done enough to it?” Ginny was standing, her hands on her hips, looking remarkably pretty in her new leaf-green robes with flowers in her hair, Harry had to admit, but also very impatient. “Okay, okay.” He muttered, casting just one final charm on the glove compartment, so that it would spring open and fling rose petals all over the passenger seat as soon as it was touched. “Harry! They’re coming!” Quickly, he sprang away from the car and stood with Ginny, smiling and trying to look innocent. Ron and Hermione came out of the doors of the “Three Broomsticks” smiling and laughing, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Hermione’s parents, who had come out to see them off. “You have to remember my origins, Ron.” Hermione was saying, “I know what traditionally happens with muggles, but what do wizards do? Fly off on our broomsticks trailing our luggage behind – Good grief, is that …?” she turned an expression full of amazement to a grinning Ron. “Is that really …?” Ron nodded happily. “Yes, we finally managed to persuade it to come out of the forbidden forest.” He said, patting the bonnet of the old Weasley Anglia fondly: it had been given a new coat of paint and a high gloss polish for the occasion. The car dipped its headlights proudly at him and the engine purred. “It’s agreed to do the honours, although how long it’ll be before it returns to Hogwarts remains to be seen.” Hermione looked slightly dubious, but pinned a bright smile to her face and stepped towards the car with determination. That’s my girl! Thought Harry, fondly, That’s why the Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor. By this time most of the guests had spilled out into the main street of Hogsmeade, and many of the residents had come out of their houses and shops to watch. Sirius sidled casually over to Harry. “Did you manage to …?” Harry nodded, his eyes still on Hermione, who was now being helped into the car by Ron. Really, she did look positively beautiful today in her pure white robes and coronet of white summer flowers, but, he reflected, if a girl can’t look stunning on her wedding day, when can she? “You sure you cast it on his pyjamas?” Sirius was insistent. “Of course,” replied Harry, “Although looking at the two of them now, I hardly think it’ll be necessary!” Indeed, as soon as Ron had slid into the driver’s seat, his lips had slid on to Hermione’s despite her protests – although it did tend to look as though she wouldn’t be doing much protesting over the next few days! Sirius relaxed. “I just wanted to keep up the tradition, that’s all.” “Eh?” Harry was puzzled. “Oh, didn’t I ever tell you?” Sirius’ voice was just a little too casual, and his face broke into a broad grin, “We cast a very similar charm on your father’s nightwear when he and your mother were married. The feedback from their honeymoon was – well, you don’t want to hear about that, I’m sure!” But Harry’s eyes had lit up with interest. “Don’t bet on it, Black.” he replied, “How much do you need to drink before I can get that story out of you?” Ron had revved up the engine and was preparing to drive off. “More than you can afford, Potter, believe me!” The old Anglia suddenly levitated with surprising smoothness for such a beaten up old machine, swooped low over their heads making the guests shriek and duck for cover, and took off over the village of Hogsmeade with the Weasley twins in hot pursuit, shouting and laughing. The car rose higher and suddenly winked out as though it had never been. Harry glanced over at Hermione’s parents to see her mother crying quietly into a handkerchief and being comforted by her father. To his astonishment, Molly Weasley was also sniffling slightly, although the poisonous look she turned on Arthur when he offered her his hanky gave Harry the idea that she wasn’t keen on being thought of as sentimental. As he watched, Bill came over and said something to her, leading her away to where his wife and two young children were just going back into the bar. Arthur was by now chatting to Mr. Granger and was joined by Charlie with Fred and George, once they had returned from following the honeymoon car. Percy and his wife Penny were talking with Lavender and her fiancé, Aurelius, and Parvati and Padma, looking utterly beautiful in their brightly coloured silk robes, were being escorted in for some refreshment before the dancing started up again by Seamus and Dean. Dean didn’t look too happy with some of the teasing he had been getting, notably from the Weasleys, Harry observed with a smile. Seamus and Parvati were pretty much an item, but Dean and Padma were genuinely “just good friends”, and the implications being thrown at them were making Dean quite uncomfortable. Harry knocked back the last of his Gillywine and made tracks towards the bar, where the Weasley brothers were engaged in buying most of it. “Hey Harry!” Charlie hailed him cheerfully, “Three pints or four?” Harry shook his head smiling and looked around for Ginny. He spotted her sitting with Parvati and smiled as she raised a hand and beckoned him over. Harry’s memories of Parvati and her sister at Hogwarts had never been entirely comfortable, but she seemed to be making Seamus happy, so he swallowed his uneasiness and joined them. Parvati was overflowing with some kind of excitement. “Is it true? Really? After all these years?” Harry frowned. “Is what true, Parvati?” “You and Ginny.” She replied impatiently, “Ron told Dean, who told Seamus, who told Padma, who told me! You’re an item – how long has this been going on?” Harry looked at his watch. “Oh, about – mmm – 45 minutes. Why? You’re not interested in our affairs, are you?” Parvati stared at Ginny who smiled sweetly and shrugged, then she glared furiously at Harry. “Well, if you’re not going to tell me, I shall go and ask Fred and George.” She grinned, “Knowing them, I’m likely to get far more of the dirt than I would have from you.” Ginny’s smile faded and her face paled, but Harry looked fairly composed as Parvati swept away with a smirk on her face. “Harry,” Ginny began, urgently tugging on his sleeve, “I’m never going to live it down if Fred and George tell her about the – you know!” Harry put a soothing hand on her arm. “Don’t worry, love.” he replied, with a strange little smile, “There are certain things that I could tell about your brothers that they wouldn’t want Parvati spreading around either – and they know it!” She smiled gratefully at him and took his hand, twining her fingers round his. “Well,” he said briskly, “What’s it going to be? A drink? A dance? Or both?” he gestured to the bar and also to the band who had started playing again. “Mmm, a dance, I think.” she replied, “Now that the happy couple have gone, I feel I can let my hair down a little.” “The happy couple.” mused Harry, rising automatically from his seat to guide Ginny on to the dance floor, “D’you know, if Hermione hadn’t been so worried about her parents’ reaction, I think they would just have carried on as they were.” Ginny giggled and covered her mouth with her hand. “Well, it was rather amusing at the time.” she protested at Harry’s old-fashioned look, “He refused to let her out of his sight for a week after Stonehenge! In fact, he didn’t let go of her hand for the whole day after he got her back.” “Or night either – if Fred is to be believed.” “Harry!” “Okay, okay.” Ginny executed an expert twirl, rather catching Harry by surprise, and grinned impishly up at him. “If you want my opinion, I reckon Hermione only agreed to marry my brother so she could get some work done.” “Eh?” ”Well, even when he’d recovered a bit from losing her, he still haunted her chambers – you know, escorting her there, meeting her every lunchtime, taking her home every evening – not to mention the fact that he never went home again, just moved in to Hermione’s room without a by-your-leave!” Harry smiled reminiscently. “Well, actually he did speak to me about it, if the truth be known.” “He did?” “Yeah, he wanted to know about terms and conditions of the lease – that sort of thing.” The music changed to a slower tempo and Harry drew Ginny closer, smiling as she leaned her head against his shoulder. “So, Harry’s House is going to have a rather radical change of personnel.” She said, wistfully. He nodded. “Yup. Ron wants his flat as the marital home, so Lee, George and Oliver are moving in with us, and Hermione, of course, is moving out.” “Goodness! Two of my madcap brothers in the same house?” They glanced towards the bar to where the three Weasley brothers were sinking pint after pint amidst occasional gales of laughter. Harry winced and shook his head. “It won’t be quite as bad as that.” He reassured her, “Charlie’ll be in Rumania for most of the year, and Oliver’s on tour for at least six out of the twelve months. Also, Fred has decided to get a place on his own.” Ginny raised her eyebrows and Harry smiled. “I don’t know if we can read anything of a romantic nature into that – “ he continued, “Fred plays his cards very close to his chest on all counts – but I do know that for professional reasons, your brothers have always tried to avoid living together.” Ginny was silent for a moment, trying to picture the domestic arrangements as Harry had described them, then she laughed. “Is there room in that mansion for all of us?” “Oh, plenty of room – particularly if you move in with me!” He grinned wickedly. She smiled. “I might just as well make it official, I guess,” she replied, “Seeing as after all the trouble you, Hermione and George went to, I only spent one night in my own room!” Harry kissed the top of her head absently. “Hermione was somewhat pissed at us, I can tell you.” He replied, “Her exact words were, and I quote: ‘If I’d known that you were just waiting for her to set foot over the doorstep before jumping on her, I’d have set up a camp bed in the dining room for form’s sake and saved myself a whole day’s lost research work!’” Ginny let out a peal of laughter and Harry hugged her tightly, chuckling himself at the memory. “Well, you didn’t exactly waste any time, did you?” she said, coyly fluttering her eyelashes. Harry’s jaw dropped in amazement. “If I remember correctly, young lady, it was you who was making all the running!” “So? After that mind-melding thing, I’d have been pretty stupid to let you escape yet again, wouldn’t I?” Harry stroked her cheek, smiling gently. “I think I wasted far too much time.” he reflected, leaning his forehead against hers as they danced, “At least four years, if not longer.” Their lips met in what was meant to be a brief kiss, but gradually gathered momentum as they continued dancing. They finally broke apart at a volley of cheers from the bar area where Charlie had been regaling Fred and George with tales from Rumania. Glancing at each other, they laughed and Ginny borrowed Harry’s handkerchief to wipe her lipstick from his face, standing on tiptoe as she did so. “You know,” she said thoughtfully as she worked on him, “I’ve only been living in Harry’s House for a couple of months, but I’m really going to miss Hermione. And apart from the effect on my reputation once it becomes known that I’m the only girl in a house full of blokes, I feel I ought to have some female company.” She stood back to examine the results of her ministrations and smiled. “You’ll do.” She said. Harry tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket. “Seriously, Ginny, I think you’re right.” He said, musingly, “There’s room in the house for at least two other people without the rest of us noticing their presence, not to mention the attics and the basement which are huge and could be converted. I think we should look for some other girls to keep you company.” He grinned broadly. “I’d be happy to help you interview and select your housemates, if you like?” Ginny threw a sour glance at his smiling face. “Now just let’s get one thing absolutely straight right from the start, Harry Potter.” She grabbed the front of his robes in mock-menace and pulled his face close to hers. “You may be my landlord, but under no circumstances am I going to stand back and watch some blonde bombshell waltz into my house and … mmf!” Harry’s lips effectively silenced her string of complaints, and he kept it up until he felt her smiling again. “Oh, you!” she protested, batting him gently on the shoulder, but unable to resist smirking slightly. “Come on.” She pulled at his arm. “I’ve had enough dancing for now. Let’s see if my brothers have drunk our drinks as well as their own.” They weaved their way through the other dancers to join the Weasleys at the bar. ******************************************* Three weeks later saw a smaller group of friends assembled for a slightly more formal occasion at the Ministry’s Museum of Magical Artefacts. Minister Cornelius Fudge was presenting awards for services to magic, and Harry was to be honoured for his work in recovering lost artefacts, both in China and India. Ron and Hermione were there, both still radiant from their honeymoon, Percy and Penelope had honoured him with their presence, Lee and also George. Fred was noticeable by his absence, but George confided that he was abroad yet again, this time on official ministry business rather than undercover. Oliver Wood had also turned up with Lee, to Harry’s great delight, and Arthur and Molly had come, at which Harry was very touched. He had only seen them once since his return to England, and not at all in his previous four-year exile, but they seemed just as friendly and hospitable as ever. I hope they’re as happy as Fred and George were that Ginny’s seeing me instead of that pratt Markland Harry thought. He had good reason to be grateful to the muggle, considering that he, Harry, would never have ended up with Ginny if Markland hadn’t been such a prize klutz, but he found it difficult to look back on him with any sort of patience all the same. Cornelius Fudge bored the socks off his audience with a speech that lasted twice as long as the presentations themselves, but the buffet was excellent and the gillywine flowed like water. Once they had eaten sufficiently, Harry and Ginny wandered around the museum with interest. It was not usually open to anyone but Ministry staff and Ginny had never visited it before so she was keen to make the most of the opportunity. There was a vast array of objects, including the famous sapphire Ring of Aphrodite, which bestowed great powers of sensuality on the wearer – as long as the wearer was female! “Goodness!” exclaimed Ginny, flattening her nose against the glass case, “Veela magic in ring form – no wonder it’s behind glass in a museum!” “And it can stay there as far as I’m concerned.” murmured Harry from somewhere in the vicinity of her ear, “You don’t need a vulgar bauble like that to get my attention!” He kissed the back of her neck making her squirm and giggle. They moved over to the next case, which was new and sported a shiny brass plaque: Grail c.500 AD Magical cup or chalice, once associated with the Great Merlin. Believed to have been taken from the High Magic by the muggle Sir Galahad of the Round Table of King Arthur’s knights, but later lost during the Dark Ages after Arthur’s death. Recovered by Dr. H.J. Potter and Mr. R. Weasley. “Wow, Harry!” said Ginny, staring at Harry with such shining eyes that he blushed and looked at his feet, “I didn’t realise that you were a doctor, when did that happen?” He shrugged. “Oh, it’s an honorary title really – given to me by LA Wizarding University after I wrote a couple of papers about my travels.” A small silence followed Harry’s first mention of his job since the crisis in the temple had blown up. Ginny moved away slightly, her attention apparently absorbed in the exhibits. Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. “Er, Ginny,” he began, “Um, about the LA job.” She turned an unnecessarily cheerful smile on him. “It’s okay, Harry,” she interrupted, “I know you really enjoy your work and you couldn’t do anything else, at least for now.” He looked troubled. “Yes, that’s true,” he began, worriedly, “And you do realise that my work takes me abroad to some very far flung places, don’t you? I’m away for large chunks of the year.” Ginny swallowed, but maintained her composure. “Of course I know that!” she replied, brightly, “And after all, my career is only just beginning to take off too. I have such a lot of work piling up, and so many opportunities – I’m trying out with a couple of bands next week for a recording contract, and the solo stuff is really starting to catch on, I’m getting so many engagements! I’m going to be very busy through the next couple of years.” Harry looked slightly nonplussed, but she continued, smiling. “We’ll just have to get through it, that’s all.” She went on, “We’ll have to make unbreakable dates for times during the year when we know we’ve just got to drop everything to be together for a week or even just a weekend. I’m sorry, Harry,” her face fell suddenly, “I just can’t leave everything I’ve worked for here and follow you over to LA just to twiddle my thumbs for months while you’re away in Outer Mongolia – at least, not until I’m better established to break into the American market.” Harry took her by the shoulders, and shook her gently until she stopped talking. “I wouldn’t dream of suggesting such a thing.” He told her firmly. Her face was a picture of astonishment. He smiled. “What I was about to say was that once this semester is over, I won’t be going back to the Los Angeles Wizarding University.” Her jaw dropped. “Harry!” she said, shocked, “But what will you do? I mean, you love your job, right? What else could you ever do in life?” Harry began to laugh, then he swept her into his arms still laughing. “My dear wonderful girl,” he beamed, “I’m not employed by LA University, I’m on secondment – from UWIZ in London where I have tenure. All I have to do is transfer back. Of course, I’ll still be away for some quite extended periods – I have a suspicion that a trip to Mexico may be in the offing – but at least we’ll be living together for some of the year rather than being a Continent apart.” He stood smiling, enjoying the look of total astonishment on her face. Ginny stared at him in disbelief then flung her arms around his neck, for once speechless. “So we’ll be able to stay as we are – at Harry’s House?” she gasped, finally, “Oh, I don’t know what to say, I’m so happy!” “Well,” replied Harry, rather more calmly, “It needn’t be exactly as we are, you know. We could – change the legal arrangements at some stage. If you wanted to, that is.” Ginny was very still for a moment, then she released her stranglehold around his neck and stepped backwards a little, staring thoughtfully into his face. “Harry,” she began seriously, “Thank you – thank you so much. I won’t pretend to misunderstand what you’re saying – that would be insulting – but don’t you think we ought to wait a while? See where our relationship goes and how our lives fit together before we take any more drastic steps? I mean, you’re officially still on summer vacation, aren’t you? We’ve yet to find out what it’s like to live together every day and every night!” Harry swallowed his immediate feelings of disappointment with difficulty and nodded. “Take as long as you need, Ginny.” he said, solemnly, “I’ll be here for you, always. And I must say, I’m looking forward to the ‘every night’ bit!” “Oh, you!” she grinned and poked him in the ribs where he was most ticklish. He jumped, then recovered, smiling back at her and tucking her arm into his as they continued round the exhibits. “Well, this has been a day for revelations!” she said with a sigh, “Is there much more to discover about you, Harry Potter? Because if there is, I think I need to sit down first!” He grinned wickedly and bent to bring his mouth to her ear. “If we step out into that deserted hall right now and apparate back to the house, I’d be extremely willing to give you an entire voyage of discovery – oof!” He doubled up, slightly winded by the elbow she had just planted in his gut. He looked up to watch the back view of Ginny Weasley, head held high, stalking back into the reception room in high dudgeon, but her hips were swinging just for him and as he watched, she threw a ‘come hither’ smile over her shoulder which was unmistakeable. He laughed to himself and followed her out of the room. Ginny was his girl, he knew it, and if all it took was time to persuade her to make it formal, well, he’d wait for as long as she wanted. All in all, the future was looking brighter for Harry Potter than it ever had. FINIS Don’t forget about the gang – I’m pretty sure there’s a sequel hanging around somewhere! « Previous Chapter ( 10 ) Chapter 1 : Chapter One - Their Various WaysChapter 2 : Chapter Two - Mysteries and DiscoveriesChapter 3 : Chapter Three - The Return of the NativeChapter 4 : Chapter Four - Things are Seldom What They SeemChapter 5 : Chapter Five - Confrontations and SolutionsChapter 6 : Chapter Six - A New BeginningChapter 7 : Chapter Seven - On the Wings of the MorningChapter 8 : Chapter Eight - The Thin Red LineChapter 9 : Chapter Eight (A) - The Thin Red LineChapter 10 : Chapter Nine - The Last BattleChapter 11 : Chapter Ten - Epilogue Review Story ( be a responsible reader and write a review) Title: A Most Ingenious Paradox Name: Email: (optional) Review: If you feel that this entry violates any of the guidelines set by FanFiction.Net please click here to notify the staff. Home | About Us | Terms of Service | Browser Compatibility | Privacy