Fic: The Guardian Brotherhood (chapter 4)
Title: The Guardian Brotherhood
Author: stormsandsins
Rating: PG so far
Pairing: Harry/Hermione (platonic), Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny
Warnings: Violence. Gets steadily darker as we progress through the story.
Chapters: 8 so far, including the prologue.
Word Count: approx. 10,000 words for this chapter
Summary: It's 7 years after the fall of the Dark Lord. Hermione has been trying to get on with her life and forget the night Ron Weasley died. But the night a long-ago symbol appears outside her window, she gets more mystery and excitement than she wished for.
Notes: Sorry for taking so long. School's been taking all of my time and I completely forgot I had chapters to post here. Forgive me?
CHAPTER FOUR : STRAIGHT LINES
“Don’t be so ridiculous. The Guardian Brotherhood doesn’t exist.” Whenever I couldn’t quite grasp something on the first go, I paced. I was actually pacing a hole through the floor at that moment. Feeling my feet run cold. Hugging myself. Hands underneath my armpits. Denying it all. My God, I’d just learned the most interesting and exciting piece of magical mythology today. How was I expected to believe it was all true? It was all legends, bedtime stories, meant to be heard and taught to future generations. Not real. Couldn’t be.
Silence met my denial. I whipped around, catching my breath when I saw the grim line of Ron’s lips.
No, couldn’t be.
“It’s a myth!”
Quietly, he replied, “Not really.” Then sighed, and came to me, taking my hand in his. For a long moment, he just gazed at our linked hands, stroking mine with a rough thumbpad, and nothing sounded in my ears but the beat of my heart. “That night,” he reprised with a soft voice like gravel, “Ron Weasley died. No, let me explain,” he cut in when I would have argued. “The Ron you knew died. I’ll never go back, I’ll never have the same life. I lost everything in order to become…” He raised bright blue eyes at me. Sad. Longing. “… this.” And as though ashamed, he immediately looked away. “I would have died if not for the Brotherhood. But I can’t go back to being… him again.”
“You - you mean - you’re a ghost?” Oh, my God. I went limp, barely able to stand. That made sense. It would explain his ability to Apparate anywhere. But then he squeezed my hand. That felt real. He was real.
His other hand came up, brushing a stray lock back. He was very real. I looked up. He smiled. “It’s nothing like that, or I wouldn’t be able to touch, would I?” His eyes softened as I leaned into his lingering hand.
“Definetely,” I agreed on a sigh. The next instant was filled with him.
“I’m sorry,” Ron muttered brokenly next to my mouth as he moved from cheek to lips. “You - I can’t - anymore.” He closed into me, warmth surrounding me everywhere, and suddenly I felt two heartbeats. Fingers burrowed into my nape, and moist softness pillowed against my lips. I yielded, recognising everything.
Yes, this was real. This was tangible. This was… better. I remembered good, but as Ron made a sound deep in his throat and pressed me harder against him so that I felt all the length of him, I didn’t remember anything that had ever felt this… desperate. Moaning helplessly, I let him have free reign of my body, let him nuzzle my neck, palm my breast, push me against the wall and resume the thorough kissing.
Only to realise he hadn’t yet told me anything relevant. “So…” I drew out between two kisses. “You want to tell me what -“
He thrust shallowly into my hip. Enough to make me lose my train of thought. My inner muscles clenched in response, wanting it all, needing him. “Not now, Hermione,” he growled low, busy licking his way up my neck. I shivered.
Lucidity chose that moment to rear its big ugly head. “Wait. Ron. Stop.”
He froze like me, then pulled away, panting. His hood had come off at some point, revealing brilliant, disheveled red hair, smoky depthless eyes, flushed cheeks. Merlin, he was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
I came forward, stroking his cheek and watched as his eyes closed. Just like that, he turned his head and kissed my open palm. “I can’t do this,” I breathed, and it was a wonder my voice didn’t shatter.
Ron sighed, then pulled away from me, putting distance between us. “You’re engaged,” he said hollowly, matter-of-factly, and it was all I could do not to throw it all away just for him.
But Harry… I could never knowingly tear Harry’s world apart one more time. He was… as happy as he could ever be. With a home, and someone to come home to. How could I take that away from him?
“Right,” Ron said again, and turned away stiffly, hiding the resentment I’d caught in his eyes. It reminded me of how stupid I’d been to let him see how much I wanted him. “I’ve to… go.” The air charged around him, and I instinctively knew he was leaving.
The next instant, I stood alone in my dark house, feeling empty and cold to the core. God, what had I done?
#
Ron didn’t even light the room as he entered it, didn’t even leave the door ajar to have a little light from the hall. Just sat on the hard bed and cursed. He hated himself, hated how he’d acted. You’re not an animal, for chrissakes. But there it was, he felt like one. Felt like the biggest bastard on the planet. You knew she was with him. Yeah, and it was nothing sexual. God, he hoped not. If it was…
His hands shook. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t like he hated Harry. Didn’t begrudge him anything. Jesus, he loved the bloke. Even if Harry and Hermione had sex on a regular basis, Ron couldn’t do much of anything. All because of a stupid rule. But it couldn’t stop him from feeling. And right now, without even knowing if the two of them were romantic or not, he just wanted to punch something ‘til it bled three times over.
He shouldn’t have gone to her that first night, shouldn’t even have spelled out the Triquetra. But the temptation had been too great. He was a man, for God’s sake. He couldn’t believe any of the others hadn’t ever gone to visit their pasts, but… whatever. He had. He hadn’t been able to hold back. Seven years had changed Hermione so much, and that had been the point, hadn’t it? That was why he’d had to see her again. She’d been crying, and he’d nearly broken. Seen her again. And again. Had relished the sight of her, the sound of her voice… everything. Liked to think she’d been what had kept him sane during those seven years of being stuck here.
Tonight, he’d gone way too far. Obsession didn’t even begin to describe it. He’d wanted out of his cage, where he should have stayed in the first place. But now he was way out, way strung out. And that was bad.
“Have you the book?”
Damn, he hadn’t even felt the door open. Whipped around to face the woman. Aine. Lowering his head, as was custom with the Circle of Elders, he replied, heart thumping wildly. “No.”
Silence stretched, then she sighed almost imperceptibly. “You have failed in your duty, Honos. Whatever shall I do with you?”
#
Ginny watched Tom and Miranda off. The two of them were like cat and dog with each other, one all nice and cuddly, the other all bark and no nuzzling. In this rare case, Ginny preferred the cat to the dog.
Miranda waved as she Disapparated, and Ginny lifted her hand in response, a slight smile on her lips, then groaned aloud. Hopkins had caught her little hand movement and winked, probably thinking she’d been looking at him.
Turning away, she caught Harry’s form passed out on her sofa, an arm over his eyes. He and Hopkins had trundled through her stash of mead and beer, leaving nothing behind. While Hopkins had been sober enough to walk in a straight line with his eyes closed, Ginny had deemed Harry way unable to Apparate, let along walk home alone. He wasn’t drunk out of his wits, but tonight he’d just gone over his limit. So she’d take him. No big. She didn’t live that far away anyway.
“Harry?” she murmured softly as she sat next to him, not wanting to startle him. The sofa dipped, and suddenly she was much closer than she’d planned.
His arm shot out to still her, groggy eyes staring down at her. “Hey,” he said huskily, eyes slightly unfocused. “You okay?”
Scrambling, Ginny pulled away. “Yeah, um, you good enough to stand? We’ve got to get you home.”
“Yeah.” He groaned, rubbing his face, trying to shake the stupor. “Thanks for letting me crash, by the way.”
“No problem. You’re wiped out. We all are.”
“That’s no reason.” Then he took a deep breath and braced himself to stand. “All right, let’s go.” He stood without much trouble, blinking away the buzz, then smiled crookedly. “See? I’m all right.”
Ginny lifted a brow. “Until you’re splinched,” she said wryly. She took their jackets, clothed him then herself, and waited by the door. “Come on, out we go.”
With a definetely childish roll of his eyes, he brushed by her. “You’re such a pain. Wait ‘til training tomorrow.”
Keeping her eyes trained on the door as she lockd it, Ginny breathed in deep. Alcohol. Raw voice. Half-mast eyes. Long gait. Her hands shook as she handled the key-and-lock action. “You’ll be too hungover to care.”
“More reason to make you suffer. I’ll want you to hurt like I do.”
Ginny snorted. Hurt. What an understatement. She whirled when she was done, and stuck her hands in her pockets, matching his easy stride. The autumn night was cool, refreshing, and smelled of pines and wet earth. She normally loved it, loved midnight walks, but couldn’t enjoy it fully tonight. Her skin itched.
“God, Ginny, I could have walked home alone,” Harry whined. “I might splinch myself Apparating, but I’m not that drunk.”
His quiet liquor-induced drawl entered her system, jacking it on overdrive. She didn’t want it. Couldn’t help it. Hated the emptiness it left behind. Replied with her usual bite. “And have you miss your house? There may be only four on your street, but they all look the same.”
“Except for the colour.” He smiled cheekily at her, and even though she wasn’t looking, she knew it with a certainty. “Mine’s grey,” he added as an afterthought.
Ginny stared hard at the asphalt below. “Yeah, well, it’s dark. You could easily confuse them.”
“You just want to see my room, don’t you?”
That comment was so unexpected, Ginny stopped dead and stared at him in the dimness, heart going wild. Was that the alcohol talking? Or a joke? Or… something else? But as she saw his leery grin, she knew she had nothing to get excited about. The alcohol. Of course. “You are so drunk. More than I thought.”
“Admit it,” he pressed on, jabbing her hip with his.
Ginny was really glad for the dark as she felt warmth flood her face. She rolled her eyes, saving face. “Right. Because?”
“Because I like getting you all hot and bothered,” he said conversationally. “Kind of reminds me of your mum.”
Ew. “Um, she’s married. Happily.” Ew.
A bark of laughter followed, and he zigzagged a bit afterward. She had to grab at his arm to steady him. Finally, he was able to reply, “Not like that, you sick wench. I meant in the sense that you take after her.”
“Woohoo for the team,” Ginny muttered wryly.
“Although…” He was thoughtful a moment, then continued more seriously, “You’re softer when you want to be. Like now.” He smiled down at her. “You indulge me. That’s good.”
“Consider yourself lucky, then. I only indulge you now because I know you won’t remember a thing tomorrow. No point wasting good hot temper,” she replied, then stopped when he did. And looked up into his face.
He growled low, pressing her to him roughly. “I will remember tonight tomorrow.”
Ginny hissed as she made contact with his warm/cool body, but remained rigid in his arms, refusing to meet his probing eyes. Waiting. Wondering.
Harry was staring, frowning, just as rigid, as though confused how she got to be in his arms. For a long moment that could have been short, they stayed locked like that, unmoving, then Harry let her go with a quietly insistent, “I’ll remember.” They started walking again, side by side, far enough away from each other so as to not touch.
Minutes later, after crossing numerous streets and an unlit park, Ginny glimpsed Harry’s house. “Well, here you go,” she broke the silence with an awkward flourish. “Home safe.”
Harry looked up. “Yeah…” He turned to her, not quite meeting her eyes. “Listen, we’ll talk about Whitney’s memory tomorrow.”
She nodded. “Sure. Night, then.” Ginny turned to go, only to be held back. With a little shocked gasp she looked up from Harry’s hand on her arm as he brushed a thumb over her cheek with a crooked half smile. She held her breath, clenching all over.
“Night,” he only said, and released her, his slow gait a sad thing to behold as he walked away.
Waiting until he’d got in safe, Ginny walked off like an automaton, needing the cool air instead of a quick Apparation.
#
It was a long time before I finally decided to forget about today, tonight, and everything that involved the Guardian Brotherhood. Easier said than done. I found out to my dismay that my treacherous mind simply refused to forget anything that involved Ron, which… according to my power of deduction, was all of the above. Ron had saved and sent me Bert Clarke, who owned the book Mysterious Magical Orders, which contained the prophecy regarding the Guardian Brotherhood, of which Ron was a member. Or something.
I still didn’t know what he was - how he got past Harry’s wards and could wield magic strong enough to produce the Triquetra by himself was what I was wondering more than anything. If that sort of magic existed… A shot of thrill went down my spine. That was exciting on so many academic levels.
But the first order of business was, was his magical baggage part of the Brotherhood heritage? Oh, what did he do? I thought back to the legend of the Brotherhood that Clarke had told me that very afternoon. References to Odin, Valhalla, fallen warriors, a hidden realm on Earth -
Fallen warriors. I sat down hard, realising I’d been pacing again, and had walked right into the bedroom. Thankfully I’d sat down on the bed, feeling nothing as I hit it hard. Fallen warriors. Now, why did that term strike me so hard? That night, Ron Weasley died… I’ll never go back… I would have died if not for the Brotherhood… I lost everything…
But he was real, opaque, tangible, so very Ron. No ghost. So, what? What was he? He hadn’t wanted to tell me. Why?
Fallen warriors. Valhalla, warriors’ heaven. Odin, Norse god of war. Part of the Guardian Brotherhood’s prophecy.
Heaven. On Earth. Heaven. Haven? As in undead? Living?
Fallen warriors, I thought again, does not mean dead. I would have died. Injured warriors?
Odin, I thought next. He selected his favoured fallen warriors. The strongest. I thought of the prophecy, made for a secret wizarding order. That selected the strongest wizards?
Injured warriors. Who proved their worth in battle? I thought of Ron during the war. I hadn’t paid any attention to him during the Last Battle, as I’d been too busy myself, but he’d certainly been one of their best assets overall throughout the war.
Ron. Injured warrior. Strong, worthy warrior. But how strong? Magically. Triquetra. Anti-Apparation wards. My breath caught in my throat. I was close, I could sense it. The fire in Clarke’s department; me fainting as I felt for the residue.
Ron was way off-the-radar strong. I’d never felt magical residue - which was supposed to dilute over time - that strong in my entire life. Let alone felt actual real-time magical power waves that potent.
Strong, worthy warriors. Guardian Brotherhood. Wizarding order. Lost prophecy. Lost memory. Secret. Why secret? What did they guard? Or who? From whom?
Harry walked into the room then, making me jump and lose my train of thought instantly. "Ah! When did you get here?"
Without looking my way, he just flopped onto the bed, clothes and all. “Just now. God, this was a crapper fodder day.”
You don’t say. Putting my thoughts of the Brotherhood aside, I turned to half face him. “How was work?”
“School. Work. Ah, both.” He began working on his shirt button, but seemed to have thumbs instead of fingers. Frustrated, he just flopped back down and threw an arm over his eyes.
“Are you okay?” I asked, a touch concerned. Nothing got to Harry. Everyday was just work as usual, none worse or better than the other. He was a damn inspiration.
“Drank a bit.”
“You Apparated?” Now that worried me, considering his appearance now.
He shook his head. “Walked. Look, could we just not talk about it? I want to sleep.” He rolled over, shirt, trousers and all, tugged the sheet over himslf, and ignored me.
Okay… What had crawled up his arse? I caught a whiff of alcohol in the air. Beer. “You drank,” I stated more than questioned or accused. Well, that explained the mood, although… he drank fairly often and never got drunk or mean. The man was a beer trough. So what was his deal?
“I’m really not in the mood for a lesson in morals or whatever.”
“Talk to me,” I said, crawling to my side of the bed and getting in. “There’s got to be something bothering you.”
“Hermione,” he groaned, muffled by his pillow. “For God’s sake, just leave it alone and go to sleep. I already feel like shit, don’t lord it over me.”
Frowning, I wanted to reach out, but reckoned that’s feel weirder than ever - we never touched it bed. And as I realised that, I felt even guiltier than I already did about this evening.
God. Ron. And just like that, my body heated as if in remembrance, yearning, wanting a touch that wasn’t there. Too long ago, I’d lost hope that I’d ever feel alive again after losing him. It seemed my body had awakened after those long years, and just a memory of those hands of his on me could arouse it. Clamping down on the ache, I turned over and shut the light.
I wasn’t being fair to Harry. He deserved to know Ron was alive. Yet… that would be betraying Ron. he’d asked me - demanded, really - not to say a word. It irked me a bit that I could still be so weak when it ame to Ron. But then again, I’d always been. It was a lifelong staple of mine: stick by Ron, always. But why the secrecy? Didn’t he trust Harry?
You know I can’t tell you… Shite, you’re not supposed to have this. He’d been wary the whole time he was with me. That was why. He hadn’t even planned on telling me he existed. He hadn’t planned on telling me about the Brotherhood or anything.
Secret… I thought back to before Harry had interrupted my mental gymnastics. What did they guard? Whom? Ron had evaded, almost been sad that he couldn’t - wouldn’t - tell me. A chill shot down my spine. Dangerous. It had to be a dangerous duty. The fire in Clarke’s office. Who had started it? Had Ron been the instigator? No, that didn’t make sense, he’d protected Clarke; the mark told its story. What about Clarke’s assistants? Had they been too far? Had he come too late? How had he known to come?
I squeezed my eyes shut, engrossed in processing half informations, then froze in place.
The book. Ron guarded the book.
#
Harry couldn’t sleep. No matter how many deep breaths he took to calm his mind, no matter how many sheep he counted or how much he counted on the alcohol to truly kick in, nothing worked. And he was tired. Go figure. His back was ramrod straight, his chest felt tight, and he felt disgusted with himself. Jesus. Hermione.
No, they weren’t intimate, but he’d made a damn promise to Ron’s memory that night seven years ago. Like hell he’d leave Hermione alone. So he hadn’t been there for moths at first. He’d come back, been there for her. Been her rock. He’d one a fine job of it, too. They were engaged. Lived together. Loved each other.
As friends. And they both knew it. But still he knew one day that wouldn’t be enough.
That day had come, he thought wryly, a long time ago. Only, he’d thought he was stronger, could ignore it. It wasn’t like you chose who hit the bull’s eye. Even so, he couldn’t ignore his promise to Ron. The thought that his friend might be alive after all was just the icing on the cake. No, he couldn’t give up yet. Hermione deserved someone to take care of her, and that person was Harry for the time being. Maybe for the rest of his life. But she was worth it, if it ever came to that, because each day that brought a smile to her face was definetely an energy booster. The tought that Ron would want to be there was enough to keep him going as far as he needed to go.
So maybe he was a sap. Ron and Hermione’s had been a genuine kind of love. No artifice. Sure they’d always bickered, but then what couple didn’t? And Harry had always known it was much more than just annoyance. The war had brought them closer than they’d ever expected, and that had been true beauty.
Harry had been secretly jealous back then. There they were, the two of them, having finally found their ways to each other’s bickering mouths, and Harry had just lost the best damn person in his life a few months ago for “noble reasons”. It was enough to drive anyone up the wall. And then, just like that, Hermione had lost Ron. That taught Harry how unfair life was in any case. Just because he was the bloody Boy Who Lived didn’t mean no one else lost loved ones. That taught him true humility.
And, once more, he’d sacrificed himself. He owed it to Ron. He’d protect Hermione. Besides, he didn’t know how he’d react if he lost her, too.
How many sacrifices would be enough? he wondered silently in the dead of night, staring hard at the darkened ceiling. Mentally shaking a fist at the invisible God beyond.
Regardless, he wouldn’t give up, but it damn near killed him everyday.
Harry remembered when Ginny had first been assigned to him. The fear of the past. The need to refuse at the risk of being thrown out. Only the thought that she’d simply be reassigned to someone else else had stopped him. Hell, Hopkins was an all-around great guy, but he’d have been forced to feed him his own balls if he’d so much as touched Ginny the wrong way. Which happened to Harry on a fairly regular basis during grappling sessions or such. You did not choke someone unless they were trapped well between your legs. On top or under did not matter.
He often found himself letting her trap him, just for sportsmanship’s sake. He couldn’t very well always overpower her. She needed to learn, too. Although ground grappling was her forte and they both knew it. Those legs of hers were strong. She had good overall balance, never let air in between their bodies. If she did, he found the spot and then she felt sorry. His forte was armlocks, but she never felt the full force of his strength. There was a word for those who used sheer brutal force: brutes.
No, he went slowly with her, knowing she’d eventually escape the lock, crawl her way out of his hold and then flip him over.
He loved it, loved knowing she matched him so perfectly. If not with armlocks of her own, then with different techniques that she excelled at. Standing, she was a killer with hip techniques. She’d made him appreciate the art of action-reaction in judo more than his own teachers ever had. The “way of gentleness” indeed. Ginny was fluid, never made him hurt as he hit the tatami. In fact, they nearly always stuck with judo these days. It brought their bodies together in harmony better than boxing or taekwondo ever could. They got used to each other’s bodies, slowly.
He knew she should get used to sparring with other partners. Bigger or smaller, it didn’t matter, for one’s power resided in one’s technique. She should get used to other bodies, but his mind refused to even think about it. Refused to think of her with another man. And most women at Syn Wyngyn went with tai chi, preferring the slow, precise art to the full on kicking or throwing that left bruises behind on occasion. The exercise was always good for them in the end, in any case. So judo with others was mainly out of the question. And he knew how selfish he sounded. But thoughts of Hopkins with Ginny always freaked him out.
Besides, Harry liked the intimacy they shared. After so many years of feeling like a dog for letting her go, they were finally reconnecting. What better way to get to know someone again than through martial arts? You learned to expect the other’s favourite moves. You learned how they thought. You learned how they smelled - how they truly smelled. How your bodies fit together. You didn’t need the sense of sight anymore. Just touch.
Harry’s body burned just thinking about it. About Ginny in her white gi and zubon, bowing to him and then standing ready for anything like the warrior she was. Letting him approach her, then calculating how she could counter his first move and bring him down.
But despite all that closeness, she was still constantly wary around him. Oh, he understood her need for emotional distance: he’d once been a complete dog, he could very well be one again. Hell, hadn’t he almost refused to tutor her? But wasn’t he sticking by her side this time?
Merlin, he wanted her.
Whoa. That was probably all the alcohol talking, because he couldn’t have her. Couldn’t want her. Hadn’t he learned his lesson? Sacrifices, that’s what he was good for. Besides, she couldn’t want him after all that.
Gosh, he was so tired. Couldn’t sleep. Kept replaying the day in his mind’s eye. Dinner. Walking home. Touching her for the first truly intimate touch in… seven years. She was soft, creamy… And bitter.
Harry clamped down on the memories and his raw emotions.
No, she didn’t want him.
#
I was woken the next day by something sneaking behind me under the covers. Warmth seeped into me, enveloping, gliding over everything it found. It was… delicious. “Ron,” I murmured, half asleep, cocooning deeper into the definetely male body.
Something was off, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe I was late for work. I groaned. I really didn’t want to check the time. Heck, I’d give anything to be able to stay and feel Ron’s hands on me, his broad, hard body on me and in me. I moaned as he found my hips and slid inside onto the nook of my legs. A sweet ache began deep inside me, starting at my hot core and spreading. Slowly, decadently, it reached my heart, and it was all I could do not to cry.
God, yes, Ron, finally. Pressure built into me until I was no more than flesh and bones, craving his own flesh and bones. He pressed down and I rolled toward him, wanting more, uncaring that I was only half-awake. I needed him.
With a grunt he crawled onto me, leaving no inch of my body untouched. Grasping his neck, I pulled him down even closer, anticipating the moment when our lips would meet.
And that was when the fog lifted. Short-clipped hair. Bolting upright, I screamed and Harry tensed, jerking way back. We both stared, panting. Self-consciously, I pulled the hem of my nightgown down over my bare legs. And stared some more.
Harry cleared his throat a number of times before his voice caught on. “Hermione I - I’m so sorry. I have no idea what -“ Taking a deep breath, he rubbed his face and groaned. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“I -“ I swallowed. Shit. Buggerfuck. What the hell. “Me neither.”
And that was when my alarm truly did go off. Harry glanced over, cursing. “I’m late.” He practically tore out of the room like his pants were on fire, grabbing a random shirt from the back of a chair. I was suddenly left to wonder what had just happened.
Holy hell, I’d almost had sex with Harry.
#
Harry nearly splinched himself thinking too much, too hard, as he Apparated to Syn Wyngyn’s Entrance Hall. Ginny was waiting for him nearby with a little smug smile on her face. Yeah, hello migraine. He must have looked a sight with his rumpled clothes and a t-shirt in hand, but his looks couldn’t be helped. Neither could his nerves.
Shit, he’d almost slept with Hermione. Thinking of… well, he wouldn’t remind himself, especially as Ginny walked toward him. Sashaying would be more like it. Ah, damn, there he went, seeing sex everywhere. He hoped whatever he had wasn’t permanent because his nerves sure wouldn’t hold up. He wasn’t so sure about other things. With Ginny in sight, anything was possible. When had he last had sex? Yeah, that was probably it. His cock was in serious withdrawal.
“Hey,” Ginny said as she neared him. “I actually wasn’t expecting you this morning. I was about to go in alone.”
Harry stuck his hands in his pockets, shirt and all. “Told you I’d give you hell,” he grunted. He sounded hoarse. Yeah, near-sex with your platonic best friend would about do it.
“So what’s on the menu?” she asked as they started walking toward the main building.
Harry had to remind himself she wasn’t speaking literally. He tried to smile. “Thirty laps, benchpress, Cursing, and maybe ground grappling? Then we can talk about Whitney. What do you say?”
Her eyes were round as saucers as she halted, whistling low. “I say I’ll be dead for Muggle Integration and Association later.”
Shrugging, he grinned at her surprise. “Speaking of, I looked over your scores last week. You’re doing well in that class. So… the body can be present save for the mind, if you know what I mean…”
Ginny mock-gasped, but he was sure there was a little bit of genuine surprise in it. “Are you suggesting I sleep in class?”
“With your eyes open, basically.”
Ginny laughed out loud. “You’re something else, you know?”
Grinning, he looked up as they approached the gymnasium. “I try. Here we go.” Without a word she set her book and sports bags down near the door and set off jogging at an easy pace. He watched her progress through the empty, echoing gym with half a mind. The other was entirely on her.
Her long red hair was bound low at her neck, but the waves shimmered and few about with every stride she took. Her slim, long body was bent dynamically. The only parts of her that truly moved were her arms and legs. The rest economised movement. As she jogged close, he heard her deep, even breaths. How many was it? Five. Five laps.
Later, Harry cursed himself even as the air whooshed out of him. “Whuh! God,” he groaned, twisting his body to flip her. He only succeeded in cracking his back. “You packed on the pounds last night, didn’t you.”
Ginny sent him a glare, pressing down harder ‘til he could barely breathe. “Did not. You’re just a wimp.”
Despite his bad predicament, Harry couldn’t help but laugh. Here he was, trapped under her, sweat flowing like a fountain from his face and hair, and he was a wimp? For one split moment, Ginny glanced down and smiled. Aha. Aiming for a bit more leeway between their bodies, he pulled his arms and legs in like a ball and then jacknifed to the side, bringing her with him. He sat on her, pinning her hands with his. “Wimp, huh?” A drop of his sweat fell down and landed on her gi, drenching it in the one spot.
Her grin never wavered. “How about formerly hungover? Congratulations, Mr Potter, you’ve kicked it to the curb. Or was that just luck.”
Feeling juvenile, Harry stuck out his tongue. Yes, it felt good to let loose after the weirdness that had been his morning.
“Do you plan on doing randoris all morning?” Ginny suddenly asked, looking incongruous as heck all trapped and feisty under him.
Slowly, delicately, Harry released her wrists and then unstraddled her legs, waiting to bow with her, as Japanese custom demanded. Then they sat facing each other. “All right. Whitney. What do we know from him?” he asked, getting into teacher mode.
Ginny, at a loss, shook her head. “Just… poof. How do you poof like that anyway? It’s not like he was hit with anything at that particular moment. And his wand fell from his hands when he fell. I saw that clearly.” She fell silent, introspecting, then looked up, eyes as vulnerable as they’d ever been. “Mum had it framed,” she said quietly.
Silence filled the gym again as Harry debated whether he should take her in his arms and soothe her. It was obvious the memory pained her. Then he cleared his throat. No, he definetely shouldn’t. Sacrifices… he’d made sacrifices long ago. “I dunno, but I did pick up something strange at the battle site the other day.” Stroking his chin, a theory formed in his mind, getting clearer. “It seemed so strange, too. I couldn’t recognise the spell, but it must have been the one that made him disappear.”
“So we’re clear he didn’t Disapparate?” she asked with a wobbly voice, probably remembering their spat at Spinner’s End.
Harry rubbed a hand over his face, inhaling deep and keeping it in. With a curse, he released it. “Yeah. Apparating leaves a subtle trace behind. What I felt there was like a truckload of magic without a definite source.” He knew what she was probably thinking: you asshole, you deliberately riled me up back there. “I just… wasn’t sure,” he said apologetically.
She seemed to accept his excuse. “Now?”
“Going by Whitney’s memory, Ron couldn’t have Disapparated. He was nearly unconscious,” he pointed out.
She nodded thoughtfully, then frowned after a moment. “Something you said is bugging me.” She lifted her face. “’A truckload of magic.’ Are you sure it wasn’t separate spells that all landed in the same spot?”
Harry shook his head. “No. It’s very definetely one and the same, and yet not.”
“What if it was an amalgam of spells? A mix. Could that happen?”
Harry’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “You’d have to be pretty damn powerful to execute one concentrated spell. I don’t think even Dumbledore would have been able to perform so much magic at once.”
“But you’re positive there’s only one spellcaster… Listen, is it possible to dissect the trace?”
“I don’t…” Harry started, but one glance into Ginny’s face and he was done in. “Oh, all right,” he sighed. “But I don’t know if that’s possible.”
Ginny shot him a winning smile. “I’m with the all-powerful Harry Potter. Of course it’s possible.”
Her faith in him nearly bowled him over.
#
I appeared at work with frayed nerves, opting for the car, though it was potentially dangerous in my condition, in case I killed myself trying to Apparate. The odds weren’t that much greater, but one could never be too careful, and I did have to work.
As I walked by Clara’s desk in the reception, she murmured into the phone and then covered the mouthpiece with a well-manicured hand. Her eyes were round in shock, wild. “Auror Randall is on the phone, asking for you. Says it’s urgent.”
Now that was strange. It was no secret that the magical community did not like phones; only my muggle clients used them when communicating with me. And the fact that it was an Auror requesting me was even more bewildering: the Ministry used flying notes to communicate between departments, so this must be urgent indeed. I nodded to my office. “I’ll take it in there, thanks.”
Settling my things in their usual place in my office, I then sat, frowned, and picked up the receiver. “Good morning, Auror Randall. How may I help you?”
There were sounds behind him as though he were in a public place. He spoke up, but not like someone who had no idea that I could hear him perfectly over long distances. Muggleborn, I decided idly. “There was an incident at the historian’s research centre.”
It was said with such a detached tone that his words didn’t immediately register. Then, “Oh my God, is Mr Clarke okay? What happened?”
“He’s alive,” he summed up succinctly. He’s alive? I thought, thinking that was way inappropriate. God, that could imply anything. “He requested his lawyer, doesn’t want to speak to anyone else. He, er… he’s not in good shape.”
I wondered how I’d got off my chair. “I’m coming right over.” And prayed to God it couldn’t be as bad as I pictured.
#
I was. It wasn’t as messy as the fire had been, but the blood… oh God, the blood. I comforted myself in the conviction that this would be my first and last criminal case. Good God, who could thrive on this?
Clarke had been stabilised by the time I got there, but he was still painfully weak. I looked at his ravaged face and felt every blow, every pierced or raised piece of flesh. Everything was red and raw whether by the punches or coloured by his own blood. His clothes, so immaculate usually, were by contrast torn or shredded, showing flesh just as battered underneath. Was there anything that hadn’t been done to him? But still he told his tale, voice husky from screaming, no doubt.
“Couldn’t see…”
“We found him bound hands and eyes,” a Healer spoke as he tended to Clarke. I nodded wordlessly and turned back to Clarke.
“Wand in… pocket… closet. Couldn’t do anything… couldn’t defend.” He took a deep breath. “Put in chair. Demanded prophecy.” He looked up imploringly. “Didn’t. Tortured. Angry. Didn’t want say where. Scared.”
“Thank you,” I cut in softly, closing my eyes against what I saw when I looked at him. More of this and I would surely crack. How he’d remained strong through it all was a wonder. Standing, I watched the Healer Levitate Clarke’s pallet with a heavy heart.
“He’ll live,” the Healer said, his hand resting on my shoulder.
Yes, but for how long? Someone wanted to know what the prophecy said so bad, they’d go to any lengths to know what it contained.
That gave me pause. Could Buchanan…? No. Though I did not know anything about what Syn Wyngyn did, Harry or Ginny would never torture for information. But could I be sure that Buchanan was Syn Wyngyn? In the words of Ron: humour me. Yet he’d done nothing but be an asshole to me, which didn’t qualify as anything at all. So I was back to square one on that.
Thinking, thinking, thinking.
“Are you going to prosecute?” an Auror - Randall, by his voice - asked.
“Who? There’s no suspect. But I’m going to be staying here a bit longer, if that’s okay. I’d like to understand what happened here,” I said, feeling strange vibes around me as I stepped closer to where Clarke had lain. Small steps. Sweat bloomed over me.
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’m leaving an Auror outside just in case. Let him know when you leave.”
Yes, I felt like the whole place was dangerous now. “Thanks.” He left, and I was finally alone to carefully roam, avoiding as many puddles as I could. When I got too close to the biggest puddle, I chickened out.
Someone should have stopped this half-assed carnage. Ron. Where had he been when all this happened? Shouldn’t he have stopped this, protected Clarke? Why didn’t you come? Or were you too preoccupied looking for the book that you couldn’t come here and pull Bert out? Do you have so little heart? Right then I… hated, yes, hated Ron.
“There was a lot of violence here.”
The voice nearly made me jump out of my skin. Whirling around, I suddenly faced Buchanan leaning in the doorway, surveying the scene. “What are you doing here?”
His gaze met mine. “Same as you. Looking.”
I narrowed my eyes into slits. “What did the Auror say?”
“Which Auror?” Comprehension dawned. “Ah, the one they left up front, right?” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Didn’t see him. Didn’t see me. So what are you doing here?” he asked, raising a brow.
Being pegged by his dark eyes was disconcerting; I found myself instinctively backing away. “I can…” I lurched, having backed away so much that I’d landed right next to the bloody spot where Clarke had lain. “Oh, God.” I reeled, nauseous.
Buchanan’s arms shot out, pulling me upright again, holding fast. “Careful.”
Well, wasn’t this strange. How could someone sound so caring under a thick layer of menace? His words seemed distorted and out of place as I analysed his tone. “Thanks. I…”
“Almost fainted, like the first time we met. Only, last time there wasn’t any blood.” Again, he pegged me with a hard, calculating stare, and I felt naked under his scrutiny, like he already knew everything there was to me just by staring hard enough. Absurd.
“Yes, I almost fainted. Please let me go.” He slowly released my wrist, but his eyes became shrewder. A strange hum was in the air, a bi like when magic began mounting, uncurling from someone’s being, preparing to be shot out. Only, it was clear that nothing was going to be spelled. My senses flared nonetheless, searching, wondering.
“Tell me something, Miss Granger. What happened here?”
I swallowed. He knew… I didn’t know how he did, but he knew.
“I would even go so far as to think you speak Gaelic. Am I wrong? Such a little know-it-all…”
Oh God… No…
He got in my face, all the harsh planes of his face thrown into sharp relief. “Tell me. Tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about. Tell me and I’ll leave you alone.”
I stood transfixed by his wild eyes, knowing I should Disapparate, go to some huge crowded place where he couldn’t touch me, but unable to concentrate. “I don’t -“
“Bullshit,” he growled. “No wonder you’re a lawyer. Although… how you passed your Bar with such a piss-poor poker face, I don’t know.” He was becoming more frightening by the instant, and I feared what he might do to me. What he had done to Mr Clarke. “Tell me what you know!”
“You’re scaring me.”
He reeled back, smirking. “Now that’s the truth. Good for you. Now what happened here? Tell me.” He was in my face again, invading my personal space, stealing what little strength I had.
Breathing hard, I stuttered. “I told you. Violence. It’s obvious. Ah!” I grimaced as he gripped my wrist like a manacle, tightening his hold. “H - he was drained with magic!”
Releasing my wrist, he became dead calm. “How do you know?”
Nursing my wrist, I replied, “I can f - feel magical strength in p - people and places.”
Buchanan nodded, as if he’d come to that conclusion himself, and then smiled. I recoiled, anticipating anything. “You could be useful, actually.”
I hunched, trying to make myself appear as small as possible. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Glancing at my reddened wrist where he’d gripped me, he seemed contrite for an instant. “Sorry.” Then he reached inside his pocket, retrieving a folded piece of paper. I squinted. The original prophecy. I felt too weak to care that he’d profaned a very precious piece of history. “Now translate.”
I looked up, bewildered. “Y - you don’t speak Gaelic?” Ron was wrong, after all. But possibilities had never hurt.
Buchanan grimaced, annoyed, but put the parchment in my face. “Translate,” he ordered roughly.
Swallowing thickly, I slowly began translating the words before me out of rote.
“The Oldest Prophecy.
A legend, older than wizardry itself
Tells that the Brotherhood of Guardians
Will prosper for one thousand years, teaching
Their brethren to serve the greater good.
The Circle of Elders warns that a rogue cohort
Shall pursue the Brotherhood on a wind of betrayal
And cast it and its legendary warriors into darkness.
But fear not despair, children of Odin,
For the one -“
I was cut mid-sentence by a resounding blast that shook and blew me away. A magic… that… was… too strong. Before I even knew it, my legs crumpled under me and I fainted, nauseous, unable to bear the force of the wave that hit me.
#
Spinner’s End rested in deathly silence as always, ruins and debris like it had been left seven years ago. An eerie chill settled onto Harry and Ginny as they set down to work on the long-ago traces where Ron had once fallen.
“What are you doing?” Ginny whispered when Harry circled his wand over and over in a precise figure-8 shape. She did not recognise the spell he was using.
“Separating the spells. Singulus spell. Thing is, Apparating doesn’t require a spell to be performed, so I’m trying to sort out what spells came into play here so we can figure if maybe it was a Vanishing Spell or something.” His face scrunched up as he concentrated on what he saw. “The usual. Unforgiveables, Disarming Spells. A few Shields - Ron’s of course.”
Ginny sat back, frowning. “What I can’t figure out is why no one tried what we’re doing here before.”
Glancing back, Harry worked to keep his concentration as he spoke to explain. “The spell was recently created, and isn’t widespread. I don’t think even the Ministry knows about it yet.”
Ginny smiled, and it warmed Harry on an already warm day. “Then I’m glad you know what you’re doing,” she said, laying a hand on his flexed arm.
He froze, the figure-8 forgotten. Then he jerked as he lost the flow of spell traces that had been coming at him. “Oh, damn!”
“Can I try?” Ginny asked before Harry could take up the spell again.
“Sure… here,” Harry said as he positioned Ginny’s wand right over the spot. “Focus on the layers, study them one by one. Now say Singulus spell.”
She tried, successfully.
“Awesome. Now let them come to you. Slowly. Take your time to learn the magic underneath.”
Ginny’s eyes widened, amazed at what she could do. “Wow. I feel I can almost touch them.”
Harry nodded absently, watching her every move, itching to touch her and reposition her just to have an excuse to feel her on him. He remained quite firmly planted where he was, though. She was doing fine. “Now separate them with your mind. Go on.”
She grinned triumphantly. “It’s amazing! I can tell them apart.”
Harry sat back, enjoying the view of Ginny so happy and relaxed. “What do you see?”
Ginny’s brow furrowed as her mind isolated the spells apart. “I see… an Impendimenta. A Freezing hex. A Shield. All Ron’s. God, there’s a lot. A Slash…” She froze, eyes unfocusing. “Harry, I’m not feeling so good.”
Harry bounded forward, catching her against him. The first time was always overwhelming. The mind had to get used to so much high-octane concentration. He took her wand hand in his, continuing the figure-8 she’d nearly abandoned. “We’ll do it together. Come on, Singulus spell.”
Together they felt the dense wave hit and reeled from the darkly veiled invasion. This one was intense, potent. Harry fought to keep the connection even as Ginny swayed and burrowed deep into his shirt. He felt sick, too, felt the bile rise into his throat, his stomach churning with Ginny’s. This was an unnatural bit of magic, but still he fough to recognise and name the spell, because it was a spell, he was sure of it.
Ginny moaned low, clutching weakly at him. “No name, Harry, not spell,” she slurred feebly.
He shook his head, gritting his teeth together. “Got to be.”
“Let it go, please. Let it… go.”
It was only then, only when she suddenly pitched forward, boneless against him, that Harry snapped out of the connection. A flush of dread washed over him. “Gin?” he asked, growing cold. “Ginny!” Fear grew tendril-like within him, and his breath left him in short rushes. He recognised his reaction: shock. “Oh, God. Oh, shite. Dammit, fuck.”
Harry slowly lowered her body to the gound, fretting over her. He listened closely for her breath, and sighed in relief when a puff stirred his hair. Straightening, he brushed her long hair away from her face gently. For a few instants he only waited for her to come around. Peace.
After a time, she stirred, eyes cracking open a little. “Thought you’d lost me?” came her weak jibe.
Harry’s laugh lodged into his throat as he squeezed her hand. “You have no idea. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”
Smiling privately, she suddenly grew serious and nudged him hard. “It was no spell, you idiot.”
“What…?”
“I’m thinking about our Syn Wyngyn talismans. Permanent spells. Traceless, but magically potent anywhere on Earth.”
Harry frowned. “Makes sense. But those are rare. And this one was out of this world, too. I couldn’t even see the end of it.”
Ginny squeezed his hand. “So what are you saying?” But she thought she already knew the answer, and it scared her.
Harry shook his head slowly, shrugging wearily. “I don’t know.”
#
I came awake suddenly, jolting from head to foot. The first thing I registered was that the bile that I rised before was either fully prepared for launch or stuck in stasis. I couldn’t make up my mind about its status. Neither could it, it seemed.
The second thing I registered was Ron. Bleeding, black and blue all over, wild eyed, his face was inches from mine, though turned in the direction of a series of shouts. Spells. Through blurry eyes I saw Buchanan crouching, face contorted in pain, holding his own against the nauseating force that was Ron’s retaliations. Exhaustion was evident in both men’s bodies. I had evidently been out of it for a while.
And for reason. The rawest sort of magic, the likes of which I’d never encountered, was coursing between them. Ron, in exertion, shook like a leaf at the onslaught, but protected us powerfully. Suddenly he glanced down at me. His eyes gleamed as if in fever. “Are you okay?”
I tried my mouth, my vocal chord, but both of them were paper-dry. In answer, I tried to nod, but found that made everything swirl. I moaned instead. My God, my head…
Ron’s nostrils flared. In one quick surge he passed a hand beneath my neck and pulled me up to him, then winced as one of Buchanan’s spells hit his side. A Burning hex. “Hold on,” he said through gritted teeth, and resumed attacking. Buchanan meant business, if his own attack meant anything.
I tried hugging Ron close so he wouldn’t have to juggle so much between supporting me and fighting Buchanan, but my muscles were like jello, quivering, strengthless. “Ron, please…” I breathed. I didn’t know what I wanted. Safety? Going away? Merlin, I couldn’t even keep up with them. Their hands were blurs of movements and I was suddenly very glad that I wasn’t alone with Buchanan anymore. There was too much I’d undermined about him.
Ron turned me toward him all of a sudden, and I saw his fevered eyes, his battered face, and his matted hair again before we lurched through unknown space and nothingness. Ron hugged me close through this as I cried against him, the magic strong, too strong. I wanted away from him, close to him until I couldn’t breathe.
We soon reappeared in a dark bedroom with no windows and one door. His room. I knew it as surely as I knew Ron, even though there was nothing determining in it. The walls were bare, the furniture minimal. No colour, no warmth permeated the four walls but the scent that was entirely his. Pinewood and licorice. Him.
Ron held me loosely as I dry-retched. Murmuring soft words, he brushed my hair off my face, then deposited me gently on the bed. Only then did he drop down bonelessly next to me, the bed groaning and dipping under his weight. The entire bed shook with him, and though I hated how his power made me feel on a basic level, I crawled into him, needing his touch as surely as I needed air to breathe in this moment. I sensed his need of my touch as well, silent and undemanding, but unediably needing. I gave him my all.
After a few moments I realised that I was shaking just as bad. Adrenaline overload, I reasoned. Normal. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
Ron shivered uncontrollably in my arms and seemed to burrow closer still despite his next words. “You shouldn’t be touching me. I could hurt you.”
“Nonsense.” I felt my head shaking, my mind refusing to let go. “I need you…” Hugging him close, I felt him flinch and hiss, and remembered the bruises on his face. Was his whole body…? I wiped some drying blood off his brow. “What happened to you? Did Buchanan do this?” I’d been so out of it back there, I couldn’t remember if he’d come bruised or not.
Ron froze, a few shivers still racking his body. Silence filled the room as he seemed to collect a careful answer for me. I held my breath, anticipating… the worst. “I needed to bring back the book. I didn’t.”
Instantly outraged, I pulled away, crying out, “You were tortured?” By his peers? By the Brotherhood? Instantly I began frantically tearing at his clothes, wanting to see the extent of the damage and what could be done immediately. I already hated the ones who’d hurt him.
Ron stopped me, holding my wrists like manacles over my head, groaning and wincing as he overpowered me, tackled me. “Leave it. I’ll get the book. Somehow.”
And kill yourself in the process? I wanted to yell. But, instead, I squirmed under him, trying to get him off me. He held fast. “It’s gone,” I said. “He has it. Buchanan. The man you just… I gave it to him yesterday. I thought…” I couldn’t help it, I shivered once more. Tears pooled into my eyes and I had to swallow hard to keep them right where they wouldn’t embarrass me. My throat burned. I would not remember what had just happened. “I never thought he was…”
“Shh…” Ron’s voice was soothing against my ear, his body a warm anchor as he held me. “He’ll never touch you again. I promise.” And with that, he caught my lips in a searing kiss that made my whole being hurt with yearning.
Slowly, he released my wrists and cradled my head, his hot breath fanning over my face. Through the darkness I made out his wide eyes, the fear in them despite his assurance. “Merlin… The thought of that bastard touching you, hurting you…” His voice cracked at the last, and I reached up to stroke his cheek. “I dunno what I’d have done if -“
“He didn’t,” I said, pressing my lips to his. A thought occured to me as I pulled back. “How did you know I was with him?”
He smiled a bit wryly to himself. “I always know where you are.”
“You make it sound like that’s horrible.” It stung, actually.
“It is when I can’t be there.” He frowned. “It’s like displacement.”
That feeling I could understand. The past haunted me. Realisation dawned on me at the same moment. “In my loo. You did it then.” With one touch, he’d placed a homing spell on me and could find me anywhere. Brilliant.
Ron nodded. “I wanted to keep you safe in case things turned to vinegar. Just in case. I shouldn’t have, but…”
I reached up to kiss him soundly. “Shut up. Thank you.” Although I’d annoy him later about invasion of privacy.
He grinned boyishly and I was instantly reminded of a younger Ron who had practically no worries in the world. The grin soon vanished. “You’re not angry?”
Not yet. “Not at all,” I replied. “It’s like having your own guardian angel.”
A beat passed, and his face became hooded. “I’m no angel. You saw what I’m capable of.”
Haven’t I, I mused to myself. “Yes. You make me sick,” I teased, because the truth scared us both, I think. I knew perfectly well that he was preternaturally gifted, though it seemed he thought of it as a curse.
“Sorry,” was his instantaneous reply.
For a long moment we remained silent, and then he rolled on his back beside me, staring at the ceiling. “Go on,” he sighed, “ask me.”
Was I so transparent? Or was he able to read me like before? There were so many questions pressing themselves in my brain that they had to go through triage first. Finally, I focused on Ron again. “What does a Guardian do? Why are you one of them?”
Ron turned his head and gazed at me a long time before he opened his mouth and told me.
In the end, I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know. I was right… and wrong. Oh, so wrong.
#
Later, much later, after Ginny’s two back-to-back Cursing and Transfigurement classes, she stood naked in her shower, washing away the remnants of the day. Grime, sweat, frightening memories… She tried to do away with everything for the night.
Harry had often told her she should disconnect when she was home. Problem was, there was only herself and boredom here. She’d thought about buying a pet to keep her company, but with her nutty hours, the animal would likely die of thirst, hunger or lack of attention if she was gone too long. Or boredom. Which took her right back to the problem at hand.
She should cook. Yeah, she’d make some danishes for tomorrow. Maybe she’d bring some for Harry to sample, see if she could equal him. That brought a smile to her lips as she soaped up. She still couldn’t see him at the oven, baking and cooking dainty morning meals for his muggles. Harry was so… authoritative. A leader. A genuine male. It boggled the mind.
A sudden pounding jolted her out of her reverie. Ginny stiffened as the pounding redoubled, then stopped abruptly. Slowly, ever so carefully, Ginny pushed the shower curtain aside and grasped her wand from the bathroom sink, holding it tight in her fist. The wait made her go cold. Despite the pattering of the water on the tiles, she heard distinct steps inside her flate. Someone had broken in despite her wards. In a moment of suffused panic, she remembered Harry deeming her wards too weak to keep a determined someone out. Someone who knew something about basic warding. Fuck. That just narrowed it down, didn’t it?
The bathroom door flew open, and before she could help it, a shrill scream pierced the echoing walls. It was hers.
Author: stormsandsins
Rating: PG so far
Pairing: Harry/Hermione (platonic), Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny
Warnings: Violence. Gets steadily darker as we progress through the story.
Chapters: 8 so far, including the prologue.
Word Count: approx. 10,000 words for this chapter
Summary: It's 7 years after the fall of the Dark Lord. Hermione has been trying to get on with her life and forget the night Ron Weasley died. But the night a long-ago symbol appears outside her window, she gets more mystery and excitement than she wished for.
Notes: Sorry for taking so long. School's been taking all of my time and I completely forgot I had chapters to post here. Forgive me?
CHAPTER FOUR : STRAIGHT LINES
“Don’t be so ridiculous. The Guardian Brotherhood doesn’t exist.” Whenever I couldn’t quite grasp something on the first go, I paced. I was actually pacing a hole through the floor at that moment. Feeling my feet run cold. Hugging myself. Hands underneath my armpits. Denying it all. My God, I’d just learned the most interesting and exciting piece of magical mythology today. How was I expected to believe it was all true? It was all legends, bedtime stories, meant to be heard and taught to future generations. Not real. Couldn’t be.
Silence met my denial. I whipped around, catching my breath when I saw the grim line of Ron’s lips.
No, couldn’t be.
“It’s a myth!”
Quietly, he replied, “Not really.” Then sighed, and came to me, taking my hand in his. For a long moment, he just gazed at our linked hands, stroking mine with a rough thumbpad, and nothing sounded in my ears but the beat of my heart. “That night,” he reprised with a soft voice like gravel, “Ron Weasley died. No, let me explain,” he cut in when I would have argued. “The Ron you knew died. I’ll never go back, I’ll never have the same life. I lost everything in order to become…” He raised bright blue eyes at me. Sad. Longing. “… this.” And as though ashamed, he immediately looked away. “I would have died if not for the Brotherhood. But I can’t go back to being… him again.”
“You - you mean - you’re a ghost?” Oh, my God. I went limp, barely able to stand. That made sense. It would explain his ability to Apparate anywhere. But then he squeezed my hand. That felt real. He was real.
His other hand came up, brushing a stray lock back. He was very real. I looked up. He smiled. “It’s nothing like that, or I wouldn’t be able to touch, would I?” His eyes softened as I leaned into his lingering hand.
“Definetely,” I agreed on a sigh. The next instant was filled with him.
“I’m sorry,” Ron muttered brokenly next to my mouth as he moved from cheek to lips. “You - I can’t - anymore.” He closed into me, warmth surrounding me everywhere, and suddenly I felt two heartbeats. Fingers burrowed into my nape, and moist softness pillowed against my lips. I yielded, recognising everything.
Yes, this was real. This was tangible. This was… better. I remembered good, but as Ron made a sound deep in his throat and pressed me harder against him so that I felt all the length of him, I didn’t remember anything that had ever felt this… desperate. Moaning helplessly, I let him have free reign of my body, let him nuzzle my neck, palm my breast, push me against the wall and resume the thorough kissing.
Only to realise he hadn’t yet told me anything relevant. “So…” I drew out between two kisses. “You want to tell me what -“
He thrust shallowly into my hip. Enough to make me lose my train of thought. My inner muscles clenched in response, wanting it all, needing him. “Not now, Hermione,” he growled low, busy licking his way up my neck. I shivered.
Lucidity chose that moment to rear its big ugly head. “Wait. Ron. Stop.”
He froze like me, then pulled away, panting. His hood had come off at some point, revealing brilliant, disheveled red hair, smoky depthless eyes, flushed cheeks. Merlin, he was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
I came forward, stroking his cheek and watched as his eyes closed. Just like that, he turned his head and kissed my open palm. “I can’t do this,” I breathed, and it was a wonder my voice didn’t shatter.
Ron sighed, then pulled away from me, putting distance between us. “You’re engaged,” he said hollowly, matter-of-factly, and it was all I could do not to throw it all away just for him.
But Harry… I could never knowingly tear Harry’s world apart one more time. He was… as happy as he could ever be. With a home, and someone to come home to. How could I take that away from him?
“Right,” Ron said again, and turned away stiffly, hiding the resentment I’d caught in his eyes. It reminded me of how stupid I’d been to let him see how much I wanted him. “I’ve to… go.” The air charged around him, and I instinctively knew he was leaving.
The next instant, I stood alone in my dark house, feeling empty and cold to the core. God, what had I done?
#
Ron didn’t even light the room as he entered it, didn’t even leave the door ajar to have a little light from the hall. Just sat on the hard bed and cursed. He hated himself, hated how he’d acted. You’re not an animal, for chrissakes. But there it was, he felt like one. Felt like the biggest bastard on the planet. You knew she was with him. Yeah, and it was nothing sexual. God, he hoped not. If it was…
His hands shook. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t like he hated Harry. Didn’t begrudge him anything. Jesus, he loved the bloke. Even if Harry and Hermione had sex on a regular basis, Ron couldn’t do much of anything. All because of a stupid rule. But it couldn’t stop him from feeling. And right now, without even knowing if the two of them were romantic or not, he just wanted to punch something ‘til it bled three times over.
He shouldn’t have gone to her that first night, shouldn’t even have spelled out the Triquetra. But the temptation had been too great. He was a man, for God’s sake. He couldn’t believe any of the others hadn’t ever gone to visit their pasts, but… whatever. He had. He hadn’t been able to hold back. Seven years had changed Hermione so much, and that had been the point, hadn’t it? That was why he’d had to see her again. She’d been crying, and he’d nearly broken. Seen her again. And again. Had relished the sight of her, the sound of her voice… everything. Liked to think she’d been what had kept him sane during those seven years of being stuck here.
Tonight, he’d gone way too far. Obsession didn’t even begin to describe it. He’d wanted out of his cage, where he should have stayed in the first place. But now he was way out, way strung out. And that was bad.
“Have you the book?”
Damn, he hadn’t even felt the door open. Whipped around to face the woman. Aine. Lowering his head, as was custom with the Circle of Elders, he replied, heart thumping wildly. “No.”
Silence stretched, then she sighed almost imperceptibly. “You have failed in your duty, Honos. Whatever shall I do with you?”
#
Ginny watched Tom and Miranda off. The two of them were like cat and dog with each other, one all nice and cuddly, the other all bark and no nuzzling. In this rare case, Ginny preferred the cat to the dog.
Miranda waved as she Disapparated, and Ginny lifted her hand in response, a slight smile on her lips, then groaned aloud. Hopkins had caught her little hand movement and winked, probably thinking she’d been looking at him.
Turning away, she caught Harry’s form passed out on her sofa, an arm over his eyes. He and Hopkins had trundled through her stash of mead and beer, leaving nothing behind. While Hopkins had been sober enough to walk in a straight line with his eyes closed, Ginny had deemed Harry way unable to Apparate, let along walk home alone. He wasn’t drunk out of his wits, but tonight he’d just gone over his limit. So she’d take him. No big. She didn’t live that far away anyway.
“Harry?” she murmured softly as she sat next to him, not wanting to startle him. The sofa dipped, and suddenly she was much closer than she’d planned.
His arm shot out to still her, groggy eyes staring down at her. “Hey,” he said huskily, eyes slightly unfocused. “You okay?”
Scrambling, Ginny pulled away. “Yeah, um, you good enough to stand? We’ve got to get you home.”
“Yeah.” He groaned, rubbing his face, trying to shake the stupor. “Thanks for letting me crash, by the way.”
“No problem. You’re wiped out. We all are.”
“That’s no reason.” Then he took a deep breath and braced himself to stand. “All right, let’s go.” He stood without much trouble, blinking away the buzz, then smiled crookedly. “See? I’m all right.”
Ginny lifted a brow. “Until you’re splinched,” she said wryly. She took their jackets, clothed him then herself, and waited by the door. “Come on, out we go.”
With a definetely childish roll of his eyes, he brushed by her. “You’re such a pain. Wait ‘til training tomorrow.”
Keeping her eyes trained on the door as she lockd it, Ginny breathed in deep. Alcohol. Raw voice. Half-mast eyes. Long gait. Her hands shook as she handled the key-and-lock action. “You’ll be too hungover to care.”
“More reason to make you suffer. I’ll want you to hurt like I do.”
Ginny snorted. Hurt. What an understatement. She whirled when she was done, and stuck her hands in her pockets, matching his easy stride. The autumn night was cool, refreshing, and smelled of pines and wet earth. She normally loved it, loved midnight walks, but couldn’t enjoy it fully tonight. Her skin itched.
“God, Ginny, I could have walked home alone,” Harry whined. “I might splinch myself Apparating, but I’m not that drunk.”
His quiet liquor-induced drawl entered her system, jacking it on overdrive. She didn’t want it. Couldn’t help it. Hated the emptiness it left behind. Replied with her usual bite. “And have you miss your house? There may be only four on your street, but they all look the same.”
“Except for the colour.” He smiled cheekily at her, and even though she wasn’t looking, she knew it with a certainty. “Mine’s grey,” he added as an afterthought.
Ginny stared hard at the asphalt below. “Yeah, well, it’s dark. You could easily confuse them.”
“You just want to see my room, don’t you?”
That comment was so unexpected, Ginny stopped dead and stared at him in the dimness, heart going wild. Was that the alcohol talking? Or a joke? Or… something else? But as she saw his leery grin, she knew she had nothing to get excited about. The alcohol. Of course. “You are so drunk. More than I thought.”
“Admit it,” he pressed on, jabbing her hip with his.
Ginny was really glad for the dark as she felt warmth flood her face. She rolled her eyes, saving face. “Right. Because?”
“Because I like getting you all hot and bothered,” he said conversationally. “Kind of reminds me of your mum.”
Ew. “Um, she’s married. Happily.” Ew.
A bark of laughter followed, and he zigzagged a bit afterward. She had to grab at his arm to steady him. Finally, he was able to reply, “Not like that, you sick wench. I meant in the sense that you take after her.”
“Woohoo for the team,” Ginny muttered wryly.
“Although…” He was thoughtful a moment, then continued more seriously, “You’re softer when you want to be. Like now.” He smiled down at her. “You indulge me. That’s good.”
“Consider yourself lucky, then. I only indulge you now because I know you won’t remember a thing tomorrow. No point wasting good hot temper,” she replied, then stopped when he did. And looked up into his face.
He growled low, pressing her to him roughly. “I will remember tonight tomorrow.”
Ginny hissed as she made contact with his warm/cool body, but remained rigid in his arms, refusing to meet his probing eyes. Waiting. Wondering.
Harry was staring, frowning, just as rigid, as though confused how she got to be in his arms. For a long moment that could have been short, they stayed locked like that, unmoving, then Harry let her go with a quietly insistent, “I’ll remember.” They started walking again, side by side, far enough away from each other so as to not touch.
Minutes later, after crossing numerous streets and an unlit park, Ginny glimpsed Harry’s house. “Well, here you go,” she broke the silence with an awkward flourish. “Home safe.”
Harry looked up. “Yeah…” He turned to her, not quite meeting her eyes. “Listen, we’ll talk about Whitney’s memory tomorrow.”
She nodded. “Sure. Night, then.” Ginny turned to go, only to be held back. With a little shocked gasp she looked up from Harry’s hand on her arm as he brushed a thumb over her cheek with a crooked half smile. She held her breath, clenching all over.
“Night,” he only said, and released her, his slow gait a sad thing to behold as he walked away.
Waiting until he’d got in safe, Ginny walked off like an automaton, needing the cool air instead of a quick Apparation.
#
It was a long time before I finally decided to forget about today, tonight, and everything that involved the Guardian Brotherhood. Easier said than done. I found out to my dismay that my treacherous mind simply refused to forget anything that involved Ron, which… according to my power of deduction, was all of the above. Ron had saved and sent me Bert Clarke, who owned the book Mysterious Magical Orders, which contained the prophecy regarding the Guardian Brotherhood, of which Ron was a member. Or something.
I still didn’t know what he was - how he got past Harry’s wards and could wield magic strong enough to produce the Triquetra by himself was what I was wondering more than anything. If that sort of magic existed… A shot of thrill went down my spine. That was exciting on so many academic levels.
But the first order of business was, was his magical baggage part of the Brotherhood heritage? Oh, what did he do? I thought back to the legend of the Brotherhood that Clarke had told me that very afternoon. References to Odin, Valhalla, fallen warriors, a hidden realm on Earth -
Fallen warriors. I sat down hard, realising I’d been pacing again, and had walked right into the bedroom. Thankfully I’d sat down on the bed, feeling nothing as I hit it hard. Fallen warriors. Now, why did that term strike me so hard? That night, Ron Weasley died… I’ll never go back… I would have died if not for the Brotherhood… I lost everything…
But he was real, opaque, tangible, so very Ron. No ghost. So, what? What was he? He hadn’t wanted to tell me. Why?
Fallen warriors. Valhalla, warriors’ heaven. Odin, Norse god of war. Part of the Guardian Brotherhood’s prophecy.
Heaven. On Earth. Heaven. Haven? As in undead? Living?
Fallen warriors, I thought again, does not mean dead. I would have died. Injured warriors?
Odin, I thought next. He selected his favoured fallen warriors. The strongest. I thought of the prophecy, made for a secret wizarding order. That selected the strongest wizards?
Injured warriors. Who proved their worth in battle? I thought of Ron during the war. I hadn’t paid any attention to him during the Last Battle, as I’d been too busy myself, but he’d certainly been one of their best assets overall throughout the war.
Ron. Injured warrior. Strong, worthy warrior. But how strong? Magically. Triquetra. Anti-Apparation wards. My breath caught in my throat. I was close, I could sense it. The fire in Clarke’s department; me fainting as I felt for the residue.
Ron was way off-the-radar strong. I’d never felt magical residue - which was supposed to dilute over time - that strong in my entire life. Let alone felt actual real-time magical power waves that potent.
Strong, worthy warriors. Guardian Brotherhood. Wizarding order. Lost prophecy. Lost memory. Secret. Why secret? What did they guard? Or who? From whom?
Harry walked into the room then, making me jump and lose my train of thought instantly. "Ah! When did you get here?"
Without looking my way, he just flopped onto the bed, clothes and all. “Just now. God, this was a crapper fodder day.”
You don’t say. Putting my thoughts of the Brotherhood aside, I turned to half face him. “How was work?”
“School. Work. Ah, both.” He began working on his shirt button, but seemed to have thumbs instead of fingers. Frustrated, he just flopped back down and threw an arm over his eyes.
“Are you okay?” I asked, a touch concerned. Nothing got to Harry. Everyday was just work as usual, none worse or better than the other. He was a damn inspiration.
“Drank a bit.”
“You Apparated?” Now that worried me, considering his appearance now.
He shook his head. “Walked. Look, could we just not talk about it? I want to sleep.” He rolled over, shirt, trousers and all, tugged the sheet over himslf, and ignored me.
Okay… What had crawled up his arse? I caught a whiff of alcohol in the air. Beer. “You drank,” I stated more than questioned or accused. Well, that explained the mood, although… he drank fairly often and never got drunk or mean. The man was a beer trough. So what was his deal?
“I’m really not in the mood for a lesson in morals or whatever.”
“Talk to me,” I said, crawling to my side of the bed and getting in. “There’s got to be something bothering you.”
“Hermione,” he groaned, muffled by his pillow. “For God’s sake, just leave it alone and go to sleep. I already feel like shit, don’t lord it over me.”
Frowning, I wanted to reach out, but reckoned that’s feel weirder than ever - we never touched it bed. And as I realised that, I felt even guiltier than I already did about this evening.
God. Ron. And just like that, my body heated as if in remembrance, yearning, wanting a touch that wasn’t there. Too long ago, I’d lost hope that I’d ever feel alive again after losing him. It seemed my body had awakened after those long years, and just a memory of those hands of his on me could arouse it. Clamping down on the ache, I turned over and shut the light.
I wasn’t being fair to Harry. He deserved to know Ron was alive. Yet… that would be betraying Ron. he’d asked me - demanded, really - not to say a word. It irked me a bit that I could still be so weak when it ame to Ron. But then again, I’d always been. It was a lifelong staple of mine: stick by Ron, always. But why the secrecy? Didn’t he trust Harry?
You know I can’t tell you… Shite, you’re not supposed to have this. He’d been wary the whole time he was with me. That was why. He hadn’t even planned on telling me he existed. He hadn’t planned on telling me about the Brotherhood or anything.
Secret… I thought back to before Harry had interrupted my mental gymnastics. What did they guard? Whom? Ron had evaded, almost been sad that he couldn’t - wouldn’t - tell me. A chill shot down my spine. Dangerous. It had to be a dangerous duty. The fire in Clarke’s office. Who had started it? Had Ron been the instigator? No, that didn’t make sense, he’d protected Clarke; the mark told its story. What about Clarke’s assistants? Had they been too far? Had he come too late? How had he known to come?
I squeezed my eyes shut, engrossed in processing half informations, then froze in place.
The book. Ron guarded the book.
#
Harry couldn’t sleep. No matter how many deep breaths he took to calm his mind, no matter how many sheep he counted or how much he counted on the alcohol to truly kick in, nothing worked. And he was tired. Go figure. His back was ramrod straight, his chest felt tight, and he felt disgusted with himself. Jesus. Hermione.
No, they weren’t intimate, but he’d made a damn promise to Ron’s memory that night seven years ago. Like hell he’d leave Hermione alone. So he hadn’t been there for moths at first. He’d come back, been there for her. Been her rock. He’d one a fine job of it, too. They were engaged. Lived together. Loved each other.
As friends. And they both knew it. But still he knew one day that wouldn’t be enough.
That day had come, he thought wryly, a long time ago. Only, he’d thought he was stronger, could ignore it. It wasn’t like you chose who hit the bull’s eye. Even so, he couldn’t ignore his promise to Ron. The thought that his friend might be alive after all was just the icing on the cake. No, he couldn’t give up yet. Hermione deserved someone to take care of her, and that person was Harry for the time being. Maybe for the rest of his life. But she was worth it, if it ever came to that, because each day that brought a smile to her face was definetely an energy booster. The tought that Ron would want to be there was enough to keep him going as far as he needed to go.
So maybe he was a sap. Ron and Hermione’s had been a genuine kind of love. No artifice. Sure they’d always bickered, but then what couple didn’t? And Harry had always known it was much more than just annoyance. The war had brought them closer than they’d ever expected, and that had been true beauty.
Harry had been secretly jealous back then. There they were, the two of them, having finally found their ways to each other’s bickering mouths, and Harry had just lost the best damn person in his life a few months ago for “noble reasons”. It was enough to drive anyone up the wall. And then, just like that, Hermione had lost Ron. That taught Harry how unfair life was in any case. Just because he was the bloody Boy Who Lived didn’t mean no one else lost loved ones. That taught him true humility.
And, once more, he’d sacrificed himself. He owed it to Ron. He’d protect Hermione. Besides, he didn’t know how he’d react if he lost her, too.
How many sacrifices would be enough? he wondered silently in the dead of night, staring hard at the darkened ceiling. Mentally shaking a fist at the invisible God beyond.
Regardless, he wouldn’t give up, but it damn near killed him everyday.
Harry remembered when Ginny had first been assigned to him. The fear of the past. The need to refuse at the risk of being thrown out. Only the thought that she’d simply be reassigned to someone else else had stopped him. Hell, Hopkins was an all-around great guy, but he’d have been forced to feed him his own balls if he’d so much as touched Ginny the wrong way. Which happened to Harry on a fairly regular basis during grappling sessions or such. You did not choke someone unless they were trapped well between your legs. On top or under did not matter.
He often found himself letting her trap him, just for sportsmanship’s sake. He couldn’t very well always overpower her. She needed to learn, too. Although ground grappling was her forte and they both knew it. Those legs of hers were strong. She had good overall balance, never let air in between their bodies. If she did, he found the spot and then she felt sorry. His forte was armlocks, but she never felt the full force of his strength. There was a word for those who used sheer brutal force: brutes.
No, he went slowly with her, knowing she’d eventually escape the lock, crawl her way out of his hold and then flip him over.
He loved it, loved knowing she matched him so perfectly. If not with armlocks of her own, then with different techniques that she excelled at. Standing, she was a killer with hip techniques. She’d made him appreciate the art of action-reaction in judo more than his own teachers ever had. The “way of gentleness” indeed. Ginny was fluid, never made him hurt as he hit the tatami. In fact, they nearly always stuck with judo these days. It brought their bodies together in harmony better than boxing or taekwondo ever could. They got used to each other’s bodies, slowly.
He knew she should get used to sparring with other partners. Bigger or smaller, it didn’t matter, for one’s power resided in one’s technique. She should get used to other bodies, but his mind refused to even think about it. Refused to think of her with another man. And most women at Syn Wyngyn went with tai chi, preferring the slow, precise art to the full on kicking or throwing that left bruises behind on occasion. The exercise was always good for them in the end, in any case. So judo with others was mainly out of the question. And he knew how selfish he sounded. But thoughts of Hopkins with Ginny always freaked him out.
Besides, Harry liked the intimacy they shared. After so many years of feeling like a dog for letting her go, they were finally reconnecting. What better way to get to know someone again than through martial arts? You learned to expect the other’s favourite moves. You learned how they thought. You learned how they smelled - how they truly smelled. How your bodies fit together. You didn’t need the sense of sight anymore. Just touch.
Harry’s body burned just thinking about it. About Ginny in her white gi and zubon, bowing to him and then standing ready for anything like the warrior she was. Letting him approach her, then calculating how she could counter his first move and bring him down.
But despite all that closeness, she was still constantly wary around him. Oh, he understood her need for emotional distance: he’d once been a complete dog, he could very well be one again. Hell, hadn’t he almost refused to tutor her? But wasn’t he sticking by her side this time?
Merlin, he wanted her.
Whoa. That was probably all the alcohol talking, because he couldn’t have her. Couldn’t want her. Hadn’t he learned his lesson? Sacrifices, that’s what he was good for. Besides, she couldn’t want him after all that.
Gosh, he was so tired. Couldn’t sleep. Kept replaying the day in his mind’s eye. Dinner. Walking home. Touching her for the first truly intimate touch in… seven years. She was soft, creamy… And bitter.
Harry clamped down on the memories and his raw emotions.
No, she didn’t want him.
#
I was woken the next day by something sneaking behind me under the covers. Warmth seeped into me, enveloping, gliding over everything it found. It was… delicious. “Ron,” I murmured, half asleep, cocooning deeper into the definetely male body.
Something was off, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe I was late for work. I groaned. I really didn’t want to check the time. Heck, I’d give anything to be able to stay and feel Ron’s hands on me, his broad, hard body on me and in me. I moaned as he found my hips and slid inside onto the nook of my legs. A sweet ache began deep inside me, starting at my hot core and spreading. Slowly, decadently, it reached my heart, and it was all I could do not to cry.
God, yes, Ron, finally. Pressure built into me until I was no more than flesh and bones, craving his own flesh and bones. He pressed down and I rolled toward him, wanting more, uncaring that I was only half-awake. I needed him.
With a grunt he crawled onto me, leaving no inch of my body untouched. Grasping his neck, I pulled him down even closer, anticipating the moment when our lips would meet.
And that was when the fog lifted. Short-clipped hair. Bolting upright, I screamed and Harry tensed, jerking way back. We both stared, panting. Self-consciously, I pulled the hem of my nightgown down over my bare legs. And stared some more.
Harry cleared his throat a number of times before his voice caught on. “Hermione I - I’m so sorry. I have no idea what -“ Taking a deep breath, he rubbed his face and groaned. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“I -“ I swallowed. Shit. Buggerfuck. What the hell. “Me neither.”
And that was when my alarm truly did go off. Harry glanced over, cursing. “I’m late.” He practically tore out of the room like his pants were on fire, grabbing a random shirt from the back of a chair. I was suddenly left to wonder what had just happened.
Holy hell, I’d almost had sex with Harry.
#
Harry nearly splinched himself thinking too much, too hard, as he Apparated to Syn Wyngyn’s Entrance Hall. Ginny was waiting for him nearby with a little smug smile on her face. Yeah, hello migraine. He must have looked a sight with his rumpled clothes and a t-shirt in hand, but his looks couldn’t be helped. Neither could his nerves.
Shit, he’d almost slept with Hermione. Thinking of… well, he wouldn’t remind himself, especially as Ginny walked toward him. Sashaying would be more like it. Ah, damn, there he went, seeing sex everywhere. He hoped whatever he had wasn’t permanent because his nerves sure wouldn’t hold up. He wasn’t so sure about other things. With Ginny in sight, anything was possible. When had he last had sex? Yeah, that was probably it. His cock was in serious withdrawal.
“Hey,” Ginny said as she neared him. “I actually wasn’t expecting you this morning. I was about to go in alone.”
Harry stuck his hands in his pockets, shirt and all. “Told you I’d give you hell,” he grunted. He sounded hoarse. Yeah, near-sex with your platonic best friend would about do it.
“So what’s on the menu?” she asked as they started walking toward the main building.
Harry had to remind himself she wasn’t speaking literally. He tried to smile. “Thirty laps, benchpress, Cursing, and maybe ground grappling? Then we can talk about Whitney. What do you say?”
Her eyes were round as saucers as she halted, whistling low. “I say I’ll be dead for Muggle Integration and Association later.”
Shrugging, he grinned at her surprise. “Speaking of, I looked over your scores last week. You’re doing well in that class. So… the body can be present save for the mind, if you know what I mean…”
Ginny mock-gasped, but he was sure there was a little bit of genuine surprise in it. “Are you suggesting I sleep in class?”
“With your eyes open, basically.”
Ginny laughed out loud. “You’re something else, you know?”
Grinning, he looked up as they approached the gymnasium. “I try. Here we go.” Without a word she set her book and sports bags down near the door and set off jogging at an easy pace. He watched her progress through the empty, echoing gym with half a mind. The other was entirely on her.
Her long red hair was bound low at her neck, but the waves shimmered and few about with every stride she took. Her slim, long body was bent dynamically. The only parts of her that truly moved were her arms and legs. The rest economised movement. As she jogged close, he heard her deep, even breaths. How many was it? Five. Five laps.
Later, Harry cursed himself even as the air whooshed out of him. “Whuh! God,” he groaned, twisting his body to flip her. He only succeeded in cracking his back. “You packed on the pounds last night, didn’t you.”
Ginny sent him a glare, pressing down harder ‘til he could barely breathe. “Did not. You’re just a wimp.”
Despite his bad predicament, Harry couldn’t help but laugh. Here he was, trapped under her, sweat flowing like a fountain from his face and hair, and he was a wimp? For one split moment, Ginny glanced down and smiled. Aha. Aiming for a bit more leeway between their bodies, he pulled his arms and legs in like a ball and then jacknifed to the side, bringing her with him. He sat on her, pinning her hands with his. “Wimp, huh?” A drop of his sweat fell down and landed on her gi, drenching it in the one spot.
Her grin never wavered. “How about formerly hungover? Congratulations, Mr Potter, you’ve kicked it to the curb. Or was that just luck.”
Feeling juvenile, Harry stuck out his tongue. Yes, it felt good to let loose after the weirdness that had been his morning.
“Do you plan on doing randoris all morning?” Ginny suddenly asked, looking incongruous as heck all trapped and feisty under him.
Slowly, delicately, Harry released her wrists and then unstraddled her legs, waiting to bow with her, as Japanese custom demanded. Then they sat facing each other. “All right. Whitney. What do we know from him?” he asked, getting into teacher mode.
Ginny, at a loss, shook her head. “Just… poof. How do you poof like that anyway? It’s not like he was hit with anything at that particular moment. And his wand fell from his hands when he fell. I saw that clearly.” She fell silent, introspecting, then looked up, eyes as vulnerable as they’d ever been. “Mum had it framed,” she said quietly.
Silence filled the gym again as Harry debated whether he should take her in his arms and soothe her. It was obvious the memory pained her. Then he cleared his throat. No, he definetely shouldn’t. Sacrifices… he’d made sacrifices long ago. “I dunno, but I did pick up something strange at the battle site the other day.” Stroking his chin, a theory formed in his mind, getting clearer. “It seemed so strange, too. I couldn’t recognise the spell, but it must have been the one that made him disappear.”
“So we’re clear he didn’t Disapparate?” she asked with a wobbly voice, probably remembering their spat at Spinner’s End.
Harry rubbed a hand over his face, inhaling deep and keeping it in. With a curse, he released it. “Yeah. Apparating leaves a subtle trace behind. What I felt there was like a truckload of magic without a definite source.” He knew what she was probably thinking: you asshole, you deliberately riled me up back there. “I just… wasn’t sure,” he said apologetically.
She seemed to accept his excuse. “Now?”
“Going by Whitney’s memory, Ron couldn’t have Disapparated. He was nearly unconscious,” he pointed out.
She nodded thoughtfully, then frowned after a moment. “Something you said is bugging me.” She lifted her face. “’A truckload of magic.’ Are you sure it wasn’t separate spells that all landed in the same spot?”
Harry shook his head. “No. It’s very definetely one and the same, and yet not.”
“What if it was an amalgam of spells? A mix. Could that happen?”
Harry’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “You’d have to be pretty damn powerful to execute one concentrated spell. I don’t think even Dumbledore would have been able to perform so much magic at once.”
“But you’re positive there’s only one spellcaster… Listen, is it possible to dissect the trace?”
“I don’t…” Harry started, but one glance into Ginny’s face and he was done in. “Oh, all right,” he sighed. “But I don’t know if that’s possible.”
Ginny shot him a winning smile. “I’m with the all-powerful Harry Potter. Of course it’s possible.”
Her faith in him nearly bowled him over.
#
I appeared at work with frayed nerves, opting for the car, though it was potentially dangerous in my condition, in case I killed myself trying to Apparate. The odds weren’t that much greater, but one could never be too careful, and I did have to work.
As I walked by Clara’s desk in the reception, she murmured into the phone and then covered the mouthpiece with a well-manicured hand. Her eyes were round in shock, wild. “Auror Randall is on the phone, asking for you. Says it’s urgent.”
Now that was strange. It was no secret that the magical community did not like phones; only my muggle clients used them when communicating with me. And the fact that it was an Auror requesting me was even more bewildering: the Ministry used flying notes to communicate between departments, so this must be urgent indeed. I nodded to my office. “I’ll take it in there, thanks.”
Settling my things in their usual place in my office, I then sat, frowned, and picked up the receiver. “Good morning, Auror Randall. How may I help you?”
There were sounds behind him as though he were in a public place. He spoke up, but not like someone who had no idea that I could hear him perfectly over long distances. Muggleborn, I decided idly. “There was an incident at the historian’s research centre.”
It was said with such a detached tone that his words didn’t immediately register. Then, “Oh my God, is Mr Clarke okay? What happened?”
“He’s alive,” he summed up succinctly. He’s alive? I thought, thinking that was way inappropriate. God, that could imply anything. “He requested his lawyer, doesn’t want to speak to anyone else. He, er… he’s not in good shape.”
I wondered how I’d got off my chair. “I’m coming right over.” And prayed to God it couldn’t be as bad as I pictured.
#
I was. It wasn’t as messy as the fire had been, but the blood… oh God, the blood. I comforted myself in the conviction that this would be my first and last criminal case. Good God, who could thrive on this?
Clarke had been stabilised by the time I got there, but he was still painfully weak. I looked at his ravaged face and felt every blow, every pierced or raised piece of flesh. Everything was red and raw whether by the punches or coloured by his own blood. His clothes, so immaculate usually, were by contrast torn or shredded, showing flesh just as battered underneath. Was there anything that hadn’t been done to him? But still he told his tale, voice husky from screaming, no doubt.
“Couldn’t see…”
“We found him bound hands and eyes,” a Healer spoke as he tended to Clarke. I nodded wordlessly and turned back to Clarke.
“Wand in… pocket… closet. Couldn’t do anything… couldn’t defend.” He took a deep breath. “Put in chair. Demanded prophecy.” He looked up imploringly. “Didn’t. Tortured. Angry. Didn’t want say where. Scared.”
“Thank you,” I cut in softly, closing my eyes against what I saw when I looked at him. More of this and I would surely crack. How he’d remained strong through it all was a wonder. Standing, I watched the Healer Levitate Clarke’s pallet with a heavy heart.
“He’ll live,” the Healer said, his hand resting on my shoulder.
Yes, but for how long? Someone wanted to know what the prophecy said so bad, they’d go to any lengths to know what it contained.
That gave me pause. Could Buchanan…? No. Though I did not know anything about what Syn Wyngyn did, Harry or Ginny would never torture for information. But could I be sure that Buchanan was Syn Wyngyn? In the words of Ron: humour me. Yet he’d done nothing but be an asshole to me, which didn’t qualify as anything at all. So I was back to square one on that.
Thinking, thinking, thinking.
“Are you going to prosecute?” an Auror - Randall, by his voice - asked.
“Who? There’s no suspect. But I’m going to be staying here a bit longer, if that’s okay. I’d like to understand what happened here,” I said, feeling strange vibes around me as I stepped closer to where Clarke had lain. Small steps. Sweat bloomed over me.
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’m leaving an Auror outside just in case. Let him know when you leave.”
Yes, I felt like the whole place was dangerous now. “Thanks.” He left, and I was finally alone to carefully roam, avoiding as many puddles as I could. When I got too close to the biggest puddle, I chickened out.
Someone should have stopped this half-assed carnage. Ron. Where had he been when all this happened? Shouldn’t he have stopped this, protected Clarke? Why didn’t you come? Or were you too preoccupied looking for the book that you couldn’t come here and pull Bert out? Do you have so little heart? Right then I… hated, yes, hated Ron.
“There was a lot of violence here.”
The voice nearly made me jump out of my skin. Whirling around, I suddenly faced Buchanan leaning in the doorway, surveying the scene. “What are you doing here?”
His gaze met mine. “Same as you. Looking.”
I narrowed my eyes into slits. “What did the Auror say?”
“Which Auror?” Comprehension dawned. “Ah, the one they left up front, right?” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Didn’t see him. Didn’t see me. So what are you doing here?” he asked, raising a brow.
Being pegged by his dark eyes was disconcerting; I found myself instinctively backing away. “I can…” I lurched, having backed away so much that I’d landed right next to the bloody spot where Clarke had lain. “Oh, God.” I reeled, nauseous.
Buchanan’s arms shot out, pulling me upright again, holding fast. “Careful.”
Well, wasn’t this strange. How could someone sound so caring under a thick layer of menace? His words seemed distorted and out of place as I analysed his tone. “Thanks. I…”
“Almost fainted, like the first time we met. Only, last time there wasn’t any blood.” Again, he pegged me with a hard, calculating stare, and I felt naked under his scrutiny, like he already knew everything there was to me just by staring hard enough. Absurd.
“Yes, I almost fainted. Please let me go.” He slowly released my wrist, but his eyes became shrewder. A strange hum was in the air, a bi like when magic began mounting, uncurling from someone’s being, preparing to be shot out. Only, it was clear that nothing was going to be spelled. My senses flared nonetheless, searching, wondering.
“Tell me something, Miss Granger. What happened here?”
I swallowed. He knew… I didn’t know how he did, but he knew.
“I would even go so far as to think you speak Gaelic. Am I wrong? Such a little know-it-all…”
Oh God… No…
He got in my face, all the harsh planes of his face thrown into sharp relief. “Tell me. Tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about. Tell me and I’ll leave you alone.”
I stood transfixed by his wild eyes, knowing I should Disapparate, go to some huge crowded place where he couldn’t touch me, but unable to concentrate. “I don’t -“
“Bullshit,” he growled. “No wonder you’re a lawyer. Although… how you passed your Bar with such a piss-poor poker face, I don’t know.” He was becoming more frightening by the instant, and I feared what he might do to me. What he had done to Mr Clarke. “Tell me what you know!”
“You’re scaring me.”
He reeled back, smirking. “Now that’s the truth. Good for you. Now what happened here? Tell me.” He was in my face again, invading my personal space, stealing what little strength I had.
Breathing hard, I stuttered. “I told you. Violence. It’s obvious. Ah!” I grimaced as he gripped my wrist like a manacle, tightening his hold. “H - he was drained with magic!”
Releasing my wrist, he became dead calm. “How do you know?”
Nursing my wrist, I replied, “I can f - feel magical strength in p - people and places.”
Buchanan nodded, as if he’d come to that conclusion himself, and then smiled. I recoiled, anticipating anything. “You could be useful, actually.”
I hunched, trying to make myself appear as small as possible. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Glancing at my reddened wrist where he’d gripped me, he seemed contrite for an instant. “Sorry.” Then he reached inside his pocket, retrieving a folded piece of paper. I squinted. The original prophecy. I felt too weak to care that he’d profaned a very precious piece of history. “Now translate.”
I looked up, bewildered. “Y - you don’t speak Gaelic?” Ron was wrong, after all. But possibilities had never hurt.
Buchanan grimaced, annoyed, but put the parchment in my face. “Translate,” he ordered roughly.
Swallowing thickly, I slowly began translating the words before me out of rote.
“The Oldest Prophecy.
A legend, older than wizardry itself
Tells that the Brotherhood of Guardians
Will prosper for one thousand years, teaching
Their brethren to serve the greater good.
The Circle of Elders warns that a rogue cohort
Shall pursue the Brotherhood on a wind of betrayal
And cast it and its legendary warriors into darkness.
But fear not despair, children of Odin,
For the one -“
I was cut mid-sentence by a resounding blast that shook and blew me away. A magic… that… was… too strong. Before I even knew it, my legs crumpled under me and I fainted, nauseous, unable to bear the force of the wave that hit me.
#
Spinner’s End rested in deathly silence as always, ruins and debris like it had been left seven years ago. An eerie chill settled onto Harry and Ginny as they set down to work on the long-ago traces where Ron had once fallen.
“What are you doing?” Ginny whispered when Harry circled his wand over and over in a precise figure-8 shape. She did not recognise the spell he was using.
“Separating the spells. Singulus spell. Thing is, Apparating doesn’t require a spell to be performed, so I’m trying to sort out what spells came into play here so we can figure if maybe it was a Vanishing Spell or something.” His face scrunched up as he concentrated on what he saw. “The usual. Unforgiveables, Disarming Spells. A few Shields - Ron’s of course.”
Ginny sat back, frowning. “What I can’t figure out is why no one tried what we’re doing here before.”
Glancing back, Harry worked to keep his concentration as he spoke to explain. “The spell was recently created, and isn’t widespread. I don’t think even the Ministry knows about it yet.”
Ginny smiled, and it warmed Harry on an already warm day. “Then I’m glad you know what you’re doing,” she said, laying a hand on his flexed arm.
He froze, the figure-8 forgotten. Then he jerked as he lost the flow of spell traces that had been coming at him. “Oh, damn!”
“Can I try?” Ginny asked before Harry could take up the spell again.
“Sure… here,” Harry said as he positioned Ginny’s wand right over the spot. “Focus on the layers, study them one by one. Now say Singulus spell.”
She tried, successfully.
“Awesome. Now let them come to you. Slowly. Take your time to learn the magic underneath.”
Ginny’s eyes widened, amazed at what she could do. “Wow. I feel I can almost touch them.”
Harry nodded absently, watching her every move, itching to touch her and reposition her just to have an excuse to feel her on him. He remained quite firmly planted where he was, though. She was doing fine. “Now separate them with your mind. Go on.”
She grinned triumphantly. “It’s amazing! I can tell them apart.”
Harry sat back, enjoying the view of Ginny so happy and relaxed. “What do you see?”
Ginny’s brow furrowed as her mind isolated the spells apart. “I see… an Impendimenta. A Freezing hex. A Shield. All Ron’s. God, there’s a lot. A Slash…” She froze, eyes unfocusing. “Harry, I’m not feeling so good.”
Harry bounded forward, catching her against him. The first time was always overwhelming. The mind had to get used to so much high-octane concentration. He took her wand hand in his, continuing the figure-8 she’d nearly abandoned. “We’ll do it together. Come on, Singulus spell.”
Together they felt the dense wave hit and reeled from the darkly veiled invasion. This one was intense, potent. Harry fought to keep the connection even as Ginny swayed and burrowed deep into his shirt. He felt sick, too, felt the bile rise into his throat, his stomach churning with Ginny’s. This was an unnatural bit of magic, but still he fough to recognise and name the spell, because it was a spell, he was sure of it.
Ginny moaned low, clutching weakly at him. “No name, Harry, not spell,” she slurred feebly.
He shook his head, gritting his teeth together. “Got to be.”
“Let it go, please. Let it… go.”
It was only then, only when she suddenly pitched forward, boneless against him, that Harry snapped out of the connection. A flush of dread washed over him. “Gin?” he asked, growing cold. “Ginny!” Fear grew tendril-like within him, and his breath left him in short rushes. He recognised his reaction: shock. “Oh, God. Oh, shite. Dammit, fuck.”
Harry slowly lowered her body to the gound, fretting over her. He listened closely for her breath, and sighed in relief when a puff stirred his hair. Straightening, he brushed her long hair away from her face gently. For a few instants he only waited for her to come around. Peace.
After a time, she stirred, eyes cracking open a little. “Thought you’d lost me?” came her weak jibe.
Harry’s laugh lodged into his throat as he squeezed her hand. “You have no idea. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”
Smiling privately, she suddenly grew serious and nudged him hard. “It was no spell, you idiot.”
“What…?”
“I’m thinking about our Syn Wyngyn talismans. Permanent spells. Traceless, but magically potent anywhere on Earth.”
Harry frowned. “Makes sense. But those are rare. And this one was out of this world, too. I couldn’t even see the end of it.”
Ginny squeezed his hand. “So what are you saying?” But she thought she already knew the answer, and it scared her.
Harry shook his head slowly, shrugging wearily. “I don’t know.”
#
I came awake suddenly, jolting from head to foot. The first thing I registered was that the bile that I rised before was either fully prepared for launch or stuck in stasis. I couldn’t make up my mind about its status. Neither could it, it seemed.
The second thing I registered was Ron. Bleeding, black and blue all over, wild eyed, his face was inches from mine, though turned in the direction of a series of shouts. Spells. Through blurry eyes I saw Buchanan crouching, face contorted in pain, holding his own against the nauseating force that was Ron’s retaliations. Exhaustion was evident in both men’s bodies. I had evidently been out of it for a while.
And for reason. The rawest sort of magic, the likes of which I’d never encountered, was coursing between them. Ron, in exertion, shook like a leaf at the onslaught, but protected us powerfully. Suddenly he glanced down at me. His eyes gleamed as if in fever. “Are you okay?”
I tried my mouth, my vocal chord, but both of them were paper-dry. In answer, I tried to nod, but found that made everything swirl. I moaned instead. My God, my head…
Ron’s nostrils flared. In one quick surge he passed a hand beneath my neck and pulled me up to him, then winced as one of Buchanan’s spells hit his side. A Burning hex. “Hold on,” he said through gritted teeth, and resumed attacking. Buchanan meant business, if his own attack meant anything.
I tried hugging Ron close so he wouldn’t have to juggle so much between supporting me and fighting Buchanan, but my muscles were like jello, quivering, strengthless. “Ron, please…” I breathed. I didn’t know what I wanted. Safety? Going away? Merlin, I couldn’t even keep up with them. Their hands were blurs of movements and I was suddenly very glad that I wasn’t alone with Buchanan anymore. There was too much I’d undermined about him.
Ron turned me toward him all of a sudden, and I saw his fevered eyes, his battered face, and his matted hair again before we lurched through unknown space and nothingness. Ron hugged me close through this as I cried against him, the magic strong, too strong. I wanted away from him, close to him until I couldn’t breathe.
We soon reappeared in a dark bedroom with no windows and one door. His room. I knew it as surely as I knew Ron, even though there was nothing determining in it. The walls were bare, the furniture minimal. No colour, no warmth permeated the four walls but the scent that was entirely his. Pinewood and licorice. Him.
Ron held me loosely as I dry-retched. Murmuring soft words, he brushed my hair off my face, then deposited me gently on the bed. Only then did he drop down bonelessly next to me, the bed groaning and dipping under his weight. The entire bed shook with him, and though I hated how his power made me feel on a basic level, I crawled into him, needing his touch as surely as I needed air to breathe in this moment. I sensed his need of my touch as well, silent and undemanding, but unediably needing. I gave him my all.
After a few moments I realised that I was shaking just as bad. Adrenaline overload, I reasoned. Normal. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
Ron shivered uncontrollably in my arms and seemed to burrow closer still despite his next words. “You shouldn’t be touching me. I could hurt you.”
“Nonsense.” I felt my head shaking, my mind refusing to let go. “I need you…” Hugging him close, I felt him flinch and hiss, and remembered the bruises on his face. Was his whole body…? I wiped some drying blood off his brow. “What happened to you? Did Buchanan do this?” I’d been so out of it back there, I couldn’t remember if he’d come bruised or not.
Ron froze, a few shivers still racking his body. Silence filled the room as he seemed to collect a careful answer for me. I held my breath, anticipating… the worst. “I needed to bring back the book. I didn’t.”
Instantly outraged, I pulled away, crying out, “You were tortured?” By his peers? By the Brotherhood? Instantly I began frantically tearing at his clothes, wanting to see the extent of the damage and what could be done immediately. I already hated the ones who’d hurt him.
Ron stopped me, holding my wrists like manacles over my head, groaning and wincing as he overpowered me, tackled me. “Leave it. I’ll get the book. Somehow.”
And kill yourself in the process? I wanted to yell. But, instead, I squirmed under him, trying to get him off me. He held fast. “It’s gone,” I said. “He has it. Buchanan. The man you just… I gave it to him yesterday. I thought…” I couldn’t help it, I shivered once more. Tears pooled into my eyes and I had to swallow hard to keep them right where they wouldn’t embarrass me. My throat burned. I would not remember what had just happened. “I never thought he was…”
“Shh…” Ron’s voice was soothing against my ear, his body a warm anchor as he held me. “He’ll never touch you again. I promise.” And with that, he caught my lips in a searing kiss that made my whole being hurt with yearning.
Slowly, he released my wrists and cradled my head, his hot breath fanning over my face. Through the darkness I made out his wide eyes, the fear in them despite his assurance. “Merlin… The thought of that bastard touching you, hurting you…” His voice cracked at the last, and I reached up to stroke his cheek. “I dunno what I’d have done if -“
“He didn’t,” I said, pressing my lips to his. A thought occured to me as I pulled back. “How did you know I was with him?”
He smiled a bit wryly to himself. “I always know where you are.”
“You make it sound like that’s horrible.” It stung, actually.
“It is when I can’t be there.” He frowned. “It’s like displacement.”
That feeling I could understand. The past haunted me. Realisation dawned on me at the same moment. “In my loo. You did it then.” With one touch, he’d placed a homing spell on me and could find me anywhere. Brilliant.
Ron nodded. “I wanted to keep you safe in case things turned to vinegar. Just in case. I shouldn’t have, but…”
I reached up to kiss him soundly. “Shut up. Thank you.” Although I’d annoy him later about invasion of privacy.
He grinned boyishly and I was instantly reminded of a younger Ron who had practically no worries in the world. The grin soon vanished. “You’re not angry?”
Not yet. “Not at all,” I replied. “It’s like having your own guardian angel.”
A beat passed, and his face became hooded. “I’m no angel. You saw what I’m capable of.”
Haven’t I, I mused to myself. “Yes. You make me sick,” I teased, because the truth scared us both, I think. I knew perfectly well that he was preternaturally gifted, though it seemed he thought of it as a curse.
“Sorry,” was his instantaneous reply.
For a long moment we remained silent, and then he rolled on his back beside me, staring at the ceiling. “Go on,” he sighed, “ask me.”
Was I so transparent? Or was he able to read me like before? There were so many questions pressing themselves in my brain that they had to go through triage first. Finally, I focused on Ron again. “What does a Guardian do? Why are you one of them?”
Ron turned his head and gazed at me a long time before he opened his mouth and told me.
In the end, I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know. I was right… and wrong. Oh, so wrong.
#
Later, much later, after Ginny’s two back-to-back Cursing and Transfigurement classes, she stood naked in her shower, washing away the remnants of the day. Grime, sweat, frightening memories… She tried to do away with everything for the night.
Harry had often told her she should disconnect when she was home. Problem was, there was only herself and boredom here. She’d thought about buying a pet to keep her company, but with her nutty hours, the animal would likely die of thirst, hunger or lack of attention if she was gone too long. Or boredom. Which took her right back to the problem at hand.
She should cook. Yeah, she’d make some danishes for tomorrow. Maybe she’d bring some for Harry to sample, see if she could equal him. That brought a smile to her lips as she soaped up. She still couldn’t see him at the oven, baking and cooking dainty morning meals for his muggles. Harry was so… authoritative. A leader. A genuine male. It boggled the mind.
A sudden pounding jolted her out of her reverie. Ginny stiffened as the pounding redoubled, then stopped abruptly. Slowly, ever so carefully, Ginny pushed the shower curtain aside and grasped her wand from the bathroom sink, holding it tight in her fist. The wait made her go cold. Despite the pattering of the water on the tiles, she heard distinct steps inside her flate. Someone had broken in despite her wards. In a moment of suffused panic, she remembered Harry deeming her wards too weak to keep a determined someone out. Someone who knew something about basic warding. Fuck. That just narrowed it down, didn’t it?
The bathroom door flew open, and before she could help it, a shrill scream pierced the echoing walls. It was hers.