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Author: Jner Story: An English Heaven Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: WIP Warning: contains strong language Reviews: 4 Words: 44,171
A/N: A sincere thank you to my wonderful reviewers. You make all the work I put into this fic worthwhile. While I'm writing this story for me, your kind thoughts and words spur me on. Additional thanks go to Michele for the beta and to Kelly, my muse. You ladies deserve the highest praise. Three cheers for them. Yay! One more thing: I need to put a warning on this chapter, as it has some mild language, nothing that isn't deserved in my opinion, but the warning is there all the same. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (Third day; 2:00 am) Ginny stood silently next to the bubbling cauldron, a vial of pimpernel oil, the first ingredient to be added to the newly replaced, un-scorched dragon's blood. Her normally steady hands shook with nerves and fatigue. Darting her eyes from the cauldron back to the vial that was suspended above it, she bit her lip as she debated within herself. Tipping the vial ever so slightly to spill its contents would normally not be difficult in the least; she did it day after day at work, but now, standing in the stuffy antechamber, she found the simple act of adding the first ingredient very difficult. But no matter the difficulty, she had to decide whether or not to make the potion at all. Making the Draught would not save her…they would kill her once it was finished, but she felt that she had to cooperate. She wiped her sweating brow with the back of her free hand and steeled her nerve. She could still refuse to cooperate and be killed straight away…I should…I ought to be noble like Percy or Dumbledore, or any other number of people who had died in the war. But when she thought of sacrificing herself for the greater good, when it was still possible that she might be found, something inside of her, her stubbornness, perhaps, swelled powerfully. A desperate will to survive overshadowed all other possibilities, no matter how un-heroic saving one's own skin might be. It was a very Slytherin thing to do, she knew, and that thought alone was enough to stay her trembling hand. She withdrew the vial that was suspended above the cauldron by a few inches as she thought of acting like one of her enemies --like Malfoy-- only to hesitate and put it back. I've done enough sacrificing, she thought vehemently. She wanted to live to be a hundred and raise a houseful of children. She wanted to send them off to Hogwarts and worry over them, send them fudge and woolly jumpers; she wanted to have trivial arguments with Harry and hold his hand, she wanted to have the life they'd both dreamed of having. Being noble and good was important to her, but so was life. If Harry hasn't come for me by the time it's nearly finished, then I'll destroy the potion, she told herself. She bit down on her bottom lip, silently convincing herself that this plan was just as noble as not making the Draught at all and then slowly tipped the vial so that it's slightly pink contents dribbled into the boiling dragon blood. When the oil hit the surface, it hissed and popped and turned a much darker shade, almost black, then stilled. She took a copper spoon and stirred the contents three times counter-clockwise, her heart heavy. This decision she'd made, though still repairable, felt as though she'd betrayed something inside of herself. I'm only buying myself time, she thought forcibly. I've done nothing wrong. But even as she added the next bit, diced root of Mandrake, her discomfort did not leave. She'd finished the first steps of the Draught and now all that was needed was time. The Mandrake root had to simmer in the dragon's blood and Pimpernel oil for at least an hour, and then it had to be strained and mixed with a Runespoor egg. Staring down into the steaming cauldron, she prayed that Harry would come for her soon. After a few moments of quiet thought, she moved to a corner and slumped onto the floor to rest. She was incredibly tired and hungry. They'd carted her straight from the dungeons and Cindy's side to the antechamber, ordering her to get to work. It's so hot…. She'd been feeling feverish in the heat of the small room for several hours now. It was so hot that she thought she just might pass out. She needed to sleep but if the Mandrake root was overcooked, the potion would be useless. As she sat, fighting her drooping eyelids, she thought of Harry. What must he be doing now? He'd probably be beside himself with worry, she knew, and she suddenly wished that she could waylay his fears; she wanted to comfort him in his worry and grief, but she knew there was little chance of that happening. If only I could get a message to him. She frowned, her eyelids now far too heavy to keep open, and brought her knees up to her chest, hugging herself. If only she could find a way to get a message…. Hedwig beat her wings frantically against the freezing gale, her expert eyes scanning the dark horizon. The air was dry at this altitude, only a few wispy flakes of snow fluttered about as the cold air whistled past her. As always, the loyal bird flew with full purpose, with no intention to let her master down. The sea stretched out below her, no coast line in sight. She looked tired; her chest heaved with each beat it took to push her onward. She hadn't had any rest for a few hours, but on she flew, never faltering. Whether a minute or an hour passed, Ginny didn't know, but her eyes flew open at the heavy boot against her side, nudging her awake. "Sleeping on the job, are we?" said a new and rather oily voice. "Get up, you need to eat." Ginny blinked and focused on the man's face as the vivid dream she'd just had trickled away from her. Something about the dream comforted her, though as she looked at the old man above her, the slight flutter of her heart had ceased into a tired thud against her chest. He was old, his lips very wrinkled as though he'd spent most of his life puckering them, and his hair looked like small, white wires poking from underneath his cotton cap. His eyes, she noticed, were dark and shiny; so dark, that she could not discern where the iris stopped and the pupil began. Tearing her eyes away, Ginny pushed herself up off the floor and was surprised when the older man grabbed her elbow to help her. "Come on, hurry it up," he said in the same oily voice that didn't seem to suit him. I've got to check on the potion," she said, her throat burning from the fumes. She didn't know how long she'd dozed off…it could be time to strain the potion. "Go and check then," he said, nodding toward the steaming cauldron. Ginny glanced at him momentarily before turning her attention to the pot. His shoulders were rolled forward slightly and he was missing two bottom teeth, but she didn't doubt his ability to overtake her. If Draco had sent him in to fetch her, then he was obviously no one to trifle with. She blew the steam away from the bubbling concoction and estimated that hardly any time had gone by at all…maybe ten minutes at the most, as the color of the liquid would turn silvery once the Mandrake was stewed properly. "Let's go…I haven't got all night to wait on you," he said when Ginny stepped away from the cauldron and looked at him expectantly. The old man nodded toward the door and gestured with his wand for her to go first. She hesitated for only a moment, unsure of what was in store for her, before stepping through the sliding door. The outer room was still wreathed in long shadows cast by stubs of black candles; the fire grate was empty but she was momentarily grateful for the cool air now hitting her heated face. "Where are you taking me?" she asked, her eyes darting around the room. The few portraits that hung on the walls were empty and it made the room feel even more eerie. It made her feel utterly alone, with no one to witness the cruelty displayed in the manor. "No questions, just do as you're told." He half-pulled, half-led her out into the elaborate hallway and down the hall toward the very end where she knew the staircase to the dungeons waited. Instead of going down the stairs, however, he stopped in front of a door opposite the stairs, and pushed her through. A large and very spacious kitchen met them, a heavy and well-worn wooden table to their left, and a short cooking island on their right. Numerous silvery pots and skillets hung from a rack above the island, and Ginny knew the kitchen was made for house-elves. Everything was set lower, the cabinets and the pantry door handles, to accommodate the elves' size. The older man shoved her into a seat at the table and Summoned some bread and cheese from the cabinets surrounding the vast kitchen walls. "Eat quickly, you need to get back to work," he said, pointing his wand at her. Ginny didn't need to be told twice. Breaking off a large chunk of bread and shoving it into her mouth, she chewed quickly, eager to finally sate the constant burning of her stomach. The bread was rather dry, making it difficult for her to swallow, but she wasn't about to complain. She was finally getting food and she was grateful. She continued to eat, hardly chewing before swallowing, but stopped short of filling her mouth with cheese at the old man's slightly amused stare. She suddenly felt embarrassed that she'd been displaying such horrid table manners. It was stupid to think of such a thing under the circumstances, but her chagrin was there nonetheless. She swallowed slowly and lowered the cheese, meeting his beady black eyes. "Why'd you stop?" he asked, as smile in his voice. "I've never seen a woman eat like that before. It was entertaining, if not downright nauseating." Ginny set her jaw and raised an eyebrow. "I'd have thought you'd seen a lot worse with the kind of things you and your mates get up to." He laughed silkily and conjured a goblet of water for her. "You always putting on this bravery act, girly?" Ginny clenched her jaw and picked up her goblet. She didn't feel brave in the least. If she'd been brave, she would have stood her ground by refusing to cooperate. Of course she would have been dead by now…but still, she shouldn't have caved in like she had. Sitting here, in front of a coconspirator of crimes, she suddenly felt like she'd betrayed not only Harry and her family, but herself. What had she been thinking? Why had she even consented to help? Her life was certainly not as valued as the safely of the world. The old man seemed to be following her train of thought, unfortunately, his thin lips curling onto a smirk reminiscent of her old potions master. If she hadn't known that Snape was dead, she might have thought he was sitting in front of her in disguise. "Not what I would have expected from Potter's girl," he said quietly. "I'd have thought his woman would rather die than become a traitor." The words burned her and she had to bite down on her lip to keep it from trembling. "I haven't betrayed Harry," she said resolutely, blinking the moisture out of her eyes. "Haven't you?" He tutted softly, "And I thought you were supposed to be smart." Ginny gripped the heavy stem of her goblet even more tightly, her knuckles white, her hand shaking. She opened her mouth to retort, but was interrupted by the door being flung open; it banged loudly as it crashed into the wall opposite. Geoffrey stood there, his dark eyes flickering quickly to Ginny before falling on the old man at her side. "I have instructions for you, Faren," said Geoffrey. He looked sideways at Ginny as if deciding if he should say something in front of her, then looked back at the old man with his trademark grin. "It doesn't matter if she's here," he said dismissively before handing the older man a piece of paper. "It's not as though she has any power to stop us." Faren looked at Ginny briefly too, though his gaze wasn't nearly as unsettling as Geoffrey's. She wasn't sure if she was frightened of Geoffrey because of his earlier aggressions toward her, or if she could just sense something about him -some sort of womanly intuition- that told her he was far more dangerous than the man presently pointing a wand in her direction. "All of the others are prepared," Geoffrey stated. "We're leaving within the hour." Faren nodded. "Who have they chosen this time?" he asked, a strange gleam in his beady eyes. "Draco thought it would be fitting if we attacked the Pinnock girl." Faren smiled knowingly and laughed his silky laugh. Just looking at the two of them, eager to kill such an innocent girl made Ginny's skin crawl. Indeed, attacking Louise Pinnock, whose home had served as an underground refuge for Muggle-borns during the Second War, would be quite a blow to the wizarding world. Louise Pinnock, the only daughter of two war heroes, had watched her parents and three older brothers die at the hands of masked Death Eaters. Louise was incredibly remarkable for a thirteen year old, as she'd continued her parents' noble work, refusing to give up even when faced with so much danger. She'd escaped the Death Eaters and had gone on to save over one hundred souls that fateful night of the Last Battle by escorting them safely from the danger and onto Hogwarts grounds. Killing her would not only be grieving, but would strike fear into their world once more. People were supposed to be safe now…war heroes didn't suddenly disappear; the Death Eaters were making their first move, it seemed. Ginny's stomach churned with disgust. She hated everything about these wretched men and what they stood for. And even worse, she was cooperating with them. She was making the Draught to free their dangerous friends from Azkaban. Ginny suddenly didn't feel very hungry anymore. "Excellent," said Faren. "But who will be here to watch her?" he asked, nodding his head in Ginny's direction. Geoffrey turned his fiery gaze onto Ginny and said with a sick smile, "I am." ~ * ~ Professor McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was extremely tired, but she still had more work to do. Sitting at her heavily polished desk, portraits lining the walls, she tried to focus once more on the task at hand. Apparently, the Slytherin prefects weren't getting on with the Gryffindor prefects (tell me something new, she thought), and had hexed the Fat Lady with a dreadful case of Globule Splat, a most grievous affliction that caused her to foam at the mouth uncontrollably and spit on herself. As a result, the students were unable to get into the common room because, in her embarrassment, she'd fled from the portrait. If this weren't enough, the Gryffindor prefects had taken it upon themselves to "lose" the Slytherin house's laundry. Not only this, but they'd placed a Sticky jinx on the robes the Slytherins' were currently wearing in an act of retaliation. The Slytherins had been complaining all day that their clothes had stuck to them most uncomfortably but couldn't bathe because they had no changes of dress. Needless to say, Minerva was exhausted and she still hadn't located the Slytherin robes. As she moved onto another task – one not so trying on her patience – she wondered, not for the first time, just how Albus had done it. He'd had all of Hogwarts and the Order to oversee, as well as the Ministry to contend with, and he'd still accomplished all his daily tasks. It was astounding all that he'd done. Minerva cast a glace at her old friend's portrait near her desk. It was presently empty; there was no doubt in her mind that he was out socializing. She'd seen him many times having tea or playing chess with various other portraits around the castle. She'd been shocked last term to find him in the fourth floor portrait of Froderick the Fiend, playing a rowdy game of ten-pen bowling. Smiling slightly at the thought of her old friend's much-deserved retirement, she found her next item of business. Argus Filch had sent yet another list of newly forbidden items along with his weekly request to banish Peeves from the school. "Won't he ever give up?" she said to no one in particular, annoyed. There seemed to be no end to the old man's resolve to rid Hogwarts of the poltergeist. There was a time in her not-so-distant past where she would have eagerly approved Filch's request, but now, after the War, her mind had been swayed. The castle was the poltergeist's home, just as it was for many others, and he had defended it when the time had come. His effort to aid them in the Last Battle hadn't gone unnoticed by her, and she'd be forever grateful for the flying dustbins, ink wells, and water balloons he'd assaulted the enemy lines with. Not only this –and she would never admit it out loud- but she felt that now that the Weasley twins were gone, things were a bit too quiet. Leaning forward in her high-backed chair to fill her quill with ink, she was suddenly distracted from her thoughts by the sound of rustling robes amid the numerous sleepy snores from the portraits lining her walls. She glanced around her, spotting the perpetrator, and waited silently for him to settle himself into the high-backed chair in his portrait. Phineas knew that she was awaiting his report and it aggravated her that he was drawing out his seating adjustment. Finally, after he finished smoothing his heavy robes, he cleared his throat, ready to speak. "Headmistress," he said in his usual bored voice. "Phineas," she said, putting her quill down. "Have you been to the Slytherin common room like I had asked?" The curling of his lip answered her question before he even opened his mouth. "I will never understand the petty inter-school rivalries that students so eagerly engage in. Their immaturity and ineptitude never cease to amaze me." "What did you find out, Phineas?" she asked, ignoring his sour attitude. "The elves have finally found the Slytherins' clothing. It was apparently being used as bedding for the owls in the tower. The elves have just recently returned the clothes in question, freshly laundered." "Good," she said, turning once more to her parchment. "Thank you, Phineas." She dipped her quill into the ink well and let it hover briefly over Filch's denial: I regret to inform you that your request to bani-" "Headmistress," came Phineas' voice once more. He was speaking quietly and Minerva looked up from her work to see his pensive expression. She pursed her lips slightly and laid her quill down. He was very much unlike his usual uncooperative and sneering self. She was worried about him, quite frankly. He continued, "I've heard some rumors that have got me a little curious." Yes, he definitely isn't feeling up to his usual self… "I don't spend a lot of time away from the castle, but as you know, my portraits hang in many places. I've been hearing rumors about kidnapped witches and Death Eater escapes." Minerva sat up straighter in her chair. "What's this? Are you sure?" Phineas threw her an annoyed look before examining his fingernails. "Would I mention it if I wasn't sure?" "Where are these rumors coming from?" she asked, rising from her chair. "Who has been abducted?" "I'm not entirely certain. Names haven't been given. But I do know where they are rumored to be held." Minerva waited for the location, watching the old wizard smooth out his robes unnecessarily, before she could wait no more. "Well? Where is it then?" she demanded, straightening her glasses. "France." ~ * ~ All the breath left Ginny in one terrible swoop of her stomach. She was to be left alone with Geoffrey. No one would be there to intervene if he got out of control, no one would stop him from hurting her in the worst way possible. She'd rather die; she wouldn't survive something as horrible as rape, she just knew it. She'd already suffered so much…far too much. Such a violation would cut her more deeply than even Tom Riddle had. Physical rape, rather than a rape of her identity, didn't seem worse, but it seemed that it would break her. She hadn't realized before her capture, but she knew that she was fragile. Being here, forced to do something against her will, made her examine the fragile, paper-thin scab of wellness she'd desperately covered for all these years. Rape would break her. "No," she said looking at the old man pointing his wand at her. "You stay. Geoffrey cannot be left alone with me." Geoffrey's eyes glinted maliciously, almost prideful at her request. Ginny knew that her asking not to be left alone with him betrayed that she was terrified of him, but she didn't think that was very important anymore. What did it matter if Geoffrey knew just how scared she was of him? Her pride pushed aside, she tore her eyes from Geoffrey's and met Faren's. His look was calculating; his brow slightly furrowed as he studied her. He glanced at Geoffey's pleased look, back to Ginny's pale face. "Why does it matter to you, girly? What makes you think that I'll treat you better than him?" Without thinking, Ginny reached a pleading and shaking hand toward the old man but jumped and recoiled when he lifted his wand and pointed it right between her eyes. "You'll not move a muscle, understand?" he whispered. "Draco's orders were for Geoffrey to stay and that's how it's going to be." "That's right, love," said Geoffrey, moving so his face was inches from her own. His hands were splayed out on the table on either side of her, boxing her in. "It's just you and me tonight…we can finish what we started." The door to the kitchen opened once more and Rabastan stood there, with Draco directly behind him. Her eyes pleaded with the two men at the door, but she knew that her wishes would go unnoticed. Geoffrey didn't move an inch, however. His eyes were trained on Ginny's pale face, and then roved down to her exposed shoulder and arm. She shivered uncontrollably and focused her attention at the two men at the door. They were wearing heavy black cloaks and holding familiar-looking white masks in their hands. "What's the hold up?" asked Rabastan, his eyes flickering between all of them. "Faren," he asked, his gaze falling on the old man. "Is she fed and watered?" He nodded and stood up fluidly. "She was just finishing when Geoffrey came in." Draco sidestepped Rabastan to eye them all superiorly. "Enough of this," said Draco with is usual drawl. "We've got an appointment...Faren, get your things, we're leaving momentarily." He sent one more flickering gaze around at them all before landing on Ginny. "Get back to work. That Draught needs to be finished as soon as possible." Then he turned silently on his heel and left, Rabastan and Faren following. The door to the kitchen swung shut, leaving Ginny and Geoffrey alone. ~ * ~ (Third day 4:00am) Harry's heart was pounding as he dashed around his room, quickly gathering various needed items. He pulled on his Auror cloak, which was built for fighting, and tucked a knife into his boot before double checking that he had his wand and his map. He was no longer tired in the least, but felt a surge of angry energy, pushing him onward. Malfoy would be sorry…very sorry indeed. Harry quickened his pace to the doorway, pulled it open soundlessly, and stepped out onto the landing. He could hear the slightly muffled sounds of Ron's and Hermione's argument in the den wafting up through the stairwell. "It doesn't matter, Hermione!" Ron shouted. "This is Ginny we're talking about…my sister!" Hermione huffed noisily. "Ron you're missing the point. There are ways of doing things and this is not the way to go about finding Ginny." Harry heard Ron let out an exasperated noise somewhere between a snort and a sigh. "Do you honestly think I'd let Harry go alone?" "Ron, please!" Hermione had obviously changed tactics and was now pleading with her husband instead of shouting. Harry had to strain his ears to hear. "Please, Ron, go to the M.L.E.S. or…or Auror Headquarters. Contact Tonks or Shacklebolt, it doesn't matter who, just don't go off the handle like Harry. Do this the right way; don't do like he does…." Harry had heard enough. He stormed down the stairs, his heavy footfalls drowning out the conversation, and turned the corner into the den, glaring at his two best friends. "Enough of this," he hissed. He threw a furious look at Hermione but she didn't shrink in fear or even embarrassment; instead, she met his stare and even took a step toward him. "Listen to me, Harry." When Harry opened his mouth to shout that he didn't want or need to listen to anything she had to say, she pointed her wand at him threateningly. "You'll listen to me, Harry, or you'll be in no fit state to go anywhere!" Harry gritted his teeth and glared heatedly at her as if in a warning. "I'm not saying that you don't have good reason to question Malfoy," she continued, ignoring the angry heat rolling off of her friend. Merlin knows he has it coming to him, but you cannot go without proper jurisdiction. You're an Auror, Harry. You above anyone else know that there's an order to these things. Go to Shacklebolt, get permission, and bring backup if needed. Don't go in an angry frenzy and get yourself in legal trouble, or worse, killed." Harry felt himself deflate slightly at her words, but it only made him angrier. He couldn't afford to lose the blind rage he was feeling; he needed to direct his anger at someone, and he'd found the perfect target. He was going to tear that bastard, Malfoy apart. His blood was pounding in his ears as he looked at Hermione's wand pointed at his chest. He couldn't believe she'd threaten him like this, was surprised and further infuriated by her audacity. He knew that she was only being her usual logical self, but Harry did not want to be logical. He wanted to bring his Ginny home. "Lower. Your. Wand." Harry said in a dangerous whisper. Hermione's hand trembled slightly before she let her arm drop to her side. Her lips were pursed tightly and white. He could see Ron's worried face from his peripheral vision, but ignored him. "If I go to Shacklebolt, I'll be banned from going to Malfoy Manor. That isn't even an option…I'm going to be the one to find Malfoy. I'm the one who's going to make him bleed for all that he's done to us. For Remus…for Ginny. I don't care if I'm sent to prison, I don't care if I'm killed, I'm going to kill that son of a bitch if it's the last thing I do." Ron nodded solemnly, clearly ready to step aside and let Harry avenge his surrogate godfather and his wife, but Hermione opened her mouth to say something, an ugly frown on her face. "Listen to me, Harry…" "No, you listen for once!" Harry bellowed mere inches from her face. "I'm going; you can stop your husband, but you cannot stop me!" With that he walked swiftly to the front door and pulled it open, only to get a face full of feathers. An owl flew right into him with a screech and then fell to the floor with a thud before righting itself groggily. "That looks like a Ministry owl, Harry," Ron said darkly. Harry looked down at the slightly swaying owl at his feet and felt his stomach drop. The letter that was tied to its scaly leg was black, an indicator that was nothing good: There was an emergency. Harry bent and scooped up the owl hastily and untied the letter with fumbling hands. All he could think about was that they'd found Ginny dead somewhere. The thought made him lose his breath so he quickly dispelled it from his mind. Unfolding the Ministry letter, he read: Harry, Come quickly, there's been an attack. The paperclip is a Portkey. Tonks All the air left Harry's lungs in relief. Though an attack wasn't perhaps good news, it hadn't said anything about his wife being found. And as far as Harry was concerned, he'd much rather receive this than an announcement of Ginny's death. He let the note drop to the floor as he fished out the paperclip from the envelope. Almost immediately he felt the familiar tug behind his navel, whisking him off to the trouble. Moments later, his feet hit solid ground and his knees bend forcibly to absorb the shock. He was outdoors, in a forest clearing with several other Aurors who were whispering to each other and casting armament charms on each other. The air smelt strongly of smoke and something else he couldn't put his finger on. "Harry," said Tonks, who had spotted him across the clearing and was making her way toward him. "You'll be with me tonight." That came as no surprise to Harry, as he and Tonks were regular partners. Aurors were always paired up with senior officers when investigating a crime. Senior officers not only taught the younger Auror's new skills, but they were able to make sure they didn't do something stupid and get themselves killed. Harry was far past needing watching and mentoring, but he and Tonks liked to work together because of their history. He trusted her with his life, and she trusted him as well. Harry nodded. "What's happened? Who was attacked?" Harry saw her lips form into a thin line and her cheeks grow red. "It's so horrible Harry," she said, and Harry felt the little hairs on his arms stick up. What if they had found Ginny? Surely they wouldn't call him directly to the crime scene…they wouldn't spring it upon him like this…? "Who is it?" Harry demanded, his hands shaking slightly. "What happened?" Tonks' eyes darted past his shoulder then flickered onto his face once more. "Do you remember the Pinnock girl, Harry?" He nodded, a guilty swoop of relief running through him. It wasn't Ginny…they hadn't found his wife. "Is she still alive?" Tonks threw another look over his shoulder and bit her lip. "We don't know yet. We're still waiting for everyone to show up. McCain should be here any moment then we'll move in. But from the looks of it, I don't know how she could have survived." Harry followed her gaze, which was once more past his shoulder, and saw a billowing pillar of black smoke rising into the air, the green, star-studded outline of a skull and a snake suspended in the air: The Dark Mark. The Death Eaters were growing bolder, daring to admit that they were behind the attack. It could only mean one thing: the Death Eaters were back. They were going to fight, they were confident enough to strike, which would mean that their forces were strong. "Are the prisoners in Azkaban still contained?" Harry asked quickly. Tonks shook her head slightly, a confused look on her face. "What are you on about, Harry? How could they be behind this?" Harry drew in a deep breath and frowned. "Forget it, forget I even mentioned it." Before Tonks could question him further, there was a dull pop that indicated the arrival of McCain, and Tonks left to issue his orders. Harry's eyes turned to the heavens, the sickly green glow of the Dark Mark making his blood boil with rage. He'd hunt them all down, every last one of them if that's what it took to get Ginny back.
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