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Author: Adeline Avin Story: Après La Vie Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-DH Status: Completed Reviews: 7 Words: 31,941
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his universe all belong to J.K. Rowling. I only own it in my dreams. Ginny woke up with a throbbing pain in her skull. She reached up to feel a giant bump on the back of her head. Suddenly it all came back to her. She looked around frantically to gain a sense of where she was. In a hospital again, she realised. Harry was lying in a bed beside her, still knocked out. Had D.F. gotten away? Where was Catherine? The ringing of her Witch’s Glass from one of the pockets in her robes sent a jolt of pain through her head. She groaned and took it out, opening it to see the cheery face of Chappy grinning back at her. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” he cooed. She envisioned herself smacking him in the face. “What do you want?” she snapped, while looking around her bedside table for a potion that would get rid of her headache. “Just wanted to warn you that Morrison’s on his way over there,” said Chappy. “He’s furious. Oh, and the coordinates you gave me are still off.” “Chief Morrison is coming here?” Ginny moaned. “Yes, but the coordinates-” Chappy tried to repeat, but Ginny shut her Witch’s Glass quickly as she heard the door to the ward slam open. Harry sat up with a start. “You let him get away,” the Chief yelled, storming into the ward. His usually neat hair was a mess and his suit looked tousled. “You let D.F. escape and now we have a kidnapping crisis on our hands! The Daily Prophet is having a field day! Our Office is going to burn for this mishap!” “It was a hostage situation,” said Harry sourly, rubbing the front of his head where he had a nasty swelling. “What would you have done in our place, Chief?” “What would I have done? What would I have done?” Chief Morrison repeated angrily. “I wouldn’t have got hit with a Monet or a DaVinci or whatever the hell that was, that’s what I would have done! We’re going to be a laughing stock!” “Shouldn’t we be more worried about the fact that parents are going to be a panic?” Ginny shot back. “Shouldn’t we be more worried about Catherine who is now missing and in the hands of a former Death Eater?” Chief Morrison shook his head. “You’ve made the Aurors look like fools. There’ll be a rebellion in the ministry. Minister Nerse is going to be removed from office for keeping us around.” “That would put the whole wizarding world into chaos,” argued Harry. “They couldn’t risk an overthrow right now. We’ve just barely gained peace from the aftermath of the war. With all the fear still hanging in the air we’re at risk for a hostile takeover. Anyone with half an ounce of power will look like the saviour to civilians right now!” “Capture D.F.,” Chief Morrison ordered angrily, “or we’re all going down.” He Disapparated in a fury. Ginny looked over at Harry whose face had blanched. She knew exactly how he was feeling at that moment. The weight of the world was on their shoulders. *** “We’re going to Dean’s house,” Harry said, pulling a blue jumper over his head. Ginny was leaning on the doorframe, staring at him. She had been oddly quiet ever since their encounter with Chief Morrison. “Remy’s there?” she questioned. Harry nodded. “They found him locked in a broom closet under a Full Body-Bind,” he replied, “I want to ask him a few questions about D.F.” “You think he actually remembers anything?” “No,” Harry admitted, “D.F. will have mind-wiped him, but he’s the only lead we’ve got for now, so it’s worth trying.” Ginny looked troubled. She hadn’t been able to keep down her Polyjuice Potion, or anything for that matter. Harry guessed it was anxiety. She didn’t look well. The swelling in her head had gone down but she had dark circles under her eyes. He had heard her crying out in her sleep from her room next door the night they got back from the hospital. He wondered if it was the dreams of the Chamber that still haunted her nightmares or if it was spirits of her own making. “He knew me,” Ginny whispered. “Well, you are in the Daily Prophet often,” said Harry, “It’s not really surprising.” “No, I mean, he knew my Animagus form,” said Ginny. “Not even you knew that.” Harry nodded. He had been puzzled about that too. She didn’t say anything further on the subject. She simply stood there looking anxious. Harry thought it best not to pursue it any longer, but still kept it in the back of his mind to puzzle over. “Apparate here,” he said, handing her a slip of paper, “but don’t say it out loud. Secret location and all that.” Ginny nodded and they both Disapparated. They appeared at the front gates to an odd-looking estate. The grounds were decorated with modern metal artwork, all of it purple. There was also an old, rusted carousel sitting a few feet from the front door. The whole house looked as if it had been hit by a giant gust of wind. It was tilted slightly to the left and all the doors and windows were lopsided. “Dean’s grown awfully… eccentric, hasn’t he?” asked Ginny, surveying Dean’s home. Harry smiled. “His late wife was frivolous. She inspired him. I remember Rebecca before she got sick. She was a wonderful woman.” “How did he meet her?” “She was an art student at a university near where Dean was living at the time,” replied Harry, “She was a Muggle, but as Dean could tell you, she was more magical than anything in the wizarding world. They met at a coffee house exposé while they shared their artwork with each other, fell in love, and were married a week after they first laid eyes on each other.” “I never heard about any of this,” said Ginny desolatel. “No one ever tried to contact me after Hogwarts. Not in ten years have I ever had a letter or any visitors.” “Well, it’s not as if you wanted us in your life anymore after what happened,” snapped Harry. “You pushed us away, not the other way around. Especially me.” “What you did…” said Ginny, glaring at him. “I couldn’t live with you around me anymore.” “And yet you expected to be invited for Christmas dinners?” Harry asked incredulously, “Or to get presents on your birthday?” Ginny just stood there silently with a cold look on her face, one that spoke volumes to Harry. She wasn’t the same person. He never could expect her to be again. Had she really expected any word from him after what she had so clearly expressed ten years ago? Yet, there was still that nagging feeling inside him. The Harry that wanted to help her was still there. He had thought only for her safety in his actions, but she wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t explain to her that it had been more than petty jealousy that had driven him to act as he had. The truth would be harder on her than this last decade of isolation. They were led in through the gate by a groundskeeper who took them into the living room to wait. The couches and armchairs were a metallic mauve and the coffee table was precariously lopsided with a bowl of plums sitting on it. The bowl should have slid completely off the table at the angle it was perched, but Harry knew that there must have been magic at work throughout most of this house to help it defy the laws of physics. There were also a few children’s things on the floor: a rag doll and a pair of roller blades near the side door – reminders of Catherine. Dean halted on his way into the living room when he saw who his visitors were. He looked dishevelled, and had the telltale puffiness under his eyes of someone who had been crying. He was still in his fuzzy, lilac bathrobe even though it was nearing noon. He stepped carefully over the rag doll as he made his way over to an armchair to sit down. Dean was obviously afraid he would move the doll even one centimetre from where Catherine had last left it. “There’s been no ransom demand,” Dean sighed, collapsing in the chair and putting his head in his hands. “I had hoped at best we could just bargain with the man and he’d let Catherine come home.” “I’m sorry,” said Harry, looking remorsefully at his old friend. “D.F. doesn’t want the money. He’s only using Catherine for the exposure.” “Truthfully, how bad is the situation for Catherine?” asked Dean desperately. Harry couldn’t tell him the reality of the circumstances. He turned to Ginny, looking pleadingly at her in the hopes that she would admit to Dean what was really going on. Surprisingly, Ginny nodded. She understood his position. He couldn’t tell Dean what Catherine’s chances were because he was too close to the issue. Admitting to Dean the statistics would mean admitting to himself that Catherine’s odds were slim. “The likelihood is that D.F. is a former Death Eater,” said Ginny. Dean let out a strangled noise but Ginny continued, “This means that he has a prejudice against non-purebloods such as your daughter. In the first and second wars, children who were kidnapped by Death Eaters had a twenty-five percent survival rate.” Harry had been through training. He knew what Ginny was doing -- underplaying the problem for the sake of retaining stability. It was a tactic that was stressed especially when dealing with the press and Harry knew the figures just as well as Ginny did. Female children only had an eighteen percent survival rate. Anything below twenty was deemed a PHE – a Pursuit of Hostile Exclusive situation. Catherine was, by Auror Office standards, already dead. “We’ll need to speak to Remy,” said Harry quietly. Dean was crying quietly now, staring forlornly out the window as if hoping Catherine would suddenly appear there. “Of course,” he shuddered. “Of course. Remy’s upstairs in bed with a broken ankle. His room’s the last one on the hall to the left. I’m sorry. I’d lead you up there but…” he faded off. Harry had been to the house enough times to know that Remy’s room was next to Catherine’s. “We’ll find it,” assured Ginny, getting up and leaving the room softly. Harry followed her and they ascended the stairs to the second level of the house. They found Remy’s room at the end of the hall. The bodyguard was sitting up in his oversized bed, reading the newspaper, when Harry and Ginny walked in. A big cast surrounded his foot, which was placed atop a stack of white pillows. The remains of his breakfast were on a tray on the bedside table. It looked as if Dean and the rest of the staff were making him as comfortable as possible. “You’ve found Catherine?” he asked, the hope evident in his voice. Harry shook his head sadly. “We were hoping you could give us a lead,” he replied. Remy’s face sank. “I don’t remember anything about that night,” said Remy, “You can search the tux I was found in for any evidence but I’m afraid that’s the only help I can give.” Ginny turned to the closet where there were many suits hanging beneath plastic sheets. The black tuxedo she assumed Remy had been wearing the night before was at the front of the row. “Has this been cleaned?” she asked, taking it out of its sheet carefully. “I made sure nothing was done to it,” replied Remy, he looked at Harry pleadingly. “You will get Catherine back, won’t you, Harry? I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to her.” “We’re going to try our hardest,” assured Harry. “I’ve watched that little girl ever since she could walk,” said the bodyguard helplessly, “Now she’s been taken on my watch, and all I can do is lie here.” “I’m sure you did all you could to stop him,” Harry replied, patting Remy’s shoulder. “I can’t remember,” he cried. “What if I didn’t? If she were to die because of me…” Remy closed his mouth stiffly, unable to continue. “Harry,” Ginny said quickly, “come look at this.” Harry caught the edge of excitement in her voice. Had she found something that would tell them where Catherine was? She was holding a long, silver strand of hair up to dim light coming from the window in the bedroom. Even in the weak rays, it glimmered with the same effect as a well-cut diamond. Harry was irrevocably drawn to the hair. It danced between Ginny’s thumb and forefinger when there wasn’t even a breeze in the room. He tried to reach out to touch it but Ginny snatched it back. “Veela hair,” she pronounced, smiling a little as Harry shook his head to clear it. “Pure Veela, it would seem, by your reaction, but I’d have to do some potion testing on it to be sure.” “But how are we going to find a Veela in Switzerland?” asked Harry. “They’re mostly in Bulgaria, and I doubt that we’d find one just wandering the streets anywhere.” Remy chuckled lightly from his bed and Harry turned to look at him, puzzled. “If it’s Veela you’re looking for,” said Remy, shaking his head, “There’s only one place you’re going to find them in any countries around these parts. It’s also about the shoddiest place around here, though.” Harry did not like the sound of this. He knew he was getting himself into something when he asked Remy where he and Ginny should go next. *** Red lights and silk in the front window swam in front of Ginny’s eyes. “Sans Aucune Componction,” the sign read in curvy, silver lettering. Remy had prudently given them the name of the “gentlemen’s club” by handing them a business card that also had the address scratched onto it. Sans was in a very old section of Geneva, hidden from any prying wizards by a spell so that only those who already knew where it was could find it. It was a long shot that they were going to find any information here regarding D.F., but it was the only lead they had. “Must I really be a guy just to go in there?” Ginny complained, following Harry with an awkward gait towards the door, “I mean, it was great of Remy to give us some of his hair for the Polyjuice potion and all, but I feel as if I’m on stilts.” “It’s a gentlemen’s club, Ginny,” replied Harry, rolling his eyes, “How many women do you see in a gentlemen’s club besides… you know… the certain kind of women?” Ginny watched as he blushed slightly at his own implication. “I could have just followed you inside a few minutes after your own entrance and played the irate wife,” said Ginny. Putting her hands to her hips and assuming a falsetto voice, she pretended to screech at Harry, “What are you doing, Chad? Am I not good enough? Was that maid last winter not good enough? What will I tell our twelve daughters?” Harry looked ready to explode with laughter at the vision in front of him. Ginny almost laughed as well at the thought of an enormous man berating Harry while speaking like a woman. She wished she could see herself at that moment. “I’m sorry, Cathy,” Harry played along, holding in his amusement. “Honest, I don’t know how I got here. I swear I must have been sleepwalking.” Harry was just starting to catch his breath when Ginny started again with an odd giggle. “I wonder,” she gasped, “if half-giants are proportional.” “Eugh!” Harry choked. “That’s enough. On with our investigation.” Ginny opened the door for Harry suavely and then followed him inside the building. The walls of the front room were covered with mirrors and there was a reception desk draped in a silk, maroon cloth. A silver candelabrum hung from the ceiling. The entire scene made Ginny almost delusional with dizziness. A tall, skeleton of a man came out the door in front of Ginny. Or was it to the right of her? She couldn’t tell. He had enormous shoulders and the tiniest of heads, almost as if one or the other didn’t really belong to him. A mop of silvery hair that looked weirdly deadened in the light covered the shrunken cranium. “Hello,” he said softly, and Ginny realised the voice was actually coming from the left of her. The man slithered behind the desk and picked up a quill. He stared at Harry and Ginny with almost eerily incandescent eyes. “How can I help you gentlemen?” “We would like to employ the services of one of your Veela,” said Harry, taking cautious glances around the room, “Last time we enjoyed the enchantment of a Veela she offered us this hair as a means of acquiring her the next time we were in this country.” He gave the Veela hair to the man at the desk who began to twist it around his finger. “You are in luck,” said the man, giving the strand a final tug, “We only have one pure-blood Veela employed here at Sans and this hair happens to be from her. All the rest were crossbred with Muggle men for a more peaceable nature. You have good taste, as well as deep pockets, I assume.” “We are willing to pay, whatever the price,” replied Ginny. “You will have to negotiate that with Godelieve,” the man said, waving at the door he had come in so that it opened on its own. “Her office is the last one on the right.” Ginny nodded and she and Harry made their way through the door and down a dark hallway. A candle burned all the way down the passage and sounds of a questionable nature floated through the cracks under each door. Whispers, quiet giggles, and the intense smell of lavender floated through the enclosed space. They reached the end of the hall and Harry knocked hesitantly on the door to the right of him. “Come in,” a voice cooed so softly Ginny was surprised she had heard it. She and Harry entered a dim room lit with candles and silk covered furnishings. A woman was lounging on one of the couches, her long, silver hair draping her like a shawl. She wore a white dress that clung to her flawless, milk-white skin. When she motioned for Harry and Ginny to take a seat Ginny watched amusedly as Harry nearly missed the chair, entranced by the Veela’s beauty. “My fee is usually two hundred galleons,” Godelieve said in a melodious tone. “Is this acceptable for you?” Harry nodded his head vigorously. “Good,” the Veela purred, “Would the big, strong man like to join me in my room first? I promise I will come back for you, mon chevalier.” She stood up and walked towards Harry, giving him a seductive look before running a long finger down his cheek. “No, no!” cried Harry, sounding comically like a spoilt child. “I want to go first!” Ginny gave him a scornful look, knowing full-well that Harry would not be able to get any information from the Veela in his current state. “I will go first,” she insisted, and let herself be dragged by her arm through a veil of curtains by Godelieve. The back room was almost completely in darkness except for a glowing fire that lit up a magnificent four-poster bed and a small table that had a bottle of champagne on top of it. The Veela approached Ginny, hips swaying, just as Ginny drew her wand and shot out silver strands of rope that entangled Godelieve. As she hit the floor, Ginny quickly pulled a bottle of Veritaserum from within her jacket pocket and forced the fluid down the Veela’s throat. “Who did you serve yesterday?” Ginny insisted, watching as Godelieve struggled against her bindings. “Only one client. A man with light hair,” she spat angrily, “I do not know his name. He was a new customer and preferred to remain anonymous.” “Can you tell me anything else about him?” demanded Ginny. “He smelt of coal tar,” Godelieve replied, “but I could not see his face very well because the room is so dark. He had a deep voice and I believe in a heated moment he mentioned something about taking me to the mountains with him. When he planned on going there, he did not say.” “Did he say which mountains?” Ginny commanded. “The Alps, perhaps. They would be the most likely,” said Godelieve. “Although I don’t exactly recall.” Realising that the Veela knew no more, Ginny did an efficient mind-wiping spell and knocked Godelieve out before returning to the other room where Harry was sitting. He was shaking his head as if trying to clear it when he noticed Ginny and stood. He walked in front of her, blocking the path to the door, and Ginny observed that he still had that fairly dazed look on his face as if he had been drugged or had just awoken from a deep sleep. “She didn’t know much,” said Ginny after a long pause. “Your Polyjuice Potion seems to have worn off,” noted Harry, brushing a strand of red hair away from her face, “S’pose mine has as well.” Ginny nodded, suddenly finding it a little harder to speak. She had forgotten how tall he was. The room started to feel small and the walls seemed to be closing in around her. Harry looked down at her in his half-stupor, and she began to feel rather light-headed herself. He now had a piece of her heart to wear around his finger – magically binding her to him ‘till death do them part. The church was empty of friends and family, so much like the universe they had created for themselves where only the two of them existed. He had been scared once too, he had assured her. Everything felt safer when he held her in his arms. He had the power to protect her, she knew. Every move he made radiated supremacy. The ring he gave her felt heavy. “We should go,” Ginny breathed. Sensing something was wrong, Harry reached out to touch her arm but she shied away from his touch. The move sent Harry out of his dreamlike state. “I’ll get the potions,” he said, turning from Ginny to get the briefcase that was nestled beneath a chair. Ginny took the quick moment that his back was turned to wipe away the unbidden tear that had been forming at the corner of her eye.
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