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Author: Jonathan-Avery Story: Curse Breakers: The Maya Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-DH Status: WIP Reviews: 11 Words: 86,686
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. I am merely telling a story in her world for the fun of it. AN: Thanks to my beta team, Velvet Mouse and Sovran who have reviewed this multiple times during the writing process just to make it better. They deserve a good portion of the credit for keeping this work on track. **-*-** Ginny locked the door to her office and took solace in the silent passageways of the temple as she walked to the conference room. Accompanied only by the scrape of her boots on the stone and her turbulent thoughts, she passed through the narrow corridors and into the cavernous central chamber. The chamber arched upward nearly thirty feet. Doorways marred the walls with black openings, except for the wide swath of sunlight that blazed in through the front doors. On her right, the fire-orange guttering of torchlight lit the steep stairwell that led down into the vaults. The temple had endured centuries of weather with a stately decorum. The carved statues and scenes on the walls were faded but readable. The stone fit tightly on quill thin mortar lines and kept the worst of the weather out. Birds and bats nested in the ceiling niches, but scourging charms removed most of their waste. When she had stumbled across the temple three years ago, Ginny had fallen in love with it, and not just for the history within its corridors. At one time, several thousand Maya worshiped in this temple, their lives directed by the priests and the warriors. There were no active wards or curses on the site, so Gringotts considered it a Muggle site, however latent magic permeated every stone of the temple. The latent magic would have made the site a magical one in any other region, but in the Yucatan every temple, ruin, and reclaimed Mayan city carried an imprint of the ancient power of the lost Mayan wizards. Even the ancient stone of Merida pulsed with magic, like a heartbeat that measured itself against the generations of people who had lived in the Yucatan. The heartbeat fluttered erratically in Merida, diluted by centuries of Europeans, interbreeding, and strife, but the outlying ruins like this one pulsed with power. Given the amount of magic that pooled and flowed through the Yucatan, the mystery of the lack of wizards and witches from the indigenous population puzzled those who had studied it. According to translated carvings, wizard priests had ruled the Maya during the height of the Mayan civilization, but nearly a millennium ago they had disappeared with no trace. The only proof of this ancient magical population was within their tombs, and even that magic baffled Ginny at times. It was all knitted together, like some vast web of wards covering the entire peninsula. At some sites, it was glaringly obvious. But in others it was as imperceptible as the wings of a moth on her cheek. It was more than just the ruins, though. The descendants of the ancient Maya held a bit of that magic themselves. Even a loaf of Sacnite’s bread held a tiny bit of the magic that resided in the temples and forests. So why were there no wizards? The simple fact was that Ginny had no clue and was no closer to discovering an answer. Fingering the amulet beneath her shirt, Ginny chewed her lip and ran her hand along the rough stone. Over the years at this site, she had experienced the native magic numerous times. Intuitively, she knew the amulet’s magic would be related to that of the site, but… Curiosity won out over her urgency, and she opened herself to the magic that had called her to choose this site all those years ago, and gasped. There, beneath the elemental vein of magic, was that single, wavering irregularity that pulsed in time with the Mayan legacy. Though strong for any Muggle ruin, it paled next to the soaring purity of the amulet against her chest. Her mind was whirling. She should have been surprised or even confused, but her intuition told her that she had expected something like this. The Maya believed in the connectivity of all things. Life, death, creation and apocalypse all were a part of the circular pattern of the world and time. Her amulet’s resonance with the very foundations of Mayan magic was not unexpected, but it frustrated her. What was the purpose behind it? She could not afford the luxury of time to research, and so with a longing glance back toward her office and library, she turned and walked out into the bright morning sunshine and toward the main administrative tent. The conference room resided at the end of a long hallway in the main administrative tent. The room was actually a lounge for the administrative staff, but the camp lacked adequate facilities and the curse breaking teams had commandeered it to be a meeting space. The spacious room allowed ample space for a team or two of curse breakers to spread out as they researched their next assignment, and one of Bashir’s men had stitched some privacy wards around the room, thus making it an ideal location to discuss sensitive information, like the expedition to Dzibilchaltun. When Ginny arrived at the conference room, Wendal was already there with Harry and Tonks. The center of the space was taken up by a round, spartan conference table, and the walls were decorated with hundreds of maps and wizard and Muggle photographs of the sites she and her teams had worked on or were preparing to break. Several half-filled bookshelves covered one wall. Usually, the room was filled with curse breakers arguing and laughing, but today it was silent. Wendal sat next to the fireplace and had a look of awe on his face as he stared at Harry. On the other side of the room, Harry lounged with Tonks, whispering to her and ignoring Wendal. Hedwig perched on the fireplace mantle, and she spread her wings and flew over to Ginny as she entered. The movement attracted the attention of the group. Wendal stumbled to his feet, but Ginny waved him back down as she rounded the table and dragged a wooden chair over beside him. She plopped down in the chair backwards, her arms resting on its back. Hedwig settled onto her shoulder, and Ginny pressed her cheek into the soft feathers and gave Harry a small smile as a calm serenity filled her. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” she said. “I expected you to be late, Harry.” They had all been at the Cracked Wand well into the night, and Harry had left only after telling her that he had errands to run. “I don’t sleep that much,” Harry said and then motioned toward Wendal. “So, this bloke must be Wendal. He’s too young to be Bashir.” “Brilliant, as usual, Harry,” Ginny replied with a sigh. “Wendal Coombs, this is Harry Potter and Tonks Lupin. Harry and Tonks, I’d like you to meet Wendal.” Harry nodded his head at Wendal. Tonks grinned as she stood up, walked over to Wendal, and held out her hand. “Don’t mind him. He’s always in a sour mood.” Tonks was an inch taller than Ginny, and Wendal towered over Ginny. Tonks glanced up at him and whistled. “Blimey, you crawl through tombs on your hands and knees? And I thought your brother was tall for a curse breaker, Ginny.” Wendal blushed and hunched his shoulders. “Well, ah, it is a bit inconvenient.” With an exuberant chuckle, Tonks punched him in the arm. “Right pain in the arse, I expect. Unless Ginny’s keeping you around as an emergency ladder, that is.” “Ah, not that I know of,” Wendal replied. “You’re a bit straight laced there, Wendal. Lighten up. So how’d you get mixed up with this troublemaker?” As she watched their friendly banter, Ginny shook her head before turning away from Tonks and Wendal as they continued to talk. Instead, she watched Harry, who was staring intensely at Wendal. He frowned for a moment, and then a thoughtful expression crossed his face. Confused, Ginny glanced at Wendal and then back to Harry before she figured it out. “Bloody hell, Harry. Stop that.” Hedwig ruffled her feathers and hooted, digging her claws into Ginny’s shoulder before she took flight. “Stop what?” he asked. “Reading his mind!” Ginny said. Wendal’s head shot up, and he looked between Harry and Ginny. “I’m not reading his mind,” Harry said. “He’s broadcasting like the WWN.” “So, does he pass your test?” Ginny asked with a sarcastic bite. She wanted Harry to trust her judgment instead of second guessing her. “Or should I grab some Veritaserum and pour it down his throat?” Harry gave her a furious glare. Ginny prepared herself for a nasty row, but Hedwig alighted on Harry’s knee and nudged his hand. Harry placed his hand on Hedwig’s head and scratched her. As he stroked her feathers, the tension in Harry’s body bled off, and Ginny sighed in relief. Harry raked his hands through his hair. “I do trust your judgment, Ginny, but you’re saddling me with people I’ve never worked with in a tomb even you’re scared of. I’m not trying to be a prat, but I can’t be watching everyone’s back in there. I need to know I can count on them.” His conciliatory tone reined in her desire to hex him, but that still did not give him the right to root through someone’s memories. The Harry she had fought beside in the war would never have done that to a potential ally. Of course, she never would have considered killing someone just to get rid of a problem. Maybe things had changed too much between them. Even the hottest fire would eventually turn to embers and let the darkness move in. Maybe seven years was the limit, she decided with a horrid feeling of resignation. It certainly was Tom’s favorite number. “And what is your decision?” Ginny asked, motioning at Wendal. Instead of responding to her, Harry faced Wendal. “You’ve got potential, Mr. Coombs. I can see why Ginny keeps you around, but more importantly, I could see what you did for her. You kept her alive, and that means a lot to me.” “Ah… well, she saved my life, so I guess it’s even,” Wendal said as he turned his head to face Ginny. The intense gaze left no doubt in her mind that he was far from finished repaying her. Uncomfortable, she smiled a bit and was glad when the door opened and Bashir walked into the room. Alexander Bashir was a tall, imposing man of mixed English and Indian descent. His black hair was gray shot, and his eyes were an intense brown that gazed almost unblinking on the world. Although he was nearing fifty, his body was lean and muscular from decades working in the tombs of India, and he stalked through most curse breaker camps like a bull elephant. Ginny had seen only the trace of a smile crack his leathered, sun worn skin once in the two years she had worked with him. He was not a mean man, but he was gruff and short spoken. In a tomb, he had once told her, there was no time for niceties when a wrong step meant death. His swagger and manner were well earned, and she respected him. Most hexologists enjoyed the power of leading a team, but he was in it for some personal reason she had never figured out. All she knew was that he had yet to lose a curse breaker under his watch. He was cautious and controlled, and she wanted that in Dzibilchaltun. “Curator Weasley,” he said, nodding his head. “I’m sorry for my tardiness.” With a polite smile, Ginny stood up and shook his hand. “We were just getting acquainted, Hexologist, so you are right on time.” After releasing his hand, Ginny directed Bashir over to the waiting group and introduced him. “This is Hexologist Bashir.” Bashir nodded his head politely, and Ginny continued with her introductions. “Most of the team is here, Hexologist. This is Curse Breaker Coombs. He’ll be acting as the anchor for the team,” Ginny said. She had thought long and hard about the traditional positions. Wendal, she had decided, would be best suited to pulling apart the various spells and wards they would find and anchoring them so the other members could sever them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hexologist,” Wendal said. Bashir nodded again. “You were on Satterfield’s team, were you not?” “Yes, Hexologist,” Wendal said, although his tone was a bit questioning. “I’m glad you got out. Hexologist Satterfield has a tendency to let his anchors die off.” Ginny blinked. She had not heard that information about Satterfield. After taking a deep, calming breath, she pointed to Tonks. “This is Tonks Lupin. She’s an ex-auror and will be acting as our healer.” “We’ve actually met,” Tonks said, surprising Ginny. Bashir stared at Tonks for a moment and his brow wrinkled in thought. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you,” he said. “Well, I’m in disguise.” Tonks grinned, and then her hair lengthened and became bright bubblegum pink as her skin darkened to match Bashir’s mocha complexion. To Ginny’s surprise, a small smile formed on Bashir’s face. “I remember now. The metamorphmagus. It was 1993, wasn’t it? A young roc got loose in Wales. I was in England for a conference, and there wasn’t anyone else around who knew anything about magical creatures from Asia, so they asked me to help. Your class was brought out to get some field experience. I had never met a full metmorphmagus before, and I never did get your name. Well, it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Lupin.” “Just Tonks, Bashir. I don’t get by on all that pomp,” Tonks said with a cheeky grin. “I’ll remember that,” Bashir said and then turned to Harry. “I don’t think we need an introduction. I see your face in the paper every week, Mr. Potter. So I assume you’ll be leading us?” “No,” Ginny said, stepping in before Harry could answer. He gave her a questioning glance, but she ignored it. “Harry’s our benefactor, but I’m going to be the hexologist on this expedition. Harry will run point and be second in command.” “Ginny,” Harry’s voice was a low rumbling growl. “I’m the curator here,” Ginny said, turning to face Harry. She hated having to be so forceful with him, but this was not the war, and she was no longer a companion following his orders. He had to learn that. “What I say goes. You agreed to that, and we’re not discussing it anymore.” “Well, that is a relief to hear,” Bashir said and then held up his hand. “I mean no offence, Mr. Potter. I am well aware of your reputation, but it took me nearly twelve months to get comfortable in these tombs. The hexologist needs to be the most experienced team member.” Harry was quiet for a moment before he nudged Hedwig, who returned to the mantle with an indignant click of her beak. With Hedwig gone, Harry stood up and held out his hand. “I understand. I’m just don’t like taking a back seat in these adventures of mine.” “Neither do I,” Bashir said, and then he shook Harry’s hand before he turned back to Ginny. He asked, “So who is the sixth member? And why isn’t he here?” Ginny motioned toward the conference table and took her seat at the head of the table. Bashir, Wendal, Tonks and Harry each took seats as well. “His name is Simon Caldwell. He’s a free lancer, and he’ll be our guide and fill in as relief.” “So he’s been in the tomb?” Wendal asked. “He got further than anyone I’m aware of,” Ginny said. “And he’ll be here tomorrow so we can begin prep work.” "I want to get on site, Ginny," Harry said. "I doubt prep work here or there would make a difference." Ginny tapped her fingers on the table. She had not had time to go to the site, and it often helped in determining the best course of action, but Bashir spoke up before she could answer. “Are you certain that is a good idea, Curator? Sending scouts to the site is advisable, but to take the entire team early seems foolish. Some may try to enter too early.” Bashir looked at Wendal and then at Harry. “It’s a documented site. Scouting it is a waste of time,” Harry said. “I don’t have that luxury.” “So we all die because you need to indulge your fame?” Harry narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Ginny glanced at Bashir, whose eyebrow was quirked quizzically at Harry. Ginny realized that Bashir was unaware of how much Harry hated his fame. Harry was close to snapping at Bashir when Ginny took action. “Enough,” Ginny said, breaking the tension. “You’re both right.” Ginny propped her elbows on the table, cradled her face in her hands, and massaged her temples. “I’m still waiting for the authorization from the Alexandria Institute so we can set up at Dzibilchaltun. So we have a few days at least. Bashir, you and Wendal will go with Simon tomorrow morning and scout it out. We’ll meet in the afternoon to decide our next move and to get prepared.” “Prepared?” Wendal asked. “Dzibilchaltun is dangerous because once you’re inside, you can’t get out unless you follow certain paths. That’s what kills most teams. We could be inside for a few weeks if we get unlucky,” Ginny explained. “It sounds like a giant mousetrap,” Wendal said. “That’s accurate,” Harry said and leaned forward. From his jacket, he pulled out a small, smoky glass orb and placed it on the table. Ginny’s eyes widened in surprise. She had not seen a map orb since her apprenticeship. Few curse breakers used them because they were expensive and fragile, large drawbacks in a tomb. Harry tapped it with his finger, and a shimmering three dimensional map, like a glowing model, appeared in the air over the table. Harry glanced at Ginny, and she gave him a questioning look. “Sid Towne mapped the tomb,” he explained. The group leaned closer to the table. Wendal gave a low whistle, and Bashir echoed it a moment later. The site was made up of several separate building groups connected by straight ceremonial roads. Beneath the Western Temple Group, passageways delved into the ground and then twisted and turned underneath the several hundred acres of the site in an odd pattern. It took a moment to figure out what was so odd about the passages, but before Ginny could mention it, Bashir did. “None of these passages are connected,” Bashir said. His finger traced the main entrance to a stopping point in mid air and then jumped to another passage and followed it to a small room, where it stopped. “What sort of place is this?” Harry shrugged. “I’m not sure, really. Sid Towne’s journal never spoke of passages ending. Every passage led to another, but he said that when his team tried to retrace their steps, they could not find the doorways they had passed through. And when they checked the map, it showed this. “He ended up wandering for weeks down there, his team dying one by one,” Harry said. His finger traced a jumping path through the disconnected tunnels until he came to a large chamber beneath the stele. “But he found this chamber that was different from every other one. He said there were no entrances in or out, but seven arches were carved into the wall. He took a chunk of stone from one of the arches and the next thing he remembered was waking up with his partner Edgar on the shores of the cenote.” The story was very similar to the one Simon had told Ginny, although he never mentioned a large chamber beneath the temples. No other team had ever found this chamber, and it bothered Ginny. Something important resided in that chamber, and Ginny had a feeling about it. Something about choosing the correct path, or that maybe it was a test. As she opened her mouth to speak, Wendal interrupted her and derailed her train of thought. “A stone? Why is this important?” Wendal asked. Ginny stared at Wendal for a moment. She knew she had just been about to say something important, but she could not remember what it was. Instead of retracing her thoughts, she considered Wendal’s question. Answering it would bring about too many questions. Wendal was too quick at times, Ginny decided. “The information on it led Harry here,” Ginny said. “It talks about the contents of the tomb and the… treasure… inside.” Wendal nodded, and Ginny glanced at Bashir. He looked skeptical, but kept his peace. “I also think it is part of the key to get out of the tomb once we are inside.” “Why not just apparate out?” Wendal asked “You can’t apparate or use a portkey within four miles of the Temple of Seven Dolls.” “All the more reason to get there early,” Bashir said. “We could bring down the wards. It will help us.” Ginny shook her head. “There aren’t any wards on the site. No one knows why you can’t apparate or use a portkey.” “So it’s like Shangri-la?” Bashir asked. Shangri-la was a reservation for magical creatures and the home of a small wizarding school. The only way into it was through a steep mountain pass in the Himalayas. “Yes,” Ginny replied, “But this place is crawling with Muggles, and there is no reason for it to be as it is. It was a major population center for the Maya.” “Well, this will be interesting,” Bashir said. “I’m certain my apprentice will find this a very valuable excursion.” “Apprentice?” Harry asked, and Ginny cursed. In all the hustle of gathering the team, she had forgotten that Bashir was mentoring Adalay Diggory. “Yes, he is very talented,” Bashir replied. “Mr. Diggory just recently claimed his virgin prize, and this will be an excellent chance for him to learn from some of the most impressive wizards and witches in the world.” Harry paled at the mention of Adalay Diggory, and his hands clenched in anger. “Diggory? As in Cedric Diggory’s younger brother?” Bashir blinked and then caressed his chin in thought before nodding. “Yes, I believe he had an older brother named Cedric, who died when he was very young.” “No!” Harry slammed his fist on the table. Hedwig screeched, and Ginny gasped. She could feel Harry’s anger and hurt even through her occlumency. “Your apprentice stays here. I won’t have him in this tomb!” Bashir bristled under the demand. “He is my apprentice, Mr. Potter. He goes where I go.” “Harry,” Ginny said, desperately searching for a way to diffuse the situation. “You knew, didn’t you?” Harry demanded, turning to face Ginny. Ginny flinched. The accusation and betrayal in his words cut deeply, even though they were not true. “Harry. Believe me, please. I forgot about Cedric…” She knew it was the wrong thing to say even before he stumbled to his feet. His eyes went wide, and his terror overwhelmed her as he struggled with his past. “I-I can’t forget him! And I won’t let his brother die because of me! He can’t go!” With a powerful kick, he sent his chair flying across the room, and then he stormed away from the table and out the door. Hedwig gave a screech and followed him, and Ginny herself was halfway to the door before she even realized she had moved. “Ginny!” Tonks’ shout brought her up short. Ginny spun to face Tonks who shook her head sadly. Wendal was staring wide-eyed at her, and Bashir was frowning in worry. It would be horrible if she left them after Harry’s display. She could see the wheels ticking in Bashir’s head. He was now unsure of Harry and, more importantly, of her. “I’m sorry,” Ginny said and then took a deep calming breath. With Harry gone from the room, it was easier to maintain her composure, and a level head was needed to clean up the mess Harry had left behind. “Hexologist, you need to understand that Harry was there when Cedric Diggory died. He has always blamed himself.” She paused and swallowed at Bashir’s reluctant stare and the worry she saw creeping into Wendal’s features. She had to give them more, at least a little to understand, even if it was not the complete truth. “Listen,” Ginny said, sinking into a chair near the door. “Everyone knows Harry and I have a past. Something happened during the last battle.” Ginny kept her eyes downcast as she spoke, not wanting to see anyone. “In his death, Voldermort cast a curse that has left his lingering touch on this world. Harry believes, and I agree, that somewhere in there,” she jabbed a finger at the map glimmering above the table, “resides knowledge that we can use to remove that curse.” The room was silent as a newly opened tomb. Ginny could hear her heart beating in her chest and then the scrape of a chair on the stone floor and boots moving toward the door. She closed her eyes and waited for the door to open, but instead a soft hand touched her shoulder, and then arms slipped about her shoulders in a loose embrace. “You and he are two peas in a pod,” Tonks said. Ginny glanced upward through her lashes. Tonks knelt before her, blocking her view of the room. There was an expression of such aching compassion on Tonks’ face that it tore at Ginny’s heart. Tonks knew. Maybe not everything, maybe not even half of the truth, but she knew enough to understand the suffering and loss Harry and Ginny endured. “Do you want me to knock some sense into him?” Tonks asked. Ginny shook her head and laughed a bit at the absurdity of it. It felt like her seventh year in school when Tonks was the on duty auror. Ginny would patrol with Tonks during the evenings. If Ginny had received a letter from Harry that day, Tonks would whip up grand schemes to kidnap Harry and bundle him into Ginny’s Head Girl dormitory or some broom cupboard. Sometimes they would write out smutty letters to send back to him, which she always burned in the morning. It was absurd that, other than a few years at the end of the war, her entire relationship with Harry had been lived through others. And maybe it was time for that to end. “I’ll do it, Tonks,” she said. “We need to come to an understanding or this entire thing will fall apart.” Ginny stood up and glanced at Bashir, who nodded at her. “You still in?” Ginny asked. “You and he aren’t doing this lightly, Curator,” Bashir said. “If it were some treasure hunt, I’d be out. But this… this I can respect. I’m in, and my apprentice with me.” He held out his hand, and Ginny shook it before turning to Wendal. “And you?” His expression was unreadable, and it bothered Ginny. Eventually he nodded, and Ginny smiled before heading for the door. She was halfway down the hallway when Wendal caught up with her. “Curator?” He asked. After stopping, Ginny turned to him and found the shy, nervous Wendal she was accustomed to. “What is it, Wendal?” “I… well, it’s probably not any of my business, but, well…” His cheeks colored in embarrassment, and he scratched the back of his head. “Wendal, just spit it out,” Ginny said. “You and Mr. Potter, you were… ah… together, before, right?” he asked in a whisper. Ginny nodded. Wendal looked at his feet and then took a deep breath and set his shoulders. “You still… care for him, ah, don’t you?” Ginny considered lying to him, just to spare him. His crush on her was endearing, and she did not want to hurt him. However, a team had to be honest with each other. “It’s complicated. Maybe someday I’ll explain it to you, but there is no one but Harry for me. I’m sorry.” “Even though…” Wendal motioned back toward the conference room. “Yes, even though,” Ginny said. Wendal’s soft face became like obsidian for a moment, and he glared down the hallway of offices at the entrance of the tent. His expression cleared before Ginny could decide if it contained anything more than the pain of rejection. Instead, Wendal set his jaw and nodded. “I owe you a lot, Ginny,” Wendal said. “I’ll be there for you.” “Thanks,” Ginny said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Go back and figure out the supplies we need with Bashir. I’ll be back in an hour or so. I need to knock some sense into Harry.” “Right,” Wendal said before he headed back into the room. Rather than watching him return, Ginny considered how to find Harry, but she decided that he could be anywhere. However, he could not hide from her, just as she could never hide from him. “Hedwig,” she called out. A minute later there was a soft pop. Hedwig appeared near the ceiling of the tent and flew down to land on Ginny’s outstretched arm. Gently, she stroked the soft feathers. As Hedwig ruffled her feathers under Ginny’s attention, Ginny looked into the owl’s deep amber eyes. “Do you know where Harry is?” she asked. Hedwig clicked her beak once in affirmation. “Can you take me to him?” Hedwig’s talons bit lightly into Ginny’s arm as the owl launched into the air. Hedwig circled Ginny once and flew out of the tent, with Ginny following at a brisk walk. Outside, Hedwig perched on one of the tent poles. When Ginny appeared, she flew over to Ginny’s tent before disappearing through the access flap for postal birds. Although the location was a surprise, Ginny realized it was a logical choice for Harry. She would never have looked for him there, and it kept him close to the camp for when he cooled down. After walking to her tent, she slipped inside. Harry was in her sitting room, hunched over her chess set as the pieces played a game on their own. He glanced up as she walked in and then motioned at the chair opposite him. “You don’t seem surprised,” Ginny said as she walked over to the lounge chair. In truth, Harry appeared completely calm. “I figured you were coming when Hedwig disappeared,” Harry said. He was silent for a moment before sighing and leaning back in the chair. “It’s bloody inconvenient that you can find me anywhere with her.” “You’re the one who wanted to use her,” Ginny said as she took a seat. “I know.” His gaze went unfocused as he answered, and Ginny was certain that he was staring thousands of miles away and years in the past. She did not want to go over that portion of their lives again, so she returned to the reason she had followed him. “So, are you done being a prat, or do I need to hex you?” “You tell me,” Harry said. It was the cold and distant tone he used when he did not want to talk about a subject. “You’re such an arse. It’s not your job to protect the world. And it certainly is none of your business what Adalay does or doesn’t do.” “I made my decision.” With a frustrated growl, Ginny scattered the chess pieces with a swipe of her hand and jabbed Harry in the gut with her finger. “Then haul your arse back to England, and I’ll do this on my own. Because Adalay is coming with my team whether you like it or not.” “I won’t let him die for me.” Harry snatched her hand and shoved it away from him. His eyes were blazing, and Ginny could feel his magic pulsing in time with his heartbeat. A shiver ran down her spine. His power had always flamed her desire. “If he dies, it will be because he’s doing his job. Stop thinking everything in the world revolves around you! How the bloody hell did I ever fall in love with a self centered berk like you?” Harry’s face contorted with rage before collapsing in defeat. With an angry snort, he stood up. For a few minutes he paced about the room, and Ginny watched his steps and waited. Something was bothering him. Ginny knew it could be a number of things, such as the tomb, Diggory, or even their strained relationship. She was one of the few people who could read Harry Potter, and even she had to guess most of the time. Harry ground to a halt in front of Hedwig and ran his fingers through her feathers in the same delicate motion he had once regularly used on Ginny’s own hair. Ginny shivered, lifted her hand, and trailed a gentle finger down her neck in a half remembered compulsion. “Do you ever regret it?” Harry asked. The question surprised her, and it took a few moments to gather her thoughts. “Regret what?” she asked. “Egypt.” It was odd that their entire relationship, everything that had inflamed their love and sowed the seeds for its estrangement, could be summed up in one word. “I regret – I regret what it became, not what it was,” Ginny said. Without even knowing why, she stood up and joined him next to Hedwig. Part of her wanted to take his hand, but she knew that would lead to… well, to a place she doubted they could return from. “Do you regret Egypt?” she asked. “No,” he said without hesitation. “But I hate this. I hate that I have to stand here and not touch you and pretend that I’m okay with being alone.” He dropped his hand and turned to face her. His face was hard and unforgiving, yet strong and determined. “I hate that I’m about to take a group of people who have no reason to help me into a tomb and toward their likely deaths so that we can have a chance.” “We aren’t forcing them, Harry.” “No? But we are being selfish. I’m being selfish,” he said. His voice was rising as he spoke, and the hardness was melting into the burning presence that had inspired hundreds of witches and wizards in the Second War. “What right does Voldemort have to keep us from each other? What did we do wrong? Why does he get to win?” He took a step toward her, and Ginny backed up, remaining outside of his reach. “Harry,” Ginny said in warning. But he shook his head and stepped closer, forcing her backward into the wall of the tent. “We don’t even know. We guessed. We assumed because of what we know, and what Hermione told us. But we don’t know, and now we’re dragging them to their deaths on a hunch to fix a guess. How is that not selfish?” “What do you want me to say, Harry?” Ginny wanted away from him. His power, his passion wore at her, and unshed tears of longing brimmed in her eyes. “You were the one that chose this. I never wanted… this.” She made a vague gesture between the two of them. “I wanted to try. I wanted it to work, but you were scared, and it was so fresh and raw, and to take the chance that we could undo everything we fought for was such a horrible possibility that…” “That what? That if we’re together he gets his final horcrux? Or maybe if we love each other that we end this forever?” There was an odd gleam in Harry’s eyes, and Ginny could not move as he leaned down. “How can the power he knows not ever help him?” His lips touched hers, and her world exploded. Liquid lightning filled her veins, and his arms around her were the warm blankets she would curl into as a small child. His lips were soft and hot, with a tang of salt, and bitter from the tea he had been drinking. It was home, something she had missed for so long that she recklessly threw herself into him like a captain before a raging storm. It exhilarated and terrified her and made her feel alive, like nothing had in over seven years. This is right. This is where we belong. She could feel that power lurking within him, and she yearned for it. I need it. You need him. Give in, let go. “No!” She shoved the voice away and bound it with her occlumency Ginny thrust Harry away and collapsed to the floor. When she glanced up through a veil of disheveled hair and watery vision, he was standing rigid before her, struggling for control. His hair was a mess and his lips were swollen, and she doubted that she looked any better. “Ginny.” He reached for her. “No!” she scrambled back from him. “I can’t, Harry. I’m scared. I don’t want to lose myself. I don’t want to listen to him, but I can’t help it. Please…” Hedwig fluttered down and landed on Ginny’s shoulder. The panic subsided at the owl’s touch, and she took a shuddering breath. “Why did it take you seven years to figure this out, Harry? Why not a few weeks or months? I would have risked anything for you back then, but not now. I’m not giving Tom any chance. I won’t let him influence me ever again.” “He’s talking to you again?” Harry asked. Ginny shuddered and looked away in shame. “Yes, occasionally over the last few years, and more often for a few months now." “I’m sorry, Gin.” He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. “Merlin, I’m so sorry. I’d take it all away if I could, Gin. I swear I would.” She glanced up at him and reached out, her hand stopping mere inches from his. His hand twitched and grasped at the air as if he was trying to capture her hand. “I know, Harry. It’s the same for me.” With a growl of frustration, he turned and kicked the tent wall before capturing her with his green eyes. “I’m here if you need to talk.” “Not now, Harry. Not after…” she gestured between them. “… not after that. Maybe once this is over.” She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to talk to anyone who could understand, but she was scared. Harry sank down to his knees in front of her, conjured a handkerchief, and handed it to her. It hung precariously from his fingertips so that they would not risk an accidental touch. Ginny took it and dabbed at her eyes. “I didn’t know,” Harry said. “I should’ve controlled myself, but you’ve been looking at me. And I see the desire in your eyes… I’m sorry.” And she knew he was sorry, and she forgave him with a small smile. “It’s okay, Harry. Trust me, I wanted that, too. I want so much more, but…” she shrugged helplessly. For what seemed an eternity, they stared at each other. Finally, Harry stood up and stepped back. “I never regretted Egypt, Gin,” he said. “And I never regretted how you helped me. Maybe it’s my turn now. Maybe we need to look back in seven years and not regret the Yucatan.” “I hope so, Harry. I really hope so.” It was quiet for a while, and Ginny took the time to re-center herself, as she suspected Harry was doing. After several long minutes, he gave her a grin. “I should get going. I’ll see you and the rest of the team tomorrow. I still don’t like Diggory being involved, but maybe…” He trailed off and gave her a sad look before disapparating. With a sob, Ginny closed her eyes and leaned back against the canvas of the tent. Admitting that Tom still haunted the depths of her subconscious made her feel as if she had failed. Just like she had failed Hermione and Harry during the final battle. But Harry was the only person she could talk to about the lingering effects of the Chamber of Secrets. He was the only one who understood and would not turn away from her or tell her what to do. No matter what the world threw at them, Ginny never doubted that Harry would be there in her darkest hour, because she had been there for him in his. "The Sanctuary of Horus? Are you certain that’s where he went?" Harry asked. "I'm certain," Ginny replied. "The binding on Set's Guardian was definitely cast by Tom. And the Guardian described someone who could have been Tom." Ginny plucked a date from the plate between them, popped it into her mouth, and chewed it as she thought. They were lounging in one of the old boathouses on the outskirts of Abu Simble. After finding Harry in the desert, Ginny had forced him to move to Abu Simble so she could tend his wounds and build his strength back up. The argument about moving him lasted hours, and he only consented when she cast the fidelius charm on one of the boathouses so no one but her could ever find him. But even moving him had been fraught with danger. The portkey had sapped his remaining strength, and he had succumbed to a fever and a deep magical exhaustion that had left him as weak as a newborn for several weeks. Now, almost a month later, Harry's face remained pale, and dark circles shadowed his eyes. Fortunately, his breathing had steadied over the last few weeks, and he was gaining weight again. Ginny had been diligent in her care of Harry, but he still refused to talk about what happened or why he was struggling with his magic. "So where's this Sanctuary?" Harry asked. He pulled a blanket about his shoulders and sipped at the hot tea in his hands. "I don't know," Ginny said. "You don't know?" "The Guardian doesn't know where the Sanctuary is," Ginny said. Harry was not going to like the answer. "It told me how to find it." A genuine smile crossed Harry's face, and he grabbed a hand full of dates. "Great. So you can just write it down, and I can take care of this." Ginny knew he did not mean to exclude her. The last few years had been a lonely quest for him. He had told her almost everything during his recuperation, but it did not lessen the pain in her heart. Harry wanted to leave. He wanted to be fighting Voldemort instead of stuck in Ginny's temporary infirmary. Every day Ginny heard him complain that he needed to be doing something, anything. He was ready to leave, and that terrified Ginny. Swallowing nervously, Ginny shook her head. "I can't tell you, Harry." "What are you playing at, Gin?" Harry asked. His smile remained, but it no longer touched his eyes. "I can't tell you, Harry," Ginny said. "I know it. I can see everything I have to do in my head. It’s like a list. One thing and then another and go to this place and that, but I can't tell you. Only the Guardian can tell you how to get there." Biting her lip, she bowed her head and whispered. "But I can lead you." "No!" Harry said. The dates went flying as he slammed his fist on the table, spilling the tea. "No, Gin. I… I'm not doing this again. I'm not risking anyone else. Just tell me where this Guardian is, and I'll get the information from him." Ginny could not believe her ears. She had cared for him, tended his wounds, hidden him, and completed her task. "What right do you have to tell me no?" "Ginny…" "No, you listen to me!" Her voice rang in the small room like an echoing trumpet as she leaned across the table, causing Harry to retreat a few inches. "You gave me this task. You said you couldn't do it, that you did not have time. I followed the bloody trail all across Egypt. And if you hadn't shown up half dead on my doorstep, I would be traveling by myself to this effing Sanctuary to get you the information that you couldn't get yourself. And now you've climbed back into that noble bullshit you've been wallowing in for years because you think you have nothing left to lose and that I do?" "Ginny that's not what…" "It certainly is what you meant, Harry. Well, two can play this game." She swallowed thickly. "You are not ready to do anything. You've sat here hidden for weeks. What makes you think you can trek across the desert and face a powerful magical construct? I doubt you have the power to hold a shield charm, Harry." With a muttered curse, Harry climbed to his feet and drew his wand. "Expecto Patronum." A massive silver stag erupted from his wand and began pacing about the room. Ginny squinted as the creature turned the dark room into blazing noon sunlight. "Does this prove I can still hold my own?" Harry asked. "Or do you need more?" With a flick of his wand, the spilt figs leapt back into their bowl and the tea disappeared from the table. He smirked and conjured a dozen songbirds and then directed the ceiling to bloom with fragrant flowering vines so they could perch. The growing vines distracted Ginny, and she screeched when an invisible force grabbed her shoulders and lifted her into the air. She turned to berate Harry, but she was unable to speak. He stood before her like a force of nature. His left hand was held outwards as if supporting her weight, and his green eyes burned with the strength of his magic. It was awesome. She had never seen such power in a wizard before. It scared her. It filled her with wonder. It called to her, and she felt a yearning for him in the pit of her stomach that she had denied for many years. "Harry," she said. She could taste his name on her tongue and lips, and his eyes became dark pools in response. He beckoned with his hand, and her body floated toward him. His hand clasped hers, and his magic jolted through her body like a chill wind. She felt like she was hanging from the edge of a cliff, her hand jammed into a crevice as she dangled hundreds of feet above the earth. It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. This close, she could see the strain in Harry's face, the tightly clenched muscles along his jaw line and the sweat beading on his face. Even in her fogged mind, she knew he was reaching his limit. "Harry, please stop." He shook his head and slashed his wand, cracking the stone floor open and then banishing the vines and birds into it before sealing it up. His eyes burned black with power, and his skin was waxen. His lips peeled back in a gruesome smile, and Ginny’s burning desire guttered and melted into fear. "This is power!" he yelled. His grip tightened on her hand. "This will kill Voldemort! I will end this. Me!" The skin on his cheek tore open, and blood flowed down to his chin and dripped onto the floor. Ginny did not know what to do. Her wand was on the other side of the room, and Harry's magic was tearing him apart in front of her eyes. Desperately, she twisted her hand, but she could not break free from his grasp. “Let me go! Stop this!” His grip tightened, and tears burned in her eyes from the pain. Instinctively, she slapped him. His magic held her and impeded her movement. Still, the skin split further open under her hand, and the dripping blood became a river. For a moment his eyes cleared, and she could read the plea within them. One of them needed to be calm, and it was not going to be Harry. For him, she leashed her fear and calmed herself. Gently, she reached forward and cupped his cheek. "I'm sorry, Harry. Just please stop. You're killing yourself, and you’re hurting me. Please stop." The elated expression on Harry's face turned to horror and then pain as he struggled with his magic. With a crack, the power in his eyes flickered and died, and Harry now gazed back at her. A sad smile flittered across his lips. "I'm so scared, Gin." Like a toppling tree, they both sank to the floor. As Ginny's knees touched the stone floor, Harry crumpled against her with a shuddering sob. Ginny wrapped her arms about him and held him tight as she whispered soothing words in his ear. For weeks, she had watched him retreat into himself further and further. He had refused to talk about what Tom had done to him. Although he had lived with the prophecy for years, she knew he hoped that he would survive in the end. Now he knew he was dying, and he denied it by brushing it off as the price of victory. During those first few days, it had haunted his feverish nightmares, and Ginny had sat by him, a cool cloth against his forehead, listening to the litany of his fears and guilt. Ginny doubted he remembered any of it, but she remembered each and every soul-torturing admission he had uttered. "I don't want to die, Ginny." His voice was thick and shuddered as he spoke. Ginny tightened her grip on him. "I'm not going to let you die, Harry," she said. Her face was wet with tears. "But I need your help. What did he do to you? Please let me in, Harry." Harry shook his head against her shoulder. "I don't know. He didn't even say a spell… but it was black." He pulled away from her, but Ginny kept a tight grip on his arm, forcing him to look at her. His face was streaked with tears and blood. The hollow haunted look was back in his features, but he held Ginny's gaze without flinching. "It was like the light disappeared between his wand and my chest." Harry pulled her hand down until it lay over his heart. "And when it hit me… I felt a horrible chill… like a dementor was standing over me. And now… now…" Harry closed his eyes and shuddered as he turned away from her. Ginny cupped his cheek again. His skin was clammy and cold, but she forced him to look at her. "Tell me, Harry. I'm not going to leave you alone." "There is something inside me now. I can feel it whenever I use my magic or when I get depressed." Harry stopped and stared at one of his hands. "I've never had this much power, Ginny. It's like my body is boiling over with power, but I can't control it. This thing inside of me takes it. It uses it, and I have to fight it all the time. And I don't want to hurt you." He touched her wrist, where a bruise was forming from his crushing grip. Ginny took his hand and placed it over her heart where the scar began. "Bruises and cuts heal, Harry. But when you push me away and decide that your life is worthless, you hurt me. And that is a hurt that I can't heal." "Ginny, I can't trust myself," Harry said, even as he trailed his hand down her body, tracing her scar to her hip. "I went crazy when this happened. And if you are hurt or killed because of me…" "I won't be. I'm not a child. I'm not fifteen or even seventeen. I've fought this war as much as you, even if I’m not facing Death Eaters every day. And I can choose what I want." "And what do you want, Gin?" She bit her lip and reached out to him. Her hand caressed his hair and traced the lines of his cheek. She watched as he closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. "What I've always wanted, Harry. To be by your side. To be helping you. To…" leaning forward, she kissed him softly, "love you." There were no fireworks like their first kiss, but the longing ache in her heart eased. Smiling at the bemused expression on Harry’s face, she sat back down and held his hand. "I don't expect us to just start over in an instant, Harry. You've been alone too long. But I'm tired of hiding. From myself and the war." "Ginny, are you sure you really want this? I can't promise anything other than a hard journey." Ginny shrugged and stood. "At least you and I'll be together. That's worth something." He nodded, and Ginny felt like something missing had clicked into place in her heart. He could die at any minute, she realized. And somehow she would make every minute worth remembering. **-*-** Later that afternoon, Ginny stood before Bashir’s team tent. The door flap hung open, swaying gently in the hot afternoon breeze. Through the open door, Ginny could see the lush interior of Bashir’s tent. There was a spacious main room with living quarters arranged around the sides and the back wall. Persian rugs covered the floors, and silk pillows lay in tight groups for casual seating. Several charcoal braziers provided light and heat, and in the center of the tent an ivory and gold statue of a bull elephant reared. The tent reflected Bashir’s success as a hexologist. His career encompassed nearly thirty years of curse breaking in India and what was once ancient Persia. Laid before her were only a few of the treasures he had accumulated over the years. Although not as opulent as some, Bashir had gone to lengths to make the headquarters for his team a reflection of its roots. Of course, the field tents were much simpler affairs, but even curse breakers required some luxury as they spent most of their lives far from home. The tent was empty, but it was open, so Bashir or his apprentice was inside. Ginny politely waited at the threshold as she announced her presence. “Hexologist Bashir, are you here?” After a few moments, Adalay Diggory’s head popped out of one of the back rooms. His eyes widened in surprise, and he rushed forward. “Curator Weasley, please come in.” In his haste to show her in, he stumbled a bit on a rug. Ginny grabbed his arm to steady him and smiled at him. “You’re going to need to stop stumbling around me. Can’t have you knocking into me while I’m casting a spell, now, can I?” Adalay gave her a blank look, and Ginny tutted. “Hexologist Bashir didn’t tell you, did he?” “Tell me?” Diggory asked in confusion and then his face brightened. “Is this about the meeting this morning? Hexologist Bashir’s been mum about it all. But he’s had me checking his kit since tea time. Are we joining you in this tomb, Curator?” Ginny grinned at Diggory’s exuberance. He was nearly jumping from foot to foot in his excitement. It was much like her own when Bill took her into the field for the first time. “Mr. Diggory, compose yourself,” Bashir said. Adalay transformed in front of Ginny from an excited young man just out of Hogwarts into a calm and collected wizard. Ginny was impressed with his discipline and noted as much as she turned to face Bashir. He stood in the doorway to the back room Diggory had been in. “Remember, excitement and impatience lead to mistakes. You cannot get caught up in the moment for any reason, in a tomb or outside of it.” “Yes, sir,” Adalay said. “So, Curator, have you sorted out Mr. Potter’s concerns?” Bashir asked as he walked into the room and took a seat among some of the cushions. He motioned Ginny to join him. “Well, it has been sorted out.” She crossed the room and settled cross-legged among the silk pillows. Adalay followed close behind her but remained standing. “Good,” he said. “I was worried about his reaction to Mr. Diggory’s inclusion in this venture.” Ginny glanced at Adalay and noticed a slight smile flit across his lips. “Although I can understand his reluctance,” Bashir said, “I hope he can keep his mind on the job at Dzibilchaltun.” “Harry knows when to put aside his feelings, Hexologist,” Ginny said. “This is too important to him.” Bashir nodded and turned to his apprentice. “Well, Mr. Diggory, I guess you have waited patiently enough. You will be joining Curator Weasley and me at Dzibilchaltun. We are going to be cracking the tomb with Mr. Potter and several others.” “Thank you, Hexologist!” Adalay said, bowing his head. His smile was back, but the young man kept his emotions in control. Yes, she could see why Bashir’s apprentices were so coveted by other hexologists. “I will not disappoint you, sir.” “I know you won’t, my dear boy. Now, finish prepping my kit and get yours ready as well. Also, bring us some coffee and tea.” “Yes, sir.” Adalay scampered away into the kitchen, leaving Ginny and Bashir alone. As Ginny reclined back on the pillows, Bashir appeared distracted, as if he was mulling over how to approach a problem. “You want to know what we are looking for, don’t you?” she asked. It was a fair assumption for Ginny. Bashir had maneuvered Adalay out of the room, and his respect for her privacy hinted at a more delicate topic of conversation. Bashir straightened up and leaned forward. “I do not want to be presumptuous, Ginny, but I must admit that your motives in this are obfuscated, and I doubt I can offer you my best work without knowing what we are seeking.” Ginny considered his words carefully. His interest in Harry’s goal was obvious, but he wanted to know more. If she brushed aside his concerns, she would damage their relationship, but no one except her and Harry knew about the final fight with Voldemort. And to be perfectly honest, what had happened was just as much a mystery to them. In her weak moments, she believed, as Harry now did, that they were fighting a battle that did not need to be fought. But when she could feel Tom’s memories and hear his insistent whispers, she flinched away from ever giving in to him. She had done that too many times. People had died because she had failed to resist him, and she refused to take that gamble even if it meant that she and Harry could have their lives back. “You know what Horcruxes are, correct?” Ginny asked. Bashir’s face darkened and he nodded. “Dark magic. We do not have them in India, but I have run across them in the Persian tombs a few times.” “Voldemort used Horcruxes to protect his life. To defeat him, Harry and the rest of us had to destroy them.” “That is not possible,” Bashir said. “A Horcrux is not just an object, it is a seed. Even destroying the vessel will only plant that soul in another.” “I know,” Ginny said. Hermione had uncovered that fact shortly after the death of Professor Dumbledore. The pages of Dumbledore’s journal had been filled edge to edge with information on Horcruxes that he had never been able to impart to Harry. The piece of a soul in a Horcrux had no way of traveling to the afterlife. Because the act of splitting the soul was deliberate and steeped in Dark emotions, the soul became trapped on earth unless a guide delivered it out of the mortal plane. Dumbledore had known this, and that was why he had placed Severus Snape under an Unbreakable Vow to kill him. For years, they had struggled to find a way to destroy the Horcruxes without sacrificing themselves. With each one Harry found, he hid its existence from Voldemort. For a time, a vault in Gringotts guarded Slytherin’s Locket and Hufflepuff’s Cup, but after an attack on the bank by Death Eaters, Harry had buried them all at Godric’s Hollow under a Fidelius Charm. The war dragged on, and in the end it was Ginny and Harry who discovered the final clue in the Sanctuary of Horus that unlocked the key to the process that could destroy a Horcrux without dying. If only they had not missed the last Horcrux, this discussion would have never happened. Ginny took a deep breath and said, “But there are a few ways to destroy a Horcrux if you are willing to take the risk.” Bashir stared at her in silence, mulling over her words. Finally his eyes grew wide. “How many people died to kill Voldemort?” “Sadly, more than I know, but only two died because of the Horcruxes,” Ginny said. “However, there were six Horcruxes, and Harry and I discovered a ritual that would allow the soul in a Horcrux to pass on. Unfortunately, it was complicated and imperfect.” “So there are still Horcruxes around? Voldemort can still come back?” Ginny could hear the fear in Bashir’s voice, and it surprised her. In the years she had known him, Bashir had feared no obstacle or creature. He respected danger but refused to fear it, as that would weaken his control. Ginny was about to reassure him, but Adalay returned with the tea and some sandwiches and biscuits. He placed the silver tray between Ginny and Bashir before bowing and returning to the rear of the tent, presumably to prep his and Bashir’s kits. “No,” Ginny said. She poured a cup of tea and offered it to Bashir, who took it absently. Then she poured one for herself. “His Horcruxes have been destroyed and scattered.” Ginny paused to take a sip. The tea was sweetened with honey and milk and was cloyingly sweet on her tongue. It was not a tea she preferred, but it was better than coffee. She watched Bashir as he sipped at his tea. Everything she had told him was the truth, but now she needed to mislead him. “But the objects still carry a bit of his essence. If someone were determined enough, or careless enough, they might be able to recreate a Horcrux. Harry and I will not allow that.” Bashir tapped a quick rhythm on his tea cup and watched her for several moments as if trying to read her mind. Ginny kept a tight rein on her occlumency and stared impassively back at her colleague. Eventually, Bashir relaxed and asked, “So what is in Dzibilchaltun that can reverse this problem?” “Do you pay attention to the modern Mayan religion?” Ginny asked. “Not much,” Bashir said. “I assume you do?” Ginny shrugged. “It is useful in putting the past in perspective. The modern Maya have modified the traditional Mayan religion and beliefs over the years, but many of the core doctrines have remained true. One of them is in regards to the soul. The Maya believe that there are two souls in the body.” She picked up two scones from the tray and placed them side by side. “One is instinct, and one is reason. Although some believe that there is an evil soul and a pure soul. The first soul is the one that descends into Xiabalba, and the other ascends and becomes one with the mai, a gathering of ancestral spirits at a temple that are awaiting rebirth.” “I seem to remember reading that in your notes.” “Yes,” Ginny said. “But the soul that ascends is supposed to have thirteen parts.” She picked up one of the scones and began tearing pieces of it and placing it on her plate. “Those parts, as a person is hurt or does wrong, are torn away and scattered. “There are modern rituals that are supposed to bring these pieces back together and heal the soul, but none of them work. Several sites talk about the ancient Maya healing the soul and reforming it, but it is all part of the mythology.” She took each piece of the scone and put it back together, but when she put it on her plate, it fell apart again. “And Dzibilchaltun is different?” “Yes,” Ginny said. “In his travels, Harry uncovered that stone we spoke about earlier.” Ginny conjured a piece of parchment and a Muggle pen. Quickly, she sketched out the tablet Harry had shown her. She pointed at a portion of the tablet where a ceremonial man knelt beside the flowering world tree. “This is a priest, the Ah Kin Mai specifically, which literally means the Highest One of the Sun.” “The high priests, correct?’ Bashir asked. Ginny nodded. “Yes, usually he is shown making sacrifices, but here he is guarding the world tree, worshipping it, or helping a woman become pregnant beneath it so that a soul will enter her womb.” “Ahwah had several spaces with similar representations,” Bashir said. “Burial sites do,” Ginny said. “Souls tended to wait around specific altars and temples in areas. But in every location, the Ah Kin Mai is a gardener for the world tree. He tends to the souls, but he has other duties, as you can see on the rest of this tablet. Ginny circled a figure at the bottom of the tablet who knelt before Six-Sky-Lord, and was being given the raiment’s of an Ah Kin Mai. “This tells me that this was a place that these priests went to learn and be given their knowledge. The abeyant pose represents a maize seed waiting to sprout, with Six-Sky-Lord as the sun and giver of life and knowledge.” “And you believe this knowledge can teach you to heal souls?” Bashir asked incredulously. Without answering, she pointed at the next section of the tablet which showed the Ah Kin Mai with flowers in his hand. Though he knelt beside the world tree, the tree was cut by the broken edge of the tablet. In front of the priest, another figure laid supine on the ground, his mouth open and a flower blossoming from his open mouth. “The text around this image here speaks about healing and learning, but it is cut off, and I could not read more, but I can infer this.” “And that is?” Bashir asked, his voice was no longer skeptical. She had now captured Bashir’s attention. He watched her raptly as she drew her wand and tapped the crumbled scone. Silently, she cast a reparo charm, and the scone leapt back into a whole piece. “In that tomb is a ritual or a charm that can assemble the pieces of a soul and then,” she vanished the scone, “Harry and I can remove the last of Voldemort from this world.” Ginny reclined on her pillows and smiled at Bashir. “Is it worth the effort now, Hexologist?” “Yes,” Bashir said. “This is most definitely worth the effort.” **-*-** It took five days to gather the appropriate equipment and for the final authorization to be received from the Mexican government. Ginny spent most of the time cleaning up her schedule and responsibilities as curator, while Harry and the rest of the team continued the research she had started. The mundane work of her job was a relief to Ginny during those days. It kept her focused and allowed her to avoid Harry as much as possible other than the daily meetings she held with the team. Ever since their kiss, if he was in the same room with her, his presence would send shivers through her body and leave her flustered. Her occlumency kept her centered, but Harry complicated matters every time he glanced at her and smiled. It was like she was almost eleven all over again, stumbling about her home as the unreachable boy of her dreams stayed the last month of summer with her family. But now she was on the other side of the coin and knew she could have him at any moment, and that thought terrified her because she hated fighting the instinct to just give in to his hourly disarming smiles. If he was not going to control himself - themselves, if she was honest with herself - then the next few weeks would be difficult. Once they decided on their entrance to Dzibilchaltun, they would be cut off from the real world for days, if not weeks, and it left a cold knot of anxiety in her stomach. She was not sure she could last weeks alone with Harry. More so, she fretted about the team not coming back. Dzibilchaltun culled teams without prejudice. Not a team that had entered the site had come back with all its members alive. Although she had sent a letter to her mother to let her know that she would be out of touch for several weeks, she could not escape the feeling that a grim was dogging her heels, just out of sight. It was an insistent and nagging feeling despite the calm of the last few days. The research was moving along smoothly. Her nights were dreamless, and when Satterfield had packed up two days ago and left camp, she felt like a stone had been removed from about her neck. Events were moving too smoothly. It was like she was wandering around the beach in those last few hours before a hurricane hit, wondering at the perfectly calm sea and sky. On the morning of October 10th, Ginny stepped outside her tent and blinked against the bright morning sun. It was inches above the horizon, and the sky was a burnished gold. The day promised to be perfect, and Ginny found herself grinning. She stood poised upon the edge of a cliff, about to jump into the unknown, and she felt alive and vibrant and carefree. A mystery awaited her, and that feeling had been missing since she became a curator. Her team was gathered around three Muggle Landrovers that she had procured to get them to the site. They were all loaded with their supplies, but most of it was a glamour charm. They could easily have fit everyone and their gear into one of the vehicles, but Muggle sites required the proper appearance. So they had three and a bunch of fake supplies. She surveyed the team with a critical eye as she walked over to the Landrovers. The assembled curse breakers were all dressed in standard issue, khaki field jackets, except for Simon who lounged indolently in the open driver’s seat of one of the Landrovers. He wore a black dragonhide jacket and matching cargo pants that looked tough enough to shrug off an Unforgivable. A black, wide-brimmed hat casually finished off his look. Ginny shook her head. “Caldwell, you never change. You’re gonna be sixty and wrestling nundus, aren’t you?” “Possibly,” he said with a wink. “Alright,” Ginny said, turning to the rest. “Simon’s in the lead. He’ll guide us there. The site is on the northeast side of Merida. So we’ve got about forty-five minutes of traveling. Remember that we’re Muggle archaeologists once on site. So keep your wands hidden until we’re inside the tomb. Alright?” There was a chorus of agreement and Ginny grinned. “Okay. Tonks, Wendal. You two are driving.” Ginny opened the door to the second Landrover and took the passenger seat. Wendal took the driver’s seat. Five minutes later they were on the road, and Ginny was staring out the window as the cultivated land around Merida whizzed past. “Don’t worry, Curator. Automobiles are perfectly safe.” Wendal said as they merged onto a paved road and joined a light flow of traffic. “No, Wendal, I’m not worried about the car. I can drive, you know. It’s… I don’t know,” Ginny said. The day had started so well, and now that they were on the way, she was worried. “Oh, I’m not used to purebloods being familiar with Muggle convenience,” Wendal said. “I have to know. It’s part of my job,” Ginny said. “What’s your excuse?” “My parents are Muggles,” Wendal said. “They wanted me to know how to drive and do everything the Muggle way. It does help me get along with my siblings and relatives. They don’t really understand magic.” “My father always said that Muggles had a magic of their own,” Ginny said. It had been a long time since she had talked about her father, and she was surprised that the grief had been replaced with a fond sadness as she thought back on all he had done for her. “He was mad about Muggle cars and electricity. He had this collection of plugs and broken appliances that filled up this old shed in our yard.” Wendal chuckled a bit. “My da was like that, too. I would always bring something back for the hols. Biting tea cups, sweets from Honeydukes, Famous Wizards Cards. He didn’t care. He loved to collect them. He kept them in the attic. When I turned seventeen, he took me up there and made me show him all the magic I had learned and couldn’t show him because I was underage. He was so proud of me.” There was sadness in his voice that touched Ginny, and she turned to face him. Wendal’s eyes were shimmering, and she did not need to hear the rest of the story. "When I was six,” Ginny said, “my father salvaged this Ford Anglia. He dragged it home, repaired it and enchanted it to fly. I used to help him by handing him parts. My brother and Harry stole it in their Second Year and crashed it into the Whomping Willow.” Ginny smiled. She had been horribly jealous of her brother when she found out about the Anglia. “That was them?” “Yeah, but did you know that the car still roams the Forbidden Forest?” Wendal laughed, and they passed the trip regaling each other with stories from their days at Hogwarts. Wendal was only three years younger than her, and he had gone to school in the shadow of Harry Potter and his friends. The terrain outside of the window slowly turned from arid scrub brush dotted with stunted trees and hardy bushes to a more hospitable land a few kilometers from Dzibilchaltun. Although the same dusty red earth covered the view as far as the horizon, the trees grew taller and straighter, their canopies spreading shade over the rough road employees and archeologists used to access the site. They arrived at Dzibilchaltun just as Ginny was finishing her tale about how she had convinced Lee Jordan to levitate nifflers into Dolores Umbridge’s office. They pulled their vehicles into a secluded car park located at the southwest corner of the site. She was in high spirits as they unloaded and walked down the path that passed south of the Western Temple Group toward Sacbe Dous and the area reserved for their tents. They were going to set up near the Xlakah cenote which would give them easy access to the site. It had taken some bribes, but the authorities had relented in the end. The walk from the vehicles was exhilarating. The first time on a site sent Ginny’s blood pumping and caused a thrilling electrical charge that left her breathless and wanting. It was not much different than those fondly remembered, expectant moments just before Harry and she had made love. Yet, as she walked down the rocky path, Ginny kept glancing to her side and stopping. Trees looked out of place, or different from what they should be. It was like coming home for the first time after two years in Egypt. The Burrow had been the same but different. This bizarre déjà vu nagged at her mind as she and the team climbed a small hillock. As they came out of the trees at the top of a hill, Ginny stopped and stood with her feet spread apart for balance. She closed her eyes. She could feel the pulse of magic in the site and wondered if the others could. She opened her eyes and looked around. Most were studying the few structures that rose above the tree-line in the distance, but Harry had his eyes closed and his head thrown back. His face was aglow with power, and Ginny was hard pressed not to take the few steps to his side and embrace him. Instead, she faced the east and stared down the trail that became Sacbe Duos and eventually ended at the ruins of the Temple of the Seven Dolls stood. Somehow, she knew their answers lay there. Reluctantly, Ginny turned away from the temple and surveyed the immediate area. The Western Temple Group, the only area of the site that Muggle repelling charm’s protected, was shrouded by trees only a few hundred paces in front of her. It was where Caldwell and all other teams had entered the site. As she scanned the half visible temples, she frowned a she caught sight of a group of tents that were pitched west of the ruins. It was odd that another group was camping on the site. None of her contacts had mentioned that another expedition was even being planned for the site, and why was it at the Western Temple Group? Of course any number of treasure hunters could have bribed some official so they could camp on the site. At the moment it was unimportant, and Ginny decided to investigate later. However, as Ginny was about to turn around, a man stepped out of one of the tents. Even from a distance she recognized the golden brown hair and aristocratic way he held his shoulders. She swore. Lord Alfred Satterfield was at Dzibilchaltun.
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