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SIYE Time:15:26 on 29th March 2024
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Bonds of Blood and Magic
By Duelist

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Category: Post-HBP
Characters:Harry/Ginny, Severus Snape
Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama, Fluff, Romance
Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Violence/Physical Abuse
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 932
Summary: A few days before Bill and Fleur's wedding, Harry vanished. Two weeks later, Ginny disappeared, also alone and without a trace.

Someone has stepped out of the shadows for a moment, moved some pieces on the board, and changed the rules of the game.
Hitcount: Story Total: 406666; Chapter Total: 7952
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
Look at me! 2x in one month! Of course, this chapter is much smaller than the last one. But I couldn't leave everyone hanging on that cliffie.




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George flew backwards through the window of the cottage, and landed hard against a paving stone. Wincing and wheezing against the sudden pain in his ribs, he noted that he couldn't move his arm on his left side, either. He looked over and saw that his hand pointed off in an odd direction. He heard a witch screaming somewhere inside the cottage, and frantically struggled to raise himself to his knees. He started patting the grass and dust with his undamaged arm, searching feverishly for his wand.

A shadow fell over him, and he looked up.

“Looking for this?” sneered one of the two wizards as he twirled a too-familiar wand in his off-hand. The other hand held a wand pointed very steadily at his face, sparks flying randomly off its tip.

“Hold still, and this will go easier,” said the other wizard.

“Or get up and try to run, and it'll be more entertaining. Not to mention, more satisfying when I cut your legs out from under you,” said the first.

The second put his hand on the other's arm. “Nobody's cutting any body parts off. We're just gonna … rough him up a little. Remember?”

George looked up at them defiantly, still wheezing against the bludgeoning curse he'd taken before he hit the window, and the resultant cuts, bruises, and broken ribs.

As they closed in on him, the first said, “Well, little ginger, this is definitely going to hurt you more than it is me.”

***

Harry and the Muggle bank manager quickly came to an understanding about the several hundred thousand francs Harry would be depositing in his first-ever numbered account. Harry was pleased that the man had such a good grasp of English, as his French was rather limited. The tellers he'd dealt with at the Rue Magique in Paris hadn't been quite so polite nor accommodating. That may have been because they were French and he English, he reflected, but still, he'd been exchanging quite a lot of money, and the deposit he'd made at that French bank wasn't exactly a small one.

As he wheeled after the the manager down the hallway to the deposit box vault, he felt a twinge of anxiety that quickly blossomed into a full-blown panic. He paused his wheelchair, realized that the feelings were coming from Ginny, and clenched his teeth.

“Pardon me, monsieur, but I must use the lavatory,” he said.

“Ah, of course, it is this way,” said the manager who turned and lead him back down the hallway. “I will wait for you at my desk.”

Harry rolled through the door and made a bee-line for the largest stall. He closed and locked the door, and then stood from his chair. Without turning, he sealed the door with a wave of his left hand while he drew his wand with his right and used it to put up the same Muggle repelling and Notice-Me-Not spells that Ginny had on the stall she'd used in the Ladies' room nearer the front entrance of the building.

He suppressed his own panic, even as he felt Ginny's rise, so he could concentrate. He needed to get to her, to protect her, to destroy whoever was frightening her for daring to make her feel this way.

He put his wand in his left hand, drew the dirk, and focused with all his might on Ginny. Magic gathered about him in a great, swirling, colored wave. After a moment, the door on the stall started vibrating. His wand, his eyes, and even the dirk glowed with controlled, suppressed potential, but just as he was about to apparate to her side with all the power he could command, he got a sharp feeling that he shouldn't.

Confused, he sat back down in his chair, his brow furrowed. After a few moments, the crest of the magical wave he'd been about to ride dissipated with a whisper.

***

“Professor, I need to borrow Miss Ryan, probably for the remainder of this class period,” said Narcissa as she entered the potions classroom.

“This is a double potions lab session. She will need to make up the work time on her project,” Slughorn protested. “That will put both her and her partner at a disadvantage. Can't this wait until after they finish?”

Narcissa raised one of her finely arched eyebrows as she gazed at him, but said nothing further.

Slughorn huffed. “Fine. Of course, take her. Take her. Miss Ryan, I shall inform you later of when you will make up the work.”

“Miss Ryan, gather your things. You shall not be returning today,” commanded Narcissa.

A very confused Slytherin fifth year girl gathered her belongings, put out the fire beneath her cauldron and cast a stasis charm on its contents, and walked slowly over to where Narcissa waited by the door.

“Yes, Professor Malfoy?”

“Follow me,” Narcissa replied.

The pair did not exchange another word as they walked until after they had entered the Defense professor's office.

Naricissa gestured to a chair in front of the desk as she glided around to sit in her own chair. “Please sit. You may put your things down over there,” she said with another gesture to the side of the desk.

The pair of witches gazed at each other across the desk for some minutes, with more than a bit of confusion on both sides.

The shy, somewhat timid student looked away first.

Narcissa sniffed at this. “Come, Miss Ryan, you cannot be so intimidated by a simple school professor that you cannot meet her eyes?”

“Erm, excuse me, Lady Malfoy, but you are hardly a simple school professor. What is this about?”

“I should like to discuss your parents with you,” Narcissa answered evenly.

The girl's eyes flashed, and her lips narrowed. “My parents are good people. They don't have to have magic to be worth something,” she said with a dangerous-sounding hiss.

Narcissa's eyes narrowed as the girl spoke. “I am sure that the people who have raised you are good people, Miss Ryan, else they would not likely have taken you in, but they are not truly your parents, as you well know.”

“Yes, I'm adopted. What of it?” Her voice rose heatedly as she spoke. “The people who spawned me aren't my parents, my mum and daddy are. They took care of me when I was sick, and raised me, and loved me even when my accidental magic terrified them. Don't you think I've had to have this conversation with every damned prefect and pureblood Slytherin git who thinks the sun shines out of their inbred arses?”

Narcissa could scarcely keep her lips from smirking as she replied rather coldly, “You would do well to watch your tone with me, Miss Ryan.”

The girl composed herself rather quickly, Narcissa noted.

“Good, that is much better. I did not ask to speak with you to insult you or your dear adopted parents. I wish to discuss with you the question of your true parentage.”

“I don't know who they are, and I don't care. I was abandoned at an orphanage when I was less than a week old. If they cared about me, they could never have done that.”

Narcissa's eyes flashed. “Don't be ridiculous, child. There was a war going on. That was … one of the most dangerous times for wizards and witches in this country in the past century. There may have been any number of very good, very valid reasons for them to put an innocent babe out of harm's way, regardless of which group they sided with. They may have even been killed afterwards, and you only live to this day because you were not with them.”

“Or I could have been an unwanted bastard,” countered the girl with a dark look.

Narcissa nodded slowly. “That is possible, but highly unlikely. Very few witches, married or not, would turn out their own child without great cause. Many of us have,” she paused briefly, and if she swallowed an imperceptible amount before she continued, it wasn't anyone else's business, “significant difficulty even getting pregnant, you see. Think about the family names of your classmates, and how few of them have siblings in the school. Myself, I am the youngest of three daughters. Ours was the only family, when I was at Hogwarts, with that many siblings. One of my sisters is childless, the other has one child, and I had one. Even if your birth parents were not married to each other, any witch with sense would have kept you, cherished you, and loved you. Only a truly compelling reason would have motivated her to put you in an orphanage.”

The girl's eyes blinked rapidly, and she looked away from Narcissa, who took the opportunity to calmly call for an elf.

“Tea for two,” she said to the elf. “Miss Ryan, do you care for biscuits?”

The girl nodded jerkily, still not meeting her eyes.

“Lemon and chocolate biscuits — perhaps biscotti, if there is any?” Narcissa said to the elf with a slight upward lilt at the end.

The elf nodded, flapping her ears as she did so. “Yes, Mistress Professor, there is being biscotti and other biscuits.” She popped away, and a few moments later, a tea tray with two cups, a steaming kettle, and an assortment of teas and biscuits appeared on the desk.

Narcissa put chamomile into her cup before she poured the water into it. She added some honey, and took one of the biscotti and placed it on the saucer next to her cup.

“Would you like chamomile, dear? I find that it quite settles the mind and stomach,” she said.

The girl shook her head. “Mint, please,” she murmured softly.

Narcissa nodded and prepared tea for the girl.

“You know, there are things that could be done, if you are interested, to discover who your birth parents are, or were, if they did not survive the war.”

“The orphanage wouldn't tell us, even if they knew. They call it confidentiality.”

Narcissa smirked slightly. “They wouldn't tell you, or your parents. They will tell me.”

At her questioning look, Narcissa's smirk widened. “I am a witch of some power and skill. They are Muggles.” She shrugged an elegant shoulder. “It wouldn't be much of a challenge to find out what they know.”

“I've always wondered, ever since mum and daddy told me,” said the girl.

“What orphanage was it?” Narcissa asked softly.

***

Luna felt a twitch in the line, pulled on the fly rod with a simple tug, and suddenly the end of the pole danced in the air as something on the other end of the line wriggled and flipped to get away from the hook in its mouth. She pulled carefully on the line and raised the pole until the fish was exposed to the air. Its fins flipped water in scattered sheets, wetting her face and dress as she scooped a small hand-held net around the fish and lifted it from the surface.

She lowered her face to the fish, staring into its wide, clear eye for a moment. “Oh, poo,” she said with a pout. She set the butt of the pole against a convenient rock, transferred the net to her other hand, and pulled a small pair of pliers from her vest, efficiently removed the feather and thread covered artificial fly from the fish's lip, and lowered it with both hands gently back into the water.

It swam away violently.

“What was wrong with that one, Luna?” called Ron from where he sat on the bank.

“It was obviously a transfigured witch,” she said with a sniff.

“You said the last one was an animagus, though,” he protested. “How do you figure there's another transformed human in the same river?”

“Yes, clearly what we have here is a case of a randy wizard wanting to experiment in his animagus form. He must have transfigured the poor witch to match his animagus form, and then transformed himself so he could chase her around in this pool,” said Luna, her head tipped to the side as she looked at Ron. “Plumphies could explain his obsession, I suppose. It really is the wrong time of year for fish to breed, anyway.”

Ron somehow managed not to stare at her, nor to laugh.

Demelza wandered over to the stream and sat down some distance away from Ron.

Luna looked at her on the bank. “Would you like some fish for dinner, Demelza?”

“Yes,” she said softly, looking off into the distance.

Luna pulled her wand. She swiftly summoned four fish from the stream, killed each of them with a weak bludgeoner spell, put them in the wicker fish basket hanging across her chest, and waded out of the water less than a minute after casting her summoning spell.

Ron looked at her, confused and more than a bit distracted by her soaked, somewhat transparent clothing, which revealed that Luna was clearly chilled by the cold water. “Why did you mess around with the stick and line, if you were just going to summon them?” he asked as she wrung out her skirt and cast drying and warming charms on her clothes and person.

“Fishing is fun, Ronald,” she said as she walked over to Demelza. “Summoning them is boring, but functional. Do you know how to cook fish, Demelza?” she asked as she held out her hand.

Demelza allowed herself to be assisted to her feet. “Only the way my mum used to do it,” she said, her eyes on the ground.

“Well, let's go see what we can figure out,” said Luna as she placed herself between Ron and Demelza. “Ronald, you and Mr. Moody are welcome to eat with us before you go. There will be potatoes and vegetables as well, Mrs. Altier has been baking today, and I think there is enough Sauvignon Blanc to make a sauce for the fish and to have with dinner.”

***

“George, dear, are you ready?” asked Molly from the doorway as she stepped inside.

George sat on the edge of his bed, a shell-shocked look on his face. Fred was at his side, his wand flicking absently as he glanced about the room, and then at George from the corner of his eye. George's dress robes hung loose about him, not yet fastened. The black eye Angelina's brother, Michael, gave him that morning was still present, as was the fat lip her father had given him. Her mother's Bludgeoner had left him a bit more damaged, as had the window it knocked him through and the paving stone he landed on. Molly had fixed his broken arm and rib as best she could, though they still needed to knit in the absence of any Skelegrow, and were clearly still painful. His arm rested in a sling, wrapped tightly against his chest.

Ron, Bill, Charlie, and Angelina's older brother all stood in the room.

Michael was the only one who spoke. “Ready or not, he's doing this anyway,” he growled. His arms were folded, with his wand in his hand. He stood at the side of the door, a dark shadow and ready sentinel.

Bill and Charlie were posted by the window, and looked ready to prevent any flight attempts as well.

“I can't believe she's pregnant,” moaned George.

Angelina's brother snorted in disgust. Sparks flew from the end of his wand, but he did nothing further.

“What did you think was going to happen? That girl likes you, George,” said Bill.

“If she didn't, he wouldn't still be breathing,” muttered Michael.

Bill shook his head and grinned as he stepped over to George, placing himself between George and Michael. “Besides,” he said as he patted George's shoulder, “you're a Prewitt, and a Weasley, and the two of you were shagging like bunnies. It was practically inevitable.”

Michael glared at Bill, and then at George, and then back at Bill.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then Molly slapped Bill's arm, and then Michael's, too, for good measure. “Behave. We're all about to become one big family,” she said, her face starting to quiver a bit.

Fred walked over and put his arm around her. “It's alright, mum, we'll get through it,” he said as he pulled her head to his shoulder.

***

Three rapid curses flew over her head and past her shoulder as she sprinted down the sidewalk.

She ran even faster, until she slipped crossing the road and sprawled out on the wet pavement. Cursing verbally, she jumped back to her feet and produced her wand. Her rapid-fire spell casting forced the dark-haired man to duck behind a car. As soon as he disappeared from view, she started running again.

Five minutes later, the dark-haired man still doggedly pursued her.

“Well, this certainly isn’t as pleasant as the treadmill,” thought Ginny randomly as she felt a burst of controlled magic approaching, dodged to the side, and avoided yet another curse.

Her pursuer seemed quite determined and motivated. She was faster, and seemed to be in better condition for running, but every time she thought she'd given him the slip, he would appear close behind her, or on a side street where he could cut her off. She realized after the third time that he must have hit her with a tracking charm without her notice, most likely on an article of clothing, but he never gave her a moment's rest to find it and divest herself of the charm or item it was attached to, so she didn't dare apparate to one of the few places in the city that she actually was familiar enough with to try to lose him by apparition, since he would likely simply appear there moments after she arrived.

She grabbed a light pole in her left hand and used it and her momentum to suddenly fling herself around a corner. She ducked between two parked lorries and stepped up on the far-side running board of the second cargo hauler, wrapped her left hand around the chrome bar next to the door, pulled herself up against the side of the door, and mentally tried to melt into it.

She glanced at the hand gripping the cold metal, and was surprised to see how white the knuckles were. She shook herself and forced a bolt of calm through her mind as she silently applied Moody's Auror-grade disillusionment spell to herself and the side of the truck. As she calmed, her awareness of her magic and the magic around her cleared, and suddenly she realized that part of the disturbed thinking in her mind was from the swelling mass of magic she felt coiling around … Harry. She considered for a moment, and then deliberately thought the calmness she was forcing herself to feel in a steady stream toward the swelling, angry storm she recognized as Harry about to apparate to her side. It took some time, time she didn't think she really had, but in the end, she felt his imminent apparition dissipate.

She sighed, and began to focus again on her immediate problem … the dark-haired wizard following her, the one who had tried to kill her repeatedly for the past several minutes. She shifted her left hand’s grip on the side of the lorry to accommodate her wand, and silently drew her sword.

A shadow fell between the lorries, and she heard the heavy breathing of someone trying to recover from unaccustomed physical activity.

***

Hermione folded her arms and looked out the window of the green Jaguar. Fred drove silently for a time, but turned to look at her surreptitiously while he drove.

Finally, he pulled over to the shoulder. “I'm sorry,” he said, after he stopped the car.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, I acknowledge that you are sorry.”

“But?”

She turned a confused, somewhat angry gaze on him. “I just don't understand how you could not have told me sooner.”

“What? When would that have even come up?”

“Have you slept with all of your other girlfriends? Are you expecting me to sleep with you, too, now that I know that's what you do with them?”

“Hermione! Merlin, no!”

“Oh, so you don't want to? Am I not pretty enough for you? She's certainly got a better set of …”

Now it was Fred's turn to glare as he interrupted her. “Hermione, just stop. I never had sex with her. At all.”

Confusion overwhelmed her anger for a moment, but then the anger came back into her expression. “She said you slept with her, Fred, and you didn't deny it. Why are you lying?”

Fred rolled his eyes. “I did sleep with her. We didn't have sex. You and I have fallen asleep together more than once, and we haven't had sex, either. I've done more with you than I ever even thought of doing with her, anyway.”

She turned back to face the windscreen, her lips and chin quivering.

“She shouldn't have said that to you, especially at the wedding.” He shook his head. “She was always a bit of a lightweight with any kind of alcohol, just loses her mind and says anything that comes into it.”

“And she's pregnant, too! What's she doing, drinking? That is so horrible for the baby,” said Hermione with a snuffle.

Fred chuckled a bit. “She only had the one glass, I think the baby will be fine.”

“One glass, and she was acting like that?”

“Like I said, Angie's a total lightweight.”

“And a nitwit,” she snuffled again.

“Hey, that's my sister-in-law,” he joked, shoving lightly against her shoulder. Then he got a funny look on his face. “Really is a bit awkward, having my brother marry my ex-girlfriend.”

She smiled reluctantly. “What else didn't you do with her?”

Fred smirked. “We never actually did much. I think I only kissed her twice. She always liked George better than me, anyway,” he said as he turned the car back on.

***

Ginny crouched even lower against the lorry when she heard cautious steps crunch gravel in the gap between the parked lorries. The shadow of the robed figure fell across the street in the afternoon sun, giving her a clear idea of his position.

She waited for him to draw closer. She hoped that he was still alone. She was in shadow, and would have the element of surprise, but this wasn’t going to work out as well if the Death Eater had a friend or two following him.

Just as she thought that, and started wishing she'd let Harry come to her, the Death Eater stepped out from between the lorries, his wand at the ready as he took another careful step forward. He paused, his dark hair and sneering profile clear to her eyes while he carefully scanned everything visible on the street. She waited a moment, but no one seemed to be with him.

She silently leaped toward him from her hiding place. It was almost anti-climactic, after her frantic escape and the long chase through the city streets. Disillusioned as she was, he couldn’t have seen her motionless, shapeless presence in the shadow, and could, at most, have seen the merest flicker of movement to warn him when she did attack. If he noticed, it wasn’t in time to react. She landed almost directly in front of him, and her sword slashed once in a smooth, nearly silent arc. She had to jump back as the wizard dropped bonelessly to the ground, nearly decapitated at her feet.

Ginny stared at the body for several moments, frozen and unmoving while blood flowed rapidly in pulsing spurts out of the gaping wound, and began to pool around him. As the blood flow slowed, she shook herself, blinked rapidly, and carefully bent down and grabbed his wand.

Though her disillusionment charm was still active, she waited until she was in the shadow of the nearest alley before she disapparated.

She reappeared in the lavatory stall of the bank, and sat on the edge of the toilet seat. She noticed her hands start shaking, and leaned her sword against the wall beside her. She dropped both of the wands, put her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands, and sat there until the shaking subsided.

How long that was, she never knew.

Eventually, she heard Harry's voice on the other side of the door. “Jenny?” he called after knocking a few times. She didn't move. His voice sounded odd. Strained. “Gin?” he almost whispered.

Suddenly Ginny regained the energy to move, and came to her feet. She threw the stall door open, grabbed Harry, and dragged him inside with her. The door closed and locked behind him, and she collapsed, silently sobbing, against his chest.
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