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Hunters and Prey | ||||||
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Category: Post-Hogwarts, Post-DH/AB Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Romance Warnings: Mild Language, Sexual Situations, Violence Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 295 Summary: February 2000 Newly Qualified (in record time) Auror Harry Potter remains obsessed with “The List.” The ten people still wanted for their part in the Battle of Hogwarts. Their capture is essential. It will bring closure to the events of the past few years. Harry has set himself a target. He wants to see “The Last Death Eater” and the other nine captured before the second Anniversary of the battle. His attempts to meet his target will bring heartbreak, danger, and pain. Hitcount: Story Total: 112113; Chapter Total: 6826 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: Thanks to Amelíe, Andrea and Soraya for their comments, corrections and input. Please review. Constructive criticism is always gratefully received. |
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6. The Snare: Three Caged Birds Sheriff Campbell twisted and Disapparated, taking Harry with him. Harry found himself standing in a dimly lit street lined by grey stone houses. The impressive craggy bulk of Edinburgh Castle loomed, floodlit, in the distance. Hamish Campbell turned to his left and strode along a narrow ginnel between granite tenement walls. The alley ended in an old wooden door which Campbell tapped with his wand. The door immediately swung open, revealing a brightly lit road of rounded granite cobblestone. The lane contained a mix of shops and houses. In the distance a sign proclaimed the presence of “The Wand and Thistle — Scotland’s Finest Inn”. About halfway along the street a small brass plaque discreetly showed the location of the “Ministry of Magic: Scottish Office”. ‘Welcome to Side Way, Harry,’ Hamish Campbell said, leading him along the still bustling street and into the Ministry building. The security wizard glanced up, stared at Harry, then simply watched Hamish lead him through the hallway to an open lift. Hamish pressed the button marked B; the doors closed and the lift made it’s rattling descent. ‘Basement: Magical Law Enforcement,’ a pleasant, Scottish female voice announced. A long corridor led away from the lifts. Campbell led Harry to the first door on the left, where a wooden sign stated “Scottish Law Office.” The large room contained two dozen identical desks in six rows of four. Several wanted posters covered the wall next to the door. Like the London Law Office, the most prominent position was given to a photograph of a snarling Rabastan Lestrange. His name was at the top of the poster. At its foot were the words “CAUTION: extremely dangerous, do not approach. Contact Auror Office immediately!”. The only four bailiffs in the room were standing around a desk near its centre. When Hamish and Harry entered, Heather Huddleston and Mark Moon left the two colleagues they’d been speaking to and addressed Hamish. ‘We’ve handed our preliminary reports to the Fiscal, boss,’ Heather reported, ‘she’s already here and she wants to speak to Mr Potter…’ ‘Now,’ a clipped, businesslike voice said as the door opened behind Harry. Harry turned and examined the elderly, round-faced, white-haired witch who had spoken. She was tiny and plump, but her brusque, business-like demeanour reminded Harry very much of Minerva McGonagall. She held out her hand; Harry shook it warmly. ‘Hello Mr Potter, I’m Edna Quarell, the Procurator Fiscal,’ she introduced herself. As she did so Harry, recognising her title, desperately tried to remember his lectures on the differences between the English and Scottish legal systems. ‘The Fiscals Office,’ Harry said hesitantly, ‘deal with all prosecutions … and investigations!’ He remembered this with a start. ‘Correct Mr Potter, so if you’d hoped to keep control of what happens to your girlfriend, you’ve arrested her in the wrong country. Shall we continue this discussion in my office?’ she suggested. ‘I’ll expect your statement within the hour, Hamish,’ the Fiscal ordered Sheriff Campbell as she led Harry from the Law Office. ‘He’s a guid laddie, ma’am,’ Campbell called, as Harry followed the Fiscal out into the corridor. ‘There’s no higher praise than that from Hamish,’ Edna Quarell told Harry as she opened the door into an office marked “Mrs E M E Quarell — Procurator Fiscal”. She sat behind her desk and motioned Harry to take a seat opposite her. ‘So Mr Potter,’ she said, ‘it seems from your expression that you’re unfamiliar with the many differences between the English and Scottish legal systems.’ He immediately sensed that, like Professor McGonagall, Mrs Quarell would spot any procrastination or bluff. ‘I am, yes,’ he admitted. ‘The Procurator Fiscal investigates criminal cases. My office takes the written statements from witnesses and I am responsible for all investigations and prosecutions. As arresting officer, I now require you to provide me with a full statement and formally hand over your prisoners to me.’ The Fiscal paused and looked at Harry carefully. ‘When you do that, you will no longer be in charge of any investigation; I will. You will not recommend what charges to bring; I will. You will not decide whether or not to prosecute; I will. In addition I will be responsible for the safety of the prisoners. I will decide when they can be released. So, you have two choices, Mr Potter. You can refuse to hand over the prisoners. If you do that, I will assume that there is no case to answer, and I will release them immediately. Alternatively, you can hand the prisoners into my care. I tell you now, if you do hand over the pisoners, I will investigate the case vigorously.’ She spoke firmly and precisely. Harry was left in no doubt that she would do exactly as she said. ‘You know the maximum sentence for hexing a Law Officer?’ she asked. ‘A year in Azkaban, depending upon the severity of the hex. For most first offenders it’s usually a fine and some community work,’ Harry replied promptly. ‘As prosecutor, you can make a recommendation to the Justiciar. On the evidence you have, can I ask what you’d be likely to recommend?’ ‘I would typically ask for a fine equivalent to one month’s wages, and a month’s community service. In this case I might suggest to the Justiciar that the community service be carried out at weekends,’ the Fiscal said, and she gave Harry a wry smile. ‘I’m aware of the summonses you’ve issued to the supporters. An interesting use of a summons as punishment. ‘In the interests of fairness, I will be summoning these three to appear before the Justiciar on Saturday week too,’ she said, ‘I’ve already spoken to Justice Herring, he’s the duty Justiciar for the next three weekends. I understand that you contacted him yourself before arriving in Montrose.’ ‘Yes,’ Harry nodded. ‘So, Mr Potter, now that you know what I’m going to do, are you prepared to hand over your prisoners and make a formal statement about this evening’s events?’ ‘Mrs Quarell? Fiscal? Harry enquired. ‘Fiscal,’ she clarified, ‘is my formal title.’ ‘Thank you,’ replied Harry. ‘Fiscal, I arrested over a dozen Harpies fans most of whom were simply drunk. These three women were hexing people, hexing children. Even if I wanted to let them go, I have told dozens of Magpies supporters, whose evening has been disrupted, that I’ll do my best to see justice done. I’ve left myself no choice. Ginny calls it my “noble streak”, and tells me that it gets me in trouble, but that she loves me for it. I’m about to find out, aren’t I?’ Edna Quarell appraised Harry coolly, then nodded. ‘You must investigate the case,’ said Harry, ‘I’ll hand over the prisoners.’ ‘I need to satisfy myself as to their identities, and state of health. We’ll go to the gaol for the formal hand-over, and then I’ll want your statement. I want it within the hour.’ Mrs Quarell stood and led Harry back into the central corridor. She turned right and led him away from the lift. The corridor ended in an iron bound door of black oak. The word GAOL was carved on the stone lintel above the door. The Fiscal took out her wand and touched the door. ‘Edna Mamie Eunice Quarell, Procurator Fiscal,’ she said clearly. The door swung open, revealing a stone staircase leading down. The ancient steps were worn into a bowed shape by centuries of use. ’Careful on the stairs, Mr Potter,’ the Fiscal advised. Harry followed the elderly witch down the stairs. At a landing the stairs turned back on themselves. The Fiscal waited and turned to face Harry. ‘When we see the prisoners, simply identify them and hand custody to me,’ she ordered. ‘Now, let’s go and meet the infamous hellions.’ After descending the second flight, Harry found himself faced with a second door, identical to the one above. Edna Quarell opened it in the same way. A stocky middle-aged witch, almost as wide as she was tall, stood up when the door opened. ‘Fiscal,’ she nodded in greeting, and lifted a massive bunch of keys from a hook on the wall. ‘Gaoler,’ Quarell nodded a polite reply. The gaoler looked at Harry, appeared to register who he was and then completely ignored him. Harry smiled as he watched her unlock the only other door, which led into a damp smelling corridor with eight doors on each side. ‘Cell one, Olivia Erin Aikenhead,’ the gaoler said, opening the cell door. Olivia was lying on her side on a thin mattress. A robe had been thrown over her, but she was still in her vomit-stained clothes. The gaoler stepped over and examined her. ‘Olivia?’ the Fiscal said. The girl did not stir. ‘She’s sleeping it off,’ the gaoler announced, ‘I’ve put up a watching charm to make sure she’s all right.’ ‘This is Olivia Aikenhead. I pass her into your custody.’ Harry felt a ripple in the air as he spoke; a magical contract had been made. ‘Drunk and incapable. I’ll be back in the morning,’ advised the Fiscal. The gaoler closed and locked the door. ‘Cell three, Lynette Baker,’ the gaoler announced, opening the door to the adjacent cell. Lynette, now wearing a shapeless plain gray robe, leapt at the gaoler, who immediately put up a shield spell. Lynette shouted and swore until she was out of breath. ‘Mr Potter?’ the Fiscal asked. ‘This is Lynette Baker. I hand her into your custody,’ Harry said, and again felt the magic. ‘Thank you, Mr Potter,’ said Mrs Quarell. Lynette began to swear again. ‘I’d advise you to moderate your language and kerb your temper, young lady,’ the Fiscal said sharply. ‘Drunk and disorderly. I’ll be back in the morning.’ The gaoler closed the door and then dismissed her shield spell. They moved to the next cell. ‘Cell five, Ginevra Molly Weasley,’ the gaoler announced, opening the next door. Ginny was on her hands and knees, leaning over the toilet bowl in the corner of her cell and retching. Like Olivia, she was still in her vomit-stained clothes. A clean grey robe lay on the bench on the opposite wall. ‘The love of my life,’ Harry said softly and sadly to himself. He hadn’t seen her for a month, but his desperation to find her had simply made things worse. Ginny’s lank hair was dangling into the toilet bowl. He stepped forwards and lifted it out; it was sticky. He cautiously sniffed his fingers and identified a stomach churning mixture of vomit, Firewhisky, Butterbeer and pumpkin juice. He wiped his fingers on his bloodstained shirt. Ginny finished retching, raised her head and struggled to focus. ‘Harry,’ she groaned, rolling sideways onto the floor and curling up into a ball. She was sobbing softly. Her skirt was hitched up around her waist, her shirt gaped open. She was showing most of her well-muscled body, but she had never looked less appealing. Harry gently picked her up and carried her to the narrow bench which would serve as her bed. Ginny threw an arm over Harry’s shoulder and nuzzled into his chest, rubbing tears and snot into his already bloodstained shirt. The gaolers words of protest were silenced by the Fiscal. Before he reached the cot, Ginny spasmed, heaved, and added puke to his shirt and to her bloodstained chest. Harry ignored it and carefully lowered her onto the cot. When he began to try to help her out of her vomit covered clothes, however, the Fiscal called a halt. ‘Sorry, Potter … Harry,’ she amended her tone and spoke gently. ‘Under no circumstances can a male Law Officer undress a female prisoner in custody. It doesn’t matter who he is, or who she is. I’ll look after her. Now get out.’ For a moment Harry considered arguing. The stern but concerned look Edna Quarell gave him brought him to his senses. Firmly but tenderly the elderly Fiscal pushed Harry from the cell and closed the door. Harry leaned against the cold stone wall, thinking about what he’d just seen, about what he’d done. Tears coursed silently down his cheeks. Why? He wondered. The job? She had been really worried about him this time; that had been obvious on their last night together. Was that it? If so, he’d have to quit; there was no alternative. If it was either Ginny or the job, it was Ginny; there was no doubt about that. He’d finish his current mission he hoped that she’d understand that, but afterwards he’d resign. With a groan, he slid down the wall and put his head in his hands. The cell door opened. He looked up. ‘Harry,’ the Fiscal said gently, ‘you can come back in now.’ Ginny was lying on her side, her eyes closed. Her breath came in gasping sobs. She was in clean prison robes. Her face had been washed and her hair Scourgified; it was a tangled mess, but clean. She was shaking. Harry blinked tears from his eyes and looked worriedly at the gaoler. ‘Does she need a blanket?’ he asked, concerned. The gaoler shook her head. ‘Ye have nae seen many serious drunks, have ye?’ she asked. ‘Busy wi’ bigger fish I suppose. She’s no cold, it’s jest the booze. She’ll be shaking most o’ the night, and a good part o’ the morrow. Does she always get this bad?’ Harry shook his head. ‘She didn’t drink much until she joined the Harpies, and even then, at the start of the season she just had a few shots of Firewhisky. Enough to get …’ Harry searched for a word to describe the fiery, mischievous, fun-loving girl he’d met and taken home after the early games of the season, ‘… playful?’ he tried. ‘I’ve never seen her as drunk as this,’ he sighed. ‘When is the last time you saw her?’ the Fiscal asked. ‘About a month ago, I’ve been away … I can’t say more, Auror Office business.’ ‘I see. Well, I need you to let me look after her, Harry.’ The Fiscal reached up and put a consoling hand on Harry’s shoulder. He wiped the tears from his eyes and pulled himself together. ‘This is Ginevra Molly Weasley. My girl. I hand her into your custody,’ Harry said sadly. He once again felt the magic. ‘Drunk and incapable,’ said the Fiscal, patting Harry on the shoulder. The gaoler closed and locked the door and looked at Harry. ‘I’ve put a watching charm on her, Mr Potter,’ the gaoler told him. ‘Ye’re staying in the building, I’m told. If ye want to check up on her, ye can, but I canna allow you into the cell.’ ‘Thank you,’ Harry nodded his understanding. She’ll be all right,’ the gaoler told him consolingly, ‘she just needs to sleep it off.’ ‘I hope so.’ ‘Well, Harry, you’d best get upstairs and write your report,’ the Fiscal said, ‘I’m away home now, but if you use the statement form I’ll receive a copy as soon as you sign it. And mind you look after yourself, lad; you look exhausted. Get yourself something to eat and a cup of tea; there’s a carry-out just over the road, The Big Bite. And get some sleep.’ Edna Quarell led Harry back upstairs and bade him farewell outside the Law Office. He watched her press the lift button and then he opened the door into the Law Office. Behind him, he heard the lift doors rattle open and an oily voice order. ‘Out of my way, woman.’ Harry turned in the doorway; Gus Tavistock had pushed past the Fiscal. The solicitor saw Harry and strode towards him, a look of revulsion on his face. He was looking at Harry’s chest. Harry looked down at the unpleasant mix of blood, vomit and snot on his shirt. ‘Scourgify,’ Harry said, pointing his wand at his shirt. He examined the result, it was a marginal improvement. At least it was dry now. ‘I demand to see my clients,’ Tavistock began. ‘Come in, Mr Tavistock,’ Harry said, ‘this isn’t my office, so I don’t know where everything is.’ He led the Harpies’ solicitor into the Law Office. ‘Who’s in charge?’ demanded Tavistock. Harry looked at Sheriff Campbell. ‘In charge?’ Hamish Campbell spoke very slowly, and then smiled, ‘well, that would be the Minister, I expect, but he’s in London, sir.’ Tavistock looked ready to explode. ‘In charge here,’ he snarled, ‘who’s in charge of justice in this backwater?’ ‘By this backwater,’ Campbell asked in a carefully neutral voice, ‘you mean the capital city of Scotland and the home of the largest Ministry building outside London?’ Harry was trying hard not to laugh. ‘YES!’ shouted Tavistock. ‘Ah, well,’ continued Hamish Campbell in the same slow, neutral tone, ‘that … that would be the Procurator Fiscal.’ He paused and counted slowly on his fingers, ‘It’ll be the fifth door down on the other side of this corridor, I’m thinking.’ Tavistock turned on his heels and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. ‘She’s left, hasn’t she?’ Hamish asked, returning to his normal, brusque, voice. ‘He pushed past her when he got out of the lift,’ Harry replied, laughing. ‘Aye, well, we’ll be in for an interesting day in court then! Best get started on your report Harry, and be sure to check your spelling, she likes the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed diz oor Edna.’ The office door burst open again. ‘There’s no one there!’ Tavistock screamed. Hamish slowly pulled out his watch. ‘Aye, well, it’s after ten, the Fiscal will be awaa home.’ ‘I demand to see my clients! Who’s the senior Law Officer on duty?’ Tavistock shouted, red-faced. Hamish looked carefully through a pile of papers on his desk, looked up at Tavistock and smiled. ‘That ‘ud be the jumped up little bumpkin,’ he drawled, identifying himself. ‘Hamish Campbell’s the name, but you can call me Sheriff, or Sir. And yer clients ‘ud be them three wee girrlies,’ he said. Harry noticed with interest that Campbell’s speech was slowing, and his Scots accent was becoming more pronounced and impenetrable the angrier Tavistock became. ‘They’ve been remanded by the Fiscal,’ Campbell continued, ‘they’re to remain in their cells until the morning, when they’re sober.’ ‘You can’t do that,’ Tavistock yelled. ‘The paperwork is all in order; I think you’ll find we can. And we have,’ Campbell replied evenly. ‘But according to law …’ Tavistock began. ‘I’d remind you that you’re north of the border, Mister Tavistock,’ Campbell changed back to his normal, brusque and businesslike voice. ‘Perhaps you should consult a local expert. They’d tell you that the lassies are in the Fiscal’s care. I can take you to the cells, but it says here,’ he waved the report, ‘that two of them are sleeping it off and the other is violent. So, speak to them if you want, but they’re staying in the cells until tomorrow.’ ‘I’ll be filing for wrongful arrest,’ Tavistock fumed, ‘so expect to receive papers within the hour.’ ‘Aye, I’ll do that,’ Campbell replied evenly. ‘Now, you tell me that you want to see the prisoners. It would give me a good deal of pleasure to take you down to the cells.’ Campbell strode from the room, leaving Gus Tavistock to ponder the double meaning of his words. After snarling at Harry, Tavistock left. When the door closed Heather Huddleston grinned at Harry. ‘Yon Tavistock’s upset both the Fiscal and the guv’nor. Bad move!’ She handed him several forms. ‘You’d best get your statement done now, Mr Potter. We’ll leave you to it; Mark and I need to get back out on patrol. I expect we’ll see you later.’ Two hours later, Harry had finished his report. Every half hour he’d been down to check on Ginny. She was sleeping soundly, but still shivering. Lynette Baker, too, was finally asleep, though she was also going to be charged with destruction of Ministry property. She’d made a valiant attempt to destroy her cell. The law office was full of the pungent aroma of vinegar. It was shift change. Heather Huddleston had called “chink-chink” (announced that she’d made a fresh brew of tea). Harry had strolled across Side Way to the Big Bite and bought haddock and chips for the seven Officers who’d responded to Heather’s call. Along with the Law Officers he was eating a midnight feast. Like the others, he was eating his battered haddock and salty chips with his fingers from the newspaper it had been wrapped in. He’d been given a fresh brew by Heather Huddleston when he returned with the scran. He was, he realised, starting to pick up the local law-office-slang already. Gus Tavistock had left an hour earlier. He’d spoken to Lynette at length, but he hadn’t been able to talk to the others. He’d tried to wake both Ginny and Olivia, but had been unable to rouse either of them. Ginny was being well looked after.The gaoler, Aileen, had proved to be a good source of information. Harry had won her over by the simple expedient of providing her with a brew and a chew (as the locals called tea and chocolate biscuits) at half past ten and again at half past eleven. She’d declined his offer of fish and chips, joking that she was watching her figure. Harry swallowed the last of his chips and wiped the grease from his fingertips using the newspaper. Crumpling the greasy paper up into a ball, he threw it across the room in a high arc; it landed in a waste bin in the far corner. ‘Good shot,’ said Heather Huddleston, breaking off a piece of battered haddock and popping it into her mouth. She stood and stretched. ‘I’m done wi’ this,’ she announced, after she swallowed the mouthful. She held up her chip papers. ‘Anyone want to finish ‘em off?’ Mark Moon got there first. ‘I expect I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry; goodnight,’ Heather said. She had almost reached the door when it flew open and Hermione scurried into the office. Harry stood; Hermione ran towards him and threw her arms around his neck. ‘Oh, Harry,’ she said sadly, kissing his cheek, grabbing his shoulders, and stepping back to look at him, ‘how are you?’ And how’s Ginny?’ Before he answered she released him and took another step back, a look of horror on her face. ‘What is that?’ she asked, pointing to the front of his shirt and checking the front of the sober grey business suit she was wearing. ‘Oh,’ Harry said, looking down at his badly stained white shirt. ‘It’s a mixture of chip fat, vinegar, snot, blood and vomit.’ Hermione recoiled, revolted. ‘Really, Harry,’ she scolded. ‘You’re hopeless; you should take better care of yourself. ‘I’m only responsible for the vinegar and chip fat; the rest, I’m sorry to say, are Ginny’s. I’m okay, Hermione, thanks for asking. Ginny is extremely drunk and currently unconscious, sleeping it off. Is Ron here?’ Hermione shook her head. ‘I was at work. I heard the news of Ginny’s arrest on the wireless, at midnight. I didn’t think you’d want to be harassed by a gaggle of Weasleys so I Apparated to your place, woke Ronald up, and sent him off to the Burrow to head off an invasion.’ Harry grinned, ‘A gaggle? I’ve always thought of them as a tribe.’ Then he noticed the tone and subtext of what he’d been told; “Ronald” was at his place. Hermione and Ron had obviously fallen out again. He was about to ask, but didn’t get the chance. ‘Surely a complication of Weasleys would be a more appropriate collective noun, Harry?’ came a sing-song voice from the door. ‘Luna!’ exclaimed Harry striding over the blonde witch and hugging her, ‘what on earth are you doing here?’ ‘I heard that Ginny has been very silly; I was listening to the wireless in my hide. I thought I’d come to see how you both were,’ Luna said seriously. ‘And while I’m very fond of your hugs Harry, I really don’t appreciate you covering me with whatever you have on your shirt front. This is a new dress.’ She lifted her arms above her head and spun around. She was wearing a long purple dress and a lime green cardigan. Harry put one arm around colourful Luna, and the other around soberly suited Hermione. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said, and then he realised that he had an audience of half a dozen grinning Law Officers. ‘Go on you lot, get yersel’s awa hame, or on patrol,’ Campbell said, ‘and you should try to get some sleep Harry; there’s not much more you can do until morning.’ ‘I need to keep an eye on Ginny,’ Harry protested. ‘She’s not going anywhere, Harry,’ Hermione reminded him. ‘There’s no need to visit her cell every …’ ‘Half-hour,’ Campbell provided. ‘She’s shaking, puking and unconscious,’ said Harry angrily, ‘I want to make sure she’s okay.’ ‘You do need to sleep, Harry,’ Luna advised, ‘you’re too tired to think. You can’t help anyone until you get some rest. I’ll take over the visits for a few hours. Ginny is my first best friend, you know. If there’s anything wrong, I’ll wake you, I promise.’ Harry nodded gratefully. ‘Thanks, Luna, I am rather tired. But what about you?’ ‘I’m wide awake, Harry; I’ve been sleeping during the day for the past week. I’ve been spending my nights observing the sleeping habits of the gernumblies in their natural habitat. I think I can afford to miss one nights observation.’ ‘What have you seen?’ Harry asked curiously. ‘Sleeping gernumblies, of course,’ Luna said matter-of-factly. Harry couldn’t think of a answer to this. ‘Come on, Harry, Neville reckons you’ve been awake for at least twenty-four hours,’ Hermione said, leading him over to two narrow wooden benches which Campbell had been dragging together to create a makeshift bed. ‘I’ve slept here often enough masel’ lass,’ Campbell told Hermione as he threw a couple of blankets over the benches. ‘Now, I’m awa hame, goodnight.’ He left, leaving Harry, Hermione and Luna alone in the room. ‘Ron …’ Harry began. ‘Is an arse!’ Hermione interrupted, ‘I do not want to talk about that ginger moron.’ She folded her arms. ‘But …’ ‘No, Harry, you’re dead on your feet,’ Hermione ordered, ‘now get some sleep.’ Harry lay down on the bench. Despite his new worry, he was asleep almost immediately. He was lying, dozing, in the warm summer sun, listening to the birds, to the wind in the trees and to Ginny’s gentle breathing. She had her back against a tree near the edge of the lake. His head was resting on her lap, his arm was across her legs and holding her hip, and she was running her fingers through his hair. In the distance, he heard Ron. ‘What’s going on with you two?’ Ron asked aggressively. Ginny didn’t answer; Hermione did. ‘He’s asleep, Ronald. He rolled over into this position about three hours ago and he’s hardly moved since. I didn’t want to disturb him,’ hissed Hermione from above him. Suddenly Harry was aware of his surroundings. The cloth under his stubble shadowed jaw was soft and expensive, not the school robes he’d been dreaming about. The legs under the cloth weren’t muscled like Ginny’s. He flexed his fingers and caressed a slender hip, definitely not Ginny’s! Panicking, he slowly opened one eye and saw a sober grey business suit. He sat up suddenly, causing Hermione to shriek. He looked around, he was still in the Law Officers room. There were about a dozen grinning bailiffs in the room, but there was no sign of Luna. ‘Sorry, Hermione,’ Harry blinked and tried to focus. His head throbbed, his ribs ached and his joints were stiff and sore. He needed more sleep, and he’d sat up so quickly that it felt as though he’d left his brain in Hermione’s lap. Both Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom were staring at him. Harry blushed furiously and glanced at Hermione, she was smirking. She looked like she’d been asleep herself, sitting up in the corner of the room. ‘There’s nothing to apologise for, Harry,’ Hermione told him, ‘you’re my friend. You’re concerned because your girlfriend got very drunk and made a fool of herself. I wish I had a decent, caring, boyfriend.’ Ron’s jaw dropped. He was worried, which was obviously how Hermione wanted him. Harry needed to find out what had happened between Ron and Hermione; Neville looked pale and rather nervous, too, but right now they were not his top priority. ‘Ginny?’ he asked. Everything else could wait. ‘Luna has been visiting her every half-hour. She’s there now,’ Hermione said, giving Harry a consoling hug and ignoring Ron’s growl, ‘she’ll be back in a few minutes.’ ‘You need to see this,’ scowled Ron angrily. He held a copy of the Daily Prophet in front of Harry. The front page headlines read: POTTER ARRESTS WEASLEY Harpy’s Hellions Demolish Another Bar Is it all over between the Chosen One and his Chosen One? Articles on pages 2-6 and 11-15. Harry sighed: the rest of the front page was filled with a large photograph. It showed Harry, looking shocked and angry, with an unconscious Ginny in his arms. The photograph clearly showed Ginny’s bloodstained face, and Harry’s bloodstained shirt. ‘Did you hit Ginny?’ asked Ron belligerently. |
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