Chapter Three
The pictures from the Daily Prophet of the seven women had been clipped out, enlarged, and were now spread across the floor of the living room in the townhouse. Around the pictures were stacks and stacks of books on visions, invisibility, knives with two blades, and any information they could find on the victims. Around those books were two very aggravated young wizards and one exasperated young witch.
"Ron, you've got to try to go over it again," Hermione sighed.
"What do you think I've been doing, Hermione? Making Christmas shopping lists?" Ron raked a hand through his ginger hair. "It's not like it's not the first thing I see when I close my eyes…every bloody time."
"Well seeing it isn't enough! You've got to give us more to go on!"
"I've given you all I've got!"
"It's not enough!"
"All right, all right," Harry stepped between them. "Everybody just…calm down."
"Harry, we don't have time to calm down-people are dying, Ron's getting visions and nobody knows why."
"And the three of us fighting about it isn't going to do anything," Harry argued back, throwing himself into an arm chair. "What do we know?"
"Nothing, nothing, and, oh yeah! More nothing," Ron grumbled, slamming shut the book in front of him.
"That was helpful," Harry said wearily.
"Ron's right," Hermione agreed, looking rather uncomfortable at that particular phrase. "We've got seven slaughtered women-unrelated women, to be precise, we've got an invisible foe-there are only about a million ways to become invisible, by the way, nothing a sixth year couldn't handle-and we've got absolutely no leads on the matter."
"See?" Ron looked at his best friend, "almost nothing."
"Oh, yes, and our unwilling Seer isn't helping at all!" she shouted the last bit and slammed her book shut as well.
"It's not like I haven't been trying!" Ron yelled back. "Technically, I've provided the most information we've got!" He stopped for a moment. "And stop calling me a Seer. I'm not a Seer."
"What would you call it then?"
"A…Dreamer…or a…a Nightmarer…"
"Remind me to never give you the job of naming anything, ever."
"Funny you should mention that because a few really interesting names for you just came to mind."
"Oh please, Ronald, enlighten me."
"Would you two shut up?" Harry interrupted whatever string of rude words Ron was about to unleash and got up from his chair. "I think we need a break-we've been at this for two straight days."
"Maybe we should owl around-see if anyone's heard anything," Hermione suggested from her place on the floor. "I can't see how a fresh brain would hurt the situation."
"Who would've heard anything?"
Hermione shrugged, "Who do we know who works with a lot of people?"
"Fred and George," Harry counted on his fingers, "Ginny-she must get loads of shady characters at the Cauldron, we might as well check with Lupin to be safe…"
"Luna could have heard something at the Quibbler," Hermione put in helpfully.
"Owl Neville too," Ron shrugged. "Might as well make it a DA reunion."
"Couldn't hurt," Harry agreed.
"Well that'll be fun, having the whole gang together again," Ron seemed pleased with the idea. "It's been too long since we've had an End-of-the-World evil to battle to unite us."
"No one said anything about an apocalypse," Harry reminded, stretching his arms behind him. "This might just be garden variety evil..."
Hermione let out a frustrated sigh and dropped her head into her hands.
***
Ginny didn't know why she had thought this was a good idea. In retrospect, it was one of the worst ideas she'd had in a week full of bad ideas. This idea, in fact, ranked very high on Ginny's Bad Idea list-right up there with agreeing to be Fred and George's guinea pig, pouring her eleven year old heart out into a mysterious diary, and-most recently-letting a known Death-Eater take up residence in her place of employment.
"You're really on a roll, Weasley," she muttered to herself as she climbed the stairs, wand already drawn for protection.
Ron had appeared in the fireplace earlier that morning and had explained what was going on. Eager to help, Ginny had offered to keep an ear out for anything that might sound suspicious.
This, she realized, was probably considered going above and beyond the call of duty in the most dangerous way possible. Her heart pounded faster as she reached the fourth floor and began her walk down the long, winding hallway.
Room 43 looked like any other room at the Cauldron-a small oak door set into a frame which sloped so low that Draco had probably had to duck to enter. The number was embossed in the darkly stained wood and winked at her mischievously in the late afternoon sun streaming in through the windows. She stopped just before it, bracing herself for the protection charms Malfoy would have surely put around the door. She waited for her tongue to swell to the size of a manatee, her skin to begin to boil as she rapped her knuckles against the door, a sudden urge to leave the country to overwhelm her as she stood outside room 43, wondering what she'd come up there for in the first place.
Nothing came.
She knocked again. This time, the pressure from her knuckles pushed open the door to reveal the inside of room 43.
There was very little out of place, she noticed immediately, the bed was made, there were no clothes strewn about, a fluffy brown towel was folded and hung over the back of the desk chair to dry. She took a few cautious steps inside, her wand trembling ever so slightly. The room, aside from being spotless, was empty; the most recent sign of life was the neatly folded day-old Prophet Ginny expected he'd nicked from the trash. Malfoy was not here-or if he was, he didn't want to be seen-she sighed, he probably wouldn't have been much help anyway. Feeling strangely disappointed in her failed venture, Ginny lowered her wand and turned to leave, a startled gasp leaping from her throat at the sight of Draco Malfoy standing directly behind her, looking furious.
"I…I didn't…I," she stammered uselessly as the door swung shut behind him and her wand flew from her hand.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, he jaw set firmly.
"I just…I had a…"
"Get out."
"I…I need…"
"You don't need anything, Weasley," Malfoy removed his wand from his pocket and held it to her throat, "except to quit your stammering and give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now."
"I'm the only one who knows you're here," she said, her voice just above a frightened whisper.
"You're right-even more of a reason to kill you. That way no one knows I'm here."
"And who is going to stop the Ministry from coming up here and arresting you if I'm dead?"
"That's not my problem-I'll be gone before that would ever happen."
Ginny's feeling of cleverness died swiftly. "There's bound to be an investigation if my body just turns up dead somewhere, you know."
"Who said anything about a body?"
"Look," she continued, her heart pounding faster in her chest, "the only reason you haven't been found yet is because no one's been looking for you. If I die or disappear, someone will start investigating…and sooner or later you'll be found out."
Malfoy considered this for a moment. "So if you stay alive, I stay hidden?" he asked, raising his eyebrows for confirmation.
"Yes, yes I promise. No one knows you're here," she insisted, swallowing around the pressure on her windpipe. "I haven't told anyone, I swear."
"I know you haven't."
"You know?"
"Get out," he repeated, ignoring her question.
"There's just…"
"No, Weasley, there's no `just' anything," Malfoy removed his wand from her throat and pointed it at the door. "There is only you leaving now and me not killing you."
"I have to ask you something."
"And then leave?"
"Yes," she promised, "I'll leave and I'll keep my mouth shut and we can forget each other ever existed. I just have to ask…there's this thing that's been happening with these-"
"No," Malfoy answered shortly, crossing his arms over his chest.
A crinkle appeared in Ginny's forehead. "I…I haven't asked anything yet."
"No, I haven't been killing little girls all over the countryside; no, I don't know who is; no, I don't care." He raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Happy?"
"I…I just…"
"Quite eloquent, aren't you?"
"How do you know what's going on?"
He pointed to the newspapers. "I do read, you know. A bloke's got to keep up on his current events. Now," his silver eyes moved toward the door, "why exactly haven't you gone yet?"
"It's my brother," she blurted, Ron's pained and exhausted expression coming to mind. "It's got something to do with my brother."
"You're brother…" Malfoy moved past her to sit on the neatly made bed, "that'd be the older one, would it?"
"Ron," she clarified, ignoring the sound of disgust he made. "It's…connected to Ron somehow."
"Weasley, I'm getting impatient," he sighed, "what is connected to Ron somehow?" He paused, "And why should I care?"
"He's…seeing them," she pointed to the papers, "the victims."
"We all are," he reminded, looking prodigiously bored, "they're plastered all over the papers, the streets, the wireless…"
"He's seeing them being murdered," she stammered finally, "in his dreams or…visions…or whatever. He's seeing them."
Malfoy looked almost impressed. "The Weasel King's a Seer now, is he?"
"Don't," Ginny said softly, "don't call him that."
"Your loyalty is touching," he rolled his eyes. "But what has any of this got to do with me? Why would I know anything about any of this?"
"Well," Ginny looked at her hands, "you're sort of the only person I know who was recently…you know…Dark."
"Mmm," Malfoy nodded with understanding. "And you think that because I'm a Death Eater-"
"Were," Ginny corrected, "You're technically dead now…not really a Death Eater anymore, are you?"
"That make your life easier? Thinking I'm some sort of repentant sinner?" When she didn't answer, Malfoy continued. "Anyway, you think that because I'm a Death Eater I have some sort of insider information on all the evil that's going on in the world?"
When he put it that way, it did sound kind of stupid.
Ginny swallowed and wrung her hands. "I promised Ron I'd keep an ear out for any information that might be useful and I thought I'd just…" she frowned, "check."
"Well no, I don't know who's doing it-sorry to disappoint."
"Right," she nodded and took a few steps toward the door, "I'll just be going."
"Weasley," his voice was harsher than his vacant expression as he bent at the waist and plucked her wand off the floor. "You'll be wanting this."
"Oh," she took it from him and pocketed it. "Goodbye then."
"Have they checked out the Coven of Midret?" he asked just as she'd reached the door.
Ginny looked over her shoulder. "No…what is it?"
He shrugged. "Maybe something…maybe nothing."
"The Coven of…"
"Midret," he finished. "Just something I've heard."
"Thank you, Malfoy. I really-"
"You got what you want," he cut her off again, "now get the hell out of here."
***
Hermione looked up from her book, a crease appearing in her forehead, "The Coven of Midret?"
"Mmm hmm," Ginny nodded quickly and turned from the fireplace and began pacing again. "Does that sound familiar?"
"Well yes," Hermione tilted her head to the side, "I've heard of it, of course, who hasn't?"
"Me," chorused Harry, Ron, Fred, Ginny, and George.
Hermione ignored them and began rummaging through her books again, "I suppose it's possible," she said softly, pulling a weathered text into her lap. "I hadn't even considered-" she looked up at the couch where Harry and most of the Weasleys were clustered, "Ron, how old did you say these women were?"
"Our age, I guess?" Ron shrugged, "it's in the Prophet reports, isn't it?"
Ginny reached down and plucked the article off the ground, "It says they're all the same age-twenty," she reported, her eyes scanning the page a few times.
"Hmm," Hermione returned to her book, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip.
"Hermione?" Harry's voice snapped her head up, "What are you thinking? What's this Covenant of…whatever it is?"
"It's the Coven of Midret," Neville spoke up from his spot against the wall. "It's a non-traditional coven…the women don't reach their full magical potential until their twenty-first birthday."
Hermione sent a smile his direction. "Yes, Neville's right. Traditionally, a woman's place in a coven is determined by families-mothers pass the rites onto their daughters and they pass them on and so on and so forth." She took a deep breath. "The women in the Coven of Midret, are different; their place in the coven is determined mystically. They're not even aware of it until, like Neville said, they reach the age of twenty-one. That's when their power is matured and they're drawn to a central meeting location."
"Well where have they been hiding? Seems like a group like that could've been helpful when we were fighting Voldemort. How come we've never heard of them before?" Harry asked.
"Some of us have," Hermione said quietly under her breath, turning a page in the book she was reading.
"Well the coven is only formed once a generation," Neville stepped closer to the group and dropped down on the floor next to the fireplace. "They have be chosen all together...so no one is... er...activated until all the members of the last coven are dead. And as to where they were hiding during the war," Neville shrugged, "the ones that were left were probably too old t be of much help."
Harry and Ron glanced at one another. "So...uh...what do they do?" Ron asked finally.
"They're an extremely powerful benevolent force," Luna's head put in helpfully from the fireplace. "According to legend, each woman is endowed with a gift which works in tandem with the other eight; when their powers join together…well," she shrugged, "they're more or less unstoppable."
"So wait, if they don't even know they're in the coven, how does the invisible killer know?" Harry asked, getting up to allow Ginny to sit in his place.
Hermione consulted her book again. "Well, if they were determined enough, there's a locator spell…" she frowned, "but it's terribly complex…we'd be dealing with someone extremely advanced."
Ron had closed his eyes and was pressing his temples with one hand, "Luna?" he asked, causing her clear blue eyes to focus on him, "you said that each woman had a gift?"
"Yes," she nodded, "magical gifts-the Sight, the ability to speak to the dead, special healing powers..."
But Ron was no longer listening. His mind had flashed him back to a cottage and a family all bound and gagged, watching their daughter and sister be slaughtered before their eyes…and his.
"You have a gift, Sarah Wheeler. I need it. We can't play properly without it."
"My gift?"
"Yes, the one thing that makes you more special than everyone else."
"We can't play properly without it," Ron murmured to himself.
"What was that?" Fred asked from beside his brother. "I don't think this is the time for playing, Ronnie-maybe later?"
"The killer," Ron glared, "the killer said he was looking for her gift…that she could give it to him, or he would have to take it," he closed his eyes again, Sarah Wheeler's confused face appearing once more in his mind. "But he said they couldn't play properly without it."
A pensive silence fell over the group.
"Well that's nice and cryptic," George assessed after a moment.
"I really don't like the word `playing' here…is this all a game to him?" Harry asked, his anger rising.
"I don't know," Hermione interrupted, "but we can't just sit around waiting to find out. If the killer is collecting the gifts of the Coven of Midret-if he's wiping them out-then he's not finished yet. There are still two more girls…whatever he's doing, he can't do it without all of them."
"So what do we do?" Neville asked, leaning forward with interest.
"Well," she glanced around the room, "I think we have to find these two girls before he does…we've got to protect them."
"Protect them?" Ron's face contorted in confusion. "Protect them how? And for how long?"
"I don't know," she shrugged, "couldn't the Ministry help us out?" She looked around again. "At least with the long-term…they've got ways of hiding people, we all know that. Anyway, that's not really what's important right now."
"Hermione's right," Harry said with conviction, "we need to find these girls and make sure they're alive…and that they stay that way. He won't be able continue with his plan if he can't finish what he started."
"Exactly what is his plan?" Fred asked. "Just a little vigilantism? Or do these Midget girls have something else that he might want?"
"It's Midret," Hermione sighed. "I don't know what else he might want…the Coven extremely powerful, I'd imagine they'd be useful in a lot of things."
"Well they aren't around anymore," Ron pointed to the news clippings, "what's he going to do with nine bodies?"
"Anything he wants," Luna answered from the fireplace. "Such magical people can be used for all sorts of things; their blood can open doorways to other dimensions, their eyes-even removed from the body-can be used to see into the future, their bones can be fashioned into extremely powerful weapons…" Luna trailed off at the disgusted looks she was receiving. "Just things I've read."
"Okay," Fred looked uneasy, "she's terrifying."
"I've always thought so," Ron muttered under his breath.
"So we'll have to do this locator spell?" Ginny asked skeptically. "The one you said was so advanced and complex?"
"It is advanced and complex," Hermione said, allowing herself a small, smug smile, "but I didn't say I couldn't do it."
Ron rolled his eyes but could not suppress a grin. "Know it all…"
***
"So what are the odds that the last two remaining members of the Coven of Midret are twin sisters…from London?" Ron asked dubiously as they Apparated onto an average residential street in London. He pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and handed it to its owner.
"Hermione said this only happens once every thousand years or something," Harry reminded, tucking it into his knapsack, his wand drawn in front of him. "Looks like we got lucky."
"Yes, one-stop-shopping for all your coven needs," Fred quipped, he and his twin Apparating a few moments later.
"Speaking of Hermione, why isn't she here?" George asked for the hundredth time.
"She's back at the flat," Ron reminded, "with Luna and Ginny-finding out everything they can about the Coven and what this guy might want."
"Still," Fred shrugged, "smartest, most powerful witch we know…wouldn't hurt to pack along."
"We'll be fine, all we've got to do is find the house, get the girls, and bring them back with us," Harry nodded resolutely and set off down the street.
They continued on in silence for the next block before Ron stopped and consulted the scrap of paper Hermione had given him. "Well, we're at the twelve block," he informed his companions.
"What's the number?"
"1294."
Harry could see the number on the house a few meters away from where they stood. "Let's go then." And off they went. "So you're sure Hermione talked to these girls? Told them we're coming?"
"That's what she said," Ron nodded.
"Right."
"And may I ask what we're going to do with these ladies once we have them?" Fred asked, stepping between his younger brother and Harry; George fell into step on the other side of Ron.
"Well," Harry took a deep breath as they found themselves standing in front of the steps leading up to 1294, "We're going to bring them back to the flat and work out a new plan to keep them safe from this…killer guy."
They filed up the steps, two by two.
"How can we be so sure it's a guy who's doing this? It could be a woman, right? Ron's got no indication either way from the dreams, right?"
"Well, in the dreams, he or she has been invisible…all but the first one," Ron reminded them as Harry knocked on the door.
"That's weird, isn't it?" George continued, looking quizzical.
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Anyway, I don't think we should rule women out…need I remind anyone of Bellatrix Lestrange? Mad as a hatter and far more dangerous."
"Generally speaking, George, hatters aren't a dangerous lot. Quite docile," Harry said, trying the door after receiving no answer. "Hello?" he called into the house. "It's uh…it's the people you're expecting!"
"And women are crazier than men anyway-we all know this," George was stuck on this as he followed his companions in, nearly running into them as they stopped dead in the doorway leading to the living room.
"Man or woman," Harry began, his voice grave, "we've got one serious problem."
George peered over the shoulder of his twin and was nearly sick to his stomach at the scene before him.
"They wiped out the whole family," Ron said softly, looking very much like he wanted to be sick as his eyes fell to a five year old boy, dead on his mother's lap, both sets of eyes gazing upward, glazed over.
Mother, father, two brothers, and a grandmother-all dead around the house.
Harry returned from a sweep of the upstairs visibly shaken. "There's no one here. The family's dead and the twins are gone."
And gone with them was the hope of stopping this disaster in its tracks.
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A/N: Like? Hate? Review please!
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