A/N: This will be mainly from Ron's POV, but I will indicate if and when the POV changes. I was inspired to right this by listening to 'Is it a Crime?' by Sade. I had an idea to recommend a film noir movie along with every chapter posting. Let's start with the famous classic 1948 film "Laura".

Four Months Earlier

Ron's head was in his hands, his elbows resting on papers scattered on top of his desk. He had really messed things up this time. His first paying client in weeks, and he had to go and insult him. Letting out a small grunt, he sat up and reached for the whiskey glass in front of him. He almost thought better of finishing the rest of the drink, stopping to look at himself in the mirror sitting on the right corner of his desk. His ginger hair was in its typical shaggy state he had gone back to after too many years of buzz cuts while on the force. His eyes looked sunken, the normal blue color dulled by worry, late nights, and booze.

"Fuck," he groaned out loud to no one but himself, shaking his head in embarrassment at himself as he wondered why he decided to keep that mirror. At first, it was meant to be hidden in his desk drawer, only there for him to pull out on occasion so he could make sure his appearance was presentable before clients walked through the door. Of course, that would mean I have regular clients, he sneered internally at his own reflection. Reaching over, he flipped the mirror down so he could no longer examine his own physical flaws and then picked his glass back up. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought to himself as he threw the drink back and sank deep into his chair.

The sound of hard rain pounding on his window had the effect of both putting him at ease and putting him in a melancholy mood. If he closed his eyes, he could almost drift off to sleep at that sound, but his mind was always too alive buzzing with regrets and recounting all of his faults, a nasty habit he picked up in his youth.

Pouring the remainder of the whiskey bottle into his glass he looked around his office trying to come up with his next steps. The lights in his office were low, giving off more of an amber glow. The office was not big by any means, and that's probably why he could afford the rent. He had just enough space for the basics - his desk, a filing cabinet, and a coat rack. Still he managed to keep the space a mess, or maybe it was a mess exactly because it was so small. Deciding against cleaning up at this hour, he turned over the idea of going home. It was well past closing for him but he usually stayed late at his office. Hell, he usually slept there if he was being honest with himself. He never wanted to spend time at his empty flat.

He regretted not ringing someone to meet up at a pub, but honestly there were few people he could confide in about his troubles. Most of his family and friends still never understood why he quit the police service to do private work, so talking to them usually dissolved into shouting matches. Except Harry. He knew Harry thought his action was foolish but as a measure of being a good best mate he tended to keep those thoughts and opinions to himself. He supposed that the other reason Harry kept his opinions to himself was because he understood the toll the job had taken on him emotionally, especially that last case. If I had just done things differently, listened when I had the chance, then maybe—

At that moment came the sound of a soft knock on the door. He looked at the clock on the wall and wondered who the hell would be at his door at this late hour;it was nearly midnight. He must have been so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear the person coming. Surely the rest of the building was deserted which should have made the steps of any late night visitor echo down the corridor. Ron himself shouldn't have even been there, but what point was there to go home. It's not as if someone was waiting for me at home.

The sound of knocking came again, this time more urgently. He fingered the weapon kept under his desk for emergency situations.

"G'away, I'm closed. Can't you read?" he growled.

"I'm sorry, sir," a soft female voice said apologetically followed by silence. Ron thought it was all clear after a minute had passed, but then she spoke again. "I'm sorry but I'm looking for a Mr. Weasley. I ne...I need his private investigator services. I'm willing to pay three times his normal fees."

"Shite," Ron whispered to himself. Despite the fact that he knew it was bloody ridiculous even to consider accepting work from someone calling at this time of night, he really couldn't afford to turn away a potential paying client, especially not one willing to pay extra. He weighed the probability that this late night visitor was potentially a mass murder or at least lying about being a paying client against his need for more money. Realizing he was almost through his savings and the little seed money loaned to him from the bank, he leaned over to press the unlock button on his door without further hesitation.

"Come in," he shouted gruffly hearing the lock unclick. As he pulled his arm back, he knocked over the remainder of his drink onto his lap. "Bloody hell," he swore to himself as he stood, grabbed a rag off of his desk, and began wiping the bottom of his shirt that had absorbed most of the drink.

He heard someone clearing their throat softly. Suddenly remembering he was no longer alone, he froze slightly as he heard his new client speak. "I'm ever so sorry. I can come back at a better time if you need to take care of that."

Ron looked up, a smile forming on his lips, as he readied himself to make a quip about her calling on him at such a late hour in the first place, but the joke froze on his lips as he stared into what he thought were the most intriguing pair of eyes he'd ever seen. They were a beautiful dark brown color. He would swear later that he could see the amber glow from the lights reflected in those eyes from across the room. She let go of the door and the sound of it finally clicking closed brought him back to reality. He followed her gaze back down and saw that in his efforts to clean his shirt, he had pulled the bottom up high enough that a small sliver of his stomach was revealed. Glancing back up quickly to apologize for his appearance, he thought he saw a flustered look cross her face. She averted her eyes slightly now that his attention was back on her, but an unmistakable smile formed on her lips.

"What was that?" Ron asked, forgetting what she had said as the heat began to rise in his cheeks. He was suddenly appreciative of Harry dragging him to all of those ridiculous early morning weekend boot camp workouts, always going on about not letting Ron turn into a potato.

"I said I can come back later, if this is a bad time..." her voice trailed off as she began to turn towards the door. Her facial expressions betrayed the fact that she probably already knew it was indecent for her to call on a stranger at such a late hour, but hoped he wouldn't turn her away.

"Seeing as you've already interrupted, you might as well stay and tell me what it is you need," he said as cheerfully as he could muster given how tired he felt. He waved a hand towards the chair on the opposite side of his desk in a further invitation to sit down. She continued to stand but when it looked like she was no longer planning to leave he turned his attention back to his shirt. After making a few more worthless attempts to clean it, he threw the rag down on his desk and quickly tucked his shirt back in.

"Thank you. I know it is rude to bother you so late, but I...I saw your light on, and I...I couldn't wait another day," she said as she looked down, her head shaking. He realized then that not just her head was shaking, but her whole body. At first Ron thought she may have been crying, but it was hard to distinguish if it was tears or rain water splashed against her face. Or maybe she was nervous. Even though she called on him, she was in an otherwise empty seedy office strip with a man she did not know other than probably hoping he was the P.I. Weasley listed on the door. He decided that was the likely scenario playing out until he noticed her teeth chattering.

"You're drenched. You must be cold. Let me turn on my heater," he rambled on as he bent down and picked up a small box shape heater and pulled it around to the side of his desk as far as it could reach. "These old buildings usually still have boiler systems, so they can be hard to control—the temperature I mean, hard to control the temperature..."

She merely nodded in appreciation.

"Please sit, Ms?" He asked as he walked back to his chair, gesturing again for her to take the chair opposite him.

"Ms. Granger," she said with a note of relief in her voice. After taking off her jacket she accepted the offered chair gracefully. Draping her jacket over the left arm of the chair, she set her umbrella and briefcase down at her feet. Instantly, her demeanor changed. She was no longer shaking from the wet and cold. Instead she relaxed into the chair, angling herself towards the heater and crossing her legs.

Ron took in the rest of her appearance now that she was more relaxed. He noticed she was wearing a skirt that hugged her body in the most flattering ways. She wasn't tall or overly curvy, but she was still shapely. Her dark brown curly hair was pulled up expertly into a fussy bun, the kind that women said they just threw their hair into, but in reality probably took an hour to achieve that level of beautifully sculpted messiness. Of course, there were a few pieces that seemed to stick out on their own, not agreeing to go along with her plans.

He could tell that she was scrutinizing him as well. Despite her judging gaze, her facial features seemed like they were made to give warm and easy smiles but at this moment they were definitely giving him a more ambiguous feeling. She was definitely pretty, not a supermodel but most people aren't. In the end, it was those eyes that nearly dragged him in again. They were intense, deep, and understanding but also judgmental, appraising and very intelligent. I'm going to have to impress, he thought to himself with a smirk that he tried to wipe off his face as quickly as it appeared. It was too late.

"Do you make it a habit of smirking at customers in distress?" She asked in a serious tone, but her eyes gave away that she was testing him. She was trying to catch him off guard.

"Do you have a habit of demanding entrance to closed businesses near midnight?" He gave right back to her. He wasn't sure what she was playing at, but one thing he was sure of was that he couldn't let a woman like this see him sweat.

She gave a rueful smile, acknowledging his point. "Not usually, but maybe I should start doing it a little more often. Seems one can run into the most interesting things at night," Her voice was calm but tinged every so slightly with desire towards the end of her statement. That confirmed for Ron that he had not been wrong in assuming she had seen more than he intended earlier. At least she seems to have liked what she saw, he congratulated himself but made sure not to smirk this time.

Instead he huffed slightly in response. After another heavy moment of silence, he cleared his throat.

"S'not often or ever really that I get business callers at midnight. You'll have to excuse the mess," he waved his right hand that was again clutching his whiskey glass at his desk. He wasn't sure when that happened, but he still brought the glass up to his lips to finish drinking what he managed not to spill earlier. Normally he wouldn't let a client see him drink, but this situation was out the ordinary and he decided to throw just a little bit of caution to the wind.

She seemed unfazed by the drink, instead choosing that moment to look around his office seemingly taking in the state of his affairs for the first time. For the briefest second, Ron thought he saw a worried look pass over her face. Maybe she was second guessing coming here, choosing him for whatever it was she needed help with. Not that he knew what that was yet. She certainly was taking her sweet time getting to her story. She continued to slowly look over the office and then at Ron. She studied him silently again. The look of worry disappeared, now replaced by some sort of mild satisfaction. Something was to her liking.

Still the silence was dragging on. Ron suddenly began to find himself anxious to be rid of this late night visitor so he could go back to drowning his woes in the second bottle of whiskey he had hidden in his lower desk drawer.

"Look if you just tell me what bus—"

"I must admit you are not what I expected—" she started at the same time, although she seemed to clam up as if realising she said the wrong thing.

"How exactly is it you came to expect something about me?" She won, his interest peaked. He had just assumed that he was some last minute find in the classifieds when she was looking for a private investigator in a rush. Besides he wasn't famous, so what could she know of him.

"I just...let's just say I know someone who knows you from your detective days. You come highly recommended, " she smiled evasively.

Ron studied her for a moment. Obviously he wanted to know who this source was, especially if this was going to turn out to be some weird vendetta or double cross, but there was likely no harm with playing along for the time being. After all he wasn't the one with a hidden weapon pointed at him. He made a mental note to himself to take his pistol with him on his way home just in case. After her words, he suddenly felt on guard, knowing someone was thinking of his police days whether it was for good or bad reasons.

He decided to at least try and put her in the hot seat and chose not to reply to her right away. Instead he simply tilted his head to the side slightly and raised an eyebrow in response, signaling that he was waiting for her to continue.

"Well, I mean—I just wasn't expecting a decorated inspector from the London Metropolitan Police Service to wind up working out of such a small office in some seedy back alley location," she said bluntly.

"Maybe the whole point is I don't want to be found," the ghost of Ron's former smile died on his lips as he brought his drink back up for another sip. "At least not by some types."

She visibly squirmed in embarrassment as she realized the bluntness of her words. Serves her right, Ron thought even though his intent was not to make her feel guilty. He was answering her honestly when he said he didn't want to be found. Harry had voiced similar concerns, one of the few he actually did, early on after he first opened up his practice. 'With your background you could have high-paying celebrity clients instead of an office down a back alley. Why the hell do you insist on punishing yourself for one mistake that wasn't even your fault, I needn't remind you, by working here,' Harry had ranted at him while standing behind that exact chair in which his new client was now seated. He had been saddened then by not only the location and state of Ron's office but also the apparently deteriorating physical and mental state of his best mate. 'One mistake, my fault or not, was enough to cost an innocent life,' had been Ron's only retort. Harry had been able to read the signs of self-doubt and likely depression in his friend's voice and decided not to press him. That had been three years ago and Harry had mostly dropped the subject, although ever the saviour that he was he would still drop occasional hints about a lead on clients for Ron.

Ron shook his head slightly to clear this train of thought. God, I don't need this shit at midnight, he refocused on the task of getting rid of this mysterious and oddly meddlesome stranger sitting across from him as quickly as possible. "Sorry, that was rude of me. Please tell me about your case." He smiled earnestly as he could muster and gestured for her to continue.

"Yes, my...my case," she continued to be slightly flustered but she quickly recovered. "It's...someone...I'm convinced someone is trying to kill me."