AN: Boyfriend is home now. This could either be a good or bad thing for my writing, depending, but after this chapter I'm getting quite excited about the direction this story will be taking, so perhaps updates will be more frequent...

On another note, there's a photo or two on the blog in relation to this chapter. [[ spicysugar368 (dot) tumblr (dot) com ]]


Chapter 9

D.M.


The splash of cold water to his face did nothing to quiet the obnoxious voice inside his head berating him for being a bumbling XY-chromosomed idiot.

Audibly growling, he reached for a towel and scrubbed it over his features, preferring the harshness to a drying charm. It, also, did nothing to quiet the voice. He let out an exasperated sigh and then thanked his lucky stars that Ginny's family was very protective of their only daughter and therefore wouldn't allow her to live with him until they were married, because he didn't know if he could have come home to her, slept next to her, and woken up with her after his stupid assed mistake of the night before.

His stomach twisted a little at the thought of Ginny, but he tried not to let his stomach get to the point of annoying that the voice inside his head was.

Good-for-nothing, stupid, ridiculous IDIOT… it kept chanting. HOW could you potentially ruin your friendship with Hermione? HOW could you cheat on Ginny – even it was just a kiss? HOW could you be so insufferably STUPID?

As it was he'd spent a nearly sleepless night tossing and turning over the conflicted thoughts in his head. First wondering why he'd done it in the first place, then wondering why in the hell it had felt so good and so right, and then above all wondering why one single godforsaken kiss could tear his head up this much.

Because you miss her? Supplied a new voice, this one different from the same obnoxious one that had been plaguing him for the past nine or so hours. Of course, Mr. Obnoxious wasted no time in stamping the small new voice into the ground.

Miss her? Right. That's why she's engaged to your best friend and you're engaged to the absolutely wonderful Ginny Weasley. Because you "miss her."

Harry nearly banged his head into his shower door when the unwelcome memory pushed itself into his head.

"I miss you, Hermione."

Hermione turned her head to look at him.

"I'm right here, Harry."

"You're right here, but… we're never together. I miss being together. I miss Hogwarts. I miss sitting together in the Great Hall. I miss having late night talks with you in the common room. Hell, I even miss the crazy adventures – they seem like trivial playthings compared to this."

Hermione was silent but kept his gaze.

"I miss you," he said again.

She sighed.

"I miss you, too."

Fuck.

A cold shower… that was what he needed…


He wasn't at all surprised when he showed up outside their closed office door at precisely 8:00 and saw light peeking out from beneath it. Hermione was never "on time" for anything and that was because she was always early to everything. She'd probably been here since at least 7:30.

Sighing, he straightened his shoulders and put a hand on the doorknob. No use putting off the inevitable. He opened the door and his eyes habitually glanced to her desk, where she sat with her back to him.

Her back which, he noticed, stiffened a little when she'd heard the door open. Fantastic…

"Morning," he said, as cheerily as he could. (Which, he noted, wasn't very much so.)

"Morning…" she mumbled, scratching away at a letter she was writing.

"Sleep well?" he asked, then mentally kicked himself. What a stupid question.

"Just wonderfully," she clipped, in a very obviously false-positive note. "You?"

"Never better," he answered, wondering just how thin the ice was that he was not-so-carefully treading on. Well, that at least told him she'd slept no better than he had.

"We'll hopefully find out who the mysterious 'D.M.' is tomorrow," Hermione said, breaking the momentary silence. Harry was about to ask what she meant when he remembered that they'd come across a name on the list Ron had provided them that had been merely initials.

"Ah, that arrest is scheduled for tonight?" Harry asked. "What's he being busted for, again?"

"Nothing too bad," Hermione said. "If he's lucky he shouldn't have more than a few months in Azkaban. Just a few draughts of Effugium."

Harry hesitated, knowing he should know that potion and not wanting to push any of Hermione's buttons by forcing her to supply the information. However, after a mere two seconds of his confused silence, Hermione filled in the blanks anyway.

"It's Latin for 'escape,'" she explained. "It's a numbing potion, both physically and emotionally. The drinker can feel literally nothing and usually goes into a comatose state for a few hours after drinking it."

She still hadn't looked at him, but Harry sensed she was becoming minutely more relaxed with each passing moment.

"St. Mungo's healers usually use it on patients in an extreme amount of magically inflicted pain or to sedate patients with mental illnesses who have bouts of hysteria," she continued. "It's authorized for Healer use only, and only a few Healers have those privileges. The fact that Robertson knows how to brew it shows he is either exceptionally intelligent or has inside sources in St. Mungo's, which is an even larger issue."

Harry realized she was retreating into her safe zone – the place where she had all the answers and knew everything that needed to be known for the situation at hand.

Which, he was almost entirely sure, she had no clue what to make of the situation the previous night or the remaining tension hanging in the air between them at that very moment. Thus… launching herself into a rant about a subject of which she knew much would be a perfect escape for her.

Harry mentally shook his head – he knew way too much about this woman. He didn't even know Ginny's idiosyncrasies and tics as well as he knew Hermione's. He reminded himself that came from knowing her for a solid ten years running now, but it was still unsettling to know more about one's best friend than the woman one intended to marry…

"Are you ever going to sit down?" she asked, turning around in her chair to – finally – look at him.

Harry was only a little startled to realize that, indeed, he had been standing ever since he walked into the office, when he normally bolted for the chair at his desk.

"I was just about to," he replied, pulling out his chair and doing so. "Were any arrests made last night that you have to charm letters for?"

"Nope," she replied. "Ron's first night off since he's been gone."

"So, nothing for you to do today, then?" Harry asked.

Hermione heaved a great sigh.

"Nothing except come up with a particularly good reason to not attend this thing…" she mumbled, tossing a paper airplane memo over to Harry. It unfolded itself in his hands and Harry skimmed the neat script in front of him.

Mr Ronald Weasley

Ms Hermione Granger

Mr Harry Potter

You are cordially invited to the Annual Ministry of Magic Yuletide Ball

Friday Evening, the Twenty-Fourth of December

Between the hours of Seven and Eleven O'Clock

At the Trinity House of London

Hors-d'oeuvres & Dinner Will Be Provided

The Minister of Magic personally extends his invitation

That at least one exceptional member of each office

Be in attendance at this prestigious event

Harry had to read it over a few times. He'd remembered Ron and Hermione talking about it the previous year, but as he hadn't been working with them at the time, he hadn't been required to attend.

"Do they always make that little plea at the end for at least one person from each office to come?" Harry asked.

Hermione sighed and nodded. "It's their ridiculous way of making sure there's actually people there, instead of everyone skipping out because it's on Christmas Eve. And it's always on Christmas Eve, every year."

Harry was silent.

"And of course, you know, last year I didn't mind going because I was with Ron and it was a nice evening out…" Hermione started. "But he's not here now and I'm not exactly keen on going alone. Thus, I'm trying to figure out the best possible reason for me not to go…"

"Hey now," Harry jabbed. "That just leaves me and that means I'm required to go, it says at least one person from each office."

Hermione, of course, had considered this.

"Just take Ginny, I'm sure she will be nothing short of thrilled…"

"Not happening," Harry countered. "This is her last Christmas at home, the whole family is taking a trip to her Aunt Muriel's starting the twenty-third. They're coming home Christmas day."

Hermione was speechless.

"Well I'm certainly not forcing myself to attend that wretched thing alone, surrounded by happy couples and wonderful Christmas merriment, when I'm bloody without my fiancé…"

"Like I'd like to do that?" Harry shot back. "I'd be just as alone as you would."

The solution hit Harry in the face like a wall of bricks just then, but he knew better than to suggest such a thing. After what happened the previous night, there was no way they could go—

"Together," Hermione suddenly said. "You could escort me, since Ron can't. As friends."

Harry was stunned into silence.

"At least one of us has to go," Hermione prodded on, "And I think we were very clear that neither of us is going alone. So, unless you'd like to play rock paper scissors for it, I think the only solution is for us both to attend. Together."

"Right," Harry said, his mouth hanging open a little. "I mean – are you sure?" he asked.

"Unless you have any better ideas, I think this is our only option."

Harry shut his mouth. She was right.

"Right, okay then," he said. "Together. Christmas Eve. Which is… a week from tomorrow."


Damn Robertson and his stupid cryptic initial coding system…

Ron was staring at the three vials bound together with twine in his hand. Attached to them was the slip of paper stating "Effugium (3) – D.M. - 16 December – 2300 – Englisher Garten; Sckell Monument – 75.G"

He'd already taken a trip over to the Englisher Garten earlier today, which hadn't taken a whole lot of thinking to figure out it meant "English Garden." He'd never been there before, but he had to admit it certainly was a beautiful place. While he was strolling around he'd located an information booth that had brochures for the park in it. He could make out a few of the words and piece together some sentences, but by checking the numerous photos and the various captions, he was able to locate the Sckell Monument. Tall and ostentatious as it was, Ron really rather thought it looked a bit like something much more crude from a distance… but it certainly did overlook a gorgeous lake… the Kleinhesseloher See.

Of course, Ron had gone when there was still plenty of daylight. The crude looking statue and the pretty lake would be hardly visible when he went in the dark of night at 11:00 this evening.

Which, Ron noted, checking his watch, was in fifteen minutes. His stomach gurgled at the prospect of yet another bout of polyjuice, but he swallowed down the feeling.

He still hadn't quite figured out how he was going to address this mystery client. Robertson clearly knew him well, else he wouldn't feel the need to only label the client by his initials. Or, Ron pondered, perhaps his initials were all Robertson knew of the person, and that's how he referred to him. Would be pretty bright on the side of the client, Ron thought, because it would lessen his chances of being discovered if Robertson got caught…

Sucked to be him that he was going to get caught anyway, Ron thought.

Ron took a deep breath and hopped off the stool he'd been occupying in the potions lab within Robertson's apartment and walked over to the opposite counter, where Ron's carefully labeled and secluded beaker of polyjuice potion sat. Grimacing, he picked up the beaker in one hand, pinched his nose with the other, and took a swallow. The painful sensation that he didn't think he'd ever get used to immediately began and he suffered through it for the few minutes it lasted. He'd of course had to be wearing Robertson's clothes all the time now, since he had none of his own, so the finished product of the transformation always felt more comfortable in whatever he was wearing at the time.

There had been a few pathway lights illuminating the area around the statue when Ron had visited there earlier, which he'd taken a few moments to subtly disable with a few whispered "reducto" curses when no one was around. Praying that no one had noticed and replaced the lights since his absence, Ron tucked the vials of Effugium into his sweatshirt pocket and apparated to the location.

Mercifully, it was pitch black.

"Homenum Revelio," Ron whispered. A few faint white lights far off in the distance showed him a few late night park goers, but otherwise, he was totally alone. "Lumos," he said, lighting the tip of his wand just long enough to show him that he was, indeed, at the Sckell Monument, before extinguishing it.

It hadn't been dark two seconds, however, before Ron heard a soft pop beside him.

D.M. had arrived.

"Guten Abend," Ron said quietly.

"Hello, Robertson," a husky voice answered. He sounded tired, worn down… probably from using too much Effugium, Ron thought. A mere shell of who he used to be, whoever that was.

"Lumos," came the soft whisper – but this time it wasn't Ron who uttered it. Ron looked to his left to see his client's wand lit, but couldn't help the shocked gasp that emitted from his throat. It was out before he could stop it.

"Malfoy?" he whispered.

His hand tightened around his lit wand, his eyes narrowing.

"What was that?" he croaked.

Ron stared in disbelief. There was no denying it. It was most definitely the same Draco Malfoy he'd gone to school with, the same Draco Malfoy Harry had pulled onto his broom that horrific night in the castle when Voldemort had invaded, the same Draco Malfoy who disappeared after the war and was never heard from again…

Until now…

And his obvious surprise at Ron uttering his name meant that Ron's second theory, that he'd never told Robertson his full name, was the correct one. Realizing he couldn't cover his slip, Ron decided to bluff his way out.

"Come on, you twit, you don't think I know who you are…" Ron growled. There was more malice in his voice than there should be, but he couldn't help it. "When He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named got offed four years ago you and your parents ran off like nothing happened…"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Malfoy sneered, but his voice was weak and his eyes didn't quite meet Ron's.

"That's why you've been buying all this Effugium, isn't it?" Ron spat. He was bluffing, but based on Malfoy's haggard appearance and hollowed out voice, he had reason enough to believe this wasn't his first time round the block. "You've been blocking out the pain, blocking out the memories…"

Ron almost felt sorry for him.

"You shut your mouth, Robertson…" Malfoy growled. "I'm warning you… you just give me what I came here for…"

"Or what?" Ron couldn't help but to say. He was treading on dangerous ground, and he knew it, but he couldn't pass up the chance to face off with Draco Malfoy himself, bleeding little coward that he was… "What are you going to do to me, you helpless little addict?"

"I said… shut… up!" Malfoy said, and a jet of red light shot out of the end of his wand. Ron quickly – wordlessly – used his wand to create a brief Protego shield to block the spell.

"Are you fucking nuts?" Ron hissed. "Do you want every Muggle in the bloody area to find us?"

"One more word, Robertson, and I swear…"

Hatred such as Ron had never felt for Draco Malfoy before was bubbling up inside him. Not only had he done his best to make his, Harry's, and especially Hermione's life hell growing up, but he'd tried to kill them all, they'd fucking saved his bloody life and he repaid them by running off into hiding and abusing illegal potions…

"You fucking coward, what could you ever do to me," Ron sneered.

He'd pushed too far, he knew before the words had even left his mouth. He nearly swore he saw something literally snap behind Malfoy's dark, sullen eyes.

"Avada Kedavra!" Malfoy yelled. Ron ducked and rolled just in time – he could feel the heat of the curse shoot over his head.

"Stupefy!" he shouted back, but his curse missed and rebounded off the statue, which was now behind Malfoy. He barely ducked in time to avoid another jet of green light but lost his footing and realized just then how very close he was to the edge of the lake… because he fell right in.

Of course it was shallow to start but it was frigidly cold, just above freezing… and the added weight of the water in his clothes made it that much harder to move.

"Stupefy!" he tried again. This time Malfoy had to block it. Ron was struggling to his feet, trying to ignore the cold setting deep into his bones already. He'd be at risk for hypothermia if he didn't get out of here soon…

There was a mad glint in Malfoy's eye and Ron knew he'd snapped. Every time he raised his wand, he was aiming to kill.

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

He was slowly walking toward Ron's struggling figure – Ron still hadn't gotten to his feet, the rocks underfoot were slippery and his entire bottom half was weighted down with heavy waterlogged clothing. Suddenly, Malfoy was within arm's reach of Ron.

It was crazy, but it might be his only shot…

Gripping his wand tightly in his right hand, he lunged out and wrapped his left arm around Malfoy's legs and yanked as hard as he could. Malfoy was startled enough that he didn't have time to react and he toppled overtop of Ron and headfirst into the shallow water. Ron took the opportunity to – finally – get his footing and propel himself into a standing position, whipping himself around to face Malfoy, writhing about in the water.

"Incarcerous!" Ron yelled, followed by "Expelliarmus!" Malfoy's wand wriggled its way out of his bound hands and flew into Ron's outstretched one. Ron took a heavy step toward Malfoy and put a silencing charm on him, just for good measure, and dragged him out of the water. Ron was panting and shivering at the same time. He was getting colder by the minute and he knew his core body temperature had to be dropping.

"You, you pathetic little slime ball," Ron growled at Malfoy's stunned eyes, "are coming with me."

And in a pop, they were gone.


Ron sat in a corner of the prepared room for the arrested clients he brought back, wrapped in nothing but several large, warm blankets. The Healers in the room had immediately stripped both he and Malfoy of everything they were wearing right down to the skin to minimize their exposure to the cold. Malfoy had been sedated and was currently in a separate room in the company of several Healers and covered in blankets.

"Hoo, buddy," said the same Healer Ron had talked to the previous week. "I still can't believe you found that Malfoy kid."

Ron's pride was a little hurt at him referring to Malfoy as a "kid" when Ron was the same age as he was, but didn't let it get to him.

Ron had finally stopped shivering and hoped that his body temperature was coming back to normal so someone could bring him clothes and he could apparate back to Germany and go to bed. This was way too much headache for one night. Ron thought his days of near-death encounters were over, but obviously not.

"You doin' all right, son?" the Healer asked. Ron had learned his name was Jason. Whether that was his first name or surname, he wasn't entirely sure, but it would do.

"Yeah, Jason, I'm okay… as okay as I can be. Can't say I haven't seen worse, you know?"

"True thing, son," he said, patting him on the shoulder. "If you're feelin' all right, I think we can get your clothes back to you and get you on your way."

"Thanks, that'd be great…" Ron mumbled. The pile of clothes he'd been wearing appeared in Jason's arms, but now quite dry and neatly folded.

"Here you go. I'll give you some privacy. I'll see you tomorrow night, Weasley," he said, giving him a little salute and disappearing through the door that housed Malfoy. Taking a deep breath, Ron got up from the chair he'd been in and let all the blankets fall to the floor. The air felt quite cold in comparison, so he got dressed in a hurry. He cast one last disdainful look at the door on the opposite side of the room, hoping Malfoy got whatever the maximum sentence was in Azkaban, before disapparating back to Munich.