Chapter 35: Paint My Picture Truly.

They'd been twenty minutes in the classical façade of the Manchester City Art Gallery, at the centre of that great northern city when Hermione asked another crucial question. Ron was busy talking to the Duty Auror Sergeant so he didn't pick up what she said at first.

'Sorry, what, love?'

Hermione chuckled as the Duty Sergeant looked slightly embarrassed: it wasn't every day you got a visit from the Chief Auror of Great Britain and his wife, The Undersecretary for Justice, let alone have him call her in such a personal way in front of you! Ron frowned slightly at the officer.

'At ease, Sergeant.' he said.

'Yes, sir.'

'Carry on with the rounds, please – then same as Birmingham – shut everything down, leaving the wards up – only the strongest Undetectable charms here. Thank you, Sergeant Jones. Dismissed.'

Ron saluted. The officer returned his gesture and walked away, giving instructions to the Auror platoon, waiting patiently at the end of the room. The platoon began to disperse, about Ron's business. He watched them quietly before turning back to his wife.

'Sorry, love: what did you say?'

Hermione was not looking directly at him, awaiting an answer; she was perusing a painting entitled 'Francesca da Rimini, bound in Hell with her lover, awaiting salvation!'.

'Bit of a long-winded title, eh?' she replied. 'Sorry, Ron, what? Oh, yes – why paintings?'

'Why paintings what?' he asked, now non-plussed by her.

'Fothergill?' she looked at him. 'You've taken years in your investigation and narrowed it down to here, the Birmingham Gallery and Jimmy's hotel – and the main link is art and objects of historical significance,' she paused, thinking carefully, 'but the main link is art – and, in particular, painting, whether oil or watercolour or whatever – it's painting. Paintings are the main link. You're right – on the manifests of everything you've let go to Europe for export, the greater majority have been pictures – paintings: what does he want to invest all these objects, pictures especially, with Dark Magic?' she mused.

'Well, we know now, don't we?' Ron said.

'How?'

'Francesca. What she said. They – the paintings - are a part of his threat – must be,' concluded Ron, grimly. 'Luckily, he doesn't yet know we've neutralised all the objects, painting included, that have gone for export – we didn't quite understand what charms were used but we were able to remove or lock or limit the charms.' He looked down at her then back at the painting. 'Now, thanks to Parry, we know he's been using the knowledge of The Book of Affinities – using those very fundamental links in magic to create new objects – but his exact purpose? No, there's something more here, I am sure.'

'How do you mean?' asked Hermione.

Ron didn't answer straightway; he was still gazing at the painting in front of him and then at the caption board at its side telling the viewer what it was about. He read carefully, blanched slightly at what he'd just read and looked away.

'Think I don't want to read about that …' he said moodily.

Hermione laughed slightly. Ron looked at her, frowning.

'No, I suppose you wouldn't,' she said slowly looking at the picture '– the painting's idea is from Dante's Inferno – it's Francesca da Rimini and her lover, Paolo, locked in an eternal embrace, in the second circle of Hell, trapped in an never-ending whirlwind, just like their emotions swept them away in life.' She paused. 'In some versions, the wind drags the emotions of love away from them, for ever, so they are always tantalised by it but never properly feel it.' She paused again. 'I read it during our fifth year – always remember this part – thought how horrible.'

Ron seemed stony-faced for a moment or two. 'Yes.' was all he managed to say.

'Bit like me and my lover,' Hermione added quietly.

Ron's eyebrows seemed to hit the top of his brow as he turned an incredulous face to her. 'Not funny!' he gasped.

Hermione put a hand on his arm and rubbed slowly. She looked at him and held his gaze. 'No, it's not – sorry, my love; though …' she stopped. 'I would happily be tied to you for eternity.' And she smiled at him.

Ron just looked down at this amazing woman who he loved so much. Suddenly, he didn't want to save the world any more – no, sod it all – to hell with it all – he would just run away with her and be happy. What was wrong with that? He felt the smile return to his face.

She smiled back at him. 'Sorry,' she said again.

'Nothing to say sorry for, my love.' He stayed looking at her. She laughed lightly and nudged him.

She sighed. 'Back to business, yes?'

The spell was broken. He sighed too. 'Yes. Yes, back to business.'

'The paintings?' she asked again.

Ron became business-like again. 'Magical painting lends itself very easily to The Affinities – there's something about the creation of magical pictures and Affinities – it's the linking of the creation of something new with the Affinity charms that works so well: where, Fothergill and Parry have been brilliant is in creating a new step – they can now copy these things. According to the laws of Magic as we know them, fundamental magic cannot be replicated like that.' He was looking around the room, at all the paintings. He was gazing with wonder. 'If the implications of what Fothergill might be going to do with that weren't so terrifying, I'd be applauding them all the way into the history books,' he looked at Hermione, 'both him and Parry.' He chuckled, quite humourlessly Hermione thought, then sighed heavily. 'Under our feet, as we speak, our Aurors are withdrawing from the excavations we have been making for the past three years.' He looked purposefully at the floor then back to Hermione. 'We have been doing this here and at the Birmingham Gallery – we've used our most sensitive charms to locate their actual bases – and we've managed that: as far as we know, John, Dorothy and I and any of my other commanders – we all believe we haven't been detected.'

Hermione gasped. 'You didn't say! You've found them and him? Why didn't you say?'

Ron smiled. 'No, I didn't say because I can't say that: we've found Fothergill's Death Eaters, hiding out – here and in Birmingham – but we haven't found him. We've spent a great amount of time and effort to create new charms to find him but something always blocks us. He's untraceable. And we've used every effort and strategy – believe me. It's that that worries me … and makes me think there is something I am missing. That's why we're going to attack whatever – their actual bases we will smash, lots of arrests and convictions – perhaps the end of the Death Eater movement for good but …'

'But…?' Hermione prompted.

'But possibly no Fothergill because we literally may not be able to trace him.'

'What if he goes through with his promise, Ron – that's too …' Hermione was interrupted by the arrival back of Sergeant Jones, who coughing politely and saluting promptly, brought their attention to him.

'Yes, Sergeant?' asked Ron.

'Reporting back as instructed, Sir: all done, Undetectables are ready to begin – then we withdraw. We've set up reconnaissance points at the Town Hall and the Central Library. We should be able to stop them if them there if they try to escape, the wards are weakest at those points. Or if we attack, it's the most direct route underground, we can use the excavations from the Central Library. Commander Irwin just requires your say-so, Sir, and it's done.'

'Thank you, Sergeant – excellent. Well done!' Ron unrolled a piece of parchment from below his robes and a quote-yourself quill. He began to dictate, the air heavy with the quill's scratching. 'Here is the next set of orders. Give my thanks to Commander Irwin and your men; tell him to alert Deputy Chief McKinnon in London and The Deen in Birmingham. We go on to full alert in ten minutes. I want everyone in position by then – all staff are to stand ready; they may follow usual protocols of rest but post the usual sentries on rotation duties and everyone must be ready to go on offensive or defensive duties at a moment's notice, even present squads currently coming off the day shift. Understood?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Tell Commander Irwin he has full control here but to act with discretion – he is to wait to the last moment before launching any attack unless he hears from me directly. Otherwise he is to use his discretion – but I cannot emphasise enough he must be patient for the time being – it'll be a while before events really begin to get started.' The quill scratched away. 'If he needs to contact me, he can use the usual procedures, especially for emergencies. That will be all, Sergeant.' Ron hand him the parchment as he put the quill away back in his robes.

'Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.' The Sergeant saluted. Ron returned the salute. The Sergeant was about to turn away when he paused half-turn and turned back to Ron. 'Sorry, Sir?' he enquired.

'Yes, Sergeant?' asked Ron.

'The lads and me just wanted to say good luck with it all and hopefully we'll bag the whole bloody lot, Sir,' he said proudly.

Ron beamed broadly at the man. 'Thank you, Sergeant,' and reaching out, shook his hand strongly. 'Yes, thank you – and good luck to you and everyone – may this be a very lucky time, indeed – for us all!'

'Yes, Sir.' The Sergeant beamed back, saluted again and then turned, walking smartly away.

Ron turned to find Hermione looking at him, with a similar look of pride and satisfaction on her face that the Sergeant had just been wearing.

'What?' asked Ron, looking bemusedly at his wife. 'What's the matter?'

'They are very proud of you,' she stated simply.

'Really? You think so?' asked Ron.

'Yes,' she replied. 'Jones. Mckinnon. The lot of them. And they should be – just as you are of them. My God! Are you blushing?' Hermione laughed.

Ron smirked and looked at Hermione. 'Might be.'

Hermione sighed again. 'Well if you are done, I think I'd like to go home now and grab some time before it all really goes mad. With the deadline set by Fothergill I suppose we have tonight at least but you think things might …?' she stopped, looking to him for clarification.

'I think we have tonight, my love.' He smiled. 'He'll wait to see how we react to his threat – and we are doing that now. Then he'll begin to move.' He stroked his chin in thought. 'I think he'll begin to move tomorrow at the earliest, perhaps by the afternoon but he may be over by then – we may have to make our move before but no, not tonight – too soon. We need to make him wait and sweat a little … then we'll see what's what, eh?' He reached out and gently stroked her chin then her cheek. 'So, I reckon we have tonight at least, if nothing else.' She smiled back at him encouragingly and to him, her eyes seemed to hold something more, too.

Yes, he thought, we'll have tonight – but what of tomorrow? Because tomorrow will come and there were still so many things to consider. Despite Parry's adamant claims that he's not met with Jimmy Abrahams, Ron thought, Jimmy's got to you somehow, Parry and you know it. And then I've arranged to meet the bastard – when he arranges it. How can that be good? Ron thought. Whatever, I must be prepared for him and make something of that but what …?

'Ron? You okay?' Hermione's voice jolted him out of his thoughts.

We have tonight, he thought, and then we'll see.

'Yes, sorry,' he looked full at her again. 'Yes, I'm good, Hermione.' He grabbed her hand. 'Let's go. You're right, we need to talk and you need to get me naked.'

Hermione laughed. She pulled him close to her. 'Yes, yes, I do! Indeed, Chief Auror! You need a thorough cross examination – as we say,' and she kissed him.

'You know, there's a part of me that thinks with the world seemingly teetering on the edge of disaster we shouldn't be acting like this?' he asked, smiling down at her.

'Yes, I know what you mean,' she replied, 'but yes, we should – more so, sometimes,' she added and suddenly she was serious. 'Haven't we learned anything from all our wars and battles? Sometimes, you need to pause and just … be.'

'Where's Hermione Granger and what have you done with her?' laughed Ron.

Hermione laughed with him then looked longingly at him. 'She's right here. Come on, let's go - you've set everything up, everyone is in position, Fothergill's waiting and we need to do the same. Let's go home and see the kids and talk and …' she left the last thought unspoken, almost as if it was it hanging there in the air, waiting for Ron to reach out and grab it.

He seized her other hand. 'Come on, then: home, to see the kids and talk and …' he smirked with her. 'We'll apparate via the gift shop – we're totally disillusioned but all the Muggles will be gone by now; their security is at the other end of the gallery about this time.'

They proceeded down the central stairs and into the gift shop on the ground floor. As Ron had said, the place was deserted and he led Hermione by the hand to the apparation point, at the far side of the shop space and, as he did so, they passed several stands of Muggle postcards and art reproductions.

Something caught his eye. Hermione noticed. He stopped.

'What?'

Saying nothing, he dropped her hand and moved to the nearest revolving stand. He looked carefully at the art reproductions. The one at the top in particular really had his attention.

'Ron?' Hermione began to sound slightly worried. 'Ron? What is it?'

He didn't answer her. She came up to stand by him. 'Ron? What's wrong?'

He continued to look closely at the reproduction in front of him. Hermione followed his gaze. The image was of a crowd scene, about a foot long by eight inches high, the fashions and transport suggesting the mid-Victorian era to her, hundreds of figures in the picture but the most important individuals in foreground and centre ground, all in different activities. It was a busy picture with a great deal going on. She couldn't quite see why it had caught his attention: there were similar scenes on the other stands.

Ron looked down at her. 'This reproduction is at least a week early.' Hermione looked confused. 'We monitor everything the Muggles do,' he explained. 'Sometimes we alter their schedules to suit our needs but generally we just keep a close eye, in case something magical is going on under the guise of being Muggle. Irwin and I see all the schedules for staff, food, print work, customer service – anything – in case it's something related to Death Eater activity.' He paused. 'Don't worry, it's probably just an oversight – I only know this because this picture was on next week's schedule for sale in the shop – or the week after. It's just a little … surprising to see it here, that's all.' He smiled slightly as he looked at her then back at the picture. 'You understand, yes? Twenty-odd years of being an Auror with all this detective work, following hunches and attention to detail – well, you notice things!' He smiled again. 'It's probably nothing …' he mused. 'I'll just take a copy to check over.'

He reached up and took a copy of the picture. The paper felt normal to his touch: quite thick and obvious quality for a print selling at the price it had on the back.

Hermione noticed details printed on the back as Ron scanned the front. '"The Derby Day" by William Powell Frith 1858/59"' she read out loud. 'Oh, I see: it's a horse racing meeting – it's the famous Derby Day Race.'

'You mean like the Muggle Grand National?' asked Ron.

'Yes, like that but this is a Victorian scene.'

'Fascinating,' said Ron, looking carefully at the picture. There's something here that … He peered again at the picture. It was like it was just at the edge of his vision, waiting to be found … if only he could …

No, it was gone. He would check it later. It could wait till then. He checked the shop's clock: nearly seven o'clock – time to go.

'Come on. Let's go – I can check it later tonight. We need to be home,' and he rolled the print up and placed it inside his robes. He retook Hermione's hand and began walking to the far side of the shop. He was immediately pulled back. He looked at his wife in confusion.

'Well?' she said.

'What?'

'Aren't you going to pay for it?' she indicated the print inside his robes with a nod of her head. Ron laughed.

'Oh, no problem,' he said. 'I have strict policy of appropriation, don't' worry. The Muggle till will be added to immediately so there are no discrepancies. Come on, home is calling, yes?'

'Yes, it is: time for us all, to talk and …' she said and followed him into a tight embrace at the end of the room, as he turned quickly and they vanished from sight.