Part 3

In the early hours of the morning Ron woke up in a cold sweat, shaking from head to foot. It took him several moments to realize where he was. He even figured out why he was there. But how he got there was a bit of a mystery. Not that he cared. At that moment his stomach was being twisted into a knot.

He stumbled his way to the bathroom, emptying his stomach contents into the toilet. He fell back, collapsing on the floor, leaning his face against the cold porcelain of the bathtub. Myrtle came up through the bathtub drain. "Here you are. I've been looking all over-" her voice softened when she saw him. She sat down next to him, and through he couldn't feel her touch, put a hand on his shoulder. "Sometimes I think you're worse off than me."

She watched sadly as he struggled to his feet, not even noticing her in his delirium as he walked right through her. Ron stumbled into Draco's bedroom, pale and in a cold sweat. There were two figures asleep in the bed. He grabbed Draco's shoulder roughly. "Wake up," he hissed.

"Ow," Draco muttered, wrenching himself free. "Shut up you git. Get the hell out of here."

Ron ignored him. "I need some. Now."

"Huh? Oh. Piss off."

"If I do not get some Drugs right now, I swear I will rip your head off with my bare hands."

"Fine, fine. Just get out of here. If you wake her up, she will kill us both." He shooed Ron out of the room. A moment later he joined Ron in the hall, wearing a pair of green sweat pants. "C'mon," he said. Next to the bathroom was a door locked with a combination padlock. He twisted the dial quickly, and let Ron in.

Ron looked around. The room was a good one hundred degrees, caused by the large blue fire--uncontained but burning nothing--in the corner, over which was a good-sized cauldron. A long worktable was covered in different colored liquids and supplies: Bunsen burners, beakers, and scales. Cabinets and shelves lined the other wall, which were full of more bottles and jars and little boxes. "What the hell--never mind. Drugs. Now."

Draco searched a cabinet and brought out the green bottle. "Here." He pulled it away as Ron grabbed for it. "Money?"

"I've got five galleons in my bag. Now give it!"

"I don't accept wizard money. The exchange rate is awful right now." He saw the mad look in Ron's eyes. "Fine." He handed over the bottle and tossed Ron a syringe from a drawer. "Knock yourself out."

Ron fumbled with the bottle and the syringe, but as soon as it was flowing through his veins he begain to relax. Draco cleared him out, locked the door, and went back to bed.

"What was that all about?" Deirdre mumbled, half asleep as she curled an arm around him.

Draco stared at the ceiling. "Nothing."

***

It was afternoon before Ron managed to pull himself up off the couch. He stumbled into the bathroom to relieve himself, then jumped into the shower, where Myrtle appeared again while he was borrowing Draco's shampoo. He jumped in surprise when he opened his eyes and she was in front of him, the water running through her while she didn't even flinch. "What are you doing here?"

"I just came to see how you were doing after last night," she said. "You were pretty out of it."

"You were here last night?"

"See what I mean?"

"I'm sorry, Myrtle." He leaned against the shower door.

"You should be sorry," she snapped. "I think I liked you better back when you were pretending to like me, when you three used my bathroom to-"

"Stop right there," he said, putting a hand up. "I don't want to hear about any of that. Ancient history."

"Sorry. Honestly." She put her ghostly arms around Ron's neck. "It's no big deal when you're girl friend is dead, but when someone gets on your case about Potter you just-get back here! I wasn't finished talking to you." Ron had slammed the shower door open and stepped out.

"I'm not talking to you, Myrtle." He toweled off and slipped on jeans and a t-shirt. "You know," he said as he was dressing, "maybe we should consider breaking up."

"Fine! Maybe we will!" She left in a huff, sliding up the sink faucet.

Ron marched down the hall to find Draco's workroom open. Muggle rock music poured from the boom box in the corner. The blond was sitting at the bench wearing goggles and dragon hide gloves up to his elbows. "Don't say a word," Draco said when he entered. "Wait just a sec." He held a vial of green liquid in one hand, and a dropper of black liquid in the other. One, two drops of the black into the green. There was a puff of purple smoke with each drop. "Okay. Talk."

"What are you doing in here?"

"At the moment I'm making Death Potion. This stuff is dangerous before the reaction."

"You're nuts. Making potions without magic?"

"As long as you know what you're doing." He pulled off the gloves and goggles. "I wasn't Snape's favourite student for nothing, you know. Besides, I already learned that lesson." He pulled down the neck of his t-shirt, showing Ron the scar he had noticed before. "A batch blew up on me. Got lucky that time." Draco got up and stirred the cauldron.

Ron peered over the side. The contents was bubbling and emerald green. "What's in that? It's not--"

"Yeah, it's the Drug. It's not done. Has to boil for a good forty-eight hours. See the colour? Not potent enough. Once it reaches a deep forest green. That's the stuff I've been giving you."

"When is this batch done?"

"Tonight. No you can't have any," he said before Ron could speak. "But if you're a good boy, I'll let you lick the spoon." Ron scowled. "It ships out Monday afternoon. Or rather, I haul it to Knockturn Alley."

"You're insane."

"And you really need to consider your drug of choice. One word. Rogaine."

"Asshole."

Draco turned away. "Get out of here. I have work. You think drug dealing is an easy profession? This needs done by tonight, and I'll be spending all day tomorrow bottling the Drugs."

Ron spent the rest of the weekend watching television. Monty Python was funnier when he was high.

***

Deirdre had spent the night again on Sunday, so by the time Draco was awake, it was nearly noon. The pair had entered the living room to find Ron either asleep or passed out on the couch. "I think your friend has some problems," Deirdre said as they let him lay, going into the kitchen.

"You don't know the half of it." Draco took some milk and eggs out of the refrigerator. "French toast?" She nodded. He set to making breakfast. "Started back when we were in school. His best friend was killed." His voice took on a pained tone as he spoke. "You could say it was a little my fault."

"What happened?"

"Rather not say--can't say--I'm not sure. It wasn't fun. So I feel I have a sort of obligation to him. It's a good thing you didn't know me a few years ago. You would have thought me to be a real bastard."

She smiled. "I still do." He handed her a plate. "But you can cook, so all is forgiven."

She had just left when Ron managed to pull himself awake. When he glanced at the clock he shot up off the couch. "Bugger!" He rushed to the telephone. "Hi, Jane? I'm running a little late...don't bother coming in?...what?! Okay. Yeah. Thanks." Ron leaned against the wall. "It can't get worse. It really can't."

He made his way to the workshop, where Draco was putting liter-sized bottles into lined cases. "I just got fired," he said, monotone.

"It was bound to happen," Draco remarked, speaking around the cigarette in his mouth. "Here, give me a hand with these." He closed the last case. There were four of them, each holding four bottles. The two carried them down to his car, putting them in the boot.

Draco got in the car. "See you tonight. Clean up the flat a little while I'm gone. You're an absolute pig."

Ron stood in the parking deck as Draco started the car. Tried to. The engine sputtered a few times before refusing to emit any more noise, though it was kindly enough to fill the parking deck with smoke. Draco opened up the door. "I need that banger of yours."

***

Ron was standing in front of the Leaky Cauldron for the first time since his last trip for school supplies. "Don't see why you couldn't trust me with your car. Even if I did crash it, you could use the insurance money." Draco was unloading and handed Ron a second case. "Oh well. Not as many trips."

They entered the inn, where Tom was wiping down the bar. "Hullo, Tom," Draco said cheerily.

Tom looked up. "Hey. How's the Muggle Artifact business?"

"Booming." Ron glanced at Draco. "Interested in a fake Rolex?" Tom laughed, though he wasn't quite sure what a Rolex was. "I've got a big shipment that needs to go through. Mind opening the gate for us?" Tom obliged, and within minutes Ron found himself completely immersed in the wizard world once again.

"So you're a 'muggle artifacts' salesman?" Ron teased as they made their way through Diagon Alley.

Draco grinned. "Only to the good people of Diagon Alley. Poor ashamed rich boy, thrown out of the family because of a handicap, now making a living as good as he can. As far as a cover story goes, it ain't half bad. Besides, anything to make my father look worse."

"You're father's been in Azkaban for almost four years now. When people do think of him, they couldn't think any worse."

"I could go back. My mother would take me. I've got a million galleons waiting for me. But low class muggle drug dealer is better off than a rich wizard cripple."

"You've developed a sense of pride."

"And you've lost every shred that you've ever had." Ron couldn't argue.

They had made their way to Knockturn Alley. Ron had been there once before, mucking around with Harry right before their last year at Hogwarts. They'd been freaked out after half an hour and ran back to Diagon to meet Hermione and Ginny at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, like they had been supposed to.

Draco's meeting was in the back room of a run down bar called The Smoking Dragon. "Okay," Draco said as they set the cases down. "Clear out. I'll meet you in front of Gringotts in two hours."

"No way."

"Now, Weasley. You shouldn't go nosing about where you don't belong, and you certainly don't belong here."

"But--"

"Big whop-de-do. You got to do grunt work. Good for you. My customers don't want you skulking about. They get suspicious enough when the waitress serves them their drinks. They'll pretend we're not even here. So sod off before I kick you out."

"Okay, okay. I'm going. I'll wait in the car." Ron walked off in a huff.

He made his way back to Diagon Alley quickly. He wasn't any more comfortable in Knockturn than he had been years before. He made his way down the road. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes #1 was located next to the Owl Emporium. (#2 was located in Hogsmede, with one twin at each.) He only had to consider a minute before entering the store.

Fred was with a customer, demonstrating a fake wand to an eleven year old. Ron got close enough to hear what he was telling the child. "See, you plant one of these in old Ollivander's wand shop over there. I promise you will not be disappointed."

He didn't notice Ron until the boy had paid for the wand and left. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded immediately. "Mum's been worried sick."

"Tell her I'm fine. Tell her I'm staying with a friend."

"You could just go home. You know she didn't mean it."

"Well, I did. Look, my life is pretty screwed up right now."

Fred folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not going to argue."

"I'm working out some issues. Look. I just wanted to buy a couple Canary Creams."

His older brother smiled. "A classic. More than two million sold." He took a bag out from under the counter. "How many?"

"Two or three," Ron smiled. "I promise I'll be fine. Tell Mum for me, okay?"

"You could tell her yourself."

Ron took the bag and headed towards the door. "But you've always been so much better at lying to her than I have."

He trudged back into Muggle London fairly quickly after that. He didn't want to hang around, just get to that tiny green bottle hidden in the glove compartment.

***

As Draco approached the car he already knew what had happened. "Now is definitely not the time, you idiot," he mumbled to himself. He opened up the driver's side door and shoved Ron's unconscious form to the other side of the seat, ignoring the yellow feathers all over the car.

He just sat, staring at the piece of parchment he had clutched in his hand.

*A/N 3: In the next chapter Draco faces his past, and Ron starts coming to terms with his inner demons, er, family. Yeah.