A/N Okay, I knew I said I was going to wait for 10 reviews, but I think updating weekly is a better idea. Thank you to all of my reviewers so far! I love you guys! ^_^
Chapter Two:
The Innercircle
~This is how you remind me of what I really am
It's not like you say sorry, I was waiting on a different story
This time I'm mistaken for handing you a heart worth breaking
I've been wrong, I've been down, been to the bottom of every bottle
These five words in my head scream "are we havin' fun yet?"~
*Nickleback's "How You Remind Me"
Odd that Ron still had time for such pastimes as chess, which had now become one of the more useless aspects of his life. Still, after doing the dishes and getting a solid five hours of sleep, he found himself itching for something to occupy his mind, and pulled out an old and new chess set. He set them up and sat down to play chess with himself.
White always goes first in chess. Ron moved a pawn.
This was just like real life, Ron mused with a cold smile. The Light Side always made the first move, even if they didn't realize it. The Dark would wait, patiently formulating a plan as the Light tried desperately to stop it.
But which side was Ron on? While switching strategies, this thought crossed his mind. Was Ron really working for the Ministry? While it was true that Ron risked everything to go to them, he still did everything his master commanded.
From an onlooker's point of view, he was working for both sides at once.
The problem was most of the time Ron felt like he wasn't really himself. Surely he was not this monster, this killer that possessed the red-haired young man he saw in the mirror? But Ron knew he was, knew it was his hand that raised the wand, knew it was his mouth that uttered the words.
That did not answer the question. Which side? The Light benefited greatly from Ron's two-faced life, but it seemed to him that the Dark still got the lion's share. Ron had killed aurors and Mudbloods and other such nuisances, and it seemed to him that killing for one side was more productive than the other side knowing who was killed.
The game was getting ruthless now. Pieces flew everywhere, the chessman seeming to absorb Ron's rage and take it out on the others. Ron watched as the black knight took a white pawn with ruthless satisfaction. Ron was that knight...except that he was working for the white king.
The problem was, even if the knight didn't kill the king, he would eventually destroy all
the other pieces, leaving the other black pieces to take the king.
Ron remembered being a knight on the way to the sorcerer's stone. Had they been black or white? He couldn't remember. He honestly didn't know which side they had been on.
Ron moved the white rook, nodding with approval. He had the black king pinned in one more move. Ron looked at it from the Dark point of view, trying to find a glitch.
He felt his eyes widen. There, staring him in the face. An obvious, OBVIOUS error. Sighing, Ron moved the black queen.
"Checkmate." He muttered. The Dark Side had won.
As if Voldemort somehow knew what had happened, Ron felt his Mark begin to burn. Wincing slightly, he apparated to his lair.
The wind was cold, and the sun hid behind the clouds. Ron scowled. He wondered if Voldemort had a spell on the perimeter so it was always dreary and freezing.
Oh well, at least it wasn't snowing yet.
He was just about to go in when he heard a pop from behind him. Whipping around, he saw Rayven approaching.
"What are you doing here?" Ron demanded.
"Probably the same thing you are," She replied, rolling her eyes. Ron scowled. Honestly, did she have to be such a smart ass all the time?
They went down into the castle in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. However, they were both wondering the same thing. 'What did he want this time, and why is she (or, in Rayven's case, he) with me?'
"Ah, you are here," Voldemort said as they entered. They both bowed low to the ground.
"Weasley, I hear rumors of an ambassador from the French ministry coming over to talk with Dumbledore." The Dark Lord said without preamble. "I want him dead. Take Michaels to assist you. With that kind of security, you will need a lookout."
"Yes my Lord," Ron replied. What, was Voldie trying to give him a partner? That guy got weirder every day!
"I want him dead before sunrise. Go!" Rayven and Ron turned immediately away at their Master's words. Once outside, Ron looked at her.
"Your flat or mine?"
"That sounds interesting, Mr. Weasley," She joked.
"You know what I meant." Ron growled. He was in no mood for jokes. She sighed.
"Yours, I suppose."
"Very well," They popped into the newly cleaned kitchen of the small flat just outside London.
"Nice place." Rayven nodded approvingly. She had never actually been inside Ron's apartment.
"Thanks," He muttered, his ears going slightly red. There was a moment of awkward silence.
"Any idea where this bloke is?" Rayven asked.
"Not at Hogwarts, I hope." Ron replied.
"What bloke?" A new voice asked. They whirled around to face the grate in the living room, and saw Draco Malfoy grinning cheekily at them.
"The French Ambassador." Ron replied professionally, crossing the room swiftly with his long legs and sitting in an armchair facing the fire.
"Oh, that LaMarc chap?" Draco asked. "Well, I believe he's staying at the house of the official ambassador...you know, the one with the Ministry. He's going to see Dumbledore tomorrow. Why do you ask?"
"Business." Ron replied shortly. Draco nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. "Rayven!" He exclaimed, seeing her for the first time. "What are you doing there?"
"I'm with him," She muttered, blushing at the suggestive wink that accompanied Draco's statement.
"Really now?" He asked devilishly.
"We're partners now, okay?" Ron snapped. "What are you so happy about anyway?"
"The Dark Lord's pissed at my father. It's absolutely hilarious!" Draco replied, shrugging. Ron rolled his eyes. What a messed up household he lived in. Ron sighed, not wanting to breakdown the issues of the Malfoy family. He could never list them in a lifetime.
"Okay, Draco, where is the Ambassador's house?" He asked, just wanting to get LaMarc killed and go back to sleep. He suddenly felt very tired.
"45 Chestnut Drive," The blonde replied promptly. Ron gave him a funny look. "What?" Draco asked innocently.
"You sound like you've been there before."
"I have."
"Why?"
"Business."
"Oh." And with that, the conversation stopped. Ron knew Draco was a thief, stealing important papers, and on occasion important people, from various organizations. Draco was the only on of the 'Circle of the Two-Faced', as he had so appropriately christened them, who was in the Innercircle of Voldemort's most trusted advisors. Meaning Draco was Voldemort's top thief and the one who dealt most directly for attacks on a certain boy who lived.
"Well, we had better go," Rayven said uncomfortably through the silence. Both boys seemed lost in their own thoughts, and she did not like the looks on their faces.
"Yeah," Ron said, shaking his head. "Goodbye Draco."
"Bye." The head, along with the fire, disappeared with a pop, leaving the other two feeling very cold all of a sudden.
"Well...we'll apparate to my old school." Rayven started. "That's not far from Chestnut."
"Go home, I'll meet you there at midnight." He instructed. With a nod, she disapparated. Ron sighed, leaned back in his chair, and fell asleep.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chestnut Drive was silent. Which wasn't hard to believe, considering it was barely morning and this was a rather posh neighborhood. Ron and Rayven glided like the night down the street until they reached number 45. Ron realized with no mirth that it was a French-style home.
"What defenses are up?" He asked Rayven. She had taken a course on that type of thing at Reed, although it was really Angel's area of expertise. She could pick out most defense spells just by looking at a structure.
"Only anti-alahomora charms," Rayven replied, shaking her head. "Pathetic."
It did not take the two specialized murderers long to get into the house. Ron instructed Rayven to wait on the bottom floor and wait for a surprise attack. After all, Voldemort had said something about 'that kind of security'. Ron smirked.
This was too easy.
However, as he approached the door, he was no longer smirking at all. He was numb. He was in that mode, Death Eater mode, where nothing mattered. All that mattered was fulfilling his master's wishes.
The powerful Black Queen was, once again, capturing the weak White King.
He slipped into the first room, and looked around. He snooped in the drawers, making sure he had the right guy. He quickly discovered a passport with the 'Eric LaMarc' under the name. Smiling coldly, he turned to the man lying in bed.
"Avada Kedavra." Ron commanded softly. A blast of green light silently proclaiming death rushed upon the sleeping Frenchman. He was dead without ever waking up.
Alarms started going off all around him. Dark alarms, just like in Hogwarts.
"Shit," Ron spat, flying down the stairs. Usually, he would've just apparated, but he had Rayven to think about. Damn Voldemort for giving him a partner.
Suddenly, less then a second later, the alarms ceased, before the other ambassador even thought about waking up.
When he got downstairs, wondering what in the hell was going on, he found Rayven waiting for him. She had a very smug grin indeed plastered on her face.
"How in the he-"
"Now, now, Mr. Weasley, watch your language." She said. Ron looked at her in wonder. How could she be so damn flirtatious on Death Eater duty?
"Let's go," He said. They went outside, looking up at the house, which looked no different from the outside. Ron felt a lump forming in his throat.
Another innocent life stolen by Ron Weasley the assassin.
That still sounded foreign to his ears, after nearly a year. A year. Ron had been killing for a year in August. That was just disgusting.
He tried to imagine Severus, who worked on mass murder. Poor guy. Guilt was not a fun thing.
Rayven put a hand on his shoulder, and he looked down at her, his emotions crying out from his eyes. He looked down into her hazel orbs, and saw the same thing. Hell. Her damned soul, soiled by death and guilt. He realized that she felt the same way he did.
"Morsmodre," She whispered, tearing her eyes from his and pointing her wand at the sky. The skull, which Ron had once feared, now inspired a sick sense of pride.
Oh Lord in Heaven, Ron thought in torment, I am a Death Eater.
Guilt overtaking him, he apparated back to his flat. He closed his eyes and felt himself shaking. He put a hand out on the back of an armchair to steady himself.
"Are you going to be okay?" A familiar, tender voice asked him. He turned around and saw Rayven, though her face was bleary. Good Lord, were those tears?
"What are you doing here?" He asked, trying to sound intimidating but only coming off as miserable.
"You need help," She said quietly, taking his arm.
"No," He protested weakly as she led him into his room. "I'm fine. I'm an adult now."
"Hush," Rayven commanded in a motherly fashion. She laid him on his bed and pulled the covers up. Ron felt like a child again.
"Goodnight Rayven," He muttered, dozing off even as he said the words. Usually his nights were spent awake, tossing and turning with guilt. But not tonight.
"'Night," Rayven said, even though his deep breaths told her he was already asleep. She hesitated for a moment, and then kissed his forehead.
"Sweet dreams," She whispered as she apparated home, wondering what she had just done.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ron woke up almost as soon as Rayven had disapparated. Damn it, she had made him forget! He had to go to the Ministry and report all that had just happened.
Many more slips like this, and he would be a real Death Eater.
He kicked off the covers, cursing under his breath. As he disapparated he wondered why she had helped him, and why he hadn't objected. Ron didn't like being taken care of anymore. Why hadn't it bothered him when it was Rayven who acted like a mother?
Ron shook off his thoughts as he arrived in front of the main Ministry building. He marched inside, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
The hallways were nearly deserted, and certainly darker than during normal work hours. He didn't run into anyone as his feet unconsciously led his almost sleeping form up to the fifth floor. He came to a well-guarded door. He dug for his wand and muttered a few deactivation spells, then typed a password into a small panel on his left. He went through this process at several doors before finally reaching his destination.
Bode and Croaker were still wide-awake, playing poker and swapping stories, like they did every night. However, they stood immediately as they heard their office door open and Ronald Weasley stumbled through.
The two men immediately rushed to help their undercover counterpart. Ron looked dead on his feet.
"Good God, man!" William Croaker exclaimed. "What have you been drinking?"
"Very funny, Bill," Ron replied, sounding unamused.
"Cheer up," Dennis Bode said, trying to smile and handing the poor young man a butterbeer. "That oughta warm you up."
"You look like you've been to Hell and back," Bill said in concern.
"I have." Ron replied flatly. Neither of the Unspeakables argued. They knew, at least from a direct first-hand tale, what being a Death Eater was like.
"What happened?" Dennis asked, fishing around for paper and ink.
"I killed Eric LaMarc." Ron replied, rubbing his face with his hand.
"Ouch." Bill said, cringing somewhat.
"Dumbledore's not going to be too happy about this." Dennis muttered.
"Tell me about it." Ron replied, taking a swig of butterbeer.
"Any information on why?" Bill muttered, reading over Dennis's shoulder as he scribbled information.
"Well, he was going to talk to Dumbledore!" Ron replied. "What more reason do you want?"
"Point taken," Dennis said, finishing his notes with a flourish and setting down his quill. "In any particular hurry to get home kid?"
Ron shook his head. He was miserable. He always felt this way after a murder for Voldemort.
"Then stay a while," Bill said kindly. He and Dennis were two of the highest paid Unspeakables. They had seen it all. However, even they had never had the guts to do what this kid, along with the other four, did every night. "Up for a game of rummy?
Ron spent the next few hours playing rummy and poker with Bill Croaker and Dennis Bode.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ron went home for dinner on the last day of August. The family was saying goodbye to Ginny before she left for Hogwarts. Ron didn't miss his parent's teary eyes...their youngest child, now seventeen, was going to her final year of school. Ron got a little choked up as he hugged her goodbye. He wouldn't be seeing her until Christmas or Harry's wedding, which ever came first.
A new school year was commencing. It occurred to Ron that it had officially been a year since he became a spy. Or a Death Eater, which ever you prefer...they were the same in Ron's eyes.
More murders, more lies, more agony. Time went on for the Circle of the Two-Faced. Yet somehow, as September threatened to give way to October, they found themselves pulling through. The four did things together, sometimes even daring to laugh. Somehow they had become friends...a tight-knit group of four close friends who did everything together.
Weird. I'm friends with Draco Malfoy. Really, really weird, Ron thought.
The four usually just had dinner, but they set a date in early October to go shopping in Knockturn Alley. All four had something or other they needed for some secret evil plan of Voldie's.
They apparated to Angel's flat, which she had cleaned even though the other three were only going to see it for a few moments. Ron rolled his eyes.
"Women," He muttered.
"What?" Angel asked innocently.
"Why did you clean?" Draco asked, looking around with a raised eyebrow.
"Why do you care?" She retorted. Draco shook his head. He looked over at Ron in a look that clearly said 'Women' right back.
"I'm here!" Rayven announced, apparating with a smile that was way too cheery for a Death Eater.
"You're late!" Angel cried with mock dramatics.
"I am not!" Rayven cried, pretending it was a matter of her dignity.
"You are 30 seconds late, madam!" Angel declared triumphantly.
"Well, it's not like I'm the last one here!" She cried. "Oh, wait..." She looked at the smirking faces of Ron and Draco, who were very amused by this little conversation. "You guys suck!" She exclaimed. Ron laughed.
"If you two sit and bicker all day the good shops will be closed." Draco said professionally. With a nod, the four disapparated.
"Ugh," Rayven said, crinkling her nose at her first glimpse of Knockturn Alley. Ron was inclined to agree, as neither of them had been there before. Angel and Draco were already strolling down the dark and dirty alley, chattering like schoolgirls with fresh gossip.
"Hey, are you coming or what?" Angel demanded, as she and Draco spun around after realizing they had lost two of their number. Ron cautiously took a step into the foreboding alley, looking as if he'd rather enter a Hungarian Horntail den.
"I know the feeling," Rayven muttered after seeing the look on Ron's face.
"C'mon!" Draco demanded, tapping his foot impatiently. "What is your problem, anyway?"
"Nothing," Ron mumbled once he and Rayven had caught up with the other two.
"Now," Angel said, "I need to stop at Gungon's Bookshop for a certain spellbook..."
The four set off in search of what they needed, with Draco and Angel happily pointing out the nastier shops to their two Light-family companions. They looked around, both feeling rather queasy as they viewed a display of banshee toenails. Draco and Angel seemed to be in their element in the narrow winding street of Dark Magic. Ron suddenly realized with a pang that this was his element as well.
The found themselves in front of Borgin and Burkes. As they went inside, Ron got a strange feeling of familiarity.
"Hey!" He suddenly exclaimed as the little bell signaled their arrival. "This is where Harry was!"
"What are you talking about?" Angel asked, frowning.
"Back in second here Harry floo-ed here on accident." Ron explained enthusiastically. "He meant to go to Diagon Alley, but wound up in here. Then you, Draco, and your father came in and Harry hid in that little thing right there." Ron pointed to a cupboard on their left. "He said you wanted to buy a hand of glory or something."
"Potter was there?" Draco exclaimed, sounding offended. "Damn him!"
"My words exactly, Mr. Malfoy, now what is it you are after today?" The four spun around to see Mr. Borgin himself bustle in, his usual oily façade in place.
"Ah, Mr. Borgin," Draco said, and turned to the shopkeeper. After nearly twenty minutes Draco had chosen everything he wanted (the others weren't as interested in the shop's merchandise as he was), and he set down with the owner for some serious haggling.
"Oh lord, we're going to be here for a while." Angel muttered.
"What?" Rayven asked, looking up from a bewitched wedding ring.
"Have either of you seen Draco bargain?" She asked in exasperation. "We'll be here all day."
"I just want to get out of here!" Rayven whined.
"Here, I'll go next door for some Potions ingredients I've been meaning to pick up. You two go over to Diagon and go...well...you guys know Diagon Alley better than me, so whatever floats your boat I guess." She said, smiling at them. They were obviously rather shell-shocked.
"Yeah," Ron replied. He took Rayven's hand and led her out of the shop and down to the end of the alley as fast as his ridiculously long legs could take him.
Ron took a deep breath of clean air as soon as they reached Diagon Alley, feeling Rayven do the same next to him. It was sunny, he realized. Chilly, but sunny.
His mood considerably lightened, he grinned down at Rayven. She was looking dreamily around at the shops along the cobblestone street. It was then that Ron realized that he was still holding her hand.
He didn't let go for reasons he could not, for the life of him, decipher.
"Where to?" He asked.
"I don't know...all this sun suggests ice cream." She replied.
"Florean Fortescue's it is!" Ron declared, and led her down to the famous ice cream shop. Rayven laughed for absolutely no reason, and Ron realized something.
He was happy.
Happy? When did THAT happen? Ron hadn't been happy for a year. Suddenly he looked around and the sun was brighter and the cauldrons were shinier. He looked down at Rayven, who was radiating energy. Something about being on this old street, headed for ice cream in the sunshine...
With Rayven...
RAYVEN! Ron looked down at the skipping girl with wonder. Was she the one who was making him feel this way?
No, that was impossible. Number One Death Eater Rule: No Love. It wasn't just a rule too, the magic Voldemort injected into your veins when he put the Dark Mark on to your arm made it impossible to be truly loved.
But it did not, Ron realized, prevent you from loving.
"Here we are!" Ron exclaimed a little too loudly, as his head was spinning in circles. Did he love her? Did that mean she couldn't love him back? Was this all the result of some sunlight after that confounded Knockturn Alley?
"What will have, sir?" The man at the counter asked.
"Um, fudge sundae," Ron replied, saying the first thing that popped into his mind. He wasn't paying attention to what Rayven ordered. He thought that ignoring her might make this odd feeling in his chest magically disappear.
Magically...how ironic. Muggles could quite easily wish for things to 'magically' happen, but wizards even had to work to make things 'magically' happen.
Oh dear. There he went again, on an anti-Muggle spree. The Death Eater inside was slowly but surely taking over the most basic aspects of Ron's life. He would have to work on that, he didn't find it one of his more attractive traits.
They sat at one of the smaller tables under a colorful umbrella. Ron couldn't help but laugh when Rayven accidentally got ice cream on her nose. He had to fight the urge not to reach over and wipe it off.
They got into a very interesting conversation about absolutely nothing. Books and Muggle art and Quidditch, which Rayven seemed only slightly more interested in than Hermione. They were just moving to Muggle candy versus wizard candy when a familiar voice interrupted them.
"Ron! What are you doing here?" Ron looked up to see Harry, shortly followed by Hermione, come up behind them. "And who's the girl."
"Uh, this is Rayven," Ron said, gesturing to the girl by his side. "Rayven this is Harry Potter and Hermione Granger-soon-to-be-Potter," Ron was a bit nervous about introducing them. After all, Rayven only heard about plans to kill them.
"You're getting married!" She squealed enthusiastically, much to Ron's relief. "Congratulations!"
"So, Harry, how about those Cannons?" Ron asked, desperate for a good Quidditch conversation. Harry jumped in enthusiastically.
"Boys," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
"Tell me about it," Rayven smiled. "So, have you looked at flowers yet?"
"Well, I was thinking about..." All four were in their element: Quidditch for the boys and weddings for the girls.
"And man, did Vincon fly on that thing..."
"Oh, that would be lovely!"
"Did you see the way he got hit by that bludger right in the..."
"I wish I could be there," Rayven said wistfully.
"Well, Ron doesn't have a date," Hermione replied. "I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind another guest."
"Really?" Rayven's face lit up, her golden eyes shining.
"What about another guest?" Harry asked, tearing himself from a heated debate about the validity of referee calls at the Cannon's field.
"Well, Rayven can come as Ron's guest, can't she?" Hermione asked, in a tone that told Harry 'it had better be okay or else, Potter'.
"Of course, dear," He replied.
"Speaking of Ron's date," Hermione continued, smiling devilishly. "Are you two a couple?"
"Us?" They said at the same time.
"We're, uh...coworkers!" Ron said, and Rayven had to hold back laughter. This should be interesting.
"Coworkers?" Harry said, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you were unemployed?"
"Well, I do...er...odd jobs," Ron said sheepishly. What was he supposed to say? 'Gee, Harry, I'm a Death Eater. That's right, an assassin for Voldie himself. I'm part of a country club called Let's Kill the Scar-head. Yep, that's me, you're bestest buddy!'
Or not.
"We met when we were both hired by a friend of hers," Ron said quickly, seeing the questioning looks on Harry and Hermione's faces.
"Who?" Hermione asked politely.
"Uh..." Ron looked over at Rayven.
"Draco Malfoy!" She exclaimed enthusiastically. Harry looked curiously at Ron, who glared at Rayven.
"Actually, we were hired by Mrs. Malfoy," Ron said through gritted teeth. "Who is nothing but a-"
"Wonderful lady," Rayven gushed, smiling widely.
"Really?" Harry said, raising an eyebrow at Ron. "And what, exactly did Mrs. Malfoy hire you to do?"
"Gardening!" Rayven exclaimed happily.
"Yeah, weeds and stuff," Ron made a face. "Then that git Malfoy came over. God I hate him!" For a moment, this seemed to satisfy his best friends' curiosity, but then Rayven opened her big mouth...
"Really?" She asked, looking over at Ron with a frown. "I thought you and Draco were friends. I mean you work so well together-"
"Only during water fights," Ron said, trying desperately to make the faces of Harry and Hermione not so shocked. "Just because Dr...Malfoy and I kicked your ass at that water fight, doesn't mean you have to jump to conclusions."
"You did NOT kick my ass!" Rayven objected. She seemed to be getting pretty worked up over something that never really happened. "Besides, you and Draco do all kinds of things together. Just last week you-"
"Dumped you in that well in the Malfoy gardens?" Ron asked, grinning. Rayven's mouth dropped. "Well, just because we work together to make your life miserable..."
"I TOLD you not to tell anyone about that!" She cried, playing her part very well. "You and Draco-"
"Still tease you about it?" Yep, he was pissing her off royally. "Well, that happens."
"Ron, if you don't shut up I swear to God..."
"That you hate getting wet?" Ron asked.
"Ugh!" Rayven cried, throwing her hands up in defeat as Ron smiled cockily. "You are terrible."
"Well-" Ron was suddenly cut off by a searing pain in his left arm. He bit he lip to keep from crying out, and turned to Rayven. "I gotta go." He said, without further explanation.
"What?" All three cried in unison.
"Why?" Rayven demanded.
"Business."
"Business?"
"Remember, that business I told you about..." Ron looked at Rayven meaningfully.
"Oh...oh!" The second exclamation Harry could almost see an understanding pass between them. He suddenly felt jealous. Very jealous.
"Well then, you'd better be on you're way!" Rayven exclaimed, standing up and helping Ron with his cloak a little too eagerly. "Ta ta!" And with a wave, Ron disapparated.
"Where is he going?" Hermione asked Rayven curiously.
"Um, some business," She replied, trying to stall.
"What kind of business?" Harry asked, somewhat suspiciously.
"Uh..."
"RAYVEN!" They all spun around to see a blonde young man with long black robes come jogging up to them. "There you are, I've been looking all over for you and-" He frowned. "Where's Ron?"
"He had to take care of some business." Rayven said shortly.
"What kind of...oh." A look of realization dawned on him, and Harry felt his anger rise.
"Malfoy, what are you doing here?" Harry demanded standing up. Malfoy looked over at a very angry Harry and a very confused Hermione.
"What are they doing here?" He asked Rayven, who sighed.
"We just ran into them, now where's Angel?" She asked. From the looks on the faces of Harry and Draco, she would have to break up a fight between the two if she didn't change the subject.
"She got caught up in some clothing store," Draco rolled his eyes. "Women,"
"Well, we'd better go meet here. It's been nice talking to you, can't wait for the wedding!" Rayven said, waving to the very confused Harry and Hermione as she dragged Draco away mumbling.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ron, for the millionth time in as many months, cursed the Dark Lord. What the hell could he want now? Jesus, Ron had been having fun for the first time in over a year, and then he got a sharp and rather painful reminder of reality.
Rather painful? Ron snorted. That was the biggest understatement since 'Lockhart is rather fond of mirrors'.
"Ah, Ronald," A hissing voice said, almost causing Ron to jump. However, he bowed deeply and kept himself in check.
"I am at your command, Master."
"You must have heard that the aurors killed MacNair, did you not?" Voldemort asked.
"Yes, I did," Ron said, hardly able to refrain from asking what this had to do with anything. You never question Lord Voldemort. Never.
"He was in my Innercircle, you know," Voldemort continued, absently flicking the end of his wand.
"Yes, my Lord," Ron answered, unable to prevent some of his curiosity from seeping into his words.
"That leaves a whole in the Innercircle...a rather large hole," Voldemort continued lazily. "He was our assassin, you know."
"Yes, my Lord." Ron said, the words hurting to come out. His throat was suddenly like the Sahara desert. This conversation could only be leading to one thing.
"You have been a very loyal servant, Ronald Weasley," The Dark Lord continued. Ron nearly laughed, although if he had it would've been cold and cynical. Loyal? Ron silently congratulated himself on his acting skills. "I need the Finnigans murdered. Tonight. Do the job, and be outside here before sunrise. I don't think I need to elaborate."
"Yes, Master," Ron replied, his mind swirling with questions and thoughts. "When you say the Finnigans...do you want just Mr. and Mrs. Finnigan, or their son as well?" Ron prayed that he wouldn't have to kill Seamus. He didn't know if he could handle murdering one of his own dorm mates.
"Kill the son if he's there, but if not don't go looking for him," Voldemort replied dismissively. Ron was disgusted by his lack of respect for human life. "Go."
"Yes, Master." The Death Eater replied, bowing and making his exit. And with that, Ron apparated to his flat to prepare for tonight's excursion.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ron crept, if the gliding nature of his movements would be considered creeping, to the Finnigan Estate. He paused only briefly at the entrance of the gate. God, this reminded him of home.
But then, the Death Eater took over, and he confidently unlocked it and strutted inside.
Ron carefully checked the rooms for signs of Seamus. It only occurred to him later that he really would've killed him without a second thought. At the moment, nothing mattered but getting the job done.
His master could not be disappointed.
The master bedroom was very well decorated, Ron noted. Both were asleep. Too easy.
"Avada Kedavra," Ron whispered, pointing at the husband. He went silently. However, the sheer power of the curse awoke the light sleeper that was Mrs. Finnigan. Ron suddenly realized a mistake in his planning...Mrs. Finnigan was a witch, while her husband was a Muggle. It would've been much easier to do it the other way around.
However, it didn't matter. Mrs. Finnigan didn't really have a chance. By the time she had recovered enough to grope for her wand, she had joined her husband in wherever they went after death. Ron only took a moment to ponder the existence of a Heaven and Hell before sweeping out of the room and back outside.
"Morsmodre," He whispered, pointing his wand into the sky. A flash of green identical to that of his two previous spells formed the Dark Mark above the Finnigan home. Ron smiled coldly at his work. That smile held more regret and agony then any tear could hope to. He looked east and saw the faintest tints of orange. He apparated into oblivion, the sound of Ministry sirens just beginning to ring in his ears.
"Did you finish the job?" Ron spun around to see Voldemort, boring holes into him with his snakelike eyes.
"Of course, as you wished, my Lord," Ron replied.
"Take off your mask, Ronald." He commanded. Ron obeyed without question. You never question Lord Voldemort.
Suddenly, he heard popping noises around him. Nine figures, clothed in black but without the trademark masks, bowed to their master. Among them Ron recognized Draco and his father.
"Gentlemen," The Dark Lord said. "I have found a replacement for MacNair." He gestured to Ron, who bowed. They did not even murmur. These were the number one servants of Voldemort, they did not doubt his authority and judgment. They should, Ron thought holding back a sardonic smile; two of the ten members of the Innercircle are spies.
Voldemort was babbling about something. Ron wasn't really paying attention. He never did unless he had too...it was almost like back at Hogwarts.
Now look at me, he thought, comparing Death Eater meetings to classes! How pathetic!
Voldemort continued by questioning Ron's loyalty and the like, to which Ron replied correctly, not honestly. Then, just as the sun rose, Ron went under the Cruciatus Curse, just like at his original initiation. It was longer this time, Ron realized. When he was finally released he staggered to his feet.
"Whom do you serve?" The Dark Lord asked, his voice even more of a hiss than usual.
"You, my Lord," He gasped. His body was quivering, screaming in protest. He could feel blood trickling down his face. Collapse was not far off at this point.
"Yes," Voldemort replied simply, looking at each of the ten in turn. "Go."
With a bow, they disapparated. Both Ron and Draco apparated straight to the Ministry.
"Do you need help?" Draco asked in concern.
"No, I'm fine," Ron replied, his voice rasping. He took one step and felt his knees giving way. Draco grabbed his arm and helped him up, putting Ron's arm around his neck.
"Don't need help, huh?" He asked, somehow still staying cocky.
"Shut up," Ron replied, too tired to fight back. Together they stumbled their way to Bill and Dennis's office.
"Hey guys...what the hell happened to you?" Dennis asked, frowning at Ron.
"He was initiated." Draco replied, letting Ron fall into the nearest chair.
"Again?" Dennis asked as Bill left and hurried back with some various healing potions and started muttering charms.
"Into the Innercircle," Ron answered, trying to wave Bill off in vain. "I'm the assassin, obviously."
"Interesting...anything else happen?" Dennis asked, scribbling in his notepad.
"Absolutely nada." Draco replied.
"I killed the Finnigans," Ron said, sighing. "I have no idea why."
"Oh Lord, I'm going home." With a touch of his hair as a parting gestured, Draco disapparated.
"Ugh," Ron said. "I'm fine Bill, leave me be."
"Are you sure?" His companion asked with a frown, pulling the rag away from Ron's face.
"Positive. I'm sure you two were heading to bed." Ron said. The two men looked at each other...it was exactly what they were planning to do. During the day, one man would go home while one would sleep in a bed in the little room next door. They switched on and off.
"Ron, I don't think-" Bill began.
"I just want to be alone." Ron said, making it very clear that the subject was closed for discussion. With a shrug, Bill apparated and Dennis stood.
"If you need anything..." He said as he reached the door to the bedroom.
"I'll tell you, yeah, yeah, yeah," Ron replied, waving him off. Dennis disappeared behind the wooden door, and Ron stared a hole in the wall trying to sort out his feelings.
The Innercircle. Ron was a member of the Innercircle. That was the highest honor among Death Eaters. Somewhere inside of him, Ron felt a surge of violent pride. It only made him feel guiltier. But this did have its benefits, did it not? Now he would be closer to any plans on Harry's life. He could prevent them.
Ron somehow managed to convince himself that this was a good thing. How he accomplished this he would never know, but he did. Ron knew he should go home...he hadn't slept in nearly 30 hours. Yet he felt the urge to go somewhere he could think. There was a park about a ten-minute walk from where he was. Nearly against his own will he found his feet carrying him there.
Not that he did anything of his own free will anymore.
The sunrise was beautiful. He walked along the now familiar paths...he had apparated here many times after a job. He wandered around, lost in his own mind.
Or what was left of it anyway.
"Ron?" A soft voice interrupted him. He spun around the silhouette of a human figure. But Ron did not need his sight to know it was Rayven. "What are you doing here?"
"I needed to think," He replied. She moved, and the light splashed over her, allowing him to soak up her beauty. She really was beautiful in a mysterious Death Eater sort of way.
"Why?" She asked, frowning in concern.
"Well, I got initiated into the Innercircle this morning," Ron replied, feeling pride come through.
"Um, okay..."
"Aren't you going to congratulate me?" He asked, half-joking.
"For being the best murderer around? No thanks." She spat. Ron was taken aback by her vehemence.
"Jesus, Rayven!" He exclaimed. "This is a good thing."
"Really?" She sneered. "How is that?"
"I'm closer to the real plans!" He said in frustration. Why was she reacting this way? She had as much innocent blood as her hands as he did. Was she just in denial of what he was? Because she was the exact same thing!
"So that's why I'm supposed to be happy for you?" She demanded. "Because your skills to kill some people might save others? Because of the selective nature of you favor?"
"Why do you care?!" He shouted.
"Because you think this is a good thing!" She snapped.
"I DO NOT!"
"You told me to congratulate you." She retorted.
"I was joking!"
"Didn't sound like it!"
"Why must you be so frustrating?"
"Because you're a monster!"
"SO ARE YOU!" He roared, and she flinched. He sighed, trying to regain control of his red headed temper. "Look, Rayven-"
"I don't want to talk to you."
"Rayven!"
"What?"
"LOOK AT ME!" Ron grabbed her shoulder with one hand and used the other to force her eyes to make contact with his. His anger suddenly faded as he realized how close their bodies were. Their faces were only inches apart.
"Rayven..." He muttered, savoring the honey her name tasted of, feeling the strange sensation of hearing a name he suddenly found so beautiful.
"What?" She whispered breathlessly. He peered into her hazel, golden eyes. They were gazing back, holding...was that hope? He realized that their lips were getting closer together. All he had to do was...
"I have to go." Before she knew what was happening, Ron had disappeared with a soft *pop*. Rayven looked around before burying her face in her hands.
What in the hell had just happened?
Chapter Two:
The Innercircle
~This is how you remind me of what I really am
It's not like you say sorry, I was waiting on a different story
This time I'm mistaken for handing you a heart worth breaking
I've been wrong, I've been down, been to the bottom of every bottle
These five words in my head scream "are we havin' fun yet?"~
*Nickleback's "How You Remind Me"
Odd that Ron still had time for such pastimes as chess, which had now become one of the more useless aspects of his life. Still, after doing the dishes and getting a solid five hours of sleep, he found himself itching for something to occupy his mind, and pulled out an old and new chess set. He set them up and sat down to play chess with himself.
White always goes first in chess. Ron moved a pawn.
This was just like real life, Ron mused with a cold smile. The Light Side always made the first move, even if they didn't realize it. The Dark would wait, patiently formulating a plan as the Light tried desperately to stop it.
But which side was Ron on? While switching strategies, this thought crossed his mind. Was Ron really working for the Ministry? While it was true that Ron risked everything to go to them, he still did everything his master commanded.
From an onlooker's point of view, he was working for both sides at once.
The problem was most of the time Ron felt like he wasn't really himself. Surely he was not this monster, this killer that possessed the red-haired young man he saw in the mirror? But Ron knew he was, knew it was his hand that raised the wand, knew it was his mouth that uttered the words.
That did not answer the question. Which side? The Light benefited greatly from Ron's two-faced life, but it seemed to him that the Dark still got the lion's share. Ron had killed aurors and Mudbloods and other such nuisances, and it seemed to him that killing for one side was more productive than the other side knowing who was killed.
The game was getting ruthless now. Pieces flew everywhere, the chessman seeming to absorb Ron's rage and take it out on the others. Ron watched as the black knight took a white pawn with ruthless satisfaction. Ron was that knight...except that he was working for the white king.
The problem was, even if the knight didn't kill the king, he would eventually destroy all
the other pieces, leaving the other black pieces to take the king.
Ron remembered being a knight on the way to the sorcerer's stone. Had they been black or white? He couldn't remember. He honestly didn't know which side they had been on.
Ron moved the white rook, nodding with approval. He had the black king pinned in one more move. Ron looked at it from the Dark point of view, trying to find a glitch.
He felt his eyes widen. There, staring him in the face. An obvious, OBVIOUS error. Sighing, Ron moved the black queen.
"Checkmate." He muttered. The Dark Side had won.
As if Voldemort somehow knew what had happened, Ron felt his Mark begin to burn. Wincing slightly, he apparated to his lair.
The wind was cold, and the sun hid behind the clouds. Ron scowled. He wondered if Voldemort had a spell on the perimeter so it was always dreary and freezing.
Oh well, at least it wasn't snowing yet.
He was just about to go in when he heard a pop from behind him. Whipping around, he saw Rayven approaching.
"What are you doing here?" Ron demanded.
"Probably the same thing you are," She replied, rolling her eyes. Ron scowled. Honestly, did she have to be such a smart ass all the time?
They went down into the castle in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. However, they were both wondering the same thing. 'What did he want this time, and why is she (or, in Rayven's case, he) with me?'
"Ah, you are here," Voldemort said as they entered. They both bowed low to the ground.
"Weasley, I hear rumors of an ambassador from the French ministry coming over to talk with Dumbledore." The Dark Lord said without preamble. "I want him dead. Take Michaels to assist you. With that kind of security, you will need a lookout."
"Yes my Lord," Ron replied. What, was Voldie trying to give him a partner? That guy got weirder every day!
"I want him dead before sunrise. Go!" Rayven and Ron turned immediately away at their Master's words. Once outside, Ron looked at her.
"Your flat or mine?"
"That sounds interesting, Mr. Weasley," She joked.
"You know what I meant." Ron growled. He was in no mood for jokes. She sighed.
"Yours, I suppose."
"Very well," They popped into the newly cleaned kitchen of the small flat just outside London.
"Nice place." Rayven nodded approvingly. She had never actually been inside Ron's apartment.
"Thanks," He muttered, his ears going slightly red. There was a moment of awkward silence.
"Any idea where this bloke is?" Rayven asked.
"Not at Hogwarts, I hope." Ron replied.
"What bloke?" A new voice asked. They whirled around to face the grate in the living room, and saw Draco Malfoy grinning cheekily at them.
"The French Ambassador." Ron replied professionally, crossing the room swiftly with his long legs and sitting in an armchair facing the fire.
"Oh, that LaMarc chap?" Draco asked. "Well, I believe he's staying at the house of the official ambassador...you know, the one with the Ministry. He's going to see Dumbledore tomorrow. Why do you ask?"
"Business." Ron replied shortly. Draco nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. "Rayven!" He exclaimed, seeing her for the first time. "What are you doing there?"
"I'm with him," She muttered, blushing at the suggestive wink that accompanied Draco's statement.
"Really now?" He asked devilishly.
"We're partners now, okay?" Ron snapped. "What are you so happy about anyway?"
"The Dark Lord's pissed at my father. It's absolutely hilarious!" Draco replied, shrugging. Ron rolled his eyes. What a messed up household he lived in. Ron sighed, not wanting to breakdown the issues of the Malfoy family. He could never list them in a lifetime.
"Okay, Draco, where is the Ambassador's house?" He asked, just wanting to get LaMarc killed and go back to sleep. He suddenly felt very tired.
"45 Chestnut Drive," The blonde replied promptly. Ron gave him a funny look. "What?" Draco asked innocently.
"You sound like you've been there before."
"I have."
"Why?"
"Business."
"Oh." And with that, the conversation stopped. Ron knew Draco was a thief, stealing important papers, and on occasion important people, from various organizations. Draco was the only on of the 'Circle of the Two-Faced', as he had so appropriately christened them, who was in the Innercircle of Voldemort's most trusted advisors. Meaning Draco was Voldemort's top thief and the one who dealt most directly for attacks on a certain boy who lived.
"Well, we had better go," Rayven said uncomfortably through the silence. Both boys seemed lost in their own thoughts, and she did not like the looks on their faces.
"Yeah," Ron said, shaking his head. "Goodbye Draco."
"Bye." The head, along with the fire, disappeared with a pop, leaving the other two feeling very cold all of a sudden.
"Well...we'll apparate to my old school." Rayven started. "That's not far from Chestnut."
"Go home, I'll meet you there at midnight." He instructed. With a nod, she disapparated. Ron sighed, leaned back in his chair, and fell asleep.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chestnut Drive was silent. Which wasn't hard to believe, considering it was barely morning and this was a rather posh neighborhood. Ron and Rayven glided like the night down the street until they reached number 45. Ron realized with no mirth that it was a French-style home.
"What defenses are up?" He asked Rayven. She had taken a course on that type of thing at Reed, although it was really Angel's area of expertise. She could pick out most defense spells just by looking at a structure.
"Only anti-alahomora charms," Rayven replied, shaking her head. "Pathetic."
It did not take the two specialized murderers long to get into the house. Ron instructed Rayven to wait on the bottom floor and wait for a surprise attack. After all, Voldemort had said something about 'that kind of security'. Ron smirked.
This was too easy.
However, as he approached the door, he was no longer smirking at all. He was numb. He was in that mode, Death Eater mode, where nothing mattered. All that mattered was fulfilling his master's wishes.
The powerful Black Queen was, once again, capturing the weak White King.
He slipped into the first room, and looked around. He snooped in the drawers, making sure he had the right guy. He quickly discovered a passport with the 'Eric LaMarc' under the name. Smiling coldly, he turned to the man lying in bed.
"Avada Kedavra." Ron commanded softly. A blast of green light silently proclaiming death rushed upon the sleeping Frenchman. He was dead without ever waking up.
Alarms started going off all around him. Dark alarms, just like in Hogwarts.
"Shit," Ron spat, flying down the stairs. Usually, he would've just apparated, but he had Rayven to think about. Damn Voldemort for giving him a partner.
Suddenly, less then a second later, the alarms ceased, before the other ambassador even thought about waking up.
When he got downstairs, wondering what in the hell was going on, he found Rayven waiting for him. She had a very smug grin indeed plastered on her face.
"How in the he-"
"Now, now, Mr. Weasley, watch your language." She said. Ron looked at her in wonder. How could she be so damn flirtatious on Death Eater duty?
"Let's go," He said. They went outside, looking up at the house, which looked no different from the outside. Ron felt a lump forming in his throat.
Another innocent life stolen by Ron Weasley the assassin.
That still sounded foreign to his ears, after nearly a year. A year. Ron had been killing for a year in August. That was just disgusting.
He tried to imagine Severus, who worked on mass murder. Poor guy. Guilt was not a fun thing.
Rayven put a hand on his shoulder, and he looked down at her, his emotions crying out from his eyes. He looked down into her hazel orbs, and saw the same thing. Hell. Her damned soul, soiled by death and guilt. He realized that she felt the same way he did.
"Morsmodre," She whispered, tearing her eyes from his and pointing her wand at the sky. The skull, which Ron had once feared, now inspired a sick sense of pride.
Oh Lord in Heaven, Ron thought in torment, I am a Death Eater.
Guilt overtaking him, he apparated back to his flat. He closed his eyes and felt himself shaking. He put a hand out on the back of an armchair to steady himself.
"Are you going to be okay?" A familiar, tender voice asked him. He turned around and saw Rayven, though her face was bleary. Good Lord, were those tears?
"What are you doing here?" He asked, trying to sound intimidating but only coming off as miserable.
"You need help," She said quietly, taking his arm.
"No," He protested weakly as she led him into his room. "I'm fine. I'm an adult now."
"Hush," Rayven commanded in a motherly fashion. She laid him on his bed and pulled the covers up. Ron felt like a child again.
"Goodnight Rayven," He muttered, dozing off even as he said the words. Usually his nights were spent awake, tossing and turning with guilt. But not tonight.
"'Night," Rayven said, even though his deep breaths told her he was already asleep. She hesitated for a moment, and then kissed his forehead.
"Sweet dreams," She whispered as she apparated home, wondering what she had just done.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ron woke up almost as soon as Rayven had disapparated. Damn it, she had made him forget! He had to go to the Ministry and report all that had just happened.
Many more slips like this, and he would be a real Death Eater.
He kicked off the covers, cursing under his breath. As he disapparated he wondered why she had helped him, and why he hadn't objected. Ron didn't like being taken care of anymore. Why hadn't it bothered him when it was Rayven who acted like a mother?
Ron shook off his thoughts as he arrived in front of the main Ministry building. He marched inside, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
The hallways were nearly deserted, and certainly darker than during normal work hours. He didn't run into anyone as his feet unconsciously led his almost sleeping form up to the fifth floor. He came to a well-guarded door. He dug for his wand and muttered a few deactivation spells, then typed a password into a small panel on his left. He went through this process at several doors before finally reaching his destination.
Bode and Croaker were still wide-awake, playing poker and swapping stories, like they did every night. However, they stood immediately as they heard their office door open and Ronald Weasley stumbled through.
The two men immediately rushed to help their undercover counterpart. Ron looked dead on his feet.
"Good God, man!" William Croaker exclaimed. "What have you been drinking?"
"Very funny, Bill," Ron replied, sounding unamused.
"Cheer up," Dennis Bode said, trying to smile and handing the poor young man a butterbeer. "That oughta warm you up."
"You look like you've been to Hell and back," Bill said in concern.
"I have." Ron replied flatly. Neither of the Unspeakables argued. They knew, at least from a direct first-hand tale, what being a Death Eater was like.
"What happened?" Dennis asked, fishing around for paper and ink.
"I killed Eric LaMarc." Ron replied, rubbing his face with his hand.
"Ouch." Bill said, cringing somewhat.
"Dumbledore's not going to be too happy about this." Dennis muttered.
"Tell me about it." Ron replied, taking a swig of butterbeer.
"Any information on why?" Bill muttered, reading over Dennis's shoulder as he scribbled information.
"Well, he was going to talk to Dumbledore!" Ron replied. "What more reason do you want?"
"Point taken," Dennis said, finishing his notes with a flourish and setting down his quill. "In any particular hurry to get home kid?"
Ron shook his head. He was miserable. He always felt this way after a murder for Voldemort.
"Then stay a while," Bill said kindly. He and Dennis were two of the highest paid Unspeakables. They had seen it all. However, even they had never had the guts to do what this kid, along with the other four, did every night. "Up for a game of rummy?
Ron spent the next few hours playing rummy and poker with Bill Croaker and Dennis Bode.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ron went home for dinner on the last day of August. The family was saying goodbye to Ginny before she left for Hogwarts. Ron didn't miss his parent's teary eyes...their youngest child, now seventeen, was going to her final year of school. Ron got a little choked up as he hugged her goodbye. He wouldn't be seeing her until Christmas or Harry's wedding, which ever came first.
A new school year was commencing. It occurred to Ron that it had officially been a year since he became a spy. Or a Death Eater, which ever you prefer...they were the same in Ron's eyes.
More murders, more lies, more agony. Time went on for the Circle of the Two-Faced. Yet somehow, as September threatened to give way to October, they found themselves pulling through. The four did things together, sometimes even daring to laugh. Somehow they had become friends...a tight-knit group of four close friends who did everything together.
Weird. I'm friends with Draco Malfoy. Really, really weird, Ron thought.
The four usually just had dinner, but they set a date in early October to go shopping in Knockturn Alley. All four had something or other they needed for some secret evil plan of Voldie's.
They apparated to Angel's flat, which she had cleaned even though the other three were only going to see it for a few moments. Ron rolled his eyes.
"Women," He muttered.
"What?" Angel asked innocently.
"Why did you clean?" Draco asked, looking around with a raised eyebrow.
"Why do you care?" She retorted. Draco shook his head. He looked over at Ron in a look that clearly said 'Women' right back.
"I'm here!" Rayven announced, apparating with a smile that was way too cheery for a Death Eater.
"You're late!" Angel cried with mock dramatics.
"I am not!" Rayven cried, pretending it was a matter of her dignity.
"You are 30 seconds late, madam!" Angel declared triumphantly.
"Well, it's not like I'm the last one here!" She cried. "Oh, wait..." She looked at the smirking faces of Ron and Draco, who were very amused by this little conversation. "You guys suck!" She exclaimed. Ron laughed.
"If you two sit and bicker all day the good shops will be closed." Draco said professionally. With a nod, the four disapparated.
"Ugh," Rayven said, crinkling her nose at her first glimpse of Knockturn Alley. Ron was inclined to agree, as neither of them had been there before. Angel and Draco were already strolling down the dark and dirty alley, chattering like schoolgirls with fresh gossip.
"Hey, are you coming or what?" Angel demanded, as she and Draco spun around after realizing they had lost two of their number. Ron cautiously took a step into the foreboding alley, looking as if he'd rather enter a Hungarian Horntail den.
"I know the feeling," Rayven muttered after seeing the look on Ron's face.
"C'mon!" Draco demanded, tapping his foot impatiently. "What is your problem, anyway?"
"Nothing," Ron mumbled once he and Rayven had caught up with the other two.
"Now," Angel said, "I need to stop at Gungon's Bookshop for a certain spellbook..."
The four set off in search of what they needed, with Draco and Angel happily pointing out the nastier shops to their two Light-family companions. They looked around, both feeling rather queasy as they viewed a display of banshee toenails. Draco and Angel seemed to be in their element in the narrow winding street of Dark Magic. Ron suddenly realized with a pang that this was his element as well.
The found themselves in front of Borgin and Burkes. As they went inside, Ron got a strange feeling of familiarity.
"Hey!" He suddenly exclaimed as the little bell signaled their arrival. "This is where Harry was!"
"What are you talking about?" Angel asked, frowning.
"Back in second here Harry floo-ed here on accident." Ron explained enthusiastically. "He meant to go to Diagon Alley, but wound up in here. Then you, Draco, and your father came in and Harry hid in that little thing right there." Ron pointed to a cupboard on their left. "He said you wanted to buy a hand of glory or something."
"Potter was there?" Draco exclaimed, sounding offended. "Damn him!"
"My words exactly, Mr. Malfoy, now what is it you are after today?" The four spun around to see Mr. Borgin himself bustle in, his usual oily façade in place.
"Ah, Mr. Borgin," Draco said, and turned to the shopkeeper. After nearly twenty minutes Draco had chosen everything he wanted (the others weren't as interested in the shop's merchandise as he was), and he set down with the owner for some serious haggling.
"Oh lord, we're going to be here for a while." Angel muttered.
"What?" Rayven asked, looking up from a bewitched wedding ring.
"Have either of you seen Draco bargain?" She asked in exasperation. "We'll be here all day."
"I just want to get out of here!" Rayven whined.
"Here, I'll go next door for some Potions ingredients I've been meaning to pick up. You two go over to Diagon and go...well...you guys know Diagon Alley better than me, so whatever floats your boat I guess." She said, smiling at them. They were obviously rather shell-shocked.
"Yeah," Ron replied. He took Rayven's hand and led her out of the shop and down to the end of the alley as fast as his ridiculously long legs could take him.
Ron took a deep breath of clean air as soon as they reached Diagon Alley, feeling Rayven do the same next to him. It was sunny, he realized. Chilly, but sunny.
His mood considerably lightened, he grinned down at Rayven. She was looking dreamily around at the shops along the cobblestone street. It was then that Ron realized that he was still holding her hand.
He didn't let go for reasons he could not, for the life of him, decipher.
"Where to?" He asked.
"I don't know...all this sun suggests ice cream." She replied.
"Florean Fortescue's it is!" Ron declared, and led her down to the famous ice cream shop. Rayven laughed for absolutely no reason, and Ron realized something.
He was happy.
Happy? When did THAT happen? Ron hadn't been happy for a year. Suddenly he looked around and the sun was brighter and the cauldrons were shinier. He looked down at Rayven, who was radiating energy. Something about being on this old street, headed for ice cream in the sunshine...
With Rayven...
RAYVEN! Ron looked down at the skipping girl with wonder. Was she the one who was making him feel this way?
No, that was impossible. Number One Death Eater Rule: No Love. It wasn't just a rule too, the magic Voldemort injected into your veins when he put the Dark Mark on to your arm made it impossible to be truly loved.
But it did not, Ron realized, prevent you from loving.
"Here we are!" Ron exclaimed a little too loudly, as his head was spinning in circles. Did he love her? Did that mean she couldn't love him back? Was this all the result of some sunlight after that confounded Knockturn Alley?
"What will have, sir?" The man at the counter asked.
"Um, fudge sundae," Ron replied, saying the first thing that popped into his mind. He wasn't paying attention to what Rayven ordered. He thought that ignoring her might make this odd feeling in his chest magically disappear.
Magically...how ironic. Muggles could quite easily wish for things to 'magically' happen, but wizards even had to work to make things 'magically' happen.
Oh dear. There he went again, on an anti-Muggle spree. The Death Eater inside was slowly but surely taking over the most basic aspects of Ron's life. He would have to work on that, he didn't find it one of his more attractive traits.
They sat at one of the smaller tables under a colorful umbrella. Ron couldn't help but laugh when Rayven accidentally got ice cream on her nose. He had to fight the urge not to reach over and wipe it off.
They got into a very interesting conversation about absolutely nothing. Books and Muggle art and Quidditch, which Rayven seemed only slightly more interested in than Hermione. They were just moving to Muggle candy versus wizard candy when a familiar voice interrupted them.
"Ron! What are you doing here?" Ron looked up to see Harry, shortly followed by Hermione, come up behind them. "And who's the girl."
"Uh, this is Rayven," Ron said, gesturing to the girl by his side. "Rayven this is Harry Potter and Hermione Granger-soon-to-be-Potter," Ron was a bit nervous about introducing them. After all, Rayven only heard about plans to kill them.
"You're getting married!" She squealed enthusiastically, much to Ron's relief. "Congratulations!"
"So, Harry, how about those Cannons?" Ron asked, desperate for a good Quidditch conversation. Harry jumped in enthusiastically.
"Boys," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
"Tell me about it," Rayven smiled. "So, have you looked at flowers yet?"
"Well, I was thinking about..." All four were in their element: Quidditch for the boys and weddings for the girls.
"And man, did Vincon fly on that thing..."
"Oh, that would be lovely!"
"Did you see the way he got hit by that bludger right in the..."
"I wish I could be there," Rayven said wistfully.
"Well, Ron doesn't have a date," Hermione replied. "I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind another guest."
"Really?" Rayven's face lit up, her golden eyes shining.
"What about another guest?" Harry asked, tearing himself from a heated debate about the validity of referee calls at the Cannon's field.
"Well, Rayven can come as Ron's guest, can't she?" Hermione asked, in a tone that told Harry 'it had better be okay or else, Potter'.
"Of course, dear," He replied.
"Speaking of Ron's date," Hermione continued, smiling devilishly. "Are you two a couple?"
"Us?" They said at the same time.
"We're, uh...coworkers!" Ron said, and Rayven had to hold back laughter. This should be interesting.
"Coworkers?" Harry said, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you were unemployed?"
"Well, I do...er...odd jobs," Ron said sheepishly. What was he supposed to say? 'Gee, Harry, I'm a Death Eater. That's right, an assassin for Voldie himself. I'm part of a country club called Let's Kill the Scar-head. Yep, that's me, you're bestest buddy!'
Or not.
"We met when we were both hired by a friend of hers," Ron said quickly, seeing the questioning looks on Harry and Hermione's faces.
"Who?" Hermione asked politely.
"Uh..." Ron looked over at Rayven.
"Draco Malfoy!" She exclaimed enthusiastically. Harry looked curiously at Ron, who glared at Rayven.
"Actually, we were hired by Mrs. Malfoy," Ron said through gritted teeth. "Who is nothing but a-"
"Wonderful lady," Rayven gushed, smiling widely.
"Really?" Harry said, raising an eyebrow at Ron. "And what, exactly did Mrs. Malfoy hire you to do?"
"Gardening!" Rayven exclaimed happily.
"Yeah, weeds and stuff," Ron made a face. "Then that git Malfoy came over. God I hate him!" For a moment, this seemed to satisfy his best friends' curiosity, but then Rayven opened her big mouth...
"Really?" She asked, looking over at Ron with a frown. "I thought you and Draco were friends. I mean you work so well together-"
"Only during water fights," Ron said, trying desperately to make the faces of Harry and Hermione not so shocked. "Just because Dr...Malfoy and I kicked your ass at that water fight, doesn't mean you have to jump to conclusions."
"You did NOT kick my ass!" Rayven objected. She seemed to be getting pretty worked up over something that never really happened. "Besides, you and Draco do all kinds of things together. Just last week you-"
"Dumped you in that well in the Malfoy gardens?" Ron asked, grinning. Rayven's mouth dropped. "Well, just because we work together to make your life miserable..."
"I TOLD you not to tell anyone about that!" She cried, playing her part very well. "You and Draco-"
"Still tease you about it?" Yep, he was pissing her off royally. "Well, that happens."
"Ron, if you don't shut up I swear to God..."
"That you hate getting wet?" Ron asked.
"Ugh!" Rayven cried, throwing her hands up in defeat as Ron smiled cockily. "You are terrible."
"Well-" Ron was suddenly cut off by a searing pain in his left arm. He bit he lip to keep from crying out, and turned to Rayven. "I gotta go." He said, without further explanation.
"What?" All three cried in unison.
"Why?" Rayven demanded.
"Business."
"Business?"
"Remember, that business I told you about..." Ron looked at Rayven meaningfully.
"Oh...oh!" The second exclamation Harry could almost see an understanding pass between them. He suddenly felt jealous. Very jealous.
"Well then, you'd better be on you're way!" Rayven exclaimed, standing up and helping Ron with his cloak a little too eagerly. "Ta ta!" And with a wave, Ron disapparated.
"Where is he going?" Hermione asked Rayven curiously.
"Um, some business," She replied, trying to stall.
"What kind of business?" Harry asked, somewhat suspiciously.
"Uh..."
"RAYVEN!" They all spun around to see a blonde young man with long black robes come jogging up to them. "There you are, I've been looking all over for you and-" He frowned. "Where's Ron?"
"He had to take care of some business." Rayven said shortly.
"What kind of...oh." A look of realization dawned on him, and Harry felt his anger rise.
"Malfoy, what are you doing here?" Harry demanded standing up. Malfoy looked over at a very angry Harry and a very confused Hermione.
"What are they doing here?" He asked Rayven, who sighed.
"We just ran into them, now where's Angel?" She asked. From the looks on the faces of Harry and Draco, she would have to break up a fight between the two if she didn't change the subject.
"She got caught up in some clothing store," Draco rolled his eyes. "Women,"
"Well, we'd better go meet here. It's been nice talking to you, can't wait for the wedding!" Rayven said, waving to the very confused Harry and Hermione as she dragged Draco away mumbling.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ron, for the millionth time in as many months, cursed the Dark Lord. What the hell could he want now? Jesus, Ron had been having fun for the first time in over a year, and then he got a sharp and rather painful reminder of reality.
Rather painful? Ron snorted. That was the biggest understatement since 'Lockhart is rather fond of mirrors'.
"Ah, Ronald," A hissing voice said, almost causing Ron to jump. However, he bowed deeply and kept himself in check.
"I am at your command, Master."
"You must have heard that the aurors killed MacNair, did you not?" Voldemort asked.
"Yes, I did," Ron said, hardly able to refrain from asking what this had to do with anything. You never question Lord Voldemort. Never.
"He was in my Innercircle, you know," Voldemort continued, absently flicking the end of his wand.
"Yes, my Lord," Ron answered, unable to prevent some of his curiosity from seeping into his words.
"That leaves a whole in the Innercircle...a rather large hole," Voldemort continued lazily. "He was our assassin, you know."
"Yes, my Lord." Ron said, the words hurting to come out. His throat was suddenly like the Sahara desert. This conversation could only be leading to one thing.
"You have been a very loyal servant, Ronald Weasley," The Dark Lord continued. Ron nearly laughed, although if he had it would've been cold and cynical. Loyal? Ron silently congratulated himself on his acting skills. "I need the Finnigans murdered. Tonight. Do the job, and be outside here before sunrise. I don't think I need to elaborate."
"Yes, Master," Ron replied, his mind swirling with questions and thoughts. "When you say the Finnigans...do you want just Mr. and Mrs. Finnigan, or their son as well?" Ron prayed that he wouldn't have to kill Seamus. He didn't know if he could handle murdering one of his own dorm mates.
"Kill the son if he's there, but if not don't go looking for him," Voldemort replied dismissively. Ron was disgusted by his lack of respect for human life. "Go."
"Yes, Master." The Death Eater replied, bowing and making his exit. And with that, Ron apparated to his flat to prepare for tonight's excursion.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ron crept, if the gliding nature of his movements would be considered creeping, to the Finnigan Estate. He paused only briefly at the entrance of the gate. God, this reminded him of home.
But then, the Death Eater took over, and he confidently unlocked it and strutted inside.
Ron carefully checked the rooms for signs of Seamus. It only occurred to him later that he really would've killed him without a second thought. At the moment, nothing mattered but getting the job done.
His master could not be disappointed.
The master bedroom was very well decorated, Ron noted. Both were asleep. Too easy.
"Avada Kedavra," Ron whispered, pointing at the husband. He went silently. However, the sheer power of the curse awoke the light sleeper that was Mrs. Finnigan. Ron suddenly realized a mistake in his planning...Mrs. Finnigan was a witch, while her husband was a Muggle. It would've been much easier to do it the other way around.
However, it didn't matter. Mrs. Finnigan didn't really have a chance. By the time she had recovered enough to grope for her wand, she had joined her husband in wherever they went after death. Ron only took a moment to ponder the existence of a Heaven and Hell before sweeping out of the room and back outside.
"Morsmodre," He whispered, pointing his wand into the sky. A flash of green identical to that of his two previous spells formed the Dark Mark above the Finnigan home. Ron smiled coldly at his work. That smile held more regret and agony then any tear could hope to. He looked east and saw the faintest tints of orange. He apparated into oblivion, the sound of Ministry sirens just beginning to ring in his ears.
"Did you finish the job?" Ron spun around to see Voldemort, boring holes into him with his snakelike eyes.
"Of course, as you wished, my Lord," Ron replied.
"Take off your mask, Ronald." He commanded. Ron obeyed without question. You never question Lord Voldemort.
Suddenly, he heard popping noises around him. Nine figures, clothed in black but without the trademark masks, bowed to their master. Among them Ron recognized Draco and his father.
"Gentlemen," The Dark Lord said. "I have found a replacement for MacNair." He gestured to Ron, who bowed. They did not even murmur. These were the number one servants of Voldemort, they did not doubt his authority and judgment. They should, Ron thought holding back a sardonic smile; two of the ten members of the Innercircle are spies.
Voldemort was babbling about something. Ron wasn't really paying attention. He never did unless he had too...it was almost like back at Hogwarts.
Now look at me, he thought, comparing Death Eater meetings to classes! How pathetic!
Voldemort continued by questioning Ron's loyalty and the like, to which Ron replied correctly, not honestly. Then, just as the sun rose, Ron went under the Cruciatus Curse, just like at his original initiation. It was longer this time, Ron realized. When he was finally released he staggered to his feet.
"Whom do you serve?" The Dark Lord asked, his voice even more of a hiss than usual.
"You, my Lord," He gasped. His body was quivering, screaming in protest. He could feel blood trickling down his face. Collapse was not far off at this point.
"Yes," Voldemort replied simply, looking at each of the ten in turn. "Go."
With a bow, they disapparated. Both Ron and Draco apparated straight to the Ministry.
"Do you need help?" Draco asked in concern.
"No, I'm fine," Ron replied, his voice rasping. He took one step and felt his knees giving way. Draco grabbed his arm and helped him up, putting Ron's arm around his neck.
"Don't need help, huh?" He asked, somehow still staying cocky.
"Shut up," Ron replied, too tired to fight back. Together they stumbled their way to Bill and Dennis's office.
"Hey guys...what the hell happened to you?" Dennis asked, frowning at Ron.
"He was initiated." Draco replied, letting Ron fall into the nearest chair.
"Again?" Dennis asked as Bill left and hurried back with some various healing potions and started muttering charms.
"Into the Innercircle," Ron answered, trying to wave Bill off in vain. "I'm the assassin, obviously."
"Interesting...anything else happen?" Dennis asked, scribbling in his notepad.
"Absolutely nada." Draco replied.
"I killed the Finnigans," Ron said, sighing. "I have no idea why."
"Oh Lord, I'm going home." With a touch of his hair as a parting gestured, Draco disapparated.
"Ugh," Ron said. "I'm fine Bill, leave me be."
"Are you sure?" His companion asked with a frown, pulling the rag away from Ron's face.
"Positive. I'm sure you two were heading to bed." Ron said. The two men looked at each other...it was exactly what they were planning to do. During the day, one man would go home while one would sleep in a bed in the little room next door. They switched on and off.
"Ron, I don't think-" Bill began.
"I just want to be alone." Ron said, making it very clear that the subject was closed for discussion. With a shrug, Bill apparated and Dennis stood.
"If you need anything..." He said as he reached the door to the bedroom.
"I'll tell you, yeah, yeah, yeah," Ron replied, waving him off. Dennis disappeared behind the wooden door, and Ron stared a hole in the wall trying to sort out his feelings.
The Innercircle. Ron was a member of the Innercircle. That was the highest honor among Death Eaters. Somewhere inside of him, Ron felt a surge of violent pride. It only made him feel guiltier. But this did have its benefits, did it not? Now he would be closer to any plans on Harry's life. He could prevent them.
Ron somehow managed to convince himself that this was a good thing. How he accomplished this he would never know, but he did. Ron knew he should go home...he hadn't slept in nearly 30 hours. Yet he felt the urge to go somewhere he could think. There was a park about a ten-minute walk from where he was. Nearly against his own will he found his feet carrying him there.
Not that he did anything of his own free will anymore.
The sunrise was beautiful. He walked along the now familiar paths...he had apparated here many times after a job. He wandered around, lost in his own mind.
Or what was left of it anyway.
"Ron?" A soft voice interrupted him. He spun around the silhouette of a human figure. But Ron did not need his sight to know it was Rayven. "What are you doing here?"
"I needed to think," He replied. She moved, and the light splashed over her, allowing him to soak up her beauty. She really was beautiful in a mysterious Death Eater sort of way.
"Why?" She asked, frowning in concern.
"Well, I got initiated into the Innercircle this morning," Ron replied, feeling pride come through.
"Um, okay..."
"Aren't you going to congratulate me?" He asked, half-joking.
"For being the best murderer around? No thanks." She spat. Ron was taken aback by her vehemence.
"Jesus, Rayven!" He exclaimed. "This is a good thing."
"Really?" She sneered. "How is that?"
"I'm closer to the real plans!" He said in frustration. Why was she reacting this way? She had as much innocent blood as her hands as he did. Was she just in denial of what he was? Because she was the exact same thing!
"So that's why I'm supposed to be happy for you?" She demanded. "Because your skills to kill some people might save others? Because of the selective nature of you favor?"
"Why do you care?!" He shouted.
"Because you think this is a good thing!" She snapped.
"I DO NOT!"
"You told me to congratulate you." She retorted.
"I was joking!"
"Didn't sound like it!"
"Why must you be so frustrating?"
"Because you're a monster!"
"SO ARE YOU!" He roared, and she flinched. He sighed, trying to regain control of his red headed temper. "Look, Rayven-"
"I don't want to talk to you."
"Rayven!"
"What?"
"LOOK AT ME!" Ron grabbed her shoulder with one hand and used the other to force her eyes to make contact with his. His anger suddenly faded as he realized how close their bodies were. Their faces were only inches apart.
"Rayven..." He muttered, savoring the honey her name tasted of, feeling the strange sensation of hearing a name he suddenly found so beautiful.
"What?" She whispered breathlessly. He peered into her hazel, golden eyes. They were gazing back, holding...was that hope? He realized that their lips were getting closer together. All he had to do was...
"I have to go." Before she knew what was happening, Ron had disappeared with a soft *pop*. Rayven looked around before burying her face in her hands.
What in the hell had just happened?