Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I attempting to make a profit. This is all for pure entertainment's sake! Hope you enjoy!

Author's note: Alcamenes and soupytwist still rule the universe.

Apologies for taking so long with this chapter. I had much to do in real life, plus my hands/wrists needed to take a break from typing for a while. But here it is, and I hope it is worth the wait!

Expect a quick update after this. I've already written Chapter 6 (another reason this chapter took so long to write; I took a break to write Chapter 6 first *hee*), and I have only this to say to R&H fans: fasten your seatbelts ;). For those of you who wanted more R&H goodness, you will be getting it :)

Please review when you get a chance. My hands/wrists will thank you for making their suffering worthwhile (how's that for a guilt trip LOL!).

A Deal With The Devil
Chapter 5: Condicio

"Condicio" is Latin for "offer"

Even Ron had to agree that his office was badly in need of tidying up.

It had been nearly a week since he'd even been here, as evidenced by the disturbingly thick layer of dust on his desk (thicker than usual, anyway, as he couldn't be bothered to dust much on a regular basis), and the stacks of folders on his desk that seemed mere inches away from touching the ceiling, looking not unlike the crooked exterior of The Burrow.

Normally guilt would have set in by now at the sight of his office in such disarray, and he knew he should probably attempt to move things to their proper places with a flick of his wand, or at least cast a few cleaning charms to make the room a little more presentable. But he had far more important things to attend to, and so in the end, he decided he would make do with simply banishing the folders that made up the wobbliest stack to the back of the room where he wouldn't be able to see them. At least now he could rummage through the rest of the random piles that were left and determine what would qualify as a genuine emergency that he'd need to take care of first.

Paperwork would be the death of him someday, he thought bitterly. Dark wizards were on the loose out there, terrorising Muggles and wizards alike and plotting unspeakable things, and yet he here was, stuck inside filling out forms and signing documents. Not exactly the best use of his time.

Barking.

His eye caught one piece of paper in particular among the various look-alikes that were scattered all over his desk. It had the official wax seal of the Ministry of Magic right on top, and that could mean only one thing: it had to have been handed down from the Minister's office himself. Sure enough, there was a note attached to it, in the secretary's nearly illegible scrawl.

Urgent, please review straight away.

The Minister requests that you contact him
regarding this immediately.

Gemma Watkins

Bloody Fudge.

Could never make a move without consulting someone, that man. It was a wonder that he'd ever managed to stay in charge for this long at all, though Ron strongly suspected that his team of advisors had something to do with it; he reckoned they did enough to keep the Minister looking competent enough that he could get away with not doing nearly as much as he should.

Ron crumpled Mrs. Watkins' note into a ball and tossed it into the wastebasket, then reluctantly turned his attention back to Fudge's letter. This should be interesting, all right. But he had barely skimmed the letter in its entirety, when one word leapt out at him, and his stomach fisted instantly at the sight of it.

Snape.

Right. Just what he needed to start off this morning.

"Sir?"

Ron looked up immediately, grateful for any excuse for a distraction. Foster was standing at the doorway, dressed in his regulation robes, as only a rookie Auror would be, standing rather stiffly, with his hands clasped at his back.

Ron felt like telling him to be at ease, but thought the better of it.

"Am I disturbing you, sir?"

He still hadn't entered the office exactly, instead standing just under the threshold, with one foot inside and one foot out.

Ron tucked away a smile and shook his head.

"Come on in," he said. "Just doing paperwork. I could use a reason to put it off till later."

Foster seemed to relax a little at that (or at least, didn't seem to be quite as stiff as he had been just moments before), then came all the way in, stopping short of sitting in the extra chair until Ron gestured towards it.

"How are you?"

"Better, thanks."

For a while it had seemed as if he'd wanted to continue, but the small pause stretched into earnest silence, and soon it was clear he was not going to say the rest of what he had to say after all, though he seemed to be straining under the sheer weight of everything he had left unspoken.

"I'm glad to see you in one piece."

"You too, sir."

Ron knew there had been more he had wanted to say, but hadn't. It didn't take a genius to hazard a guess as to what else was there, what more there was that did not need to be voiced.

It had been two days and he still couldn't get those horrible images out of his head. The smell of sea salt mixed with the stench of blood still lingered just beyond his nostrils, sneaking up on him at times he least expected--much less wanted--and the mere memory was enough to actually make him sick.

After five years on the job, he had thought he would have developed a tolerance for these things by now, anything that could keep him from cringing whenever he thought about this mission that had gone so terribly wrong. But he should have known there was no such thing as immunity in these matters.

They were only flesh and blood, after all.

"I suppose we're both awfully lucky to be sitting here," Foster said quietly.

Lucky indeed.

"They won't all be like this, you know," Ron said, more to reassure himself than the young Auror.

Foster nodded, then broke the gaze, his eyes wandering aimlessly as if searching for something to connect with, until finally they fell on one of the photographs Ron kept at his desk.

It was the one of him and Emily, which an exhausted Harry (who had gone without sleep for the entire twenty-six hours Ginny had been in labor) had snapped only hours after her birth. Ron couldn't help but smile at the photograph as he picked it up to look at it more closely. He looked awfully ridiculous in it in retrospect, delirious with joy as he held her up to the camera, her tiny features pinched in a soundless cry.

"Is that your daughter, sir?"

He shook his head. "My niece, actually. No kids of my own yet."

Yet.

Before he could do anything to stop it, he felt a grin form on his face--and most probably a goofy one at that. Funny how one small word could have the power to produce such an unexpected but exhilarating rush.

Yet, he thought. But soon.

His eye caught movement by the doorway. He straightened immediately when he saw who it was. Wentworth. He was standing quietly at the door, looking as if he had just been about to knock, until Ron met his gaze.

"Sir..."

Both he and Foster stood up automatically, and Wentworth nodded in acknowledgement, as if to tell them to sit back down.

"I should be going," Foster said, looking back and forth from Wentworth to Ron. "Thank you, sir. Thank you, for..."

Ron nodded. There was no need for him to finish the sentence.

"Anytime."

Foster smiled, then left, closing the door behind him, and suddenly Ron felt his stomach clench. It wasn't often that Wentworth came to see him, rather than asking him to come by.

This couldn't be good news at all.

"I'm sorry for interrupting," Wentworth said. "But this is urgent."

Urgent. Ron had learnt to hate that word.

"Of course, sir, I understand. What's happened?"

Wentworth's eyes flicked down to the desk where Ron had carelessly left Fudge's letter, neglected and unread.

"I see you've heard from the Minister already."

"I received his letter this morning," Ron began to explain, feeling the full guilt now of not having attended to this straight away. "But I'm afraid I haven't had a chance to read through it yet..."

"Well let me give you the gist of it then."

By the way Wentworth's jaw was set, Ron could tell he was upset, though he wasn't sure that Wentworth was upset at his admission in particular.

"It seems he wants you to... elaborate on your report on your questioning of Snape."

Ron furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't quite follow... I've written as complete report as I could. What else is there left to say?"

"Snape's confession," Wentworth said. "That is what the Minister wants on your report."

Ron couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"But he didn't confess," he said. "In fact he denied the whole thing-"

"I'm well aware of that, Weasley."

He let out a sigh, then walked over to the window and stared out of it. He stared out of it for a long time before he spoke again.

"I told you, the Ministry is out for his blood," he said matter-of-factly. "Don't forget, those high-ranking officials didn't want to believe at first that You-Know-Who had come back. It took an attack on a Muggle village to get them to wake up and see what was right before their eyes."

"So they're trying to make up for it."

Wentworth turned to face Ron again.

"And then some," he said. "They've authorised a Dementor's Kiss on him."

"They've what??"

"This is out of my hands, Weasley. They've made up their minds and there is no changing them."

"Sir, they can't do that!" Ron said. "Without a proper trial?"

"That's why they're insisting on this confession. If the public at large were to believe that Snape confessed to everything and pled guilty, the Ministry would be justified in administering the Dementor's Kiss."

"This is mad... You know this is mad!"

"Yes," he said, "I do know. But I also know we haven't any choice in the outcome."

Ron shook his head. "Sir, I can't just write up a confession that he never made. I won't."

"I'm not asking you to," Wentworth said. "If Fudge wants a confession, it will have to be a real one. I may not be able to do anything to prevent a Dementor's Kiss, but I will be damned if I let them pressure us into falsifying a confession."

Quietly, Ron said, "So where does that leave us, then?"

He had a feeling he wasn't going to like the answer either way. And in a matter of seconds he found out just how right he was.

"I think you know exactly where this leaves us," Wentworth said. "You have to go back to Azkaban to see Snape."

Ron resisted the urge to protest and forced himself to look straight ahead, without emotion, without reaction. There were so many reasons why he didn't want to do this, but he knew not one of them would make a damn bit of difference right now.

"Make him see reason, Weasley. He knows what he's done. At least this way..." He sighed, then shook his head. "At least this way we can proceed and just wash our hands clean of it."

It all sounded so simple. But Ron had to wonder if everything could really be as neat and tidy as Wentworth had just described.

He had a feeling things would be anything but.

"I knew you'd be back."

The smugness in Snape's voice made Ron's skin crawl. It would be just like the old bastard to be so bloody impressed with himself for thinking he'd been proven right once again. He always did fancy himself as being right in everything.

Ron felt Snape's eyes follow him when he turned away, sick at the sight of his former Potions Master, wishing he could be anywhere but here, but knowing that he had a job to do and he damn well was going to do it.

"So you believe me now, do you?"

Ron's answer was swift, and he made certain that Snape would feel the full impact of his words.

"I believe nothing that comes out of your double-crossing mouth!"

He saw Snape's shoulders come down, as if the gravity of defeat proved much too heavy. In that instant, part of Ron--a small, insignificant part he wanted to block out altogether--actually felt sorry for Snape.

But not nearly sorry enough to keep him from what he'd come here to do.

"I hate to shatter your little fantasy," Ron said, "but I didn't come back here because I had some sort of epiphany about what you told me. It was clever of you to try and hide behind Dumbledore's name, I'll give you that. But if you think for one second that mentioning him and telling me some ridiculous story about how he recruited you into this secret society is going to get me on your side, you're a great deal madder than I'd reckoned."

To his surprise, Snape's mouth bent into a thin smile.

"Already worked it all out, have you?"

"No," Ron said, "not all of it. I still want answers. And this time you're going to give them to me."

Snape stared back at him, then said, without a trace of emotion, "What do you want to know?"

Ron didn't think he'd cooperate this quickly. He wondered if this had to be some kind of trick, but decided he'd take his chances anyway.

"You said you'd been paying close attention to me for the last few months," he said. "I want to know what you meant."

"I meant that I had been reading about you in the Daily Prophet. Listening to what wizards had to say about you. You're quite famous now, you know-"

"Why?"

Snape gave Ron a maddening grin, as if to tell him that the answer was as obvious as could be.

"You are the Ministry's star Auror," he said. "I knew I'd have to keep my eye on you."

This was just getting more and more cryptic by the second, and Ron's patience had begun to wear thin once again.

Then something switched in Snape's eyes, a kind of resignation, and Ron could swear that there was a crack--however tiny and imperceptible it seemed--in the walls Snape had put up all around himself. He seemed almost... vulnerable.

"They sent you," he said, "didn't they?"

The question took Ron by surprise and unnerved him.

"I don't know what the hell you're on about."

Ron always was a bad liar, but he knew he'd been particularly atrocious just then. He tore his eyes away as guilt set in, making his cheeks burn.

"Lying was never your strong suit, Weasley."

Ron whirled around at him, using his full height to tower over him, though Snape did not appear to be the least bit intimidated.

"Damn you, Snape! I didn't come here to play your bloody mind games!"

"Then what did you come here for?"

The question was direct and held no pretense. Ron shouldn't have been hesitant to answer it, but he was.

Gathering what composure he could, he looked Snape straight in the eyes and said, "I came here to see you pay for what you've done."

Snape closed his eyes momentarily, then bowed his head. Ron didn't know what to make of the gesture, but kept up his guard, waiting for Snape to make the next move or at least say something.

"You still think I'm not telling you the truth," he said at last.

Ron let out an incredulous laugh.

"What, that you were working under Dumbledore's orders?" he said. "That you weren't really helping those Death Eaters kill all those people, that you were really there to bring down Voldemort-"

"You're not afraid to say his name."

"No," Ron said, "I'm not."

"All the others are. Everyone in the Ministry. You're the only one who dares to say his name out loud."

"What's your point?"

Snape didn't answer straight away, but his stare burned into Ron's skull, as if it were branding itself. Ron almost looked away, but Snape only held the gaze, as if daring him to keep looking in his eyes.

"You know he's gaining in power, Weasley."

"I don't want to hear this-"

"You know he is!" he said. "He's waited eight years. I've held him back for eight years, but he will not wait any longer, do you understand that?"

"What I understand," Ron said, leaning over him, "is that you have been with him all this time, and God knows what you've helped him do-"

"Damn it, open your eyes!!"

Ron looked back at him, almost saying something, but deciding not to at the last minute.

"You see what's happening, I know you do. You see all the signs. If he's not stopped soon, he will tear our world apart again!"

Ron sniffed indignantly. "Well, if that's the case, why don't you stop him?"

"Because I can't do it alone!"

"Really."

"Do you actually think those Muggle attacks would have happened if I could have done something in my power to prevent it? Do you think I wanted to see those people be killed?"

Ron had no answer for him, but he could see the realisation begin to set in Snape's eyes.

"You do, don't you?" he said, almost in defeat. "You think I wanted all of that to happen."

"Why should I believe anything you have to say?"

"Well then, I suppose time will show which one of us is right."

"Reckon so."

Ron couldn't do this. He couldn't stay any longer and keep doing this. Damn Fudge and his confession! If he wanted Snape's admission of guilt so badly, then he could come down here and get it himself as far as Ron was concerned.

He strode over to the bars and banged on them hard with his fist.

"Guard! Guard!!"

"Run away, that's it."

"What do you want from me??"

Snape's eyes were almost... sincere.

"Your help."

All Ron could do was let out a laugh. Maybe he finally had gone insane, because he was actually willing to listen to the bastard now. What else did he have to lose at this point?

"Help me escape from here."

Ron looked back at him in disbelief.

"You're bloody mad," he muttered. "You really are off your head-"

"Join me. I can't take him down alone, but together we can do it. Dumbledore would have agreed that you-"

"Don't you dare say his name!"

"Damn it, Weasley, use your head for once!!"

Ron wanted to get up and leave, but he couldn't. He couldn't move from his spot.

"He's beginning to question my loyalty," Snape said quietly. "There are Death Eaters who are starting to get suspicious--rumblings about whose side I'm really on. This mission is in danger if I don't do something, and you're the only one who can help."

"How?" Ron said. "How exactly do I help you?"

Snape let out a breath. "Become a Death Eater."

Blood rang in Ron's ears. He couldn't have heard what he'd just heard. The man was insane. Absolutely, without a doubt, insane.

"The Ministry's top Auror. Harry Potter's best friend, no less. Just think of how Voldemort will reward my loyalty for bringing him such a prize."

"So that's it, then," Ron said. "I'm a prize you're to deliver. Damn you, Snape! You're not going to use me to help him-"

"You can't catch him the traditional way," Snape said. "You know that. It's the only way, Weasley. If you want to destroy him once and for all, it's the only way."

"No!"

"Yes! You know I'm right."

"You're lying!! You're lying to me right now, you bastard!"

Snape simply leaned his head back against the wall, but kept his eyes trained on Ron's.

"If you have to convince yourself of that to make yourself feel better, then go right ahead. But you know I'm telling you the truth. And you know you can't afford to let this chance slip away."

Ron wanted to throw out every curse at him. He deserved it, every single one. But in the end, Ron came up all too empty. And he knew there was nothing left for him to fight with.

"Tell me why I should believe you."

Snape only smiled, a smile that sent a chill into Ron's marrow.

"Because if you don't," he said, "there will be nothing to stop Voldemort. And Harry Potter will be the one to pay the price."

He paused just long enough to let Ron absorb the impact of his words, and then he leveled the final blow.

"Do you really want to take that chance?"