Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy
by Mad Maudlin

14. In which Gryffindors ruin a perfectly good plan.

As I've said before, Weasley is a snuggler. Thankfully London even in June has nothing on Alabama. Our angle relative to the orientation of the bed was rather questionable, but when I woke up buried underneath Weasley's arm, I was curiously disinclined to throw him off.

When he started to stir, though, I warned him, "If you freak out again I'm going to have to kill you."

"Mmmm?" He squirmed a bit and flopped onto his back. "...oh."

"You're such a morning person." I rolled over so that I could face him. He looked sort of charmingly groggy, and in dire need of a shave.

He looked at himself, looked at me, and sighed. "I am such a fucking idiot."

"Not that I'm disagreeing with you in general, but..."

"This is still a bad idea, for all the same reasons as before."

"And I still disagree with all your reasons for the same reasons."

"So we know where we stand." He shoved his hair out of his face. "And it's still fucked up."

I sat up against the headboard; it all would've been terribly atmospheric if one of us had been smoking a cigarette. "I still don't see why you make such a big deal out of a little sex." He raised his eyebrows at me. "Okay, rather a lot of sex. It's not a big deal."

"Don't you think this is all a bit...pathological?"

"Only because you insist on making it that way."

He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. "I don't know why I bother talking to you sometimes."

"I have a scintillating wit and a charming personality."

He snorted into the pillows.

"Though," I said after a few moments, "the more you insist that sex with me is a horrible idea and to be avoided at all costs, the more I feel that I should be taking it at least a little bit personally."

"Do," Weasley said. "Because it is personal. You're a bastard and this is fucked up."

"Weasley, let's be rational here. How, exactly, am I a bastard?"

He lifted his head up from the pillow slightly. "You are a cold-hearted, amoral, sadistic, arrogant, Slytherin bastard with control issues, how's that?"

"I do not have control issues. And the rest are matters of interpretation."

"How am I meant to interpret a bloke who doesn't lift a bloody finger until there's something in it for him? Lazy and greedy?"

"A smart businessman expects returns in proportion to his investment," I said, starting to get annoyed with him again. "And I'm not lazy."

"You would've let Greenplate and Dies carry on if it hadn't been your ticket back to England."

"I saved your life."

He sighed, and sat up. "Yeah. Which just makes this even more fucked up than ever."

"Well, my apologies, Weasley. Next time I'll remember that being rescued offends your delicate sensibilities."

"Remember what we talked about in Alabama?" he snapped. "I owe you. How'm I supposed to know this isn't just you calling in a favor?"

"Because I never asked you to jump on top of me?" I suggested.

"You didn't stop me."

"That's not the point—"

"No," Weasley said, "the point is that until you convince me that you're a fucking human being, I don't want anything more to do with you than my job demands."

"What, do you think I'm a cunningly-disguised house elf or something?"

"You act like a cunningly-disguised piece of—"

Potter ruined a perfectly good argument by bursting into the room wildly. "Malfoy, I don't—Jesus fucking CHRIST!"

"No," I said, "Weasley fucking Draco."

Weasley yanked part of a sheet into his lap. "Harry, what is it?"

Potter recovered with admirable speed. "It's—the Ministry's found out Malfoy's here, a team of Aurors are coming to arrest him."

"What?"

"Tonks just owled to warn us—I don't know how they found out—"

Weasley jumped out of bed and started hunting for his clothes. "We have to move. Now."

"Where are we going to go?" I demanded. "O'Guin's probably got your parents' house under surveillance, the Manor may not even be standing—"

"We'll live in a fucking cave and eat rats," he snapped. He glanced up at Potter. "We'll be downstairs in a minute."

"You know, Weasley," I said, as Potter all but ran away screaming, "this is why you only have two friends, this screaming and swearing all the time. Would it really kill you say 'please?'"

He flung my boxers at me head. "Move, please."

Granger and Potter were pacing around the hallway when Weasley finally dragged me downstairs. "How long do we have?"

"Don't know," Granger said, "They'd already left when Tonks sent the owl—Kingsley's with them, but we've no time to get him alone—"

"How did they find us?" I asked.

"I said we have no idea," Potter snapped. "The important thing is—"

"The important thing, Potter," I said, "is that somehow, certain people are getting an awfully good idea of our location despite all our best efforts to deter them. They found us in Kansas City, they found us in St. Louis, they found us in Alabama and now London and they will keep finding us until they catch us, or until we figure just how the hell they know where we are!"

Granger grabbed a crumpled scrap of parchment off a table and read so quickly her irises blurred. That's not natural. "Anonymous tip," she finally declared. "Someone sent an anonymous tip—but it must be fairly convincing if they're coming out in force to search—"

"No one saw us come in!" Weasley said. "I did three different search spells while Malfoy was fighting with his skirt, there was no one watching."

I nodded. "The only moving thing I saw was—"

Wait a minute. I had seen one thing—one familiar thing—Potter and Weasley were staring at me—maybe—

My concentration shattered when someone pounded on the door. "Open up!" someone on the other side shouted. "Ministry officials."

Granger bolted towards the door; Harry hissed "Don't answer it!" and I reached for my wand.

"No—" Weasley said, "they'll have already laid down a jinx."

"So how do we get out of here?"

He glanced at the stairs down the kitchen. "If we collapse the Floo behind us..."

"There you are with the explosions again."

"...we might risk going to the Burrow."

Potter shook his head. "Your family thinks you're dead or lost in Borneo, remember? They could never keep it quiet if you suddenly popped out of the Floo with a Malfoy.'

"Excuse me, I'm right here," I snapped, but my heart wasn't in it. I was a sitting duck anywhere in England, and if Weasley were caught now he'd have a time just proving his identity, let alone the story about O'Guin and Basil...

Someone pounded on the door again, and Potter grabbed Weasley's arm. "I think there's a passageway in the cellar—Remus and I just found it last year renovating—don't know where it leads, but you could at least hide inside it until they leave."

"Does Kingsley know about it?"

"If Moody didn't find it while the Order was here, I don't think the Aurors stand a chance..."

They bolted down into the basement. I didn't follow. Instead, I thought furiously—trapped, yet again. Escape seemed futile, and while Weasley might like to go down in a blaze of glory, that's not exactly my style. If the Aurors captured me...

More pounding. If I was captured...

I very carefully shut the door leading to the basement and sealed it with a spell. Then I crossed to the entrance hall. Granger was crouching near the door, clutching her wand to her chest and breathing shallowly. "I don't know how much longer I can hold them back," he whispered.

"No need," I said, and opened the door.

A truly massive black man in red Auror's robes was standing on the other side, and nearly pounded his fist into my face when the door disappeared. He frowned at me as I squeezed out onto the stoop. "Draco D. Malfoy?" he asked dubiously.

"Yes, that's me." I pulled the door shut, then turned back to the Aurors—about a half-dozen or so. They were all staring at me. "Oh! Right." I put up my hands and declared loudly, "I surrender."

They stared at me some more.

"Well, come on," I said. "I haven't got all day." Any minute, I knew, Granger would let Weasley out of the cellar...

The black man backed down the front steps and nodded at me. "Dawlish. Williamson. Search him."

I began to descend the steps; the gray-haired man who'd been minding the door at the air port and another with a long ponytail surged forward and dragged me the rest of the way down to the pavement. Williamson pushed me to my knees and held me while Dawlish took my wand and frisked me. The black man stood over me, casting a seriously imposing shadow. "Are you prepared to cooperate fully with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," I said, inwardly willing them to hurry the fuck up and arrest me. "I'll tell you everything I know. I don't think you'll find most of it interesting, though, quite a bit of it has to do with accounting."

The black man frowned. "Are you feeling all right, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Never better," I said smoothly.

Weasley chose that moment to burst from the front door with a war whoop to do any goblin rebel proud. He rained curses down on the Aurors and actually managed to knock one of them to the pavement; then the rest were on him, only Dawlish and the big black one staying back to cover me. For a moment all I saw was a knot of whirling limbs and flashing magic, but when it cleared, Weasley was on his knees in a headlock and Williamson was holding his wand. "You fucking idiot," I told him.

The big black man stared. "Ron?" he asked incredulously.

Weasley managed a grin despite the fact that his face was getting purple. "Hi, Kingsley," he croaked.

Kingsley shook his head and pointed his wand. "Ronald Weasley is dead," he said warily. "It was in the papers this morning—"

"We can explain everything!"

I groaned as Potter and Granger burst from the front door, nearly tripping down the steps in their haste. "Kingsley, I'll vouch for him," Potter said desperately. "He's really Ron, this is all a big misunderstanding—"

"It's a treasonous plot!" Weasley managed to yell.

I shouted at him, "Shut up!"

Kingsley was looking at Potter and Granger like they'd lost their minds. "Harry, were you aware that a wanted criminal was hiding out on this property?"

"No!" I shouted.

"Yes," Potter said, and I groaned again. God save me from Gryffindors! "But we can explain—"

"The penalty for harboring a known criminal—"

"You didn't think about penalties when you were working with Sirius!" Granger said shrilly.

I turned my attention to Weasley, who seemed to be getting his airways back. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I shouted.

"Saving your arse!" Weasley shouted back.

"The Ministry won't let O'Guin touch me until they're done interrogating me!" I shouted back. "That would've given you plenty of time—"

"I have a job—"

"Fuck your job!"

"Fuck you!"

"You did!"

Dawlish yanked me to my feet, apparently readying to take me somewhere with less screaming; Kingsley, Potter and Granger were all trying to shout each other down, and Williamson was trying to revive whomever Weasley had knocked out, without much success. I glanced around the square, wondering grimly when I would ever see sunlight again—and saw the cat.

The gray tabby cat with the golden eyes.

The same fucking cat.

"Weasley!" I shouted as the pieces finally fell into place. "THAT CAT WORKS FOR BASIL!"

He wheeled his head around and saw the cat, too; a second later, it was sprinting away across the weedy square. Weasley did an astonishing thing, then—I cannot accurately describe the motion, but somehow the wizard who'd been holding him down ended up flat on his back, and Weasley was suddenly sprinting after the cat with a stolen wand. Williamson screeched and flung a few hexes at him, but Granger jumped on his back and they began to struggle. Dawlish tightened his grip on my arms, apparently as a precaution against my fleeing as well.

Weasley vanished into the alley between two houses; bright flashes of light came back out. Dueling.

There is among wizards—among all men, I think—an unspoken code which we learn in childhood and practice instinctively all our lives. Before you declare any man to be completely without honor, ask him whether he'd kick another man in the balls. Women do it all the time, indeed, far more often than is necessary; but men never do it to one another. It's simply understood. A man who kicks another man there is a traitor to his sex and not to be trusted. He just might do anything.

In other words, he is a true Slytherin.

I raised one foot and drove it backward into Dawlish's crotch; his grip went sufficiently slack that I could struggle out and retrieve my wand. Granger and Williamson were still grappling, Potter was trying to argue with Kingsley while Kingsley berated the Auror Weasley had tossed; I ran for the alley almost completely unnoticed.

Weasley was crouched behind a collection of dented rubbish bins; a curse sailed by close enough to singe my ear, and I joined him there. "You idiot," he snarled.

"Feeling is mutual." I peeked over the lip of the bin to get a better look at our assailant: a witch, dark-haired, a bit on the chunky side but still sort of vaguely attractive...

She smiled when she saw me and waved. "Nice to see you again, Mr. Malfoy!"

Something clicked, and I ducked back behind the bins. "That's Calliope Kidd."

His eyes went huge. "She's supposed to be dead—"

"So are you!"

I peeped up again; Kidd had her back to a chain-link fence at least twelve feet high that blocked off the entire alley. If Weasley had been smart enough to use an Anti-Apparation Jinx, she was cornered. "What's the matter, Mr. Malfoy?" she called. "Don't remember me?"

Weasley popped up behind me with a hex on his lips; Kidd countered, and they began to duel in earnest. I slumped down behind the bins and tried to concentrate. Remember...she had been the accountant for Greenplate and Company, she had been passing me the invoices...

A curse blasted brick into dust and sent it raining down on my head; I leapt up. "You were holding out on me!" I shouted at Kidd, while she and Weasley traded spells. "You were hiding invoices—ones for Dies' company, ones I was looking for—"

"Good job, Malfoy!" she replied. "I guess Toby wasn't as thorough with Obliviating you as he said."

"Toby—you mean O'Guin? You're working with him?"

One of her curses passed Weasley close enough to draw blood, and she laughed. "Or maybe he was!"

I paced behind Weasley, the words coming out of my mouth before I even recognized them. "You were hiding the invoices, I found them, I turned a few over to O'Guin...you were angry..."

"Of course I was angry!" She blocked a particularly complex curse, but with difficulty; Weasley was winning. "I'd gone to all the trouble to separate the ones for Dies from the ones for the potions—"

"You mean those potions—?" But it all made sense, it really all did—

Three Aurors suddenly rushed into the alley, wands drawn; one of them tried to seize Weasley and knocked him aside, another managed to disarm me. Kidd smiled gleefully and pointed her wand at me, and I had one of those odd moments of paralyzed clarity that accompany knowledge of certain death—I was never, ever going to get a chance to hurt O'Guin as badly as he deserved.

A spell flashed from Kidd's wand, a malignant yellow, hurtling towards me like a ball of fire—

And then someone shouldered me aside, hard, knocking me into the pavement. I heard a woman scream, a man swear, and five different voices shout "Expelliarmus!"

"Who the hell is she?" Kingsley shouted.

I tried to shrug off the weight on my back. "She's the bitch behind that Draught of Heaven you seized last month," I said. "And also a jar of cinnamon. And a cat."

"What?"

Aurors stomped up and down the alley, Potter and Granger were shouting at Kingsley again—I managed to push myself up and saw Williamson and Dawlish giving Kidd the same treatment I had gotten. I turned around to find Weasley, which was when I realized what exactly had knocked me clear of that curse.

He was laying spread eagle on the dirty pavement, eyes shut, a massive black mark in the middle of his chest. I tentatively shook his shoulder. "Weasley?"

No reaction.

"Weasley." I shook him harder, thinking that this was really the worst practical joke anyone had ever played. "Come on, you stupid...idiot. They've got Kidd."

Nothing at all.

I swallowed hard, and leaned over Weasley's face. "Weasley," I whispered, "I believe you've paid me back now. For the life-saving thing. We're square. So...get up."

People shouted and argued around us, and he stayed sickeningly still.

I licked my lips and leaned closer. "Listen, Weasley. I really do like shagging you. And I still think you're insane, but...I like the shagging. And if I have to do other things so I can keep shagging you, I'll...I'll give it a try...if it's not too demeaning and you stop being so damn pushy..."

"I'll hold you do that."

I blinked. Corpses don't smile.

Weasley's eyes fluttered open, and he smirked at me, though the breath he took had an ominous gurgling quality to it. "If that's what it takes to get you to ask mushy," he wheezed, "remind me to get killed more often."

"Reckless Gryffindor son of a bitch!" I said. I wasn't sure whether I'd rather kiss him or kill him. When he coughed up blood all over me, though, I decided to simply pass out.