Chapter 11

Ron practically jumped out of his chair when he heard the light tap on his door. Praying that it wasn't Pansy (although when had she ever bothered knocking?) and running a slightly shaking hand through his hair, he hurried to the door.

"Oh, Dad, it's just you!" He backed away from the door and allowed Arthur entrance.

"It's just me!" Arthur agreed good-naturedly, sitting in the chair opposite his youngest son. "Who, may I ask, were you expecting?" He had a peculiar look on his face as he watched Ron pretend to be busy sorting the papers on his desk.

"No one. I wasn't expecting anyone. What's up?" He knew he was flushed and tried to keep his head down as his father chuckled slightly.

"I hope you never attempt to lie to Hermione, Ron, because you're terrible at it, and she'd see through you before the words had even left your mouth." He laughed again as Ron scowled and finally gave up the ruse with the papers, throwing them into a heap on top of his desk.

"Dad, I've done something. Something … awful." He banged his head on the edge of his desk in exasperation - not for the first time that day - and recoiled in pain.

"Is it a work or personal 'something awful'?" Arthur leaned forward as Ron moved swiftly out of his chair and began to pace the room.

"It's… well, I guess… it's both." Ron continued to pace and Arthur leaned back in his chair, waiting for him to continue. Having watched Molly do this a thousand times with the children, he knew that he had to keep his mouth shut until Ron was ready to talk.

"Last night, I," Ron paused. "After work, I went-" The door swung open and Ron's next words died on his lips as Pansy stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, and a deep scowl plastered onto her face. Briefly Ron wondered if all women wore the same expression when they were angry.

"Ronald Weasley, how dare you –" The words died on her lips when her eyes fell on Arthur, who was staring mildly at her. Her cheeks turned pink, and she opened and closed her mouth several times, as though she was struggling to say something and had decided against it.

"Is there something I can help you with, Miss Parkinson?" Ron asked, placing deliberate emphasis on her last name. She cleared her throat and stiffened where she stood.

"I was just wondering if you'd gotten the memo from Miss Granger this morning," she said coolly, reigning her emotions in.

"Memo?" Ron asked, blinking. "No, I didn't. Where is it?"

"I'll bring it to you right away." She turned and closed the door behind her, leaving Ron alone with his Father.

"Ron, what have you done?" Arthur asked softly. Ron turned startled eyes to his father.

"I- I-" But he couldn't do it. In the few hours since he'd disapparated from her flat, Ron had been hiding in his office, trying to convince himself that too much work had caused him to hallucinate the whole thing. He couldn't admit what had happened to himself, let
alone his father. "Nothing," he said quietly. He took a deep breath and tried to make his lips form a smile.

"What did you need Dad? I've got a meeting later with Bilby, and I still need to get the numbers before we can start planning a new budget." Arthur sighed. Ron would tell him when he chose to, and not a moment before; he knew that as well as he knew the colour of the sky.

"All right, Ron. The reason I stopped in was-" He suddenly looked stricken, and older than the last time Ron had seen him. The position of Minister was taking its toll on the once jovial Weasley patriarch.

"We've been interviewing the Death Eaters again. It's policy now, you know, to interview the ones we catch every six months, in case some of them are still under a slow changing Imperius, or on the off chance they want to save their skins and pass along some new information."

"And?"

"Well, we had a curious report come through last night. Seems one of them - I'll have to check the report when I get back to my office to see who, exactly - is willing to trade information on the identity of those responsible for Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy's murders."

Ron gaped at his Father. "And what is this person asking for in return for giving this information?"

Arthur sighed heavily. "His freedom."

"You can't do that, Dad!" Ron protested, his cheeks turning rosy. "That defeats the entire purpose of the interrogations!"

"We have to think about the greater good, Ron. I'd be more than willing to trade one man's freedom for a known killer's name and location."

"How can you be sure he'd be telling you the truth?"

"He's agreed to take Veritaserum."

"Dad," Ron sighed, rolling his eyes. "You know just as well as I do that the Death Eaters were trained to be able to resist Veritaserum."

Arthur sighed heavily. "I know. But, if he is telling the truth, then we can finally find out, perhaps, how to deal with the enchantments surrounding the Manor, and the vaults below it. The person who killed the Malfoys has information that we need. He, she, or they were able to penetrate places that we haven't been able to come close to. You remember what happened to Hermione when she tried to do more than walk the corridors there, right?" Ron nodded, also remembering the week that she'd spent in St. Mungo's, recovering from the curses she'd suffered inside the Manor. "Dumbledore thinks that Voldemort may have given important – extremely important – artifacts to Lucius before he died, and we need to find them."

"What 'artifacts'? Why didn't anyone tell me?" Ron asked hotly.

"I didn't even know until a few weeks ago, and we don't know for certian yet, but Dumbledore seems sure of it. Knowing what I do about Lucius Malfoy, it wouldn't surprise me to find another Basilisk in the catacombs below that place."

"Has Dumbledore agreed to the pardon of this prisoner?" Ron asked, sighing in defeat.

"He agrees with me, that it would be worth setting one person free in order to capture someone more dangerous. Besides, after we set him free, we'd still keep him under very close surveillance."

"What happens when the prisoner names the so-called guilty party?"

"Naturally the named person will have to come forward and face the Wizengamot."

Without thinking, Ron said in a shaky voice, "If they wanted to get past the Manor's charms so badly, why didn't they just ask Draco how to do it?"

"We did at his inquiry." Arthur sighed heavily again. "He claimed that Lucius was the only one who knew how to get past the protection that Abraxas Malfoy placed around the Manor before he died."

Ron muttered something unintelligible, and the expression on Arthur's face changed. "Speaking of Draco, his stipend was returned this morning. Seems he's up and left his flat without giving the ministry a forwarding address." Arthur watched Ron's face closely, as though this information might provoke a specific reaction.

"Mmhmm." But Ron had learned, after being Harry's best friend for over fifteen years, to keep his head down and his mouth shut when he didn't want to give himself away.

"I mentioned it to Dumbledore this morning, and he said nearly the same thing. Ron, what aren't you telling me? Has something happened to Draco Malfoy?" Ron threw his quill down on the desk and leveled a blank expression at this father.

"Dad, I'm only going to have this conversation once, all right?"

Arthur looked abashed. He was, after all, the minister of magic, not to mention Ron's father - but Ron's dealings were often of a secret nature, and after a few years, Arthur had learned to give him a certain amount of rope. He nodded.

"I'm not telling you anything specific, only that Malfoy and a few others are out of contact for an unspecified amount of time."

"Ginny, Hermione, and Harry, too, no doubt." Arthur ticked their names off on his fingers, but Ron's face remained as blank as Harry had trained him to do during an inquiry.

"This is for everyone's protection, alright? I'm not saying anything else."

"I could find out if I wanted to, you know."

"You could, but if you trust me - and I'm sure you do - then you'll leave well enough alone." Arthur nodded, resignation etched across his features.

"Your Mum wanted you to come round for dinner tonight. Do you think you'll be able to get out of here in time?"

"I can't, Dad. I'm up to my ears in paperwork." Not to mention that Pansy would most definitely be back. She was probably on the other side of the door as they spoke, waiting for his father to leave. Even though he knew he had to deal with the situation, he wasn't looking forward to it.

Ginny had just finished changing into her worn flannel pyjamas when she heard a knock on her door. Frowning, she padded to the door and swung it open.

"Oh – Malfoy," she said, sighing. "Come in." Draco followed her, leaving the door slightly ajar, and sat down on the chair in the corner. He watched as she began folding the clothes she'd worn earlier.

"You know," he drawled softly, "I don't blame you one bit for lashing out at Potter during dinner." Ginny stopped folding and turned to give him an incredulous look.

"Lashing out? I wasn't lashing out, I just wasn't putting up with his 'poor me' routine."

"Whatever the case, you can't be faulted for it," he said silkily, his eyes darting towards the door. A shadow passed by once, then twice, and Draco smirked to himself when the shadow finally stopped and stood just on the other side of the door. "He brought it on himself. Who does he think he is, to take his anger out on you, when you've been nothing but nice to him?"

"I know," she said, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "I just don't understand why he keeps his temper with everyone else, but then lets it loose on me." She paused for a moment, and then narrowed her eyes at him. "Malfoy, I know you didn't just come in here for a friendly chat. What do you want? We have to be up in 6 hours."

"How do you know I didn't 'just come in here for a friendly chat?' You're the only one who's been even somewhat decent to me. I just thought I'd return the favor. I knew you'd be upset about Potter." He looked sincere, she couldn't deny that, but why did his eyes keep flitting toward the door?"That's not true," she said, getting up from the bed and returning to the wardrobe to retrieve her hair brush. "Hermione was the one who insisted that we all get on. If you want to return kindness to anyone, it's her that you should be talking to." She sat back down on the bed and began pulling the brush through her long hair, eyeing him warily.

"Granger's motivation wasn't nearly as pure as yours," he denied vehemently. "She just doesn't want her authority to be questioned. She could care less if my throat gets slashed in the middle of the night by Scarhead." Ginny laughed and leveled a reproachful glare at him.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. Harry has no sense of stealth. If he wanted to slash your throat, he'd walk up to you in the middle of a bright afternoon so you could see the knife glint in the sunlight."

"Well that makes me feel so much better," he responded dryly. When his eyes darted towards the door again, Ginny frowned. She rose from the bed and yanked the door open, only to have Harry fall face-first to the floor in front of her. Draco sniggered as Harry scrambled to his feet.

"Why are you eavesdropping on me?" Ginny demanded, ignoring Draco for the moment. Harry's face flushed.

"I was coming to talk to you about what happened at dinner, when I realized that you had company," he said, glaring at the blonde. "And I use that term very loosely."

"What don't you do that's loose?" Draco asked, highly amused. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Fine – if that's how the two of you are going to behave, you can both just leave." She held the door open and indicated that Draco should go. He stood and smoothed his shirt out, passing by Harry with another snigger.

"Gin, I really-" His words were cut off when she slammed the door in his face.

Thirty seconds later found him knocking on Hermione's door, the various emotions raging through him like a storm bent on total destruction. Wordlessly, Hermione opened the door to allow him inside her room, and then shut it behind him.

"He was in her room again!" He practically shouted. Hermione shushed him and sat beside him on her narrow bed. She sighed. The day had been long and trying, and she looked exhausted – not to mention, Harry was quite sure, impatient with him.

"And?"

"And?" He shouted again, but this time Hermione rapped him hard on top of the head. Rubbing the soon-to-be-lump, he continued in a strained whisper. "And? That's all you have to say? You're running this show, surely you don't want us-"

"Want you what, Harry?" She leaned back to rest her head on the pillow and shut her eyes.

"Fraternizing!" He slapped her on the leg to get her attention. A noise of surprise escaped her before she used the same leg to push him onto the floor, keeping her eyes shut tight the entire time.

"So, what were they doing?" Harry scrambled up from the floor and pushed her legs out of the way to reclaim his seat on the bed.

"Nothing, thank God. Talking." Talking about him, no less! And what Ginny had said about slashing Malfoy's throat... He smiled sheepishly. She was spot on about that. "And 'talking' constitutes - what did you call it? 'Fraternizing?'"

"No, but-"

"Then, following your logic, you've been fraternizing with Neville for the past two days. You're right, Harry. We can't have that."

"Hermione!" She sat up and began rubbing her eyes.

"Look, I have more important things to be worrying about than Malfoy's room hopping, all right? And so do you."

"I know," he started. She shook her head and cut him off.

"We skipped defensive training with spells today, did you notice that?"

"Not really. I was so exhausted from the blasted running, everything that followed was a total wash." She pursed her lips.

"I've been working out the best way to ask you this, but I'm too tired for pretense or flattery at this point. I need you to train the team in defensive spells." It wasn't a question, and she gave Harry a pointed look to make sure that he understood.

"Why can't you do it?" he asked, nonplussed. She let her eyes drift shut before she answered.

"I could do it, I suppose, but I'm rather inclined to think that you'd be better at it. The team knows that you've faced Voldemort before, and I think that they'd be more attentive to you."

"You've got to be taking the mickey out of me," he said incredulously. A heavy silence hung between them for several moments, and then: "Malfoy would never listen to me."

"I think you're wrong." Harry frowned at her. "Besides, it'd be just like the DA, wouldn't it, except that you're only teaching five people."

"Five?" Harry repeated, confused.

"Well you'd be teaching me, too, of course." His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"You? What could I possibly have to teach you that you don't already know?" She smiled.

"How to be impulsive, for starters. How to think on my feet."

"Of course you know how to be impul-" His voice faded when she started laughing. It was a downright lie, and they both knew it. He slapped her leg again and her eyes shot open.

"I've heard you say it a hundred times, Harry. 'When you face him all you've got are your instincts and your guts.' Everything I've learned from books is rubbish now, and you know it." She rubbed the red mark on her leg and his hand closed over hers.

"No worries, love. I've actually been thinking about this, and I think I've got a few ideas that will help all of us 'think better on our feet.'" She sat up again, her expression excited despite her obvious exhaustion.

"Have you? What?" He rose from the bed and moved towards the door, only stopping to look over his shoulder after he'd opened it.

"We'll talk about it at breakfast tomorrow." He said, before disappearing through the door.

Ron was just putting the finishing touches on some paperwork when his door flew open and Pansy stormed into his office, her blonde hair flying around her face.

He dropped his quill onto the desktop and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Would you please shut the door before this conversation begins? I don't particularly fancy having half of the Ministry hearing the sordid details."

Pansy slammed the door shut with unnecessary force, then turned and arched an eyebrow at him. "That better, Boss?"

"For Merlin's sake," he swore, staring at her. "I was drunk, and it was one night. Why can't we let it be at that?"

He's pleading, she thought warily. She bit her lip, closed her eyes and then reopened them; repeating the movement several times in an effort to stall the wetness that was threatening to break free. Finally, after several seconds of the embarrassing display, she put her head in her hands and fell into the seat opposite his desk.

"You really don't want me, then, do you?"

Ron blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected her to change tempo so quickly; with Hermione, it always took hours after a fight for her to calm down, no matter who had started it or what it had been about. Hermione had been known to seethe and shoot nasty looks at him, and he had expected no less from Pansy. However, the woman in front of him looked nothing short of devastated.

He wasn't used to seeing Pansy Parkinson look beaten, and he didn't like it.

"That's not it," he blurted, before he could help himself. He kicked himself mentally the second the words had escaped. He'd just spent numerous days trying to convince her that they didn't stand a chance together, and here he was, saying things that might give her hope. What in the hell had gotten into him?

They looked at each other for a long time, and then she smiled. He reflected later that it was the most sincere smile she had ever shown him.

"So," he said, clearing his throat in an attempt to signal a subject change, "Where's Hermione's memo?"

She sat back in her chair and smirked. "There isn't one."

"There isn't one?" he echoed, disbelief etched across his face. "Why would you make something like that up?"

"I had to say something to explain why I burst into your office unannounced like that, didn't I?" she asked reasonably. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Parkinson, you'll be the death of me."