Ron watched the glint of moonlight on Harry's glasses as Harry peered around the broken down brick wall, murmuring a warming charm on his hands against the frosty February air that made clouds of their breath. Why these ammunition dumps always had to be in the wee hours of the morning on what seemed to be the coldest night of the year was beyond Ron. He knew since Voldemort had taken the battle to the abandoned back alleys and rundown buildings of Muggle London, Moody and Tonks were right to insist that there be strategically placed kits of Fred's and George's most creative weaponry hidden for ready Auror use in every neighborhood. Hoisting the kit higher under his arm and creeping after Harry through the rubble, he prayed that this time Harry read the bloody map right for the ammo dump location so they didn't face a royal dressing down from Moody when the next patrol came in bleeding and demanding to know where their Weasley's Wizarding Weapons had been.
"I think it's just here," Harry breathed, squinting at his map under a faint Lumos and pointing at a handy empty postbox under a shorted out lamppost—easily accessible and with a large landmark.
"Do you want me to check the map or have you got it right this time?" Ron grunted as he heaved the kit into the postbox and primed the quick-release lid.
"Yes, I've got it right this time. Besides, Moody was definitely talking to you when he mentioned Aurors who couldn't find their arses with two hands and a Lumos at the briefing. Don't forget the sticking charm," Harry grinned wryly.
Halfway through the sticking charm incantation Ron found himself tackled to the ground. Harry's weight rolled off immediately as he began shooting off spells with rapid fire at the crowd of Death Eaters that were continuing to apparate in with loud pops.
"Stupefy! Petrificus Totalis! Shit, we're surrounded! Ron, take pattern beta," Harry shouted as he wriggled on his stomach behind a low wall.
"Protego!" Ron incanted with all his power, rolling to a crouch and sprinting directly toward the line of black robes and white masks. Harry, taking advantage of their momentary confusion, spat out a chain of Incarcerous spells that had six Death Eaters bound helpless on the ground.
"Accio wands!" Ron held his arm out to catch the trapped enemies' wands as he turned to check Harry's progress on the remaining Death Eaters. A sharp impact to his right shoulder had him spinning to the ground and the wands clattering to the stones, bouncing and rolling through the rocks and rubble.
"Ron!" Harry shouted and swept through the remaining four Death Eaters with ruthless efficiency until they were all unconscious or tied up and silenced. Ron sat up and put a hand to his shoulder, surprised when it came away wet with blood. Funny how blood looked black in the dark.
"Is it bad?" Harry crashed to his knees beside Ron and conjuring a bandage, pressed it to the wound.
"Naw, it doesn't even hurt," Ron said, feeling his heart still pound with adrenaline. It seemed to jump a beat when the sound of pounding footsteps caused Harry to replace his hand on the bandage with Ron's and leap to his feet with wand drawn.
"We saw wandfire. Everything under control?" Seamus panted as he and Parvati drew near, Parvati already bending to place portkeys set for Azkaban on each Death Eater.
"About damn time," Harry raged. "We could have used you about ten minutes ago and now Ron's wounded." Ron saw Harry's fist clench around his wand, still in a defensive stance.
"Hey, cool it, mate, we were six blocks away and if Parvati hadn't been watching the perimeter we'd never have seen the spell glow anyway," Seamus protested.
"And if Seamus hadn't been telling dirty jokes during an ammo dump we might have heard the fighting," Parvati returned, straightening from the last Death Eater with a satisfied air and tapping her wand to the master portkey to send them to Azkaban holding cells.
Seeing Ron struggling to stand up without using his bad arm or letting go of his bandage, Harry grasped his good shoulder and heaved him upright. Ron watched Harry tap his wand against his leg in annoyance and then blinked as he seemed to slide in and out of focus.
"Well, make an effort next time, all right? Because next time we might not get hit with recruits out on a first raid—and then Ron wouldn't be walking away with a flesh wound." Harry shoved a hand through his already messy hair, dislodging a few chips of concrete.
"It's all right, mate, no major harm done," Ron said softly, hoping to see the tense lines around Harry's mouth ease slightly.
"Fine, let's just get back to HQ and get you patched up. You feeling okay?" Harry asked. Ron supposed his face must seem pale in the darkness as the adrenaline faded and the pain seemed to suddenly bite into his shoulder.
"Right as rain, Harry," he tried to say cheerfully, biting back a wince as he clamped a little harder on the already soaked bandage. "Plus we didn't have to use the ammo kit—that ought to make Moody happy."
"We gave him ten prisoners tonight. I expect more than just a thank you—what would you say to a two-day furlough?" Harry asked, once again gripping Ron's good shoulder in preparation for side-along apparition.
"Hey, I'm not hit that bad, I can appar—" Ron protested as the world swirled in color and Harry's magic pulled him away.
"Cutting Curse, poorly aimed and inexpertly executed," Hermione diagnosed crisply as she angled a lamp to shine on Ron's shoulder and peeled off the field dressing. "Were these guys amateurs or were you just lucky? Now hold still, this will sting a little."
Ron held his breath as he felt the cleansing charm burn through the wound, exhaling in a gush as the blissful warmth of Hermione's healing charm sealed the skin of his shoulder. He had persuaded Harry not to make him go to the infirmary, arguing that reporting the injury officially would result in a mountain of extra paperwork, unnecessary when Hermione could fix him up in no time.
"They were definitely amateurs, some young enough to be fugitives from Hogwarts," Harry sighed, perched on Hermione's desk and slouching back against the wall. Ron watched him lean his head wearily back on the cubicle's partition and close his eyes, lifting a leg as Hermione tugged a stack of parchment out from under him.
"Have you or Ginny run across any news of a big recruitment push?" Ron asked. "We haven't had this many hits on routine patrols for a long time." Hermione was an intelligence analyst at the Ministry of Magic and Ginny was her liaison undercover field agent. What the Ministry didn't know was that all of their information was funneled directly to the Order. Everything the Ministry knew, the Order knew, and that information was put to frighteningly effective use through the combined brainpower of Hermione and Remus Lupin. It was the sort of strategy that would have made Dumbledore chuckle if he had been alive to see it.
"You said there were ten Death Eaters there tonight?" Hermione asked. "Based on the statistics I've compiled, the raids have been increasing both in frequency and in number of participants. I think they're sending out only one or two experienced operatives with a set of rookies when they know they can target only one or two Aurors at a time."
"Which leads us once again back to a leak somewhere in the Ministry, because they're finding out how to catch us alone or in pairs," Harry put in, absently pushing his glasses up on his nose.
"That's why we need to randomize patrols and ammo dumps," Ron said, rolling his shoulder and feeling it was still a little tender. "Anyone who's ever played chess knows you can't make the same moves over and over again and not expect your opponent to notice. Even those jokers tonight could souse that if there've been Auror pairs out between midnight and two every other night this week, it stands to reason they could find us out tonight."
"Potter! Weasley! My office, now, with an explanation for why I have Avery and nine adolescent junior Death Eaters on my hands at this hour. Can't you two even manage a routine patrol without me needing to pick up the pieces?" Moody demanded, thumping past on his wooden leg, magical eye tracking them as he stomped on.
"Coming, sir," Harry replied halfheartedly, hoisting himself off Hermione's desk.
"Ron, Harry, I need you to give me those transcripts of Bulstrode's interrogation that I asked you for. Remus wanted to have a look at them," Hermione said.
"Um, I haven't quite laid my hands on those, Hermione, but can I get them to you tomorrow?" Ron asked, knowing he must look sheepish but hoping his recent injury would inspire her to be lenient.
"Tomorrow morning, Ronald, and that means before noon." She eyed him, evidently deciding he looked enough the worse for wear to be granted clemency.
"I've got mine right here," Harry said, grinning at Ron. "Your needs and desires are always first in my heart, Hermione."
Hermione snorted. "Well, you'd better make Moody's desires first in your heart if you want to get out of here anytime soon. You both need at least a few hours of sleep—"
"What's this?" Ron picked up a folded piece of paper sealed with red wax that fluttered to the ground as Harry drew the interrogation report out of the inside pocket of his robes. "Love letter, Harry?"
"Love letter, my arse," Harry snorted. "Let me see it."
Harry turned it over and his brow furrowed. "This is sealed with the Dark Mark," he said as he broke the seal.
"Harry, put it down! It could be poisoned or a portkey!" Hermione hissed.
"Too late now," he said. Reading the message, he looked up and fastened worried green eyes on Ron. "What do you make of this?"
Ron took the letter and Hermione craned over his shoulder to read it.
Dearest Harry,
Be not deceived by your own arrogance nor your pitiful allies. A sharp and silvered death will call upon you, but not before you draw your breath in pain to witness the demise of your friends. I am taking the battle to you, Harry. The time draws near.
In victory,
Lord Voldemort"Where did it come from?" Ron asked, seeing the tense lines around Harry's mouth etch themselves deeper.
"I didn't have it before the ammo dump because I grabbed the report for Hermione right before we left and I would have noticed anything in my pocket." Harry started to pace Hermione's cubicle.
"Then it must have been planted during the raid. This is not good, Harry. It means they knew that you specifically would be there tonight," Hermione said, twining a frizzed curl around her index finger as she did whenever she was analyzing and worrying at the same time.
"Maybe it's nothing. Maybe he's just grandstanding like he always does," Ron said, hoping to ease Harry's tension. "Guess we'd better take it in to Moody," he said, resigning himself to getting no sleep tonight.
"All right, let's go." Ron noticed that Harry gripped his wand, revealing how unsettled he really was, and exchanging a look with Hermione, followed him toward Moody's office. Protecting Harry meant long hours and plots within plots. Lucky that being an Auror was good cover for his real job—watching out for his best friend.
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