Despite the years the Australian team had been aware of Dolohov being present in the country, Ron was startled to discover how little they knew about the ongoings of the former death eater. Hawley blamed this on the pushback they had received from inside and out of their department in their ministry, only finally receiving full backing after the explosions several months earlier. From the meager information they had gathered from witnesses and the few arrests of inconsequential bottom rung players, only a little was known about the group. They called themselves 'The New Confederation,' and seemed to be based somewhere on the outskirts of Adelaide. The group was evidently small, but surprisingly diverse. Along with a smattering of former death eaters, the group appeared to consist of blood purists from various countries across the world. There had only been four arrests over the last several years with any relation to the group, and the wizards and witches had all been foreign: One from Belgium, another Japan, another America, and the last Germany. Only one arrest led to any useful information, including the location of a few possible safehouses Dolohov had been known to use, and the confirmation that Angus Stanson was indeed connected to the group.
From this information they were able to determine that Stanson and some of his New Confederation cronies had been residing in a muggle home near Somerton Park right outside of Adelaide prior to his trip back to England. Luggins and Daniels had confirmed through surveillance that there were definitely occupants in the home still, and as the muggle owners, Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby, had not been seen or heard from in many months, it seemed fair to assume these weren't simply houseguests. In addition, the magic around the home was strong, preventing any spells from even being able to detect the number of people residing there. Due to this there was only speculation for what they were doing behind closed doors.
As for information on Stanson himself, the file on him was equally sparse. There was a bit of information on his upbringing and Hogwarts years, as well as his time working briefly in Knockturn alley before eventually coddling up to the death eaters during the first war. Stanson had some expertise in smuggling things in and out of the country, making him an asset to their group, but Stanson never reached the ranks where he would receive the dark mark himself. The information on his life after this is spotty, and most of the people who knew him by this point weren't the type to talk openly about their connection to each other.
"So this is really all we have to go on then?" he asked again, knowing the answer.
"Yes Ron, it's the same that was in the file the last time you looked" Benson responded with slight exasperation. They had gone over the plan a few times already, but as the days ticked down his worry of going in completely blind continued to grow.
"Guess we should just hope this Stanson bloke is a right moron then" he grumbled more to himself than the aurors sitting at the table with him. Farrow snorted into his coffee.
"For your sake we can only hope, eh?" he said with a smirk. Ron just rolled his eyes and went back to reading the information he had on Stanson and the other British members of the New Confederation, hoping to find something he may have missed earlier. A few minutes later Benson suddenly sighed loudly and stood up, walking out of the room without a word. Ron watched her depart but didn't bother saying anything.
Over the last two and a half weeks he was starting to become used to the idiosyncrasies of the strange team he'd fallen into. Auror Benson, or Natalie as she preferred, was friendly enough (especially after a drink or two) but had a tendency to brood. Having been friends with Harry for half his life this wasn't difficult to navigate for him, and he knew the signs to look for when she clearly needed space. Hawley had confided in him that a good portion of her family was based in England, and several of them were killed during the war, including her muggleborn father. Her vendetta against Voldemort's former followers was far more personal than the rest of the team. The Magazine Models (as he referred to Daniels and Luggins solely in his head) had a peppy energy and the same cookie-cutter personality that continuously rubbed Ron the wrong way. He learned quickly he had absolutely nothing in common with the duo, with their focus being less on sensible things such as ale and quidditch and more on 'clean eating' and 'positive energy circles,' whatever the hell that was supposed to be.
Then there was Auror Laghari, an older man closer to Hawley's age whose main role there seemed to be logistics. He had helped to develop the plan to get Ron to Australia, and was in charge of coordinating check-ins with Ron once he infiltrated the New Confederation. Laghari was a reserved and no-nonsense kind of man, with very little patience for small talk. Needless to say, he and Ron hadn't managed to become too chummy. Hawley on the other hand had a kinder and more laid back persona, and seemed extremely curious about how the department in England had been run, always looking for ways to improve his own team. When Ron had demonstrated to them how to use patronuses for communication, something the aurors adopted from the Order after the war, he nearly fell over in excitement. His childlike wonder towards learning new things reminded him strongly of his dad, and subsequently he found himself simultaneously enjoying and dreading conversations with the man.
The first few nights in Australia Ron was too busy trying to become acquainted with the mission and his teammates to really think about anything else. As the days ticked on though, the pain of what he had done had started to hit him full force. Thinking of his family created an ache that struck him at random and more frequently than he could stand. He couldn't help but wonder how his family had reacted to the news. Were they broken apart like when Fred died? Were they angry about what he had apparently done? Were they still lost in their grief, or, as a small part of him was ashamed to fear, had they just moved on? Maybe they were all together now enjoying Sunday night dinner, gushing over Harry and Ginny's wedding plans, ignoring the empty chair at their table.
Thinking about Harry again created a bigger pang in his chest. He wished he had left with things in a better place there. After giving him the cold shoulder when he announced his engagement, the tension between them steadily grew. He couldn't really stand to think what his last thoughts about his 'dead' best friend could have been, though he suspected some variation of the word 'tosser' to have been involved. At the time Ron couldn't give two shits about Harry's hurt feelings over the matter, but dying seemed to give him a bit of a new perspective he realized. Even if he could never be with Harry in the way he had wanted, Harry still deserved his friendship. It wasn't his fault he couldn't return Ron's feelings. Lost in his own dreadful thoughts he let out a sullen sigh.
"I'm pretty sure that's more Natalie's move, mate"
Ron looked up to see Farrow leaning back in his chair and staring at him. He realized that he had been picking at his sleeve to the point it was beginning to look tattered. Despite being gifted the pristine turquoise auror robes the Australian branch used, he still had managed to much them up quickly enough.
"Sorry, just thinking s'all" Ron mumbled non descriptively, shifting his attention back to his slowly disintegrating sleeve.
"About your family, yeah? I'm sure that's been hard"
Startled, Ron looked back up. Of the group Farrow was the one Ron had the hardest time deciding whether or not he liked. The man had a wicked sense of humor that regularly seemed to step over the line, and he lacked all manner of tact. Though Ron himself had been accused of these qualities before, Farrow seemed to take them to another level. He was blunt about his feelings, not hiding his disinterest in topics he didn't feel like discussing, and seemed to border on arrogant with all the topics he did care for. On the other hand, he seemed to be a genuinely good auror, and would maintain complete focus on work tasks as they came. He was also the most easy going of the group and had the most in common with Ron as far as interests go. On Ron's first week there, he had spent a full evening explaining Australian rules quidditch to Ron and engaged in good natured banter as Ron honestly told him how ridiculous he found the whole sport to be. Farrow was easy to laugh with, something Ron desperately needed given the situation. Plus, if Ron was honest with himself, the fact that he was incredibly easy to look at helped quite a bit. Nearly Ron's height but more fit than lanky, the sandy haired auror had caught Ron's attention more than a few times during their daily briefings.
"Yeah. Yeah, I've been thinking about them a lot the last few days" he finally responded. He hadn't spoken about any of them since arriving. The Australian team knew what Ron had done to get there, but whether it was due to kindness or disinterest, no one had asked him anything about his family. Not that he really wanted to open up to any of them about it to begin with.
"Were you close with your family then?" Farrow asked in a falsely light tone. The conversation was notably more personal than any they'd had so far.
"I was yeah… well not as much at the end," Ron sighed, "I kind of messed that all up to be honest. I reckon in some ways it's for the best I left when I did before I made things worse."
He started picking at his robes again, but was still able to see Farrow frowning at him from across the table. "What happened?"
He considered the question a moment before answering. He wasn't entirely sure why he suddenly felt comfortable opening up to Farrow, especially considering the man spent half his time taking the piss out of everyone around him. He did recognize that he never bothered to ask questions unless he was genuinely interested though, and honestly the pain of everything that happened had been bubbling so close to the surface it really didn't take much prodding for it to all tumble out.
"I was a proper idiot is what happened," Ron answered roughly, "I was married and my wife found out I wasn't in love with her. And instead of telling my family why I basically told them to go to hell and buried myself in work instead. I knew they were just trying to help. I mean, it was in their own meddling, fucked up way. But that's what they wanted, and I just wasn't having it."
"Why didn't you tell them you fell out of love then? It happens."
"Because they all loved my wife. And they should, she's amazing honestly, and she deserves the bloody best. That just wasn't me" he shrugged. After a moment of silence he continued, a little quieter than before, "and besides. She knew I'd loved someone else."
"Who? Potter?"
Ron's head sprang up so quickly he felt something pop in his neck. Farrow's expression was impassive but there was a knowing look in his eyes. "What makes you think that?" he asked, kicking himself as he realized his spluttering response was all but a confirmation.
He shrugged, "you get really sensitive any time he comes up. And it makes sense you wouldn't want to tell your family, since he's marrying your sister and all."
Ron balked, "how do you even know that?"
Farrow laughed, "we get the news down here too mate. Your friend's well known in a lot of places these days." Ron grumbled at this. 14,000 kilometers from home and he still had to hear about that bloody engagement.
"Well," Farrow continued, "when you get home you can make things right with them."
"I'm not so sure I can..." Ron was going to leave it there, but couldn't help himself from anxiously blurting out what was really scaring him. "They're gonna hate me. Like really, properly, hate me. I made them think I'm dead, how could they ever forgive me for that?" Still picking at his robe's hem he didn't realize how badly he was shaking until he felt Farrow's hand wrap over his own to still it. He was trying to avoid his gaze by looking down at the table, but the auror just bent his head lower until he caught Ron's eyes.
"They're not going to hate you. Not when they find out why you did it, there's no way."
Ron snorted dismissively.
"And if they do," Farrow continued, "we'll just kick their arses to next Tuesday. You can take Potter though. I'll take your sister, she looks easier to manage."
He choked a laugh out at that, "you'd be surprised."
Farrow offered a coy smile. "Yeah, I bet I would."
"You know, you're really not so terrible Farrow," Ron said genuinely to the auror's amusement.
"Wow, you compliment all the attractive blokes you meet that way?" Ron felt himself blush at this. Though he had long stopped shaking, the two men's hands remained firmly attached together on the table. Their bodies had gotten markedly closer since the start of the conversation and he could feel their knees lightly brushing under the table, something he had no intention of stopping. "And my name's David. Feels too formal having you keep calling me my surname, only Hawley does that."
"Fair enough. You're really not so terrible, David," he grinned, then added more seriously, "honestly though. Thank you. For, you know..."
He just offered a small shrug, but the intense eye contact didn't waver. "So, you busy at all this evening?"
Ron laughed at that. Being as he was meant to be dead, he hadn't been allowed to leave the warehouse at all since arriving. "Besides rereading the same fifteen page file for the 80th time? Nah, not really."
David smirked at him "Good, we'll head up to mine." And without removing his hand from Ron's, he stood up and started heading out towards the rickety steps to the upstairs quarters. After being initially startled by his abruptness, Ron briefly considered declining and pointing out that this was going to just make things messy for the mission. The feeling quickly passed though, and really, his mum had been right. Work couldn't be everything.
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /
Despite the increasing descent into cabin fever by the end of the month, Ron still couldn't help but feel caught off guard when he realized the day had finally come. The morning had been abuzz with last minute preparations, all of which Ron was struggling to meet with matched enthusiasm.
Two days previously Hawley had apparated into the main room, excitedly holding two newspapers. Dropping them triumphantly onto the table before the tired aurors who had only just started on their morning coffees, it took them a few moments to take in what they were seeing. The first paper was entitled The Wizard's Morning Herald, and was turned to the international section in the back. A picture of Stanson fighting to throw healers off of him from a hospital bed was shown below the headline "UK Bomber Escapes Hospital Custody." The other paper was immediately recognizable to Ron, The Daily Prophet. The story was on the front page and contained two photos side by side. One of Stanson being taken away after his arrest, and the other of Ron and his team taken from the same day. The bolded headline proclaimed "Sheffield Explosion Suspect Escapes, Ministry Scrambles to Explain"
"Just as we planned, eh? I wouldn't be surprised if Dolohov himself has already seen this. Looks like everything is moving along as scheduled" Hawley announced cheerfully, bouncing on his heels and sounding more like a man proudly announcing his new promotion than someone delivering the news of an escaped dangerous convict. Still, the news was met with excited chatter from his team. Only Ron avoided responding, finding himself still staring at the paper in front of him. Below the main article Hawley had indicated was a list of other articles contained in the paper. Two articles in particular jumped up at him: "Ronald Weasley Obituary Reprint, pg 12" and "Family and Friends Speak Out About Fallen War Hero After Private Funeral, pg 14." Two images were included below these blurbs, one of himself from school standing between Harry and Hermione, taken somewhere in 6th year with them looking happy and (mostly) unburdened. The other was one he had never seen before, but with a pang in his chest he had a guess where it was from. It was unmistakably the garden of the Burrow. There were benches set out filled with people, though they were hard to identify as an irate looking Harry was actively blocking the camera with one hand and pointing his wand menacingly at the unseen reporter with his other.
Unaware he was even doing it, he reached out to grab the paper to look closer, but saw it sliding back before he could touch it. Removing his eyes from the photo Ron looked at Hawley, who quickly folded the paper up and placed it back into his robes. Looking down at Ron with an expression of regretful understanding, he offered a gentle smile before turning back to the rest of the team to discuss next steps. Though no words were spoken, Ron got the message: Now wasn't the time to be distracted.
Yet distracted he was. He managed to get through the next two days with all the focus he could muster, but in the rare quiet moments he found he could think of little else than what might be in those articles. Mere hours before he was set to depart, Ron found himself sitting alone in the tiny conference room where they had just finished his last debriefing, unaware when the rest of his team cleared out for a late lunch.
"You alright there mate? Can't tell if you're concentrating or having an aneurysm."
Ron startled. David was standing in front of him, holding two falafels and looking torn between amusement and exasperation.
"Yeah, just thinking about some stuff."
David threw one of the falafels in front of Ron and took a seat. "Ah, well that explains it. Thinking can be pretty painful for the less intelligent, but I promise it gets easier with practice."
Ron scowled, but didn't respond. He grabbed the falafel and started in, not feeling much like talking. A few minutes of quietude overtook them, only the sounds of chewing and anxious foot-tapping breaking through the silence. David finished first and crinkled his wrappings up before asking with a casual air, "So do you want to know what it says then?"
Ron swallowed and looked at him quizzically. "What what says?"
"This." He reached into his robes and pulled out the copy of The Daily Prophet from two days earlier. Ron stopped eating.
"Hawley gave you that?" Ron asked, shocked.
"No, somehow I managed to figure out how to buy a paper myself. Thought I'd take a look and see all the kind things the world had to say about the dead bloke I've been sleeping with." Ron only managed to throw him a halfhearted look of irritation at that comment before he continued. "You can read it if you want, but I really don't think you should."
His shoulders slumped. "It's that bad then?"
"No, it's all good stuff. I just don't think it's the best idea to dive into your own deep emotional shit right before heading out into a mission where you could be killed."
Ron winced. That wasn't what he had expected to hear, but he knew it was probably true. Just the idea of what was written in there was enough to preoccupy him the last two days when his attention should have been fully elsewhere. He suddenly felt a little embarrassed and wished David would move his gaze elsewhere. He seemed to have a habit of staring rather intensely, something that had made made Ron feel equally fervent and self-conscious during the few times they had had sex over the last week.
"I know. I just wanted to know if they're ok, and to make sure they're not too, you know… upset I guess? Or pissed off I s'pose" he sighed, feeling resigned. "So they didn't write anything too bad in there then?."
"What, like 'we all hated the bastard, good riddance'? No. The obituary is just full of the nice flowery stuff you see in most papers. And as far as the 'Family and Friends Speak Out' article," the side of his lip curled up, "that mostly just seemed to be your friends and family finding some colorful new ways of telling the reporter to fuck off."
Ron nodded. He knew the only way he was going to be able to see them all again was to complete this mission quickly and safely, so with a refound determination he got up and headed out of the room deciding to find Laghari and Hawley. The desire to read this all for himself didn't fade as even second hand contact with his loved ones would have felt like a relief, but he forced himself to feel some contentment in knowing his family was alright and seemingly acting like their regular old selves back home.
Over the next few hours Laghari and Hawley chose to use the time to remind Ron over and over again of their contact and contingency plans.
"You are to check in every 48 hours. Make sure you are outside the wards of the home before sending your patronus to us ensuring your safety and with any important information. We do not know if all the members are staying in the house or elsewhere, if you are moved elsewhere, inform us as soon as possible of your new location. And remember, if we do not hear from you in any 72 hours period, we will assume the worst. You got that? 72 hours. At that point we will alter the plans and move in for retrieval."
Ron grinded his teeth trying not to bite back a sarcastic remark. He had been sitting in Laghari's office for the last two hours listening to the man repeat this information to him at least twelve times, and he was starting to feel like he was being treated as a particularly dimwitted schoolboy. He knew that they were only being so thorough to clear their own nerves, but the anxious anticipation was starting to overwhelm him and he wished he could just use this time to get into a relaxed state. Memories of Harry and him laughing over games of exploding snap in the break room before heading into numerous dangerous situations flashed through his mind as a stark contrast to the sullen atmosphere he was currently situated in.
Likely noting his tense demeanor, Hawley sat beside him and gripped his shoulder. "No doubt you're gonna do great here, we just want to make sure we have everything hammered in before you go."
A loud squawking noise reverberated through the warehouse, causing everyone in the room to jump.
"Ah! It's time!"
Natalie and David soon entered the room to join them, exuding their own anxious energy. The Magazine Models weren't present as they were currently staked out in Somerton Park outside the house to ensure Ron got in safely. As Natalie and David took a seat, Laghari shuffled around his desk, picking up items and shoving them into Ron's hands faster than he could keep up.
"Here are your robes, put those on before drinking the potion. Stick this bag into the pockets, there is enough hair and nail clippings to keep you concealed for at least 3 months. After that we will schedule a handoff," Ron grimaced at this, shoving the bag into the robes as he tried to quickly throw them on, "here is your potion supply, they have been shrunken with reducio so you will need to enlarge them before using them. And here is your first potion" he handed him a goblet with a familiar looking bubbling substance. Knowing it doesn't go down better in increments, Ron threw it back in one disgusting gulp. The discombobulating sensation reserved solely for this horrendous tasting potion immediately began its effect, causing him to begin to shrink in some areas and bulk out in others. After the tingling fully dissipated Ron looked down at the aged, ashen arms now attached to him.
"Well," he asked in a hoarse voice unlike his own, "how do I look?"
"Loads better mate, you're almost tolerable to look at now" David deadpanned, causing Natalie to stifle a laugh. Even Hawley snorted.
"Hilarious" he croaked out.
Hawley frowned at him. "You don't quite have his look down though. Stanson has a very specific expression in all his photos. It's a bit more…"
"Irritated?" Natalie threw out.
"And confused" David added.
"Yes, something like that" Hawley agreed emphatically. Ron tried to readjust, but Hawley shook his head. "No, that's more… exasperated"
Natalie smirked suddenly. "Hey Ron, remember when Luggins explained the proper aura cleansing spells you needed to 'realign yourself' when you were hungover last week?" she asked. Ron made a face as the unpleasant memory came back to him.
"Nailed it with that one Benson, cheers" David laughed.
Another squawk rang out loudly and Hawley clapped his hands together in excitement. "Well everyone, it looks like it's time. Ron, I know you're a bit tired of these reminders, but remember if anything goes wrong contact us immediately and do what you can to get out. Find out whatever you can, but stay safe, eh?"
"'Course" Ron responded, and Hawley clapped him on the back, beaming. Ron looked over the rest of the assembled team, eyes lingering briefly on David who stared back fervently as ever. Without another word, he spun on the spot and apparated to his destination.