"Get these out. Now."
A stack of envelopes addressed in purple ink dropped messily upon the already cluttered table. Ron grunted in response to the older man without sparing him a look, concentrating instead on a large misshapen package he was currently transfiguring to appear like a wine shipment. The moment the man walked out of the room his focus immediately broke. Eagerly he snatched one of the letters off of the pile, quickly using a series of spells to ensure the envelope didn't have any charms meant to curse anyone but the recipient when opening it. So far Ron hadn't run into this, but knew it wasn't worth the risk of getting caught by something so easy to detect.
After five months staying in the Somerton home, Ron had learned close to nothing about what the New Confederation had been planning. As it turned out, Stanson wasn't any higher up in this group than he was with the death eaters, and it was clear early on that he wasn't well respected or trusted by any members in or out of the home. This was not aided by his sudden 'reappearance' after being captured in Sheffield. On the night Ron appeared at the safehouse he was subjected to nearly twelve hours of interrogation to ensure he hadn't told the British Aurors anything about the group or their whereabouts. Though he eventually managed to convince the ten members occupying the home that he hadn't blabbed about their plans to anyone while away, he hadn't managed to make any friends, and gathered quite quickly that Stanson never had any there to begin with. In some ways this was a relief, as it would have been rather difficult to fool anyone close to Stanson for long with such little personal information on the man. On the other hand this meant that he wasn't privy to any of the important discussions or meetings within the group. He had to be very careful in his attempts to gather information about any of the ongoings there. Not that there was much to take note of.
The Somerton Park house itself wasn't a focal point for the main members. Though a series of witches and wizards came in and out of the house regularly, during his stay here Ron had not seen Dolohov a single time, nor any familiar faces. What he had managed to gather so far was that this particular location was being used as a drop off point to send information and materials to international members. Not everything being sent out was related to group activities however, as a good share of stolen (and potentially dangerous) goods were also being shipped out of the safehouse across international borders. Inflicting terror across the world did not fund itself clearly, so the Somerton home was central to pulling in funds. Stanson's natural propensity for smuggling was being used to its full advantage here, so Ron found himself becoming responsible for charming and transfiguring various materials that came through the home before being owled off elsewhere. Luckily for him this didn't create much of a learning curve. Having helped his brother at the shop regularly after the war, he became more than familiar with how to conceal and sneak packages so they can safely reach their recipients. Of course, this was mostly to help students receive gag gifts at their homes and at school, not to help criminals receive dangerous materials. Still, the principle remained the same.
It was rare something would fall across Stanson's workstation that was related to group activities. Ron did his best to check the boxes and envelopes that he was given when eyes weren't upon him, but more regularly than not they merely contained illegal ingredients and devices, and not information that would aid his efforts undercover. Occasionally though, something of importance would pass through, and based on the color of the ink on these letters, it was looking like it was going to be one of those days. With a last worried glance at the closed door in front of him, Ron quickly opened one of the letters. Like the few others he had managed to snag, it was written in some unrecognizable code. Despite not understanding a damned word of the thing, Ron couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. Like the others he'd received in the past, he quickly created a copy before resealing the original. On the back of the copy, he hastily scrawled the names of the recipients for all the envelopes he received.
Over the last few months Ron had been sending out copies of these coded letters to Laghari and was having to trust that the Australian aurors were doing their best to decode them. So far all Ron had been able to notice was a date that appeared here and there: October 12th. The meaning of this eluded him, but hopefully his new team could put some meaning to it, and preferably soon. The months of being stuck undercover were starting to wear away at him.
Ron had heard stories of people coming back, to put it lightly, less than well adjusted after long undercover missions. His previous experience lasted less than two weeks and he remembered the constant anxiety affecting him quickly even then. That was nothing compared to the experience of living in another wizard's body for nearly half of a year. You never really think about how much you could miss your body until it's gone he supposed, but miss it he did. He missed his own legs, being forced to move upon the shorter, brittle ones of Stanson for months. He missed his own arms, as his current ones had no muscle or strength and shook regularly from overuse. He missed feeling youthful, feeling strong, and mostly, he missed feeling like him. The complete isolation he found himself in paired with the unending paranoia of being discovered had been making him progressively antsy and unlike himself.
There were even terrifying moments where he became afraid of being trapped like this, of completely losing himself. At these times he would do his best to shake himself out of it and think about his family back home. He'd think about returning for Sunday dinners, happy with everyone else. Laughing with George and Charlie at some inappropriate joke, helping his mum with the table, chatting with his dad about whatever new ridiculous muggle contraption he would be working on. Sometimes this fantasy would mirror the life he had before, but other times it would move closer to dreams. Like his dreams of Harry. Originally in his lonely moments these took on a more passionate focus, with few words and even less clothing. But as the isolation and disconnection he felt expanded, they'd become more simplistic. Sometimes he'd picture just the two of them openly in love, hands clasped and gently embraced, surrounded by his happy and clearly supportive family. But eventually the fantasy would always have to end, and he'd return to the life that was not his, finishing unending tasks with the hands that were not his own.
After resealing the original letter he sent it and its fellows along with the copy he was sending to Laghari. On the bright side, sending this letter out would count as his check in, which was a relief considering the close call he had met the other night. After leaving the wards to send out his patronus with his limited updates he ran into Isaac, the head of the Somerton house, returning early from his weekly meeting. Though Ron had never been invited to any of these meetings himself, he knew they involved the more central members. He had sent the Australian team information of their time and location with the hope they could be staked out. Isaac was usually gone til well past midnight, but on this particular evening he was back barely past 10. A large and imposing American wizard, Isaac made it clear to everyone that he was not a trusting man. Though he didn't seem to have seen the patronus being cast, he was immediately suspicious of what Stanson was doing wandering around the street alone in the evening. Ron assured him he was merely getting air after being stuck in the stuffy packages room all day, but he had noticed Isaac watching him more closely since this. This did not help his already increased anxiety over his position there, and the desperate desire to finish this mission and get the hell out before being caught increased tenfold. Though not death eaters themselves, the group had been fundamentally founded on their teachings, and he had a pretty good idea of what they would be capable of if they were to discover an auror in their midst.
With a despondent sigh, he returned to his original task of charming packages into wine boxes. This took the better part of his evening, and by the time he was finished night had fully descended. Boredom washed over him as it did regularly here, and he decided to wander towards the kitchen hoping to actually find some food. Despite the amount of work expected from the few inhabitants of the home, payment was virtually nonexistent and food was scarce. Still, the occasional bag of crisps or can of soup could be found, and it had been long enough since his last disappointing meal that anything not past its expiration date would be welcome. Plus he needed something to wash out the awful taste of the potion he was still having to constantly drink.
Reaching the door Ron stopped short of opening it fully when he started to hear voices at the end of the hall. Remaining as still as possible, he kept it cracked enough to just hear the words being murmured nearby.
"-simply no longer an option"
"And you're sure the aurors knew?"
"They appeared nearby two hours before we were set to meet, it cannot just be a coincidence. We'll have to make due with this location tonight. I've already alerted the others"
Ron recognized the second speaker as Isaac, the deep American accent easy to place. The other speaker sounded familiar as well, but he couldn't place it, though he immediately noted the voice was British.
"Of course, I'll tell Wagner to kick out the smugglers for the night. Unfortunately this house is fucking tiny as I'm sure you've seen. You think the basement will work?"
"It will have to for now, until we find better arrangements."
Ron stood completely still, feeling his heart begin to beat at twice its usual speed. For months he had been trying to figure out a way into these meetings. He'd come to accept a while ago that merely being a presence in the house wasn't going to help him learn anything of importance about what their plans truly were. Dolohov seemed to have created a culture of secrecy so strong it permeated even within the group itself, relying on the blind faith of its lowest members to get things done. No information was ever voluntarily given, and the unsaid rule was clear to everyone that pressing against this precious balance by asking any questions could result in deadly consequences. No one would ever willingly provide him with anything useful on the New Conferation's plans. Listening in at one of these meetings was his only chance to gain actual intelligence. His only chance to finally get the hell out.
Steadying himself and thinking of a quick plan Ron opened the door and headed out down the hall towards the kitchen as he originally planned, but with the hope of catching a glimpse at the wizard whose voice he was still struggling to place. At the end of the hall he saw Isaac standing in front of a slightly shorter man right outside the kitchen. At the sound of his footsteps, he spun suddenly around, revealing the face of the man he had been speaking with. It seemed Thorfinn Rowle had managed to survive then. The wizard had been assumed dead after the final battle, but Ron supposed he would have to update their files when he returned home.
"Out. Get out." Isaac barked, pointing back down the hall towards the door.
Ron gave a bewildered expression back. "I'm just grabbing a meal Isaac, I assume I'm at least welcome to that?"
He watched the large man's brows furrow, a look of irritation and suspicion overcoming him. "Grab what you want and leave. If you see Bardot and Petcov on your way out, tell them the same. I'm hosting a meeting tonight, you can return after midnight."
Isaac nodded his head towards the front of the house before moving that way, Rowle followed close behind. Ron watched them as they disappeared down the hall before heading towards the stairs of the basement with only a moment of hesitation. He needed somewhere safe to hide for the duration of the meeting, without any chance of being seen. The room was cluttered, stuffed to the brim with muggle household items and furniture that had certainly been moved from upstairs to make room for the smuggling group now living there. A small rattan wardrobe in the corner of the room seemed to be his best choice, though even in this body he'd have to hunch quite a bit to fit. Grumbling internally over the fact it apparently wasn't deemed necessary for him to have access to an invisibility cloak for this mission, he made a decision to try his hand at a disillusionment charm just for an extra precaution. The cold sensation ran down his body from the tip of his wand and, finding his handiwork acceptable enough, he promptly squashed himself into the overfilled wardrobe and closed the door.
The minutes ticked by slowly, with Ron silently cursing the ghost of Angus Stanson for not visiting a healer often enough while alive. Merlin, his back was killing him, and this position wasn't doing much for his knees either. Just as he was changing his position yet again in the tiny wardrobe he finally heard footsteps that were growing louder. He watched as Isaac climbed down the stairs, and soon heard muffled voices close behind. The room was soon filled with a small group of witches and wizards. Ron only focused on one person in front of him though, and it was the one person he had been hoping to see for months now. He looked the same as he had six years ago when Ron had last seen him, though he stood with a greater confidence than he ever had as a death eater.
"Everyone is out of the house then?" Dolohov asked seriously.
"Yes, I sent 'em all out the moment I heard we were meeting here."
Ron watched as Dolohov nodded, though he noticed him looking slowly around the basement still as if searching for something. Isaac watched him with apprehension and started looking around the room as well, though clearly without certainty of what he was meant to be looking for. After a few moments Dolohov seemed to decide it was acceptable to move on, and briskly sat down at the oak dining room table that resided on one side of the room. The other members quickly followed his lead, most falling into chairs that were already there, though some were forced to transfigure buckets and stools that they found sitting nearby.
"I'll make this meeting brief, considering the circumstances that we have found ourselves in. Someone seems to have tipped off the local aurors, based upon their sudden arrival at our usual meeting point this evening."
The room quickly became tense. Each member at the table took a look at their fellows, their expressions showing suspicion of who could be guilty while their eyes reflected their fears of being the one accused.
Dolohov continued, "I ask that you bear no mind to this development. I am personally seeking to address this leak, wherever it may be coming from. The aurors have been buzzing around us for years now and have never discovered a thing. I have complete confidence this will not be changing, and I ask for your confidence as well."
Many heads in the group nodded, though the worry in the faces represented there did not diminish.
"We've heard back from Cattaneo. Barone is already on our side, apparently an imperius wasn't needed. This means we can assure support from Italy. France appears to have fallen out of our hands, but with Japan, Britain, and Belgium we will certainly have enough."
A witch towards the end of the table released a mirthful cackle while the rest of the group let out small cheers. This was apparently news they had been hoping for.
"It has already been announced they will be convening on October 12th. We expect to have all our replacements in place long before then. Instructions were mailed out of this location earlier today. At this point we need only focus on continuing trade to ensure we can continue to afford our supplies, not to mention our bribes" he added with a wicked grin. "Any further updates? Leoni? Macguire?"
The rest of the meeting consisted of discussing finances for the group, something Ron found frustratingly boring. In any other situation listening in on the ongoings of an illegal organization's smuggling and laundering plans would be of great interest to the auror, but as he stood there twisted like an aging pretzel in a tiny wardrobe he could only hope that the conversation would veer back to their larger plans or just come to an end. After a number of minutes of deliberation, the meeting was called to a close, and members slowly began to fill out of the room. A few lingered though, including Dolohov and Isaac.
"This came in earlier by the way, from our woman in France. I had Wagner translate it, thought you might want to see it."
Isaac handed Dolohov the letter, who took in the information, frowning. He dropped the letter to the table with disgust before turning to leave the room, muttering to Isaac as he went "we'll figure out France. In the meantime it's better to focus our energy towards Belgium when we're this close."
Footsteps faded into silence, and Ron waited for several painstaking minutes after the last sound of the New Confederation members faded away before daring to step out of the wardrobe. Feeling more certain no one was returning, he stepped out and shuffled quickly to the table. He saw the letter there and reached out, noticing with the return of his wrinkled hands that the disillusionment charm had worn off at some point during his uncomfortable stakeout. He'd likely need to re-up on polyjuice before exiting the room as well. This thought quickly fell out of his mind though as he took in the words on the letter before him. Unlike everything he had seen sent out, this wasn't written in code, but in plain English. Ron's eyes widened in shock as he took in every word. The full scope of the New Confederation's plans suddenly became clear, and he knew he needed to inform the Australian team immediately. Shaking, he created a copy of the letter and shoved it deep into his robes. Just as he turned to head towards the stairs to make his exit he felt his wand suddenly fly out of his hand.
His eyes immediately darted towards the stairs where he saw Dolohov, Isaac, and Rowle descending. Dolohov held Ron's wand and was looking at it with interest before turning towards him.
"Who are you?" he asked simply, his tone devoid of emotion and impossible to read. Ron's heart began to sink as he took in the scene before him.
"Angus. Stanson that is. I work above" he said as evenly as he could, feeling his mouth dry with every syllable.
"That's strange" Dolohov said in the same expressionless voice, "as I was recently informed Angus Stanson died months ago in Britain. So I'll ask you again-" his wand flicked rapidly and Ron felt himself becoming encompassed in ever tightening ropes from head to ankle. Immediately losing his balance he felt as his head hit the floor with a sickening thud, and through the stars filling his eyes he took in Dolohov's darkened face as it moved inches away from his own.
"Who are you?"