A/N: In general, I don't like to switch POV in one section because it seems messy, but Harry's and Ron's separate worries just seemed to really fit in this chapter. Next time we'll see them doing some actual investigating! I'd also just like to thank everyone who's reviewed, favorited, and followed-you're all so lovely, and I'm really glad I'm not the only one getting enjoyment out of this story!
CHAPTER FOUR
Georgina looked worried when Harry and Ron had finished relaying the conversation they'd had with Malfoy in Hermione's office. She was good at maintaining a stoic expression, but Ron had worked with her long enough to recognize the tightening of her eyes and the slant of her mouth that betrayed her concern. When she stood from her desk and started absently pacing as she thought, anxiety twisted mercilessly in Ron's stomach. The silence was driving him mad, and he opened his mouth to say something–though he didn't know what–when she finally spoke.
"Malfoy's not the first one to have this theory," Georgina said. Ron's stomach sank. Beside him, he felt Harry shift forward.
"There's been talk," she continued. "Some of it's probably nothing–hysteria from people who are paranoid. But some of it seems legit, and it's coming from Voldemort's former supporters. People who aren't keen to see him come back to power, like Draco Malfoy." She pressed a finger to her mouth thoughtfully. Ron stared at her, his horror growing till it filled up his chest.
"So, what? Voldemort's gone, but his followers are rallying round a new dark wizard?" Harry asked. Georgina sighed and dropped down in her desk chair. She tucked her long hair behind her ears before answering.
"We don't know. There's all kinds of rumors. I've been trying to verify them, see if there's any legitimacy to them, but we're at a dead end. I think it's likely at least some of them are credible reports, but there isn't enough evidence yet. Perhaps it's such early stages that there's nothing to find."
"Why haven't you told me any of this?" Harry demanded, sounding cross. Georgina sat up straighter, fixing a glare on him.
"You don't need to know every mission we've got on, Potter. It didn't concern you, so I didn't feel the need to tell you. Or should I be briefing you every time something new crosses my desk? Or perhaps whenever a suspicion pops in my head, hmm?" Ron leaned back. Georgina could be quite frightening when she wanted to be. She was often gruff, but these moments made it clear what a fearsome Auror she really was. Ron certainly wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of her wand.
Harry seemed to be thinking the same thing, as he cast his eyes down before answering in a contrite tone of voice.
"No, of course not. Sorry."
"You aren't the head of this department," Georgina reminded him fiercely. "Even if I'd wanted to tell you, there isn't much to go on beyond what Malfoy's already told you. I've followed up on a couple of reports myself and the Minister and I have discussed it at length, but that's about the extent of it.
"I don't think it's a bad idea for you two to follow up on this. I'm inclined to agree with Hermione: even if there's nothing to the rumors about dark magic, I highly doubt Astoria Greengrass has wandered off on her own without a word to anyone. Start there and see where it leads you." Harry and Ron caught each other's eye. Ron wondered if Harry was thinking the same thing he was, remembering the days when they'd worked together like this to take down Voldemort's supporters. Five years had passed, though suddenly it seemed like old times.
As they moved to leave her office, Georgina spoke again.
"Be discreet, alright? You can speak with Hermione and of course Selwyn and Kingsley about it, but otherwise keep the details to yourselves. The last thing we need is a mass panic, even from the other Aurors."
A mass panic, Ron thought, because it was possible another dark wizard was rising. He remembered the early days of Voldemort's return, when the idea that he was back was so horrific to so many that they preferred living in complete denial. So many had turned their backs on Harry and everyone connected to him: Fudge, the Prophet, Seamus Finnegan, even his own brother Percy whose estrangement lasted right up to the final battle. After what they'd all suffered through five years ago, Ron could almost understand the desire to stick his head in the sand; the idea of reliving those awful days of the war made his skin crawl. He thought of being splinched and starving in the tent, the suffocating misery weighing him down when he wore the piece of Voldemort's soul near his heart, Hermione crying out for him in the rain before he disappeared, Hermione screaming beneath Bellatrix's wand, Hermione unconscious in the sand at Shell Cottage, Hermione bleeding and suffering… And then, perhaps even more frightening: Harry's lifeless body in Hagrid's arms… Fred lying cold and limp and out of place on the floor of the Great Hall. The pain and the fear came back easily for Ron; he didn't have to concentrate to remember how petrified he'd been that entire year. The memories that weighed him down were the ones tinged with fear: fear for Ginny and the rest of his family, fear for Harry, and, most of all, for Hermione. It was fear for her that still kept him up some nights, even five years on.
Ron thought briefly about what it would mean for a dark wizard to rise to power now. The Ministry wouldn't be infiltrated so easily, that was certain. The leadership was much stronger now than it had been when Voldemort was at his height last time, and much of the inherent corruption had been rooted out since his fall. The most powerful figures at the ministry were Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was coming up on his fifth year as Minister for Magic, and Dahlia Selwyn, the Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. As she'd been appointed shortly after Ron had finished his Auror training, he had worked under her for years and respected her nearly as much as he did Georgina. Ron had known her before the war, when she had been Head Girl to Bill's Head Boy and they dated their seventh year, only splitting up when Bill moved to Egypt and Dahlia took a job at the ministry. Hermione's promotion to Magical Law Enforcement was primarily due to Dahlia Selwyn, which in Ron's opinion, further showed what good judgment she possessed.
Though the ministry was stronger these days, Ron wondered if he was. Certainly he had the experience to fight, but whether he had the will was a whole separate question. It felt like he had so much more to lose these days. He and Hermione weren't holding each other at arms' length anymore, for fear that they wouldn't survive. Bill and Fleur had two young daughters. Ginny was pregnant. His dad had retired, and he and his mum spent their days looking after Victoire and Dominique. And the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the man who took down Voldemort once and for all had a shiny wedding band and would be someone's dad in a few short months. There would be no more traipsing off to die to save the world; Harry had people relying on him now. Things had changed for all of them. They were no longer outlaws in the fresh blossom of youth with practically nothing to lose but their own lives. Where he'd been frightened before as a seventeen year old, now he was terrified at the prospect of another war, the dangers it presented, and the possibility for suffering. He thought of his mother, who had lived through one war only to see her children in the thick of the conflict the second time round. No wonder the boggart at Grimmauld Place had nearly done her in.
Ron had always assumed that if they managed to defeat Voldemort and he sorted things out with Hermione, that everything else would fall into place. When Voldemort fell and the battle cleared, everything he'd ever wanted was suddenly within his grasp, and it seemed like all that was left was to live happily ever after. Ron hadn't realized that he'd spend the rest of his life terrified of losing everything, holding tight to the fragile gossamer of happiness.
Of course, Ron thought, no dark wizard alive was anywhere near as dangerous as Voldemort had been. The somber thought left him strangely cheered.
As they left Georgina's office, Harry jerked his head towards Ron's cubicle, which was more private than Harry's desk but wouldn't draw attention to the pair of them as much as it would to convene in a briefing room. Harry cast Muffliato as he dropped down in the spare chair.
"We ought to start with her sister," Harry said in a low voice. "See what she's got to say, then go from there."
"Do you reckon Malfoy's already talked to her?" Ron asked.
"Yeah, but who knows what she told him. Dunno how fond she is of Malfoy these days."
"Doubt she's likely to tell us anything more," Ron muttered.
"No," Harry admitted. "But she might let slip something else of interest. And anyways, it's a good place to start, cover our bases just in case Malfoy left something out."
Ron rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, noting he needed to shave. Or perhaps he wouldn't–Hermione quite liked it when he had a bit of stubble.
"What about her patients? Malfoy said she'd chucked a couple to another midwitch before she disappeared. Maybe she let something slip to them." Harry inclined his head.
"There's a thought. Think there's any other place she frequents in Diagon besides Malfoy's?" Ron thought hard for a moment, coming up empty.
"I don't know a damn thing about midwitches. S'pose they're about like any other healer? Although Hermione didn't act like it…" Ron trailed off, lost in thought.
"How is it you've got six magic brothers and sisters and don't know anything about witch childbirth?" Harry asked disbelievingly.
"I was one when Ginny was born, wasn't I? It's not like I can remember. And anyways, you're the one with a pregnant wife, how come you don't know anything about it?"
"Never mind that," Harry mumbled, wishing he hadn't brought it up. "Didn't Bill tell you anything when the girls were born?"
"About the birth?" Ron asked, looking vaguely horrified. "Course not." Harry tried not to show his disappointment. He was starting to get anxious, not just about this investigation, but about how very little he knew about this particular topic. Why had he never thought to ask anyone? He'd known plenty of witches who had babies in the past few years. But it wasn't anything like he'd seen on the muggle telly, where women got rushed off to the hospital all in a panic. Magical babies just seemed to pop into existence without any fanfare. With a sudden rush of horror, Harry wondered if that's what did happen: after all, wizards could apparate, could a midwitch facilitate some sort of bizarre side along apparition? The thought made him vaguely sick. Then Harry remembered what Andromeda had told him when Teddy was a baby, that it wasn't safe to apparate with children under four in case something went wrong. Teddy had screamed bloody murder every time Harry took him through the floo, and in fact would frequently start crying any time someone got out the floo powder regardless of if he was going. Then again, midwitches were professionals, weren't they? Perhaps they had a specialized license to apparate a baby. The whole idea made Harry a bit dizzy, and he genuinely hoped no one would be apparating his newborn infant.
"Well, we could ask Hermione," Ron finally said, interrupting Harry's internal panic. "Or Ginny, she must know loads about midwitches and what sorts of supplies they use."
"We're not involving Ginny," Harry said firmly. "You heard what Georgina said, this is confidential. And anyways, I don't want Ginny knowing about all this, she'll only get stressed out and she's already got enough on."
"Right," Ron said, his thoughts trailing back to how much they each had to lose these days.
"We'll start with Daphne Greengrass first thing," Harry said, taking out his wand and summoning the British Directory of Witches and Wizards with a flourish. The thick scroll zoomed out of Anthony Goldstein's hands, who exclaimed his outrage, and over the top of Ron's cubicle. It paused in mid-air in front of Harry's nose.
"Looks like she lives outside Helford." Ron groaned.
"We've got to go to Cornwall?!" Harry glanced at him over top of the parchment, confused by his protest.
"What's wrong with Cornwall?"
"Well, we'll have to go by the Burrow! I'll never hear the end of it if Mum ever finds out we were so near and didn't stop by."
"We can't go by the Burrow, we'll be out doing interviews. And anyways, we'll be apparating, it takes all of five seconds to get to the Burrow no matter which side of the country we're in." Ron leveled him with a look.
"How is it you've been married to my sister for nearly a year on, and you're still so thick about this sort of thing?" he asked, so matter of factly that Harry was incapable of taking offense and burst out laughing.
"We're going to interview Daphne Greengrass first thing, yeah? Then we'll stop at the Burrow for lunch, and we can regroup after." He brightened. "We can strategize up in my room like old times! Maybe all the Chudley Cannons rubbish will inspire us. I'll send Mum an owl to expect us."
Harry sighed, but didn't protest. Suddenly, an idea popped into his head.
"Hang on. We may not have any idea about midwitches, but you know who does?" At Ron's blank stare, Harry answered his own question. "Your mum."
"Blimey, that's right!" Ron said, as if only just remembering his mother had had seven magic children. "She'll know loads about it!"
Suddenly a trip to the Burrow didn't seem like such a bad idea after all.
When Hermione tumbled out of the floo spitting out hair, the smell of dinner greeted her. Though frustrated and tired from her long day at work, a feeling of calm settled in her at the familiar sight of their living room. Packed wooden bookshelves were clustered around a window seat on the far side of the room, while two overstuffed sofas that she and Ron spent Saturdays lounging across sat perpendicular to each other in the center. A chess set was pressed against the large windows that overlooked the dark countryside of Elham. Hermione dusted the soot off her robes and brushed a hand through her wild hair. Checking the watch Ron had given her for her 20th, she saw it was already a quarter till seven. The third hand hovered over the words VERY LATE.
"That you, love?" Ron called from the kitchen. Hermione followed the sound of his voice and found him standing at the stove, using his wand to stir something that was bubbling enticingly. She wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing her face into the space between his shoulder blades.
"Sorry I'm late. I got caught up in reading the horrid, archaic wand legislation from before the 20th century. I've spent all day fighting with that cow Cordelia Adler to get the original Wizengamot documents, I didn't even get started reading them till nearly 5 o'clock so I've hardly made any progress." Ron had turned while she was speaking, his arms wrapped loosely around her shoulders. He glanced at her bag, which she'd dropped on the kitchen table. It looked fit to burst, and he suppressed a groan.
"Don't tell me you've brought them home?" he asked, though with little actual curiosity. She bit her lip.
"Only one file!" Ron laughed, then started pressing kisses across her hairline. His jaw was pleasantly rough, and she shivered at the prick of his stubble on her skin. In response, he rubbed his hands up and down her arms, slow and sensual.
"You know, I don't have to read anymore tonight," Hermione murmured against his lips. She squealed when he suddenly hoisted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist for balance. He set her on the counter so their faces were level, and he immediately slipped his tongue between her lips. She whimpered against his mouth.
"What about dinner?" she murmured hotly against his jaw as he worked to undo the ribbon collar at the neck of her blouse.
"Cast a warming charm, it'll be fine," he replied. She reached around him and pulled his wand from the back pocket of his jeans, cast a silent spell, and let his wand fall to the countertop with a clatter. He'd moved on to opening the buttons on her shirt.
"Fuck's sake, this top's harder to get out of than Azkaban." Hermione laughed, reaching down to unbuckle his belt. Finally, he got the last button unfastened, and he pulled it off her shoulders and pressed her flat on the counter in one move. They kissed messily for a few moments, one of Ron's hands threaded in her hair while the other cupped her breast. His jeans were partially undone, and she could feel him insistently pressing against the crux of her thighs where her skirt had ridden up.
She was breathing heavy, her chest heaving against Ron's chin as he kissed down her neck. His hand found its way beneath her skirt, hooking into the side of her knickers.
"Not on the counter," Hermione breathed, tugging gently on Ron's hair. He released her knickers, moving to lift her up by the back of her thighs. He let his jeans fall to the floor and stepped out of them. She unhooked her bra and discarded it on the floor while he walked them to the kitchen table. He pushed her bag to the floor, towards which Hermione cast a worried look over her shoulder as he laid her flat across the table.
"Ron!"
"Leave it," he ordered, and though she wouldn't admit it, his authoritative tone sent a shiver through her. She tried to kiss him, but he pulled back, moving down her body.
"No more talking," he said as he kneeled between her legs. Grinning at her, Ron grasped her by the back of the knees and yanked her to the edge of the table, which made Hermione squeal delightedly. He pulled her knickers down and settled between her thighs. While she had always been attracted to Ron's sense of humor and had been known to enjoy a good argument with him now and again, Hermione rather thought this was a much better use of his mouth.
There was no more talking after that.
