As usual, my beta-readers, fredfred and InquisitorCOC, deserve a huge thank you. They helped a lot.

Chapter 21: The Middleman

La Punt Chamues-ch, Switzerland, August 22nd, 2005

Ron held his breath as he saw the dark shape of Sokolov's house - his chalet, as the locals called it - loom out of the darkness in front of them. Well, the almost darkness - the street lights were still on. The electric RC helicopter was very quiet - unless you were two inches tall and inside it. It was hard to imagine that Sokolov's people wouldn't notice its approach, even though it was past midnight already.

And now came the dangerous part. Luna had trained for hours for this during the last two nights, and she had gotten the hang of it. Ron trusted her, and the moon was very bright - the full moon had been on the 19th - but he couldn't help recalling her first attempts to pilot the helicopter at night with her night vision goggles…

There came the roof. If the toy hit it, then the guards inside were bound to notice it - at least Ron would if he were in their place. But the helicopter stopped. And Luna's voice sounded from the small mobile phone they had squished into the helicopter between Ron and Harry. "Waiting for instructions!"

Ron leaned out of the open door and peered down and ahead. "We're about…" He mentally calculated the distance relative to his current size. "...one yard out and two yards up."

"Alright!" Luna whispered, though her voice was far too loud for Ron's peace of mind.

The helicopter started to slowly move ahead.

"Half a yard… one foot. Stop!" Ron called out. "Start descending."

"Alright!"

He saw the roof grow closer as the helicopter lost altitude. At around one foot, he called out "Stop!"

"Copy!" Luna replied, and the helicopter stopped its movement, hovering in the air. Ron kicked the string they had spooled up out of the door, then attached his harness to it. "Ready?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at Harry on the other side.

"Yes," his friend replied.

"Going down!" Ron announced, then climbed out and rappelled down, Harry doing the same on his side.

They hit the roof almost simultaneously, then went to its edge and fastened more string to the roof rail there. By the time they were set for the next step, the helicopter had already left and headed back to Luna. And, after checking for spiders or other dangerous creatures hiding beneath the rail, they started climbing down. Towards the infrared-sensor.

They had to traverse a little, which was tricky - but for two-inch tall people, the walls of the chalet offered plenty of hand- and footholds. Far easier than the climbing wall at the academy. A few minutes later, they were straddling the sensor.

Now came the hard part: disabling it with miniaturised tools. Without triggering an alarm. Ron got the muscle-powered drill out and got to work - they needed a hole so they could use the shrunken saws.

It took them fifteen minutes to cut out and remove a large enough section of the sensor's casing, and Ron was sweating by the time they could finally access the electronics. Sawing through plastic that thick took a lot of effort.

"Alright, mate," Harry said. "Cut the blue or the red wire?"

Ron chuckled. There wasn't a red wire at all in the thing. "Let me check the schematics Luna gave us." If the sensor wasn't among the types for which Luna had found schematics, they would have to improvise.

But as it turned out after five more minutes, one of the schematics Ron had carried matched the sensor. "It's this wire," he said, tapping the thick cable in question. Plastic, wrapped around three thinner cables filled with wires.

Harry cursed. "That will be a bitch to cut through."

It took them twenty minutes to cut a strip of plastic covering free so they could get started on the actual wire, and fifteen more until they could finally use the wire-cutters on the bundle of copper inside. The Shrinking Solution wouldn't last much longer.

Ron cut frantically, sweat soaking his shirt and black fatigues. He couldn't simply cut away - he had to keep bending the remains away so he could get to the next wire. And without getting electrocuted.

But they made it - Harry snipped the last wire, and both of them were still miniaturised. "Let's climb down," Harry muttered, already gripping the string on his side.

Ron followed his example after storing the wire cutters in his harness. Rappelling down was easy, but it was a very long drop for their size. And below them waited a lawn hiding spiders and worse.

As they hit the ground and ran towards the door to the terrace, Ron hoped that the potion's effect would end soon. He really, really didn't want to fight any giant spiders today. Or any other animal.

They reached the door, then took cover behind a planter in the corner - filled with herbs, not flowers. Ron didn't fancy getting caught by an owl, or another predator.

"Don't get too far behind it," Harry whispered. "Don't want to topple it once we start growing."

"Yes." Ron rolled his eyes. They'd gone over that during planning. But arguing over it in the middle of the op wouldn't help anyone. At least they wouldn't have to wait for long - by his count, and his watch agreed, they only had a few minutes left.

But even so, waiting and hoping no fox, owl or any other predator would pass by and spot them was nerve-wracking. The rifles they had with them wouldn't do much to a cat, much less a fox. Not at their current size - Ron knew enough about firearms and hunting to be aware of that. Perhaps they should have taken an elephant rifle instead. Or an RPG…

When he felt the now familiar rippling sensation, he was very much relieved, even though he almost didn't manage to get out from behind the planter before he was restored to his normal size.

Crouching next to the wall, out of view from the inside, he heard Harry whisper into the radio: "Team One, ready."

"We're ready as well," Luna replied.

Ron heard Sirius complain about proper protocols as Ginny reported: "Team Three, ready."

He looked at Harry, pulled his night-vision goggles down, then drew his silenced pistol and whispered: "Let's do this!"

His friend nodded and went back to the door. Ron peered through the window in the door. The living room behind it looked empty. "Don't see a guard," he whispered.

Harry nodded and pulled out his lockpicks. Two minutes later, he pushed the door open, and they entered the chalet.

They had the blueprints of the chalet - it was a standard design, after all. That meant the main bedroom would be on the first floor - unless he had chosen another room. That might complicate matters a little. He wished they could just flood the house with some magical compound that would knock out everyone inside, but Hermione hadn't had anything on hand that wasn't administered orally, and they couldn't risk the mundane compounds. Not without risking killing everyone inside. The Russians had demonstrated that in the Moscow Theatre Hostage Crisis. They had to do this the normal way.

Harry took point, sneaking through the living room. The kitchen was empty - they could check through the open door - but Ron heard light snoring from a smaller room to the side, and Harry raised his hand, then pointed at it.

Ron didn't bother nodding - he passed Harry and checked the room. It was a guest room with a bunk bed. Two men were sleeping there, both almost too tall for the bed - Ron could see feet hanging out. He doubted that either one was Sokolov, but sneaked over to check anyway.

Bodyguards. He pulled out one of the syringes in his front pocket. Two quick injections later, Ron could be certain that they wouldn't wake up until tomorrow, not even if there was a shoot-out in the room.

He returned to the living room and signalled two down to Harry. His friend nodded, then pointed at the stairs. Showtime.

Ron wet his lips, then went up the stairs, pistol in hand. He didn't like this - shooting people for getting in his way was wrong even if they were likely hired thugs - but they had no real choice. They needed Sokolov's information.

But he reached the upper floor without being spotted. There were three doors here, all closed, with the one leading to the main bedroom straight ahead of him. Ron crouched at the top of the stairs, covering the other two doors as Harry passed him and went ahead.

The first of the smaller rooms contained another bunk bed - Ron caught a glimpse of it as Harry sneaked inside. A minute later, his friend reappeared, signalling two more men down.

Four down. That was about as many as they had suspected. But there was one more room to check before the main bedroom. Ron moved ahead, covered by Harry, and pushed the door open. Another bunk bed - but an empty one. The room was occupied, though.

Damn. Ron gritted his teeth. Sokolov must have someone standing guard inside his bedroom. Or two.

"One or two missing," he whispered as he moved back into the hallway.

Harry nodded, his lips twisting into a frown beneath his goggles. One, potentially two guards awake inside the bedroom was bad news.

"The door's locked," Harry whispered. "And it's a security door."

That was worse. No gap beneath it to slide a camera or mirror through to to check inside. And if they started to pick the lock, a guard inside was bound to notice. They could wait until the shift change - but that could be another hour or two, easily. Perhaps even longer. Although… standard procedure would call for a patrol in irregular intervals. And guards had to pee as well. They could wait.

But what if the next shift was expected to relieve the guard or guards inside, and didn't come? That would alert the guard that something had gone wrong. And who knew what they would do in response? Call the police?

Ron wet his lips again. "We'll have to break in," he whispered.

"They'll notice," Harry replied.

Ron nodded. To be precise, the guards might not notice, if Harry got lucky, but if he wasn't, then the guards would be ready for them when the door opened. And both Harry and Ron were well aware of what usually happened if you entered through a door and found the other side prepared for your arrival. Or gone through a secret escape route.

No, the risk was too high. "We'll have to force it," he whispered.

He could see Harry's lips twist into a frown. They could blow the door. Disorient the guards at the same time. But to disable them without killing? That would be tricky. Very tricky.

"Blow the door, follow up with flashbangs and tear gas," Harry said. "Then take them down and secure them."

Ron nodded. It was more dangerous than shooting the guards - but they wouldn't be killing them. And the risk of accidentally killing Sokolov would be greatly reduced as well. But their own risk of getting hurt - or killed - would increase. "Prepare the charge, I'll inform the others that we'll need the distractions."

"At least we won't have to recover them," Harry replied.

"Team One to Team Three. Fire the distractions," Ron whispered into his radio.

"Team Three, gotcha!" Ginny replied. A moment later, she added: "Distractions fired."

Harry was already setting up the charges on the door - more of them than usual for a room. But this bedroom had been modified into a panic room. At least it meant they wouldn't be able to hear them whispering.

"Will they be enough?" Ron asked once Harry had finished.

"Yes." Ron's friend sounded confident. And he knew his business.

Ron still looked the setup over, then nodded. He couldn't think of anything he'd do differently. Good. He checked the time. Five minutes since the distractions had started. They had to wait at least ten more minutes for the police officers on duty to get mobilised and reach the areas in question. But if they waited too long, then any latecomers might be directed towards them as soon as Sokolov's neighbours alerted the police.

If this were Britain, Ron would have been able to predict the police response quite precisely. But this was Switzerland - he didn't know enough about the local police to tell.

It all came down to a roll of the dice, in the end. Let's hope it'll come up a twenty, Ron thought with a snort.

"Something funny?" Harry asked.

"Just a stray thought," Ron told him.

The minutes passed. If a guard had to go to the toilet, then they could rush the room and would avoid alerting the neighbours. Or scaring them.

But no one did before the ten minutes were over. "Team One. We're going in," Ron said.

"Team Two. Be careful," Hermione replied.

"Always," he lied as he patted the pouch that held the vial with a healing potion.

Then he looked at Harry, pulled his gas mask on and grabbed a CS grenade and a flashbang. "Ready," he said, pressing himself against the wall next to the door.

"Ready," Harry replied and detonated the charges.

The door wasn't blown fully open - but there was a sizeable gap. More than wide enough for a couple grenades. Harry's flashbang flew inside, followed by Ron's CS grenade. As soon as the grenades went off, Ron swung around and threw himself against the door, shoulder-first.

The door broke under the impact and crashed to the floor. He rolled to the side and came up in a crouch behind a toppled table as Harry charged into the room behind him. One figure was stumbling around in the tear gas cloud, waving a gun. Ron struck the man's head with his pistol, knocking the man down, then followed up with a kick to the head. "One down," he snapped, crouching down again.

"Two down," Harry answered.

Something - someone - was moving on the bed. Sokolov! Ron quickly stepped closer to the coughing and crying figure. They just had to…

Something hit him in the chest, and he stumbled back before he heard the shot. Another shot rang out, and Ron dropped to the floor. Bloody hell, Sokolov was armed! And Ron's chest hurt, despite his vest stopping the bullet.

More shots were fired as Ron rolled towards the bed, groaning at the pain that caused. The man had to be near blind from the tear gas, so he couldn't see what he was shooting at - firing blindly. That meant… The shots stopped, and Ron rose, then came down on the figure on the bed, knocking the gun away.

A few blows to the head and arms later, the man - Sokolov, Ron recognised the face at this distance - stopped struggling and tried to cover his head with his arms. Ron quickly secured him with cable binders on his wrists and ankles. "Got him!"

"Got the two others secured," Harry replied as he came over, using a flashlight to check the man's face. "That's him."

"Yes. Let's go!"

Each of them grabbed one of Sokolov's arms, and they quickly carried him out of the demolished room. Even with the distractions, the police would be here shortly - but that didn't mean that they would find anything.

Ron and Harry dropped Sokolov off in the hallway, then dragged the two secured bodyguards out of the room and into one of the smaller bedrooms. They quickly sedated the two bodyguards before leaving the room again. The tear gas would linger, but it wouldn't enter the other bedrooms through closed doors - not in significant amounts, at least.

Harry fed a vial of Shrinking Solution to Sokolov, then put him into a cushioned box that would let him breathe and pocketed him.

"Team One to Teams Two and Three, status?" Ron asked as they went down to the ground floor,

"Team Two. No sign of the police, yet," Hermione answered.

"Team Three. All clear," Sirus added.

"Neighbour's awake," Harry said, nodding towards the closest house, where the lights had gone on.

It wasn't a problem. The lights would have ruined the residents' night vision, yet were not bright enough to cover Harry and Ron's escape route.

"Team One withdrawing. Got the objective," Ron announced as they left through the back door. Then they sprinted through the garden, quickly went over the wall, and headed straight back to Team Two.

It was time to disappear.

Five minutes later, they were stripping off their fatigues behind a few trees and bushes.

"Ah, tear gas… the smell of rebellion," Luna commented, holding up Harry's top - at arm's length, of course; she knew better than to actually sniff fabric soaked with tear gas.

"Stuff it into the plastic bag and seal it," Hermione told her. "We don't want all our equipment and supplies to become contaminated."

"It might improve the taste of some of the rations," Ron joked as he slipped his boots off.

"Very funny," Hermione replied in a flat tone. "The rations are sealed, so… What happened to you?" She gasped.

Ron winced. She had noticed his vest. "A lucky shot from Sokolov. The vest stopped it," he told her. "I'm fine."

"I'll check that as soon as possible," Hermione said.

Ron had no doubt that she would already be inspecting his body with a flashlight if they didn't have to avoid drawing attention by such displays. He tried not to wince when he pulled his top off - that hurt. And he ignored Harry's snort.

Five minutes later, dressed appropriately for tourists, and with everything suspicious as well as Sokolov hidden inside Hermione's bag of holding, they were on the way to Sirius and Ginny - and the fireplace they had built earlier in the evening.

If the police stopped them on the way back to the hotel, the smell of tear gas lingering in their hair would be suspicious. But the smell of smoke from a fire? Perfectly natural for a group of tourists having a barbecue. Or whatever the Swiss called it.

Not that there was a high chance of getting stopped by the police, anyway. Odds were, the local police would dismiss any reports of an explosion in La Punt Chamues-ch as a prank or someone using up fireworks left over from the 1st of August. Until the bodyguards woke up and managed to free themselves, of course.

St. Moritz, Switzerland, August 22nd, 2005

"'I'm fine'? Really?" Hermione's voice dripped with scorn as she traced Ron's bruise with her finger.

"Well, nothing broken, no blood…" He trailed off in a hiss when her finger pressed down a little. He would have taken a step back, but his back was already leaning against the wall in the hotel room's bathroom.

"'Fine'!" She shook her head, then pulled a small tin out of her bag and opened it. "Hold still, This ointment will deal with it."

He didn't argue about saving the magical salve. The bruise might look suspicious to anyone who knew about getting shot with a vest. And it hurt quite a lot.

She dipped her finger into it, then put a dollop on his skin and started to rub it in.

Ron sighed with relief as the pain faded wherever the salve touched his skin. "Thank you."

She huffed in response. "You're worse than my Harry."

"Oh?" Her Harry?

"He would claim he was fine after breaking his arm playing Quidditch. Or worse!"

"Ah." He shrugged - that didn't hurt anymore! - and added: "It didn't stop me."

"You had trouble dressing yourself," she retorted.

"Well… only once we were done." Not during the fight. Adrenaline had carried him through that.

She sighed. "Some people..." Then her sigh turned into a yawn.

"Let's head to bed?" he asked. It was late - or, rather, it was now early; the sun was already rising outside. And both of them were too tired for anything but sleep.

"Yes. I just need to take out Sokolov, first," she said. "If the Shrinking Solution's effect ends while he's in the bag, and in that transport box…"

Ron winced at the picture that conjured in his mind. "Yes. We can stash him under the bed. In a sleeping bag." Just in case someone ignored their 'Do Not Disturb' sign.

A few minutes later, they fell asleep in each other's arms.

"So, how is he?" Ron asked six hours later, between taking bites out of his sandwich. It was too late for a proper breakfast, not quite early enough for lunch.

"Medicine is not my speciality, but he looks healthy enough, apart from the bruises," Hermione replied as she stood from where she had been kneeling next to Sokolov.

"Good." If they couldn't keep the man sedated without risking his life, they would have had to adjust their plans. And Ron didn't really care about the bruises - the man had tried to shoot him, after all. Of course, Ron had been about to kidnap him, but in Sokolov's business, that was to be expected.

"He still needs an infusion to keep him from dehydrating," she went on, stretching.

"Alright," he replied. "Can you hand me a bag and some duct tape?" He'd have to fix the bag to the underside of the bed - a stand was out of the question.

She didn't question him or made a joke about duct taping criminals as Harry would have done. She simply handed him a roll of duct tape and a bag of saline drip.

"It still feels weird," he commented as he got to work. "Hiding him under the bed…"

"It's the most practical solution to preserve our resources and keep us safe," she told him. Their magical resources, of course.

He grunted in agreement as he set up the drip. The Shrinking Solution was too damn useful to waste on anything non-essential, as last night had proved once more. Still, seeing a bound and sedated man under a bed in a hotel room seemed to fit a comedy more than reality. At least they were pretty safe - Ron doubted that anyone would suspect them. The concierge had seen them enter, after all, and they couldn't have carried a body with them. It wasn't the best alibi, but it would do. At least until they left tomorrow morning. "Has the news about the kidnapping broken already?"

She switched the telly on and flipped through a few channels until she found some news. There was nothing about a kidnapping, though. "Perhaps the radio might be a better choice," she said, "Local news might not make national television."

"If you can understand it, sure," Ron replied.

"I've been studying German a little, lately," she said, sitting down on the bed. She froze for a moment with a frown, looking down - Sokolov would be directly beneath where she was sitting. Then she pursed her lips. "I should be able to understand enough to know if the news reports the kidnapping."

But the radio didn't report anything about a kidnapping once the news came on. Though La Punt Chamues-ch was mentioned, Hermione claimed it was just another report of the 'fireworks' event. Once more, she pursed her lips. "Would the police keep it secret from the press so as not to endanger the investigation?"

Ron shook his head. "Impossible. They couldn't hide the investigation at Sokolov's house - they would have to check the garden, the area around it, cordon everything off and canvass the neighbourhood… You can't hide that. Someone would inform the news." And the police wouldn't really mind - it would probably stop the jokes about their 'overreaction' to 'fireworks' which Ron knew would be made.

Hermione nodded. "Perhaps the bodyguards haven't woken up yet."

"They should've," Ron said. "We were very careful with the dosage." He shrugged. "Perhaps the bodyguards decided to flee rather than report it. If the police started an investigation, they would have come under scrutiny as well." And given the sort of people Sokolov did business with, odds were his bodyguards would be persons of interests for a few other investigations as well. "They might even loot whatever cash and valuables Sokolov had with him."

"Convenient, if it's true."

"Yes." Unless, of course, one or more of the bodyguards decided that they didn't want to share with the others.

A house full of bodies would certainly make national news. International, even.

Although someone willing to murder his former comrades would likely have sold out Sokolov at the first opportunity. Still, you could never be sure.

Ron shook his head. "So, the plan's still on. We'll be the happy couple spending the entire day in bed, after a night out with our friends."

"Yes."

He grinned. "And we should make it believable. Our alibi will look much better if the hotel staff who deliver our meals can confirm that we spent the day in bed."

"Yes." She was grinning as well. "We should do our best to make it as authentic as possible."

They had given it their best shot, as far as Ron could tell, hours later, as dinner time approached and he took a shower. Their lovemaking had been different, at the start at least. More frantic, or so it had seemed. And it was Sokolov's fault, in Ron's opinion. As much as he'd tried to ignore it, Ron had been very much aware that they had been making love in a bed under which a sedated prisoner was stashed away. It coloured the whole act, though he couldn't decide whether the danger of getting arrested, should they be discovered, or the fact that they were committing a crime was the main reason for the difference.

He sighed as he turned the water off. They were doing the right thing, even if it was breaking the law. Even Moody had told them that, sometimes, you needed to bend or break a few rules. He sighed again, towelling off. Moody probably hadn't meant kidnapping. Probably - the man had started in the seventies, after all, when Cowley had been in charge of CI5. That man and his top team, Bodie and Doyle, certainly had played fast and loose with the regulations. Probably with the law as well - but none of Moody's stories, or anyone's, had ever been more definite than rumours in that regard.

Hermione entered as he was about to use the blow-dryer. "Hey."

"Hey. Shower's free," he told her with a grin.

"I can see that," she replied.

It wasn't the only thing she was seeing - his towel was draped around his neck, not slung around his hips. But while her eyes certainly dropped down, she only messed his hair as she walked past him.

"Hey!"

"You hadn't combed it yet," she said with a giggle. Then she let her robe drop, and he swallowed his retort.

By the time she had finished her shower and dried her hair - which took far longer than his own mop of hair, given the volume of her mane - and stepped out of the bathroom, Ron was sitting in an armchair and studying the room service menu.

"It's kind of a waste that we are eating our last dinner here in our room and not in the restaurant," she commented.

"Can't be helped," he said. They couldn't leave the room unguarded as long as Sokolov was under the bed, and using a dose of Shrinking Solution to take him with them would be a pointless waste.

"I know." She smiled, a little ruefully.

Ah. He nodded. "I'll order candles for dinner as well," he said.

She looked confused for just a moment, then her eyes lit up, and she smiled.

Unfortunately, they had barely reached dessert during their candlelight dinner - the small table made for a very intimate and romantic set-up, in his opinion - when they were disturbed by someone knocking on the door.

"Mate, let us in," Ron heard Harry ask before he could tell them off.

He looked at Hermione. She frowned but then sighed. "We do need to talk and plan, I think."

He agreed, but that didn't mean he liked it. He still smiled when he opened the door - Ginny would only tease him if he complained about the interruption.

The others entered, Luna making a beeline for the dessert. "Oh, pudding!"

Well, skipping dessert wouldn't kill him, Ron reasoned. Not that Luna didn't deserve it, anyway. She was the only one of the group not in a couple, after all. Well, together with Sirius, but that was a little different.

"So, you didn't break the bed. Good. I half-expected to find our guest crushed under the remains of the frame!"

Ron rolled his eyes. Very different.

"Very funny," Hermione said in a flat tone.

"And very classy," Harry added.

Luna made a noise of agreement - her mouth was stuffed with cake. Ron didn't know with whom she agreed.

"I'm always classy," Sirius replied.

"Apart from when you're not," Ginny added as she pulled Harry towards the armchair in the room - after a glance at the bed.

Ron could take a hint and sat down on the bed, Hermione joining him. That left her seat to Sirius.

"So… any change to our plans?" Harry asked.

"None. At least not from us," Ron replied.

"Our guest is doing as well as can be expected, considering their circumstances," Hermione added. "There should be no problems during tomorrow's drive." She leaned a little against Ron. "I have some reservations about the transfer at the airport."

"Do you have an alternative solution?" Harry asked.

Ron didn't have to look at her to know Hermione was pursing her lips in response. She sounded as if she had to force out her answer. "No."

"Then we stick to the plan," Harry said.

"Yes!" Sirius said, clapping his hands. "Uncle Alphard would have loved it - he collected all sorts of morbid paraphernalia."

"I don't have any reservations about that part of the plan," Hermione explained. "But the timing will be very tricky."

Sirius shrugged. "I trust your mastery of the mystical arts to deal with such mundane trifles."

Hermione's frown was replaced by a glare aimed at the older man, but Sirius merely grinned in response.

Flughafen Kloten, Zürich, Switzerland, August 23rd, 2005

"As you can see, it's a work of art!" Sirius declared. "Have you seen the satin cushions inside? Embroidered! With gold threads! Best souvenir ever! I can't wait to use it!"

Ron managed not to grin at the glance the two customs officers exchanged upon hearing Sirius's claims. The embroidery was extremely garish.

"Mr Brown," the apparent leader of the two - Ron couldn't see a difference in rank between them - said, "this is a coffin."

"Why, yes, it is!" Sirius nodded with obvious enthusiasm. "A hand-crafted antique coffin! What a find, eh?"

"Are you a collector?"

"Indeed! Although not exclusively of coffins, of course, but anything that fits the Victorian fascination with the occult and morbid," Sirius replied. "My family was deeply into that sort of thing at the time."

Ron cleared his throat. That was getting a little too close to the truth - the Black family had been involved with several occult circles in the nineteenth century, after all. And using a fake name and identity might not be enough to keep a good analyst from making the connection. "So, can we proceed?" he asked. "We do have a flight to catch."

"Bah! They will wait - I am paying for the jet, after all!" Sirius chuckled.

Ron didn't have to completely fake his long-suffering expression when he looked at the customs officers. Sirius was overdoing it. As Hermione had feared when they had planned this - after a certain point, reverse psychology failed to work.

Fortunately, the two officers had more luggage to check and waved them on. "No, you can proceed," the leader said.

"Thank you! Have a nice day!"

They strode out of the room, Ron pushing the dolly with the coffin and their other luggage. It was quite heavy - heavy enough, actually, that the addition of a hundred and fifty pounds wouldn't be obvious.

Which also made it quite difficult to push and manoeuvre through a crowded airport, though. But he managed without steering it into anyone, and a few minutes later, they reached the lounge where the others were waiting.

"That went well!" Sirius said as they sat down on free seats and grabbed a drink.

Ron shook his head. "It could've gone better."

"What? I completely fooled them! Otherwise, they would have arrested us, wouldn't they?" Sirius nodded to his own words. "Quod erat demonstrandum."

Hermione sighed and checked her watch. "You cut it close."

"Someone really got into his role," Ron explained.

"Ah."

"Hey! That's called good acting! Method acting!" Sirius protested. "And it's good timing."

Ron didn't think that Sirius had kept the duration of the dose they had given Sokolov in mind. And he doubted that anyone else believed his claims. But it didn't matter. Things were still going according to plan.

"Well, let's see if they damaged your coffin," Hermione said, opening it and peering inside. "Did you leave a sock in here?"

"What? No."

Hermione bent forward and stuck her head under the closed part of the coffin's lid. "Ah, no, just a loose rag." She held it up and closed the coffin again, then rocked it a little.

About ten minutes later, she put her hand on the coffin and rocked it. Or tried to. "I think we should board the plane now."

That meant that the Shrinking Solution's effect had run out and Sokolov's actual size and weight had been restored. Ron nodded. "Yes, let's go."

The business jet Dumbledore had chartered for them lifted off almost on schedule, with their luggage, including the coffin, stored in the back.

And there was no chance that the plane's crew, no doubt hand-picked by Dumbledore, could possibly suspect that Hermione could shrink people and equipment.

Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, August 24th, 2005

"That was quite a smooth operation," Dumbledore told them over lunch. "Kidnapping someone in a foreign country is a challenge even for the best in my former business. I'm impressed - especially by how you managed to smuggle Mr Sokolov out of the country through an airport."

Impressed - and curious, Ron was sure. "Thank you," he said. He didn't mention that they had been lucky that the bodyguards had bailed rather than called the police.

"It's all in the acting," Sirius added.

"Interesting," the old man replied. "How did you deal with the x-ray scanners?"

"We skipped them," Harry said.

"Ah." Dumbledore nodded. "You didn't use a technological solution to fool them?"

"No," Hermione said. "It was all done with sleight of hand - in a manner of speaking."

"I see." The former spymaster inclined his head again. "In any case, our new guest should be ready to answer a few questions after we finish our meal. He needed a little time to recover after being transported."

"That couldn't be helped," Ron replied. "We had to keep him sedated."

"I wasn't criticising your actions," Dumbledore told him.

Of course not. But Ron nodded as if he believed the old man.

"Will you be using your truth serum again, Dr Granger?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "Sokolov is a crucial source of information, after all."

"While we cannot, at this point, exclude the possibility of Sokolov serving as a decoy, I agree."

"A decoy? Hidden so well?" Luna shook her head.

Ron agreed with her. That would've been insane. All their work, for nothing?

"My dear, I know of even more elaborate deceptions than this - which were successful, I'll have you know." Dumbledore smiled in his usual slightly condescending manner. "But we shall soon find out the truth, thanks to Dr Granger's assistance."

Ron certainly hoped so.

"Were you aware of the mission for which so many mercenaries were needed?" Harry asked.

"Yes."

"Did you know why someone wanted to kidnap Dr Granger?"

"No."

"And who told you to hire mercenaries to send to Britain?"

"Igor Kirikov."

Ron didn't recognise the name, and neither did Hermione - she wasn't a good enough liar to hide that, as he knew. But he noticed that Dumbledore was frowning, and made a note while Harry continued the interrogation.

"How did you know that we'd go after Berisha?"

"Kirikov told me."

"Did he tell you to warn Berisha?"

"Yes."

"Where does Kirkov live?"

"Russia."

"Do you know his address?"

"No."

"Do you know how to contact him?"

"Yes."

"How do you contact him?"

"I call him."

"What is the number?"

Sokolov rattled off a phone number.

"Where do you know him from?"

"He was my superior at the KGB."

Ah. No wonder Dumbledore had recognised the name. "Does he still work for the KGB?" Ron asked.

"No."

"Who does he work for?"

"Himself."

That was good news, in Ron's opinion. If Russia were after Hermione… On the other hand, he knew just how close certain 'businessmen' were to the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service.

And, as they quickly found out as Harry and Ron continued to question the drugged Sokolov, Kirikov was one of those businessmen.

An hour later, the Veritaserum stopped working, and Dumbledore's men carried Sokolov away. Presumably, they'd take him to the same location in which Berisha was currently being kept prisoner. Ron gathered his notes. A lot of the information they had gained wasn't related to Hermione, but it was still useful - Sokolov had worked with and for a lot of criminals, after all. And they had confirmed that the man hadn't had a dead man's switch.

Harry turned to Dumbledore as soon as the door closed behind Sokolov. "You recognised the name."

"Indeed, I did," the old man answered. "Igor Kirikov. An old… well, I wouldn't say colleague. We weren't quite on the same level - my time in the field had already ended when he started working for the KGB."

"Like Sokolov," Ron said.

"Yes. But Kirikov was higher-ranked. And knew more secrets. I don't doubt that he still has a lot of friends in the FIS." Dumbledore rubbed his beard. "Unfortunately, our information on him is a little out of date - something I intend to rectify at once, mind you." He tapped a few keys on the laptop on the table near him. "This is our most recent picture of him."

Hermione gasped.

"That's Igor Karkaroff!"

"Is something wrong?" Viktor asked as they took a break from dancing. "You seem distracted." He was glancing at her friends, she noticed. Who were sitting with their dates, the Patil twins.

"It's your headmaster," she told him. "He's been glaring at me ever since we opened the ball."

"Ah." Viktor nodded sharply. "He fears you are, how do you say, using your wiles on me to help your school." He chuckled. "I told him you were not that kind of girl, but… he is suspicious of everyone."

The nerve of the man! She hesitated a moment, then said: "With good reason. He was a Death Eater."

"Ah."

"It's a matter of public record," she went on as they walked towards the buffet for a drink. "He was put on trial in Britain after Voldemort had been defeated." Technically public, of course - the record had been buried in the Ministry archives. If not for Percy's help, they would never have been able to read it - he had denounced too many 'innocent victims of the Imperius Curse'. That it hadn't been sealed was a small miracle.

"His past is known, but not spoken of, in Bulgaria," Viktor said. "Although he is not the only former dark wizard present, is he?"

Since the Dark Arts were still taught at Durmstrang, Hermione wasn't entirely certain whether Karkaroff was a former dark wizard. "You mean Professor Snape," she said. "Dumbledore vouched for him."

"Yes. And Dumbledore is friendly towards the Headmaster as well, isn't he?"

Hermione nodded. "He is, yes."

She didn't tell Viktor that Dumbledore behaved that way towards pretty much everyone - even people she knew he loathed, such as Lucius Malfoy.

She wanted to enjoy the Yule Ball, after all.