Disclaimer: Do I give off the impression that I own this series? If so, I'm terribly sorry for misleading you.

Summary: Harry and Ron follow Ernie MacMillan. Shit hits the fan.

Midnight Blues

Zeitgeist84

Part I: Punch-Clock Hero

2.) Franz Ferdinand
or,
Laugh All the Way to Hell

Tailing someone is usually the worst part of the job, usually because it takes Ron and I places we don't want to go. Once we were hired to follow a Wizengamot member who was vehemently pro-family values to his office so as to protect him from any possible assailants (no one was really happy with him those days), and found him heading into a gay bar. And we had to follow him in.

After that, I finally understood why people avoid these bars. Even most gay blokes say they're a bit too flamboyant for them.

But, that's not my point. My point is: tailing people sucks.

Especially because Ernie MacMillan hasn't done anything but leave the airport, stop at a fish-and-chips pub, and proceed to wolf it down like starving man. Ron sighs and rubs his eyes:

"We may as well order some food, too," he begins, "we'll look like weirdos if we sit here with no food, no drinks, nothing."

"Right," I agree, and we wave over a pretty waitress who takes our orders down and bustles away to the kitchen.

"So," Ron starts, taking a sip of his Coca-Cola, his latest obsession. "You must have some good stories about America. The magical world there is still stuck in the colonial era if your robes are anything to go by."

I shrug. "It's not all that odd. They have an absurd infestation with creatures though. Particularly demons for some reason. And have you heard the news out of Miami lately? Yikes. I reckon I fucked up a few Blood Mages. Never stabbed a guy in the mouth, though."

Ron chuckles.

"But, then again, how do you stab a guy in the mouth? It's an orifice. It can't really be stabbed, can it?" I question quietly.

"Sure it can," Ron responds with a jaunty grin, "The mouth can open and close and inside the mouth is a cavern you can put the knife through." He waves his hands as if they were lips opening and closing.

"But, you can't stab the mouth, it's an open space," I say.

"Well, it's going inside it, hence 'stab him in the mouth'."

I quirk an eyebrow. "But the blade's going through the back of the throat, so you're really stabbing him in the neck."

"To-may-to, to-mah-to," Ron laughs.

I take a casual look at our surroundings and find two other people at the opposite end of the pub looking in MacMillan's direction, both covered by drab, hooded robes. "Ron, three o'clock. The two people in the corner have been giving MacMillan the stink-eye."

"Friendlies?"

"Can't tell yet. But I doubt they'd hire up another group without telling us. For now, just assume they're hostiles. And keep acting like everything's normal. If they're Bloodies, they might be able to sense us."

The waitress sets down our food as Ron gives a little cough of acknowledgement, and starts:

"So, Hermione and I were having—"

"—No."

"No?" Ron asks, confused. "No, what?"

"No to whatever you were about to say. I don't need to think of Hermione that way."

Ron shakes his head. "Hermione and I were having dinner a couple nights ago, and she told me she thinks you're planning on proposing to Ginny."

"What?" I ask, slightly shocked. "News to me. Where'd she get the idea?"

"From the engagement ring in your nightstand drawer."

I cough, trying to gather my bearings. Why the fuck was Hermione snooping through my things?

"That's, ah... that wasn't for Ginny."

Ron quirks an eyebrow for a long moment, then his face crumples in understanding. "Oh. You still have that?"

"Hard to get rid of it," I reply. "No jeweler would want a damaged ring."

"You didn't pawn it off because you couldn't get a good price for it?" Ron asks, the smile on his face indicating that he clearly didn't believe me. I sigh:

"No... it has... sentimental value."

"So," Ron begins awkwardly, "How are you?"

I plaster a grin on my face. "I'm still smiling. That should be enough for most."

Ron nods. "You know... I'm here to... talk with and whatever... if you ever need it."

I love how awkward Ron is in situations like these. "When I need someone to talk to about these things, it'll probably be Hermione. Don't get me wrong, I love you, but you're fuck-all useless at these things."

Ron looks visibly relieved. "Merlin, I thought for a second you might take me up on that. You're right: I'm no good at the mushy stuff; I just stab people in the mouth."

"Neck."

"Whatever."

Ron turns to survey the crowd for just a moment while I take a gulp of my tea, just in time to hear his rather loud exclamation of: "Fuck!"

"What?"

"We've been made. MacMillan's bolting."

"Ah, shit," I groan. "Alright, let's go after him."

Ron stops at the table. "Wait... Who's paying?"

"You are," I reply, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, "You lost him, and you suck at tracking people."

Ron shifts uncomfortably. "But... I... I kinda left my wallet at the flat."

Fucking moron. "How did you expect to pay if we stayed here the whole time?"

"I thought you'd be a good friend and all," was the redhead's response.

"Fine. Go after him, I'll pay. Jackarse."

Ron scampers out. He better not have been lying to me to avoid paying the tab. Pausing over the untouched fish and chips, I plonk the money down on the table and pop a piece of the fried seafood and turn to head out the door, only to find the table that had been seating the two hooded people is now empty.

Fuck.

I burst out the door and look for any sign of which way Ron went. On the face of the shack is a white chalk mark pointing east, a trademark of Ron's when we do these kinds of jobs. I start moving that way and heighten my senses using magic. I turn a corner and find myself facing down a long road of storefronts, and give a look around. I've learned that being able to fight well is not about knowing the longest, most complex spell, but manipulating the basics to the point where they serve as a wrecking crew.

Amid the thunderous din of downtown London and the lapping of the Thames against the land, I realize Hermione was right: we're now in the muggle section of town and I look really out of place. So I have to make it quick: I stretch out the enhanced hearing as far as possible and eventually I can hear voices. Among them is one that sounds rather suspiciously like Ron.

I follow the voices and turn a corner into a dark, murky alley. I am suddenly reminded of the reason as to why I hate London. Grey skies, grey buildings, grey alleys. But at the end is another figure clad in gray with nearly-orange hair spiraling out the top. Cornered at the end of the alleyway is Ernie MacMillan.

I rush up to Ron. "Look lively, the guys we saw in the fish-and-chips shack are on the move too."

"Fuck, we can't do it here."

Ernie looks up, having noticed me for the first time. "H-Harry? Harry Potter? Oh, thank Merlin you're here, you need to sto-"

"Shut the fuck up, fat man," I silence him glibly. "In case you haven't yet noticed, I'm helping him."

I point at Ron and Ron points at himself. We're about to grab the arsehole up when thundering footsteps approach and I look up to see the two hooded fellows we saw in the bar walking our way. Though, if that sway in the hips is anything to judge by, the one on the right is a woman.

"Leave the moron here, we'll take him back," the male says.

I raise an eyebrow. "Nah, it looks like our friend here has royally pissed off some very important people. And these aren't the kind of people that forgive and forget easily, aren't they, Ernie?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about!" Ernie cries, turning to the hooded people. "Guys, guys, you have to help me!"

"Friend of yours, I take it?" I ask the woman.

She doesn't respond. "That is an Officer of Ministry Law you are manhandling. Let him go or face the full might of the Aurors bearing down on you."

Wait. What? Wasn't this a government contract? I exchange a look with Ron. He shrugs, too. Apparently either communication between departments is shit or these people are lying through their teeth. I think I'm going to bet on the latter:

"We'll take our chances, Miss Auror."

She makes a sudden movement. In a flash, all wands are drawn, excluding Ernie's, which is currently in Ron's left hand.

"Last chance, mercenaries," The woman orders. "Clear. The. Fuck. Off."

My response is a hearty: "Obscuro!" as smoke piles out of the tip of my wand. Ron, knowing the drill, immediately grabs Ernie by the scruff of the neck and drags him out the other end of the alleyway. Two jets of red light fly by us; Ron sends a return blasting hex that rips off a chunk of a building. We duck into a nearby alley and find an ancient Renault Clio begging to be stolen. I cock back my arm and punch out the window when Ernie, who realizes he's probably about to die, starts screaming an unholy racket:

"They're gonna kill me! They're gonna-oomph!" Ron punches him straight across the mouth:

"Will you shut the fuck up!?"

I successfully unlock the door and turn to Ron. "You hotwire this piece of shit, I'll take care of the bastard." Ron nods and hustles into the driver's seat as I proceed to 'unlock' the door behind the said seat and attempt to push MacMillan into it. The blond man blubbers loudly and refuses to go inside. Made worse is the fact that my mobile decides now is the time to start ringing.

So here I am, stealing a car with my best mate, a fat fucking whiny baby, and all this to the tune to "With a Little Help from my Friends".

Yes, I realize the irony of it all.

"Get in the car, you knob!"

"No!" He screams.

Mo-therfucker. I kick the back of his knees so he falls to a kneeling position in the door way, and (rather viciously) slam the car door into his head. Ernie cries out in pain and I am able to take advantage of his momentary disorientation to throw him into the back seat:

"That's for calling me the Heir of Slytherin you fucking twat!" I pause take a second to settle myself and answer the phone: "Bonjour?"

"Harry!" Hermione's voice returns as I hop around to the passenger-side door. Ron unlocks it. "Where are you two? I've been trying to call Ron's mobile all day!"

"Oh, we're running a few errands. We'll be back in the flat in a couple hours. Nothing to worry about."

"Help me, goddamnit!" Pierces my eardrums from the backseat.

"Who was that?" Hermione interrogates, sounding alarmed.

"It was... It was Ron!"

"Yeah, sweet thing it was me!" Ron yells.

I cover the speaker on the phone. "Can you shut him up?"

"I'm driving!" Ron yells.

"Alright, you talk to her," I hand the phone to Ron and clamber over the seat, punching MacMillan in the face before sending a stunner at him.

"Yes, yes, Hermione, we're fine. Nothing's going on... how's the case?" We slow at a traffic light and Ron holds out his unoccupied hand for a high-five, which I graciously grant him.

Ron laughs at something Hermione says. "That Susan... you two oughta stop taking cases against each other. I don't think poor Neville could take you hating his girlfriend!" Hermione says something else. "Yes... we'll pick up milk on the way back."

The light turns green.

Later, I find myself wondering if it was the adrenaline from all the shite that just happened, or if Ron was distracted by the phone call, or if Ron's just a shitty driver, but he didn't check both ways before hitting the gas. And as I turn to look out the window, the last thing I see before everything goes black, is the front fender of a Volvo milliseconds away from blindsiding us.

"Mmm... Harry, you're soft."

"Should I be insulted?"

"No, you arse, it's a compliment." She burrows in closer to me, head resting in the crook of my neck. "It's funny how things work out, don't you think? When you were leading the DA, I never thought in a million years we'd be an item."

"Well, just goes to show you," I grin. "If you told me then Voldemort was going to steal all my money, I'd... well, I'd probably cry."

She giggles. Normally she's such a tough woman. To see that I can bring out this side in her is refreshing, exhilarating.

"So," I start, lacing my fingers together with hers, feeling the rock settled on her ring finger, "what would you like to do to today, Mrs. Potter?"

I get a grin in response. "I'm not Mrs. Potter yet."

I come back to the land of the living slowly.

Ouch.

Have you ever had that feeling? Like you've just been hit by a car? I reckon that's what I'm feeling right now. A hazy figure shimmers before me and I catch the slightest glimpse of gold hair. For a moment I think I've died and I'm with her, but that dream is irrevocably shattered when something hard and metallic hits me across the cheek:

"Wake the fuck up!"

I groan, still not entirely lucid. "Five more minutes, Han'."

I'm hit with the thing again. "Now, princess!"

I blink groggily five or six times before I can see my surroundings clearly. We're in a dirty, unfinished basement somewhere that I can't quite identify. Ron, who also appears to have just woken up, is tied to a chair across from me and gives me a weak smile. When I try to shift in my chair, I realize I, too, am tied to it. Two people in Aurors robes and badges stand guard over us; the blonde one appears to be the senior Auror. It is now that I understand we have well and truly fucked up.

After reviewing everything that happened before the accident, I can't help but shoot a dirty look at Ron: "Nice driving, arsehole."

"I know," he shoots sarcastically, "I was dealing with a blubbering prisoner, talking to a woman about milk and eggs, and driving from crazy Aurors all at the same time. Fuck me, right?" Ron trails off to realize the same horrifying thing that I do.

Oh. Holy. Freaking. Fuck. Hermione was on the phone with us when the accident happened. She's probably called in the entire Auror force to find us. Imagine when she finds out we're being detained by Aurors for attempting to kidnap and murder a person...

Speaking of which, where is that little rat-bastard? I look around the room for him but am slapped with that thing again, which turns out to be the butt-end of a handgun:

"Oh, Jesus, Merlin. You have got to stop hitting me in the face; don't you know that just disorients the victim? Makes the brain all... woozy."

The blonde lowers to my level. "Don't care, I just need to make sure you're awake."

She has shoulder-length, honey-blonde curls, a heart-shaped face, and eyes such a deep blue I could swear they're violet.

"You're really pretty, you know that?" I answer, giggling dumbly to piss her off. I grunt as she hits me with the pistol again. This time I feel the coppery taste of blood at the back of my mouth.

"Very flattering, Mister Potter," she growls, "We'll go on a date some other time. All I want to know right now is who hired you to kill Ernie over here?"

Ron pipes up. "And if we don't tell you?"

The blonde doesn't look away from me as she answers. "Well, Mister Weasley, I'll send you to court for attempted murder, and you'll go to Azkaban," she starts, placing a dainty hand on my left thigh, running it up said thigh, and then rather brusquely grabbing my crotch area, grinning at my grunt of pain. "But I'll make sure to enjoy my time with you, first."

The tied-up redhead snorts. "Try it, bitch. See how badly you get fucked for it."

Her grip tightens when Ron says 'bitch'.

"Ron, stop swearing," I order. "There are more productive ways to castrate me for dating your sister."

The blonde ignores my byplay with Ron. "Tell me, Mister Potter, why is that your accomplice here thinks I'll get fucked for turning you in?"

"Wait... you mean you haven't already?" I grin. "I'm sorry, I took you for a complete tart."

Her vice-like grip recedes... only to punch me in that sensitive area. I cough as all the wind leaves my lungs and I wheeze just a tiny bit. Ron cringes at the punch.

"What?" The blonde questions innocently. "You told me to stop hitting you in the face."

"I... like it rough," I manage to get out. "Means you have spirit."

"It also means you have it as well," the Auror places her face inches from my mine, her lips tantalizingly close. "You have a spirit I'll enjoy breaking."

I grin and nip at her, causing the blonde to recoil. "By all means, break me."

She punches me in the face.

"Aw, back to the face? And here I thought we were such good pals!" I laugh loudly, injecting just a touch of madness into the chuckle, before spitting out blood.

"Shut the fuck up, will you!?" The other Auror, a black-haired man who had been heretofore quiet, yells.

"Fuck off," Ron defends me, receiving his own punch to the face.

"Hey, can't fucking fight someone unless they're tied down? Pussy!" Ron spits, infuriating the Auror.

The black-haired one cocks his arm back punches my best mate again. It's a pitiful punch, not one nearly good enough to shut someone like Ron up. The Auror's just making a fool of himself. Ron grins mockingly, baring bloodied teeth. The blonde woman almost seems to shoot me an apologetic look. "New guy," she explains quietly.

"Ah," I whisper conspiratorially. "Consider making him an old guy."

Ron shouts another obscenity and gets hit again, probably trying to take as many punches as I have.

"What the fuck is going on down here? I don't like screaming!" A new voice enters the fray. "My god..." a black-haired, forty-something man in a suit begins, surveying us both. "What are you doing to these two?"

Blondie straightens up and salutes the man who has just appeared in the room. "Commander, We found these two trying to kidnap Ernie whilst he was returning from undercover with the blood mages."

"Oh, so you two are the ones who caused that accident that I currently have to clean up?" He looks angrily at Blondie, who blushes. "Have you been beating these two?"

Blondie looks abashed.

"Give me your gun," he growls. Blondie complies. "You do not hit prisoners. Especially not heroes, understand?"

"Heroes?" The black-haired man yells, incredulous. "They're mercenaries! Killers!"

"See that bull ready to charge?" I question snidely, under my breath. "Don't wear red."

"Did I ask you anything, Kenton?" The Commander ignores me and asks the upstart Auror, deadly calm.

Kenton immediately begins sweating. "Uh, no sir."

"Then kindly shut up." He turns back to Blondie. "Greengrass. Where is MacMillan?"

"In the other room with Barrett," Greengrass (I recognize that name from someplace) starts, "Kenton, go fetch him."

"Alright," Kenton replies, looking eager to be out of the room. A moment later, he brings a triumphant Ernie MacMillan into the room where we're tied down. Ernie shoots a mocking grin at me and I sneer back.

The Commander lowers himself to my level. "So, when did it become legal to kill Aurors?"

"Never did," I smile. "But if you've heard what I've heard about him..."

The Commander looks thoughtful as he stands. "Funny, because I have heard what you have." He turns, aims the gun, and an unholy crack deafens the room. In a flash, blood spatters the walls and Ernie is down, eyes wide, glassy and unblinking.

Greengrass looks shocked. Kenton, who had been standing near Ernie, is now covered in blood and looks absolutely mortified. The door MacMillan had emerged from bangs open, a dark-skinned man holding up his wand at the ready in alarm. I raise an eyebrow, trying to downplay my own surprise. And Ron, God bless him, guffaws like an idiot:

"You should've seen your face!" He points at Kenton, laughing loudly and hysterically until another crack fills the room and Ron stops laughing. And stares at his shoulder.

Which is currently bleeding from the bullet The Commander just put in it:

"Shut the fuck up, all of you," He asserts quietly. "This man was a turncoat, MI-7 suspects he had given some sensitive information to Blood Mages. These two were hired to kill him without interference on our part."

Everyone shuts up, as per order, even Ron, who must be in some kind of pain. The Commander turns back to me and inspects my wounds, casting several diagnostic spells: "You look to have took the brunt of the damage from the accident. It seems you've broken your arm, several ribs, and you have a concussion."

I laugh, my ribs protesting with a sharp pain. "That might have been Blondie over there."

"Rest assured, she will be punished for her... enthusiasm," he returns, unsmiling. "In the mean time, get your wounds taken care of, and I want you to report to the Scots Tower in Glasgow in three days. Look for Special Operations-13. You will be working for me."

Ron snorts, but it comes out as a pained wheeze.

"There's no such thing as free labor, friend," I answer. Kenton makes a disbelieving noise and Greengrass merely chuckles.

The Commander peers down his nose at me. "Rest assured, I could make you work for free if I like. The government won't go too far for two former heroes who have turned to marauding and whoring themselves out to the highest bidder."

"Oh, and I suspect you've got such stringent morals, haven't you?" I mock. "Your subordinates are only as good as you are, and from what I've seen, they're undisciplined, unruly, and generally unqualified for this business."

"I didn't see you doing any better with MacMillan. And in case you haven't noticed, we got the drop on you, didn't we?" Greengrass interjects, seemingly offended.

The Commander and I speak at the same time:

"Shut up, Blondie."

"Shut up, Auror."

Greengrass palms her face exasperatedly.

"Besides," I say, "You only got us by causing an accident in broad daylight on a relatively busy street in the middle of muggle London. So, yeah, say what you want about Ron and I, we're at least discreet."

"Not to mention, you probably caused a traffic jam," Ron supplies glibly, blood still dribbling from his wound.

The Commander pauses, looking between Ron, I, Greengrass, grimly amused. "Well, Auror Greengrass? Have you anything to say for yourself?"

"I—well, I—it was a stupid decision."

"Acknowledged. Don't let it happen again." The Commander returns to us. "As for you two, I won't be forcing you two to work for free. I think we can work on getting at least a portion of your estate restored if you act in defense of the realm."

Hmm... money's always good.

"Also, I think you might have a personal interest in this case."

I fix him my best look of amusement. "And why, pray tell, do you believe I would give a shit about a band of Blood Mages case beyond the money?"

"These Bloodies are the ones that orchestrated the Midnight Bombing in Birmingham a year-and-a-half ago," The Commander says grimly, taking a note of my sharp intake of breath. I barely notice the pain in my ribs. "The Auror Department lost thirty Aurors that night, including one of my best."

I can't speak; I can't breathe, and Ron notices. Warily, he asks the question I dread:

"Was it—?"

"—Hannah Abbott," The Commander turns to me, "who had told me, a week prior to her death, that it would soon be Hannah Potter. That is the reason why I believe you would 'give a shit' about some Blood Mages."

I breathe out a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding:

"What do you want me to do?"

The Commander shakes his head. "Come to the Scots Tower in two days, and I'll tell you everything."

"Who should I ask for?"

"Shepard. Hannah must have spoken about me at some point."

"Yeah... she told me you were a tight bastard."

"That may be the truth," The Commander says, before turning on his heel. "Two days, Potter."

And then, he's gone.

Ron and I drag our sorry arses back to the flat some time later, after the Commander left and Greengrass fixed most of the damage she'd dealt. As we open the door, we're hit with the gale force of Hurricane Hermione:

"What the bloody hell happened to you two!? Do you have any idea how worried I was!?" Her shriek immediately trails off as she takes in our pitiful states. "Oh, Merlin..."

She rushes over to us and begins inspecting our respective wounds, giving Ron a sloppy kiss on the cheek and me a hug that I swear shatters what's left of my ribs. The brunette rushes to the bathroom to get supplies whilst we both settle on the couch. Ron gives me a once-over:

"So... are we going to..."

"You don't have to," I reply numbly, "but I've sat here for too long not knowing what happened that night. I'm going. And whoever set that bomb off is going to die. That's a promise."

Ron nods lazily, drowsily. "Then we do it together."

"Jesus Christ," I chuckle. "Mercenaries-turned-Aurors? What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?"

Ron shrugs as Hermione comes back, fussing over us both. "I dunno, Harry. But if we're gonna go to hell, may as well do it laughing all the way there."

A/N: Okay, so I lied, I think chapters of this will hover around 5-7k (except this one, which is slightly shorter), not 7-10k. For you TKoL fans, the next chapter's a doozy and I'm currently 3,500 words in it. I suspect it to be around 13k when all is said and done. As for MB, I think I should have the next chapter done in two weeks. Fingers crossed!

Chapter Notes:

Franz Ferdinand: Archiduke of Austria, whose 1914 assassination sparked World War I. It's also a great band from Glasgow.

Have you seen what's going on in Miami: For you DotU fans, this is a subtle nod to it, considering both Midnight Blues and DotU start around the same time. The characters will never meet, however. It's no crossover.

MacMillan: You might be wondering why Ernie's such a ninny if he's an Auror. There's a reason for that, rest assured. He's smug, faking bastard.

Daphne: Daphne, Daphne, she appears quite a bit in my two Potter fics. She'll be even more important in this one.

Hannah Abbott: Yeah... sorry Harry. She's the one in Harry's dreams.

Harry and Ron work for Commander Shepard. I couldn't resist.

The Commander doesn't give Harry and Ron a job because he's bored. Someone's calling in a favor.

Why does Ron know how to hotwire a car? Go with it, he's a mercenary. He knows all sorts of things that might be weird for a pureblooded wizard to know.

Happy Reviewing,
Geist.