Author's Note: I own no person, no place, no thing – except the plot! If you recognize it, it probably belongs to Ms. Rowling or some other awesome super-human!

One thousand times more thanks to Phnxgirl for her encouragement and beta-time. I also got some pre-read love from AMartin0507 as well, and that was the final kicker that helped me boot this out the door to you all. After all these months, I know this chapter is not what you guys are expecting, but, never fear! I know exactly where I am going with this. I've mentioned, haven't I, that this is going to be a very, very, very long story? I know this year has been a writing fail for me, but I'm not stopping. I'm just constantly distracted. Thanks to everyone who has written to review or just tug on my ear. You all rock, and I'm thrilled that you're here to read my little adventure. acro

Chapter 33 A Man Apart

Ronald Weasley was a wizard of action.

Ron took a deep, cleansing breath to help settle his nerves as he glared at his reflection in the mirror. He silently muttered his mantra to himself over and over again, hoping that the familiar cadence of the sentences would help focus his mind and body before he had to walk out of his barracks and face the slathering press.

Those rabid fuckers were going to eat his arse for breakfast if he didn't have himself in perfect control of the entire situation at all times, and the only way to do this, was to take action before action could be taken against him.

He'd learned this over and over again during the war, and in the months after. Strike before you can be struck down.

Be a man of action.

A wizard of action.

And Ronald Weasley was the epitome of that.

He smirked, and saluted his image cockily with one hand, even as the other hand reached out to the dresser top to grasp one of his bottles of PepperMaxX. As a silent partner, Ron had a vested interest in being seen drinking PepperMax, but as a close personal friend of the inventors, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan, he was entitled to the proprietary, super-secret and highly volatile PepperMaxX. The extra X on the end of the formula that Ron regularly imbibed stood for the addition of one single drop of Felix Felicis, which turned the Muggle-energy drink-inspired potion into Ron's personal secret weapon.

He was a lucky, lucky bloke.

No Death Eater that he set his sights on was safe to hide from him for long. No sympathizer could slink around undiscovered; no shady privateer could benefit from the post-war economy…. Yes, it was safe to say that, PepperMaxX in-hand, Ronald Weasley wouldn't be failing at his task anytime soon.

And what task was that? Why, keeping the whole bloody world safe, of course. It was the bloody Golden Trio legacy, except there was only one member of the Golden Trio left.

Damn that woman.

Ron closed his eyes at the bitter memory of Hermione, and intentionally pushed her face away. All of her years spent beating the Gryffindor tenacity into him and Harry, Godric rest his soul, and she just up and pulled a runner like a bloody First year Slytherin at a Herbology lesson in the greenhouses with the Hufflepuffs. Wouldn't want to get their hands dirty among the riff-raff.

Ah, but those were the good old days. Squabbles over House priorities and preferences beat out flying across Asia to round up the sneakier and infinitely more dangerous Death Eaters that had taken their leave from the Battle of Hogwarts before their master even fell.

Just because they weren't at Riddle's side when he was ultimately defeated did not absolve them of their previous crimes, and so Ron, and the remaining few active Order members who'd been absorbed into the post-war Auror program, would keep at their task until every last Dark Mark wielding criminal was behind Azkaban's walls, or dead.

Which brought him to today's conference with the reporters. The last of the known members of Riddle's inner circle, the Lestrange brothers, had been positively identified in a small town in Russia. They'd been recorded harassing a goblin about obtaining access to a Black family vault that they'd hoped that Bellatrix would have been able to lay claim to, had she not died. Apparently Rodolphus even had his wife's wand to help confirm his claim, but had been incensed when the goblin refused him.

It hadn't worked out well for the goblin, and now Rodolphus was wanted by the Russian goblin community for the death of their associate.

Ron sighed heavily, and allowed the strain of his legacy to hang heavy on him for no more than thirty seconds. Then the familiar feeling of the PepperMaxX started to kick in. As light steam swirled out of his ears, he ran his thumb across the side of his nose. Then he did it again, and again, as the urge to tweak it temporarily filled his senses. But it only lasted a moment, and with shaking fingers, he smoothed back his hair from his steam-dampened forehead.

Time to go face the press.

/…../

Hermione squealed and gathered her companion into a tight hug, and their friends around them chuckled. Then she stepped back slightly to gather up her friend's hand, so that she could see the glittering ring settled there.

Yes, it was lovely, and Arabella Figg looked all the lovelier for wearing it.

It seemed that Draco hadn't been the only man with matrimony on his mind, because days after she and Draco had left for Italy, Renny had proposed to Arabella. Even though they'd known each other for a few short months, their adoration for each other was clear and permanent, and so they would be married at the end of September. In fact, the wedding was farther ahead of them in time than the amount of time they'd known each other.

But, when you know, you know. This is what Renny had told Draco, rather gruffly, with a small shrug.

"And when are you lot getting married, then?" Young Renton asked Draco as he handed him a fresh beer.

Draco looked over at his own new fiancée, surrounded by her girlfriends as they celebrated not only Draco and Hermione's return from Italy, but the new engagements as well. His heart still fluttered with excitement at the very idea of his newfound freedom, and with that freedom in mind, he had easily fallen into discussion with Hermione on their flight home about their wedding plans.

"So, when do you want to do this?" Hermione asked as she, rather obsessively, twisted her new ring around and around her finger.

Draco reached up from his prone position across the seats, with his head positioned in her lap, to drag her hand down to kiss the inside of her wrist.

"Honestly, love, as soon as bloody possible. We've got no one to give us any grief over the necessity of a long engagement, so why should we wait out of a sense of convention? Next month, next week, either or works for me."

Hermione laughed. "Draco, you arse, weddings take time to plan. I will say that I am completely in agreement with you that a long engagement just isn't necessary. After all we've been living together for more than six months; it's not like we could possibly be surprised by any deep dark, secret behavior from the other now. We've just known each other too long to have doubts strike us now."

Draco gulped self-consciously. He really didn't ever want to tell Hermione about the Greengrass contract, but now that he'd secured his freedom, he felt that he owed her an explanation for why he wouldn't be assuming the reins of the Malfoy empire four years hence.

Maybe another time.

For now, there was just the joy of their future together, and he would focus on that. He fiddled with her fingers, splaying them open and pulling them down onto his head so that she could stroke at his temples the way he loved so much.

"Fine then," he said with a dramatic sigh. "What do you think of early October?"

Hermione scrunched her nose in thought. "You mean, like our anniversary? That's…well, that's incredibly romantic, and completely perfect! What a brilliant idea, darling!"

"Yes," Draco replied smugly. "Yes, it is."

And so, they were getting married at the first of October, one year to the day from when she'd first stumbled into the library where he worked, and reset both of their lives on a completely different, and infinitely better, path. Renny had already agreed that Draco and Hermione could wed on his family's property in the Costwolds, just in the same location that young Renton and Lindy had exchanged their vows just two weeks after Hermione and Draco had begun their relationship.

But first, another couple would exchange their vows, on the same plot of land. Renny and Arabella would marry two weeks to the day before Hermione and Draco would, and the entire group of friends was looking forward to the combination of chaos, extensive travel, and weekends filled with music, food, and fun.

/…./

Ronald Weasley was a wizard frustrated.

What he needed was some privacy to look over his reports from the field, but there was never any privacy for the remaining member of the Golden Trio.

Fuck if he wasn't getting tired of wearing that mantle, but what choice was there? No Harry, no Hermione, and no one else willing to take up the task, meant that Ron walked his path alone.

Always alone.

Alone but never given privacy.

Ugh, what he would give for some peace and quiet. Or, Merlin forbid, the company of a decent bird to help alleviate some of his stress.

Shit, but that had been a disaster the last time he'd allowed a woman to warm his bed after he and Hermione had ended it. The cow had ended up taking photos of him while he slept, and had snuck off with several pieces of evidence for upcoming trials, thinking they were sellable bits of memorabilia. And of course, then she'd gone to Witch Weekly and blabbed about their evening together, which had gotten the gossip mongers speculating….

Oh, but that had been a rough month.

What would Hermione say?

How long have the two of you been carrying on behind the Brightest Witch of Our Age's back?

When's the wedding?

When's the baby coming?

The questions had gone on and on, each one more ridiculous than the last.

But even worse than that, was that the girl hadn't even managed to take away his worries for the comfort of an evening. She'd looked so much like…well…like Lavender.

Ron sighed. If there was one thing he didn't need to do, it was carry on thinking about this pathetic joke the universe called his love life. Yes, he and Hermione had been ultimately better off as friends, especially considering that she'd decided she'd be happier living as a magic-less Muggle in Godric only knew what corner of the world with some anonymous Muggle bloke. But Lavender was a shredded piece of his heart and soul that may never heal.

May all the Gods damn Fenrir Greyback's fractured soul to the depths of hell for what he'd done to that sweet girl.

In the early days of the real fight, when the Order had centralized to the house on Grimauld Place, Ron and Lavender had quietly, and agreeably, struck up a highly sexual relationship. Ron wasn't an idiot, he knew the girl was in love with him, that she'd do practically anything to please him, and he'd admittedly taken advantage of it.

Yes, it had been wrong-ish, but he'd been just barely eighteen at the time, and Hermione still hadn't grown out of her prudish, little girl ways and acknowledged that they were meant to be together. So, Lavender had warmed his bed on the nights that no one was paying attention to what Ron was doing – and admittedly, that was a great deal of nights.

But, oh, she'd been so sweet…warm and pliable and responsive to his touch. Lavender had made him feel like a man in ways and at times that no one else really ever cared to do. She'd quaked and moaned in his arms like a woman, and made him feel like he was capable – for once – of being able to do something right…without Hermione's assistance.

Now, with that thought in his mind, Ron growled in frustration. Once Hermione had grown up and realized it was time for her and Ron to be together, it seemed like she just expected him to jump to her beck and call.

"Ron! I'm emotionally ready for you to snog me! Now do it! And do be proper about it."

"Ron, I'm ready to take our physical relationship further, and I've been planning my hormone cycles for peak sensitivity. Let's plan to get started at precisely eight this evening, so we can be finished by nine, as I still have a great deal of research to do. And do be proper about it."

"Ron, you don't satisfy me at all. My body feels absolutely nothing for you, as you obviously disgust me. More than likely I'm shagging some other bloke behind your back – sort of like you shagged Lavender behind my back – since you know damned well I wasn't a virgin when we first spent the evening together."

All right, so maybe he was exaggerating. Mostly Hermione just lay there like she was bloody waiting for something to happen. But bugger, it had been a terrible shock to find she hadn't saved her virginity for him. Jealousy and rage – after all he'd been waiting for ages to claim that prize – had rapidly outstripped any concern he'd had for her lack of response in bed.

The girl was bloody frigid, and –

"Captain Weasley, are you ready to come down to speak with the press now?"

Ron jerked his head up and looked around to see a younger recruit standing in his doorway.

He quickly jerked his head up and down, and scooped his rolled up parchments into his rucksack. Down the stairs, out to the barracks lobby, where he and the other leaders regularly delivered their post-war correspondence to the community. Step up to the outstretched magical microphones, push back the images that had ploughed through his mind in the past few minutes that he should have been collecting his thoughts about the reconnaissance mission for the Lestrange brothers.

Wavy blonde hair, cheeks blazing with passion, sweet, breathy voice gasping his name….

Dull brown frizz, dull hazel eyes, dull listless body, sharp tongue….

Ron ran a hand over his face. These girls, they were ruining him. He had work to do. He was Captain Ron Weasley, and he was a wizard of action. The PepperMaxX hummed through his veins as he smiled at the assemblage, and began his weekly update to the general public.

"Good day, all. Well, let's get started. Right, sometime within the last four months, we've been getting reports of sightings stretching across from London all the way as far as western Russia in regards to Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. These two known inner-circle members of Tom Riddle's Death Eater army seem to be making their way back to the UK, and the Ministry and I want to take this time to remind you lot that the Lestrange brothers are highly skilled and very dangerous individuals. Don't mistake the end of the war nearly a year ago to mean that all of the bad guys are gone. Be on your guard. Constant vigilance, yeah?"

Ron grinned slightly, and the reporters laughed right on cue.

/…../

Later, much later that evening, a new report came across Ron's barracks desktop. This was a missive from his father, though. A Muggle jeweler had traveled to the same bank as the Lestrange brothers nearly a month before them, and during that visit, this Muggle jeweler had accessed the exact same vault – albeit from the Muggle side of the bank – that Rodolphus had tried to gain access to. The jeweler had removed exactly one stone of unknown properties from the vault and traveled immediately back to Britain.

Now, here was where Arthur Weasley came in. Rodolphus had recently visited the Muggle, in search of whatever legitimizing documents the man had. The jeweler's security camera had footage of the obviously disguised Death Eater interrogating, and eventually extracting his wand to discreetly withdraw the memory of the Muggle's knowledge of the vault's contents, and then had urged the man to let him see the vault owner's document.

Of course, the Death Eater had urged the poor Muggle with the use of the Imperius curse, which of course was a felony to use against a Muggle under the Statute of Secrecy. Happily for Ron and the rest of the Aurors, a handy tracking spell had been attached to the Dark Mark tattoo of a captured Death Eater shortly before Riddle had died. The tracker had replicated itself onto all Dark Marks, and it reported the location of a Death Eater as soon as he or she used an Unforgivable.

Oh, if only they'd had more time to push some more enchantments into that tracking spell, the war would be over by now. But then Riddle had died, and Harry'd died, and the whole world had descended into an entirely different kind of insanity.

Hermione had come out of St. Mungo's with a fire under her arse about getting out of London and away from Ron entirely, Lavender had been ripped apart from the juncture of her legs upward – Greyback deserved a fate worse than death for the havoc he'd wreaked on that girl – and lucky sods like Malfoy got to take a five year holiday in France instead of dealing with the aftermath.

Malfoy. France.

Hadn't the Lestranges spent some time in France?

Ron Accio'd the proper documents, and, sure as Kinglsey was the Minister of Magic, there was confirmation that wards on a Black property in Provence and on a Malfoy property in downtown Paris had been tampered with in the past six months. Repeatedly.

Right, there was the latest report. Just six weeks ago, the Malfoy flat in Paris had been breached. The Muggles thought it had been a kitchen fire, but the French Ministry had delivered the evidence of a magical accelerant. No bodies had been found, and the British Ministry had already been aware that Draco Malfoy had not been residing in Paris, so Ron presumed the former Order aerial captain was in Provence.

Lucky, lucky bastard. The man was probably up to his elbows in French wine and French witches, while Ron was up to his elbows in…well…Death Eater shit. Ugh.

Wasn't it always thus?

Ron shook his head as he perused the report on the jeweler's interview with Lestrange. Just as his eyes started to glaze over with exhaustion, he noticed the address of the Muggle's shop.

Little Whinging, Surrey.

Little Whinging? Hadn't that been where Harry had lived with his uncle and aunt?

Something niggled at the back of Ron's mind as his shaking fingers sought out a fresh vial of PepperMaxX. Something about his mum…Mum had been telling him about Ginny's new house. Ginny and the baby had just up and moved out of the Burrow while Ron had been in Scandinavia.

They'd moved into Harry's old house, his mum had said. Ron had popped over to Grimauld Place as soon as he'd returned to London, eager to meet his godson. But Grimauld Place had been converted to a sort of war museum and Harry Potter shrine, so naturally Ginny and baby Jamie weren't living there.

Then his mum had said…she'd corrected Ron.

"Oh, Ronniekins, I'm so sorry. I meant Harry's childhood home. Ginny and the baby bought the house in the Muggle neighborhood just around the corner from that dear Arabella Figg."

And that was the house in Little Whinging.

Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange had been in the same township as his little sister and newborn nephew?

Ron's chair flew backwards as he leapt up. He grasped his wand in one hand as he thumbed open and slammed back two entire vials of PepperMaxX. The extra dose of Felix was going to be just the edge he needed to win whatever conflict was ahead of him – whether he was convincing Ginny to move back into the safety of the Burrow or whether he was fighting Death Eaters off of her front lawn, Felix would have his back.

Ron rubbed his nose violently as he strode towards the Apparition point in the central courtyard of the barracks.

A man of action must strike before he can be struck down.

Ron stumbled through the floo that connected his parents home to his sister's new living room.

"Gin?" he called. He raised his wand in a defensive pose, hopeful that his sister wouldn't come at him, all half-cocked and Mama bear-ish. Ginny had always been feisty, and he imagined that dropping into her home, completely unexpected, would surprise the snot out there – and speaking of snot…. Ron muttered a quick shield charm over his face to protect him should Ginny snap off her Bat-Bogey Hex at him. He'd been on the receiving end of that particular enchantment far too many times.

But thus far, no flying bogies, and no screeching sister. Honestly, the house was completely silent.

Ron waved his wand again when he realized the house felt devoid of life. His diagnostic charm confirmed that he was the only living creature in it, outside of decorative plant life and a few reclusive spiders.

"Bugger," he muttered to himself. He knew she wasn't visiting with their mum, because his mother was off spending the week with Bill, Fleur and their kids in Egypt. His dad had mentioned it in his note just this morning when he'd sent his report on Lestrange in the jewelers shop.

He shuffled off towards the kitchen to see if he could determine if his sister had any plans to return soon, as a trip to the market or even an appointment on a calendar could tell him. With a quick peek into the refrigerator, he presumed she hadn't gone off on an emergency run for foodstuffs, and her wall calendar gave nothing away. In fact, if he hadn't come through the Floo with the directive, "Ginny's house!", he would have thought he was lurking in a Muggle home. There was no sign that a witch lived here, at least on the main level.

Ron frowned in confusion, and tapped his wand against his leg. He felt a little guilty about what he was about to do, but he really felt he needed to confirm he was in his sister's home, and that he hadn't mistakenly landed in a random Muggle home. It would be just like one of his siblings to throw a deflector directive into the Burrow's family-connected Floos. It had been a clever charm his twin brothers had invented during the war, in case any one of the Order's safehouses were infiltrated.

Ron shrugged off his latent guilt and muttered the charm to bring up his Quick Quotes Quill and a scrap of parchment, then rolled his shoulders to relieve a little tension as he lifted his wand arm to gather the information he needed. He knew it was rather an invasion of Ginny's privacy to look through her wards, but damn it if he didn't need to insure he was in the right place!

He rubbed the side of his nose repeatedly as the charm lit up the interior of the home, and his Quick Quotes Quill tore at the parchment as it revealed, in chronological order, the defensive and offensive applications Ginny had reinforced her home with.

Ron was shocked when the Quill sputtered out after just a few lines though.

Direct Floo access to the Burrow only.

Apparation point in the back yard behind the gardening shed.

Magical signature gathering, with unlimited incoming and outgoing persmissions to biological Weasleys, Prewetts, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mafalda Hopkirk.

That drew Ron up. Shacklebolt he could understand. He was the head of the Order as well as their Minister. But Hopkirk? Well, Ginny had met with the woman, months ago during the holidays. Maybe she was still pursuing the mystery that was Hermione and her Muggle boyfriend. Ugh.

That had been the end of the list, though. This puzzled and horrified Ron to no end. No Muggle repellers, no home defense charms on the entry points, not even a Dark Mark detector!

What the bloody hell was Ginny playing at, leaving her home so undefended? It was definitely Ginny's home; what other resident of Little Whinging would specifically ward their home to allow Weasleys and Prewetts carte blanche entry?

He was going to have a very stern talk with his younger sister when he found her. She was the mother of the son of Harry Potter! What was she thinking, leaving her son so open to attack?

Ron scowled and kicked the wall closest to him, which made a notepad propped on top of the fellytone…damn it, no…telephone. He picked up the notepad and cast a cursory glance at the groupings of letters and numbers on the page.

AF…random string of numbers.

SF…random string of numbers.

HJG…random string of numbers.

DAM…random string of numbers.

WMcL…random string of numbers.

LR…random string of numbers.

There were also a couple of lines with whole words:

Library...random string of numbers.

Pediatrician…

Pharmacy…

Pizza…

It suddenly occurred to Ron that the number strings must be telephone numbers. It had been a few years since he'd last used a telephone, and he'd always had assistance from his mother or father, but the numbers were codes to ring up the receiving telephone, which meant that the letters indicated to Ginny the receiver's identification. So the number to dial to reach the library would ring to a telephone at whatever library Ginny felt the need to call. Why his sister wanted to dial up a library, Ron didn't have a clue. Sounded like the kind of barmy thing Her-…no.

Moving on.

Pizza? How on earth did you phone a pizza? Unless…Ron presumed Ginny must call an establishment that exclusively cooked and sold pizzas, like some kind of meal service. Well, that was actually bloody clever. God bless those Muggles and their inventiveness.

Ron concluded that the non-word letters were abbreviations of the names of some Muggles that Ginny had met whilst living in Little Whinging. Why some had three initials and some only two, Ron assumed his sister didn't know the person's middle name. One had four letters, so even that assumption was really more of an educated guess.

Ron sighed and sat himself down at Ginny's dining table. He needed to talk to his sister, but he needed to speak to the jeweler, as well. He pulled the notepad in front of him, and snapped his fingers at his Quill, and directed it to an empty sheet of paper in the open notepad.

"Message to Ginny Weasley. Today's date and current time, please. Ready? Dear Ginny, I stopped by to warn you of suspicious activity very close to your new home here, and find your home nearly completely unguarded! What were you thinking? Ugh, scratch that. Ready? Dear Ginny, Please contact me as soon as you return home so that we can discuss your…ugh. Scratch that. Blimey, hang on." The Quill hovered obediently in the air as Ron searched the inner pocket of his robe for a handy bottle of PepperMaxX to settle his nerves.

Steam poured out of his ears for a moment, and Ron gave his nose a thorough rubdown, then shook his head and snapped back to attention.

"Message to Ginny Weasley. Today's current date and time, please. Ready? Ginny, I stopped by to check on you and Jamie. I'll be out and about in your town checking on some things for the next few hours, so send me a Patronus and I'll pop back over so I can visit you and see my godson. Mum showed me some pictures of him; he looks just like Harry. Good job, little sister. I'm sorry I've been gone for so long, and so busy I couldn't come by earlier, but I'm here now. So, get in touch. Right, I hope to hear from you soon. All my love, Ronald. Message complete."

The note lay on Ginny's dining table, and the botched notes rested in a pocket of Ron's robe as he strode out her front door. Off to find the jewelers shop, and then, if he heard from Ginny, maybe he could convince her to telephone those pizza Muggles. He was damned hungry.

Less than a half hour later, Ron had procured the jewelers copy of the delivery confirmation of the single stone he'd traveled to Russia to procure. The person who owned access to the vault and accepted the stone was only listed in the jewelers file as a string of numbers and a signature that appeared to simply be the initials DAM, which had been carefully written in a bold copperplate, and matched the jewelers own handwriting. The stone had apparently been set into a ladies ring, and the transaction had been completed shortly before Christmas time. It was clear that Lestrange had gotten the same information out of the jeweler.

What Ron didn't understand was what led Rodolphus Lestrange to immediately head to Paris, as the Malfoy flat had been visited within days after he'd left Little Whinging. The estate in Provence had been visited, and then the Death Eater had fallen off the map.

Ron looked at the jewelers document again. The number string, the telephone number, looked familiar. He tugged the wadded up notepapers out of his robe pocket, and sure enough, found the imprints of her telephone numbers set underneath his Quill's scrawl. The telephone number Ginny had marked for Library matched the one on the jewelers page.

Ron drummed his fingers against the pommel of his wand. It would be so much simpler if he could just use magic to suss out the owner of the vault, bus alas, Muggles, Muggles everywhere.

With directions from the elderly shop keeper, Ron set off toward the library. Surely the DAM individual must be an employee. A Muggle librarian, related to the infamous Blacks? Ron shuddered. Unlucky bloke, that one was.

Speaking of lucky…

Ron counted on his fingers as he paced down the sidewalk. Surely it was too early for more Felix. His luck was holding up just ducky, thank you very much. Why else would he have had the foresight to stuff those notepages into his pocket? Felix.

Sure enough, he made his way into the local library just ten minutes before the place was due to close for the evening. A matronly woman at the information desk just happened to walk towards the high shelves in the back, leaving Ron alone to stick his head and hand over the counter, where he just happened to find a listing of the employees and volunteers! And lo and behold, more telephone numbers, and home addresses, too!

Ron quickly pulled out his Quill and whispered, "copy, please," and set it loose. He rolled up the finished copy and shoved the original copy back over the counter, and was back out the exit before the matron returned to her desk.

Back out on the street, Ron noticed a coffee and pastry shop, and ducked inside. With a steaming cup of tea in front of him and a small stack of pastries within reach, Ron settled down to his research.

Who could DAM be?

Ron skimmed the relatively short list, and very soon came to an unbelievable, yet irrefutable conclusion.

Draco Bloody Malfoy.

Ron spat tea and crumbs across his table, and in the next second was out the door with the paper clutched in his hand. The address and telephone number listed were local. As in, Little Whinging. Not France.

How…why was Draco Malfoy in the same bloody town as his sister and godson? Was this some sort of trick?

Ron shook his head. Malfoy was a ponce, and a prick, but he wasn't a complete bastard. Unless he'd disguised the unbelievably expensive stone in a ladies ring to make it easier to send off to his estranged uncle…. Ron certainly hoped Malfoy wasn't in contact with Lestrange. He hated to think of the Lestrange brothers with a small fortune at their disposal because of the benevolence of a former member of the Order.

Unless…well it was possible, Ron reluctantly thought, that Malfoy had the ring made up to actually give to a woman. But who? Out here in Little Whinging, it wasn't like a bigot like Malfoy was going to find a Pureblood witch to…Ginny.

Ron shook that morbid thought off immediately. Not a chance. Ginny was devoted to the memory of Harry, and she'd just given birth, for Godric's sake.

With a muttered, "Point me," Ron set himself off in the direction of the address listed on the paper. There was only one way to find out how Malfoy fit in this puzzle. Were the Lestrange brothers here in Little Whinging, hidden and supported by Malfoy? Did they know about Ginny and Jamie? Was that why the wizards were in Surrey?

Bloody hell.

Ron took off at a run.

/.../

Hermione dragged her hands through her upside-down curls to fluff them out as much as possible, and straightened back up to apply a generous cloud of hairspray to the vertical mass that was her long hair. It had been nearly three weeks since she and Draco had returned from Italy and started planning their wedding. In that three weeks Hermione had driven with her girlfriends up to the Cotswolds three times, and she and Draco had driven down to visit her invalid parents twice. Peace and quiet, and luxurious down-time, had been in short supply. It didn't seem like they'd get any less busy in the coming months, what with summer approaching, and its associated holidays, both wizarding and Muggle.

The anniversary of the end of the war was fast approaching, and then Draco's twentieth birthday, then Harry's twentieth….

Then by the time of the summer bank holiday at the end of August, she and Draco would be six weeks from their wedding, and those last few weekends would be busy with last plans for both of the Cotswolds events.

Loads of travel. Limited downtime. Severely curtailed private time.

And Hermione Granger would not fail at taking care of Draco again. She deeply regretted her month of avoidance back in January, and knew that losing track of Draco's moods and temperament would only serve to make them both miserable in the coming months. She would not make that mistake ever again.

So, tonight's outfit choice wasn't a sexual emergency so much as proactive gratification – a nice fantasy they could both look back on when they were running ragged across Britain.

Hermione straightened her Gryffindor tie, and slipped her feet into her tidy black shoes just as her mobile rang in the kitchen. Seeing the name on the call screen, she pressed the answer button to answer her oldest girlfriend, but was interrupted by the unmistakeable sound of her mobile powering down.

'Bollocks,' she thought. The battery must have died. Oh well, Draco would be home any moment, and she didn't want him to come home to her chatting on the phone. That wasn't the seduction scene she'd hoped for at all.

Soon enough, Artemis and Apollo pricked up their ears and let out joyful barks as Draco's familiar steps bounded up the stairwell. Hermione grinned and bit her lip, then shook her shoulders and forced her face into a scowl as she stepped over to open the door for her fiance.

"Malfoy? What are you doing here? These are the Head Girl's private quarters. I insist you leave at once!" Hermione declared imperiously as Draco raked his eyes up and down her form.

A crooked smirk appeared on his face as he leaned against the doorframe. "Really, Granger, is that any way to greet your fellow Head? How do you know I'm not here on official business?"

Hermione threw her wayward puff of hair back over her shoulder as she snipped, "I'm sure it's not, being as late as it is. Now bugger off, I'm expecting someone." She stood on her tiptoes like she was trying to look over Draco's shoulder.

Draco played along perfectly by looking back over his shoulder as well, and then placed his hand against her belly to push her backwards so that she had to let him inside their flat.

"I don't really care who you're waiting for, Granger, but the way you've pathetically tarted yourself up makes me think your dunce of a boyfriend is on his way. Tell me something, has he found your G-spot yet? Or is that what you two are going to look for this evening?"

Hermione tried to smother a giggle at Draco's backhanded inference to himself. Yes, he'd definitely discovered that particular location, and if she knew him at all, Draco would be re-familiarizing himself with that area of her body within the next five minutes.

/…../

Ron stood in front of a nondescript, warehouse-looking building of indeterminate age. It was three stories tall, and housed some kind of smelly chemists lab…apparently for Beauty purposes, as that was scrawled on the window in white paint. A windowless door tucked between two large potted shrubs would have been easy to ignore, had there not been two sleek cars parked right outside of it. A large, Gryffindor-red car, and a sleek, black, fast-looking…thing that looked nothing like his father's long-missing Ford Anglia, were parked nose-to-tail next to the curbside. The address in his hand indicated that this had to be the place. Malfoy's place. Ron wondered if the cars belonged to him as well.

Gryffindor red, though? Hardly likely. Ron once again winced at the idea that his sister…but no. Not a possibility. Malfoy wouldn't lower himself to spend quality time with a Gryffindor anyway, but as a Weasley, and the mother of the late Harry Potter's child, Ginny would surely never appeal to that uptight prig. Thank Merlin for that. Imagine having Malfoy as a brother-in-law, helping to raise the son of the savior of the magical community.

Ron gagged a little at that.

Wondering if he should call for backup from the pool of Order-turned-Aurors at his disposal, Ron pulled out his wand and decided to do an analysis of the building to go with his initial report. He began with the wards, and similarly to when he'd checked Ginny's household wards, he found that any biological Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mafalda Hopkirk had wide-open access into the building, even so far as to Apparate directly inside. What did surprise Ron was that there were no permissions for Malfoys, Blacks, or Lestranges. That didn't make any bloody sense. How was Malfoy getting in and out of his own home?

Ron placed his hand against the entry door and directed his diagnostic spell at the lock. He drew back in surprise when he realized that the door was goblin-made. That had to cost a bloody fortune, but it was a very good security measure. Common spells would only absorb into the door and make it stronger. That being said, he couldn't unlock it without a key.

Another glance at the parchment which listed the premises wards indicated that blood wards were being used.

Old blood wards. In fact, there was a combination of some…ah, right there…old Malfoy blood wards, along with some vaguely Egyptian-looking enchantments that attached at the foundation of the building and arced across the sky to form a bubble of protection. Ron concentrated his focus on illuminating the source of the blood wards, and made his way to the closest corner of the building.

There were two Muggle blood samples here, bound to the foundation using earth magic. They were self-maintaining, in that they relied on the plant-life around them to re-energize the wards indefinitely. As long as there was healthy earth around, the wards wouldn't be dependent upon a magic-user to maintain them. That was rather odd, and suspicious. Weren't there any magic-users living here? And who were the Muggles?

Ron drew himself up. The Lestranges could be here, hiding their magic by simply not using it. Whatever Malfoy had going on inside this building, Ron was bound by oath to find out.

Wizard of action and all that bollocks. He had to be proactive. His sister and nephew, as well as the rest of the magical community, depended on him. He couldn't wait for backup. All the help he needed was in his trusty vial of PepperMaxX.

Ron slipped his fingers into his robe for another small vial. "Time to luck up, Felix," he muttered to himself. He tossed back the contents and shuddered. He had a lot of Felix in his system. At least two or more doses more than he'd ever taken in a day before, but, damn if it wasn't necessary! His parchment indicated that there were at least two humans inside on the top floor. He needed to win this conflict, whatever it may be! Malfoy could be in there, plotting with his uncle. His sister could be in there!

Rubbing his nose viciously, Ron shuddered again and rolled his shoulders, then prepared to Apparate directly inside the building. As a Weasley, he should be able to bypass the wards and land right inside the designated Apparition point. Destination, determination, deliberation.

Ron turned on the spot, and with a pop, vanished from sight.

To Be Continued.