Assassins

Ron clutched the folder to his chest as the cold metal door banged shut behind him. Taking gigantic steps away from the old man's office, he allowed a whole minute to pass before he dared to look into the contents of the folder. This wasn't the way he would have done it, were it his decision to make. He glanced down at the names Dumbledore had etched into the parchment. Some made sense, for obvious reasons; others made no sense at all. His eyes traveled swiftly down the parchment, but when he saw the last name scrawled on the sheet, a great wave of anger overtook him. He stopped dead in the deserted hallway and his eyes bored into the name, even though he was not really seeing it.

His jaw clenched and he began to grind his teeth together as a myriad of things passed through his mind. That last name didn't belong there; it had to be a mistake. Surely the old man had gone round the twist. He couldn't really mean to put this combination of people together for any extended amount of time - they would kill each other before the thing had a chance to do any good. Although, now that he thought about it, killing was the lone objective - but it still didn't make sense to put such fragile people together, no matter what the cause.

He exhaled slowly, allowing his mind to wander as he took the long way back to his own meager office on the second level. He would speak to Hermione first; she'd know which tack to take with the recruits. He stopped breathing again as Hermione's face flashed in his mind. For years, he knew, she'd been waiting for him to ask her to marry him. Now, instead of proposing, he would ask her to become a murderer. Not just a murderer, but actually training the others in the horrific sport. The thought made him cringe as he entered his office and shut the door behind him. He shoved his longish red hair out of his face automatically when he saw the woman sitting in his chair.

"I'm not in the mood for this today," he said, his voice full of the agitation he was feeling. The woman cocked her head to one side and gave him a feral smile. "What do you need, Parkinson?"

"Now is that any way to greet a lady?" she purred. His expression darkened.

"No, it's not. If you'd actually been a lady, I'd have asked you if I could help you." Pansy laughed.

"You need to sign these before I leave for the day." She waved the papers she was holding in her hand dismissively. She rose from her chair and moved to stand in front of Ron. "Daddy needs the equipment before he can deal with the Baltic Ambassador." She was discussing work, and had Ron been speaking to anyone else in the Ministry, that was exactly how he would have interpreted her meaning. But this wasn't anyone else; it was Pansy Parkinson. She'd been after him for years. The word 'equipment' falling from her full red lips made his pulse start racing, but he hid it well - he had to.

He took the papers from her and forced his eyes to focus on the text. He frowned as he scanned the pages rapidly, and then looked up. "Why in the bloody hell are you bringing these to me, Parkinson? They need to go to the Department of International Magical Cooperation. This is the Magical Law Enforcement Department, remember? Or can't you read the sign outside on the door?" He tossed the papers back to her, taking in her highly amused expression.

"Oh, silly me," she said, gathering the papers and shrugging carelessly. "I must have gotten lost on the way to drop the papers off."

"You went out of your way to come and see me," he observed, leaning back in his chair. "You needed to go to the fifth floor, and you bloody well know it. So now that you're here, in the interest of saving time, why don't you just tell me what it is that you want?" He glanced at his watch - he didn't have time for silly games. He was just about to tell her so when it dawned on him.

"How did you find out?" he asked slowly. Pansy was notorious for playing dumb, though very few ever realized it was a ruse. Ron wouldn't have known either, but they'd spent so much time together at Hogwarts, there was very little about her that he didn't know - though, that, too, was something of a secret between them. She arched her eyebrow at him, but he remained stoic. After a silent battle of wills, she rolled her eyes and laughed.

"Daddy," she said matter-of-factly. Her face fell slightly as she spoke. Ron knew from her expression that she was as scared about this as he was. Then she said something that took his breath away.

"I want in."

He didn't hesitate before answering. "No."

She put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. "You can't tell me no."

"I believe I just did."

"And you know that I won't take no for an answer." He felt a twinge inside of his chest; she was right, at that. She never had taken no for an answer, and everyone knew that Pansy got what Pansy wanted, devil be damned.

"No time like the present to learn how to accept defeat," he said, his face set in hard lines. He didn't so much as flinch when she placed her palms flat on the desktop and leaned towards him.

"I was just about to tell you the same thing."

"I'm not budging on this, Pansy," he said calmly. "You're not involved with this project - you're not even supposed to know that it exists."

"Then it's too bad for you that I do know," she snapped, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "I want to be a part of it."

"Even if I said yes - which I'm not going to do - there's really no place for you. There's nothing for you to do. Dumbledore's already hand-picked the people he wants involved with this thing." Ron massaged his temples as he spoke.

"Do these hand-picked individuals know that they've been chosen?" Ron's expression of utter defeat told her all she needed to know. "Then you're going to need someone to help you deliver the bad news, aren't you?"

"What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Make me your assistant." Ron snorted.

"My assistant? When have you ever assisted anyone with anything in your life?"

"You're going to need help," she said. "And I'm it."

He stared thoughtfully at her for a long moment. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. He didn't particularly relish the thought of having to seek the people on the list out and break the news to them. "Fine."

"I knew you'd say yes," she gloated, her eyes burning into his.

"This is strictly a professional arrangement, Parkinson," he said softly, averting his eyes. "We discuss work. From here on out, we eat, sleep, and breathe this project. I don't have time for anything else."

"Whatever you say, boss." Pansy eyed him appraisingly. So he'd decided that he was going to distance himself from her, had he? Well, things had a way of working themselves out over time, and she knew that this project was going to be consuming. She had all the time in the world to break him down.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Hermione tried to steady her hand and keep it from shaking. This was a very delicate operation, and there was no margin for error. If she failed, she could very well succeed in killing not only herself, but everyone within a four kilometer radius. Sweat beaded on her brow, and her fingers itched to wipe it away. She didn't waver from the task at hand, however, and forced herself to concentrate on the vials in front of her.

Add the bezoar first, then just a drop of the dragon's blood. Did I remember to dilute it? Oh, if I didn't - I did. I remember now, I definitely did. Didn't I?

Just as she was about to add the dragon's blood, the door to her laboratory burst open, causing her to scream. Thankfully she gathered her wits quickly enough that she righted the precious vial in her hand before the contents could spill. She turned and frowned severely at her boyfriend.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" she shrieked, placing the delicate glass container back in its protective casing, and then putting it back on the shelf. "Have you ever heard of knocking?"

"Sorry," he said, his ears turning scarlet. "I didn't mean to interrupt you, but we've got to talk." Hermione eyed his face, taking in the dark circles beneath his eyes and the worry lines etched into his forehead.

"What's happened? Is Harry all right? Your family? Has something-"

"Nothing like that," he reassured her, shaking his head quickly. She frowned.

"What is it, then? You look like death warmed over."

"Not me. Not yet, anyway." His voice broke, but Hermione continued to stare uncomprehendingly. He said the next words, which were surely damning, and watched her face change instantaneously from concern to sheer dread. "Dumbledore signed off today."

The towel she'd been using to wipe her hands clean slipped from her trembling hand, forgotten, as she fell into the chair behind her.

"How many do we get?"

"Five."

"Who?"

Ron pulled the parchment from the folder and handed it to her. Hermione scanned the page quickly, and her eyes nearly popped out of her head as she read the last name on the list. She began to shake her head in disbelief. Dumbledore wouldn't do that to them - not when they'd worked so hard to bring this mission about. Having this person on their team would surely lessen their chances for success.

"Impossible," she said in her typical matter-of-fact way. "He'll never do it." Ron shook his head.

"That's what I said, but I've just come from Dumbledore's office, and he assures me that he will join us, if we approach him in a -" he paused, grimacing. "Delicate manner."

"Well, I'm not recruiting him," she snapped. "I can go visit these three." She pointed down at the top three names on the list. Ron looked at the last two names.

"I'll go see this one."

"Harry might do it," she said tentatively, still staring at the last - slightly ominous - name on their list.

"Bollocks. No, we don't have to approach him. I know who can do it, and I have confidence that he'll agree to join us."

"Who?" Ron's cheeks turned a bit pink as he tried to think of a delicate way of breaking the news of Pansy's involvement to Hermione. He knew that she still disliked the woman based on the way she'd pursued Ron while they'd been at Hogwarts. What Hermione didn't know, and what Ron would never tell her, was that Pansy had actually succeeded to some degree. All Hermione knew was that Pansy had wanted Ron.

"Another Ministry employee," he said, skirting the issue. Hermione's eyebrows shot up, rising so high that they almost disappeared into her hairline.

"Who?" she repeated. Ron rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled something under his breath, hoping that Hermione wouldn't hear him. When her eyes nearly popped out of her head, he knew that she'd heard him anyway. "What? You have got to be kidding me!"

"She sort of forced my hand, so to speak," he said, not meeting her eyes.

"How did she find out?" Hermione demanded.

"Her father told her."

"What?" The more Ron told her, the more indignant she became. "How does he know? He's nothing to do with the ruddy committee that Dumbledore put together! You know what this means as well as I do, Ron."

"We have a leak. I know," he said miserably. "But until we can figure out who it is, there's nothing we can do except move forward with the orders."

Hermione was silent for a moment. "So all she's going to do is notify him, and then she's done?"

"Not exactly," Ron sighed. "She's going to be my ... assistant, I suppose."

"No," Hermione said defiantly, shaking her head. She removed her lab robe and draped it over the hook on the wall. "No, I can't believe it. She's bullied you into doing this, and you're just going to let her, even though you're heading the team, and you have the power to stop her?"

"Hermione-" he started. His voice died when he thought about it. How could he explain to Hermione that once Pansy made up her mind what she wanted, there was nothing and no one that could prevent her from getting it? Pansy would have made a damned nuisance out of herself if he'd turned her down and stuck to his decision. Better to just let her think he'd been bullied, even though it wounded his pride to know that she thought he'd buckle so easily.

"I'm going home, Ronald. If you decide that you want to come with me and discuss this, then fine. If you'd rather go back to your own office and consort with that - with that - trollop, then that's fine, too!"

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a syllable, she was gone.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

When he returned to his office, his shoulders were slumped in defeat. He was ready to go home, but at the same time, he knew that Hermione would be in a right state. They'd had fights like this before; fights that would start at work, and then escalate when they both returned to their flat. Ron was beginning to wonder if it was such a good idea for them both to be working for the Ministry.

He opened the door to his office to find Pansy lounging in his chair, her high-heeled feet propped up on his desk, crossed at the ankles. He sighed.

"What's the matter, pet?" she asked calmly, examining the flawless red polish on her nails. "Did the little woman not like the news you delivered?"

"For once, Parkinson, you're spot on," he grumbled, tugging at his wrinkled tie. "Now would you mind moving your lazy, overprivileged arse out of my chair?"

"Well," she said, looking up at him and narrowing her eyes. "Someone certainly woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"Actually, I was perfectly fine until you showed up," he snapped. He moved forward and touched his hand to her ankle, ignoring the tingling sensation that the contact elicited (it was just an ankle, for Merlin's sake), and roughly pushed her feet off of his desk. Her lips curved up into a knowing smirk.

"Yes, you were fine," she purred, slowly rising from his chair. "Because she makes you so happy, right?"

She was standing so close to him that their noses were almost touching, and it was unnerving him. "I'm very happy with Hermione, not that it's any of your business."

"Oh, sugar," she said, stepping out of his way. "I make it my business to know."

Ron closed his eyes and sighed. This was going to be one hell of a long night.