Assassins

Chapter Five

Being back on Hogwarts grounds was a bit intimidating, if Ron were perfectly honest with himself. As he pushed open the heavy oak doors that led inside the castle, he felt like a frightened ten-year-old again. Immediately his senses were inundated - the scent of breakfast wafted in from the Great Hall; whispers and laughter of students echoed against the cool stones.

He swallowed down a lump in his throat and headed straight for Dumbledore's office. If he stayed in one place for too long, he might stand there reminiscing and forget all about the task at hand, which he could not afford to do. Once he was standing in front of the statue, he sighed noisily.

"Fizzing Whizzby." Nothing happened. He frowned. "Lemon drops." Again, nothing happened. He had just opened his mouth to guess again when someone else said the password for him.

"Droobles' Best Blowing Gum." Ron turned and raised his eyebrows.

"Professor McGonagall," he said, greeting her with a curt nod.

"How have you been, Mister Weasley?"

"I've been fine - and yourself?"

"As well as can be expected. Well, you ought to get up there - I know he was expecting you this morning."

"Thanks, Professor," he said softly, watching her amble away. War had not been kind to her; Ron could see more wrinkles than he ever remembered her having. He shook his head and climbed the stairs slowly, clearing his throat when he reached Dumbledore's inner office.

"Ah, Good morning, Ron," he said fondly, his eyes twinkling. He gestured towards the seat that faced his desk. "Please, have a seat." Ron sat down and shifted nervously.

"Good morning, Sir."

"What news have you for me this morning?"

"Everyone has agreed."

"Most excellent." Ron opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated. "Is there something else you'd like to tell me?"

"Well, one of the recruits didn't exactly say yes, but Hermione thinks-"

"And I rather agree with her." Ron gaped at the old man.

"You know?"

"I do, Ron."

Ron leaned forward. "Can I ask you something, Sir?"

"Absolutely."

"Why did you choose Malfoy, of all people?" Ron was momentarily distracted by the sounds of loud protests coming from behind the Headmaster. Dumbledore turned to eye the portraits behind him.

"Dumbledore! A Malfoy? How could you?" A scandalized woman's voice demanded.

"Really, what were you thinking?" A male voice asked.

"Now, now; calm yourself, Dilys. You know very well why I chose the boy."

"Care to explain it to me?" the man demanded. Dumbledore leveled a stare at him.

"Perhaps you would allow me to explain it to Mister Weasley, and simply listen along with him? I'm afraid I don't fancy repeating the same story several times over, Everard." The man crossed his arms over his chest and sat down in the chair behind him as Dumbledore turned back to Ron.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Ron muttered sheepishly. Dumbledore gave him a half-smile.

"It's quite all right, actually. Phineas," Dumbledore turned unexpectedly toward the portrait of Hogwarts least favorite headmaster. "Perhaps you could explain why I chose Mr. Malfoy for this assignment?"

"Because he's a Slytherin down to the very last drop of blood coursing through his veins," the portrait replied in a bored voice as he examined his fingernails. Dumbledore nodded as though this were exactly what he had expected to hear.

"And?" He prodded the corner of the portrait, causing the figure of Phineas Nigellus to jump back into his faded chair and curse.

"And," he said dryly, running a hand through what was once a full head of hair. "Slytherins do whatever is necessary to achieve their ends. Did you never listen to the sorting hat's song in your seven years at Hogwarts, Weasley?" Ron ignored the portrait and turned back to Dumbledore.

"I know, they're cunning and ambitious and all of that, but don't you think he'll turn on us if he has the chance to get what he wants, and as a result, betray us in the process?" Dubledore was nodding solemnly at this statement, and almost as an afterthought, Ron added, "We can't give him what he wants, anyway."

"Ah, yes - I was hoping we could get to that point. Miss Granger promised him something in return for his involvement, is that correct?" It wasn't really a question, but Ron had learned many years ago not to question the old man's omniscience.

"She promised him impossible things when she spoke to him," Ron said desperately. "She promised him that she could restore his money, home, and the family name. To do that we'd have to involve Dad, and we both know that that's an impossibility! Malfoy'll quit as soon as he knows that Hermione lied to him!"

"All is not lost, Ron," Dumbledore said gently. "There may be as yet unforeseen circumstances that will allow Miss Granger to fulfill her end of the bargain - assuming that Mister Malfoy fulfills his to her satisfaction."

"What are you saying, Sir?" Ron asked, utterly confused.

"I'm saying don't give up hope yet. Later this afternoon I will owl you with the location that the recruits are to report to. Please meet them upon their arrival and debrief them, as I'm sure they're curious to know what they've gotten themselves into."

"I'm sure," Ron echoed dully.

"In the meantime, I'm afraid that I have to call our little meeting short. I have some things to tend to at the Ministry, and I'd like to be back before dinner." Dumbledore rose from his seat, and Ron did the same. Just as Ron was about to head down the staircase, Dumbledore laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Ron turned to give him a quizzical look.

"Sir?"

"Believe it or not, Ron, there is always a light, even at the end of the darkest tunnel. It is up to you to find the good in every situation, and make the most of it."

"I'll keep that in mind when Malfoy manages to ruin everything we've worked for," Ron muttered under his breath. He was fairly certain that the old man had heard his muttered oath as he exited the office. When he was gone, Dumbledore exhaled slowly.

"Why didn't you tell the boy that you're retiring, Dumbledore?" one of the portraits demanded. Dumbledore turned tired eyes towards the speaker.

"Because I fear that this may be our last chance for success, and he has enough pressure on him as it is. He knows what he needs to know, and I'm not willing to sacrifice this mission for the want of foolish sentimentality."

"Bugger that," another portrait chimed in. "If you've trusted him with this much information, surely he's entitled to know that you're not going to be here much longer! After all, what will happen when he comes to see you again and finds Minerva here in your stead?"

"Dilys, you know very well why I've even stayed here this long."

"Yes, yes - the protection and overseeing of Harry Potter, and all of that rot," she snapped waspishly. "Harry Potter is an adult and capable of making his own decisions now, you know. No overseeing left there to do."

"That's highly arguable," Everard interrupted calmly. "Have you seen the latest article in the Prophet? He's been at it again."

"The boy's temper is legendary," Dilys conceded. "And to think, Weasley was worried about the Malfoy boy."

"That boy won't be able to control Potter, Dumbledore, and well you know it!" Phineus cried, outraged. Dumbledore turned amused eyes to the portrait.

"Of whom are you speaking, Phineus? Draco Malfoy, or Ron Weasley?"

"Neither one of them can handle him - and that's on a good day!"

"Allow me to put your mind at ease, then," Dumbledore said, amusement thick in his voice. "Miss Hermione Granger will be the one responsible for their training, not Ron Weasley." A roar of protests went up from several different portraits.

"What?!"

"You're sending her into that bunch of miscreants?"

"The best student in the history of Hogwarts, and you're feeding her to the lions!"

"Now, now," Dumbledore said calmly, gesturing for silence. "Miss Granger is more than capable of handling the situation."

"But you're putting her into seclusion for Merlin knows how long - and with a Malfoy, no less! He'll rip her to shreds before he takes orders from her!"

"Everard, it's already been decided. And perhaps Mister Malfoy will surprise you, after all."

"I doubt it," Everard mumbled, watching Dumbledore exit the office. "Then again, he might surprise us. He might kill everyone around him, instead of just killing the girl."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"Why, Ron, this is a pleasant surprise," Arthur said, giving his youngest son a brilliant smile. Ron grinned back and nodded.

"I don't take you out to lunch enough, Dad. We both work in the same building, and I hardly ever see you anymore."

"So," Arthur began, spearing a potato with his fork. "How are things between you and Hermione? Everything going well, I hope?"

Ron glanced down at his food. "We're fine. You know Hermione - she has a tendency to get absorbed with her work."

Arthur studied Ron's face silently for a moment, and then cleared his throat. "Is something wrong between the two of you?"

"No," Ron denied, shaking his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway."

"What's happened?"

"Nothing, really," Ron sighed, replacing his fork on the table. "She just - she can be so - how did you know that Mum was the right woman for you?"

Arthur smiled wistfully at this. "Having doubts, are you, then? Well, when I met your mother, sparks flew. Literally."

"What?" Ron laughed.

"She was trying to cast some spell that she'd heard about from one of her friends, and instead of it doing what she wanted it to do, her wand exploded. The sparks flew everywhere - including onto my dress robes, which caught fire almost immediately."

"Bollocks," Ron said, sniggering.

"It's true, every word," Arthur affirmed, grinning.

"What kind of spell was she trying to cast?"

"You know," Arthur said thoughtfully. "I don't think she ever told me that."

"And she wonders where Fred and George get their tendency for mischief," Ron chuckled. "So you knew right then that you were going to marry her?"

"Oh heavens, no," Arthur said, shaking his head. "It wasn't immediate. Nothing is ever immediate, Ron. What is it that the Muggles are so fond of saying? Anything worth having is worth waiting for."

"But what if you're not willing to wait?" Ron inquired softly.

"Are you telling me that you want to ask Hermione to marry you right away, or are you telling me that you don't want to be with her any longer?"

"I don't know what I want," Ron admitted, staring at his untouched food.

"Then might I make a suggestion? Better to stay with her until you do figure out what you want."

"Why is that?"

"You might leave her only to find that she was what you wanted, and then it may be impossible to win her back."

Arthur's words rung in Ron's ears all the way back to the Burrow, but were forgotten as soon as he and his father walked in the door. Molly and Ginny were red-faced and engaged in what appeared to be a very heated row.

"I'm not going to argue with you, Mum- or you either, Dad," Ginny said as she packed her trunk. She sidestepped her mother, who seemed to think that blocking her daughter's movements would somehow change her mind.

"Ginny, dear, we're not trying to control you! You're a grown woman!" Ginny snorted, but Molly ignored her and tried standing in front of the trunk again. "We just want to know where you're going to be for this undetermined amount of time- as you so succinctly put it." Molly wiped her brow and glanced furtively at Arthur and Ron. The latter, who at that moment wished he were no more conspicuous than a fly on the wall, looked down at the floor, his ears burning. The former, who had some experience with his wife's temper, jumped to his feet.

"Your mother's right, Gin- especially now." He was talking about the twins and every one of them knew it, but Ginny wasn't going to let her father bait her. "We just want to know where you're going to be, that's all." He gave her a half smile and silently prayed that she would just give in.

"I've already told you that I can't tell you anything. I can't tell anyone anything." She slammed her trunk shut and pulled it off of her bed as Ron continued to stare at the floor.

"Ronald-" Molly's interest had shifted from her only daughter to her youngest son and Ron knew his turn under the microscope had come. "You're being awfully quiet. Do you know something about this? Is this Ministry business?" Molly had moved in front of Ron and was studying his face.

"Now, Molly," Arthur cleared his throat and laughed. "Surely if this were something to do with the Ministry, I of all people would know about it!" Molly turned from Ron and stared at Arthur.

"Don't forget, Minister, that he does the dirty work around that place. How much of it do you really think he tells you about?" Ginny had levitated her trunk and was calmly walking down the stairs as her mother, father, and brother tromped behind her.

"Speaking of dirty work, where's your assistant, Ron?" Ginny knew she had to change the subject somehow; Molly had come awfully close to discovering the truth.

"What assistant?" Arthur asked as they reached the bottom of the stairs and moved into the dining room.

"Pansy Parkinson has been assisting me with some boring paperwork," Ron said briskly to his father. "And I believe she took the day off to spend some time with her mother."

"I never did like that family for obvious reasons- but at least she visits her mother! I doubt Pansy Parkinson would ever leave for Merlin knows how long and go Merlin knows where without telling her mother about it!" One of Ginny's hands was on the doorknob, the other holding her wand as she rolled her eyes.

"Mum, Dad, I love both of you very much. As soon as I'm able to, I'll write." She gave each of them a quick hug and kiss, remembering at the last moment to give Ron one as well - since she wasn't supposed to be seeing him either - before walking out the door.

"I still think you know more than what you're telling us," Molly huffed, turning to her son. Ron could see that she was fighting back tears, and a wave of guilt swept over him. If she knew what Ginny was getting into, she'd be doing more than crying.

"Mum, I'm a peon at the Ministry," Ron said, shaking his head. "Why would anyone tell me anything?"

"You're not fooling me one bit, Ronald," his mother snapped, her eyes wild. "I'm not daft, you know! I listen to you when you come over for dinner, and I remember everything."

"She does," Arthur put in. Ron stifled a laugh at the serious look on his father's face. He was, quite possibly, the most powerful political figure in the British Wizarding World at the present, and yet here he was, being henpecked by his wife. The hilarity of it all hit Ron like a ton of bricks, and he was unable to contain the laughter any longer.

"And just what is so funny?" Molly demanded, her hands flying to her hips.

"You think that I'm high enough in the Ministry to be informed of anything," he ad-libbed, still laughing. Molly's expression softened slightly.

"Are you sure you don't know anything about where Ginny's going, or what she'll be doing?"

"I'm sure that I don't know," Ron replied honestly, wiping the tears from his eyes. He didn't know any of the pertinent information regarding the whereabouts of the training site or the specific things the recruits would be doing; Hermione held all of that particular knowledge. Molly sighed heavily.

"All right, then. I believe you. Now let's all go and have a spot of tea to calm our nerves, because Merlin knows that we need it."

Ron made a mental note to buy his Mother a whole case of tea - she was going to need it before long.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

More Hijinks From the Boy Who Lived!

By Rita Skeeter, Staff Reporter

It would seem that the Wizarding world of Britain has more than one evil wizard to fear. Rivaling the Dark Lord himself, Harry Potter had another temper tantrum in front of the Quidditch team that he owns - namely, the Tutshill Tornados. In a fit of rage brought on by dirty drinking water, Potter fired the star Seeker of the team, his former flame, Cho Chang. This was Potter's fifth recorded tantrum in two months. When contacted, Potter declined to comment.

Harry snorted in disgust and tossed his copy of the Daily Prophet to the floor. When was he going to stop making the front page? Was it really his fault that he had an increasingly bad temper when it came to- well, just about everything? He supposed that that was an unfortunate side effect of being connected to the most evil wizard who had ever lived.

"Unless you count me," he said out loud to himself, as he moved into his bedroom to begin packing. He frowned as he opened his suitcase and began throwing items in at random.

Rita Skeeter had long since abandoned any peace treaty that Hermione had put in place for her; Hermione spent long hours at the Ministry, working so much that she barely even read the Prophet anymore. She was involved in all of the big happenings, Harry knew, so why should she bother reading what she already knew about?

Still, it never ceased to strike a nerve with him when he saw his name splattered across the front page like that. He slammed the suitcase shut and zipped it up with more force than was necessary. Some elements of the story had been true, but others had been blatantly falsified.

For starters, he hadn't fired Cho - he'd suspended her. She had it coming, really. She'd been losing matches for them left and right, and Harry was tired of her noncommittal attitude. When he'd confronted her about it, she'd laid into him - in front of the entire team. That was unacceptable.

He did own the Tornados, but Skeeter had failed to mention that he was also the assistant coach - though he rarely showed up to practices, he was always at the matches, hidden away in a private box somewhere.

And what was with the dirty drinking water comment? He wondered. Before he had too much time to contemplate it, someone knocked on his door. He put his suitcase on the living room floor and peered through the eyehole in his front door.

"Harry, I know you're in there, so open the fuck up," the woman snapped impatiently. Harry groaned silently as he whispered the counter-charms for the locks on his door, and then unbolted the Muggle lock that he always used in addition to the magical ones.

"What do you want, Courtney?" The woman had short, fiery red hair, and piercing blue eyes.

"I want you to tell me why I haven't fucking well seen you in a week," she demanded, pushing past him and entering his flat uninvited. As soon as he'd closed the door, she rounded on him. "I've been sleeping with you for almost three months now, and you still have yet to tell me anything about yourself!"

"Did you ever think that there might be a reason for that?" he deadpanned, glaring at her.

"I refuse to be used by you, or any other man!" she shrieked, gesturing wildly with her hands. Her eyes darted around the room and landed on his suitcase. She narrowed her eyes at him and her lips thinned into a white line. "Where are you going?"

"Away."

"Where to?" she pressed.

"Look, I don't owe you any fucking explanations about where I'm going, why I'm leaving, or how long I'm going to be there!" he snarled, his emerald eyes flashing dangerously. "We're not dating, we're not married - so why don't you just get the hell out of here?"

Courtney's bottom lip trembled slightly as she stared at him. In the three months that they'd been having relations, she'd never heard him so much as raise his voice, let alone curse at her.

"That's it, then," she said, her voice shaking.

"That's it," he said, his anger cooling as suddenly as it had begun. "Please leave."

Courtney walked briskly to the door, but before she left, she turned and looked at Harry. "Believe it or not," she whispered, "I'll miss you."

She was gone before Harry even had the time to roll his eyes.