The Man With The Golden Wand

The Man With The Golden Wand

Chapter 1: Deja Vu

It was one of those days.

It was a rainy day, and I was trapped inside with my thoughts. Rain always makes me think of her. Her who? I'll give you three guesses.

Hermione.

I was sitting around the Chudley Cave, my place to go when I want to be alone, and listening to the pitter-patter of the rain. Damn it, I couldn't get her out of my head. It had been six months since I last saw her, and I was still thinking of her. I blame the rain. Although, when I think of her and rain, I think of being knocked unconscious in a dark alley, which is probably not the most romantic situation to be dwelling on.

So there I was, moping in the Chudley Cave, when there was a knock on the door. I got up to look through the eye hole, and saw my best friend Harry Potter standing around with his hands in his pockets, looking absolutely soaked. However, since I had had a bad experience with a pseudo-Harry a few months back, I was not in a hurry to let him in. No sense in taking unnecessary chances.

"Password," I called.

"Come off it, Ron. Don't be an arse," Harry called back irritably. "It's me."

"Password."

He sighed. "Oh fine. Chudley Cannons rule."

"Damn right." I waved my wand and a door materialized in the wall. Harry stood there, scowling at me; I just smiled.

"Welcome to the Chudley Cave, Harry. Come on in."

He gave me a strange look. "You have issues, you know."

I resumed my seat on the worn sofa and reached into the cooler by my side. Pulling out two butterbeers I offered one to Harry.

"I presume you had a real reason for coming here," I commented, taking a sip of my drink.

Harry took a long pull of his and wiped his mouth. "It's your sister."

"What about my sister?"

"She's been going to Azkaban a lot lately. I'm worried about her. I wanted to tell you this before, but you were always out of the country."

I stood up and went to my microwave. I love muggle technology. I've outfitted the Chudley Cave with a television, microwave, blender, refrigerator, and a waterbed. Yes, waterbed. I enjoy the soothing rocking motion.

"And I'm leaving again for Japan in the morning," I said. "So if you have something important to tell me, hurry up."

"I think Ginny's been seeing Malfoy."

He was slurring his words. I turned around and inspected his appearance. Besides being wet, he was looking incredibly run-down.

"Harry, are you drunk?" I asked incredulously.

"Not really," he replied. "Now, about Malfoy and Ginny..."

"I think you're making a big deal out of nothing," I said. "She's probably just interrogating him. How long is he supposed to be in there, anyway?"

Harry shrugged. "I haven't a clue."

Suddenly a piercing alarm went off, and Harry clasped his hands to his ears. I went over to the television set and switched it on. Sirius's head stared back at me.

"Whoa," Harry said as soon as the noise subsided. "What's this?"

"Dad set it up for me," I replied. "It's something called video conferencing. It's easier than fire. Hello, Boss."

"Agent Rook, Agent Flash. How are you?"

"I'm fine," I replied. "Harry's drunk."

"Am not," he slurred. He stumbled over to my waterbed, fell onto it, and promptly fell asleep.

"What was that about?" Sirius asked dazedly.

"Harry's worried about Ginny," I answered. "He thinks she's involved somehow with Malfoy."

Sirius looked worried. "Maybe he's right."

I spat out a mouthful of butterbeer. "What?"

"Draco Malfoy escaped today from Azkaban. The door to his cell was open and the Dementor set to guard him nowhere in sight." Sirius sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "But it's more than that. There have been rumors of Death Eater activity in America. And this afternoon a man fitting Malfoy's description and an unidentified woman boarded a plane to Boston, Massachusetts."

I placed my popcorn in the microwave. Who invented microwave popcorn anyway? Genius, really.

"So, am I headed to Boston?" I asked.

He nodded. "You'll meet up there with a member of the American Aurors who's been tracking the Death Eater activity. This agent will be your partner for this mission."

I had stopped listening after the words: American Aurors. A very familiar voice in my head said, "I joined the AA, Ron. The American Aurors."

"Rook, are you listening?"

I started. "Oops, sorry, Boss."

Sirius glared at me. "You'll set out for Massachusetts from M.A.T.D.A. in the morning. You'll be going alone." His eyes traveled to Harry's prone body on my bed. "Whatever you do, don't let Harry come. He can't keep a hold on his emotions if Ginny's involved."

I looked at him in surprise. "Ginny's my sister," I reminded him.

"Yes," he said morosely, "but Harry's in love with her."

Then he switched off, leaving me gaping at my television set. Harry, in love with Ginny? I shook my head. I didn't have time to concentrate on the love lives of my friends. Hell, I couldn't even concentrate on my love life, or lack thereof.

Boston, Massachusetts. Hermione. Shit.

* * *

Harry spent the night passed out on my bed, so I slept on the sofa. At around 3 am, a face appeared in my fireplace. It was Ginny.

"Ron," she hissed. "Wake up!"

"Hmm?" I said sleepily. "Ginny? What are you doing in my fireplace?"

"I have to talk to you! Draco...Malfoy's gone!"

I almost didn't catch that pause between Draco and Malfoy. I also took note of the slight edge of hysteria in her voice.

"Don't worry, Gin," I muttered. "I'll catch him."

"I'm leaving to look for him, Ron," Ginny said. "It's my responsibility."

That woke me up in a hurry. I felt like my waterbed had sprung a leak and splattered me with water.

"Ginny, Sirius already assigned me to go after him. I leave later today. Relax, all right? It's not like you set him free." A horrible thought occurred. "You didn't, right?"

"Of course not," Ginny said, annoyed. "But I'm worried about...about letting the Dark Lord's minion escape."

I knew something was wrong. Ginny was acting very peculiarly. Since when was she so concerned about Malfoy's welfare?

"Ginny," I yawned, "go back to sleep. I'm going after the ferret later today. Don't worry, I'll return the rodent to his cage."

"Be careful," she whispered. "I don't think Draco escaped; he was set free."

She "hung up" our call and the fire died to a few glowing embers. I stared stupidly at them for a moment before my tired brain registered the one important word in that sentence.

She called him 'Draco'.

I groaned. This couldn't be happening. How was I supposed to be a suave and sexy super-spy when my friends and family continued to drag me into their daytime soap-opera lives?

I looked over at Harry and shook my head sadly. The poor bloke finally realized what a catch my sister was and by the time he figured it out she had fallen for the enemy. Perfect.

I buried my head in my pillow; I had other things to worry about. I was supposed to work with an agent of the American Aurors, the place Hermione worked, and this person had been tracking Death Eaters in America. Ten to one it was Hermione herself. I could feel it in my bones.

She told me she loved me, well, actually she wrote that she loved me. And she still left. Six months had gone by and I hadn't heard from her. I searched for awhile until I realized that I was wasting my time. She didn't want to be found. If I stopped looking, maybe I'd find her by accident.

So I stopped. I went out with several woman, none of whom lasted more than a week, and attempted to forget her. It hadn't worked ten years ago, I don't know why I thought it would work now.

I left Harry where he was and snuck back to my house to pack. I threw in several of the gadgets Dad had made for me, and a change of clothing. I preferred to keep my wand on me at all times, but I packed a gun in my bag. Handy little things, who would have thought that muggles could have come up with such an ingenious way to kill people?

I left a few hours later after checking on Harry. There was certainly no danger of him following me, seeing as he was still dead asleep. I taped a note to the fridge and sealed the door behind me. He could take the fireplace home.

I decided that rather than Apparating, I would drive to M.A.T.D.A. The Chudley Mobile could use some exercise.

"Hello," I said cheerfully as I got in the car. "How are you today?"

"Seeing as I am an inanimate object, Mr. Weasley," the car replied, "I do not 'feel'. I am however running at maximum efficiency and have no need for petrol."

"That's good," I replied awkwardly. "To M.A.T.D.A., please."

The car took off. I pushed the Invisibility Booster and allowed myself some time to relax as the car sped off towards work. I tried not to think about Malfoy, Hermione, Ginny, or Harry, and instead thought about Quidditch.

The Chudley Mobile had just pulled up to M.A.T.D.A., when a small, slight figure came running out the door.

Tristen Romas was a mess. Her long golden hair looked as though it hadn't been brushed in weeks and her green eyes were red-rimmed from crying.

'Uh oh,' I thought. 'I'm in trouble now.'

"Ron Weasley!" she cried and I winced. "How could you do this to me? I thought there was something special between us and you hurt me like this!" She was sobbing now. "I woke up and you were gone! Do you have any idea how that made me feel?"

Did I mention that Tristen was my most recent one-night stand?

I leaned forward and cupped her face in my hands, forcing her eyes to meet mine.

"Baby, it's not you, it's me. I'm a wild stallion, and I can't be tamed." I grimaced, having promised myself I would never again use that expression to dump a woman. I felt so dirty for having perjured myself like that.

I left Tristen standing there with tears dripping down her face, looking somewhat gratified, and entered the building.

M.A.T.D.A. was a flurry of activity. I strode towards the security gate and was accosted.

"Identify!"

"Agent Rook aka Ron Weasley, password Checkmate," I replied.

"Proceed to the Chamber."

I had been through this exact procedure an uncountable number of times, and yet every time the security wizards felt the need to frisk me. Hell, it's not my fault I'm devilishly handsome.

I was shuffled along to a debriefing room, where Sirius joined me shortly after. He tossed me a small sheaf of papers from across the table.

"You'll be traveling under your own name, on the pretense of a vacation. There's no need to go undercover. You'll take a plane to Boston, Massachusetts and an agent of the AA will meet you and brief you on the situation over there. Take your wand and whatever other gadgets your father has supplied you with." He smiled. "How's Harry?"

I shrugged. "I left before he woke up. He'll have a nasty hangover when he does, though."

"I suppose that's it then," Sirius said. He started to leave and then turned back. "Oh, and Rook? Do us a favor and stop running through the women of M.A.T.D.A. as if they were disposable flatware. I've already had to send home three women who were complaining about broken hearts."

He left and I tried hard not to laugh. It wasn't my fault if breaking up with me caused such emotional damage. Honestly, from the way he talked you'd think I planned to make the ladies swoon.

I Disapparated a short distance from the airport after leaving the Chudley Mobile at M.A.T.D.A., and headed for the terminal. I was attired in my usual trench-coat and fedora, trying my best to look inconspicuous which isn't easy when you're over 6 feet tall and have flaming red hair. Everything went smoothly as I walked onto the plane, but I had a sneaking suspicion that I was being followed.

I went to my seat (which was in first class) and ordered a drink. I have a confession to make: I'm not that fond of airplanes. It isn't a fear of flying, I mean, I've flown a broomstick several times and my car flies for christsakes, but planes make me uncomfortable. There's no control. For all I know the pilot could be asleep in the cockpit. Fortunately I don't have to take planes very often.

I proceeded to drown a couple of those tiny bottles of liquor the flight attendants supply. They wouldn't make me a Tequila Sunrise, so I settled for some whiskey.

Then I got that feeling again. I knew someone was watching me. I turned around in my seat and tried to look behind me. The woman in the next seat was fastidiously ignoring my odd behavior and appeared to be very immersed in a battered copy of Romeo and Juliet. I stared at her for a few moments until she lifted her head and looked at me. Her blue eyes were regarding me with as much insolence as mine were watching her.

"Is someting ze matter?" she asked. Her accent was French, which explained the blue eyes and blonde hair. Veela, no doubt. Except that she wasn't having any unusual effect on me. I found that suspicious.

I also found it suspicious that she was wearing the socks Mum had knitted for her.

"Damn it," I cried. "What the hell are you doing here, Ginny? I told you I would handle it! Change back right now, you look ridiculous!"

"I didn't look ridiculous before you knew it was me and you were trying to peer down my blouse," my sister replied cooly.

I was outraged. "I was not! And you didn't answer my question: what are you doing here?"

"I'm going to find Malfoy," she replied, avoiding my eyes. "I have to."

"Why?" I asked, exasperated. "Why is it so important? I told you I would get him back!"

She bit her lip. "But he's in trouble. I know it. I have to help him, Ron."

I sighed. "Do you love him?"

She paled. "What makes you ask that?"

I pointed to her book. "'Two households, both alike in dignity'," I quoted. "Not to mention that Harry told me you had been to Azkaban a lot lately."

She was pink now. "I refuse to discuss it. I'm going to the bathroom."

She unbuckled her belt and bolted towards the back of the plane. I sighed again and gulped down another one of those tiny bottles. Ginny was allowing her judgement to be clouded. I couldn't take her with me, she'd endanger the mission. As heartless as it sounded, I'd have to ditch her in the airport.

When she came back I pretended to be asleep to avoid conversation. She seemed intent to do the same.

When the plane finally landed I stumbled off and swore that I would never drink and fly again. Ginny disappeared into the crowd without so much as a goodbye. I knew she could take care of herself, but a part of me was worried.

As I stepped into the airport terminal I glanced around. There was a group of nuns collecting money for some charity, a family arguing over lost luggage, and a businessman talking on his phone. I headed towards the nuns.

Why the nuns? Who'd ever suspect a nun? Well, besides me. Besides, nuns never travel in threes; one was an imposter.

Two of them crossed themselves as they saw me bearing down on them, fedora firmly in place. The third, who was much younger than the other two, smiled at me serenely.

"Good afternoon, sir," she said. "Would you like to make a donation to the Church of Saint Christopher?"

I smiled back. "Certainly, but I'm afraid that I left my wallet in my luggage."

She clucked. "That is a shame. But here, allow me to write down the address of the Church, so you may send future donations."

"That would be wonderful," I agreed.

She scribbled something down and handed it to me. Then she smiled again and held out the collection basket to another man who had approached. I walked a distance away and glanced at the paper.

Second Floor, Office of Security. Agent Dane.

I crumpled it into a tiny ball and entered the bathroom. Then I flushed it down the toilet.

Casually I walked through the Boston Airport until I reached a door labeled Office of Security. I pushed the door open and entered. A woman was sitting behind the desk. To be more specific, the nun was sitting behind the desk.

"Agent Rook, I presume," she said cheerfully.

"Weasley," I said. "Ron Weasley. Call me Ron."

"I'm Agent Dane," she replied. "Are you ready to go?"

"I don't have my luggage," I said. "And may I just say that you are the worst nun ever?"

"I'm not even Catholic," she answered. "Your luggage has been sent ahead."

"How do I know I can trust you?" I asked. "If a couple of twelve year olds can make a Polyjuice Potion, it seems anyone can these days. Not to mention I've never seen you before in my life."

Her brow furrowed as though she was thinking hard. "What was it I was supposed to say to you?...I can't remember...oh, yes." She grinned. "The, uh, Chudley Cannons rule'."

I smiled back. "Damn straight. So, are you my partner?"

"No, but I'll take you to meet that agent if you're ready."

"Sure," I said. "Let's go."

"Touch this," she said, indicating the pencil holder on her desk. "It's a Portkey."

So I touched it. I felt a pulling sensation on my naval and was whisked away. I'd have to say that I'd even prefer a Portkey to a plane flight.

I fell out into a conference room where there were several people seated around a large rectangular mahogany table. The person seated at the head of the table gave me a dark look.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Weasley."

I stood up and brushed off my trench coat, gasping slightly for breath. I looked up and met her eyes.

"Hello, Hermione."