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Ring A Ring O' Roses	By : Gallivant Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 16640 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Events take a sinister turn on the eve of the mission to South America. Someone... or something... is determined to stop further investigations into Dark Flux, and at any cost.

7. Ghost Pin

Hermione could see Ron was in a terrible hurry to tell her something. Watching from her study window, where she had been organising case files for her Tribunal hearing later that week, she saw him fly at unusually great speed into the garden. He then leaped from his broom, straight into a skidding run, leaving the unpiloted broom to crash heavily into a low-hanging branch of the crab-apple tree at the bottom of their garden.

Hermione hoped his news was actually worth the price of a good broom.

She hurried into the kitchen, convinced that he was going to bust the back door off its hinges in his haste to get indoors, but was glad to see that somehow the door had withstood the force.

'Hermione! You're not going to believe this,' Ron panted, his face flushed with exertion. 'Draco Malfoy's been shot!'

Hermione didn't answer at first, convinced he must have been hit by a jelly-brained jinx, and was silently cursing his brother George, who Ron had just been visiting.

'Didn't you hear me? Draco Malfoy's been shot! MUGGLE shot,' Ron repeated, his eyes agog.

'Yes, I heard you, Ron,' Hermione said wearily, reaching out for her trusty 'Oakum's Compilation: Counter-Spells & Counter-Curses for the Persistently Unlucky' which she always kept handy on a bookshelf alongside her favourite Muggle cookbooks. She was sure she'd seen a nice and easy counter-curse for just this thing.

'It's true, Hermione. It's not just wishful thinking. He was shot. In Central London,' Ron said, exasperated. 'Put the bloody book down and listen, will you?'

'Hold on. Did you say wishful thinking? You actually wanted him to get shot? That's not very nice, Ron. Not nice at all,' Hermione said, beginning to see that her husband was in deadly earnest. 'So… is he… is he alive?'

'Oh yes, he'll live,' Ron said breezily. 'He's in St Mungo's. But don't you see? This might affect our assignment.'

Hermione would have danced with relief if it hadn't been for her reprimanding Ron just moments earlier for wishing ill on Draco. 'Well, I guess he can't go haring off to South America with a gunshot wound, can he? Where was he shot exactly?'

Ron pondered this a moment. 'Not too sure about that one. George said it was somewhere like Hoho… or Boho… .'

'SOHO,' Hermione corrected, in cross tones. 'And I meant, where on his body?'

'Shoulder or leg. One of the two. We can ask George later. He's popped to The Leaky Cauldron to get the latest news.'

Hermione poured Ron a pumpkin juice. He was still glowing pink from his flight.

'If it's just a flesh wound, St Mungo's should be able to sort him out pretty quickly,' she said. Once the bullet had been removed, a spot of Vulnera Sanentur should do the trick, she mused. 'Seems kind of peculiar though, don't you think? I can't remember the last time I heard of a Muggle shooting a wizard, can you? I wonder what happened.'

'He was lying in an alley for over an hour before anybody found him. And he didn't have his wand, so he was pretty defenceless.' Ron paused to glug back some pumpkin juice. 'The shooting happened shortly after midnight, apparently.'

'Really?' Hermione was very surprised to hear this. She had been at Malfoy Manor until half past eleven, she reckoned, so he must have headed into London almost directly after she left.

'That's all we know at the moment.' Ron gulped back the rest of his juice and slammed the glass onto the kitchen table. 'Stupid bloody sod,' he said, spluttering with laughter. 'Looks like he pisses Muggles off as much as he does us wizards!'

'You'd better owl him, Ron. Check what's happening with your trip,' Hermione sighed, putting trusty 'Oakum's' back on the shelf. 'And… check he's okay while you're at it,' she added, almost as an afterthought.

XXX

Draco was adamant that the trip to Argentina should go ahead. He insisted that it was only a flesh wound and that the mediwizards at St Mungo's had performed wonders on him. Apparently, he had already checked himself out, and was being fussed over by his mother at Malfoy Manor.

'But does he say why he was shot?' Hermione demanded, desperately trying to read Draco's short missive over her husband's shoulder. It was the why that had begun to worry her most.

Based on the latest gossip, George was now convinced that Draco had simply walked in on something he shouldn't have. A drug deal, maybe, or a mugging. He'd heard that sort of thing often went on in Central London. Particularly, late at night. Draco had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But Hermione feared something altogether more sinister. What if it had been a wizard, trying to look like a Muggle, and Draco was the intended target all along? What if this was a shooting that was meant to do more than simply wound? If that was the case, maybe Jeroboam had got wind of Draco's mission and was intent on stopping him. And if that could happen to Draco, exactly how safe was Ron?

Hermione also wondered what Draco was doing hanging around Central London, alone, in the middle of the night? And why Soho in particular? Soho was a party zone. A place of clubs, pubs and restaurants. But also the heart of London's seedy underworld. Nobody else seemed to be asking why he was there – not yet at any rate, although she was sure those questions would soon be coming thick and fast once it was obvious that Draco was recovered.

Hermione had her own pet theory on the subject. One she felt she couldn't share with anybody, because, despite their chequered history, she felt honour-bound to respect Draco's privacy. She couldn't help but wonder if Draco's presence in Soho at that late hour was connected to Katya Malfoy.

Hermione remained utterly perplexed at Draco's entrusting her with such intimate information concerning Katya's disappearance and the periodic arrival of the roses. But she also wondered – worried, even – about what Draco really wanted from her. Was it assistance in tracking Katya down? This wasn't entirely unfeasible, particularly if Katya was hiding out in the Muggle world, living as a Muggle… sending Draco silver roses by Muggle mail. If she was thinking this, then Draco was surely doing the same.

And if Draco hadn't stopped searching for Katya, then maybe he was looking to tap into Hermione's superior experience and knowledge of Muggles? Draco would struggle to understand Muggle life, in view of his pureblood upbringing. He could easily wander into the wrong place, at the wrong time… most especially if he did happen to be trawling the sex clubs and bars of Soho, looking for his estranged wife.

It was all wild speculation, of course. She had no idea how Draco Malfoy's mind worked, and she doubted she ever would. But the disappearance of Katya, in addition to Draco's potentially perilous mission to ensnare one of the most powerful wizards in the world, and now this seemingly random shooting, was making her head spin with unvoiced fears.

XXX

Clearly unperturbed by his brush with potential death and serious injury, that Sunday afternoon, Draco sent Ron an itinerary of their trip. They were to meet at Heathrow Airport early that evening, presumably to depart from the International Portkey Terminal for Buenos Aires, Hermione thought.

They would be staying at the Alvear Palace Hotel, which sounded remarkably grand to Hermione. She assumed Draco was footing the bill. They had a meeting arranged with a key witness on Monday, and then there was a possible 'excursion' scheduled for Tuesday, although it wasn't specified where to. They were to return to Buenos Aires on the Wednesday, and would be back in the UK by Thursday morning, at the very latest.

Draco reminded Ron to bring the metal attaché case, which had been lodged at Shell Cottage for the past twenty-four hours, frustrating the hell out of poor Bill Weasley. Ron hadn't told Bill how he had obtained the case, but Bill didn't seem to need a reason for some extracurricular puzzle solving.

Hermione could tell that Ron was excited by the whole thing, although he did his best to conceal it from her. In truth, she was a little envious. Her own working life felt bogged down in the minutiae of department meetings and case reviews. A trip overseas felt very exciting in comparison.

Of course, it was a sobering thought that Ron would be at the other side of the world chasing dark wizards – possibly even the same wizards who had taken a shot at Draco - while she would be stuck at home with the kids, desperately trying to keep calm ahead of her Tribunal hearing on Thursday morning. Ron had suggested she take some leave, seeing as she was owed at least three months' worth, to review all her case files from the past year or so. Make sure she was on top of everything, in case of any awkward questions. She thought this was probably a good idea.

What frustrated Hermione most, however, was the feeling that she was unable to vent her anxiety about Ron's latest venture. Relations with Ron had become so tetchy, she steered clear of the subject, to avoid arguments. She couldn't even confide her fears to anybody else, because Ron had ordered her not to breathe a word about it – especially to Harry, who was the one person she ached to talk to most. Harry was her regular point of reassurance. Without his support, she felt untethered, strangely unprotected.

As she watched her husband gleefully packing a change of gown, t-shirts and a pair of Muggle jeans into a khaki cotton hold-all, she thought about how much she'd been wanting to Floo-call Harry, if only for one of their friendly chats, but had held back, because she didn't feel she could be entirely candid with him. Maybe she'd contact him when Ron was away? But what would she tell him if he then wanted to speak to Ron, which was usually the case? She couldn't stand the idea of lying to him.

'What have you told your Mum about this assignment?' Hermione asked. 'You know how much she loves to know where you're going all the time.'

'I've told her the same story I've been telling most people, including Auror Carmichael,' Ron said, flashing her a self-satisfied grin. Carmichael was Ron's immediate boss. 'I've said I've got a hot lead on an Eastern European cartel illegally trading in hellebore and asphodel. Bennet and McLaughlin will cover for me if any awkward questions get asked.'

'And what happens when you don't produce any evidence that this cartel actually exists?' Hermione asked, decidedly nettled. She didn't like all this sneaking around one jot.

'Well, by the time I have to file my final report, I'll have landed a much bigger fish,' Ron said, stuffing a pair of trainers into the hold-all's side pocket. He looked at Hermione, a mischievous smile on his face. 'Mr Saul Jeroboam!'

Hermione smiled wanly in return. She sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing creases out of Ron's Muggle corduroy jacket, which was spread out, next to her.

'Yes, darling. By then, you'll be the saviour of the wizarding world,' she muttered, unable to expunge the sarcasm from her voice.

Ron stopped folding his t-shirts and cast her a dark look. 'You know what, Hermione? I'm getting pig sick of your attitude.'

'I'm just worried Ron,' she sighed.

'Well, quit worrying, and help me out. I've got to meet Draco in less than three hours. And I need to Floo to Shell Cottage to pick up the scanner.'

'Bill's got into the case?'

Ron pulled a face. 'Fat chance.'

'I tell you what, Ron,' Hermione said, desperate to make peace. 'Let me go to Shell Cottage. I'll take the kids. They always have such fun playing with Louis.'

XXX

Rose and Hugo had been overjoyed to spend some time at Shell Cottage, and had begged Aunt Fleur and Uncle Bill if they could stay longer. Rose, in particular, had a very close relationship with her young cousin, Louis, and was desperate to have a sleepover. Normally this would not have been allowed on a Sunday night, but the adults all agreed amongst themselves that it might be a good idea if the kids stayed at Shell Cottage for a few days, enabling Hermione to catch up on some work ahead of the Tribunal hearing. Fleur assured Hermione that she would get the kids to school on time every morning, and that that they could pop round for hugs and kisses at teatime.

Hermione knew it was for the best, as she really needed some time to concentrate on her work, but with Ron away too, she dreaded the long, lonely nights.

Hermione had spent a little longer than expected at Shell Cottage, and grey autumnal dusk had now set in. Bill had already Floo-ed over to Wisteria Cottage to drop off the case and explain to Ron the various break-in procedures he had tried and failed, and still managed to get back to Shell Cottage with plenty of time to take another cup of tea with Hermione.

Hermione realized she had just half an hour to spare before Ron was due to set off for his rendezvous with Draco Malfoy at Heathrow Airport.

Hermione hurried home, Apparating into her back garden. However, as she approached her cottage, an involuntary shiver rippled through her. She felt a strange bristling of the fine hairs on her arms. She had always insisted that she didn't want to live in fear – not after everything they had gone through during the Second Wizarding War – and had refused to set up wards at the cottage. But in this instance, she didn't even need them. She just knew, from somewhere deep within her, that someone had been here. Someone unwanted.

The cottage seemed dark and silent, its windows blankly gazing at her.

A wave of foreboding rushed through her. She felt eerily alone, yet watched.

Instinctively, Hermione closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She stood stock-still, listening, absorbing, and trying to feel with her mind the faint trace of foreign magic that had assailed her senses.

There was a low hum, a brushing whisper of movement. The dark trees which encircled the garden seemed to shush and sigh. A light wind teased the treetops. There was a crack of twigs, and the scurrying of small animals hastening for cover in the undergrowth. A murder of crows squawking, leaves rustling, and there, in the furthest corner of her mind, Hermione saw it: a blur of movement, a flash of colour.

Red. Vivid, scarlet red.

And then darkness.

Ron, she breathed. Please god no. Ron.

Heart racing, she sprinted to the back door, slamming it open with a single brisk flick of her wand. She entered, wand held stiffly ahead of her, every nerve and fibre tingling with adrenalin and fear. She could barely hear above the thunderous sound of blood rushing in her ears.

It was still inside. Not a single sound.

Maybe it had been her imagination? Maybe Ron had left without saying goodbye. But then there was a faint groan coming from the living room.

'Ron!' she cried, dashing towards him.

He was lying on the floor, seemingly unable to move or speak. His eyes were rolling in panic.

'Ron! What's happened to you?' she shrieked.

She realised he had been immobilised, probably at the receiving end of a Petrificus Totalus, except he then twisted his upper body round to face her.

'Hermione,' he croaked, his face screwed up with pain.

'Oh Ron,' Hermione squealed, rushing to his side. His face was a ghastly white, his eyes wide and staring. She gently slid a hand under his head. His hair was thick with cold sweat.

'Unfreeze my legs,' Ron gasped. 'It was… Locomotor Mortis.'

Ron clenched his teeth, jolted by another spasm of pain.

Hermione quickly released him from the spell. Ron cautiously raised one leg, wiggled his foot, and then returned the leg to the floor, gasping in discomfort. He then repeated this procedure with the other leg.

Hermione was puzzled. In some instances, a leg-locker curse could leave the victim with a slightly frozen, tingly sensation in their extremities, but never the type of pain Ron was clearly experiencing.

'What's hurting?'

'It's my back,' Ron moaned. A slightly sheepish look shaded his features. 'I fell awkwardly.'

Hermione gently moved him onto one side and applied soft pressure to his back, starting from the shoulders and working downwards. Her husband winced as she gently massaged the vertebrae around the midway point.

'There,' he rasped, his body flinching from her touch. 'I must have jarred it.'

'Who did this to you, Ron?'

Ron shook his head. 'Dunno. It happened so fast.' He tried to sit up, gritting his teeth. He grabbed hold of Hermione, who pulled him forwards so that his head fell against her chest.

'Come on, Ron,' she urged, rocking back on her haunches and raising herself slowly, tortuously dragging his bulk upwards into a standing position. Hermione hadn't realised how heavy her husband was. Ron inched away from her, and then, with one supreme effort, flopped heavily into his favourite armchair.

Hermione glanced through the open door at his hold-all, jacket and Draco's darned attaché case, waiting in the hallway.

'There's no way you can go to Argentina, Ron. Not in this condition.'

'A few healing spells and Mum's hot beef tea and I'll be right as rain,' Ron said with a crooked smile.

'But you're meant to meet Draco…'

'You go for me,' Ron interrupted, fixing his wife with a steely glare.

'No, Ron! I don't want to get mixed up in this,' Hermione shrilled. 'Please don't ask that of me.'

'You're the only person…'

'What about Harry? It's about time he got involved. If Malfoy's telling the truth, then this assignment's way too big for you!'

'No!' Ron shouted. 'Do this one thing for me, Hermione. It has to be you, don't you see?'

Hermione didn't see. Didn't want to see.

'You're my wife, and you're a brilliant witch. I trust you more than anybody in the world,' Ron continued. He gazed at her pleadingly, his eyes a large glittering blue.

'There's no way, Ron. It's too dangerous. It can't be a coincidence that Malfoy got shot, and now this has happened. Someone came into our home and hurt you,' she said plaintively.

'I'm alive, aren't I?' Ron said, with a shrug. 'It was a simple leg-locker curse, that's all. Maybe they just wanted to delay my departure? And if that's the case, that's all the more reason to get the hell out to Argentina and see what's going on out there.'

Hermione sighed. He was probably right. And yes, she could do this one thing for Ron, she knew that, even though it required some sacrifice on her part – namely her preparations for the Tribunal on Thursday. But the kids were safely stowed at Shell Cottage, and she had leave in hand.

'Couldn't you and Malfoy just postpone your trip for one day? You might feel better tomorrow.'

Ron vehemently shook his head. 'Come on, Hermione. It's only two full days in Argentina. Three at the most.'

Three days with Draco Malfoy. Hermione could barely repress a shudder of revulsion and dread.

'Okay, Ron. Okay. But I'll take the mirror,' Hermione said in clipped, efficient tones, referring to her part of a two-way mirror set that Harry had given them on their wedding day. This way she would be able to stay in contact with Ron. 'If your back improves, maybe you could come out to Argentina tomorrow, to take my place?'

As she spoke, she sped into their bedroom, pulling clothes from her cupboard and drawers, which she folded and packed into a small leather suitcase with a series of expert flicks of her wand. She rooted out the mirror from a concealed drawer in her dressing table, placing its matching counterpart on Ron's pillow.

Ron had levered himself with some difficulty into a standing position, and limped into the bedroom after her. He leant against the doorpost.

'I really appreciate this, Hermione.'

'I should hope so,' Hermione muttered under her breath. This is madness, she was thinking bitterly. Damn that bloody Draco Malfoy. Since he had barged uninvited into their lives, their world had gone topsy-turvy. 'Send ‘Grumio’ to The Burrow with a note, Ron. Get Molly to come and give you a hand.'

Ron nodded dumbly.

'Please remember to contact my office. Tell them I'm taking some holiday. And give Rose and Hugo a big kiss from me, won't you? Luckily, Fleur's already agreed to keep them at Shell Cottage for a few days.'

Minutes later, Hermione was standing in their living room, leather case and handbag at the ready. She was planning to Floo to the Express Lounge at the International Portkey Terminal at Heathrow Airport, which was a short walk, Ron assured her, to her meeting place with Draco.

Despite her feeling shell-shocked at this sudden turn of events, the sincere gratitude on Ron's pained face melted her heart. 'Come here,' she whispered. She brushed her lips across his cheek, then picked up the metal attaché case. 'This had better be worth it,' she said, with a heavy sigh. She felt overwhelmed by a dark sense of dread. 'Please look after yourself. Maybe talk to Bill about finally getting some wards set up?'

Ron looked pensive. 'When I think about it… they came through the back door.' He spoke clearly and slowly, as if his memory of what had happened had suddenly sharpened, come into focus. 'I was in the living room looking for my wand when I heard the back door open. I simply assumed it was you, but then I realized somebody was standing in the hallway, looking at me.' He paused. 'And then there was blackness.'

'They stunned you?'

'No. It was different. More like Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. And then I heard it. The curse. It was a man's voice. Kind of like a harsh whisper. Grating. And I just keeled over.'

'And before the darkness? What did you see?'

'Dunno, Hermione. Can't say. Just a flash really.'

'A flash of what?' Hermione asked, her heart suddenly beating fast in her chest.

Ron seemed to struggle here, and then a thought struck him. 'It was red. A flash of red. Then there was nothing.'

XXX

CHAPTER TRACK: "SOMEWHERE A CLOCK IS TICKING" by SNOW PATROL

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters.

Many thanks to Lupinswolfie & Apurva & Lou.
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Ring A Ring O' Roses