Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
WARNING: OotP spoilers.
A/N:I want to thank my betas Minerva Solo, Lisa and Lynn, any remaining mistakes are my own. This is the last move in theis game. And thank you, thank you, thank you to all of you who took the time to read this.
Ron didn't want to wake up, it hurt, he wanted to sleep, but someone was shaking him violently.
"What kind of potion did you take?" an unfamiliar voice yelled at him. He opened his eyes slowly, the person leaning over him was surrounded by a bright aura and he couldn't quite make out his face.
"What. Kind. Of. Potion. Did. You. Take. Yesterday."
Yesterday. All my troubles seemed so... no that wasn't quite right. Upon recollecting his whereabouts the past day he suddenly realised who the person must be.
"Hello, Draco," he said and tried to sit up, but the sudden pain in his abdomen made him double over. "I didn't take any potions yesterday," he ground out through gritted teeth, "unless you put some in my tea."
With closed eyes he could no longer see the sinister halos that surrounded everything, but he could hear Draco Malfoy curse loudly and start rummaging through the apartment. The pain was a bright red and yellow dragon that wanted to eat him alive. Fire ants ran across his arms and he tore at the burning flesh. With a click everything turned way too bright, he screamed in pain and pressed his palms to his closed eyes to protect his vulnerable eyes.
"Shut the fuck up," Malfoy yelled, "I need the light."
It wasn't in his head, it wasn't in his head, someone had turned the lights on, it wasn't in his head. The dragon buried its claws in his scalp and he ran away, away, far away. It was dark, as if he was imbedded in black cotton. Everything was muffled; pain, light, sound, life. Going away now. Going. Gone.
"Why the fuck hasn't he got anything useful in here?"
Sounds of kitchen cupboards being opened and closed in slow-motion. Even the sound had slowed down. Something breaking ever so slowly. Footsteps. The outdrawn creak of the closet door. Thunder.
"Finally."
The muffled noises floated out and mixed with each other. Like music. Sing to me.
"Where's that book? I know I saw it somewhere."
Sing. Sing. Sing.
Sing to me my darling.
"There. Perfect."
The rustle of paper, and then something falling to the floor with a muffled thud.
"What's this? What kind of moron uses a besoar as a paperweight? Lucky son of a bitch."
A fire was crackling, the sound alone made him feel warm and cozy. Mum? Sounds of home. She had come back to take him with her. He could feel her smile and hear her skin. Mum used to sing to him when he was little.
"Weasley, WEASLEY!" Someone was in trouble, but he didn't care. Mum used to yell too, but she wasn't yelling now. They must be yelling at his brothers. They could yell all they wanted now when Fred and George had left. They didn't care. He couldn't care less. Mum had come for him.
"Wake up before I fucking kill you! Weasley! Oh for fucks sake. RON!"
The pain was back. Someone was shaking him and slapping him. Someone had brought him back from that warm cosy place. Bastard. He groaned and screwed his eyes shut. Strong arms forced him into an upright position.
"That's it, come back here, I've got something for you."
The gentleness in the voice surprised him, something was wrong. He forced his eyes to open a little. A worried face, a glass near his face.
"Drink this, all of it." As the cool glass touched his lower lip he opened his mouth and drank. The liquid was thick and warm and he had difficulty swallowing. An arm supported him and helped him sit upright. Someone tilted the glass as Ron drank. He coughed but the pain and dizziness melted away.
"Hello, Draco," he said as soon as he speak again. The other man snorted and put the glass on a shelf in the bookshelf. Ron had a better look around, his flat was much messier than usual.
The potions travel-kit he had got last Christmas stood on his desk surrounded by shredded herbs and other potions ingredients. Ginny had given it to him so that he would be able to brew his own Pepper Up Potion if he got a cold. He hadn't pointed out to her that he couldn't very well go to work with fuming ears, and the potions kit had ended up in the closet. It was a nice thought, and now it finally seemed to have come to use. Draco tapped impatiently at the glass catching Ron's attention again.
"What...?"
"You must have ingested some kind of poison," Draco said, "that much is obvious."
"Yes, but..."
"I found these lying around, and I think I managed to figure out what type of potion it was," He held the two stuck-together books between his thumb and forefinger, looking disgusted. "Not the exact kind, of course. I gave you a general antidote for the class of poisons, but you'll need something more specific soon to recover completely."
Ron listened silently as the information sunk in. He still felt light-headed but he suddenly got an idea.
"Could you give me the pile of parchments in the wicker-basket on the desk?"
Draco gave him a questioning look, but fetched the basket. A few parchments seemed to have been scattered in the potions making-process but Draco collected all of them from the floor before handing over the basket. Ron started to sort the parchments in different piles. He asked for his quill and started underlining names that reoccurred on his lists. He wrote down every purchase in the teashop that concerned potion supplies or other magical activity. Mrs. Murphy kept an impressive stock of both magical and non-magical herbs and ingredients available for those who knew what to ask for. When someone bought large amounts of something or asked for unusual or banned goods he immediately reported it to his Ministry contact. He had made it a habit to record ordinary purchases too and he sent in lists of the Magic people frequenting the shop every other month or when the list became long enough.
"Can you give me a blank parchment?" he asked.
"No."
He looked up from his work.
"Say what?"
"I used all of it to make the fire." Draco looked... No, not embarrassed, that emotion didn't seem to be available to the man, but if he had had the ability he might have looked like that.
"You burned my parchment?" Ron immediately regretted yelling as black dots started to dance in front of his eyes.
"Only the blank parchments," Draco said stubbornly, "I had to use some of your plants for the potion too."
"You killed my potted plants?!"
"Exitus acta probat."
"Don't speak Latin to a dying man."
"The result validates the deeds, Weasley," Draco snarled. "Those potted plants saved your life."
"Fine," Ron murmured and started scribbling on the sheets. Draco had seated himself in Ron's armchair and was watching him intently.
"What can you make with armadillo bile, black beetle eyes, snake tongues..." Ron didn't even have to finish reading his list.
"Sounds like a Wit-Sharpening Potion."
"Right..." he tried another patron's shopping list, which turned out to be the ingredients to Pepper-Up Potion and some herbs common in other harmless potions. Ron suddenly wished he had opened a potions book at least once since he finished school. He took a deep breath and continued to read, ignoring the buzzing sound in his head. As the stack of possible suspects grew smaller Ron explained briefly what he was trying to do and Draco caught up quickly, checking up the ingredients in the potions book as Ron read.
"The Vindicta potion." Draco said grimly, "sweet as revenge and worse than death if you happen to survive. You need a real antidote and I can't produce that from your potted plants."
Ron felt all the blood drain from his face. With Draco's reluctant help he managed to walk towards the kitchen and the phone. The whole flat smelt like something burning and the stench grew stronger as they approached the kitchen door. He plopped down on a chair and surveyed the mess. Burnt out matches was strewn across the floor, there had definitely been a fire in the sink, but someone, probably Draco, had put it out.
"Why..?"
"I needed charcoal for the potion."
That might explain the missed leg on the wooden stool his nightshade used to stand on. Poor plant, what a terrible way to end – diced and sliced in a cauldron.
"Why did you start a fire," he asked, "couldn't you have used..." he paused.
"What?" Draco snarled. What indeed. "Magic?"
"You could have borrowed..." he mumbled half-heartedly.
"Your wand?" Draco spat, "Who do you think I am? I might have done terrible things in my past but I have never, ever touched another wizard's wand without his consent, and I would NEVER use another wizard's wand. Now try to get some help before you start to mould, Weasley."
Ron blushed and reached for the phone. Hermione owned a phone to keep in touch with her parents, her home was also fitted with a fireplace, so she would be able to contact St. Mungos. Luckily she was at home and she didn't seem that annoyed to be disturbed at this unholy hour - he checked the clock in the kitchen - 4 AM.
He apologised for waking her, didn't really explain the situation since he didn't want to upset her more than necessary and asked her to notify St. Mungo's. It would have been much simpler if it hadn't been Hermione he was talking to. Why couldn't she simply co-operate for once?
"Please, Hermione, I need you to use your fireplace and call St. Mungo's." Ron said for the fourth time. He looked up at the other man with a tired and apologetic half-smile; a muscle in the side of Draco's face was twisting. It would have been amusing if Ron hadn't got a monster headache, Hermione and possibly his own life to worry about.
"Yes I know that, Hermione, but can you please just..." the receiver was snatched from his hand, "...make the call?"
"GRANGER!" Draco shouted before continuing to speak in a silky but a bit too loud voice, "Stop jabbering and get off your lazy arse. Your friend Ron is dying as you speak. NOW GET A MOVE ON!"
He hung up violently, but without destroying the phone.
"Didn't know you knew how to handle delicate Muggle equipment."
"I took Muggle Studies for a whole year," Draco said with a wry smile, "Imagine that."
"Why would you do that?" Ron said, "I would imagine you being scared to catch Muggle-cooties if you where in the same room for too long."
"You know," Draco said and smiled weakly, "Know thy enemy and all that…"
"Really," Ron said doubtfully. He would have grinned but his head felt like it would split in half if he moved too much. "And the real reason?"
"No Mudbloods."
He could have strangled the prick; he would have strangled him if he hadn't fallen over. Ow!
"Calm down," Draco said after helping him to sit down on his chair again, "I chose Muggle Studies because someone else did, and luckily I learned a thing or two during that year anyway."
"Who?"
Draco only shook his head and smiled sadly.
"Anytime."
Not that tactful, Ron mused, but he had to admit it was effective. It couldn't have taken more than fifteen minutes before his flat was swarming with Healers and, surprisingly, Aurors. He was strapped down on a floating stretcher and examined by professional Healers. The roof seemed so high above, but he couldn't float away just yet. Draco was surrounded by a few Aurors and one or two Healers. He looked confident and totally in control and if Ron where to judge by the pieces of conversation he heard he was explaining all about the poisoning and the antidote. They started to carry him out of the kitchen but stopped when he grabbed the back of Draco's T-shirt and refused to let go.
"He might sound impressive," he wheezed to the people surrounding Draco, "but you better watch it, he can be a real bastard."
Draco glared but Ron didn't care, he tugged at the shirt. "Don't forget to send those owls."
Draco nodded and made a move as if to follow the stretcher downstairs but an Auror held him back.
The last thing he remembered saying was. "If you hurt him, I'll bloody kill you."
It wasn't that bad being stranded at St. Mungo's for a week. He got to see his family for once, and he enjoyed their company even when they asked questions he didn't know how to answer. Hermione came, cried, demanded answers and then left when the visiting hours were over. When she returned the next day she looked like a crooked old woman under the weight of her book bag. She apparently hadn't slept much, but between themselves and a helpful Healer they managed to sort out everything about the Vindicta potion. She sat in the visitor chair at his bedside with a thick volume in her lap.
"It's very powerful," Hermione said in a low voice, "and even if the victim survive it often drains the magic from a magic person. It doesn't affect Squibs unless they have some dormant magic and they rarely affect Muggles." She took a deep breath.
"So you'd become a Squib if you survived?" Ron asked. She nodded and searched for something in an open book.
"It's a bit complicated, I don't know if you want to read for yourself."
He shook his head. "Summarise it for me."
"Right," she read half a paragraph, sighed and put down the book again. "I've read it a few times already, but I don't know if I understand the underlying mechanisms. As far as I understand the potion uses the wizard's magic as fuel. A more powerful wizard is less likely to survive since a longer time passes before the source of fuel burns out."
"I would have become a Squib?" he asked.
"If you survived," she added helpfully.
"So that's why he told me it was worse than death," he mused. Hermione narrowed her eyes.
"Who?"
Ron groaned and covered his face with his hands, he could have lied, but not to Hermione. "Hermione, sit down."
"I am sitting down," she said pointedly, "I have been sitting down for approximately an hour, what on earth is the matter with you?"
He sat up very straight and looked her square in the eyes.
"I seem to owe Draco Malfoy a life-debt."
After the final examination a girl in red Auror-trainee robes shooed away all the Healers and secured the doors and windows. Ron was a bit surprised, the Healers had said he was as healthy as ever.
"Your boss will be here any minute now," she said before she left.
He had never actually met his boss and his first impression of her was a pointed yellow hat trimmed with feathers. It took a moment to take in the face under that hat.
"Ron," she said with a smile, "I'm glad you're feeling better."
"Luna..." he said slowly. "Luna Lovegood. You don't strike me as the type to be working for the Ministry."
She grinned and handed him a card that looked professional but still had a "do it yourself"-feeling.
Conspiracy theories, unwanted information and more.
"I thought I worked for the ministry." Ron said slowly.
"Oh, the Ministry pays for my services," Luna said and smiled, "At least they will do after this." She sniffed, "They never believed my theories, but look at this. A dark wizard running rampant in the Muggle world, killing people. And we couldn't have stopped him without you!" She patted his arm and beamed at him.
Ron blushed.
"I take it you got my owls after all."
"No, no," she said, "personal delivery. The Aurors wouldn't leave his side, but they caught on pretty quickly. They're probably very happy for that routine call; I've heard they're going to get promoted for Rosier's arrest."
Luna spread out a number of parchments on top of the bed. Ron recognised the reports he had asked Draco to send.
"Look at this," she said, "Rosier bought different potion supplies approximately once a month."
"Rosier, who?"
"The wizard who poisoned you, that was his real name."
"Oh."
"The Aurors went to the café you mentioned and asked for an employee named Bill. A man called Will worked there, but he hadn't arrived to work that day. They managed to find out where he lived and found a basement fitted with everything you need for potions making."
Ron didn't know what to say.
"They also found Rosier in very much discomfort. He later confessed that he had ingested the potion in the belief that it only would harm Muggles."
"When in fact Muggles where the only ones who weren't affected?"
"Precisely." Luna smiled, "Well done!"
Praise was always nice, but it all boiled down to being at the right place at the right time, and picking the wrong dish for lunch.
"You're good," Luna continued. "I think I have to give you a raise, and with some Ministry money behind us we can get you an assistant."
He blinked. An assistant. That sounded really good, only important persons had assistants...
But...
"So no one else was harmed?"
"Not in this attack, no," Luna said, "A girl who used to be able to foresee her nearest future won't be able to use that skill anymore. She thinks she had a fever, but the small amount of magic in her is gone."
"That's sad." Ron said, immensely relieved that no one was badly hurt.
"Unfortunately they saved Rosier in time to preserve some of his magic," she said, "he will be punished of course, one of his other attempt to poison Muggles probably caused a small child's death."
Ron didn't know what to do with this new piece of information. It was horrible.
"You should go home now," Luna said, "Make sure not to use your magic more than necessarily. I'll keep in touch."
He was surprised to find a Ministry car waiting for him outside the hospital.
Draco sat on the messy bed reading the potions textbook, as if Ron had simply doing an errand and been gone a few hours – not more than a week.
"What took you so long?" he asked and crossed his arms.
"Missed me already?" Ron asked with a tired smile. He was surprised to see the other man, but it wasn't an entirely unpleasant surprise.
Draco harrumphed and disappeared through the kitchen door. When Ron began to follow he turned and yelled. "Sit." Draco pointed at the armchair and Ron was too surprised to disobey.
Draco returned almost instantly carrying a bowl of soup. "The so called cauldrons you use for food are worthless," he complained, "I've melted one of them and you should thank me for getting rid of that rubbish. Eat."
Ron looked suspiciously at the soup.
"Oh, come on," Draco said, "it's ordinary chicken soup, perfectly safe. I'm not gonna poison you and go through all that trouble with antidotes again."
Ron took the bowl; the soup was actually edible, almost delicious.
"Who taught you to cook?"
"Snape."
"You're joking, right?"
"No"
He then went on to explain how much cooking and potions resembled each other. Ron stopped listening after a few minutes. Nodding and hmming now and then, he kept on eating and pretended to be interested; he had been forced to develop this technique during Hermione's many rants. She tended to become upset if she found out he wasn't listening. "You could have told me you weren't interested," she had said once before stomping away, leaving him sitting there as the Bad Guy. Completely lost in thought he didn't pay much attention at what he was eating until he choked on something. After a lot of coughing, spluttering and back thumping he managed to spit out the offending object in his hand.
"You told me this was safe," he yelled, but when he looked down at the thing in his hand he fell silent. His Knut. It was wet with soup but shinier than he remembered it, as if it was newly polished.
"You wanted it back." Draco said shortly and disappeared into the kitchen.
He wiped the tiny piece of bronze against his robes to get rid of the soup it was covered in and studied it carefully. It was the same Knut, he was sure of that.
"Checkmate," he said silently as he turned the Knut between his fingers. Game over – but he wasn't sure who, if any of them, had won.
The end. No sequel. Just so you know :) I hope you had at least half as fun as I had... Thanks for reading!
Let me know if you want the whole fic as a word-doc with better formatting than this.