Warning: this chapter contains some dialog and descriptive factors from chapter twenty-four of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I do not own the rights to that copyrighted material and I do not claim creative license over that bit, though its perspective has been adapted.
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Blue-Eyed Angel
Chapter Nine
Reamann did not have a lot of time to get the needed favor from his friend for the Polyjuice Potion. Monday morning, after just talking to Draco the night before, a large black owl landed on his desk and hooted urgently at him. Reamann had only just earlier that morning sent a note to his friend in hopes of being cleared for the potion. He had had every intention of giving his friend more than a few hours notice, but it looked like fate had other plans. Reamann had been expecting the owl, yet it still hit him like a hex to the gut to read that he had to report to another scene immediately.
Quickly writing three notes, Reamann sent one to his superiors, one to his friend that would supply him with the Polyjuice telling him he needed it urgently, and one to Draco instructing him to take a long lunch because they were about to go to the newest scene.
Once the purple paper airplanes were sent he stood and closed his office door. He opened the cramped cupboard to his right and pulled out some Muggle clothing. He changed out of his robes and into a pair of slacks, a shirt, and a coat appropriate for Muggle dealings, in time to hear a rustling outside his door. He knew what it was and opened his door again to allow the little paper airplane to enter. It zoomed into the room and circled overhead, waiting for Reamann to pluck it out of the air.
It was from Draco.
How did Reamann know that Draco would be the quickest to respond?
He started to write back telling him not to come up but wait for him in the Atrium, but then froze. What was Draco to wear? His clothing, though Muggle attire, was hardly suitable for a crime scene and furthermore: would not fit Ron's much larger and broader frame.
"Shit," he said, looking around as though hoping to find a solution laying somewhere around his office.
"Reamann?"
Reamann looked up, and speak of the devil, there was Ron Weasley, standing in the doorway.
"Hey there, you get the owl? It looks like a new scene, a nasty one too. I can't say I'm looking forward to it," Ron said, his arms crossed over his massive chest.
"Oh, yes. I know what you mean," Reamann replied distractedly, thinking fast. "Ron? Since you're here, could you have a look at this report? I'm not sure on this one part and I figure you -an Auror- would probably know what I should say since this paperwork will be going to your office," he said, flattering Ron to distract him while carefully pulling his wand out of his pocket and using the desk to block Ron from seeing.
"Oh, sure, mate," he beamed with a very noticeable swell of pride at the implication of his superior knowledge in the matter.
Reamann stepped back and allowed Ron to look down over the desk and the sea of paperwork before him. Ron's brow frowned as he focused on the papers just as a flash of light erupted over his shoulder. His eyes rolled backwards into his head and he slumped onto the desk. Draco chose just that moment to stroll in.
"Oi, you killed him," he said sounding bored, looking neither upset nor bothered while closing the door wisely behind him.
"No I didn't, he is just asleep, or in a small coma," Reamann said, looking guiltily down at Ron. He might have overdone the charm just a tad. There was a reason he worked with Muggles as opposed to another department where he would be using more practical magic.
"When you said your plan was to burry him in paperwork, I had thought you meant to keep him busy, not literally bury him in your paperwork," Draco said, looking at Ron's limp and unconscious body as he lay across the desk, papers all about.
"Har-har," Reamann fake laughed, clearly not amused. "We need his clothes," he said and Draco held up his hands.
"Hey now, don't look at me; he's your mate, you undress him," he said, shaking his head.
Reamann heaved a sigh but agreed. He left Ron in his knickers and undershirt, handing the rest of his clothing to Draco who promptly folded them neatly and tucked them under his arm, Ron's enormous shoes atop it all.
"Don't suppose my knickers will fit still once I become that oaf," he said, the prospect of wearing Ron's clothing with no knickers on apparently not bringing him much elation.
"I'm sure Ron will really appreciate your tadger starkers in his trousers," Reamann said with a laugh and Draco smirked.
"What have I told you about your unwelcome advances and talk about my tadger, Reamann?"
"Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy," he said with a shake of his head, this sort of flirtyness being why he had thought Draco was gay to begin with. Draco glared.
"Stash the stiff and lets get a move on, I don't have a long lunch," Draco said, choosing to ignore Reamann's insinuation that he did not find him attractive. Malfoys were devastatingly attractive, regardless of a person's gender and sexual orientation.
Reamann tucked Ron away in the corner of his office and did a simple charm to make him look like a potted plant. He didn't transfigure him, that was risky even for a more skilled witch or wizard, but he made an illusion float about him. Anyone who walked into the room would probably see through it, but anyone just passing by and looking in would overlook it, which was all he really needed.
Their potion arrived some ten minutes later by owl. The note attached urged discretion and Reamann knew he was going to have to send a hearty wine and cheese basket to his friend for Christmas for the favor which was conducted in great haste.
Draco -with his hood up- and Reamann made their way to the lifts and down to the Atrium without a hitch, but when Reamann made to head off towards the Apparition grid Draco froze.
"Reamann," he called lightly, teasing sweetly.
"What?"
"Where do you think you're going?"
"We are on our way to the scene, right?"
"Fine by me, but how do you suppose I will be getting there? I can't Apparate," he said, reminding Reamann of his current wandless state.
"Oh, yeah," he said, having forgotten that for a moment. "You can Side-Along with me," he offered and Draco made a face. "Don't look at me like that, we have no other choice and no time to try and find another way," he said, waiting for Draco to walk up to him so they could head over to the Apparition grid together.
Reamann stepped up and pulled out his wand but Draco lingered back for a moment, eyeing Reamann wearily.
"Come on, we haven't got a lot of time here. I promise I won't Splinch you," Reamann said. Draco glared but then stepped up. He stood beside Reamann and seemed reluctant to touch him for a moment, but then grabbed onto his arm and held tight without having to be told.
Reamann flicked his wand, and with a sound like a cracking whip, he Disapparated. Draco's eyes were closed tight at the sensation of being squeezed through a rubber hose and he waited for the pressure to let up so he could breathe again. His feet hitting the ground solidly jarred him but he did not fall, thankfully. He released Reamann immediately and took a deep breath.
"You alright?" Reamann asked.
"I haven't Apparated in thirteen years," he said as though that were explanation enough for how he felt. Reamann understood and did not ask Draco again.
"I have the potion," he said, opening the vial and placing in one of the hairs he had snatched off of Ron's head while back in his office. "All you need to do is change into his clothes and take it. We can head over to the scene from here once you are Ron, but keep the flask with you incase we are held up for more than an hour," he said.
Draco glared at the flask Reamann was holding out to him but plucked it out of his hand, knowing he had agreed to this so he could not whine…much.
Reamann allowed Draco to excuse himself while he changed.
They had appeared in an Apparition point that was closest to the crime scene, but they were still blocks away and in an alley between two businesses. Draco moved all the way to the backend of the alley to hide amongst the snowy rubbish bins to change. Reamann waited near the entrance, out of sight from the Muggles but allowing Draco some privacy.
He did not envy Draco, it was freezing out. He offered to cast some warming spells so that changing would not be so terrible, but Draco had very simply told Reamann to go to hell. Draco did not seem to like people doing magic around him.
Draco had pulled his green t-shirt over his head exposing a thin and boney back as well as what looked like some horrific scars but Reamann had not allowed himself a proper look because he had turned around at that point.
Some minutes passed and Reamann wanted to ask if Draco was okay, but managed to restrain himself.
"I suppose I'm ready then," Draco said, Ron's voice reaching Reamann's ears. Reamann turned to find Ronald Weasley standing there in the alley, Draco no where in sight, only his clothing neatly folded under Ron's arm as indication he had ever been there in the first place.
"Excellent," Reamann said with a grin. Ron managed to scowl in a way he had never seen before. "Oh, don't do that, you will blow your cover with that distinctive Malfoy glare. You are a Weasley now, so try to act like one."
"Forgive me. I'm not well practiced in looking like a brainless lout. I will try not to let my intelligence show through too much," he drawled, suddenly making Ron sound cultured and snobby.
"Try not talking," Reamann suggested, taking Draco's clothing and tucking it into his bag at his side before turning and walking out of the alley. "It would do us all some good," he added and Draco kicked him in the bum as he walked behind him.
The address written on the note Reamann had received was not really necessary once they had Apparated in the near vicinity of the scene. The commotion and police cars driving by were easy enough to follow.
Draco was fumbling with his much larger hands as he tried to clip Ron's tag onto the robe's collar. Reamann noticed and wanted to offer to help, but he knew enough about Malfoy at that point to know to never offer to help him do anything. Draco always took it as though he were perceived as weak or incapable. He would go out of his way to do something on his own, even if it caused him pain or it took longer, just to spite whoever offered. Draco was just that prideful and stubborn. A Malfoy trait for sure, that was.
Draco would have to make due with Ministry Robes at the Muggle crime scene since that was what Ron had been wearing when visiting Reamann and was knocked out. Draco did not care, though Reamann looked a little distressed. Ron would be brought up on investigation in violation of procedure for wearing robes around Muggles. Reamann was feeling guilty and Draco could care less if he got odd stares. Ron would get in trouble, not him…the thought actually made him smile wickedly.
After much awkward struggling Draco managed to finally clip the tag.
He had found it in the pockets of the robes…along with Ron's wand.
He had held the wand for a log moment while back in the alley, thus what had held him up. It felt so right to hold it, the power radiating from it up his arm to vibrate somewhere deep within his core. It was a feeling he had once taken for granted and up until then had nearly forgotten.
He had decided to stick it in the wand pocket and try to ignore it if he could, but that distantly familiar weight in the pocket of his robes was difficult to ignore and touching the smooth wood was near impossible to resist.
They entered a park and could see across the sloping lawns through the sporadic trees where they needed to head. Yellow police tape was strung between the trees, the snow was trampled to the point where grass was peeking through in spots, and people moved around like bees in a hive only far less efficient and with less purpose. Police stood around, holding styrofoam cups of steaming coffee as they talked.
"They seem busy," Draco commented as they passed two officers standing around, drinking coffee and chatting.
"There are always too many people on a scene, particularly murder scenes," Reamann said knowledgably, walking a little ahead.
"Makes you wonder how much evidence is lost underfoot," Draco said as he looked around the thoroughly trampled area.
"You two the specialists?" a black officer asked, walking up to them and not letting Reamann respond to or really ponder what Draco has said.
"Yes sir. I'm Special Agent Rossiter, and this is my partner: Special Agent Weasley," Reamann said, Draco having already -begrudgingly- agreed to let Reamann do all the talking during their walk over.
"You're gonna want to see this," he said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb as he walked backwards. "We have already had the medical examiner come in but he's at a total loss as to what could have done this. It seemed pretty straightforward at first what killed the guy, until we found no evidence of any sort of tool being used. It was like the wounds just erupted out of him," the man explained, shouting a little bit over the commotion around them of police radios, an occasional "woop woop" of a siren, and much talking. He turned then to hold the tape up for Reamann and Draco to duck under. "We will have to wait for an autopsy, but we were told to hold the body until you had a chance to look at it. I'm not sure what you intend to find, we are all a little confused by this one," he said, sounding helpful to the last.
"Thank you," Reamann nodded, pulling out his large notebook from his bag. "Your name is?"
"Deputy Stanton. I was told to help you out and tell you anything you need to know," he said, seemingly finding some pride in the responsibility that had been left him.
"Excellent. Well, Stanton, who found the victim?"
"A pair of joggers," he said, pointing over to two women sitting on the back of an ambulance, drinking coffee, looking a little green and frazzled but otherwise unhurt. "This is just off the jogging trail and they had seen the body amongst the snow. They thought he was just a pile of garbage at first, until they got close enough to see the blood," he said, Reamann writing down every word spoken with a continually nodding head.
While Reamann did his job collecting statements, Draco did his, which was to look over the body and collect evidence.
He crouched down near the body, careful to keep his large feet in the already tracked snow and not mar the still undisturbed portion closest to the body. The sheet covering the man was bloody and stiff looking. In the cold, the blood had frozen bright rather than dried and darkened, and flipping the sheet off the body was difficult. It clung, frozen to the body in places, and bent stiff rather than folded loosely. Draco managed to get it off and away from the body to only come face to face with a man without a face.
Reamann looked over just then and had to place his hand over his mouth and look away.
Draco leaned in, somehow unbothered by the disfigured corpse, and examined the wounds. The face was slashed open so deeply that the bone of the skull could be seen glistening in the sunlight. The gashes were so fierce that the bone itself was cleaved. The nose was nearly ripped away so that the sinus cavity was visible, and the throat was cut through: a near decapitation.
The chest was just as badly slashed. It was cut from armpit to armpit, deep enough once again to cut into the bone, the sternum visible. The gut was spilled open to release what looked like gastric juices -now frozen in the cold- and bile, from the liver probably. The lowest gash spilled forth the intestine, looking like obscene pinkish-white balloons bubbling out of the open skin.
"Dear God," Reamann muttered behind his hand. Deputy Stanton made a face too, having already seen the body but still, understandably, sickened by it.
"You say there were no tool marks?" Draco asked still looking over the body while addressing Stanton.
"Yes, well, none that we could recognize. The bone was obviously cut by something, but the flesh and tissue show no marks to indicate cutting or sawing. Like I said, the Medical Examiner said it's like the cuts came from the inside out."
"A really sharp sword could cleave bone," Draco offered.
"You think it was a sword, Ma-Weasley?" Reamann asked, poising his pen to write after nearly fumbling Draco's name.
"No, I do not," he said, tilting his head to the side, still staring at the corpse while everyone else just tried to look away.
"What does he mean by that? What else could it have been?" Deputy Stanton asked, looking at Reamann, Reamann just shrugged.
Draco looked at the face where the blood had frozen into crystals all over the skin and reached up to touch it.
"Special Agent Weasley," Deputy Stanton called, causing Draco to stop and look. Stanton held out a pair of rubber gloves and Draco blinked at him and then stood.
"Oh, yes, thank you," he said, Reamann moving over to him to whisper hurriedly at him while Draco pulled on the gloves with a snap.
"What are you doing?" he hissed.
"Examining the body," Draco replied flatly as though that were the obvious answer.
"You can't touch it!" he said, looking outraged and mortified.
"Sure I can, I'm a Special Agent called in on this case to try and determine the cause of death," he said with a smirk that did not belong on Ron's face.
"Draco," he hissed quietly.
"Has the body been photographed and its position marked and documented?' Draco called over to Deputy Stanton, still looking right at Reamann.
"Yes, we are just waiting on you to remove it," he answered, Draco looked at Reamann with an "I told you so" smirk. He pulled out his glasses from Ron's pocket and managed to fit them onto Ron's much larger head with some strain.
"I can't watch you poke at the body, Malfoy," he whispered harshly over at him.
"Then don't. Go get your statements from the joggers," he said indifferently, squatting down and leaning over the body, now touching the frozen edge of the wounds and fingering the bone. Reamann was half turned away but still spoke to Draco.
"You have any idea what did that? If it wasn't a sword…"
"Sectumsempra," he said with eyes still on the body.
"Are your serious?" Reamann asked, looking back but then regretting it as Draco prodded at the intestines that were sticking out. They were soft but partially frozen so they made a soft crinkling noise as Draco poked them. "Oh God," Reamann muttered, looking away. Thankfully it was cold. The smell was annulled. If it had been summer, Reamann could only imagine how much more terrible the scene would have been.
"I could tell from the moment I saw the body what had caused it, but I needed to be positive," he said.
"You seen a victim of Sectumsempra before?" he asked and Draco blinked.
He was standing in the sixth floor boy's bathroom at Hogwarts. It was one of two places he tended to hide recently, having just come from the other on the floor above, the Room of Requirement. It was dinner time but he had no appetite nor did he have any desire to be amongst his peers. He was not alone now however, that was why he came there, to that specific bathroom so often. Like so many times before, he came to that bathroom to talk to the one person who would listen, the one person he could confide in, the one person he could trust to not betray his secrets to anyone.
"Please tell me what's wrong," Moaning Myrtle pleaded, hovering up in the air and sounding so genuinely concerned.
"I can't," Draco said, fighting back the tears he knew were about to come.
"What is it that you are trying to do? Maybe I can help you," she offered.
"I have to do this alone, I was told I could seek no aid in this," he said, voice shaking as he made his last stand against the tears. He moved over to the sink to splash some water on his face, but the moment he leaned his hands on the grimy porcelain he felt the tears come, sliding down his face, his whole body trembling.
"Please, we have talked so many times before. You are such a wonderful boy, and you don't tease me because of my pimples. Please let me help you, for that."
Draco just shook his head, sobbing finally.
"He would kill me…he would kill me if I told anyone what I have to do."
"Who will kill you?"
Draco kept shaking his head, tears flowing down his cheeks. Myrtle floated over to one of the cubicles to sit atop the toilet and frown, looking at Draco, a boy whom she had spoken with many times that year and found so genuinely honest and sweet, at a loss for what to do for him.
"Don't," she crooned. "Tell me what's wrong…I can help you…"
"You can't help me. No one can help me," he said, his whole body shaking. "I can't do it…I can't…it won't work…and unless I do it soon…he says he'll kill me…" he cried. He swallowed hard in a gulp and a gasp for air before then looking up onto the cracked mirror that hung on the wall before him.
It was a moment of pure horror for him when he realized he and Myrtle were not alone in the bathroom while he sobbed. Harry Potter was in the doorway to his back, staring at him, a look of utter shock on his face.
Draco's heart froze in mortification.
How long had Potter been watching, how long had be been listening?
With a stomach so tight in knots he was sure he would puke, Draco spun around while drawing his wand with his right hand like his father always insisted. Harry moved and drew his own and Draco felt no guilt in sending a hex at him then. It missed as Harry threw himself out of the way, Draco's aim always compromised when dueling right-handed.
"Levicorpus!" Potter shouted as he flicked his wand. Draco was quick all on his own and blocked the jinx.
"No! No! Stop it!" Moaning Myrtle squealed as echoes from the fighting drown out her shrill panicked voice in the tiled room. "Stop! STOP!"
Exploding bins and tiles being blown off the walls filled the room with such noise someone was sure to hear it and come in. Sinks were busted and water flowed over Draco's feet across the floor towards Potter as they dueled and Myrtle shrieked.
Draco felt such mortified embarrassment right then that he did not think of his next action, he just remembered the words his father had taught him and gathered up all his anger and humiliation to make it work.
"Cruci-" he started to say, intent on making Potter pay for the humiliation he felt, but Potter was able to cast a spell that took so much less building, so much less personal effort. Potter cast a Dark Spell that Draco himself had not dared use.
"SECTUMSEMPRA!" he bellowed, voice reverberating off the walls as he knelt on the floor, waving his wand like he had no idea what he was doing.
Everything went red for a moment and there was no pain at first. Draco staggered backwards but collapsed with unsteady legs as his body quickly succumbed to shock and blood loss. His mind could not make sense at first, and then the pain hit, terrible and sharp. At some point he had lost his wand, and through the pain his foggy mind was wondering where it had gotten to, he needed to jinx the holy-hell out of Potter.
He raised his heavy arms to hold his chest that hurt so fiercely and everything just went dark around him, the sounds of Myrtle's shrill screams ringing in his ears.
"Murder! Murder!"
Opening his eyes again in what seemed like only seconds Draco found himself in the hospital ward, staring up at the ceiling.
"I have seen it used before; during the war," Draco said softly, looking back at the body before him, trying not to remember that night and what Harry Potter had seen, or what he had almost done, or what Potter had done to him. Harry had never once come to see him in the hospital after that, and he had never apologized for nearly murdering him. He seriously doubted Potter even had any truly redeeming qualities.
Reamann strolled about the scene, taking statements and time frames and writing down notes on everything said, carefully averting his gaze from the body until Draco covered it again with the crisp sheet.
Draco was still looking about the scene with intense silver eyes when Reamann took a double take and felt his heart stop. Ron's red hair had a white streak in it that had never been there before and he was looking pounds thinner than he had moments before.
Reamann rushed over to Draco and hissed at him.
"Draco, the potion, your hour is up! Quick, before someone sees you," he whispered, holding his notebook up to block their faces as they spoke. Draco was becoming more like himself rapidly.
Draco took a gulp from his flask and bent over in the bushes near the police tape, pretending to be ill, something no one on the scene would be surprised by. A moment later a perfectly fit looking Ron stood straight and adjusted his robes. Reamann gave him a stern look.
"Sorry, mate, I was distracted," he said defensively and Reamann turned away, shaking his head.
The scene was crawling with Muggles, so it was hard to talk with Draco on the case without someone overhearing. They eventually had to wander away slightly, both pretending to drink coffee to discuss the case in any detail.
"So, the same person is behind this as the other attacks?" Reamann asked.
"We won't know for sure until we have them in custody and are able to review their wand to see what spells they have cast, and even with that, the one responsible has also used artifacts to curse the Muggles, which is far more difficult a thing to trace back to someone," he said from experience, having used a cursed necklace himself before in attempt to anonymously curse and kill someone. He did not mention that though. It was just part of his vast knowledge as far as Reamann was concerned.
"Okay, so we can't prove this is the same person responsible, but do you believe it is? In your opinion?"
"Oh, undoubtedly, I just cannot figure out their angle yet. What is the point of all this? I mean, the man still had a wallet full of money for God's sake, so it wasn't even robbery, nor did they even attempt to disguise it as such," he said and Reamann looked at Draco, wondering when Draco had the opportunity to go through the dead man's pockets. Why had no one noticed that? "They are not apparently taking anything from these people, these people have no tie to the magical community, and they have no interaction with witches or wizards in their daily lives. Their bodies don't seem to have been used for any sort of ritual, otherwise there would be a residual and lingering aura of ritual magic in the air or they wouldn't have left the bodies behind. It was only in these last two that the Muggles even died," he said, sounding frustrated.
"I can't see any connection either if that makes you feel any better," Reamann offered.
"Sorry, it doesn't," Draco mumbled, take a sip of his very black coffee that was a touch too bitter, like the coffee had allowed to sit and brew for too long and was now stale.
Wrapping up at the crime scene was all up to Reamann. Draco stood aside while Reamann did his job, silently waiting to get out of there and back to the Ministry. Not only was he tired of being Ronald Weasley, but his lunch break was drawing close to two and a half hours now and he seriously could not afford the dock in pay that would result in the lost hours.
"God, Reamann, could you be any slower," Draco huffed as they walked together away from the scene to a safe Apparition point.
"I have to do my job, Malfoy. I'm sorry if that inconveniences you," Reamann said back, just as irritable. Spending two hours with a grotesque dead body and Muggles would do that to just about anybody.
"Just take me back to the Atrium where I can run off and hide in shame until this repulsive disguise fades away and I can salvage some of my dignity," he mumbled, loafing around in Ron's much larger, heavier body.
"Don't take your frustration at not being able to make a break on this case out on me, or poor Ron," Reamann reprimanded.
"Who says it's the case that's getting to me? I just detest resembling a troll for so long. It compromises my usual grace."
"Sure, if by `grace' you mean `limp,'" Reamann quipped and Draco glared, fists balled as though ready to hit Reamann. Reamann grabbed a strong hold on Draco as he Disapparated right then, preventing Draco from actually taking a swing at him. They appeared together in the Atrium and Draco yanked his large Ron-arm out of Reamann's grasp, looking wounded.
"Look, I'm sorry, Draco, I shouldn't have said that remark about your…illness," Reamann apologized. Draco still looked ready to break him in half, and in all honesty, Ron probably could manage given his size.
"Reamann, Ron, what a surprise to see you!" Ginny called from an Apparition point not but a few down the grid from them. She was grinning broadly and walking over to them.
Draco paled, making Ron's freckles stand out so much more, and Reamann shifted uncomfortably to try and head Ginny off.
"Gin, babe, how are you?" he asked, giving her a long and tight embrace. Draco did not know why, but he flushed in anger at that.
Why was he angry that Reamann was hugging his own girlfriend?
Was it because his girlfriend was Ginny and he liked Ginny?
Certainly not.
"I'm good. I just got in from my late lunch. I swung by your office to see if you would join me but was told by the Desk Witch that you had gone off on business…I did not realize Ron had gone with you. It wasn't another terrible scene I hope," she said, her voice so full of concern and warmth it made Draco's stomach bubble slightly.
"Unfortunately," Reamann muttered, trying to keep Ginny's attention away from her supposed brother. It did not work however because she tuned from Reamann then.
"Ron," she said, holding out her arms as though expecting a hug. Draco was rooted in his spot, his heart thudding madly in his massive chest.
What if Ginny asked him something personal only Ron would be able to answer?
What if she tried to carry on a conversation she and Ron had shared before that he was unaware of?
His Legilimency was useful, but not limitless.
He would blow his cover.
He needed to get out of there.
Yet, she wanted to hug him, and he wanted to let her.
Ginny stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around his ribs in a firm hug. Draco held his arms up awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to do at first but then settled on placing his hands on her back, keeping them well above her waist. Copping a feel, while supposedly her older brother, would likely traumatize her for life or blow his cover. Possibly both. He gave her a squeeze back to satisfy her, but all he knew was that he was going to have a very un-brotherly reaction to her body pressed up against his if she did not let go soon.
"I hope the scene wasn't too terrible. I know how much you hate blood and such," she said warmly, backing away from her brother with a lingering touch on his arm in such an affectionate way. Draco felt heat rise up from where her hand lingered on his arm, her honest compassion so rich and foreign to him. He had seen it in her so many years ago, but he had somehow forgotten the kindness that could fill her deep brown eyes and make them so inviting and safe.
Draco blushed and Ginny seemed to take that as Ron flushing.
"Was it really that bad?" she asked, looking over at Reamann for the answer.
"It appears that this time the one responsible used Sectumsempra," he said darkly. Ginny covered her mouth with her hand in a small gasp.
"That's terrible. What kind of a person would wield that awful curse against someone else?" she asked, sounding almost outraged. Draco had to fight not to speak the name that was on his mind. Ron, best mate of Harry Potter, would not accuse Harry of being guilty of such an "awful" thing, even though he was. He somehow doubted Ron would come to Draco's defense and point that out though.
"We don't know yet, sweetheart," Reamann said, leaning down and kissing her cheek, "but the department and I are working on it as hard as we can. We will break this soon, you'll see," he assured.
"Alright," she nodded, smiling sadly.
"I will see you at home tonight," he said with one final hug.
"Tonight," she said, only halfheartedly returning the hug before turning to Draco/Ron. She looked him right in the eyes and seemed to consider him for a long moment before giving him one more drawn out hug.
"Don't let your eyes be so haunted, Ron. I know it's terrible, but you will figure this out. You're good at these sorts of things," she comforted, while holding him. Draco said nothing at first but then managed to choke out a few words.
"Of course,"
"See you boys later," she said, heading off towards the lifts, a slight bounce in her step as she moved quickly, her robes so dark a green they were almost black billowing out around her as she moved. Draco stared after her long enough for Reamann to say something.
"What's up with you?" he asked.
"What?" Draco asked, blinking and looking over at Reamann.
"You got funny as soon as Ginny showed up. What's up?" he asked and Draco flushed.
"Nothing, I was just nervous that she would ask me something only Ron would be able to answer and blow this," he said.
"You are about to anyways with that white streak in your hair, Weasley," he said, hands on his hips. Draco blinked and reached up to touch his hair to find Ron's sleeves becoming increasingly too long on him.
"Shite," he muttered, turning and hurrying off the Apparition grid to hide over near one of the darker walls. Reamann followed to block Draco from view as he slowly shifted back to his own likeness. It was a good thing it was late so there were few in the Atrium, and the Desk Witch was too busy reading Witch Weekly to notice.
"I hadn't realized an hour had passed," Draco muttered through his growing discomfort at the change as Reamann held his cloak wide open like a flasher, his back to the room so as to shield Draco.
"You have a terrible sense of time," he commented.
"You are not the first to point that out to me. My mother always complained about my inability to be on time or judge the passing of time," he muttered, standing awkwardly in Ron's far-too-large robes and holding the waist of his trousers so they would not fall around his ankles ridiculously. He was left feeling smaller than usual as a result, looking like a boy in his father's robes.
"You think you can manage a short walk to the loo to change?" Reamann asked, noticing too Draco's awkwardness in the sea of robes.
"Probably," Draco muttered, trying to lift his feet but Ron's shoes sloshing around his smaller foot, threatening to either be left behind, or trip him, or both. "I can't lift the robes, hold up the trousers, and walk with these boats Ron calls shoes on my feet at the same time," he grumbled, aggravated by his own small size.
He was not that small! Ron was just too large and bulky for his own good; like he had gotten into Skele-Gro Potion at some point since he had last seen him since the war.
"Then kick them off and carry them," Reamann suggested, speaking of the shoes.
"And walk around without shoes on? Are you barbaric?" Draco asked in outrage, his mother's propriety showing through. No shoes in a public building? A disgraceful thought to say the least. One was never to move about without something on their feet, not even in the privacy of their own home. Slippers were always required at the very least.
"Then shuffle your feet, but we can't stand here all day, we are attracting attention," Reamann said, letting his robe fall and expose Draco to anyone that cared to look.
Draco grumbled as he shuffled. He felt ridiculous and probably looked it too.
He reached the lavatories where he was able to secure a cubical and change back into his clothing Reamann had packed into his bag for him after having shrunk it down some to fit. Draco folded up Ron's clothing and slipped his own back on, suddenly feeling rather self-conscious about his stature.
Malfoys were not insecure creatures, but spending nearly three hours as a much larger man had put into sharp relief just how short/lightweight he really was.
Ron might have been unusually tall and broad, but having his clothing literally fall off him when changing out of it left Draco feeling substandard and small.
Stepping out, he handed Reamann the neatly folded clothing with the shoes on top but took a little longer to hand the wand back. Just holding the slender piece of wood in his hand made it buzz and vibrate with power.
"Sorry, mate, but Ron does need that back," Reamann said with a sort of sad humor, like he could tell just how much Draco wanted to just stand there, holding the wand. Draco swallowed hard and gave the wand to Reamann quickly, as though unsure he would be able to do it at all if he didn't to it short and fast, like peeling off a Band-Aid.
Reamann looked at Draco for a moment and then the wand.
"That the first time you have held a wand since being sent to Azkaban?" he asked, the room empty but his voice low anyways. Draco just nodded silently, looking away. "Well, I won't say anything if you wanted, I don't know, to levitate something, or transfigure something, you know, just for old-times sake," he offered. Draco looked at him shocked at first, then sad.
"No," he said after a long moment.
"You're sure?"
"It would only make it harder to go day to day, having done magic again," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
Reamann looked sad.
"What is it like? I mean, is it hard to resist?" he asked.
"You ever smoke and then try to quit?" Draco asked. Reamann shook his head. "Well, I have, and it's like that, only infinitely worse. Magic is as natural to us as breathing. It's like not being allowed to ever take more than a shallow breath. You whole body just fights so hard to take a deep gasp after a while. It's painful and maddening," he explained.
"It sounds terrible."
"Magic is within us, the wands we use are only focusing tools to help us control and center it. A Muggle flicking a wand about could produce sparks at best, and that magic would come from whatever the wand contains, a Dragons Heartstring, a Unicorn Hair, a Phoenix feather, whatever," he said, taking a deep breath. "We can do magic without wands, but it is broader, harder to control. You are Muggle born," he said and Reamann nodded, "you remember the first time you accidentally did magic? When you were small and did not know about magic?"
"Yeah, I turned my teacher's hairpiece alive -or something like that- and it attacked him. The whole class thought it was a riot," he said and Draco nodded.
"Without having an outlet for our magic to escape, it will find its own way, usually when we are scared, or angry, or upset. It builds up until it just erupts out of us unexpectedly."
"That happens to you?" he asked and Draco nodded. "I never really thought about it like that," he said.
"My cool and unflappable demeanor is not just because I'm that pretentious. Getting too angry or emotional will lead to things happening, things exploding," he said, almost able to find the humor in his words. Reamann nodded. "The Accidental Magic Reversal Squad has gotten to know me pretty well over the last three years, having to come and smooth things over when magic accidentally happens around me," he said, looking a little embarrassed. Reamann knew Draco lived in a Muggle neighborhood and could only imagine the troubles Draco would have inadvertently caused for the Ministry while there.
"You sure you don't want to cast a spell, release some of that pent up magical energy and frustration?" he offered, not quite holding out Ron's wand but sort of tipping it in Draco's direction, handle first.
"I wish I could, but the Ministry keeps careful tabs on me and my magical exertion. They would be able to tell that I cast a spell and I really don't want to wind up back in Azkaban, as nice of a vacationing spot as that is," he sighed.
Draco took the lifts down as far as they would go and trekked back the long and familiar rout to the Hall of Records. He had promised to send Reamann his report by note as soon as he finished, Reamann off to dress and wake Ron, modify his memory, and then try and catch a quick lunch break, "starving" he had said in regards to how he felt. Draco, passing on the nosh, was not interested in eating, or socializing with Reamann any more.
He hated the fact that he was getting so comfortable around the man that he was opening up to him and letting Reamann see so much of the real him. He had revealed too much of himself to the other man and he was feeling vulnerable and exposed. Reamann knew about his illness, his children, his deceased wife, the dismal state of his living arrangements, and now the truth about not being unable to cast spells and how difficult a thing it was to live with. All he needed to do was share his ambitions and secret crush and they could be best mates.
Only problem was, it was becoming painfully apparent that Reamann's girlfriend was his "secret crush," and the fact that him and Reamann were becoming close enough to possibly consider each other "friends" was disconcerting to Draco.
He did not have friends, and there was a reason behind that.
Friends become backstabbers or potential blackmailers. No good ever comes of it.
Draco walked into the Hall at a slightly quickened pace. He had to write up a report, and it looked like he would have to stay two hours late to make up for the time lost while on his "extended lunch break." He would have to send an owl to his mother to tell her to hold onto his children for a little longer. He hated not being able to be home with them, especially since Michelangelo would only be home for a few very short weeks before he would be gone again. He had spent nine years of his son's life apart from him. He did not like that attending Hogwarts meant his son would not be home with him now that he was finally out. He did not know what he would do with himself come next year when Clarissa would be gone too.
He made a mental note to write to Minerva McGonagall. They needed to come to some sort of agreement, some soft of arraignment, so he could see his babies during the school year. After all, it was her fault he had been kept separate from them in the first place he thought bitterly. She owed him.
"Draco," Coderdale called, seeing Draco nearly jog into the room. "I was wondering when you would be back. I had begun to think you had simply gone home," he said, not alone at his desk and thusly causing Draco to freeze on the spot. Ginny stood beside Mr. Coderdale, holding a package, smiling while looking a little abashed. "Oh yes, well, Draco, while you were gone this lovely young woman stopped by. Only been here for about fifteen minutes," he said, indicating Ginny beside him.
"Hello, Draco," she said softly.
"Hello, Ginny," he answered, possibly breathless. Had she taken his breath away? Surely the surprise of her being there had, but why couldn't he catch his breath as he looked at her standing there?
"I will let you children talk, I have some shelving to do because of your extended absence," Coderdale said, speaking to Draco, his voice amused and obviously not bothered that he had to pick up the slack for the time Draco had been out.
"Thank you, Coderdale," he managed after a moment; Coderdale almost disappeared around a bookshelf by that time.
"I heard you were on lunch but you had been gone a long time, so I figured I would just leave this here for you with a note…but I got to talking to Mr. Coderdale, and well, time passed by," she said, plucking off and crumpling up a note she had tacked to the long, thin, and flat box she was holding.
"What's this, Weasley?" he asked, stepping up to her slowly and eyeing her for a long moment before finally accepting the gift.
"I was at Honey Dukes and saw these and thought of you. It was totally random that you popped up into my mind like that and it was a purely impulsive buy really, but I figured you wouldn't mind," she said as Draco untied the purple and gold-trimmed ribbon and opened the white box, revealing sweets inside. "Sponge candy, dipped in dark chocolate. It's your favorite," she said softly, waiting for his reaction.
"I'm aware of that, but not aware that you were too," he said, looking back up at her, caught somewhere between great excitement and appreciation with his surprise, and defensive confusion.
"You told me," she said and Draco did not have to ask, his eyes questioning enough for her to elaborate on that more. "That night we spent together…before the final battle," she said, almost saying "the night we kissed" but that not being definitive enough anymore since they had now kissed more than once. "I assumed you weren't lying when you said you loved sponge candy," she said with a smile. She was going to let him hold to what he had said the other night, that she could not believe all he had confessed to that night, and she did not know him, and it had all just been a misunderstanding.
They both knew that was a lie, but if it made him feel better, more secure, she would play along.
Draco knew exactly what she was doing, that she was only pretending to believe that he had not been honest that night to humor him, and he blushed. Damn her for making him blush so much, and damn him for having been so honest that night with her. How was he to know that he would actually survive to have to then later deal with the consequences of his sincerity?
"I can't believe you remembered that," he said, almost feeling flattered, but then realizing he could recall everything Ginny had told him about herself too and feeling his face grow warm. Damn it.
"Like I said, I just saw them and thought of you. It's the Christmas season, so I figured a gift would be well warranted."
"You shouldn't be buying me gifts, Weasley, when I still owe you for saving my life," he said as he set the box down on the desk next to him, happy to be able to turn away so she would not see him finally smile at the gift.
"You saved my life first, Draco, so consider us even."
"Yes, but my life is worth so much more than yours, Weasley," he teased and she dropped her jaw in outrage.
"You prat," she said, reaching up and pinching his upper arm.
"Ouch! Don't pinch. What are you, eight years old?" he asked while reaching up and pinching her arm back.
"Ow! You are such a prat," she said while laughing, pinching him back, Draco unaware of the grin on his face as he tried to slap her hand away to prevent another pinch, them both laughing at that point.
"Give it up, Weasley," he said, blocking yet another of her attempts. "Quidditch provided me with excellent reflexes."
"Don't forget that I was a seeker for a short time too, Draco, and I recall beating you," she laughed, coming round to manage a pinch.
"Ow! Hey, I was sick you wench," he said, attempting to pinch her back but just grabbing both her wrists to prevent her from getting another in on him.
"Oh, like you would ever admit to personal weakness, even as an excuse for a poor performance," she said, looking at him, cheeks flushed from laughter, long red hair tussled from their minor skirmish. "The most you would ever do is exploit an injury,"
"I happen to be very weak and vulnerable, and I would thank you to mind my delicate body," he said, eyeing her with only a hint of tease in his voice as he smirked at her. "Damn woman, I bruise like a peach," he whined, arms sore.
"That's what you get for being a prat," she said, realizing then that he was still holding her arms, and they were so close.
Draco noticed too, but seemed enticed by it.
Taking a deep breath through his nose he pulled her into a hard kiss while holding her to him by her wrists.
Ginny managed to rip her arms out of his grasp but she didn't pull away. On the contrary, she reached around and laced her hands into his long hair at the back of his head, pressing that much harder against him. Their bodies suddenly flush, their breathing was hard as they kissed furiously with enough need to make it seem like they were trying to eat each other from the mouth down.
Draco spun Ginny around so her back was to the desks and pushed her down while blindly sweeping with his left arm to clear a space, knocking her into the lamp slightly, toppling over bottles of ink and a stack of books.
Neither cared nor even noticed the mess they were making as Draco pressed himself against her, pinning her to the desk. They broke the kiss to breathe but Draco did not stop in his kissing, kissing the corner of her mouth, across her cheek to her ear, and then down that sensitive line where her hair bordered her neck behind her ear, sending shivers through her body.
"Draco," she managed, wrapping right leg around his slender waist, making him press against her in a way that made it painfully obvious how much they each wanted the other; his a much more obvious physical reaction.
"Ginny," he breathed into her ear, his hands on the desk for support while hers fisted in the back of his sweatshirt.
"Draco?"
Draco and Ginny practically leapt out of their skin.
Mr. Coderdale was standing just beyond the desks having just come around the line of bookshelves to happen onto the scene.
"Oh, oh my goodness," Ginny muttered, face burning red as Draco leaned up off her to plant his feet more firmly on the floor, pulling Ginny standing in that same motion so that they were still flush but now upright. With a step back, they were left standing there, faces burning red, clothing and hair ruffled.
"I'm, I'm sorry, I just heard a commotion, I didn't realize," Mr. Coderdale stammered, looking embarrassed himself.
"I think I ought to go. I'll see you…talk to you…some other time, Draco…Malfoy…" Ginny stumbled over her words, looking horrified and blushing so badly her hair clashed. Draco was looking as pink as a sunburned albino as he nodded readily, silent, biting his bottom lip, hands deep in his pockets to try and disguise his body's very noticeable and thusly embarrassing excitement.
Ginny fled the room leaving Draco standing there with Coderdale, both not wanting to be the first to say anything. Coderdale broke the silence eventually though.
"Ginny Weasley," he said, Draco refusing to look at him. "Isn't she dating your partner, Draco?" he asked, making it clear what he was inferring, that he was outraged at what he had walked in on.
Draco nodded and said nothing.
Ginny was Reamann's girlfriend.
Reamann was his partner.
Ginny was a Weasley.
What was he thinking?
He had no idea, but whatever it was, it was obvious she had been thinking the same thing.
Maybe they both had Wrackspurts buzzing around in their ears.
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Author's Note:
Alright, in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, page 217, when Harry becomes Goyle using the Polyjuice Potion, he doesn't need his glasses anymore. "Then he realized that his glasses were clouding his eyes because Goyle obviously didn't need them-"… but in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Bartemius Crouch Jr. uses Mad-Eye's magical glass eye and can see with it (though he was then lacking an eye otherwise.) I'm sure Draco, if he became Ron, would not need his glasses still, but because I wasn't sure at the time of writing this chapter, I wrote him using them. If that is not canon, sorry.
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