It looked like his cell, felt and smelled like it, too. But where there had once been a door facing his bed, there was now none, just four silent walls of brick and cement and peeling paint hemming him in. He scrabbled at one wall, trying to find a false panel or a loose brick or a hollow spot; he had obviously gotten in somehow, and logically, there must be a way out as well.
Logic, however, had no intention of staying put. Three walls went by without so much as a chink to be discovered, and panic was beginning to make itself nice and comfortable, looming larger than seemed possible in the small confines of the cell, and by the way, was he going insane or did the room just shrink? He tore his fingers uselessly at the last wall, losing hope with each passing second.
"Come on, come on," he muttered, pushing his fists against the wall, his energy and optimism flagging while his chest constricted with the crushing terror he'd been trying to keep at bay. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to just give up, accept his doom and lay down to die.
A throat cleared behind him, impatience and irritation evident in the voice. "Look, Malfoy, do you want to get out, or what? I don't have all day, you know."
He whirled around, placing the voice before he even saw her face. "What? How did you get in here?"
The girl Weasley shrugged, and held out a hand. "Well, come on, then. Let's go."
There was something odd about the scene, but he accepted her outstretched palm anyway, and followed her lead. A door had, apparently, materialised again while he had been contemplating his death, and she easily pushed it open a crack, flooding their faces with light.
Draco awoke to an unfamiliar room, his heart pounding to an insistent drumbeat, as the residual shudders of dream panic rolled in little waves off his skin. As his consciousness jogged forward to catch him up with reality, he puffed out a short sigh of relief, and uncurled one tight fist from the duvet. Draco forced his breathing to even out and reminded himself that he was in Belgium on assignment, still a free man.
A shaft of morning light forced its way through a slim space where he hadn't closed the damask curtains properly, bringing the memory of the end of his dream careening to the forefront of his mind, the image of Ginny Weasley reaching out to save him clear as crystal. He supposed his subconscious had conflated truth and fear somehow; though she had been operating under orders at the time, she had been the one to physically fetch him out of prison, and it was understandable, though unfortunate, that some poorly functioning part of him might consider her his saviour. He hoped she didn't think the same of herself, however; the girl seemed to have enough of a superiority complex as it was.
Letting the remnants of his dream flit lazily away like dandelion seeds on a summer breeze, Draco sat up and checked the bedside clock. It was still early enough that he had quite some time to carry out the second part of his plan before having to accompany Ogletree to his mid-morning meeting. He sped through his morning ablutions, pulled on a pair of dark denims, a jumper and trainers and slipped a jacket on, stuffing the little disc he'd received the night before in its pocket. Stepping out of his room, Draco decided to forego the lift; he was still slightly mistrustful of the contraptions, and in any case, Draco figured that jogging down the stairwell would be helpful in getting his energy and adrenaline levels up and running. His plan was only half thought out, and if he was to follow it through, he needed his mind and body to be sharp.
The city looked vastly different in the daylight, a wild mix of architectural styles living side by side. Still, Draco had little difficulty following the route he had taken the night before, easily finding the boutique hotel again. The receptionist he'd conned was gone, her shift over, and replaced by an olive-skinned young man who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world as he gazed out the large front window at the street.
Draco entered the lobby, sweeping past the reception area with a short, friendly nod to the young man, who returned the gesture with a mandatory smile, assuming Draco was a hotel guest. As he pushed the lift button up, Draco chanced a peek at the receptionist, who'd returned to people-watching. You could get away with a lot of things if you just looked like you knew exactly what you were doing. Draco entered the lift, keeping his mind on his objective as it chugged upwards.
A pleasant trill announced Draco's stop on the second floor, and he walked down the carpeted corridor towards room 231. The corridor was empty, and he flattened himself in a position against the wall next to the door so that he couldn't be spotted through Sarah Martin's, or any other guests', peepholes. From his pocket Draco produced a thin string, one end of which he fed through the gap at the bottom of the door; it was a more sophisticated version of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' Extendable Ears, but not by much. As much as he had regarded the Weasley twins as nuisances, he couldn't deny their brilliance in creating products meant to put other people out.
From the other end of the string held up to his ear, Draco could hear the television broadcasting a morning news channel, and the sound of running water. It was enough evidence that the room's inhabitant was up and about, and hopefully on her way out. He wound the length of string around his finger and pocketed it once more. Then, wand in hand, Draco cast a tracking spell above the door. It was a particularly tricky one, and had taken him a fair amount of time to master. If he had done it right, once the door opened and Sarah Martin stepped out, it would settle around her without her being aware of it, leaving him a bright, clear trail to follow. He hoped she planned on leaving the room quite soon; such complicated magic could not sustain itself for long.
Leaving the hotel, Draco crossed the street to a coffee-shop diagonally opposite his target, where he could maintain a good view of the hotel's front door. He bought himself a cup of coffee and picked up a discarded newspaper from one of the tables, settling in for what would hopefully be a short wait. Though he still had some time before he needed to head back to fetch Ogletree, Draco really had no idea how long this mission would take, and whether his overt obligations to the old diplomat would end up making him fail his assignment. Although it was helpful to have a legitimate cover for all the travelling the Unit wanted him to do, having to accompany Ogletree to his myriad meetings and dinners was rather a hindrance as well to his real work.
Luck seemed to be on his side for the time being, however, as he hadn't been seated more than fifteen minutes before he was alerted to his tracking spell activating. Hoping it hadn't been a very early and industrious member of the housekeeping staff that tripped his spell, Draco kept a keen eye locked on the hotel entrance, and was soon rewarded with the sight of his target. She was a petite brunette with a ruddy complexion and a pair of thin-rimmed glasses perched atop her sharp nose. The most striking thing about her, however, was the ball of green light that bobbed above her head like a buoy, though no one else in the street seemed to notice it, least of all the target herself, signalling to Draco that he had gotten his spell exactly right.
Draco tamped down a pleased grin, and leisurely folded his newspaper. Binning his coffee cup, he stepped out of the cafe and began following Sarah Martin. The light above her head was beginning to fade as the spell's potency gradually wore off; it was no matter to Draco, however, as she was well within his line of sight, and he was well enough trained in simple tracking techniques that he needed no magic.
After picking up a large, pink bouquet from a nearby flower shop, his target moved swiftly down the street, occasionally peering behind her; whether she knew she was being followed and was trying to catch him out, or if she was just very paranoid, Draco wasn't sure. She wasn't exactly doing it with confidence and skill, however, and he suspected she hadn't been doing this kind of work for long. That makes two of us, he thought charitably, though his spirits were further buoyed knowing that he wasn't dealing with an accomplished spy, and, given that, his chances of pulling off his first mission successfully had increased considerably.
The woman, looking slightly nervous, walked a winding route that eventually led to an old cemetery. The main gate swung blissfully in the wind, hinges wailing. Many of its gravestones were overgrown with uncut grass and weeds, though a caretaker pottered around nearby. After appearing to have some trouble finding a particular tombstone, Sarah Martin finally lit upon one and knelt before it, carefully placing the truss of flowers over the grave. Partially hidden behind an ostentatious mausoleum, Draco watched as she picked up rocks from the ground and built a small cairn at the base of the tombstone, which, his handlers had informed him, was the signal that she was leaving something important there for someone else to pick up. She stood and brushed her hands off on her jeans, and looked around carefully before heading back out of the cemetery.
Draco waited until he was reasonably sure she was far enough away before getting into action. A cursory glance told him that whatever she had left was hidden inside the bouquet, and he felt his way around its opaque cellophane wrapping, his fingers coming up against a small, hard object near its base. He peered in, catching sight of the item in question despite the mass of stems and leaves shrouding it, and carefully reached a hand inside, trying not to disturb the arrangement. If he was going to make a good switch, he'd have to make sure everything stayed as pristine as possible, so that whoever was supposed to pick the object up wouldn't suspect it had been tampered with. With two fingers, he secured the item and gently slid it out. Following this, Draco removed the disc he'd stuffed in his pocket earlier that morning, a perfect replica of the item he had just procured, and dropped it into the bouquet. Then, putting the flowers back in place, Draco pocketed his newly acquired disc and made his way back to his hotel, his senses on alert, as there was always the chance that he himself was being watched and followed.
There appeared to be no threat, however, as Draco made it back without incident and without picking up anything out of the ordinary in his surroundings. Pushing the door to his room open, Draco started slightly as he caught sight of someone sitting comfortably in an armchair next to the window.
"I hope you're not planning on making this a habit," Draco said, though he had already come to accept Dennis' surprise visits as a staple in his life, and shut the door behind him.
Dennis smiled. "Too late. Plus, I rather like picking locks. Keeps the brain sharp." He tapped a forefinger at his temple. "Now, what are you supposed to say to verify my identity when you see me in an official capacity?" he coaxed in a didactic tone.
Draco narrowed his eyes at the other agent. "Semper ubi sub ubi."
"Illiud Latine dici non potest," he replied happily.
"Do we really have to use nonsense Latin for code phrases?" Draco asked, sounding suspiciously as whiny as he had in adolescence when he'd demanded why in the world he needed to learn Divination when it had absolutely no relationship with reality.
"No," said Dennis, "but we have to make our own fun somehow, don't we? I'll let you pick next time; don't want to keep the same phrase for too long anyway. They're pretty easily sussed out and traced. For the same reason, I wouldn't recommend picking anything easily associated with you. So, no dragons or snakes or sex gods."
"Flattering, Creevey. Really," Draco said dryly, pulling a face as Dennis laughed. "But where in the world are you getting your information from? It's very suspect."
"Didn't you know? Some of the girls were mad about you in school. Wouldn't shut up about you."
"Jealous?" Draco smirked.
"Very," Dennis said, feigning adamance. "But I haven't come all this way just to inform you of ancient gossip, of course."
"Right," said Draco. It did make sense that, on his first real assignment, the Unit wouldn't let him go without supervision, and backup, if it had to come to that. His assignment had gone about as well as could be expected, and although it had given him quite a boost of confidence to know that he could pull it off, it was still rather reassuring to know that Dennis, younger, but wiser and more experienced, was around and had his back. "And how did I do?"
"Rather well, actually," Dennis said encouragingly. "You got in and out without any fuss, and it didn't occur to anyone to suspect you or keep an eye on you. Besides me, of course, but you knew that already."
Draco nodded, having long gotten used to Dennis' shadowy presence whenever there was any Unit business to be done.
"Do you have the thing on you?" Dennis asked, leaning forward with his elbows balanced on his knees. "Upstairs wants it earlier than you're scheduled to return, so they've asked me to take it back in your stead."
"Oh. Yeah, sure," said Draco, fishing the disc out of his pocket and handing it to the other agent.
Dennis inspected the jewel case closely, a wry smile forming on his face. "Lesson number," he paused, having long ago lost count, "oh, let's say, 348. Don't trust everything I say."
Draco's eyebrows knitted together. "Bit late for that, isn't it?"
"Mm, yes," he conceded with a shrug. "Fortunately, I just so happen to be a trustworthy and reliable ally, but for all you know, I could be a rogue agent who's gone and defected to the other side, and you've just given me a vital piece of intelligence that could bring your government to its knees. You haven't, of course, and I'm not. Anyway, my point is, you report only to your controllers -- in this case, Williams and Webb -- and any information you collect on the job is for their eyes only, no matter how convincing a story any other agent might tell you. Or how fetching they happen to be," Dennis added with a wink, and lobbed the disc back into Draco's waiting grasp.
"Got it," Draco said, not bothering to check the amusement in his voice. He pocketed the disc. "And what if one of my controllers defects?"
"Then you can't really be held accountable, can you? What your controller says, goes, so it's Upstairs' problem then, that they didn't catch the problem to begin with. Now, let's review. You've just collected a piece of intelligence, I turn up and say there's been a change of plans, and Williams and Webb want you to give it to me instead. What do you do?"
"Kick you in the shins and run," Draco said dutifully.
"A mite barbaric," Dennis noted, "but I suppose it'll do."
There were obsessions, and then there were obsessions. She was too old to be having anything to do with the latter. She was lodged squarely in the elderly end of the 18-24 demographic set, and she ought to know better. Her jaw set, Ginny carefully took no notice of any of the other Ministry employees in the canteen as she discarded her lunch. Straightening her spine and directing her gaze firmly ahead, she exited the room and tried making a swift beeline for the stairwell, keeping her arms tucked in prime position for the employment of elbows if the need arose.
She was just beginning to congratulate herself on her strength of focus about halfway through her trek when the part of her that often got her into trouble as a child -- the part that told her to do things she knew she wasn't supposed to do, like write in a cursed diary, for instance -- reared its impish little head, and Ginny found herself searching the Atrium for Draco Malfoy. A quiet, resigned groan escaped her lips as she realised what she was doing. The trouble with having a nemesis, apart from having to come to terms with being the sort of person who acquires nemeses in the first place, was that one felt somehow incomplete when one's personal scourge of the earth wasn't around to be scowled at.
It had taken her quite by surprise just how fast she got used to Draco's presence during the work week, despite their being in different departments. And when he hadn't shown up on a Tuesday morning, Ginny had noticed immediately. To make things worse, not only had she noticed, she was so thrown off by it that she spent most of her break times on a stealthy mission looking for him, as if his absence had severely tilted the balance of the universe.
Tilted your brains right out, more like, the still-rational, but increasingly tiny part of her mind complained, in a tone disturbingly similar to Hermione's disapproving voice.
It was now Friday, and though Ginny had discovered in the interim that Draco was overseas on a diplomatic visit with Cyrus Ogletree, the news hadn't stopped her from making sure, when she arrived to work every morning, that he hadn't returned early to plague her with his existence again.
She was pure madness, and she knew it, and it was clear other people were beginning to catch on to her compromised mental faculties, too.
Ginny wasn't sure how long she had been at her desk, reading the same line of a report over and over without processing any of its meaning, when a shadow loomed over her desk and emitted a polite cough.
"Er, Ginny," said Brigid, handing her a folder from atop the small stack in her crook of her arm, "you do know that when I asked for the file on the bridge refurbishing project, I did want the file on the bridge refurbishing project, and not the new Ridgeback reserve, right?"
"Yes. Sorry. Sorry," Ginny said, cringing so hard her whole body would have crumpled in penance if it could have. Personal insanity she probably could have managed with willpower and a few self-help books, but having it affect her work was a new level of wretchedness. "I have it right here. Sorry."
"Are you okay?" Brigid asked, accepting the correct file. "You seem a bit... distracted."
"Yeah, I'm fine. Better than fine," Ginny said quickly. Taking note of Brigid's cocked eyebrow, she added, "Really. Just fine. And sorry. About the file. Really. Sorry."
With an expression that brooked no argument, her supervisor said firmly, "Stop apologising; you're allowed to make a few mistakes once in a while. And anyway, you can make it up to me by helping me deliver this after work." She riffled through the stack of papers and files she was carrying, and produced a sealed envelope. "I'd do it myself, but I've got to go see my mum; she's feeling rather poorly."
Ginny's brows furrowed in sympathy. She took the envelope and placed it on top of her bag. "Tell her I said hello, will you?"
"Yeah, of course," Brigid said. She hesitated for a brief moment before moving a few papers towards the centre of Ginny's desk, so she could perch on the edge of it, and leaned forward solicitously. "And if there's anything bothering you, you know you can come talk to me, right?"
Ginny gave her a grateful smile. "Yes, I know. Thank you. But I really am all right. Maybe I'm just getting a bit sick; it's all this weather," she said, her vague gestures matching her words.
"Ooh, I hope you haven't caught that bug I had these last few days. Absolutely vile. I hate missing work, but it practically rendered me immobile," Brigid said with an unappreciative shudder. "Anyway, the invitation stands, whenever you need it." She slid off the desk, her expression turning mischievous, and added, "Especially if it happens to be about a boy. I could use some vicarious romance in my life, you know."
Ginny grinned, glad to have the mood lightened. "Believe me, if there was a boy in my life, I would not be keeping quiet about it."
Brigid laughed. "Yes, that does sound more like you."
Logic, however, had no intention of staying put. Three walls went by without so much as a chink to be discovered, and panic was beginning to make itself nice and comfortable, looming larger than seemed possible in the small confines of the cell, and by the way, was he going insane or did the room just shrink? He tore his fingers uselessly at the last wall, losing hope with each passing second.
"Come on, come on," he muttered, pushing his fists against the wall, his energy and optimism flagging while his chest constricted with the crushing terror he'd been trying to keep at bay. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to just give up, accept his doom and lay down to die.
A throat cleared behind him, impatience and irritation evident in the voice. "Look, Malfoy, do you want to get out, or what? I don't have all day, you know."
He whirled around, placing the voice before he even saw her face. "What? How did you get in here?"
The girl Weasley shrugged, and held out a hand. "Well, come on, then. Let's go."
There was something odd about the scene, but he accepted her outstretched palm anyway, and followed her lead. A door had, apparently, materialised again while he had been contemplating his death, and she easily pushed it open a crack, flooding their faces with light.
Draco awoke to an unfamiliar room, his heart pounding to an insistent drumbeat, as the residual shudders of dream panic rolled in little waves off his skin. As his consciousness jogged forward to catch him up with reality, he puffed out a short sigh of relief, and uncurled one tight fist from the duvet. Draco forced his breathing to even out and reminded himself that he was in Belgium on assignment, still a free man.
A shaft of morning light forced its way through a slim space where he hadn't closed the damask curtains properly, bringing the memory of the end of his dream careening to the forefront of his mind, the image of Ginny Weasley reaching out to save him clear as crystal. He supposed his subconscious had conflated truth and fear somehow; though she had been operating under orders at the time, she had been the one to physically fetch him out of prison, and it was understandable, though unfortunate, that some poorly functioning part of him might consider her his saviour. He hoped she didn't think the same of herself, however; the girl seemed to have enough of a superiority complex as it was.
Letting the remnants of his dream flit lazily away like dandelion seeds on a summer breeze, Draco sat up and checked the bedside clock. It was still early enough that he had quite some time to carry out the second part of his plan before having to accompany Ogletree to his mid-morning meeting. He sped through his morning ablutions, pulled on a pair of dark denims, a jumper and trainers and slipped a jacket on, stuffing the little disc he'd received the night before in its pocket. Stepping out of his room, Draco decided to forego the lift; he was still slightly mistrustful of the contraptions, and in any case, Draco figured that jogging down the stairwell would be helpful in getting his energy and adrenaline levels up and running. His plan was only half thought out, and if he was to follow it through, he needed his mind and body to be sharp.
The city looked vastly different in the daylight, a wild mix of architectural styles living side by side. Still, Draco had little difficulty following the route he had taken the night before, easily finding the boutique hotel again. The receptionist he'd conned was gone, her shift over, and replaced by an olive-skinned young man who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world as he gazed out the large front window at the street.
Draco entered the lobby, sweeping past the reception area with a short, friendly nod to the young man, who returned the gesture with a mandatory smile, assuming Draco was a hotel guest. As he pushed the lift button up, Draco chanced a peek at the receptionist, who'd returned to people-watching. You could get away with a lot of things if you just looked like you knew exactly what you were doing. Draco entered the lift, keeping his mind on his objective as it chugged upwards.
A pleasant trill announced Draco's stop on the second floor, and he walked down the carpeted corridor towards room 231. The corridor was empty, and he flattened himself in a position against the wall next to the door so that he couldn't be spotted through Sarah Martin's, or any other guests', peepholes. From his pocket Draco produced a thin string, one end of which he fed through the gap at the bottom of the door; it was a more sophisticated version of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' Extendable Ears, but not by much. As much as he had regarded the Weasley twins as nuisances, he couldn't deny their brilliance in creating products meant to put other people out.
From the other end of the string held up to his ear, Draco could hear the television broadcasting a morning news channel, and the sound of running water. It was enough evidence that the room's inhabitant was up and about, and hopefully on her way out. He wound the length of string around his finger and pocketed it once more. Then, wand in hand, Draco cast a tracking spell above the door. It was a particularly tricky one, and had taken him a fair amount of time to master. If he had done it right, once the door opened and Sarah Martin stepped out, it would settle around her without her being aware of it, leaving him a bright, clear trail to follow. He hoped she planned on leaving the room quite soon; such complicated magic could not sustain itself for long.
Leaving the hotel, Draco crossed the street to a coffee-shop diagonally opposite his target, where he could maintain a good view of the hotel's front door. He bought himself a cup of coffee and picked up a discarded newspaper from one of the tables, settling in for what would hopefully be a short wait. Though he still had some time before he needed to head back to fetch Ogletree, Draco really had no idea how long this mission would take, and whether his overt obligations to the old diplomat would end up making him fail his assignment. Although it was helpful to have a legitimate cover for all the travelling the Unit wanted him to do, having to accompany Ogletree to his myriad meetings and dinners was rather a hindrance as well to his real work.
Luck seemed to be on his side for the time being, however, as he hadn't been seated more than fifteen minutes before he was alerted to his tracking spell activating. Hoping it hadn't been a very early and industrious member of the housekeeping staff that tripped his spell, Draco kept a keen eye locked on the hotel entrance, and was soon rewarded with the sight of his target. She was a petite brunette with a ruddy complexion and a pair of thin-rimmed glasses perched atop her sharp nose. The most striking thing about her, however, was the ball of green light that bobbed above her head like a buoy, though no one else in the street seemed to notice it, least of all the target herself, signalling to Draco that he had gotten his spell exactly right.
Draco tamped down a pleased grin, and leisurely folded his newspaper. Binning his coffee cup, he stepped out of the cafe and began following Sarah Martin. The light above her head was beginning to fade as the spell's potency gradually wore off; it was no matter to Draco, however, as she was well within his line of sight, and he was well enough trained in simple tracking techniques that he needed no magic.
After picking up a large, pink bouquet from a nearby flower shop, his target moved swiftly down the street, occasionally peering behind her; whether she knew she was being followed and was trying to catch him out, or if she was just very paranoid, Draco wasn't sure. She wasn't exactly doing it with confidence and skill, however, and he suspected she hadn't been doing this kind of work for long. That makes two of us, he thought charitably, though his spirits were further buoyed knowing that he wasn't dealing with an accomplished spy, and, given that, his chances of pulling off his first mission successfully had increased considerably.
The woman, looking slightly nervous, walked a winding route that eventually led to an old cemetery. The main gate swung blissfully in the wind, hinges wailing. Many of its gravestones were overgrown with uncut grass and weeds, though a caretaker pottered around nearby. After appearing to have some trouble finding a particular tombstone, Sarah Martin finally lit upon one and knelt before it, carefully placing the truss of flowers over the grave. Partially hidden behind an ostentatious mausoleum, Draco watched as she picked up rocks from the ground and built a small cairn at the base of the tombstone, which, his handlers had informed him, was the signal that she was leaving something important there for someone else to pick up. She stood and brushed her hands off on her jeans, and looked around carefully before heading back out of the cemetery.
Draco waited until he was reasonably sure she was far enough away before getting into action. A cursory glance told him that whatever she had left was hidden inside the bouquet, and he felt his way around its opaque cellophane wrapping, his fingers coming up against a small, hard object near its base. He peered in, catching sight of the item in question despite the mass of stems and leaves shrouding it, and carefully reached a hand inside, trying not to disturb the arrangement. If he was going to make a good switch, he'd have to make sure everything stayed as pristine as possible, so that whoever was supposed to pick the object up wouldn't suspect it had been tampered with. With two fingers, he secured the item and gently slid it out. Following this, Draco removed the disc he'd stuffed in his pocket earlier that morning, a perfect replica of the item he had just procured, and dropped it into the bouquet. Then, putting the flowers back in place, Draco pocketed his newly acquired disc and made his way back to his hotel, his senses on alert, as there was always the chance that he himself was being watched and followed.
There appeared to be no threat, however, as Draco made it back without incident and without picking up anything out of the ordinary in his surroundings. Pushing the door to his room open, Draco started slightly as he caught sight of someone sitting comfortably in an armchair next to the window.
"I hope you're not planning on making this a habit," Draco said, though he had already come to accept Dennis' surprise visits as a staple in his life, and shut the door behind him.
Dennis smiled. "Too late. Plus, I rather like picking locks. Keeps the brain sharp." He tapped a forefinger at his temple. "Now, what are you supposed to say to verify my identity when you see me in an official capacity?" he coaxed in a didactic tone.
Draco narrowed his eyes at the other agent. "Semper ubi sub ubi."
"Illiud Latine dici non potest," he replied happily.
"Do we really have to use nonsense Latin for code phrases?" Draco asked, sounding suspiciously as whiny as he had in adolescence when he'd demanded why in the world he needed to learn Divination when it had absolutely no relationship with reality.
"No," said Dennis, "but we have to make our own fun somehow, don't we? I'll let you pick next time; don't want to keep the same phrase for too long anyway. They're pretty easily sussed out and traced. For the same reason, I wouldn't recommend picking anything easily associated with you. So, no dragons or snakes or sex gods."
"Flattering, Creevey. Really," Draco said dryly, pulling a face as Dennis laughed. "But where in the world are you getting your information from? It's very suspect."
"Didn't you know? Some of the girls were mad about you in school. Wouldn't shut up about you."
"Jealous?" Draco smirked.
"Very," Dennis said, feigning adamance. "But I haven't come all this way just to inform you of ancient gossip, of course."
"Right," said Draco. It did make sense that, on his first real assignment, the Unit wouldn't let him go without supervision, and backup, if it had to come to that. His assignment had gone about as well as could be expected, and although it had given him quite a boost of confidence to know that he could pull it off, it was still rather reassuring to know that Dennis, younger, but wiser and more experienced, was around and had his back. "And how did I do?"
"Rather well, actually," Dennis said encouragingly. "You got in and out without any fuss, and it didn't occur to anyone to suspect you or keep an eye on you. Besides me, of course, but you knew that already."
Draco nodded, having long gotten used to Dennis' shadowy presence whenever there was any Unit business to be done.
"Do you have the thing on you?" Dennis asked, leaning forward with his elbows balanced on his knees. "Upstairs wants it earlier than you're scheduled to return, so they've asked me to take it back in your stead."
"Oh. Yeah, sure," said Draco, fishing the disc out of his pocket and handing it to the other agent.
Dennis inspected the jewel case closely, a wry smile forming on his face. "Lesson number," he paused, having long ago lost count, "oh, let's say, 348. Don't trust everything I say."
Draco's eyebrows knitted together. "Bit late for that, isn't it?"
"Mm, yes," he conceded with a shrug. "Fortunately, I just so happen to be a trustworthy and reliable ally, but for all you know, I could be a rogue agent who's gone and defected to the other side, and you've just given me a vital piece of intelligence that could bring your government to its knees. You haven't, of course, and I'm not. Anyway, my point is, you report only to your controllers -- in this case, Williams and Webb -- and any information you collect on the job is for their eyes only, no matter how convincing a story any other agent might tell you. Or how fetching they happen to be," Dennis added with a wink, and lobbed the disc back into Draco's waiting grasp.
"Got it," Draco said, not bothering to check the amusement in his voice. He pocketed the disc. "And what if one of my controllers defects?"
"Then you can't really be held accountable, can you? What your controller says, goes, so it's Upstairs' problem then, that they didn't catch the problem to begin with. Now, let's review. You've just collected a piece of intelligence, I turn up and say there's been a change of plans, and Williams and Webb want you to give it to me instead. What do you do?"
"Kick you in the shins and run," Draco said dutifully.
"A mite barbaric," Dennis noted, "but I suppose it'll do."
There were obsessions, and then there were obsessions. She was too old to be having anything to do with the latter. She was lodged squarely in the elderly end of the 18-24 demographic set, and she ought to know better. Her jaw set, Ginny carefully took no notice of any of the other Ministry employees in the canteen as she discarded her lunch. Straightening her spine and directing her gaze firmly ahead, she exited the room and tried making a swift beeline for the stairwell, keeping her arms tucked in prime position for the employment of elbows if the need arose.
She was just beginning to congratulate herself on her strength of focus about halfway through her trek when the part of her that often got her into trouble as a child -- the part that told her to do things she knew she wasn't supposed to do, like write in a cursed diary, for instance -- reared its impish little head, and Ginny found herself searching the Atrium for Draco Malfoy. A quiet, resigned groan escaped her lips as she realised what she was doing. The trouble with having a nemesis, apart from having to come to terms with being the sort of person who acquires nemeses in the first place, was that one felt somehow incomplete when one's personal scourge of the earth wasn't around to be scowled at.
It had taken her quite by surprise just how fast she got used to Draco's presence during the work week, despite their being in different departments. And when he hadn't shown up on a Tuesday morning, Ginny had noticed immediately. To make things worse, not only had she noticed, she was so thrown off by it that she spent most of her break times on a stealthy mission looking for him, as if his absence had severely tilted the balance of the universe.
Tilted your brains right out, more like, the still-rational, but increasingly tiny part of her mind complained, in a tone disturbingly similar to Hermione's disapproving voice.
It was now Friday, and though Ginny had discovered in the interim that Draco was overseas on a diplomatic visit with Cyrus Ogletree, the news hadn't stopped her from making sure, when she arrived to work every morning, that he hadn't returned early to plague her with his existence again.
She was pure madness, and she knew it, and it was clear other people were beginning to catch on to her compromised mental faculties, too.
Ginny wasn't sure how long she had been at her desk, reading the same line of a report over and over without processing any of its meaning, when a shadow loomed over her desk and emitted a polite cough.
"Er, Ginny," said Brigid, handing her a folder from atop the small stack in her crook of her arm, "you do know that when I asked for the file on the bridge refurbishing project, I did want the file on the bridge refurbishing project, and not the new Ridgeback reserve, right?"
"Yes. Sorry. Sorry," Ginny said, cringing so hard her whole body would have crumpled in penance if it could have. Personal insanity she probably could have managed with willpower and a few self-help books, but having it affect her work was a new level of wretchedness. "I have it right here. Sorry."
"Are you okay?" Brigid asked, accepting the correct file. "You seem a bit... distracted."
"Yeah, I'm fine. Better than fine," Ginny said quickly. Taking note of Brigid's cocked eyebrow, she added, "Really. Just fine. And sorry. About the file. Really. Sorry."
With an expression that brooked no argument, her supervisor said firmly, "Stop apologising; you're allowed to make a few mistakes once in a while. And anyway, you can make it up to me by helping me deliver this after work." She riffled through the stack of papers and files she was carrying, and produced a sealed envelope. "I'd do it myself, but I've got to go see my mum; she's feeling rather poorly."
Ginny's brows furrowed in sympathy. She took the envelope and placed it on top of her bag. "Tell her I said hello, will you?"
"Yeah, of course," Brigid said. She hesitated for a brief moment before moving a few papers towards the centre of Ginny's desk, so she could perch on the edge of it, and leaned forward solicitously. "And if there's anything bothering you, you know you can come talk to me, right?"
Ginny gave her a grateful smile. "Yes, I know. Thank you. But I really am all right. Maybe I'm just getting a bit sick; it's all this weather," she said, her vague gestures matching her words.
"Ooh, I hope you haven't caught that bug I had these last few days. Absolutely vile. I hate missing work, but it practically rendered me immobile," Brigid said with an unappreciative shudder. "Anyway, the invitation stands, whenever you need it." She slid off the desk, her expression turning mischievous, and added, "Especially if it happens to be about a boy. I could use some vicarious romance in my life, you know."
Ginny grinned, glad to have the mood lightened. "Believe me, if there was a boy in my life, I would not be keeping quiet about it."
Brigid laughed. "Yes, that does sound more like you."
Author notes: Semper ubi sub ubi = Always wear underwear
Illiud Latine dici non potest = You can't say that in Latin
To Be Continued.
Adelagia is the author of 7 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 50 members. Members who liked Miles to Go Before I Sleep also liked 1158 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 50 members. Members who liked Miles to Go Before I Sleep also liked 1158 other stories.
Leave a Review