Potter's Law - Part Three (Ron/Dean)

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Title: Potter's Law - Part Three
Rating: NC17
Featured Character or Pairing(s): Ron/Dean, Draco, George, Harry, others mentioned.
Summary: How do you fight something that kills with the precision of a curse and spreads like an infection? How do you work with someone who gets to you in more ways than one? How can five men keep the wizarding world safe against all obstacles? This is a story about people, about relationships, about romance, but most of all, about passion.



Part One
Part Two

There was silence. Where only minutes earlier there had been the noises of people working - the sound of vials being put on a table, of a silver knife chopping asphodel, of fingers leafing through a book, of a suppressed gasp as something had turned out right, of people muttering encouragements and instructions; there was now nothing but the breathing of four men and the mocking bubbling of a potion that didn't work.

"No one is going to freak out now," Ron said. His voice had a commanding tone. "The potion is more complicated than a customary rotation charm on the new firebolt. We'll fix it."

"There's nothing wrong with the potion," Malfoy said.

"That would be more convincing if it was working," George replied.

"Correct me if I'm wrong." Malfoy was scowling as if daring George to disagree. "You just brewed that potion and you know that it works. The theory is sound, the ingredients were right and you did one hell of a job mixing it."

"Sod off, Malfoy." George sounded angry. "It doesn't matter if we think that it's good. It's fucking not."

Ron closed his eyes and blocked out the bickering. No matter how different George and Malfoy were, in one regard, they were the same. They were good at what they were doing, they were obsessed with their work and they were far too ambitious to give anything but their very best. Ron believed them when they said the potion was working. And the situation reminded him of something.

Years earlier, when Ron had still helped George with the shop, they'd tested the new generation of Daydream Charms. These charms made the hallucinations even more real, including all senses. The first tests had failed, though. Ron remembered George flailing around, running against a wall, talking to someone who wasn't there. While his brain had been hallucinating, the rest of his body had been still functioning, acting out the daydream. They'd had to invent a potion that distributed the charm throughout the whole body.

Ron's eyes snapped open. "Do you have enough of that potion you developed yesterday? The one you made on the basis of the Daydream Charms?"

"'Course I do," George answered. "I was brewing it after dinner when we still thought we could find a countercurse." He paused and looked at Ron. "Why?"

"Because I know why it's not working and I know what we have to do." Ron took his wand again. This time he didn't cast a 'Lumos', this time he aimed at one of the empty vials on the table and tried to transfigure it into a yellow bouncing ball with a red hat. The result was vaguely egg-shaped and had a lump on top. It was of an ugly swamp-green colour. "Dean," he said, feeling hope come back and a rush of excitement. "What did we learn in magical theory about the magical core? When was it, second year in Healer training?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer and then obviously realised the importance of that question. He sat there with an open mouth, looking like a fish, then closed it again. "That's brilliant," he said.

Ron grinned. "You know, that's what they usually say." Dean was giving him a dark look in response; it put a damper on Ron's excitement.

"Could someone explain what..." Malfoy's voice trailed away. "Of course. The magical core isn't a core at all. Magic is in every part, in every cell, in everything a wizard is and has and does." He looked as if he was close to hitting the wall with his head. "The potion works, but it needs time to spread. It'll take hours until it has reached every cell and when the last one has lost its magic, the first one already has its back."

George nodded. "That's where the other potion comes in. I hate to say it, Ronny, but you are brilliant." He was already heading over to the other side of the room where he'd stored the potion. He brought it to the table, setting it next to the main cauldron. "With a bit of modification it can transport Malfoy's potion so that it'll work instantly."

*

It was up to George and Malfoy now, to blend the potions and create something that would combine the characteristics without losing any of the effects. Dean admired the energy that was still in the room. The air was thick with it, even though they'd all been awake for more than twenty-four hours.

He avoided looking at Ron, as the sheer intensity of disappointment and anger scared him. It wasn't something he needed now. And yet Dean wondered what would be left after this was over, where Ron and he stood, and what Ron had been thinking when he'd again pulled back after the kiss. Dean didn't know what the kiss had meant, and why he'd reacted the way he had. Why he'd soaked up the affection like a starved man. He remembered the warm, strong grip of Ron's fingers, the taste of dry lips against his own and shook his head at himself. "How much time do you need for the potion?" he asked.

George exchanged a look and a few words with Malfoy. "Two hours, at most."

Dean nodded. "I'll go to the hospital and talk to Abercron. They need to know that we're coming. I'll prepare everything so we can start whenever you're ready."

Ron got up as well. "I'll come with you."

"No," Dean said. "I'll go alone." He wanted Ron to stay and watch what happened to his magic, and be close to Malfoy and George if there was any unforeseen reaction to the potion. He also didn't want to go anywhere with Ron right then.

Dean came back half an hour later. He was clutching a piece of parchment, the skin stretched taut over the knuckles of his fingers, his eyes dark, his mouth grim. He looked at no one in the room when he spat out the words that tasted vile on his tongue. "We're banned."

"Come again?" Ron asked.

"Banned," Dean repeated. "We're banned from the hospital, you and me." He held out the piece of parchment. "They didn't even let me talk to Abercron or Bouchet. One of Bouchet's assistants," again that bitter taste of bile, "told me that he doesn't believe we found anything, that we're endangering the patients and disrupting the healing process." Dean stopped talking and took a few deep breaths. "He graciously offered to accept a report and potion samples and take them to Bouchet after evaluating the results."

Ron had finished reading and stared at Dean. "We're banned." He pointed at the parchment. "It says that we have no permission to go back to St. Mungo's for the duration of twenty days, unless we need medical assistance."

"Why the ban?" Malfoy asked.

Dean tugged at the hair on the back of his head. "I called him a few carefully selected names and said I wouldn't move an inch before I talked to either Abercron or Bouchet. He came back with hospital security and that piece of shit with both our names on it. I was removed from the premises with a friendly reminder not to come back. Sorry for mentioning your name, Ron."

Ron cursed. He put the parchment down and walked back to Dean, clapping him on the shoulder. "There's work to do. No time for sulking."

*

Harry came back around eleven. He was highly strung after a long night without so much as a moment of sleep - if one didn't count the ten minutes on the Ministry loo when he'd just dozed off. He entered the room in the back of George's shop, recognising the evidence of a long night. Bottles of water and pepper-up potion, empty coffee mugs, dark circles under four pairs of eyes, and the hectic bustle that came from too much caffeine and over-fatigue.

"Morning," he said, not daring to go anywhere near the cauldron where George and Malfoy were working. Its contents smelled foul and had a vile bright green colour.

"Look who's coming to save us," Malfoy answered. It was disconcerting that the usual drawl was missing.

"Any luck here?" Harry was looking at Ron. His best friend was glancing at several tables and diagrams and taking notes.

Ron nodded. "Almost done. I think we got it."

And then Ron explained what they had done during the night, showed him both potions and said they'd have the cure before noon. Harry didn't like the part about taking the magic away from the infected, and he gasped when he heard that it had been tested on Ron of all people. He had the sudden and strong urge to strangle Malfoy - and George as well.

"Are you sure that it's temporary?" he asked anxiously. "Ron, tell me you're sure that this won't harm you."

Ron wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders. "You'll be the first one I'll hex once I've recovered. Promise."

Harry still doubted that taking an experimental potion from Malfoy had been a good idea but it was too late to think about it now and too early to worry about it, he supposed. He was also far too impressed at what they'd created to complain. "I've some news as well." He sat down in an empty chair. "It was Bouchet. He created that curse."

There was a long pause before Dean spoke. "That's some kind of sick joke, right?"

"I'm afraid not. The only sick joke is that I can't arrest him yet, even though I know it was him."

"How do you know?" Malfoy asked.

And George demanded at the same time, "Why aren't you at St. Mungo's and kicking that fucker's arse?" Harry thought it was a valid question.

"I can't just storm in there, stun him and drag him to Azkaban. That's not how it works." Not that Harry hadn't thought about it. "He's working as a Ministry representative right now, and as such, he's under the Ministry's protection. I need special orders to do anything."

"So?" There was a deep line in the middle of George's forehead, and his voice was far too low to sound anything but dangerous. He was still stirring the potion, but the smooth circles he'd drawn when Harry had come in had become jerky jabs. Malfoy reached out and put a hand on George's wrist until his muscles relaxed.

"We have a lot of circumstantial evidence; nothing as good as a witness, though. Robards is hesitating so far," Harry said, thinking that the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was a wimp, frankly.

"Why don't you go to Dawlish?" Ron asked. "Dawlish is head of the Aurors, not Robards."

Harry groaned. "I wish I could. He's at St. Mungo's. The infection was confirmed yesterday evening. And Robards is Dawlish's boss and, of course, mine as well." Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "There are so many people at St. Mungo's now. And it's only been a week. I hope that your potion is working."

"How do you know it was Bouchet?" Malfoy asked for the second time.

Harry looked him, glad to have a reason not to think about his sick colleagues and friends. "Remember the list I found here earlier? The one with the green stain? It's wax from a candle on Bouchet's desk in Paris. I saw him make that stain. It happened when I talked to him and asked him to come to London. He was in Paris then and he couldn't have known the details and names on that list. The stain of wax on the words proves that he had that list before we gave him the information, before he was even in the country."

"Is that all you have?" Malfoy asked.

Harry was just about to answer when Ron interrupted him. "The Paracelsus tests. If Bouchet did it, he wouldn't want anyone to find out anything about the curse. Slowing everyone down with unnecessary tests is a bloody good way to do it."

"He's making a nurse out of every capable Healer who's been working on the case," George said. "There aren't many people left, other than his own."

"And he banned us from the hospital, even though we have a cure," Dean added.

"He did what?" asked Harry, and Dean told him the full story.

It had been one big set-up, Harry thought, and he'd been dumb enough to walk into Bouchet's trap, inviting him to London. "There's more," he said, deciding to feel guilty once everything was over and not wasting his energy now. "Hermione thinks that the epidemic that broke out in India two years ago looked a lot like ours. Do you remember? It was all over the papers."

Ron got up from his chair and started pacing. "'Course we remember. They never found out what killed all those people. Bouchet was in charge of the case. He and his team of Healers were the only people working and researching the epidemic. It was impossible to get any information."

Harry nodded. "Hermione can't be sure, of course, but she sent inquiries to India. And another thing. We searched every inch of Johnson's house, as we believe - and according to Bouchet's list it's true - that she was the first one, the only one who was cursed and not infected. We found residue of an international portkey in her garden. We traced it back, and we know that it came from France. It doesn't prove that it was Bouchet or someone he hired, but there are just too many coincidences."

"What a fucking bastard," Ron said. "Why did he do it?"

"Greed," Malfoy answered. "Every infection makes him more famous and more renowned. He's the first one who's called to an emergency, he's the expert in the field. Everyone knows him, everyone trusts him, everyone relies on him. It's making him rich. And more important, it gives him power. He has the lives of hundreds, possibly thousands of people in his hand. He's in charge, he can kill them with one single curse, and he could cure them, if he wanted to. He probably feels like God himself."

George looked at Malfoy sideways. "You scare me," he said dryly.

"I thought the same once or twice about you," Malfoy said in the same tone.

"What happens now?" Ron asked.

"Robards is talking to the Minister at the moment, I'll meet him in half an hour. Before then, I can't do anything." Harry said, trying not to let on just how much it pained him to watch. He couldn't help a hint of a wince, though. "But the Aurors are ready. Whenever they give us the order, we can start the operation."

"It's been a long time since I've heard this much crap." George said, still eerily calm.

"I know." Harry said, raising his hands in a helpless gesture. "But we have strict procedures. We don't have the right to arrest him yet. If we do it anyway, he might get away with it because of a formal error."

"Not if you have enough evidence," George reasoned.

"The system was developed after the war because so many innocent people have been punished for nothing. If we don't follow strict procedure, we'll have to let him go. He'd be in South America or in Mongolia before we could even blink. We can't risk it."

"Bouchet doesn't change anything at the moment," Malfoy said. "He's not going to heal, but he won't further hurt the people in the ward as long as they're his responsibility. He'll wait and let his epidemic do the rest while he stops those who try to stop it. Let's leave him at St. Mungo's for now, at least we know where he is. Whenever the Ministry finally decides to do something, they'll know where to find him. We have other things to worry about." It seemed as if Malfoy had lost interest in the topic. He turned back to the cauldron and looked pointedly at George, who, after a moment of hesitation, did the same.

Harry exchanged a few words with Ron, telling him about Hermione's and Mrs Weasley's efforts to teach personal shielding charms to as many people as possible, and then he went back to the Ministry to do whatever he could to speed up the process.

*

"Done." George pulled the long wooden instrument with the forked tip and the curled handle out of the potion and dropped it on the table. He used the short sleeve of his T-shirt to wipe sweat off his forehead.

Malfoy closed the book he'd been consulting in the previous two hours and ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it. "Yes, it's finished," he agreed.

Ron groaned and lowered the various diagrams he was holding. He'd almost completely lost his magic in the last hour; when he cast 'Lumos' now, the light was barely visible.

Dean walked over to the cauldron. The potion inside it was clear and looked like water. It smelled of sulphur. "Are you sure it's working?"

"Yes," Malfoy answered.

"What do we do now?" Dean asked.

"Now we take it to the hospital," George said. He hadn't thought of Lee in hours; while making the potion he hadn't let himself, but now that concentration fell off him, it came back with the force of a fist to the balls. They didn't even know if Lee was still alive. He'd last seen him the previous afternoon. Anything could have happened in that time. Ron had estimated twenty-four hours; they were almost over.

"What about Harry?" Dean looked doubtful.

"What about him?" asked George. "We haven't heard anything. How long do you think it'll take until he gets that stupid order? Another hour? Maybe two? How many people will die in that time? We have a potion here that can kill the curse. Everyone who's not dead yet will be able to recover. Every minute counts."

"Spare your breath, Weasley," Malfoy said. "We're going."

"We?" asked Ron.

"Obviously not," Malfoy answered. "Just the two of us." He nodded at George. "You're banned. The alarms will go off if you enter the building."

"Then give me that potion and I'll test it," Dean said.

This time no one protested. George diluted a few drops of potion in a glass of water and handed it to Dean. "It'll last for at least four hours."

Dean took and drank it without another word.

"How do you feel?" Malfoy asked.

"Don't feel anything." Dean took his wand, his hands shaking. "Lumos!" he said, and everyone stared at the tip of his wand.

Nothing happened.

"Alohomora!" Dean pointed his wand at the closed door, but again, nothing happened.

"Let me do a quick scan," Malfoy said.

Dean stood still while Malfoy performed the simple spell that would show him if Dean was a wizard, if he had any magical energy left. It took only a few seconds. Then Malfoy shook his head. "Squib," he said.

George had heard enough. He took a few things from the shelves, among them a couple of small empty vials. He took them to the other room, the room where the cauldron with the purple potion was standing. George opened the lid and funnelled the potion into the vials without breathing, careful not to get any of the potion on his bare skin.

He went back to the workroom and saw that Malfoy had already filled three big bottles with the potion that would kill the virulent curse. Ron gave them the small bottomless bag, and within minutes, they were ready to go.

"Do we have a plan?" George asked before they apparated.

"I'm a Slytherin," Malfoy answered. "I was born with a plan."

*

The silence in the room felt heavy, and the air between Dean and Ron seemed as thick as oil after George and Malfoy left.

"What are we going to do now?" Ron asked, wondering if they should start cleaning up the mess the four of them had made in the last two days. George's workroom looked as if a war had taken place there, which, Ron supposed, wasn't far off the truth.

"I don't know what you're going to do," Dean said. His voice was deeper than usual, his eyes blood-shot, his shoulders slumped, and he was rubbing his temples. "I'm going upstairs and taking a shower. I don't think George would mind." Without waiting for an answer, he turned around and walked out of the door.

"Hey!" Ron called and followed him. "Wait. We should talk."

"Not now, Ron," Dean said. He was walking up the stairs to the flat, his feet dragging, one hand pressed against the nape of his neck.

Ron was still following him. "We need to talk," he said. Since they'd finished the potion, he couldn't stop thinking about the kiss and what he'd done after George had seen them. He'd behaved like a first-class arse. "Come on, please."

"Not now," Dean repeated. He opened the door to George's flat, walked through the living room and into the bathroom. He closed the door, and just as Ron pressed the handle to follow him, he heard the lock click.

*

George was the first to arrive in the lobby of St. Mungo's. Theoretically, they could have flooed to Malfoy's office, but they'd both agreed that it was too dangerous. Malfoy's office was probably occupied, and they'd have a hard time explaining their sudden appearance. The public apparition point in the entrance hall of the hospital was the safest spot.

As George blinked away the disorientation from the apparition, he saw that the lobby had been a good choice. There was chaos. "What the hell?" George said and looked around. The room was crowded; at least a hundred people were standing, sitting, leaning against walls, demanding to see a Healer and talking to passing nurses.

There were people with purple heads, an additional foot, a man who vomited something green, a woman who was burping soap bubbles. Those were the minority, though. The large crowd, and the people who were demanding and talking far too loudly, were people who didn't look ill. "Who are they?" George asked Malfoy who'd appeared next to him.

"Relatives and hypochondriacs," Malfoy said. "Bouchet is effective. See the nurses? They are scanning the crowd and assessing every incomer. I assume that everyone who's not immune will undergo a Dragon Pox test. Infected people are sent to the quarantine ward immediately. The rest don't come anywhere near them. Relatives and friends can either go home or wait. Then you always have those who are convinced they have the deathly epidemic everyone's talking about. They don't believe a negative test."

"But isn't it dangerous here? You said that the infection is far more contagious than Dragon Pox. Shouldn't they throw out everyone who's healthy?" George didn't quite understand why there were so many people here, where the danger to encounter an infected person was probably the highest.

"On the contrary." Malfoy looked around and started to walk toward the elevator. They reached it, but Malfoy didn't stop. Instead, he turned right and pushed open the door that led to the stairs. "This would be the place I'd recommend if you weren't immune. We have heavy-duty shield spells in the whole reception area. This curse isn't the only contagious thing we're dealing with every day. There's no way anyone's going to catch anything while they're down here. It's different in the wards upstairs. We don't have general shield spells there, as they interfere with diagnostic and healing magic."

"Wicked," George said. After the crowded lobby, the silence in the staircase was a relief. "Are you going to tell me your plan now?"

"Better," Malfoy said and started to walk down the stairs that led to the basement. "I'm going to show you."

*

It was calm under the spray of the shower. The water washed away the dirt of the last days, and Dean heard nothing but the sound of it raining down on him, as comfortable warmth surrounded his tired body. The silencing charm he'd cast worked very well.

For a long time, he just stood there, wondering why his muscles were sore, why he wanted to go to bed and hide under a thick blanket when he didn't even know yet if George and Malfoy had been successful, if Lee was still alive, if Harry had arrested Bouchet.

Dean took the soap, moving it between his hands, eyes closed, face turned toward the water, working up the lather he used then to wash his arms and chest. He moved his hands slowly, got rid of the sweat, of the potion smells, of ink stains on his fingers. He washed his feet and his legs, his back where he could reach. The soap smelled of pine, a spicy scent Dean liked, and he took more, washing the inside of his thighs and between his legs.

He braced himself with one hand against the cool tile, his head leaning forward. Hot water hit his shoulders and ran down his back in rivulets as he cupped his balls, rolling them in his hand. His cock twitched when he wrapped his fingers around the base of it, and Dean chuckled, thinking that it didn't matter what happened or how tired he was, his dick was always happy about some attention.

It was nice, standing there, stroking himself, basking and not thinking of diseases, of potions and of Ron. Dean especially didn't think of Ron, who'd kissed him twice now, and twice had taken it back. Ron with his sharp angles, lanky body, red hair, dry lips, blue eyes, and an intensity that sometimes made Dean forget that his self-control had always served him well.

Dean sighed and let go of himself, too tired to finish the job. Or maybe he just didn't want to do it while thinking of Ron - not this time, anyway.

*

Draco stood at the bottom of the stairs and pointed at the heavy iron door. "This is the basement of the hospital. I expect at least one or two of Bouchet's men to be down here in my lab."

"We're going to your lab?"

"No," Draco said. "There's a long hallway behind that door. It leads past the DEAD, past the elevators, then turns left and right again. At the very end, there's another one of those doors. It has a big sign that says 'Authorised personnel only."

"And we're authorised?" George asked.

"Of course we are. It's the supply unit of the hospital. Air, water, heating, cooling, you name it. It's the second biggest magical supply unit in Britain, second only to the one in the Ministry. Fortunately it's far less secured. Who'd want to manipulate a hospital's resources?"

George made a noise that sounded like agreement. "I see your point." He thought for a moment. "Feeding the potion into the air cycle won't work. You want to use the water." While he was talking, he opened Ron's bag. "But then everyone in the hospital would be in danger of becoming a squib. And what about the patients who are in a coma?"

Malfoy looked at what George took out of the bag - two small vials with purple contents - and shook his head at the question. "All patients are in the quarantine ward, and the water cycles are separated. The brilliance of the plan is that the patients who are in a coma, which are those who need it the most, will get the potion first. You visited your friend yesterday. Did you see a silvery glow over his chest?"

"The monitoring charm? Yeah, I saw that."

"It's not only a monitoring charm. It's a whole set of charms and one of them provides water and nutrients. It's a complicated transfer process that takes water from that quarantine water cycle, the one we can access from down here. And the best part is that it's a steady process. The patients continuously receive small amounts of water so their system isn't overworked. As soon as we pour the stuff into the cycle, it will be transferred to the patients."

George nodded and glanced at the closed door. "And as every patient only needs a tiny amount of potion, we'll have a ward full of squibs within minutes. I like your plan."

*

Ron was standing with his back against the still closed bathroom door, frustrated, as the only thing he'd been hearing for what seemed like hours was the steady noise of the shower. He'd asked Dean to come out, apologised with only the dark wood of the door to look at; he'd hit it with his fist, had yelled at it in frustration, and he'd cursed both the unyielding wood and the stubborn man behind it.

There had been a tiny spark of anger when Dean had closed the door in Ron's face, and it had grown since then, fuelled by the fact that Dean hadn't acknowledged Ron or given him some kind of answer. It burned hot in his gut now, and Ron didn't try to rein in his temper. He'd been doing that for a week now, concentrating on working and not wasting his energy. Dean wasn't the only one who was tired and exhausted, he wasn't the bloody only one who'd worked his fucking arse off.

Ron knocked at the door again, louder this time, but there was still nothing more than the sound of running water. Then he threw himself at the door, shoulder first, and with a satisfying crunching sound, the door gave way, opening and banging against the wall on the other side.

*

"Take this," George gave one of the purple vials to Malfoy. "Don't open it, don't drop it."

Draco raised one of his eyebrows. "Dare I ask?"

"It's new, experimental, not finished, and it might be able to save our arse." Taking it out of his private workroom had been risky, but George didn't care. He'd done far riskier things for his friends. "Throw it on the floor in front of someone. The fumes will make them lose their memory of the last twenty minutes and the following twenty minutes. It's like an instant 'Obliviate'. You might want to hold your breath when you do it. I've not managed to properly control the range yet. I'm still working on it."

Draco stared at the vial. "What did you invent that for?"

"Detention Deleters," George said. "Makes your professor forget all about the detention you're supposed to have. It's not finished, as I said. The end product will work quite differently."

"You're mad. You can't invent a potion that messes with memories and sell it to children. Do you have any idea what could happen? You're completely, barking mad."

"I'm not the one who experiments with potions that takes away a person's magic." Before Malfoy could protest, George shushed him. "Could we postpone our ethical discussion? It's thrilling, but I'd rather save a few lives now if you don't mind."

Malfoy glared but didn't object. "Follow me."

"Not this time." George pushed Malfoy out of the way and opened the door. "I know what I'm doing," he said. "Follow me and don't make any sound." George did know what he was doing. If anyone knew how to walk down a corridor undetected, it was him. He'd done it hundreds of times at Hogwarts with Fred; they'd made a business out of it. Before he went through the door, he tapped his wand on Malfoy's head once, casting the disillusionment charm and repeating it on himself. Coldness spread through his body, and he saw Malfoy seem to melt into the wall behind him. "Now. Let's try to be quick."

*

If Dean wasn't going to come out of the shower, Ron would have to go in. They'd wasted enough years not talking. He was done with ignoring Dean and everything that came with him. Ron pulled his T-shirt over his head and threw it into the nearest corner. Then he toed off his shoes, opened his belt with more force than necessary, unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down over his hips. Pants and socks were the last pieces of clothing, and they found their way to the pile in corner as well.

He was irritated that Dean hadn't even reacted to the sound of him breaking in. There was no way he could have overheard the door banging against the wall. Being ignored was getting old very fast.

"It's your own fault, Thomas," Ron said and pulled back the shower curtain. Dean's startled face was almost funny as Ron stepped inside and pulled the shower curtain closed again. "You don't want to talk outside? Great, we're going to talk in here." Ron's eyes were firmly fixed on Dean's face. He didn't allow himself to look down, follow the lean torso with its dark skin to the hair that thickened around Dean's navel. No matter how much he was drawn to Dean's strong shoulders, to his long legs and narrow hips, he looked at his eyes, his long lashes and the tiny droplets caught in them.

"You're missing the point, Weasley," Dean said. "I don't want to talk at all. Enjoy your shower."

Dean tried to walk around Ron and leave the small stall, but Ron stepped in his way, not letting him go. Ron used his whole body to back him up against the wall. "I want to talk," he said, and it sounded like a growl. "And you're not going to run away." He could smell Dean now, a musky scent mixed with pine. There was a lot of naked skin between them. They were wet, and Ron felt soft flesh and hard muscle; he felt Dean's bony knees, his muscled thighs, his belly, nipples against his own. His blood went south.

*

They went down the corridor, Draco just behind George, doing his best not to make any noise. George was moving like a cat, noted Draco. He was able to make out outlines if he squinted. They'd just passed the door to the DEAD when George stopped and held out his hand. "Back against the wall," he whispered. "Don't move."

Draco did it without asking, even though he hadn't heard or seen anything. They waited, and just as Draco was about to ask what was going on, the door to his lab opened and the man who'd days ago given him the order from the Ministry stepped out, accompanied by a second man. Draco stood very still and held his breath. The corridor was narrow, and while a quick glance in their direction wouldn't reveal them, they'd have a problem if one of them looked closer, cast a detection spell because he heard something, or even touched them in passing.

Draco held his breath and tried to make himself as flat as possible, sucking in his stomach and pressing his palms against the wall. The two men were coming closer, and Draco could smell them as they passed, feel the air move when the nearest man walked past them with only an inch to spare. They were oblivious, though, as they walked down the corridor, stopped in front of the elevators and stepped inside.

Only when the door of the elevator closed and the men were gone, did Draco allow himself to let out the breath he was holding and felt George do the same. Neither of them spoke, and together they moved farther down the corridor.

*

Dean's head fell back against the cool tile. He'd wanted to get out. There was no reason to talk about this now when he was so tired and exhausted.

He'd really wanted to leave, especially because he was still half hard from when he'd touched himself, and his aroused cock had made false assumptions when it had added up shower and naked Ron. And that had been before Ron had trapped him against the wall, and Dean's traitorous body had suggested staying for a bit longer. There were freckles everywhere, long limbs and milky white skin so unlike his own. Ron's cheek was only inches from Dean's lips, and Dean wanted to lean in and taste him, no matter how disappointed or angry he was.

"Go on and talk then, if it's so important," he said, gasping when Ron shifted - deliberately or not - and the friction against sensitive parts of his body increased.

"I'm sorry," Ron said. He wasn't moving, but Dean could feel him trembling. "I shouldn't have done that." His lips were very close to Dean's ear now, Dean could felt his breath on his skin even hotter than the water.

"What makes you think I care?" Dean hated the fact that he was shivering, and that he was leaning into Ron's touch rather than away from it. He was drawn to the warmth of Ron's skin, and the urge to touch was almost painful.

"I care," Ron whispered, making Dean shiver with his lips touching Dean's ear. He was mouthing along the shell, and one of his hands had come around Dean's middle. "I care about you," Ron said again and kissed the spot under Dean's ear. "I care about us."

"There's no 'us'." Dean's voice sounded hoarse and he widened his stance, welcoming the thigh between his legs and groaning when it pressed against him.

Ron kissed along Dean's jaw to his mouth and covered it with his lips. Dean tasted his tongue, let himself be kissed in a way that spoke of promises. It pulled on his temper, the raw, angry spot he usually hid deep inside.

"There could be an 'us'. We're friends," Ron said and kissed Dean between sentences, each kiss leaving Dean more breathless and feeling more vulnerable and raw. "We're good together. I want you." Ron rocked his hips and Dean choked and clutched at Ron's shoulder. "Let's give it a try."

"I already gave it two tries," Dean said, angry at himself because he knew that he'd probably give Ron what he wanted anyway - again.

"I promise to be good this time," Ron said and moved his hand from the small of Dean's back down to his arse, squeezing softly. "I'll make it up to you."

It was the amusement Dean heard in Ron's voice that made him snap.

*

George was glad when they reached the door without anyone noticing them. It had been a close call when the two men had almost discovered them, and more instinct than actually hearing something that had made him stop. Draco touched the lock of the door with his wand, an audible click indicating that it had opened.

"They gave you the password?" George asked, his voice almost too low to hear.

"I'm working down here," Malfoy whispered back. "Of course I know the passwords."

George didn't miss that Malfoy's answer didn't fit the question. "Does that mean they pay a Malfoy for playing with their deadly toys and give him access to all their vital supplies?"

Malfoy opened the door and George followed him inside. He ended the disillusionment charm so that they could see each other properly. Handling the potion would be dangerous otherwise.

"That's what it means, Weasley. As long as any idiot can develop potions that should by all means be banned or punished with an extended stay in Azkaban, there's no use in watching me, is there?" Malfoy had found a tank with the sign 'Water Supply Q1', and George started to unpack the bottles.

"Personally I think there's plenty of use," George said. "I didn't try to wipe out a good part of the Wizarding world because of their blood."

Malfoy looked up sharply. "Neither have I. Stop being a hypocritical, bigoted, prejudiced arsehole, I'm trying to save the part of the Wizarding world you're talking about."

"I'm not bigoted," George said without bothering to hide his small grin. He opened the first bottle and handed it to Malfoy, who poured it into an open cap, then repeated it with the other two bottles and sealed the tank.

George looked at him, biting his lower lip. It was done now. If that didn't help, they'd lost. He'd lose Lee. The sickness in his stomach returned, and before he even noticed it, he'd moved his hand and pressed it against his middle.

"You're not going to faint now, are you?" Malfoy asked without even a hint of compassion in his voice.

"Not just yet," George answered.

*

Ron was grabbed and hauled around. Dean had used his broader body to change their positions in one powerful turn, and now Ron was the one backed up against the wall, a thigh between his legs, Dean's hand on either side of his head.

"You think this is a fucking joke, Weasley?" Dean hissed the words. "Tell you a secret, man. I don't think it's funny."

Dean's eyes were blazing. He was close, his chest pressed against Ron's and the thigh against Ron's bits made it almost impossible to think. "I wasn't joking," Ron ground out. "I fucking meant it."

Dean kissed him harshly, sucking on Ron's tongue, their teeth clicking. Both were panting when the kiss was over. "And how do I know that you won't change your mind? Believe it or not, it hurt the last time."

There was no question of whether Dean was serious or not. Maybe for the first time, Ron saw behind the mask. He wasn't the most sensitive bloke around, but he realised that Dean had let his guard down, and that it was possibly his only chance at a new try. And he wanted one, he really did. "Didn't mean to," he said and wrapped his arms around Dean, just the feel of his back and the muscles moving beneath the skin making him moan. "Fucked up timing." Ron kissed him again, disappointed when Dean pulled back, but meeting his eyes without flinching.

Dean turned off the water without breaking eye-contact.

*

"Let's go," Draco said. He didn't like the look on George's face at all.

"Where to?"

"To Hogsmeade, I've heard that Honeydukes is selling a new brand of caramel chocolate."

George only blinked at him.

"Salazar help me," Draco muttered. "We're going upstairs, Weasley. You have unfinished business? So do I. Not to mention that someone has to be there and tell the Healers what to do once Potter makes his big entrance." Maybe he could get a hold on Abercron. Draco reckoned that by then even the Head Healer had noticed that Bouchet's methods weren't in the patients' best interests.

George cleared his throat. "Yeah. We should go upstairs." He shook his head as if to throw off cobwebs, and Draco saw that his wits were returning. Thank heaven for little favours, he thought. "We'll have to take the stairs," George said.

"No. St. Mungo's staff has those nifty passwords that will get us where we want to without having to stop in between. It's for emergencies, and this qualifies."

George had already opened the door and peered outside, then he renewed the disillusionment charm and went ahead. After making it to the elevator without meeting anyone, Malfoy used his wand to tap the button with the number seven and said the password. They didn't talk as they rode upwards, both lost in their own thoughts, both hoping that a certain name wasn't crossed out yet. When they'd reached the seventh level, they stepped out.

The whole level was quarantined now, red signs blinking along the corridors that were filled with make-shift beds. Nurses tended to patients on the corridor, handing out potions and renewing charms. The stench of pain was thick there, reeking of vomit and tinctures used to lessen cramps. Draco wrinkled his nose and fixed his eyes on George, who was far harder to see here than in the clean, bare corridor in the basement. Draco reached out and grabbed him around his wrist. "Do you know where Jordan is?" he asked.

"I know where he was yesterday," George whispered and tugged at Draco's hand, more to guide him than to get himself free.

It was both harder and easier to navigate unnoticed. No one paid attention to an accidental noise or would notice a slight shimmer of a figure moving when there was so much else going on. On the other hand, the danger of touching someone was far higher, and at one time, they had to halfway crawl onto a bed in order to avoid Healer Eames, whose robes touched Draco's knees as she passed them. Dark circles under her eyes, her hair drawn back in an untidy know, she stifled a yawn as she hurried from one patient to the next.

*

Dean was still looking into Ron's eyes, shivering as cool air met his wet skin. He leaned forward, soaking up Ron's warmth, and made a decision. He trailed his fingers down Ron's arm, wrapping them around his wrist in a tight grip, leaned in and kissed him almost tenderly. "I'm not interested in a quick shag in the shower." He licked Ron's bottom lip and used his teeth to bite it. "I can't apparate home, so I'll go and find your brother's bed now." Another kiss, another roll of his hips, another groan. "Don't bother following me if you aren't going to stay afterwards."

Then he pulled back, giving himself a few moments to just look at Ron, who was standing there with water dripping from his wet hair and gathering in the hollow of his throat. He was tall and slim, dishevelled and heavy-lidded, his mouth half open, his eyes glazed, and Dean pulled back the curtain before he could reconsider the idea of a quick shag in the shower.

*

Bernard was on 'deathwatch'. He didn't like the name - he was a Healer, after all - but it's what Bouchet called the task of looking after those who'd been labelled with a red circle on the coversheet of their file. There was no chance to save them; their death was only hours away. It was bad this time; they had many young victims in their twenties and thirties, and Bernard hadn't slept in forty-eight hours.

Like most of the team, with the exception of Bouchet himself and his senior assistant, Bernard had just finished his education. It was one of Bouchet's quirks that he only worked with beginners. He said he needed new ideas, but Bernard didn't quite follow the reasoning. There should be at least some experienced Healers who had more practice in dealing with patients and who could react quickly when needed to. Bernard had never questioned the methods directly, though; he wasn't stupid enough to challenge the authoritative, admired, untouchable Bouchet.

Not that it would matter. He would quit working for the infection team once this case was over. A small hospital in Spain had accepted his application.

Bernard looked sadly at the man in front of him and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He wasn't supposed to do that; sweat-wiping was nurses' work, and he shouldn't touch an infected person; it was the most important rule. But Bernard was immune, and no matter how often Bouchet talked about the need to distance themselves from their patients, Bernard disagreed. He was a Healer, and compassion was part of his job, not something to be ashamed of.

Lee Jordan had stopped breathing on his own hours ago. A charm was pumping air into his lungs. His heart-rate was increasing steadily, his whole body was cramping, and they couldn't give him the amount of pain potion he'd need, as it would kill him right away. Bernard had the flask in his hand, thinking that sometimes it was more humane to help someone die in peace than to keep him alive at all costs. He hesitated, pondering what was more important, his clear orders, or the suffering of a man who wouldn't have a chance anyway. He'd seen so much suffering in the last couple of days that he just wanted to give at least one person peace.

Bernard opened the flask and moved it in a circular motion until the fluid inside swirled. He watched it for a moment, entranced, then tipped it slowly, the first droplets leaving the rim and disappearing between the lips of the patient. There was no need to swallow; the potion would be absorbed by the mucous membrane on the inside of Jordan's mouth.

*

They left the shower and the bathroom without drying themselves, went to George's bedroom and lay down on his bed, leaving the door open. They needed to know when someone returned and brought them news.

Ron was on top, Dean solid and strong beneath him, still wet from the shower, smelling of soap and sex. Ron had always been a physical being. He enjoyed touching and being touched. Dean was different; he was reserved, controlled, rational in his words and actions, and yet Ron felt like he was being swept away by a gushing stream, barely managing to draw enough air.

He was moaning, Dean's hands possessively on his arse, fingers digging into Ron's flesh, keeping him in place while Dean's hips moved against him in slow, maddening, endless circles that left him breathless and wanting, sucking on Dean's tongue and gripping his shoulders.

And then their positions were reversed, Dean rolled them, and Ron found himself caught between the mattress and a lover who was in control. Ron forced a hand between them, cupping Dean where he was hard and hot and soft skin and coarse hair, and there was a quiet curse and a jerking motion of Dean's hips, incentive enough to squeeze him again. And then again.

But Dean sat back, held Ron's gaze for a moment, bent down and licked his cock from base to tip in one smooth swipe, the softness of his tongue almost painful on Ron's sensitive skin. Dean took him inside, the heat overwhelming, and Ron moaned when Dean started to suck. It made him pull up his knees, let them fall open, arching his back in blatant invitation. Ron spread his legs wider when he felt fingers slipping lower, touching him there, moving in questioning circles while Dean's tongue touched the tip of his cock and danced on the most sensitive part of his body. Ron pushed against those fingers, both because he wanted them and because the sensation of Dean's mouth was becoming too much too quickly.

"Yes," he whispered when the tip of Dean's finger penetrated him. "That," he said. "All of it."

Dean leaned over him to kiss him. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Ron bit Dean's lower lip. "What do you think?" he asked back and reached over to open the bedside drawer. "Anything useful in there?"

Dean found something and the heat of his body was gone a moment later. His fingers, slick and cool, returned, though.

Ron opened his eyes, propping himself up on his elbows. He watched as Dean prepared him with gentle fingers, stretching him slowly. "I imagined that," Ron said, hissing as Dean found a sensitive spot and rubbed, pressing his own erection against Ron's thigh. "Before the kiss, after the kiss, hell, during the kiss." He moaned, his head falling back as Dean's other hand teased and stroked Ron's cock. He was close to begging.

"Less talking," Dean said, his voice a dark growl. He'd pulled out his fingers and was covering Ron, nudging at first, then pushing, then rocking, then stopping when Ron grunted, a sound not entirely filled with pleasure.

"It's okay," Dean said, "take it slow." He kept rocking, just little nudges that teased and set Ron's nerves on fire as he gradually relaxed. Ron pushed up against Dean as he went on and on with the little nudges and chaste kisses and the hell, Ron wasn't a girl and didn't want to be treated like one.

And still, there was only rocking, pressure against his slick hole, but nothing more. Ron could feel the tip of Dean's cock and moved his hips to meet him, but Dean pulled back.

Ron pushed, rolled them again, straddled Dean, caught his wrists, saw that Dean struggled for control but was just as caught up in his lust as Ron was. And then it was Dean who arched his back and moaned as Ron sank down on him, the burn in his arse exquisite, the soundless 'O' of Dean's mouth even better. He let go of Dean's hands, and they were immediately on his hips, holding him down, keeping him there, not allowing him to move. He was sweating, and God, it was good, but not good enough. "Come on, Dean," he said.

Dean opened his eyes and looked at Ron as he used his legs as leverage and thrust upward. "Do that again," Ron breathed, and Dean did. He moved in hard, deep strokes, lacking his usual grace but none of his strength.

"Touch yourself," Dean said in that low, commanding voice, and Ron wrapped his fingers around his cock and stroked in time with Dean's movements, up and down and again, and deeper inside and harder. He watched Dean watching, he felt himself clench around that thick cock, felt Dean's curls against his arse, his hands on his hips.

It was more than enough to make him come in thick, white spurts on Dean's stomach, his balls tight, his nerves exploding with pleasure. Dean growled and pulled him down harshly, held him there until Ron was spent and a bit longer. Then he threw his head back and made a sound that was hardly more than a sigh, the cords in his neck standing out as he shuddered, as his hips moved in fast thrusts and he followed Ron over the edge.

*

It was an automatic reaction. When George entered the room and saw a man leaning over Lee, trying to give him an unknown potion, he whipped out his wand before thinking about it and blasted the potion out of the man's hand. Only after he'd done that did he realise that it was a Healer who was probably trying to help Lee. Too late now, he thought and shrugged.

"What do you think you're doing?" Malfoy whispered.

The Healer looked around, raised his wand and asked, "Who's there?" He came around the bed, looking at them. "I can see you," he said.

George doubted it. "Hold your breath," he whispered, and when the man was far enough away from the bed that Lee wouldn't be affected, George threw the vial with the purple potion. It shattered at the man's feet, and he looked down, startled for a moment, before his face took on a vacant expression. George waved his wand once in a circle and Malfoy felt a gush of wind. "Start breathing," George said, cancelling both of their disillusionment charms.

Malfoy walked over to the man and felt his pulse. "He'll be all right?"

"Yeah, give him twenty minutes and he'll be fine." George was already standing at Lee's bed, looking down at him. "Could you come over here?" he asked.

Malfoy did; he cast several spells, and George waited, counting seconds, gripping the edge of the bed.

"He's lost his magic," Malfoy said. "The cramps have stopped, and his heart is slowing down. He's not breathing on his own, and I'd rather wait before forcing him to. He's weak, and there's some internal damage." Malfoy smiled. "He's going to make it."

George's knees felt as if they were about to give way. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "What are we going to do now?" he asked.

"You're going to stay here. I'll send a Healer as soon as I can. St. Mungo's staff wears green robes, Bouchet's team wears white. Spare the former, curse the latter, understood?"

"Yes, captain," George gave a salute that was only half mocking, and as Malfoy turned around to go, he asked, "And you? What are you going to do?"

"Unfinished business," Malfoy answered. "And I'll try to find that saviour of ours. He's overdue. I'll take him with me," he pointed at the still blank Healer.

George watched as Malfoy walked towards the door, guiding the man in the white robes. "Malfoy," he said before he could leave. "Thanks, yeah?"

Malfoy looked back over his shoulder. "It's Draco," he muttered.

*

The owl arrived two hours after George and Draco had left. Neither Dean nor Ron had been able to sleep or even stay in bed. They were sitting at the kitchen table, both with a cup of tea, as it was only early in the afternoon, and a bottle of beer, because they'd both agreed that they deserved it. They'd barely talked since getting up.

Dean opened the window and let the bird in. The owl was from St. Mungo's; Dean recognised the marking. It stuck out his foot, and he untied the letter, watching the bird take off at once and fly back out of the window. He looked at Ron, who walked over, clad in boxers just like Dean.

"It's from Malfoy," Dean said a few moments later. His throat felt tight and he leaned into Ron. "The potion is working. Lee will be okay. Harry arrested Bouchet."

Dean felt arms coming around him, and he didn't resist the embrace. "Does that mean it's done?" Ron asked.

"Think so," Dean said. He turned into the hug, let go of the letter and wrapped his arms around Ron.

"I hate being a Healer," Ron mumbled.

Dean chuckled against Ron's shoulder. "No, you don't. You're just disappointed because the nurses aren't as hot as in the magazines."

"What?" Ron asked.

"Never mind." Dean's limbs were heavy, and the mere thought of moving filled him with dread. "I could do with some sleep now."

Ron's chest shook with silent laughter. "Is that a come on?" he asked.

Dean swatted the back of his head. "You've got a big mouth, Weasley."

"It's one of my finest accessories."

*

Even though he was never going to admit it, not even to Lee, not even after a bucket full of firewhiskey, George was sleeping when the Aurors arrived at St. Mungo's and Bouchet was arrested. He didn't notice a thing; the physical and emotional exhaustion had made him fall asleep in an uncomfortable hospital chair with his head resting on Lee's bed, drooling onto the sheets.

A not very gentle slap on the back of his head woke him. "Is that your way of watching someone?" Draco asked, his voice a lazy drawl.

George yawned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He got up, stretched, scratched his belly and smiled a charming smile at the young woman in green robes who'd also entered the room. "I almost missed you," he said to Draco.

"That's Healer Eames," Draco said. "She's going to have a look at Jordan."

It brought George back to reality. "What about the others?" he asked. "What about your unfinished business?"

Healer Eames answered instead of Draco. "We lost far too many," she said and George heard the pain. He didn't want to know what the woman had seen in the last days she'd been there. There were tears in her eyes as she looked back at Draco. "Nurse Brown is going to recover, though."

"Nurse Brown, eh?" George said with raised eyebrows, grinning when he saw Draco's scowl.

Eames didn't have the time to make a complete check now. She only adjusted the spells, confirmed that everything looked good, and promised to return within the hour.

"Potter brought the Aurors. St. Mungo's is picking up the pieces," Draco said. "Before I go," he hesitated for a moment. "Do you have any plans next month, and possibly the one after that?"

"Plans? For what?"

"Well, someone has to finally find that Dragon Pox cure. Do Thursday evenings sound good?"

George cocked his head. "You want me to help you become famous? What's in it for me?"

Draco laughed; it was a noise that sounded strange and an expression that made him look younger. "I don't know. Have you ever thought about the potentials of a contagious daydream charm?"

George smiled. "Your place or mine?"

*

They were still in bed when Dean heard noises downstairs. He shook Ron until he opened his eyes. "What's going on?" Ron asked, sleep-warm and tousled.

"Time to get up. I think George just came home." Dean sat up, trying to remember where he'd left his shirt.

Ron pulled him back down with one long arm around his middle. "'S not George," he said and kissed Dean's shoulder. "It's my mum."

"Your mother?" Dean turned around, looking horrified at Ron's sleepy face. "How do you know?"

Ron refused to let go of Dean. "Potter's Law," he said.


THE END

*

Thank you for reading. I'm grateful for all kinds of feedback.

Comments

[annietext.livejournal.com]

Wow. That was so good. You told a real story that wasn't just about the chars getting into each others pants (not that there's anything wrong with that)... You made all the details click in the end.

Ron was great and Dean was just as good. Both are grown up but still recognizable. I like that they don't have the usual Auror/Quidditch - artist career.

You're a fantastic writer. Can I request Draco/George now?

[vanseedee.livejournal.com]

Thank you for your lovely comment. I'm glad you like it and that you made it to the end. I know it's a long one.

[blindingsight.livejournal.com]

Hello, I just left this same comment at weasley_fest, but was unsure if you were checking there for feedback, and I wanted to let you know that I adored your fic.

I haven't read Harry Potter fic in years, and on a whim today I went searching for something long and plotty (with a side of smut for good measure). I am ever so glad that I did, because this story was a pleasure. The plot was interesting and smart and all of the characters were well developed. I find myself wanting to know more about them in this Universe. And, I do have such a soft spot for Healer!Ron, so that was a bonus.

This is what I've been wanting to read for awhile now. You did an absolutely fantastic job, and have helped to rekindle my interest in HP fic. Thank you. ♥

[vanseedee.livejournal.com]

Aww, thank you. I'm so glad that you liked it and didn't turn your back on HP forever.

I'm actually very fond of the universe and the characters myself, I spent a long time with them and feel like I got to know them well. Although I doubt I'll write more about it. But who knows...

Thank you very much for leaving that comment. It makes me happy and is motivating, as I'm very frustrated with myself and my current project that doesn't at all do what I want. ♥

[monami123.livejournal.com]

I could not sleep last night and I came across your story. I really enjoyed it. It was a great storyline. I loved how I could really 'feel' the characters and their emotions. They just felt so real. It made for a great story! Very Well DONE!!!

[vanseedee.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I'm very glad you enjoyed it. I hope you could sleep eventually.

[nekokonneko.livejournal.com]

That was amazing. Having Ron and Dean as healers was refreshing from the usual jobs seen in fics. Normally I stay away from plot-heavy stories like these, because if the writer doesn't have a good grip on the storyline, the whole thing just derails, but this was really well done. The whole time I was wondering what the disease was, how they were going to cure it, etc. And the side interaction of George and Draco was nice too. Really well done. <3

[vanseedee.livejournal.com]

Thank you! It was a wild ride to write this story, but I love it dearly, I admit. Your comment made me grin the whole day. Thanks for reading and leaving such lovely feedback. And a lot of credit goes to my betas who had a very close eye on me as I have the tendency to turn off the plot-road and frolic in dialogue and description heavy side scenes.