A/N: Hey everybody :) Okay, so this story sprang into being almost two years ago from a very specific cause: Ron Weasley's career choice. JK Rowling gives us two answers, as far as I've read, but on FF people usually only pick one. Now, there are good arguments for both jobs Ron might hold, but there is only one I believe he would really choose after all that has happened to him, his family, and the people he cares about. In essence, this is my argument for the career I place him in.
But the story is not anywhere close to done yet. Maybe you've heard, probably you haven't, but I'm sort of shooting out all my WIP (works in progress, which you probably already knew, but I didn't for a very long time and it drove me nuts) stories because I have them and won't have time to work on them now that I'm a college student scrambling to enter the adult world. I've got them sitting here, and I might as well throw them up, is my mentality right now. So, read, enjoy (or don't, I don't like telling people what to do), and know that I own nothing except mounting college debt. Thank you.
When Ron's daughter asked him, at the inquisitive age of seven, why he picked the job he had, Ron told her, truthfully, it was because he like the action. But Rose, being her mother's daughter, did not let it drop at that. She immediately reeled off a long list of other jobs that were action-packed and demanded to know why her father had not picked one of those instead. So Ron found himself spending the afternoon explaining why he was not a dragon trainer like Uncle Charley or a curse breaker like Uncle Bill used to be or a healer, or a hippogriff rancher or the Keeper for the Chudley Cannons. (Rose was particularly disappointed by this last one; it was their favorite team after all.)
When he'd finally satisfied Rose's curiosity – for the time being anyway – and she'd run off to reiterate her discoveries to Hugo in what Ron had dubbed her "professor" voice (though Ron didn't expect Hugo to be very interested in being lectured by his sister), Ron reopened his paper and skimmed for the article Ginny had written about the Hollyhead Harpies' new season. But he found he couldn't concentrate very well on the paper at the moment. Rose's questions had reminded him of exactly why he had chosen the profession he had. He supposed, when she got to the age where she'd be deciding what to do with her life (thank Merlin that was a good decade away), she would ask again and then he would probably tell her the whole story.
Ron tossed aside the paper and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and staring into the fire as he thought back to those events that had shaped his life after the war.
xXx
Everyone else seemed to know what they were going to do after the war was over except him. It had certainly taken a lot of them some time to figure it out, but they all seemed to be ahead of him on that track. Even Harry, who admitted to him one night shortly after the first mass memorial service that he had no idea how to, as he put it, "live long-term".
Ron did not often think back to the time right after the final battle. No one who had lived through that time liked to revisit it. The first month after the battle was dubbed 'the grave days' by the history books. It marked the mass mourning period in which funerals and memorial services were held and the wizarding world ground to a sort of shell-shocked halt. Then, on June second, precisely one month after the battle, Kingsley made the decision to hold a public memorial for the unveiling of the new statue in the Ministry's atrium.
The war memorial was magnificent in a quiet sort of way. Kingsley stood before the great marble pyramid covered in the names of those who lost their lives to both wars and spoke a solemn speech that was still studied in History of Magic. Ron didn't remember most of it. He was too busy keeping an eye on George, whom he and his brothers had practically had to drag out of the house, his mother, who was sobbing, and Harry, who was staring at the mass of names with a blank look that Ron couldn't read and didn't like. What Ron did remember was the message etched along the base of the pyramid in tall, elegant script: Live On.
And that's what everyone did. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Dean, and most of the rest of their year as well as nearly everyone who had escaped the battle uninjured threw themselves into dealing with the aftermath. They helped round up Death Eaters who mostly did not put up a fight and deal with trials and temporary legislation and repairing houses and buildings that had been destroyed during the war. The students and teachers and inhabitants of the village spent most of the summer repairing Hogwarts, so that by the time September first rolled around it was ready to be used once more as a school.
By then, everyone else seemed to have figured out what they were going to do next. Ginny was going back for her final year of school since the teachers had worked all summer to catch students up on what they had missed the last year. Neville and Hermione, along with most of the rest of their year, sat their N.E.W.T.s.
Neville took an apprenticeship at a magical nursery near his Grandmother's house. Hermione was working as an intern for the Ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Harry was staying on as the youngest Auror ever to be taken on by the Ministry and the only one to skip the required three years of training. Charlie, who had stayed the summer in England for his mother's sake and to help with the aftermath, was going back to Romania again. Bill and Fleur had already resumed their lives at Shell Cottage and were working overtime at Gringotts to pick up the mess the war (and the break-in) had caused. Percy had taken a job in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And George… well he was taking his time. No one begrudged him that.
But Ron… he hadn't given much thought to careers. He just couldn't bring himself to deal with it at the moment. Between dealing with Fred's death and George and his mother and Percy and Harry and Hermione, he felt like it was enough of a job to hold himself and everyone else together. Some people needed to keep busy to deal with things. Ron was not one of those people.
But his indecision couldn't last forever.
xXx
The Holidays that year were rather solemn. Even though Charlie came home and Hermione brought her parents to stay at the Burrow and Andromeda brought Teddy, nothing could disguise the fact that there were people missing, and it weighed on all of them.
"You alright, mate?" Ron asked as Harry sagged down on the couch next to him on New Year's Day, rubbing his eyes and looking about to keel over.
"Night patrol in Diagon Alley on New Year's is brutal," he mumbled into his hands.
"I'll get you some coffee," Hermione offered, getting up from where she'd been curled on Ron's other side.
"So even Harry Potter has to pay for being a newbie," Ron said, grinning slightly at his friend.
"I asked to take it," Harry told him in an exhausted voice.
"Always knew you were insane," said Ron, giving him a strange look.
"I took it so Winston would shut his mouth," Harry explained.
Ron nodded in sudden understanding. He knew Harry was being given a hard time by the older Aurors who weren't exactly thrilled that a seventeen-year-old drop-out who hadn't even sat his N.E.W.T.s joined the Aurors without so much as a lick of training. They didn't seem to count defeating the most evil wizard in a century as training, apparently. Harry, being Harry, was determined to prove himself. Like he really needed to do any more of that, Ron thought with exasperation.
"There were only three of us in London last night," Harry went on. "Just me, Dean, and that Aarons bloke who's in his last year of training."
"Here," Hermione said, pushing a steaming mug of Coffee into Harry's hands and wriggling back under Ron's arm again.
"Thanks," Harry muttered gratefully, cradling the coffee in his icy fingers. "But I suppose I shouldn't complain. Edwards took a team on assignment yesterday. Three weeks of undercover surveillance Merlin-knows-where, no contact."
"So, something to look forward to," Hermione said dryly.
Ron knew it still agitated her to send Harry off alone to do all the fighting and mystery-solving. It agitated him too. They were just so used to doing all of it together because no one else would. The Auror department was practically pining to have "The Golden Trio" (as the newspapers, and according to Neville, most of the school since third year, had taken to calling them) among its ranks. But Hermione was adamant. The change she was determined to bring about was in magical law, and she was certainly sky-rocketing in her pursuits. As for Ron, well…
"Edwards asked about you again," Harry informed Ron over the rim of his mug. "They'd really love having you on, you know."
"Amazing what fame-status gets you, isn't it?" Ron quipped, finding it ironic that only a year or two ago he'd have loved being so well-known that the Auror Department was the one begging him to join, but now found it slightly annoying.
"They want you because you'd be bloody good," Harry told him seriously. "It's got nothing to do with publicity. And you would be bloody good, Ron. One of the best they've ever seen."
"Maybe even as good as the incredible Harry Potter, youngest Auror ever," Ron shot back slyly, but there was no hint of any of the resentment or jealousy he had once had buried deep inside him. That had long-since melted away to only an embarrassing memory for him.
"Ron," Harry began, giving him a look, but Ron cut him off before he could get going.
"I'm sorry, mate. You know I don't mean it. Look, I've told Edwards I'll think about it. I've told you to tell Edwards I'll think about it. And I will think about it, alright?"
Harry nodded, not looking exactly satisfied, but at least accepting the answer. Ron also knew that Harry wished he wasn't going off to do the fighting and mystery-solving alone either. After seven years of virtually being joined at the hip, it was disconcerting to barely see each other for most of the week. And Harry didn't enjoy taking so much flack – from the older members of the department especially – by himself. Dean Thomas had also decided to become an Auror, but he had to go through the training program, which left Harry on his own most of the time.
At that moment Mrs. Weasley appeared in the doorway to the sitting room.
"Harry, dear! I didn't hear you come in," she exclaimed, looking him over worriedly. He was entirely too scrawny and exhausted for her liking – but then again, most people were these days. "Do come to the table and have something to eat – you hardly had anything last night and you're much too thin as it is. All of you come along, breakfast is on the table," she added to the rest as she bustled Harry out of the room.
Ron, Hermione, Bill, Fleur, Percy, and Charlie (who was waiting until Ginny went back to school to leave for Romania again) filed into the kitchen, filling the room with low morning chatter as they seated themselves around the table where Mr. Weasley was already sitting. Ginny came over carrying a plate of sausages and slid into the empty chair beside Harry, slyly squeezing his knee under the table.
Ron, sitting on Harry's other side and exercising what he considered to be admirable control over his gag reflex, pretended not to notice. Harry and Ginny had started…what exactly could he call what they were doing? They weren't dating again exactly, more like covertly meeting behind the broom shed or in the scullery for, well frankly he didn't like to know what, although Hermione insisted it was little more than talking. It had taken a while for them to find the energy to get back to where they'd been, romantically at least, but the ice had finally been broken around Christmas. They thought they were being discrete about the whole thing, but everyone in the house had figured it out by now.
The back door banged open just as they were all tucking into their food and George staggered across the threshold, rubbing his freezing hands together and stomping the snow off his boots.
"Merlin, it's cold," he breathed as his mother instantly jumped to her feet to help him out of his coat.
"Are you just getting home now, dear?" she asked, eyeing his day-old clothes.
"Slept at the shop," George mumbled. "Sort of lost track of the time, you know, new years and everything."
"Well, sit down and have something to eat. We're just starting," Mrs. Weasley instructed, leading him to a chair.
George sank down and began heaping scrambled eggs onto his plate, but when he picked up his fork, he merely pushed them around, chewing his lip.
"George, is there something the matter?" Mrs. Weasley asked anxiously as she watched her son playing with his food.
"No, not exactly," George mumbled.
He put down his fork and stared into his pumpkin juice for a moment before lifting his head to look at the rest of them. Most of the rest were giving him covert looks out of the corners of their eyes (except for Harry who looked like he was about to fall asleep at the table). George took a breath.
"I've got a New Year's resolution," he announced. "Do you want to hear it?"
The table fell silent at once. Everyone's eyes were fixed on him, now.
"What is it, son?" Mr. Weasley asked, laying his fork down.
George took another breath and picked up his spoon, turning it over and over in his fingers nervously.
"I'm going to re-open the shop."
As though he couldn't help himself, his eyes darted up to look at the rest of them. "Lee and Angelina and I went in there last night and got to talking, and they're going to help me. It – I just can't let it sit empty. I can't let our dream crumble away. He'd have never wanted that."
The last sentence came out as a whisper. There was silence around the table until George said, a little uncertainly, "Are you all okay with that?"
"Of course we are!" Ginny said firmly, a real grin breaking across her face. "He would have killed us if it were any other way!"
"It's a wonderful idea, Georgie!" Mrs. Weasley said tearfully, pulling her son into a rib-cracking hug as an excited babble broke out around the table, all agreements and proclamations of support.
"And even if we didn't agree, you're the only one who has the right to make that decision," Percy told George as Ginny got up to hug him too.
"But you do agree, don't you Perce?" George asked him, hesitantly.
" 'course I do," Percy said, an oddly sly grin crossing his face. "What's Hogwarts without a little mayhem?"
"Boring as hell, that's what," Ginny answered as George grinned.
"Well, now that we've got the Prefect's approval, there's nothing stopping us," he laughed.
Breakfast became more of a celebration after that. The kitchen was loud and noisy and full of voices happy to find the first real, concrete sign that things were going to be alright.
When the last of the meal disappeared, Mrs. Weasley and Fleur began cleaning things up, and the rest of the group migrated towards the sitting room. Their chatter bubbled with more enthusiasm than it had in a long time. As George made to follow Harry out of the kitchen, he found himself smiling more easily than he had since the war.
"Whoa, easy there, mate," he said, catching Harry's arm as he ricocheted off the doorframe and stumbled.
Harry blinked, glancing over his shoulder at the wall as if he had never realized it was there before.
"I need to get some sleep," he muttered, running a hand over his eyes.
George heartily agreed. The kid was walking around like a zombie. "Think you can make it up the stairs?" he asked doubtfully, thinking about the five flights up to Ron's attic bedroom.
"Maybe," Harry mumbled, also thinking of the daunting climb. "Listen, George, I think it's brilliant you're re-opening the shop," he went on earnestly, clapping George on the shoulder. "Fred would be proud."
George nodded, swallowing hard.
"Thanks," he said quietly, then added with the ghost of his old grin, "If I didn't re-open, I'd have to pay you back your thousand Galleons and frankly, I kind of like not being broke."
Harry returned the ghost of a grin and, swaying slightly, staggered off. George idly wondered how far he'd get before he just dropped on the stairs. If Fred were here, they'd have made a bet…
Shaking himself slightly, George sidled into the sitting room. He spotted Ron sprawled in one of the armchairs by the fire, Hermione curled up at his side, poring over one of her heavy legal books. Feeling slightly guilty about what he was about to do, especially after Harry's vote of confidence, George made his way across the cramped room.
"Hey little bro, think I could have a word?" he asked, poking Ron in the back of the head to get his attention.
"Er, sure," Ron agreed.
He stood up, rubbing the back of his head and, looking a little confused, followed George out of the room. His brother lead the way up to Percy's room, which was where George had taken to sleeping rather than the bedroom he used to share with Fred.
"What's up?" Ron asked, flopping down on one of the beds as George shut the door.
"Well…" George started, sinking down onto the other bed. For some reason he was finding this more difficult than he'd expected. "I – I've got a lot of work ahead of me if I want to get the shop ready by the summer holidays. It's been closed for nearly a year and we need to restock just about everything and clean it up and – well, you know. And I – I could use some help."
Ron sat up slowly, gazing steadily at his brother. "You said Lee and Angelina were going to help you," he reminded George.
"Yeah, they are," George agreed. "But running a joke shop isn't really what they want for a career. Lee's got his radio show, and Ange got an in with a company that designs Quidditch equipment that she was really excited about. They'll help out, but I don't want them giving up everything for me, and I can't run the shop alone."
George took a breath and tried to imagine Fred sitting next to him as he spelled out exactly what he wanted, since Ron wasn't about to make it easy for him, apparently.
"I was thinking you might like to run the shop with me," he said in as brisk a voice as he could manage. "We always said you gave us a run for our money getting into mischief, and you practically broke more school rules than we did. If there's anybody who could run a joke shop, I reckon it's you, bro."
Ron didn't know what to say. Of all the careers he'd contemplated, helping with the joke shop had never even crossed his mind. It was the twins' territory, always. He'd never imagined George would want him there. Yet here he was, looking more hopeful than Ron had seen him in a long time, asking him to be a part of it.
"Are you sure?" Ron couldn't help but ask tentatively.
"Absolutely," George assured him in an uncharacteristically earnest voice. "You've got the experience, that's for sure. Flying a car to Hogwarts, starting underground orchestrations, eavesdropping on every bloody conversation you really aren't meant to hear…and that's just what I've heard about. You'd be good to have around."
Ron felt his ears going red. It was rare that either of the twins had ever outright praised him, and though he'd never admit it, it was something he'd always wanted to hear when he was a kid.
"You don't have to answer right now," George was saying, since Ron hadn't given any indication as to what he thought about this offer. "If you want to think it over… I mean we've got some time."
"It's not that I don't want to," said Ron hastily, catching George's uncertain expression (not something he was accustomed to seeing on his brother's face). "It's just… are you sure you want me? You know, ickle Ronniekins messing with all you stuff?"
"Wait a minute, you're not Percy?" George said, smacking his forehead and making to go back downstairs.
"Okay, okay," Ron said, grinning at the most George-like his brother had been in a very long time. "It's just, you never really seemed to think I was cut out for keeping up with you."
"Of course I didn't," George snorted, sinking back down opposite Ron. "We were kids and you were my annoying, tag-a-long, baby brother. But we're not kids anymore, Ron. I need a partner and you're the best man for the job. …He'd have wanted it, you know… Fred." George added softly, a distant look crossing his face.
Ron stayed silent, unsure of what to say. How could he do anything but agree on the spot after that? Did he want to?
"Well," George said after a minute, standing up. "Think about it, talk it over with your better half, just keep it in mind, alright?"
And with that, he left the room.
xxx
"He wants you to help him run the shop?" Hermione asked, unable to keep the incredulous tone out of her voice.
She tugged her cloak tighter around her shoulders and ran a gloved hand along the top of a rickety, snow-covered fence, watching the mini-avalanche of powder that was knocked to the ground. The two of them stood in the wintery stillness of the road leading to the Burrow, braving the bitter cold for the opportunity to have an uninterrupted chat, an impossible feat in the confines of the house.
"You don't think I'd be good at a joke shop?" Ron asked, slightly defensively.
"No! Of course that's not what I meant," Hermione said quickly, though rolling her eyes at him. "It's just… unexpected," she finished lamely.
"Yeah, I know," Ron muttered, kicking at the snow with the toe of his boot. "But, well, things change, don't they? Maybe it's what I've been waiting for. Maybe I'd be good at it."
"Maybe…" Hermione murmured and Ron thought she sounded doubtful. "But, Ron, what about… what about – "
"Harry?" Ron finished for her. If he was completely honest with himself, that was the real reason he hadn't accepted George's offer at once. It felt kind of like betraying his friend.
"Yes," Hermione nodded. "I thought you were going to think about joining up? I thought you wanted to be an Auror. You took all the classes for it in school."
Ron twisted the edge of his pocket between his fingers. "Yeah, I did, but… well, that was before… everything…" he trailed off, shrugging.
Hermione fixed him with a shrewd gaze. "What do you want, then?"
Ron looked taken aback at the question. "Well… I dunno. D'you think I'd make a good salesman?"
"I don't know, Ron. What's important is that you think you would."
"Thanks, that's a real help."
Hermione rolled her eyes at him again.
"It's interesting that he picked you though," she murmured as they started to meander back in the direction of the house. "I mean, I suppose it makes sense, but…"
"But what?" Ron asked, eyeing her distant, pensive look with apprehension. Usually those looks were accompanied by epiphanies about some great mystery that Ron wouldn't hear about until weeks later.
"Nothing," Hermione answered vaguely, still lost in thought.
Ron sighed in exasperation and Hermione looked around at him sharply.
"I was just thinking, maybe George asked you to, you know, fill the void," Hermione explained with an odd mixture of impatience and tentativeness.
Ron scowled. "You think he's trying to replace Fred with me?"
"I don't know, maybe…" Hermione trailed off at the look on Ron's face. "It was just a thought. Forget about it. I shouldn't have even mentioned it."
"No, you shouldn't have," Ron muttered angrily.
They walked in tense silence, Hermione glancing nervously at Ron out of the corner of her eye.
"Do you want to?" she asked quietly as they reached the gate.
Ron paused, hand on the latch. "Maybe," he said after a moment and pushed his way into the back garden.
xxx
"Mum, relax. It's only seven thirty," Ron said patiently when he saw his mother looking towards the corner again. She'd been glancing at the clock showing the general location of each member of the family so often that morning that it looked like she had a twitch.
Mrs. Weasley started and looked around at him. "Yes, of course, dear, you're right…" But she didn't sound reassured.
Ron leaned forward so that his front chair legs, which had been tipped back several inches off the ground, banged back to the floor. It was far too early for him to be dealing with this. But with Percy, Harry, Hermione, and his father all working at the Ministry, if he wanted a hot breakfast, he had to get up with the working crowd. And that meant watching his mother putter nervously around the kitchen, looking for something to busy her hands with while they waited for Harry.
He had the night shift again; patrolling Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley from midnight until six. Usually Harry staggered in the door in time to eat with the rest of them and then sleep until he had to go back into the office at one. But breakfast was over, Mr. Weasley, Percy, and Hermione had left for the Ministry half an hour before, and Harry wasn't back yet.
"They're overworking him," Mrs. Weasley said snippily after a moment. "Keeping him out all night and then making him come back to the office. It's ridiculous!"
"Mum, it's part of the job," Ron said patiently. "They stick all the young guys on stuff like this 'cause it's good training. It won't be like that forever. And besides, Harry wants to do it. He'd rather stay up all night than let those old bast- er old blokes in the Auror department say nasty stuff about him."
Mrs. Weasley hmphed and looked at the clock again. "I don't like it. Nasty things happen down in Knockturn Alley. Where is that boy?"
"Probably filling out paper work at the Ministry," Ron supplied reasonably. "He's not that late, Mum. And look. Clock says 'work' not 'mortal peril' or 'hospital'. He's fine."
Mrs. Weasley looked back at the clock, picking out Harry's hand, which she and Arthur had given him as a sort of congratulatory gift when he joined the Aurors full-time, still pointing at 'work' along with most of the others and took a silent, steadying breath.
"I'm being silly, aren't I?" she said with a tremulous smile as she sank down into a chair opposite Ron at the table.
"Bit," Ron agreed, swiping another muffin from the plate.
He couldn't exactly blame her, though. After the war, his mother had kept her constant worry for her entire family. In fact, it was almost worse now. In the weeks following the final battle, she had scarcely let any of them out of her sight, Harry, Ron, and Hermione in particular. Nearly everyone being involved in the aftermath had been hard enough on her, and Harry's joining the Aurors nearly drove her over the edge.
Right now, Ron wished Harry would get his arse home before his mother permanently cricked her neck looking at that clock.
"Harry not back yet?" George asked, strolling into the kitchen with a load of parchment in his arms.
"Must've got held up," Ron said quickly before Mrs. Weasley could get worked up again. "Whatcha got there?"
"This, dear brother, is the blueprint to success," George grinned, dropping the parchment down on the table.
"Looks like a load of paperwork to me," Ron said dismissively.
George feigned a wounded look. "That's our life's work you're degrading there."
He paused for a moment as though waiting for someone else to speak, and Ron felt his gut twist. George shook himself a little and continued, but his voice had lost most of its gusto. "This stuff's the gold behind it all. Product lists, financial records, order forms, ideas in the works, all of it. You can't just run a shop on whim and impulse; you've got to have plans."
"I suppose so," Ron agreed, leaning forward curiously. It had never occurred to him that his brothers had been organized. He'd watched them write up order forms and lists secretly back in their school days, but somehow he had never imagined them as the paperwork type.
As it turned out, the paperwork wasn't exactly organized. Fred and George had written all over everything, using a kind of shorthand that even George had difficulty deciphering in places.
"We've got better copies," George said sheepishly. "But we kept the printed ones in a safe up in the flat…. It doesn't matter though. We've just got to figure out what we've got to do to get things going again right now."
He tore a fresh piece of parchment off a roll and spread it out in front of him, dipping a haggard-looking quill into some ink.
"Let's see," he muttered, scribbling something down. "We'll need to take inventory, see what's still there and what we can still use…. Then we'll need some new stuff for the re-opening…. Have to look at advertising, too. Lots of advertising. What d'you think?" he asked, looking up at his mother and brother. "Reckon The Prophet's enough or should we invest in something a bit bigger? Might be able to rig some fireworks."
"I don't know, dear," Mrs. Weasley said distractedly. "How would you like some coffee?"
Without waiting for an answer, she jumped up and busied herself with the kettle. Ron gave George an exasperated look, rolling his eyes towards their mother.
George nodded. "So what do you think, Ron? About the advertising?"
"Oh, er, I dunno. What's worked before?" Ron said, a little flustered at George's wanting his opinion.
"Adds seemed to do alright. But when we first opened we had the benefit of declaring our opening sale to the entire student body just before flying out of Hogwarts into the sunset," George told him. "I mean, we might be able to bribe Ginny into doing that for us this time, but I reckon we ought to think of something else."
"George," Ron started, uncomfortably aware of the way his brother kept saying 'we'.
But George didn't give him time to speak. "I'm meeting Lee and Ange later today. Have you thought anymore about my offer?"
"Well…" Ron began, not exactly sure what he was going to say, but he was interrupted by a clatter as his mother dropped the kettle.
"Oh, thank goodness!" she cried, eyes fixed on Harry's hand, which had just spun from 'work' to 'traveling' and then landed on 'home'.
A second later, the kitchen door swung open and Harry trudged over the threshold, looking as exhausted as ever.
"Finally!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, hurrying over and pushing Harry into a chair. "What on earth kept you?"
"Got stuck filling out a report," Harry explained apologetically, guessing what Mrs. Weasley had spent the last half hour doing.
"What'd I say, Mum?" Ron said, leaning back in his chair and giving her a smug sort of look.
"You were right, of course you were," she nodded, waving her wand over a plate of food to heat it up again and setting it before Harry.
George gave Ron a look as their mother bustled away to finish the coffee.
"So, anything interesting go down last night?" Ron asked curiously.
"Well, yeah, actually," Harry told him in a low voice, glancing over his shoulder to check that Mrs. Weasley was sufficiently preoccupied with the kettle again and leaning forward. "We caught some action down in Knockturn ally towards the end of our shift. Thought it was just a couple of thieves like Mondungus, you know, old, half-drunk crooks getting in on some black-market trading."
"A thousand Galleons says it wasn't," Ron breathed, letting his chair fall back to the floor again with a loud snap, too caught up in the story.
Harry glanced quickly back at Mrs. Weasley, but she had disappeared into the scullery.
"No, it wasn't," Harry went on, lowering his voice even more as he turned back to Ron and George.
"Death Eaters?" George mouthed.
Harry shook his head. "No, not that I saw, but they sure knew some good curses."
Carefully, he pulled up the sleeve of his jacket to reveal a white linen bandage winding up his arm from wrist to elbow.
Ron swore, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling it towards him to examine.
George let out a low whistle, leaning over to look too. "Bet that stung."
Harry pulled his arm back, tugging his sleeve down again and looking nervously towards the scullery door. "Yeah, you could say that. That's the real reason I was late. Had to get it fixed up by a mediwizard and write a report on the incident. You know, I miss the days when we could just stroll into the Forbidden Forest, tussle with a few giant, bloodthirsty spiders, get rescued by a rogue car, and not tell a soul about it."
"I don't," Ron muttered, reaching across the table to pull up Harry's sleeve again and get another good look at the bandage. "Damn. What'd you get hit with?"
"Something like Sectumsempra, but not nearly as powerful. I dodged most of it, but he caught my arm."
George winced, subconsciously raising a hand to the gaping hole on the side of his head.
"It's fine," Harry assured them, pulling his sleeve out of Ron's grip. "The bloke who healed it said it shouldn't leave permanent scars. I don't even get to take off work."
The kettle started whistling and Mrs. Weasley hurried back into the kitchen. Harry hastily bent over his plate. Ron noticed that he ate with his left hand rather than his bandaged right. He wondered how much it hurt.
George waited until Harry had dragged himself up to bed and his mother had disappeared into the living room to start on knitting Christmas jumpers for next year before he spoke again, busily scribbling away at ideas for new products and development.
"Mum'd go barmy if she knew," he said casually, propping his feet up on the table and leaning back on his rear chair legs like Ron.
"Yeah, he's lucky it's somewhere he can cover the bandages," Ron agreed fervently.
"She worries herself sick over Harry's job," George went on. "How much you wanna bet she falls asleep knitting? You know the only time she has any peace is when he's here."
Ron nodded, doodling vaguely on a bit of scrap parchment with a spare quill.
"I hear Harry's boss is itching to have you, too," George added, still in a casual tone.
"Yeah, he's been bugging Harry about me and Hermione," Ron told his brother. "Reckon he'll start sending roses soon."
"That'd push Mum over the edge," said George, pulling an old list towards him and beginning to decipher the scribbles. "If she had to worry about the both of you again…" he let the sentence trail off.
"Yeah, I know," he heard Ron say quietly.
"Are you thinking about it?" George asked.
Ron was silent for a long minute.
"I was," he finally acknowledged.
"Was?" George asked, noting the past-tense.
Ron shrugged. "It's what I've always been aiming to do. Used to think it'd be cool."
"But now?"
"Well, now… I think maybe I've had my fix of cool for a while."
George nodded. "Probably for the best. The last thing we need right now is someone else coming home all cut up. Besides, it won't be long before you settle down with our dear Hermione and start raising little freckly, bushy-haired munchkins. You don't want to be risking your neck then."
"Who says we're getting married?" Ron asked sharply.
George rolled his eyes. "Only half the school since your third year."
xXx
"He shouldn't be on this case!"
Angus Winston was the oldest Auror still active in the department since Mad-eye Moody had retired nearly a decade before, but his wispy gray hair, lined face, and stooped figure did not diminish the fervor or volume of his contradiction. He stood at the head of the long oak table where half the Auror department was gathered to receive their assignments, his knotted hands splayed on the tabletop as he leaned forward, glaring at the head Auror as if a dozen gaping subordinates didn't separate them.
Later, those same goggling subordinates would all agree that Elsa Shepherd demonstrated her right to have been sorted into Gryffindor when she stared right back into the stormy face of one of the toughest Aurors the department had ever seen and merely raised an eyebrow.
"Angus, please sit down," she said quietly, although her voice traveled across the silent room with authoritative ease.
But Angus Winston took no notice of her words.
"He's an untrained eighteen-year-old kid who managed to get himself sliced up not two days ago on patrol," he snarled across the table, not seeming to care that the untrained, sliced-up eighteen-year-old in question was embarrassedly fingering his bandaged forearm three seats away. "You can't stick him on a case like this, especially not for publicity! This isn't some schoolyard rouse!"
"And ending two devastating wars was?" Elsa Shepherd asked coolly. "I did not hire Potter to uphold an image, I hired him because he's damn good and I expect him to toe the line and do the work of an Auror. The work I assign him."
"He's got no clue what he's doing!" Winston yelled. "If you want to keep him on, that's one thing, but no first year Auror would land this case. We can't afford mistakes and I don't tolerate favoritism. I'll report it!"
"Potter's got more experience than half the department!" Shepherd barked back at him. "We've had one of the greatest defensive minds at our disposal for six months and it's about time we use it. Go ahead and report me for that, Angus."
She turned away from his angry expression and tossed a manila folder into Harry's lap. "You're on the Selwyn case. Think you can handle tailing, Potter?"
"He doesn't belong on this case!" Winston repeated furiously, banging a fist on the table for emphasis.
Shepherd turned slowly around to glare at the man before her. "You may have more seniority here, but I was the one appointed as head of the department," she told him icily. "Potter is on this one."
And with that, she turned and walked out of the room. Winston slammed a hand down on the table again and stormed out the opposite door. The dozen Aurors who had witnessed this battle sat a bit shell-shocked in its wake.
xxx
"Next round's on me!" Dean Thomas called down the bar. "You're best fire whiskey, please, Hannah."
"Wha's th'ocassion?" Seamus Finnegan, who had downed several shots of what George called 'leprechaun juice' on a dare, slurred.
The long bar of the Leaky Cauldron was crowded, even for a Friday night. Hannah Abbott had recently taken over the bar from Tom, her uncle, who was getting a bit old to handle all the work himself. As a result, a fairly large group turned out regularly to see her and get a few drinks. Tonight, Dean, Seamus, and Parvati were grouped at one end of the bar with George, Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnett, and Oliver Wood in the middle, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville filling up the remaining stools on the other end.
It had become something of a Friday night ritual for the group, which varied slightly week to week but essentially stayed constant. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and George always tried fruitlessly to get Percy to come out with them, simply because it was fun to try. Then they all showed up at the bar to see who else was there, chat with Hannah, and blow off some steam. With everyone's packed work schedules, it was the only time they seemed to find to talk to one another, and after seven years of going to school together, it felt strange to fall out of touch so easily.
That evening Dean seemed to be in a particularly good mood. He had bought two of the last four rounds of butter bear and was now onto fire whiskey.
"We're celebrating," Dean announced, grinning broadly.
"What we celebratin'?" Lee hiccoughed (Also a member of the leprechaun juice dare).
Dean reached into his pocket and brought out a much-fingered piece of paper with a flourish.
"My spectacular success at not being noticed," he beamed, waving around the piece of paper.
"You got your stealth and tracking results back?" Harry called down to him, having passed much of their long, dull night shifts in Diagon Alley helping Dean practice.
"Yeah!" Dean called back. "Passed! Can you believe it? I might actually be an Auror!"
A/N: Okay, so I dropped off right in the middle of a scene. I realize that this is not exactly post-worthy yet, but I honestly don't know when I'll find the time to keep working on it, and I wanted to stick it out there. This is NOT (here that? NOT!) an abandoned fic, even if it has been months and months since it's been updated. I'm in college and am dialing back my FF writing, that's all. If people like this, I'll shift my focus a little more to this story in my limited free time. If it doesn't get a big reactions – eh, I'll work on it when I'm in the mood. No big deal. Very possibly this scene will be removed from this chapter and tacked onto the beginning of the next one to keep it all flowing when I do update again.
So, if you like it and want more, let me know. If you just have something to say, SAY IT :) Alright, thanks a bunch for reading! I will still be ghosting around on this site, procrastinating and such in little moments, so I will read all your reviews and PMs and may very well respond to them.