A/N Ron Weasley joined the aurors aged 18. He helped revolutionise the aurors. Why then, after such accomplishments, did he leave to work in his brother's shop? Why would he abandon the good work he was doing? Answer? Because in the end, truly, he had no choice.
Chapter one: Whose turn?
Winter had blown over the country, bringing a cold frost and icy winds. The people were more often than not huddled up in heavy coats with thick hats pulled down to their ears when they dared brave the unseasonably cold weather. The muggle population had taken to hiding indoors with the heaters pumping a summer-like warmth through the shivering house. The muggle police had reported an overall drop in crime as even the criminals dared not venture inside. However, the same could not be said for the Wizarding population.
His breath came in icy puffs as he ran round the corner, barrelling into surprised shoppers
"Sorry!" he called over his shoulder, watching them grumble as they got back to their feet. He waved again apologetically, but stumbled and tripped in his inattention. The distance between he and his prey. With a burst of speed, he careered around the corner- barely making it- reaching out to grab the man, who turned and leapt over the dented, metal bins as he escaped into the alleyway between the crooked and decrepit buildings.
He cursed vehemently and threw his arms outward in his frustrating. Why did the most simple of his cases end in a chase? When would he be classed as too mature for sprinting around muggle London like a crazed lunatic? These questions, like many that danced around his brain, he didn't have the answer too. He did know, however, that he would never live it down if a two-bit criminal got the better of him, a war-hero-turned-auror. With a sigh, a plea to high heavens, he resolutely twitched his wand, sending the bins crashing and rolling down the now deserted street. His woollen hat, that had previously been pulled tightly around his large ears, didn't quite hide his red locks that stuck out from under his lopsided and badly knitted hat. If he had been in Wizarding London, everyone would know who he was. As it was, he was amongst the scum of muggle London; the wrapped up shoppers could not distinguish him from the rest of the city. Thank Merlin for that, last thing he needed was another article about him in the Daily Prophet.
However, the squirrelly looking fella in front of him clearly knew who he was despite the fact his aurors badge was hidden firmly under his coat. He signed as he continued the chase, unable to stun him while he was running at this speed. His aim was good, but even the best of duellers didn't curse while sprinting. Probably. Maybe he'd ask Harry about his spell proficiency at a top sprint. Although given the fact the only running Harry had been doing lately was between desks…. Perhaps he was better not to. His pace was even, but he wished that he'd worn his trainers rather than the pinchy useless shoes his wife had bought him. He'd told her as much. He still didn't think he'd deserved the night on the sofa to think about 'appropriate responses to gifts, Ronald'. They rounded another corner, barely slowing this time the man didn't manage to keep on his feet. His legs went from under him and he tumbled head over heels. The man laid in a stupor, panic creeping over his face like frost over a car.
"Finally," Ron wheezed, regretting that second helping of pie the night before. And perhaps also the bar of chocolate he'd gobbled for his lunch.
The other man said nothing, exhausted and high as he was.
"Come on, mate," Ron said, picking the trembling man up. "Let's get you a drink and some food." He couldn't help the pity that had overtaken him as he got a better look at the man he had spent half the morning (and his months allotted exercise) chasing. The man looked even worse closer up, his hair was filthy and matted. His face, young as it was, was sallow and sunken. Because of this, he was as gentle as he could be as he placed the cuffs on him. "How long ago did you have your fix? Are you safe to travel?" He questioned softly, placing a gently hand on his shoulder, which trembled under his large hand. Whether from fear or his fix, he couldn't yet tell. The man didn't respond for a long moment, but then he gingerly nodded his head. Ron wondered if the man was younger than him, he thought he was, but he wondered if anyone would know that from the hand life had evidently handed the poor man before him. He didn't recognise him, but then again, he'd barely paid attention to his own year never mind the younger kids whilst at Hogwarts. They began to walk, the man leaning heavily on him, all the fight long since left him, and they slowly made their way further away from the still watching muggles. He held the man's arm and turned. He kept his destination in mind, splinching was still something he was prone to if he didn't concentrate, and he felt the sucking, compressing feeling of being shoved down a narrow tube.
The bottle of pain-no-more sat at his desk, he gave it a weary glare, knowing his meddling (but beautiful, caring and wonderful) wife had left it there for him. His hand came to his face without intention, rubbing along his aching brow. He threw himself into his chair, and picked up the dainty bottle. He unstoppered the cork, and threw a gulp back with a sign. Instantly, the tension in his body and head seemed to release as though the dam had burst. He couldn't help the groan of satisfaction he released.
"I thought you would need that," Harry said with a wry chuckle. Ron groaned theatrically, turning to face him with a frown. His ears tipped pink as he realised who had so thoughtfully placed that bottle upon his desk...
"I was fine," he said shortly, trying to ignore his now burning face, pulling the newest file towards him. "Now, if you don't mind," he made a 'shooing' gesture. Harry either didn't notice or didn't care, for he didn't move. "What?" Ron said in exasperation.
Harry pulled up a chair to his tiny cubby and tugged the report from him, quickly scanning its contents. "So you think he can lead you to the dealer?" he asked as he scanned the rest of the interview.
"Don't you have your own desk, in your own office, far away from me and the other lowly aurors-"
"Ron-"
"Oh I know," Ron said rolling his eyes and pulling up the corner of his lip. "Stop being a prat, Ron. Stop complaining, Ron." he said putting on a squeaky voice that sounded more like a cross between a parakeet and a mouse than a person.
"Was that supposed to be me or Hermione?" Harry asked, unable to hide his amusement much to Ron's continued ire.
"Aren't you going to ask me what's wrong? Harry? Head Auror Potter?" Ron snapped waspishly, dipping his quill in his everlasting ink and snatching the report back.
"No," Harry paused, waiting for the inevitable, "because you're probably just-"
"I'll tell you what's bloody wrong! I spent my morning, my entire morning, chasing after one lone druggy, who, admittedly, was very quick on his feet for someone who the Healers declared had been mililitres away from a severe overdose, that's not to mention the blisters these ridiculous pointy shoes have given me. All of this, as well as my weight in paper work, without my partner, because my partner-" he jabbed a finger into Harry's chest. "Is now sat in a nice warm office, in an expensively comfy chair."
Harry waited, and Ron, who was on a roll, paused, breathing heavily. "Which is not to say- obviously- that I'm not happy, no, proud even, that you got yourself a promotion, and have broken yet more records, because I am, but - you know, - well maybe you don't- but I'm having, maybe, a tiny, miniscule problem with adjusting to the change."
"I hadn't noticed," Harry deadpanned. Ron broke off, and glared yet again. "I can give you another partner, we have more recruits that have about finished their training, but they'd need a guide, they'd need training on the job…"
Ron rolled his eyes skyward, "training up a probie? While I've got this drug dealing ring to break as well as two court cases due? No thank you. Give them to Dennis. Or Applebee."
"But you're the one complaining about not having a partner!"
"Yeah, but I don't want a stupid trainee! If I can't have you as a partner, I don't want one," Ron said vehemently, jabbing the air as he spoke.
"Oh Ron," Harry said, wiping at his face, "I didn't know you felt that way."
"Oh shut up, you great big prat," Ron said bending his head down and making a start on his work, which wouldn't go away just because his boss wouldn't. "Your crocodile tears don't fool me. It's just, I miss having someone half-way competent at their job. You, at the very least, were always good for diverting attention away from me in a duel."
Harry rubbed his side at the memory of one of the last cases they'd worked together, that one had ended with him in Mungos and a very angry Ginny. Ron caught the action, and smiled brightly, "don't worry Harry, I'll make sure the next one gets me, my turn and all."
"When you get the break in this case, I'll go with you. Even if I'm wanted by the Ministry of Magic himself."
Ron snorted.
"Just get me caught up on what's happened so far. I knew you were following a probable dealing location?"
Ron sighed, pulling his notes towards him even though he reckoned he could recall the details of this case in his sleep at this point. "Well it all started when James Raimes turned up dead from an expected overdose. The autopsy report showed that the drug he'd consumed was potent enough to cause overdoses in even small amounts. In fact, the drug, which I've taken to calling ShitShow, can cause addiction even after accidental exposure. Most people are ingesting it, Raimes certainly did, which is why he succumbed to an overdose only a week or so after first trying it. Raimes wasn't new to drugs, he'd tried everything from muggle heroin to Dragon Eye. It seems he wasn't sure on the dosage, with it being so strong it was easily done. He isn't the only one, five more bodies in the last week, one a muggle. Creevey looked at some of that muggle CCTV and followed the muggle in his last 24 hours."
"And this is where you got a possible location?"
"Yeah, on the West-end. I staked it out for a couple of hours, the only person to turn up was Gilly Anderson, 22. He's in St. Mungos for observation, he took a turn during the interview. I'm hoping I'll get more when he's sober and not vomiting."
Harry chewed on his quill, "so this is someone who is happy enough amongst muggles to set up his operation and deal out of muggle London. It's also interesting that he or she is dealing to muggles as well as witches and wizards."
"That's what I thought to, it's clear they aren't interested in who they hurt. To be honest, Harry, I think it the tip of the iceberg. More bodies are going to turn up, and quickly with the potency of the drugs, and that's not to mention how many lives are going to be ruined by the drug."
"Is it possible that more deaths could be attributed to, what did you call it? ShitShow?"
Ron grimaced, "I'd bet my life on it, if one muggle has been exposed to it, you can bet there's more."
"I'll run that down for you," Harry said, finishing his notes and standing, looking at the battered old watch on his wrist.
"Nothing better to do?"
"Certainly nothing else as interesting," Harry replied with more than a note of sincerity. Ron softened and smiled at his old friend. He knew that Harry was a man of action and sitting behind a desk would never come easy to him. "Now, come on, it's past six and Hermione will kill you if you're not home soon."
Ron brightened, throwing down his quill, which splattered across his paperwork, and tugging on his coat and hat. "As much as Hermione loves the kids, working from home is driving her crazy. Hugo's just started crawling, and he loves grabbing at things he shouldn't have."
Harry smiled warmly, summoning his own coat from his office. He looked around the auror office despite it being late, a couple of aurors were still finishing up and he bid them 'goodnight' and with a point at the clock, encouraged them to get going. It was now getting late, and although crime never stopped, overworked aurors certainly did. "Lily's getting to her feet at the moment, but she's got her hands on everything, I can't remember the boys ever being such a worry!"
"Girls are the worst!" They chuckled.
The door to the office clicked shut.