Monday usually meant more paperwork, and more irritating meetings with the aurors. Usually Scrigemour had some excuse or the other as to why one of his newest recruits broke protocol, or some of the senior members like Shacklebot decided to skip filing a report altogether.

"We're at war, Peter," was all that bastard could say, tutting as if it was self-evident.

"Don't you think I know that? You're not the only one fighting it." Pettigrew hissed. "That's not an excuse to let everything go tits up. If your department can't be arsed to do it's own work, then you need to sort them out."

Rufus hadn't said much after that, just glared at him and left.

It wasn't easy being the Assistant Secretary for the DMLE. There were too many fires to put out and not enough resources to handle them all.

Peter checked his calendar, it was the 25th of July. He was going to have to think of something to get for Harry's birthday. It was going to be a big one after all, Peter could hardly remember his own twenty-first birthday. The war had made sure of that.

Peter was set to have a meeting with Auror Jones about updates on a difficult case.

While the war never officially ended, it never really escalated to the point where the Dark Lord could claim victory. Of course, he had become extremely formidable in the early 80s, but he had become unexpectedly weakened and never recovered. Even when he returned from his absence, it didn't stop his Death Eaters from creating their own factions and vying for power.

In their weakened state, the Order was able to dissuade some of the lower tier members and weaken their support with the Beings and magical creatures.

Now it seems some of the more extreme factions of the Death Eaters were purposely trying to disobey the Statute of Secrecy in their attacks. There was going to be a point where even mass obliviation wouldn't cut it.

There was a knock on Peter's office door.

"Come in," he replied distractedly, still reading the latest report on a series of robberies in magical Birmingham.

"Sorry to disturb you, Sir. I'm here in Auror Jones' place. She debriefed me earlier, you two were discussing the possibility of reprisals?"

Peter looked up from his desk to take in the young Auror in front of him. He was tall and lean, broad shoulders and muscular arms and legs. His skin was ruddy and freckled from frequent sun exposure, and his eyes gleamed with a bright blue intensity. His hair was thick and a deep shade of copper, falling effortlessly around his face.

Peter took a deep breath, taking in this young man's impressive form and hoping he wasn't blushing.

"Yes, please have a seat Auror…"

"Weasley."

"Is that so? Any relation to Arthur?"

It was certainly the young man's turn to blush. "Yeah, that's my dad."

Peter nodded. "Good man, Arthur. One of the best. Anyway onto business. We have reason to believe some of the Purity League, individuals who were the most extreme of You-Know-Who's followers, are planning on breaking the Statute of Secrecy as a step towards magical supremacy. You-Know-Who has on the record stated he is against that idea since it would make the conflict an international matter and the ICW would get involved. We've recently captured one of their own, Rabastan Lestrange, and the group's been rather quiet as of late. I know you Aurors have a team that's been working on possible next moves?"

"Yes," Weasley's brow furrowed and he leaned forward, his hand on his face. "We were thinking that the League isn't going to be able to come up with anything big now that their leader is in Azkaban. So their either going to stick with low level attacks, or they'll scramble. Seeing as they've not acted since, we were thinking it's the latter but…"

"I don't like the sound of that," Peter interrupted

"I think they might try to bargain with us, maybe capture one of our own in exchange. So we are going to have to get some men on a few officials who might be suspected targets, just in case."

Weasley fidgeted in his seat, his limbs were too tall for the wicker chairs Peter had carelessly used to sit visitors for years. He looked like an oversized scarecrow in a dollhouse, but somehow he looked so damn charming.

"I see," Peter cleared his throat. "Well, who do you have in mind as some of the officials in need of protection?"

"The Minister, Of course," began Weasley, "Then Scrigemour, then the rest of the Department Heads, though the Unspeakables are refusing to cooperate,"

"I'll see what I can do,"

Weasley grinned. "Cheers, mate. I mean Sir. And I'll keep you posted on any updates in the next few days."

"Do you think there will be any more attacks?" Peter asked.

"Possibly, but we don't have any leads yet. Our sources are a bit less generous than they used to be." Weasley admitted sheepishly.

Peter snorted, "Ain't that the truth. Well I think that's all we can do for now, but thanks for stopping by Weasley. May I know why Auror Jones decided not to show up for this meeting? I'll need it for my report."

"Didn't you know? She's on maternity leave."

Peter stopped writing. "Ah, I hadn't noticed she was expecting."

"Really? She'd gotten quite big, and irritable. It would have been hard not to notice."

"Now Mr. Weasley, you should never comment on a woman's weight." Peter replied drily.

Startled, Weasley blushed.

"Seeing as we'll evidently be having more of these meetings, I think it's best we let go of the formalities and try to forge a closer work relationship. From now on you can call me Peter, if you'd like."

"Oh, of course. I'm Ron." He got up from his chair and extended his hand. Unable to hide his amusement, Peter smiled and shook it.

"I think we're done here. If there's any other business you may have, feel free to send me a memo. I'm not as scary as Madam Bones."

Ron laughed, "No, from what Scrigemour says, you're a bit less of a ponce then I'd imagined." Realizing he'd made a terrible error, he smacked himself. "Bloody hell, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean that."

Peter chuckled. "It's perfectly alright. In fact, to prove to you I'm not a ponce, why don't you join me for drinks after work? There's a nice pub a couple of blocks over that has a Happy Hour special. My treat."

"Sounds brilliant. I'm holding you to it though. Meet me at the atrium around six." Ron gave him a bright smile, his white crooked teeth making his face even more handsome.

When the young man left his office, Peter couldn't believe his luck. He giggled despite himself. He certainly hadn't been so bold before, and certainly not with someone so young. Hopefully he didn't misunderstand Ron's intentions. Perhaps he should remain impersonal and professional.

At the bar, Ron was certainly no slouch. He had taken up the offer of free drinks readily and with such a large build, he could easily out drink Peter, who was certainly competitive enough to try and keep up. It almost reminded him of his days drinking with Sirius, who certainly paced himself more, but stuck with the hard stuff.

"You know, I'm glad you asked me out, Pete. Can I call you Pete? Are we at that level?"

Peter gulped. "Yes, I think we are." He was nursing his most recent pint and he felt he had passed the point of pleasantly buzzed.

"After Hogwarts, it seems like all my friends have no time to go out, they all just coupled up and stay in. Their excuse is the war, but the war's been going on for what? Thirty years now? What's the point of living if you can't live. I've already lost a brother to the war. I've lost friends. And damn it, if I have to lose my sense of independence then haven't the Death Eaters won?"

Peter raised his pint, "Amen to that. And it certainly isn't as bad as it was in the old days."

Ron interrupted, "That's because they killed everyone, and ran out of appropriate targets. We hardly had any Muggleborns when I went to Hogwarts. The only one we had in our whole year was a girl in my House, but we weren't that close. Did you have any?"

"My best friend's wife is a Muggleborn, she was in our year."

"Is that so?" Ron leaned over, interested. "And that must have been during the height of the first part of the war, how'd she manage to survive?"

"It was tough, there was a time she and my friend were marked by You-Know-Who himself, but they able to relocate safely to protect their son."

"Seems like the cowards way out," Ron mumbled.

Peter glared at him. "You weren't there. You didn't have to discover loved ones eviscerated remains, or identify their bodies. You never had to go to sleep at night worrying if you'd be murdered before you woke, or fight for your life in skirmishes."

Ron certainly paid attention to that. "Were you in the Order?" He whispered.

Thank Merlin they had gone to a Muggle bar.

"Judging by your cavalier use of the name I assume you are?" Ron nodded. "They are the bravest fighters I know, and the most dedicated to our cause, so I wouldn't go around calling them cowards because they gave up everything to protect their son."

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his bar stool and downed the rest of his pint.

"I don't see you at the meetings." Ron notes, his words beginning to slur.

"I don't go to them anymore. I haven't as much since Dumbledore died, but I'm on reserves if I'm needed."

"I didn't mean what I said about your friends, I'm sure they're great or whatever." Ron apologized, leaning his head against the bar.

"They are. They have a son about your age, I think you'd like him." Peter looked over at Ron's wobbly frame. "Maybe we should get you home."

As they got up, Peter felt lightheaded. It seems his own drinks were catching up to him. Dizzily, he stumbled backwards and into Ron's arms.

Ron laughed. "Has a few too many, little man?"

Peter swatted him playfully. "Oh, shut up."

They were much too drunk to Apparate, and Diagon Alley was too far away to walk, so they settled on taking the Tube to Ron's flat. It was a walk-up in Camden. And by the time they reached it, Peter's Head was splitting.

Ron jiggled the keys. "My flatmate Seamus might be around, but if we're lucky he might be at his girlfriend's and you can sleep it off on the couch."

Much to their disappointment, Seamus was in fact present and bare arsed on the couch with what looked like his girlfriend.

Ron discreetly placed a blanket over them. "You can stay with me in my room for the time being."

Ron's room was very much one of a man who hadn't entirely grown up yet. There were piles of dirty laundry all over the floor, and lopsided posters of the Chudley Canons hanging on the walls. Beside his bed was a nightstand covered in books and a rather battered chess set.

"Do you play?" Peter asked.

Ron grinned, "I dabble. Do you fancy a game?"

"Why not. Any stakes?"

"How about strip chess?"

Peter laughed. "Haven't done that in a while, but playing chess naked is rather boring don't you think?"

"Fair enough, let's raise the stakes. Loser has to give the winner head."

"You're on."

It was the first time Peter was eager to lose at anything, despite doing so quite often.

The next morning wasn't as awkward as it could have been. Peter was mortified of the ethical ramifications of their encounter, and apologized profusely for taking advantage of the younger man.

Ron seemed rather unfazed and asked if he'd like to go out for drinks again later in the week.