Part 2

Hermione didn't take the baby and leave. While nobody doubted that the Nakhchivan Ministry were put out about his casual questions and meeting with the Polkovnik, they simply gave the type of spin usually reserved for the media.

Jalil remained firm that Ron never find himself alone outside of the official buildings and Hermione made sure he never let his head drop at his lack of effectiveness in his dead end investigation. The International Floo still worked but Ron always felt sure he could see a fireplace off to one side whenever he was talking to someone. Patronus messages were used for sensitive messages instead.

That was the plan.

"So this is the one of Rose in her sun hat," Ron passed the photos through the green flames and into Harry's hand, "and this one is Hermione holding Rose at an embassy party...in the foyer...because babies aren't allowed but we couldn't get a sitter. This is Rose covered in chocolate at the embassy party when I took her in and dared people to ask me to leave. Oh and this is Rose with Jal watching a dust storm."

Harry laughed at each photo and laughed, shaking his head.

"I never thought I'd see the day."

"What? Us having a baby?"

"No, you boring people with baby photos."

"Excuse me? I'm boring you?"

"Not at all, but all that complaining when I'd bring albums around to show you pictures of James and Lily, I never thought you'd end up doing the same thing to me."

"Four pictures of my daughter at significantly different events isn't the same as a whole album of James sleeping on a Tuesday."

"He wasn't asleep in every one!"

"No, in some he was dribbling."

"He was only a few weeks old, what's your excuse?"

"That only happens when I fall asleep on my front."

"You always fall asleep on your front."

"Ah but Hermione rolls me over."

"Why? You snore on your back."

"She chooses the snoring over the moist pillow."

"Really?"

"You wouldn't?"

"You can really snore, mate."

Ron beamed at this.

"That wasn't a compliment!"

Ron opened his mouth to say something cocky when his mouth gaped and he gasped so sharply that the green flames licked the back of his throat. Harry, threw himself to his knees and crawled right up to the grate.

"What is it? You all right?"

Ro's eyes were bulging and he nodded, unconvincingly, before swallowing and clamping his lolling jaw shut.

"Ron?"

"Fine."

Harry looked down at Ron's knuckles, protruding from the coals beneath, and frowned.

"Not convinced."

"S'fine, shit... I'm gonnafckinkillher!"

Harry took a moment to make sense of the jumble of words Ron had just babbled. He almost smiled.

"Would your wife happen to be doing something to put you off?"

Ron's mouth opened and shut, he slammed his hand down on the hearth and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Oh she...she..." he punched the sooty grate again, "Whoa!"

Harry shook his head and sat back in his chair.

"I never copped off with your sister while forcing you to look at my babies."

"Donsaytha-aaaa-aaaa-ah!"

Harry began drumming his fingers on the table and looked away to scan the walls of his homely little kitchen.

"On top of everything else I now get to see your sex face. I don't believe it."

"What's wrong with my sex face?" Ron panted.

"It's really bad!"

At the other end of the Floo call Hermione had unfastened her husband's jeans and yanked them over his hips.

"When she wanks you off like this, does she aim for the fire? I'm not going to have to put a towel down am I?"

"N...Omiguh...omiguh...omiguh...fuck!"

Hermione sank her teeth into one of his round, white buttocks.

"Whatafucshedoin?"

"If anything the eavesdropper's having a hell of a time."

"Oh Gudinverfotadat!" Ron groaned.

Hermione pulled at his hips and Ron clawed at the ash covered hearth on Harry's side.

"I think I gotta go," he said as he slowly sank back into the flames.

"Here, don't forget your photos!" Harry stuffed the pictures into Ron's hand just as he was dragged all the way out of the flames and rolled onto his back on the rug, back in Nakhchivan.

"What are you doing to me woman?" Ron flailed beneath her, photos clutched in his hand.

Hermione lay flat on top of him, plucked the pictures from his hand and broke into a wide smile.

"We got them didn't we?"

"Biting the arse? You never said you'd bite me on the arse!"

"I needed a real reaction, I bet they stopped paying attention to those photos right away."

Ron pushed himself up onto his elbows.

"So, what do we have?"

Hermione looked at the four photographs, not one being of her little girl.

"We've got a passion killer, that's for sure, and we've got proof that Hasmik's brother was tortured to death."

"Your plans are cleverer than my plans," Ron said, flopping onto his back and closing his eyes.

Hermione set the photographs aside and leaned over to kiss him.

"Plus we got Harry back for having sex with Ginny on our sofa."

Ron sat up again and looked at her, seriously.

"Hey, do I have a bad 'sex face'?"

---

Jalil and Ron spent a whole day sitting in waiting rooms. This was a real test for Ron, not the most patient of men at the best of times, and it was only his pig headed determination that kept him from giving up.

They sat in wait for their appointment with the Polkadot Auror, as Ron called him, and their appointment time came and went before the secretary received a memo and told Jalil that they were being referred to the next Auror down. They took the paper, went to the Auror department, and handed over the memo. There was a two hour wait before the Senior Auror stepped out, pulling on his cloak, and bustled past Jalil while muttering something to him in Russian.

"An emergency, we can come to see again tomorrow or wait for him to come back."

"He's not coming back," Ron said as he got to his feet to leave, "you have magical law here. Take me to that department."

"We have no appointment to see them."

"Having an appointment doesn't seem to be helping us so far, does it?"

The magical law people were just people who did filing for Aurors. Ron snorted at the idea of Hermione's work being to pick up after him. They were able to get inside the main office, though, and Ron scanned as much as he could with his eyes before a security Auror escorted them out and told Jalil they were in breech of security.

They returned to see the Nakhchivan Minister and were passed over to his clerk, then his clerk's assistant, and finally the waiting room of the Foreign Minister.

"How do you say, this isn't a foreign matter to you, you twit, this is happening in your country, in Russian?"

"I could teach you but it would be waste, he speak Azerbaijani."

"Why does he speak Azerbaijani?"

"That language of this country," Jalil said with a simple shrug.

"So why are you speaking Russian to everyone?"

"I Russian, my friends Russian, politicians Russian."

"But the language is Azerbaijani?"

"Yes."

"Do you speak Azerbaijani?"

"Of course!"

"What?"

"Azerbaijani spoken in Russia too."

"So are you translating in both languages?"

"No, only language person speak."

"Well, yes! I didn't mean t-"

The door to the office opened and the Foreign Minister stepped out to greet them.

"Auror Weasley, you have something to give me?"

"No," Ron said as he shook the man's hand, "I have evidence to show the Auror department about a miscarriage of justice in this country but because I'm not from this country they sent me to you."

"Ahh." The Foreign Minister said, with a nod.

Ron and Jalil looked at each other.

"So could you get the appropriate authorities to talk to me?"

"I don't do this work, not crime and justice, I work with people like you." The Minister smiled.

"No, you don't because you're not working with me now."

"I can make an appointment with Polkovnik Auror for you."

"We have one, he sent us to somebody else who went out."

"He busy man."

Ron held up one of the photographs.

"He dead man."

The Foreign Minister blanched.

"I don't work with this. You go back to Polkovnik."

Ron stuffed the photographs back into his pocket and looked at Jalil for a few seconds, trying to calm his temper by looking at his friend's worried face. If Jalil was concerned then pissing people off with a rant would be bad. Jalil was definitely worried so Ron swallowed his temper.

"Right," Ron looked back to the Foreign Minister, "you don't do investigations or murders or injustice. You just make it okay for people like me to travel around in an ambassadorial role with no power."

"Really, is true." The man nodded, happy to see Ron understanding both their places in the world.

"So I see you for permission to use the fly zone?"

"You already have it, you use one."

Ron looked at the man and waited for him to explain how he knew all his movements so well.

"I meant all the others. Can I fly anywhere within the fly zones?"

"You can, I grant permission," the man bowed, looking pleased with himself. "Enjoy your flying."

"And there's an area at either end of every fly zone I must be allowed to stop for food, drink, sightseeing?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I will allow you to stay at Ministry buildings anywhere you fly to."

"So," Ron said, glancing at Jalil, who looked wide eyed, "while all the Ministers and Aurors are busy me and Jal can fly anywhere and go to the Ministry buildings connected to the fly zones to kill time?"

"Indeed. I give you this," the Minister flicked his wand into a swirling motion and sent a thin shower of magical energy down his body, "and you can pass through spells, not stopped by guards at lodgings."

"I have official permission to travel, great, I was getting a bit bored cooped up all day," Ron smiled. "You will tell the Minister and the Polkovnik that I still need to see them, if you see them before I do, right?"

"I will pass on your urgent message if I see them, of course."

The man left, content that he'd just sent Ron off with his tour guide to fly around the desert and the mountains and sleep in sparse Ministry accommodation well out of the way of the people he wanted to talk to.

"Jal?"

"Yes."

"Is there a fly zone anywhere near the place Hasmik's brother was interrogated?"

"Yes."

"Huh."

"Would you like to go flying?"

"You know, I think I would."

Hermione came out of the bathroom to find her husband stuffing things into a backpack. The tongues of his unlaced flying boots flapped against his shins as he walked back and forth, between the bed and the trunk, gathering his wand holder and his shield charm leather breastplate. It was custom made for him by George, a variation on the shield hat designed to give added protection to Aurors during missions, and Hermione hated it when he felt it necessary to put it on.

"Where are you going?"

"Me and Jal are going flying."

She looked at him. He strapped on his wand holder and stowed his wand securely in it. She continued staring at him. He pulled off his sweaty shirt and set about trying to strap the breast plate on over his rumpled t shirt. She reached out, touched his forearm and forced him to look into her eyes.

"Being careful," he said, before adjusting the shoulder straps with a grunt.

Hermione turned him around and began to thread the laces in and out of the bodice like fastenings at his back and then pulled them tight.

"Deep breath in," she said, waiting for Ron to puff out his chest as far as he could, then yanked as hard as she could and tied a knot, "there, should be fine now."

Ron fidgeted until he felt the protective leather layer sit comfortably against his torso and turned to smile at her.

"It's better when you do it."

"Well, I take your need to breathe into consideration."

Ron laughed.

"Harry's paranoid about it falling off me."

"You're not that skinny."

"I sort of am."

"So crushing your ribs into your lungs is safer than a little gap under each arm?"

"He's the one who does it, don't have a go at me," Ron said, stepping back and raising both hands.

She looked at him again.

"They ignored us, brushed me off and the only person who spoke to me gave me fly zone clearance and an overnight stay in Ministry buildings to make me go away."

"So you're flying with your armour on just to remind people you're a trained Auror and not because you're looking for a fight?"

"I don't look for fights."

"No, you're just very good at finding them."

"We're flying to the place they tortured Hasmik's brother to death, we have permission to stay over at the Ministry building it happened.

"That Minister is a moron," Hermione said in amazement.

"That Minister thinks I'm a Ministry representative. I was wearing my official robes, I looked like a bureaucrat."

"And look at you now," she said with a proud smile, "you're going to show up looking like an Auror."

"I am an Auror."

"In this country you're a guest," she said, with no attempt to conceal her concern.

"And I wasn't treated like one today. You don't invite guests into your family home and then beat your children in front of them."

This was an assignment. The assignment wasn't for Ron to sit in a stuffy, dust filled flat all day and only move around with what can only be described as a bodyguard.

"Jal's always been scared for you here."

"Jal's coming with me."

"Jal's not an Auror. He didn't fight in any battles. He didn't duel on the back of a broom when he was seventeen and live to tell the tale. He's not a war veteran."

"You know what? We had a war because we had something to lose. Jal has this, he has this country and this government and this law enforcement, he can't fight because there's no good side."

Ron looked like he did before leading his team on a dangerous mission. Hermione almost sat down in reverence. He could forget himself sometimes and be who he really was. He was Henry V at Agincourt.

"There are the people doing the bad stuff and the people ignoring the bad stuff, there are no good guys. A crime's been committed, don't find out who did it, just get somebody to confess they did it, crime solved. Somebody's been killed, kill somebody else in their name, justice!"

"Cry God for Harry, England, and Saint George," Hermione muttered to herself.

"Fuck Spain, fuck Greece and fuck home," Ron said, flushing in the cheeks, "because when we leave we're gonna be in a decent place again, but Jal and his friends have to fucking live here."

Rose started crying in the other room. Ron looked towards the sound and his head dropped. He let some of the wind leave his sails and looked up.

"I'm gonna settle her before I go okay?"

Hermione grabbed him and wove her fingers through the firmly laced cords fastening the breastplate to his body.

"Jal's with her, Jal's great with her, and you're going to get back on that high horse again right now because nothing can touch you when you're that passionate."

"You can."

She leaned into his chest and inhaled the smell of the charmed leather breastplate.

"Why are you always so manly when it's inappropriate to throw you down onto the bed and ravish you?"

"I'm always manly," Ron said with a wicked smile.

"Not sexy, manly, like..." Hermione moved her hand up to stroke his unshaven chin, "...Ronald the Great, Ronald the Magnificent, Ronald the Conqueror."

Her hand dragged down the contours of his breast plate and his hands moved underneath her skirt. She lifted a leg and rubbed it up and down the outside of his. He squeezed her buttocks and lifted her up to clamp her thighs around his waist. She nuzzled into the side of his neck and spoke, breathily, between caresses of her lips against his skin.

"And gentlemen in England now-a-bed, shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."

"Wow," Ron said, licking his lips and sitting her atop the chest of drawers so their groins were pressing together.

"That's what I thought when you were speaking," Hermione felt a bulge in her husband's battered leather flying trousers, "I thought wow, I get to sleep with that man."

"Ugh, you fucking tease," Ron growled, throwing back his head and rocking his hips into her body, "I have to go, I have to go, I have to go."

"A quickie, for luck," Hermione began to work at freeing her husband's straining cock, "let me rally your troops."

"I've only got one down there, love."

"Private Parts, Captain Cock, and Gunner Balls."

"Able Semen?" Ron's mouth curled up at the corners.

"Send in the troops!"

...

Ron was slumped against her with his face pressed against her stomach. She patted the side of his head and wondered how other women coped in life without Ron Weasley to have sex with.

"I have to go out now," Ron said, hugging her around the waist and taking into her belly button, sounding as if the idea of doing anything after having an orgasm was beyond him.

"You be careful."

"I have to sit on a broom," Ron said, shaking his head against her belly, "sit on a broom!"

"You could ride side saddle," she smiled.

Ron finally stood upright again and looked at her with a disbelieving smile.

"Why do you have to do this to me and then send me out into the real world all...sexed?"

She laughed at him.

"You've sexed me out. I'm supposed to be going somewhere now. I haven't got a clue what I'm doing."

She hopped off the chest of drawers and fastened his trousers for him, looking up into his dazed face.

"You and Jal are going to ride out there and put right all the wrongs in the world, and you're going to show them all what a good man is made of, and then you're going to come back to me with your head held high."

"Oh right, that, sounds doable." Ron put his hands on his hips and heaved a long sigh. "Okay then, off to poke a stick in a hornet's nest."

"Be careful."

"Will do, I promise," he sighed again and turned to open the door. "I'm gonna have serious trouble sitting on my broom y'know? Really!"

He paused to adjust his trousers and then his equipment therein.

"I'm glad you save that for me and don't do it in public, I'm a very lucky woman," Hermione teased.

"Don't you forget it," Ron said, smirking.

He leaned across, kissed her on the cheek, and then opened the door to tell Jalil it was time to go.

The heat and the dust weren't as bad to fly through at speed when it was past sunset. The air was clearer and Ron could map out the unfamiliar territory beneath him a lot better. He liked that, liked being able to pick out landmarks and memorise bends in roads and rivers. He could roughly sketch out a map when he got back onto the ground. They were flying higher than Hermione would have been comfortable with but they weren't near the mountains so the journey was smooth.

His cloak flapped, ripples travelling across it and snapping away at the hem, behind him as he ducked his head and leaned close to the handle of his broom. He picked out the soft glow of light from a small encampment below.

"Jal," he shouted to his flying companion, "village?"

"Gypsies maybe. Very small group, travelling on ground."

"Muggles or magic?"

"Magical, there repelling charms under fly zone."

Ron made another mental note of the location of the group of witches and wizards. They must be too poor to afford brooms, he thought, otherwise why else creep along the ground beneath a fly zone?

They flew for another ten minutes before a brighter light swelled ahead of them on the ground. They dropped lower and lower until circling the town. There were box shaped buildings surrounding a slightly larger stone one decorated with grey and white mosaic tiles, Jalil told Ron this was the Ministry building. Most of the light was flooding out of a ramshackle wooden building draped with lots of deep red and purple cloth, every window and door covered with beaded curtains and crumpled silks.

"That is where they will all be." Jal pointed to the narrow three storey building, obviously only standing under the power of magic, much like the Burrow.

"All the people of the town?"

"All the people from Ministry," Jal said, "is good time to look around Ministry building."

They landed, Ron's heels gouging deep tracks in the dusty ground, and they pulled up their hoods and made their way towards the darkened Ministry building.

"You have permission, magic should let you through magic wall," Jalil said as he gestured for Ron to try to approach the door.

"What about you?"

Jalil pressed his hand against the crackling force and shook his head.

"Just you," he said, looking unsettled about having to be separated from Ron, "as long as you inside you be safe. Don't leave without me."

"I never would," Ron said before stepping through the barrier and turning the door handle.

A House Elf popped into the space before him and bowed. It said something to him in either Russian or Azerbaijani and Ron looked over his shoulder. Jal looked fuzzy, as if he was viewing him through frosted glass, and Ron turned back to crouch before the elf.

"You speak English?"

The elf shook his head.

"Greek?"

Again the elf wrung his hands and shook his head.

Ron stood up straight again and looked around. He tried to remember any of the words Jalil would use while speaking to people for him, but then he realised he'd never know the difference when he'd been speaking in Russian or Azerbaijani. He slid his hood back down and the elf looked shocked at the colour of his hair. Ron smiled at him and the elf bowed again.

"Stop that," he muttered, inconsequentially, "um... Okay, so how 'bout this. Incarcerous? Where," Ron held his wrists together as if they were bound together, "prisoners...Incarcerous?"

The elf tilted his head to one side and tapped Ron's wrists, ropes wound tightly around them.

"No, no, no ,no, not me! I'm not a prisoner, I need to see the prisoners." Ron gestured to his eyes with his tied hands. "See," he pointed away at invisible people before him, "Incarcerous."

The elf frowned and banished the ropes. Ron raked his fingers through his hair and swore under his breath. Then he remembered he had an enhanced photograph of Hasmik's brother on him and pulled it out of his pocket to show the elf.

"Where?" He said as he pointed at the photograph. "Where this happen?"

The elf looked at the photo and then up at Ron, blinked and then put his bony hand on Ron's shoulder, shaking his head.

"No, I know he's dead, where? Show me."

Ron pointed at the elf, then pointed off around the rest of the building, and tapped the photo again. The elf stared at him blankly. Ron pointed from his eyes, across the reception area, and then down at the photograph.

The elf said something in an unplaceable language before walking off towards a side door. Ron followed him and soon found himself walking down some poorly lit stairs to an underground area. This was probably right, the elf had managed to understand, but he still found it unsettling at the same time.

He drew his wand and held it as casually as he could at his side, feeling his way down the stairs with extra caution. Each step was narrow and he had large feet. When he got to the bottom the elf's eyes were the only thing he could see. There was no way to ask if it was okay to use his wand because of the language barrier so he simply cast a Lumos and directed the beam away from the large eyes before him.

The elf squinted, then blinked and Ron cast the golden light across the holding cells. Half were vacant, the rest contained sleeping wizards beneath dirty sheets. A couple of the men stirred, one cringed. As soon as Ron spotted a pair of swollen eyes peering at him he lowered his wand and moved closer.

"You speak English?"

The man hid under his sheet.

"English anyone? Greek? Spanish? French, I can do a little bit of Fr-"

"Who are you?"

Ron turned to see a skeletal man sitting up in his bed, he looked as if he'd been lashed with a rod.

"I'm from England, I'm a friend of..." Ron realised he couldn't remember what Hasmik's brother's name was. He held out the photo again and illuminated it with his wand. "This man, his sister asked me for help."

"Dead," the prisoner said as he squinted at the photo.

"Yes."

The man shrugged. Ron guessed he was wondering why Ron was asking for him if he knew it was too late.

"Murdered," Ron said, waiting for a reaction but none came, "innocent," again he waited but the man sat back on his bed and stared back at him.

Ron pointed at the photo.

"Wrong."

The man nodded.

"Shit, this is getting me nowhere." Ron sighed as he put the photograph away again. "How do I find out who questioned him, who arrested him, who was with him when he died?"

"Elf," the man said, pointing to the house elf.

"Doesn't speak English."

The prisoner said something to the elf in his native tongue and the elf looked at Ron with suspicion.

"Polkovnik," Ron said. The elf stood to attention and bid for him to follow back up the staircase.

The prisoner who had been speaking to him looked at him with hatred.

"Not me, Polkovnik won't help me, it's the only word I know that might make him show me the truth."

"You let us go," the man said as he got out of his bed.

"I don't have... I can't."

"They do this," the man thrust his arms through the bars and showed Ron the painful looking burns across the underside of his forearms.

"I'm trying to stop them."

"Let us out."

"I can't do that. I'm not in charge. They can arrest me too."

The angry man shouted to some of the others and soon wounds were being displayed by desperate babbling prisoners. The English speaking man turned to show the marks on his back and then barked at Ron.

"If I can find proof the Aurors here are doing this I'll g-"

"This! This proof!" The man shouted at him. He grabbed Ron's wand arm and pointed it down at the raw skin on his arms and then froze.

He cast the light on Ron's arm, the one he was using to pry the desperate fingers loose, and the prisoner lightly touched one of Ron's scars.

Ron felt his arm freed immediately and the man stared at him.

"Like us."

Ron rolled up his sleeve and showed the man the scars snaking up the length of his arms.

"They do this?"

"No, but I got them trying to stop bad people." The prisoner appeared to understand. Ron took a chance. "Polkovnik is a bad man."

The prisoner nodded and shoved Ron towards the stairs, after the elf. He called after them, telling the elf things and when they returned to the reception area the elf pointed to a chair and glared at Ron until he sat in it. As soon as he did there was a pop and he was alone.

"Auror Weasley," a voice made Ron jump out of his seat and a stout man wearing thick, long robes, strode through the main door. "Gulubekov, I in charge here."

Ron shook the man's hand and forced a smile onto his face.

"Hello Mr Gulubekov, I couldn't find anybody here and there was an elf but..."

"Elf says you call yourself Polkovnik. I know Polkovnik."

"No, I was trying to say the Polkovnik sent me to the Foreign Minister and he said I could stay here with my guide, Jalil Araz, he's outside. We went flying and were told we could stay here."

The man, Gulubekov, snapped his fingers over his shoulder and Jal was dragged inside by two burly escorts, bound and gagged, and thrown on his knees before the broad chested man.

"Jal!" Ron drew his wand to free his friend when the escorts turned their wands on him in unison.

Gulubekov raised his hand and shook his head. The escorts backed off.

"This your man?"

"This is my friend," Ron said, trying to contain his anger, "he works for the Ministry. He's one of your people, told to travel with me by the Minister."

Gulubekov grunted and muttered something to the escorts. In an instant Jalil was freed and Ron hurried to him to help him to his feet.

"You all right?"

Jal looked worried and furious as he clambered to his feet and looked Ron up and down, as if expecting him to have been roughed-up.

"You are safe?"

"I'm fine, you?"

Jalil turned on the escorts and began a fierce argument with them in their language. Gulubekov boomed one word, which silenced them all, and then turned to step closer to Ron. Jalil seemed to be uncomfortable with this but his attempt to join them was prevented by a firm hand on his shoulder.

"You need bed for night?"

"It's not too late, we could probably fly back to Nakhchivan City right now," Ron said as he glanced at a clock on the wall.

"Clock is wrong, is late, you stay."

Ron looked to Jalil, who was tense and appeared to want nothing less than to let Ron stay with these people, and then back to the intimidating man.

"We did bring things for an overnight stay, just in case."

Gulubekov's mouth curled upward and he stepped towards Ron and put a muscular arm around his shoulders.

"We bring bags to room. You come with me, we drink."

"Uh..." Jalil was about to call after them.

"Araz?" Gulubekov grunted back at Jalil. "I don't know this name. You stay in brothel."

Jalil was already being wrestled outside when Ron ran after him and stepped between his friend and the heavies.

"Jal's staying with me."

"He no cleared to stay here. I don't know Araz."

"I do," Ron said, firmly.

Jalil pulled at the back of Ron's robe and whispered behind his ear.

"I will wait outside all night. I watch for you to leave. You safe with Ministry, you official."

"But," Ron turned his head a little towards Jalil, keeping his eyes on the strong men.

"Do not argue with them. I be safe." Jalil patted him on the back and stepped towards the door. "Don't ask questions, just be guest."

Ron watched Jalil being followed outside and the doors magically bolting on him. He was alone in the reception area with the master of the house now. He looked at him and forced a smile.

"Come, we drink."