I learned long ago that there's no keeping secrets in the Weasley family. Honestly, I have no idea how Fred and George managed to get away with so much other than to say that it was very hard for Mum to interfere when they were in Scotland. And as long as we steered clear of Percy and his Head Boy duties, we could usually avoid the unpleasant stuff.
Tonight, though, was a special occasion. Mum and Dad had both come up for the housewarming bit, dragged Percy along and between the three of them, they would be unstoppable.
Harry caught me looking nervously in Mum's direction and then glanced at Ron who was looking conspicuously and simultaneously thrilled and mortified while talking with Hestia.
"I have this second sight," Harry murmured. "My years of practice in Divination let me intuit that someone's going to leak my job offer to the Prophet."
"Not one of them," I protested, nodding at our friends and family. "And I haven't seen a single beetle all month."
"Yeah, but someone in the Auror Department or maybe Human Resources might," he pointed out. "Do we want to tell your Mum now or let her find out from some stupid headline like 'The Boy Who Worked'?"
Now that he mentioned it, I was surprised we hadn't heard about it from Rita Skeeter. "Now," I decided emphatically.
I grabbed Ron by the collar as we passed. "'Scuse us, Professor," I called cheerfully over my shoulder. "Ron has some pressing family business."
"Oh, no," Ron spluttered. "She won't leave me be all night if I tell her now."
"Go on, then," I encouraged. "Or would you rather her give you a lecture on completing your education?"
Jackpot. Ron wasn't about to let Mum lay into him on that one. He went slightly pale for a second, then turned beet red.
"All right," he muttered. "Here goes."
Mum was in floods, of course. Dad went as red as Ron with pride. Even George only called him "ickle Ronniekins" once and put him in an affectionate headlock for "turning into Percy on us."
After telling Mum, as predicted, there was no keeping the secret. Such an emotional display could have only meant that either Ron had made up for dropping out of Hogwarts or had finally asked Hermione to marry him. More importantly, it meant that for a little while, Harry wasn't the center of attention. It wouldn't last, but while everyone was thronging around Ron, I grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him off to a quiet corner for a congratulatory snog.
"You don't mind, do you?"
"What, mind my brilliant husband getting hired for the thing he was practically born to do and hauling us off to glamorous London once we've graduated?" I nudged him with my shoulder and grinned. "I'm furious."
"Well, I had intended to give you more of a say in it," Harry pointed out.
"Yeah, but I could have objected right there and then."
"You're not Ron," Harry chuckled. "I just wanted to make sure you hadn't agreed to it just because Kingsley was the one to ask."
Well, there was that, but Umbridge could have asked and I would have found an excuse to support it.
"What, are you mad?" I said in all seriousness. "I couldn't be happier for us."
He gave me another kiss and took his time with this one. When he pulled back, he had an odd sort of grin on his face.
"I just realized something," he explained. "Your Dad's had to work under Auror direction before. Ron might have to give him orders someday."
I tried to imagine this, but was torn between thinking of the Howler Mum would send if ickle Ronniekins got out of line and Ron stuttering over instructions to his own father.
"Yeah," I drawled. "I'd like to see him try."
As predicted, the news was out the following morning, with "an inside source at the Ministry" confirming that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, heroes of the Battle of Hogwarts, had been recruited as the newest members of the Auror's Department. There was some scattered applause when we joined the Gryffindor table and a good deal of back-slapping from friends, but Professor McGonagall uttered my favorite reaction.
"Potter," she commented. "Dolores Umbridge would be horrified."
It was as close as I'd seen McGonagall get to being sentimental. Harry looked as if Dumbledore himself had uttered the masked congratulations.
"Thanks, Professor."
