A/N: Thank you for the wonderful response to the first chapter!

Doug Dawlish is introduced in this chapter—nephew of John Dawlish, canon Auror. Assume that he followed his Uncle into the 'family business'.

General Disclaimer: Sue me and I'll sic Fluffy on you! (But no, seriously, please don't sue me)

"'It is important,' Dumbledore said, 'to fight, and fight again, and keep fighting, for only then could evil be kept at bay, though never quite eradicated.'"

—Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

The Ministry Atrium was as bustling as ever. Crowds of arriving workers hurried through the courtyard, their faces buried in parchments or chatting into two-way mirrors. A small but growing group was huddled up, cheering at the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Lately, departments were taking it in turns to charm to stone (or vandalise the stone, depending on the culprit). Magical Games and Sports had set a high bar this week, modifying the statues into a lively Quodpot match. The current round was 'fur vs. skin', with the figures leaping over each other (as well as the boundaries of the fountain) to avoid the exploding Quod.

A Ministry maintenance crew, though standing around the fountain, was too busy placing bets on the match to be concerned with returning the statues to normal.

The Weasleys walked from the red telephone box entrance into this fiasco. Neither thought much of it, used to far stranger sights. Hermione did pause to inspect a grumpy 'out' player, a frowning and drenched banshee (who gave a small yet gut-clenching shriek as her stone Veela teammate attacked the pot and grabbed multiple Quods). But Ron found himself distracted by something else. 'Distracted', meaning that an origami memo hit him dead-on in the face.

This attack didn't hurt (denting the paper more than his nose) but he doubted it was a good sign. Not only were these memos supposed to harmlessly land in the receiver's hand, but they were usually in the shape of cranes or owls. That this one was folded up as a Golden Snitch—and had aimed straight between his eyes—spoke mounds.

Hermione turned from the screaming statues to her husband as he unfolded the note. She gave a wholly unsurprised sigh. "What did you do now?"

"Who says I did anything?" Ron said, walking past the fountain and dodging a hurdled Quod ball. He snapped the note open to straighten it out.

"A Snitch just smacked you. It's rather obvious," she stated. They carefully avoided the leaping statues, sprays of water, and vaguely panicking workers as they headed to the Ministry. "Could you not go out of your way to annoy him? It's getting old. Tiring as well. Did you know he spent all of lunch yesterday complaining about you? An entire hour, barely without pause. I did get his salad since he was too distracted to eat, but still."

"Hm mmm?" he gave a non-answer, reading the parchment.

"He begged me to get you to stop. Can you imagine? Yes, he's being overdramatic, but if you—you—choo! Do you hear me?" Hermione tried to hold back a sneeze. She made a face as they entered the main doors, heading to the lifts, "Dratted kneazle. But listen, I know you're taking all of this hard. I'm sympathetic, I am. But can you see it from Harry's perspective? It's bad enough dealing with a new job without—"

"He's not pissed off," Ron cut in. Though Hermione looked askance at him, she was more irritated at another sneeze escaping her. "Gesundheit. But yeah, the note's not bad. Just saying I'm consulting on that creatures' case today."

"Thank you," she waved a hand in front of her as he jabbed their button on the lift. "The note tried to break your nose! I don't care what it says, Harry's annoyed. Which means he'll keep bothering me," she paused and frowned, the other words hitting her. "That case? Don't tell me there's a new body."

"Another unicorn," Ron scrunched up the note, sticking it in his pocket. All mentions of Harry were promptly and happily ignored. "Found in Leicester, so yeah. Same case."

"Heavens," Hermione looked stricken. She glared at the elevator's closed doors as though this would speed up things. "Dratted rush hour, I've got to get up there! Is there any more information?"

"Nice and vague, only that Lisa's still leading," he pulled out his wand. "Info's in the office for Dawlish and me."

She was now tapping her foot, the lift still refusing to open, "When I think there's a day with nothing worse than a lecture on Death Eaters, this case pops back in! Press aside, I can't believe someone could be this heartless. Oh, wait, Ron! Don't you dare appar—" her quick spin to her husband allowed her to have a final glance of his smirking grin before he disappeared with a Pop!, "ate. Within the Ministry. Again."

Hermione gave a world-weary sigh, cursing Ron, cursing Harry, and cursing her disease-prone pet. A loud sneeze escaped her as the lift finally rumbled open. Swallowing back an itchy cough, she strode forward and grabbed a handrail. As it took off she wondered how blissful it would be to have enough spare time to even think about doing something as pointless as enchanting a fountain.

Though, if this week turned out to be as frustrating as she expected, she might start tossing exploding Quods herself.

After a Pop! to Auror offices, (cheerfully taking the case's documents from a stormy Harry, shouting out a "Hurry up!" to Doug Dawlish lounging in the break room, glancing at the map, then taking another Pop! with the file in hand) soon enough the Ministry had vanished around Ron.

Apparating to an empty alleyway, he landed with more force than he'd meant to. Taking a few quick steps forward to keep his balance, he paused to catch his breath. This only took a moment before he straightened up.

A minute passed. Ron crossed his arms impatiently.

Another minute.

Ron caught himself taking a speculative look around him. When he realised he was doing this he abruptly stopped, annoyed at himself for expecting his partner to follow right after him. Because the alleyway was still empty. He'd guess Dawlish would be at least another ten minutes. Or was it twenty? More than that if he didn't hurry. Chances were, he was still in the break room.

He stared at the dirty bricks of the London flats, crinkling his nose in thought. How long did it take to get from Auror offices to an 'officially designated' apparation point? He felt he really ought to know this. But, as he'd not bothered with the long detour since he was in training, he hadn't the faintest. There wasn't much point to it, he felt, as the ban on direct apparations was a pretty stupid rule. He'd bet it only came about by mixing bureaucratic red tape with the rumour that the Ministry wards would make mincemeat of any apparators. Or maybe someone other than Hermione knew it was impossible to apparate in Hogwarts and assumed the same principle applied here? Whatever the case, he thought it a ridiculous waste of time.

Yes, apparation was allowed in emergencies. More than that, Ron understood it'd generally be a bad idea for everybody to know they could pop in and out of most public Ministry areas. But these were Aurors he was talking about. Most of the time they were going to a case or hospital: fairly time-sensitive stuff, if you asked him.

So he'd long ago stopped bothering with the ten or twenty (thirty?) minute useless detours. Whenever he needed to apparate, he apparated. Hermione could lecture him on safety protocols and potentially iffy wards as much as she wanted, but he felt the proof was in the pudding. Had he splinched himself? Were the Ministry wards glitching? No? Brilliant, he'd keep doing it.

Harry was also annoyed with this habit. Ron thought that was a bit rich, seeing as how his best mate had been the poster child of maverick rule breaking. Or that the 'Man Who Conquered' had been who'd originally ranted about the apparation policy.

Still, Harry's annoyance more likely stemmed from Ron's habit when they were partners to pop! out mid-sentence without a by-your-leave. Ron didn't see why this had been so bad, as Harry would always follow him a few seconds later (disgruntled or no).

But now, stuck with a new partner more wary of breaking Ministry by-lines, he found himself missing the days where the worst he had to put up with was Harry's moodiness at the lack of warning. Or Robards' half-hearted attempts to make him follow every procedure. Because now he was stuck waiting for his partner to find 'a safe, designated apparation point' to leave the Ministry. Stuck here on this empty street. Staring at dumpsters, already bored, and knowing the crime scene was mere blocks away.

Ron huffed. Coming to a decision, he strode down the alley towards Leicester Square. As he had time and again in the past few months, he made the executive decision that an Auror rule was utter bollocks. Because while it was fine and dandy to have your partner by you, he was willing to make the sacrifice and go it alone. Especially since he was heading to where another Auror team was waiting and had already ensured the scene was safe.

The Head Auror would be cranky when he heard he'd abandoned another partner. But Ron was sure he'd get over it. If not, a stop at a bakery to grab some treacle tart would smooth things over.

The Senior Auror considered this, striding towards the crime scene. Maybe he ought to lead with the tart and distract any lectures from the get-go? Then, if Harry still seemed incensed, Ron could try laying on the guilt. Even if it hadn't worked out wonderfully last time…

"Why're you mad? Dennis' happy and he was the one sprayed with Amorentia."

"Which happened because he walked in the wrong shop!" the Head Auror seemed close to either hexing Ron, or hexing himself to put him out of his misery. "Because you, yes you, did that stupid apparation thing. Plus, this time you took the maps with you! Who even does that?"

"I accidentally grabbed both folders, big whoop. Dennis learned a valuable lesson: always keep up," Ron nodded to himself, discarding the other wizard's bewilderment. "So he snogged some Veelas. Fella's scratched up but, when I saw him last, he was grinning ear to ear."

"Not the point," Harry rubbed his eyes, pushing his glasses up to do so. "This is your fifth partner in as many months and now Creevey's fiancé wants him reassigned. She sent me three Howlers about you!"

"Mite overkill."

"I don't care! That's right, I'm beyond caring," Harry said, frustration shining through. "Why can't you work with someone without it being a mess?"

"Eh, not my fault they aren't up to it," Ron shrugged. "S'not like I hate them, I just don't coddle them. I'm not going to narrow my standards and settle for some mediocre trainee. Come on, I've more than proven I don't need a partner."

"You need a partner!" Harry instantly retorted.

"Nope, don't," Ron said flippantly.

"You're such a git," the Head Auror gritted out between his teeth. "'Narrow your standards'? If you deflated your head then maybe, wonder of wonders, you could work with someone."

"Not what I meant."

"Then what is it!"

"I meant," Ron emphasised, sending the other man a pointed look, "that my standards are high. Your fault, mate.

Harry stared at him. His head then inclined back with a groan, "You. Stupid. Git."

Which was when Ron had been assigned Doug Dawlish, legacy brat extraordinaire. He wasn't sure if this was a punishment or a convoluted way to 'get him to see reason'. He'd bet the latter, it was Harry's sort of thing. Dawlish was irritatingly by the books and desperately needed to learn some spontaneity (as well as how to get his head out of his arse). It would be just like his brother-in-law to hope the two of them would even each other out. Impart some much needed lessons, or such nonsense. But as far as Ron was concerned, he wasn't having any of that. Especially if Dawlish couldn't be bothered to show up in a timely manner to the crime scene.

Or maybe Dawlish and he had gotten so annoying Harry had chucked them together in hopes that one would finish the other off. That also sounded like something the bloke would do. Ron would be vaguely more amenable to this option.

The unicorn was splayed out next to a fountain. Both were in the centre of a small courtyard surrounded by theatres and souvenir shops, banners announcing sales shouting from the walls. Fast food joints were also scattered throughout, with muggles milling around. The people looked vaguely at the trees and the closed off area, before losing interest and turning to one of myriad stands selling discounted play tickets.

The fountain was the opposite of extravagant. In contrast to the Ministry's grand marble silhouette, this had no figures of statues, not even a large basin for the water. Here, water sprouted out of holes in the ground like a garden sprinkler. The sprays were synchronised into patterns, all carefully engineered to stop just short of soaking the benches surrounding it. Water still spewed out of the ground and dampened the area around the corpse, but a few containment spells meant that it was no longer washing any potential evidence away. Ron felt bile rise up his throat at the sight. Never had he been happier to be assisting on a major case rather than leading it outright.

Clearly Lisa Turpin didn't share this sentiment, seeing as how she'd gotten the rotten end of the deal. From her ashen expression and nervous twists of her short brown hair, he guessed that if he offered to take over this case she'd agree in an enthusiastic heartbeat. Solely because of this, he was tempted to make the offer. But with the state of this body, he doubted he'd be able to stomach the investigation any better.

That wasn't to say that Senior Auror Turpin didn't know what she was doing. Two other Auror teams had already ducked out, too anxious or overwhelmed by this gruesome case with its infuriating lack of leads. But Lisa was pragmatic and stubborn until the last. She was the sort of person who made a habit of dismissing the gory surface to get at the pivotal details or simplest solution.

Case in point, Lisa's only training duel with Harry had begun and ended with a prompt, "Accio glasses!" Because of this, she'd become MLE legend, Ron had gotten a new batch of blackmail photos, and Harry had become a mite paranoid about security charms on his spectacles.

But even Lisa was queasy today, standing next to without quite looking at the brutalised unicorn. She was still faring better than her partner, Kevin Entwhistle, who was a nice chap but had a soft stomach. Ron could make out his coat and heaving shoulders amidst some bushes circling the benches.

Taking another uneasy glance at the unicorn, Ron wondered if he'd soon be joining Kevin. He was happy he'd been so distracted by Rosie that he'd had a light breakfast. But even the thought of food set his mind on an unwanted path. A reminder—a nudge—as to why this unicorn seemed weirdly familiar. It took him a moment to recall, before remembering it'd happened a few years back when he'd visited Charlie in Romania. The tour of the reserve had included where they prepared the dragons' food. Entire cows, rows of horses…the sight was a mite much for even a carnivore like himself. But what made him recall this scene now was the dozens of hanging pigs that would be little more than snacks for the dragons. They'd been cut in half, hooked to rods around the wall, and left to dry. Charlie had also been a tinge queasy, but swore they'd been put down in quick, painless ways.

This unicorn hadn't been as lucky. Still, the end result was similar. The space between the ribs from its neck to its tail had been hacked away, the sides pulled apart. The fur and mane had been shaven. Because of this, there was a lack of contrast between the smooth outer skin and the matted muscles and bones of the stomach.

"No partner today?" Lisa mercifully interrupted his thoughts, stepping up to him. Her gaze continued to just miss the unicorn, though there was a sick twist in her mouth.

Ron gave a pointed glance at Kevin, still in the bushes. Lisa raised her eyebrows. He sighed, "Effing Dawlish."

"Ah," she instantly turned sympathetic. Both ignored that they were distracting themselves from discussing the corpse in the room. "Forgot you got stuck with him last week. Your, what, fourth one?"

"Sixth," Ron corrected, reluctantly turning to examine the unicorn.

"Blimey, no wonder Harry's pissed," Lisa didn't look as amused as she would normally be. She shifted back to the crime. "We waiting for Dawlish?"

"We'd be waiting awhile. Kevin?"

"Nah, we've already covered it," she shrugged before her tone grew serious. "Like the others, there's no clear clues. That's why I want the consult: a fresh set of eyes on this blasted case."

"Give it to me."

Lisa gazed at the corpse, tone softening, "No details on the unicorn yet, the magizoologist's arriving this afternoon. So all we know is the obvious bits. It died around midnight, was left here at one this morning, and was found soon after. If it's like the others, no known cause of death."

A babble of muggle tourists swept by the notice-me-not charm, pointing at a movie poster and shouting in another language. Neither Auror paid them much mind.

"Its been dried," Lisa continued darkly. "Like a piece of meat."

Ron's thoughts went back to those hanging pigs. He decided to have a vegetarian dinner that night. Maybe the whole week, "What was it?"

"Pardon?"

"Was it a he or she?" he wasn't sure why he asked this.

"Don't know," Lisa frowned. "I'll ask the magizoologist when they show."

Fighting down his reflexive revulsion, Ron stepped closer to the body.

He'd never been a huge fan of unicorns. Not that he disliked them, he'd just never thought about them much. It was only now, as he looked at this corpse, that its majesticness hit him. Later on, this would strike him as being phenomenally mental as it barely resembled a unicorn. Its horn had been reduced to a burrowed hole in its head, its pure white hair was torn away to exposed skin, and its innards lay split open. Maybe the feeling struck him because, no matter how used he was to hardened criminals and substandard Dark Lords, a butchered unicorn was something different. Something so loathsome that one couldn't help but feel indignant anger.

Yet, it was beautiful in a grim way. The legs reminded him of a dancer, like in one of those ballets his tutu-obsessed nieces 'dragged' him to. Long and gently curved, the legs ended with hooves shining of mother-of-pearl. Being drained of blood, the corpse hung even limper than a usual dead body. It made the lithe animal appear more fragile and delicate. Not helping this was its glazed, haunting blue eyes. They stared shy of him, as though pleading for help. He hoped this last bit was his imagination running wild.

On top of everything else, the body seemed smaller than Ron had expected. Because of this, he doubted this had been a full-grown unicorn. He vaguely recalled an old Care of Magical Creatures class and mentally 'reassigned' the fur as being gold rather than white. Or no, silver, as it'd had a horn? For some reason, this shift of colours hit him like a bludgeoning hex.

Merlin, it'd been a foal. A child.

Ron decided the unicorn was a she. Was as good as anything, he supposed. Thinking of her like that made things easier. "What was that time of death?" he called back to Lisa.

"Around midnight," she answered, hesitant footsteps signalling her approach around the corpse. "There's too much damage on the body to be certain, but muggles started calling the police at one."

"What did they say?" Ron slowly walked around the body, expression becoming darker by the moment. "Did her body just appear?"

Lisa paused, possibly surprised by the pronoun. But she then gave an understanding smile. "The muggles didn't see anyone come or go. By the time a couple stumbled across 'her' and started screaming, she was long dead."

"CCTV capture anything?"

"It's blank at the crucial bit," said Lisa. "Goes dark when the park was normal then restarts with the dead unicorn in the centre. Less than five minutes passed before she was found. Thank late pub goers and the theatres letting out. All have been long since obliviated. I have their statements, but there's nothing new."

"It went blank," Ron's brow creased. "Was it deleted? Magical interference?"

She gave a helpless shrug. "Most likely the latter, though these things are so temperamental it's impossible to tell. Similar things happened at the other crime scenes."

"It was dark for how long?"

"Maybe two minutes," she answered before heading up his next question. "She wasn't killed here. Magic or no, with the butchering and 'collecting' of items there just wasn't time. There's not even a blood splatter, though with the dirt around it's unlikely they tried to clean up anything." She tapped her fingers against her wand. "This was just the dump site."

"Great," Ron scratched the nape of his neck. "So like the other deaths? Christ, I'm tired of saying that. Feeling like a broken record."

"Doesn't mean it's not true," Lisa nodded in agreement with both statements. "The time-frame when the cameras are out are too quick for anything else, unless we're talking about a time-turner. I'd bet they kill the animal, apparate to dump the body, and apparate back out. Maybe a portkey? But the apparation would be enough to take out the CCTV, if we're talking about a group. With the different MOs, I'm not seeing this being one guy."

"The cuts look medical," he silently agreed with her. Taking another look at the wounds he then turned away from the unicorn. "They knew what they were doing. It's organised, rational. This is getting to be familiar."

"But it's a big difference from the first few," she sighed. "Back when we thought it was a psychotic break or someone targeting werewolves. Can't believe I'm missing those days."

Ron glanced at the sky. It struck him as being horribly inappropriate that it was such a sunny day. "Tox screen?"

"By the preliminary report, its the same as the rest. An unidentified potion, so a possible cause of death," Lisa pursed her mouth, annoyed that this was still unknown. "A poison that can take out nundos and werewolves alike, while leaving barely any trace. What are we talking about here?"

"Nothing good. I mean, why even bother with a potion? Spells are easier and faster."

"Might be worried about leaving a magical trace. Or maybe they're squibs?"

"Maybe they aren't human," another voice chimed in. The two turned as Kevin came up, looking a bit peaky. He avoided the unicorn but gave Ron a nod. "Screwed up thing. Could be vampires, what with drying up the blood?"

"Maybe," Ron didn't buy it, there was too much damage on the bodies for that. This wasn't damage that would show a struggle: it was likely all postmortem. He glanced around at the crowds of people outside the notice-me-not wards. His eyes narrowed at another thought. "Hold up, this is central London. So this group has no problem killing unicorns, but they draw the line at hurting passing witnesses? Criminals against magical creatures almost always hate any non-wizards, but they aren't targeting muggles. What the hell is this?"

Lisa gave a low exhale, "Unless the poaching is the point rather than the killing, so creatures rather than humans. We are talking about a lot of unicorn blood here, not to mention the other body parts."

Ron shook his head, flummoxed. "Most of the animals at the beginning were 'just' killed and dissected. An earlier unicorn horn was even left alone! This isn't about money," he glanced at Kevin. "Or about blood."

"Maybe they don't think we're taking this too seriously, and think that killing muggles would escalate it. Least in our minds," Kevin considered, taking the argument in stride. "How would they know Harry opened the investigation after the first werewolf was found? This sort of group would assume we'd dismiss 'half-breeds' just like them."

"It's not like there hasn't been press coverage. Extensive coverage with irritating nicknames."

"The criminals could think it's sensationalised," he retorted, getting some colour back in his face. "Either way, they know we'd take any muggle killings even more seriously than magical creatures. They might not want to risk it."

"They're worried about increased pressure?" Ron said. "I doubt a group who massacres unicorns has any moral qualms. Blimey, they even killed a nundo! They don't care about taking risks. An Azkaban sentence would probably be a vacation for them."

"Not only that. They're making no attempt to hide the bodies," Kevin said.

Ron looked remorsefully at the unicorn, trying to puzzle this out, "Each one's been placed in a public area so they want them to be found quickly. They're trying to make a scene with displaying them," he gave a single thought to this being an attempt to shatter the Statute of Secrecies, but then dismissed it. There were surely easier ways to accomplish that, "They're proud and showing off. Taunting us?"

"One more thing," Lisa drew a finger against her chin. "Pretend this was a 'normal' killing spree; of humans, that is. At the beginning, their bodies were dissected but barely anything was taken. As time went on, the cuts became more precise and the bodies were ransacked. If this was an ordinary serial killer, we'd say that he was curious at the start and is learning at a rapid rate. We'd also classify the missing body parts as trophies. Not as poachers."

"It's a group, though. The tight time-frame and different MOs tell us that much. So they're all progressing at the same rate?" but Ron paused, thinking this over. The three of them stepped towards the benches, away from the body. "No wait, that's a good point. Trophies…and more as time passes. You don't think this group is growing? Necessitating that more be taken each time?"

There was a small silence.

"You're clueless too, aren't you," Kevin sighed.

Ron gave a helpless shrug, "Yeah, this is too effing weird. I'm getting sick of these hypotheticals."

"Be glad you aren't stuck with the case," Kevin exchanged a glance with an equally annoyed Lisa before something occurred to him. He turned back to Ron with a raised eyebrow. "Aren't you short a partner? Or are they also spewing their guts out."

Ron only then realised Dawlish had never shown.

"Harry lost his senses and assigned him Dawlish," Lisa explained. This was enough to make Kevin send Ron an understanding look.

"Left without him? Good move," Kevin considered something and scowled. "Never stand near him in a fight, hear me? Almost took out my leg with a cutting curse a year back. Claimed he was aiming for a second floor balcony and I got in his way. Can you believe it? A balcony and he bloody well blamed me? There's a reason the arse can't get promoted."

"There, there," Lisa said with mock sympathy before turning back to Ron. "Ignore him, he hasn't had breakfast yet. But have a think about the case. If you come up with any patterns, send me a Patronus. Seriously, I don't care how small it is. Everything's coming up blank."

"And hex Dawlish when you see him," Kevin chimed in snappishly, still musing over his almost-amputation.

"Don't curse him," she sighed. "He's not that bad. Just don't deliberately poke him—that is, more than you've already done. You might start by apologising for running off without the bloke."

"I didn't run off," Ron half-heartedly retorted.

"Of course you did," Lisa retorted. "Just apologise, it's not master alchemy. It's all about catching flies with honey rather than vinegar. Something you really ought to learn what with your spree of partners," she glanced back at the unicorn. "Still, on the note of honey. You mind doing us a favour?"

"If it's not apologising to Dawlish, sure."

Lisa let the comment go, "We're both stuck here today waiting on the magizoologist. Mind giving Harry an informal debriefing? Only way we'll solve this blasted case is if we get moving and find the pattern, which means more teams. Emphasis that, will you? I'm not going to begrudge leadership: the more people the merrier."

"Yeah, no problem," Ron easily agreed, mind back on what was going on with these killings. "Want anything out to the press?"

"Circe, no," Kevin grimaced. "Not a mention of Leicester or we'll be swarmed. With another unicorn it'll be front page this time. Bloody 'Rippers'. Can't reporters be more creative with their criminal nicknames?"

Lisa sent him another hard look, "I'd rather no nicknames, myself."

"But if they're going to assign one anyway," Kevin argued, "why reuse Jack the Ripper? It doesn't even make sense! Sure, it started in Whitechapel. But these are magical creatures dying."

"Dying and being torn apart," Ron put in, frowning back at the unicorn. "Still, the press making allusions between a brutal crime spree and the Ripper? Don't know why you're surprised. This is London, mate."

A/N: I really think Harry and Ron would be brilliant Aurors, what with their experience with solving mysteries and nabbing bad guys. But it's not as though everything would go smoothly. Criminals aside, I'd imagine that Harry being promoted to Head Auror would shake things up. Not saying that Ron would be jealous (he strikes me as the sort who'd hate extra bureaucracy and pointless paperwork), but he might be peeved at having to find a new partner. This irritation could oh so easily take a passive aggressive turn.

Also, hope you aren't annoyed about Ron's stunts! Making him (or Harry) a perfect, wholly law-abiding Auror was too OOC for me. Ron cares about his job and is passionate about his cases, sure. But if he's irritated about something he's not going to let it go.