A/N: There's not much canon clarification about how the duties are divided within Britain's Magical Law Enforcement, so I decided that Hit-Wizards are the 'regular' policemen and patrolmen. The Aurors are more specialised and are only called in when, A. There's a dark wizard involved. B. There's evidence of dark magic/substances. Or, C. The crime is either particularly ghastly or has become a spree. Think of it like the difference between US state police and the FBI, or local UK police and MI5.

Hermione, as Director of Magical Law Enforcement, has direct control over the Hit-Wizards and overlooks the Aurors. But, on a day to day basis, Harry (as Head Auror) is in charge of organising and leading the Auror teams. Also, the Auror hierarchy is as follows: Head Auror (Harry Potter), Deputy Head Auror (Susan Bones), Senior Aurors (Ron Weasley, Lisa Turpin, Dmitri Szilvassy, and others), Aurors (Doug Dawlish, Kevin Entwhistle, Cormac McLaggen, Euan Abercrombie, and assorted others), and Junior Aurors.

Though Senior Aurors are usually partnered with Aurors or Junior Aurors, exceptions were made after the Second War (due to lack of personnel). So it was that Harry and Ron were partners pretty much from day one. This lasted through their promotions, only coming to a halt when Harry became Head Auror. Hence, the present issues.

Which probably none of you cared about. Sorry and on with the story!

General Disclaimer: RUMBLEROAR! (Still not Rowling)

"'Rest now, my friends. Soon, I'll unfold you.
Soon you'll know splendours
You never have dreamed all your days, my lucky friends,
'Til now your shine was merely silver.
Friends, you shall drip rubies, you'll soon drip precious rubies…'"

—Sweeney Todd to his barber's knife, Sweeney Todd

Ron strolled into Auror Headquarters. There was no hurry as nothing was pressing. It was setting up to be (like he predicted) a fairly quiet day. While not thrilled at the inevitable boredom, he was glad the Selwyn case had finally finished. It'd been a nasty one that had lasted weeks. Though not violent, sorting it out had been a mess. For the confusing investigation had started with a potions' robbery and a false Death Eater sighting, before ending with an embezzlement where the original 'victim' was brought up on charges. He was half-surprised a cursed kitchen sink hadn't also been thrown in.

He was sympathetic that Hermione now had to deal with the legal nonsense of that, but was happy to wipe his hands of it. So now, all he had to do was face Harry.

As Ron walked down the main hallway, he mused about sending the 'news' via owl, Patronus, or office memo. There was a rush of sorts, sure, but he didn't have any real updates to the magical creature case. It was only more of the same: more of nothing. So at least the informal briefing would be short. Still, he wasn't worried about that talk. He was vaguely curious about how annoyed Harry was, and if Dawlish had disappeared to go off and complain about him. If so, if wouldn't be so much a 'briefing' as a 'shouting match'.

Ron's mouth crinkled up into a small smile. He ducked into his office, just to confirm that there were no pressing messages. Following this he made a beeline to the Head Auror's office, pleased anticipation sinking in.

"About time he got angry," Ron muttered to himself, nodding vaguely as he passed a group of coworkers. "Stoic git."

Not that he was glad that Harry was annoyed, just that…alright, he was pretty pleased about it. He'd been trying to ruffle the man's feathers for months, so it was nice it was finally working. Hermione could say what she wanted to about Ron's impulsive plans and their tendency to backfire, but he knew this was brilliant. A long-term con to slowly, but surely, make Harry insane.

Ron caught up to his thoughts and amended them. Not 'make Harry insane', no. 'Make Harry see reason' was loads better. If that meant he had to annoy other Aurors to do so, he was willing to make the sacrifice.

Reaching the end of the hall he strode through the small attached corridor. Heading past the curious secretary and grabbing hold of the office door, he was met with defeat.

"Lo, have we met?" Taylor Foreman called out from her desk across the way, making the Senior Auror sigh and turn from the locked door. "Because we clearly haven't, if you think you aren't telling me a word."

Taylor had been Head Auror Robards' secretary when Ron had first joined the force. He didn't know how long the woman had been here before that, but even the Senior Aurors back then couldn't remember a time without the bubbly-to-the-point-of-irritating witch. The truly odd bit was that she barely looked a day over her thirties. He was used to long lifespans, but this was ridiculous. When he'd become an Auror he'd viewed her as ten years his senior. Now, after a decade where her short blonde hair and sprinkling of freckles had remained unchanged, she could pass for Luna Lovegood's twin. That is, minus her range of smart periwinkle robes and business attire.

There was a persistent rumour around MLE that Dmitri Szilvassy wasn't the only vampire on the force. Still, Ron wouldn't be surprised if Taylor herself had been who'd started that gossip. She'd find it funny, no doubt. There was no telling how many false rumours she urged on while keeping the truly juicy bits to herself, as the woman collected information like Hermione did books.

He reassessed his description of her. Forget about Luna. Taylor was like if Rita Skeeter had not only found a heart but a conscience, all while having the disarming personality and coloured wardrobe of an excited preteen.

"Secret Auror stuff," Ron tapped his foot. "Did you hear? I'm sort of required to tell your boss about emergencies. Could you open the door?"

"'Emergencies' my arse," the secretary huffed, not believing this for a moment. She also didn't release the lock. "Harry's in a right state, he and Dawlish. Surprised you missed them. They were headed your way with wands and pitchforks."

"Pitchforks?" His impatience gave way to puzzlement. "What?"

"Muggle tools used for hay and…it's a saying, don't worry about it. They don't actually have pitchforks," Taylor blew a strand of hair away from her face. "Harry's peeved. Almost positively at you, seeing as how you look far too gleeful at his pain. What have you done now?"

"Come on, he's my best mate," Ron waved this off, not able to keep a glint from his eyes. "I wouldn't mess with the bloke for no reason. After all, it's not like he did anything to get me pissed off at him. Then it'd be a different story," he shifted gears. "About this 'pain'. Vaguely annoyed pain or properly traumatised pain?"

Taylor gave him a long, speculative look, "You're either the best or the worst brother I've ever met."

Ron took this as a compliment. He also remembered that he shouldn't get distracted.

"I'm still not letting you in," she retorted his unasked question. "Mainly as I'm sure you know more about the horde of snidgets at Friday's press conference than you let on."

"The ones that attacked him? Eh, it was harmless," Ron said, frowning a touch. "He was barely even bothered by it. How can someone shrug off that in less than an hour? Ridiculous, is what it is. Whoever's behind it must be disappointed as hell."

"I'm sure," Taylor's lips twitched in a half-smile. "The same someone who magically drew a rain cloud over his scar?"

"It washed right off. Shoddy merchandising, if you ask me," this time Ron scowled. "That Harry went into a meeting with it shows he should use a mirror every so often. His hair's proof enough of that."

She stared at him, head inclining. He could see the amusement sliding off her face. "Enough of this. Why're you doing this and the mess with the partners? Harry hasn't figured out the first bit, but the department has a bet going about what in Circe's name is going on. Only McLaggen's stupid enough to think you're envious, though 'harmless pranks' and 'Weasley family revenge' are popular. Szilvassy, sexy, sensitive hunk that he is, has this whole theory about 'misplaced love'," she caught his disbelieving look and snorted. "Which was our reaction too. But he started rambling on about how, with Harry making Head, you miss him as a partner. It's a small leap from there to you trying to sabot—"

"Not trying to sabotage him," Ron cut in, knitting this in the bud. "Not envious either. I'm not even asking why you lot were betting on this because, frankly, I'm used to this nonsense." Leaning against her desk his tone turned serious. "There's no gossip to let you in on. I need to talk to Harry about a legit case. So, please, open the door."

It was the first time Taylor paused, actually considering his request. "You aren't going to mess with his office?"

Ron huffed, "Like I'd do that with a witness!"

"Not very reassuring," Taylor glanced down the hallway, then back to Ron. Her wand lifted to point at the office door. She gave it a small flick as she waited. "A hint for the bet?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm risking being fired. Least you can do is get me the hundred galleon pot," Taylor said, wand unmoving in her outstretched hand.

"Like you could get fired. Wait, a hundred?" Ron wished he was surprised. But he knew well how quickly the bets increased with the impulsive personalities in MLE. "Whatever, it's a prank. Not a big deal."

"It's not a prank," she kept staring at him, all too perceptive. Ron again considered her resemblance to Luna. He fidgeted, considering searching for Harry or staying here until he got back. But he didn't know where the bloke was and Taylor would just keep questioning him.

"Alright, fine," he huffed, not believing he had to deal with this. "Szilvassy's not completely off the mark. Not about the sabotage stuff! But about, y'know."

Taylor practically shone at this 'confession'. Then, surprisingly, she fell silent. Flicking a spell at the office door, she gestured him in with a knowing smirk.

"Barmy," Ron muttered to himself as he headed through the door. "Absolutely mental."

"All the best people are!" Taylor cried out cheekily, magically slamming the door after her words (right before he could respond).

Ron glanced back at the closed entrance for a moment, wondering if he'd made a mistake. But Taylor wasn't the gossiping sort, at least about true things. She liked to know all the tid-bits, not spread them around. She'd also already known he was behind the pranks, so there was no issue on that front.

Shrugging the problem off he properly trooped into Harry's office. The usual mess was ignored as he waltzed over to a dark walnut desk with piles of papers magically held in place. Sitting in one of the chairs before it, his legs were crossed up against one of the wooden desk legs. Lounging back, he only then took a proper look around. Shelves were clustered with books and items, a Firebolt was propped up against the wide window (where the bright sun obscured the panoramic view of the Thames), a few chairs were scattered around the main desk, and a flurry of Quidditch posters lined the walls.

He took a second look at the last, noting it was no longer just posters. Harry must finally be beginning to 'unpack'. So now, amidst the flying players, there were plenty of enlarged photos of waving people (most of them redheaded, where more than a few were Ron himself), framed Daily Prophets with Ginny Potter bylines, and many crayoned doodles.

Ron squinted at the last ones, trying to figure out what the pictures depicted. Almost all were simply colourful, beloved splotches. The only discernible bits were where Harry or Ginny had written at the bottom, proudly putting 'James' or 'Albus' and the date the masterpiece was drawn.

He spent a minute or so distracted by this, trying to decide if Rosie was the artist of the family. He was pretty sure she was (as her glimmering pictures almost resembled the unicorn butterflies she proclaimed they were). So though these pictures by his nephews were nice and everything, he didn't think it was much of a competition.

The office was still empty. Ron, growing bored, turned to the desk itself. He was pleased to note that the books on regulation Hermione had given Harry had been shoved in the corner, still clearly unread (though in a partly prominent spot, surely there to appease her). Many of the files had also been skirted into corners, with a vague organisation that could only be due to Taylor's interference. The only ones right in front of Harry's chair looked to be the most recent cases, seeing as how he spotted the names Lestrange and Selwyn on one. But this, too, was boring.

Reaching over and rolling a golden snitch off the desk, he idly tossed it up and down. Or, at least, he attempted to. For the moment the snitch touched his skin it burst into movement. Sprouting wings and flapping like a hummingbird, the snitch had disappeared before the wizard could realise what'd happened.

Ron leaned back against the seat and peered around the room, confused. A low buzzing was now barely discernible, but for the life of him he couldn't spot where the snitch had gone. He felt a bit silly, but reassured himself it was pretty much his friend's fault. Who left an activated snitch on their desk? It was like letting loose a dog without a collar; practically begging for it to get lost.

Further musings were cut off when the door opened. Harry, storming in, halted at seeing that his office was already occupied. But this surprise gave way to an irritated sigh. Sending a glare outside (presumably at Taylor—Ron made a note to bring her biscuits as thanks, and only then recalled he'd forgotten to grab a treacle tart for distraction) and then roved his steely look around to his best friend.

"Like the view?" Harry bit out sarcastically.

"Tad bright for my taste," Ron said, gesturing at the blaring light from the window.

Harry didn't bother with a response. Gritting his teeth he finished storming in, which was when Ron noticed that a furious Dawlish was trailing behind him. Though both were angry, the difference between the two men was stark. Harry seemed equally frustrated at both, but was trying to hold back his annoyance. Dawlish had no such qualms.

"Yeah, so," Ron hemmed as the door was slammed. "The unicorn case—"

"What're you playing at!" Dawlish cut in, still standing with anger radiating off him.

Ron eyed him oddly, "You're this annoyed over an apparation?"

"Since you apparated mid-sentence, then left the bloody meeting point before I arrived!" Dawlish steamed. Harry sunk into his chair, glaring in equal measure at both of them. "I couldn't go further without a damned partner!"

"Don't give me that, Leicester Square was a few blocks away," Ron retorted. He turned to Harry. "What're you doing, assigning me someone who can't read a map? There were even signs pointing the way. Signs with bloody arrows."

"I can read a map! But it's against policy to go off alone, even for a block—as is apparating from the Ministry. Like you did!" Dawlish spurted, his face growing red. "Potter, I'm not standing for this! I ought to have believed the horror stories about this menace."

Ron scoffed, "You're the one with horror stories about you. At least I'm not infamous for friendly fire—"

"Abercrombie hit me first!"

"Yeah right! You sent Euan to hospital!"

"SO DID YOU!"

"FOR A TWISTED ANKLE, NOT INTERNAL BLEEDING! AND MINE WAS ACCIDENTAL, YOU ARSE!"

"YOU LITTLE—"

"Silencio. Silencio," Harry intoned with an irritated air, waving his wand at the furious men. Mouth pursed, he eyed their standing forms as their blustering anger turned to him. "Either you sit down, or I'll use body-binds to keep a fight from breaking out. Your choice."

The aurors glared at the Head Auror, then at each other.

Harry twitched, "Ten seconds. Ten, nine…"

Silently raging, the wizards reluctantly sat down.

"Good, you're not complete children," the dark-haired man sighed, glancing up as though praying for patience. "Wands on the table."

They stared, not acquesting.

"Wands on the table," Harry's tone was blunt and wry, "or you're both suspended. I'm not saying it a third time."

Ron, though reluctantly, drew his wand and placed it on the desk. Dawlish hesitated even more, but with another glance at the unamused Head Auror he too placed it down.

"Fantastic," Harry drawled, picking up the wands and putting them to the side. He then leaned forward, wholly unimpressed. "You both have discipline records a mile long…Weasley, stop mouthing at me! I know I'm being hypocritical. Also, yes, I called you Weasley. That's what you get for gleefully making my life hell. Don't even deny it! As for the hypocrisy? I, unlike you two, never endangered missions or other aurors!"

"Let's sum this up," he pointed a finger at Ron. "For months, you've antagonised your partners so much they've all begged to be reassigned. That, or they landed in St. Mungo's. Or they threatened to sue. Or they actually sued—you, me, the whole bloody department!" his finger shifted to Dawlish. "While you aren't 'deliberately' losing partners, you are anyway. That's because everyone thinks you're an egoistic, unimaginative sod who only wants to save his own skin. Your track record, unfortunately, doesn't disprove this. So unlike Weasley's impressive history of solved cases, Dawlish? I still haven't the faintest why Robards promoted you to homicide."

By this point Dawlish had shifted his murderous stare from the slightly grinning Senior Auror to the frustrated Head Auror.

"Weasley, stop smirking!" Harry gritted out at Ron. "This new incident is entirely your fault, so I don't know why you're looking pleased. Still, unlike you two? I care more about solving crimes than dealing with personal nonsense. So here's what's going to happen. I'm going to take off the silencing charms. Weasley will calmly tell me what he saw at the crime scene, Dawlish will calmly chime in with any missing information, and neither of you will say anything irrelevant to the case. Only once the debriefing's finished will we calmly discuss why you're at each other's throats. No wands will be returned until we're done. Nod your heads if you agree."

Both reluctantly nodded.

Harry, though clearly certain he was going to regret this, took off the spells.

"Right," Ron coughed after a moment, awkwardly clearing his throat. He ignored Dawlish's irritated mutter. "Another dead unicorn was found in the centre of Leicester Square late last night. Which, ah, you know. With all the theatre-goers it took two obliviator teams to straighten in up and they're still modifying the CCTV. Lisa's team was sent out as soon as we heard, but she wanted a second opinion. Hence, us. Obviously."

"Hence, you apparating without me," Dawlish gritted out. But, seeing Harry's pursing lips, he fell silent.

"What was taken this time?" Harry then said, rubbing his eyes. "Blood, horn, mane, and tail?"

"The fur too," Ron felt a pull at his chest. "Honestly, it doesn't look much like a unicorn anymore. Was just a foal."

"Merlin. How much blood?"

The Senior Auror hesitated, arms falling to his side. "It's almost been drained. Kevin's even convinced we're dealing with a vampire."

Harry blinked, taken aback, "Drained?" a sick look came over his expression. "What does that make it now. Five unicorns, three werewolves, a manticore, and a nundo?"

"Two grindylow as well. Maybe," Ron gave a helpless shrug. "Seeing as how they turned up near Aldersgate, I'd say they're connected. Could be others too, small enough that we missed. Lisa's requesting more teams be on it; as many as can be spared, honestly. This whole thing's a mess, the least of which is it becoming a media circus."

Harry remained quiet for a moment, shifting through this. He also blinked over by the door, squinting slightly, "No new leads?"

"No leads, period," Dawlish corrected. "Doubt Turpin will find anything with this one," he caught the others' looks and huffed. "She's not confident about any of this, you just said that. She's been over every detail of these cases and can't find anything. It's basically unprecedented, so if there are patterns we're missing them."

"Magical creatures being killed and left in public areas," Harry muttered to himself, irritation shining through. Ron couldn't blame him. Ever since the first report of a dead werewolf had come in (when there wasn't a full moon anytime soon), the whole department had been struggling to crack the case. Though Lisa was taking the lead, with the corpses being found across Britain they'd all had some hand with the research. But weeks later and they were still almost at square one. "But some foreign species. Any reports from the Continent yet? The States?"

"Only us, so far. Concentrated on London. Muggle London, to make things that much better," Dawlish bit out sarcastically.

"Narrows it down," Harry sighed. He then made an odd frown, glancing up at the ceiling. Shaking his head he returned to the conversation. "If it was 'just' poachers, there'd be something. But these psychopaths are butchering them. What about this new unicorn?"

"Not much dissection." Ron continued feeling queasy. "But again, it was bled dry. That hasn't happened before."

"Might just be screwing with us," Dawlish commented.

"Or they're escalating. Quickly," the Head Auror frowned, glancing at the empty wall behind his friend with creasing eyes. He turned back to them. "Even aside from the deaths, the blood alone is dangerous. Any word on rare dark potions entering the market? No, what am I talking about. Far too early to see that. Press gotten anything more?"

"Nah, they haven't heard about Leicester. When they do, I expect you'll be bombarded," it said much about the grave situation that Ron didn't feel his usual amusement when Harry gave a groan about the hounding media. "There'll be another batch of headlines about The Rippers."

"Bloody nickname," Harry cursed. Ron shared his disgruntlement, not being a fan of sensationalised names given by the press to criminals. With the first few animals being cut up and found around Whitechapel, the allusion to Jack the Ripper was easy to make. The name alone was making many creatures panic, as worries heightened that more groups would be added to The Rippers' so-called hit list. With a range of species being targeted, everyone from vampires, veelas, to centaurs were growing nervous. That werewolves could possibly be 'identified' as missing people didn't even help, for with them still ostracised plenty of wizards and witches didn't register that they were bitten. When then died in wolf form, identification postmortem was rare.

There was a short silence.

"Look," Dawlish was the one who spoke up, "I'll say what everyone's thinking: we're wasting our time. We all know it. This ought to be taken care of by the Magical Creatures Department."

Harry (having just squinted at a batch of posters in vague confusion) sat back, brow furrowing, "If it didn't start with werewolves, I'd maybe agree with you. But those are all homicides and the others are brutal killings. More than that, now it's a spree."

Dawlish was incredulous, "Homicides? Not that I'm a fan of dead unicorns, but come on. The werewolves being killed? Nundos? Good riddance, I say. Like putting down rabid dogs."

Any other time, Ron would have punched him. But as Harry was stiffening in anger, he instead relaxed and prepared to enjoy the show.

"To be clear," Harry leaned forward, expression pointed and lethal, "are you supporting the murders? Hunting down people's alright in your book?"

"What? Course not," Dawlish was taken aback. He looked around, as though expecting Ron to side with him. Unsurprisingly, no help was coming. "But these, they aren't people. Killing magical creatures is sad and everything, but I'm not about to shed a tear over a werewolf." This was met with silence, tension filling the air. Dawlish fidgeted, not sure what he'd said. "Come on, the new regulations are mad. I mean…look Weasley, I know your wife was behind it. But the equal rights stuff? Overzealous as all hell. Everyone knows it. A wonky phase, I think."

Again, any other time Ron would have exploded at him. But Harry was turning an interesting shade of bright puce, so he wasn't getting in the way of Dawlish digging an even deeper hole for himself.

Dawlish had also noticed the Head Auror's strange expression and, more importantly, that said Wizarding Saviour was now gripping his wand. Maybe this was what jarred a memory of a half-forgotten rumour or Daily Prophet article.

"Oh, right," Dawlish nodded to himself, sending a somewhat apologetic half-grin at his bristling boss. "Your ward or something has it, yeah? Poor bloke. But don't you say personal feelings shouldn't get in the way? So just because your kid's a monster—"

SLAM!

Harry fists' hit the desk's surface; he leaned over to glare at the stunned Auror. "Let me make a few things clear," every syllable was sharp enough to cut glass. "My godson isn't a monster. Nor is he a werewolf, but if he was? It wouldn't change a damn thing! That's because most of the time, they're as human as you or me. Or no, maybe not you. Since it's because of you racist arses that they can't get jobs! But oh, you take the bloody cake. Criticising the one damn legislation that treats them like everyone else!" he was looking near to throttling the terrified Auror. "Do you know how long it took for their deaths to be investigated as homicides? But now you're fine with tossing that away. Hah, what am I saying? If it was legal, I bet you'd be out there cursing the 'rabid dogs' yourself!"

Dawlish had paled. Scooting his chair back, he leaned as far away from the furious Head Auror as he could. Ron wished he'd brought popcorn.

"You're off this case," Harry finished with a bark. Dawlish's wand was angrily tossed back, where the Auror only just managed to grab it. "Not only that, but since you take murders this lightly I'm not letting you near homicide. Don't look so glum, you're getting your wish! You and Ron are no longer partners. Get out of my office so I can figure out where to reassign you."

After the door slammed from a furious Dawlish's exit, there was an awkward silence.

Ron rubbed the nape of his neck. Harry's glare continued to rest on the door. But then his mouth puckered in confusion, his head turning slightly.

Ron figured he ought to speak, "So, ah—"

"Shut up." Harry cut him off, now staring at the ceiling. His puzzlement only increased. In a split second his gaze darted around to rest on the posters, then window, then back to a corner of the ceiling.

Ron followed his stare, only to be met with nothing unusual. "Ah—"

"Shut it!" the other wizard wasn't paying attention to him, squinting at random places around the room. Without warning, he jerked up from his seat and flung out his arm. Without further ado, he plucked a furiously fluttering golden snitch from the 'empty' air.

"Ohhh," Ron nodded to himself in realisation. Harry sat back down, deactivating the snitch with a swift pull.

"Yeah, 'oh'," Harry said sarcastically, opening a drawer and tossing the snitch into it. "Could you stop poking things that aren't yours?"

"That must've been bugging you the whole time," Ron glossed over the other's statement. "Blimey, did it seem like there was a mosquito in here? An annoying little bzzing you couldn't place?"

Harry gave him a hard, incredulous look.

"Didn't know that was a pet peeve," Ron stored this away for future use. "Your own fault for leaving an activated snitch on your desk."

"You're not going to distract me, you know."

"Wouldn't think of it," he really wouldn't. But it'd suddenly become easy to push the other man's buttons; he wasn't about to let that opportunity slip away.

"I haven't forgotten what you did," Harry scowled at his best friend. "What're you on, driving all your partners around the bend?"

Ron scoffed, "Dawlish is an anti-werewolf moron."

"Which neither of us knew until a minute ago!" he exclaimed. "Or are you telling me all the Aurors you've been assigned have been racist pigs?"

"Specist."

"What?"

"Specist, not racist," Ron frowned. "Is that a thing? I'll ask Hermione. It ought to be a thing."

"Ron," the Head Auror said warningly.

"Not saying Dawlish isn't also racist. Or sexist. Hasn't Taylor complained about him eyeing her up?"

"Enough about Dawlish!" Harry stormed. "Or do you think I'll let you waltz out like everything's swell?"

"…well. Not after you said that."

Harry gave a harsh groan. Running a hand through his dark hair he made it stand even more on end. "You're lucky you're so damned good or I'd also toss you off homicide. Don't look at me like that! You know how many people think the reason you haven't been fired is because you're my brother? Do you get that? They think it's favouritism!"

"Think you mean nepotism," Ron paused. Considering his words he made a face. "I also think I've been married to Hermione for too long. Not that I'm complaining about that, but am I starting to sound like a thesaurus?"

"You git," Harry sunk his head into his hands, words becoming muffled. "I hate you, you know that? Because no matter how many times I point out that your success rate's in the high 90s—which, seriously, well done mate—someone always mentions favouritism. Alright, fine, nepotism! You happy?"

"Yes?"

"Good on you. Makes one of us," he lifted his head back up, mouth scrunched up in irritation. "You're getting a new partner."

"What? Harry, this—"

"You're getting a damn partner! Merlin help you if you force this one away," Harry started shuffling through his files. "You aren't helping Lisa with the creatures' case until that's settled. Don't even answer, it's not a choice! Dmitri can get it. But while I'm trying to find anyone, literally anyone, who'll partner with you? You're going to do something with absolutely no danger involved."

Ron sighed. He'd been expecting something like this, "Desk duty?"

"Missing person," Harry caught his surprised look. "That, corporate espionage, or both."

"That sounds, ah, fairly dangerous," Ron was surprised as well as uncertain if he ought to test his luck by questioning this. "I mean, this is great, but you're not making sense."

Harry shoved the appropriate folder at him, "It isn't dangerous. But I don't want to deal with who brought it in, and I don't want to have to explain it to another Auror. So do the initial interview and that's it. If you need anything in the field, get someone else to do it. Aside from this, consider yourself on house arrest until you get another partner."

Ron eyed him strangely. House arrest? Initial interview? He opened the folder. After the first few lines he was wearily sighing. He also gained a new appreciation for Harry's passive aggressive streak, "George filed the report?"

"Which is why I don't want to deal with it. With him, that is. Not after the salamander and fireworks incident," Harry glared at Ron for good measure. "Is every Weasley trying to get under my skin?"

The older wizard read further, ignoring his friend. "Is this even a missing person? Fawcett hasn't been gone for twenty-four hours yet. No family's reported her missing, she just didn't show for work. Could be sick. Playing hooky. Heck, it could be an elaborate joke on George. He'd more than deserve it."

"This will only be an official case after a day's past," Harry hesitated, seriousness filtering over his expression. "George seemed genuinely concerned. This girl, she's the overzealous Ravenclaw type, serious about her work. Seems to be no close family nearby to notice she's missing. He's honestly hoping she turned tail and went to Zonko's."

"Because she had an invention of his with her, yeah?" Ron scanned the quick summary.

"Yes, though George didn't seem too hopeful about that. Couldn't give me the details, had to return to the shop. But he's worried something happened to her," said Harry. "Go see him and fill in the holes. No one's answering at her flat and we can't go in without probable cause."

"Why is this for us and not the hit-wizards? I don't see any dark magic here. Barely any evidence that a crime took place."

"There's mallowsweet in the Skiving Snackboxes she was carrying. Type C illegal substance," Harry snorted, waving to stop Ron's obvious next question. "George has permission for it, forms and everything."

"Sure, but type C? That's stretching the definition of a dark substance," Ron considered this. "Really stretching it. Actually, more like tossing the definition in the hearth after eating some of that mallowsweet."

"Which is what I thought too. I was going to hand it to Hermione, but then you pulled another stunt," Harry sent him an unimpressed look. "George's being paranoid? Fine, I hope he is. But the hit-wizards can't touch it until the 24 hour mark even if we do send it over. On top of that, it's either send you out or put up with having you around here: bored and doing nothing but bugging me."

"You know you love me," he closed the file, sending the other man a cheery grin. He got a scowl in return.

"Twat."

Ron gave a fake gasp, pressing a hand to his heart, "I say something nice and you wound me like that? Below the belt."

"Get the hell out," was the disgruntled reply.

"Fine, fine," the cheeriness subsided. But a smirk remained as Ron stood up with the folder, reaching over the desk to snatch up his wand. "Hogsmeade it is."

"Only interview George!" Harry called out at once, annoyance brimming. "Don't do anything else without a partner and—"

POP!

Harry stared at the place where Ron had apparated. With a low curse, his head sunk back to the table.