"'I had proven, as a very young man, that power was my weakness and my temptation. It is a curious thing, Harry, but perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it. Those who, like you, have leadership thrust upon them, and take up the mantle because they must, and find to their own surprise that they wear it well.'"
Albus Dumbledore—Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

"Funny thing," a sarcastic voice rolled out from behind the Senior Auror, "my office is right down the hall. Last I checked, it hadn't moved."

"Thought I wasn't to bug you," Ron didn't miss a beat. Turning from his paperwork (or, actually, turning from the Quidditch posters where he'd been having an argument with the Tornado's Keeper) he swivelled his chair around. He eyed the unamused man leaning against his open doorway. Harry's arms were crossed and he held a grudgingly interested look. "Guess you got the message?"

"What I'm curious about," Harry gritted out, his extra-ruffled hair being a clear sign of his annoyance, "is how you gleamed all that from just talking to George."

"It was an enlightening talk."

"Where you interviewed witnesses around Hogsmeade and searched Fawcett's flat without a partner. Yeah, sure sounds enlightening," Harry sighed, clearly having expected this. "Look, whatever. You're sure she's missing?"

"Have a Pensieve memory to prove it," his teasing fell to the wayside. "Dennis ought to be contacting her family."

"He has," the dark-haired man said. "This is news to them, they're panicked and coming in soon. They don't seem to know anything."

Ron felt the small hope he'd had sink. "No ransom demands?"

"None," Harry's frown twitched into a scowl. Stepping farther into the office he sat on the desk, ignoring a chair. He waved off some chess pieces that had hopped over the moment he'd entered. "You said this wasn't a personal attack. Any proof or is it a feeling?"

"Aside from how Fawcett has no enemies? She was targeted randomly," Ron leaned back, twirling his wand in his fingers. "See, her flat's in the outskirts of Hogsmeade. If I was trying to kidnap her, I'd have been following her around and would know there's a large, unpopulated area she has to walk through before arriving in the village." The spinning stopped as he sent Harry a look. "If this was a premeditated attack on her, specifically on her, the criminal's an idiot for taking her on Hogsmeade's High Street."

"It was early in the morning," Harry pointed out. "Not many people around."

"There were enough," Ron heaved a sigh at the reminder of the less-than-productive interviews. "This was a crime of opportunity, I bet you anything. Done by a professional, which is what's scaring me. Taking a girl in daylight, in public, without immediately raising alarms? Hell, breaking into her flat would be a fair sight easier. This guy's good."

Harry inclined his head, peering speculatively at his friend. His words were chosen carefully. "You don't think there'll be a ransom."

"Unless the family's hiding something, not really," Ron frowned. "Hope I'm wrong, but come on. We have a twenty-something girl with not a lot of galleons to her name and with no clear criminal ties. It's been hours since she's been taken and not a peep from the kidnappers. I hate to say this, but I don't think it's just a kidnapping."

Harry lapsed into silence, mouth pinched in thought, "She really vanished without a trace? No clues at all?"

"Nothing. It's preliminary, sure, and there might be a lead somewhere. But we shouldn't focus on Fawcett herself. I mean personally. Victimology, yeah? Get behaviour analysis on making a profile of the kidnapper. Because unless Fawcett's dad is a secret drug lord, we aren't going to get far without it."

"Or unless there's another kidnapping," Harry said what Ron was thinking, a worried frown in place. "Her photo's already been released to the Prophet, her mum approved it. A retraction's always loads better than being too slow. But still, best to keep light on the details. There's no need to incite a panic, what with missing people already being rare enough." His frown deepened. "Christ, I hope her family's hiding some dark past."

"Or maybe the kidnappers are slow with the ransom demand," Ron wished he could believe this. "I'm getting ahead of myself. Especially since your lordship's ruled I'm not on the case."

Harry was torn from his thoughts. He looked at his friend askance. "Uh, 'lordship'?"

"Y'know, tabloid nonsense. Lord Potter-Black? You inheriting the House of Merlin? Any of this ringing a bell?" Ron settled into his sure-fire way to cheer up: taking the mick out of Harry.

The Head Auror blinked, taken aback. "…what?"

"Blimey, you're slow," Ron said. "Have you ever even picked up Witch Weekly?"

"Not sure I want to," he retorted before shifting gears. "Also, I never said you weren't on this case."

This took him by surprise. "What now?"

"I said you weren't doing anything dangerous without a partner," Harry clarified, his annoyance clear. "Until then Terry and Dennis have the Fawcett kidnapping. I should assign you someone tomorrow, so don't get too comfortable."

Ron hesitated at this news, having a feeling he ought to be worried about this. Especially with The Glint in Harry's eyes. The Glint always spelled trouble. He'd known this since he'd gotten roped into 'following the spiders'. "Who's my new partner?"

"Someone who you'll be stuck with for a very, very long time," Harry leaned in, not giving any room for argument (physically or figuratively). "I don't care how you try to get rid of him, it's not going to work. I can promise that much, because this is the last straw. You've managed to become even more annoying than the paparazzi—no, I'm not joking! I'm sick of dealing with this. If you're anything like a professional, you'll put whatever bs reason you're doing this aside to do your job! Which, if you're right, is about to involve a blasted crime spree. SO YOU'RE GETTING ALONG WITH YOUR PARTNER!"

A silence descended from the sudden rant.

Ron slowly ventured an answer, "Would help if you mentioned who this partner is."

"Ron!"

"I mean, it almost seems like you're being mysterious for a reason," he puzzled out, not very concerned he was riling up the 'Wizarding Saviour'. "Which you surely couldn't be, as my wonderful behaviour could only warrant an absolutely spiffing partner. So is it a good surprise? Like a surprise gift…I'm getting a present? Wicked. Is this you saying I'm so amazing that I can work solo and get a new broom on MLE's sickle?"

"I hate you."

"Also," Ron continued without a shred of shame, "gift or no gift, shouting at aurors? HR might have something to say about that."

"RON!"

After Harry left in a huff, Ron paused. It was only now that he realised he'd been waiting around, vaguely waiting for an update. So with that done? Aside from arguments with Quidditch posters (a rather productive activity, that), he was out of things to do. It was an odd feeling. Many other aurors would give their left hand for a free day, but he just felt bored. It'd be one thing if he was procrastinating or waiting for something, but just purely twiddling his fingers?

Ron scowled at this, leaning back in his chair. His feet were leaned up and crossed on his desk as he puzzled out what to do. But it didn't take long for an obvious remedy to come to him. Tossing his legs back down, he quickly got up and headed to his wife's office.

Half-way there, he remembered she'd had another plan for today. So, shifting his destination, he aimed for the MLE training rooms and lecture halls.

Ducking into the back entrance for the main hall, Ron paused to listen. Shaking his head at the silence, he instead headed for the second main lecture hall. Sliding into the back rooms of that one a sonorused voice hit him. Grinning, he wove around the backstage material until he reached the curtain. Keeping to the side and out of sight, he pushed the cloth aside just enough to catch sight of the woman onstage talking to a packed lecture theatre:

"—known as dangerous, of course. Today, much of their terror has been reduced to legends. Tales to scare children, as well as new recruits. It is seen as a problem of the past, long since taken care of. A boogeyman," Hermione spoke rhythmically, a small frown playing across her features. "It is almost overlooked that some known Death Eaters still remain at large. Not a lot, but they are arguably the craftiest ones, having been able to remain fugitives for so long. There is a reason these three are nearly the top 'Undesirables'. It is difficult to overstate how dangerous these people are."

"Cassiopeia Sevine," a picture of a pretty blonde filled the screen. Instead of hiding from the picture, she was beaming over her shoulder at the camera. The sundress sloping her shoulders left little to the imagination. Her blue eyes held a twinkle while her hourglass body had gotten more than a few wizards killed. "Undesirable Number 5. Only 25, she would typically be described as a neo-Death Eater if not for two factors. Firstly, she was one of the last recruited before Voldemort's fall, so she bears the Dark Mark. Secondly, she's far more dangerous than most neo-Death Eaters. Working as a spy, her specialty is…" Hermione coughed, "is sleeping with the enemy. She's Veritaserumed more MLE agents than I can count, and the lucky ones are merely obliviated afterwards. Sevine uses the information gleamed to partake in her other speciality," the picture shifted to a smouldering building. Ron hollowly recognised it as the remains of an Auror field office in Cardiff: he'd been one of the first responders. "Bombing. Many of you will remember the events in Wales five years ago.

"Male or female, do not be caught off-guard by her," Hermione warned. "Sevine fully believes in the 'cleansing' of humanity and, like the neo-Death Eaters, has adapted her views with Aryan doctrine. She is a cold-blooded killer and wouldn't hesitate to destroy every last one of us. She's also slippery. We've found evidence that she hides out between crimes by going through a stream of rich benefactors. After one has served his purpose, she slits his throat and moves to the next one. It seems she might have returned to Ireland, her home country, but she is frequently spotted in the UK. She's known to have former IRA contacts."

"Next, Marcus Flint," Hermione gave a scowl as his picture popped up (one echoed by Ron). "Undesirable Number 4. Born and raised in Britain, I had the misfortune to know him at Hogwarts. Only faintly, thank heavens, but I can assure you that he's been a sadistic zealot since he was a teenager. Working as a Death Eater through the Second War, he shied away from battles but was pivotal in recruiting young, disenfranchised men and women to his cause. Avoiding capture after Voldemort's defeat, he continued in what he'd been doing. He is now known as one of the founders and the main facilitator of the neo-Death Eater Movement. He is not known for many murders, but is highly dangerous and should not be approached. With that being said," she reluctantly continued, "Flint is the only one of these three who we would prefer to capture alive. Interrogating him could produce a wealth of information about his group."

"Thirdly, Rodolphus Lestrange," another flick, another picture. This one was of an older man, normal and unspectacular. Salt and pepper hair with occasional black strands, rough skin that looked hard even through the picture, and bored but sharp brown eyes. He was lightly frowning at the camera. "Undesirable Number 3. Once known as merely being the husband of Bellatrix Lestrange, one of Voldemort's inner circle, further documents and testimony have revealed that both spouses were high in the Death Eater hierarchy," Hermione paused, a sick expression appearing. "To most accurately explain his crimes, it's best to make an allusion to another. You're all at least familiar World War II? I'm not talking about Grindelwald and his persecutions. Josef Mengele was a high ranking muggle Nazi during the war. Within the cruelties of the Holocaust, he experimented on prisoners, carrying out horrid atrocities 'in the name of science'. Lestrange's crimes were similar. He operated at Azkaban throughout the Second War, experimenting on the muggleborns illegally imprisoned there. While believing that purebloods were superior to others, he thought that he could 'purify' wizards even more. Or, perhaps, truly 'cleanse' the blood. He took on a series of experiments, each more gruesome than the last. Some of the victims' had full-blood transfusions with dead purebloods, resulting in blood poisonings and hideous deaths. Others were fed poisons to make their blood boil within their skin. Others still had their blood mixed with Veela, dementors, dragons, and the like to see if Lestrange could create a 'better' wizard. It all revolved around trying to increase magical power, with no thought to the victim's safety." She coughed, pausing to gather herself. "Needless to say, this monster is the reason so few were rescued from Azkaban after the war. He's been quiet since, staying almost entirely underground, but he is one of the most prolific mass murderers in history."

"If spotted, you are not to approach any of these three! They are considered to be armed and highly dangerous, and you are to call for backup immediately. Hell, call for the entire cavalry. They are the last true remnants of the Death Eaters and, one day, they will be brought to justice. But I wouldn't want any of you to join them in the morgue."

On that cheery note, Hermione nodded at the stunned crowd, gathered up her pages, and click-clacked on her heels off the stage.

Ron, waiting in a side alcove backstage, snickered at how the frozen audience hadn't begun talking again. Seeing his wife was almost at him, he popped out, "Had fun scaring the newbies?"

"RON!" Hermione jolted back, papers flying. Shock gave way to annoyance after a few moments, and she gave him a peeved look as she drew her hand away from her pumping heart. "Merlin, don't do that!"

"Don't do what? Say hi to my wife?"

"Don't sneak up on me!" she gave a gentle beat on his chest, staring at him accusingly. She seemed to have forgotten that her lecture notes were now scattered around the floor. "Scared me half to death, you git!"

"Overreact much?" Ron raised an eyebrow.

Hermione groaned, her irritation not lessening, "I just finished a lecture about terrifying killers and the Second War. Then, walking back through the dark, a huge figure leapt out at me! How am I overreacting?"

Ron stopped, looking at her askance. "Huge?"

"You're tall," she sighed. Then, remembering the notes, she whisked out her wand and swept them back into her hands.

"Is this you telling me I should go on a diet?" Ron bit back a grin as his tone calmed her.

"No, I meant you're tall!" Hermione snorted, finally relinquishing her glare. "Skinny as a rail, too, which you very well know. Must you salt the wound?"

"Come on, you're gorgeous," he gave her a kiss, wrapping his arms around her. Though he shortly after pulled away to talk, he remained close enough that their noses were touching as their eyes shone. "I wasn't having a go. You're beautiful."

"With a belly," she murmured, irritation gone. The papers were nestled between them, just barely still caught in her hold.

"A beautiful belly," Ron gently smirked at her. He leaned closer, resting his cheek against hers and talking into her hair. "The most stunning belly I've ever seen, actually, so you—"

"Not that I'm complaining," Hermione cut in, "but did you only come in to terrify me and snog?"

"Terrify you and shag was my original plan," he gave her a soppy grin. "It's nice and dark in here, after all. Far enough away from the newbies you just petrified…"

"Ron."

He shifted, properly facing her again. "Alright, I was bored. I figured I'd see you and cheer up. Though, might've gotten that wrong with listening to the lecture. Not to say it wasn't nice. Was very, y'know, engaging."

"'Depressing' is the word you're after," Hermione scoffed, though she did smile back. "I can't wait until these Death Eater talks are a distant memory."

"The trainees like it. Think it's exciting," though Ron completely agreed with her. She knew this, so only answered with an incredulous eye roll. He changed the topic before she could decide that, actually, she did feel like arguing, thank you very much. Because then he'd be forced to play devil's advocate, which normally would be fine, but he really wasn't in the mood for it—especially when it came to talk of Death Eaters. "Aside from lectures, how has your day been?"

"Blissfully boring," she sent him a knowing, weary look. "The only odd thing was when my irate best friend interrupted my lunch. Again. All to rant about you."

"Huh."

"Why can't you two play nice?" Hermione bemoaned, becoming more frustrated as she recalled the hassle of the past few months. "I'm tired of getting caught in the middle, all because you have too much time on your hands."

"Hey now, we aren't trying to catch you in the middle—"

"Of course you are! Maybe not on purpose, but that's what always happens," she sent him a peeved look. He found it oddly hilarious that they'd been kissing mere minutes ago…though, honestly, this described their relationship to a tea. "You get upset about something so you get passive aggressive. Harry gets pissed off at you because you're pissed off at him, so he gives you the cold shoulder. Then you become mad about that and take it a step farther, trying to get him to react. Which the stubborn man never does, but as you're equally stubborn the stakes keep rising until you're both at each others' throats! And guess who, time and time again, is stuck in the middle of it?"

"Ginny?" Ron took an involuntary step back as Hermione's glare hit him. "Kidding, kidding! You have the patience of a saint. But for the record? I'm not trying to get you caught up in this, I swear."

"I'm sure," Hermione said tightly. "So you mean to say you haven't been bothering me incessantly to get Harry to resign?"

"To demote himself, not resign," Ron corrected. "Which is for his own good, you know he's in denial about liking the job. Harry and bureaucracy? Come on. It's like a bad joke."

"Ron…"

"Hey, if it keeps me from having another rubbish partner, even better," Ron nodded. "Can't you see this is the best for everyone?"

Hermione rubbed her brow, closing her eyes. "What I can see is that his job is none of your business. Nor is it mine."

"To be fair," he tried another approach, "Harry's trying to make it your business."

"By complaining to me to try and make you back off?" she reopened her eyes. "Then yes, you're right. It's rather unnerving how well you've managed to get under his skin."

Ron couldn't keep back a small grin at the last. He was rather proud at having managed the 'impossible' task of ruffling Harry's feathers.

Hermione didn't miss his smile, "Please, please don't tell me you think that's an accomplishment."

"Isn't it?"

"Ron!" she wasn't even surprised.

"I mean, it's a small list, isn't it?" Ron continued. "How many people can say they've pissed off Boy Wonder and lived to tell the table? Usually, him getting annoyed means someone's head's being blasted off."

"He's never beheaded anyone," Hermione said tiredly.

"Figure of speech. Analogical."

"Not analogical," she said.

"Metaphorical?"

"Try an exaggeration," Hermione stated drily.

"You know what I mean. Point is, if Harry would see the light I'd stop annoying him."

"For god's sake, he likes his job!"

"You ever see pictures of Robards through the years? Went full grey within a year of becoming Head. Aged overnight. You want that to happen to Harry?"

Hermione eyed him tiredly. "You must be joking."

"Could've sworn I saw some silver strands on him a few weeks back. Then, next time I noticed, they were all gone. Hermione," he said with utter seriousness, "I think Harry's dying his hair. Hear me out, it gets worse! Before you know it, this job will give him wrinkles before he's thirty. So, really, the only solution is demotion."

"Ron," she said more quietly, "sweetheart, Harry likes his job. He hasn't gone grey. The only person, and I mean the only person, with a problem with this is you. Which I understand, truly. You miss working with Harry. But it's not as though he's left the force."

"You're missing the point," Ron strode on, ignoring Hermione's groan. "Our best friend's in denial, yeah? It's our job to bring him to his senses. Ginny'll be no help, being behind this rubbish—"

"They both agreed on this!"

"—but you and me? He'll listen to us. If not, Plan B's coming along brilliantly."

She took a deep, calming breath (though this wasn't doing the trick). "You're referring to your 'plan' of getting Harry so fed up with being Head Auror that he returns to the field to save his own sanity?"

"Exactly!"

"I mean this with love," Hermione said succinctly, "but you are the absolute worst friend I could possibly imagine."

"Best friend, not friend," Ron corrected. "What's that muggle line? A friend bails you out of gaol, but a best friend made you do the crime."

She blinked at him. "You, you've butchered that phrase! Also, can we go one day without talking about Harry? Just one, for the sake of my sanity."

"Hence, me," he cheerily pointed at himself, ignoring his wife's statement. "Best friend. Partner in crime. Mastermind, even."

"You're trying to drive him mad!" Hermione finally lost it.

"For his own good. Don't leave out the important part," Ron paused. "Or that it's working. I'm proud of that bit."

After 'making up' with Hermione (for an hour or two, give or take), Ron figured that—house arrest or not—he really ought to make sure there were no changes to ongoing cases. He knew the Fawcett case wasn't actually his, but…

So it was that the late afternoon saw him strolling back through auror offices. It wasn't difficult to find Dennis Creevey. The man had forsaken his desk and had instead spread a cascade of papers across the floor, bundled into not-quite-neat piles.

Ron had been a spot nervous that the younger wizard would be holding a grudge, but the redhead's entrance was met with sheer relief. Apparently Terry had made a quick getaway to interview Fawcett's family, leaving Dennis to go through the many, many mounds of financials. For a little help, he was happy to discuss the case.

Still, much to the Senior Auror's disappointment, there wasn't much more to reveal. He wasn't surprised by this, but it was disheartening to learn there still hadn't been a ransom and the family had no criminal ties. Nor did they have much money, or have anything else that would be appealing to would-be kidnappers. The contact list on Fawcett's mirror also hadn't revealed anything. So, until they had more to go on, they had to work on the theory that it was a stranger abduction

Almost as bad, the area Ron had curtained off in Hogsmeade had revealed nothing, nor had the surrounding alleys. The only good bit of news was that they'd verified that Angelina was innocent of everything but a harmless break-in, so there was that.

An hour later (as even for an 'ordinary' family like the Fawcetts, their financials really were that messy to go through), Ron slouched back to his office. Swinging open the door, he must've missed a proximity charm. For barely a minute after he'd slumped into his chair and turned back to the Quidditch poster arguments, quick footsteps followed him in.

There wasn't even time to react before a file slammed onto Ron's desk, held by an unimpressed fist. He merely looked askance at the hand, a few thoughts hitting him at once. First off, only another auror or hit-wizard could barge into his office. Secondly, if they were trying to hurt him he'd have already been hexed. Thirdly? The angrily clenched fist was a very familiar fist.

Ron was vaguely-not-really surprised he could recognise the man just from his hand. It was more disconcerting that shocking, actually. He made a mental note that he was maybe spending too much time with the bloke. It was only after these contemplations that he twisted in his seat to gaze up at the furious man, "You've gotten quiet, mate. Really quiet. How'd you even—"

"You were behind the snidgets?" Harry growled out, his eyes hard and narrowing. If Ron was anyone else he'd be more than a bit terrified of the glare. Frankly, it was pretty impressive. He wondered if the dark-haired man practiced that expression in the mirror. "Seriously? They attacked me in front of the press!"

"Didn't do it. Besides, they hardly 'attached' you. Nibbled, maybe," Ron shrugged, turning to his desk. Harry grabbed his shoulder and twisted him back around. This merely elicited a sigh from the redhead. "Fine, blimey. If you want to be melodramatic, be my guest."

"You're doing this!" Harry hissed, now making no attempt to hide his prickling anger. "Why have you been pranking me?"

"Why do you think I'm behind it?" Ron squinted, wondering why Harry's expression was strangely familiar. He had to repress a snigger as it dawned on him. The balance of furiously narrowed eyes, flared nostrils, and pinched cheeks had absolutely come from his sister. "Don't tell me you connected it with the snitch…which was an accident, obviously. Or no, it was Taylor, wasn't it. Her and her barmy theories. Did you know there's even a bet going around?"

"That's it!" Harry exclaimed. Maybe Ron had been less than successful in hiding his guffaw, because the clench on his shoulder tightened. "Here I was, thinking maybe I should be nice with your new partner. But no, I knew I got off too easy. Ever since Robards retired as Head you've been maddening!"

"Hey now, don't think I'm jealous," Ron tried to stifle his chuckling at the thought that Harry had knowingly or subconsciously borrowed Ginny's 'raging expression'. "You took the promotion. More luck to you, I say. I even turned down your offer of Deputy! Too much bureaucracy for my taste, you know that."

"THAT'S THE POINT!" Harry yelled, not caring who overheard. 'Who' being at least half of the eavesdropping-happy department, what with the door being open and people peering out of their offices. "You're always moaning that I'm mental for taking on more paperwork. Is this some stupid, convoluted way to make me agree with you? Throw lawsuits and snidgets at me until I hightail it back to the field?"

Ron eyed him. "Okay, wow. First off? I have no idea what you're on about and I didn't set any bloody snidgets on you. Secondly, or thirdly: whatever this is, you're really overthinking it."

"Uh huh. Maybe I am overthinking this," Harry stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowing even further. "You've seriously just been taking the mick? You git! Driving your partners away isn't a prank on me!"

This time, Ron couldn't hide his snort. This was all the confirmation Harry needed.

"It's not funny! Stop laughing you—eff it. STUPEFY!"

After a rousing round of 'dodge-the-spells-and-avoid-being-maimed-or-seriously-injured' (while shooting a few of his own at the Head Auror, neither much caring that the duel had entered the hallway and escalated beyond control thanks to missed hexes and a horde of trigger-happy Aurors), Ron felt that was enough work for the day. So he snuck around the ongoing battle (flinging up a table to keep Dmitri's volley at Euan (in retaliation for a poorly aimed bat-boogey from a trainee) from hitting him, then tossing the broken wooden leg at the enraged Harry to keep him from following). Slamming the main door of the Auror offices, he made a quick getaway as the screams echoed behind him. Skidding around a corner, he made a dash for the hit-wizards' offices.

Getting there, he entered and loudly slammed the door shut, leaning against it to catch his breath. The noise caused a series of heads (and not a few wands) to poke out of offices and cubicles.

"Nothing to, to see here," Ron caught his breath, waving his wand dismissively as he did so. Straightening, he sent a paranoid look behind him. "Though, so you know, I'd avoid going to the Auror offices for a bit."

He paused.

"'A bit' meaning a few hours," he admitted, still having the hit-wizards' attentions. "Make that all evening, actually and, you know what? I'll just be hid…ah, in the Director's office for awhile. If a furious Head Auror comes in here, you've never met me yeah?"

He was met with blank stares.

"Right. Good," Ron chuckled nervously, sending another look at the door for good measure. He made a fast pace to Hermione's office, walking hurriedly past any who started to question him. "Nothing to see here. Go back to doing hit-wizarding stuff. Y'know, hitting…criminals? Hopefully not each other. Which would never happen to the Aurors, nope. Course not. Who'd suggest that? Who's hexing each other?"

"Ah, Ron?" Adam Vance, Hermione's secretary, called out as Ron barrelled past his desk. But the latter paid no attention and swept into his wife's office, slamming the door behind him.

"Hi love," Ron said even more nervously as the startled witch stared at him. "So, you're going to hear some stories pretty soon. I want to make it absolutely clear that, no matter what Harry claims, he's the one who destroyed the Auror offices.

Hermione's head merely hit her desk with a groan.

"Yeah," Ron rubbed the back of his neck, vaguely sheepish. He also helped himself to a seat. "I've been getting that reaction a lot these days."

Another memo. Another snitch memo that smacked him in the face.

Then smacked him again. Hermione waved her quill at him in a 'you-had-this-coming' way, wholly unsympathetic.

Ron grabbed the thing before it could strike him a third time, eyeing the folded note. If an origami snitch could snigger, he would swear that this one was. Because of this, the paper was unfolded warily.

He was happy there wasn't a latent jinx or a potion laced on the centre. But as he read Harry's messy handwriting, any relief he'd felt flew out the window.

"Do I want to know?" Hermione asked, properly looking up from her work. While she'd made a panicked check of the auror offices half an hour ago, she'd returned after a few minutes. She'd then sent Ron an incredulous look, saying that he'd better hide out here or Harry might actually murder him. The redhead had happily acquiesced. Until now, with the arrival of an origami snitch message.

Dropping the note in the trash and grabbing his wand, Ron curtly produced a Patronus.

"Harry," Ron addressed the silver terrier tightly, not even calmed by the small animal's yipping. Hermione stared at him. "you're horrible at pranks. Absolute rubbish. Or if this is a bluff, you're rubbish at that too. Or maybe, just maybe, you're being serious. In that case, you've lost your bloody mind. Whatever it is? I've thrown your note in the bin where it belongs. Tell me who my actual new partner is."

He waved the Patronus off with a scowl.

Hermione blinked. Then summoned the note from the bin and read it, only to burst out laughing. She was still in helpless guffaws when a ghostly stag sprinted into her office.

"I'm the one who's lost his mind?" Harry's terse voice rolled out of the stag. The animal itself seemed about ready to kick Ron, and Hermione managed to quiet to hiccoughs in order to listen. "Me? That's it! You wanted to get me angry? Congrats, you bloody well have! So for your 'prize', you get the Fawcett kidnapping and McLaggen. That's right, McLaggen! I wasn't joking. You get an indestructible partner to babysit. The ponce eats doxy eggs for a laugh—whatever you throw at him won't work! You're stuck with Cormac Effing McLaggen! He's not going to quit and he's not going to care what you do to him. He's the one who'll drive you barmy, AND YOU'LL DESERVE EVERY BIT OF IT!"

The stag Patronus gave a final huff of derision. All but smirking at Ron's gobsmacked face, it merrily galloped away.

Hermione's sympathy lasted all of seconds before she burst into another round of giggles.

A/N: I'm imagining Harry gleefully cackling in his office, picturing Ron and McLaggen taking each other out. Which, I mean, of course Harry doesn't want to get his best friend killed via flung beater bat. But, then again, Ron really has been that annoying.