A/N: Holy Potter, I saw the Cursed Child play! I started crying in Act One and was gaping through the rest. Don't listen to the naysayers: this play captures the magic and wonder of the original books, taking a realistic look at the fairy tale. This 8th story is almost better than all of the previous 7 (nope, not joking)! For more of me squeeing about this subject, check out my main profile.

Reason I'm mentioning this here (aside from me being utterly obsessed)? I'm rewriting bits and pieces of this story to eventually insert some Cursed Child plot points. I'LL WARN FOR ANY SPOILERS, DON'T WORRY! Keen readers might spot a few hints coming up here and there, but it's really nothing that could spoil the story.

It was the second of November and Ron could feel dozens of eyes on him. For once, it wasn't from the reporters still swarming the Ministry.

This newest unpleasantness had started when he'd walked into the Auror office early that morning. He was groggy, worried, pissed off, and all too aware he'd only left the office six hours previously. He wouldn't have bothered leaving at all, if not to drag Ginny to the Burrow, check on the kids, arrange 'emergency babysitting', and help his mother drug his sister with a sleeping draught. His mum had then turned traitor and dosed him too. Thankfully, it was a small portion. So after an unplanned cat nap he'd flooed straight back to the Ministry.

Abercrombie was outright staring at him. He held a file and had been talking to a Junior Auror Ron couldn't recall the name of. He knew her, vaguely. Some recruit who'd been writing suggestive comments in her meeting notes. If he wasn't her partial supervisor, he'd have been amused. If he was more awake he'd know her name.

The girl couldn't see the entering redhead and was growing cross as Abercrombie gaped around her. "Euan? Hello? What's so interesting that…" she spun around. Her angry retort dwindled into an awkward stare.

"Why," Ron looked at the stunned two as his last bit of patience crinkled and snapped, "are you gawking at me. Are you bored? Do you have nothing to do today? Is everything so quiet around here you have time to gossip?"

"No I, I um…" Abercrombie stumbled. Though he glanced beseechingly at his companion, she was equally lost.

"Because it's funny, Abercrombie," Ron recalled the woman's name in a flash, "Quirke. I could've sworn a massive security breech was important! But is it boring to you? Not worth your bloody time?"

"No! No no, not at all—"

"Really." Ron knew he was going to regret taking out his anger on them. But he found that, at the moment, he couldn't give a damn. "So you mean that, while the rest of the department's scrambling to find the missing Head Auror, you think it's productive to gawk at me?"

"I, I mean—" it was Quirke's turn to stumble.

"Piss off." Ron stormed past them into the offices. Being exhausted and supremely irritated, he was frankly proud of himself for not having fricasseed the pair of them.

Because of all this, it took him a minute to remember he'd felt more than just Abercrombie's stare on him. It took even longer to talk himself down from laying into the entire eavesdropping and gossip-hungry office.

It was still the second of November and everything seemed quiet. Not 'quiet' quiet. A, 'something-was-going-on-he-didn't-know-about' quiet. McLaggen had been cheerfully chirping about 'American babes' and some of the other Senior Aurors wouldn't meet his eye when they passed in the hallway. Lisa had told him in a low voice that she hadn't agreed and had supported him against the partial house arrest. Dmitri had (rather bluntly) asked if he'd like him to give Susan a little peck. What had put him firmly on edge, however, was overhearing a group of Junior Aurors whispering about how to join, 'Weasley's growing coup'.

"I'm not planning a coup d'état," Ron said instead of knocking, leaning against Susan's door with crossed arms. As she turned in her chair he glanced around her unchanged room. "Not moving into the Head's office?"

Susan frowned up at him. "Of course you aren't planning a coup. But don't try baiting me! I'm only the temporary Head, I already had copies of the case files, and I like my office."

"Okay." He considered her. They'd been friends for ages, but the whispers had been odd. He was saved from answering when she continued.

"Who told you?" A wipe of her brow and a flick back of her hair. She looked stressed. "Hermione, I imagine. I'm sorry. The meeting was early this morning and you weren't here. It wasn't meant to be behind your back."

Ron opened his mouth before closing it, feeling more than ever like he was missing a key point. "I haven't seen Hermione. Lisa and Dmitri were who hinted at something."

Susan's eyes widened before deflating. "Not sure if that makes it better or not. I'm sure she assumed I would tell you—was right peeved when she heard—"

"What's going on?"

A more serious expression crossed her face. "Heard back from the States, they agreed to send over a list of metamorphs. But they made it clear they'll stop being helpful the moment we try to make an arrest on their soil."

Ron's heart soared, forgetting his previous unease. "They're arguing jurisdiction?"

"Partially. If the suspect's on their watch list, they call dibs."

"We can work with that!" He grinned, and did that feel wonderful. "I don't care I missed the meeting, that's fantastic! Who's heading to the States with me?" Her look hardened. "Yeah yeah, I'm jumping the wand. But we'll have a list of suspects. It's only a matter of time before we narrow it down and go after Lovett!"

"I agree," there was a hint of apology. "But when that happens, you aren't going to be the one who travels to the US."

Ron's heart sunk back down. "Excuse me?"

"You're too close to this case," Susan said. "Under any other circumstances I'd be asking you to step down from the Sweeney spree altogether! But I understand. It'd be hard to find someone in this department not personally involved—even setting aside Hermione's impossible position. But you aren't going to the States."

"Oh sure, grand idea," Ron said sarcastically, Lisa's earlier comment making sense. "Put me on house arrest, the bloke who knows all about this spree. Who's going instead?" There was a tense pause. It clicked and his mouth fell open. "No. No, you can't be serious."

"He's one of the few qualified Aurors who isn't personally close to Harry. He's also spent time in California and worked the Sweeney cases with you—"

"McLaggen? With all due respect, are you insane? He's an incompetent prick who doesn't do his job!"

"Versus the wizard who has scared off six partners, flaunts breaking Ministry rules, ran a passive aggressive campaign to have Harry demoted, basically blackmailed said Head Auror, was partially responsible for the rumour of people being baked into pies, and who has turned up no substantial leads in the Sweeney spree? Not to mention the gossip that this behaviour has been glossed over because of your wife and brother-in-law?"

A blanket of silence followed Susan's terse summary. After a minute she sighed.

"I'm being harsh and unfair, but you must see my point," she near pleaded with him. "This department's a mess and the last thing we need is more controversy. Right now, you're a time-bomb. It's only a matter of when the reporters will switch from canvassing the Ministry to stalking your family, and you're one of the most likely to explode! In this case, distance is good. Step back for a while."

Another tension thickened the air.

Susan softened further. "This isn't a punishment. You'll still be working the cases: both Harry's and the Sweeney spree. But you need to be out of sight right now, away from the limelight." She gave a forced smile. "I'm jealous, really. These press conferences are fraying my nerves. Not that everything else isn't, but…listen. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Ron stared at her for a final, long moment. "Fine. Fine, I get it. I've been an immature prat and went too far, so now I'm paying the price. But let me go with McLaggen, it's not like reporters will be there. He can take the lead, I don't care."

"Ron, I—"

"Sue! This is Harry we're talking about. I have to go!"

"It's not like we'll actually find Harry there! This is a hypothetical trip and a hypothetical suspect, that's it. For all we know nothing will come of the US lead."

"Sue…"

"We'll talk about this later, okay? I'm swamped with work."

This morning was a blurry awakening. He wasn't sure, at first, why he'd woken so early. Or why the dawn's light over his squinting eyes was harsh. Or why his head felt heavy.

Then he reached over, felt the empty pillow, and everything came rushing back. Hermione was at the Ministry. Rose was at his mum's (she'd insisted, seeing his bedraggled state). The Potters might still be trapped at the Burrow…no, not 'the' Potters. Ginny and her kids. Harry was—

"Bloody hell," Ron sat up with a groan, bending his head over and scrubbing his hair. He was in his clothes from the night (morning?) before. It was disorienting not knowing for sure how long it had been since the gala. He blamed his tiredness. It was, what, the third of November? Maybe the fourth. Certainly not the fifth, someone would have mentioned something about fireworks.

He discarded that thought as quickly as it came, because of course no one would be on about Guy Fawkes Day with everything else. Still, maybe it was the fifth? Then Ginny would be back at her home by now. He was sure, though, that Rose was with his parents. With Hermione and he stuck at the Ministry, they'd been wonderful and had insisted she stay with them.

Ron rummaged his thoughts, trying to think of absolutely anything but the nundo in the room. If it was the fifth, they were supposed to go to the Grangers for the bonfire. Damn, had they cancelled? Maybe Hermione had. Did Jean and William know what had happened? Not if Hermione hadn't called them yet. They ought to tell them. If things continued like this it'd be a godsend to drop off Rose at another set of grandparents…and wow did that make him feel like a rubbish parent. But Rose loved her Nana and Papa, and his in-laws adored spoiling their only grandchild.

It'd make for an awkward conversation, though. The Grangers knew Harry and liked him, but they weren't close. Worse yet, his in-laws were already wary about the magical world. Ron knew Hermione had been glossing over the Sweenies and Rippers with them, what with her pregnancy. So to hear about this?

"No, nope!" Ron muttered, finally used to the morning's light. "Not thinking about that. Five minutes of peace, is that too much to ask?"

Another face scrub: he would kill for a shower. Or more sleep. Or something to eat. Or an off-switch for his thoughts. It was little consolation that he could take care of two of those.

By the time Ron had gotten downstairs (showered, fresh clothes, and yawning wide enough to crack his jaw) he'd decided that the need for a hot breakfast outweighed his tiredness. The Daily Prophet on the window sill was dutifully ignored as he started making scrambled eggs.

He needed to be back at the Ministry soon, that much was clear. Hermione had said she didn't want to see him in the MLE until at least noon, but that was nonsense. Sooner he got back, the sooner she could justify taking a break herself to see Rose and get some much needed sleep. After breakfast he'd go to straight back—that is, first to the Burrow, wrap his daughter in a hug, and apologise to his parents for the chaos.

"Not like they'll take an apology," Ron scoffed to himself, sliding the cooked eggs onto a plate. "Mum'll be crying and baking up a storm, and dad surely has tonnes of the grandkids over to distract her. Rosie's surely having a ball, learning about rubber ducks or whatnot."

Trying to convince himself of such, fork and full plate was deposited on the table. After a moment's hesitation he went over and opened the window, grabbing the newspaper with distaste. Even without seeing the headline, he knew full well what they'd be reporting. As much as he hated it, he ought to see if they were conveying facts or fear-mongering.

But…why should he? He was in a bad enough mood, no need to sour it further. If there was anything crucial he'd hear about it at the Ministry. Nodding to himself, he tucked into his breakfast with far less gusto than usual.

"The States sent over thirty-five names," Hermione got straight to the point, sliding the packet across the table to Ron. They were in her office, a tower of papers on her desk and a pillow on the couch in the corner he didn't mention. They were good at this, this, 'let's-mix-personal-and-business-until-we-tumble-over-in-confusion' thing. It worked better when she wasn't ignoring that she was pregnant or he wasn't ignoring her hints to let off about her taking a break. It also worked mounds better when they weren't stressed: at times like this, either personal or business was shoved out the window. As Harry was missing, there was never any doubt which would go. "Twenty women. Of those, fifteen would be physically able to get around. The others are too young or old."

He took the file, turning away from the pillow and swallowing a question about her sleep. "Anyone suspicious?"

"One name popped out: Serena Rowle, a former potions professor at Cascadia Academy. Recognise her last name? Her parents were from the UK and only immigrated in 1981."

"Plenty of people were leaving then," Ron pointed out, shifting through the pages. "Everyone thought it was the peak of the war."

"November 1981." Hermione nodded when Ron's head jerked up. She looked more awake than she had a minute ago. "The moment Voldemort was gone this branch of the Rowles packed up and left. They're an old pureblood, dark-aligned family. If they weren't Death Eaters, they at least sympathised with the cause. Truly nasty history of muggle-baiting." Her look turned stormier, glaring at the folder. "This family is the reason why muggles think witches and wizards turn people into frogs. They made a game of it from the Medieval Ages on, doing transformations on playing children and keeping them as pets. Some even think they originated eating frog legs! It makes me absolutely sick. It was well-known back then that they did this, but nobody cared!"

Setting aside this highly unpleasant history, he found the page he'd been looking for and changed the topic. "Rowle was fired from her post a year ago? I don't see any addresses after that one in Seattle. She went underground, then. Has she used her passport?"

Hermione had calmed down, though she still seemed ready to throttle any passing Rowles. "No activity on her passport, but there are plenty of alternative routes in and out of a country."

"Anything more than circumstantial evidence or, err, family history against her?"

"She's virtually an unknown. Hasn't rung any alarms in the US, apart from allegations about her illegally selling potions—which led to her firing. We'll need to send someone over." Hermione hesitated. "I overruled Susan. You'll be heading to the States with McLaggen."

Ron sent her a startled look. Because, sure, they sometimes mixed business and personal stuff. But that was usually just a snog in the office. This? "Hermione…"

"It'd be a mistake not to send the two people most well-versed in this spree out. An American representative will meet you and—"

"Hermione! Hold on a mo." Ron waved a hand, taking this in. "You can't go and pull strings for me. Yeah, I don't like Susan's decision. But she has a point. I've been irresponsible lately and…" a swallow, "and I'm really close to this case."

"McLaggen's a clown," Hermione pressed. "Having him romping around the US unsupervised is begging for an international incident."

"Are you feeling alright? In what sort of universe would I be a good supervisor?"

"You're a wonderful Auror when you're serious about it! There's no one I trust more to find Harry."

"Not helping your case against nepotism, dear."

"For heaven's sake, you can't think it's a good idea to only send McLaggen?"

"Course not. But Susan's right, it shouldn't be me. Talk to her and come up with a second name."

Hermione gave him a long stare, her expression growing more drawn. "You must know this isn't your fault."

"Not to be rude, but I have mounds of casework." Ron got up, ignoring her beseeching look. "See you at home. At work. Whatever."

As he strode out the door his mind wasn't on the conversation, but on her standing in protest as he left. She was really showing. They still didn't know the gender, the nursery wasn't set up, they hadn't seriously discussed names…and he was increasingly feeling like he was ignoring his daughter.

"Damn it," Ron mumbled a curse, glancing back at Hermione's now closed door. He wavered before continuing on to his own office. Now wasn't the time for a confrontation, she was only more stubborn when stressed and tired. But he could do something about Rose.

Fireworks lit the London skyline, muffled cheers resounded through the streets, and Ron had bundled up his daughter in blankets and warming charms before coming out to the roof. She was clapping and giggling at the sight, waggling her hands at the bursts of colour. He hadn't thought he'd be happy that Susan had restricted him from going to the States. But right now, while McLaggen and Dmitri were on the other side of the Atlantic (surely recovering from the international portkey), he was feeling calmer than he had all week.

Not entirely calm. Hermione was stuck at the Ministry, Harry was missing, and Ginny was insane. But he had his daughter back in his arms. He was clutching Rose tighter than he usually did, hoping she didn't notice. "Rose?"

"Yeah?" she twisted around to blink at him, woven hair bouncing.

"I'm sorry I've been gone lately. But you do know I really, really want to spend time with you? That I always want to be with you?"

Rose gave a giggling snort, turning back to the fireworks. She looked near identical to Hermione when she was scoffing about a silly thing he'd said. He took heart in this, though it made him miss both of them.

"Well, that's good." Ron snuggled her to his chest, facing the night sky. "Wouldn't want my Rosie Posie being lonely."

"No' a Posie," Rose mumbled, thumb in mouth.

"You're right. You're my Posie!" he chuckled at her protest. "You are having fun at the Burrow, right?"

"Yeah." Attention was back on the corkscrew fireworks.

"Err, have you heard anything odd?"

"Freddy an' Roxie turned forks an' tings to goop," Rose said absently, following the lights in the dark. "Gran wasn' mad at all! All us 'ere laughin', 'cept Jamie an' Teddy."

"Oh? What did they do?"

It was a moment before she answered. "Dey been weird. Saw dem talkin' yeste-tester-"

"Yesterday?"

"Yeah! Well, Teddy said somet'ing 'bout Unca George's funny ears—"

Ron swallowed. "Extendable Ears?"

"Ye'h. Told Jamie bunch o' stuff, didn' hear. But Jamie was really quiet after. Really weird."

"Uh huh," he let out a low exhale, composing an urgent Patronus message in his head. "Did he talk to his mum after that?"

"Nah. Bu' Auntie Ginny also been quiet."

"I'm sure she has been." Ron took some relief from this. Teddy and Jamie likely knew what had happened, but if they hadn't confronted Ginny yet he had time to avert an explosion. There'd been talk amongst the adults about what to tell the kids and when to do it—he needed to sound the alarm and push up the time scale. It was one thing for parents to explain a serious topic to children. It was another for young kids to spread rumours back and forth, working themselves into a frenzy.

'Sweet Merlin,' he gave a silent groan. 'Even at home I have to avert hysteria.'

Ron's gaze flickered to a lull in the fireworks. "You're right, that sounds odd. Do you mind if I tell your mum about this and ask Ginny?"

"'s fine," she mumbled, stare having returned to the shining colours. "Where mummy?"

"I told you, sweetie. Remember?" Ron adjusted the woollen blanket around his daughter. "She's at the Ministry. There was a grumpy man who didn't want to help us with something. But your mum's brilliant and turned him around."

"'ow?"

'By terrifying him at the thought of Harry being controlled,' he smirked at his wife's ruthless genius. 'One mention of Dark Lord Potter…'

Ron shook himself out of these (admittedly macabre) thoughts. "She made him see reason. The bloke sent over the information she wanted, so now she's acting on it. She misses you tonnes and really wanted to be here. Tonnes and tonnes and tonnes!" He emphasised each with a kiss to her braided hair.

Rose giggled, squirming. "Yeah. 'kay."

He was going to say more, until he saw Rose wasn't paying him much mind. He couldn't hope to compete with fireworks ringing across the moon and stars, brightening the city below. It looked beautiful. He'd forgotten that, almost. London had been so ghastly lately. Before Halloween, he'd even given a thought or two about talking to Hermione about moving.

Maybe being an Auror wasn't for him. He hated he could only see the nasty stuff these days. When had they last been to South Bank? Or Leicester Square? When Rose was a baby Hermione had loved strolling her around the British Museum, pointing out the statues and artefacts…and suppressing a laugh as Ron kept up a running commentary on the 'alternative' (and rather lewd) histories. When had they last been there? Ages, surely. Or the zoo? He remembered taking Rose there. But it must have been years ago, because it was soon after she and Jamie had been born: Harry had been snorting at Ron's joking attempt at parseltongue and they'd both had prams. He'd only stopped hissing when Ginny and Hermione had come into the Reptile House with ice creams and his sister had paled at the sound.

Maybe there was a reason they hadn't been to London Zoo in eons. But there were other places, loads of them. When was the last time they'd just looked out at the city? Wandered about, gotten lost? Found a nice park and set up camp for the afternoon as the kids played?

Earlier, Ron had been miffed to step back from the crime spree. He wasn't sure what he thought now. Hugging Rose close, his wondered how to tell his family they needed to discuss the news with their children. Pushed to the side was what he'd actually tell Rose. He hoped Hermione had some idea.

"'member, 'member!"

"What, Posie?"

Rose turned to him, making a face at the name. But the grin was quick to return. "Fi'th of No'ember!"

"Oh. Right." The 'Gunpowder treason and plot', lest it ever be forgot. It was a barmy excuse for a holiday, he thought. Making Guy Fawkes a folk hero for trying to blow up Parliament? Yeah, 'Remember Remember'.

"Only deliver this when they're alone," Ron whispered to his Patronus before raising his voice (not too much: Rose had collapsed in the next room, a smile on her face and a kiss on her forehead). "Ginny, Andromeda? I'm pretty sure Teddy knows about Harry and that he's told Jamie. Don't know if they've confronted you yet, but you need to explain things to them. I'd wake them up if I were you. Doubt they're getting much sleep."

An owl from Dean and Seamus. They were worried, they offered any help they could, they asked about Hermione, Rose, Ginny, and the pregnancies. There wasn't a single crude joke. Either Dean had written the letter, or even Seamus was acting sober. Neville had written the day before with almost the same words. Except he'd mentioned that he and Hannah had tried (and failed) to floo—no one had been home. He was completely understanding about it, merely asked if there was anything he could do.

When had Ron last seen any of them? He'd almost forgotten about poker nights, or the excuses he'd been making to get out of them. He'd gotten wrapped up in the Sweenies long before Halloween. They'd had a dinner party with the Longbottoms, he thought. But that'd been…what, late summer? Same with the Scamanders. With a sense of dread, he hit his fireplace with a spell to list missed floos:

Neville and Hannah multiple times, yes. But Luna and Rolf too. Luna quite a lot. Padma had a number of tries as well, as did Lavender (Ron blinked at this). Lee. Dean. Seamus (at odd hours of the morning—Ron guessed the Irishman had been more than a bit tipsy). All of his siblings (by blood and marriage). His parents. No friends from work (why would they? They'd all been living at the Ministry lately). Assorted other friends, other acquaintances, some parents of Rose's friends…no reporters or random fans/enemies, though, as their floo was highly private. He was a tinge surprised so many could access it. He thought they'd revealed the address to fewer people.

Ron should answer him back. He knew that. He would, once he knew what to say. No…he would as soon as he could stand seeing their sympathetic glances and hearing empty platitudes. He got enough of that at work already, thanks.

He sunk onto the living room couch, dropping his wand on the side-table and his head on the cushion. The sandwich the letter had distracted him from was only remembered ten minutes later.

It was the 6th of November and Ron was feeling guilty. He took a minute at lunch to floo to Hogsmeade, coming back and dropping Honeydukes' Best Chocolates on Euan Abercrombie's and Orla Quirke's desks. Neither of them were in, something he was glad about.

This contentment crashed and burned when the office grapevine (Creevey, Ron was sure. It was always Creevey) let Abercrombie and Quirke know who was behind the treats. That it was an apology was obvious, that it was readily accepted was even more so. Because Ron suddenly found himself with two chatting, beaming shadows. He only kept from shouting at them by the reminder of what had gotten him into this mess, as well as the fact that most of the other Aurors seemed to be avoiding him these days.

Also, Quirke turned out to be hilarious. Rather obsessed with match-making the office (marriages be damned, apparently), but her sketch of terrifying pies devouring a caricatured Sweeney Todd made him laugh for the first time all week.

He'd missed her grin at his reaction as she shared a self-satisfied look with Abercrombie.

"Sweetie?"

Rose looked up from her doll, giving her dad a big grin. Ron tried to smile back.

"Rosie," he said, tasting the words. He was already regretting this. He wished he was, at least, having this talk with Hermione by his side. But she'd been crying so much… "I have some bad news."

The little girl blinked up at him, head tilted. She looked so much like her inquisitive mother. Ron swallowed, picking her up (as well as her doll) and putting her in his lap. "You know how mummy and I have been busy lately? Well, we've been trying to find bad guys. One of them…you see…"

'This was a horrible idea,' he berated himself, looking at Rose's innocent face.

"You see," he started again, fumbling to make sense, "the bad guys, they've been taking people away. A lot of people—but you shouldn't be scared! That's not what I mean, because of course you're safe and sound. I don't mean to worry you or anything and you'll be just fine, I'll make sure of it!"

"Daddy?"

Ron hesitated. He was suddenly glad Hermione wasn't hearing the mess he was making of this. "You know how we tell you not to wander off with strangers? It's sort of like that."

"Daddddddyyy," Rosie groaned, attention back on her doll, "wanna play! Won' take 'andy from people, an' if dey grab me I scream, take wand, kick 'em an' run. Run run run. An' keep screaming. I know, daddy!"

A low chuckle escaped him. He knew he was overprotective, but he was still proud. "That's right, you should do exactly that. But listen, look at me a minute. The people who've been taken? One of them," whatever bare humour he'd felt had fallen away, "one of them is your Uncle Harry."

While Rose's gaze had turned back to him she was frowning, tongue stuck between her teeth.

"He's probably fine!" Ron said quickly, not taking the time to think if he'd regret saying this. "Mummy and I and, and everyone is looking for him. But your godfather might not be around for awhile. Your mum and Aunt Ginny are really sad, okay? So if you see them…err, upset, that's why." He let out a slow breath, glad he was almost done with this. "If you want to talk, I'm always here. Okay Rosie? About anything, of course, but especially with this."

He drifted off, remembering exactly how young his daughter was. Which he knew, obviously. But Rose was so much like Hermione, so smart and able to grasp concepts far beyond her age. Still, this was surely pushing it. Maybe he should have said something else?

Rose's frown had lightened, doll long forgotten. "Unca 'arry gone?"

"Yes, I'm so sorry." Ron hated this entire conversation. "Your cousins are also being told about this. I, I know Harry's always over, but your godmum's still here! Though we might not want to bother Ginny for a few days—"

"Unca 'arry?" Rose repeated before grinning. Ron watched her worriedly, not at all sure what to do. "Yay yay YAY! Unca 'arry'll have new stories! Think 'e'll see 'nother dragon? Jamie keeps sayin' he wants 'nother dragon story, but Unca 'arry says he has enough an'—SO COOL!" she clapped her hands, unaware of her dad's shock. "When'll he be back? OOO, OR SNORKACKS! Auntie Luna says they hiding, but Unca 'arry'll find 'em! That where he gone?"

"Oh. Um." Ron inwardly cursed, knowing he should have had this conversation with Hermione present. "Rose, Rose? I know you're excited but—sweetie, your Uncle Harry isn't on an adventure. It's more dangerous. He didn't want to leave, he was taken by the bad guys. Stolen."

"But he be back." Rose nodded firmly, all of this clear-cut to her.

"I, I really hope so, but it…" Ron looked up at the ceiling, taking in a slow inhale. "Yeah. Yeah, of course he will be."

Hermione would kill him when she heard about this.

There was still the, 'they're-hiding-things-from-me' feeling at work. Ron was sure he could bother Hermione for any details he was missing, but couldn't bring himself to. Also, he was pretty sure he wasn't actually missing anything.

Lisa mumbled a constant stream of news over lunch, telling him the raids were still resulting in dead-ends and the hit-wizards were about to drop the whole operation. Dmitri sent him hurried Patronuses from the States, saying that he knew of Susan's black-out over him but didn't care, that they were at Cascadia ("On top of an actual mountain, can you believe? If Rainier wasn't so cold, I'd be thrilled!"), that Rowle's reputation made Snape look like a saint, and that she was fired because of her remarks against muggleborns as well as her illegal selling of potions. McLaggen even sent a Patronus or two, waxing poetic about Rowle's noted transfiguration…prowess ("She's a metamorph known for transfiguring her ribs into putty. She's my perfect woman and she's a terrorist! I've always loved me a bad girl. Now all I've got to do is find the naughty bird").

Other Aurors and Junior Aurors (Quirke and Abercrombie in particular) beamed as they showed Ron whatever information they'd 'uncovered'. Normally, he'd be touched. But he only felt uneasy. It was almost like there was a clandestine network that all reported to him, though he hadn't done anything. He probably knew as much about the unfolding case as Susan, even though she'd been tight-lipped around him. She was exhausted these days, returning from every press conference green in the face and racing straight to the loo. Sometimes she forgot the silencing charm. He had a few quiet words with the rest, but the news kept coming.

Soon his irritation boiled over in a spectacular rant in the break room.

"Veritaserum? You're protesting Veritaserum?" Ron tossed up his arms, voice harsh as Lisa blinked at him. The relatively crowded room looked around. "There were multiple, massive security breaches! Of course they're thinking about questioning us! They'd be mad not to. Really, it should've happened sooner. Stop ranting about Bones for her good decisions!"

"But I, I thought…you and her…" Lisa trailed off.

"She isn't dosing the bloody coffee with truth serum!" Ron was sick and tired of this. He glared around the room, addressing all of them. "I'm not mad at Bo—at Susan, alright? If any of you are angry on my behalf, or have some inane idea that I want to be leader, get off your high horse! I messed up and now I'm on a short leash, end of story." He chuckled darkly, turning back to a startled Lisa. "Or have you forgotten that no Auror wanted to partner with me, too afraid of what I'd do to them? Stop the spy network and focus on solving the spree!"

With that, he'd stormed out of the room—leaving his sandwich, a gaping Lisa, and a crowd of considering Aurors.

The hints to him about the Sweenies dwindled somewhat after that, though it was clear they couldn't find Rowle in the US and that the lead was drying up. Even without working on the spree, Ron was massively busy. On top of his usual mound of cases to get to, handling the heckling reporters and his whispering family was harder than ever. On the other hand, he hadn't realised how much time he usually spent chatting to his best mate. So—while he had no time—there were free periods where he found himself listless. Needing to do something.

It was during one of these times that Ron recalled a thing. A minor-ish thing that wasn't so minor, a thing he didn't remember anyone mentioning. Taking off for a long lunch, he found the address and a designated Ministry apparation point, then popped! to Scotland.

Ron had never been here. Harry had mentioned it in passing, but it was another thing to stand outside the door. He wondered why he had impulsively left rather than sending an owl or a muggle letter. Or why he was doing any of this at all, considering Ginny should probably be the one to contact them. Maybe she already had. He hadn't asked.

But Ginny was acting bonkers and no one else likely knew if they'd been told. So here he was, knocking on a door. As he waited he glanced around, thinking about the last time he'd been in Edinburgh. Cho Chang's and Roger Davies' house was very different from this small flat, which was tall and cozy, stuck between a flower shop and a pub. There were swirly finger paint drawings in one window and a batch of blooming daffodils in the other. A scent of something baking wafted out, though it could as easily be chocolate chip cookies as a roast beef.

Hurried footsteps came from inside but Ron's doubts were pooling, his gaze stuck on the taped pages on the window. Just when he'd decided that all of this was a horrible idea, the door was being swung open by a mildly smiling woman. Baby in hand, the petite brunette looked at him without recognition.

"Hello?" she said pleasantly, adjusting her daughter.

"Hi, Renée?" Ron asked. "You probably don't remember me. Ron Weasley? We met in passing at the Potters? You talked to my wife, Hermione—"

"About the uni system! Of course, at Jamie's birthday. Lovely Shakespearean name, liked her from the start. Then all you Weasleys from Arthurian legend!" Renée's smile was now a genuine one, lighting up her features. She swept back from the door. "Look at me, rattling off about names. Come in, come in! I've been meaning to call her again for ages. How are you?"

"Ah, okay." Ron's half-hearted grin fell at her cheerful words. As he followed her in his hesitation grew. "I don't suppose you've heard from anyone in the wizarding world lately?"

"No, should I have? Lord knows my relatives swear up and down they've never even met a squib," Renée called over her shoulder as they walked to the kitchen. She waved at a chair with her free hand. "Sit, sit! Tea? Then you certainly know how busy the Potters can get. Us as well, to be fair. Our schedules never seem to match up! I'd be busy with classes, Dudley with the pub, Ginny with a deadline, or Harry running after some new madness. Can't even bring myself to go to London these days, knowing all the ruckus behind the scenes. I—" she paused, realising Ron hadn't answered her about the tea. Turning and seeing his downcast expression her easy smile fell away. "Oh no. You look like you're here about something bad. Now that I think about it, that you're here isn't a good sign. No offence, but it's rather odd. It—oh god! Ginny's pregnancy? Her baby? I know she's not due yet!"

"Ginny's fi…" Ron hesitated, "it, it has nothing to do with her baby. Sorry, is your husband here? I need to tell him too."

The silver bat cascaded around Ron's head, cawing madly as it flew in excited circles. He'd never seen a Patronus as similar to its creator as Dmitri's. He also found himself missing Pig with a sudden pang.

Only after the bat had finally settled down to perch on his shoulder did it release the message: "Weasley, we have another tie between a victim and suspect! Rowle was fired for brewing illegal potions and selling them on the black market. Guess who one of her international clientele was? That's right, Roger Davies! We're assuming. Rowle left behind a ledger with a friend which showed that a British customer, 'RD', owed her two thousand galleons—you heard me—for a cutting-edge, experimental doping potion. Enough for a Quidditch team. I'd bet someone came to collect the debt."

Ron wasn't really supposed to be here. As far as Bones knew, he was working on the robbery up in Manchester. But so what if he waited a few hours to submit the report that the jewel thieves had been found and were cooling their heels in the county gaol? So what if he'd badgered Creevey into also waiting to file his report, before deciding to go on a leisurely stroll by the witness rooms?

While there, it wouldn't be that strange if his attention was caught by a gently crying woman waiting in a seat. Then, obviously, it was only natural to comfort her.

"Hi," Ron started before quickly waving as the witch caught his eye and began to stand. "No no! Keep sitting, it's fine. I'm not here to, err—"

"Interrogate me?" Cho said duly, eyes moving back down to her lap.

"The word I was going for was 'question', but sure. I saw you crying and, well," Ron scratched the nape of his neck, "my Gryffindor senses started tingling. Does that for crying woman. Also for crying men. Or cute puppies, crying or otherwise. Or kneazles, actually. More of a cat person these days."

Gaze slowly moved back up, staring at him in confusion.

"What I mean," he backtracked, "is I'm no longer on your case. But I'm sorry about everything with Davies and, wouldn't you know it, thought I'd come over and see what the problem was. I really don't like crying women, you see." He paused. "Err, things that make women cry."

Cho kept staring. Then she gave a muffled chuckle/hiccough and ran a hand over her puffy eyes. "You're as bad as Harry. Anyone ever told you that?"

"You take that back!" But Ron grinned. "So, sitting. Can I sit?"

She shrugged, sweeping a hand over the neighbour seat as he took it (casting a glance around for any watching or suspicious coworkers). "Normally I'd be opposed for you just being a kneazle person alone. But I'm supposed to believe you don't know why I'm here?"

"I'm person non grata around here these days," Ron had to force nonchalance into his voice, discarding the silliness about kneazles. "Something about making the Head Auror life's hell and not noticing until too late that he'd vanished. A big, nasty red mark on my records."

Cho's expression lightened a pinch. Enough that her suspicion slightly appeased. "I'm a suspect."

"Ah."

"Not for Rogie's kidnapping." Her head ducked back down. "They, they had all these papers about the Falcons. That oaf, McLaggen? Was shouting at me for helping dose the Quidditch players. But I didn't! Nothing like that happened! The Falcons are talented, that's it! Rogie would never do that!"

Remembering old conversations with Ginny, Ron doubted as much about the team. But these were real tears, and what had McLaggen been doing? "Aurors, we…in questioning, we come down hard on everybody. Doesn't mean you're a main suspect. They let you sit out here by yourself, hmm? We don't let hardened criminals waltz out the front door. That's a good sign."

Cho's arms were circled around her. "The other one, Turpin, she got angry at McLaggen and sent me out here. But she was serious about this too. She thinks Rogie did something."

"Oi, Weasley! Had an interesting interview today. Rowle didn't have many visitors, though an older British uncle and young niece visited at times. The coworker only remembered because the niece was tiny and bouncing everywhere, listening at doorknobs and the like. Thing is, Rowle doesn't have an uncle or a niece. Her parents were only children. Hope the weather's better in Britain: it's snow, snow, snow up here on Mt. Rainier. McLaggen's been complaining non-stop that we should've gone to sunny California!"

Another morning. Hermione was also in bed, this time, though she hurtled out of it to throw up in the bathroom. Ron dazedly followed. Holding back her hair he worried about her being sick so near the end of the pregnancy. Morning sickness hadn't bothered her for ages. Maybe it was the stress of the growing baby?

Then Bones had called her, Hermione had hurriedly swept back into the bedroom for clothes, and Ron had another guess for the cause of the stress.

"I'm needed there now!" she'd said when Ron had protested.

"It isn't an emergency," he'd argued right back. "You can have breakfast first! You're running yourself ragged, can't you see?"

"Things are a mess right now! Susan—"

"To hell with Bones!" Ron had shouted back, and he wasn't proud of that, but he was sick of everything and if she wanted an argument they would bloody well have an argument. "You're pregnant! Have you forgotten? Because I honestly think you have, seeing as how you should be on leave! Not running about at all hours."

Hermione's face grew hot and red, her blouse half-buttoned, her tone lethal. "Are you joking? I can't do my job because I'm pregnant?"

His words were gritted. "That's not what I meant. It's the break of dawn, you're sick, we're having a baby in—in weeks!—and you go racing whenever Bones can't do her job?"

"Susan's doing fine!" she was more exasperated than angry, finishing buttoning her shirt. "I get more frantic calls from Kingsley than her, anyway, and besides? If you have a problem with her, you shouldn't have protested me stepping in about the States!"

"That isn't what…" Ron trailed off, seeing that Hermione was picking up her purse and was going to leave one way or another. "A bite of breakfast, that's all. The new crisis can surely wait ten minutes."

"It's fine," she said tightly, walking out to the hallway. "Is it alright if I drop off Rose at my parents? I'll grab food for her as I leave."

Hermione shut the door before Ron could answer.

After a long shower, Ron was having breakfast himself. He noted the ingredients for porridge on the counter and hoped Hermione as well as Rose had eaten. She'd left the Daily Prophet rolled up on the table, untouched. She surely hadn't the stomach for it.

He started to eat, gaze drifting to the curled paper. He didn't want to look at it. He didn't want to think about what the headline would surely be. But it was staring at him and staring back was better than glancing at the empty seats. He wondered if the newspaper had a compulsion reading charm on it? Would explain some of the Prophet's sales. Also (if he was being honest) he was annoyed enough to take a savage joy in doing something that Hermione hadn't the heart to.

With an all-mighty sigh Ron gave into the inevitable, untying the knot around the paper and laying out the headlining article. Then he stared.

And stared.

The front page was occupied by four things: the gold tinged Daily Prophet moniker, today's date, a huge headline, and an even larger, moving photo. The image was of Harry, holding Barker at knifepoint before being knocked unconscious. Then Lovett, gripping his face as she shifted into an identical copy. The imposter smirked down at the limp Head Auror.

"Hell no," Ron murmured, not able to look away as the image repeated itself. "No. No no no no no. This is bad, this is really bad…" he grappled for his two-way mirror, speaking into it as he continued staring at the newspaper. "Hermione. HERMIONE!"

"Ron?" Hermione sounded even more tired. "Before you say anything, I'm sorry. It was barely dawn and I was half-asleep, but I shouldn't have snapped—"

"Today's Daily Prophet, have you seen it!" Lovett was pinching Harry's face, turning it this way and that.

"Not yet?" A short pause. "Adam's getting it. I'm assuming it's hysteria concerning the Sweenies?"

"Hermione," Ron said with barely restrained calm, resisting shouting a stream of curses, "do you know what's on the front page? Because I'm looking at it. It's the exact footage FROM THE PENSIEVE OF LOVETT AND BARKER KIDNAPPING HARRY!"

So the attempt to reign in his anger didn't work. He felt it was more than justified. There was a long silence from the other end. "Are you honestly telling me that—"

"MLE has a mole," he said in a rush, "someone sold the footage to the paper! I don't dare read the article, but I'm sure the whole case has been leaked. I'll be in soon!"

The call was abruptly ended, mirror flung to the table (just missing the eggs as it flew). Ron glared down at the photo and blazing headline. Even with everything else, he was pissed off that the attempts to keep public panic to a minimum had just blown up. With a blaring headline of, 'HARRY POTTER IS DEAD!', he didn't see how this could end in anything but hysteria.

Another thought occurred to Ron and he swore, ricocheting up from the table and hitting his knee in the process. Wincing, he raced from the house.

"I'm coming! I'M COMING!" Ginny's irate voice echoed over the bell's sharp chimes. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS? IF YOU'RE A REPORTER, YOU'D BETTER START RUNNING!"

"LIKE A REPORTER COULD GET IN," Ron shouted through the closed front door, impatient and a bit fearful. "HURRY UP ALREADY—oh, hey," he lowered his voice when he noticed he'd continued shouting at the now open door and Ginny's unimpressed face. "About time!"

"Hello to you too," Ginny rolled her eyes as Ron rushed past her, making a beeline for her kitchen. "Humph, pounding on the door like that at the crack of dawn. You're lucky I was already up, and are so lucky you didn't wake my kids."

"Yeah yeah, hi, whatever." Ron had come to a sliding stop in her kitchen, looking at the empty window sill with a frown. "Say Ginny, do you know where—"

"—the Daily Prophet is?" her answer made him jerk around. His sister had followed behind him and was gesturing at the open newspaper on her table. "Why yes, I do. Also yes, I've read it. You were half an hour too late to destroy the paper before I saw it."

Ron stared at her, sympathy and bewilderment battling. Because his first instinct was to sweep his traumatised sister into a fierce hug and assure her that the Prophet was full of it. But Ginny, now that he looked at her properly, seemed fine. Peaky and tired…but she was already dressed, was wearing make-up, and didn't look all that upset. She was smiling at him with a hint of a smirk. "Uh, what?"

"You thought I'd take that rubbish seriously?" Ginny scoffed, hand waving dismissively at the article bellowing her husband's assumed death. "The same paper that's convinced I've been dosing Harry with love potions and that we're on the verge of a divorce? I swear, I have no idea why I'm still working for them. Bloody contract."

She had a point. But it wasn't the reaction to the newspaper he was suddenly concerned about. "Hey, if I can help with anything…or if you need someone to listen…"

"Not you too!" she exclaimed, arms crossing around her belly bump. "The hugs are bad enough. Mum I understand, but even Percy was trying to be 'emotionally considerate'. Percy! Can you imagine? So let me reassure you that I'm perfectly fine. I'm not in shock, I don't need help, and I'm not terrified. I panicked when it first happened, but you know what? After a night's rest I remembered something very important."

"Which is?" Ron asked hesitantly.

"It's Harry!" Ginny huffed, her sigh fond. "He's forever getting into mad situations. The Prophet is only more of the same: the press fear mongering. We all know full well that Harry's fine, just like always. He'll come waltzing back soon enough, most likely with the incapacitated Sweenies in tow. Moronic kidnappers, I swear. Haven't they learned anything from the other criminals stupid enough to go up against him?"

Sure, Ron had been telling himself the exact same things. But to hear it said aloud, said by his completely calm sister? It sounded…'optimistic' wasn't the right word. 'Naive' was closer. 'In denial' and 'in shock' were spot on. He realised why more than a few Aurors had been giving him pitying glances. Not that he didn't believe Harry was okay, because of course he was. But how could she be smiling?

A/N: There was originally a different chapter here, as I'd had it outlined that Ron would go investigate the lead in the US. But I realised it'd make much more sense if he didn't go: if he was feeling guilty and agreed with Susan that he should be on partial house arrest. Basically, it dawned on me that I couldn't bend everything for Ron and that actions had consequences. This was a tough realisation to swallow, as I'd already written the damn chapter set in Seattle. Oh, it was wonderful! An American magical school, Pike Place Market and Rainier being enchanted, fangirls mistaking Ron for Prince Harry…bloody well everything. I might rewrite it from McLaggen's pov, but right now I don't have the heart. I'm so close to making OMAKEs of this story, I kid you not. So many fluff scenes that didn't make the cut, and I had these great exploding poker nights with the old Gryffindor dorm mates that couldn't fit in!

Still, huge shout out and thank you to my good friend A, who (before the chapter was tossed) was an incredible help in figuring out the now non-existent plot points. That was mainly why I was so reluctant to get rid of it: her ideas were amazing!